Strands: 3/8 - You're Not Alone
Authors: 
shiny_starlight & alfirin_kirinki
Beta: cross-beta'd.
Pairing: Stackhouse/Markham
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Season one; some aspects of season two - mostly season two AU.
Summary: Returning to Atlantis after the events of Pieces, with Bates recovered and a some ghosts to exorcise, Adam finds it harder to reintegrate than he expected.
Strands: 3/8
You're Not Alone
Send out an S-O-S call...
The stillness reminded him of Ground Zero. The walls, unlike most of the city, were something that seemed almost like stone – whitish grey and rough in texture. The towering sweep of glass that covered the area almost gave the impression of being outdoors, under a breezeless summer sky. And it was quiet; very, very quiet. There was no one else there, but Adam almost thought he could hear soft voices, as though people whispered in small groups along the curved, stone-like wall – clustered on the bench-like shelf that ran from the expansive window to the door at the other side.
He supposed it was tranquil. He thought it was meant to be peaceful, but it didn't feel quite like that. It was a calm place. An island of stillness at the top of a tower on the West Pier, where people could watch the sun set. But standing there, gazing at a fading ID photograph next to Jamie's name, rank, role and the dates of his birth and death, the last thing he felt was at peace. This was intended as a memorial space, but all it really served to do was make each expedition member listed here into more of a number.
And yet, he'd been standing there for an hour – not a single person had passed by – and he couldn't bring himself to leave. Not yet.
"Morning, sleepyhead."
Adam opened his eyes to a wide-awake Jamie and the smell of fresh coffee, bacon and eggs.
"You been up long?" Adam mumbled, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.
"Long enough to raid your kitchen and make you breakfast," Jamie grinned. "You're way under stocked, by the way." He looked freshly showered and shaven and Adam figured he'd been up a while. He smiled as Jamie handed him a cup of coffee.
"Only bought the basics, last night. Y'know – last night? When you were asleep on my couch, even though I drove the last hundred and fifty?" Adam replied, smiling a little.
"It's hard work, watching for bears!"
"Oh, Jay – what would I do without you to protect me?"
"Well, you'd get carjacked by bears, for a start."
"I don't deserve you," Adam told him, grinning as he sat up and kissed him lightly.
"I know," Jamie beamed back smugly.
"I mean it, Jay," Adam deadpanned, although he was really half-serious, "You're the best. You're like.... Superboyfriend, or something."
"Superboyfriend?" Jamie laughed back. "Cool! Do I get a cape? Can I wear my tighty-whities over my BDUs?"
"Oh, please do. I'd love to see the look on Sumner's face when you arrived at the SGC like that."
Jamie smiled for a moment, and then dropped his gaze to where he fiddled with the seam of the quilt cover. "Run away with me."
Adam froze where he was, mid-withdraw from placing his mug down on the bedside table. "What?"
"Come on... Let's do it. I always wanted to see Canada."
"You really do have a thing for uniforms, don't you?" Adam teased, settling back on the bed and not catching his eye, only too aware that Jamie was serious.
"What?"
"Mounties."
"Moun - ? No. Not mounties. You. Come on – we could do it. Just leave..."
"We are just leaving."
"Adam..."
"We shouldn't even be talking about this!"
Jamie smiled, but it was a little wobbly; "They ain't got us bugged."
"A year ago I thought aliens were about as real as Coneheads. I don't know what they've done or what they might do, but I know that for what we know they would fucking hunt us down!"
"And then Will Smith would flash a light in our eyes to erase our memories, right?"
"You really have no understanding of how huge this is, do you? Jamie, what we know could cause wars – mass panic..."
Jamie shook his head and sighed. "Like anyone would believe it..."
"Two grunts are not worth the risk."
There was a long silence.
"I just want the same life everyone else has a right to, Adam."
"Then you shouldn't have become a marine."
Jamie's disappointed faced melted away to be replaced by the stern-looking official photo on the memorial wall. Adam reached out and gently brushed his fingers over Jamie's young features, that were for once not grinning and showing his dimples
"I'm sorry Jay. I'm so sorry."
Adam carried the bowl of potatoes to the dining room table, narrowly avoiding tripping over his niece as she darted out in front of him, chasing a wailing, battery-powered cuddly toy. Pete's children were good kids, but apparently at Christmas they got a little crazy. This year was extra hard for them. Their mother had left just the month before. Pete had been devastated, but not surprised, by Veronica's sudden decision to leave. Apparently, things hadn't been so fantastic on the home front for a while.
Adam felt for him. For so long, his life had been normal, uneventful. Now he was thrust into the responsibility of being the sole parent of two energetic young kids.
Two kids who missed their mother and wanted to know when she was coming home.
Adam was under no illusion that having himself and Maggie and her new guy there would in any way make up for their mother's absence, but it couldn't hurt. Besides, Pete wasn't coping too well. Adam had only recently gotten back his family, he wasn't just going to let it fall apart again without putting up some sort of a fight.
Pete's son, Aaron, was eight years old; from what Adam could tell, he was very smart, and he was slightly in awe of his Uncle Adam the Marine. Adam tried not to feel flattered by the fact, but he couldn't help it. It was fun to have someone trailing around behind him, asking sudden questions like 'Can you really kill a guy with just your thumb and index finger?'
He'd answered that particular question by folding his fingers into a pistol and pretending to shoot the child dead. Aaron had laughed until he was almost sick.
Maggie was playing with Aaron's five year old sister, Jessica, whom Adam had to admit was very cute, but she was a complete little princess. There wasn't a hint of tomboy in her and Adam couldn't help comparing her to Lu-Lou. He felt guilty for preferring Jamie's family to his own – especially when they called on the spare cellphone Peter had signed over to him, months earlier, right in the middle of dinner. It had taken forever to prepare, because none of them had much idea what to do with a raw turkey. In the end, Damascus, Maggie's blond-dreadlocked, crochet-jumpered, commune-inhabiting boyfriend, had prepared most of the vegetables. But he wouldn't go near the turkey, being a vegetarian. Adam was even more suspicious of vegetarians than he was people who wore earrings in their hair, but Maggie was a good enough judge of character that he trusted her choices.
In the end, with Aaron curled up asleep on his lap, Adam's tags – still with Jamie's attached – hanging around his neck, Adam looked around at his family, and was just glad to have them. But somehow, he still didn't feel at home. Not sitting in Pete's den. Not being with his siblings. Not even, really, in the still oppressive gravity of Earth.
When he helped put the kids to bed, carrying Aaron up stairs himself (and carefully retrieving his tags), he and Pete stood together, looking at their little sleeping forms.
"I'd give anything to give them their mother back..." Peter said, quietly, tucking Jessica's teddy in beside her.
Adam looked at him for a moment, not sure what to say. They hadn't been raised to talk to each other, or be especially tactile, and it was somewhat unchartered territory.
"They don't need their mother. Not if she was anything like ours."
Laughing hollowly, Pete assured him she was. "Why do you think I married her? Every man wants to marry his mother..."
"Speak for yourself."
They shared a knowing grin, and a little bit of the remaining ice broke.
"From what I've seen, you're a great father to these kids. They're better off without her... They've got family here."
"You do too, you know. We let you down... nothing can make up for that, but Maggie and I – well, you're our brother. I guess I'm just saying sorry..."
Adam shook his head, swallowing with a little difficulty, "There's no need. It's water under the bridge."
"I need to."
"Well... thanks."
They didn't speak again for a few, long moments, until Pete said, "If you go back to wherever you've been – now we know you can come back – you're welcome here any time. The kids love you. They're going to miss you when you leave."
