Summary:

When Carson Beckett, Rodney McKay and Jennifer Keller return to Earth for some much needed R&R all they wanted was a quiet weekend with friends. Then they meet Daniel Jackson and his research assistant. Ancient tech, stolen data and a missing friend soon draws them into a mystery as deep as the Lantean Ocean. Rest and recreation quickly evolves into research and revelation as the Lanteans and Jackson race to unlock the secrets of the Ancient tech and find their missing friend. Will they find the answers in time or will their friend be lost to them forever?

This story is set in Season 5 immediately following the events of The Seed. This story contains spoilers from Seasons 1-5 including Poisoning the Well, Michael, Misbegotten, Sunday, Kindred II, Search and Rescue and The Seed.

This story is rated 18+ for mature themes including physical and psychological violence; drug induced torture; alcohol; and adult language. If you read it, you will find the F-bomb. This story has been heavily edited but has not been betaed. All mistakes are mine alone.

WORLDS APART

Chapter 1

Restless Nights

The nights were the worst; long, quiet, lonely. There was no one to talk to, no one to distract him from his thoughts. There was nothing but too much quiet; too much alone. At night there was nothing but the memories, the memories that weren't his. These memories belonged to another man, the man who shared his face, his mind, his intelligence. But they aren't his, they never were. How could he be an intruder in his own mind? How could he remember what is not his? Too many memories, tumbled and jumbled, tossed around like so much mental salad.

What is real? What is mine? What right do I have to this life? The questions blended, coating the memories in confusion, the dressing on the salad. The counterpoint to the biggest question of all: Who am I? Where do I belong? Do I belong at all?

He twisted, restless in his sleep as the memories poured through the fragile barrier between the conscious and the subconscious. The memories whispered, taunted as they dug at his psyche with sharp insistent claws. He murmured softly, crying out against the pain and the cruelty the memories carried. Not good enough. Weak. Pathetic. My creation. He whimpered again, cringing against the onslaught.

"You're exactly what I need..."the strident voice echoed through his mind.

Carson twisted again, trapped in the blanket he'd wound around his body. The voice of his creator reverberated through his mind, ripping him from restful sleep into sweat-soaked, fear-flooded nightmares.

Teyla's voice, filled with anger and fear and desperation, "Shoot him, Carson" she begged.

He raised the gun.

"Shoot him, Carson."

He wanted to. He'd tried. His finger tightened until his hand shook. The gun, slick with sweat, slipped easily from his grasp as Michael wrenched it away.

"I'm sorry Teyla" he couldn't meet her eyes. He couldn't face the desolation and the disappointment he knew was there. Weak, he was so weak. He should have stood up for his team mate. He should have stood up for Teyla; he should have protected her. He'd tried; he was just too weak. Weak in mind, weak in body, he'd failed his friend when she needed him most.

"They don't trust you. You're not the real Carson Beckett. The real Carson Beckett would have saved her, protected her. The real Carson Beckett would have been strong enough to do it. But not you. Not the carbon copy. You have his face, his name, but you are not him." Michael jeered and laughed as he taunted his former prisoner.

"You don't look so good, Doctor. You should have stayed with me..." the voice sneered. "You have served your purpose..." The voiced hissed and his face twisted in a malicious caricature of a smile and Michael raised the stunner and pulled the trigger...

Carson woke with a heavy thud as he fell from the bed, his body still wrapped in its cloying cloak of blanket. He scrubbed a shaky hand over his face, as if he rubbed hard enough, he could erase the nightmare that haunted him. Since waking from the stasis pod, he'd been plagued with nightmares. He didn't talk about them. No one would understand. How could they? None of them had spent the better part of two years waiting, hoping, and praying for a rescue that was never going to come.

In the end, it wasn't a rescue; it was a scavenger hunt. They weren't looking for him. They never had been. "But that's just it. We weren't looking for you. To us, you weren't missing. You were dead." He'd seen the look on Rodney's face; heard the brutal painful truth in his words.

They'd mourned him, missed him and moved beyond him. They'd replaced him. And now he was back, the original Lazarus Man, resurrected from the dead. Back, but not belonging. Back, but no place to call his own. He knew he'd been replaced as Chief Medical Officer. Two years was a long time to leave a post vacant, especially when that post belonged to a dead man. He had expected that. What he hadn't expected was the distrust, the suspicion, the idea that he could be a threat, under the influence of a powerful and dangerous enemy.

He was aware of the looks, the sneaky sideways glances from the others when they thought he didn't see. The sudden guilty expressions, the quick shifting of eyes; people who were once friends, ready with a wave and a smile, now awkward and unsure around him. People, who were so forthcoming, now feared speaking to him. No one knew quite what to say. What do you say to a man you buried and mourned and moved beyond? How do you say hello when you've long ago said goodbye?

"We don't leave people behind." For two years, Colonel Sheppard's mantra had played in an endless loop in his mind. "We don't leave people behind." Except he'd been left behind. Left behind because his life wasn't real; he wasn't real. Sure he bled red when cut, felt the pain, healed, scars faded and pale on his skin. He looked like Carson; he sounded like Carson. Hell, he had every mannerism and memory of Carson. But he wasn't Carson; not their Carson. And he had no idea what that meant.

