Chapter 27—Epilogue

"Hey, you."

Elizabeth stood in the doorway leading out to the infirmary balcony with her hands on her hips. She smiled, but it felt forced and she took a deep breath. She had never been very good at this whole bedside manner thing, but she needed to be right now.

John lay reclined in a cot at the end of the balcony, buried in blankets. He rolled his head toward her, and the movement looked like it took way too much effort. He was definitely looking better, but he still had a long recovery in front of him.

"Hey," he answered. He turned back to the water and seemed to lose himself it its depths.

Elizabeth felt suddenly nervous, but she forced it to the side and walked over to him. She glanced out at the ocean and marveled at the view. The water was a brilliant blue, stretching out to the horizon in all directions. No wonder John had wanted to come out here.

"I ran into Teyla earlier today. She said your latest scans were good." She'd also said that John was still struggling with continuous aches and pains, and that he was still too weak and tired to do much but lay sprawled in a bed. Elizabeth shifted awkwardly on her feet a moment before pulling up the chair next to him and sitting down.

John closed his eyes briefly, breathing deeply. He didn't seem to be in much of a talkative mood, so she sat there with him and tried to relax. They were high enough that the salty air was less noticeable, but she could still taste it when she breathed deeply.

"Carson said I could probably go back to my room in a week or so," he finally said. He smiled, but the movement looked stiff and unnatural.

He hurt—all over. Elizabeth could see it in every deliberate movement. His arm rested across his chest in cast and sling, barely visible beneath the blankets. His knee looked worse than it felt, or so John said, and Carson had said he'd been lucky. Nothing had been torn or stretched too far to require an operation. The stab wound, on the other hand, had been relatively deep though angled so that more serious damage had been prevented. The delay in getting treatment, however, had made matters worse. The surgery to repair it had lasted hours, and the resulting fever from the associated infection had lasted days. John had been oblivious to all of it, waking up only once in the jumper for a few minutes while Elizabeth had dozed. The next time he'd woken up had been to a quiet infirmary.

Rodney had worn holes in the floor from his pacing both in the infirmary and in his lab. Teyla had turned down opportunities to spend time with her people and chosen instead to plant herself at John's bedside. This more than anything revealed how worried she'd been over John's welfare. Even now, she seemed hesitant to let John out of her sight.

A gust of wind blew across the balcony, dying down almost as quickly as it had started. It ruffled the hair sticking straight up on top of John's head and shivered across the back of Elizabeth's neck. He looked better, she decided, with the headband-style bandages versus the full cap covering his entire head. It showed progress, and there was something about seeing his hair that made him look a little more spry.

John was leaning back in the cot and looking up at the billowing white clouds in the sky, budding and stretching. Elizabeth leaned back in her chair as well and filled her lungs with the fresh air. The warm sun beat down on her face. There was definitely something rejuvenating about it. She'd been surprised at first to hear Carson had let John go out to the balcony, but now she understood. She glanced over at him and saw he was still staring at the sky, and she wondered if he was thinking about flying.

"How's your head?" she asked, loath to break the silence. But she had to—she'd come out here for a specific purpose.

"Hard as ever," he quipped, but it sounded flatter than perhaps he'd intended. Less jovial.

Elizabeth waited for him to say more, but what did she expect him to say? He was getting better, slowly. Carson had had to shave the hair around the wound—much to John's horror—but it was hardly noticeable under the tight bandage he still sported, and it should all grow back in by the time the gash was healed over enough that it didn't constantly need to be covered.

The headaches were still bad, knocking him out for hours, sometimes even a day at a time, but Carson had said that they too were getting less intense and less frequent. John was healing—he was washed out and exhausted, regardless of the fact that he still slept for upwards of eighteen hours a day—but he was getting better. Physically, at least.

And that was why she was here. She'd read the daily reports Carson had sent her and talked to Doctor Heightmeyer. Their experiences on Sateda were bound to have a profound effect on all of them, John specifically. Despite their best attempts to give him space and allow him to heal in his own time, she knew he'd overheard the talk, the too-loud whispers behind thin curtains. He wasn't healing as fast as he should. He was depressed. He was suffering from post-traumatic stress.

