Apologies for the slight delay with this chapter! Between the time of year, and the fact that S4 of the Expanse happened... Well... I had a lot less free time to edit this chapter into shape for a while there!

As always this thing is unbetaed so if you spot any particularly embarrassing errors please feel free to point them out! (I tend to read the sentence I meant to write rather than the one actually on the page sometimes...)

Chapter 5:

"Sheppard!"

The gratingly false jocular tone was new. Smoothing out his expression from the grimace it had fallen into, Sheppard smartly turned, straightened to attention, and asked,

"Sir?"

"How'd you like to do your flight recertifications this week?"

John blinked nonplussed. Crap, what was he underqualified in now? He'd do the training. But the way Landry was perpetually trying to poke at his perceived weaknesses was beginning to grate. He searched Landry's face, trying to get a hint of the usual dislike and contempt that flavoured all their interactions, but none of the old enmity was present. Just the same friendly, vaguely fatherly, 'I'm making an effort here' expression that the older man had put on every time they'd been in the same room together since the 'foothold' incident.

"Uh? Sir?"

"This is where you say, yessir, thank you sir! Sheppard. And for god's sake son, at ease."

"Uh – yessir, thank you sir?"

John hadn't meant for that puzzled questioning tone to seep into his voice, but… Well, where Landry was concerned, he'd given up on trying to put up his usual defences' years ago.

Landry sighed, "Sheppard, son. I know we've not always seen eye to eye."

John bit back on the urge to reply with a very McKay-esque sarcastic, 'Really whatever gave you that impression?', by pure dint of metaphorically lying back and thinking of Atlantis. To his disbelief Landry looked almost… Guilty? No surely not. It couldn't be.

The man had always made it very clear that Sheppard wasn't his first, or even fifth choice to head up the military contingent of the expedition. Hell, Sheppard had always suspected that if it hadn't been for Elizabeth's (he hastily shoved down the wave of pure grief that always rose up when he let himself think of her these days) backing he'd have been out of the whole programme, possibly the whole service if Landry had his way. And hadn't that chafed? The knowledge that he hadn't earnt that promotion after all. That as far as the Air Force was concerned, he was still persona non grata, fit only to run the shittiest jobs the service could offer to a qualified field grade officer.

Refocusing on the conversation with an effort, dammit pay attention John. This man was technically his commanding officer right now, and had the right to make Shep's life hell, he was surprised again by the expression of what, it couldn't be, contrition?

"You know son, you've got a lot of backers at the SGC."

"Sir?"

John didn't have a clue where Landry was going with this,

"Jack likes you; god alone knows why. He's worth a whole department by himself. Hell, he is Homeworld Security, that means something. He's always had your corner. I should have made a note of that."

"Sir."

"I always make it a point to listen to Jack's advice, son. He let me borrow his cabin often enough, that I owe the man that much."

"Sir?"

Shep felt that sir was the only thing he could say there, sir was such a useful response, it could mean anything from 'Yes sir! How high sir?' to 'You're a terrible excuse for a human being who's not fit to lick horse crap from my lowliest marine's boots'. Sheppard wasn't entirely sure which end of the spectrum his response fell on; he was feeling too backfooted.

"Did you know Colonel Carter has nominated you for a promotion, Colonel?"

The world tilted on its axis,

"Uh – sir?"

"Yes Colonel, you're still below grade. But well, she'd been your ranking officer for a year, and she always maintained your help was instrumental in the strategies she used to successfully eliminate the threat of the Replicators, and Michael that year. Then of course, there was that Wraith hive ship you saved us all from."

"Yessir."

Landry sighed, he rubbed at his face vigorously with one hand, looking old and tired. John knew how he felt, though he still couldn't parse where this conversation was going.

"Son. I let other people's opinions colour every interaction we've had. As your some-time commanding officer, for that I'm sorry."

"Sir?"

Sheppard could hear the bewilderment in his own voice, but hell, he really didn't have a clue what was going on in this conversation. The route it was taking was so far removed from what he was used to, what he'd been expecting, that he was stuck scrabbling around for context in the dark.

"General O'Neill pointed out to me in no uncertain terms that I haven't been fair to you Colonel. Hell, Mitchell, put in a word or two. And that boy can be so scared of his own shadow around his superior officers that I sometimes fear for his health."

Landry chuckled dryly. John just stared completely unable to parse this shift into… Friendly? relations. What the hell was going on? Landry's expression went pained,

"Look son, just go, do your recertifications with Mitchell, and please god get Vala off my base for a few days. She's bored, and a bored Vala… Well, consider it a personal favour to me. I'll owe you one."

Landry's voice went all wheedling, it was bizarre,

"Might even be able to pull a few strings with the IOA. And, if you happen to run across any instructors with spare time on their hands, well, I wouldn't be too upset if you came back well on your way to having more qualifications than you left with. I've never taken the time to tell you this Sheppard, but you're one of the best pilots we've got in the SGC, and we'd like to keep you. If that means giving you free reign to let off some steam whilst your base is grounded? So be it."

Landry looked at him expectantly, John hastily got out,

"Uh, thank you sir?"

Great… 'thank you sir'…Great job there John, first attempt the guy makes to not be an ass and you…

"When you get back, we may see our way to getting you a temporary gate team if you want son. We'll also talk about all that leave you've accrued," Landry glared down at the paperwork he was clutching, for once the scowl wasn't aimed John's way, "there's a truly obscene amount backdated here. Forget not taking leave since you joined the programme, it says here that you've not taken regular time off since you made Captain. For heaven's sake son, I know you're worried about getting time off to meet your brother. Consider that as read."

Landry looked up at John, eyebrows still raised in disbelief, it was true, John hadn't regularly claimed any of his leave since the divorce,

"Now, is there anything you'd like to ask me before you go and pack for a week off world?"

John gazed sceptically at the round open face in front of him. A face he'd always, not so secretly, instinctually distrusted.

"Uh nossir."

"Good. Very well Colonel."

John was too stunned to respond. Landry's expression shifted back into the more familiar scowl of exasperation that Sheppard was used to,

"Stop standing around Colonel! Go! Scram! You're dismissed!"

"Yessir!"

John double-timed his way out of there, not daring to question his luck. He'd been so sure that dressing down that had been overdue, that Damocles-like other boot that had been waiting to drop… Well. Blowing out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding, Shep felt the tension ease its way out of the knots in his spine. He'd felt as if he'd been riding Rocinante and tilting at windmills for so damned long now, and Landry had just turned around and tacitly stated he had his back. What the hell?

John had been a few beds over when O'Neill had gotten all serious on the other general, but he hadn't expected anything like this to come of it. He'd thought the reluctant clearing for gate travel had been the extent of it. Still in a mild daze, he wandered off to try and find Cam and Vala. John got the distinct impression that the conversation had been Landry trying to be… nice. Which was a terrifying thought, on a par with the predicted explosion if Rodney ever found out that those BBQ ribs he enjoyed so much were absolutely slathered in lemon marinade. (John had checked in with Carson about just what McKay was and wasn't allergic to back in the First Year, he'd been shocked by how blasé the physician was about the whole thing until the list had emerged. The list had amounted to a mild case of lime and ash tree hay fever, and a severe, but not anaphylactic, reaction to fire ant bites. Which, given that as a child Rodney had apparently earnt the wrath of a whole nest, it was unclear whether he was allergic, or had just gotten bitten a whole hell of a lot. The one time the EpiPen thing had come up, it had been Ronon of all people who'd gone through the whole terrifying blood pressure going loopy, throat swelling thing. John had been grateful he'd insisted on learning the procedure that day.)

Sheppard made his way to the daily IOA meeting with a new spring in his step, he felt he could face almost anything Strom would throw at him now.

As she typed up the minutes from the most recent IOA meeting about Atlantis, Camile let her mind wander. This job was well below her paygrade, but Strom insisted he wanted her for the relatively lowly position. Camile couldn't quite fathom how the IOA - an organisation she believed was desperately needed to prevent the US military from gaining a monopoly on space travel, advanced technology, and medicine vital to the planet, could be so concerned with such petty ideas as rampant nationalism and… well, bigotry. They knew what was out there, what Earth was facing, yet they were content to squabble amongst themselves as though there were no more pressing matters to contend with.

Her frustration with the tedious pace of the negotiations surrounding Atlantis was shared by Mr Woolsey and the colonel, Sheppard, who up until recently had overseen the Ancient city. The whole stinking debate boiled down to numerous nations disagreeing not only about the city's ultimate fate – stay here on earth or return to the galaxy it usually resided in – and the more immediate conflict about whether it's current location on Earth was fair. Madam Shen and the French representative both vehemently agreed that Atlantis remaining within US territorial waters was a violation of the IOA-NATO charters that governed the allocation of resources amongst the space-faring nations.

However, no one could come to an accord about where the city should end up instead.

Camile was honestly surprised that Russia wasn't raising a bigger stink, given that their BC-304 the Korolev had been destroyed on her maiden flight, and hadn't yet been replaced. The next Russian 304 was scheduled to be the subsequent one off the production line, after the currently half-built Phoenix finally reached completion. China's position she understood, the Sun-Tzu was still undergoing major repairs after facing the Hive Ship; it had taken more damage than the Apollo.

Thinking of the 304s brought Camile back to the other point of contention in the ongoing negotiations, if they could honestly be called that when they amounted to all the interested parties shouting at each other; the fate of Atlantis's ZPMs. The last time the great city ship had a full complement of ZPMs it had immediately been stripped of them; one went to the Odyssey to help with the fight against the Ori, another to power the weapons platform in Antarctica.

Now the IOA were squabbling over which country should receive the new 'spares.' They were acting as if it was a given that the city would immediately lose its main power source. Some quick words on the part of Sheppard (Camile had honestly been surprised that the military man had been the one to divert attention) had delayed the decision for the time being. Though that debate was starting up again, the disgustingly patronising Mr Coolidge had been the one to broach the topic this time.

The other debate, about precisely where in international territory Atlantis should temporarily be moved to, until a more permanent decision could be made, was a fierce one. There had even been some talk, quickly shot down by Sheppard, about using the city as a trial run for the SGC's planned moon base. Sheppard had hastened to point out that constantly running the shields, working out a reliable air supply, and shuttling personnel to and from Earth's natural satellite would likely severely deplete the ZPMs that the IOA were squabbling over, and be a major resource drain to the IOA.

Allowing the city to drift on the ocean's currents into International waters had also been proposed, though Dr McKay, in conference call, had shot down the suggestion when he'd pointed out that it would land the city smack bang in the centre of one of the Great Garbage Patches of the world's oceans, and likely poison everyone who had to remain onboard. Antarctica had been mooted too, though no one was taking that proposal seriously, given that the apparent docking station was both buried under a mile of ice, and missing a key component given the calamity that was the chair being buried under the rubble of Area 51.

