Breaking The Siege
Part Six: The Mourning
He rested his forehead against the cool sheets of the infirmary linen and listened to the sounds of the infirmary.
Patients shifted in their beds, uncomfortable in their injuries; medical personnel murmured softly to each other, and Beckett's distinctive accent underpinned the conversations. Machines beeped as they monitored vitals, and footsteps moved across the floor with steady paces and irregular pauses.
John Sheppard clung to the casual noises of the infirmary, something solid and reassuring in the chaos that was presently Atlantis.
It all happened so fast.
First Colonel Everett's relief, then the arrival of the Daedelus. The battle in space, then the battle over the city. Colonel Caldwell's announcements and assistance, then the rescue of the hostages.
His head still ached, thinking about it, and although he'd slept for a good six hours, he wasn't rested.
However, Caldwell was temporarily minding the city after Elizabeth had left orders that John wasn't to be admitted back to active duty until tomorrow morning - another ten hours. She'd set things up so his commands were not valid, his access was denied, and Caldwell told him he wasn't to involve himself in the clean-up activities at all. He was to rest.
Having left her instructions with Caldwell, Elizabeth had gone to her quarters for sleep, and apparently so had McKay, although John couldn't see McKay leaving the ZPM-fuelled city to Colonel Carter and Dr. Jackson. It just wasn't McKay. Then again, Caldwell seemed to have rather unorthodox methods of dealing with intransigent scientists and insubordinate subordinates.
He'd been permitted in the infirmary on sufferance. Beckett had somehow gotten enough naps in to satisfy Caldwell that he was capable of performing his duties, and was disgusted to see John up and about. He responded to Beckett's hreats to sedate him with the request to sit by Teyla.
Right now, John needed reassurance that at least one of the people close to him was alive and well, even if he did need sleep.
Beckett let him sit by the bed. It was a compromise of sorts.
He'd been reassured that it wasn't unconsciousness or shock. She was physically fine, but her body - like so many others - had been taxed beyond its ability to easily recover, and her system insisted on sleep. She might wake up in the next hour, the nursing staff told him, or she might not wake up for another day.
John didn't really care one way or the other. He just needed the presence of someone he trusted - someone who trusted him back. Elizabeth and Rodney were in their quarters and he wouldn't disturb them, and Ford was one more desiccated body lying in the city's morgue.
Teyla was it.
He pressed his forehead deeper into the mattress, trying to cool his head and his thoughts. His back and neck ached with tension, and he blew out a long breath.
They'd won the battle for the city. They'd lost people, good people like Ford and Grodin and too many others. And now they had to extinguish the fires and rebuild.
At some point, there'd be a memorial service; the organisation of what was to happen to the bodies of the dead. Elizabeth might letters to write to the families of the personnel, but John should do some of them, too - Ford's for a start.
God, he was going to miss the young marine. McKay was fine to grumble at, and nobody could match Teyla for a good fight, but Ford had understood his thinking and the reasons he made the decisions he did - a shared piece of their respective military backgrounds.
He shut his eyes and clenched his fingers.
The mattress shifted, but John never moved.
After a moment, he felt the faintest trace of air ruffle the strands at the crown of his head as someone reached out to touch his head, but stopped just short of contact.
He raised his head and met her gaze.
"Aiden's dead."
The words slammed into him like fourteen gees of force. For a moment, he could barely breathe as she said what nobody had yet said. Not out loud. Not to him.
Junior officers had died under his command before. The sense of failure never went away.
Still, John met the clear, intense gaze Teyla levelled at him, direct as always. "Yes."
She closed her eyes. "I saw him die."
John was reminded of watching Colonel Sumner's death: the hollow aging that did in moments what usually took years. Teyla had seen and known people taken by the Wraith, but there was a difference between knowing what was to happen to the people siezed during raids, and seeing it happen.
"Could you help him?"
Her eyes opened sharply at his question. "No."
"You saved others."
"But not Aiden."
"I couldn't save Colonel Sumner."
