"You're a hero, Rodney."
As soon as the words left his mouth, John knew he meant them. All those years of training Rodney, trying to wring some of that callousness and conceit out of him so he could learn the benefit of true altruism, had finally paid off.
What John really had wanted to say was that Rodney McKay had finally grown up. But he highly doubted the astrophysicist would appreciate such a turn of phrase.
But it was true. The Rodney McKay sitting before him now was a completely different person, inside and out, and John couldn't help but take a little credit for that. When Rodney had first come to him he was an arrogant and self-centered ass. Now he was this selfless old man and John loved him all the more for it. He had to wonder, though… Did raising TJ have anything to do with it? Had fatherhood finally done what no one else in the universe ever could and softened Rodney McKay up?
"Oh man, sorry for the interruption," Even Lorne spoke up suddenly from the doorway of the lab. John and Rodney both looked over. "Sheppard, do you think I could borrow you for a few minutes?"
John glanced back over at Rodney. "Go," his friend said, though he looked a bit glum. "But come find me when you two are done. We can have dinner."
"It's a date," John said without really thinking about it. He abandoned his stool as quickly as he could and fled from the room.
When John stepped out into the warmer air of the corridor (why in god's name did they always insist on keeping the labs so cold?) he wasn't sure whether to thank Lorne for pulling him out of that room, or be irritated by his intrusion. Rodney had been so relentless in his attacks back there, dropping bombshell after bombshell on John as he scrambled for cover. He imagined he would be pulling shrapnel out of his side for weeks.
Rodney McKay was a father.
And not only was Rodney a father, but he'd raised Teyla's abandoned son. A son, John might add, Teyla herself had wanted him to raise should anything ever happen to her or Kanaan. That idea sounded so preposterous in his head. He just couldn't picture himself as a father, despite all Rodney had said.
And yet, when John did let that particular scenario play out in his head, he always went back to the same thing. All of them raising TJ together somehow. In fact, the more he thought about it… Papa John did have a nice ring to it.
Figuring it best to leave thoughts of fatherhood alone for the time being, John returned his attention to the man who had pulled him away. "What's up?"
"I'm sorry I interrupted, but there's something you've just gotta see," Lorne said, coaxing him down the hallway. "But we have to hurry. They're planning on taking her back to Atlantis in a few hours."
"Taking what back to Atlantis?" John asked.
"Oh, you'll see," Lorne teased. "But we really do have to hurry."
Sensing Lorne was not about to offer up any further details, John reluctantly followed.
"You didn't interrupt anything back there, by the way," he said a few seconds later, not really sure why. "McKay and I were just shootin' the breeze."
Lorne gave him a strange look over his shoulder. "I imagine you two have a lot to catch up on. 18 years is a long time and I know how close you were. Especially there at the end."
So Lorne suspects, John considered as they walked. That was pretty ironic considering John and Rodney had barely passed the realization phase of what might be happening between them before shit hit the fan and the whole world fell apart.
"Rodney definitely had a lot to tell me, that's for damn sure," John muttered, figuring it was just vague enough to be safe.
"That surprises me. Our Rodney isn't the most talkative of fellows these days."
John figured he could understand that. His friend had big secrets to protect now. "I got the impression his life was pretty normal after you guys brought down the IOA."
"Oh no," Lorne said, putting up his hands. "That was all Rodney. I got my ass hauled off to prison right after the war."
"You did what now?"
"The IOA had me arrested when I started insinuating that maybe they had something to do with your disappearance. They released me once Rodney worked his magic and brought them all down, though."
"So what!" John exclaimed. "I can't believe they did that to you."
Lorne shrugged. "I got over all that a long time ago. And besides, Rodney fixed it so there wasn't even a blemish on my record when it was all said and done. No harm, no foul."
They had arrived at a bank of elevators and Lorne swiped his security badge.
"But they threw you in prison…"
Lorne just shrugged again, though John thought he caught just the slightest hint of anger and resentment cross his second in command's face. John knew he wasn't the only one the IOA had screwed over that day. He just kept forgetting that some of them might still be here at the SGA with him.
Once the elevator arrived and the doors slid open, John followed Lorne in, chewing on what he'd just been told. It was kind of nice to know he maybe wasn't the only one having a hard time forgiving and forgetting everything.
"So you're really not gonna tell me where we're going?" he asked as he watched his friend stab at the button that would take them all the way up to the topmost floor.
"I'm taking you up to the helipad," Lorne replied with a hint of mischief in his eye.
John tried to think of what might be up there that could possibly interest him, but nothing really came to mind.
"How are you settling in?" Lorne asked him before John could question him any further. "Do you like your new quarters?"
"They're nice enough," he said. "Nothing like what we had on Atlantis."
"I heard they tried to put you in the VIP suite at first."
"Can you believe that?"
"Rodney and I tried to tell them that it was a bad idea, but no one would listen. I think they were trying to impress you or something."
But John wasn't interested in being impressed. He was interested in doing his job and was thankful Rodney and Lorne recognized that enough to try and tell the SGC they were stupid.
"I'm back down in the barracks now and happy to stay there."
"Well don't get too comfortable," Lorne said. "I've been talking to Landry. We're all trying to convince him to let us move everyone over to Atlantis."
John pulled his eyes away from the floor numbers he'd been counting to look back over at his friend. "Really?"
The prospect of being back on Atlantis full time was enticing to say the least. As much as John liked the Cheyenne mountain facility, he was eager to return to at least something that felt normal. He missed being able to walk past windows and actually see daylight. He needed open spaces and running routes that cut through fresh air. Not to mention scenery that was more interesting than the khaki colored green paint of the SGC. He was ready to go home.
"I can protect you and the other ATA carriers a lot easier over there," Lorne continued, "instead of ferrying you all back and forth every time McKay needs a light bulb changed. And I figure you can complete your training with Fitzpatrick just as easily over there, too. The only snag would be those USSF seminars you're supposed to attend."
