Coming Home

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

Disclaimer: Other than being a fan, I have absolutely nothing to do with Stargate: Atlantis in any way, shape or form.

Author's Note: I would like to send an extra-special 'Thank You' to my triplet-sister who, despite knowing nothing about Stargate: Atlantis, acted as my sounding-board, editor and beta-reader for this story. This story is the sequel to Three Years to Eternity, and I strongly recommend that you read that story first before continuing on with this one.

Spoiler Warning: anything and everything up to Ghost in the Machine.

Even in the sun-draped corridors of Atlantis, she felt hunted and haunted as she strode briskly past the city's rattled residents. It was all too much to process coherently. A childish part of her wanted to scream until she got some truthful answers from somebody, anybody, but she firmly quashed the urge to turn to her escorts and demand to know the whole story. She knew enough to know that Mr. Woolsey had left out important details when he had spoken to her, vital pieces to Elizabeth's—no, her—story, the answers to questions she had been asking herself for the past two years.

She paid little attention to the two Marines who trailed her by several strides. The two men had managed to stay with her, despite her brief intermingling with the other junior diplomats, following her since she had left the infirmary. They were respectful of her need for the semblance of privacy, but they were also very thorough in the performance of their duties. They never lagged too far behind her, but they were always at ready to interfere if necessary. She paid even less attention to the stares and whispers that followed in her wake. Her mind was occupied elsewhere.

"You bear a startling resemblance to Elizabeth Weir, who was the first leader of this city. It's very complicated, what happened, but she was—there was an incident…"

His words echoed in her head, the repercussions of the situation overwhelming in just sheer possibilities for her.

You're the identical twin of a dead woman, she thought to herself, trying to steady her breathing and starve off a panic attack. You could be the dead woman herself, Elizabeth…except that you're alive. If that's true, if you are her, if she is you, then she disappeared three years ago, but you only remember the past two years…what, in the name of the Ancestors, is going on?

Terror and Relief took turns dominating her mind—she knew more of her past (maybe, I don't know the whole story), and too much of it remained unknown (a missing year…why can't I remember it? Should I?).

There are still too many unanswered, and unanswerable, questions.

Who am I?

She found herself roaming the crowded hallways of Atlantis, drifting through the city as she tried to organize her reeling thoughts. Even though she was veiled again, the silken cloth draped lightly over her lower face, people acted as if they knew who she was. Some Lanteans averted their gazes and pointedly stepped out of her way. Other residents stared at her as she walked past, a variety of emotions etched on their faces—grief, hope, caution, gratitude, bitterness, frustration, resentment, bland professionalism. Then there were the handful of people who hesitated when she walked past them, as if they were considering the idea of speaking to her, but none of them ever approached her.

Am I Asabeth, daughter of Reiia?

She didn't realize that she was walking as if she knew where she was going, and that she did know her final destination. Taking the corners as they came, she didn't notice that the corridors were becoming deserted or that her guards were getting a little nervous as they approached the boundaries of the secured areas of the city. She simply walked hallways that only seemed vaguely familiar, not like the comfort that they were to… her. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to snatch at memories that flittered out of her grasp whenever she tried to examine them, a mixture of voices and images of people and a city that she didn't remember, but, by virtue of her strain to remember, that she did.

Or am I Elizabeth Weir, daughter of Lantea?

Snapping out of her daze, she found herself standing in front of a door, which slid smoothly aside to reveal a balcony that overlooked the sea. The surge of familiarity was so strong that she crossed the threshold without a thought and went directly to the railing. The metal was warm to the touch and she rested her hands against the flat surface as the sea breeze swept across the balcony. She saw her guards stepping out onto the spacious terrace after her, but they abruptly came to attention.

Do I even know anything for certain? Or is this all a dream?

"Diplomat," a familiar voice drawled off to her left. She turned her head to see him leaning on the balcony railing not far from her. He casually tucked his hands into his pants' pockets and strode over to her side, giving a nod of dismissal at her guards. The two Marines vanished back into the city, leaving the two of them alone on the balcony. She wondered why her heart fluttered at that realization and why, as if it was the most normal routine in the worlds, she removed her veil from its fastenings, pushing her hood back with one hand while tucking the sheer fabric into a pocket with the other. He wasn't a stranger, but he was, so why was she treating him like they weren't unfamiliar with each other, were, in fact, as close as family?

