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Part 5/24

-Chapter 5-

Nightmares

The entire city rocked with another explosion. Atlantis's inner alarms let loose with a new, mournful wail that could barely be heard over the cacophony. He grabbed whatever surface was closest to steady himself and pressed onwards. Thick, caustic smoke burned his eyes and lungs and ripped coughs from his throat, but he couldn't stop, not until he found her.

Not until he knew. . .

"Elizabeth!" His voice cracked and failed; he had to clear his throat and cover his mouth to try to get a halfway clear breath before trying to yell again. "Elizabeth!" All around him, other members of the rescue team were sifting through debris, frantically searching for survivors. This entire part of the tower was threatening to tumble into the ocean, but John couldn't leave until he found the one person he was looking for. . .

He almost tripped over a Marine, not having seen the young woman through the smoky haze. He leaned down and lifted debris off her, recognizing the odd angle of her leg as a broken bone. He didn't see any blood, though, and counted that as a good sign. That gave him a little hope. "Just hang on," a quick glance at her uniform gave him her name "Lt. Gregory." He waved for someone to come over. "The med team will have you out of here in no time, okay?"

She nodded and coughed. He moved on again, shoving through shattered panels and fallen supports, continuing to call Elizabeth's name. A brief flash of red caught his eye almost halfway across the room. He headed towards it, almost tripping twice in his haste to get there. "Elizabeth!"

The flames were creeping closer; the uncomfortable level of heat was making him sweat. He coughed again, rasping oxygen and smoke in equally, and quickly identified what was trapping her. Adrenaline lent him superhuman strength, allowing him to free her petite body from the rubble.

"Elizabeth. . .oh. . ." His voice was a hoarse whimper when he saw her. Even as he reached for the pulse point on her neck he knew she was dead, that he was too late.

That he'd failed her.

There was blood everywhere. She was so badly burned he could only hope was that she had died instantly when the explosion hit, that she hadn't felt any pain or panic before she died.

It should have been me! The thought screamed through him as he gathered her as carefully as he possibly could into his arms. As he headed towards the exit Lorne's choked voice carried to him: "Ronon's got Teyla, sir, and that's the last of them! We need to go, now!"

The wall not ten feet behind him collapsed into the ocean in a blazing inferno. Cool ocean air rushed across his back. The outside air fueled the flames. They roared higher, rushing dangerously close to him as he ducked and stumbled his way back through the room towards the door and safety, Elizabeth's dead form cradled protectively in his arms.

And all he could think as he struggled towards his own safety was: I failed her. . .

The wetness trickling down his cheeks made John finally wake from the nightmare he'd lived through. He moaned and rolled over to bury his face in his pillow; his heart twisting, breaking, the jumble of emotions so powerful they were a physical pain.

I failed her. I let her down, and she died all alone without my ever telling her I loved her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. . . He covered his head with his hands, trying to hide from the guilt, and the pain, though he knew it was hopeless. During the day he could hide his pain from himself, and everyone else; but at night it all came crashing back to him. All the nightmares, all the emotions. . .

He was drowning. That was the only way to explain it: he was drowning in his own emotions. He couldn't save himself. The one person who could was dead, the one he was trying to save.

Elizabeth, I am so sorry. . .

-Atlantis-

In previous years, Ronon had found watching the lights of Atlantis reflecting in shifting patterns on the surrounding ocean very soothing. But on this night he found no comfort in the view from this isolated balcony where he came to mourn. There were too many dark areas bearing silent witness to the devastation left after that terrible Wraith attack. So many areas were beyond repair.

The missing lights reminded him, too, of other losses; of the areas in his heart and soul that were irreparably darkened. Ronon rested his forehead against his raised knees, his eyes clenched shut against the painful images burned into his mind like a hot brand.

Fire everywhere, screams of pain.

"No. . .no, not again. . ." He didn't want to relive it. He didn't want to see it all again, for it to play out in his head, to have to watch Teyla die again! He couldn't do it anymore, it was too painful.

Yet he couldn't stop it from playing out in his mind again. . .

Behind him, he could hear Sheppard yelling for Elizabeth. He ignored him, stumbling his way through the smoke and debris towards the lone figure lying half-buried under rubble from the ceiling.

"Teyla!" He coughed, the caustic smoke around him burning his lungs. He fell to his knees next to her, pushing away the debris pinning her down. He swallowed back the fear in his throat. There was so much blood everywhere, and her body was so badly damaged from the fire. . .

"I'm so sorry. . ." He couldn't help the husky whisper that left his abused throat.

Her eyes slitted open, squinting at him in painful but obvious recognition. "Ronon. . ." She coughed weakly. Blood bubbled and trickled from the corner of her lips.

He swallowed hard. The pain in her voice almost overwhelmed him. "Teyla, I'm so sorry I wasn't here." He was afraid to touch her in case he hurt her more, but he had to move her. "I'm sorry, but I have to. . ." he helplessly gestured.

She nodded, gritting her teeth and locking her jaw against the pain as he gently as possible lifted her into his arms. He headed for the exit, and safety. Off to his right, he could vaguely see Sheppard kneeling beside Doctor Weir's body. He felt a sharp stab of grief through his fear for Teyla. The look on the man's face clearly said that Atlantis's leader hadn't survived the explosion.

Ronon swallowed hard. He headed as quickly as he dared for the infirmary, wanting, needing to get Teyla there as fast as possible so she wouldn't suffer the same fate.

"Ronon. . ." Her voice was soft into his neck. He consciously had to force himself not to curl his arms tighter around her in automatic protection.

"I'm here," he responded.

"Continue the fight, Ronon," she whispered, her warm breath the barest brush of air across his throat.

He knew what that meant. "Teyla, no! Hang on, please, you're going to be okay. . ." Maybe if he said it enough times, thought it hard enough, it would have to be true.

Her breath hitched. Ronon nearly stopped breathing himself. Then, quietly: "I'm sorry, Ronon."

He swallowed, nearly choked, and suddenly couldn't breathe. Something inside him went dead, as though Teyla had already died. All he wanted was to save her. He would be willing to do anything to assure her more breaths, more life, but he knew he couldn't.

So with the last of his courage, he whispered the only thing he could: "I'd give it all, Teyla, if only it were me. . ."

But she'd already slipped into the black, cloying oblivion of coma. He didn't even know if she'd heard him.

Ronon covered his head with his hands and did the only thing he could do.

He cried.

To Be Continued. . .