Time Immemorial

Chapter 1: O Paliatsos Kai O Listis

Atlantis - Pegasus Galaxy

Present Day

1141 Hours

John Sheppard's head was about to explode.

The Air Force pilot fished out a small bottle of aspirin from the pocket of his BDU pants and popped two pills – his second dose in an hour. It was nearly noon. He had hoped his headache would have subsided by now.

As he walked through the corridors of Atlantis, he thought about the events of last night. Why can't I get one day – one day – of normalcy? he thought to himself. And if the memory of last night's festivities wasn't enough to exacerbate his foul mood, the heavy storm clouds on the planet's horizon certainly did nothing to quell it.

While on his way to Dr. Weir's office, John had fabricated an excuse for his visit. In truth, he found her presence soothing. And while the two had painfully ignored their feelings for one another, their recent near-death experiences with the Klaan had given both a new lease on life. So the pair had started seeing one another, hesitantly of course, but at least it was a step forward.

John and Elizabeth weren't the most obvious of matches, with her aversion to all things military and his lifelong commitment to the Air Force. Their connection, though, ran deeper than that. It had started out merely as a professional relationship. Trust came second when they had - slowly - earned one another's respect, even if they fervently disagreed with each other on occasion. Soon they began to find themselves forging a genuine friendship: sharing meals, laughing over coffee, and taking an interest in the person behind the uniform.

Life on Atlantis, though, didn't exactly afford the greatest opportunities for personal relationships. Though John and Elizabeth had whole-heartedly agreed to take it slowly for the sake of the expedition, the pace had been excruciatingly sluggish. In the two months that they had been 'dating' - what that word meant while sequestered in the confines of an alien city, John didn't know - they had barely seen one another. Between his head military role and her leadership duties, meetings were limited to coincidental encounters, the occasional lunch, or the brief stolen moment in some secluded hallway.

Though he hated to admit it, it was probably for the best. Until things changed, this was how it had to be. The expedition's leader and chief military officer were like Atlantis' Mom and Pop... a Mom and Pop that couldn't bee seen together. The pair ran the City, lived for it, breathed it. They were each other's system of checks and balances. If they were publicly involved in anything but a professional relationship, expedition members would question the objectivity of their decisions, and rightly so. Would the best interests of Atlantis still be their top priorities?

While he knew both his and Elizabeth's the answer to that question would be a candid yes, without hesitance, others would be skeptical. It was another question, however, that plagued him, one that he had been thinking about for some time now, one that he still didn't have an answer to. Because Elizabeth and he were so alike in their love for their work, for the Ancient city, could there be room in their lives for anything else - anyone else? If he had to choose between Atlantis and Elizabeth, could he? If she had to choose…?

John quickly dispelled the thought. In either case, they had agreed to keep it quiet, not even telling Teyla or Rodney. Sometimes it felt like they'd be stuck in the same rut forever, stagnant, but politics were politics. He couldn't even fight for what he wanted. And that had presented a problem, because John Sheppard had finally found someone worth fighting for.

As John crossed the bridge that linked the Control Room to Dr. Weir's office, he pushed his thoughts aside. He spotted her at her desk. Leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile played onto his lips as he folded his arms and took in the sight.

Leaning comfortably in her chair, Elizabeth Weir sat with her eyes shut, peaceful. She breathed deeply. Two laptops sat propped open before her, while mounds of file folders littered her desk and floor. Jimi Hendrix's 'All Along a Watchtower' wafted softly from one of the computer's speakers.

The pilot continued to watch Elizabeth slumber, happy to catch her in a rare moment of serenity, before one of her eyebrows arched up. Without opening her eyes, she said, "Are you going to come in or just continue to stand there?"

Sighing, John entered the office, caught. "How do you do that?"

Peeking through one eye, Elizabeth responded, "Practice." She smiled, pleased with herself, and sat up straight. She offered John a seat. "I was just clearing my head."

"Clearing your head," he repeated, nodding toward the laptop. "To Jimi Hendrix."

