A/N: Written for the 2009 SGA Big Bang Challenge. x_posted to LJ and to the SGA Big Bang. Note: the full story is written, but transforming it into something ffnet filters won't wreck may take a couple of days.
Warnings: Violence, deaths. This is a sci-fi war story, not a woobie fic.
The incoming wormhole klaxon blared through the Atlantis gate room. Instantly, the gate techs leaped into motion, fingers flying over the Ancient consoles as they checked for an IDC or potentially other signals. Team Six was out, and though they weren't due to call in yet it was possible they were coming in early. Woolsey strolled out of his office to lean on the railing overlooking the gate room.
"Unscheduled off world activation!" Chuck announced.
"Thank you, Mr Campbell. I see that," Woolsey said calmly. "Are they broadcasting an IDC?"
When there was no response, he turned to stare at the Canadian gate tech. "Mr. Campbell?"
Chuck was white faced and staring. "Y-yes," he stuttered, more shaken than Woolsey had ever seen him. "There is." He turned wide eyes towards the gate. "It's Major Lorne, sir!"
At the announcement, all of the personnel on duty froze in place. One of the Marines stationed at the foot of the steps lifted his hand to his radio, tapping it three times in quick succession.
Woolsey straightened, tugging a little on his expedition jacket. The strain around his eyes showed his fight to keep whatever he was feeling off his face. "Very well," he said slowly. "Notify Colonel Sheppard." He gave a quick glance at the Marine who had tapped his radio, and the man looked away, vaguely shamefaced. "Additional guards to the gate room, please." Two full squads flooded in through the lower level doors, taking up protective positions around the gate. "Mr. Campbell, lower the iris and let Major Lorne know we're waiting for him."
John burst into the gate room at a full run, skidding to a halt just inside the doors and barely before he would have bowled over one of his Marines. They were positioned in a semi-circle around the gate, spread out just enough to ensure full coverage of the wormhole while avoiding the potential for a friendly crossfire that could take them all out. A small part of his mind approved; the greater part by far was holding his breath waiting for Lorne and his team to step through the gate.
Eight months late for check-in.
The iris flicked out, and they heard the distinctive deep sound signifying something coming through.
John gritted his teeth, focussing intently on the gate. Teyla's hand on his arm startled him badly, but he managed to bring himself back to stillness before his reflex to strike out got away from him. He glanced down at her to see the same intensity he felt echoed on her face, and on Ronon's when he appeared over Teyla's shoulder an instant later. A movement on the steps caught his eye and he saw Zelenka start to plunge down them, only to be stopped by Sergeant Georges' hand on his arm. A look up showed him Woolsey, self-contained as always, calm and collected at the railing. Only the white-knuckles of his grasp on the metal showed that he felt something entirely different.
The first Marine stepped out of the gate; Sergeant Jarvath. He stopped at the sight of all the guns levelled at him, then stepped precisely to the side to clear the gate and dropped to his knees. He lifted his hands to his head in a gesture so smooth it had the echo of much practice. He carried no visible weapons. John's gut lurched.
Jarvath's shoulders sagged in what looked like exhaustion. His face was grey, but clean-shaven. John saw the glint of silver at his wrist, almost hidden by the cuff of his long-sleeved black BDU shirt. His attention was diverted by the next arrival.
Lieutenant Dorovici was next. She too stopped at the sight of the guns, moved behind Jarvath, and knelt gracefully. She looked as fatigued as Jarvath, her clothes similarly rumpled. Her dark hair had been cut short, and her cheekbones stood out starkly under her dark skin. She wore her shirtsleeves rolled up, and a heavy, wide metal bracelet encircled her left wrist. The light rippled strangely across it, making John's eyes skitter away. It was like it didn't want to be seen.
Lorne stepped out of the gate.
The gate room was completely silent as he looked around carefully, nodding at the soldiers pointing their weapons at him. He glanced at Jarvath and Dorovici, who were staring straight ahead, stared again around the room as if drinking it all in. His eyes fell on John, and a broad smile crossed his face. "Colonel Sheppard," he said softly, "It's really good to see you, sir."
John eased his way around the Marine in front of him, careful not to step into the line of fire. "Hey, Lorne," he said carefully. "It's been a long time." He ran his eyes over Lorne closely, noting the clean BDUs and the same signs of exhaustion as the other two.
The smile left Lorne's eyes and his face hardened. "Yes, sir. It has." He gestured at the Marines. "I know it won't matter, but this is unnecessary."
"It's good to see you, Major," Woolsey spoke from the upper railing. As Lorne tilted his head back to look at him, John saw silver around his wrist. His gut was all out churning now. "I know you appreciate our need for caution."
"Of course." Lorne nodded.
"I must also ask, Major," Woolsey paused as if to find a tactful way of putting his question, then continued delicately. "Where is the rest of your team?"
"And Doctor McKay," Teyla interrupted. "Evan, please… Where is Rodney?"
Lorne's face tightened into a blank mask. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. His lips compressed. "They're fine," he finally said expressionlessly. "Doctor McKay…" He stopped, his head cocked to the side as if he were listening to a radio. John checked, but both of Lorne's ears were empty of devices. As one, Lorne and his team turned their heads to look at the gate.
