Of
Duty, Atonement, and Redemption—Chapter Three
By
SGC Gategirl
For warnings, comments, summary, etc, please see part one.
Day Three
McKay refused to leave his quarters all day.
Lorne had asked several times—politely, nicely—only to be insulted and unceremoniously thrown out. There was only so much food the physicist could horde in there before he would have to come out, but who knew what he had hidden away. It wouldn't surprise him if the scientist had managed to MacGyver some sort of Ancient mini-fridge out of spare parts.
By the time the next day rolled around, Lorne was worried. According to Andrews and Clark, McKay had refused any offer to go get food. A man could not live on PowerBars alone—even though McKay would probably try to argue against it.
Preparing himself for a fight, Lorne squared his shoulders and waved his hand over the door panel, triggering the chime. After a few minutes of no response, Lorne tried again, adding several pounds on the door with his fist.
"Doctor McKay?"
Thinking the door open, Lorne poked his head in, catching sight of the overly organized and spotless room. And sitting at the desk—slumped over it was closer to the truth—was the scientist.
Approaching slowly, Lorne noted he was breathing—always a good thing. A light snore rose up from the sleeping figure and he shook his head. Even off duty, the scientist didn't know when to quit. It didn't even look as if he'd ever made it to bed last night.
Reaching out a hand, he placed it lightly on the sleeping man's shoulder, trying not to startle him. "Doctor?"
McKay half-muttered, "Go away," before shifting slightly, a grimace finding its way to his face.
He woke then in stages, his hand immediately going to clutch at his back, the other one grabbing at his head. "Oh, god…" he groaned. A minute later he glanced over his shoulder, his bloodshot blue eyes glazed with pain. "What are you doing in here? Don't you people torture me enough?"
Lorne leaned back, his eyebrows drawing together. "Torture? What?"
McKay waved him off, rising to his feet with a hiss. "Never mind. Where are those damn pills?"
"What's wrong, McKay?" Lorne asked, following the staggering scientist as he stumbled to the bathroom. A field fit appeared a moment later that he rustled through, finally pulling out a bottle of pain meds.
"What does it look like?" he replied, shaking two pills into his hand before popping them into his mouth and dry-swallowing them.
"You look like you're eighty, that's what," Lorne said, eyeing the man critically. "Why don't you try sleeping in your bed?"
"Oh, thank you for bringing that to my attention, Captain Obvious. I hadn't thought of that before," McKay said, rounding on him. "And why are you in here anyway?"
"Major Obvious to you, doctor," he said, trying to lighten the atmosphere in the room—without success. Narrowing his eyes, he took a good look at the man leaning against the bathroom doorframe. He was paler than yesterday, the circles under his eyes darker. McKay was obviously sporting one hell of a headache if the squinting eyes were any indication. Top that off with stiff back muscles from falling asleep at his desk…well it was no big surprise why he might be a little testy.
"When was the last time you ate something?"
McKay folded his hands over his chest. "I know how to take care of myself, Major. I don't need a nursemaid."
"Just answer the question."
"Yesterday sometime…this morning. What does it matter?"
"Let me guess. A peanut butter PowerBar?"
McKay huffed at him, confirming his assumption. "So, since we're settled with when and what you ate last, how about breakfast? I'm sure the sudden decrease in caffeine is not helping your head. I'll make sure there's a full pot."
It took a moment before he answered. Shaking his head slowly, McKay's eyes were guarded. "Why do you care?"
"I have eyes and ears, McKay, but I choose to make my own decisions. Up for some breakfast? I'll join you this time."
McKay held his eyes for a long moment before answering. "You promise there will be coffee?"
Lorne smiled. "Promise."
Teyla walked purposely toward Doctor McKay's quarters, her training bag in hand. Although Colonel Sheppard had explained the mission that had led to the Doctor's current predicament to both her and Ronon, the real reasons behind the Colonel's anger were not clear. And, no matter how much she and Ronon pushed, he would not speak any further about the matter.
She had heard the talk in the hallways, in the gym, in the mess hall, in the infirmary, and even in the control room. There was not much else being spoken about. The words were hurtful, full of vengeance and distain. She had known that the scientist was not the most popular person on the base, but she had never expected the tone of the conversations she'd overheard.
Lieutenant Holden Clark was standing guard outside the Doctor's quarters, a bored expression on his face. As soon as he saw her coming, however, he straightened up, his professional mask slipping in place. When she stopped in front of him, his eyebrow rose.
"Ma'am…can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Doctor McKay."
"He's not available."
"Is he not inside his quarters?"
"Of course, he's there."
"Then, why am I not permitted to speak to him? Did Doctor Weir specifically state that Doctor McKay was to receive no visitors?"
"Well, no, not exactly."
Teyla narrowed her eyes. "Would it not be best to check with Doctor Weir before we stand here with the situation unresolved?"
"But—" he muttered, but Teyla cut him off as she reached for her comm. "Doctor Weir?"
Weir's response was almost immediate. "Yes, Teyla? Is there a problem?"
"I had a question regarding the specifics of Doctor McKay's confinement. Is he permitted visitors?"
Weir was quiet for a moment before she finally responded, her tone curious but with a strange hard edge, her words coming slowly as if she was carefully considering them. "Was there something you wished to discuss with Doctor McKay?"
"No. He is a member of my team and I wish to speak with him. Has he been denied companionship as well as removed from the duty roster?"
"No," Weir finally answered. "Anyone who wishes to speak to him may."
"Thank you, Doctor Weir. I will inform Lieutenant Clark of your decision. Teyla out." Turning the comm off, she turned to the man standing beside her, his expression a combination of worry and annoyance. "Doctor Weir says that Doctor McKay is permitted visitors. If you will stand aside, I wish to speak with him."
"Your funeral," Clark muttered, waving his hand over the door chime.
Teyla turned back him, her anger rising. "What did you say?"
"Just that he's been in a piss-poor mood for the past three days. Might be safer out here."
