The Silent Language of Grief (10/?)

[water4willows]

Title: The Silent Language of Grief
Characters: John S., Rodney M., Carson B., Evan L., Wolsey, and various OCs
Parings: None
Rating: PG13 for violence, language and some adult situations
Warnings: Mentions of Major Character Deaths
Word Count: 61,202 based on 10 chapters so far
Disclaimer: The Stargate: Atlantis show and her characters are the property of MGM. All I can lay claim to is my passion for the show and the original characters within this story
Summary: 20 years after the Wraith decimated Earth, the SGC is once again ready to resume the Atlantis Expedition. There's only one man for the job, only John Sheppard has been MIA since the end of the War. A slip-up reveals John's current location, but will he be able to forgive the ultimate betrayal and return? AU, rated T for language. Mentions multiple major character deaths

---

Breaking Point

Later that evening, once John had settled in to his new quarters down by the rest of the soldiers living on base, a knock came at his door that he had been expecting for a while. True to their word Rodney, Carson and Lorne had come to collect him so he could accompany the three men down the mountainside to visit the little cemetery that held the crosses of fallen SGC soldiers and civilians alike that had given their lives in the service of their country.

The graveyard they were headed to wasn't much. Just a small, private square of fenced off frozen earth tucked up against the meandering roots of the mountain at the base of its eastern most face. It was accessed by a thin paved lane that branched itself away from the main drag meandering up the side of Cheyenne Mountain and was dotted with a collection of dark headstones and simple crosses that were slowly being covered by the snow.

There were no bodies buried in the graveyard, the Stargate rarely sent her dead back whole, but it was home to a few soldiers who had no one to claim their remains and whose urns were held reverently in a small monument nestled up snuggly against the mountain.

The graveyard was well taken care, John noted with some satisfaction. While the mountain around them was buried in a few feet of snow at least, the graveyard had been painstakingly shoveled... though the snow that had begun falling as soon as they had arrived was quickly taking back over the graves. A thin crystalline layer of ice had collected on every surface and added an almost ethereal feel to the graveyard as John cast his eyes around the twinkling tops of the stones and crosses in search of the two he'd come for.

He found them tucked respectfully back in one pine tree lined corner of the cemetery, the markers side by side for eternity, perpetually memorializing in cold gray stone, the names of Teyla Emmagan and Ronon Dex.

John walked silently through the quietly falling snow and stood before the graves of the two people he'd give anything in the world to have by his side in that moment. There was an empty space inside his heart that he would never be able to fill again now that they were gone and he felt that space throb a bit with grief as he pictured the faces of his friends.

He knew that 'what ifs' were pointless and that he was just punishing himself with them, but John couldn't help but wonder, had he managed to save both of them somehow, would that one terrible thing he'd been running from all these years ever have happened? If he'd only had them there with him to find another solution, then maybe he wouldn't be standing here more terrified than he'd ever been in his entire life, about to plunge back into the very world that had stolen them both away.

John knelt down before the stones, ignoring the warnings his knee gave, and used a bare hand to brush away some gathered snow that had adhered itself to the face of Ronon's marker and he knew there were words he needed to say in that moment, apologies he needed to make, but he found he couldn't put them into words, even with McKay, Carson and Lorne keeping a respectful distance. There was too much to say and any meager words of his wouldn't be enough, so he settled for resting a hand to each grave in turn in the stillness of that place before rising from his crouch and looking over at his friends still hanging back. He gestured with a tilt of his head that they should join him and the four settled into a crude semi circle around the stones.

Carson cleared his throat and broke the silence first. "I'd like to say something if no one objects," he asked quietly and John looked over to the doctor's stoic face and agreed along with the others.

"It's just a wee poem me mum always loved, so you must forgive me the sappiness." When no one brokered argument, Carson began:

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer -
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe;
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North
The birth place of Valour, the country of Worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farwell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe;
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.*

"I like it," Rodney said a little stiffly when Carson finally finished and the doctor looked up and over at the scientist with glint in his eye John didn't miss. "It's fitting for them."

"Aye, it's one I'm always reminded of when I find myself thinking back on them. Ronon especially. That lad never was happier than when he was reminiscing about his home world."

"We should try to do this every year," Lorne spoke up. "You know, meet here around the same time and pay our respects together. I think we owe them that at least now that we're all back together again."

