Time Immemorial

Chapter 43: A Sympathetic Ear

July 25th
0752 Hours

Squinting against the bright light streaming through the Gate Room's mosaic window, John hobbled up the stairs to the second level. His head felt like it had gotten flattened by a bus and the rest of his body dragged behind it. He had skipped breakfast, as per his usual routine, but with the fits his stomach was giving him he never wanted to see food again. And he didn't want to even hear the word 'bourbon.' In fact, he thought the entire state of Kentucky could go straight to hell.

John paused at the top of the stairs, holding his head to settle the spinning. His hangover had already put him in a surly mood. He was certain the upcoming debrief would not assuage it.

He eyeballed his watch. 0752, eight minutes early. His career military father had long ago drilled into him a simple mantra: if you're early, you're on time, but if you're on time, you're late. It was one of the few pieces of wisdom he had bothered to share with him.

He was once again clad in his service blues, finding it ironic that yet again the occasion meriting them was not a celebratory one. John tucked in his shirt and tightened his tie as he swung left toward the conference room. A technician atop a ladder worked on one of the louver door's hinges. John didn't recognize him. He must have arrived with the Daedalus.

In contrast to only two days ago, all the doors appeared correctly seated and fully functional. At the moment they were all closed. It appeared whatever pencil pushers the IOA had assigned to interview him had not yet arrived. Figures, he thought to himself.

Suddenly he heard voices, muted and unintelligible, from within the conference room. He clocked his watch again. 0753. He distinctly remembered that he had the first appointment of the day at 0800. Elizabeth had the second at 0900.

"Who's in there?" he asked the tech.

The man glanced at the conference room before shrugging. "I don't know. I only started my shift 15 minutes ago."

John flinched at the volume of the tech's reply. He sounded like Zeus booming proclamations down from Mount Olympus. "Thanks," he groused, moving to take a seat on a nearby chair.

"But I did hear one of the Gate technicians talking about getting Dr. Weir's signature on something after she was finished with some debrief."

John stared dumbly at the tech. He took an extra second to process the information. "When?" he demanded.

"Five, ten minutes ago, maybe."

"And you're sure you heard the name 'Dr. Weir'?"

"I… I think so."

"You think so or you know so?"

"I know so! Listen, man, I'm just here to fix this last door, okay?"

"Goddammit, Elizabeth…" the major cursed under his breath, storming toward the center door. He didn't bother knocking. The panel pivoted open at his touch and John barged into the room on a tear. He expected to find a firing squad of IOA bureaucrats seated across from Elizabeth. He was only half correct.

On one side of the table sat Dr. Weir. She had turned at the sound of his disruptive entrance. Her face was red, mortified at his interruption.

On the opposite end, where Sheppard had presumed there'd be a board of IOA henchmen to lay into, sat only one man.

John quickly shut his gaping mouth that had been so ready to fire an opening salvo. He snapped a crisp salute. "Sir," he addressed, unable to keep the bewilderment from his voice.

"Major," General Jack O'Neill hailed, returning the salute. "Your appointment doesn't start for another five minutes."

And hers for another hour, John knew. He looked deliberately at Elizabeth. "Sorry, I must have gotten mixed up with all these schedule changes."

Elizabeth dodged his scathing glare. Whatever heroics he had intended to pull she intended to outmaneuver. Last night she had sent an email to the IOA delegation, asking for her debrief to moved up to 0700, one hour before John's. She wouldn't give him a chance to play whatever card he was holding.

"Then sit down, Sheppard, you look like hell. You can take your lashings next," O'Neill ordered.

"Thank you, sir, looking forward to it," John answered sardonically, taking a seat next to Elizabeth. She wasn't thrilled at his seat choice. "But can I just ask: why are you here?"

"There are a lot of things about having a desk job that just plain suck," he said honestly, "but rank has its privileges. When I found out that the Daedalus was ready for her space trials, I wanted a front row seat. Had I known I would have been spending five days cooped up with the IOA, though, I probably would have stayed home."

"Right," John followed, "but why are you here, in this debrief? We expected the same IOA panel that everyone else got."

