Chapter 34: Your Father

Alex was pretty sure his golden era on Atlantis was well and truly over. He had someone new, mainly Sergeant Pilkes, following him around since Greg was off duty, there were some wary looks from the other scientists in the labs once the rumors started flying, and Sheppard suddenly couldn't look him in the face anymore.

Granted, no one had missed the sudden emergency dial in from the SGC so there were other explanations for why Sheppard might be out of sorts. Not that anyone knew why.

The only real good news was that Alex had managed to sleep through the night for the past two nights and Carson had reassured him that some nightmare device had been the culprit for the increase in, well, nightmares. Once that had been removed from the city… everything seemed to be going better.

The wires he was working with touched, creating a small spark, and Alex jerked away, sucking on his singed fingertips.

Just because he was sleeping again didn't mean he was suddenly back up to par. And the other scientists knew it.

There was a long sigh from Dr. Z, before the offending device was taken out of his hands. "Perhaps it is time for some book work, hmm?"

Alex let his shoulders droop. There really wasn't any reason for him to be zoning out, but…

Dr. Z just patted his shoulder, before nodding pointedly at Alex's tablet. "Latest assignments from Rodney were uploaded this morning."

Alex groaned. Rodney's assignments were always the worst. There was, of course, the satisfaction of getting it right, but it usually required at least ten hours of work. And then painstakingly writing out why it was right, or Rodney would dock points. And much as it all felt surreal, someone somewhere, was supposedly keeping track and he would eventually get a degree at the end of it all.

Or at least have credits to transfer.

"Isn't it supposed to be the holidays?" Alex grumbled, clicking through the three security firewalls Rodney had set up on his tablet. Just so that no one could snoop on his personal education.

Dr. Z just grinned at him. "Science waits for no man."

More like Rodney McKay didn't seem to care about menial pleasantries such as holidays. And while all off-world travel had been suspended in deference to the holidays, the scientists – if anything – were working harder than ever.

"You know, you're a hard person to pin down."

Alex jerked his head up, staring at the doorway. Greg was casually leaning against the side, just watching Alex with an amused expression on his face.

His face.

Which looked horrible.

His nose was splinted and he had some impressive black eyes. Almost like someone had painted them on.

Anything Alex was going to say in response died in his throat.

Sorry.

My fault.

Didn't mean to…

But it wasn't like he could just tell Greg that he had punched him in the midst of a… a… PTSD and sleep deprivation fueled hallucination.

That would require far too many other explanations.

Dr. Z just gave him a pitying look, before clearing out of the room. No help from that quarter, it seemed.

"Of course, rumor has it you've been all but living down here, so really, I knew exactly where to come looking once Dr. Beckett let me out of my quarters." Greg crossed the room, before settling on the edge of the workbench across from Alex. He looked remarkably casual – not in his usual base uniform. "Nice to see Pilkes got you to the mess to eat, at least."

Alex shrugged. He would've avoided even that, but Pilkes had made it clear he had no intention to survive on MREs and power bars and was more than happy to bring the issue up to Major Lorne.

Which, yeah…

Greg just studied him closely, before his own shoulders slumped. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised—"

"I'm sorry!" Alex blurted out. "I didn't… I didn't mean to. Hit you. I mean, I guess I did. But not you. I got… confused. And well…" He trailed off, staring resolutely down at his tablet. "Dr. Beckett said you were okay."

"Didn't even give me a concussion," There was a teasing tone to his voice. "Definitely had worse reasons to get two weeks off. And right at the holidays too."

Alex curled in on himself. He had ruined things.

"Hey, you realize I came and found you, right? Not trying to berate you." He crossed over, pulling the tablet out of Alex's grasp. "You've got a good right hook, but probably need to work on the follow-through."

Alex looked up at Greg incredulously. How could he…

"Alex, whatever you think, we're not blind. Anyone who's spent time with you knows something's up. You got cleared on weapons in a day. That's not normal. We don't care. The Colonel brought you here and we trust his judgment."

They knew.

Or thought they knew.

"Who…?"

