"You're being reassigned?"
Gabriel met Hank's eyes. "Yes."
"I don't get it. Why would the Major reassign you with no warning? Did you have any idea this was coming?"
At that, Gabriel winced. But his eyes never left his team leaders'. Dylan and Pete were stunned silences at his flanks. But he owed them the truth; and here, in the empty commissary and off-duty, he could give at least some of it to them. "Yes."
"And you didn't say anything." Pete, quiet, hurt and a little bit of betrayal hidden in his eyes.
"No."
"So why tell us now?"
Gabriel took a deep breath, dispelling futile wishing. "You deserve to know before Sheppard told you."
A long silence, then. Gabriel didn't look down, meeting the eyes of each of his team.
"Where are you going, then?" Dylan, now, ever more serious than the rest, and willing to ask the difficult questions. Dark eyes refused to back down, echoing a determination carved into the faces of the men around him.
No easy answer to this. "Sheppard's team."
The chill between them intensified. No matter that he hadn't wanted it, no matter that he couldn't do anything about it; he was being bumped up from 'gate-guarding, to going off-world, and leaving his team short by one into the bargain. When they got Ford back, he would be reassigned back to them – but the trust between them would be broken by this.
Hank sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He interlaced his fingers on the table, staring down at the plastic in front of his hands. He had quit smoking almost eleven years ago, but to his team, the signs all but screamed of his sudden urge for a cigarette.
Gabriel looked at Pete, then, and saw cold green eyes staring back. Though they would never admit it, he had what they had all wanted from the moment they laid eyes on that spinning naquada ring. On a purely human level, Gabriel knew what that meant. He had trouble understanding people sometimes, but he wasn't blind.
"Until they get Ford back," Dylan murmured. He sat back in his seat, then, swearing in disgust.
"We'll be one down until then?" Hank asked, never taking his gaze from the hazel-eyed man in front of him.
Gabriel shook his head tiredly. "I don't know."
"Geez," Pete finally snapped. "I don't believe this." Gabriel tensed. "I mean, he's breaking up our team to put his own back together – there's gotta be someone else!"
Gabriel blinked.
"Too right," Dylan added, staring angrily into space. "I mean, we're short on resources and manpower, I know that! Hell, we're living it! But there are plenty of mismatched teams, those who've lost men and been patched back together – we know each other and can read each other's moves. Don't fix it if it ain't broken, that's how I see it."
"What I want to know is, why you?" Hank put in his two bits' worth, staring contemplatively at Gabriel.
Pete quirked a half-smile. "Yea, I mean, no offense Gabe, but . . ."
Gabriel snorted, the mask that had frozen his expression cracking for the first time. He was unable to believe that the anger his team felt wasn't directed at him; the relief was a foreign feeling, as well. But the target was less justified to be the recipient of his team's displeasure.
"Yea, Pete's got a point."
"Thanks, Dylan."
The dark man grinned at him.
Gabe grew serious once more, and felt an unaccustomed hesitation come over him. "Don't blame the Major," he said quietly. "I know why he's made this decision." Time for honesty. "In his boots, I'd probably do the same."
They stared at him.
"Why?"
He opened his mouth automatically to answer his team leader, and then his mind shrugged off the response ingrained through service in hundreds of battles. He clamped his lips shut, tried again. Sat in frustrated silence.
Sharp eyes noted the aborted motion. "Is this classified?" Hank asked quietly.
Gabe shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know." In all truth, it might have been designated as such; no one had bothered to inform him if it had, but then he had been the most reluctant to speak about the situation in the first place.
"This has something to do with all the tests Beckett was doing on you." For all he was the most lighthearted of their group, Pete's perception had never been in question. The blonde man caught the confused glances Hank and Dylan were leveling on him, and shrugged. "Hey, what's the biggest difference between us and Gabe, who's otherwise the most average guy on Atlantis? I mean, he don't exactly stick out. It would have to be pretty recent, for Sheppard not to notice it before."
Gabriel winced. "Good call, Pete," he quietly confirmed his teammates' suspicions.
Three heads turned to him in surprise. "You're kidding," was what Pete finally said.
Gabe shook his head.
