"Home is Where the Heart Is" (1/6)
Title: "Home is Where the Heart Is" (1/6)
Authors: everybetty and kristen999
Word Count: 55,000-
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Some violence and a couple f-bombs
Genre: Gen. Drama, Action, H/C
Characters: Sheppard, McKay, Ronon, Teyla, Todd, various SG-1 members and OCs.
Summary: Atlantis is back on Earth; things should be quiet and boring, light years away from Pegasus. While trying to find a place in this new life, John struggles with politics, a pending promotion… oh, and a deadly conspiracy that threatens the lives of everyone on Earth. Again. John POV, Post-EATG.
Notes: This was written for susnn, thanks to her generous donation to help_haiti .
********
From:Blocked
To: Blocked
Date:01.17.09
Subject: Status Update
Date for the US hearing is being set for spring session. It cannot be postponed. Our friends are uncertain if we have sufficient votes for the desired outcome. Certain parties may have enough influence to sway opinions and endanger global initiatives.
How would you like to proceed?
E.H.
*******
From:Blocked
To: Blocked
Date:01.17.09
Subject: RE:Status Update
Money transfers have been made to secure key chairmanship, but we risk our voice getting lost in committee. The U.S review board will have a powerful influence on the U.N and IOA's final decision. They must be shown the dangers of poor choices and ensure security of the package. We must begin.
V.T
*******
From:Blocked
To: Blocked
Date:01.18.09
Subject: Steps under way
Paperwork and personnel changes have been made. Awaiting signal on delivery options. Will have the pipeline in place.
E.H
***********
From:Blocked
To: Blocked
Date:01.20.09
Subject: Steps under way
You have a go.
V.T
*************
-----------------------------
The office was spartan, reeking of fresh paint and new carpet, yet having a sense of permanence. The chair was new too, shiny black leather with a back that creaked in unfamiliar ways when he shifted. It would take years to break a new one in and force it to recline far enough for him to take a nap... not that he planned on being here long enough to do that. Of course, that's what he'd said about the temporary office they'd set up for him down the hall in what could have been an old storage closet.
Then last week he'd been given this larger space.
It screamed get used to me.
He rearranged his laptop and a stack of leaning files waiting for his review. The technologies of two galaxies and they still hadn’t found a way to go paperless. He picked up the name plaque, traced his fingers over the gold lettering on mahogany, finding it ridiculously wrong.
The walls were supposed to be soft gray with recessed blue lighting, not an ugly beige. He shouldn't be able to pace around his office; it should be cramped and disorganized, with a miniature basketball hoop over his trashcan and a window that opened out to ocean breezes.
Most of all, when he closed his eyes, he was supposed to sense a humming in his veins, a tingle across his skin and not the dead silence of disconnection. It made him feel empty, an aching loneliness filling him up, despite being surrounded by hundreds on base. He’d gone from floating atop an ocean to being burrowed deep inside a mountain.
You lead a strange life, John, he thought.
His phone rang again, like it did all day long and he snapped it up with a gruff, “Yeah, Petty Officer.”
“Colonel, your meeting with Major Donnell has been moved to tomorrow morning at 0800.”
John chewed his lip, trying to recall what the original time had been.
“You were supposed to meet with him later today, but you haven't e-mailed me your final report to go over.”
“Riiiight, the inspection at Minot,” John spoke into the receiver. He was supposed to coordinate things with Donnell and the engineers on a fun-filled trip to North Dakota. The 5th Bomb Wing, 91st Space Wing housed the second largest units of 302's. “I'll...um, send my report after lunch.”
“Yes, sir. Your flight is scheduled next week Tuesday at 1200 with the major to personally oversee everything.”
“Right.”
“Then you'll fly to Washington for your---”
“Briefing with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, yeah got it.”
John was about to hang up, but PO Nelson was quicker. “Also, Major Lorne's here to see you, sir.”
“Send him in.”
He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to having someone scheduling all his meetings or appointments and ensuring he made them all in time. (And covering his ass when he forgot something). Having a fresh cup of coffee whenever he wanted was a neat perk, and so was having lunch delivered, but going to the mess meant he got to leave the same four walls and their headache- inducing paint fumes.
The door opened and Lorne paused briefly to read John's name stenciled on the front with a quirked eyebrow of amusement. “Morning, Colonel,” he greeted with a smile.
“Major.”
Lorne strolled in with a stack of folders in one hand and a mug of steaming coffee in another. “Sorry I'm late, but my mission debriefing lasted longer than I anticipated.”
John leaned back casually. “How's going off-world?”
Lorne laughed, slapping a layer of yellow dust off the front of his green fatigues. “Dirty.”
“I see.”
Eyes wide, Lorne stared at the floor. “Oh shit. I'm sorry,” and he tried to rid the dirt with the heel of his boot, only to end up spreading more of it around.
“Don't worry about it,” he said hastily, barely able to keep the eagerness out of his voice. “Run into anything interesting?”
“Not really. I was too busy explaining to Dr. Tosh that looking up from his LSD while navigating near a ravine might be a good idea when I slipped and fell on my ass.”
John chuckled. “Guess Atlantis' toys are a little too shiny for some.”
Lorne shrugged, eyes roaming the empty bookshelves and walls. “At least I didn't get shot at, but it was only my first mission. After two weeks of R&R I've been up to my eyeballs in meetings and paperwork. The IOA has a list of debriefings a mile long for the review hearing.” Sitting down in the chair, he slapped a fat file down. “What about you, sir? Scuttlebutt has Homeworld Security's in the middle of an internal war over us.”
“Yeah, well, half of them want Atlantis to remain here, the other....”
John let things trail off. Realistically, closer to only one third supported the idea of Atlantis returning to Pegasus, one third were adamant about the city remaining on Earth and the stragglers wanted more analysis. It was one of the biggest security decisions ever, especially given the destruction of the only control chair on Earth and the bounty of Ancient technology at everyone’s fingertips.
Thinking about it gave him a headache. He despised politics, yet he was on the front line in the fight to return Atlantis to Pegasus.
“When do you meet with the IOA?” Lorne asked, interrupting John's thoughts.
“I've got two meetings next week before I head to Washington.” John hesitated and thought about checking his laptop to see if he’d gotten the dates right, but thought better of it. That's why he had Petty Officer Nelson. “But more importantly, Landry approved our F302 defensive program. Been going through personnel files.”
He felt Lorne’s steady gaze and John stopped rustling through the stack of manila folders. “What?”
“Nothing. It's just...”
“Just what?”
“When's the last time you clocked in less than a twelve hour day?”
“I dunno. When was the last time we had one on Atlantis?”
“There weren't many, but we're not on Atlantis anymore, sir.”
“That's the point, Major.”
Lorne looked like he wanted to push the subject. John pointed at his stack of files. “There's no point in arguing with Homeworld that Atlantis is better in Pegasus if we don't draw up a better defense program against a possible Wraith attack. Those bastards created one super-Hive and despite the IOA's doubts, we know they're capable of creating more.”
“Agreed. And we need to get back there to keep that from happening.”
“That means having a capable defense strategy, including training our people here on Wraith tactics.”
“So, we need to pick a top five list of candidates.”
“We'll train them. They'll train the others.”
“Did someone magically add ten additional hours to the day when I wasn't looking?”
John scowled at that so Lorne snagged a thick section of files from the stack and blew out a breath. “Alright then,” and he started sorting.
John rubbed a thumb and finger over his eyes with a sigh, then picked up the first jacket. He was going to have to log a lot of hours in the air what with the mound of bureaucratic red tape growing. Not to mention the dog and pony show of that other thingnext month. Glancing around at his barren office, he decided that he didn't have a better use of his time.
---------
“You still have that dartboard?”
John sat up and stretched out his back. “Can't settle on your last choice?”
“Hard to choose, sir.”
John's phone rang again. He glanced at the ID and felt a flare of irritation. “Talk to me.”
“Captain Cutler is here to see you, sir.”
“Send him in, Mr. Nelson.” John hung the phone up. “Maybe we'll leave the selection to someone else.”
“That Cutler?”
“Yeah, we're lucky he was inside the mountain.”
Almost everyone from the 341st Space Wing was stationed at Malmstrom and it'd take days to transfer everyone over to the Montana base. John watched the door, brow furrowing when it didn't open. There was noise on the other side, so someone was standing there and blocking the light at the crack at the bottom.
“Did you accidentally lock it?” John asked, ready to get up.
Lorne grinned ear to ear. “Maybe he's nervous.”
John rolled his eyes. “Don't start.”
“I'm not starting anything. It's not every day people get to bask in the glow of a real life legend.”
Lorne was clearly enjoying himself and John crumpled the nearest slip of paper, aiming it at his XO's head when the door burst open; a blur of motion with shorn orange hair snapped to attention. “Captain Cutler as requested, sir.”
John gave a halfhearted salute in return. “At ease, Captain.”
Cutler was stiff as a board, never giving John eye contact. He was in his early thirties and looked like he'd spent a good amount of time at the gym, and from his record, he'd seen plenty of action off-world. He was currently in zone for promotion to major and from all the letters of recommendation in his jacket, there wasn't going to be an issue.
John waved toward the empty chair next to Lorne. “Have a seat, Captain.”
Cutler wasn't moving and Lorne was ready to burst out in laughter, but composed himself into a steely gaze. “The colonel gave you an order, Captain,” he snapped.
John felt the air move as Cutler scrambled into his seat and John gave Lorne a look that said, knock it off, but Lorne mouthed 'no way.'
Cutler's spine was a straight line and a pair of sharp blue eyes stared straight ahead, waiting for John to speak.
“I read your jacket, pretty impressive,” John broke the ice. “You flew with the Blue Squadron under Colonel Mitchell before you were transferred to the Sun Tzu two years ago, then the Phoneix for a tour.”
“Yes, sir. The Phoneix just got refitted into the Hammond a few months ago and I completed my second rotation last week.” Cutler looked at John directly for the first time, passion and sincerity giving him a hard edge. “I wish I'd been here when Atlantis arrived to give a hand, sir.”
That was why John loved face to faces: medals and evaluations only told half the story. “You fought in the battle over Antarctica when you were a lieutenant and served off-world; it makes you a very suitable candidate for a special assignment.”
Cutler's face lit up, but he schooled it quickly. “Sir?”
“Our units are not prepared to defend against a Wraith invasion. We're taking our top five pilots, and pairing them with men who were under my command on Atlantis to teach you about Wraith tactics and how to defend against and attack darts.” At the lack of response John added, “You’re one of the top five, Captain.”
John waited for questions or perhaps spontaneous combustion based on how Cutler's eyes widened or the friction produced by his fast bouncing knees.
Lorne, who'd been silently enjoying the show, leaned toward the captain. “Do you need me to wipe the drool off your face?”
Cutler's ecstatic smile disappeared and his body became another coil of knots. “No, sir.”
“Relax,” Lorne slapped the guy on the shoulder. “This will be fun. Besides, half the stories you think you've heard about our adventures are wrong. You know what writing mission reports is like.”
Relaxing slightly, Cutler's shoulders lowered. “Yes, sir.”
“Which, of course, is why we left all the crazy shit out.” Lorne shot John a manic grin.
It'd been a long time since John had seen such a petrified expression. “You'll be fine. I look forward to getting back in the air. Kinda sick of being underground.”
“It'll be an honor flying with you, sir.”
John stood, deflecting the accolades. “Every pilot can teach another something new. Can't wait to see what you’ve got.”
Cutler shot to his feet immediately. “Thank you, sir. Will you be providing a set of parameters for the final evaluation?”
“Of course,” John replied, thinking he might want to type some up.
“And there will be war games,” Lorne helpfully piped up.
Cutler's voice went an octave higher. “War games, sir?”
John was going to super-glue everything in Lorne's quarters to the floor. “Did I forget to mention that? You'll be on Earth's side.”
“Yes, sir. And the Wraith side?”
Lorne stood up and gave a cocky grin. “Colonel Sheppard will be leading the Wraith invasion.”
John cleared his throat. “All those under my command on Atlantis will be on the Wraith side since they're the most familiar with their strategy, including Major Lorne.”
Cutler thanked them both two or three times before his hasty exit.
