Inquisition tag
Title: Suits, Cigars, & the Hand under the Table
Author: padawan_aneiki
Rating/Pairing: G/None
Characters: Sheppard and Woolsey
Summary: A little musing after the cigars.
Suits, Cigars, & the Hand under the Table
“Good night, Colonel,” Richard acknowledged John Sheppard’s leave-taking as the colonel bid him a good night, leaving his empty glass within reach since Richard had brought it out to begin with. The cigar wasn’t quite done; another fragrant puff of the Cuban-not that Richard had admitted to its origins-followed after the Air Force officer as John wandered back into the city, leaving the expedition leader on the balcony behind him.
Richard turned his gaze back out over the dark ocean, on whose horizon one of the two visible moons was beginning to dip below. There was a little of the brandy left in his glass; he sipped at it appreciatively as he considered the few minutes’ discussion that had taken place with the lieutenant colonel. John Sheppard seemed uncomplicated on the surface, but underneath, was a complex person few were allowed to see. Richard was only beginning to appreciate the layers of the pilot who served this expedition and this city as her military leader.
It wasn’t about justification with the man. As in the kangaroo court itself, Sheppard declared that they’d done the best they could with what they had. It wasn’t a matter of morality or justice or any of those black and white things. It had been all about doing what they could with what little knowledge they possessed, trying to make the right choices in the moment.
Some of those choices, it might be argued by some, turned out to be the wrong ones in the short run, but in the long run, the Atlantis expedition had done nothing but try to find a better way for this galaxy, against the Wraith, against the Replicators. The big picture argued more for them rather than against them. Shades of gray within a burgeoning power-play among the peoples of the Pegasus galaxy, and if there was anything Richard had learned about in his years as a litigator, it was shades of gray.
For an honorable man like John Sheppard, Richard felt it was more about defending their character. They weren’t the evil they were being made out to be. They were just as human as the three sitting in judgment, they were just as adamant about the fight against the Wraith, and knew just as much about things like integrity, loyalty and fighting for what mattered until the bitter end.
Richard smoked a little as he realized that therein that thought laid the essence of Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. In many ways, the man was Atlantis’ self-appointed protector and defender, and had it come right down to being exiled for Atlantis’ perceived sins, would likely have tried to trade himself away in bargain for his team’s lives. He imagined it left one Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard with more than his fair share of responsibility, burden, cares and regrets, and yet...also with a sense of accomplishment and determination.
For a man like that-for a team like that-Richard knew that bribe or not, he had done the right thing in coming to their defense. It was more than just getting back his people. It was about fighting for what mattered until the bitter end in his way.
It was about the respect he had gained for the four people he’d brought back with him through the Gate.
++++++
Not wanting to set off any heretofore unknown city sensors or alarms at this ungodly hour of night, John had headed off to a completely different balcony to finish his cigar; he could tell from the first inhalation that it was most likely not a cheap one. One of those perks of being well-connected, something he hadn’t much allowed himself after the rift with his father. It had been one of the things he’d bristled at internally on hearing the news that Richard Woolsey was taking over as head of the Atlantis expedition; he’d had enough head-butting against that kind of suit-and-tie, corporate mindset in his life.
It was a suit and tie that, John grudgingly had to admit, Woolsey wore well if a bit awkwardly. The expedition’s new commander didn’t quite have the easy social polish that John’s father or brother had possessed, but he made up for it in spades when it came to things like the IOA’s bureaucratic minefield. Apparently, the man also had the guts to play ball by Pegasus galaxy rules when it counted; John had to admit to being slightly impressed by Woolsey’s accurate assessment of the tribunal and the deftness with which he’d handled it, any charge of bribery aside. In Pegasus, somebody’s hand was always under the table and it was a matter of literal survival. ‘You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ usually meant staying a step or two ahead of the Wraith.
The bottom line was that there were untold millions that were still alive because they were here, and if John had anything to say about it, they would stay that way, not only in this galaxy but back home too. He was all too aware of the fact that tribunal sitting up there looking down at him so smugly had no clue that this had all begun as an effort to keep the Wraith from finding their way to Earth. It was nothing more and nothing less than what they themselves wanted for their own people.
It didn’t mean they hadn’t made a few mistakes.
It didn’t mean they didn’t have a few regrets.
John took a drag on the cigar, exhaled in a soft sigh. He certainly had some regrets, and every single one of them had a name. Sumner. Ford. Elizabeth. Carson-the original Carson. It was his duty, his responsibility, his job to keep the members of this expedition safe. He took it as seriously as anything he’d ever taken in his entire life, but there had been failures. They left him with memories of faces that haunted the shadows of his mind and occasionally visited his dream-life at night.
He wasn’t willing to let his team join that list of regrets; that determination had driven him to Michael’s Hive ship to find Teyla despite his injuries. He didn’t have a death wish, but he wasn’t above sacrificing himself if it meant their survival. It was as simple as that. And had things gone badly with Woolsey out there, he’d had no compunction about trading himself away if that meant his team got to go home alive and well.
Fortunately it hadn’t come to that, and John had to admit that in this instance he didn’t mind the suit and tie quite so much.
