Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

The soul gyrfalcon showed up on a Tuesday morning.

It was perched on the windowsill opposite his bed, the morning sunlight providing it with a natural backlight.  The silver white feathers and black markings of its body glimmered ethereally.  A couple of feathers stuck up on its head, ruining the sleek shape but somehow being just right.

It peered at Marshall with piercing amber eyes.

Marshall rubbed a hand over his face and stared at the soul-bird, the spiritual representation of his soulmate. 

“Now?” he muttered.  “You’re turning up now?”

The gyrfalcon stretched its wings, cocked its head and settled with a shake of its feathers back into its original pose.  It was as good as a laconic shrug of the shoulders.

The universe was laughing at him, Marshall considered tiredly.  He was forty-eight years old.  His daughter had graduated from college the year before and married her soulmate match, Lucy, a Philosophy major.  His youngest son was in his final year at Yale; his eldest already a Lieutenant assigned to SG20.  He’d buried his wife, Elena, two years before.  He was too old to get a soulmate.  Wasn’t he?

He sighed.

He knew there were older matches – people finding their soulmates late in life.  He’d just never thought it would happen to him. 

He stared at the bird.

Everybody knew the lore.  He knew the bird showing up meant he was due to meet his soulmate; that it would lead him to them.  He wondered briefly whether his own soul animal was cosied up with said soulmate at that moment and felt a wistful pang at the thought.  He shook it away, and focused on the possibility of meeting his soulmate.

P4X629 was the latest Beta site for Earth and the Stargate programme.  The site was their training ground, both for their new SG teams and the new F-wing pilots.  It didn’t get a lot of people traffic.

Bird soul-animal.

Probably a pilot.

Marshall grimaced.  They were due to get a new cohort of pilots for training the following week.  Maybe his soulmate would be part of that group.   

God, Marshall thought, rubbing a hand over his heated face, he really was too old for this shit.

He pushed back the covers and clambered out of bed.  He tossed the bird another disgruntled look as he headed to the small shower room his position as commander of the Beta site afforded him. 

The water pressure was terrible, but the lacklustre stream was hot.  He washed up quickly, focusing on his ablutions as he made his way through his typical morning routine.  Fifteen minutes later he was out of the bathroom and dressed in his fatigues.  He strapped on his watch, knife and gun. 

He was testing the laces on his boots when his radio crackled with a request for him to respond.  “Sumner.”

“Colonel, we have an unscheduled wormhole from Earth,” the Marine in the gate-room reported crisply.

“On my way,” Marshall snatched his cap up and was out of his barracks without another look at the bird.

Half-way there Bates fell into step beside him.  “Morning, Colonel.”

“Sergeant,” Marshall gave him a brisk nod, relieved that the bird hadn’t followed him.  It wasn’t something he wanted to explain.

Bates was a good Marine.  Competent, steady.  He was the highest ranked enlisted on the base.  Marshall was glad he’d been able to use their previous service together to tip Bates’ assignment to him the year before.  He hid his smirk, remembering Dillon Everett’s dismay at losing Bates from his Expedition.

Marshall entered the underground bunker that served as Beta’s gate-room at a clip.  The electric feel of an open wormhole swept over Marshall’s skin even though the bulk of it was hidden behind the titanium iris.  The energy from an open wormhole was unique, there was nothing else in the universe quite like it.

He strode over to the bank of computers on the far right-hand side.  The monitor was already displaying a feed.

Colonel Malcolm Reynolds stared back at him through the lens.  Reynolds looked every inch an experienced Marine Colonel; fatigues were sharp, hair was neat, expression was calm and stoic, not giving anything away.  “Colonel Sumner.”

“Colonel,” Marshall said crisply.  “We weren’t expecting a transmission this morning.”

“General O’Neill is recalling you to the SGC with immediate effect, Colonel,” Reynolds informed him briskly.  “Your new orders are being transmitted now.  Lieutenant Colonel Telford is to take over Beta command from you as an interim measure.  You’re to be back on Earth within the next sixty.”

“Understood,” Marshall swallowed down the dozen questions he wanted to ask about why.  “We’ll redial in forty.”

Reynolds gave a nod and the transmission cut out.

Marshall was instantly issuing orders, already moving, his mind racing with what he had to accomplish.  He shoved the matter of his soulmate to the back of his mind and focused on getting himself sorted.

Forty minutes wasn’t long, but Marshall made his own deadline, boots landing firmly on the ramp in Cheyenne mountain in a timely fashion.  He suffered through a medical exam with a doctor he didn’t recognise and made his way to the General’s office.

Reynolds was behind the desk.  “Colonel.”  He waved him inside the room.  “Close the door and take a seat.”

Marshall pressed his lips together but followed the order.  He stared across the desk.  “Colonel.”

Reynolds grimaced.  “General Hammond had a heart attack yesterday afternoon.  He’s alive, recovering in Bethesda.”

Marshall allowed his own wince to travel over his features.  Hammond was a damned good CO, and a good man. He hoped that he made a full recovery.

“O’Neill left for Washington last night with Carter and Jackson,” Reynolds continued.  “The President has appointed him as Interim Head of Homeworld Security.”

An interim appointment which would likely stick as permanent.  It was no wonder he’d been recalled, Marshall thought absently. 

“Where am I needed?”

Reynolds sighed.  “The Prometheus is waiting on my order to beam you directly to Washington to be briefed by the General and SG1.”  He gave a small shrug.  “I can guess why the General wants you, Marshall, but I don’t want to speculate.”

“You’re not going to even give me a hint, Mal?” teased Marshall, noting the shift to informality.

Reynolds allowed a smile.  “Let’s just say if it’s what I think it is, I’m glad I’m not you.”

“Thanks for nothing,” Marshall quipped.  “You’re not even going to give me a hint?”

Reynolds tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, Hammond was in a meeting with the IOA about Atlantis when he had the heart attack.”

Marshall frowned. 

Atlantis.

He’d had the option of leading the military contingent of the Expedition.  He’d declined.  He hadn’t been impressed with Elizabeth Weir when she’d ran the SGC briefly, and he had no inclination to work with her that closely.  He’d toasted condolences with Dillon on his appointment as the military commander.

“I didn’t see anything about the Expedition in dispatches,” Marshall commented quietly.

“They made contact a few weeks ago,” Reynolds said.  “Basically, they sent a SOS.  We managed to get them help thanks to finding a ZPM in Egypt.  All the senior staff were ordered back for a debrief.”

That meant Dillon was back on planet.  Marshall hoped Dillon had time for a steak dinner, even if the debrief took priority. 

And a debrief meant a full review of what had happened with the Expedition.  Marshall tightened his jaw as he considered the implications of his recall. 

Reynolds gestured at him and they both stood.  Reynolds tapped his earpiece and gave the order.  Marshall steeled himself for the rush of the transport beam.

He found himself briefly on the bridge of the Prometheus where another young Lieutenant Colonel gave him a brisk salute before ordering the beaming to Washington.

Marshall reappeared in an empty office.

It was a nice office; a decent oak desk had been placed to one side, shelving units behind which were empty.  There was a closed laptop on the desk.

Marshall turned at the sound of footsteps and wasn’t surprised when O’Neill barrelled into the room.  He twitched a little at the sight of O’Neill in service blues; O’Neill hated wearing them and the sight of O’Neill in them was disconcerting. 

“Glad you could make it, Colonel,” O’Neill drawled.  He snatched up a phone on the desk.  “Davis, where is…” he stopped and tapped the laptop.  “Right.  I knew that.”

Marshall controlled himself enough not to raise an eyebrow.

O’Neill slapped the receiver down and pushed the laptop across the desk.  “It’s for you.  Your usual passwords will work.  Read everything on there.  I’ll be back when you’re done.”

“General,” Marshall said as O’Neill turned to leave again.  “If I could ask…”

“I need an experienced Marine to look over everything without prejudice,” O’Neill cut in.  “Ask me when you’re done.”

O’Neill walked out before Marshall could say anything else.  He turned to the laptop and picked it up.  He sat down in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair and switched it on.

A sharp rap on the door had him instantly turning to see who it was.

A young officer stood in the doorway in SG fatigues, awkwardly holding a tea-tray.  His café latte complexion was flushed pink.  “The General ordered you refreshments, Colonel.”

“Thank you.  Put it on the desk, Lieutenant,” Marshall said.  He briefly flicked his gaze to the name stitched on the uniform: Ford. 

He waited until the green-as-grass Lieutenant was gone before he turned his attention back to the laptop. 

A small cry snagged his attention.

Marshall looked up to find the gyrfalcon perched on the back of the chair behind the desk.

His heart pounded a touch at its reappearance.  He figured that his reassignment and the appearance of his soulmate’s spiritual animal were the opposite of a coincidence.  He pressed his lips together.  There was only one way to find out what was going on; he needed to read whatever the hell was on the laptop.

He tapped in his password and pressed enter.  The logo of the Atlantis expedition filled the screen and the desktop began to fill with folder after folder.

Marshall sighed.  It was going to be a long day.

o-O-o

John startled into wakefulness, a gasp for breath echoing around his small room.

He sat up in the thin Atlantean bed and rubbed a hand over his face, through his hair, trying to get rid of the nightmare memories he’d been reliving in his dreams. 

The remembered panic of the battle for Atlantis prickled over his skin, the drone of the Wraith ships converging on the city, the sounds of their attack.  He shivered from phantom blows; he’d had to fight his way through the corridors, too close hand-to-hand fights peppered by the sharp retort of gunfire as the cavalry had arrived.  He closed his eyes as though he could block the sight of the bodies drained and lifeless that haunted his mind. 

The flight to take out the Wraith ship; the silence in the puddlejumper and the knowledge it was a one-way trip in his bones flashed through him.  He would have given his life to save the city.  He still would.  But he’d appreciated the last minute save from the Daedalus, the feel of the beam snatching him away to safety.

John felt the brush of the city’s presence against his mind like the comforting touch of his mother’s hand.  It was stronger than usual, augmented with the power from the ZPM they’d installed. 

I’m alright, he assured her.  A faint sense of disbelief resonated through him and made him smile.

I will be, he amended. 

He reached for his comms earpiece and inserted it briskly.  He tapped it.  “Sheppard to Ops.”

“Ops here, Major,” the calm tone of one of the technicians.

John didn’t recognise her voice.  He swallowed the dislike of not knowing the technician.  He’d gotten used to knowing everyone on Atlantis.  With the arrival of the Daedalus and the return of some of the Expedition to Earth, there were a number of new faces and voices.

“Check in,” John ordered, pushing the covers back and shifting to sit on the edge of the bed.

“All clear, sir,” the technician confirmed.

“Thank you,” John said quietly.  “Sheppard out.”  He checked the time and grimaced.  He had to be up in two hours. 

He rubbed his hands furiously over his face again and plucked at his damp t-shirt, and decided against changing it.  He pushed off the bed and reached for his running shoes.  He strapped on his wrist-watch, his band went over his other wrist, and he headed out.

He stretched outside of his quarters before taking off at a light jog, following his usual route.  He let the rhythm of the run settle his heart and breathing; his mind focused on each step, the familiar twists and turns of the corridors settling the crawling anxiety that bit at him.

John let his mind drift.

It had only been forty-eight hours since the senior staff had bugged out, but he already missed Everett.  The Colonel had been a solid presence on Atlantis despite his injuries from the Wraith attack on Athos.  The machines they’d found in the medical bay had helped heal a lot of the organ damage caused by the aging, and they’d compensated for a lot of the spinal injury.  It hadn’t been enough to prevent Everett from having to use a wheelchair, hadn’t fully reversed the aging he’d endured, but it had been enough to keep him alive and active.

John figured that they’d hear soon enough that the Colonel had been granted a medical discharge and early retirement.  He hoped the Air Force looked after Everett, hoped that they’d stay in touch.

Amusement drifted over him at that thought.

He and Everett hadn’t had the best start.  The Colonel had made it clear that he thought Doctor John Sheppard was an arrogant cocky son-of-a-bitch whose former military record as an Air Force pilot was meaningless since John hadn’t immediately requested reinstatement when he’d been healed from the injuries which had caused his discharge in the first place.  He resisted the urge to touch his left eye; to wonder at smooth skin rather than scarred.  The only sign he’d once lost his sight was that the iris was blue; it was out of step with his right eye which still had the mix of brown, green and gold colour.  Easy enough to explain it as a genetic quirk.

The truth was that John had thought his military career was over. 

He’d enjoyed his time in the Air Force; he’d wanted to fly and he’d done that.  He’d flown pretty much every plane and helicopter; he’d been given the opportunity to save people, to make a difference.  Losing the sight in one eye and losing the sky had been heart-breaking, but it had been nothing in comparison to losing Lyle.

They’d been lovers years before when they’d both been the same rank, serving in the same unit.  Their relationship had petered out with transfers and distance, but they hadn’t stopped caring for each other. 

John’s heart ached a little as he remembered Lyle’s steady calm, his All-American grin. 

It had hurt to lose him, to have been too late to save him.

John had been content to stay a civilian; to focus on his research and the designs of new aircraft he could test-pilot without officially being part of the Air Force.  He’d enjoyed being part of the mission without the constraints of the uniform.  He’d enjoyed using his brain for more than warfare; to get lost in the beauty of math and physics.  He’d started to think about painting the walls of the apartment he’d bought down the road from Area 51.

Finding out he had an alien supergene and being requested to join the Expedition had sent a rock into his relatively stable pool.  He might have said no, but Rodney McKay had been one of the few friends he’d made, their relationship a tangle of geek banter and competitive poking, and he hadn’t been able to refuse when the other scientist had quietly and sincerely begged for him to join the team.

It had taken him less than a day to realise the logistics for the Expedition were screwed up.  He’d attempted to escalate it and immediately hit Elizabeth Weir’s Pollyanna wall of optimism that everything was fine, and Everett’s stoic ‘none of your business’ even as his craggy face writ a picture of agreement with John’s findings and deep frustration at an inability to change anything because the International Oversight Advisory were in charge. 

John had focused on charming Elizabeth.  He’d managed to push through a number of changes to resources and supplies, many of which had benefited the military.  Everett had approached him about it before they’d left Earth.  They’d had a frank conversation and somehow John had left their discussion agreeing that if things went FUBAR for the mission, John would be recalled back to duty and service.

John ran up a flight of stairs across a balcony and down the next flight, nodding acknowledgements absently to the patrolling Marines on duty.

It had been weird putting on military badges again, but he’d never had time to think about it, since he had pretty much invoked the Charter, with its clear clause that the military was to assume control if there was a hostile enemy, just twenty-four hours later.

It had been the right thing to do, no matter how much Elizabeth had protested it.  The Wraith were formidable, they’d chased the Ancients back to Earth, and the Expedition needed the security the military command offered.  If Everett had died…John blew out a breath.  He really didn’t want to think what might have happened.  Which, John considered wryly as he cleared a short stack of steps, brought him back to his original thought; he and Everett had settled into a really solid working relationship, and John was going to miss him.

John shifted left at the intersection, moving back in the direction of the living quarters. He figured that there was another decision point coming up for him. 