"In Dr. Weir's case and yours, I felt a familiar face wouldn't hurt."

Their minds are already made up, John realized with a sinking feeling. He's just the messenger. He noticed a digital recorder on the table in front of the general, next to a pad of paper and two manila folders. Was Elizabeth's pink slip in one of them? Was his in the other?

"I was just giving the good doctor a status update," O'Neill continued, swinging his attention to Elizabeth. "I personally read your reports, but I know from experience that the cold, hard facts never paint the full picture. It sounds like you really got put through the wringer this time. I'm glad the expedition pulled though."

"Thank you, General," Elizabeth said. She wished he would just cut to the chase; her head felt like it was the size of a watermelon and her mouth as dry as a desert.

"The good news is that Daedalus engineers assure me the damage to the City is mostly superficial with the exception of a couple of areas that'll need some structural reinforcement. They're already looking into it. Atlantis will be back up and running in no time."

"That's good to hear."

"Now the bad news. I won't lie to you, Elizabeth. I wasn't sent here to investigate the attack or evaluate your past year of performance. That's already been taken care of." He hesitated, taking no pleasure in the message he was about to deliver. "You should know that the IOA is asking for your resignation as the Atlantis expedition leader, effective immediately."

Elizabeth merely hung her head in silence, unsurprised.

"Sir, you can't do that," John defended through clenched teeth. His eyes followed the manila folder O'Neill slid toward Elizabeth.

"As a matter of fact, I can," the general corrected.

"It'd be a mistake."

"I have mission reports dating back one year that say otherwise."

"What about personnel testimonials, yesterday's interviews — did they all blame Dr. Weir for every single bad thing that's ever happened to this expedition?"

Sighing, O'Neill admitted, "No. Actually, the reports and interviews had largely complimentary things to say about Dr. Weir. All except one."

"I swear," John growled, slamming his palm on the table, "I'm going to cut off Kavanagh's pony tail and shove it up his—"

"Hers."

John snapped his head in her direction, but she wouldn't meet his accusatory gaze. She silently prayed for him to let her go without a fight.

"Now look," O'Neill explained, "the IOA has the ultimate decision but they are asking for my recommendation."

John threw his hands up in consternation. "It sounds to me like everyone's already set on throwing Dr. Weir under the bus."

"Which is why I'd like to offer you her position."

John crinkled his brow. "Come again, sir?"

"As leaders, you're both on the chopping block. The IOA smells blood. They see an opening and they're gunning for both your spots. If it were solely up to them, you'd both be gone in a heartbeat. But it's my opinion that one of you has to stay here. The only way to ensure the future of Atlantis is continuity."

Elizabeth let out a lungful of air, trying not to let her relief show.

Biting his tongue, John delivered his next words with prudence. "Sir, I don't know if you recall my mission report, but I had that job for all of ten hours and I really don't think it's a good fit for me."

"Oh, stop being so selfish," O'Neill chastised, pushing the second folder his way. "You know damn well this isn't about you, Sheppard. It's about the good of the expedition."

"You have got to be kidding me. It's about politics. If you really believe this was about the good of the expedition you wouldn't fire Dr. Weir."

O'Neill had never been one for protocol, but Sheppard's insubordinate language was starting to irritate him. "I'm afraid that option isn't on the table." He waited for the junior officer to reply, but Sheppard merely stared back at him from across the table. "Well? So?"

John cleared his throat. "I respectfully decline the position. Sir."

Elizabeth spun to face him. "John, think about this first," she whispered.

O'Neill regarded the voice recorder next to him. This was going to be a fun one to explain to Homeworld Security. "Major, I gotta say, given your past record and the aftermath of some of your recent missions, your alternatives in the Air Force are not exactly stellar. Your next post will be cleaning out the enlisted lavatory on M85-393. Have you ever used the enlisted lavatory on M85-393?"

"No, sir."

"And the IOA, you're not exactly their poster child, either. Do you have any idea how long it took me to convince them to allow me to present this offer to you? Part of me was convinced they liked the idea of a military-controlled base, but now I'm not so certain they didn't agree to it just to keep you light years away from them."

"I'm sorry you wasted your time, General," was all he said.