"Colonel," she said evenly, folding her hands on the railing as he approached. He took up a relaxed stance next to her, his smile polite and distant, but there was something more to this conversation, she could feel it, or perhaps more precisely, she could feel what was missing. She could see his unease in the way his shoulders were just ever so slightly tense and how his charming grin didn't quite reach his eyes when he looked at her. She knew it in the way he was holding himself aloof from her, not like he usually was when he was with her, when he stood so close that the slightest wobble in her balance meant they would touch. He wasn't there with her, like he usually was when the two of them were alone, out on their balcony.

Not like he usually is? she asked herself. Our balcony? I don't remember this, but it feels so right to say that…why?

"What brings you out here?" he asked lightly. On Reiia, his proximity to her would have led to gossip and rumors foretelling marriage in her near future. The fact that she was unveiled in his presence would have been fodder for people to say that they were engaged, at best, illicit lovers, at worst. Here, it probably would have raised eyebrows if anyone other than the two of them were to see her behavior, but… she felt cold, as if he wasn't close enough to her. She sighed, her mind made up to give a simple excuse of needing fresh air, but her tongue betrayed her.

"I'm not sure," she said quietly, dropping her gaze to study her still hands. Her fingers seemed to belong to someone else, and so did her voice as she continued, "Mr. Woolsey spoke to me after you left this morning. I…I'm not sure what to think, about myself, about this, all of it." She closed her eyes against the ache of threatening tears and the hollow pounding of pain in her head. "It's just so much has happened in so little time. I'm reeling from all of it. I don't know what to say, or do, not anymore, not…"

"Yes." His response was more a hiss of air that escaped him than an actual word. She noticed that his eyes were firmly fixed on the horizon and that his posture had gone rigid as she spoke. She shook her head, "He didn't give me all the details of what happened to Elizabeth, to me. If she is me, or I mean, if I'm her, I don't know if we're the same person, and if I… I don't know. It's like I don't know a single thing about being Elizabeth Weir, but I feel… I feel like I know things that she knew, knows, I—"

She laughed somewhat bitterly, a few tears born of confusion and anxiety slipping down her cheeks, her voice taking on an edge of frantic hysteria that she had never heard from herself before, "I don't even know my own name anymore. I don't know if I'm Asabeth or Elizabeth, or if I'm both, or…"

She grasped the metal railing, feeling the smooth edges dig into her flesh, as if that sensation alone would be enough to ground her panic. She felt so vulnerable, but yet so safe, standing here next to him. She didn't understand this, this moment of speaking so honestly to a stranger she barely knew, but yet she did, a man who had greeted her so coldly only a day before and yet now she was confessing her inner turmoil to him as if…as if she had known him all her life and had chosen to spend the rest of her days by his side. It made no sense. Nothing about any of this made sense to her. She wished it did, but it didn't.

"She was—I am—" A breathy laugh of exasperation escaped her as she wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her dress, "I don't even know what the proper grammar for this situation is…"

He smiled wryly at her, "I don't either." He shook his head slowly, "You're not the only one here who's trying to figure things out."

She stared at him, and her breath caught as a realization struck her. Before she could censor herself, she whispered in shock, "We were close, weren't we? Closer than…than we should have been?"

He flinched at her words. It was a barely perceptible reaction, more like a flitting expression of sorrow and regret in his eyes, but she saw it. She didn't know what that meant, that she saw it, and she didn't know if this was the right thing to be doing right now, talking to her former lover, or perhaps Elizabeth's former lover if she wasn't…oh Ancestors. She didn't know what in the worlds she was doing. Her rational sense, the part that wasn't in cationic shock from the sheer illogicality of the situation, was screaming at her to flee, but her feet stayed firmly rooted to her spot on the balcony.

"We were close," he said softly, and she could hear the raw honesty in his voice. "In the beginning, we had a few rough patches, but we became good friends." He looked out at the endless horizon, "Elizabeth carried a lot of responsibility on her shoulders as head of the city. I'm head of the military here, so I understood a little bit of what she was going through. We…we spent a lot of time together."

"A burden shared is a burden halved," she quoted softly. He smirked at her, a small glimmer of real emotion in his eyes, "You have that saying on Reiia as well."

She nodded, even though it wasn't a question. Prompted by the sorrow that settled on his expression as he looked away from her yet again, sorrow that she felt—no, knew—that she had put there somehow, she said quietly, "I'm sorry."

