It was like she was always about to lose her balance. That was the only thing Carrie Sinclair could come up with to adequately describe what she'd been feeling for the past several days. Unsteady. Off-kilter, maybe? Whatever it was, the sensation was constant, rocking her center of gravity back and forth until she wasn't sure she'd ever find sure footing again.
There was madness in the world again. She had worked so hard just to make sense of things after The Great Culling. Now she felt as if everything was unraveling around her again and the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely was John's warm hand in hers. Carrie held onto that hand tightly, convinced she was the only thing keeping John tethered in place right now, when in fact, it was quite the opposite. He was the one helping her to stay grounded, and she clung to that. Hardly daring to let go lest they both float away forever.
Carrie was in the back of a spaceship. An honest to god spaceship she'd had to sign a waiver and a mountain of non-disclosure forms just to be able to see . It was currently hurtling her and about ten other men towards a place that people had only vaguely hinted at so far.
Atlantis.
It was a city spoken of in whispered conversations that she couldn't quite make out, followed by suspicious glances in her direction. She kept wanting to let go of John's hand and explain to them all that she wasn't some fragile little flower. No one had to handle her with kid gloves and she was capable of handling whatever they decided to throw at her next. But she never did. She stayed quiet and watchful and now she was kicking herself a little for it.
They thought she was in over her head. Well, Carrie was the daughter of a soldier, and her father had led their family the same way he'd led his troops. She'd been navigating minefields and Army bases since long before half the soldiers in the back of this flying saucer with her had even been born. All of this Military mumbo jumbo was second nature to her. Or at least, it should have been. This world that John had somehow managed to keep hidden from her was threatening everything she'd ever held as true. Aliens were real and men walked among the stars. She'd heard rumors of all this after The Great Culling, but nothing could have prepared her for actually seeing it with her own eyes. Or to get over the fact that her ex-lover had basically been the focal point of it all.
This entire affair had Carrie questioning her very place in the universe, and it was downright frightening at times.
The upheaval of her carefully ordered world had begun four days ago when Sean Fitzpatrick appeared on Eileen's front porch, dripping melted snow onto the floorboards in her mudroom. He'd coaxed Carrie out of her door with promises of seeing John again, and she'd fallen for it. Hook, line, and sinker. Like the rest of them, she'd been drawn into that man's elaborate net of lies and madness and been snared. And now here they all were, sitting in the back of something they called a puddle jumper and headed to an ancient alien city on the thin hope that taking John there might somehow save his life.
The spaceship Carrie was in had two rows of bench seating on either side of its rear compartment. Carrie was sitting on one of those benches, sandwiched in between two very young-looking USSF officers. Every so often she would pull her eyes away from John's battered face to study her surroundings. The construction of the ship was unlike anything she'd ever seen before, but it also held just the slightest hint of the familiar. As if she were somehow connected to it all. Or like the people who built it were a part of her, only so many thousands of years stretched between her lifetime and theirs that the connection was little more than an abstract thought in the back of her mind.
The craft felt almost alive at times. Unseen systems hummed behind the metal plates at her back. The grated floor vibrated ceaselessly beneath her borrowed boots. There seemed to be this power that coursed through everything at all times. It came up through the soles of her feet. Lingered for a moment in the muscles of her calves before moving up into thigh, torso, and then arm. When it finally reached her hand, the sensation sat sparking between the link her skin shared with John's as she continued to clutch his hand.
John's gurney had been wedged into the narrow space between the two rows of seats. It sat there in that middle ground like some kind of dividing line separating Carrie from the sad, yet determined faces of his friends. No one had meant for it to happen. This unintentional barrier had just somehow cropped up between them. It inadvertently separated old from new. The clumsy uninitiated from the seasoned grandmasters.
Carrie tried her best not to let their intense scrutiny bother her, but she was getting a little tired of the penetrating gazes she met every time she looked up.
John's friends had been studying her for quite some time. Their eyes never held any malice - they weren't looking at her like some kind of interloper. Well, not all the time anyway. There was just unsettled wariness that Carrie figured she could understand some of it. This was their world, not hers. Her knowledge of this place stemmed from a few hushed conversations she'd had with General Landry out in the hallway just outside John's room. Carrie had a general idea of what they had all gone through now, but it was vague at best, and made up mostly of her own conjecture.