"Oh yeah," John grumbled. He'd nearly forgotten all about those.
The elevator had reached the top floor and deposited them into a familiar corridor. The security checkpoint that John had gone through his first day back was unmanned and dark this time. Leading him to the conclusion that whatever Lorne was getting them into, it wasn't official or sanctioned.
"You're really not going to tell me where we're going?" he asked again.
"I'm really not," his second in command smiled conspiratorially as John followed him past the massive metal detector and on down the hall. "But trust me, Sheppard. You're gonna love this."
They'd reached the end of the hall and come to the heavy door that guarded this particular entrance to the base. It slid open as soon as they approached, a blast of cold air hitting John square in the face as it did. From where they had stopped just inside, John could tell it was one of those rare winter days when the sun had pushed past the steely gray clouds of it's midwinter den and decided to shine down on the world for a while. He looked over at Lorne, suddenly nervous and not sure why.
"Go ahead," he said with a promising smile.
Still nervous but curious as all hell now, John took a few steps out into the cold that even the bright sunlight couldn't chase away, and nearly grabbed a hold of the side of the mountain to steady himself.
Parked in the middle of the tarmac, glistening happily under the brilliant midday sun, and looking as beautiful and majestic as the last day he'd seen her, was none other than Jumper One.
Cold instantly forgotten, John stumbled forward a few steps. He put a hand out and ghosted his fingertips over the cool metal of her textured underbelly. He let them map out the ridges, lingering on several deep gouges on one of the drive pods that had never been adequately repaired. It was as satisfying a thing to do as it had been that first day when they discovered the jumper bay and John had found this beauty sitting out in the middle of the room.
John tried not to get overwhelmed as the past surged up to meet him as he began to circle her. But the memories didn't even phase him this time. Instead of panic, John just stood before the puddle jumper he'd always unofficially claimed as his own and let those memories of off-world missions and long-dead friends sweep over him without hesitation or regret. These were good memories, happy memories.
Jumper One was spotless and clean. A fresh coat of poly made the iridescent sheen of her original finish glimmer in the sunlight. When John reached the rear hatch it began to lower for him slowly as if in greeting and the ATA gene in his blood rippled up and down his arms. It was making his nerve endings tingle as he was drawn further into the rear compartment.
John was surprised that he hadn't been able to sense the jumper when they first got off the elevator. He was certainly feeling her now. And as he walked up the ramp and into the rear compartment with his heart nearly pounding out of his chest, the feeling seemed only to intensify.
Lorne came up behind him, but hung back, watching John the whole time with a satisfied smile on his face as John reacquainted himself with his long-lost friend.
Being inside the jumper was like visiting Atlantis all over again. But this time, John let himself power up the machines that were calling out to him. He accepted the connections that were held out to him like the handshakes in the Gateroom after his re-enlistment ceremony. He was surprised a moment later when the HUD before him burst into life in a flurry of activity and all the lights around them flared. John didn't know what to make of it. It was as if the jumper's systems were pleased to finally be interfacing with someone who actually knew what they were doing and who was supposed to be there.
"Can I?" he asked, tilting his head towards the pilot's chair. Lorne nodded excitedly.
John slid in as the blue and white grated lights set into the panels beside him lit up and bathed everything in a cool glow. He resisted the urge to run his fingers over the controls, knowing how ridiculous he'd look and settled instead on letting his mind relax. The feeling of being completely connected was intense. He requested a diagnostic and read through the readings that popped up on the HUD, even though he already knew what they would say.
"How's she looking?" Lorne asked, sliding into the co-pilot's chair.
"Purring like a kitten," John replied, smiling like a loon. He revved one of the drivepods for added emphasis.
"You want to take her out?"
John nearly lost his shit. "Seriously? Can I?"
"She was scheduled for a run today anyway," Lorne explained. "I was supposed to let one of the ATA gene potentials do it for practice, but I think this is a much better idea. Wouldn't you agree?"
Yeah, he agreed, and nearly jumped out of his chair to clap his second in command on the back to show his thanks.
"What about Landry?" he asked a moment later, suddenly very leary. "Did you run this by him?" Considering John had only been back on base for a few days, pissing off the boss didn't seem like the best idea.
But Lorne was waving him off. "Let me worry about Landry. This is more important. And don't ask me how I know, but I think she's been waiting for you."
Needing no further explanation than that, and before his brain could come up with any more excuses as to why this might be a terrible idea, John lifted the ship from the helipad, engaged the cloak with a mere thought and shot the puddle jumper up into the sky.
The feeling was exhilarating and instantaneous. John held nothing back as he climbed the gate ship higher and higher into the stratosphere, reveling in the fact that he could fly them to the moon if he really wanted to.
John closed his eyes as he sped them through layers of clouds and up towards the stars. He could feel everything, from the hum of the drivepods on either side of them to his connection with every racing electrical circuit and internal process within the jumper. There was so much information coming at him from all directions, but John had no problem deciphering any of it. Wind speeds, coolant levels, the state of the inertial dampeners… all of it washed over him as they flew, as familiar and real as he remembered.
This was the best thing to happen to John in days. As soon as they were high enough to be out of the path of any commercial flights that might be in the area, he set a specific course and engaged the autopilot. There was something he needed to do.
"Thanks for this Lorne," he said, turning in his chair.
"No sweat," Lorne replied, tearing his eyes away from the breathtaking vista outside the forward window. The sky up there was clear but just below them was a floor of fluffy white clouds. It was a canvas of blues and pinks with the sun blazing just off to their left. "Where are we headed?"
"I always told myself that if I ever got my hands on one of these babies on Earth I'd go fly laps around the Eiffel Tower," John informed his co-pilot, praying he'd not made an incorrect assumption that Lorne would be up for just about anything. "I hope you don't mind."
