A/N: I've been looking over past chapters posted, and would like to apologize for all the formatting issues (paragraphs running together, words running together, words that should be italicized but aren't, etc.) I do a quick once-over of the chapters before posting, and they are always fine. I may, at some point, go back and fix things as some of the formatting issues have screwed up what I was trying to achieve writing-wise, and it ticks me off (stupid anal formatting).

And yet even more thanks for the reviews.

Ch. 25

Persistence in Calm Seas

"I still feel like I did something wrong."

Kate regarded him, leaning forward with her chin resting on her fist. "Because you had wanted to do something. You're a man of action, John. You weren't able to act. I have the feeling, had you managed to find a way to escape, you would have made sure it involved being able to bring everyone with you."

John smiled what should have been an impossible combination of a shy and irreverent smirk. In the context of Sheppard having changed in some way since his confession during the team's camping trip two days ago, an outsider's opinion would be that he hadn't changed at all. He was still quiet, withdrawn, and comfortable only in the company of his team. He still took meals in his room rather than the mess, and reacted with the occasional flinch in response to sudden movements.

But there was a change, so subtle to be practically imperceptible until one actually took the time to look. For one, John was smiling more. Smiles that actually reached his eyes. And when he walked, it was straight backed with shoulders lifted rather than hunched as though literally bearing the weight of the world.

"I apologize in advance for how cliché this question is going to sound, but how do you feel, John?" Kate asked.

John shrugged. "Tired, actually. Not the 'I need a nap' kind of tired or anything. Just... tired – of all of it. Guessing and second guessing and wondering. Sometimes I just want my brain to shut off, just for ten minutes." He encompassed his head with the spread fingers of one hand. "There's always this damn debate going on in here and I'm sick of it."

"You still feel responsible for what happened to Anja on the hive," Kate stated.

To which John sharply replied in a flash of anger, "Because I am responsible. I talked to her I made friends with her kids. And I knew, I knew what would happen if I did that. I knew they'd find out, I knew they'd use them against me..."

Kate straightened in her seat. "And you didn't try to stop this friendship from forming?"

John lowered his head to glare narrow-eyed at his now clasped hands hanging over his knees. "I told them not to talk to me."

"Did they listen?"

John shook his head. "It was kind of too late by then."

Kate clasped her own hands and nodded. "It's next to impossible to avoid forming bonds in situations like that. It would have happened sooner or later, John."

Sheppard grinned wryly. "Ronon said something like that, about what happened to Anja."

"And he's right. The wraith knew how to hurt you. If a bond had not been formed with Anja and her children then there would have been someone else. Even if you had let Vee'rana have her way with you, it would not have been over, and there would still come a situation or incident – even something as mundane as spilling a glass of water – where someone of innocence, whether a stranger or friend, would have been killed just for the sake of causing you pain."

John's features softened. "Ronon said something like that, too."

"Do you believe him?"

John's head bobbed in the affirmative, and then stopped. "A part of me doesn't want to."

"Because you still feel a need for punishment. Since the wraith aren't here, that leaves only you."

The Lt. Colonel smirked. He looked up, meeting her gaze, more open than she had ever seen him and one hundred percent willing to let it happen. She had a feeling that if she were to ask anything, anything at all – about his childhood, parents, and sorrows in his life – he would answer them with a weary smile and no hesitation.

As much as she had always hoped he would reach that kind of a turning point in his life, it felt wrong and completely unethical to take advantage of it. Like he'd said, he was tired, physically and mentally, leaving him vulnerable and unaware of it. Ronon had told her, the other day, about Sheppard's breakdown. Confessions were like prolonged thirst. Quench it and the satisfaction of killing that thirst made the body demand more. Drink too much and the body became sick. Get one problem off your chest and you wanted to get them all off your chest. Sometimes it wasn't a bad thing, sometimes it was.

In Sheppard's case, as much as Kate wanted him to let others in with a lot more ease, it needed to happen at his invitation and not because he'd left a mental door unlocked. She knew he would prefer to keep certain things to himself.

"Colonel," Kate said, easing back into the seat of the chair. "I can tell you that, without a doubt, everything and anything that happened on that hive ship was not your fault. I hope you're able to realize this one day. If not, I at least ask that you eventually forgive yourself. Allow yourself to live your life. Which, I know, is not going to be an easy thing to get back to. But I had an idea while you were away of something that might help. You're a man of action, Colonel, and you need preoccupation. I've discovered that, sometimes, when overwhelmed by our own problems, it helps to step outside ourselves by doing something for others."

