Fic: Mama, just killed a man
I'm not really sure I'm happy with this, but it's grown long and the whole purpose of answering these prompts was to rattle out fast short ficlets, and well, this has gone long and there's room for aftermath tags. For what it's worth, here it is. This is the prompt written for karri_kln1671 who wanted John sick, injured or lost in Atlantis, feeling abandoned and some possible ShepLantis mixed in.
Mama, just killed a man
Sheppard loved missions like these; exploring Atlantis; it was pure thrill without the constant nagging fear of a Wraith attack or being backstabbed by supposed allies. Here, there was only the subdued fear of stumbling into something potentially dangerous; a rare fear, when held against the larger, more frequent threat coming at them from all other quarters. Those thoughts, Sheppard pushed away. The Wraith weren’t going anywhere, and for now, it was just him, his team, and a spare scientist along with a spare soldier. And a very big city.
“Colonel Sheppard,” spare scientist called, “looks like there’s a lab up ahead.”
“Rodney?” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the other guy, he just wanted confirmation. The spare, he was new, and though there was a part of Sheppard that knew he should make an effort to learn the scientist’s name, he hadn’t. Scientists seemed to die at a disquietingly equal attrition rate as soldiers, so for Sheppard, sometime in the last year, the new faces had simply become ‘spare scientist’ or ‘extra soldier’ and somewhere even deeper inside, the far more cynical part of him even whispered ‘sacrificial lambs’ and ‘canon fodder’.
McKay nodded and looked up from his hand-held machine. “Yes, I think so.” He looked back at the other scientist and asked, “Is there any label on the schematic?”
Spare guy blinked behind too large glasses. “Label?”
“Did you really graduate?” McKay asked, wonderingly. “As in Lab One, or Experimental Lab where we dissected things or even Viral Lab, warning, full of dangerous and horrible nanoviruses and other deadly things - label!”
“Oh.” The scientist glanced down at the laptop he carried by his chest. He studied the screen then shook his head. “Just says lab. Maybe there’s more Ancient text that isn’t showing on your display.”
Sheppard quickly looked away from McKay, because if he didn’t, he was going to laugh. Spare guy was quickly working on a boot back to Earth. Normally Sheppard figured McKay was a little hard on his people, but this guy wasn’t impressing Sheppard much.
“Yes, well, the screen you’re reading happens to automatically translate into English everything that is in the database and present it appropriately; seeing how it’s my laptop, I should know.” And with that said, McKay snatched his computer and shoved the smaller Ancient device into the other scientist’s hands. “Maybe you can read this.” His disapproval was thick, and the new guy, he looked both parts sheepish and irritated.
They had arrived at a crossroads; a junction where a hallway moving east to west met with a north to south corridor. They were traveling north-northeast, relative to the control center. The goal was to spend today doing the surface level, then tomorrow, descend to the sub-surface levels and inspect for any damage, in addition to cataloging finds. An area Sheppard knew would be far less pleasant than this one.
But for today, the corridors were broad, untouched by water or damage, brightly lit and comfortable. There were windows where Sheppard could watch the waves crashing against the cities’ edge. It was peaceful, relaxing, and he figured it wouldn’t be a bad way to spend a week - then again, the lower depths could get pretty moldy if you ran into a damaged section. Sheppard went from a lazy, relaxed smile to concentrated frowning. Moldy hallways sucked.
Focus, John, bright hallways, wide open spaces, don’t worry about trouble before it finds you.
“Let’s split up,” Sheppard ordered, re-pasting the lazy smile on his face, “Ronon, Sergeant, take…uh…”
“Haviland, Colonel,” the scientist supplied peevishly, muttering under his breath, “for the fifth time.”
“Right, take Dr. Haviland and search the east corridor; Rodney, Teyla, you’re with me, we’ll keep going north - that’s where the lab is, right McKay?”
Ronon frowned. “Shouldn’t we stick together?”
McKay looked exasperated. “It’s a big city, Ronon, and,” he eyed his watch and flipped it for everyone to see, “only so much time. I’m sure you’ll be safe.”
“It wasn’t me I’m worried about.”
“Oh. Well, I’ve got Sheppard, so, no offense, but he’s Atlantis’ favorite. I’d worry more about yourself than us.”
Haviland paled slightly. “Atlantis’ favorite?”
“Dr. McKay is merely pulling your pants,” Teyla interjected smoothly.
The sergeant snorted into his hand. Sheppard threw him a warning look, then rolled his eyes at Haviland. “Atlantis isn’t sentient, Doctor. Radio contact every hour, we’ll keep searching till 1700, then call it a day.”
Haviland still looked skeptical, but he followed the sergeant and Ronon. After they disappeared down the corridor, Sheppard began leading his group north again. It was only ten minutes till they found the door on the left, a single entrance, so Sheppard figured it wasn’t a big lab.
“Teyla,” Sheppard gestured her forward with a jerk of his head, “Rodney, stay behind us.”
He brushed his hand against the panel; just the merest touch, and it slid open, revealing a darkened room. Shadowy lumps slowly resolved into furniture as they walked in, light from the hall revealing what lurked within.
“What the hell?” This wasn’t a lab. Then a chilling thought intruded, you never know. No, no way was this a lab. Sheppard may have a lot of doubts about the Ancients, but there was nothing to indicate they’d gone that far or crossed that line.
Teyla stared at teddy bears tucked into child-size rocking chairs. “It looks as if this were a room for their children.”
There were a few cribs tucked into a corner towards the rear; a few beds, toddler size. There were cabinets filled with what Sheppard could only guess were toys, and then some objects higher up, but it was hard to guess what every item could be.
“I can’t believe this! It’s a glorified daycare room, not a lab!” McKay shook his head irritably. “That idiot!” Then he glared at Sheppard, as if expecting the colonel to somehow smite Haviland for his mistake. “Can you possibly tell me how one can mistake nursery for lab?”
“It is still fascinating, Rodney,” Teyla said. She wandered to a nearby cabinet and lifted an object that looked vaguely like a top. “This is the first evidence we have found regarding their children.”
McKay still looked disgruntled. “Yeah, well, I don’t like kids, and unless their kids could build ZPM’s, they aren’t likely to become an exception.”
Sheppard circled McKay and patted him affectionately on the shoulder. “Sure the feeling is mutual, there, buddy.” Personally, he thought it was kind of neat. Sort of like finding out your principal put his pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else.
A row of objects on a higher shelf was within reach and Sheppard gazed at them curiously. Two looked like they’d once been a tank for an animal or fish; mineral deposits had left clear proof of a long evaporated water level, but now stood empty and lonely; it was a pervasive feel that seemed to encompass the room as a whole. Another device looked like a communication mechanism of some sort - that might be helpful - and the last object was pyramidal in shape, flat on all sides, and dark. What could that be?
He reached for it, intrigued.
“Colonel --” someone called.
“John!”
But all Sheppard heard was the loud retort of gunfire and then he was falling.
OoO
Rodney sensed Sheppard reaching for one of the objects on the shelf. Why is it when something bad happens, something you can’t stop, there was always this weird shift in perception. Time seemed to slow. Sheppard’s hand wrapped around the sharp edges of the small device and light flared. His body physically jerked, as if hit by some charge, and Rodney lunged forward, “Colonel--”
“John!” Teyla had seen just as Rodney had.
Sheppard’s fingers went slack and the object tumbled from his hand.
Then he was falling, and Rodney just managed to grab him in time to ease his limp body to the floor. Now Rodney was on his knees, faintly panicking, yet still managing to run through the litany of things he was supposed to do in situations like these; heartbeat, check, breathing, check, pupils, reactive - what the hell had Sheppard done now? Teyla called for a med team.
“Moron,” he berated, “what were you thinking?” Sheppard and his stupid gene; Sheppard and his magic touch, and all it ever seemed to get him was trouble. Rodney savagely kicked the small pyramid away and sat, helpless, Sheppard’s torso tilted and supported against Rodney’s knees, his head lying loosely on Rodney’s lap. There was nothing to do. Nothing he could do, except wait. And watch. And worry.
Teyla paced. And finally, when footsteps came running up the corridor, they were both surprised and dismayed to see it was Ronon, the sergeant and Haviland. They must’ve been listening on the radio. Rodney had hoped it was the medical team, even though realistically, he realized that, short of an Asgard site to site beam, there was no way Carson could’ve been that fast.
“What happened?” Ronon demanded.
“What do you think?” Rodney jerked an angry hand at the device. “He touched something that apparently he shouldn’t have.”
“Where’s Beckett?”
Teyla, arms folded worriedly across her chest, replied tightly, “On his way.”
The runner shook his head, “That’s not good enough,” before he scooped Sheppard in his arms like a tired child and took off.
Rodney grabbed his laptop, snapped at Haviland to bag and take the pyramid to his office, and ran after Ronon, knowing Teyla was on his heels.
OoO
Carson was enjoying a rare moment of peace - and coffee - when the emergency call came in. A medical team was needed in the northern corridor just east of the pier. Teyla had called it in but Carson didn’t know who was down. He ran beside the gurney pushed by one of his nurses and a med tech.
Before they had barely cleared the transporter, with still a good five minutes at a solid run to go, Ronon pounded down the corridor towards them. When he recognized the familiar bundle cradled in his arms, Carson’s stomach lurched.
Sheppard.
“On the gurney, Ronon,” Carson ordered. As soon as Sheppard was placed carefully on the bed, his nurse began attaching monitors and Carson started scanning with their portable Ancient device.
The results were both reassuring and puzzling. O2 sats, fine, blood gases, normal, heart rate, normal - all initial readings returned and pointed to one very healthy individual - except the man was bloody unconscious and that was decidedly not normal.
“Carson?” Rodney prodded.
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you anything yet.” He settled his scanner by Sheppard’s head and ordered, “Let’s get him to the infirmary.”
OoO
Sheppard felt the familiar weight of his P90; saw Sumner through the crosshairs; thought God, I can’t and I have to.
He pulled the trigger.
The ‘gate controls; the shield controls. Got to save the cityand it’s an awful way to die raced through his mind, as he activated the shield and signed the death warrant of sixty enemy soldiers, just doing their job.
Kolya backed toward the ‘gate, Elizabeth restrained firmly against his torso. Sheppard aimed and ignored the taunts. He found Kolya’s head in his crosshairs. He could kill the guy; one shot. A man can’t move faster than a bullet. But for the weight of the lives he had already taken, and Sheppard’s aim shifted down, to the side, to the exposed shoulder region. He pulled the trigger and didn’t regret it.
On another alien world, they’d almost lost their lives. Kolya was trussed on the ground, helpless and at Sheppard’s mercy, the problem was, mercy was beginning to be in short supply as far as this man was concerned. He aimed his pistol. He’s unarmedand he’s a threat warred with one another. Sheppard didn’t pull the trigger (and he later regretted it).