The low burble of wormhole travel came again. The Marines, who had relaxed ever so slightly, snapped back into full attention, barrels trained unwaveringly on the gate. John felt the muscles in his back tighten into hard balls of tension under his tac vest. He couldn't even have said what made him put it on in the city today.
Rodney stepped out of the gate.
It whooshed out of existence behind him.
"Ah," he said. "Atlantis."
***
Lorne loved taking his team through the gate.
There was absolutely nothing like it, that thrill of stepping into the unknown. Even when they were heading to a planet they'd been to plenty of times, walking into an active gate was still like jumping off a cliff into treacherous waters.
He loved leading a team. He could understand why General O'Neill still struggled, and he couldn't imagine giving it up himself. His team was family in a way that his real family never was, despite how close he'd been to his mom.
He loved Atlantis. Being in the city made him itch to paint, and it was the kind of home where he could indulge himself and no one would care.
He loved the look of the gate, the way that the silver and blue rippled like water on a struck drum. The way it sounded; the faint barely noticeable vibration surrounding it that ran over his skin like electrified silk. It made the hair stand up on his arms and turned gate travel into something like foreplay. He could always tell the people who felt that little tingle from the ones who didn't. The ones who felt it would hover near the gate, usually on the verge of just too close. They'd use excuses to approach it when it was live, and they'd volunteer for off world whenever they could.
The ones who didn't feel it viewed the gate as either an artefact or a chore, or something to be feared. His very first trip with Doctor Zelenka he knew the man had zero feel for the gate, or possibly even a negative one.
Today's mission was somewhere in between the unknown and the comfortable. A trip to a planet that had advanced to basic flight, only maybe thirty years behind Earth's level of technology. The planet was on the very edge of Pegasus, to the point that their sky was largely barren of stars for half the night. Lorne tried to imagine being positioned right on the edge of the void, wondered how that would shape the culture of the people who lived there. Would they chase the stars all the harder, or would they huddle in fear against the darkness?
This was Lorne and Team Two's first time to Akarym, though Team Six had surveyed it pretty thoroughly and had set up the first trading agreements. This was a straightforward follow up, technology trading at their level.
Lorne checked the buckles on Lieutenant Dorovici's vest and gave her a thumbs-up and a smile. She grinned back then ran competent hands over his before tightening one pointedly. She turned away to check on Parrish and Sergeant Jarvath, slim straight shoulders making him long for his paintbrush.
"Rodney, are you sure…" Colonel Sheppard hobbled into view beside McKay, trying to check him over as McKay half-jogged for the gate platform. The cast encasing Sheppard's left leg from knee to toes hampered him but he still managed to make good speed. Lorne scratched his chin and turned away to hide his grimace, half humour and half resignation.
He liked Doctor McKay, he did, but the man was still a lot more tolerable with the rest of his team around to act as a buffer. Unfortunately for everyone involved, this time he was joining Lorne, and the rest of SGA-1 was staying behind.
"This place is on the very edge of intergalactic space, Sheppard. Of course I'm going," McKay declared. "Or have you forgotten the 'astro' part of 'astro-physicist'?"
"This place will still be there in six weeks," Sheppard shot back.
"Ha!" McKay checked his vest rapidly, likely counting his power bars. Sheppard swatted his hands away and started to check him over himself, carefully going through each pocket and verifying nothing was missed. McKay let him and started double checking his back pack and tablet.
Now, McKay was a strange one. Lorne would have thought he would be someone who hated the gate, but instead he'd developed an addiction for off world that easily equalled any Lorne had seen. He also hid it the best of anyone Lorne had met.
But Lorne always knew who loved the gate.
Sheppard had insisted on two extra squads for additional support on the mission, declaring loudly that McKay was a walking trouble magnet and that the additional guns were just a smart precaution. The two teams were Kilo and Bravo, both fully experienced teams who also happened to have the best marksmanship scores of any group other than the first-years.
Kilo was the top team, led by Lieutenant Martin. Martin was a good man to have at your back, solid and absolutely loyal. He was also easy to pick out of a group, his pale skin prone to practically glowing in the dark and his thick shock of auburn hair habitually messy enough to give the Colonel's serious competition for least-military. He was standing by the side of the gate, waiting patiently for the stragglers to arrive. Beside him stood Sergeant Keely Jessop. Her height, rich dark hair and deep brown eyes had come in useful on many missions, where simply putting her in the path of the male leaders could lead to a favourable trade agreement. The fact that she was possibly the deadliest knife fighter Lorne had ever seen was a bonus.
Kilo was rounded out by Sergeant Hyram Juliard, a short dark haired, dark eyed, suave Creole with a Louisiana drawl and an incredible facility for poker, and Corporal Nick Julian, Kilo's medic. Julian had a quick wit and a crooked smile, that combined with green eyes, dark hair and a slim face to make him a very popular man with the women of Atlantis – and everywhere else Lorne had ever seen him.