She blushed involuntarily, embarrassed at having her cultured facade cracked. "Sometimes I just need some background noise to think."

John took a minute to listen to the foreboding lyrics. "How appropriate," he muttered.

"Let's hope not."

"And here I half expected you to be listening to Vivaldi and sipping tea," the major teased.

Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow playfully at him. "Truth be told, I prefer the Bob Dylan version, but there are many things you don't know about me, Major Sheppard. Things you wouldn't even dream about."

"Apparently," he grinned back – that mischievous grin she pretended to hate – thoroughly enjoying their banter. He clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back. "But I've had some pretty good dreams, Dr. Weir."

"Cheeky," she chided, anticipating the line from the cocky pilot. "But if you think you can just waltz in here with charisma and bravado in the hopes that I'll just swoon, you can think again, flyboy."

"Hmm, charisma and bravado not doing it for you," he replied. "So what's your type, then?"

"My type?" she sputtered. She hated when he caught her off guard. "What makes you think I have a type?"

"Come on, I've seen how you can't take your eyes off me."

"I can't take my eyes off you because when I do you're bound to get into trouble. I can't decide who's worse: you, McKay, or a toddler," Elizabeth poked back. She folded her arms, the challenge accepted. "All right, maybe I do have a type."

John grinned at the game. "Wait, wait, don't tell me: handsome, a fantastic wit, a damned good pilot-"

"Don't flatter yourself, you're not it."

"Yet somehow you still tolerate me."

"Yet somehow I still find you irresistibly charming."

This earned her a genuine smile. He didn't have a response otherwise. She loved when that happened. Elizabeth steered the conversation to a more proper track. "How are you feeling today?"

Two-and-a-half months it had been since his extraction from the Klaan compound, and everyday she had inquired about his well-being. It had taken him until several weeks ago to completely heal from his life-threatening injuries. Eager to get back on his feet, John had even been on several missions since, albeit mundane meet-and-greets with the Athosians. But that hadn't stopped her from always asking about him. And he never got tired of it.

"No complaints," he answered honestly, or at least semi-honestly. Physically, he had healed, but mentally... he doubted he ever would. He neglected to tell her how he now slept with a loaded sidearm under his pillow, how he always positioned himself in room such that he could cover all exits. Even now, he realized as he looked around, he had subconsciously angled his chair so both doors to Elizabeth's office were in sight at all times. Hell, he had even rearranged his quarters so all the furniture faced the door.

Elizabeth nodded. She studied him closer, saw the hint of dark circles blemishing his handsome face. "You look tired," she noted, concerned.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Didn't sleep too well last night."

"Me neither."

"Nightmares again?"

She nodded and looked down to the desk.

"Hey," John said, leaning forward. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone here has nightmares."

She looked into his eyes. "Not these, John."

John frowned, unsure of what to say. He knew exactly what she meant. He had had the same nightmares from time to time, ever since their return: awful scenes of Wraith and humans alike. Screams - Elizabeth's, he was sure - feedings, Hergon, torture, gunfire...

He reached forward in an attempt to clasp her hands, but he thought the better of it. Someone was always watching from somewhere. Dammit.

"If you hadn't done what you did, if you hadn't come back for me," he explained slowly, "I'd be dead."

"I didn't say I wouldn't do it again," Dr. Weir quickly countered.

I know, Sheppard thought. That's the problem. Elizabeth could have easily lost her own life saving his, and he had struggled with that reality ever since. "Let's hope you won't have to. All I'm saying is that if you were able to walk out of there in one piece at the price of a couple of bad dreams, I'd call that damned lucky."

"Better lucky than good?"

"Better lucky and good. Thank god you're both, or we'd all be in some serious trouble," John quipped.

"Uh-huh," Elizabeth said flatly.

"Now before this Dear Abby session comes to a close, anything else on your mind?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Sergeant Bates reported coming across a bag of talcum powder during his morning rounds, says there was a bullet-sized hole in its center." She raised an eyebrow in question and waited for him to volunteer information.

He didn't.

