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x-x

Sheppard woke in the morning, stiff from lying on the hard floor. He stretched cautiously, throwing off the blankets, and left his shelter, moving toward the facilities. When he was done, he saw Malla at the fire, eating, and he approached her, nodding to others as he passed them.

"Want some?" Malla asked as he sat beside her, lifting her plate in his direction.

"No, thank you," he said, too tense to eat, and, at the same time, not wanting to take the last of her meal.

"You should." She shook the plate slightly. "We don't always have much. You should eat while we have it."

Accepting her offering, he took a bite, then asked, "All the people down here are Altarian?"

She nodded. "Now, but in the past, there someone else who'd come through the 'gate."

"What happened to him?"

"He, well, he got sick, and he died." She grimaced. "You're using his shelter."

"Oh," was all he could think to say. Taking a few more bites, he handed the plate back to her so she could share the meal. "Anyone ever make it back to their former lives?" he asked.

She shot him a sharp look. "Not successfully."

Eager, he leaned toward her. "So people have tried."

She laughed bitterly, setting the now-empty plate aside. "All the time. Of course they do. But doesn't exactly work out for them."

"In what way?"

"Well, just showing up obviously won't work," she said with sarcasm. "As you've probably seen for yourself. They either don't notice you, or don't recognise you."

"So, what have people done?"

Malla frowned. "There are ways to connect, to re-enter, but it's not a good way to go."

"Why not?" Sheppard asked, feeling a spark of hope despite her obvious pessimism.

"It doesn't work out," she said. "Life up there's changed; you've changed. You can't just go back and fit in comfortably." She looked around the room, her eyes resting on several people. "Others have tried." She shook her head. "They came back."

He frowned at that. "Not much can have changed yet," he said. "It's only been a day."

"Time doesn't flow quite..." she let her voice fall off, and shrugged.

"Have you ever tried, yourself?"

She gave him a slight smile. "Life up there was not that great for me. I have nothing to go back to, really."

He nodded in understanding. "I want to try," he said.

Hesitantly, Malla said, "You want to be really sure about this, because going back – it's not easy. You're not going to just step back into your old life." At his nod, she leaned forward. "There's a way to sort of ping the outside world," she said, touching her index fingers together briefly. "To make a connection, which sometimes allows you to go back. It doesn't always work." She gazed at him, intense. "You need to know that this won't necessarily be pleasant. Once you get back up there, if it even works, your life won't be the same."

Sheppard nodded, thinking of Atlantis, and the friends he'd made there. It had taken him so long to get comfortable, to feel like he fit there. He wasn't willing to give that up without a fight. Whatever risk there was, it would be worth it, if he could go home again.

"All right," she said. She started patting her jacket until, reaching into one pocket, she tugged out a pen. "You have any paper?" she asked.

"No, they pretty much…" Sheppard remembered the claim ticket he'd gotten when he'd checked his weapon, and he pulled out the small tag. "Here," he said, handing it to her.

Head down, using her knee as a desk, she scrawled a series of tiny symbols on the ticket. Handing it back to him, she pierced him with her gaze and said, "In case you need to come back." Without waiting for his response, she stood and approached a man across the room, exchanging a few words. Sheppard watched as the man nodded, peered at him, then approached.

"I'm Rodos. Come with me," he said gruffly, leading Sheppard into one of the slightly larger shelters. As Rodos closed the fabric at the opening, making a small, private room, he waved for Sheppard to sit. Rodos joined him, facing him, their knees touching in the cramped space.

"Don't speak," Rodos said. "Just try to focus on your breathing, keeping it as even as you can."

He took one of Sheppard's hands in one of his own and turned it, palm up. With his other hand, he reached to his side and opened a small, dark box. Withdrawing a tiny cake, he rubbed one finger across its top, then rubbed that finger in a small circle on Sheppard's palm, leaving a trace of blue.

Sheppard felt the substance cool his hand, and took in the scent – almost rosemary, but earthier. Then his hand became numb, and he flinched. The man grasped his hand more firmly, casting him a sharp look.

After a moment, Sheppard felt a kind of lethargy overcome him, but he found that he didn't care. His arms became heavy, and his head fell forward. He gazed down at his palm, then took a deep breath. He looked up at the man and blinked languidly.

Rodos pulled a tiny knife out from the box and pricked Sheppard's palm in the middle of the blue, allowing a bit of blood to well. He then used his fingers to mix that blood into the blue salve, and Sheppard felt a slow heat begin to build in the middle of his palm. The man started chanting, and reached his free hand to the box, removing a small bag. He took out a pinch of black powder. Breaking from his chant, he said, "Breathe in."

