Fic: My Love, Atlantis (1/2)

[sgarb_mod]

Author: rinkafic
Wordcount: 12,650
Rating: Gen
Pairing(s): John Sheppard/OFC
Summary: John Sheppard loved Atlantis. He never suspected she really loved him back.
Warning(s) highlight to read: Mostly dead canon characters, but just mostly.
Notes: Thanks to my betas, kyaraelf and bethieboo, left very confused by me and my odd concept piece. Thanks to the artist theeverdream that made me such a pretty picture to work from, and in the process provided me with new wallpaper!

Companion piece to My Love Atlantis.



My Love, Atlantis

When the children of the lost ones returned, Atlantis woke and greeted them with light. Limited reserves of energy made that the most she was able to offer at the time by way of welcome. Some were like the lost ones, able to sense her, able to touch her and make her systems work. One was different, more like the lost ones than the others in his company. She reached out to him, the one that might have enough of the lost ones within him to make all well and good again, she caressed his mind, spoke to him. It seemed to be enough; she saw that she had caught his attention. As she watched from hidden places, she recognized wonder in his eyes with each step he took, witnessed his growing delight as she came alive once more under his hand.

Her whispers apparently surprised him at first, though he never did answer her in kind, the way his grandsire’s sires would have done once, millennia ago, but eventually he grew comfortable in her presence, with her presence, and she was satisfied with the smallest of touches she could land upon him. If only she could do more, but she just had so little left to give, even to a favored returned son, to him that had impossibly returned. With his coming, she had purpose once more, and would do what she could for the offspring of the lost ones come home.

In time, there was energy enough to do what she needed to do. There was energy enough for the great city ship to take to the sky once more. There was energy enough to fulfill her purpose. At last.

[Subroutine engaged]
[Program run]

John Sheppard had wanted to fly since he was a small child. Following his dreams, he gave up a potentially lucrative position in the family business to join the military after college, much to his brother’s dismay and his father’s displeasure. The military gave him a weapon and taught him to kill. And then the United States Air Force gave him wings, and later, rotors. He could have done without the killing bits, but eventually he came to believe that he could never love anything as much as he loved flying.

Because of an accident of his genetics, the Air Force assigned him to Stargate Command and the SGC, in turn, sent him to another planet, another planet in another galaxy. He stepped through a wormhole and found himself in the fabled lost city of Atlantis. Again, due to that same accident of genetics, the city responded to him, he touched things, and they glowed. With a brush of his hand, consoles and equipment came to life and began to work after ten thousand years of disuse.

Though he didn’t mention it to anyone for fear of being thought mad and taken off duty to sit alone somewhere in a safe corner of the city - where he would simply die of boredom - John thought that the city spoke to him in a vague way, not in words, nothing concrete, just whispers at the edges of his mind. He sensed her, a presence always there, just out of reach. Over time, he took the feeling for granted as he settled into life on an alien city.

After years of drifting aimlessly in his quest for flight and belonging, Major John Sheppard found a place where he felt truly comfortable. He felt at home in the city, despite the fact that circumstances forced him to kill people in the Pegasus galaxy, but they were mostly bad people, especially the people that sort of ate other people by sucking the life out of them, so his conscience could live with that bit of killing. He was still a soldier and that was still part of his job, after all.

Atlantis gave him puddlejumpers; little ships that he could fly with his mind. With. His. Mind. It staggered him.

He was a little in love with the city.

The scientists learned that the city herself could fly, if they only had the power cells, the ZPMs, to make it happen. And then one day, they did. Atlantis was, for the first time, powered enough to fly. When John Sheppard sat down in the Atlantis control chair to pilot his beloved city, his heart was full of joy at the experience, and he was happy.

Necessity brought Atlantis to Earth, and she floated on the seas of the little blue green planet for a time. But then it was time for her to return to the Pegasus Galaxy, and Colonel John Sheppard sat easily in the control chair where he had sat so many times before and guided her home.

When Rodney McKay, after years of research, finally figured out how to recharge a ZPM, Atlantis had all the power she needed, years after the expedition had found her drained and empty, with only minimal systems running. Systems deemed secondary and tertiary, which had lain dormant because there was not energy enough to run them, were brought back online. The science teams were giddy at the daily discoveries made as Atlantis returned to her full glory.

