All Quiet on the Eastern Pier
Jul. 26th, 2006 10:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sgatazmyTitle: All Quiet on the Eastern Pier
Author: Tazmy
Warnings/Description: Tag to Misbegotten
Thanks to Kodiak, Layla, and Angela for the wonderful beta on this.
The worst part of the return journey to Atlantis was facing Carson every time they passed in the corridors. Rodney hated the silence the most, because Carson’s expression said it all when he wasn’t talking. Just as it had said so much back on the Hive Ship.
Rodney hadn’t hesitated. It wasn’t one of those ethical dilemmas where you get to go sit down, think about things for a while, and then write an essay about what you should choose and why. No, there was only a second to decide, an infinitesimal moment to stare at Carson’s stricken face which was pleading with him not to fire. Sheppard gave the order in his curt military fashion, and Rodney followed as if he were little more than a lowly soldier lost at the bottom of the command rung…as though he had had no choice.
No choice. What the hell is that supposed to mean anyway? No choice but to kill humans…or are they Wraith? No choice but to ignore an aggrieved Carson who watched, horror-stricken, as Rodney did what was necessary and took pieces of his friend’s soul along with it?
Necessary. Choice. They’ve become his two least favorite words. Just what the hell does necessary mean? How many terrible actions go down in history as massacres--hindsight judging mass murderers who too had thought it necessary to take so many lives? What is necessary is not always what one thinks.
His arrival on Atlantis is met with subdued greetings. Elizabeth’s smile is more contrived each time he sees her. Carson isn’t meeting his eyes, but his haggard appearance testifies to a deep, wallowing pain. Sheppard is a soldier…if any guilt remains behind his mask, he’s sure not showing it. Rodney’s the same though, trying to smile and say a snide remark, because if given the chance he’d willingly detonate the bomb again and fire upon a community of humans…or Wraith…or something—and that scares him. He doesn’t believe in souls, not really, but he can’t help but feel like he lost some of his today.
“Why don’t you get some sleep and we can debrief in the morning.”
No one complains, Elizabeth’s remarks only echoing what they are all hoping for anyway. Rodney nods absently, wondering if it’s too late to race to Heightmeyer’s office. How many years of therapy does it take to silence the hundreds of dead voices…voices from people he murdered? No…Wraith. Not people.
Carson has yet to say anything, and Rodney’s starting to wonder if he’s not the only one receiving the cold shoulder treatments. Everyone here, like it or not, are accomplices in some great crime committed for a greater good. Rodney’s not sure where they went wrong--or even if they went wrong--but that won’t silence Carson’s demons…nor his own.
“Carson?”
Everyone turns when Elizabeth calls his name. Most of them had let Teyla offer consolation up until this point—whether it be from their own guilt or just a knowledge that Carson really doesn’t need to hear from them right now. But as a family, they stand beside him as he raises his downcast gaze to fall on Elizabeth.
“Goodnight,” Carson says. His voice is coarse, as though he is awaking from a long sleep and hasn’t spoken for weeks.
Carson has an audience as he leaves the dock, and Rodney can’t help but think that that is the last thing he needs right now. Some air. Some friends. A few laughs. But not people watching and worrying. Carson’s not an exhibit.
A shuffle from his left draws Rodney’s attention. John’s pointed stare is unmistakable, and as nice as a shower and a change of clothes sounds right now, Rodney nods and follows. Before he came here, he thought families were flawed institutions where everyone yelled and was cramped together in close quarters. Forced misery by an equally miserable society. Now…well…he knows families are like a grand science experiment. It takes special care to keep one running but the results are well worth the effort. And one explosion doesn’t mean all is lost.
John doesn’t say anything—doesn’t have to—as they walk side by side down the corridor. Actually, John is slightly more ahead, his brisk step uncalled for at this late hour. McKay would gripe, but he’s still trying to reconcile the giant hole that was blown into his stomach when he followed orders as a good soldier would. He’s not a soldier though. Maybe it would be easier if he was because then he could blame the chain of command. No, he’s got his burden of blame to carry in this whole fiasco and most of it still doesn’t make any sense. For crying out loud, he was actually willing to detonate a bomb on a population of people he wasn’t sure were human or not. And maybe the point isn’t even whether or not they were, but that they might be. There was a chance that these beings were people—that they could be human. Not anymore though. He’s taken that choice away from them.
They find Carson on the east pier, leaning over the rail and sobbing. John hesitates at this, as though unsure whether he should break the physician’s reverie. Rodney shrugs because he doesn’t exactly know how to handle this either. John takes a step forward and then one back, the military colonel at a loss for a decision. Rodney helps by taking a few steps forward and staying there. He might not know what to do with a grief-ridden Carson, but he’s not about to leave him alone on the pier.