Sheppard did so, and the man blew the powder in his face. Sheppard felt it burn his nose as it entered. Then the shelter spun around him.

x-x

Sheppard rolled over onto his side, pushing away the blankets. His entire body aching, he slowly brought himself to sitting. He swayed slightly and exhaled loudly, realising that he was back in his own shelter, and he had no idea how he'd gotten there, or how much time had passed. The tiny claim ticket was beside him on the blanket, and he picked it up with fumbling fingers, tucking it into a pocket.

Rodos poked his head through the curtained door. "You all right?" he asked. At Sheppard's answering nod, he said, "Maybe it worked, maybe it didn't. It may take a while, or you may know soon." He gave Sheppard an odd smile. "Good luck." He let the curtain close.

x-x

As Sheppard walked up the near-deserted street, he luxuriated in the feel of the warm sun that had pierced through the dark clouds. It was the first time he'd been really, truly warm since he'd gone underground with Malla the day before, and the sense of warmth, plus his hope that Rodos' strange "connection" had worked, had served to brighten his mood considerably. He certainly felt better than he had just after Rodos' odd ceremony. Best to enjoy the sunlight now; he could smell rain in the air, and knew the weather was about to change.

Thinking back on the ceremony, he realised that he'd been drugged. Maybe he should be worried about that, but it wasn't like Rodos had done it maliciously; and he felt fine now, so hopefully no harm, no foul. The fact that Malla, Rodos, and apparently others though that little ceremony would actually help him get back home was weird, but he'd seen stranger things since he'd come to the Pegasus Galaxy. It should be impossible for a bit of shamanism, for some sparkly dust to actually have any impact on his immediate predicament, it hadn't left him any the worse for wear. If anything, it gave him something to pin his hopes to until he could learn more about this place, and figure a way to get back home.

He began to hear noise: voices, music, movement. Malla, walking beside him with some others from the group, said, "We're almost there."

They had come outside to attend a makeshift market, where they were hoping to trade goods and services for things needed. Sheppard was attending for – actually, for no reason, really; for the company, maybe, and the chance to learn more about this place.

As they rounded the corner, he took in the bustle of people, all dressed, like Malla and the others, in old, torn clothing, most pretty dirty looking. He cast a glance down at himself. He was still fairly clean – if he stayed longer, he expected that would change. At this point, all it did was mark him as "new". He decided to be cautious.

Stalls had been set up beside the road, running along both sides of a central, grassy median, and the place was packed with people trading. Some of the stalls seemed to be formal affairs, with tents or cloths strung up over tables, while others were as simple as objects strewn on the ground, a shopkeeper sitting beside them. Despite the activity of the market, the people in the carriages on the road paid them no mind, as if they weren't there at all.

Ah, that's right, thought Sheppard, reminding himself; they probably can't see us. Or don't. Or won't.

As they moved through the market, brushing past fellow shoppers, the sun fell behind the clouds and it began to rain; a slow drizzle that quickly turned to a downpour. Malla lead the group to a grassy area on the median under a small shelter, although action continued around them despite the rainfall. Sheppard sat on a low wall, listening to Malla and the others discuss the things they'd look for, and what they were willing to trade.

"Sheppard!"

Sheppard stilled, listening carefully. He was sure he'd heard someone calling his name.

The shout came again. "Sheppard!"

Rodney's voice, coming from across the street. Sheppard stood, peering over the heads of the crowd, past the vehicular traffic, and stepped away from the shelter, the rain wetting his hair, his shoulders.

He frowned – Rodney wasn't there. Maybe in his hope, he was hearing things. He continued staring in that direction, the rain now soaking him. He heard a soft voice from his side, Malla asking, "What's wrong?"

He turned to her, shaking his head. "I thought I heard…" His voice caught, and he gasped. Malla was gone; the rain, the market, were gone. Instead, he was standing on the empty median in the middle of a road, animal-drawn carriages still rushing by on both sides, but now it was sunny, and the sudden brightness made him squint. His head whipped around, taking in his surroundings, then he looked down at himself. His clothing, which had just been clean, was now filthy. He looked at his hands, also filthy.

Suddenly he felt sick, nauseated, a headache rushing over him. His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees on the grass.

He heard a shout, "Sheppard!" and he looked up, dizzy from the sudden movement. He saw Rodney dart across the street towards him, cautious of traffic, but casting worried glances in his direction as he moved.

And Sheppard was standing in the market, the rain dripping down his neck, soaking through his tunic. He looked down at himself in shock, his pulse filling his ears.

And he was on his knees on the grass, Rodney kneeling in front of him, talking to him, his voice low and even. Rodney was looking at him intensely, like he was trying to get his attention. Head pounding, squinting against the too-bright sunlight, Sheppard looked down at himself again. He was ragged, dirty. He looked up again, into Rodney's now-frantic face.

"Where have you been?" Rodney asked. "We've been looking all over for you."