Most of the time—when he wasn't sleeping—he lay quietly in his bed in the corner of the infirmary, watching people go about their daily business. He talked when Teyla and Rodney came to visit—but he was never one to ramble the way Rodney did anyway. He answered Carson's questions as truthfully as he could, passively allowing the man to subject him to every test known to man. Elizabeth knew Carson had been hovering badly, something that usually drove John insane, but he hadn't said two words about it. The doctor was working through his own issues from Sateda, lathering on John all the care he couldn't offer the Satedans.

Frankly, Elizabeth understood everyone's need to see John alive and home, hers included, and she suspected John was equally aware of this. But depressed? Post-traumatic stress? That had been tough to swallow. She could see the signs of mental exhaustion at the very least.

"I wish you'd talk to Kate again," Elizabeth suddenly said, plunging abruptly into the subject. She cringed as soon as the words were out of her mouth. So much for easing into it.

John stiffened immediately. "I'm fine," he sighed. "I'm getting there, anyway."

"John—"

"I tried," he burst out then winced at a flare of pain. "We met and…it's not…I didn't know how…what to…oh, never mind." He sagged into the blankets and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I just can't, Elizabeth," he muttered, his voice low and muffled behind his hand.

She could see his hand shaking, but whether it was from exhaustion or emotion, she didn't know. "I know you don't like talking about these kinds of…things," she fumbled, afraid of saying the wrong thing. "I just want you to know that I'm here if you need me, John. Whatever you're thinking or feeling, you don't have to go through it alone."

"I'm not…" but he let his voice trail off and shook his head.

He wasn't good, and they both knew it, but he was getting there. A little depression after such a traumatic event wasn't unusual or unexpected. It was normal, actually, and Elizabeth wished he could accept that. She was willing to give him the time he needed, but he had never been one to chat easily with a shrink in order to get there. John did not open up easily or quickly, especially with people he didn't know well. They'd all been through an ordeal—they'd all suffered—and they would all move past it in their own time and way.

"Have you gone back to Sateda yet?" he asked, changing the subject.

Elizabeth glanced at him, biting her lip a moment. She wanted to help him, but she knew John well enough not to force him into anything.

"We sent a MALP," she answered carefully, jumping from one difficult topic to another.

It wasn't a complete answer, but John must have heard the rest of it in the tone of her voice. Elizabeth thought suddenly of Ronon, Nurif, and all the others they'd befriended. Gone.

"The Wraith destroyed everything," he stated flatly, vocalizing the rest of Elizabeth's answer.

"Yes, they did."

"Any…people?"

"None that the MALP sensors picked up. Major Lorne wants to do a sweep of the planet with a jumper, but we're worried the Wraith might still be in the neighborhood. Maybe in another few days."

John nodded. "How is Lorne, by the way?"

"He's good. Back on semi-active duty today—paperwork only. I think he'd prefer being off-duty completely to that."

A shadow fell across the balcony as clouds chased across the sky, obscuring the sun. A second later, the beams broke through again and glinted off the water. The occasional white capped waves settled into the ocean, like the fading strokes of a paintbrush. From this high up, the water looked perfectly smooth. The perfect illusion.

"Do you think any of them survived?" he asked, shivering at another gust of cool air.

"Maybe," Elizabeth answered tentatively. She stood up and stretched her back, then grabbed a blanket from a stack behind her. She spread it over him, tucking the edges in around John's shoulders, then smiled at the scowling glare he was giving her. There was a sign of the old John.

"There's a chance some of the people outside of the main cities might have been able to hide," she continued, growing serious once again. "Rodney thinks three hundred or so might have managed to get through the ring between when the first two darts were shot down and the arrival of the Hive."

What about Ronon and Melena? She could almost see the question on his face. His report so far had been brief, giving her just the basics, but it was clear he'd developed a strong relationship with the two people who had saved his life. Off all the questions they had, that one would haunt him for a long time to come. They had no way of finding that information out anyway. They didn't even know if Ronon and Melena had had time to get to the gate before the Wraith started running interference and pummeling the city.

