Coming Home

Spoilers: Not intentionally, but references to both seasons may slip in on occasion.

Rating: T for some mild language and potentially disturbing images in some chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate Atlantis or any of the characters associated with it, unless you count Jesi.


Chapter Fourteen

Jesi felt the impact as her consciousness slammed home; her body flinched at the harsh invasion. She pried open her eyes and blinked several times, bringing the lab into focus. Dr. Weir was calling for a medical team and Dr. 'Z' hovered near John, chewing on his bottom lip while he patted the pilot's limp arm.

"John!" Jesi's voice cracked as she reached for her brother.

Weir hurried to Jesi's side, placing a restraining hand on her shoulder when she tried to move. Jesi felt a reassuring grip on her outstretched hand and relaxed in her seat.

"How is he?"

"He was able to destroy the hive ships, but we had to use the emergency disconnect to bring him back. I've called for a medical team to transport both of you to the infirmary. How do you feel?"

"Major migraine... utter exhaustion, but I'll live." Jesi inhaled sharply, coughing up spittle. "Rodney!" She struggled to climb from the chair. When she wavered, Weir caught her and eased her back.

"Easy, shhh; its okay." Weir stroked Jesi's forehead, breaking into a half-smile. "Carson's with Rodney. They'll be back soon. Let's get you and John to the infirmary. You can check on Rodney, and Carson can check on you."

With a nod to the medical personnel pouring through the door, Weir stepped aside and let them load up the patients.


Weir followed the med team to the infirmary, nearly colliding with Lorne as they entered the same hallway.

"Major," She matched his stride, eyeing his dirt-encrusted uniform with a raised brow. "Is that blood?" She reached out and swiped at the red smear on his cheek.

"Probably; not mine, though." He dabbed at his face ineffectually with the tip of his arm sleeve. His nose wrinkled. "Man, I need a shower!"

Weir's lips curved up with the hint of a smile. "Yes, you do."

"Soon, I want to check on my men and Sheppard's team." Lorne slowed, letting Weir enter the infirmary first.

The room buzzed with activity. Wounded marines blanketed every available surface; some had claimed the chairs, makeshift bandages and slings sufficing until the more urgent patients were treated. Lorne stopped to check on some of his men, while Weir continued on to the curtained area in the back of the room.

Pulling back the white cloth, Weir found an unconscious Sheppard reclined on an exam bed while a young nurse inserted an IV. Jesi slept in the next bed, and a fitful Teyla claimed the third. Ronon slouched in the chair next to Teyla's bed, cradling his left arm with his right. His dark eyes rose and collided with hers. He struggled to stand, but she motioned him to remain seated as she walked over and stood beside him.

"Ronon, you're injured."

"It is nothing. A few cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and my hand hurts. I'm alive--which is more than I can say for the soldiers we lost today." He dragged his uninjured hand through his dreadlocks, shoving the mass out of his face with a sigh. "I look forward to a future without Wraith."

"I second the sentiment." Weir turned and found Beckett working over a wheezing Rodney.

The scientist's gray face stood in stark relief against the deep purple bruising around his neck. Someone had started an IV, into which Beckett pumped medication, leaning back to watch McKay's reaction. For twelve tense seconds, a high-pitched whistle filled the room as air fought to find clear passage through the scientist's swollen throat. With one last expelled rasp, he succumbed to the sedative's lullaby. Satisfied that his patient was truly under, Beckett grabbed a laryngoscope and, with delicate precision, eased an endotracheal tube down McKay's trachea. He taped the tube in place and connected it to the ventilator, worry lines lessening at the sound of McKay's rhythmic, controlled breathing. With a few quick instructions to the nurse, Beckett peeled off his gloves and dropped them in the plastic clinical waste bin on the way over to Weir.

"Carson, is he going to be all right?" Weir asked with a frown.

"Aye, lass, he'll be right as rain in a few days. He has a bruised trachea. I put him on the ventilator to help him breathe until the bruising and swelling pass. For his comfort and my sanity, I'll keep him sedated until we can take him off the vent."

Beckett took hold of Weir's elbow and guided her into a nearby chair, taking the seat next to her.

"Our boy was extremely lucky. They all were," Beckett said, scrubbing at his scratchy eyes.