The second team was Bravo, one of the few teams comprised of five members. It was led by Captain Vesna Terovic, a petite redheaded dynamo who knit in her spare time, barely came up to Lorne's shoulder, and could kick his ass twice a day without breaking a sweat. Perhaps to make up for her diminutive size, she had two of the largest marines in Atlantis on her team. Sergeant Blaine was more a black haired, brown eyed, dark-skinned mountain than a man, and was the only person Lorne could ever remember making Ronon look small. Sergeant Georges was only a few inches shorter, but where Blaine was built like a barrel Georges was built like a sprinter. Together they looked a little like a before and after shot of a steroids ad.
Corporal Elena Kristova, whose tiny stature, blond hair and blue eyes made her look like she should be cheerleading at a high-school football game but who was one of Atlantis' top explosives experts. jogged into the gate room and up to the gate platform. She was followed by Corporal Rafael Ophelio. Like with Dorovici, every time Lorne saw Ophelio it made him want to pick up his paintbrush. Possibly the best medic in the Atlantis marine contingent, Ophelio looked like he should be on the pages of some fantasy magazine, 'Latin Lovers R Us' maybe. If he'd known his effect or played to it the way Julian did, Lorne was pretty sure someone would have killed him by now, but Lorne had never met anyone less aware of his looks.
Lorne nodded at Lieutenant Dorovici, who trotted over to double check their equipment and readiness. He understood why Sheppard would insist on extra support when McKay was heading out with them, and he didn't mind the help. He just wished that McKay had simply waited until the rest of his team could join him before remembering the 'astro' in his degree. Dorovici finished her check and gave him the thumbs-up, which he turned and passed on to Chuck.
Chuck lifted a hand in acknowledgement and stated out loud for Mr. Woolsey's benefit, "All ready, sir."
"Ok, team, ready positions," Lorne said loudly to cut through the usual soft chatter. Immediately the teams marshalled up into loose groups of four, plus Doctor McKay near the middle. McKay hurriedly stuck his life signs detector cum energy signature analyser to his vest. Lorne couldn't help the smile that crossed his face as he remembered the argument over naming it. For his own part, he had fifty bucks on them settling on 'Tricorder'. It was what he called it in his own head already. He'd gotten his team calling it that too. It was just a matter of time before McKay caved.
He glanced up at Woolsey, wondering at the delay. Normally the gate would be dialled pretty much instantly on the ready signal. Woolsey's eyes were on Sheppard, who hadn't cleared the gate platform yet. When Ronon jogged into the room, holstering his energy pistol, Lorne understood.
"Oh, come on," McKay glared at Sheppard, who looked utterly unrepentant. "What's he doing here?"
"Coming with you," Ronon said blandly. He reached out and grabbed McKay by one shoulder of his tac vest, bodily turning him around. "Gate's that way," he said helpfully. Someone snickered, and Lorne grinned right up to the point that McKay saw him. Quickly he swallowed it. Sheppard clapped Ronon on the back and flipped his hand at Chuck, who quickly dialled. "Good luck," he said.
"Ha! They don't need 'luck'," McKay shot back. "They've got me!"
The wormhole whooshed into existence. Lorne felt the familiar tingle start playing over his skin, caressing him like a familiar lover. Damn, it felt good.
He lifted his gun and led the way into this iteration of the unknown.
***
"That is not McKay," Ronon stated flatly in John's ear. Looking at the man who had walked through the gate, John could only agree.
Oh, he looked like Rodney, albeit dressed in a way that John could never have imagined until now. A long flowing robe like a burnoose covered him from shoulders to toes. The light sand colour reminded John uncomfortably of the uniforms worn by the Ancients on the Aurora. A blue mantle was draped over the robe, and the fabric shimmered slightly in the bright lights. The blue was good for Rodney's eyes, John noted absently before the man craned his neck to look up at the ceiling of the gate room and John was reminded again that this was not him.
Jarvath and Dorovici remained on their knees to the side of the gate, still except for their heads turning in unison to watch the man wearing Rodney's face stroll around the platform and their eyes flicking nervously to the marines covering them all with their P-90s. Lorne had taken in John's consternation, and that of the Marines, and hurried over to the fake Rodney's side to shield him from the weapons. John noted he was careful not to touch the other man, though.
The fake Rodney's gaze fell on John, and he tilted his head. "Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard," he said, and if John had any remaining doubts of who the man wasn't, they were gone. This man spoke coolly, emotionlessly; with a lack of vivacity that Rodney McKay was simply incapable of. Christ, Rodney talked in his sleep with more verve than this guy showed.
Which wasn't to say that the man was robotic or dull. In fact, he radiated a kind of cold tension that John had no idea how to relate to.
Lorne nodded at the fake Rodney. "And Mr. Woolsey, above us at the railing," he said.
Woolsey looked faintly ill, but gathered himself together enough to speak. His voice grew stronger as he talked, apparently finding strength in the familiar patter of diplomacy. "Yes, I'm Richard Woolsey," he said. "And how…" He coughed a little into his fist but recovered. "How shall I refer to you?"
"You may call me McKay," the fake Rodney suggested matter-of-factly.
Lorne winced. Ronon shifted angrily at John's back, and he felt Teyla's fingers dig into his forearm painfully. To restrain him, or herself, John couldn't say.
"Yeah," he found himself saying over the roaring in his ears. "No, I really don't think we can."
The fake Rodney tilted his head, a faint look of confusion crossing his face.
