A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for your comments! They make my fingers itch to write faster!
A Moving Sea Ch 21
"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.
The Daedalus' medical bay was cramped, just like every other room on this god-awful ship. Woolsey tugged at the zipper on his jacket, twisting his neck to try to ease some of the tension. Nothing about this mission had gone right – nothing. He paced the short corridor between beds, back and forth, his thoughts churning, mouth turned down in a scowl. He knew that Dr. Keller's eyes focused on him from time to time, her scowl nearly as deep as his own. Luckily, she and her staff were too busy preparing for casualties to interrupt.
He stopped, eyes closed, cold dread washing over him. Casualties. There was absolutely no excuse for his equating the word 'lucky' with the thought of casualties.
Todd had had no intention of complying with the medical tests. He'd been prepared to attack – to take over the ship and her crew, his warriors in place aboard awaiting his signal. And Woolsey, oh so secure in his role as Pegasus Galaxy Peacemaker – as diplomatic hero - had ordered his most experienced combat team to stay behind. It was an odd mixture of anger and relief that had accompanied Colonel Sheppard's opening shot that had shattered the Wraith's weapon and Richard's arrogant certainty. At Todd's demands - and Sheppard's sarcastic acceptance - both emotions had boiled up his throat, urging Woolsey to insist on his rightful place among the military tacticians, there, on the bridge, at the heart of things.
But they hadn't given Richard time to open his mouth before shuffling him below decks with Keller. And, now, looking back on his complete blindness to this galaxy's risks, to Todd's utter alienness, and the rapid play of changing circumstances from friendly meeting to lethal alien encounter, he could only be grateful.
Head hanging, he forced himself to wade back into his memories, rehearsing the thoughts and actions that had preceded this mission – his assumptions and ignorant overconfidence; his true motivations. It wasn't hard to trace them back to their roots. And there, at the bottom of it all, at the very base and foundation of Woolsey's pride and planning was Daniel Jackson's face.
From the moment he'd received communications from two Air Force generals on Earth, while the man was still three weeks out on this very spacecraft, Daniel Jackson had been front and center in Woolsey's life. Every decision, every mission report or informal communication, every time the leader of the Atlantis base had to make a choice or evaluate a threat, Woolsey had seen Jackson's furrowed brow above intelligent blue eyes, eyes that seemed to strip Richard of every thin shred of confidence. Those eyes had seen through him so many times before, had weighed and judged and found him wanting – in every instance. Usually – 99.9 percent of the time, if Richard was being honest – Jackson had been right.
Daniel Jackson on Atlantis had been too close, too threatening. The man who opened the Earth Stargate and who had made it possible to find the lost city of the Ancients, veteran diplomat and fighter, well-loved by his teammates and well-respected by everyone who had the least connection with the Stargate program. A man who had been welcomed by the Ascended Ancients and had a better grasp of their motivations and philosophies than any other. All Richard Woolsey brought to this position was the reluctant backing of a leftover political alliance and a lifetime of clever maneuvering that had left him nearly unblemished by the filthy fallout of bad decisions.
He should have welcomed Jackson, should have been quick to offer an olive branch; embraced the myriad skills and experiences the man brought to Atlantis. But … he shook his head, his smile thin and uneasy. But. With their history, there could never be a meeting of the minds between them. There could be no real working relationship that wasn't tissue thin, easily scraped away with a breath of air or one sharp word. That kind of alliance, of cooperation, could only be built on the good intentions of both men, held together with the precise restraint and careful control of two strong wills that could focus past their past to face Atlantis' future. The stress of life in the Pegasus galaxy would have broken it in an instant.
It wasn't as if Richard's intentions had been all that good, anyway.
The ship shook beneath his feet and Woolsey looked up, reaching out to brace himself against whatever was handy – bed – cart - the closest medical corpsman. Fear uncurled in his belly, leaching outward. They were going into battle over an alien world against an unknown foe, their only ally Atlantis' most formidable enemy. Richard had performed under fire before, had managed to appear calm and reasonable under worse conditions. But, right now, it felt like he couldn't find a safe place to stand – quite literally. Like his feet had been kicked out from under him; his careful planning and meticulous attention to detail useless. This situation called for action – decisive, immediate action. And all Woolsey could wonder was what would Daniel Jackson do.
At least Caldwell and Sheppard were keeping him informed – grudgingly. They were going to try to rescue McKay and Jackson, and make sure the Ancient device that targeted both the Wraith and the Stargates – with equal abandon - was destroyed. Quite a weapon. Whoever these beings were that had activated it were ruthless, merciless in their intentions to eliminate the Wraith once and for all. Once, not so long ago, perhaps, Richard would have toted up the columns of wins and losses, reduced human suffering to pure mathematics, and come to the same conclusion. Once. Before he'd seen SG-1 nearly tear themselves apart with guilt at Janet Frasier's death. Before he'd watched Anubis' hybrid son pull innocent airmen to their deaths with the power of his mind. Before the bleached eyes of a Daniel Jackson turned Prior had stared straight through to Richard's soul and unmasked the fear lurking there.
Blind to the preparation going on around him, Richard took a deep breath and tasted the bitter acid of resentment. In that one moment aboard the Odyssey when he'd been pinned to the wall by Daniel's overwhelming power and need, between one heartbeat and the next, the scientist had stripped Richard of everything – every pose, every posture, every carefully formulated response – and had revealed the darkness – the emptiness – the absolute, unreserved depth of Richard Woolsey's self-doubt. To both Daniel and himself.
