Fic: Strands (2/8) - A Friend Indeed
Authors: 
shiny_starlight & alfirin_kirinki
Beta: cross-beta'd.
Pairing: Stackhouse/Markham
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Season one; some aspects of season two to follow - mostly season two AU.
Summary: Coming to terms the events of Pieces, and returning to tie up the loose ends he left behind, Adam finds company where he least expected it.
Author Note: Somewhere around chapter three of writing Pieces,alfirin_kirinki realised she couldn't bring herself to leave it at the drafted conclusion. Luckily, beta and partner in crime shiny_starlight already had a plot ideal for a sequel. So they united forces, and this is the result.
If you're happy with the way Pieces ended, that's cool; but we just couldn't forgive ourselves. Part one of Strands can be found here.
AK would also like to say a huge thanks to anyone who took the time to nominate Pieces in the Stargate Fan Awards – she's still utterly flattered.
Strands: 2/8
A Friend Indeed
When all you got to keep is strong.
Adam hadn't expected the crisp white walls and the smell of antiseptic to feel so familiar and comforting. He wasn't expecting anything to feel familiar, any more; he'd learned much in the past couple of weeks about the meaning of belonging, and how things changed twice as quickly when you weren't around to see them do it. Coming back to Beaufort was the greatest sense of relief of all.
He had already deposited his things in the room he had been assigned for the duration of his stay at the base, on the third storey of a nondescript building close to the section reserved for the officers' family homes. With no responsibilities until he was reassigned, he had all the time he wanted to spend by himself; instead he'd decided to go and check on the only person he knew of with whom he could actually talk.
The nurses smiled at him as if he was one of their success stories – the way his elementary school teacher had when a former student had returned to tell them about his job as an architect or something – and he just dipped his gaze and headed for the room Marc was supposed to be in. When he got there, his stomach lurched. The white, starched curtains were drawn so he could see straight in – the room was bare, the bed stripped. For a horrendous, shattering moment, he thought that in his absence something terrible must have happened. An undetected blood clot? Aneurysm? He could feel the panic welling in his chest and beneath it, shock that the thought of another of his friends dying still mattered to him as much as it had before. Marc hadn't even really been a friend.
"Staff Sergeant?" a soft voice said from behind him, and a tiny, female hand clasped his elbow, "I'm afraid you won't find him there, any more – we've moved him out of the ICU. At this time of day he'll be in the television room, anyways. You remember where that was, don't you?"
Adam stared at her for a moment, opening his mouth to thank her, but she was already rearranging her notes and turning to walk in the opposite direction.
She was right; he did remember where the TV room was, but he'd never used it once. He hadn't felt that spending hours watching reruns with convalescing 'veterans' half his age, from a petty wealth war, was something that would help his state of mind. He couldn't imagine what would possess Marc to spend time there.
The door was open, when he got there; the TV set to an ancient Tom & Jerry cartoon, but no one was watching it. The only person in the room was slouching in a wheelchair by the window, dressed in dark blue sweat pants and a slightly over-sized grey t-shirt.
"Marc?"
Bates looked round in surprise. Adam figured there weren’t too many people in the hospital who would call the Gunnery Sergeant by his first name.
"So, you’re alive," Marc commented as Adam moved into the room and sat down; not too close, but close enough that all he had to do was wheel his chair around a little for them to have a conversation. On the TV, Jerry had just thumped Tom over the head with a hammer that defied the laws of physics and Adam winced at the loud, grating sound effects. He muted the volume as it was pretty obvious that Marc wasn’t watching it anyway.
"How are you doing?" he asked.
Marc snorted. "I’m in a fucking wheelchair, Stackhouse. How the hell do you think I am?"
Adam glanced away uneasily. "It’s not permanent, is it?"
"They say it’s just 'til I get my strength back up, but they refuse to tell me exactly when that will be. Or even give me an estimation," Marc replied bitterly. Adam nodded, unsure what to say.
"Major Sheppard came to see me," Marc continued, then sneered. "Oh, I'm sorry, Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard. He gave me the whole ‘glad you’re alive’ speech, and a few more details. Then he was kind enough to tell me I 'did good'. How the fuck did I do good? All I did was lie in a fucking coma while the city was attacked and my men were killed!"
Adam shifted uncomfortably, surprised by the outburst.
"Great," Marc laughed humourlessly, turning back to the window. "Now you’re looking at me like you think I’m crazy. Thanks a lot, Stack. Glad I could count on you."
Adam winced at the remark. Truth was, this Marc unnerved him. It was so far removed from the marine whose emotional control was legendary amongst those who worked with him that he wondered if being so badly assaulted had done more damage than they realised.
He wasn't sure how to lie without making them both feel worse; so he said nothing.
"So, where’ve you been?" Marc asked, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence.
"Around," Adam replied quietly. "Went to see my sister, went to talk to Jamie’s parents, drove for days on end..." He paused for a moment, then added, "Unfinished business."
"I was beginning to think you weren't going to make it back."
Adam blinked and looked up from an intense study of the plastic-tiled flooring. "I'm sorry?"
"I was starting to think that you'd made a decision about whether you'd stay or not."
"I'm not due for re-enlistment for another eighteen months – I couldn't just leave even if I wanted to."
"If they know about you and Markham – "
"If they don't already then it's best they don't ever."
"That mean you're staying?" Marc asked a little triumphantly, but looked at him side-long without smiling.
Adam shrugged.
"Don't give me that shit, Staff Sergeant."
"I don't know, Gunny. I don't think I can look at what we do the same way, anymore."
"You have some kind of epiphany while you were out there playing happy families, huh?"
"All I know is that other people aren't so far removed from me, or the people I care about, anymore – and I'm not sure I can go out there and take more human lives over some stupid book or politics or something. It isn't worth this. It's not."
"It isn't worth what?" Marc asked him flatly, finally turning his chair towards him and casting him a sceptical look.
"It's not worth making people feel the way I do. I knew it when I joined the Marine Corps – that we're all human beings – but I didn't understand it then like I do since... well, since we left. What makes them different from us makes us more like them the more we do it."
"Shit, Stackhouse, you went to Kansas and came back Gandhi," Marc teased dryly.
"I'm serious."
"So, what?"
"I just realised that as human beings we have bigger fish to fry – "
"You mean Wraith."
" – than these stupid conflicts I've spent my life losing my friends for."
"Don't be such a fucking wet, pansy-faced hippie. This is our job. This is what we signed up for, and we knew that. You've known it just as long as I have."
"Well, I guess I realised I made a mistake."
"Well, sure – go become an accountant."
"Bates, would you shut up and listen to me? I'm saying that I don't know if I can go back to Pegasus, and I don't want to leave the Corps, but I don't know if I can stay and carry on acting like nothing's changed."
"Then get them to assign you to the SGC. You can shoot as many aliens as you want and still be home in time for the Simpsons. Or – " Marc continued harshly, before Adam could say anything, "- maybe you could cut the crap and just admit that the real reason you don't want to go back is because Jamie died. He died, and suddenly you're a pacifist, afraid to go home and too lonely to stay on Earth."
"Pegasus is home to you?" Adam demanded coldly. "Even though you have a family, here?"
"Are you telling me it's not for you?"
He didn't really have an answer. He hadn't thought of one particular place as home in a long time.
In his wheelchair, Marc gave an impatient sigh. "A month isn't long enough to get over someone dying, Stack... but if you make big changes now you might make bad decisions that you can't fix. If you leave the Corps they aren't going to let you back in, even if you get an honourable."
"What about you?"
"Me? I'm getting back on my feet and back through the Gate as soon as I can. I'm going to find the son of a bitch that did this to me and –"
"He's dead. Sheppard killed him."
Adam took a deep and breath closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push away the memory of the gunshots ringing through the corridors.
"You wish you'd done it."
"Just like you do."
Bates gave a small snort of a laugh. "Just like I do."
"Still think you want to go back?"
"I know I do. Even if it means putting up with the Lone-fucking-Ranger himself. I liked Pegasus – and back here, I just don't feel the same. It's like being sucked down all the time. It's depressing."
"It's gravity."
"Ha ha," Marc deadpanned. "You know what I mean. I just don’t belong here any more, and neither do you. Not after the things we’ve seen and done."
"You mean like watching people die all around us?" Adam snapped, and Marc smiled grimly, glad to have finally gotten the other marine to admit his problem with going back.
"I never said the place was perfect. But it’d be a hell of a lot better than if you stayed here. Since you’re suddenly so anti-war, how do you think you’ll handle being re-deployed and being forced into combat? Or if you leave the Corps? Then what? You going to spend the rest of your life in denial of what happened to you? About what you’ve done and what you’ve lost? What, you going to get married, settle down and be miserable? Oh yeah, great plan Stack. I can see you now: nice little house with a sweet little wife, making both yourself and her miserable. And what about the kids…?"
"Shows how much you know," Adam muttered, getting to his feet and straightening his chair. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and thought about telling him the bitter truth, just to see his face.
"What?
"Nothing," he said finally, with a snort of distaste. "Maybe I'll come back when you're feeling a little less sorry for yourself." Shaking his head, he slammed the door on his way out and decided to go for a run. He could do with working off some excess tension.
Adam stood in front of the full-length mirror, gazing at himself while Maggie straightened her pale green bridesmaid dress in front of him. She finally stuffed a lock of her hair between her teeth and gazed up at him with a bright, twelve-year old grin.
"You look handsome like James Bond," she told matter-of-factly. Adam tried to smile, but was afraid it seemed forced. How the hell had he gotten himself into this? In two hours, he was going to be married. He suppressed the wave of sadness that washed over him when he thought of Carl, and how he should be here to be his best man, to try keep him calm and to convince him that yes, he was doing the right thing.
Adam did love Anna, but he wasn't sure that would be enough.
"Time to go to the church, Adam," his father announced, walking into the room. "Straighten your tie," he ordered, then walked over and did it himself; even though it was already perfect.
