Elizabeth Christensen: Casualties of war

There were no letters to write.

Elizabeth Weir had sat down at her desk, turned on her computer, and opened a new document before she'd realized that the entire sequence was unnecessary. The bleak custom had become so familiar that it now felt wrong to skip it. For an odd moment, she considered writing the letters anyway, as if committing the words to paper might ease her burden in some way.

It was my great privilege to work with your son for the past ten months…

Your daughters strength of spirit shone through in everything she did…

This may be of little comfort, but his sacrifice saved more lives than you can imagine…

She'd composed far too many such letters over the course of nearly three years. Each was unique and sincere, but at the core they all said the same things, and none of them fit this situation. Giving up, she closed the document and leaned her elbows on the desk, letting her head sink into her hands.

A soft knock on the doorframe forced her to pull herself upright. John Sheppard stood there, looking about as tired and beaten as she felt. She wondered briefly if maybe she should write the letters and address them to him.

"Got a minute?" he asked simply.

"Of course." Elizabeth gestured toward the chair in front of her desk. Her military commander stepped into the office but didn't take the chair, instead standing with his hands clasped behind his back in a kind of parade-rest position. The stilted decorum of it looked strange on him, and it unnerved her.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, because it was the only thing that came to mind.

John offered a small shrug, barely detectable. "I don't know how to answer that question."

She knew the feeling. "You went to the mainland before I got back."

"I had to tell the Athosians what happened. It was… tough. They took it about like you'd expect-they're survivors. But it was tough."

His features were controlled, as always, but it was clear that he was weighing a decision. At last he exhaled sharply. "Look, there's no easy way of doing this, so I'm just going to get it over with."

Bringing his hands out from behind him, he took a step forward and laid a plain white envelope down in the center of her desk. Elizabeth realized what it contained almost before he pulled back his hand. That recognition only amplified the ache that had long since settled into her chest. She looked at the envelope for a long moment, then glanced up at him. "You can't really believe I'll accept this."

"Half my team is dead." John's voice was toneless. "Two good people, people who followed me because they chose to, not because of a rank. They deserved better."

She couldn't dispute his statement. "Yes, they did. But that doesn't mean that you failed them. You're blaming yourself for events that were beyond your control."

For the first time since he'd entered the room, some of the tension in his frame seemed to abate, and his shoulders slumped. "Yeah, well, it's starting to look like I've let far too many things get `beyond my control' lately."

"John, you're doing a very difficult job with a constantly changing rulebook," she said, doing her damnedest to sound unimpeachably reasonable. Though she knew-better than most-how difficult it could be to change this man's mind, she had to try. "All of us have made mistakes. Yes, these last few days have been an absolute nightmare, but do you honestly think that this expedition would be better off without you?"

He didn't respond directly, his gaze straying to the window, where the control room personnel were maintaining some semblance of business as usual. "I've never doubted my instincts like this before," he said quietly. The admission surprised her into silence. "When I've improvised or gone against recommendations in the past, it's always been because I had a clear picture of how to resolve the situation, and the benefits were worth the risks. This time…I got target-fixated. I lost sight of the big picture, and the expedition can't afford that."

"So you're just going to give up?" Elizabeth demanded, startling herself with her vehemence. "Leave us to fend for ourselves? That hardly sounds like the John Sheppard I thought I knew."

His eyes flared at her challenge, but too quickly he recognized the tactic. "There are a lot of officers better qualified for this position than I am, Elizabeth. Don't think I don't know how many times the SGC has told you that. Maybe it's time you listened to them."

"Your instincts and your experiences are exactly why we need you here," she argued. "Do I have to remind you that, without your intervention a few weeks ago, a Wraith hive ship would have reached Earth?"

"Of course not."

"And more than that-" Rising, Elizabeth leaned forward on the desk. "We balance each other out, you and I. We approach problems differently, and that's what allows us to arrive at the best course of action for Atlantis. Everything we've been through out here has been faced together. Don't ask me to bring in some new officer with no conception of that."

They studied each other for an interminable time as she fervently hoped that she'd gotten through to him. More than anyone else, he'd been her anchor during her recent battle with the nanite infection, and she couldn't imagine taking on the unending challenges of life in the Pegasus Galaxy without his support.

Finally, John dropped his gaze. "My decision's been made. I'll continue my responsibilities here until the SGC sends a replacement. I'm sorry."

Elizabeth wasn't about to let him go quietly. Drawing in a breath, she played her ace. "There's just one thing, Colonel. As long as you wear the uniform of the U.S. Air Force, your duty station is their choice, not yours. And your commander-in-chief has been known to take my calls. This has always been a voluntary assignment, but I can make your transfer options very limited."

His eyebrow lifted. "More limited than Antarctica?"

"Much more. Remember, there are Air Force bases without aircraft."

There was no surprise in his expression; only resignation. "I had a feeling you'd say something like that."

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a small object and placed it on her desk beside the envelope.

Elizabeth stared at it, her resolve wilting. "John, please."

Defeat resonated through his voice. "I really am sorry, Elizabeth."

He didn't have any more words, and neither did she. Helplessly, she watched him leave her office, then reached down and traced a finger across the gleaming silver wings.

After allowing herself a few moments to mourn the end of something she couldn't quite define, Elizabeth sank back into her chair and opened a new document on the computer. Given this development, Stargate Command would need a full report on the disastrous events of the past few days as soon as possible. She might as well get started.

No matter how far from home a person drifted-and this was a fair bit farther than John Sheppard reasonably could have expected to drift-some things remained constant.

While the Ancient version of a washing machine bore little resemblance to anything Maytag had ever dreamed up, everyone agreed that it was awfully efficient. Still, there was only one room of the machines in the occupied section of Atlantis, and so laundry days often turned into a communal experience, much like in a college dorm or basic training.

In one corner, Teyla primly folded clothes and stacked them in a woven basket. Radek Zelenka had his head partially inside a dryer, muttering something that had to be a series of Czech expletives.