He supposed he'd have plenty of time to consider it. He was leaving in a few hours, returning to Earth for recuperation and evaluation. He loved Atlantis. He hadn't realized what he'd had until it was lost to the small grayness of Michael's prison. In Michael's world, there was no grace, no beauty, no light. In Michael's world, there was no freedom, no laughter, no joy. In Michael's world, there was pain and fear and despair. In Michael's world, there was no hope. Carson had clung to the hope of rescue for every one of the 681 days he was trapped in that miserable dingy existence.

And then the rescue came, and with it the painful truth of his life. Carson sighed heavily, pushed back against the thoughts and the voices that crowded his mind. It's not their fault. They didn't know. How could they? In their world, I was, am a dead man.

Dr. Keller, with Dr. Rodney McKay's help, had found the secret formula, the magic bullet to halt the progressive cellular degradation that had landed him in the stasis pod in the first place. In turn, he'd been there for her, developed the treatment that cured her and everyone else infected with the spores from Michael's little shop of horrors. He thought he'd proved his worth and his trustworthiness, his value to Atlantis. But now that the crisis was over, everyone restored to their normal, healthy selves; Mr. Woolsey was still sending him away.

It was to be a quick trip through the Stargate this time. No three week journey on the Daedalus. No time to make the transition from Atlantis to Earth. No time to get used to the idea that it might be a one way ticket. No time to consider an uncertain future.

"What future?" the voice in his head mocked him. "There is no future for you. You're not the real Carson Beckett. It was supposed to be his future, not yours."

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Carson shouted at the voice. He thought the lights on at half power, chasing the darkness into the deeper shadows and stumbled to his feet. His few belongings were packed in a small duffel, waiting for the morning jump through the gate. Mostly clothes, these borrowed or issued from supply. His personal effects had been returned to his family two years ago. He wondered how his family, his mum, had received them. Had she unpacked the box, sharing her pain with his things, distributing the physical manifestation of his being among her home? Or had she left the box sealed, containerized her pain with the artifacts of his life? "I'm sorry Mum. I wish I could have said a proper goodbye."

He wanted to see her. He wanted to feel her arms solid around his shoulders when she hugged him. He wanted to look into her eyes, so like his own. He wanted to sit quietly, drinking tea and eating scones, talking of nothing and everything. He wanted to walk with her in the green fields and hills of his native Scotland. If the SGC gives its consent; then he'd go to Scotland and do all of these things, he decided. Return to Scotland? If he couldn't stay in Atlantis, it was an attractive alternative. The only unknown in the equation was the SGC. And the IOA. And until he resolved his standing with them, the unknowns held all the cards.

He sighed, scrubbed a hand over his eyes and studied his reflection in the small mirror in his bathroom. Dark shadows under his eyes competed with the dark shadows in his soul. He splashed cold water across his face, chased away the last vestiges of the nightmare. He sighed again, turned from the bathroom and slipped into jeans and a T-shirt. He scooped the tangled bedclothes from the floor and tossed them carelessly on the bed. No sense in lying down, there would be no more sleep for him tonight.

Carson stepped quietly out of his room. At least Richard Woolsey trusted him enough to have dispensed with the armed escort Colonel Carter gifted him when he first returned. He was relieved; no one else was out wandering the halls of Atlantis. He checked his watched, surprised it was only 0230. The Stargate dial up was scheduled for 0930. Seven hours, not nearly enough time to say goodbye to the city he once feared and came to love. Not nearly enough time to memorize the details of the place he'd dreamed of during his captivity. Not nearly enough time, but he'd try.

He walked the halls, keeping the lighting soft. No sense in disturbing the folks who slept. He walked with no destination in mind, and was only mildly surprised to find himself standing in front of his infirmary doors. "No, not yours; it never was yours. It was his, now it belongs to her." The voice taunted him again. "Not your city. Not your place. You aren't him. You have no place here."

He walked faster, desperate to escape the voice echoing hollowly in his head and his heart. His feet carried him to a little used balcony and he gratefully stepped into the cool night air. He'd miss this, he realized. He'd miss the peaceful solitude of standing on the balconies while gentle ocean breezes ruffled his hair and teased it into jagged tufts and whorls. He'd miss the soft music of the ocean slapping against the city support columns. He'd missed it so much during his captivity. He'd miss it even more, he realized, if he was never allowed back.

Carson sat slumped, his back against the wall; his arms hugged his knees to his chest. He rested his head on his knees and gathered the peaceful presence of the sleeping Atlantis around him like a blanket. In a little under seven hours he'd leave all this behind. He'd fought so hard to hold onto the hope for a rescue, a return, and then, a cure. Now he'd found it, only to have it ripped away. How could he leave all this behind? He couldn't, he realized. He buried his face in his arms and wept.