Everett had delayed it by insisting John remain behind on Atlantis when the rest of the senior staff were sorted back to Earth for a debrief.  His reasoning was sound; Colonel Caldwell needed someone who knew the city and Pegasus.  John figured Everett was also protecting him from the fallout of their time on Atlantis.  Elizabeth had been smugly confident that the IOA would come down on her side to revert to a civilian leadership, and that some of her previous complaints about a number of decisions made, most of which Everett had dismissed, would be upheld. 

He figured he’d be offered the choice of staying in uniform or not, and he really didn’t know which way he was going to land.  He wondered if he’d be offered the chance to stay on Atlantis or not.  

He pushed the thoughts away, focusing back on the burn in his muscles, the easy breaths he was taking as he hit another long stretch of corridor.

His mind was blessedly blank by the time he was back in his quarters and under the stream of hot water Atlantis always provided.  He indulged himself with time in the shower; letting the water wash away more than sweat and dirt.  He shaved briskly, grimaced at the length of his hair which needed a trim, and gave up on trying to neaten it.

He pulled on the new fatigues that the Daedalus had brought; black pants and t-shirt, jacket.  He strapped on the thigh holster he preferred and holstered his gun.  He slid the knife into the ankle sheath and tugged his pants leg back down to cover it.  He tightened his laces, slipped the earpiece back in and went in search of breakfast.

The mess was just open, ready for those assigned to the morning military shift and the scientists eager to get started.    

John plucked a tray from the stack and nodded at the familiar face at the serving station.  “Private Bailey, is that real bacon?”

“Real bacon, sir,” Bailey grinned at him, her eyes sparkling.  “You want it with the full works or just pancakes and bacon?”

He wanted the pancakes, but his body needed better fuel.  “Set me up with the full works, please.”

“Yes, sir,” Bailey immediately began dishing out eggs, sausage, hash browns and beans to sit along side the bacon.

A plate of toast was added to his tray along with a blueberry muffin and a hot black coffee. 

Coffee.  Real coffee.

Rodney would be envious if he wasn’t already on Earth probably mainlining the stuff.  Mentally he made a note to take some to Ferry in the infirmary.  The medical staff usually didn’t allow anything caffeinated.

John turned towards the tables and startled at the sound of the alarm.

“Major, we have an intruder alert,” Chuck Campbell’s voice sounded over his earpiece.  “You’re needed in Ops immediately.”

“On my way,” John responded.  He snatched the bacon, shoving it in his mouth as he abandoned the rest of his breakfast on a nearby table and ran for Ops.  He was barely breathless when he stopped at Chuck’s station, nodding to Radek Zelenka who was already there.  He tried to make out the readings on the monitor.  “Report.”

Chuck grimaced.  “We had a remote security sensor on the West pier triggered.  Nothing on cameras.”

“Or city sensors,” Radek chimed in.

John grimaced at the Czech scientist he considered a friend.  They had both worked on the X-designs before his return to the military and they’d spent hours going over the puddlejumpers together.

Teyla moved to John’s side, offering him another layer of reassurance with her presence.

“The internal security grid is not calibrated to reach that distance,” Radek noted, pushing his glasses up his nose.  “We did not have the power to cover the full city.”

“False alarm?”

John almost startled at the sound of Caldwell’s voice.  He began to straighten, but Caldwell dismissed his attempt with a wave of his hand.

“This is your show, Major,” Caldwell said, folding his arms over his chest, pulling his flight suit taut around his torso.  “My team and I are just here for additional support.”

Right.  John repressed the urge to roll his eyes.  It was confusing having Caldwell around and John still acting as military commander on the city.  He preferred cleaner lines of command.  He gave a brief nod. 

“Thank you, Colonel,” John turned back to Radek and Chuck.  “Thoughts?”

“It may be nothing,” Radek began hesitantly.

“But?” prompted John.

“Two Wraith darts crashed on the far end of the pier,” Radek said.  “One fell into the sea and we have yet to recover the debris from the second.”

“You think the alarm is the Wraith?” asked Caldwell bluntly.

Radek shrugged.  “I am not certain.”

John sighed.  He’d already considered the possibility of the Wraith surviving; it was the reason he hadn’t allowed any relaxation of the patrols.   “They’re a hard enemy to kill.  I’ll take a security team and form a hunting party.  We may be able to flush them out if they’re hiding.”

“I’d like to accompany you,” the Major beside Caldwell offered.

Lorne, John remembered his name.  Caldwell had offered him up as a temporary XO for John in Everett’s absence and since the rest of the command in Atlantis was either on Earth or in the infirmary John had accepted.

John nodded.  “Teyla can show you where to gear-up.”  He turned back to Radek as the pair walked away.  “Could we expand the coverage of Atlantis’ internal scanners now we have the ZPM?”

Radek nodded.  “I will begin immediately.”

Caldwell cleared his throat.  “I can shift personnel on the Daedalus and provide you with more boots on the ground,” he offered.  “I’ll also speak with Hermiod.  He may be able to modify our ship’s scanners to pick up on Wraith physiology.”

John swallowed the lump of pride and ego that tried to rise to the surface, the automatic denial of help because they could do it themselves.  But they couldn’t and the Expedition deserved any help John could claim for them.  “Thank you, Colonel.  I’d appreciate that.  If you’ll excuse me…”

Caldwell nodded his agreement and John took it in the absence of a clear dismissal.  He grimaced as he jogged to the locker area and ordered a fresh security team to report for duty. 

Teyla was almost geared up when he entered the room.  She was strapping on her flak jacket.  John set about shrugging into his own, checking that the Ancient handheld tablet was secure in a pocket.

“Do you sense anything?” asked John.

Teyla shook her head.  “I do not,” she said, “but that does not mean they are not here.”

Lorne looked at them curiously.  “Are all your people able to sense the Wraith, Ms Emmagan?”

“Call me Teyla, Major,” Teyla informed him briskly, “and no; there are only a few of us capable of it.”

“Thank you, and I’m Evan,” Lorne smiled brightly.

John turned away to greet the arriving security team and briefed them.  He made his way out and switched on his handheld device with a brush of his mind.  It sprang to life, scanning ahead. 

For a long while they moved cautiously down corridors, sometimes checking into empty rooms and alcoves.  They finally reached the sensor which had been triggered. 

“Here,” Teyla said sharply.  She stood by an outer door to the pier, her gun with its bright light trained on a bloody hand-print. 

A frisson of warning from Atlantis nudged his mind.  Danger.

John immediately brought his own weapon to bear.  “Stay alert.”  He looked at the hand-print.  “You think he went back out?”

“He may have realised he triggered an alarm,” Teyla said.

John opened the door with a single thought.  It slid open.  The spray from the ocean flickered across his face, the sharp tang of salt filled his nostrils.

He eased out of the doorway. 

A guttural cry sounded and John went down hard as the Wraith barrelled into him, flinging them several feet down the pier.  He struggled to get out of the Wraith’s grappling grip, fear making his heart pound as the Wraith grunted grotesquely.

Suddenly, a white shape smacked into the Wraith from the side and sent it flying. 

John sat up, reaching for his weapon and stopped as he watched a wolf – a wolf! – tear out the throat of the Wraith.  The enemy gave a gasping breath and died.

The wolf snarled down at its prey; its muzzle dripping with Wraith blood.

John got shakily to his feet, allowing Teyla to help support him as he got straight.  His gaze was on the wolf walking up to him.

It sat in front of him and looked up at him with expectant eyes.

John couldn’t speak, unable to fully believe what he was seeing; what it meant. 

Lorne whistled beside him.  “Looks like you’ve got a pretty bad-ass soulmate, Sheppard.”

Soulmate.

John reached out and touched the wolf’s head tentatively.  It pushed its head more firmly into John’s touch.  And John knelt down and hugged it closer, burying his face in its fur and trying hard not to feel too much.

o-O-o

O’Neill waved off Marshall’s attempt at following their respective ranks and ushered him into a seat at the conference table.

One good thing about Jack O’Neill was that his promotion to General hadn’t taken away his dislike of protocol, Marshall thought tiredly.  All he wanted to do was eat, maybe respond to the messages from his kids which had been blowing up his phone, and crawl into a bed for a solid eight.

A sympathetic Sam Carter nudged a white box of Chinese in Marshall’s direction.  “Sweet and sour pork, sir.”

Marshall took the box, refused to examine the slightly creepy realisation that SG1 knew his regular order, and accepted the proffered chopsticks Daniel Jackson thrust in his direction. 

He resolutely ignored the cuddle-pile of soul animals in the corner of the room curled up on the couch there.  It was a typical sight for anyone who had worked with SG1; the tangle of honey badger, an alien variant of a mongoose, tiger and raven all tucked in together.   Mostly people were surprised that the tiger was Jackson.  There was still a betting pool at the SGC about whether all the bonds were as platonic as the team claimed. 

Marshall didn’t care; the soulbonds between SG1 had saved the planet multiple times, as far as he was concerned that was the only thing that mattered.  He ignored the voice in his head whispering that he didn’t want his own soulbond to simply be platonic.

“Teal’c joining us?” asked Marshall, noting the mongoose, but the absence of the Jaffa himself. 

“Still off-world,” O’Neill complained.

Jackson raised his eyebrows, pushing his glasses back up his nose.  “He’s helping his people set up a government, Jack.”

“Exactly!” O’Neill pointed at Jackson with his chopsticks.

Marshall ignored the byplay and set about eating quickly.  He got five minutes before Jackson’s explanation of the Jaffa voting system bored O’Neill into remembering why they were meeting.

O’Neill lobbed a rolled-up napkin into a waste basket and pointed at Marshall.  “Thoughts?”

“Permission to…”

“Granted,” O’Neill said, cutting in.

Marshall held his gaze.  “The words clusterfuck and shitshow come to mind.”

Jackson snorted into his white carton of food.

“Lay it out for me,” O’Neill instructed.

Marshall repressed the urge to sigh.  “The Atlantis Expedition mission planning was flawed from the start.  People, resources, the whole deal.”

“Exactly what the hell happened?” demanded O’Neill.  “The SGC was told to step out once the IOA greenlit the mission, but the reality doesn’t stack up with even what little I was being told back then.”

“Their requisition and supply order had too much optimism about their ability to self-sustain and trade on the other side of the wormhole,” Marshall plucked another piece of pork from the carton and ate it.

“They had to prioritise though, right?” Jackson pointed his chopsticks at him.  “They could only carry so much through the wormhole.”

Carter cleared her throat.  “It’s not that they prioritised, Daniel.  It’s what they prioritised.”

“Colonel Carter’s right,” Marshall stated firmly. 

“And nobody noticed?” asked Jack caustically.

“I don’t know why you weren’t told but Dillon Everett escalated it three times to the IOA,” Marshall replied evenly. “His first attempt was dismissed without any reply.  His second had General Hammond’s backing since Homeworld was organising the military supply and they were informed that Weir had the confidence of the IOA committee.  The final complaint had the support of two ally commanding officers who had personnel assigned.  The IOA allowed a small review of the requisition at that time, but also decreed that the budget had to remain the same.”

“And as most of the budget was already committed, there was limited ability to change it up,” Carter said.

Marshall nodded in agreement.

“The military had its own requisition and supply through Homeworld?” asked Jackson, brow furrowing. 

“For ammunition and military supply – uniforms, equipment, weapons,” Marshall agreed.  “It’s in line with what I’d expect given the size of the company assigned to the Expedition.”

O’Neill pointed at him.  “You have an issue with the size.”

Marshall held O’Neill’s gaze because he would bet money that anyone military would have an issue with the number of soldiers they’d assigned to the mission.

“Yeah,” O’Neill conceded with a huffy sigh, “I have issues with the size too.”

Jackson had his arm up as though they were in middle school.  “What’s wrong with the size?”

“They should have had a bigger company,” O’Neill answered.  “It was one of the few things which was accurately reported to me back then and I said it at the time but was overruled.”

“Fifty soldiers to operate security for a base the size of Atlantis was too small,” Carter agreed.

“But they didn’t know the scale of Atlantis at the time,” Jackson argued. 

“Maybe not,” Marshall conceded. “But fifty to support a scientific expedition of eighty-seven civilians isn’t a lot of manpower, especially when you factor in gate duty, field teams, security patrols.”

Carter sighed.  “They could only do what Colonel Everett did; keep a tight perimeter, curfew and a rigid schedule.”  

“He also asked to increase the number he could take with him, offering for the military to do double duty; we have plenty of scientists, engineers and support staff,” Marshall added.  “He was refused.”

“The number of military personnel wasn’t the only resourcing issue though, right?” O’Neill leaned back in his chair. 

“Weir had full control over the scientific contingent,” Marshall said gruffly.  “She seems to have stacked it with theoretical scientists for the most part when they needed more operational staff with practical skills.  The majority seemed to step up, but they would have done better if they’d had the right people from the off.”

Nobody seemed willing to argue that point.

“Stick with the military and give me the facts,” O’Neill ordered, tapping the table thoughtfully.

“Military numbers were constrained so Everett was instructed to keep the command light,” Marshall restated.  “The hierarchy was thin; one Captain who was only appointed three weeks before ‘gating, one Lieutenant who was straight out of training, and an experienced NCO Sergeant.  That was an accident waiting to happen if the Expedition encountered any kind of enemy force.”

“They lost Captain Brooks in the first encounter with the Wraith,” Carter said crisply.  “He was reported KIA on Athos.”

“Leaving Lieutenant Briscoe and Sergeant Ferry,” Jackson concluded. 

“And Colonel Everett was injured in the same attack,” Marshall noted, careful to keep the horror at what had happened to his friend out of his voice. 

Dillon’s report was detailed with heart-breaking photos and video footage.  He’d been fed upon by a Wraith Queen; he was aged years ahead of his time, and his spine was broken.  That he was alive at all was a miracle.

A miracle named Doctor John Sheppard.

A flutter of wings in his ear drew Marshall’s attention to the gyrfalcon perched on the back of his chair.  The others didn’t react which meant the soul animal was keeping itself hidden.  Marshall was grateful that he didn’t have to deal with questions about it.  After spending the day with the Atlantis records, he had a feeling he knew the identity of his soulmate.

“I would have done the same thing he did in recalling Sheppard to active duty,” Marshall said out loud.  “Sheppard served as a Major in the Air Force.  He was trained in special ops.”  His personnel file was redacted to hell and back.  “He led the rescue mission; has the gene.  He was the obvious option to be recalled as a field appointment to the military command.”

He had been a little disappointed to realise Sheppard wasn’t on Earth.  According to the briefing documents, the Major had been ostensibly left in charge of Atlantis.  That Dillon had requested that spoke volumes about how he respected Sheppard.  On the other hand, Marshall was mostly relieved that he had time to get his head around gaining a soulmate before he met him. 

“Weir raised the question of why Sheppard,” Jackson said, “since he wasn’t the only ex-military member in the civilian side of the Expedition.” 

“The other obvious choice, Peter Grodin, filed an addendum to Weir’s complaint which stated that he believed Everett had made the best choice for the Expedition in appointing Sheppard,” Carter said quietly, a hint of grief in her tone.  “Not least because of the strength of Sheppard’s ATA gene.”

