AN: As always, the reviews brightened my day, and made me laugh...although, the bastard son of an unequal fraction had me a little worried. I think I looked over my shoulder, just to be safe. GRIN.

Chapter Eight

Having been in this situation once, Sheppard had no desire to do it again, yet the inexorable rise of the goo in the room was making it clear that unless some miracle waltzed in and smacked them in the face, they were going to go through it, regardless of what they wanted. And, he had to wonder, would the aliens save them this time?

The chuckle that escaped through his dry and cracked lips came about at the thought that he'd even be happy if the miracle smacked him in the ass. Just as long as it arrived.

"We're gonna die." Rodney was looking at the now thigh-deep viscous liquid, and shaking his head, as if bewildered that this was happening.

The denial that they weren't going to die didn't quite make it out. John really couldn't see how they were walking out of this one, short of the aliens' benevolence, and seeing how recent events under the Protectors tender mercies had played out, it wasn't looking good.

McKay had helped John to his feet before the liquid cemented them to the floor. The space ship had stopped shuddering, and whether it was an internal problem or something external, he didn't know.

Instead of asserting something he didn't believe, John offered the only thing he could. "Stay positive, Rodney. I'm sure something will happen."

It was at that moment that groaning metal echoed loudly around them, and Sheppard had the intense itchy feeling that it sounded a lot like all the movies he'd seen with people being in a submarine moments before the water pressure buckled the bulkhead, and flooded the inner compartments.

"That's not good," Rodney said. He looked wild-eyed at John and repeated. "That's really not a good thing."

"And here I thought it was the second coming," muttered Sheppard.

The worst part about the situation was the lack of ability to move. Once the liquid had oozed around their ankles, they'd become anchored. The effect was similar to the mud flats in the Chinook bay. John had once heard about a woman who had been caught out on the flats when the tide had started to wane.

Despite her husband's frantic attempts, she'd been held firmly by the glacial silt. He'd gone for help, and all the rescue attempts proved fruitless. The man had watched helplessly as his new wife had drowned.

And now he was stuck next to Rodney, in a similar predicament, except they were both going to drown. Was it any better to die with a friend, or to watch the other go down first? John tried to push the morbid thoughts away.

"Should we try to get their attention, or just wait for the end? Because to be honest, I'm not really sure I want to go back to the whole conditioning torture routine -"

Rodney looked vulnerable as he asked John, but Sheppard didn't have an answer. He wasn't eager to go back to the cold dark room either. But wasn't life preferable to death? Wasn't any hope better than none?

Then again, did they really want to spend the remainder of their lives as caged animals, conditioned, and possibly betraying everyone they ever cared about, and millions more?

The fact that McKay had thought ahead, and was beginning to accept that maybe death was the thing to do, scared Sheppard more than anything else had so far.

And considering what they'd been through, that was saying a lot.

"It's been an honor, Colonel."

Sheppard narrowed his eyes at McKay. The scientist was putting on a stiff upper lip, so to speak, but only John would've been able to detect that slight tremble in the façade, the crack that showed that Rodney was putting on a show.

"Don't do that again," warned John.

"Do what?"

"The whole 'we're going to die' thing. You did it last time and we didn't die then, and besides, didn't I tell you to 'stay positive'?"

Rodney sighed, exasperated. "Excuse me for wanting to make sure you know how highly I think of you moments before we're killed!"

Sheppard cocked his head towards the closest wall. The metal was beginning to bulge. Distractedly he replied, "We're not gonna die."

And there it was. The lie he'd tried not to say, but he couldn't help it. And that's when a thin spidery crack appeared in the middle of the bulging metal, with branches arcing off to the left and right, up and down, and as each crack splintered in a new direction, the main rupture grew wider and more crevassed, and just as Sheppard turned to McKay and said, "Son of a bitch!" the metal gave like a broken dam, and viscous material spewed in the room as if it were an unfettered ocean, moving much faster than one would expect for the gelatinous property of the liquid.

The force of the material flooding into the room did what they hadn't been able to do, and that was move them. It was like being caught in an avalanche, and all John was aware of was the wall of gel blasting into him, and seeing McKay lifted and rolled like a toy. And then it all went dark as he felt his head slam into something hard and unyielding…

OoO

"Colonel Sheppard?"

The voice was soft and faraway, and John really didn't feel like responding.

