Chapter 33: Follow Through

John pinched the bridge of his nose as he read through the latest briefing from the infirmary. In the last week, there had been an all-time record number of personnel reporting to the infirmary for sleeping aids and descriptions of what could only be night terrors. The last time this had happened, people had died from the literal fright. It wasn't something any of them wanted to repeat.

Unfortunately, they hadn't yet found the cause and didn't exactly want to make a city-wide broadcast that would send the rest of the inhabitants into a panic. John knew Rodney was carefully reviewing all scientific finds over the past several weeks, but so far, no luck.

For the time being, the sleeping aids seemed to do the trick and John had hope that they would make progress soon.

Especially since he was now dealing with his own brand of night terrors.

Ping.

He reached over and activated his data pad, swiping through to the internal email system, and opening up the most recent message from Carson.

Prepare for damage control.

Nothing more.

No details.

No hint as to what he needed to prepare for.

Had they found something regarding the night terrors?

Had the Scot finally lost it on Dr. Madsen?

Were there more Marines – or scientists – recking havoc?

Was Woolsey causing problems?

Life had been eerily quiet for the past week, up until the nightmares came to light, so he supposed they were about due for another crisis. If he could spare bringing the SGC in this time though…

John ran a hand over his face, before slumping down further in his chair, and gazing forlornly at the stacks of personnel evaluations he needed to complete. It was exactly the message he didn't need when he was actually intending to get some work done.

Lorne wouldn't chew him out – the benefit of being the superior – but he would no doubt give one of those disappointed sighs that asked why he had gotten stuck with a superior that sucked at doing his paperwork.

Fifteen minutes later – he had gotten at least one evaluation completed – and there was another ding from his computer.

Training incident with Sierra Squad. Lieutenant Simmons will be off duty for at least two weeks, due to broken nose. Alex was involved.

Alex was involved.

John pressed a finger to his temple, already feeling the headache coming on. Because nothing was ever simple when Alex was involved. No doubt, the moment Woolsey heard anything, he would be braying for Alex to be removed from the city.

Never mind the fact that training accidents happened. Not common, but it wasn't unheard of.

Stay clear of the infirmary. Dr. Madsen is out for blood. I'll keep Alex out of the way.

And no doubt, he would interrogate Alex in that soft, persistent Scot way.

John blew out a long breath.

Right. Best let him deal with it for now.

There was nothing he could really do until he had an official report—

A sharp knock on his door pushed off any hope that he would get a bit of reprieve.

He waved a hand at the door, letting it open with a thought, and pasted a carefully blank expression on his face.

The Marine on the other side – unmistakably Sergeant Pilkes from Sierra Squad – jumped to attention and saluted him. "Sir!"

John responded with a lazy salute, before motioning the sergeant into the room. The door slid shut with nary a thought. "At ease, sergeant." And really, this was why he had Lorne to deal with these types of issues.

"Sir! I'd like to report a training incident."

John raised a careful eyebrow, before leaning back in his chair. Definitely Sierra Squad. "And you're not going through your lieutenant?" Even though he knew full well that Simmons had already been involved.

"Sir, Lieutenant Simmons was involved in the incident and is under infirmary care. Dr. Beckett recommended an immediate report so that you are fully informed before unofficial reports can trickle in. Sir."

He had to give it to Carson, that was a rather ingenious way to make sure that a sergeant actually came and reported to him. And prevented anyone from going to Woolsey to make a potentially contradicting report. "Very well, what happened Sergeant Pilkes?"

"Sierra Squad was participating in regularly scheduled training, sir. Lieutenant Simmons, and the civilian, Rider, regularly join in these activities. Rider, not as much recently due to…" Sergeant Pilkes trailed off, before firming himself. "Training was progressing normally. Holds and locks were on the training docket. Lieutenant Simmons and Rider paired off, as normal. While practicing a lock, an altercation occurred and Lieutenant Simmons' nose was broken. Rider appeared to be in shock and both were taken to the infirmary."

An altercation occurred. Surprisingly vague. "And how did Lieutenant Simmons' nose get broken?"

Sergeant Pilkes looked surprisingly shifty eyed. "I can only report what I see, sir."

John blinked.

Sat back in his seat.

They were protecting Alex. Like he was one of their own.

"And no one saw what happened?"

There was a long pause, before the man firmed his jaw. "No, sir. You'd have to ask Lieutenant Simmons."

Huh.