She watched him for a long moment. "It does not make acceptance any easier."
"It doesn't get any easier to accept as time goes on." Dr. Heitmeyer had told him that after that first mission - the one in which he'd awoken the Wraith.
"He was a good man," she said, and her gaze dropped to the bed and her hands on the covers. "How many others?"
"Too many."
Her lips pressed together. "And yet one is too many."
"Yeah." John scraped a hand through his hair. "McKay thinks we might be looking at fifty percent losses."
"Too many."
"Yeah." He watched her a moment more, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. He hesitated, feeling more than a little unwelcome here and not entirely sure why. "Halling was asking after you."
She seemed surprised. "He was?"
"Beckett wouldn't let him in."
"Yet he allowed you in." He caught the direct regard of her gaze and shifted, self-conscious. Teyla could set a man at ease with her gaze or make him distinctly uncomfortable. Right now, it was uncomfortable. As in very uncomfortable.
He covered it with a light-hearted comment. "I make a pretty good argument."
She smiled then. Only faintly, but better than the intensity of her gaze, distracting him. The amusement was short. A moment later, she was once again sober. "I have not yet told my people of Dr. Beckett's discoveries regarding my abilities. They may not wish me to continue leading them once they know that I am descended of the Wraith."
"I'm sure they'll trust in your leadership abilities the way they always have," John said, trying to reassure her. And failing. Miserably.
"Thank you," said Teyla. "But I do not believe that they will accept it so easily."
"Do you accept it?" After a moment, he plunged on, figuring he was in for a penny, he might as well be in for the whole shiny silver dollar. "I mean, you say your people won't accept you because you've got some Wraith DNA in you. But you're still you. Like I'm me. With or without the Ancients gene." And right now, he was wishing that the ATA gene gave him a supernatural ability to explain things, because he had a feeling he was making a hash of this.
This wasn't the time to discuss her abilities - not while she was still laid up after the Wraith attack.
"I do not have a choice in accepting or not accepting," Teyla said, after a moment's thought. "And it is not the same. I have grown up with these...instincts. It is a part of who I am. You have come to it fully grown. It is not so much a part of you. That is different."
"Oh, I don't think it's that much--"
"If your ability to use the Ancients' technology was taken from you, you would still be able to function in your society."
"Yes." John could see what she was saying and he didn't like it. At all. "Teyla, you're you. You're not the Wraith, you're not something evil just because you can sense the Wraith coming."
Yeah, he was making a mess of this. And he'd like nothing more than to shut down the conversation and never speak of it again. This was Weir's job. Or Dr. Heitmeyer's. Hell, even Rodney or Carson would be better at this than he was.
But he'd put his foot in it, he had to clean things up. And that meant keeping going, even if all that was left was a mess.
"You're still on my team," he said, meeting her eyes. "I still want you on my team." Teyla would understand what he was saying.
Her head bent a little, a tiny nod, like the 'friendship gesture' her people made to each other. "Colonel Everett may disagree with you."
So she hadn't heard.
"Everett's dead," said John flatly.
They'd found the drained and desiccated body only a few hours ago, identified by his tags. Caldwell had brought the news to John. "A lot of things have happened in the last day," he said, rather more grimly than he'd intended.
"Oh?" Teyla settled back, apparently willing to let the matter of her Wraith background slide for the behind moment. John figured she might need some reassurance later, but right now, they were good.
"Well, we're not under Wraith attack any longer."
She nodded. "I had noticed that. Did more people arrive from your world?"
"In a ship - the spaceship Daedelus. They brought more people, more supplies - they even have a squadron of ships that can fly in space or in atmosphere!"
Vaguely, John was aware that Teyla's expression had settled into the smiling tolerance she always displayed rsation when he got into one of his 'hobbies' and started talking about one of his interests. Her curiosity about Earth and its ways continued, but the concern about the Wraith had limited their discussions about the ways of Earth.
It was a relief to do something lighthearted again. God, how long had it been since he hadn't had the weight of the city and its survival pressing down on his shoulders?
Too long.