A former British Royal Marine, Grodin had died in a mission to restore a remote satellite, Marshall remembered.

O’Neill glanced over at Carter.  “Talk to me about Sheppard.”

Marshall was curious to know more himself.  He kept eating to hide his curiosity.  There was another flutter of wings that caught the corner of his eye.  He resolutely did not look at the bird. 

“Sheppard is the most exceptional pilot you’ll ever meet,” Carter began.

“Harsh, Carter,” O’Neill teased gently, pretending to take a blow to his heart.

Carter smiled, too soft and sweet for a Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force smiling at her CO and it was one of the reasons people debated whether they were just platonic. 

“All John wanted to do was fly.  He was ROTC; secured a first-rate degree in mathematics and aeronautical engineering at MIT and graduated top of his class,” Carter paused.  “He entered the pilot program and I believe he was picked up straight away for special ops, specialising in extractions and drops.”

“Until two years ago when he went back behind lines in Afghanistan to rescue a team against orders,” Jackson noted, a note of approval in his voice.

Marshall was less impressed with the disobedience, but he couldn’t deny that it resonated with the ‘leave no-one behind’ ethos that underpinned the SGC.

“His helicopter took fire and went down after he rescued them,” Carter confirmed sadly.  “He was able to carry Captain Holland out, but the Captain didn’t survive the surgery.  Sheppard sustained a head injury and partial loss of sight in one eye.  He was medically discharged.”

“And you promptly approached him to join the SGC as a civilian scientist,” O’Neill said.

There was a hint of smugness on her face.  “He was a good addition to our X-wing design team.”

“His injury was healed?” asked Marshall, unable to help himself asking.  There had only been a brief notation in the file he’d read.

Carter nodded.  “I healed the damage with the Goa’uld hand device.”

“He chose not to re-activate his commission at that time?” pressed Marshall.  “Or we didn’t ask him?”

Carter bit her lip and shook her head.  “General Hammond made an offer, but it was John’s choice to stay a civilian.  He said at the time he liked designing the aircraft.”

“Elizabeth said in her complaint that Everett didn’t give Sheppard a choice at being recalled to duty,” Jackson said quietly. 

“An erroneous allegation since Sheppard himself reported that he was given a choice,” Marshall said bluntly, pushing the carton away.

And by all accounts Sheppard had excelled as Everett’s second.

Jackson raised his hands and sat back.

“Was Everett right to take over the Expedition leadership?” asked O’Neill bluntly.

“They had encountered a hostile race which attacked them and tried to eat them.  He followed the Charter,” Marshall said quietly.  “I would have done the same.”

“He was severely injured and without a solid command at the time it was invoked,” Jackson argued, although his tone was gentle.

“He did the best he could,” Marshall returned, “and he made the right call to safeguard the Expedition from an enemy they could barely defeat.  Every issue they had comes back to Weir’s decisions and her clear pattern of undermining his and Sheppard’s authority.”

His blood boiled at the complaint Weir had lodged about Sheppard’s handling of the Genii incursion.  As far as he was concerned every single kill that day had been righteous.

O’Neill caught Jackson’s eye, then Carter’s.  Both of them excused themselves and left the room.

Marshall shifted position subtly, acknowledging the change in being left alone with his CO.  “General…”

“Lose the ranks, Marshall,” O’Neill stated brusquely. 

“What the hell is going on, Jack?” Marshall blurted out. 

Anger nipped at his words.  Frustration from the day of reading all of the AARs from Atlantis and not knowing what Jack was looking for, except maybe a witch hunt against Dillon.

“Firstly,” O’Neill replied, “I want to apologise for the way you found out about Dillon’s condition.  I know you two are old friends.  I should have told you before you read it in the reports.”

Marshall accepted the apology.  “I’m not really pissed at you about that, Jack.” 

He wasn’t.  He understood O’Neill had a million things to take care of with Hammond’s illness and Jack’s interim appointment, and it was hardly surprising that remembering to be sensitive to Marshall’s friendship with Dillon had fallen through the cracks.

“No,” O’Neill agreed, “you’re pissed because you think I’m following Weir’s and the IOA’s lead and lining you up to prosecute Dillon for every single decision he made out there.”

Marshall’s jaw clenched because that was why he was pissed.

O’Neill leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands clasped.  He sighed, looking exhausted, lines creasing his face. 

“The IOA has taken Weir’s complaints seriously; legally they have to look into everything.” His brown eyes met Marshall’s and there was the warrior Marshall knew under O’Neill’s wisecracking exterior.  “Hammond has Everett’s back and so do I, but we had to agree to a full review.”

“You don’t need me to prosecute Dillon, you need me to defend him,” Marshall realised.

O’Neill nodded.  “I need you to defend him.”  He paused a moment.  “Him and Sheppard.”

o-O-o

The wolf snored.

Somehow it made the whole thing feel real.  John hoped that it wasn’t a sign that his soulmate snored. 

His soulmate.

He had a soulmate.

His heart burned inside his chest, ached with want.

He’d always thought he’d end up alone. 

He stretched out and checked his alarm; there was still thirty minutes left before he had to get up.  He stretched again, feeling the solid weight of the wolf by his feet.

Real.

It was real.

He wondered at that for a moment, letting the thought spiral through him. 

The wolf rolled, its weight shifting at the bottom of the bed.

John closed his eyes.  He could remember the wolf’s tangible coarse but soft fur that his fingers had tangled in the day before.  His fingers twitched and he resisted the urge to move, to reach out and pet the wolf again.  It gave away how much he wanted…

He hadn’t realised how much he’d wanted a soulmate until the wolf’s appearance.  If anyone might have asked him, he would have answered that he’d never thought too much about soulmates.  He’d never expected to get one. 

His parents had been soulmates.  They’d been so in love with each other that losing his wife had almost destroyed Patrick Sheppard.  Neither he nor his brother had been left unaffected, John mused.  Hindsight was a wonderful thing.

His brother had gone one way; openly searching for his soulmate until he’d found Holly via some kind of matching service.  They’d married straight out of college.  John, on the other hand…

John’s former wife, Nancy, had been his mother’s god-daughter.  They’d run in the same circles for years, had been best friends before they’d decided to get hitched because it had just made logical sense to get married.  He felt a pang of remorse about his marriage just as he always did.  He hadn’t been a good husband.  He hadn’t contested the divorce when Nancy had filed after finding her soulmate.  He wondered fearfully whether he’d be a good soulmate.

He pushed himself out of bed and dragged on his running shoes.  The wolf was at his heels when he left his quarters for his run.  John didn’t mind the company, enjoying the wolf’s solid presence as he loped alongside him.

Dressed and showered, John hoped he’d have an opportunity to actually eat his breakfast that morning as he headed to the mess with the wolf at his side.

Bailey cooed at the soul animal.  “I know they say they don’t need feeding, but my brother-in-law’s poodle always wanted bones.  We have some out back.”

John looked at the wolf and the wolf stared back at him.  He guessed it couldn’t hurt.  He thanked Bailey and indulged himself with pancakes and bacon, hot coffee and a pastry filled with blueberry jam. 

Lorne sat at a nearby table with an ocean view and John headed over to join him, sliding into an empty seat with a quiet ‘good morning.’

Bailey arrived a moment later with a large bone and the wolf lay down at his feet, gnawing happily.

Lorne picked up his coffee.  “I guess your soulmate must be protective of you.  I haven’t seen one stick so close before.”

“I doubt they know who I am,” John pointed out, “I mean, I don’t know who they are.”  The wolf hadn’t led him to anyone the day before which meant they weren’t on Atlantis or assigned to the Daedalus.

Lorne conceded with a nod.  “Well, I have to admit, if I get a soulmate, having them show up just in time to save me from a Wraith would be great.”

John hummed his agreement.  It had been awesome.

“If it’s not someone here, they might be on the next wave out,” Lorne commented.

“Or on a planet in Pegasus,” John said, although they had yet to meet anyone in Pegasus who could see soul animals.

Lorne nodded.  “I guess that’s a possibility.”  He peered at John with a curious expression.  “You don’t want to return to Earth?”

John shrugged. 

There was no burning urgency for him to return.  He’d made his peace with leaving his father and brother behind when he’d signed up to the Expedition.  He missed them, but he had never been able to please either of them.  The argument they’d had when he’d left the Air Force and had refused to enter the family business had been brutal and, in John’s mind, final.  His father had given him an ultimatum and John had chosen to walk out.  He’d tried to reach out to Dave a few times, but his brother was loyal to their father and their last conversation had ended on a sour note.  At least Holly continued to send him the occasional email with photos of his niece and nephew.

“Don’t get me wrong,” John replied, “I’d like to go back and not worry about whether we’re going to run out of food for a while, but…” he shrugged again.  “I can wait my turn.”  He offered a pained smile.  “Anyway, once they finish the debrief, the IOA may not let me stay on the Expedition.”

“They’d be idiots,” Lorne said bluntly.  “You’ve done a great job here.”

“Thank you,” John said awkwardly, touched at the praise.  “It was definitely a team effort.”

“Maybe so, sir,” Lorne said, “but you have the respect of your people and Colonel Everett placed you in command; that says a lot.” 

John swallowed down a sip of coffee and looked over at the other Major with a touch of horror, deciding to ignore the compliments.  “We’re the same rank, Lorne.  You don’t need to sir me.  You can call me Sheppard or John.”

“I’m your temporary XO, sir,” Lorne said dryly, “so informal address is not appropriate on duty unless you want disappointed Dad stares from Caldwell.” 

John blanched at the thought.  “Hell, no.”

Lorne smiled warmly.  “Off duty though; please, call me Evan.”  He motioned with his cup.  “Teyla was looking for you earlier.”

John grimaced.  “She’s looking to beat me with sticks and tell me the importance of resuming our trading relationships.”

“What’s the reasoning on holding off on gate travel?” Lorne asked.

“I’d like to confirm we’re pest free before we open our ‘gate,” John said.  On the other hand, resuming their gate missions might draw any Wraith hiding on the city out into the open.

“Seems sensible,” Lorne commented. “Do you think there are many of them hiding?”

“I hope not,” John quipped, pushing his clean plate away.  “I should check in with Radek see if he’s had any luck with the sensors.”

“Mind if I tag along?” asked Lorne eagerly.

“Nope, but I have a stop to make first,” John said dryly.  He glanced at the wolf who looked up at him with innocent eyes, the bone nowhere in sight.  “I guess you were hungry.”

He snagged some more coffee and led the way through Atlantis to the infirmary.  Marvin Ferry had a bed in the main recovery ward.  He’d refused transport to Earth, claiming his injury wasn’t serious enough to keep him from duty for very long. 

“Sirs,” Ferry attempted to shift into an ‘at attention’ pose while sitting up in bed. 

It was impressive.  

John set the coffee on the locker beside the bed and nodded at Marvin.  His chocolate brown complexion glowed healthily under the lights; he was clean-shaven and his close-cut wiry black hair was back to its neat Marine trim.  He looked better, on the mend for the first time since the surgery. 

“At ease, Sergeant,” John jerked his head in the direction of Lorne.  “Meet Major Lorne, my temporary XO.”

“Sir,” Ferry gave Lorne a sharp nod.

“Lorne, meet Sergeant Ferry,” John completed the introduction.  “He’s the fourth member of my first contact team.”  He pointed at the coffee.  “Don’t tell Biro I gave you that.”

Ferry’s eyes widened.  He reached for the coffee and John caught the grimace of pain at the stretch Ferry tried to hide before he clutched the cup to his breast. 

“You’re a God among men, sir,” Ferry said fervently.  “I can’t wait until I’m out of here.” 

“Any news on that?” asked John, pushing his hands into his pockets.

Ferry’s brow lowered.  “Apparently, I need more time to recover from having my spleen removed.”

“Losing an organ is kind of a big deal, Ferry,” John murmured.  “And didn’t you have a concussion?”

“Spleen can’t be that important if I can live without it,” Ferry countered, waving away the mention of his head injury at the same time.  “Any news on Lieutenant Briscoe?”

Briscoe had shipped out with the senior staff; her injuries had been complicated by a partial feeding from a Wraith.

“Nothing yet,” John said.  They were due to dial Earth in another three days.  He hoped they’d have an update then.

Ferry’s black eyes suddenly went sharp and narrow on John before falling pointedly to the wolf at his feet and back to John.  “Are we going to talk about that, Major?”

John cleared his throat.  “Wasn’t planning to.”

“Teyla said that the wolf saved your life against a Wraith,” Ferry pointed out.  “That’s a kick-ass soulmate.”

John preened a little at that again.  “I know, right.”

“Good to know you have someone else watching your back since I can’t,” Ferry said.  “Are you sleeping alright, Major?” He looked over at Lorne.  “I swear the man needs a keeper.”

John wasn’t immune to the underlying message that Lorne needed to pick up the slack.  He decided to ignore Lorne’s firm nod back at Ferry and the unspoken agreement that Lorne was on the case.

“OK,” John said, amusement colouring the word, “see if I bring you more coffee.”

“Did I just hear you brought one of my patients coffee?” Alicia Biro’s voice had John twirling around to block her view of Ferry who sensibly used the moment to down the drink.

“No?” suggested John.  “How are you today, Alicia?  You look…” he trailed away because Biro looked exhausted.  Her greying blonde hair was tied back in a loose chignon; her glasses were overlarge for her face, but they couldn’t hide the bags under her eyes.  Her wrinkled white coat covered her uniform.

“I look like shit because all my patients are whiny children,” Biro pinned him with a look.  “You want to tell me why you didn’t report for an exam after being attacked by a Wraith yesterday?”

“I’m fine,” John started edging out towards the door.  “I was barely bruised.”

“You didn’t get checked out?” Ferry blurted out. 

John shot him a look and ignored Lorne face-palming behind him. 

“Don’t act so righteous, Marvin,” Alicia said sharply, peering around John to pin Ferry with a disappointed look.  “You just drank coffee in my infirmary!”

The tips of Ferry’s ears glowed bright red.

“And you,” Alicia turned back to John, “I’ll be the judge of how injured you are; you can follow me into the exam room next door.”

“Uh, I have to check on something with Radek first and…” John took a step towards the door.  

The wolf shifted blocking his exit.

John stared at it, feeling a touch betrayed.  The wolf glared back at him.  Clearly his soulmate had a thing about him getting medical attention.

“Ha!” Alicia crowed.  “Glad to see you’ve ended up with someone with sense.  Exam room.”

John sighed and gave in. 

The exam didn’t last long and Alicia grudgingly admitted he only had some minor bruising.  In retaliation, he ordered her to get some rest.

Lorne was waiting for him outside the exam room.

“Not a word,” John warned him.

Lorne grinned at him as they fell into step on their way to the main science lab. 

John darted a glance down the corridor to Rodney’s lab as they approached and wished again his friend had stayed on the city.  He gave a mental rap on the door and heard Radek’s call to enter.

The doors slid open without John having to do anything.  He silently thanked Atlantis.

Radek was hunched over a keyboard, staring at a large monitor.   His thinning hair was a dishevelled mess and his eyes were red-rimmed behind his glasses.