Adam sighed as he followed his father down the stairs. When he and Anna had told his parents that they were getting married, his parents had been delighted. He'd thought that maybe, just maybe, this would make them proud. No such luck. They continued to dote on Anna as if she were their child and not him. They treated Adam like the distant son-in-law who had to earn their trust and friendship.
Determined not to let thoughts of his parents ruin his wedding day, Adam spent the trip to the church thinking of all of Anna’s good points.
She was so open and friendly. Just like Carl.
She had a wicked sense of humour. Just like Carl.
She had such expressive eyes. Just like Carl.
And as he stood at the front of the church, watching her float down the isle, looking heartbreakingly beautiful, all he could think was: This is wrong.
Adam picked up the pace, pushing himself faster and faster as he raced towards the point of exhaustion as memories assaulted him at every step.
Anna laughing and smiling in his arms as they danced their first dance.
Her voice filled with sorrow and pain as he tried to explain to her over the phone just why he had left her.
The completely shattered look in her eyes when Jamie took his hand at his parents' table.
And the look of surprise and the hint of resentment that flashed in her round, hazel eyes as she opened her front door to find her estranged, gay husband on the doorstep.
The house her parents had bought them as a wedding present looked just as he remembered it. The colours of the window frames were still the same, although they looked as freshly painted as they had when it was first renovated. There was no picket fence, but that was all that prevented it from conforming to the most idealised suburban cliché.
He still had the key to the front door, but he didn't have the audacity to use it. It hadn't been his home for more than a decade. It hadn't been his home when he lived there, either. Although the Tuckers were extremely kind, pleasant people, he thought they liked him better when he was just Carl's shadow, and not their son-in-law.
It was a shock to see her again after such a long time, even though he had gone there with exactly that intention. She didn't even say anything when she opened the door; she simply stared at him for a few moments before stepping back and holding it open to let him in.
At least the inside of the house looked different. Adam was starting to feel afraid that he'd entered a form of timeslip and was really back in the mid-1990s, about to live through it all again.
"How are you?" she asked quietly, with the sort of subtle accusation his mother had always used when he returned to Seattle on leave – as if underlining the fact that she shouldn't have to ask because she had never wanted him to join the Marines in the first place.
"I've been better," he admitted carefully. "How are you?"
"I'm fine."
"Good..." Adam said, a little uncertainly, "I'm glad."
She didn't seem quite 'fine'. She was pale and seemed to be shivering, despite her grey cardigan and the warmth of the day.
"Where have you been?"
"I... well, a long, long way away."
She nodded, curtly, her arms wrapped across her chest. "And why are you here?"
Adam wasn't sure what to say. He was there to explain himself, to tie up the plethora of loose ends he'd been tripping over since he got back to Earth, to try to offer some sort of apology; but everything he could say sounded like an excuse in his head. "I needed to see you," he explained feebly.
"Won't Jamie be jealous?"
Adam closed his eyes for a moment then turned to gaze out of the window, shaking his head.
"Of course. Why would he be? Is he waiting in the car? You should bring him in," she said crisply.
Adam turned back to look at her, but couldn't meet her eye. He wanted to tell her, but there was a lump in his throat; he gently shook his head, instead.
He could feel her gazing back at him as he stared at a spot just behind her right shoulder; "Adam, where is he?" she asked, more quietly.
He couldn't answer; but he didn't have to. She gave the tiniest, saddest sigh he'd ever heard her utter, and unfolded her arms, reaching out to stroke the side of his head compassionately.
"How did it happen?"
"He was blown up right in front of me."
"Oh, not again!" she whispered, furious with the injustice. "Not after Carl..." She stepped nearer and slipped her arms around him, drawing him down to tuck his head into her shoulder.
Adam gratefully accepted, although surprised by her sudden change in attitude. He wasn't sure he would have been able to do the same, but it was comforting. Perhaps more comforting than Lynn's motherly embrace, because he didn't feel answerable to Anna for losing Jamie. There was guilt, still – a sense of shame for being so selfish as to take the comfort from her when his grief must be a painful reminder of the fact that he had wanted Jamie and not her – but that was Anna. She was kind and selfless, and she would always have done anything he asked of her.
When she drew away, she took a moment to gaze at him, again, squeezing his hands tightly.
"You've lost weight," she told him. "I should get you something to eat – I could cook..."
"I'm fine – thank you."
"No, no – really, let me get you something..."
"Anna," he said softly, but as firmly as he could, "I'm not coming home. I just wanted to talk to you."
Smiling sadly, she said, "I know, Adam. I've had a year to think about it, and I think I understand that much." She guided him to the loveseat and made him sit, perching beside him with her hands clasped together on her knees. "I didn't think I would ever see you again... you'll have to forgive me if I seem a little bit shocked."
"I know... I didn't expect to be here, either."
There was a long pause before she quietly asked, "Were you so afraid of yourself that you couldn't even tell me the way you felt? You must have known that I would have understood, Adam. I would rather have known than seen you so unhappy..."
"I know," Adam confessed. "I wish I had. I wanted to."
"Then why didn't you? Why did you do that to yourself?"
"Mom would say how it'd break your heart and I never wanted to hurt you..."
"But you left me, all the same. I can't imagine that it could have been any worse if you'd told me first... You know, I've been through every single moment so many times... I can't believe I was so stupid. It's obvious, now – there were so many things... I wish I had noticed. I guess I was so caught up in believing you'd get better that I couldn't see what was staring right at me."
"It's not a sickness, Anna. It's just who I am..."
"Oh, I know, honey," she assured him, quickly, squeezing his hand again. "I just meant that everybody thought you were sick. Your mom was so sure that being in the Marines and seeing what happened to Carl gave you issues about being close to people. She thought you were afraid of losing us like you lost Carl and she said that you were always weak, anyway... I tried to tell her you were strong, but she was so sure I guess I started to believe it, too.
"And now, when I look back, I can see the way they pushed you from the start. You didn't want me, at all."
Adam reached out and stroked her shoulder tentatively; "I adored you, right from the first moment I met you. You were so... unpretentious. You were just you and you paid attention to me, even though I was just Carl's idiot of a best friend. Even more than Carl did, you let me be myself – except for that one thing, and I didn't tell you that from the start because I was afraid that if I did, and Carl heard..." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, remembering how the very thought of Carl's reaction – imagining the look on his face – had made Adam's blood run cold. "I did love you, Anna, and I still love you, but as one of the best friends I ever had. You were a friend, a – a sister, someone I could talk to about almost anything... we were so close and when Carl died you were all I had...
"We were perfect for each other and I could see that just as much as everyone else... but I just couldn't be a husband to you. I wanted to be. I wanted to be happy and normal and give you everything you wanted, but I couldn't keep lying... The fact is that I'm just not attracted to women; not even ones this pretty."
Anna allowed him a small, sorrowful smile.
"If I wasn't the way I am – "
"Don't... I understand. I understand, and I forgive you, but you don't realise how much you hurt me. I've lived in this house all on my own for so long, waiting for you come back, because I had no idea why you would marry me and then leave me. I really believed you loved me the way you were supposed to, because I couldn't imagine why you'd ask me to marry you if you had no intention of being with me for the rest of our lives. I must have seemed such a silly little girl..."
"No – no, not at all. I did intend to be with you forever. I hadn't planned to ask you to marry me, but once I'd done it, I did mean it."
Anna gazed at him in confusion, her chin quivering a fraction. "Then why did you ask me?"
"Because Casey said it would be the decent thing to do. After everything that happened... She knew what happened at your parents' house... She told me it was my responsibility and she was right. You were always such a good, moral person – you reminded me of one of those girls from the fifties that you see in movies or Happy Days – and I felt that it was my responsibility to do the right thing. It made sense; I didn't think there were any losers..."
"You married me because..." She frowned in perplexity, as if trying to comprehend what he was telling her, "Because my best friend told you to?"
"No. I did it because I thought it would make you and everyone else happy. I just wanted to do what was best for everyone, and she told me it was what you wanted. What I wanted had never mattered to anybody, and I didn't think that there was any girl in the world I could be as happy with as I might be with you. It was a mistake, but it wasn't ever supposed to turn out like this..."
"Well, the obligation can't have been too strong, because it didn't take you long to change your mind."
"What I wanted had never mattered. I always put other people first, but this was just tearing me apart, Anna. Just try to imagine being married to someone you loved like you loved Carl, and tell me you could have carried on! When I left, I knew I was leaving everything I had that mattered to me. My family didn't count – you know that. After Carl, you were the closest friend I had, and then you took his place. Do you honestly think that throwing that away was a decision I took easy?"
"I cared about what you wanted. I thought that was me, not a fantasy life, and you never gave me reason to think otherwise. I thought when you refused to sleep with me again until we were married, that you were being the sweet Catholic boy I'd first met."
Adam opened his mouth to try to make her understand, but she abruptly changed course, asking, "Did you leave me because you met him?"
"Jamie? Oh – no, no, it wasn't anything to do with anyone but me, I promise you, Anna. I didn't even meet Jamie until I'd been a McMurdo a while. It was more than eight years after..."
"You... Did you love him?"
Silently, Adam nodded.
"And he -?"
"I was the reason he came on the expedition. He left a really close family to be with me. It got him killed."
"He sure seemed upset about what your dad said right before you left."
"What?"
"He told everybody how special you were and how we didn't deserve you. He told us all to go to Hell, too."
Adam hadn't known that. He stared at the carpet absently for a few seconds, remembering how supportive Jamie had been after the fight with his parents, "That sounds like my Jamie..."
"Well, I can at least see what you saw in him, in that case. Of course, your mom disagreed with him; she said he was brainwashing you and that a barely-educated farm boy like Jamie didn't deserve you."
Adam swallowed his anger with difficulty, "She's a stuck-up bitch, Anna. You know, Jamie finished college, which is more than I ever did."
"I'm starting to see that, now." She paused, rubbing he ring finger. There was still a pale band of skin, but no gold. "I've been thinking about it for so long... I was starting to feel happy for you... sad for me, but happy for you, because I thought that at least something good had come of all this. Jamie evidently loved you very much."
