Chapter 9

Rodney had swung by Kate's quarters, taken her along for his visit with Sheppard. Funnily enough it didn't even take a genius like Rodney McKay to know that when Sheppard learnt about what else life had in store for him, if he wasn't all ready heading for a major case of depression, he was going to get a substantial prod in the general direction. Kate, quite rightly, wanted to be present. Just in case.

He wasn't sure how to cope with the events to date. They'd come thick and fast. Rodney had been shaken by the sight of Sheppard flailing around on the bed, desperate to get away, his face etched with naked terror. Sheppard was the solider, the tough one. What he wasn't , was vulnerable.

Or at least Sheppard hadn't been until Royce had revealed his little memory enhancing parlor trick.

Sheppard did not like to be treated with kid gloves. He was good at taking care of others, hopeless at taking care of himself. He was a man who toughed it out, who needed his truths plain and unvarnished. Unfortunately the truth Rodney was bringing was the kind of truth that hurt. Just another indignity to add to the pile. It wasn't going to make Sheppard happy, didn't make Elizabeth or anyone else happy. They had to keep weighing up the odds. They were on Sheppard's side but he was just one guy and Atlantis was a city of hundreds of people. Spock's line from Wrath of Khan kept running through his head. The needs of the many, out weigh the needs of the few. And of course, Kirk's response. Or the one.

After all the shitty things that kept happening, now they had to share the news that involved choices for Sheppard that weren't actually choices.

They sat in Sheppard's room. Someone had scrounged up a battered recliner they'd shipped in on the Daedalus, of all things. Presumably one of the nurses had brought it in, as they had to sit and supervise all day long.

Rodney, of course, immediately claimed the recliner because he couldn't help himself. Kate seemed to accept his seating choice and took a standard chair. Her mouth had healed up enough for her to talk normally, although Carl Shaw had splinted her battered canine in place by wiring the tooth to its companions. When she smiled she looked like a thirteen-year-old who'd been subjected to cut price dental techniques.

They'd arrived as Carson was trying to convince Sheppard to eat something. Sheppard had managed to claw his way back from his encounter with Royce, righted himself like a Weeble. As a toddler, Rodney had adored those stupid toys. Weebles wobble but they don't fall down. His brain was spending its day regurgitating pop culture references but it seemed an apt one. Sheppard seemed to be trying his best, apart from the fact he hadn't eaten in two days. Rodney couldn't fathom going without food for two days. After just one day he thought he was dying. After two days he was certain he'd be in a coma.

"I'll compromise. Take two bites of the chicken, drink a protein shake and we'll call it even." Rodney didn't know exactly what Carson had to bargain with, but he was sounding very confident about the entire process.

Sheppard eyed up the plate, looked like he'd rather throw up than chow down. "No chicken. I'll drink a protein shake but only if it's chocolate flavored and you make it with crushed ice."

"No chicken, but if you're going to make me use a blender, then you drink two shakes."

Sheppard seemed queasy at the thought. "I'll puke if you make me drink two."

"Then eat the chicken and you just have to drink one."

Rodney was impressed. Carson was the master of circular arguments. This could be good. He aimed for a more comfortable position by putting the footstool up and going into recline mode. Everyone looked at him.

"What? I can't get comfortable while you negotiate Sheppard's food intake?" Okay, maybe he was being harsh, but some small part of him, the teeny bit that tried to be a good guy and a caring human being said that by being his usual, semi-obnoxious self he was in fact signaling that despite it all, everything was normal. Everything was hunky dory. Well, as hunky dory as they could be.

"Rodney, some days I swear, I have to restrain myself from crushing up a tranquilizer or two and slipping them into your coffee. If might just be enough to give us all a break," said Carson.

"Is that anyway to speak to the smartest guy in two galaxies?"

"Yes, thank you for reminding us of that amazing fact, again." Carson turned his attention back to Sheppard who was sticking a piece of bite sized chicken into his mouth with all the joy of a five-year-old forced to eat brussel spouts. He managed to chew it a couple of times before washing it down with a glass of water. Okay, Rodney could sympathize, but the chicken hadn't been that bad today. The cooks had even put on a coating in an attempt to make it taste like the chicken was fried instead of their ever unhelpful obsession with broiling and baking. If he ever found the nutritionist who insisted on measuring their collective fat intake, he'd force him or her to sit and eat Jell-O all day. The nutritionist sincerely believed that 'substituting' items in a recipe made it taste just the same. No it didn't. It just meant that cheese sauces tasted like glue.

Sheppard managed to dispatch the other piece of chicken, put down the fork. "Happy? I swear Carson, if I hurl, it's your fault."