No one glanced his way after Lorne had said it, but John got the distinct impression that the suggestion had been directed at him mostly.

"Excellent idea, laddie," Carson agreed with a nod then went on with a smile. "I'm sure it could be arranged with our new expedition leader to see to it that we get back to Earth every year 'round this time."

"Is that so?" John knew he should be probably be irritated by Carson's cheeky presumption, but he let the corner of his mouth cock upwards in a crooked half smile anyway.

"Oh, sure! I hear he's a right crabby old bastard, but that he's got a heart of gold. Shouldnea be too hard convincing him it's a good idea, considerin' he'd be expected to go," Carson ribbed good-naturedly with a smile in John's direction and the four men started to laugh. It was a sound the graveyard hadn't heard in a good long while and a brisk northerly wind dipped down from the sky to steal the sound away and pull it back up into the snow heavy clouds.

"It's a nice place out here. I'm glad they did this for them," Rodney said next and they all looked down to the graves again and settled back into solemnity.

"You shouldnea be so modest, Rodney. Lorne and I know you had a big hand in getting these stones put up for Teyla and Ronon. Ya didnea let those bastards sully their memories, you should be proud of yourself for that," Carson stated firmly and John glanced over at Rodney as the scientist flushed a bit at the unsought for compliment. There was still so much about those years after the War that he needed to find out about. The hard part was going to be finding the right time and place to ask about them and he couldn't decide for the life of him if this moment was it.

"What did you do, Rodney?" John found himself asking anyway and McKay shifted uncomfortably which surprised him. The Rodney McKay he knew from before would have jumped at the opportunity to toot his own horn.

"Go on, Rodney," Carson pushed, "tell tha man what you did."

"It's nothing really. I just refused to turn over some research until they agreed to give Ronon and Teyla a proper send off. That's all."

"That's not what I heard," Lorne spoke up forcefully, and John, Carson and Rodney all turned their heads to look at him at the same time. "It was all over the base about how you holed yourself up in your lab and threatened to release all the details about what had happened in the War to the public if they didn't arrest those IOA members and get these put up for Teya and Ronon. Those assholes never stood a chance."

"It got the job done I suppose," Rodney said as nonchalantly as he could, casting his eyes down at the toes of his boots, but John got the feeling there was more to the story.

"It brought down every single one of them in the end so I'd say it more than got the job done," Lorne continued undeterred, clasping a hand on McKay's shoulder. "You were a real hero Rodney."

"Well, you know, I am a genius after all," McKay grinned and tapped the point of an index finger against his temple but sobered quickly. "I just wish I could have done it sooner, before..."

"Hey, Mitchell and Sam knew what they were getting themselves into smuggling you those documents and recordings, Rodney. You can't blame yourself for that." John watched Lorne step in closer to the scientist. "That wasn't your fault."

"Boy, you all sure know how to ruin a moment, don't you?" Rodney said a little desperately with a laugh that sounded forced.

"Hey, why don't we head back? I'm starving and its freezing out here," he suggested abruptly and shook off the hand Lorne still hand on his shoulder under the guise of an overdramatic shiver, and John watched Evan eye Rodney gravely.

That should have been him - John realized suddenly - comforting McKay and trying to convince him he'd done the right thing all those years ago. But John had chosen to flee instead of sticking around to help fight and now he was going to have to live with the fact that others had stepped in to do for the world what he couldn't.

Their little semi circle broke apart a moment later and John followed behind his three friends back to their jeep in silence. The trip back up the mountain was a little treacherous as the sky had decided to open up fully and release a snowfall so thick it was nearly impossible to find the road again, but eventually they had and arrived back at the SGC covered in snow. Lorne suggested another trip to the Officer's Club to warm up with a few beers but John was starting his training in the morning and feigned the need for a good night's sleep as an excuse to bow out. Truth was, after the day he'd just had - first with Woolsey, then the Reenlisting Ceremony and then their little trip down to the mountain graveyard - he just wanted a few minutes to himself to think things through. He had a lot on his mind and sleep was going to be elusive even though he was in desperate need of a good night of it.

