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Atlantis crashes into the ocean and John disconnects from the city; a minute later, Colonel Carter gives the all clear and congratulates him on a job well done. His Thank you is automatic and dead-sounding even to him and all he can do is sit in the chair, unmoving. He should get up, get moving, put teams together to scout for damage, but he's exhausted and besides, for right now, all of them are safe.
Well, all of them except for one.
**
You don't leave people in the hands of the enemy, he told her once. It was their very first argument, out on the balcony just after the city rose from its ten thousand-year stay on the bottom of the ocean. She'd laid out the rules of the game -- I will not authorize a rescue mission unless I am sure there is at least a remote chance of success – and she'd been true to her word: he'd offered a plan with a chance, and she'd let him go. He'd known then that she was someone worth their loyalty. By the time a few more months had passed, she'd become someone worth dying for.
The words repeat in his head now, over and over. You don't leave people in the hands of the enemy.
He barely feels the impact when his fist connects with a wall.
**
He imagines what she's going through, right this second, and for the briefest moment it crosses his mind that everyone would be better off if Rodney had never saved her.
He shoves the thought away and denies it ever existed before the guilt can overwhelm him.
**
Running is his way of dealing. If he pushes himself hard enough then his mind empties and there is nothing but the hammering of his heart and the sweat drenching his clothes and the echo of his harsh breathing. He's been running for so long, so hard, that his stomach has cramped and his muscles are rebelling but his thoughts just. won't. stop.
Left behind, his mind whispers in time with his pounding footsteps. Left behind, left behind....
He almost makes it to the bathroom before he throws up.
**
In spite of himself, he likes Colonel Carter. He can tell that she knows what it's like to lose someone and she gives them time to grieve, doesn't offer meaningless words of sorrow for a woman she'd barely known to the people who'd called her family. He appreciates that.
He wishes she'd stop calling him John.
**
Teyla brings him the earthen jar-cum-urn he'd given Elizabeth her first birthday in Atlantis. He cradles it carefully in shaking hands, runs his fingers over it as though a genie will pop out and grant him his wish. He doesn't notice when Teyla leaves, only that she's not there when he looks up some time later.
He sets the gift on his bedside table, next to the only photo he brought with him to the Pegasus Galaxy. It's a silent reminder of his promise to bring her home.
One way or another.
--end--