9. Long Shot

Even the non-ATA carriers sensed the city wake up again when Sheppard walked through the ‘gate room. Mer was ATA-latent, and at most had “felt” Atlantis as a noisy buzz against his nerves during emergencies, but then he felt that way in New York City too so it was hard to be impressed by it.

This time, though, he sensed the city roll over like a begging dog, desperate and needy. Lorne, one of the strongest ATA-active carriers they had, looked over at Mer with wide eyes. Mer wondered what the sensation was like for him as a bystander to the effect Sheppard was having on everything. The damn stairs actually lit up when Sheppard laboriously hobbled up to the balcony behind Weir and her guards.

Everyone was unsettled by it, except apparently Sheppard. He gave the magnificent beauty of the stained glass walls and cathedral ceilings a dirty look, like an atheist trapped in cement-brick Primitive Baptist Church. More than a few people caught the expression on Sheppard’s face, and glanced at Mer in confusion. Mer ignored them.

Weir would keep Sheppard locked up for nearly an hour, going over regulations and rules and probably making him feel really bad about not returning library books on time or something. She had a knack.

Instead of hanging around like a groupie, Mer headed for his lab to boot up his top-secret, confidential “John Sheppard” file. It was a small wiki, actually, pages cross referenced between each other listing Sheppard’s prep school files, Air Force Academy records, Air Force career, and every other tid-bit Mer had been able to drudge up Earthside—which was pretty much everything, because what Mer wasn’t willing to crack on his own time, he had plenty of money and flunkies to do for him.

He flipped through the pages to the picture of Lt. Col. John Sheppard, standing with his team mates Teyla and Rodney in the ‘gateroom. It still boggled his mind that the Emmagen was a member of an Atlantis gate team, but what fascinated Mer more than that was Col. Sheppard, standing strong and wary, angled slightly in front of his McKay as a protective measure. Mer did not like thinking too long about that other, pathetic version of himself, but he spent far too much time gazing at Lt. Col. Sheppard’s profile.

The John Sheppard who hobbled through the ‘gate earlier that day was a shadow of the Colonel, but very obviously cut of the same cloth. The differences were profound and probably insurmountable, but Mer had seen the same tensile strength of determination in both men. The only difference was that one was determined to live up to the expectations of his command, and the other was determined to destroy his life in the most agonizing, round-about way possible.

Mer had it on good authority that the reason Sheppard flunked the detective’s exam twice was because he showed up drunk…but he showed up. The $13k he owed “Mikey” was hardly going to get him killed or even hassled; bookies looked at those kinds of numbers as chump change, nothing more than a fix to get the mark to ante up to the six figure range. Mer had no doubts that Sheppard, the smart motherfucker, knew that full well and played it to his advantage.

And in the end, on his way out of town with a bag full of money, Sheppard decided to detour and save the planet.

Atlantis needed that Sheppard, desperately. Lorne was capable and Elizabeth was charismatic, and of course Mer was the finest mind in two galaxies, but as the catastrophic war with the Wraith dragged on and on, Mer knew that “capable and charismatic” would not cut it anymore. They needed ruthless and cunning and brave and risky; they needed Sheppard. Mer intended to save him from himself so that Sheppard could win the war and save them all. For the sake of Atlantis and everyone he cared about, Mer was determined to make that long shot work for them.

Mer spun his wedding ring on his finger, wishing he was just that altruistic but knowing full well he wasn’t.

He thought that sometimes, a little self-knowledge was a dangerous thing.

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