Author's Note: Thanks again to everyone who reviewed! I know I thanked most of you already, but reviews are like chocolate, just can't get enough of them, so thanks!
In repsonse to one question from someone: they asked if McKay and Keller were together in this universe. I was going to talk about this later, but I'll answer now instead. I stick mostly to the cannon of the show. Obviously I wander a little, ie, the NCIS team being in it, but with relationships, deaths, life, etc, I stick to the show. So, seeing as this is set mid-Season 5, I guess McKay and Keller are sort of at that awkward stage where they've said how the feel (or we know, anyways) and they're tip toeing around the whole dating thing!
Hope that clears it up for you, ally! And thanks for the review!
Chapter 7
The room was no different to any of the other of dozens of rooms utilised by Atlantis' military contingent, if a little sparser than usual. But that was to be expected, considering the inhabitant had been temporarily relocated to the alpha site until a murder had shaken the expedition to its very core.
As Gibbs supervised, DiNozzo and McGee searched the room. They weren't looking for anything in particular. They already knew all they needed to know from the expedition database – enough to know that the marine was at least the right shoe size to be their witness. This was more to catch him off guard, put him on the defensive, and hopefully make their job all that easier when Gibbs questioned him.
If all went according to plan, this case would be easily solved, and they could get back on with their holiday.
"Hey!"
The shout came from outside the room, where Ziva was standing guard. The voice was all too familiar, belonging to Sergeant Peterson, one of the men who had escorted the NCIS team back from the alpha site.
In fact, the good sergeant had almost demanded to be allowed to bring them back.
"What are you doing?" Peterson demanded loudly as he ran into a brick wall, otherwise known as Officer Ziva David. "Let me past, that's my room, dammit!"
The three men stopped and turned to the commotion. DiNozzo gave a toothy grin. "Showtime."
Giving him a hard stare, Gibbs walked to the door and met Peterson face on.
The look didn't seem to faze the sergeant. "That's my room," he snapped, turning his attention from Ziva to Gibbs. "You have no right to be in there. Do you have a warrant?"
Gibbs tilted his head lightly. "Might be a little difficult to get one from the Pegasus Galaxy ," he informed the marine. "But I'm sure Mr Woolsey won't mind. Not considering I have proof to show him and Colonel Sheppard that you witnessed a murder and didn't tell anyone."
The marine raised his head. "I didn't witness any murder," he told them both, eyeing Tony and McGee as they both approached.
Gibbs studied the young man. Either he was a very good liar, or he was telling the truth. In this case, the agent was going to bet on the former. "In that case, you won't mind lending us your shoes."
Peterson took a step back. "No. I don't reckon either Woolsey or the colonel would have agreed to any of this."
They hadn't. In fact, Gibbs hadn't told either of them yet – something about a problem at the alpha site – but Peterson didn't need to know that.
"Would I be here if they hadn't?" Gibbs asked, leaning forward. "I told them everything. About how much you wanted to escort us back here. How it was your down time when Ranger was killed." The other marine who had escorted them back, Mills, had given them that little snippet. "How you were seen sneaking into the infirmary only half an hour ago. Right about the time that Holt's boots – one of the few things able to tie him to the crime scene – disappeared."
Peterson's mouth tightened. "You can't prove anything. If you could, you wouldn't be searching my room, you'd have someone arresting me." He crossed his arms. "I didn't witness a murder, Agent Gibbs."
"See, that's where you're wrong," Gibbs told him. "About both. You did witness a murder. And we do have proof."
McGee came forward, handing over the datapad that he had left on Peterson's bed. It already had what they needed up and ready to go. And as he handed the computer to the sergeant, McGee pressed play.
And Peterson's face whitened as he watched the footage of him stealing Holt's boots.
He shoved the datapad back into McGee's hands and flinched slightly, eyes darting either way as if looking for an escape route. Seeing none – Ziva was blocking his path, and Gibbs knew she looked as quick as she actually was – the sergeant sighed heavily, suddenly looking lost and defeated.
"I told Holt it would come out," he told them, rubbing his eyes. "But… he made me promise not to say anything."
"Well, now he's still in surgery fighting for his life," DiNozzo pointed out with emphasis. Peterson caught it and glared.
"That's not his fault!" the sergeant snapped. "Major Lorne… he jumped to conclu-."
He cut off, snapping his jaw shut as he realized he was about to rat out not one, but two fellow soldiers. But the agents all heard it.
"Conclusions?" Gibbs finished for him. "How so?"
Peterson put his hands on his hips and looked around again. "Look, do we have to do this here. And the colonel should be here, as well. He deserves to hear this."
"He is out at the moment," Ziva told him as Gibbs motioned towards the sergeant's room. "But rest assured we will tell him everything you tell us."
Peterson scowled at her. "Why doesn't that comfort me," he muttered as the door slid shut. Behind him, Tony and McGee shared a look. He was obviously about to spill all, but Peterson was not acting defeated any longer, not as he turned to face them from before his window.
