Aftermath

By Ann3

Writer's Note: I'm hoping to finish posting this story through the weekend, since RL is going to get pretty busy again for me next week ! Still six more chapters after this one, though, so I'd better crack on !

Chapter Seventeen

Riders On The Storm

"John…? Do – Do ye think he's still alive…?"

His voice almost lost on a brisk dawn breeze, Carson took a deep steadying breath, then tried again.

"I – I mean, I know I wished him in hell, for – for what he did to me, and Lieutenant Morrison, but…"

"…you still feel responsible for him…?"

Finishing the question as quietly as Carson Beckett had started it, John Sheppard then sighed – meeting his friend's eyes with a slight smile before he sighed once more, shrugging his shoulders. "I honestly don't know, Carson… I mean, with no way of proving things, one way or the other…"

"Aye, lad, I know… I know…"

As another awkward silence stretched between them, John still resisted the temptation to break it. If there was one thing he'd learned in his time on Atlantis, it was not to back her CMO into a corner. An unsettled Carson Beckett would reveal what was troubling him when he was good and ready, never before.

Instead John took another sip of his coffee, staring over the balcony railing to the distant storm beyond. It had become something of a routine now, this quiet chat together over breakfast in the Commissary. Another part of the healing process between them, re-building precious bonds of trust and friendship. A simple yet vital way of ensuring that one of his closest friends didn't end up as a total basket case.

God knew, he reflected, now quietly studying his friend, it would be an uphill battle for some time yet.

Subjected to a brutality he'd never deserved, Carson Beckett had just been through hell and back – survivors' guilt the latest threat to that most compassionate of minds as it still struggled to heal.

The warning signs had been hard to spot, of course, since Carson had been so quiet of late anyway. But John Sheppard had noticed that telltale rubbing of knuckles during yesterday's staff meeting.

Uncharacteristically late, the last to arrive, Carson had, even more tellingly, been the first to leave – John's quiet 'I'll take care of this…' to a room of awkward friends met, thankfully, with no argument as he'd followed his friend out.

Finding him in, of all places, the combat training room, John had borne witness to a surreal sight – the gentlest soul in the city, punching the proverbial crap out of one of their training mannequins. If the thing had been real, John had dryly reflected, it would have needed one hell of a good surgeon.

Its suffering had only ended when, his fury and anger finally spent, Carson had collapsed against it – curses of Celtic fury replaced by stricken sobs as he'd buried his head in his hands, and cried and cried

Only then had John emerged from his hiding place, to rest the gentlest of hands on Carson's shoulder. He'd kept it there, offering silent strength and support, until the tremors beneath it finally died away.

He'd been in no state afterwards to talk then. To John Sheppard's quiet relief, he felt like talking now.

"'m – 'm sorry, John… about Lieutenant Morrison, an'… an' ev'ryone else who died protectin' me…"

Caught by surprise by this sudden admission, John then felt the slightest of smiles returning to his face. Whatever else Michael had stolen from Carson Beckett's mind, its greatest strength had still survived.

The compassion which formed the core of his soul was still there, albeit as battered as that mannequin. Now it just needed a little hope, a new sense of purpose, to give it fresh strength with which to heal.

"Yeah, Carson, I know… but you've got to remember what I told you about that…" he said at last, making a point of holding Carson's eyes so he could find that strength, that precious reason to believe. "The only way that their deaths will be wasted, Carson, will be if you give up… if you stop living…"

He'd spoken quietly and calmly, making sure that his voice held no trace of anger or censure – the reward of a tentative smile causing his own to widen as tear-bright blue eyes gladly confirmed it.

The stormclouds within them were lifting now, dispersing as quickly as those that had circled the city. As one storm rumbled its death throes around them, Carson Beckett now bravely rode through another.