"And if you had been treated the way he has been, would you not also be in a 'piss-poor' mood, Lieutenant?"
The doors slid open revealing a bleary-eyed McKay. "What do you want?"
Breakfast had been an interesting affair.
There had been coffee—as promised. As many cups as he wanted. Lorne had even procured a thermos from somewhere, filling it with the hot liquid before they returned to his quarters.
Pseudo-eggs had graced his plate, along with pancakes and toast, everything just the way he liked. And after a day of PowerBars, and the other odds and ends he'd be able to grab, it was heavenly.
The whispering was still there. The leering stares. The distain-filled glances.
But McKay had ignored them, intent on the hot food in his plate. But still, the words got through and by the end of his meal he'd been as tense as a piano string. Glancing up at Major Lorne, he knew the man had heard everything, his eyes flickering over the people in the room, remembering phrases and faces and names. It was as if McKay could see Lorne cataloging everything and storing it in the back of his mind. What he was going to do with the information, he didn't know.
The incident happened when they were leaving.
It was said quietly, but the disgust had been clear. "Who knew McKay could find another bedwarmer so quickly? Wonder if he even waited for Sheppard to get his toothbrush before moving in."
McKay had turned, his eyes finding the culprit immediately. It was hard to miss the condescending glare and the up-lifted chin. It wasn't Kavanaugh, but the tone was just about right—as was the attitude. It had to be one of his minions.
Lorne had put a hand on his arm, trying to stop his forward movement, but he shrugged it off. His eyes narrowing as he approached the scientist, McKay could feel his blood pressure rising with every step.
"You were saying something, Wisinski?" McKay asked, the name popping into his mind as he got closer. The scientist stood, drawing support from the other three sitting with him at the table.
Ignoring Lorne's warning of "McKay" in the background, Rodney had kept moving, only stopping when he was in the man's personal space.
Wisinski had glanced toward his companions, puffing up with confidence at their encouraging smiles. "I was just commenting on how quickly you change boyfriends, McKay. What's with you and the military? Or maybe you just have a thing for uniforms?"
His hands shaking, the pulse point in his forehead throbbing with each and every beat of his heart, he stepped closer, only to find Major Lorne moving between then, blocking his way.
"I believe this conversation is ended gentlemen," the Major said, his voice boding no argument, a hand on each man's chest, gently forcing them apart.
"I wasn't done. In fact I was just getting started," McKay growled, his eyes refusing to leave Wisinski's face. He was briefly rewarded when he saw a hint of fear in the scientist's eyes, but it quickly faded when Lorne continued, shoving McKay back a few paces.
"Yes, you were. Now, Doctor Wisinski, if you'd kindly return to your meal, Doctor McKay and I will be leaving." He paused, turning slightly as he aimed the last part at the smug scientist. "Let me make a suggestion. Make sure this…conversation never happens again."
Lorne had moved away, grabbing McKay by the arm, forcibly removing him from the mess hall. Snagging the thermos full of coffee from the table, they'd returned to the residential section of Atlantis in silence, McKay still fuming about the incident, Lorne companionably quiet.
When he'd refused to leave for lunch, Lorne ordered someone to bring something, dropping the tray on the desk with a thump before turning on his heel and heading back out the door. McKay didn't even have the chance to say 'thanks' when the door slid shut behind the major.
Dinner was a different matter entirely. Holden, apparently acting on orders from Lorne, nearly dragged McKay to the mess hall, but merely watched as the physicist retrieved a tray-full of food before heading back to his quarters.
They could force him to come here to get food, but they couldn't make him stay. There was only so much humiliation a man could take in one day.
So, here he was, sitting on his balcony, picking at the remnants of his dinner and trolling through the events of the day. Looking back, McKay knew that Wisinski had been trying to get a rise out of him, and, like clockwork, he'd responded. Maybe it was the attitude. Maybe it was the tone. Or maybe he just didn't like to see someone who was finally treating him like a human dragged down to his level. Besides, there was only room down here for one.
Besides, Lorne was a good man. Why should he sully the man's reputation just because he wanted to be nice to one of the biggest screw-ups in Atlantis? He was new. That must be it. Lorne must not have had the pleasure at being at the receiving end of his sharp tongue yet. Well, until now, he imagined, chuckling to himself humorlessly, bitterly.
He'd shoved himself against one of the outside walls, hunched down in the corner of the balcony furthest from the door, his knees pulled up toward his chest. He'd curled in on himself, cold but refusing to get up and retrieve more clothes. He could deal with a little discomfort. This was far less embarrassing and uncomfortable than the punishment Elizabeth decided he needed.
He thought he'd had a rapport with her. They'd worked together for more than two years, nearly three. They were friends, or as close to it as he ever got—at least that's what he'd always assumed…until now. Yes, he may have blown up the majority of a solar system, but Carter had blown up entire stars—on purpose he might add—not that it would add any credibility or justification to his argument. They'd just think he was trying to be his usual impudent self.
His equations should have worked, and because they didn't one man was dead—a scientist who actually had more than two brain cells and seemed to know what he was doing. Because of his carelessness, his arrogance, his ego, he'd lost someone from his team. And even trying to set things right once again—to give Collins' death meaning—had just made things worse. Horribly worse.
Sighing deeply, his food long forgotten, he leaned his head against one of the wall supports and folded his arms over his chest, tucking his arms in his armpits, trying to keep the little heat he had close to his body.
But, when you considered all the alternatives, there was only one thing that was clearly evident—at least in his mind. It was his own fault he was in this situation. It wasn't as if he could blame Elizabeth for meting out the punishment she'd given. He might want, to but it wasn't fair on his part. She'd really had no choice in the matter and it was his actions that had forced her hand. Did it hurt? Yes. Was it necessary to set the example that shortsightedness and personal ambition had no place in this expedition? Definitely.
He understood it intellectually, of course. He just hated being the example.
But, there was light at the end of the so-called tunnel, even as clichéd as that sounded. In a few day's time he'd go back to work, beginning to fashion a plan to ensure the city's safety, to show them he could make things right once again. It was only a matter of time, he knew, before he'd come up with something. That's what he did—solved things, fixed problems.