Time fast forwarded. He watched scientists die. Civilians. Those he’d sworn to protect. He killed more. He watched the Aurora full of Ancients, alive and in stasis, explode; he touched a desiccated Abrams and callously rifled his body for weapons and ammo.
He shot Ronon. He shot Rodney.
And he regretted it.
Memories flooded, one on top of another, rapid, and with each new vision, Sheppard felt the weight of his actions, heavier and heavier. Drowning, God, he was drowning in blood. So much blood - on his hands, staining his soul - “Help me!” he shouted, unable to stem the flooding tide.
“Easy, Colonel, we’ve got you,” Carson soothed.
He blinked into a bright light and tried to put his pieces back together. After a moment where he thought he could finally try to talk, he turned his head to find Carson. Voice hoarse, throat dry, he asked, “What happened?” He was unbalanced, uncertain of where he’d been and where he was.
“You touched something you shouldn’t have.” Carson’s eyes crinkled as he smiled - Sheppard seemed to touch things he shouldn’t on an alarming basis. “And we’re glad you’ve decided to rejoin the living.”
“Living?” Sheppard remembered visions of dead people.
“Aye, you’ve been unconscious for half the day, though for the life of me, I couldn’t find a thing wrong with you.” Carson’s eyes narrowed, concerned. “How do you feel?”
Disjointed, he thought. His mind was slowly catching up, filling in blanks. He was in the infirmary, in bed, monitors stuck to his chest and head and hand. There were a lot of beeping sounds, yet the area around him was unusually hushed. He glanced at his body under the blankets and was relieved to see just scrubs, no tubes.
Carson chuckled. “You were just about to get one of those.”
Sheppard’s expression spoke volumes.
“Well, I guess it’s good timing that you woke when you did, hmmm?” Carson kept smiling pleasantly, letting the colonel’s unimpressed glare roll right off his bedside manner.
This was the point when Sheppard was supposed to make a crack in return, and Carson would reassure him he’d be discharged soon, after xx healed or passed a test, but Sheppard kept hearing the echoing retort of weapon’s fire, and it was taking all he had to stop any outward flinching. So, instead of playing his role, he licked his lips and nodded, and tried to smile back like everything was okay.
“Colonel, are you hurting anywhere?” Carson was regarding him over folded arms. He didn’t miss the lack of an expected response.
“Fine, Doc, just wanting to go sleep in my own bed,” he answered honestly. That part he could play, because given the choice of the infirmary or his room, there wasn’t a contest at all.
“John --”
“I’m just tired,” he interrupted. Please believe me; please let it go; let me go.
Carson frowned, looked on the verge of pushing, but then nodded reluctantly. He patted John’s shoulder reassuringly. “Get some rest. I wish I could let you go, but your little adventure came with a price of twenty-four hour observation. Let me know if you develop any symptoms, anything at all, because we don’t know what we’re dealing with. Now, I’m off to type up the evening report, but I’ll be just in my office if you need anything.”
Sheppard nodded mutely, and through a haze of screams in his head, watched as Carson left.
Any unusual symptoms? Doc, I’m reliving the multitude of deaths I’ve delivered, how’s that for unusual? And though Sheppard knew he should speak up, he found himself unable too. This was personal, and deep, and way more than I’ve got a headache or it’s just a stomach ache. He needed some time alone, time to figure out just what the hell was going on.
OoO
Elizabeth leaned in her chair, enjoying a full body stretch -- at least the best one could do while sitting -- before she straightened forward again; she still felt the ache down low in her back, but the movement had given her a small dose of relief. She scrubbed tired hands across her face and peeked at her clock. 2100. Though her body acutely felt the late hour, there were two reasons why she was still in her office at this hour: reports and insomnia. Neither one would seem to go away. The reports were minimized on her PC tablet, just waiting for her attention. Her insomnia, that was just waiting for her to try and get some sleep, then it’d rear its ugly head and taunt her mercilessly until she gave in and reached for the sleeping pills that never seemed to leave her rested in the morning.
She cleared her throat and reached for her bottle of water. Insomnia, she thought viciously, you’ll be waiting a while tonight. Elizabeth wasn’t going to play that game anytime soon. She’d rather push herself, stay locked up in her office, and get work done, then toss and turn and watch the hours tick painfully by in the dark.
So, reports. She clicked on the tab near the bottom labeled city status. They’d had a fairly significant malfunction that affected the northern and eastern sections of the city, about 43% of the area, including inhabited sections.
City Status Update, 2000 hours
Dr. Zelenka and his team continue to work on restoring function to the sensors, fire recognition and suppression systems [FRS], quarantine functions, and in some areas, power.
The FRS has been restored to an almost 88% capacity. Sensors remain at 43% as the damage went through multiple relays. Quarantine functions are now fully restored, and power has been returned to 94% of inhabited sections.
Work will continue through the night, with next update occurring at 0200 hours.
Dr. K. Briggs
Well, it wasn’t the best news, but Elizabeth supposed progress was rarely easy when it came to Atlantis. The FRS was the highest priority at the moment. In a city isolated in the middle of a vast body of water, you did not want an uncontrolled fire to break out.
She typed in her acknowledgement of the report, added comments amounting to nothing more than thanks and closed the update, clicking next on Carson’s nightly report. She’d put this one off for last, because she knew at least one of the patient’s name. Her military chief happened to be staying as Carson’s guest, and though she knew he’d woken and appeared cognizant and healthy, this was Atlantis, and this was the Pegasus Galaxy, and John seemed unusually targeted for calamity and injury. It was hard to read his name on the list, time and time again, though there had been many nights where the information following his name was far more fearful than what she knew she’d find tonight.
Infirmary Status, 03 February, 2007, ESC
DeWitt, Jane - discharged at 1600 hours. She will remain on level 3 profile for ten days. Referred to PT department. F/up appointment on 13 February, 2007.
Long, Steven - deceased, TOD 0936. See attch 1 for copy of official certificate.
--I’m sorry, Elizabeth. We did all we could, but you know the odds of surviving a partial wraith feeding.
Sheppard, John - admitted 1546. Status upon admission: unresponsive. Suspected cause: an unknown response to Ancient device found while on reconnaissance in the northeastern section of the city. Patient is stable and alert, tentative prognosis good. Barring complications, will be discharged tomorrow morning. See attch 2 for test results and notes per new patient protocol.
Dr. Carson Beckett, M.D, attending
She closed her eyes for a moment. Dr. Long had been the only survivor of an off-world team that had stumbled into the aftermath of a culling on a fairly advanced world. He and his team had rushed to aid the natives fight off the wraith scouts on the ground only to wind up surrounded. The world’s military forces had arrived at the skirmish, but only in time to save Long; the other three Marines were KIA. And Long, though he had lived to return home via the alphasite, had been aged to at least sixty. His prognosis had never been good, and Elizabeth hadn’t even been sure what the better end might be. She couldn’t imagine going from twenty-seven to approximately sixty. To essentially lose forty-some years of life and have to live out what remained, knowing what you had lost.
But she did know one thing -- she’d make sure Long’s family knew that he’d died a hero, even though he’d never taken an oath to die in defense of his country, let alone natives of an alien world in another galaxy. There was a meeting scheduled for tomorrow on MX3-556. She had to look for the silver lining, because if she didn’t, Elizabeth knew she’d never be able to continue doing this job.
Sheppard was supposed to lead the talks with his team. Elizabeth knew he would be discharged in time but that niggling intuition told her she’d better alert Lorne that he was on standby for the mission.
OoO
The infirmary was quiet. The night nurse on duty sat across the room, alternately writing in charts and typing. Sheppard tried to close his eyes, tried to sleep, but his skin crawled. He shifted and rolled and hated that he was the only patient in the room. Every noise he made seemed to draw the nurse’s attention.
“Colonel?”
He opened his eyes and found her staring down at him, a polite and professional smile in place. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she whispered, “but it’s vitals time.”
Dutifully, Sheppard pulled his arm free of the cocooning blanket and rolled his head for the temperature check. His body ached and he kept hearing things and feeling emotions he’d thought he’d buried long ago. He tried to pretend he was dozing while she took his blood pressure and temperature, then pulse.
“Hmmm, how are you feeling, Colonel?”
He focused on her and saw her frowning at the display on the thermometer. “Fine,” he insisted.
“No aches, chills, nausea?”
“No.” Liar.
“Well, you’re running a low grade fever, but if you’re sure there are no other symptoms I’ll keep an eye on you rather than waking Dr. Beckett,” she tucked the thermometer back in place on the tray and gestured at Sheppard’s pillow, “for now. Get some more rest, I’ll try not to wake you when I recheck your temp in an hour.”
He forced a tired smile. “Sure, thanks.”
She padded away and Sheppard wondered what the hell am I doing? He shouldn’t be lying, he shouldn’t be hiding the strange symptoms he’d had ever since touching that damn artifact, but his emotions were all over the map, like someone had unleashed the very depths of his conscience. The inner voices he’d never been able to silence, so instead, he’d banished them to the very pits of never forgive, but sometimes, forget.
His skin crawled even more. Son of a bitch. A pressure built somewhere deep inside, something begging, demanding he move, run, hide or he might just combust.
Sheppard swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. A loud echo of a gun going off nearby made him jerk. Nothing there, it was just in his head.
You shot me. You killed me. Why do you get to live when I died? You failed. You didn’t save me.
“Shut up!” Sheppard snarled. “Just SHUT UP!”
“Colonel?”
He threw the blanket off, stood, moved without conscious thought; his body on some primal instinct that knew he’d been damaged. They couldn’t help him, they couldn’t save him from the weight of all the souls he’d taken or contributed to by his failures in the line of duty, or in the field, and in the sky. If he stayed, they’d only hurt him, make it worse. Strap him down until the weight crushed him.
“Colonel, I think you should just lie back down --”
Sheppard shrugged off the foreign, unwanted hand and darted for the door, gunshots chasing him all the way. All he could think now was escape, hide…run!
OoO
Carson stared, dumbfounded at his nurse. It was 0045 in the morning and he’d ran to the infirmary so fast, he hadn’t even remembered to do more than pull his pants on. No socks, shoes, white jacket, and no radio.
“Doctor, I’m so sorry. When I checked his temperature at midnight he was running a low grade fever. The rest of his vitals were normal; I didn’t feel the fever was enough reason to warrant waking you and he stated he felt fine. I didn’t --”
“Give me your radio,” Carson ordered abruptly.
“What? I’m sorry?”