"I can prescribe something to help settle your stomach. You shouldn't be feeling sick just from eating two measly bites."

"Then you shouldn't serve me food that smells like shit."

Kate's attention was grabbed with that remark. "What do you mean, Colonel?"

"I mean, it smells bad. I can't believe you don't smell this."

"Smelled like it usually smells. Okay enough to eat under duress, but not in the least bit like crap," said Rodney.

Carson pondered the information, tried to offer up an explanation that didn't hint at the fact he all ready knew the explanation. "Your sinuses might be partially blocked. I've got some nasal sprays that might help."

"I can breathe just fine Carson. If I couldn't I wouldn't be able to figure out that everything smells like day old cat shit." He gave Kate an apologetic look. "Sorry about the analogy.

"Hey, if that's what it smells like, it's as good as description as any."

Rodney put the footstool down. "Anyway, that's all very interesting but there's a reason your sinus is blocked and the bottom line is, a spray isn't going to help." Might as well get it out in the open. Sheppard deserved not to have the inevitable put off any longer. Best to let him start dealing with it.

"Rodney." Said in stereo by both Carson and Kate at exactly the same time. The last time he'd heard his name in stereo, it had been compliments of his parents when they were standing outside the house as the fire department extinguished the blaze he'd accidentally started in the kitchen

"Hey, it's not like this is going away any time soon. The sooner we stop beating around the bush, the sooner we can figure out a solution."

Sheppard changed his position in the bed. "In other words, in my long line of fucked up days since getting back, you're going to tell me that there's more. Good. Can't wait." Sheppard was trying to get himself turned over onto his side and he wasn't succeeding. Carson went to help, touched a shoulder. Everyone watched as Sheppard went through the roof. He grabbed the bed rail and tried to pull himself away as rapidly as possible and at the same time realized he probably looked like a crazy fool. He recovered his composure, gave a sheepish smile like it was no big deal. Just a pity he sounded like he'd run a marathon.

"Sorry, Carson. Still jumpy."

"I'm the one who should be sorry. I forgot to warn you." Rodney didn't miss Carson catching Kate's eye. If Rodney was a betting man, he thought the look was the one Kate reserved especially for him. The Xanax look. Or maybe the antidepressant look. "I'll leave you alone with Rodney and Kate. They need to talk to you."

Sheppard opened his mouth to say something but Rodney had decided enough was enough. Kate could hand hold all she liked but Sheppard was not a guy who appreciated hand holding. "Time's wasting, let's get this show on the road."

Rodney forced himself out of the recliner and brought his laptop over and plunked it down on the bed table. Kate was shooting him daggers, and more or less shoved him out of the way. He could deal with that if that meant they got to the point sooner. Rodney decided it was like trying to remove a band-aid. Ripping it off quickly with minimum pain was preferable to leisurely and a lot more pain.

"As Rodney was saying, we've got an update for you. I won't kid you that it's good news, but at least we've made a start in trying to help you."

Rodney had enough sense to count to ten and not offer any further comment. Sharing information with Sheppard was not a competitive sport. Kate could at least lead Sheppard into the situation as gently as possible.

"To start with, we've discovered that you're carrying a transmitter."

Sheppard's eyes went wide, as if Kate's statement was confirming something he already suspected. He nodded frantically. "They know. They know everything. You think they don't but they do."

Kate didn't react but cast a glance at Rodney that clearly and specifically said he shouldn't comment either. "It's sending out a signal. We don't know why. Rodney has a theory that it's a homing device."

"It's just a theory mind you," butted in Rodney, trying to follow Kate's lead and couch the news as best he could.

"But if it's a homing signal of some sort, then Atlantis could be in danger. If they know where you are, then they have a way to find us," said Kate.

Sheppard nodded again. "They come back. I think." His eyes were glazing over as if he'd been asked to think of too many things in a short space of time.

"Why do you know that?"

No answer. Kate asked the question again. "John, why do you know that?"

"They told me. Before they sent me back. They said if I was bad they'd come back."

"Bad? What did they mean?"

"I don't know. They weren't big on explanations." He sat up, threw the covers to one side and started hauling himself out of the bed. "I think I'm going to puke."

Rodney watched as Sheppard made a dash for the bathroom. The doors slid open, slid shut. Atlantis doors were helpful like that, no A.T.A gene required. Rodney mentally braced himself for the sound effects, even though the doors were soundproof. Sheppard exited about a minute later.

"False alarm." Sheppard went to the bed and sat on the edge. He looked like he was itching to be up and around but of course, no one was going to let him be up around unsupervised. Not now. Maybe not ever. "Keep going."