“Have you slept, Radek?” asked John worried. 

The wolf nudged him, and John absently stroked its head.

“I will sleep when I know there is no Wraith on the city,” Radek muttered.  He tapped a command into the computer and the monitor picture changed.  He frowned.

“How’s it going?” asked John.

“It is not as easy to recalibrate the sensor array as expected,” Radek muttered.  “The code is…difficult.”

John nodded.  He’d heard McKay complain enough times about the Ancient programming language in the city’s main systems.

“So…no luck?” summarised John.

Radek glanced up at him with a scathing look which made John even more nostalgic for Rodney.  “Perhaps it would be simpler for you and your…” his eyes darted to the soul animal sat next to John, “wolf to go hunting again.”

Lorne turned a laugh into a cough.

Radek relented and pointed at the monitor.  “I am having to go section by section.  So far, only this quadrant is cleared of Wraith life-signs.”  He tapped at a small section to the West of the previous perimeter, near to where the alarm had sounded the day before.

John frowned.  He pointed at the monitor and the outline of Atlantis.  “We know darts also went down here and here.”  The opposite side of where they’d encountered the Wraith the day before.

“It may be another day before we are able to view that section,” Radek noted unhappily. 

“I’ll check in with Caldwell, see if the Daedalus scans are ready,” John said.

Radek nodded.  “I will keep working on this.”

“Get some rest, Radek,” John patted his shoulder fondly.

A beep sounded from the computer, capturing their attention.

Radek immediately started typing.  The monitor shifted to show an abandoned lab in the section of the city he’d declared free of Wraith.

John stepped forward as his eyes registered the life-sign reading.  “What’s that?”

“I do not know,” Radek said.  He snapped another command and the view on the monitor shifted to internal Atlantean cameras in the lab. 

A cylindrical pod stood upright in the centre of the frame.

“Is that a life-pod?” asked John warily.

“I believe so,” Radek confirmed.

“Like the one which kept General O’Neill alive in Antarctica?” questioned Lorne.

Radek looked up as though he’d only just realised Lorne was with John.  “Exactly.” 

John gestured at the screen.  “This whole area was designated out of bounds due to flooding.  We sealed it off.”

“If we had not extended our sensors, the pod may have gone undiscovered for many more months,” Radek agreed. 

“So, who’s in that life-pod?” asked John urgently.

The wolf growled protectively. 

Radek’s weary gaze met his with sharp intent.  “That is a very good question, Major.”  He shrugged.  “We cannot know until…” he gestured at the screen.

“Lorne, call a senior staff meeting,” John said, straightening.  “We need to go and investigate.” He gestured at Radek.  “Find out everything you can about that pod.” 

He just hoped whoever was within the pod was a friend and not another enemy.

o-O-o

The gyrfalcon wasn’t present when Marshall woke the next morning.  Marshall couldn’t decide if he was relieved or not. 

He’d been ushered to a hotel, gotten some room service, talked to his kids, and slept like the dead for less time than he had wanted.  

Lieutenant Ford had shown up with his orders, Marshall’s uniform and coffee at oh-six-hundred and Marshall had sent him to the lobby while he showered and changed.

Marshall spotted the young Lieutenant lurking by a pot plant immediately and ushered him into the restaurant.  He needed breakfast.  Ford could brief him over eggs.

“You’re assigned as my aide for the duration,” stated Marshall as he sprinkled salt and pepper over the rubbery mounds of scramble. 

“Yes, sir,” Ford was almost at attention, sitting across from him.

“At ease, Ford,” Marshall instructed briskly.  “What’s on the itinerary for today?”

“General O’Neill has arranged for you to spend the morning with Colonel Everett, sir,” Ford informed him crisply.  “We’ll head to Bethesda as soon as you are ready.”

“I want to meet with Weir, McKay and Beckett,” Marshall said.  “Set that up for later today. I don’t mind meeting them here at the hotel or at the Pentagon.”

Ford looked like a stunned deer for a second, but he recovered, nodding his head.  “Yes, sir.”

Marshall focused on his food for a moment, his pale blue eyes scanned Ford’s nervous expression.  “You fully briefed, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir,” Ford replied.  “I was given access to all the same information as you, Colonel, so I could aide you.”

Marshall hummed under his breath.  “What do you think of it all, Lieutenant?”

“Mostly that I’m glad my Grandma broke her arm and I decided against going on the Expedition, sir,” Ford replied smartly.

Marshall’s lips twitched.  He appreciated the humour.  “Your Grandma recovered?”

“Yes, sir,” Ford replied, a hint of surprise at the question, flickering through the dark depths of his eyes. 

“Would you have placed the Expedition under military leadership, Ford?” asked Marshall bluntly, trying to get a read on Ford’s judgement, critical thinking and whether he was going to an asset or a hindrance.

“The Charter seems clear to me, sir,” Ford replied.  “If the Expedition encountered a hostile, leadership fell to the highest-ranking military personnel.”

Marshall nodded slowly.  It was that clear cut for Ford.  There was a certain clarity in that.  Of course, there was also a lot of naivety.  He picked up the small coffee cup and wondered again why hotels thought the size was appropriate to serve any kind of drink.  He swallowed down the few mouthfuls of black bitter brew and threw his napkin on the table.  “Let’s go.”

He’d forgotten just how awful the traffic was in D.C., but luckily, Ford had taken the open passenger seat in the front of the car, leaving Marshall with the whole back seat. 

Marshall turned on his laptop.  He started to re-read over everything, categorising events and information into helpful to the defence of his friend or unhelpful. 

He finally gave into temptation and pulled up Sheppard’s file; he stared at the photo of Sheppard. 

The gyrfalcon appeared in the empty seat next to him, stretched its wings and settled into its usual pose. 

Marshall resisted the urge to run a finger through the feathers sticking up on the top of its head and returned his attention to the picture. 

It was a stock photo taken at Sheppard’s last military promotion ceremony.  Sheppard wasn’t classically handsome.  His face was a touch too long, his features a tad too quirky and his hair, even at Air Force regulation length, a touch too messy.  But he exuded a boyish charm and his chameleon eyes looked brightly down the camera lens.  He looked like an Air Force poster in his uniform; smart, distinguished.  His medals told an impressive story of service, heroism and bravery.  Marshall’s breath always caught at the sight of them.  They were a contradiction to the harmless ‘nothing to see here’ cockiness of Sheppard’s demeanour. 

He tapped the screen and another stock photo appeared of Sheppard just before the Expedition had shipped out.  Without the uniform, Sheppard’s almost embarrassed smile coupled with a slight tilt to his head sent the message that Sheppard was just another geeky scientist.  His mis-matched eyes gave away the injury – and that maybe Sheppard wasn’t as harmless as he seemed.  They were…intent; compelling, shining with intelligence. 

Marshall ignored the flash of attraction that zinged through him.  He focused instead on the messy thatch of hair Sheppard sported only to consider absently how it would feel to run his fingers through it. 

Marshall’s eyes flickered to the gyrfalcon and the feathers which never lay flat on the top of its head.  The bird stared right back at him.

Marshall wondered how he was going to defend the man when Sheppard was in another galaxy and far removed from the hearings the IOA were insisting go ahead.  He refused to admit to the want that burned under his breast to lay eyes on, to lay hands on, the man he figured was his soulmate.

The gyrfalcon stretched out its wings and peered at him with too-knowing eyes.

“Two minutes from Bethesda, sir,” Ford called out from the passenger seat. 

Marshall snapped the laptop shut and stuffed it into the case he’d been provided with, unwilling to admit he’d spent most of the journey staring at his soulmate’s pictures like he was sixteen again.

The car pulled up outside the hospital drop-off point and Marshall barely waited for Ford to get the door before he was out, handing Ford his bag so he could slap his cover on for the short distance between the car and the entrance.

Dillon was in his own private suite in the Stargate wing of the top floor.  Marshall was pleased at the layers of military security which existed between the rest of the hospital and Dillon.  The IOA wouldn’t find it easy to bother his friend in his hospital bed.

Marshall rapped on the door and almost smiled at the bellow to enter.

Dillon broke into a grin at the sight of him, wheeling around from his position at the window table to face him.  “Marshall!”

“Dillon,” Marshall hid his horror at how old his friend looked, the paper-thin skin and sunken eyes.  He took the steps across the room, leaned down and hugged him carefully. 

Ford noisily cleared his throat.  “Excuse me, Colonel, Colonel.”  He handed Marshall the case he’d carried inside.  “With your permission, Colonel?”

“Dismissed,” Marshall confirmed.

Ford gave a smart nod and exited the room, closing the door behind him.

“It’s good to see you,” Marshall said, tossing his cover onto the immaculately made bed.

“Don’t start lying to me now,” Dillon quipped, adjusting the wheelchair’s position again, “I look fucking awful.”

Marshall sat down in the mock leather chair on the other side of the small table.  “You look better than the picture in the report.”

He did.  Dillon looked old, but in good health.  The black t-shirt and combat pants hung on him loosely, but they gave him an air of physical activity. 

Dillon snorted.  “I was half-dead when John rescued me.”

The gyrfalcon appeared behind him, perched on the back of the wheelchair.  Its wings stretched out behind Dillon protectively.

Marshall got the message; Sheppard was still protecting Dillon and he expected his soulmate to do the same.

Dillon fixed Marshall with a sharp look.  “Jack already gave me the news.  You’re going to be my advocate.”

“I’ll do my best,” Marshall promised.

Dillon wagged a finger at him.  “About time you put that fancy Yale lawyer degree to the test.”

Marshall smiled briefly.  “You always said I should.”  He leaned forward.  “As far as I can see, you did the best you could with limited resources.”

Dillon huffed.  “I don’t particularly care about me,” he said.  “What are they going to do to me?”  He gestured at the chair and his body.  “I’m out, Marshall.  I knew if I ever got back here…” he shook his head.  “I don’t have long left.  The devices on Atlantis healed some of the damage but my life expectancy is being counted in weeks not years.”

Marshall pressed his lips together at the blunt words.  He knew from Dillon’s expression that the other man believed it absolutely.

“There’s nothing…”

“Nothing they can do,” Dillon insisted.  He held Marshall’s gaze.  “I’m OK with that.  I’ve had months to get OK with it.”  He sighed.  “So, I’m not concerned about me in this whole blame game…”

“You’re concerned about Sheppard,” Marshall surmised.

“Kid doesn’t deserve to get thrown under the bus,” Dillon said smartly.  “He stepped up, did the best he could with a lousy hand.”

Marshall sat forward.  “Talk me through it, Dillon.”

Dillon reached for the glass of water on the table and sipped it before answering.  “You have to understand, Marshall, that as soon as the IOA took control of the mission, the SGC was cut out, and it stopped being a military operation.  It became a…a political initiative.”

“They screwed up the logistics,” Marshall said.

“Big time,” Dillon confirmed.  “We complained and got some headway, that’s all on record.  The IOA can’t push on that door.”

“What can they push on?” asked Marshall.  He had an idea, but he wanted Dillon’s take. 

 Dillon grimaced and stayed silent.

Marshall waited, hiding his impatience.

Dillon heaved a sigh.  “When we got there, the city was under water, shield was failing.  We needed an evac plan.  Sheppard and McKay found the address to Athos.  I asked Sheppard to come with us in case we needed his supergene.”  He swallowed.  “He was good with the Athosians, gained their trust.  Then the Wraith came.”

“You were captured,” Marshall prompted.

Dillon nodded.  “The Queen tortured me.  She would feed on me until I was on the brink of death, bring me back…over and over.  It was…pain followed by pleasure followed by pain…a vicious cycle designed to break a man.”  He flushed and avoided Marshall’s gaze.  “By the time the cavalry arrived I was almost broken.”

“Sheppard led the rescue,” Marshall noted quietly.  “He saved your life.”

“He and Ferry carried me all the way back to the jumper.”  He gave a heavy sigh.  “Didn’t thank him for that for a long time.  Figured it might have been better for him to have put a bullet in my head.”

Marshall reached out and clasped a hand over Dillon’s forearm briefly.  He had no idea what to say to that.  He understood it though.  Better to be dead than slowly dying.

“I woke up two days after the rescue,” Dillon began again.  “They’d managed to find the healing machines, sped up my recovery.  Couldn’t do anything about the spinal damage beyond giving me some feeling and function back below the waist; I still can’t walk.” He stopped, a look of frustration on his face.

He wheeled himself back and retrieved a jug of water from the bedside locker.  He snagged a couple of plastic cups and returned to the table.  He poured them both some water.

Marshall took his and set it aside while Dillon sipped his own.

“I woke up two days after the rescue,” Dillon repeated, “and I woke up addicted to a Wraith enzyme.”

Marshall frowned.  “That’s not in the reports.”

“Beckett’s a civilian and the Charter is clear that the CMO does not need to report medical information to the military CoC or the civilian leadership, unless there is a clear and present danger of suicide or harm to others,” Dillon commented dryly.  “Beckett takes his oaths of patient confidentiality seriously.”

“Who knew apart from him?” asked Marshall bluntly.

“Sheppard; I had to tell him since I needed him to take charge of the unit,” Dillon said immediately.  “Beckett’s deputy and a couple of the nurses.”

“Nobody else knew?” Marshall checked, surprised.

“Nobody,” Dillon confirmed. 

Marshall considered the news with a sinking heart.  “How long did your addiction compromise your judgement?”

Dillon winced at the blunt question.  “It was six weeks before Beckett confirmed I was free of it.”

Six weeks.

Six weeks in which Dillon had made the two key decisions Weir had complained about most and which were likely to be the subject of the scrutiny Dillon was about to face.

Marshall pinched the bridge of his nose as though that could stave off the headache he could feel forming.  He felt the gyrfalcon land on his shoulder, its weight was like a hand being placed there in support.

“You recalled Sheppard to duty as soon as you were awake,” Marshall stated out loud.

“We’d spoken about it before we shipped out,” Dillon gave a short laugh.  “Actually, we both agreed that it would be a sign of the apocalypse if I had to recall him.” He glanced over at Marshall.  “When it came down to it, I was just damned grateful he was there.  It was the only thing I was able to think about doing as soon as Ferry told me Brooks was dead.”

“Your discussion ahead of the mission is also not in the official reports,” Marshall noted, annoyance creeping into his voice.

“It wouldn’t be,” Dillon agreed, a hint of amusement colouring his words as though Marshall’s sharp tone was funny to him. 

Marshall waited patiently while Dillon sipped more water.

“You have to understand, Marshall, that Weir requested Sheppard join the Expedition at the last minute because they discovered his supergene,” Dillon said, leaning back in his wheelchair.

“There’s not a lot of information on how that happened,” Marshall commented, unable to contain his curiosity.

“SGC deemed it confidential,” Dillon said shortly.  “Jack can give you permission to be told if you want to know.”  He gestured.  “Truthfully, I only read his file when he finally signed on a month out from ‘gate day and I wasn’t impressed that he’d let the SGC heal him and refused to resume his commission.”  He raised his gaze again.  “Then he came to see me.”

Marshall picked up his water and took a large gulp.