Sheppard shook his head, trying to ward off the confusion. Vehicles were rushing around them, and Rodney was saying…something; he'd lost track. And it was too sunny, and he didn't know where he was, or what…he moved his eyes to the ground, trying to focus, to settle himself. He stared at the grass below him, and sank back on his heels to allow his hand to reach it. He pulled at a few blades, trying to find an anchor, then realised that Rodney was still talking to him, so he looked up. "You didn't recognise me," he said, surprised to hear his voice so raspy.

Rodney had stopped speaking when Sheppard began. Then he replied, seeming confused. "What?"

"At the reception," Sheppard answered.

Rodney knelt down beside him. "That's right," he said, seeming relieved, although at what, Sheppard had no idea. "That's the last place we saw you. When I went through security and turned around for you, you were gone. What happened?"

Sheppard stared at him. "I was there."

"No, no, you weren't," Rodney said. "Where have you been?"

Sheppard shook his head, then winced as the movement worsened his headache. "No, I was there, I...You didn't recognise me."

"Sheppard, I think you're sick," Rodney said carefully, as if he was trying to calm a frightened child.

"Where are the others?" Sheppard asked, trying to see past Rodney. He felt a sudden chill, and wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. "I have a headache," he said quietly.

Rodney reached out a hand, and Sheppard looked down to see Malla's hand on his arm. He looked at her, shaking as the rain began to chill him. He shook his head, the pain gone. "I think I'm going crazy."

"Why?" she answered.

"My friend was just here."

Sheppard felt a tug on his arm, raising him to standing, and the pain was back.

"Who are you talking to?" Rodney asked.

Sheppard froze, unable to respond in his fright and confusion.

"Sheppard?" Rodney asked, staring into his eyes. "We need to get you to the jumper, back to Atlantis." He gave Sheppard's arm a gentle tug, but Sheppard remained rooted. Then, in a strong voice, Rodney said, "Major, come on."

Sheppard exhaled, suddenly realising that he'd been holding his breath. He stumbled forward, allowing Rodney to guide him. "Something's wrong," he whispered.

They were walking, Rodney casting frightened looks in his direction. He realised that Rodney thought that he'd gone nuts, completely barmy. Fabulous, he thought. Maybe this is what Malla had meant when she'd said that his life wouldn't be the same. Unable to help himself, he grinned. You can go back, but you come back crazy.

Sheppard found himself in the jumper, sitting on the floor in the back, his legs pulled up, arms wrapped around them. He could feel the thrum of the engines through the deck. He was rocking slightly, which he figured was all right, but he realised that he was humming. He tried to place the tune, then laughed, smacking his hand over his mouth to stifle it, but not before Rodney, in the copilot's chair, turned back to him with a sharp look.

"Sorry," Sheppard said from under his hand. Unable to help it, he smiled, then laughed again. He winced against the headache.

Rodney cast a concerned glance at Ford, who was piloting, then to Teyla in the jump seat. She unstrapped herself and squatted in front of Sheppard.

"Realised what I was singing," Sheppard said to her. He hummed, then started the song, his voice showing more enthusiasm than art. "Cures you whisper make no sense, drift gently into mental illness." He looked at Teyla, smiling broadly. "Appropriate, yes?"

She said something.

"Hmm? Sorry?" Sheppard said, disoriented, closing his eyes against the pain. "I keep seeing things," he whispered, not entirely sure if he was referring to Malla, or to Teyla. He was so tired, and his head hurt so much.

"What are you seeing?"

"No one, nothing," he replied, not really able to focus on what Teyla was saying. "I have a headache."

Teyla reached over and, very gently, began to rub the back of Sheppard's neck. Sheppard sank into the touch, drifting. He heard the buzz of the marketplace, and the sounds of falling rain. He found himself sitting on the low wall, under the shelter, completely drenched and staring out at the downpour. Turning to his right, he saw Malla there. He shivered.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Cold, wet," he said. He looked around him, watching people pass in the marketplace, buying things, darting under tents as they tried to keep dry. "I haven't been able to get warm since I got here; rain's not helping."

Rodney's voice came from nearby and Sheppard looked in that direction. His friend was now wearing casual clothes, obviously off-duty, and he was talking to Carson. Teyla was nowhere to be seen. Sheppard blinked against the bright lights, and realised he wasn't on the jumper; he was in the infirmary. On a bed, lying down. Dragging in a tight breath, he clenched the sheet that someone had pulled over him. It's fine, it doesn't matter, he thought, trying to control his building anxiety. I'm in Atlantis, and that has to be good. He remembered Rodney finding him on the planet. He remembered being on the jumper. He remembered.

He closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing, tamp down his anxiety. As he focused, he heard their voices from across the room. First Carson, almost too quiet to hear, saying something about "hallucinations." Sheppard's eyes snapped open. He saw Rodney and Carson standing near the infirmary doors, and he clearly heard Rodney's response, his friend obviously alarmed.

