Fearless by Murron
Atlantis, 11:47 a.m.
Dec. 23rd
„That’s it.“ Zelenka moved back from the door. „You should be able to pull it open.“
John stepped forward, slinging his P90 back behind his shoulder.
„Here we go again,“ he muttered and wiped his palms on his pants. He slipped his fingertips into the gap between door-halves, feeling the sharp metal edge bite into his skin.
„On three,“ he told Reynolds, leaning slightly backward and putting all his weight on his right leg. „One, two —“
When the door swished open, it nearly pulled him off his feet. His hands slipped and only a quick and awkward stumble saved him from falling on his six. The entry gaped black before him.
„What the . . „ He skidded another two steps away from the door, bringing up his weapon. One glimpse told him Reynolds was already in position.
„Dr. Zelenka?“ John drawled.
The Czech answered at once, sounding flustered and deeply shaken. „I . . . I didn’t do anything!“
Teyla’s warm and calming voice joined in from behind John’s shoulder: „The door opened on its own accord.“
„Why?“ John asked, glanced at Zelenka. „Why now?“
The scientist shrugged helplessly.
John switched on the flashlight on his P90. The narrow ray barely pierced the darkness in front of him, but as he lowered the muzzle, the light struck a supine human shape further inside the room. A dark sleeve hid any glimpse of the person’s face, but there was no doubt regarding the identity. As the weapon’s light trailed along ruffled hair and a rumpled collar, a scrap of conversation flashed through John’s mind.
The protocol says her body came out . . . mangled.
Mangled? Mangled how?
Do you really want to know?
What waited for them in there, what would he see . . .
There was no use in guessing. John deliberately cleared his mind of any expectations. None of them were good anyway.
“Wait here,” he told the others, “I’ll make sure the coast is clear.” Securing the grip on his P90, he stepped over the threshold.
The room reacted immediately. Light sprung to life beneath John’s feet, shooting away from the tip of his shoe and across the floor in shallow grooves. Within seconds the room was radiant with an intricate pattern of Ancient symmetry. John’s eyes followed the fluorescent rills up the wall and along the ceiling, watching the turquoise light trickle along the ornaments like water. Finally he dropped his gaze to the motionless body lying in the middle of the room. They’d found their missing doctor at last.
John switched off his targeting light, jogged to the spot where Beckett lay and squatted down at his side. Casting another wary look around the room, he picked up Beckett’s wrist with his free hand. As he felt for a pulse, he sought out the doctor’s face. To his surprise, Beckett’s eyes were wide open. John flinched, for whatever looked out at him wasn’t Carson Beckett at all. No pupils, barely any whites . . . The eyes didn’t even have Beckett’s natural colour, instead they were glacier blue and pale. It looked almost as though the surrounding light pooled into Carson’s empty gaze. John felt an unpleasant shiver run down his spine.To avoid the other man’s unseeing stare, John focused on the wrist he was holding. It was then that he noticed blood between Beckett’s fingers and turned the hand a little. The palm revealed purpling crescents where the doctor’s finger nails had dug into skin. John winced at the sight and carefully placed the hand back on the floor. He was about to call for the medics when he became aware of a sparkle at the periphery of his vision. It was the silver sphere he’d seen in Carson’s office, the Ancient globe. It lay an arm’s length from Beckett’s shoulder, looking exactly the way John remembered it, the smooth surface unblemished.
John reached out with the vague notion of pocketing the thing. Better not having it lie around like that. His fingertips had not even touched the globe when Beckett’s hand suddenly shot forward and clamped around his wrist in a vise-like grip. Startled, John nearly lost his balance. For a second the bright blue eyes seemed eerily aware, transfixing John like a pinned butterfly, then Beckett blinked and the unnatural gleam was gone. The doctor’s own eyes looked back at John, darkened with exhaustion.
His lips parted, half-formed a word, but no sound came out. John watched as Beckett let go of him and stretched out his hand for the globe instead. His fingers closed around the device, then pulled it close to his chest, hiding the silver gleam behind his sleeve. For another moment John remained unmoving, petrified by the strange scene he’d just witnessed. Then the need for urgency rushed back into his head.
„Clear!“ he called back over his shoulder. „Bring the stretcher!“
As he turned back, Beckett had closed his eyes. Whatever supernatural vibe had possessed him, it seemed gone now. What remained was plain human body, utterly depleted of strength. The blue-black stubble on Beckett’s chin and cheeks seemed more pronounced, shadows darkened the skin beneath his eyes and the lips seemed cracked from dehydration. He looked aged, frail somehow.
Throughout the past months John had been content to believe that Beckett was one of the few fix points on their expedition. He was the presence you went to and woke to after you’d escaped death by the skin of your teeth. The doctor was safe company, neutral ground. John didn’t have to see the reflection of a culling beam or Gaul’s death in Beckett’s eyes. Atlantis, this galaxy, had not reached into the Scotsman yet. Apart from the inevitable signs of fatigue, he’d remained untouched.
John looked at Beckett’s ashen, haggard face. That’s what you got for your illusions.
John reached out to assure himself once more of the doctor’s pulse. It was still there. The man had only blacked out. The next second, the medics were there, urging him unceremoniously out of the way.
John slowly rose to his feet and retreated. As the medics unfolded the stretcher on the ground, John’s gaze wandered once more over the walls and their symmetrical, glowing veins. The hazy feeling of unease wouldn’t leave him. John couldn’t pin it down, but something inside this room made him feel downright uncomfortable. His instincts didn’t warn him of any imminent danger, but they were alert all the same. Almost as though they sensed an invisible watcher who was looking the other way just now. John tested that notion. It seemed valid. The presence he’d felt outside, the shadow that had troubled Teyla, seemed to be asleep.
John looked down at his wrist and the crimson prints Beckett’s grip had left there. Something had been going on, he was sure of that. The quiet of the room was deceptive; some immense being had moved inside here and had just now returned into hibernation. John couldn’t shake the impression that he had arrived a moment too late. Or was he lucky to not have come any sooner?
Deep down he felt like something had brushed past him, looked for him, and only missed him by an inch.
The Stone Desert
The tree looked almost like a human being, petrified into black wood. Carson stared at holes in the bark that could have crawled out of a Munch painting. Gravel-dust was on his shoes and trousers. Pebbles rolled past him on the ground, rattling like tiny bird bones. Up ahead, the purple sky was stained yellow along the horizon. It seemed like he had walked for an eternity, at the same time it felt like he hadn’t moved at all. Cold air scythed across the plains and perfused his skin. Somewhere along the way he’d lost the border between his own beliefs and the emptiness of this desert. Now the wind loosened bits of his self and carried them away like sand from northern beaches.
