Crossing the Line

Chapter Nine

Her mother had been in bed with the flu on her first day of preschool, and her dad went to work early, so, after twenty fruitless minutes of trying to do her own hair, Cassandra Lorne had walked into her big brother's room, plopped down on the middle of his bed, and refused to move until he fixed her hair.

At seventeen years of age, there were really only two things that Marcus was afraid of: firstly, that someone would steal or vandalize his beloved 1964 convertible, and, secondly, that his sister would tell his parents what had really happened to the bottle of vodka they thought had been thrown out by accident.

In light of the circumstances Marcus decided to count his blessings; after all, she was just asking him to do her hair, not play 'teatime with the fairy princess.' Hair, he could live with.

Of course, she had to think he did her hair so much better than mommy did, and so every morning, without fail, for one year - until he left home - Cassandra would wake up, get dressed, and run into her brother's room so he would do her hair.

Marcus actually thought it was kind of cute.

She used to chat to him while he was figuring out her braids, nattering on about preschool this and preschool that, asking him when she could have a boyfriend, why she would want a boyfriend in the first place, and generally being a nuisance. But there was something she always used to tell him - a poem she had learned. How did that go? Something about love. . . Love being. . . something. Oh, that was it - love is- come on, it was on the tip of his tongue. . . love is the-

Marcus woke up. That was one strange dream. He hadn't even thought of Cassie in weeks, since her last letter, and that stupid poem she used to recite - what was it?

Oh well, it would come to him - with his luck, probably in the middle of a firefight. Hmm, 5:42 - if he got up now, he could just beat Schweinsteigger to the bridge for their morning run.

She was a bit slow this morning, he noticed; training with Ronon yesterday had been particularly rough, and she was probably feeling it right now. Well, it's not like he needed to sprint the whole way, was it? He would do just fine with a nice, steady jog this morning - he could make it up in the gym that evening.

He knew she knew he wasn't going as fast as he would have, normally. But she wasn't going to say anything, and he wasn't going to say anything; they'd already had another conversation after she found out he was spending his off hours working out with her. It's not that he wanted everyone to figure out what was going on with them - honestly, he had no actual idea himself, so how anyone would was a mystery; it's just that, because they were on Atlantis, and because they were on one of the forward teams, any day could be their last. And if either one of them died, he wanted to know that he hadn't missed out on something with her just because they were in the military; he loved his job, sure, but right now if it were a choice between her and the air force he had no idea which way he would go, and he wanted to know.

Strange; the last time he had thought that way about anyone he had been standing in a jewelry store, shopping for an engagement ring. Funny the way things worked out, wasn't it?

He smiled and looked over at Anna. She was jogging along complacently, her head bobbing to whatever her ipod was playing. Knowing her, Bach. She was the only person he knew who could headbang to classical music. It was kind of-

Love is learning how to walk at someone else's pace.

Marcus paused.

Schweinsteigger stopped and looked back. "Something wrong?" she asked, taking off her earphones.

He looked at her, nonplussed, and shook his head. "No, I- I just remembered - I just remembered something."

She looked at him for a bit, then shrugged and put her earphones back on. "Well hurry up, then; don't want to be here when Ronon and Sheppard come by, do you? I swear, every time he looks at me he's planning something for the training session. . ."

Marcus plastered on a smile and caught up with her. It didn't mean anything, really. It was just the first line of a poem his sister had taught him twenty years ago - completely irrelevant to his situation.

So why couldn't he get it out of his head?

The meeting with Caldwell, Weir and Sheppard had not gone well – not well at all. All right, he hadn't expected Weir to agree with his actions on his last mission; so maybe taking the village leader hostage had been somewhat less than diplomatic, but under the circumstances he thought it was justified: they were going to string up Danny, for crying out loud. And it really wasn't Cadman's fault about the sacred mascot – honestly, the panther had jumped from a tree and attacked them. How were they supposed to know it was just a 'test' of their courage and fortitude? And for the last time, Riley and Schweinsteigger did not, by any means, look like a married couple; and, to be quite honest, any civilization, primitive as it might be, that thought the normal way to treat strange married couples was to spike their drinks, dress them in traditional garb (which, apparently, consisted of a Princess Jasmine costume for her and a 'Howl the magician' one for him), then have a recommitment ceremony in front of the village elders, was not, in Lorne's opinion, a civilization from whose friendship Atlantis would gain very much. Second time he'd had to carry the lieutenant back to the gate, except that this time, rather than being shot, bleeding all over him and worrying him half to death, what part of her that was conscious was hung over with whatever they had spiked her drink, and she had managed to. . . upchuck on him – quite spectacularly, at that, grossing him out like few things had before, not to mention unleashing Cadman's virtually endless supply of baby jokes. At least Riley had been lucid enough to trudge along, and at least the villagers hadn't burned their clothes this time around. Although, to be quite honest, that particular costume had been kind of- Right. She was his junior officer and two years younger than his baby sister, and the costume was probably being archived by the anthropologists right at that moment. If only. . .

