Elizabeth looked so peaceful where she laid, eyes shut, hands folded across her chest. In the golden neon light, years were erased from her face. Like Snow White entombed eternally young in her crystal coffin, Dr Elizabeth Mackenzie Weir, leader of the expedition to Atlantis, lay surrounded by friends who looked on at her elegant features with respectful murmurs and freely shed tears.
The room became deathly silent as a new face entered. It wasn't a well known face to all, but Sheppard had seen photos and had heard all about him.
Rising from his seat, Sheppard moved slowly forwards with arms wide open to greet the newcomer.
"Simon, you made it."
Tears glistened in the handsome man's eyes as he came face-to-face with the younger man whom he'd also heard all about from the woman who now lay before them.
"Of course, Lieutenant Colonel," he croaked, eyes never leaving Elizabeth's angelic but oh so pale face. "She's my fiancé."
Sheppard backed off and Simon quickly moved past him to sit in the chair the Lt. Colonel had only just been seated in by Elizabeth's side. With a held breath, Simon took her hand, kissed it, and held it near his heart.
He was whispering into her ears.
Someone coughed and everyone witnessing the private moment took notice of the CMO standing nearby with a frown on her face. They got the hint and took their leave of the fallen leader of Atlantis and her fiancé.
"Elizabeth," Simon whispered a little louder now that everyone else had left, "if you can hear me, please come back. Come back to me. Come back to your friends. They need you, and maybe you didn't realize it, but I need you. Please..." his voice trailed off.
The infirmary was silent except for the repetitious wheeze of the respirator and the constant 'beep beep' of the heart monitor.
John Sheppard sat in the waiting room outside the sickbay, running a hand through his buzzed hair. He'd been ordered to cut his hair once he'd been released from the clutches of the new SGC CMO. Not that he minded - it hid most of the patches that had been burned, but it was a strange feeling after nearly two years of joyously long, messy hair.
A cough alerted him to the presence of Atlantis' SNO - whom he liked to call Frosty.
"You need to get some sleep, sir. A concussion isn't something you just get up and walk away perfectly fine from."
"Hockey players do it," he retorted with a grin, leaning back in the chair and propping his feet up on the coffee table as though to demonstrate his unwillingness to leave his post.
"Yeah," Captain Moore smiled, seating herself across from him and propping her own feet up on the table. "But have you ever heard them talking? That slur isn't just for show."
"I never listen to what they say, I try and count how many teeth they have missing."
Moore laughed and shook her head. "It'd probably be easier counting how many teeth they have left... you love her don't you?"
Sheppard was caught off guard by her question and nearly fell out of the chair he had tipped back on two legs. The front legs hit the ground with a thump and the colonel's hands flailed about him in an attempt to stay upright.
Moore raised an eyebrow at his reaction and extrapolated it with what she'd seen and heard on Atlantis and formed her own answer from it all.
"You should tell her."
John blushed and shook his head with no small amount of frustration. "I can't."
"Why the hell not?"
He jerked his head in the direction of the private hospitalization room where Simon still sat whispering to Elizabeth. "That's who she loves."
The two officers remained silent, feet propped up, chairs tilted back, eyes closed.
Everything had been said.
Somewhere in Washington
"When will funeral preparations begin?"
"Shouldn't we contact the families first?"
"That'll lead to too many questions... some of them only just recently were transferred to the SGC and the Daedalus. Too many questions."
"What about the ones that have been in longer? We could release their notices now, provided we have a good cover for the deaths, and release the others later."
"Sounds good."
"And what about the ones who've been keeping in regular contact with the outside?"
"Old hands, same as before. New hands... MIA."
"There's an awful lot of technicians and people who wouldn't be on the front lines."
"Well, their location was kept secret - lets say their complex in some rat hole country was bombed. That'll give the White House some nice propaganda to hit the civvies with."
"Aye sir, I'll get my team on it right away."
"Make it ASAP, General. There's a lot of my people in mourning today."
Sam stood rigid in the control room as a steady line of men and women passed through the open wormhole and into the Gate room. She saw several familiar faces, some from in person, others from file photos. All were in ceremony uniform. Today would hold the first funeral of many. 87 to be exact. There were no bodies to recover, other than those of the few who'd died after the incident.
