Fic: Five Long Years, by ed_84 (pg)
Title: Five Long Years
Author: ed_84
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen, with blink and you’ll miss it Teyla/Kanaan
Warning(s): None
Summary: Atlantis never reestablished contact with Earth - until now, five long years after the expedition first left. AU.
Disclaimer: SGA does not belong to me.
A/N: For the lostcityfound’s We’ll Always Have Pegasus challenge. Prompt: "Elizabeth Weir, Jack O'Neill - Final debriefing on the Atlantis expedition." Though this isn't the original story I planned to write, the deadline caught up with me and here it is. To SGA, you were awesome when you were good, and... well, sucky and depressing when you weren't. But you had a fantastic fandom. Cheers!
Elizabeth settles down behind the oblong conference table, her Atlantis uniform neatly pressed but slightly faded. She clasps her hands together as she waits, and the room is silent other then the lone ticking clock on the wall behind her. She studies the SGC insignia in the corner, the United States flag hanging limply on the poll beside it, and through the clear glass on the opposite end of the room, the Stargate stands looming, large and intimidating, even after all her years of experience.
The SGC hasn’t changed a bit. Not one tiny iota since she left, and Elizabeth shouldn’t be surprised by that. She still isn’t used to it, though. Her gaze wanders up the cold utilitarian room, desperately trying to stem the tide of anxiousness that overcomes her. John and the others have been separated - for interview purposes, she’s been told. The SGC probably wants to make sure all the stories match up. She suspects she’s been given the best accommodations by far, but it does little to dissuade the knots in the pit of her stomach.
Elizabeth has been denying herself this hope for five years. Five long years since she last stepped foot onto the hallowed grounds of the SGC, since she stepped through a wormhole with a group of 64 expedition members into an unknown galaxy - and had never been heard from again. Until now, of course.
Reestablishing contact with Earth has been a long-cherished hope, finally answered.
When the door finally opens, a familiar figure walks through the door attired in crisp dress blues. The US lapel insignia rests halfway up the seam of his service coat; a nickel-plated nametag with a matte finish gleams brightly in the fluorescent lighting, and four stars on the shoulder mark him the highest-ranking military officer on the base by a mile. Still, despite that, the feeling that washes over Elizabeth is one of familiarity and fondness, not formality.
“Jack,” she greets as she rises. “It’s been a long time.”
Jack waves her remark away with a hand. “Only because you didn’t call, you didn’t write. Not even a text message.” He pauses for a second. “You need coffee? Tea? Hard liquor?”
She smiles. “Water will be fine.” As he reaches for the glass pitcher, she continues without preamble, “We had a lot of setbacks, Jack. We lost a dozen personal that first year, especially towards the end in an enemy siege that left half the city demolished.”
Jack lifts an eyebrow. “How’d you beat them back?”
Elizabeth pauses. “I’ve been commanding this expedition for five years, and you know what I’ve found? The answer to that question is always the same. Ingenuity of a fine group of people, and-”
“Pure dumb luck,” he finishes for her, knowingly.
Elizabeth sighs heavily. “Exactly.”
He drops a folder onto the tabletop, and glances up at her with a wide and fake smile on his lips. “So, I’m here to make sure you aren’t, y’know, evil alien doppelgangers that want to take over Earth.”
“We aren’t.”
“Excellent,” Jack remarks wryly. “Now that we have that out of the way, why don’t we start at the beginning?”
“Jack, we need to have an honest conversation.”
“I hate those. Any way we can avoid that?”
“What’s going to happen to my people?”
Elizabeth starts at the very beginning, from their first step through the Stargate and into the Pegasus Galaxy. The story spills passed her lips softly, with reverence. Sumner’s death, the massive awakening of the Wraith, the struggle to find allies and friends, the Genii invasion, the hidden disasters within the city - the first year’s narration, followed the second, followed by the third.
