A/N: The muses have brought treats. Enjoy. Just don't eat anything that moves.
16
Sandpaper rough wind whipped the tent flaps in a whip-loud frenzy capable of leaving bloody marks on unsuspecting flesh. It was a moaning wind, low and fluting that lifted sand from the ground in streams like spray off wave caps. Spray turned to dust devils that pulled a constant phoenix of living, dieing, and being reborn. Dust veiled the sky and the blazing white sun that dropped heat like a hand restraining the earth until even the air burned just to breathe. The inescapable light created pools of solid shadows with sharp edges marred only by uneven ground.
John raised his hand to shield his eyes from the stinging spray and white-washed glare that left dark spots flecking his vision. Sand crunched and scraped beneath his boots above the monotonous moan. He felt the heat being absorbed by his skin, sweat slicking him in a single, slippery coat gluing his shirt to his body, the resistance of the wind against his chest and limbs – but not the discomfort of it all. His body was more like a cheap suit he was barely aware of except in a secondary sort of way. Outside sensations went at far as his skin, but not his core. Inside, the temperature was average, and nothing could touch him. The light made his eyes spot up, but the headache that usually accompanied the spots wouldn't manifest.
John ducked his head on slipping through the psychotic tent flaps, angling his body through the gap to avoid the rebound. Inside, heat was a quieter presence, and the wind bulged against the lengthy tent walls in trying to pummel them with sand and sheer force. Bunks lined the walls, made army style that had neat-freak obsessive compulsives slobbering jealous. Footlockers were open, ready to receive, but the only physical presences were the two chuckling grunts sitting on the center most bunk, using a footlocker as a table and leaning in with arms on knees toward a laptop flickering multicolored hues on their faces.
John saw all this in a moment without the agonizing wait of his eyes adjusting to the gloom. Mitch and Dex hadn't noticed him yet, not that John expected them to. Once that laptop was open, bombings could commence and they'd still be stuck to it like comatose patients with their eyes open. Plenty did the bootlegging of DVDs – purchased, copied, downloaded or whatever - but it was Mitch and Dex that bootlegged the means to watch them. Anything was fair game; movies, family videos, occasional porn. John jumped on the movies, but avoided the porn. Didn't trust the stuff. Contrary to popular belief, not all men indulged in it. There was a possibility of addiction to it that John had been witness to in his uncle who thrived on booze, porn, strip clubs, and one night stands. Happy go lucky uncle Sid with his raunchy jokes and foul breath had worn happiness like a toupee; unconvincing and unpleasant to look at.
The toupee blew off the day he shot himself. What was with his family and giving up? Never being like Sid had been an easy vow to make, and part of that endeavor had been to avoid porn of any kind. Sid had given into sex more than he had the alcohol.
Giving in. His family gave up because they gave in. Endeavor two – never give up, never give in. McKay called it idiot optimism, John called it survival.
John moved toward his old buddies with steps that became hesitant the closer he came. Above the moan and clatter of sand against the tent walls was the jumbled cacophony of the two men's recent entertainment. Dex was the first to look up, and the sudden attention halted John.
" Shep! Buddy! What took you so freakin' long? Get over here, man, you gotta see this."
John's heart thudded – on the inside, not the outside, so he couldn't detach himself from the suffocating feel of it. He swallowed and pasted on his crooked grin of everything being a-okay in the world. Dex and Mitch, no matter their swearing on their lives and people's grave that they knew him, had never been able to see through his various smiles, smirks, and grins.
" What is it?" he asked. His body had wrested control from him, and he couldn't even so much as twitch a finger.
Dex waved him over. " C'mere and see, man. You're gonna love it, I swear."
Mitch's laughter came out in snorts, ending suddenly when his mouth went wide and his hand shot to it.
" Oh! That had to freakin' hurt. Dude, Sheppard, you've gotta check this out. It's too awesome."
John stuck his hands in his pockets like some awkward green private, suddenly shy at the attention of the seasoned soldiers, flattered that they wanted him to join in, but wary concerning what they might be up to in the long run.
Inside, John simply didn't want to see what they were seeing. Dex didn't give him the choice when he rose, speed walked to John, and grabbed him by both shoulders to shove him toward the laptop. John stumbled only to be caught by Dex and pushed to stand before the footlocker.
