Entertaining Strangers
by Eildon Rhymer
Sheppard disappears on a mission, and is mourned as dead. But then he comes back. Friends become strangers, strangers become enemies, and Atlantis itself could fall, unless a group of people can recover what was lost.
This is an AU that kicks off from shortly after The Defiant One, in season one. I've listed Sheppard and McKay as the main characters, but this story will also feature pretty much everyone.
The story will be gen. Whump will almost certainly happen, since I like it. I've classed it T just to be on the safe side, since I don't want to be always worrying whether some action, injury or dark imagery goes too far for a K+ rating.
This is the first time I have ever posted a WIP in 11 years - to the day! Yay! - in fanfic. I have written many long stories in that time, but I always wait until they're finished before posting them. I just prefer it that way. However, it's just occurred to me to wonder how I can say that I prefer it when I've never tried the alternative. I'm new enough to this fandom that I think it will help me to post it this way. After all, if I make a crashing error in canon, I'd rather know about it early on, rather than when I've based 30 chapters on it. I'll finish this story even if no-one reads it at all, but I'm sure that reviews will urge me on my way. :-)
For those wary about reading WIPs, let me reassure you that, a, I always finish everything I start; b, I only ever work on one long story at a time; c, I write fast, especially when in the flush of a new fandom; and, d, I've actually already written (unedited, as yet) up to the end of chapter 5. I intend to keep that buffer for now - i.e. I'll post chapter 2 only when I've written chapter 6, and so on - but I can eat into it should any unexpected delay hit my writing, such as illness or a weekend away.
I expect this to be quite a long one.
Now, on with the show…
Chapter one: The fog and filthy air
He was all alone. Sheppard had abandoned him, and here he was, lost in the fog, all alone.
"It's your fault, Major!" Rodney shouted into the wreathing grey blankness. "I'm going to break an ankle, or… Oh no! I'm going to break my neck! I'm going to die! I'll blame you when I do."
It was the thickest fog he had ever seen, and it had come in so quickly. Everything around him had faded, and for a moment he had thought he was on the verge of passing out. It was the same sense of the world retreating, of the things around him drifting fainter and further away, then vanishing completely. Sheppard had been beside him when it started; he knew that. He had seen him as a solid figure in black that slowly turned slate grey, then became as indistinct as a wisp of smoke. Now he was gone. Rodney had shouted until his throat was hoarse, but no answer had come from the nothingness that this world had become.
He took another faltering step, then another, feeling for rocks that would trip him, and holes that would claim him. The sound of his own breathing seemed multiplied by the fog, as if invisible creatures hid in there and watched him. He wanted to run - to run as fast as he could, to find the others, to find his way back into the sun, where the world existed around him in all its beautiful and ugly solidity. But his legs refused to do so. His legs knew that he couldn't run, not when he couldn't see where he was going. His legs knew that to do so could be death.
"Major!" He tried again. He had a sudden flash of the three of them - Sheppard, Teyla and Ford - standing just out of reach, laughing at the terror of their stupid scientist. Oh, but it wasn't fair. How could they do this to him? "You're a soldier," he told Sheppard. "Aren't you trained for this? Wilderness survival and all that? You can't expect me to know things like that. I know about important things, and leave these things to grunts like you - things like not getting lost in the fog. Like not abandoning members of your team."
There was no answer. Rodney swallowed. Why was his mouth so dry when the fog was all around him, damp and repulsive? He decided to sit down - or maybe his legs just decided it for him, and deposited him on the ground. Cold moisture seeped through his clothes. "And now I'm going to get hypothermia," he grumbled, shouting it out for Sheppard to hear.
He brought up the life-sign detector up to his face. There was a strange comfort in seeing it. It showed that the world still existed, that he had not fallen into some nightmare world where nothing existed but grey. That was the only comfort. The device still showed nothing. There were no life signs on this planet - none at all.