"Corporal LaDage also reported hearing single-shot weapons fire at 0400 hours this morning from the same area of the City," Elizabeth continued. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

John shrugged innocently. But as he thought back to the events of the previous night, he couldn't help but grin.

- The previous night -

Lying in his bed with his eyes squeezed shut, Major Sheppard tried to block out the incessant drip-drip-drip assaulting his eardrums. His sink had sprung a leak sometime during the day and the maintenance crew hadn't yet gotten around to repairing it. With a sigh of exasperation, John popped open his eyes and looked skyward. I don't believe this. Someone must really hate me up there, he thought dryly.

Rolling on his side, the pilot flung a tired hand toward his alarm clock. 0347. Great. He stared at the red LED numbers. They seemed to mock him. He silently dared them to tick over.

0348.

John frowned, not amused. One more minute of precious sleep lost. He swatted the clock down on its face vindictively and buried his head under a pillow.

Drip.

With a groan, John tried to bury himself further under his pillow and blankets. Sleep was usually in short supply in Atlantis, especially for the chief military officer. With his nightly rounds wrapping up at midnight and his self-implemented morning jogs beginning at 0530, he had become accustomed to a five-hour sleep cycle. But there was no way he could function on less than two.

Drip. Drip.

In addition to the busted faucet, all of Atlantis had suddenly turned arctic in the middle of the night. The temperature had plummeted, and John would bet a week's pay on who was responsible. To make matters worse, a cold front was moving in from the west, making the already cool city even chillier.

Drip. Drip. Drip... drip-drip-drip-drip-drip-drip...

John bolted upright in his bed, all hopes of sleep forgotten. Between the cold and the now increased din, there was just no way. He spied a faint glow from across the room, emanating from his laptop. Solitaire it is, he decided.

Suddenly, the glow from his laptop vanished, followed by successive mechanical thunks from the hallway outside. Sheppard knew it could only be one thing: the sound of the line of corridor lights shutting down sequentially.

That's it, he thought. That son of a bitch is dead!

Fighting through a gauntlet of bedding, John succeeded in reaching the edge of the bed before promptly falling to the floor in a heap of tangled limbs, pillows, and blankets. It only worsened his headache and enraged him further. He sprung to his feet, grabbed his 9-millimeter handgun, jammed in a fresh magazine, and stormed toward the door. The fact that he was wearing nothing but a pair of white boxers didn't seem to concern him at the moment.

It didn't take him long to get noticed. Twenty-six-year-old Corporal Vicky LaDage was manning her post outside one of the Ancient laboratories when she did a double take. At first, she thought it was her mind playing tricks during the late night security shift. Though the emergency lighting was faint, she soon began to make out the strange sight before her. There was her CO, half naked, wielding a Beretta, and charging barefoot her way. And he was pissed.

LaDage forced herself to quickly tear her eyes from the major's chiseled chest. She looked down toward the floor, but her gaze only fell to his muscular legs. Embarrassed, the corporal decided it was best to simply stare at the opposite side of the hallway.

"As you were, Corporal!" Sheppard snapped as he marched by, catching her.

"Yes, sir!" she barked, shutting her agape jaw and snapping to attention. She prayed to god he hadn't spotted her blushing.

John turned forward once more, only to step on some foreign object strewn on the floor. Though he tried to catch himself, the major fell gracelessly onto his back with a thud as the unidentified object shot out from under his foot. The wind was knocked from him.

Corporal LaDage, standing steadfastly yards behind, took a step in his direction before thinking the better of it. "Are - are you okay, sir?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yep..." he gasped from the cold tile floor as he rolled to his side. "Great. Just great."

John's eyes spotted the offending item several yards further down the hall. Its contoured surface matched the depressions on the underside of John's foot. It was probably going to need a tad bit of repair work now, whatever it was. The one clue as to its ownership, though, came from the numerous wires protruding from its facets.

"Goddammit, Rodney!" John yelled, getting to his feet once more. The words echoed down the corridor.

"Should I radio for a medic?" LaDage asked.

