Reconstructing Rome

By Indygodusk

Chapter 2

"I think about that centurion from time to time and wonder, had he retired to a farm in Campagna, happy with his harvest of grapes and grandchildren, or had he fallen amongst his comrades on some distant, ruined field, defending the honor and the ever-expanding borders of the Republic? What we foreigners have failed to comprehend over the centuries is that the proud centurion would have found either fate equally satisfying."

ANDREW LEVKOFF, "A Mixture of Madness"

-11 months earlier-

He was being watched. Finger on the trigger of his gun, Lt. Col. John Sheppard pivoted, sweeping his eyes across the rutted dirt road and sun-bleached wooden buildings of Biva, designation M6G-209 in the Pegasus galaxy. He didn't see anyone, but the prickling feeling on the back of his neck didn't go away. John moved soundlessly into the shadow of the nearby barn.

He hoped it was a villager who had survived the Wraith culling but braced himself to engage a Wraith drone. He'd only been in Pegasus for a little over a month and had already witnessed more civilian casualties than his entire time in the Middle East. It made him feel both angry and helpless.

John still didn't find the watching eyes on his second pass. His sweep of the rooflines also proved fruitless. It was only when he looked down at the open road that he found the source of the feeling. He was being watched, but not by anything living. Feeling stupid, John moved his finger away from the trigger.

In the middle of the dirt road sat a rag doll. She'd been hastily dropped, leaning sideways with her legs splayed out. A lace collar and sleeves framed the doll's painted face and floppy yellow hair, which had been gathered to one side with an intricately knotted red ribbon—a prayer braid dedicated to the mother goddess worshipped here on Biva, according to Teyla. For a necklace, another knotted red ribbon held a pretty piece of metal and crystal that looked Ancient in origin.

The doll's painted blue eyes stared at John accusingly.

John didn't blame the doll for her glare. He was guilty, at least indirectly. They all were—all those who'd come to the Pegasus galaxy looking for treasures in the city of the Ancients and, in the process, accidentally woken up the Wraith early to start their feeding cycle. Intellectually he knew he should place the blame squarely on the shoulders of the enemy, but it was hard to be logical when faced with an empty town he'd so recently seen full of people.

The Wraith were a sentient, hive-like, humanoid species with advanced technology. Humans were their food, though they fed on life-force instead of flesh. No one in Pegasus but the Wraith had space-faring technology and the Wraith wiped out anyone who showed signs of getting too technologically advanced. It had been going on for millennia. Despite that, many of the people here hadn't given up hope or stopped fighting, though the ways they'd been forced to adapt to survive alternatively horrified, saddened, and enraged John.

The Ancients who built the Stargates had pre-dated the Wraith but later fled Pegasus for the Milky Way Galaxy, probably to escape having to deal with the Wraith problem, too busy trying to ascend to worry about saving the humans they left behind as food. It pissed John off.

Teyla Emmagen, John's Pegasus-native guide, had told them that the bulk of the Wraith usually fed in predictable cycles and then hibernated for long stretches, giving the people living here time to repopulate and rebuild. All of that had changed after the SGC moved into Atlantis and started naively stumbling around during their explorations. Even once they'd learned of the wraith, they hadn't taken the threat seriously.

Then the wraith had caught and interrogated Col. Sumner. She'd managed to not betray the exact location of their home galaxy, but she hadn't managed to keep the Wraith from finding out it existed. Now the Wraith were feeding on the few humans left in this galaxy like a plague of locusts, stocking up for a trip to find new feeding grounds in the highly populated Milky Way.

The expedition had come to Atlantis to find technology and allies to help protect Earth. Instead, they'd made things worse for both the people here in Pegasus and the people back home. At least the Goa'uld and Ori didn't want to eat people.

John should be glad he wasn't the one responsible for keeping the expedition alive and safe. He should be, but wasn't. He couldn't help the burn in his gut as the leadership kept making what he considered overly-cautious mistakes and blunders. The command staff in charge of Atlantis—Col. Sumner, Dr. Weir, and Dr. Forrester—didn't seem to see the value in sending more scientists out on gate teams or in making closer ties with the native peoples here. Considering they might be cut off from Earth forever unless they found another ZPM, the current strategy seemed the height of foolishness to John.

