Spoilers: As I have said before ….Major SEASON 4 spoilers ahead and major AU fun.

Disclaimers: I own no part of the Stargate world, I make no money from this endeavour. I only love this world so much I wish to play in it as much as I can and bend it to my Will.

Note: I am sure some of these theories of John's life will be wrong by the time Outcast is shown, but right now they are still open to speculation. Thanks again for all the kind reviews. My Muse is really storming ahead at the mo!! I guess it's because Season 4 is so full of great character moments, they breed fanfic like crazy!!

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The Mess Hall was dark and lonely, just as he had hoped. Pausing briefly at the small selection of food put out for any hungry night staff, he picked up a sandwich, poured himself a coffee and carried them off towards the large dark windows. Outside it was pitch black, and he did not care to turn on more than the already muted night lighting of the Mess Hall. He chose a table by the window, which normally would look out over a beautiful seascape, but it was too dark outside to see anything other than the rain falling against the glass. He sat down heavily and unwrapped the plain salad sandwich with pickle. Slowly he took one bite, enjoying the sharpness of the flavour in his mouth. Anything to break up the numbness and weariness he felt.

Munching slowly he studied the sandwich in his hands. He wasn't really all that hungry, but he had not eaten for hours and so he ate. His stomach seemed to greet the sandwich happily, but there was no real pleasure in the eating. He took another unhurried bite and chewed it slowly, cow like as he looked out at the falling rain outside.

He watched the water hitting the glass, watched it drip and slide down the window in tiny rivers. He enjoyed the sound of rain. It was soothing and it was especially enjoyable when you were protected from the wind and cold yourself. He remembered as a kid camping out in the family's back yard. He had sat under the tent, protected from the water, but able to enjoy the sound as the water hit the plastic above his head. He was out in the rain, but safe from it. A light smile touched his lips as he remembered his mum worrying about him out in the cold all night. He had insisted on cooking his own food over the tiny fire, usually unsuccessfully. And though he refused to let mum help, he always found a bag of sandwiches materialise in the tent whilst his back was turned. He would always eat them, but never said anything. Mum seemed happy enough to allow him the illusion of his self-sufficient camping trip.

John looked down at the sandwich in his hand and for the first time in a long time he felt the pain of loosing his mother again. It had been long ago that she had died, but the grief felt as new as it had back then. Pulling his gaze away from the sandwich he worked to blink the sudden wetness from his eyes.

Despite his efforts, his father floated in beside memories of his mother. She would never have treated John as harshly as he had done, had she been alive. She had been the one to hold the family together, and without her it had fallen apart, and especially so for John. John did not like to think of his father. He did not like the man yet, as with all children, in truth he wished for his father's approval. John hated that part of himself. That childish part that had thought he could prove his strength and honour to his father by camping out in the back yard by himself. It was a childish wish, and despite John's denials over the years, he still wished his father would approve of him. But, he did not. He would never. As far as he was concerned he never had a son named John. The pain of abandonment moved through John tangling with the renewed grief. He was an adult and had been when his father had cast him out. John had joyfully turned his back on his father that day and had walked away; head held high. But, some part of him still wished things could have been different.

Only recently had John begun to understand what he had truly lacked from his father. In Atlantis he had made a new family, a family that loved him despite the mistakes he made and whom he loved, despite the mistakes they made. That was what family did. They did not throw out their children.

It was with the Athosians that John had really begun to see the true nature of what it meant to have a real father. Halling for example, had been a solid, strong, yet caring and loving father. The Athosian children were loved, protected and cherished and it made them only stronger for it. The Athosians had accepted him and John had enjoyed telling stories to the kids around a camp fire, enjoying a small part of their happy childhood. Once again John worried over their fate.

John's thoughts turned then to Kanan. A man he had never properly met, but had instinctively disliked. John knew he had no basis for that before and now regretted his dark thoughts towards the man. For if Kanan were alive, John was sure he would have been like his fellow Athosians; a strong, able and caring father.

Instead the child was stuck with him; a man who knew little of what it meant to be a father, having experienced so bad an example himself. How could he possibly be better than Kanan would have been? He couldn't even express the everyday emotions to those he cared for, how was he to care for a child? What if he made the same mistakes his father had made? What if it was in his nature to fail as his father had done? How could Teyla be happy with her child's father being a screw up?

He dropped the last of the sandwich onto the table, the reminder of his beloved mother too much now. She would have known what to say to him, to encourage him. She would have smuggled in supplies of sandwiches and loving words. Instead he sat alone.

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Teyla stood in the dark shadows of the Mess Hall entrance and looked at the man who was the father of her child. He sat in the darkness, his eyes focused out through the window, but his thoughts obviously lost somewhere else. He looked strangely sad and alone to her, two emotions she did not normally associate with John Sheppard. But, then it was not everyday a man learnt he was the father of a child that he had had no part in creating.

She had wanted to speak to him, but now she was afraid to interrupt him. He looked lost and worried. She felt partly responsible for the trauma he was going through. And perhaps she was a little scared that he may tell her he did not want the child to be his.

So, she turned and left him to his deep thoughts, hoping that he would find his way back from them.

She walked slowly back to her quarters. The hallways of the city were quiet and dark. The silence was relaxing and she slowed her steps. Her hand slid once again over her growing belly and she thanked the Ancestors once again that her child was safe and well. As she circled her hand over her stomach the baby shifted and she smiled with delight down at the subtly changing shape of her belly. Her child was safe.

Though the details of her child's heritage had changed, in truth nothing had really changed for her. The child was still hers and she cherished once again its arrival in her life. She had expected to bring up a child mostly by herself and had planned to tell him all about his lost father; Kanan. But, she could not help but be pleased that her child would have a living breathing father. Kanan, if he was alive some where, would have made a wonderful father and she mourned briefly the loss of a child that had never existed; hers and Kanan's. The child was John's.

What had surprised her the most upon hearing the news was how right it had felt. If she was honest with herself, deep down she had known something was different about this child. Her increased abilities; the link to her son's mind as she had faced the Wraith Queen; and some strange instinctive knowledge that this child was special somehow. She had assumed all mothers felt that way about their children, and so they should. However, now things were different. Now she knew that her child was indeed different, special and perhaps the first of his kind; a child with both the Wraith and Ancient genes. It would make him a target though, she realised. Michael was still out there, waiting for her son to be born, to grow. When would he return? What if other Wraith learnt of her son's existence?

She paused just outside her quarters. It did no good to dwell on these fearful thoughts. Regardless of his genetic inheritance, the baby was still her son. She needed to be a strong and confident mother for him. As her parents had done for her – she would not allow fear to rule his life. She would be as strong and loving a mother as she could.

As she stepped into the sanctuary of her quarters, the smell of Athos filling the air from the candles and incense, she promised herself she would not push John in anyway into accepting this child. It would be up to him if he wanted to be involved with the baby once he was born or not. And if he did not; her and her son would be fine alone.

Yes, she would speak to John tomorrow of this and make it clear that he bared no responsibility for this child, perhaps then the shadow of fear and confusion would lift from John's face.

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TBC