“You forgot to ask him to pick our last candidate,” Lorne jibed.
“I'll shoot him an e-mail.”
“Oh, I dunno, I think your yeoman could handle it for you.”
“Keep it up, Major,” John drawled at the Navy joke.
“Sorry, sir. I know, with Atlantis in an ocean, they're allowing more squids to work on base, but it‘s still a little weird,” Lorne chuckled. “Seriously, though. You were the most active field commander I've ever served under and somehow you managed your paperwork and city administration.”
“It was all part of the job.”
“That include being on call twenty-four seven? You have more hands on the ground now than we ever did back home.” John wondered if Lorne realized what he'd called Atlantis, but his XO never missed a beat. “It was about time you got a personal gatekeeper.” Lorne snagged his now cold cup of coffee and stuffed his folder under his arm. “And congrats on that other thing. You deserve it, sir.”
“Other thing, Major?” John drawled with a raised eyebrow, daring him to speak further of it.
His XO was no dummy.
“Sorry, sir. Musta been thinking of another Lt Colonel who flew a nuke into a Wraith superhive.” He quirked a smile, turned smoothly on his heel to leave.
John had no more turned his own hidden smirk back towards the pile on his desk when he heard smack! Splash! and looked up to see Rodney McKay doing a slow burn, cold coffee dripping down the front of his t-shirt. Brown stained white lettering that said “easy as 3.141593…”.
“Oh for the love of”-Rodney sputtered. “Just like the military, always full steam ahead without regard for what’s in their way.”
Lorne’s face tightened into a rictus of a grin. “Sorry, doc. I’d say something about absent-minded professors with their heads too far up their - books- to see where they were going, but I’m too busy with the full steam ahead thing.” He flung coffee off his fingertips with a grimace, resettled his file under his arm and stalked out the door.
Rodney hooked a thumb behind him. “I think he may have taken offense at that.”
“Ya think?” John sighed. “We military guys are awfully uptight, aren’t we?”
“You’ve noticed that too, huh?” Rodney answered cluelessly. He wiped halfheartedly at the damp spot on his chest, then pulled out the chair and flopped bonelessly in it. “Whatcha doin?”
John’s eyes widened at the piles of work on his desk. Shook his head and leaned lazily back in his chair. “Why twiddling my thumbs, Rodney, completely at a loss as to what to do until you showed up.”
“Funny. Seriously, what are you doing?”
“My job, Rodney. Why aren’t you doing yours?”
Rodney waved a finger at him. “See? Uptight.”
“McKay!”
“Fine. I’ve been working on cleaning up the FEMA-certified disaster area we used to call Area 51 only now it looks more like 1945 Dresden.”
John winced at the allusion. He knew very well what had been done to that little patch of land in Nevada, had witnessed it very first hand while five miles above the earth and still carrying the nuclear bomb he’d assumed would kill him.
“Yet here you are in Colorado, Rodney,” John prompted impatiently.
“Yet here I am in Colorado,” Rodney echoed with a grim nod. “Regrettably, despite certain advancements we have been witness to, there is, for now, no way to clone myself. The powers that be, in their ever so infinite wisdom, found my knowledge and expertise to be such that they cannot function without my input on matters of the gravest importance.”
“And those matters would be?” John sighed tiredly.
Rodney waved a hand. “Oh, you know. The trivial matter of a certain floating island city spaceship of rather, shall we say ancient origin, that currently sits in the frigid waters of the Arctic Sea. Apparently some of the Polar Kalaallit have started spreading tales of a phantom iceberg or something, scaring away their food supply.” He laughed. “They sent hunters and shaman out in a squadron of kayaks. Imagine, the city defeated not by Replicators or Wraith but by a bunch of Eskimos with harpoons and orca teeth necklaces.”
“It’s not funny, McKay,” John growled, his already thin patience showing holes.
Rodney sat up. “No. No, it’s not, really. Because it took a week of dithering back and forth with every freaking arm of the military, every necktie and high-heel wearing bureaucrat from every country in the IOA and then some to decide where to park the city for the foreseeable future. And now, because a few hundred igloo-dwellers can’t club baby seals for breakfast anymore, I have been called away from the crucial job of rebuilding Earth’s defenses to find a new home for the city.”
“She has a home, Rodney,” John said quietly. It had been a sore spot, a bone of contention between them since the city had landed in the Bay. And lately, the more meetings he attended, the more voices he heard… John felt his opinion was quickly being marginalized.
Rodney at least had the decency to glance away before his retort. He sat back with a huff that fell somewhere between apology and exasperation. “You're military, as you like to remind me all the time. Thought you’d be more used to the idea of moving bases, pitching your tent on foreign soil, all that.” He sighed and his voice softened. “It really does make sense to keep the city here, John.”
“Et tu, Rodney?” John scowled. Then he sat forward, jabbed a finger at his friend. “You know as well as I do, Atlantis belongs back in Pegasus. Sooner rather than later.”
“I know nothing of the sort,” Rodney replied, but he didn’t meet John’s eyes. “You know, even with my expertise and every Army Corp engineer on the planet, rebuilding 51 is still months, maybe years away. And even once we finish, even if they churn out hundreds of 302s… none of that is gonna make a bit of difference without a chair. No chair, no drones. No drones, no defense against the Wraith. Or hell, with our luck the Ori or the Replicators or the fricking Gouald actually become relevant again. Can you leave Earth defenseless? I have family here, John. And so do you.”
John felt his face burn hot. “Family? You wanna talk about family, McKay? Teyla left family behind, in Pegasus. Here, the Wraith are a maybe. Back there, they’re a constant threat. And the longer we sit here, debating, the stronger the Wraith are getting. We go back, we stop them there and they don’t make it back to Earth.”
“Stop them there?” Rodney scoffed. “We were there five years. We got our asses handed to us by the Wraith time and again. We come up with X, they come up with Z, they don’t even bother with Y, they skip right over it. Super. Hive, Sheppard.”
“This time, it’ll be-“
“Different?” Rodney said evenly. “When the only reason we defeat a Wraith attack means you, and me, I might add, hand-detonating a nuclear bomb we’re sitting on… Honestly, John. How many chances will that play get? There really isn’t much beyond your precious Hail Mary… it’s kinda why they call it that.”
Rodney rose from his seat and straightened his wrinkly t-shirt over his track pants. “You may want to consider that some of us are happy to be back on Earth. Coffee shops, secretaries, the internet. You know, they declassified some of my discoveries and accomplishments. I’ll get to publish again, with M Rodney McKay PhD, PhD, etc on the cover. Jeannie and I are even considering a collaboration, although her math isn’t quite at my level. It’s been kinda nice, talking to her when she isn’t being kidnapped. Have you, um, even let Dave know you’re back?”
Now it was time for John to avert his eyes. “Been a little busy, McKay.”
“Figured as much,” Rodney muttered. “Well, seeing as how you’re so busy…”
Damnit. John’s first Atlantis visitor since Lorne in a week and here he was practically chasing the guy out the door. “Look, Rodney…” He leaned back and tried on a smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so…”
“Sheppard?”
His smile tightened. “Point taken. You know, they make a mean cheeseburger in the commissary. You feel like grabbing one a little later? You can steal my fries.”
Rodney flushed and bounced a little on his toes. “You see, I, uh… well I kinda already made plans with Jennifer. We haven’t had a real dinner together in-“
“I get it, Rodney, I get it,” John sighed. Then he screwed his smile into a grin. “Tell the doc I said hi.”
“Oh, sure, of course.” Rodney nodded his head towards the door, stalled for a second, then gave a small wave bye and turned towards the door. He paused mid-way out, turned back and gave John a piercing look. “You know, once things quiet down a little, I’ll be taking a team through the city. Like really through it, like we never got to before. I’m thinking you might wanna join us?”
“I dunno, between the defense program and the upcoming review in--
“For Pete's sake, John. As much as you want us to be, we're not in Pegasus anymore. Whether our exile on Earth is temporary or not, have you ever given any thought beyond the next crisis?”
“Have you seen my calendar for the next month?”
“I'm talking about long-term goals. You know, the future?” Rodney missed John's grimace. “I've had what? Two dozen job offers? Not counting the ones I've dismissed completely. And you know...um...look. All I'm saying is, let's take a deep breath. Enjoy a few moments without fear of dying the next day. We could go back through the city with real resources, taking our time. Betcha we could get Teyla and Ronon to join up. Just like old times.”
John gave him a grin back. “Sure, Rodney. Sounds great. Just like old times.”
His answer seemed to be what Rodney wanted to hear. The physicist smiled and nodded to himself, slapped the door jamb and headed out without another word.
Just like old times John sighed and let the smile drop. Old times like a few weeks ago.
“I’m sorry, sir!”
John looked up to see his aide, face flushed, standing rigidly in the doorway.
“I tried to explain to Dr McKay that he needed to make an appointment to see you, Colonel, but he just - he just -“
“Just waltzed on in like he owned the place, Petty Officer?”
“Um… he… y-yes, sir.”
“Yeah, he does that,” John drawled tiredly. “I’ll tell you what? Add him to the ‘never needs an appointment’ list, Nelson. It’ll make your life a lot easier.”
The Petty Officer looked at him like he was certifiable and John had to choke back a chuckle.
“B-but my job is to make your life easier, Colonel.”
“That’s a helluva big job, Nelson. Let’s just say that not having to deal with Dr McKay squawking about not being allowed in my office will make my life easier.”
The kid swallowed and stuttered out a nod. Then he pulled out the hated datapad and tapped the screen. “I, um … I’m sorry, sir, but I got a high priority email from General O’Neill, asking if you needed a visit from IT.”
John’s eyebrows rose while the kid swallowed again and swiped a hand over his forehead, wiping away the sweat that beaded there. “He… he said he’s gotten no reply to the last, um, seven emails he’s sent you. Sir.”
“And why would that make him suggest IT, Mr. Nelson?”
The kid managed a nervous smile and hugged his datapad to his chest. “Um, it may be because in answer to his prior high priority email to me I may have suggested you were having, um… server issues.”
Server issues. Huh. He had to hand it to the kid- he could think on his feet. “You do realize, Petty Officer, that we are all on the same server. If you got the general’s email then there are no server problems.”
“Oh, yes, sir. I realize it, but… well, I don’t think the general does. He’s more of a ‘control-alt-delete fixes everything’ kinda guy. Sir.”
O’Neill’s disdain for computers was well known in the SGC.
“Thank you, Petty Officer. I believe my server problems have resolved.”
“Glad to hear it, sir,” the kid exhaled in obvious relief. John felt a small pang of guilt at putting the kid in O’Neill’s line of fire over his reluctance. “Did you need anything, sir? I made a fresh pot of coffee…”
John shook his head. The last cup was still burning the length of his esophagus. Nelson’s coffee, even fresh, was black and thick as tar. Fortifying when needed, but he needed extra Tums if he had more than two cups. “All set, Nelson, thanks.”
“Of course, sir. If there’s nothing else, sir?”
“Not at the moment, nope.”
“If you need anything at all --”
“I have your number,” John broke in with a grim smile. I see it come up a hundred times a day.
“Oh. Of course, sir. I’ll let you get back to --”
“My emails, Petty Officer. No worries.”
The kid nodded and turned to leave. John glanced at his watch, realized that once again he’d be alone for dinner. But he hadn’t been lying to Rodney about the burgers… “Actually, Mr. Nelson, it looks like I’ll be having dinner in my office tonight.” Like every other night. “Can you have them send over a cheeseburger later?”
“Medium rare, cheddar, onions, leave off the salad, ketchup on the side, yes, sir.”
Damn, he needed to leave his office to eat more often. “Thank you, Mr. Nelson. Dismissed.”
After he heard the office door close he turned back to his laptop, moused over the blinking envelope in the bottom toolbar. He was up to eight unopened messages. Damn.
Blowing out a breath, he leaned against the too new leather chair and stared at an office lacking his personal effects. There hadn't been the need to make himself at home here; it was a sign of giving in, or that was what he told himself. Truth was, he didn't have mementos or photos worth putting in frames. Rodney’s jab to the contrary, he’d called Dave. Okay, maybe he'd only spoken to his brother's secretary, and maybe he hadn't made any follow-up calls. Dave was in Europe for a few weeks, John would catch up with him eventually.
