A/N: I'm so dreadfully sorry for the wait. I was mostly finished with this chapter last Sunday, except for a few things that were fighting me. But then my first week of work hit and I've learned the 5:30am wake-up calls are evil but necessary to avoid traffic. Unfortunately, those early wake-ups sapped me. So I'm finally uploading this today.

Chapter summary: In which Critias has a dreadful realization, Hermos is worried, and the Atlanteans finally learn what race their guests belong to.

8: Bad News and Good News

The ambient temperature was warming as the sun moved through the sky to shine directly through the windows of the medical wing. It was tempting to leave his post and lounge in the dwindling sunlight before the storm clouds on the horizon blocked it out entirely. But that would require leaving Hermos and Timaeus out of is reach and that was out of the question. Besides, the coming storm would help revitalize him, if it got here fast enough.

Timaeus was still sound asleep, but at least he had shifted on the bed to a more comfortable position. That was a relief. Hermos was curled up close to Timaeus side and snoring softly. Critias felt his forehead crease in worry for his youngest wingmate. Timaeus was a few months older and more world-wise than Hermos; so while Critias worried about his wingleader, he didn't fear for him.

Hermos, however, was much too young to have been exposed to the Lanteans machinations. He was too trusting. Critias had been suspicious of the sudden request for aid after so many years of forced silence. Thankfully, Timaeus had heeded his warning and decided all of them would go instead of Timaeus coming here alone. That one choice was probably what saved them all.

Timaeus would have likely died during or immediately after being freed from the subspace prison. Hermos and Critias would have sensed his death and though Critias would have suffered, Hermos would have suffered more. Hermos was too open to their shared bond, too raw. It scraped at Critias psyche sometimes, but he couldn't bring himself to hate it. It wouldn't stop him from teasing his friend about it though.

Still, Critias was exhausted and watching his small weyr sleep peacefully for the first time in so long was making him feel his own sleepiness more acutely. His eyelids were drooping and he could feel his body beginning to sink towards the floor.

Instantly, he staggered back to his feet and shook himself. This was neither the time nor the place. Someone had to keep watch. Timaeus may have a tenuous trust with these new Atlanteans and Hermos was inherently curious but Critias had reservations.

"I can hear you thinking from here."

Startled, Critias straightened and spun to the hospital bed. Timaeus' gaze was heavy and clouded from sleep but the violet was warm and friendly. With a heavy sigh, Critias pushed away from the wall and approached the bed.

"I did not mean to wake you," he said softly, unsuccessfully willing away his fatigue.

Timaeus huffed and shifted to wrap an arm around Hermos' shoulders. "You did not," he said, closing his eye and taking a deep breath. "The sunlight did."

Ah. Critias grimaced. "There's not much I can do about that, I'm afraid," he said.

That got a chuckled from his friend. "You should rest too," he said, his smile fading as violet opened and focused on him. "I doubt they will knife us while we sleep."

Critias huffed, absently rubbing his arms where he would typically feel his scales lifting in indignation. "I don't expect anything as base as that," he said. Timaeus lifted a single eyebrow and Critias flushed. "Perhaps…" he admitted reluctantly, "I am jumping to conclusions."

"Perhaps," Timaeus agreed. "Or perhaps your life has taught you to think thus. That is not a crime. It is a trait I value highly. It was your wariness that convinced me not to come here alone. Your wariness and dedication to detail as well as Hermos' ingenuity and curiosity are all traits that convinced me to ask you to be a part of my weyr." He smiled. "However small it may be."

Critias gaze dropped to Hermos' sleeping face and he felt lost. It took two tries before he could find his voice to speak again. "I fear we might be the last weyr in existence now," he whispered.

Timaeus winced but did not voice any disagreement. Instead, he turned his head to stare at the ceiling in silence. Hermos grumbled and shifted, arching his back and rolling as if to scratch an unreachable itch.

"He will be flying again soon," Timaeus said. Critias just nodded. "He'll have to take it easy to be sure he doesn't re-injure his wing. I may be more at home in water than in the air or on land, but I can at least keep an eye on him him while he glides in case his wing gives out over the water."