That was an unexpected turn of events.

"It was a training accident," John said, shrugging slightly. "Could've happened to anyone."

Sergeant Pilkes' eyes widened for a moment – he probably hadn't believed that John would actually take his word for it – before he nodded. "Yes, sir!"

"However, as Lieutenant Simmons will be off duty for the foreseeable future, make sure your squad is aware that additional responsibilities regarding Rider may be upcoming." Because if an entire squad was willing to pretend that they hadn't seen anything – especially when all the limited evidence suggested that Alex had probably punched Simmons hard enough to break his nose and then freaked out about it – then they were probably the only ones that Simmons would be willing to impart his Alex guarding duties to.

He was going to have to see who all the members of Sierra Squad actually were…

"Sir!"

After a long moment, it was clear he wasn't going to add anything else. John waved his hand at the door, letting it slide open. "Dismissed, sergeant."

As soon as the sergeant was out and the door had slid shut again, John let his head fall to his hands. Even his Marines were conspiring against him. Which meant that whatever was going on with Woolsey was filtering down to the lower ranks. The entire mess was going to come to a head at the most messy and inopportune time.

The computer dinged again, interrupting his musing.

Simmons is being seen to by one of the Corpsmen and shouldn't need surgery. Alex is resting. This appears to be a trauma induced response. If I don't miss my mark, he hasn't been sleeping.

Which, fuck.

That meant that Alex had probably been impacted by whatever nightmare device had taken hold in the city, but hadn't had enough background knowledge to actually seek out help when he needed it.

And would only explain even more why the Marines were locking the information down. They knew something was up. Not a one of them would miss what a PTSD or similar episode would look like. They knew and they were going to keep it from the upper levels.

Sierra Squad was probably going to earn some special duties. And special trainings…

I'll send him back to quarters once he wakes. He'll need another guard, but I can send a corpsman with him until you've got that figured out. Come down when I've released him and you should be able to get Lieutenant Simmons' side of the story.

And as much as he didn't like it, it was probably for the best. Dr. Madsen wasn't his biggest fan – and if Carson was keeping things from her, then she was going to be in even less of a pleasant mood.

He would do more good if she wasn't trying to ream him out for existing.

Let me know if you need any backup, he sent back. Because Dr. Madsen or no, sometimes talking to Alex was like talking to a brick wall.

He settled in at his desk, this time intent on reviewing just who was in Sierra Squad. Someone was going to have to keep an eye on Alex, after all.

An hour later, and more educated on Sierra Squad than any other squad currently on Atlantis, John finally got the all-clear signal from Carson. Alex was sent back to his quarters and would unofficially be off duty for the next 24-hours. Or rather, 27-hours, since it was Atlantis. Carson didn't say anything more than that though.

The infirmary was as busy as it usually was on a partial work day, but Carson's right-hand man – Corpsman Kennedy – was waiting for him near the entrance.

"Colonel," Kennedy tipped his head toward a curtained off bed. "Lieutenant Simmons sustained a fractured nose during a training incident." He slanted a glance in John's direction, as if he didn't already know this. "He needed four stitches and will be medically off-duty for the next two weeks. Dr. Madsen is optimistic that he won't need surgery."

John barely suppressed a grimace at Dr. Madsen's name, but Kennedy clearly caught on.

"Lieutenant Simmons has requested a change in provider, as he feels that Dr. Madsen unduly pressured him, while under the influence of painkillers, to make a formal complaint against Rider." There was almost a feral grin, as he all but steered John toward the curtained off bed. "Dr. Beckett has taken over his care."

And at this rate, John was going to have to rank Dr. Madsen right up there with Woolsey for causing problems.

The curtain being pulled to the side and the sight of Lieutenant Simmons' face was enough to push off those concerns. The bruising was already spreading to around his eyes and there was no doubt that in a few hours he would have quite impressive black eyes. The splint and packing overwhelmed the small bandage for the stitches.

He looked a right mess.

"Sir?" Simmons squinted up at him, then tried to push himself into an upright position.

John waved him off, taking a seat in the visitor's chair, and waited until Kennedy left them alone. "You've clearly seen better days," John said, settling in.

There was a hint of a smile, hint of a grimace on Simmons face. "Yes, sir."

"Sierra Squad already filled me in. Training accident." He let that sit for a while, before letting the bombshell drop. "No one saw anything."

Simmons froze in place. "No… one?"

