The Enemy You Know, 4/?
Title: The Enemy You Know, 4/?
Author: Padawan_aneiki
Rating/Pairing: PG/None
Characters: The whole gang
Back to part 1
Light filtered in gradually as John turned his head and sluggishly blinked his eyes open. He felt a tiny tug on the skin at his temple and realized belatedly that he was still attached to the EEG; the minor motion dragging the wire across his pillow. It took another moment between thundering heartbeats to remember why he was dragging around more wires and a slow frown gathered.
“John?” The voice came from his other side, and he carefully maneuvered his head back the other way, blinking a little harder to help focus as a face swam into view. Pretty face, he decided as the features solidified in his vision.
The woman next to him smiled demurely. “Nice of you to say so, Colonel,” she said pleasantly and John, embarrassed at having spoken aloud without realizing it, felt a slight flush crawl into his face. Way to go, John, he kicked himself-mentally this time-and offered up a winsome smile of his own.
“My drill...instructor back...Academy used...t’ say, ‘Cadet, forget...flirtin’ on the...morphine...y’ won’t remember...what...y’ said and the...field medics...won’t forget.’”
“Sounds like a real charmer, your instructor,” the woman said and the smile deepened a little. “But, I don’t think you need to worry too much about ‘flirting under the influence;’ I won’t tell anyone.” John chuckled, a rather breathy sound, until both head and ribs declared painful disapproval and he stopped with a soft grunt. “Do you need me to get Doctor Beckett?” Pretty-Face asked, and John dismissed the suggestion with a slight wave.
“Nah...Just gotta remember...laughing...bad. Drugs...good,” he kidded, turning the back of his IV hand toward her. “John Sheppard...Nice to meet you. Again, probably...with the way things’ve...been going.”
“Yes, again,” the woman said warmly and came a little closer. “Kate Heightmeyer.”
John stiffened slightly, feeling a little like that proverbial deer in headlights and more than a little disoriented. “I slept...that long?” he mumbled as he cautiously reached up to his temple, scratching just at the edge of the sensor pad; the adhesive made his skin itch.
“No,” Kate said, and the gentle smile was back. “You didn’t. I realize Doctor Weir told you we’d speak later, but when I heard about what happened earlier, I thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”
John dropped his hand away from his forehead, letting it drape loosely across his waist as he regarded the psychologist warily. “Not doin’...anything much...” he started, and then changed direction. “Y’know...not sure I’m really...” He nearly flinched when Kate interrupted the beginnings of a perfectly good tirade by placing a hand on his shoulder. “I mean...I don’t think...this is...such a...great...”
“John, I’m not the enemy, here,” Kate asserted kindly. “No one here is blaming you for anything, and whatever issues cropped up during debriefings in the past will have no bearing on anything we discuss now. There are a lot of people here who just want to see you heal, and that includes recovering your memory to the fullest extent possible.”
We’re your team...Give us a chance to do this. Rodney’s plea drifted through his mind and John swallowed thickly, blinking slowly as he considered it. Something had prompted him to trust the scientist without benefit of knowing the how’s and why’s behind their association. Despite his desire to practice avoidance in peace, without someone analyzing his dream life or some other aspect of his psyche, he found himself being tugged by it again. There are a lot of people here who just want to see you heal.
“Me...me too,” he finally admitted. Whether or not he liked it, Heightmeyer might be his best chance to plug the gap in his memory. John’s eyes closed as he sighed wearily, cringing when the sharp exhalation reminded him yet again of his sore, bruised abdomen and broken ribs.
“What?” Kate asked lightly, pressing only when he declined to answer. “What is it?” John reached up again to rub a fingertip around the edges of the irritating sensor pads, careful not to dislodge them.
“It’s just...weird,” John grumbled, and he didn’t bother looking to see if the shrink was watching him. He felt like crap and he didn’t know where he was or with whom half the time; if that didn’t qualify him to indulge in a little grumpiness, he didn’t know what would. “Too weird. You all know...all this...stuff.”
“We don’t just know who you are; we’re familiar with you,” Kate filled in, her tone gentle. “I imagine that’s a little unsettling.” John nodded very slightly in spite of himself, but he avoided sighing in frustration as he wasn’t keen on inviting a return chorus of aches and pains.
“In here...” he lifted his hand just enough to gesture toward his head. “...you’re all unfamiliar...just drawin’...blanks.” John squinted a little, gazing at Kate with as much intensity as injuries and medication would allow; if he could just think, could just rattle the cage trapping his memories hard enough, get just one recollection to pop loose...
John felt a hand touch his and realized suddenly that he’d clenched a fistful of the blanket covering him in his fingers without even registering the tug of the IV. He let go with a slight hiss of discomfort, and his expression grew a little sheepish as the counselor gave his hand a small pat.
“John, no one expects you to figure it all out right this second,” she said, her voice just as gentle as her touch. She pulled her hand back and offered him a smile. “There’s plenty of time to work on getting your memory back, but it’s not the original purpose of my visit.”
“Oh...yeah?” John murmured guardedly, tension creeping back into his tone as he regarded his visitor. “Confessing...a hidden agenda...there, Doc?” he tried for distracting charm; it came off sounding cautious and tired. “Ink tests, id and...ego...Freudian slips?”
“Soup, actually,” Kate answered and she moved aside a little to reveal a mug sitting on a nearby table with a short straw poking out the top. “Doctor Beckett said if you were feeling up to trying it, I could be your dinner companion. I thought it would be a good way for us to become reacquainted.” Along with the mug, there was a plate with a sandwich and a carton of milk for Kate. “Broth, if you want to be technical, but I think that it’s chicken.”
John was surprised when his stomach actually grumbled in response; he’d been too caught up in his various hurts to truly register hunger. As Kate picked up the mug and he got a whiff of the broth inside, he realized his belly ached with more than just soreness and bruises; his captors had practically starved him. “Smells good,” he admitted grudgingly, and decided Kate’s visit could be prolonged long enough to eat. Or drink, as the case may be.
Kate held the mug for him at first, and John took a pair of small sips. The broth tasted good, and he actually groaned slightly with pleasure at the warm, not overly-hot liquid on his throat and stomach. Encouraged by those first sips, with no immediate threat of the liquid making a return appearance, John reached for the mug to hold it himself. Pleasure turned to mild frustration when he found that he was too shaky to manage it with one good hand and the other trapped in a cast.
Kate simply reached over and steadied his hand without taking the mug or saying a word, and John had to admit he appreciated her unobtrusive aid; he felt the unreasonable heat of embarrassment rush into his face. Whether or not the psychologist noticed, she didn’t comment on it, just allowing him to concentrate on sipping more of the broth. After a moment or two, she began to talk about safe, innocuous subjects; nephews back home and hobbies. John found himself relaxing almost against his will; between her quiet voice and a full stomach he felt drowsiness creeping up on him. Finally he gave up and closed heavy eyelids; sleep followed not long after.
“Nicely handled, m’dear,” Carson’s gentle brogue murmured to her right, and Kate glanced over her shoulder as the Scot drew alongside.
“He managed about a third of it,” Kate observed uncertainly, and Carson peered over to gauge for himself how much liquid remained in the mug.
“That’s better than I thought he’d do,” he replied with a smile. “His belly’s been denied enough that we’ll have ta be a wee bit gentle with it until he begins ta adjust ta havin’ somethin’ in it. But it’s a step forward; lass, an’ right now I’ll take every one o’ those I can get.”
The pair moved out of the immediate area and Kate risked a quick glance back over her shoulder. John slept on, although she noticed that even now his face carried a faint echo of pain. Turning back to Carson, she offered him a small smile in return.
“He’s been through a lot,” she stated the obvious, clasping her hands before her as they walked. “And he’s trying very hard to keep an even keel; not so easy to do when you’re in pain and you feel like your world’s been turned upside-down.”
“Aye,” Carson agreed fully. “I could no’ agree with ye more; I dunna think I’d be doin’ half so well in similar circumstances.”
“I think we need to ground him a little,” Kate suggested with a slight incline of her head. “As much as his treatment and condition allow it, providing him with a...schedule of sorts might be a good start. A little routine might go a long way to helping Colonel Sheppard to at least feel like he’s supposed to be here; knowing a few things to expect and when to expect them will help him settle into the idea that he has a place with us.”
Carson tilted his head slightly, considering it as he did so. “That might be a good idea, dependin’ on what ye have in mind,” he agreed.
“Well I’m not talking about entering him into a marathon or anything,” Kate kidded lightly and she was glad to see Carson actually smile along with her. “I think for now, maybe just lunch everyday with some usually familiar faces would be a good start...Elizabeth, his team...Major Lorne. The more we can make this feel normal for him...Don’t look at me like that, Carson.”
“We’ve been here nigh two years, lassie, an’ I’ve yet ta figure on it bein’ normal,” Beckett interjected half-seriously, but then he canted his head slightly with a smile. “But it is home now,” he admitted. “I canna imagine bein’ anywhere else in two galaxies, no’ anymore. No’ after Atlantis.” He smiled. “She may exist in a vera strange place, but she’s a right fair mistress.”
“’She?’” Kate replied with a slight quirk of her eyebrows.
“Ships o’ many kinds have always been referred ta as lovely maidens,” Carson said warmly. “An’ Atlantis, at her heart, is a space-farin’ vessel. I dunna think there’s a better compliment for our fine city.”
“Well, when you put it that way, I think I could be persuaded to agree with you,” Kate smiled. “So what do you think? Lunch-dates to start? The more familiar things and people we can surround John with, the more likely we are to stimulate his mind, without any undue pressure, to hopefully start tapping some of those missing memories.”
“Aye lass, I think we may just be able ta accommodate ye.”
“Good. I’ll speak with the others about it,” Kate confirmed as they stopped near the Infirmary entrance and she turned slightly to gaze back toward the critical care area. While John was now beyond her line of sight, the psychologist’s expression was thoughtful. “We may have our work cut out for us,” she remarked seriously now. “You know as well as I do, maybe better, the kinds of percentages we’re looking at in regards to John regaining a functional grasp of his past here.”