"They're good kids."
"You know you could just stay, don't you? When you get out, I mean. Move back up here to Seattle... Mom and Dad are out of our hair, now – things are different. There's a... y'know. There's a 'scene' up here, Maggie says..."
Adam smiled a little awkwardly, "I never really went for that..."
"Yeah, I guess not. You were always a little too private for that sort of thing..."
Adam just nodded slowly.
"I know I hardly even met Jamie – the only thing he said to me was telling me to go to Hell..." Pete smiled, briefly, "But if there's one thing I know about you it's that you always, always over-think and if he wasn't right, he wouldn't have been brought home... I'm real sorry, Adam."
"Yeah... yeah, so am I."
"No, I mean it – I'm sorry. You deserve a lot better than the hand you got dealt. I still feel like it's half my fault – if mom and dad hadn't been so obsessed with everything I did..."
"Pete. I gave them more than enough ammunition myself. It's not your fault."
"There was stuff that Maggie and I didn't know, wasn't there?"
Adam's heart skipped a beat. "Maybe."
"Can I ask what, now we're both adults?"
"Are you sure you want to?"
"Not when you say it like that!"
Adam actually laughed a little; "It wasn't anything that bad..."
"You sure?"
"Yes!" Adam laughed indignantly, before covering his mouth lightly, afraid of waking the children. They didn't stir, so he continued, "Yeah... it was just a really uncomfortable accident. Mom was supposed to be out at Grandma's all day... she came home early."
"What the hell were you doing?"
"Frankie."
"Frankie?" There was a pause and a sudden look of realisation, followed by a hissed exclamation. "Franklin? From - ?"
"Across the street, yeah. It's not like we were kids on choppers any more, Pete..."
"Frankie! God, I thought you were always the most respectable in our family, too..."
Adam elbowed him lightly, but couldn't help grinning a little.
"Whatever happened to Frankie, anyway? He was still living with his folks when I got my first place with Ver – when I got my first place..."
"I dunno..."
"You could look – "
"Look him up? No. No way. You sound like Maggie."
"She trying to set you up?"
"Let's just say, she suddenly has a lot of 'friends that would be perfect for me'," Adam smiled wryly.
"She means well."
"I know. And I really appreciate that she cares and wants to see me happy. It's just... I've only just lost Jamie. I can't even think about this, right now. I'm not ready to move on and I don't know if I'm ever going to be. He was... everything..." Adam blushed faintly, realising he was being sentimental, but Pete didn't call him on it. He gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and moved towards the door.
"Okay." Pausing at the top of the stairs and turning back to look at him, he added, "But if it's any consolation, from what I know of him and how he looked at you, if things were reversed, I think he'd feel the same way."
Adam stopped in the doorway as Pete trotted downstairs, thinking back to one of the last moments they'd shared – sitting on the mainland as the sun sank, Jamie's head on his lap, Adam's hand on his stomach. Jamie staring up at him with his head at an angle, a small smile on his face.
"I could get used to this..." he said, the slightly drowsy contentment drawing out his Southern Kansas vowels.
Adam smiled down at him, breathing deeply and enjoying the fresh air and scent of foliage that was so different from the largely recycled air of the city. "Well, we're no closer to finding one of those ZPM things McKay and Zelenka're always talking about, so I guess you're going to have to get used to it. This is as close to home turf as you're going to get..."
"I kinda like it..."
"You like it."
"Yeah – I mean, if they let us over here more often, y'know... maybe we'd get used to it all... It'd be less like living on a spaceship and more like home..."
"Maybe..."
Jamie reached up and disguised an affectionate stroke of his face with a gentle, playful shove; "Home's where you are..."
Standing outside his nephew's door, looking through to his niece's adjoining room, on the landing of his brother's house, Adam suddenly felt very, very far from home.
The tread of heavy footfalls brought Adam back to the present. He looked up to see Dieter Fauske heading towards him. When his friend reached him, he winced slightly when he saw whose picture Adam was standing in front of.
"Sorry, man, didn't mean to disturb you... Want me to go?" he asked uncertainly. Fauzzy had always shown a little more compassion than the others, and Adam really did appreciate it.
"It's okay," Adam told him. "Time I was getting back, anyway."
"Cool... You on patrol, soon?"
"Yeah. Sheppard assigned me lab duty. I've got to report to Investigation in an hour or so."
"Ouch," Fauske winced sympathetically. Eight hours of guarding the scientists – more often than not from themselves – of listening to technobabble and math that went way over their heads and of listening to McKay's 'minions' argue over which one of them got to tell their lord and master that they had fucked up yet another experiment. "'Least you don't have the gene. McKay won't make you risk life and limb turning on whatever Ancient gadget they've found recently and got no clue what to do with."
Adam smiled a little at that. "Yeah, Jay always used to complain about that whenever he pulled lab duty. McKay never left him alone for ten minutes."
Fauske grinned. "Yeah. Lab duty was the one thing Toto hated doing, wasn't it? Man, it's so weird not seeing him around the place... It was like you saw the guy twenty times a day, y'know? More'n anyone else – Toto was just always around, always had a stupid smile on his face, always had time to give a guy five minutes... The guys from the original expedition miss him real bad. Can't believe he's dead." Fauzzy seemed to realise what he was saying when Adam froze mid-stride for a second before moving on.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"It's okay... it isn't as if it's a surprise."
"I know, man – I'm just... It ain't like when Parky died. No one got left here..."
Uncomfortable with the way the conversation had turned, unwilling to discuss his current emotional state or listen to anyone else's feelings about Jamie – all too inclined to snap that they didn't know what they were talking about, that they didn't know Jamie – Adam abruptly changed the subject.
"Who's leading the recon, now?"
For a moment, Fauske gazed at him, then obligingly answered, "Nick Lorne – he's a new guy they brought in straight after they shipped you guys back... Okay guy, I guess. Wanna smack him in his monkey mouth sometimes, 'cause he can be a real smartass, but I've served with worse..."
"Sounds like Walters..."
Fauske laughed, remembering their old squadmate; "Kinda. Y'know – you oughta come down to the mess hall – I'll introduce you to the guys... Billy and Thomkin are still here..."
"Uh. Yeah... yeah. Sounds like a good idea." He faltered with the words, not really wanting to join them – needing time to get used to being back on Atlantis and reacclimatise himself before he tried to reintegrate into their little society, not that he ever felt integrated in the first place – but feeling that if he really wanted to make the most of being there, he should start straight away.
He hadn't eaten in the mess, since he'd been back. They'd arrived late the night before, and he'd skipped breakfast after a long, restless night hearing nothing but the occasional rubber-soled squeak of someone patrolling the residential quarters, and the soft, remote lapping of the sea. It was the same room. The same one he'd had before... Atlantis was so vast that they weren't using more than a fraction of the available living quarters, and people had chosen to space themselves out instead of staying in the closely-packed and somewhat smaller rooms they had first crammed themselves into. Maybe they thought he'd be more comfortable in a room he already knew...
The mess was packed when they arrived – there seemed to be more people in the room than there had even been on the original expedition. It seemed like a sea of strangers, not like home at all. He joined the queue with Fauzzy and looked around at the unfamiliar faces, dotted only here and there with those he recognised. He wondered whether they were alive, and returned to Earth, or if they were amongst the names on the seemingly endless expanse of wall in the Memorial Tower.
Their food was handed to them by yet another face unfamiliar to Adam and they made their way through the crowd to a table near the far wall. Adam recognised a few of the marines at the table and they grinned and called out greetings.