"Hmm…"

"I just… it was my fault."

John raised an eyebrow. "You punched yourself in the face?"

There was a telltale blush at that. "No, I… I gripped too hard, or, pulled something, or…" He trailed off, clearly trying to grapple with an explanation that he didn't have all the details for.

No doubt, they had been in the midst of training. Going through the motions, just like they had many times before.

But John knew that no matter how hard Alex tried to bury it, he had his triggers. And through a series of events, Simmons had just been on the unfortunate receiving end of Alex's ingrained reaction.

"I'm sure Alex feels terrible right about now. But it was an accident." John let out a long sigh. Accident or not, he was going to have to work to stay ahead of the rumor mill. Surprisingly, the support from Sierra Squad was going to help with that. "You just… weren't informed of all the necessary details."

And really, if anyone deserved to know a little bit more about Alex's background, it was the person tasked with keeping him safe during the waking hours. But John also didn't feel comfortable taking that choice away from Alex.

There was another grimace from Simmons. "He's got a mean right-hook, sir."

John snorted. "Right. In the meantime, you're off duty, lieutenant. I need a replacement, preferably from Sierra Squad. Recommendations?"

There wasn't even a moment of hesitation. "Pilkes. Or Derks. They'll keep him out of trouble."

"Not sure anyone can keep him out of trouble." It was quickly turning into an undeniable fact. O'Neill had sent him a natural trouble maker. "You have two weeks off, though I recommend you go see Alex at some point. He's got a… bit of a guilt complex." John cast a glance at the curtains, wishing for a moment he could see through them and know no one was listening in. Just in case, he lowered his voice. "If anyone comes asking you questions about the incident, maintain that it was a training accident and that no further action needs to be taken."

Simmons' eyes widened for a moment, before he nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Listen to the docs." He stood up, nodded at Simmons and went to hunt down Carson.

Carson was exactly where John expected he would be, somewhat angrily stocking cabinets in his office. He clearly had an ear out for John, because he waved him in, then none too gently shut the door.

"John, you have to get rid of her."

Her.

"Er… Dr. Madsen?"

Carson looked a little wild-eyed. "She was interrogating the lad, interrogating him while putting in the stitches!"

John glanced back at the closed door. "Simmons?"

"Yes! Who else?" Carson collapsed into his chair. "Lad had sense to ask for a change in provider, but… I'm not going to be able to restrain myself much longer."

John wasn't going to ask exactly what Carson was restraining himself from doing. Plausible deniability and all that.

"I cannot complete my work when she's harassing and gossip mongering every patient that steps through those doors that has a shred of connection to you or Alex." Carson dropped his head into his hands. "This is nae my infirmary anymore. Victimizing patients. Random inspections. Nitpicking diagnoses or treatment. She held her tongue while Major Davis was here – probably the only thing that saved Alex from her – but the moment he was off city, demands for complete records. Patient information she has no need for."

John took in a sharp breath. "Carson…"

"No, no, no, these are our problems." He shook his head. "I cannot blame all our problems on her. Resources are slim, non-essential equipment failing that hasn't been replaced in five years—I think I need a holiday."

The situation really was dire. Because the last holiday Carson had willingly taken had ended up with him dying. And John doubted the universe had another spare Carson lying around. They had been lucky to get – and keep – this one.

"Has anyone brought these… concerns to Woolsey?" Because although Woolsey had been acting rather out of character with the whole Alex situation, he couldn't imagine the man turning a blind eye to the infirmary staff slowly self-destructing. If it really was that bad, he was almost surprised there weren't more requests to return to earth from the infirmary staff.

Carson looked up and gave him a self-depreciating smile. "Woolsey is… rather uncomfortable with my situation. And he defers to Dr. Madsen's judgments. They're… friendly, if that particular gossip is to be believed."

Which, eurgh. Woolsey was at least twenty years Dr. Madsen's senior. At least.

"Dr. Carlisle tried to say something but… you know what happened to him."

An unfortunate accident on P2X-102 that had resulted in permanent nerve damage to his hands. He had been sent to the SGC once it was clear they had exhausted Atlantis' resources. Saved his life, but too late to save his career. He understandably had more things to worry about than the deteriorating state of the Atlantis infirmary.

