"Home is Where the Heart Is" (6/ 6) Conclusion
Title: "Home is Where the Heart Is" (6/ 6) Conclusion
Authors: everybetty and kristen999
Word Count: 55,000-
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Some violence and a couple f-bombs
Genre: Gen. Drama, Action, H/C
Characters: Sheppard, McKay, Ronon, Teyla, Todd, various SG-1 members and OCs.
Summary: Atlantis is back on Earth; things should be quiet and boring, light years away from Pegasus. While trying to find a place in this new life, John struggles with politics, a pending promotion… oh, and a deadly conspiracy that threatens the lives of everyone on Earth. Again. John POV, Post-EATG.
Notes: This was written for susnn for her very generous donation to help_haiti .
“Previous Chapters”
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John sat on the edge of the infirmary bed in his boxers, contemplating the day ahead. He’d been dreading it more than he’d admitted to anyone, even after Mitchell’s Super Bowl pep talk.
He’d never been one for pomp and ceremony. He’d skipped almost every graduation, except the one where he’d gotten his first set of officer’s bars. Even his marriage had been low-key. Just him and Nancy, his best man, who he hadn’t seen since, and her sister and a justice of the peace in San Francisco.
They’d tried to turn his promotion to major into a fuss. The war was in its infancy and the Air Force was looking for photo ops. Invite the media to come see the hero earn his oak leaf. He’d disappointed them all, volunteered for an op and took his leaf from his CO with a handshake and a ‘don’t screw this up, Sheppard.” He’d pinned it on himself after strapping into his Pave Hawk. The fact that he had screwed things up right after made him extra glad he didn’t have newspaper clippings around to remind him.
Hell, even his biggest surprise, and the moment he’d actually allowed himself a point of pride had been his Lt Colonel’s leaf. He could still picture the small triumphant smile on Elizabeth’s face. Always the diplomat, but still, she couldn’t help but crow a little at her successful machinations to keep him in charge of Atlantis. And to make the moment even sweeter, it had been handled within the offices of the SGC. Landry had still been a little put out; he’d said the words perfunctorily in a conference room, the only other witnesses Elizabeth, Teyla and Rodney. Celebration had been beers on the newly minted Lt Colonel with some of the Marines from Atlantis.
But this day… this day was going to be hell.
With a sigh he looked again at the plastic covered dress blues his aide had dropped off and hung over the chair back for him and then at the sling, cast and bandages that still covered most of him. He’d had a hard enough time stripping down for the exam that Lam had insisted he have before his ‘big day.’
With a wince he reached over for the uniform. His fingers brushed the top but it was enough to send the heavy woolen clothing slipping off the back of the chair onto the floor, puddling on top of his shoes.
“Damn it!”
He eased his feet down to the floor, wincing again at the cold tile under his one uncasted foot, then began to slowly bend over to pick up the fallen garment.
“You really are a stubborn bugger, aren’t you?”
John looked up at the voice. One of the last people he’d expected to see stood in the opening to his screened off cubicle, arms folded but with a cheeky grin on his cherubic face.
“Carson?”
It was odd to see the doctor not wearing his white coat or Atlantis uniform. Instead the Scot wore a tartan plaid flannel shirt and jeans.
“Aye, lad.”
“What are you - I thought you were in Scotland?”
“I was, until about an hour or so ago. I was just in Dr Lam’s office. We were laying bets on whether you’d buzz for help getting dressed. Thanks to you, I’m twenty dollars richer.” He strode in and picked up the fallen uniform, putting it back over the chair. He cocked his head and gave John an appraising, oh, so familiar scan before shaking his head. “Och, you really did get yourself into a right mess, didn’t you?” he said softly.
John smiled briefly at the Scot’s understatement. “You shoulda seen me a couple weeks ago.”
Carson’s smile dropped. “I wish I had, lad. Rodney called me when it first happened. I wanted to fly back immediately but… well, let’s just say that my status with the SGC was in bit of a holding pattern.”
“Was?” John’s smile grew. “You’re here now… is that a good sign?”
“Oh, aye,” Carson grinned. “A very good sign. I’ll not be CMO around here again, at least any time soon, but I’ve got some privileges back and… well, they tell me if - no - when we go back to Pegasus that I can resume my duties there.”
“That’s great, Carson,” John said with genuine happiness.
“Might I add,” Carson said, leaning a little closer, “that the ex Mrs. Sheppard is a truly lovely woman. And I don’t mean just her appearance.”
Nancy. Huh. John laughed ruefully. “Yeah, she seems to be fitting into her new role pretty well. I’m glad she was able to work her magic for you.”
“Aye, me too. So. You ready for the big event?”
John looked down at his boxers and chuffed. “Think I might be outa regs. Kinda slow going, here.”
“Think a washed out CMO is qualified to lend a hand?”
“Not washed out, Carson. Just sidelined. You can have a seat next to me on the bench.”
With infinite patience, Carson eventually managed to get John into his dress pants. After only a moment’s hesitation John nodded at the scissors the doc offered, letting him cut a long slit up the left leg to allow for the cast to his knee. His one high-polish shoe shone brightly next to the dull dark blue wrapped cast.
The shirt was worse, the doctor having to manipulate his bad shoulder into the long sleeved garment. As Carson was doing up the buttons John realized the shirt was now a size too big, a testament to his weight loss over the weeks of illness and painfully slow recuperation.
The Scot kept up a merry one-sided conversation while John grunted and groaned and bit his lip through his battered body being forced into confining clothing.
Carson had gone back to Scotland. His beloved mum had passed away the year before; as Carson had predicted, she took word of his death hard and never recovered. But Carson had wanted to visit her grave and see to the upkeep of her little cottage.
“Was it weird, going home?” John asked.
“Och, it’s not home anymore, lad. Especially not since Mum’s passing. No, home is where the heart is, and my heart’s with a new family now.” As his surgeon’s fingers worked at the tight uniform buttons, the doctor cursed in frustration. “Bloody hell, these are stubborn buggers!”
“Yeah, the military never does anything easy, Carson.”
“’Course I’m more used to getting you outa your clothes,” the Scot muttered. After a beat he realized what he’d said and burst out in a laugh. “Well now, that came out completely wrong. Sorry, lad.”
John chuckled ruefully, well aware of how many times Carson’s magic scissors had done far worse to his uniforms. To cover his slight embarrassment he prompted Carson back into his story. “You didn’t actually talk to anyone back in Scotland, did you?”
“No, of course not,” Carson scoffed. “I was read the riot act before I got permission to go. No, I kept myself pretty much hidden. Although as I was packing to leave I did hear tell I’d been caught at the cemetery, visiting Mum. The town is pretty small and someone must’ve recognized me.” He laughed as he smoothed John’s collar down. “Apparently my ghost haunts the cemetery now.”
“Not many people can say that, Carson.”
“No, no I wouldn’t think they could. There. Just the jacket now.” He pulled the dark blue suit coat out of the plastic and smoothed it with his hands. His fingers lingered over the block of ribbons over the breast. “I’m surprised they aren’t all purple hearts,” he joked softly as he eased John into the sleeves.
John laughed grimly. “They stopped sending them after a while. Think I maxed out.”
“You’ve given a great deal of yourself for your country, John. And for all of us.”
John blushed and squirmed in the ill-fitting suit. “I know some folks gave more than I have.” He looked pointedly at the doctor. Then it was Carson’s turn to squirm.
“Alright now, enough chit-chat. I’ve been talking your bloody ears off and you’ve barely said a word.” He stepped back and gave John another appraising look. “You look grand. How’re you feeling, lad, after all that fussing? They haven’t taken away my prescription pad; do you need anything?”
With his arm settled back in its sling and the prodding and pulling done, most of the pain was just the muted background stuff he’d become accustomed to. He knew he’d be taking the four-wheel express to the ceremony and presumed his only activity might be a slow limp across a stage. Under hot lights. With the eyes of hundreds of military and civilian VIPs on him and only him. He felt sweat gathering at his pits and realized he hadn’t put on his antiperspirant.
Maybe a little controlled substance might be warranted.
Instead he waved Carson’s offer off. “Unless you’ve got a bottle of scotch in your medicine cabinet, I’m good, thanks, Doc.”
Carson’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Well, I was saving it as a surprise for later, lad, but I did bring a wee bit o’ Scotland home with me.”
----
Ronon pushed the wheelchair up the ramp and through the back entrance of the stage, John’s entourage, as Rodney called it, following in their wake.
Rodney fussed in his ‘monkey suit,’ digging at his collar and tugging at the sleeves, whining to everyone and no one about how the wool was giving him an allergic reaction. Carson, who had changed out his flannel shirt for a tux jacket and kilt, threatened to give him a shot of Benadryl in his itchy arse and that quieted him for a bit. He sulked until Jennifer slipped an arm around him consolingly and his eyes widened at her pink silk dress.
Teyla looked… stunning was a particularly apt description. Her gown was turquoise and copper, achingly reminiscent of Atlantis. She caught John staring and smiled broadly, even giving a little spin for him.
“Wow, Teyla. Just… wow.”
“Ms Mal Doran turns out to have quite the eye, I agree,” Teyla said. “She even found the cutest little suit for Torren.”
“Can’t wait to see it,” John said. And he couldn’t. Couldn’t wait for this whole circus to be over with so he could hang with his friends and maybe even have someone sneak him a beer or three. Or some more of Carson’s amazing Scottish firewater. He could still taste the smoky peat in his mouth from the generous belt the doc had poured him.
Ronon finally parked the chair and set the brake. He was almost unrecognizable, dressed in a simple black on black tux, his hair pulled back and his beard trimmed up. Then John caught the black leather boots and laughed as he realized the Satedan had hung on to a little bit of himself.
There was a rise in noise from the auditorium, hundreds of voices that had been muffled by the heavy curtains suddenly becoming louder. John looked up to see Lorne had parted the curtain and was headed back. Kitted out in his own dress blues, his XO came over to shake his hand.
“Congratulations again, sir,” Lorne said formally. “I think they’re ready when you are.”