"What can you tell me about the others?" Weir studied the doctor's flushed face.

"Teyla has a mild concussion. She was awake when we brought her in, but fell asleep once we got her settled. Ronon has some cracked ribs and a broken hand, which I will cast in a bit; I put his shoulder back in joint, but it'll be sore for a few days. I assigned him a bed, but he's refused to use it for the moment, so I tasked him with waking up Teyla every two hours." Beckett's eyes twinkled as he studied the pair.

"Sneaky, Carson," Weir said with a tight grin.

"Aye, although rare, I do have my moments. Jesi is suffering headaches, slightly raised blood pressure, and exhaustion. I've given her a mild sedative. Poor lass couldn't sleep for worrying over her brother and Rodney. I expect she'll feel better after a full twelve hours rest." Beckett raked a hand through his thick hair before meeting her eyes.

"The Colonel's symptoms are more pronounced. He took on the brunt of the battle when he destroyed the hives, and the emergency disconnect didn't help matters. His mind has been tapped beyond what he is used to and has put itself into a deep state of rest. I am quite certain he'll wake up tomorrow or the next day and grace us with his beatific smile." Beckett glanced back at McKay's sedated form. "It's Rodney who'll need extended care. His throat will take a while to heal, and he won't be able to speak well for a few weeks."

"I don't know, Rodney unable to speak? That might cause him psychological damage!" Weir smiled faintly as she rose and approached McKay's bed. The ventilator tube partially obscured his face, but his lined brow was visible and beaded with sweat. She stroked her fingers over the dewy ridges.

"We're here, Rodney. You're safe. Rest, and get well." She relaxed when some of the lines receded just a bit, comforted by the gentle hiss as the ventilator fed needed oxygen to his lungs and heart.

Weir dropped her hand and faced Beckett. "The rest of the marines... Lorne's people?"

"We lost five marines and have several more with serious injuries. The rest have bumps and bruises, scratches and scrapes. We dodged a big one, Elizabeth."

"I know, thanks to John. I think I'll sit with him for awhile."

"That's a fine idea. I'll stop by in a bit, after I set Ronon's hand and check in with my staff to see if they need help with these injuries." He jerked his thumb toward the sea of camouflage-clad soldiers wrapped in white bandages. With a quick pat to her shoulder, he departed to make his rounds.

Weir moved to Sheppard's side; her lips thinned as she took in his unmoving features. His face held no hint of his recent tan. His eyes did not twitch under closed lids, as they should when sleeping. The shallow rise and fall of his chest followed a strange, almost studied, pattern. She hooked her foot around the chair leg, dragging it closer with a loud scraping sound. Shooting Ronon an apologetic grimace, she lowered herself into the seat and encased Sheppard's heavy hand in her own.

"John... I'm not sure what to say, exactly. I should chastise you for putting yourself in danger like that, but you did destroy the Wraith ships and save Atlantis... again. I guess I'll let it pass this time." She leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. "You promised not to scare me like that. We'll discuss your antics when you wake up—and you will wake up, John Sheppard, if I have to sit here for the rest of our lives and hound your defenseless butt! Besides, McKay can't speak for a few weeks, and you don't want to miss that!" She straightened and settled back in the chair, squirming around a bit. "I hope you know I'm docking your pay for every gray hair you cause me, Colonel."


The mist churned about his booted feet, parting as he felt his way along the invisible lane. Sporadic images of metal structures against a murky backdrop flickered and faded like an old black and while film, and the fog undulated. Muffled laughter grated in the distance, from which direction he couldn't tell. The echo swirled close one moment and far away the next, sending a chill down his spine and goose bumps dancing across his arms.

"Hello... who's there?" He stumbled as he strayed off the path. Feeling around with his toe, he found the sharp stone edge and eased back onto the cobbled walkway.

"Johnnnn" The faint word had him spinning around, reaching for his 9-Mil, only to realize he had no weapons.

More laughter, closer. He began to move more quickly, trying to stay on the walkway. His boots slipped on the slick stones, and he fell forward, landing hard on his hands and knees. He rolled into the low bank of moist gray and came to rest on his back, eyes closed. Damn it! He shook his hands in an effort to ebb the stinging pain. His breath came in short pants as he grabbed for control.

