Oy, so sorry about the long delay, as usual. I guess I just have to fess up that I'm a tremendously slow and fretful writer, and real life has been a mind-sucking, morale-sapping bugger lately, but finally, here's the next chapter! Yay for me for finishing it! And yes, John and I have the same taste in tunes - obviously, we're perfect for each other.

Sooo... for better or for worse, yippeekiyay, here we go:

John took a deep breath as he and Rodney stepped onto the ramp in the SGC gateroom, their footsteps clanking on the metal. The loud drone of the waiting, open wormhole filled John's ears, the ramp vibrated a little beneath his boots, and he couldn't help it, he faltered, his heart suddenly racing. He wasn't sure if he could do this.

Standing on the ramp, paralyzed with fear, John felt almost as disoriented as when he'd first lost his sight. From the moment they left William's house, John had found himself wishing that he'd never agreed to this. From there on, it had only gotten worse. The crowded, noisy airport had been an exercise in endurance; the flight itself had seemed endless. Once in Colorado, a driver had picked them up at the airport, and during the ride to the base, John couldn't summon the energy to respond much to Rodney's continual and stilted attempts at small talk.

As soon as they'd stepped into the elevator taking them down and down into the SGC, John had to fight off a wave of uncharacteristic claustrophobia. The tumult of unfamiliar sounds and voices as they'd negotiated the black maze of left and right turns had him hanging onto Rodney with something bordering on desperation. The multiple documents he was later read aloud and directed to sign had John's head aching and buzzing with confusion and too much information.

Even though he had every intention of making his visit to the Pegasus galaxy a short one, John hadn't expected it to be so difficult to leave behind the new life he'd worked so hard to accept. Everything in William's home had become so comfortingly familiar, he could easily find his way around without fear, and it shocked him to realize how deeply he'd come to rely on and trust in his dad's constant presence.

When John had first told William that he'd agreed to do some consulting work at his former outpost, his dad hadn't been happy, and had told him as much. In fact, William had been downright skeptical – what the hell kind of consulting would they expect you to do? he'd asked, perplexed. A few months ago, a question like that from his father would have thoroughly pissed John off, but now, he could easily see William's point. After all, what sort of consulting work could a blind former pilot possibly do? But it was the only explanation that John could come up with. William had even calmly tried to talk John out of it, tried to convince him that the last thing he needed right now was to have to reorient himself to different surroundings. Dana had said pretty much the same thing when John had called her to cancel his appointments, and judging by how messed up he was feeling now, John was inclined to agree with both of them.

Perhaps, William even suspected that he wasn't coming back, because John couldn't remember the last time his dad had hugged him – not since he was a little kid, he was fairly certain of that. William's worry and uncharacteristic affection had made leaving that much harder, and worse, had made John further doubt his decision. But then again, Rodney hadn't really given him much of a choice, had he?

"Hey, Sheppard?" Rodney said, snapping his fingers to get his attention. "You okay?"

With a start, John realized what he must look like to his friend, to everyone in the control room – frozen dead in his tracks, his fingers had slipped from Rodney's wrist and his arms hung slack by his sides. A sheen of sweat prickled his brow and upper lip, and he found himself breathing a little too rapidly.

"I'm fine," he quickly said, and tried for a casual shrug and smirk. "Guess I'm just out of practice." He swiped his arm over his face, took another deep breath and summoned his courage. When he reached out for Rodney's wrist again, he was surprised when Rodney instead linked his arm, holding tight and stepping close to his side.

"Humor me," Rodney said by way of explanation. "You ready?"

Though he felt anything but ready, John nodded, and before any further second thoughts could seize hold, he took the first steps forward, his arm jerking behind him until Rodney caught up.

They stepped through the wormhole; there was that cold abyss, that exhilarating sensation of rushing weightlessness, and then John's feet hit solid ground, his head spinning. Rodney kept firm hold of his arm as he stumbled, pressing his other hand against John's chest, helping him regain his footing. John nodded in thanks, grateful for his friend's foresight.

John held still a moment, and once he regained his equilibrium, the first thing that struck him was the distinctive scent to the air – metal, ozone and the faint, but acrid tang of brine.

He loosened his arm from Rodney's tight grip, and there it was; that familiar, gentle thrumming already beginning to course through his veins, to rush along his nerve endings. The best rush in any world. Then there was the faint hum that wasn't so much something he heard, but felt, filling his head, distantly singing to him. Atlantis herself. It was strange, he'd almost forgotten those amazing sensations, but just like the first time he'd set foot in the city, it felt somehow right, as though something he wasn't aware he was missing had suddenly been returned.

He waited expectantly at the sound of footsteps and then a familiar voice. "Welcome back, John."

Elizabeth. He shuffled his feet and smiled shyly because he had no idea how she truly felt about him being here. "Thanks, it's good to be back," he said, although he wasn't entirely sure of that, either.

Elizabeth very lightly placed her hands on his shoulders and then warmly embraced him, betraying none of the reluctance Rodney had mentioned. As she released him, she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and John knew that everything was okay between them.

There was another clatter of footsteps, and Teyla and Ronon greeted him in cheerful unison.

"Hey guys." John grinned at their enthusiasm.

