Chapter Text
The heart rate monitor was beeping in a reassuringly steady rhythm when John slipped into the infirmary late that night. He’d been busy for hours, dealing with the aftermath of the attack on Hestinia, but even while he was speaking with Tribeswoman Frena about the needs of her community, his mind had been back here, in Atlantis, hoping against hope that Major Lorne was going to pull through.
John sidled past the on-duty nurse and ghosted, unseen, down towards Lorne’s bed. The curtains were pulled halfway, giving the base 2IC some privacy, and John was pleased to see Lorne was free of any serious medical equipment – just an IV and an oximeter lodged on the end of his finger, keeping track of his oxygenation levels. A blood pressure cuff was wrapped around his upper arm, and John watched as it suddenly started to inflate, the automatic testing subroutine keeping a close eye on his progress.
John had received an update on Lorne’s condition from Woolsey the moment he’d finished debriefing him on the status of the Hestinians. Apparently, Lorne had come through the surgery well, and had even woken briefly, which was much better than John had expected given the amount of blood that had been pooled beneath his unconscious body when they’d found him.
Pushing those memories away, John carefully leaned against the edge of Lorne’s bed, his eyes fixed on his XO’s face. There was colour there, no longer the ashen hue of a man nearing death’s door. After a few moments, John tentatively reached out and softly wrapped his hand around Lorne’s, linking their fingers together, needing to feel a tangible proof of life.
The hand in his was warm to the touch, and John finally started to relax at the obvious evidence that Lorne had survived his injuries. He drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly as the tension that had been riding him so hard slowly dissipated. This wasn’t the day he was going to lose this man. This wasn’t the battle that would gouge a tear through the middle of John’s heart and leave him silently bleeding out, as all around him people carried on in ignorance of how momentous the loss of John’s XO would truly be for him.
A sudden noise caused John to jerk his hand away. He moved on silent feet, sliding his eyes around the side of the curtain. The nurse was starting her rounds, checking on each of the wounded – it wouldn’t be long before she was approaching Lorne’s bedside.
John ducked back inside the tiny cubicle and returned noiselessly to his XO’s side. His emotions were still turbulent, and after a moment he reached out his hand and silently stroked Lorne’s cheek, his fingertips rasping against the soft warmth of Lorne’s skin. But it wasn’t enough. Not this time. It’d been so close… too close.
John’s heart clenched in his chest as the memories of seeing Lorne’s bloodied body lying in a boneless heap in the dirt - of not knowing if he were unconscious or already dead – swamped him. He was shaking with the force of his emotions, and the sudden need to feel more than just Lorne’s hand in his own, to feel more than just the warmth of his skin, rose sharply.
Feeling slightly hesitant, John leaned slowly forward and, for the first time ever, placed a soft, warm, gentle kiss against Lorne’s lips.
It was only for the briefest of moments, the lightest of touches, just enough to reassure himself that he hadn’t lost this precious man today… but as he straightened up, John realised Lorne’s eyes were blinking open.
Their gazes caught and held for a fraught moment ---
--- and then John let out the breath he’d been holding as Lorne’s eyelids slowly drooped closed again.
Jeez!
That had been close!
He’d never been caught like this before. He waited for a few more moments, just to be sure that Lorne was definitely asleep again, and then, with his heart hammering in his chest, he moved back to the edge of the curtain, checking on the location of the nurse. She was only two beds away now, so it was definitely time to go.
Deploying his military stealth training, John ghosted his way back out of the infirmary without alerting her to his presence.
He was still shaking from the surge of adrenaline that had hit him when he’d seen Lorne’s eyes staring up at him, and he thrust his hands into his pockets to hide them, just in case he passed anyone in the hallways. It’d been one hell of a day, but he was clinging to the knowledge that Lorne had survived.
With weariness rising sharply now, he headed straight through his quarters to the bathroom. The memory of that kiss followed him into the shower and, berating himself for taking such a stupid risk, John could do nothing more than send a silent hope into the ether that Lorne would have no recollection of his CO’s visit when he next awoke.
***** *****
Evan lay restlessly in his hospital bed, waiting for Doctor Keller to come and remove the IV line and release him. He’d been kept in the infirmary for four days, slowly recuperating from his life-threatening injury and the surgery that had followed, and was glad to be finally on the verge of getting out of here and back to his life.
Except… he wasn’t really going to be getting back to his life… or not this life, at least.
Doctor Keller had told him he’d be on medical leave for another three weeks before she’d even consider him for light duties, and in return, he’d managed to convince her that he would prefer to spend that medical leave on Earth. The official documentation had been written up and approved, and all he needed now was for the IV to be pulled from his arm, and then he could pack up his gear and head out.