“Your radio,” he enunciated. He was being a veritable bear and he knew it, but damn it! He’d expressedly told the night shift to contact him if the colonel’s status changed, period. Maybe if he’d been here, had observed the colonel directly - “lass, I’m sorry, it’s just worry making me snap.” Because maybe he wouldn’t have noticed anything either, and maybe the fever was totally unrelated, and maybe the colonel would’ve made a run for it, no matter if he’d been called or not. “Now, your radio, please?”
She handed it over. Carson took it with grim thanks. Then he made a few calls.
OoO
Rodney clearly couldn’t believe Carson had lost Sheppard. “Incompetence is apparently contagious,” he snapped blithely.
“Rodney!” Elizabeth threw him an angry, scolding look. They needed to focus on finding Sheppard, not pointing fingers. “The matter at hand, gentlemen, please.”
“We didn’t lose him, Rodney, he ran out on my night nurse, and seeing how there was only one patient, I didn’t exactly have a few extras around to give her a hand!”
They continued to argue, both ignoring her. Elizabeth pressed a hand against the ache building behind her eyes. Carson had called her only twenty short minutes ago to deliver the bad news.
“Carson --”
“He was clearly not himself, Carson. Unconscious, remember? Unknown device. Sheppard. How could you not do the math?”
“What do you want, Rodney? You want me to restrain him the next time he comes in affected by a device?” Carson demanded hotly. “I’ll be sure to tell him that when we buckle him to his bed!”
Rodney snarled, “What I’m saying is, next time do your job!”
“Rodney,” Elizabeth interjected angrily.
“No, forget it.” He threw a dismissive wave at both of them as he stormed to the door. “I’m joining Teyla and Ronon in the search.”
The eye of the storm, Elizabeth thought, as hurricane Rodney left, leaving behind a wash of quiet and foreboding. She found her chair and collapsed into it. Why was it that everything around here felt like a long, uphill battle anymore?
“I’m sorry,” Carson apologized, “it’s just, the bloody man can make even a saint lose their patience.” He threw her a rueful look as he dropped in the chair across from her and together they chorused, “and I’m no saint.”
Carson was her confidant. Sometimes she felt they were the parents of the expedition, the parents of John Sheppard and Rodney McKay, because lord only knows, those two were a handful. She and Carson had sat here together after a storm before, different circumstances, sometimes different son. John could give it just as good as Rodney when he needed to. Those times when he was running on adrenaline, desperate to save lives, willful to get his way, regardless of how reckless his actions might be.
“It’s all right. He’ll apologize later.” And Elizabeth knew he would. Rodney would regret every harsh word he’d nailed into Carson, while the fear for John was a sharp knife in his worried gut.
“Aye, I know he will. And I know it’s just his concern over John causing him to behave like he is, but I’ll be damned if I know how to keep my own mouth shut when he starts running off at times.”
Elizabeth nodded. They already had three teams out searching, and three more getting ready. The timing couldn’t have been worse, with such a large section of Atlantis still blind, the sensors in the midst of repair. John could be in so many different places and they’d only find him the hard way. On foot.
“I’ve ordered Radek to stop everything else and make sensor repairs a priority. Once they’re online, finding John will become a far easier task.”
Carson didn’t say anything else; what else was there to say? They sat in silence, and she knew his thoughts were like hers. Something had driven John from the infirmary, and was even now keeping him from responding to their calls over the city-wide. And more than anything, they hated to imagine him out there, sick and alone, without any help or comfort to be had.
OoO
Sheppard ran until his body couldn’t. He lost track of where he was, just that there wasn’t anyone else around. It was dark. He found a door and dodged in, hoping for some small light to see by.
Somewhere in a corner, a small light flooded on in response to his plea.
The daycare room.
He remembered it, and now found himself turning around and around. What’d brought him here? What force pressed against his body like a physical weight, but when he looked, he couldn’t see anything?
Do you know what it feels like to die?
“Stop it!” Sheppard cried. He spun in another circle. “Who’s there?”
His skin felt alive, like a million tiny bugs danced across his bare arms, feet and face. He needed to run, but couldn’t any longer. His thighs trembled with muscle fatigue so complete that Sheppard could barely stand.
What was happening? Hadn’t he been here before?
The infirmary. He’d been in the infirmary. But why had he left?
Those that deal out death must experience death.
A ghostly figure stepped from the shadows; Kolya! Sheppard jerked back and reached for his pistol. His hands found only the thin material of his infirmary scrubs. “What the hell do you want? How’d you get here?” he demanded, forcing calm into his hands. Steady, stay steady, stay focused.
The figure solidified as it moved forward, and Sheppard moved back, away, towards the corner of the room where the cribs stood empty and silent. He tripped over a rocking chair and fell, irrational fear and memory driving him to scramble away until his back hit the metal railing of a crib.
You killed me.
“You deserved it, you son of a bitch,” Sheppard ground out.
This isn’t real, this isn’t real; I’m hallucinating, I’m in the infirmary and this is just a dream; a scary mother of a dream.
Kolya raised a wicked Genii pistol and stared coldly at Sheppard.
Death bringer, experience what you so freely give!
The echo of the weapon’s fire was the same that had chased him ever since he’d touched the device. He’d heard it time and time again, always with accusations and regret, always with the cold hard fact that his actions had taken lives, cost lives. He’d heard it so many times, he didn’t even expect the hot pain when it punched into his gut.
He didn’t expect to see the spreading stain on his scrubs, or feel the slick warmth spreading down his belly and pooling in his navel.
Sheppard stared at his stomach, confused. He’d been shot. Somewhere, in the recesses of logical thought left to him, he tried to parse the conflicting facts. He was on Atlantis. He’d been shot by a man he’d killed. He was wearing scrubs and hiding in an old daycare room for Ancients, and he was bleeding everywhere.
When he looked up again, it wasn’t just Kolya standing there. It was Sumner, Gall, Abrams, Holland, nameless soldiers, Sheppard’s and Genii, scientists, even Steve and Bob, and Sheppard couldn’t stop the mirthless chuckle bubbling from his lips. Then the pain surged and he folded over, groaning.
OoO
“Rodney, I have located the device in the databanks!”
He paused in his steps. “Radek, please tell me it’s harmless. If it changes him into a bug or corrupts his brain irretrievably, I don’t want to hear it.” I really, really don’t, he thought fervently.
“I would not say it is harmless, but neither did it alter Colonel’s brain. This, you might not believe.”
Rodney had to bite back his anger, again. He’d stormed all over Carson and Elizabeth, and several poor Marines, but Ronon and Teyla had reeled him in, and were now waiting patiently ahead. “Just tell me,” Rodney seethed through clenched teeth.
“You found this object in Ancient’s daycare, yes? Apparently, this was a tool for punishing young Ancients. For example, if a child hit another, instead of telling the child how wrong it was to do, and trying to get them to understand how it felt, the device would --”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Rodney lost his tenuous hold on his temper.
“Yes, it simulates the same injury or action given, to teach the child empathy.”
Teyla’s voice shook. “How could they do that to a child?”
“I’d hardly imagine it was very traumatic when you consider typical childhood transgressions,” Rodney replied tightly. “The problem is, what transgression would it pick from Sheppard’s mind to give him in return?”
Ronon glanced at his blaster. “Sheppard hates killing. He’s always telling me to put it on stun.”
Three very sober faces looked at one another and Rodney finally whispered frightfully, “We have to find him. Now.”
OoO
Sheppard had pushed his hands uselessly against the wound, only for his hands to become blood-slicked and sticky. His belly burned and weeped and the pain made him curl in on himself.
Desperately, he scanned the room for something, anything, but all he found was the teddy bear that’d fallen from the rocking chair when he’d tripped. With tacky fingers, he reached. Pain from moving drove soft whimpers from his lips, but finally, his hand latched onto the soft, furry toy.
Dizzy and queasy, he lurched back, straightened a little, and pushed it as hard as he could stand against the seeping hole, staunching the burbling blood as it fought to escape his body. “It hurts,” he whimpered, because there was no one to hear him. There was no one near for him to act for.
He’d always wondered if dying hurt.
He didn’t want to die. He had never wanted to kill.
Pushed up against a corner, between two cribs, clutching a child’s stuffed animal against his bleeding belly, Sheppard had never wanted his team more than in that moment.
They’ll find me, he thought.
Then he closed his eyes and begged anyone listening to make the pain stop.
All he heard were hollow accusations from every life he’d ever taken, echoing in his ears, in his mind. Gunfire and screams. Pain and blood. Death, it was all around him; it was coming for him. How’d he get here? Where was his team?
Rodney!
OoO
“Team six, report.” Rodney didn’t know why he was bothering. If they’d found Sheppard, they would’ve reported in.
“Nothing, Dr. McKay. We’re moving on to the east pier, level 2.”
Rodney wanted to drop to the floor. He wanted to bang his head against the wall, frustration eating him alive. Somewhere in this city was his friend, sick, alone, confused, and despite all their advances, they couldn’t even track down one stupid human life sign.
“We will find him.” Teyla placed her hand softly on Rodney’s arm and looked at him until he returned her gaze. “We will.”
“It’s been four hours,” he said brokenly. “What if that machine is torturing him with all the things he’s ever felt guilty about? And he has no idea what’s happening to him.”
“Sheppard’s strong enough.” Ronon looked just as sick and worried though, despite his insistence. “He’ll be all right, McKay.”
But all Rodney could do was swallow numbly and flop tiredly against the corridor wall. His aching head touched the cool metal of Atlantis and he felt her soft hum against his skin.
Why aren’t you helping me? He’s here, inside, and you know. If there’s any awareness in you at all, help me, he pleaded to a city that he’d always felt was alive. Wasn’t that what faith was? Believing in something, even when there wasn’t proof? Of course it was, and Rodney had always had faith that there was more to Atlantis, and John Sheppard, regardless of proof to date. The city had welcomed her son home, and it’d been Sheppard first up the stairs and by the consoles. Please, show me the way. Help him!
Rodney felt foolish but hopeful, when he finally straightened. He even waited.
“Rodney?” Teyla stared at him worriedly. “Are you all right? What is wrong?”
He’d waited. But all he got was Ronon and Teyla demanding even louder what was wrong, and just when Teyla was calling for Carson, Rodney shook his head. “I’m fine. I was just…” he looked forlornly at the silent corridor ahead, the steady lights above, “…listening.”
“For what?” Ronon looked pissed at him for making them worry even more.
Rodney started ahead, shouldering between Ronon and Teyla. “For nothing, apparently,” he replied bitterly.
OoO
“I don’t want to die,” Sheppard whispered.
And you think we did?
He no longer had the strength left to keep his knees pushed up against his chest. It’d helped hold the blood-soaked bear in place, and now his legs, saturated and stained red, slumped to the ground. He forced his slow lethargic arms to hold the toy in place, clutching it against his belly as if he were a scared child and the bear the only thing between him and the horrors of the night.
“Help me.” It came out breathy, weak and fragile.