John said his goodbyes to Rodney, Carson and Lorne near the elevators then made his way down the halls and towards his new bunk. There weren't a lot of soldiers living on base at the moment, the Stargate Program still just getting up on its feet, but it was nice to be back amongst the living again after so many years of self-imposed solitude. He passed a few men on their way to the mess, grumbling good naturedly about the turkey surprise being served yet again in the chow line, and finally came to the little windowless bunk that would be his for the next however many weeks it would take to transform him from recluse, back into a soldier.

The room John been given was fairly spacious but it lacked any of the character of his old bunk back on Atlantis, not that it mattered much. Everything he owned anymore fit into the worn green duffle still sitting in the same place on the end of the bed where he'd left it earlier and there wasn't much use in unpacking it to make the space more his own. His Johnny Cash poster was long gone. The trinkets he'd brought with him to Atlantis from home all those years ago were probably packed away in some dusty forgotten place deep in the mountain and mostly his duffle was stuffed with clothes except for the few picture frames that had somehow managed to survive Rodney's breakneck driving the other day. John thought about digging them out of the bag and setting them up on the small empty table beside his bed, but he decided against it in the end. Being back in Cheyenne Mountain still felt strange to him and he wasn't ready to fully embrace the fact that he was back into all of this quite yet. He needed time to process, to find out what was expected of him, and to make peace with the fact that he'd even been asked back in the first place. He was just waiting for someone to slip up and ask him about what had happened all those years ago and John wasn't entirely sure he would be able to keep his cool when the questions inevitably came. He felt a bit like a time bomb just waiting for all the right elements to click into place before he exploded and he pitied the person who triggered him first.

John set his duffle on the floor beside the bed and didn't even bother to strip out of his BDUs before collapsing down on top of the bed. Freshly laundered linens were sitting in a neat pile on the desk across the room and his training called to him to make his bed to Air Force regulation, but John wasn't ready for that just yet. He would have plenty of time over the coming weeks to get himself back in that neatly ordered headspace, but for now he was content to just lay on top of the worn and threadbare military issue comforter that covered the bed and stare up at the ceiling. He'd been given a little green desk lamp and the light did its best to illuminate the room in a weak glow. It was a far cry from the rustic rooms of his cabin, but it was warm and would serve him well for however long he was stuck here.

John let his thoughts wander back to Blue River and he wondered what Carrie might be doing and if she had any idea where he was in that moment or what it was he was preparing to do. The surviving civilians of the War had never been given the full story on what had happened with the Wraith and John couldn't help but wonder if Carrie would have been with him had she known how instrumental he was in practically ending the world. He liked to think that she would understand if she got the full story, but a part of him knew he was a fool to think so. She hadn't lost anyone in The Great Culling, but she had fallen victim to the chaos and horror of those first few years after a third of the world's population had disappeared and entire cities had burned to the ground. She owed all of that to him and John doubted she could have ever found it in her heart to love him had she known what he had done. Still, it was her smile he saw when he closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest to try and get some sleep and her laugh that invaded his dreams for once, instead of the faces of the dead.

..
\oO0Oo/
..

The next morning after a few quick laps around the SGC's elevated running track and a inhaled breakfast of soupy oatmeal with Rodney, John found himself on his way back down to meet with Former Petty Officer Sean Fitzpatrick in the training facility to begin his first day of preparation for Atlantis. He didn't have the slightest clue as to what was in store for him down there because there really wasn't anyone on base who'd been through the type of program he was about to go through to ask about it. His was a special case and while the idea of something new and unknown was kind of exciting, going in blind was not. The kid who would be training him was built like a horse and John had heard some whispered gossip about him as he'd shoveled down breakfast that morning with Rodney but the scientist had no useful intel when he'd plopped himself down to join John. He was on his own and John wasn't sure how he felt about it.

The SGC training facilities were located one level below his bunk and had been covered from floor to ceiling in khaki green mats that reminded John a little of the ones his old high school gymnasium used to have. The folded faded ones with shoddy padding that the gym teacher would make them pull out every time they did any kind of activity that might involve bodily harm. The padding was pathetic and John knew the first time he was slammed into one, it was going to hurt. At various stations around the rooms were different training scenarios that ranged anywhere from empty space to spar in openly, an elevated ring for hand to hand combat training, to some cardio and weight training stations thrown in as well. There was no one else in the room besides Fitzpatrick who was waiting for John near a table by the open sparing space with his back turned.

