Even in the Distance Chapter 10: A Radiant Shadow, a stargate: atlantis fanfic

Stargate Atlantis: Even in the Distance

By Reyclou

Chapter Ten: A Radiant Shadow

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Rodney awoke to the sound of something beating against the wall of his quarters—a soft, steady sound as smooth as clockwork. The scientist felt a tickle on his cheek and idly wiped a trail of drool from his mouth. Something tugged at his memory—he was supposed to do something important, but the fog of waking blurred his stumbling thoughts and he could focus on nothing. He knew only the soft, subtle pounding.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

With a yawn, he rolled over in his bed, trying to block out the persistent sound. Rodney pulled a pillow over his ear—whomever or whatever it was would just have to wait until morning. His stiff body felt like he had slept for days, though it could not have been more than a few minutes at best. After all, he had only just lain down, hadn't he? Rodney almost purred as he snuggled back down into the comfort of his sheets, drawing the blankets close about him. With a bit of effort, he cracked his eyes open. Bright sunlight filled his chambers with a cheery golden low, warming his pale skin.

Crap, it is morning, he murmured inwardly, nestling into his pillow. He caught only a fleeting glimpse of some dim form that shared his bed. Then it all came back to him—the last three days, the last thrust for salvation, last night. McKay sat bolt upright as his eyes flew open in sheer surprise. Beside him lay six feet of Air Force muscle packed in standard grey battle dress—combat boots and all.

"Morning, sunshine," John greeted, idly bouncing a rubber ball off the far wall. It hit the wall, bounced to the ground, then leapt back into his waiting hand.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Thud. Thud. Crash.

Rodney knocked the lamp from his night stand as he instinctively scuttled backward, inadvertently tossing himself out of bed. He hit the floor hard, a mess of tangled sheets and flailing limbs as he scrambled for some shred of sanity in his panicked confusion.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he sputtered, trying to kick his feet free of the sheets that had followed him to the floor.

The colonel did not so much as bat an eye at Rodney's unceremonious butt-plant, keeping his concentration on the ball. "What's the point of being omnipresent if I can't use it to annoy people?" he tossed the ball again.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Rodney clenched his eyes shut. He had not been awake five minutes, yet he sensed a gnawing headache sprouting from the base of his skull. "How," he added. "I mean how did you get here? I haven't even started on the projector repairs yet."

John had a way of shrugging with his lip that made the scientist want to throw something sharp at him and, if the colonel was not conveniently disembodied at the moment, he just might have. "Well, when you weren't in the Lab raring and ready to go first thing this morning, I decided to go ahead and reroute a few circuits myself."

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

"You did what?" Rodney blurted, shooting forward. A chill on his legs reminded him he'd only worn the bare essentials to bed last night. Wearing only a t-shirt and boxers, he felt almost naked in front of the airman—even if the airman himself was little more than a few beams of light. He scrambled to pull a blanket over his exposed skin.

John just kept bouncing his ball. "You do realize I'm fused with the damn bilioth'eca A'lantus, right?"

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Pulling himself to his feet, Rodney tried his best to shuffle for his clothes. His pants lay in a heap on the floor at the foot of his bed, Rodney being too tired the night before to find anywhere else to toss them. "I know you can access the Database…" he began, but dropped the sheets at the sound of the foreign words. Bilioth'eca? Surprised, he whipped around to face the colonel. "Did you just speak Ancient?"

"…No," John denied.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Feeling the cool breeze once again, Rodney pawed for his sheets, wrapping them around his person with decisive, indignant tugs. "Yes, you did! You just said 'Library Atlantis', that must have been what the Ancients called the Database…" the scientist trailed off, watching the ball again bounce off his chamber wall. "Would you stop that?" he barked, glaring at the colonel.

"Chill out, McKay," John eased, but he did not cease his motion. "I'm a hologram, it's not like I can break anything."