Luckily, with the recent find of two ZPMs, there was no concern over opening a wormhole for him; and as he’d be taking the second ZPM with him to power the Earth gate for future intergalactic travel, there was no perceivable blocker to him easily returning to duty in three weeks time, either.
He wriggled a little in impatience at the delay, but then gasped, stilling abruptly as a sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his gut. Bugger!
He’d known, of course, that the three weeks of medical leave meant he was in pretty poor shape, but he hated the reminder that his body wasn’t in peak physical condition. He’d never been a good patient.
Sighing lightly, he took this chance to let his mind run back over his plans for at least the fiftieth time since the night of Colonel Sheppard’s illicit visit.
It’d been one hell of a shock to come awake at the soft rasp of lips pressing against his own, and the moment Evan had realised it was Sheppard kissing him, he’d closed his eyes and pretended to fall back to sleep… but he’d lain there listening as Sheppard had walked away, and then lain there for even longer, trying to work out what the hell was going on… and what he would need to do to mitigate his CO’s illegal – and pretty immoral – actions.
He’d spent all his spare moments over the past few days considering the situation from every possible angle - shoving aside his confusion, compartmentalising the feelings of being taken totally unawares - and in the end, he’d put together a plan that he thought had a good chance of success.
First, he would need to pack as much as he could reasonably fit into his duffle bag, but leave his room looking as if he’d taken only enough for his three-week absence. Then he’d need to bid everyone farewell in such a way that they wouldn’t realise he was saying goodbye forever, rather than just for his few weeks of leave.
A shaft of sorrow ran through him, and he wallowed for a moment, already feeling the loss of these companions, the loss of his role here. He’d loved this Atlantis posting, had been really chuffed to be 2IC of the whole base… but no. He obviously couldn’t remain here, not anymore, not after the Colonel had behaved so inappropriately.
Shaking off his melancholy, he refocused on his plans. Once he reached Earth, he’d use the first week of medical leave to catch up with his sister and nephews, his wider family and friends. Then he would put in a request to extend his time on Earth for an additional five weeks past the end of his medical leave. He’d accumulated months’ worth of annual leave, so he didn’t think this should be a problem. And because he’d be on Earth when he submitted that application, he was hoping General Landry could sign the approval, and that it wouldn’t need to be approved by Colonel Sheppard himself – because Evan wasn’t entirely certain that Sheppard would sign off on Evan absenting himself for a full eight weeks, not in the circumstances.
Evan shook his head, dispelling that worry. There was no legitimate, professional reason that Sheppard could use to deny him the leave. He was entitled to it. He’d earned it. And there was nothing happening in Pegasus right now that would mean his absence would cause a problem for the Expedition.
So, once he was halfway through that additional leave, he would put in a request to be reassigned to the SGC to work out the last three months of his twenty years of service. He thought General Landry would go for that. Evan could always say that he’d grown used to being around his nephews again, and that the injury he’d sustained had been severe enough to make him rethink his priorities. Risking himself so close to retirement could be seen as foolish, if the SGC could make use of his talents, maybe lighting up Ancient tech with his ATA gene. He knew his gene was stronger than anyone else’s currently on Earth – except for General O’Neill's of course. But O’Neill was located at the Pentagon, not happily offering himself up to be a light switch for the geeks.
Nodding to himself, Evan felt a sense of calm descending over him even though this wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t what he would’ve chosen for himself… but this wasn’t about him. This was about what was best for the Atlantis expedition, and for every military and civilian asset currently residing in the Pegasus Galaxy. Clearly removing himself from Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard’s chain of command was the only honourable step he could possibly take, in the circumstances.
And with that thought, Evan settled himself to wait for Doctor Keller’s arrival with what little patience he could muster.
***** *****
2 weeks later
John stared at his computer screen, unable to accept what he was reading. It’d been hard enough watching Lorne going through the gate to Earth to undertake his recuperation in the bosom of his family… but now the man had put in for more than a month of additional leave! That was… There was no way…
Stomach clenching with denial, John sat and glared at the open leave application. It was awaiting his approval and he didn’t want to give it. But after a good five minutes of wracking his brains for some way to negate this, John sighed heavily and moved the mouse pointer to hover over the Approve button. There wasn’t a single reason for refusing Lorne’s request that wouldn’t raise eyebrows somewhere. He could hardly write, ‘But I’ll miss him,’ on the fucking form, no matter how much he wanted to!
Sighing sadly, John decided it was better to get it over with than to dwell. He sulkily clicked the mouse, then shoved away from his desk. Eight weeks in total without Evan’s sunny smile to light his days, without Evan’s easy competence and calm management of all the small emergencies that seemed to arise in Atlantis on a weekly – if not daily – basis. Eight weeks without feeling that small frisson of joy every time Evan walked nearby, every time Evan sat down opposite him at the conference table, every time Evan approached him to discuss some strategic issue or other.