Then again, maybe they were doing the best they could. This situation was so much worse than they'd expected or planned for. How did you prepare to be seen as another species' food? Although his orders chafed, John was a career officer. He knew how to bite his tongue and obey, no matter what the black marks in his jacket implied.

Usually when a situation chaffed, John focused on what he could actually control and tried to stay unattached and let everything else roll off his back, but something about being out here made that difficult. Maybe it was the uniqueness of being a part of the SGC and protecting not just American interests but those of the entire planet and now the entire galaxy. Maybe it was meeting natives like Teyla who'd lived under unimaginable strain without letting it break them. Maybe it was finally having the second-highest rank but not actually being given the power and respect that should go with it.

Or maybe Rome's uncharacteristic reverence and enthusiasm for Atlantis had infected him. She'd always been good at getting him to do things he hadn't intended to do. Rome had been the crowbar that had first pried him out of his numb shell and made this mission sound like such a good idea.

Rome—professionally known as Dr. R.M. Mckay—had often knocked him painfully head over heels during the years of their acquaintance, though she rarely noticed and never apologized for it. In return, he never thanked her for it even when he should, though he always felt comfortable complaining. As difficult and high-maintenance as she was, he'd always known he wasn't smart enough or ambitious enough to keep up with her, though that hadn't stopped them from somehow becoming best friends. For a few months, they'd even been more than friends.

Since Rome wasn't here to argue about it, he'd decided to blame her for the current state of his bleeding heart. Since she was constantly on his mind, it made her a convenient target. Sometimes he also blamed her for the problems on the command staff and the irritation of having to deal with her ex-husband, the head of sciences Dr. Troy Forrester. Everything would be better if Rome was here and in charge of the sciences instead of Forrester. She'd complain about the food and natives left and right while improving everything she touched and miraculously fixing machines that had been broken for millennia. If she'd been here, they'd probably have already found or fixed a ZPM and be in regular contact with Earth. Of course, if she'd been here, she'd be in danger of being eaten by the Wraith too.

Not that Mckay hadn't been devastated to be refused the chance to come to Atlantis, but being irritated with her for not being here was easier than feeling sorry for both her and himself. Everything in this galaxy was hard so John was choosing to feel something easy. Irritation was a lot more acceptable than the way his throat closed up at the thought of never hearing Rome's voice again or seeing the ferocious intelligence in her blue eyes, of never again kissing her lips outside of ephemeral memories and frustratingly insubstantial dreams. John might privately admit to pining over Rome, but if anyone asked, he was simply irritated.

Of course, if anyone asked what he felt, they'd probably be more surprised by his feelings about Atlantis. The City of the Ancients spoke to him in a way nothing else ever had. The mental component of Ancient technology had become a constant companion on the fringes of his mind. It should've felt annoying and claustrophobic, but instead, John surprised himself by coming to like it. Speaking in math, Ancient symbols, and simple emotions, the constant press of machine babble refused to let him feel lonely. Ancient technology was always pleased by his presence and attention, even if it was a distant and haughty pleasure.

At first, he'd merely felt bemused, but soon the experience broke through his walls and in the process made him inadvertently care about not just the city itself, but all of the people who had come to call it home. Once he started to care about them too, it was hard not to care about all of the innocent people he met on missions through the stargate.

He'd blame that on Rome too, but that was too much of a stretch. She'd always been someone more comfortable caring about people in the abstract. It was rare she became attached to specific people. She could seem callous on the surface, but a little digging revealed her heart of gold—even if you had to break through the steel plating to get inside. For a genius who loved the sound of her own voice and bragging, Rome was strangely silent about the big things she did out of kindness and love.

John didn't know how he'd earned Rome's regard, but he did know she'd gone out of her way to help him out over the years. He suspected that she'd interfered in his career to try and help it along even more than she'd already admitted to, compensating for what she considered an appalling lack of ambition. John had benefited from way too many "lucky" coincidences over the years, starting a few months after they'd first met testing experimental planes in his early twenties.

Of course, he'd never find out if his suspicions were true now. Without the power of a new ZPM to reopen the gate to Earth, talking to Rome again was impossible. She was lost to him. At least she was lost safely over there instead of here in danger of getting eaten by the Wraith.