Winning them all over was going to take time. Carrie got that. She would try, of course, and who knew? Maybe by the time they got John settled into the infirmary on Atlantis, she could convince them she was as worthy of being at John's side as the rest of them. She figured she'd earned at least a few points for sticking around so far.
So many people had been trying to talk her into leaving. Not anyone here in the jumper with her, but others that had arrived on base once news of what happened finally reached other parts of the world. They'd tried to convince her how it would be better for all involved if she just forgot about this place and went home. Just go back to the life she'd left in rural Wisconsin and pretend John Sheppard never existed.
But he did exist. And this awful thing had happened. There would be no forgetting this place or the people she'd met. Carrie had seen too much blood for that now. She knew what it sounded like when brains splattered against the wall. She was as much a part of this as any of them now, no matter how hard they tried to push her out.
Carrie shivered as the memories of that cottage impacted her again like the bullets had impacted John. She closed her eyes against a full-body shudder and watched helplessly as they played out again in gruesome detail in her mind. It was like the memories had been captured onto a warped vinyl record. It kept tripping over the same terrible moment over and over again, forcing her to relive it on repeat each and every time she closed her eyes. It was beginning to drive her mad. It made her wrists begin to burn with the sense memory of abrasive rope. Skin prickle as phantom hands were once again manhandling her into a chair, smashing across her face when she resisted with all the violence she could find within herself.
It had literally been hell on Earth in that cottage, but she didn't open her eyes again to try and escape from the memories. She let them continue to play out because anything was better than having to think about how many times John had been shot. Or remember that dull thud his head made when it hit the wall behind him, knocked back by the force of the bullets ripping through his chest.
Carrie had a new respect for guns. Most people got to live their entire lives without ever having to see what they could do to bodies or two brains. She'd had the unfortunate pleasure of being forced to see the effects of those bullets not once that day, but several times. In fact, the unforgiving grey barrel of a gun pointed directly at her own head should have been the last thing she ever saw. But John had saved the day. Sweet, quiet, loyal John had pulled that madman's focus away from her and now he was paying the ultimate price.
Carrie forced her eyes open so she could look back over at John again. If only he would wake up. If only she could get one more chance to say all the things swirling around in her brain. And she had so many questions .
John had never stopped trying to protect her that day, she knew that much at least. She knew that half the reason her wrists were bandaged were because of the cuts she had inadvertently inflicted on herself with the tiny pocket knife he'd slipped her. The small tool hadn't been enough to free her from the pressure switches she was sitting on, but it had gotten her hands free. If Sean Fitzpatrick had decided to come after her once Woolsey was dead and John was down, she would at least have had her own fists to fight back with. Not that they would have done much good against the gun.
Carrie let out an involuntary shudder as the memory of Richard Woolsey being shot came back to her next. That look in Sean Fitzpatrick's eye as he pulled the trigger, like he was angling for first prize at the county fair, would haunt her until the day she died. Carrie's shudder had been noticed and three pairs of concerned eyes seemed to focus on her all at once.
Carrie caught Dr. Beckett's gaze first, though he looked away quickly. His face was ashen and a thin sheen of sweat was glistening on his brow. For a man who had just been poisoned, Carrie was amazed he wasn't on a gurney himself.
Dr. Beckett had chosen the seat right next to the wall that separated the jumper's rear compartment from the main cockpit. There was an oxygen tank captured between his knees and he was resting his head against the wall. Carrie didn't know the first thing about cyanide poisoning, but judging by the state of the doctor, it didn't appear to be any fun at all.
Carrie hadn't been able to say more than a few words to the man since he'd recovered from his coma, but she had a feeling she would inevitably like him. He had a genuine smile and kind eyes. They hinted at intelligence yet also spoke to a vast capacity for empathy. He was the architect of this desperate little mission of theirs and she'd actually been catching his eye fairly regularly over the course of the past few days.
Sitting next to Dr. Beckett with arms crossed over his chest and brow furrowed, was Dr. Rodney McKay. His eyes rarely ever left John except on the rare occasion when he stopped to scrutinize Carrie. She tried not to take it personally. Dr. McKay was apparently very protective of John, and fiercely loyal. All of them were, and that was the only reason Carrie didn't let any of it bother her. She got it. Rodney just wanted to protect his friend and that was something Carrie could get on board with.