"It is so good to see you, John," Teyla said, a smile in her voice. "You look well." Without hesitation, she pressed up against him, stood on tiptoe to reach, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, like she'd always done. He carefully returned her embrace, his eyes burning, his throat tightening. He hadn't realized how terribly he'd missed her. As Teyla stepped back from him, he pressed his lips tight together, held his breath a moment and tried to hold it together.

Then a strong hand gripped his arm and yanked him forward.

"Man, have I ever missed you, buddy," Ronon declared in his happy growl. Strong arms grabbed John in a fierce bear hug, then hoisted him off his feet. John yelped in surprise, the breath squeezed from his lungs.

"Hey, take it easy, you Neanderthal!" Rodney protested, "don't kill him the second he steps through the gate!"

Ronon only shifted his grip and spun John around in a half circle, and John laughed, because all at once, it was good to be back. Ronon set him back down again, gently this time, keeping his big hands on John's upper arms to steady him.

John grinned and lightly punched his friend's rock-hard abs. "I missed you, too, Chewie."

"It has been unbelievably boring around here without you," Ronon told him, leaning conspiratorially close, his breath puffing against John's ear.

"So I've heard," John whispered back, quirking an eyebrow. "Looks like I got here just in time to whip you guys back into shape."

There was a moment where none of them knew what to do next, and John was grateful when Rodney touched his shoulder, suggesting that they drop off their bags in their respective quarters. They decided to meet up with Ronon, Teyla and Elizabeth in commissary afterward. John took hold of Rodney's arm, allowing his friend to lead him down the corridors. He hadn't used his cane once since they'd hit the airport, and John could all but hear Dana giving him shit over that – you can't rely on others all the time, bud. Although, he'd like to see her try to get around, sightless, in a whole other galaxy.

Even still, he drew on some of her lessons and tried to re-familiarize himself with his surroundings as they walked, counting his steps and reaching out to run his hand along the walls. Rodney immediately shifted over when John couldn't quite reach, and as his fingertips brushed along the columns and windowpanes, it didn't feel like they were heading for his old quarters. It seemed much too far, but then again, it had been a long time…

"What level are we on?" he asked, trying to orient himself.

"Oh, Caldwell's taken over your old quarters," Rodney quickly explained, "so we set you up someplace else."

"Caldwell?" John said, surprised. "Caldwell's in charge of military operations now?"

"Yeah," Rodney replied almost apologetically.

John scowled a little at that and continued walking alongside Rodney. He should have expected as much, he supposed. After all, Caldwell had been itching to take John's place ever since his nasty run-in with that Wraith retrovirus.

"So here we are," Rodney said with flourish as he stopped to wave open a door. "You're actually two doors down to the left from my quarters, you know, just in case you need anything…"

"Of course," John said with a sardonic smile – Rodney was back to the babysitting already. As they stepped inside, Rodney reached for the shoulder strap of John's bag.

"Here – I'll give you a hand unpacking."

"No, I got it," John protested, keeping a firm grip on the strap. "Just show me where the drawers are."

Rodney did as John asked, and as he unpacked the few clothes and personal items he'd brought along, Rodney chattered nonstop, offering constant reassurances and John couldn't help a surge of irritation at that.

They headed for the commissary right after Rodney dropped off his own bag. Situating John at the table with Elizabeth, Ronon and Teyla, Rodney rushed off to get him a cup of coffee without bothering to ask if he even wanted one.

Teyla was just asking John how he was feeling about being back when Rodney rushed back seemingly a few seconds later.

"Coffee," he said a little breathlessly, placing a mug almost in John's hand and then there was the thump of something being placed in front of him. "And your favorite – crackberry pie."

"Thanks, McKay," John said tightly, and if Rodney didn't stop fussing and fretting over him anytime soon, John was going to yell at him, or hit him. Even though he didn't really feel like eating anything, John felt around until he found a fork and speared off a piece of the pie made from berries indigenous to the mainland. Taking a bite, he was pleased to find that it tasted as good and as addictive as he remembered – both tart and wonderfully sweet, living up to the name with which he had personally christened it.

"So, I imagine you're most curious about this mission, John," Elizabeth said a little too brightly and touching his wrist. "We'll have a briefing later but if you have any questions—"

"Elizabeth," Rodney interrupted, "the man just got here, give him a minute to at least eat his pie before you start the shop talk. We can talk about all that stuff later."

Then resulting silence was absolute, and without being able to see his friends' expressions, John wasn't sure if everyone was stunned by Rodney's sudden lack of interest in the mission, or his blatantly condescending tone.

John cleared his throat and shifted on his chair. "Well, to be honest, McKay, I'm kinda surprised we're even sitting here. I'd figured you'd have me all suited up and shoving me into a jumper by now," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Ahh, we got lots of time for that," Rodney said happily and almost dismissively. "So this is good, isn't it? Our usual table, your favorite pie, the old gang – everyone together again. Let's just sit back and… savor the moment."

John paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and he could all but imagine the smug, satisfied look on Rodney's face. He began to wonder if his friend had taken their chill-out vacation a little too much to heart. Or maybe, John thought, sudden suspicion filling him, maybe Rodney had been greatly exaggerating the level of technology in this abandoned city just to get John to agree to come back here. Maybe the mission would take all of two hours to complete and once that happened, there would be no more excuses in keeping him here.