John took a deep, hopefully cleansing breath and exhaled slowly. It was really gonna happen. Now. He nodded shortly, not yet trusting his voice.
The next he knew, Ronon was clapping him heavily on his shoulder; Rodney was giving him a huge grin and an exaggerated, exuberant thumbs-up. Teyla bent to touch foreheads with him and murmured, “You deserve this, John,” before joining the group as they made their hasty exit to their seats.
Lorne stayed behind, standing stiffly at attention. The formality was really driving it home for John and he felt compelled by the weight of what was to come to honor it with his own formality.
“Major Lorne?”
His XO snapped tighter. “Yes, sir?”
“It’s been a pleasure serving with you, Major. You’ve been an outstanding officer and an asset to my command. You’ve always had my six, and that hasn’t always been the case for me.”
Lorne didn’t reply, just flushed a little red and if possible, tensed up more.
“As my second you’ve been an invaluable aide to me, propped up things when I was away or laid up. I’m calling on you now, to prop me up again. I need an escort onto that damn stage.”
Lorne’s blue eyes brightened with moisture and he smiled. Shot John a sharp salute. “I’d be honored, sir.”
John returned the salute and it felt right. “Help me outa this damn chair, then, Major.”
His XO’s strong arm around his middle, John stepped to the curtain. The voices had quieted down to a low drone. John darted a look at Lorne and swallowed. “Think I’d rather be flying another nuke into a superhive about now.”
Lorne chuckled. “Think you’ll find the room is mostly Friendlies, Colonel. This’ll be a cake flight. Clear skies.”
John nodded, then parted the curtain and stepped forward. All the voices stopped like the sound had been cut off.
The lights hit his eyes and he blinked after the dimness of backstage. When his vision cleared it was to take in a sea of faces and a patchwork of colors. Navy white, Army olive, Marine black and his own Air Force blue punctuated by brighter colors on some of the civilians.
As he looked closer he saw the front row, filled with his friends. Teyla bounced Torren on her knee and pointed for the toddler up at John. Nancy sat next to Ronon in a simple black shift like the one she’d worn to his father’s funeral. He blinked again as he recognized Dave sitting next to her. His brother caught his eye, gave him a nod and a smile, then stabbed a thumb towards Nancy, answering the question as to how he’d found out.
Ronon, Carson, Rodney and Woolsey rounded out the row, but behind them John caught more familiar faces. Bates was there, and Chuck and Radek. Lam was there with a recently returned Daniel Jackson. Yep. Vala sat next to Jackson, wearing a bright peacock blue, low-cut stunner of her own. And Teal'c sat at the end.
He found his eye wandering, looking for one more familiar face, then saw her, four rows back. Sullivan cleaned up nicely.
At a subtle throat clearing, John’s attention was brought back. Dumbly, he realized that the true ‘star’ power was on the stage itself. Colonels Ellis, Caldwell, Mitchell and Carter all stood smartly in their dress blues along with Generals O’Neill and Landry. And bringing the whole thing to a completely surreal head was the President himself, holding a flat wooden box.
Somewhere off in the audience someone coughed and a low murmur ran through the seats. John was pinned, understanding completely now the feeling the deer had with a pair of halogens headed his way at 55.
This wasn’t meant for him. He wasn’t that guy - the one who got the accolades and backslaps. He was the guy who screwed up. Who too often let his heart lead his head. Who took crazy risks, not out of a death wish and certainly not out of desire for …this. He did it for family. For home, for his country or his city. For the men and women who counted on him to keep them safe.
The murmurs grew louder but over it all was this increasingly loud, insistent cough. He glanced back in its direction, saw Rodney, fist dropping from in front of his mouth, his eyes boring holes at John. Saw his friend mouth, “You can do this.” Saw Ronon and Teyla nodding their heads, encouraging him while the audience grew antsier.
Then he felt Lorne’s arm tighten around his middle. “Don’t make me drag you out in front of the President, sir,” was whispered near his ear.
He swallowed, stuttered out a nod, and began halting steps across the stage towards the gathered officers. The crowd erupted into clapping, probably glad just to see the ceremony and him moving forward finally.
He stopped in front of the group, muttered a thanks and tried on a tentative smile.
“It’s a promotion, Sheppard, not a firing squad,” General O’Neill muttered.
“Y-yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“With your permission, sir?” O’Neill asked Landry. With a slow nod the laconic older General took a step back.
O’Neill turned to the audience and smiled, that famous Jack smile. “Hello, everybody!”
The crowd chuckled and murmured hellos back.
“You’re probably used to these ceremonies being pretty formal. Which can be code for stale, stodgy… and other words I would need a thesaurus to find. Well, too bad!” he said with a shrug. “It’s the military!”
The crowd chuckled harder at that, most of them being in the armed forces themselves.
“We don’t often get a helluva lot of recognition for the things we do on a daily basis, for our country…for our planet. Whether you’re driving a supply truck, feeding the troops, standing post, decrypting code, treating the wounded, navigating stormy seas or flying a Blackhawk in Antarctica, we all do our part, day in, night out. And when we get a chance to honor one of us with a promotion, there is a need to recognize the rare privilege it is. With formality, with reverence, with solemnity.”
There wasn’t a sound in the audience as O’Neill’s words hung in the auditorium.
“But,” he continued with a cheeky grin, “me being me, and our guest of honor being held together with sutures and plaster, I’ll try not to let it get too bogged down, okay?”
As the audience relaxed and laughed O’Neill turned and gave John a wink. “How ‘bout we get this show on the road, Sheppard?”
John exhaled and felt the tension leave his body. He squeezed Lorne’s shoulder as his XO eased away, leaving John to stand wobbily on his own. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Good. Good morning, everyone. We’re pleased all of you could join us as we recognize one of our own, Lt Colonel John Sheppard, on the occasion of his promotion to Colonel. General Landry was kind enough to allow me to officiate today’s ceremony. Ladies and gentlemen, General Hank Landry.”
The crowd clapped politely as Landry stepped forward for his recognition. “Ladies and gentlemen. Five years ago, a very special woman, a civilian, if you can believe it, convinced me to take a still green Major and make him a Lt Colonel and give him control over the most valuable prize our planet has ever known. I won’t say I didn’t have reservations, but I am proud to be a part, once again, of Lt Colonel Sheppard’s well-deserved promotion. Congratulations, son.”
Then Landry stepped back to join the President at his side.
Before John could absorb Landry’s remarks O’Neill was back at the microphone.
“Attention to orders! the President of the United States, acting upon the recommendation of the Secretary of the Air Force, has placed special trust and confidence in the patriotism, integrity, and abilities of Lt Colonel Sheppard. In view of these special qualities, and his demonstrated potential to serve in the higher grade, Lt Colonel Sheppard is promoted to the grade of Colonel, United States Air Force, effective the seventeenth of February, two thousand and nine, by order of the Secretary of the Air Force.
Colonel Carter, as his most recent commander, would you please come forward and pin on Colonel Sheppard’s new rank?”
Carter smiled coyly, then turned to the man next to her. “I believe someone else has requested that honor, sir. Steven?”
Colonel Caldwell put on a slightly pained smile and stepped forward. Cleared his throat and adjusted the mike, wincing as it squealed.
O’Neill bent in to the mouthpiece. “Ladies and gentlemen, Colonel Steven Caldwell.”
After the polite applause stopped Caldwell stood to his full height. “Thank you, General. Colonel Sheppard and I served together in Pegasus, during some of the direst situations I have ever been a party to. Time and again, I witnessed Colonel Sheppard pull off incredible acts of bravery and selflessness. His cool head, strong heart and bull-headed stubbornness saved our people more times than I can count. Of course, without the Daedalus to pull his ass outa the fire time and again, he wouldn’t be here for me to pin his eagle on him.”
While John stood gobsmacked at the curmudgeonly officer’s glowing praise, the older man stepped up, swiftly removed the silver oak leaf and replaced it with an eagle, then stepped back, hand extended. “Thank you, sir,” John said softly. “Especially for always being there to pull my ass outa the fire.”
The audience burst into applause for the newly minted Colonel until O’Neill finally waved them all down. “Formality, folks, remember? Colonel Caldwell will now administer the oath of office.”
John raised his right hand as high as he could, barely feeling the pain in his shoulder, overwhelmed as he was. Thankfully, his brain was able to take a back seat as the words came to him like those of a favorite song, and he was able to echo each of Caldwell’s.
”I, John Sheppard, having been appointed a Colonel in the United States Air Force, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office which I am about to enter, so help me God.”
O’Neill picked back up as MC and began clapping. “Ladies and gentlemen, Colonel John Sheppard.”
The audience rose to their feet as one, applauding, smiling. A uniformed photographer stepped forward and John stood as tall as he could, grinning and trying not to squint against the mini-nova flashes of light in his eyes. A particularly badly timed flash made him flinch and he felt his tenuous stance falter. But before he could even react he felt a hand at his back, steadying him.
“Got your back, Sheppard,” Mitchell whispered. Then the SG-1 colonel caught O’Neill’s eye and gave him a loaded look. “Think we need to move this along, Jack.”
Quick to catch on, the general waved his hands, quieting the audience as they re-took their seats.
“If you check your programs you might see there is one more thing on the agenda. While we’d normally like to do this up a little more publicly, media and the whole circus, the shall we say, special circumstances, surrounding this event mean a little less pomp and circumstance and a little more top secret clearance.
Without further ado, I give you the President of the United States of America.”
The President stepped up to applause, waved a hand and allowed a few flashbulbs to go off before setting the mike like a pro.
“We are a planet of more than six billion people. Of these, fewer than 1 percent wear the uniform of our Armed Services. And of these, just a small fraction has earned a place in our Stargate program.
In the finest military the world has ever known, these men and women are the best of the best. In an era that prizes celebrity and status, they are "quiet professionals" -- never seeking the spotlight. They have borne a burden far beyond their small numbers - often finding themselves as the last line of defense against enemies the likes of which we have never faced.
Few of us on Earth ever see their service, but all of us are safer because of it.
Today, it is my privilege to present our nation's highest military decoration -- the Medal of Honor -- to one of these remarkable soldiers, Colonel John Sheppard.
