Chapter 2

Three weeks ago...

Why the president of the United States of America had thought it a good idea to throw the people of Atlantis a party – especially at the White House – could probably have gone down in history as one of those 'What were you thinking?' ideas. It's probably a good thing then that history was never informed. And as history had to remain ignorant – along with the regular people of earth – only a select few were invited.

The party was planned for a Friday a week after Atlantis landed on earth. And as nobody was supposed to know about the immense city-ship in the sea, a part of the guests were forced to arrive at the party in cloaked puddle jumpers. The normal people arrived in Limo's and helicopters. But behind the White House, on a designated spot, twelve puddle jumpers were parked. However close one got to the spot, all one would ever see was a piece of green grass with a lot of guards surrounding it. The tabloids had a field day with speculation.

Of course, things did not go as smooth at the party itself. The first problem had been Ronon Dex. Though he had been to earth before, he had always been allowed to keep at least a couple of weapons on him – if 'allowed' was a good word for it. But as the guests entered the building, they were forced to pass through a metal detector.

And of course Ronon set it off. Then of course the guard waved that wand-thing over him. It beeped – repeatedly.

"Um, sir, do you have any metal on you?" he asked.

"Yes," Ronon replied. Teyla Emmagan – already through the detector – rolled her eyes.

"Um, could you remove them, please?" the guard requested.

"No." Ronon wasn't a man of many words.

"Sir, we need to make sure you aren't carrying any weapons," the flustered guard explained. The guard was used to the cooperation of people. Nothing in his life had prepared him for Ronon.

"I am carrying weapons," Ronon replied. He smiled. It was not a very pleasant smile. The guard nearly died right there on the spot.

"Sir, will you please step this way?"

"Why?" Ronon's smile died.

"Because we need to take your weapons from you."

"No."

By now they had an audience. Teyla thought now might be a good time to intervene.

"Ronon, perhaps you should do as the man asks," she politely tried to convince her friend.

"No." And the audience was growing. In the end the president self had to step in and assure the guards – all four of them in a stand-off with Ronon – that they should just leave him be. He might be carrying a weapon – or ten – but he was no threat. Or, at least, no threat to anyone at the party.

"There you are," John Sheppard finally rescued Ronon from all the attention. "Mister President, I see you've met Ronon, our resident Satedan."

"Yes," Ronon answered instead. He towered above the young president, but at least he was smiling.

"Ah, the one they called the runner," the president smiled as he held out his hand. Perhaps the man was not as smart as he seemed. But Ronon behaved himself nicely. He smiled back at the president and shook his hand. Perhaps he gripped the president's hand a bit too hard, though. John could see how white the American's hand turned beneath the steely grip of the Satedan, but to his credit the president didn't even flinch.

"Now, Ronon, be nice," John admonished. He really hoped they made it through the evening.

"I am always nice," Ronon smiled, and John started to wonder if making was the wrong word: perhaps he should start worrying if they were able to survive the evening. Fortunately the president wasn't someone who had time to stand around and chat. His leaving probably saved Ronon's life.

A little further on, Rodney McKay and Sitnalta were chatting with Evan Lorne. A few of the other scientists in the room had tried to start a conversation with McKay, but that turned out to be a complicated confusion. In a room of a few hundred people, only a select few had the security clearance to know about Atlantis. So of those who came to talk to Rodney, only about half knew what he had been up to. That half he sent on their way by simply telling them they know he was smarter and he had been proving it these past few years. Those without clearance simply left after a while, unable to stand his snide comments. Sitnalta knew how much it frustrated her lover that he had been at the top of his field, but was unable to prove it, as everything was still classified. So now the three of them – Rodney, Sitnalta and Lorne – formed a small island of their own; shunned by the rest of the guests.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone alienate so many people in so short a time," Lorne remarked as the last scientist finally admitted defeat and left.

Rodney lifted his head, looking a bit self-conscious. "Well, I can't help it if all of them only dabble in science."

Lorne lifted a pastry to his mouth, and just before he popped it in, remarked: "If you say so."

Sitnalta glared at the younger man, yet her eyes danced with laughter. "Well, you have to admit Doctor Miles' theory about quantum singularities are far off the mark," she told Lorne.

"Yes," Rodney said, "yes!" and he turned to Sitnalta, gesturing. "The world still thinks of them only as a black hole, leaving the idea of wormholes completely untouched."