"I know," he nodded. "I was lucky."
"Did it happen a long time ago?"
"A few weeks." Adam thought about it for a moment. "Thirty-four days, actually."
Anna gave a small, cynical smile and rubbed his knee, "How many hours?"
"Earth or Atlantean?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Nothing. Just a little... um, a team joke."
"Oh. I see. So, what do you plan to do, now? Are you going back to the Marines and wherever you've been, or - ?"
"I'm going back to Beaufort, for a while... I don't know about going back to the expedition. So much has changed... But, Anna – there's something we need to talk about. You know, there is no point in dragging things out any longer. Things between us aren't going to be the way they should have been, and... it's probably time to move on."
"You want a divorce."
"I think it's probably time."
Anna nodded silently.
"I'll keep on taking care of things for as long as you need me to, and the house is yours, it goes without saying – "
"Adam, I don't need money from you. I haven't touched a dime."
"I noticed – but I want you to know that I'll give you whatever you need from me. I promise."
"I needed a husband," she told him flatly.
"You should find someone who can be. You deserve to be happy."
If he wasn't feeling bad enough already, the tears that started rolling down her face sealed it.
"I know you're right," she told him, wiping her cheeks with a grey woollen sleeve, "but I just... I always hoped just a little that you'd change your mind."
Adam took a deep breath and shifted nearer, wrapping both arms around her and propping his chin on the top of her head, "I'm sorry, Tooks. It's time to move on, you know that... Life is too short to keep waiting for something that can't happen. You're still young and you're beautiful and you've got time to be really, really happy. Please go and do it... Just make sure you let me meet him before you marry him, so I can make sure he's good enough for you."
"You sound like Carl!" she told him, with a very damp-sounding laugh.
"Well, I was supposed to look after you for him... I don't suppose he'd be too proud of me."
"When I needed it, you did everything perfectly right."
"And then I screwed up the rest..."
"I'm going to miss you, Adam."
"Why? We're just getting to know each other again. Maybe once we're not married anymore we can start being friends like we used to."
Marc Bates gave the young nurse his best military glower as she bustled into his room, brandishing a paper cup.
"Time for your meds," she chirped. Marc rolled his eyes and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He took the cup form her, neither nodding thanks nor smiling, and her smile faded a little. Marc enjoyed the little feeling of satisfaction that gave him. It was a long time since he’d given someone hell and true, one nurse wasn’t the same as a platoon of men, but hey, he’d take what he could get.
He groaned slightly as he settled back into the bed. His entire body ached. He’d been awake and out of his coma for twelve days now, but his body was still weak and sore. He went through intense physiotherapy every day to try to re-build his muscle strength, and between that and daily visits from his still weeping mother, he was bone weary.
He closed his eyes and tried to relax but his mind buzzed with thoughts, and he couldn’t settle. A short rap on the door interrupted his pathetic attempt at sleep and he growled out "Come in," without even opening his eyes. He figured it was Wonder-Nurse again with something else to annoy him, until a male cough snapped his eyes open.
And he found himself eye to eye with Thor.
If not for it being the wrong colour, the little green doll was an exact replica of the Asgard Commander that Marc had seen in the SGC on several occasions. Marc followed the arm holding the doll and met the smirking face of Adam Stackhouse.
"Remind you of anyone?" Stackhouse asked.
"If Commander Thor sees that, it could cause an inter-galactic incident," Marc commented dryly.
"And why’s that?"
"Cos he and his people are grey not green, and apparently, they’re picky."
Adam smirked and dropped the doll into Bates’ lap. "You would not believe the amount of alien-themed diners, museums and stores that are around," he told him. "And I didn’t even go anywhere near New Mexico."
He reached into a backpack he had slung over one shoulder. "Oh, and I got you this too," he said.
Marc took the slim, staple-backed book and snorted with laughter at the cover. It read in large silver letters: ‘Aliens, THE TRUTH!’ He flicked through a couple of pages, rolling his eyes as he skimmed stories of ‘Aliens abducting them for orgies on their space ship!’ and ‘facts’ of alien landings and the government's collusion with ‘these beings from the far reaches of the cosmos’.
If only they knew.
He got to the last page, and laughed aloud. Under a picture of generic little green men, someone (and Marc had a pretty good idea whom) had written "It’s not like they said in the brochure!"
Marc read some more of the book while Adam settled himself in the chair, and he really couldn’t help but laugh at just how ridiculous it was. They really hadn’t a clue.
"So, stopped feeling sorry for yourself?" Adam asked with a slyly raised eyebrow.
"Have you?" Marc countered.
"Touché." An uncomfortable silence descended on the room. Marc hated awkward silences, so he decided to just jump to the heart of the matter.
"Stacks, what did I say that made you run out of here like a Wraith was after you?"
Clearing his throat abruptly, Adam turned his eyes to where his fingers had begun picking at the leather edge of the chair's armrest. He didn't seem ready to answer, but just as Marc opened his mouth to prompt him, he declared, "There's a lot about people you don't find out in a year..."
Marc quirked an eyebrow in response, "Like what?"
After another weighty pause, Adam confessed, "I already did the 'get married, settle down' thing... long time ago." He stopped and expelled a short huff of breath, "I just visited her; persuaded her to divorce me..."
"What?"
"I said I'm married. Have been more than a decade... we were just 'estranged', that's all..."
"Wait - wait, let me get this straight," he said after a moment, clearing his throat. "You got married years ago, left her, started playing for the home team and then went to another fucking galaxy? And only now you’re talking about divorce?" Marc’s voice had risen slowly but surely, until the end wasn’t a shriek, but it was the closest thing he ever came to one.
"That pretty much sums it up," Adam admitted, ducking his head sheepishly. "But... I've always played for the 'home team', if that's what you want to call it..."
"Well, I bet you didn't have a lot of trouble convincing her to divorce you!" Marc had to grin. "It’s always the quiet ones," he said, laughing at the faint blush that coloured the other man's cheeks, until he looked up at him sharply.
"Don't. Just... leave Anna alone – she doesn't deserve to be the butt of your jokes, Bates. She's one of the few people I have left." He paused, his voice taking on a slightly wistful tone, "She deserved better..."
Marc mused this over, in some way unsurprised that of all his men on Atlantis, Adam Stackhouse was the one to have a mess of background, despite everything else he did being neat and ordered. "So, did you see your family, or what? You got a sister, right?"
Adam nodded, without looking at him. "And a brother. Pete. I caught up with them both... talked to Pete for the first time in years. Really talked, I mean. Peter and I never really had a lot in common..."
"Let me guess, he was the golden boy. The eldest child that could do no wrong in your parents' eyes. Perfect in every way?"
"Yeah," Adam agreed quietly. "Did the whole ‘got married and had kids’ thing. We didn’t talk for a lot for years. And after what happened just before we left for Atlantis… well, to be honest, I didn’t think I ever would again."
"What happened before we left?"
Adam gave a small sigh. "Jamie. I took him home."
"To your parents?"
"Well – I lived in an apartment they bought when they were first married; my sister lives there, now... They uh... they invited Anna over for dinner – Jamie didn't know about her, she didn't know about Jamie... it was a mess. I left; didn't expect to talk to anyone of them again..."
"So, what made you change your mind?"
"Maggie. My baby sister. She told me that Pete wanted to see me. I wasn’t too into the idea, but he was storing some of my stuff anyway, so I went to his house. We ended up talking. He drives a Taurus. He works in an office. He comes home every day for dinner at 18.30 on the stroke. He’s a good guy. A little whipped, maybe, but a good guy. The amazing thing is that for the first time in my life, I didn’t envy him at all." He blinked, and then looked at Marc, embarrassed. "Don’t know why I just told you that."
Marc shrugged, "I asked."
"Yeah... I guess you did."
There was nothing but a soft sigh between them for a few minutes, until Adam asked, "So, how are you doing? Have they told you any more?"
"Well, they think it's just a matter of a few months hanging around this place, and then I'll be right back out there. Right out there, if you know what I mean..." Marc raised the book as added illustration, although he was fairly certain it wasn't needed.
"So, you're definitely going?"
"As soon as I'm cleared for duty and the ship's heading out again, I'm gonna be on it."
Adam nodded, silently, almost imperceptibly, but said nothing.
"What about you, Staff Sergeant? Will you be remaining in the United States Marine Corps, or running back to Civvy Street to set up a frock shop?"
Adam snorted. "Sure, that'd go down real well. Can you imagine it?"
"I’m trying not to," Marc told him, wincing slightly at the mental image of Staff Sergeant Adam Stackhouse in a pretty little peach number.
"You said it."
"Yeah, and I really wish I hadn't."
Adam grinned and stretched, looking around the four bare walls of the room. "They ever let you out of this place?"
"What, all by myself?" Marc asked sarcastically.
Adam nodded, and then suddenly shrugged, "I'll take you outside, if you want. Even my company's gotta be better than staying in here all the time."
"Well, I was just going to get some sleep…" Marc started.
"Oh, then I'll let you do that..."
"But that was more to get away from the irritating nurses than any real need to rest," Marc continued on as if Adam hadn’t spoken, moving to swing his legs over the side of the bed as he did so.
"Are you going to walk?" Adam asked him hesitantly, clearly unsure of what kind of reaction the question would get.
"If I walked, I’d probably get about seven paces before I fell on my ass," Marc admitted grudgingly. "Better take the chair," he said, manoeuvring himself into it.
"You need me to push?"
"Well, if you want to make it to the end of the hall by the end of the week, you better..."
Adam merely smirked a little and rounded to the back of the chair.
Two months later, Marc no longer needed the wheelchair. There was a crutch for steadying purposes, but he was otherwise mobile; in part, he suspected, because of his reduced meds. He hated being medicated – not feeling in complete control of his own body – and it was a welcome relief to spend afternoons sitting on the manicured lawns outside the hospital, bickering with Stackhouse, just to be outside the whitewashed walls.
