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    Forgot to update this thread back in January...

    Epilogue, part 1 is up! (Yay!)

    Working on part 2 now, which I actually thought would be up by now, but suddenly had to put on the back burner when I realized I'd overlooked something from an earlier chapter that made half the scenes in that part of the epilogue completely void... So, I'm currently revising and I'll let you know when part 2 is done (and the story is finally complete...)
    "If I should die, think only this of me: / That there's some corner of a foreign field / That is forever [Earth]."
    Earth is gone, but Atlantis must survive... Apoca!fic. Post-Season 5. John/Sam.

    Comment


      Epilogue, part 2 is up!

      And, what's this? A bonus is also up!


      Finally! It's been a really, really long journey, but the story's finished. Words cannot describe how satisfied and relieved I am now. Hopefully you've all enjoyed it.

      Now, I'm going to celebrate by doing absolutely nothing the rest of the night.
      "If I should die, think only this of me: / That there's some corner of a foreign field / That is forever [Earth]."
      Earth is gone, but Atlantis must survive... Apoca!fic. Post-Season 5. John/Sam.

      Comment


        For those who might like to download this story for future reading (or re-reading), I've made these handy PDFs:

        The whole shebang: Some Corner of a Foreign Field

        Split into parts:
        Part 1
        Part 2
        Part 3
        Part 4

        You can even get an EPUB version: here

        (Note that the organization is different than how the story's been posted on AO3 and ff.net. I've divided into smaller chapters so that it might be easier to find your way as you read the whole thing.)

        Let me know if there's something wrong with the download!

        By the way, if you'd like to know my most frequently occurring words in the story... This image says more than enough:
        Spoiler:
        Skjermbilde 2015-03-03 kl. 22.53.42.jpg
        (I feel like there's a poignant message here, especially considering the theme of the story - grief - but next time, I'm banning the word 'eyes' and 'back'.)


        PLEASE NOTE: Any revisions done to the story after March 2015, has not been included in these files. You'll have to visit FF or AO3 to see the updated chapters. For instance, I recently did some major revision to chapter 5 (Day 26) and rewrote a scene in chapter 7 (Day 58).
        Last edited by neela; 06 September 2015, 01:43 AM.
        "If I should die, think only this of me: / That there's some corner of a foreign field / That is forever [Earth]."
        Earth is gone, but Atlantis must survive... Apoca!fic. Post-Season 5. John/Sam.

        Comment


          Some Corner of a Foreign Field can now be found on Inkitt. There's a contest going on, so if you'd enjoyed the story, why not give it the thumbs up?
          "If I should die, think only this of me: / That there's some corner of a foreign field / That is forever [Earth]."
          Earth is gone, but Atlantis must survive... Apoca!fic. Post-Season 5. John/Sam.

          Comment


            I've only recently discovered this fic, and I just wanted to say. I LOVE IT. Currently on chapter 16 at the moment. I'm either reading it on my laptop at home, or on my phone when I'm out. I'm hooked. It's so good.
            sigpic
            He’s the moon when I’m lost in darkness, and warmth when I shiver in cold

            Comment


              Gosh, so happy that you’re enjoying the story! Thanks so much for letting me know. :smile: Nice to hear that it’s still being read and enjoyed after all this time. It was a big part of my life at one point, and both heart-wrenching and not when the story came to an end. Kinda makes me want to dive right back into the writing again, even if I barely have the time anymore. :sweatdrop: Anyway, thanks again for the shout-out! Hope you’ll enjoy the rest of the story too.
              "If I should die, think only this of me: / That there's some corner of a foreign field / That is forever [Earth]."
              Earth is gone, but Atlantis must survive... Apoca!fic. Post-Season 5. John/Sam.

