Fic: Shattered Mirror (4/4)
And here is the epilogue!
Part III
The setting sun casts an eerie glow over the ocean of New Lantea, alternating red-orange and blue-grey. Elizabeth leans back in her chair, watching the spectacle. Ever since she returned home from her time with the Asurans, she has never been able to fully reconcile this new world with the old one. Altantis had inhabited Lantea for untold millennia. It just never seemed right to her to have the city settled on the waves of another ocean.
“Coffee at this hour?”
Elizabeth looks up to see John standing at the doorway leading from the mess hall to the deck she sat on, eyeing her in that casual manner of his that was both exasperating and endearing. She shakes her head. “Tea.”
He takes her single-word reply as invitation and steps outside. Elizabeth notes that he is carrying a cup of his own as well as a bowl with two spoons sticking out of it. When John sits down, she sees the ice cream in the bowl.
She eyes him. “Cookies and cream?” she asks. “I thought Radek cleaned us out of that a week ago.”
John smirks. “Rodney may have complained about it, but that doesn’t make it true. The marines know how to hide their stashes from the scientists.”
“But not from their commanding officer?” she teases, reaching out for one of the spoons.
“They’re not that good yet.”
The silence between them is a comfortable one as they ate, one born of so many times of sitting together just like this. Or even of times sitting alone and far apart wishing for those times together, Elizabeth suddenly thinks.
When they finish the bowl, Elizabeth leans back in her chair and sighed. “We got the responses to our reports from Earth today,” she tells him, knowing she doesn’t need to specify which reports. There is only one set in the past several weeks that would cause any anxiety.
There is a pause before John replies. “How badly did they hit the roof?”
Elizabeth shrugs. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Much of what the other Atlantis expedition was facing were things we had already surpassed. They’re sure that we’re not two shades from mounting a rebellion, anyway.”
“Then what has you so preoccupied?” There is no uncertainty in John’s voice. He knows she is pensive.
“President Hayes sent a message as well,” she says. “I think alternate realities worry him more than they do the generals and the IOA. I read about the one Colonel Carter experienced before the Asurans attacked Atlantis.” That’s as close as Elizabeth usually gets to alluding to her experiences with the Pegasus Replicators. “It frightened him, I think, to see the depths our country could sink to if things weren’t managed properly. Then he hears about the Asuran conflict being botched so badly that the expedition broke all ties with Earth? He was concerned.”
John nods. “Yeah, I suppose, but remember: they weren’t us.” He shakes his head. “That woman certainly was not you, that’s for damned sure.”
Elizabeth snorts. “No argument here.” Yes, time and distance have led her to abandon the doubts she had felt while watching her double operate in that hellish reality. John is right. That woman had been shaped by experiences just as bad as her own, no matter how different. Elizabeth has a support system at her disposal-friends greater than any she’d ever had before Atlantis-that had been shredded beyond almost all recognition in that other reality. Rodney dead, Teyla dead, John dead. Only Ronon left to rely on for any real guidance and companionship.
She shivers then, and John looks at her closely. “You cold?” he asked her.
“A little,” Elizabeth admits. The night air is growing cooler as the sunlight fades.
He puts his now empty cup in hers before tossing both in the bowl and stands up. “Come on,” he says, “it’s Teyla’s turn to host movie night. She chose The Lion King, if you can believe it.”
Elizabeth laughs as she stands up. “Hakunah matata?”
John’s grin brings a special kind of warmth as they walk back inside. “It means no worries for the rest of your days.”
*~*~*~*
The lights are low in the observation area of the isolation room. Weir stands in the shadows, watching the scene in the isolation room unfold. Ronon is getting quite the work-out over this whole thing.
They’d gotten word just a week ago, completely unexpected. Michael was going to meet with a small group of former Wraith worshippers in secret on an abandoned world, hoping to secure an alliance between the two factions. However, one of that group had heard about the enormous price Weir had placed on Michael’s head and had been more than willing to hand his location over. Surprisingly, it had not been difficult for Ronon and Lorne to capture him. They’d had rumors about Michael’s whereabouts before, but Weir had been very pleased to see this one produce results.
She doesn’t flinch when a new trail of blood splatters across Ronon’s chest. He’s been in there for over two hours now, alternating between beating and demanding answers from Michael. The former Wraith hasn’t been very forthcoming as of yet, but even if Ronon does eventually give up to exhaustion, Weir knows there are more waiting in the wings. Lorne is willing, and even Radek has informed her that he has a few tricks that might loosen Michael’s tongue.
She will be happy to see some information come from Michael, but the purpose of capturing him is twofold. End his little operations across Pegasus, yes, but also to exact justice for his murder of Teyla.
Michael’s voice is thick and heavy when he manages to speak between Ronon’s blows. “How the mighty have fallen,” he rasps. Weir watches him look up toward the windows of the observation windows. “Doctor Weir, your hospitality has grown less pleasing since I was last in your fair city.”
Weir contemplates replying, but decides against it. Even if he does know she is watching, she has no desire to engage in a battle of wits with him. There is no point.
Still, he continues, even after Ronon punches him yet again. “Where have your high-minded ideals gone, Doctor Weir? What would Teyla say to such brutality?”
Her fists clench and tremble while Ronon grabs a knife and slashes Michael’s face. How dare he even speak Teyla’s name? Weir thought, furious. He brought this on himself by killing her!
The blood gushes from Michael’s face as Ronon again demands answers from him. Weir leans back against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. Teyla and John would have enjoyed this, she thinks.
