CHAPTER TEN: THINGS I'VE LEARNED IN THE PEGASUS GALAXY

Rodney got his wish. Soon after Elizabeth had called Bates to the infirmary, their John Doe had pulled a trick much like the alternate universe Elizabeth had done. He opened his eyes, took one look around and immediately fell back asleep. Even with the knowledge of a dead body back on the outpost, Elizabeth still wouldn't allow the administration of stimulants.

Sgt Bates, who was suspicious of everyone, had done little to hide the fact that he didn't see the skinny, ten-thousand-year-old sleeping sick guy as much of a threat. Yet, he hadn't argued with Elizabeth's suggestion, and had dutifully assigned a marine to stand guard before excusing himself to go back to doing whatever it was that he did in the middle of the night.

Rodney was left with Elizabeth, Carson, the marine and the Doe guy. Elizabeth considered him with a patented look of a concern and suggested that he get some rest. Carson wasn't speaking to him. They both left within minutes of Bates. The marine didn't seem at all interested in a conversation about the potential risks of a bio-engineered soldier, and Doe had lain there, motionless, looking remarkably weak and ill while Rodney had stared down at him, untrusting, willing him to wake up again so that he could get the answers that he sought.

Feeling deeply unsettled, and a little like a man alone shouting against deafening wind, Rodney returned to task. He regretted having sent Radek off to get some sleep – real sleep. He had a feeling the other man would have been on his side, if only for the science of it. And Sheppard, if he hadn't been in a coma, would have backed him up too, after giving him some crap about it, of course.

As he moved through the privacy curtain into Sheppard's area, that thought alone reinforced an idea building in the back of his mind. He let it take him on past the major's bed where he rummaged around in the box containing the other man's belongings. The thigh holster was wrapped neatly and tucked in beneath the uniform pants. The 9 millimeter, that was standard equipment for any gate mission, was there waiting for him.

It felt cold and out of place in his hand. He stared at it for long moments; maybe Elizabeth was right and he was paranoid from lack of sleep. His head ached abominably, and his eyes burned, making it difficult for him to focus. But he absolutely had to get somewhere with the data, and sitting there, staring at the major's gun wasn't helping.

Now what? The memory of he and Sheppard taking on a wraith just before Ford had blown the creature away – literally – flashed through his mind. His over-sized brain had failed him on that occasion.

"Now what?" he whispered and looked up at his friend. There was a minute flicker of motion in the other man's features. Disbelief and hope warred for prominence. Had he imagined it? Delirious from sleep deprivation? And then it happened – the back-and-forth REM motion indicative of dreaming.

A ridiculous grin broke out across his face – this was progress! Previously, the only thing they'd been able to get out of him had been off-the-charts bizarre brain wave readings.

The answer came to him with all the force of a ton of bricks. Brain waves . . . it all slid into place with a near audible click.

Rodney dropped the gun on top of the bed, forgotten, and headed for the curtain, wanting to first alert Carson to Sheppard's change, and second to get a copy of the EEG data from the earlier tests. He had a feeling if he compared it to the data he'd pulled from the database, it would be remarkably similar. The Ancients weren't doing weapons research at the outpost – they were recording thoughts, maybe even memories!

Halfway to the curtain, a cold shiver of intuition shot down his spine.

The sick bay had gone uncannily quiet. "Is there anyone there?" he called out, hating the way his voice shook, hoping that Bates' marine would answer. Only an ominous whisper of sound reached his ears.

Déjà vu washed unsettlingly through him as he recognized the similarity of the situation to his previous nightmare. He reached up to key his radio, intending to call Ford, Elizabeth, anyone who could answer and let him know that he wasn't alone – that this nightmare hadn't become a reality. But then he remembered that he'd taken the device off hours ago. His fear-ridden brain gave him a precise and useless image of it sitting on the night stand in his quarters.

He looked back to Sheppard, his panic deepening as he noted that the other man's dream didn't appear to be a pleasant one. He swallowed. This was ridiculous. Why should he be afraid over a little silence? The marine was probably napping, and the night nurse was probably off answering the call of nature.

Telling himself to stop behaving like a frightened little girl, he moved determinedly back toward the privacy curtain. His heart pounded in his throat as he yanked back the material.

The waters pulled at him, dark and cold, taking him under. He had lived his life to the full, seen and done remarkable things, sacrificed for the lives of those he loved. What greater legacy could any man ask?

But something prickled at the edges of the resolute acceptance of his circumstances. Something determined, and growing in strength; something that caused him to struggle against the force of suddenly churning waters. The surge threatened to send him upward, toward the surface and sunlight. No longer a safe haven, it was a place where he would be tossed and broken against jutting rocks and crushing tidal forces.

The need grew in his heart, sending him diving downward, plunging into the darkness where the fear and desperation was strongest – where the indescribable need to protect led him.

The faster and harder he swam, the thicker the waters became until it felt as if he was moving through molasses. Yet the danger remained; a familiar villain, seeking to do damage to one of his own.