If that turned out to be the case, John was seriously going to kick McKay's ass. For the time being though, he let it go and enjoyed the rest of his snack. He sat back and listened as everyone chatted around him, eager to get him caught up on the latest news and gossip going on in the city, talking of people John no longer entirely recalled. Again, he couldn't help the odd feeling that the world had passed him by, as though he was dissociated from it all. As his friends continued to talk and laugh around him, no one seemed to notice that he didn't contribute much to the conversation, for which he was grateful.

They did talk of the mission later on, Elizabeth conducting a short briefing where Colonel Caldwell and Major Lorne met them in the conference room. Every time Caldwell spoke, when he gave all his orders to Lorne, or when he all but dismissed John for the civilian 'consultant' that he now was, John couldn't suppress his bitter resentment. At the very least, the briefing did put his suspicions about Rodney's motives to rest – from the intel that Rodney had documented, and from Lorne's own comments, the abandoned city did sound impressive. It was decided that they'd head out first thing in the morning, with Lorne piloting the jumper, and with that, the meeting was over.

As they made their way from the room, Caldwell stepped close beside John, surprising him.

"Good luck, Sheppard, and I know it's probably pointless to say this, but be careful out there," the colonel said, his words softened by what John could have sworn was fondness.

After dinner in the commissary, John's team was reluctant to call it a night, and so they'd made their way to John's new quarters. John sat on his bed, his legs stretched out, with Teyla sitting cross-legged and close beside him. Ronon and Rodney perched on chairs, resting their feet on the end of the bed.

As though John had only been gone a week instead of over five months, they easily slipped back into their old, easy banter. Teyla and Ronon swapped stories about their trainees – some of them were so unskilled that they were better off relying on their Earth weapons, Teyla told John with such seriousness that he and Ronon burst into helpless laughter. To which Rodney sighed and commented that his alien teammates were in serious danger of becoming hopeless, mindless savages if they didn't start getting out of the training room more often, earning himself a smack on the head from Ronon. For a short while things almost felt back to normal. Almost.

When John rubbed his burning eyes and couldn't hold back a jaw-cracking yawn, Teyla twined her fingers with his and squeezed his hand.

"We should let you get some rest now, John," she said, her other hand resting on his leg. "After all, we do have an early start tomorrow."

"Sorry," he said, raking a hand through his hair. "Guess it's just been a long day."

"Yes, it has," Rodney agreed, "you probably have some serious gatelag going on."

There was the clatter of a chair being pushed back. "Get some sleep, buddy," Ronon told him, unintentionally clapping John on the shoulder hard enough that his teeth snapped together.

"Yes, we will see you in the morning, John," Teyla said, still holding his hand. When she stood, John needed to hold onto her hand for a moment longer, then reluctantly slid his fingers free. He'd missed all of them so much. He'd missed all of this – far more than he'd ever suspected. He didn't allow himself to think of how hard it would be to leave them again.

"'Night guys," he said, trying for a casual smile and a sloppy salute.

John heard the doors whoosh open and close behind them. Rodney sat back down in his chair, and the bed jostled when he propped his feet at the end again.

"So, hey, there's nothing to be nervous about tomorrow," he said, his voice deliberately casual. "Compared to most of our missions, this'll be a cake walk."

"Hey, be careful saying something like that…" John cautioned, then superstitiously rapped his knuckles on the wood veneer of the nightstand. He sat up a little, shoved the pillow to a more comfortable position behind his back. "And who says I'm nervous?"

"No one," Rodney quickly said. "I'm just trying to offer a few words of encouragement, that's all. Like you said, you're out of practice."

"I'll be fine," John said, folding his hands behind his head. He didn't want to talk about the mission. If he thought things through too much, he would get nervous all over again, and being skittish off-world was never a good thing. He just wanted to wing it, to get this whole thing over with, and do it with as little fuss as possible. "So… I really am pretty tired, McKay," he said, shrugging apologetically.

"Oh. Right." Rodney sounded both surprised and a little offended. "I, uh… I arranged everything in the bathroom for you… and I'll just… go now." He dropped his feet to the floor and shoved his chair back. "Call me if you need anything, okay? It doesn't matter how late it is."

"Okay," John said, and Rodney's footsteps moved away from him. "Umm, Rodney?"

The footsteps immediately halted. "Yeah?"

John licked his lips, uncertain what he'd wanted to say, or why he'd even called Rodney back in the first place. "Going off-world like this… it'll be kind of… strange," he said without thinking, the helpless admission seemingly coming forth on its own accord.

There was a pause. "I know," Rodney said after a moment, his voice both surprisingly gentle and a little worried. "But hey, we'll watch out for you. Probably drive you nuts while we're at it."

John forced back a cynical laugh at Rodney's attempted reassurance, because that was part of the problem, wasn't it? That was one of the many reasons John hadn't wanted to do this in the first place. He had always been the one in charge, the one responsible for looking out for everyone. He wasn't entirely sure if he could handle being so reliant, so helpless under his team's care.

"Yeah… I know you will. Like you said, it'll be great," he finally answered, forcing a note of optimism to his voice, knowing that Rodney was waiting for a reassurance of his own.

"Absolutely," Rodney said.