Struggling to a sitting position, Sheppard examined his torn pants, both knees scraped and bloody; his palms were no better off. With a hiss, he wiped them on his pant legs, leaving palm-shaped bloodstains on either thigh. Gingerly, he lurched to his feet, searching for something familiar.

Eerie silver-blue moonlight filtered through the gloomy sky casting dancing shadows among the mist. Where in the Hell am I, he thought. A soft giggle echoed behind his left ear; cold breath ruffled the hair at his nape. He spun quickly, raising his hands in self-defense, but only found more billowing clouds.

"Enough! I know you're there, so why don't you just give the games a rest. Come out where I can see you." He waited a beat, then another, ears straining to pinpoint his stalker in the thick darkness.

"Johnnnn... will you stay and play with us?" The breathy voice inquired.

"That depends on who you are and what you mean by 'play'. I'm not to keen on hide-n-seek in the dark with strange women." Sheppard turned a quarter circle and faced the spookiest thatch of fog. "If you're on the up-and-up, show yourself."

An icy blast of foul air coated his face. He inhaled, catching a lung full, and gagged. Doubling over, his stomach retched pitifully until he managed to clamp down on his initial disgust. Shaking, he righted himself and wiped the back of one hand across his damp mouth. His head swam, and he struggled to steady himself.

"Not my kinda game, sorry." Catching slight of movement in his peripheral vision, he tensed, anticipating another attack.

"John, do not look at them." Atlantis materialized by his side and took him by the elbow. "Come, we must hurry." She tugged at him until his feet stumbled into motion.

"Atlantis? Where am I?" His dazed hazel eyes met her kind gray ones. "Am I dead?" She looked different from the last time he'd seen her—slightly younger, maybe.

With a humorless laugh, she replied, "Not yet!"

A soul-piercing shriek rent the thick air as the mist swirled faster, encircling the pair and building high walls, blocking out the faint moonlight from above.

Atlantis rushed away from the eerie laughter and waived her cane at the fog, parting it like a sharp scalpel through flesh and causing another shriek behind them.

"Hasten, John, or you'll be trapped forever."

Sheppard panted with the effort to move his legs. For an old woman, Atlantis set an energetic pace, and for a man with injured knees and palms, he thought he was keeping up quite well.

"Where... are... we... going?"

"Home."

Atlantis led him through the haze, past old buildings and through vacant streets. The fog pulsed and moaned its displeasure, but parted, letting them pass. She slowed as they approached a street corner. Stopping in front of an old, thick wooden door, she nudged him forward.

"Open it."

"How?"

"The same way you would open any door." Her old bony shoulders rose and fell as she watched his face.

Sheppard closed his eyes and thought open the door.

Atlantis stepped over the threshold, pulling him into the shadows just before the door slammed shut, and the bolt snicked tight.

A dank, musty smell filled Sheppard's nostrils, and the lights flared to life before settling into a soft glow. He glanced around, automatically scanning the room for danger. Dusty wooden furniture crowded every wall. A scarred dining table sat in one corner, a bed and side table occupied another.

"Ah, that is much better. They won't bother us in this place." Atlantis turned, getting her first true look at him. "Oh, child, what have you done to yourself?" She crossed to a worn wooden cabinet in the corner and began searching through the contents. "There should be some medicine stored here. Yes... this will ease your pain."

She returned to his side and gently drew him over to sit on the bed before ripping the cloth away from his knees. Sheppard's hiss filled the diminutive chamber, but he cut it off with a nod in her direction.

"I'm good. Where are we?" He watched as she cleansed his wounds with a cool, clear liquid. She blotted both knees and dabbed on some salve. His head bobbed once then jerked up sharply.

Her answer, when it finally came, startled him.

"We are in the place the Ancients come before they ascend." She spoke the words with studied casualness, but her pinched features belied the tone. "The others wish for you to join them."

"You said I wasn't dead — I'm not ready to die! I can't leave Elizabeth or my team!" Sheppard tried to bolt from the bed, but Atlantis held him down with nothing more than a stern glance.