"Petty Officer Fitzpatrick?" John said carefully as he approached the former Seal from behind and announced his presence as loudly as he could so as not to startle the man. The former Petty Officer didn't seem like the kind of man who took kindly to being snuck up on.

"Brigadier General Sheppard," the man offered back as he turned. He was as big as John remembered and was holding a Bantos rod in one of his wrapped hands. It's twin and another set of them were propped up against the table behind him.

"First rule of my gym is that we're all equals down here. There's no pulling rank and I could care less who you are. And if you call me Petty Officer one more time, I'll mop the floor with you." Fitzpatrick's eyes sparked a bit with an unvoiced dare but John just made himself nod.

"Fair enough."

"I understand you have some experience with these?" The former Seal asked, holding up the Banthos stick before offering John wraps for his hands when he nodded. He almost smiled as he reached for them, but thought better of it. Fitzpatrick wasn't just asking him a question. Fitzpatrick was informing him that he'd read up on John, was familiar with his history, and that he was going to make use of every aspect of it that he could.

John took the offered hand wraps and, after removing his shoes and socks, started into the process of protecting his knuckles and palms against the sticks he was about to work with. He didn't really need them, there were grips on the ends of the rods, but it had been a long time since he'd used them and wrapping would save him from some painful blisters later on. The process was automatic really, and he relished the feeling of old muscle memory as he worked. Fitzpatrick was going to dive right in and John was glad for it, his earlier fears of being treated differently because of his rank and age flying out the window. A preemptive strike was a smart move on the part of the former Petty Officer. He could use it to his advantage and both get a picture of John's overall abilities and instincts, as well as prove his own and how exactly this was all going to play out between them. And John could use it to his advantage just as well. It was his one chance to show what he was made of set the tone for the next few weeks.

"What have you been doing to stay in shape?" Fitz asked as he worked, watching him with that sharp edged gaze of his that set John's teeth on edge just slightly as he made quick work of wrapping his hands. "Dr. Beckett seems to think you're up for just about anything I could throw at you except for some issues with your knee."

"It doesn't always bother me," John replied, wriggling the fingers of one hand a bit after he'd finished. "and I run mostly." Fitzpatrick nodded and then handed John his own pair of sticks. They were heavy in his hands but familiar and he followed the former Seal on to the mats that had been set up in one corner of the training facility. There was still no one else in the room with them, though he knew there were other people around nearby, and John was secretly relieved. He didn't know how his body was going to react to being put back into intense situations like these again after so many years of being at ease and he was glad there wouldn't be anyone else around to see him get his ass handed to him should things go sideways. Truth was, that while he hoped he still had that seemingly bottomless reserve of strength and stamina he seemed to have in his youth, John wasn't 35 years old anymore, even though he wished desperately in that moment as he followed Fitzpatrick into the sparing space, that he could be.

John moved back and forth across the mats to get a feel for their springy foam beneath his bare feet and gave the Bantos sticks clutched in his hands an experimental twirl. It had been a long time since he'd held the rudimentary weapons in his hand, but had to admit, it felt damn good, and he tried out a few of the moves he remembered as Fitzpatrick watched on, limbering himself up with a few stretches rather than with the sticks. John used the weight of the sticks to get blood flowing into the muscles of his core again and when they were both ready, Fitz walked to the center of the sectioned off space and clacked his two sticks together.

"Let's just see what happens," the Irishman suggested with tilt of the head and a mischievous glint to his eye as he shook the tension from his frame and John settled into a familiar stance he hadn't taken up in nearly two decades.

The muscles of his legs and arms engaged immediately and his heart rate ratcheted up a few notches in his chest as he flexed his hands around the Bantos held near his shoulder instinctively. This was something he knew, something that was still as much a part of him as breathing and he almost faltered then as his brain took him back to long forgotten memories of sparing with Teyla.

Something bitter flooded the back of his throat unexpectedly and Fitzpatrick picked up on the minute change in him almost immediately, stepping forward to make his first strike. John wasn't ready for it and even though he managed to raise up one of his rods just in time to deflect the attack, Fitzpatrick's stick glanced off his own and caught him in the hand. He hopped off, shaking out his stinging fingers and Fitzpatrick stood his ground in the center of the space, loosening his neck muscles with tilt of his head in either direction but saying nothing. John recovered, walked back over to him, and resumed his starting stance. One corner of Fitzpatrick's mouth turned upwards and he shuffled forward a bit as if to strike, sending John back a few cautious steps as he tensed, but didn't make a move. John took advantage of the opportunity and sprang forward.