Marc wasn't keen to admit that he needed anybody, but it was almost comforting to know that Adam would be around, each day. He was a little piece of Atlantis – of Marc's home, as far as he was concerned – and now he had the time and inclination to get to know the other marine better, he found him to be likeable and surprisingly aware, for someone so caught up in his own troubles. His habit of drifting away into silent contemplation was sometimes uncomfortable - Marc didn't need to be told what was on Stack's mind, then. Even as the weeks passed and his eyes dried a little, grew less dewy and lost, they remained dull – but Marc wasn't put off. If anything, he was reassured.
The simple fact was that Marcus was a heterosexual male spending all of his time with a gay colleague; it would have been more unusual for him not to have felt self-conscious on occasion. But Adam's continued fixation, and obvious grief, was a settling influence. He wasn't interested in anyone or anything, least of all Marc.
The only occasion on which the issue was raised, was when Adam himself had muttered a comment about 'people like us'. "Us?" Marc had enquired, suddenly tense and afraid that the foundations of their friendship were about to be blown apart by a horrible misunderstanding. Adam had simply squinted at him in the late afternoon sunlight, and shaken his head as he studied the roots of a small tuft of grass he had recently liberated from the hospital lawns; "No," he corrected flatly, as one hand moved to the mysterious pocket where he evidently carried unnamed keepsakes that reminded him of Jamie, "Us."
Clearly, he didn't feel that death had changed anything of the loyalty he and Markham had shared; there was still an 'Us' for him to be part of. They had never spoken of it since.
Adam enjoyed driving in the dark, especially on lonely mountain routes. The winding, precarious roads, canopied by trees which looked sinister lit only by moonlight and the headlights from the car were almost exhilarating in their creepiness. He'd never lived far from the mountains. He was used to them in a way Jamie hadn't been, having grown up in the largely flat, arable land of the Kansas/Oklahoma border. No matter how long they had driven, when they travelled between their respective homes before leaving for Pegasus, Jamie never stopped being mildly excited by the terrain.
He had fought in the hills of Afghanistan very recently, but somehow, the northern Rockies had been much more exciting for him. Adam had enjoyed his childish delight, watching his wide eyed amazement as a large bear had ambled across their path, forcing them to slow until it was safely on the other side and regarding them with a vague interest as Adam put the car in gear and continued down the mountainside. Jamie had been almost plastered to the windshield, like a child.
"I can't believe that! That was a bear! A real bear!"
"No," Adam had teased, "that was an escaped puppet from the Henson Creature Workshop... couldn't you see the guy with his hand up its ass?"
Jamie had just grinned at his sarcasm and turned around to watch the bear as it disappeared into the distance. "Never saw a bear before," he had commented in awe.
"Yeah, well, it’s a month of firsts. First time seeing a bear, first time meeting my wonderful parents…"
"First time going to another galaxy..."
"First time getting looked at funny by motel staff..."
"Motel staff always looked at me funny... still think I'm 'bout fourteen..." He dug around in the glove compartment and pulled out a bag of candy. "Want some?"
Adam laughed at him. "You sure you don't mean they think you're four?"
"I eat when I'm...well. You saw the photos at my mom's place. Used to eat for any occasion. But candy's still good. Have some. C'mon."
"Not sure a sugar high's too great an idea driving a mountain road in the dark, Jay..."
Jamie had just grinned and tore apart a sour candy ring with his teeth.
Now, Adam smiled to himself. He could visualise the whole journey so clearly; remember the shirt Jamie was wearing, the way one side of his fringe had refused to stand in the direction expected of it and poked rebelliously out to the side. It was like a waking dream; a roleplay of events already passed. He was there – right in that moment – Jamie beside him, as solid and real as he had been a year ago.
"Y'think there's gonna be bears in the Pegasus Galaxy?"
"We don't even know there's going to be oxygen in the Pegasus Galaxy..."
"Oh, c'mon! These ancients evolved into me. They made spaceships out of cities. Of course they had oxygen!"
Adam turned to laugh at him and swerved a little as Jamie leaned across and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, stuffing a piece of candy in his mouth.
"Damn! Be careful – you'll send us off the road, Jay!" Adam scolded, but he was laughing and chewing reluctantly on his confectionery.
"Least you'd die in good company, huh? Jelly bean?"
"I hope that's not a new pet name..."
Jamie laughed and scratched at the back of Adam's neck affectionately, holding out a few in his palm and feeding those to Adam, too. "Wasn't. But it is now."
Laughing, Adam said aloud, "Well, thank you, sugarplum..." And instantly the illusion vanished. Like a soap bubble bursting in mid-air, it was all gone and he was alone again, on a deserted road in the middle of the night. He pulled over at the first opportunity, unable to go any further.
Almost exactly six months later, Marc no longer needed anyone to push him or a crutch to lean on; in fact, the weeks he'd spent stuck in the chair seemed a decade ago. His recovery had been swift, largely due to his physical fitness before the attack, but also thanks to the stubborn persistence of a certain NCO from Washington State who kept forcing him to prove himself, pushing him further, until he realised he'd dragged him out of the chair without ever laying a hand on him.
He stood off to one side in the gateroom, observing the scene of semi-organised chaos around him. Scientists were having last minute panic attacks about their equipment; so much so that General Landry had rolled his eyes and ordered Caldwell to start beaming the boxes and crates up onto the Daedalus, no matter what the owner of the crate said.
A fresh batch of marines and other assorted military personnel from around the world milled together in clumps, nervousness warring with excitement in their eyes.
They kept their expressions schooled into a mask of calm, but Marc could tell. He recognised the look from when he had stepped through the Gate to Atlantis over a year ago.
He remembered standing in the very same spot on that day, eyes sweeping the crowd. Things had been so different then. They hadn’t known about the Wraith, they were almost naïve in their eagerness to explore, they hadn’t lost so many people, and not just in the physical sense. Several people came back from Pegasus broken shells of what they once were because of what they had seen and what they had done.
In thinking that, Marc’s thoughts immediately turned to Stacks. He'd first met him here at the SGC approaching two years before, a reserved, steady noncom – ever the straight man to the goofy farm boy who tagged along with him endlessly. Secretly, Marc had begun to refer to Adam as 'Dorothy'. It didn't take him long to realise that there was more than Buddy Love between them, though. He'd tried to ignore it at first, telling himself that what happened to Anthony had given him a suspicious mind, but he knew, deep down that there was more to it than that.
Their time in Pegasus had been one hell of a long year. He'd had plenty of time to observe them and realise that the balance of dependence wasn't necessarily what it seemed. Jamie's death had been a disaster, in Marc's opinion. The loss of two popular team members had been a terrible blow to the base morale, but the bright, candid and affectionate sergeant had been a particular loss; and had almost cost them one of the best NCOs they had. It couldn't have come at a worse time. As the senior NCO on the expedition, the highest authority amongst the enlisted Marines, it was his responsibility to ensure the safety of all of his men; there were those he could not save – those like Jamie Markham and Andy Smith – and there were those they'd lose if someone wasn't in control.
He still felt a little like he had let Adam down. Perhaps that was why he had fought so hard to take him back to Pegasus; he wanted a second chance.
"Nope," Stacks said, bouncing the basketball a few times. They were in the indoor basketball court on the base and were the only ones there. Marc had mentioned off-hand the day before that he missed basketball, both watching and playing it, and the next day, Adam had kidnapped him. He had ‘commandeered’ an extra wheelchair from somewhere, and challenged the still-recovering marine to a game on one-on-one ball. As neither of them had great control of their chairs, the game had quickly degenerated into a farce. It was every man for himself and Marc had to admit, it was the most fun he’d had since he woke up.
Stacks hadn’t laughed too much though.
Marc had been reluctant to head back to his room and to once again be under the all-seeing, all-knowing, ever-watchful eye of Nurse Philips. He’d started shooting random baskets, missing more often than not, but determined to regain his control and his perfect aim once again.
"Tell you what," he said after one particularly spectacular miss, "I get this next shot, you come back to Pegasus. Deal?"
"Nope," Stacks said, bouncing the ball lightly and tossing it hard at Marc's chest.
"Gunnery Sergeant?" a voice behind him startled him out of his reverie.
"Yes…Corporal?" he answered, quickly checking the rank of the unknown marine in front of him.
"We just got word from Colonel Caldwell. We’re almost ready to start beaming people up, Sir."
"Good. Make sure people are in their designated transportation groups. I’ll go round up the last of the latecomers." He heard the murmur behind him increase and the few surprised and awed gasps when the first group was beamed up to the waiting starship. The hallway leading to the Gateroom was still crowded and Marc spent a good ten minutes herding people to the departure point. Caldwell was career military, and didn’t appreciate being kept waiting when he had given orders.
He took a final glance down the corridor when at last the person he was waiting for appeared.
"Where the Hell were you, Stacks?" he asked, as Adam fell into step beside him on the walk back to the Gateroom.
"Last minute call from Maggie. She wanted to know where she could send her letters to," Stackhouse told him, and Marc could hear the happiness in his voice. He could understand why. The last time he’d left for Pegasus, he’d had no one to really say goodbye to, but he’d had Markham. This time, he had a part of his family, but was without the Farmboy. It wasn’t a switch Marc was sure Stackhouse would have preferred, but he was coping.
"How's she doing? Worried about her little-big brother?" Marc teased. He'd met Maggie when she had travelled to Beaufort to visit Adam; their relationship was oddly out of balance – each playing both the scolding elder and hapless younger sibling, simultaneously. It made Marc wonder what the hell their parents had done to them to make them that way.
Stackhouse gave a twitch of a smile and nodded, solemnly. "I came back the last time. She knows I'll be okay."
Marc looked at him as he swiped open the Gateroom doors and allowed him to walk in ahead of himself, "How about you? You worried about her?"
Adam turned and backed into the room with a cynical half-smirk, shaking his head slightly; "She's got Pete. She's got friends. She doesn't need me looking after her."
He watched as Adam stopped just outside of the group of gathered travellers awaiting transportation to the Daedalus, and began checking his bergen straps. Sure, he thought and sighed resignedly, and guess who's been landed with looking after you.