John still hadn't found a single surviving villager in Biva. He pulled out the Ancient life signs detector to check again. The LSD always sent out tendrils of mental math to make sure John knew it was pleased to be useful again. John just wished the answer it was giving him was different.

He counted the number of lights on his screen, which corresponding to living human beings in range, but the number hadn't changed from when he'd first gotten here. There were still only the five dots of his people and the two traders who'd come through the Stargate right after them. The rest of this thriving village had completely disappeared—culled by the Wraith for food. Everyone had searched it by foot anyway, hoping against hope that the LSD was somehow wrong, but they hadn't found anyone, just echoes of the people who'd lived here like the doll dropped in the middle of the street.

Glancing at his watch, John's stomach clenched with anger and sadness. He'd like to call for a jumper to try searching the nearby forests and hills to see if anyone had escaped culling by hiding out farther afield, but his orders from Col. Sumner were clear. It was time to report back in.

John added the lost village of Biva to his mental tally. One of these days, he was going to take the fight to the Wraith and teach them that they could no longer feed on human beings with impunity. He was going to teach them the meaning of justice and revenge.

But not today.

"Time's up, people," Sheppard said over the radio. "We can't do anything more here. We need to head back."

Within a minute, Teyla appeared at the end of the flattened dirt street. Resignation and sadness were stamped across her normally serene face. "We have searched the houses and Foran, who was born here before leaving to apprentice with his mother's people on another planet—" she gestured to the visibly upset trader trailing behind her, his brown hair held back from a pale brown face with an intricately braided red cord that matched the doll in the road "—took us to the hidden places where the villagers would have tried to hide from a culling. Unfortunately, there were no signs that anyone had made it that far. Have your men found anyone else?"

Teyla was helping them out as a native guide who'd traded with many worlds and knew many locals, but the command staff of Sumner, Weir, and Forrester wouldn't let her or the other Athosians do more or have a bigger presence on Atlantis. That the Athosians had been allowed to retreat to Atlantis and later settle on the mainland after their world was culled had taken a minor miracle and John asking forgiveness rather than permission during times of chaos. John wanted to help the Athosians even more—and knew that Teyla would be helping the expedition more if the command staff would just let her join a team full time—but it was out of his hands. He was only the unwanted Air Force 2IC in a posting dominated by Marines and scared civilians.

John wished he could do better by her, that he could tell her he'd managed to find a survivor, but all he seemed to bring to Teyla and the people of Pegasus was disappointment, made all the worse by the short-sighted and stringent orders constraining him. Just because John had spent most of his life being a disappointment to somebody didn't mean his current failure didn't sting, especially when he was trying so hard instead of letting himself coast on by.

"I'm sorry, Teyla." John didn't specify for what.

She tried to hide it, but he heard the hitch in her breathing. When they'd visited the thriving village last week, Teyla had been greeted with hugs and cries of joy by the matriarchs here. They'd teased Teyla gently about choosing one of their men to give her a child and finally make her a mother. Several men had followed her around hopefully with calf eyes. Teyla was a regular visitor here and knew most of those who'd been culled by name.

Behind Teyla, the trader Foran moaned and tangled his hands in his hair, not seeming to notice when his knotted red prayer braid broke at the pressure and slid to the ground. "The culling cycle has started too soon. Too soon. The Wraith should not have woken up like this for another fifty years and they shouldn't be this hungry. Always before, they have left at least a few, some children if nothing else to replace the population later. It's wrong." Eyes red, he leaned over and picked up the doll in trembling hands, hugging it to his neck with an angry sob.

John had been trying his best not to picture the face of the little blond girl who'd been playing with that doll in the street last week, but Foran's actions conjured up the memory.

They'd come chasing rumors and trade alliances. A barn storing boxes of Biva's famous Redolla fruit stood next to the little blond girl's house, though the real trade had been for information about possible Ancient artifacts and structures. The expedition wasn't desperate for outside food yet, but it was still nice to supplement the dried stores with some variety and freshness, especially with something as tasty as Biva's Redolla fruit, which looked like a red peach with no pit and tasted like coconut strawberry cola.

