Part One

"Good morning, Miko. How are you today?"

She smiled shyly and bowed demurely out of habit. "I am fine. And you?"

"Peachy," said Colonel Sheppard impassively. "What brings you to the gateroom?"

"I have something to give to the Doctor."

"Ah, well, good. He'll be back in…" he peered at his watch. "Right now, as a matter of fact."

Colonel Sheppard smelled of soap and after-shave. He stood hands on hips beside her, watching the symbols lock and the circle fill with liquid energy. The gateroom glowed cool blue from the event horizon on one side and warmly, with mid-morning sunlight streaming through stained glass windows, on the other.

A ripple and Major Lorne was there, followed by another military fellow. Miko knew nothing about rank, except that officers relinquished their first names in exchange for titles. Major Lorne was "Major" when she addressed him, just as Doctor McKay was "Doctor." She could not imagine calling him Rodney, nor referring to Dr. Zelenka as Radek.

She was called Miko by most, not Dr. Kusanagi. Her colleagues were mostly men. Things were different for men, in the laboratory as anywhere else.

Last out of the pool was the Doctor, her Doctor McKay, his face crumpled and angry. He was like this a lot of the time. The physicist headed towards the Colonel, impatiently flicking his glare to the departing backs of Lorne and the others.

"Well, that was a big, fat waste of time. Technology up the wazoo but no one willing to share it."

"Look at it this way, McKay. Do you really want stuff that's been up somebody's wazoo? At least you weren't gone very long."

"Longer than I wanted to be. Got separated from the group for a little while and they're pretty ticked off about that. Like I'm going to end up dead or something if they miss me for a second."

He sighed impatiently. Miko was also familiar with this. Now that he had paused in his conversation, she approached.

"Doctor McKay?" She waited for him to acknowledge her, as her mother had taught.

McKay looked away from the Colonel, noticing his colleague.

"Yes, Miko, is there something you need me for right now, or can it wait?"

He was like that, always pushing her aside in one way or another. It didn't matter.

"I must do this now. It will take only a moment."

He placed his hands on his hips, mimicking the Colonel. This didn't matter, either.

"All right, I'm waiting. What."

"You will not understand. I am sorry."

Impatient, he crossed his arms over his chest. She became a little scared, then, because his arms had not been like that the times before.

"Sorry for… Just get on with it."

Miko's hands trembled. She always became overwhelmed and tearful each time she did it.

"I am sorry. You told me to do this…"

She reached into her day bag, the one she took everywhere, the one that held her snacks and tea bags and hand cream. The one that also held a 9mm Beretta. With a smooth, practiced motion, Miko clutched the gun, withdrew it from the day bag, aimed it at Dr. Rodney McKay's brilliant brain and pulled the trigger.

…..

The monitor blurred again.

Two days had passed since the…Incident. Radek Zelenka felt as if time had stopped. He thought he might be forever stuck in the moment when he heard someone calling over the city-wide for a med team to report to the gate room. Such announcements were not unusual; usually he ignored them, except when he knew one of his scientific colleagues was off world. If that were the case, he would stop working, finger his headset and ask the control room to report.

The last time this had happened, the day before the Incident, one of the techs had responded with a bored, "Van DerVeer sprained his ankle falling down the steps over here." And Zelenka had smirked and chuckled at the thought of Leo walking mile after mile on an unfamiliar planet, only to be felled once he was home again.

Two days ago, a breathless voice summoning medical assistance alerted him that this time something very bad had occurred. That was the moment that came back to him time and again, not the news itself or when he first laid eyes on McKay's inconsolable teammates, not even the sight of the gateroom when he'd gone there, with specks and spatters and pieces of his friend's head strewn about. Zelenka wanted more than anything to forget the gateroom, and, fortunately, other memories usually surfaced, as his mind took pity on itself.

At this moment, seated before his personal laptop, Zelenka attempted to write a fitting eulogy for Dr. Rodney McKay, his good friend and colleague. Given enough time and distance from this terrible tragedy, Radek felt he could come up with a tribute both respectful and humorous about one of the few people with whom he had felt truly connected.