"I promised to push him from the balcony," Critias said curtly, crossing his arms.

Violet widened. "What? Why?" Timaeus gasped, obviously caught between shock and laughter.

Warmth seeped into his cheeks and Critias avoided his wingleader's gaze. "He brought up the… Incident," he mumbled.

For a moment, Timaeus said nothing. Then he had to cover his mouth to fight back the laughter threatening to break free. "That was truly one of the best things I have ever seen," he declared gleefully.

"It was humiliating," Critias countered in frustration.

"It was brilliant," his leader argued. "I don't think I've ever seen you so flustered in my entire life."

"She was watching!" Critias groaned, rubbing his face in his hands in the remembered shame.

"She still accepted your courting request did she not?" his leader teased gently. Critias' blush was answer enough. A pale hand reached up to catch one of Critias' and grasp the scholar's fingers. "I'm truly sorry, Critias," Timaeus whispered, his violet gaze full of pain and sympathy. "I am so, so sorry."

Critias blinked in brief confusion before his heart suddenly plummeted. Oh. Oh by the First Flight. He hadn't even fully processed it until now. He'd known, he'd joked about it even, but he hadn't comprehended…

They were alone. They were alone. It had been 10,000 years. Their kind lived a long time but nowhere near that long. That meant…

That meant…

"Kisara."

It was a breathless whisper that was almost a sob. His mate. His beloved mate. She was gone. Dead. The last she ever heard of him was his farewell embrace, the murmured 'I love you,' the kiss he planted on her forehead, and the backwards glance he threw her before departing through the Stargate. She never knew the truth.

What if she thought he'd abandoned her? What if she lost their clutch to her grief? What if she never felt happiness again? She must have believed he had dead. Critias prayed to the Deep Eyes that she had at least found peace eventually.

Before she died.

The despair was too much. He couldn't even find the energy to weep. The tears simply slipped free of his eyelashes and trailed down his cheeks. He felt lost and alone and his heart was breaking. His chest ached and breathing was becoming difficult around the intense emotion. He was drowning in it.

There was nothing but a gaping hole into oblivion where Kisara's subtle mental presence used to be. How had he not noticed earlier? How had it slipped his notice? His people mated for life. Now there was nothing. Nothing. It was crushing him.

"Critias!"

He blinked when he felt his body shake and found a single violet eye inches from his face staring at him in horror. Timaeus. His wingleader had pushed himself up from the bed and was clutching his shoulders, shaking him. When had Timaeus moved?

Kisara.

"Critias, you mustn't let it destroy you," Timaeus pleaded. "You are not alone. Fight it, my friend. Latch onto me if you have to, but I beg of you, do not give in to it."

"Critias?"

A hand, calloused from years wielding a blade, grabbed his arm and jerked him forward. He fell…

"Wha- What happened?" Hermos demanded, fully awake and staring at the place where Critias had once stood. "I felt…" He swallowed convulsively. "I felt… What was that?"

He turned to his wingleader and best friend for answers. Timaeus had wrapped his arms around his chest and was hugging himself, his lone eye squeezed shut. When violet opened, Hermos felt the weight of Critias' hopelessness fade to something more tolerable, less present, muffled by Timaeus.

"He realized he lost his mate," Timaeus replied quietly.

Hermos paled, his entire form drooping. He rested his forehead against Timaeus' shoulder and hummed. It was the closest he could get to the deep rumble he could create in his true form but he hoped it gave comfort to his wingmate.

For once, Hermos was glad he was the youngest of their little group. Timaeus was technically the same age as Hermos but everyone knew those with a water affinity matured sooner than the rest of their kind. They had to. They had the highest number of natural predators in the ocean. If they didn't mature fast enough, they died.

Hermos had grown up knowing he would have years before ever being required to be responsible for more than himself and his sister. Waking up now was something he was trying very hard not to think about. When he and Critias were still merged with Timaeus, those thoughts had been acknowledged, catalogued, and filed away for a later time. Their three minds working together tended to prioritize better and handle situations with cooler tempers than they ever could individually.

