Aftermath

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Well, this is the final chapter for this story - thanks to everyone who have shared it with me, I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

As I've mentioned earlier, RL has intervened again, so this will be my last fanfic for a while. I hope to see you again soon, though ! Till then, enjoy, and take care... :o)

Chapter Twenty Three

Memento Vivere

John Sheppard had no idea what they were talking about, so animatedly, beside a rose-strewn wall. They'd been standing, companionably arm in arm, in the same spot for nearly half an hour now – each of them taking it in turns to talk, to listen, until the other smiled and nodded their agreement.

He had no intention of finding out either, no slightest wish to violate such a vital, precious process. This was Carson's moment. This was his chance to defeat the demons which still cruelly haunted him

Whatever Eleanor Morrison had told him, whatever she was still so gently telling him, John knew it had been for Carson's benefit, and his alone. And he respected Carson too much, valued their friendship too highly, to invade such confidentiality.

So instead he sipped his coffee, hope joining his curiosity at the breakthrough those words had brought. Carson was smiling now, a real and genuine smile, as he and Eleanor returned through the patio doors. For the first time in almost two weeks, Carson Beckett looked genuinely happy to be alive.

And judging by the motherly arm which still linked around his, he'd also been unofficially adopted.

Keeping that thought, in wise diplomacy, to himself, John dutifully rose to his feet to greet them – a deliberately casual lift of his eyebrow met with an equally subtle nod of silent assurance.

'I'm alright, son... I'll be okay now...'

However subtle this exchange had been, though, it had still been noticed in the same quiet relief – Richard Morrison greeting him with a warm smile as he motioned for Carson to re-take his seat.

"Well now, Carson... with such a long journey ahead of you, I hope you'll both stay for lunch...?"

Suddenly realising how long his talk with Eleanor had taken, Carson looked thoroughly mortified – a stress-thickened accent stammering, with returned awkwardness, through an equally chagrined reply

"Och – Och no, General Morrison... no, I – I jus' couldnae think to – to impose on ye both like that... I – I really think we should be goin' now, to – to leave ye both in peace... don't you, Colonel...?"

"You will do no such thing...! I won't hear of it, Carson, you must stay for lunch..." Eleanor told him, fixing Carson with no nonsense eyes, an outraged tone of voice, that left no room at all for argument.

Even John Sheppard, reminded of his fearsome fifth grade teacher, straightened dutifully in his seat – the most subtle of coughs forestalling any further protests that Carson may have dared to make.

Thankfully taking the hint, convinced further by uncanny thoughts of his mother, Carson then smiled – conceding defeat with a shy nod of his head as he relaxed, albeit slowly, into the back of the couch.

He had to admit, in rueful silence, that the frugality of his breakfast was starting to make itself felt. So when a king's feast of sandwiches, cakes and home-made apple pie was laid out before him – well, it was all that Carson could do, and John too for that matter, not to drool with anticipation.

First, though, came a quiet request from his hostess which left Carson Beckett completely floored.

"I thought with your love of poetry, Carson, that... well, perhaps you'd like to say a few words...?"

Thrown for a complete loop, Carson stared up at her, a rollercoaster of emotions riding across his face. Finally, though, compelled by something he couldn't explain, he nodded and rose dutifully to his feet.

"I'm – I'm afraid my Latin's a wee bit rusty..." he said at last, hesitantly re-meeting Eleanor's eyes – inspired by the pride and encouragement he found there to continue with a more heartfelt confidence.

"An' I – I hope I'm rememberin' it right, but... well, aye... yes, I would like to say somethin' here... somethin' important for us all, I think... memento vivere... remember that – that ye have to live..."

Not knowing if he'd said too much, too little, or even the right thing, Carson fell silent once more – the uncertainty on his face melting into dimples of shy relief as Eleanor smiled in motherly approval

"That was beautiful, Carson... thank you... I couldn't have asked for anything more appropriate... a better way to honour Jamie's memory..."

As her husband nodded in proud agreement, Eleanor then slipped her arms around Carson's waist – wrapping him into a tight, emotionally healing hug which neither were in the slightest rush to break.

Watching this simple yet so significant gesture, John Sheppard smiled too, in quietly elated pride.

Carson Beckett would remember, honouring Jamie Morrison's death, the sacrifice he'd made, in the most precious of ways. He would live. He would survive.

Carson Beckett would be alright.