Then came the day when Colonel John Sheppard innocently sat in the control chair, at the behest of his friend and colleague, to help run a simple series of tests, something he had done dozens of times over the years.

And everything changed.

[Control Interface Initiated]
[Pilot Control Verified]

Brigadier General John Sheppard sighed and rubbed a hand across his face, his head was aching with a killer migraine. With a thought, he ordered the overhead lights to dim and the floor to ceiling windows to darken, affording him privacy in his fishbowl of an office. Glancing down at his desk, he pushed the stacks of reports spread before him away and dropped his head down onto his folded arms. If he could just close his eyes and rest for a few minutes in the quiet and dark, perhaps this would pass without needing a trip to Carson and medical intercession from the doctor. Read: needles and drugs that made him loopy and practically useless for hours.

“Again?” A quiet voice and light touch to his shoulder roused him from his unplanned nap. He grimaced as he realized his cheek was resting in a small puddle of spittle on his desktop. As he sat up slowly, trying not to jostle his throbbing head, he tried to surreptitiously wipe the dampness away with his sleeve.

He had been well and truly caught; there was no denying that he was suffering now. He whispered his response, “Yeah.”

“Here, keep your eyes closed, lean back.” Gentle orders in a soothing voice accompanied the hands guiding him back in his seat. A cool damp cloth covered his eyes and forehead and soon strong hands began to knead the knotted muscles at the base of his neck.

He let a groan slip out and then asked, “What would I do without you, Lorne?”

“Probably drool all over the quarterly supply requisitions.” So much for hoping his exec had missed today’s spitfest. “Should I call your wife?”

“My wife?” John asked in mild confusion; either the pain in his head or Lorne’s talented fingers were making him stupid, obviously, as he couldn’t in that moment even remember what his wife’s name was.

Lorne’s fingers had moved up from his neck to rub at the bothersome spot behind his ears. This wasn’t the first time his second in command had found him like this, and John worried that this was becoming routine. “She sent me to find you. You’re late for dinner again; she said you weren’t answering her radio calls. Lannie’s a little miffed, Sir.”

Lannie! Of course Lannie, how could he have forgotten? And according to Lorne, Lannie was annoyed. That boded ill for someone, most likely John, if he didn’t do something to assuage her temper and head off a tantrum. “On a scale of one to ten?” John asked as Lorne’s fingers skimmed up to his temples and rubbed lightly.

“She tried calling McKay first and had to listen to him rant because she interrupted ‘an experiment of major importance just so he could play Lassie and find her misplaced Timmy’ so…”

“A six?” John ventured hopefully, lifting the edge of the cloth from his eye to squint up at Evan.

Lorne twisted his lips and rolled his eyes. “More like an eight. Let’s get you down to Doctor Beckett, this looks like a bad one, maybe you can knock her annoyance level down a few notches if you can garner a few sympathy points for your pain. You should practice your woeful look while I run some interference on your behalf.” Lorne tapped the radio at his ear, “Mrs. S? I found him. In his office. You want to meet us at the infirmary? Yeah, another one. Ok, fine. No problem, all part of the service, Mrs. S.”

While Lorne had been checking in with the irritated Mrs. Sheppard, her errant husband had been struggling to regain his feet. Lorne clucked his tongue and caught his CO under the arm, steadying him. “Oh, Beckett is so gonna use the big needles on you today, Sir.”

“You are such a comfort in these times, Lorne. Such a comfort. Now, shut up.”

Evan laughed lightly and with a practiced hand, carefully hauled the ailing head of the Atlantis military off to see the doctor.

“This is the Genii’s fault.” Lannie was standing in the doorway of the infirmary; arms crossed and foot tapping as she took in her husband’s haggard appearance. John had shaken off Lorne’s supporting arm when they got to the corridor outside his office; preferring not to alert the entire expedition to his sorry state. He probably wasn’t fooling anyone though, he looked like crap and he knew it. Lorne was hovering, close enough to catch him should he falter, but far enough away not to arouse suspicions of any kind, an art Lorne had perfected years earlier.

When they reached the doorway, John bent and dropped a kiss on Lannie’s forehead before allowing her to tug him into the room.