A ninth new message popped up on his computer screen.
Rodney was right. John hadn't given much thought to his future. And since when? Most of his career had consisted of high risk assignments, and when they needed experienced men to pilot covert CIA ops and ferry ghost units in and out of Afghanistan… well, he wasn't supposed to think any further than the mission. Then, after his exile to Antarctica, he hadn’t given a damn about anything except clear skies and a cold beer.
And the last few years......
No wonder he'd stared blankly at General Landry while discussing John's OPRs when it came time to outline his five year goals.
“Colonel, have you given thought to your next assignment? Your completed fit reps and RFPs have been sent to the board and final approval from the Senate is scheduled for this week, although it's all but a formality. You need to make some choices once the promotion goes through.”
A tenth unread message popped into his e-mail.
The truth of the matter was he'd never really had a clear picture of what he wanted for his himself beyond keeping all his hair, even if it all went gray. There‘d been too many times when his future was whittled down to minutes or seconds… He didn't have a death wish, but recent circumstances had never allowed him to entertain anything farther out, and now that he had all these options and choices... It was more than a little overwhelming.
Hell, he still sometimes wondered if being back on Earth was an alien manipulated virtual reality or another Replicator mind meld. It'd explain why walking through the halls of the SGC felt like a stroll through the Twilight Zone. Gone were the days of being an object of gossip and suspicion, and while not all his past actions would ever be forgotten, the respect of those around him was genuine.
And every day, he waited for the next shoe to drop.
“But right, now I need to clear away this e-mail,” he muttered.
He arrowed down to the first one from O’Neill.
********
From: J.O'Neill
To: J.Sheppard
Date:01.21.09
Subject: Post
Sheppard,
The Odyssey’s coming home in a few months and Colonel Davidson is retiring. The paperwork is done for Caldwell to take the helm. The repairs and upgrades to the Daedalus will be complete at the same time. I'm still waiting your answer.
O’Neill
********
From: J.O'Neill
To: J.Sheppard
Date:01.22.09
Subject: Post
Sheppard,
Did you get my last e-mail? There's no other J. Sheppard in my contact list. I'm attaching the command transfer form for the Daedalus if you've made your decision.
O’Neill
********
From: J.O'Neill
To: J.Sheppard
Date:01.23.09
Subject: The future
Sheppard,
Look, I get it. The status of Atlantis is up in the air until the results of the review hearing. That's two months away. Command assignments have to be completed sixty days ahead of time, you know that. Paperwork's a bitch.
The new Daedalus mission is a perfect fit. Active patrol of Pegasus months before any actions from the hearing. Barring repeals and more hearings, of course. It could be a year before we have a real answer.
O’Neill
********
From:J.O'Neill
To: J.Sheppard
Date:01.24.09
Subject: Answer damn it!
Sheppard,
You have seven days to make your decision. That or I can make it for you.
Command of your own warship.
Command of an empty research city.
O’Neill
********
From: J.O'Neill
To: J.Sheppard
Date:01.24.09
Subject: RE:Answer damn it!
Sheppard,
Congratulations, by the way.
O’Neill
*******
And so it began. Eight more new messages flashed in the time John had emptied his mailbox. All the subject lines were congratulations in one form or another. He knew Congress had given their approval last week, and now it was official, not that the grapevine hadn't been buzzing about it forever.
But that was next month. Right now he needed an imaginary shovel to find the bottom of his paperwork.
A set of knuckles rapped at his door and Nelson poked his head in, tray pushing through the opening. “Sir! Medium rare burger, cheddar, onions, no greens, ketchup on the side.”
The aroma of fresh food triggered a low growl from his stomach. Before he could get up to accept the tray, the enthusiastic Petty Officer was attempting to find an open space on John's desk.
Hastily clearing away a stack of files, he found a spot. “Here's fine, but I can handle my own--”
Nelson dropped off the tray and produced napkins and silverware from thin air, and poured a soft drink into a glass of ice cubes.
“You have an extra arm that I can't see?” John smirked.
“It's all about the pockets,” the young aide replied. “Sir,” he added quickly.
It was useless reminding him that John didn't stand on ceremony. “Thank you. Why don't you take the rest of the--”
His phone rang and Nelson reached for the handset, but John was quicker on the draw. “Sheppard.”
“Major Lorne, sir. I'm sorry to disturb you, but we've got a situation in the cell block. I--”
“Cell block? Sounds like something that needs personal attention,” John cut in. He may have been hungry, but anything that dragged him outside of his office was worth an empty stomach. “I'll meet you in ten.”
“Um, okay. If you--”
“Yep. Hold things down for me.” John hung up and stared at Nelson.
“At ease, Petty Officer,” John ordered. Nelson was there... always just there. “In fact, take the night off. No need to pitch a tent in the next room.”
“But...”
“Enjoy yourself. Watch a movie, go hang out with some buddies.”
Okay, maybe Nelson had no buddies to speak of. “Get some rest, Petty Officer. We have an early morning and I need you sharp.”
“Yes, sir.”
With a burst of energy that had John envious, Nelson was out the door, then scampering back a second later, to put a straw in his glass before scurrying away. John was pretty sure his drink would be flat by the time he got back, but at this point, he didn't care. Ditching his paperwork, his adrenaline was pumping and he was actually looking forward to the newest fire to be put out.
“Have you ever given any thought beyond the next crisis?”
No, because he hadn't known anything else in the last few years.
----------
Strolling through the halls of the SGC lacked many things: the occasional Ancient device gone awry, followed by a pack of panicked geeks, or some escaped critter from Zoology that could fly, turn invisible, or blend into the walls. What it really lacked was an endless labyrinth of hallways to run and beat away any demons nipping at his heels.
Doing loops around the gym didn't provide the right type of distraction, but mentally debating things did apparently, as John ran headlong into another moving object.
There was a yelp followed by a curse as a female form in purple and black staggered back a few steps.
John gave his forehead a small rub. “I'm sorry. Wasn't looking where I was going. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Been hit harder before. Maybe not much harder, though,” the woman muttered as she rubbed at her own forehead. “Son of a bitch, that hurts!”
John looked at her with concern, scanning for injury, then saw the wide, rueful smile on her face. “Yeah, it does,” he said with a laugh. “I am sorry about that. Totally my fault.”
“Yeah, it was,” she smirked. “But, no harm, no foul,” she added.
Now that his vision was clearing a little John got a better look at the victim of his distraction. She was almost his height, about his age. Long brown hair had been caught up in a casual ponytail - bun thing at the top of her head. She was pretty; clean-faced, a few smile lines and crows feet to match his own.
His eyes strayed to her worn Baltimore Ravens T-shirt and jogging pants. She wasn't toned like Teyla under those baggy clothes, but she'd probably give most other civvies a run for their money.
He stuck his hand out. “John Sheppard.”
She returned the shake with a nod. “I think pretty much every one in the Mountain knows who you are, Colonel. Karen Sullivan. I work in linguistics.”
“It’s just John,” he said hurriedly, feeling his face go warm. “Especially to people I run down in the hallways.”
“Okay… John. And seriously, don’t worry about it.” She patted the worn gym bag over her shoulder. “I pretty much hate working out so any delay is a good one… even if it means a goose egg.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Fine, really,” she replied. “I’ll stick an ice pack on it tonight during the game. Maybe have an extra beer.”
“Universally accepted as a painkiller,” John said knowingly. “That’s right. Raiders and Ravens tonight?”
“You bet. If we nail this, we dethrone the Steelers and get the Wildcard spot. Got Flaco and Clayton in my league so it’s a win-win.”
John was impressed, didn’t mind showing it. “Great picks. Think Clayton might break 300 yards this season.”
“You run a team, John?”
He laughed. “Nah. Entered the season a little late for that.”
Sullivan blushed and rubbed her forehead. “Duh, sorry. Blame it on the head trauma. Of course you guys just got back home.”
Home. Yeah. “Look, I’m sorry, Karen. I need to um…”
“Oh, of course. You were obviously somewhere in a big hurry.”
“Not that big a hurry,” he said with a reassuring smile. “In fact, you might say I appreciated a delay as well.”
“Well, it was a pleasure running into you, John,” she chuckled. “And I'll be sure to count you in the fantasy league next year.”
John moved aside and she gave a quick smile before dashing down the hall. With a hand to his ear, his finger brushed over skin in search of a com that wasn't there. With a long sigh, he double-timed it to meet Lorne so his XO wouldn't send out a search party for him.
----------
Level Sixteen of the Mountain had been like a second home the first few days back on Earth, while he spent time accustoming himself with the secondary command bunker's function. They'd recently restarted joint covert training exercises between SGC personnel and the US Air Force Academy, and Landry had asked John to sit in and watch with several other commanders to review qualified officer candidates for future pilots and SG teams.
That was before the promotion and other red tape; now his more recent visits to the level were to the stockade for their VIP guest. Peering in, he studied the bank of security monitors that had a bird's eye view of the entire complex. If anything happened on base, they could direct communications and essential functions from here. The normally stone silent room was noisy with arguing and clipped voices.
Marching in, John stopped behind those in a verbal tug-of-war. “What's going on?”
A Marine stood at attention with a sharp salute. “Nothing, sir.”
“It doesn't sound like nothing, Corporal,” John pointed out. He'd spoken to Corporal Jenkins a few times before; the Marine had impressed him with his cool head and sharp wit. To see the younger officer, his cheeks burning red, visibly try to remain calm was unusual. John stared at the second man who hadn't given him any attention. “Mind telling me the problem?” he directed at the back of someone's curly hair-covered head.
“I do mind. I'm a little busy,” Curly Hair huffed.
“The colonel asked you a question!” Jenkins barked.
“I'm not deaf,” Curly Hair snapped and spun around. “Oh, it's you.”
“Kavanaugh,” John sighed. The man was like a bad penny. “Care to explain why you’re distracting everyone from their current duties?” Those noticeably eavesdropping stared harder at their display screens.
“Because they have the attention spans of gnats.”
John counted to five before answering. “If you can't give me a simple report, perhaps a position in floor maintenance would be more your speed.”
The corners of Jenkins' lips curved slightly; other than that, his face was completely neutral.
Kavanaugh rolled his eyes. “You don't have that type of control over me anymore.” At John’s raised eyebrows he added, “But, since everyone here seems to think you can walk on water right now, I wouldn't be surprised that you'd overreach your authority like that.”
John just smiled.
“This grunt thinks there's a virus in the system, slowing down the network feed controlling cameras thirteen and fourteen on Level Seventeen. I explained that there isn’t a virus, that we need to wipe out the mainframe and re-boot things from scratch because there hasn't been any proper maintenance completed on these systems in months and that's creating the lag time.”
“These systems were updated last week, sir,” Jenkins explained and glared at Kavanaugh. “And by wiping clean the mainframe and re-booting things, it'll put us offline for the duration it would take to complete the maintenance, and that’s unacceptable.”
“Two minutes. Three tops,” Kavanaugh snapped.
John held up his hands. “Look, no one's rebooting anything tonight. Treating the security of this base like I do my computer doesn't sound like a good idea. I'm sure there’s a protocol to follow. So, follow through and report the issue up the chain of command.”
Kavanaugh snatched up his laptop, disconnecting cables. “Typical military bureaucracy. And yet, they keep promoting the sheep, don't they?'
“You can’t talk to the colonel that way,” Jenkins growled.
John waved the man down as Kavanaugh snorted and stalked away. “At ease; it's not worth it.”
“He has no respect for the uniform, sir.”
“Don't feed his ego by letting him get to you, Corporal.”
Jenkins saluted and John returned it, the stare of numerous collective eyes hastening his steps. He hoped the spotlight on him would diminish after next month's event; the attention was way overly bright for his taste.
“I thought you got lost,” the major greeted in the hallway.
“Issues with tech support,” John mumbled, ignoring Lorne's confused expression. “What's going on?”
“Security's gotten word that Todd wants to speak to you.”
“Oh, does he?”
“Yeah, apparently, he's been so insistent, Lieutenant Sanchez contacted me about it tonight.”