Letting her eyes settle on John again, Carrie took in the injuries still lingering on his face. Red and blue bruises had blossomed up on his skin to mix with the yellows and greens of older trauma. One of his eyes was still swollen shut as well. She mapped all the injuries that were visible with her eyes, resisting the urge to lift her hand and do it with her fingers instead. There were scars she'd never noticed before and healing cuts with stories behind them that she could only guess at.
The urge to reach out and touch John was strong. To smooth back the errant strands of hair stuck to his feverish forehead. Offer up her own clumsy brand of comfort to a man who would neither feel it, nor wake up because of it. If there hadn't been six or seven other men in the puddle jumper with her right then, she might have done it. Instead, she looked up to catch the eyes of TJ.
TJ was Carrie's favorite so far. The young man was sitting just to the right of Dr. McKay, sneaking worried glances at him with all the concern of a dutiful son. Carrie examined their faces carefully, looking for any similarities in their bone structure and finding none. There was a story there, she just knew it, but it was hardly her place to ask.
Every time Carrie locked eyes with TJ his face would light up with an infectious smile she couldn't help but return. He was new to all this too, just like her. He had likely been given a far better introduction to everything than she had, being Rodney's son and all, but they were still in this together. His presence was constantly blasting through the ice that had formed around them all like one of those ships built for the sole purpose of clearing out clogged harbors.
The final seat in the row was occupied by a man people had been whispering about from the moment Carrie left the infirmary. Colonel Evan Lorne was quickly becoming a legend around the SGC, if the whispers were anything to be believed. He had been the mastermind behind her rescue. The one who had knelt beside her chair to diffuse the bomb she'd been strapped to. He cast his eyes back to the floor when he realized she had caught him staring again. Before all this was over, she had to remember to thank him.
"Carrie, TJ, would you two come up here please?" General Landry requested from the forward compartment a moment later and Carrie reluctantly let go of John's hand. She placed it back where she had found it, reaching out one final time to feel the warmth of his skin. In a fit of carelessness, she leaned over the railing and pressed a kiss to the overheated flesh of John's forehead. She didn't care that everybody saw and followed TJ into the main cockpit area a moment later without looking back.
Carrie could feel that strange, permeating energy even more up in the forward compartment. It called out to her as she sat down in the chair General Landry waved her into with tingling fingertips and the slightest hint of vertigo. She'd never felt anything like it before and looked around the cabin trying to find some explanation for the peculiar sensation. Something unseen was sensing her, assessing her, putting out a hand almost, but she didn't understand what it was or what she was supposed to do with it. No one else in the cockpit seemed affected either, but maybe that was just because they were all used to it by now. Whatever it was, Carrie pushed the feeling aside and tried to focus on what Landry was saying to her. He was turned a little in his seat and talking over his shoulder.
"Most of us have already had the pleasure of seeing this, but I wanted you two to have a front-row seat."
The puddle jumper was approaching the San Francisco Bay now. Carrie sat forward in her seat to marvel at the iconic red bridge growing larger in the forward window. She'd never seen the Golden Gate Bridge before and the sun was sinking behind it in the west, setting a thin layer of clouds huddled around it on fire in a riot of red and orange hues. Bold fingers of golden light were breathing through the wispy cloud cover to stretch across the darkening lavender and navy sky. There was a mirror image of the entire scene reflected in the choppy waters beneath the horizon. It was absolutely breathtaking, yet Carrie's eyes kept searching for any hint of distortion. There was an enormous alien city lying hidden and cloaked somewhere in the water below, only she couldn't find any sign of it.
When the puddle jumper finally broke through the undetectable barrier separating city from sky, Carrie couldn't help the fact that her mouth fell open. She put a hand up to hide her surprise, but everyone in the cockpit had seen. They shared amused glances for a second as she drank in the view, utterly transfixed. Even young TJ had moved forward in awe.
Atlantis was massive. Larger than she ever could have imagined. It sat shimmering pink in the slowly fading light of dusk. The image of it pulled her bodily up and out of her chair. Tiny pinpricks of light were popping up along spindly towers all over the city as lights came on in preparation for the coming night and it was like watching a million tiny little stars ignite one by one. The city welcomed her with open arms and she was overwhelmed for a moment as the puddle jumper began a smooth descent towards a clustered mass of towers near the city's center. She gripped the back of the pilot's chair, earning her another amused look from the kid piloting the jumper.