That was all ignoring the broader, and more personal debate about whether to allow the city to continue with two American heads; Mr Woolsey on the civilian side, and Colonel Sheppard on the military. Camile understood that complaint, US military dominance of Earth notwithstanding, the IOA were wary of relying solely on the US for access to space.

She had previously believed Colonel Sheppard was the more likely to lose his position, but generals O'Neill and to her surprise, Landry, had both gone out to bat for the man. In no uncertain terms O'Neill had pointed out just how many times Sheppard had personally saved both Atlantis and Earth, insinuating that they still needed him. Instead it was beginning to look as if their man on the inside, Woolsey, would be the one to suffer for the new political appetite to prevent unilateral American control of the Stargate programme.

On some levels, beyond the seething resentment that with her qualifications Camile was acting as a glorified clerk, as the assigned neutral notary sitting in on these interminable discussions, Camile was utterly relieved that she wasn't one of the people charged with sorting out the huge tangled gordian knot that was the Atlantis situation.

Yes, the meetings had thrown the dark underbelly of the IOA in Camile's face. The likes of Coolidge and Shen Xiaoyi could waste most of a meeting dredging up jingoistic concerns. They kept trying to put their nations ahead of the game, when it was obvious by now that the best course of action was truly international cooperation. There'd been chatter for years of expanding the IOA remit to include the greater UN council of nations. Atlantis already had international personnel from nations outside the core IOA countries that funded the SGC programme. Then there was the new head of the organisation, Carl Strom. Strom would never quite look at her when she was in the same room as him. She knew it wasn't a coincidence that she'd been held back in her career ever since the man, who was known to have extremely conservative values with respect to both women's and gay rights, had gained a position of authority at the IOA.

Her relief about her lack of responsibility for making sure that these discussions were productive aside, Camile hated that she was stuck taking minutes at these things. The hours were antisocial at best, nastily irregular at worst, and typing up her shorthand notes frequently ate into her time at home with Sharon. To make matters worse, one of the few voices of reason at the nightly lessons in backstabbing, Colonel Sheppard, was due a few weeks away from the negotiating table, putting the whole charade at a distinct risk of stalling entirely.

Camile hoped that the lack of Atlantis personnel would mean she could get back to her usual duties, but the cynical voice of experience warned that it was unlikely to be the case. She suspected that the IOA would use the time to 'agree' on all sorts of terms that the Atlantis Expedition members, and the SGC would never actually comply with. She eyed up the Atlantis colonel's contribution to the meeting as she finished typing up her shorthand, yeah the next few weeks were going to be even more interminable than usual. Sharon had better have bought a whole case of wine like she'd promised. God knew she hadn't gotten around to getting rid of the ugly chair, and that'd been on the list for months.

Camile rubbed at tired eyes and decided to look up the file of the guy who'd step into Sheppard's position, the governor of California, Senator Armstrong. She hoped he'd balance out the worst of Strom's excesses. As a politician Camile anticipated that the IOA would actually treat him as an equal and listen when he talked.

Mandy was mocking him again, he could tell.

Oh, she wasn't saying anything, it was all in the expression on her face, and the fact that she hadn't added any new lines to the page of hyperspace drive schematics that she was working on for over half an hour.

Rush resisted the urge to glare.

The sixth chevron was locked behind a cypher that was encoded within the DHD crystals that transmitted the gates' relative positions within the greater network to each other. Rush hadn't been entirely sure if the part of the mechanism they needed was contained within the gates themselves, or the DHD devices – which is where Sheppard's suggestion about using a nifty little bit of maths related to the curve of the elliptic came in. If Sheppard had the way of it, and Rush suspected that the self-doubting little fucker did, then it wouldn't matter which half of the pair the cypher was contained in; a tangential approach would work.

The only remaining problem was the fact that there was a distinct fucking possibility that acquiring the information would damage the gate they chose. Mandy had been the one to point that out, the system wasn't designed to cope with the sort of data flow that the cypher would obviously generate. Rush could well end up doing a fucking Felger; accidentally crippling the entire gate network as what he did to one device spread to the others on the network. If he did, he'd never live it down. The likes of Kavanagh, looking out for any excuse to take the infamous Field's Medallist down a rung or two, would all come crawling out of the woodwork.

That's where Sheppard's suggestion came in again, theoretically doing it his way wouldn't actually do anything to the gates. It was the mathematical equivalent of knocking politely on the neighbour's door and asking to borrow the sugar. Only the sugar was an encrypted fucking chevron in the near fucking mythical 9-chevron address.

He was due to present his proposal to Landry that afternoon, Mandy was supposed to be helping him run through his presentation, but mostly she was mocking his new 'infatuation' with his replacement 'BFF'. For fuck's sake! Nick caught himself glaring at her again, but she was merely shooting him knowing looks in response. Little Miss Brilliant or not the woman could be fucking infuriating when she wanted to be. It didn't help that Mary kept appearing, ostensibly to check in on them. She gave Rush her own knowing looks every time she stuck her head around the door. At this rate all he'd have to present to the general was a diatribe about the perfidy of women. Rush liked to hope he was a more rational human being than that, but… Gloria had always subtly undercut his temper with her quiet humour whenever he'd been building himself up to one of his 'rants' as she'd termed them.

The sixth chevron was tantalisingly within his reach, Nick could almost taste it. It would provide a welcome distraction from the complexities of the fifth, with its ominous tonal elements that Rush was refusing to acknowledge. Well, no, after learning about what Dr Jackson had managed on that misadventure with Vala, involving Ba'al, clones of SGC personnel, a shooting, the Asgard, and an attempt by a parallel fucking universe to invade this one and collapse history using the gate network itself as a transmitter… He'd neatly wrapped the whole excruciating fucking problem up with a neat little bow and sent it on its merry way to the archaeologist cum anthropologist cum virtuoso fucking musician if the story was to be believed.

Rush hoped Jackson's ability with all things even vaguely Indiana Jones related extended to this sphere too, he'd already done the difficult bit for the other man, translated the complex mathematics into something a layperson could read.

Rush was just about to wrap the whole sorry session up, and get himself a cup of caffeinated ambrosia, when Sheppard stuck his spiky head around the door. He had to give the man kudos for that at least, all the other little soldiers around here looked like identikit clones, Nick knew Sheppard at a glance.

"Hey Doc."

"Colonel Sheppard."

Behind him Mandy gave the colonel a revoltingly affectionate smile,

"John!"

Rush resisted the urge to glare daggers at Mandy. She smirked at him. Traitor.

The colonel looked unaccountably nervous, he was chewing on his lower lip, even as he shot them both a crooked grin.

"Hey Dr Perry."

Rush shot a quizzical look the colonel's way, but the infuriating man was busy staring in apparent fascination at his shoes,

"I was wondering if you'd do me a favour doc?"

Rush shared an exasperated look with Mandy, even as he tried to chivvy the conversation along,

"What do ye want Colonel?" He softened his words by adding, "I do owe you a favour anyway Colonel, please ask, worse that can happen is I'll say no."

Sheppard licked his lips and eyed Mandy, before seeming to come to a decision. The colonel straightened up and flatly asked,

"Would you mind coming with when I meet my brother?"

Rush blinked,

"What?"

There was more neck rubbing. Rush turned his lost gaze on Dr Perry, she was furiously mouthing 'say yes!' at him.

"Yes?"

"Great. Thanks doc."

From the look on Mandy's face Rush wasn't imagining the pure relief in Colonel Sheppard's voice. Dammit, he was not here to play mentor and confidant to maladjusted members of the military! Dr Perry was scowling at him, her eyebrows waggling in a ridiculous fashion that was no doubt intended to send some sort of message. Rush raised a questioning eyebrow of his own in response. Fortunately, either Sheppard genuinely was that oblivious, or he was willing to pretend to be. Whilst Rush and Mandy had been utterly failing to hold a nonverbal conversation, the colonel had picked up Rush's nascent presentation about gating to P9X-837 and was flipping through it with apparent fascination,

"So… uh… How's the math going? You any closer to cracking that encryption?"

"Ah yes Colonel that's exactly what that's about, you see we're gonna need access to a working DHD, and for that…"

"You need to gate off world." Sheppard shared a look with Mandy, "I'm guessing this is you trying to persuade Landry to let you go?"

"Yes Colonel, as you so asininely put it – that's the draft of the presentation I intend to give him about the necessity of-"

"Want help doc? I can see at least five instances on just the first page that'll need reworking if you want to sell it to the brass."

"Please."

From the eyebrows Rush's hastily rewritten presentation garnered, Landry did indeed spot Sheppard's contribution. Though Nick sincerely fucking doubted that the general knew who'd helped rephrase everything in such a manner that even the idiotic members of the military would be hard-pressed to disagree with.

John stepped up to the SGC gate, ready to face yet another round of training. The whole process was an exercise in patience, for a start Milky Way gates were already orders of magnitude slower to dial than Pegasus gates. The SGC gate was absolutely glacial compared to them. If it weren't for the fact that he didn't want to show up Atlantis in front of both Landry, and half of the premier gate team SG-1, John would have been fidgeting and antsy as they endured the dialling process.

You know what?

Rodney was right. They really did need to let someone other than Carter rework the SGC's dialling programme (she was just too busy to devote any time to it), or failing that, acquire their own DHD. It was nuts that Atlantis's gate was disabled in favour of this dinosaur of a system.

Mitchell didn't seem to see anything wrong with the snail's pace the SGC gate was taking, but Vala was shifting from foot to foot as John kinda wanted to.

Finally, the wormhole connected, and they stepped through.

A strangely familiar face was there to greet them on the other side,

"Hi there!"

It was Alec Colson, ex-aeronautics and technology mogul, lately under the employ of the SGC. He was a cheerful seeming kinda guy. John immediately distrusted him. Though he knew it was his own prejudices talking, not anything the guy had done. Sheppard automatically distrusted anyone who came from the same sorta circles his father had run in, it was instinct at this point.

John shot him his patented charming the natives grin. He didn't think it worked. Somehow, he couldn't quite bring himself to care. Sheppard hung back as Mitchell and Vala both greeted the guy as though they were, well, not old friends, but acquaintances.

"Heya Mr Colson." Mitchell sounded downright hesitant.

"Alec!" Vala more exuberant, then again, she was like that with everyone.

"Hey man, how's the 306-prototype going?"

"Very well Colonel Mitchell, very well indeed. The new hyperdrive plans Doctors Carter, Perry and McKay managed to pull out of the Asgard Core are at least three times as efficient as the previous models we were reliant upon. With any luck, the simulations should play out in real time, and we'll be able to integrate them into our plans. The BC-306s will be much quicker, able to carry more personnel and firepower."