When they separated, they had other things to worry about and distract them. Hermos had even been able to finally get some much needed sleep with no dreams. But Critias had finally crumbled under the stress. Normally, Hermos would tease the scholar mercilessly for that, but not now. Now, he gulped and felt the tears come, he was struggling to keep his own sadness at bay.

Voices echoed from the hallway but Hermos ignored them in favor of looking out the window. The setting sun currently tinging their healing room shades of red and orange was nearly gone behind a wall of dark, looming clouds. He may not be fond of thunderstorms, but he knew someone who was.

"Do you think they would mind if we went outside?" Hermos asked, drawing his wingleader's gaze. He nodded to the window and Timaeus turned to the fading sunlight. "Critias might enjoy a good flight."

Timaeus hummed thoughtfully. "It might indeed," he agreed. He glanced at the door to the hallway and grimaced. "If we are given permission, that is."

"Oh good. You're awake. We were getting worried."

Startled, Hermos sat up and turned to the people standing by the foot of the bed. He must have missed the door sliding open. The woman with red hair Hermos remembered from his time merged with Timaeus to be Dr. Weir, the leader of the Atlanteans, stood with Major Sheppard on her right.

Dr. Weir opened her mouth to continue before pausing and looking around the room with a faint frown of confusion. "Where is Critias?" she asked.

"Resting. He's not…" Timaeus winced. "He is not in the best of moods at the moment."

Dr. Weir glanced at Maj. Sheppard and who shook his head subtly. "No one ever left this room," the major said firmly.

"We never said he left," Timaeus said. "We said he was resting."

Both Sheppard and Dr. Weir looked around the room, noting it was empty of anyone but Timaeus and Hermos. Dr. Weir frowned and crossed her arms. "I don't understand," she said. "Resting where?"

Hermos blinked in confusion and pointed at Timaeus. When Dr. Weir's frown only deepened, Hermos began to wonder if he was missing something. The Atlanteans did know what Hermos and Timaeus were right? They were in the city of the Atlantis. The Lanteans knew what they were, the Lanteans put much of their knowledge into the city's computers, and the current Atlanteans had full access to those computers. Surely they looked into it.

"I'm not sure I understand," Dr. Weir said, eyeing Hermos' wingleader suspiciously. "You said your name was Timaeus."

"Yes," Hermos said slowly, eyeing the woman strangely. "But he's also Critias right now."

"You mean you speak for him?" Dr. Weir asked.

Timaeus nodded. "We do. If you insist, we can bring him out. But he is not… emotionally sound."

"Oh, back to the plural, are we?" the major said dryly, crossing his arms and cocking his head to the side.

"Well yes," Timaeus said, nodding. "But we are not just Timaeus at the moment. We are also Critias. We thought that was clear."

The military officer rolled his eyes and groaned. Dr. Weir opened her mouth, then shut it and shook her head, rubbing her temples.

"We don't understand," Timaeus said, looking between the Atlanteans and taking in their frustrated and bewildered demeanors. "Why does this confuse you? We thought you were the descendants of the Lanteans. Are you not aware of the Alliance?"

"What alliance?" Dr. Weir demanded, her frown becoming a frustrated expression

"The Alliance of Four Races," Hermos said, hopping off the bed to stand on his own two feet and count off the races on his fingers. "The Lanteans, the Nox, the Asgard, and the Furlings."

"We have," Dr. Weir said, focusing on Hermos with a furrowed brow. "It's Five Races now."

"Five?!" both Hermos and Timaeus gasped.

"Who's the Fifth Race?" Timaeus asked eagerly. "When were they added?"

The woman tilted her head curiously. "Humans," she said after a moment. "We were added by the Asgard a short while ago."

"The Asgard?" Timaeus breathed, a smile breaking on his face. "Then we are truly well met. We apologize for our secrecy up to this point," he said, bowing as deeply as he could while still in bed. "Had we known you were part of the Alliance, we would not have been so reluctant to trust you."

Dr. Weir eased her stance and returned the bow, though she was careful not to bow as deeply as Timaeus had. "Thank you. If I may ask, how do you know about that Alliance? We were under the impression that Alliance was unique to our galaxy."