Lorne's eyes glazed over, but just as he was about to call it quits and leave, a soft feminine voice joined their group.

"Life in Atlantis has spoiled your perceptions," a new voice remarked.

"Oh, Jeannie," Rodney identified the speaker; his sister. "I didn't know you were invited."

"Sitnalta invited me," Jeannie Miller replied. She was a pretty blonde woman, about the same age as Lorne and as smart as – or even smarter – than her brother. Yet she had left the competitive world of science for the dream of the white picket-fence, a husband and a family. Rodney had thought she had thrown away her life, but she was content. And infinitely better adjusted than her brother.

Sitnalta saved all of them from an embarrassing sibling fight by smoothly stepping in, hugging Jeannie and complementing her on her looks.

But in fact it was two of the Atlantis women – and Ronon – who really stood out in the crowd. Most of the women had either worn their formal military dress, or a cocktail dress – as Jeannie self had. But Teyla had worn her best outfit; consisting of a lot of leather, flowing lines and a bare belly. In her hair she wore a single braid, adorned with some of the beads from Torren's party. Sitnalta had worn the same lovely dress she had worn the day they had been to Dagan to fetch the ZPM. She had left her hair flowing loose, except for a single braid like Teyla's.

And Ronon had worn his best coat. No wonder he had intimidated the security guards.

For a little while the four of them chatted. Sometime during the conversation Ronon joined them, and the five of them were able to ignore the rest of the crowd. But then a bark interrupted the whole thing. Somehow the presidential dog had gotten into the party and was now happily begging food from guests.

"What is that?" Sitnalta asked.

"A dog," Jeannie answered. "We keep them as pets," she explained further when it was obvious Sitnalta did not understand. "Pets are almost like our companions."

"Companions?" Sitnalta asked. Her eyes lit up. "I want one," she added. Then, without warning the dog came over to the chatting group. Sitnalta bent, picked up the startled dog and pressed her face into the creature's fur. It wasn't a small dog, and Sitnalta could barely hold on to it. "You are so pretty," she told it.

Moments later the dog-sitter arrived, out of breath. "Ma'am, I am so sorry!" he apologised. He tried to take the dog, but Sitnalta turned her back on him; still holding on to the dog.

"Just give him the dog," Rodney told his lover. She narrowed her eyes.

"No." She held even tighter, making the dog whine. "Oh, you poor dog!" she exclaimed, apparently relaxing her grip. It licked her face and right there Rodney knew he had to get her away from the dog: he disliked the creatures, and now she seemed extremely taken with it. Her soft laughter at the canine caress didn't help his state of mind, either.

"Hey, you must be the lovely Sitnalta," another voice suddenly joined the group. Instinctively Sitnalta turned to the speaker. A tall, grey-haired man stood there, grinning crookedly. "I'm Jack O'Neill," he introduced himself.

Sitnalta gave a little yelp of joy and flung one arm around the man. In her other arm she still held on to the dog; legs hanging limply. "General Jack!" she exclaimed in her usual fashion. Rodney had up to now refused to introduce her to the president, as he was not sure how the man would react to her habit of first names.

"I thought you haven't met," Teyla said, frowning slightly at O'Neill and Sitnalta. When the younger woman finally disengaged herself from the general, she grinned at her friend.

"No, we haven't. But I've heard a lot about him and his team," she explained. The dog seemed as happy to see O'Neill as Sitnalta, and it gladly started to eat the snacks on his plate.

"Sir," the dog-sitter turned to O'Neill; probably hoping to appeal to what he thought was a higher authority. "Please, the dog..."

"Is there a problem with the dog?" the older man asked. Again Sitnalta turned her hip towards the dog-sitter. She glared at him.

"Sir, I need to get it back to its kennel," he pleaded.

Sitnalta nearly growled at the man. "A kennel! You want to lock it up? No."

"Ma'am, it's a presidential dog. Its kennel is probably bigger than your house," the young dog-sitter tried to explain. Of course it back-fired. But how was he to know Sitnalta reckoned the whole of Atlantis was her home?

Fortunately O'Neill leaned over and whispered something in her ear. She turned to the tall man and sweetly asked: "Would you?"

"Of course," he grinned. "It is an earth rule." Immediately, without further ado, Sitnalta passed the big dog to the sitter.

"Wait, what just happened?" Rodney asked, looking perplexed.

O'Neill gave him a very innocent look. "I guess I'm just," and he shrugged, "naturally good with women."