So sad, so sad - this is the last section of this story. I'm glad you've enjoyed it so far. It's been wonderful, reading all your comments and reviews. Thank you, everyone who's read this!
He must have dozed, because next he knew, he was being pulled to standing. Rodney was gone, and there were men around him. The cell door was open, flooding the place with light.
Stumbling, trying desperately to clear his head, he was propelled down a corridor and into a room. They let him drop to his knees. There were people around him, but he wasn't sure he was really tracking. Then he knew he wasn't, because he heard Elizabeth's voice.
John raised his head slowly, feeling like he was swimming up through molasses. A man stood in front of something bright - the gate, John realised. His dark form was silhouetted by its light.
"We welcomed you," Elizabeth said, the hard edge of her tone blurred by static.
"Yes," the man said in response, and John realised it was their leader, the man he'd spoken with on his first day here.
"You stole our drugs, tried to steal our medical database, and kidnapped one of my people. How should I react to your request for help?"
"We have..." The man shifted awkwardly, although his voice held firm. "...there is a plague on our world. When we were in your city, we obtained two vials of something, an antibiotic, that seems to work. We would like to arrange for a trade - "
Elizabeth cut him off. "You could have asked."
"Others who have this level of tech are not so willing to share it." The man straightened, standing tall. "We are used to having to use our might to get what we need."
"That's not how we operate."
The leader grunted. "Perhaps." He hesitated. "We'd once been quite technologically advanced. We were also willing to help people." He waved an arm, taking in his surroundings. "Look where that got us."
"Send him through first," Elizabeth said.
Not answering Elizabeth, the leader turned and stepped to John. Squatting in front of him, blocking out the light behind him, he said, "Guess your people wanted you back after all." The man's voice was hard, but he sounded sincere. "Must be more to you than the blindness."
John wanted to say this wasn't about him, but he was pulled up with a surprisingly gentle hand at his elbow. Before he knew it, he was back on other side.
The contrast between the dark, dank room where he'd been and the brightness and expanse of Atlantis' gateroom was overwhelming. There were voices all around him: Elizabeth, Radek, Carson, and suddenly Rodney was upon him in a flurry of words and frantic movements. The room was too bright, there were too many people, and it was too loud. Heartbeat filling his ears, he tried not to flinch at the onslaught.
Someone must have noticed something was amiss, because Rodney cut off in mid-sentence.
"How long?" John whispered into the sudden silence, not caring who heard or answered.
"What?" Rodney asked.
"How long was I...gone?"
There was a soft hand on his arm. Elizabeth. "Twenty one days."
He moved his arm out of her grip and stepped slightly away from the group. He supposed he should feel shocked. Instead he closed his eyes, turned his face upwards, and let the light from the windows welcome him home.
x-x
John was alone in the dark of his room, this time by choice rather than self-imposed exile. He'd gone to breakfast with Rodney just today. He still felt as if all eyes were on him, but he was determined to get over it, and Rodney told him he'd received glances, no more. Glances, he could deal.
He rolled onto his stomach. Reaching an arm off the bed, his fingers traced the drawer and he pulled it open. Lifting the gun safe, he could tell the pistol wasn't in it simply from the weight.
They hadn't put it back. He smiled slightly. Probably just as well. After he'd returned to Atlantis, it had taken him a little while to come back to himself. The initial feelings and sensations had been overwhelming, a combination of too many people, too much light, and motion, and sound. Carson had ended up putting him in isolation until he got past the influence of the drugs and the seclusion. Then there had been the sessions with Heightmeyer, and finally the slow influx of visitors - knowing that Carson carefully controlled the flow so that it remained a trickle, rather than a flood. Eventually, there had been the cautious release of him to his quarters. Even now, trying to think back on the path he'd followed since his return - probably best not to try too hard to retrace it.
He let his chin sink to his pillow, keeping his eyes open. Sunlight was streaming through his windows, its effects muted by the texture and color of the glass and his own lost sight. The light was different from when he'd been fully sighted, but still beautiful.
Logically, he thought the capture, feeling helpless like that, should be making him feel more depressed. But it was like it did the opposite. It was almost as if he'd realised life could be so much worse. Hell, he could be dead.
This experience had proven one thing, and one thing only, to him: he really, really didn't want to be dead.