Her throat starts to go hoarse. From overuse or emotion, she doesn’t know. She continues anyway, and it lasts another three hours, fifty-two minutes and only one brief bathroom break before she reaches her conclusion.
“I set the self-destruct code to thirty seconds, and ordered everyone through the Stargate.” She pauses, throat tight and raw. “My intention was to stay behind and ensure everything went according to plan, but… I underestimated John.”
“He forced you through the Stargate?”
Elizabeth flushes a little. “Manhandled, was more like it.”
Jack gives her a look, then smirks. “Good man. Remind me to buy him a drink.” He pauses, head tilted aside. “Actually, that gives me an idea. Let’s go for a walk.”
“Have you spoken to the President about us?”
“Oh, you betcha.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, first off, we had another election while you were away. And she is very interested in hearing your story.”
“She?”
“Yep.”
“Well,” Elizabeth says. “I guess the world has changed a bit since we’ve been gone.”
“Just a bit.”
A walk becomes an elevator ride, turns into an escorted drive in a row of armored vehicles, and leads them to a bar on the corner of Fulfax and Dunham. They clear out the joint, and Jack in his crisp blue uniform and her in her faded red, reach the bar and go for the liquor. A scratchy jukebox plays an old Elvis Presley record through corroded speakers above her head, and her sticky green stool is both cracked at the seams and faded.
“Are you sure this is alright?” Elizabeth asks, for the third time.
Jack rolls his eyes. “I’m a General. They pretty much let me do anything I want, short of starting intergalactic warfare. And I’ve even done that a few times too, so I doubt I’ll get my wrist slapped because I took a girl out for drinks.”
She won’t deny it: she could use the alcohol.
“What’s your poison?”
Wraith. Genii. Asurians. Renegade Ancients. Millennia old viruses. Trusted friends that became intimate enemies, and foes that turned allies for the right price. She has begged, bartered and negotiated for every member of her expedition at one point, sometimes like they were pieces of meat and she was throwing down coin onto a table. Live long enough, hard enough, and Elizabeth has found that even your idea of a good death will change.
Pick your poison? If only she were so lucky.
After a beat, she answers, “Whiskey.”
“I can’t begin to tell you what it was like, Jack. I stepped through that Stargate and the whole universe opened up to me. I met people, civilizations - things I had never even dreamt of. And Atlantis, god, that city was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. You should have seen it, Jack. Towering spires; architecture that stole your breath away; at dawn, you could see a dozen different shades of color reflected in the shimmering water below.”
“Sounds awe-inspiring.”
“Words don’t do it justice. You really should have seen it, Jack.”
They toast once - and only once - to the dead: “Col. Marshall Sumner, Lt. Aiden Ford, Peter Grodin, Peter Kavanagh, Sgt. Andrew Bates, Jacob Peterson, Jennifer Hays, Lt. Henry Biro, Miko Miyazaki, Alyssa Hill, Sgt. Robert Speare, Joseph Rodríguez, Allen Goodman, Capt. David Barrera-Tapia…”
Elizabeth takes a deep breath, and continues to list the names by rote memory.
“… Gia Kvaratskhelia, Walter Bridge, Christopher Markham, Philippe Pétain, Mary Madison, Cordelia Emmott, John Gaul, Gregory Woodman, Ralph Gómez, Jacques Chirac, Lt. Molly Ahrens, Gedeon Burkhard, Joan Wulff, Renee Friedrich, Julie Benz, Chien-Ming Wang, Miroslav Sasek, Tihomir Blaskic, Lt. Jo Beridze, Fatima Khan, Jose Behera, Raj Mallick, Capt. Steven Kennedy, Adam Finn, Molly Ferrari, Alfonse D'Amato, Ali Qureshi, Zhan Zhuang, and Bradly Abrams.”
44 dead of the original 64, from 18 different countries and a dozen different fields of specialties. Elizabeth can tell you how every one of them died. She can tell you stories about every single member of her expedition too, even the ones she rarely speaks to. They are more than her responsibility and ward; they are her family.
