Untitled Lorne-Sheppard Ficlet

It was General Landry who broke the news to Lorne. He leaned forward over the mahogany meeting table between them and said, "Son, I’m afraid that there’s been a change of plans." He said it in a calm, deep voice, slightly gravelly, and someone who wasn’t Lorne, who couldn’t see the deep lines at the corners of the General’s mouth, his eyes, might have thought that it had been the his plan all along, to change his mind like that.

Lorne was there, though, and could see. He said, "Sir?"

Landry said, "When you were selected for this mission, Major, you were asked to be the Atlantis base’s third in command, after Major Sheppard and whomever it was that we chose to put in charge."

"I remember, Sir," Lorne said, and he did. Of course he did. How could he not? The day that the General and Colonel Caldwell called him into the big meeting room, the one that SG-1 always used for their briefings and debriefings, and asked him to go to Atlantis, to do this, had been one of the proudest days of his life. If he thought about it hard enough, he could still feel the warm glow.

Now General Landry was sitting across from him, though, telling him that there’d been a change of plans, and that warmth, very quickly, was fading away. He wanted to ask, What are you telling me, Sir? He wanted to ask, What aren’t you telling me? He was a military man, though, good at what he did, and part of that was being able to keep his face carefully blank, to keep his emotions buried and hidden.

It wasn’t too much longer before the General continued speaking, Lorne knew, it couldn’t have been, but to Lorne it seemed to drag on and on, each second taking an eternity. But then Landry said, "For various and sundry reasons, Major Lorne, Colonel Caldwell will no longer be staying on in Atlantis. He has not been chosen to head the military delegation there."

Lorne’s lips parted slightly, which was as close as he’d get to actually letting his mouth drop open, because that was not at all what he’d expected to hear. There had been no official announcements as to command, of course, since decisions regarding the future of Atlantis during peace times were not something that could be made without the input of Dr. Weir. Colonel Caldwell had been the obvious choice, though, and everyone in the SGC had known it. He had an exemplary service record and a fine understanding of alien technology—the Asgard, of all races, had been happy to have the Colonel command the Daedelus, had even sent one of their own to become a member of his crew. The Asgard, Lorne knew from experience, wouldn’t do that for just anyone.

Also, Caldwell had handpicked him.

"Sir?" he asked again.

General Landry was looking tired now, tired enough that he was showing it to an officer many ranks his junior, and Lorne could tell that this decision had not been made by him. Which made Lorne wonder just whom it was that had made it, given Landry’s position. The General stood up from the table and walked to the metal doors of the conference room, opening one of them slowly. He motioned for someone to come in.

"Major," Landry said, "I’d like you to meet your new commanding officer. You’ll have already met Lt. Colonel Sheppard, I should think."

"Sir," Sheppard said, saluting the General, and Lorne could tell just how new the promotion was by how Sheppard’s face lit up at the words, by how he stood just a little bit straighter. Lorne knew it was new, because the last he’d heard, Sheppard had been a Major, just like himself. The day before, even, Lorne had heard him introduced that way: "Major John Sheppard," Landry had said to a visiting diplomat. "He’s from Atlantis."

Lorne stood up from the table as Sheppard drew closer and saluted his (suddenly) superior officer. He said, "Sir," himself, and Sheppard smiled even more broadly at that, then visibly tried to tone it down a bit.

"At ease, Major," Sheppard said.

From the doorway, General Landry said, "I’m just going to leave the two of you alone now, let you get to know each other a bit. If you need anything, I’ll be in my office. Or better yet, just ask for Walter."

Lorne saluted, and then they were alone, the heavy metal doors closed all the way again. Sheppard studied him for a moment, then said, "Please, sit," so Lorne did. Sheppard—Lt. Colonel Sheppard—sat down in the chair that Landry had just vacated, but while the General had leaned forward, looking tense, Sheppard leaned back, almost sprawling in the chair. He folded his hands over his stomach, crossed one leg over the other.

"I’ve read your file, Major," Sheppard finally said, several moments later, "and it looks like you have a good, solid service record."

Lorne nodded, because he did. Up until this point, he’d done everything right. His career had been on the track he’d wanted it to be on for years—ever since he’d been deemed trustworthy enough to know about the Stargate and alien life forms and ways to travel to other galaxies, that was.

But today, he knew, that could all change, because this was a test and Lorne knew it. Sheppard had not chosen Lorne as an officer for this mission, after all, and while Sheppard probably couldn’t stop Lorne from going, from being his third in command still, he could make Lorne’s life miserable.

At the end of the year in Atlantis that they’d all signed on for, it wouldn’t be Sheppard who requested the transfer home.