“He’d noticed the problems with the supplies and the personnel mix,” Dillon stated.  “He’d already faced Weir with it.  She’d essentially patted him on the head and told him not to worry about it.”  He waited a beat.  “I explained my position about his opinion succinctly.”

“You told him to fuck the hell off,” Marshall guessed.

Dillon flashed a smile at him.  “Only the next day, Weir allowed me to add Brooks to my command.”

“He managed to influence her,” Marshall realised, thinking of the late changes he’d put down to Weir finally responding to the complaints.

“Over the next week, I suddenly started to see the supplies I’d been arguing about for months, so I went to see him,” Dillon said.  “That’s when we had our off the record conversation about his recall to active duty if the situation was fucked up enough in Pegasus.  We decided nobody needed to know ahead of time, except Hammond.  I informed the General in my final briefing with him before we ‘gated out.” He paused for a significant beat.  “Between my discussion with him and the bug-out, he managed to get the worst of the supply issues mitigated.” 

Marshall sighed.  “You and Sheppard played Weir into conceding more by pretending to still be at odds.”

Dillon smirked.  “He’s got a smart brain under that floofy hair of his.  Don’t let him fool you into thinking he’s a dumbass.”

The gyrfalcon pinned Dillon with an unimpressed look as though chiding him for giving away Sheppard’s secrets. 

“Fooled you, didn’t he?” Marshall realised out loud with an unhidden amount of glee.  His soulmate was proving to be a complex man and the more Marshall found out about him, the more he wanted to know.

Dillon couldn’t stop the flush that spread up from his neck, across his cheeks and to his ears.  “In my defence, he does a really good dumbass.”

Marshall couldn’t stop the small grin from escaping.  He forced himself to think clearly.  “So, Sheppard’s recall is clear of your compromised thinking.  Situation was FUBAR, you weren’t fit to command; there was prior agreement; you did the right thing.”  He pinned Dillon with a sharp look.  “What don’t I know?”

“I was out of it, Marshall,” Dillon flushed red, his gaze dropping.  “I put Sheppard in charge, told him to read the Charter, and…I don’t really remember the next few weeks.”

But that…

If Dillon had been compromised…

Sheppard.

“He was the one who took command of the Expedition, and he did it as soon as he was appointed,” Marshall stated out loud.  “That’s the door they’re going to push on.”

Dillon raised his plastic cup. “That’s the door they’re going to push on.”

o-O-o

Another day in Atlantis, John thought tiredly, another day of walking down a badly lit corridor with his handheld tablet scanning ahead for trouble. 

Teyla paced him on one side and the wolf loped easily on the other side of him. 

John was pleased at its presence.  He couldn’t help but feel safer; protected.

It made him wonder about his soulmate. 

John had never really considered himself in need of protection, but the idea of having someone beside him, standing by him always – it was…everything he never knew he needed.  The wolf pressed into his legs and John shivered at the physical comfort that shuddered through him.

“God, this place is a mess,” the Captain behind him muttered.

John and Teyla both glanced back at her.

“Uh, sorry, sir,” the Marine said, chagrin dancing across her face.

“Cadman, right?” John checked.

She nodded briskly.  “Yes, sir.”

“And you’re right, Captain,” John agreed, “it’s a mess.” He motioned at the dirty floor.  “Whole area got flooded when the city rose from the ocean.  We sealed it off months ago to conserve power to the main buildings so the cleaning bots haven’t been able to get in.”

He could see the young Marines who brought up the rear listening intently.

Cadman grimaced.  “I guess the city took a lot of damage.”

“More than we hoped,” John said.  “The failsafe to raise her worked but only after the shield failed.  Bulkheads came down to protect the main tower, but everywhere else…most of the outer parts of Atlantis have the same issues.”

“It took weeks for our living quarters not to smell like salt and seaweed,” Miko sniffed.

John smiled at the Japanese scientist’s comment; she wasn’t wrong.  He was glad Radek had suggested her for the mission to investigate the pod.  He still wished Rodney was there instead, but Doctor Miko Kusanagi was no slouch when it came to Ancient tech and he was lucky to have her along.

“Is that the reason why Colonel Everett restricted the exploration of the city?” asked Cadman.

John shot her a look, but he couldn’t see anything but genuine curiosity on her face.

“Exploration is restricted because the Ancients did not place warning signs on their dangerous experiments and left them lying around without a care,” Miko chipped in sharply.  “The city is a minefield.”

“Atlantis is dangerous, Captain,” Teyla added firmly, her attention focused on the corridor ahead even if her words were aimed towards Cadman.  “It would be wise to remember that.”

“It’s the golden rule of the SGC, ma’am,” Cadman said brightly, “don’t touch anything.”

John almost laughed.  The scanner in front of him beeped.

“Through here,” John directed, motioning at a doorway to their right. 

They arraigned themselves around the closed door; Teyla to the right, Cadman to the left.  Behind him, the young Marines were poised, guns aimed and careful to keep Miko behind them; another shield for her.

John reached for his earpiece and tapped it.  “Sheppard to Ops.”

“Ops here, Major,” Chuck’s Canadian twang sounded across the static. 

“We’re in position,” John confirmed.  “Radek, are you still only reading one life-sign?”

“Yes, Major,” Radek confirmed.  “One life-sign and the video feed continues to show that the lab is empty.”

“Ops, be advised we are proceeding,” John informed them crisply.  He tapped his earpiece off as Chuck confirmed he’d heard John.

The door beckoned.

‘What am I going to find?’ He sent the question to Atlantis tentatively.  A brush of reassurance drifted over his mind.  Atlantis felt almost gleeful.

John took a breath and mentally directed the door to open. 

It slid away with a hiss.

The lab in front of him was dark.  He swung his gun, flashlight on into the space, illuminating a central bench and a glass window to the left. 

The pod was on the wall to the right.  The dull blue flickering light of its power source cast shadows onto the floor in front.  Its front was opaque; frosted. 

John stepped into the room and the lights flickered on helpfully, buzzing after years of not being used.

“Major Sheppard,” Teyla called out, her gun and its light pointed to the far wall. 

A second pod stood there.  There was no light to indicate a power source; its front was completely dark.

“Uh, Major?” Cadman pointed at the central console with her gun.  “There’s a letter here.”

John hurried over.  Describing the folded piece of paper as a letter was probably an overstatement, John thought amused. 

‘Read this first.’

“That’s McKay’s handwriting,” John realised out loud. 

“Has Doctor McKay been in this section?” asked Cadman.

“Not as far as I know,” John stated.

“Perhaps you should read it,” Teyla suggested. 

John reached for his knife and used the tip of it to flick the paper open.     

“‘Time travel.  We left video journals on the computer stations which will explain everything.  Elizabeth and I are cryogenically frozen in the pods.  To release us…’” Cadman read out loud.  “Holy fuck!”

John’s heart pounded in his chest as he turned back to view the pods with wide-eyes.  Rodney was in one of the pods.  And so was a version of Elizabeth Weir.

His mouth went dry.

“These are instructions on how to operate the pods,” Miko confirmed as she peered around Cadman.  “I can use the information to revive…the viable pod.”

The viable pod.

Only one of them had power.  Only one of them had survived.

The wolf pressed up against John as though sensing his distress.  John stroked over its head and took a deep breath.

“Miko, can we move the pods?” John asked.

Miko stepped away from the table and began to examine the pod with power.  Her eyes flickered over the controls.  She stepped one way then another, taking in the position.  “I believe we can.”

It was going to be a nightmare, John considered tiredly.  They were going to have to call for more Marines to do the heavy-lifting; they’d need to bring the jumpers closer – two because the back of the jumper would likely only take one and…

“Why not just beam them up to the Daedalus?” Cadman cut through his thoughts and pointed at the ceiling. 

“I have no way of knowing if the beaming technology would interfere with the pod’s structural integrity,” Miko frowned.

The wolf nudged John’s hand. 

“But we could ask for their assistance,” John murmured as though the fact that they could was just sinking in – maybe it was.  He caught Miko’s surprised gaze and raised an eyebrow.  “We’re not alone anymore, Miko.”

The wolf gave a happy yap.  He wasn’t alone anymore either, John realised. He stroked the wolf’s head happily.

Miko’s expression cleared, amazement darting over her face before she settled into a pleased grin.  “Beaming would be less problematic than arranging physical transport, Major.  Perhaps we could ask the Asgardian scientist for their opinion on moving the pods with the beaming technology?”

John tapped his earpiece. “Ops, this is Sheppard, can you patch me through to the Daedalus?”

“This is Caldwell, Sheppard,” the Colonel’s deep tone sounded through his ear, “we’ve been monitoring your frequency.”

John wondered whether he should be annoyed about that.  “Colonel, we have two life-pods we need to transport to the Atlantis infirmary.  One has its own power source and still is reading a live occupant; the other is dark, occupant is likely deceased.”

“You want us to beam them there?” asked Caldwell.

“Only if it won’t impact the viability of the pod’s structural integrity or its energy source,” John confirmed.

“Stand by,” Caldwell said shortly.

“He’s probably asking Hermiod,” Cadman grinned.

There was a sudden flash of light and John was already bringing his weapon to bear when it cleared leaving behind a naked alien.

The wolf beside huffed and John had to agree with its silent disapproval at the unannounced visit.

“Major, is Hermiod…” Caldwell sounded as annoyed as John felt.

“Here, Colonel,” John said dryly.

The Asgard cocked its head as it examined the pod.  He – she – it (John couldn’t settle on a pronoun) hummed.  “I believe the Ancient pods can be transported safely with a few adjustments to our protocols.”

“Excellent,” declared John loudly.  “How long will that take?”

“Approximately two Earth hours,” Hermiod said.  “I will begin immediately.”  There was another flash of light and the Asgard disappeared.

The wolf gave an angry bark.

John tapped his earpiece.  “Daedalus, do you…”

“We have him,” Caldwell’s disgruntlement was a balm to John’s own annoyance. 

“We’ll just hang out here until the pods are transported,” John said calmly. 

“We’ll inform you when we’re ready,” Caldwell confirmed.

John spent another minute on the radio giving Operations instructions to get the infirmary prepared before he signed off.

“I would like to access the local terminal,” Miko proposed, pointing to the station at the back of the room by the dark pod.

“Be careful,” John said even as he nodded his permission.  He sent the two Marines out to guard the corridor.  They might have declared the area free of Wraith but John wasn’t taking any chances.  He motioned for Cadman to watch Miko’s back.  He and Teyla took positions by the window.

The ocean glimmered a bright blue under the Atlantean sun. 

John wished for a second he was outside, breeze blowing in his face and the sun warm against his skin.

He heard Miko slide a hand over the station and the buzz as it lit up.  He felt it sweep across his mind and nudged it back to Miko.  She unpacked her laptop and plugged it in with swift efficiency.  It took her less than a minute to access the console.  “I am in.”

John nodded at her.  He kept his attention on the sky outside.

“Major Sheppard?”

Miko’s worried tone had him turning to her swiftly.  She gestured for him to join her at the console.  “These are journal entries.”  She looked at him.  “They’re from you.”

John frowned and moved to the console.  Miko stepped back.  He pressed the enter button on the laptop and the screen opened up to reveal a video but no picture.

“McKay, I don’t think this is working,” John’s own voice sounded out from the tiny laptop speakers.

“Of course it’s working, it’s…” McKay blustered out of shot.  “Wait…now.”

The picture snapped into place.

“Just…just start talking already!” McKay said sharply from the side.

John tried not to feel weirded out by the sight of himself sitting in front of the camera.  He wore some kind of garb of white pyjamas.  The man on screen looked incredibly uncomfortable and John was glad he was covered head to foot in his uniform.

Chameleon eyes peered down the camera and John swallowed hard at the sight of his counterpart without any sign of the eye injury.  Maybe the other John hadn’t been injured? 

“This is Major John Sheppard of the Atlantis Expedition,” the other him reeled off his ID number which was surprisingly different, and paused.  “We’re going to leave reports of our time here on Atlantis.  If you’re viewing this, hopefully you’re a part of the Expedition in the future, and I hope you find the information useful.”

John bit his lip.

“We arrived July 20^th 2004, the city was underwater and the shield failed,” his counterpart continued, “I was in the shuttle bay with Doctors Elizabeth Weir and Radek Zelenka hoping to find an alternate escape route to the Stargate for our people.  Unfortunately, we only managed to rescue Doctor Rodney McKay before the ship automatically enacted some kind of protocol which meant it travelled in time.”

“Wow,” Cadman murmured.

“We arrived in orbit over Atlantis during a time when the Ancients still inhabited the city,” the video recording continued.  “We were immediately under fire from some kind of large ship which we later learned was a Wraith Hive ship – I’ll explain more about them later because you need to know the enemy we’re facing.  We were able to destroy the one we encountered, but we took damage; we crashed.”

John saw the tension in his counterpart’s face and knew he blamed himself for the crash.  It was hard not to blame himself when he was the pilot, John mused, flashes of other crashes flitting through his mind.

“We woke in Atlantis and were informed Doctor Zelenka did not survive the crash due to a traumatic brain injury,” the information was offered in a stiff tone.  “Unfortunately, the Atlantean Council has denied us permission to travel back to the future, and, well, our DeLorean was completely destroyed.  So, we’re going to have to take the long way home.”  He shifted and pointed out the empty pod behind him before turning back.  “Janus, the Ancient who created the time ship, he’s helping us.  We’ll be cryogenically frozen until the Expedition can revive us.”

John frowned.  He checked the room. 

Two pods. 

There were only two pods which held Weir and McKay according to McKay’s note.  So, if all three of them were meant to be cryogenically frozen…where was the pod with his counterpart?

o-O-o

Doctor Carson Beckett met Marshall in a small, cramped conference room in Bethesda. 

It bore the signs of frequent occupation; discarded pens, paper notebooks randomly left in places.  A set of whiteboard pens littered the centre of the table; the whiteboard itself was scribbled with formulas that meant jack-all to Marshall.  The furniture was decent though and there was a painting of a distinguished General that wasn’t half-bad on one wall. 

The gyrfalcon had settled on the back of the chair next to Marshall as though he was a partner in the discussion.  He still wasn’t making himself visible to others and Marshall wondered if that was because he knew Marshall didn’t want people seeing the soul animal, or because John Sheppard liked to fly under the radar.

Marshall gripped Beckett’s hand tightly for a moment in greeting.  “I just want to first thank you for all your care of Dillon Everett, Doctor.”

Beckett flushed pink.  “No need, Colonel, but thank you.”

The warm Scottish tone gave Beckett the air of a bumbling country doctor, but Marshall had read the man’s file.  Beckett had spent years in genetic research alongside working as a consultant for gene therapy for a prominent hospital in Edinburgh.  He’d been approached by the SGC when they’d begun researching Jack O’Neill’s genetic link to the Ancients.  It had been Beckett who’d identified the ATA gene.

“Thank you for meeting me,” Marshall continued, keeping his own demeanour friendly and affable as he waved Beckett into the chair at the head of the table.  He’d eschewed it wanting to set Beckett at ease.  “I wish it wasn’t necessary.”