A space movie? Not likely, because something about the agile, whining ship was painfully familiar to have John's head throbbing and neck muscles pulling tight enough to rip. The distraction made him unaware that Dex had shoved him into sitting on the edge of the bunk. The ship was moving fast after the bigger ships, then...
John turned his head but not before catching the flash of an explosion or something like it. The light of it stabbed John's eyes and drilled into his brain. He winced and hissed from the pain, shrinking in a cringe against phantom agony. The light lingered, so he closed his eyes, and in the darkness of the lids felt the vibration of a ship resisting a powerful pull, a hammering heart, pulsating lungs, then heard the distant echoe of a scream of terror and pain.
Mitch and Dex cried out.
" Ooohhh!"
Mitch laughed but Dex spoke.
" Oh, that was bad, did you see that man! Shep? Hey, earth to Johnny!"
Hands pressed against the sides of his head and forced it to turn, then thumbs pressed against his eyes, pulling the lids up. John gasped. The scream had come from the screen, just the screen, but with a force that made John's own throat hurt. A plummeting ship blazing in the sunset-halo of burning atmosphere. The ship shuddered, vibrated, screeched and buckled. Where was the pilot? In the mind; they were seeing through his eyes, over the lighted console and out the cockpit glass. What they saw was the flames pulling away, and green/brown mottled earth coming up fast to meet them. John breathed faster and faster as the ship drew closer and closer. Dex didn't need to hold his eyes open anymore the way they went round. John's heart beat too fast for his inhuman breathing that produced whimpering sounds on each shallow exhale.
Faster, faster, faster, it all went faster.
" No no no no no no no," sounded within the whimpering. John tried to pull away but Dex had a firm hold on his head, and Mitch on his shoulder. They laughed a laugh so out of place it sounded cruel – which it was. They were freakin' enjoying this! But hadn't they laughed in the infirmary when he was holed up with busted bones from a nasty emergency landing? They'd been trying to make him feel better, as though nearly having his neck snapped wasn't such a big deal. It only worked thanks to John's desperation to forget what had happened. In truth, they had always sucked at the comfort thing. Even McKay had a better bedside manner than them.
The ground rushed up, the ship rushed down. John's breathing stopped on the deepest inhale he could pull with spine arched and hands scrambling to pull Dex's hands away.
" No," he moaned, trembling, begging, and sobbing.
Impact. John felt it jarring his body, rattling and wrenching his bones, tossing him around like a rag doll crushed in a toddler's fist. The screaming was too loud to be from the screen, and when John's throat burned, he realized it was his own. It hurt, it impossibly hurt just to watch, projecting too much pain. He felt his head yanked back to be pressed against a solid surface covered by cloth – Dex's shoulder, with Dex's hands moving to the back of his head as well as his back.
" Easy, man, easy. It's all right. Just breathe, man, take a deep breath..."
John gasped burning air into a raw throat and rapidly blinked his eyes leaking a deluge of tears. Dex continued to hold on. So did Mitch by the shoulders, giving reassuring squeezes. There was no sense of embarrassment in the act. The oddity of Dex and Mitch doing the comfort thing wasn't lost on John, he just didn't care.
" Real sorry about this man," said Mitch. " But you've gotta see this. I know you don't want to, but you really don't have a choice. Come on, Johnny, just turn your head and look, real quick. Shouldn't be much longer. The worst part's over."
Wrong! John shook his head. " It's just beginning."
Dex patted his back that made John's body sound hollow. " True, but that's come and gone, dude. Nothin' but bits and pieces that don't matter. But this..." He pushed against John until he was back to sitting on his own, then grabbed his head to force it back to the screen. John swallowed, cringed and shuddered.
" This is the good stuff."
Motion had stopped, dust was settling, and time sped up as bright day faded into thick, starry night visible through skeletal trees. Night phased from black to blue to ocean gray, and the unseen clock slowed. Human forms, dark and featureless as ink blots, moved outside the cockpit with the slow caution of the spooked.
" Speed it up, man," Mitch said. " This takes forever."