John smiled a little at that and hoped that Rodney would be right. Besides, it was far too late to turn back now, and so he silently ordered himself to buck the hell up already, to trust in his friend and trust in his team that everything would be okay. He could do this. "Let me get some sleep now, will ya?"

"Right," Rodney said, sounding greatly relieved. "Goodnight, John-boy."

"'Night, Meredith," John smirked, throwing his extra pillow in his friend's direction. He jumped and barely managed to hold back a surprised yelp when the pillow lightly smacked him in the chest a moment later. Then he heard the whoosh of the doors opening and closing and Rodney was gone.

John shifted lower in the bed and for the first time since he'd set foot back in the city, he was alone. In the sudden quiet, he could hear Atlantis humming all around him, and it should have been soothing, but instead, it somehow made him feel strangely adrift, lost even. Listening to the quiet hum, he closed his eyes and decided that he'd rest for just a moment before getting up to brush his teeth and get undressed.

Instead, sleep quickly stole over him, catching him unaware, and he woke hours later when the pressure on his bladder became too great to ignore. Sitting up, he reached for his cane, which he'd propped against the headboard. His fingers brushed against it, and he cursed when it slipped from his grasp and hit the floor with a light, rolling clatter.

"Fuck it," he muttered, irritated, and decided to find his way to the bathroom without it. He slid to his feet, shuffled forward, holding out his hands until he reached a wall. Sliding one hand along the wall, the other held out in front of him, he found the bathroom by painfully bashing his toes against the door before it obediently opened for him. He relieved his bladder then found the toothpaste, his toothbrush and a cup sitting right along the sink, exactly the way Rodney had arranged it for him those first few weeks after his accident. John brushed his teeth, splashed some warm water on his face then carefully made his way back to the main room. He was doing fine until he stepped on something round and narrow – his cane, he realized, as his foot skidded out from under him. He pinwheeled his arms, managing to right himself and found the bed by nearly falling onto it, and dammit, he knew better than to leave it on the floor like that.

His heart pounding, John pulled off his shirt and pants and shoved them under the bed so that he wouldn't trip over them in the morning. He slid into bed in his boxers, the sheets smooth and cool against his bare skin. Settling against the pillow, and arranging the blankets over him, he found that he was suddenly and fully awake. Frustrated, he blew out a deep breath and tore a hand through his hair. Atlantis hummed and hummed, his toes ached a little, and his thoughts began to race. He couldn't stop trying to imagine what the Ancient city would be like, what he'd encounter there. When those thoughts only heightened his nervousness, he took slow, deep breaths, tried to quiet his thoughts, tried to think of flying over the green-white glaciers at McMurdo, picturing that perfect blue sky in his mind, but it didn't work the way it usually did.

Finally, he reached over for his iPod on the nightstand and set the volume low. He'd listened to all of Radiohead's OK Computer, Johnny Cash's Ragged Old Flag and was halfway through Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon when he finally drifted into a restless sleep. Instead of dreaming of the Antarctica, he was plagued by nightmares of Wraiths, explosions, and a droning alarm, going on and on and on in absolute darkness.

---A---

The next morning, sitting in the back of the jumper with Teyla close beside him, John was surprised to feel that cautious excitement he always experienced during a mission rushing through him. His heart was beating a little too quickly, and the gentle motion of the jumper felt strange, as though they weren't really moving at all, and he wished he could see the stars rushing by them for proof that he was actually doing this, going off-world again.

"Ease up on the thruster," he called to Lorne when he felt the craft tip a little to the left.

"No problem, sir," Lorne replied.

"Sheppard, please don't ask if you can fly," Rodney said in a pained voice from the co-pilot's seat.

"Why not?" Ronon answered for John, perched on the bench across from him. "We're in wide-open space, McKay. What's he gonna hit?"

"Yeah, Rodney, it's not like I can crash into a star, or anything," John added.

"Ignoring you!" Rodney shot back, and both John and Ronon snickered at that.

In truth, even if his team would let him fly, what with how the jumpers responded to his every thought and visual command, John suspected that he'd wind up sending them into a crash and burn tailspin.

The trip took a surprisingly short amount of time, and John had to admit that Lorne brought them down to a feather-light landing. Teyla took John's hand, led him to the open hatch of the jumper and outside. Stepping onto soft, springy ground, John paused a moment. The cool, damp air smelled like moss and wet foliage. The wind was so chilled that he shivered despite the layers of clothing he was dressed in.

Ronon took the lead, Lorne their six, with Rodney on John's other side. Teyla tried to describe their surroundings to John as they walked – the remarkable resemblance to Atlantis and the elaborate but damaged, moss-covered buildings. The nearly overgrown walkways where the land tried to reclaim its rightful place, rendering the city more of a mythical fable than reality. John nodded in the appropriate places, but found himself much too distracted by his nervous anticipation to pay full attention.

Teyla paused and directed him to take one step up, and their footsteps echoed as they stepped inside a building. It was only marginally warmer inside, and there were more echoing footsteps as the rest of his team moved around, the sounds over-amplified in John's ears, disorienting him. The place seemed vast, cavernous, and he unconsciously stepped a little closer to Teyla.

He jumped when he heard something grinding along the floor and then Rodney's pissed-off voice.

"Ah, shit," he groused. "I didn't think about this part."