“I’m sorry,” Jack says, when she stays silent for too long.
She lifts her shot of whiskey and tosses out another toast. “And to all the people they saved. That list is much longer.”
“It was a series of almost-catastrophes, one after another,” Elizabeth explains. “I used to think all war was needless, that people just didn’t explore diplomacy enough, but out there… we could only buy time. Borrowed time, really. I knew that day would come.”
Jack looks up at her. “What day?”
“Plato.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I said, Plato.”
When they arrive back at SGC, she’s just a little bit drunk. Nothing excessive, but it’s probably enough for the others to notice immediately. John stands by the far wall, staring at Elizabeth as she comes through the doors. Teyla and Kanaan are sitting quietly with their child at the table. Ronon sits with his back to the wall, opposite Carson and Radek. And Rodney shuffles to his feet in order to greet her.
“Well?” Rodney asks, the question loaded.
Jack answers, “You guys have done enough talking for one day. We’ll take you to some private quarters where you can rest up for the night. We’ll continue debriefing in the morning.”
John slides his eyes away to the far wall, completely silent.
“Jack,” Elizabeth stops him. “When can we make phone calls to friends and family?”
Jack hesitates. “Maybe by the day after tomorrow? As soon as we confirm some things and get a good cover story in place.”
Elizabeth nods. “Thank you.”
Jack leaves, and in his wake it’s just the handful of them: Pegasus natives and refugees alike. They’re all silent for a beat, and then Rodney breaks the spell, “Home, sweet Home.”
She catches John’s eyes across the room, and tries to hide her flinch.
”It goes like this,” Elizabeth explains. “Many great and wonderful deeds are recorded of your state in our histories. But one of them exceeds all the rest in greatness and valour. For these histories tell of a mighty power which unprovoked made an expedition against the world… But afterwards there occurred violent earthquakes and floods; and in a single day and night of misfortune all your warlike men in a body sank into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared in the depths of the sea.”
“Plato’s account of Atlantis?”
Elizabeth nods. “And history repeats itself.”
fin
Author: ed_84
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen, with blink and you’ll miss it Teyla/Kanaan
Warning(s): None
Summary: Atlantis never reestablished contact with Earth - until now, five long years after the expedition first left. AU.
Disclaimer: SGA does not belong to me.
A/N: For the lostcityfound’s We’ll Always Have Pegasus challenge. Prompt: "Elizabeth Weir, Jack O'Neill - Final debriefing on the Atlantis expedition." Though this isn't the original story I planned to write, the deadline caught up with me and here it is. To SGA, you were awesome when you were good, and... well, sucky and depressing when you weren't. But you had a fantastic fandom. Cheers!
Elizabeth settles down behind the oblong conference table, her Atlantis uniform neatly pressed but slightly faded. She clasps her hands together as she waits, and the room is silent other then the lone ticking clock on the wall behind her. She studies the SGC insignia in the corner, the United States flag hanging limply on the poll beside it, and through the clear glass on the opposite end of the room, the Stargate stands looming, large and intimidating, even after all her years of experience.
The SGC hasn’t changed a bit. Not one tiny iota since she left, and Elizabeth shouldn’t be surprised by that. She still isn’t used to it, though. Her gaze wanders up the cold utilitarian room, desperately trying to stem the tide of anxiousness that overcomes her. John and the others have been separated - for interview purposes, she’s been told. The SGC probably wants to make sure all the stories match up. She suspects she’s been given the best accommodations by far, but it does little to dissuade the knots in the pit of her stomach.
Elizabeth has been denying herself this hope for five years. Five long years since she last stepped foot onto the hallowed grounds of the SGC, since she stepped through a wormhole with a group of 64 expedition members into an unknown galaxy - and had never been heard from again. Until now, of course.
Reestablishing contact with Earth has been a long-cherished hope, finally answered.