“I know,” Carson said quietly, his smile fading away as well, replaced with worry and yet a steely sort of resolve. “Believe me, Kate, I know. But I’m no’ goin’ ta start quotin’ numbers yet. Just because a hill is a wee bit steep, let’s no’ make it Everest.” Blue eyes followed Kate’s gaze. “No’ yet,” he repeated softly.
“Of course you’re right,” Heightmeyer agreed with a tight nod. “We’re only getting started. I just think we need to approach this very realistically, for the Colonel’s sake as well as our own.” She looked at Carson, whose gaze was still cast behind them, and she reached up to put a hand on his arm, drawing his eyes back to her. “I told Elizabeth that I would do everything I can to help John recover his memory, and I intend to do so. But you and I both know that ultimately this is out of our hands; it’s up to him.”
“Aye,” Carson had to agree with that. They could-and would-do everything in their power and quite likely more to help the John Sheppard they knew come back to them. Whether or not that John Sheppard returned rested on the man himself and how well-or poorly-he was able to respond to those efforts. “So long as ye bear in mind that it’s no’ the first time the Colonel’s faced down some vera long odds. Dunna count him out just yet, lassie.”
Kate merely nodded, and she took her leave with a promise to visit their patient again soon. As she started off down the hallway, she could only hope that Colonel Sheppard was up to the challenge that was looming before him. Like Carson, she could take comfort in the fact that the Air Force pilot had indeed conquered some daunting “Everests” the Pegasus Galaxy had thrown at him. All they could do now was to give him the tools to beat this one; the climbing was going to be all up to him.
++++++
Teyla picked a little at the fruit left in a small dish, and glanced over at Ronon. The Satedan had slumped forward on the stool he’d perched upon; head pillowed in his arms on the table before him, long dreadlocks obscuring his face but unfortunately not his snoring. He was blissfully unaware of his surroundings, including the click of computer keys and the occasional muttered curse or more frequent “come on” being uttered by Rodney.
The scientist himself moved between computers, having dismissed Hernandez some time ago, the moment the Puerto Rican had given him the information needed to continue the research of Sheppard’s mystery toxin. Flexing the fingers of his good hand as he turned from one table to another, Rodney leaned down to check a second and third laptop now scouring the Ancient database for linguistic matches to the various languages on the Genii bounty picture.
“Interesting...” Rodney murmured to himself as his fingers clicked across the keyboard, and Teyla couldn’t help but lean forward a little.
“You have found something...?” she said, her voice more than a little hopeful. The Athosian nudged aside the dish; pushing up from the stool she’d been seated on next to Ronon, she joined Rodney in front of the pair of computers.
“What?” Rodney spared her a glance and then sighed softly. “No, not...well not what I’m looking for, yet. At least two, maybe three of these languages are some sort of derivative of Ancient, which given what we know about the Ancients’ activities in this galaxy...isn’t all that surprising, really.” He stabbed a finger at one of the lines written on Sheppard’s ‘wanted poster.’ “This one apparently is the written communication of the Manarians. Tsk, tsk still buddies with the Genii, there’s a shock...”
“I remember,” Teyla replied steadily.
“And this one...” Rodney picked up the picture and held it beside one of the laptop screens for a visual comparison, “...looks like it belongs to those tree-people on that planet with the weird cat-things. Remember...little furballs with the purple eyes and the whip-like tails?” Rodney moved to the next computer and tapped a pair of keys, bringing up a screen full of information. “You know, one of those pseudo-felines left a welt on my leg. I was just making nice; my cat loved it when you rubbed his ears. How was I supposed to know that... oh, hello.”
“Rodney?” Teyla stepped a little closer, dark eyes alert and watching.
“How did I miss this?” McKay muttered to himself and blue eyes narrowed in concentration as he waved the picture of Sheppard like a fan. “Do we still have those original copies around here somewhere, back from when Ladon engineered his wonderful little coup?”
“I do not know.”
“Yeah, think so,” Ronon said at the same moment as he lifted his head from the table. Teyla’s voice had awakened him at the start of her conversation with McKay; now that it sounded like something important had finally been found, he entered into the discussion as he pushed himself upright. “I remember somebody askin’ Weir for one,” he stated with a slight shrug. “Think she gave ‘em one of yours. Somethin’ about some target practice.”
“Nice,” Rodney replied with just the right amount of sarcasm.
“Not really,” Ronon shrugged and ignored the annoyed glare he received in return. “Just wanted to see what you’d say. I think Doctor Weir still has ‘em.” The Satedan waited a beat, frowning slightly as he watched Rodney poring over the image of John in his hand. “Why?”
“I just realized something, and if I’m right, I may have an idea where your smoking gun is,” Rodney said absently, until he noticed Ronon glancing down at the holster strapped to his thigh. The scientist snapped his fingers and gave the taller man a roll of the eyes. “Oh c’mon, don’t tell me with all the action flicks Sheppard’s been feeding you, that you don’t have a handle on the clichés. Smoking gun...the murder weapon, or at the very least, the piece of the puzzle you need to put it all together.” When Ronon folded his arms across his chest, Rodney gave up. “Just...go get me one of the original copies of Sheppard’s mugshot from Elizabeth so I can see if I’m right.”
“Mugshot,” Teyla echoed with a slight lift of her eyebrows.
“In keeping with the spirit of the whole metaphor...just...just go get the stupid picture.”
“Be right back,” Ronon promised and he pushed up from the table and headed out of the lab.
“What is it that you have found, Rodney?” Teyla asked directly, now and she watched as Rodney put down the picture of John and returned to the keyboard, very cautiously easing his arm out of the sling to type briefly with both hands.
“This is the one I need to concentrate on,” McKay answered distractedly, pausing only long enough to point at the particular scribble-like message scrawled on the bottom of the picture, across Sheppard’s chest. “It’s the only one that I haven’t come close to identifying.”
“And this one?” Teyla pointed at another version of the message. “I do not believe you have identified this one either.”
“Technically, no,” Rodney conceded. “But according to what I’ve found so far, it appears to be another derivative from the same Ancient foundation. Plus, those I have identified all belong to established or former allies of the Genii...except my guy.” Rodney pointed again. “It doesn’t carry the same markers pointing back to the original Ancient, and it’s not attached to any of the planets we’ve noted as Genii trading partners or allies.” He shook his head. “Never thought I’d say it, but what I wouldn’t give to have Jackson here to look over this.”
New search parameters entered, Rodney abandoned the pair of computers and turned his attention back to the one dedicated to going through the Ancient medical database. So far, that had been as frustrating as the linguistics search, and a tight sort of squeezing in his chest reminded him that Sheppard likely did not have a lot of time to wait.
He was still typing two-handed with the occasional wince when Ronon returned with another of the Genii pictures of John in hand, plus one of Rodney’s just in case. “Here,” the Satedan announced as he approached.
Rodney had settled down on one of the stools and was engrossed in his work; the pictures sliding across the keyboard of the laptop broke his concentration but he didn’t snap at Ronon. Instead, he quickly snatched up both images and scrutinized them carefully. “I thought so!” he exclaimed, and looked at Teyla. “This is it, this is our big clue,” he said with an air of certainty as he reached for the picture of John that had been brought back from Istura. “Take a look at these. Notice anything different?”
He waited and watched while two sets of eyes pored over the three pictures, now laid out side by side on the table. However, he wasn’t that patient a person. “These two,” he said, waving the original pictures Teyla and Ronon had brought back to Atlantis, “don’t have this,” he used his forefinger to trace beneath a line written on the Isturan picture, the same line that Rodney had just been discussing with Teyla. “I’m guessing that somebody other than the Genii had an interest in Sheppard.”
“How does this help us?” Teyla wanted to know. “There is still nothing to link the Isturans to John’s abduction...”
“Au contraire,” Rodney replied with a satisfied grin. “Those ‘wanted dead or alive’ photo-ops were all part of Ladon’s complicated little takeover, as well as to advance their research into the Ancient gene and as such, there was only ever really one place they were distributed.”
“We don’t know that for a fact,” Ronon rumbled suspiciously.
“Well, okay, we don’t, but the only other place we’ve ever run into another one of these is Istura. And as far as I know, we’ve never had anybody else try to take me, or for that matter any other offworld team member with the ATA gene, in for the reward.”
“That’s ‘cause yours is fake,” Ronon said, barely hiding the smirk that wanted to appear.
“If anything, that my ATA ability was designed would make me highly valuable in terms of gene-therapy research,” McKay sniffed and then waved a hand. “Whatever, the point is, whoever was so keen on getting their paws on Sheppard likely duplicated more of his picture specifically and handed it out on Istura, with the added bonus of a personalized invitation for a big fat reward in the mother tongue, so to speak, if I can ever find a match on it in the database.”
As if summoned by the sheer force of McKay’s train of thought, both laptops working on the language identification and translation pinged at nearly the same time, and the scientist spun around on the stool, carefully working his arm back into the sling and stepping over to check each screen.
“Find somethin’?” Ronon prompted first, resisting the impulse to sigh impatiently.
“Yeah...” Rodney murmured, without elaborating at first as he leaned closer and pecked at the keyboard of one of the laptops with his good hand. “This is...oh this is so not good,” he murmured, and then looked up at his team-mates, who were now watching him expectantly. “According to the translation data, our mystery language appears to be the very old, very obscure written dialect of Istura’s religious class.”
“Sounds good enough to me,” Ronon enthused. “Weir’ll have to let us go.”
“I repeat; not good,” Rodney repeated with a shake of his head. “The language is a match but its base elements break down not into some theme or variation of Ancient, but into a distinctive code. A Wraith code.”
“Wraith?” Teyla echoed, trading anxious looks with Ronon. “What would the Isturans have to do with the Wraith?”
“I’m sure I don’t want to know,” Rodney replied with a grimace. “But this is some pretty old reference material. A lot can change in ten-thousand years. Maybe there was a connection but it’s more than possible it doesn’t exist anymore, or maybe their high priesthood thought this would make a suitably obscure language for their so-called sacred texts or something.”
