Please see first chapter for disclaimer, rating, warnings, pairings, etc.

Part 2/24

-Chapter 2-

A Day of Mourning

Rain drizzled across the small clearing on the mainland where Athosians and Atlantians alike stood clustered around the new grave placed in the exact center. The cold wet day perfectly matched the mood of the people gathered around the gravesite to say a final goodbye to Teyla.

John stood next to Ronon, equally watching the Athosian funeral proceedings and the emotions playing across the tall Satedan's face. His jaw, locked in an attempt to hide his emotions, twitched every now and then. But no matter how little his facial expression betrayed, his eyes were the proverbial windows to his soul, showing just how much grief and anger he was feeling.

Sheppard turned his gaze back to the grave, shrugging his shoulders a bit to nudge the collar of his coat closer to his neck. The miserable rain weeping down from the skies was doing nothing to help the chill down his spine, one he hoped he would soon be able to get rid of.

A few feet away from him, the Athosian elder leading the funeral service bowed his head and began speaking in the Ancient language, something John assumed to be a prayer. He ducked his head but paid little attention, his mind spinning and working even as he looked like he was paying perfect attention.

One of the reasons why he was blocking out the ceremony was because he'd already stood through one of them, and hadn't wanted to suffer through another. But here he was, standing next to Teyla's grave, his gaze straying every now and then to the small headstone a few feet away: Elizabeth's.

Next to him, Ronon made a small, anguished noise in his throat. He began to turn, but John reached out a quick hand, grabbing his arm in an iron grasp. "Don't," he said softly, so only the Satedan could hear. "Stay. . .for her." He tipped his head towards Teyla's grave just to make sure Ronon knew what he meant.

That muscle in Ronon's jaw twitched again, but he silently turned back to face the grave. He latched his gaze onto it, his broad shoulders rigid with frustration and anger.

The ceremony ended a few minutes later. One by one people walked past the grave, pausing next to it to bow their heads in respect before walking off towards the Jumpers waiting to take the Atlantians back to the city. That left only John and Ronon alone there. Both men solemnly stared at the grave in a moment of shared grief.

Sheppard glanced at Ronon, gauging the expression on his face. He walked forward and knelt next to the grave, bowed his head, and whispered: "You were a good friend and mentor, Teyla. Thank you." He didn't say anything else; he just stood, looked at Ronon one more time, and then walked over to Elizabeth's grave.

Every time he was on the mainland he visited her grave: not out of a sense of duty, but for reasons he couldn't yet explain. He knelt in front of the headstone and, with his fingers, traced the name engraved into the cold stone. Closing his eyes, he rubbed them with his free hand, trying to forget the last time he'd seen her alive, yet at the same time wanting to hold onto the memory.

He'd kissed her. He wasn't quite sure why he'd done it; maybe because something deep inside him had told him he probably wasn't going to see her again. Even now, three months later, he wondered if he'd done it simply in the heat of the moment or if the feelings in his heart had made him do it. Funny: he'd always known she was a beautiful woman, but it wasn't until they were in mortal danger that he kissed her.

One kiss, one that was no doubt going to haunt him until the end of his days.

John looked up and away from Elizabeth's grave, towards Teyla's. Ronon's face reflected the confusion John felt. He'd wondered if Ronon felt the same way about the petite Athosian as John had about Atlantis's leader.

An idea occurred to him, and the slightest smile curled the corners of his lips. That might just work. . .

-Atlantis-

Doctor Sylvia Peterson was as qualified, on paper, to run Atlantis as Elizabeth Weir had been. But she had found the adjustment to leading the city as hard for herself as it was for everyone else. Doctor Weir had been a much-loved leader in the city, and Sylvia knew that everyone viewed her as the woman attempting to replace Elizabeth. That couldn't be farther from the truth. She didn't want to replace the other woman and knew that she couldn't. She was merely attempting to fit in, in her own way, and work as well as possible.

Sylvia paused at the open hatch of Jumper One, waiting for Colonel Sheppard to finish whatever he was doing in the front and come out. When he did, she fell into step with him and spoke softly. "Suitable weather they were having."

John sent her a guarded look, as though wondering why she was bothering with small talk instead of getting straight down to the point. "Yes, it was." Subtext: What's your point?

She was used to the colonel's direct way with her; he liked getting matters settled quickly and then going back to whatever else he'd been doing. More recently, he'd been acting distracted and distant around her, which confused her. "I know that Teyla Emmagan was a good friend of you and your team. I'd like to offer you, Doctor McKay, and Specialist Dex a few days off before you return to your off-world activities."

Sheppard turned his head to look at her without breaking stride, a cautious expression on his face. "I'll talk to them."

That distracted look was back in his eyes. Sylvia wanted to call him on it but chose not to. "Thank you, Colonel." She paused at the bottom of the steps leading from the Jumper bay to deliver one last comment. "I wish there were some way we could get them back, Colonel. But we can't. Just—just take however long you need to let go."

The colonel smiled wanly and walked away from her. Sylvia watched him go, then sighed and shook her head. She hadn't known John Sheppard for very long at all, but something was telling her he was a man she should keep her eyes on, because she could almost see the wheels turning in his head.

He had a plan.

To Be Continued. . .