When the door finally opens, a familiar figure walks through the door attired in crisp dress blues. The US lapel insignia rests halfway up the seam of his service coat; a nickel-plated nametag with a matte finish gleams brightly in the fluorescent lighting, and four stars on the shoulder mark him the highest-ranking military officer on the base by a mile. Still, despite that, the feeling that washes over Elizabeth is one of familiarity and fondness, not formality.
“Jack,” she greets as she rises. “It’s been a long time.”
Jack waves her remark away with a hand. “Only because you didn’t call, you didn’t write. Not even a text message.” He pauses for a second. “You need coffee? Tea? Hard liquor?”
She smiles. “Water will be fine.” As he reaches for the glass pitcher, she continues without preamble, “We had a lot of setbacks, Jack. We lost a dozen personal that first year, especially towards the end in an enemy siege that left half the city demolished.”
Jack lifts an eyebrow. “How’d you beat them back?”
Elizabeth pauses. “I’ve been commanding this expedition for five years, and you know what I’ve found? The answer to that question is always the same. Ingenuity of a fine group of people, and-”
“Pure dumb luck,” he finishes for her, knowingly.
Elizabeth sighs heavily. “Exactly.”
He drops a folder onto the tabletop, and glances up at her with a wide and fake smile on his lips. “So, I’m here to make sure you aren’t, y’know, evil alien doppelgangers that want to take over Earth.”
“We aren’t.”
“Excellent,” Jack remarks wryly. “Now that we have that out of the way, why don’t we start at the beginning?”
“Jack, we need to have an honest conversation.”
“I hate those. Any way we can avoid that?”
“What’s going to happen to my people?”
Elizabeth starts at the very beginning, from their first step through the Stargate and into the Pegasus Galaxy. The story spills passed her lips softly, with reverence. Sumner’s death, the massive awakening of the Wraith, the struggle to find allies and friends, the Genii invasion, the hidden disasters within the city - the first year’s narration, followed the second, followed by the third.
Her throat starts to go hoarse. From overuse or emotion, she doesn’t know. She continues anyway, and it lasts another three hours, fifty-two minutes and only one brief bathroom break before she reaches her conclusion.
“I set the self-destruct code to thirty seconds, and ordered everyone through the Stargate.” She pauses, throat tight and raw. “My intention was to stay behind and ensure everything went according to plan, but… I underestimated John.”
“He forced you through the Stargate?”
Elizabeth flushes a little. “Manhandled, was more like it.”
Jack gives her a look, then smirks. “Good man. Remind me to buy him a drink.” He pauses, head tilted aside. “Actually, that gives me an idea. Let’s go for a walk.”
“Have you spoken to the President about us?”
“Oh, you betcha.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, first off, we had another election while you were away. And she is very interested in hearing your story.”
“She?”
“Yep.”
“Well,” Elizabeth says. “I guess the world has changed a bit since we’ve been gone.”
“Just a bit.”
A walk becomes an elevator ride, turns into an escorted drive in a row of armored vehicles, and leads them to a bar on the corner of Fulfax and Dunham. They clear out the joint, and Jack in his crisp blue uniform and her in her faded red, reach the bar and go for the liquor. A scratchy jukebox plays an old Elvis Presley record through corroded speakers above her head, and her sticky green stool is both cracked at the seams and faded.
“Are you sure this is alright?” Elizabeth asks, for the third time.
Jack rolls his eyes. “I’m a General. They pretty much let me do anything I want, short of starting intergalactic warfare. And I’ve even done that a few times too, so I doubt I’ll get my wrist slapped because I took a girl out for drinks.”
She won’t deny it: she could use the alcohol.
“What’s your poison?”
Wraith. Genii. Asurians. Renegade Ancients. Millennia old viruses. Trusted friends that became intimate enemies, and foes that turned allies for the right price. She has begged, bartered and negotiated for every member of her expedition at one point, sometimes like they were pieces of meat and she was throwing down coin onto a table. Live long enough, hard enough, and Elizabeth has found that even your idea of a good death will change.
Pick your poison? If only she were so lucky.