Part Three
shiny_starlight & alfirin_kirinkiBeta: cross-beta'd.
Pairing: Stackhouse/Markham
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Season one; some aspects of season two to follow - mostly season two AU.
Summary: Coming to terms the events of Pieces, and returning to tie up the loose ends he left behind, Adam finds company where he least expected it.
Author Note: Somewhere around chapter three of writing Pieces,
alfirin_kirinki realised she couldn't bring herself to leave it at the drafted conclusion. Luckily, beta and partner in crime shiny_starlight already had a plot ideal for a sequel. So they united forces, and this is the result.If you're happy with the way Pieces ended, that's cool; but we just couldn't forgive ourselves. Part one of Strands can be found here.
AK would also like to say a huge thanks to anyone who took the time to nominate Pieces in the Stargate Fan Awards – she's still utterly flattered.
Strands: 2/8
A Friend Indeed
When all you got to keep is strong.
Adam hadn't expected the crisp white walls and the smell of antiseptic to feel so familiar and comforting. He wasn't expecting anything to feel familiar, any more; he'd learned much in the past couple of weeks about the meaning of belonging, and how things changed twice as quickly when you weren't around to see them do it. Coming back to Beaufort was the greatest sense of relief of all.
He had already deposited his things in the room he had been assigned for the duration of his stay at the base, on the third storey of a nondescript building close to the section reserved for the officers' family homes. With no responsibilities until he was reassigned, he had all the time he wanted to spend by himself; instead he'd decided to go and check on the only person he knew of with whom he could actually talk.
The nurses smiled at him as if he was one of their success stories – the way his elementary school teacher had when a former student had returned to tell them about his job as an architect or something – and he just dipped his gaze and headed for the room Marc was supposed to be in. When he got there, his stomach lurched. The white, starched curtains were drawn so he could see straight in – the room was bare, the bed stripped. For a horrendous, shattering moment, he thought that in his absence something terrible must have happened. An undetected blood clot? Aneurysm? He could feel the panic welling in his chest and beneath it, shock that the thought of another of his friends dying still mattered to him as much as it had before. Marc hadn't even really been a friend.
"Staff Sergeant?" a soft voice said from behind him, and a tiny, female hand clasped his elbow, "I'm afraid you won't find him there, any more – we've moved him out of the ICU. At this time of day he'll be in the television room, anyways. You remember where that was, don't you?"
Adam stared at her for a moment, opening his mouth to thank her, but she was already rearranging her notes and turning to walk in the opposite direction.
She was right; he did remember where the TV room was, but he'd never used it once. He hadn't felt that spending hours watching reruns with convalescing 'veterans' half his age, from a petty wealth war, was something that would help his state of mind. He couldn't imagine what would possess Marc to spend time there.
The door was open, when he got there; the TV set to an ancient Tom & Jerry cartoon, but no one was watching it. The only person in the room was slouching in a wheelchair by the window, dressed in dark blue sweat pants and a slightly over-sized grey t-shirt.
"Marc?"
Bates looked round in surprise. Adam figured there weren’t too many people in the hospital who would call the Gunnery Sergeant by his first name.
"So, you’re alive," Marc commented as Adam moved into the room and sat down; not too close, but close enough that all he had to do was wheel his chair around a little for them to have a conversation. On the TV, Jerry had just thumped Tom over the head with a hammer that defied the laws of physics and Adam winced at the loud, grating sound effects. He muted the volume as it was pretty obvious that Marc wasn’t watching it anyway.
"How are you doing?" he asked.
Marc snorted. "I’m in a fucking wheelchair, Stackhouse. How the hell do you think I am?"
Adam glanced away uneasily. "It’s not permanent, is it?"
"They say it’s just 'til I get my strength back up, but they refuse to tell me exactly when that will be. Or even give me an estimation," Marc replied bitterly. Adam nodded, unsure what to say.
"Major Sheppard came to see me," Marc continued, then sneered. "Oh, I'm sorry, Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard. He gave me the whole ‘glad you’re alive’ speech, and a few more details. Then he was kind enough to tell me I 'did good'. How the fuck did I do good? All I did was lie in a fucking coma while the city was attacked and my men were killed!"
Adam shifted uncomfortably, surprised by the outburst.
"Great," Marc laughed humourlessly, turning back to the window. "Now you’re looking at me like you think I’m crazy. Thanks a lot, Stack. Glad I could count on you."
Adam winced at the remark. Truth was, this Marc unnerved him. It was so far removed from the marine whose emotional control was legendary amongst those who worked with him that he wondered if being so badly assaulted had done more damage than they realised.
He wasn't sure how to lie without making them both feel worse; so he said nothing.
"So, where’ve you been?" Marc asked, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence.
"Around," Adam replied quietly. "Went to see my sister, went to talk to Jamie’s parents, drove for days on end..." He paused for a moment, then added, "Unfinished business."
"I was beginning to think you weren't going to make it back."
Adam blinked and looked up from an intense study of the plastic-tiled flooring. "I'm sorry?"
"I was starting to think that you'd made a decision about whether you'd stay or not."
"I'm not due for re-enlistment for another eighteen months – I couldn't just leave even if I wanted to."
"If they know about you and Markham – "
"If they don't already then it's best they don't ever."
"That mean you're staying?" Marc asked a little triumphantly, but looked at him side-long without smiling.
Adam shrugged.
"Don't give me that shit, Staff Sergeant."
"I don't know, Gunny. I don't think I can look at what we do the same way, anymore."
"You have some kind of epiphany while you were out there playing happy families, huh?"
"All I know is that other people aren't so far removed from me, or the people I care about, anymore – and I'm not sure I can go out there and take more human lives over some stupid book or politics or something. It isn't worth this. It's not."
"It isn't worth what?" Marc asked him flatly, finally turning his chair towards him and casting him a sceptical look.
"It's not worth making people feel the way I do. I knew it when I joined the Marine Corps – that we're all human beings – but I didn't understand it then like I do since... well, since we left. What makes them different from us makes us more like them the more we do it."
"Shit, Stackhouse, you went to Kansas and came back Gandhi," Marc teased dryly.
"I'm serious."
"So, what?"
"I just realised that as human beings we have bigger fish to fry – "
"You mean Wraith."
" – than these stupid conflicts I've spent my life losing my friends for."
"Don't be such a fucking wet, pansy-faced hippie. This is our job. This is what we signed up for, and we knew that. You've known it just as long as I have."
"Well, I guess I realised I made a mistake."
"Well, sure – go become an accountant."
"Bates, would you shut up and listen to me? I'm saying that I don't know if I can go back to Pegasus, and I don't want to leave the Corps, but I don't know if I can stay and carry on acting like nothing's changed."
"Then get them to assign you to the SGC. You can shoot as many aliens as you want and still be home in time for the Simpsons. Or – " Marc continued harshly, before Adam could say anything, "- maybe you could cut the crap and just admit that the real reason you don't want to go back is because Jamie died. He died, and suddenly you're a pacifist, afraid to go home and too lonely to stay on Earth."
"Pegasus is home to you?" Adam demanded coldly. "Even though you have a family, here?"
"Are you telling me it's not for you?"
He didn't really have an answer. He hadn't thought of one particular place as home in a long time.
In his wheelchair, Marc gave an impatient sigh. "A month isn't long enough to get over someone dying, Stack... but if you make big changes now you might make bad decisions that you can't fix. If you leave the Corps they aren't going to let you back in, even if you get an honourable."
"What about you?"
"Me? I'm getting back on my feet and back through the Gate as soon as I can. I'm going to find the son of a bitch that did this to me and –"
"He's dead. Sheppard killed him."
Adam took a deep and breath closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push away the memory of the gunshots ringing through the corridors.
"You wish you'd done it."
"Just like you do."
Bates gave a small snort of a laugh. "Just like I do."
"Still think you want to go back?"
"I know I do. Even if it means putting up with the Lone-fucking-Ranger himself. I liked Pegasus – and back here, I just don't feel the same. It's like being sucked down all the time. It's depressing."
"It's gravity."
"Ha ha," Marc deadpanned. "You know what I mean. I just don’t belong here any more, and neither do you. Not after the things we’ve seen and done."
"You mean like watching people die all around us?" Adam snapped, and Marc smiled grimly, glad to have finally gotten the other marine to admit his problem with going back.
"I never said the place was perfect. But it’d be a hell of a lot better than if you stayed here. Since you’re suddenly so anti-war, how do you think you’ll handle being re-deployed and being forced into combat? Or if you leave the Corps? Then what? You going to spend the rest of your life in denial of what happened to you? About what you’ve done and what you’ve lost? What, you going to get married, settle down and be miserable? Oh yeah, great plan Stack. I can see you now: nice little house with a sweet little wife, making both yourself and her miserable. And what about the kids…?"
"Shows how much you know," Adam muttered, getting to his feet and straightening his chair. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and thought about telling him the bitter truth, just to see his face.
"What?
"Nothing," he said finally, with a snort of distaste. "Maybe I'll come back when you're feeling a little less sorry for yourself." Shaking his head, he slammed the door on his way out and decided to go for a run. He could do with working off some excess tension.
Adam stood in front of the full-length mirror, gazing at himself while Maggie straightened her pale green bridesmaid dress in front of him. She finally stuffed a lock of her hair between her teeth and gazed up at him with a bright, twelve-year old grin.
"You look handsome like James Bond," she told matter-of-factly. Adam tried to smile, but was afraid it seemed forced. How the hell had he gotten himself into this? In two hours, he was going to be married. He suppressed the wave of sadness that washed over him when he thought of Carl, and how he should be here to be his best man, to try keep him calm and to convince him that yes, he was doing the right thing.
Adam did love Anna, but he wasn't sure that would be enough.
"Time to go to the church, Adam," his father announced, walking into the room. "Straighten your tie," he ordered, then walked over and did it himself; even though it was already perfect.
