Conclusion of my Progeny tag fic... and leading us nicely into The Real World.

Please read and review - all thoughts/comments gratefully received.

John awoke with a start, jerking his head up from the pillow with his heart pounding in his chest, his breathing harsh and ragged in the still twilight of his quarters. It took a moment for him to orient himself, to realise that it just a dream; he was in bed, in his quarters, and it was just a dream, just a memory. Not even a real memory. He shuddered, his pulse still racing, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath, and let his head fall back against the pillow, trying consciously to release the tension from his muscles, to force his body to relax.

It's not real, he told himself. It was never real. But dammit, it had sure felt real. In his dream it had felt real… in the hallucination forced upon him by the Asuran mindprobe it had felt so goddamn real. Didn't matter how many times he told himself it had never really happened, he remembered standing in the control room and keying in the self-destruct; the captain going down with the doomed ship. He remembered the harsh tang of smoke and electricity in the air, the thunder of noise as energy blasts rained down upon the defenceless city, the sharp fizz and crackle and blinding flare of conduits exploding around him. He remembered closing his eyes and waiting to die; he remembered flinching, even with his eyes closed, as something exploded nearby, the brightness of it flaring redly through his eyelids. He remembered all of it with perfect clarity.

And none of it was real.

He sighed heavily, pushing the memories away, trying to ground himself in the reality of here and now, of the feel of the firm mattress beneath him, the faint sounds of the ocean outside, the comfortable, familiar surroundings of his quarters. He focused on physical sensation, the feeling of the sheets twisted and tangled around his waist, the cool night air drying the sheen of sweat on his brow, forcing himself to breathe slow and deep as he lay still, limp and exhausted, gazing unseeingly at the ceiling as his heart rate gradually slowed.

It was gloomy in his quarters but not quite dark. Must be nearly dawn, he realised distantly. His breathing had slowed now, his chest still shuddering with a little with each rasping breath of air and the subsequent slow, deliberate exhalation. His heart rate was calming and he shivered suddenly; now that the adrenalin rush was over he was aware of the sweat soaking his t-shirt, cooling quickly in the pre-dawn air, raising goosebumps across his skin. With a groan he pushed himself into motion, rolling lethargically onto his side and reaching out an arm to fumble on the bedside table for his wristwatch, slumping back over onto his back as he regarded the watchface with bleary eyes. 4:47am. Marvellous. He sighed again, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Might as well get up.

He kicked at the tangled sheets until they reluctantly released their grip on him and slowly levered himself upright, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. The floor was cool beneath his bare feet and he took a moment to just sit, elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging down, just letting himself breathe and feeling his body awaken sluggishly. He felt… tired. Not remotely rested. It had taken him a long time to fall asleep, his mind working overtime, dwelling on things, unable to switch off, and when he finally had drifted into slumber it was been a restless, shallow sleep, fraught with uneasy dreams and fragments of painful memories. He felt like he'd gotten no more than maybe an hour of so in total of proper, deep sleep before his nightmare had wrenched him rudely back to wakefulness. He rolled his head slowly from side to side, feeling stiff and lethargic. John was by nature a morning person and he usually awoke feeling refreshed and energised, would often start his day with a run before breakfast. Right now he felt like doing nothing more than rolling back up in the still-warm bedsheets and going right back to sleep. Except he knew from experience that there was little chance of that – and spending the next couple of hours staring at the ceiling was a less than appealing thought.. and wasn't going to do anything to make him feel any more rested or awake.

He pushed his hands against his knees to rise slowly, wearily, to his feet and padded woozily through the gloom of his quarters into the bathroom. The lights came on automatically as the adjoining door slid open and the glare stung his eyes, making him squint as he dialled down the intensity with a thought. With a second thought, the sound of running water filled the small room and John groggily peeled the sweat-damp t-shirt from his skin, raising his arms to pull it over his head and drop it to the floor. His shorts followed and he stepped gratefully into the spray of warm water, ducking his head under the showerhead, closing his eyes as water ran down his face, dripping from his eyelashes, streaming down the long line of his throat.

The warm water felt wonderful, sluicing the drying sweat from his body, soothing the chill from his skin. He turned slowly under the spray, letting the pressurised stream of water pound into his tired muscles, pummelling away the last vestiges of tension from his nightmare.