That earned her a reaction she had never expected to provoke. He looked sharply at her, grief and guilt blazing in his dark eyes as he snapped vehemently, "Don't be."

The pure anger in his voice made her take an involuntary step back from him and some of her fright must have shown in her expression because he immediately softened his tone, "Don't be. It wasn't your fault. It…" His eyes were windows into a chaotic whirlwind of shame and sorrow before he looked away from her again. He confessed in a whisper, "It was mine."

She stared at him, even as her feet brought her forward again, as if she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, "I don't…I don't understand."

"Woolsey didn't tell you?" His back was ramrod straight, shot through with so much tension that she could almost feel him vibrating with pent-up fury. She edged away from him slightly again, unnerved by the depth of emotion he was showing her, but a part of her wasn't scared at all at the raw display of rage she was witnessing. That part of herself was whispering reassuringly to her that he would never hurt her, not knowingly, not willingly, not if he could ever help it. She was safe. She could, and had, bet her life on that assumption. Her head was beginning to hurt with trying to keep track of everything she knew for certain and everything she knew as a whisper in the back of her mind.

"No," she responded, her voice surprisingly steady for all her nervousness, "all he said was that there was an accident, that I…I disappeared under very confusing circumstances, that you were told by my captors that I was dead."

"I wasn't there when the accident happened," he said flatly. "But afterwards…you were badly hurt when I got there. We tried to save you, but…in the chaos, it got too confusing, and we lost you. We didn't mean to leave you behind, but…"

She felt that there was something he wasn't saying to her, something that Mr. Woolsey had also left out of his explanation. Yet she could also feel his pain, the hatred he directed at himself for leaving her behind, no, leaving Elizabeth behind. So she did the only thing she could think of, as she bore the face and possessed the voice of a dead woman, she touched his hand gently and said, "It wasn't your fault."

"Really?" he said bitterly, unconvinced, "If we hadn't left you behind…you've been declared dead for three years, three years. You—" He cut himself off abruptly, his inner turmoil clearly too close to the surface for him to be comfortable with the uncharacteristic display.

She pulled her hand away as she repeated herself, "It wasn't your fault. I don't blame you. It was chaos, like you said. Things happen."

He shook his head and looked back out at the sea, his frown lines deep around his mouth. She wished he would laugh; she felt that he hadn't truly laughed in quite a long time. Gray was beginning to touch his hair ever so slightly, and she could see that the burden of command had settled hard on his shoulders after Elizabeth had died. She wished that she could ease his pain, but she wasn't sure she knew how…she wasn't sure if she could, "I don't blame you. I hope it helps to know that. I don't hold you responsible."

She silently added, I don't think Elizabeth would either.

He closed his eyes for a moment before he sighed wearily, "Thank you."

She could tell he was just being polite, that he didn't believe her. Maybe he knew her doubts about herself, shared them with her over the important questions about who she really was. She could be Elizabeth's twin, unable to grant forgiveness in the other woman's name. She could be Elizabeth herself, but…she didn't know what she was forgiving him for, in that case. She could offer him all the platitudes and forgiveness in the worlds, but he wouldn't believe her until she believed in them herself.

She smiled a little at him, "You don't believe me."

He chuckled mirthlessly, "I'm that easy to read?"

She shook her head, "No, but I'm trained to figure these things out. There's a reason I'm called Diplomat Asa…" She trailed off, realizing that she now stood between two worlds with nothing to guide her. Nothing was certain. "I don't know what my name is anymore. It's like I've woken up all over again, confused and scared, a blank slate. I…"

"Like you're not sure who you're supposed to be?" he said quietly, "Like you can do things, but you don't know how you gained the knowledge, or that you even have it until you're in the middle of doing it? It all ends up feeling like you're just barely hanging onto memories that are important, but they're slipping away from you until you're afraid of losing everything that makes you You."

"Yes," she breathed and looked at him with hope, "You've been though something like that?"

He shrugged, "There was an epidemic in the city with symptoms a little like that a while back, but I think I can imagine it."

She looked out at the sea, "For the longest time, I couldn't sleep at night. I was afraid that I would forget everything I'd learned that day, and I'd wake up again, somewhere else with no memory of my life. I was terrified that I'd have to start all over again, from the beginning, because that's how I imagined it: that I went to bed one night and just simply…disappeared." She felt her lips curl into a bitter, but satisfied smile, "Except now I know what happened, and I don't have to worry about that anymore."