"Are you kidding?" his second in command replied, smiling widely. He put his feet up on the main console and sat back in his chair. John's first inclination was to yell at him for it, but what did it matter? Lorne was comfortable around John again and that fact alone excused him from any breach in decorum.
John settled back in his own chair and watched as thin wisps of cloud raced past the sleek body of the jumper as they careened across the miles.
"Can I ask you something, Lorne?" he asked after several minutes of silence.
Lorne looked over. "Shoot."
"Did you have anything to do with the hospital I ended up in after the crash?"
"You mean that one in Denver?"
"Yeah. I woke up there and everyone kept calling me John Evans. It made me wonder if maybe you had something to do with it."
Lorne's eyes went sad as he shook his head. "It wasn't me. I didn't even know you were missing until Rodney and Carson asked if I could help coordinate the search for you."
"I had a feeling you might say that."
"How so?"
"I figured if it was you who put me in that hospital with that name, then you'd eventually tell everyone where I was. When no one ever showed, I high-tailed it out of there. I kept the name though. Just in case."
"I wish it had been me," Lorne admitted sadly. "Carson told me about how he put you on a helicopter that they were supposed to take you to some hospital upstate. I guess you made it there, but then they decided to transfer you somewhere else because of your knee. They didn't have the right people there to handle your surgery or something like that. Anyway, you got transferred, but in all the chaos, no one could tell us exactly where. Everything was so crazy after the Wraith. A lot of people fell through the cracks that day."
"I can imagine," John said, considering all that Lorne had just told him. "When no one ever showed at the hospital, I figured it still wasn't safe."
"What did you do?"
"I snuck out one day. Stuck to cities for a bit while my knee healed, but then mostly state parks after that. I wasn't sure if anyone was after me or not, so I tried to lay low. After a few weeks, I mailed Rodney the evidence we'd gathered that day right after the crash, and that was that."
"And then you spent the next 18 years basically on the run and thinking we wanted nothing to do with you. And dealing with everything that happened with the Wraith on top of it all." Lorne stopped to whistle. "Shit, Sheppard. That must have been a difficult life."
"It had its ups and downs," he said with a shrug. Talk of his old life had John recalling something else he'd been considering asking Lorne about.
"Hey, I was wondering. Have you always been on the task force set up to investigate the sabotage?"
"Since the very beginning," Lorne replied. "Why?"
"If I tell you something, would you promise to keep it between us? At least until I figure out how I want to deal with it?"
"You have my word," Lorne promised.
John thought about how to ask his next question without it sounding like an accusation. But before he even could, Lorne was swiveling in his chair so they faced each other again. The Colonel's eyes were wide and earnest. "Look, Sheppard, I know we haven't seen each other in 18 years and that a lot of shit went down for both of us during that time. But I'm your guy. As far as I'm concerned, you were my CO the second you stepped onto this base. So whatever you need, you've got it. I'm there for you, no matter the cost, and with no questions asked."
John could feel that same sense of pride he'd been feeling towards Rodney swell up again in his chest. Lorne was promising loyalty. Raising his right hand and swearing allegiance. John was still trying to convince himself that he was deserving of such fealty, or even worthy of it, for that matter. But if accepting it might add more tally marks to the Team John Sheppard side of things, then maybe it was worth a shot.
"I spoke to a friend of mine in Blue River the other day," he went on once he was sure his voice would cooperate.
"That little town you settled down in?" Lorne asked.
"The same. She told me a man had been there asking questions. Everyone in town knows me as John Evans but this guy was apparently using my real name. No one was around that had actually seen him so I couldn't get a description, but it made me wonder. Did the task force send someone out there? Or did Landry mention something about wanting to know more about my life back there?"
"It wasn't the task force," Lorne replied, matter-of-factly. "I can promise you that. And as far as Landry is concerned, he's never mentioned anything about it to me. And even if he had, it doesn't sound like something he'd pull. Landry likes to attack things head-on. If he wanted to know something about you, he would just call you into his office and ask you about it point-blank."
John was satisfied with that. "You don't think it could be Woolsey, do you?" The mere mention of the man's name made John want to shudder.
Lorne shrugged. "I mean, I wouldn't put it past the guy. He's kind of been obsessed with you lately, but what would be the point?"
"I've been asking myself that exact same question," John muttered. None of Richard Woolsey's decisions over the past week or so had made much sense. Why had he sent Bradshaw to Blue River instead of alerting the SGC so they could send Rodney? Why had he shown up on base the other morning? These were not the actions of a sane man. It made him unpredictable, and John did not do well with unpredictable these days.
But when he really thought about it, John had kind of been hoping that Lorne would say Landry was behind it. Or agreed with him that Woolsey was to blame. Because if it wasn't either of them, then that left only one other option…
"I could ask Landry about everything if you're worried it has something to do with the sabotage," Lorne offered, seemingly reading John's mind.
"Let's hold off on that, at least for the time being," John said after thinking it over for a second. "My buddy in Blue River who actually talked to the guy is out of town right now but I'm guessing he'll be back soon. I want to talk to him first before I start making a big deal out of all this."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Lorne replied, giving John a half-hearted salute from the co-pilot's chair. "Whatever you need."
"Thanks."
"So," Lorne went on a moment later, smiling slyly. "Was this friend you had in Blue River one of the ups you mentioned in your little up and down life after the war?"
"Wouldn't you just like to know," John shot back, unsure if Lorne had picked up on the Carrie part of their discussion, or the Eddie. Even so, he was a bit shocked at his second in command's candor. Rodney apparently wasn't the only one who had changed over the years.
" Everyone wants to know, Sheppard," Lorne said with a laugh. "You wouldn't believe some of the rumors that are going around about you."
John raised an eyebrow.
"My favorite is the one from the guys in the IT department," Lorne went on. "They think you and Rodney have been shacking up in some cabin in the woods for the past 18 years."
