SGA: The Third Man, slash fiction
My story for the reel_sga community.
The Third Man
by Purna
NC-17
McKay/Sheppard, ~20,000 words
Spoilers through Season 2. Futurefic.
A/N: Thanks to lamardeuse for a speedy beta. It's difficult to improve on the collective genius of Graham Greene and Carol Reed. There are many lines of dialogue either adapted from or lifted directly from the movie. Scroll to the end of Part 1 for an expanded A/N section, with additional (spoilery) warnings.
Movie Prompt: The Third Man (1949)
Movie Summary:
Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten) arrives in a Vienna still shattered by WWII, expecting to meet his old friend Harry Lime. But Lime has apparently been accidentally killed, and Martins, too curious for his own good, hears contradictory stories about the circumstances of Lime’s death. Witnesses disappear or are murdered. Martins himself is chased by unknown assailants through the glamorously dark streets of Vienna. Complicating matters are the sardonic Major Calloway (Trevor Howard), head of the British forces, and Lime’s mistress, Anna Schmidt (Alida Valli).
The roles of Major Calloway and Sergeant Paine are filled here by Colonel Sheppard and Major Lorne respectively. A future Atlantis takes the place of Vienna.
The Third Man was written by Graham Greene and directed by Carol Reed. If you haven't had the chance to see it, I highly recommend the Criterion Collection DVD, which looks absolutely amazing and contains the longer, European version of the film (eleven minutes were cut from the American version on the orders of David Selznick, who wanted to soften the cynical tone of the film).
I'll warn you now, you asked for this. You're here for a story; I'll give you a story. It's an ugly one, and I doubt it's what General Landry had in mind when he sent you here. Some Atlantis PR crap.
A thousand journalists, a thousand articles -- it won't make the public any happier when they finally hear about SGC and the Pegasus galaxy and how close Earth came to being culled by the Wraith.
What? Yeah, we defeated the Wraith. Happy ending, right?
Not so fast, because it wasn't easy. Well, you saw the damage yourself; half the city's still in ruins.
We were on the brink too many times to count. Atlantis would have fallen, except for the Genii.
There was a price to pay, of course. There always is. A "strategic alliance." Yeah, right. A piece of Atlantis was what they wanted, even bombed and half-flooded as it was then. It might not have been the Atlantis from before the Wraith war, but we were better off than a lot of other worlds.
So now the Genii have their zone, and we've got ours, and refugees from a dozen worlds bounce between us. We patch them up, get them healthy, find them a planet for resettlement.
The Wraith sickness is the biggest problem, although even that's curable if we catch it in time. Thank God the Wraith sucked at creating bio weapons. You got the shots back at SGC, I hope.
It's curable, but you wouldn't like the experience. No, those are just rumors; the treatment drugs work. The deaths, those kids last year -- that was bad, but it wasn't the drugs that failed. It was us not catching the adulterated drug supply in time to save them.
Yeah, that's the ugly story I'm talking about. I guess I should start at the beginning.
*
"It's not your fault," Rodney said, wandering out of the bathroom, the words garbled by the toothbrush in his mouth. John looked up from his laptop, open on the desk in front of him. Rodney was in his boxers and an old, faded Air Force T-shirt, getting ready for bed.
With the hand not holding the toothbrush, Rodney scratched absently at his chest. The scar beneath his fingers wasn't visible, hidden underneath Rodney's shirt, but John knew it was there all the same.
Rodney stopped scratching, suddenly aware of John's gaze, and said thickly, "Don't be stupid. It's really, really not your fault." He wiped some of the toothpaste drool from his mouth with the back of his hand.
His eyes darted over John, pausing on his face, moving down to the jittery up and down movement of his right knee. John forced himself to stop fidgeting, feeling a little uncomfortable under Rodney's assessing gaze. That almost scary focus was usually concentrated on Ancient machinery or fixing some problem, but from the first, Rodney had seemed to see John as a puzzle of a different sort, requiring his attention.
Rodney's expectant expression called for an answer of some sort. "I went to visit the two kids today--" John found himself starting to say, before he bit back the words. He hadn't meant to talk about it. Hadn't wanted to lay all his crap onto Rodney, whose shoulders already carried the weight of bringing Atlantis back to life.
The kids -- it was awful, worse even than the ones who'd died. Still alive, but frozen in the middle of a horrible metamorphosis. It made him think of things he usually kept locked down tight, in the dark, shadowy basement of his head.
"Jeez, John," Rodney said, his blue eyes shadowed.
John dropped his gaze back down to the laptop screen. Paging listlessly through the infirmary personnel file, he avoided Rodney's eyes. He had thought he'd seemed calm, but he couldn't fool Rodney.
Rodney ducked back into the bathroom to rinse out his mouth and then moved over to stand behind him. Rodney leaned into him, draping his arms around John's neck from behind in a loose embrace.
"Snap out of it, Sheppard," he said into John's ear, his tone gentler than his words. "I know you. You've got a thing about guilt. You'd agonize over your contribution to Earth's global warming. Okay, maybe that's hyperbole," he added when John just looked at him. "But this? So not your fault."
"The black market--" is my fault, he meant to say, but Rodney cut him off.
"Cut it out." Rodney smacked a hand onto John's chest, sharp enough to sting. John jumped a little and shot Rodney a startled look. Rodney muttered, "Oh, great, domestic violence. We're turning into my parents."
He sighed, knowing Rodney was trying to distract him more than anything, but there was a faint undercurrent of something in Rodney's voice. Something a little dark that John couldn't quite decipher. "Easy there, Rodney," he said, in the affectionate tone that meant we're okay. Rodney shot him the look that meant you're an asshole, but I love you anyway.
A few years of them sleeping together and at some point John had realized that they'd started having entire conversations with a couple of looks. It was then he was pretty sure he was as close to married as he'd ever get. An obnoxious, smart-mouthed, brilliant scientist was the last person he'd ever expected to end up hitched to, but then again he'd never really expected to survive the Wraith war, either.
John pulled Rodney's face down to his, shutting Rodney up with his mouth, letting himself sink into the kiss. Kissing was almost as good a mood-enhancer as flying, and tasted better, minty, Rodney's tongue as eager and hot as the first time they'd done this.
It made him smile against Rodney's mouth. This was good at least, the two of them. It made something ache in his chest, ache in the best way, that after so long they still fit together so well, still couldn't get enough of each other.
He was twisted around in his chair, craning his neck to meet Rodney's mouth. It was awkward and made his neck hurt, but he didn't stop for a long time.
"Those kids -- I hate thinking about it," he admitted once he'd caught his breath, after the kissing had stopped.
Rodney's mouth turned down. "Carson's kicking himself because of his woefully inadequate inventory controls. He was treating a dozen Wraith sickness patients with tap water, and didn't even know it. It's amazing that any of them lived. Without treatment, the result is usually death."
"Except in the rare cases when it actually works the way the Wraith intended," John said, his voice hollow.
Rodney swallowed. "The transformation. Yeah. I don't like to think about that part. I know Carson doesn't ever talk about it -- who can blame him. It can't be a coincidence that the Wraith mimicked Carson's own strategy." He stopped short at John's look. "What? You know it's true."
John closed his eyes. "Can we not talk about that right now? Please?"
"Carson's working on it. Maybe he can change them back," Rodney said, after a long pause. His tone was softer; by now, Rodney knew when to push him and when to leave things alone.
John's lips tightened. "There's nothing he can do at this point. Those kids are as good as dead. I know, Rodney. I remember losing Zelenka and Ronon and Simpson. I remember coming this close to losing you."
Zelenka and Ronon had died outright, but Simpson. Simpson had not. John shuddered; he wasn't going there. He wasn't going to think about the fact that there were enough mercy killings on his conscience to last two lifetimes.
The infection had progressed much more slowly in Rodney. Beckett had devised an experimental treatment just barely in time to use him as a guinea pig, but the cure had been almost as deadly as the sickness, wreaking havoc on most of Rodney's organs. His heart had suffered the worst; Beckett had said a transplant would've been his only hope back on Earth. In the end, it'd been too close, another Pegasus galaxy hail mary, Beckett cracking Rodney's chest to implant the Ancient equivalent of an artificial heart.
John's hands were clenched so tightly they ached. He loosened them deliberately and looked up at Rodney. "I remember it all. I can't forget it."
Rodney kneaded the muscles of his shoulders, the touch almost painful. "I know you can't, John." Fingers brushed over John's ear, making him shiver. "There's plenty of guilt to pass around. The asshole that stole the drugs gets the lion's share. Don't try to take it all on yourself. Concentrate on figuring out what the hell happened."
He reached up to give Rodney's hand a quick squeeze, then moved to tap at the laptop's touchpad.
"Anyway," he said, trying to marshal his thoughts. "Some time after the last Earth shipment, someone stole the treatment drugs from the infirmary stock room."
He trailed off and swallowed. Thinking about the Wraith sickness was a bad enough, but it mixed uneasily with images from his own brush with the iratus bug, made him remember Michael and Beckett's bioweapon.
"Sheppard," Rodney said sharply. "You with me, here?"
Rodney's voice had an almost military snap to it that shook him out of it, and John rolled his eyes to hide his relief. He cleared his throat and said, "He or she substituted vials filled with saline, so that the theft would not be immediately noticed." His voice was only a little rough.
Rodney eyed him carefully and sounded thoughtful when he said, "Access, opportunity and the knowledge to select the right medicines: it all makes for an inside job, doesn't it?"