John had been unconscious in the jumper. He had not been forced to watch an entire planet destroyed, had not hovered above the atmosphere invisible and helpless. A hatred—dark and powerful—surged through Elizabeth at the thought of the Wraith, of what they had done to Sateda and so many other worlds. She forced the anger back down to the pit of her stomach, not wanting to subject John to her own issues. When she glanced over at him, she saw that his face had darkened into a livid scowl.

"John, are you okay?"

He flinched then forced his face to relax. "I was thinking of Kell. He was willing to sacrifice hundreds, maybe thousands of his people for his own gain, his own safety. You'd think with the threat of the Wraith hanging over them, that people would be more…I don't know…more generous. More concerned about each other's welfare."

Elizabeth took her time in answering. The same thoughts had crossed her mind, almost since the moment they'd met the Wraith. The sun beat down warm on her skin and she felt a wave of tiredness come over her.

"Teyla once said the Wraith draw out the best and the worst of humanity."

"Clearly Kell was the worst," John said. "What's the best?"

"Ronon, Melena, and people like them all across the galaxy. They saved you because it was the right thing to do, not because of anything they might gain from it. Humanity will persist. It will carry on against all odds."

John rubbed at his forehead, as if he could physically push the aches in his body to the back of his mind. He heard what she was saying, but Elizabeth wasn't sure he was ready to listen to it. Her thoughts drifted back to the report John had given about his experiences. Ronon had come back for him when he'd been pinned down by the Wraith, making sure that John, personally, got back to Sateda. He'd stood up to Kell's execution squad, dived into a freezing river, then dragged John's frozen body through the woods. Melena had come instantly, caring for him day and night. They'd carried him as they'd run from the soldiers in the woods and dragged him across the city looking for his people.

They'd done everything they possible could, all for him.

"What are you saying?" he mumbled, fighting sleep. Elizabeth glanced at the balcony door, half expecting Carson to come bustling out, ushering John back inside and to bed. John tried to sit up a little straighter, but the fatigue was evident. He wasn't going to be awake for much longer.

"I'm saying, John Sheppard, get better," Elizabeth commanded. She grabbed a hold of his hand, and he let her warmth seep into his cold fingers. "Heal. Rest as long as you need to, and then get back out there. This galaxy needs people like you, and Ronon, and Melena."

She paused a moment, making sure she had his attention. "I don't know if they survived, John," she said quietly, "but I choose to believe that they did. Some day, we'll meet up with them again."

Her hand tightened around his briefly then began to pull away, but he grabbed a hold of her. Elizabeth had started to stand up, but she settled back down and waited, patiently. She saw John blush with embarrassment, the pink flush in his cheeks a healthy contrast to his otherwise sallow skin.

He swallowed visibly and tried to sit up a little straighter. The pain and sorrow in his eyes was almost palpable, and Elizabeth felt a chunk of ice lodge in her chest.

"Elizabeth, I…I don't know how…I don't know what to say, to talk about…" John bit his lip, hesitant and lost.

"Tell me about them," she answered, scooting her chair closer and keeping a firm grasp on his hand.

"Who?"

"Ronon and Melena. What were they like?"

It took a long moment of consideration, but then John relaxed back in the recliner and stared out at the ocean again. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he grappled with the question. After awhile, the pain deep in his face lifted, just a little.

"Did I ever tell you about Ronon's house?" he finally asked. At the shake of Elizabeth's head, he continued, his voice hoarse at first but growing stronger as he spoke. "It was beautiful and big—this old mansion set in the middle of the woods. And so quiet. Melena loved that place. She made this soup every night, and she was worse than Carson with her mother-henning. I could always hear Ronon chopping wood through the open window—he was the epitome of the outdoorsman. He and Rodney would have driven each other insane. And every morning, I swear these damn birds would land on the window sill at the crack of dawn…"

Three years later…

"Doctor Parrish believes that the indigenous plant life retains enough residual radioactivity absorbed during the daylight to…um…well, to screw up our sensors," McKay stated.