He had no response to offer to that.

The two of them stood in silence on the balcony, listening to the lulling wash of the ocean against the city's piers and soaking in the sun's warmth on a beautiful summer day. To her, it felt right, as if she belonged there, surveying the sweeping vista of Atlantis before her, with him standing by her side. Contentment swept over her, even as her headache, which hadn't abated at all since she left the infirmary, began to grow. Pushing aside the pain, she closed her eyes briefly, just listening, just feeling, just…being.

"We used to do this often, didn't we?" she asked, opening her eyes and looking at him. She found him staring intensely at her and she felt a blush creep over her cheeks at his gaze. She smiled bashfully and lowered her eyes. It had been a long time since a stranger had openly admired her, and that was mostly because protocol and her use of the veil to keep negotiations firmly focused on trade provisions and away from herself.

"There's a balcony right outside your office," he said. "Whenever things got overwhelming, Elizabeth, you, went out there to think." He smiled kindly at her, "So yes, we did spend a lot of time together out on balconies. How did you know?"

She found refuge in the sea. It was somehow easier to speak of these matters so close to the heart when she wasn't looking directly at him. With a sigh, she confessed, "I'm not sure. I think… I think there are two sets of me in my head: Asabeth and then a woman named Elizabeth…I don't really remember her, but I want to. I am. I'm not actively thinking about her, but I know things she does. It's like how I knew how to get to this balcony, but I don't know how either."

This place, she felt, wasn't a random choice on her part, and it wasn't just a coincidence that he was here as well when she had arrived. Was he waiting for her like some sort of test to see if she really was Elizabeth? Or was she reading too much suspicion into his motives, and he had come here because this was his spot too, or perhaps their spot?

"This was… this was your quiet balcony," he told her, confirming her suspicion that she was beginning to know more than she knew. "When you… When you needed somewhere far away to think, this is where you came." He swallowed, "Sometimes, I came along too, for support."

She nodded, the world swaying a little with her movement, "I see."

He frowned at her, "Are you all right?"

She smiled at him, managing to say a steady, "Yes" before her headache tightened into a constricting band around her head and bursting into agonizing wave of fire. Hearing her breathing hitch, she felt herself crumple to the ground as her sunlit world abruptly turned into an unending night. Warm arms arrested her fall and she heard him bark out, "I need a medical team to Sector 153! Savasta, Pileggi!" before darkness took her.

Following Jiaha's lead down the stairs, she walks into the crowded Main Hall. The room is filled to the brim with all the members of the Sister-House, from the eldest widows to the youngest babes, all of them standing or sitting, all of them waiting to bid her farewell. Unlike other farewell ceremonies of the past (mainly weddings), there are very few decorations adorning the walls and no flowers underfoot, but the prayers and benedictions murmured to her are no less sincere for the lack of material trappings. The younger women speak of her encouragement and constant support; the elders speak of her kindness and patience with all. She moves through the room methodically, making sure she slights no one for time or words. This will be the last time she will speak to them as an equal, as one of them. She has so much she needs to say, and she reminds herself repeatedly that she does have the time to say it, but she must say it now. The next time she sees them, if all goes well, she will be a stranger and memory amongst them, one of the blessed ones who have found happiness in life after grief.

It is when she is nearly at the front of the room that a small blur of energy collides with her legs. Saila clings to the folds of her skirts, the little girl's small hands fisting the fabric as the child presses herself against the older woman's hip.

"Mama Asa," she sobs with a hiccup, and Asabeth waves off Jiaha who makes a move to come forward. She runs a soothing hand through Saila's blonde curls and gently disentangles her dress from the child's grip as she kneels onto the floor. The orphaned six-year-old daughter of a culled merchant family, Saila has become deeply attached to the older woman in the past two years, and the same is true for Asabeth. This separation will be the hardest on the mischievous little angel, and for the first time, she wonders if she is truly making the right choice in all of this. She chides herself that Saila is young and will adapt to the situation as she grows, that there is an entire community of adopted older sisters and mothers who will ease the pain, that she will be looked after, no matter what.

"It's okay Saila," she says quietly, wiping away the little girl's tears with gentle fingers. "I'll come back."