He'd fix this, whatever it took.
The sunset and the sound of the ocean below had been calming, allowing his thoughts to drift, giving him a sense of peace he'd thought he'd long since lost. But as quickly as it came, it deserted him once again—much like everyone he'd known. Collins hovered just beyond the railing. His charred fingers reaching out, brushing against his face, tightening around his throat…
McKay's eyes snapped open quickly, his breath catching in his chest, his hands rising to ward off the last vestiges of his nightmare.
Heart pounding, he staggered to his feet, one hand grabbing onto the railing while the other wiped the sweat from his forehead. The chime of the door shattered the remaining tendrils of the dream from his mind, as his legs pushed him unsteadily toward the door.
Disorientation quickly turned to anger as his body shivered from the temperature change. What the hell did the Marines have against him?
He sent a mental command to unlock and open the door as he approached.
"What the hell do you want this time?"
His angry words were already out of his mouth before he saw who was standing in front of him.
Teyla.
Crap.
"Um…" he stuttered, moving back to allow her to step inside, the door sliding closed behind her. "What….why are you here, exactly?" he asked, watching as she moved toward his bed, dropping her bag on the surface. She turned toward him, her hands on her hips as she regarded him carefully, her eyes narrowing in displeasure. McKay straightened self-consciously under her gaze. His right hand moved to its familiar position, resting comfortably behind his back, while his left hand was free to roam, the limb in constant motion, his fingers clenching and unclenching as if they were as unsure about what to do as he was.
"You have missed your workout sessions," she said without any preamble, her voice unthreatening, merely stating a fact.
"I didn't exactly have much choice in the matter," he replied quickly, defensively, a frown finding its way to his face as Teyla reached into her bag and produced two sets of sticks. He took a few steps backwards as she approached, panic sliding across his face. "Wait a minute. What do you think you're doing with those?"
"Since you cannot attend our sessions in the gym, I decided to come to you."
"I see that," he said, eyeing his teammate carefully. "But that still doesn't explain why you're chasing me with big sticks."
She didn't sigh, exactly. It was more like she exhaled a little harder than normal. "I would suggest you change into something more appropriate for this type of activity."
"Or?"
"Or we can begin practice immediately," she said, offering him a set of the sticks. "I do not believe you will be comfortable in the clothes you are currently wearing, however."
McKay stood his ground, his arms crossing over his chest as he glared at the woman. "I don't understand this. You come barging into my quarters and begin waving sticks and demanding that I change into different clothes to do an activity I don't enjoy. Why should I listen to you?"
She raised her hands, holding the sticks higher.
"Right," he said, snapping his fingers as he moved to his closet. "Big sticks." He rummaged for a minute, digging for the workout clothes he knew were there. Spotting them, he reached in, coming up for air a moment later. He continued talking as he walked toward the adjacent room. "Give me a minute and I'll get changed."
"I shall give you all the time you require," she said as he entered the bathroom, the door closing quietly, leaving him alone. Resisting the urge to simply slump against the surface behind him and take a deep shuddering breath, he willed himself to move, to get his limbs to obey his command. The switch of clothes didn't take long, but he used a few of those minutes to compose himself and wash off the stench of fear from his waking nightmare. Sometimes he swore he could still smell the odor of burned flesh.
Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths, allowing a small sense of control to flow over him. He knew it wouldn't last, but he needed this time and this slight feeling of normality for his own sanity—although, it shouldn't make that big of a difference since he was in doubt of it on a regular basis.
Steeling himself for what he knew was to come at the hands of his teammate, he opened his eyes and exited the bathroom, stopping short as he realized his room had changed. Teyla smiled gently at him from across the room, his bed now pushed to the side, making a larger space in the center of the room. Whatever other small items that had been around were also gone, placed in a pile on his now-closed laptop. Even on the balcony, the tray he remembered leaving there was gone, most likely due to his over-zealous teammate.
"You…you moved everything," he said, the only reply he could manage as he gaped at her.
"Yes," she said, drifting closer, her expression moving quickly to concern. "I did not think you would mind since we require a larger area to practice than what was available. If I was presumptuous—"
McKay shook his head, his hands waving before him. "No…no, you're fine. Just took me by surprise." He let his eyes glide around the room, cataloging every change. He never liked people touching his things. Most didn't show the same care he did, but Teyla was okay. She wouldn't break anything, ruin anything. There was something about the Athosian woman that he simply trusted. Meeting her eyes once again, he forced himself to nod, offering a tired half-smile as he moved toward the closet. "Let me just put sneakers on. I can't defend myself very well in socks."
"I'm certain you would perform more than adequately, Doctor," she replied. And, even without looking, he knew her head was tilted slightly to the side and there was a smile on her face.
Ever the optimist, he thought, wrestling with his footwear. Even with her village destroyed and her people facing annihilation by the Wraith, she continued to fight, continued to believe that they would survive to live—and fight—another day. How they could keep going with that kind of weight dragging them down, he did not know. He didn't envy their way of life. It was hard and each day was uncertain. But then, so was their own.
Finally standing once again, he moved to take the a pair of the fighting sticks from her, his hands finding the weights familiar, his body and his muscles falling into the position it had come to know. "So, you're going to go easy on me, right? We're not in the gym or anything. No mats. Remember, I bruise easily."
She smiled easily. "I remember. Now, concentrate," she ordered. He nodded once and they began circling, each sending out test strikes, every one easily blocked.
Rodney fell into the movement, watching Teyla carefully as they circled. His eyes fixed on her, looking for openings, for indications when she would strike. He lost himself in the moment, his hands and arms acting and reacting, sometimes without conscious thought.
They danced.
The sticks struck each other in a growing composition of sounds—the crack of wood against wood combing with the harsh breaths and the swoosh of their feet against the floor.
