Elizabeth Weir stood beside Teyla's bed and looked down at the younger woman. She appeared perfectly peaceful, sleeping off a good meal, perhaps, and now enjoying a dream. Her eyes were relaxed, as was her mouth. She looked even younger than usual. Elizabeth never ventured to guess at her age; the Athosian was obviously younger than her, and lately that was something she didn't care to think about. Not since her experience with her alternate self, her aged self, that had been discovered deep in the bowels of Atlantis. Was it tantamount to suicide, watching yourself die? It brought her own mortality to her in a blinding, crude light that she was unable to escape, and yet it was so surreal that she was able to convince herself, as the young often do, that yes, she would live forever. Of course, she wasn't so young. Not that she wasn't old by any means. But to have the poise of the woman warrior before her, to have that authority and confidence and self-assuredness. . . 'Funny how growing older can make one grow wiser, and yet fundamentally we are the same as when we were children', she thought. She wanted to reach down and brush a strand of russet hair from Teyla's brow, but kept her hand tight to her side. She had enough inner issues, she wasn't going to allow her mothering nature to bring her insecurities to the forefront. Instead she turned away and confronted Dr. Beckett with a professional look, her brows raised inquiringly. "How is she?"

Beckett raised his own brows slightly and nodded to his patient. "As you can see, resting comfortably," he said, conversationally. "All tests showed nothing unusual, whatever happened they are both sleeping it off just fine." Carson walked to Ford's bedside. "No signs of radiation. No injuries. No elevated blood pressure, no evidence of alien substances, all scans read normal, and that includes heart rate and brain activity."

"So. . .they're just sleeping."

"Well, it is a deep, healing sleep. It's nothing to be concerned about, if anything it'll be beneficial. I know with this new threat from the Wraith, no one has been sleeping as they should, myself included."

Elizabeth smiled and reached out for him. He walked to her, and she took his arm and squeezed it lightly. "You're too good for us, you realize that?"

Beckett was surprised, and more than a little embarrassed. He chuckled. "Och, now, I have my doubts about that. . ."

"I'm serious, Carson. I think we take you for granted, and we shouldn't."

Carson tried to meet her eyes. "Pardon my asking this, but. . .are you quite all right?"

Elizabeth pulled away. "Of course. Why?"

"Just, you've never talked to me like that before. I-I mean it's wonderful, I appreciate it and I don't want you to think I feel I'm taken for granted, but. . .you have to admit, this is unusual conversation for us." His Scottish brogue rolled soothingly into the air.

Maybe that was what Weir needed. His was such a calming presence, from his speech to his gentle nature. She had yet to see the bear inside of him, though she knew it was there. She could sense it, after hours in his office, when he lost a patient. "These are unusual times."

"You feel guilt over what's happened, and you're searching for reconciliation. That's it, isn't it?"

"I was paying you a compliment!"

"Aye, but I haven't done anything!" Carson pointed to the beds, each in turn. "I've done nothing to save their lives, I've not stitched them up, and with the exception of running tests, I've barely touched them! You act as though I've discovered the bloody grail with your gratitude." His concern for Weir disguised any irritation he felt at her behavior.

Weir tried to speak, but no words came. She crossed her arms and turned back to Teyla, feeling his warmth behind her. "Look. I know you're worried about Major Sheppard and Dr. McKay," he said softly, "I am as well. And I know these few weeks have been hard, I can't even begin to imagine what you've been going through. But it's evident that you're still going through it, and I think you need some help." He pinned her frustrated glance with a warning in his own eyes, he wasn't backing down from this. "There is no shame in asking for help, Dr. Weir. What you went through, our brains are not capable of dealing with. Not alone. You shouldn't have to try."

"You think that's what all this is?" Weir gestured to the beds. "You think I'm coming here to hide from my guilt? From my fear?"

"I think you're compounding it by trying to confront it in this way." Carson's voice lowered as Teyla shifted. "I could be wrong, Elizabeth, but I've seen the way you look at Teyla now. It is as though she possesses something you desperately, desperately want. And that isn't like you at all."

"It's not that, it's. . .look at them. They're both so young. When did I start feeling older than everyone else?"

Carson smiled. "I believe we are a similar age, Elizabeth, and Patterson and Wayward both have at least ten years on you." Patterson and Wayward were surgeons that were brought to Atlantis, hand picked by Carson himself.