Christ. It was like McKay. If Rodney had any social grace to speak of, and a disturbing tendency towards the sort of manipulation Dave excelled at. John rocked back on his heels and tried not to look too bored, this whole recert thing wasn't supposed to be a punishment. He had to keep reminding himself that. John wasn't entirely convinced that it was true, Landry's apparent change of heart notwithstanding.

Finally, the conversation moved on and they left the gate room. John hoped the promised Death Gliders were worth it. Already he could see that keeping Vala occupied could very well end up being a full-time job. From his position hanging back, he was in prime position to watch Mitchell redirect her hands every time they crept towards Colson's oblivious pockets.

Rush took a breath and stepped through the strangely glimmering surface of the event horizon. There was no perception of movement, of anything very much, despite what everyone had told him over the years. Then again, it was wonderous that there was anything to see at all. If Rush had been given over to flights of fancy, he'd have likely predicted that when a wormhole formed there would be nothing visible at all.

They were being backed up by the newly completed USS General George Hammond on their away mission. The planet chosen for Rush's little experiment was a short hop and a jump, galactically speaking, away from the Delta Site. Aka the shipyards where the BC-304s were constructed, and where some of the more… volatile systems in the proposed F-306s and BC-400s were being trialled. Rush knew he wasn't supposed to be aware of those sorts of details, but Mandy was one of the primary experts on hyperdrive systems at the SGC, and… Telford had not so much hinted, as beaten him around the head with clues about what she was working on (when she wasn't teasing him about his social life, or lack thereof).

The soldiers around him fanned out, no doubt guarding the useless fucking civilian, or whatever it was that military types did on away missions such as these.

"Alright, perimeter sweeps, check in every five minutes."

The young lieutenants hurried to follow David's instructions, looking painfully efficient and youthful as they did so. Rush shared a sardonic look with Captain Satterfield, the young woman grinned at him and started directing her squad to 'secure the perimeter'. Colonel Telford had conspired to put himself in charge of this little excursion, Rush wasn't sure whether he should be glad, or fair fucking insulted that the colonel didn't think he was capable of getting the information safely without David there to babysit him. The planet was apparently a typical example of Alteran terraforming. The coniferous plants that dominated the forest they'd stepped into certainly supported the hypothesis.

The whole process of connecting to the DHD took several hours to set up. Rush could tell that the young lieutenants were getting antsy, but science took time, even this sort. Finally, Mr Brody and he managed to get a fix on the frequency that this gate shared with its DHD. It had taken most of the morning, or, well Rush assumed it was morning. He had no fucking clue what the orbital velocity, or spin of the planet they were on was like.

It was an anti-climax. Rush connected the tablet with the decryption software pre-loaded onto it to the gate. The gate in turn, linked the tablet into the subspace frequencies that the DHD and gate used to communicate with each other.

He fed the fifth (sixth? Or should he count the musical cypher as the sixth?) cypher into the gate and waited for the ping of acknowledgement. Rush hoped the zero-knowledge protocol worked. He didn't want to observe the quantum state of the crystalline structures that made up both the gate superstructure, and the DHD control computer's nanostructure: – observation would alter the result.

Rush had been six sevenths of the way there already. Sheppard's elliptical tangent suggestion allowed him to key up the question, ping it through the gate-DHD relay, and skim the result out of the other side.

It took moments.

The fifth cypher unfurled and spat out a chevron.

"Is that it?"

Captain Satterfield sounded at once impressed and disappointed.

"Yes Captain, it is."

Rush let his satisfaction colour his voice. He'd finally solved it; he been working on unlocking this chevron for weeks.

"Great! We going to be ready to disconnect and gate out again soon? Or did you break the gate?"

Rush felt himself get defensive, he bristled,

"Excuse me?"

"You did say in the brief that it was a possibility Doctor."

Next to her Mr Brody looked on the verge of panic, Rush would have found it amusing if it didn't speak so poorly of his reputation,

"Yes yes you're quite right, I did didn't I?"

Rush ran the disconnect programme, and the tablet beeped at him,

"No, we're fine. We can dial out any time you like Captain."

"Great! I'll just let Colonel Telford know."

She raised a hand to her radio, and the world went to hell.

An explosion rocked the clearing. Nick scrambled to work out what had just happened,

"Colonel, we are under fire! I repeat we are under fire! A Tel'tak just came out of nowhere!"

Rush listened to the military chatter as if it were all a dream,

"Captain haul ass through the gate, SG-8 what is your position?"

A male voice tinnily echoed,

"Far side of the clearing sir!"

"Alright people get through the gate! Lieutenant we'll hold the clearing for you!"

Rush heard the gate dial and felt himself be pushed bodily through the event horizon.

He emerged into the familiar concrete box of the SGC.

Mr Brody, Captain Satterfield and three of the six young lieutenants who'd made up their escort made it through in practically the same moment. Rush barely registered the marines pointing guns their way, even as a shiver at the sight of all those barrels went up his spine. He allowed himself to be escorted away from the ramp and joined the crowd of people tensely waiting for news.

Three figures ran through the gate and rapidly back peddled raising their hands as the marines raised their weapons.

It was the other escort team.

Where was David?

A minute passed.

A figure was bodily flung into the gate room. Soil and other debris explosively rushing through the wormhole with him.

"That's everyone! Shut down the gate!"

It took Rush a moment to recognise the limp form as Telford.

There was a lot of blood.

As the world tunnelled alarmingly Rush finally realised that the klaxons had stopped wailing, and someone was dragging him away down the corridor. His last glimpse of David's limp form was of the man getting his fatigues cut away by a swarm of medical types who were rapidly but efficiently surrounding his friend.

The week of flight recertifications was weirdly enjoyable. Despite himself, Sheppard found the whole finicky process fun. Well, no, admittedly not running through the basic flight drills and safety checks he automatically carried out every time, even in the jumpers. But, the chance to just get up there and fly, fly for the sake of flying. Not in some life or death situation, with the fate of thousands, or lately, billions, resting on his shoulders, but just him up there in the wild blue yonder. Relying on nothing more than basic lift and… Okay he could wax lyrical about the beauty of flight for hours he knew. There was a reason John had been playing with the Navier-Stokes problem on and off for years.

Cam had been just as happy to be out from under the mountain as he was, and his fellow pilot had at least been able to go off world over the past couple of months. They spent the first couple of days at the Alpha site, requalifying on the F-302s, practicing the always unwieldy changeover between engine type as they took the hybrid craft up from ground level, to low-orbit, and finally into the open black of space.

Shaft had been impressed with Shep's ability to carry out fancy manoeuvres even in the dangerous transition zones, bemoaning that Shep hadn't had clearance during the battle against Anubis. (Vala had been happy to ride shotgun, sending teasing messages to both pilots over the comms channel. Though, as Cam had remarked privately on the pilot to pilot coms – having her up with them meant she couldn't cause any trouble down on the ground.)

Sheppard enjoyed practicing combat take-offs and evasive manoeuvres, practicing jinking between barrel rolls, and evasive scissoring, split-s, Immelmann turns. Aerial swoops whilst transitioning the engines had been one hell of a rush. Especially with Shaft's woops and exclamations playing loudly over the comms as they took turns playing follow the leader. The only thing Shep didn't much like about the fancy spacecraft was the perpetual disconnect of knowing he was pulling serious Gs and never quite feeling it. Whilst the inertial dampeners weren't as insanely efficient as the ones in the puddlejumpers, so there was still some sensation at least, there was none of that mental connection that came with piloting the Ancient craft. It was only when the little craft got up to accelerations that would leave the squishy human pilot a gory smear on the inside of the cockpit that the familiar sensation of pulling Gs kicked in.

Shep had even gotten in some quick training on the handful of example Goa'uld ships the alpha site kept around for just that purpose. As well as a Death Glider, there were a few varieties of Tel'tak to play with, and one truly decrepit Al'kesh. Vala kept cackling loudly that Cam had been trying to pick up the finer points of flying the opulent craft for years, yet Shep seemed to be a natural. John was pleased despite himself, he knew that Vala was only teasing, Shaft was as good as, if not a better pilot than he was, for all that Shep would never admit it. But it was fun watching the two friends tease and gripe with each other.

Not least because their squabbling didn't carry the unpleasant undertones that Vala's interactions with Jackson always seemed to carry to John's outsider perspective. Jackson… As far as John could tell Jackson was an alright guy. It'd taken a while, but he'd eventually caught up on all the reports. John was aware that the man's moral fibre and idealistic altruism had saved all their hides more than once. Yet… John had never met the man he'd read about on paper. During that brief, disastrous, visit to Atlantis, when Jackson had caught the attention of the Vanir, the man had been unpleasantly condescending.

Now, John was willing to concede that it might have been McKay's influence, even though they were close friends, John really really got that Rodney had his faults… But it hadn't felt like that. Jackson had brought out the worst in McKay, in a similar manner to McKay's appalling borderline sexual harassment of Sam Carter. Only, where Sam's replies to McKay's inappropriateness had very rarely skirted beyond the line of professional discourtesy (showing a degree of restraint that John privately thought she deserved a sainthood for), gradually allowing them both to build a friendly working relationship… Jackson had seemingly unerringly retaliated by hitting every one of Rodney's buttons every single time.

John was aware it was slightly hypocritical of him, but he was still somewhat annoyed with Jackson's snort of disbelieving laughter, when in a bid to earn himself 'cool' nerd points, McKay had brought up John's decision not to join Mensa – as if crap like that mattered to anyone. It had made John even more determined to keep up the front of dutiful soldier, and dumb jock. If McKay was willing to bring up shit like that to score points with the cool kids, Sheppard wasn't going to give his friend anymore ammunition to use against him near SG-1.

It was a relief in a way, to realise that though at times Mitchell was frequently uncomfortable around Vala's special brand of teasing, his perfect military record aligning well with his good ole boy personality, that the guy genuinely seemed fond of her. It was more than Sheppard could say for Jackson.

The week at the alpha site passed as quickly as the month of gate certification training had dragged. Before he knew it, they were due back through the gate to the SGC to start reupping on standard earth side aircraft.

"This is what you want to show Vala."

Cam stared at Sheppard incredulously, the other officer merely tipped his head back. Sprawled as he was all over the couch like a teenager, it made him look every inch the stoner the selection of movies he'd chosen implied.

"Well, sure."

The laconic drawl was all he got in response. Sheppard sounded as if he couldn't possibly fathom what Cam's objection to showing Vala anything from this selection could be.

"Seriously."