"Okay, just…" John ran a tired hand through his hair. There were so many pieces he was juggling and somehow he had just missed that the infirmary staff were all being terrorized by their CMO. He couldn't even blame that on the whole Alex situation – because this had started long before then if Dr. Carlisle tried to complain. "See if… see if Rodney can find anything on her. Access attempts to unauthorized places, or… something. Get a report together for Mitchell." Because Mitchell at least had a little sway with the IOA and could always rope O'Neill in if necessary.

Anything more though, and he was overstepping his bounds.

"And we thought reconnecting with earth would make our lives easier." Carson snorted. "Alls the IOA's done is stick their fingers where they weren't needed. I'd take the original expedition back in a heartbeat."

"I don't know, I'm kind of fond of Lorne."

"Okay, we can keep him."

John managed a half smile, before remembering what had brought him down in the first place. "So… Alex and Lieutenant Simmons?"

Carson's shoulders drooped again. "Simmons should be back on his feet in no time. Swelling will go down and his nose should heal just fine. Two weeks off duty though."

That matched what Simmons had said.

"Alex though… is a bit more complicated."

Which was what he had been afraid of.

"Given the current situation, there is no one qualified to treat Alex's mental health issues, but we're going to have to cobble something together. Even if this current bout is related to whatever nightmare virus seems to be going about, he's still a child. It's nae right that we've ignored his mental health needs. I'll take a deep dive through his treatment records to see what worked previously. It might just be that he needs more check-ins than, well… the none he's had so far." Carson shrugged. "He attended classes full time and held down a job, so I'm thinking the failure was on our part for not providing him with the proper resources. Six hours of sleep in the past few days is not enough for anyone to function on."

Six hours…

John ran a tired hand through his hair. Everything had been going so… well? He wasn't even sure he could use that to describe it. But… Alex had been acting just like any other person on the base and John had forgotten that he had been in weekly therapy up until coming to the city.

Another point of failure.

"He agreed to some sleeping pills for tonight and I'll check in with him tomorrow." Carson spread his hands. "That's all we can do for now."

Treating the symptoms, not the cause. While John had his own demons to deal with, for the most part sleep was so precious that it never had the opportunity to impede there. And he has a personal suspicion that Atlantis as a whole did something for keeping the nightmares away for the gene carriers. Just not enough to content with this nightmare… whatever.

"Keep me posted." John stood up from the chair and let his hand hover over the doorknob for a long moment. "And talk with Rodney. He can look into some of your Madsen issues." Not that Rodney would thank him for giving him even more covert tasks to hide under Woolsey's nose. Not that that was hard, but… it was the principle of the matter.

Madsen.

Woolsey.

Alex.

Simmons.

The Trust.

Ancient Killers.

There were quickly becoming far too many pieces for him to hold on to.

Something was going to have to give and it wouldn't be pretty when it happened.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

John jerked from his daze of staring at personnel evaluations. Just a handful more to go through.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

He shook himself, then tapped his comm. "Sheppard here."

"Colonel, an… issue has come up in my latest simulations." It took a moment to place the voice, particularly because he was being so formal. Carson. "I was wondering if it would be possible to go over the results with you sometime soon."

John blinked. That was definitely more Rodney's area than his. And they had already determined that the nightmare device Dr. Vernon had inadvertently brought onto base was the culprit for the recent lack of sleep in nearly 50% of base personnel. But… "Uh, sure… I'll be in my office all afternoon." Because he didn't really want to risk crossing paths with Dr. Madsen at this point. And also… Carson was being cagey.

"Of course, I'll come by when I have a moment. Thank you, Colonel."

The comm clicked off, Carson clearly finished, and John just blinked.

What was it with Carson and being so damnably vague all of a sudden?

Maybe all the cloak and dagger with Alex was going to his head…?

Or things with Dr. Madsen really were getting that serious?

Not even ten minutes later though, Carson appeared at his door looking rather flustered. And almost like he had run the distance between the transporter to John's office.

John waved him in, letting the door shut with a decisive click, then made a show of letting his little debugging device scan the room. Clearly, something was up that had Carson disturbed.

Carson just paced back and forth in front of the desk and started wringing his hands.

"Carson…?"

"We've got a problem. A… big problem. Well, maybe not. But if they've looked at it, it's a problem."

"Uh…"

"Look, you know I've been working on the gene sequencing project. Trading information with Dr. Bell at the SGC."

John nodded slowly. He had gotten the spiel every time Carson requested a new blood sample. There were signs that the ATA gene mutated as the carrier matured and the process was different for the natural and artificial gene carriers. He wasn't going to pretend that he completely understood all the ins and outs of it, but Carson seemed to think it was important work.