“Or they’re traitors,” Ronon interjected disgustedly, his expression a reflection of his tone and his bearing as tense as anything Rodney had ever seen from him. “Either way, we gotta go back. If you’re right, they took Sheppard. And they know about Atlantis.”
“If I’m right...?”
“Ronon is correct; either way, we cannot risk the Wraith discovering that the city still exists,” Teyla added, her tone urgent. “Come, we must take this information to Elizabeth."
Rodney handed the pictures to Teyla. “You two take the information to Elizabeth. Somebody should...I should stay here and keep working.” He glanced between his two team-mates and hunched his shoulders. “I mean, seriously, I would love to go...beat the answers out of the Isturan Council with you and all, but saving Sheppard would be much better served by my staying here and helping Carson research that toxin.”
“You should stay with Sheppard,” Ronon agreed with a slight nod.
“Really?” Rodney blinked, having almost expected some resistance. “I mean, I know we want to get to the bottom of this, but what good will it be if Sheppard’s dead by the time we figure it all out?”
“Yes, indeed,” Teyla agreed as she took the pictures from the scientist. “It is important that we all do what we can to bring John completely back to us.”
“Good...okay...that’s good,” Rodney muttered as he perched upon the stool once more, facing the laptop that was carrying on the search of the medical database. Carefully easing his arm back out of the sling, he cautiously began typing with both hands again.
“Good luck, McKay,” Ronon intoned from the doorway as he followed Teyla out. Rodney glanced up and nodded slightly.
“You too.”
++++++
John woke up in near-darkness and for a brief, disoriented moment felt a bloom of panic in his chest when he didn’t know where he was. Aches and pains spoke the loudest in the dim lighting and for a moment he was back in Afghanistan, feeling the after-effects of a beating at the hands of Taliban militants. His heart hammered hard in his chest, making his headache spike and prompting a groan. Then he realized he was lying on a fairly comfortable bed with clean sheets, a warm blanket and a couple rather soft pillows...Infirmary, he told himself. His eyes adjusting to the dusky light, he cautiously shifted a little, unsurprised to see a nurse quickening her pace toward him.
“Colonel Sheppard?” she murmured quietly, and John recognized her as the nurse who had put the EEG pads on him however long ago. “You all right, sir?” She was already checking over the IV and the various monitors. He took note of her demeanor and the ‘sir’ with which she’d addressed him.
“Lieutenant?” he hazarded a hopeful guess, pleased to find his voice sounding, if not stronger, at least a little less hoarse. The nurse-a redhead, no less-smiled at him cheerfully.
“Not anymore, Sir,” she answered him. “Just made Captain last month...you pinned the bars on me yourself just a couple days before...” She cleared her throat, and made notations in his chart. “It was really nice, you know, and I didn’t really get a good chance to thank you for putting me up for promotion.”
“Don’t think I’ve got anyplace to go,” John kidded, but knew the light teasing wasn’t fooling her; the tired drawl he seemed to have permanently adopted completely ruining the effect. The nurse smiled anyway.
“Well then, I guess this is the perfect opportunity,” she said in kind. “Thank you, Colonel, for putting me up for promotion.”
“You’re welcome,” John replied as genially as he could under his current circumstances. “I’m sure I’ll remember...eventually...all the details of your...exemplary service and all that. Captain...?” His good hand motioned slightly, prompting a response.
“Noble, Sir. Captain Marlene Noble. But most people call me ‘Marley,’” the nurse filled in, and John nodded slightly in acknowledgement. “Can I get you anything, Colonel?” she asked solicitously.
“Doctor Beckett still on duty?” John wondered aloud, and ‘Marley’ shook her head.
“We made him take a break. Doctor Suhaila’s just come on shift, though. I can get her if you need...”
“No, that’s okay,” John reassured her and took a careful breath.
“Are you sure?” Marley watched him closely. “You look a little shaky, sir, and Doctor Suhaila is just over...”
John squeezed his eyes closed briefly as the headache pulsed through his temples, reminding him of its presence, and then he forced them open, giving his caretaker a cautious smile. “Just a dream, Captain. I’m...a little thirsty. If I could...” Giving her something to do, it seemed, was the best way to change the subject.
“Certainly,” Marley responded and poured a little water from a pitcher on a nearby tray table. Parking a straw into the cup, she brought it close for John to sip from the liquid within.
“Thanks,” John murmured and leaned his head back cautiously and wearily into the pillows.
“I’ll just be across the way if you need anything, Sir,” the nurse promised as she set the cup aside. “Try to go back to sleep.”
John squinted a little; was she kidding? The low bass note that had throbbed its way through his brain now seemed to be...vibrating through the rest of him. He didn’t know how else to explain it but it was as if it was all around him, now, beating at his body and mind, a distorted thrumming that, while making him weary beyond belief, at this moment was unlikely to let him go back to sleep.
“Okay,” he mumbled, probably a little insincerely, but he did close his eyes. Unbidden, a shiver traveled through him and he grunted at the soreness it produced in various places, but then it continued, becoming a series of uncomfortable chills that swept through him and he tugged at the blanket with his good hand.
“Are you cold, Colonel?” Marley was back, and John realized at some point he must’ve zoned out, because he hadn’t been aware of her return. Her blue eyes were somewhat round in a disbelieving expression. After a moment of hazy blinking, John realized the nurse was slightly sweating; she pushed aside strands of red hair plastered to her forehead.
“Little...little bit,” John murmured groggily. Despite himself, he shivered again and groaned as it swept fresh discomfort through him. Marley shook her head slightly.
“It’s really warm in here,” she commented as she retrieved a thermometer. “Just let me take your temperature, Sir.” She inserted the plastic tip into John’s ear and he obediently held still. The small beep, beep seemed almost unnaturally loud with the thumping rhythm carrying on in his head and he cringed. “One-oh-oh, even; it’s barely a fever, Colonel.” Marley offered him a reassuring smile. “If you really want, though, I can get you another blanket.” John nodded a little, closing his eyes.
“Thanks,” he mumbled as, a few moments later, he felt another of the deceptively light Infirmary blankets being layered over him.
“You’re welcome, Sir,” Marley said softly. “There’s a visitor here for you.” John cracked his eyes open. “Just a few minutes, okay?” the nurse was saying. “He really needs his rest.”
When the nurse stepped aside to go back to whatever she’d been doing earlier, John blinked in surprise to see a small boy edging closer to his bedside, eyes wide with worry. The face wasn’t any more familiar than anyone else’s around here, but the clear concern in the child’s eyes was enough to make him dredge up a smile from somewhere and try to ignore his various hurts.
“Hello, Colonel Sheppard,” the boy said uncertainly but before John could ask the kid’s name or try to figure out how he knew the little guy, his gaze was drawn to a rather tall man just stepping up behind the child, a broad hand coming to rest on the boy’s shoulder.
“Wickley wished to come see you before we returned...home,” the man said, and his voice was calm, and kindly. There was something odd in his way of speaking; not an accent necessarily so much as a tone of formality. John blinked up at him a little before nodding his acceptance. He was a little startled as small fingers wrapped around his hand and shifted his attention back to Wickley.
“Careful of the IV, buddy,” he warned first as he carefully shifted his hand a little; Wickley let go immediately but John reached up to take the smaller hand in his palm. “There, like that’s good,” he said, and offered the boy another smile. Wickley looked up at the tall man; perhaps his father, although John couldn’t see the resemblance, personally. Tall Guy nodded a bit and Wickley turned back to John.
“Are you feeling better?” Wickley asked outright, and from the flicker of the boy’s eyes, John could tell that the kid was trying not to overtly stare at the mottled bruises, the proliferation of medical equipment or the cast on his left arm. “Doctor McKay said you had a...really bad headache, and Halling says because you were hurt, you have forgotten...things.” John swallowed a little; the throbbing in his head joined by a brief clench of nausea, the latter feeding off the former along with a touch of nervousness at how to answer the child holding his hand.
“It’ll be all right,” he reassured first, squeezing the smaller hand and trying not to wince at the slight tug on the IV that produced. “They’re takin’ really good care of me, and they’re gonna help me get better and remember stuff. So don’t worry, okay?” He did his best to hold Wickley’s gaze.
“Okay,” Wickley said softly but to John’s mind he looked unconvinced. He had to admit that, in Wickley’s place, he’d be a little skeptical too, given what he must look like right now. John offered another small smile.
“I know it looks pretty bad,” he said carefully. “And I won’t lie to you; it doesn’t feel so good either. But Doctor Beckett’s gonna make sure I’m okay, and he gave me some medicine to help me feel better.”
“You promised to teach us how to play football,” Wickley’s voice was very soft now but the look on his face very hopeful, and John wondered briefly what he’d gotten himself into. He was saved from answering by the tall man, who squeezed Wickley’s shoulder slightly.
“You must be patient, Wickley,” he said firmly but not unkindly. “It will take much time and rest for Colonel Sheppard to be well again. When that is achieved, then we will see what he says about teaching you and your friends about this football.”
“Sounds...like a plan...to me,” John murmured, nodding thankfully to the tall guy before giving Wickley a reassuring, albeit tired, wink.
“You will not forget again?” Wickley asked carefully, wide eyes blinking back unwanted tears.
“Hey...hey,” John let go of the boy’s hand, reaching up to pat Wickley’s upper arm gently. “I promise, Wickley. I’m not gonna forget about you, buddy.” He hoped using the child’s name would help reinforce his intent. “All right then... You trust me, now?”
Wickley nodded, and despite the worried look, smiled a little.
“Come, now, Wickley,” the Tall Guy cajoled gently. “It is time to go. Colonel Sheppard needs rest, and so do you. Your family is waiting to see you.”
Wickley looked up over his shoulder and nodded, before leveling the most serious gaze he could muster at John. “I am sorry you were hurt so much,” he declared solemnly. “I hope you will be well again soon.”
“Me too,” John agreed wholeheartedly. “Workin’ on it.”
Tall Guy murmured something to Wickley about waiting for him in the outer area of the Infirmary; the boy nodded obediently, and quietly slipped away. “Thank you for those few minutes, Colonel,” he said warmly. “I know you do not remember us, but like Wickley, many of our children on the mainland have come to care a great deal for you.”