He threw it away with a cry of frustration. Stupid Ancient technology. It was broken. It made mistakes. It lied. Of course they were there. They had come through the Gate on foot, all four of them together. Teyla and Ford had gone one way, and Rodney and Sheppard had gone the other, on standard reconnaissance of a non-hostile world. There had been no further contact from Teyla and Ford, and now Sheppard had left him. The life-sign detector was lying, and there was nothing on the radio but static.
"I'm going to wait here," he told the fog. "That's the right thing to do, isn't it? That's what Sheppard would tell me to do if he was… If he hadn't…" He moistened his lips, tasting the heavy dankness of the fog. "The fog's bound to lift soon. Yes, yes, of course it is - that's what fog does. And they'll find me…"
Teyla smiling, her brown eyes gentle. "We were looking for you, Doctor McKay." And Sheppard with his infuriating cocky smile. "Sitting there on your butt, McKay, while we do all the work?" And then he would scramble to his feet - so pleased to see them, so pleased, but of course he would never let it show - and hide himself in the checking of read-outs. "I see you skipped the chapter on fog in your army survival book, Major. Were the big words too hard for you?" And Sheppard would smile, and insult him back, and… and…
The fog coiled around him, thicker than ever. It brushed against his cheek like fingers. It pressed against his eyes and pushed against his throat. It was insects on his skin. It was the breath of an enemy. It was being surrounded, but blind. It was being lost. It was madness. It was screaming.
He was not alone. He was not alone.
There were shapes in the fog - swirling patches of darker grey, and coiling twists of white, like streamers. Something brushed over his brow, and he screamed, bringing his hands up to swat at it, but there was nothing there. The mist had claws, and it dug into his head, into his eyes, into his ears. The fog seeped in through his pores like poison, and took shape as monsters with huge talons, as the terrible finality of a Black Hole, as failure, as the death of a friend. It wrote itself as words, and…
No, no, I'm so scared. I was never meant to be here. Back in my lab - that's where I'm meant to be. Saving the world, solving things quicker than anyone else can solve them. Why am I here? Why did Sheppard choose me for his team? No-one ever chose me for their team. Why did I say yes? I'm dressed up like a soldier. I have a gun, for God's sake. Me with a gun! I'm not quick enough to defend them. What if they depend on me in a fight, and I can't do it? What if they all die because of me? What if the LSD is telling the truth and they're all dead, and I'm just sitting here? I can't… I can't…
He head slumped forward. His mouth was dry and his hands were trembling, but something felt different. Something had passed. He blinked slowly, and rubbed his eyes, digging his fingers in deeply as if he was scooping out dirt. The intensity of the fear left him feeling shaky, but it had passed as suddenly as it had come. He swallowed. It was my imagination, he told himself. Something had moved… Yes, that was it! Air currents had created an illusion of movement in the fog, and the rest had come from there. There was nothing to be afraid of. The fog would pass, and the others would find him, and that would be that.
"Like I was saying, Major," he called out, "I'm not impressed. Let's play abandon the scientist. Oh yes, very funny." His voice was weaker than he had expected, with an edge to it that was not like his own. It was as if the fog had lodged in his throat, and a trace of it would remain until the others found him and he was in the sun again. "How often do I have to tell you: it really isn't clever to make a scientist angry. We know things that you can't believe."
There was no answer. He let out a breath, shoulders slumping. Perhaps they were frantic about him, and were tearing the planet apart, trying to find him. Carson would be ready for him… Oh, yes, a nice warm bed in the infirmary, lots of soothing liquids, a warm blanket, and nurses… Yes, it would be his turn to fussed over by pretty nurses this time. He wouldn't let Sheppard anywhere near them.
"Soon would be nice, guys," he told the fog, as he settled down to wait. But he drew out his gun, and kept it ready beside him, just in case.
"Teyla!" Aiden shouted for the hundredth time. He tried his radio again. "Major?" His only reply was static. He was not given to flights of the imagination, but the sound from his radio sounded suddenly like the voice of the fog, grey all around him.
He fired his gun one-handed into the air, then cupped his other hand around his ear, listening for a response. Nothing. There were no voices. He could hear no sound of answering fire. No figure came out of the fog, slipping slowly from obscurity to the familiar shape of someone he knew.
