Spoilers: 2x08 Conversion
Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate Atlantis or its characters. They, however, own me.
Comments: Special thanks to dublinbhoy for beta.
Elizabeth Weir frowns at the all too familiar sight of the infirmary as she finds herself standing there once again. Her eyes are undeniably drawn to the bed occupied by a patient she has worried about on many more occasions than she would have liked. Carson Beckett stumbles in as she tries to remember how many times she thought his adventurous self was fatally wounded. The doctor studies her for a brief moment and diagnoses her with chronic worry, deciding it would be prudent to keep that judgement to himself. He would probably find the state of his commander and friend amusing had the situation been any less serious.
"I said I'd let you know as soon as his condition changed."
"I know," she replies quickly. "I just thought I'd drop by and see for myself."
"Aye, as you just happened to be passing by."
"Yes."
"For the third night in a row."
She opens her mouth to speak, yet nothing comes out.
"It's okay, lass," the Scottish doctor smiles warmly. "We're all fretting."
She is grateful for this admission of collective agony as it provides her with a momentary relief.
"How is he, Carson?" she inquires.
"Still keeping him in a medically induced coma. He's responding quite well to the treatment."
The statement was evidently meant to be encouraging, yet it somehow fails to comfort her in any way. She glances towards the closed section of the infirmary as if expecting to find answers to her numerous questions. Is he in any pain? When will he be better? Why did this have to happen? Why did this have to happen to him? Is there any John Sheppard left in that body?
The last one particularly frightens her because in the case of a negative answer she knows she is faced with a prospect not too promising; dealing with galactic issues without his precious guidance and support is not an option she can bring herself to ponder. At least not yet.
"Good," she puts on a slightly more optimistic tone.
Carson takes off his lab coat and picks up his laptop. "I think I'll call it a night."
"Goodnight," she says as she watches him leave.
She draws a deep breath and walks over to the bed. The creature lying there, the person, she corrects herself, is some sort of bug-man hybrid she hopes will soon become John Sheppard again. His face is almost right, she notices. His eyes probably, too, only they are closed. And his lips are...
"Hi."
Her greeting is met with a mind-numbing silence as she sits on a chair next to the bed.
"I was passing by and I thought I'd bring you the latest news, maybe work on my bedside manner while you're not able to mock me," she blurts out. "Ah, you're right, that's not it," she smiles at his quirky ability to see right through her even with his eyes closed. "I came to see you. Talk to you. Talk."
She rearranges the bed covers slightly, needlessly.
"I may as well debrief you while I'm here," she immediately switches to her much more comfortable commanding mode. "Walker and Stevens... It looks as though we won't be able to retrieve their bodies. Major Lorne thinks - he's running the military operations in Colonel Caldwell's absence – he thinks we'd be risking too much going in and there probably wouldn't be enough left to claim. Ronon and Teyla offered to go, though. Of course they did," she smiles to herself at the memory of Teyla convincing her how "vitally important it was for them to receive proper funeral rites". She mentally slaps herself and tries to suppress the nagging notion of having to be the one who denied them that right.
She decides to address that some other time.
"Their families will be notified as soon as the Daedalus gets there. I think the cover story is that they were killed in a car explosion in Basra. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I hope the story includes the part where they helped save a good man's life."
She gets up and walks around as if to distract him while she plans her next word.
"Me? I've been doing fine, quite busy, actually," she rambles. "Mostly cancelling Caldwell's orders," she beams proudly. "Should I have waited for you so we could have a laugh together? Or would it upset you so much that you couldn't breathe?" she chuckles. "I think I know the answer. Anyway, some of his suggestions weren't that bad, actually, and I think you'd agree. But then he went to spoil it all by changing the roster... Miller and Stackhouse on the same team!" she laughs and impersonates Sheppard. "But they hate each other's guts, Elizabeth!"
She sits on the edge of the bed and takes his bony blue hand as if to calm him. "I know, I know, but you can't blame the man for trying! No one knows them like you do. He doesn't interact with them on the same level as you do. I mean, he's experienced, he certainly knows what he's doing, he's by-the-book, but he's not you. Not by a long-shot."
She lets go of his hand, subconsciously blaming it for its intangible power to draw the words right out of her mouth against her resolve. "Not to mention you're my indispensable source of useful gossip," she decides to dwell on the more superficial layers of his personality instead. "See? Now you know why I can't have you like this for much longer. Pure selfishness! I want you back on your feet, spouting those sharp comments across the briefing table, driving me mad over every little thing..."
Her voice fades as her defence mechanisms strengthen.
"Hang in there, John. I need you."