"You've called in Heightmeyer?"

Carson said, "I'm not sure what to think, Rodney. It's been three days since you found him, and I can't find a physical cause for what's going on. He needs help." The doctor glanced in his direction and, noticing Sheppard staring at them, stopped talking. He directed his next comment to Sheppard. "Good to see you back with us, Major," he said more loudly. "How are you feeling?"

The doctor was looking at him expectantly, as if waiting for an answer.

"I haven't been able to get warm since I got here," he said quietly. "The rain's not helping."

Someone – Carson, maybe – placed a blanket over his shoulders, and he nodded gratefully, looking down at it. He was in scrubs – when had he undressed? He looked at his hands, now clean – when had he washed? Hell, when had he sat up? How long had he been here? He didn't remember.

He was missing time.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor said again.

"I'm not sure." Looking over Carson's shoulder, he spied Rodney there, his expression one of concern.

"I'd like you to speak with Doctor Heightmeyer –"

"I'm not crazy," Sheppard said, interrupting him in a soft voice. He could feel himself moving, swaying where he sat on the bed. "I'm just, I'm not sure of where I am."

"You're on Atlantis," Rodney said, his voice tight.

"How long have I been here?"

"Three days," Rodney said. "Don't you remember?"

"Time's all weird," Sheppard replied. "Pieces are missing."

Rodney looked nervously at Carson. "You're going to be fine."

"I'm not fine," Sheppard said, his voice rising. "Time's gone wrong, and I'm not sure where I am." He dropped his voice to a tense whisper. "I'm afraid all this," he waved his hand around him, "is in my head."

"It's not," Rodney said quickly.

"How can I know that?" Sheppard replied, his voice cracking. "If this place is real, the other isn't; if that place is real, this one isn't. Which one is real? This place, or the other?"

"Try to calm down," said Carson. "If you become too agitated –"

"Agitated? Wouldn't you be?" Sheppard replied, practically shouting. He tried to catch his breath, to calm himself, but he couldn't, and when he saw Carson come at him, needle in hand, he tore away from the bed, an IV he'd not been aware of tearing loose from his hand in a burst of pain. He took several steps backward, watching as Carson froze in place. Slowly, saying something that he couldn't catch, the doctor put the needle down on a nearby table, holding empty hands palms out. Sheppard looked at Rodney, over Carson's shoulder, and saw the alarm in his friend's eyes. Then he watched his friend speak, his mouth moving, his words having no meaning, and then…

There was the sound of rain, and he felt the water coming down, drenching him.

His back hit the wall.

He watched as Rodney looked to Carson, who nodded, and Rodney began a slow approach toward Sheppard. Once standing in front of him, Rodney began talking again. Sheppard tried to make sense of what he was saying, and finally caught up when Rodney said, "…be all right, no one is here to hurt you."

"This is real," Sheppard said, taking in the room with a jerky motion.

Rodney nodded.

Sheppard squinted toward the windows. "Is it raining?"

"No," Rodney replied.

"So that was there, not here," Sheppard said with a choked laugh. "I'm cold."

Rodney reached a hand to the side, bending down and snagging the blanket that must have dropped there.

"She said it would be hard coming back." Sheppard let himself slide down the wall, then sat, hunched over his knees, head down. "I guess I didn't know what she really meant."

Rodney squatted down in front of him, and he heard Rodney's voice. "You're sick." He held the blanket out. When Sheppard didn't take it, he put it on the floor and slid it toward him, as if afraid that getting any closer would set him off again.

Maybe it would. Sheppard snared the blanket and pulled it over his legs. He looked up at Rodney. "You think I'm hallucinating."

Rodney frowned. "Maybe something like that. Maybe you caught a bug down on the surface, something that triggered all this."

"Hell of a bug," Sheppard said, trying for a smile. "When does Carson think I'll be better?"

Rodney tried for his own smile, but failed. "He's not sure. He's been trying some, some drugs, but…"

"How long have I been back?"

"Three days."

"Right, right. You'd said that." Sheppard wiped a harsh hand across tired eyes, "How long was I gone?"

"About two weeks."

Sheppard sat there, hands clenched in the blanket. Almost three weeks, lost. It didn't seem possible. Taking a deep breath, he finally said, "Didn't seem that long. A couple days, maybe."

Rodney shifted and sat in front of him, staring into his eyes. "It's not your fault," he said. "You've, I don't know…" He hesitated. "It is not your fault."

Sheppard shook his head. "It seems so real, when I'm there, or when I was, but now…" he looked away from Rodney, taking in the infirmary around them, Carson still standing cautious vigil nearby. "I'm confused. I'm not sure."

Rodney took his knee and squeezed. "This is real," Rodney said, shaking his leg gently. "I'm real."

Sheppard met his gaze. "I know you're real. I'm just not as sure about the rest of it."

x-x

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