"Good to have you back, Stack," Thomkin told him as he slid down a seat. Fauzzy made a quick round of introductions to the new faces and then dug in. The food had improved somewhat since Adam's last meal on Atlantis – a rushed M.R.E in the middle of a briefing – and he ate quietly, trying to make small talk as he did. It was excruciating, but Adam did try to talk to each new person at least once. It was a small accomplishment, but it was a start. Things were actually going relatively well until a new marine, Dunne, suddenly broke in at the mention of Adam's full name.
"Stackhouse?" he echoed, a suspicious frown creeping across his face.
"Yeah, that's our boy!" Fauzzy grinned, although it seemed taut and unnatural and the rest of the table had suddenly fallen awkwardly quiet. "Thought we'd got rid of him, but the crazy sonuva bitch came back for more..."
Dunne nodded, slowly, fixing Adam with a stiff, unfriendly stare. "Yeah... sounds like. Crazy, ain't it, how some names an' stories just always seem'a filter through?"
It was suddenly too crowded in the mess hall. The formerly tasty meal suddenly felt like ashes in Adam's mouth. He needed to get out of there. Pushing back his seat and picking up his tray, he announced, "I'm on patrol soon. I'd better go."
"Wait. Stack..." Thomkin started, but Adam was gone.
He tried not to make eye contact with anyone as he made his way back to his quarters, but he could feel eyes on him as he walked. He wasn't sure if it was paranoia, or if people really were staring at him, but he didn't wait to find out.
He walked back into his quarters and stopped abruptly just inside the door; absently, he wondered why he had come here at all, aside from the need to shower and change before patrol. This didn't feel like his space. It didn't feel comforting – it just felt empty.
Jamie should be here.
Peeling off his clothes lethargically, he walked over to his tiny bathroom and switched on the shower. For a long time he just stood there, not even inside the cubicle, watching the water swirl down the drain. Showering had been one of his first conscious actions after Jamie died. He remembered standing beneath the little, stabbing jets and wondering where he went from there; that moment when everything was suddenly blank ahead of him. And here he was again.
How idiotic it had been to think he could move on by stepping back; that being here would bring him closer to what he had lost.
He turned off the shower.
Adam turned off the shower and wrapped the towel around his waist. Said towel had the approximate texture of sandpaper, because even though they were living and working in an alien Ancient outpost, the American military still didn’t splurge on the more comfortable things in life. Adam dried his hair quickly, ignoring the fellow marines showering and talking around him. He started to dry off, and only then noticed the hickey on his hip.
Panicking, he wrapped the towel tighter and higher around his waist so as to hide the incriminating evidence. Cursing himself, he practically ran to where he had left his clothes and pulled them on quickly. He left as soon as he had his boots tied, and headed back to his and Jamie’s room to freak out in peace.
They’d almost been busted. If anyone had seen the hickey, they would have asked questions. And since there were about three female marines on the base, suspicions would definitely be aroused.
They had been careless the night before: too caught up in each other to pay attention to the marks. Adam was just grateful for the fact that it wasn’t in any place visible when clothed. He paced the length of the room and back again, his mind furiously berating himself and Jamie for their lack of restraint.
He had half convinced himself to end what was maybe the best thing he had in his life when his gaze fell on Jamie’s set of drawers. It was cluttered and full and Adam smiled at the fact that for a marine, Jamie was woefully unconcerned with neatness and organisation. He then realised that if looking at James Markham’s mess made him smile and his heart pound, then he really, really had a thing for James Markham.
He was still standing there in the centre of the room when Jamie came back from his shift in the Exploration and Development Room.
“Adam?” he asked hesitantly, obviously concerned when he saw Adam’s dishevelled appearance and still damp hair. “Y'alright?”
“Everything’s good, Jay,” Adam smiled at him.
“It is? You don't look okay...”
“Well, somehow, I got a pretty obvious mouth-shaped bruise on my hip which I only saw after I was finished my shower,” he told Jamie conversationally. Jamie paled.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered, looking horrified. "I'm sorry..."
Adam was grateful that Jay understood how serious it was; he almost never swore. “It’s okay,” he assured him.
“It’s okay? You think it's 'okay'? How are you not freaking out over this?” Jamie demanded, stepping closer and turning Adam toward him. "You... I mean... y'hate stuff like that."
“I was freaking out,” Adam admitted. “But then I realised something.”
“What?” Jamie asked suspiciously.
“None of that matters.”
“Are you drunk?” Jamie asked him carefully, although he looked like he wanted to break into an enormous grin.
Adam just laughed and pulled him close.
"What the Hell am I doing here?"
Adam's own voice was loud in the quiet of his room and made him start, just a little. He gave a snort of a cynical laugh at himself, and sank on to his bed. "What am I doing back here?" he asked again, of no one in particular, although it felt like he was asking a very specific someone.
"This was... such a mistake... I should be at home - where people care about me... I shouldn't be here. What in the name of God was I thinking?"
Of course, nobody answered.
Adam smiled grimly to himself, dragging his jacket over from the end of the bed and carefully pulling a slightly tattered piece of paper from the pocket. He unfolded it and smoothed it flat over his lap. Not reading the familiar scrawl – he had it memorised – but studying the page and the tiny details, like the small smear of ink, as though it had been written with a gloopy ballpoint.
"Bet you think I'm a moron, don't you? You're probably laughing your ass off if you can see me now..."
He stopped, wanting to berate himself for talking to his dead boyfriend again; but he carried on.
"Jamie... I don't know what to do, now. I thought this would make it easier – being... being where it feels like you are... but I've just been here a day and I want to be anywhere but here... Anywhere.
"Seems like I just can't help making the worst choices, every decision I have to make..."
It wasn't hard to imagine what Jamie's response would be, if he were there to give one. He'd look at him with round, sorrowful eyes, then say something soft about hoping Jamie himself wasn't one of those mistakes – purely to make Adam stop feeling sorry for himself, in order to feel sorry for Jamie, instead.
Without really noticing, Adam smiled wistfully.
"I miss you so much..."
The fact was, it wasn't getting any easier. Not in any sense that made Adam feel better. It seemed that every moment of every day was primed perfectly to remind him of what he'd had and what he was without, now. Even though they had had just a couple of years together – a tiny portion of Adam's life so far, and with so much more ahead of him – he didn't think it made any difference; somehow, all his memories seemed to feature Jamie, or lead on to things that involved Jamie. Everything anyone said, looks in people's eyes, anecdotes he'd make a point to remember in order to tell him later, and then realise that there was no Jamie to tell, any more... they all stung like a million tiny papercuts, over and over. He still woke every morning with a delayed jolt of nausea, realising that it was another day and Jamie was really gone.
People told him it was okay to grieve, and that it would get easier in time, and that he had to be brave because Jamie wouldn't have wanted him to be unhappy. But what did they know? Nothing, really. They just drew on the stock phrases everyone fell back on when somebody had lost a loved one and they didn't know what to say; more to make themselves feel better for making a show of support, than to actually comfort the bereaved.
Jamie had been what made life make sense.
Adam reached under his pillow and pulled out an old t-shirt; the same one he had picked up from Jamie's bedroom floor the day he died. It didn't really smell like Jamie, any more, but it helped remind him of the way it should smell. It had become a new comfort blanket, in Jamie's absence. Of course, it wasn't even nearly the same, but it was something.
The air smelled of dry grass and pollen, mostly. Even the breeze was warm, and the evening still bright, even though it was late enough for all the kids to be in bed – no longer around to jump on them or demand that they play games or give them piggy-back rides around the yard. There wasn't much stirring, by the lake. Adam lay back, with his arm tucked under his head, the other hand rubbing absently at Jamie's lower back as he sat beside him, plucking at the grass.
