Ophidia

A Stargate Atlantis Fanfic

Thursday, 6 September 2007

A/N: I have to say, this story's garnered more attention and fans than any other I have, and trust me, it's boggling— in a good way. ;) Though it seems to be waning… does that mean I should hurry up and finish before you all lose interest? ;D

Now for the best news of all— I formed my first (semi) coherent sentence in ASL today! Er, well, I think it was coherent— my instructor got what I was saying the first time, at least …And then there's the fact that 'my first sentence' was me telling him I think I forgot to put my name on my homework…


Chapter 28: Ersatz

For a moment, McKay continued to type. All of a sudden he lifted his fingers from the keys, his gaze rising as something clicked inside his head. "Oh, shit." Snapping his head around towards the retreating back of the doctor, he jumped to his feet, hastily dumping the laptop on his seat. "Carson!"


There were gaps in what he could remember… By now, John couldn't even get upset, angry at whatever the parasite had done to him. It was a small mercy, hell, it was a miracle that there was any amount of time he couldn't recall.

Except… he couldn't remember it actually… leaving him.

God, what if it is still in me? he suddenly thought, horrified. What if it was just playing another mind game? What if they were right


The technicians in the Control Room weren't generally known for gossip or curiosity. Seeing as they were privy to all but a few of the major happenings in the City, those who shared too much off shift generally found themselves switched from Gate-tech duty to something less pleasant, like inspecting the sanitation systems.

But no one in the room could deny that there was a tension, and a sort of desperate need to discuss it now. That ineffable calming force known as Elizabeth Weir was now pacing in her office, visible out of the corners of their eyes; the less scrupulous snuck glances in that direction every few minutes. It put them ill at ease.

None of them said anything though. Not even the usual idle chatter— after the message with the SGC, notifying them that they were cutting off travel to Pegasus, by 'Gate or otherwise, until they had this situation under control… it had really put a damper on any conversation, as the seriousness of their situation sank in.

This 'situation'. That was what everyone referred to it as, as if that made it more removed, less real. It seemed surreal anyhow.

Even though the room was silent but for the sounds of the machines, the rumors had leaked this far. The Goa'uld had been caught, inside someone. It was almost too good to hope… but…

The quarantine had been lifted. It seemed, from a report brought to Dr. Weir, that Dr. McKay was now out from under suspicion. And Weir's sudden anxiety only made it all become that much more plausible.

The technician monitoring communications flicked idly at a switch on his panel. He couldn't help but wonder why Dr. Weir hadn't contacted the SGC yet. Of course, they hadn't gotten any official news— understandably, this was an incredibly sensitive subject, and he suspected that there wouldn't really be any official news. But still… if the Goa'uld had been cornered, he could only think of one reason she hadn't yet called out.

And that was who the thing might be in.


This isn't going how I thought it would.

Weir paused for a moment in her pacing. The issue with Sheppard— issue, who was she kidding, this was a disaster— had left her at a loss for what to do. True, there was the positive side to it, but she frowned even as that thought formed. She had at first thought she could at least be relieved at the turn of events; as time passed, though, those same events seemed to wear at the back of her mind. Now she realized the 'positive' was hardly enough to get cheerful about. In fact, there was so much more that could go wrong, it seemed, than could possibly go right from here.

But they had Sheppard quarantined in a containment cell. Small comfort that was. But it was something.

Bringing her hand to her head for a moment, she wondered, not for the first time, where she would go from here. She was aware that she should have been calling the SGC, re-establishing the connection between their galaxies. But she couldn't keep a tremulous fear from forming somewhere in the bottom of her stomach.

What would happen when they came for Sheppard? And after?

She began pacing again, but stopped after a few steps. She couldn't recall being this unnerved or uncertain about anything; the foreign sensation did not make her feel any better. John

Their first attempts to speak with him had been abortive at best. As far as she was aware, no one else had spoken with Sheppard since… understandably no one wanted to face a Goa'uld inside their friend, especially with the risk it posed; Weir repeated to herself that he was contained, but unsedated, he still posed a danger. Which brought her back to the SGC. For the well-being of everyone here, there was nothing she could do but call them; she was the leader of this expedition, she was expected to handle things like this, to keep the City safe. Glancing out of her office window, she saw a few heads hastily turn away from her. Though she pressed her lips together in annoyance, she couldn't help but make the connection… people were looking to her, expecting this of her.

But even that couldn't undo personal feelings. Thoughts buzzed through her head, which ached more than it should have— this was all getting to be too much. She reached for a glass that was sitting on her desk, and sipped water from it. It helped only a little.

She couldn't call the SGC, not yet. She felt as though she still had to at least try to fix things here. But then… what choice did she have?

Slowly, but without really thinking about it— afraid that in doing so, she might talk herself out of it— she turned and slipped through the door to her office.

Silent as the Control Room was, it seemed to become that much more still as she emerged from her solitude. She hesitated, before nodding to the 'Gate technician. "Dial Earth. Let them know the Goa'uld's been contained."