Time resumed its speed-demon motion, and the forms darted about the dead ship as gray turned gold to reveal details to the forms that were frightening John. When time went back to its normal crawl, the forms were gathered like vultures at the cockpit and doing something that popped the seal with a hiss. It was lifted away, the forms swarmed around the pilot, and John shrank back.
Close proximity revealed the faces that had John's heart lurching like a piece of steak being tenderized on his bones. Gorek – thinking the name made his stomach clench. The other faces had no names he recalled, unless he couldn't recall, or didn't want to. Gorek remained because Gorek had been the instigator of his misery from start to finish. The rest had become ghosts that had wandered his fragmented memories without importance – like extras in a movie, there to fill space and give the impression of a population. There was a dark haired man, blond man, big guy with silver hair shaved close to his skull. Silver hair and Gorek were reaching in with knives, cutting something, pulling, and the camera or vision or whatever it was jolted, lost focus, and went black. Pain ripped through John and he bit his lip to keep from screaming.
He failed, and screamed over Mitch and Dex's applause, throwing his head back.
" Good stuff, man," Mitch said.
Dex pointed to the blank screen. " Yeah, remember that. That was one for the ages, dude."
SGA
John's eyes flew open, but the rest of him remained immobile curled as small as his frame would allow beneath layers of blankets. Bolting upright had been completely impossible with muscles pulled so tight the strain made every inch of him hurt. The roar of blood in his ears could have shattered his eardrums, and he could almost discern the high rushing and furiously fast pulse of his heart. Beneath that to go echoing away the way dream residue will was the whooping sound of wild laughter, and a scream mixed with the shriek of twisting metal.
John knew better than to close his eyes. He didn't even blink until his eyes stung from lack of moisture. He focused on the shapes of the things in his quarters, mapping out their contours, then putting names to each. Kind of like doing equations or picturing ocean waves to calm down, tossing the mind a rope and reeling it in. It worked, eventually, when his muscles lost the strength to remain taut so slowly unknotted, and his heart eased out of its clamor, coaxing his breathing to come down with it. Turning his attention to breathing, he pulled air deep, then let it out slow, repeating the process until the lion roar of blood became a timid whisper. The shaking, however, refused to let up. Buried as he was under the mound of blankets, cold was radiating from the inside out like a leaking refrigerator.
It all added up to a minute, possibly less, John knew. But it didn't take all that much for John to wear out, and waking up terrified to the brink of physically snapping in half drained him like water through a colander. He squeezed his eyes shut just until the moment when images started up a lightning fast slide show. He reopened them, and simply lay there listening to the sound of his own breathing harsh and loud in the dark silence.
Then he was overcome by the trepidation of being alone.
He closed his eyes in a drawn out blink with breath released in a shudder. His brain was acting like a brat throwing a tantrum over Sheppard's increasing control. There was clarity and memories he brought up on his own accord just to spite himself, but he still suffered the sporadic mess of images popping into his mind like firecrackers – one after the other and ending just as abruptly as they had come. Minor annoyances for the most part, but did well at throwing him off, not to mention spooking the hell out of him on occasion.
Of course it didn't take unbidden memories to do that. Rabbits and mice had better self control. Kace had termed it emotional residue; memories of feelings fluttering in out of no where instead of visual memories. And it was mainly fear since fear had been so dominant during the scramble. Sheppard was an unintentional nervous wreck, but stemmed back the self loathing with the reminder that it would eventually fade like the bad memories.
He still couldn't recall his dreams except as fragments.
Even as he struggled against his emotions, solitude fought back by pressing harder to keep his heart skipping at an uncomfortably increased rate. Today was one of those days where he had no choice but to give in. On the plus side, they were getting farther and fewer between, and he wasn't whimpering like a three year old wanting his mommy. Focusing on his annoyance tended to help with that.
John threw the blankets back, shivering at the temperature change, and willed the lights on bit by bit like a rising sun until his eyes adjusted, sparing him the spike of a headache. He sat on the edge of his bed long enough to rub his face and run his fingers through his hair. Sleep hovered at the back of his mind like the voice of temptation that he pushed aside by shoving himself to his feet. He grabbed clothes, headed to the bathroom for a quick shower, and came out dressed in BDUs and a long sleeved shirt with hair spiked from lingering moisture. He pulled on socks, boots, headed to the door, and stopped to stand there.