"...So then momma got up in fronta all those people – all our neighbours and everybody – and she told them, 'Y'all oughta be 'shamed a y'selves! He's just a child! Y'all has got no right tellin' my baby he's dirty or he's not normal...' and then she went on this big, long speech about how I was a good boy and all... Never been back to church since."
Adam smiled, listening to the sound of Jamie's voice, amused by his candid imitation of his mother's voice. "I didn't get a choice. Didn't stop going until I was in my twenties... early twenties, I guess."
"Why'd you stop?"
He sighed quietly, his hand stilling. "They didn't want me, any more."
Jamie didn't speak, but Adam could see his silhouette turn and look down at him through partially cracked lids. He swallowed and closed his eyes that final fraction; then shrugged against the grass. "You know as well as I do – better, maybe – people like you and me... We're God's broken cookies. The ones no one wants to see at the bake sale... And I guess when they say you can tell Father Stinelli anything they don't tell you broken cookies make the whole plate look bad.
"He made it pretty clear I wasn't welcome in His house, anymore."
There was a shuffling sound, close by Adam's ear, and he opened his eyes to see Jamie leaning over him, his brows furrowed and pinched in the middle; he looked sad, a little helpless, like Maggie would when she watched commercials for animal welfare charities, as a child; but he was trying to smile, anyway. Abruptly, he presented Adam with a small collection of wild flowers, butter yellow and tattered white, with pink tips – weeds, really – and offered, "Y'always welcome in my house..."
There was still time before he was due on patrol; more, really, than he'd pretended in the mess hall. Time enough to find himself standing in the corridor before Jamie's old room, one hand hovering before the swipe panel, unsure what to do. The decision was made for him when he dropped his hand, helplessly, and the door took it as a signal to open. The room inside was dark; the blinds were drawn, just as he had left them.
Stepping inside, the air tasted slightly stale and dusty – evidently, it hadn't been used for a long time. Probably since Adam had closed the door on the day he returned to Earth. He'd gone back to say goodbye; now, it felt like he had come to say 'hello' with no one to speak to.
"Well, you just get more and more predictable, Staff Sergeant."
Adam jumped a little, and turned to look back at Marc, leaning in the doorway.
"I just..." What? Came here to be with your dead boyfriend?
"Save it. I don't need a diagram."
Adam swallowed, half shrugged.
"What just happened at lunch?"
"Nothing."
"Quit shitting me, Stackhouse. I don't have the patience, today – you're not the only person who landed Nerd Sitting, and I do not need provoking."
"I'm sorry..."
Bates unfolded his arms and stood up straight. "Who was it? I'll rip him a new one." He quirked a smirk, "I could use an outlet."
"It doesn't matter... People know, it's too late to change that."
"They think they know. Right?"
Adam finally met Marc's eyes, but he looked away quickly, shaking his head.
"Isn't not what you expected, is it?"
"What?"
"Coming back."
Swallowing, Adam shook his head. "I think I made a mistake."
"You just got a year left – give it a chance, and if it doesn't work out, then you can fuck off back to Coffee Land and open that frock shop."
The smile Adam tried to crack in response didn't quite come through.
A second later, there was a burst of sirens and the familiar crackle of Dr. Zelenka's voice announcing, "Security personnel to Tower Four, please. Non-security please evacuate immediately. Security personnel to Tower Four... level forty-four, please. Very fast! No drill! Very much 'no drill'..."
As they ran to the nearest transporter, Marc found himself recalling the day he had been the one to make the announcement calling the jumper staff to the hangar. He watched Adam sprinting ahead of him at a notable speed; he was slightly greyer, it seemed, than even a few weeks ago – as though the sudden strain of leaving had already begun taking its toll.
He felt responsible. He'd been the one to bring Adam back to the Pegasus Galaxy. There was nothing he could do, now, but damage control.
Sheppard, Lorne and an assortment of security personnel were grouping in the hall, directly beneath a sector of the tower Marc did not think they knew well. The fourth tower had been damaged badly in the initial flooding, so they had left it – viewed it mostly as a lost cause, while completing exploration on the others. He did not know what was left.
"Lt. Colonel? Do we have a brief, sir?" he asked in a low voice, edging over to him.
Sheppard grimaced and made a so-so face. "We have a Rodneyism."
"A 'Rodneyism', Sir?"
"A Rodneyism," Sheppard said a little more insistently, as if he wanted to add 'duhhh' at the end of the sentence.
"How much explanation do you need, Colonel?" McKay's harried voice snapped from somewhere tucked behind a pillar. "A power spike. Sudden peak in energy. The tower just revved its engines. Flying alien city go 'brrrrrrrm'... only not. Any clearer?"
"Gee, thanks, Rodney. Do you have my teething ring?"
Bates watched the exchange and inhaled deeply, glancing at Adam and hoping for a conspiratorial smirk; but Adam wasn't watching.
"What does this 'spike' indicate, Sir? Do we have any idea?"
"I'm guessing it indicates some kind of energy source, Sergeant."
Marc longed to shoot Sheppard every time he neglected to state his full rank; perhaps the Air Force didn't see fit to fully acknowledge a person's achievements, but the Marines sure did.
"And do we have any idea what this 'energy source' might be? ...Sir."
McKay stepped out from behind the pillar, laptop in hand and some sort of goggles over his eyes, making him looking like a pudgy, squinting bug. He huffed at Marc impatiently, as if finding it beneath him to have to explain to a mere grunt; "An energy surge this huge can mean one of very few things – "
"We're blowing up an entire solar system?" Sheppard asked sarcastically.
"FIVE SIXTHS!"
"I'm sorry, five sixths."
McKay sneered and continued to babble his explanation, "A surge of this enormity has the potential – I mean, we're talking localised Gate transport scale, here – this could be... we could be looking at a second Gate – which would be, depending on who just dialled in, very, very bad..."
Marc didn't need any more of a cue to raise his P90 and twist into a prepared position. The supposition that there could be another Gate into Atlantis, and the unexpected sound of footsteps on the metal stairway above them, acted as a tripwire for the skills he'd practised long enough that they had become instinct.
What the routine of so many years could not prepare him for, however, was looking up into the cold blue eyes of his former CO.
"Colonel Sumner?"
No one moved in the room below; even those who had not served under Sumner knew of the man. They didn't need to be told who he was.
In the stairwell, there was a sudden rush of movement. A figure that had crouched behind Sumner suddenly sprang to his feet, carelessly dropping his weapon and reaching the middle of the staircase in what looked like a single, stumbling bound before two squads of P90s were pointed at him.
Stopping so abruptly he skidded down two steps and half landed on his ass, the figure gazed at the marine to Marc's right with enormous, hazel eyes, and murmured, "Adam?"
Stackhouse stood, frozen and pale for several seconds, and then slowly, shaking his head, he backed towards the doorway into the lower tower then turned and broke into a dead sprint.
On the steps, Sumner looked down at the man in front of him dourly and ordered, "On your feet, Markham. What sort of officer are you?"
Markham. Jamie Markham. Standing sheepishly in front of them, large as life. In the flesh. Looking as though he was on the verge of tears
"Colonel – can't I just – ?" he started down the stairs again, staring into the corridor Adam had disappeared into as if he had seen a ghost.
"Captain."
"Sir – please - ?"
"I said, stand fast, Captain!"
Markham sank down and sat on the stairs, obviously completely stunned. It was only then that Marc looked up and into the faces of people he knew – people he'd worked with, people he still worked with – and realised they were not being visited by the City's lost dead.