۞۞۞

Sunlight, warm and golden, washed over him as he woke from a troubled sleep. He checked his watch and realized he had less than an hour before his trip through the Stargate. Regret flooded through him; he was out of time. There would be no goodbyes for his friends, for his team, or for his city. He'd intended them, before the solitude and despair had wrapped him in a cloak of self pity. He scrambled to his feet, and ignoring the ache in muscles stiffened by cold, Carson hustled to the door.

"Brooding alone again?" Rodney's voice greeted him in the doorway. "And close your mouth before some disgusting alien bug flies in."

"Rodney. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. Woolsey's having a fit because you're not in your room and you're not responding to radio hails. So in typical bureaucratic overreaction, he's issued an APB for you. Though why I got stuck doing the looking when I have..."

Rodney shut up as if someone had flipped a switch. Carson's radar tuned to high alert mode. Something was up, otherwise Rodney's rant would have continued until well after the wormhole disengaged.

"What's going on?"

"You have a little trip planned, remember? And Woolsey's not happy that you are delaying the departure schedule. Come on, the sooner you go, the sooner you can come back."

"Rodney, you don't know that I'm coming back. I don't even know if I'm coming back."

"What, are you kidding me? The SGC would be crazy not to send you back here. Your work with the retrovirus and your knowledge of the Wraith biomedical research alone makes you invaluable. They'd be a bunch of moronic brainless imbeciles not to send you back."

Carson raised a hand as if he could stem the verbal flood tumbling from McKay's mouth with that simple gesture. "I know Rodney, I know. But they still have to get over the fact that I'm not really him, that I'm not really Carson Beckett. They have to know if they can trust me, and right now they don't. Not as long as Michael is still out there somewhere."

"That's not true..."

"It is. Rodney, last time he just took the gun away from me. What if next time he orders me to shoot you, or Ronan, or Colonel Sheppard? What if I can't resist his influence?"

"What if; what if? Forget about that for a minute. Its because of Michael you were able to help all of us. And we can find a way to break Michael's mind control. We just have to keep trying."

"But what if we can't? What if his influence is so strong I can't ever resist it? Rodney, I might never be free of him, not completely. And if I can't resist him, then I'm a bigger liability than asset. The SGC knows it; the IOA knows it; Mr. Woolsey knows it; even Colonel Sheppard knows it. That's why they're sending me back. It's why they may never let me return." Carson's voice was intense, his eyes hard and fierce as he tried to make his best friend understand.

"It's not what I want, Rodney. I want to stay. I just can't put anyone else in jeopardy." He stopped, surprised to find they had arrived at his room. He entered with a thought, picked up the duffel and turned expectantly to the physicist standing in the doorway.

"Come on; walk me to the gate room."

"This sucks." Rodney's words were barely audible over the background chatter of Atlantis and the ordinary business of living.

"Aye, that it does." Carson agreed.

They walked in silence, there was really nothing left to say, except goodbye and neither of them was willing to utter those words, not now. Not yet.

Rodney halted abruptly, a speculative look on his face. "I'll meet you in the gateroom in a few minutes Carson."

"Rodney?"

"Not now, a few minutes." Rodney tossed over his shoulder as he dashed down the wide corridor.

Carson watched him as he tapped his radio earpiece and spoke rapidly. He shrugged as his hyper kinetic friend zipped around the corner, amused by the waving hands in the one sided conversation. Some things never change. Carson smiled as he continued toward the gateroom. It was vintage McKay, wrapped in a problem and presented with an 'ah ha' solution. He hoped McKay would return to see him off. As he shifted the weight of the duffel to his left shoulder, Carson felt the weight of his earlier melancholy settle heavily on his shoulders. No sense putting off the inevitable, if you don't go, they're only going to think you are less trustworthy. Go prove to them that they still need you.

۞۞۞

Carson arrived at the gateroom, slightly out of breath and ten minutes late. He'd run into too many people intent on saying goodbye, and he hadn't wanted to be rude or rush his words. He paused before entering, and composed himself for what lay ahead. He sighed, regretful for all he hadn't said, and walked into the gateroom.

"Well it's about time you got here. Where have you been? Stopping on every balcony for another view of the city?" Rodney was in full snark as he juggled a backpack loaded with laptops and tablets and a large duffel stuffed to the bursting point with clothes, notes and bits and pieces of Ancient tech.

"It's only been ten minutes McKay." Dr. Keller's gentle voice chimed in. "You all ready to go Carson?" Keller's own bags waited by her side.

"Aye, as ready as ever I guess." He quirked an eyebrow at Rodney. "What's all this then?"

"Shore leave. I have some R&R time due, so I thought now's as good a time as any." Rodney shrugged nonchalantly.

Carson grinned. Maybe this trip back to the SGC wouldn't be so bad after all.

Mr. Woolsey walked up to them. "Good luck Dr. Beckett. Dr. Keller, take care of him. Dr. McKay, enjoy your R&R. I'll see you back here soon. And doctors, try to stay out of trouble." He nodded to Chuck, "dial it up."

The wormhole swooshed into existence and the small party stepped through and left Atlantis far behind.

۞۞۞