The black void ahead grew ever deeper, and along with the darkness came the first chilling sensation of pain. Not the worst he'd experienced, but it emanated from every millimeter of his body, exacerbated by his continued attempts to press onward. The need kept him going; the memory of what this man was capable of; the desire to complete his duty as new Caretaker with honor. He knew who he was.

John's eyes flew open to the sound of bodies crashing to the floor. He was moving, even before the room came fully into focus. His hand brushed past the gun and instinctively wrapped around it, bringing it upward with deadly aim.

"Stonin!" he called his name, voice slurred with exhaustion and reaction. "Let him go!"

The sound of the struggle came to a sudden halt. Only gasping breathy sounds were made somewhere out of John's sight. Stonin appeared, coming more fully into his view as he came to his feet.

He saw Rodney next, scooting weakly back away from the blonde-haired man, panting pitifully as a hand went up to touch reddened hand marks already forming about his neck.

Stonin, ignoring McKay's struggles, focused solely on John, his predatory stance oddly reminiscent of the Wraith. A small crooked smile formed on his features and a chuckle bubbled up from someplace deep in his throat.

"You're just a puny shadow of the former Caretaker. Surely you don't think you have a chance --"

John pulled the trigger, cutting the man off mid-derisive comment. The blast echoed around the infirmary even as Stonin fell backward at the impact, taking the privacy curtain and a cart that had been sitting on the other side of it, with him.

Somewhere, John found the strength to get out of the bed and move to stand over the murderous villain – he refused to even think of him as anything as honorary as 'Ancient'.

"Think again," he told the other man, before shooting a quick glance in Rodney's direction.

"You all right?" He asked.

"Yeah. I'm good," Rodney replied, "How. . . I mean. . . what?" Clearly the other man wasn't sure which burning question to ask first.

"You will never be able to hold me." Stonin spoke as if Rodney's comments hadn't been made. Hot fury burned from his gaze even as blood flowed from the shoulder wound that John had inflicted.

For trying to kill Rodney, he probably should have put the bullet into his skull instead, but he knew that Gaius would not have wanted that. The job that his predecessor had begun needed to be completed.

On a level that he couldn't explain, John knew what Stonin was about, that he was trying to influence him. He knew that had the other man's body not been weakened prior to going into the Caretaker's chamber, the shoulder wound would not have affected him so much. He could feel the other man growing weaker, despite his attempts to hide it. Now was the time if he meant to complete Gaius' task.

Not bothering to answer Stonin, he glanced up as the infirmary doors opened and running footsteps sounded. He held his ground as security approached, followed by Beckett. The man's expression would have been positively priceless had John's legs not gone to rubber about then.

Rodney appeared suddenly at his side. "Thanks for saving my life," he murmured, then, "Now, let me have that. You like you're about to fall down."

"I am about to fall down," he admitted. Then, at an urgent need to answer at least one of Rodney's un-voiced questions, he announced to the room at large, "It's a prison." Everything that happened for the rest of the night would forever remain a blur.

The afternoon was winding down as Carson came to a stop a little ways away from the group that was gathered near the lake. It was odd that a place, so far from home, could remind a body so mightily of a place near to his heart. Pushing down the surge of homesickness before it could grow out of control, he looked at those gathered there, remembering the events that had taken place the past few days.

Though it had been less than a day since Major Sheppard had awoken from his coma, never mind regaining his strength, the man had insisted that he needed to return through the gate to take the man they'd learned was called Stonin back where he belonged.

He knew that short of sedating Sheppard into oblivion, he wouldn't be able to get him to stay under normal circumstances. But where Stonin was concerned, the major seemed entirely driven to be about taking the man back to the outpost before it was too late. Elizabeth sided with him after hearing his, admittedly engaging, experiences on the condition that Carson be on hand as well – for both Sheppard and their prisoner.

And so it was that he made the journey through the gate and to the moon where the outpost was located. He'd watched, a bit awed, as Sheppard went through the routines of operation as if he had done them many times before. He didn't seem to truly relax until Stonin was Installed – the major's word – in the chamber that had been waiting for him for 10,000 years.

Before they left the outpost, they took care of Gaius' remains. He had been brought back to Atlantis and buried on the mainland on a spot overlooking a lake that some had already taken to calling Lake Gaius.

Moving on toward the group, Carson decided it was time to join the party, if only to check on his most recent patient. John had confessed during a check up that morning that Gaius' memories were starting to fade, as was the headache that had plagued him for days.

Carson realized, as he drew closer, that he'd come in on the tail-end of a game of 'Things I've Learned In The Pegasus Galaxy'.

"I've learned," Rodney said, "That shiny, glowy sand doesn't always a power source make. Especially when it's part of a giant system to power an Ancient prison."

The rest of the group chided him and teased him about the remark until Sheppard spoke up.

"I've learned, never sit in ornate old chairs. They always end up being a pain in the neck."

"As I recall," Carson jumped into the conversation, "it took you more than once to learn that lesson, now didn't it?"

Laughter sounded around the group and Carson smiled in satisfaction. Life, it seemed, was returning to normal.