Saila shakes her head adamantly, "I don't want you to leave. I don't want you to go!"

The girl throws herself into Asabeth's arms and begins to cry. She cradles the child in her arms, murmuring soothing promises that she intends with all of her heart to keep. There is a somber silence in the Great Hall as the entire family-sisters watches the scene play out. All of them understand loss, and while every departure from this House is framed as one of happiness, there is no denying the faintest thread of dread and grief that runs through this room. When Asabeth leaves, they do not know even if she will return again to them. She will not be within a walk's reach or to be found at the Council Hall. There will no opportunity for a chance meeting at the market or during an evening stroll. She is one of their own, stranger though she is, and they pray for her safety while wishing her only the best.

It feels like mere seconds to her before Jiaha is there, gently pulling the sobbing child away from her. Saila squirms, reaching out for her, as the little girl begs for her not to go. She wonders if her heart is cold as she stands frozen, watching as Saila is handed off to Tilda and quietly taken upstairs.

She is pulled out of her thoughts by cold fingers interlacing with her own. It is not a surprise when she turns her head to see that Mera has taken her hand.

"She will be fine," murmurs the young teacher-in-training. "It will take time, but she will understand." If there is one virtue that could be applied to the at-times temperamental woman, it is her unerring ability to comfort others in times of distress. She is patient, if a little bossy, and utterly devoted to those she calls 'family.' Asabeth tries to take comfort in that knowledge. There is already rumor in the town that Tilda, a married woman and former House-Sister, will foster Saila by the end of the year; the young child will be well-cared for.

Mera leads her to the front of the room, where a small, hand-carved mahogany box sits on the main table, where the instructor usually oversees her pupils during their daily classes. The lid of the box is open, revealing the loose pearls and the curled silver chains inside. Someone has already strung an emerald-colored pearl on one of the chains, signifying a birthday or a rebirth—her rebirth. This is a memory-chain box, a tradition that every Reiian keeps from one generation to the next. The first stone is given on the day a child is born, and the chain is kept by a parent until the child reaches adulthood and takes on the duty. Asabeth doesn't have one because she had no past, until today, when she sets out to find her stories.

Her vision blurs as she gently closes the cover, studying the intricate rose design inlaid on the box's lid. She picks up and manages to say a coherent thank you to the room at large. She holds back her tears as people embrace her, murmuring prayers in her ears, holding her hands briefly. Someone drapes a warm cloak over her shoulders before someone else fastens the simple clasp. She is passed through the crowd, from one person to the next, until she finds herself standing at the threshold of the open door.

For the first time she can remember, Asabeth is seized by a paralyzing anxiety that shortens her breath. A part of her wants to flee back upstairs, to what she has known for the greater part of her known past, to retreat into safety, but a greater portion of her soul insists that she must step forward into the unknown without hesitation.

Mera squeezes her hand one last time and the two women embrace in a wordless farewell. Pretending she's not crying even as teardrops stain her cheeks, the young teacher stands back to let others say goodbye. Jiaha's hug is tight and she's given up on holding back her tears as she thanks Asabeth for being a mentor and a true sister. The older woman isn't sure precisely what she tells the young woman, but Jiaha is smiling with gratitude and confidence when they part.

She takes one last look at the crowded foyer, and smiles confidently before she steps over the threshold of the Sister-House. A chorus of goodbyes follows her departure, but none of the women are permitted, by unspoken law and tradition, to walk with her beyond the front door. They are, after all, unfortunate, and all caution must be taken that no misfortune follows anyone who leaves this place. She walks down the porch steps and sets foot on the garden path, memory box carefully cradled against her chest. She is not going to cry.

An escort made up of the Town Guard waits for her at the end of the garden path that marks the boundary of the Sister-House. They will walk her through the settlement to the Stargate, an honor guard of sorts since her departure to the city of Ancestors will mark the first step forward in the treaty process between the Lanteans and Reiians. She can see that they already have her bags slung over their shoulders. She doesn't have much to take with her, but she's rather surprised they didn't borrow a mule to carry her belongings in order to leave their hands free.

Her hand placed on the lock of the low garden gate, she turns to look back at the place she's called home for all of her memory. All of the windows of the Sister-House are open, and she can see people almost hanging out of the windowsills to watch her leave. When they see that she's looking back at them, some of the younger children start singing a song of safekeeping at the top of their lungs. She smiles broadly and waves back to them before she undoes the simple mental latch.