Cam stared again at the list of titles that were on the USB Sheppard had apparently brought with him to the alpha site. Cam had been expecting a couple of DVDs shoved in his fellow pilot's duffle or something, not several hundred terabytes of dubiously legal films on a stick, that from the crystalline glint he was getting, probably wasn't earth tech. (He wasn't going to ask.) Letting his distaste for Sheppard's… lack of taste colour his tone, Cam incredulously started reading out some of the titles on offer,

"Blades of Glory, Zoolander, Tropic Thunder, Austin Powers, Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, Anchorman, Clerks, Dogma, Harold and Kumar Go To Whitecastle, Up In Smoke... Don't you have anything that isn't…"

Exasperated Cam gestured broadly,

"…crap?"

Cam felt his voice go up an octave as more and more stoner movies made themselves obvious. Something in his tone must have gotten through to Sheppard because he was half-heartedly defending the list,

"Hey, they're classics."

"Sure, if you're a teenager!"

There was a voice at the door. It was Vala, she had popcorn, and beer, and was wearing her typical gear when she decided she was trying to act like a 'normal Taur'i woman' as she'd once confessed. Her hair was in pigtails, a sparkly pink barrette shone in the black tresses, though the baby pink pyjamas looked remarkably chaste for her – Cam had been half expecting lingerie.

"Hello darlings. What are we watching?"

Cam stared up at her in frozen panic, he liked Vala, really, he did. She was a great teammate, and you couldn't ask for a more dedicated friend. Vala was loyal and would go above and beyond to help out. (Even if she did try to mess with him every single time she met his folks.) But… He just did not want to deal with the fallout of exposing her to this side of earth culture.

"I thought it was time we showed you the wonders of a man learning that there's more to life than being really really really ridiculously good looking."

Sheppard even put on the stupid voice. Cam groaned, he collapsed back into the squishy embrace of the couch and resigned himself to cleaning up the inevitable fallout.

"Oh goody!"

Sheppard casually accepted one of the bowls of popcorn and cued up the movie on the crappy laptop they'd managed to requisition from one of the scientists. Sheppard's bony elbow nudged him in the ribs,

"Hey, at least I didn't make you put on Farscape."

Cam wasn't looking forward to getting back to earth, though he had to admit it would be nice to not be Vala's primary minder again. Keeping her out of trouble at the Alpha Site had taken up far too much of Mitchell's time, time he could have spent working out what made the Atlantis CO tick. (Cam had read all the reports out of Pegasus. He could admit, in the privacy of his own head at least, to a little hero worship. It was like meeting SG-1 all over again, after years of building them up to be larger than life heroes, the reality was all too human).

After sitting through Zoolander, Cam realised that Sheppard had set him up. When the other officer clicked out back out of the file that contained the list of movies Sheppard had shown him, there were several dozen other folders each listed by genre. Cam caught a glimpse of folders labelled, Documentaries, Attenborough, BBC4, History Channel, Conspiracy Theory Crap, Mockumentaries, College Football, Tennis, Soccer, Basketball, Baseball, MotoGP, Nascar, Formula1, Golf, Star Trek, Doctor Who, Superheroes, Action, Rom-Coms, Thrillers, Sci-fi, Horror, Satire, Parody, Brit Film, French Cinema, Spanish Film, Cellini, Bollywood, Anime, K-Dramas… The folders were too innumerable for Cam to catch them all, but the selection was both enormous and incredibly varied.

Cam shot Sheppard a filthy glare,

"Man, I thought crap movies were the only option!"

Sheppard smirked at him,

"Hey, I never said that."

"You didn't tell me you'd brought the entire Atlantis media server!"

The expression of wide-eyed innocence on Sheppard's face might have been believable, if the evidence of the other pilot's teasing wasn't right in front of him. The folder they'd just been in was labelled, 'Dumb Comedies'.

"Didn't I?"

Cam scowled. Vala twisted the knife, oh she sounded perfectly innocent, but they'd been friends for years, Cam knew better,

"Well I thought the way Derek put together his centre for children who can't read good and wanna learn to do other stuff good too, and how the Eurasian prime minister rescued the poor Tau'ri children from slavery was a very moving story."

Sheppard sat back, looking triumphant,

"See! Vala liked it!"

Sheppard eyed up Mitchell's vintage black 1967 Ford Mustang Fastback dubiously. Cam felt the need to defend her honour,

"Hey Shep, don't be like that. My baby gives a smooth ride."

Sheppard half-heartedly rolled his eyes, even the guy's banter had relaxed some over the last week. Though Cam had already noticed his posture had wound down some after whatever the hell Vala had done that had gotten them all temporarily kicked out of the mountain. Sheppard drawled,

"See, that's why no one believes you when you tell people how you came to be Shaft. Shaft."

As well as the lewd twist he gave to the word, Sheppard waggled his eyebrows ridiculously. Or maybe not so much on the banter front. Mitchell scowled at him,

"Can it, Shep."

Vala at least found it hilarious, of course she did - she was directly responsible for the pants betting pool after all,

"Well! Shaft, shall we be going? Wouldn't want to deny your baby a ride, now would we?"

Cam groaned loudly.

"Why Sheppard? Why'd you betray me like that?"

"Macaroons."

Vala burst out laughing. Cam shot Sheppard a filthy glare, but he merely shot back a shit eating grin. Maybe everyone was right after all and Vala really was a corrupting influence. Then again there were also plenty of murmurs surrounding Sheppard. Crap. What had Landry been thinking? Had the General honestly expected him to be able to reign them in? Vala skipped across the parking lot,

"Come along boys, we wouldn't want to keep your instructors waiting."

"Ah come on Vala, don't say it like that."

Still cackling Vala claimed shotgun,

"Sorry man," Cam turned to Sheppard, "Looks like you're in the backseat."

"It's fine."

Fortunately, Sheppard was not an awful backseat pilot unlike many of his colleagues. Every time Cam took a glance at him in the rear-view the other colonel was boredly gazing at the scenery out of the window.

They ended up at Peterson to train on the more mundane craft in both their respective arsenals, Shep and Cam going their separate ways when it became clear that Shaft had focused on fixed-wings, and John had jumped all over the map.

In amongst his quiet observations of the remainder of SG-1, Sheppard had been surprised to learn that he was qualified for more birds than Mitchell was. It was a hell of a thing, but between his de-facto PJ membership in Afghanistan (despite being an officer, and the fact that all PJs had to be enlisted back then, even the pilots), the numerous helos he'd flown as a member of AFSOC running cross-service ops, and the seat of your pants tactics of dogfighting in F-16s, and later F-22s running covert, deniable, missions for the US government in enemy territory, and ironically enough his spell in Antarctica – Shep had flown as many, if not more, flight-worthy vehicles than some test pilots.

Shaft had been jealous.

Hell, it wasn't John's fault his air force career had been an extremely eccentric one.

After everything that had gone down in the 90s in the Balkans, John had been tapped for spec ops. He'd stayed there until he couldn't bear the thought of running any more wet works missions. The fact that he'd managed to complete that last disastrous mission, effectively rescuing himself from a nasty POW situation, and bring back the intel that had been so vital. Well. He'd practically been given his choice of assignment after the dust had settled from the near scandal in Columbia that'd been the final straw. John sometimes wondered how none of the general public were aware of the, admittedly remote, nuclear bomb that had gone off in the war that had sent him down that dark path in his career… But.

After the hell of black ops, helos had been his love. The need to carry out so many parallel operations at once just to keep the vehicles airborne, the truly three-dimensional flight paths available in such manoeuvrable vehicles. The way he'd blasted his way through training on every helo he could get permission to fly had meant he'd been damn near adopted by the pararescue squad he'd eventually been assigned to pilot for. Well. There'd really been no other choice.

Despite some good-natured ribbing John could tell that Cam had been jealous that he'd gotten to fly an Osprey, even with John's assurances that flying the unwieldy hybrid was like trying to wrestle two pigs in mud with one arm tied behind your back.

Vala had eventually taken John aside, as they were preparing to go up in F-16s to quietly tell John in no uncertain terms just why Shaft had been so jittery and out of sorts all week. Though he didn't admit it, Sheppard could honestly say he hadn't noticed, and had been embarrassed to realise that some of what he'd taken to be good-natured teasing had been Mitchell in prickly self-defence mode. (Sheppard realised with some horror that he was far too used to Rodney's complete lack of social niceties; he hadn't even spotted it.)

With every year Mitchell recertified, it was slowly becoming more and more obvious that the pins, bolts, and in a couple of places, metal rods holding both of his femurs and left knee together were eating away at his physical health. One of these days Mitchell wouldn't pass the medical and would be invalided out of piloting. His circulation would eventually become too compromised to withstand piloting at the high-Gs that jet engines, let alone F-302s with their imperfect inertial dampening and impossible acceleration required from their pilots. John blanched at that information. He couldn't imagine losing the sky.

Vala had been incensed as she'd explained the situation,

"Those, those Tau'ri butchers, their solution to his injuries did more harm than good. If they hadn't cut out so very much of his leg, I'd have been able to do something for him, but… A hand device can't remove metal bonded to bone. Or regrow quite so much missing tissue. If I only had a sarcophagus."

John nodded gravely, despite not fully understanding what she was talking about he got the gist.

Despite his unvoiced worries, Cam cleared them permission to have an impromptu dog fight (both planes set to 'war games' mode of course) in the F-22s at the end of their time there. That had been fun, Mitchell had been extremely upset when Sheppard had 'won' three out of four rounds against him. Considering the information Vala had shared, Sheppard really hadn't had the heart to point out that he'd been doing a lot more piloting than Mitchell lately, not to mention the whole enforced thinking in three-dimensions thing that both helos and puddlejumpers required. Perhaps he should insist that Cam try the ATA therapy, Shaft would really enjoy spaceships you could fly with your mind, physical fitness was less of an issue with Ancient tech constantly adjusting gravity down to a comfortable 1g for you. A necessity, given that the jumpers routinely accelerated at rates that would reduce their squishy human occupants to so much red paste if they allowed their occupants to feel the real acceleration affecting the little ships.

Sheppard still thought that little factoid was incredibly cool, no matter sorts of looks the non-pilots kept shooting him every time he brought it up. His little puddlejumpers routinely made insanely quick sublight speeds using accelerations that by rights should kill their occupants. Sure, they looked like space Winnebago's, but their ugly frame belied a hell of a flying machine.

The three of them had just taken up a pavehawk that was badly in need of a service, the manoeuvrability of the helo, compromised, but not in any way that made it a hazard to fly. Just in a way that, quoting Sheppard, made the helo handle like a "sack of angry cats". The spark chaser assigned to the helo couldn't find what was wrong, knowing that Sheppard had flown more helo models than hot dinners, Cam had volunteered his services.