“Seems like...a good kid,” John observed tiredly; he was coming to the end of his endurance for this visit. “He your son? Uhm...?”
“I am Halling,” the man said with a slight cant of his head. “And no, Wickley is not my son. I am merely here to bring him home to his family.”
“Pleased to...meet you,” John breathed out; the effort to speak draining as well as adding to the throb in his head and, it seemed, to the general soreness of his body. His eyelids betrayed his will as they dipped lower despite a willingness to continue the conversation. Any little nugget that might trigger his wayward memories was appreciated. Obviously he was on friendly and familiar terms with these two, and he wouldn’t mind a little more time to try to unearth the history. Halling certainly wasn’t the military type; true, he carried himself with the unassuming air of someone who’d had a hard life and was familiar with hard work, yet with gentleness that spoke of something more aesthetic, perhaps even spiritual. It was a curious combination of personality elements.
A combination that John’s sluggish brain would have to ponder later; where he hadn’t believed sleep all that possible earlier, now with or without his permission his body seemed determined to return to it despite the nagging, gnawing ache. Halling was saying something, taking his leave, but John couldn’t quite bring himself to respond, eyelids slipping completely closed. It occurred to him vaguely, just before sleep claimed him completely, that where he’d been chilled before, he now felt as if he was dragging in ninety-degree heat.
Then it didn’t matter anymore.
++++++
“Radek,” Elizabeth looked up expectantly from her desk. “What can you tell me?” Her tone was just as expectant, and the Czech grimaced briefly.
“Not nearly enough,” he prefaced before stating flatly, “Put simply, Atlantis’ systems are inexplicably failing. It is only a matter of time before the city is completely incapacitated.”
“Failing?” Weir echoed as she leaned sharply back in her chair, stunned. “I don’t understand; failing how? Is there something wrong with the ZPM?”
“No, it’s not a power issue, at least, not as far as availability. The ZPM and the naquadah generators are perfectly intact,” Zelenka explained with a helpless shake of his head. “But for reasons we don’t understand, the city is slowly losing its ability to maintain power levels necessary to operate properly. So far only basic systems have been affected, but eventually it will spread to far more critical functions. As yet, city-wide diagnostics have failed to reveal any equipment malfunctions or integrity issues that could cause or contribute to the problem.”
“You’re right,” Elizabeth agreed as she folded her arms. “It’s not enough. We need options, Radek.”
“I have, however, been examining the various power fluctuations and system failures from the first confirmed reports,” Zelenka continued, pushing his glasses up as he spoke. “While the initial occurrences seemed quite random...lights, environmental systems...they have in fact settled into an almost predictable pattern now.”
Weir leaned forward once again, her attention fixed on the Czech. “So...what does that give us?”
“Until we can discover the source of the trouble, again not much,” Radek admitted. “But it appears, we think, that Atlantis is gradually initiating a...type of emergency hibernation mode, not unlike when we first arrived, really, except...” Zelenka trailed off uncertainly and glanced aside.
“Except what? Radek?” Weir prompted.
“Except this time, we don’t know why; perhaps it is some sort of automatic backup but we don’t know what initiated it. And I’m not at all sure we’ll be able to reestablish the city’s power grid. There has been damage done to several of the underlying secondary systems during the various shutdowns. If Atlantis’ primary systems fail completely, it may become permanent, irreversible damage.” He cleared his throat nervously. “We would effectively lose the city.”
Elizabeth exhaled sharply, and after a moment, nodded reluctantly. “I’ll get Rodney to join you on this,” she declared, but before she could as much as reach for her earpiece, she realized her doorway was being filled by a tall, agitated Satedan. “Ronon?”
“They were working with the Wraith,” Ronon growled unhappily, once again dropping the Genii picture of Sheppard onto her desk. “McKay says that,” he pointed to the particular line of writing, “proves it.”
“What?” Elizabeth exclaimed, startled. “Who was working with the Wraith?” Behind Ronon, Teyla stepped into the office, calm and collected as ever, except for a barely perceptible tension in her stance.
“Rodney deciphered the various languages represented here,” the Athosian explained in more detail. “The one Ronon pointed out to you is a variation of a Wraith code, and it is employed by the Isturans.” Teyla paused only briefly before continuing. “If the Wraith become aware of Atlantis’ continued existence...”
“We gotta go back there and find out what those people know,” Ronon stated simply, shoulders bunched with barely restrained anger as he leaned down, palms flat on her desk. “Whether you want us to or not, I’m goin’.”
“And I am going with him,” Teyla declared, her expression becoming grim and determined. “We must learn the truth behind Colonel Sheppard’s capture. For his sake as much as our own.”
“Sheppard’s runnin’ outta time,” Ronon pushed away from Elizabeth’s desk and nodded vaguely past his shoulder, indicating the Infirmary beyond. “You know what McKay and Beckett said; that drug’s messing with his brain. If the Wraith had somethin’ to do with it...” The Satedan shook his head vehemently and turned away.
“Ronon, wait,” Elizabeth called after the tall fighter as he started for the door, presumably to carry out his intentions.
“I’m done waiting,” Ronon said, although he did stop walking and turned just enough to look at her.
“I know it’s been a difficult time for you,” Elizabeth stated as she pushed up from her chair. Coming around her desk, she crossed over to stand in front of the taller man. A heartbeat passed between them before he looked down at her directly, but he said nothing. “Believe me; it hasn’t been easy on any of us. I know I can’t stop you from leaving Atlantis, but if you were determined to go regardless of what I had to say, you wouldn’t be here right now asking my approval for this mission.”
She watched as the Satedan shifted his stance, eyeing her frankly.
“So...?” Ronon prompted impatiently.
“So give me a chance to weigh the information and make the decision you came here for,” she said firmly, not backing away from his gaze. She held the silence a moment longer. “I happen to agree with you. We need to know if the Wraith-or the Genii, for that matter-were involved in what happened to John. Now that you’ve established the probable involvement of the Isturans beyond a simple hunch, that’s good enough for me.”
Elizabeth could feel his eyes on her as she turned around and headed back toward her desk.
“So you’re gonna let us go?” Ronon faced Elizabeth once again, but he was still in the doorframe.
“Yes,” Weir answered as she settled back into her chair and then looked up at the Satedan. “I am...along with a team of Marines.”
“Doctor Weir?” Radek spoke up from where he’d remained, pushing his glasses up nervously. “That could potentially be a problem. The Gate hasn’t been affected by the system failures yet, but it is only a matter of time before it...”
“It’s workin’ now?” Ronon asked flatly, pinning the shorter Czech to the wall with a blunt stare.
“Well, yes, at the moment the DHD and the Gate are still drawing power; it’s my estimation the Gate would be one of the last...”
“Then we go,” Ronon shrugged.
“We could lose power to the Gate while you’re offworld,” Radek replied evenly.
“If that happens,” Elizabeth interjected, “and you run into trouble, we won’t be able to help you.”
“Perhaps it would be better, then,” Teyla intervened, “if Ronon and I were to depart immediately, before the opportunity is lost.” She glanced at Radek before continuing. “If the need arises, we can gate to the Alpha site until the problem here is resolved.”
Weir exhaled slowly as she leaned forward on the desk, lacing her fingers together in a deliberate manner. “I’d prefer if you waited for that team of Marines,” she said first, before looking up at Sheppard’s team-mates. “We spent three weeks searching for John, not even knowing if he was still alive. I’d rather not spend another three weeks doing the same for you.”
“You won’t,” Ronon reassured steadily, arms folded across his chest. “And if this is Wraith, and they’re plannin’ somethin’, better for Atlantis if your people are here to defend it.” He glanced over at Radek, and the Czech cleared his throat slightly.
“There’s no reason-yet-to believe the Wraith know the city survived. Long range sensors are still active at this point; they’re clear,” Zelenka provided without being asked aloud. “No sign of Wraith activity anywhere in the vicinity. Like the Gate, I imagine the sensors would be one of the last systems to be affected.”
“If you must send others with us,” Teyla addressed Elizabeth once again, “Consider the offer my people have made to help gather information. They will be discreet, and have many contacts that would be willing to aid us should it prove necessary to pursue the search beyond the Isturans.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips thoughtfully as she regarded the Athosian leader; her eyes narrowing slightly as she recalled her earlier discussion out on the balcony. Had that really only been a few hours ago? “Halling did speak to me about his desire-about the Athosian desire-to help John by contributing to the investigation into his kidnapping.”
“I am certain he will have an able group readied within the hour to depart for Istura,” Teyla asserted.
Weir exhaled slowly and reached up to rub her forehead briefly. In her head she could already hear what would normally be the expected protest from John Sheppard regarding the safety of the civilians under the city’s protection. However, Sheppard wasn’t in a position to make that protest, and there was a certain validity to keeping the Marines in Atlantis should the Wraith learn the city still existed and execute some sort of attack. Besides the fact that Halling had also made a point...it would go a long way to healing past trust issues, plus the Athosians still knew their way around Pegasus a lot more than the Lantean expedition.
“Very well,” Elizabeth rubbed the back of her neck now but met Teyla’s gaze. “I don’t believe the pilot that brought Halling over from the mainland has taken him back yet; I’ll have the lieutenant report here and take you to the mainland. Gather what help you’ll need, and then he’ll pilot the jumper to Istura. That way, you’ll have a protected escape through the Gate, if that becomes necessary. Hopefully it won’t.”
“Thank you, Doctor Weir,” Teyla replied with a slight nod. “We will return as quickly as possible.” Taking Ronon in with a glance, the Athosian strode quickly from Elizabeth’s office with the intention of preparing for their return to Istura. Elizabeth turned her gaze to Ronon as well, and was surprised when the Satedan also inclined his head to her, an approving expression in the forbidding features before he turned in silent, fluid motion to follow after his team-mate.
“Good luck,” Weir murmured softly as she watched their retreat through the operations area, and then sat back with a breath as she realized Zelenka was still there, datapad in hand. She held the Czech’s gaze as she activated her earpiece and summoned McKay.