Rodney had been around Sheppard almost as long as Kate but he found Sheppard a whole lot harder to read. He certainly couldn't tell what Sheppard was thinking right at this moment. The man had his Sarcasm Mode, and his patented Yell at Rodney in a Crisis Mode but that was about it. Not at lot of depth or breadth when it came to emotional content but that could be said of practically all the military personnel on the base. A soldier's idea of sharing and caring was to find the most repellent non-toxic insect on the mainland and stick it into their compatriot's sleeping bag. As to the scientists, they weren't much better. They liked their own practical jokes but that mostly involved changing out a person's screen saver so that they thought they were seeing a horrendous error message, rather than a screen saver. Rodney could never get enough of watching someone clutching their coffee in horror while their screen mimicked the blue screen of death on shutdown with the message, "Windows has halted your machine due to a critical hardware error."

"Since you have an entire homing beacon wedged into your sinus, we've come up with two options," said Rodney. "The first option – we shield this room. Well, it's not really an option. We're going to do that anyway."

Sheppard gave Rodney a withering look. "I think we're missing the bit where I might want to leave the room."

Rodney ignored Sheppard's glare. "Ah, see that's the problem with that option. You probably couldn't. Not unless I made you a lovely little tin foil hat for your head."

"I hope you're joking, Rodney."

"Of course I am. It wouldn't be tin foil. It tears too easily."

"You'd better have a fantastic second option up your sleeve because at the moment you're dangerously close to a third option. It's the one I like to call 'Kill Rodney where he stands'."

"Kate, tell him to stop!" When in doubt, try and get someone else to back you up. That had always been Rodney's method of operating when confronted with violence. Teachers, the headmaster, his lab partner, anyone who had more backbone than he did. Part of him also thought that in some ways it was good that Sheppard was taking it out on him. At least it was familiar.

"She's not your mother, Rodney. Suck it up and tell me the second option, and remember, it had better be good."

Rodney hesitated. His second option wasn't that great either. "Okay, the second option involves you relocating to the mainland for a while."

"That's it! That's your two great options? Lock me up or throw me out? Neither of them is an option! How about you just try to remove the device. That's a great option!" Sheppard was yelling and when Sheppard yelled, Rodney got nervous and worked faster because he half believed that Sheppard would actually hit him.

"See what I have to put up with? I keep telling you he's a nightmare to work with and you never believe me." Rodney had turned his attention to Kate because if nothing else he wanted some vindication for all the times she'd told him that maybe he was exaggerating Sheppard's attitude just a smidgen. Rodney respected Sheppard, of course he did. It was the yelling he could do without. Even if the yelling had been brought on by Rodney's two crappy options that weren't actually options.

"Don't tell me you spend your time gossiping about me to Kate." Sheppard was off the bed, hands on hips. Kate made a pointed interruption in the rapidly degenerating conversation.

"No one gossips about anyone, Colonel. Sometimes Rodney just uses me as a sounding board."

Sheppard's eyes narrowed dangerously but he seemed to have decided that he wasn't going to press the obvious line of inquiry. Okay, so maybe Sheppard did have some respect for him.

"Anyway, to go back to that third option you mentioned," continued Rodney. "Not the one about killing me, but the one about removing the device. We don't want to risk it. You nearly died."

"Nearly dying doesn't mean actually dying. I'll take the chance."

"Carson won't though and you can't order him to do it, and Elizabeth certainly wouldn't."

"It's my choice, no one else's." Rodney watched in fascination as Sheppard clenched his hands into fists, then uncurled them and crossed his arms. He was miserable, forced down a path he didn't choose by circumstances he hadn't asked for. No one liked losing control, Sheppard even more so. That was the interesting side of the military that Rodney found fascinating – the need to follow orders but the expectation that people could operate independently. Sheppard had always been good at the whole independence scenario.

Kate seemed torn. She wanted to follow her instincts. Move closer, offer a tissue, give a comforting rub on the arm but that was never going to work for Sheppard. Not in his current state.

Sheppard broke the deadlock by abruptly heading for the bathroom again. The doors slid shut and Rodney imagined that he had probably wanted to slam them shut but Atlantis wasn't accommodating when it came to grand gestures.

"That went well. Not," said Rodney for something to say. "What do we do now?"

"I make sure he comes out. You go and see how Elizabeth and Teyla are progressing with getting him set up with the Athosians. I think we can safely say he's not going to cope with being cooped up. I'll let you know when you can come back and shield the room."

"Uh, he'll be okay, won't he?"

"He'll be fine. He's just frustrated."

"Oh. So… Do you want me to get Carson or anything?"

"Yeah, you can update him on the way out."