"You're not," Dylan drawled slowly. "Gabe – if something's going on -"
Gabriel raised a brow, as what Dylan was implying came clear. "No," he said firmly. "I'm not being . . . forced into anything, if that's what you're thinking." The relief on three faces was plain. "It's just that -"
"You don't have to go into it, if you don't want to," Hank told him quietly, and Gabriel was thankful for the consideration. But he had made his mind up, for a bit.
"Beckett has just found out that I have a few . . . biological benefits against the wraith." They didn't need to know more; and he could tell no more without revealing enough to destroy everything he had worked to save.
They stared at him, and he could see the questions waiting to be spoken.
So hard to answer, and keep what he had built. He dropped his eyes, wanting to look anywhere but at his team.
Hank sat back. "Thank you," he said quietly.
"I -"
"We don't need to know more," Dylan's voice was firm. Gabe wrenched his gaze up in surprise.
"I want to tell you," he admitted, surprising himself. "But . . ."
Pete nodded, and Dylan threw a wry smile his way.
"It's fine," Hank told him.
Gabe nodded, grateful. He slumped a little in his seat. "What a mess," he muttered.
"Eh, not so much of a one," Pete grinned. "Hey Dyl, what d'you think Razz will do when he finds out one of our team's made a full-time 'gater?"
"Ah, Razz of the charming personality," Dylan laughed. They had none of them met a more irritating individual in their careers. Luckily, he was on another 'gate shift and they saw him only rarely. For all the members of the Atlantis team had been selected for their undeniable skills, there were still personality conflicts off-duty. The one between Hank's team and Razz's was enough to drive Gabriel to distraction, and Hank to give them all scut work. "I reckon he'll have a few polite comments to make," was the final pronunciation.
Green eyes gleamed with mischief. "Then I'll make sure I've got something just as . . . polite to say in return."
"Preemptive strikes start wars, Pete," Hank responded genially. He leant back in his seat and tucked his hands comfortably in his pockets.
"Preemptive strikes win wars," retorted the man in question.
Gabriel snorted. "What school taught you that?"
"Didn'tcha hear, Gabe? Pete never went to school," Dylan told him, dodging a punch.
"Top of my class, if you must know," Pete sniffed haughtily, gaining his feet.
"In what? Class-A bullcrap?" Hank demanded, watching merrily as Dylan made to tackle Pete, and the taller man swerved out of reach.
Hank roared with laughter as Dylan, on hitting the ground, rolled and lashed out with a hand, snagging Pete's ankle and toppling him to the floor. Gabriel couldn't help the grin, but a noise at his wrist caught his attention, and he glanced down.
"What's up?"
Gabe looked up to meet Hank's concerned gaze. "Nothing much; I've got to go, though. Mission prep." He grimaced.
"Go." Hank's face was serious. "We'll hold the gate for you."
Gabriel was astonished by the magnitude of that promise. "Are you sure?"
Not even a pause, from any of them. "Yes." Unison; three voices, where there should be four.
Gabe nodded, slowly. "Alright then." He gained his feet, but turned before he was out the door, managing a smile. "Thanks."
One through the door, though, he had time to wonder over what he was feeling. Perhaps it was a sign that he had been spending too much of his time with the dregs of humanity, if such a simple thing as kindness could catch him so off-guard. He was defenseless against understanding, didn't quite know how to react when someone reached out to him. It had rarely happened. He existed to save mankind from himself and each other; his experience with those who did not need such protection was scarce.
He shook his head, wondering at his own strange thoughts. There were things to be done.
It had been two days since their last, disastrous mission. Sheppard's furor over Ford's escape had exploded when a combination of factors – McKay's unconsciousness and Weir's orders – had meant further delay in following the wayward lieutenant. The Major had memorized Ford's destination, and chafed at the delay. But there was nothing to do, but plan the next mission. So Sheppard had thrown himself into that task wholeheartedly, to the dismay of the control-room crew.
Now, two days since their first failed attempt, little would hold Sheppard back from trying again. Luckily for them all, Gabriel thought, time was tempering the Major. While responsibility to Atlantis had not yet outweighed his duty to his men, Gabriel knew that the conflict between the two would be pressing closely on him. All the more reason to find Ford, and quickly.
"You're late," McKay said tartly, the moment he walked through the door.
Gabriel stifled his amused smile, taking his seat instead and ignoring the jibe.
