DISCLAIMER – I do not own Stargate: Atlantis. It is the intellectual property of MGM/UA and associates. I am making no money and no copyright infringement is intended. This is a work of fan fiction.

Dr. Itzhak Perlman and Dr. Hanna Eriksson are my original characters.

RATING – This story is rated T due to some mature themes, implied violence and occasional strong language.

A/N – My goodness…what can I say? It's a POV story with an original character. (oh no! -gasp- a GaryStu!) For those of you who've been reading either of my WIPs All Fun And Games and The Song Of Silent Rivers, you'll have 'met' Dr. Itzhak Perlman before. After writing a particular chapter for All Fun And Games it occurred to me that Itzhak really deserves a story of his own. Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is it… This is Dr. Itzhak Perlman's "How I Came to Atlantis and What I Discovered When I Got There" story. I never thought I'd be writing a fanfic with an OC as the main character, but hey, there's a first time for everything, right? Anyway, please let me know what you think, and whether or not this is worth continuing.

Shout-out to Hettie, who gave me some much needed literary criticism and help with the first chapter. I appreciate it very much! I hope the "new-and-improved" version works a bit better than the original version did.

I have no beta. If you encounter any mistakes, they are mine.

The Promised Land

1. Exodus

Dear Naomi,

I wanted to write you a letter, but instead I'm going to tell you a story. It's a story about a man who did something so unbelievable that even the people who know him best would say he was utterly mad if he ever tried to explain it. You might say I'm crazy, too, and you'd probably be right.

Do you remember the years before we left home? We used to lie on the balcony on really warm nights and try to count the stars. You asked me once if I thought there might be something out there, some kind of life on another planet. We laughed about that, because neither of us believed there could ever be anything beyond our Earth. We were the nucleus and the universe revolved around us.

My beloved, we were wrong.

As fantastic as it seems, there is life out here. There are other humans like us, who live, love, make war and die just as people have been doing on our world since God formed Adam from the dust. It's a little overwhelming to think they've been here all this time without us realizing it, but at the same time, it's good to know Earth isn't just a lonely outpost in the universe.

Perhaps I should begin this story by telling you how I came to learn that we're not alone.

A man from the United States Air Force came to see me one day in London. He was a tall man with greying hair. A general, he told me. I hadn't expected anyone to visit my lab that day, especially not an American general, so you can see how I was more than a little curious to know why he was there.

The Air Force man told me about something called a Stargate. He told me the most extraordinary tale about using this Stargate to travel through outer space and visit other planets. On these other planets, he claimed, there are untold discoveries just waiting to be made. This adventure is not without its dangers, he informed me, but the thrill of exploring new worlds would far outweigh the potential hazards.

His motive for sharing all this with me was that it gave him a way to work up to a proposal. Evidently, they need brilliant doctors on the intergalactic frontier. The Air Force man told me they want curious, intelligent people who aren't afraid of taking risks.

He said he thought I was just the kind of man they were looking for.

I don't know what made me want to trust him. Maybe there was something about the way he talked, some spark of real excitement in his eyes that led me to believe he wasn't making any of it up.

Then again, maybe I was just desperate.

Nothing really changes, does it? I was tormented and running when you found me, and I guess I've never truly stopped. I wonder, if a man travels at the speed of light, will he be moving fast enough to outrun his memories? If he goes to a far-distant galaxy, has he put enough space between him and his former life? No matter how far or fast I ran on Earth, I could never escape any of my guilt or that horrible, crippling fear. I'm afraid I won't be able to get away from it even now, though I want to believe there is a chance.

Maybe there are miracles still. I don't expect to be led by fire or a pillar of clouds, but a star might help me get to where I want to go. A million stars, lighting the way through the darkness to a place where I can find some peace.. After forty years in the wilderness, maybe I will reach my promised land.

I could say a thousand things more to you, but I think it's best if I save them for other letters. I don't know how this story I'm telling you will unfold. I don't know how it will end. I want to make certain I tell it as honestly and properly as I can, so you'll see what becomes of the man whom you once called your best friend.

I miss you, my love. Your absence is the heaviest among all the burdens of my heart. I pray for you, as I always have, that you'll be happy and safe wherever you are. Some day, perhaps, we will meet again.