And then, as if a silent command had been given, they stepped back in unison, drawing deep breaths as they offered a parting bow, signaling the end of their practice session. Sweat glistened on their brows, their clothes sticking to overheated bodies. Smiles, though, graced both faces.
"You have done well, Doctor McKay," Teyla praised as she retrieved the sticks and returned them to her bag. "You have progressed greatly since we began sparring."
He offered a thankful smile, ducking his head at the compliments. "I never thought I'd have to do anything like this, but I like knowing I can do it if I have to. You're a good teacher, patient when others would not be."
"Then it is their loss. You are an apt student, and quick to learn. Do not value yourself less just because you are only now learning what others have known. I am only sad that you have been forced to travel this path." She paused, her face drawing in on itself, her eyes darkening. Her tone though was quiet, thoughtful, but strong. "Be strong. There are still many who would call you friend."
Moved by her comments, McKay wasn't sure what to say, if he should thank her, so he let the silence grow between them instead.
Picking up her bag, she walked toward the door, turning just before she reached it. "Would it be permissible to return again tomorrow night to continue your training?"
McKay nodded, grateful for the normal question as his pulse and his breaths came easier. "That…that would be fine. I think I'd like that."
Teyla smiled, inclining her head toward him. "Then, I shall return tomorrow." As the door opened, he called out to her once again, making her pause.
"Hey! You didn't move the bed back."
Glancing over her shoulder, McKay swore she was smirking. "Consider it…homework."
Atlantis at night was heaven to John Sheppard. The corridors quiet, except for a few solitary figures wandering the halls. Sometimes he'd hear laughter echoing down a stairwell or from an open door and he'd smile. They'd made Atlantis their home, and at night it sounded like they belonged.
Tonight, however, he wasn't listening to the satisfied hum of the city or the words floating on the air, drifting from the gatherings throughout the city. As he entered the residential section the sounds quieted, but there was a sense of people living here.
Approaching one of the doors, he stopped, drawing a breath before he waved his hand in front of the door chime, waiting patiently for the occupant to answer. He was rewarded a few moments later when the door opened and a rumpled Major Lorne squinted up at him.
"Colonel?" he asked, trying to straighten up, but Sheppard waved him off.
"At ease, Major. I wanted to speak to you about a change in your orders beginning tomorrow."
"Sir?" Lorne said, his eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement, seemingly unfazed that he was standing in the doorway in boxers and a T-shirt.
"Doctor Beckett needs to go to the mainland in the morning to perform some routine checks on the Athosians. I need you to go with him."
"But, I'm scheduled—"
"Change it. As it was, you were supposed to delegate that particular assignment."
"Sir? I thought you had left it up to my discretion."
"I did, but I'm assigning someone to replace you. Report to the jumper bay at 0700 hours and be prepared to give Doctor Beckett whatever assistance he requires. I believe he said this would take several days to complete. You may want to talk with the Doctor to determine if he plans to remain on the mainland until he's finished."
Lorne's face hardened, but he nodded. "Understood, sir. Anything else?"
"Nothing, Major. Have a good night."
Sheppard turned on his heel, striding away from Lorne, vaguely hearing the door to the Major's quarters slide shut. He headed a few levels up, his feet taking him unerringly to Teyla's door.
She answered quicker than the Major, calling out to him to enter as the door opened. She was seated on her bed, obviously in the middle of some of her nightly exercises. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he began as he stepped inside. "I tried calling you on the radio, but you didn't pick up."
"I apologize, Colonel. I had taken it out once I returned to my room and did not think to turn it loud enough for me to hear. It shall not happen again." She paused, looking him over carefully before speaking. "However, if it had been an emergency, you would have paged me, so it must be another matter. Why are you here, Colonel Sheppard?"
"There's been a change in our mission schedule."
"When did this occur? I did not think we would be continuing with our missions while Doctor McKay was restricted to the base."
"I never said that," Sheppard replied, pacing a little. "Doctor Weir left the decision up to me as to how I wished to handle the situation and I do not think it's a good idea for the flagship team to just sit home because of the change in status of one of its members."
John paused, glancing at Teyla, but her face was unreadable. "Doctor Weir has been going over some of the records you provided and she believes that the Mazurkians would make a very good trading partner for Atlantis. She suggested that we go and make first contact since you had mentioned that you knew their leader."
"Yes," Teyla nodded. "I have known Soony for several cycles. He is a good man and would be amenable to trade."
"Good," he said, clapping his hands together. "It's settled. I talked to Ronon already and we can ship out first thing in the morning. Be ready to leave at 0800 hours."
"Very well, Colonel," she replied simply. When he didn't move, she continued a beat later. "Was there something else?"
Sheppard shook his head slowly. "No. I think that's it."
"Then, if you do not mind," she said, rising to her feet. "I have much to do to prepare for the morning."
"Good night," he said, already turning to the door. He didn't expect a reply and wasn't surprised when none was forthcoming. He could tell that Teyla was angry with him, but she'd get over it by morning—which was not far away. He should probably get some sleep. At least now, he could rest. His job was done.
Day Four
Carson Beckett cursed under his breath as he dragged the large hard-sided case down to the jumper bay along with his over-stuffed backpack. Cresting the bay doors, he spotted Major Lorne hovering near one of the crafts, a tablet in his hands. It looked like he was going over a checklist. It wouldn't surprise him. They needed a lot of extra stuff for this trip to the mainland.
Elizabeth had promised quarterly check-ups for the Athosian people—for any who wanted a medical exam—and it was that time once again. Carson had argued that it could wait a week, that he had other things that needed to be done, but Elizabeth had refused claiming Halling was expecting him first thing in the morning. He just wished someone had given him more than twelve hours warning.
"Morning, Major," he said, sighing as he dropped the case on the floor at the rear of the jumper.
"Morning, Doctor," he replied, glancing up from the tablet in his hands. "Did you need anything else from the infirmary? I can run down with you to pick it up. I think I have all the supplies Doctor Weir promised the Athosians already on-board." His eyes drifted back down to the device in his hand as he checked off several other items on his list. "And did you decide what you wanted to do about overnight accommodations?"