"You are not dead, just recovering from your battle with the Wraith. You have earned the right to rest in this realm until you return to your body or ascend. The choice is yours to make, child. Know this — several Ancient women with whom you've come into contact think you worthy. I know that to be true, but feel as you do — much remains to be done in the Pegasus galaxy before you should travel the path to ascension."

"Several women? Chaya, Teer, Anna?"

"Such a smart boy!" Atlantis chuckled. "You're friend Rodney may be correct in his worries about your history with ascended women! I do see a pattern."

Sheppard stared at the old woman. Had she just winked at him? He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. There'd been something he meant to ask...

"Are some Ancients evil? I sensed malice in the fog, not helpful guides on my journey to the next realm of existence!"

"Ah, yes, how to explain... The fog is not the Ancients; the fog is temptation. One should never give in to temptation when seeking ascension." Atlantis wrapped Sheppard's knees in gauze, and then set to work on his hands. Sensing his exhaustion, she lowered her voice to a hypnotic level. "Close your eyes and sleep. When you wake, I will be here... waiting."

"I'm not... sleepy," Sheppard yawned. His eyes drooped as the lights dimmed to a faint glimmer. "I wanna talk s'more..."

Sheppard didn't feel himself sink back onto the lumpy mattress. He didn't feel Atlantis slip off his boots and tuck the tattered blankets over his body. He didn't feel the stroke of her aged fingers across his eyebrow and down his cheek, and he missed the tender smile that shaved more years from her wrinkled face.


Beckett lifted Sheppard's right lid, flicking a bright penlight across the dull hazel pupil before letting the lid drop. He studied the small Ancient medical scanner, searching for answers not found by computerized medical text, or fancy processors and algorithms. He tapped out a request then cursed under his breath at the resulting error chime.

"Problems?"

Beckett jumped before glancing at his visitor.

"No, not really, at least I don't think so." He set down the scanner and tucked his fists into his white lab coat pockets. "He's still resting, as he should be. I don't expect him to awaken anytime soon, so I'm not quite sure why I feel concerned."

Weir crossed to Sheppard's bed and stared at his relaxed features, trying to get a feel for what was going on inside that bedraggled head. His unnatural stillness was enough to set off her internal sense of urgency.

"Is he in any pain?"

"He shouldn't be. I've prescribed pain medication to quell the headache I know is there. Beyond that, I just don't know." Beckett joined her at the bedside. "He's always been something of an enigma. He puts on a brave face, tries to take care of us­—to his own detriment, and pushes onward no matter the circumstance. Other than the information in his medical record, I know little of his past."

Weir pursed her lips and tipped her head in Sheppard's direction.

"Oh, I've seen his service record, and he has quite the history, Carson. If one reads between the lines, one will find his past full of dedication and commitment to his work and his military contemporaries. What one won't find is any reference to his personal life. Like you, I don't know much about his family or personal life before Atlantis."

"Some friends we are." Beckett glanced up, his eyebrows arched like mountain peaks. "I'm making it my business to ask … once he wakes up."

"Yeah, me too." Weir reached over and squeezed the doctor's forearm gently. "Do you have any idea when that might be?"

"Jesi felt somewhat better this morning, although she isn't 100 percent yet. My best estimate – I'm hoping he'll come around tomorrow."

"Well, that's something positive, Carson!" Weir glanced around the quiet infirmary, spotting Jesi asleep in her bed. "Where are Teyla and Ronon?"

"I released them to their quarters where they'd better be resting!" Beckett watched Weir as she gazed at Sheppard's inert form. "Elizabeth … you're exhausted. I prescribed the sleeping pills for a reason. Go get some rest."

Weir's head shot up, her eyes narrowed. "Is that your personal or professional opinion, Doctor?"

"Both, lass; both." Beckett nudged her toward the door.

"Well, you should be taking your own advice, my friend. I'm not alone in the 'haggard and weary' club!"

"No, but you are the leader and founding member …" Beckett grinned and darted into his office to avoid the quick jab Weir sent his way. "Good night, Elizabeth."

"Good night, smarty pants!" Weir snorted and shook her head as she made her way out of the infirmary.


TBC

A/N: I referred to three ascended Ancient women who want John to join them. Chaya and Teer are from the show, of course. Anna is my own creation from my last story, 'Wishing Well'. I liked her and wanted to list her in this little part.