Please see first chapter for disclaimer, rating, warnings, pairings, etc.
Part 4/24
-Chapter 4-
Suspicion
Sylvia wasn't the type to nose into matters that neither pertained to her nor ones she wasn't invited into. But she couldn't help feeling the slightest bit of curiosity about what the three men sitting at the most secluded table in the cafeteria were discussing. They certainly weren't just eating a meal together. Their food was mostly untouched, and the expressions on their faces were of the utmost seriousness and concentration.
She looked away from them, scolding herself for being so curious. Granted, if something underhanded was being planned she should know about it. Yet those men were three of her most trusted personnel. Perhaps they were merely reminiscing about old times and speaking of their lost friends, Elizabeth and Teyla.
Sylvia had only met Elizabeth Weir once, briefly in passing, at the Pentagon. She had seemed like a levelheaded, respectable woman. From all she'd heard from members of the Atlantis expedition, she had been an exceptional leader and absolutely perfect for the job she'd had for a regrettably short time. She didn't dispute that; Doctor Weir had run a well-oiled ship, and Sylvia found that the cohesion was still very good. She herself just wasn't fitting in too terribly well at the moment.
A strand of dark hair had fallen free of her braid. She absently tucked it behind her ear before reaching for her cup of Athosian tea, once more turning her gaze from Rodney, Ronon, and John to the data pad she held in her hand. She tried to concentrate on the next day's duty roster to make sure that everything was right and evenly distributed; but her eyes kept wandering to the three men. They just had that look about them, the look that they were planning something. What, she had no idea, just something.
Sylvia gave herself a mental slap, forcing her attention back to her data pad. They were just having a serious conversation, that's all. Nothing suspicious going on, just a little sad sharing of memories of when times were better.
If that were true, why couldn't she convince herself of it?
-Atlantis-
"She's watching us again."
Ronon's flat, simple statement made Rodney clam up again. The Canadian scientist thumped his stylus against his data pad, his eyes going wide.
"Don't react!" John hissed. "You'll make her think we're planning something."
"We are planning something," Rodney growled back under his breath. Ronon nodded in agreement.
"No point advertising it, though. You're the one that wants to keep this such a huge secret. I'm not saying we should tack it up in huge red letters on the bulletin board or anything. All I'm saying is if you keep acting so jumpy, Doctor Peterson is going to know something is up; then she's going to start poking around whether she's in the habit of poking or not. And I'd prefer to have the Thing working and be gone before she figures us out."
Rodney sighed and picked up his stylus. "You're right. I just. . .want everything to go perfectly. If we even get the timing the least bit wrong. . ."
"I know. This is our only chance for this." John was painfully aware of that fact. It haunted him in his dreams, both waking and sleeping. "That's why we keep going over this, to make sure we have everything right and even have a plan for the totally inconceivable."
McKay groaned softly. "Then why are we talking about this in such a public place, again?"
"Not suspicious here," Ronon mumbled into his water glass. "It would be, if Sheppard and I were suddenly spending all our time in your lab. Besides, we're teammates. Eating lunch together is normal." He didn't say what everyone was thinking: at least it had been, before the Wraith came, and Teyla and Elizabeth had been killed.
"How close are you to figuring out the Thing?" John asked. He wished they knew what it was so they could stop calling it that.
Rodney quickly chewed and swallowed the bite of food in his mouth, then hefted his data pad. "I'm closer, at least. It's definitely not a breadbox. I think it serves a number of different purposes."
"So it could be a time machine?" Ronon asked, voice low, a glint of something unidentifiable in his eyes.
"It could be," Rodney sighed, as though giving up on trying to keep them from getting their hopes up.
John gathered up what was left of his lunch and returned it to his tray. "Okay. Let me know when you come up with something else, no matter how minute it seems."
McKay looked at him in obvious surprise. "Wait a minute, where are you going?"
John looked grim. "To run a little bit of interference with Doctor Peterson. And surreptitiously find out just how much she suspects."
-Atlantis-
There's a chance. Ronon blinked and rolled over, staring out his bedroom window at the star-blanketed sky. There's a chance that I can save her.
Hope. It was the first thing Ronon had lost when Beckett listed off Teyla's many injuries. The last thing he'd ever expected was a chance to get her back. But now? Now he had hope again: hope that there was a way to save Teyla; to get her back; finally to tell her. . .
What? Ronon rubbed his eyes tiredly and sighed. That he loved her? Perhaps that was too strong a word, particularly since he had no clue if she had felt the same way. One giddy, albeit rather passionate, kiss under the stars on the mainland during an Athosian Harvest Festival did not count as love. She was so different than him, perfect in every way. She knew his faults; she'd seen him at his best and at his very worst. Knowing that, how could she ever love him?
But how could he not go back and try, either way? Maybe she didn't love him. If she didn't, he was still going to save her. Watching her lie in the isolation room with nothing but machines keeping her alive was too painful, too awful a memory to have to live with for the rest of his life. Like the memory of when he'd first pulled her from the blazing rubble, her beautiful face and flawless skin burned and torn.
Standing by Teyla's grave during her funeral, he'd considered leaving Atlantis, at least for a while. When Melena was killed, he'd vowed never to stop until every Wraith was dead. That desire still burned deep inside him, unquenchable and unyielding. But knowing Teyla had given him another, more positive, reason to live. Without his consciously realizing it, she'd brought healing to his heart. And even though his heart had been ripped apart again, somehow hope, in the form of John Sheppard, had managed to gain a toehold there. Maybe—just maybe—they could go back, save Teyla, keep her from dying such a slow, painful, lonely death.
It was possible now. He knew it. And it was like Sheppard said: no matter how far he had to go, no matter how many rules he had to break, he was going to get Teyla Emmagan back.
To Be Continued. . .