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Rodney crossed his arms defiantly, pulling the sheet around him almost like a cape. "That's my point. You are a hologram, at least for the time being, which means you shouldn't be able to interact with the physical environment!"

"You really aren't a morning person, are you, Rodney?" John drew his arm back and whipped the ball at McKay, who cringed tightly, pulling the sheet over his head to protect himself. The small rubber-looking ball passed through the scientist, bounced off the wall behind, returned through his form and landed square in the colonel's palm. "It's called an overactive imagination, McKay, now would you get up and get ready?"

"All right, all right!" Rodney snapped, quickly feeling his chest just to make sure nothing was out of place. He bent for the crumpled pile. "Sheesh. Even laying on your deathbed, you're still a pain in the…"

"Clunes?"

Grumbling, Rodney snatched his grey trousers. The colonel cleared his false throat and diverted his eyes elsewhere while Rodney shimmied into the pants. "I save a man from certain death and this is the thanks I get?"

"I wouldn't break out the wine just yet, Rodney," murmured the colonel.

"Elizabeth's right, Colonel," Rodney quickly redid the clasp on his cloth belt. "There's still time, there's still a chance. Maybe if we let Team Fumbles move in on it…"

"Three percent," John stated without a twinge of emotion.

Confused, Rodney replied, "Three percent what?"

"That's my chance of survival," the pilot explained bluntly, turning the ball in his hand. "Not to mention the fact that I may never walk again, among other activities. Locked in the infirmary, strapped to a bed—what kind of life is that?" he let the ball fly again.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

The scientist stopped his shifting, staring back at the colonel with wide blue eyes. "My god, you really have given up, haven't you?"

John rolled his eyes as if to brush off a mother's henpecking. "I'm saying you two shouldn't get your hopes up. It's bad enough you had to be involved in this, but…" John trailed off suddenly. He went to toss the ball again, but couldn't summon the strength to let it fly.

"But? But what?" Rodney insisted, his face reddening with frustration. He took a few striding steps to face him directly. "You think I want to sit here and waste what could be your last breath just to reprogram some stupid alien software? You think I can watch a man—a good friend—die a miserable, painful death and just brush it off, but Elizabeth can't handle it? Hmm? Is that it?"

"It was never a question of who could or couldn't handle it, Rodney," John growled.

"What, you jut wanted to see how long I'd keep quiet?" Rodney stomped back across the room to recover his jacked, which he had thrown over a chair next to his bed. He shoved his arms through the sleeves, huffing angrily.

John made little attempt to apologize, but offered calmly, "If I could have stopped her, I would have."

The scientist pulled the rest of the coat over his back. "Are we talking about Atlantis, or Elizabeth?"

The other man's head snapped up. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes on the smaller man.

Again, Rodney turned toward the colonel, pulling and patting himself into a presentable shape. "I know you have this whole self-sacrificial thing going on that really wins points with the ladies, but when the time comes, you shut out the people you need most—people who want to help you, people who are overqualified to help you. And I'm not just talking about the myriad of degrees she and I—well, mostly I—hold between us."

"Well ain't you the grand-daddy of all liars," the colonel laughed. "You tune people out like the world is a damn T.V."

"Yes," Rodney hissed. "I am the king of self-righteousness and as king I'm saying it's a damn crappy way to treat people."

That seemed to give the colonel pause for thought. He tossed the ball several times while contemplating Rodney's words.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Just when Rodney thought he couldn't take another round of the noise, it stopped and John spoke again. "She's been through a lot already. She doesn't need to watch a man die again, not when she can't do anything to save him."

Rodney's eyes widened at that, as if some great mystery of life had just unraveled itself before him. "That's what this is about, isn't it?" Rodney paused, thinking. His voice grew soft and quick as the man whispered more to himself than to the colonel. He looked off into the distance. "Of course, why didn't I see it before?" he wondered. "I mean, I guess I've always known where she stood—after all, she went though hell to get you promoted. How could there be any doubt?"