To do so, we are joined by his fellow officers of the SGC, by his fellow soldiers in whose ranks he served, and by his friends and family.
It has been said that courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point. For John Sheppard, the testing point came but a few short months ago, when our planet was faced with a seemingly unstoppable enemy. The courage he displayed that day has earned him our nation’s highest honor and eternal gratitude.
Invaders from a galaxy too far away for most people to even begin to fathom had made their way to the very doorstep of our solar system. This enemy has vast numbers, strength and physical attributes that make them almost impossible to kill, and came in a ship that could withstand any weapon our planet has developed.
Colonel Sheppard, knowing how grave the threat was, how imminent the possible devastation of our planet was, chose to volunteer for a suicide mission, to sacrifice himself so that we all would be saved. In an aircraft, so small it would be a gnat to the behemoth alien ship, he approached the enemy. And he waited. For twenty minutes… twenty long, quiet minutes, he hung in space. His craft powered down, no communication, no comfort. And his only company a nuclear bomb that he would be detonating inside the alien fortress.
After those long twenty minutes had passed, Colonel Sheppard slipped behind enemy lines and planted that nuclear bomb, fully expecting to be vaporized in the blast. It was only by God’s grace and the ingenuity of his Atlantean team and XO that allowed a literal last second save that finds Colonel Sheppard here with us today.
This is the valor that we honor today. And I would ask John's team, who were with him that day, to please stand and be recognized.”
John’s heart swelled as Teyla, Rodney and Ronon rose slowly from their seats. He turned and waved a red-faced Lorne to come out for the thunderous applause, grateful that the President had known to recognize his friends who had saved him that day.
”Every individual on this planet is safer because of their service. And every individual has a duty to remember and honor their sacrifice.
If we do -- if we keep their legacy alive, if we keep faith with the freedoms they defend -- then we can imagine a day, decades from now, when another child sits down at his desk, ponders the true meaning of heroism and finds inspiration in the story of a soldier and his team who kept the wolf from our door.
That is the meaning of this medal. And that is our summons today, as a proud and grateful nation. So please join us as the citation is read.”
A man stepped out onto the stage. His uniform coat was black but the hat he held under his arm was shining white and four stars rode above a brick of colorful ribbons on his chest. John’s eyes widened at the sight of a man few got to lay eyes on.
Admiral James “Sandy” Winnefeld, commander over all of NORAD, the SGC and Cheyenne complex included, took the wooden box from his Commander in Chief and stepped up to the mike to read the citation.
“The President of the United States of America, authorized by act of Congress, March 3rd, 1863, has awarded, in the name of the Congress, the Medal of Honor to Colonel John Sheppard, United States Air Force, for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty.
Colonel John Sheppard distinguished himself by extraordinary acts of heroism while defending Earth against a hostile enemy, on January 9, 2009. His extraordinary valor ultimately saved the lives everyone on this planet. His heroism and selflessness above and beyond the call of duty are in keeping with the highest traditions of military service and reflect great credit upon himself and the United States Air Force.”
With Mitchell’s hand still steadying him, John bowed his head as the Admiral opened the box. The ribbon was the azure of clear skies, the medal itself emblazoned with the Air Force coat of arms and the portrait of Lady Liberty, the word Valor over both.
As the ribbon was placed around his neck John felt the weight of it settle onto his chest. The whole weight of it, and everything it stood for.
As he lifted his head he watched as the crowd stood from their seats. The sound of hundred of heels slamming together echoed through the small auditorium as every military person present stood to attention and raised a sharp salute.
Then the Admiral brought the mike stand over and placed it in front of him.
John took a deep breath, taking in all the hated attention honed in on him there on the stage. By the time he was done exhaling he knew just what he wanted to say.
“This honor…this amazing honor, does not belong to me. It belongs to every man and woman with whom I have had the honor to serve, here and abroad… and even further. I would not be present to accept this great honor were it not for the actions of people who made sacrifices, many of them greater than mine. Atlantis was… is more than a military base, more than a research city. She is greater than both her parts. Not because of her technology, so far superior to any imagined on Earth. Not because of her defensive and offensive potential. And not because of her gleaming spires, although she is beautiful. She is what she is because of the people, military and civilian alike. From the laundry to the gateroom, from the mess hall to the armory, and from the labs to the command center, men and women kept the city clean and safe, kept us all well-fed and well-armed. Scientists made new discoveries on a daily basis. Doctors and nurses tended to the sick and wounded, myself included, too many times.”
The crowd chuckled as he raised his sling-covered arm.
“Our off-world teams explored hundreds of planets, introducing us to new cultures, making new friends and allies. Reminding us, as the SG teams here in our own galaxy did, that we aren’t alone… not by a long shot.
And there were men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice. They died on planets light years from home, and in the halls of Atlantis. They died exploring dangerous terrain. Defending against hostile attacks. They died making last second fixes to defense satellites, and they died trying to find a cure for a disease that should’ve killed me.”
John felt his throat close up and his eyes begin to water. So many had died. Too many. And he wanted to name each and every one of them, to demand they each be given this medal. He touched the cold metal, felt the arrows clutched in the eagle’s talons, the lines that carved the word Valor. He knew what true valor meant, had witnessed it in action.
He cleared his throat and swiped a hand across his eyes.
“They died so that others could live. And continue exploring new worlds, discovering new cures and technology, saving lives and making new friends. This honor belongs to them above all else. I can only hope that their sacrifices weren’t made in vain. Thank you.”
There was a heartbeat of silence then thunderous applause filled the auditorium. Flashbulbs started going off in earnest. He stood awkwardly, blinded by the flashes and the applause filling his ears. He felt a hand wrap around his waist and begin turning him. He limped forward, unaware of his benefactor until his hands brushed the heavy velvet of the stage curtains.
“Quite the speech, Sheppard,” came General O’Neill’s voice. “You looking for a career in politics?”
“S-Sir?” John stuttered out.
“You orchestrated that like a master. Never thought you had it in you.”
John felt himself being lowered until his ass hit the familiar firm seat of his wheelchair. He rubbed a fist in his eyes, trying to clear some of the white spots from the flashbulbs. “Sorry, sir?” he tried again.
“The speech, Sheppard,” O’Neill said with a broad grin. “You think after a speech like that, from a gen-u-ine American hero, that they’ll be able to vote against Atlantis heading back to Pegasus?”
John gaped for a moment, then shook his head. “I, I am sorry, sir. I… that wasn’t my intention. I meant what I said.”
O’Neill crowed, “I know! That’s what made it so great!” Then he cocked his head and looked at John. “You really didn’t know the speech would have that effect.”
“No, sir.”
“Well, thank God for that,” O’Neill sighed. “I’da hated to lose you to Capitol Hill. And I can’t stand politicians.”
“Do you really think they’ll let Atlantis go back?”
“Well, Sheppard, if I was a gambling man, before that little speech of yours, I’d’ve laid your odds at getting your precious city back in Pegasus at slim to none. Now, I’d say better than even.”
“That’s… that’s… thank you, sir.”
“Hey, don’t thank me, thank Colonel Carter.”
John just blinked.
“Carter’s the one who put you up for the medal… you didn’t know that?”
“No-o-o,” John said, realization slowly dawning on him. “I - I guess I never really… when they told me I just…” He laughed and shook his head again, trying to clear the last of the buzz in his ears. “No, I had no idea.”
“She never put me up for one.”
“Sir, I…”
“Mitchell’s got one, you know.”
“Sir, again, I…”
O’Neill shrugged, walked around to the back of the chair and began pushing. “Just make sure to wear that pretty little medal to the next IOA hearing. Trust me on that."
----------
The gathering after the ceremony passed in a blur of smiling faces and handshakes. Seated in a chair at the back of the banquet hall, John had been held virtual prisoner by his lingering weakness and the crowds of well-wishers.
As the celebration had eventually wound down and the crowd thinned out John took a sip of the now flat champagne he’d nursed all day and grimaced.
“You never did care for champagne.”
He looked up as Nancy approached. “Too sweet,” he confirmed. “Wish they’d thought to serve Bud.”
No sooner had he finished the words when Nancy handed him a tall brown bottle with a smile. “They had them up at the bar. Cap’s already loosened.”
John shook his head in amazement as he twisted off the cap and took a long pull. The beer was cold and cut through the lingering sweetness the bubbly had left. With an exhale of pleasure and a small burp, John smiled gratefully. “Coming in on my six again, Nance. Thanks. For everything.”
“It was nice to work with you, John. For a change,” she added with a wink. “Gotta say, I can see a little of what appeals to you about it. Even far removed from everything, it was… well, it was the most exciting thing I’ve ever been a part of. Sure beats background checks and running threat assessments.”
“Is that what you were doing? With Homeland, I mean.”
“Among other things. The rest is classified,” she smirked. Then she sobered. “I can’t believe all the things you’ve done, John. Those I know about. It must’ve been very hard, all those times you were gone, not able to tell me why, or where.”
“You know I would’ve if I could’ve, Nance.”
She gave him a wistful smile. “I know.”
As the silence between them grew uncomfortable John redirected the conversation. “So, what are your plans now? That you can share, of course.”
She pulled the pins out of her hair and fluffed it out, exhaled through pursed lips. “First thing I plan to do is get outa these shoes. I hate heels,” she pouted. “My feet are killing me.”
John laughed. “Was thinking a bit further out.”
“Well, I’m flying back to DC in the morning. I’ll be shuttling back and forth between Colorado Springs and the Capitol for the foreseeable future. I keep reminding them we have video conferencing but the Old Boys like face time and don’t take to all that newfangled nonsense.”
“All that travel,” John said. “That’ll be hard...” He took another pull off the beer without finishing the sentence.
But Nancy heard it anyway. “I’m getting used to it. Grant and I… well, it had been rough between us for a year or so already. It got worse after I was made Director back at Homeland. He’s doing so well in Phoenix…” She chuckled ruefully. “Well, these things happen, huh? Only this time I came home to the note and the empty house.”
“Nance… I’m sorry.”
Nancy waved him off, put on a big smile. “I’m a big girl, John. I made my choices.”