At John's look of surprise, Rodney said, "Hello, genius here." He sounded a little offended, waggling his fingers at his head. "It's just applied science, after all."
"And you're the man as far as science goes," he said wryly. He sobered, looking back at the file open on his laptop. "Carson doesn't want to think so, but it's one of his staff." He scrolled through the names of infirmary personnel. "Everyone on this list had access to the pharmacy inventory."
Sliding a hand inside the collar of John's shirt, Rodney pushed past John's dog tags to tweak a nipple. It made John sigh and close his eyes.
Rodney stole a kiss, quick, with just a hint of tongue. "You're tired. Deal with it tomorrow."
That night in bed, Rodney pushed him back onto the sheets and blew him. John's cock slid in deep, welcomed into Rodney's warm, wide mouth, and it felt like home. When he looked down, he couldn't help groaning at the sight: Rodney's mouth on him, his lips sliding wetly up and down John's cock.
Rodney looked up just then and paused as their eyes met. Heat and affection in Rodney's eyes mixed with a strange vulnerability that made John go a little lightheaded, his breath catching in a way that was close to pain. He reached down to slide a hand through Rodney's soft, fine hair.
"Jesus, Rodney," he said breathlessly, his voice almost breaking, and Rodney went back to what he was doing, taking him in deep again. There was no teasing, just a strong, no-frills suck that brought him off quickly. He thought about asking Rodney to fuck him, hard and fast, but Rodney looked too tired for anything fancy. Considering how beat John himself felt, it was just as well. He figured he'd never hear the end of it if he fell asleep in the middle of having sex.
He was still catching his breath when he reached over to wrap a hand around Rodney's cock. "This? Or do you want my mouth?" he asked.
Rodney was already thrusting up into John's fist. "This is good. God, that's good." John stripped Rodney's cock and watched Rodney's face.
They'd been together long enough that there wasn't much they hadn't done to and with each other, in and out of bed. But John always returned to this, his hand on Rodney's cock, like the first time they'd ever had sex. John had watched Rodney's face when he came that first time. He watched him now too, drinking in the sight: Rodney's head thrown back, mouth slack.
He slept after that, a little afraid that it'd be a nightmare night for him, that he'd be visited by half-Wraith children or return to the dark days of the Wraith war. Instead it was Rodney's turn, his ragged whimpers waking John in the middle of the night. "Radek," Rodney muttered. "Radek," he said again and then a shouted, "John."
John swallowed; it was a bad one. He shook Rodney out of the worst of it, sliding a reassuring hand over Rodney's belly. That soothed Rodney enough that he fell into a more peaceful sleep. Rodney shifted his position, settling closer to John, dropping a heavy arm across his chest.
Rodney didn't like to talk about his nightmares, but he'd let things slip every now and then. Rodney reacted poorly to darkness and enclosed spaces and knives, and John wondered how many times those things worked their way into his dreams. John also knew that in their years on Atlantis Rodney had racked up almost as many ghosts as John himself had. Gall and Griffin, and John's mind flinched as the list in his head stretched on and on.
Zelenka's death had nearly shattered Rodney. After that, he'd regularly worked himself to the point of exhaustion on the reconstruction efforts. It had taken John dragging him to the infirmary a few times and a close call on the cardiac front to break the self-destructive cycle. Survivor's guilt was endemic to Atlantis, Heightmeyer had told him once.
So many of their number had been lost, from the Wraith attacks, from the resulting flooding, and then from the bio-engineered sickness that the Wraith had released in the final days of the war. Mentioning any name from the list of the dead could silence a room faster than the appearance of one of their Genii "allies."
They wouldn't have won the war without the Genii, but John didn't have to like the resulting situation. He had to share Atlantis with the same people he'd once fought. Had to share space with people who'd killed his men, people who couldn't ever be trusted.
It made for an uneasy truce, an uneasy sharing of Atlantis' resources: 'gate time, Ancient knowledge, tech. John's hatred deepened every time Rodney went silent and tense around Colonel Brodsky, the Genii liaison officer, who looked so much like Kolya that John wondered if they were related. He had never bothered to ask, though. He didn't want to know the answer.
John's brain was starting to run in circles. When he got like this, he knew it would turn into a sleepless night. He wasn't wrong, and he lay there staring up at the ceiling, his only comfort Rodney's warmth along his side.
*
John met with Elizabeth the next morning in her office. He yawned, his eyes gritty with lack of sleep. He took one look at her tight face and knew it was bad. "What's wrong?"
"We've got to get to the bottom of this one fast, John. Dead kids tend to get people stirred up."
Her words triggered it: once again he back in the morgue, Carson's shaking hands pulling back the sheet to show small bodies, their muscles warped by the Wraith sickness. John's stomach tried to rebel, and he swallowed, hard, against the acid taste rising in his throat.
Elizabeth's hand on his shoulder brought him out of it. She'd gotten up from her desk without him even noticing. "John? Are you okay?" she said and he got the impression that it wasn't the first time she'd said his name.
He shook his head. "Sorry, Elizabeth. I'm just distracted. What was that?"
She eyed him with a disbelieving look, but didn't push it. "Rumors are flying among the refugee population: that it was no accident, that refugees get substandard medical attention."
"I'll talk to Teyla," John said. "The Athosians have connections there."
Elizabeth nodded. "And I've had SGC on my case already this morning. They want to know if the infirmary theft means the black market situation is beyond our control. They offered their 'help.' I'd prefer that they stay out of it, quite frankly, but I can't stall them for long."
John took a breath. "This is my fault. If I'd clamped down on the black market back when Caldwell told me to--"
"You mean if we had." Elizabeth shot him an exasperated look. "You weren't alone in that decision, John," she said, sounding a little harried. She covered her face with her hands, pressing the tips of her fingers to her forehead, as if to massage away a headache. She didn't drop her hands and when she spoke the words were a little muffled. "The black market seemed like the least of our worries at the time. We had the city to worry about, patching it up enough so that we didn't sink, Rodney driving himself to exhaustion."
John grimaced, remembering those frantic weeks. Everyone should have been celebrating, enjoying the victory over the Wraith. Instead, they all just had a different set of worries, a new and overwhelming set of tasks. The Marines and scientists that SGC had sent them had helped, but their inexperience had kept the burden on the veteran staff.
Elizabeth dropped her hands and looked over at him, her eyes tired. "Refugees were still pouring in through the 'gate from all over the galaxy, needing shelter, food, and medical attention. We were just getting used to the Genii having control of their sector of Atlantis. Bootleg DVDs and scavenged fuel cells and illegal alcohol? That was at the bottom of our list of priorities."
John's headset interrupted her. "Colonel Sheppard." It was Carson. He glanced over at Elizabeth, who gestured at him to take the call.
"Yeah, Carson?"
"One of my orderlies didn't show up for work today. Joseph Harbin's his name. No answer to radio calls, and he's not in his quarters."
John relayed the information to Elizabeth, and her eyebrow went up enquiringly. Her eyes were dark when he met her gaze.
John asked, "Harbin had access to the stock room?"
Carson laughed, the bitterness obvious even over the crappy audio of the headset. "Aye, he did, John. You were right, I'm afraid. I was a trusting fool. It was one my own staff."
"We don't know that for sure, Carson. And you're not a fool." Carson had somehow managed to keep a little of his trusting nature through the Wraith war. John wondered if this was the straw that broke that camel's back, that turned him into a cynic like the rest of them.
Carson signed off without a word, and John sighed. He relayed the gist of the conversation to Elizabeth.
"Harbin," Elizabeth said, leaning back in her chair. "Do you think he was alone in this?"
John rubbed the back of neck and was silent a moment, thinking. "Doubtful. The market for the drugs would be in the refugee population. Harbin probably wouldn't have the connections to peddle the drugs by himself."
Elizabeth's lips pressed together. "That's what I was afraid of. Go easy, John. If we look like we're targeting refugees unfairly--"
He held up a hand. "I got it. I'll be careful. Their trust in us is fragile. I'll do my best not to damage it."
She gave him a short nod, her gaze thoughtful.
"I've got Harbin's file on my laptop," John said absently. "I'll look at it again after this. Maybe go check out his quarters."
"Be careful, John. Harbin knows he'll have to answer for murder when we catch up to him. That makes him dangerous."
"I know," John said, standing up from his chair. "He'll be untrained and unpredictable. I'll keep that in mind."
Elizabeth gave him a strained smile. He was at the door when she spoke again. "Just think of Rodney's reaction if you let yourself get hurt."
John paused, turning his head. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "He'd be unbearable, wouldn't he? Don't worry; I'm domesticated now."
Elizabeth's laugh of disbelief followed him out into the corridor.
*
John was nearly to his office when a voice stopped him. "Colonel Sheppard. A word with you."
He froze and turned around, a neutral expression firmly planted on his face. "Colonel Brodsky."
The Genii's face was as unreadable as always, but John swore he heard a trace of triumph when he spoke. "I've heard the Atlanteans have had troubles. A theft from the medical supply."
John took a breath. "Word gets around fast."
Brodsky nodded, his eyes cold. "This black market -- it is the result of your inefficient policing methods. The Atlanteans are too lenient. I offer again the expertise of the Genii in the matter of security. The situation wants control. The refugees strain the city."