Carson sunk to his knees, bowed down by the bleak truths of this place. Here was a landscape of abandonment, born of the knowledge that everyone you loved was eventually bound to leave. Perhaps, if you thought about it, they were never really with you at all.
Confused, Carson tried to tell himself that this wasn’t what he believed at all. He found that his own voice was getting weaker, turning into little more than a distant echo. It was the wind, carrying a strange contagion and he was fully exposed to it. He lay down on the ground, fingers touching the chalky gravel. In the arid cold, his face grew numb and dry. He tasted the stony dust in his mouth now, felt it cling to his cheek and the side of his hand.
No ties. No bounds. No one to remember his name.
Give into it.
Be devoured by the quiet. Dissolve.
Carson stopped seeing. The stone desert was still around him, but he closed himself off, guarding the small remaining part of his consciousness. He retreated deep into his mind, where he found a spider’s thread of identity, leading him back to a string of past moments.
Carson recalled one night on leave, when he’d gone off to McMurdo to grab a few beers with Radek and Rodney. The pub had been a gritty little place with a dartboard and a stuffed polar bear as its only decoration. They’d left way past midnight, Radek and him hauling their mate out of the bar while a very drunk Rodney explained to them why the WARP engine would never work in real life.
He thought of spring back home and working his mum’s patch of a garden. He remembered cleaning away dead ivy from the brick wall that enclosed their backyard while his mother planted pansies. by the kitchen-door. After long weeks at the hospital, he welcomed the scent of new green, the moist soil on his hands and the sound of his mother, singing along with Tony Christy on the radio.
There was the memory of some dinner party with a bunch of pompous military chaps and their wives. Elizabeth had been there, too, looking gorgeous in a sleeveless silk top. They’d stood apart from the other guests for a while, bristling with stifled laughter over their champagne flutes. Elizabeth’s connections and knack for listening usually put a wealth of gossip at her hands. Sometimes she didn’t mind to share.
Carson drifted deeper into unfolding recollections, gathering image after image. He set his memories around him like cornerstones until he was so far removed from the outside that its influence didn’t matter any more. He’d known and cared for many people in his time. They were all back with him now. When darkness came — sleep or death, he didn’t know — he comforted himself with the thought that he need not go alone.
Atlantis, 6:35 p.m.
Dec. 24th
He surfaced from a vast grey void to the soft sound of music. Somewhere in the distance, a piano was playing, accompanied by the mellow thump of a double bass.
Carson opened his eyes to blurred shapes, light and shadow running into each other like water-colours. He blinked once and his vision cleared, showing him the familiar interior of his infirmary. The desk beside him was unoccupied, the curtain pulled back and the next cot empty. Carson’s eyes strayed further, looking for the source of the music.
Carson shifted on his bed, fingers flexing. He frowned in confusion as his fingertips brushed rough cloth. Squinting down, he saw his hands were wrapped in white bandages. On his left hands, just above the gauze, two tiny dots marked the place where a drip had been attached.
He swallowed, feeling his dry throat work and tasting stale saliva in his mouth. Moving gingerly with the weight of a good night’s rest still mulling his mind, Carson turned his head to the other side. Someone had transferred the candle from his office to his bedside-table. It was lit, too, glowing steadily and chasing long shadows up the wall. The small flame flickered as the person on the other side turned a page in his book.
John Sheppard sat next to Carson’s bed, legs stretched on a second chair, immersed in a dog-eared paperback. One glance at the jacket told Carson that the Major was giving the Ecco a second try. A small line had formed between the other man’s brows, giving his face a rare look of absorption. He’d put on casual wear, a black shirt without insignia and some washed-out denims. Reading with abandon, the Major looked completely at ease, unaware of his surroundings or the shadows looming beyond the candle’s gleam.
Watching Sheppard, the last trace of sleep fell from Carson and the weight of memory descended on him like a heavy blanket. The quiet of the desert was still inside him, reaching out from a door in his mind and spreading the cold of the plains. Carson stroked the bed’s sheet with his fingertips, feeling the texture of fine linen. He’d woken from the nightmare, alive and sane it seemed, but no matter how cautiously he tried, he could feel no elation. For the moment he only knew that while he might have escaped the wasteland, part of it was now anchored in his very being. It was a sobering realisation.
John — Major Sheppard — became aware of him then. Lowering the book, he turned his head to meet Carson’s gaze. The look of rapt concentration vanished at once and the Major’s face smoothed into its usual tranquility.
„Found out who did it yet?“ Carson asked, carefully testing the strength of his own voice.
„I’ll make a wild guess and say it wasn’t the butler.“ Slipping a piece of paper between the pages, Sheppard closed the book. „How’re you feeling?“ he asked.
„Rested.“
„You should be,“ another voice cut in from the left side of the bed. „You slept for thirty-one hours straight.“
Carson turned to see that Max Goldstein had interrupted his dance and approached the bedside. The quiet music in the background was turned off and Louise was gone for the moment. „Up at last I see,“ Max said, „You had us worried there for a while.“
Before Carson could come up with an adequate reply, Max felt for his pulse and flashed a penlight in his eyes. Carson half welcomed the procedure because it meant he didn’t have to talk just yet. Speaking — conversation — felt strange. Louise returned and brought a glass of water. Carson took it with heartfelt thanks and drank thirstily.
„Any headache?“ Max asked, pocketing his penlight.
„No.“
„Other complaints?“
„No,“ Carson said, then added as reluctant afterthought: „The shoulders ache a little.“
His muscles were quite sore, actually. The lingering tension in his neck told him he shouldn’t move excessively. His immobility along with the bandages around his hands made him feel more than a little self-conscious. He wasn’t used to this reversal of positions. Max blessedly didn’t show whether or not he was aware of Carson’s discomfort.
„I’ve been told the Ancient device might’ve tampered with your head a bit,“ he said. „Let’s see if everything is still in place.“ He strapped a blood pressure cuff around Carson’s arm and took out his stethoscope. „You know your name?“
„Carson Beckett.“
„Remember where you are?“
„Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy.“
„Favourite football club?“
Carson grinned. „ Celtic Glasgow, as you know damn well.“
Max snorted dismissively. „Well, apart from a case of serious bad taste,“ he announced with a glance at the cuff’s display, „you seem to be fit as a fiddle. I advise you to take it easy for a while, though.“ He took off the cuff and placed it on the nearby desk. „No work for the next two days at least. I can take care of things until you’re up on your feet again. Now, if you’ll excuse me,“ he stepped back and put the stethoscope back in his coat’s pocket. „I owe a lady a dance.“
„Do I know the woman?“ Louise returned, gave Carson’s hand a squeeze and stood. Unfazed, Goldstein offered her his arm. Louise tipped Carson a wink, joined Goldstein and walked away with him.