“Over here, lad, let’s see what you’ve done to yourself now.” Carson patted the bed beneath the ancient scanner; apparently they were skipping the preliminary exam and going straight to the big guns today. John figured he must look pretty crappy.

“How is my headache the Genii’s fault?” John asked Lannie as he allowed Beckett to manhandle him under the machine.

Lannie’s dark eyes were furious as she watched the doctor arrange John’s limbs to his satisfaction and make adjustments to the machinery. “They hurt you.”

“You’ll need to be more specific, lots of people have hurt me over the years, Lannie, including the Genii on several occasions.” John’s voice was tired. As the lights of the scanner flared up and cast out over him, he winced, instinctively shying away from the beam.

“Please don’t move, lad.”

John grunted, “Trying, Doc,” and forced himself to remain as still as possible.

John squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the light and the pain. He couldn’t fool Beckett and his machines, not anymore, and before the scanner had even finished, he felt the prick of a needle in his arm. “Sonof...!” He swore in surprise, rubbing at the spot.

“Sorry, General, I know you don’t particularly like this course of treatment.” The doctor patted his shoulder in a conciliatory gesture that John was certain doctors learned at some point during their studies at Medical School.

“You need the pain killers Sir. We need you on your feet tomorrow; the Traveler Delegation is coming.” Evan moved to help John climb off the scanner bed, catching him under the arm and bracing him as John tried to walk. Though it was only half a dozen steps towards the waiting gurney, it took both Beckett and Lorne to drag him over to it; the medication had hit him that quickly, knocking his feet out from under him.

“I hate this.” He didn’t care anymore that he was whining. Once he was settled, Lannie moved to the bedside and lightly stroked his forehead. “Don’t let the pain win, dearest one. Let the medication help. Sleep. You need to rest. I’ll stay right here beside you.”

John was at the edge of unconsciousness, it would not take much to topple over, and he didn’t have the energy to bother fighting it anymore.

“They didn’t pay enough for hurting you.” Lannie murmured as she threaded her fingers through his hair. She spoke just loudly enough for Evan, standing across the bedside, to hear her over the hum of the infirmary machines.

“Not nearly enough.” The Colonel agreed; the last words John heard before Carson’s insidious drugs claimed him completely and he slid over the edge.

[Pilot Connection Error]
[Resequence]
[Reestablish]

“I do not understand the meaning of this song you listen to so frequently.” Lannie pulled the ear buds from her ear, the wire dangling loosely between her delicate fingers as she looked away from the laptop and over at John, where he sprawled across his bed, reading a comic book.

“How do you know what I listen to frequently?” He asked without looking up.

“The music program helpfully keeps count of how many times a song is played.”

“Does it? Huh. I never noticed that. What don’t you get?”

She hummed a little Johnny Cash rift; until he nodded that he knew which tune she meant. “How can a burning thing be good? Why would one wish to be in a relationship if it hurts and burns so much?”

“It isn’t the relationship that burns; he’s just comparing love to an out of control fire that he fell into. I think.” He hated when she made him dissect lyrics, even the Man in Black’s lyrics, it was too much like talking about feelings. John wasn’t comfortable with feelings talk.

[Error]
[File Access Denied]

“What’s this?” Lannie asked, fingering the rounded edge of the board and glancing back over her shoulder at John with wide curious eyes.

“A surfboard.”

“What does it do?”

“Most of the time, it collects dust over there in the corner of my quarters.”

“But what does it do? Why is it here? What is the purpose of this piece of wood?”

“For surfing.” He reached past her and picked up the board with one hand. He held it before him to illustrate as he explained, “You use it to ride on the waves at the beach. It floats.”

She eyed the board skeptically. “It floats?”

“Well, sometimes. Sometimes it flies up in the air and slams down on my head.”

“This is something you choose to do, deliberately? You have odd concepts of fun, John Sheppard.”

He shrugged, he couldn’t really argue with her. “Most of the time, I have fun, when I’m not being attacked by the board, or getting concussions, or drowning as a result of being hit by the board and getting a concussion.” He leaned it back in place against the wall.

