3

Dr. Kate Heightmeyer rested her elbows on the conference table and looked at the five people seated with her. "Not everyone has been 'affected,' for lack of a better term. It's interesting, but from what I've been able to gather, it seems the only people approached are those who could benefit from closure concerning the death of a loved one."

She gestured toward Elizabeth. "For example, Dr. Weir was very close to her great-aunt; however, her aunt passed away shortly after suffering a stroke and before Elizabeth could get back to the States to see her. None of the Athosians have been visited and I believe it has to do with their cultural beliefs. They've all had family and friends lost to Wraith cullings, but their views toward death and the cycle of life and death are much more open and accepting than, shall we say, Western beliefs."

Sergeant Bates leaned back in his chair and offered a simplified interpretation. "They don't play the 'what if..' game."

"Precisely."

Elizabeth presented one of her observations. "In the forms the Ngaut-Ngaut have taken on, they aren't so much themselves, whoever or whatever that may be, as they are the person they're manifesting."

Kate nodded. "For the most part, they seem to be taking an unobtrusive approach – staying in the background unless they're engaged in conversation."

Dr. Carson Beckett mumbled a response. "I should be so lucky."

Bates looked at him. "Still hiding from them?"

"Go ahead and laugh, son, you cannae hear those bloody 'pipes." He glanced across the table at Sheppard and McKay. "And don't either one of you look at me like that. I know for a fact both of you have been skulkin' about."

Sheppard did his best to appear offended. "Skulking!"

"Aye. Skulkin'."

"We have not been skulking. We've been busy…very busy with…."

"Things," interjected McKay.

Sheppard nodded fervently. "Yes. Things…and…" he struggled for a viable answer, "…other things."

McKay mimicked the nod. "Exactly."

Elizabeth spoke up like a mother gently silencing her children. "Gentlemen."

Aunt Mattie used to say you accomplished as much when dealing with men as you would if you were herding cats. "Carson, how are things on your side?"

The Scot shrugged in a resigned fashion. "Well, as I mentioned, I do wish they hadnae brought the 'pipes, but I have to say…" he stopped abruptly when he noticed the looks he was receiving from his companions. "Oh, you meant…."

He tried to ignore the warmth of a blush that waved up his face as he started again. "Well, from the physiological side there've been no complaints from anybody so far. I cannot say how the Ngaut-Ngaut are doin' what they're doin', but they don't seem to be causin' any harm."

Sheppard folded his arms against his chest and glanced at his security officer. "All the same, Bates, let's make sure all personnel know to keep their 'visitors' out of secure areas and conversation is to be kept to a strictly personal level."

It didn't take someone with Dr. Heightmeyer's education to recognize the meaning behind the major's body language and tone. John Sheppard wasn't feeling like he was being visited—he was feeling haunted.

---

4

Disconcerting. Rodney could not find any other word for the situation. Yet, its definition seemed too tame. There needed to be a more emotive expression when one walked through the halls of Atlantis watching people talk to their long lost relatives or friends, yet not being privy to the other side of the conversation.

He felt a sense of invasion of privacy. As if certain members of the Atlantis expedition were being exposed. In the words of his teammate Aiden Ford, it was a TMI situation—Too Much Information. It was those same feelings of exposure that caused Rodney to herd his grandfather and his childhood menagerie, from the lab they'd initially appeared in, to his living quarters. He'd yet to say more than five things to the elderly man.

Some people had taken McKay's approach and hid their visitors. Others continued on with the duties they needed to perform in Atlantis—quietly going about their business with their respective dead following behind.

During the briefing, Rodney momentarily entertained the idea of asking Dr. Heightmeyer what the correct response should be – ignore or acknowledge. But his pride—and paranoia—didn't like the idea of having to consult a shrink about anything.

'God only knows how those people minutely analyze anything and everything you say. Then before you know it, it's typed up and put into a folder to be used against you later.'

He'd gone with the ignore approach. In the meeting, Kate said there were two ways people would mostly likely react. One was to embrace the time they had with their 'loved ones'. Under this scenario, it was likely the person wouldn't want any intrusion into their privacy, nothing to steal away the precious time. The second reaction that could be expected was distance.

Rodney noted his colleague Radek Zelenka was clearly in the first category. He'd spotted the Czech national making his way slowly down one long hallway close to their lab. The fingers of his right hand wrapped tightly around the up-stretched left hand of a young boy, no more than seven or eight years old. Without realizing it, both of them pushed long, unruly bangs out of their eyes nearly at the same moment.

Zelenka was oblivious to everything else around him. Rodney could only hear Radek's soft voice, but the pair's amusement was apparent. The two of them were laughing infectiously, despite the obvious red-rimmed eyes of Zelenka. The bespectacled scientist rattled off something in his native tongue and Rodney watched the little boy's mouth form similar vowels and consonant patterns. The companions broke down once more with laughter and Rodney felt as if his mere presence in the corridor was a rude intrusion into the bittersweet reunion.

He was thankful when a prime example of the second expected reaction burst around the corner, and offered him a distraction. Dr. Kavanagh strode deliberately away from a tall, severe-looking woman who looked to be in her 50's. She had harsh, angular facial features and was thin enough to border on bony. Tailored in an expensive looking skirt and matching suit jacket, she left Rodney wondering if she'd lived by the motto 'you can never be too rich or too thin.'

Shoulder-length, dark brown hair was sprayed into a perfect, protective helmet that bobbed aggressively as she followed closely on the scientist's heels. Rodney couldn't help but notice the white streak that lined its way just left of her center hair part.

'My God, Kavanagh's related to Cruella De Vil.'

"Shut up!...I'm not listening!" Kavanagh walked faster and shouted at the woman without turning around. "It took seven years of therapy to get you out of my head…!"

Rodney wondered if a white streak would also eventually appear in Kavanagh's hair, making him look more like the skunk that he was. McKay just shook his head, watching his colleague childishly clamp his hands over his ears and produce an equally juvenile litany of denial as he disappeared around the corner.

"Na-na-na-na-na, I cannot hear you, na-na-na-na-na!"