"How much do you know about Atlantis, Major?" Sheppard asked, the word rolling off of his tongue like he’d been saying it for years, like it hadn’t been his title less than a full 24 hours ago. "About the Pegasus Galaxy?"

He had a lazy drawl, relaxed, and Lorne had heard that about Sheppard: that this was the sort of man that he was. That he wasn’t big on the chain of command, on issuing orders when requests would do. In no way, shape or form, Lorne had heard, had he been ready to assume the command that he’d been thrust into.

Lorne also knew, from the few military officers that had come back with Sheppard, that he had his soldiers’ respect, that he did what had to be done, and that others would do what he asked them to. They never thought to question, they just did.

He wondered how many of them knew about Sheppard’s black mark, though. Or of the wonder-awe-disbelief-worry that had passed through the SGC when the Powers That Be had realized that control of Atlantis had ended up in the hands of a Major who was only there because Dr. Weir had requested he go along, for his gene.

Or of the dismay and disgust that the Powers had initially felt upon learning exactly how he’d come into that command.

"I’ve learned as much as I can, Sir," Lorne said. "I’ve studied the schematics for the city. I’ve read all of your mission reports, all of the analysis’ of what technology has been uncovered there." From the carefully neutral, almost lackadaisical look on Sheppard’s face, Lorne was pretty sure that he was asking about something specific, phrasing it as a general question, and that Lorne hadn’t touched upon it yet.

He said, "I know about the Wraith."

Sheppard’s gaze broke with his then, just for an instant, and when it returned, it was shadowed, sharper than before, and he knew that that he’d gotten it right. There was no smile on Sheppard’s face now, but when it had faded, Lorne wasn’t sure. For the first time since he’d arrived back through the Gate, Lorne thought that Sheppard looked deadly.

Fixed on the other end of that stare, Lorne felt a sliver of ice burrow itself into the base of his spine.

"You’ve read about the Wraith, Major," Sheppard said, his voice suddenly as hard as the look on his face. "You can hear about them, read about them, see pictures of them, even watch them from a distance, but you can’t know about them, truly, until you’ve come face to face with one, or witnessed a culling, or dived out of the way of one of their beams. You don’t know about them, Major, until you’ve watched them suck the life out of your people, your friends."

Sheppard winced slightly as he said that last part and Lorne wondered if he was thinking about Ford; Lorne had heard about the Lieutenant, about what had happened to him, had read the report. Or maybe, Lorne thought, he was thinking about other people, everyone.

"I’ve seen Colonel Everett, Sir," Lorne said, and he couldn’t stop his shiver. They’d all seen Colonel Everett, because Colonel Everett had requested to see all of them, all of the new people assigned to go through the Gate.

"This is what could happen to you," he’d said, gesturing at his crippled body with a shaking, gnarled hand. "If you aren’t willing to take the risk that this might be your future, that this might be how your life ends, stay home. You don’t deserve to go."

Sheppard nodded, looking just the faintest bit more relaxed, but also, paradoxically, sharper. Lorne couldn’t understand that, not until he heard what Sheppard had to say next.

"Off the record," Sheppard said. "Before he left Atlantis, Colonel Everett said to me that he’d wished I’d been there for him, just like I’d been there for Colonel Sumner. What do you think about that, Major? Off the record, because I need to know."

And this was the true test, Lorne realized. It wasn’t going to be some long, drawn out discussion about Lorne’s background, where Lorne tried to convince Sheppard that he deserved to be an officer in Atlantis, where he had to over-justify his credentials just because Sheppard hadn’t been the one to pick him.

No, this was the test: Sheppard wanted to know if Lorne had judged him already, as so many others at the SGC already had. Sheppard wanted to know if Lorne—‘agreed’ was the wrong word; ‘could live with’, maybe?—with what Sheppard had done.

In the month, plus, since the first transmission from Atlantis had been received, Lorne had heard enough talk about Sheppard—most of it uncomplimentary—to fill a whole lifetime. He wondered how much of it Sheppard had heard in the few days he’d been back on Earth, both through the rumor mill and in comments made directly to his face, that he felt he needed to ask this question.

"Nothing can prepare you," Everett had said, his voice weak, "for what you will find on the other side of the Gate. None of you know, can understand what they’ve been through, until you’ve lived it, too."

Lorne had had his own thoughts about Sheppard of course, but as the other man sat across the table from him, staring at him, all he could think of were Colonel Everett’s words. He couldn’t know, he couldn’t understand.

This was his future.

"I think, Sir," he said slowly, before too much time had passed—he couldn’t let too much time pass without giving an answer—"that I am not an able judge of that; I don’t know what I would have done in that situation."