"I too would prefer you choose another name," Woolsey interjected smoothly, bringing the fake Rodney's attention back to him.
The fake Rodney looked at Lorne, who took a deep breath and said, "You can call him Simon."
Simon frowned. "That is informal," he said flatly. "We have not reached a point where informality is warranted."
"It is informal," Lorne agreed. "But calling you McKay would cause confusion."
"Very well," Simon returned to his examination of the gate platform, ignoring all of them.
John shook his head, the sense of unreality that had dropped over him the instant he realised that Simon wasn't Rodney still shrouding him. He had the feeling that he didn't really want that sensation to go away, that it might be the only thing keeping him from completely losing it and attacking this imposter with his bare hands. The fact that Teyla's grip hadn't eased and Ronon was shifting his weight behind them just reinforced that feeling.
Sergeant Jarvath swayed on his knees, his eyes fluttering closed before he forced them back open. His hands remained on his head, but his face had paled even further.
"Mr. Woolsey," Lorne called up, his eyes on Jarvath and Dorovici. "My team requires medical treatment."
Woolsey started a little, brought back from his fascinated appraisal of Simon. "Of course, Major." He waved, and Chuck opened the sealed doors to the corridor leading to the infirmary. "We'll provide a guard to escort them and to ensure their safety."
Lorne nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up in a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I understand," he said calmly. A couple of the Marines climbed the steps, sliding their P-90s down into 'safe' positions as they did so.
"If you wish them to be truly secure, you should remove your loose weapons," Simon spoke up, never looking away from his close examination of the gate. He was running his fingers lightly over the designs etched into the metal. "Theoretically, Sergeant Jarvath and Lieutenant Dorovici could easily take possession of your P-90s and spray the room, killing many including Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard and Mr. Woolsey." He moved over to the opposite side of the gate, fingers never ceasing their careful tracing.
Lorne bit his lip.
The two Marines froze, staring at Simon blankly. John stared too, the unease in his stomach now a constant churn of acid.
Woolsey coughed.
The two Marines quickly stripped off their P-90s and checked the holsters of their side arms, handing off their weapons to their waiting team mates. They were joined by two more, who were taking the potential threat a lot more seriously now, John noted. Jarvath and Dorovici were assisted to their feet and cautiously led from the gate room. A quick look to his left showed Ronon with his pistol in his hand, and a nod had the big man following the group to the infirmary.
"They aren't a threat," Lorne said tiredly. "Just treat them carefully, please."
"Define 'carefully'," John demanded. Somehow he managed to keep the anger out of his voice. Lorne knew it was there, though.
"Carefully," he repeated. "They've been through a lot. They're tired, they're hurt and they need to be treated… carefully."
Woolsey nodded and tapped his radio earpiece, speaking softly into it. John reached up to find he'd lost his somewhere on the mad race to the gate. He took a moment to wonder how Keller was taking the news of Lorne's return. A new warm presence at his side had him looking down, and Zelenka pressed a radio into his hand.
"This is very strange, is it not?" He muttered with his eyes on Simon, who had moved on to the wall behind the gate. Lorne remained close by the other man's side, staying carefully between him and the guns that were still trained their way.
"No fucking kidding," John growled back, twisting the radio over his ear.
"- they could be in a fragile state," he heard Woolsey say. "Please use caution."
"I understand." Keller's voice replied. She sounded shaken. "What about Major Lorne? And the. . . visitor?"
"Major Lorne. Do you also require medical assistance?" Woolsey asked.
Lorne hesitated then bit his lip again. It was a completely new mannerism and it kept throwing John to see him do it. "No," he finally said.
An ear-splitting scream sounded over the radio, followed by the clear sounds of a struggle. More screaming had the Marines in the gate room brandishing their weapons threateningly. John tapped his radio and demanded a status.
"It's the patients!" Keller shouted back over the fracas. "They're completely losing it!"
"Damn it!" Lorne looked between the door and Simon, clearly torn. "Sim-"
"You may go, Lorne. I will remain here peacefully," Simon told him without interrupting his examination of the lowest level of Ancient stained glass. "They clearly require reassurance." He looked up suddenly, catching Lorne in a piercing gaze. "I don't believe the Atlantis personnel took proper care in their treatment of the team, Lorne. They are very distressed."
Lorne paled and turned beseechingly to John. "Let me go down to the infirmary and deal with this, Colonel. Whatever guards you feel necessary. This could really get out of hand."
A loud crash over the radio made John wince as it echoed in his ear. "I think it's already there," he said, but waved at Lorne to go. One of the Marine squads followed the Major as he headed out of the gate room at a fast trot, heading for the infirmary.
Simon's eyes turned to John, gazing at him intently for a long moment before he blinked and returned to his petting the glass. Less than a minute later, John heard Lorne's voice in soothing mode through Keller's radio, and the hubbub from the infirmary subsided. Woolsey edged his way to Chuck and began speaking to him quietly; likely asking him to run whatever scans could be done from the control consoles. John saw Chuck shrug, but his hands started moving across the console.
"I would very much," said Zelenka from his side, with the exaggerated calm of the extremely freaked out, "like to know what is going on here."
Simon crouched to study the join where the gate met the floor. He ran a finger along the seam, humming slightly under his breath.