"What?" John said, tensing.

"The shaft," Rodney said, and when John shook his head in confusion, Rodney explained further. "I forgot to mention, there's a shaft over here with a ladder that you have to climb down to reach the facility."

"No problem," Major Lorne said, and John heard a clinking of metal. "I brought a harness rig – we can lower him down."

"Good thinking," Rodney said, his voice brightening, "that'll definitely work."

"Guys," John piped up. "I am perfectly capable of climbing a ladder, you know."

"No offense, sir," Lorne said, "but it's a narrow shaft and the steps are wide apart. We can't chance you falling. It's a long way down."

John cursed under his breath, and this was exactly what he'd wanted to avoid, being rendered incapable of keeping up with everyone. Scowling, he weighed his options and decided that there was no way in hell he was going to be tricked out in a harness like some pathetic invalid.

"First of all, Major," he told Lorne, "you don't have to call me 'sir' anymore."

"Sorry, sir, force of habit," Lorne immediately replied, then corrected himself. "I mean…"

"Never mind." John waved a dismissive hand. "And second, I can handle the ladder. End of discussion."

"Sheppard, he's probably right," Rodney broke in. John opened his mouth to offer another protest but before he could say anything, Ronon spoke up.

"I can go in front of him and guide his feet."

"Yeah, right, and then both of you'll wind up falling," Rodney scoffed.

"No, we won't," Ronon replied, unconcerned.

"Everyone, I am in command of this mission, and this is my call," Lorne said, his tone brooking no room for further argument. "Sheppard, you either let us lower you down, or we head back to the jumper."

"Are you kidding me?" Rodney squawked in protest. "No, we are not!"

"Doctor McKay…" Lorne said in a warning voice.

"We didn't bring him all this way just to turn back around two minutes later!" Rodney nearly shouted, his voice echoing around the room.

Lorne said nothing to that, and John clenched his fist, anger and frustration surging through him. He gritted his teeth, his muscles tensing, itching for an argument, and then Teyla squeezed his other hand. He'd almost forgotten that he was still holding onto her.

"John, it is only for your safety," she quietly said in that calm, no-nonsense way of hers. "It will take but a few moments."

At once, all John's anger depleted. He could never argue with Teyla's pragmatism, but still, he hated this. He knew something like this would happen. He considered balking, calling this whole damn thing off. Then, he thought of what he'd do in Lorne's situation, and realized that he'd probably make the same call.

"Fine," he said almost snidely. Just because he was agreeing to this, didn't mean he had to like it. "Put the damn thing on."

He held still and silent through the indignity of Lorne strapping and securing the harness around his hips. Ronon went down the shaft first, holding onto the other end of the rope as Lorne and Rodney carefully lowered John down. He held out his hands, and the shaft was so narrow that could touch both sides without even fully stretching out his arms. It only took a few seconds until his feet touched ground again, but the reminder of his fucking helplessness and uselessness was a cruel one.

Rodney immediately offered John his arm once they were all down, somehow understanding that he was the only one John could tolerate assisting him right now. Ducking his head, his face burning with humiliation, John took hold of friend's sleeve and they made their way down the passage. It stank disconcertingly of rot and decay, their boots squelched as they walked, and their voices sounded too loud in the narrow, confined space. John was glad it was only a short distance until they stepped into what felt like a wider area and where the air smelled cleaner, probably from some sort of ventilation system.

"So this is it," Rodney said, then paused expectantly, as though John could actually take in what was in front of him. Rodney led him a few more steps straight ahead, and John held out his free hand to try to touch something, to ground himself.

"No!" Rodney shouted, snatching John's hand in his larger one, making him jump. "Don't touch anything until I tell you."

"Jesus, McKay…" John breathed out, his heart skittering in his chest.

"Sorry, I… uh, we just don't want to accidentally trigger anything, okay?" Rodney quickly explained, probably thinking of the last time they'd both been in one of these facilities.

Rodney let go of John's arm, placed both hands on his shoulders and carefully steered him to the left. John unconsciously clenched his hands into tight fists, pressing them against his thighs. Rodney slowly turned him until the back of John's legs pressed against something. He heard a droning sound and the bleep of something mechanical flaring to life.

"Okay, I've got you right in front of the nice control chair that's already in love with you because Jesus, you haven't even sat down yet, and it's activated," Rodney said with awe. "Okay… now sit down. Slowly."

John paused a moment, chewing on his lip, then did as he was told. Like the chair at the base in the Antarctica, like the chair on Atlantis, this one immediately blazed with a surge of energy, dropping to a reclining position with an almost eager sounding mechanical chirp. John held his arms up a little, away from the armrests and hand controls, his fingers curled against his palms. He could feel warmth at the back of his head, his legs and along his back.

"There, see that?" Rodney crowed. "Now that's what I'm talking about. Lit up like the fucking Las Vegas strip."

John shifted on the chair and sucked in a deep breath. He carefully lowered his hands to the armrests and straightened his fingers, overwhelmed by the swirling energy, the incredible power that was right at his fingertips. He closed his eyes and allowed the energy wash over him, to encapsulate him. He'd almost forgotten what this felt like. At the same time, this chair felt different than the others, or maybe he'd just been away from all this for too long.