“Aye,” Beckett sighed sitting down, “me too.”  He shook his head sadly.  “Honestly, I know it’s important we debrief but this review business?  Everybody just did the best they could in some terrible circumstances.”  

Marshall nodded.  “Still, Doctor Weir made some specific complaints which the IOA are keen to address.”

“Elizabeth definitely isn’t happy,” Beckett agreed with a heavy sigh, pouring himself some of the lacklustre coffee from the pot on the table.

The honesty surprised him.

Marshall considered the list of questions he’d prepared and put his pen down.  He sat back and considered Beckett.  “Dillon told me about his addiction.”

Beckett’s eyebrows rose.  “You must be close friends then, Colonel.”

“We are,” Marshall said quietly.  “Dillon was the best man at my wedding and was by my side when I had to bury my wife two years ago.  He’s my eldest’s godfather.”

“I’m glad he has a friend like you in his life,” Beckett said sincerely.  “He’s going to need support.”

“How long does he have?” asked Marshall softly.

“Hard to say,” Beckett sighed deeply.  “The fact is I didn’t think he was going to make it this long.”

The soft burr of his accent gave away his compassion and sympathy.

Marshall cleared his throat.  “What do you think of Doctor Weir’s complaints?”

Beckett sighed and rubbed his chin.  He sat back, nursing the cup of lukewarm coffee.  “John told me he had no problems with being recalled to duty.  I thank God for that because from the moment our people were attacked, we needed Major Sheppard more than we needed another mathematician.” He met Marshall’s gaze with a frank gaze.  “Nothing that came afterwards changed my mind about that or about the military taking the lead.”

“Is that why you didn’t inform Elizabeth Weir about Dillon’s addiction?” asked Marshall bluntly.

“It was none of her business,” Beckett said succinctly. 

“You don’t think it compromised his judgement?” Marshall pressed.

“Of course it compromised his judgement,” Beckett countered sharply, “but he wasn’t the one making the decisions until he was clear of it.”

“The records suggest Dillon Everett ordered John Sheppard to take control of the Expedition,” Marshall pointed out.

Beckett held up a hand and gestured with the mug of coffee.  “I was there when the Colonel met with the Major and asked him to resume his military service.  The Colonel then specifically told Major Sheppard to read the Charter.”

“But he didn’t order him explicitly to invoke the clause,” Marshall stated.

“Semantics,” Beckett drank some of his coffee and shoved the mug onto the table.  “He gave John what he needed to take control and we were better off for it.”

Marshall examined Beckett’s determined face and nodded slowly.  “You didn’t ever want a civilian leadership?”

Beckett rubbed his forehead as he thought about his answer.  “Elizabeth is a confident and accomplished woman.  I admire her greatly.”

Marshall nodded.

“She once negotiated to ensure the access of the Red Cross and medicine into refugee camps in a war-torn African country where the men in power believed her to be less just because she was a woman,” Beckett said.  “I was impressed with her credentials when she joined the SGC.”

“She was in charge of the SGC for a time,” Marshall noted.

“Aye,” Beckett nodded.  “I liked working with her and agreed with her proposition that it would be best to transfer my contract to the IOA and follow her to the Antarctica project when she was made the Project Director there.  So, believe me when I say that one of the main reasons I agreed to Atlantis was because Elizabeth was assigned as the Expedition leader.”

“What changed your mind?” asked Marshall softly.

Beckett tugged his white coat closer around him.  Shadows flitted in and out of his eyes; memories of Atlantis, Marshall realised.

“We were in trouble from the moment we got there,” Beckett said.  “The shield was failing; we were under water and in danger of drowning, it was John and Rodney who reminded Elizabeth of the plan to evacuate if needed.” He sighed.  “When Athos was attacked, when the team arrived back with the Athosians and the city rose from the ocean, it was John and Rodney who came up with the plan to rescue our people.  And Elizabeth hesitated over it even if she eventually gave permission for John to do it; people took note of that.”

Marshall nodded, seeing the pattern Beckett was laying out for him.

“The Colonel was unconscious for two days before he roused enough to appoint Major Sheppard,” Beckett said.  “Those two days…Elizabeth failed.  She wanted us to get organised as though nothing had happened; she talked about exploring the city.  She pretended everything was normal.  The night the guys returned with the Colonel and those they’d managed to rescue, she threw a party for God’s sake!”

“It could have been her way of trying to show strength,” Marshall suggested, finding himself defending Weir in the face of Beckett’s derision.  “She may have thought showing her own moving forward, forcing some form of normality would help others overcome their fear of what had happened.”

“Aye, maybe,” Beckett said, “Kate Heightmeyer said the same at the time, but it didn’t sit right with me.”

“You were more comfortable when Major Sheppard stepped in and invoked the military clause?” Marshall checked.

“The majority of us were relieved,” Beckett said simply.  “He immediately put steps in place to safeguard us.”

“You’ll give the same testimony to the IOA review?” checked Marshall.

Beckett nodded.  “Aye, I will.” 

They shook hands as they left the room.

As soon as he had left the gyrfalcon flew the short distance to land in front of Marshall. 

“Beckett thinks you did the right thing, John,” Marshall whispered, hoping his soulmate could somehow hear him. 

He tentatively reached out and stroked a finger over the feathers.  It gave a small cry and pushed its fragile head into the palm of Marshall’s hand, trusting him to be gentle as he petted the bird carefully.

A sharp rap on the door had Marshall sighing.  He gave the gyrfalcon a final stroke and called for Ford to enter.

Ford strode in, taking the bag Marshall had set aside without prompting.  “The car’s ready to take you to the Pentagon for your meetings with Doctors Weir and McKay.”

Marshall stood up.  “Lead the way, Ford.”

Ford nodded.  “Yes, sir.”  He paused.  “Uh, unless you want to follow your soul animal, sir?”

Marshall’s head snapped around to Ford and he stopped on his way to the door.  “You can see him?”

“Yes, sir?” Ford frowned.  “Was I not…”

“He’s kept himself invisible to others until now,” Marshall explained.  He looked at the bird speculatively.  Or maybe, he considered, he’d kept himself invisible until he’d been certain Marshall wasn’t going to reject him.   He motioned for Ford to continue walking.  “He’s not going to lead me to anyone on Earth, Ford.”

Ford went wide-eyed, but thankfully seemed to understand Marshall wasn’t going to answer any questions about his soul animal.

The drive to the Pentagon was rainy and miserable.  It matched Marshall’s mood for his meeting with Elizabeth Weir to a tee.

He wasn’t surprised when she kept him waiting for almost twenty minutes, finally sweeping into the office he’d been assigned with a brisk apology.

Marshall offered her refreshments and sent Ford to retrieve them.  He ushered her into one visitor’s chair and took the other rather than sitting behind the desk. 

Weir’s immaculately painted lips twisted.  “Are you trying to establish yourself as an equal or suggest we’re on the same side?”

“I would hope we’re all on the same side, Doctor Weir,” Marshall quipped dryly, “and for the record, I am hopeful this isn’t an adversarial conversation.”

Weir adjusted her position, altering her body language to mirror Marshall’s apparently relaxed demeanour.  She smoothed a hand over her smart ruby red suit with its black silk shirt.  Her brunette hair was styled, falling into waves around her face.  Apart from the strong lipstick, her make-up was muted.  She looked every inch a capable and competent woman.

She ignored the gyrfalcon perched on the back of his chair and Marshall figured the bird was back to being its usual invisible self.

“You’ve been appointed as the military’s advocate in the hearings on my complaints about their decisions and leadership,” Weir pointed out.  “You say you’re not an adversary, but forgive me if I assume you’re not here to be my friend.”

“Fair,” Marshall conceded. 

He waited a moment until Ford delivered the tea-tray and poured them both a cup before he proceeded.

“What can you tell me about your relationship with Colonel Everett ahead of the Expedition ‘gating to Atlantis?” Marshall invited her, sitting back with his cup between them like armour.

Weir peered at him speculatively with her cool turquoise gaze.  “I would say we had a solid working relationship.  He disagreed with the logistical planning the IOA had done.  I was able to arrange several changes before we departed which addressed his concerns.”

Interesting, Marshall noted.  She was blaming the IOA for the planning screw-ups and painting herself as the heroine. 

She tilted her head.  “I believe you have a close relationship to Colonel Everett, don’t you, Colonel Sumner?”

“I do,” Marshall said without offering any other explanation.  “What about your relationship with John Sheppard?  I understand he was a last minute addition to your team.”

Weir allowed a flicker of startlement to drift across her expression before she schooled it into an amused look.  “Yes, his affinity with Ancient tech was only discovered by chance.  Frankly, I believe it makes the argument for all the SGC and IOA personnel to be tested for the ATA gene.”

Marshall nodded.  He actually agreed with her on that point.  As far as he was concerned, they should test the whole military whether assigned to the SGC or not.

“You were able to convince him to join the Expedition,” Marshall said, drawing her back to the question he’d asked.

“Actually, Rodney got him to join,” Weir said with a wry smile.  “They’re good friends.”

Marshall silently noted the second deflection.  “You didn’t have any contact with him personally?”

“No, that’s not…” Weir collected herself again and sipped her tea.  “John and I met on a number of occasions before we ‘gated to Atlantis.  I found him competent and likeable.  I looked forward to working with him.”

There was a hint of something that had Marshall’s possessive hackles rising.  Weir liked John, he realised.  She was attracted to him.  He wondered whether it had been mutual and sipped his own tea to wrestle his jealousy under control.  Whatever John liked Weir or not, he was Marshall’s soulmate.  Nobody had a connection to John like the one Marshall had. 

“And after you got to Atlantis?” asked Marshall.

“In the immediate aftermath, he was assigned to support the evac plan,” Weir said.  “I was occupied with getting the Expedition ready to move once the evac team returned from Athos.  He returned with the Athosians and I was…annoyed with the presumption that he had offered sanctuary without discussion.”

“They were under fire,” Marshall said dryly.

“So I learned,” Weir countered smoothly.  “John and I were able to work together to plan the rescue of our missing Expedition members and the Athosians who had been taken.  While I had concerns, I gave my permission for the rescue to go ahead.”

Another historical retcon, Marshall mused.  Almost every report had detailed Weir’s reluctance and credited McKay and Sheppard with the plan.

“You complained when he was recalled in the field to active service by Colonel Everett,” Marshall stated.  “I’d like to review the grounds of the complaint.”

“Of course,” Weir said, a hint of smugness creeping into her tone.  “I felt the Colonel made a presumptuous decision without discussion with myself, John or other members of the Expedition who may have felt more comfortable resuming a military service.  I knew John had already refused an offer of military reinstatement when his injury was healed and believed he would have done so again if he had been given a choice.”

Marshall swallowed down the urge to lecture her on the chain of command.  “Did John Sheppard ever complain directly to you that the decision was unfair or had not been discussed with him at length?”

Weir raised her eyebrows lightly.  “No, but that’s not the kind of man John is.”

Marshall set the topic aside.  He would wait until the hearing to face her with the news that John had always agreed to the reinstatement.

“Your second complaint was about the invocation of the Charter clause for the military to assume leadership in the event you encountered a hostile enemy,” Marshall listed out.

Weir nodded easily.  “I was surprised.”

“Why?” asked Marshall, genuinely interested in knowing the answer.

“It had been three days since the encounter with the Wraith,” Weir said.  “I was leading the Expedition and there were no issues.  There was no reason for the clause to be invoked.”

“The clause stated you would concede leadership in the event of the Expedition facing a hostile enemy,” Marshall pointed out calmly.  “Do you consider the Wraith a hostile enemy?”

“Yes, of course,” Weir admitted, “but they were hardly on the doorstep.”

“But they were aware that the Expedition was occupying the city of Atlantis due to the hostages they’d taken,” Marshall countered. “It was only a matter of time until they attacked directly.”

“We could have planned for such an event and retained a civilian leadership until such time as a direct attack occurred,” Weir argued firmly.  “Military leadership was not required.”

“But it was required according to the letter of the Charter, was it not?” pressed Marshall.

“In hindsight, the Charter did not detail the exact circumstances under which the clause could be invoked which was an oversight,” Weir said, folding her arms across her body.

Marshall hummed.  “But the facts are that there was a hostile enemy and the military leadership was entitled to invoke the clause.”

“Yes,” Weir said tersely.  “However, once again, there was no discussion and, with Colonel Everett still recovering from his torture I felt John made an impulsive decision based on his eagerness to prove his worth to the Colonel.”

“The reports suggest that the Major was acting on Colonel Everett’s order,” Marshall said.

“It wasn’t clear,” Weir said.  “Another reason why it should have waited.”  She shifted.  “The decision created a lot of unrest and resentment within the civilian population and caused confusion with the Athosians.”

“According to our reports, less than twenty members of the Expedition filed a complaint alongside yours,” Marshall said.

“We were newly settling into a new galaxy, Colonel,” Weir chided him, “I’m sure you can see the need for us to have pulled in the same direction rather than creating unnecessary dissent.”

He wasn’t getting any further forward, Marshall thought. 

“You filed a number of other complaints,” Marshall said.  “Namely all to do with decisions taken.  In fact, there wasn’t a single decision where you don’t seem to have filed some kind of addendum note to the minutes or reports.”

“I made sure my objections were on record,” Weir said.

“You disagreed with every decision?” Marshall pressed.  “Even the typical standard protocols which have been in place for the SGC for years including while it was under your command?”

For the first time, Weir looked flustered.  “It was a different place.  I thought we could look again at the protocols.”

“You ignored them regularly,” Marshall continued.  “The Genii incursion happened because you did not wait for the IDC to be registered by the computer before opening the shield on the ‘gate.”

“We had received a radio call which said they were under fire,” Weir argued, “I made a call.”

“Which was not yours to make,” Marshall continued.  “Although he was not in Operations, Major Sheppard was still in the city and in command; he was easily reachable by radio.”

Weir remained silent.

“You’ve made a serious complaint about his actions against the Genii,” Marshall said quietly. 

“He killed over thirty Genii men and women, and closed the iris on more,” Weir replied briskly.  “The loss of life was not necessary and only endangered myself and Doctor McKay.”

“Do you really believe that?” asked Marshall, his own anger at her opinion creeping into his tone. 

Weir stared back at him, unyielding.

“I think we’re done here,” Marshall concluded, rising from his chair. “Thank you for your time.”

Weir stood and collected her coat from the arm of her chair, slipped her handbag over her shoulder.  “Still believe we’re not adversaries, Colonel?”

Marshall glowered at her.  “I’m certain that anyone who believes in sanctioning a good soldier for defending his people to the best of his ability doesn’t get to pretend to be a friend, Doctor Weir.”

Shock chased through her eyes before she schooled her expression again.  She gave a terse nod and thankfully left.

The gyrfalcon landed on his shoulder, a comforting weight which soothed the anger storming through Marshall.  He was damned if he was going to let her harm his soulmate.

o-O-o

John cleared his throat and tried to get everyone’s attention.  He finally resorted to whistling loudly.

The cacophony of sound around the two pods in the remote lab off the infirmary ground to a halt.

“As I was saying,” John said firmly, “we need to take this one step at a time.” He held up a hand when Alicia went to argue.  “We’re not reviving the occupant of the stable pod yet.”