It's been odd, the phobias he seemed to have developed that would hopefully dissipate soon. Sudden loud noises scared the hell out of him – especially shouting – and large groups of people made him nervous. But saints be praised, he was a stubborn man, or he'd never leave his quarters.
And he hated himself for it every time his heart slammed into jackhammering.
With a few deep breaths and calming thoughts involving oceans, fuzzy animals, and snow blowing off the drifts on Antarctica, Sheppard willed the door open and stepped out into civilization.
Lucky for him, civilization was in a mellow mood, and he didn't encounter anyone until he neared the infirmary, anyone being three people who didn't even glance his way. Sheppard entered the infirmary to be spotted by a nurse who nodded to him in greeting. Quickly formed routine kept her from saying anything. She went to fetch Beckett as John settled himself sitting on the edge of the nearest bed. Carson was fast to appear, wearing a lab coat with his stethoscope draped around his neck. He smiled at John in that bright way of his, always genuine as he was genuinely glad to see everyone, even Rodney on occasion.
" Mornin' to ya lad," he said.
John inclined his head. " Morning Doc."
" Ya no the drill, son. Let's have a look at ya."
John lifted up his shirt with his uncasted and bandage free hand. The casted arm he kept rested on his thigh. Beckett unwrapped John's chest, then placed stethoscope to ears for a quick listen at the heart and lungs. Following that came probing to the ribcage that had John more annoyed than pained. Beckett seemed fairly pleased by the checkup, and didn't even rebind John's chest. Carson then looked over the abrasions on John's wrist -well scabbed and several of the lesser cuts starting to fade. Finally – weigh in time, which seemed to make Carson's day.
Three pounds, John had gained what he considered to be three measly pounds. But Carson played the part of the optimistic one by reminding John to add those three to the other few pounds gained over the past couple of days. Yes, John was still underweight, but thankfully out of being categorized as emaciated.
" Aye, the increase in flesh isn't all that spectacular, but you should be pleased by the increase of muscle which is where most of the obtained fat has been goin'. You may be thin as a toothpick but you're gainin' your strength back at an excellent rate. Keep it up and you'll be runnin' with Ronon and stick fightin' with Teyla sooner than ya realize... after ya heal, of course."
John smiled, stepping backwards off the scale. " Of course."
Beckett nodded back as he jotted something down on a chart. " I don't expect ya to be anythin' but lean, lad. Your height and stamina won't allow for much else. We get to the point of more muscle and less visible skeleton, then I'll be satisfied. Now off with ya to get some breakfast. I hear they're servin' bacon today. Just don't go overboard about it or you'll regret it later."
" Will do doc."
John left the infirmary bolstered by Carson's pep talk but feeling no less self conscious. He headed to the mess at a fast walk only to slow on approach. The flow of people coming and going was constant. John joined that flow, melding seamlessly, and struck by the desire to be invisible. And it wasn't as though anyone was paying any real attention to him. It was the possibility of attention that had him nervous without an explanation why. Kind of like an instinct hammered into him over the years – more appropriately (and very probable to boot) weeks; i.e. weeks spent at Harl's. Harl's and goon squad's attention hadn't come cheap, and John's subconscious refused to drop the association.
John handled the discomfort by keeping his eyes to the floor like some timid, gawky teenager surrounded by the loud and obnoxious football team. He only looked up to grab a tray and to eye the selection of food. Sudden calls, bursts of laughter, and dropped utensils or trays had him jumping fit to have his skeleton detach from his skin. The real hard part came on completing the task of collecting his food, and having to look up to find a table. He was spared the long and uncomfortable search on hearing his name.
" Shep! Hey friend Shep, over here."
John turned to see Kace standing and waving him over to one of the outside tables. With a sigh and a sag of relief, John hurried over to join the telepath, with Ronon beside him. John set his tray down across from them.
" Thanks," John said. Kace plopped back down into his chair.
" You keep saying that, Shep, and I keep telling you," he leaned forward with one arm on the table and a grin on his face, " you think it a lot better than you say it. Words don't always get the emotions you want, you know? The thought really does count."