Faithfully,
Itzhak

Itzhak lies in bed and rereads the words he has written. He's kept a journal since his days in the army, and he's always composed it in the form of letters. Mostly, he writes to his mother or Eli, though lately he finds himself addressing his thoughts to others; his father, his sister, and his beloved Naomi. Since beginning this incredible journey through space, he has written to Naomi most often.

He's spent the past eighteen days aboard the intergalactic spacecraft, Daedalus, traversing space at a speed he cannot calculate, flying across more miles than he can count. The ship is headed for Atlantis, in the Pegasus galaxy. This sounds like the stuff of science fiction, but it is not.

Itzhak still can't quite wrap his head around the idea that Atlantis is not a myth. He isn't a sceptic, really, but the Lost City of Atlantis in actual fact seems unbelievable. He struggles with the knowledge that not only does Atlantis exist, but he, Dr. Itzhak David Perlman, M.D., is going there. Maybe he won't fully believe until he sets foot in the city. It won't be much longer until the ship reaches Atlantis. Itzhak thinks that if he can see the city and touch it, then for him, Atlantis will finally become real.

He closes his journal. Running his thumb along the spine of the notebook, he tries to imagine what he'll say in the letter he'll write tomorrow, or the day after that. A month or a year from now, what will he say? He wonders if he'll be able to write to Naomi that his life has changed, that he has changed. Maybe in a year, he'll return to Earth and find Naomi there. He pictures himself telling her about everything that he will have learned.

It's a nice daydream.

He might have liked to continue it, but a noise at the door of his quarters pulls him away. Reluctantly, Itzhak pushes aside his blanket and gets up. He's not exactly fit to receive anyone, clad only in boxers and a t-shirt as he is, but he refuses to worry about it now. He goes to the door.

The door opens to reveal a smiling blond-haired woman in the corridor. She wears a Swedish flag patch on the sleeve of her jacket. The blue on the flag is complementary to the blue of her eyes.

"Hello," she says.

"Hanna," he greets her. "Hi."

"Is this a bad time?" Hanna asks. "I hope I ddin't wake you."

"I was in bed, but I was awake already," Itzhak says. "It's okay."

Hanna has been the bright spot for him on this voyage. He's had casual conversations with several people aboard Daedalus, but Hanna Eriksson is the only person who really talks to him. He likes her clever sense of humour and her practical approach to life, and he thinks he'll like working with her when they reach Atlantis.

Hanna is a medical doctor, like him, but she has the advantage of having seen Atlantis before. She was part of the original expedition team and had been in the Lost City for a year before her recent return to Earth. Now, she tells him, she is on her way home again.

Itzhak is intrigued by the idea that Hanna considers Atlantis her home. He can't help wondering if he'll eventually come to see the Lost City this way, too. It would be nice to feel settled and safe for a change, and it has been a very long time since he's been able to call any place home.

"Dr. Parrish and Dr. Brown were asking about you," Hanna says. 'We missed you at breakfast."

"Sorry," he says. "I wasn't hungry. Want to come in?"

She smiles as he steps aside to let her pass through the doorway and into his quarters. The door slides closed behind her with a soft hiss. She sizes up the room with an appraising glance before her gaze comes to rest on Itzhak again. Itzhak wonders if she's embarrassed to have discovered him in such a state of disarray. If she is, her expression doesn't show it.

"What have you been doing?" Hanna says.

"Writing a letter," Itzhak tells her.

"My mother always says letter-writing is a lost art. People don't write enough real letters in the information age," says Hanna. "Who are you writing to?"

"My wife."

"Really? I didn't know you were married."

"No. No, I'm not. I—" He begins to explain, but realizes he doesn't want to talk about Naomi with someone he's only recently met. He averts his gaze from Hanna's face and says, "Do you know how much longer before we're in Atlantis?"

"Less than two hours," Hanna tells him. If she thinks his abrupt change of subject is strange, she keeps her thoughts to herself. "Lieutenant Cadman told me. I saw her a little while ago. You know, you should really get your things together."

"Hmm…" Itzhak says. He sits down on his bunk and stares at yesterday's clothes, which are jumbled together in the spot where he'd undressed for bed. "It might take more than two hours to get my stuff together."

"Get dressed," says Hanna.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going to help you gather your things. It won't take long at all," Hanna says. "First, though, you should put on some clothes."