"Me too," John admitted unhappily. "Cause that is just creepy."
Teyla stepped onto the platform, gently pushing aside Corporal Hyran's P-90. "Excuse me," she said politely. Simon stopped and turned his head to face her squarely.
"For what?" He asked.
Teyla gave him a careful smile. "It is a phrase to denote an apology for interrupting, and a request for attention."
"Very well." Simon waited, still crouched.
"Do you bring word of Doctor McKay, Simon?"
John could feel the entire room hold its breath, waiting for Simon's response.
"I do not," Simon replied.
Teyla blinked. "Very well," she said slowly. Taking it as a confirmation that their brief conversation was complete, Simon re-focussed on the gate. Teyla stepped back to John's side, her eyes wide.
"Yeah," John replied to her silence. "I know."
"It is disorienting," she told him softly. "He looks so like Rodn-"
Simon's head came up, turning smoothly to face towards the infirmary. He stood, suddenly radiating cold menace. The Marines edged forward in unison, muzzles snapped back to attention. Teyla broke off what she'd been about to say and stepped back reflexively, pressing against John's arm.
The sound of Ronon's energy pistol charging came clearly over the radio, making John jump and reach for his ear.
"That," Simon said coldly, eyes fixed on the wall as if he could look right through it, "is enough."
***
Lorne stumbled as he emerged from the gate, remembering too late that Akarym's gate platform ended abruptly right at the edge of the wormhole, leaving a significant drop to the ground. He managed to recover smoothly enough and hustled to the side to let the rest of his unusually large team through. He could tell which of his team had paid attention in the briefing and which hadn't simply by watching them trip.
To his surprise, McKay stepped down on his way through like a pro. He caught Lorne's surprise and smirked. "I repaired the first MALP we sent through after it wrecked a wheel," he explained. Lorne nodded his understanding then jumped forward as Ronon came through and tripped heavily. McKay grabbed Ronon's other arm, trying to help him right himself. "Careful!"
It was too late. Ronon landed hard on the only rock Lorne could see anywhere around, turning over on his ankle and collapsing with as little grace as he'd ever seen in the man. Rodney's attempt to be helpful made it worse by blocking Ronon's ability to flail back into balance.
"Are you ok?" Rodney went down on one knee beside his friend, hands already scrabbling at his tac vest for a Tensor bandage. Ronon swatted him.
"Keep it. The boot'll do a better job of keeping the ankle supported anyway," he said gruffly.
Lorne frowned at him as the rest of the team finished coming through, managing somehow not to trip over McKay who was blocking half the gate. He sighed and tapped his radio. "All arrived," he said simply. "We'll be dialling right back though. One minor injury, an ankle sprain or break."
There was a long pause, and Lorne could see in his head the exchange of looks that would be going on between everyone in the control section. He tried to imagine the expression on Sheppard's face when he saw it was Ronon who'd been hurt, and the same leg as Sheppard too. He managed not to smile, but the glare Ronon was giving him told him the other man guessed at his thoughts.
"Understood, Major," Woolsey's voice was slightly tinny in transmission. McKay was heaving Ronon to his one good foot, and Lorne hastened forward to help. The wormhole rippled out.
Ronon towered over him, pretty much using him as a crutch. Lorne shook his head at what they must look like. He waved his hand at Dorovici to tell her they were ready for her to dial back in to Atlantis as he and McKay manoeuvred Ronon out of the splash zone. Lorne glanced around, his eyes falling on Sergeant Georges, who was rubbing his knee kind of ruefully.
"Send your IDC, Lieutenant," he told Dorovici then waved Georges over to take his place at Ronon's side. "Sergeant, you're Mr. Dex's escort back to Atlantis." Georges nodded his understanding, crestfallen. "Ensure he reaches the infirmary." He spared them both a quick, impish grin. "On the way through, mind the step."
Ronon glared at him. "Good luck," he gritted out, clearly trying to be gracious and failing pretty miserably at it.
"Oh, we don't need luck." Captain Terovic told him gravely, trying to hide her amusement. "We have Doctor McKay."
***
John's heart stopped in his chest.
Teyla's hand gripped John's forearm so tightly he felt her fingernails digging into his arm. The rest of the personnel in the larger gate room had all frozen in place, staring at Simon with pale faces and wide eyes. The Marines were spooked too; John could see white knuckles along the whole semi-circle of P-90s. He found his own hand on the butt of his sidearm.
Woolsey returned to the railing in a couple of hurried steps. "What is enough, Simon?" he asked courteously, though John could hear a tremor.
Simon ignored them all. He extended one arm straight in front of him and snapped his fingers imperiously once. Immediately a small console lifted out of the floor, stopping precisely at the height of Simon's fingertips. Simon placed his hand in the centre of the console and pressed, closing his eyes.
The world slowed. John felt each beat of his heart in his chest, each thud longer and deeper than the last, and coming further and further apart. He blinked and it seemed to take an eternity for his eyes to re-open.
It reminded him of a time he'd been drunk on sambucca. Even as he passed out the world had moved in front of his eyes with a weird clarity completely out of his control. That experience had felt remarkably like this one. He forced his eyes open wide, afraid that if he blinked again, his eyes wouldn't open at all.