"Nae, I didn't," Carson replied, shaking his head as he critically examined the mostly full jumper. He waved his hands at the boxes stacked within. "It looks like we're starting a new colony with all this…stuff."
Lorne moved closer, stopping beside Beckett as they both looked at their cargo. "Seems like it." A few beats of silence passed before the Major continued, his free hand gesturing to the jumper. "I hate to ask, but did you have anything else to add to the pile?"
Movement near the bay doors drew their attention and Carson smiled, waving the two nurses forward. "Just my nurses and their gear. I told them to pack for one overnight just in case."
Lorne nodded, already moving off. "Then we should be good to go. Let me confirm with Doctor Weir on the supply list and I'll be ready."
"Aye. We'll be here." Sighing, he directed the nurses to stow their gear as he dragged his case into the jumper, finding a spot and shoving it in place. He could hear Lorne talking, probably to Elizabeth, somewhere to the side of the bay. He appeared a few minutes later as soon as they had settled into the forward section—Carson in the co-pilot seat, the nurses behind.
"Looks like we have everything," he said, closing the rear hatch as he moved to the pilot's seat. "It shouldn't take us long to get there and Halling is expecting us."
Lorne's hands grabbed the controls and the console lit up. Carson watched as the Major went through a quick preflight, nodding to himself when everything came up in the green.
Opening up a communications channel, Lorne spoke again, sharing a brief moment of eye contact with Carson as the signal connected through to the control room. Beckett narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher the look the Major had given him. Something was on his mind—that much was certain.
"Puddlejumper three to Flight, requesting permission to depart to the mainland."
"Jumper three, this is Flight," Weir said. "You're clear for departure. Have a safe trip."
"Thanks, Flight," Lorne replied, already lifting the puddlejumper into the air. "We'll give you an update later today regarding our overnight plans."
"Sounds good. Be safe and give my regards to Halling and the rest of the Athosians."
"We will. Puddlejumper three out."
A few moments later and they were cruising a few hundred feet above the ocean and Atlantis was growing smaller in the distance.
Carson sighed and leaned back in his chair, watching as the mainland grew in size. As much as he enjoyed getting out to the settlement, this time he wished he were staying behind.
Unfortunately, Elizabeth seemed to have other plans for him. And this time, he wasn't sure how he'd gotten dragged into it.
John Sheppard walked into the gateroom feeling rested and ready to head out. He spotted Ronon and Teyla near the stairs, while Doctor Weir was standing on the closest balcony overlooking the gate. It was a little weird to be going out in the field as a three-man…person team, but since there was no indication of anything more advanced than a turnip, John decided not to assign a scientist to the team—at least for now. He might consider it in the following weeks, depending on the mission.
"Morning, everyone," Sheppard said, striding over to where the rest of his team was waiting. "Everyone ready to go?"
Ronon nodded silently, while Teyla offered a tight smile. "We are prepared. However, it will not be the same without Doctor McKay joining us."
"I know what you mean," John replied, an answering smile on his face. "We don't have to hear his whining as we hike to the village. How far was it from the gate?"
"I do not know the exact measurement, but it should take us approximately three of your hours to reach the settlement. Do the Mazurkians know we are arriving? If so, they will probably have a guide to greet us."
Elizabeth answered, overhearing the conversation taking place just beneath her feet. "No, we decided to let your team be the first contact team, partially because of your prior relationship with them. Colonel Sheppard and I thought that the Mazurkians would be a good trading partner based upon your earlier recommendations. You're to see if that's still the case."
"Understood, Doctor Weir," Teyla said smoothly, but John had seen the flash of annoyance cross the Athosian's face. Seemed like she still wasn't over 'it' yet. The two-hour hike might be just the thing then.
"The usual, Elizabeth?" John asked, glancing upward.
"Yes," she replied, nodding. "Any fresh vegetables you can manage to get and grains would be good. We're beginning to run short and Doctor Beckett keeps reminding me that we need to eat well-balanced meals with fresh produce and less of the pre-packaged items we get from Earth."
"Veggies and grains. Got it." John paused, glancing around the room, his eyes taking in his teammates before looking back at Weir. "Looks like we're ready to go."
Weir nodded once, turning back to the sergeant who began dialing the gate. A few moments later the wormhole whooshed out, the shimmering event horizon giving the room a blue hue. The MALP headed out a few seconds later and began transmitting data within moments from M3D-218.
"All clear," reported one of the technicians whom Sheppard had yet to learn his name. The Daedalus kept bringing these wet-behind-the-ears recruits. Where they were coming from, was anyone's guess.
"You have a go," Weir said, offering a parting smile before Sheppard turned to the gate. "Be safe."
John nodded, hefting his P90 as he strode to the wormhole, Teyla and Ronon a few steps behind him. The transition from Atlantis through the wormhole to the other side was always unnerving. How SG-1 managed to do this week after week for nine years was mind-boggling.
He emerged on the other side, the cool, damp air of the planet caressing his face, his eyes immediately scanning the open area in front of the gate. A few seconds later and he heard the slurp that indicated Teyla and Ronon had stepped through, the gate shutting down a few seconds later.
It was green, eerily green—and he wasn't referring to the trees, although there were plenty of them here as well. It was as if everything was illuminated in a weak green hue, as if they were viewing everything through a tinted lens. "Teyla," he said, his eyebrows drawn together in concern as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. "Did this planet always look…sick?"
He turned in a circle, his eyes scanning everything in sight. He paused when he encountered Teyla's figure about twenty feet to his left. She was examining everything in much the same way as he was, but without the worry he seemed to have.
"Everything is the same as when I was here previously," she finally said. Her body relaxing as she moved closer to him. "Why do you say this planet looks sick? Have not all the worlds we have visited looked different or strange when we first set foot upon them?"
"It's green," commented Ronon quietly, his voice carrying in the silence.
"Exactly," Sheppard said, gesturing to the Satedan.