"Oh Johnny Boy," she muttered without meaning to, but no one really heard.
How in the world had John kept this from her for so long? How had she not been able to see the evidence of this place hiding behind his eyes every time he talked to her about the past? My god, it must have destroyed him being torn away from such a place, and for so many long years, and she'd had no idea. Not a fucking clue.
Atlantis rose up from the bay like an ancestral statue. She could practically feel the power radiating from it, reaching out for her constantly. She prayed that it was enough to give them the miracle they were all looking for in bringing John back here.
For as long as Carrie could remember, the world had felt like such a desolate and lonely place. The Wraith had come to prove to them all that they were not alone in the universe, but that revelation hadn't brought the hope mankind had been searching for. Fear and uncertainty, maybe, but never hope. Atlantis was like the counterweight to that. It's gray skin reminded her of the bellies of the great wide ships her father used to take her to see as a child. The ones they sent out into international waters with reinforced hulls to try and keep the peace.
Carrie glanced over to TJ who was standing beside her, watching the ancient city approach. Their wide eyes met for a moment in the space of the forward compartment.
"Holy shit!" the young man mouthed before going back to looking out the window. Carrie shared his sentiments.
The puddle jumper pilot maneuvered the ship expertly down and through a door that opened up beneath them, revealing the bowels of some kind of dimly lit hangar bay below. There were other ships just like it tucked away in compartments lining the far walls. Still more sat out on the open floor in various stages of disrepair. Though Carrie could spot evidence that people had only just recently been working on them, tools lay abandoned on the floor and there was no one around that she could see.
Carrie felt nervous all of a sudden. This was it. The moment everyone had kind of been trying to prepare her for with all their backwards talk and military innuendo. She was about to face the unknown. She would do it, of course, but that didn't keep her palms from sweating or her heart from thumping against her chest wall. Atlantis was a far cry from the withered winter cornfields of southern Wisconsin and she felt lost almost. Adrift in a sea of things she couldn't possibly hope to understand. The feeling was messing with her center of gravity again and TJ, as if sensing her rising anxiety, appeared at her elbow.
He was holding an arm out, offering her its support. She took it, thankful for the small gesture of mercy from a kid who was showing wisdom beyond his 18 odd years.
"You ready?" he asked quietly as the rear hatch began to descend behind them.
Carrie shrugged, unsure of what the answer to his question was. She probably wasn't, but she let TJ lead her away anyway.
The room they exited into was cavernous. It had been dimly lit by random pools of white-hot light cast down onto the floor by overhead lamps hidden somewhere high above. Everything simmered in a khaki haze that reminded her a little of the past, but those thoughts were quickly chased away by the scene laid out before her. It stole her breath and caused her steps to falter. TJ was still there and held on tighter to help keep her from falling.
There were hundreds of them, stretching out in two long and winding lines from rear hatch all the way over to the large bay doors that lead out of the bay and into the main part of the city. Shoulder to shoulder the men and women stood together in silence, a mix of soldier and scientist. The path they created with their solemn figures was a line of navy dotted with white. The reverent silence that had descended around them spoke more eloquently than any soliloquy ever could.
Carrie's heart was in her throat. She knew that John had been important to the people here, but this benevolent show of respect was something else entirely. There were so many people and each of them either saluted as John's gurney passed or inclined their heads to bring a fist up to heart in a quiet display of veneration. It was impossible to describe the feeling in that hanger bay, and Carrie didn't even bother to try.
It was as if the whole of Atlantis had been emptied. Every face they passed held evidence of a life touched by a single man, and it was as devastating as it was beautiful. She didn't know anyone in the crowd and yet still felt a kinship to each and every one of them. Their shared prayers for the man on the gurney made them all family, and if there was one thing in all the world that Carrie Sinclair cherished, it was family.
She was quickly coming to the realization that John Sheppard's family was enormous. And that his exile in Blue River must have been the most terrible thing in the world for someone like him. All this had been ripped from his hands because of an event she was still trying to get people to explain to her. Whatever it was, she knew it was big. Enough to drive John away from a life he loved for nearly two decades.