Their sticks met in the space between them as Fitzpatrick blocked, but he dropped one of them a moment later, caught one of John's wrists in his beefy grip and twisted until John had no choice but to drop his own and rub at his wrist when the former Navy Seal finally let go.

"Come on, Sheppard," he goaded, face breaking out into full on grin this time full of nothing but mocking insincerity. "I thought you were supposed to be good at this." John bit his tongue against a retort and picked his stick back up from the floor. This cocky kid was staring to piss him off.

Centering his weight with a cleansing breath, John tried to clear his mind and focus his brain in on the task at hand. All his life he'd had good instincts and they had kept him alive for this long, but memories of the past kept trying to push their way up into his mind and throw him off balance. He tried to shake them off, jumped a bit on the mat to get his blood flowing again, but it was no use. Fitzpatrick again picked up on his hesitation and with a strike so fast John nearly lost sight of him, their next skirmish ended with Fitzpatrick's stick held inches away from John's bad knee and both his sticks lying uselessly on the mat beside him.

"Shit." He pushed the kid out of his personal space, picked up his sticks again, but the former seal didn't give him any time to recover and came at him again and for a few breathless seconds the training room was filled with nothing but the sound of wood against wood as John managed to block blow after ruthless blow until finally Fitzpatrick swept his feet out from under him with a quick maneuver John hadn't been expecting and he crashed to the floor in a heap. As he suspected, the mats offered little cushion and he got back up onto his feet with a grimace, bent over slightly and holding an arm to his middle where the former Seal had managed to elbow him in the bout.

"Better, but I gotta say, I'm a little underwhelmed here, Sheppard." The kid practically laughed over at him and John pulled himself up to full height. Without warning, he rushed Fitzpatrick who avoided his strike easily enough and John's Bantos cut through empty air as the Seal clacked his sticks together again. "Almost!" Fitzpatrick was all cocky smile and John wanted nothing more in that moment than to knock that stupid grin right off his face. He readied his stance again and let his feet take him where they would. It was a game, always a game, now if he could only find that calm focused center that had always made him a master at this particular one.

Circling each other they spent the next few minutes offering up half hearted attacks that were meant more to test each other's reflexes and technique than to inflict any real damage until Fitzpatrick burst forward into a sudden strike that sent John stumbling backwards to recover. He blocked a stick headed straight for his face as best he could, but the end of the other came up to get him in the solar plexus and he bent over double again as he lost the ability to breath.

"Shit Sheppard, with instincts like those, it's no wonder all those people died on your watch." Fitzpatrick said quiet and low, taking John completely by surprise, and he stopped heaving immediately to look over at the man who had just addressed him, not sure he'd really just heard what his brain was telling him he had.

"What the hell did you just say to me?"

"You heard me," Fitzpatrick said back defiantly and put his sticks up as John fought to control the anger that was starting to set the blood in his veins to boiling and straightened. Part of him wanted to drop his own Bantos rods and stalk out of the gym right that very moment, but his feet stayed rooted firmly in place. Oh, it was on.

"I mean, come on," Fitzpatrick continued. "With skills like those, it's no wonder you let them all die."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" He tensed as Fitzpatrick took a quick step forward but didn't make a move. He couldn't believe what the hell he was hearing, and from some punk ass kid no less.

"Me? I'm just a former Petty Officer who trains sorry-ass old ex-soldiers. Who the hell are you?" Fitzpatrick prodded, prancing forward a few steps again and John blocked a quick swipe the former Seal took at his head without warning, but Fitzpatrick recovered quickly, grabbing the arm John had used to block and pulling him in to sink another elbow into John's midsection with no mercy.

"Nope, you're going to have to do better than that," he mocked as John doubled over and fought to catch his breath yet again. "And here I thought I was about to spar with someone who knew what the hell they were doing." Fitz let his sticks fall and John bum rushed him, aiming for the Seal's midsection and missing by a mile when the kid weaved away.

