NOTES: Thank you, PurpleYin, for betaing this.
DISCLAIMER: Stargate: Atlantis and all things associated with it belong to other people.
SPOILERS: through Siege, Part 1 for SGA, Covenant for SG1
RATING: K+
CLARITY
PART 4
THEM
After so much work with audio equipment, I'd become quite adept at differentiating sounds. Between that and Ivan's training, I couldn't help but check when I heard an unfamiliar car pull up the drive. The driver was a woman, the passenger a man who carried a small satchel. There was nothing particularly distinctive about either. Perhaps it was some subtle element of their clothes or hair, but my instincts told me they were foreigners. I was downstairs before they'd rung the bell, though my mother answered the door.
The woman introduced herself as Dr. Weir, the man as Dr. McKay, saying they worked with my brother. Mother invited them in, and Dr. Weir smiled when she saw me. "You must be Nicole. Peter told me so much about you." But the man did not smile; he stared in shock, as though seeing a ghost. Of all my siblings, Peter and I look the most alike. Without speaking one word, Dr. McKay had told me all I needed to know. At last confronted with the truth, some part of my psyche broke lose, turning me into a passionless automaton, watching this life-altering event unfold like a detached third party.
Dr. Weir explained she had something important to discuss with the family, and perhaps it would be best if they spoke to everyone all at once. Fortunately, the BMW they'd driven had drawn my little brother downstairs, so he was sent to fetch my father, grandma and sister. I think my mother had sensed asking me to do it would have resulted in a scene. My eldest brother was abroad on business, so there was no need to call him over from his flat. Within five minutes, we were politely settled in the living room with tea and enough tension to snap a steel cable.
They wore no rings, nothing to suggest they were anything other than professional colleagues, but they were like a matched set, equal and opposite, bound by the burden they shared. She was calm and reserved, but try as he might, every ounce of the torment in his soul showed in his eyes. I had never been a particularly religious person, so I empathized with him. Like me, he had no faith to comfort him. Despite the irrational instinct to damn the messenger, I couldn't bring myself to hate him.
She began by telling us what we already knew, that Peter had been a part of a top secret project, a project she had headed. She told us how important his contributions had been, prompting Dr. McKay to elaborate without saying anything specific. He had the tone of someone who had rehearsed his lines, unable to trust an impromptu recital. Then she told us Peter had died in an accident, that his sacrifice had not only insured the survival of the project but also of the many people working on it.
Surprisingly, grandma took it the best. Carefully setting down her cup, she folded her hands in her lap and looked out the window.
At first, my father said nothing, just consoled my weeping mother.
My sister stood and hissed at me, "I hope you're happy," then stormed out. Dr. Weir raised an eyebrow at this.
All the while, Dr. McKay twiddled with a broken bit of pencil, focusing on it as though it could help him cope.
"You're wrong," insisted my brother. "You're lying."
I had never had the option of denial. "Why would they fly all the way to England to lie about such a thing?"
My mother disappointed me by indulging in the same temptation as my brother. "But how do we know..."
"I was there." Dr. McKay set the bit of pencil down next to his untouched cup of tea and met her eyes. "I was the head of a team conducting an emergency operation. A dangerous procedure was required, and I drew the short straw. At the end of the procedure, there were unanticipated complications that trapped Peter. I wanted to get him out, though it would have nullified the operation and put everyone else in jeopardy, but he insisted his rescue should wait until our emergency had passed. He was the one who was supposed to be safe, but then..."
He looked away from my mother, scanning the faces in front of him before putting his head in his hands. Dr. Weir placed a comforting hand on his back; my family said nothing. After a moment, Dr. McKay ran his fingers through his hair and looked back at my mother as though he'd never stopped. "Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. There was nothing we could do to save him."
"Did you try?" My father should not have provoked the sleeping dog that was this man's emotions.
"There was no try!" snapped Dr. McKay, anger suddenly flowing off him in waves. "There was only Peter dead or all of us dead! I apologize for obeying your own son's request to not throw my life away needlessly so I could selfishly live to help save the rest of our people. I don't know what I could have been thinking!"