Ronon and Teyla weren’t the only ones in need of some good luck.
Author: Padawan_aneiki
Rating/Pairing: PG/None
Characters: The whole gang
Back to part 1
Light filtered in gradually as John turned his head and sluggishly blinked his eyes open. He felt a tiny tug on the skin at his temple and realized belatedly that he was still attached to the EEG; the minor motion dragging the wire across his pillow. It took another moment between thundering heartbeats to remember why he was dragging around more wires and a slow frown gathered.
“John?” The voice came from his other side, and he carefully maneuvered his head back the other way, blinking a little harder to help focus as a face swam into view. Pretty face, he decided as the features solidified in his vision.
The woman next to him smiled demurely. “Nice of you to say so, Colonel,” she said pleasantly and John, embarrassed at having spoken aloud without realizing it, felt a slight flush crawl into his face. Way to go, John, he kicked himself-mentally this time-and offered up a winsome smile of his own.
“My drill...instructor back...Academy used...t’ say, ‘Cadet, forget...flirtin’ on the...morphine...y’ won’t remember...what...y’ said and the...field medics...won’t forget.’”
“Sounds like a real charmer, your instructor,” the woman said and the smile deepened a little. “But, I don’t think you need to worry too much about ‘flirting under the influence;’ I won’t tell anyone.” John chuckled, a rather breathy sound, until both head and ribs declared painful disapproval and he stopped with a soft grunt. “Do you need me to get Doctor Beckett?” Pretty-Face asked, and John dismissed the suggestion with a slight wave.
“Nah...Just gotta remember...laughing...bad. Drugs...good,” he kidded, turning the back of his IV hand toward her. “John Sheppard...Nice to meet you. Again, probably...with the way things’ve...been going.”
“Yes, again,” the woman said warmly and came a little closer. “Kate Heightmeyer.”
John stiffened slightly, feeling a little like that proverbial deer in headlights and more than a little disoriented. “I slept...that long?” he mumbled as he cautiously reached up to his temple, scratching just at the edge of the sensor pad; the adhesive made his skin itch.
“No,” Kate said, and the gentle smile was back. “You didn’t. I realize Doctor Weir told you we’d speak later, but when I heard about what happened earlier, I thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”
John dropped his hand away from his forehead, letting it drape loosely across his waist as he regarded the psychologist warily. “Not doin’...anything much...” he started, and then changed direction. “Y’know...not sure I’m really...” He nearly flinched when Kate interrupted the beginnings of a perfectly good tirade by placing a hand on his shoulder. “I mean...I don’t think...this is...such a...great...”
“John, I’m not the enemy, here,” Kate asserted kindly. “No one here is blaming you for anything, and whatever issues cropped up during debriefings in the past will have no bearing on anything we discuss now. There are a lot of people here who just want to see you heal, and that includes recovering your memory to the fullest extent possible.”
We’re your team...Give us a chance to do this. Rodney’s plea drifted through his mind and John swallowed thickly, blinking slowly as he considered it. Something had prompted him to trust the scientist without benefit of knowing the how’s and why’s behind their association. Despite his desire to practice avoidance in peace, without someone analyzing his dream life or some other aspect of his psyche, he found himself being tugged by it again. There are a lot of people here who just want to see you heal.
“Me...me too,” he finally admitted. Whether or not he liked it, Heightmeyer might be his best chance to plug the gap in his memory. John’s eyes closed as he sighed wearily, cringing when the sharp exhalation reminded him yet again of his sore, bruised abdomen and broken ribs.
“What?” Kate asked lightly, pressing only when he declined to answer. “What is it?” John reached up again to rub a fingertip around the edges of the irritating sensor pads, careful not to dislodge them.
“It’s just...weird,” John grumbled, and he didn’t bother looking to see if the shrink was watching him. He felt like crap and he didn’t know where he was or with whom half the time; if that didn’t qualify him to indulge in a little grumpiness, he didn’t know what would. “Too weird. You all know...all this...stuff.”
“We don’t just know who you are; we’re familiar with you,” Kate filled in, her tone gentle. “I imagine that’s a little unsettling.” John nodded very slightly in spite of himself, but he avoided sighing in frustration as he wasn’t keen on inviting a return chorus of aches and pains.
“In here...” he lifted his hand just enough to gesture toward his head. “...you’re all unfamiliar...just drawin’...blanks.” John squinted a little, gazing at Kate with as much intensity as injuries and medication would allow; if he could just think, could just rattle the cage trapping his memories hard enough, get just one recollection to pop loose...
John felt a hand touch his and realized suddenly that he’d clenched a fistful of the blanket covering him in his fingers without even registering the tug of the IV. He let go with a slight hiss of discomfort, and his expression grew a little sheepish as the counselor gave his hand a small pat.
“John, no one expects you to figure it all out right this second,” she said, her voice just as gentle as her touch. She pulled her hand back and offered him a smile. “There’s plenty of time to work on getting your memory back, but it’s not the original purpose of my visit.”
“Oh...yeah?” John murmured guardedly, tension creeping back into his tone as he regarded his visitor. “Confessing...a hidden agenda...there, Doc?” he tried for distracting charm; it came off sounding cautious and tired. “Ink tests, id and...ego...Freudian slips?”
“Soup, actually,” Kate answered and she moved aside a little to reveal a mug sitting on a nearby table with a short straw poking out the top. “Doctor Beckett said if you were feeling up to trying it, I could be your dinner companion. I thought it would be a good way for us to become reacquainted.” Along with the mug, there was a plate with a sandwich and a carton of milk for Kate. “Broth, if you want to be technical, but I think that it’s chicken.”
John was surprised when his stomach actually grumbled in response; he’d been too caught up in his various hurts to truly register hunger. As Kate picked up the mug and he got a whiff of the broth inside, he realized his belly ached with more than just soreness and bruises; his captors had practically starved him. “Smells good,” he admitted grudgingly, and decided Kate’s visit could be prolonged long enough to eat. Or drink, as the case may be.
Kate held the mug for him at first, and John took a pair of small sips. The broth tasted good, and he actually groaned slightly with pleasure at the warm, not overly-hot liquid on his throat and stomach. Encouraged by those first sips, with no immediate threat of the liquid making a return appearance, John reached for the mug to hold it himself. Pleasure turned to mild frustration when he found that he was too shaky to manage it with one good hand and the other trapped in a cast.
Kate simply reached over and steadied his hand without taking the mug or saying a word, and John had to admit he appreciated her unobtrusive aid; he felt the unreasonable heat of embarrassment rush into his face. Whether or not the psychologist noticed, she didn’t comment on it, just allowing him to concentrate on sipping more of the broth. After a moment or two, she began to talk about safe, innocuous subjects; nephews back home and hobbies. John found himself relaxing almost against his will; between her quiet voice and a full stomach he felt drowsiness creeping up on him. Finally he gave up and closed heavy eyelids; sleep followed not long after.
“Nicely handled, m’dear,” Carson’s gentle brogue murmured to her right, and Kate glanced over her shoulder as the Scot drew alongside.
“He managed about a third of it,” Kate observed uncertainly, and Carson peered over to gauge for himself how much liquid remained in the mug.
“That’s better than I thought he’d do,” he replied with a smile. “His belly’s been denied enough that we’ll have ta be a wee bit gentle with it until he begins ta adjust ta havin’ somethin’ in it. But it’s a step forward; lass, an’ right now I’ll take every one o’ those I can get.”
The pair moved out of the immediate area and Kate risked a quick glance back over her shoulder. John slept on, although she noticed that even now his face carried a faint echo of pain. Turning back to Carson, she offered him a small smile in return.
“He’s been through a lot,” she stated the obvious, clasping her hands before her as they walked. “And he’s trying very hard to keep an even keel; not so easy to do when you’re in pain and you feel like your world’s been turned upside-down.”
“Aye,” Carson agreed fully. “I could no’ agree with ye more; I dunna think I’d be doin’ half so well in similar circumstances.”
“I think we need to ground him a little,” Kate suggested with a slight incline of her head. “As much as his treatment and condition allow it, providing him with a...schedule of sorts might be a good start. A little routine might go a long way to helping Colonel Sheppard to at least feel like he’s supposed to be here; knowing a few things to expect and when to expect them will help him settle into the idea that he has a place with us.”
Carson tilted his head slightly, considering it as he did so. “That might be a good idea, dependin’ on what ye have in mind,” he agreed.
“Well I’m not talking about entering him into a marathon or anything,” Kate kidded lightly and she was glad to see Carson actually smile along with her. “I think for now, maybe just lunch everyday with some usually familiar faces would be a good start...Elizabeth, his team...Major Lorne. The more we can make this feel normal for him...Don’t look at me like that, Carson.”
“We’ve been here nigh two years, lassie, an’ I’ve yet ta figure on it bein’ normal,” Beckett interjected half-seriously, but then he canted his head slightly with a smile. “But it is home now,” he admitted. “I canna imagine bein’ anywhere else in two galaxies, no’ anymore. No’ after Atlantis.” He smiled. “She may exist in a vera strange place, but she’s a right fair mistress.”
“’She?’” Kate replied with a slight quirk of her eyebrows.
“Ships o’ many kinds have always been referred ta as lovely maidens,” Carson said warmly. “An’ Atlantis, at her heart, is a space-farin’ vessel. I dunna think there’s a better compliment for our fine city.”
“Well, when you put it that way, I think I could be persuaded to agree with you,” Kate smiled. “So what do you think? Lunch-dates to start? The more familiar things and people we can surround John with, the more likely we are to stimulate his mind, without any undue pressure, to hopefully start tapping some of those missing memories.”
“Aye lass, I think we may just be able ta accommodate ye.”
“Good. I’ll speak with the others about it,” Kate confirmed as they stopped near the Infirmary entrance and she turned slightly to gaze back toward the critical care area. While John was now beyond her line of sight, the psychologist’s expression was thoughtful. “We may have our work cut out for us,” she remarked seriously now. “You know as well as I do, maybe better, the kinds of percentages we’re looking at in regards to John regaining a functional grasp of his past here.”
