19. You Made Your Bed

What John needed was a good fucking, followed by a good drunk, followed by a painful hangover. It would be a start, but he also knew it would not be anywhere near enough.

Five of the six people who had been treated in the infirmary, he found out from Carson, had been there due to migraines and dehydration, because they were the ATA-active carriers who had been tuned into the shouting match between John and Atlantis. Apparently only Lorne and Carson had escaped the worst of it, and the scientist who got burned had been dealing with the naquadah generators. The specifics did not matter as much as the fact that it all boiled back down to John, and his attempt to…he wasn’t even sure anymore. Do something, anything, to gain some leverage, but in retrospect what he had thought he could do was a mystery even to him.

Atlantis was silent. Partly it was due to the lowered power levels, but John was sure that it was probably more the fact that She was in seclusion. When he asked Carson if he heard Her, Carson pursed his lips and shook his head, disapproval radiating off of him. John didn’t ask anyone else after that.

He was released from the infirmary the day after his talk with McKay. A Marine escorted him to his room, which had been tossed at some point. They had probably thought he was hoarding Ancient artifacts or something. Straightening the place up, John thought about what he was going to do after his spectacular, if justified, blow out. John held no illusions about the whole thing: McKay had pushed and pushed until John kicked back. It was the logical outcome.

But he got six people hurt along the way, people who had done nothing more than be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

After he finished cleaning up he sprawled out on his small bed and stared at the ceiling. He was certain there was no way to salvage his position with the expedition; he was persona non grata and he did not really blame them. Although he wasn’t one to get emo and cry about his bad lot in life, it wasn’t as if he had a lot of other options. In Vegas he at least had his job and gambling and booze to numb himself, or slowly kill himself if he was being honest.

He was lost in thought and did not realize the ringing noise was the Atlantis version of a door bell. John both opened the door with a mental push at Atlantis and yelled out, “Fuck off, McKay!”

He fell out of bed in his hurry to stand up when he realized that the person walking in was not McKay. It was not anyone he had ever met before, in fact. She stood tall, all five feet, four inches of her, in the middle of his room. The Marine at the door smirked at John before palming the door closed, obviously completely unconcerned about leaving the diminutive and strikingly gorgeous woman alone with him. That, if nothing else, made John wary and defensive.

She surveyed the room regally. “John Sheppard?”

“You already know that,” he ventured, figuring she wasn’t there by accident.

She nodded in agreement. “I am the Emmagen.”

John shoved his hands in his pockets. “Never heard of you.”

The corner of her mouth turned up in appreciation of his defiance, but her eyes were hard. “I have been asked to mediate.”

“Mediate.”

“There is…concern…that your inability to integrate with your co-workers is bringing harm to the expedition.”

John crossed his arms. “They aren’t my co-workers, and the only thing stopping me from integrating, not that you asked, is Doctor fucking McKay. I never wanted to be here, and I can’t leave, and in case you were wondering, I’m a little pissed off about that.”

“I was unaware that you were being held prisoner here,” she said, not sounding surprised at all.

“Learn something new every day.”

“Indeed I do. Earthlings are such a conflicted species.”

John started with the realization that he had just met his first non-Wraith alien, but she kept talking.

“Tomorrow you will start training with me. Sleep well.” She turned and walked out.

John stood there, really sick and tired of everyone else always getting the last damn word in.

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