Title: At the End of the Day

Author: Titan5

Summary: The team comes together after a really bad day.

Note: This was originally posted on LJ as a comfort fic for a friend. Warning for extremely mushy ending. Set during Season 3, when Carson and Elizabeth were still around.

At the End of the Day

John followed his team through the gate and back to Atlantis. He was so tired, it felt like his body weighed twice as much as normal. They arrived home covered in a mixture of sweat, soot, blood, and dirt, exhausted in both body and spirit. Elizabeth met them as the wormhole closed down, her face solemn.

"Did you find any survivors?"

John stepped forward to meet her, running his sleeve over his forehead to mop up some of the soot-laced sweat before it ran down in his eyes. "No, no one. We searched for hours . . . tore apart almost any building that had enough space left a person might have survived. Nothing. They're all gone, Elizabeth. Every man, woman, and child is dead or . . . " He trailed off, leaving their fate unstated. He didn't have to say they were future food stored in a Wraith pantry on a hive ship somewhere.

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her middle as if she was cold. "I'm sorry. I know your team was particularly close to the Karish."

With a sigh, John nodded. His team had contacted the Karish their first year in Atlantis. They were simple farmers and didn't really have a lot to trade, but they were honest and fun and always happy to see the Lanteans. They helped them out a few times when food stores ran short and always kept their ears open for news that their Lantean friends might be interested in. Even though they barely knew Ford, they had insisted on grieving with his team after his disappearance. They were good people and John had really liked them. He had even taken them a football on one visit and taught the kids how to play.

John jumped at the hand on his arm and jerked his head up. "What?"

Elizabeth smiled at him, but it was sad and worried. "You need to go see Carson. You look exhausted and all of you are pretty beat up."

It was true he noticed, looking at his team and then himself. They had dug through the wreckage that had been a thriving village, desperate to find even one survivor. They were covered with cuts, scrapes, bruises, and burns. All layered with dirt, sweat, and ash from the fires. "Yeah, I guess we are."

Elizabeth nodded at him, letting his arm go after one final squeeze. "Then get some rest. Your team will stand down tomorrow, something I'm sure Carson will recommend anyway."

"Okay," he mumbled. Turning with his team, they trudged to the infirmary with the last of their energy.

After a cursory exam to make sure no one was seriously injured or about to collapse, Carson sent them to get cleaned up and then report back for him to check on their scrapes and cuts, citing a need to be able to see their injuries to actually be able to treat them. Once they were all cleaned and disinfected, they were told to get food, lots of liquids, and then rest. As expected, he seconded Elizabeth's order for them to stand down a day in order to recover. John wasn't sure he could ever recover completely and the looks on the faces of his teammates echoed that thought.

No one was interested in eating, so they stood around in the corridor for several moments before splitting up to head for their quarters to get some rest. Which brought John to where he was now.

He'd tried to sleep, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in the darkness of slumber, but his mind wouldn't quit conjuring up images of the destroyed village and the bodies that they had found. Most disturbing had been the building that served as a kind of school. It had taken a direct hit and it appeared many of the village children had died there. John kept telling himself that their deaths had been quick, that they hadn't been trapped in the burning and collapsing building with no one able to help them.

Pacing came next, after he'd given up tossing and turning. He found he couldn't breathe when lying down, as if his lungs wouldn't work. He was nervous and jittery and made circuit after circuit around the room until he felt like a zoo animal wearing a path in the floor. He could still smell smoke, no matter how long his shower or how many times he blew his nose. It seemed to be burned into his nostrils and it made him feel like he was suffocating. He was getting dizzy and it took him a moment to realize he'd started hyperventilating.

Outside. He had to get outside. Grabbing his sleeping bag and a pillow, he almost ran from his room to the nearest balcony. Once outside, he gulped in air until he thought his lungs would explode. Dropping his bedding, he gripped the rail and forced himself to bring his breathing under control. The night was warm, but the air coming in off the water was crisp and clean and seemed to wash the smell of smoke from his air passages. By the time his breathing had returned to normal, his head was clearing and he no longer felt like he was suffocating.

Looking up, he gasped at the number of stars visible and how intensely beautiful they were tonight. The sky seemed so far away and the space on the balcony so large. He could feel his muscles unwinding, the slow release of tension almost painful. After several minutes, he unrolled his sleeping bag and lay back against the pillow. He wasn't ready for sleep yet, but the jittery feeling was beginning to slip away.

The sound of the door opening had John twisting around and arching his head back so he could see Ronon standing just over the threshold with his bedroll in his hand. "Ronon?"

"Sheppard?" The big man's stance relaxed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he walked over to throw his bedding down beside John's.