Tapping his pencil on the table thoughtfully, O'Neill tried a more direct tactic. "Let me remind you that I can order you to take this post. Refuse and you can get thrown in the brig."

"Wouldn't be the first time," John muttered.

"I don't think you're getting it. Refusing an assignment, especially one so prominent, is insubordination and dereliction of duty, at best. You will get court-martialed."

"Then I'm prepared to submit my resignation."

Elizabeth felt like the air had been sucked from the room. "What?" she cried out. She stared at him for several beats in complete incredulity. As he pulled an envelope from his breast pocket she snatched it up, tearing into it and unfolding the enclosed letter in a frenzy. Her eyes, wide with shock, scanned the letter several times before she fully comprehended its meaning. It truly was his resignation. The ace up his sleeve.

"You… you can't do this," she stammered.

O'Neill wasn't as unsettled. "Last time I checked you still owe on your OBLISERV. If you quit you know what that means."

"I know."

O'Neill frowned. "I don't like playing hardball, Major, and these stars on my shoulder say I don't have to. You realize that the only other outcome to this is that I replace you with one of a dozen vastly more qualified men who are dying for this post. I didn't want to, but now I'm wondering if I should just because you're annoying me."

"Take the offer, John," Elizabeth urged.

"And if you think your refusal will somehow ensure Dr. Weir stays on as expedition leader, think again. Eleven people are dead. She has to go, even if you resign."

"Then what about your continuity?" John challenged.

O'Neill smirked. "You're playing a weak hand, Major."

John's eyes flickered to the floor. "Yes, sir. But it's the only one I've got."

Hearing something sincere in his tone, O'Neill asked earnestly, "You really want to resign your commission?"

"I don't. But if the IOA has made up their mind regarding Dr. Weir, then… yeah. I quit."

"John, don't," Elizabeth pleaded in hushed tones. "The Air Force, flying, it's been your whole life — don't give that up for me. You're the only one I trust with this City. Take the offer, please."

"You know," O'Neill said, folding his arms, "in general, this General doesn't appreciate being blackmailed."

"With all due respect, sir," John retorted, "I don't appreciate you agreeing to be the IOA's stooge, coming here, and telling us how it's going to be."

"Careful, Major. You're treading way beyond annoying now."

"I'm done being careful. Tell me if I've got this right: the IOA wants Dr. Weir out, but only if they can stick me in her place. Well, I refuse. So you can tell the IOA how I think it should be: Elizabeth stays, I go. Atlantis keeps its leader, the IOA gets their scapegoat, you get your continuity. Everybody wins."

"You think it's that simple?"

"I think you can make it that simple. You have their ear. They'll listen to you."

"And what do you suggest I say?"

"Tell them…" John began, searching for the right words. "Tell them that the only reason that we're still here to talk about this, the only reason that Atlantis and everyone in it isn't sitting on the bottom of the ocean in a thousand tiny bits a thousand times over is because of Dr. Weir. You can't replace her, not with me, not with Caldwell, not with you, not with anyone."

"Okay," O'Neill said skeptically. "Let me play devil's advocate for a second here. Usually military and civilian leadership don't play well together. And, as I recall, you don't typically get along with your COs. Yet here you are, Sheppard, vehemently defending your civilian boss, one that not more than a few years ago was working on putting an end to both our jobs. So I ask you: are you feeling okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then what gives? Why Dr. Weir?"

John glanced at her involuntarily — the very person that had brought him here, and there very reason he had to leave. "Because sometimes you don't know what you have until it's gone. Dr. Weir is special. Anyone who doesn't see that is an idiot. Sir."

General O'Neill appraised the younger man and his audacity. The pimple must really want this. "You know, I really don't get you. You're the only real-life hero I know who, instead of asking for a medal, asks to quit." He scribbled some notes on his papers. "Okay, Major, you get your wish. Dr. Weir can stay on as Atlantis expedition leader. Dr. Weir, thank you for your time. You're excused."

Breathing a sigh of relief, John sank back into his chair while Elizabeth rose from the table, speechless. She seemed numb, dazed, as her feet turned her robotically toward the door. He was thankful for his victory, but watching her withdraw in defeat was heartrending.