"But to see. . ." Weir's thoughts drifted back to the dying woman, her own self in another time, preserved only to perish. . . "I keep wondering if I'll look like that, like her. Or even if I'll live that long."

He took her elbow gently. "Please, and I'm asking as a friend. Go and see Heightmeyer. You need to get this off your chest."

Weir kept watching Teyla, realizing she did not want to be there when the woman woke. She had no idea why. "I have work to do, a sub to find. Call me when there's any change."

"Elizabeth. . ."

But Weir walked out, leaving the conversation behind her.

She found Hiassen at his station. His face reflected the hues of the colored light below him. His mouth was pinched into a fine line. It was plain he was frustrated

"No news?"

Hiassen turned. "No, Ma'am. I'm sorry. We've made a full sweep and are starting on another, but there's no sign of the submarine, or anything for that matter."

"Teyla and Ford didn't appear in our gateroom of their own free will. There was no way to activate the Stargate from the submarine." She paused. "Was there?"

"Doctor, at this point I'd say anything was possible." Hiassen turned in his chair. "Something could have happened, it could have been a failsafe device of some sort. Automatically beams you off the sub in the case of an emergency."

"Then what of Sheppard and McKay?"

"Maybe they couldn't get where they were supposed to be in order to transport. Maybe. . ." he coughed and turned back in his chair. Weir was cutting daggers at him with her eyes. "This is pure speculation, of course. . ."

"Yes it is!" she snapped. "Find my men, and don't stop until you do!"

There was a dangerous undertone to her demand. "Yes Ma'am."

Elizabeth nodded and stared at the ring below her. She cursed silently to herself. "I'm going back to the infirmary. Please keep me informed." She accepted Hiassen's nod of acquiescence and hurried off, her head down, her palm pressed to her brow. She stopped only once, when she was outside the control room, and took a few calming breaths. Instead of the infirmary she retreated to her own room, where she allowed herself a rare, and mild, bracer of drink, then walked over to stand on the balcony. The sea yawned at her, looking as casual and relaxed as a sleeping baby, rocking to and fro in a cradle. The blues and green mixed like a smeared watercolor, and the immense sky reached down to blend with it. Weir would have given her right leg to see a field of flowers instead.

>

"How long has it been?" Sheppard was sitting with his head back against the wall.

"Ten hours." McKay was sitting as Sheppard, only his eyes were closed.

Sheppard said nothing.

One thing they had noticed about this particular station was that it hummed. It was more a subtle feeling than physical sensation, the likes of which were starting to characterize the unusual station. Everything was very inner-sensory for being such an empty, boring place. Maybe it was because of the isolation, or the open spaces, or the dim lighting that played with one's mind, that made the senses overly aware of what was going on. It was more of an acute discovery that crept upon them, not spoken in realization, but realized just the same. And it was comforting. There was almost a vibration in the floor. Almost. Maybe it was their imagination, for it fit the hum. Either way, it was relaxing enough to where they were able to sit with droopy eyes while contemplating their next move. It lulled them under, and there was no use resisting it. Both were exhausted. Both were stressed. Both were frightened. Both needed to shut down, if just for a moment.

Oddly enough, it was John who drifted off first. Rodney fought to keep his eyes open by running a sarcastic dialogue through his mind, wonderfully snarly ones about how the military man couldn't stay awake to keep guard, therefore the unarmed scientist had to. So much for training. He was almost asleep himself when gentle snores popped his lids open. He looked at John, incredulous. Then, ever so slowly, he turned his head, allowing his gaze to shift naturally while preparing his heart for the shock he knew was coming.

She was beautiful, fiery, gentle. Her posture suggested nobility, or extreme internal delight in who she was. Her small shoulders were pulled back, her chest forward, her hands relaxed at her sides. Her hair was as red as his sister's. Her eyes were huge and obsidian. Her skin was pale, her legs long, her dress crisply white and clingy. And the one word kept echoing as the scene was described in his mind. . .her. . .her. . .her. . .it's her.

He rose slowly, one hand braced on the wall behind him. He kept it there, needing to feel something solid while he looked at this amazing apparition. She stared back, her peach lips curling into a subtle smile. She didn't seem surprised to see him in the least. He wasn't sure what to think about that. He briefly considered waking Sheppard, but then she spoke, and all rationality fled.

"You are here." Her voice, deep and throaty for such a petite figure, was solid and real.