              Comment


                So I finally finished reading it, not long after I made that post. And I LOVE it, it's so good. My favourite part is the last epilogue. It's really well written.
                sigpic
                He’s the moon when I’m lost in darkness, and warmth when I shiver in cold

                Comment


                  Thread revival. It has been quite some time since I hung around this board, and I’ll have to admit, I’ve been away from the fandom for several years now. (Is it still alive and well? Has it moved to different pastures? I cannot quite tell, as most of my usual haunts have become much more dormant. Perhaps the fandom lives more vibrantly elsewhere.)

                  In any case, to Jay Halstead, thank you so much for sharing your thoughts and time! While I haven't been present to answer before, please trust that I have greatly appreciated and treasured your words. I'm quite touched someone find aspects of the story they enjoy, even years after I first finished it. <3 Comments like these are what keeps me coming back to the fandom again and again.

                  Which brings me to some piece of news. At no one's request and perhaps to no one's benefit but my own, I've started rereading and revising Some Corner of a Foreign Field. As time passes, I find that there are passages and chapters I would like to remould in order to create a more cohesive story, and perhaps more true to characters, setting and continuity - as well as overall tone and writing style.

                  And so I have begun the process, starting with the first four chapters. By now, I have completed drafts of the first two, and will upload them here later -- if only for documentation and posterity, as this is the only place where I have kept a log of sorts of the writing process. I haven't quite decided yet whether to update the story where it's currently hosted at AO3 and FFNET; it will depend on how satisfied I am with the new revisions. Perhaps an alternative would be to publish a complete redux version? We will see.

                  In any case, I wished to leave those news here for anyone interested, as I still do not know where else the fandom might be living these days. Should you wish to interact, I'd be happy to hear from you. If not, no pressure! This process is mostly for my own comfort. I want to look back at Some Corner of a Foreign Field with none of the typical writer's regrets or annoying nitpicks.

                  Until next time.
                  "If I should die, think only this of me: / That there's some corner of a foreign field / That is forever [Earth]."
                  Earth is gone, but Atlantis must survive... Apoca!fic. Post-Season 5. John/Sam.

                  Comment


                    REWRITTEN CHAPTER 1 (December 11, 2023)

                    Spoiler:

                    DAY 1: December 24th, 2008

                    "Hey, you're talking to a man who has laughed in the face of death, sneered at doom and chuckled at catastrophe!"

                    Major General Jack O'Neill's grin on the monitor was familiar and Sam couldn't help but snort despite the tears gathered in her eyes. Only he would quote the Wizard of Oz at the most heartbreaking moment of their time.

                    "Sir…"

                    O'Neill's eyes softened and Sam felt exposed. Crowded around her and the monitors were faces known and unknown, with many more standing within reach of the control room speakers that broadcasted every word, every sound. In the gateroom’s sudden hush, she heard the swirls of the open wormhole and the all-too-human scattered sniffles. Yet worst was the subtle shifts of the strong, warm presence behind and to the right of her, and the thumb that almost brushed hers.

                    "I know, Carter," O'Neill said, his voice now more mute and resigned even as his expression remained soft. "I know."

                    Sam's aching smile fell as tears finally began to trail down her cheeks. At her sides, her hands fisted tight — away from the silent offer of comfort. She couldn’t. Not now, with all eyes on her: the one who’d be in command once the connection to Earth closed.

                    "Now wait just a minute, people!" O’Neill's eyes glinted a bit as he reacted to whatever he saw from his side of the monitor. Almost comically, he leaned as far as he could across the oblong conference table in the Homeworld Command secure bunker in Washington DC. "No shedding tears, you hear?"

                    It was his best commanding tone — the one steeped in humour and seriousness both — and Sam wiped her tears off. Others, too, seemed to comply; their sharp inhales and shuffles all around broke the tense hush.

                    Sam stood straighter and cleared her throat, infusing strength into her automatic reply: "Yes, sir."

                    "You’ll be fine." Again, O’Neill’s eyes softened and he seemed to seek her personally — as if the lightyears between them meant nothing. "You've got some of the best and finest Earth has to offer. As for the rest…" He paused, the ghost of a smirk twitching his lips. "Well, try not to strangle 'em."