My sweet John, do you not know that so long as you are here, you are never alone?
The ghosts stopped murmuring and accusing. From behind their masses, a bright shiny light flowed forward. Her light fell across Sheppard’s icy feet and brought shivers of warmth to his body.
“Who…who are you?”
He was drowning in his pain and her light was a lifeline.
OoO
Alarms wailed through Atlantis. Emergency procedures initiated. Crew rolled out of bed and instantly fell into routines practiced repeatedly until they’d become second nature.
Elizabeth, Carson on her heels, strode from her office. “What’s happening?” She pushed away her fears and her fatigue. Just, please God, don’t let it be Wraith. Not now, not with John missing.
Chuck studied the console, alarm etching into the fine wrinkles across his forehead. “The FRS is reporting a fire in the northeastern part of the city, level one - it’s the area Colonel Sheppard and his team explored yesterday, Ma’am.”
“And is there a fire?”
“No Ma’am, at least I don’t think so. Internal temperatures in that room register as nominal.”
Elizabeth hit her comm., intuition leaping ahead and connecting the dots. “Rodney, where are you?”
“Still searching the north pier, level 2.”
“That room you and John found yesterday, I think John might be hiding there.”
“What? Why?”
“The FRS just alerted for that same area, but there’s no evidence of an actual fire. I’m rerouting Major Lorne and his team to that position as well.”
“Going now, will update you when we arrive. Rodney out.”
After he ended their radio call, Elizabeth turned to Carson and smiled the first real smile in hours. “Please let this be him. It has to be.”
“I’ve got to go, if it’s him --”
“Of course, go, and Carson,” he paused already half down the stairs, “take care of him?”
He nodded and then turned, disappearing out the door and into the dimly lit hall leading toward the transporter. She’d wanted to go with him, but the weight of the city was still on her shoulders and John Sheppard was only one man among many.
She told Chuck to turn the alarm off and continue monitoring the situation, before heading back, alone, to her office. She knew she wouldn’t get any paperwork done, or find any peace, until she heard back from Rodney and Carson.
OoO
The pain no longer burned a fire inside his belly. It was soft, muted, far away. Sheppard was alone; no one had come for him. The beautiful light had left and all that was with him now were the ghosts of his damned.
The room was darker, everything fading into blackness.
Sheppard was cold. Why was he so cold?
Death is a solitary, cold business, Sheppard. Its embrace is ice. Do you feel scared? Do you wish for your friends? Do you begin to feel the horror of dying?
“I feel… alone,” Sheppard choked. Iron tang filled his mouth.
“You’re not alone, Sheppard,” Rodney grabbed his hand, grabbed it from where it clung desperately to the teddy bear, “we’re right here, I swear. We’re right here.”
Sheppard couldn’t see them. Rodney’s touch was a distant sensation. Hoarsely, he whispered, “I didn’t want to die alone,” because now that he was almost dead, he could tell the truth. To his friends, to his family. “Thanks… for…for coming.”
Then even the feel of Rodney’s hands and Teyla and Ronon shouting faded to nothing.
OoO
When Rodney had rounded that corner, heard Ronon shout, “He’s in here!” he’d felt like he’d been given a reprieve from grief. Then he’d seen Sheppard, slumped in the corner, clutching that god damn teddy bear against his stomach, and Rodney knew it’d become one of those rare awful memories that imprinted on his psyche forever.
Sheppard was scary soldier and coiled strength. He was larger than life and he never quit, not even when an Iratus bug was sucking away his life or a Wraith fed on him for the third time. He never gave up, he never gave in.
Yet, a small device no larger than Rodney’s fist had reduced him to this…huddled in a corner, living some nightmare that didn’t even exist.
His eyes stared at them, but his pupils were unfocused. Rodney knew they weren’t registering.
“I feel… alone,” Sheppard had gasped, and in those three words, there was longing, despair and acceptance.
Not even thinking, his body and mind on automatic, uncaring of anyone else, Rodney stumbled forward, dropped and grabbed Sheppard’s hand. He pried it free from the death grip on the stuffed toy that was older than all of them put together. “You’re not alone, Sheppard,” Rodney promised with every depth of emotion he could, every ounce of assurance he could muster. “We’re right here, I swear. We’re right here.”
Sheppard arched, as if his body released the last of his pseudo-pain, “I didn’t want to die alone,” his eyes dulled, “thanks for…for coming.”
Then his body went limp, boneless, and Rodney was afraid he’d just witnessed the end. He dropped Sheppard’s hand and scrabbled back, as if burned. “Carson,” he muttered, panicked, then turned and shouted for all his worth, “somebody get Carson, now!”
Teyla pushed past Rodney and tightly informed them Sheppard wasn’t breathing. Lorne and his team spilled into the room, out of breath and snapping orders, and Rodney could only watch, horrified, as everyone worked to revive his friend; the one that had died, without a single mark on him.
OoO
Carson could’ve stayed in his office. He could’ve found an excuse to be anywhere else but here, but looking on the tired, dispirited faces of John Sheppard’s team, he knew there wasn’t any other place he’d rather be.
Sheppard had died. The device had enacted the highest degree of punishment, and though no one had any validation yet of the exact cause, if the device did work on an eye for an eye principle, then Sheppard felt the weight of his actions to a degree that had nearly cost him his life.
No one could blame him for the lives he had taken. No one blamed him for the lives he’d been unable to save. No one, that is, except Sheppard himself.
“Carson?”
He looked up. Elizabeth held a cup of coffee out for him to take. Steam wafted up from the contents and the smell was heavenly. Gratefully, he took the mug, murmuring real thanks.
She sat next to him, on a gurney to the left of Sheppard’s bed. “Another very rough night,” she said, staring at Sheppard’s still figure, tucked under blankets, an IV running into in his hand and an EKG measuring every reassuring beat.
Ronon and Teyla were slumped on the gurney that rested to Sheppard’s right, sleeping at long last. Rodney slept in a chair by their feet, his own legs propped on Sheppard’s bed; his head lolled back as he snored the deep sleep of the very tired and weary.
“That it was,” Carson agreed, sipping his coffee. “I personally volunteer to take a sledgehammer to the object.”
“I think maybe we’ll let John have that honor, if he wants it.” She tried to smile but failed. “I never thought… with all the danger they face, is it morbid if I prepared myself for them to die by the Wraith’s hands, or the Asurans? Fatal crashes or even dying in a final stand here on Atlantis… but not this… not as a product of his own guilt.”
“Not morbid, realistic.” Carson knew, because he’d done it to. He’d been the one to put them back together too many times. How could you not imagine the time that’d come when you couldn’t fix them? When their bodies would be irreparable, if you even got a body back? He had nightmares about the different ways in which his friends would die.
She accepted his reassurance with the same stoicism she always displayed against the inevitable. “Will he be all right?”
“I imagine so.” Carson stared at the chest, rising and falling, unaided now. From everything they could tell, Sheppard’s death had ended the device’s hold. The fever, possibly a by-product of his not being one hundred percent ancient, or maybe even a coincidence and there’d be another virus to contend with soon. Either way, his vitals were stable, and if there was any cardiac damage, it’d join the time they’d shocked his heart to a stop in order to save his life, not so long ago in the grand scheme of things.
At the rate they were going, Carson didn’t imagine this flagship team full of close friends would ever live to a ripe old age, and that thought made his throat swell and his heart ache.
“We’ll know more when he wakes.”
“Elizabeth, we seem to be experiencing power fluctuations, could you come to the control room? I am not sure if I should bother Rodney --”
“No, Radek, that’s fine. I’ll be right there.” She looked at Rodney, still completely oblivious. “We’ll try to handle it without Rodney if we can.”
Carson breathed deep and shrugged. “Never time to just sit, is there?”
She stood and shook her head. “No, there never seems to be.” Her eyes lingered on John again before turning back to Carson. “Call me when he wakes up?”
“Of course.”
Then she was gone, and Carson was left with his coffee, growing cold, and the sound of four sleeping friends.
OoO
John Sheppard, it is time to wake.
A persistent light beckoned into his soft darkness.
You must wake.
Why would he want to wake up? If he did, he’d have to face what he’d done. He’d have to face those demons he’d thought he’d buried all along the way.
John, my sweet son, you have acted always to do good. These burdens are not yours to carry.
But I have killed, he thought to the soft, gentle voice, I have aimed at men and pulled the trigger. I have seen them fall. I have watched so many die.
Do you know me?
Mom?
Silence was the only reply.
He didn’t know who it was; had it really been his mother? But before he could pin down the fragmented thoughts, someone was holding his hand and telling him to stop faking, and Sheppard couldn’t help the tired grin that crept across his face as he blinked away the last dregs of sleep to see Rodney waiting by his side, just like he always seemed to be. “You’re here,” Sheppard croaked.
“So’s Teyla and Ronon.” Rodney tried to look put-upon but he wasn’t fooling either of them. “They’re still sleeping. It’s rather difficult to get any rest chasing you around Atlantis all night.”
Sheppard’s mouth was cotton and desert. “Water?”
“Oh, right.” Rodney got up and walked to the small tray by Sheppard’s side, but out of his reach. He poured ice water into a small plastic up. “Can you sit?”
“I think so.” Sheppard had flashes of a horrible pain in his gut and suddenly darted a look down, pawing at the blanket. “Was I --”
“No, the device made you think you were hurt, dying, but there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with you.” Rodney moved to help Sheppard sit, but John pushed away the helping hand and insisted he could do it.
Finally, he was up, feeing short of breath and exhausted, but able to take the cup from Rodney.
“Was it really worth doing alone?” Rodney demanded. He looked a little smug - he’d offered to help! And partly consternated; Sheppard knew he could be infuriatingly stubborn - but then, Rodney looked mostly relieved, because this…this was the Sheppard he knew. The man that was ‘fine’ when he was running around shot, beat, and still facing down a very pissed off Wraith. And Sheppard knew that, more than anything, was what Rodney needed to see.
Ronon and Teyla were beginning to stir. Sheppard knew Rodney was curious, he knew they all would be, but he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. Right now, he was still trying to accept that his stomach was untouched, that the ghosts had never really existed except in his own conscience. He’d dealt with the emotional cost of his job before, he’d do it again, and it’d be on his terms, not those set by a device.
He shared a knowing look with Rodney but neither one of them said what they were thinking. They didn’t really have to. Sheppard drank the water and handed the empty cup to McKay.
“So, those Ancients,” Sheppard finally began, when the silence grew awkward, “would’ve hated to be one of their teenagers.”
Rodney stared at Sheppard, and Sheppard stared back. Their minds drifted to sneaking out at night, boosting the parents’ car, drinking till you puked and trying to get to first base with Lucy DeMille… and suddenly Sheppard and Rodney were laughing, because God, those Ancients, they so wouldn’t have had a clue how to parent any of them growing up.