John sat forward abruptly. "She what?"

The question was lost amidst Rodney's adamant babbling. "But you? You're a much harder read my friend," he continued with a sly smile and shaking a knowing finger. "And here I thought you only went for Ascended women."

"Rodney, what the hell are you talking about?" John questioned, curiosity and something like panic brewing in his tone. "What's this about a promotion? What did Elizabeth do?" he asked again, but the scientist only smiled to himself.

Mumbling to himself, Rodney made for the door. "This is big. I mean, way big! Bigger than big!"

"Rodney!" John called, but he had already disappeared out the door.

oOo

White coated medical personnel scurried out of the way as Ronon Dex escorted a very tired-looking Teyla Emmagan through the maze of the Atlantis Infirmary. Carson Beckett looked up from his desk at the quiet commotion, recognizing the unspoken fear cast by his hurried med staff. Ronon never spent much time in the Infirmary, but what quality time he did spend within its confines usually involved a lot of growling at his nurses. It wasn't that he particularly hated them, or that he felt threatened by them in any way, he just didn't want them getting soft on him. The doctor usually put him in a private room, but that only made the situation worse, really. Most of the nurses, male and female, were petrified to stand in the same room alone with the Satedan—it felt like changing the bandages on a caged tiger.

"Hello, Doctor Beckett," Teyla tried to smile in greeting, but managed only a subtle turn of her lip. Ronon only glowered.

"Teyla, Ronon," the doctor greeted softly, rising to his feet. It felt like ages since he had seen them last, though it had really only been a day or so. "What brings you here?"

"Dr. Kavanaugh," Teyla replied. "Is he well enough?"

Carson nodded. "Oh aye, he's got a nasty cut on the head, but it's not too deep—didn't even need stitches. He'll be fine," the Scotsman motioned the two to follow him. "He's over this way,"

Obediently, Ronon and Teyla fell in step behind Carson as he led them to a fresh bed in the back of the infirmary where Kavanaugh lay. A nurse tended to a bandage holding a compress to the back of the man's head, his long hair hanging over his shoulders. The two both thought it odd to see Kavanaugh without his trademark ponytail. It felt like watching the man take a bath. Teyla tried to smile to ease the awkwardness, but any thoughts of embarrassment, however, vanished with the man opened his mouth.

"Oh, what's this?" Kavanaugh sniped when he caught site of the two aliens. "They're sending you two to interrogate me now?"

Teyla heard Ronon growl something unpleasant, causing Kavanaugh's face to pale, but Teyla set a hand on the Runner's shoulder in a silent plea to back off. The nurse tending Kavanaugh's head wound finished her task quickly and hurried off, not wanting to end up in the middle of any battle involving the Satedan.

"Easy, son," Carson warned, turning his eyes on Ronon. "This is a place a'healin'. You can either mind yer manners, or ye can wait outside," Ronon's glare never left Kavanaugh, but the way he eased his weight away from the bed seemed to concede compliance, at least for the moment.

With Ronon settled, Teyla turned her attention back to the scientist. "Dr. Kavanaugh, we wish only to ask you a few questions about what happened. You must understand we only have the best interests of yourself and others at heart here."

Kavanaugh almost rolled his eyes. "That sounds like something Dr. Weir would say. I'm surprised she's taken such an interest, unless she's disappointed I survived."

"Dr. Weir did not order this investigation," Teyla stated, trying with all her strength to ignore the man's caustic attitude. Why he had decided to stay in the city following the incident with the Goa'uld sabotage of the Ancient city was simply beyond her. Kavanaugh had been all but accused of treason, yet now he seemed to wear that sting like a badge, lording it over his co-workers—not to mention Dr. Weir. Pushing that aside, Teyla continued. "Her transport malfunctioned and she spent the better part of the night trying to work her way back to the Expedition."

"How convenient for her," the scientist smirked.