He turned a full circle, still listening, then sat down stiffly. Sit and wait - that's what he had been trained to do. This fog had come down naturally, and would pass. If he tried to find the others, he would only end up losing them even further. The air was chilly, but not dangerously so, so there was no risk of hypothermia if he sat and did nothing. The planet was uninhabited, so there was no risk of enemy action, unless the Wraith came.
Sit and wait. He sighed, drumming his fingers against his knee. He was not made for inactivity. He was not made for solitude, either. At school, he had always been part of a large group of friends - often at the fringes of it, but never alone. He had joined the army in part because of the camaraderie it offered. The idea of fighting alone scared him.
"Teyla?" he called again, cupping his mouth with his hands. "Major?" The last was a long shot. He had been with Teyla when the fog had taken her from him, but Major Sheppard had been at least a mile away, moving in the opposite direction. Still, that didn't have to mean anything, not with a man such as Major Sheppard. "Major!"
There was no answer. He sighed again; tightened his grip on his gun, then loosened it; tightened it again, then loosened it.
What would Major Sheppard do?
This time the sigh was not his own. His head snapped up. "Hello?" The sigh came again. Just the wind. Though the air was still. Just the wind. And something brushed against his cheek, although the rest of his body was untouched. Just the wind.
What would Major Sheppard do? He wouldn't sit down so passively and wait for the fog to lift naturally. That was one of the first things Aiden had noticed about the man. The idea of sitting and doing nothing was intolerable to him. Right from the start, he had risked everything to save people who were little more than strangers to him. We don't leave anyone behind. He had said that to Aiden more than once. Sure, other officers had said much the same, but with Sheppard it was not just words. With Sheppard, it was part of him, as integral as the blood in his veins.
Aiden had taken orders from many officers since he had enlisted; Sheppard was like none of them. Most of the others had shouted. They had expected a stiff back and a salute, and they had demanded total obedience. Aiden had respected Colonel Sumner, and he had obeyed him, but he had never liked him. And then Sumner had died, and Aiden had found himself with a new commanding officer. Some of the men had resented Sheppard, he knew that. Perhaps some of them still did. Aiden never had. He had seen the steel that lay behind Sheppard's casual exterior. He knew that a man could still be in total command, even while never appearing to give an order.
What would Major Sheppard do?
The fog lurched, a dark shape uncoiling around him. He raised his gun and fired, but it still came at him. It was upon him, it was in him… It was sour in his throat, choking him. It was on his neck. It was on his neck! It was sucking the life from him; it was filling him with its foulness, pouring poison into him through its jaws.
The Major down, with a bug on his throat. And I shot at it, and the Major screamed - the Major screamed! - and it was my fault. And how can he sit there so quietly, afterwards? How can he stay in command, more concerned about us than about himself? I couldn't do it. If that bug was on my throat, I'd be screaming. I'd fall apart. I couldn't… I can't…
He brought his hands up, clawed at his throat, but there was nothing there. He gouged at his face with blunt fingers, scraped his hands through his hair. Cold moisture smeared on his palms. The fog shattered into a hundred images, each one hurting as if they were drawing blood.
He chose me for his team, but what if I'm not good enough? I stopped his heart, and couldn't get it to start again. If he dies, then I'm in command. There's no-one else to do it. I'm not old enough! I don't know enough! Please don't let him die. I'd rather die myself.
"No!" he screamed. He was on his feet, firing into the mist, screaming his fury, screaming his pain. "No!" And then he was panting, the deadened sound of gun-fire ringing in his ears. His body felt drained, and it was all he could do to remain standing.
"What happened there?" he said aloud.
The fear was still there, waiting like a wolf on the edge of well-lit village. Normally it came out at night, when he awoke to find the darkness tainted with the memories of past missions turned into catastrophes by the cruel imagination of his dreams. The unrelenting grey was very like the darkness of a nightmare, he realised. And now, as in the worst parts of the night, he was entirely alone.