"Will you be able to fly them?" Her question drew him back from his thoughts.
"I'm sure that Captain Saunders will be happy enough to give you an introductory lesson," came a new voice from the door.
John stood to turn, and experienced a momentary dizziness before he managed to find his balance again. Just tiredness, that was all. "Colonel Carter." He spotted her companion, following a few steps behind her. "Dr. Jackson."
He'd heard plenty about these two during his time in Atlantis. Of course, he'd met Dr. Jackson the day he'd discovered about Atlantis and the Ancients, the Stargate, and the SGC. No surprise that he hadn't remembered the man's name: so much had happened that day.
"Colonel Sheppard," Dr. Jackson said, before he turned to Teyla. "And I'm guessing that you'd be Teyla Emmagen?"
It was up to John to do the introductions. "Teyla, these are Colonel Carter and Dr. Jackson of the SGC."
She inclined her head to both of them. "It is a pleasure to meet you both. I have heard you spoken of by many of the people in Atlantis. Dr. McKay has spoken particularly well--" Teyla paused as Dr. Jackson gave a shout of laughter.
"I think you'd better get used to that, Sam."
"Ya think?" Colonel Carter retorted. A glance at her showed her more amused than offended. This time she wouldn't be biting off anyone's head. "At least it sounds like he's saying good things."
"About the love of his life?"
"I'm sorry," John interrupted, unable to stop himself. "The love of his life?"
Colonel Carter's snort was succinct and telling. "In his dreams."
"That is what he said in the message."
"Daniel, has anyone ever told you it's rude to read other people's mail?"
"I've said before, it's not my fault that Jack had Sergeant Ramsey and me going through the video messages," said Dr. Jackson, pompously. He reminded John a little bit of McKay, bulling through one of his ideas with all the panache he could muster - and changing the topic as soon as he could. "As you can probably tell, Sam and Dr. McKay have a somewhat...adversarial relationship with each other."
"Sounds like McKay," John quipped and saw Colonel Carter cover her smile. A glance at Teyla showed that she'd eased back against the pillows, more comfortable with the strangers in the face of the teasing.
"Dr. McKay is not well-known for his tact," she said.
"Old habits die hard?" Dr. Jackson offered. Then he coughed, looking a little abashed. "Okay. We should probably pay out McKay when he's around to fight back. More sporting."
"I don't have a problem with it," Colonel Carter said.
Dr. Jackson snorted softly.
Teyla was watching them was something like a half-smile as they bickered in the manner of siblings or a married couple, long familiar with each other's habits and ways. Her eye met John's and he grinned at her. The more lighthearted attitude was very welcome after the days of stress and worry, sharp tempers and short fuses.
Colonel Carter quirked a smile and turned to Teyla. "I actually came around to say 'thank you' for the rescue."
John stared at Teyla in surprise. "Rescue?"
"I..." Teyla seemed to be struggling to remember. "It was when you and Colonel Carter broke in. The Wraith attacked us, trying to gain extra strength. Some of our people died." The flicker of a shadow passed across her face and was gone as she looked up at Colonel Carter. "There is no need of thanks. You saved my life in turn. However, you are welcome, Colonel Carter." Then, as though the question was pent up within her, she asked, "What will be done with the dead?"
John opened his mouth, then realised he didn't know.
Dr. Jackson and Colonel Carter exchanged looks, and, after a moment, Dr. Jackson said, "That's apparently a matter up for debate. Caldwell assumed that a military burial wouldn't go amiss. One of the scientists objected because not all the dead were military..."
John met Teyla's eyes, then turned back to Dr. Jackson. "Ponytail and glasses?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Dr. Kavanaugh," Teyla said at the same moment as John asked the universe in general, "Why am I not surprised?"
Dr. Jackson grinned. "There's always one."
John grimaced. "One too many." A sense of responsibility nagged at him. "I should go and put in my oar. If I'm allowed."
"Supposed to be resting? This sounds familiar." The look he exchanged with the Colonel was tinged with sadness, a memory they shared that was private and painful.