Rodney's insight into human behavior, the one that seemed to function at half speed and had a lag time of about an hour, decided to insist that he hadn't been as sensitive as he could have been when it came to listing the options. He never had any self doubt when it came to science. He had loads of self doubt when it came to interacting with people. "I didn't do a very good job, did I?"

Kate gave him a weary smile. "You were being Rodney – if that makes any sense."

"Yeah. I know what you mean."

"But a loveable Rodney, as always."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." He paused, eyed up the door of the bathroom. "You know, I could just override that door for you, if you wanted."

"No thanks, Rodney."

"I'll go then."

"Okay."

He let his shoulders sag, and headed out of the room. He really had to practice thinking before he spoke.

((--))

He was in the bathroom, and about a second later, the two paltry pieces of chicken he'd managed to force down his throat made a reappearance into the bowl of the toilet. It was an abrupt puke. The one that caught you off guard after a drunken night out and wound up all over your shoes.

"Crap," he said. Physically, he felt slightly better, at least his stomach wasn't trying for a tap dancing lesson any more. Emotionally, he didn't know what he was doing. His usual standard method of operating was to take an experience, and deliberately not think about it. Shut it away in a corner, put it in a cupboard, and ignore it like a screaming child. A good technique that served him well because nine times out of ten, he couldn't afford to indulge in navel gazing, or even stop to catch his breath. Whatever happened, happened. No use crying over spilt milk. Get up, keep moving. The past is the past. Ignore it, and go somewhere else, anywhere else. When he'd been running around in his pretend apartment, in his imagined lifestyle with Teyla and all his dead friends kept turning up, the alien had said he was good at manipulating his fabricated reality. Of course he was. He'd had to do it too many times to count. If you were going to get hurt, best to be somewhere else.

His usual bag of tricks had been difficult to pull off when he was a guest of the gray gnomes. He was too disoriented, and too terrified.

About all that remained was a deep sense of unease, anger and rage. He was bone tired, but he couldn't sleep for long and when he did sleep he was plagued with nightmares. And because he had nurses wedging their butts into the recliner for the night, he never got to just wake up, have his personal case of the heebie jeebies, talk himself down and go back to sleep. Oh, no. Nothing so simple. No, he woke, usually sitting bolt upright in bed and sweating and before he knew it, some deeply concerned nurse was asking him if he was okay, did he need to see Dr. Beckett, why don't you get changed into a fresh t-shirt, do you need a light sedative, how about a cup of herbal tea, maybe a massage would help. He hated their concern and he hated being vulnerable. If the gray gnomes had violated every sense of safety he had, violated him physically, then Royce had done it all over again by making sure he was one hundred percent aware of it.

Fuck them all. Every single person on Atlantis who expressed their concern while at the same time making sure they stripped him of his dignity. He was so fucking sick of taking it.

There was no way out of the bathroom except out the door and that was back into the room, and back to Kate and Carson and Rodney and any other mother fucking spectator that wanted to make sure he understood how sorry they were.

He lashed out and hit a wall with his fist. The wall didn't yield, and the impact hurt not just his knuckles but his wrist and forearm where the force transmitted along the flesh and bone. Who cared. It was a good kind of hurt. There was a mirror in the room and his reflection clearly said he was far more screwed than the time he'd landed himself with the Article 15. Problem was, he'd forgotten how unforgiving the military were when lines got crossed, even if he thought it was morally justified. He'd been disturbingly close to a court martial, before some horse trading had resulted in non judicial punishment and some sizeable ass kicking from the commander. About the only thing they hadn't done was reduce his rank. He'd had everything else though. Confinement to quarters, extra duty, forfeiture of pay. A big fat black mark on his record.

Someone had left a chair in the corner. Sturdy. Metal. Helpfully provided in case poor Colonel Sheppard needed to sit down. Nice of them to provide him with a weapon of bathroom destruction. He picked up the chair, tested it for heft, and wondered just how sound proof the bathroom doors actually were.

It was a good time to find out. He swung it at the mirror, turned his head as it connected, avoiding the possibility of catching the shards in his face. Turned back and to his complete dissatisfaction found out some conscientious prick had installed safety glass. The mirror had broken and stayed where it was.

He was totally fucked off and disgruntled and in need of an outlet. If he had to start pulling everything apart by hand, then so be it.

He started by kicking the door off the bathroom cabinet.

((--))

Carson and Kate had parked themselves outside of the bathroom door. Forty-five minutes had passed and they kept telling each other that Sheppard being stuck in the bathroom was acceptable. He wasn't near any Ancient technology, his health was good, or at least reasonable. There wasn't anything in the bathroom he could use to hurt himself – Carson had removed the razors and anything else sharp or stabby days ago. John Sheppard just needed an opportunity to calm down, get himself centered and they should give him that opportunity.