John smiled sheepishly. " And like I said, I'd still rather say it." He picked up his fork and went for the bacon before the waffles, stuffing a slice into his face but taking his time chewing to savor it.
" That's a fine food that bacon," Kace said. " In fact, me and Ronon here were just having a discussion on the better of your world's cuisine. Though we seem to have a difference of opinion over that cold, thick stuff... what's it called?"
" Milkshakes," Ronon replied, shoveling the last bit of his three waffle stack into his mouth.
" Yeah, milkshakes. I like the pink ones but he goes for the brown ones."
John grabbed the pink protein shake and lifted it. " I go either way. But I'm kind of leaning toward coconut."
Kace and Ronon exchanged cock-eyed looks, then turning them to Sheppard, spoke in unison.
" Coconut?"
" It's a fruit flavor," John said. " Coconut cream pie, Ronon. Remember?"
The runner's brow lifted. " Oh, yeah. That is good stuff."
John took another drink and nodded. " You don't really get 'em in milkshake form, though, but this other thing called a cream slush. Like a milkshake but with a lot more ice-cream and crushed ice."
" Whew! That's a lot of cold," Kace said. " You know... They got these critters on Moras that makes this milk-like stuff. If I could find something like your sugar and a freezer, I'd make the big coins selling shakes to the kiddies. Course that means I'd have to settle down. Doubt I could lug a giant cold box about."
Ronon finished off both his glass of juice and milk, then set them sideways on his now empty plate. " What's wrong with settling down?"
Kace turned to Ronon, regarding him, probably skimming his thoughts for deeper insight. " Can't argue with your logic. Atlantis is a great stopping point. But motions in my blood. Mine are a wandering people and we tend to get restless quick. Not that I'm not enjoying this little rest stop – probably the best I've had in years – but the itch is starting to grow and nice as this place is, I'll be wanting to head off soon."
Sheppard's mind stumbled over itself, and he was hit with a brief surge of fear. He had, to his chagrin and to Kace's knowledge, a kind of attachment to the telepath that didn't settle on simple friendship. Again, it all came down to association, and the association was that Kace equaled safety, understanding. The desire for Kace not to leave was humiliatingly childish in Sheppard's mind, like a little boy wanting to beg, pout, and cry until his favorite uncle finally relented and stayed. On a more mature level, John kept his mouth shut about it, and concentrated on simply harboring the hope that Kace would stay, because John really did consider him a friend – like one of his team.
If Kace had skimmed these thoughts, he didn't react upon them except to flick his eyes momentarily in John's direction. He was probably used to them by now. Besides, he would also be aware that John had no intentions of getting him to stay. Kace had done so much already, he owed John nothing. John was the one who owed him.
" How soon?" John settled on asking.
Kace shrugged. " Probably when I know your mind's settled. I worked too hard saving your hide, Shep. You put effort into a thing, then you've got no choice but to see it through or it'll haunt you for the rest of you life. And anyways, I've been contemplating trekking this mainland Ronon here's been telling me about."
" Sure it'd be safe?" John said. " We haven't even explored it all that much yet so it's not like we can say what's out there. Not even the Athosians."
Kace smirked and shrugged indifferently. " Water run, Shep. Every world I've been to always had a few nasty surprises. Me and Ronon here both agree it's doable. You've just got to know the tricks of the trade, like don't eat what the animals don't eat, and just because it's small, cute, and curious doesn't mean it's trying to make friends. Then there's my personal motto of 'eat it before it eats you'."
Ronon nodded sagely. " True, but I wouldn't agree to that concerning the wraith."
" Oh absolutely, not the wraith."
" Never the wraith."
John chuckled quietly. " But I bet their hair could make some good ropes."
Kace clapped his hands once then pointed at John. " Now you're catching on."
" Ever thought of going back to your home world?" Ronon asked.
At this, Kace's smile faltered, and his gaze fell to the table with one finger tracing invisible patterns on the surface. " Um... no, not really."
" Is it gone?"
Sheppard grimaced. Ronon's bluntness was all fine and dandy in shooting straight to the heart of the matter, but Sheppard always wondered if even the supposedly world wise Satedan had lines he didn't know he crossed.