"Son, I know you can hear me, open your eyes now."

It was more insistent, poking into his quiet fuzzy place, and he tried to shrug back farther because nothing good was waiting for him in that world, and he wasn't falling for the tricks.

"What is wrong with him, Doctor Beckett? Why does he not wake?"

Sheppard heard the frustration in that voice, a different one this time.

"I don't know, lass. We can only speculate what happened to Rodney and the colonel on the ship…until they do decide to come out of it, we're only guessing."

And John let the pseudo world fade…

… "Carson said talking to you might help, John, but I don't know what to say." There was a pause. "As you said, I'm not very good with my bedside manner, but I brought your book -"

Sheppard's brain tried to rev up. He heard her talking, and knew that he knew her, but things were disjointed and wrong inside, and his mind wasn't cooperating…

" – the only problem, I don't know what page you were on…"

How long it took, John didn't know, but his eyes responded, and he got them to open. It took a few rusty tries, and things were blurry at first, but after some blinking and concentrating, the room came into focus.

Elizabeth. She'd been there, but the chair was empty now. He looked and saw the thick volume of War and Peace on a table by his bed. Things were clicking into place and with surprise he realized where he was. Atlantis!

But, the last thing he remembered was being hit by a wall of gel, and the certainty that the end was at hand, unless the protectors had decided to save their lives – how then did they get here?

"You're awake."

John slid his eyes back up towards the left. Carson Beckett stood there in all his normality, white coat and five o'clock shadow, scruffy hair and Sheppard wasn't sure what to think.

"Are you real?" he asked.

Carson approached carefully, and pulled up one of those twirly stools that always seemed to be around hospitals. "Aye. I'm real, Colonel."

The harsh chuckle twisted Sheppard's face and made him cough. After accepting the water from Beckett, he cleared his throat and said, "Excuse me if I don't believe it."

"Son, the Daedalus rescued you and Rodney from an alien ship, but you were both catatonic. You were brought back to Atlantis, and have been that way ever since."

"How long?" It wasn't so much a question, as it was a demand. Looking around, even while waiting for the answer, John spied the still form on the other side of the room. Why so far away?

Beckett traced his gaze and nodded, "Rodney hasn't woken yet, you're the first." He sighed, and caught John's stare with his own. Before he finished, his voice dropped and became as haggard as his face. "It's been two weeks…two very long weeks."

Two weeks? Then they had been conditioned – tortured, for longer than the aliens had said, but what if this wasn't real? What if this was all another attempt at getting in their mind? The aliens had been able to learn and create at an extraordinary level. "We were missing for two weeks?"

Beckett shook his head gently. "No, you've been catatonic for two weeks."

"Doc, what was the inadvertent joke you made when I was stuck in the jumper, and had that nasty bug on my neck?"

"What?" Beckett's brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Telepathic, remember?" Rodney's weak voice interrupted John's attempt at figuring out if this was real, or a trick.

It took a lot of effort to push himself up on his elbows and look at McKay, but John managed it. McKay wasn't up, but he had his head turned towards them, and he had a lot of wires going in and out of his body. With a degree of shock, Sheppard looked down at his own body and noticed for the first time the same level of monitoring on him, and the presence of a catheter backed up Carson's two weeks claim.

"I keep reminding you they're telepathic," McKay continued tiredly. "When you thought of the idea, you undoubtedly thought of the correct answer, and they'll be able to parrot it back as if he were really Carson…and we both know that he isn't. It's impossible. This is all just another mind game to get us to give up and give them what they want."

"What the bloody hell are you going on about?" Beckett scowled at both men equally.

"Nothing," John answered quickly. Too quickly. "Look, we seem to be missing a few things, can you fill in the blanks? How did we get rescued?"

As he was waking up more, he began to take stock of his body. Two weeks of being in a catatonic state had taken its toll on him. His muscles felt sluggish and sore, and he wondered if the aliens would be able to replicate that state…perhaps if they'd kept them drugged for two weeks?

Carson didn't want to let it go, but seeing the resolved faces staring back at him, he nodded slowly. "All right, then. I know you'll have questions, so let's start at the beginning, shall we?"

At Sheppard's steely stare, he did just that. It seemed that Hermiod had kept analyzing the sensor information, and the Asgard had discovered evidence of the readings being mechanically created. Alerted by the information, the Daedalus had radioed Atlantis and found out that communication had been lost with the jumper. Elizabeth had asked Caldwell to investigate, and that's when they'd found the massive alien ship hovering in the same space as the anomalous readings.