The memorial was planned for the next day, though. Much too soon and far too painful touching raw nerves like that. Even if he composed something halfway adequate, Radek knew that he would still be too shaken to utter it.

And that was the point at which Radek stopped trying to write. He removed his glasses, placed his hands to his face and wept.

…..

Together they had constructed a brick wall. They were strong for each other and unwilling to let anyone else come inside of the barrier that they had erected.

Teyla Emmagan and Ronon Dex had been sparring when John Sheppard opened the gymnasium door and stood there, pale, blood-splattered and mute with shock. Carson had refused to allow them to see the remains, and they had stopped short, anyway, at the sight of Beckett's stricken face.

So they had left that place, walked a short distance and then embraced each other tightly, there, in the middle of the hallway. This was all that they could do, all that they had needed right then.

A few hours later, Sheppard had shown up at the armory asking for a P90. "Target practice," he'd said, and something in his eyes had made the day-shift Sergeant alert security. Lorne had stopped the Colonel as he'd attempted to remove the weapon from the firing range. In his rage, the Colonel had let loose until the mag was empty and the target shredded and lying in bits on the floor. Then he had thrown the rifle as far as it would go.

After she got her legs back up under her, Teyla decided where they needed to be. Sheppard had been brought up from the firing range bearing a fierce expression and two security guards, who hovered watchfully nearby. Ronon agreed with no discussion. It was settled.

Now it was two days later and they had not left McKay's quarters. Elizabeth had been calling for them over their headsets, pleading with them to let her into their fortress. Elizabeth was walking blindly down her own dark road. Teyla felt a little guilty, knew that they were being cruel.

"Colonel Sheppard." Elizabeth had given up asking politely. "John. Answer me!" she demanded.

The Colonel said nothing. Teyla wondered whether Dr. Weir would ever forgive them for this. She and the Colonel and Ronon sat on the floor of McKay's room, holding hands. The Athosian Funerary Rite lasted two days. The Colonel was very shy about touching people, especially other men. At first he had been unwilling to contribute to the Rite, but Ronon had become angry that his officer was behaving like a child. The Satedan had said that he would not take the chance that McKay's soul would never reach its final resting place. A couple of well-placed offensive maneuvers had convinced the Colonel to participate.

"We pray until sundown, rest, and then pray again from sunrise to sunset. That is the Athosian tradition." Teyla looked at her teammates, at her beloved friends. "Does this abide by the Satedan way?"

"Close enough," Ronon had replied.

Teyla raised her brows at the Colonel.

"Fine," he'd said.

Thus it had been for them since, sitting together, praying, taking breaks for water and sleep. When they were awake, they were together. When they slept, they curled up on McKay's bed, dreaming the prayers that Teyla had spoken, that Ronon had spoken, even the Lord's Prayer, which Sheppard had contributed. When one of them awoke crying, they touched and murmured until the room was quiet, again.

The wall that they built grew higher. When clarity asserted itself, Teyla worried that the wall would become so high that they would not be able to scale it and would remain forever locked inside of this barren place. She felt a sliver of relief fitting between the bricks and mortar when Elizabeth's voice zimmed through her headset on the morning of the third day.

"Colonel Sheppard, Teyla, Ronon. I am right outside the door. Open up this instant or Major Lorne will set some C4 charges and blow a hole in it."

Teyla marveled at the control in Elizabeth's voice. With a sigh, John looked up from the floor. He let go of Teyla's and Ronon's hands and unlocked the door with his will. It slid open silently to reveal Dr. Weir, Lorne and a couple of airmen. Only Elizabeth entered McKay's room. She looked around briefly, taking in the diplomas on the wall and the many things in there that McKay had owned and, perhaps, loved. Allowing her eyes to settle on the remaining members of her strongest team, she focused on the Colonel.

"She is asking for you."

Sheppard stood and faced her. "I have nothing to say to her and I don't care what she has to say to me."

"We have questions that need answers."

"She's not interested in answering questions."

"I want you to go to her. I am ordering…"

"Don't!"

He raised his hand in front of her face. Lorne stepped into the room, gripping his weapon a little tighter. Elizabeth inhaled sharply, frightened perhaps, not expecting John's scorn. Teyla couldn't tell. The two people that Atlantis needed most to be in agreement glared at each other in a battle of wills. Stubborn, pleading, speaking with gestures.