She studies his face in a frantic search of acknowledgement. She abolishes this attempt as anguish begins to creep in just as she was beginning to at least feebly joke. She makes the decision on the spot, gets up and opens the curtain separating his bed and the one next to it. She sits on its edge and takes her shoes off. This behaviour alerts the nurse in the adjoining room.
"Dr. Weir?"
"Yes, uh, I think I may stay here for the night if it's not too much trouble."
"I should probably check that with Dr. Beckett," the nurse finds herself blushing at the thought of objecting the Atlantis leader. "Although Colonel Sheppard's condition isn't contagious," she adds quickly in response to Weir's disappointment. "I guess it wouldn't be in such a severe violation of the protocols, but then again, it's you who sets them so..."
"Thank you," she smiles apologetically.
"Goodnight."
"It looks like we're getting away with this," Elizabeth says with a mischievous grin on her lips that is reserved for one person only. "Goodnight, John."
Seven days later John Sheppard finds himself standing in the doorway of Elizabeth's office. She doesn't notice him at once as she is occupied doing something that looks like could be important on her Tablet PC.
"Can't fool me."
Her head turns swiftly in his direction, his appearance causing a spontaneous smile as she immediately recognises not only that the words are coming from John, but also that he sounds human.
"Fool you?"
He raises a finger. "One of the great mysteries of our time has been revealed to me just minutes ago."
"Well?"
He is no longer able to contain a frivolous grin. "Dr. Weir plays Solitaire and chess while working late."
"Ah," she exhales. "Of course the only person who knew that was a particular —" She rolls her eyes. "Career military strategist —"
"Who got his ass handed back to him, right?"
She smiles and places the computer on the table. "Not exactly. More like the other way around."
She gestures towards an empty seat in front of her desk.
"Oh," he accepts the offer and sits down. "That calls for more practice."
"You play?"
"Do you've any idea how boring the infirmary is? Anyway, don't tell Rodney or I'll get my ass whooped big time."
She is now officially in a good mood. "I won't tell a soul."
She notices his eyes have gone back to normal, but the majority of his skin remains an unhealthy shade of blue. Her eyes linger on the clawed hands resting on his lap.
"Creepy, aren't they?"
"You look good today."
"Normally that would cause my ego to swell."
Silence.
She decides to go for a standard cliché. "So, what can I do for you?"
"I... These last few days..." He pauses as if he no longer knew why he came to see her. "I've been remembering things," he nods to himself staring at the pot he gave her what now seems like an eternity ago. "I wasn't exactly in control of my mutated hand when I —"
"The window has been replaced and I believe the security guards have made a full recovery."
"That's good. You're joking, right?"
"John."
Silence.
"What I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry about that." He looks straight into her eyes making her insides tingle somewhat. He breaks the gaze and points to her throat, slowly reaching towards it with his right hand, but quickly changing his mind and retreating.
"Did I mention I was sorry?"
"Look, John, this really isn't necessary."
"Ah, no?"
"No," she lies. "See? Didn't even leave a mark."
He rubs his chin absently, then unexpectedly slams his fist on the table. She jumps in her chair, startled. A security guard posted outside her office comes storming in, ready to restrain Sheppard.
"Everything's ok!" she shouts.
"Proving a point here if you don't mind, Sergeant."
The baffled soldier looks at Weir for confirmation, which he receives in the form of a nod, and leaves the office.
"What the hell was that, John?"
"A demonstration," he explains nonchalantly. "You don't trust me anymore. I don't blame you," he shrugs. "I don't trust me either."
"It's not that... I just wasn't expecting this sort of thing —"
"I could have killed you," he spits out self-loathingly. "I wanted to kill you."
She leans forward on the table waiting to regain his full attention. "No. The iratus bug did. You saved me. Again."
His eyes travel across her face. "That's an interesting way of putting it."
She settles back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd rather not relive the scene," she admits and looks away. "It's appeared more often in my nightmares than I would have liked."
The silence lasting several minutes is secretly welcomed by both parties.
"Are we okay?" her heart jumps at the unfortunate choice of pronoun.
"Okay, as in back to screwing up, working it out, saving the world next week?"
"I've missed it."
She says "it" but she is almost sure she means something else.
John looks at her one last time with an intensity she can only hope is imagined. He quickly shrugs off any improper thoughts. "Oh, and another thing!"
Elizabeth raises an eyebrow.
"A little advice," he says in a mock whisper. "Next time your second-in-command is turning into a space monster, don't go walking into his bedroom alone telling him to shove it."
She smiles as she recognises the usual tactic of sliding back into his pleasantly ironic manner which fills her with confidence that things just may be returning to normal.