                    "Yes, sir," Sam said and managed another smile; free of tears this time.

                    The Major General smiled back. Even as the camera feed and bunker room suddenly shook subtly, he seemed unfazed. He merely stood up and approached the camera, his voice louder to break through the controlled chaos on his end as staffers and officials moved in response.

                    "That's what you keep, Carter," he said. "Don't stop smiling. That's an order."

                    "Sir—"

                    "Sam." O’Neill was so close to the camera now she could see every line on his face — every hint of fondness — and she felt nauseated. Dizzy, almost. All too aware that the crowd was pressing in on her; that they, too, had to understand what was coming.

                    "Jack." Sam's voice was tinged with pain, and her throat constricted.

                    Even now, after almost thirteen years of service and standing on the brink of the abyss, they found the words difficult to say. Sam's hands clenched and O'Neill simply stared at her with that something in his features. The something that she still found herself responding to, even if that train had passed long ago and she’d since boarded a different one.

                    Their gaze was broken by klaxons going off in the background. Startled, Sam looked around the control room and saw the Atlantis staff come to the same conclusion as her. It wasn’t their end, which meant…

                    "Looks like this is it, Carter. End of the line." O'Neill's face was drawn and, even though he smiled, he was sad. Behind him, the Homeworld Command staff sank down in chairs or into each other’s embraces. “Harriman says they’re inside the Mountain now. Countdown’s started."

                    Despite her promise, Sam wept. In her mind’s eye, she imagined the faces she’d known — friends, family, coworkers — and saw them as if in slow motion: their lives either in jeopardy, soon to be, or already lost at the hands of a merciless, indiscriminate force of shock and awe. The rest: stranded, helpless, and out of reach.

                    Earlier, as Stargate Command and the immediate area had been evacuated, she’d been numb to this. Now, she felt hollowed out and raw like a gaping wound. The world began to spin…and then stopped. Behind her, that previous subtle touch had become a solid rock pressed against hers. Not a hand on her back or fingers interlocked with hers, but a steady presence nonetheless.

                    Sam soaked up whatever she could of his silent strength, yet was unable to meet her second-in-command’s gaze directly as she reviewed the Atlantis crowd’s reactions. Some cried, some were solemn, some stood on their own, and some clutched their neighbours. Yet everyone appeared as numb and stricken as the people on the other end of the wormhole connection.

                    Behind Major General O'Neill, a large computer screen showed Chief Master Sergeant Harriman sitting alone by the SGC gate controls, typing away at the computer systems Sam had once built from scratch. He appeared oblivious to the staff in the Homeworld Command bunker, to Sam on his monitors, and to the equipment rattling all around him as Cheyenne Mountain shook from planetary bombardment.

                    That image would haunt her; Sam knew that. Yet Walter was prepared for what was to come; had committed himself to the higher cause of their protection. She needed to honour that…somehow.

                    In the Homeworld Command bunker, sparks briefly brightened the screen and the room shook from similar impacts as the SGC. O’Neill gazed at the people on his end and then turned back to Sam, his shoulders square and his back straight.

                    "Take care, Colonel, all of you." He looked at every one of them, then added with a light tone, "Oh, and tell Daniel I'll know if he works through the night again. I'll come haunt him this time."

                    The last attempt at humour raised a bittersweet smile on Sam's lips, and at her side, John snorted.

                    She raised her chin in response, straightening her back. "We will, sir."

                    "Well then…" O’Neill cleared his throat and, for a second, Sam thought she’d seen the shine of tears in his eyes. "From all of us, to all of you: A very Merry Christmas."

                    "The same to you, sir, from all of us."

                    Throat thick and painful, Sam raised her hand in a perfect salute. In the corner of her eye, she saw every military personnel follow suit. On the monitor, the Major General returned the salute with a smile.

                    Then the wormhole whooshed closed and the screen went black.