"That would depend," Timaeus said, tilting his head in consideration. "No, the Alliance is not unique to a single galaxy. As far as I am aware, races from at least two galaxies were included in Alliance. If your race was added as well, then that could possibly mean three now."

"Are you from the Asgard home galaxy?" Hermos asked.

The woman shook her head. "No. We're from the same galaxy as the Nox."

"Oh!" Hermos' gasped happily. "So are we! The call our galaxy Avalon. The Lanteans adopted the name after they met us."

"If you are truly descendants of the Lanteans," Timaeus said thoughtfully, "then you are likely from the planet they seeded. It would explain why you look so much like them," he added, his golden gaze traveling over the Humans' bodies with renewed interest.

Dr. Weir's eyes widened in surprised understanding. "You're Furlings," she murmured.

"We are," Timaeus confirmed readily, a friendly smile on his face. "Have you not met our race before in Avalon? If you are members of the Alliance and already met the Asgard and the Nox, then it would stand to reason you met others of our race."

Hermos felt something cold settle in his stomach when the woman shook her head slowly.

"No," she said, reluctantly. "We've never met the Furlings. As far as I'm aware, no one has had contact with them for a long time."

"Understandable," Critias said suddenly, materializing next to Timaeus and ignoring the stunned reactions of the Atlanteans and the military officer's quickly raised weapon. "I find it difficult to believe our people would have kept to the Alliance after we failed to return."

Timaeus paled and turned to his friend. "You think it ended," he said quietly.

"It was already on shaky ground before our departure," Critias said with a halfhearted shrug. "It's likely that, when we didn't return, our people cut off all contact with the other Races, the Lanteans in particular. There is no way our people would risk trusting them again. If the Asgard and the Nox refused to acknowledge the crimes of the Lanteans despite our warnings, then we would have withdrawn from the Alliance."

Leaning back in mild surprise at his wingmate's sudden appearance, Hermos studied Critias closely with a wince. He really did look worse for wear. To put it politely, "You look awful."

The scholar tossed him a glare without any heat to it. There were circles under Critias' eyes and his skin was paler than Hermos remembered his wingmate preferred aside from the blotches of color in his cheeks. The anguish that had threatened to swallow the scholar and had startled Hermos awake had faded to a tolerable level for the time being. It would never cease to amaze Hermos how well his wingmate was at controlling himself. It made the few instances when Critias' control did slip so shockingly intense.

"Excuse me," Dr. Weir said, her voice cutting through the Furlings' distraction. "Can someone please explain what's going on here? Where were you?" she demanded, pointing at Critias. "And where the hell did you come from?" she added, gesturing to the room around them.

Hermos frowned and shared a wry glance with Critias. Then together they pointed to Timaeus who waved.

"There," they said.

"I did say I was Critias as well as myself," Timaeus said, a sly grin teasing his lips. "As a race, we have the ability to manipulate molecular shape and density as well as several forms of energy." He held out his hands in an open gesture. "I thought I made that clear."

"Let me get this straight," Maj. Sheppard said, sarcastic disbelief dripping from his words. "You expect us to believe you three can," he pursed his lips and struggled to find the right words, "become one?"

"We can," Timaeus said, nodding. "By adjusting our density and shape on a molecular level, we are able to merge together to form a single being. We maintain our individuality and are free to split whenever we wish, but we are often at our most powerful when merged. The power of three life forms in a single being tends to be greater than the power of three separate life forms working in tandem."

"This isn't always the case," Critias said, tilting his head in consideration. "But in the case of the Erebus, it was. Three minds working as one are harder to outwit, the density of three people in a single body is harder to damage, and because we were merged together," he aimed a piercing, slit-pupiled glare at the Humans, "we were imprisoned together. Had Timaeus been imprisoned alone, he would have died. The only reason we survived, is because we were together. We will not be separated. Ever."

The major met Critias' glare without flinching, then gradually lowered his weapon in acknowledge. "Okay," he said slowly. "Consider us warned."