"Sheppard?" Rodney called to him. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah…" John said, and his voice sounded a little dreamy, distant. "It just… feels strange."

"Strange how?"

John shook his head, unable to describe it. He tightened his fingers, the energy pitched up a notch and even his teeth felt like they were thrumming. Tell me tell me tell me tellll… the chair seemed to be whispering to him, beckoning him to command it.

"It's… intense," he managed after a moment. "Like it's been waiting here for a long, long time…"

"Well, don't make friends with it," Rodney snapped and sounding worried all at the same time. "Just concentrate on one thing at a time. Think about the schematics of the city – I know that'll be hard because you don't have a visual, but focus on the power source. The ZedPM."

John nodded and concentrated. Images popped up in his mind, one after the other after the other, shuffling so fast that he couldn't keep track of them.

"Holy shit! Will you look at all those screens coming up!" Rodney nearly shouted. His other teammates murmured around him, but John couldn't focus on their voices enough to make out their words. "Sheppard… can you slow it down?" Rodney directed, his eager voice penetrating the overwhelming sensations. "One thing at a time, buddy. Try to concentrate on the ZedPM."

"Okay," John whispered. Rodney's voice was becoming distant now, too, seemingly miles away. John loosened his grip on the armrests and tried to slow down the information spewing across his mind's eye. One schematic after the other, one diagram after the other popped up. A highly detailed map of the city, a pulsing power core at the center, a rendering of the Pegasus galaxy solar system – a bright sun, thousands and thousands of stars, tiny pinpricks of twinkling lights – and he couldn't concentrate. After so much blackness for so long, he couldn't focus on any one thing. He could only marvel at the images and the colors… so vivid, so clear… He wanted to see more and more, and the images began flashing so quickly that he almost got dizzy.

"John, ease up!" Rodney called, and John startled a little at his friend's distant but sharp voice. He tried to nod, but it was hard to get his body to cooperate. His heart raced and he heard his own breaths rasping in his ears. He tried to slow down, tried to focus on just one thing, to find what they needed, but the lights and the colors had been so spectacular, so mesmerizing, he wanted to see them again. And even as he thought of it, the images suddenly morphed into brilliant, multicolored lights rushing through his head, like surges of lightning, like fireworks on the fourth of July, like the streaks of stars just before you jumped into hyperspace, and it was so amazing, so incredible… it was…

"It's beautiful…" he whispered, smiling.

"What is?" Rodney's faraway voice asked.

The lights, John thought, rather than spoke aloud, because it was too much, he couldn't seem to get his body to move, to respond. The lights filled his head, streaks of brilliant snow white, yellow like the sunshine, blue like the Antarctic sky, and nothing else mattered. Nothing…

"John, what's going on? The screens are gone," said Rodney's confused sounding voice. "Stay in control, concentrate on one thing. Concentrate on the ZedPM. John, are you even lis—"

And then Rodney's voice winked out. The chair seemed to be whispering to him again, what do you want, what do you need, tellmetellmetellmeteltellll… John lost himself in the urgent, shushing voice, and with all those pretty lights filling his head, he could only think of the one thing he wanted most in the world. He wished for it more than he'd ever wished for anything.

Please, he whispered, his lips moving soundlessly. Please…

Something warm and wet ran from the corners of his eyes and trickled into his ears and the hair at his temples. A harsh, bright light suddenly exploded in his mind, and all at once, a surge of energy seemed to focus entirely on him. A sharp, vivid pain pierced his skull, right behind his eyes, and he moaned, arching his back. His fingers spasmed then curled tightly around the armrests.

"Rodney!" someone's voice shouted. "What is happening?"

John felt a relentless thumping, a frenetic fluttering in his chest, and he distantly realized that it was his own heart. He heard the rasping of his own breaths, rattling against the back of his throat, and then a low, keening sound. He couldn't tell if the sound was coming from him or from the chair. His fingers hurt, his jaw and tightly clenched teeth ached, the pain in his head was white-hot, but he wasn't afraid. He didn't want it to stop. He wouldn't stop it, even though he knew all it would take to do that was one single thought, one simple command. He knew the chair wouldn't do anything to harm him. He knew…

"McKay, shut the damn thing off!" another voice shouted.

"Sheppard, what the hell are you doing? Stop it, now! Shut it down!"

"Dammit, McKay, if you're not going to do anything—"

John felt strong hands suddenly gripping his upper arms, pulling at him. NO! his mind and the chair both shrieked at once, as one. It was too soon. Not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet he chanted in his head. Something warm enveloped him, like a heated blanket, and his limbs began tingling, pins and needles prickling over every inch of his skin.

There was a pained, guttural shout and the hands abruptly released him.

"What the hell? Ronon, what the hell just happened?"

"I don't know… it pushed me back. Like a force field or something. It's not supposed to do that, is it, McKay?"

"Rodney can't you deactivate it?"

"I don't know! John, if you're doing this, knock it off right fucking now! We don't need the ZedPM that badly, so just shut it the hell down! Do you hear me?"

"Doctor McKay!"