No, but you might need a coroner after I get through with McKay, John thought, leaving the corporal in confused silence. But he would deal with McKay later. He rounded the final corner before arriving in another space, the City's central Power Room. A swipe of the hand over the wall sensor at the entrance and the twin doors parted. As he suspected, this particular door had not been disabled by the power outage.

John strode through purposefully and spotted the sole occupant of the room, the man who had turned the last few hours into a living hell for Sheppard. The major cocked his sidearm and pointed it at the back of the man's head.

Kavanagh swiveled around at the snick-snick sound of a bullet being chambered. "Major!" he yelped, surprised. If the gun didn't scare him, the cool, hard eyes of the major staring down its sight into his own did. The fact that the military man was wearing nothing but boxer shorts didn't do much to assuage his trepidation, either.

"Major Sheppard," Kavanagh said, eying the gun positioned only inches from his nose. "What are you-"

"Listen up, Kavanagh," John interrupted, "because I'm only going to say this once. I'm tired, I'm cranky, and I'm armed. Now if you don't stop what you're doing right now-"

Kavanagh faked a laugh. "I don't know what you're talking about." He did his best not to look at the tools and wiring strewn across the top of three empty ZPM receptacles.

"Cut the crap. Atlantis feels like a goddamn icebox and the power just cut out. Now I think a few people would've noticed that!"

The scientist's eyes flickered over John's shoulder and seemed to notice the darkened hallway for the first time. His face reddened, guilty. He looked like the kid who had just gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar. Nevertheless, he tried to argue his way out. "I have every right to continue this experiment, Major."

"Oh, give it up, Kavanagh," John said, frustrated, as he finally lowered his gun. "Dr. Weir told you explicitly to stop your power diagnostics until Rodney could double check your work."

Kavanagh scoffed. Of course Dr. Weir had told Sheppard about their little argument earlier that day concerning his proposed experiment. And of course, Dr. Weir had shut him down. Kavanagh frowned. The major and Weir were becoming rather... chummy of late.

"Dr. Weir doesn't have a damn clue what's she's doing," Kavanagh said pointedly.

"She's saved your ass a couple of times." Why is something I can't figure out, he added to himself.

"Only to put the City in jeopardy a dozen more," Kavanagh countered.

"I am not having this conversation with you right now," the major said, biting his tongue. "It's 4:00 am, my head's about to split open, and I'm freezing my ass off. Now I'm going to ask you nicely one last time, and after that we're gonna have a problem. Could you please turn on the goddamn power-"

"I guess the only way to get what you want around this place is to sleep with the expedition leader," Kavanagh muttered, looking right into the pilot's eyes.

John snapped his gun up once more. Blam! The sound of the 9-mil firing was deafening in the small space. John trained his aim back on Kavanagh.

The weaselly scientist looked in horror at the bag of talcum powder stored down near his left foot. It sported a nickel-sized hole in its center, from which powder wafted into the air.

"Are you crazy?" Kavanagh screamed at John as the cloud of white dust settled around him. He coughed. "You could have shot me!"

"Talk about her one more time like that and I will," John promised, his Beretta still trained on Kavanagh's forehead. He nodded to the switches and dials behind the scientist. "Now if you don't mind...?"

"S-sure," a very wide-eyed physicist replied. "O-okay." After a few seconds of rewiring and switch flipping, light flooded the outside hallway once more. Power had been restored.

"There," John said with a patronizing smile as he safetied his weapon. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" He turned and walked out of the room before the man could reply. "And turn on some damn heat while you're at it!" he yelled over his shoulder.

Pleased with himself, John began the trek back to his quarters. Screw my morning run, he thought. I'm sleeping in. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

"So you have no idea what happened last night," Elizabeth asked, jolting John out of his reverie.

"Not a clue. What's the big deal over some talcum powder, anyway?"

"Apparently Rodney wanted it for some experiment," she said. But she wasn't fooled. "Remind me again: why exactly was it you couldn't sleep last night?"

"Too cold," John responded with a shrug.