During trade negotiations, the little blond girl had snuck from her doorway into the barn and stolen a Redolla out of a box right behind the backs of the matriarchs. When she'd seen John watching, she'd widened her eyes and put a finger to her lips. At his amused nod, she'd sent him a crooked grin, tossed her golden hair back, and run off gleefully. The smile and attitude had made him think of Rome and what her daughter might look like if she ever had a kid.

Not his kid, though.

That possibility was as dead and gone as this culled village. As much as he desperately missed having Rome by his side, he was even more desperately grateful that the IOA had denied her permission to come to Atlantis with the rest of them. At least he'd never have to see Rome grow old before her time, sucked dry of life and all that bright vitality by the Wraith, never have to see her eyes scared and bruised by living under the shadow of death like so many of the faces in this galaxy. This way, he wouldn't be responsible for her life or continued survival. This way, she was safe.

Unlike the rest of the people stuck in this galaxy.

If only the expedition had done things differently, maybe they wouldn't be scrambling so hard to catch up. Maybe if Sumner had listened to Teyla more on Athos or if John had asked better questions. Maybe if they hadn't run into the Wraith before fully understanding the situation. Maybe if Troy Forrester wasn't such a self-centered coward and actually tried to use his intellect to go out and help others instead of just himself. Maybe if Elizabeth Weir wasn't so aloof and cautious.

All of the if-onlys and what-ifs made John's chest hurt. He had to stop looking back and focus on the here and now. Regret didn't do him any good. The Wraith would've come no matter what, even if it had been a few decades down the road. This wasn't the first or even the fourth culled village he'd seen in the last month. He knew better than to think it would be his last.

Even the Ancients had fled from the Wraith, but his people on Atlantis and those in the Milky Way didn't have that choice. Earth didn't have that choice.

Then again, the people of Earth might not be as advanced as the Ancients, but they also weren't as heartless. Despite his frustrations with them, John knew that Col. Sumner and Dr. Weir would not give up on the people here in Pegasus or refuse to fight the Wraith. If Atlantis could save the people here from the Wraith without needlessly endangering the expedition or Earth, they would. They might go about it differently than John would've, but they were trying.

Down the street, John saw his people jog around the corner. Lts. Ford and Tolman, two dark-skinned Marines with matching scowls, looked similar enough to be mistaken as brothers except for Tolman's larger nose and cleft chin. Lt. Cohen, a tall woman with golden skin and dark hair and eyes who was usually known for her indefatigable cheerfulness, looked uncharacteristically solemn, her eyes puffy and face splotched red. Only Lt. Ford was a regular member of John's gate team—well, Ford and Teyla when he could get permission to take her. The other two spots were filled on an as-needed basis on Colonel Sumner's orders. John didn't like it, but he wasn't in charge. Cohen had been on the contact mission to Biva so John had brought her along as a familiar face for the villagers.

Scrambling after the soldiers was a pale and sweating Dr. Troy Forrester. John hated Forrester, but he was trying his best to stay professional for the good of the expedition. That the man was Mckay's ex-husband wasn't even the only reason, though it was enough of one. John had too much honor to just let a man die on his watch, but if Forrester suffered a fatal accident outside of John's control to stop, John wouldn't shed any tears. Since the hatred and homicidal feelings were mutual, John made sure to never give the doc a chance to stab him in the back because the man would certainly take it and then shed crocodile tears at the discovery of John's body.

John could admit that Forrester was decent at his job administering the Science Department, but he didn't seem to care about anyone but himself. Problems were always someone else's fault and repairs delegated. Forrester tried to hide it, but he disdained military personnel and their mission objectives. Even with Dr. Weir, he kissed up to her in public and undermined her in private. Forrester was here to grab glory for himself, not to better the situation of the people back home or on the expedition. He concerned himself mainly with his personal research and keeping the science labs organized, leaving the grunt work of exploration and fixing of the Ancient infrastructure to others whenever he could get away with it.

Forrester hated going out on missions, but they needed someone to investigate Ancient structures they found in situ and Dr. Radek Zelenka—John's choice—was currently too busy doing practical things to make the city safe and livable to go off-world just yet. As much as John liked Zelenka, the man didn't like being on a gate team and had no interest in staging a coup of the science department to take over from Forrester and his equally disagreeable deputy Dr. Peter Kavanaugh.

Unfortunately for John.