"Hear something you didn't like?" he half laughed and answered back with a full body lunge of his own that set John flat on his back. He rolled onto his hands and knees, wheezing a little and glared up angrily at Fitzpatrick. The former Seal just smiled.

"Come on already Sheppard! Quit pussyfooting around! Get up off your ass and hit me already!" The Irishman practically yelled and John sprang back up to his feet again, anger fueling something inside as he threw himself into an all out attack. Fitzpatrick seemed to anticipate it but did nothing more than block any blows that came near his face and he let John expend his energy just trying to make contact with his body. When John's arms started to tire and he had to back off a bit, Fitz made his move. The former seal engaged without warning, throwing John off balance, managing to swing around behind him as he tried to recover and had John on the floor in a choke hold before he even knew what had happened. The kid was fast and showing him up at every opportunity and John's blood was boiling as he fought to get out of the hold.

"This is beyond pathetic!" Fitzpatrick hissed into his ear from behind him. "How the hell do you expect to be able to lead an entire expedition of scientists and soldiers if you can't even control your own emotions enough to hit me with a stick!?"

John got his hands up between his throat and the Bantos, "I haven't done this in 18 fucking years, you psychopath, you can't expect me to be able to win against someone like you."

"That's bullshit and you know it! Bantos fighting isn't about who's bigger. It's about focus and discipline. But you wouldn't know focus and discipline if they came up behind you and bit you in the ass, would you Sheppard?" Beyond pissed and seeing red, John mercilessly nailed Fitzpatrick in the nose with the back of his head and the Seal fell away from him with a cry as John rolled away to pull in ragged breaths as coughing overtook his abused throat. He clutched a hand to it and tried to calm himself down enough to pull in a purposeful breath but it wasn't working so well. Fitzpatrick staggered to his feet and when John finally was able to look over at the man, the former Seal was holding a hand to his nose and blood was welling up out from between his fingers. He let the hand fall away a moment later when he saw John was looking at him and widened his mouth into a bloody grin.

"You are so twisted up and pissed off inside right now that I bet you don't even know what side of the bed to piss on, do you? Blind anger might get you back up on your feet in a firefight, Sheppard, but it sure as hell won't keep you or any of the men under you, alive."

"I'm not angry." John rasped out. This kid was nuts.

"Oh no? You're so focused on the past its eating you alive and its going to get you and everyone under your command killed."

"Did you get all that from reading some fucking file on me?" John spit out, voice straining as he pulled himself up off the mat and back to standing . "You think hearing a few stories about what happened to me back then and a few rounds with me in the ring are enough to know who the hell I am?"

"I saw you at the Reenlisting Ceremony this morning, Sheppard. You were barely holding it together. You're scared shitless, and what makes it even worse, is that you don't even know how to make it all stop, do you?" Anger burned its way through John's core and into his very fingertips and he lurched forward, stick striking out to catch Fitzpatrick in the side but the former Seal didn't even try to block the blow and staggered back a few paces with a laugh.

"Again!" he yelled and John was all too happy to oblige, and savored the feeling of his next blow as one of his sticks struck home spectacularly and the hit reverberated up his arm.

"Again!" Rage whited out everything but the man standing in front of him and John let it carry him away as he let go of everything but pure aggression and attacked Fitzpatrick with the strength of every memory, every face that haunted his nightmares. For immeasurable moments the pair were lost in a blinding battle for dominance that brokered no mercy. It was an entirely one sided fight, John would realize later, because he was the one fighting to regain a part of himself he'd lost somewhere along the way and Fitzpatrick was only there trying to make sure that it happened.

The fight was dirty and viscous and eventually turned into fists as John used up every bit of rage and helplessness and uncertainty that was lurking in his soul until he wasn't even sure what he was doing anymore. Fitzpatrick held his own though and it ended several minutes later with John lying on his side on the floor, clutching his hands around his aching midsection and trying desperately to draw in enough air to get rid of the stars in his field of vision as blood from a cut on the side of his face gathered on the ground near his eye. Fitzpatrick was somehow still on his feet but even he was bent at the middle trying just as hard to catch his own breath as blood dribbled from his nose and down onto the mat beneath his feet. The former Seal threw down his sticks, straightened with a quick strangled moan then walked over to the table then back over to where John lay curled in on himself.