John raised an eyebrow. "Charity work?" He lifted his casted wrist that was going to have to remain bound for another week. "I don't think the doc's going to clear me for pruning fields on the mainland."

Kate smiled. "I was thinking something more along the lines of here in Atlantis. I've already talked to Dr. Weir and she has the perfect job in mind."

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Glorified taxi service is what Rodney called it. The Atlantis military commander reduced to chauffeur. Since that had been John's lot in life before deciding to take it easy in an alien chair, he really didn't care what anyone called it.

He called it freedom. Just him, an alien ship and the open sky.

"You don't really miss those days, do you?" Rodney asked. He was practically present for every flight. Number one being he no longer had as much faith in the jumpers. Number two, unspoken, he was keeping an eye on John. Sheppard figured as much from the way Rodney kept tossing not-so-surreptitious glances his way.

John shrugged. It was a good question. "Depends on what my week is like. Or month. Or couple of months."

"Uh-huh. So what about now?"

Again John merely graced him with a non-committal shrug. "I haven't really thought about those days much." Which was the truth his mind was, and still was, rather occupied. There'd been other times, though, other bad days or months that made him question if sitting in that chair had been worth it. The voice doing the questioning was just as condescending as the one that insisted on him being a selfish SOB. He'd been content in his one-track responsibility of pick up and drop off.

Content and happy, however, weren't necessarily the same thing. He'd enjoyed the lack of crap that came with not being in a war zone, but hadn't been too fond of the inactivity between runs. On Atlantis...

He loved Atlantis. Hell, he even loved his responsibilities. And he loved that he hadn't hit a going-nowhere rut after all. But he hated the broader spectrum of consequences when it came to screwing up. Looking back on some of those consequences still made him physically sick.

"So you're not eager to go back to them or anything, are you?" Rodney asked.

"Not really," he replied honestly. Going back to square one would be like giving in to denial, pretending all of this hadn't happened, and he wouldn't do it. If he ever did go back to Earth, whether because he was ordered to or by choice, it was either early retirement for him or back to a war zone. He wasn't going to pick up where he'd left off.

Not that he wanted to go back to Earth. There wasn't much there for him anyways. On the other hand, as of late, he'd been starting to wonder if he could never reach the point of resuming duties, if he really couldn't trust himself to take care of everyone else, if he couldn't pick up where he'd left off in Atlantis...

He wasn't sure. He wasn't really sure of anything. They'd probably let him stay as an organic battery to keep the Ancient tech running, but if he couldn't even handle that much depending on how painful the memories of what once was were...

Damn it, this is why he hated thinking. Between the voice, the doubts, the what-ifs and guilt, he longed for a tangible off-switch to shut his own brain up. Because it was all a bunch of crap. He couldn't be sure of anything until he'd tried everything and couldn't take trying anymore. There was only one certainty, two, actually, after his little mental blow up turned talk with Ronon – the wraith sucked and this was all their fault. Giving up would mean they'd won. Obviously a little cliché, not that it lessened the truth of it.

John had been broken, so he had to be put back together.

The taxi service actually kind of helped. Flying kept his head clear, his thoughts focused, and it was basically as close to an off-switch as he was going to get. He ferried mostly science teams and a few marines to the mainland and, depending on how long they were going to stay, he ferried them back. Carson never liked him staying too long since he was still healing as well as preventing future ulcers

When not in the air, John went outside, standing in the center of a pier or balcony to stare up at the sky. It was spite, pure and simple, against himself, against his elevated heart-rate and the warnings screaming in his head. He kind of liked it. The surge of adrenaline, the way his muscles pulled and his heart fluttered. Kind of like being on a roller-coast just as it hit the apex before arching down into a drop. Closing his eyes and spreading his arms wide as though trying to embrace the world, were like the drop. It was losing his guard completely and the terror that surged made him want to laugh.

He loved it, actually loved it. It was exhilarating, pathetic and so damn ridiculous, just like everything else – crowds, being stared at, and the flinching. Going outside was easier to deal with and getting easier the more he went, the panic shuffling to the background with nothing to panic over. After all, he'd been taken in a field, not near the ocean. It took him long enough to realize that.

The crowds he handled in smaller increments, hovering outside the door to the mess, or unnoticed within the shadows of the rec room during some group's movie night. Invisible without being invisible, just watching and listening to everyday life. He measured progress by how long he lasted whether he left because he was noticed or because he was bored.