“Doesn’t make it suck any less.”
She laughed. “No. no it doesn’t. But, it made me realize, maybe people like us should stick with… people like us.”
John’s eyebrows rose and he squirmed in his seat. “Nance, I-“
Her hand shot out and popped him hard in his (thankfully) good shoulder. “Not me, you big dummy! Not me and you. I was thinking of you and a certain other someone…” She dipped her head unsubtly to the side.
John followed it with his eyes, felt himself flush as his eyes landed on Sullivan talking animatedly with Rodney and Teyla.
“You two seemed to hit it off pretty well.”
“Would you-“ John lowered his voice and scowled at Nancy’s broad grin. “Keep it down. What, being High Priestess of Homeworld Security isn’t a big enough job? You have time to play matchmaker, too?”
Nancy placed a much gentler hand back on his good shoulder. “I just want you to be happy, John.” Then she leaned in, gave him a brief kiss and smiled. “Gotta fly. My flight leaves at 0400 for my lunch meeting on the Hill. Take care of yourself, John. And who knows? Maybe I might get that tour of your city some day.”
“It’s a date, Nance. Take care. And thanks again.”
Left by himself, he watched as Rodney rolled his eyes and Teyla laughed. Ronon balanced a plate laden with the last of the food, grinning around a mouthful of shrimp. Karen turned, as if feeling his eyes on her. She gave him a smile and started walking over.
For a day he had been dreading for so long, it had turned out to be pretty damn cool.
-------
John limped toward the visitor log, scrawling his name and the time across the yellow pad, wondering why they still needed it with all the new fancy gizmos. Switching his cane to his other hand, he placed his right one on a scanner and waited for it to record his prints. The two marines waiting next to him waited patiently, eyes and ears on full alert. The machine beeped happily and John proceeded onto the retinal imaging device mounted on the wall. After the standard five-second confirmation procedure, the large steel doors ahead opened, allowing Sergeants Boxer and Kim to walk him toward the brig.
Outside the large holding cell, the Marines waited by the door as John went over toward the guards' station. Ever since the spectacular security failure, all guests had to be escorted down to the brig and submit to additional identification tests. In addition to a live security feed inside the cell, heat sensors had been installed on every level of the base to monitor any temperature changes that might indicate a breach.
Supposedly the invisible man couldn't break in, but no one was holding their breath. John leaned on his cane and walked toward the newly custom built sixty by sixty cell. Todd stood in front of a whiteboard, contemplating a string of equations and glancing at a set of laptop screens. One computer was used for in-house communication with his colleagues, the other was a stripped down Mac, installed with only science and mathematical programs.
“Are you just going to stand there, John Sheppard?”
John nodded at one of the guards and the corporal released the force shield and unlocked the door, his partner covering him. Hobbling inside, the door was locked behind him. Glancing around, he scanned a bookshelf loaded with reading material, a standard sized bed minus the box springs, and a frumpy orange loveseat.
Todd gestured at a chair and oak desk. “Would you like to sit?”
“I'll stand.”
John didn’t wear a sling anymore and he'd ditched his walking cast the week before. He still had several weeks of PT ahead, but he'd finally accepted the fact that he wouldn't be facing any type of medical discharge, a fear that had plagued him during some of the more grueling days of therapy and set-backs.
“Very well.” Todd's feeding hand was secured by a fancy titanium glove, but his arms were not chained to his body, although such measures were taken whenever he stepped outside his prison. “I am pleased to see you come by.”
“Didn't have any appointments scheduled,” John lied.
“Then perhaps you have time to stay. I hear you enjoy this game of chess. I have yet to have anyone to compete against.”
John noticed the cardboard board and plastic playing pieces set up on a small table. “Sorry, I think I've had enough games of late.”
Todd smiled. “Yes, I hear that your people are near a decision about Atlantis' return to Pegasus.”
“The scientists talk too much,” John said dryly. The hearing was next week, but that was only the first step in the battle. “Was there was a reason for this little camp-fire talk or did you just miss me?”
The Wraith might have exhaled in annoyance, it was hard to tell. “Do you find it fitting, that we stand here, outside our normal uniforms, both our futures dependent on others?” Todd still wore the same ugly gray coveralls, John in a set of track pants and black t-shirt. The Wraith didn't wait for an answer. “I do not enjoy a lack of control in my future.”
His spidey sense tingled, but John kept his poker face. “It's a tough thing to accept.”
“Not if I have a way to influence it.”
Without realizing it, John closed the gap between them. “Wanna quit screwing around and tell me why you asked me to come here?”
“I want to, how do you say it? Put my cards on the table?” Todd stepped over to one of his computers and pulled out a flash drive. “This has all the coordinates of the most likely area in which superhives are being constructed. And do not doubt the fact that they are being built. If one failed, it will not stop dozens more. In fact it will incite them to act even faster, knowing how close they had come to a new, rich feeding ground. This data includes a list of planets we have used as bases of operations and the manufacture of raw materials.”
Not wanting to appear too eager, John kept his hand by his side. “If this is true, this helps you how?”
Smiling, Todd held it in his open palm. “Surely your people have a way to inspect the validity. And if you do....”
It left no choice but for Atlantis to return and prevent the Wraith from attacking Earth. John accepted the flash drive. “How do I know this isn't a viral weapon or some type of sabotage?”
“Because that won't allow me to return home.”
“And all your fellow Wraith?”
Todd shrugged. “They are not loyal to me.”
John wasn't sure if he wanted to pursue the topic of loyalty, considering the offer being made. The new command he'd been forced to pass on because of his injuries could be in Pegasus in less than three weeks to investigate the claims.
“I'll have my people review it.”
“And if I am right?”
“Then we'll be back to a place we're both more comfortable with. Where all bets are off.”
“That is acceptable,” Todd inclined his head.
Pocketing the flash drive, John didn't break the steely eye contact. “There anything else?”
“Do I have to ask?”
The last time he'd been confronted with this question, he'd balked. “We’re trying to find an animal that suits you better.” Todd scowled and John held firm. “But we are searching for.... volunteers, to accommodate your needs.”
The SCG hadn't ruled seeking out select prisons with death row, allowing the most violent and vile of offenders to choose a unique form of execution. Until a decision was made, Lam, Keller and Carson were working hard on a biomedical alternative. Todd didn’t frown per se; he simply accepted the answer without excitement.
“Hopefully, my information will speed up the process.”
“Perhaps,” John answered. “Until then.”
He turned to leave the Wraith to his daily activities.
“We are a lot alike, John Sheppard. Both alone. Both seeking out true paths in life.”
John nodded at the Marine, without looking back. “We're less alike than you think.”
He had mounds of paperwork ahead and an uphill battle on Capital Hill for one of the fiercest fight of his life, but for the first time since he could remember. John had the confidence of those beyond his team to have his back, who were fighting right alongside him. O’Neill’s words still echoing in his head.
Nancy emailed from DC. She hadn’t revealed her final analysis, but she had said it was fair and he took her word on it.
Weeding his way through security, clutching a possible secret weapon for the hearings, his cell went off.
“Talk to me.”
“Oh, please, I'm not your aide.”
“You back from 51?” he asked McKay.
“Why else would I be calling you?”
John couldn't help the smile across his face. “What's up? You want a re-match on Whidzz Wordz?”
“If I wanted to be bored to tears, I'd go bother Radek. I heard Conan’s in town and thought you'd like to go out for dinner. Teyla's got a sitter.”
Ronon was back from his first stint as a SERE instructor. “Let me grab a rain check. Make it a late one on Sunday. Then we can all fly out to D.C together on Monday. I'll get Nelson to arrange the flights.”
“You're passing up on a Friday night on the town? Did you finally ask that linguistics woman out?”
“I'll see you on Sunday, Rodney,” John answered and ended the call.
Thumbing through the screens of his Blackberry, he verified his plane ticket confirmation. He could take a military jet to his destination, but didn’t want the fuss. He searched his contact list and jabbed at the desired number, listening to the phone ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Dave. I'm on my way to the airport. Is everything still good?”
“My secretary knows not to interrupt my weekend for anything. It'll be....it'll be nice to see you.”
“Same here,” John replied. “See you in a few hours.”
Taking a deep breath, he passed his office, entered the elevator and headed toward McKay's temporary quarters. He fought off the urge to call Rodney back and tell him to power up his computer and bring sandwiches. Fingering the precious data drive, he copied the contents to his Blackberry then punched in the security code to his friend's room and wrote a note.
Maybe this will convince you where Atlantis needs to be.
Staring at himself in the mirror over the vanity, John studied the man looking back. He almost pulled out his cell to cancel his trip to visit his brother. Gripping the phone, he fought an internal tug-of-war before shoving it back into his pocket. Instead he left the flash drive on the desk, placing trust in his team, knowing he didn't have to juggle everything by himself.
There was a whole world out there, and no matter where he rested his feet at the end of the day, it was high time he took it all in. Forge new memories with those closest to him, those he was still trying to connect with and fill up all those empty picture frames.
To actually experience and enjoy the things he fought so hard to protect.
***
From:Blocked
To: Blocked
Date:03.04.09
Subject: The Hearing
We don't have enough votes. They are going to recommend returning. All military personnel have been recalled. The IOA is already drafting plausible leaks to the press to cover the departure.
What is our next move? Try stall in budget committee?
E.H.
***
From: Blocked
To: Blocked
Date:03.04.09
Subject: RE: The Hearing
Arranging an additional gate tech transfer to gain eyes and ears. We cannot stop the progress of the idiotic, but will continue monitoring and shifting our people in.
Begin contingency plans.
V.T.
***
Fini
Feedback is always appreciated.
A/N: This was a custom tailored story for susnn. We were not given a specific prompt, but through e-mails, we knew our recipient wanted something showcasing Sheppard's competence as a military officer, to receive accolades from his fellow officers (maybe being mentored by members of SG-1,) and perhaps be awarded a medal for his service. We added in the promotion because we felt it appropriate.
The Medal of Honor is not awarded as quickly as we have in this story, but we wanted it to be part of the plot and did so under creative licenses.