"Here," he said, holding a bottle of water out to John as he pushed himself up to sitting to take the offered water without comment.

John's body was a throbbing mass of trauma and his mind was still reeling from what he had just done, but he felt hollow inside somehow, like the very walls he had spent years building up around himself had been decimated in the fight he'd just had and their contents had been allowed to spill out to places unknown. He'd lost it completely and the evidence of that was painted plainly on the face of the man who plopped down on the mat beside him a moment later to open up his own bottle of water and dump it unceremoniously over his head, not caring that he sent little pink rivers of diluted blood all over the mats. John pulled his legs in and drained his own bottle in a few long greedy pulls. It was delicious after his exertions and he didn't refuse the second bottle he was handed.

"Tell me about Teyla and Ronon," Fitzpatrick said quietly when John had finished the second bottle and he looked up at the man. The former Seal was still bleeding from the nose and several bruises were starting to darken various areas around his face and John studied the man sitting across from him for a second or two with trepidation. It didn't take long for realization to dawn, or anger at himself to flare up for having fallen so spectacularly into the trap Fitzpatrick had set, but he just didn't have the strength left anymore to put back up his defenses. Nothing the formal Seal had done today had been an accident and John was snared.

"I trusted the wrong Wraith and it cost them their lives. Then I left their bodies behind on that Super hive when I blew it straight to hell," he answered hoarsely, unsure of what details about the War Fitzpatrick had been given but too beaten down to really care if he revealed something he shouldn't.

Fitzpatrick nodded slightly and opened another water bottle. "And you blame yourself for what happened to them?"

"What do you think?"

Fitzpatrick looked him over for a second then shrugged. "I don't think anything, Sheppard. You gotta tell me."

John sighed, wincing when his ribs protested the movement with a white hot twinge. John had to take a moment but he answered. "I trusted Todd and it was the wrong move. That was my call, so yeah, I blame myself for what happened to them."

"Todd was the Wraith ally you guys had on Atlantis?" Fitzpatrick asked.

John nodded. "Had being the operative word. He gave us some intel on a Super Hive ship one of his little minions had developed behind his back. Only he failed to mention that the Super hive had enough fire power to blow our entire fleet out of the sky and that they were expecting us. We barely got out of there alive and then the subspace transmission happened."

"The one that broadcasted the location of earth from a parallel dimension," Fitzpatrick said knowingly and John looked back over at him. He knew more than he'd been letting on.

"That would be the one."

"What happened next?"

"Why don't you tell me, champ. You seem to know everything that went down," John countered, sick to death of being prodded about past events he had no desire to revisit, but Fitzpatrick shook his head.

"Believe it or not, it's important that I hear all of this from you. I'm the one you tell, John," Fitzpatrick pushed back with a warning look behind his puffing red eyes and Rodney's voice echoed back at John from yesterday.

"... You don't have to talk to me or Carson about it, or anyone else who knew you before the war for that matter, but do yourself a favor Sheppard, and find someone to talk to before all of this turns into something you can't handle on your own anymore."

He ran a shaky hand through his sweat and blood dampened hair and made himself keep going.

"The Super hive took off for earth as soon as it had the coordinates and we thought it was the only ship who had received the transmission. I got my orders to return home via the Stargate to coordinate an offensive strike there from the Control Chair at McMurdo in case the Super hive reached Earth, only we found out that Carson Beckett's Ancient Gene wasn't strong enough to control Atlantis enough to fly her back to the Milky Way safely. They pulled me back, sent Carson back in, and I flew the city." He could still remember the moment it happened; one of those elusive 'what if' moments he replayed in his head over and over again in the dead of night when sleep refused to come. John wrapped his arms around his abused ribs that were throbbing along in time with this heart, trying not to be bothered by how pathetic he must look caving in on himself like that, bloodied and sitting on the floor, but he pushed it away and made himself keep going.

"We caught up to the Super hive when it had to drop out of hyperspace on its way to Earth thanks to some kind of hypothetical drive McKay had been tinkering with and I managed to get a team on board. We were going to set a nuclear charge and blow that damn thing out of the sky, but it didn't happen that way." That space around his heart was starting to throb again and this time when the faces of his friends swam up into his mind he didn't fight against them or try to push them back down like he was doing with everything else at the moment. Teyla's face and her gentle smile swam into his thoughts, as did Ronon's cold unseeing eyes staring up at him from the floor where he lay dead and unmoving.

