Aftermath

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Okay, for those left wondering over the last chapter, and where it might lead, here's its resolution... enjoy !

Chapter Twenty

Promises Made, Promises Kept

He'd been quiet that morning, lost in thought, from the moment he'd woken right on through breakfast.

Not that John Sheppard had felt unduly worried by this ongoing silence, or tempted at all to break it. It was, after all, the best way for Carson to prepare for what, both knew, would be one hell of a day.

So instead he'd respected this most vital preparation through his own, watchfully protective silence – breaking it only to gently insist that his friend eat something for breakfast, if only a slice of dry toast.

That had won him a tense but still welcome smile. A sulkily muttered complaint had been more welcome still.

"An' people accuse me of bein' a fusspottin' mother hen…!"

Wisely taking the fifth on that point, John had merely shrugged while passing him the relevant plate – a raised eyebrow the only incentive Carson had needed to dryly accept it without further argument.

From sheer nerves alone, his metabolism had burned through that toast with unnatural speed – the same nerves which now had him frettishly picking yet more non existent lint from his tie.

Aware of quietly gentle eyes watching him, Carson now met them with an even more jittery wince.

"I'm ashamed to admit it, son, but… well, I never could get the hang of knottin' these damn things…"

"Don't worry, Carson, it's knotted up just fine…" John assured him gently – the afterthought that his friend was knotted up just as tightly held safe behind a diplomatic smile.

Nodding in distracted agreement, Carson turned back to stare out at the passing cars alongside them – restless fingers gradually dropping from his tie, to give the same treatment to the hem of his suit.

Only when the car drew to a gentle halt at a tree-lined sidewalk did those restless hands finally stop moving – the nervousness within them transferring to a voice which now whispered the pointlessly obvious.

"We're – We're here…"

With too much at stake to tease him, John merely nodded while reaching to squeeze Carson's shoulder.

"You okay, Carson…?" he asked softly, his own nerves betraying themselves as he checked his watch. "I mean, we're a few minutes early, so if you want to… well, you know, just sit here for a while…"

So sorely tempted to do just that, so very aware that he couldn't, Carson shook his head instead – dredging up the tiniest of smiles for his friend, before nodding towards an irrevocably opening door.

"No, son, we're… well, they're clearly expectin' us… it'd be rude to keep them waitin'…"

Doubting that he'd ever be more proud of his friend as he was right now, John Sheppard smiled too – Carson's greatest strength, his innate concern for others, now joined by fears of a hated weakness.

"I – I jus' hope I don't start blubbin' on ye, John… or – or make a bloody fool o' myself…"

"You'll be just fine, Carson…" John assured him, giving his shoulder another heartening squeeze. "And even if you do break down… hey, no-one, least of all me, is gonna hold it against you, okay…?"

While not completely convinced, at least Carson's smile came slightly easier as he nodded once more. More significantly, it was his hand, not John Sheppard's, which moved first to release his seatbelt. And it was his door which opened first to allow him, albeit hesitantly, to climb out onto the sidewalk.

Moving with, he hoped, not too obvious speed to join him, John gave Carson another rallying smile – one that was so gratefully returned as they walked, in dutiful reverence, to the doorway ahead of them

Removing his hat, John then tucked it, with practised military briskness, under his left elbow – his freed right hand then snapping, in textbook salute, to the distinguished figure who stood before him

"Colonel John Sheppard, sir… United States Air Force…"

Nodding acknowledgement, keen grey eyes then turned to meet Carson Beckett's quietly terrified blue

"And you must be Dr Beckett…?"

The voice had been warm enough, reassuringly friendly – but it still couldn't settle Carson's nerves. Looking for all the world as if he were about to face a firing squad, he just nodded, swallowing hard.

Perhaps it was this which brought another gentle hand to join that of John Sheppard on his shoulder – Richard Morrison's voice understanding every bit of his pain and anguish as he led Carson into his hallway.

"I know, son… I know…"