                    No one said a word as silence fell over the Atlantis gateroom. For a long while, Sam felt the gaping wound edge outwards and leave her isolated and cold. Even John’s nearby warmth couldn’t touch her. Nor could the sound of restless stillness from the hundreds of people now under her charge.

                    Then, with a deep inhale, Sam wiped her nose and straightened her heavy shoulders. When she turned, she took it all in: the faces, the numbness, the grief, and the fear. They all waited for her — Atlantis, IOA and SGC staff alike.

                    Sam turned to the gate technician. "Chuck, dial the gate."

                    The Canadian sergeant snapped into action with only a second's hesitation.

                    As the gate began to dial, the people who’d gathered in the operations centre shuffled slowly to the balconies overlooking the gate. Sam found herself standing between John and Rodney, and as the seventh chevron locked, she turned her head to the former.

                    John’s gaze spoke volumes, and for a split second, Sam wished she were somewhere else. Somewhere where the mantle of command belonged to someone else and she could be simply Sam, and he could be…

                    "Eight chevron will not lock."

                    Sam's burning eyes closed and she reached out for something, anything, to hold on to. That turned out to be John's hand, which clutched hers as strongly as she did his.

                    "Are—Are you sure you got it right?" Rodney's voice broke through the tense silence. "I—I mean, did you punch the right chevron?"

                    "Rodney…" John's voice was right next to her. Sam opened her eyes, seeing how her fellow scientist's wide eyes flickered from person to person, all of them staring at him with varying degrees of hope, fear and defeat in their features.

                    "I'm serious! What if there's a malfunction in the dialling sequence, or there's power fluctuations messing with the gate's distribution nodes, disrupting the connection to the final chevron, or—"

                    "Rodney," said Sam sharply. He stared at her, mouth open; fingers paused over a computer tablet already in his hands. She swallowed, softening her tone as much as she could. It wasn’t much. "There's no malfunction."

                    The Canadian shook his head. "No, no, no, no. There's got to be something, something we haven't tried—"

                    "Damn it, McKay!" Pushing off the balcony railing, John turned, his features briefly coloured in frustration. "They’re gone."

                    The word rang out, cutting all sound and motion to a grinding halt.

                    "They’re gone," John repeated, detached. Rodney closed his mouth, now looking as forlorn as many others as the truth — at last — sank in.

                    No further evacuations and supply runs. No further twisting brains together in a desperate search of answers as time ran out. According to Major General O'Neill, every other last resort had been tried and failed before they’d even contacted Atlantis mere hours ago. There was simply nothing more they could do.

                    Earth was gone and the rest of them were on their own, stranded on the only base that bore traces of their home world. Atlantis was now the final hope for survival for the Fifth Race.

                    Sam took her eyes off the gate, met John's gaze, and saw all her fears mirrored there.

                    What now?

                    After a painstakingly long moment, she turned to face Zelenka, who stood next to the Lantean monitors with a lost look on his face and his glasses forgotten in his hands. "Radek. What's the status on the Wraith Hive ships?"

                    The Czech scientist stared at her incomprehensibly for a moment until Rodney jolted him out of his stupor with a huffing push. Jump-started into activity and brain function, Zelenka pushed several buttons and the monitors woke to life once more with the picture Sam had seen even in her sleep for the past week: a sensor reading of five Hive ships, one of which was reportedly powered by a ZPM.

                    "Ehrm," Zelenka stuttered and wrung his hands. "They'll be here in less than a week."

                    Sam closed her eyes.

                    The evacuation could not have come at a worse moment.


                    WHAT'S BEEN CHANGED? Edited where O'Neill's calling from and given hints at what is happening at the SGC. Also some revision to style, language and characterisation to better fit the latter part of the story.
                    "If I should die, think only this of me: / That there's some corner of a foreign field / That is forever [Earth]."
                    Earth is gone, but Atlantis must survive... Apoca!fic. Post-Season 5. John/Sam.

