Raindrops by AndromedaMarine

She could have waited until she was safely alone before she let them out. She could have, but she didn't. A small, two-letter, one syllable word was all her consolation from Rodney. A simple, sad gleam in Teyla's eyes was all she received. A simple motion of the head was all Ronon gave her and she couldn't help but collapse. No John to catch her this time, only a very surprised and lost Chuck Campbell. No. The tears came with wracking force, leaving a bewildered Chuck to rest a hand on her back in comfort. She could have kept her composure, but she didn't. If she had the good fortune of living down the rabbit hole with Alice her tears would have caused a flood. But if she were down the rabbit hole she would have no reason to cry. Chuck was replaced by Rodney and reluctantly she fell into his embrace. But she couldn't accept the truth.

Rodney helped her stand, but it did little toward her condition. She couldn't walk – her legs refused to cooperate. Easily but with a gentleness hidden by his stoic features Ronon lifted the sobbing woman and glared his way to the personnel quarters. Reluctantly the doors to her room slid open, expecting someone distinctly not Ronon. It was only a matter of time before Atlantis grieved the loss of her favorite son as well. The lights refused to shudder on, knowing something was wrong and out of place. The massive Satedan laid Elizabeth on her bed and Teyla helped removed the boots. Not wishing to become a hindrance he stood back and let Teyla cover the sobbing woman. Briefly the Athosian laid a hand on Ronon's chest, signaling her sadness. They left and waited until they reached Teyla's quarters before he pulled her into a tight, sorrowful embrace.

Rodney didn't know what to do. He hadn't lost a friend. He'd lost a mentor; a brother. The flustered, red-eyed scientist holed up in his room and simply waited until the tears came, six hours later.

John Sheppard was never coming back. Instead of showing honor and decency the Wraith had gone too far. Common ground hadn't changed his species' instinct. One less human to worry about. Unbeknownst to him, however, the last second on instinctive treachery had cost Atlantis more than just John Sheppard. If he had given the gift of life he wouldn't be dead either, pumped full of piercing bullets. He'd cost an alliance. The colonel's death, it would turn out to be, was for nothing.

But as the violent sobs wracked her body and as the raindrops lashed at the window, mourning with her, the long-lasting spark within her womb ignited. The father would never be there, no. But the child would be. And his presence was more a testament to John than any memorial that would be erected. John had left behind a legacy – one in the form of new life. The new life that was growing inside Elizabeth Sheppard.

The raindrops did not cease for Elizabeth until the legacy was born.