Critias bowed his head in cautious thanks. Hermos narrowed his gaze warily. Something had passed between the Furling scholar and the Human warrior that, while not the same as an cease fire, was akin to a tenuous pact between uneasy allies.

As a hunter by trade, Hermos was familiar with such pacts. He'd made them himself often enough. Most hunters worked alone though some worked as pairs. Though more often than not, those who worked in pairs were mated. Hunters did sometimes join larger groups as guides, protectors, or something along those lines. But it was rare to find a group of three or more hunters. That meant splitting the winnings too many ways to be feasible.

Being a hunter hadn't been easy and Critias constantly teased Hermos about his open heart despite his dangerous choice of profession. But Hermos loved his work. He could travel and adventure and meet new people and learn new things and the constant threat of danger was addicting.

That was probably why Hermos found himself more comfortable with this whole insane situation than Critias or Timaeus. Critias was a scholar who, until befriending Timaeus, had never ventured beyond the high, craggy mountains of his home. For a bookeater, he wasn't bad. Annoying, but not bad. Timaeus had done much to tame him.

And no, Hermos knew better than to ever say that out loud. Critias may be a part of his Weyr, but that did not mean the brains-for-wings wouldn't wring Hermos' neck. With or without Timaeus' permission.

Speaking of Timaeus. "Did you still want to go outside?" Hermos asked his wingleader.

"Outside?" Critias repeated hopefully.

Timaeus sighed. "I do," he said. "Are you sure you are well enough for that, Critias?" he asked, his lone eyes shining with sympathy as he lifted his gaze to his older companion. "You need to rest."

"What I need," Critias said in a stern tone, "is for you and the hatchling-"

"Hey!" Hermos squawked in offense.

"-to stop worrying," the scholar continued, trampling over Hermos' cry of indignation without pausing, "and for me to find a place to roost for the night. Alone."

Timaeus laughed merrily. "I see. Then if it is acceptable," he said to Dr. Weir and Maj. Sheppard, "would we be allowed outside? The balcony by the Stargate will do."

For a moment, Dr. Weir didn't say anything. Instead, she studied them closely. Finally, she nodded. "Fine, on one condition."

"Name it," Timaeus acquiesced easily.

"Timaeus!"

"Be still, my friend," Hermos' wingleader said in a gentle but stern tone. "Name your condition, Doctor."

The woman smiled in relief. "Teyla and Maj. Sheppard informed me you can change your form," she began "I guess it makes sense if you can," she hesitated, "merge your bodies."

"Still weirded out by that, by the way," the major spoke up.

Hermos snickered. "You aren't the first, and you definitely won't be the last."

Dr. Weir's smiled eased to something more warm and friendly. "Then I want to know what you really look like," she finished.

Oh. Well, Hermos looked around the healing room calculating. "I think Timaeus could fit in here," he said, ignoring the annoyed glare his wingleader shot his way.

"Definitely not," Critias scoffed with a straight face, much to Hermos' amusement and Timaeus' mortification. "He may be small," Timaeus squaked in indignation, "but he's still arguably a respectable size."

"He might fit in the Stargate hall," Hermos offered.

Critias sniffed in derision. "We could all fit in that room," he said snidely. He blinked, then amended his statement. "Well, you and I together wouldn't fit. But if it was just Timaeus and one of us, it would work. It would be a bit tight for us, but Timaeus should be fine."

"Betrayed by my own weyr," Timaeus groaned in exasperation, burying his face in his hands.

"I take it Timaeus' form is smaller than yours," Dr. Weir said, obviously trying to hold back her amusement. Major Sheppard didn't even bother, grinning in delight.

"Very," Critias said easily. "Even by our standards."

"I hate both of you," their wingleader grumbled.

Hermos burst out laughing. "We'll show you," he declared. "But I'll have to be inside. I have an injury that'll make it difficult for me to shift on a small balcony." He rubbed his back surreptitiously.

"I suppose I won't push you off the balcony if you joined us outside," Critias said mildly. "Yet."

Hermos gulped. He wasn't looking forward to the scholar's threat being realized.