He still couldn't deal with the admiration he didn't deserve. But he caved, more than once, to requests that he take a seat and finish out the rest of the movie more comfortably. It was hard to refuse, let alone try and bolt, with that many hopeful gazes locked on him. Maybe he wasn't what they thought he was, but he didn't have to dash their morale because of it. He didn't deserve their respect. They, however, deserved his. It wasn't easy, although it was getting there.

He was getting there.

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Teyla unfolded from her final stretching maneuver like moving through water, which was exactly how she pictured it in her mind. Water, air, fire, earth: there was a movement for each and mental imagery enhanced it. Charin had taught her that back in their younger days when Teyla was just a child and Charin still had enough flexibility to demonstrate the stretches.

It also helped to think of Charin, usually in her younger years, sometimes older. Lately, the look on Charin's face in her mind was always a stern one.

Teyla wiped her face with the towel folded on her bag. Her door chimed and she tossed it on the bed, turning to face whoever entered.

"Come," she called.

The door slid open and John walked in dressed in his uniform without his vest, which meant he was going flying today. "Hey, Teyla. Just dropping by to see if you wanted to go to the mainland today or anything." He beamed at her, much like the old Sheppard, an excited child in a man's body although more subdued. His uniform looked loose on him. Well, more loose than usual.

Teyla smiled back turning to her woven basket where she kept her fresh clothes neatly folded. She crouched to rummage for something to change into after she bathed. "Not today, Colonel," she said.

Usually his response was a poorly concealed, disappointed, "Oh, okay," followed by him leaving. Not today, it seemed.

"You know, that's the tenth time you've said that."

Teyla slowed in her searching, waiting for what she knew was coming next while hoping it didn't come at all.

"Used to be – you know, before--" He cleared his throat. "Anyways, used to be that you were chomping at the bit to see you're people. Something up? They didn't, um, not make you there leader anymore, did they?"

Teyla turned her head, wondering if he was being serious. According to the worried look on his face, he was. She shook her head and resumed searching without really looking. "I am still there leader."

"Then why don't you want to go?" he asked.

Her skin twitched over tightening muscles. "Because I do not," she snapped more forcefully than intended.

There was an awkward moment of silence, then, "Oh. Okay. Maybe some other time."

Teyla listened to John's retreating footsteps almost to the door, debating whether to stop him, apologize, tell him the truth or just let him keep walking.

"Seriously, Teyla, is something wrong?"

Teyla jumped at the abrupt intrusion of John's voice into her thoughts. She hadn't even realized he'd stopped. Glancing over her shoulder showed her John standing with his back to the door, hands in his pockets, expression anxious with a furrowed brow. His concern made him seem so vulnerable but in a rather endearing way that made it difficult to brush him off a second time.

Teyla had no idea how she was going to explain it to him, even if it had been a long time in coming. She rose, smoothing out the loose skirt she wore during her stretches.

"It is," she began, "complicated."

John's right eyebrow arched upward. "Complicated how?"

"Well," Teyla replied, wandering to the nearest candle to snuff it out. Not that it was necessary, she simply did not wish to stand still. "It is... very complicated."

"You said that. Did you do something against one of your customs? Did you get in a fight with Halling? Come on, it can't be that complicated, nothing ever is."

"It involves you," Teyla blurted. "And..." She turned to him, pressing her hands together imploringly. "My people do not know that you are alive." There, she said it, and the expected look of shock froze Sheppard's features.

John blinked. "O-Kay? And why not?"

Teyla's shoulders bowed. "Because I am still uncertain as to what I should tell them. There is a belief, an old belief, that you only escape the wraith because you have been tainted by them in some way. I do not know if that belief still exists... I am concerned how my people may react to... to what had happened to you."

Again John stared, then blinked. "Oh."

Teyla sank down onto the edge of her bed and John joined her. They sat in uncomfortable silence.

"They're going to find out eventually," John said. He winced after he said it, though Teyla was not sure why, and then added under his breath, "Everyone finds out one way or another."

"True," Teyla said.

"This really isn't like you," John said. "Not that I'm accusing you of anything. It's just that you've never let anything come between you and your people. I mean, yeah, you've had your differences and what ruler and...um... rulee doesn't. But... I don't know this just isn't you. This lack of trust in them."

Teyla flinched, John's statement cutting cold. The truth was always harsh, painful, and Teyla's pain had registered by the way Sheppard suddenly panicked.

"Oh, no, no, no, I didn't mean... You trust your people, of course you trust them..."