He watched Sheppard process that answer, wondering if their positions had been reversed, whether he would have done the same thing. He felt vaguely sick to his stomach, felt the sliver of ice at the base of his spine expanding, curling around his backbone, slipping through his blood.

Now Sheppard leaned forward, like Landry had done. "You know what I did, Major. You’ve read the reports."

"Yes," Lorne said. He’d read the reports. He’d read about the trip to Athos, the culling, how Sumner had been taken to a Wraith ship, had been attacked, and how Sheppard had shot him before the end. How Sumner had supposedly asked him to.

"They want you on this trip, Major," Sheppard said. "They want you on this trip more than they want me, but thanks to Dr. Weir, I’m in charge. What I need to know is whether or not you can deal with what we’re up against out there, with the hard choices that we’ve had to make already, that we’re going to have to make in the future. Because there will be hard choices, and before you come to Atlantis, you need to know that."

Lorne thought that he should say yes, yes, of course, I know, because he wanted Atlantis—he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything before—but somehow he could tell that Sheppard hadn’t finished yet. And indeed he hadn’t.

"The Pegasus Galaxy isn’t what we expected it to be," Sheppard continued. "Most of the missions we take seem to end up with us on the wrong side of the natives’ weapons. We’ve only been there for a year and already we have not only space vampires who want to eat us stalking us across the galaxy, but also the Genii, who can’t seem to decide whether they want us dead, or to build them a nuclear weapon." He paused. "Do you think you can handle all of that, Major? That sort of life?"

"I think so, Sir," Lorne said, but he was pretty sure that there was more to that question, too. More that Sheppard really wanted to know.

There was.

"Or maybe, what I should really ask is this," Sheppard continued, drawling again, so slowly, sounding so deadly, that it made the hair on Lorne’s arms stand on end. "Do you think you can handle all of that while serving under me? Because I will never be Colonel Caldwell, Major. I will never be the man that Colonel Caldwell is, or Colonel Everett, or that Colonel Sumner was."

This wasn’t the time for a quick nod, an ‘of course’ or an ‘I know.’ Lorne’s career wasn’t the only thing riding on his answer here, he knew; his life was also. A life that the Colonel would be responsible for, just as Lorne would be responsible for the Colonel’s. This was where he said whether or not he could follow orders from a man who had killed his commanding officer, who had defied direct orders on more than one occasion, who could move from lazy flyboy to deadly weapon in the space of a heartbeat, as Lorne now knew.

Could Lorne follow him? Could Lorne trust him?

Part of him wanted to say no, because the man in front of him was nothing like the man he’d heard about; this was a man he’d only read about, who no one at the SGC thought could be for real. It was a man he’d had a hard time reconciling with the Sheppard that Lorne had thought he’d understood.

He hadn’t, but this was what he did know, from reading all of the mission reports: Sheppard had done a thousand impossible things during the year that they’d been out of contact with Earth. He had to have, in order to have kept as many of them alive as he had. Lorne knew that; he could see the man in front of him doing those things.

The answer, Lorne realized, was yes. To both questions. Yes, he trusted Sheppard. Yes, he could follow him.

You can’t understand unless you’ve been there, Everett had said. Everett had been there. Everett knew.

Lorne wanted to know.

Lorne met Sheppard’s gaze, no matter how cold it was, and he said, "I know that you aren’t Colonel Caldwell, Sir. Nor Colonels Everett and Sumner. And off the record, Sir, I also know that your men believe in you, that they trust you, and that they’re still alive. Off the record, Sir, I trust that whatever hard choices you’ve had to make there, you’ve only done what you felt you had to do. On the record, yes, Sir. Yes, I think I can follow your orders."

Sheppard nodded again. "Good," he said, and just like that, the darkness in the room seemed to vanish, to dissipate, evaporate. Suddenly, Sheppard was smiling again, lazy and friendly. "Good," he repeated. "That’s good to hear, because I—the SGC—would like you to be my second in command in Atlantis, Major. Would that be okay with you?"

Lorne nodded, stunned. Then he swallowed, wondering what he’d just agreed to, to be Sheppard’s second.

Sheppard smiled even more widely, laughter crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Okay then," he continued. "Okay. Then next up is your meeting with Elizabeth, Dr. Weir. She wants to talk to you about what the job will entail. But between you and me, I think she just wants to warn you about what you’ll be getting into, serving under me, while you still have a chance to back out." Then he winked at Lorne.

"I understand, Sir," Lorne said, feeling the ice melting in his veins.

"Yeah," Sheppard said, nodding slowly one more time. "I think you do."