The ocean looks beautiful at night, and looking back toward the rest of the city, Rodney realizes that Atlantis is no less enchanting. It’s a long way down and although he knows Carson isn’t about to jump, part of him worries about the possibility. The man has lost so much of himself…how much more could he handle?
“My mother used to tell me…” Carson’s voice is no less coarse than it had been previously. He trembles. His white knuckles grip the rail with a fierce intensity. The crying has stopped, something for which Rodney is extremely grateful.
“You do realize you didn’t finish that thought, right?”
“Aye, Rodney. I’m aware.” More silence.
John takes up the left flank, his back leaning against the metal bar. He places a hand on Carson’s shoulder and Rodney mirrors the action from his end.
At last, Carson speaks once more. “I hate you right now, Rodney. I hate that you pressed that button. That you didn’t hesitate.” Carson’s voice is venomous, but Rodney does not let go of his shoulder, taking the fire silently. “I tried to plead with you, but…I set all of this in motion. All of it. And, Colonel, you just saw it as all cut and dry. You just kept pressing me until there was…bloody hell. I hate the both of you right now. I hate this city. I hate my job. But none of it can even begin to amount to how much I hate myself.”
If Rodney didn’t know John well, he wouldn’t have seen the flinch. But they’ve been through too much for him to miss the repressed action. Rodney figures John probably saw the same in him. Neither of them lift their comforting hands.
The ocean is never truly still. As its waves brush against the metal island, they create a sound in rhythm to Carson’s harsh, angered breathing. Even Rodney knows not to say anything. Words only travel so far and sometimes they make things worse. His shoulder is beginning to ache, begging him to release his hold on Carson, but Rodney does not relent. Some pain is worth having.
It’s morning before they leave the pier, none saying a word even as they make their way to the briefing room. Carson keeps his head lowered throughout the discussion, but Teyla, Ronon, John and Rodney find comfort in meeting each other’s gazes, knowing that they walk this road together. Now if only Rodney could show Carson that.
As Elizabeth begins the closing remarks, Rodney nudges Carson’s arm and offers a weak smile. At first Carson appears angry, as though the gesture only serves to hurt him more. But around the room, Rodney sees that everyone else has their own silent expressions to offer. Carson looks around, taking them each in, and then gives a weak nod. It’s not much--and Carson does bow his head afterwards--but Rodney can see that he got the message. They might be a broken family, but no member shall carry their burden alone.
Author: Tazmy
Warnings/Description: Tag to Misbegotten
Thanks to Kodiak, Layla, and Angela for the wonderful beta on this.
The worst part of the return journey to Atlantis was facing Carson every time they passed in the corridors. Rodney hated the silence the most, because Carson’s expression said it all when he wasn’t talking. Just as it had said so much back on the Hive Ship.
Rodney hadn’t hesitated. It wasn’t one of those ethical dilemmas where you get to go sit down, think about things for a while, and then write an essay about what you should choose and why. No, there was only a second to decide, an infinitesimal moment to stare at Carson’s stricken face which was pleading with him not to fire. Sheppard gave the order in his curt military fashion, and Rodney followed as if he were little more than a lowly soldier lost at the bottom of the command rung…as though he had had no choice.
No choice. What the hell is that supposed to mean anyway? No choice but to kill humans…or are they Wraith? No choice but to ignore an aggrieved Carson who watched, horror-stricken, as Rodney did what was necessary and took pieces of his friend’s soul along with it?
Necessary. Choice. They’ve become his two least favorite words. Just what the hell does necessary mean? How many terrible actions go down in history as massacres--hindsight judging mass murderers who too had thought it necessary to take so many lives? What is necessary is not always what one thinks.
His arrival on Atlantis is met with subdued greetings. Elizabeth’s smile is more contrived each time he sees her. Carson isn’t meeting his eyes, but his haggard appearance testifies to a deep, wallowing pain. Sheppard is a soldier…if any guilt remains behind his mask, he’s sure not showing it. Rodney’s the same though, trying to smile and say a snide remark, because if given the chance he’d willingly detonate the bomb again and fire upon a community of humans…or Wraith…or something—and that scares him. He doesn’t believe in souls, not really, but he can’t help but feel like he lost some of his today.
“Why don’t you get some sleep and we can debrief in the morning.”
No one complains, Elizabeth’s remarks only echoing what they are all hoping for anyway. Rodney nods absently, wondering if it’s too late to race to Heightmeyer’s office. How many years of therapy does it take to silence the hundreds of dead voices…voices from people he murdered? No…Wraith. Not people.