John sputtered, trying to hide it with a laugh and the back of his hand and having a feeling he failed spectacularly. "They know he was married , right?"
If Lorne found John's behavior telling, he didn't let it show. "Of course they do. But when has that ever stopped the rumor mill around this place?"
"Speaking of the past 18 years," John said, desperate for a change in subject. It was killing him that he couldn't decide if Lorne suspected something had happened between him and Rodney before the war. "Besides prison, what have you been up to?"
"I hung around New York mostly. A lot of people went there after all that Hive debris hit DC and burned it to the ground."
"Yeah, I remember reading that," John said, recalling the newspaper headline informing him that debris from the very ships he'd helped destroy had made it through the atmosphere and taken out multiple cities around the globe. John wasn't sure if it was the remnants of the last ship he'd annihilated that had done it. He figured he could find that out if he tried hard enough, but maybe that was a stone best left unturned. John had enough to worry about already and adding the destruction of DC to the list of his sins didn't seem like such a good idea at the moment.
"Aw shit, Sheppard," Lorne said suddenly, putting two and two together as John withdrew. "I'm sorry. I never should have brought it up."
"It's fine," John replied, knowing he sounded far from convincing. They were near Paris anyway.
John tipped the nose of the jumper towards the Earth and chased after his plummeting spirits. The sun had long ago sunk below the horizon in this part of the world, and as they breached the cloud cover below, John nearly gasped. All of Paris lay before them, a network of illuminated streets and twinkling lights stretching as far as the eye could see. It was as if the city were nothing more than a huge pool reflecting the stars back up at themselves. Two heavenly creatures perpetually trying to outdo one another. The Eiffel Tower sat at the epicenter of it all, lit from within by millions of tiny lights and glowing so brightly, she dominated the entire cityscape. That's where John headed next.
The closer they got to the tower, the more details he could make out. People were milling about the vast promenades surrounding the tower. It was late winter so the pool had been emptied but that hadn't stopped a group of young children from playing some elaborate game of tag in the middle of it. The people below were completely unaware that an alien spacecraft hovered just above their heads.
"I've always wanted to do this," John said gleefully as they made their final approach. Lorne gripped the sides of his seat in anticipation, even though they both knew the inertial dampeners would keep them perfectly centered in their seats. The real rush would come from watching out the forward window.
John sped the jumper up, finding the controls he was looking for with a thought as they shot across the tower lawns. They were both pushed back against their seats a moment later as John lowered the levels on the dampeners. Lorne was practically vibrating with delight in his seat beside him.
John scratched a major item off his bucket list that night in Paris. Enough to sustain him through the entirety of their quiet flight home. They spent the time watching the sun slowly rise up over the horizon. When he eventually parked the jumper back up on top of the helipad, there was an angry-looking USSF officer waiting for them near the base door.
"Are we busted?" John asked.
"Nah," Lorne replied. "That's just Johnson. He coordinates all the jumper maintenance and flights these days. Just ignore him."
"He looks pissed."
Lorne peered out the front window. "Believe it or not, that's normal for him."
"If you say so," John chuckled, pulling himself up out of his seat.
"But just in case he asks," Lorne said a moment later, "just tell him this was all Rodney's idea."
When John finally got back to his quarters about an hour or so later, he was still riding the high of his jumper flight with Lorne. It had felt so amazing to get his ass back into a pilot's chair. And the fact that it was Jumper One? Well, that had just been icing on the proverbial cake. He was also thankful for the alone time he'd gotten to spend with his second in command, and for the answers his old friend had been able to provide.
John knew now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Lorne had nothing to do with him ending up in that Denver hospital. It had been nothing more than a mistake. A monumental, change the course of his destiny one that had separated him from a life that he loved for nearly two decades, but a mistake nonetheless.
What a fickle thing fate could be, John mused, dooming him one moment then changing the course of the stars the next. But hadn't his life just been a series of moments like those from the beginning? Hadn't fate been handing him these incredible adventures one after the other, just to rip them right out of his hands again once he started to get comfortable? There was no rhyme or reason to any of it and John figured the day he finally figured it all out would be the day he died.
Stifling a yawn, John let himself into his bunk with his badge and made his way across the room in the dark. There was an overhead light he could have switched on, but John much preferred the soft glow of his desk lamp. The red lights on the alarm clock he'd found tucked away in one of the nightstand drawers provided just enough light to keep him from running into the edge of his bed. His team was smiling up at him from a new frame when he eventually found the switch for the lamp.
Part of John wanted nothing more than to collapse onto his cot and try to get some shut-eye, but he also knew there were things he still needed to do. His conversation with Lorne back in the jumper had reminded him of Eddie, so he pulled the dusty, landline phone from its cubby and placed it on the desk. The cord was barely long enough to reach, but John figured he could make due. He settled into his chair, lifted the receiver, and dialed the base operator.
John was eager to know, once and for all, who had been to Blue River asking questions about him. Otherwise he was just going to keep obsessing about it. If it was just Woolsey or someone Landry had sent, fine. John would be pissed, but he could deal with that. Let them try and poke around into his past. Big deal. It wasn't like anyone in Blue River knew the real John Sheppard. Not really. If it wasn't Woolsey or the SGC… well that was an entirely different conversation.
The line rang in John's ear a few times before someone finally picked up. He half expected it to be his irritated lady from before and was pleasantly surprised when an older male voice answered.
"SGC Switchboard, how may I direct your call?" the elderly gentleman inquired, sounding friendly and obliging.
John explained what he was looking for, and this time the operator was more than happy to help. He slowly rattled off the numbers John requested, giving him plenty of time to scratch them down onto the pad of paper that had been sitting on his desk alongside a box of pens. When it was all said and done, they cordially wished each other a good afternoon and John hung up the phone. It was kind of refreshing talking to someone who had no idea who he was. To be certain that the operator wasn't about to turn to the person sitting next to them and whisper about who they had just been on the phone with. People were always turning to others and whispering about him now that he was back and John was getting a bit tired of it.