Thank you and take care-
everybetty and kristen999
Authors: everybetty and kristen999
Word Count: 55,000-
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Some violence and a couple f-bombs
Genre: Gen. Drama, Action, H/C
Characters: Sheppard, McKay, Ronon, Teyla, Todd, various SG-1 members and OCs.
Summary: Atlantis is back on Earth; things should be quiet and boring, light years away from Pegasus. While trying to find a place in this new life, John struggles with politics, a pending promotion… oh, and a deadly conspiracy that threatens the lives of everyone on Earth. Again. John POV, Post-EATG.
Notes: This was written for susnn for her very generous donation to help_haiti .
“Previous Chapters”
---------
John sat on the edge of the infirmary bed in his boxers, contemplating the day ahead. He’d been dreading it more than he’d admitted to anyone, even after Mitchell’s Super Bowl pep talk.
He’d never been one for pomp and ceremony. He’d skipped almost every graduation, except the one where he’d gotten his first set of officer’s bars. Even his marriage had been low-key. Just him and Nancy, his best man, who he hadn’t seen since, and her sister and a justice of the peace in San Francisco.
They’d tried to turn his promotion to major into a fuss. The war was in its infancy and the Air Force was looking for photo ops. Invite the media to come see the hero earn his oak leaf. He’d disappointed them all, volunteered for an op and took his leaf from his CO with a handshake and a ‘don’t screw this up, Sheppard.” He’d pinned it on himself after strapping into his Pave Hawk. The fact that he had screwed things up right after made him extra glad he didn’t have newspaper clippings around to remind him.
Hell, even his biggest surprise, and the moment he’d actually allowed himself a point of pride had been his Lt Colonel’s leaf. He could still picture the small triumphant smile on Elizabeth’s face. Always the diplomat, but still, she couldn’t help but crow a little at her successful machinations to keep him in charge of Atlantis. And to make the moment even sweeter, it had been handled within the offices of the SGC. Landry had still been a little put out; he’d said the words perfunctorily in a conference room, the only other witnesses Elizabeth, Teyla and Rodney. Celebration had been beers on the newly minted Lt Colonel with some of the Marines from Atlantis.
But this day… this day was going to be hell.
With a sigh he looked again at the plastic covered dress blues his aide had dropped off and hung over the chair back for him and then at the sling, cast and bandages that still covered most of him. He’d had a hard enough time stripping down for the exam that Lam had insisted he have before his ‘big day.’
With a wince he reached over for the uniform. His fingers brushed the top but it was enough to send the heavy woolen clothing slipping off the back of the chair onto the floor, puddling on top of his shoes.
“Damn it!”
He eased his feet down to the floor, wincing again at the cold tile under his one uncasted foot, then began to slowly bend over to pick up the fallen garment.
“You really are a stubborn bugger, aren’t you?”
John looked up at the voice. One of the last people he’d expected to see stood in the opening to his screened off cubicle, arms folded but with a cheeky grin on his cherubic face.
“Carson?”
It was odd to see the doctor not wearing his white coat or Atlantis uniform. Instead the Scot wore a tartan plaid flannel shirt and jeans.
“Aye, lad.”
“What are you - I thought you were in Scotland?”
“I was, until about an hour or so ago. I was just in Dr Lam’s office. We were laying bets on whether you’d buzz for help getting dressed. Thanks to you, I’m twenty dollars richer.” He strode in and picked up the fallen uniform, putting it back over the chair. He cocked his head and gave John an appraising, oh, so familiar scan before shaking his head. “Och, you really did get yourself into a right mess, didn’t you?” he said softly.
John smiled briefly at the Scot’s understatement. “You shoulda seen me a couple weeks ago.”
Carson’s smile dropped. “I wish I had, lad. Rodney called me when it first happened. I wanted to fly back immediately but… well, let’s just say that my status with the SGC was in bit of a holding pattern.”
“Was?” John’s smile grew. “You’re here now… is that a good sign?”
“Oh, aye,” Carson grinned. “A very good sign. I’ll not be CMO around here again, at least any time soon, but I’ve got some privileges back and… well, they tell me if - no - when we go back to Pegasus that I can resume my duties there.”
“That’s great, Carson,” John said with genuine happiness.
“Might I add,” Carson said, leaning a little closer, “that the ex Mrs. Sheppard is a truly lovely woman. And I don’t mean just her appearance.”
Nancy. Huh. John laughed ruefully. “Yeah, she seems to be fitting into her new role pretty well. I’m glad she was able to work her magic for you.”
“Aye, me too. So. You ready for the big event?”
John looked down at his boxers and chuffed. “Think I might be outa regs. Kinda slow going, here.”
“Think a washed out CMO is qualified to lend a hand?”
“Not washed out, Carson. Just sidelined. You can have a seat next to me on the bench.”
With infinite patience, Carson eventually managed to get John into his dress pants. After only a moment’s hesitation John nodded at the scissors the doc offered, letting him cut a long slit up the left leg to allow for the cast to his knee. His one high-polish shoe shone brightly next to the dull dark blue wrapped cast.
The shirt was worse, the doctor having to manipulate his bad shoulder into the long sleeved garment. As Carson was doing up the buttons John realized the shirt was now a size too big, a testament to his weight loss over the weeks of illness and painfully slow recuperation.
The Scot kept up a merry one-sided conversation while John grunted and groaned and bit his lip through his battered body being forced into confining clothing.
Carson had gone back to Scotland. His beloved mum had passed away the year before; as Carson had predicted, she took word of his death hard and never recovered. But Carson had wanted to visit her grave and see to the upkeep of her little cottage.
“Was it weird, going home?” John asked.
“Och, it’s not home anymore, lad. Especially not since Mum’s passing. No, home is where the heart is, and my heart’s with a new family now.” As his surgeon’s fingers worked at the tight uniform buttons, the doctor cursed in frustration. “Bloody hell, these are stubborn buggers!”
“Yeah, the military never does anything easy, Carson.”
“’Course I’m more used to getting you outa your clothes,” the Scot muttered. After a beat he realized what he’d said and burst out in a laugh. “Well now, that came out completely wrong. Sorry, lad.”
John chuckled ruefully, well aware of how many times Carson’s magic scissors had done far worse to his uniforms. To cover his slight embarrassment he prompted Carson back into his story. “You didn’t actually talk to anyone back in Scotland, did you?”
“No, of course not,” Carson scoffed. “I was read the riot act before I got permission to go. No, I kept myself pretty much hidden. Although as I was packing to leave I did hear tell I’d been caught at the cemetery, visiting Mum. The town is pretty small and someone must’ve recognized me.” He laughed as he smoothed John’s collar down. “Apparently my ghost haunts the cemetery now.”
“Not many people can say that, Carson.”
“No, no I wouldn’t think they could. There. Just the jacket now.” He pulled the dark blue suit coat out of the plastic and smoothed it with his hands. His fingers lingered over the block of ribbons over the breast. “I’m surprised they aren’t all purple hearts,” he joked softly as he eased John into the sleeves.
John laughed grimly. “They stopped sending them after a while. Think I maxed out.”
“You’ve given a great deal of yourself for your country, John. And for all of us.”
John blushed and squirmed in the ill-fitting suit. “I know some folks gave more than I have.” He looked pointedly at the doctor. Then it was Carson’s turn to squirm.
“Alright now, enough chit-chat. I’ve been talking your bloody ears off and you’ve barely said a word.” He stepped back and gave John another appraising look. “You look grand. How’re you feeling, lad, after all that fussing? They haven’t taken away my prescription pad; do you need anything?”
With his arm settled back in its sling and the prodding and pulling done, most of the pain was just the muted background stuff he’d become accustomed to. He knew he’d be taking the four-wheel express to the ceremony and presumed his only activity might be a slow limp across a stage. Under hot lights. With the eyes of hundreds of military and civilian VIPs on him and only him. He felt sweat gathering at his pits and realized he hadn’t put on his antiperspirant.
Maybe a little controlled substance might be warranted.
Instead he waved Carson’s offer off. “Unless you’ve got a bottle of scotch in your medicine cabinet, I’m good, thanks, Doc.”
Carson’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Well, I was saving it as a surprise for later, lad, but I did bring a wee bit o’ Scotland home with me.”
----
Ronon pushed the wheelchair up the ramp and through the back entrance of the stage, John’s entourage, as Rodney called it, following in their wake.
Rodney fussed in his ‘monkey suit,’ digging at his collar and tugging at the sleeves, whining to everyone and no one about how the wool was giving him an allergic reaction. Carson, who had changed out his flannel shirt for a tux jacket and kilt, threatened to give him a shot of Benadryl in his itchy arse and that quieted him for a bit. He sulked until Jennifer slipped an arm around him consolingly and his eyes widened at her pink silk dress.
Teyla looked… stunning was a particularly apt description. Her gown was turquoise and copper, achingly reminiscent of Atlantis. She caught John staring and smiled broadly, even giving a little spin for him.
“Wow, Teyla. Just… wow.”
“Ms Mal Doran turns out to have quite the eye, I agree,” Teyla said. “She even found the cutest little suit for Torren.”
“Can’t wait to see it,” John said. And he couldn’t. Couldn’t wait for this whole circus to be over with so he could hang with his friends and maybe even have someone sneak him a beer or three. Or some more of Carson’s amazing Scottish firewater. He could still taste the smoky peat in his mouth from the generous belt the doc had poured him.
Ronon finally parked the chair and set the brake. He was almost unrecognizable, dressed in a simple black on black tux, his hair pulled back and his beard trimmed up. Then John caught the black leather boots and laughed as he realized the Satedan had hung on to a little bit of himself.
There was a rise in noise from the auditorium, hundreds of voices that had been muffled by the heavy curtains suddenly becoming louder. John looked up to see Lorne had parted the curtain and was headed back. Kitted out in his own dress blues, his XO came over to shake his hand.
“Congratulations again, sir,” Lorne said formally. “I think they’re ready when you are.”
John took a deep, hopefully cleansing breath and exhaled slowly. It was really gonna happen. Now. He nodded shortly, not yet trusting his voice.