“This is the first I've heard of it.”
“Well, prisoner security isn't exactly under our purview,” Lorne chuckled.
They were both used to overseeing every aspect of command. “I know the IOA wants him transferred to a Gitmo type facility, but they'd need to build one first, and there's no budget for it.”
“Not to mention another lab,” Lorne commented.
“Well, he's gonna have to get in line.”
“Um, then why did you come down, sir?”
John shrugged. “Wanted to stretch my legs.” Lorne gave him a quizzical look. “I had to get outa of my office, thought this would be a good diversion.” He rubbed at the sore spot on his forehead, which had only added to his headache. He was already regretting coming down. “Changed my mind, though. I don't feel like screwing around with Todd. He's the SGC's responsibility and I'm not in the mood to play games with him.”
“Understood, sir. Did you want me to pass along a message to him?”
John looked at his watch, realized his burger would be cold by now. “Tell him, I'll pencil him in next week.”
Lorne smirked. “Not a problem.”
“Wanna grab some chow?”
“I ate an hour ago, sorry.”
Cold burger it is. “No problem. I have an early start in the morning.”
“We should meet about those war game protocols.”
“That's on my list of things to do,” John responded dryly.
“Never thought I'd miss not knowing what was going to happen on a routine basis,” Lorne chuckled.
John matched the grin with his own facsimile. “Who'd ever thought living in a secret underground base would be tamer than a floating alien city?”
“I wouldn't say that in front of members of SG-1,” Lorne snorted.
----------
The view through the window was amazing, even seen through a hazy smear of fingerprints and streaks of maple syrup and ketchup. John dipped a corner of his paper napkin in his plastic tumbler of tepid water and cleaned away a few square inches of grime. There. He could practically see the North Portal into the Mountain from here.
It called itself the Mile High Café but the name was the only thing fancy about it. It was an old-fashioned, good old greasy spoon diner. Paper place mats they rarely bothered changing - John’s held an a set of coffee brown Olympic rings- and yellowed pictures on the walls from days gone by. The specials changed every day yet never varied. God forbid you try to order meatloaf on a Tuesday when the special was chicken and dumplings.
It had become a favorite spot for the group the last time they had spent protracted time stuck on Earth. The booths were huge and cushy, even if the vinyl was cracked and held together with duct tape in places, and even Ronon could stretch out comfortably.
John could picture the big man, lounging in the corner, arm flung out along the length of the bench top, laughing as he fought with Rodney over the last of the syrup in the tarnished ‘stainless’ steel carafe. Then he shook his head. Ronon was out raising hell with an SG team. After only two days of life under the mountain, spending practically every waking hour in the gym, sparring, Landry had told John to ‘find an outlet for Ronon’s aggression’ sooner, not later. They couldn’t afford any more Marines out with injuries.
Damn. That was another thing to add to his burgeoning list of things to do. Nelson was, truth be told, a Godsend. There were times when John honestly wondered how he ever did without. But there were some things that John had to attend to personally. He pulled out his Blackberry, thumbed the screen over to his schedule and opened up his ‘priority’ list. Damn. He’d already used up the allotted space. With a sigh he typed “Ronon advanced classes’ over “call Dave.” It’s not like the guilt wouldn’t continue eating at him; he hardly needed to have the words in his PDA to see them. And he really needed to set up a schedule with those running the SERE program for Ronon to start teaching some defense classes. Or, in Ronon’s case, likely offense classes. Tearing up the Milky Way with an SG team wasn’t where the big man’s talents were needed right now.
As he was closing up the phone his eye caught the Gallery app. His thumb hovered over it for a second, then he opened it up, scrolled through what had become a familiar stroll down memory lane, backwards in time. The first pic was a group photo, taken at the SGC before everyone had gone their separate ways. Ronon and Amelia, Rodney and Jennifer, Teyla and Kanaan… John and Woolsey. One of these things is not like the other… Next was Carson, waving goodbye, a wistful smile on his face. Lorne with Chuck in a headlock. Rodney asleep at his desk, evilly grinning Ronon with a Sharpie in his hand. Teyla helping Torren steer a remote controlled car. Carter opening a Christmas present. Carson fidgeting as Lorne painted his portrait.
He paused as he usually did - sometimes he had to thumb right past it- at the picture of Elizabeth, hip cocked, smiling proudly and wearing the feathered headdress the people of PX3-2072 had given her.
It was at this point in the gallery that the ghosts became more frequent. By the time he’d reached Ford’s boyish grin he had to shut it down.
The sound of a car door shutting outside had him glancing through the window just in time to catch a really stellar view of a shapely woman’s backside as she reached into the back seat of a taxi. She wore a nicely fitting velour tracksuit with a brand name sewn from cheek to cheek across the rump.
He took a sip of his water, enjoying the show, then choked and spluttered as she turned and raised her sunglasses to the top of her head. It was Teyla.
His disbelief grew as he watched her pull an expensive looking leather bag over her shoulder as she approached the diner. When she came in he saw other male patrons’ eyes following her as she entered, then gazed about the diner.
John raised a hand and Teyla smiled broadly. Hurried over with her usual grace and eased into the booth across from him.
“It is good to see you, John,” she said warmly.
“Yeah,” John said, still a little awed. “Back at ya. You… look… um, different?”
Teyla rolled her eyes but smiled.
“I was given a… what did she call it? A makeover.” She lowered her voice. “I was told this would make me fit in better. Does it?”
“Oh, you… yeah, you fit in just fine,” John drawled. He lowered his voice as well, leaned over the table and grinned. “Then again, it’s been five years. What the hell do I know about current Earth fashion?”
“Ms. Mal Doran has been very good to me.” Then Teyla sighed. “I believe she has taken me on as a project. She can be most…”
“Persistent? Yeah, Vala’s a force to be reckoned with.”
Teyla chewed a lip then smirked. “She speaks very kindly of you, John.”
“Kindly?”
“Most kindly.” Her grin broadened. “One would almost say she was a bit… I think the term would be ‘smitten‘, with you.”
John coughed out a laugh and sat back in the booth. “Smitten, huh? You know, she is pretty attractive…” he teased.
“She is,” Teyla agreed. “However, she seems to be of the impression that you and I… that we…”
“We?” John echoed in disbelief.
“Yes. That there was a we. She wouldn’t accept that we were able to spend five years together and not be… together. And my protestations seemed only to make her more…”
“Persistent?”
Teyla nodded with a laugh. “Yes.”
“Well, thanks for the warning,” John said, rubbing the back of his head and squirming in his seat. They were thankfully interrupted by the waitress. Sharla was in her fifties, frosted blonde, probably still pretty underneath her overdone makeup.
“Morning, ma’am,” she greeted Teyla warmly as she dropped down a plastic-coated menu in front of each of them and a second plastic tumbler of water. “The colonel’s so polite. He was waiting on you to order.”
“He is a gentleman,” Teyla replied dryly as she scanned the menu. “I’ll have the egg white omelet and the fruit plate.”
Sharla cast a quick glance at the front counter. The owner, Bud, stood behind the counter, wearing a baleful look and a dingy white shirt with a too short tie. Then she bent a little and whispered, “Only got cantaloupe and some squishy grapes today.”
John chuckled, grabbed up the menus and handed them back. “We’ll both have the pancakes, short stack for her, tall for me, side of bacon. Let’s live a little, huh?”
The waitress nodded as she scribbled on her pad, gave John a wink as she walked away.
“It would appear Vala is not the only one who is --”
“All right. That’s enough,” John protested. “Think you’ve spent a little too much time with Ms. Mal Doran.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Teyla sighed. “Although I appreciate that on the surface we have much in common, beyond our… ‘foreign’ roots I am afraid we have little else.”
“You could probably both kick my ass.”
“Well. There is that.” Her smile was brief. “I do not like being kept … out of the loop? On matters of my home and people.”
John nodded. “Well, if it’s any consolation, they’ve kept me pretty much on the sidelines as well.” He sat forward, his whisper urgent. “It figures that the people best qualified to say what’s right for…” he looked around… “the city are being kept in the dark and those doing all the deciding have never stepped a goddamn foot in her.”
“We cannot be the only voices, John. What about Rodney? They seem to value his opinion, and he certainly never has a problem voicing it.”
John shook his head angrily and sat back, steaming. “I think McKay’s gone Dark Side. You know, he actually tried to convince me the other day that we should keep her here?”
Teyla’s eyes grew wide with dismay. “But… how could he… he knows what that will do to those we left behind. John, the longer we stay here the worse the threat grows, both here and there.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Teyla.” At her raised eyebrows he added, “I already agree with you. It seems it’s Rodney we have to get on board. Along with a few key others.”
“Like who? Tell me who they are and I will find them on my own and…”
“Easy, Teyla. I get you. These last few weeks haven't been easy on you, I know. But that’s the way things work around here. There’s two speeds when it comes to our politics: slow and molasses.” He quirked a smile. “Having you show up on an IOA member’s doorstep with Ronon’s blaster really won’t solve anything.”
Her answering smile was tight. “I have been known to solve difficult situations with my words, not a weapon.” She took a sip of her water then pushed the glass around on its watery puddle. “I must admit the image had entered my mind, but only briefly.”
The waitress’s approach, laden down with plates, temporarily tabled the discussion. “Here you go, short stack for you, ma’am, and a tall stack, side a bacon for the colonel.”
“Thanks, Sharla,” John said, already reaching for the carafe of hot maple syrup.
“Love a man with a hearty appetite. Speaking of, the other two not joining you?”
“Afraid not,” Teyla replied. She poked at her pancakes with her fork. Mention of the absent two had clearly saddened her.
“Too bad,” Sharla shrugged. “Miss seeing the big guy around here. You be sure to tell him Sharla says hello, all right?”
John chuckled around a mouthful of food. The flirting she did with Ronon was even less subtle than Sharla’s usual bawdy banter. And there was no doubt why Rodney didn’t get mentioned as being missed. Not after multiple, too loud protestations over tipping had been made. Rodney’s penchant for calculating to the exact fifteenth percent had been the topic of way too many arguments.
“I’m hoping they both can join us next time,” John teased.
Sharla rolled her eyes and sauntered off.
“It is odd, us all being so far apart,”Teyla commented. “It feels…”
“Wrong,” John sighed, the buttermilk cakes already heavy in his stomach. “I know. Ronon's been blowing off steam on missions. Come to think on it, I’m surprised you haven’t gone out with an SG team.”
“They have asked me,” Teyla confirmed as she finally ventured a small bite. “I think it more that they are trying to keep me occupied. I have not kept silent on my views since our arrival. I’ve spoken to Colonel Carter and even General Landry.”
“And?”
She sighed and put down her fork. “I believe they listen to me, but that their minds are mostly already made up. John, I understand, more than they probably think I do, that defense of home is paramount. They have had but a taste of the true strength of our enemy and it scared them. And rightfully so. But they are unwilling to look beyond their fear and seek answers in the short term.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard the speeches too. I think the idea of losing what they see as their only defense scares the crap outa them. Hell, I don’t really blame them.” Then he worked up a smile and grabbed up a strip of bacon, crunched an end off with gusto, then pointed it at her. “But, as one of our great military leaders once said, ‘I have not yet begun to fight.’ I’m not giving up yet, Teyla.”
She inclined her head in acceptance. “Good. In the meantime, you can teach me to drive.”
He choked on his bacon, coughed, then said, “Come again?”
“If I am to remain here… in Colorado…” she smiled, “I want to be able to travel on my own. I do not think I can take much more of Vala, and I would like Torren and Kanaan to see more of… Colorado.”
“Driving, huh?” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I dunno…”
She grinned and leaned over the table at him. “I have flown a hive ship. I think I can handle a car.”
“They are a little different,” John drawled. “But I think I can find time in my busy schedule to go over the basics with you. What about you? Time between facials and doing each other’s hair?”
Teyla’s balled up napkin hit him square in the face. He was ready to return fire when his cell phone chirped and began to dance with its vibrations.
Picking it up he noted the caller, raised an eyebrow and showed it to Teyla. She echoed his surprise as he thumbed the phone to answer.
“Mr. Woolsey. Always a pleasure to hear from you, sir. What’s up?”