Carson sank back into the pillow. Despite feeling awkward in the role of a patient, he was quite fine with the prospect of lying in bed a little while longer. The sheets were incredibly soft and comfortable. A huge pillow might be nothing extraordinary in other places — it seemed like unknown luxury here. Carson turned back to Sheppard who’d been quiet throughout the whole examination.
„What happened?“ Carson asked, indicating his punctured and bandaged left hand
„You had a little clash with Ancient technology,“ Sheppard answered. „Again.“
Carson sighed. „Somehow, ‘I told you so’ doesn’t even come close.“
Sheppard’s grin seemed genuinely chagrined. „We traced you to one of the rooms at the bottom of the city,“ he told Carson. „You were unconscious when we found you. Seemed like you were still under the influence of the globe.“
The globe. Carson’s hands clenched in a spasm, firing pain through his palms. „Where is it?“
„Dr. Zelenka took care of it,“ Sheppard answered. He must’ve seen something on Carson’s face, since he was in a rather uncharacteristic hurry to add: „He was very careful this time. Anyway, turns out the globe is now depleted for good.“ A new expression appeared on the Major’s face as he watched Carson with seemingly casual interest. Carson knew what would come next and braced himself. Questions about what he’d seen, what he’d done . . . he already heard them in his head but had no idea what he could possibly answer. Yet Sheppard took his time and before he asked anything, they got company.
The main door opened and Aiden Ford walked into the infirmary, carrying a tray on legs. Teyla followed a short distance behind him, holding a steaming mug in her hands.
„Good to see you awake, Doc,“ Ford offered with a grin. Carson sat up gingerly and Ford placed the tray across his lap. Looking down, a single thought formed in Carson’s head: Food. There was a small bowl with what looked like whipped cream, apple sauce, three sandwiches piled on a plate and a wee metallic pitcher filled with milk. Carson realised he was starving.
Chuckling, Ford retreated. „Hey,“ he added, „Merry Christmas.“
„Christmas,“ Carson repeated. He’d completely forgotten.
Teyla stepped forward, carefully balancing the mug onto the tray.
„Major Sheppard told us you like a strong tea,“ she explained. „We put in two bags of herbs. I hope it will suit you.“
Carson looked at the pitch black liquid and suppressed a grin. It was true, he appreciated a strong tea. But two bags of the English blend in one mug was overkill. This tea would be bitter enough to murder every existent taste-bud in his mouth. Carson secretly decided to add a lot of milk when no-one was watching.
„That’s lovely, dear,“ he told Teyla. „Thank you.“
She smiled and Carson felt a wave of strange emotions wash through him. He would’ve liked to reach out and take her hand, feel its warmth and assure himself that this was real. His throat constricted painfully as he was looking from Teyla to Aiden Ford. For a brief, fierce moment he wished they would go away. The sight of them made him only more keenly aware of how it had felt to lose them. Even what gratitude and relief he felt was too strong. He couldn’t tell what scared him more right now: the numb solitude of the desert or this confused intensity of hope and apprehension. It was enough to make him feel trapped in his own body. Carson stroked the linen beneath his thumb again, took a secret breath and looked down at the tray. This wasn’t his conflict, he told himself. It wasn’t how he thought at all. It never had been. It never should be.
The moment passed, but once it did, Carson’s appetite was gone as well.
„Come on, Doc,“ Aiden urged. „Dig in.“
Carson picked up one corner of a sandwich. He caught a glimpse of Sheppard watching him and ignored it stoically. He took a half-hearted bite when the infirmary door opened a second time. Rodney and Radek walked in, the latter caring a plate laden with what looked like several pieces of saffron-coloured, fist-sized cauliflower.
„We come bearing muffins,“ Rodney said, clasping his hands behind his back and looking fondly at the pile of sweet snacks. Ford, who was closest, immediately grabbed one of the muffins.
„You have the manners of a wolverine,“ Rodney remarked with indignation, took the plate from Radek and turned it out of Aiden’s reach.
„Look who’s talking,“ John cut in pleasantly, took a muffin and offered a second one to Teyla.
„Go on, mock, I don’t care,“ Rodney declared and sat both himself and the tray onto the neighbouring bed. Carson caught Radek’s gaze who, in turn, looked quickly at the floor and pushed his glasses up his nose. Carson frowned, then realised what was going on.
„My Gran used to make great lemon muffins,“ Ford said, munching away happily. „Real sweet, with frosting about three inches high.“
Rodney, who’d been about to tackle his own muffin, hesitated, then glared alternately at Ford and the suspicious food in his own hand.
„These are almond muffins,“ Radek ventured. „Or something like almond. No citrus.“
Apparently, Rodney wasn’t ready to gamble his life merely on Radek’s assurance. He nibbled carefully at the muffin’s crust, sniffed it, turned it and apparently waited for it to jump into his face and bite. Radek cast a sheepish glance in Carson’s direction and Carson on his part offered a smile. The relief that flashed over the scientist’s face soothed some of Carson’s own tension. He picked up the sandwich again.
„So, Carson,“ Rodney spoke up, „I see you decided to stay with us. How very loyal of you not to ascend.“
„Ascend?“ Carson repeated.
„What?“ Rodney flared. „Has nobody told him yet?“
„Apparently the globe was a device for perfunctory meditation,“ Radek explained. „The Ancients used it to prepare themselves for Ascension. It’s supposed to work as a cleansing of fears. Very spiritual.“
Spiritual. Inside, Carson shuddered with revulsion. To imagine that the Ancients invented that device, used it on purpose, knowing exactly what it did . . .
„It is a remarkable invention,“ Rodney said. „I always thought that neural projection was more fiction than science. But think of the possibilities! If we understood the technology we could design our own holo-deck, have it depict everything we imagine.“ He turned to Carson, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. „Was it like a movie? Or more holographic?“
It was Teyla who reacted first. „I do not think Dr. Beckett should relate his experience in front of us all,“ she said. „The visions he had are private.“
„Well, yes, of course,“ Rodney admitted eagerly. „But for the cause of science . . .“
„Rodney,“ Carson interrupted, „I’d rather not tell just yet, if it’s all the same to you.“
„Oh. Oh, yes,“ Rodney amended, giving Carson an uneasy look. „I mean, certainly, you don’t have to.“
A beat of embarrassed silence followed and Carson began to feel truly miserable. For heaven’s sake. It wasn’t his nature to wall people out. But how could he tell them that he didn’t ascend because the fears he cleaned out weren’t his own?
„The globe is depleted anyway,“ Radek said eventually. „And we didn’t find another one. There’s no practical use in the information.“
„Unless there is a way to use the technology as weapon,“ Sheppard threw in.
Crush it, Carson wanted to yell. Melt it down. Throw it into the ocean. And that would barely be enough.