Teyla shook her head, bewildered, but more than that contrite. "No, John, you are right. That is exactly what it is. But," she swallowed, "I will also admit to fear, for you."

"What, will they stone me to death or something if you tell them?"

"They may not treat you fairly," Teyla said. "Even after all you have done for us, they may ask me to ban you from our village. They may want nothing more to do with you, your people, Atlantis. They could very well wish to leave fearing the wraith might come. It is difficult to say how they will react."

Sheppard's shoulders bowed. It made him seem smaller and world-weary, and Teyla did not like seeing it.

"Good point," he said. He then gave her an apologetic grimace. "But they will find out eventually."

Teyla nodded. "Yes, they will."

"Better to take the initiative then let it be an accident. They'll be more pissed if they end up finding out the hard way."

Teyla sighed heavily. Sheppard made excellent points and would keep making excellent points because he was right.

It felt like a mere instant later that she was in the co-pilot's seat of a Jumper, just her, John, and Dr. Beckett who was coming to check on the health of a pregnant woman. Sheppard landed the Jumper a little ways out from the village. He stayed with the ship while Teyla and Carson headed into the settlement. They were quiet the entire way, making Teyla wonder if Carson knew what was going on, or if he was simply aware that this was not a good time for talk.

It became obvious before they parted when he mouthed 'good luck' to her. Teyla stood there letting her gaze wander, taking in the settlement and the people passing. Nothing had changed much, yet she had expected everything to be so different as to be almost alien to her. She was broken from her trance when people stopped to greet her, happy that she was here, telling her that it felt like ages since they had seen her.

It took a while but she managed to force herself toward Halling's tent. She paused just outside the flap, breathing deep a fortifying breath smelling of wood smoke. This shouldn't have been so hard. It felt almost ridiculous the amount of energy it was taking just to convince herself to enter. She was a leader, accustomed to conflict, even opposition. She'd had to face it down since that leadership had been passed to her at a very tender age. She had been questioned, doubted, challenged. So why was this so much different?

Teyla took another cleansing breath before she reached out to pull back the flap.

The flap opened before she had a chance to do it herself and Halling stepped out. He jerked back to keep from colliding with her and froze, wide-eyed. "Teyla?" Then he smiled. "It has been so long since you've come by. Please--" he swept the flap aside making room for Teyla to enter, "--come in."

Teyla stepped out of the bright-white warm midday and into the cool shade of a lamp-lit tent, with its woven baskets, clay pots, stacks of animal skins in one corner, wooden shelves which could be taken apart cluttered with food-stuffs and hand-made crafts, and skin and blanket covered cots at the far end. Everything smelled of wood and the lingering spice of cooked food and incense candles. Halling went to the clay stove in the center of the dwelling and put on a kettle. "Jinto is out hunting with friends. Although he should not be much longer. He will be most excited to see you."

Teyla smiled sincerely. She hoped to see Jinto. The last she had seen of him, he was nearly as tall as she. "Has he grown any more?"

Halling beamed proudly. "Much. I am starting to suspect he may very well end up as tall as Ronon. He hopes to be able to join one of the Atlantean exploration teams." His smile weakened, turning melancholy but fond. "He still plays wraith and Lantean."

"As Colonel Sheppard?" Teyla had to ask.

"Yes. He still believes Sheppard may come back..."

The words penetrated like a bullet and Teyla slammed her eyes shut with a quiet groan. She wasn't sure if she could do this.

"Teyla?"

She opened her eyes to Halling's worried face staring at her. "Teyla, are you all right?"

Teyla forced on a strained smile. "I am fine."

"Are you sure?" Halling pressed. "For a moment you seemed ill."

Teyla's smile started to ache. "I am well, I assure you."

Apparently unconvinced, Halling simply nodded then turned back to the heating kettle.

Now or never. Now or prolong it and possibly make matters worse. Heart pounding, Teyla rose. "Halling, may I ask you something?"

Halling turned to her. "Of course."

She stepped stiffly forward. "Do you remember legends, or perhaps passages in the old texts, of... of those who returned after being taken by the wraith?"

Halling pressed his lips into a straight line before replying. "I have. It was said that the taken who return always bring the wraith."

Teyla's insides tried to tie themselves into complicated knots. "Do all the legends say the same? Were there any that talked of... happier reunions?"

Halling rolled his eyes upward pensively, thought for a moment, then pursed his lips and shook his head. "No, none that I have heard. Why?"

"How were they treated, the returned?" Teyla pressed on.