Dr. Weir put her hand on his arm and said, "Rodney." With that one word, that one touch, she quelled his wrath. Looking at her, he returned to himself.
"I...I'm not easy to work with." Dr. McKay spoke to his hands, which had begun fidgeting with the pencil again. Although calmed, his voice was still raw with feeling. "But Peter was one of those rare people who could handle it. Not only that, he did it with a smile." He laughed to himself and looked at my parents. "We have three people doing different aspects of his job --three-- and combined they don't equal one Peter. He was brilliant and vital and my responsibility." His gaze returned to the bit of wood and graphite in his hands. "I'm sorry. There's not a day that goes by..."
Dr. Weir put her hand on his back again, but when enough time had passed that it was apparent Dr. McKay had nothing more to say, she began to express her own condolences. Hers were polished and smooth; she had done this before. Despite that, the words of praise and affection rang true and were comforting. It was plain she cared for Peter and was as torn by his loss as Dr. McKay. Then she gave us some line about time and distance making it necessary to cremate Peter's remains, as though there were anyplace on Earth that far away. Apparently all members of her team had agreed to this stipulation before joining.
Wordlessly, Dr. McKay set down the pencil and opened the satchel at his feet. From it, he withdrew a dark, polished wooden box with silver fastenings and an emblem I'd become all too familiar with. It did not bear the name Atlantis, but there was no mistaking the symbol. In my surprise, I must have gasped, because I found everyone staring at me. The rest must have thought my reaction was due to seeing the box containing my brother's remains, but Dr. Weir's look suggested she suspected otherwise.
Dr. McKay carefully set the box on our coffee table, and everyone was quiet for a moment. Then my mother reached out with trembling hands to lift it into her lap. As though that were a sign of permission, Dr. McKay reached into the satchel and pulled out a Mitre soccer ball. It looked practically new. "We were all allowed one unessential personal item," he said. "This was Peter's. He didn't get to play with it outside, but he never tired of figuring out new ways to play with it indoors." He smiled again. "I remember the first time he kicked it around an empty storage room, it was a like a magnet. In less than twenty minutes, he'd drawn out all the other soccer buffs without ever having said a word. He had a lot of friends. We all miss him."
My brother took the ball and left.
Dr. McKay closed the satchel while Dr. Weir explained it held the rest of Peter's personal items. She began making the kind of statements one does when about to leave. Then she set down her cup and stood, extending her hand to my father and thanking my parents for their hospitality. Belatedly, Dr. McKay followed her lead.
I couldn't let them leave without squeezing all the information I could from them, not just for me but for all the others waiting for any scrap of knowledge about the people they loved. "I have a few items to discuss with you, if I may."
"Oh, please, Nicole," began my mother, but she didn't get the chance to finish admonishing me.
"Let her be." They were the first words grandma had spoken since the introductions to our guests. She said it quietly but with enough mettle to let my parents know she would brook no argument on the issue.
"We'd be happy to answer any questions we can," assured Dr. Weir.
"I'll meet you in the front garden." There it would be noisy enough we could talk without being overheard yet secluded enough to not be overseen. I left it to my parents to take them there while I ran upstairs to gather everything I might need.
I'd never prepared for this particular scenario, but my instincts proved reliable. In a few minutes, I joined them at our garden table. Sensing Dr. McKay would be more liberal with his knowledge, I sat next to him and wasn't disappointed. Opening the folder, he said without thinking, "The Prometheus."
"Rodney!"
"What?" Unrepentant, he turned to Dr. Weir. "Elizabeth, aren't you the one who said you'd considered recruiting her? Why should it surprise you she has this kind of information?"
"Her having it and your confirming the validity of it are two different issues."
"What could she do with a name? And who would believe her if she tried?"
I silenced them by playing a recording of the five sounds. Even Dr. Weir couldn't hide that she recognized them.
Gesturing to the folder, I prompted them to continue flipping through the images inside. There were a number of others, like that of the massive ship Dr. McKay had called the Prometheus, which had come from Ivan's intelligence connections, but they were mainly of different pieces of visual information collected from the videos, including each uniform and several pieces of unidentifiable equipment. The last picture was of the Atlantis insignia. Dr. McKay was impressed; Dr. Weir was concerned.