“I know,” Carson said quietly, his smile fading away as well, replaced with worry and yet a steely sort of resolve. “Believe me, Kate, I know. But I’m no’ goin’ ta start quotin’ numbers yet. Just because a hill is a wee bit steep, let’s no’ make it Everest.” Blue eyes followed Kate’s gaze. “No’ yet,” he repeated softly.
“Of course you’re right,” Heightmeyer agreed with a tight nod. “We’re only getting started. I just think we need to approach this very realistically, for the Colonel’s sake as well as our own.” She looked at Carson, whose gaze was still cast behind them, and she reached up to put a hand on his arm, drawing his eyes back to her. “I told Elizabeth that I would do everything I can to help John recover his memory, and I intend to do so. But you and I both know that ultimately this is out of our hands; it’s up to him.”
“Aye,” Carson had to agree with that. They could-and would-do everything in their power and quite likely more to help the John Sheppard they knew come back to them. Whether or not that John Sheppard returned rested on the man himself and how well-or poorly-he was able to respond to those efforts. “So long as ye bear in mind that it’s no’ the first time the Colonel’s faced down some vera long odds. Dunna count him out just yet, lassie.”
Kate merely nodded, and she took her leave with a promise to visit their patient again soon. As she started off down the hallway, she could only hope that Colonel Sheppard was up to the challenge that was looming before him. Like Carson, she could take comfort in the fact that the Air Force pilot had indeed conquered some daunting “Everests” the Pegasus Galaxy had thrown at him. All they could do now was to give him the tools to beat this one; the climbing was going to be all up to him.
++++++
Teyla picked a little at the fruit left in a small dish, and glanced over at Ronon. The Satedan had slumped forward on the stool he’d perched upon; head pillowed in his arms on the table before him, long dreadlocks obscuring his face but unfortunately not his snoring. He was blissfully unaware of his surroundings, including the click of computer keys and the occasional muttered curse or more frequent “come on” being uttered by Rodney.
The scientist himself moved between computers, having dismissed Hernandez some time ago, the moment the Puerto Rican had given him the information needed to continue the research of Sheppard’s mystery toxin. Flexing the fingers of his good hand as he turned from one table to another, Rodney leaned down to check a second and third laptop now scouring the Ancient database for linguistic matches to the various languages on the Genii bounty picture.
“Interesting...” Rodney murmured to himself as his fingers clicked across the keyboard, and Teyla couldn’t help but lean forward a little.
“You have found something...?” she said, her voice more than a little hopeful. The Athosian nudged aside the dish; pushing up from the stool she’d been seated on next to Ronon, she joined Rodney in front of the pair of computers.
“What?” Rodney spared her a glance and then sighed softly. “No, not...well not what I’m looking for, yet. At least two, maybe three of these languages are some sort of derivative of Ancient, which given what we know about the Ancients’ activities in this galaxy...isn’t all that surprising, really.” He stabbed a finger at one of the lines written on Sheppard’s ‘wanted poster.’ “This one apparently is the written communication of the Manarians. Tsk, tsk still buddies with the Genii, there’s a shock...”
“I remember,” Teyla replied steadily.
“And this one...” Rodney picked up the picture and held it beside one of the laptop screens for a visual comparison, “...looks like it belongs to those tree-people on that planet with the weird cat-things. Remember...little furballs with the purple eyes and the whip-like tails?” Rodney moved to the next computer and tapped a pair of keys, bringing up a screen full of information. “You know, one of those pseudo-felines left a welt on my leg. I was just making nice; my cat loved it when you rubbed his ears. How was I supposed to know that... oh, hello.”
“Rodney?” Teyla stepped a little closer, dark eyes alert and watching.
“How did I miss this?” McKay muttered to himself and blue eyes narrowed in concentration as he waved the picture of Sheppard like a fan. “Do we still have those original copies around here somewhere, back from when Ladon engineered his wonderful little coup?”
“I do not know.”
“Yeah, think so,” Ronon said at the same moment as he lifted his head from the table. Teyla’s voice had awakened him at the start of her conversation with McKay; now that it sounded like something important had finally been found, he entered into the discussion as he pushed himself upright. “I remember somebody askin’ Weir for one,” he stated with a slight shrug. “Think she gave ‘em one of yours. Somethin’ about some target practice.”
“Nice,” Rodney replied with just the right amount of sarcasm.
“Not really,” Ronon shrugged and ignored the annoyed glare he received in return. “Just wanted to see what you’d say. I think Doctor Weir still has ‘em.” The Satedan waited a beat, frowning slightly as he watched Rodney poring over the image of John in his hand. “Why?”
“I just realized something, and if I’m right, I may have an idea where your smoking gun is,” Rodney said absently, until he noticed Ronon glancing down at the holster strapped to his thigh. The scientist snapped his fingers and gave the taller man a roll of the eyes. “Oh c’mon, don’t tell me with all the action flicks Sheppard’s been feeding you, that you don’t have a handle on the clichés. Smoking gun...the murder weapon, or at the very least, the piece of the puzzle you need to put it all together.” When Ronon folded his arms across his chest, Rodney gave up. “Just...go get me one of the original copies of Sheppard’s mugshot from Elizabeth so I can see if I’m right.”
“Mugshot,” Teyla echoed with a slight lift of her eyebrows.
“In keeping with the spirit of the whole metaphor...just...just go get the stupid picture.”
“Be right back,” Ronon promised and he pushed up from the table and headed out of the lab.
“What is it that you have found, Rodney?” Teyla asked directly, now and she watched as Rodney put down the picture of John and returned to the keyboard, very cautiously easing his arm out of the sling to type briefly with both hands.
“This is the one I need to concentrate on,” McKay answered distractedly, pausing only long enough to point at the particular scribble-like message scrawled on the bottom of the picture, across Sheppard’s chest. “It’s the only one that I haven’t come close to identifying.”
“And this one?” Teyla pointed at another version of the message. “I do not believe you have identified this one either.”
“Technically, no,” Rodney conceded. “But according to what I’ve found so far, it appears to be another derivative from the same Ancient foundation. Plus, those I have identified all belong to established or former allies of the Genii...except my guy.” Rodney pointed again. “It doesn’t carry the same markers pointing back to the original Ancient, and it’s not attached to any of the planets we’ve noted as Genii trading partners or allies.” He shook his head. “Never thought I’d say it, but what I wouldn’t give to have Jackson here to look over this.”
New search parameters entered, Rodney abandoned the pair of computers and turned his attention back to the one dedicated to going through the Ancient medical database. So far, that had been as frustrating as the linguistics search, and a tight sort of squeezing in his chest reminded him that Sheppard likely did not have a lot of time to wait.
He was still typing two-handed with the occasional wince when Ronon returned with another of the Genii pictures of John in hand, plus one of Rodney’s just in case. “Here,” the Satedan announced as he approached.
Rodney had settled down on one of the stools and was engrossed in his work; the pictures sliding across the keyboard of the laptop broke his concentration but he didn’t snap at Ronon. Instead, he quickly snatched up both images and scrutinized them carefully. “I thought so!” he exclaimed, and looked at Teyla. “This is it, this is our big clue,” he said with an air of certainty as he reached for the picture of John that had been brought back from Istura. “Take a look at these. Notice anything different?”
He waited and watched while two sets of eyes pored over the three pictures, now laid out side by side on the table. However, he wasn’t that patient a person. “These two,” he said, waving the original pictures Teyla and Ronon had brought back to Atlantis, “don’t have this,” he used his forefinger to trace beneath a line written on the Isturan picture, the same line that Rodney had just been discussing with Teyla. “I’m guessing that somebody other than the Genii had an interest in Sheppard.”
“How does this help us?” Teyla wanted to know. “There is still nothing to link the Isturans to John’s abduction...”
“Au contraire,” Rodney replied with a satisfied grin. “Those ‘wanted dead or alive’ photo-ops were all part of Ladon’s complicated little takeover, as well as to advance their research into the Ancient gene and as such, there was only ever really one place they were distributed.”
“We don’t know that for a fact,” Ronon rumbled suspiciously.
“Well, okay, we don’t, but the only other place we’ve ever run into another one of these is Istura. And as far as I know, we’ve never had anybody else try to take me, or for that matter any other offworld team member with the ATA gene, in for the reward.”
“That’s ‘cause yours is fake,” Ronon said, barely hiding the smirk that wanted to appear.
“If anything, that my ATA ability was designed would make me highly valuable in terms of gene-therapy research,” McKay sniffed and then waved a hand. “Whatever, the point is, whoever was so keen on getting their paws on Sheppard likely duplicated more of his picture specifically and handed it out on Istura, with the added bonus of a personalized invitation for a big fat reward in the mother tongue, so to speak, if I can ever find a match on it in the database.”
As if summoned by the sheer force of McKay’s train of thought, both laptops working on the language identification and translation pinged at nearly the same time, and the scientist spun around on the stool, carefully working his arm back into the sling and stepping over to check each screen.
“Find somethin’?” Ronon prompted first, resisting the impulse to sigh impatiently.
“Yeah...” Rodney murmured, without elaborating at first as he leaned closer and pecked at the keyboard of one of the laptops with his good hand. “This is...oh this is so not good,” he murmured, and then looked up at his team-mates, who were now watching him expectantly. “According to the translation data, our mystery language appears to be the very old, very obscure written dialect of Istura’s religious class.”
“Sounds good enough to me,” Ronon enthused. “Weir’ll have to let us go.”
“I repeat; not good,” Rodney repeated with a shake of his head. “The language is a match but its base elements break down not into some theme or variation of Ancient, but into a distinctive code. A Wraith code.”
“Wraith?” Teyla echoed, trading anxious looks with Ronon. “What would the Isturans have to do with the Wraith?”
“I’m sure I don’t want to know,” Rodney replied with a grimace. “But this is some pretty old reference material. A lot can change in ten-thousand years. Maybe there was a connection but it’s more than possible it doesn’t exist anymore, or maybe their high priesthood thought this would make a suitably obscure language for their so-called sacred texts or something.”