Whereas the jumper had been prey for the taking, the Daedalus' sophisticated systems had withstood the energy blast designed to render it powerless.

A message from the alien's ship had demanded the Daedalus withdraw, and that was when Hermiod had informed Caldwell that they'd located their life-signs. Colonel Caldwell ordered the aliens to release Sheppard and McKay, or they'd 'blow them out of the sky', and John was pretty sure that was Carson's own interpretation of events. Or would be, if this were real.

The aliens had refused, but had no offensive weaponry, and the laser cannons had laid a barrage on the larger craft, providing a break in the defensive shields, long enough for Hermiod to beam out the two men.

"What happened then? Are they still alive?" Rodney asked tiredly.

John wasn't sure McKay was referring to the aliens.

A shake of Beckett's head was the fast answer, but he explained further. "Caldwell said the ship exploded like a bloody ripe watermelon in space. You both are incredibly lucky."

"Yeah. Lucky." Voice flat, Sheppard looked away, but met McKay's eyes.

There were undercurrents floating about, and it would've been impossible for Beckett to not be buffeted by them. The doctor took equal turns watching them, but either oblivious or uncaring, they weren't responding anymore, and John knew that Carson was well aware they weren't oblivious to anything.

A hand on his leg, and Carson said quietly. "When you need to talk -" but he dropped off, and left it unfinished.

His feet moved away, and then he and Rodney were alone in the room. Because of the tubes and wires, they couldn't get up, and even if it weren't for them, Sheppard doubted either one was in a condition where they could do much more than sit up.

His head hurt, body ached, and all he could think about was not thinking about anything that he shouldn't. Because if they were wrong – if this wasn't real – the cost would be unspeakable.

With a final long look towards Rodney, John closed his eyes and willed himself back asleep. It wasn't hard.

The next few days they spent in silent recovery, only talking when they had to, and everyone who visited knew something wasn't quite right with Sheppard and McKay.

Reluctant to say anything, unwilling to discuss what had happened on the alien ship, concerns were rising about their mental competence, and John knew that soon they must face the truth, whichever truth it was.

The day the catheters, and IV lines were removed, and the day physical therapy started to get their muscles more cooperative, was the same day that John moved to the bed next to Rodney.

No one mentioned it, and no one sent him back.

The days had ticked into a week, and now they'd been told by Elizabeth that to be returned to active status, they'd have to talk to Heightmeyer. It boiled down to 'if you don't want to talk to anyone else, you will talk to her'.

The day they were discharged from the infirmary, Rodney and Sheppard set out to explore the city together against the orders for them to return to their quarters and rest.

John was beginning to think maybe it hadn't been such a hot idea. "Look at it this way, if they were getting all this from our thoughts, they wouldn't need to trick us, because they'd already have the city."

Rodney had started saying no before Sheppard had even finished. "But you're forgetting – damnit!"

He knew why Rodney was swearing, because he'd done the same thing, unbidden the name had come to both their thoughts, and if this wasn't real, they'd given the name and maybe a good enough picture of surrounding space, and god knows what else.

Turning into a deserted corridor, Sheppard tugged Rodney along. "Take us somewhere in the city that we haven't been before," he ordered. "That way, we'll know."

"That won't work," Rodney said annoyed.

"Why?"

"Because, Colonel, they could extrapolate from our thoughts Atlantis design, and with enough knowledge as they've shown, it wouldn't be a stretch for them to fill in the blank spaces and we'd never know the difference, because we'd never been there to begin with – so how would we know if it were inaccurate?"

Damn. "This is complicated," swore Sheppard.

Rodney agreed, "We can't keep going on like this."

"Did they strike you as the type to give up easily?"

"Not really. But the last thing I remember is being tumbled like a bowling ball in a wave of gel." McKay aimed for a console in a room they had walked into. He pushed some buttons and waited.

John followed, watching his movements. "What's that?"

"The one way to find out what's real and what's not," said McKay vaguely.

The crystals flashed, and Rodney opened the laptop he'd brought along, though John wondered what he hoped to accomplish. "Rodney, I don't think your computer is going to tell us what's real, and what isn't. I mean, for that matter, I could be talking to a wall right now."

"Exactly, and so could I – watch, Colonel."