It was just that... He let his eyes sink shut. God, he missed flying. He felt it as a deep ache, like he'd lost a limb or part of his soul, which he supposed he had. He knew he always would miss it. But that didn't necessarily mean his life was over. It couldn't be. He had to... there had to be...be something. It was just a matter of finding it.
x-x
John leaned against McKay's open lab door, playing at the studied nonchalance he normally displayed and knowing he was failing miserably.
It took McKay a minute to notice him there and when he did, he burst forth with a startled, "Hey."
"Hey, yourself."
"Is there something I can -
Quickly, before he lost his nerve, John said, "I was wondering if I could help you out here." When McKay didn't reply, John shifted awkwardly. "You know, touching devices. Stuff like that."
"What?" McKay said, clearly surprised. "Really?" He took a tentative step toward John.
"Really," John said, his voice coming out less certain than he'd hoped.
"Yeah. Yes," McKay said, sounding more excited as the idea settled. "God, these..." He grabbed John's arm and tugged until he followed. "Here, on the bench, I've been trying to figure out..." McKay stopped and dropped his hand. "You really don't mind?"
"Nah," John said, smiling. "It's cool."
"Great, because..."
John grinned to himself as Rodney rattled on. Even if he was simply a glorified on-off switch for ancient toys, at least he'd be doing something, making a contribution. Until he figured out what was next, perhaps this would be enough.
x-x
The jumper swooped through the clouds, making a gentle turn in the air before it did a quick pass over Atlantis. John gazed at the blue sky surrounding him and just let the sucker glide, almost whooping at the feeling of freedom that flying brought. It had been too damn long.
Flight was a magical thing, had always been. The sensation of soaring, of floating, and of being in control of something so beyond control was a feeling unmatched by anything else. It brought him peace, relaxation, and a sense of being close to machine, to nature, and even to God. It was spiritual. He'd missed it.
He turned the jumper and put the city in his sights. Just one more pass. Surely he had time for one more pass before...
John was jerked from his dream by the sound of the comm. He rested a weary arm across his eyes, giving himself a moment before he responded to the hail. Finally, dreams of flying already fading, he answered.
x-x
"You wanted to see me, Doc?" John asked, sliding into the seat across from Carson's desk.
"I did indeed," Carson replied. Without preamble, he stated, "I may have found something."
John felt his stomach drop. "What?" was all he could manage.
"I'm not sure..." the doctor replied, although John could hear an undercurrent of excitement in his voice.
John lost the rest in the swirl of his thoughts. What was Carson saying? A cure? His breath came fast in his throat, and his hands gripped the armrests of his chair. That wasn't possible. Carson had said -
"I didn't want to talk to you about it until I'd done some testing of my own." The doctor's chair creaked as he leaned back in it.
"Risks?" John asked, shock flattening his tone.
"Headaches. Fatigue. Blurred vision." At John's raised eyebrow, Carson added, "Ah, yes. Of course. Sorry." He paused. "And it may not work at all - about 60 per cent of cases seem to have been helped, the rest, not at all." The chair creaked again as Carson sat forward. "It takes some time to build up enough of a dosage in your system. You won't notice anything at all at first."
"What do you mean by 'helped'?" John asked, his voice shaking.
Carson dropped his voice. "God willing, there will be some improvement. And if we're very lucky..."
"Lucky?" John murmured, almost too low to hear.
"John..." Carson paused, as if considering how to phrase the rest. "...I don't want you to count on this, lad, because it may not happen." The doctor's tone was tinged with concern.
John finally gained control of himself. In a stronger voice, he asked, "So worst case, I'm where I am now, right?"
"Yes."
"And best case?"
"Best case?" Carson sounded as if he didn't want to continue.
"Yeah, doc," John said firmly.
"You could get your vision back."
"Back?"
"You could fly again."
The mention of flying hit John like a punch to the gut. He'd never thought - God, it wasn't even in the realm of possibility, that there would even be a chance. He let out a slow breath. Actually, he was surprised Carson got it, about the flying. John had never actually mentioned it to him. He hadn't mentioned it to anyone.
Being blind was one thing. It sucked, and he hated it, and he wished it hadn't happened. But not flying again? That was the thing that was killing him, eating away at his soul. He'd do anything – anything at all, for the chance to fly again.
But if Carson understood without even being told, he wondered if his other friends also knew. Maybe, if he was willing to let them in... He took a shaky breath, then let it out slowly. Maybe, even if this didn't work, if he let them in, he could find himself again.
John found himself replying in a rush. "Yeah, Doc. Let's do it."
It was the first hope he'd felt in some time.
x-x
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