Cam had found the relaxed weeks of recertification a nice change of pace, despite the tension that threaded its way up his spine every time recertifications came around again. One of these days Cam knew he'd come back from the biannual chore a confirmed broke dick. He was dreading the inevitable day of his fini flight. Vala was aware of his fears, it shone in her eyes even as she played along. It had been nice to recert with Sheppard, and his obliviousness. It gave Cam a chance to pretend that everything was certain, and this stuff was just a formality, an opportunity to have fun with a fellow pilot. Even with that creeping dread, it sure beat cooling his heels doing paperwork at the SGC, or tagging along with other gate teams, feeling like a perpetual third wheel.

Now don't get him wrong, the guys on the other gate teams were all great people, but Cam knew the bond that formed between teammates, and he missed SG-1 every time he ran a mission.

It was especially apparent when he ran a mission with Colonel Edwards' team, or even worse Colonel Dixon's team. His fellow Colonel was not a man Cam would have chosen to socialise with, too bitter about his wife, too caught up trying to prove his was properly macho now that he'd been 'saddled' with four kids, too… Too sexist. The Colonel's team all seemed well used to the man, none of them seemed to fear his temper, even with the threats constantly issuing from the guy's mouth, they'd all been fond, not nervous of his company. Apparently, the guy had gone all morose after that documentary crew had made such a nuisance of themselves the day they lost Janet Frasier. It had only served to highlight just how much he missed SG-1, and made Cam wonder just how mad his team looked to outsiders.

Cam was impressed with the casual control Sheppard was displaying with the pavehawk, the ground crew for the vehicle hadn't been able to find anything wrong with it, the helo's pilot insisted it wasn't handling right, but couldn't give specifics. The flight qualified tech had thought it was unflyable when he'd tried it out. The helicopter had been grounded for nearly two weeks as a result, the guys at Peterson had jumped at the chance to get someone who might be able to determine what was wrong with the helo up in a diagnostic flight.

They took in the majesty that was the state of Colorado from the air. It was a breath-taking sight, the kind of view that pilots of all varieties flew for.

"So, Shep, what's a rotorhead like you doing with so many fighters under your belt? I hadn't taken you for a throttlejockey, but all those lawndarts under your belt... F15, F-16, F-22, F-35…"

Cam let the list trail off, it was a truly ridiculous range of aircraft. Given that Cam had been tapped for the F-302s because he'd been a test pilot, the fact that he thought that was saying something,

"Well, the F-35 was a favour owed I cashed in."

Sheppard's voice crackled over the headphones, Cam bit out in frustration,

"Aw come on Sheppard, you're killing me here!"

"Ah, let's just say that I was given an opportunity to excel," the sarcasm in Sheppard's voice was thick enough to slice, even through the headsets, "after an operation went Charlie Foxtrot I discovered the joy of helos. It fills all your concentration, nothing else quite like it."

Cam wasn't entirely sure what to say to that, the conversation was clearly filled with landmines even now, despite the way Sheppard was trying to sound laidback about it all. Behind him, Vala was cheerfully exclaiming over the 'rudimentary' Tau'ri vehicle, she'd caught Sheppard's line about how difficult helos could be to fly,

"A halfway decent design wouldn't need the pilot to fight against it S.O."

"Hey! No dissing the pavehawk!"

"I'm just pointing out the obvious Beautiful."

"Hey! I thought we agreed no more beautifuls."

"Now John darling, Daniel isn't here to get annoyed."

Cam let their bickering wash over him, it wasn't as barbed as whenever she got into it with Jackson, but the byplay was comfortingly familiar. Sheppard's voice, in a newly brusque tone, interrupted his quiet observation of their interactions,

"Ah I think I've identified the fault; the hydraulics feel sticky."

Cam blinked in alarm, that could be serious.

"Flight control this is Lima Romeo Six Nine Two. Requesting permission to land."

The helo smoothly turned towards Peterson, the thought that had been jumping up and down for Cam's attention for the whole flight finally made itself known,

"Sheppard Air Force base, wait, are you one of those Sheppards?"

Even over the headsets Sheppard's sigh was rueful, "Yeah, I am."

"Huh. I had no idea man."

"Well, my family aren't exactly the caring type."

And that was that. Cam shot his fellow throttle jockey a sympathetic look, that the other pilot ignored. A moment later Sheppard surprised him by getting chatty, though he was still using his flight helmet as an excuse not to acknowledge the conversation in any way physically,

"Look, even if I'd wanted my career to be built on that kinda shaky house of cards old boys club bullshit, I don't think my old man would have done it. He thought joining the armed forces was a stain on the family name. If anything, he was calling his old Cold War buddies to try and sabotage my career."

"Shit man, seriously?"

"Yeah, last time we talked he still hadn't forgiven me for getting all that permission stuff squared away without him finding out about it."

"I thought you signed up after you'd done your degrees?"

Sheppard's casual, "Yeah?" wasn't.

The rest of the trip down to ground level was carried out in silence, as the light bird beside him did his best to pretend that powering down the helo needed all his concentration. Which, given landing was the most dangerous time in any flight, Cam was prepared to accept that. Cam chewed the information over, Sheppard had still been young enough when he'd signed up that he'd needed a commendation to bypass parental permission? Was that what the other officer had been implying? Damn no wonder the guy had been so tight-lipped about his family all week.

Vala had thought the chance to get out of the mountain would be more interesting than this. Oh, the flights had been pretty fun at first, the delightfully atavistic Tau'ri vehicles really did convey the sensation of motion and flight in a manner that most of the craft she'd flown rarely did. Usually only when something was about to go very very wrong.

Though honestly, other than watching two of her favourite Tau'ri bicker and try to one up each other… Vala missed winding up the Tau'ri scientists and talking freely with people who understood who she was. Vala hadn't so much escaped the strictures of the mountain, as exchanged one form of confinement for another. No one at Peterson was in the loop. At the alpha site at least she'd been able to be herself, Alec Colson and all the delightfully sweaty people involved in welding together the various pieces of Trinium that formed the outer hulls of the Tau'ri's ugly, yet powerful space-faring vessels had all been in the loop. It was so difficult toeing the line on a planet where most of the population was deliberately kept in ignorance of the greater world beyond the confines of their gravity well.

The Tau'ri at Peterson had no idea about the galaxy. Vala was viewed with a degree of suspicion mixed with lust that she'd long since forgotten how to gird herself against, oh she'd thought she remembered what it was like. That depth of distrust. The need to constantly be on guard, watch out in case a lynch mob… or worse, caught you. But she'd grown soft.

For all that she was busy going through the motions of happily tormenting ignorant Tau'ri, Vala would be relieved when dear Cameron, and S.O. finished their final training flights. They'd told the usual 'civilian consultant' expert in security systems and finances cover story, but… from the looks they were all getting from the other Tau'ri soldiers Vala doubted they'd been believed. It wasn't entirely clear which of the three of them was coping with the distrust best. Sheppard had fallen back on that all too false nonchalant posture that he tended to wear when Vala thought he might be struggling. The fuck you grins, and insolent slouch were just a hair too practiced, his shoulders just a fraction too straight, for the apparent relaxation to be anything but false. Cameron? Cam was falling into what he called his good ole' boy routine. Vala might not have been able to see through it a few years ago, but the childish 'frat boy' humour, and the tendency to blush whenever anything remotely sexual happened, only tended to come out when her dear teammate was trying to compensate for some other perceived lack.

Yes, Vala would be happy to see the back of this place this afternoon.

With a monumental effort that none of the Tau'ri would ever appreciate, Vala decided not to palm the wallet of the SF who kept blatantly staring at her breasts. It was one thing when they looked because she'd invited the attention, it was quite another when the leering attention happened regardless of the fact that she was wearing a shapeless flight suit. Vala was relieved when S.O. appeared in the quiet cafeteria, he looked almost relaxed, the days up in the air had done both of her boys good. (Even with the nagging constant fear about whether this year would be the last time darling Cameron passed the physical.)

Vala rocked back in her chair, tilting it back onto two legs, obnoxiously kicked her legs up onto the table and watched as Sheppard half-heartedly put together a tray of coffee and fruit. She understood the lack of enthusiasm, even to Vala's taste buds the coffee at Peterson was even worse than the usual drek the Tau'ri served.

"Hey S.O."

"Hey yourself."

Yeah despite the issues with secrecy, Sheppard was looking much calmer than Vala had ever seen him. Oh, he still wasn't quite right, that perpetual stiffness in his shoulders was still very much present. But darling Cam had gotten him to unwind.

The SF was now shooting pointed looks at Vala's boots rather than her breasts, she ignored him.

As he picked his way through his fruit cup, S.O. seemed to be working himself up to saying something. He was doing that lip chewing thing again. Vala was content to wait him out, though she amused herself by 'stealing' chunks of the orange blocky fruit (Sam had called it… Papaya? So strange how the Tau'ri naming conventions were so completely erratic and spread out across so many languages for such a small planet) that he didn't seem to like.

Eventually S.O. opened his mouth,

"Vala…" The hesitation was frustrating, Vala did her best not to let her impatience show, "Say, how'd you like to come meet my brother next week?"

Oh.

Family.

Oh of course. Sheppard was staring intently down at his fruit (which was almost entirely orange papaya now) as if it held all the secrets of the universe. Given her own history with her father Vala understood immediately.

"Oh S.O. I'd love to be a supportive friend!"

He blinked at her with wide eyes, then ducked his head. For all that Vala did indeed enjoy the sight of his improbable hair (mostly for the way it made General Landry's eye twitch), she was beginning to get annoyed with S.O.s reticence,

"Hey, S.O. SG-1 helped me when my wastrel of a father came for a visit. I helped darling Cameron when he had to confront a…" Vala took care to get the phrase right, "a High School Reunion."

As if summoned, Cameron appeared and sat down heavily,

"High school reunion?" He looked between S.O. and Vala, his open face crinkling with misplaced concern, "Man, Shep don't invite Vala to any high school reunion if that's what you're doing. She told my parents we were together." Cam leaned over, "She described our fictional sexual acts in explicit detail to my Mama."

From the look on Sheppard's face even that would be preferable to facing his brother alone. Vala decided to interrupt before dear oblivious Cameron could put S.O. off the idea of moral support,

"I know! Cameron darling why don't we both accompany John?"

Cameron's deferral was instant and instinctual, he'd been set up too many times by each and every member of SG-1 to just go around to agreeing to things,

"What, Vala! Now wait just a minute. What're you signing me up for here?"

Vala who'd been keeping an eye on S.O. as Cam got over his outburst internally cursed Mitchell's learnt behaviour. She knew all that teasing would bite someone in the ass one day, but she hadn't expected it to be anyone outside of SG-1. Vala glared daggers in Cameron's direction,

"Now Cameron dear, who are you to refuse emotional support to a colleague. I helped you get 'jiggy' with that blonde Tau'ri woman, Vanderburg."