Never.
And somewhere, off in the peripheral of his mind, a feminine laugh tinkled.
Do not be too sure of that, John Sheppard.
Mama, just killed a man
Sheppard loved missions like these; exploring Atlantis; it was pure thrill without the constant nagging fear of a Wraith attack or being backstabbed by supposed allies. Here, there was only the subdued fear of stumbling into something potentially dangerous; a rare fear, when held against the larger, more frequent threat coming at them from all other quarters. Those thoughts, Sheppard pushed away. The Wraith weren’t going anywhere, and for now, it was just him, his team, and a spare scientist along with a spare soldier. And a very big city.
“Colonel Sheppard,” spare scientist called, “looks like there’s a lab up ahead.”
“Rodney?” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the other guy, he just wanted confirmation. The spare, he was new, and though there was a part of Sheppard that knew he should make an effort to learn the scientist’s name, he hadn’t. Scientists seemed to die at a disquietingly equal attrition rate as soldiers, so for Sheppard, sometime in the last year, the new faces had simply become ‘spare scientist’ or ‘extra soldier’ and somewhere even deeper inside, the far more cynical part of him even whispered ‘sacrificial lambs’ and ‘canon fodder’.
McKay nodded and looked up from his hand-held machine. “Yes, I think so.” He looked back at the other scientist and asked, “Is there any label on the schematic?”
Spare guy blinked behind too large glasses. “Label?”
“Did you really graduate?” McKay asked, wonderingly. “As in Lab One, or Experimental Lab where we dissected things or even Viral Lab, warning, full of dangerous and horrible nanoviruses and other deadly things - label!”
“Oh.” The scientist glanced down at the laptop he carried by his chest. He studied the screen then shook his head. “Just says lab. Maybe there’s more Ancient text that isn’t showing on your display.”
Sheppard quickly looked away from McKay, because if he didn’t, he was going to laugh. Spare guy was quickly working on a boot back to Earth. Normally Sheppard figured McKay was a little hard on his people, but this guy wasn’t impressing Sheppard much.
“Yes, well, the screen you’re reading happens to automatically translate into English everything that is in the database and present it appropriately; seeing how it’s my laptop, I should know.” And with that said, McKay snatched his computer and shoved the smaller Ancient device into the other scientist’s hands. “Maybe you can read this.” His disapproval was thick, and the new guy, he looked both parts sheepish and irritated.
They had arrived at a crossroads; a junction where a hallway moving east to west met with a north to south corridor. They were traveling north-northeast, relative to the control center. The goal was to spend today doing the surface level, then tomorrow, descend to the sub-surface levels and inspect for any damage, in addition to cataloging finds. An area Sheppard knew would be far less pleasant than this one.
But for today, the corridors were broad, untouched by water or damage, brightly lit and comfortable. There were windows where Sheppard could watch the waves crashing against the cities’ edge. It was peaceful, relaxing, and he figured it wouldn’t be a bad way to spend a week - then again, the lower depths could get pretty moldy if you ran into a damaged section. Sheppard went from a lazy, relaxed smile to concentrated frowning. Moldy hallways sucked.
Focus, John, bright hallways, wide open spaces, don’t worry about trouble before it finds you.
“Let’s split up,” Sheppard ordered, re-pasting the lazy smile on his face, “Ronon, Sergeant, take…uh…”
“Haviland, Colonel,” the scientist supplied peevishly, muttering under his breath, “for the fifth time.”
“Right, take Dr. Haviland and search the east corridor; Rodney, Teyla, you’re with me, we’ll keep going north - that’s where the lab is, right McKay?”
Ronon frowned. “Shouldn’t we stick together?”
McKay looked exasperated. “It’s a big city, Ronon, and,” he eyed his watch and flipped it for everyone to see, “only so much time. I’m sure you’ll be safe.”
“It wasn’t me I’m worried about.”
“Oh. Well, I’ve got Sheppard, so, no offense, but he’s Atlantis’ favorite. I’d worry more about yourself than us.”
Haviland paled slightly. “Atlantis’ favorite?”
“Dr. McKay is merely pulling your pants,” Teyla interjected smoothly.
The sergeant snorted into his hand. Sheppard threw him a warning look, then rolled his eyes at Haviland. “Atlantis isn’t sentient, Doctor. Radio contact every hour, we’ll keep searching till 1700, then call it a day.”
Haviland still looked skeptical, but he followed the sergeant and Ronon. After they disappeared down the corridor, Sheppard began leading his group north again. It was only ten minutes till they found the door on the left, a single entrance, so Sheppard figured it wasn’t a big lab.
“Teyla,” Sheppard gestured her forward with a jerk of his head, “Rodney, stay behind us.”
He brushed his hand against the panel; just the merest touch, and it slid open, revealing a darkened room. Shadowy lumps slowly resolved into furniture as they walked in, light from the hall revealing what lurked within.
“What the hell?” This wasn’t a lab. Then a chilling thought intruded, you never know. No, no way was this a lab. Sheppard may have a lot of doubts about the Ancients, but there was nothing to indicate they’d gone that far or crossed that line.
Teyla stared at teddy bears tucked into child-size rocking chairs. “It looks as if this were a room for their children.”
There were a few cribs tucked into a corner towards the rear; a few beds, toddler size. There were cabinets filled with what Sheppard could only guess were toys, and then some objects higher up, but it was hard to guess what every item could be.
“I can’t believe this! It’s a glorified daycare room, not a lab!” McKay shook his head irritably. “That idiot!” Then he glared at Sheppard, as if expecting the colonel to somehow smite Haviland for his mistake. “Can you possibly tell me how one can mistake nursery for lab?”
“It is still fascinating, Rodney,” Teyla said. She wandered to a nearby cabinet and lifted an object that looked vaguely like a top. “This is the first evidence we have found regarding their children.”
McKay still looked disgruntled. “Yeah, well, I don’t like kids, and unless their kids could build ZPM’s, they aren’t likely to become an exception.”
Sheppard circled McKay and patted him affectionately on the shoulder. “Sure the feeling is mutual, there, buddy.” Personally, he thought it was kind of neat. Sort of like finding out your principal put his pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else.
A row of objects on a higher shelf was within reach and Sheppard gazed at them curiously. Two looked like they’d once been a tank for an animal or fish; mineral deposits had left clear proof of a long evaporated water level, but now stood empty and lonely; it was a pervasive feel that seemed to encompass the room as a whole. Another device looked like a communication mechanism of some sort - that might be helpful - and the last object was pyramidal in shape, flat on all sides, and dark. What could that be?
He reached for it, intrigued.
“Colonel --” someone called.
“John!”
But all Sheppard heard was the loud retort of gunfire and then he was falling.
OoO
Rodney sensed Sheppard reaching for one of the objects on the shelf. Why is it when something bad happens, something you can’t stop, there was always this weird shift in perception. Time seemed to slow. Sheppard’s hand wrapped around the sharp edges of the small device and light flared. His body physically jerked, as if hit by some charge, and Rodney lunged forward, “Colonel--”
“John!” Teyla had seen just as Rodney had.
Sheppard’s fingers went slack and the object tumbled from his hand.
Then he was falling, and Rodney just managed to grab him in time to ease his limp body to the floor. Now Rodney was on his knees, faintly panicking, yet still managing to run through the litany of things he was supposed to do in situations like these; heartbeat, check, breathing, check, pupils, reactive - what the hell had Sheppard done now? Teyla called for a med team.
“Moron,” he berated, “what were you thinking?” Sheppard and his stupid gene; Sheppard and his magic touch, and all it ever seemed to get him was trouble. Rodney savagely kicked the small pyramid away and sat, helpless, Sheppard’s torso tilted and supported against Rodney’s knees, his head lying loosely on Rodney’s lap. There was nothing to do. Nothing he could do, except wait. And watch. And worry.
Teyla paced. And finally, when footsteps came running up the corridor, they were both surprised and dismayed to see it was Ronon, the sergeant and Haviland. They must’ve been listening on the radio. Rodney had hoped it was the medical team, even though realistically, he realized that, short of an Asgard site to site beam, there was no way Carson could’ve been that fast.
“What happened?” Ronon demanded.
“What do you think?” Rodney jerked an angry hand at the device. “He touched something that apparently he shouldn’t have.”
“Where’s Beckett?”
Teyla, arms folded worriedly across her chest, replied tightly, “On his way.”
The runner shook his head, “That’s not good enough,” before he scooped Sheppard in his arms like a tired child and took off.
Rodney grabbed his laptop, snapped at Haviland to bag and take the pyramid to his office, and ran after Ronon, knowing Teyla was on his heels.
OoO
Carson was enjoying a rare moment of peace - and coffee - when the emergency call came in. A medical team was needed in the northern corridor just east of the pier. Teyla had called it in but Carson didn’t know who was down. He ran beside the gurney pushed by one of his nurses and a med tech.
Before they had barely cleared the transporter, with still a good five minutes at a solid run to go, Ronon pounded down the corridor towards them. When he recognized the familiar bundle cradled in his arms, Carson’s stomach lurched.
Sheppard.
“On the gurney, Ronon,” Carson ordered. As soon as Sheppard was placed carefully on the bed, his nurse began attaching monitors and Carson started scanning with their portable Ancient device.
The results were both reassuring and puzzling. O2 sats, fine, blood gases, normal, heart rate, normal - all initial readings returned and pointed to one very healthy individual - except the man was bloody unconscious and that was decidedly not normal.
“Carson?” Rodney prodded.
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you anything yet.” He settled his scanner by Sheppard’s head and ordered, “Let’s get him to the infirmary.”
OoO
Sheppard felt the familiar weight of his P90; saw Sumner through the crosshairs; thought God, I can’t and I have to.
He pulled the trigger.
The ‘gate controls; the shield controls. Got to save the cityand it’s an awful way to die raced through his mind, as he activated the shield and signed the death warrant of sixty enemy soldiers, just doing their job.
Kolya backed toward the ‘gate, Elizabeth restrained firmly against his torso. Sheppard aimed and ignored the taunts. He found Kolya’s head in his crosshairs. He could kill the guy; one shot. A man can’t move faster than a bullet. But for the weight of the lives he had already taken, and Sheppard’s aim shifted down, to the side, to the exposed shoulder region. He pulled the trigger and didn’t regret it.
On another alien world, they’d almost lost their lives. Kolya was trussed on the ground, helpless and at Sheppard’s mercy, the problem was, mercy was beginning to be in short supply as far as this man was concerned. He aimed his pistol. He’s unarmedand he’s a threat warred with one another. Sheppard didn’t pull the trigger (and he later regretted it).