As John's gurney finished its journey down the ranks of men and women who had all come to pay their respects to their brave and fearless leader, Carrie Sinclair tried desperately to see it for the celebration of life that it was, and not the funeral march it could very easily become.
Being on Atlantis was just as incredible as admiring her from afar. Everywhere Carrie seemed to look during that first day, alien architecture jumped out at her and it was absolutely magnificent. She had no other word to describe it.
Where Cheyenne Mountain had been cut from living rock and hidden deep underground, Atlantis embraced the sky. She entombed it. Mimicked it almost.
The city was constructed from airy corridors and rooms so massive Carrie had to squint up just to find the ceilings at times. Everything was so elegantly carved and on such an enormous scale that she'd often walk into rooms and have to stop for a moment just to reorient herself. And she'd never seen so much light before. It saturated everything and although she'd only seen a fraction of the city so far, she already felt at home inside of it. She'd walk into a room and that strange energy would be there waiting. It would reach for her, welcome her in, invite her to connect to something she still didn't understand. Entire rooms seemed to come alive the moment she entered them and Carrie wasn't sure if she should be elated over this strange power she apparently had over the lights, or terrified of it.
Even though Atlantis felt awake and alive around her, she couldn't help but notice a shallow undercurrent of sadness that seemed to permeate every facet of the city since they'd arrived.
It was as if Atlantis knew . Like she could sense what was happening with John somehow and was mourning for him just as hard and as desperately as the rest of them were. At times the sadness was so palpable Carrie had half a mind to run her fingertips along a wall and try to soothe the hurt a bit. She kept meaning to sit Rodney down and ask him about the strange things she'd been experiencing, but the timing just never felt right.
Carrie spent most of her time in a chair beside John's bed. For the past several hours she'd been listening to his friends reminisce about the shenanigans they had all gotten up to before the war. Stories they no longer seemed to care if she overheard or not. She'd finally been accepted into their bubble. She sat at the edge of it as unobtrusively as possible, trying not to give them any reason to force her out again.
She liked these men. She'd even invented a new kind of game with them to help take her mind off things, if only for a moment. Carrie would study them each in turn, thinking back on long-forgotten nebulous conversations she'd had with John about the past and try to decide which of the friends he might have been talking about. His stories had always seemed to revolve around the idea of someone, never an actual person, but as she watched the three friends talk, she was starting to connect some of the dots.
Dr. Beckett was the fatherly figure spoken of often but with the slightest twinge of regret, like there was more to the doctor's story than John was willing to share. Rodney was the one John always mentioned the most. His well-meaning know-it-all sidekick that had gotten John into more scrapes than he cared to admit, but who had remained a steadfast friend in his eyes, even after so many years apart. Of all the people John had cried out for in his sleep over the years, Rodney's name had always been the one that stuck with her.
Then there was Evan Lorne, the unwavering second in command whose loyalty was absolute. The consummate soldier who would gladly lay down his life for a friend, and had several times for John. These friendships ran like a vein through all the ill-defined pieces of the past John had chosen to share with her over the years. Most of that had been accidental, but even so, Carrie felt like she genuinely knew these people.
Carrie wasn't stupid. She knew that to them she was nothing more than a tolerated outsider at present, but she could tell she was slowly managing to worm her way into their hearts... at least a little. The chair she was sitting in now was evidence enough of that. It always seemed to remain open for her, even during those times when she had to step away to pull herself back together again every time the doctors came in to announce that John was still headed in the wrong direction.
He'd been back on Atlantis for half a day now and they were all waiting around anxiously for the miracle that had yet to show its face. There had been a measurable uptick in the number of bedside visits by John's doctors and Carrie knew Carson Beckett was taking John's lack of progress the hardest. Relegated to the uncomfortable role of patient, he'd been fighting the infirmary staff tooth and nail until his bed had finally been pushed up beside John's in an attempt to appease him a bit.
Carrie could tell that today had been particularly hard on him because he was lying back against his pillows and looking careworn and drawn. The nasal cannula that had been a regular visitor on his face had been replaced today by a clear mask covering nose and mouth. He pulled at it greedily at times, droplets of condensation gathering on the insides and fogging up the plastic.
Every so often he would reach up as if he were about to pull it away from his face, and every time he did, Rodney McKay would slap his hand away and glare. The nonverbal communication that sparked between them said everything.