Adam sighed as he followed his father down the stairs. When he and Anna had told his parents that they were getting married, his parents had been delighted. He'd thought that maybe, just maybe, this would make them proud. No such luck. They continued to dote on Anna as if she were their child and not him. They treated Adam like the distant son-in-law who had to earn their trust and friendship.
Determined not to let thoughts of his parents ruin his wedding day, Adam spent the trip to the church thinking of all of Anna’s good points.
She was so open and friendly. Just like Carl.
She had a wicked sense of humour. Just like Carl.
She had such expressive eyes. Just like Carl.
And as he stood at the front of the church, watching her float down the isle, looking heartbreakingly beautiful, all he could think was: This is wrong.
Adam picked up the pace, pushing himself faster and faster as he raced towards the point of exhaustion as memories assaulted him at every step.
Anna laughing and smiling in his arms as they danced their first dance.
Her voice filled with sorrow and pain as he tried to explain to her over the phone just why he had left her.
The completely shattered look in her eyes when Jamie took his hand at his parents' table.
And the look of surprise and the hint of resentment that flashed in her round, hazel eyes as she opened her front door to find her estranged, gay husband on the doorstep.
The house her parents had bought them as a wedding present looked just as he remembered it. The colours of the window frames were still the same, although they looked as freshly painted as they had when it was first renovated. There was no picket fence, but that was all that prevented it from conforming to the most idealised suburban cliché.
He still had the key to the front door, but he didn't have the audacity to use it. It hadn't been his home for more than a decade. It hadn't been his home when he lived there, either. Although the Tuckers were extremely kind, pleasant people, he thought they liked him better when he was just Carl's shadow, and not their son-in-law.
It was a shock to see her again after such a long time, even though he had gone there with exactly that intention. She didn't even say anything when she opened the door; she simply stared at him for a few moments before stepping back and holding it open to let him in.
At least the inside of the house looked different. Adam was starting to feel afraid that he'd entered a form of timeslip and was really back in the mid-1990s, about to live through it all again.
"How are you?" she asked quietly, with the sort of subtle accusation his mother had always used when he returned to Seattle on leave – as if underlining the fact that she shouldn't have to ask because she had never wanted him to join the Marines in the first place.
"I've been better," he admitted carefully. "How are you?"
"I'm fine."
"Good..." Adam said, a little uncertainly, "I'm glad."
She didn't seem quite 'fine'. She was pale and seemed to be shivering, despite her grey cardigan and the warmth of the day.
"Where have you been?"
"I... well, a long, long way away."
She nodded, curtly, her arms wrapped across her chest. "And why are you here?"
Adam wasn't sure what to say. He was there to explain himself, to tie up the plethora of loose ends he'd been tripping over since he got back to Earth, to try to offer some sort of apology; but everything he could say sounded like an excuse in his head. "I needed to see you," he explained feebly.
"Won't Jamie be jealous?"
Adam closed his eyes for a moment then turned to gaze out of the window, shaking his head.
"Of course. Why would he be? Is he waiting in the car? You should bring him in," she said crisply.
Adam turned back to look at her, but couldn't meet her eye. He wanted to tell her, but there was a lump in his throat; he gently shook his head, instead.
He could feel her gazing back at him as he stared at a spot just behind her right shoulder; "Adam, where is he?" she asked, more quietly.
He couldn't answer; but he didn't have to. She gave the tiniest, saddest sigh he'd ever heard her utter, and unfolded her arms, reaching out to stroke the side of his head compassionately.
"How did it happen?"
"He was blown up right in front of me."
"Oh, not again!" she whispered, furious with the injustice. "Not after Carl..." She stepped nearer and slipped her arms around him, drawing him down to tuck his head into her shoulder.
Adam gratefully accepted, although surprised by her sudden change in attitude. He wasn't sure he would have been able to do the same, but it was comforting. Perhaps more comforting than Lynn's motherly embrace, because he didn't feel answerable to Anna for losing Jamie. There was guilt, still – a sense of shame for being so selfish as to take the comfort from her when his grief must be a painful reminder of the fact that he had wanted Jamie and not her – but that was Anna. She was kind and selfless, and she would always have done anything he asked of her.
When she drew away, she took a moment to gaze at him, again, squeezing his hands tightly.
"You've lost weight," she told him. "I should get you something to eat – I could cook..."
"I'm fine – thank you."
"No, no – really, let me get you something..."
"Anna," he said softly, but as firmly as he could, "I'm not coming home. I just wanted to talk to you."
Smiling sadly, she said, "I know, Adam. I've had a year to think about it, and I think I understand that much." She guided him to the loveseat and made him sit, perching beside him with her hands clasped together on her knees. "I didn't think I would ever see you again... you'll have to forgive me if I seem a little bit shocked."
"I know... I didn't expect to be here, either."
There was a long pause before she quietly asked, "Were you so afraid of yourself that you couldn't even tell me the way you felt? You must have known that I would have understood, Adam. I would rather have known than seen you so unhappy..."
"I know," Adam confessed. "I wish I had. I wanted to."
"Then why didn't you? Why did you do that to yourself?"
"Mom would say how it'd break your heart and I never wanted to hurt you..."
"But you left me, all the same. I can't imagine that it could have been any worse if you'd told me first... You know, I've been through every single moment so many times... I can't believe I was so stupid. It's obvious, now – there were so many things... I wish I had noticed. I guess I was so caught up in believing you'd get better that I couldn't see what was staring right at me."
"It's not a sickness, Anna. It's just who I am..."
"Oh, I know, honey," she assured him, quickly, squeezing his hand again. "I just meant that everybody thought you were sick. Your mom was so sure that being in the Marines and seeing what happened to Carl gave you issues about being close to people. She thought you were afraid of losing us like you lost Carl and she said that you were always weak, anyway... I tried to tell her you were strong, but she was so sure I guess I started to believe it, too.
"And now, when I look back, I can see the way they pushed you from the start. You didn't want me, at all."
Adam reached out and stroked her shoulder tentatively; "I adored you, right from the first moment I met you. You were so... unpretentious. You were just you and you paid attention to me, even though I was just Carl's idiot of a best friend. Even more than Carl did, you let me be myself – except for that one thing, and I didn't tell you that from the start because I was afraid that if I did, and Carl heard..." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, remembering how the very thought of Carl's reaction – imagining the look on his face – had made Adam's blood run cold. "I did love you, Anna, and I still love you, but as one of the best friends I ever had. You were a friend, a – a sister, someone I could talk to about almost anything... we were so close and when Carl died you were all I had...
"We were perfect for each other and I could see that just as much as everyone else... but I just couldn't be a husband to you. I wanted to be. I wanted to be happy and normal and give you everything you wanted, but I couldn't keep lying... The fact is that I'm just not attracted to women; not even ones this pretty."
Anna allowed him a small, sorrowful smile.
"If I wasn't the way I am – "
"Don't... I understand. I understand, and I forgive you, but you don't realise how much you hurt me. I've lived in this house all on my own for so long, waiting for you come back, because I had no idea why you would marry me and then leave me. I really believed you loved me the way you were supposed to, because I couldn't imagine why you'd ask me to marry you if you had no intention of being with me for the rest of our lives. I must have seemed such a silly little girl..."
"No – no, not at all. I did intend to be with you forever. I hadn't planned to ask you to marry me, but once I'd done it, I did mean it."
Anna gazed at him in confusion, her chin quivering a fraction. "Then why did you ask me?"
"Because Casey said it would be the decent thing to do. After everything that happened... She knew what happened at your parents' house... She told me it was my responsibility and she was right. You were always such a good, moral person – you reminded me of one of those girls from the fifties that you see in movies or Happy Days – and I felt that it was my responsibility to do the right thing. It made sense; I didn't think there were any losers..."
"You married me because..." She frowned in perplexity, as if trying to comprehend what he was telling her, "Because my best friend told you to?"
"No. I did it because I thought it would make you and everyone else happy. I just wanted to do what was best for everyone, and she told me it was what you wanted. What I wanted had never mattered to anybody, and I didn't think that there was any girl in the world I could be as happy with as I might be with you. It was a mistake, but it wasn't ever supposed to turn out like this..."
"Well, the obligation can't have been too strong, because it didn't take you long to change your mind."
"What I wanted had never mattered. I always put other people first, but this was just tearing me apart, Anna. Just try to imagine being married to someone you loved like you loved Carl, and tell me you could have carried on! When I left, I knew I was leaving everything I had that mattered to me. My family didn't count – you know that. After Carl, you were the closest friend I had, and then you took his place. Do you honestly think that throwing that away was a decision I took easy?"
"I cared about what you wanted. I thought that was me, not a fantasy life, and you never gave me reason to think otherwise. I thought when you refused to sleep with me again until we were married, that you were being the sweet Catholic boy I'd first met."
Adam opened his mouth to try to make her understand, but she abruptly changed course, asking, "Did you leave me because you met him?"
"Jamie? Oh – no, no, it wasn't anything to do with anyone but me, I promise you, Anna. I didn't even meet Jamie until I'd been a McMurdo a while. It was more than eight years after..."
"You... Did you love him?"
Silently, Adam nodded.
"And he -?"
"I was the reason he came on the expedition. He left a really close family to be with me. It got him killed."
"He sure seemed upset about what your dad said right before you left."
"What?"
"He told everybody how special you were and how we didn't deserve you. He told us all to go to Hell, too."
Adam hadn't known that. He stared at the carpet absently for a few seconds, remembering how supportive Jamie had been after the fight with his parents, "That sounds like my Jamie..."
"Well, I can at least see what you saw in him, in that case. Of course, your mom disagreed with him; she said he was brainwashing you and that a barely-educated farm boy like Jamie didn't deserve you."
Adam swallowed his anger with difficulty, "She's a stuck-up bitch, Anna. You know, Jamie finished college, which is more than I ever did."
"I'm starting to see that, now." She paused, rubbing he ring finger. There was still a pale band of skin, but no gold. "I've been thinking about it for so long... I was starting to feel happy for you... sad for me, but happy for you, because I thought that at least something good had come of all this. Jamie evidently loved you very much."