After a beat, she answers, “Whiskey.”
“I can’t begin to tell you what it was like, Jack. I stepped through that Stargate and the whole universe opened up to me. I met people, civilizations - things I had never even dreamt of. And Atlantis, god, that city was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. You should have seen it, Jack. Towering spires; architecture that stole your breath away; at dawn, you could see a dozen different shades of color reflected in the shimmering water below.”
“Sounds awe-inspiring.”
“Words don’t do it justice. You really should have seen it, Jack.”
They toast once - and only once - to the dead: “Col. Marshall Sumner, Lt. Aiden Ford, Peter Grodin, Peter Kavanagh, Sgt. Andrew Bates, Jacob Peterson, Jennifer Hays, Lt. Henry Biro, Miko Miyazaki, Alyssa Hill, Sgt. Robert Speare, Joseph Rodríguez, Allen Goodman, Capt. David Barrera-Tapia…”
Elizabeth takes a deep breath, and continues to list the names by rote memory.
“… Gia Kvaratskhelia, Walter Bridge, Christopher Markham, Philippe Pétain, Mary Madison, Cordelia Emmott, John Gaul, Gregory Woodman, Ralph Gómez, Jacques Chirac, Lt. Molly Ahrens, Gedeon Burkhard, Joan Wulff, Renee Friedrich, Julie Benz, Chien-Ming Wang, Miroslav Sasek, Tihomir Blaskic, Lt. Jo Beridze, Fatima Khan, Jose Behera, Raj Mallick, Capt. Steven Kennedy, Adam Finn, Molly Ferrari, Alfonse D'Amato, Ali Qureshi, Zhan Zhuang, and Bradly Abrams.”
44 dead of the original 64, from 18 different countries and a dozen different fields of specialties. Elizabeth can tell you how every one of them died. She can tell you stories about every single member of her expedition too, even the ones she rarely speaks to. They are more than her responsibility and ward; they are her family.
“I’m sorry,” Jack says, when she stays silent for too long.
She lifts her shot of whiskey and tosses out another toast. “And to all the people they saved. That list is much longer.”
“It was a series of almost-catastrophes, one after another,” Elizabeth explains. “I used to think all war was needless, that people just didn’t explore diplomacy enough, but out there… we could only buy time. Borrowed time, really. I knew that day would come.”
Jack looks up at her. “What day?”
“Plato.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I said, Plato.”
When they arrive back at SGC, she’s just a little bit drunk. Nothing excessive, but it’s probably enough for the others to notice immediately. John stands by the far wall, staring at Elizabeth as she comes through the doors. Teyla and Kanaan are sitting quietly with their child at the table. Ronon sits with his back to the wall, opposite Carson and Radek. And Rodney shuffles to his feet in order to greet her.
“Well?” Rodney asks, the question loaded.
Jack answers, “You guys have done enough talking for one day. We’ll take you to some private quarters where you can rest up for the night. We’ll continue debriefing in the morning.”
John slides his eyes away to the far wall, completely silent.
“Jack,” Elizabeth stops him. “When can we make phone calls to friends and family?”
Jack hesitates. “Maybe by the day after tomorrow? As soon as we confirm some things and get a good cover story in place.”
Elizabeth nods. “Thank you.”
Jack leaves, and in his wake it’s just the handful of them: Pegasus natives and refugees alike. They’re all silent for a beat, and then Rodney breaks the spell, “Home, sweet Home.”
She catches John’s eyes across the room, and tries to hide her flinch.
”It goes like this,” Elizabeth explains. “Many great and wonderful deeds are recorded of your state in our histories. But one of them exceeds all the rest in greatness and valour. For these histories tell of a mighty power which unprovoked made an expedition against the world… But afterwards there occurred violent earthquakes and floods; and in a single day and night of misfortune all your warlike men in a body sank into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared in the depths of the sea.”
“Plato’s account of Atlantis?”
Elizabeth nods. “And history repeats itself.”
fin