John couldn't stop the frown that took over his face. "Allowing the refugees to stay was part of the treaty your people signed. Not really negotiable now. As for your offer -- that is...generous of you, Colonel. It's not necessary, however. You have your sector. We have ours. There's an old expression on Earth. Good fences make good neighbors. Don't you agree?"
Brodsky grunted, a flicker of displeasure crossing his face. "Hmm. The Genii have a saying, too. My neighbor's troubles become my own. The Genii will swiftly deal with any troubles that spill over from your side of the city. Is that clear enough for you?"
John forced himself to smile pleasantly at the Genii. "Very clear, Colonel Brodsky. The situation is under control."
Brodsky gave him a dubious look, then straightened. His head dipped in a sharp nod, and John sketched a salute in return, one eyebrow raised sarcastically. He could've sworn Brodsky's heels actually clicked together when he turned away to head back to Genii territory.
John walked on, frowning. He'd have to warn Elizabeth that the Genii were sniffing for weaknesses. They were reliable at least: any situation became an opportunity for them to acquire more control. Their ultimate goal was complete control of Atlantis, John was sure of it. Even as damaged as she was, Atlantis provided her owner with considerable power. The Genii didn't like to share. But frankly, neither did John.
*
Harbin had a Halorian girlfriend who wasn't pleased when John came calling at Harbin's quarters. She cracked the door open with a wary look in her eye. "He's not here."
"Do you know where he is?" John asked. He tried out his best easy smile and hoped the expression made it into his eyes.
She wasn't impressed, leaning against the doorjamb. He looked down and rubbed at the back of his neck. Rodney called it his aw shucks look, and it usually worked scarily well, but not this time. She started to close the door in his face.
Open, John thought, and sighed in relief when the door responded to him. The damage during the war had been extensive. Now whole sections of the city failed to respond to him. John avoided those sections; it felt too much like being trapped inside a dead thing.
"You have the Ancient blood." She was staring at him with odd, unfocused eyes. "You were on the path to Ascension. I was once on that path as well."
"Huh," was all John could manage at first. "Really?" he said as a follow up. He figured he got a pass for the lame response. He was still stuck on how often he ran into Ascended and wannabe-Ascended women, and how they tended to be kind of creepy. Too much navel-gazing, he decided.
"You have found peace off the path," she said.
Peace? John thought incredulously, but she was still talking. "That is my goal as well." Her expression reminded John of how Teer had looked when she talked about her visions. It made the hairs on the back of John's neck prickle.
She stepped back. "Come inside."
John felt more like running away, but he followed her inside, his smile fading. "Uh. It was sort of an accident, me doing the whole Ascension thing. Didn't get very far with it."
She smiled at him, a little wistfully. "I am Malla. I started on the path as a child. Along the way, you develop--"
"Interesting talents," John interrupted, holding up a hand. "Yeah, so I've heard. Listen--"
She cut him off; her eyes had gone a little spooky again. "Poor, weak Joseph. What has he done? It's bad, isn't it?"
Blinking at the sudden shift in topic, John didn't say anything for a second. "It's bad. He stole drugs from the infirmary. Drugs to treat the Wraith sickness."
Malla went white, closing her eyes. "Oh, Joseph," she said. She opened her eyes. "It wasn't his idea. I know it wasn't. This is my fault, really."
"How so?" John asked curiously.
"I was the one who introduced him around the Halorian quarter. That's where he met them." She sat down on the couch, her feet tucked up underneath her.
John shook his head when she waved vaguely at two stuffed chairs that sat across from the couch.
"Them?" he asked.
Her hands twisted together in a washing movement that reminded him of one of Rodney's old nervous habits. She closed her eyes and sighed. "The men Joseph got involved with. They're Halorian. They are not good men. They scavenge and steal, and sell things that are illegal."
"Do you know names?" He asked the question cautiously, hoping she'd continue being talkative a little longer.
She opened her eyes and looked over at him for a long, silent moment, her eyes so dark they were almost black. John tried not to squirm under that unsettling gaze. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision.
"One of them was a man named Lime," she said. "I don't know the names of the others. I'm sorry."
John asked a few more questions, but she didn't know anything more. He was about to wrap it up, but the connection between this detached woman, strong and honorable and a little eerie, and Harbin intrigued him.
"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" John asked. At her gesture, he said, "Harbin. He's an --" idiot, he was going to say but stopped himself just in time. He tried again. "He doesn't seem the best fit for you. What did you ever see in him?"
She laughed, but it was a hard sound, with rough edges and not much humor. "Halorians are started on the path as soon as they show signs of Ancient blood. My entire life, no one ever looked at me without thinking about that difference. It's lonely. Joseph looked at me and didn't just see someone different, someone on the path. He saw a person, a woman. It wasn't love."
Malla closed her eyes with a sigh. "But it eased the loneliness." She looked over at him with a resigned expression.
John's throat tightened and he found himself nodding.
She looked at him curiously. "You are like me -- is it lonely for you, as well?"
From anyone else, that would have been too nosy a question for John to touch. But he was the one who'd started with the personal questions; it was only fair. He thought for a moment, about coming to Atlantis, about finding a place to belong. He thought about Rodney and felt a smile spread over his face. "Not really."
"'Not really'?"
A little uncomfortable with how she'd turned the tables on him, John said, "No, I'm not lonely."
Her lips tightened, her expression enigmatic. "I'm happy for you. I wish Joseph--" She took a breath. "When you catch him..."
"We'll try not to hurt him," John reassured her. "It'll go easier for him if he gives himself up. If he's willing to give up the people he was working for, maybe we could make a deal."
She looked thoughtful. "If I see him, I will try to convince him. I wish... Well, it doesn't matter what I wish. You have your work to return to."
John reached out, but stopped before he touched her arm. "If this Lime knows you talked to me, you might be in danger. You'll probably need a guard."
Malla cut him off, shaking her head. "No Halorian would ever hurt me. Those with the Ancient blood are considered sacred. Protected. I am in no danger."
"Things might be a little different here, on Atlantis," John tried to argue, but she shook her head again.
"No, I need no guard." Her eyes were level, calm, and she steered him to the door.
He frowned, but allowed her to usher him out. "I suppose I can't force you to accept protection. If you're sure you're in no danger--"
"I am sure," Malla insisted.
He gave her a resigned look and paused at the door. "And, about Harbin. I am sorry."
Malla nodded and for the first time sounded bitter. "He is what he is. Not the worst of men, but not wise. Too quick to take the easy way."
John had just stepped out of Harbin's quarters when movement at the end of the corridor caught his eye. A man stood there, a man who took one look at John, then turned and ran.
"Harbin?" John yelled after him, and took off in pursuit.
John's prey was too far away to identify, but whoever it was, he was damn fast, leading John through corridor after corridor. The transporters were out of order here, just as they remained through half of Atlantis, and so they ran down stairs and ramps, deeper into Atlantis.
Damage from the war was everywhere in the city, but it was especially prominent here. Lights were on the blink, charred holes covered by plastic sheets or salvaged metal, whatever materials that had been on hand when yet another wave of refugees flooded through the 'gate.
People poked their heads out into the corridor, drawn by the noise. "Stop him," John yelled, but the man was too fast, slipping through the hands of a helpful bystander with ease. John nearly plowed into a little girl who wandered into his path, but stopped short just in time. He steadied her with one hand and then took off again.
His calves were burning, and he was starting to regret how often he chose a warm bed and Rodney over a morning run. While the chase had started in one of the inhabited residential sections, it continued down and down, through deserted sections where the damage to the city was at its worst.
The corridors here were filled with twisted metal and darkened lights. Harbin was heading down into the flooded sections of Atlantis. Dangerous and creepy, but John sure as hell wasn't turning back now.
*
John limped back to his quarters, trying not to shiver. He sighed in relief when he saw that Rodney wasn't home yet, since it meant that John didn't have to explain his current state quite yet. Bumping up the heat a few degrees with a thought, he sagged against the desk with a tired sigh and peeled off his filthy jacket. His wet shirt was next, and then he plodded over to the desk chair, boots squelching. He had to sit to work on the stubborn laces, tossing the wet boots into a corner, two loud thumps.
It had been a humiliating end to his goose chase, falling through a broken section of flooring in the damaged section of Atlantis where the chase had taken him. The darkness had hidden a gaping hole in the decking. John had hit it just wrong and fallen through to the flooded level below. He'd splashed down into cold, murky water, deep enough that he went completely under.
Disoriented and a little panicky, he'd lost track of which way was up for a frighteningly long time, the salt water burning his eyes and going up his nose. By the time he had struggled out, he was cold, wet, and bruised, and the man he had been chasing was long gone.
Moving into the bathroom, John was almost afraid to look in the mirror. The reflection made him grimace. There was blood on his forehead and a swelling bruise at his hairline. Gingerly parting his hair exposed a cut, from slamming his head onto the jagged metal edge when he fell though the deck.
John arched his back, kneading his lower back with the fingers of one hand. It felt like he'd pulled something there, and all of his muscles felt tight and sore. Tomorrow it'd feel even worse probably. He got into the shower, setting the water temperature hotter than normal to try to ease the aches. The pounding of the water on his back made him groan.
After the shower, he popped some ibuprofen and fell into bed. He was asleep almost immediately.
Rodney sliding into bed woke him up a few hours later. John made a sound, and Rodney muttered, "Sorry, sorry," and slid an apologetic hand over John's ribs. Over John's bruised, sore ribs, and he couldn't help the yelp that came out of his mouth.