„No,“ he said quietly. „No, there’s not.“
He was well aware that Sheppard looked at him and this time, he returned the gaze. Carson realised that he dreaded the moment when he had to reveal all that had happened. He’d spared Sheppard a confrontation of his fears. Would it do less harm to show him another had faced them instead? That a stranger had seen what Sheppard kept so deep inside that he might not even know its true face? How would it be for him, to be stripped of his nonchalance, his guard and dignity?
Carson scrutinised Sheppard thoughtfully. As he did, the Major’s forehead wrinkled into a small, speculative frown.
Let it go, lad, Carson wanted to tell the other man and at the same time, made up his mind.
„Seriously, Doc,“ Ford remarked with a nod at the sandwiches. „Are you just gonna stare at them, or what?“
„For your information,“ Rodney cut in, „most people don’t just wolf down every bit of food that comes their way.“
„Yeah, I guess that makes you a rare breed,“ Ford quipped with a smirk.
It was the kind of challenge Rodney couldn’t pass. While he and Ford engaged in wordy crossfire, Carson turned his attention back to Sheppard. The Major did no longer watch him, instead he was looking at his muffin, not eating it, but rotating it wistfully in his hand. Carson believed he saw a glimpse of regret in the Major’s eyes. Wordlessly, he picked up the bowl of whipped cream and held it out. Sheppard raised his brows, evidently surprised. Carson shoved the bowl into his free hand. With a grin he seemed unable to suppress, Sheppard broke a crumb from his muffin and dipped it into the cream. For a moment the resemblance to his childhood self was so strong that Carson had to smile. He wondered what had become of the Dodgers jersey.
In the end, Carson decided to keep the truth to himself. He wouldn’t drag the Major’s demons into glaring daylight. He wouldn’t expose him, not even to himself. Given time, he might find other ways to help Sheppard. Make him see, perhaps, that walls weren’t always necessary. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to rid the Major of his fears. That was impossible and not healthy anyway, no matter what the Ancients might’ve thought. But there was at least one anxiety that Sheppard could do without. It was a fear Carson didn’t share, a difference which had most likely saved him. Carson firmly believed that loneliness wasn’t a state of being. It was a frame of mind. You could feel lonely inside a crowd. Or you could know you belonged no matter what distance parted you from the ones you cared about.
Maybe he could show John that. In a roundabout way.
Or then again . . . Carson considered the circle of his visitors, musing. Maybe John was already learning.
Rodney had broken off his exchange with Ford, attention caught by the bowl in Sheppard’s hand.
„Is that whipped cream?“ he asked, sounding awed.
„Yep.“ Sheppard used the last crumb of muffin to scoop up a minor mountain of cream. Then he calmly turned to Ford, offering him the half-empty bowl. „You want some?“
„Sure,“ Ford returned. „I’ll take my time, though. Wouldn’t want to wolf it down.“
„This is so first grade,“ Rodney remarked, narrowing his eyes at them.
Leaving the men to their banter, Carson settled back against his pillow and closed his eyes for a second. He found that the apparitions he’d endured were still present, but at last he could feel them retreat a bit and loose some colour. It would take more distance to make things right, but for now he could believe the worst was over.
Someone touched his wrist. When he opened his eyes, Teyla was beside him, looking worried.
„Are we wearying you?“ she asked softly.
Carson chuckled. For the first time since he’d woken, he felt completely himself. He took her hand, held it briefly and smiled at her.
„No, love,“ he said. „Not at all.
Atlantis, 7:27 p.m.
Jan. 3rd
Carson cleared away the files from his desk, stowing disks and print-outs in the cabinet. For once, he was done early with his paperwork and no patients waited in the ward. It seemed like his Christmas wish had come true after all, if a little belatedly.
He chanced a glimpse at his watch. Still two hours until his appointment with Dr. Heightmeyer. Enough time to see what the kitchen had in store today. Maybe he’d take a hot shower, too. Spoil himself.
Slowly but surely, everything was settling back to normal. He’d stopped seeing moving shadows in the dark. He could open doors without his whole body tensing.
So far, he’d had two sessions with Dr. Heightmeyer, which had helped. He still had nightmares, mostly about Teyla and what he’d done for her. But talking about her, Rodney and Aiden made coping with it easier. Carson also trusted that whatever he said within the psychiatrist’s office, stayed there. The assurance allowed him to voice some anxieties which would’ve embarrassed him otherwise. He never mentioned the desert, however, or the faceless people. Those secrets weren’t his to share.
Carson closed his cabinet with a reminiscent little smile. Sometimes when he was in one room with Major Sheppard he remembered the boy the Major had been. Sometimes he wondered what the lad’s story was. Sometimes he almost asked the grown-up John.
Someone cleared his throat and Carson turned around. Speak of the devil, he thought, spotting John Sheppard in his doorway.
„Major,“ he greeted. „Hello, come in.“
Sheppard ambled into the room, holding up the familiar paperback.
„I came to return your book,“ he said. „Got any more of these?“
„I’m afraid not,“ Carson replied. „But Peter has a nice stack of Noah Gordon. You might want to try these.“
„Yeah, I might.“
Carson opened a drawer, put away the paperback and took out the small travel-chessboard. He held it up so the Major could see it. „Have a seat?“
Sheppard walked over and pulled up a chair. „In broad daylight?“ he asked, mouth quirking. „I never knew you were that fearless.“
„Well, I try not to boast.“
They began to set out the chessmen, Carson’s side dark, Sheppard’s light as usual.
„So how’s life in the suburbs?“ Carson asked, moving a pawn.
„Peaceful,“ John returned and mirrored Carson’s move. „Quiet.“
„In other words . . .“
„Boring.“
Carson smiled. „What a rare constitution.“
„Tell me about it,“ John said. „Hey, are you going for a Portuguese opening?“
It was exactly what Carson had had in mind. He really had to work on his subtlety.
„Neat,“ John acknowledged. „One of these days I’ll show you the Elephant Gambit. Rodney’s got the old tactics down to a pinch, but he isn’t up to date with the modern stuff.“
The words were barely out of his mouth when the door to Carson’s office slid open and Rodney himself strode into the room.
„Carson! I was wondering if you could . . .“
That was about as far as he got before his eyes caught up with his mouth. He stopped mid-stride, perhaps surprised to find Sheppard here, then he saw the chessboard and an expression of jaw-dropping comprehension dawned on his face.
Carson fought down a laugh that he knew he wouldn’t be able to suppress for long. On Rodney’s sudden entry, Major Sheppard had ducked his head. Now he slid back into his chair and sported a grin that showed just how much he enjoyed himself.
Rodney’s eyes widened, his index finger rose and stabbed the air in Sheppard’s direction.