No one could get a point across as well as Elizabeth. She stood silently, letting John read her face. Teyla knew the Colonel could have looked away, but he was a fair man—fair when it came to Elizabeth, anyway—and he seemed to want to understand.

They remained still like this for a time. Finally, the Colonel's shoulders slumped in defeat. He approached Elizabeth and wrapped his arms around her, trying to feed her what his team had grown in their field of sorrows over the last two days. Teyla had seen Elizabeth cry one time. Well, almost cry anyway. This time no reserve of inner strength remained for the woman. She had had no one on which to lean, or else had denied herself the opportunity. No matter. She was leaning now.

…..

"I hope you gave her a lethal injection."

Carson Beckett looked up at Sheppard's approach. The doctor's haggard face tightened in response.

"That was bloody nasty, Colonel. Not that I'm surprised."

John said nothing. He had stopped giving a shit about a lot of things two days ago, among them Beckett's opinion of him. The doctor had been caring for Miko Kusanagi, giving her sedatives, checking her vital signs, trying to break through her relentless sobbing. Now Beckett stood just outside the door to the cell in which Miko was being held.

"I gave her another dose of Haldol. Maybe she'll get some sleep."

"Oh, she's tired? I can help with that, Doc. Seriously." He could almost feel the small woman's neck under his hands as he squeezed just a little tighter, a little tighter still. He had killed many people this way, men usually, enemies of one sort of another. It took more technical proficiency to strangle someone to death than an uninitiated person would think. Most times it needed to be done quickly. For Miko, though, he would have gladly dragged it out for as long as possible.

Beckett eyed John warily.

"She said she will talk only to you, but…" He looked at the military types who had accompanied the Colonel. "They will have to go in, as well. And I'll be right out here."

"You don't trust me?"

John expected Beckett to deck him and was actually disappointed to see the Scot shove his hands into the pockets of his starched, white lab coat. A fit example of self-restraint if ever one presented itself.

"This is not a good time to bring up trust, Colonel."

With a nod to the two airmen guarding the cell, the door was unlocked and John entered followed by the guards. Within the cell stood the Ancient enclosure, fortified with an invisible but impervious energy shield. Captured Wraith had stayed in the cell. On both of those occasions, the prisoners had died in that very room, in that very cage.

But Wraith were rather larger than Miko Kusanagi, and busier in their captivity. Miko sat on the floor, her face buried in her hands, rocking slowly back and forth. Sheppard circled the enclosure, watching this tiny woman, someone with whom he had rarely spoken, rarely even seen. Someone who had meant nothing to him until two days ago.

He came to stand in front of her, just beyond the security field. She made occasional hiccupping sounds, but was otherwise silent. He hated her more than he had ever hated anyone or anything in his life. He had hated Wraith with less passion.

"So. Talk." He would not offer so much as an extra word to her.

She continued to hide her face and move in her self-comforting rhythm. John knew she had heard him, that if she were willing to talk she would do so without further prompting. Still, each second with her was a moment in which he came closer to disarming the guards and using one of their P90s to blow her head to smithereens. But Elizabeth and he had come to a silent agreement. And Carson, God damn him and God bless his soul, had enough to deal with. They all did.

So he waited.

"The Doctor…" Miko's muffled voice bled between her fingers. "When he told me to, I said I wouldn't."

"Wouldn't what?"

"I couldn't. But he said…so I…I…"

John felt glad that Miko wasn't standing there making excuses, because that might have set him off. Carson was right not to trust him. He didn't even trust himself at this point.

Miko continued to rock and sob, rock and sob. Her stuttering devolved out of words into occasional vowel sounds all strung together. If she had a cogent thought, which Sheppard doubted, it wasn't going to come out until she was shitfaced with sedatives. Maybe not even then. Turning to leave, he nodded to the guards, who let their profound relief loosen their features as they reentered the hallway and locked the door behind them.

"Anything?" Carson inquired.

John shook his head. "Nothing. Totally incoherent."