Teyla shrugged slightly. "The light is indeed different. However, the people are warm and welcoming." She paused, her eyes drifting to the wooded area beyond the clearing before returning to him. "We have a long journey before we reach the settlement. Should we not begin?"
Nodding, John waved his hand toward the path he'd spotted. "Since you know the way, why don't you take point?"
She nodded once before moving off, her stride sure and confident, her steps light. How she did that, John would never know. He followed in silence as Ronon settled in behind him, the sounds of the forest their only conversation. Teyla set a fast pace and the trail was not difficult, weaving through the trees in the forest—much like how McKay flew puddlejumpers.
He swore to himself as the thought popped into his head. McKay. Even on the other side of the Pegasus Galaxy he couldn't get the man out of his head. What was that all about? He should be enjoying the trip, but something was nagging at the back of his mind. He kept looking back, catching Ronon's eyes from time to time, the warrior finally raising an eyebrow at the repeated glances. He felt like he was missing something. Maybe that was the issue. Maybe he was so used to McKay's whining and incessant chattering that the absence of it was setting him on edge. That had to be it, because he as sure as hell didn't want to talk to him—or see him—anytime soon. It was bad enough that the man would be wandering around Atlantis next week.
And if John had his way, all of his upcoming missions would be just like this. Maybe he'd get Zelenka to join them. That man at least knew when to shut up. Radek knew his limits and had no problem admitting something was beyond his grasp. And he knew how to follow directions and orders—even better. Working with someone like that would be refreshing.
Taking a deep breath, John felt some of the edginess slip away. It was a pleasure to be able to travel in silence for once. Who knew? Maybe this would become the norm. Wouldn't that be nice?
Rodney McKay's grumbling stomach dragged him away from his dozing state, his head snapping upright quickly as he wiped the trail of drool from his chin. Groaning as his strained muscles complained, his left hand snaked up to rub at his eyes while he pushed his right hand against the small of his back, trying to straighten up and ease the pain that had lodged there.
He'd fallen asleep easily last night. A quick shower had relaxed him and he'd stumbled into bed, slumber coming quickly, the bout of exercise plus the nights of interrupted sleep, stress-filled days, and mental exhaustion washing over him. That hadn't lasted as long as he would have liked, however. By 0500 he was thinking of ways to take apart the door chime with the few paperclips he had on hand. If he could pry off the cover with his bare fingernails—and not rip them to shreds—he would have done it just for a little peace and quiet. At this point even electrocution was looking like a good alternative. At least he'd be able to spend some quality time sleeping with lots of good drugs coursing through his system and the stupid door chime at all hours of the night wouldn't bother him in the least.
He'd gotten up instead—even before the sun was rising—turning to his laptop and his research. He'd done a lot, but he needed the Ancient's database to finish some of it and that access was still several days away. Instead, he started another project and made some progress before his body decided to declare mutiny on his mind.
Rubbing his back with a slightly trembling hand and gazing out the balcony door, he frowned as he saw the thick grey clouds overhead. They didn't get a lot of rain, but every now and then they'd get a storm—apparently today was the day. Outside was off-limits. Wonderful.
Turning his left wrist so he could read the time, he was surprised that it was so late in the day. It was nearly time for lunch. The PowerBar at 0630 only lasted for so long and it was going on 1130. His body, though, knew that it was time to eat—the slight headache and his shaking hands attesting to the fact. But what happened to breakfast with Lorne?
Rising to his feet, he moved to the door. It slid open and he poked his head out, coming face-to-face with a stranger. This didn't bode well. "Uh…hello. Where's Major Lorne?"
"Not here."
McKay scowled at the young marine. "Apparently. If he were standing here it would be silly for me to ask the question, wouldn't it? Do you know where he is?"
"No."
Rolling his eyes, he sighed. "If it's not too much trouble I'd like to get something to eat."
Instead of answering, the man glanced at his watch.
"What? Is there some schedule I'm supposed to be on that nobody decided to tell me about? Just my luck. If I don't eat soon I'll be lying in a hypoglycemic coma. Might not be easy to explain to Doctor Weir in small words and short sentences how Atlantis' resident genius ended up that way, hmm?"
"Isn't it late?"
"For what, dying?"
"Breakfast."
"Breakfast, lunch, brunch. What does it matter what's it's called? I need to eat something." McKay paused, folding his hands over his chest as he glared at the marine. "Let me say this in the simplest way I can so you can get it through your thick skull. I'll use small words. I. Need. Food. It's time to eat. You know, mealtime, chow, food. Understand?"
The man's eyes shifted back and forth from his watch to McKay several times before he nodded. "This will be both your breakfast and lunch run, then."
"What!" McKay sputtered, words refusing to form as his surprise and anger surfaced. Taking a deep breath, he forced a calm he didn't feel, his anxiety level cranking up a notch. "The last time I checked, I was allowed to go to the mess hall for food. Just because I'm inconveniencing you with my choice of times doesn't mean that you can just unilaterally decide that this one outing constitutes both my breakfast and lunch. I'm under doctor's orders to eat three regular meals in addition to various snacks during the day because of my medical condition. When I decide to take my meals is up to me and not some uninformed marine."
Part of him couldn't believe he was arguing with the captain—whatever his name was—about going to the mess hall, especially after the incident yesterday. But at this point, it was the principle of the matter more than anything. He was allowed to eat. He was permitted to go to the mess hall to eat. There had been no limit to the number of times he could go either. If he wanted to get up in the middle of the night and go searching for a snack, they'd have to let him.
At least, he thought they would. He'd never had to do one of these 'restricted to your quarters' things before. The last time he screwed something up they sent him to Siberia. He wasn't sure which was worse.
Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he waited for Captain Dense to figure out what he was going to do. Along his hairline, he swore he could feel sweat starting to form. If he waited much longer he might be heading directly to the infirmary.
"Look," he began, his hands waving in the air, absently noting that they were shaking as well. "I'm already starting to have a hypoglycemic reaction here and if I don't eat something very soon you're going to be picking up my unconscious body off of the floor. Can we go?"