Time fast forwarded. He watched scientists die. Civilians. Those he’d sworn to protect. He killed more. He watched the Aurora full of Ancients, alive and in stasis, explode; he touched a desiccated Abrams and callously rifled his body for weapons and ammo.
He shot Ronon. He shot Rodney.
And he regretted it.
Memories flooded, one on top of another, rapid, and with each new vision, Sheppard felt the weight of his actions, heavier and heavier. Drowning, God, he was drowning in blood. So much blood - on his hands, staining his soul - “Help me!” he shouted, unable to stem the flooding tide.
“Easy, Colonel, we’ve got you,” Carson soothed.
He blinked into a bright light and tried to put his pieces back together. After a moment where he thought he could finally try to talk, he turned his head to find Carson. Voice hoarse, throat dry, he asked, “What happened?” He was unbalanced, uncertain of where he’d been and where he was.
“You touched something you shouldn’t have.” Carson’s eyes crinkled as he smiled - Sheppard seemed to touch things he shouldn’t on an alarming basis. “And we’re glad you’ve decided to rejoin the living.”
“Living?” Sheppard remembered visions of dead people.
“Aye, you’ve been unconscious for half the day, though for the life of me, I couldn’t find a thing wrong with you.” Carson’s eyes narrowed, concerned. “How do you feel?”
Disjointed, he thought. His mind was slowly catching up, filling in blanks. He was in the infirmary, in bed, monitors stuck to his chest and head and hand. There were a lot of beeping sounds, yet the area around him was unusually hushed. He glanced at his body under the blankets and was relieved to see just scrubs, no tubes.
Carson chuckled. “You were just about to get one of those.”
Sheppard’s expression spoke volumes.
“Well, I guess it’s good timing that you woke when you did, hmmm?” Carson kept smiling pleasantly, letting the colonel’s unimpressed glare roll right off his bedside manner.
This was the point when Sheppard was supposed to make a crack in return, and Carson would reassure him he’d be discharged soon, after xx healed or passed a test, but Sheppard kept hearing the echoing retort of weapon’s fire, and it was taking all he had to stop any outward flinching. So, instead of playing his role, he licked his lips and nodded, and tried to smile back like everything was okay.
“Colonel, are you hurting anywhere?” Carson was regarding him over folded arms. He didn’t miss the lack of an expected response.
“Fine, Doc, just wanting to go sleep in my own bed,” he answered honestly. That part he could play, because given the choice of the infirmary or his room, there wasn’t a contest at all.
“John --”
“I’m just tired,” he interrupted. Please believe me; please let it go; let me go.
Carson frowned, looked on the verge of pushing, but then nodded reluctantly. He patted John’s shoulder reassuringly. “Get some rest. I wish I could let you go, but your little adventure came with a price of twenty-four hour observation. Let me know if you develop any symptoms, anything at all, because we don’t know what we’re dealing with. Now, I’m off to type up the evening report, but I’ll be just in my office if you need anything.”
Sheppard nodded mutely, and through a haze of screams in his head, watched as Carson left.
Any unusual symptoms? Doc, I’m reliving the multitude of deaths I’ve delivered, how’s that for unusual? And though Sheppard knew he should speak up, he found himself unable too. This was personal, and deep, and way more than I’ve got a headache or it’s just a stomach ache. He needed some time alone, time to figure out just what the hell was going on.
OoO
Elizabeth leaned in her chair, enjoying a full body stretch -- at least the best one could do while sitting -- before she straightened forward again; she still felt the ache down low in her back, but the movement had given her a small dose of relief. She scrubbed tired hands across her face and peeked at her clock. 2100. Though her body acutely felt the late hour, there were two reasons why she was still in her office at this hour: reports and insomnia. Neither one would seem to go away. The reports were minimized on her PC tablet, just waiting for her attention. Her insomnia, that was just waiting for her to try and get some sleep, then it’d rear its ugly head and taunt her mercilessly until she gave in and reached for the sleeping pills that never seemed to leave her rested in the morning.
She cleared her throat and reached for her bottle of water. Insomnia, she thought viciously, you’ll be waiting a while tonight. Elizabeth wasn’t going to play that game anytime soon. She’d rather push herself, stay locked up in her office, and get work done, then toss and turn and watch the hours tick painfully by in the dark.
So, reports. She clicked on the tab near the bottom labeled city status. They’d had a fairly significant malfunction that affected the northern and eastern sections of the city, about 43% of the area, including inhabited sections.
City Status Update, 2000 hours
Dr. Zelenka and his team continue to work on restoring function to the sensors, fire recognition and suppression systems [FRS], quarantine functions, and in some areas, power.
The FRS has been restored to an almost 88% capacity. Sensors remain at 43% as the damage went through multiple relays. Quarantine functions are now fully restored, and power has been returned to 94% of inhabited sections.
Work will continue through the night, with next update occurring at 0200 hours.
Dr. K. Briggs
Well, it wasn’t the best news, but Elizabeth supposed progress was rarely easy when it came to Atlantis. The FRS was the highest priority at the moment. In a city isolated in the middle of a vast body of water, you did not want an uncontrolled fire to break out.
She typed in her acknowledgement of the report, added comments amounting to nothing more than thanks and closed the update, clicking next on Carson’s nightly report. She’d put this one off for last, because she knew at least one of the patient’s name. Her military chief happened to be staying as Carson’s guest, and though she knew he’d woken and appeared cognizant and healthy, this was Atlantis, and this was the Pegasus Galaxy, and John seemed unusually targeted for calamity and injury. It was hard to read his name on the list, time and time again, though there had been many nights where the information following his name was far more fearful than what she knew she’d find tonight.
Infirmary Status, 03 February, 2007, ESC
DeWitt, Jane - discharged at 1600 hours. She will remain on level 3 profile for ten days. Referred to PT department. F/up appointment on 13 February, 2007.
Long, Steven - deceased, TOD 0936. See attch 1 for copy of official certificate.
--I’m sorry, Elizabeth. We did all we could, but you know the odds of surviving a partial wraith feeding.
Sheppard, John - admitted 1546. Status upon admission: unresponsive. Suspected cause: an unknown response to Ancient device found while on reconnaissance in the northeastern section of the city. Patient is stable and alert, tentative prognosis good. Barring complications, will be discharged tomorrow morning. See attch 2 for test results and notes per new patient protocol.
Dr. Carson Beckett, M.D, attending
She closed her eyes for a moment. Dr. Long had been the only survivor of an off-world team that had stumbled into the aftermath of a culling on a fairly advanced world. He and his team had rushed to aid the natives fight off the wraith scouts on the ground only to wind up surrounded. The world’s military forces had arrived at the skirmish, but only in time to save Long; the other three Marines were KIA. And Long, though he had lived to return home via the alphasite, had been aged to at least sixty. His prognosis had never been good, and Elizabeth hadn’t even been sure what the better end might be. She couldn’t imagine going from twenty-seven to approximately sixty. To essentially lose forty-some years of life and have to live out what remained, knowing what you had lost.
But she did know one thing -- she’d make sure Long’s family knew that he’d died a hero, even though he’d never taken an oath to die in defense of his country, let alone natives of an alien world in another galaxy. There was a meeting scheduled for tomorrow on MX3-556. She had to look for the silver lining, because if she didn’t, Elizabeth knew she’d never be able to continue doing this job.
Sheppard was supposed to lead the talks with his team. Elizabeth knew he would be discharged in time but that niggling intuition told her she’d better alert Lorne that he was on standby for the mission.
OoO
The infirmary was quiet. The night nurse on duty sat across the room, alternately writing in charts and typing. Sheppard tried to close his eyes, tried to sleep, but his skin crawled. He shifted and rolled and hated that he was the only patient in the room. Every noise he made seemed to draw the nurse’s attention.
“Colonel?”
He opened his eyes and found her staring down at him, a polite and professional smile in place. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she whispered, “but it’s vitals time.”
Dutifully, Sheppard pulled his arm free of the cocooning blanket and rolled his head for the temperature check. His body ached and he kept hearing things and feeling emotions he’d thought he’d buried long ago. He tried to pretend he was dozing while she took his blood pressure and temperature, then pulse.
“Hmmm, how are you feeling, Colonel?”
He focused on her and saw her frowning at the display on the thermometer. “Fine,” he insisted.
“No aches, chills, nausea?”
“No.” Liar.
“Well, you’re running a low grade fever, but if you’re sure there are no other symptoms I’ll keep an eye on you rather than waking Dr. Beckett,” she tucked the thermometer back in place on the tray and gestured at Sheppard’s pillow, “for now. Get some more rest, I’ll try not to wake you when I recheck your temp in an hour.”
He forced a tired smile. “Sure, thanks.”
She padded away and Sheppard wondered what the hell am I doing? He shouldn’t be lying, he shouldn’t be hiding the strange symptoms he’d had ever since touching that damn artifact, but his emotions were all over the map, like someone had unleashed the very depths of his conscience. The inner voices he’d never been able to silence, so instead, he’d banished them to the very pits of never forgive, but sometimes, forget.
His skin crawled even more. Son of a bitch. A pressure built somewhere deep inside, something begging, demanding he move, run, hide or he might just combust.
Sheppard swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. A loud echo of a gun going off nearby made him jerk. Nothing there, it was just in his head.
You shot me. You killed me. Why do you get to live when I died? You failed. You didn’t save me.
“Shut up!” Sheppard snarled. “Just SHUT UP!”
“Colonel?”
He threw the blanket off, stood, moved without conscious thought; his body on some primal instinct that knew he’d been damaged. They couldn’t help him, they couldn’t save him from the weight of all the souls he’d taken or contributed to by his failures in the line of duty, or in the field, and in the sky. If he stayed, they’d only hurt him, make it worse. Strap him down until the weight crushed him.
“Colonel, I think you should just lie back down --”
Sheppard shrugged off the foreign, unwanted hand and darted for the door, gunshots chasing him all the way. All he could think now was escape, hide…run!
OoO
Carson stared, dumbfounded at his nurse. It was 0045 in the morning and he’d ran to the infirmary so fast, he hadn’t even remembered to do more than pull his pants on. No socks, shoes, white jacket, and no radio.
“Doctor, I’m so sorry. When I checked his temperature at midnight he was running a low grade fever. The rest of his vitals were normal; I didn’t feel the fever was enough reason to warrant waking you and he stated he felt fine. I didn’t --”
“Give me your radio,” Carson ordered abruptly.
“What? I’m sorry?”
“Your radio,” he enunciated. He was being a veritable bear and he knew it, but damn it! He’d expressedly told the night shift to contact him if the colonel’s status changed, period. Maybe if he’d been here, had observed the colonel directly - “lass, I’m sorry, it’s just worry making me snap.” Because maybe he wouldn’t have noticed anything either, and maybe the fever was totally unrelated, and maybe the colonel would’ve made a run for it, no matter if he’d been called or not. “Now, your radio, please?”