"What the hell?" Rodney asked, and then the lights came on. Rodney wouldn't be Rodney if there hadn't then been strident questions and covers tugged off and John's T-shirt pulled up and a grim-faced Rodney having a fit over John's bruises and scrapes. Rodney was even more irate when he heard John's abbreviated explanation of what had happened.
"I thought you were through with getting hurt once we stopped going on off world missions. Why were you chasing after this guy all by yourself? And I can't believe you didn't go to the infirmary. The macho, stoic routine does not make you a sexy, sexy man, my friend."
"I was tired." John tried to say more, but Rodney cut him off.
"Tired? Tired? You moron. Too tired to worry about a cracked skull? John. John." Rodney's voice cracked on the second, urgent repetition of his name.
"Rodney, easy," John said, but Rodney was still talking, his voice high and strained.
"How many times, how many times have I almost lost you? I can't even count them all, and who really thought we'd win against the Wraith, and after all that, you might develop some slight sense of self-preservation."
There was only one way to deal with Rodney when he got like this. John pushed him bodily back onto the bed, pinning Rodney with his weight. "Damn it, John," Rodney protested, annoyed, but not pushing John away.
Mouthing Rodney's neck, John breathed in the smell of his skin. "I'm okay, Rodney. Easy. It's okay."
Rodney made a sound, a bitten-off humorless laugh. "For now," he said acidly, and then the anger seemed to just drain out him. He melted beneath John, sagging back into the mattress and sighed. "For now."
John kissed him, a kiss that was sloppy and wet and full of life. Rodney let out a growl and tried to pull his face away, but John persisted. Rodney finally responded, his hands gentle as they moved over John's ribs. Rodney pulled away, just enough to say, "You are such an asshole sometimes."
There was more affection there than anything, and John smiled down at him. "I know."
*
Harbin remained elusive, but otherwise John's investigation went much better after his wild goose chase down in the damaged lower levels of Atlantis.
Lorne turned up evidence connecting Harbin to the Halorian named Lime. "Electronic fund transfers," Lorne said, shoving a tablet PC into John's hands.
John looked at the file displayed, raising an eyebrow at the amounts listed. "Harbin didn't place a high price on his soul, did he?" he said in a disgusted tone.
Lorne shrugged, looking resigned. "It backs up the information you got from his girlfriend," he said. "Harbin was small fry. It's Lime we should be looking for."
"Good work, Lorne," John said. "And I agree. We don't forget about Harbin, but let's concentrate on Lime from here on."
Lime, it turned out, had his hand in many pots. They uncovered hints of a nascent business, arms shipments and drug smuggling mostly. The business was based mostly in the Genii sector, big surprise, but Lime had obviously expanded into the Atlantean sector with the drug theft from the infirmary.
It wasn't just Lime working mostly solo, either; there seemed to be a whole circle of Lime's friends involved.
John and his staff were working hard to firm up their evidence, when pursuing Lime became a moot point. Lime turned up dead in Genii territory.
"Brodsky, we'd like to participate in one of your cases. The death of a Halorian named Lime. We think it has ties to one of our ongoing investigations," Elizabeth asked at the next joint meeting.
"I'm afraid that's impossible." Brodsky's tight smile had no amusement in it, and his apologetic tone rang a little false. Brodsky started quoting the protocols at them, going on about Genii sovereignty in the Genii sector, but John didn't believe for a moment that it had anything to do with sovereignty. Brodsky was being intentionally obstructionist, and it made John fume. After the meeting, he railed at Elizabeth in frustration, but she shrugged helplessly.
"Our hands are tied, John. He's within his rights, according to the treaty," she said with a tired sigh.
After that, Brodsky claimed ignorance regarding the details of the case, referring John to the few available official files. John scoured the inquest report for juicy details. The gist of it seemed that Lime had been testing an Ancient device when it blew up on him. Considering Lime's history of peddling anything valuable, John read that as demonstrating an Ancient device to a potential buyer. Two of Lime's friends had dragged Lime as far as the corridor outside, where he'd then died.
It all sounded a little fishy to John, but he supposed it didn't matter if Lime had been taken out by an accident or if it had been an "accident" rigged to blow up in his face by his greedy colleagues. Lime was gone, that was what mattered.
He and Lorne attended Lime's death service, which was held on the mainland. It was the only line of investigation John could see still open, since Genii territory was closed to them.
They took a puddle jumper over to the mainland. John headed for the pilot's seat instinctively, but then he hesitated. "You want to take her over?" he offered reluctantly. Lorne had never flown anything until he arrived in the Pegasus galaxy, but he'd taken to it instantly. John knew he enjoyed taking the jumpers out.
Lorne shook his head, one corner of his mouth twitching as if suppressing a laugh. He gestured at the controls. "She's all yours."
John snatched at the opportunity. Post-war, he'd gotten to fly less and less, and the loss of it was as an almost physical pang. He let out a sigh of pure pleasure as he settled into the pilot's chair and put his hands on the controls. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lorne stifle a laugh and realized with a twinge of embarrassment that the movement of his hands on the sticks could fairly be called a caress.
"Been a while?" Lorne asked. His smile, indulgent rather than mocking, made John relax a little.
"Too damn long," John said with a sigh of relief. "Last time I was in a puddle jumper, I let Rodney fly."
Lorne nodded. "That's good," he said, not looking over at John. "You guys. Any trouble with the new personnel?" The tone was off-hand, deliberately casual. Underneath the surface calm, though, John sensed the dangerous potential that Lorne might unleash if John answered in the affirmative.
"No trouble," John said firmly as he took them out, and Lorne nodded.
Lorne had known about them way back when it could still have gotten them in trouble. When John had first moved in with Rodney, Lorne hadn't said much, respecting John's own silence on the subject, but his quiet acceptance had gone a long way to smoothing things with his men.
Flying them over felt great, easing the need for open sky around him that had been inside John for as long as he could remember. Sometimes he missed how things had been before the war, when he'd still gone off world, when he'd worked with Rodney almost daily, when he'd flown regularly.
Of course, every day they'd been risking a horrible and terrifying death at the hands of the Wraith (and how strange was it that it was Rodney's voice in his head for that thought), but it had been worth it.
Not even Rodney, John thought wryly as he brought the jumper in for the landing, could say I'm Captain Kirk now, that's for sure.
Going from intergalactic explorer to glorified baby-sitter for hundreds of refugees might be a little bit of a comedown (and John hoped that only Heightmeyer knew that he thought of it that way), but it was a job that needed doing, and it had fallen on him to do it. No use whining over it. One of the good things about the change in his status was the semi-regular schedule that let him synchronize his off time with Rodney.
When they arrived at the cemetery, John and Lorne split up, sandwiching the gravesite between them. He had always found Halorian funeral practices surprisingly unalien, with mourners gathering to inter the body into the ground. The body was wrapped in shrouds rather than encased in a coffin, and it always made John think of mummies and the old black and white horror flicks that Rodney loved.
John scoped out the mourners, hoping to get a line on Lime's friends and connections. It was a gray, cold day. An ugly day for a funeral, but there was a large number of people present.
Standing behind the crowd of mourners, John watched the wrapped form drop into the grave. There was a certain dark satisfaction in seeing it, but it wasn't as good as arresting Lime would have felt. It tied up a few things, although John wanted to nab some of Lime's accomplices, even Harbin, small fry that he was.
He glanced across the clearing at Lorne, who had a cynical frown on his face as he eyed the crowd. He'd been sticking to John like glue after John's misadventures chasing Harbin. John sensed Rodney's influence there somewhere, probably relayed through Elizabeth so as to smooth the whole chain of command thing.
A woman stood right next to the grave, shoulders heaving, her face in her hands. John watched her warily, a half-remembered story of Halorian mourners throwing themselves into the grave coming to mind, but she just stood there, sobbing.
When she finally lifted her red, tear-streaked face, John eyed her curiously. Her swollen eyes and pale face made her grief obvious, and John felt his face harden.
Lime didn't deserve it. It felt wrong for anyone to mourn for him that intensely. One of the kids who had died had been a war orphan with no family on Atlantis. Few of the mourners at her service had known her before she fell to the Wraith sickness. The grieving for her had been the distant, ineffectual emotion of strangers.
John had attended the service, and he had felt anger and guilt, but he hadn't wept. He'd regretted it, his own failure to shed tears, but he'd felt only numbness. It was the only thing that had gotten him through Afghanistan and the Wraith war with his sanity intact, that numbness. It wasn't something he could just cast aside.
A lone man, dressed in Halorian style, walked up to where John stood at the back of the crowd. Tall and gangly, he had naive features that hid nothing, and good looks starting to go to seed. He glanced at John, eyes dark in a baby round face.
As if sensing John's interest, he wandered over to ask, "Could you tell me, uh. Who's the..." He gestured towards the ceremony.
"A man called Lime," John said. The man's face went pale, creasing with lines of grief. John blinked at that: Lime barely deserved the grief of one mourner, much less two.
The Halorian moved on, pushing his way to the front of the crowd. John kept an eye on him through the entire time, his curiosity piqued.
Part 2 of 3
*Expanded A/N with character death warning: The story is set in a future Atlantis, post Wraith war. The war nearly destroyed Atlantis and resulted in the deaths of several characters, included Dr. Zelenka, Ronon Dex, and Dr. Simpson. Although Sergeant Paine dies at the end of the movie, Major Lorne (who is filling his shoes here) pulls through.