But it had been forty-five minutes.

"Kate, I think we need to get in there. He could be sick."

She nodded, even though she'd been hoping he'd come out on his own. The last thing he needed was his one attempt at regaining control to be taken away from him.

Carson got up from the chair, crossed over to the door, the door helpfully slid open, water helpfully ran out.

"Holy…" Carson stopped without completing the sentence. Kate got to her feet, and hurried to where he stood in the entrance seemingly stunned beyond action.

She peeked around him.

John Sheppard was sitting in an empty bath tub surrounded by total destruction. Water was gushing from the cold water faucet that had been unscrewed and stripped off the sink, the legs of the chair were buckled, the toilet bowl had somehow been kicked hard enough to lean at an angle, the bathroom cupboard had been reduced to a pile of splintered wood, the walls had been decorated with shampoo, conditioner and shaving foam, the plastic container provided for toothbrushes had been cracked, liquid soap had been thrown into the river of water swirling around on the floor and the unbreakable shower door was dented and off its hinges.

The only reason he appeared to have quit was that he'd run out of steam and he was soaking wet. His hands and feet were roughed up, covered in scratches. He was however, wearing an exhausted grin.

"Hi guys. I did some remodeling. I like to call it Military Eye for the Straight Guy." Then he started laughing and didn't stop until Carson gave him a sedative.

((--))

The wormhole was dialed up, sitting placidly and waiting for the embarkation of its next traveler.

Royce.

Elizabeth was in the Gate Room because she wanted to see him out of Atlantis personally, mainly to convince herself that he was really gone. If he was one of the good guys, then the good guys were in trouble. Of course, as he'd told her, he hadn't hurt John to get the information. And he hadn't. That was the thing – it was all completely painless for Sheppard in the physical sense. As long as no one counted the invasiveness of Royce's technique.

Royce was smoking another cigar, and she'd given up asking him to stop, another little superiority tactic he handled with aplomb, another way to keep her on the diplomatic back foot. He let her know that in the end, he was still the one wielding the power.

As his last act, he'd delayed going through the stargate so he could open up his suitcase. He'd dragged out two six packs of beer and given them to her.

"I promised these to Colonel Sheppard."

She took the handles on the cartons and felt like an idiot. "I'm sure he'll be touched," she said. Sarcastically.

He didn't reply and zipped his suitcase back up. "By the way, I think the Daedalus is probably due to arrive tomorrow. Colonel Caldwell was briefed about the situation when your first data stream went through. He should be interested in events to date. Pity I'm not here because I like Caldwell, but I'm planning on updating them just as soon as I get back." Royce winked at her and she felt like she was standing in a pool of oil. "Anyway, better go. I'll tell General Landry what a great host you were."

He turned, dragging the suitcase behind him, stepped into the wormhole and disappeared. The 'gate shut off a few seconds later.

Good. She was glad he was gone, it was one giant pain off her list and she had more important items on the agenda.

Like transferring Sheppard to the mainland.

Carson had updated her on Sheppard's meltdown. The bathroom could be repaired, Sheppard was an unknown. Kate had strongly recommended the move to the Athosian village. He was never going to cope with being permanently confined to the infirmary, and he was never going to cope with feeling that not only was he no longer useful but he was a continued risk to Atlantis.

Elizabeth however, had reserved her own worry for the Athosians. They could just as well be swapping the possibility of Atlantis being attacked with the village being attacked if Sheppard was the key target. Teyla had simply shrugged and told her that one human being who may, or may not, pose a danger to them was a non event compared to a culling by the Wraith.

Besides, they owed a debt of gratitude to Colonel Sheppard. He'd saved them and Atlantis many times, and it was the least they could do for him.

Elizabeth had reluctantly agreed. Rodney was under orders to finish shielding the room if they had to bring Sheppard back for any medical emergencies, and to concentrate on analyzing the signal. Carson was coordinating the supply move into the jumper, which medical staff would visit the mainland on a daily basis, and Teyla and Kate were trying to keep Sheppard distracted.

With all the crises whirling around her, and trying to keep Royce under control, she hadn't even had a chance to visit John yet.

She felt guilty and yet a part of her was too scared. She didn't know if she could stand to watch John Sheppard fall apart and as long as she stayed away, she could always remember him as he used to be. Not the person he was rapidly turning into.

She supposed she could be accused of selfishness. Her conscience said she was probably right.