"What conclusions?" Gibbs repeated.
Peterson frowned at himself. "Earlier today, after they got back from their rounds, Holt went to Major Lorne and said something was wrong with Ranger. He said that Ranger had been acting unusually… touchy, I think he said. Angry, and just… not himself."
"And how did Lorne take that?" Gibbs asked, remembering Lorne's earlier mood. As he moved forward to face Peterson head on, the sergeant shook his head.
"From what Holt told me, not well. A few others heard the argument as well, though none of us thought it would come to the major shooting Holt." Peterson sighed. "Something's very wrong… I don't know what, but the major doesn't kill his own people. And neither did Holt."
Gibbs made a sound in the back of his throat. "You people keep on saying that," he snapped in his soft, strained tone. "Can't you accept the fact that a fight got out of control and ended in someone dead?"
Peterson scowled heavily. "And can't you accept the fact that things run differently in the Pegasus Galaxy?" he snapped. "Every single marine on this base is well trained, smart, and able to control themselves! And you don't have any clue what happened!"
"Well, tell us then," Ziva demanded, stepping up beside Gibbs with her arms crossed.
"We were in the barracks, on our down time – as you know," the sergeant added wryly. "Me and Holt. Ranger came in, pacing, anxious. He looked sick as well – he was sweaty, and pale, and he kept on twitching. Holt said something about him being even worse than before."
"Worse than what?" Ziva interrupted, but Peterson shrugged.
"I don't know. But Ranger heard him and just lost it. He pulled Holt from his bed and threw him across the walkway with… incredible strength." The marine shook his head. "Holt crashed into the bed before I could do anything, and then came at him again, tossing him like a rag doll. Holt fell to the ground, Ranger came at him… and I tried to stun Ranger with a Wraith stunner."
"So… Holt killed Ranger while he was down?" Ziva asked, confused, sharing a look with Gibbs. But the older agent shook his head in disagreement.
"No," Peterson confirmed with some sadness in his voice. "I hit Ranger, but it didn't take him down. He did stop though… took a step back and turned to face me. He had his knife out before I knew what was happening. He looked so… horrified about what he had done, what he was trying to do… he took another step away…"
Peterson looked away, down, his throat obviously constricting. And then he audibly swallowed, and looked back up.
"And then he stabbed the dagger into his own neck."
Sheppard parked the jumper in a clearing a few hundred metres below the alpha site proper, landing silently and keeping the cloak on. He had no idea what they were about to find at the alpha site, but he didn't want to take any chances he didn't have to.
Besides, he had already lost one puddle jumper this year.
He spun on his chair and stood, taking in his small army. Twelve marines, armed to the teeth, all crowded into the small space of the back of the jumper. Woolsey had been adamant that he take as many marines as possible, and Sheppard hadn't been about turn him down.
"All right, boys and girls," he addressed as Ronon, Teyla and Rodney stood up with him. "Let's get the plan straight. Major Graham, take your teams to the north, come down nice and slow. If there's anyone at the alpha site, I don't want to spook them. Make sure no one gets past. I want to know exactly what went wrong. Lieutenant Broden, you're with me."
One of Graham's team hit the release on the jumper's hatch, and the sixteen of them filtered out of the back, Graham taking his seven men off at a run to get to the northern edge of the base in time to coordinate an attack with Sheppard and his team coming in from the south.
Within five minutes Sheppard was kneeling on one knee behind a bush, McKay by his side, looking at the alpha site.
Or what had been the alpha site.
"My God," McKay whispered. "Gibbs and his team only left what… two hours ago? Two and a half? Three, tops. What did they do?"
They – though who they were was still a mystery – had flattened it. The buildings were piles of rubble, strewn all over the clearing. The only thing still standing over a metre high was the machine gun that had been situated atop the central building. Now it was on the ground, rising above the devastation.
The only thing just as high was the uniformed body sprawled over the gun.
Other bodies dotted the landscape, and John really hoped that some of them were alive, because he had had fourteen men still here, and he couldn't stand losing even one.
Setting his mind to the task at hand, Sheppard clicked his radio twice. Graham's reply came instantly.
"We're in place, colonel," the major whispered. "But it's not a pretty picture."
Ignoring that last, Sheppard clicked his radio again. "Move in, Graham."
John stood up, obeying his own order, and the seven with him stood as well, moving forward in a vague line, weapons up and aimed at the lifeless alpha site.
Within a minute they were among the rubble, and there was no movement besides the team searching the remains for any sign of movement.
Finding nothing, Teyla and one of Graham's marines, Captain Dawson, ducked down to start checking for pulses.
"This one's dead!" the Athosian called softly.
"So's Farrell," Dawson told them. "Shot."
Trying to ignore the two, Sheppard searched the faces for anyone alive, any flinch, any movement, just a small rise of the chest.
A cough from nearby made him spin quickly, spotting the struggling legs instantly. He darted to the pinned man's side, ducking to his knees so he could lever a section of wall off his marine.