John snapped the overhead display of the jumper off with a disgruntled glare at the jumper windshield. "Making it the perfect place to hide."

"Yes—or the perfect place to be exposed to dangerously high levels of solar radiation."

John ignored McKay. They'd had this argument three times already. They'd have to search this planet the old-fashioned way, trudging through the woods with their own two feet. Figures that the biologist—what was his name again? Liang, maybe—chose this planet to go nuts on and run off.

That was a bit harsh. He didn't exactly choose to go nuts, according to Heightmeyer. This planet, with its excessive radiation and bizarre plant life, happened to be the catalyst for Liang's psychotic break. The break itself was a result of compounding stress and anxiety—proving once again that not everyone was suited to life in the Pegasus Galaxy, even when they passed the SGC's extensive psychological tests.

He parked the jumper on the edge of the woods, a good two hundred yards from the stargate, and stood up, stretching. Major Lorne was already at the back, opening the hatch, and the hydraulic hiss filled the small space. A second later, the hatch hit the ground with a thump, and one of Lorne's teammates poked his head in.

"Any activity while we were gone?" Lorne asked him.

"No, sir."

John followed Lorne out of the jumper and looked around the woods. It was dead silent, almost eerie. There should at least be birds or insects. Well, apparently there were insects, just none large enough to detect with either the human eye or ear.

"Start a sweep," he commanded. "Radio contact every twenty minutes."

Lorne stepped in to assign search areas to each pair, and John double-checked his weapon. There'd been no sign of anything dangerous here yet, but it was the Pegasus Galaxy. He had learned from long experience to never underestimate the Pegasus Galaxy. He turned his head slightly at the soft scrape of boots against puddle jumper floor behind him.

"How come it smells like I'm on vacation?"

McKay stepped up next to him, lathering on gobs of white lotion. "Could it be the simulated tropical aroma of cocoa butter?"

"Strong enough for anyone within five miles to smell you."

"Like they haven't been tipped off by the Aqua Velva?"

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes and almost succeeded. "It's dark," he pointed out, waving a hand at the dark gray skies and shadowy forest.

"Yeah, and the sun will be up in two hours, forty three minutes and…ten seconds."

Lorne's team and the extra Marine unit they'd brought along for the search had already split off. Lorne looked between John and Rodney with something between amusement and exasperation.

"It's raining!" John huffed. Some days, McKay just got under his skin, and John didn't know whether to smack him, scream at him, or laugh hysterically. The prickly scientist was like a little puppy when it came to arguing, gnawing at his ankle and refusing to let go.

"So we'll be cold and miserable," McKay continued. He was still smearing his lotion on, and his ruddy face was painted with streaks of white. "Look, the cloud cover will depreciate a small percentage of UV rays, but ninety-five percent of deadly is still deadly."

Lorne jumped in. "Doctor Parrish said a day or two of exposure wasn't going to kill us."

"Oh yes, and Doctor Parrish has a PhD in what? Right—botany."

John shook his head, the urge to laugh overwhelming. He bit his lip and turned back to the jumper, where Teyla was just zipping up her pack. A wide grin was splitting her face, and John had to turn away from her before he lost it completely. Lorne was edging away from them and staring into the woods, a pained expression on his face.

"Teyla, you're with me," John announced, but he didn't dare look back at her. "Major, you've got McKay."

"Lucky me," Lorne muttered.

McKay held out his tube of lotion, the cocoa butter smell almost burning John's nostrils. He breathed a sigh of relief when the physicist walked down the hatch and smiled at Lorne.

"Here, try some. SPF 100."

"100?"

"Yeah. Can't buy this kind of protection. Make it myself. Waterproof, too."

"Great." Their voices drifted off as they headed into the woods and it was another full minute before the smell of the sunblock disappeared.

John and Teyla had headed into the woods, walking in silence. John was struck again by the lack of sound. Birds could be creepy anyway—hence all the stories, myths, and movies featuring birds as bad omens—but the lack of birds…it was really starting to get to him. He shrugged it off, forcing himself to study the path they were on. If they were going to find Liang before the radiation on this world did too much damage, he needed to focus.