He didn't think that Simon had actually stopped time, since he continued to think at what felt like a normal rate. Instead, it seemed more like he'd triggered a room-wide, or possibly Atlantis-wide, stasis field. Now, that would be a useful defence mechanism.
Obviously.
Simon strode across the platform with confident steps, pausing at the top of the stairs to look around. Behind him the console sank back into the floor, merging once again seamlessly with the Ancient metal. He lifted his hand, pointed at John. "You," he said. The sudden return of control over his body was disorienting and he jerked hard in Teyla's grasp, almost falling. Simon's finger moved, to point in turn at Woolsey and surprisingly, Chuck. "You, and you," he said coldly. "Will accompany me to the infirmary."
John's hand dropped to his gun. He drew it smoothly, getting a bead in the centre of Simon's forehead. "Release the rest, now!" He gritted. Jesus, it was hard to hold a gun on that face.
Simon ignored him, moving down the steps with a grace that Rodney had never owned. "Your guns have been rendered inoperative," he said over his shoulder. "Now, come."
John squeezed the trigger, and it stuck. He squeezed again harder, with no change. "Fuck," he said aloud, holstered the weapon, and started to prise Teyla's fingers from around his forearm as gently as he could. The look he exchanged with Woolsey said everything.
They caught up with Simon about ten metres from the infirmary. Woolsey tried to regain control of the situation. "Excuse me, Simon, but placing the Atlantis personnel in some kind of frozen state is not acceptable. I demand you release my people at once."
The infirmary doors swept open and Simon continued through them without pause, and without so much as acknowledging Woolsey's words.
"Simon," Woolsey said firmly. "You will listen to me, and you will release-." His words trailed off as he took in the scene in front of them.
Dorovici was half-on and half-off an exam table, being held down by two orderlies and one of the Marines. She'd plainly been fighting them, and they had equally plainly been winning. One wrist was encircled by a padded restraint, the other in the process of being tied. The Marine fastening the cuff was holding on so tightly that her chocolate skin was a pale grey under his fingers. Doctor Biro stood to the side, half-way through drawing a syringe of a clear colourless liquid.
Jarvath was almost fully restrained and was clearly unconscious. One of the nurses was fastening the last restraint around his ankle, and Doctor Srivanthangam was in the process of discarding the syringe in a nearby sharps container.
Lorne was in the centre of the room, hands out at his sides in a calming gesture. Ronon stood behind him, his energy weapon out and pointed at Lorne's back. Keller was standing to his left, her face tight and grim, poised to step forward and catch Lorne when he fell.
"No," said Simon. His mouth was twisted downward in the first emotion John had seen cross his face, and it was anger. "I don't believe I will."
***
"OK, girls and boys," Lorne gave a small smile as Lieutenant Dorovici counted off heads to make sure that everyone who was supposed to be there was still with them. She nodded and flashed a quick smile. "Time to check in is twenty four hours." Jarvath ostentatiously held up his wrist and clicked the timer on his watch. "Let's go meet our hosts."
He waved at Lieutenant Martin to lead the way. Martin nodded his understanding and started off at a moderate walk to the east. Sergeants Jessop and Juliard followed him promptly, with Corporal Julian closing their diamond formation. As Kilo headed out, Lorne took the opportunity to check out his surroundings.
The planet itself was a large one, maybe ten percent larger than Earth but with a slightly less dense mineral makeup that made it feel very similar to walking on Earth. It was slightly further out from their sun than Earth, and the air was correspondingly cooler on average. The gate was set in one of the temperate regions, a largely arid section of the main continent. It meant that the gate was in a largely exposed location with a wide-open view in all directions. There was very little cover other than small scrub brush and thigh-high grass.
All of this was deceptive, of course. Less than a mile away, the ground opened in a subtle widening crack, turning into a network of deep ravines and canyons that reminded Lorne of the Badlands. He'd once seen a careless driver go right over the edge of a canyon and never see the lip. It was these canyons that the Akaryim used as the building blocks of their cities.
A high, thin whistle and a low, deep rumble overhead brought his head up, eyes searching the sky away from the sound. Aha! A small dot in the distance rapidly grew larger, resolving into the Akaryim version of a plane. The design was fascinating, like a Stealth re-envisioned as a biplane, and Lorne had been itching to fly one since he'd first seen the photos.
"Huh," grunted McKay from beside him. "Interesting design." He was shading his eyes, head tilted back to get a good look at the plane. "I wonder how they…" He fell silent. Lorne could almost feel the furious pace of his thoughts. It was actually a little weird to see McKay so still, even lost in thought. "Huh."
The plane rocketed past waggling its wings only about two hundred meters overhead, and they both reflexively put their hands over their ears just before the boom cracked over them and made their bones jump in their skins.
"They know we're here," Sergeant Blaine observed unnecessarily as he moved out past them.
"Glad you're paying such close attention," Corporal Kristova called. She'd dropped to one knee and taken a bead on the plane with her P-90, just in case it was hostile. Captain Terovic and Corporal Ophelio stood from where they'd taken covering positions. Blaine blushed. Lorne gave a quick look around to see that pretty much the entire party had properly dropped and hidden, with the exceptions of Blaine, McKay, and himself. He and McKay exchanged a look of embarrassment.