"I'm sorry," the doctor intoned. "I thought she had pulled herself together. She insisted on speaking with you."

John leaned against the wall, felt the tingle typical of the city's response to him. He had gotten accustomed to it over the years.

"You are all right, Colonel?"

Surprised that the physician still cared, what with all of the attitude John had given him, he shook his head.

"I've got to get back to my team," he said, quietly. He craved their comfort, as if he couldn't live without it.

"Of course. I'll walk with you, if you don't mind."

John's back tensed, as if every vertebrae were fused. "My team and I are fine."

"Still, I'd like to talk to…"

"We are fine and you're beginning to really bother me." He pushed away from the wall and turned quickly, guarded and withdrawing even as he spoke.

"You're not fine! Nobody's bloody fine!"

John felt Carson's hand on his shoulder and resisted the urge to snap the man's arm into fifty inoperable pieces.

"Don't touch me," he seethed. "Don't talk to me. Don't pretend to care."

"But I do care. You understand that Dr. Kusanagi could not possibly have been herself when she…did that. Do you expect me to toss her into the sea?"

Sheppard had made some headway towards McKay's room, but Carson, throwing his own sense of self-preservation overboard, pursued him.

"She murdered him in front of you, John." Sheppard flinched at these words, but kept walking. "What am I going to do with you, as well?"

Some yards separated them, now. The doctor stopped and let Sheppard go, but his words echoed off the walls and the floor. Sheppard walked on until he reached Rodney's quarters. The door opened for him. Teyla and Ronon sat facing each other on the floor, eyes closed, holding hands. Ronon was speaking quietly. Without pause, John sat down with them. His teammates moved to accommodate him but did not wait for him to settle himself before continuing.

…..

It had happened like this three times before. Each time had brought the same cascade of overwhelming grief, the babbling that took constant effort to control, as all of the orderly synapses in her brain attempted to overcome the misfiring impulses that threatened to shut her down completely.

Now it was two days later. Miko had managed to speak a few words, which set her head and shoulders above the other times, when there had been nothing she could do but lie there, silent, catatonic until even Dr. Beckett grew tired of tending to her.

The Doctor, her Doctor McKay, had told her that it would always be one of the others. She would not be able to tell them apart. They would not know what was in store for them once they came through the gate. It was meant to be like this; the copies were not given memory chips. They would think they were real and thus behave in exactly the same manner as the real Doctor. Eventually the real one would arrive. That's when it would stop. Until then, she had to do it each and every time until all twelve were gone.

The third day had dawned. Only a few hours of this time remained. Then it would go back to before and they would all forget because it hadn't happened, yet. To them. To him.

She rocked back and forth. "Doctor, Doctor," she said, whispering so quietly that the audio surveillance equipment barely picked it up.

Her wristwatch ticked louder than the sound of his name from her lips.

…..

"Good morning, Miko. How are you today?"

"Fine, thank you, Dr. Weir."

It was the fifth time, now. She had hoped that it would become easier, but no, this time was going to be as hard as the first. Dr. Weir was standing off to the side, speaking with Teyla. They laughed about something as the wormhole engaged and the blue pool happened just like it always did. Then the Major came through, a different one from last time, and another man of rank. Then came Drs. Zelenka and McKay, resuming a discussion that had obviously begun on the planet.

"I am not saying that your numbers are wrong, Radek. I'm simply suggesting that you avoid assuming that your calculations are correct when doing mainframe work without having them checked by someone else. Like me. Or even Sheppard."

Dr. Zelenka responded good-naturedly. That was his greatest strength, aside from having a wonderful mind, his limitless capacity for happiness and his willingness to share it. Miko really loved this about him. She loved all of her co-workers and didn't want to hurt any of them. This time she made no attempt to hide her tears. It was going to happen again, right now.

"Doctor McKay, good day," she said, approaching him just as she had done four times before. "I am sorry."

He had a chance to look at her questioningly for a few seconds. That was all she allowed him because doing this wasn't getting any easier and speaking to him and seeing his face would make it harder still.

"I love you and I'm very sorry." Then she produced the gun from her day bag, pressed it to the Doctor's chest and shot a hole through his heart.

TBC