"Back to you, Major, though we both know where this ends," O'Neill continued as Elizabeth departed. He thumbed through his papers. "I've read through your mission reports, and I have to say that some of the things in them blew my mind. Disobeying direct orders — although that's nothing new for you — of both your… former CO, Colonel Summer, and your current boss, regarding a rampant virus in the City; personally angering the entire Genii nation; losing two scientists to a particularly cranky dormant Wraith, not to mention waking the rest of his pals. Then there was the Klaan disaster and Atlantis' latest and greatest: this Lacedami mess."

John didn't bother defending himself.

"Now there's the relatively minor issue of Ford's upgrade from lieutenant to captain. I'm sure you know that field promotions were disbanded after Vietnam. You can't just go handing out promotions, Sheppard—"

"Sir, say what you want about my actions, but Ford deserves the rank of captain and then some. If it weren't for him—"

"I don't think I was finished," O'Neill said.

"Sorry, sir."

"You know, you people throw around the phrase 'if it weren't for so-and-so' a whole lot around here," he pointed out. "I'm going to have to ask for you to return with me to the SGC. The Daedalus leaves tomorrow morning for a resupply run."

"Yes, sir."

"You can expect to be detained for questioning immediately, after which we'll begin your special court martial papers. Out-processing can take several days, but your dismissal from the service should be finalized by the end of the week. You'll have to make your own transportation and lodging arrangements. Once you turn in your badges, tags, equipment, wings, and uniform, you will no longer be a member of the U.S. military and as such no longer entitled to any benefits thereof."

"Understood."

"You do know that a dishonorable discharge from the U.S. Armed Forces is equivalent to a felony, right? Your civil rights and privileges — voting, getting a car loan, finding a job, keeping your pilot's license — will be limited and/or revoked."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any questions?"

"No, sir."

He's barely putting up a fight. Feeling a pang of regret for the man, O'Neill wondered if he would have done anything differently had he been in the major's position. "Well, we're just about done here. You might want to start packing and saying your goodbyes."

"Not much to pack," John said with a forced smile, "and I doubt very many people would want to say goodbye to me, anyway."

"General, wait," Elizabeth called. For the last two minutes her feet had been rooted to the floor, her eyes locked on the exit, her brain screaming for her to escape and save her own skin. But it had never been like her to run. She turned to face her audience. "General, I'd like to say something."

Tossing his papers onto the table, O'Neill gazed at her in dismay. "What is it with you two? Did you sit down at breakfast this morning and decide to tag team this?"

"This isn't right."

"We've been over this, Doctor. I thought everyone was clear."

"Clear, yes… but this is unfair. I can't agree to this."

"Doctor, I empathize with you both, I really do, but someone's head has to roll. Major Sheppard is resigning his commission so it doesn't have to be yours. That was the deal: you stay, he goes. If I were you I'd say 'thanks' and resume your duties."

Elizabeth retook her seat beside John. "No."

"Elizabeth…" John cautioned.

"You wanna repeat that?" O'Neill questioned.

She thrust her chin forward in opposition. "I said no. I won't allow it."

"You really don't have a choice. The IOA—"

"The IOA is a bunch of fools sitting in cushioned chairs in pampered offices, with no clue about what really happens out here. You of all people know that, General."

Glancing at the recorder in front of him, O'Neill knew better than to agree.

Elizabeth went on. "I have spent my entire life fighting organizations like that, and I sure as hell am not about to lay down now and let them steamroll over one of the Stargate Program's finest officers without putting up a serious fight first."

"You know that they're one of the most powerful agencies in the world, a lot more powerful than one woman. They can squash you like a bug."

"They can try. I didn't get this far by rolling over." She cast an apologetic look at John, the irony of his similar words the day prior not lost on her. "You know what, set up a meeting with them," she said, standing once more. "I'll go right now. Dial the Gate—"

"I'm not going to dial the Gate, Elizabeth," O'Neill dismissed. "The ZPM is staying right where it is onboard Daedalus. Now sit down."

Atlantis' expedition leader remained standing, arms crossed.

