Setting: During Stargate Atlantis episode 2.8, "Conversion"
Disclaimer: I do not own Lorne, Caldwell, or the Stargate franchise.
A/N: I rather doubt the Atlantis team went on its little day trip without a chaplain ('padre') to tend to the spiritual needs of the people of the expedition. He's my own character.
Anger and grief raged through him as he led the surviving members of the team through the Gate back to Atlantis.
Dr. Weir and Colonel Caldwell appeared at the top of the stairs; Weir looked at them with such an expression of hope, but it was obvious that their mission had failed. Her face fell, and maybe some part of Evan felt a twist of guilt at letting her down, but for the moment, anger ruled. Caldwell came down to meet them.
"What happened out there, Major?" he asked sternly.
"The mission was FUBAR, sir," Evan replied, barely able to keep the tremor out of his voice. "The bugs attacked when we got close. Walker and Stevens were KIA." His fingers tightened their grip on his P-90 as the others filed past him. Doc Beckett went straight up to Dr. Weir, and the substance of their conversation was obvious from their faces as they sat down in Weir's office.
Colonel Caldwell's lips thinned as he listened to Evan's report. "Understood. Major, get yourself cleaned up. You're on stand-down until further notice," he ordered firmly, almost unemotionally. Evan wanted to punch him in the face. It took every ounce of willpower to resist the urge. As Evan made to leave, Caldwell stepped closer and spoke again in a low voice only meant for him. "I know you've never lost men under your command in the line of duty before, Lorne. It's never easy. Talk to Heightmeyer or the padre. I'll speak with you later." His expression unreadable as ever, the colonel turned and stepped back up the stairs.
Evan returned his gear to the armory and took a cold shower in his quarters. The frigid water went a small way to numbing the immediate pain, but for a long while after, all he could do was sit on his bed and stare out the window.
Walker had been filling in for Coughlin, who had caught some Pegasus version of the flu. Walker was not a talkative guy, so few would realize that he had a master's in physics from USC and was part of Atlantis's unofficial Mensa chapter. And Stevens - despite having been left behind at the SGC because of a broken ankle when the rest of the team went to Atlantis to save it from the Wraith, he requested to join them anyway. He'd arrived with the bulk of the new personnel on Daedalus several weeks later. Almost despite himself, he smiled slightly as he remembered Coughlin and Reed ribbing Stevens for 'showing up after the party's already over.' Evan couldn't have asked for a better second in command, not in the years they'd shared on SG-23 or in their short time on Atlantis.
He sighed deeply. Outside, the lights of the city glittered jewel-like against the black velvet of the night sky. Intellectually, he knew that there had been nothing he could have done to save Walker and Stevens. But he still blamed himself.
And despite everything, Evan couldn't bring himself to hate Sheppard, the nominal cause of this mess. The colonel was just as much a victim of circumstance as they all were.
Just then, the door chimed. "Who is it?" he called, though he suspected he knew who was there.
"It's the chaplain, Major Lorne," came the man's familiar voice. "May I come in?"