Chapter Text
John stared straight into Woolsey's eyes as he spoke, his words barely registering in his mind, with Carson hovering nearby.
"John, I'm sorry. The decision was taken out of my hands," he looked at him imploringly. "If there were a viable solution to having you remain on Atlantis, trust me, they would let you stay." John recognised the posture and tone he was using. It was the same one he used on dignitaries or the IOA when they might not like what he had to say. A soothing, soft tone, designed to unruffle feathers, yet firm and unyielding.
John didn't even bother to reply. There was nothing he could say that would make him feel any better. He had lost his arm. Not the whole arm, mind you, but enough to destroy any chances of him keeping his career in the Air Force. Destroy his chances at living in the city he loved and called home. He finally broke eye contact, turning his head to the side and ignoring the burning in his eyes. Woolsey took the hint, hesitating as he stood, and left the infirmary.
Carson sighed. "Lad, he's only the messenger. You know damn well that we want you here." John didn't respond to that either. Empty words. That's all he's been hearing since the accident. Nothing with meaning. They were never going to let him stay no matter what they said. Another sigh from the Scot, and then the sounds of him walking away. John let the tears fall.