As soon as she steps through the gate, one of the Guards pulls it shut behind her. There is a finality that she hears in the jingle of the lock and she knows that she can never go back to the way things were. She takes a deep breath and begins to walk through the crowded streets, accepting the stares and prayers that are thrown her way. She is a dignified woman, and she will show no fear.

"—there's no reason for her collapse."

The foreign accent fell softly on her ears as she floated in the gentle heartbeats between sleeping and waking. Deciding to venture to peek at the world around her, she realized her mistake a second too late and she slammed her eyes shut against the bright glare. She heard someone whimper quietly in pain. It took her a disturbing moment to realize that the sound came from her.

"Asa?" She carefully turned her head in the direction of her mentor's voice, who ordered briskly, "Could you please close the curtains?" After the sound of metal sliding against metal, Sebian coaxed gently, "Asabeth, can you open your eyes?"

She carefully did what he asked, relieved to see that the sunlight had been blocked out of the private room. A sigh of gratitude escaped her before she asked, "What happened?"

"You collapsed," said Sebian shortly, taking her hand in his. She could see his worry written into the wrinkles of his skin. "You're scaring us too much, Asa…"

Warm fingers slipped around her other wrist and she looked to see a doctor, tall and dark-haired, standing on the other side of her bed. He smiled kindly at her as he took her pulse, "How do you feel?"

"This is Dr. Beckett," supplied Sebian in a quiet murmur. "He's been looking after you."

For some reason, the name seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn't place where she had heard it before. Sorrow flittered through her, a deep aching loss that briefly cut through her frustration. She blinked, trying to rid herself of her sluggish thoughts, "My head still hurts."

He frowned, "More or less than this morning?"

"More," she whispered, trying to think past the pounding in her skull. Sebian squeezed her hand, and protectively put his other hand on her shoulder, "Doctor, perhaps we should send her home."

"What?" she breathed, confused, "Sebian, what are—"

"Hush, Asa," he ordered before he continued talking to the doctor, "In all the time she's been with us, she's been as healthy as a muran boar, yet she comes here, to this city, and she's collapsed twice now in the span of two days. That cannot possibly be good for her."

The doctor's expression was a mixture of thoughtful and concerned. Pulling over a high stool, he sat down and looked at her, asking, "Have you touched anything since you've come here?"

"Other than to open doors, or to turn on lights?" she responded, "No."

Dr. Beckett seemed perplexed by her answer because he asked, "Nothing that glowed when you approached or touched it?"

Careful not to upset her queasy stomach, she shook her head slightly, "No."

"Of course, she wouldn't have," an abrasive voice cut in. Sebian stiffened his back, and she could see his defensive walls go up at the entrance of a shorter, cranky man in the room. She gave her mentor a questioning look, one that went ignored. "Carson, I don't know why you even bother asking her. I made sure that they wouldn't be anywhere near Ancient technology."

Half-turning in his chair, the doctor sighed with the exasperated patience of someone who was much too familiar with having to deal with a handful of a child, "Rodney, I'm with a patient right now and that means…"

"It's not like she's objecting to—"

"Rodney, I expect better from you! It's one thing when it's the Colonel or Ronon or Teyla in here, but this is completely—"

"Rodney," she felt relief when she heard his relaxed voice before he came into the room as well. He smiled a little when he saw that she was awake, but continued to address his companion, "she was wandering all around the city."

"I gave my scientists clear orders—"

"Your scientists also tend to leave—"

"Oh please! It's not my fault that your brainless—"

"Stop it, both of you!" said Dr. Beckett sharply, his temper clearly on edge. Surprisingly, the two men immediately obeyed, both of them sliding concerned looks in her direction.

"Now," the doctor continued briskly, "since you happen to be here, do either of you have a LSD or something equally as harmless?"

He didn't hesitate in slipping a rectangular device out of his companion's pocket and tossing it to Dr. Beckett who easily caught it with both hands.

"Hey!"

"Be quiet, Rodney," he threatened mildly, "or I'll drag you on our morning run tomorrow."

That seemed to shut the abrasive man up. The doctor turned to her, holding out the device, "I want you to take this and think On."