“We don’t know how long the pod’s energy source will maintain,” Alicia jumped in as he took a breath.  “We should act to preserve their life.”

“Then we’ll monitor the power and if it fails, then and only then will we revive the occupant,” John held her gaze.

Alicia gave a sharp nod.  “I can agree to that.” 

“Thank you,” John said dryly.  “Radek, I need someone to review the video recordings and summarise the findings.  I want to know what happened to the third pod and any intel that the three of them left on those journal entries.”

“It might be best to have two people tackle that task, Major,” Radek suggested.  “One military and one scientist.”

“Agreed,” John said.

“I’d like to volunteer as the non-military person,” Kate Heightmeyer lifted her hand.  She tucked her blonde hair back behind an ear.  “I’ll need to provide the occupant with psychological care once they’re awake.  Viewing the journal entries will make that easier for me.”

Radek’s hand shot up. 

John resisted the urge to point out they weren’t in school.  “You think we need a member of your team as well?”

“Yes, if Rodney has left a message…”

“Right,” John said.

“I can watch the messages,” Miko offered.

“Thank you,” John smiled at her. 

“Major,” Lorne piped up from behind Miko, “I would like to volunteer as the military reviewer.”

“Sold,” John immediately said.  “OK.  We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning and review the summaries of the recordings.  At which time we’ll make an assessment on whether it is appropriate to revive the occupant of the stable pod.”  He paused and rubbed his chin.  “About the second pod…”

“We should relocate it to the quarantine lab and open it there,” Alicia suggested.  “Both myself and any nurse can wear the appropriate protective gear until Atlantis can confirm there is no contagion.”

John frowned, considering whether it was worth the risk to open the pod before they’d finished the viewings.  He sighed.  “Go ahead, but report in regularly to Ops.”  He glanced at Caldwell who’d taken up a position by the door.  “Colonel, if you could arrange transportation?”

Caldwell nodded and relayed his order to the Daedalus.  A moment later, a transport beam took the pod.

John repressed the urge to sigh.  Alicia glanced at him and he nodded his agreement for her to leave and get started.

“Right,” John said brightly, “everyone has their tasks; my work is done.  Meeting tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred.”  He made for the door.

Teyla kept pace with him as they exited and he knew she intended to drag him to the gym.  He was only a little startled when Caldwell moved to walk on his other side.  He glanced over at the Colonel.

 “I wanted to invite you for dinner on the Daedalus in the Officer’s mess, Major,” Caldwell said, “you too, Ms Emmagan.”

“I would be delighted,” Teyla said, smiling broadly at Caldwell.

John gave the same smile he’d used on his father’s business partners.  “Thank you, Colonel.  What time will you beam us aboard?”

“Why don’t we say nineteen-hundred?” Caldwell instructed him.  “I can give you both a tour.”

John agreed, swallowing his retort that he had been involved with designing the Daedalus and didn’t need a tour.  Be polite, he instructed himself sternly.  He could hear Everett’s voice in his head telling him he needed to learn to play well with others.

Caldwell broke off as they reached John’s tiny office.  “I’ll see you both later.”  He headed in the direction of Ops but John figured he was searching for an alcove to get beamed up.

Teyla turned to John with an expectant look.

“I have paperwork,” he blurted out.

Teyla arched an eyebrow at him.  “Two hours, Major, and I expect to see you in gymnasium two.”  She walked off before John could reply.

John looked down at the wolf who stared back at up at him. 

“Yeah,” John murmured, “I’m not going to argue with her.”  He pushed open his office door and made for his desk and the paperwork which really hadn’t been an excuse.  Another reason to regret Everett’s absence, John mused tiredly.  He shucked off his jacket and got to work.

Promptly two hours later, John bounced up and down on his feet as he loosened his muscles.  He’d changed into sweats and was ready for a workout.  Teyla was already circling him like a shark, bantos rods twirling in her hands.  John watched her steadily waiting for her to strike.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Forty minutes later, his muscles were warm, slick with sweat.  He panted a little for breath as Teyla swept his legs out from under him and rested her bantos rod across his throat.

In the corner of the gym, the wolf whined and hid its face in its paws.

John felt a moment of embarrassment at being downed so readily in front of the soul animal but he figured it wasn’t going to be less embarrassing when it happened in front of his actual soulmate and he should get used to it.

“Do you yield?” Teyla demanded.

“Yeah,” John thumped his head back onto the floor, “I yield.”

She stepped away gracefully and offered him a hand.

He took it and allowed her to pull him to his feet.  “Thanks, I needed…that.”  He had.  He’d needed the meditation that came with sparring; the way his mind and body had switched off to deal with one relentless blow after another.

Teyla tossed him a towel and picked up one for herself, wiping her brow delicately.  “You are much improved.”

“From when?” joked John.

Teyla smiled at him.  “We should discuss resuming our gate travel.”

“I want us to confirm we don’t have any Wraith lurking on Atlantis before opening the ‘gate,” John said, wiping the towel over his face.  He hadn’t liked opening it up to enable the senior staff and their injured to transport to Earth; it was the reason he had suspended travel as soon as the wormhole disappeared. “If one Wraith gets through the ‘gate and is able to inform the rest of them we’re still here…”

“I understand the risk, John,” Teyla said, “but I also know our trading partners will not be patient for very much longer.”

John sighed.  “How much longer can I push this?”

“Perhaps five more days,” Teyla said.  “We are expected on Ganara with the supplies we agreed.  If we miss the delivery window completely, they will sell the crop to someone else at a trading market and they will be vocal in their displeasure to others.”

John considered the matter as he swiped the towel over his head. 

He could let the trading arrangements go; the Daedalus and the Prometheus were both in play and would be travelling between Pegasus and Earth regularly according to Caldwell.  The Prometheus was already scheduled to return with the senior staff as soon as the debrief was concluded.  If the Earth ships maintained a regular supply run, Atlantis could reduce its reliance on its Pegasus neighbours.

Except…

Except they needed friends and allies in the region and they couldn’t count on the supply run from Earth.  They would always need to supplement with produce from other worlds.

And, John mused as his eyes landed on an expectant Teyla, any reneging on the deals they had already made would reflect badly on the Athosians who’d vouched for them.  John wouldn’t do that to Teyla and her people.

The wolf padded over to John and nudged his hand.  John took a breath.  He knew the decision he needed to make.

“Talk with Lorne when he’s finished with the recordings from today,” John instructed her.  “Set up the Ganara trade mission with him.  You can accompany him and the team he assembles.  You’ll go in four days.  I’ll schedule the mission with Ops.”

Teyla’s face transformed with her smile.  “Thank you, John.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” John quipped.  “Lorne will need to work with the Daedalus to staff the Alpha site as a staging ground since we don’t have anyone available, and I would prefer the scans of Atlantis showing we’re Wraith free to be complete before I give the final go ahead.”

“Of course,” Teyla accepted with a graceful nod.

John hummed and swiped the towel over his head again.  He lowered it to find Teyla looking at him speculatively.

“What?”

“You are a good leader, John,” Teyla said without hesitation.

John felt his skin heat with the compliment even as the wolf pressed into his legs again.  He ducked his head.  “Yeah, well…” he gestured, “I still hate the paperwork.”

Teyla’s eyes filled with amusement as his embarrassment.  Her gaze flickered to the wolf beside him.  “Your soulmate has a beautiful soul animal.”

John smiled at that compliment.  “He does.”

“He?” questioned Teyla.

“I think so,” John said.  He knew the Athosians didn’t have problems with same sex relationships as long as there were children somehow.

“I am pleased for you,” Teyla said, rubbing her own towel across her neck.  “You deserve to have someone walk beside you.”

“What about you?” asked John.  “How’s your plan to seduce Kanaan going?”

“Slowly,” Teyla said wryly, “he is very stubborn.”

John liked Kanaan.  The quiet Athosian had proven to be a complete boon in helping them establish trade agreements.  He was also John’s go-to when Teyla seemed upset.  She and Kanaan had been friends from childhood, and he knew her best.  The pair loved each other, but Teyla’s former position as the Chief had made Kanaan believe she needed someone better than him beside her.

“He’ll come around,” John said out loud. 

“It would be easier if I had a soul animal lead me to him,” Teyla commented.  “It is wondrous to see the stories of your people are true.”

John stroked a hand over the wolf’s head.  “It’s the first time you’ve seen a soul animal, right?”

Teyla nodded.  “Our tales are filled with stories of the Ancients’ soul animals, but this is the first time we have seen the evidence of your own.  I would not be surprised if you receive many questions when you next visit the settlement.”

There had been a lot of debate about the future of the Athosians once they’d formally been granted sanctuary within the city.  When it had become apparent Atlantis itself was too dangerous, Weir had proposed they settle on the mainland rather than in the city.  Teyla had declined stating that it would have made them too reliant on the grace of the Expedition for transport to the city and access to the ‘gate. 

In the end, they’d resettled on an empty planet they’d cultivated as a trading post years before.  The entire Expedition had helped them settle over the course of a couple of weeks.  A small contingent of Athosians had remained on the city though as part of the ‘gate teams including Teyla. 

“You know this will not aide your argument that you are not one of the Ancients themselves come to save us,” Teyla said dryly.

John pulled a face.  He didn’t love some of the Athosians outright hero-worship of him.

“I promised to look in on Marvin before dinner,” Teyla said, straightening. 

“He’s looking better,” John said happily.

Teyla inclined her head.  “I will meet you by Ops for our beaming to the Daedalus?”

John nodded his agreement.  They walked together until they met an intersection which would take them in different directions and John slipped out a side door to a balcony just needing a minute.

The wolf was beside him as John leaned over the railing and sucked in a deep breath; the salty tang of the ocean hitting his tongue.  He lowered his head to his arms for a long moment.  The press of fur against his body had him sinking to the balcony floor to gather the wolf up in a hug.

“I’m glad you’re here,” John murmured as he hid his face in the wolf’s neck.  “It’s a lot being in charge.”

Although he probably shouldn’t worry about it being long term, John mused wryly.  He couldn’t see anyone putting him in charge officially once the debriefs were done. 

He didn’t believe Elizabeth would get her way and have the mission revert to civilian leadership.  The attack on Atlantis by the Wraith showed the danger too well.  It was more likely that there would be another Colonel appointed to take charge.

The wolf huffed against him.  John lifted his head to gaze at him.  Could the wolf be…

No.

There was no point speculating.

Whoever was assigned might not want John on their team.  They might look at his record and…John swallowed hard and pressed his forehead to the wolf’s.  He’d tried to do the right thing.  He’d tried to save as many of their people as he could…

The wolf licked his ear, pushed its body closer to John as though it was trying to absorb all of John’s hurt and insecurity.

John gave a breathy sigh, too close to a sob and pulled himself together.  He was the acting commander of the Atlantis Expedition.  He couldn’t afford to break down.  He took one deep breath after another.  Finally he felt able to loosen his hold on the wolf.

“Come on,” John said.  “I can do more of that paperwork before dinner.”

The wolf’s company helped John as he made it through the rest of his day.  He joined Teyla at the Ops desk where Chuck had been replaced by a young woman.

“You look nice,” John waved at Teyla’s Athosian dress.

“Thank you,” Teyla said, “I have not seen you in such clothing before.”

John glanced down at his uniform.  He wore his service dress pants teamed with the crisp white shirt and tie, shined shoes on his feet.  A navy Air Force sweater completed the look with his brass name badge pinned to his chest.  It was dress down as far as uniform code was concerned but appropriate for dinner in the Officer’s mess. 

“Uh…”

“Looking sharp, Major,” the young technician winked cheekily at him.

“Right,” John said, unable to stop himself from blushing, “I think we’re ready.”  He tapped his earpiece.  “Sheppard to Daedalus, we’re ready for transport.”

The familiar zing of the transport beam caught hold of him and he steadied himself just as he registered the bridge of the Daedalus around him.  He immediately checked on Teyla who gave a nod that she was fine.  The wolf nudged his hand and he patted it absently.

“Welcome back to the Daedalus, Major,” the Lieutenant Colonel in charge greeted him warmly.

John straightened and followed protocol.  “Colonel.”

“At ease, Major,” the Lieutenant Colonel said easily.  “You and Ms Emmagan are guests on board this evening.  The Colonel will meet you in the mess.  Doctor Novak is here to give you a tour.”

John’s head snapped to the thirty-something woman in a blue flight suit who gave them a wave from the side of the bridge.  Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled severely back into a ponytail, revealing a too long face dotted with freckles.  Her smile was warm though.

“It’s good to see you again, John,” Lindsey smiled nervously as she skipped over to hug John tentatively, darting a look at the wolf beside him.

“Good to see you too, Linds,” John said warmly.  “I thought you were assigned to the Prometheus.”

She shrugged.  “I was needed to align the ZPM energy with the Daedalus’ naquadria engines when we pushed our speed getting here.”

John realised their easy exchange was gathering curious looks.  He turned to Teyla.  “Teyla, I’d like you to meet my friend, Lindsey; she and I worked together in our spaceship programme before I came to Atlantis.” He waved at Teyla as the two women shook hands.  “Teyla’s a member of my team and also my friend, Lindsey.”

The wolf stepped towards Lindsey and looked back at John expectantly. 

“Lindsey, this is my soulmate’s wolf,” John introduced them awkwardly.

“I’d heard rumours,” Lindsey said brightly.  She offered her hand for the wolf to sniff at.  He gave her a lick and stepped back towards John.  “He’s gorgeous.”

“He is very protective of John,” Teyla noted.

John felt another blush creep up his face.  He cleared his throat.  “Shall we show Teyla the ship?”   

Teyla took to the engineer – ‘call me Lindsey’ – straight away.  By the time they’d reached Hermiod’s lab, they were firm friends. 

Caldwell glanced over as they entered and nodded at John.  “Perfect timing, Major.  Hermiod has finished recalibrating our scanners.”

John looked over at the Asgard which inclined its head. 

“I will begin scanning for signs of the Wraith,” the Asgard noted.

“Dinner might have to wait if he finds something,” Caldwell murmured in a side whisper, “which would be a shame.  I got them to make chilli and cornbread.”

John found himself smiling.  “Let’s hope he doesn’t find something.  That sounds great.”  It really did.

A beeping noise drew their attention back to the console.

The Asgard’s small mouth pressed into a line.  “I believe it is not good news, Colonel.”  Hermiod lifted dark eyes to meet Caldwell’s.  “I have detected a Wraith presence on the planet below.”

Of course, he had.  John mentally waved goodbye to dinner as the wolf growled angrily beside him.

o-O-o

Rodney McKay entered Marshall’s office on time, offered a firm handshake, and collapsed into a chair with the weary air of a man who hadn’t slept enough in the last year.  The wrinkled ill-fitting suit with its cheap shirt and tie added to the impression of exhaustion.

“I can’t believe they’re being this stupid,” McKay began before Marshall could open his mouth to ask him a question.  “The Wraith eat people!  How is that not a hostile enemy?!”

“You agree with the decision to militarise the Expedition?” Marshall managed to ask as McKay took a breath.