"Yes, yes. Everyone just shut up a minute! I almost have it. Just getting the control crystal—"

John heard but couldn't focus on the muted panicky voices shouting around him. The light in his head was pure, unblemished, searing white, his head blazed with muted pain, and the keening sound went on and on and on, but he knew it would be over soon, it would finish and—

The light suddenly winked out, and the chair snapped back to an upright position. John gasped, his body jolting forward, his teeth clicking together. The energy faded, and all at once, he felt terribly lost, alone. Something grabbed hold of him, tugging on him.

"No!" he cried, clinging to the armrests, kicking his legs, fighting with everything he had. Something pried at his fingers, and he cried out in protest when his hands were pulled free. Something grabbed him around his chest, pinning his arms and he bucked against the strong grip. He was wrestled to the floor and something pinned his legs. His head swam, his stomach roiled and for a moment, all sensations faded out…

…then there was a soft hand stroking his face, brushing his sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead.

"…think he's starting to come out of it now…"

"…ohn can you hear me?"

The voices of his teammates penetrated the heavy fog and sharp pain filling John's head, pulsing at his temples and around his eye sockets. He pulled in a ragged breath and tried to reach up to rub his burning eyes, but he couldn't move his arms. Someone was holding him, lightly holding onto his wrists, and he was too disoriented, too exhausted to fight against the grip. He kept his eyes shut because he could still see those dazzling, pretty lights in his head.

"John, can you hear me?" Rodney called to him, his voice wavering and high-pitched with fear. There was a hand on his face again, big, rough and lightly callused, patting his cheek.

John tried to answer his friend but he couldn't seem to find his voice. He couldn't think. The lights in his mind's eye faded out, and he wanted to weep for the loss of them. He slowly pulled open his eyes, expecting the usual blackness, but instead, there was a strange residual aura, white shadows ghosting the dark. He was too out of sorts to puzzle over what it was, though. He leaned heavily against the solid bulk at his back, and when he tried to free his hands again, the grip on his arms released only to loosely clasp him around his upper chest. John lifted his hand and his fingers brushed against leather and buckles.

"Ronon…?" he breathed out.

"You back with us, buddy?" Ronon asked gently, his deep voice vibrating against John's upper back, and John could only nod.

"What… happened…" he managed after a moment, his voice sounding a little slurred to his own ears.

"Oh, thank God…" Rodney breathed out.

"Why'd you pull me out?" John asked, his voice still slurring a little. "It was too soon…" He rubbed his eyes but the aura and white blurs didn't fade, and his headache pitched up a notch. "You pulled me out too soon…"

"Too soon for what?" Rodney asked, then fell silent a moment. "Oh… hey, don't worry about the ZedPM right now. We've managed this long without it."

Wincing a little, John shook his head because that wasn't what he had meant at all. "Shouldn't have pulled me out," he insisted, although he wasn't sure what exactly had happened, or why it had been so important to let the chair finish what it was doing.

"Sheppard, we thought you were having a goddamned stroke!" Rodney snapped.

"It wouldn't… hurt me," John told him, carefully shaking his head again, although he didn't entirely understand why he was so certain of that either. He just knew.

"Yeah, right," Rodney shot back. "If I hadn't pulled the control crystal and deactivated the thing when I did, we'd probably be scraping you off the fucking ceiling right now. Were you trying to fry your brains, you idiot?"

"Rodney, that is enough," Teyla chastised her friend, and John felt her small hand press against his cheek, thumbing away the wetness at his temples. "It is all right now, John. Just lie still a moment."

A water bottle was pressed against his mouth, and John took a long swallow, the water blessedly cool against his parched and scratchy throat. His back twinged, his legs felt cramped and he struggled to sit up. Ronon released his grip, but kept one hand on John's shoulder. As he sat fully up, his head swam, and he felt himself listing a little to one side.

"Whoa, easy," Ronon cautioned and grabbed hold of John's shoulders with both hands.

'We should get him back to Atlantis," Lorne said.

"I'm okay…" John told his teammates, even though he was still dizzy and his stomach was still roiling a little. He shifted his feet under him and pushed up to his knees. Ronon quickly caught hold of him under his arms and carefully hauled him to his feet. The shift in gravity made John's head swim again. His headache pitched up a few more nauseating notches, and the aura staining the blackness became a swirling, slow motion kaleidoscope. His knees buckled, and Ronon caught him before he fell.

"Actually, you're not looking so good, buddy," Ronon informed him, practically holding him up.

"Yeah, you and Night of the Living Dead, Sheppard," Rodney agreed. "So just shut up and let's get you home and get you checked out."

John nodded, seeing no point in arguing. He was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to manage three steps on his own anyway. Ronon wrapped his arm around his waist and began to lead him in what John assumed was the direction of the doorway. As he took a few shuffling steps, the white blurs marring the usual blackness were strange, completely disorienting. It seemed a little stronger at the corner of his left eye, and without thinking, he stopped and reached out his hand, as though he could touch it. His fingers brushed against the doorframe, and he felt warmth at his fingertips.

"Sheppard?" Ronon said, pausing.

"John, what are you doing?" Rodney asked, directly behind them.

John wanted to answer his friends, but he couldn't think clearly. He couldn't orient himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, the auras faded out and vertigo washed over him. He didn't realize he was listing again until Ronon grasped hold of him, pulling him upright.

When John was pulled back up the shaft again, he had to grit his teeth against the escalating pain crashing through his skull. He didn't remember much of the jumper flight back to Atlantis – he'd spent most of it dozing, leaning heavily against Ronon's side.