The Third Man
by Purna
NC-17
McKay/Sheppard, ~20,000 words
Spoilers through Season 2. Futurefic.
A/N: Thanks to lamardeuse for a speedy beta. It's difficult to improve on the collective genius of Graham Greene and Carol Reed. There are many lines of dialogue either adapted from or lifted directly from the movie. Scroll to the end of Part 1 for an expanded A/N section, with additional (spoilery) warnings.
Movie Prompt: The Third Man (1949)
Movie Summary:
Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten) arrives in a Vienna still shattered by WWII, expecting to meet his old friend Harry Lime. But Lime has apparently been accidentally killed, and Martins, too curious for his own good, hears contradictory stories about the circumstances of Lime’s death. Witnesses disappear or are murdered. Martins himself is chased by unknown assailants through the glamorously dark streets of Vienna. Complicating matters are the sardonic Major Calloway (Trevor Howard), head of the British forces, and Lime’s mistress, Anna Schmidt (Alida Valli).
The roles of Major Calloway and Sergeant Paine are filled here by Colonel Sheppard and Major Lorne respectively. A future Atlantis takes the place of Vienna.
The Third Man was written by Graham Greene and directed by Carol Reed. If you haven't had the chance to see it, I highly recommend the Criterion Collection DVD, which looks absolutely amazing and contains the longer, European version of the film (eleven minutes were cut from the American version on the orders of David Selznick, who wanted to soften the cynical tone of the film).
I'll warn you now, you asked for this. You're here for a story; I'll give you a story. It's an ugly one, and I doubt it's what General Landry had in mind when he sent you here. Some Atlantis PR crap.
A thousand journalists, a thousand articles -- it won't make the public any happier when they finally hear about SGC and the Pegasus galaxy and how close Earth came to being culled by the Wraith.
What? Yeah, we defeated the Wraith. Happy ending, right?
Not so fast, because it wasn't easy. Well, you saw the damage yourself; half the city's still in ruins.
We were on the brink too many times to count. Atlantis would have fallen, except for the Genii.
There was a price to pay, of course. There always is. A "strategic alliance." Yeah, right. A piece of Atlantis was what they wanted, even bombed and half-flooded as it was then. It might not have been the Atlantis from before the Wraith war, but we were better off than a lot of other worlds.
So now the Genii have their zone, and we've got ours, and refugees from a dozen worlds bounce between us. We patch them up, get them healthy, find them a planet for resettlement.
The Wraith sickness is the biggest problem, although even that's curable if we catch it in time. Thank God the Wraith sucked at creating bio weapons. You got the shots back at SGC, I hope.
It's curable, but you wouldn't like the experience. No, those are just rumors; the treatment drugs work. The deaths, those kids last year -- that was bad, but it wasn't the drugs that failed. It was us not catching the adulterated drug supply in time to save them.
Yeah, that's the ugly story I'm talking about. I guess I should start at the beginning.
*
"It's not your fault," Rodney said, wandering out of the bathroom, the words garbled by the toothbrush in his mouth. John looked up from his laptop, open on the desk in front of him. Rodney was in his boxers and an old, faded Air Force T-shirt, getting ready for bed.
With the hand not holding the toothbrush, Rodney scratched absently at his chest. The scar beneath his fingers wasn't visible, hidden underneath Rodney's shirt, but John knew it was there all the same.
Rodney stopped scratching, suddenly aware of John's gaze, and said thickly, "Don't be stupid. It's really, really not your fault." He wiped some of the toothpaste drool from his mouth with the back of his hand.
His eyes darted over John, pausing on his face, moving down to the jittery up and down movement of his right knee. John forced himself to stop fidgeting, feeling a little uncomfortable under Rodney's assessing gaze. That almost scary focus was usually concentrated on Ancient machinery or fixing some problem, but from the first, Rodney had seemed to see John as a puzzle of a different sort, requiring his attention.
Rodney's expectant expression called for an answer of some sort. "I went to visit the two kids today--" John found himself starting to say, before he bit back the words. He hadn't meant to talk about it. Hadn't wanted to lay all his crap onto Rodney, whose shoulders already carried the weight of bringing Atlantis back to life.
The kids -- it was awful, worse even than the ones who'd died. Still alive, but frozen in the middle of a horrible metamorphosis. It made him think of things he usually kept locked down tight, in the dark, shadowy basement of his head.
"Jeez, John," Rodney said, his blue eyes shadowed.
John dropped his gaze back down to the laptop screen. Paging listlessly through the infirmary personnel file, he avoided Rodney's eyes. He had thought he'd seemed calm, but he couldn't fool Rodney.
Rodney ducked back into the bathroom to rinse out his mouth and then moved over to stand behind him. Rodney leaned into him, draping his arms around John's neck from behind in a loose embrace.
"Snap out of it, Sheppard," he said into John's ear, his tone gentler than his words. "I know you. You've got a thing about guilt. You'd agonize over your contribution to Earth's global warming. Okay, maybe that's hyperbole," he added when John just looked at him. "But this? So not your fault."
"The black market--" is my fault, he meant to say, but Rodney cut him off.
"Cut it out." Rodney smacked a hand onto John's chest, sharp enough to sting. John jumped a little and shot Rodney a startled look. Rodney muttered, "Oh, great, domestic violence. We're turning into my parents."
He sighed, knowing Rodney was trying to distract him more than anything, but there was a faint undercurrent of something in Rodney's voice. Something a little dark that John couldn't quite decipher. "Easy there, Rodney," he said, in the affectionate tone that meant we're okay. Rodney shot him the look that meant you're an asshole, but I love you anyway.
A few years of them sleeping together and at some point John had realized that they'd started having entire conversations with a couple of looks. It was then he was pretty sure he was as close to married as he'd ever get. An obnoxious, smart-mouthed, brilliant scientist was the last person he'd ever expected to end up hitched to, but then again he'd never really expected to survive the Wraith war, either.
John pulled Rodney's face down to his, shutting Rodney up with his mouth, letting himself sink into the kiss. Kissing was almost as good a mood-enhancer as flying, and tasted better, minty, Rodney's tongue as eager and hot as the first time they'd done this.
It made him smile against Rodney's mouth. This was good at least, the two of them. It made something ache in his chest, ache in the best way, that after so long they still fit together so well, still couldn't get enough of each other.
He was twisted around in his chair, craning his neck to meet Rodney's mouth. It was awkward and made his neck hurt, but he didn't stop for a long time.
"Those kids -- I hate thinking about it," he admitted once he'd caught his breath, after the kissing had stopped.
Rodney's mouth turned down. "Carson's kicking himself because of his woefully inadequate inventory controls. He was treating a dozen Wraith sickness patients with tap water, and didn't even know it. It's amazing that any of them lived. Without treatment, the result is usually death."
"Except in the rare cases when it actually works the way the Wraith intended," John said, his voice hollow.
Rodney swallowed. "The transformation. Yeah. I don't like to think about that part. I know Carson doesn't ever talk about it -- who can blame him. It can't be a coincidence that the Wraith mimicked Carson's own strategy." He stopped short at John's look. "What? You know it's true."
John closed his eyes. "Can we not talk about that right now? Please?"
"Carson's working on it. Maybe he can change them back," Rodney said, after a long pause. His tone was softer; by now, Rodney knew when to push him and when to leave things alone.
John's lips tightened. "There's nothing he can do at this point. Those kids are as good as dead. I know, Rodney. I remember losing Zelenka and Ronon and Simpson. I remember coming this close to losing you."
Zelenka and Ronon had died outright, but Simpson. Simpson had not. John shuddered; he wasn't going there. He wasn't going to think about the fact that there were enough mercy killings on his conscience to last two lifetimes.
The infection had progressed much more slowly in Rodney. Beckett had devised an experimental treatment just barely in time to use him as a guinea pig, but the cure had been almost as deadly as the sickness, wreaking havoc on most of Rodney's organs. His heart had suffered the worst; Beckett had said a transplant would've been his only hope back on Earth. In the end, it'd been too close, another Pegasus galaxy hail mary, Beckett cracking Rodney's chest to implant the Ancient equivalent of an artificial heart.
John's hands were clenched so tightly they ached. He loosened them deliberately and looked up at Rodney. "I remember it all. I can't forget it."
Rodney kneaded the muscles of his shoulders, the touch almost painful. "I know you can't, John." Fingers brushed over John's ear, making him shiver. "There's plenty of guilt to pass around. The asshole that stole the drugs gets the lion's share. Don't try to take it all on yourself. Concentrate on figuring out what the hell happened."
He reached up to give Rodney's hand a quick squeeze, then moved to tap at the laptop's touchpad.
"Anyway," he said, trying to marshal his thoughts. "Some time after the last Earth shipment, someone stole the treatment drugs from the infirmary stock room."
He trailed off and swallowed. Thinking about the Wraith sickness was a bad enough, but it mixed uneasily with images from his own brush with the iratus bug, made him remember Michael and Beckett's bioweapon.
"Sheppard," Rodney said sharply. "You with me, here?"
Rodney's voice had an almost military snap to it that shook him out of it, and John rolled his eyes to hide his relief. He cleared his throat and said, "He or she substituted vials filled with saline, so that the theft would not be immediately noticed." His voice was only a little rough.
Rodney eyed him carefully and sounded thoughtful when he said, "Access, opportunity and the knowledge to select the right medicines: it all makes for an inside job, doesn't it?"