„You!“
fin
_________________________________
beta by eretria & auburnnothenna
Dec. 23rd
„That’s it.“ Zelenka moved back from the door. „You should be able to pull it open.“
John stepped forward, slinging his P90 back behind his shoulder.
„Here we go again,“ he muttered and wiped his palms on his pants. He slipped his fingertips into the gap between door-halves, feeling the sharp metal edge bite into his skin.
„On three,“ he told Reynolds, leaning slightly backward and putting all his weight on his right leg. „One, two —“
When the door swished open, it nearly pulled him off his feet. His hands slipped and only a quick and awkward stumble saved him from falling on his six. The entry gaped black before him.
„What the . . „ He skidded another two steps away from the door, bringing up his weapon. One glimpse told him Reynolds was already in position.
„Dr. Zelenka?“ John drawled.
The Czech answered at once, sounding flustered and deeply shaken. „I . . . I didn’t do anything!“
Teyla’s warm and calming voice joined in from behind John’s shoulder: „The door opened on its own accord.“
„Why?“ John asked, glanced at Zelenka. „Why now?“
The scientist shrugged helplessly.
John switched on the flashlight on his P90. The narrow ray barely pierced the darkness in front of him, but as he lowered the muzzle, the light struck a supine human shape further inside the room. A dark sleeve hid any glimpse of the person’s face, but there was no doubt regarding the identity. As the weapon’s light trailed along ruffled hair and a rumpled collar, a scrap of conversation flashed through John’s mind.
The protocol says her body came out . . . mangled.
Mangled? Mangled how?
Do you really want to know?
What waited for them in there, what would he see . . .
There was no use in guessing. John deliberately cleared his mind of any expectations. None of them were good anyway.
“Wait here,” he told the others, “I’ll make sure the coast is clear.” Securing the grip on his P90, he stepped over the threshold.
The room reacted immediately. Light sprung to life beneath John’s feet, shooting away from the tip of his shoe and across the floor in shallow grooves. Within seconds the room was radiant with an intricate pattern of Ancient symmetry. John’s eyes followed the fluorescent rills up the wall and along the ceiling, watching the turquoise light trickle along the ornaments like water. Finally he dropped his gaze to the motionless body lying in the middle of the room. They’d found their missing doctor at last.
John switched off his targeting light, jogged to the spot where Beckett lay and squatted down at his side. Casting another wary look around the room, he picked up Beckett’s wrist with his free hand. As he felt for a pulse, he sought out the doctor’s face. To his surprise, Beckett’s eyes were wide open. John flinched, for whatever looked out at him wasn’t Carson Beckett at all. No pupils, barely any whites . . . The eyes didn’t even have Beckett’s natural colour, instead they were glacier blue and pale. It looked almost as though the surrounding light pooled into Carson’s empty gaze. John felt an unpleasant shiver run down his spine.To avoid the other man’s unseeing stare, John focused on the wrist he was holding. It was then that he noticed blood between Beckett’s fingers and turned the hand a little. The palm revealed purpling crescents where the doctor’s finger nails had dug into skin. John winced at the sight and carefully placed the hand back on the floor. He was about to call for the medics when he became aware of a sparkle at the periphery of his vision. It was the silver sphere he’d seen in Carson’s office, the Ancient globe. It lay an arm’s length from Beckett’s shoulder, looking exactly the way John remembered it, the smooth surface unblemished.
John reached out with the vague notion of pocketing the thing. Better not having it lie around like that. His fingertips had not even touched the globe when Beckett’s hand suddenly shot forward and clamped around his wrist in a vise-like grip. Startled, John nearly lost his balance. For a second the bright blue eyes seemed eerily aware, transfixing John like a pinned butterfly, then Beckett blinked and the unnatural gleam was gone. The doctor’s own eyes looked back at John, darkened with exhaustion.
His lips parted, half-formed a word, but no sound came out. John watched as Beckett let go of him and stretched out his hand for the globe instead. His fingers closed around the device, then pulled it close to his chest, hiding the silver gleam behind his sleeve. For another moment John remained unmoving, petrified by the strange scene he’d just witnessed. Then the need for urgency rushed back into his head.
„Clear!“ he called back over his shoulder. „Bring the stretcher!“
As he turned back, Beckett had closed his eyes. Whatever supernatural vibe had possessed him, it seemed gone now. What remained was plain human body, utterly depleted of strength. The blue-black stubble on Beckett’s chin and cheeks seemed more pronounced, shadows darkened the skin beneath his eyes and the lips seemed cracked from dehydration. He looked aged, frail somehow.
Throughout the past months John had been content to believe that Beckett was one of the few fix points on their expedition. He was the presence you went to and woke to after you’d escaped death by the skin of your teeth. The doctor was safe company, neutral ground. John didn’t have to see the reflection of a culling beam or Gaul’s death in Beckett’s eyes. Atlantis, this galaxy, had not reached into the Scotsman yet. Apart from the inevitable signs of fatigue, he’d remained untouched.
John looked at Beckett’s ashen, haggard face. That’s what you got for your illusions.
John reached out to assure himself once more of the doctor’s pulse. It was still there. The man had only blacked out. The next second, the medics were there, urging him unceremoniously out of the way.
John slowly rose to his feet and retreated. As the medics unfolded the stretcher on the ground, John’s gaze wandered once more over the walls and their symmetrical, glowing veins. The hazy feeling of unease wouldn’t leave him. John couldn’t pin it down, but something inside this room made him feel downright uncomfortable. His instincts didn’t warn him of any imminent danger, but they were alert all the same. Almost as though they sensed an invisible watcher who was looking the other way just now. John tested that notion. It seemed valid. The presence he’d felt outside, the shadow that had troubled Teyla, seemed to be asleep.
John looked down at his wrist and the crimson prints Beckett’s grip had left there. Something had been going on, he was sure of that. The quiet of the room was deceptive; some immense being had moved inside here and had just now returned into hibernation. John couldn’t shake the impression that he had arrived a moment too late. Or was he lucky to not have come any sooner?
Deep down he felt like something had brushed past him, looked for him, and only missed him by an inch.
The Stone Desert
The tree looked almost like a human being, petrified into black wood. Carson stared at holes in the bark that could have crawled out of a Munch painting. Gravel-dust was on his shoes and trousers. Pebbles rolled past him on the ground, rattling like tiny bird bones. Up ahead, the purple sky was stained yellow along the horizon. It seemed like he had walked for an eternity, at the same time it felt like he hadn’t moved at all. Cold air scythed across the plains and perfused his skin. Somewhere along the way he’d lost the border between his own beliefs and the emptiness of this desert. Now the wind loosened bits of his self and carried them away like sand from northern beaches.