Leaning back in his chair, John contemplated his little list of numbers. There were only two. One was a number for the base that he could give out to the public. He wasn't going to need that number once the SGC finally hooked him up with a cell phone and a laptop, but it would be good to have in case he needed to leave another message for Eddie. The second number was for The Crabby Girl. John's irritated switchboard operator from before had neglected to let him write it down before connecting him without comment the other day.
John picked up the phone again and slowly dialed the first number on his rather short list. He couldn't decide which was worse, having to talk to Carrie again if Eddie wasn't there, or actually reaching Eddie himself for once. Whoever picked up, there was no denying that this was about to be a very awkward conversation.
"Crabby Girl Bar," an entirely unexpected voice greeted John after a few short rings.
"Is Eddie there?" he asked. The voice on the line was definitely not his friend's, though it did sound familiar.
"Nope. I'm sorry my dude, but Mr. Nostrand isn't in today."
"Can you tell me if he's back from his dad's funeral yet? I've been trying to reach him."
"No, he's still in Chicago. Is this John?"
"Who the hell is this?" he demanded, suddenly on high alert.
"Well, shit! It really is you, isn't it!" the voice exclaimed. "It's me, John! It's Davey from New Horizons!"
John let the tension fall away from his shoulders. Davey Callahan was a local kid who normally worked at Blue River's only working fuel station. He was also apparently helping to fill in at the bar while Eddie was away.
"How're ya doing, Davey?" he asked, instantly regretting it. It was common knowledge amongst the residents of Blue River that, unless you wanted to get trapped in the little store that sold cigarettes and a sorry selection of candy bars at the fuel station for hours, you never, ever asked Davey Callahan how he was doing.
Davey launched into a long-winded tirade that would have given Rodney a run for his money as he took John through every single event of note that had happened since John had been away. He sat through it all, though he did pull the handset away from his ear for a bit while he waited for Davey to run out of steam.
"That's really great, kid," John managed to interject several minutes later when Davey finally had to pause and suck in another breath. "You wouldn't happen to know when Eddie is due back, would you?"
"I'm not really sure, John. Carrie has been the one talking to him mostly."
"Did he happen to leave a number for his parent's house? I really need to get a hold of him."
"Yeah! Sure thing, just hold on a sec." John listened as Davey shuffled through some papers. He nearly smiled when someone at the other end of the bar bellowed for another beer.
"Can't you see I'm on the goddamn phone, Harv!" Davey yelled right back, and directly into John's ear.
"Here it is!" he finally exclaimed and John scribbled a new number down below the other two he'd gotten from the base switchboard operator. "You need his cell too?"
"Might as well," John replied as Davey began rattling off that number as well.
"Thanks, bud," he said as he recapped his pen.
"Any time," Davey replied. "But when are you coming back, John? We miss you around here. Carrie has been moping around the place for days."
"Soon, kid," John lied, trying not to let Davey's comment about Carrie derail him. "But I do have to get going. You take care of yourself, alright?"
"I will," Davey promised. "Talk to you later, Evans."
The line went dead and John replaced the handset. Glancing over at his alarm clock, he tried to remember what time it was in Chicago. He was pretty sure Illinois was either in the same time zone as Colorado, or at least one ahead. Either way, it was likely just approaching dinner time and John was conflicted. The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt a grieving family during their mourning period, or disturb them as they all sat down to share their evening meal. He would have much rather preferred leaving Eddie alone for the time being, but his need to know what was happening in Blue River was just too great.
John hated himself a little for doing it, but he made himself pick up the phone again and dial Eddie's parent's number. He used the end of his pen to punch at the phone and then gripped the receiver a little tighter. The line rang for several seconds before an answering machine kicked in and John had to decide if he would leave a message or not.
It was one of those automated greetings with a cold, computerized voice. John found himself wondering if Eddie's father had perhaps been the last one to leave a personalized greeting but the family had taken it down in their grief, leaving behind the generic, automated greeting that read off the number he was calling and asked him to leave a message after the beep. John wanted to leave one, even if it was just to offer some comfort; as bumbling as his particular brand could be. But as soon as the shrill sound of the beep filled his ears, John lost his nerve and hung up.
Picking up his little slip of paper, he dialed Eddie's cell number next. It was his last chance to leave a message. As luck would have it, the cell went straight to voicemail without even ringing.
"Hey big guy," John began, having to stop to clear his throat when his voice nearly failed him. "I heard your dad just died. I'm really sorry." John started fiddling with the phone cord, wrapping it around a finger in his nervousness. "I know you probably have a lot going on right now and that I'm the last person in the world you probably want to hear from, but Carrie mentioned something to me the other day and I need to check it out. I guess some guy was in town asking questions about me. Could you give me a call back when you have some time? I just need to ask you a few questions about him."
John picked up his little paper off the desk and read off the main base number. "That's where I'm staying. Just ask for... General Sheppard when you call," he forced out, trying not to picture how his friend might react once he heard that part of the message. A soldier in the military was something John could explain. But a Brigadier General? That was an entire conversation. "Someone will track me down right away. I'm really sorry about your dad, Eddie. I know how much he meant to you."
John hung up the phone, every bit of his good mood wrung out of him as if he'd just been sent through one of those old-fashioned clothes driers. The hand crank kind that squeezed out all the excess water. He needed to know what was going on in Blue River and the sooner he got his hands on a new cell phone, the better.