"Just Sierra Squad. They've seen you train. You bounced back from surgery a lot faster than any of those guys probably would." Greg shrugged. "And I know you feel like you're the kid around here, but you realize some of those Marines are not even 20 yet, right? They actually remember being your age, not the old dudes like me."

Alex couldn't help the snort. At twenty-four, Greg was the youngest of the officers, and at least a decade younger than most of the scientists and civilians on the city.

"I know there's more to your story, most people don't get dragged here by the Colonel on a whim. I'm sure you'll let us in on the secret eventually… but until it's safe to do so, we've got your back."

Alex wasn't really sure what to say to that. He just jerked his head in a shallow nod.

Okay.

So… maybe not ruined.

"Just… next time you're not feeling up to something, maybe a head's up, okay?"

Alex managed another jerk of a nod.

"Excellent. Now, I've got it on good authority that the mess is serving meatloaf for lunch, and I, for one, don't want to miss it. You know, they hoard all the good food for the holidays – then Lorne assigns extra PT to everyone." Greg deftly packed away Alex's tablet, before placing a guiding hand between his shoulder blades. There was no getting out of it. Especially not when Pilkes fell in behind them with an almost smug grin.

And maybe, Alex didn't want to.

He was going running.

The problem with having a constant shadow was that his room was the only place he really had privacy. And sometimes, he just really needed to get out of his own space.

Not that he was going to make the mistake of sneaking out again.

It was clear that Woolsey was looking for any excuse to kick him off of the city and another gallivant without Sheppard's shadows was probably the key to earning that. And despite the fact that everyone was acting weird, Alex really had no desire to go back to earth where his death was all but guaranteed.

Alex skidded to a stop, as – speak of the devil – Woolsey appeared in the middle of his path looking less than pleased with Alex's existence.

Sergeant Pilkes – the unlucky sod who had gotten stuck with him while Greg was on recovery – stopped at a much more graceful pace and all but blended into the background.

Some help he was.

"Mister Rider." Woolsey – because he didn't deserve a title or anything – wrinkled his nose in Alex's direction. Clearly less than amused by Alex's sweat soaked appearance.

He had been running for the better part of an hour and it wasn't like these halls were air conditioned. But then, these halls were also usually abandoned for just that fact.

"Does Sheppard know you're out here?" If it weren't for the piercing glare, Woolsey almost sounded concerned.

Alex shrugged, before jerking a thumb over his shoulder to where Sergeant Pilkes was decidedly not looking interested. "He's got one of his goons on me."

Woolsey's mouth turned down in a very distinct frown, before he took a step closer. "I don't know what you think you're up to, Rider, but I will not see this city brought down by your schemes."

Alex blinked. "Oookay…"

"You might have pulled the wool over Sheppard's eyes, but I know who you are."

And damn, that sounded a lot more ominous than Alex was expecting.

Woolsey took another step closer, until he was practically in Alex's face. "You might try to hide, but those of us who matter know you were Rothman's protégé."

Fuck.

Rothman.

His entirely misguided two months as an assassin in training was coming back to bite him in the ass. Rothman had played him like a fiddle – pretending she knew the secrets about his father. The MI6 spy turned assassin.

Alex had just wanted answers.

Ian had never talked about his dad, after all.

"I… don't know what you're talking about," Alex said carefully, keeping all emotion out of his voice. "I'm not hiding anything."

Woolsey just gave him another piercing look, before turning back the way he came. "We'll see about that. I'm sure some old friends would love to catch up though."

Alex pulled in a sharp breath – friends? Who? – before schooling his face back into a patiently confused expression.

Sergeant Pilkes shifted out of the shadows, frowning at Woolsey's retreating back. "What was that about?"

Alex shrugged, before turning on his heel to stalk in the opposite direction. "Mistaken identity, I guess." He didn't give the man any time to respond, just dug his feet in and started jogging again.

If Woolsey actually knew who he was…

Things were going to get messy very quickly.

Alex was more than happy to hide in his room all day – celebrations really were not his cup of tea – but Greg had other ideas. And since Alex still felt bad for decking the guy… he wasn't about to rain on his parade. Forcing someone else to lose their celebration – even if technically still on duty – was enough to convince Alex that it wasn't a horrible idea.