                    Comment


                      REWRITTEN CHAPTER 2 (December 11, 2023) - Part 1

                      (I had to break it into two parts due to forum post limits.)

                      Spoiler:


                      DAY 2: December 25th, 2008

                      Wherever John looked today, a face stared back at him.

                      Old, young, firm and infirm; it’d begun to blur together. His spreadsheet lists kept growing, though, with names, gender, age, place of origin, previous occupation, and known family members. If he took his eyes off the screen for a moment, at least ten would’ve been added in the meantime, carefully colour coded to indicate which refugee zone they’d been herded into.

                      For some, a danger icon had been ticked to indicate immediate threat to life or health, requiring medical, spiritual or psychiatric intervention. Then, on a separate spreadsheet updated only by medical personnel, the standard triage colours kept being swapped out.

                      He’d tried not to count the black rows. Whatever the number, it’d pale to the truth if you looked beyond Atlantis and even Pegasus.

                      More dead than alive.

                      John forced the thought out of his head. He couldn’t focus on what he couldn’t see. Right now, right here, people needed him and they needed Atlantis. Simple as that.

                      If only everyone had got that memo.

                      “We demand to know what’s going on, Colonel!” Still trailing behind him through the crowded corridors — heedless of everything and everyone else he bumped into — James Coolidge of the International Oversight Advisory was flushed and wide-eyed. “This is unacceptable! We’ve got rights!Arrangements! You cannot keep us out—!”

                      “‘Keep you out’?” John stopped in his tracks, spun on his heels, and pushed on so the other man had to fumble backwards to avoid being toppled over. “The hell’s wrongwith your eyes, Mr Coolidge?”

                      “I—I’m—”

                      “Does this look like the time to debate things in a committee?”

                      John gestured wide and his tablet computer almost slipped out of his grip from the sudden force. Around them, the long stretch of corridor was but a sample of the two separate cataclysms converged in one. The mass of people and faces were one thing, but wherever there was room, you’d find supply crates, luggage and Pegasus-style baskets being stacked haphazardly next to equipment and items recently evacuated from Earth. Closest comparison was a kicked ant hill, and all around the Main Tower there were dozens more corridors just like this.

                      Earthborn and Pegasus — they were all refugees now.

                      What’s going on is that we’ve got thousands of people on this base right now that we didn’t yesterday, and hundreds more on the way.” John’s growl matched his rising headache. The fact Coolidge’s face paled was only a small comfort. “What’s going on is that we’ve got cracks in the system, medical clogs, and not enough food or beds prepared. Not to mention security concerns from having tonnes of armaments, unknowns and supplies shoved through the gate with no Daedalus here for easy transport.”

                      “Th-that’s—”

                      And,” John continued, needing this conversation done yesterday, “with the Wraith pack still headed here, what’s going on is that we’re on the clock, Mr Coolidge. That means base command discretion, not IOA supervision. Got that?”

                      Coolidge clearly bristled, but his strangled “Colonel—!” was cut off by a gaggle of Pegasus kids storming through the crowd.

                      With shrill peals of laughter, the kids threw some sort of balled-up cloth at each other, and the latest hit sent one kid careening into the IOA representative and knocking him over. On automatic, John pulled him up, which turned into restraint as Coolidge cursed and came in blazing against the kids with a long string of epithets.

                      “The hell’s wrong with you?” John hissed as the kids scattered in fright, which caused all eyes to circle around and zero in on him and Coolidge. He pushed the other man back towards the nearest wall and blocked his path. “They’re kids. Let ‘em be.”

                      “Kids now, but they’ll grow up quick!” Coolidge snarled, flushed both red and pale as he tried to push past him. “Someone’s got to—”

                      “Colonel Sheppard, Ops Centre.” In John’s earpiece radio, Sergeant Chuck Campbell’s voice was a welcome distraction, but he had to press the earbud further in to hear the rest clearly above Coolidge’s continued rant. The other hand rested on Coolidge’s chest to keep him in place. “Last batch of the Kadarians is coming through now. Colonel Carter would like you up here.”