"They were driven away. Why? Teyla, what is this about?"

Teyla turned, pacing, rubbing her suddenly aching eyes with the tips of her fingers. "This is difficult," she muttered, then stopped letting her arms drop to her sides. She supposed, since she had come this far and kindled Halling's concerns, she might as well finish it.

"Colonel Sheppard is alive."

A silence so thick, so encompassing that even the noises from outside could not break it, filled the tent to stifling.

"Alive?" Halling said reluctantly as though afraid to shatter that silence.

Teyla nodded curtly. She felt a hand on her shoulder, but did not look up to meet her friend's gaze.

"How? How is this...? How?"

"He was left behind," said Teyla. "With others. Worshipers of the wraith and slaves of the wraith. The wraith ship was under attack. The queen and all aboard escaped. The humans were left on a planet." She finally turned to look up at her old friend. "He did not escape. But neither was he released for any purpose against us. The wraith hate John Sheppard. They tortured him. They did terrible things to him and then left him to die. It was by mere chance that we were able to find him and save him. He has been through so much and I did not tell because I was afraid – I am afraid... of how he may be received."

She looked at Halling imploringly. "How will he be received? If he is to be treated like an enemy then I'd rather we keep what I have told you between us. He has been hurt enough and I do not want him to have to go through any more pain. If I have to keep it all a secret, I will. I am sorry but I cannot... I... I cannot see him hurt anymore."

Teyla tried to turn away and step back not wanting to see Halling's reaction. Two large hands settled firmly on her shoulders keeping her in place.

"Teyla."

As much as she didn't want to witness his reaction, Teyla looked at Halling having never avoided another's gaze when it mattered. The soft understanding in Halling's eyes relieved her.

"Teyla, it is all right, I understand. Although I wish you had told me sooner, the reasoning behind your fear is sound. I trust in your trust of Colonel Sheppard."

Which actually didn't help it stung worse after the trust she had refused to show. If Halling realized this, he did not show it.

"Times are not as they once were" Halling continued "And who is left alive to swear of the old legends' truths?" He touched his forehead to Teyla's before moving back to the kettle. "I do not disagree with your concern, however."

"What do you suggest?" Teyla asked.

"Telling the others of Colonel Sheppard, but not yet. You should prepare, first. Ready the words you will say and be prepared for those who still retain the old prejudices. But you must trust us, Teyla. If you say Colonel Sheppard is untainted, they will believe you."

Teyla closed her eyes against pin-pricks of guilt and tenacious uncertainty. "Why should they show trust in me when I did not show trust in them?" she said, mostly to herself. She opened her eyes. "Why was this so hard, Halling? Why did I not just trust?"

It was Halling, this time, who did the looking away. "I may have given you reason not to trust. You asked me to wait to perform the ceremony for Colonel Sheppard and I did not."

"You were within your rights," Teyla said.

"But you are my leader. Above that you were grieving as I have not seen you grieve since your father died. I thought that, perhaps, the ceremony would offer the same comfort to you now as it had then. Except my haste to see the colonel's soul into the next realm had blinded me to your needs." He smiled ruefully. "And now, as you say, Sheppard is returned and alive."

Halling looked over at her, serene yet contrite. "For what I did, Teyla, I am sorry."

Teyla smiled. "And you are forgiven. Actually, I believe you have been forgiven for some time, now. But I do not think it explains why this was so hard. It should not have been a matter of choosing between John and my people."

Halling gave her a knowing grin. "Friendship, Teyla. You were simply trying to protect your friend."

"I still should not have to choose between them."

"But you did not," Halling sagely explained. "Or you would not be here, now."

"It was Colonel Sheppard who convinced me to come."

Halling kept on smiling. "Then there was nothing to choose."

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"Well?" John asked when Teyla entered the jumper.

She did not answer out loud but instead did the thumbs-up the Lanteans were so fond of.

John grinned at her. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Teyla dropped into the seat next to his. "No, it was not."

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The miniature electric saw whined cutting through the plaster of the cast like it was butter. He had fought, for a month and a half, the urge to stick a pencil up the thing to scratch too many itches and now he was free to use his fingernails. When a seam was made, Carson set the saw aside to pry the two halves apart. The plaster split with a hollow cracking sound The cotton fibers in the gauze ripped and threads stuck to Sheppard's skinbleached white as compared to the rest of his flesh.

"There we are, then," Carson said, dropping the halves into a metal tray. "Free at last. Sort of." He patted the skin with a cloth, rubbed in a bit of lotion, and finally applied the Ace bandage around the wrist. "You're still not to be sparring with it."