Carson sunk to his knees, bowed down by the bleak truths of this place. Here was a landscape of abandonment, born of the knowledge that everyone you loved was eventually bound to leave. Perhaps, if you thought about it, they were never really with you at all.
Confused, Carson tried to tell himself that this wasn’t what he believed at all. He found that his own voice was getting weaker, turning into little more than a distant echo. It was the wind, carrying a strange contagion and he was fully exposed to it. He lay down on the ground, fingers touching the chalky gravel. In the arid cold, his face grew numb and dry. He tasted the stony dust in his mouth now, felt it cling to his cheek and the side of his hand.
No ties. No bounds. No one to remember his name.
Give into it.
Be devoured by the quiet. Dissolve.
Carson stopped seeing. The stone desert was still around him, but he closed himself off, guarding the small remaining part of his consciousness. He retreated deep into his mind, where he found a spider’s thread of identity, leading him back to a string of past moments.
Carson recalled one night on leave, when he’d gone off to McMurdo to grab a few beers with Radek and Rodney. The pub had been a gritty little place with a dartboard and a stuffed polar bear as its only decoration. They’d left way past midnight, Radek and him hauling their mate out of the bar while a very drunk Rodney explained to them why the WARP engine would never work in real life.
He thought of spring back home and working his mum’s patch of a garden. He remembered cleaning away dead ivy from the brick wall that enclosed their backyard while his mother planted pansies. by the kitchen-door. After long weeks at the hospital, he welcomed the scent of new green, the moist soil on his hands and the sound of his mother, singing along with Tony Christy on the radio.
There was the memory of some dinner party with a bunch of pompous military chaps and their wives. Elizabeth had been there, too, looking gorgeous in a sleeveless silk top. They’d stood apart from the other guests for a while, bristling with stifled laughter over their champagne flutes. Elizabeth’s connections and knack for listening usually put a wealth of gossip at her hands. Sometimes she didn’t mind to share.
Carson drifted deeper into unfolding recollections, gathering image after image. He set his memories around him like cornerstones until he was so far removed from the outside that its influence didn’t matter any more. He’d known and cared for many people in his time. They were all back with him now. When darkness came — sleep or death, he didn’t know — he comforted himself with the thought that he need not go alone.
Atlantis, 6:35 p.m.
Dec. 24th
He surfaced from a vast grey void to the soft sound of music. Somewhere in the distance, a piano was playing, accompanied by the mellow thump of a double bass.
Carson opened his eyes to blurred shapes, light and shadow running into each other like water-colours. He blinked once and his vision cleared, showing him the familiar interior of his infirmary. The desk beside him was unoccupied, the curtain pulled back and the next cot empty. Carson’s eyes strayed further, looking for the source of the music.
Carson shifted on his bed, fingers flexing. He frowned in confusion as his fingertips brushed rough cloth. Squinting down, he saw his hands were wrapped in white bandages. On his left hands, just above the gauze, two tiny dots marked the place where a drip had been attached.
He swallowed, feeling his dry throat work and tasting stale saliva in his mouth. Moving gingerly with the weight of a good night’s rest still mulling his mind, Carson turned his head to the other side. Someone had transferred the candle from his office to his bedside-table. It was lit, too, glowing steadily and chasing long shadows up the wall. The small flame flickered as the person on the other side turned a page in his book.
John Sheppard sat next to Carson’s bed, legs stretched on a second chair, immersed in a dog-eared paperback. One glance at the jacket told Carson that the Major was giving the Ecco a second try. A small line had formed between the other man’s brows, giving his face a rare look of absorption. He’d put on casual wear, a black shirt without insignia and some washed-out denims. Reading with abandon, the Major looked completely at ease, unaware of his surroundings or the shadows looming beyond the candle’s gleam.
Watching Sheppard, the last trace of sleep fell from Carson and the weight of memory descended on him like a heavy blanket. The quiet of the desert was still inside him, reaching out from a door in his mind and spreading the cold of the plains. Carson stroked the bed’s sheet with his fingertips, feeling the texture of fine linen. He’d woken from the nightmare, alive and sane it seemed, but no matter how cautiously he tried, he could feel no elation. For the moment he only knew that while he might have escaped the wasteland, part of it was now anchored in his very being. It was a sobering realisation.
John — Major Sheppard — became aware of him then. Lowering the book, he turned his head to meet Carson’s gaze. The look of rapt concentration vanished at once and the Major’s face smoothed into its usual tranquility.
„Found out who did it yet?“ Carson asked, carefully testing the strength of his own voice.
„I’ll make a wild guess and say it wasn’t the butler.“ Slipping a piece of paper between the pages, Sheppard closed the book. „How’re you feeling?“ he asked.
„Rested.“
„You should be,“ another voice cut in from the left side of the bed. „You slept for thirty-one hours straight.“
Carson turned to see that Max Goldstein had interrupted his dance and approached the bedside. The quiet music in the background was turned off and Louise was gone for the moment. „Up at last I see,“ Max said, „You had us worried there for a while.“
Before Carson could come up with an adequate reply, Max felt for his pulse and flashed a penlight in his eyes. Carson half welcomed the procedure because it meant he didn’t have to talk just yet. Speaking — conversation — felt strange. Louise returned and brought a glass of water. Carson took it with heartfelt thanks and drank thirstily.
„Any headache?“ Max asked, pocketing his penlight.
„No.“
„Other complaints?“
„No,“ Carson said, then added as reluctant afterthought: „The shoulders ache a little.“
His muscles were quite sore, actually. The lingering tension in his neck told him he shouldn’t move excessively. His immobility along with the bandages around his hands made him feel more than a little self-conscious. He wasn’t used to this reversal of positions. Max blessedly didn’t show whether or not he was aware of Carson’s discomfort.
„I’ve been told the Ancient device might’ve tampered with your head a bit,“ he said. „Let’s see if everything is still in place.“ He strapped a blood pressure cuff around Carson’s arm and took out his stethoscope. „You know your name?“
„Carson Beckett.“
„Remember where you are?“
„Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy.“
„Favourite football club?“
Carson grinned. „ Celtic Glasgow, as you know damn well.“
Max snorted dismissively. „Well, apart from a case of serious bad taste,“ he announced with a glance at the cuff’s display, „you seem to be fit as a fiddle. I advise you to take it easy for a while, though.“ He took off the cuff and placed it on the nearby desk. „No work for the next two days at least. I can take care of things until you’re up on your feet again. Now, if you’ll excuse me,“ he stepped back and put the stethoscope back in his coat’s pocket. „I owe a lady a dance.“
„Do I know the woman?“ Louise returned, gave Carson’s hand a squeeze and stood. Unfazed, Goldstein offered her his arm. Louise tipped Carson a wink, joined Goldstein and walked away with him.