                      Copy, OpsCentre,” John told him, already poised to move with familiar urgency. “Tell her I’m on my way. Over.” After a quick eyeball and step back, he raised a warning finger at Coolidge. “You: cool it. Better yet, make yourself useful and check in with Major Lorne down in Mess Hall for duty assignments. I’ll make sure he’ll know to expect you.” With a forced smile, he added, “Have a nice day, Mr Coolidge,” and left.

                      Colonel!” From behind him, the IOA representative protested again, but John ignored him.

                      He did pick up the balled-up cloth, though, and handed it off to the first kid he recognised — a young brown-haired girl of about six or seven, who peered at him from behind a crate.

                      “Don’t worry about him,” John told her as he passed. “You’ve got good aim, kiddo. Keep it up, all right?”

                      The girl gave a hesitant smile, held the cloth-ball close, and scurried off. Even halfway down the crowded corridor, John thought he could hear Coolidge’s loud huff and smirked.

                      Score: 1.

                      "If I should die, think only this of me: / That there's some corner of a foreign field / That is forever [Earth]."
                      Earth is gone, but Atlantis must survive... Apoca!fic. Post-Season 5. John/Sam.

                      Comment


                        REWRITTEN CHAPTER 2 (December 11, 2023) - Part 2

                        (See previous post for part 1.)

                        Spoiler:


                        Not all scores were that easy, though. And the disconnect between the Atlantis operations centre and the refugee sector was, as ever, salient. Where one was rowdy, chaotic, and felt like an approaching entropy, the other was a void set against the backdrop of quiet, razor-sharp devastation.

                        John could still cut the tension with a knife.

                        He chose, instead, to pat the shoulder of an Airman sweeping the dim-lit, near-empty gateroom floors. “Doing good, Travers. Your relief’s on the way.”

                        “Thank you, sir.”

                        Travers’ exhausted nod stayed with him as John headed off for the grand staircase. He didn’t need to check his watch to confirm they were on leg ten of a 4-leg race and the finish line of a Grand Strategic Retreat was still twenty legs off — at least.

                        Something, sometime, would snap: he knew that. He just hoped they could mitigate the outcome somehow. Or delay it as long as possible.

                        Up in the operations centre, some of the staff had at least switched out for the night shift — finally — with Amelia Banks seated at the dialling controls in lieu of Chuck. John had expected them to take it easier now that the evacuations were complete, but they barely had the time to greet him. All were instead wrapped up in their screens, quiet and tense, with loud clack-clack-clacks on computer keyboards to break the monotony.

                        John opened his mouth to ask what’d changed — then noticed motion on his right.

                        Behind closed doors in the commander’s office, Sam paced. She had her tablet computer in one hand and one finger on her earpiece radio with the other…exactly as he’d left her four hours ago when he’d picked up the last batch of Kadarians. When he’d told her — specifically and with much emphasis — to finally get some sleep, because while everyone else was on leg ten, Sam had already reached sixteen. She’d been sleep deprived even before yesterday.

                        Should’ve gotten Keller to do it. She’s got oomph when she needs it.

                        John held back a sigh. Then, with a forced smile, he walked straight in without knocking. “Colonel.”

                        Sam held a hand up and turned away. “Did you check the tertiary power distribution nodes in section 221-B? Boards still show them red.”

                        Repair crews?

                        John raised an eyebrow as he drifted off for the whiteboard Sam kept in a corner for doodles and brain teasers. With familiar ease, he picked up a marker, started off a tic-tac-toe and left an X in the centre bottom square.

                        By the time he was done, Sam had signed off and sat down behind her desk.

                        “Power issues?” Keeping his voice light, John approached the desk as Sam flicked through the array of blueprints and handwritten notes spread out across the desktop.