Focus. He needed to focus. On the meeting. Where was he? Oh, right. So he could understand Weir's disagreeing with the way he had handled the situation – militarily, that is – but he had expected Caldwell and Sheppard, being military men themselves, to at least understand, if not condone, his actions. But, of course, they'd both gotten out of the wrong side of bed this morning; either that or they were both being taken control of by an alien disease which made them cranky. As if.

Come to think of it, it seemed to be a bad day for the personnel on Atlantis; even the lieutenant was in a bit of a mood. He had approached her earlier to see if she wanted a snack and she had practically bitten his head off. From what he had heard one of the linguists had resigned, and they were bothering her for help more than ever, but still. . . No reason to kill a man for offering you a cup of fruit and almonds, was it?

Marcus walked into his room and frowned. Today was going so badly. He just needed to-

He growled as he hit his knee on the side of his bed. Well, didn't things just keep getting better and better? And that stupid line was still stuck in his mind- why couldn't he remember the rest of the poem?

Marcus yanked off his earpiece and flung it on the bed. With any luck – not that there seemed to be any hope of that – there wouldn't be a crisis in the next half hour.

And if there was, well too bad for Atlantis.

Radek stepped away from the jello and, balancing his tray carefully, looked around the mess. Hmm; three o'clock; most of the scientists were either working or sleeping, and Sheppard's team was out. . . somewhere, so the place was filled with flyboys and marines he mostly didn't know. It's not that he had anything against the military types - quite the contrary, in fact: it's just that he hadn't really had a chance to- oh, there was Major Lorne sitting by himself; surely he wouldn't mind him.

Radek had actually gotten to know the major a bit since they had been on the Orion together, although that was probably due more to Anna than anything else. He had always had a soft spot for her: she reminded him of his cousin, Inska, and he always liked it when she came by his labs to say hello. But ever since that morning - though Beckett still refused to tell them what had happened, stubborn man - when he and Rodney had seen the major leave the infirmary, clearly exhausted and wearing what was clearly his nightwear, almost every time Anna showed up at his lab, or Miko's, or Rodney's, the major was soon to follow. It was strange, he had to admit. A month ago he could have bet Major Lorne didn't even know how to get to the labs, much less want to, but now you could not tear the man away from them. Or, rather, you could not tear the man away from the lieutenant - which was much the same thing.

"Is this seat taken?" Radek jiggled his water bottle as the major looked up confusedly. "Or are you expecting your team?"

The major stared at him for a full second before – sniffling? – and looking down at his bowl of chocolate pudding.

"Sure thing, Zelenka. My team already ate."

Radek, somewhat unnerved, sat down. He picked up his fork and stirred the pasta, studying the major while he waited for it to cool. He hadn't noticed it before, but the major's face was a bit – blotchy, was the word. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes were wet, and he held a crumpled Kleenex in one of his hands.

"Major, are you . . ." Radek put down his spoon as Lorne looked up at him. "Are you all right?"

Lorne stared at him for a full minute before answering; it was somewhat unnerving, actually. Finally he blinked. It seemed as if he were waking up from a trance.

"Yeah, I'm – I'm fine." The major dipped his head and took a sip of coffee. "I don't know what happened – one minute I'm fine, pissed off about the meeting, and the next thing I know I'm talking to Schweinsteigger about when I took Cassie to her prom, and then An- the lieutenant – she was angry too: something Kavanaugh said – she just starts crying and then I . . . I couldn't help myself, and . . ." Lorne's face puckered up a bit and Radek wondered if he was going to – but no; the major took a deep, shuddery breath and pulled himself together. "It was probably that stupid poem – and I can't even remember past the first line, and it's . . . it's just so . . . so . . ."

Radek cut in before the major broke down again. "Where is the lieutenant, by the way?"

Lorne sniffled again and looked up at him. "She – she got angry again – went off to be alone or something. Not anything I could do, so I thought I would give her some space."

Radek smiled benevolently; those two were adorable together – now if only the military here were more like the one back home . . .