At John's look of surprise, Rodney said, "Hello, genius here." He sounded a little offended, waggling his fingers at his head. "It's just applied science, after all."
"And you're the man as far as science goes," he said wryly. He sobered, looking back at the file open on his laptop. "Carson doesn't want to think so, but it's one of his staff." He scrolled through the names of infirmary personnel. "Everyone on this list had access to the pharmacy inventory."
Sliding a hand inside the collar of John's shirt, Rodney pushed past John's dog tags to tweak a nipple. It made John sigh and close his eyes.
Rodney stole a kiss, quick, with just a hint of tongue. "You're tired. Deal with it tomorrow."
That night in bed, Rodney pushed him back onto the sheets and blew him. John's cock slid in deep, welcomed into Rodney's warm, wide mouth, and it felt like home. When he looked down, he couldn't help groaning at the sight: Rodney's mouth on him, his lips sliding wetly up and down John's cock.
Rodney looked up just then and paused as their eyes met. Heat and affection in Rodney's eyes mixed with a strange vulnerability that made John go a little lightheaded, his breath catching in a way that was close to pain. He reached down to slide a hand through Rodney's soft, fine hair.
"Jesus, Rodney," he said breathlessly, his voice almost breaking, and Rodney went back to what he was doing, taking him in deep again. There was no teasing, just a strong, no-frills suck that brought him off quickly. He thought about asking Rodney to fuck him, hard and fast, but Rodney looked too tired for anything fancy. Considering how beat John himself felt, it was just as well. He figured he'd never hear the end of it if he fell asleep in the middle of having sex.
He was still catching his breath when he reached over to wrap a hand around Rodney's cock. "This? Or do you want my mouth?" he asked.
Rodney was already thrusting up into John's fist. "This is good. God, that's good." John stripped Rodney's cock and watched Rodney's face.
They'd been together long enough that there wasn't much they hadn't done to and with each other, in and out of bed. But John always returned to this, his hand on Rodney's cock, like the first time they'd ever had sex. John had watched Rodney's face when he came that first time. He watched him now too, drinking in the sight: Rodney's head thrown back, mouth slack.
He slept after that, a little afraid that it'd be a nightmare night for him, that he'd be visited by half-Wraith children or return to the dark days of the Wraith war. Instead it was Rodney's turn, his ragged whimpers waking John in the middle of the night. "Radek," Rodney muttered. "Radek," he said again and then a shouted, "John."
John swallowed; it was a bad one. He shook Rodney out of the worst of it, sliding a reassuring hand over Rodney's belly. That soothed Rodney enough that he fell into a more peaceful sleep. Rodney shifted his position, settling closer to John, dropping a heavy arm across his chest.
Rodney didn't like to talk about his nightmares, but he'd let things slip every now and then. Rodney reacted poorly to darkness and enclosed spaces and knives, and John wondered how many times those things worked their way into his dreams. John also knew that in their years on Atlantis Rodney had racked up almost as many ghosts as John himself had. Gall and Griffin, and John's mind flinched as the list in his head stretched on and on.
Zelenka's death had nearly shattered Rodney. After that, he'd regularly worked himself to the point of exhaustion on the reconstruction efforts. It had taken John dragging him to the infirmary a few times and a close call on the cardiac front to break the self-destructive cycle. Survivor's guilt was endemic to Atlantis, Heightmeyer had told him once.
So many of their number had been lost, from the Wraith attacks, from the resulting flooding, and then from the bio-engineered sickness that the Wraith had released in the final days of the war. Mentioning any name from the list of the dead could silence a room faster than the appearance of one of their Genii "allies."
They wouldn't have won the war without the Genii, but John didn't have to like the resulting situation. He had to share Atlantis with the same people he'd once fought. Had to share space with people who'd killed his men, people who couldn't ever be trusted.
It made for an uneasy truce, an uneasy sharing of Atlantis' resources: 'gate time, Ancient knowledge, tech. John's hatred deepened every time Rodney went silent and tense around Colonel Brodsky, the Genii liaison officer, who looked so much like Kolya that John wondered if they were related. He had never bothered to ask, though. He didn't want to know the answer.
John's brain was starting to run in circles. When he got like this, he knew it would turn into a sleepless night. He wasn't wrong, and he lay there staring up at the ceiling, his only comfort Rodney's warmth along his side.
*
John met with Elizabeth the next morning in her office. He yawned, his eyes gritty with lack of sleep. He took one look at her tight face and knew it was bad. "What's wrong?"
"We've got to get to the bottom of this one fast, John. Dead kids tend to get people stirred up."
Her words triggered it: once again he back in the morgue, Carson's shaking hands pulling back the sheet to show small bodies, their muscles warped by the Wraith sickness. John's stomach tried to rebel, and he swallowed, hard, against the acid taste rising in his throat.
Elizabeth's hand on his shoulder brought him out of it. She'd gotten up from her desk without him even noticing. "John? Are you okay?" she said and he got the impression that it wasn't the first time she'd said his name.
He shook his head. "Sorry, Elizabeth. I'm just distracted. What was that?"
She eyed him with a disbelieving look, but didn't push it. "Rumors are flying among the refugee population: that it was no accident, that refugees get substandard medical attention."
"I'll talk to Teyla," John said. "The Athosians have connections there."
Elizabeth nodded. "And I've had SGC on my case already this morning. They want to know if the infirmary theft means the black market situation is beyond our control. They offered their 'help.' I'd prefer that they stay out of it, quite frankly, but I can't stall them for long."
John took a breath. "This is my fault. If I'd clamped down on the black market back when Caldwell told me to--"
"You mean if we had." Elizabeth shot him an exasperated look. "You weren't alone in that decision, John," she said, sounding a little harried. She covered her face with her hands, pressing the tips of her fingers to her forehead, as if to massage away a headache. She didn't drop her hands and when she spoke the words were a little muffled. "The black market seemed like the least of our worries at the time. We had the city to worry about, patching it up enough so that we didn't sink, Rodney driving himself to exhaustion."
John grimaced, remembering those frantic weeks. Everyone should have been celebrating, enjoying the victory over the Wraith. Instead, they all just had a different set of worries, a new and overwhelming set of tasks. The Marines and scientists that SGC had sent them had helped, but their inexperience had kept the burden on the veteran staff.
Elizabeth dropped her hands and looked over at him, her eyes tired. "Refugees were still pouring in through the 'gate from all over the galaxy, needing shelter, food, and medical attention. We were just getting used to the Genii having control of their sector of Atlantis. Bootleg DVDs and scavenged fuel cells and illegal alcohol? That was at the bottom of our list of priorities."
John's headset interrupted her. "Colonel Sheppard." It was Carson. He glanced over at Elizabeth, who gestured at him to take the call.
"Yeah, Carson?"
"One of my orderlies didn't show up for work today. Joseph Harbin's his name. No answer to radio calls, and he's not in his quarters."
John relayed the information to Elizabeth, and her eyebrow went up enquiringly. Her eyes were dark when he met her gaze.
John asked, "Harbin had access to the stock room?"
Carson laughed, the bitterness obvious even over the crappy audio of the headset. "Aye, he did, John. You were right, I'm afraid. I was a trusting fool. It was one my own staff."
"We don't know that for sure, Carson. And you're not a fool." Carson had somehow managed to keep a little of his trusting nature through the Wraith war. John wondered if this was the straw that broke that camel's back, that turned him into a cynic like the rest of them.
Carson signed off without a word, and John sighed. He relayed the gist of the conversation to Elizabeth.
"Harbin," Elizabeth said, leaning back in her chair. "Do you think he was alone in this?"
John rubbed the back of neck and was silent a moment, thinking. "Doubtful. The market for the drugs would be in the refugee population. Harbin probably wouldn't have the connections to peddle the drugs by himself."
Elizabeth's lips pressed together. "That's what I was afraid of. Go easy, John. If we look like we're targeting refugees unfairly--"
He held up a hand. "I got it. I'll be careful. Their trust in us is fragile. I'll do my best not to damage it."
She gave him a short nod, her gaze thoughtful.
"I've got Harbin's file on my laptop," John said absently. "I'll look at it again after this. Maybe go check out his quarters."
"Be careful, John. Harbin knows he'll have to answer for murder when we catch up to him. That makes him dangerous."
"I know," John said, standing up from his chair. "He'll be untrained and unpredictable. I'll keep that in mind."
Elizabeth gave him a strained smile. He was at the door when she spoke again. "Just think of Rodney's reaction if you let yourself get hurt."
John paused, turning his head. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "He'd be unbearable, wouldn't he? Don't worry; I'm domesticated now."
Elizabeth's laugh of disbelief followed him out into the corridor.
*
John was nearly to his office when a voice stopped him. "Colonel Sheppard. A word with you."
He froze and turned around, a neutral expression firmly planted on his face. "Colonel Brodsky."
The Genii's face was as unreadable as always, but John swore he heard a trace of triumph when he spoke. "I've heard the Atlanteans have had troubles. A theft from the medical supply."
John took a breath. "Word gets around fast."
Brodsky nodded, his eyes cold. "This black market -- it is the result of your inefficient policing methods. The Atlanteans are too lenient. I offer again the expertise of the Genii in the matter of security. The situation wants control. The refugees strain the city."