She seemed to be unimpressed with the concept of surfing. John shoved his hands in his pockets as she crossed to his desk and looked at the small model plane sitting beside his laptop, lifting it and making it soar through the air for a few moments. “Wanna watch a movie?”

“Do you have Die Hard? Or Groundhog Day? Or Terminator? I think I like those.”

“A girl after my own heart, I think I’m in love.” John reached for his laptop to boot up the first of John McClane’s adventures, which John had watched at least ten times since coming to the Pegasus galaxy.

[Interface Loop Error]
[Reinitializing]
[Pilot Program Recovered]

John Sheppard’s wedding day had dawned bright and sunny, like most days on New Athos. He rolled over onto his stomach and pulled the pillow over his head to block out the intrusive light that was attempting to burn out his retinas. He couldn’t believe he was going to be a groom again. He had thought he had been cured of marriage after his first disastrous attempt with Nancy. But, here he was, doing this again. At least this time, he didn’t have to keep his work a secret from his wife; she knew what he did, knew where he went every day when he went to work. She knew about Wraith and Genii and Replicators.

His alarm buzzed and he fumbled a hand around on the nightstand to tap it off. His head throbbed as he rolled over and sat up. There had definitely been too much bachelor party. John hissed in pain as the light streaming through the window hit him square in the face. Radek Zelenka was an evil little bootlegger; he and his still were now on John’s List, at the top of the list, in fact. Downing mass quantities of the Czech version of moonshine - on the night before his wedding - what had John been thinking? John stumbled to the washroom and somehow made his way through his morning routine, even managing to shave, despite his hangover.

The door chimed. Then it chimed twice more in rapid succession. Rodney. Only McKay was too impatient to wait the mere moments it took for John to stumble over to swipe open the door, because with his headache, there was no way in hell he was shouting out for him to just come in.

“Ow.” John said by way of greeting as Rodney pushed past him into the room.

“I don’t suppose I can talk you out of this?” McKay asked hopefully.

“Uh uh.” John shook his head, which set the headache raging again. “Ow.” He put one hand to his temple, pressing on the pain, and asked, “What are you doing here, McKay?”

“Since I cannot talk you out of this, I’m here to escort you to the mainland. Teyla’s orders.

“I wish you followed my orders half as well.”

“Teyla is scary.”

“I’m scary.”

“No. Not really.” McKay replied absently as he eyed the room, and then took in John’s t-shirt and boxers, which he had slept in. “Uniform? Come on, come on, can’t be late. Hup-hup, soldier, march, two, three, four.”

The door chimed again as John went over to his closet and pulled out his dress blues. Rodney leaned over to swipe at the pad and the door swished open to reveal Ronon lurking in the door frame, dressed in his ‘best’ leather pants and a clean shirt with real sleeves. “Teyla sent me.”

Rodney sputtered indignantly, “She doesn’t trust me?”

“She heard you were at the party last night.” Ronon explained, as if that explained everything.

This seemed to mollify McKay somewhat. “I left fairly early. So you’re just here as Teyla’s redundancy plan? He’s up, he’s shaved and he’s getting dressed. Why don’t you go check on Lorne and the marines? They were doing shots when I left and I heard from Radek that the whole pack of them practically crawled out of the mess hall on all fours last night.”

Torn between following Teyla’s order to see Sheppard properly collected and the opportunity to possibly roust and kick around some hung over marines, Ronon decided to go with Option B. “See ya later.” He waved and disappeared down the corridor.

“I’m telling Lorne you did that.” Sheppard intoned, frowning as he continued to have an issue feeding the belt through the loops on his pants.

Ignoring the non-threat of invoking Lorne’s wrath, and taking notice of John’s difficulty, Rodney huffed and walked over to his friend. “Oh for Pete’s sake, what are you, five?” He helped, until John slapped his hands away, after the belt was mostly in place.

“I’m getting married, Rodney.”

“I know. Sucks to be you.”

“Can’t you be happy for me?”

“No. Hurry up.”

“Don’t you like Lannie?”

“No. But that doesn’t matter, since you do. Where’s the ring?”

“On my desk. You really don’t like her?”

“I told you I didn’t, months ago. You told me to go do vulgar things to myself, remember?”

“No, not really. My memory isn’t what it used to be.”