"I'm going to head for the city. See if they also solved the mystery of how bumblebees fly," McKay muttered. Lorne nodded, looking around again. "He's over there," McKay pointed to the left, where Lorne could just make out the top of Parrish's humped back above the grass as he bent over to examine some- thing or another. McKay resettled his pack with an irritated grunt and stomped off towards the city. Captain Terovic and the rest of Bravo followed, leaving Lorne to go get his wayward botanist.
***
Simon lifted a hand and pointed at Lorne, who stumbled down to one knee before wrenching himself back to his feet. Lorne looked around and closed his eyes in despair. "Oh, shit," he whispered before looking around rapidly. He sagged visibly with relief when he saw Simon. "You ok?" he demanded urgently.
"I am unharmed," Simon said.
"Good." Lorne huffed out a breath, mind clearly racing for paths forward. "Please release her," he said, pointing. "That's Doctor Keller."
Simon nodded, though the anger on his face didn't abate. John glanced at Woolsey, wondering at the uncharacteristic silence, but saw the same look on his face as on Lorne's; thinking hard and trying to figure out the right way to defuse this whole thing.
"Simon," Woolsey finally said, clearly striving to sound conciliatory. "These people were operating under my orders…"
"You gave orders for them to be restrained and drugged against their will?" Simon demanded. Lorne winced like something hurt and stepped to Simon's side, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"It's a harmless sedative," Keller interjected. "It's merely to help them calm down."
Lorne had been about to speak, but turned on her now. "And the restraints?" He asked with calm rage. "And the gun?" He gestured at Ronon, frozen in the act of firing.
"We have no idea what the situation is here, Major," Woolsey said smoothly. "You may be contaminated, you may be," his eyes flicked to Simon, "under an alien influence. You've been gone for over eight months, and you've come back with only two members of your team and a complete stranger. Protocol dictates that our first step will be to render the possible threats harmless and then discover the events of the past months."
Lorne stared at him.
"Major Lorne," Woolsey continued softly, inexorably, "would already know this."
John hadn't thought his stomach could drop any further, but it did. This wasn't Lorne?
"Major Lorne did anticipate this," Simon said. "Doctor McKay insisted there was no other way."
John's head snapped around so fast he thought for a moment he'd strained something. "What did you say?" he heard his voice demand.
"McKay insisted," Lorne said tiredly. He gave a tiny gesture with his hand, and Simon released Dorovici, who immediately resumed kicking. She knocked the first orderly across the room before Lorne reached her. Instantly she calmed, looking around and blinking rapidly. Lorne released her bound wrist and reached for the Marine's hand. "Lieutenant Dorovici and Sergeant Jarvath need medical attention." He pried the last of the Marine's fingers loose and pushed down the man's arm. "It was time for them to return to Atlantis, permanently."
"What?" Dorovici stared up at Lorne, shock and betrayal warring on her face. "What? No… Evan. No. We're needed. Medical attention, sure… sure. The docs can give me something, and I'll be fine. Ready to go."
"No, you won't," Lorne said gently, reaching for the bracelet around her wrist. "You've taken too much."
"No!" Dorovici snatched her arm away, though John noticed she wasn't fighting him, just evading. "I can't leave him there."
"Yes, you can." Lorne told her intensely. "Because it's your duty to protect those who can't protect themselves. Sergeant Jarvath is going to need you. And McKay said…" He broke off, looking away.
"Doctor McKay indicated that you have become a drain," Simon finished for him, not unkindly. He crooked a finger at Keller. "Lieutenant Dorovici will require significant and urgent medical treatment when the bracelet is removed, as will Sergeant Jarvath. They will need to be treated carefully," and the tone of his voice expressed clearly what he thought of their interpretation of 'carefully' the first time. "No sedatives." His brows drew together in a dark frown. "Try simply asking for co-operation."
Keller nodded, her mouth set mulishly. John could read the mental bitching out she was giving the other man all over her face.
"I have disabled your scans of my person," Simon continued. Keller's lips compressed even further. "It is sufficient that you know that I am not Doctor McKay, and that Major Lorne and I will be leaving momentarily.
"I haven't given Major Lorne leave to go," John said crisply. "You're welcome to get out and not come back, but Major Lorne is a member of my command, and he's not going."
Lorne bit his lip then straightened his shoulders and looked dead ahead. "I am going, sir."
"No, Major. You aren't." John heard his voice bleed down into the growl that meant, 'no more fucking around'.
"With respect, Colonel Sheppard, I am." He turned enough to look John dead in the eye. "Ordering me otherwise isn't going to change anything."
Simon stretched out his hand to Lieutenant Dorovici, who was still staring at him beseechingly. Her face crumpled, but she held out her wrist for him to take. "This is going to hurt," he told her and she nodded, clearly steeling herself. He placed his fingers carefully against the curve of the metal bracelet and pushed.
Dorovici screamed; her back bowing as she writhed in pain. John jerked forward in reaction, automatically reaching for his weapon before remembering it was useless. "Stop!" he shouted.
"No," Simon said, and pulled the bracelet off Dorovici's wrist. She collapsed, and would have fallen in a heap on the floor if Simon hadn't caught her in one arm, still holding the bracelet away from her with his other. Keller jumped to his side and helped him lift her onto the gurney-bed. John stared at her in shock.