John couldn't stop the frown that took over his face. "Allowing the refugees to stay was part of the treaty your people signed. Not really negotiable now. As for your offer -- that is...generous of you, Colonel. It's not necessary, however. You have your sector. We have ours. There's an old expression on Earth. Good fences make good neighbors. Don't you agree?"
Brodsky grunted, a flicker of displeasure crossing his face. "Hmm. The Genii have a saying, too. My neighbor's troubles become my own. The Genii will swiftly deal with any troubles that spill over from your side of the city. Is that clear enough for you?"
John forced himself to smile pleasantly at the Genii. "Very clear, Colonel Brodsky. The situation is under control."
Brodsky gave him a dubious look, then straightened. His head dipped in a sharp nod, and John sketched a salute in return, one eyebrow raised sarcastically. He could've sworn Brodsky's heels actually clicked together when he turned away to head back to Genii territory.
John walked on, frowning. He'd have to warn Elizabeth that the Genii were sniffing for weaknesses. They were reliable at least: any situation became an opportunity for them to acquire more control. Their ultimate goal was complete control of Atlantis, John was sure of it. Even as damaged as she was, Atlantis provided her owner with considerable power. The Genii didn't like to share. But frankly, neither did John.
*
Harbin had a Halorian girlfriend who wasn't pleased when John came calling at Harbin's quarters. She cracked the door open with a wary look in her eye. "He's not here."
"Do you know where he is?" John asked. He tried out his best easy smile and hoped the expression made it into his eyes.
She wasn't impressed, leaning against the doorjamb. He looked down and rubbed at the back of his neck. Rodney called it his aw shucks look, and it usually worked scarily well, but not this time. She started to close the door in his face.
Open, John thought, and sighed in relief when the door responded to him. The damage during the war had been extensive. Now whole sections of the city failed to respond to him. John avoided those sections; it felt too much like being trapped inside a dead thing.
"You have the Ancient blood." She was staring at him with odd, unfocused eyes. "You were on the path to Ascension. I was once on that path as well."
"Huh," was all John could manage at first. "Really?" he said as a follow up. He figured he got a pass for the lame response. He was still stuck on how often he ran into Ascended and wannabe-Ascended women, and how they tended to be kind of creepy. Too much navel-gazing, he decided.
"You have found peace off the path," she said.
Peace? John thought incredulously, but she was still talking. "That is my goal as well." Her expression reminded John of how Teer had looked when she talked about her visions. It made the hairs on the back of John's neck prickle.
She stepped back. "Come inside."
John felt more like running away, but he followed her inside, his smile fading. "Uh. It was sort of an accident, me doing the whole Ascension thing. Didn't get very far with it."
She smiled at him, a little wistfully. "I am Malla. I started on the path as a child. Along the way, you develop--"
"Interesting talents," John interrupted, holding up a hand. "Yeah, so I've heard. Listen--"
She cut him off; her eyes had gone a little spooky again. "Poor, weak Joseph. What has he done? It's bad, isn't it?"
Blinking at the sudden shift in topic, John didn't say anything for a second. "It's bad. He stole drugs from the infirmary. Drugs to treat the Wraith sickness."
Malla went white, closing her eyes. "Oh, Joseph," she said. She opened her eyes. "It wasn't his idea. I know it wasn't. This is my fault, really."
"How so?" John asked curiously.
"I was the one who introduced him around the Halorian quarter. That's where he met them." She sat down on the couch, her feet tucked up underneath her.
John shook his head when she waved vaguely at two stuffed chairs that sat across from the couch.
"Them?" he asked.
Her hands twisted together in a washing movement that reminded him of one of Rodney's old nervous habits. She closed her eyes and sighed. "The men Joseph got involved with. They're Halorian. They are not good men. They scavenge and steal, and sell things that are illegal."
"Do you know names?" He asked the question cautiously, hoping she'd continue being talkative a little longer.
She opened her eyes and looked over at him for a long, silent moment, her eyes so dark they were almost black. John tried not to squirm under that unsettling gaze. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision.
"One of them was a man named Lime," she said. "I don't know the names of the others. I'm sorry."
John asked a few more questions, but she didn't know anything more. He was about to wrap it up, but the connection between this detached woman, strong and honorable and a little eerie, and Harbin intrigued him.
"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" John asked. At her gesture, he said, "Harbin. He's an --" idiot, he was going to say but stopped himself just in time. He tried again. "He doesn't seem the best fit for you. What did you ever see in him?"
She laughed, but it was a hard sound, with rough edges and not much humor. "Halorians are started on the path as soon as they show signs of Ancient blood. My entire life, no one ever looked at me without thinking about that difference. It's lonely. Joseph looked at me and didn't just see someone different, someone on the path. He saw a person, a woman. It wasn't love."
Malla closed her eyes with a sigh. "But it eased the loneliness." She looked over at him with a resigned expression.
John's throat tightened and he found himself nodding.
She looked at him curiously. "You are like me -- is it lonely for you, as well?"
From anyone else, that would have been too nosy a question for John to touch. But he was the one who'd started with the personal questions; it was only fair. He thought for a moment, about coming to Atlantis, about finding a place to belong. He thought about Rodney and felt a smile spread over his face. "Not really."
"'Not really'?"
A little uncomfortable with how she'd turned the tables on him, John said, "No, I'm not lonely."
Her lips tightened, her expression enigmatic. "I'm happy for you. I wish Joseph--" She took a breath. "When you catch him..."
"We'll try not to hurt him," John reassured her. "It'll go easier for him if he gives himself up. If he's willing to give up the people he was working for, maybe we could make a deal."
She looked thoughtful. "If I see him, I will try to convince him. I wish... Well, it doesn't matter what I wish. You have your work to return to."
John reached out, but stopped before he touched her arm. "If this Lime knows you talked to me, you might be in danger. You'll probably need a guard."
Malla cut him off, shaking her head. "No Halorian would ever hurt me. Those with the Ancient blood are considered sacred. Protected. I am in no danger."
"Things might be a little different here, on Atlantis," John tried to argue, but she shook her head again.
"No, I need no guard." Her eyes were level, calm, and she steered him to the door.
He frowned, but allowed her to usher him out. "I suppose I can't force you to accept protection. If you're sure you're in no danger--"
"I am sure," Malla insisted.
He gave her a resigned look and paused at the door. "And, about Harbin. I am sorry."
Malla nodded and for the first time sounded bitter. "He is what he is. Not the worst of men, but not wise. Too quick to take the easy way."
John had just stepped out of Harbin's quarters when movement at the end of the corridor caught his eye. A man stood there, a man who took one look at John, then turned and ran.
"Harbin?" John yelled after him, and took off in pursuit.
John's prey was too far away to identify, but whoever it was, he was damn fast, leading John through corridor after corridor. The transporters were out of order here, just as they remained through half of Atlantis, and so they ran down stairs and ramps, deeper into Atlantis.
Damage from the war was everywhere in the city, but it was especially prominent here. Lights were on the blink, charred holes covered by plastic sheets or salvaged metal, whatever materials that had been on hand when yet another wave of refugees flooded through the 'gate.
People poked their heads out into the corridor, drawn by the noise. "Stop him," John yelled, but the man was too fast, slipping through the hands of a helpful bystander with ease. John nearly plowed into a little girl who wandered into his path, but stopped short just in time. He steadied her with one hand and then took off again.
His calves were burning, and he was starting to regret how often he chose a warm bed and Rodney over a morning run. While the chase had started in one of the inhabited residential sections, it continued down and down, through deserted sections where the damage to the city was at its worst.
The corridors here were filled with twisted metal and darkened lights. Harbin was heading down into the flooded sections of Atlantis. Dangerous and creepy, but John sure as hell wasn't turning back now.
*
John limped back to his quarters, trying not to shiver. He sighed in relief when he saw that Rodney wasn't home yet, since it meant that John didn't have to explain his current state quite yet. Bumping up the heat a few degrees with a thought, he sagged against the desk with a tired sigh and peeled off his filthy jacket. His wet shirt was next, and then he plodded over to the desk chair, boots squelching. He had to sit to work on the stubborn laces, tossing the wet boots into a corner, two loud thumps.
It had been a humiliating end to his goose chase, falling through a broken section of flooring in the damaged section of Atlantis where the chase had taken him. The darkness had hidden a gaping hole in the decking. John had hit it just wrong and fallen through to the flooded level below. He'd splashed down into cold, murky water, deep enough that he went completely under.
Disoriented and a little panicky, he'd lost track of which way was up for a frighteningly long time, the salt water burning his eyes and going up his nose. By the time he had struggled out, he was cold, wet, and bruised, and the man he had been chasing was long gone.
Moving into the bathroom, John was almost afraid to look in the mirror. The reflection made him grimace. There was blood on his forehead and a swelling bruise at his hairline. Gingerly parting his hair exposed a cut, from slamming his head onto the jagged metal edge when he fell though the deck.
John arched his back, kneading his lower back with the fingers of one hand. It felt like he'd pulled something there, and all of his muscles felt tight and sore. Tomorrow it'd feel even worse probably. He got into the shower, setting the water temperature hotter than normal to try to ease the aches. The pounding of the water on his back made him groan.
After the shower, he popped some ibuprofen and fell into bed. He was asleep almost immediately.
Rodney sliding into bed woke him up a few hours later. John made a sound, and Rodney muttered, "Sorry, sorry," and slid an apologetic hand over John's ribs. Over John's bruised, sore ribs, and he couldn't help the yelp that came out of his mouth.