The next he knew, Ronon was clapping him heavily on his shoulder; Rodney was giving him a huge grin and an exaggerated, exuberant thumbs-up. Teyla bent to touch foreheads with him and murmured, “You deserve this, John,” before joining the group as they made their hasty exit to their seats.
Lorne stayed behind, standing stiffly at attention. The formality was really driving it home for John and he felt compelled by the weight of what was to come to honor it with his own formality.
“Major Lorne?”
His XO snapped tighter. “Yes, sir?”
“It’s been a pleasure serving with you, Major. You’ve been an outstanding officer and an asset to my command. You’ve always had my six, and that hasn’t always been the case for me.”
Lorne didn’t reply, just flushed a little red and if possible, tensed up more.
“As my second you’ve been an invaluable aide to me, propped up things when I was away or laid up. I’m calling on you now, to prop me up again. I need an escort onto that damn stage.”
Lorne’s blue eyes brightened with moisture and he smiled. Shot John a sharp salute. “I’d be honored, sir.”
John returned the salute and it felt right. “Help me outa this damn chair, then, Major.”
His XO’s strong arm around his middle, John stepped to the curtain. The voices had quieted down to a low drone. John darted a look at Lorne and swallowed. “Think I’d rather be flying another nuke into a superhive about now.”
Lorne chuckled. “Think you’ll find the room is mostly Friendlies, Colonel. This’ll be a cake flight. Clear skies.”
John nodded, then parted the curtain and stepped forward. All the voices stopped like the sound had been cut off.
The lights hit his eyes and he blinked after the dimness of backstage. When his vision cleared it was to take in a sea of faces and a patchwork of colors. Navy white, Army olive, Marine black and his own Air Force blue punctuated by brighter colors on some of the civilians.
As he looked closer he saw the front row, filled with his friends. Teyla bounced Torren on her knee and pointed for the toddler up at John. Nancy sat next to Ronon in a simple black shift like the one she’d worn to his father’s funeral. He blinked again as he recognized Dave sitting next to her. His brother caught his eye, gave him a nod and a smile, then stabbed a thumb towards Nancy, answering the question as to how he’d found out.
Ronon, Carson, Rodney and Woolsey rounded out the row, but behind them John caught more familiar faces. Bates was there, and Chuck and Radek. Lam was there with a recently returned Daniel Jackson. Yep. Vala sat next to Jackson, wearing a bright peacock blue, low-cut stunner of her own. And Teal'c sat at the end.
He found his eye wandering, looking for one more familiar face, then saw her, four rows back. Sullivan cleaned up nicely.
At a subtle throat clearing, John’s attention was brought back. Dumbly, he realized that the true ‘star’ power was on the stage itself. Colonels Ellis, Caldwell, Mitchell and Carter all stood smartly in their dress blues along with Generals O’Neill and Landry. And bringing the whole thing to a completely surreal head was the President himself, holding a flat wooden box.
Somewhere off in the audience someone coughed and a low murmur ran through the seats. John was pinned, understanding completely now the feeling the deer had with a pair of halogens headed his way at 55.
This wasn’t meant for him. He wasn’t that guy - the one who got the accolades and backslaps. He was the guy who screwed up. Who too often let his heart lead his head. Who took crazy risks, not out of a death wish and certainly not out of desire for …this. He did it for family. For home, for his country or his city. For the men and women who counted on him to keep them safe.
The murmurs grew louder but over it all was this increasingly loud, insistent cough. He glanced back in its direction, saw Rodney, fist dropping from in front of his mouth, his eyes boring holes at John. Saw his friend mouth, “You can do this.” Saw Ronon and Teyla nodding their heads, encouraging him while the audience grew antsier.
Then he felt Lorne’s arm tighten around his middle. “Don’t make me drag you out in front of the President, sir,” was whispered near his ear.
He swallowed, stuttered out a nod, and began halting steps across the stage towards the gathered officers. The crowd erupted into clapping, probably glad just to see the ceremony and him moving forward finally.
He stopped in front of the group, muttered a thanks and tried on a tentative smile.
“It’s a promotion, Sheppard, not a firing squad,” General O’Neill muttered.
“Y-yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“With your permission, sir?” O’Neill asked Landry. With a slow nod the laconic older General took a step back.
O’Neill turned to the audience and smiled, that famous Jack smile. “Hello, everybody!”
The crowd chuckled and murmured hellos back.
“You’re probably used to these ceremonies being pretty formal. Which can be code for stale, stodgy… and other words I would need a thesaurus to find. Well, too bad!” he said with a shrug. “It’s the military!”
The crowd chuckled harder at that, most of them being in the armed forces themselves.
“We don’t often get a helluva lot of recognition for the things we do on a daily basis, for our country…for our planet. Whether you’re driving a supply truck, feeding the troops, standing post, decrypting code, treating the wounded, navigating stormy seas or flying a Blackhawk in Antarctica, we all do our part, day in, night out. And when we get a chance to honor one of us with a promotion, there is a need to recognize the rare privilege it is. With formality, with reverence, with solemnity.”
There wasn’t a sound in the audience as O’Neill’s words hung in the auditorium.
“But,” he continued with a cheeky grin, “me being me, and our guest of honor being held together with sutures and plaster, I’ll try not to let it get too bogged down, okay?”
As the audience relaxed and laughed O’Neill turned and gave John a wink. “How ‘bout we get this show on the road, Sheppard?”
John exhaled and felt the tension leave his body. He squeezed Lorne’s shoulder as his XO eased away, leaving John to stand wobbily on his own. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Good. Good morning, everyone. We’re pleased all of you could join us as we recognize one of our own, Lt Colonel John Sheppard, on the occasion of his promotion to Colonel. General Landry was kind enough to allow me to officiate today’s ceremony. Ladies and gentlemen, General Hank Landry.”
The crowd clapped politely as Landry stepped forward for his recognition. “Ladies and gentlemen. Five years ago, a very special woman, a civilian, if you can believe it, convinced me to take a still green Major and make him a Lt Colonel and give him control over the most valuable prize our planet has ever known. I won’t say I didn’t have reservations, but I am proud to be a part, once again, of Lt Colonel Sheppard’s well-deserved promotion. Congratulations, son.”
Then Landry stepped back to join the President at his side.
Before John could absorb Landry’s remarks O’Neill was back at the microphone.
“Attention to orders! the President of the United States, acting upon the recommendation of the Secretary of the Air Force, has placed special trust and confidence in the patriotism, integrity, and abilities of Lt Colonel Sheppard. In view of these special qualities, and his demonstrated potential to serve in the higher grade, Lt Colonel Sheppard is promoted to the grade of Colonel, United States Air Force, effective the seventeenth of February, two thousand and nine, by order of the Secretary of the Air Force.
Colonel Carter, as his most recent commander, would you please come forward and pin on Colonel Sheppard’s new rank?”
Carter smiled coyly, then turned to the man next to her. “I believe someone else has requested that honor, sir. Steven?”
Colonel Caldwell put on a slightly pained smile and stepped forward. Cleared his throat and adjusted the mike, wincing as it squealed.
O’Neill bent in to the mouthpiece. “Ladies and gentlemen, Colonel Steven Caldwell.”
After the polite applause stopped Caldwell stood to his full height. “Thank you, General. Colonel Sheppard and I served together in Pegasus, during some of the direst situations I have ever been a party to. Time and again, I witnessed Colonel Sheppard pull off incredible acts of bravery and selflessness. His cool head, strong heart and bull-headed stubbornness saved our people more times than I can count. Of course, without the Daedalus to pull his ass outa the fire time and again, he wouldn’t be here for me to pin his eagle on him.”
While John stood gobsmacked at the curmudgeonly officer’s glowing praise, the older man stepped up, swiftly removed the silver oak leaf and replaced it with an eagle, then stepped back, hand extended. “Thank you, sir,” John said softly. “Especially for always being there to pull my ass outa the fire.”
The audience burst into applause for the newly minted Colonel until O’Neill finally waved them all down. “Formality, folks, remember? Colonel Caldwell will now administer the oath of office.”
John raised his right hand as high as he could, barely feeling the pain in his shoulder, overwhelmed as he was. Thankfully, his brain was able to take a back seat as the words came to him like those of a favorite song, and he was able to echo each of Caldwell’s.
”I, John Sheppard, having been appointed a Colonel in the United States Air Force, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office which I am about to enter, so help me God.”
O’Neill picked back up as MC and began clapping. “Ladies and gentlemen, Colonel John Sheppard.”
The audience rose to their feet as one, applauding, smiling. A uniformed photographer stepped forward and John stood as tall as he could, grinning and trying not to squint against the mini-nova flashes of light in his eyes. A particularly badly timed flash made him flinch and he felt his tenuous stance falter. But before he could even react he felt a hand at his back, steadying him.
“Got your back, Sheppard,” Mitchell whispered. Then the SG-1 colonel caught O’Neill’s eye and gave him a loaded look. “Think we need to move this along, Jack.”
Quick to catch on, the general waved his hands, quieting the audience as they re-took their seats.
“If you check your programs you might see there is one more thing on the agenda. While we’d normally like to do this up a little more publicly, media and the whole circus, the shall we say, special circumstances, surrounding this event mean a little less pomp and circumstance and a little more top secret clearance.
Without further ado, I give you the President of the United States of America.”
The President stepped up to applause, waved a hand and allowed a few flashbulbs to go off before setting the mike like a pro.
“We are a planet of more than six billion people. Of these, fewer than 1 percent wear the uniform of our Armed Services. And of these, just a small fraction has earned a place in our Stargate program.
In the finest military the world has ever known, these men and women are the best of the best. In an era that prizes celebrity and status, they are "quiet professionals" -- never seeking the spotlight. They have borne a burden far beyond their small numbers - often finding themselves as the last line of defense against enemies the likes of which we have never faced.
Few of us on Earth ever see their service, but all of us are safer because of it.
Today, it is my privilege to present our nation's highest military decoration -- the Medal of Honor -- to one of these remarkable soldiers, Colonel John Sheppard.