Teyla gritted her teeth, forcing a calm, pleasantly unreadable mask across her features. She may as well just get on with it. "Dr. Kavanaugh, your research stations are on the other side of the tower. What were you doing around the morgue?"

"I picked up on some energy spikes in the city's energy consumption," he replied, as if reciting from the witness stand. "With most of my team distracted with the preparations for Colonel Sheppard's memorial service, I had no choice but to follow up on the reports myself."

"And these spikes came from the morgue?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well that's what I was trying to figure out, before Dr. McKay jumped me!"

Carson, Ronon and Teyla each startled at the statement. "Jumped you?" Carson asked. "Why on earth would he do such a thing?"

"You mean besides the fact he hates my guts?" Kavanaugh hissed, but none of his visitors paid him any sympathy. Setting his jaw, he added, "All I remember is walking in and finding McKay messing with the stasis pods. McKay freaked the moment he saw and pulled a stunner, then I woke up with this," Kavanaugh pointed to the bandage at his head. "I think it's safe to say that McKay has utterly lost it. He needs some serious psychiatric help. Bare minimum, he should be locked up in the brig."

"Don't count on it," Ronon growled, enticing the smaller man, but Teyla was at the Runner's arm, calming him before the scientist could respond.

"He means to say no one has seen Dr. McKay since this incident," the woman insisted, her warning tone clearly directed more at Ronon than the injured man. When Ronon calmed, Teyla turned again to the scientist. She desperately tried to convey a neutral presence. "Dr. Kavanaugh, please, do you have any clue what he was doing in the morgue?"

Kavanaugh glared at her. "I don't particularly care. The man is crazy!"

Ignoring the man's attitude but not his point, Teyla turned from Kavanaugh to the Scotsman. "Dr. Beckett," she questioned calmly. "Did you or your team notice anything strange following the incident?"

Carson thought carefully, but slowly shook his head. "I can't say that we did. I don't know why Dr. McKay would be in there in the first place, we had already transferred the Colonel's body to his coffin well before the ceremony."

"Of this you are sure?"

"Of course," Carson stated. "I moved him myself. Broke mah heart, but I had to make sure everything was done proper. And I assure you, there was nothing McKay could have done. Had me eye on the stasis chambers the whole time the colonel was in there."

"And did you notice any of these… spikes?" Teyla asked.

"No, none. It's been perfectly normal for the last few days. It's kept the colonel remarkably preserved. Rigor mortis had only just begun to set in when we…" the doctor's eyes dropped momentarily. "Dressed him for the ceremony."

"And I'm telling you the morgue has been sucking power like a leech!" Kavanaugh cut in forcefully.

Carson returned the man's statement with a stern insistence of his own. "We've been getting' crazy readings all over the city for days!"

Sensing another confrontation, Teyla eased the tensions with a compromise. "Perhaps it would be best if we investigated this morgue, perhaps the answer to your question lies therein?"

The medical doctor hesitated for a moment, thinking over Teyla's offer. Looking first to the woman then to her taller teammate, he finally nodded. "Aye, all right—but we take Dr. Zelenka."

Kavanaugh smirked again. "Why, you don't trust me?" he sneered.

"No," Carson shot back pointedly. "Because I don't trust Ronon. He's liable to rip yer head from yer shoulder if I so much as turn my back for a moment."

Again, Kavanaugh's face paled. Teyla sighed and glared toward Ronon, who grinned wildly as Carson steered him toward the door.

oOo

Mid-morning sun beamed in through the windows of the Gaterium, lighting the Control Room with a cheery bright. Normally such an undeniably beautiful day inspired good cheer and camaraderie among Elizabeth's crew, but today their footfalls seemed heavier, shoulders bent in sorrow, and no one seemed quite up to speed. Watching the slow traffic from her office windows, Elizabeth had to consciously remind herself that they had only buried the colonel two days ago. No one else in Atlantis suspected John slept in stasis beneath the city, and no one ever would, if John had his way.

