A/N: One more deal of mental whump, then the real party begins.
Ch. 8
If Only
Since John had never voluntarily given up on anything in his life, he wasn't quite sure how to handle it. Mathers may now be only a corpse, but 'leave no man behind' meant 'leave no man behind' whether breathing or not. It was an act of respect, of friendship, and a reminder that one was still human, and that humans were allowed to care.
Plus it pissed John off to a boiling point at the thought of what the Cys might be doing to that body. Mathers didn't deserve this, but John could only add him to the list of people who didn't deserve the crap that happened to them. Maybe put him somewhere just below Ford... Actually, placement didn't matter, it was all equal.
John stared up at the shadow-drenched ceiling of his quarters, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting on his chest with his fingers drumming his sternum. Beckett would have dropped dead from shock on seeing John following his advice to the letter. John had overcome his initial bouts of nausea at having condemned Mathers' body to remain in hell, and was back to properly digesting three square meals with snacks on the side. In between, he rested. Tomorrow, less rest, more moving about.
The problem with resting – if it wasn't the bad dreams making him squirm, it was too much thinking keeping his eyes from closing. He really wanted to flip the off switch to his brain – if there were an off switch. Beckett's magic knock-out pills would do the trick. He was contemplating taking one now, maybe half of one for an uninterrupted nap. Beckett had okayed a small dosage for naps. John's only reluctance was the notion that a dependency might be formed, and that he wouldn't be able to conk out ever again without a little chemical support to help him out.
Better debating sleep or no sleep then trying to fathom the sadistic nature of the Cyladrans. The Genii made more sense than them, and weren't the perverse type to hold onto bodies just because they could.
Now this was bad. The Genii were starting to take a turn as the lesser of two evils. Three if John counted the wraith. But he wasn't about to downplay the wraith. The life suckers and Cys were on equal ground in matters of evil intent.
" This is not a good time if he is trying to rest."
John tore his gaze from forming images in the shadows on the ceiling to look toward the door.
" We can't wait!" John knew that hissing, fractious voice to be McKay. The other voice he pinned as being Teyla's.
" It may be too soon. If the Colonel is still ill, this may make it worse."
" It's what he's been brooding over for the past two days. You really want to be the one to deal with him when he wakes up and finds out he was the last to know? Because I sure as hell don't..."
Curious, wary, and annoyed, John rolled from his bed and moved stiffly to the door. It opened without a sound, causing Rodney to jump and Teyla to whip her head around at John's sudden presence.
" Colonel," she said, quickly composing herself. McKay attempted to imitate Teyla's sudden, practiced calm, but discomfort poured from him like a mud slide. So John pinned him with his gaze.
" Teyla... Rodney." John smiled tightly. " What do I owe the pleasure?" There was no way in hell he was going to let them beat around the bush.
Rodney, still trying, cleared his throat. " Uh... There's been... a development..."
" Rodney?"
He felt Teyla's hand grip his upper arm. " Colonel, I think it best if you came with us... and... see for yourself."
John's body went cold at Teyla's careful tone. He looked at her, saw the pity, and felt his heart nose-dive into his gut.
" What?"
" Colonel, please."
John jerked his arm away. " What! What happened? What's going on?"
Rodney exhaled a sharp breath. " It's... Mathers."
SGASGASGASGA
The bones were arranged on the table in the semblance of how they had once fit together to form the human frame. There were a few fingers missing, the half of two ribs, and a toe. Not a sliver of flesh or dried muscle was left. These bones were gleaned of all tissue.
And wasn't it just last week that John had been crooning about shaving cream with the kid who owned these bones? Wasn't it just last week that Mathers was curled into a ball because he hated being so freakin' exposed! Wasn't it just last week...
" They were found before the gate," Teyla explained, " by the Aylans. The Aylans had stepped through to trade, and found the bones and the Lieutenant's clothes in a sack. They recognized the clothes, so knew to bring the bag to us when we visited."
John picked up one of the ribs.