"I know," John said. He tried flexing his wrist, wincing at the pull of unused muscles.

"I wouldn't move it too much," Carson said, "or lift with it. It's going to be a bit tender, especially after physical therapy starts."

John nodded, rubbing the joint. His wrist was the last of his body still betraying him. Daily walks had advanced to daily jogs that were getting him back toward daily runs. And just because he couldn't spar didn't mean he couldn't use the sticks. The slow-motion moves Teyla had been showing him felt a little Karate Kid but the strength needed to maintain that kind of fluidity was giving him back some muscle in his arms. The right arm more than the left, obviously. With increasing muscle mass came an increase of appetite adding weight that turned into more muscle. He wasn't back to his original weight. He was back to a healthy enough weight in terms of nutrients to keep Carson from harping on him. John's ribs were still conspicuously visible although that didn't make him a light-weight. Maybe compared to Ronon, except that might have always been the case... due to height differences.

"I'm just happy to have the damn thing off," John said,

"Aye, I'd imagine." Beckett strapped the blood pressure cuff around the previously casted arm. "So, all in all, how've you been feeling?"

"Better now that you let me exercise." The cuff inflated pinching John's arm.

"How have you been sleeping?"

"I still have nightmares."

Carson jotted down the numbers and then peeled the cuff off in a rip of Velcro. "How bad?"

"Sometimes they wake me up," John replied. "But not like they used to. No screaming, no freaking out, no backing into corners. And most of the time I can get back to sleep."

"Most," Carson restated.

John nodded. "Most."

Carson smiled and patted his arm. "It's an improvement, even if it doesn't look it. If it gets to be too much trouble I can prescribe something to help you sleep. Nothing along the lines of sleeping pills, I know how much you hate those. A heavy muscle relaxant should do the trick since it's not so much a matter of getting you to sleep but to stay asleep."

"I'm willing to try."

Beckett twitched his head back with a blink of surprise. "Really?"

Sheppard hooded his eyes. "Really. I'm trying to get back on my own two feet, Doc. I'll take what I can get if it'll help me."

"Smart lad," said Carson. "And for the record, you're doing a fine job of it, Colonel. Even Kate has said as much. I think you'll find yourself stepping through the gate in no time."

John said nothing to that. He was still indifferent toward the prospect and, right now, more focused on getting physically healthy.

Carson gave John the okay to head out and he did just that. He veered in the direction of the mess intent on grabbing lunch. Getting his own food was about as far as he went when it came to the mess hall. He still wasn't up to dealing with crowds where people came to him asking too many questions. Although he had to wonder if it was more along the lines of him having taken a liking to eating in his room more than the curious crowds. Lunch and a movie on his laptop was a little more ideal to lunch in a crowded room trying to talk above everyone else just to be heard by the person across from you.

At least he'd finally stopped flinching, except when it came to certain gesticulations. That was going to take longer to get used to.

Alarms shrilled mechanically. John froze a split second before whipping around on his heels to take off at a run for the Gate Room. He arrived just as the wormhole finished establishing. He joined Elizabeth in the control room where Chuck watched the computer screen waiting for an IDC.

Instead, the com crackled.

"Atlantis? This is Staff Sgt. Ramirez with a situation."

Elizabeth nodded for Chuck to open the com. "What's the situation, Sergeant?"

There was a moment of silence, then "Ma'am, you are totally not going to believe this. We just captured ourselves a wraith, ma'am. A queen."

Johns' heart thudded hard. No way. No freakin way.

"A wraith queen?" Elizabeth said, crossing her arms.

"Yes ma'am. A queen, one drone and a human female."

John's legs tried to buckle out from under him. He had to lock his knees to keep upright. No, no, no, no...

"They just up and surrendered to us, ma'am," Ramirez continued. "Said they wanted to talk."

It was getting hard to breathe; the room felt smaller than it actually was. John inched closer to the console. "Sergeant? This is Colonel Sheppard. The human, the woman. She didn't happen to give you a name, did she?"

"No sir."

"Could you ask her for it? If she doesn't answer tell her... tell her that Sheppard's doing the asking."

"Yes sir."

More silence.

"John," Elizabeth began. John stalled her with a raised hand.

Two minutes later, "She says her name is Kee – Keevana. Ki'vana. Her name's Ki'vana."

TBC...

A/N: Bet you didn't see that coming. If you did, then I need to work harder on my surprise cliffhangers.