When Teyla was seven years old, she had tagged along with some older boys and gone hunting in the mountains. A mist came down, as mists so often did, and she had become lost.
By the time the elders had found her, night had fallen, the darkness overlaying the grey. She had been wedged between two large boulders, squeezing herself into the gap for warmth. Her knees were shredded and full of dirt, and her ankle had been puffy and swollen. She was very scared, but they told her afterwards that she did not cry. The boys had cried, though, and one of them had seen thirteen summers and was almost a man grown! They had been twice rebuked - once for letting her come along, and once for losing her. And as for Teyla…
"I am disappointed in you," her father told her, taking her by both shoulders. "We sent out a party to find you. Do you know how difficult you made it for them by walking away? You should have stayed where you were. If you cannot reliably find the way home, find a safe place to wait, and stay there. I will find you, Teyla. I will always find you."
And now her father was gone, but the message was the same. Stay where you are, and we will find you.
She had no idea how long it had been. She held the gun in her hands - the unfamiliar gun that still felt alien to her, although she knew she had become proficient in its use. She was more comfortable with her sticks, but this was her choice. She had chosen to leave her people, and such a decision had to have consequences. She could not make such a decision and refuse to accept all those things that came with it. She wore alien clothes, used alien weapons, and lived in a room by herself in the City of the Ancestors. She spent her time with people from another world.
No, not people. Friends. She remembered Major Sheppard's first words to her, not so long ago. She would never have left her people for anything less than friendship. Even if he had begged her, she would not have bowed to the command of Colonel Sumner. Had Elizabeth asked her to stay in Atlantis to supply the expedition with local knowledge, she would have considered saying yes, but Elizabeth had not done so. Instead, John had asked her to join his team. He had looked past her size and her sex, and had deemed her to be someone he would trust to guard his back in a fight. Many people on Atlantis still did not trust her, but he had trusted her from the start.
We will find you.
She had shouted for Aiden, and shouted, too, for John and Doctor McKay. There had been no answer, but she knew from experience that fog could deaden sounds. She had no fear.
She settled down on the ground, crossing her legs and laying her hands on her knees. The greyness of the fog was oppressive, and she knew that the mind could conjure up terrifying images to fill the blankness. She closed her eyes, then, and sought the known, familiar images that always gave her comfort, that helped her find her way when the path ahead was unclear.
The old images came first: her father and mother; Charrin; Halling; the smiling faces of the children. Then came the newer images, vivid with their freshness, yet somehow unformed, for they spoke of friendships that were only in their infancy. She saw John and Aiden, lighting the way through the fog with some artefact of the Ancestors. She saw them relaxing over dinner, when everything was over. She saw herself fighting side by side with them, and saw the quick flash of a smile of a comrade whose life she had saved.
They will find me, she thought, or the fog will lift, and I will find them. It did not seem to matter which one came to pass. As a young woman, she had been fierce to show herself the equal of the boys, and furious at the thought that any of them had to rescue her. Now it no longer seemed to matter. When you were in a team, you helped each other - it was as simple as that. That was trust. That was friendship.
That was right.
Sheppard knew that he was not doing the correct thing, but he didn't care about it in the slightest. "I guess I'm just not a guy to follow orders," he told the fog. In this case, the orders came from a battered copy of an old survival manual, and the red-faced sergeant who had screamed at him when he was seventeen. Since there was no immediate danger from snow, ice or hostiles, he was supposed to stay where he was and wait for visibility to improve.
He told the fog in no uncertain terms his opinion on that matter.
The fog had come in impossibly fast, descending from a clear sky. One moment he had been trudging alongside Rodney, bickering about… - what had they been bickering about? He had to remember before he found McKay, so he could prepare the comeback that would win the debate once and for all, and reduce Rodney to a defeated silence. John 1, Rodney nil. Then, afterwards, he could gloat.
He shook his head, angry with himself. This was not a hostile situation, not yet, but something felt wrong about it. Perhaps his team was not in danger, but they were missing, and he didn't like that. He didn't like losing people.