Sergeant Roberts' bloodied face slackened with relief when his eyes latched onto Sheppard's.
"Sir… just… came outta…" Roberts broke off into a fit of coughs, blood bubbling over his lips.
"Just hold on, Roberts, hold on," Sheppard ordered, before looking up. "Williams, Johnson head back to the gate, dial Atlantis, tell them we need medical teams here now!"
"No!" Roberts shouted. Or tried to; it came out as hoarse whisper, heard only because the sergeant reached up to grab his commander by the vest and pull him down with surprising strength. "Just… leave, colonel. It's not safe!"
Sheppard grabbed the marine back. "Why?" he demanded. "What happened here?"
"I've never seen… anyone -." He cut off, coughing again as Sheppard's team crowded in around them. John's grip tightened.
"What, Roberts, what? Come on, just hold on!"
The man shook his head. "There was no… warning… just… came outta nowhere! Farrell shouted out, and then took a bullet… another five were down before… before…"
"What attacked you?" John demanded, leaning closer, leaning in, desperate to know, needing to know so he could stop this from happening. Who could it be? Who used bullets?
Besides them.
God, he hoped there was someone besides them who he could blame.
Roberts shook his head again, coughing slightly. "He was so angry… just shouting… screaming. He was like a changed man."
Sheppard's blood ran cold. "Who? Who, sergeant? Who did this?"
In response, Roberts began to slip, though in no physical way. Then his head fell to the side, and he sighed, before closing his eyes and muttering a final whisper before falling unconscious. "It doesn't matter. It's too late."
"Sheppard!"
Rodney's sharp call cut through Sheppard's confusion, and he snapped his head up to look where Roberts' sight had last rested.
A marine was up. Or had appeared, in any case. Blood and dirt caked his face, his shirt ripped and a dark red in most spots. He limped, but he didn't seem to notice: even at this distance, they could all see the dazed set of his face, the glaze in his eyes. And the pistol hanging limply in one hand.
Sheppard was on his feet an instant, P90 up and aimed at Corporal Reilly a second later.
Half a dozen other guns cocked at the same time, but Reilly didn't even seem to notice them. He didn't notice the guns, the hard gazes, the marines moving back, away from him as he surveyed the damage. As he looked at the rubble with haunted eyes and shuddered.
Worried, confused, and a myriad of other emotions not at all similar to what he thought he would be feeling, Sheppard took a step forward. Hands tightened on triggers, but not one of the well trained marines fired a shot. Reilly didn't even notice.
"Corporal?" John asked, tilting his head slightly. "Corporal Reilly?"
The marine's head shot up and for the first time Sheppard saw the tears. "Colonel?" the man whispered, as if he barely recognised his commanding officer. "I don't… I don't know…"
"Do you know who did this, corporal?" Sheppard asked, though if he had been forced to admit it, he already knew who had committed this crime.
So did Reilly. He looked down, shaking his head, flinching with every new body that he spotted lying mangled on the ground. "I think… I think I did… I did it, sir. But I don't…. I don't know why… I can't remember…"
He trailed off, and the armed hand came up. The marines with Sheppard jumped, grips tightening once more on guns, aims coming up again. But all Reilly did was rub his face, his eyes, as if he were trying to get some feeling back into them.
"You think you did this, corporal?" Sheppard asked, to no response. "Corporal! Do you think you did this?"
Reilly's hand dropped, and he shook his head, face screwing up as remembrance is his eyes. He gave a dry sob. "No, I know I did this… I killed them all, and I didn't even hesitate. Oh, God, why would I do that?"
Sheppard took another step forward. "You weren't yourself, corporal," the colonel told him, trying to sound confident, sure of himself, of the denial. Instead, it only made Reilly flare.
"Then who was I?" he screamed, and a second later his arm started rising, gun aimed straight.
Sheppard moved just as fast, dropping his P90, holding out his hand and yelling, "Hold your fire!" even as, for the second time that day, a gun settled its aim on him.
To their credit, the marines did as they were ordered, though one or two shared a concerned look. Sheppard ignored it all and kept his full attention on Reilly. "Easy there, corporal. Come on, let's just… let's just talk."
"What's there to talk about?" Reilly demanded, biting his lip as it quivered. "I killed them! I killed them all! I didn't mean to, I swear, but I was just… so… angry! I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop! God, why didn't I want to stop?"
The last was a whispered plea, and it tore through Sheppard's heart. He shook his head. "I don't know, corporal," he admitted in a quiet voice. "But I swear to you we're going to figure this out."
Reilly gave the tiniest of head shakes, and took a deep, gasping breath. "You can't figure this one out, colonel." For an instant he looked calm, composed, and Sheppard got a burning cold feeling in his gut. "It's been an honour serving under you, sir."
And he lifted the gun to his own temple.
And yet again, we have an 'uh oh'… hmm, anyone else picking up a recurring theme? And a potential problem? He he, see you tomorrow night!