In the gate room below, Major Lorne briefed a team readying for departure. As much as she wished life could just grind to a halt for all eternity, giving Rodney the chance to rebuild the city twice-over, they had to move on. The major made a good commander; faithful, patient, good with the men, stern where needed. He had also done a remarkable job picking up her slack in the last few days. Military types were good at that, trudging on through sorrow and pain, their chins straight and heads held high. Elizabeth knew Lorne had seen a lot of action in his career. He had served in the SGC for a couple of years before transferring to Atlantis and, in that time, had seen a fellow teammate killed and strung up like a scarecrow by a pack of the Neanderthal-like Unas. That kind of thing stuck with a man.

Yes, Lorne was a good soldier—Steven Caldwell, too—but the thought of anyone but John at the helm of the great battle city caused a cold tremble in her gut. Atlantis without John Sheppard—unthinkable—yet the alternative did not seem as attractive as she had first thought it to be. True, Atlantis could give them a John Sheppard, or at least a remnant of him. Elizabeth pictured the colonel serving as the city's heart and soul. John had a good military mind; his strategies had saved the city on more than one occasion. Having a city that could fight like him would be more than an asset. He knew how his men worked, knew how Rodney worked, and knew what needed to be done to bring the city back to life.

She frowned at that thought. Back to life. Through John's ultimate sacrifice, Atlantis could live again, yet somehow the trade-off just didn't seem a fair one.

Even with the holographic technology, even with the artificial intellect, it would never be more than a radiant shadow of John Sheppard. He could think, laugh, joke, smile, act and respond as she had always know him to—like a stubborn genius of a fool—but it would not be him. The real John would perish, breath his last, and fade into what lay beyond, never to fly again. The shadow he left would never age, never change, never be more than a snapshot of a man, never more than a figment of the city's imagination.

A John Sheppard that could think but not feel, learn but never understand, observe but never see—a John Sheppard that would walk and talk, but never breathe.

A John Sheppard she couldn't shove up against a wall and kiss until his breath burned within her chest.

Shaking her head, Elizabeth stopped that image in its tracks. She couldn't risk thinking that way. Thinking like that could get her into trouble—heart trouble, to say the least. Sheppard was her…

Elizabeth blinked. What was he? He wasn't her second-in-command, not anymore, nor was he her subordinate. As far as Stargate Command was concerned, John Sheppard died in the field. No rule—military or otherwise—bound her now, so who could condemn her for a little dream?

Wearily, the woman rubbed at her forearms. She yearned to get back down there beneath the city, if only to watch Rodney work. At least then she could feel like she was doing something useful, like she wasn't just cooling her heels in her office, but the city needed her, too. Besides, someone needed to cover for Rodney. She had a hard enough time convincing Lorne to call off the search, and Carson still stood convinced that Rodney had passed out in a hypoglycemic coma somewhere, but the two trusted her enough to obey—even if it clashed with their better judgment. She told them he just needed time himself, time to sort things out in his own way. As long as he personally checked in with her, she would let him be.

Neither of them needed to know she was the one who did the checking in.

It was not an excuse that would last long, but she only needed a day or two. Then Rodney's sad task would be over and John would either be in the Infirmary getting an earful from his team, or lost to another world.

Something within told her the latter seemed more likely than the former, but she could not give up hope just yet. The city needed him, too.

"Elizabeth?"

When the woman looked up, she caught a reflection in the glass that nearly knocked her knees out from under her. A ghost of a man shone off the Lantean glass. Elizabeth turned to see John standing in front of her desk, arms crossed and looking as intense as ever.

"John?" She whispered, again marveling at the almost-magic that let him stand there before her, even though he lay so far away.

The colonel set his jaw, lifting an eyebrow. His low, rumbling voice sounded in cold determination. "I think we need to talk."