Don't do that , Rodney's eyes would plead. I can't lose another friend today.
And so they sat crowded around the converged beds. A ragtag group of weary friends trying to fend off despair even as it sat circling above their heads like a kettle of vultures after their carrion. They were 5 completely different people, not a shared drop of common blood among them, yet bonded together in a way that was stronger than any familial tie could ever be, and John was their connective tissue. The permeating thread that wound around them all until Carrie wasn't sure where her grief ended and theirs began. That bond would be important, especially if this didn't end the way they all were hoping it would.
Sometime later, after Dr. Beckett had been wheeled away for a scan and TJ and Rodney had decided to go in search of something nutritious to eat, Carrie found herself alone with John for the first time in a long time. Even Colonel Lorne had left her to go off in search of Landry and she looked around the now empty curtained-off space and missed them all a little. She sighed and captured John's hand in her own again, the muscles of her arm remembering the maneuver as if by rote.
John was pale. Carrie reached out with her other hand to brush her fingers through the salt and pepper hair at his brow. She smoothed it back down a moment later with the palm she ran gently down the uninjured side of his face. Carrie could touch him freely now and she mapped his features with her fingertips, mindful of his injuries, as she memorized the topography of his face like she had wanted to do back in the jumper.
"Well hell, John," she sighed, letting her hand fall away when she was finished. "What a fine mess we've gotten ourselves into this time."
John was still, nothing but the gentle rise and fall of his chest to suggest he was even alive.
"This place is amazing," she mused, absently playing with one of the heart monitor wires and wrapping it around a finger. "Did you know that I can bring up the lights in a room just by thinking about it? It's nuts and that's not even the half of it. It's like this place is alive or something. I keep meaning to ask Rodney about how it all works, but I don't even know if I really want to know anymore. I can see why you loved this place though, and why you decided to come back here, even after everything that happened to you." She traced the line of the tape securing the ventilator tubing in place and tried to ignore the moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes.
"Landry and Rodney explained a few things to me the other day," she continued. "I know all about what happened with the Wraith now. About how Sean Fitzpatrick was involved, and everything. I just want you to know that I could never, ever blame you for what they made you do that day, John.
"You know, I almost didn't believe General Landry at first when he told me. I mean, I always suspected you were struggling with something heavy, but I never imagined it could be something like that... and I wish you could have told me about it yourself." Carrie paused as her throat constricted, clogging with the words she tried to push through the diminishing space. When she blinked next, tears released from her lashes, rolling down her cheeks. The paths they left behind were cold.
"I would have tried to help you, you know. Anything you needed, I would have done it for you in a heartbeat. I totally get how hard it must have been for you now, to have to stay away from this place for so long... stay away from your friends. I really like them, John," she smiled through the tears. "They're the kind of friends you hold on to for dear life, aren't they? And I know for a fact that they feel the exact same way about you. So if you've got anything left in you at all, we need for you to keep fighting. Okay?
"Don't give up. Don't let Sean Fitzpatrick win, especially not after you fought so hard to get back to this place.
"I watched you try and save that man, John. You offered him a way out... a chance to make it right again, but he shot you in the chest anyway. I can't even imagine how difficult all this must be for you right now. And I know how easy it would be just to let it all go, but you can't, ok?" She swiped at her cheeks, wiping away the rolling lines of tears that wouldn't stop now.
"I think they need you, John. Atlantis, too. Can you feel her at all? She seems so sad right now. Like she wants to help you, but I don't think she knows how. None of us do. So you've just gotta hang on. Hang on for a little while longer and give us some more time, alright?"
Carrie buried her face against John's shoulder, searching out the familiar scent of him and breathing it in as deeply as she could.
"I know things are never going back to the way they were between us, but I still love you," she whispered wetly against his neck. "More than you'll ever know."
John's chest continued to rise and fall as the ventilator kept up its automatic efforts at keeping him alive. "And you can't leave me here alone."
Carrie knew it wouldn't be allowed, that she would likely be kicked out of the infirmary because of it, but the pull to be near John was just too great. She eased herself down onto the bed beside him, taking up the least amount of space she possibly could, and let everything out against a scratchy infirmary blanket as she sobbed herself to sleep.