“Hello, General Obvious! Genii torture? Massive head trauma? Months of rehab? Fight with the IOA just to keep you here? Any of this ringing a bell?”

“Uh… yeah. Maybe?”

“Are you asking me or telling me, Sheppard?”

“Asking?”

With a long-suffering sigh, Rodney spoke rapidly, “Ambassador Koyla snatched you after the interplanetary coalition meeting, the day they gave you that hideously ugly medal for destroying the Wraith. Lorne and his trusty band of marine bruisers practically staged a coup to get you back, and helped overthrow the Genii government. I blew up their DHD, locked the lying cretins on their filthy glowing home world for good…” Rodney’s mild rant trailed off and his tone changed as he looked at John and saw that his friend was confused as he tried to follow Rodney’s recitation. “You really aren’t remembering well today, are you, John?”

His head was throbbing. Why didn’t he remember all of that, or any of that? Wasn’t the leader of the Genii Radim? Koyla was just a henchman, wasn’t he? Wasn’t Koyla dead? “They gave me a medal?”

Rodney pointed to a garish chunk of metal on the shelf near John’s desk. John stepped over and took it down, fingering the multi-colored metalwork suspended from a ribbon. Nothing. He had no memory of this. His head hurt a little as he tried to remember. Rodney came up behind him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t brood on it, John. Not today. Today is supposed to be happy. Let it go, it’s probably just one of those days for you, one of the hard ones. You’ll make some new memories to fill in the holes; happy memories.”

He gave a wavering smirk, a shadow of his usual smile, at his friend’s earnest expression. It seemed to placate Rodney. The scientist clapped his hands and moved towards the door. He waggled a small square box. “I’ve got the ring; let’s go, before Teyla sends someone else to fetch us.”

John and Rodney collected Kate Heightmeyer on their way to the jumper bay, looking impossibly young and fresh in a brightly flowered sun dress. This was in direct counterpoint to Carson, who looked as hung over as John felt. It was a quiet ride over to the mainland. Sheppard set the puddlejumper down on the beach, not far from where the wedding party was gathering near a floral draped canopy.

Kate bounded from the puddlejumper as soon as John let the ramp down, calling out, “I’m going to see what Lannie and Teyla are up to! See you later!”

Following along after Rodney, Sheppard allowed himself to be caught by the shoulders and wrangled into position by a surprisingly solid Lorne, who absolutely did not look like he had matched the marines shot for shot at the party the previous night. “Why aren’t you hung over, Lorne?” John demanded of his executive officer.

“Teyla forbade it.” Evan replied seriously.

“So, you are not hung over, despite heavily imbibing that crazy Czech’s pure liquid engine fuel, simply because Teyla said so?”

“Exactly, Sir. Teyla is scary.”

“I’m scary!”

“No, not really, Sir.” Lorne turned as the dark haired administrator of Atlantis silently approached across the sand and inclined his head respectfully, “Good morning, Doctor Weir.”

“Good morning gentlemen. Beautiful day for a ceremony, wouldn’t you say?”

Evan smiled and nodded, as did John. John watched Elizabeth as she made her way around to greet people. Something niggled at the back of his consciousness, some memory tried to surface, as he stared at her. His eye began to twitch and his head throbbed in warning of an impending migraine. An image of Elizabeth, broken and bleeding; charred glass and debris strewn across her twisted body flashed in his mind. Not today. Please, not today. John begged silently. He tried to will the images away.

A flute began to play from somewhere in the trees, a haunting melody that John almost recognized, banishing the disturbing images plaguing him as he tried to identify the piece of music. Then Teyla appeared through a break in the trees, flowers woven in her hair, wearing a long Athosian gown of beautiful, bright, swirling colors. “Come, friends. It is time.” Teyla beckoned to those milling around the on the sandy beach; military and civilians from Atlantis, Athosians from the mainland, as well as a few allies from Pegasus that John called friends.

Ronon stalked up and gave Lorne a dirty look.

“You’re late, big guy.” John hid his smirk behind his hand and covered the move with an exaggerated stroke of his chin.

“Was looking for him.” Ronon pointed accusingly at Lorne and shuffled over to take a place beside Rodney, continuing to cast irritated looks over at the Major. Evan, refusing to be cowed, merely smiled up at the big Satedan and stood at parade rest with the other attendants.