Despite this, Weir and Sumner regularly teamed up to make Forrester go out on missions at least once a week. Privately John wondered if it was an excuse to get Forrester out of their hair for a while. Forrester hadn't been able to charm the two female commanders despite his best efforts. Although John really wished he wasn't assigned as Forrester's usual babysitter, he at least got the satisfaction of watching Forrester be equally unhappy.

There had been rumors of an Ancient temple here on Biva, but the structure in the center of town had turned out to be a normal building housing a few broken Ancient crystals and a panel broken off of a puddle jumper. The team had found the remains of an ancient crash site and pieces of a puddle jumper on their first trip, which was why Forrester had been coerced into coming along to pick up the supplies this time in case he could detect something more.

"We didn't find anyone, Colonel. What about you?" Cohen was trying to look tough but couldn't hide the sadness in her red and watery eyes.

John ground his teeth and shook his head. "The Wraith took everyone."

From the corner of his eye, John saw Teyla flinch. She looked down and scrubbed knuckles across her mouth.

Reaching out, John couldn't help but touch her arm. "I'm sorry. Again." He didn't know what else to say. The situation on Atlantis and out on the field made him feel so powerless.

Expression softening, Teyla shook her head. "No, Colonel, you could not have known what would happen. Place your blame at the feet of the enemy, where it belongs."

"What does she mean?" Foran growled, taking an angry step towards John. "What did you do? Is this your fault? Did you bring the Wraith here to take my people?" Spittle flew from his mouth as he threw the doll at John's head.

John caught the doll in front of his face with one hand. It felt sticky and smelled of the sweet Redolla fruit they grew here. The little blond girl might've been eating when the culling started, dropping her doll in the street to run from the culling beam. The Wraith had gotten her anyway.

Shaking his head to dispel the blond girl's image, cursing his imagination, John lowered the doll to his side and took a step back. Foran followed. John didn't want to fight Foran. "No, I did not."

With a click, Ford disengaged the safety on his gun, pointed it at Foran, and cleared his throat warningly. "Step back from Colonel Sheppard. Now."

Tolman and Cohen stepped back to give themselves space and readied their guns as well.

"It's fine," John said, holding out his hand in a signal to wait. There was nothing to be gained by fighting with a grieving man.

"He's done nothing deserving of blame, Foran," Teyla said, stepping forward and lifting her hands peaceably. "The culling is no more Sheppard's fault for coming here than it is that lost child's for being born. The Wraith bear all the blame, as is always and ever the case."

Foran narrowed his eyes at John, not looking placated by Teyla's explanation. The trader's body tensed and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

Just when John braced himself to dodge a punch and send the man to the ground, Foran's eyes flicked down John's body and abruptly flared wide. Foran froze. Shock and fear flashed across his face. "It's glowing," he breathed. "How? Just who are you?"

Looking down, John saw that the doll's crystal necklace had lit up at his touch. It made him aware of the weak feeling of an Ancient device on the edge of his mind, like the sound of a puppy's tail thumping hesitantly against the ground in uncertain greeting.

Sighing internally, John ran mental fingers down the device's code, soothing it back to sleep. The glow turned off.

"I'm just a traveler named John Sheppard," John said quietly. "A friend of Teyla's and a trader like yourself, but otherwise no one worth remembering."

Foran's eyes narrowed. "A traveler named Colonel John Sheppard who carries high-tech weapons, makes the Ancestor's machines glow at his touch, and shows up around cullings. I won't forget you and the debt you owe my people." His eyes glittered with hostility.

"Foran, let us get what we came for and go," the other trader called wearily as he finally joined them. He was an older man with dark hair and skin the color of teak. Walking to the supply barn, he pushed open the doors and ducked inside, returning with a full pack over one shoulder. "Here is what we paid for, let us leave lest the Wraith come back. We will hold the ceremony for our kin when we return home. Fighting is pointless. Come."

After a moment of hesitation, Foran's head bowed. Not looking at John, he turned and left for the Stargate.

"Fare thee well, Huron," Teyla said to the older trader, who had paused by her side. Putting their hands on each other's shoulders, they touched foreheads in farewell according to Teyla's Athosian customs.