"Oh. Everything's wrinkled. I don't—"

"Put on the cleanest, least wrinkled thing. When we get home, I'm going to teach you how to take care of your laundry. How to iron." Hanna smiles at him. "How to fold."

"Naomi always did that for me. After she…well, afterward, it never really seemed to matter."

"it matters when you're making a first impression."

Itzhak wanders across the room and locates some things that are clean and not too badly creased. He turns his back toward Hanna and begins to dress, unabashed despite this scant precaution.

"Do you think Dr. Weir will care?" he says.

"That you're wrinkled? Probably not, but I should think you'd be a bit more concerned about your appearance when you meet her."

"Appearances can be deceiving."

"Yes, I suppose they can. People are rarely what they seem to be at first sight." Hanna looks thoughtful. She leans down and scoops up the puddle of discarded clothing next to the bed. She says, "I'll bet you've misjudged half the people on this ship already, just as badly as they've misjudged you."

Itzhak pauses halfway through the task of buttoning his shirt. "What do you mean?"

"People think you're antisocial, Itzhak," says Hanna. "I've heard people saying they think you're distant and unapproachable."

"Maybe I just don't want to be approached by any of them."

"You're going to be working with some of those people," Hanna tells him. "You know, we're really like a family in Atlantis. You'll be in for a tough time if you can't get along."

"I won't have any problems getting along. If they stay out of my way and I stay out of theirs, we'll get along just fine."

"It doesn't work that way."

"Where I come from, it does."

Hanna carefully puts down the pair of trousers she has just finished folding. She walks around the room until she is fully facing him.

"Itzhak," she says. "You're not going to like this, but I want you to listen to me. I know that where you come from, you're used to having everything revolve around you, but it's not going to be that way in Atlantis. We depend on each other there, and nobody is more important than anybody else. The sooner you understand that, the easier it'll be for you."

"Are you lecturing me?"

Hanna tilts her chin determinedly. "Yes. For your own good."

"Don't expect me to thank you."

"I don't," says Hanna. "Not today, at any rate."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like," Hanna says. "I don't expect you to thank me. In fact, I suspect you don't even take me seriously right now. I think you are the sort of person who must learn everything the hard way, All I'm saying is that some day you'll remember we had this conversation and you'll see I was right. You will thank me then."

Itzhak can think of half a dozen acerbic replies, but he exercises enough control to restrict them to the inside of his head. He isn't pleased about being lectured, but he consoles himself by saying Hanna really means well by her words. She wants to be his friend and she wants him to fit in when they reach their destination. He has to appreciate her intentions. It is, as the saying goes, the thought that counts.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The Daedalus' beam deposits them in the gate room of Atlantis; Itzhak and Hanna, Doctors Brown and Parrish, and a cluster of young Marines.

This is only the second time in Itzhak's life that he's been 'beamed' anywhere, but even if he experiences it a thousand times, he's sure he'll never get used to the sensation of being transported by the Asgard technology. He doesn't care for the idea of being disassembled at the molecular level, shuffled around for a few nanoseconds, and then reassembled somewhere else. On the Daedalus, somebody had dubbed him 'Dr. McCoy' when they'd heard him dissertate about the potential risks associated with the beam. Itzhak hadn't laughed at the joke, even though he thinks the sentiment behind it was entirely appropriate. He's a doctor, not a physics experiment. He sees nothing funny about that.

After a few seconds, the disorienting after-effects of the beam wear off and Itzhak is able to take in his surroundings. He is quite honestly awestruck by what he observes. The gate room of Atlantis is both efficient and beautiful in design.

He has materialized facing the Stargate. He turns in a slow, clockwise circle so that he can fix a clear image of everything in his mind, a meaningful first look at the city. The window at the top of the stairs catches his eye. It appears to be stained glass, and he thinks it is magnificently aesthetic. Everywhere he looks, he sees Ancient writing. Even the stairs are etched with the Ancient script.

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" Hanna says quietly.

Beside Hanna, Dr. Parrish lets out a happy sigh and says, "It's great to be back."

Itzhak doesn't know what to say. He tries to fade into the camouflage of the Marines as he watches a man and a woman descend the stairs and approach the newly-arrived group. Itzhak doesn't recognize the black-haired man. He assumes the woman must be the expedition leader, Elizabeth Weir. Both of them are smiling at the newcomers like long-lost relatives in an airport.