Predictably Cameron flushed pink, good,

"Vala! You did not just refer to catching up with an old friend as-"

"Oh, use whatever euphemism you want Cameron, we all know what you were doing."

Thankfully the byplay got S.O. to relax again, he was visibly smirking at the pair of them the next time Vala coyly glanced his way.

"Well, Cameron, don't you think it's our duty to accompany S.O. here to meet his brother?"

"Aw Shep, why didn't you say so. I'll bring my Grandma's famous macaroons."

Sheppard groaned theatrically. Vala grinned in triumph and ate the last of his papaya.

John was surprised by how good it felt to be back at the SGC. As he was making his way towards the SGC's gym, John thought he heard a Scottish burr, huh. He chewed his lip wryly; he hadn't expected to immediately bump into the mathematician. The voices got loud enough to make out, oh that didn't sound good, Rush sounded harried,

"Colonel Telford was merely helping me with my project."

"God dammit Rush! You had no right to demand this mission! The man is lying in the infirmary to satisfy your curiosity!"

John heard the roaring shout, and the threatening tone echoing loudly down the corridor and upped his pace, that sounded damned hostile to him,

"I dun ken what you're so pissed about Colonel. The Icarus Project is none of your concern. It's hardly any business of yours. Colonel Telford and I both agreed that that was the best location to study. The mission was fully sanctioned, we went out there last week without your approval. Which is both unneeded and unwante-"

There was a loud thump. Sheppard put on an extra burst of speed.

John rounded the corner and took in the scene at a glance, a burly full bird was looming threateningly over the small Scottish scientist that John had taken a shine to. The confrontation was barely skirting the right side of nonviolent; Young was using his greater bulk to box Rush in against the wall, looming over him and crowding him in with his arm - which was still threateningly fisted against the wall right next to Rush's ear.

Rush was doing his best to look unaffected by the implied physical violence in that posture, but John recognised someone trying not to show fear by putting up a front of nonchalance when he saw it. After all, he used the tactic often enough.

John called out a greeting, "Colonel."

Young started guiltily and turned,

"Colonel."

Sheppard noted that Young's knuckles were already bruising, and blood was oozing where he'd gashed them against the wall. He levelled Young with a quelling look, for once using his greater height to loom rather than lean away. The man was a fucking canary through and through from the way he blanched at the mild threat.

John shot Rush a questioning look, the irascible scientist rolled his eyes in response, but John noted that the man's shoulders were slowly untensing. Sheppard turned his stare back onto the full bird, the guy technically outranked him, but John had used this glare to stare down Wraith Queens, and Kolya, and insane tinpot dictators so jumped up on their own imagined power they didn't know death when it was looking them in the eye. Mr 'I think it's fun to scare civilians' clearly knew he'd been caught red handed. Literally. Young backed down quickly,

"Excuse me."

John glared after him as he bid his hasty retreat. A man that volatile should not be on duty. He turned to Rush and asked,

"You okay?"

"Yes yes I'm perfectly alright Colonel. I grew up itinerant around the Glasgow docks, I hardly need your protection."

John automatically shot back, "Didn't look that way to me Nick."

John could see the pride warring with the relief. The familiar behaviour made him smile, in many ways Rush really was alarmingly like McKay. Just, yunno, without the automatic running of his mouth. McKay tended to insult everyone around him, most frequently imprecations about intelligence or lack thereof, and parentage. John knew it was unthinking on McKay's part, an automatic defence mechanism learned after years of being a misfit, disliked even by his fellow misfits. But having lived through that existence himself, John had gradually become fed up of the way his friend used it as a permanent excuse for his constant belittling of others.

It was nice to be able to enjoy that spiky intelligence, without the nastily personal abuse that McKay thoughtlessly threw out at even his closest friends. John had a great ability to let it all wash over him, well used to taking the rough with the smooth. Usually he found McKay's abrasiveness extremely amusing but… given the way he'd been dropped like a stone lately, John had to admit it was tiring to deliberately not take offense. Especially once he'd realised that McKay would not hesitate to use personal information against you in even the pettiest of arguments.

It had been that realisation, well, that and McKay's transparent attempts to gain a white picket fence and 2.5 children, that had made John glad he'd never voiced his feelings for the man, never spoken up and revealed the nascent attraction he'd been nursing for years. No, his – he could admit this to himself at least, his love for his teammate. McKay chasing after Keller like a dog in heat, after the initial shocked hurt, really hadn't triggered the dejection that John had been dreading. If anything, he'd been happy to see his friend so happy. He'd been shocked to realise that at some stage, whilst he hadn't been paying attention, his love for McKay had shifted from inappropriate crush into the same platonic family category that Ronon and Teyla had comfortably settled into years before.

They were team. Team. Closer than siblings. John thought back on that old phrase, 'the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.' In just about every respect the people on Atlantis, were his family of choice. Taking the rough with the smooth with the gang on Lantis was usually well worth it, he'd gained so much from his friends.

Shaking himself out of his brief reverie, John shot an amused grin at Rush, as if he was playing along with the scientist's need to pretend nothing had happened. Sheppard kept an eye on Young's retreating form. He didn't know what to make of Colonel Young, John had never really been in on the SGC grapevine, not around for long-enough, too much of an outsider before Atlantis, and too much longing for Pegasus whilst they'd been temporarily kicked off Atlantis. Still, even he'd heard about the disastrous mission that meant Young's whole gate team was dead. Well, all of them apart from Young that is. Thirty-seven members of the SGC had died during that operation to save Telford from the Lucian Alliance.

John really wasn't sure if what he was feeling was pity, sympathy, anger. Or a combination of all three. The poor bastard. John had had a taste of how Young must be feeling himself, when he'd been shot forward 48,000 years into the future. (He pointedly did not let himself think about Holland or Mitch and Dex.) It had been more than enough. He'd had Rodney 2.0 to keep him company. John kept his gaze level, deliberately meeting the guy's eyes when, as John predicted, he looked back with a hostile glare. Everything he'd heard said that Young had been a bit of a joker, a prankster… Before. Before.

If he was being brutally honest with himself, John knew that the emotion that he was ruthlessly quashing, sickeningly, was bitter jealousy. He had been there before, where Young was standing. His whole team, his whole squadron dead. Only, instead of the sympathetic kid-gloves that Young was being treated to, John had immediately been under an Article 15 that had very nearly turned into a court martial. He'd nearly been thrown out of the air force.

Ironic really, the punishment assignment that he'd ended up on, flying taxi-service to and from McMurdo, had earnt him a ribbon - an Antarctica Service ribbon, alongside the right to wear the 1 year's 'Wintered' badge and lapel pins. John had never bothered to wear them, but perhaps he should one of these days. In remembrance of those he'd earned them for.

Back then he'd been given the options of Antarctica or Guam. Both cruel and unusual punishments for pilots as qualified as he was, Guam's base didn't have any aircraft. Antarctica? Well, due to the hostile weather, it was only possible to fly there at most, if you were very very lucky, six months out of the year. Fortunately, the chairman heading the committee made it painfully clear that Sheppard should consider McMurdo a chance to cool his heels and lick his wounds. After that first hellish winter stuck inside the claustrophobic scientific outpost, the Colonel heading the base had pretty much ordered him to spend those six months training on whatever jets and helos caught his fancy at the nearest base that was still open.

An impatient voice broke through the cobwebs and shook John out of his reverie,

"Come along Colonel, we don't want to waste the whole day standing around here."

"Well, yeah Doc, that's why I'm here."

Rush shot him a quizzical look. All lopsided eyebrows and unhappy moue,

"Oh come on Doc, meeting my brother? Remember? You said that you'd come with if I backed your plan to go offworld? We were going to head down to Denver tomorrow morning?"

John watched the realisation dawn,

"Oh yes yes. Of course, Colonel. I hadn't realised that was so soon."

"Cool, see you topside in the morning?"

"Yes yes."

John made his way to the gym, feeling more content to be at the SGC than he had in weeks. It wasn't Atlantis no, but the task of getting her back to Pegasus no longer felt quite so much like Sisyphus and his boulder.

David eyed up his little brother. At times he looked so much like Mom it took his breath away; the same dark hair, same jawline, same golden skin, same eye colour, same attitude. The similarities made something clench in David's chest. David took after Dad; both men so alike in physique and attitude that they'd always been a happy pair. Obviously, father and son. Johnny though? Johnny was like Mom, and hadn't that been a gut punch after everything that happened? David wrenched himself away from the bitter memories with an effort; that was years ago now. Despite how he'd felt when he was a teenager, full of hormones and feeling so so adult, he knew that what had gone on hadn't been Johnny's fault. Dad had said as much. Though his father's actions hadn't.

David refocussed on his brother in the here and now. Even from this distance he looked tired, and old. More so than he had at the funeral. David wasn't sure if he should be feeling amused or insulted that his baby brother had decided he needed a whole cohort with him for moral support this time. His father's funeral rated one 'consultant', yet a planned visit needed three of them? Only one of them looked even remotely military to David's eye too. What about the other two, more 'consultants'?

If the little guy was in the military David would eat his hat. He looked about as far removed from the air force as the other 'consultant' Johnny had dragged along with him last time. Where Johnny's previous companion had been rough and overtly sexual, the new guy looked earnestly academic. Albeit in a well to do, discretely wealthy manner, which David found himself grudgingly approving of. Though the long ridiculous hair was almost as bad as the stripper with the dreadlocks Johnny had brought to the funeral. As for the woman… She was in pigtails for god's sake! Honest to god pigtails! David wasn't going to touch on her outfit with a barge pole, but trashy trying for classy was the keyword. There was so much cleavage and ass on display David was honestly surprised that she hadn't been stopped for public indecency.

David strolled over, doing his best to look at ease, and ignore the way his little brother seemed to protectively hunch in on himself, further wrinkling his already wrinkled suit as he got nearer. Did Johnny really think he was that much of an ogre? David knew what he'd said in the heat of the moment at the funeral had been nearly unforgiveable, but he'd thought they'd sorted it all out afterwards. Looking ill at ease John stopped a good couple of feet away, awkwardly scrubbed at his hair and muttered in that damned west coast drawl of his,

"Hey Dave."

David nodded tightly at his little brother, feeling his jaw tense involuntarily at the nervous look he was shooting him,

"John."

His little brother was slouching back, hands jammed in his pockets. Johnny was projecting casual ease with everything he was worth – that devil may care attitude dialled up so high it had to be fake. David felt himself straightening up in response, just like last time, he wanted to lash out, give Johnny something to actually be nervous about. David caught himself going to loom and made himself take a deep breath and a step back. He recognised his reaction as something he'd have done when he was fifteen, or worse, a pale imitation of how his father would have acted. Half of David's desire to lash out was due to the way Johnny had managed to irreparably rumple his suit with that perpetual slouch of his, a reaction he was well-aware was wholly irrational. Dad never had liked the way Johnny tended to ignore the decorum lessons he'd 'paid good money for.'