And if the normal Christmas Day shenanigans on Atlantis didn't really involve gift giving, fireworks, or Christmas poppers… well, Alex wasn't going to complain.

Until Sergeant Pilkes had gotten a message halfway through the day and dragged him out of the festivities and down to one of the empty lounge rooms where Colonel Sheppard was waiting for him.

And it was definitely Colonel Sheppard who dismissed Sergeant Pilkes with a few quiet words, then motioned Alex further down the hallway. All without making eye contact. If Alex didn't know better, it seemed like the man was walking toward his own firing squad, back ramrod straight.

At one point, he would've thought it was impossible for him to look so serious.

Had something happened?

There hadn't been anything from earth… in the last day or so. The rumor mill would've picked up on that rather quickly, after all.

Sheppard waved him into a smaller room, with just several chairs and a waiting Dr. Beckett.

Dr. Beckett gave him a cautious smile – though even that seemed tempered by whatever was wrong.

He wasn't… dying, was he?

That's what Dr. Beckett was for, after all… Medical stuff.

The door slid closed with a distinct click, then Sheppard waved a device over it and the surrounding walls. There was the usual hum of Ancient technology, but it quickly faded into the background and the silence almost became oppressive.

"Wha—"

Dr. Beckett shook his head quickly, cutting Alex off.

Sheppard shoved the device back into his pocket, before tapping something into the disc in the middle of the table. A blue light shot out, vertically, then spreading out until it had seemingly scanned the ceiling, walls, and floor. The light vanished as quickly as it had come and Sheppard looked at whatever the readout was.

Seemingly satisfied, he took his own seat, though notably was still as tense as if someone had shoved a rod up his spine. "Okay, we should be good for an hour."

An… hour.

The last time Sheppard had wanted to tell him something, they had just gone out to a pier. Knocked off one of those… electrobooms. What now…?

Dr. Beckett cleared his throat, casting what looked to be a significant glance in Sheppard's direction, but the man just crossed his arms and stared down at the table. Because Sheppard was apparently not looking at him anymore.

"Right…" Dr. Beckett made his own somewhat, frantic drumming against the table, as if he had no more desire to be there either. "In light of… uh, some recent news… We… I… uh, John figured it be best to, um, get you up to speed."

Alex swallowed carefully, eyeing the two of them warily. "And… all this?" He waved a hand to encompass the room. The securities.

"If this gets out… you're going to become even more of a target," Sheppard said, voice sounding hollow. "And there's… only so much I can do."

I can do.

Okay…

So, probably not dying.

Not if it made him a target.

Probably not the best situation to explain his concerns about Woolsey either…

"But you… need to know." The phrase seemed to physically hurt Sheppard, which made no fucking sense.

Dr. Beckett frowned at Sheppard for a moment, before sliding a couple of sheets of paper across the table toward Alex. "What do you know about genetics?"

Genetics?

He wasn't going to claim that biology was his best science – physics, by far, made more sense – but he had retained enough to know what a Punnet square was. And the difference between genes and alleles. "A little?"

That earned almost a wry grin, before Dr. Beckett tapped one of the sheets of paper. "We've been working on sequencing the genome of ATA carriers – natural and artificial." A process he had gone over ad nauseam during one of their tea conversations. "In the process, we compare any new genetic material against the previously studied subjects."

Subjects.

Not a term Alex particularly liked.

Especially considering he was one of those subjects now.

But it was supposed to be supremely important to future discoveries.

"We're looking particularly for familial lines to better explore the natural expression. As a result, haplotypes are of particular interest."

"Hap…lotypes?" It sounded familiar…

"Longer sequences of genes that typically get inherited together – such as with the Y chromosome, which can show paternal relationships." Dr. Beckett tapped one of the sheets of paper, which showed a rather simplistic version of Y chromosome inheritance. "Mitochondrial DNA can also show close relationships, through the maternal line. The longer the shared sequences are, the closer the relationship, because there has been less time for mutations and recombinations."