To do so, we are joined by his fellow officers of the SGC, by his fellow soldiers in whose ranks he served, and by his friends and family.
It has been said that courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point. For John Sheppard, the testing point came but a few short months ago, when our planet was faced with a seemingly unstoppable enemy. The courage he displayed that day has earned him our nation’s highest honor and eternal gratitude.
Invaders from a galaxy too far away for most people to even begin to fathom had made their way to the very doorstep of our solar system. This enemy has vast numbers, strength and physical attributes that make them almost impossible to kill, and came in a ship that could withstand any weapon our planet has developed.
Colonel Sheppard, knowing how grave the threat was, how imminent the possible devastation of our planet was, chose to volunteer for a suicide mission, to sacrifice himself so that we all would be saved. In an aircraft, so small it would be a gnat to the behemoth alien ship, he approached the enemy. And he waited. For twenty minutes… twenty long, quiet minutes, he hung in space. His craft powered down, no communication, no comfort. And his only company a nuclear bomb that he would be detonating inside the alien fortress.
After those long twenty minutes had passed, Colonel Sheppard slipped behind enemy lines and planted that nuclear bomb, fully expecting to be vaporized in the blast. It was only by God’s grace and the ingenuity of his Atlantean team and XO that allowed a literal last second save that finds Colonel Sheppard here with us today.
This is the valor that we honor today. And I would ask John's team, who were with him that day, to please stand and be recognized.”
John’s heart swelled as Teyla, Rodney and Ronon rose slowly from their seats. He turned and waved a red-faced Lorne to come out for the thunderous applause, grateful that the President had known to recognize his friends who had saved him that day.
”Every individual on this planet is safer because of their service. And every individual has a duty to remember and honor their sacrifice.
If we do -- if we keep their legacy alive, if we keep faith with the freedoms they defend -- then we can imagine a day, decades from now, when another child sits down at his desk, ponders the true meaning of heroism and finds inspiration in the story of a soldier and his team who kept the wolf from our door.
That is the meaning of this medal. And that is our summons today, as a proud and grateful nation. So please join us as the citation is read.”
A man stepped out onto the stage. His uniform coat was black but the hat he held under his arm was shining white and four stars rode above a brick of colorful ribbons on his chest. John’s eyes widened at the sight of a man few got to lay eyes on.
Admiral James “Sandy” Winnefeld, commander over all of NORAD, the SGC and Cheyenne complex included, took the wooden box from his Commander in Chief and stepped up to the mike to read the citation.
“The President of the United States of America, authorized by act of Congress, March 3rd, 1863, has awarded, in the name of the Congress, the Medal of Honor to Colonel John Sheppard, United States Air Force, for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty.
Colonel John Sheppard distinguished himself by extraordinary acts of heroism while defending Earth against a hostile enemy, on January 9, 2009. His extraordinary valor ultimately saved the lives everyone on this planet. His heroism and selflessness above and beyond the call of duty are in keeping with the highest traditions of military service and reflect great credit upon himself and the United States Air Force.”
With Mitchell’s hand still steadying him, John bowed his head as the Admiral opened the box. The ribbon was the azure of clear skies, the medal itself emblazoned with the Air Force coat of arms and the portrait of Lady Liberty, the word Valor over both.
As the ribbon was placed around his neck John felt the weight of it settle onto his chest. The whole weight of it, and everything it stood for.
As he lifted his head he watched as the crowd stood from their seats. The sound of hundred of heels slamming together echoed through the small auditorium as every military person present stood to attention and raised a sharp salute.
Then the Admiral brought the mike stand over and placed it in front of him.
John took a deep breath, taking in all the hated attention honed in on him there on the stage. By the time he was done exhaling he knew just what he wanted to say.
“This honor…this amazing honor, does not belong to me. It belongs to every man and woman with whom I have had the honor to serve, here and abroad… and even further. I would not be present to accept this great honor were it not for the actions of people who made sacrifices, many of them greater than mine. Atlantis was… is more than a military base, more than a research city. She is greater than both her parts. Not because of her technology, so far superior to any imagined on Earth. Not because of her defensive and offensive potential. And not because of her gleaming spires, although she is beautiful. She is what she is because of the people, military and civilian alike. From the laundry to the gateroom, from the mess hall to the armory, and from the labs to the command center, men and women kept the city clean and safe, kept us all well-fed and well-armed. Scientists made new discoveries on a daily basis. Doctors and nurses tended to the sick and wounded, myself included, too many times.”
The crowd chuckled as he raised his sling-covered arm.
“Our off-world teams explored hundreds of planets, introducing us to new cultures, making new friends and allies. Reminding us, as the SG teams here in our own galaxy did, that we aren’t alone… not by a long shot.
And there were men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice. They died on planets light years from home, and in the halls of Atlantis. They died exploring dangerous terrain. Defending against hostile attacks. They died making last second fixes to defense satellites, and they died trying to find a cure for a disease that should’ve killed me.”
John felt his throat close up and his eyes begin to water. So many had died. Too many. And he wanted to name each and every one of them, to demand they each be given this medal. He touched the cold metal, felt the arrows clutched in the eagle’s talons, the lines that carved the word Valor. He knew what true valor meant, had witnessed it in action.
He cleared his throat and swiped a hand across his eyes.
“They died so that others could live. And continue exploring new worlds, discovering new cures and technology, saving lives and making new friends. This honor belongs to them above all else. I can only hope that their sacrifices weren’t made in vain. Thank you.”
There was a heartbeat of silence then thunderous applause filled the auditorium. Flashbulbs started going off in earnest. He stood awkwardly, blinded by the flashes and the applause filling his ears. He felt a hand wrap around his waist and begin turning him. He limped forward, unaware of his benefactor until his hands brushed the heavy velvet of the stage curtains.
“Quite the speech, Sheppard,” came General O’Neill’s voice. “You looking for a career in politics?”
“S-Sir?” John stuttered out.
“You orchestrated that like a master. Never thought you had it in you.”
John felt himself being lowered until his ass hit the familiar firm seat of his wheelchair. He rubbed a fist in his eyes, trying to clear some of the white spots from the flashbulbs. “Sorry, sir?” he tried again.
“The speech, Sheppard,” O’Neill said with a broad grin. “You think after a speech like that, from a gen-u-ine American hero, that they’ll be able to vote against Atlantis heading back to Pegasus?”
John gaped for a moment, then shook his head. “I, I am sorry, sir. I… that wasn’t my intention. I meant what I said.”
O’Neill crowed, “I know! That’s what made it so great!” Then he cocked his head and looked at John. “You really didn’t know the speech would have that effect.”
“No, sir.”
“Well, thank God for that,” O’Neill sighed. “I’da hated to lose you to Capitol Hill. And I can’t stand politicians.”
“Do you really think they’ll let Atlantis go back?”
“Well, Sheppard, if I was a gambling man, before that little speech of yours, I’d’ve laid your odds at getting your precious city back in Pegasus at slim to none. Now, I’d say better than even.”
“That’s… that’s… thank you, sir.”
“Hey, don’t thank me, thank Colonel Carter.”
John just blinked.
“Carter’s the one who put you up for the medal… you didn’t know that?”
“No-o-o,” John said, realization slowly dawning on him. “I - I guess I never really… when they told me I just…” He laughed and shook his head again, trying to clear the last of the buzz in his ears. “No, I had no idea.”
“She never put me up for one.”
“Sir, I…”
“Mitchell’s got one, you know.”
“Sir, again, I…”
O’Neill shrugged, walked around to the back of the chair and began pushing. “Just make sure to wear that pretty little medal to the next IOA hearing. Trust me on that."
----------
The gathering after the ceremony passed in a blur of smiling faces and handshakes. Seated in a chair at the back of the banquet hall, John had been held virtual prisoner by his lingering weakness and the crowds of well-wishers.
As the celebration had eventually wound down and the crowd thinned out John took a sip of the now flat champagne he’d nursed all day and grimaced.
“You never did care for champagne.”
He looked up as Nancy approached. “Too sweet,” he confirmed. “Wish they’d thought to serve Bud.”
No sooner had he finished the words when Nancy handed him a tall brown bottle with a smile. “They had them up at the bar. Cap’s already loosened.”
John shook his head in amazement as he twisted off the cap and took a long pull. The beer was cold and cut through the lingering sweetness the bubbly had left. With an exhale of pleasure and a small burp, John smiled gratefully. “Coming in on my six again, Nance. Thanks. For everything.”
“It was nice to work with you, John. For a change,” she added with a wink. “Gotta say, I can see a little of what appeals to you about it. Even far removed from everything, it was… well, it was the most exciting thing I’ve ever been a part of. Sure beats background checks and running threat assessments.”
“Is that what you were doing? With Homeland, I mean.”
“Among other things. The rest is classified,” she smirked. Then she sobered. “I can’t believe all the things you’ve done, John. Those I know about. It must’ve been very hard, all those times you were gone, not able to tell me why, or where.”
“You know I would’ve if I could’ve, Nance.”
She gave him a wistful smile. “I know.”
As the silence between them grew uncomfortable John redirected the conversation. “So, what are your plans now? That you can share, of course.”
She pulled the pins out of her hair and fluffed it out, exhaled through pursed lips. “First thing I plan to do is get outa these shoes. I hate heels,” she pouted. “My feet are killing me.”
John laughed. “Was thinking a bit further out.”
“Well, I’m flying back to DC in the morning. I’ll be shuttling back and forth between Colorado Springs and the Capitol for the foreseeable future. I keep reminding them we have video conferencing but the Old Boys like face time and don’t take to all that newfangled nonsense.”
“All that travel,” John said. “That’ll be hard...” He took another pull off the beer without finishing the sentence.
But Nancy heard it anyway. “I’m getting used to it. Grant and I… well, it had been rough between us for a year or so already. It got worse after I was made Director back at Homeland. He’s doing so well in Phoenix…” She chuckled ruefully. “Well, these things happen, huh? Only this time I came home to the note and the empty house.”
“Nance… I’m sorry.”
Nancy waved him off, put on a big smile. “I’m a big girl, John. I made my choices.”
“Doesn’t make it suck any less.”