David eyed up the trio Johnny had brought with him; they were hanging back. He knew he should be grateful for their discretion but couldn't find it within himself to think so when everything was so painfully stilted. With one final curious look in their direction, David turned back to face Johnny just in time to catch him doing that lip chewing thing that he hated so much. The nervous habit never spoke of anything good.

David very nearly shamed himself by saying something deeply cutting in response to his nerves, he felt a shameful burst of gratitude when one of John's companions interjected himself into the long gap in the conversation. The short man straight marched up to him, with his arm already outstretched,

"Dr Nicholas Rush."

The Scottish accent was a surprise, as was the glare the short doctor was giving him, Dave felt himself bristle in response,

"Oh and I suppose you're an air force consultant too?"

The sarcasm was thick. Rush responded in kind,

"No, of course not; I'm a fucking soldier on the front lines. Of course I'm a fucking consultant. What do ye think? I do cryptography for the American military industrial complex for my sins, not my health."

Quite apart from the stunning vulgarity, David was shocked by the man's attitude. He almost spat back in kind, but between the death glare Johnny was shooting his way, and the way his other two companions had walked up to stand shoulder to shoulder behind his little brother, he thought better of it.

"Now that we're all here." David gestured awkwardly at the bulk of the middling establishment that stood behind him, "Shall we go inside?"

Their little group settled into the restaurant, Vala could practically see Sheppard the Elder sneering down his nose at the setting, even though to Vala's jaded eyes the establishment was a luxurious example of a Tau'ri dining place. Oh, it was no Goa'uld pleasure palace, wreathed in gold, with only the finest offerings from several dozen serf-planets being served. But then again, what was? Not to mention it neatly avoided the whole, enslavement, death, torture, and becoming a host angle.

Rush was being fidgety, unlike Vala herself, he seemed well used to the social mores of the situation, but he kept shooting looks in S.O.'s and his brother's direction. By Sokar, their interactions were so uncomfortable that even Cam had noticed something and being from a loving happy family, dear Cam tended to be oblivious to such things.

"So… Dave, what've you been up to?"

Dave cocked his head and gave an unamused grin,

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends John?"

S.O. tilted a look out of the window, and gestured ineptly,

"Oh, right, yeah, this is Colonel Cameron Mitchell, and that's Vala Mal Doran. We sorta work together." He rubbed at the back of his neck and continued, "Guys, that's Dave."

Dear Cameron stuck out his hand confidently, seemingly still oblivious to the undercurrents at the table,

"Nice to meet you."

Vala watched with amusement as S.O.s brother automatically returned the bit of Tau'ri etiquette, then looked surprised with himself. Vala leaned across the table,

"Charmed I'm sure."

She put just enough of a sneer in her tone to convey that she really wasn't sure that she was charmed at all. Dave gave her a scornful look, Vala wasn't sure what it was he disapproved of, but it was clear that he thought her lacking.

Vala had done her best to wear her most boring Tau'ri attire especially for the occasion, but apparently it hadn't helped. The waiter took their order, cutting through the tension in the air. Vala watched Dave watching them make their decisions. Rush seemed to pass some sort of approval metre, Cameron barely earned a backwards glance, but Vala and S.O. were subject to barely concealed contempt.

Dave scoffed at Vala's choice of meal, and S.O.s choice of non-alcoholic beverage. He sneered at Vala's attempts to unfold her napkin from the ridiculous arrangement the restaurant had seen fit to leave it in (some sort of bird?), and he kept shooting sideways looks between Sheppard and everyone else. It took a while, but Vala gradually realised that he was trying to work out who S.O. could be sleeping with. The looks of confused disapproval warring with outright disgust when he flickered between believing Sheppard and Cameron were together, Sheppard and Rush, and apparently worst of all, Sheppard and Vala, would almost have been amusing if they weren't so familiar.

Rush took up the strain of making conversation, the little ball of beautiful spite wasn't very good at it,

"So Mr Sheppard, how are you finding Denver?"

"Oh it's fine."

"Really?" Rush looked incredulous, "Thus far I intensely dislike Colorado. When your government decided that they simply could not do without my skills as a mathematician I naively assumed there'd be more compensation for dropping my entire life and moving cross country to carry out the oh-so-vital work that I was aggressively recruited for, but no."

Vala could tell Rush was playing to his audience, Dave was blinking incredulously in response to the diatribe. The waiter interrupted again with their drinks, Cameron was left smirking into his newly arrived glass of coke as Rush continued to rant about the landscape, the lack of conveniences, the size of the city, and America's 'insufferable idea of urban design'. Vala watched with some concern as Sheppard longingly eyed the large glass of wine that Dave got when their drinks arrived. She decided to run some of her own interference,

"So… Dave. What do you do for a living? I tell you, life as a civilian contractor with the air force can be the most fascinating thing on the planet, but it can also be the most boring work you've never heard of. I tell you, accounts. I'd have never thought my life would take me that way, but I wouldn't change it for all the Naquad- uh gold I could get my hands on."

"Oh I'm the CEO of Sheppard Industries," He puffed up with self-importance, "the largest utilities firm in the United States."

Vala nodded, "Uhuh." In a tone deliberately pitched to insult. She reached across the table and snagged the snobbish Tau'ri's glass of wine, took a large gulp, aware that alcohol barely affected her post-Qetesh, and smiled provocatively. By happy coincidence their food turned up before Dave, who'd been building up to some sort of outburst could respond.

"…Vala…"

Cameron hissed in a low undertone.

"What? Oh Cameron, it's hardly my fault that your backwords world is so hide bound on keeping such a ridiculous secret that I'm not allowed to even speak about what it is we really do out there. Honestly, you Tau'ri are so backwards with keeping your population in the dark about such a basic fact of lif-mmm mmmhhh mmph!"

Cameron reached across and clamped his hand over Vala's mouth at that point. Dave looked both incredulous and angry, but he hadn't deigned to say anything, just shot S.O. yet another glare.

The meal passed in awkward silence.

The uneasiness continued as they made their way toward the civilian airfield that S.O. had been so enthusiastic about showing them all earlier. Vala could have kicked herself when she finally recognised the change in Sheppard's body language for what it was. It was so blatant, writ large across his… His everything. His posture, the shuttered expression on his face, the near manic glint in his eyes. S.O. stood there, back straight, shoulders square, yet simultaneously managing to somehow lean away from his much larger brother, and hunch in on himself. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, but Vala could see that he wanted to cross them in front of himself from the way he kept shifting as if to move them. Vala could only say that she hadn't recognised it, because she hadn't expected to see it here, on Earth of all places. Vala should have known better.

Sheppard was standing there, only barely managing not to flinch away because he kept expecting to be struck.

Oh, he mostly managed to hide it.

Vala could tell, to her relief, that the brother, cold though he was, had no clue why S.O. was being so standoffish. The elder brother was distant, coolly glaring down at the Tau'ri soldier, but wholly oblivious to the reason his sibling was acting so strangely. But – Vala knew that body language. Had borne it herself, inspired it in others, and generally been around the wrong side of too many planets not to see it for what it was. Something about Sheppard's family brought those instincts out in the otherwise dangerous yet quietly self-contained Tau'ri. She could tell that Cam didn't recognise it. Her dear teammate simply didn't have the frame of reference, he wasn't expecting to see it, so he didn't. But to someone like her?

She felt for both siblings, she could tell from the way the taller brother kept tipping his head to the side, the way he subconsciously echoed S.O.s leaning away posture, that he wanted to connect with his brother. Vala was unsurprised when she realised that she wasn't the only one who'd put it together, Gorgeous Rush was staring at the brothers interacting with his lips pursed. He was alternately crossing his arms and rubbing at the meat of his shoulder whenever he glanced back at them. The elder brother leaned forward again, and did the head tilting thing, S.O. leaned further away. Dammit, Vala could see the older- David- Dave getting angrier the longer this continued. She doubted either brother was consciously aware of what was happening between them, but she could practically read the emotions hanging thickly in the air.

Vala only hoped that the excitement she was just as easily reading building up in both Tau'ri pilots as they neared the airfield would help smooth over the hesitant attempts of both brothers to relate to each other. Though honestly, from the side-glances Dave kept shooting their whole group she sincerely doubted it would be enough.

On the ride over David couldn't quite believe that he'd agreed to this ridiculous charade. Johnny was the one who liked daredevil sports, not him. The airfield was quite a way out from Denver, so David had plenty of journey time to try and work out who his little brother was these days.

Johnny was shooting him that 'I'm a scary soldier so don't mess with me' look again, David wanted to laugh in his little brother's face, he'd been swimming with corporate sharks on a level Johnny couldn't conceive of for decades. Blithely David grinned, tilted his head mockingly, and got going on another embarrassing childhood story,

"There was this one time. Johnny and I were supposed to be mucking out the horses. Instead he decided to take Thunder, the unbroken thoroughbred for a ride around the estate. Five hours later he came back, tail between his legs, with a broken arm, and a very well-fed horse. Thunder had decided that the pasture two fences over, looked more attractive than the riding track and took John on one hell of a ride. Dad was furious."

David noticed with a frisson of glee that Johnny had stuffed a large mouthful of some hideous health bar in his mouth in a bid to hide his embarrassment, despite the mediocre meal they'd just sat through. It wasn't working, the other military man, Mitchell, was looking at his little brother with poorly concealed humour,

"Man, Shep you never told us your brother was such a card."

A mulish expression came onto Johnny's face,

"Well… Speaking of what we got up to when we were kids… Remember that time you promised you'd help me cross the washed-out stream Dave?"

The sparkle in Johnny's eye boded for nothing good, nor the challenging tilt to his chin,

"You see Mitchell, Dave knew that Dad didn't like it when I came back with my school uniform all dirty. It'd been raining on the ranch, unseasonal, torrential, roads gone rain. I was a squirt back then. So, Dave promised that he'd help get across the river that used to be the path. He had me, halfway across, in a piggyback hold. When he stopped dead. Said, 'now you're going in' and dropped me straight into the deepest spot."

Johnny met David's eye and held his gaze,

"Blamed me too when we both got back in drenched to the bone, nearly hypothermic, and covered head to toe in mud." Johnny seemed to find the view of an industrial site on the outskirts of the city unduly fascinating, in an undertone that nevertheless carried he added, "Got one hell of a thrashing that day."

David felt the heat rising up his neck, soon it would be visible above his shirt collar. Thankfully they made it to the ridiculous airfield, and Johnny all but jumped out of the rental.