Carson sank back into the pillow. Despite feeling awkward in the role of a patient, he was quite fine with the prospect of lying in bed a little while longer. The sheets were incredibly soft and comfortable. A huge pillow might be nothing extraordinary in other places — it seemed like unknown luxury here. Carson turned back to Sheppard who’d been quiet throughout the whole examination.
„What happened?“ Carson asked, indicating his punctured and bandaged left hand
„You had a little clash with Ancient technology,“ Sheppard answered. „Again.“
Carson sighed. „Somehow, ‘I told you so’ doesn’t even come close.“
Sheppard’s grin seemed genuinely chagrined. „We traced you to one of the rooms at the bottom of the city,“ he told Carson. „You were unconscious when we found you. Seemed like you were still under the influence of the globe.“
The globe. Carson’s hands clenched in a spasm, firing pain through his palms. „Where is it?“
„Dr. Zelenka took care of it,“ Sheppard answered. He must’ve seen something on Carson’s face, since he was in a rather uncharacteristic hurry to add: „He was very careful this time. Anyway, turns out the globe is now depleted for good.“ A new expression appeared on the Major’s face as he watched Carson with seemingly casual interest. Carson knew what would come next and braced himself. Questions about what he’d seen, what he’d done . . . he already heard them in his head but had no idea what he could possibly answer. Yet Sheppard took his time and before he asked anything, they got company.
The main door opened and Aiden Ford walked into the infirmary, carrying a tray on legs. Teyla followed a short distance behind him, holding a steaming mug in her hands.
„Good to see you awake, Doc,“ Ford offered with a grin. Carson sat up gingerly and Ford placed the tray across his lap. Looking down, a single thought formed in Carson’s head: Food. There was a small bowl with what looked like whipped cream, apple sauce, three sandwiches piled on a plate and a wee metallic pitcher filled with milk. Carson realised he was starving.
Chuckling, Ford retreated. „Hey,“ he added, „Merry Christmas.“
„Christmas,“ Carson repeated. He’d completely forgotten.
Teyla stepped forward, carefully balancing the mug onto the tray.
„Major Sheppard told us you like a strong tea,“ she explained. „We put in two bags of herbs. I hope it will suit you.“
Carson looked at the pitch black liquid and suppressed a grin. It was true, he appreciated a strong tea. But two bags of the English blend in one mug was overkill. This tea would be bitter enough to murder every existent taste-bud in his mouth. Carson secretly decided to add a lot of milk when no-one was watching.
„That’s lovely, dear,“ he told Teyla. „Thank you.“
She smiled and Carson felt a wave of strange emotions wash through him. He would’ve liked to reach out and take her hand, feel its warmth and assure himself that this was real. His throat constricted painfully as he was looking from Teyla to Aiden Ford. For a brief, fierce moment he wished they would go away. The sight of them made him only more keenly aware of how it had felt to lose them. Even what gratitude and relief he felt was too strong. He couldn’t tell what scared him more right now: the numb solitude of the desert or this confused intensity of hope and apprehension. It was enough to make him feel trapped in his own body. Carson stroked the linen beneath his thumb again, took a secret breath and looked down at the tray. This wasn’t his conflict, he told himself. It wasn’t how he thought at all. It never had been. It never should be.
The moment passed, but once it did, Carson’s appetite was gone as well.
„Come on, Doc,“ Aiden urged. „Dig in.“
Carson picked up one corner of a sandwich. He caught a glimpse of Sheppard watching him and ignored it stoically. He took a half-hearted bite when the infirmary door opened a second time. Rodney and Radek walked in, the latter caring a plate laden with what looked like several pieces of saffron-coloured, fist-sized cauliflower.
„We come bearing muffins,“ Rodney said, clasping his hands behind his back and looking fondly at the pile of sweet snacks. Ford, who was closest, immediately grabbed one of the muffins.
„You have the manners of a wolverine,“ Rodney remarked with indignation, took the plate from Radek and turned it out of Aiden’s reach.
„Look who’s talking,“ John cut in pleasantly, took a muffin and offered a second one to Teyla.
„Go on, mock, I don’t care,“ Rodney declared and sat both himself and the tray onto the neighbouring bed. Carson caught Radek’s gaze who, in turn, looked quickly at the floor and pushed his glasses up his nose. Carson frowned, then realised what was going on.
„My Gran used to make great lemon muffins,“ Ford said, munching away happily. „Real sweet, with frosting about three inches high.“
Rodney, who’d been about to tackle his own muffin, hesitated, then glared alternately at Ford and the suspicious food in his own hand.
„These are almond muffins,“ Radek ventured. „Or something like almond. No citrus.“
Apparently, Rodney wasn’t ready to gamble his life merely on Radek’s assurance. He nibbled carefully at the muffin’s crust, sniffed it, turned it and apparently waited for it to jump into his face and bite. Radek cast a sheepish glance in Carson’s direction and Carson on his part offered a smile. The relief that flashed over the scientist’s face soothed some of Carson’s own tension. He picked up the sandwich again.
„So, Carson,“ Rodney spoke up, „I see you decided to stay with us. How very loyal of you not to ascend.“
„Ascend?“ Carson repeated.
„What?“ Rodney flared. „Has nobody told him yet?“
„Apparently the globe was a device for perfunctory meditation,“ Radek explained. „The Ancients used it to prepare themselves for Ascension. It’s supposed to work as a cleansing of fears. Very spiritual.“
Spiritual. Inside, Carson shuddered with revulsion. To imagine that the Ancients invented that device, used it on purpose, knowing exactly what it did . . .
„It is a remarkable invention,“ Rodney said. „I always thought that neural projection was more fiction than science. But think of the possibilities! If we understood the technology we could design our own holo-deck, have it depict everything we imagine.“ He turned to Carson, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. „Was it like a movie? Or more holographic?“
It was Teyla who reacted first. „I do not think Dr. Beckett should relate his experience in front of us all,“ she said. „The visions he had are private.“
„Well, yes, of course,“ Rodney admitted eagerly. „But for the cause of science . . .“
„Rodney,“ Carson interrupted, „I’d rather not tell just yet, if it’s all the same to you.“
„Oh. Oh, yes,“ Rodney amended, giving Carson an uneasy look. „I mean, certainly, you don’t have to.“
A beat of embarrassed silence followed and Carson began to feel truly miserable. For heaven’s sake. It wasn’t his nature to wall people out. But how could he tell them that he didn’t ascend because the fears he cleaned out weren’t his own?
„The globe is depleted anyway,“ Radek said eventually. „And we didn’t find another one. There’s no practical use in the information.“
„Unless there is a way to use the technology as weapon,“ Sheppard threw in.
Crush it, Carson wanted to yell. Melt it down. Throw it into the ocean. And that would barely be enough.
