Chapter 9
Somewhere around midnight Major Evan Lorne had passed out and had slid off his seat. He now lay contently under the table, snoring. But John Sheppard hasn't noticed.
Lorne had been seated to his left, so the Colonel had taken immense pleasure in spiting the Major. When Lorne had slid to the floor, John had decided to play his hand as well. It should be noted that at the time of the decision, John had been sober enough (as opposed to not as very drunk) to realise he was playing for both himself and Lorne. It was now about an hour later, and John still played both hands. The only trouble was that by now he had forgotten he was playing two different hands.
When it became John's turn, he grinned evilly as he spited the person next to him. For about seven rounds now he had prevented the next person from playing his queen and he felt great. Then came Lorne's turn. Without even thinking about it, John put down his hand, stood up and moved to the seat next to him. Then he picked up that hand and frowned. Some idiot has spited him again! For seven (or was that eight) rounds now he had been unable to play the queen! Who was the son of a Wraith who kept on doing it?
Then the turn passed onto one of the Becketts, and John calmly – but shakily – got up and went back to his own seat, almost giggling as he relished the idea of spiting the person next to him again!
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Two years ago he had been busy with, what was effectively, ordering the death of a friend when a call had changed everything. Not long ago he had been aware she was dying, but there she had been, not only sitting up, but with all marks of the trauma gone. The most notable had been the moment when she had removed the bandage around her head and her hair had spilled down to her shoulders. Only hours ago it had been shaven off.
In that moment he had thought that his heart had hardened towards Elisabeth Weir; that though he would mourn for her later, the woman he had known had gone. He had been wrong.
Only hours later he, Ronon and Rodney had come down that hallway in the Replicator city and had seen her shaking with the effort to hold Oberoth and the rest of the Replicators away from them. And then she had ordered them to leave her.
And they had turned around and left.
That should have been the end of it, he was sure. But they had not counted on Sitnalta. Before they had taken two steps an energy wave had passed over them and he had known it was somehow the shield that was back up and useful. He – and the other two – had instantly spun around; just in time to see the Replicators crashing to the floor in a heap of silver nanites. And Elisabeth, seemingly slowly, toppling to the ground.
He had run back and caught her just as she would have hit the floor. Vaguely he heard Sitnalta's voice in his ear, but he ignored her.
"We need to go, now!" Rodney unnecessarily yelled. He was already inching along, back the way they had come. So John had picked up Weir and run after him, leaving Ronon to clear the way of any Replicators that adapted and made it through the shield. Earlier he hadn't had the time to consider the implications of losing his friend. Now that realisation hit him with full force.
When they had entered the puddle jumper, Sitnalta had been waiting. He had placed Elisabeth on the bench, unwilling to leave her side. In record time the shuttle had soared to the sky. It had not even occurred to them that Sitnalta would be able to fly the damn thing.
Back on Atlantis he had realised that, though he had brought back Elisabeth's body, she was again in the same state as earlier. Yes, the bruises were still gone, but the nanites had done more than heal her wounds: some of them had taken over much of her body's functions. Again she was dying. But this time he would rather let her die than have her live with those things crawling inside her.
"Don't you dare touch those machines!" he ordered as he left her with Beckett and Keller.
"Aye!" Carson had called as John had disappeared round a corner, already on his way to another crisis.
A few hours later the crisis had been averted. So he had taken the time to go to the infirmary and see how Elisabeth was doing. Yet even as he had entered the infirmary he had known something was wrong. A worried Carson had tried to stop him as he had marched into the room where Elisabeth had been held only hours ago. And there she was: lying on her back with Sitnalta by her side, busy on her tablet.
He had never been so angry in his life. He had actually walked up to Sitnalta and pushed her out of the way, ripping at the cables connecting the tablet to Elisabeth.
"What are you doing!" he had demanded.
"Just calm down," Carson said, trailing Jennifer Keller in his wake. "I know you didn't want..."
"You're damn right I didn't want this!" he had interrupted the doctor. "In fact, I had explicitly forbidden it!"
"Aye, that you did," Carson once more tried. But by now Sitnalta had picked herself up off the ground (he had pushed her hard enough that she had fallen to the ground), and she was glaring at him.
"What do you think you are doing?" she demanded through clenched teeth.
"Stopping you from doing this to Elisabeth!" he yelled at her.
"Doing what? Saving her?" Sitnalta shot back.
"Turning her into one of them!"
She shoved at him, retaking her place next to the bed. "I am not turning her into a Replicator. I have adjusted the nanites," she said, obviously trying to stay calm.
"Aye, that she has," Carson said.
"I'll talk to you later," John growled at the doctors. He turned on Sitnalta. "Either you stop this at once, or I will."
"No, I won't!" she yelled, her patience snapping. A part of him became aware of the fact that Elisabeth had moved, but he ignored her.
"Activate the kill-switch or I will order Lorne to bring me the EMP-generator."
"You arrogant, selfish bastard!" Sitnalta yelled. "I saved her! And she wil not harm your precious city!" She took a deep breath. "Bloody hell, do you honestly believe I will do something to endanger Atlantis?" she continued. By now Elisabeth was sitting up, but he and Sitnalta ignored her. Carson and Keller seemed to be tending to her, though.
"And what if those things activate themselves again? Do you think Elisabeth would want that?" He was screaming, as well. Somehow it must have transmitted to Ronon, for the big Satedan walked in just then, ready to fight.
"They won't! You do remember who I am, don't you?" Sitnalta yelled.
"Yes," he shot back. "You're a spoilt little brat whom nobody invited!" A part of him wondered when the conversation had gotten so absurd.
"Damn you," she suddenly said in that soft, dangerous voice women often used. Then she turned and walked away. As she reached the door she turned around and glared at him. "I am sure Carson had explained everything to her by now. So why don't you ask Elisabeth howshefeels about it."
Then she disappeared. He should have gone to Elisabeth then, but just as he had turned around he had seen Ronon grinning at him, holstering his gun. So instead of doing the right thing, he, too, had walked out of the infirmary.
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So that was where John stood with Elisabeth. Had Heightmeyer still been around, she probably would have told him:
One: he still suffered from guilt over abandoning Elisabeth in the Replicator city.
Check.
Two: he had unresolved feelings about whether they had done the right thing.
Check.
Three: he had unresolved feelings about whether it really was Elisabeth and whether they could trust her.
Check.
Four: he had unresolved feelings towards her. That was why he acted like a jerk towards her.
Check. In fact, all of that was true. And he knew it. And in the two years since, they even had frequent contact with the Replicators, but never had Elisabeth put them in any danger. Sitnalta had been as good as her word.
Which brought him to the last part of his problem, the part which perhaps a psychiatrist would have missed. He had thought about what Sitnalta had said, and he had come to the conclusion that he was indeed an arrogant, selfish bastard. He had wanted everything to be the way it had been before, but it could never have been. And while everyone had adjusted, he had stayed locked in his anger and self-loathing. Well, just a little bit of loathing.
Which reminded him: who was the damn idiot who kept on spiting him? He's never going to get to play that damn queen!