She handed it over. Carson took it with grim thanks. Then he made a few calls.
OoO
Rodney clearly couldn’t believe Carson had lost Sheppard. “Incompetence is apparently contagious,” he snapped blithely.
“Rodney!” Elizabeth threw him an angry, scolding look. They needed to focus on finding Sheppard, not pointing fingers. “The matter at hand, gentlemen, please.”
“We didn’t lose him, Rodney, he ran out on my night nurse, and seeing how there was only one patient, I didn’t exactly have a few extras around to give her a hand!”
They continued to argue, both ignoring her. Elizabeth pressed a hand against the ache building behind her eyes. Carson had called her only twenty short minutes ago to deliver the bad news.
“Carson --”
“He was clearly not himself, Carson. Unconscious, remember? Unknown device. Sheppard. How could you not do the math?”
“What do you want, Rodney? You want me to restrain him the next time he comes in affected by a device?” Carson demanded hotly. “I’ll be sure to tell him that when we buckle him to his bed!”
Rodney snarled, “What I’m saying is, next time do your job!”
“Rodney,” Elizabeth interjected angrily.
“No, forget it.” He threw a dismissive wave at both of them as he stormed to the door. “I’m joining Teyla and Ronon in the search.”
The eye of the storm, Elizabeth thought, as hurricane Rodney left, leaving behind a wash of quiet and foreboding. She found her chair and collapsed into it. Why was it that everything around here felt like a long, uphill battle anymore?
“I’m sorry,” Carson apologized, “it’s just, the bloody man can make even a saint lose their patience.” He threw her a rueful look as he dropped in the chair across from her and together they chorused, “and I’m no saint.”
Carson was her confidant. Sometimes she felt they were the parents of the expedition, the parents of John Sheppard and Rodney McKay, because lord only knows, those two were a handful. She and Carson had sat here together after a storm before, different circumstances, sometimes different son. John could give it just as good as Rodney when he needed to. Those times when he was running on adrenaline, desperate to save lives, willful to get his way, regardless of how reckless his actions might be.
“It’s all right. He’ll apologize later.” And Elizabeth knew he would. Rodney would regret every harsh word he’d nailed into Carson, while the fear for John was a sharp knife in his worried gut.
“Aye, I know he will. And I know it’s just his concern over John causing him to behave like he is, but I’ll be damned if I know how to keep my own mouth shut when he starts running off at times.”
Elizabeth nodded. They already had three teams out searching, and three more getting ready. The timing couldn’t have been worse, with such a large section of Atlantis still blind, the sensors in the midst of repair. John could be in so many different places and they’d only find him the hard way. On foot.
“I’ve ordered Radek to stop everything else and make sensor repairs a priority. Once they’re online, finding John will become a far easier task.”
Carson didn’t say anything else; what else was there to say? They sat in silence, and she knew his thoughts were like hers. Something had driven John from the infirmary, and was even now keeping him from responding to their calls over the city-wide. And more than anything, they hated to imagine him out there, sick and alone, without any help or comfort to be had.
OoO
Sheppard ran until his body couldn’t. He lost track of where he was, just that there wasn’t anyone else around. It was dark. He found a door and dodged in, hoping for some small light to see by.
Somewhere in a corner, a small light flooded on in response to his plea.
The daycare room.
He remembered it, and now found himself turning around and around. What’d brought him here? What force pressed against his body like a physical weight, but when he looked, he couldn’t see anything?
Do you know what it feels like to die?
“Stop it!” Sheppard cried. He spun in another circle. “Who’s there?”
His skin felt alive, like a million tiny bugs danced across his bare arms, feet and face. He needed to run, but couldn’t any longer. His thighs trembled with muscle fatigue so complete that Sheppard could barely stand.
What was happening? Hadn’t he been here before?
The infirmary. He’d been in the infirmary. But why had he left?
Those that deal out death must experience death.
A ghostly figure stepped from the shadows; Kolya! Sheppard jerked back and reached for his pistol. His hands found only the thin material of his infirmary scrubs. “What the hell do you want? How’d you get here?” he demanded, forcing calm into his hands. Steady, stay steady, stay focused.
The figure solidified as it moved forward, and Sheppard moved back, away, towards the corner of the room where the cribs stood empty and silent. He tripped over a rocking chair and fell, irrational fear and memory driving him to scramble away until his back hit the metal railing of a crib.
You killed me.
“You deserved it, you son of a bitch,” Sheppard ground out.
This isn’t real, this isn’t real; I’m hallucinating, I’m in the infirmary and this is just a dream; a scary mother of a dream.
Kolya raised a wicked Genii pistol and stared coldly at Sheppard.
Death bringer, experience what you so freely give!
The echo of the weapon’s fire was the same that had chased him ever since he’d touched the device. He’d heard it time and time again, always with accusations and regret, always with the cold hard fact that his actions had taken lives, cost lives. He’d heard it so many times, he didn’t even expect the hot pain when it punched into his gut.
He didn’t expect to see the spreading stain on his scrubs, or feel the slick warmth spreading down his belly and pooling in his navel.
Sheppard stared at his stomach, confused. He’d been shot. Somewhere, in the recesses of logical thought left to him, he tried to parse the conflicting facts. He was on Atlantis. He’d been shot by a man he’d killed. He was wearing scrubs and hiding in an old daycare room for Ancients, and he was bleeding everywhere.
When he looked up again, it wasn’t just Kolya standing there. It was Sumner, Gall, Abrams, Holland, nameless soldiers, Sheppard’s and Genii, scientists, even Steve and Bob, and Sheppard couldn’t stop the mirthless chuckle bubbling from his lips. Then the pain surged and he folded over, groaning.
OoO
“Rodney, I have located the device in the databanks!”
He paused in his steps. “Radek, please tell me it’s harmless. If it changes him into a bug or corrupts his brain irretrievably, I don’t want to hear it.” I really, really don’t, he thought fervently.
“I would not say it is harmless, but neither did it alter Colonel’s brain. This, you might not believe.”
Rodney had to bite back his anger, again. He’d stormed all over Carson and Elizabeth, and several poor Marines, but Ronon and Teyla had reeled him in, and were now waiting patiently ahead. “Just tell me,” Rodney seethed through clenched teeth.
“You found this object in Ancient’s daycare, yes? Apparently, this was a tool for punishing young Ancients. For example, if a child hit another, instead of telling the child how wrong it was to do, and trying to get them to understand how it felt, the device would --”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Rodney lost his tenuous hold on his temper.
“Yes, it simulates the same injury or action given, to teach the child empathy.”
Teyla’s voice shook. “How could they do that to a child?”
“I’d hardly imagine it was very traumatic when you consider typical childhood transgressions,” Rodney replied tightly. “The problem is, what transgression would it pick from Sheppard’s mind to give him in return?”
Ronon glanced at his blaster. “Sheppard hates killing. He’s always telling me to put it on stun.”
Three very sober faces looked at one another and Rodney finally whispered frightfully, “We have to find him. Now.”
OoO
Sheppard had pushed his hands uselessly against the wound, only for his hands to become blood-slicked and sticky. His belly burned and weeped and the pain made him curl in on himself.
Desperately, he scanned the room for something, anything, but all he found was the teddy bear that’d fallen from the rocking chair when he’d tripped. With tacky fingers, he reached. Pain from moving drove soft whimpers from his lips, but finally, his hand latched onto the soft, furry toy.
Dizzy and queasy, he lurched back, straightened a little, and pushed it as hard as he could stand against the seeping hole, staunching the burbling blood as it fought to escape his body. “It hurts,” he whimpered, because there was no one to hear him. There was no one near for him to act for.
He’d always wondered if dying hurt.
He didn’t want to die. He had never wanted to kill.
Pushed up against a corner, between two cribs, clutching a child’s stuffed animal against his bleeding belly, Sheppard had never wanted his team more than in that moment.
They’ll find me, he thought.
Then he closed his eyes and begged anyone listening to make the pain stop.
All he heard were hollow accusations from every life he’d ever taken, echoing in his ears, in his mind. Gunfire and screams. Pain and blood. Death, it was all around him; it was coming for him. How’d he get here? Where was his team?
Rodney!
OoO
“Team six, report.” Rodney didn’t know why he was bothering. If they’d found Sheppard, they would’ve reported in.
“Nothing, Dr. McKay. We’re moving on to the east pier, level 2.”
Rodney wanted to drop to the floor. He wanted to bang his head against the wall, frustration eating him alive. Somewhere in this city was his friend, sick, alone, confused, and despite all their advances, they couldn’t even track down one stupid human life sign.
“We will find him.” Teyla placed her hand softly on Rodney’s arm and looked at him until he returned her gaze. “We will.”
“It’s been four hours,” he said brokenly. “What if that machine is torturing him with all the things he’s ever felt guilty about? And he has no idea what’s happening to him.”
“Sheppard’s strong enough.” Ronon looked just as sick and worried though, despite his insistence. “He’ll be all right, McKay.”
But all Rodney could do was swallow numbly and flop tiredly against the corridor wall. His aching head touched the cool metal of Atlantis and he felt her soft hum against his skin.
Why aren’t you helping me? He’s here, inside, and you know. If there’s any awareness in you at all, help me, he pleaded to a city that he’d always felt was alive. Wasn’t that what faith was? Believing in something, even when there wasn’t proof? Of course it was, and Rodney had always had faith that there was more to Atlantis, and John Sheppard, regardless of proof to date. The city had welcomed her son home, and it’d been Sheppard first up the stairs and by the consoles. Please, show me the way. Help him!
Rodney felt foolish but hopeful, when he finally straightened. He even waited.
“Rodney?” Teyla stared at him worriedly. “Are you all right? What is wrong?”
He’d waited. But all he got was Ronon and Teyla demanding even louder what was wrong, and just when Teyla was calling for Carson, Rodney shook his head. “I’m fine. I was just…” he looked forlornly at the silent corridor ahead, the steady lights above, “…listening.”
“For what?” Ronon looked pissed at him for making them worry even more.
Rodney started ahead, shouldering between Ronon and Teyla. “For nothing, apparently,” he replied bitterly.
OoO
“I don’t want to die,” Sheppard whispered.
And you think we did?
He no longer had the strength left to keep his knees pushed up against his chest. It’d helped hold the blood-soaked bear in place, and now his legs, saturated and stained red, slumped to the ground. He forced his slow lethargic arms to hold the toy in place, clutching it against his belly as if he were a scared child and the bear the only thing between him and the horrors of the night.
“Help me.” It came out breathy, weak and fragile.
My sweet John, do you not know that so long as you are here, you are never alone?
The ghosts stopped murmuring and accusing. From behind their masses, a bright shiny light flowed forward. Her light fell across Sheppard’s icy feet and brought shivers of warmth to his body.