"I know," he nodded. "I was lucky."
"Did it happen a long time ago?"
"A few weeks." Adam thought about it for a moment. "Thirty-four days, actually."
Anna gave a small, cynical smile and rubbed his knee, "How many hours?"
"Earth or Atlantean?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Nothing. Just a little... um, a team joke."
"Oh. I see. So, what do you plan to do, now? Are you going back to the Marines and wherever you've been, or - ?"
"I'm going back to Beaufort, for a while... I don't know about going back to the expedition. So much has changed... But, Anna – there's something we need to talk about. You know, there is no point in dragging things out any longer. Things between us aren't going to be the way they should have been, and... it's probably time to move on."
"You want a divorce."
"I think it's probably time."
Anna nodded silently.
"I'll keep on taking care of things for as long as you need me to, and the house is yours, it goes without saying – "
"Adam, I don't need money from you. I haven't touched a dime."
"I noticed – but I want you to know that I'll give you whatever you need from me. I promise."
"I needed a husband," she told him flatly.
"You should find someone who can be. You deserve to be happy."
If he wasn't feeling bad enough already, the tears that started rolling down her face sealed it.
"I know you're right," she told him, wiping her cheeks with a grey woollen sleeve, "but I just... I always hoped just a little that you'd change your mind."
Adam took a deep breath and shifted nearer, wrapping both arms around her and propping his chin on the top of her head, "I'm sorry, Tooks. It's time to move on, you know that... Life is too short to keep waiting for something that can't happen. You're still young and you're beautiful and you've got time to be really, really happy. Please go and do it... Just make sure you let me meet him before you marry him, so I can make sure he's good enough for you."
"You sound like Carl!" she told him, with a very damp-sounding laugh.
"Well, I was supposed to look after you for him... I don't suppose he'd be too proud of me."
"When I needed it, you did everything perfectly right."
"And then I screwed up the rest..."
"I'm going to miss you, Adam."
"Why? We're just getting to know each other again. Maybe once we're not married anymore we can start being friends like we used to."
Marc Bates gave the young nurse his best military glower as she bustled into his room, brandishing a paper cup.
"Time for your meds," she chirped. Marc rolled his eyes and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He took the cup form her, neither nodding thanks nor smiling, and her smile faded a little. Marc enjoyed the little feeling of satisfaction that gave him. It was a long time since he’d given someone hell and true, one nurse wasn’t the same as a platoon of men, but hey, he’d take what he could get.
He groaned slightly as he settled back into the bed. His entire body ached. He’d been awake and out of his coma for twelve days now, but his body was still weak and sore. He went through intense physiotherapy every day to try to re-build his muscle strength, and between that and daily visits from his still weeping mother, he was bone weary.
He closed his eyes and tried to relax but his mind buzzed with thoughts, and he couldn’t settle. A short rap on the door interrupted his pathetic attempt at sleep and he growled out "Come in," without even opening his eyes. He figured it was Wonder-Nurse again with something else to annoy him, until a male cough snapped his eyes open.
And he found himself eye to eye with Thor.
If not for it being the wrong colour, the little green doll was an exact replica of the Asgard Commander that Marc had seen in the SGC on several occasions. Marc followed the arm holding the doll and met the smirking face of Adam Stackhouse.
"Remind you of anyone?" Stackhouse asked.
"If Commander Thor sees that, it could cause an inter-galactic incident," Marc commented dryly.
"And why’s that?"
"Cos he and his people are grey not green, and apparently, they’re picky."
Adam smirked and dropped the doll into Bates’ lap. "You would not believe the amount of alien-themed diners, museums and stores that are around," he told him. "And I didn’t even go anywhere near New Mexico."
He reached into a backpack he had slung over one shoulder. "Oh, and I got you this too," he said.
Marc took the slim, staple-backed book and snorted with laughter at the cover. It read in large silver letters: ‘Aliens, THE TRUTH!’ He flicked through a couple of pages, rolling his eyes as he skimmed stories of ‘Aliens abducting them for orgies on their space ship!’ and ‘facts’ of alien landings and the government's collusion with ‘these beings from the far reaches of the cosmos’.
If only they knew.
He got to the last page, and laughed aloud. Under a picture of generic little green men, someone (and Marc had a pretty good idea whom) had written "It’s not like they said in the brochure!"
Marc read some more of the book while Adam settled himself in the chair, and he really couldn’t help but laugh at just how ridiculous it was. They really hadn’t a clue.
"So, stopped feeling sorry for yourself?" Adam asked with a slyly raised eyebrow.
"Have you?" Marc countered.
"Touché." An uncomfortable silence descended on the room. Marc hated awkward silences, so he decided to just jump to the heart of the matter.
"Stacks, what did I say that made you run out of here like a Wraith was after you?"
Clearing his throat abruptly, Adam turned his eyes to where his fingers had begun picking at the leather edge of the chair's armrest. He didn't seem ready to answer, but just as Marc opened his mouth to prompt him, he declared, "There's a lot about people you don't find out in a year..."
Marc quirked an eyebrow in response, "Like what?"
After another weighty pause, Adam confessed, "I already did the 'get married, settle down' thing... long time ago." He stopped and expelled a short huff of breath, "I just visited her; persuaded her to divorce me..."
"What?"
"I said I'm married. Have been more than a decade... we were just 'estranged', that's all..."
"Wait - wait, let me get this straight," he said after a moment, clearing his throat. "You got married years ago, left her, started playing for the home team and then went to another fucking galaxy? And only now you’re talking about divorce?" Marc’s voice had risen slowly but surely, until the end wasn’t a shriek, but it was the closest thing he ever came to one.
"That pretty much sums it up," Adam admitted, ducking his head sheepishly. "But... I've always played for the 'home team', if that's what you want to call it..."
"Well, I bet you didn't have a lot of trouble convincing her to divorce you!" Marc had to grin. "It’s always the quiet ones," he said, laughing at the faint blush that coloured the other man's cheeks, until he looked up at him sharply.
"Don't. Just... leave Anna alone – she doesn't deserve to be the butt of your jokes, Bates. She's one of the few people I have left." He paused, his voice taking on a slightly wistful tone, "She deserved better..."
Marc mused this over, in some way unsurprised that of all his men on Atlantis, Adam Stackhouse was the one to have a mess of background, despite everything else he did being neat and ordered. "So, did you see your family, or what? You got a sister, right?"
Adam nodded, without looking at him. "And a brother. Pete. I caught up with them both... talked to Pete for the first time in years. Really talked, I mean. Peter and I never really had a lot in common..."
"Let me guess, he was the golden boy. The eldest child that could do no wrong in your parents' eyes. Perfect in every way?"
"Yeah," Adam agreed quietly. "Did the whole ‘got married and had kids’ thing. We didn’t talk for a lot for years. And after what happened just before we left for Atlantis… well, to be honest, I didn’t think I ever would again."
"What happened before we left?"
Adam gave a small sigh. "Jamie. I took him home."
"To your parents?"
"Well – I lived in an apartment they bought when they were first married; my sister lives there, now... They uh... they invited Anna over for dinner – Jamie didn't know about her, she didn't know about Jamie... it was a mess. I left; didn't expect to talk to anyone of them again..."
"So, what made you change your mind?"
"Maggie. My baby sister. She told me that Pete wanted to see me. I wasn’t too into the idea, but he was storing some of my stuff anyway, so I went to his house. We ended up talking. He drives a Taurus. He works in an office. He comes home every day for dinner at 18.30 on the stroke. He’s a good guy. A little whipped, maybe, but a good guy. The amazing thing is that for the first time in my life, I didn’t envy him at all." He blinked, and then looked at Marc, embarrassed. "Don’t know why I just told you that."
Marc shrugged, "I asked."
"Yeah... I guess you did."
There was nothing but a soft sigh between them for a few minutes, until Adam asked, "So, how are you doing? Have they told you any more?"
"Well, they think it's just a matter of a few months hanging around this place, and then I'll be right back out there. Right out there, if you know what I mean..." Marc raised the book as added illustration, although he was fairly certain it wasn't needed.
"So, you're definitely going?"
"As soon as I'm cleared for duty and the ship's heading out again, I'm gonna be on it."
Adam nodded, silently, almost imperceptibly, but said nothing.
"What about you, Staff Sergeant? Will you be remaining in the United States Marine Corps, or running back to Civvy Street to set up a frock shop?"
Adam snorted. "Sure, that'd go down real well. Can you imagine it?"
"I’m trying not to," Marc told him, wincing slightly at the mental image of Staff Sergeant Adam Stackhouse in a pretty little peach number.
"You said it."
"Yeah, and I really wish I hadn't."
Adam grinned and stretched, looking around the four bare walls of the room. "They ever let you out of this place?"
"What, all by myself?" Marc asked sarcastically.
Adam nodded, and then suddenly shrugged, "I'll take you outside, if you want. Even my company's gotta be better than staying in here all the time."
"Well, I was just going to get some sleep…" Marc started.
"Oh, then I'll let you do that..."
"But that was more to get away from the irritating nurses than any real need to rest," Marc continued on as if Adam hadn’t spoken, moving to swing his legs over the side of the bed as he did so.
"Are you going to walk?" Adam asked him hesitantly, clearly unsure of what kind of reaction the question would get.
"If I walked, I’d probably get about seven paces before I fell on my ass," Marc admitted grudgingly. "Better take the chair," he said, manoeuvring himself into it.
"You need me to push?"
"Well, if you want to make it to the end of the hall by the end of the week, you better..."
Adam merely smirked a little and rounded to the back of the chair.
Two months later, Marc no longer needed the wheelchair. There was a crutch for steadying purposes, but he was otherwise mobile; in part, he suspected, because of his reduced meds. He hated being medicated – not feeling in complete control of his own body – and it was a welcome relief to spend afternoons sitting on the manicured lawns outside the hospital, bickering with Stackhouse, just to be outside the whitewashed walls.