((--))

Nobody liked backseat drivers, or more to the point, backseat jumper fliers. Carson watched as John Sheppard indulged in some fairly petty and uncharacteristic behavior by using his rank to take out his frustrations on the pilot. Thankfully the pilot happened to be Lorne. Lorne was well liked for having the disposition of a saint nine times out of ten. That meant for the most part he was making an admirable attempt at ignoring Sheppard's mood without ignoring his commanding officer.

"Major, am I to believe you fly like this all the time?"

Lorne kept his eyes peeled forward, pretending to study the horizon. "Yes sir, this is the way I always fly."

"You fly like you got your wings out of box of cereal."

"So Dr. McKay keeps telling me, sir."

"Don't you think that perhaps your flying is really bad, if Rodney McKay is right?"

"I'd agree with your assessment, sir."

"Stop agreeing with me and tell me how you intend to correct your problem."

"Just as soon as I get back, I'll arrange for some flying lessons, sir."

"Good. While you're at it, maybe you could arrange some flying lessons for your entire squad because I'm sure they're just as-"

"-John, why don't you come and sit down?" Kate had interrupted in an attempt to give Lorne a break. "I was just going to explain to Teyla about shopping online."

It was a decent enough excuse considering she'd had to come up with one on short notice, thought Beckett. But Teyla's expression said that she hadn't remembered agreeing to participate in any such conversation and Sheppard's expression said that even he could guess he was being distracted.

Sheppard scowled at them before sitting down on the bench beside Carson, opposite the two women. He made sure he had at least three feet between himself and Beckett. "If you'd wanted me to shut up, you should have just told me." The comment seemed to be directed at no one in particular.

"Actually, I did really want to tell Teyla about online shopping. She asked me about it over lunch a few weeks ago."

"I did?" Teyla's eyebrows knitted together, then she brightened, as she realized she was supposed to fake interest. "Oh. Yes. I forgot. Thank you for reminding me."

Sheppard sighed. "Here's the concept in a nutshell. Get a credit card, go onto a Web site, spend a shit load of money on shit you don't really want but you do it anyway to get the thrill of a package in the mail. Or in my case, you get the thrill of the package arriving at your shitty, sand blown tent. Usually looking like it had been run over by a tank."

Teyla looked as if she'd been trying to follow the conversation. "Colonel, I understood everything but why would you spend money on excrement?"

Her deadpan delivery, whether intended or not, temporarily silenced Sheppard. He considered her a moment, then broke into a grin. "Don't ever change."

Luckily the distraction was enough for Lorne to complete the landing maneuvers and set down just outside the village. He cycled the door open as rapidly as possible.

"We're here. I mean, we're here, sir." Lorne managed to say the line without sounding relieved.

"Goody," sneered Sheppard and then he stood up and without looking back exited the jumper and headed towards the Athosian welcoming party.

((--))

Rodney had grown to hate the signal. If there was a pattern, he couldn't see one. Not initially anyway. Although he was sure that given enough time, his ninety-nine point ninetieth percentile IQ could solve the problem. He'd taken Cooper's traffic logs, checked back over the days since Sheppard came back. A peak here, a peak there, a peak when he didn't expect it anywhere.

He'd tried indexing the signal to time but that had led nowhere fast. If it was indexed to time, it wasn't Atlantis time. He'd tried a few variations on sidereal time and if the signal was hooked up to an alien's wrist watch, it was not a twelve-hour day, a twenty-four hour day, a thirty-six hour day, or even a forty or forty-eight hour day. It definitely wasn't something as blinding simply as prime numbers, and he was not Jody Foster or Carl Sagan. Nor did it look like any other sort of mathematical premise. Wasn't anything to do with musical notes, the orbit of the planet, the tides, the waxing and waning of the moon, the position of the stars, radiation, solar flares, or anything to do with their own radio traffic. It appeared twice a day, once a day, ten times a day, mostly in the day, sometimes a night.

He closed his eyes, put his hands to his face and let out a heartfelt, "Son of a bitch."

"What is the matter, Rodney?"

He put his hands down, opened his eyes. Zelenka regarded him with a well practiced calmness. He'd seen Rodney having his own version of a meltdown too many times to count.

"I'm trying to analyze the signal if you must know."

"The one that the homing device is generating?"

"Yes, Zelenka. That device." Rodney wondered how Zelenka knew. They'd taken some pains to keep Sheppard's current situation under wraps, to keep the gossip and rumors to a minimum. Clearly their plan hadn't worked.

"What are you looking for?" Zelenka had come around to stand beside Rodney and check out the laptop screen.

Rodney sighed in that pointed way he used around Zelenka that said the Czechoslovakian scientist asked some obvious questions. "If you must know I'm trying to detect a pattern."