"We left them going at it, hammer and tongs," said Colonel Carter after an uncomfortable moment. "Colonel Caldwell looked like he was about to lose his temper."
John snorted.
"I understand that is not a difficult thing with Dr. Kavanaugh." Teyla offered. "Or so feel many of the scientist personnel."
"I might head back in, then," John said, making up his mind. Sure, Caldwell would just say he was off-duty, but he was used to dealing with Kavanaugh by now - and the scientist's peculiar hatred of the military.
"I might head back with you," Dr. Jackson added with a quick glance at his friend. "If that's okay."
"Suit yourself." John shrugged as he turned away, but was stopped when Teyla caught his hand.
Her warm fingers closed around his cool ones in a swift, hard grip, but she said nothing. John squeezed back and shot her a quick, tight smile, then left her and Colonel Carter in the infirmary together to discuss whatever it was that had brought the Colonel to the infirmary. It certainly wasn't just to say 'thank you' for saving her life.
They wove their way through the infirmary beds and the medical personnel manning them. Beckett gave them a wary look as they passed him, but John gave his most innocent look, and the doctor rolled his eyes but didn't come after him with a sedative.
Still, John breathed a lot easier once he was out in the corridor.
"The medical personnel can be pretty scary at times."
John glanced at the man who walked beside him. "Beckett's not so bad. It's just that he sometimes gets this look..."
Dr. Jackson gave a short laugh. "The chief medical officer at the SGC - Janet Fraiser - she was small, but scary."
The past tense was small but telling. John had the feeling that it wasn't because Dr. Fraiser had been reassigned. He didn't ask, and after a few moments, Dr. Jackson changed the topic.
"You've done really well, you know. I don't know if anyone said this to you - probably not, since we arrived in the middle of the fight for the Wraith, but Jack - General O'Neill - is impressed."
John tried to remember the last time a superior had been pleased with his work. He could hardly recall, it had been so long ago.
After Afghanistan and Thomerson's scathing report, John's desirability as an officer had plunged among regular commands. While the Air Force wanted combat-trained men and women, they wanted combat-trained men and women who would obey the rules and not run reckless.
The Antarctica post had been the best of a bad option: ferrying people from McMurdo to the base in the middle of nowhere. He got to fly - which was what really mattered - and although the conversations with his passengers could be weird, he put it down to far too much research and not enough fresh air.
And then one morning General Jack O'Neill hada sat down opposite him and began with the blunt question, "Why'd you go back for them?"
Back in Atlantis, Dr. Jackson was still waiting for an answer, so John waved his hand dismissively. "I'd say the promotion was a bit of a hint."
"A bit. But it never hurts to be have it said again."
"And you think I need reminding?" John wasn't sure why Dr. Jackson was taking such an apparent interest in him. He'd had trouble remembering the guy's name. They'd barely talked in Antarctica.
The other man stopped in the hallway. "I think you're at a point in your situation where you're questioning your leadership. No surprise there - you've been so busy reacting to everything around you that you haven't had time to sit back and relax in long memory."
John paused and turned back to face him. It had been a long time sincehe'd had time for himself and not the expedition's needs. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that, if you want,Jack - General O'Neill - is willing to relieve you of command of Atlantis and reassign you anywhere you'd like to go. Within reason," he added.
Several moments passed, during which John listened to the distant noises of peoplemoving through thecity's corridors and wonderedif he'd heard right. "Reassignment? From Atlantis?"
Dr. Jackson nodded. "Anywhere you want to go."
John considered it. Unlike others in the expedition, John Sheppard had left no family behind, no dependants. He had few friends and fewer ties to them. And nothing he'd done on Earth could hold a candle to the madness of his life since he arrived in Atlantis.
Besides, who'd take over in his absence? Another Everett-type with more mouth and bravado than consideration and balance? Someone else with even less qualification or readiness to manage the balance between the military and scientific parts of the expedition? That wasn't even counting the contribution of the Athosians, who tended to get left out of things more often than not.