Richard could never forgive him for that.
Another jolt struck through him from the deck plates, rattling up through Woolsey's bones until his teeth clattered together.
"Okay, let's do one final systems check – make sure nothing was shaken loose."
Keller's voice dragged him back to the present and he scanned the hurried team working busily around him, their quiet expertise and practiced movements spreading another layer of uncertainty across his convictions. He tugged down on the hem of his jacket and straightened his spine.
"What can I do to help?"
Keller turned surprised eyes to him. "Um, well, we're probably looking at some sprains, pulled muscles and minor or major burns among the crew."
Richard watched her face register her thoughts, watched the unemotional mask drop over her features as she clicked off her mind's checklist. But it didn't last. Worry tightened her mouth, clouded her eyes. She blinked, shifting her shoulders as if the heaviness of her responsibilities hurt her. His eyebrows twitched as the startled revelation came to him. She's so young for this. A snapshot of his first sight of the members of SG-1 rose from his memories. He'd thought the same thing about Daniel Jackson, once.
"And I don't know what kind of shape Rodney and Doctor Jackson will be in when they get them out – we should try to be ready for anything - "
"Doctor Keller." He took a step closer. "Jennifer."
He caught her mid-word.
"I'm sure you'll do fine," Woolsey assured. Calm. Confident. It was so much easier when the weight rested on someone else.
She frowned, staring. Nodded. Settled herself. "Right. So, if you could help the Corpsman distribute saline bags to every station – "
"Caldwell to Infirmary." The colonel's voice barked out into the air, stilling every movement. "The shields are down. Prepare to receive our men."
Woolsey raised his chin to address the air.
"Acknowledged-"
"We're ready, Colonel-"
He and Keller broke off abruptly.
"Sorry-"
"Sorry-"
Woolsey chuckled and shook his head, stepping forward to take the unwieldy IV bags from the male nurse and then moved towards the gurney farthest from the doctor's nervous anticipation.
The atonal ring of the Asgard beams turned every head towards the empty space – the now glittering space – at the ends of the beds.
"Rodney!"
"Oh God – hurry, hurry up." McKay, wrapped in a strange alien suit of armor, rose quickly, his face pale and frightened.
Woolsey gripped the IV bags, the liquid within them cool against his suddenly sweating palms. The figure lying on the floor, covered from chest to toe in matching armor, was panting, groaning weakly with every breath. Richard forced himself to set the bags carefully on the nearest surface.
Keller raced towards McKay, pulling him around to face her. "Rodney – are you okay?"
"Not me – him! Daniel – he's-" He pulled his arm from Keller's hold.
The corpsmen got to Daniel before Woolsey, crouching over the injured man, one checking his neck for a pulse, the other holding his head still between his hands. And all Richard could do is stand and watch, helpless. Clouded blue eyes rimmed with red opened and closed, unseeing, in a face drained of any color. The pallor was … too deadly. Too familiar.
"What happened, Doctor McKay?" one of the men snapped.
The scientist's arms flailed. "Massive – huge – electrical charge hit him. I mean really, really big." His mouth gaped, as if the words were almost too much for him. "I didn't think – I got his helmet off pretty damned quick, and I don't think he was breathing, but now, well, he clearly is breathing … and … and moaning," McKay winced.
"Can you tell us how to get him out of that … thing," Woolsey pointed at the armored suit that seemed to pin Daniel to the floor, arms and legs bent at awkward angles.
"No, not yet," McKay stuttered, pushing at Keller's still reaching hands and coming to stand at Daniel's head. "I think it might have kept him alive – might be keeping him alive." His gloved hands clenched into fists. "An electric shock that big – we're talking heart stopping, blood-vessel bursting , paralysis-" he stopped abruptly, his mouth a grim line. "I think the suit mechanism might contain some biomedical instruments, they were built to sustain life in harmful environments, so …" McKay's head wobbled back and forth, "so … so … so it probably resuscitated him."
"Heart's racing," one corpsman knelt at Daniel's side, fingers still at the carotid pulse on his neck. "Breathing is erratic." He leaned closer. "Doctor Jackson, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"
McKay fidgeted. "He was talking before – he knew what was going on, asked me about the device."
Keller pushed her way past Richard's right shoulder, finally focusing on Jackson. "Okay, let's at least get him up on the gurney. We'll have to assess his condition but, Rodney, I don't think we'll be able to scan him properly through this suit-"
"No, no, you won't," the scientist swept one hand across his forehead and then stared down at the thick glove as if reminding himself it was still there. "Just, be sure, okay?" He stared into Keller's eyes. "Be really, really sure before you take him out of it."
Keller nodded and turned away. Woolsey found himself at McKay's side, shoulder to shoulder as the medical crew raised Daniel onto one of the beds and began their work. He could feel the scientist's tension, the air of fear and desperation billowing out to fill the small room.
"Are you sure you're all right, Doctor McKay?"
McKay hiccupped a laugh, strained and gasping. "Yeah, I'm fine now, especially if Caldwell is up there blasting that facility to smithereens –"
"- I believe that's the plan -"
"- but once General O'Neill finds out about this –"
Woolsey nodded, all too ready to help dissipate the anxiety. "It's not going to be pretty." He looked McKay up and down. "And, unless I can find a can opener, it's not liable to smell very good either."
"Oh, ha ha."
The forced humor stilled to silence. And, for the first time in a long time, Richard Woolsey prayed.