Zelenka pushed his glasses back up, regarding Rodney with the expression he reserved especially for Rodney. The one he used when he thought Rodney was being particularly dense. "Why are you attempting to find a pattern when you should concentrate on where it is actually going?"

"Your point?"

"The signal must be going somewhere. Signals usually spread too much over long distance in space to be of much use. Take jumper, figure out what they are doing with signal to keep it focused and then attempt to trace to destination point. Find the destination point, find the reason for the device."

Rodney hated it when Zelenka was right. "Crap," he said. Which was about as close as he would ever get to admitting Zelenka had a good idea.

"You are welcome," said Zelenka before he strolled out of the lab.

((--))

A little voice inside of him kept chanting that he wanted to go home. Of course, upon reflection, he'd never had a permanent home. As a child he'd been through a never ending series of family housing on a variety of Army bases, then more bases as a teenager, followed by bases, tents, huts, requisitioned buildings, and prefab shelters as an adult. Atlantis was about as good as it got and just when he was getting comfortable, Atlantis had turned into a non-option.

In his fantasy life, the one where he had a nice apartment and cool toys, he occasionally added a wife and child to the mix. More than once he had wondered what it would have been like to marry, to know that for the most part there was always someone around who understood. In reality the choice of career soldier was tough on the dependants. He knew that fact from first hand experience. Probably explained why he'd shied away from even the remotest possibility of getting himself into the situation in the first place.

So, his old home gone, or more to the point, he was surplus to requirements, and a danger to boot. But his sense of duty was still there, still struggling with the whole situation and he knew that in the end he was honor bound to protect everyone he could. He didn't have to like it, but he did have to fulfill his obligations to protect the inhabitants of Atlantis. He was at a new place, ready to pull the same routine he always did. He would forget about the place he left, the people becoming fond but distant memories and he would place himself squarely into the present. He'd figure out who was who, cement in some working relationships, make sure he didn't piss anyone off too badly in the first month or two. He could do that because he'd done it since he was a five. He'd leave, they'd leave, either way they were gone.

Halling was waiting for him when he stepped out of the jumper, along with Halling's boy, Jinto, and Ronon. Sheppard blinked. How'd Ronon get here? Then he spied two marines heading back towards another jumper. Oh. That explained it. He'd presumably come in with supplies. Ronon did the raised eyebrow greeting gesture. Sheppard nodded back. He might have managed a more verbal greeting if he wasn't so underwhelmingly engaged in the entire situation.

Jinto excitedly jumped up and down "I'm going to stay with my Aunty!"

Halling nodded. "Yes, he is staying with my sister for a week or two. Not that it is much of a shift. He insisted on coming to say hello."

He forced himself to smile at the Jinto, and respond. "I bet you're going to have a fun time with your Aunt."

"She let's me stay up late!" Jinto jumped around again, close to him, and he involuntarily took a step back. Halling immediately picked up on Sheppard's fright.

"Off you go, Jinto. I will come by to tell you a story tonight."

"Sheppard should tell me one," said the boy. "I want him to tell me about Jason and the hockey mask again."

Sheppard tried to think of an excuse but his brain seemed to have forgotten how to think. He was unnervingly focused on the boy's movements and the way he moved like the gray guys.

Halling grabbed Jinto by the back of his shirt, propelled him off in a direction that was away from the group of adults. "That's enough. Off you go and not another word!"

The boy seemed to sense that Halling was serious and without further protest, ran towards a group of shelters, and away from Sheppard. He was grateful because he couldn't remember his shoulders ever being this tense.

Halling stepped forward to give the usual formal Athosian greeting to Sheppard. Halling reached out to grip his shoulders and again, Sheppard found himself instinctively stepping back. It was an automatic defensive maneuver, and he was finding it difficult to push down and control. Halling stopped, took a step back himself. Great, thought Sheppard, let's start your first day in your new home by insulting your hosts. Always a smart move.

"Halling, I'm sorry. I'm just… I've, uh, got this thing going at the moment about getting too close to people. I'll get over it."

Halling nodded. "Do not concern yourself. It is forgotten. Let me show you where we have set you up."

They moved off and he didn't take much notice of the rest of them, as everyone indulged in small talk with each other. Instead, he let his attention wander off to the activity around the village. People walking around, carrying water, or food, or firewood. People stopped to chat to each other. Occasionally they laughed.

Someone was trying to get his attention. "Colonel? Colonel Sheppard?

"What?" He shook himself from his reverie, realized Teyla was speaking to him.

She repeated herself. "We've arrived. Perhaps you could come in and tell us whether you approve of your living arrangements."

"Sure."

He stood outside the roomy circular tent, sort of like a Mongolian yurt. He was surrounded on all sides by the concerned, and the caring – even Ronon for fuck's sake - and he just kept wishing to God they would leave him alone.

