An Exercise in Futility

[marguerite_krux]

A/N: I posted this on ff.net a while back, but...it's a lot prettier on LJ, I think. ;)

Summary: Shep's on the run...but why?
Rating: PG. I guess.
Author: Borgprincess
Disclaimer: If SGA was mine, I wouldn't need to read or write fanfic to get my Elizabeth fix.

 

 

-----This is dedicated to Alternate Ego for encouraging me to write…

 and believing that I write well *flails* --------

 

 

An Exercise in Futility

 

 

 

The sight of John Sheppard practically jogging through the winding corridors of Atlantis was not unusual, not when he had a mission to embark upon, an emergency to deal with, or hunger pangs to satisfy.

 

 

But he was not scheduled for a mission, the city’s atmosphere was calm and peaceful, and the cafeteria wasn’t even in this section. And the key detail that made his urgency rather odd was his apparent destination: his office, down the corridor and to the left. An office that was rarely used, sadly neglected, and purposefully located a fair distance away from the hub of Atlantis to increases the chances of some situation cropping up on the inevitable days he was forced to make his way over, with great reluctance and following the most meandering route possible, to work on report-writing. On these occasions, John always made sure that people knew he was unconditionally available to help out with anything, anything at all, that if they desired his attention on some matter, no matter how trivial, he would be there for them- he wasn’t picky about the pretext, as long as it provided an excuse to leave the paperwork til another time.

 

 

So the fact that he was rushing to his doom would have come as a surprise to anyone that knew him, especially his team, had those traitors been around. Teyla had mentioned something vague about an old friend’s lunch invitation, a private reunion between busy individuals who rarely had time to socialize with one another, she said, brimming over with sincerity; she was sure he understood this was important to her and could not be rescheduled on his whim. Of course, if he felt it was really necessary, then as his teammate and friend, she could probably find it in her-

 

 

John interrupted her at that point. He could practically feel the weighty disapproval of women everywhere bearing down on him, ready to crush him to a pulp if he’d been dumb enough to push the issue with Teyla. Part of being a good soldier was knowing when you were beat, and extracting yourself from the situation as quickly and painlessly as possible.

 

 

Ronon, in turn, brought up his inclusion in a ‘hunting party’ organized by Carson. It turned out the Satedan had expressed a fascination for the size of the fish that the doctor had triumphantly captured on his last fishing trip. Carson, being the generous man he was, had only been too willing to invite Ronon along to participate in this sport of kings. When John volunteered to keep them company, he’d been gently rebuffed, as all the seats on the jumper were filled by other fishing enthusiasts. Naturally, Carson said kindly, he was welcome to come next time, along with McKay, who’d made a promise that Carson was intent on seeing him fulfil.

 

 

Smiling noncommittally, John retreated and made for the final member of his team.

 

 

McKay was usually a reliable last resort. Yet today, the irritable genius, who often complained about John’s remarkable lack of willingness to put up with being abused by random instruments of dubious scientific merit, designed as much to torture him as to advance their understanding of Ancient technology, muttered something about- something to do with- it was important, of course, hard to explain really, and much too complex to break down into laymen’s terms…fobbing John off with these inadequate, half-articulated explanations, he had melted into a passing group of scientists and moved along with the herd into the nearby transporter. There, he offered something approaching an apologetic shrug as it was filled to full capacity, requiring John to remain behind and watch as his last hope pressed the door shut and disappeared from sight.

 

 

If he’d been the paranoid sort, he’d have suspected a conspiracy against him. It was just a little too neat, a little too convenient, a little too….coordinated. As the saying went, once was accident, twice was coincidence and three times was enemy action.

 

 

And then it hit him. Elizabeth.

 

 

John groaned. This operation had the delicate stamp of Elizabeth all over it. She wanted him to know she was coming for him. She wanted him to race around like a rat in a maze, hitting dead ends, losing hope and running in circles from confusion and panic. She wanted him to have all routes of escape cut off, to feel despair closing in around him before she finally came for him. This was nothing less than psychological warfare. And damn, but Elizabeth excelled at it.

 

 

He only had one last refuge. And he was heading there right now, with as much speed as he could muster. As John abandoned dignity for flight, he contacted the control room. “Hey, Chuck?”

 

 

“Yes, Colonel Sheppard?”

 

 

“This might sound like a strange question, but what kind of mood was Dr Weir in the last time you saw her?”

 

 

The ensuing silence spoke volumes. If he hadn’t been worried about bumping into her on the way, he might’ve considered hijacking the gate and escaping the city for a day. Or three. He’d thought he could just fade into the background for a while til she got over it, but obviously she was taking this far more personally than he’d anticipated.

 

 

“That bad?” John asked, wincing.

 

 

“Worse. I’m no military strategist, but I’d advise you to take cover, Colonel.” There was a small trace of glee in the technician’s voice that conveyed just how much satisfaction he was experiencing at John’s expense.

 

 

“One of these days, it will be you, Chuck,” he said warningly. A small chuckle emanated through the radio. “You laugh now, but when she’s coming after you for grievous insubordination or whatever devilry I know you have in you, don’t expect any of the military contingent to offer you aid.”

 

 

That sparked an idea…he was in charge of the military on Atlantis. Maybe he could stage a coup. Impose martial law, confine Elizabeth to quarters til this all blew over and things were back to normal… John embraced the idea longingly, then discarded it a heartbeat later. No one in the city would stand with him against her- unless he could somehow show she was under an alien influence- and even then, she’d find a way to break out of her quarters and get revenge on him. Painfully…messily…

 

 

“Hope the idea makes you feel better, sir,” Chuck answered comfortingly, his chirpy response interrupting John’s gloomy musings, thankfully before it got too graphic.

 

 

“Whatever,” he shook off his pessimism and adopted a brisk tone. “You know where I’m headed. Contact me in the event of an emergency, otherwise I’m not available. I’m off-world, aiding refugees in an evacuation from a natural disaster if she asks.”

 

 

One finger aimed for his earpiece, ready to switch off the radio, but not before Chuck retorted, “I don’t know, sir, would those refugees ever forgive me for calling you away from their plight, should an emergency require your attention here on Atlantis?”

 

 

“Chuck! One simple cover I need you to remember- me, off-world, being heroic,” said John, perfunctorily waving a hand over the door control. “God, how many of you has she turned against me?” he moaned theatrically, before ripping off the earpiece and entering his office, his sanctuary, his-

 

 

“Elizabeth!” The startled cry tore from his throat as he halted before the woman he’d been seeking to avoid, comfortably settled in his chair, looking through his languishing paperwork.

 

 

“Hello, John.” She glanced up at him with a steely expression. “How kind of you to join me.”

 

 

At that moment, it occurred to him that maybe his office wasn’t quite the refuge he’d hoped for.