As the music drifted out over the sand, the guests gathered together in a small crowd near where John stood waiting nervously.

The music changed slightly and John turned to see that Lannie was coming along the beach towards him. Her dark curls were bobbing lightly in the breeze, which also caught and fluttered the folds of her gauzy white gown. As she saw him, her red lips widened in a bright smile. Her dark eyes were on John, watching only him as she came forward to take his outstretched hand.

And she promised to take care of him, forever, to be with him forever, and to love only him, forever.

And he promised the same.

Didn’t he?

[Stream Error]
[Data Corruption]
[Reinitialize]

Atlantis vibrated beneath their feet as the shields took another hit. Venom dripped from Lannie’s voice as she hissed, “I hate the Wraith.”

“We all hate the Wraith, Lannie.” John said, pulling her close against his side and planting a kiss on her dark curls. The city shook as another focused bombardment hit the shields. Allowing that she needed comfort from him and he should spare at least a little time for his wife, he held her for a few moments until the worst of her shivering stopped.

“I need you in the chair.” McKay called across the small room that housed the city’s interface control. “Now, Sheppard.”

“He should treat you with more respect.” Lannie sneered as she looked over at McKay. Rodney was busily working at the base of the chair, ignoring the General’s wife, as he usually did.

John patted her shoulder. It was an old argument, and he had long ago accepted that he would never be able to broker a peace between his hot tempered little wife and his best friend. They had hated each other from the day they met. When had that been? John couldn’t exactly remember. The event was probably lost in the Swiss cheese of his memory; but it must have been bad, judging by the way the pair felt about each other.
“He respects me, sweetheart. He just has an odd way of showing it.” John carefully picked his way through the wires, circuit boards, crystals and tools scattered across the floor until he reached the chair.

“Sit.” McKay ordered, glaring at Sheppard when he didn’t move quickly enough to suit the scientist. “Chop-chop, Wraith at the door, only you can prevent forest fires, hurry up flyboy, time to earn your keep, get to it.”

Lannie’s growl of annoyance and grinding of teeth was audible from across the room, and the noise caught McKay’s attention. He pointed at her, “She should be in the Gate Room, with the other civilians, or even better yet; already gone.”

“My place is with John.” Lannie said insistently, apparently having no intention of doing anything just because Doctor Rodney McKay said it must be so.

“Fine, fine, die a horrible death here and miss the chance to escape to the Alpha Site, see if I care.” McKay waved his hands in dismissal and bent back to the chair. To John he said, “Try to pull up the defense interface, you should be able to access it now.”

The chair tilted back and lit up as John settled into it. “I’ve got it.” John said needlessly as the display sprung into existence over their heads.

McKay worked for a few more moments, switching crystals and wires around. The display spluttered and faded in and out a few times, but remained on. “The weapons array should be online, syncing with the satellite… now.”

The city’s defense systems, dormant in the time since the last Wraith attack, practically sang as John coaxed them awake one by one, urging them to do his bidding. Firepower came to his hands and John Sheppard smiled wickedly, targeting the three Wraith hives that had been bombarding his city for the last hour. It was time for him to make them go away, for good.

The shields danced beneath his will, spots opening over Atlantis’s weapon platforms long enough to fire, closing again, and then randomly opening elsewhere. Beams from the laser batteries cut across the sky, finding the hives and cutting across them with surgical precision, severing them into pieces.

John heard laughter from across the room; and he couldn’t help but smile at Lannie’s delighted giggles as the Wraith were destroyed, the indicator lights on the interface screen floating over their heads winking out one by one. Once the hives were gone, John sent drones out after the cruisers and darts that remained scattered across the sky, moving like aimless bugs without purpose or direction any longer. Soon they too began to blink out of existence, until the sky above New Athos was clear once more.

“I hate the Wraith.” John wasn’t certain which of them had said it. But John felt it, to the depths of his soul; he felt absolute hatred for the Wraith. This was new to him. When the military taught him to kill they had taught him to do so efficiently, methodically, with purpose. They had not taught him to do so with hatred in his heart, or with anger guiding his hand. He had a moment to wonder at this change, to wonder why things were different now, when this shift had happened. He felt a surge of resentment and abhorrence, directed at the Wraith.