John practically leapt out of the car; he didn't even wait for it to stop. He strode towards the front desk, ignoring the prickling sensation on the back of his neck, as he felt the stares of both his brother, and the people he'd dragged along as witness to the latest little SNAFU in the affairs of the family Sheppard.

He busied himself signing in, and showing his, and eventually, Mitchell's credentials as newly recertified military pilots to the guy in charge of letting the little prop planes out of the hangar. There was no way he could face more of Dave's variety of pointed questions this afternoon. Not after the absolute car crash that was lunch, or the way Rush of all people kept sending him concerned looks.

No, Shep would take this bird up in the air, and hopefully show Dave a little of just what he did these days. He knew it wouldn't be enough. Hell, John figured even taking down a wraith directly in front of his brother probably wouldn't cut it. Not after the years of separation, and Dave only seeing the world through the lens Dad had built for them, but… flying always took the worst of the edge off. And well, for all that they weren't his team, couldn't hope to emulate the way Rodney, Teyla and Ronon were family, were more than family… These guys from the SGC would be there to have his back. John didn't think he'd imagined the way Mitchell kept looking in distaste at his older brother once the embarrassing childhood stories had been well and truly mined.

Dear Dave had misjudged that one.

Shaft knew what it was like out there, and probably didn't take kindly to family who didn't have each other's six.

After carrying out his own set of safety checks on the little plane, John cautiously took the Cessna knock-off up, feeling grateful that these practical strangers had all, for some inexplicable reason, agreed to act as a buffer between himself and his brother. Shaft was just an all-around infuriatingly good guy, liked by enlisted and the brass alike, but Shep couldn't even begin to fathom why Vala and Rush had agreed to tag along.

As the little plane made its way up into the atmosphere John felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. There was always something glorious about getting up here, out into the vast blue sky. Eventually he persuaded Dave to come and sit up front, Mitchell seceded his prime spot with good grace, joining Vala and Rush in the tiny passenger cabin.

"So, how're the kids doing?"

"Oh fine fine. Lizzie says thank you for her birthday present by the way. You shouldn't have John."

"Hey it was nothing."

"No, I mean you really shouldn't have, she's an absolute menace with that model helicopter. She broke a window and Amy wants one too now."

"Oh good, I hope Bobbie isn't too upset with me."

"Oh no, Roberta thinks it's great that the girls are bonding over something that isn't makeup."

John grinned unrepentantly as he kept an eye on their flight path. Dave looked at John awkwardly,

"You still doing much flying these days? I never managed to find out what you were up to after the dust settled when you nearly got thrown out of the air force."

John resisted the urge to grit his teeth, he'd lose molars with the amount of force he wanted to put into clenching his jaw. Sheppard forced himself to sound casual,

"Oh yeah. I still get to fly."

The conversation was still awkward, but the initial hostility seemed to have spent itself. Dave seemed to have finally remembered the months' worth of bantering emails, and John's efforts to get to know Bobbie and the kids despite the impossible distance separating them. (Though of course, Dave couldn't fathom that the reason John was out of touch from 'Peterson' so frequently was that he lived a galaxy and a half away, not to mention the great incomprehensible vastness of the intergalactic void.)

It was only when the missile appeared in the porthole fifty minutes later that Sheppard realised anything was wrong with his plan.

"We need to bug out Shep!"

"I know!"

Sheppard was calm in the face of Cam's backseat piloting; he knew this was no time for flathatting but displacement rolls simply weren't cutting it. Beside him Dave was clutching at his seat armrests with a white-knuckled grip. John hoped he wouldn't be sick, out of the corner of his eye he assessed how green his older brother looked. He gave up when another missile hurtled past overhead. John just managed to avoid it with the Immelmann curve he teased out of the rattling little prop plane. That had been far too close.

"We're a grape up here Shep!"

"Tell me about it!"

Another missile whizzed past. So, close the blowback from the rocket's engines jostled the little plane. Sheppard pushed the little Cessna copy as far as it would go, for all that it looked like an upturned bug, the spaceship, whatever the hell it was, was manoeuvrable, far more so than this little prop plane, and fast.

John risked a quick glance behind him, Rush was looking remarkably sanguine about the situation in the back. Vala was looking tense and focused, but Cam looked like he wanted to wrest the controls away and fly this bird himself.

John finally caught a better look at the spacecraft that was hassling them. Sheppard noted the gouges in the side of its hull, and longed to be in a puddlejumper, or hell the fly by instrument claustrophobia of a wraith dart would do, something that could fight back. As it was all he could do was keep dodging, try to keep them out of line of sight, and hope that they managed to evade long enough for either backup or failing that, enough distance happened that they could make a run for it.

Sheppard snorted. Fat chance of that. It looked like he was going to be punching out of yet another aircraft that wasn't his. Still, at least it wasn't a multimillion-dollar USAF owned helo this time. Just this crappy little rental plane, held together with duct tape and spit.

One second Shep had eyes on the bogey, the next it had vanished. Literally. Crap, it had a cloak? What he would give for some decent tech right now. He pulled another Immelmann turn before dropping their altitude as quickly as he dared. They were miles from the nearest airbase, but if he could just get them -

They nearly made it.

If they hadn't been flying a creaky little Cessna Skywagon knockoff, it would have worked, Cam knew it. Sheppard barked out in a harsh voice,

"Flight Control South Denver airfield be advised CX-398 is Bingo fuel."

Crap they were running on fumes already? They hadn't been up in the air that long. All those combat manoeuvres must have guzzled the gas like no tomorrow.

Sheppard pulled off one hell of a wingover in the boxy little plane, the full 180 across two axes left the other Sheppard looking remarkably green. But from back where he was sat Cam was frustratingly in the dark about what the hell they were facing. He'd caught glimpses of some sort of anti-aircraft fire through the sliver of cockpit window Cam could see from back here. Maddeningly, Cam couldn't make anything out in the small patch of sky afforded to him through the small porthole next to his seat. Worse, he couldn't make his way up front to help either. He'd either break his neck during one of the insane manoeuvres Sheppard was coaxing out of the craft, or worse, he'd be a fatal distraction to the other pilot.

He shared a brief black glance with Vala, before the engine audibly sputtered to a halt. They didn't drop out of the sky, but they were gliding. Despite some mad steering, given that they didn't have an engine, the fifth damned missile had gotten the drop on them. Shep was forced into a steep dive, even having witnessed his fellow pilot's best attempts at evasive manoeuvres earlier, Cam thought the attempt was dicey as all hell. The little plane was just too slow to outrun a goddamned rocket, with cloaking technology. Let alone when it was running ballistic. Cam had no clue who was firing at them, or where the deadly things were coming from, but one thing was for sure. They were going down.

They crashed into the ground at an angle that left Cam's brain rattling in his skull, there was another lurch and Cam knew no more.

The emergency landing was rough.

But they made it down intact. Ish.

John dragged Rush, and Dave out of the aircraft when it became obvious that neither of them quite grasped the severity of their situation.

"We need to get away from the wreck!"

"Johnny? Why?"

"Fire?" John's tone was incredulous, he felt his voice rise in both pitch and volume as he continued, "Or how about the little fact that someone shot us down?!"

He bit back everything else he'd been about to say at the look on his brother's face. He'd been channelling McKay more than a little there. As he moved over to help Vala get Mitchell out he caught his brother's terse,

"I thought you were supposed to be a decent pilot."

John did his best to ignore the accusation, as he moved over and released Mitchell's unconscious form from the straps still holding him in his seat. Between himself and Dr Rush, who was being remarkably calm about the fact that they'd been forced down in the scrubby near desert surrounding Denver, they manhandled the limp pilot out of the plane. It looked mostly intact, 'just' a sheared off axle where the landing gear used to be, to speak of how rough the landing had been.

John turned and realised that a Jaffa was coming up behind them (he had to be a Jaffa with that brand in the centre of his forehead). Vala shot at him with a zat that she produced from nowhere; the Jaffa went down like a sack of bricks. Where the hell had he come from?! John dragged Mitchell the rest of the way out of the plane and pulled out his P-14 from its holster. Another Jaffa was coming around from the other side of the plane, John lined up a shot, the .45 went straight through the weak spot under the armpit

Ignoring Dave's pale face John grabbed at his older brother and bodily dragged him away from the wreck,

"Come on! Help me with him. We've gotta get out of here."

Between them they stumbled away from the plane, keeping an eye out for pursuit as they put as much distance between the plane and their little group as they could. John cursed, he only had his P-14 and the beretta with him. And only two spare clips. If this got dicey, they stood no chance.

A shadow appeared over them.

Looking up he realised that damned ship was back.

Must be a cloak of some kind.

It's strange bug-like shape hovered ominously, even as they started to run.

There was a sudden bright light, harsh and sickening.

He bodily pushed Mitchell out of the path of the beam.

Rings crashed down around them.

The metal surrounded them like bizarre prison bars.

Next to him Vala Mal Doran was visibly panicking. Following her lead, he scrambled madly to get out of the cage. Rolling, he crashed painfully into the metal as it clanged down.

A flash of light.

A long moment of complete disorientation.

A gold room, hieroglyphs. The metal looked battered, oil stained, grimy with corrosion and general filth.

"Kree!"

They were surrounded on all sides.

Too many to fight through.

Screw this, he was going to try.

A blue flash.

Nothing.

Note:

Charlie Foxtrot - USAF pilot speak for clusterfuck
Chest Candy/Fruit Salad - medals
Bingo - low fuel status
Bug - exit a dogfight ASAP
Grape - pilot who's easy to kill in a dogfight
Punch Out - to eject from an airplane
Spiked - missile threat on radar
Queep - any duty that isn't flight (usually paperwork)
SNAFU - Situation Normal, All Fucked Up

I've gone with word of god (or writer's intent) with McKay's allergies rather than fanon here. Sorry to anyone who believes the allergies being real is a crucial bit of characterisation! But... Carson's eyeroll in response to Rodney wondering out loud if there's lemon in that lump of meat he's chewing on in The Rising really didn't speak to the allergy being serious!

The musical cipher to unlock the 9 chevron address is both a nod to CleanWhiteRoom's glorious Mathematique, and the Big Finish Stargate audioplays. One of which has Daniel unlocking a musical cipher of sorts! The Big Finish audios are great fun, they were fully licensed, and got both SG-1 and SGA castmembers in to alternately read out/act the stories (depending on whether it was a full cast production or not.)

I really hope this chapter worked - chapters 4 and 5 were both part of a deliberate, take a breath, here's some character work/let the characters tell their POVs and seed a few things for later, section before the plot properly gets going... There's a transition or two that I remain unsure of, but... If I kept fiddling it would literally have been next year before it got posted, likely not much improved either.