„No,“ he said quietly. „No, there’s not.“
He was well aware that Sheppard looked at him and this time, he returned the gaze. Carson realised that he dreaded the moment when he had to reveal all that had happened. He’d spared Sheppard a confrontation of his fears. Would it do less harm to show him another had faced them instead? That a stranger had seen what Sheppard kept so deep inside that he might not even know its true face? How would it be for him, to be stripped of his nonchalance, his guard and dignity?
Carson scrutinised Sheppard thoughtfully. As he did, the Major’s forehead wrinkled into a small, speculative frown.
Let it go, lad, Carson wanted to tell the other man and at the same time, made up his mind.
„Seriously, Doc,“ Ford remarked with a nod at the sandwiches. „Are you just gonna stare at them, or what?“
„For your information,“ Rodney cut in, „most people don’t just wolf down every bit of food that comes their way.“
„Yeah, I guess that makes you a rare breed,“ Ford quipped with a smirk.
It was the kind of challenge Rodney couldn’t pass. While he and Ford engaged in wordy crossfire, Carson turned his attention back to Sheppard. The Major did no longer watch him, instead he was looking at his muffin, not eating it, but rotating it wistfully in his hand. Carson believed he saw a glimpse of regret in the Major’s eyes. Wordlessly, he picked up the bowl of whipped cream and held it out. Sheppard raised his brows, evidently surprised. Carson shoved the bowl into his free hand. With a grin he seemed unable to suppress, Sheppard broke a crumb from his muffin and dipped it into the cream. For a moment the resemblance to his childhood self was so strong that Carson had to smile. He wondered what had become of the Dodgers jersey.
In the end, Carson decided to keep the truth to himself. He wouldn’t drag the Major’s demons into glaring daylight. He wouldn’t expose him, not even to himself. Given time, he might find other ways to help Sheppard. Make him see, perhaps, that walls weren’t always necessary. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to rid the Major of his fears. That was impossible and not healthy anyway, no matter what the Ancients might’ve thought. But there was at least one anxiety that Sheppard could do without. It was a fear Carson didn’t share, a difference which had most likely saved him. Carson firmly believed that loneliness wasn’t a state of being. It was a frame of mind. You could feel lonely inside a crowd. Or you could know you belonged no matter what distance parted you from the ones you cared about.
Maybe he could show John that. In a roundabout way.
Or then again . . . Carson considered the circle of his visitors, musing. Maybe John was already learning.
Rodney had broken off his exchange with Ford, attention caught by the bowl in Sheppard’s hand.
„Is that whipped cream?“ he asked, sounding awed.
„Yep.“ Sheppard used the last crumb of muffin to scoop up a minor mountain of cream. Then he calmly turned to Ford, offering him the half-empty bowl. „You want some?“
„Sure,“ Ford returned. „I’ll take my time, though. Wouldn’t want to wolf it down.“
„This is so first grade,“ Rodney remarked, narrowing his eyes at them.
Leaving the men to their banter, Carson settled back against his pillow and closed his eyes for a second. He found that the apparitions he’d endured were still present, but at last he could feel them retreat a bit and loose some colour. It would take more distance to make things right, but for now he could believe the worst was over.
Someone touched his wrist. When he opened his eyes, Teyla was beside him, looking worried.
„Are we wearying you?“ she asked softly.
Carson chuckled. For the first time since he’d woken, he felt completely himself. He took her hand, held it briefly and smiled at her.
„No, love,“ he said. „Not at all.
Atlantis, 7:27 p.m.
Jan. 3rd
Carson cleared away the files from his desk, stowing disks and print-outs in the cabinet. For once, he was done early with his paperwork and no patients waited in the ward. It seemed like his Christmas wish had come true after all, if a little belatedly.
He chanced a glimpse at his watch. Still two hours until his appointment with Dr. Heightmeyer. Enough time to see what the kitchen had in store today. Maybe he’d take a hot shower, too. Spoil himself.
Slowly but surely, everything was settling back to normal. He’d stopped seeing moving shadows in the dark. He could open doors without his whole body tensing.
So far, he’d had two sessions with Dr. Heightmeyer, which had helped. He still had nightmares, mostly about Teyla and what he’d done for her. But talking about her, Rodney and Aiden made coping with it easier. Carson also trusted that whatever he said within the psychiatrist’s office, stayed there. The assurance allowed him to voice some anxieties which would’ve embarrassed him otherwise. He never mentioned the desert, however, or the faceless people. Those secrets weren’t his to share.
Carson closed his cabinet with a reminiscent little smile. Sometimes when he was in one room with Major Sheppard he remembered the boy the Major had been. Sometimes he wondered what the lad’s story was. Sometimes he almost asked the grown-up John.
Someone cleared his throat and Carson turned around. Speak of the devil, he thought, spotting John Sheppard in his doorway.
„Major,“ he greeted. „Hello, come in.“
Sheppard ambled into the room, holding up the familiar paperback.
„I came to return your book,“ he said. „Got any more of these?“
„I’m afraid not,“ Carson replied. „But Peter has a nice stack of Noah Gordon. You might want to try these.“
„Yeah, I might.“
Carson opened a drawer, put away the paperback and took out the small travel-chessboard. He held it up so the Major could see it. „Have a seat?“
Sheppard walked over and pulled up a chair. „In broad daylight?“ he asked, mouth quirking. „I never knew you were that fearless.“
„Well, I try not to boast.“
They began to set out the chessmen, Carson’s side dark, Sheppard’s light as usual.
„So how’s life in the suburbs?“ Carson asked, moving a pawn.
„Peaceful,“ John returned and mirrored Carson’s move. „Quiet.“
„In other words . . .“
„Boring.“
Carson smiled. „What a rare constitution.“
„Tell me about it,“ John said. „Hey, are you going for a Portuguese opening?“
It was exactly what Carson had had in mind. He really had to work on his subtlety.
„Neat,“ John acknowledged. „One of these days I’ll show you the Elephant Gambit. Rodney’s got the old tactics down to a pinch, but he isn’t up to date with the modern stuff.“
The words were barely out of his mouth when the door to Carson’s office slid open and Rodney himself strode into the room.
„Carson! I was wondering if you could . . .“
That was about as far as he got before his eyes caught up with his mouth. He stopped mid-stride, perhaps surprised to find Sheppard here, then he saw the chessboard and an expression of jaw-dropping comprehension dawned on his face.
Carson fought down a laugh that he knew he wouldn’t be able to suppress for long. On Rodney’s sudden entry, Major Sheppard had ducked his head. Now he slid back into his chair and sported a grin that showed just how much he enjoyed himself.
Rodney’s eyes widened, his index finger rose and stabbed the air in Sheppard’s direction.
„You!“
_________________________________
beta by eretria & auburnnothenna