Marc wasn't keen to admit that he needed anybody, but it was almost comforting to know that Adam would be around, each day. He was a little piece of Atlantis – of Marc's home, as far as he was concerned – and now he had the time and inclination to get to know the other marine better, he found him to be likeable and surprisingly aware, for someone so caught up in his own troubles. His habit of drifting away into silent contemplation was sometimes uncomfortable - Marc didn't need to be told what was on Stack's mind, then. Even as the weeks passed and his eyes dried a little, grew less dewy and lost, they remained dull – but Marc wasn't put off. If anything, he was reassured.
The simple fact was that Marcus was a heterosexual male spending all of his time with a gay colleague; it would have been more unusual for him not to have felt self-conscious on occasion. But Adam's continued fixation, and obvious grief, was a settling influence. He wasn't interested in anyone or anything, least of all Marc.
The only occasion on which the issue was raised, was when Adam himself had muttered a comment about 'people like us'. "Us?" Marc had enquired, suddenly tense and afraid that the foundations of their friendship were about to be blown apart by a horrible misunderstanding. Adam had simply squinted at him in the late afternoon sunlight, and shaken his head as he studied the roots of a small tuft of grass he had recently liberated from the hospital lawns; "No," he corrected flatly, as one hand moved to the mysterious pocket where he evidently carried unnamed keepsakes that reminded him of Jamie, "Us."
Clearly, he didn't feel that death had changed anything of the loyalty he and Markham had shared; there was still an 'Us' for him to be part of. They had never spoken of it since.
Adam enjoyed driving in the dark, especially on lonely mountain routes. The winding, precarious roads, canopied by trees which looked sinister lit only by moonlight and the headlights from the car were almost exhilarating in their creepiness. He'd never lived far from the mountains. He was used to them in a way Jamie hadn't been, having grown up in the largely flat, arable land of the Kansas/Oklahoma border. No matter how long they had driven, when they travelled between their respective homes before leaving for Pegasus, Jamie never stopped being mildly excited by the terrain.
He had fought in the hills of Afghanistan very recently, but somehow, the northern Rockies had been much more exciting for him. Adam had enjoyed his childish delight, watching his wide eyed amazement as a large bear had ambled across their path, forcing them to slow until it was safely on the other side and regarding them with a vague interest as Adam put the car in gear and continued down the mountainside. Jamie had been almost plastered to the windshield, like a child.
"I can't believe that! That was a bear! A real bear!"
"No," Adam had teased, "that was an escaped puppet from the Henson Creature Workshop... couldn't you see the guy with his hand up its ass?"
Jamie had just grinned at his sarcasm and turned around to watch the bear as it disappeared into the distance. "Never saw a bear before," he had commented in awe.
"Yeah, well, it’s a month of firsts. First time seeing a bear, first time meeting my wonderful parents…"
"First time going to another galaxy..."
"First time getting looked at funny by motel staff..."
"Motel staff always looked at me funny... still think I'm 'bout fourteen..." He dug around in the glove compartment and pulled out a bag of candy. "Want some?"
Adam laughed at him. "You sure you don't mean they think you're four?"
"I eat when I'm...well. You saw the photos at my mom's place. Used to eat for any occasion. But candy's still good. Have some. C'mon."
"Not sure a sugar high's too great an idea driving a mountain road in the dark, Jay..."
Jamie had just grinned and tore apart a sour candy ring with his teeth.
Now, Adam smiled to himself. He could visualise the whole journey so clearly; remember the shirt Jamie was wearing, the way one side of his fringe had refused to stand in the direction expected of it and poked rebelliously out to the side. It was like a waking dream; a roleplay of events already passed. He was there – right in that moment – Jamie beside him, as solid and real as he had been a year ago.
"Y'think there's gonna be bears in the Pegasus Galaxy?"
"We don't even know there's going to be oxygen in the Pegasus Galaxy..."
"Oh, c'mon! These ancients evolved into me. They made spaceships out of cities. Of course they had oxygen!"
Adam turned to laugh at him and swerved a little as Jamie leaned across and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, stuffing a piece of candy in his mouth.
"Damn! Be careful – you'll send us off the road, Jay!" Adam scolded, but he was laughing and chewing reluctantly on his confectionery.
"Least you'd die in good company, huh? Jelly bean?"
"I hope that's not a new pet name..."
Jamie laughed and scratched at the back of Adam's neck affectionately, holding out a few in his palm and feeding those to Adam, too. "Wasn't. But it is now."
Laughing, Adam said aloud, "Well, thank you, sugarplum..." And instantly the illusion vanished. Like a soap bubble bursting in mid-air, it was all gone and he was alone again, on a deserted road in the middle of the night. He pulled over at the first opportunity, unable to go any further.
Almost exactly six months later, Marc no longer needed anyone to push him or a crutch to lean on; in fact, the weeks he'd spent stuck in the chair seemed a decade ago. His recovery had been swift, largely due to his physical fitness before the attack, but also thanks to the stubborn persistence of a certain NCO from Washington State who kept forcing him to prove himself, pushing him further, until he realised he'd dragged him out of the chair without ever laying a hand on him.
He stood off to one side in the gateroom, observing the scene of semi-organised chaos around him. Scientists were having last minute panic attacks about their equipment; so much so that General Landry had rolled his eyes and ordered Caldwell to start beaming the boxes and crates up onto the Daedalus, no matter what the owner of the crate said.
A fresh batch of marines and other assorted military personnel from around the world milled together in clumps, nervousness warring with excitement in their eyes.
They kept their expressions schooled into a mask of calm, but Marc could tell. He recognised the look from when he had stepped through the Gate to Atlantis over a year ago.
He remembered standing in the very same spot on that day, eyes sweeping the crowd. Things had been so different then. They hadn’t known about the Wraith, they were almost naïve in their eagerness to explore, they hadn’t lost so many people, and not just in the physical sense. Several people came back from Pegasus broken shells of what they once were because of what they had seen and what they had done.
In thinking that, Marc’s thoughts immediately turned to Stacks. He'd first met him here at the SGC approaching two years before, a reserved, steady noncom – ever the straight man to the goofy farm boy who tagged along with him endlessly. Secretly, Marc had begun to refer to Adam as 'Dorothy'. It didn't take him long to realise that there was more than Buddy Love between them, though. He'd tried to ignore it at first, telling himself that what happened to Anthony had given him a suspicious mind, but he knew, deep down that there was more to it than that.
Their time in Pegasus had been one hell of a long year. He'd had plenty of time to observe them and realise that the balance of dependence wasn't necessarily what it seemed. Jamie's death had been a disaster, in Marc's opinion. The loss of two popular team members had been a terrible blow to the base morale, but the bright, candid and affectionate sergeant had been a particular loss; and had almost cost them one of the best NCOs they had. It couldn't have come at a worse time. As the senior NCO on the expedition, the highest authority amongst the enlisted Marines, it was his responsibility to ensure the safety of all of his men; there were those he could not save – those like Jamie Markham and Andy Smith – and there were those they'd lose if someone wasn't in control.
He still felt a little like he had let Adam down. Perhaps that was why he had fought so hard to take him back to Pegasus; he wanted a second chance.
"Nope," Stacks said, bouncing the basketball a few times. They were in the indoor basketball court on the base and were the only ones there. Marc had mentioned off-hand the day before that he missed basketball, both watching and playing it, and the next day, Adam had kidnapped him. He had ‘commandeered’ an extra wheelchair from somewhere, and challenged the still-recovering marine to a game on one-on-one ball. As neither of them had great control of their chairs, the game had quickly degenerated into a farce. It was every man for himself and Marc had to admit, it was the most fun he’d had since he woke up.
Stacks hadn’t laughed too much though.
Marc had been reluctant to head back to his room and to once again be under the all-seeing, all-knowing, ever-watchful eye of Nurse Philips. He’d started shooting random baskets, missing more often than not, but determined to regain his control and his perfect aim once again.
"Tell you what," he said after one particularly spectacular miss, "I get this next shot, you come back to Pegasus. Deal?"
"Nope," Stacks said, bouncing the ball lightly and tossing it hard at Marc's chest.
"Gunnery Sergeant?" a voice behind him startled him out of his reverie.
"Yes…Corporal?" he answered, quickly checking the rank of the unknown marine in front of him.
"We just got word from Colonel Caldwell. We’re almost ready to start beaming people up, Sir."
"Good. Make sure people are in their designated transportation groups. I’ll go round up the last of the latecomers." He heard the murmur behind him increase and the few surprised and awed gasps when the first group was beamed up to the waiting starship. The hallway leading to the Gateroom was still crowded and Marc spent a good ten minutes herding people to the departure point. Caldwell was career military, and didn’t appreciate being kept waiting when he had given orders.
He took a final glance down the corridor when at last the person he was waiting for appeared.
"Where the Hell were you, Stacks?" he asked, as Adam fell into step beside him on the walk back to the Gateroom.
"Last minute call from Maggie. She wanted to know where she could send her letters to," Stackhouse told him, and Marc could hear the happiness in his voice. He could understand why. The last time he’d left for Pegasus, he’d had no one to really say goodbye to, but he’d had Markham. This time, he had a part of his family, but was without the Farmboy. It wasn’t a switch Marc was sure Stackhouse would have preferred, but he was coping.
"How's she doing? Worried about her little-big brother?" Marc teased. He'd met Maggie when she had travelled to Beaufort to visit Adam; their relationship was oddly out of balance – each playing both the scolding elder and hapless younger sibling, simultaneously. It made Marc wonder what the hell their parents had done to them to make them that way.
Stackhouse gave a twitch of a smile and nodded, solemnly. "I came back the last time. She knows I'll be okay."
Marc looked at him as he swiped open the Gateroom doors and allowed him to walk in ahead of himself, "How about you? You worried about her?"
Adam turned and backed into the room with a cynical half-smirk, shaking his head slightly; "She's got Pete. She's got friends. She doesn't need me looking after her."
He watched as Adam stopped just outside of the group of gathered travellers awaiting transportation to the Daedalus, and began checking his bergen straps. Sure, he thought and sighed resignedly, and guess who's been landed with looking after you.
Part Three