The fog was almost certainly natural, but they were in the Pegasus Galaxy, where the obvious answer seldom applied. This was the sort of place where over-sized mutant bug creatures sucked the life out of people with their hands, for God's sake. Fog could hide any manner of threat. They had already encountered sentient beings who lived in mist. "If you're here, uh… fog-creatures, now would be a good time to reveal yourselves." It didn't work. He cursed under his breath. Damn. From now on, he'd leave all the first contact talky stuff to Teyla. He'd just fly things and shoot things and be as silent as the grave.
If he got them back. He pressed his lips together, and walked on. It was irrational, he knew, this desperate desire to make sure that they were okay. Teams stayed together. Yes, he'd split them up, but Rodney had assured him that there were no life signs at all. "Are you implying that I can't read what's right in front of me, Major?" Rodney had grumbled, when Sheppard had pushed. "Or are you deaf? There's. Nothing. Here. Oh, I'm sorry! Were you hoping to get a shiny new enemy to blow up?"
Sheppard had thought of the Wraith who had killed Gall and Abrams just weeks before, but he had refrained from saying anything. There were some things that you did not say, not even to someone as annoying as McKay. It was better to show his trust in Rodney - show that he didn't blame him - by taking him at his word. Split the team, stroll along in the sunshine talking about nothing much at all…
Then the fog had come. Rodney had been beside him one minute, bickering in his strident, familiar voice, and then the sound had faded and he had gone. It was as if the fog had eaten him. Hefting his gun, Sheppard had strained to hear the sound of Wraith darts, but had found none. He had called Rodney's name - called it again and again - but no answer had come. His radio was silent. No-one came when he fired his P90 into the air.
"McKay!" He tried again. "Ford! Answer me, lieutenant." Nothing. "Teyla!"
Perhaps he was moving away from them. He didn't care. If he had always done the sensible things in life, he wouldn't be here, in a distant galaxy far from home, on Atlantis. He had never been one to sit and do nothing when there was something to be done. The correct course of action? Screw that! He would do the right course of action, and to hell with the consequences.
What if they're all dead already?
The thought hit him with the force of a physical blow. It was external; he was sure of it. The fog wreathed around him, like creepers entangling his legs, and he fell, catching himself on one hand and one knee.
All dead, because you weren't quick enough. You were too busy trying to score points off McKay, and you didn't see the danger. He's not supposed to see the danger, but that's your job. A soldier protects civilians and a leader protects his team. You allowed yourself to get distracted, and the enemy came and took him. It took them all, and you…
"No." He forced it out through gritted teeth, and pushed himself to his feet. You couldn't think things like that, not out in the field. Out in the field, you did what you had to do. Any regret, any guilt, any doubt, and you made mistakes. Focus. Focus. The rest could come afterwards. The rest always did come afterwards, but only when you were back in your room and alone, and you could hide it all with a smile in the morning.
He fired his P90 into the fog. "I don't know who you are," he shouted, "but I know you're there. This is just to show you that I'm dangerous. If you're hurt my people…"
The mist coiled fingers round his throat, through his hair, down his sides. Pain stabbed in his brow. The fog turned yellow. Its soft dampness turned coarse and scratchy. He was in the parching desert, sand scouring his face, and Holland…
Another one who died because I couldn't save him. Another one dead, and now… and now…
"No!" This time he snarled it. He brought his hand to his brow, as if he could rip out the thoughts with brute force. No. No. He locked them up inside a box and pushed them far, far away. It was an old, familiar action. He had practice at this. He did it every day, every week, every month… "And I'm not going to stop moving," he told the fog, keeping his P90 in a ready position.
Something in the mist seemed to sigh. A streamer of grey brushed against his cheek, but this time it felt soft.
He swatted it away, but his fingers encountered nothing. Stepping as boldly as he could, he carried on walking.
It was only chance that saved him. Something caused him to falter between one step and the next. Perhaps the fog eased for a tiny moment, telling him see what lay ahead. He snatched his foot back from the void, and threw himself backwards. He landed heavily on the uneven ground, and something twisted painfully in his side. His hand scraped against the jagged stones, and he felt them drawing blood.