“Or they’re traitors,” Ronon interjected disgustedly, his expression a reflection of his tone and his bearing as tense as anything Rodney had ever seen from him. “Either way, we gotta go back. If you’re right, they took Sheppard. And they know about Atlantis.”
“If I’m right...?”
“Ronon is correct; either way, we cannot risk the Wraith discovering that the city still exists,” Teyla added, her tone urgent. “Come, we must take this information to Elizabeth."
Rodney handed the pictures to Teyla. “You two take the information to Elizabeth. Somebody should...I should stay here and keep working.” He glanced between his two team-mates and hunched his shoulders. “I mean, seriously, I would love to go...beat the answers out of the Isturan Council with you and all, but saving Sheppard would be much better served by my staying here and helping Carson research that toxin.”
“You should stay with Sheppard,” Ronon agreed with a slight nod.
“Really?” Rodney blinked, having almost expected some resistance. “I mean, I know we want to get to the bottom of this, but what good will it be if Sheppard’s dead by the time we figure it all out?”
“Yes, indeed,” Teyla agreed as she took the pictures from the scientist. “It is important that we all do what we can to bring John completely back to us.”
“Good...okay...that’s good,” Rodney muttered as he perched upon the stool once more, facing the laptop that was carrying on the search of the medical database. Carefully easing his arm back out of the sling, he cautiously began typing with both hands again.
“Good luck, McKay,” Ronon intoned from the doorway as he followed Teyla out. Rodney glanced up and nodded slightly.
“You too.”
++++++
John woke up in near-darkness and for a brief, disoriented moment felt a bloom of panic in his chest when he didn’t know where he was. Aches and pains spoke the loudest in the dim lighting and for a moment he was back in Afghanistan, feeling the after-effects of a beating at the hands of Taliban militants. His heart hammered hard in his chest, making his headache spike and prompting a groan. Then he realized he was lying on a fairly comfortable bed with clean sheets, a warm blanket and a couple rather soft pillows...Infirmary, he told himself. His eyes adjusting to the dusky light, he cautiously shifted a little, unsurprised to see a nurse quickening her pace toward him.
“Colonel Sheppard?” she murmured quietly, and John recognized her as the nurse who had put the EEG pads on him however long ago. “You all right, sir?” She was already checking over the IV and the various monitors. He took note of her demeanor and the ‘sir’ with which she’d addressed him.
“Lieutenant?” he hazarded a hopeful guess, pleased to find his voice sounding, if not stronger, at least a little less hoarse. The nurse-a redhead, no less-smiled at him cheerfully.
“Not anymore, Sir,” she answered him. “Just made Captain last month...you pinned the bars on me yourself just a couple days before...” She cleared her throat, and made notations in his chart. “It was really nice, you know, and I didn’t really get a good chance to thank you for putting me up for promotion.”
“Don’t think I’ve got anyplace to go,” John kidded, but knew the light teasing wasn’t fooling her; the tired drawl he seemed to have permanently adopted completely ruining the effect. The nurse smiled anyway.
“Well then, I guess this is the perfect opportunity,” she said in kind. “Thank you, Colonel, for putting me up for promotion.”
“You’re welcome,” John replied as genially as he could under his current circumstances. “I’m sure I’ll remember...eventually...all the details of your...exemplary service and all that. Captain...?” His good hand motioned slightly, prompting a response.
“Noble, Sir. Captain Marlene Noble. But most people call me ‘Marley,’” the nurse filled in, and John nodded slightly in acknowledgement. “Can I get you anything, Colonel?” she asked solicitously.
“Doctor Beckett still on duty?” John wondered aloud, and ‘Marley’ shook her head.
“We made him take a break. Doctor Suhaila’s just come on shift, though. I can get her if you need...”
“No, that’s okay,” John reassured her and took a careful breath.
“Are you sure?” Marley watched him closely. “You look a little shaky, sir, and Doctor Suhaila is just over...”
John squeezed his eyes closed briefly as the headache pulsed through his temples, reminding him of its presence, and then he forced them open, giving his caretaker a cautious smile. “Just a dream, Captain. I’m...a little thirsty. If I could...” Giving her something to do, it seemed, was the best way to change the subject.
“Certainly,” Marley responded and poured a little water from a pitcher on a nearby tray table. Parking a straw into the cup, she brought it close for John to sip from the liquid within.
“Thanks,” John murmured and leaned his head back cautiously and wearily into the pillows.
“I’ll just be across the way if you need anything, Sir,” the nurse promised as she set the cup aside. “Try to go back to sleep.”
John squinted a little; was she kidding? The low bass note that had throbbed its way through his brain now seemed to be...vibrating through the rest of him. He didn’t know how else to explain it but it was as if it was all around him, now, beating at his body and mind, a distorted thrumming that, while making him weary beyond belief, at this moment was unlikely to let him go back to sleep.
“Okay,” he mumbled, probably a little insincerely, but he did close his eyes. Unbidden, a shiver traveled through him and he grunted at the soreness it produced in various places, but then it continued, becoming a series of uncomfortable chills that swept through him and he tugged at the blanket with his good hand.
“Are you cold, Colonel?” Marley was back, and John realized at some point he must’ve zoned out, because he hadn’t been aware of her return. Her blue eyes were somewhat round in a disbelieving expression. After a moment of hazy blinking, John realized the nurse was slightly sweating; she pushed aside strands of red hair plastered to her forehead.
“Little...little bit,” John murmured groggily. Despite himself, he shivered again and groaned as it swept fresh discomfort through him. Marley shook her head slightly.
“It’s really warm in here,” she commented as she retrieved a thermometer. “Just let me take your temperature, Sir.” She inserted the plastic tip into John’s ear and he obediently held still. The small beep, beep seemed almost unnaturally loud with the thumping rhythm carrying on in his head and he cringed. “One-oh-oh, even; it’s barely a fever, Colonel.” Marley offered him a reassuring smile. “If you really want, though, I can get you another blanket.” John nodded a little, closing his eyes.
“Thanks,” he mumbled as, a few moments later, he felt another of the deceptively light Infirmary blankets being layered over him.
“You’re welcome, Sir,” Marley said softly. “There’s a visitor here for you.” John cracked his eyes open. “Just a few minutes, okay?” the nurse was saying. “He really needs his rest.”
When the nurse stepped aside to go back to whatever she’d been doing earlier, John blinked in surprise to see a small boy edging closer to his bedside, eyes wide with worry. The face wasn’t any more familiar than anyone else’s around here, but the clear concern in the child’s eyes was enough to make him dredge up a smile from somewhere and try to ignore his various hurts.
“Hello, Colonel Sheppard,” the boy said uncertainly but before John could ask the kid’s name or try to figure out how he knew the little guy, his gaze was drawn to a rather tall man just stepping up behind the child, a broad hand coming to rest on the boy’s shoulder.
“Wickley wished to come see you before we returned...home,” the man said, and his voice was calm, and kindly. There was something odd in his way of speaking; not an accent necessarily so much as a tone of formality. John blinked up at him a little before nodding his acceptance. He was a little startled as small fingers wrapped around his hand and shifted his attention back to Wickley.
“Careful of the IV, buddy,” he warned first as he carefully shifted his hand a little; Wickley let go immediately but John reached up to take the smaller hand in his palm. “There, like that’s good,” he said, and offered the boy another smile. Wickley looked up at the tall man; perhaps his father, although John couldn’t see the resemblance, personally. Tall Guy nodded a bit and Wickley turned back to John.
“Are you feeling better?” Wickley asked outright, and from the flicker of the boy’s eyes, John could tell that the kid was trying not to overtly stare at the mottled bruises, the proliferation of medical equipment or the cast on his left arm. “Doctor McKay said you had a...really bad headache, and Halling says because you were hurt, you have forgotten...things.” John swallowed a little; the throbbing in his head joined by a brief clench of nausea, the latter feeding off the former along with a touch of nervousness at how to answer the child holding his hand.
“It’ll be all right,” he reassured first, squeezing the smaller hand and trying not to wince at the slight tug on the IV that produced. “They’re takin’ really good care of me, and they’re gonna help me get better and remember stuff. So don’t worry, okay?” He did his best to hold Wickley’s gaze.
“Okay,” Wickley said softly but to John’s mind he looked unconvinced. He had to admit that, in Wickley’s place, he’d be a little skeptical too, given what he must look like right now. John offered another small smile.
“I know it looks pretty bad,” he said carefully. “And I won’t lie to you; it doesn’t feel so good either. But Doctor Beckett’s gonna make sure I’m okay, and he gave me some medicine to help me feel better.”
“You promised to teach us how to play football,” Wickley’s voice was very soft now but the look on his face very hopeful, and John wondered briefly what he’d gotten himself into. He was saved from answering by the tall man, who squeezed Wickley’s shoulder slightly.
“You must be patient, Wickley,” he said firmly but not unkindly. “It will take much time and rest for Colonel Sheppard to be well again. When that is achieved, then we will see what he says about teaching you and your friends about this football.”
“Sounds...like a plan...to me,” John murmured, nodding thankfully to the tall guy before giving Wickley a reassuring, albeit tired, wink.
“You will not forget again?” Wickley asked carefully, wide eyes blinking back unwanted tears.
“Hey...hey,” John let go of the boy’s hand, reaching up to pat Wickley’s upper arm gently. “I promise, Wickley. I’m not gonna forget about you, buddy.” He hoped using the child’s name would help reinforce his intent. “All right then... You trust me, now?”
Wickley nodded, and despite the worried look, smiled a little.
“Come, now, Wickley,” the Tall Guy cajoled gently. “It is time to go. Colonel Sheppard needs rest, and so do you. Your family is waiting to see you.”
Wickley looked up over his shoulder and nodded, before leveling the most serious gaze he could muster at John. “I am sorry you were hurt so much,” he declared solemnly. “I hope you will be well again soon.”
“Me too,” John agreed wholeheartedly. “Workin’ on it.”
Tall Guy murmured something to Wickley about waiting for him in the outer area of the Infirmary; the boy nodded obediently, and quietly slipped away. “Thank you for those few minutes, Colonel,” he said warmly. “I know you do not remember us, but like Wickley, many of our children on the mainland have come to care a great deal for you.”