He stayed in the shower for a long time, leaning against the cool, smooth wall of the cubicle, his eyes closed, his unruly hair flattened wetly to his scalp, his thoughts sombre. No matter that it wasn't real, he had experienced his worst nightmare at the Asurans' hands; he had seen, had lived through, the destruction of Atlantis. He'd seen his friends run through the gate with barely a backward glance, seen the city falling apart around him. For the second time in just a few short years he'd chosen, without a moment's hesitation, to sacrifice himself to save them; to save Earth. He had faced his death, accepted it and, as best he could, prepared for it. It had been real.. had felt real. Just as real as when he flew the jumper on a suicide run into the gaping maw of a hive ship, being snatched from death at the last instant by the Deadalus.

He wondered bitterly what the Asurans had made of what they'd seen in their little created scenario, what they thought they knew of him from their rape of his mind. He wondered whether a machine could ever really understand the complex conversion of nature, training and experience that could make a man choose to sacrifice his life in order to protect others.

His mood was dark as he shut the shower off, the reflection in the mirror pinched and hollow-eyed as he shaved.

The city was still slumbering as he left his quarters, the first light of a new day breaking over the ocean, warm sunlight filtering in through the city's windows, casting patterns across the walls as he walked, filling the city of the Ancients with golden light. It was early, too early for people to be awake, to early for the mess hall to start serving breakfast. John didn't have a destination in mind, didn't have anywhere he needed to be, just a restless desire to move, to escape the confines of his quarters where memories of bad dreams still lingered in the air.

Somehow, he was not too surprised when his seemingly random trajectory brought him to the control room.

It looked the same as it ever did. Familiar. Comforting. And yet… and yet he couldn't shake the images that flashed across his memory; the blinding flare of exploding consoles and circuitry, pieces of the structure crumbling and falling as people scrambled for cover. He stood on the small balcony, his fingers clenching in a white-knuckled grip on the railings, and looked out over the gate room. In his mind's eye expedition members, some injured and bleeding, some carrying hastily grabbed equipment, supporting friends, ran and staggered through the gate. Ronon and Teyla disappeared without a backward glance, preoccupied with helping the injured, Elizabeth gazed about her in despair and his grip tightened unconsciously on the railing as he remembered ordering her to leave, seeing her disappear into the shimmering event horizon.

He remembered Rodney's desperation, Elizabeth's futile hope that maybe there was another way, that maybe he didn't have to die. He remembered the awful knowledge that this was it, the end of everything; they'd failed. He remembered the sense of unnatural calm that had filled him, tinged with a taste of fear, mixed with the sharp pain of regret, as he had pressed the button and closed his eyes… waiting for the end, waiting for a moment of fiery pain, of disintegration.. and then nothingness.

"John?"

He flinched, snapping out of a daze to find Elizabeth beside him, her gaze questioning, concern creasing her brow.

"Hey." He forced himself to smile, to ease the worry he saw in her eyes.

Her expression was considering, uncertain. "Are you okay?"

He nodded quickly. "I'm good." His gaze strayed unwillingly back out over the gateroom and he wondered briefly how long it would be before he would be able to stand here and not see death and destruction. With a conscious effort he pushed aside the memories that had never really happened and turned his back on the gateroom, flexing the ache from his fingers as he leaned casually against the railings.

"How about you?" He saw a reflection of his own shadows in her expressive eyes, his smile twisting as she raised a hand unconsciously to her neck, rubbing softly at the memory of pain.

She smiled wryly, knowingly, as she echoed his own words back at him, "I'm good."

He grinned then and saw an answering curve to her lips, a genuine smile that warmed her eyes, chasing the shadows away.

He pushed off from the railing, suddenly feeling restless again, and spoke over his shoulder as he wandered randomly into the control room, "So what are you doing up this early?"

She didn't answer and he glanced back to see her frozen in place on the balcony, a hand still at her throat, her eyes distant, a bemused frown on her face. A sudden, nameless fear thrilled along his spine and he turned back, tilting his head to catch her gaze.

"Elizabeth?"

Her movements were jerky, disconnected, as she turned her head to look at him.

"Hey. You okay?"

"John?" Her voice was faint, distant and there was a lost, hollow look to her eyes that clenched a hard fist around his heart. "I feel…"

"Elizabeth?" He reached out a hand towards her and, in that instant, time seemed to stop. He felt as though he were frozen in place as he watched her eyes suddenly roll back, her features slackening as she simply – terrifyingly suddenly – collapsed. He was unaware of moving, of catching her before she hit the floor. There was a roaring in his ears, white noise and confusion, and then time sped up and moved forward again and he was crouched on the floor of the control room, Elizabeth deathly still and limp in his arms, shouting even though the earpiece radio was sensitive enough to pick up a whisper.

"Medical team to the gateroom, now!"

Fin…