His heart heavy inside him, John wended his way along the corridor to the mess hall and poured himself a hot chocolate. He didn’t usually indulge in frivolous calories, but he was already missing his XO more than he’d thought possible, and it clearly wasn’t going to be getting any better in the short term. And it wasn’t as if he could even tell anyone he was lonely and sad and feeling down. Nope. This was something that had to be kept entirely secret.
A cup of chocolatey goodness for comfort was the best he could hope for.
Sipping carefully, John wandered out onto the balcony and gazed across the endless ocean, willing away all the days between now and the moment when Evan would return to his post and John would feel whole once more.
***** *****
It wasn’t until John received the notification stating ‘Major Evan Lorne has been permanently reassigned to Area 51 under the auspices of Stargate Command’ that he started to wonder what was going on.
The email had arrived with the usual information download from Earth that came through every second Tuesday, and John’s heart had actually missed a beat when he’d read the stark and uncompromising words on the screen. He’d felt the sudden clenching in his chest, had felt his stomach drop, and he’d had to re-read the document three times before he could bring himself to believe it.
What the hell had happened? Why were the SGC filching his XO? What was Landry up to, to suddenly decide that Lorne was better employed as a light switch at Area 51, rather than capably and competently running the logistical side of Atlantis?
And then his shoulders stiffened as he realised what was going on. Shit! Lorne had remembered that kiss the night he’d been in the infirmary. There was no other explanation.
Sinking slowly backwards in his chair, John sent his mind spinning back to that night, to those moments after he’d felt the overwhelming urge to kiss his XO; seeing Lorne’s eyes flickering open, seeing him gazing directly into John’s eyes. Who knew what John’s face had been showing? He’d certainly been feeling a whole swathe of emotions he wasn’t legally allowed to feel for a man under his command.
And yet… John had been so sure that Lorne had woken with no memory of what had transpired during his CO’s visit. He'd given no sign - at all - of any discomfort when John had visited him in the infirmary that next day – or in the days that had followed. He’d debriefed John on the mission itself with no awkwardness between them, and he’d said a respectful goodbye as he’d prepared to walk through the gate to Earth to commence his medical leave with no insinuation that there was any problem in his professional relationship with his CO – and no suggestion that he wouldn’t be returning, eager and enthusiastic to resume his duties, the moment he was declared fit again.
John sat and ruminated, considering the situation as a whole and Lorne’s behaviour in particular.
Returning to Earth for the medical leave should perhaps have been the first clue, because Lorne had never done that before, even when he’d had more extensive downtime following other injuries. The request to extend his leave should’ve been the second clue, and John was kicking himself for not picking it up at the time. Perhaps he could’ve done something to stop this at that point, to fix it. Because it was blatantly obvious now, with hindsight, that Lorne had taken both of those actions as a direct result of his Commanding Officer kissing him–
John ran his hand over his face, wondering what the hell had possessed him that night. He’d never even thought of kissing Lorne before, not until the moment he’d leaned down and done it. He’d held Lorne’s hand several times, occasionally trailed his fingertips over his face, but he’d never gone so far over the line as to kiss the guy.
But that was beside the point. Lorne belonged in Atlantis, and it wasn’t his fault his CO had issues with personal boundaries; it wasn’t his fault that John had, sort of, assaulted him.
John winced as he considered this from Evan’s point of view… drowsily waking in the infirmary to discover his Commanding Officer leaning over him, actually kissing him – on the lips - while he’d been asleep and unable to consent – or shove him away. That was pretty bad. And knowing how sharp-witted Lorne was, he would’ve realised instantly what was happening and had no doubt pretended to fall asleep again to lull John into a false sense of security while he considered his optimal course of action.
And now, with his overly-developed sense of integrity – or possibly a large dose of revulsion (John’s spirits drooped even lower at that thought) – Lorne had decided to take one for the team and remove himself from John’s chain of command because of this.
Fuck! John smashed his fist down onto the desk, scattering pens and paper and narrowly missing his coffee mug. What could he possibly do to fix this now? Lorne had already been reassigned. The decision to remove Lorne from Atlantis wasn’t awaiting John’s approval, it was already a done deal. General Landry himself had signed off on the orders, which, presumably, meant that Lorne hadn’t given him the real reason, but had manufactured some other reason to request the change in posting.
Shaking his head, John supposed he should feel grateful that Lorne hadn’t reported him on the spot for conduct unbecoming, for breaching both DADT and fraternisation regulations, and for assaulting him while he’d been asleep. Jesus, but John had fucked this up!
It hurt to think that Lorne had given up his home, given up his posting in Atlantis, because of John’s actions.
No. This needed to be fixed.
John sat and pondered how best to go about sorting out the mess that his own actions had created.