Neither of them shrank from seeing justice done.
Part III
The setting sun casts an eerie glow over the ocean of New Lantea, alternating red-orange and blue-grey. Elizabeth leans back in her chair, watching the spectacle. Ever since she returned home from her time with the Asurans, she has never been able to fully reconcile this new world with the old one. Altantis had inhabited Lantea for untold millennia. It just never seemed right to her to have the city settled on the waves of another ocean.
“Coffee at this hour?”
Elizabeth looks up to see John standing at the doorway leading from the mess hall to the deck she sat on, eyeing her in that casual manner of his that was both exasperating and endearing. She shakes her head. “Tea.”
He takes her single-word reply as invitation and steps outside. Elizabeth notes that he is carrying a cup of his own as well as a bowl with two spoons sticking out of it. When John sits down, she sees the ice cream in the bowl.
She eyes him. “Cookies and cream?” she asks. “I thought Radek cleaned us out of that a week ago.”
John smirks. “Rodney may have complained about it, but that doesn’t make it true. The marines know how to hide their stashes from the scientists.”
“But not from their commanding officer?” she teases, reaching out for one of the spoons.
“They’re not that good yet.”
The silence between them is a comfortable one as they ate, one born of so many times of sitting together just like this. Or even of times sitting alone and far apart wishing for those times together, Elizabeth suddenly thinks.
When they finish the bowl, Elizabeth leans back in her chair and sighed. “We got the responses to our reports from Earth today,” she tells him, knowing she doesn’t need to specify which reports. There is only one set in the past several weeks that would cause any anxiety.
There is a pause before John replies. “How badly did they hit the roof?”
Elizabeth shrugs. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Much of what the other Atlantis expedition was facing were things we had already surpassed. They’re sure that we’re not two shades from mounting a rebellion, anyway.”
“Then what has you so preoccupied?” There is no uncertainty in John’s voice. He knows she is pensive.
“President Hayes sent a message as well,” she says. “I think alternate realities worry him more than they do the generals and the IOA. I read about the one Colonel Carter experienced before the Asurans attacked Atlantis.” That’s as close as Elizabeth usually gets to alluding to her experiences with the Pegasus Replicators. “It frightened him, I think, to see the depths our country could sink to if things weren’t managed properly. Then he hears about the Asuran conflict being botched so badly that the expedition broke all ties with Earth? He was concerned.”
John nods. “Yeah, I suppose, but remember: they weren’t us.” He shakes his head. “That woman certainly was not you, that’s for damned sure.”
Elizabeth snorts. “No argument here.” Yes, time and distance have led her to abandon the doubts she had felt while watching her double operate in that hellish reality. John is right. That woman had been shaped by experiences just as bad as her own, no matter how different. Elizabeth has a support system at her disposal-friends greater than any she’d ever had before Atlantis-that had been shredded beyond almost all recognition in that other reality. Rodney dead, Teyla dead, John dead. Only Ronon left to rely on for any real guidance and companionship.
She shivers then, and John looks at her closely. “You cold?” he asked her.
“A little,” Elizabeth admits. The night air is growing cooler as the sunlight fades.
He puts his now empty cup in hers before tossing both in the bowl and stands up. “Come on,” he says, “it’s Teyla’s turn to host movie night. She chose The Lion King, if you can believe it.”
Elizabeth laughs as she stands up. “Hakunah matata?”
John’s grin brings a special kind of warmth as they walk back inside. “It means no worries for the rest of your days.”
*~*~*~*
The lights are low in the observation area of the isolation room. Weir stands in the shadows, watching the scene in the isolation room unfold. Ronon is getting quite the work-out over this whole thing.
They’d gotten word just a week ago, completely unexpected. Michael was going to meet with a small group of former Wraith worshippers in secret on an abandoned world, hoping to secure an alliance between the two factions. However, one of that group had heard about the enormous price Weir had placed on Michael’s head and had been more than willing to hand his location over. Surprisingly, it had not been difficult for Ronon and Lorne to capture him. They’d had rumors about Michael’s whereabouts before, but Weir had been very pleased to see this one produce results.
She doesn’t flinch when a new trail of blood splatters across Ronon’s chest. He’s been in there for over two hours now, alternating between beating and demanding answers from Michael. The former Wraith hasn’t been very forthcoming as of yet, but even if Ronon does eventually give up to exhaustion, Weir knows there are more waiting in the wings. Lorne is willing, and even Radek has informed her that he has a few tricks that might loosen Michael’s tongue.
She will be happy to see some information come from Michael, but the purpose of capturing him is twofold. End his little operations across Pegasus, yes, but also to exact justice for his murder of Teyla.
Michael’s voice is thick and heavy when he manages to speak between Ronon’s blows. “How the mighty have fallen,” he rasps. Weir watches him look up toward the windows of the observation windows. “Doctor Weir, your hospitality has grown less pleasing since I was last in your fair city.”
Weir contemplates replying, but decides against it. Even if he does know she is watching, she has no desire to engage in a battle of wits with him. There is no point.
Still, he continues, even after Ronon punches him yet again. “Where have your high-minded ideals gone, Doctor Weir? What would Teyla say to such brutality?”
Her fists clench and tremble while Ronon grabs a knife and slashes Michael’s face. How dare he even speak Teyla’s name? Weir thought, furious. He brought this on himself by killing her!
The blood gushes from Michael’s face as Ronon again demands answers from him. Weir leans back against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. Teyla and John would have enjoyed this, she thinks.
Neither of them shrank from seeing justice done.