"When Dr. Morray came, it was the perfect opportunity to send some data and samples back to Dr. Bell. But one of those samples was corrupted. Or at least, I thought it was. And I don't know how it's possible, but… But it is. Apparently. And it's going to be a problem."

"Whoa, whoa, what is going to be a problem?"

Carson just froze and stared at him, as if noticing he was in the room for the first time. "Oh, John…"

John blinked. "Uhm… I'm not dying, right?" When Carson just continued to stare at him, John asked a little more urgently. "Right?"

Carson seemed to shake himself. "No… no… no one is dying…" he said very slowly. Carefully. "But if this gets to the wrong people… very bad things are going to happen."

John wanted to reach out and shake the answer out of him. "What—"

"Unscheduled off-world activation!"

John winced at the volume coming through the command line.

Fuck.

There were no teams off world. Everyone was on a week-long standdown, since some people actually wanted to celebrate the upcoming holidays.

Or just wanted a week where they could almost guarantee that no one would end up dead.

"John—!"

John just pushed past Carson, in all but a dead out sprint to the nearest transporter.

"Atlantis, this is the SGC."

John recognized O'Neill's serious tone. He had only ever heard it once – and that had been cause for shit is going down.

"Command Code Alpha Three Theta Niner Delta."

Threat to national security.

"Get Colonel Sheppard here as quickly as possible."

John skidded into the transporter, with Carson – oddly – on his heels. "On my way."

The gate room was a madhouse. Well, as much of a madhouse as it could possibly be with a skeleton crew on duty. But Woolsey was already there demanding answers, Rodney was typing away furiously on a laptop, and O'Neill just looked pissed that this was taking any time at all.

"Sir!"

"Sheppard, conference room, now."

John hesitated for the barest moment, taking in the angry flush on Woolsey's face to know that that man had not been invited, then skirted around the chaos to the conference room.

It was only a matter of seconds before Rodney followed him in with a laptop and started hooking it up to the conference system.

"Lock those doors," Rodney instructed, fiddling with wires and attachments. "Hah!"

The screen flickered on, with O'Neill in full technicolor glory. And very clearly in a room that provided just as much privacy as the conference room.

"I thought I said alone." The annoyed glint in O'Neill's eyes was just slightly less alarming than his angry expression.

"Yes, well, unless you want that—" Rodney cut himself off, clearly biting off a less than equitable name for Woolsey. "If you want him to stay out of this, you need me here. And you better have your people blocking things on your end."

"And Dr. Beckett?"

John spun around to see that Carson had followed them into the room. Somehow, he hadn't noticed when he locked down the doors…

"Does this have to do with Dr. Bell's research?" There was a surprisingly firm set to Carson's jaw.

O'Neill narrowed his eyes in Carson's direction. "So, you know."

"Well, um, just recently." The firm set wavered, quelled under O'Neill's stare. "And, I fear this may be my fault in the first place. Well… for you getting that. Not that you don't have the right to know, but um… I'll just keep quiet now."

Even Rodney was staring at Carson in askance.

"Right." O'Neill clapped his hands together. "Let's get this horse and pony show on the road. McKay, you ready?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "If anyone gets access to this link, it's because your morons hit cancel instead of accept."

O'Neill snorted, seeming to relax minutely.

But he had still used a command code. National security.

"Sheppard," O'Neill leaned forward, until he was right up close to the screen. "Where the fuck were you in 1993?"

John blinked. "What?"

That was completely out of left field.

"1993. Where."

"Uh… Stanford? Finishing my masters?" Really, those few years somewhat blended together.

"Now see, that's the strange thing. Because you were." O'Neill looked almost pissed off.

"Uh… yes, sir?"

O'Neill tapped a stack of papers menacingly in front of his camera. "I've got almost fifteen pages and photos documenting that you were indeed at Stanford."

"And that's a problem?"

"Yes, Sheppard, that's a big problem." O'Neill held up another stack of papers. "Because I've got just as much documenting that you were selected for a top-secret program – so top-secret that the agency it was through isn't disclosed anywhere. From '92 to '93. And you finished your Master's degree by correspondence."

John shook his head. "No…" he said slowly, "No top-secret program." He vividly remembered sitting through Dr. Lature's lectures on differential topology. There was no way he had just imagined those lectures. And those exams. Or writing the final paper under Dr. Pastranii's guidance.