The Wraith had stolen from him. The Wraith had taken Ford from him, a piece at a time. The young lieutenant’s smiling face flashed before John’s eyes and his stomach clenched once again with the guilt of losing such a promising officer. ‘Because of the Wraith’ a whisper in his mind reminded him, and his guilt faded to the background, subsumed by the hatred the Wraith deserved.

[Pilot System Failure Imminent]
[Disengage]
[Diagnostic Required]

“Systems crashing. Sheppard, you need to shut it down, now! Disengage. DISENGAGE!” An annoying blaring filled John’s ears and it made his head hurt more. He was growing very, very weary of pain in his head.

Big, warm, familiar hands grabbed at Sheppard’s arms, shaking his shoulders to get his attention. A large hand slapped his face roughly. “Sheppard, wake up! You have to get out of the chair! This is killing you!”

[Subsystem Control Failure]

Lannie’s voice was cutting, uncharacteristically cold as she shouted, “Stop yelling at him, McKay! Take your hands off him.”

There was another shake at his shoulders, and then the hands were suddenly, violently, ripped away.

John distantly heard an argument raging over his head. In his head? His limbs felt heavy, he had a vague notion that he should be moving, a mild impulse to do something that someone had told him to do. Had McKay told him to do something? His body didn’t seem to want to obey him. Lethargy pulled him down. He hurt too much and was too tired to fight his way to the surface.

And then the shouting faded away and the alarm klaxons fell silent. “It’s all right John, I’m here, love. Be calm, be restful. I made it stop. I made him stop. All is well; all is as it should be, my love.”

Lannie was with him. She would make sure everything was ok. He felt the panic subside. She was with him. He was safe.

[Emergency System Override]
[Power Drain]
[Divert Resources]

“John can you hear me? Please, don’t go, my love. Don’t leave me.”

He couldn’t be dead, everything hurt far too much to be dead. “Who?”

“Me, it’s me, John, I’m here.”

“Lannie?”

“Yes.” Soft hands framed his face and kisses rained across his cheeks. “Yes, love. You scared me so.”

John opened his eyes and saw that he was in the infirmary. Curtained walls hid the rest of the ward from him, granting him privacy. The lights were dim, and it was quiet. Too quiet. It was the sort of quiet that swept over Atlantis when Something Bad had just happened, and the fallout of Something Worse was imminent. “What happened?”

“An accident. I’m so sorry John, it was horrible. We almost lost you too.” Lannie sobbed once and covered her mouth with one slim hand.

“Lost… too? We lost someone?” He tried to push himself upright, but she easily stopped him, the fingers of her hands splayed on his chest, nails digging into the plaid scrub top he wore. She nudged him back down to the bed. When she looked away and didn’t answer immediately, he grabbed her hand and tugged until she met his eyes.

She whispered sadly, “I’m sorry John; I know he was your friend. We lost Doctor McKay.”

McKay was gone? How could McKay be gone? “What happened, Lannie?” John demanded roughly, perhaps too roughly; his wife flinched away at his tone, refusing to meet his eyes again.

Elizabeth Weir answered from over Sheppard’s shoulder as she edged her way into the small enclosure of sheet walls. “Doctor Zelenka thinks there was an overload, something in the chair base exploded. Rodney was caught in a discharge and electrocuted. Doctor Beckett says it was quick, he didn’t suffer but a moment.”

Pain flared in his head, and John clamped his hands to his ears, pressing in to try to contain it, to stop it. Rodney was dead? What was Elizabeth doing here? Elizabeth was here and Rodney was dead?

“Doctor Beckett, can’t you do something? He’s suffering. Can’t you come and give him something for the pain?” Lannie called through the opening in the folding curtain wall.

“Aye, I’m coming, aye.” Carson bustled in and elbowed past Elizabeth, grabbing up the IV line hanging beside the bed and injecting a syringe of medication into it. “You should feel some relief soon enough, General.”

The coolness of the new liquid flowed through the line, and John slumped back against the mattress. He felt drifty. Drifty was good. If he was drifty, he didn’t have to think.

Thinking hurt. John was tired of hurting.

Continued in part 2.