After a quick breakfast with Rodney the next morning in the mess, John found himself being summoned up to General Landry's office. The harried young man who'd been sent to deliver the message could not offer any explanation for why the General might want to see him. Of course, that didn't stop John from coming up with all sorts of horrible reasons for why he was being called into the principal's office as he made his way through the SGC. They ranged anywhere from word getting to Landry that John and Lorne had taken a puddle jumper out on an unauthorized flight, to something Fitz might have written in one of his reports. John knew every step he took around this place was being watched and reported, likely right back to Landry himself. The guy wouldn't be doing his job if that wasn't the case. But it still bothered him.
Of course, there was always the possibility Lorne had gone behind his back and told the General about John's visitor to Blue River. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he immediately dismissed it. Lorne had made his declaration of loyalty back in the puddle jumper, and John had no doubt in his mind his friend meant every word. What John suspected had him dragging his feet and taking his time, was that he was trying to decide if he would just come out and tell Landry all about it himself. Eddie wasn't answering his phone and the longer John waited, the muckier the waters got.
As much as he hated to admit it, John knew he needed to bring Landry in on this now. In fact, he probably should have done so the moment Carrie mentioned the unknown visitor. John had been spending so much time trying to convince himself that it was nothing more than Woolsey or the SGC poking around, but now that he'd had some time to think about it and discuss it with Lorne a bit, he knew it was time to come clean. He would have much rather kept his life in Blue River separate from this one, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. A naive pipe dream. Whatever the case, if there was even the slightest chance the visitor had something to do with the sabotage, then John needed to address it.
"You wanted to see me, Sir?" he asked a few minutes later as he poked his head in through Landry's open door. The general had to peek around a towering stack of paperwork on the edge of his desk.
"Sheppard, thank you for coming," he said as if John ever had any choice. "Have a seat. And please, call me Landry."
John took the chair he was offered, surprised yet again by the modernity of the space Landry surrounded himself with.
"Anything in particular you wanted to discuss?" he asked nervously once they were both seated.
"Not particularly," Landry replied. "I just wanted a chance to touch base with you. I know we're throwing an awful lot at you these days. In addition to your training and classes, I think it might be a good idea if we met up once a week to talk about how things are going. One on one, if that's ok with you?"
Weekly meetings with the boss didn't exactly sound like fun, but John was in no position to refuse. "Sounds good to me."
"Excellent," Landry said, sitting back in his chair. "So how are things going? I know we talked a little yesterday morning, but I wanted to sit down with you one more time to make sure you didn't have any more questions."
John had to wonder just how honest the general was expecting him to be. He was barely able to talk about this crap with Fitzpatrick. Landry had better be ok with the poorly written cliff's notes version of things he was about to get.
Last-minute, however, John decided to switch tactics. "Is there any way I could get a hold of a new cell phone and maybe a laptop?" he asked.
"That won't be a problem," Landry said. "They'll give you a secure laptop during your USSF training. I believe that starts tomorrow morning for you, correct?"
"Yeah," John replied.
"As far as the cell phone goes, I'm pretty sure they have a few ones to choose from down in the commissary."
As soon as Landry suggested the commissary, John felt like an idiot. How could he have forgotten the store on base that had just about anything a soldier could ever want to buy. "I'm not sure why I didn't think of that."
Landry waved a hand. "You just got back. No one expects you to pick right back up where you left off. We all need some time to adjust."
John had a feeling he wasn't the only one Landry was referring to. "I have another question for you, if you don't mind."
"Fire away."
Seeing no way to approach things delicately, John just launched right into his tale about the phone call he'd had with Carrie, leaving out as much personal information as possible while still painting an accurate picture of what was going on. He told Landry about the mystery man who had visited town a few days after he left and his worries about who it might be. He finished it off with an apology for not coming clean to the man before now.
He was expecting some admonishment, but Hank Landy Jr. just kept on surprising him. The first words out of his mouth after John was done weren't to question his loyalties. They were a promise.
"I'm going to have someone look into this right away."
"Thank you," John said, relieved to hear the General say so. "I hope you understand why I didn't say anything to you before now."
"I do," he said with a nod. "You assumed it was the SGC who was poking around in your private life."
"Well, when you put it that way…"
"Don't misunderstand me, Sheppard," Landry interrupted him. "You had every right to suspect the SGC. My predecessors destroyed your faith in this organization so it's only natural that you would think we were behind the visit to Blue River. What I'm thankful for is that, once you realized Mr. Nostrand wasn't calling you back, you felt comfortable enough to come to me with the issue. I can promise you the SGC had nothing to with it, for as much as that's worth."
"I appreciate that," John said, finding he meant it.
"I will also make sure this is handled with the utmost discretion. I imagine you don't want your friends in Blue River caught up in all of this."
John nodded, all the while chastising himself for ever thinking the General wouldn't understand his reluctance to bring more people in on what was going on. Or that the man would ever take offense to being kept in the dark.
"What I'd like to know is how they even knew I lived in Blue River. That isn't exactly common knowledge, is it?" John asked.
"Ever since we lost the ATA gene carriers we have been very careful with how the details of the Atlantis expedition are handled," Landry explained. "It's likely only someone involved with the mission would know the details of where you were living."
"Except maybe for the Office of Acquisitions," John pointed out darkly.
"Ah yes," Landry said, apparently needing no further explanation. "I'm headed to New York later this week. While I'm there I'll have a talk with Mr. Woolsey and his people and make sure none of them are involved."
"I'd appreciate that."
"I'm happy to do it," Landry assured him. "If there was a breach, I promise you again that it did not come from behind this desk. Not intentionally at least."
"Understood," John said with as much conviction as he had, because he did understand. Just like he understood that Landry was going to help him protect the people he cared about in Blue River. As far as he was concerned, General Hank Landry, Jr. was living up to his uncle's name.
"So, the drama in Wisconsin aside, is there anything else you'd like to discuss?"
"Not really," John answered honestly.
"Then let's plan to meet up again this same time next week. I won't keep you too long. I know what a busy man you've become." If that was a slight dig to let John know Landry knew all about the puddle jumper, he couldn't tell. "And my door is always open. Please feel free to come by any time, and not just during our weekly meetings."