"What is it?"asked Sebian cautiously. Rodney scoffed, but before he could say anything, he saw the look on his friend's face and stayed silent. The doctor looked relieved at the lack of interruption as he responded, "It's what we call a Life Signs Detector. It can distinguish between different species, like humans and Wraith, which is helpful. I want to see if she can turn it on. Not everyone can do it, but…"

Sebian demanded to know, "You think this will explain what is happening?"

"Maybe," the doctor responded ambiguously, still holding out the device to her. She carefully disentangled her hand from Sebian's tight grip and reached out to touch the Ancient scanner.

As soon as she brushed against the cool surface, its touch screen immediately flared to life and she instinctively jerked her hand back. Judging by the incoherent spluttering of one man and the shocked silence of the other two, she guessed that she wasn't supposed to be able to do that, that they didn't expect her to be able to turn it on. She swallowed hard and scooted a little closer to a very tense Sebian. With a protective arm around her shoulders, he held her in a way that she knew would let him pull both of them to the ground in a heartbeat if necessary. She fervently hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Clearly deep in thought, Dr. Beckett slipped the device into his pocket and said slowly, "I would like to take another blood sample from her, Councilor, and then I think… I think it would be a good idea for you to take her home for a little while."

"Carson…?" he asked cautiously into the fragile silence, placing a restraining hand on Rodney who looked torn between exploding with curiosity and keeling over from confusion. The doctor ignored his question, focusing instead on her mentor, "Councilor, would you permit that?"

"Asa?" he breathed quietly, giving the decision to her. She nodded slightly before he said firmly, "Fine, but I stay with her."

"Of course," the doctor nodded, "of course…if you'll excuse us?" He gestured at the two men who had intruded into her room. Sebian nodded and the doctor cleared the area, closing the door softly behind him.

Once they were alone, she sighed and closed her eyes, sagging into Sebian's comforting warmth. From the first day she had come into his care as a student, he had protected her against all who warned against the incorporation of a stranger into the heart of the Reiian diplomatic ranks. He was her mentor, her father-like figure who patiently explained longstanding traditions to a bemused woman, taught her the complexities of protocol and gently guided her to learn from her mistakes. He was the one who insisted on her inclusion in the delegation, his argument bolstering her own pleas to be included. He watched over her and treated her like she was one of his own children, and she trusted him to look out for her.

"Asa, I am sorry."

"Don't be," she said. "People have been apologizing to me left and right today, and I'm still not sure why."

"Maybe I shouldn't have let you stay where you were seen," he whispered, "Maybe I shouldn't have brought you here. Perhaps it would have spared you all this pain and confusion."

"I want to know, Sebian. I want to know who I am, not just to you, but… Please. Please give me this chance to know."

He sighed heavily and held her so tight she could hear his heart beating in his chest, "All right, we will continue negotiations with these people, but you," he kissed her hair, "you are going home."

"Okay," she said quietly, silently wondering where her true 'home' was. She missed the fact that she had used a non-Reiian word to indicate her assent, even though she did hear Sebian's deep, resigned sigh. He pulled away from her when the door slid open again and the doctor stepped back into the room, this time carrying a small tray in his hands. Dr. Beckett set the tray on her bedside table and she shifted her position until she was sitting upright on her own. She ignored the way the room swayed around her, even though Sebian reached out to touch her shoulder with a steadying hand.

"No, lay back on your pillows," the doctor instructed kindly, firmly pushing her back to rest against the soft surface. He put on a pair of clean gloves, "Could you give me your left arm?"

As he steadied her trembling limb against the firm mattress, he flashed a reassuring smile at her, "Relax, this will be quick."

He talked her quietly through the procedure, a soothing litany of words that helped her hold back her inner panic. He asked her to talk about her life on Reiia, of inconsequential manners that were harmless as subjects of discussion but immensely helpful in distracting her. When he was done, he asked her quietly, "How is your headache?"

"I'm doing a little better," she answered. He hesitated before he said, "If the pain is bad, I can give you something to help." He gestured to a small vial from his tray. She firmly answered, "No."

He studied her for a moment and then nodded, "All right. You can stay here until you're ready to go."

"Thank you," she said, and it was a sentiment echoed by her mentor. With a polite smile, the man gathered his equipment and quietly left the room. She sighed and sank back into her pillows. She stared up at the ceiling, trying to clear her thoughts, before she closed her eyes with another heavy sigh.

With Sebian standing guard, she dozed off into a light sleep.