Huge, thick welts had appeared on Dorovici's skin, criss-crossing her face and bare arms. A deep band of crimson encircled her wrist where the bracelet had rested. Even as he watched, bruises began to bloom, turning her dark skin a deeper, vicious purple.
"Oh, my God!" Keller's hands fluttered as if she didn't know where to put them first. "What is happening to her?"
Simon tucked the bracelet under his robes then placed his hand on Dorovici's shoulder. Immediately the bruises stopped spreading. "Accumulated injuries," he said, impassive. "I have returned her to stasis. Sergeant Jarvath will be worse." He turned to Woolsey, who was looking sick but still resolute. "I accept your explanation," he said slowly. "Your reaction was, as Major Lorne indicates, not unexpected." Woolsey nodded. "Though that does not excuse your deceptions." Woolsey's eyes narrowed. "Or the harm done to my team."
Simon gestured to Lorne, who immediately began releasing the bonds holding Sergeant Jarvath. He moved up to take the Sergeant's hand in his. "I had intended to ensure his agreement before doing this," he shot Woolsey a glare, "but it seems you have forced this to occur otherwise." Quickly he pressed his fingers to the bracelet, pushed in that precise pattern, and pulled it free. Through the sedatives, Jarvath fought him. The agony expressed itself as a long, drawn out groan of pain and Jarvath trying vainly to pull his arm free.
Lorne placed a hand on Jarvath's shoulder and squeezed hard. "It's us," he said quietly. "Let it go."
"N-n-n-nooooo!" Jarvath struggled harder, trying to curl his wrist against his chest. For a moment John thought he was protesting the pain, but Jarvath was scrabbling for the bracelet with his free hand.
"Sergeant," Simon said quietly. "It is time to stand down."
Jarvath collapsed back on the gurney, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Lorne's fingers tightened further, his face tight with emotion. John glanced at Woolsey, obscurely comforted that Woolsey appeared just as confused as he felt. "It's ok, Sergeant," Lorne said. "You're home."
Jarvath looked up at him, eyelids already drooping again as the drugs began to win the battle for unconsciousness. "… sorry," he slurred. His face was swelling rapidly, bruises spreading across his cheekbones. A particularly vicious cut opened along the line of his jaw.
"Don't be," Lorne told him strongly. "You did your duty by all of us. Rest easy."
Jarvath nodded and fell into oblivion. Simon waved the stasis into place then looked at Keller piercingly. "They won't remember," he said firmly. She just glared back at him challengingly, her hand on Dorovici's less-damaged wrist.
Lorne took a deep breath and let it out, puffing his cheeks a little. He was watching Simon closely, and whatever he saw made him concerned. "We need to go," he said.
"Absolutely not," John said.
"Very well," Woolsey said. John looked at him in disbelief. "I don't believe we really have an option here, Colonel."
Simon pointed at Chuck, who'd been doing an excellent imitation of someone trying to melt into a wall and disappear. Chuck froze in place.
"So that he can't see the gate address when you leave," John realised with a snarl. Lorne nodded and glanced at Simon, who joined him. In unison they turned for the door.
"Wait!" John stepped in front of them. Simon simply pushed him to the side and continued walking, making John skip to catch back up. Woolsey followed. "Look, Lorne – you have to give us some clue here. How the hell are we supposed to find you if you won't co-operate?"
"You aren't." Lorne stared straight ahead. "You aren't supposed to find us."
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," John exploded. "Are you telling me you don't want to be rescued? That Rodney McKay doesn't want to be rescued? What utter bullshit!"
Lorne stopped, grabbed him by the shirt, and shoved him against the wall. "What I am saying," he said through gritted teeth, "is that even if you found us, sir, rescue isn't one of the options. You can't save us." He released John's shirt, removed the wrinkles with a brisk flick of his fingers that was as effective as a slap. "We'll be in touch." He hurried after Simon, who hadn't slowed.
Woolsey restrained John with a hand on his arm. "We can't let them come back," he said quietly. "Simon is simply too great a threat."
John pulled his arm free and jogged after the others, who were passing into the gate room. By the time he reached the steps the gate was already on the fourth chevron. "… gate directly there?" he overheard Lorne ask calmly.
"No," Simon said, watching the gate with fascination. "We will pass through several gates on the way. They will be unable to follow." The wormhole formed; the splash as impressive as always. Simon started for it unhesitatingly. Lorne followed only a fraction more slowly.
John stared, his heart pounding in his throat. He knew it wasn't Rodney, but damn. He looked like Rodney. He, and Lorne, knew where Rodney was, and they were walking away from him. He felt a breath huff out in a broken sound; met Teyla's eyes across the platform where she was still frozen in place.
Her eyes said, 'Go!'.
John's feet moved before he registered his brain making the decision; racing up the short flight of stairs two at a time and propelling him across the platform at the gate faster than he could remember moving, ever. He knew he had only seconds, if that long, and his eyes burned at the thought he might not make it. Simon disappeared into the gate, Lorne only a half-step behind, and John threw himself at the shimmering horizon with every ounce of effort his body could produce.