Part Four.
shiny_starlight & alfirin_kirinkiBeta: cross-beta'd.
Pairing: Stackhouse/Markham
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Season one; some aspects of season two - mostly season two AU.
Summary: Returning to Atlantis after the events of Pieces, with Bates recovered and a some ghosts to exorcise, Adam finds it harder to reintegrate than he expected.
Strands: 3/8
You're Not Alone
Send out an S-O-S call...
The stillness reminded him of Ground Zero. The walls, unlike most of the city, were something that seemed almost like stone – whitish grey and rough in texture. The towering sweep of glass that covered the area almost gave the impression of being outdoors, under a breezeless summer sky. And it was quiet; very, very quiet. There was no one else there, but Adam almost thought he could hear soft voices, as though people whispered in small groups along the curved, stone-like wall – clustered on the bench-like shelf that ran from the expansive window to the door at the other side.
He supposed it was tranquil. He thought it was meant to be peaceful, but it didn't feel quite like that. It was a calm place. An island of stillness at the top of a tower on the West Pier, where people could watch the sun set. But standing there, gazing at a fading ID photograph next to Jamie's name, rank, role and the dates of his birth and death, the last thing he felt was at peace. This was intended as a memorial space, but all it really served to do was make each expedition member listed here into more of a number.
And yet, he'd been standing there for an hour – not a single person had passed by – and he couldn't bring himself to leave. Not yet.
"Morning, sleepyhead."
Adam opened his eyes to a wide-awake Jamie and the smell of fresh coffee, bacon and eggs.
"You been up long?" Adam mumbled, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.
"Long enough to raid your kitchen and make you breakfast," Jamie grinned. "You're way under stocked, by the way." He looked freshly showered and shaven and Adam figured he'd been up a while. He smiled as Jamie handed him a cup of coffee.
"Only bought the basics, last night. Y'know – last night? When you were asleep on my couch, even though I drove the last hundred and fifty?" Adam replied, smiling a little.
"It's hard work, watching for bears!"
"Oh, Jay – what would I do without you to protect me?"
"Well, you'd get carjacked by bears, for a start."
"I don't deserve you," Adam told him, grinning as he sat up and kissed him lightly.
"I know," Jamie beamed back smugly.
"I mean it, Jay," Adam deadpanned, although he was really half-serious, "You're the best. You're like.... Superboyfriend, or something."
"Superboyfriend?" Jamie laughed back. "Cool! Do I get a cape? Can I wear my tighty-whities over my BDUs?"
"Oh, please do. I'd love to see the look on Sumner's face when you arrived at the SGC like that."
Jamie smiled for a moment, and then dropped his gaze to where he fiddled with the seam of the quilt cover. "Run away with me."
Adam froze where he was, mid-withdraw from placing his mug down on the bedside table. "What?"
"Come on... Let's do it. I always wanted to see Canada."
"You really do have a thing for uniforms, don't you?" Adam teased, settling back on the bed and not catching his eye, only too aware that Jamie was serious.
"What?"
"Mounties."
"Moun - ? No. Not mounties. You. Come on – we could do it. Just leave..."
"We are just leaving."
"Adam..."
"We shouldn't even be talking about this!"
Jamie smiled, but it was a little wobbly; "They ain't got us bugged."
"A year ago I thought aliens were about as real as Coneheads. I don't know what they've done or what they might do, but I know that for what we know they would fucking hunt us down!"
"And then Will Smith would flash a light in our eyes to erase our memories, right?"
"You really have no understanding of how huge this is, do you? Jamie, what we know could cause wars – mass panic..."
Jamie shook his head and sighed. "Like anyone would believe it..."
"Two grunts are not worth the risk."
There was a long silence.
"I just want the same life everyone else has a right to, Adam."
"Then you shouldn't have become a marine."
Jamie's disappointed faced melted away to be replaced by the stern-looking official photo on the memorial wall. Adam reached out and gently brushed his fingers over Jamie's young features, that were for once not grinning and showing his dimples
"I'm sorry Jay. I'm so sorry."
Adam carried the bowl of potatoes to the dining room table, narrowly avoiding tripping over his niece as she darted out in front of him, chasing a wailing, battery-powered cuddly toy. Pete's children were good kids, but apparently at Christmas they got a little crazy. This year was extra hard for them. Their mother had left just the month before. Pete had been devastated, but not surprised, by Veronica's sudden decision to leave. Apparently, things hadn't been so fantastic on the home front for a while.
Adam felt for him. For so long, his life had been normal, uneventful. Now he was thrust into the responsibility of being the sole parent of two energetic young kids.
Two kids who missed their mother and wanted to know when she was coming home.
Adam was under no illusion that having himself and Maggie and her new guy there would in any way make up for their mother's absence, but it couldn't hurt. Besides, Pete wasn't coping too well. Adam had only recently gotten back his family, he wasn't just going to let it fall apart again without putting up some sort of a fight.
Pete's son, Aaron, was eight years old; from what Adam could tell, he was very smart, and he was slightly in awe of his Uncle Adam the Marine. Adam tried not to feel flattered by the fact, but he couldn't help it. It was fun to have someone trailing around behind him, asking sudden questions like 'Can you really kill a guy with just your thumb and index finger?'
He'd answered that particular question by folding his fingers into a pistol and pretending to shoot the child dead. Aaron had laughed until he was almost sick.
Maggie was playing with Aaron's five year old sister, Jessica, whom Adam had to admit was very cute, but she was a complete little princess. There wasn't a hint of tomboy in her and Adam couldn't help comparing her to Lu-Lou. He felt guilty for preferring Jamie's family to his own – especially when they called on the spare cellphone Peter had signed over to him, months earlier, right in the middle of dinner. It had taken forever to prepare, because none of them had much idea what to do with a raw turkey. In the end, Damascus, Maggie's blond-dreadlocked, crochet-jumpered, commune-inhabiting boyfriend, had prepared most of the vegetables. But he wouldn't go near the turkey, being a vegetarian. Adam was even more suspicious of vegetarians than he was people who wore earrings in their hair, but Maggie was a good enough judge of character that he trusted her choices.
In the end, with Aaron curled up asleep on his lap, Adam's tags – still with Jamie's attached – hanging around his neck, Adam looked around at his family, and was just glad to have them. But somehow, he still didn't feel at home. Not sitting in Pete's den. Not being with his siblings. Not even, really, in the still oppressive gravity of Earth.
When he helped put the kids to bed, carrying Aaron up stairs himself (and carefully retrieving his tags), he and Pete stood together, looking at their little sleeping forms.
"I'd give anything to give them their mother back..." Peter said, quietly, tucking Jessica's teddy in beside her.
Adam looked at him for a moment, not sure what to say. They hadn't been raised to talk to each other, or be especially tactile, and it was somewhat unchartered territory.
"They don't need their mother. Not if she was anything like ours."
Laughing hollowly, Pete assured him she was. "Why do you think I married her? Every man wants to marry his mother..."
"Speak for yourself."
They shared a knowing grin, and a little bit of the remaining ice broke.
"From what I've seen, you're a great father to these kids. They're better off without her... They've got family here."
"You do too, you know. We let you down... nothing can make up for that, but Maggie and I – well, you're our brother. I guess I'm just saying sorry..."
Adam shook his head, swallowing with a little difficulty, "There's no need. It's water under the bridge."
"I need to."
"Well... thanks."
They didn't speak again for a few, long moments, until Pete said, "If you go back to wherever you've been – now we know you can come back – you're welcome here any time. The kids love you. They're going to miss you when you leave."
"They're good kids."