An electric current seemed to go through the room, bringing it to life even as the symbols on the Stargate lit themselves. Dr. Weir noted it, then quickly moved on, heading down the adjacent hallway, and leaving openly confused stares behind her. She didn't care, and didn't bother to look back at them this time— she was going to see Sheppard, while she still could.


Sheppard's head rested on his knees, his shoulders hunched and arms wrapped around his legs. He had spent the last hour— give or take, he figured, since they had taken everything with hard edges away from him, including his watch— trying to make contact with the parasite, on the off chance it was in him. And the end result was nothing.

All that left him was clueless and miserable in jail, as opposed to just miserable in jail. Given time to mull it over, he couldn't find any explanation as to why the evidence all pointed to him, yet he couldn't feel the parasite in his mind.

Oh, he recalled that with crystal clarity now. The muscles in his torso tightened as he remembered the sensation of driving a knife through McKay's bound hand yet again— it seemed impossible that he could remember the resulting scream so perfectly, able to recreate it in his head exactly as it happened, but then, the Goa'uld had wanted him to hear it. Had wanted him to know exactly what was happening. Even worse was the laugh he could feel escaping his own throat, the sense of satisfaction that he attached to the scene.

Letting out a guttural scream, he rocked his head back against the wall, the resulting pain that spiked across the back of his skull making him regret it. Sheppard instinctively brought one hand up to cradle the sore spot, his thumb brushing the scar on his neck unconsciously. Suddenly, he was unable to stop, and found his whole hand sliding over the mark. His other hand came up to his face, rubbing across it before raking through his hair.

"John?"

Sheppard snapped his head up, disbelieving. "Elizabeth?"

She was about the last person he had expected to see in here— though, honestly, he had given up on seeing anyone except security and medical staff a while ago. She just gave a small smile and nodded, hanging back well beyond the cell, but still— Sheppard was grateful for the expression. It wasn't the hatred he had seen in Ronon, or the guilt from McKay… it was an actual smile, even if it was a little forced.

"I wanted to talk to you, John."

He couldn't help but let out a little laugh. "I will gladly talk about anything, if it means having someone to talk to." The only human contact he had had the past few hours had been with gruff guards, and Beckett— and he certainly wasn't in the mood to talk with Beckett. Somehow, he knew, though, that the next words from Weir's mouth were coming.

"It's about the parasite."

Sheppard's smile faltered and faded away. Weir was watching him carefully; he should have known. It had taken a while, but somehow he knew that someone would come to convince him he was really a Goa'uld host. It made sense for Weir to be the one to do it, really.

"Elizabeth, let me be honest with you— you know more about what's going on than I do," he said, suddenly feeling quite exhausted and not quite so eager to talk. He thought he could see the corner of her mouth twitch and guessed that that wasn't the answer she had hoped for. "Look," he said all of a sudden, jumping to his feet, not even taking the time to be grateful that Weir didn't take an involuntary step backwards; "I want to tell you that I have proof— that I could show you it's really me. But I don't," he added, trying to make her understand. "I don't know if it left me or if it's just dormant or something, but it's not controlling me." Not even aware that he was beginning to plead, Sheppard took a step forward, raising a hand and reaching towards Weir. An instant later, there was an electric crack, and he let out a yell, yanking it back.

God damned force fields, he thought, letting out some choicer curses under his breath as he shook the injured hand. On the edge of his field of vision, he could see Weir moving, closer to the cell. A moment passed, and suddenly the persistent humming that he had grown so accustomed to had ceased. It took a moment for Sheppard to register the absence and its significance, before he looked out at Weir incredulously. She returned his stare, and tentatively, he reached his hand out again.

This time, he was able to wrap it entirely around the bar. The force field was gone. Numbly, he released the bar, trying to mull this new bit of information over. You can't turn off the shields without unlocking the cell.

"I believe you, John." She just unlocked the cell. Proof of this came seconds later as the door to the cell came open. Unsure of what was going on— was this a trap?— Sheppard lingered where he was. Apparently, Weir didn't mind, as she came into the cell herself.

"Elizabeth," he started, dumbfounded but overwhelmingly pleased with the amount of faith she had in him.

Even more surprisingly, she held up one finger to quiet him, resting it on his lips. Instantly, his brow was furrowed with confusion, and he took a step back. Opening his mouth to ask what was going on, the words died on his lips as Weir stepped in closer to him, her hands going up to his shoulders.

"Elizabeth?" he repeated, incredulously; "I'm…I'm flattered, but—" He was unable to get out anymore as one of her hands snaked around the back of his neck, and pulled the two of them together.

Jerking away from her, Sheppard stumbled and tripped backwards, hitting the ground hard and slamming his head into the floor— he let out a cry of pain before cursing numbly. "What the hell are you doing?" She was beside him, leaning over top of him not a second later. His fall had put enough space between the two of them that he was able to hold her at arms length, but did little more, not wanting to hurt her—

Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of déjà vu came over him— this had happened before, only—

"No!!"

In an instant, he realized what was happening, and his eyes went wide with horror. The muscles in his arms flinched back for a second as repulsion overcame him— it was just enough for her to get her face down to his, and this time she seized his head with both hands, locking her fingers behind his skull.