“It was John!  What was the worst thing that could happen when it was John?!” McKay gestured violently with one hand.  His eyes caught on the coffee pot on the table.  “Is there actual coffee in that? Because if there is coffee…”

Marshall glanced at the gyrfalcon perched on the bookcase who he swore was smirking at him.  He poured McKay a mug.  “Cream?  Sugar?”

“Black,” McKay made grabby hands and Marshall handed over the mug.  He wondered after McKay tossed back the first mug and gestured at him to pour a second whether or not he should have just handed over the pot.  He poured a second mug.

McKay nursed the mug close, breathing in the fumes.  “Do you know we ran out of coffee after three months?”

“I read that in reports,” Marshall confirmed, letting go of his plan for the interview.

“Caffeine tablets do absolutely nothing,” McKay noted.  He sniffed the mug again and closed his eyes.  “I never want to be without coffee again.”

“So, you’re planning on staying on Earth instead of returning to Atlantis?” asked Marshall, settling back into his seat.

McKay glared at him.  “Don’t be stupid.”

“Then you might have to live without coffee again,” Marshall pointed out dryly. 

McKay’s face fell into an unhappy frown.  He clutched the mug closer.  “Damn it.”

“You mentioned Major Sheppard when you dismissed the idea of anything bad happening with the leadership transferring to the military,” Marshall nudged them back on topic. 

“I did?” McKay frowned.

“Even though Colonel Everett was in command,” Marshall continued.

McKay grimaced and took a gulp of the coffee. 

“Only he wasn’t, was he?” pressed Marshall, realising McKay somehow knew exactly what had happened even if he didn’t know the specifics about Dillon’s addiction.

“Anyone with a brain knew Everett was out of it for weeks,” McKay agreed bluntly.  His blue eyes met Marshall’s with frank honesty.  “Best thing he did was use his one moment of lucidity to put John in charge.”

“The reports indicated Colonel Everett ordered John to invoke the clause,” Marshall said, keeping his eyes on McKay.

McKay gestured with the mug.  “He told John to read the Charter.  It was implied.” He sighed tiredly.  “John figured Everett wanted him to prepare the unit for the switch over once Everett was fully recovered, well, as recovered as he was going to get after the whole being eaten and…” he blanched white.  “Sorry.  I, uh, know you’re friends.”

“You and Sheppard are good friends.” 

It was obvious that John had confided in McKay.  Jealousy roiled in his belly and Marshall stomped on it hard.  He was just thankful John had had someone in his corner.  The gyrfalcon glided across the office and landed on Marshall’s shoulder.

“Yes,” McKay said almost unwillingly.  “Which is what Elizabeth will say so everyone disregards my opinion about her complaints.”

Because that’s the tactic Weir had already taken, Marshall surmised.

“Look, John would probably have held off if she hadn’t been so stupid,” McKay said stridently.

Marshall’s eyebrows rose.  “What?”

“You do know John was forced to invoke the clause because Elizabeth was doing stupid stuff, don’t you?  He didn’t just do it on a whim.”

Marshall held McKay’s gaze.  “I think you’d better explain, Doctor McKay, because there’s nothing in the reports that suggests there was a…a precipitating event.”

McKay drank down his coffee and held out the mug for a third refill.  Marshall huffed but did as directed.

“As soon as John’s commission was reinstated and he took over the unit, Elizabeth objected,” McKay began.  “She knew it was only a matter of time before the clause was invoked and she was trying to prove it wasn’t necessary.”

“Beckett told me she tried to project an atmosphere of normality,” Marshall commented, hoping it would prompt McKay.

“Exactly!” McKay pointed at Marshall with a shaking finger.  “Only nothing was normal.  We were in the city of Atlantis and we’d already lost three people in the Wraith attack.”  He rubbed his head.  “Most of us were scared shitless.  The two days Elizabeth was in charge, she refused to enforce perimeters or have a curfew.  We almost lost everyone to an energy monster the Athosian kids released because they were able to get into areas which should have been restricted.  I almost died getting the thing through the ‘gate and off Atlantis!”

“She instituted a perimeter following the incident,” Marshall said.

“John and I backed up Lieutenant Briscoe and Sergeant Ferry when they insisted,” McKay replied.  “She’d appointed Grodin as her aide by then and he sided with us.  Thankfully the next day Everett was awake enough to appoint John and…” he shrugged.

“What exactly did she do which made Sheppard invoke the clause if her actions in those two days weren’t enough?” Marshall asked bluntly, his eyes straying to the gyrfalcon on his shoulder.

McKay huffed.  “She let a group of Athosians go through the ‘gate, back to their planet to retrieve some food stores.  She’d had to implement rationing because of the Athosians and everyone was complaining.”

Marshall frowned.  “There’s no report of such a mission.”

“Because it didn’t involve any of the Expedition,” McKay said bluntly.  “She let them go without an IDC device, without a military escort.  There was no reconnaissance of the planet before they ‘gated.  She didn’t check with Teyla whether they had permission.”  He sighed.  “She said that she had no moral right to deny them access to the ‘gate which was true in absolute terms.”

“What happened?” asked Marshall, trying to remember the missions he’d read about.  In Sheppard’s shoes he would have sent a team after the group; damage control to bring them back to Atlantis.

“Teyla requested help to retrieve the group as they didn’t have permission to leave and John agreed as he’d just taken over the military,” McKay flapped his hand, “but Elizabeth denied him permission, although she claimed she’d allow a group of Athosians through to retrieve their own people.  Grodin and I convinced Elizabeth that it was too much of a security risk so she allowed John to take a small number of Marines to accompany Teyla in a ‘jumper back to Athos.”

“That was recorded as recon,” Marshall said.

McKay nodded.  “Ostensibly that was the mission since as soon as they ‘gated to Athos they realised there was another Hive ship in orbit and the Athosians had been taken.”  He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing in his throat.  “There were no survivors.”

“Sheppard blew up the Hive ship and brought back two Wraith corpses for study,” Marshall recalled.

“Elizabeth objected to everything,” McKay said.  “John and I discussed things that night.  He told me he planned to invoke the clause the next morning.  He called a senior staff meeting and did it.”

“You and Beckett really had no objections?” Marshall asked, allowing his scepticism to leak through.

“I can’t speak about Carson but me? None,” McKay confirmed.  “I’ve worked with the Stargate programme for years.  I’m more used to being under military leadership than not, even if I find it stupid at times.  Besides, I know John.  He didn’t take the action lightly and everything he and Everett put in place was pretty much standard protocol.”

“Was there any enmity between you and Elizabeth prior to the change of leadership?” Marshall questioned. 

McKay shook his head, paused and shook it again.  “Not really,” he said, waving his hand at himself, “I mean, I’m not the best team player?” There was a lilt to his voice, a question.  “She and I had our disagreements before we got to Atlantis, but I liked Elizabeth.”

Marshall’s eyebrows lifted at the tense he’d used.  “When did you stop liking her?”

“Elizabeth objected to the militarisation and I got that,” McKay said tiredly, “others protested too and I got that they thought it was precipitous in their eyes.  Some of her complaint was valid.  But then she started complaining about everything, even the stuff which was normal practice for gate travel.  She started ignoring the restrictions and the protocols John and his team put in place.”

Marshall considered McKay’s unhappiness with a frown of his own.  “You were injured during the Genii invasion.”

McKay’s jaw trembled before it firmed as he pressed his lips together and gave a sharp nod.  “I was stabbed in the arm.”

“Which wouldn’t have happened if Doctor Weir had followed protocol and waited for an IDC or handed the decision over to Major Sheppard who was actually in command at the time,” Marshall said.

“Elizabeth…it wasn’t intentional or malicious,” McKay said.  “She never intended for the city to be invaded, for the Marines to be killed, or for me to be…tortured to hurt John, but it happened.”

“And instead of being apologetic, she complained Major Sheppard had used excessive force,” Marshall commented.

“He saved our lives and that was how she repaid him,” McKay said simply.  “She couldn’t get over her own ego and simply be grateful.  After that…I stopped listening to her.”  His eyes suddenly narrowed on the back of Marshall’s chair.  “Is that…is that a soul animal?”

“Yes,” Marshall admitted dryly.  He had an idea about why the gyrfalcon had decided to show itself and wasn’t surprised when it launched from his chair to fly over to McKay to settle on the arm of the chair with a concerned cry.

McKay’s eyes went wide as saucers.  He flung a disbelieving look at Marshall and back to the gyrfalcon.  He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before finally heaving a sigh as the gyrfalcon plucked at his jacket.

“Fine, Sheppard!” McKay stroked a hand over the gyrfalcon’s feathers tentatively.  “God, you’re just as annoying as a bird as you are as a human.” 

The bird placed a clawed foot on McKay’s arm.   

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” McKay promised softly.  “You saved me.”

Marshall twitched.  He really wanted to coax the bird back to his side and as though it had heard him, the gyrfalcon turned its head and speared him with a knowing look.  It shook itself, settling its feathers back into position before flying back to him.  Marshall stroked a finger over its head.  He looked up into the sharply intelligent gaze of his soulmate’s best friend.

“I might have known he’d end up with a possessive bastard,” McKay said. 

Marshall’s chin lifted challengingly. “You have a problem with me?”

“Not unless you’re going to hurt John,” McKay retorted, a surprising amount of fire in his blue eyes.

“He’s my soulmate,” Marshall snapped.  He almost surprised himself at how defensive he felt.  He was invested, he realised; he was already invested in John, in keeping him safe, in loving him.

Was it usual for soulmates to fall so fast, he wondered a little bewildered at his own reaction.

McKay sat forward.  “You’re going to defend John in this review, right?”

“That’s my plan,” Marshall said.

McKay nodded.  “Then, let’s discuss the many ways by which Elizabeth screwed the pooch.”  He waved his mug.  “And maybe…can we get more coffee?”

The next two hours were enlightening.  McKay knew where the bodies were buried and he knew who Elizabeth had lined up as allies.  Marshall made a note never to get on McKay’s bad side.  McKay left with a promise to dig through the Atlantis records to back up his wilder statements.  He was surprised when McKay didn’t threaten him at the end of their meeting but then there was probably time enough for that.

Marshall headed back to his hotel.  It had been a productive day, but he was exhausted.  He was ready to order room service, catch up with whatever sport was playing on ESPN, and fall into bed.

He was only half-surprised to open the door to his room and discover he had company.

“Ethan?” Marshall covered the short distance between himself and his son to hug him.

Ethan might have inherited Marshall’s height and build, but otherwise he was his mother’s son; he had her dark colouring of chocolate eyes and hair, the same olive complexion, and the same no-nonsense attitude. 

“Hey, Dad,” Ethan hugged him back.

Marshall took in the casual dress. “You took some leave?”

“All the SG teams are on stand-down with the change of command coming in,” Ethan informed him.  “I have a forty-eight hour pass, thought I’d spend some of it with you since you’re back in the States.”

And they were rarely on Earth together, Marshall completed in his own head.

“It’s good to see you, son,” Marshall said sincerely.

Ethan nodded.  He pointed at the gyrfalcon.  “So when were you going to mention that?”

Marshall sighed and pushed a hand through his hair.  “Let me have a shower and we’ll talk about it.”

Ethan offered an easy grin.  “Sure.”

“And order us some room service!” Marshall called out as he dived into the small bathroom. 

He stripped and dived under the shower, needing to wash away the day.  He felt automatically better as he towelled dry, wrapping one around his waist to head back into the bedroom area. 

His son was grinning at his phone.  “Maria thinks it’s cute.”

Marshall rolled his eyes and went to pull on briefs and his sweatpants.  He towelled off his torso quickly and pulled on a faded old Marine t-shirt.  “You couldn’t have waited until I told your sister myself?”

Ethan snorted.  “I value my life, Dad.”  He looked up from his phone.  “I left telling Jamie to you.”

His younger son.

“The bird hasn’t led you to anyone?” Ethan checked as it flew back to Marshall’s side.

“I know who it is and he’s not on Earth,” Marshall said.

Ethan’s eyebrows rose.  “Good luck explaining that to Maria.”

Marshall pulled a face but couldn’t argue with the statement.  Maybe it was time he requested that his two younger children were read in, Marshall mused.  He had realised after his session with McKay that the likelihood of John being assigned anywhere but Atlantis was unlikely, which meant Marshall would be heading there himself.  He was going to have to talk to Jack about his situation.

Once the review was done, Marshall determined.  Who knew what decisions the IOA would make?  He and McKay had found common ground in declaring them all to be idiots.

“You going to tell me who it is or am I going to guess?” Ethan teased.

Marshall moved to the other armchair in the room and looked over at his son.  “What do you know about John Sheppard?”

Ethan looked momentarily stunned.  He cleared his throat.  “You…you think your soulmate is John Sheppard?  Atlantis Sheppard?  The guy who you’re defending in the IOA review?”

“I take it the SGC gossip vine is alive and well,” Marshall commented dryly.

“O’Neill made the announcement and released the Atlantis AARs last night,” Ethan said.  “I read them on the flight today.”

“What do you think?” asked Marshall tentatively.  It would suck if his son didn’t respect his soulmate. 

“I think Sheppard deserves another medal,” Ethan said.  He caught Marshall’s gaze.  “How bad is Uncle Dillon?”

“Bad,” Marshall confirmed.  “He didn’t think he’d make it home.”

“I thought I could come along to the review hearing tomorrow,” Ethan said, “give him some support.”

“I think he’d appreciate that,” Marshall said.  He pointed at the bird.  “You alright with this?”

Ethan bit his lip and shrugged.  “Mom wouldn’t have wanted you alone for the rest of your life.”  He pushed a hand over his close-shaven head.  “I mean, it’s a little weird?” 

Marshall’s heart ached a little at the mention of Elena.  He had loved his wife very much.  But Ethan was right.  Elena and he had talked about it – more in the context of Marshall dying than Elena – but they’d both agreed that they’d wanted only happiness for their surviving spouse.

“He’s not that much older than me,” Ethan complained.

“He’s a good ten years older than you, Ethan,” Marshall replied a touch exasperated, and trying hard not to show how much the age difference between John and himself was a concern to him.

Ethan’s eyes danced with laughter as he met Marshall’s gaze.  “The good news is that if Maria thinks the bird is cute, she’s going to flip when she gets a load of Sheppard himself.  You lucked out, Dad.  He’s hot.”

“OK,” Marshall said swiftly, “I think I’m going to have to declare the topic of my soulmate’s hotness off limits where you kids are concerned.”

Ethan laughed.  “Good luck getting Maria to agree to that.”

Marshall tried to glare at him but ended up sighing in concession. 

His son sobered a touch.  “Look, Dad,” he said, leaning forward in his chair, “Sheppard seems like a good man, a good soldier.  I look forward to getting to know him as part of our family.”

There were times when Marshall had no idea how he and Elena had managed to raise such good kids. 

“Thanks, son,” Marshall managed to get out.

The gyrfalcon gave a cry and swooped over to introduce itself to Marshall’s son.

“Hi,” Ethan stuttered out.

A knock sounded at the door; room service arriving.

Marshall hid his grin and went to get their food.

Next: Distant Stars: Part 2