"You know you could just stay, don't you? When you get out, I mean. Move back up here to Seattle... Mom and Dad are out of our hair, now – things are different. There's a... y'know. There's a 'scene' up here, Maggie says..."
Adam smiled a little awkwardly, "I never really went for that..."
"Yeah, I guess not. You were always a little too private for that sort of thing..."
Adam just nodded slowly.
"I know I hardly even met Jamie – the only thing he said to me was telling me to go to Hell..." Pete smiled, briefly, "But if there's one thing I know about you it's that you always, always over-think and if he wasn't right, he wouldn't have been brought home... I'm real sorry, Adam."
"Yeah... yeah, so am I."
"No, I mean it – I'm sorry. You deserve a lot better than the hand you got dealt. I still feel like it's half my fault – if mom and dad hadn't been so obsessed with everything I did..."
"Pete. I gave them more than enough ammunition myself. It's not your fault."
"There was stuff that Maggie and I didn't know, wasn't there?"
Adam's heart skipped a beat. "Maybe."
"Can I ask what, now we're both adults?"
"Are you sure you want to?"
"Not when you say it like that!"
Adam actually laughed a little; "It wasn't anything that bad..."
"You sure?"
"Yes!" Adam laughed indignantly, before covering his mouth lightly, afraid of waking the children. They didn't stir, so he continued, "Yeah... it was just a really uncomfortable accident. Mom was supposed to be out at Grandma's all day... she came home early."
"What the hell were you doing?"
"Frankie."
"Frankie?" There was a pause and a sudden look of realisation, followed by a hissed exclamation. "Franklin? From - ?"
"Across the street, yeah. It's not like we were kids on choppers any more, Pete..."
"Frankie! God, I thought you were always the most respectable in our family, too..."
Adam elbowed him lightly, but couldn't help grinning a little.
"Whatever happened to Frankie, anyway? He was still living with his folks when I got my first place with Ver – when I got my first place..."
"I dunno..."
"You could look – "
"Look him up? No. No way. You sound like Maggie."
"She trying to set you up?"
"Let's just say, she suddenly has a lot of 'friends that would be perfect for me'," Adam smiled wryly.
"She means well."
"I know. And I really appreciate that she cares and wants to see me happy. It's just... I've only just lost Jamie. I can't even think about this, right now. I'm not ready to move on and I don't know if I'm ever going to be. He was... everything..." Adam blushed faintly, realising he was being sentimental, but Pete didn't call him on it. He gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and moved towards the door.
"Okay." Pausing at the top of the stairs and turning back to look at him, he added, "But if it's any consolation, from what I know of him and how he looked at you, if things were reversed, I think he'd feel the same way."
Adam stopped in the doorway as Pete trotted downstairs, thinking back to one of the last moments they'd shared – sitting on the mainland as the sun sank, Jamie's head on his lap, Adam's hand on his stomach. Jamie staring up at him with his head at an angle, a small smile on his face.
"I could get used to this..." he said, the slightly drowsy contentment drawing out his Southern Kansas vowels.
Adam smiled down at him, breathing deeply and enjoying the fresh air and scent of foliage that was so different from the largely recycled air of the city. "Well, we're no closer to finding one of those ZPM things McKay and Zelenka're always talking about, so I guess you're going to have to get used to it. This is as close to home turf as you're going to get..."
"I kinda like it..."
"You like it."
"Yeah – I mean, if they let us over here more often, y'know... maybe we'd get used to it all... It'd be less like living on a spaceship and more like home..."
"Maybe..."
Jamie reached up and disguised an affectionate stroke of his face with a gentle, playful shove; "Home's where you are..."
Standing outside his nephew's door, looking through to his niece's adjoining room, on the landing of his brother's house, Adam suddenly felt very, very far from home.
The tread of heavy footfalls brought Adam back to the present. He looked up to see Dieter Fauske heading towards him. When his friend reached him, he winced slightly when he saw whose picture Adam was standing in front of.
"Sorry, man, didn't mean to disturb you... Want me to go?" he asked uncertainly. Fauzzy had always shown a little more compassion than the others, and Adam really did appreciate it.
"It's okay," Adam told him. "Time I was getting back, anyway."
"Cool... You on patrol, soon?"
"Yeah. Sheppard assigned me lab duty. I've got to report to Investigation in an hour or so."
"Ouch," Fauske winced sympathetically. Eight hours of guarding the scientists – more often than not from themselves – of listening to technobabble and math that went way over their heads and of listening to McKay's 'minions' argue over which one of them got to tell their lord and master that they had fucked up yet another experiment. "'Least you don't have the gene. McKay won't make you risk life and limb turning on whatever Ancient gadget they've found recently and got no clue what to do with."
Adam smiled a little at that. "Yeah, Jay always used to complain about that whenever he pulled lab duty. McKay never left him alone for ten minutes."
Fauske grinned. "Yeah. Lab duty was the one thing Toto hated doing, wasn't it? Man, it's so weird not seeing him around the place... It was like you saw the guy twenty times a day, y'know? More'n anyone else – Toto was just always around, always had a stupid smile on his face, always had time to give a guy five minutes... The guys from the original expedition miss him real bad. Can't believe he's dead." Fauzzy seemed to realise what he was saying when Adam froze mid-stride for a second before moving on.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"It's okay... it isn't as if it's a surprise."
"I know, man – I'm just... It ain't like when Parky died. No one got left here..."
Uncomfortable with the way the conversation had turned, unwilling to discuss his current emotional state or listen to anyone else's feelings about Jamie – all too inclined to snap that they didn't know what they were talking about, that they didn't know Jamie – Adam abruptly changed the subject.
"Who's leading the recon, now?"
For a moment, Fauske gazed at him, then obligingly answered, "Nick Lorne – he's a new guy they brought in straight after they shipped you guys back... Okay guy, I guess. Wanna smack him in his monkey mouth sometimes, 'cause he can be a real smartass, but I've served with worse..."
"Sounds like Walters..."
Fauske laughed, remembering their old squadmate; "Kinda. Y'know – you oughta come down to the mess hall – I'll introduce you to the guys... Billy and Thomkin are still here..."
"Uh. Yeah... yeah. Sounds like a good idea." He faltered with the words, not really wanting to join them – needing time to get used to being back on Atlantis and reacclimatise himself before he tried to reintegrate into their little society, not that he ever felt integrated in the first place – but feeling that if he really wanted to make the most of being there, he should start straight away.
He hadn't eaten in the mess, since he'd been back. They'd arrived late the night before, and he'd skipped breakfast after a long, restless night hearing nothing but the occasional rubber-soled squeak of someone patrolling the residential quarters, and the soft, remote lapping of the sea. It was the same room. The same one he'd had before... Atlantis was so vast that they weren't using more than a fraction of the available living quarters, and people had chosen to space themselves out instead of staying in the closely-packed and somewhat smaller rooms they had first crammed themselves into. Maybe they thought he'd be more comfortable in a room he already knew...
The mess was packed when they arrived – there seemed to be more people in the room than there had even been on the original expedition. It seemed like a sea of strangers, not like home at all. He joined the queue with Fauzzy and looked around at the unfamiliar faces, dotted only here and there with those he recognised. He wondered whether they were alive, and returned to Earth, or if they were amongst the names on the seemingly endless expanse of wall in the Memorial Tower.
Their food was handed to them by yet another face unfamiliar to Adam and they made their way through the crowd to a table near the far wall. Adam recognised a few of the marines at the table and they grinned and called out greetings.