                        “Stardrives,” Sam said without looking up; her gaze back on the computer screen and a technical image superimposed on a set of digital gauges. “Zelenka’s been running a status check. One of the engines is inactive.”

                        “Can we take off without it?” With a cursory look across his shoulder for any watchers or eavesdroppers, John rounded the desk and perched on the corner closest to her, his arms crossed. Up close, he could confirm the lacklustre pallor of her skin that he’d seen last time; the lines, furrows and dark spots around her eyes. His stomach twisted.

                        “In a pinch, but it’ll cost us power.” Swiping off something on the screen, Sam got up and only then seemed to take notice of him. Hard not to when mere inches separated them. He’d expected a flush of colour or something from being this close. Instead, she closed her eyes, shook her head, and sidestepped him. “How’re the evacuees?”

                        “Rattled. Settled in, mostly.” Trying to shake off an uneasy itch in his neck, John stood up and followed Sam into the operations centre. “We’ve assigned duties to those we could and set up a roster, including for food, bathrooms, and sleep. Teldy’s overseeing the final details now while Lorne and his team’s off for some shuteye.”

                        “Good,” Sam said, though without the surety John’d come to recognise as her being fully present and attentive.

                        It made him tense again.

                        For the past eighteen hours, John had seen a lot of different reactions as he’d walked around Atlantis. Shock and anger foremost, but denial and bargaining as well. Expedition members and SGC staff alike had begged him to do something, to denounce the truth, or to roar up and fight back with every bit of arsenal at their disposal. Point a gun and shoot: quick, clean, easy.

                        Except it wasn’t.

                        Earth was gone. No stargate connection meant nothing or no one to receive the call. Whether it was due to the enemy attack or the SGC’s self-destruct, it didn’t change the fact that it had happened, and there was nothing they could do about it.Homeworld Command had been adamant about that; had told them to focus on their own survival. Had, in their final hours, sent all they could by any means necessary — however meagre when compared to that of an entire world. Their home. Now cut off and—who knew what else?

                        They didn’t know, and the ramifications of that were hard to swallow. If it hadn’t been for the fact that they had a whole other ****load of problems to handle, John might’ve joined those who wanted to rush back to the Milky Way and kick the alien bastards to kingdom come.

                        But of course he couldn’t. Neither could Sam. After all, she’d promised Major General O’Neill.

                        The General O’Neill, John reminded himself: the one who meant as much to Sam as Elizabeth did to him.

                        And now they’d both lost that someone, which was why John studied Sam closely. He took in her rigid shoulders, drawn lips, half-focused eyes, and the increasingly bushy braid at the back of her head. As far as he knew, she’d been up twenty-plus hours by now — and this on top of a week in which she’d barely had any sleep in the first place. Having something to do was good in a crisis, but there was such a thing as overdoing it.

                        Guess it’s time for the big boy pants.

                        “Colonel, have you had a break yet?”

                        Even without Amelia Banks’ furtive side-eye, John could’ve guessed the answer.

                        “No time,” Sam said as she input something into her tablet computer. She moved from console to console, personnel to personnel, and stopped only long enough to check something on their monitors. From the tense focus they’d had when John first arrived, they’d jumped even further to attention now. “The Hive ships have sped up their approach after M23-XR9; they might’ve realised we’ve tried to empty their path. So we need to push up the takeoff.”

                        John frowned. “How soon?”

                        Sam crossed the floor to an empty console at the back of the room, checking the wall-mounted digital clock as she did. “Six hours at the latest.”

                        Hence Zelenka and the repair crews, John realised. The renewed urgency made sense, but Sam’s analysis of the situation contained — in his opinion — one vital flaw. So he followed, keeping his voice low once he reached her. “You should sleep.”

                        “When we’re in space,” Sam said, gaze fixed upon the monitor in front of her where equations and schematics rolled down at high speed. “You should get some, though. We’ll need you rested in the pilot’s seat.”