"Yeah, couldn't sleep. Felt kind of . . . claustrophobic tonight."

Ronon plopped down beside him. "Is that what McKay has when he's afraid of small places?"

"Yeah. My room . . . " John rubbed his hand over his face, staring up at the stars. "I just felt like I couldn't breathe."

"Me too," Ronon said.

John didn't mention that he knew Ronon slept out here quite often. Seven years of sleeping outside as a runner was apparently a hard habit to break. Sometimes John wasn't sure he could have made the adjustment. They didn't talk, just lay there, looking up at the sky so far above them, each enjoying the feeling of freedom that it brought. It was enough that they had experienced the same horrors that day and were able to share silently in the aftermath.

The door to the balcony opened again and John found Ronon doing the twist and arch thing along with him to see who had intruded on their hideaway. Teyla stood just inside the door, her sleeping bag in her hand. She looked uncertain, almost embarrassed, a new look for her. "I . . . I could not find you and I thought you would be out here. I find that I cannot sleep. It is as if . . . as if my room is too small and there is not enough air."

"Then you're in the right place," John said, patting the ground beside him. "Grab some floor and join us."

With a deep breath and a half smile, Teyla carefully placed her bag down next to John and then sat down, crossing her legs. "I tried to meditate, but I cannot concentrate."

"I think our brains got smoked," said John. "Rational thought seems hard right now." He took the silence as agreement. His head hurt and his body ached, but the pain in his heart was worse than either of them.

His mind wandered to their last visit. They had spent the day with the Karish, eating and talking and playing. He and Ronon had thrown the football around with the kids while Teyla talked with several of the women who remembered trading with the Athosians when Teyla was a small child. Rodney had taken up with a woman who fussed over him, making sure he had plenty to eat and that none of it was citrus. She knew nothing of science, but she was a good listener and let Rodney ramble about his latest theories unhindered. They had stayed until late in the night and had still been reluctant to leave. His team looked forward to visiting the Karish like a welcome vacation.

The door opened again, but this time John didn't turn around. "Come on in Rodney. What took you so long?"

"Well, technically it's out, not in. And you forgot to send me the memo about the team campout on the balcony. You could have let me know so I didn't have to track you down on the city's sensors."

John turned his head to watch Rodney lay out an extra-thick bedroll, nudging the roll forward with one foot as he held onto a large box. "What's that?"

Ignoring John's question, Rodney lowered himself down onto the bedding, carefully setting the box down in front of him. John lifted his head a few inches so he could look over Ronon's stomach. "Are you going to tell us or is this punishment for not making formal camping plans?"

Ronon stiffened and then his stomach growled. "Is that food?"

Rodney sighed and rolled his eyes. "I ran into Carson on the way over here and he gave me the box. Said he knew for a fact none of us ate supper and we needed to eat if we could. He figured after the day we'd had we'd all be together so he rustled up some sandwiches for us." Rodney popped open the box and peered inside as both John and Ronon sat up.

Although the thought of food earlier had almost gagged John, he now found himself hungry. "What kind of sandwiches?" he asked.

"Give me a minute. Looks like ham and turkey and maybe chicken salad. Hey, there's fruit and jello and cookies too, along with water of course." Rodney grabbed a wrapped sandwich and a bottle of water and passed the box down. A few minutes later, they were all eating as if they hadn't eaten in ages, making John realize they had completely missed lunch. It was easier to push the horrible images of the day to the back of his mind when breathing the fresh ocean air and surrounded by his team.

John reached for the box and pulled out a jello and a cookie, then scraped around for a plastic spoon. After passing the box to Ronon, he dug into his jello. He was aware of Rodney taking the box next.

"Hey, where are all the cookies?" whined Rodney.

Sucking the jello from his spoon, John glanced over to see a large pile of cookies in front of Ronon. "We have to share, Chewie," he said, pointing his spoon toward the mound on the Satedan's sleeping bag.

Ronon chuckled and tossed Rodney a cookie, which he fumbled and almost dropped. They all smiled for a moment, the horror of the day briefly forgotten. Silence once again took over as they finished their meal, each gazing up at the wide open space above them. They sat together, comfortable with the lack of conversation for several minutes.

Teyla cleared her throat and then looked at each of them, her eyes ending on John. "Today was very disturbing and I fear it will take some time for these feelings to fade. However . . . it is made easier to bear by not having to bear it alone."

Rodney suddenly raised his water bottle up. "A toast, to not having to bear bad stuff alone."

With a nod, Teyla lifted her water bottle toward Rodney's. Ronon lifted his to meet the other two. "To friends."

With a tight smile, John lifted his to touch the others. "To family."

THE END