Tears stood in Huron's eyes when he stepped back. "May the Ancestor's guide your steps, Teyla Emmagen. May they guide us all in these dark times." Nodding to John with more reserve, he caught up to Foran and they disappeared over the curve of the hill leading to the clearing housing the Stargate.

"Should we take our supplies too, sir?" Ford asked John hesitantly.

Unsure, John looked to Teyla. He knew Sumner would put practicalities over local traditions, but Sumner wasn't here and he was. The expedition still had enough supplies to be flexible with the locals. "Teyla? What is your preference? I don't want to be disrespectful of those you knew here."

Teyla bowed her head. "Thank you for your consideration, Colonel. I would not approve of looting the personal effects of those who are lost, but taking perishable supplies and even harvesting the already planted fields is an accepted practice. To survive we must often choose the practical over sentiment."

"Great, so moving on, can I see the crystal that lit up?" Forrester interrupted, gesturing to the doll in John's hand. "Might as well try to get something useful out of this stupid trip."

Lips flattening, John pressed the doll to his chest and suppressed his first urge, which was to bare his teeth and tell Forrester that he'd touch the doll over John's dead body. "It's not anything useful, just a bit of crystal and housing from beneath that broken puddle jumper's navigation console. We have plenty of those still intact in Atlantis."

Ignoring the opening of Forrester's mouth, John announced, "I'll be right back," and strode away into the house next to the barn. It was easy to find the little girl's bedroom. Flowers were painted on the walls and an embroidered blanket was crumpled at the foot of the bed. On the floor was a dropped pillow and discarded nightgown. A tower of wooden blocks sat in one corner.

Returning the pillow to the bed, John laid the little blond doll on top of it and turned to leave. He took two steps and stopped, dropping his chin. Letting out a heavy sigh, he scrubbed a hand over his head and turned back around, going down on one knee, to untangle the doll's knotted red ribbon and tug her dress straight. Once she looked as neat as he could make her, he pulled up the blanket and tucked her in.

When John stood up he felt twenty years older. Acid burned his gut as he looked down at the little blonde doll in the bed. "I'm sorry. I promise that I'll do what I can to keep the other little girls out there safe and one day, though I don't know how or when, I will make the Wraith pay."

Reaching down, John brushed his fingers across the crystal with a mental command, making it glow softly, a night light to keep the doll company in the dark.

John gently closed the door at his back and left the house, ignoring Forrester's scowl and Teyla's soft look.

Turning to Ford, Tolman, and Cohen, John pointed at the barn. "Let's get those supplies loaded up and get back to Atlantis."

As everyone moved forward, John noticed a rash forming along the side of Cohen's neck. In fact, her cheeks looked a bit blotchy too.

"Lt. Cohen, are you feeling alright?" John frowned.

She looked at him in surprise. "Sir?" Her voice sounded husky, as did her breathing now that he was listening for it. Cohen's hand went to her throat and she swallowed. "Oh shoot, I think I'm allergic to that red fruit they grow here. We went through the orchard to search and I got itchy, but I thought I'd be fine. I stayed away from that area the first time. I'm so sorry, Sir."

Frowning, John reached into his pocket for the EpiPen he'd made part of his standard kit ever since becoming friends with Rome, who had an anaphylactic allergy to citrus. "Do you need a shot of epinephrine?"

Stepping back, Cohen held up her hands. "No! Sorry, but that would make things worse. An EpiPen could actually give me a heart attack and wouldn't stop the allergic reaction or swelling of my airway at all." She was sounding wheezier. The blotchy red hives rising on Cohen's skin looked painful and her eyes watered. The red and puffy eyes he'd noticed earlier must've been from the allergic reaction, not crying. He felt a bit ashamed for assuming she was weepy just because she was a woman.

"I need medicine but I think I have a few more minutes before it gets serious. I'm sorry. I can help load up first."

"Absolutely not," John said. "Get back to Atlantis and see Dr. Beckett ASAP. Ford, make sure she gets there okay. The rest of us will grab the supplies and follow."

"Yessir," the two soldiers answered, taking off for the gate at a trot. Ford matched his pace to Cohen.

John, Lt. Tolman, and Teyla quickly loaded redolla fruit into the large packs they'd brought while Dr. Forrester mostly just stood around looking sullen and bored. As soon as they finished, they left the culled town of Biva and returned through the gate to Atlantis.