Atlantis was emptying all but a skeleton crew who volunteered to stay behind. Sam was actually rather amazed at how many people were planning on attending the funeral being held today. She hadn't realized how much the people of Atlantis had grown on each other.
A tingling and raising of the hairs on her neck told her that Jack was standing next to her.
"Hey."
"Hi sir. How's Washington?"
Jack rubbed his chin and scratched absently behind his ear, "Oh, the usual... they blocked me out of all the games on my computer. Even my Mrs Pacman. Jerks."
Sam forced a smile, but her eyes never left the window. Not until the Gate shut down and the last of the mourners moved out of the Gateroom did either move a muscle.
"I..." Sam turned to look at Jack. He looked smart in his formals, though older and tired. His hair was nearly all grey and his eyes were duller than they had once been. Eloquence had never been one of O'Neill's strong points, and Sam felt a wave of nostalgia as he fumbled for words.
She smiled half heartedly and held up a hand.
She knew how he felt. He knew how she felt.
Nothing was needed to be said.
The funeral service was planned to be held in the gate room of the SGC, but there were so many people in attendance that it had to be moved completely off base. O'Neill had been the one to choose the location, and he found the surroundings somewhat fitting. The local hockey rink.
It was a well known fact that when it came to religion, Dr Rodney McKay was his own God, so the cathedral - which had offered to hold the short notice funeral - was respectfully turned down.
The service wasn't very long, and it wasn't very fancy either. Just as McKay probably would have liked it.
Afterwards, everyone mingled at the wake, eating those disgusting little egg salad and tuna sandwiches and the little soggy cubes of Nanaimo bar. It was a nice affair, there was a pin up board covered in photos of the
Doc, a few notes tacked alongside telling amusing anecdotes or humours quotes.
A casket sat empty at one end of the rink.
Folded pieces of paper, notes, were piled up inside. Everyone had been asked to write a small note to put inside. Also added were small flags, a few hockey pucks, some calculators and miscellaneous bits of lab equipment. Someone had stuck in a dog eared copy of War and Peace.
Jeanie Alderman, nee McKay, had been able to come short notice to the relocated funeral with her two youngest children, Darlene and Michael Rodney. The two small kids had never met their estranged uncle, and seemed bewildered that so many people, many in handsome uniforms, were there to mourn him. They were even more confused when they saw his empty casket.
The task fell to Lt. Colonel Sheppard, Rodney's best friend and the one who'd delivered the eulogy, to somehow explain to them why they couldn't see their uncle.
It was one of the saddest scenes Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter had ever seen, and yet morbidly humours.
"So you don't know if he really is dead," piped up little Michael Rodney, the amazingly intelligent five year old who looked almost identical to what she could only assume Rodney had looked like when he was that age.
"No, kiddo," John struggled to keep from letting this little boy see him cry, "no. We saw his plane crash."
"But Colonel Sheppard," Darlene, eight, proclaimed in a haughty tone that sounded scarily like Rodney, "people survive plane crashes all the time. Haven't you watched 'Lost'?"
Sam snickered and moved off, feeling sorry for Sheppard as he fumbled for words.
He reminded her quite a bit of Jack.
Craning her neck in an attempt to scan over the see of bobbing heads, Sam spotted Jack standing by the bar with several old SGC hands. Snaking her way through the crowd, she eventually made it to the opposite side of the rink where she was greeted with hugs by Daniel, and a pleasant nod from Teal'c. Sgt. Siler gave her a wet kiss on the cheek before he wandered off to look for Walter, who'd disappeared earlier after eating a triangle of cheese that apparently didn't agree so well with him.
The old SG1 team just stood together in knowing silence for some time before comments were made, remembrances dictated, jokes told, and beverages consumed.
I hope that somewhere, wherever you are, Dr Rodney McKay, thought Sam as she smiled at her friends, I hope you know how much everyone loved you.
Somewhere
"Fuck," cried a solitary figure as sparks flew through the air and a terrible screeching noise caused him to clap his bandaged and blackened hands to his ears. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"
Yes - I know I know - I had to do it!