But Kace, as usual, expressed no perturbation. He did, however, lose the struggle to maintain a smile, and let himself frown. " Let's put it this way, friend Ronon. Of all the planets I've been to... mine, by far, is the worst."
SGA
A soft tapping had Elizabeth looking up from mundane paper work and smiling at seeing John hovering at the doorway with his casted arm thumping against his thigh. He was smiling back at her like he always did when dropping by for whatever reason, though it lacked his usual buoyancy.
" John, come in," Elizabeth said.
A noise – someone dropping something or pounding on something – had John jumping and snapping his gaze over his shoulder. He was quick to recover his composure, including his smile, and entered the rest of the way into Weir's office to sit himself gingerly in one of the chairs.
" Hey Elizabeth," he sighed as he eased himself back against the seat rest. He looked a hell of a lot better today with his face bruise-free and his smile genuine rather than forced. He even appeared relaxed, and eased back into that state after another flinch when someone shouted to someone else. But it was the apparent mental control – his unhindered recognition of her and his old self comfortably dominant – that put her at ease. As far as she was concerned, he was back in full, leftover scrambler affects aside.
" How are you feeling today?" she asked.
" Awake."
" Good night's rest then?"
John shook his head. " Not really, but being able to sleep in makes up for it."
Elizabeth frowned at hearing this. " Nightmares?"
John lifted both hands palm up then dropped them. " Off and on."
Elizabeth sat back in her own chair, crossing her arms. " Anything in particular?"
John shrugged. " Most of the time just bad memories, the rest I don't remember. But they're not a constant so it's not like I'm being sleep deprived. Really, I feel great today. Beckett even took off the chest bandages and gave me the good news that I've gained three more pounds. So screw the dreams because I'm having a pretty good day whether my brain likes it or not. And it's not even lunch time yet."
Elizabeth went back to smiling. " Good day, huh? Well, that explains the grin. You do look better today, John."
" Glad I seem to be visually conveying it. Listen, Elizabeth, I've been thinking... about Kace..."
Elizabeth uncrossed her arms to lean forward with fingers laced together on the top of her desk. " Thinking about asking him to stick around? Really, John, we could use someone with his abilities helping us out."
John shook his head. " No, I wouldn't do that to him. He ever tell you about his home world?"
Weir furrowed her brow thoughtfully, and going on wary, since Sheppard's tone was hesitant, which always happened before he made some request he knew from the start that Elizabeth would have doubts about. " Not in detail, but I got the gist of it. Life isn't easy as a telepath."
" Well, he did give me the details." John scratched the side of his head. " And you'd think I wouldn't have remembered being told, but I guess it's kind of like a subliminal message – what goes in stays in. It's not just the wraith he has to deal with but these people that are kind of like slavers. They go in, grab a few, kill a few, then leave. And they got these devices or something that keeps the mind readers from doing their thing – or at least I think that's how Kace put it. Anyways, I was thinking..."
Elizabeth jumped in to keep Sheppard from finishing his train of thought. " John, if you're talking about engaging these 'slavers', you know I can't authorize that. We have enough enemies as it is and can't afford to be sucked into another war..."
John shook his head a little vehemently. " No, not a war. These slavers, they're not from Kace's world. Like I said, they pop in, take a few and leave. I'm not thinking battle royale here, I'm thinking prevention, keeping these creeps off his world."
Elizabeth continued to hold to caution, but was never closed to possible preventive measures, if they could be pulled off without inciting bloody conflict – and in the Pegasus galaxy a misinterpreted hand gesture or poorly elicited swear word could buy enemies for life - both of which were reasons why Sheppard's team wasn't allowed back on three different planets.
" What do you have in mind?" Elizabeth asked.
John shifted to sit a little straighter. " Well, plenty of recon for starters, get some intel on these guys which Kace would probably do good enough to provide, then go from there. I'm not talking hasty here, Elizabeth. No going in with guns blazing. Since these slavers don't live on that world, all we really need is some slick plan to keep them from ever coming back. Claim the planet, seize the gate, something like that. It really is the least we can do, don't you think? If it can be pulled off without a hitch, I mean. Hell, we've got a nice big mainland. Maybe we could bring them over as a last resort. I'm pretty sure Teyla's people wouldn't mind having neighbors, especially the kind that move around too much to become any kind of a problem."