"It looks as if someone might have headed off in this direction," Teyla said, breaking the silence. They'd been walking for almost an hour, and the only words they'd uttered so far were the two radio check-ins with the other search parties.

John squatted down and stared at the ground. It was nearly invisible, but he could just make out the signs of a shoe scrape against the dirt and a few crushed leaves.

They kept moving, and John felt his skin prickling with anticipation. Whatever was going on in Liang's head, he wasn't going to make it easy for them to bring him in. John had little experience dealing with mental illness in general, but a man suffering a psychotic break on an alien planet? That hadn't been covered in orientation…

"I heard something," Teyla whispered, pausing in her tracks.

John straightened up, deliberately lowering his P90 and holding his hands out to his side. "Liang? That you? It's Colonel Sheppard."

Beside him, Teyla had also lowered his weapon. "Doctor Liang, please listen to me. We want to help you. Just come out—we only want to talk."

The silence of the woods seemed to descend on top of them. John stayed as still as possible, listening for any sign of Liang. He had almost given up when he heard the snap of a twig and the rustle of leaves.

"There!" Teyla yelled, and John just barely caught a glimpse of someone or something disappearing into the shadows.

They ran, discarding any and all attempts to move quietly. The terrain had turned rocky, and Teyla had managed to move a few feet in front of John. Slow down—they needed to slow down. They could easily run into some kind of ambush, assuming Liang was thinking clearly enough to do something like that. John couldn't take any chances. Liang could be capable of anything.

"Colonel Sheppard, it's Major Lorne. In pursuit of suspect."

"What?" John cried, distracted for a split second. "So are we. Where are you?"

A red beam of light exploded from off to the side, striking Teyla in the chest. She never even had time to cry out. Just collapsed to the ground. John slowed down, raising his P90. What the hell had Teyla just been hit with? He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. There was no way that could be Liang.

"Stand by," he whispered into the radio. "Teyla's been hit."

They'd run into a natural courtyard, surrounded by piled boulders. He crept closer to Teyla, keeping his weapon and eyes raised but intensely worried about his teammate. She had yet to move, and a sense of dread filled him at the sight. She had to be okay. She had to be okay.

He caught a brief flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and spun around, but whatever he'd seen was gone. He could fill eyes on him though, tracking him. Lorne's voice broke through, echoing in the small rocky yard.

"Colonel Sheppard, say again. What's your position?"

John swallowed, cursing inwardly. He wanted to tell Lorne to shut the hell up, he was a little busy at the moment, but he didn't dare take his hands off his weapon or his attention off the many dips and cracks in the rocky hill in front of him. Any number of enemies could be hiding there, waiting for him to lose his focus for just a second.

"Colonel Sheppard, please respond."

There was no movement in the rocks. John toed Teyla's leg, hoping to get some response from her, but she was still unconscious. He was about to kneel down next to her when he heard a soft footfall behind him.

He froze. He could hear whoever it was behind him breathing, and it was definitely not Liang. He turned slowly keeping his hands on his weapon and hoping his unhurried, deliberate movements would dissuade his ambusher from shooting.

A man stepped out of the shadows, holding a weapon in his hand and pointing it at John's head. His hair was all over the place, dreadlocks thick and chaotic. He was wearing worn leather clothing and his face was covered in dirt. They stared at each other for a moment, and the silence of the forest settled in around them.

The other man broke the silence first, his dark eyes shining with exhaustion and something else…Desperation? Relief? Hope?

"Sheppard?"

John lowered his P90 as he took in the man before him, not quite believing what he was seeing. He hadn't seen him in three years, but he had dreamed of this moment many times. He smiled suddenly, and the other man lowered his gun.

"Hey, Ronon."

~ THE END ~

A/N: And we've reached the end! Thank once again to my betas on this story: wildcat88, everybetty, and pheral - you were tremendously helpful in helping me get this beast finished. I was so nervous posting this story, and all the comments and feedback along the way were great. Thank you to everyone who lent their support. I hope you've enjoyed the entire story now - including the ending! And I particularly hope you will find the end, after such a long story, satisfying. Until next time! :D