Dr. Weir greets Hanna and the scientists by name. She shakes hands and introduces herself to each of the Marines. Finally, she gets to Itzhak and holds out her hand.

"Itzhak Perlman, I presume?" she says to him after introducing herself.

Itzhak wants to cringe when he sees the amused look that crosses the face of the black-haired man. He shakes hands with Dr. Weir, and says, "Yes, that's me."

"Welcome to Atlantis," Dr. Weir says. She nods in the direction of the man beside her. "This is our military commander, Lieutenant-Colonel John Sheppard."

Sheppard grins and sticks out his hand. "Hi," he says. "Itzhak Perlman? Like the violinist?"

Itzhak gives the colonel his most trenchant glare and ignores the man's outstretched hand. There was a time when he had a sense of humour about sharing his name with a famous classical musician, but like a lot of other things in his life in recent years, his appreciation for irony has paled to a shadow of its former self.

He says to Dr. Weir. "I thought your Chief Medical Officer was supposed to be here."

"Carson asked me to pass along his apologies," Dr. Weir says. "He wanted to be here to greet you himself, but he's been unavoidably detained on the mainland. Maybe Colonel Sheppard could—"

"Dr. Weir, I can show Dr. Perlman around," Hanna interjects, stepping forward as she speaks. "I'm sure he won't be interested in the same guided tour as Colonel Sheppard's men, and besides, it'll give me the perfect opportunity to catch up with everyone in the Infirmary."

Dr. Weir smiles, and nods her assent. "All right," she says, and turns her attention to Itzhak again. "Dr. Perlman, make sure Dr. Eriksson shows you the way to my office. I'd like to speak with you, once you've had a chance to look around."

"Of course," Itzhak says.

The group disperses quickly after that. Parrish and Brown disappear together, chattering at top speed. The Marines march away with Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Weir.

Hanna takes Itzhak gently by the arm, and leads him up the etched stairway. Neither of them says anything until they're well away from the gate room.

Itzhak has the feeling Hanna is preparing to lecture him again, but unlike their last conversation aboard Daedalus, he can acknowledge he deserves this one. For a man trying to make a good first impression, he hasn't been overly impressive. The problem, he realizes, is that he thinks he's forgotten how to behave in unfamiliar situations. Tucked away in his lab, surrounded by his dutiful subordinates, he'd never had to worry about coping with too much change.

Now, he's been thrust into the unknown with no safety net, and it utterly terrifies him. His immediate reaction to his fear is to try to protect himself. He becomes conscious of the fact that he is tense, waiting for Hanna to speak.

When no reprimand seems to be forthcoming, Itzhak ventures, "What are you thinking, Hanna?"

She presses her lips together in a momentary frown. Finally, she says, "I think you ought to put on a new attitude before you meet privately with Dr. Weir. She won't be pleased if you keep behaving the way you did just now."

"What do you suppose she'll want to discuss when we meet?"

"I couldn't begin to speculate on that," Hanna says. "Your meeting with her is no concern of mine, at any rate."

"Are you angry with me?"

"No," says Hanna. She sighs. "I'm not angry. I'm disappointed. I really did think you knew how to act professionally."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not the person who deserves an apology."

"But—"

"Colonel Sheppard," Hanna says. "He was just curious. You shouldn't have given him the brush-off like that. He's the one you should tell you're sorry."

"But, he—"

"I'm sure he didn't mean to offend you." Hanna stops walking and pulls Itzhak to a stop beside her. Gently, she turns him around so they're facing each other. She rests her hand on his forearm. "You've been hurt before, I know, but not everyone means you harm, Itzhak. You don't need to defend yourself against us."

Twice in one day, Hanna has dispensed her opinion on his attitude. Part of Itzhak's brain acknowledges that he should be listening to her. He can grudgingly admit that she might even be correct in what she is saying, but he just can't bring himself to let his guard down, yet.

"Weren't we going to check out the Infirmary?" he says.

"All right," says Hanna. "If you don't want to talk, that's okay. Let me show you where you're going to be doing your work."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

After completing Hanna's whirlwind Infirmary tour, she and Itzhak parted company. Hanna had said she had people to see and things to do, but she promised to catch up with Itzhak again, later, to see how his first day in Atlantis turned out. She suggested having supper together, and he had agreed because the alternative is eating alone.