"Right," Sheppard drawled. Pale bruises under blue eyes testified to his anxiety. He slipped a folder to each of them, containing pictures from the MALP and general readouts. "This is the address that Ford dialed. Teyla, have you been here before?"
The Athosian, seated on the other side of McKay, shook her head. "My people are unfamiliar with this place," she murmured. "We would know, had we been here before."
The pictures proved her words.
The Stargate was located in the midst of ruins on this planet. The outline of a room was clear in the edges of the photograph. It had been taken in early morning light; the stone foundation was broken directly across from the Stargate by what Gabriel presumed was a door. The floor was cobbled stone, and there appeared to be more remnants of the selfsame building which housed the Stargate beyond the immediate room. Walls were still partially standing, and Gabriel peered at smears on the printout.
"Is that writing?"
McKay peered at his own picture, rifled through the file, and found an expanded print of the area that had caught the new member's attention. "Could be," he retorted. Then McKay raised a brow in his direction. "But I'm not Dr. Jackson. Ask someone else."
Gabriel bit down on a grin once more; there was much more of his great-grandfather in Rodney McKay than he had suspected.
Sheppard frowned. "Regardless. McKay, record what you can. But our primary objective is to find out if Ford is still on the planet. If so, we need to bring him back here, by whatever means necessary."
"Sir." Gabriel waited until he had Sheppard's full attention. "What is the policy on friendly fire?"
Sheppard's face closed off. "We aim to disable, Private."
Gabriel nodded. It was something the others needed to know; for himself, he would not hurt a human. But if Ford had slipped from beyond the reach of humanity, the situation changed entirely.
"One last note – the gravity on this planet is slightly heavier than both Earth and Atlantis. Be ready for it. We're scheduled for a two-day mission, check-ins every six hours. Any questions?" On the negative response, Sheppard stood, snapping his folder shut. "I'll see you at the 'gate at 0900. Dismiss."
Half an hour to gear-up. Gabriel stood, and found McKay blocking his path. He waited for the other man to move, but McKay just narrowed his eyes a moment, staring at him.
"Excuse me," Gabe finally said, when it became apparent that McKay wasn't about to yield.
Surprised, automatic courtesy took over. Gabriel was counting on it. He murmured a low, "Thanks," as he quickly slid around McKay.
Outside, Teyla was waiting. She fell into step with him as he left. He smiled at her. "Teyla Emmagen."
The return smile was slow in coming. "Gabriel Venner."
"Is something wrong?" He didn't have the time, or the inclination, to waste words.
Teyla clearly appreciated it. "You are part of our team now?"
Sheppard had explained the situation, but clearly some aspect of Earth customs was evading her; Gabriel knew Teyla to be an intelligent woman. She wouldn't ask unless she felt there was no clearer way to understand.
"Just until we get Ford back," he told her.
They left the 'gateroom, heading to individual quarters to gear up.
"This is what confuses me. We have been three before, and gone without a 'replacement'."
Ah, yes. There had been that incident with McKay, and then . . . the other incident with McKay, and then . . . it was enough to make Gabriel ruefully reflect that Carl was certainly getting his worth out of Gabriel's promise, and probably laughing at him too.
"It's SOP – standard operating procedure – when someone is disabled for a long time."
The corridors were nearly empty, most members of the Atlantis team busy going about their business and morning routines.
Teyla paused, concern shining in dark eyes. "How long is Lt. Ford expected to be missing? Surely your people would not -"
Gabriel shook his head, slowing his pace. "It's not what you're thinking." He paused for a moment, trying to explain. "Ford is sick, right now, addicted to something the wraith produce. Even after we get him back, the medical procedures for making sure that he's completely detoxed – that he's no longer addicted, take time. We don't know how long that will be; I'm just filling in until he's medically cleared."
Teyla tilted her head to the side, considering him. "Your people do not accept that it is possible that we may not be able to retrieve Ford," she said wonderingly.
Gabriel shook his head firmly. "In a way, Ford is a prisoner of the wraith. He is a prisoner of his body's addiction. And we do not leave our people in enemy hands."
A moment of quiet thought settled between them. "I see."
Gabriel tossed her a smile, relieved that the answering grin was so quick to return. "See you at the 'gate!"