"There was." O'Neill looked particularly frustrated. "And we've got plenty of proof of it. Proof that—" His lips thinned into a tight line. "There are so many holes in this, but we've got the cold hard facts. And I'm assuming you've cross checked your results Dr. Beckett."

John glanced over at Carson, who just nodded. "What? How… How is this relevant? Or matter to Carson's research?" What did his history have to do with anything?

And clearly, somehow had hacked his files at some point.

But why?

What was the purpose?

"Oh, it matters Sheppard. Because you've got a kid."

"What!" Rodney shouted and John just fell into a chair.

"No…" He shook his head. "That's not… that's not possible." He had only married Nancy because his father was pressuring him to carry on the family legacy. They had hardly seen each other with their schedules. The marriage had fallen apart in less than a year.

There was no time for a child to come into the picture.

"Aye, it's possible," Carson said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"But…"

If Nancy had had a kid, his father would have known. It would have been the perfect leverage to bring him back into line.

There was no way that…

"Congrats, it's a boy." There was a hint of a sarcastic smile on O'Neill's face.

A boy.

A kid.

His… son.

Fuck.

"But how… who… what?" He held a hand to his chest, not sure if he was having a heart attack or just… couldn't breathe. "How?"

"Well, Sheppard, when a man and a woman—" O'Neill very obviously got elbowed in the side, and Daniel Jackson appeared to the side of the frame.

"Sorry, Sam asked me to keep him under control." Jackson turned to O'Neill and punched him in the arm. "And just because you've had two whole extra hours to adjust to all this, give him a break."

"And you all care so much about my sudden… fatherhood? As a threat to national security?"

It had earned him the trifecta's attention after all – O'Neill, Jackson, and apparently, Carter.

O'Neill looked slightly chagrined. "Well, there are multiple mysteries to this little bundle of joy. You're the father, Beckett's the uncle, and I'm…well, the grandfather." His nose wrinkled at the title.

John wasn't sure they could tell him anything more surprising. "W-what…?"

"Oh, believe me, that's a mystery we're all trying to figure out." O'Neill leaned forward and looked particularly gleeful. "And of course, our favorite little troublemaker is all mixed up in it."

Favorite little troublemaker?

There was no one, who…

Oh.

John choked back a hysterical laugh.

God, that kid.

"No, no… Good try. Good joke. Very funny." He caught Carson's gaze and tried to grin. Tried to believe that they were all playing some terrible practical joke on him. A long-con. That had been Rodney's first quip, after all. That he had brought back the remnants of a conquest.

So they got O'Neill in on it.

How else would Carson have known to come to him just before the gate dialed?

It couldn't have just been a coincidence.

"John," Carson laid his hand on John's shoulder. "It's not a joke. I got a recent sample from Alex to double check. I thought it had gotten contaminated."

His son.

He was going to be sick.

"We can't… we can't be related. He can hardly fly the jumpers."

There was a sharp inhale from Rodney. "You let him fly? Wait! That wonky flight two weeks ago, where you were testing the emergency systems? You let him fly?"

John shrugged. "He needs to learn sometime…" He shook his head sharply. "What you're saying is impossible. There was no…" He floundered for the words. "Secret mission. And no way that… that Alex is my son!"

He could really use a stiff drink right about now.

Zelenka's home brew.

Ronon's liquor that was just a step shy of some really good vodka.

Because this… this was a reason to get rip roaring drunk if he had ever heard one.

"Sheppard, are you even listening anymore?" O'Neill sounded particularly exasperated.

Heh.

O'Neill was a grandfather.

Which meant that John had somehow procreated with O'Neill's daughter. Who also happened to be related to Carson in some way? And as far as he knew, O'Neill wasn't that much older than him. Certainly not the necessary number of years to have a daughter that was, in any way, not a minor in 1993.

There was no way that it didn't come out sounding absolutely ridiculous.

Alex, I am your father. Didn't have quite the same amusing ring to, as when it had been Darth Vader to utter those words.

"As I was saying, we managed to track down the timeline a bit on our end," Jackson continued as if O'Neill had never interrupted. He had taken over once Carson finished explaining the DNA science mumbo-jumbo that told John just how screwed he was. "1969 was… uhm, classified."

"The entire year?" Rodney butted in.