------
“Chapter Two”
Authors: everybetty and kristen999
Word Count: 55,000-
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Some violence and a couple f-bombs
Genre: Gen. Drama, Action, H/C
Characters: Sheppard, McKay, Ronon, Teyla, Todd, various SG-1 members and OCs.
Summary: Atlantis is back on Earth; things should be quiet and boring, light years away from Pegasus. While trying to find a place in this new life, John struggles with politics, a pending promotion… oh, and a deadly conspiracy that threatens the lives of everyone on Earth. Again. John POV, Post-EATG.
Notes: This was written for susnn, thanks to her generous donation to help_haiti .
********
From:Blocked
To: Blocked
Date:01.17.09
Subject: Status Update
Date for the US hearing is being set for spring session. It cannot be postponed. Our friends are uncertain if we have sufficient votes for the desired outcome. Certain parties may have enough influence to sway opinions and endanger global initiatives.
How would you like to proceed?
E.H.
*******
From:Blocked
To: Blocked
Date:01.17.09
Subject: RE:Status Update
Money transfers have been made to secure key chairmanship, but we risk our voice getting lost in committee. The U.S review board will have a powerful influence on the U.N and IOA's final decision. They must be shown the dangers of poor choices and ensure security of the package. We must begin.
V.T
*******
From:Blocked
To: Blocked
Date:01.18.09
Subject: Steps under way
Paperwork and personnel changes have been made. Awaiting signal on delivery options. Will have the pipeline in place.
E.H
***********
From:Blocked
To: Blocked
Date:01.20.09
Subject: Steps under way
You have a go.
V.T
*************
-----------------------------
The office was spartan, reeking of fresh paint and new carpet, yet having a sense of permanence. The chair was new too, shiny black leather with a back that creaked in unfamiliar ways when he shifted. It would take years to break a new one in and force it to recline far enough for him to take a nap... not that he planned on being here long enough to do that. Of course, that's what he'd said about the temporary office they'd set up for him down the hall in what could have been an old storage closet.
Then last week he'd been given this larger space.
It screamed get used to me.
He rearranged his laptop and a stack of leaning files waiting for his review. The technologies of two galaxies and they still hadn’t found a way to go paperless. He picked up the name plaque, traced his fingers over the gold lettering on mahogany, finding it ridiculously wrong.
The walls were supposed to be soft gray with recessed blue lighting, not an ugly beige. He shouldn't be able to pace around his office; it should be cramped and disorganized, with a miniature basketball hoop over his trashcan and a window that opened out to ocean breezes.
Most of all, when he closed his eyes, he was supposed to sense a humming in his veins, a tingle across his skin and not the dead silence of disconnection. It made him feel empty, an aching loneliness filling him up, despite being surrounded by hundreds on base. He’d gone from floating atop an ocean to being burrowed deep inside a mountain.
You lead a strange life, John, he thought.
His phone rang again, like it did all day long and he snapped it up with a gruff, “Yeah, Petty Officer.”
“Colonel, your meeting with Major Donnell has been moved to tomorrow morning at 0800.”
John chewed his lip, trying to recall what the original time had been.
“You were supposed to meet with him later today, but you haven't e-mailed me your final report to go over.”
“Riiiight, the inspection at Minot,” John spoke into the receiver. He was supposed to coordinate things with Donnell and the engineers on a fun-filled trip to North Dakota. The 5th Bomb Wing, 91st Space Wing housed the second largest units of 302's. “I'll...um, send my report after lunch.”
“Yes, sir. Your flight is scheduled next week Tuesday at 1200 with the major to personally oversee everything.”
“Right.”
“Then you'll fly to Washington for your---”
“Briefing with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, yeah got it.”
John was about to hang up, but PO Nelson was quicker. “Also, Major Lorne's here to see you, sir.”
“Send him in.”
He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to having someone scheduling all his meetings or appointments and ensuring he made them all in time. (And covering his ass when he forgot something). Having a fresh cup of coffee whenever he wanted was a neat perk, and so was having lunch delivered, but going to the mess meant he got to leave the same four walls and their headache- inducing paint fumes.
The door opened and Lorne paused briefly to read John's name stenciled on the front with a quirked eyebrow of amusement. “Morning, Colonel,” he greeted with a smile.
“Major.”
Lorne strolled in with a stack of folders in one hand and a mug of steaming coffee in another. “Sorry I'm late, but my mission debriefing lasted longer than I anticipated.”
John leaned back casually. “How's going off-world?”
Lorne laughed, slapping a layer of yellow dust off the front of his green fatigues. “Dirty.”
“I see.”
Eyes wide, Lorne stared at the floor. “Oh shit. I'm sorry,” and he tried to rid the dirt with the heel of his boot, only to end up spreading more of it around.
“Don't worry about it,” he said hastily, barely able to keep the eagerness out of his voice. “Run into anything interesting?”
“Not really. I was too busy explaining to Dr. Tosh that looking up from his LSD while navigating near a ravine might be a good idea when I slipped and fell on my ass.”
John chuckled. “Guess Atlantis' toys are a little too shiny for some.”
Lorne shrugged, eyes roaming the empty bookshelves and walls. “At least I didn't get shot at, but it was only my first mission. After two weeks of R&R I've been up to my eyeballs in meetings and paperwork. The IOA has a list of debriefings a mile long for the review hearing.” Sitting down in the chair, he slapped a fat file down. “What about you, sir? Scuttlebutt has Homeworld Security's in the middle of an internal war over us.”
“Yeah, well, half of them want Atlantis to remain here, the other....”
John let things trail off. Realistically, closer to only one third supported the idea of Atlantis returning to Pegasus, one third were adamant about the city remaining on Earth and the stragglers wanted more analysis. It was one of the biggest security decisions ever, especially given the destruction of the only control chair on Earth and the bounty of Ancient technology at everyone’s fingertips.
Thinking about it gave him a headache. He despised politics, yet he was on the front line in the fight to return Atlantis to Pegasus.
“When do you meet with the IOA?” Lorne asked, interrupting John's thoughts.
“I've got two meetings next week before I head to Washington.” John hesitated and thought about checking his laptop to see if he’d gotten the dates right, but thought better of it. That's why he had Petty Officer Nelson. “But more importantly, Landry approved our F302 defensive program. Been going through personnel files.”
He felt Lorne’s steady gaze and John stopped rustling through the stack of manila folders. “What?”
“Nothing. It's just...”
“Just what?”
“When's the last time you clocked in less than a twelve hour day?”
“I dunno. When was the last time we had one on Atlantis?”
“There weren't many, but we're not on Atlantis anymore, sir.”
“That's the point, Major.”
Lorne looked like he wanted to push the subject. John pointed at his stack of files. “There's no point in arguing with Homeworld that Atlantis is better in Pegasus if we don't draw up a better defense program against a possible Wraith attack. Those bastards created one super-Hive and despite the IOA's doubts, we know they're capable of creating more.”
“Agreed. And we need to get back there to keep that from happening.”
“That means having a capable defense strategy, including training our people here on Wraith tactics.”
“So, we need to pick a top five list of candidates.”
“We'll train them. They'll train the others.”
“Did someone magically add ten additional hours to the day when I wasn't looking?”
John scowled at that so Lorne snagged a thick section of files from the stack and blew out a breath. “Alright then,” and he started sorting.
John rubbed a thumb and finger over his eyes with a sigh, then picked up the first jacket. He was going to have to log a lot of hours in the air what with the mound of bureaucratic red tape growing. Not to mention the dog and pony show of that other thingnext month. Glancing around at his barren office, he decided that he didn't have a better use of his time.
---------
“You still have that dartboard?”
John sat up and stretched out his back. “Can't settle on your last choice?”
“Hard to choose, sir.”
John's phone rang again. He glanced at the ID and felt a flare of irritation. “Talk to me.”
“Captain Cutler is here to see you, sir.”
“Send him in, Mr. Nelson.” John hung the phone up. “Maybe we'll leave the selection to someone else.”
“That Cutler?”
“Yeah, we're lucky he was inside the mountain.”
Almost everyone from the 341st Space Wing was stationed at Malmstrom and it'd take days to transfer everyone over to the Montana base. John watched the door, brow furrowing when it didn't open. There was noise on the other side, so someone was standing there and blocking the light at the crack at the bottom.
“Did you accidentally lock it?” John asked, ready to get up.
Lorne grinned ear to ear. “Maybe he's nervous.”
John rolled his eyes. “Don't start.”
“I'm not starting anything. It's not every day people get to bask in the glow of a real life legend.”
Lorne was clearly enjoying himself and John crumpled the nearest slip of paper, aiming it at his XO's head when the door burst open; a blur of motion with shorn orange hair snapped to attention. “Captain Cutler as requested, sir.”
John gave a halfhearted salute in return. “At ease, Captain.”
Cutler was stiff as a board, never giving John eye contact. He was in his early thirties and looked like he'd spent a good amount of time at the gym, and from his record, he'd seen plenty of action off-world. He was currently in zone for promotion to major and from all the letters of recommendation in his jacket, there wasn't going to be an issue.
John waved toward the empty chair next to Lorne. “Have a seat, Captain.”
Cutler wasn't moving and Lorne was ready to burst out in laughter, but composed himself into a steely gaze. “The colonel gave you an order, Captain,” he snapped.
John felt the air move as Cutler scrambled into his seat and John gave Lorne a look that said, knock it off, but Lorne mouthed 'no way.'
Cutler's spine was a straight line and a pair of sharp blue eyes stared straight ahead, waiting for John to speak.
“I read your jacket, pretty impressive,” John broke the ice. “You flew with the Blue Squadron under Colonel Mitchell before you were transferred to the Sun Tzu two years ago, then the Phoneix for a tour.”
“Yes, sir. The Phoneix just got refitted into the Hammond a few months ago and I completed my second rotation last week.” Cutler looked at John directly for the first time, passion and sincerity giving him a hard edge. “I wish I'd been here when Atlantis arrived to give a hand, sir.”
That was why John loved face to faces: medals and evaluations only told half the story. “You fought in the battle over Antarctica when you were a lieutenant and served off-world; it makes you a very suitable candidate for a special assignment.”
Cutler's face lit up, but he schooled it quickly. “Sir?”
“Our units are not prepared to defend against a Wraith invasion. We're taking our top five pilots, and pairing them with men who were under my command on Atlantis to teach you about Wraith tactics and how to defend against and attack darts.” At the lack of response John added, “You’re one of the top five, Captain.”
John waited for questions or perhaps spontaneous combustion based on how Cutler's eyes widened or the friction produced by his fast bouncing knees.
Lorne, who'd been silently enjoying the show, leaned toward the captain. “Do you need me to wipe the drool off your face?”
Cutler's ecstatic smile disappeared and his body became another coil of knots. “No, sir.”
“Relax,” Lorne slapped the guy on the shoulder. “This will be fun. Besides, half the stories you think you've heard about our adventures are wrong. You know what writing mission reports is like.”
Relaxing slightly, Cutler's shoulders lowered. “Yes, sir.”
“Which, of course, is why we left all the crazy shit out.” Lorne shot John a manic grin.
It'd been a long time since John had seen such a petrified expression. “You'll be fine. I look forward to getting back in the air. Kinda sick of being underground.”
“It'll be an honor flying with you, sir.”
John stood, deflecting the accolades. “Every pilot can teach another something new. Can't wait to see what you’ve got.”
Cutler shot to his feet immediately. “Thank you, sir. Will you be providing a set of parameters for the final evaluation?”
“Of course,” John replied, thinking he might want to type some up.
“And there will be war games,” Lorne helpfully piped up.
Cutler's voice went an octave higher. “War games, sir?”
John was going to super-glue everything in Lorne's quarters to the floor. “Did I forget to mention that? You'll be on Earth's side.”
“Yes, sir. And the Wraith side?”
Lorne stood up and gave a cocky grin. “Colonel Sheppard will be leading the Wraith invasion.”
John cleared his throat. “All those under my command on Atlantis will be on the Wraith side since they're the most familiar with their strategy, including Major Lorne.”
Cutler thanked them both two or three times before his hasty exit.