She laughed. “No. no it doesn’t. But, it made me realize, maybe people like us should stick with… people like us.”
John’s eyebrows rose and he squirmed in his seat. “Nance, I-“
Her hand shot out and popped him hard in his (thankfully) good shoulder. “Not me, you big dummy! Not me and you. I was thinking of you and a certain other someone…” She dipped her head unsubtly to the side.
John followed it with his eyes, felt himself flush as his eyes landed on Sullivan talking animatedly with Rodney and Teyla.
“You two seemed to hit it off pretty well.”
“Would you-“ John lowered his voice and scowled at Nancy’s broad grin. “Keep it down. What, being High Priestess of Homeworld Security isn’t a big enough job? You have time to play matchmaker, too?”
Nancy placed a much gentler hand back on his good shoulder. “I just want you to be happy, John.” Then she leaned in, gave him a brief kiss and smiled. “Gotta fly. My flight leaves at 0400 for my lunch meeting on the Hill. Take care of yourself, John. And who knows? Maybe I might get that tour of your city some day.”
“It’s a date, Nance. Take care. And thanks again.”
Left by himself, he watched as Rodney rolled his eyes and Teyla laughed. Ronon balanced a plate laden with the last of the food, grinning around a mouthful of shrimp. Karen turned, as if feeling his eyes on her. She gave him a smile and started walking over.
For a day he had been dreading for so long, it had turned out to be pretty damn cool.
-------
John limped toward the visitor log, scrawling his name and the time across the yellow pad, wondering why they still needed it with all the new fancy gizmos. Switching his cane to his other hand, he placed his right one on a scanner and waited for it to record his prints. The two marines waiting next to him waited patiently, eyes and ears on full alert. The machine beeped happily and John proceeded onto the retinal imaging device mounted on the wall. After the standard five-second confirmation procedure, the large steel doors ahead opened, allowing Sergeants Boxer and Kim to walk him toward the brig.
Outside the large holding cell, the Marines waited by the door as John went over toward the guards' station. Ever since the spectacular security failure, all guests had to be escorted down to the brig and submit to additional identification tests. In addition to a live security feed inside the cell, heat sensors had been installed on every level of the base to monitor any temperature changes that might indicate a breach.
Supposedly the invisible man couldn't break in, but no one was holding their breath. John leaned on his cane and walked toward the newly custom built sixty by sixty cell. Todd stood in front of a whiteboard, contemplating a string of equations and glancing at a set of laptop screens. One computer was used for in-house communication with his colleagues, the other was a stripped down Mac, installed with only science and mathematical programs.
“Are you just going to stand there, John Sheppard?”
John nodded at one of the guards and the corporal released the force shield and unlocked the door, his partner covering him. Hobbling inside, the door was locked behind him. Glancing around, he scanned a bookshelf loaded with reading material, a standard sized bed minus the box springs, and a frumpy orange loveseat.
Todd gestured at a chair and oak desk. “Would you like to sit?”
“I'll stand.”
John didn’t wear a sling anymore and he'd ditched his walking cast the week before. He still had several weeks of PT ahead, but he'd finally accepted the fact that he wouldn't be facing any type of medical discharge, a fear that had plagued him during some of the more grueling days of therapy and set-backs.
“Very well.” Todd's feeding hand was secured by a fancy titanium glove, but his arms were not chained to his body, although such measures were taken whenever he stepped outside his prison. “I am pleased to see you come by.”
“Didn't have any appointments scheduled,” John lied.
“Then perhaps you have time to stay. I hear you enjoy this game of chess. I have yet to have anyone to compete against.”
John noticed the cardboard board and plastic playing pieces set up on a small table. “Sorry, I think I've had enough games of late.”
Todd smiled. “Yes, I hear that your people are near a decision about Atlantis' return to Pegasus.”
“The scientists talk too much,” John said dryly. The hearing was next week, but that was only the first step in the battle. “Was there was a reason for this little camp-fire talk or did you just miss me?”
The Wraith might have exhaled in annoyance, it was hard to tell. “Do you find it fitting, that we stand here, outside our normal uniforms, both our futures dependent on others?” Todd still wore the same ugly gray coveralls, John in a set of track pants and black t-shirt. The Wraith didn't wait for an answer. “I do not enjoy a lack of control in my future.”
His spidey sense tingled, but John kept his poker face. “It's a tough thing to accept.”
“Not if I have a way to influence it.”
Without realizing it, John closed the gap between them. “Wanna quit screwing around and tell me why you asked me to come here?”
“I want to, how do you say it? Put my cards on the table?” Todd stepped over to one of his computers and pulled out a flash drive. “This has all the coordinates of the most likely area in which superhives are being constructed. And do not doubt the fact that they are being built. If one failed, it will not stop dozens more. In fact it will incite them to act even faster, knowing how close they had come to a new, rich feeding ground. This data includes a list of planets we have used as bases of operations and the manufacture of raw materials.”
Not wanting to appear too eager, John kept his hand by his side. “If this is true, this helps you how?”
Smiling, Todd held it in his open palm. “Surely your people have a way to inspect the validity. And if you do....”
It left no choice but for Atlantis to return and prevent the Wraith from attacking Earth. John accepted the flash drive. “How do I know this isn't a viral weapon or some type of sabotage?”
“Because that won't allow me to return home.”
“And all your fellow Wraith?”
Todd shrugged. “They are not loyal to me.”
John wasn't sure if he wanted to pursue the topic of loyalty, considering the offer being made. The new command he'd been forced to pass on because of his injuries could be in Pegasus in less than three weeks to investigate the claims.
“I'll have my people review it.”
“And if I am right?”
“Then we'll be back to a place we're both more comfortable with. Where all bets are off.”
“That is acceptable,” Todd inclined his head.
Pocketing the flash drive, John didn't break the steely eye contact. “There anything else?”
“Do I have to ask?”
The last time he'd been confronted with this question, he'd balked. “We’re trying to find an animal that suits you better.” Todd scowled and John held firm. “But we are searching for.... volunteers, to accommodate your needs.”
The SCG hadn't ruled seeking out select prisons with death row, allowing the most violent and vile of offenders to choose a unique form of execution. Until a decision was made, Lam, Keller and Carson were working hard on a biomedical alternative. Todd didn’t frown per se; he simply accepted the answer without excitement.
“Hopefully, my information will speed up the process.”
“Perhaps,” John answered. “Until then.”
He turned to leave the Wraith to his daily activities.
“We are a lot alike, John Sheppard. Both alone. Both seeking out true paths in life.”
John nodded at the Marine, without looking back. “We're less alike than you think.”
He had mounds of paperwork ahead and an uphill battle on Capital Hill for one of the fiercest fight of his life, but for the first time since he could remember. John had the confidence of those beyond his team to have his back, who were fighting right alongside him. O’Neill’s words still echoing in his head.
Nancy emailed from DC. She hadn’t revealed her final analysis, but she had said it was fair and he took her word on it.
Weeding his way through security, clutching a possible secret weapon for the hearings, his cell went off.
“Talk to me.”
“Oh, please, I'm not your aide.”
“You back from 51?” he asked McKay.
“Why else would I be calling you?”
John couldn't help the smile across his face. “What's up? You want a re-match on Whidzz Wordz?”
“If I wanted to be bored to tears, I'd go bother Radek. I heard Conan’s in town and thought you'd like to go out for dinner. Teyla's got a sitter.”
Ronon was back from his first stint as a SERE instructor. “Let me grab a rain check. Make it a late one on Sunday. Then we can all fly out to D.C together on Monday. I'll get Nelson to arrange the flights.”
“You're passing up on a Friday night on the town? Did you finally ask that linguistics woman out?”
“I'll see you on Sunday, Rodney,” John answered and ended the call.
Thumbing through the screens of his Blackberry, he verified his plane ticket confirmation. He could take a military jet to his destination, but didn’t want the fuss. He searched his contact list and jabbed at the desired number, listening to the phone ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Dave. I'm on my way to the airport. Is everything still good?”
“My secretary knows not to interrupt my weekend for anything. It'll be....it'll be nice to see you.”
“Same here,” John replied. “See you in a few hours.”
Taking a deep breath, he passed his office, entered the elevator and headed toward McKay's temporary quarters. He fought off the urge to call Rodney back and tell him to power up his computer and bring sandwiches. Fingering the precious data drive, he copied the contents to his Blackberry then punched in the security code to his friend's room and wrote a note.
Maybe this will convince you where Atlantis needs to be.
Staring at himself in the mirror over the vanity, John studied the man looking back. He almost pulled out his cell to cancel his trip to visit his brother. Gripping the phone, he fought an internal tug-of-war before shoving it back into his pocket. Instead he left the flash drive on the desk, placing trust in his team, knowing he didn't have to juggle everything by himself.
There was a whole world out there, and no matter where he rested his feet at the end of the day, it was high time he took it all in. Forge new memories with those closest to him, those he was still trying to connect with and fill up all those empty picture frames.
To actually experience and enjoy the things he fought so hard to protect.
***
From:Blocked
To: Blocked
Date:03.04.09
Subject: The Hearing
We don't have enough votes. They are going to recommend returning. All military personnel have been recalled. The IOA is already drafting plausible leaks to the press to cover the departure.
What is our next move? Try stall in budget committee?
E.H.
***
From: Blocked
To: Blocked
Date:03.04.09
Subject: RE: The Hearing
Arranging an additional gate tech transfer to gain eyes and ears. We cannot stop the progress of the idiotic, but will continue monitoring and shifting our people in.
Begin contingency plans.
V.T.
***
Fini
Feedback is always appreciated.
A/N: This was a custom tailored story for susnn. We were not given a specific prompt, but through e-mails, we knew our recipient wanted something showcasing Sheppard's competence as a military officer, to receive accolades from his fellow officers (maybe being mentored by members of SG-1,) and perhaps be awarded a medal for his service. We added in the promotion because we felt it appropriate.
The Medal of Honor is not awarded as quickly as we have in this story, but we wanted it to be part of the plot and did so under creative licenses.
Thank you and take care-
everybetty and kristen999