Author: padawan_aneiki
Rating/Pairing: G/None
Characters: Sheppard and Woolsey
Summary: A little musing after the cigars.
Suits, Cigars, & the Hand under the Table
“Good night, Colonel,” Richard acknowledged John Sheppard’s leave-taking as the colonel bid him a good night, leaving his empty glass within reach since Richard had brought it out to begin with. The cigar wasn’t quite done; another fragrant puff of the Cuban-not that Richard had admitted to its origins-followed after the Air Force officer as John wandered back into the city, leaving the expedition leader on the balcony behind him.
Richard turned his gaze back out over the dark ocean, on whose horizon one of the two visible moons was beginning to dip below. There was a little of the brandy left in his glass; he sipped at it appreciatively as he considered the few minutes’ discussion that had taken place with the lieutenant colonel. John Sheppard seemed uncomplicated on the surface, but underneath, was a complex person few were allowed to see. Richard was only beginning to appreciate the layers of the pilot who served this expedition and this city as her military leader.
It wasn’t about justification with the man. As in the kangaroo court itself, Sheppard declared that they’d done the best they could with what they had. It wasn’t a matter of morality or justice or any of those black and white things. It had been all about doing what they could with what little knowledge they possessed, trying to make the right choices in the moment.
Some of those choices, it might be argued by some, turned out to be the wrong ones in the short run, but in the long run, the Atlantis expedition had done nothing but try to find a better way for this galaxy, against the Wraith, against the Replicators. The big picture argued more for them rather than against them. Shades of gray within a burgeoning power-play among the peoples of the Pegasus galaxy, and if there was anything Richard had learned about in his years as a litigator, it was shades of gray.
For an honorable man like John Sheppard, Richard felt it was more about defending their character. They weren’t the evil they were being made out to be. They were just as human as the three sitting in judgment, they were just as adamant about the fight against the Wraith, and knew just as much about things like integrity, loyalty and fighting for what mattered until the bitter end.
Richard smoked a little as he realized that therein that thought laid the essence of Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. In many ways, the man was Atlantis’ self-appointed protector and defender, and had it come right down to being exiled for Atlantis’ perceived sins, would likely have tried to trade himself away in bargain for his team’s lives. He imagined it left one Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard with more than his fair share of responsibility, burden, cares and regrets, and yet...also with a sense of accomplishment and determination.
For a man like that-for a team like that-Richard knew that bribe or not, he had done the right thing in coming to their defense. It was more than just getting back his people. It was about fighting for what mattered until the bitter end in his way.
It was about the respect he had gained for the four people he’d brought back with him through the Gate.
++++++
Not wanting to set off any heretofore unknown city sensors or alarms at this ungodly hour of night, John had headed off to a completely different balcony to finish his cigar; he could tell from the first inhalation that it was most likely not a cheap one. One of those perks of being well-connected, something he hadn’t much allowed himself after the rift with his father. It had been one of the things he’d bristled at internally on hearing the news that Richard Woolsey was taking over as head of the Atlantis expedition; he’d had enough head-butting against that kind of suit-and-tie, corporate mindset in his life.
It was a suit and tie that, John grudgingly had to admit, Woolsey wore well if a bit awkwardly. The expedition’s new commander didn’t quite have the easy social polish that John’s father or brother had possessed, but he made up for it in spades when it came to things like the IOA’s bureaucratic minefield. Apparently, the man also had the guts to play ball by Pegasus galaxy rules when it counted; John had to admit to being slightly impressed by Woolsey’s accurate assessment of the tribunal and the deftness with which he’d handled it, any charge of bribery aside. In Pegasus, somebody’s hand was always under the table and it was a matter of literal survival. ‘You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ usually meant staying a step or two ahead of the Wraith.
The bottom line was that there were untold millions that were still alive because they were here, and if John had anything to say about it, they would stay that way, not only in this galaxy but back home too. He was all too aware of the fact that tribunal sitting up there looking down at him so smugly had no clue that this had all begun as an effort to keep the Wraith from finding their way to Earth. It was nothing more and nothing less than what they themselves wanted for their own people.
It didn’t mean they hadn’t made a few mistakes.
It didn’t mean they didn’t have a few regrets.
John took a drag on the cigar, exhaled in a soft sigh. He certainly had some regrets, and every single one of them had a name. Sumner. Ford. Elizabeth. Carson-the original Carson. It was his duty, his responsibility, his job to keep the members of this expedition safe. He took it as seriously as anything he’d ever taken in his entire life, but there had been failures. They left him with memories of faces that haunted the shadows of his mind and occasionally visited his dream-life at night.
He wasn’t willing to let his team join that list of regrets; that determination had driven him to Michael’s Hive ship to find Teyla despite his injuries. He didn’t have a death wish, but he wasn’t above sacrificing himself if it meant their survival. It was as simple as that. And had things gone badly with Woolsey out there, he’d had no compunction about trading himself away if that meant his team got to go home alive and well.
Fortunately it hadn’t come to that, and John had to admit that in this instance he didn’t mind the suit and tie quite so much.