                        “Think I heard somewhere the XO doesn’t rest until his CO does,” John quipped, finding humour easier than the alternative.

                        He half-expected Sam to return the jibe, saying something to the effect of him never having respected chain of command to that degree before, but she didn’t even crack a smile. Didn’t even look at him.

                        His stomach churned. “Sam…”

                        She tensed up. The sudden drop in her machine gun typing seemed amplified in the silence, causing John to hesitate and check for eavesdroppers. But it was impossible to tell with the others’ backs towards them.

                        John sighed and leaned away from Sam, offering more distance. “At least kick back for a minute. Eat, meditate, or whatever; let me and the crew handle things in the meantime.”

                        Sam shook her head. “I can’t.”

                        “Sure you can,” pressed John, annoyed now. “Just step away from the console. Take a walk on the balcony, or close the blinds in your office. It doesn't even have to be a minute. Just—"

                        "John."

                        Their eyes finally met.

                        It wasn’t like those first moments in bed. The kinds where she giggled and looked like ten years had been shaved off her age, utterly beautiful.

                        Nor those small moments in public when he'd made her smile at something silly he’d said, and their off-the-grid secret had hung in the air like an inside joke and a promise of later.

                        Wasn’t the opposite either: when their words were silent, laced with tension. Such as when she sent him off on a dangerous mission and looked at him with that complex mixture of surety, hope, and fear. And he, in turn, with promise and mustered bravado that he’d come back, no matter what. That this time, he’d try not to play the reckless hero.

                        No. It was closer to a third option. Not the kind she gave him across the desk in her office when he brought her intent or commands into question, nor the look she directed at him when he was being called in on the carpet for something reckless or thoughtless he'd done. But one belonging to the senior officer nevertheless: the one with the last word.

                        It was all there in the unspoken words; in her eyes and posture. Sam was in command now. She had to be. There weren’t anyone else senior enough. No matter how much that made him want to pull her away, squeeze her tight, and say it’d all be okay — that they’d get through this crisis like they’d done all the others — John couldn’t. Not now. Not after—

                        John’s stomach sank and churned uneasily. “All right. I’ll go catch some Zs then.”

                        “Good.”

                        Sam’s look didn’t change. No small smirk or glint of an eye for his comfort either. Instead, the pregnant silence that followed him to his feet only underlined the lack of silly retorts or flippant quips on either part.

                        He tried to tell her that it was okay — that there’d be time afterwards for this sort of thing, for them, as they’d once agreed — but Banks’ console beeped and Sam left him behind before he could blink twice.

                        This is professional, John told himself as the two women conversed back-and-forth in hushed, tense tones. Nothing else. It's fine.

                        But Banks’ quick sort-of-sympathetic glance haunted him much the same as Sam’s back as he stalked off for what he felt sure would be no sleep at all.​



                        WHAT'S BEEN CHANGED? Added new scene to introduce the IOA conflict earlier, as well as delve deeper into the situation on Atlantis post-evacuation. Also revised original scene to better follow the new scene, as well as touch up on style, language and characterisation. For now, this revised chapter has not been posted anywhere else than here on Gateworld. Nor has the revised chapter 1.​​
                        "If I should die, think only this of me: / That there's some corner of a foreign field / That is forever [Earth]."
                        Earth is gone, but Atlantis must survive... Apoca!fic. Post-Season 5. John/Sam.

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                          REWRITTEN CHAPTER 3 (January 10, 2024)

                          Uploaded here on FFNET.

                          WHAT'S BEEN CHANGED? Two new scenes have been added for deeper plot progression and tension build-up, as well as building upon revisions in chapters 1-2. I have also revised the two original scenes to better fit with the new ones, as well as touch up on style, language and characterisation.
                          "If I should die, think only this of me: / That there's some corner of a foreign field / That is forever [Earth]."
                          Earth is gone, but Atlantis must survive... Apoca!fic. Post-Season 5. John/Sam.

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