" So they give him back when we give up," Rodney said, disgusted. " Why am I not surprised. These people are freaks, absolute freaks."
John studied the rib, every nick, chip, and scrape. Setting it down, he picked up the femur.
" Why would they do this?" Teyla asked. " What is the purpose behind withholding the body?"
" Obviously not to use as bait," said Weir. " They had plenty of chances to attack those sent to retrieve the remains."
John looked the femur over carefully. More chips, nicks, scratches, but also deeper gouges and ragged ends. Cold crept along John's back like crawling fingers of ice.
" They're rubbing superiority complexes in our faces," Rodney spat, " making sure we never forget that they're technologically superior and can do whatever the hell they want. I wouldn't be shocked if their society had a Nazi mind-set. 'We're better, you're not, so we can do whatever the hell we want because your inferior dogs.' That sound about right?"
Nicks, scratches, chips on the skull, a large one at the corner of the jaw-bone. John's stomach began to churn in that not too promising way he had hoped he'd overcome.
" They're as bad as the wraith," Ronon growled.
John gripped the femur tight. " They're worse."
Every eye shot up to stare at John in alarm.
Rodney huffed. " How can anything be possibly worse than the wraith?"
Gouges, chips, nicks – they were on every bone. " Because the wraith do what they do to survive. The Cys, they do what they do..." John looked at Rodney. " Because... They can."
" But the wraith?" Rodney pressed.
John's grip on the femur had reached the point of shaking. He thrust the bone in Rodney's face.
" They fed him to their eraks, McKay!"
Rodney recoiled from the bone, then blanched as he reluctantly studied it. He didn't even seem to realize he was taking the femur from John's hand.
" Oh my gosh! T-They did!"
Carson picked up the shoulder blade, and his eyes rounded over. " Bloody hell. That's what these marks are then? Claws and – and teeth?"
John couldn't take any more. His stomach was ready to heave, and John couldn't let the others see it happen. Not here, not now. He couldn't be around the bones when it happened.
He hurried from the infirmary, the sound of his name being thrown at him by Elizabeth fueling his quick pace. Without looking and without thinking, he headed back to his quarters. He locked it once he stepped in, and kept the lights from flickering on. Dropping down onto his bed, he leaned forward to hide his face in his hands.
He'd never taken it seriously when he thought on the prospect of Mather's being erak food. It had been a thought to fuel his anger, a supposition that helped to describe the Cyladrans, but never anything he'd consider ever being a fact. And now that it was fact, he couldn't take it.
John's regrets were typical. If only he hadn't listened to Culs, if only he'd come up with an escape plan, if only he hadn't shouted to Mathers to stop. If only, if only, if only... He couldn't help the 'if onlys'. They came with the territory that was past misfortune.
If only he'd stopped Ford from leaving.
If only he'd gotten to Sumner sooner before the wraith queen fed.
In the darkness behind John's eyelids and hands, he saw their faces flash in a domino effect of regressing time. One by one they blinked in and out, as they were and as they became, with the events in between that brought them to where they were now. Not just Sumner and Ford, but Abrhams, Gauls, Grodin, young soldiers like Brian, people culled, people taken, people killed or people altered. All gone... gone, gone, gone, leaving behind the 'if onlys'.
John's real regret with Mathers – his one true regret, and the 'if only' that could have been possible - not crawling over in time to be with the kid in his final moments, so that he didn't have to die alone.
The Cys let the eraks eat him. Even dead, that was no way to go.
Erak fodder.
John couldn't hold it back any longer. Lurching forward, he opened his mouth in time for a thin stream of acidic liquid to choke from his throat and splatter on the floor. It wasn't quite the mess John had been expecting, but was fitting enough. A penance of suffering for those who suffered. It wasn't right in John's mind that he got off scott free when he was the one that was supposed to die.
A guardian's life was forfeit. That's the way it was supposed to be.
John absently wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
You can't protect them all.
John narrowed his eyes darkly. I can sure as hell try.
And be the one to die?
John shrugged a shoulder. I'll do what it takes.
