Return to Sender, pt. 2
A/N: This may seem a bit choppy, but everything will make sense in time. Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing.
"Incoming wormhole," snapped the Canadian sergeant manning the gate controls. All heads swiveled to Gate, in almost a Pavlovian response. "It's Major Lorne's IDC, ma'am," he added almost apologetically to the woman standing nearby. Dr. Weir nodded silently. Three months of waiting for a certain Lt. Colonel to come through the gate, be it staggering or that cock-sure saunter of his. Three months of flickering hope, any incoming wormhole fanning the dying embers. She wondered if everyone else could see the new lines of worry that had been etched during this. She knew Lorne had his own set, the weight of command, like an older brother's hand me down coat, not quite fitting him despite the best of intentions. Ronon and two other marines emerged through the gate along with the city's newly designated commanding officer. There was a grim look of satisfaction on Lorne's face.
"We have a new lead on Sheppard's whereabouts. I believe it's credible," he stated flatly. She didn't ask him how he'd obtained the information. A little while ago she would have been ashamed of some of the interrogation methods, but that was then. That goodness Kavanaugh wasn't around to confirm his earlier accusations. The first few days they chased every lead, credible sounding or not, offering goods for information, any information. Then she had learned that threats were an effective filter, a display of force could coax the most unwilling to talk. Part of her still hated herself for silently condoning actions she would have been ashamed of not too long ago, but people change. It had been three months since Sheppard disappeared, since the hub had been taken, leaving the spokes to fall apart. At least that's what her Zen philosophy professor would have said. You don't see what holds everyone together until it disappears right before your eyes.
If they'd asked Dr. Heightmeyer, she'd have said it was like losing big at the craps tables. Some withdraw with what they have left, some play desperately trying to win it back. Teyla had withdrawn, choosing to spend increasing amounts of time on the mainland. Rodney had volunteered for every search committee, only to come up empty. He'd resigned from team missions, tired of constantly looking over his shoulder for a certain spiky haired colonel, as he had on that fateful day, someone who'd been covering his six as they'd tied to leave another negotiation gone bad. She wondered if Rodney blamed himself for Sheppard's disappearance. He'd withdrawn into his lab, the snark now more bite than bark – even Radek was terrified of confronting him on certain days, which were ever increasing in frequency.
Dr. Weir hadn't expected Ronon to stay, but he had, although now he was quicker to draw his sword or his gun when posing questions to a potential informant, but even she'd admit she was now more interested in potential intel than alliances. Screw diplomacy. Threats and force were the chief currency in this galaxy. She didn't know when she'd seen Carson last smile, he'd dutifully resigned himself to being a genetic guinea pig for any Ancient devices, as if this was some atonement for a forgotten slight to the Colonel on his part. Even Caldwell, for as by the books as he was, kept delaying the call for a replacement, adopting the mantra 'it's only temporary." She doubted he'd ever admit it, but he needed Sheppard as well.
As always, there was no shortage of volunteers a few hours later, but quieter and less numerous than in previous months. Elizabeth selected a limited team to head to the planet. She didn't know what she was sending them into, and it was better all around if a small number returned empty handed, as they had so many times before. In the end it was Major Lorne, Rodney, Ronon and Teyla. She thought for a long moment about including Carson, but hope was in limited supply these days. After the first month, she had resigned herself to the concept that finding Sheppard meant bringing home a body. The four headed toward the jumper bay. She was silent, as were the rest of the onlookers, unable yet again to find the proper words for a situation like this. Yet there was an unspoken 'Please, this time' on everyone lips, a silent supplication to whatever divine force was watching. One couldn't help but feel the population of Atlantis was down to one last desperate roll of the dice at the table. Everything was riding on this, the first new intel they'd had in a month.
Warning: contents under pressure would have been an apt label as the occupants of the puddlejumper sat silently, slowly digesting the data on the HUD as they skimmed the planet's surface. Three months ago Lorne would have baited McKay on the possibility of finding anything on this barren planet, and McKay would have complained about the heat, the sunlight, and the probability that the UV would damage his DNA. Instead he sat silently, the only proof of his growing frustration a set of whitening knuckles edging a laptop, whose screen might crack if he applied any more force. The edges of Ronon's chair were suffering the fate, fingertip impressions that would remain, testimony to the tension of the last few months. Teyla sat beside him, calm as ever, but there was a brittleness to her now; one wrong word and she might shatter, or, more likely explode.
There was a sharp intake of breath as a small object disturbed the landscape.
"How in the hell," muttered both Lorne and McKay.