John nodded and prepared to leave. He didn't get far before something else occurred to him. "Before I go, could I maybe ask you a favor?"
It might have been a bit early in their relationship for such things, but the General seemed amenable enough. He took off his glasses and set them on the desk. "By all means."
"Dr. McKay put in a request recently for a young man finishing up his ROTC training to be assigned to the SGC and join the expedition. I can vouch for this kid personally and I'd like to see that it happens."
Landry's head tilted to the side ever so slightly. John couldn't tell if it was because he was amused by John's request, or knew exactly why he was asking it. He was a difficult man to read at times.
"Consider it done," Landry said with a smile.
Over the course of the next few days, John fell into a kind of rhythm. His USSF training seminars had started up and they were just as boring as he'd been expecting. Hours of droning lectures given by men who had obviously never taught classes before in their lives. Training videos that reminded John a little of old army propaganda films. The only thing that got him through the endless hours of lectures was the weapons training that came right after. That was what John found himself looking forward to each day, his training sessions with Fitz coming in at a close second.
The moment that first paper target had come back to him with impressively grouped clusters of holes right through the head and heart, he knew everything was going to be ok. It was hardly a match for staring down the barrel at an actual living thing and pulling the trigger, but John figured that test would come much later. There had been no sweaty palms, no taste of something bitter at the back of his throat. Just calm focus and a few gasps from his fellow re-enlistees when the instructors gathered them all around his target to show it off.
Between his incredibly boring seminars and training sessions with Fitz, John rarely had any time to himself and even less of it to spend with his friends. As crazy as his life was now, there was order to the chaos, and John found he enjoyed it. It was nice to have some structure. To wake every day and know that every minute of his day had been planned out. Back in Blue River, his time was his own and he'd worried about coming back to military life with its strict regiments, but it was a lot like riding a bike. Once he got back on, and after a few dangerous wobbles, John was back to loving it all again.
Everything was coming up roses, as Carrie's Aunt Eileen used to say. Blue River was being taken care of. John was getting stronger and faster every day. The only thing bringing him down was the fact that Eddie had yet to call him back. There was a brand new little flip phone sitting at the edge of his desk back in his bunk. Every morning when John got up to check it, there were never any new messages. His texts and calls continued to go unanswered.
John decided to take out his aggressions over Eddie on the punching bag Fitzpatrick had him working the next time they met.
"Something on your mind?" Fitz asked him as a particularly nasty jab John sent into the bag sent him stumbling back a step or two. He was currently on the other side of it and holding it steady for John.
"Why do you ask?"
"No reason."
John jabbed then brought his other glove in for a vicious uppercut. "Maybe I do have a question.
"Hit me."
John obliged, imagining it was Fitz standing in front of him and not the punching bag. "What happens when I get back to Atlantis and get into my first firefight?"
Fitz rounded the bag so he could talk to John straight on. "You planning on getting into a lot of those?" he asked. "Firefights, I mean?"
"Not really," John admitted, lowering his gloves. "But when I used to go hunting with this buddy of mine back home I'd choke up every time it came down to actually shooting something."
"You're worried you won't be able to," Fitz said, rather than asked.
John sent a half-hearted jab at the bag that barely made it swing. "More like I'm worried I'll freeze and end up getting someone killed. Have one of those panic attacks again."
"You mean one of the panic attacks I haven't seen you have in days?" Fitzpatrick smiled. "Are those the panic attacks you're talking about?"
"Just because I haven't had one lately, doesn't mean I'll never have one again," John pointed out irritably.
"Said the patient to the psychiatrist," Fitzpatrick snorted. He watched John's form closely for a moment. "Have you been doing those arm exercises I gave you, or are we pulling our punches today for some reason?" It was a challenge, pure and simple, and John answered it gladly by attacking the bag with gusto.
"You mean, have I been doing the pull-ups you assigned me?" he asked a moment later, winded and sweaty but satisfied. "Yes, mom."
"Good. So do you know what's causing your panic attacks yet?" Fitzpatrick asked, springing the question on John without warning.
He paused mid-jab and stood back. "Some kind of PTSD I imagine."
He'd seen enough guys affected by it to recognize the symptoms. And he may have done a quick WebMD search the other day, but that was between John and the security analysts monitoring the internet activity on his super-secret spy laptop.
"So maybe you are as smart as everyone keeps telling me," Fitzpatrick ribbed him.
"I'm a soldier," he said simply. "Sometimes it just comes with the territory.
Fitz nodded. "And yet most of us are never man enough to admit that it's an actual thing we deal with." The way he said it made John wonder if the former Seal had perhaps had personal experience with it himself.
"But don't worry, Sheppard," Fitz continued, mistaking John's silence for worry. "You're doing a great job. We just need to figure out some way for you to be able to live with the past but not have it overwhelm you every time you close your eyes or get into an intense situation. That's what seems to cause it, right? Stress?"
John nodded.
"So what we need to do is get you into some kind of intense situation with your firearm where we can see how you'll react."
"And just how do you suggest we do that?" John asked, slightly perturbed at where Fitz might be going with this.
"Not go and take people out from a bell tower, if that's what you're thinking," the former SEAL said, clearly amused. "I think we should try something like paintball. That would give us an environment that's not going to put you in any real danger, but can still simulate battle. If I can organize something like that, would you be up for it?"
"Hell yeah, I'd be up for it!" John said, liking the idea more and more the longer he thought about it. "Just make sure to schedule it during one of my USSF classes."
That made Fitz laugh. "I make no promises."