"What then?" Fitzpatrick prodded gently and John shook himself slightly to try and recede enough from the memories to continue.

"What happened then is that a group of Wraith got the drop on us and before I could stop it, Teyla and Ronon were dead." He said, staring at his swollen hands, knuckles red and angry even though he didn't remember ever having used his fists in the fight with Fitzpatrick.

"How?"

"They broke Teyla's neck and stabbed Ronon in the back," the words were threatening to choke him, but John knew down in his deepest recesses that if he didn't get this shit out in the open, it was going to eat him alive from the inside out until the day he died. And he couldn't consciously lead a group of soldiers and scientists back to Pegasus with a time bomb ticking away at the center of him.

"And I tried. I tried to go back for them to bring their bodies back through the gate, but the Wraith cut us off and Woolsey was in control of the remote detonator and was going to blow the bomb and wouldn't give me more time."

"I can't imagine what that must have been like," Fitzpatrick offered with a shake of his head, "having to leave members of your team behind like that. What happened after?"

But 'after' was something John hadn't allowed himself to speak of for nearly two decades. He faltered and Fitzpatrick sat up straighter.

"It's now or never, John. Tell me what happened when you got back to Earth."

He looked up at the former Navy Seal then and knew what needed to be done, but his flight or flight responses were warring in the center of him in that moment and he couldn't for the life of him decide what to do. He'd spent the past 18 years running from the memories Fitz was asking him to step right up to and confront and had beaten him down enough with his fists to actually have John thinking about doing it. But self-preservation was a funny thing and it kept his jaw clamped tightly shut. This kid knew nothing more than what he'd read in some file and here he was expecting John to just unload a lifetime's worth of sins as he sat broken and bloodied on the floor of the training room with no strength left to protest. And yet, after years and years of self-flagellation and self-imposed exile, the universe was offering him a moment to unburden himself. The question was, could John do it?

"Woolsey blew the hive as soon as I got McKay, Lorne and myself out of there and we set a course back to Pegasus," he started thickly, trying to control his breathing as he made himself talk. "But Rodney discovered something."

"What, John?" Fitzpatrick asked, but John barely heard him. "What did Dr. McKay find out?"

"We got word that the Wraith were attacking Earth."

"So the Super hive you destroyed wasn't the only ship that had received the subspace transmission." Fitz stated rather than asked and John shook his head.

"No, others had and all of them had set out for Earth, only we didn't know... they had no warning."

"So you headed that way too?" Fitz nudged him forward when John fell silent again.

"We did, but it took us too long."

"What happened then John?"

"Woolsey ordered me to open fire on every hive ship we came near once we got back to Earth."

"And did you?"

"I did. Between me and some kid they'd put in the control chair at Area 51, we destroyed them all."

"But that wasn't all of it, was it John," Fitzpatrick said from somewhere far off and John made his tunneled vision focus back in on the man sitting cross legged in front of him, bloodied by damage John's own fists had created, and demanding more from him than any other living soul had up to that point in his entire life.

"Tell me what happened, John. What did they do to you to make you crash Atlantis into the San Francisco Bay afterwards?" He swayed unsteadily and Fitzpatrick shot a hand out to grab him roughly around the forearm to keep him up. The words that came next physically severed him in half and it was all he could do to stay upright.

"The IOA and top brass..." John choked, white hot tears he refused to let release stinging the corners of his eyes, "...they didn't tell us, those bastards... All those ships..." but he couldn't go on, something lodged in the back of his throat and he could barely breathe around it.

"What about the ships, John?"

"I blew them all out of the sky and they didn't tell me." He forced out, looking up into the concerned face of Former Petty Officer First Class Sean Fitzpatrick who was crouched near him now, "They'd started culling, and those fucking cowards didn't tell me!"

"What John? What didn't they tell you?"

"There were people in those Hives! 2 billion fucking people, and they let me kill them all!"

The release cracked something at John's center.

Blackness invaded his field of vision.

And as Fitzpatrick called out his name in concern, John slumped sideways to be carried off into a nothingness so absolute, he wasn't sure he would ever find his way back out again.

*Quoted poem is by Robert Burns and is used within the purview of Pulblic Doman.



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