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oxoniensis

            Elizabeth Weir looked up from her meditation at the remaining members of her team. It had taken a long time, but as of last night there were only four of them remaining, slowly learning to ascend.

            Lia had been first. Elizabeth smiled at that, everyone else had been surprised, but she should have guessed. Lia had always been quiet, but was devoted to the cause, and to her friends. She had been the first of the replicators to refer to others as friend rather than associate. She had been a kind soul, if machines could be described as such, often stopping her own work to help the others or offer hope.

            Morok, Korla, Adel… Elizabeth mentally listed off the others, picturing them as they were just before ascension: peaceful, yet captivated by what the transformation offered.

            As she always did when her mind turned this way, Elizabeth thought back to her last visit to Atlantis. She shouldn’t have gone. She’d realized almost immediately. True, it had brought them all back from the pain of their failed ascension attempt, given them a second chance and allowed her to search the database for the address to this planet. The time dilation field allowed them to continue their work safe from the rest of the galaxy; more importantly, in Elizabeth’s opinion, it kept the rest of the galaxy safe from them.

            No matter how hard she justified the decision, the years had not freed Elizabeth from the blame of bringing a team of replicators to Atlantis. She couldn’t shake the guilt of what could have happened if she hadn’t convinced them to leave almost immediately. Now she pictured Atlantis as it was when she saw it last, pristine and bright. John, Rodney, Chuck, all her old team watching her leave.

            “It’s okay.” said John. Elizabeth started. He hadn’t said that the first time.

            “We never blamed you for any of it.” continued Rodney.

            “But, I-”

            “Gave us a chance to say goodbye.” John finished for her, “A chance to know you’re okay. So we know they didn’t destroy you.”

            “Not that there was any doubt.” added Rodney quickly.

            Elizabeth smiled, relaxing slightly. What happened, happened. It was in the past. Atlantis was safe from replicators, “ascended” or not. She turned away from her memories and toward a light, brighter than any bulb on Atlantis, more captivating than the Stargate, and peaceful. The calm she had searched lifetimes for.

            It was like any other hospital. Nurses bustled, doctors hurried, patients were wheeled in and out, people chatted, some patients slept. Nobody paid her any attention.

            That wasn’t entirely true. They just weren’t paying her any attention anymore. From the minute she arrived at Cheyenne Mountain there had been an almost constant stream of people trying to give her hugs, saying how sorry they were and what a great woman her mother was, shaking her hand, asking her how she was feeling. Cassie didn’t know how to respond to it all. She’d felt like a little kid again, mute and clinging to Sam for support. The worst was when one officer had said Cassie looked so different from her mom. He was gone before she could respond although she still wasn’t sure what she should have said.

            Now though, Sam had been called away to deal with some diplomat. Cassie was alone, curled up on a hard chair off to the side of the infirmary, holding her knees to block the gaping hole that had formed in her chest.

            There was nothing left. Nothing. Cassie nearly choked on that thought. She hadn’t thought she would feel this way again. Hadn’t thought it was possible to have her whole life torn away for a second time.

            Gently a hand rested on her shoulder. She tried to shrug it off, the last thing she needed was another doctor telling her how much they respected her mom. But the hand stayed firm, then “I’m sorry.”

            She looked up. Daniel was looking down at her, his eyes full of… something. Sorrow maybe, grief, pain, perhaps even resignation, but not pity. That was surprising, but also let her relax a bit. Everyone so far had looked at her with such pity she felt they didn’t believe she could stand on her own. Even Sam’s face had been full of pity when she’d picked Cassie up.

            Then she remembered what Sam had told her about Abidos. Daniel had lost his people as well, or at least, the people he had adopted as his own. “I guess you know how I feel.” She croaked, expecting him to say it, but not quite wanting him to.

            “No, I don’t” he answered, “Doesn’t matter how similar our situations are Cassie, or how much Janet meant to me. Nobody can know exactly how you feel.”

            She sniffed into her sleeve, “I don’t think anyone’s lost their family twice.”

            He waited until she looked up at him before saying quietly, “Both my parents died in an accident when I was a kid. ‘Bout the same age as you when you first came here.”

            “I didn’t know that.”

            “It’s not something I talk about much.”

            She wiped at her eyes, “How did you cope?”

            “It takes time, but I had my grandfather at least, sort of.”

            She stared at the sleeping patient nearest to them, not wanting to voice the fears building up inside her, but knowing she couldn’t avoid it. “I don’t have anybody anymore.”

            He crouched until they were eye to eye, and gently turned her head to face him. She couldn’t avoid the tears that came as she stared at him. Daniel, who’d been like an uncle to her; who’d taught her not only about Earth but about people on worlds across the galaxy; who had never hesitated to speak to her as an adult; and who, she was just realizing, had lost nearly as much as she had. He blinked tears from his own eyes before saying: “You’ve got us.”