The man's right hand slid down to rest on the top of his sidearm and McKay resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Well?"
"Fine," he finally replied, gesturing with his left hand for Rodney to move ahead of him. "We'll use the transporter at the end of the hall."
"So you can sting together several words to form a sentence," McKay commented as he glanced over his shoulder, his feet continuing to move down the corridor. The marine refused to rise to the bait and Rodney shook his head, turning to watch here he was going.
With the captain at his back, he really felt like a prisoner. At least Lorne treated him like a human, walking next to him, offering conversation. This sucked.
Standing on the shore looking out across the ocean toward the storm approaching on the horizon, Major Lorne sighed before trudging back into the hut that was serving as Doctor Beckett's makeshift hospital.
The Athosians had done a lot since they'd moved to the mainland. The small, improvised camp had morphed into a complex collection of smaller settlements and villages, connected by well-traveled paths and a common bond. Fields stretched out between the houses, thatched huts in reality, but for them these buildings were home.
Greeted warmly, the quartet from Atlantis was offered food and beverages when they'd arrived. They'd visited with Halling and Jinto—the latter having grown tremendously according to Beckett in the short time since the doctor had seen him last.
And then the people started to arrive.
At first they were few and far between. Some of the sickest patients had been moved in the night before from the outskirts of the village and from other settlements further a field. Beckett worked quickly, efficiently, his brogue a comfort even from where Lorne stood outside. There was something so unassuming about the Scot. You just wanted to trust him—and these people did.
By lunch, there had been a line outside the hut, which quickly grew, stretching around the side of the structure and into the woods beyond. Beckett and his two nurses worked tirelessly, treating the sick and injured first before moving onto the others, giving check-ups to those who wished.
And as the day wore on, the line seemed to never shorten. The storm bearing down on the mainland was making an overnight stay more and more likely. Lorne nodded thanks as the line parted before him, allowing him to enter Beckett's new realm, the interior lit entirely with oil lamps and portable lanterns. Shelly Laurence glanced up from the patient she was checking, taking blood pressure and temperature readings of a young woman, offering him a tired smile. He could hear Beckett in the back, past the curtains that cordoned off a section of the hut giving him some kind of privacy.
"Think I can get a minute of the good doctor's time?" he asked, gesturing widely toward the fabric a few feet away.
Laurence nodded. "He should be done in a few minutes." Removing the cuff, she jotted several things down on the sheet she was carrying before patting the woman's arm and pointing her to the chairs at the side of the room.
Slinging the stethoscope around her neck, Shelly rose and stretched, her eyes drifting to the open door. "How many are out there?"
"You don't want to know," he replied with a shake of his head.
Her eyes widened but a yawn caught her off guard a second later. "Sorry," she said as soon as it passed. "I haven't worked like this in a long time."
"It's okay." The curtain parted, pulling their attention to the young man exiting, a smile on his face as he waved to Beckett who was a few steps behind him. The Scot looked tired, exhausted, but there was a quiet air of sheer pleasure around him. The man really enjoyed helping people.
"Major Lorne," Carson said stepping closer, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck, "everything okay?"
"Yeah," he answered nodding. "I wanted to talk to you about tonight."
"Aye." His face dropped slightly, a little more of the exhaustion leaking out. "I'm thinking we may not have the chance to return to Atlantis."
"I agree. As it is, there are some who will have to come back and stand in line again in the morning. And, to top it off, there's a storm heading our way. It seems to have hovered over the city for a bit, but is now on its way here."
"A storm?"
He could see the controlled terror and concern cross the doctor's face, and quickly moved to quell any anxiety. No need for Beckett to be upset by a normal storm. "Don't worry, Doc, it's nothing like the last one."
"Oh, good," Carson muttered, relief clearly evident on his face. "Has Halling mentioned anything about accommodations?"
"Not yet, but I wanted to check with you before I spoke to him." Lorne checked his watch and his eyes drifted outside, judging the light levels. "It's nearly 1800. Why don't you take the last few and call it a night. You look exhausted. I'll get us set up with Halling's help and get dinner started. Think you can wrap things up in about an hour?"
Beckett nodded, exchanging a glance with Shelly. "Go and check the line. Pull in the ones with complaints, the most critical of the bunch, but no more than two or three. Everyone else can wait until the morning. If you have issues come see me."
"Yes, doctor," she replied already moving out the door.
Beckett gestured for the woman sitting timidly along the wall to enter the room he'd vacated several minutes ago. "Anne'll get you all situated and I'll be there in a minute." She nodded, scurrying through the curtain into the room beyond. "Thank you, Major," Beckett said a few beats later, turning to Lorne with a tired smile. "We'll have to start bright and early if we want to make it through the rest of the Athosians tomorrow."
"We can stay another night if you need," Lorne began, but stopped as the doctor shook his head immediately.
"Nae. If we need another day to finish up, we can come back later in the week. There are a few I need to follow-up with in a few days time. Besides, I'd rather not be away from Atlantis too long."
"Worried they're destroying your lab?"
" I trust my staff. It's Rodney I worry about. With everything going on I didn't even get the chance to stop in and see how he's been holding up or even tell him what was happening."
Lorne's eyebrows rose at the doctor's confession, but part of him wasn't surprised. As different as the two men were, they had managed to forge a strange friendship. "He's coping."
"Aye, and I know Rodney. There's no telling what's going through that mind of his right now and with nothing to focus his energy on…" Beckett shook his head, a weary sigh escaping his mouth. "The sooner we get back, the better."
"Then I won't keep you any longer," Lorne said already moving to the door. "I'll send Jinto to find you once we're settled."
Beckett nodded, his mind clearly circling around the physicist. "Aye," he replied absently before shaking off whatever thoughts he'd had. "Let Shelly know since she's the one who'll spot him."
"Will do, Doc," Lorne said. He paused at the threshold of the door, glancing back over his shoulder as Carson ducked into the rear room, his familiar lilt already going full-stream ahead. Shaking his head and chuckling, he moved out, his feet taking him unerringly to Halling's residence.