John wasn't comfortable with the idea of going to Pegasus unprepared and this way he would at least have a way to test himself. A way to find out if he really was on the mend like Fitzpatrick seemed to believe, without anyone getting hurt if he ended up freezing in the middle of it all. And if John could convince Carson and Rodney to go, well then maybe he could dish out a little payback while they were all having a bit of fun. Then again, maybe it wasn't such a great idea. John could just imagine what they would look like, a bunch of old men running around aiming paintball guns at each other's arthritic joints... Why was it so hard to remember he wasn't 35 anymore?
"I'm gonna set it up," Fitzpatrick was saying and John nodded as he started to take off his gloves. "Who says we're done?" the SEAL asked when he realized what John was doing. He wiggled his sore fingers, apologizing to them for the continued abuse before shoving them back into his gloves.
"So I heard this rumor," Fitz continued once John was back in front of the bag.
"Oh yeah?"
"A little birdie told me you might have woken up screaming that first night you got here." John paused mid jab.
"And where did you happen to hear that?" he asked, even though he knew full well there was only one other person in the VIP suite with him that night. If he ever figured out who was on guard, he was going to put them on latrine duty for the rest of their career.
"I have my sources," Fitz replied as John resumed his jabs. "Nightmares are a pretty normal thing to deal with. Especially with trauma like yours."
John tried to think back to last night. He was pretty sure he'd slept all the way through without incident. He knew a lot of that was to do with the intense physical demands he was putting on his body, but John thought he might have an idea of what was really going on.
That big, ugly nothing that used to live inside of him was slowly eroding away. Enough that sometimes, when he closed his eyes, John could almost imagine that it had never been there in the first place. Things still blindsided him from time to time. Memories would still reach up from the past and try to choke him when he least expected it, but John could no longer deny that he was starting to feel something that looked and felt a little like peace.
"I haven't had a nightmare since that first day back," he admitted as he landed a heavy punch to the bag that sent Fitzpatrick stumbling back half a step again.
"What was that for?"
"Nothin'," he muttered, knowing full well what it was for.
He knew he was supposed to be talking this shit out with Fitzpatrick, but the fact the former SEAL knew about that nightmare he'd had at all was pissing him off. It meant people were talking about him behind his back. That was something he knew was bound to happen, but still made him want to punch things. He'd always been a private person, and no one was ever going to beat that out of him. No matter how hard they tried.
John was the king of stoic. As long as he could hide what was really going on and save the people around him from even more pain and worry, then he was a happy camper. Being expected to talk about this crap every single day was exhausting. If he didn't have the base gym and the shooting range, John might have considered packing it all in and leaving. He could suggest some deal where he came in the day they got Atlantis ready for flight or something, and then gated back to Earth the next. Maybe then he could protect everyone, especially Carrie and Eddie in Blue River.
John hadn't thought much about Carrie the past few days and her face swam to the forefront of his mind. That woman, despite his best efforts, had seen through all the bullshit. She'd made that perfectly clear that last morning in the cabin. If she got roped into all of this, John would never forgive himself. She would have to be given at least some of the details. He would have to tell her how he'd been directly involved in one of the most devastating events in human history... and she would hate him for it.
"Yo! Sheppard! Where you at dude?" Fitzpatrick called to him a second later, coming around the side of the bag again.
John realized he had stopped moving.
"Just thinking shit over," he mumbled and redoubled his efforts at trying to destroy the sand-filled bag hanging from the ceiling in front of him.
"You wanna talk about it?" Fitzpatrick asked, face taking on an amused expression as he silently acknowledged how clichéd the question really was.
John stopped the swinging punching bag with a shoulder. He was sweaty and out of breath again and leaned against it heavily.
"So, there's this woman…" he started, not really believing he was about to share all of it with Fitzpatrick so soon after deciding he was pissed at the guy for snooping.
"The girlfriend in Wisconsin?" the former SEAL asked and John narrowed his eyes.
"So you know about her, huh?"
Fitzpatrick shrugged. "I'm not stupid Sheppard. I can't imagine someone going 18 plus years without a relationship. Not even you."
John looked away.
"Were you two close?" Fitz pressed.
"I guess."
"You don't sound very convinced."
"It's just…" John sent a halfhearted jab at the bag, "she doesn't know anything about what I do here and I'm just wondering how she'd react if she ever found out."
"You mean if she knew you had been involved in The Great Culling," Fitzpatrick stated, seemingly reading John's thoughts and calling it what it was despite John's best efforts at dancing around it.
"I guess."
"Do you blame yourself for what happened?"
Jesus. "Maybe… or at least I did for a long time."
"Even though you had no knowledge of what they were making you do?" Fitz pushed on.
"I don't know!" John said, exasperated with the questions even though he knew he needed to face them. He punched idly at the bag again making it swing on its chain. "I was still the one in the chair. Those were my drones that destroyed all those ships."
"You and that kid in the control chair at Area 51," Fitz pointed out.
"I guess so." John had nearly forgotten all about him.
"Do you think that kid in the chair is to blame at all?"
"Couldn't tell you, never met the guy," John deflected a little flippantly.
Fitz seemed to be getting annoyed and let out a frustrated sigh. The move was pretty out of character for the normally unflappable SEAL. "Alright then, look at it this way," he went on in spite of his obvious annoyance at John's attitude. "Would you have blamed, let's say, Dr. McKay if he had been the one flying the city that day?"
John had never really stopped to think of it that way. The answer was, of course, absolutely not. In fact, he'd probably be the first to grab Rodney by the shoulders and tell him that none of it was his fault. Just like everyone was doing to him…
"Shit," John muttered.
"You see!" Fitz said, looking smug. "Sometimes all it takes is a different perspective. There are other people out there who are to blame for all this, Sheppard. It's certainly not you or that poor kid they stuck in the chair down on Earth. It was the decision-makers and those that let it happen, not the poor souls they tricked into executing that decision, that are the true villains of our story, wouldn't you agree?"
"I guess I see your point," John admitted begrudgingly.
"Good," Fitz smiled crookedly. "Then there may be hope for you yet, Sheppard."