He cursed, and scrambled further away from the cliff edge. Stupid, John, he berated himself. Self-righteously setting out to rescue his team, only to almost fall off a cliff. That's why you should stay where you are until visibility improves, said his old sergeant and the battered manual. Rodney would say the same, he thought, and smugly.
Not that it would stop him. He'd just have to be a bit more careful. He sat up, wincing at the pain in his side.
That was when he saw her. At first he thought she was an illusion wrought from the mist, for her face was pale and her clothes were silver and her dark hair rippled in the air like tendrils of smoke. Then she came forward, like a photograph sharpening into focus, and the mist parted to let her through. He saw the sudden ending of the rocky ground, where it fell away into nothingness only feet away from him. He saw the smear of blood that marked the pale brown stones where he had fallen. He saw her feet, wearing soft shoes that shone and rippled like the scales of a fish. He saw the soft fabric of her skirts, like woven cobwebs.
And then he saw her face.
All breath was snatched from his body. All thoughts stopped. The world hung suspended between one blink of the eye and the next. He did not want to look away. He could not look away.
"I have chosen you." Her voice was everything beautiful that had ever existed in all the worlds. "You will come with me."
Yes, he thought. Yes. But there was something - something tickling in the back of his mind. An infuriating scientist. A young man, so eager to prove himself. A woman, less beautiful than this one, but more lovely, because she smiled. His team. His team. And the thing that had brought him here, brought him stubbornly marching through the fog right to the edge of a cliff. No, he thought, thought that denial resisted, and he had to pull it forth with hooks. No, I don't want to.
"It is a long time since mortals have approached my domain," she said. Her face was as beautiful as a dream, but her eyes were ice. "The female was of no interest to me. The two males I tested, but they were weaker than you. But you, Major John Sheppard… You were the only one who kept on walking. I like a mortal who has strength."
Words were still hard to summon; his body didn't want to respond to his commands. "Then you should know…" he forced out, "that I don't… don't respond well… to orders."
"I will not be refused. You will come with me. I will give you everything a man can desire." She leant forward, caressing his face with a soft hand. The scent of her filled his nostrils, flooding him with desire. Her thumb lingered on his lips, the tip of it dipping into his mouth. "Everything," she purred.
Yes! his body cried out. Yes! It was one of the hardest things he had ever done, to drag himself the fraction of an inch backwards that broke the contact. Thoughts were sluggish; words even more so. "Call me contrary," he rasped, "but when a beautiful woman comes on to me out of the blue, I tend to… question her… motives."
She snatched her hand back. The ice of her eyes began to spread across her face. The smooth gossamer of her dress turned harsh and brittle, like steel. "I can give you power," she said coldly.
"Sorry. Don't want." It was easier now. He thought of McKay at his most irritating, and thought of Teyla's quiet strength and Elizabeth's resolve. If he clung to those, he would not see her terrible beauty. "I've got more than I ever expected to have, and it's more than enough for me."
Her silver shoes were blades. Her hair was shards of obsidian. "I can give you more knowledge than any mortal was meant to know."
He shook his head. "Nope. I'll leave that to McKay."
She took a step back. A long-forgotten memory came suddenly to his mind - a story his teacher had told, that had grabbed him all unexpectedly. Three times is the charm. Deny three times, stand firm three times, and they cannot touch you.
Another step back, and another. She was almost part of the mist again, almost gone. Slowly he dared to unclench the fist that he could not remember clenching.
And then, cold and casual, and barely there at all, she spoke. "I have always taken them willing, but it does not have to be that way." Her eyes and mouth were cruel slashes in the deadly fog. Her voice was a knife to the heart. "I will take you unwilling. Better for you that you had accepted me, John Sheppard. Better by far that you had not denied me."
He snatched at his gun, but he was late, far too late. Screaming greyness surged around him, and then there was nothing at all.
End of chapter one