"Right," came the incredulous response. "On that note, the temperature of the city has seemed to have risen over 25 degrees overnight to a steady 76 degrees Fahrenheit."

"Sounds like perfect weather for a day off."

"I've got some basic info from Rodney, but details are sketchy. Any idea what that's about?"

"I don't know," John answered. "Maybe Kavanagh threw a log on the ol' Ancient fireplace."

Gotcha. "I never said anything about Dr. Kavanagh," Elizabeth said slyly.

John faltered. "You didn't?" She shook her head. "Lucky guess then?"

Elizabeth sighed. What was she going to do with him? "Rodney discovered this morning that Kavanagh had run some power tests in the dead of night-"

"Yeah, behind your back," John spat. Realizing his blunder, he backpedaled. "What? I remember you talking about it, that's all." He wasn't about to admit his presence at the scene of the crime just yet.

"Well, he did anyway. Rodney blew a gasket when he found out. He wasn't too happy about the talcum powder bag, either; he says the whole supply is tainted now. This temperature fluctuation seems to be the last piece of the puzzle."

"Interesting..." John mumbled, looking away.

"You can relax, John," Dr. Weir said. "I'm not going to send you to time out. You can spare me the details, but you have to promise to stop using your gun to solve all your problems. One of these days there's going to be an accident-"

"I know, Elizabeth, and I'm sorry. I was just in a bad mood and... Kavanagh said something that really pissed me off."

"What did he say?" she asked, intrigued.

"That Willie Nelson is way better than Johnny Cash," the pilot replied without missing a beat. He smirked at her.

"Of course he did," she answered with her own smile.

"Anyway," he continued, clearing his throat, "the real reason I came up here, other than to get scolded, was to say happy anniversary."

Elizabeth looked up sharply at his choice of words. "I'm sorry?"

"Today. The 16th." He received a blank stare. "Don't tell me you forgot," he chided.

"No! No, I just... remind me again?"

He folded his arms in fake disgust. "Wow, and you call yourself a sentimentalist."

"Major..."

"Okay, okay. Today's the one year anniversary of our arrival on Atlantis." John paused for effect, eyebrows arched as he waited for a reaction.

Elizabeth didn't say anything at first. "Has it really been one year already?" she asked, instinctively looking at the Stargate below. "It seems like only yesterday..."

"Tell me about it. Time flies when you're having fun."

As she looked at the Gate, Elizabeth pondered his statement. They had lost so many in that short period of time: to the Wraith, to the Genii, to a deadly virus. And for what? They had started a war they had no hope of winning - not now, at any rate. Sure, they had discovered new species, lost civilizations, and had uncovered the mysteries of their own origin, but without a way to reach Earth it was all for naught. She loved her job and loved her team. Elizabeth wouldn't trade it for the world. But 'fun' wasn't the first word that came to mind.

"To celebrate," Major Sheppard continued, oblivious to her thoughts, "I thought I'd take you a nice mess hall lunch."

Elizabeth turned around. "No, I can't. I've got mountains of paperwork to do," she said, waving her hands at the manila folders that cluttered her office. "Formalizing the alliance with the Klaan, mission logs, checking in with the Athosians on the mainland, personnel reports-"

"All the more reason to eat. Can't think on an empty stomach."

She sighed. I'm too easy. "Fine, but only this once."

"That's what you said last time," John teased. "But first, I, uh... I have a present for you," he began nervously. He began to fumble around in his pockets. "It's not much, but it was the best I could do. Amazon doesn't exactly overnight to Pegasus..."

Elizabeth watched him patiently as he trailed off, her mouth beginning to curve into a smile. He stood, fishing through all his BDU pockets.

"Where the hell-" he began, before cutting himself off. He froze and cocked his head slightly, listening to something. "Go ahead," he said, touching a hand to his ear.

Elizabeth realized she had taken her radio off while she had been clearing her head and cursed her stupidity. By the time she had her earpiece back in, the other party had ceased talking. She only caught John's reply. "Copy, be there in five."

"Trouble?" she asked, standing.

He tossed her one of his trademark grins. "Always."

TBC