((--))

Elizabeth's week just kept getting worse. First Royce and now Steven Caldwell. The only slight kink to the monotony of having to deal with a seemingly unending string of uncontrollable egos was that Hermiod was sitting in her office, along with Caldwell.

Unfortunately for Caldwell, he was hopeless at hiding the fact that he was elated by the prospect of having another shot at commanding the military contingent on Atlantis. No matter how hard he tried to fake the concern angle, his real personality kept bleeding through the carefully neutral wording.

She used exactly the same phrase with Caldwell when Sheppard had been mutating into a human version of an Iratus bug. Nice of you to volunteer to help, but don't mess with the Sheppard's personnel rotations. No matter what you think, he's doing a good job.

As they indulged in their normal round of carefully disguised sniping, Hermiod sat quietly, his feet dangling off the ground. He'd said he was going to stand but then wearily accepted Caldwell's offer to help him sit in a chair.

As the Asgard remained silent, even Elizabeth could tell that Hermiod was preoccupied. He wasn't one for mixing with humans and he seemed to regard his assignment to the Daedalus as the Asgard version of a prison sentence. For all the SGC knew, it probably was.

"Hermiod, I'm pleasantly surprised to see you decided to visit Atlantis."

That seemed to shake the Asgard from his reverie. He narrowed his eyes, regarded her. "Believe me, I am not here for any pleasantries."

Caldwell stepped in, seemingly eager to correct what could be misinterpreted as an insult. "Hermiod is aware of Colonel Sheppard's situation. He'd been fully briefed, by the IOA and updated by the IOA specialist. He's also been in contact with the Asgard High Command and to be honest, I can't tell you any more than that. Apparently whatever's happening is top secret."

Hermiod struggled from the chair. "I apologize, Colonel Caldwell. It was a necessity to ensure we can resolve the situation without drawing undue attention to ourselves."

Elizabeth had never seen a tense Asgard but Hermiod was definitely tense. He was pacing.

"What do you mean, 'undue attention'?" She had a tendency to pick up on seemingly unimportant words. Words that inevitably carried a lot of weight.

Hermiod sighed, stopped pacing, put his arms behind his back. "Every race has their own creation and origin stories. Every story tells of the fight between good and evil. The Asgards have a similar concept."

"I thought the Asgards kept meticulous records. Surely you can trace your origins," said Elizabeth.

"Our true origin is obscured by hundreds of thousands of years. The original records that documented when we first began cloning our own were limited and the data was corrupted. It seemed that there was some sort of split between our evolutionary ancestors. One race became the Asgard, the other race we presumed had died out."

Hermiod stopped. He glanced at Elizabeth, seemingly ashamed. "We do not talk of them, because we hoped the accounts we had recovered were fabrications, or at least exaggerations. You have to understand Dr. Weir – they existed before the Ancients and were dying out as the Ancients became the superior form of life in the Pegasus galaxy. Our ancestors grew jealous as their own powers waned. They could not understand that their time had come. They decided that they would neutralize what they saw as a threat." Hermiod stopped. He obviously had more to say but was deeply uncomfortable with this resurrection of the murky depths of Asgard history.

Elizabeth leaned forward. "Go on."

"They did not consider themselves a cruel race in that they did not think mass extermination presented a viable alternative. They decided instead to begin an experiment in which they tracked individual Ancients with a strong expression of the A.T.A gene. They became obsessed in trying to determine if they could somehow neutralize the use of the gene, and by doing so, whether through force, or natural selection, prevent the gene from being passed to progeny. Part of the experiment involves extreme reactions in the user to any Ancient technology, as well as an inability to be in physical contact with others. "

Elizabeth frowned. "We thought it was a stress reaction."

"Yes, that is correct. But they heighten the responses. Physical illness, nervousness, agitation. The ones that survived the experiment were extremely traumatized. The survival rate of the returnees was low. Most did not live more than five years."

"How did they die?" Caldwell asked the question and Elizabeth was surprised by his sudden show of concern. For once, the concern seemed genuine.

Again, Hermiod hesitated. He didn't want to be the one that had to share this particular chapter of the Asgard version of the evil.

"They died by their own hand. They stopped eating, they descended into madness. The Ancients tried their best to help those that were returned but there was little choice. They either slowly went mad in a hospital room and their minds were lost, or they killed themselves."

Hermiod was silent and so were Elizabeth and Caldwell. Elizabeth blinked rapidly, her vision had suddenly blurred.

She wasn't surprised when she reached up to wipe at her eyes and found that she'd wiped away a tear.

((--))