“You forgot to ask him to pick our last candidate,” Lorne jibed.
“I'll shoot him an e-mail.”
“Oh, I dunno, I think your yeoman could handle it for you.”
“Keep it up, Major,” John drawled at the Navy joke.
“Sorry, sir. I know, with Atlantis in an ocean, they're allowing more squids to work on base, but it‘s still a little weird,” Lorne chuckled. “Seriously, though. You were the most active field commander I've ever served under and somehow you managed your paperwork and city administration.”
“It was all part of the job.”
“That include being on call twenty-four seven? You have more hands on the ground now than we ever did back home.” John wondered if Lorne realized what he'd called Atlantis, but his XO never missed a beat. “It was about time you got a personal gatekeeper.” Lorne snagged his now cold cup of coffee and stuffed his folder under his arm. “And congrats on that other thing. You deserve it, sir.”
“Other thing, Major?” John drawled with a raised eyebrow, daring him to speak further of it.
His XO was no dummy.
“Sorry, sir. Musta been thinking of another Lt Colonel who flew a nuke into a Wraith superhive.” He quirked a smile, turned smoothly on his heel to leave.
John had no more turned his own hidden smirk back towards the pile on his desk when he heard smack! Splash! and looked up to see Rodney McKay doing a slow burn, cold coffee dripping down the front of his t-shirt. Brown stained white lettering that said “easy as 3.141593…”.
“Oh for the love of”-Rodney sputtered. “Just like the military, always full steam ahead without regard for what’s in their way.”
Lorne’s face tightened into a rictus of a grin. “Sorry, doc. I’d say something about absent-minded professors with their heads too far up their - books- to see where they were going, but I’m too busy with the full steam ahead thing.” He flung coffee off his fingertips with a grimace, resettled his file under his arm and stalked out the door.
Rodney hooked a thumb behind him. “I think he may have taken offense at that.”
“Ya think?” John sighed. “We military guys are awfully uptight, aren’t we?”
“You’ve noticed that too, huh?” Rodney answered cluelessly. He wiped halfheartedly at the damp spot on his chest, then pulled out the chair and flopped bonelessly in it. “Whatcha doin?”
John’s eyes widened at the piles of work on his desk. Shook his head and leaned lazily back in his chair. “Why twiddling my thumbs, Rodney, completely at a loss as to what to do until you showed up.”
“Funny. Seriously, what are you doing?”
“My job, Rodney. Why aren’t you doing yours?”
Rodney waved a finger at him. “See? Uptight.”
“McKay!”
“Fine. I’ve been working on cleaning up the FEMA-certified disaster area we used to call Area 51 only now it looks more like 1945 Dresden.”
John winced at the allusion. He knew very well what had been done to that little patch of land in Nevada, had witnessed it very first hand while five miles above the earth and still carrying the nuclear bomb he’d assumed would kill him.
“Yet here you are in Colorado, Rodney,” John prompted impatiently.
“Yet here I am in Colorado,” Rodney echoed with a grim nod. “Regrettably, despite certain advancements we have been witness to, there is, for now, no way to clone myself. The powers that be, in their ever so infinite wisdom, found my knowledge and expertise to be such that they cannot function without my input on matters of the gravest importance.”
“And those matters would be?” John sighed tiredly.
Rodney waved a hand. “Oh, you know. The trivial matter of a certain floating island city spaceship of rather, shall we say ancient origin, that currently sits in the frigid waters of the Arctic Sea. Apparently some of the Polar Kalaallit have started spreading tales of a phantom iceberg or something, scaring away their food supply.” He laughed. “They sent hunters and shaman out in a squadron of kayaks. Imagine, the city defeated not by Replicators or Wraith but by a bunch of Eskimos with harpoons and orca teeth necklaces.”
“It’s not funny, McKay,” John growled, his already thin patience showing holes.
Rodney sat up. “No. No, it’s not, really. Because it took a week of dithering back and forth with every freaking arm of the military, every necktie and high-heel wearing bureaucrat from every country in the IOA and then some to decide where to park the city for the foreseeable future. And now, because a few hundred igloo-dwellers can’t club baby seals for breakfast anymore, I have been called away from the crucial job of rebuilding Earth’s defenses to find a new home for the city.”
“She has a home, Rodney,” John said quietly. It had been a sore spot, a bone of contention between them since the city had landed in the Bay. And lately, the more meetings he attended, the more voices he heard… John felt his opinion was quickly being marginalized.
Rodney at least had the decency to glance away before his retort. He sat back with a huff that fell somewhere between apology and exasperation. “You're military, as you like to remind me all the time. Thought you’d be more used to the idea of moving bases, pitching your tent on foreign soil, all that.” He sighed and his voice softened. “It really does make sense to keep the city here, John.”
“Et tu, Rodney?” John scowled. Then he sat forward, jabbed a finger at his friend. “You know as well as I do, Atlantis belongs back in Pegasus. Sooner rather than later.”
“I know nothing of the sort,” Rodney replied, but he didn’t meet John’s eyes. “You know, even with my expertise and every Army Corp engineer on the planet, rebuilding 51 is still months, maybe years away. And even once we finish, even if they churn out hundreds of 302s… none of that is gonna make a bit of difference without a chair. No chair, no drones. No drones, no defense against the Wraith. Or hell, with our luck the Ori or the Replicators or the fricking Gouald actually become relevant again. Can you leave Earth defenseless? I have family here, John. And so do you.”
John felt his face burn hot. “Family? You wanna talk about family, McKay? Teyla left family behind, in Pegasus. Here, the Wraith are a maybe. Back there, they’re a constant threat. And the longer we sit here, debating, the stronger the Wraith are getting. We go back, we stop them there and they don’t make it back to Earth.”
“Stop them there?” Rodney scoffed. “We were there five years. We got our asses handed to us by the Wraith time and again. We come up with X, they come up with Z, they don’t even bother with Y, they skip right over it. Super. Hive, Sheppard.”
“This time, it’ll be-“
“Different?” Rodney said evenly. “When the only reason we defeat a Wraith attack means you, and me, I might add, hand-detonating a nuclear bomb we’re sitting on… Honestly, John. How many chances will that play get? There really isn’t much beyond your precious Hail Mary… it’s kinda why they call it that.”
Rodney rose from his seat and straightened his wrinkly t-shirt over his track pants. “You may want to consider that some of us are happy to be back on Earth. Coffee shops, secretaries, the internet. You know, they declassified some of my discoveries and accomplishments. I’ll get to publish again, with M Rodney McKay PhD, PhD, etc on the cover. Jeannie and I are even considering a collaboration, although her math isn’t quite at my level. It’s been kinda nice, talking to her when she isn’t being kidnapped. Have you, um, even let Dave know you’re back?”
Now it was time for John to avert his eyes. “Been a little busy, McKay.”
“Figured as much,” Rodney muttered. “Well, seeing as how you’re so busy…”
Damnit. John’s first Atlantis visitor since Lorne in a week and here he was practically chasing the guy out the door. “Look, Rodney…” He leaned back and tried on a smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so…”
“Sheppard?”
His smile tightened. “Point taken. You know, they make a mean cheeseburger in the commissary. You feel like grabbing one a little later? You can steal my fries.”
Rodney flushed and bounced a little on his toes. “You see, I, uh… well I kinda already made plans with Jennifer. We haven’t had a real dinner together in-“
“I get it, Rodney, I get it,” John sighed. Then he screwed his smile into a grin. “Tell the doc I said hi.”
“Oh, sure, of course.” Rodney nodded his head towards the door, stalled for a second, then gave a small wave bye and turned towards the door. He paused mid-way out, turned back and gave John a piercing look. “You know, once things quiet down a little, I’ll be taking a team through the city. Like really through it, like we never got to before. I’m thinking you might wanna join us?”
“I dunno, between the defense program and the upcoming review in--
“For Pete's sake, John. As much as you want us to be, we're not in Pegasus anymore. Whether our exile on Earth is temporary or not, have you ever given any thought beyond the next crisis?”
“Have you seen my calendar for the next month?”
“I'm talking about long-term goals. You know, the future?” Rodney missed John's grimace. “I've had what? Two dozen job offers? Not counting the ones I've dismissed completely. And you know...um...look. All I'm saying is, let's take a deep breath. Enjoy a few moments without fear of dying the next day. We could go back through the city with real resources, taking our time. Betcha we could get Teyla and Ronon to join up. Just like old times.”
John gave him a grin back. “Sure, Rodney. Sounds great. Just like old times.”
His answer seemed to be what Rodney wanted to hear. The physicist smiled and nodded to himself, slapped the door jamb and headed out without another word.
Just like old times John sighed and let the smile drop. Old times like a few weeks ago.
“I’m sorry, sir!”
John looked up to see his aide, face flushed, standing rigidly in the doorway.
“I tried to explain to Dr McKay that he needed to make an appointment to see you, Colonel, but he just - he just -“
“Just waltzed on in like he owned the place, Petty Officer?”
“Um… he… y-yes, sir.”
“Yeah, he does that,” John drawled tiredly. “I’ll tell you what? Add him to the ‘never needs an appointment’ list, Nelson. It’ll make your life a lot easier.”
The Petty Officer looked at him like he was certifiable and John had to choke back a chuckle.
“B-but my job is to make your life easier, Colonel.”
“That’s a helluva big job, Nelson. Let’s just say that not having to deal with Dr McKay squawking about not being allowed in my office will make my life easier.”
The kid swallowed and stuttered out a nod. Then he pulled out the hated datapad and tapped the screen. “I, um … I’m sorry, sir, but I got a high priority email from General O’Neill, asking if you needed a visit from IT.”
John’s eyebrows rose while the kid swallowed again and swiped a hand over his forehead, wiping away the sweat that beaded there. “He… he said he’s gotten no reply to the last, um, seven emails he’s sent you. Sir.”
“And why would that make him suggest IT, Mr. Nelson?”
The kid managed a nervous smile and hugged his datapad to his chest. “Um, it may be because in answer to his prior high priority email to me I may have suggested you were having, um… server issues.”
Server issues. Huh. He had to hand it to the kid- he could think on his feet. “You do realize, Petty Officer, that we are all on the same server. If you got the general’s email then there are no server problems.”
“Oh, yes, sir. I realize it, but… well, I don’t think the general does. He’s more of a ‘control-alt-delete fixes everything’ kinda guy. Sir.”
O’Neill’s disdain for computers was well known in the SGC.
“Thank you, Petty Officer. I believe my server problems have resolved.”
“Glad to hear it, sir,” the kid exhaled in obvious relief. John felt a small pang of guilt at putting the kid in O’Neill’s line of fire over his reluctance. “Did you need anything, sir? I made a fresh pot of coffee…”
John shook his head. The last cup was still burning the length of his esophagus. Nelson’s coffee, even fresh, was black and thick as tar. Fortifying when needed, but he needed extra Tums if he had more than two cups. “All set, Nelson, thanks.”
“Of course, sir. If there’s nothing else, sir?”
“Not at the moment, nope.”
“If you need anything at all --”
“I have your number,” John broke in with a grim smile. I see it come up a hundred times a day.
“Oh. Of course, sir. I’ll let you get back to --”
“My emails, Petty Officer. No worries.”
The kid nodded and turned to leave. John glanced at his watch, realized that once again he’d be alone for dinner. But he hadn’t been lying to Rodney about the burgers… “Actually, Mr. Nelson, it looks like I’ll be having dinner in my office tonight.” Like every other night. “Can you have them send over a cheeseburger later?”
“Medium rare, cheddar, onions, leave off the salad, ketchup on the side, yes, sir.”
Damn, he needed to leave his office to eat more often. “Thank you, Mr. Nelson. Dismissed.”
After he heard the office door close he turned back to his laptop, moused over the blinking envelope in the bottom toolbar. He was up to eight unopened messages. Damn.
Blowing out a breath, he leaned against the too new leather chair and stared at an office lacking his personal effects. There hadn't been the need to make himself at home here; it was a sign of giving in, or that was what he told himself. Truth was, he didn't have mementos or photos worth putting in frames. Rodney’s jab to the contrary, he’d called Dave. Okay, maybe he'd only spoken to his brother's secretary, and maybe he hadn't made any follow-up calls. Dave was in Europe for a few weeks, John would catch up with him eventually.