O'Neill accepted her defiance. Despite his best intentions for the program, he knew they both viewed him as an intruder, the enemy. He may have been a member of SG-1, but that experience carried no weight here; he wasn't one of them. He couldn't fault them. He'd been in their shoes. He recognized that the bond teammates forged with one another, especially those formed through shared anguish and adversity, could never be appreciated by an outsider.

"I don't like the situation any more than you do," O'Neill explained, "but this could all be a lot easier than you're making it."

"I don't like what they're doing to one of my expedition members."

"He's doing it to himself, to save you. He made a choice."

"He shouldn't have to. This is wrong. He's saved my life, the lives of everyone here, this base — Earth, even — more times than I can count, and this is the thanks you give him?"

"Believe me," O'Neill said, "I'm not the bad guy here."

"Oh?" Elizabeth said, raising an eyebrow. "You know, General, I can handle sparring with the Genii, bickering with the Hoffans, and fighting against the Wraith. But what I can't take? Being spit on by our own people."

John placed a hand on her arm, trying to coax her into her seat. "Elizabeth—"

"You know, Dr. Weir," the general interjected, "when you asked me to persuade the major to come on this expedition in the first place, I wondered if you were wasting your time with a stubborn, insubordinate twit. I'm not seeing anything today that would indicate I was wrong."

"Only about the twit part," she grumbled.

O'Neill frowned. "If this is how diplomats handle negotiations then I have a lot to learn."

Elizabeth expounded. "Major Sheppard is every bit as stubborn and insubordinate as I need him to be. He's saved me from making multiple bad calls. I couldn't have done this without him."

"Well, you're going to have to start."

"That's not acceptable."

"Elizabeth, it's okay," John reassured. "Really."

She looked down at him. "Nothing about this is okay, John. I won't let you do this for me."

"You saved my career one year ago. Think of it as returning the favor."

"You may have been punished for doing the right thing in a past life. You may have had bosses that allowed others to kick you when you were down like some dog — hell, maybe they were the the ones doing the kicking. But that stops here. I won't stand for it."

"This is the U.S. military we're talking about."

"We're talking about your family, here." Her voice broke, recalling last night's cheap shot she'd taken at his splintered relationships. She loathed herself for it. "Atlantis is your home. You can't just leave it behind."

She was met with silence. His passivity astounded her. She felt the anger boil up within.

"Come on, you hardheaded son of a bitch!" she yelled, shoving him in the shoulder. "You've never stopped fighting for what you wanted — fight for this!"

John shook his head solemnly. "I'm done fighting."

"No! This doesn't work without you! I won't do this without you!"

"Dammit, Elizabeth," John declared, standing to confront her, "you're going to have to!"

An audible click spun both their heads round. General O'Neill held up the voice recorder; he had just depressed the pause button. He studied the duo in the beats of quietness that followed.

"Okay, what's going on here?" O'Neill asked.

"Sir?" Sheppard inquired, straightening his jacket and calming his nerves.

"I may not be the sharpest crayon in the box," O'Neill continued, pointing between the two, "but do you two have… a thing?"

"A thing?" Elizabeth repeated.

"A thing, a relationship. Involved. Dating."

John hesitated. "Define 'dating', sir."

With a groan, the general mused, "I think that's all the answer I need, but to be clear: are you two seeing each other?"

Glancing unconsciously at John, Elizabeth felt the heat rise to her cheeks, certain that her reaction would betray the truth. John merely stared at his shoes, responding with a quiet, "No, sir."

O'Neill remained unconvinced. "Let me rephrase, then: were you two seeing each other?"

Swallowing, Elizabeth answered shrewdly, "We… we were involved together, briefly, yes."

"Involved together. Briefly."

"But we realized it was unprofessional, irresponsible, and compromised the integrity of the expedition. So we ended it."

John shifted uncomfortably on his feet beside her, still rankled at how they had 'ended it'.