"What the hell?" Rodney asked, and then the lights came on. Rodney wouldn't be Rodney if there hadn't then been strident questions and covers tugged off and John's T-shirt pulled up and a grim-faced Rodney having a fit over John's bruises and scrapes. Rodney was even more irate when he heard John's abbreviated explanation of what had happened.
"I thought you were through with getting hurt once we stopped going on off world missions. Why were you chasing after this guy all by yourself? And I can't believe you didn't go to the infirmary. The macho, stoic routine does not make you a sexy, sexy man, my friend."
"I was tired." John tried to say more, but Rodney cut him off.
"Tired? Tired? You moron. Too tired to worry about a cracked skull? John. John." Rodney's voice cracked on the second, urgent repetition of his name.
"Rodney, easy," John said, but Rodney was still talking, his voice high and strained.
"How many times, how many times have I almost lost you? I can't even count them all, and who really thought we'd win against the Wraith, and after all that, you might develop some slight sense of self-preservation."
There was only one way to deal with Rodney when he got like this. John pushed him bodily back onto the bed, pinning Rodney with his weight. "Damn it, John," Rodney protested, annoyed, but not pushing John away.
Mouthing Rodney's neck, John breathed in the smell of his skin. "I'm okay, Rodney. Easy. It's okay."
Rodney made a sound, a bitten-off humorless laugh. "For now," he said acidly, and then the anger seemed to just drain out him. He melted beneath John, sagging back into the mattress and sighed. "For now."
John kissed him, a kiss that was sloppy and wet and full of life. Rodney let out a growl and tried to pull his face away, but John persisted. Rodney finally responded, his hands gentle as they moved over John's ribs. Rodney pulled away, just enough to say, "You are such an asshole sometimes."
There was more affection there than anything, and John smiled down at him. "I know."
*
Harbin remained elusive, but otherwise John's investigation went much better after his wild goose chase down in the damaged lower levels of Atlantis.
Lorne turned up evidence connecting Harbin to the Halorian named Lime. "Electronic fund transfers," Lorne said, shoving a tablet PC into John's hands.
John looked at the file displayed, raising an eyebrow at the amounts listed. "Harbin didn't place a high price on his soul, did he?" he said in a disgusted tone.
Lorne shrugged, looking resigned. "It backs up the information you got from his girlfriend," he said. "Harbin was small fry. It's Lime we should be looking for."
"Good work, Lorne," John said. "And I agree. We don't forget about Harbin, but let's concentrate on Lime from here on."
Lime, it turned out, had his hand in many pots. They uncovered hints of a nascent business, arms shipments and drug smuggling mostly. The business was based mostly in the Genii sector, big surprise, but Lime had obviously expanded into the Atlantean sector with the drug theft from the infirmary.
It wasn't just Lime working mostly solo, either; there seemed to be a whole circle of Lime's friends involved.
John and his staff were working hard to firm up their evidence, when pursuing Lime became a moot point. Lime turned up dead in Genii territory.
"Brodsky, we'd like to participate in one of your cases. The death of a Halorian named Lime. We think it has ties to one of our ongoing investigations," Elizabeth asked at the next joint meeting.
"I'm afraid that's impossible." Brodsky's tight smile had no amusement in it, and his apologetic tone rang a little false. Brodsky started quoting the protocols at them, going on about Genii sovereignty in the Genii sector, but John didn't believe for a moment that it had anything to do with sovereignty. Brodsky was being intentionally obstructionist, and it made John fume. After the meeting, he railed at Elizabeth in frustration, but she shrugged helplessly.
"Our hands are tied, John. He's within his rights, according to the treaty," she said with a tired sigh.
After that, Brodsky claimed ignorance regarding the details of the case, referring John to the few available official files. John scoured the inquest report for juicy details. The gist of it seemed that Lime had been testing an Ancient device when it blew up on him. Considering Lime's history of peddling anything valuable, John read that as demonstrating an Ancient device to a potential buyer. Two of Lime's friends had dragged Lime as far as the corridor outside, where he'd then died.
It all sounded a little fishy to John, but he supposed it didn't matter if Lime had been taken out by an accident or if it had been an "accident" rigged to blow up in his face by his greedy colleagues. Lime was gone, that was what mattered.
He and Lorne attended Lime's death service, which was held on the mainland. It was the only line of investigation John could see still open, since Genii territory was closed to them.
They took a puddle jumper over to the mainland. John headed for the pilot's seat instinctively, but then he hesitated. "You want to take her over?" he offered reluctantly. Lorne had never flown anything until he arrived in the Pegasus galaxy, but he'd taken to it instantly. John knew he enjoyed taking the jumpers out.
Lorne shook his head, one corner of his mouth twitching as if suppressing a laugh. He gestured at the controls. "She's all yours."
John snatched at the opportunity. Post-war, he'd gotten to fly less and less, and the loss of it was as an almost physical pang. He let out a sigh of pure pleasure as he settled into the pilot's chair and put his hands on the controls. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lorne stifle a laugh and realized with a twinge of embarrassment that the movement of his hands on the sticks could fairly be called a caress.
"Been a while?" Lorne asked. His smile, indulgent rather than mocking, made John relax a little.
"Too damn long," John said with a sigh of relief. "Last time I was in a puddle jumper, I let Rodney fly."
Lorne nodded. "That's good," he said, not looking over at John. "You guys. Any trouble with the new personnel?" The tone was off-hand, deliberately casual. Underneath the surface calm, though, John sensed the dangerous potential that Lorne might unleash if John answered in the affirmative.
"No trouble," John said firmly as he took them out, and Lorne nodded.
Lorne had known about them way back when it could still have gotten them in trouble. When John had first moved in with Rodney, Lorne hadn't said much, respecting John's own silence on the subject, but his quiet acceptance had gone a long way to smoothing things with his men.
Flying them over felt great, easing the need for open sky around him that had been inside John for as long as he could remember. Sometimes he missed how things had been before the war, when he'd still gone off world, when he'd worked with Rodney almost daily, when he'd flown regularly.
Of course, every day they'd been risking a horrible and terrifying death at the hands of the Wraith (and how strange was it that it was Rodney's voice in his head for that thought), but it had been worth it.
Not even Rodney, John thought wryly as he brought the jumper in for the landing, could say I'm Captain Kirk now, that's for sure.
Going from intergalactic explorer to glorified baby-sitter for hundreds of refugees might be a little bit of a comedown (and John hoped that only Heightmeyer knew that he thought of it that way), but it was a job that needed doing, and it had fallen on him to do it. No use whining over it. One of the good things about the change in his status was the semi-regular schedule that let him synchronize his off time with Rodney.
When they arrived at the cemetery, John and Lorne split up, sandwiching the gravesite between them. He had always found Halorian funeral practices surprisingly unalien, with mourners gathering to inter the body into the ground. The body was wrapped in shrouds rather than encased in a coffin, and it always made John think of mummies and the old black and white horror flicks that Rodney loved.
John scoped out the mourners, hoping to get a line on Lime's friends and connections. It was a gray, cold day. An ugly day for a funeral, but there was a large number of people present.
Standing behind the crowd of mourners, John watched the wrapped form drop into the grave. There was a certain dark satisfaction in seeing it, but it wasn't as good as arresting Lime would have felt. It tied up a few things, although John wanted to nab some of Lime's accomplices, even Harbin, small fry that he was.
He glanced across the clearing at Lorne, who had a cynical frown on his face as he eyed the crowd. He'd been sticking to John like glue after John's misadventures chasing Harbin. John sensed Rodney's influence there somewhere, probably relayed through Elizabeth so as to smooth the whole chain of command thing.
A woman stood right next to the grave, shoulders heaving, her face in her hands. John watched her warily, a half-remembered story of Halorian mourners throwing themselves into the grave coming to mind, but she just stood there, sobbing.
When she finally lifted her red, tear-streaked face, John eyed her curiously. Her swollen eyes and pale face made her grief obvious, and John felt his face harden.
Lime didn't deserve it. It felt wrong for anyone to mourn for him that intensely. One of the kids who had died had been a war orphan with no family on Atlantis. Few of the mourners at her service had known her before she fell to the Wraith sickness. The grieving for her had been the distant, ineffectual emotion of strangers.
John had attended the service, and he had felt anger and guilt, but he hadn't wept. He'd regretted it, his own failure to shed tears, but he'd felt only numbness. It was the only thing that had gotten him through Afghanistan and the Wraith war with his sanity intact, that numbness. It wasn't something he could just cast aside.
A lone man, dressed in Halorian style, walked up to where John stood at the back of the crowd. Tall and gangly, he had naive features that hid nothing, and good looks starting to go to seed. He glanced at John, eyes dark in a baby round face.
As if sensing John's interest, he wandered over to ask, "Could you tell me, uh. Who's the..." He gestured towards the ceremony.
"A man called Lime," John said. The man's face went pale, creasing with lines of grief. John blinked at that: Lime barely deserved the grief of one mourner, much less two.
The Halorian moved on, pushing his way to the front of the crowd. John kept an eye on him through the entire time, his curiosity piqued.
Part 2 of 3
*Expanded A/N with character death warning: The story is set in a future Atlantis, post Wraith war. The war nearly destroyed Atlantis and resulted in the deaths of several characters, included Dr. Zelenka, Ronon Dex, and Dr. Simpson. Although Sergeant Paine dies at the end of the movie, Major Lorne (who is filling his shoes here) pulls through.