“Seems like...a good kid,” John observed tiredly; he was coming to the end of his endurance for this visit. “He your son? Uhm...?”
“I am Halling,” the man said with a slight cant of his head. “And no, Wickley is not my son. I am merely here to bring him home to his family.”
“Pleased to...meet you,” John breathed out; the effort to speak draining as well as adding to the throb in his head and, it seemed, to the general soreness of his body. His eyelids betrayed his will as they dipped lower despite a willingness to continue the conversation. Any little nugget that might trigger his wayward memories was appreciated. Obviously he was on friendly and familiar terms with these two, and he wouldn’t mind a little more time to try to unearth the history. Halling certainly wasn’t the military type; true, he carried himself with the unassuming air of someone who’d had a hard life and was familiar with hard work, yet with gentleness that spoke of something more aesthetic, perhaps even spiritual. It was a curious combination of personality elements.
A combination that John’s sluggish brain would have to ponder later; where he hadn’t believed sleep all that possible earlier, now with or without his permission his body seemed determined to return to it despite the nagging, gnawing ache. Halling was saying something, taking his leave, but John couldn’t quite bring himself to respond, eyelids slipping completely closed. It occurred to him vaguely, just before sleep claimed him completely, that where he’d been chilled before, he now felt as if he was dragging in ninety-degree heat.
Then it didn’t matter anymore.
++++++
“Radek,” Elizabeth looked up expectantly from her desk. “What can you tell me?” Her tone was just as expectant, and the Czech grimaced briefly.
“Not nearly enough,” he prefaced before stating flatly, “Put simply, Atlantis’ systems are inexplicably failing. It is only a matter of time before the city is completely incapacitated.”
“Failing?” Weir echoed as she leaned sharply back in her chair, stunned. “I don’t understand; failing how? Is there something wrong with the ZPM?”
“No, it’s not a power issue, at least, not as far as availability. The ZPM and the naquadah generators are perfectly intact,” Zelenka explained with a helpless shake of his head. “But for reasons we don’t understand, the city is slowly losing its ability to maintain power levels necessary to operate properly. So far only basic systems have been affected, but eventually it will spread to far more critical functions. As yet, city-wide diagnostics have failed to reveal any equipment malfunctions or integrity issues that could cause or contribute to the problem.”
“You’re right,” Elizabeth agreed as she folded her arms. “It’s not enough. We need options, Radek.”
“I have, however, been examining the various power fluctuations and system failures from the first confirmed reports,” Zelenka continued, pushing his glasses up as he spoke. “While the initial occurrences seemed quite random...lights, environmental systems...they have in fact settled into an almost predictable pattern now.”
Weir leaned forward once again, her attention fixed on the Czech. “So...what does that give us?”
“Until we can discover the source of the trouble, again not much,” Radek admitted. “But it appears, we think, that Atlantis is gradually initiating a...type of emergency hibernation mode, not unlike when we first arrived, really, except...” Zelenka trailed off uncertainly and glanced aside.
“Except what? Radek?” Weir prompted.
“Except this time, we don’t know why; perhaps it is some sort of automatic backup but we don’t know what initiated it. And I’m not at all sure we’ll be able to reestablish the city’s power grid. There has been damage done to several of the underlying secondary systems during the various shutdowns. If Atlantis’ primary systems fail completely, it may become permanent, irreversible damage.” He cleared his throat nervously. “We would effectively lose the city.”
Elizabeth exhaled sharply, and after a moment, nodded reluctantly. “I’ll get Rodney to join you on this,” she declared, but before she could as much as reach for her earpiece, she realized her doorway was being filled by a tall, agitated Satedan. “Ronon?”
“They were working with the Wraith,” Ronon growled unhappily, once again dropping the Genii picture of Sheppard onto her desk. “McKay says that,” he pointed to the particular line of writing, “proves it.”
“What?” Elizabeth exclaimed, startled. “Who was working with the Wraith?” Behind Ronon, Teyla stepped into the office, calm and collected as ever, except for a barely perceptible tension in her stance.
“Rodney deciphered the various languages represented here,” the Athosian explained in more detail. “The one Ronon pointed out to you is a variation of a Wraith code, and it is employed by the Isturans.” Teyla paused only briefly before continuing. “If the Wraith become aware of Atlantis’ continued existence...”
“We gotta go back there and find out what those people know,” Ronon stated simply, shoulders bunched with barely restrained anger as he leaned down, palms flat on her desk. “Whether you want us to or not, I’m goin’.”
“And I am going with him,” Teyla declared, her expression becoming grim and determined. “We must learn the truth behind Colonel Sheppard’s capture. For his sake as much as our own.”
“Sheppard’s runnin’ outta time,” Ronon pushed away from Elizabeth’s desk and nodded vaguely past his shoulder, indicating the Infirmary beyond. “You know what McKay and Beckett said; that drug’s messing with his brain. If the Wraith had somethin’ to do with it...” The Satedan shook his head vehemently and turned away.
“Ronon, wait,” Elizabeth called after the tall fighter as he started for the door, presumably to carry out his intentions.
“I’m done waiting,” Ronon said, although he did stop walking and turned just enough to look at her.
“I know it’s been a difficult time for you,” Elizabeth stated as she pushed up from her chair. Coming around her desk, she crossed over to stand in front of the taller man. A heartbeat passed between them before he looked down at her directly, but he said nothing. “Believe me; it hasn’t been easy on any of us. I know I can’t stop you from leaving Atlantis, but if you were determined to go regardless of what I had to say, you wouldn’t be here right now asking my approval for this mission.”
She watched as the Satedan shifted his stance, eyeing her frankly.
“So...?” Ronon prompted impatiently.
“So give me a chance to weigh the information and make the decision you came here for,” she said firmly, not backing away from his gaze. She held the silence a moment longer. “I happen to agree with you. We need to know if the Wraith-or the Genii, for that matter-were involved in what happened to John. Now that you’ve established the probable involvement of the Isturans beyond a simple hunch, that’s good enough for me.”
Elizabeth could feel his eyes on her as she turned around and headed back toward her desk.
“So you’re gonna let us go?” Ronon faced Elizabeth once again, but he was still in the doorframe.
“Yes,” Weir answered as she settled back into her chair and then looked up at the Satedan. “I am...along with a team of Marines.”
“Doctor Weir?” Radek spoke up from where he’d remained, pushing his glasses up nervously. “That could potentially be a problem. The Gate hasn’t been affected by the system failures yet, but it is only a matter of time before it...”
“It’s workin’ now?” Ronon asked flatly, pinning the shorter Czech to the wall with a blunt stare.
“Well, yes, at the moment the DHD and the Gate are still drawing power; it’s my estimation the Gate would be one of the last...”
“Then we go,” Ronon shrugged.
“We could lose power to the Gate while you’re offworld,” Radek replied evenly.
“If that happens,” Elizabeth interjected, “and you run into trouble, we won’t be able to help you.”
“Perhaps it would be better, then,” Teyla intervened, “if Ronon and I were to depart immediately, before the opportunity is lost.” She glanced at Radek before continuing. “If the need arises, we can gate to the Alpha site until the problem here is resolved.”
Weir exhaled slowly as she leaned forward on the desk, lacing her fingers together in a deliberate manner. “I’d prefer if you waited for that team of Marines,” she said first, before looking up at Sheppard’s team-mates. “We spent three weeks searching for John, not even knowing if he was still alive. I’d rather not spend another three weeks doing the same for you.”
“You won’t,” Ronon reassured steadily, arms folded across his chest. “And if this is Wraith, and they’re plannin’ somethin’, better for Atlantis if your people are here to defend it.” He glanced over at Radek, and the Czech cleared his throat slightly.
“There’s no reason-yet-to believe the Wraith know the city survived. Long range sensors are still active at this point; they’re clear,” Zelenka provided without being asked aloud. “No sign of Wraith activity anywhere in the vicinity. Like the Gate, I imagine the sensors would be one of the last systems to be affected.”
“If you must send others with us,” Teyla addressed Elizabeth once again, “Consider the offer my people have made to help gather information. They will be discreet, and have many contacts that would be willing to aid us should it prove necessary to pursue the search beyond the Isturans.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips thoughtfully as she regarded the Athosian leader; her eyes narrowing slightly as she recalled her earlier discussion out on the balcony. Had that really only been a few hours ago? “Halling did speak to me about his desire-about the Athosian desire-to help John by contributing to the investigation into his kidnapping.”
“I am certain he will have an able group readied within the hour to depart for Istura,” Teyla asserted.
Weir exhaled slowly and reached up to rub her forehead briefly. In her head she could already hear what would normally be the expected protest from John Sheppard regarding the safety of the civilians under the city’s protection. However, Sheppard wasn’t in a position to make that protest, and there was a certain validity to keeping the Marines in Atlantis should the Wraith learn the city still existed and execute some sort of attack. Besides the fact that Halling had also made a point...it would go a long way to healing past trust issues, plus the Athosians still knew their way around Pegasus a lot more than the Lantean expedition.
“Very well,” Elizabeth rubbed the back of her neck now but met Teyla’s gaze. “I don’t believe the pilot that brought Halling over from the mainland has taken him back yet; I’ll have the lieutenant report here and take you to the mainland. Gather what help you’ll need, and then he’ll pilot the jumper to Istura. That way, you’ll have a protected escape through the Gate, if that becomes necessary. Hopefully it won’t.”
“Thank you, Doctor Weir,” Teyla replied with a slight nod. “We will return as quickly as possible.” Taking Ronon in with a glance, the Athosian strode quickly from Elizabeth’s office with the intention of preparing for their return to Istura. Elizabeth turned her gaze to Ronon as well, and was surprised when the Satedan also inclined his head to her, an approving expression in the forbidding features before he turned in silent, fluid motion to follow after his team-mate.
“Good luck,” Weir murmured softly as she watched their retreat through the operations area, and then sat back with a breath as she realized Zelenka was still there, datapad in hand. She held the Czech’s gaze as she activated her earpiece and summoned McKay.
Ronon and Teyla weren’t the only ones in need of some good luck.