"Good to have you back, Stack," Thomkin told him as he slid down a seat. Fauzzy made a quick round of introductions to the new faces and then dug in. The food had improved somewhat since Adam's last meal on Atlantis – a rushed M.R.E in the middle of a briefing – and he ate quietly, trying to make small talk as he did. It was excruciating, but Adam did try to talk to each new person at least once. It was a small accomplishment, but it was a start. Things were actually going relatively well until a new marine, Dunne, suddenly broke in at the mention of Adam's full name.
"Stackhouse?" he echoed, a suspicious frown creeping across his face.
"Yeah, that's our boy!" Fauzzy grinned, although it seemed taut and unnatural and the rest of the table had suddenly fallen awkwardly quiet. "Thought we'd got rid of him, but the crazy sonuva bitch came back for more..."
Dunne nodded, slowly, fixing Adam with a stiff, unfriendly stare. "Yeah... sounds like. Crazy, ain't it, how some names an' stories just always seem'a filter through?"
It was suddenly too crowded in the mess hall. The formerly tasty meal suddenly felt like ashes in Adam's mouth. He needed to get out of there. Pushing back his seat and picking up his tray, he announced, "I'm on patrol soon. I'd better go."
"Wait. Stack..." Thomkin started, but Adam was gone.
He tried not to make eye contact with anyone as he made his way back to his quarters, but he could feel eyes on him as he walked. He wasn't sure if it was paranoia, or if people really were staring at him, but he didn't wait to find out.
He walked back into his quarters and stopped abruptly just inside the door; absently, he wondered why he had come here at all, aside from the need to shower and change before patrol. This didn't feel like his space. It didn't feel comforting – it just felt empty.
Jamie should be here.
Peeling off his clothes lethargically, he walked over to his tiny bathroom and switched on the shower. For a long time he just stood there, not even inside the cubicle, watching the water swirl down the drain. Showering had been one of his first conscious actions after Jamie died. He remembered standing beneath the little, stabbing jets and wondering where he went from there; that moment when everything was suddenly blank ahead of him. And here he was again.
How idiotic it had been to think he could move on by stepping back; that being here would bring him closer to what he had lost.
He turned off the shower.
Adam turned off the shower and wrapped the towel around his waist. Said towel had the approximate texture of sandpaper, because even though they were living and working in an alien Ancient outpost, the American military still didn’t splurge on the more comfortable things in life. Adam dried his hair quickly, ignoring the fellow marines showering and talking around him. He started to dry off, and only then noticed the hickey on his hip.
Panicking, he wrapped the towel tighter and higher around his waist so as to hide the incriminating evidence. Cursing himself, he practically ran to where he had left his clothes and pulled them on quickly. He left as soon as he had his boots tied, and headed back to his and Jamie’s room to freak out in peace.
They’d almost been busted. If anyone had seen the hickey, they would have asked questions. And since there were about three female marines on the base, suspicions would definitely be aroused.
They had been careless the night before: too caught up in each other to pay attention to the marks. Adam was just grateful for the fact that it wasn’t in any place visible when clothed. He paced the length of the room and back again, his mind furiously berating himself and Jamie for their lack of restraint.
He had half convinced himself to end what was maybe the best thing he had in his life when his gaze fell on Jamie’s set of drawers. It was cluttered and full and Adam smiled at the fact that for a marine, Jamie was woefully unconcerned with neatness and organisation. He then realised that if looking at James Markham’s mess made him smile and his heart pound, then he really, really had a thing for James Markham.
He was still standing there in the centre of the room when Jamie came back from his shift in the Exploration and Development Room.
“Adam?” he asked hesitantly, obviously concerned when he saw Adam’s dishevelled appearance and still damp hair. “Y'alright?”
“Everything’s good, Jay,” Adam smiled at him.
“It is? You don't look okay...”
“Well, somehow, I got a pretty obvious mouth-shaped bruise on my hip which I only saw after I was finished my shower,” he told Jamie conversationally. Jamie paled.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered, looking horrified. "I'm sorry..."
Adam was grateful that Jay understood how serious it was; he almost never swore. “It’s okay,” he assured him.
“It’s okay? You think it's 'okay'? How are you not freaking out over this?” Jamie demanded, stepping closer and turning Adam toward him. "You... I mean... y'hate stuff like that."
“I was freaking out,” Adam admitted. “But then I realised something.”
“What?” Jamie asked suspiciously.
“None of that matters.”
“Are you drunk?” Jamie asked him carefully, although he looked like he wanted to break into an enormous grin.
Adam just laughed and pulled him close.
"What the Hell am I doing here?"
Adam's own voice was loud in the quiet of his room and made him start, just a little. He gave a snort of a cynical laugh at himself, and sank on to his bed. "What am I doing back here?" he asked again, of no one in particular, although it felt like he was asking a very specific someone.
"This was... such a mistake... I should be at home - where people care about me... I shouldn't be here. What in the name of God was I thinking?"
Of course, nobody answered.
Adam smiled grimly to himself, dragging his jacket over from the end of the bed and carefully pulling a slightly tattered piece of paper from the pocket. He unfolded it and smoothed it flat over his lap. Not reading the familiar scrawl – he had it memorised – but studying the page and the tiny details, like the small smear of ink, as though it had been written with a gloopy ballpoint.
"Bet you think I'm a moron, don't you? You're probably laughing your ass off if you can see me now..."
He stopped, wanting to berate himself for talking to his dead boyfriend again; but he carried on.
"Jamie... I don't know what to do, now. I thought this would make it easier – being... being where it feels like you are... but I've just been here a day and I want to be anywhere but here... Anywhere.
"Seems like I just can't help making the worst choices, every decision I have to make..."
It wasn't hard to imagine what Jamie's response would be, if he were there to give one. He'd look at him with round, sorrowful eyes, then say something soft about hoping Jamie himself wasn't one of those mistakes – purely to make Adam stop feeling sorry for himself, in order to feel sorry for Jamie, instead.
Without really noticing, Adam smiled wistfully.
"I miss you so much..."
The fact was, it wasn't getting any easier. Not in any sense that made Adam feel better. It seemed that every moment of every day was primed perfectly to remind him of what he'd had and what he was without, now. Even though they had had just a couple of years together – a tiny portion of Adam's life so far, and with so much more ahead of him – he didn't think it made any difference; somehow, all his memories seemed to feature Jamie, or lead on to things that involved Jamie. Everything anyone said, looks in people's eyes, anecdotes he'd make a point to remember in order to tell him later, and then realise that there was no Jamie to tell, any more... they all stung like a million tiny papercuts, over and over. He still woke every morning with a delayed jolt of nausea, realising that it was another day and Jamie was really gone.
People told him it was okay to grieve, and that it would get easier in time, and that he had to be brave because Jamie wouldn't have wanted him to be unhappy. But what did they know? Nothing, really. They just drew on the stock phrases everyone fell back on when somebody had lost a loved one and they didn't know what to say; more to make themselves feel better for making a show of support, than to actually comfort the bereaved.
Jamie had been what made life make sense.
Adam reached under his pillow and pulled out an old t-shirt; the same one he had picked up from Jamie's bedroom floor the day he died. It didn't really smell like Jamie, any more, but it helped remind him of the way it should smell. It had become a new comfort blanket, in Jamie's absence. Of course, it wasn't even nearly the same, but it was something.
The air smelled of dry grass and pollen, mostly. Even the breeze was warm, and the evening still bright, even though it was late enough for all the kids to be in bed – no longer around to jump on them or demand that they play games or give them piggy-back rides around the yard. There wasn't much stirring, by the lake. Adam lay back, with his arm tucked under his head, the other hand rubbing absently at Jamie's lower back as he sat beside him, plucking at the grass.