Eating alone is what he's doing now. He'd wandered the corridors until he found his way to the mess hall where he'd discovered to his disappointment that even in another galaxy, food prepared in large quantities still holds to a certain standard. It's not bad food, per se. It's just not of the quality he'd been used to on Earth.

This is the latest item on the rapidly-growing list of adjustments he has to make to his life here in the Pegasus galaxy, but he suspects it won't be the last. Already today, he's been educated about several things he needs to change. On paper, he might know a lot about Atlantis, but the human variable sets all that theory on its proverbial ear.

He stirs his soup distractedly and tries to convince himself he's hungry enough to finish it. Maybe he should abandon the soup and eat the blue Jell-O instead.

"Dr. Perlman?"

Itzhak looks up when he hears another man say his name. The person standing near the table is smiling, holding out his right hand. Seeing no way around the inevitable, Itzhak puts down his spoon and shakes hands with the man.

'Yes, I'm Itzhak Perlman," he says tiredly.

He waits for the usual jibe about his name, but it never comes. Either this man is ignorant or he's making a special effort to be tactful. Itzhak doesn't really care which it is. He's just grateful for the small reprieve.

"I'm Dr. Beckett," says the man. He speaks with a Scottish brogue. "I'm really sorry I wasn't here to meet you when you first arrived. I was on the mainland. I trust Dr. Biro and Dr. Wolfchild gave you the cook's tour, though."

"Actually, Dr. Eriksson showed me around," Itzhak says.

Dr. Beckett's smile broadens. "Oh, aye, of course. You must've gotten to know Hanna during the trip out here. She's a fine lass and an excellent physician. You've no idea how glad we are to have her back."

Itzhak doesn't know how to respond to this, so he says simply, "She seems very nice."

"Gets on well with everyone, our Hanna. So, then, what do you think of the city?"

"It's remarkable. I'm impressed with your Infirmary."

"It's your Infirmary now, as well," Dr. Beckett says. "Tomorrow morning, you can meet the rest of the staff, and I'll show you the projects I've been working on. Then, I'd like you to come to the mainland with me and meet our Athosian neighbours."

"I thought I'd start working this afternoon."

Dr. Beckett looks amused. "It's your first day in Atlantis, and you don't want to explore? I would have expected you to be the curious sort."

"I'm going to be here a while. There'll be plenty of time for me to go exploring," Itzhak says. "You know, I've been cooped up on the Daedalus with nothing constructive to do for the last three weeks. I'd really like to get to work."

"Tomorrow," Dr. Beckett says firmly. "Today's the day to get yourself all settled in, and then tomorrow you can work to your heart's content."

Itzhak's obstinacy threatens to rear its ugly head. He balks at being told what to do. He's lived by his own design for so long that he isn't used to following other people's directives any more, and he feels an instant flare of resentment toward his new boss. With effort, he pushes the negative emotion down. It won't do if he gets off to a bad start with Dr. Beckett.

He drops his gaze to the table and says, "Tomorrow, then."

He can sense the other doctor studying him. Beckett's scrutiny makes him uncomfortable because he has the impression Beckett is one of those people with the uncanny ability to know exactly what other people are thinking, just by looking at them. Itzhak doesn't like being analyzed. It's all he can do to keep from telling Beckett to quit staring at him.

"Well," Beckett says. "I'll leave you to finish your lunch, shall I?"

Itzhak says nothing. Beckett appraises him for a moment longer, but finally gives up and turns away.

For the first time since leaving Earth, Itzhak feels a twinge of regret. He misses his cozy London flat, his lab and his clutch of assistants who understood precisely how to take care of his every whim and knew when it was best to stay out of his way. He thinks of the adage, you don't know what you've got until it's gone.

He's not sure Atlantis is going to be the promised land after all. Maybe it's just Egypt under an assumed name.

TBC
--------------------
A/N #2 – Well, there it is…the expository first chapter of the fic I never thought I'd write. There is a plot, I promise! Anyway, press the blue button and tell me what you think? Writing an original protagonist in somebody else's setting is pretty much an experiment for me, so whatever you throw at me by way of commentary will be read with an open mind.

For those of you who are reading All Fun And Games, I should be posting an update on it tomorrow or Wednesday. Sadly, I have yet another idea for a story I'd like to start, and I want to get my thoughts down on virtual paper before I forget.