Rodney licked his lips, his words caught somewhere in the threads of his vocal chords. He could feel them there like a small knot, but they refused to come out.

She took a step toward him, then another. Her dress moved loosely for something that seemed so stiff, and Rodney realized it wasn't stiff at all, but so white that it looked solid. Her feet may as well have been bare, the sandals she wore were little more than soles and two threads. They cris-crossed over delicate ankles. Her toes were long, and Rodney imagined them curling in pleasure. He consciously gave his head a shake and forced himself to speak. "We – uh. . .where are we?"

"You do not know?"

He exhaled in irritation. "Why is it when I land in an alien environment and ask a simple question, I get a lyrical answer that isn't an answer at all? If I knew, I wouldn't be asking." Good man, he complimented himself. Keep your guard.

She smiled. "What are you called?"

"Dr. Rodney McKay." His face held no expression. He hadn't meant to answer, he meant to ask hers first in a delightfully arrogant way, as though he was too good for the likes of her. But he spoke without thinking, like instinct.

"I am Datanunana Michashani."

Well, she seemed friendly enough. "I guess calling you Dot would be out of the question."

She frowned slightly. "I am called Datanunana Michashani. Why would you call me Dot?"

"I – you see sometimes we – never mind. Where are we?"

Datanunana gestured widely. "You are in the capital city. You are home."

"What? No, this- this isn't home. This isn't my home, you've got that all. . .is this your home? You live here?" He had walked from the wall, meeting her as she crossed the room. He wasn't even aware he was doing it. He just suddenly found himself staring at her face, slightly lower than his, seeing the curve of her lips, feeling the strange heat her body was emanating. It was the kind of heat he felt deep in his gut while making love, just before release. She was covered with it.

"I have always lived here," she said softly, and her lips brushed his. It was like liquid flame. Rodney groaned despite himself, and the sound jerked him to his senses. He backed away.

"Look, what are you? Because that thing you just did, that's not normal." He glanced back at John, wanting to wake him, but again was distracted by her presence.

She was amused. "That was a greeting. Do you not greet people as such?"

"God no! I mean, no, I don't, I mean there are cultures that do, but not mine." He cleared his throat, trying desperately to rid himself of the vision of kissing his coworkers every time he saw them. "Besides, that didn't answer the question."

The room dimmed, and Datanunana glanced around lightly. "I will return. You must wait for me, you can not leave the city just yet."

"We – you know how to leave the city? Wait, what are you. . .hey!" She shimmered and faded. Rodney ran to the spot where she had stood, waving his arms about like he could catch mist on a spring breeze. "You can't just leave! Get us out of here!"

"Rodney?" John was awake. He rubbed his eyes and watched in bleary concern as his teammate circled the room with out-flung arms, talking to no one. That's it, he thought to himself, McKay's cracked. He stood and limped to the center of the room, calling Rodney's name then catching him by the arms. And he didn't like what he saw.

Rodney's eyes were wild and unfocused. John had seen that look before, in the eyes of his best friend in college when he was hitting the needles heavily. There was no way in hell Rodney would be shooting up. Was there? "McKay. McKAY! Look at me." He grabbed Rodney's shoulders and forced the man still. "What the hell's going on?"

"She was here! She was just here, she was right. . ." he gestured to the floor with out turned hands, "here! She was talking to me, oh god, she smelled so good, its been so long since I smelled anything that good. . ."

John's brows furrowed and he tightened his grip. There was no doubt. Rodney had cracked. His red-rimmed eyes scanned the room furiously. "She said she would help," the scientist said through his teeth, "and she left." His eyes turned to John, and he pushed him away. "You woke up. You asshole! She would have stayed if you hadn't woke up!"

"Rodney, get a grip! You're acting crazy!"

"And why shouldn't I be, huh?" His eyes were violent, and in Rodney, that was a scary vision. "We're stuck in Sleeping Beauty's castle at the bottom of a hole in the sea with no foreseeable way out! Crazy? Crazy is the least of our worries!"

John swore and grabbed Rodney as he slid down to his knees, his grip firm on the man's shoulders. Rodney seemed to be dissolving into his own world, no longer aware of John's hands, or of his own surroundings. He threaded his fingers together and talked nonsense, his head jerking around to search for a person that wasn't there. And he lay on his side, and his eyes closed, no matter how hard John tried to keep him awake. And he slept.