A ninth new message popped up on his computer screen.
Rodney was right. John hadn't given much thought to his future. And since when? Most of his career had consisted of high risk assignments, and when they needed experienced men to pilot covert CIA ops and ferry ghost units in and out of Afghanistan… well, he wasn't supposed to think any further than the mission. Then, after his exile to Antarctica, he hadn’t given a damn about anything except clear skies and a cold beer.
And the last few years......
No wonder he'd stared blankly at General Landry while discussing John's OPRs when it came time to outline his five year goals.
“Colonel, have you given thought to your next assignment? Your completed fit reps and RFPs have been sent to the board and final approval from the Senate is scheduled for this week, although it's all but a formality. You need to make some choices once the promotion goes through.”
A tenth unread message popped into his e-mail.
The truth of the matter was he'd never really had a clear picture of what he wanted for his himself beyond keeping all his hair, even if it all went gray. There‘d been too many times when his future was whittled down to minutes or seconds… He didn't have a death wish, but recent circumstances had never allowed him to entertain anything farther out, and now that he had all these options and choices... It was more than a little overwhelming.
Hell, he still sometimes wondered if being back on Earth was an alien manipulated virtual reality or another Replicator mind meld. It'd explain why walking through the halls of the SGC felt like a stroll through the Twilight Zone. Gone were the days of being an object of gossip and suspicion, and while not all his past actions would ever be forgotten, the respect of those around him was genuine.
And every day, he waited for the next shoe to drop.
“But right, now I need to clear away this e-mail,” he muttered.
He arrowed down to the first one from O’Neill.
********
From: J.O'Neill
To: J.Sheppard
Date:01.21.09
Subject: Post
Sheppard,
The Odyssey’s coming home in a few months and Colonel Davidson is retiring. The paperwork is done for Caldwell to take the helm. The repairs and upgrades to the Daedalus will be complete at the same time. I'm still waiting your answer.
O’Neill
********
From: J.O'Neill
To: J.Sheppard
Date:01.22.09
Subject: Post
Sheppard,
Did you get my last e-mail? There's no other J. Sheppard in my contact list. I'm attaching the command transfer form for the Daedalus if you've made your decision.
O’Neill
********
From: J.O'Neill
To: J.Sheppard
Date:01.23.09
Subject: The future
Sheppard,
Look, I get it. The status of Atlantis is up in the air until the results of the review hearing. That's two months away. Command assignments have to be completed sixty days ahead of time, you know that. Paperwork's a bitch.
The new Daedalus mission is a perfect fit. Active patrol of Pegasus months before any actions from the hearing. Barring repeals and more hearings, of course. It could be a year before we have a real answer.
O’Neill
********
From:J.O'Neill
To: J.Sheppard
Date:01.24.09
Subject: Answer damn it!
Sheppard,
You have seven days to make your decision. That or I can make it for you.
Command of your own warship.
Command of an empty research city.
O’Neill
********
From: J.O'Neill
To: J.Sheppard
Date:01.24.09
Subject: RE:Answer damn it!
Sheppard,
Congratulations, by the way.
O’Neill
*******
And so it began. Eight more new messages flashed in the time John had emptied his mailbox. All the subject lines were congratulations in one form or another. He knew Congress had given their approval last week, and now it was official, not that the grapevine hadn't been buzzing about it forever.
But that was next month. Right now he needed an imaginary shovel to find the bottom of his paperwork.
A set of knuckles rapped at his door and Nelson poked his head in, tray pushing through the opening. “Sir! Medium rare burger, cheddar, onions, no greens, ketchup on the side.”
The aroma of fresh food triggered a low growl from his stomach. Before he could get up to accept the tray, the enthusiastic Petty Officer was attempting to find an open space on John's desk.
Hastily clearing away a stack of files, he found a spot. “Here's fine, but I can handle my own--”
Nelson dropped off the tray and produced napkins and silverware from thin air, and poured a soft drink into a glass of ice cubes.
“You have an extra arm that I can't see?” John smirked.
“It's all about the pockets,” the young aide replied. “Sir,” he added quickly.
It was useless reminding him that John didn't stand on ceremony. “Thank you. Why don't you take the rest of the--”
His phone rang and Nelson reached for the handset, but John was quicker on the draw. “Sheppard.”
“Major Lorne, sir. I'm sorry to disturb you, but we've got a situation in the cell block. I--”
“Cell block? Sounds like something that needs personal attention,” John cut in. He may have been hungry, but anything that dragged him outside of his office was worth an empty stomach. “I'll meet you in ten.”
“Um, okay. If you--”
“Yep. Hold things down for me.” John hung up and stared at Nelson.
“At ease, Petty Officer,” John ordered. Nelson was there... always just there. “In fact, take the night off. No need to pitch a tent in the next room.”
“But...”
“Enjoy yourself. Watch a movie, go hang out with some buddies.”
Okay, maybe Nelson had no buddies to speak of. “Get some rest, Petty Officer. We have an early morning and I need you sharp.”
“Yes, sir.”
With a burst of energy that had John envious, Nelson was out the door, then scampering back a second later, to put a straw in his glass before scurrying away. John was pretty sure his drink would be flat by the time he got back, but at this point, he didn't care. Ditching his paperwork, his adrenaline was pumping and he was actually looking forward to the newest fire to be put out.
“Have you ever given any thought beyond the next crisis?”
No, because he hadn't known anything else in the last few years.
----------
Strolling through the halls of the SGC lacked many things: the occasional Ancient device gone awry, followed by a pack of panicked geeks, or some escaped critter from Zoology that could fly, turn invisible, or blend into the walls. What it really lacked was an endless labyrinth of hallways to run and beat away any demons nipping at his heels.
Doing loops around the gym didn't provide the right type of distraction, but mentally debating things did apparently, as John ran headlong into another moving object.
There was a yelp followed by a curse as a female form in purple and black staggered back a few steps.
John gave his forehead a small rub. “I'm sorry. Wasn't looking where I was going. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Been hit harder before. Maybe not much harder, though,” the woman muttered as she rubbed at her own forehead. “Son of a bitch, that hurts!”
John looked at her with concern, scanning for injury, then saw the wide, rueful smile on her face. “Yeah, it does,” he said with a laugh. “I am sorry about that. Totally my fault.”
“Yeah, it was,” she smirked. “But, no harm, no foul,” she added.
Now that his vision was clearing a little John got a better look at the victim of his distraction. She was almost his height, about his age. Long brown hair had been caught up in a casual ponytail - bun thing at the top of her head. She was pretty; clean-faced, a few smile lines and crows feet to match his own.
His eyes strayed to her worn Baltimore Ravens T-shirt and jogging pants. She wasn't toned like Teyla under those baggy clothes, but she'd probably give most other civvies a run for their money.
He stuck his hand out. “John Sheppard.”
She returned the shake with a nod. “I think pretty much every one in the Mountain knows who you are, Colonel. Karen Sullivan. I work in linguistics.”
“It’s just John,” he said hurriedly, feeling his face go warm. “Especially to people I run down in the hallways.”
“Okay… John. And seriously, don’t worry about it.” She patted the worn gym bag over her shoulder. “I pretty much hate working out so any delay is a good one… even if it means a goose egg.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Fine, really,” she replied. “I’ll stick an ice pack on it tonight during the game. Maybe have an extra beer.”
“Universally accepted as a painkiller,” John said knowingly. “That’s right. Raiders and Ravens tonight?”
“You bet. If we nail this, we dethrone the Steelers and get the Wildcard spot. Got Flaco and Clayton in my league so it’s a win-win.”
John was impressed, didn’t mind showing it. “Great picks. Think Clayton might break 300 yards this season.”
“You run a team, John?”
He laughed. “Nah. Entered the season a little late for that.”
Sullivan blushed and rubbed her forehead. “Duh, sorry. Blame it on the head trauma. Of course you guys just got back home.”
Home. Yeah. “Look, I’m sorry, Karen. I need to um…”
“Oh, of course. You were obviously somewhere in a big hurry.”
“Not that big a hurry,” he said with a reassuring smile. “In fact, you might say I appreciated a delay as well.”
“Well, it was a pleasure running into you, John,” she chuckled. “And I'll be sure to count you in the fantasy league next year.”
John moved aside and she gave a quick smile before dashing down the hall. With a hand to his ear, his finger brushed over skin in search of a com that wasn't there. With a long sigh, he double-timed it to meet Lorne so his XO wouldn't send out a search party for him.
----------
Level Sixteen of the Mountain had been like a second home the first few days back on Earth, while he spent time accustoming himself with the secondary command bunker's function. They'd recently restarted joint covert training exercises between SGC personnel and the US Air Force Academy, and Landry had asked John to sit in and watch with several other commanders to review qualified officer candidates for future pilots and SG teams.
That was before the promotion and other red tape; now his more recent visits to the level were to the stockade for their VIP guest. Peering in, he studied the bank of security monitors that had a bird's eye view of the entire complex. If anything happened on base, they could direct communications and essential functions from here. The normally stone silent room was noisy with arguing and clipped voices.
Marching in, John stopped behind those in a verbal tug-of-war. “What's going on?”
A Marine stood at attention with a sharp salute. “Nothing, sir.”
“It doesn't sound like nothing, Corporal,” John pointed out. He'd spoken to Corporal Jenkins a few times before; the Marine had impressed him with his cool head and sharp wit. To see the younger officer, his cheeks burning red, visibly try to remain calm was unusual. John stared at the second man who hadn't given him any attention. “Mind telling me the problem?” he directed at the back of someone's curly hair-covered head.
“I do mind. I'm a little busy,” Curly Hair huffed.
“The colonel asked you a question!” Jenkins barked.
“I'm not deaf,” Curly Hair snapped and spun around. “Oh, it's you.”
“Kavanaugh,” John sighed. The man was like a bad penny. “Care to explain why you’re distracting everyone from their current duties?” Those noticeably eavesdropping stared harder at their display screens.
“Because they have the attention spans of gnats.”
John counted to five before answering. “If you can't give me a simple report, perhaps a position in floor maintenance would be more your speed.”
The corners of Jenkins' lips curved slightly; other than that, his face was completely neutral.
Kavanaugh rolled his eyes. “You don't have that type of control over me anymore.” At John’s raised eyebrows he added, “But, since everyone here seems to think you can walk on water right now, I wouldn't be surprised that you'd overreach your authority like that.”
John just smiled.
“This grunt thinks there's a virus in the system, slowing down the network feed controlling cameras thirteen and fourteen on Level Seventeen. I explained that there isn’t a virus, that we need to wipe out the mainframe and re-boot things from scratch because there hasn't been any proper maintenance completed on these systems in months and that's creating the lag time.”
“These systems were updated last week, sir,” Jenkins explained and glared at Kavanaugh. “And by wiping clean the mainframe and re-booting things, it'll put us offline for the duration it would take to complete the maintenance, and that’s unacceptable.”
“Two minutes. Three tops,” Kavanaugh snapped.
John held up his hands. “Look, no one's rebooting anything tonight. Treating the security of this base like I do my computer doesn't sound like a good idea. I'm sure there’s a protocol to follow. So, follow through and report the issue up the chain of command.”
Kavanaugh snatched up his laptop, disconnecting cables. “Typical military bureaucracy. And yet, they keep promoting the sheep, don't they?'
“You can’t talk to the colonel that way,” Jenkins growled.
John waved the man down as Kavanaugh snorted and stalked away. “At ease; it's not worth it.”
“He has no respect for the uniform, sir.”
“Don't feed his ego by letting him get to you, Corporal.”
Jenkins saluted and John returned it, the stare of numerous collective eyes hastening his steps. He hoped the spotlight on him would diminish after next month's event; the attention was way overly bright for his taste.
“I thought you got lost,” the major greeted in the hallway.
“Issues with tech support,” John mumbled, ignoring Lorne's confused expression. “What's going on?”
“Security's gotten word that Todd wants to speak to you.”
“Oh, does he?”
“Yeah, apparently, he's been so insistent, Lieutenant Sanchez contacted me about it tonight.”
“This is the first I've heard of it.”