Teyla yawned and stretched as soon as she dropped her pack onto one of the chairs in the house Soony had offered to the visiting Atlantean team. Colonel Sheppard was still hovering at the door, attempting to peer outside without appearing to spy upon the people who had welcomed them warmly, offering to share their evening meal and provided accommodations for the group. Ronon was stalking the perimeter, glancing intently at the walls and windows, checking over every nook and cranny as if it would reveal some dark secret about the people they were visiting.
"I believe things to be proceeding well," she commented as she watched the two men examine their surroundings. She had assured them earlier that this was common—and in fact a desired response for the Mazurkians. If they had no desire to trade, the Atlanteans would have been turned away immediately, sent to return to the Stargate and Atlantis.
"I don't like it," Ronon growled, his body refusing to relax. "I don't trust them. They're too…accommodating."
"They are a peaceful and generous people. They have nothing to hide from us."
"So you say."
"Yes," Teyla replied firmly.
Sheppard moved into the common room, stopping beside one of the simple chairs and dropped his pack. "So, what should we expect in the morning? Any weird ceremonies I need to worry about?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary, Colonel. Soony will offer to break our fast with him and we shall accept. Afterwards, if he is willing to continue our discussions of trade, he will begin negotiations. If he requires more time to get to know you, he will make his intentions known very clearly."
"That's it? No strange rituals?"
"No. What were you expecting?"
Sheppard shrugged. "I don't know. This," he said, waving his hand widely, the gesture encompassing the entire village, "is not what I imagined. We don't generally get easy missions. Usually it's the quiet natives that end up trying to kill us. And these folks qualify. All this…niceness makes me uneasy."
"I have been here on many occasions, Colonel, and the Mazurkians have been nothing except hospitable and generous."
"I know, I know," he said, sinking onto a chair. "You've told me a hundred times."
"If you prefer, I can recommend several planets where the inhabitants are less than friendly for you to visit. I, however, would insist upon remaining on Atlantis while you conduct negotiations."
"No," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. "I'll take happy, shiny natives over ones who want to poke holes in my team. This is just fine."
"Good," Teyla nodded once, sharply, her eyes narrowing at Sheppard. "Perhaps it would be beneficial for us to retire for the evening so as to be prepared for tomorrow's activities. We do not wish to anger the Mazurkians or dishonor their practices."
He raised an eyebrow at the tone of her voice, but didn't protest. "You're probably right. And you're also probably going to tell me that a watch schedule isn't needed."
"Because it is not," she replied, already moving down the hall to one of the rooms.
"Fine."
Teyla refused to glance back as she maneuvered her way into the room, closing the door behind her. Resting gently on the edge of the bed, she reached down, unfastening her shoes and pulling her feet free. She shifted her body, sliding under the bed coverings. She wasn't especially tired, but if she went back into the common room she knew she would come face-to-face with a sulking John Sheppard, and that was something she had no desire to see—especially now. Some days he insisted upon acting like a spoiled seven-year-old. This was one such occasion and she had no patience for his childishness.
Settling in for the night, she closed her eyes, forcing her body to relax. Listening to the quiet movements of the two men, sleep claimed her, carrying her into its welcome embrace.
Standing at the railing of his balcony, Rodney looked out at the city, his eyes drifting past the buildings to the ocean, watching as the moon's rays reflected brightly on the rise and fall of the sea swells below. The storm had finally passed, rushing toward the mainland beyond. It was probably raining there now, he surmised, squinting through the darkness trying to see the clouds. He could make out some of the lighting strikes high in the sky overhead, brightening the cloud-tops briefly before darkening once more.
But even as tried to concentrate, his eyes kept drifting back to the ocean and how the light played across it, shimmering, beguiling in its beauty, casting a silver halo over much of the city, the buildings seeming to absorb the light.
It still amazed him that he lived and worked in another galaxy, on an alien planet, in a city build by the first ones, the Ancients. He was surrounded by their legacy, their thoughts. Sometimes he swore the city spoke to him, singing to him, revealing her secrets one by one, like a playful lover, teasing and torturing him, while bringing him to greater and greater heights of sheer pleasure from the discoveries.
There were times when he worked in the deep, dark reaches of Atlantis that he swore he could still hear the Ancient's voices in the hallways. He would walk into the hallways, his eyes casting back and forth, looking for the physical evidence his mind required. His heart, however, knew better. If he tilted his head just a little and held his breath, maybe then, he'd hear more, catch one more phrase, one more word.
Ever since they'd fought to hold onto Atlantis as their home, it was as if she'd opened up even more to them, offering more of herself to those who would fight to keep her, fight to protect her. Maybe it was her way of saying 'thank you' to those who came, who woke her once again, freeing her from the loneliness and emptiness she'd been burdened with. The loneliness and the isolation—even now—were crisp and razor sharp.
Ten thousand years had been too long.
Tonight, he understood.
Once the clocked passed 2700 hours, heading into the small hours of the morning, Rodney had known Teyla wasn't coming. He'd moved the bed back to its rightful place and taken off his sneakers and socks, deciding to go barefoot instead, relishing the feel of the cold floor against his feet. Leaving his workout clothes on, he'd moved to the balcony, his feet encountering several small puddles as he found the perfect spot to star gaze.
Standing there, watching the ocean, he let himself drift, his mind skimming the surface of his thoughts, never resting upon any one for more than a few seconds. And sometime during his solitary meditations, something changed. It was as if the city itself had curled around him, holding him close. She was warm, nurturing and not demanding of anything. He stood there, drinking in the feeling, his eyes closing as his mind reached out.
A smile briefly touched his lips and the pressure eased off, leaving him with the subtle sensation that he was not alone.
Moving into his room, the balcony door slid shut behind him and he dropped bonelessly into his bed. Relaxing into the mattress, his muscles easily released their tension and he slid into a dreamless sleep.
TBC