"Where did you get all this?" she asked.
I shrugged. "Will the others be told?"
"Others?"
"Only if there's a death involved," answered Dr. McKay. "There've also been a handful of non critical casualties who've had to leave the project."
"So if they aren't contacted, that means their loved ones are all right?"
"Yes."
"How long will it take before you're done?"
Dr. Weir finally decided there was no point in trying to stonewall me while Dr. McKay was being so open. "Yours is one of the first families we've visited. We should be done in about a week."
I nodded. "When did he die?"
They exchanged a look. Dr. Weir answered. "January fourth."
That was the day I'd seen him at the foot of my bed. "And his last words?"
Twiddling with his piece of pencil again, Dr. McKay didn't meet my eyes. "I'm sorry..."
"Surely you remember." Dr. Weir's voice was a combination of encouragement and astonishment.
"He does, Dr. Weir," I corrected. "Peter's last words were 'I'm sorry.'"
Dr. McKay's head snapped up, his blue eyes startled. I could see he wanted to ask me how I knew but was too afraid to ask.
I closed the folder. "You've taken some of the world's best and brightest. It shouldn't be surprising they come from bright and capable families. Surely you can't expect to keep what's happening a secret from us indefinitely?"
"It's not up to us to decide." There was frustration in Dr. Weir's apology.
Nodding, I stood, and they stood with me. "Thank you for answering my questions."
As she shook my hand in farewell, Dr. Weir confessed, "I wish we could tell you more, let you know about all the unbelievable things Peter saw and all the amazing things he accomplished."
"We all owe him our lives," added Dr. McKay as he took his turn in shaking my hand. He briefly contemplated the broken bit of pencil fisted in his other hand before holding it out to me. "I don't know if you'd want it, but this should really be among his personal effects."
"His straw?" I guessed.
He nodded, and in his eyes I could see a reflection of the horrors he'd endured. "I've kept it as a reminder. It's all I have of him, but if you think you might..." Dr. Weir put a supportive hand on his shoulder.
I contemptuously contemplated the horrid little artifact, a splinter of my brother's death, then my hand reached up of its own accord. I would possess whatever piece of Peter I could, especially this symbol of his sacrifice. Besides, I could think of no better way to express my forgiveness than by taking away this physical manifestation of Dr. McKay's penance. They had brought me the truth; it was the least I could do.
I walked them to their car and bid them farewell. As they drove away, it was as if they had taken some part of me with them. I later realized it was the possibility I might be wrong they'd stolen from me by giving me what I had been searching for so desperately. Finally, I had confirmation that what I knew was true, and it devastated me. Without the focus of my crusade to hold back my grief, the full impact of Peter's death finally fell on me. I would never hear him laugh or be teased by him again. I could never hug him or tickle him. We would never share another movie or meal or confidence. He had been so beautiful, with his mischievous eyes and bright smile and ingenious mind. How could the universe extinguish the vibrant spark that was his life?
My knees gave out under the weight of reality, and I cried on the lawn. It didn't help. If anything, each sob made me want to cry all the harder, but I couldn't have stopped if I'd tried. At the time, it was the only way I could express the gnawing ache in my heart. I stayed there until grandma came to bring me inside.
The tulips were blooming along the drive. It had been nine months and eleven days since I'd last seen my brother alive.
I told the gang what I'd learned. Only one other lost a loved one. Two of sixteen, a twelve percent mortality rate of our little sampling, the majority of whom are non military. Of the "many people" Dr. Weir had mentioned, I have a feeling ours were not the only two deaths, not with a week's worth of condolences to deliver. Ivan and Mary weren't contacted.
One month later, just as I was completing my thesis, I was approached by a British intelligence agency. I told them I wasn't interested unless my involvement would lead to my participation in the Stargate program. I start work next Monday.
I don't know how long it will take before I get to Atlantis, but I hope I get to meet Dr. McKay and Dr. Weir again and all the other people who worked with Peter. It's the best way I can think of to honor his sacrifice and remember him. I can't bring back my brother, but maybe I can help preserve the work he gave his life to save and share in the wonder he'd had for it all.
Dedicated in loving memory to Julie Swanson.