"That reminds me of a poem Rodney was muttering the other day. I think his niece taught it to him. How did it go . . . love is . . . ah, yes. Did you know that his niece is actually-" He stopped as Lorne dropped his spon with a clatter, splattering pudding over himself and the table. "Major, perhaps Dr. Heightmeyer would-"

"What was the poem?"

Radek blinked.

"What was the poem you were talking about? The one Rodney knows?"

Radek stared, gulped, and stared again. Lorne was leaning across the table, his Kleenex waving like a conductor's hands.

"Ermm . . . it was something about love . . . very childish . . . love is . . . love is – oh yes." He smiled. "Love is learning how to walk at someone else's pace; love is understanding when to listen and when to give them space; love is-"

"BECKETT!"

Katie wasn't well.

Anna hadn't meant to go see her. What she had really wanted was some time alone, in peace, and she appreciated Lorne's leaving her be. Not enough to make her day better, perhaps, but it was still nice. She didn't even know what put her in such a bad mood to begin with, she just was. But when Katie had passed her sitting on the bridge and asked her what was wrong, she couldn't seem to stop telling her about everything: how her offworld missions kept going wrong – funny, in hindsight, but wrong nonetheless – how Kavanaugh kept messing with her translation notes, how the smoke from Rodney's lab was affecting her cello strings, how she was falling head over heels for her commanding officer, how – oh right; that's where Katie had stopped her.

It was kind of funny, actually: it had—oops, had to mind Katie's feet with the door. Didn't want her ankles broken, now, did she? Where was she? Oh yeah – it had been years since she had gotten emotional – well, cried, anyway – in front of anyone – and in the space of a couple of months she had broken down in front of Lorne twice, not to mention with him this morning, and now Katie, too. Although today she – for crying out loud – where was Beckett when you needed him? Maybe Ronon could carry someone several inches taller and a good fifteen pounds heavier than him for some ungodly amount of time, but she was not, by any stretch of the imagination, like Ronon, and if she didn't find Dr. Beckett soon she would-

Right. Focus. Stop thinking about that; Bekett would appear soon, or maybe the radios would start up again, and she would find out Katie was fine.

Okay, thinking. So maybe there was something going around: why else would Katie just pass out like that? The botanist had been fine, chipper, even, when they had started talking, gradually getting pale, a bit dizzy, and fainting, suddenly, when Anna finally calmed down. It was the strangest thing ever. Maybe she had pulled a couple all-nighters again? But she didn't have any big projects right now, and why did it come on so suddenly?

Anna shrugged and shifted Katie's weight a bit. She had no idea, and the sooner she found Beckett, the better.

Marcus jumped up at the scream and, Zelenka on his heels, ran for the gateroom where it seemed to emanate. When he got there, Teyla and Doc Parrish were lying on the floor unconscious, Novak and Miko were sitting by the gate crying, Rodney was stomping around in circles, and Beckett and Dr. Weir were slumped next to each other, giggling their hearts out.

Marcus looked around for someone – anyone – that looked reasonably sane. He looked up at the control room and – oh no. Chuck the technician was slumped over his controls. There was something going on here, and he needed to-

"You!"

Marcus swiveled. Zelenka had moved and was approaching Kavanaugh, anger on his face.

"You did this! Your ineptitude! Your unintelligence!"

Kavanaugh stood up, towering over the Czech scientist.

"You did this!"

It was amazing, really. It almost seemed, for one moment, like Radek was flying. Really flying. And then he landed on Kavanaugh.

Just one – make that two – more reasons to get Beckett up and . . . normal.

He was halfway to the doctor when Anna, breathing heavily and with – Dr. Brown? – slung over her shoulders.

Beckett could wait. Marcus hurried over to her and helped her lay Brown on the floor.

She smiled at him, then turned back to Katie. "There is something strange going on around here."

Marcus looked around the room. Weir and Beckett were lying on the floor, completely hysterical, Miko and Novak were still wailing, Kavanaugh and Zelenka were going at it, and Sheppard and Rodney had tottered in together, looking more melancholy than kids who had been grounded on Halloween. "Tell me about it."

Footsteps. Marcus turned his head as Ronon and a couple of the new marines ran into the room.

"There's something wrong with the-" Ronon stopped, took a step forward, and crumpled to the ground next to the marines.

Oh great. Now would be a really good time for Beckett and Rodney to-

Well, speak of the devil. Marcus walked over to Weir and helped her up as she and Beckett stopped laughing. Judging by the lack of weeping, drunken singing, and cursing in Czech the others were calm again as well.

Mckay took one long gape at the people strewn across the room. "What the hell is going on here?"

Marcus shook his head. "I have no idea."