Once they reached Atlantis, the white blurs flittering at the corners of his eyes seemed even stronger. A medical team met them in the jumper bay, coaxed John to lay back on a gurney, and as he was pushed down the corridors to the infirmary, the blurs hazily streaked right above him. He briefly closed his eyes and was almost surprised that the white disappeared, leaving only blackness. When he opened his eyes again, the streaks were back, hazily changing direction along with the gurney. A giddy, nearly frightening realization suddenly burned in his mind, but he didn't allow it to take full hold. He didn't dare, because it was probably just wishful thinking, or more likely, some strange residual effect that would soon begin fade, too. Like that weird after-image that stained your retinas when you stared into a bright light for too long.

His racing thoughts were interrupted when they finally reached the infirmary, and Keller immediately rushed over to him. As the young doctor checked him over, John downplayed his near excruciating headache. He was afraid to mention the white permeating the former immutable blackness of his vision. Maybe Keller would think he was imagining things. Maybe he was simply experiencing those auras that chronic migraine sufferers often complained of, or maybe... maybe the chair had done something to him. Something incredible…

Quietly submitting to the medical team's poking and prodding and a full body scan, John was surprised when Keller finally proclaimed that aside from his headache and a slightly elevated blood pressure, he was fine and in perfect health.

"You're kidding," Rodney said in disbelief when the doctor called in John's team in to give them the news.

"Hey, that's a good thing, McKay," John said from the gurney he was still stretched out on.

"He was only in that chair for five – seven minutes, tops, and he was practically catatonic after we managed to pry him from the damn thing!" Rodney protested, all but ignoring him.

John frowned, surprised at that. It had seemed much longer, unfathomable. Sudden fear washed over him. What if they didn't allow him to go back to the planet, to the chair? All at once, he knew with a strange, but absolute certainty that he had to go back there and let it finish what it had started. No matter what.

"I just… I went in too deep," he said quickly, hoping to explain, and there was a sudden silence around him. He sat up a little more and wondered if maybe he shouldn't have said anything.

"What do you mean?" Rodney said, instantly curious.

"I don't know…" John thought a moment, trying to articulate at least some of what had happened. "It's always kind of weird coming up from the control chairs," he said truthfully. "It always takes a minute to come out of it. But I… I think it's different like this," he said, waving a hand over his eyes. "My therapist back home told me that the longer you're blind, the more your other senses start to develop and get stronger. Maybe that's all this was. Maybe my Ancient gene is… over-compensating, and maybe I just… I don't know… lost control, lost my concentration."

"That's possible," Rodney said, his voice softening, speculative. "You were flying though those command screens like you were on freaking speed."

"Yeah, that's all it was. I just have to remember to focus, to let it happen naturally, like I used to do with the chair here on Atlantis. I'll go slower next time and stay in control – I promise," John said, hoping that Rodney and the others would leave it at that, because the truth was, John was beginning to suspect that he had taken far more control of that chair than he was willing to articulate. "Really, guys, I'm okay," he added as casually as he could. "I didn't mean to freak everyone out. I'll be fine to go back tomorrow. We've still got that ZPM to find, remember?"

Keller laid a hand on his shoulder. "How about we wait and see how you're feeling in the morning, okay?"

John took a deep, frustrated breath, but reluctantly agreed, and despite his clean bill of health, Keller insisted on having him stay the night in the infirmary, keeping an eye on him, just in case. John didn't complain and accepted a dose of acetaminophen, which barely took the edge off his headache.

Situated in a bed at the far back corner, where at least it was quieter, and settled in for the night, John finally slipped into a restless and fitful doze, exhaustion taking hold. It could have only been a few minutes or hours later when he woke with a start, his heart pounding, the ache in his head throbbing in time. He had been dreaming of the chair, of flying, flying, flying, the energy coursing through his veins, he and the chair as one, until suddenly, they were ripped apart. He sat up in bed, opened his eyes wide, and found only the usual, terrible blackness surrounding him. A wave of crushing disappointment washed over him. Just as he suspected, the auras had faded out, just like those pretty lights had done. He should have known better, but even still, tears sprang to his eyes.

Then he thought of something. He took a deep breath and listened a moment. The infirmary was still and silent around him, and he suspected that it was very late. He remembered the small lights above all the beds in the infirmary and thought the lights on over his own bed to almost full intensity. He tilted his head up and there it was. Muted, but definite white blurs. He couldn't hold back a gasp at the mingled relief, joy, excitement and gratitude rushing through him. This was real. This was really happening. He knew he should call Dr. Keller, or a nurse, and maybe it was irrational, but he couldn't do it. He didn't dare tell anyone, because he was fairly certain that if he did, everyone would instantly swarm over him with myriad tests and scans and questions, and they might not let him go back.

No, he'd wait and see what happened tomorrow morning, if the blurs were still there. But either way, he was going back. One way or another, he was.

He sagged back against the pillows, and he couldn't stop looking up at the twin blurs, finally a reprieve from the darkness. His heart raced, his thoughts followed suit, hope burning bright in his mind. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep any more this night, but it didn't matter.

All that mattered was going back to that city. To the chair.

---tbc---