"I see," the general uttered, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "Dr. Weir, Major Sheppard. This isn't M*A*S*H. We don't sneak around with each another just because we're stationed remotely and it seemed like a fun idea at the time. Let me share with you some advice about getting too close to teammates—"

"If there's anyone at fault here, General," the major interjected, "it's me—"

"There's that interrupting again!" O'Neill exclaimed in astonishment. "When someone offers you advice, Sheppard, you had better take it. God knows you could use some."

"Yes, sir, but I want to make clear that I initiated the relationship. With good judgment, Dr. Weir opposed—"

"Let me stop you right there. If you're telling me that Elizabeth did not consent to whatever you had going, then we have a much worse issue to deal with and a whole host of Air Force regs and JAG-types to answer to."

Elizabeth felt herself wither with humiliation. "No, nothing like that, General," she managed to sputter out.

"Good. Now, both of you: shut up." O'Neill drew himself up in his chair. "As I was saying: I know I don't need to remind you of the United States Air Force's regulations on relationships while on assignment, Major, or you, Dr. Weir, of basic corporate policy on dating coworkers and subordinates. I didn't come prepared with the SGC's own guidance to throw in your faces, either. What I do think both of you need is some common sense. But we'll save that for another lecture.

"I wasn't kidding when I said I was going to give you some advice. Allowing yourself to develop feelings for a teammate is a dangerous thing. It can split your focus, cloud your judgement, and put the entire mission at risk. It can be used against you by enemies. It can cause resentment within the group. It can cause undue pain when, god forbid, something happens to that teammate. I'm sure I don't have to tell you two, of all people, about that.

"Now that's Air Force's stance on the matter. UCMJ Article 23, Section 12. I've been beat over the head with it once or twice. What they don't want to tell you is how powerful that relationship can be as a force of good. It's a strong motivator, more potent than any drug and stronger than any superpower. It will spur you on when nothing else can, keep you going when nothing else will, when you're sure you're beaten, done for, spent. You won't fail. You know you won't fail because that person made you feel like you could do anything, and you will do anything for them. You'll defend each other, fight for each other tooth and nail, and you won't let anything stop you — Christ, look at you both just now."

Listening to the fervor in his voice, Elizabeth could tell he was speaking from experience. She wasn't brave enough to press for details.

"Hell," he continued, "if everyone in the Stargate program cared as much about each other as you two obviously do, maybe we wouldn't lose so many people. Your feelings for each other are the only reason you both are still alive to hear this little lecture, I guarantee you that much. And the fact that you care just as much about this place and this mission… well, I couldn't ask for two finer leaders."

Knowing better than to thank him for the compliment, John and Elizabeth instead waited in tense silence for their sentence.

"I remember the first time I met you, Sheppard. You damn near me killed me in that helicopter, and I damn near killed you for not signing up for the program. I was not your biggest fan." O'Neill paused pensively. "I've always thought myself to be a good judge of character. Today might be the first time I was wrong."

John remained standing stiffly at attention, though he allowed himself an almost imperceptible smirk.

"And you, Dr. Weir," O'Neill continued. "You've got bigger balls than most other generals I've known. It's nice to see that hasn't changed."

True to form, Elizabeth awaited their fate, arms crossed.

"Where does that leave us, sir?" John asked pointedly.

"Great question. The way I see it, this expedition is a mix of military and civilian, so the UCMJ and corporate policies aren't exactly 100% applicable. And the SGC's codes… well, they're more like guidelines, anyway. But you two have got to learn how to forgive each other for giving a damn."

Gathering up his papers, O'Neill resumed recording and stood. "I'll make my recommendation to the IOA, namely that both of you stay as a package deal, but no promises," he emphasized, noticing Elizabeth's excitement. "I've lost more battles with them than I've won."

"Thank you, General," she gushed.

"Ah, ah, ah — you still got water in those ears? This is a long shot at best. Sheppard will probably still get the boot. But promise me this: if this decision doesn't go your way, drop it. I mean it."

"Yes, sir," John assented.

"Elizabeth?" O'Neill prompted, noting her silence. "I know how much you like to argue."

"I won't," she yielded.

"Good. Now go on, scram, both of you. I'll radio you tonight at 2200 hours with an answer."

Watching the pair leave, O'Neill thought to himself, Heaven help General Hammond if I was ever that difficult.

TBC