He typed in more commands and then spun the laptop towards John.

It was the self destruct program, and the first code had already been entered. John narrowed his eyes at the screen in disbelief. "What are you doing, McKay?"

He smiled smugly. "Only six people in Atlantis know the codes, Colonel. You and I are two of those. If this is all fake, something the aliens have programmed and created, then they've done so off of our memories. If it's you, the command you enter will be accepted. If it's not you, then my recreation will fail to initiate the self-destruct code. Now, I'm assuming that they didn't consider these things when they recreated the city, and that the self-destruct program was part of the city because everything we've seen so far has been detailed to every possible level I could think of."

"Woah, back up, you've been examining the level of detail to find out how accurate the city is?"

Rodney's face fell, as if he were disappointed in Sheppard. "Of course, haven't you?"

John shrugged defensively. "Sure. Anyway, don't you think blowing up the city is a little extreme?"

"That's the brilliant thing," Rodney exclaimed. "Look, follow along with me, here – if this you is really you," Rodney's eyes crossed inward for a moment but he continued, "anyway, you'll know the right code, because the odds of you being in the same situation in another virtual reality and thinking the code so that they could read the information from you…well, they're rather large, and if you are you, and enter the right code, that will initiate the self-destruct program, thus proving to me that at the very least, we are really together, wherever this is."

"Okay, so you are going to blow us up," drawled Sheppard.

A long drawn out sigh was Rodney's reply, but he just jabbed an impatient finger at the keyboard. "Enter your code and I'll explain the higher logic involved in this."

Still not fully getting it, Sheppard thought back to the alien's insistence that he didn't trust McKay. If this was a test, to see if he truly did trust Rodney, this was a good way to do it. By entering the self-destruct, he was setting a chain of events that could only be stopped by two people. He alone couldn't reverse it once the countdown was started. If they really were in the city, there were four others that could abort the sequence, but if this was a reproduction, and McKay wasn't real and this was all in his mind then Rodney failing to abort the sequence could mean his death.

And god was his head hurting at trying to make sense of everything. Vowing that he did trust Rodney, he only hesitated for a moment, before typing the code. He pulled back and forced nonchalance. "See, it's me."

The code was accepted, and the countdown began.

"Now," Rodney said. "We wait."

"Rodney," warned John, because he really didn't want to be blown up, make believe or not.

"The beauty, Colonel, of logic. If this isn't real, I've programmed an addendum to the self-destruct code, so that it won't accept the same two codes for abort as it did for the initial sequence. You and I, we can't shut it down," he gloated.

The sick feeling in John's stomach intensified, and he found himself flashing back to Arcturus, and shouting at Rodney that it was time to go, before they were blown up. He'd walked right into this one, blind-sided…the urge to twist the computer towards him and start trying to abort was overwhelming.

You don't trust unit McKay…

It'd been a litany the aliens had barraged him with.

Tell us how you felt when unit McKay almost cost you your life, and his as well…so little did he value human life over scientific discovery.

Shaking off the painful thoughts, John glanced at the seconds rolling past. "I trust you," he asserted.

Rodney seemed startled by the admission, but nodded, accepting it. "If I did this right, the aliens won't be able to salvage this…virtual reality…and if we are in the city, there are four individuals who can abort the self-destruct sequence, and by doing so, we'll know this is," he waved at the walls, "real."

"Couldn't they abort, if they created this, isn't the programmer able to adjust the program?"

McKay held up a finger, "But not in time." He pointed towards the countdown. "Forty-five seconds left."

"By now, they'll be scrambling to get everyone to the command center, at least one other person who can abort the program. Elizabeth has a code, Beckett and Zelenka. The beauty is that we don't know their codes, and there's no way for the aliens to read that information from our minds."

They both heard the pounding of boots running down the hall, and weren't surprised by the entrance of Sergeant Bates leading a security team.

Bates hit the button on his earpiece. "We've found them, Ma'am. Confirmed," Bates said looking at the computer screen, "the self-destruct was initiated here." He waved the barrel of his P90 at Sheppard and McKay, "Get against the wall, Colonel, Doctor. Hands up where we can see them!"

The orders were shouted, but Bates did so evenly, and with calm assurance. John knew if they made any sudden movements, they'd be blasted with more than a few bullet holes.

And the city began the countdown.

Ten…

Nine…

TBC