"...So then momma got up in fronta all those people – all our neighbours and everybody – and she told them, 'Y'all oughta be 'shamed a y'selves! He's just a child! Y'all has got no right tellin' my baby he's dirty or he's not normal...' and then she went on this big, long speech about how I was a good boy and all... Never been back to church since."
Adam smiled, listening to the sound of Jamie's voice, amused by his candid imitation of his mother's voice. "I didn't get a choice. Didn't stop going until I was in my twenties... early twenties, I guess."
"Why'd you stop?"
He sighed quietly, his hand stilling. "They didn't want me, any more."
Jamie didn't speak, but Adam could see his silhouette turn and look down at him through partially cracked lids. He swallowed and closed his eyes that final fraction; then shrugged against the grass. "You know as well as I do – better, maybe – people like you and me... We're God's broken cookies. The ones no one wants to see at the bake sale... And I guess when they say you can tell Father Stinelli anything they don't tell you broken cookies make the whole plate look bad.
"He made it pretty clear I wasn't welcome in His house, anymore."
There was a shuffling sound, close by Adam's ear, and he opened his eyes to see Jamie leaning over him, his brows furrowed and pinched in the middle; he looked sad, a little helpless, like Maggie would when she watched commercials for animal welfare charities, as a child; but he was trying to smile, anyway. Abruptly, he presented Adam with a small collection of wild flowers, butter yellow and tattered white, with pink tips – weeds, really – and offered, "Y'always welcome in my house..."
There was still time before he was due on patrol; more, really, than he'd pretended in the mess hall. Time enough to find himself standing in the corridor before Jamie's old room, one hand hovering before the swipe panel, unsure what to do. The decision was made for him when he dropped his hand, helplessly, and the door took it as a signal to open. The room inside was dark; the blinds were drawn, just as he had left them.
Stepping inside, the air tasted slightly stale and dusty – evidently, it hadn't been used for a long time. Probably since Adam had closed the door on the day he returned to Earth. He'd gone back to say goodbye; now, it felt like he had come to say 'hello' with no one to speak to.
"Well, you just get more and more predictable, Staff Sergeant."
Adam jumped a little, and turned to look back at Marc, leaning in the doorway.
"I just..." What? Came here to be with your dead boyfriend?
"Save it. I don't need a diagram."
Adam swallowed, half shrugged.
"What just happened at lunch?"
"Nothing."
"Quit shitting me, Stackhouse. I don't have the patience, today – you're not the only person who landed Nerd Sitting, and I do not need provoking."
"I'm sorry..."
Bates unfolded his arms and stood up straight. "Who was it? I'll rip him a new one." He quirked a smirk, "I could use an outlet."
"It doesn't matter... People know, it's too late to change that."
"They think they know. Right?"
Adam finally met Marc's eyes, but he looked away quickly, shaking his head.
"Isn't not what you expected, is it?"
"What?"
"Coming back."
Swallowing, Adam shook his head. "I think I made a mistake."
"You just got a year left – give it a chance, and if it doesn't work out, then you can fuck off back to Coffee Land and open that frock shop."
The smile Adam tried to crack in response didn't quite come through.
A second later, there was a burst of sirens and the familiar crackle of Dr. Zelenka's voice announcing, "Security personnel to Tower Four, please. Non-security please evacuate immediately. Security personnel to Tower Four... level forty-four, please. Very fast! No drill! Very much 'no drill'..."
As they ran to the nearest transporter, Marc found himself recalling the day he had been the one to make the announcement calling the jumper staff to the hangar. He watched Adam sprinting ahead of him at a notable speed; he was slightly greyer, it seemed, than even a few weeks ago – as though the sudden strain of leaving had already begun taking its toll.
He felt responsible. He'd been the one to bring Adam back to the Pegasus Galaxy. There was nothing he could do, now, but damage control.
Sheppard, Lorne and an assortment of security personnel were grouping in the hall, directly beneath a sector of the tower Marc did not think they knew well. The fourth tower had been damaged badly in the initial flooding, so they had left it – viewed it mostly as a lost cause, while completing exploration on the others. He did not know what was left.
"Lt. Colonel? Do we have a brief, sir?" he asked in a low voice, edging over to him.
Sheppard grimaced and made a so-so face. "We have a Rodneyism."
"A 'Rodneyism', Sir?"
"A Rodneyism," Sheppard said a little more insistently, as if he wanted to add 'duhhh' at the end of the sentence.
"How much explanation do you need, Colonel?" McKay's harried voice snapped from somewhere tucked behind a pillar. "A power spike. Sudden peak in energy. The tower just revved its engines. Flying alien city go 'brrrrrrrm'... only not. Any clearer?"
"Gee, thanks, Rodney. Do you have my teething ring?"
Bates watched the exchange and inhaled deeply, glancing at Adam and hoping for a conspiratorial smirk; but Adam wasn't watching.
"What does this 'spike' indicate, Sir? Do we have any idea?"
"I'm guessing it indicates some kind of energy source, Sergeant."
Marc longed to shoot Sheppard every time he neglected to state his full rank; perhaps the Air Force didn't see fit to fully acknowledge a person's achievements, but the Marines sure did.
"And do we have any idea what this 'energy source' might be? ...Sir."
McKay stepped out from behind the pillar, laptop in hand and some sort of goggles over his eyes, making him looking like a pudgy, squinting bug. He huffed at Marc impatiently, as if finding it beneath him to have to explain to a mere grunt; "An energy surge this huge can mean one of very few things – "
"We're blowing up an entire solar system?" Sheppard asked sarcastically.
"FIVE SIXTHS!"
"I'm sorry, five sixths."
McKay sneered and continued to babble his explanation, "A surge of this enormity has the potential – I mean, we're talking localised Gate transport scale, here – this could be... we could be looking at a second Gate – which would be, depending on who just dialled in, very, very bad..."
Marc didn't need any more of a cue to raise his P90 and twist into a prepared position. The supposition that there could be another Gate into Atlantis, and the unexpected sound of footsteps on the metal stairway above them, acted as a tripwire for the skills he'd practised long enough that they had become instinct.
What the routine of so many years could not prepare him for, however, was looking up into the cold blue eyes of his former CO.
"Colonel Sumner?"
No one moved in the room below; even those who had not served under Sumner knew of the man. They didn't need to be told who he was.
In the stairwell, there was a sudden rush of movement. A figure that had crouched behind Sumner suddenly sprang to his feet, carelessly dropping his weapon and reaching the middle of the staircase in what looked like a single, stumbling bound before two squads of P90s were pointed at him.
Stopping so abruptly he skidded down two steps and half landed on his ass, the figure gazed at the marine to Marc's right with enormous, hazel eyes, and murmured, "Adam?"
Stackhouse stood, frozen and pale for several seconds, and then slowly, shaking his head, he backed towards the doorway into the lower tower then turned and broke into a dead sprint.
On the steps, Sumner looked down at the man in front of him dourly and ordered, "On your feet, Markham. What sort of officer are you?"
Markham. Jamie Markham. Standing sheepishly in front of them, large as life. In the flesh. Looking as though he was on the verge of tears
"Colonel – can't I just – ?" he started down the stairs again, staring into the corridor Adam had disappeared into as if he had seen a ghost.
"Captain."
"Sir – please - ?"
"I said, stand fast, Captain!"
Markham sank down and sat on the stairs, obviously completely stunned. It was only then that Marc looked up and into the faces of people he knew – people he'd worked with, people he still worked with – and realised they were not being visited by the City's lost dead.
Part Four.