"Well… there may have been a bit of… er… time traveling involved." Jackson made a motion to cut Rodney off. "Solar flares, you know the details. Someone didn't understand the ramifications of messing with the timeline." Here, he gave O'Neill a pointed look. "And well… Helen Beckett came into being."

"Helen being…?"

"Alex's mother and Dr. Beckett's half-sister."

John was only partially gratified when Carson sat down heavily next to him. At least he wasn't the only one being blindsided by news.

"She had a falling out with me 'da. We only got the death certificate in the mail in…"

"1993," Jackson finished. "May 12, 1993."

John sucked in a sharp breath. There were few days in his life that he had crystal clear memory of – but May 13, 1993 was one of them. He could almost taste the bitter coffee he had been drinking – swill that only the graduate lounges could get away with – when his advisor had pulled him into his office and informed him that he was needed urgently at home. His brother had died, May 12, 1993.

"John?"

He blinked rapidly, shaking off the memory. "Sorry, just… that's when my brother died."

"Your… brother…?" O'Neill had an eyebrow raised, skeptically. "Last I knew, dear old Dave Sheppard was still alive and kicking. And being a pain in the ass."

John shook his head slowly. And wow, that was a blast from the past. Smarting wounds that never really went away. "No… this was my older brother. Well, half-brother." He was the first one to dash dad's hopes at a responsible heir – he had disappeared into some government job in 1980, barely kept in touch with John, and then up and died in a car accident.

Just a normal, run of the mill car accident.

All because someone had been drinking and driving and Ian hadn't been wearing his seatbelt.

Stupid.

There was the sound of rapid clicking, as Jackson hunched half over O'Neill's shoulder to get at the keyboard. "I'm not as good at this hacking thing as Sam is, but…" His face scrunched up in confusion. "That can't be right…"

John just blew out a long breath and slouched into his chair. They were going to be running up against the 38-minute deadline with gate pretty soon.

And he would really rather not unearth even more bad memories.

"Is this him?"

Jackson pushed a picture onto the screen and John studied the picture, feeling the familiar pull of loneliness in his chest. The scowl was almost on point – Ian had never liked getting his picture taken – and he looked surprisingly mature in the pinstriped suit someone had forced him into.

But the hint of gray… It made him look a lot older than the 31 years he had reached. "God, he looked old." He hadn't seen Ian since before he started university. Whatever government job he had had… it had aged him.

"John," Jackson's use of his first name caught his attention. "That's a picture from two years ago."

No.

That wasn't…

"That's Alex's uncle. Ian."

There was no way, no way…

Rodney jumped up suddenly, typing something into the computer. "You've got about a minute before the gate shuts down."

"We'll… keep looking into this. See if we can put together any other pieces."

John just shrugged carelessly. He was just going to have to file it all away into the what the hell category. It wasn't like they could look anything up – and Rodney would be hampered by the mere fact that they didn't have the world wide web at their fingertips.

"Sheppard," O'Neill cut back in. "He deserves to know."

John couldn't bring himself to meet the man's eyes. Because Alex was just one part of the equation. He couldn't even begin to explain this to himself – much less a teenager that already had all the reason to be suspicious of his elders.

The video feed clicked off a handful of seconds later and Rodney let the computer fall shut.

"Well, fuck."

That about summed up the entire situation.

A clusterfuck.

"You need to tell him," Carson said softly. "He trusts you."

John snorted. "And say what? What am I supposed to say? I'm your father, but oh, by the way, I don't remember your mother, and apparently my brother – who I thought was dead – raised you to be a super teenaged spy and assassin!" He jerked out of the chair and started pacing the conference room. "I can see, oh, only about five million different ways our little escape artist can take that – and none of them good! Did I forget to mention the people who want him dead?"

He ran a hand through his hair – regretting, not for the first time, that he had taken that short cut to the mess hall.

Life would've been so much easier. So much less complicated.

But… then he would've missed Alex. And who knew what would've happened to him.

And that was…

His kid.

"Look, I just… I need to process this." And with a thought, he undid all the protections locking down the room, and all but sprinted out of the room. He brushed past Woolsey – let the others figure out what type of lies to tell this time – and headed straight for the armory. Blasting the life out of a target seemed to be right about what he needed.

And maybe a stiff drink or two.

A/N: So… What do you think? How will Alex react to this? I may have been sitting on this particular idea for the past two years. And yes, I know, there are a lot of questions to be answered. Which will all be answered in time. I hope.