Carson has yet to say anything, and Rodney’s starting to wonder if he’s not the only one receiving the cold shoulder treatments. Everyone here, like it or not, are accomplices in some great crime committed for a greater good. Rodney’s not sure where they went wrong--or even if they went wrong--but that won’t silence Carson’s demons…nor his own.
“Carson?”
Everyone turns when Elizabeth calls his name. Most of them had let Teyla offer consolation up until this point—whether it be from their own guilt or just a knowledge that Carson really doesn’t need to hear from them right now. But as a family, they stand beside him as he raises his downcast gaze to fall on Elizabeth.
“Goodnight,” Carson says. His voice is coarse, as though he is awaking from a long sleep and hasn’t spoken for weeks.
Carson has an audience as he leaves the dock, and Rodney can’t help but think that that is the last thing he needs right now. Some air. Some friends. A few laughs. But not people watching and worrying. Carson’s not an exhibit.
A shuffle from his left draws Rodney’s attention. John’s pointed stare is unmistakable, and as nice as a shower and a change of clothes sounds right now, Rodney nods and follows. Before he came here, he thought families were flawed institutions where everyone yelled and was cramped together in close quarters. Forced misery by an equally miserable society. Now…well…he knows families are like a grand science experiment. It takes special care to keep one running but the results are well worth the effort. And one explosion doesn’t mean all is lost.
John doesn’t say anything—doesn’t have to—as they walk side by side down the corridor. Actually, John is slightly more ahead, his brisk step uncalled for at this late hour. McKay would gripe, but he’s still trying to reconcile the giant hole that was blown into his stomach when he followed orders as a good soldier would. He’s not a soldier though. Maybe it would be easier if he was because then he could blame the chain of command. No, he’s got his burden of blame to carry in this whole fiasco and most of it still doesn’t make any sense. For crying out loud, he was actually willing to detonate a bomb on a population of people he wasn’t sure were human or not. And maybe the point isn’t even whether or not they were, but that they might be. There was a chance that these beings were people—that they could be human. Not anymore though. He’s taken that choice away from them.
They find Carson on the east pier, leaning over the rail and sobbing. John hesitates at this, as though unsure whether he should break the physician’s reverie. Rodney shrugs because he doesn’t exactly know how to handle this either. John takes a step forward and then one back, the military colonel at a loss for a decision. Rodney helps by taking a few steps forward and staying there. He might not know what to do with a grief-ridden Carson, but he’s not about to leave him alone on the pier.
The ocean looks beautiful at night, and looking back toward the rest of the city, Rodney realizes that Atlantis is no less enchanting. It’s a long way down and although he knows Carson isn’t about to jump, part of him worries about the possibility. The man has lost so much of himself…how much more could he handle?
“My mother used to tell me…” Carson’s voice is no less coarse than it had been previously. He trembles. His white knuckles grip the rail with a fierce intensity. The crying has stopped, something for which Rodney is extremely grateful.
“You do realize you didn’t finish that thought, right?”
“Aye, Rodney. I’m aware.” More silence.
John takes up the left flank, his back leaning against the metal bar. He places a hand on Carson’s shoulder and Rodney mirrors the action from his end.
At last, Carson speaks once more. “I hate you right now, Rodney. I hate that you pressed that button. That you didn’t hesitate.” Carson’s voice is venomous, but Rodney does not let go of his shoulder, taking the fire silently. “I tried to plead with you, but…I set all of this in motion. All of it. And, Colonel, you just saw it as all cut and dry. You just kept pressing me until there was…bloody hell. I hate the both of you right now. I hate this city. I hate my job. But none of it can even begin to amount to how much I hate myself.”
If Rodney didn’t know John well, he wouldn’t have seen the flinch. But they’ve been through too much for him to miss the repressed action. Rodney figures John probably saw the same in him. Neither of them lift their comforting hands.
The ocean is never truly still. As its waves brush against the metal island, they create a sound in rhythm to Carson’s harsh, angered breathing. Even Rodney knows not to say anything. Words only travel so far and sometimes they make things worse. His shoulder is beginning to ache, begging him to release his hold on Carson, but Rodney does not relent. Some pain is worth having.
It’s morning before they leave the pier, none saying a word even as they make their way to the briefing room. Carson keeps his head lowered throughout the discussion, but Teyla, Ronon, John and Rodney find comfort in meeting each other’s gazes, knowing that they walk this road together. Now if only Rodney could show Carson that.
As Elizabeth begins the closing remarks, Rodney nudges Carson’s arm and offers a weak smile. At first Carson appears angry, as though the gesture only serves to hurt him more. But around the room, Rodney sees that everyone else has their own silent expressions to offer. Carson looks around, taking them each in, and then gives a weak nod. It’s not much--and Carson does bow his head afterwards--but Rodney can see that he got the message. They might be a broken family, but no member shall carry their burden alone.