“Well, prisoner security isn't exactly under our purview,” Lorne chuckled.
They were both used to overseeing every aspect of command. “I know the IOA wants him transferred to a Gitmo type facility, but they'd need to build one first, and there's no budget for it.”
“Not to mention another lab,” Lorne commented.
“Well, he's gonna have to get in line.”
“Um, then why did you come down, sir?”
John shrugged. “Wanted to stretch my legs.” Lorne gave him a quizzical look. “I had to get outa of my office, thought this would be a good diversion.” He rubbed at the sore spot on his forehead, which had only added to his headache. He was already regretting coming down. “Changed my mind, though. I don't feel like screwing around with Todd. He's the SGC's responsibility and I'm not in the mood to play games with him.”
“Understood, sir. Did you want me to pass along a message to him?”
John looked at his watch, realized his burger would be cold by now. “Tell him, I'll pencil him in next week.”
Lorne smirked. “Not a problem.”
“Wanna grab some chow?”
“I ate an hour ago, sorry.”
Cold burger it is. “No problem. I have an early start in the morning.”
“We should meet about those war game protocols.”
“That's on my list of things to do,” John responded dryly.
“Never thought I'd miss not knowing what was going to happen on a routine basis,” Lorne chuckled.
John matched the grin with his own facsimile. “Who'd ever thought living in a secret underground base would be tamer than a floating alien city?”
“I wouldn't say that in front of members of SG-1,” Lorne snorted.
----------
The view through the window was amazing, even seen through a hazy smear of fingerprints and streaks of maple syrup and ketchup. John dipped a corner of his paper napkin in his plastic tumbler of tepid water and cleaned away a few square inches of grime. There. He could practically see the North Portal into the Mountain from here.
It called itself the Mile High Café but the name was the only thing fancy about it. It was an old-fashioned, good old greasy spoon diner. Paper place mats they rarely bothered changing - John’s held an a set of coffee brown Olympic rings- and yellowed pictures on the walls from days gone by. The specials changed every day yet never varied. God forbid you try to order meatloaf on a Tuesday when the special was chicken and dumplings.
It had become a favorite spot for the group the last time they had spent protracted time stuck on Earth. The booths were huge and cushy, even if the vinyl was cracked and held together with duct tape in places, and even Ronon could stretch out comfortably.
John could picture the big man, lounging in the corner, arm flung out along the length of the bench top, laughing as he fought with Rodney over the last of the syrup in the tarnished ‘stainless’ steel carafe. Then he shook his head. Ronon was out raising hell with an SG team. After only two days of life under the mountain, spending practically every waking hour in the gym, sparring, Landry had told John to ‘find an outlet for Ronon’s aggression’ sooner, not later. They couldn’t afford any more Marines out with injuries.
Damn. That was another thing to add to his burgeoning list of things to do. Nelson was, truth be told, a Godsend. There were times when John honestly wondered how he ever did without. But there were some things that John had to attend to personally. He pulled out his Blackberry, thumbed the screen over to his schedule and opened up his ‘priority’ list. Damn. He’d already used up the allotted space. With a sigh he typed “Ronon advanced classes’ over “call Dave.” It’s not like the guilt wouldn’t continue eating at him; he hardly needed to have the words in his PDA to see them. And he really needed to set up a schedule with those running the SERE program for Ronon to start teaching some defense classes. Or, in Ronon’s case, likely offense classes. Tearing up the Milky Way with an SG team wasn’t where the big man’s talents were needed right now.
As he was closing up the phone his eye caught the Gallery app. His thumb hovered over it for a second, then he opened it up, scrolled through what had become a familiar stroll down memory lane, backwards in time. The first pic was a group photo, taken at the SGC before everyone had gone their separate ways. Ronon and Amelia, Rodney and Jennifer, Teyla and Kanaan… John and Woolsey. One of these things is not like the other… Next was Carson, waving goodbye, a wistful smile on his face. Lorne with Chuck in a headlock. Rodney asleep at his desk, evilly grinning Ronon with a Sharpie in his hand. Teyla helping Torren steer a remote controlled car. Carter opening a Christmas present. Carson fidgeting as Lorne painted his portrait.
He paused as he usually did - sometimes he had to thumb right past it- at the picture of Elizabeth, hip cocked, smiling proudly and wearing the feathered headdress the people of PX3-2072 had given her.
It was at this point in the gallery that the ghosts became more frequent. By the time he’d reached Ford’s boyish grin he had to shut it down.
The sound of a car door shutting outside had him glancing through the window just in time to catch a really stellar view of a shapely woman’s backside as she reached into the back seat of a taxi. She wore a nicely fitting velour tracksuit with a brand name sewn from cheek to cheek across the rump.
He took a sip of his water, enjoying the show, then choked and spluttered as she turned and raised her sunglasses to the top of her head. It was Teyla.
His disbelief grew as he watched her pull an expensive looking leather bag over her shoulder as she approached the diner. When she came in he saw other male patrons’ eyes following her as she entered, then gazed about the diner.
John raised a hand and Teyla smiled broadly. Hurried over with her usual grace and eased into the booth across from him.
“It is good to see you, John,” she said warmly.
“Yeah,” John said, still a little awed. “Back at ya. You… look… um, different?”
Teyla rolled her eyes but smiled.
“I was given a… what did she call it? A makeover.” She lowered her voice. “I was told this would make me fit in better. Does it?”
“Oh, you… yeah, you fit in just fine,” John drawled. He lowered his voice as well, leaned over the table and grinned. “Then again, it’s been five years. What the hell do I know about current Earth fashion?”
“Ms. Mal Doran has been very good to me.” Then Teyla sighed. “I believe she has taken me on as a project. She can be most…”
“Persistent? Yeah, Vala’s a force to be reckoned with.”
Teyla chewed a lip then smirked. “She speaks very kindly of you, John.”
“Kindly?”
“Most kindly.” Her grin broadened. “One would almost say she was a bit… I think the term would be ‘smitten‘, with you.”
John coughed out a laugh and sat back in the booth. “Smitten, huh? You know, she is pretty attractive…” he teased.
“She is,” Teyla agreed. “However, she seems to be of the impression that you and I… that we…”
“We?” John echoed in disbelief.
“Yes. That there was a we. She wouldn’t accept that we were able to spend five years together and not be… together. And my protestations seemed only to make her more…”
“Persistent?”
Teyla nodded with a laugh. “Yes.”
“Well, thanks for the warning,” John said, rubbing the back of his head and squirming in his seat. They were thankfully interrupted by the waitress. Sharla was in her fifties, frosted blonde, probably still pretty underneath her overdone makeup.
“Morning, ma’am,” she greeted Teyla warmly as she dropped down a plastic-coated menu in front of each of them and a second plastic tumbler of water. “The colonel’s so polite. He was waiting on you to order.”
“He is a gentleman,” Teyla replied dryly as she scanned the menu. “I’ll have the egg white omelet and the fruit plate.”
Sharla cast a quick glance at the front counter. The owner, Bud, stood behind the counter, wearing a baleful look and a dingy white shirt with a too short tie. Then she bent a little and whispered, “Only got cantaloupe and some squishy grapes today.”
John chuckled, grabbed up the menus and handed them back. “We’ll both have the pancakes, short stack for her, tall for me, side of bacon. Let’s live a little, huh?”
The waitress nodded as she scribbled on her pad, gave John a wink as she walked away.
“It would appear Vala is not the only one who is --”
“All right. That’s enough,” John protested. “Think you’ve spent a little too much time with Ms. Mal Doran.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Teyla sighed. “Although I appreciate that on the surface we have much in common, beyond our… ‘foreign’ roots I am afraid we have little else.”
“You could probably both kick my ass.”
“Well. There is that.” Her smile was brief. “I do not like being kept … out of the loop? On matters of my home and people.”
John nodded. “Well, if it’s any consolation, they’ve kept me pretty much on the sidelines as well.” He sat forward, his whisper urgent. “It figures that the people best qualified to say what’s right for…” he looked around… “the city are being kept in the dark and those doing all the deciding have never stepped a goddamn foot in her.”
“We cannot be the only voices, John. What about Rodney? They seem to value his opinion, and he certainly never has a problem voicing it.”
John shook his head angrily and sat back, steaming. “I think McKay’s gone Dark Side. You know, he actually tried to convince me the other day that we should keep her here?”
Teyla’s eyes grew wide with dismay. “But… how could he… he knows what that will do to those we left behind. John, the longer we stay here the worse the threat grows, both here and there.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Teyla.” At her raised eyebrows he added, “I already agree with you. It seems it’s Rodney we have to get on board. Along with a few key others.”
“Like who? Tell me who they are and I will find them on my own and…”
“Easy, Teyla. I get you. These last few weeks haven't been easy on you, I know. But that’s the way things work around here. There’s two speeds when it comes to our politics: slow and molasses.” He quirked a smile. “Having you show up on an IOA member’s doorstep with Ronon’s blaster really won’t solve anything.”
Her answering smile was tight. “I have been known to solve difficult situations with my words, not a weapon.” She took a sip of her water then pushed the glass around on its watery puddle. “I must admit the image had entered my mind, but only briefly.”
The waitress’s approach, laden down with plates, temporarily tabled the discussion. “Here you go, short stack for you, ma’am, and a tall stack, side a bacon for the colonel.”
“Thanks, Sharla,” John said, already reaching for the carafe of hot maple syrup.
“Love a man with a hearty appetite. Speaking of, the other two not joining you?”
“Afraid not,” Teyla replied. She poked at her pancakes with her fork. Mention of the absent two had clearly saddened her.
“Too bad,” Sharla shrugged. “Miss seeing the big guy around here. You be sure to tell him Sharla says hello, all right?”
John chuckled around a mouthful of food. The flirting she did with Ronon was even less subtle than Sharla’s usual bawdy banter. And there was no doubt why Rodney didn’t get mentioned as being missed. Not after multiple, too loud protestations over tipping had been made. Rodney’s penchant for calculating to the exact fifteenth percent had been the topic of way too many arguments.
“I’m hoping they both can join us next time,” John teased.
Sharla rolled her eyes and sauntered off.
“It is odd, us all being so far apart,”Teyla commented. “It feels…”
“Wrong,” John sighed, the buttermilk cakes already heavy in his stomach. “I know. Ronon's been blowing off steam on missions. Come to think on it, I’m surprised you haven’t gone out with an SG team.”
“They have asked me,” Teyla confirmed as she finally ventured a small bite. “I think it more that they are trying to keep me occupied. I have not kept silent on my views since our arrival. I’ve spoken to Colonel Carter and even General Landry.”
“And?”
She sighed and put down her fork. “I believe they listen to me, but that their minds are mostly already made up. John, I understand, more than they probably think I do, that defense of home is paramount. They have had but a taste of the true strength of our enemy and it scared them. And rightfully so. But they are unwilling to look beyond their fear and seek answers in the short term.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard the speeches too. I think the idea of losing what they see as their only defense scares the crap outa them. Hell, I don’t really blame them.” Then he worked up a smile and grabbed up a strip of bacon, crunched an end off with gusto, then pointed it at her. “But, as one of our great military leaders once said, ‘I have not yet begun to fight.’ I’m not giving up yet, Teyla.”
She inclined her head in acceptance. “Good. In the meantime, you can teach me to drive.”
He choked on his bacon, coughed, then said, “Come again?”
“If I am to remain here… in Colorado…” she smiled, “I want to be able to travel on my own. I do not think I can take much more of Vala, and I would like Torren and Kanaan to see more of… Colorado.”
“Driving, huh?” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I dunno…”
She grinned and leaned over the table at him. “I have flown a hive ship. I think I can handle a car.”
“They are a little different,” John drawled. “But I think I can find time in my busy schedule to go over the basics with you. What about you? Time between facials and doing each other’s hair?”
Teyla’s balled up napkin hit him square in the face. He was ready to return fire when his cell phone chirped and began to dance with its vibrations.
Picking it up he noted the caller, raised an eyebrow and showed it to Teyla. She echoed his surprise as he thumbed the phone to answer.
“Mr. Woolsey. Always a pleasure to hear from you, sir. What’s up?”
------
“Chapter Two”