“Who…who are you?”
He was drowning in his pain and her light was a lifeline.
OoO
Alarms wailed through Atlantis. Emergency procedures initiated. Crew rolled out of bed and instantly fell into routines practiced repeatedly until they’d become second nature.
Elizabeth, Carson on her heels, strode from her office. “What’s happening?” She pushed away her fears and her fatigue. Just, please God, don’t let it be Wraith. Not now, not with John missing.
Chuck studied the console, alarm etching into the fine wrinkles across his forehead. “The FRS is reporting a fire in the northeastern part of the city, level one - it’s the area Colonel Sheppard and his team explored yesterday, Ma’am.”
“And is there a fire?”
“No Ma’am, at least I don’t think so. Internal temperatures in that room register as nominal.”
Elizabeth hit her comm., intuition leaping ahead and connecting the dots. “Rodney, where are you?”
“Still searching the north pier, level 2.”
“That room you and John found yesterday, I think John might be hiding there.”
“What? Why?”
“The FRS just alerted for that same area, but there’s no evidence of an actual fire. I’m rerouting Major Lorne and his team to that position as well.”
“Going now, will update you when we arrive. Rodney out.”
After he ended their radio call, Elizabeth turned to Carson and smiled the first real smile in hours. “Please let this be him. It has to be.”
“I’ve got to go, if it’s him --”
“Of course, go, and Carson,” he paused already half down the stairs, “take care of him?”
He nodded and then turned, disappearing out the door and into the dimly lit hall leading toward the transporter. She’d wanted to go with him, but the weight of the city was still on her shoulders and John Sheppard was only one man among many.
She told Chuck to turn the alarm off and continue monitoring the situation, before heading back, alone, to her office. She knew she wouldn’t get any paperwork done, or find any peace, until she heard back from Rodney and Carson.
OoO
The pain no longer burned a fire inside his belly. It was soft, muted, far away. Sheppard was alone; no one had come for him. The beautiful light had left and all that was with him now were the ghosts of his damned.
The room was darker, everything fading into blackness.
Sheppard was cold. Why was he so cold?
Death is a solitary, cold business, Sheppard. Its embrace is ice. Do you feel scared? Do you wish for your friends? Do you begin to feel the horror of dying?
“I feel… alone,” Sheppard choked. Iron tang filled his mouth.
“You’re not alone, Sheppard,” Rodney grabbed his hand, grabbed it from where it clung desperately to the teddy bear, “we’re right here, I swear. We’re right here.”
Sheppard couldn’t see them. Rodney’s touch was a distant sensation. Hoarsely, he whispered, “I didn’t want to die alone,” because now that he was almost dead, he could tell the truth. To his friends, to his family. “Thanks… for…for coming.”
Then even the feel of Rodney’s hands and Teyla and Ronon shouting faded to nothing.
OoO
When Rodney had rounded that corner, heard Ronon shout, “He’s in here!” he’d felt like he’d been given a reprieve from grief. Then he’d seen Sheppard, slumped in the corner, clutching that god damn teddy bear against his stomach, and Rodney knew it’d become one of those rare awful memories that imprinted on his psyche forever.
Sheppard was scary soldier and coiled strength. He was larger than life and he never quit, not even when an Iratus bug was sucking away his life or a Wraith fed on him for the third time. He never gave up, he never gave in.
Yet, a small device no larger than Rodney’s fist had reduced him to this…huddled in a corner, living some nightmare that didn’t even exist.
His eyes stared at them, but his pupils were unfocused. Rodney knew they weren’t registering.
“I feel… alone,” Sheppard had gasped, and in those three words, there was longing, despair and acceptance.
Not even thinking, his body and mind on automatic, uncaring of anyone else, Rodney stumbled forward, dropped and grabbed Sheppard’s hand. He pried it free from the death grip on the stuffed toy that was older than all of them put together. “You’re not alone, Sheppard,” Rodney promised with every depth of emotion he could, every ounce of assurance he could muster. “We’re right here, I swear. We’re right here.”
Sheppard arched, as if his body released the last of his pseudo-pain, “I didn’t want to die alone,” his eyes dulled, “thanks for…for coming.”
Then his body went limp, boneless, and Rodney was afraid he’d just witnessed the end. He dropped Sheppard’s hand and scrabbled back, as if burned. “Carson,” he muttered, panicked, then turned and shouted for all his worth, “somebody get Carson, now!”
Teyla pushed past Rodney and tightly informed them Sheppard wasn’t breathing. Lorne and his team spilled into the room, out of breath and snapping orders, and Rodney could only watch, horrified, as everyone worked to revive his friend; the one that had died, without a single mark on him.
OoO
Carson could’ve stayed in his office. He could’ve found an excuse to be anywhere else but here, but looking on the tired, dispirited faces of John Sheppard’s team, he knew there wasn’t any other place he’d rather be.
Sheppard had died. The device had enacted the highest degree of punishment, and though no one had any validation yet of the exact cause, if the device did work on an eye for an eye principle, then Sheppard felt the weight of his actions to a degree that had nearly cost him his life.
No one could blame him for the lives he had taken. No one blamed him for the lives he’d been unable to save. No one, that is, except Sheppard himself.
“Carson?”
He looked up. Elizabeth held a cup of coffee out for him to take. Steam wafted up from the contents and the smell was heavenly. Gratefully, he took the mug, murmuring real thanks.
She sat next to him, on a gurney to the left of Sheppard’s bed. “Another very rough night,” she said, staring at Sheppard’s still figure, tucked under blankets, an IV running into in his hand and an EKG measuring every reassuring beat.
Ronon and Teyla were slumped on the gurney that rested to Sheppard’s right, sleeping at long last. Rodney slept in a chair by their feet, his own legs propped on Sheppard’s bed; his head lolled back as he snored the deep sleep of the very tired and weary.
“That it was,” Carson agreed, sipping his coffee. “I personally volunteer to take a sledgehammer to the object.”
“I think maybe we’ll let John have that honor, if he wants it.” She tried to smile but failed. “I never thought… with all the danger they face, is it morbid if I prepared myself for them to die by the Wraith’s hands, or the Asurans? Fatal crashes or even dying in a final stand here on Atlantis… but not this… not as a product of his own guilt.”
“Not morbid, realistic.” Carson knew, because he’d done it to. He’d been the one to put them back together too many times. How could you not imagine the time that’d come when you couldn’t fix them? When their bodies would be irreparable, if you even got a body back? He had nightmares about the different ways in which his friends would die.
She accepted his reassurance with the same stoicism she always displayed against the inevitable. “Will he be all right?”
“I imagine so.” Carson stared at the chest, rising and falling, unaided now. From everything they could tell, Sheppard’s death had ended the device’s hold. The fever, possibly a by-product of his not being one hundred percent ancient, or maybe even a coincidence and there’d be another virus to contend with soon. Either way, his vitals were stable, and if there was any cardiac damage, it’d join the time they’d shocked his heart to a stop in order to save his life, not so long ago in the grand scheme of things.
At the rate they were going, Carson didn’t imagine this flagship team full of close friends would ever live to a ripe old age, and that thought made his throat swell and his heart ache.
“We’ll know more when he wakes.”
“Elizabeth, we seem to be experiencing power fluctuations, could you come to the control room? I am not sure if I should bother Rodney --”
“No, Radek, that’s fine. I’ll be right there.” She looked at Rodney, still completely oblivious. “We’ll try to handle it without Rodney if we can.”
Carson breathed deep and shrugged. “Never time to just sit, is there?”
She stood and shook her head. “No, there never seems to be.” Her eyes lingered on John again before turning back to Carson. “Call me when he wakes up?”
“Of course.”
Then she was gone, and Carson was left with his coffee, growing cold, and the sound of four sleeping friends.
OoO
John Sheppard, it is time to wake.
A persistent light beckoned into his soft darkness.
You must wake.
Why would he want to wake up? If he did, he’d have to face what he’d done. He’d have to face those demons he’d thought he’d buried all along the way.
John, my sweet son, you have acted always to do good. These burdens are not yours to carry.
But I have killed, he thought to the soft, gentle voice, I have aimed at men and pulled the trigger. I have seen them fall. I have watched so many die.
Do you know me?
Mom?
Silence was the only reply.
He didn’t know who it was; had it really been his mother? But before he could pin down the fragmented thoughts, someone was holding his hand and telling him to stop faking, and Sheppard couldn’t help the tired grin that crept across his face as he blinked away the last dregs of sleep to see Rodney waiting by his side, just like he always seemed to be. “You’re here,” Sheppard croaked.
“So’s Teyla and Ronon.” Rodney tried to look put-upon but he wasn’t fooling either of them. “They’re still sleeping. It’s rather difficult to get any rest chasing you around Atlantis all night.”
Sheppard’s mouth was cotton and desert. “Water?”
“Oh, right.” Rodney got up and walked to the small tray by Sheppard’s side, but out of his reach. He poured ice water into a small plastic up. “Can you sit?”
“I think so.” Sheppard had flashes of a horrible pain in his gut and suddenly darted a look down, pawing at the blanket. “Was I --”
“No, the device made you think you were hurt, dying, but there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with you.” Rodney moved to help Sheppard sit, but John pushed away the helping hand and insisted he could do it.
Finally, he was up, feeing short of breath and exhausted, but able to take the cup from Rodney.
“Was it really worth doing alone?” Rodney demanded. He looked a little smug - he’d offered to help! And partly consternated; Sheppard knew he could be infuriatingly stubborn - but then, Rodney looked mostly relieved, because this…this was the Sheppard he knew. The man that was ‘fine’ when he was running around shot, beat, and still facing down a very pissed off Wraith. And Sheppard knew that, more than anything, was what Rodney needed to see.
Ronon and Teyla were beginning to stir. Sheppard knew Rodney was curious, he knew they all would be, but he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. Right now, he was still trying to accept that his stomach was untouched, that the ghosts had never really existed except in his own conscience. He’d dealt with the emotional cost of his job before, he’d do it again, and it’d be on his terms, not those set by a device.
He shared a knowing look with Rodney but neither one of them said what they were thinking. They didn’t really have to. Sheppard drank the water and handed the empty cup to McKay.
“So, those Ancients,” Sheppard finally began, when the silence grew awkward, “would’ve hated to be one of their teenagers.”
Rodney stared at Sheppard, and Sheppard stared back. Their minds drifted to sneaking out at night, boosting the parents’ car, drinking till you puked and trying to get to first base with Lucy DeMille… and suddenly Sheppard and Rodney were laughing, because God, those Ancients, they so wouldn’t have had a clue how to parent any of them growing up.
Never.
And somewhere, off in the peripheral of his mind, a feminine laugh tinkled.
Do not be too sure of that, John Sheppard.