Elizabeth lifted her hands to rest her chin on her entwined fingers. " Well, for starters, I would definitely keep bringing another entirely new group of people over to this world a very, very dead last resort. Other than that, I don't see the harm in trying. You're right, it is the least we could do."
The very least. If Sheppard thought himself the only one who owed Kace, then he was deeply mistaken. Elizabeth's misgivings toward Kace had been short lived, and overridden by the desire to hug the man (which probably explained the telepaths occasional bouts of chuckling whenever eye contact was made). All of Atlantis was in Kace's debt, and the man brushed it aside as though saving Sheppard had been nothing more than all in a good day's work. Kace could decline receiving something in return for what he did all he wanted, it wasn't going to stop Atlantis from finding a way to give.
But what Kace had done, in Elizabeth's mind, could never be fully repaid, and that didn't seem right.
John's body shifted again, easing out of his stiff-spine posture to practically sink into the chair. " So it's a go then?"
" It's a go. We'll need to plot out a more formal plan, talk with Kace about it..."
The alarms erupted like the cries of an electronic dying whale that had John jerking in alarm so forcefully he slid from his seat. Elizabeth jumped from her own chair to hurry around her desk and help him up.
" You all right?" she shouted above the noise.
John, a little pale and a lot panting, nodded. " I've toppled out of worse." They both hurried from the office as the announcement of an unscheduled off-world activation sounded. They entered the control room in time to see the event horizon slam like a beating fist against the prismatic shield. The light of the event horizon rippled on the floor and off the walls like the bottom of the ocean. The only sound was the pulsing blare of the alarms until a tech announced receiving an IDC.
" Stackhouse's team," the tech said. Elizabeth looked to John.
" They're not scheduled to return for another five hours."
John reflected her worry. " Let's hope they just got really bored."
" Lower the shield," Elizabeth shouted.
The shield blinked off, the okay was sent, and seconds later a mud-stained young marine came staggering through, clutching his arm at the shoulder with blood blindingly vivid against the white hand. Elizabeth's heart dropped into her stomach, with her hand going the opposite direction to the radio at her ear.
" Medical team to the gate room, now!" She hurried from the control room to the floor with Sheppard already there, supporting the marine by the unwounded arm.
" We were ambushed," he said, clear even with his colorless face twisted in pain. " It's like they were waiting for us or something. Just walked right on out of the woods like they owned the place and surrounded us. We didn't even get a chance to fight back. Next thing we know, we're being marched to the gate. I guess 'cause I was the last in line, they pulled me aside to be the messenger. I thought you weren't supposed to shoot the damn messenger sir!"
The kid swayed drunkenly, and if it hadn't been for Sheppard's grip, would have toppled.
" Easy, Corporal," John soothed, " just take it easy. You'll be all right. The doc'll be here with the happy stuff and you won't even know the bullet was there."
The list of why John garnered respect with such ease was as long as he was tall, and one of the reasons was his lack of a 'suck it up soldier' attitude toward his men. No one was a faceless automaton with a verbal remote control in Sheppard's world.
The Corporal – Sanders it read on his vest – shook his head. " They're freakin' nuts, sir. They'll hold our guys unless we're willing to make a trade."
" What trade?" Elizabeth asked.
Beckett arrived then with med team following, hauling a gurney between them. With John's help, he eased Corporal Sanders onto the gurney, and tried to get him to lay back with pressure to his good shoulder. Halfway down, Sanders' blood-caked hand snapped from his wound the grab John's sleeve, clinging so tight his hand shook. He looked up at his CO, frightened, apologetic, and sad.
When Sanders spoke, it was in a broken voice. " They want you sir. They'll only let our guys go if they get you an exchange."
John didn't react except to visibly pale. Sanders released his death grip on his CO's sleeve and allowed himself to be eased into a prone position.
" I'm sorry sir," he said before being wheeled away.
SGA
A/N: I've recently completed the epilogue of this story, so whole thing's nice and done. Rest assured, my readers, you will not be left hanging, unlike the readers of my CSI:NY story because I've hit a bit of a snafu in that one. So if you're also reading that one, please be patient until I'm able to straighten things out.