Sure, John hadn't been doing all that great at the job what with waking the Wraith and making enemies of the Gennii, but he hadn't been doing that bad in dealing with it all. At least, he didn't think so. And General O'Neill didn't seem to think so, either - he'd promoted John to light colonel. That counted for something.
Reassignment? Like hell.
John tried to think of a polite way to tell Dr. Jackson what he could do with his reassignment, and settled for,"I'm happy here."
It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.
It wasn't like he had anyoneelse he cared about.
And maybe Dr. Jackson understood that. The look he gave John certainly went on for long enough, before the heavy brows drew up then together, and the man smiled. "I was charged to ask what you wanted. But I'm glad you're going to stay."
"So'm I." And he was. He really was.
Dr. Jackson indicated the corridor before them - the corridor leading back to the control room. "After you, Colonel Sheppard."
--
It was nearly midday when the last Athosian was laid in the ground.
From within the puddlejumper hovering high above the 'cemetary' where the Earthlings, adopted Atlanteans, and Athosians now lay, John listened to Elizabeth as she gavethe final eulogy.
"...challenged with impossible circumstances, they found a way. When faced with desperate times, they did not give up. Death never comes easy, but they faced it bravely and their deaths bought us what we all strove to achieve: Atlantis still stands.
"We will grieve for them and mourn their deaths; but we know their sacrifices, both those they made in life and those they made in death, were made so others could keep going with what they began. Their legacy will liveon in what we do from this day forward, and they will not have died in vain."
The burial ground was a point far distant from the idling puddlejumper, but John fixed his gaze on the tiny, brown-haired figure distantly visible at the podium. Her words carried through the air to the assembled people. Through her communicator, they passed to Atlantis and the skeleton crew still in the city, were transmitted up to the crew manning to the Daedelus up in orbit around the planet, and up to the 'jumper pilots and the pilots of Icarus squadron, hovering in the air several miles distant from the burial ground.
Someone - a sergeant from the Daedelus - began playing 'Taps'. The long, measured tones of the bugle call rang through the communications system, and John switched to a private channel shared by all the ships. "All 'jumpers and Icarus squadron, be ready to move on my mark."
"Copy that, 'Jumper One."
He waited until the final tones of the bugle rang clear and strident in his ears, then switched back to theprivate channel. "Three. Two. One. Mark."
They made a magnificent sight as they cut through the air in a display of precision flying that was made easy by the Puddlejumpers' proximity settings and by the alien technology of the gliders that made up the Icarus squadron.
With nothing more than a thought, John flew his 'jumper directly over the burial ground, then arrowed it up into the atmosphere. The bulky design of the ship wasn't as aesthetically elegant as the squadron gliders, but it could do just as much as any glider. More, given what the older Elizabeth had told them about the ability to go back through time.
He hovered up in the atmosphere of the planet for a few minutes, giving the people down below time to disperse and commisserate. As he waited, he watched the Icarus squadron make their way back out to the Daedelus, waggling their wings as they passed him and the other 'jumpers that waited for the signal to return to the grave site.
"Colonel Sheppard?"
"Dr. Weir." They were going for formal, so he might as well be formal. "Ready to go home?"
Home. Atlantis.
"We're ready."
As he flew back down, through the stratosphere, through the clouds, and down towards the tiny figures ofWeir, McKay, Teyla, and Beckett, standing in a cluster beside the memorial stone an Athosian stoneworker had hewn out from local rock, John felt a satisfaction and a grief so fierce that his sight blurred for a moment. He'd lost one friend and he would grieve in private for that soldier; but he still had so many others to look after.
His city. His people. His responsibility.
John flew down to take them home.
- fin -
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story was going to be longer when I first began it. Two more parts are lurking in the great, misty beyond, but weren't finished in time for the Season Two premiere. Whether I'll write the adventures of the Atlantis crew (plus Sam, Daniel, and Caldwell) largely depends on whether or not I have time to keep going with the fanfic.
Thank you for reading, and leave your feedback after the beep.