"So…" Alex raised an eyebrow at the second sheet of paper, which had a long list of color coded symbols and letters, and an identical row next to it.

"There were certain matches within the database that were… rather unexpected."

He ran a finger down the column, watching where it skipped for a stretch, before resuming the similar pattern. Similar haplotypes. "So, what… you found, like, cousins or something?" Not that, as far as he was aware, his parents had any other siblings. But assumedly they had aunts and uncles that had offspring, and…

Huh.

It hadn't actually crossed his mind that there could be someone else with Rider DNA out there. Or at least, portions.

"Or… something." Dr. Beckett looked slightly uncomfortable, before shooting an exasperated look in Sheppard's direction. "It's a… little closer than that."

"Closer?"

"A maternal uncle, maternal grandfather, and…"

Sheppard let out a long breath, before finally looking Alex in the eyes. "And I'm your father."

No.

Not.

It.

Alex was sure he stopped breathing. Because Sheppard had just said— "What?" Alex pushed back from the table, letting the chair skid back until it hit the wall. "No. You're wrong. That's not funny."

Why would they—

There was no—

His father was dead.

Just like Uncle Ian.

And Jack.

And—

He took another step backward, hand flying out to find the door. To find the sensor that would let him out of the room with these… these… mad men.

There was no reassuring hum.

No comforting click as the door slid open.

It was inert.

"Let me out," Alex gritted out.

"Alex…" Dr. Beckett started to get up, but Sheppard pushed him back down into the chair.

"Listen, I don't understand this anymore than you do, but they've double and triple checked the tests." Sheppard took a cautious step in his direction. "The genetics don't lie, but they certainly don't explain the whole story. I was at Stanford until '93. There was no way… nowhere… I don't know where John Rider came into the picture, but your uncle… Ian… that was my brother. And I was told he died in '93."

Alex pressed his back against the wall.

This was not—

That was impossible.

"I don't remember ever meeting a Helen Rider. And the day your… John, died… that was the same day Ian died. Clear as day, I know where I was." Sheppard rubbed at his wrist in an unconscious gesture. "Rodney's theorizing merging parallel universes, time travel, or the after effects of timeline modification, but…" He ran a tired hand through his hair, making it stick up even more. "It doesn't really change the facts of the situation. Biologically," And the word sounded almost painful. "You're my… son."

Alex let out a sharp breath.

A… father.

"Now, can we sit and talk?"

Alex swallowed carefully, before edging around Sheppard to his chair. There was only a slight dent in the wall. He glanced between the two of them, Sheppard looking somewhat sheepish, and Dr. Beckett looking even more uncomfortable. "So… Rodney knows?"

Sheppard ducked his head. "He kept the connection secure when we conferenced with earth."

Earth.

So, they knew. Or, at least, someone did.

O'Neill.

Right.

There were three individuals identified, after all. And if one of them was still on earth… "And… none of the others can shed any light on the situation?" He couldn't quite bring himself to ask after his uncle or his grandfather.

There had been no extended family.

Just him and Ian, and Jack.

And then just him and Jack.

And then… just him.

Dr. Beckett blew out a long breath. "Your mother… cut contact with us when she was eighteen."

Us.

Oh, fuuuuuck.

"Mam thought she would come around eventually, but… we got the death certificate by courier. No one…" Dr. Beckett cleared his throat roughly. "There was no mention of a wee one."

A wee one.

Him.

He was the wee one.

"And the grandfather… was unaware he had sired an offspring. And me mam certainly didn't mention any possibility of Helen being… not entirely related."

So… a half sibling.

"There was an incident with time travel in 1969. It's one of the reasons Rodney isn't ruling that possibility out."

Time.

Travel.

"Who…?" Alex wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

"General O'Neill."

Alex blew out a long breath.

Right.

Okay.

He could…

Wrap his mind around that.

It was someone he knew.

Someone… that made absolutely no fucking sense at times, but certainly didn't want him dead.

O'Neill was probably a best-case scenario.

But also, completely useless in trying to figure out how, exactly, Alex came into existence and who John Rider really was.

Alex had seen pictures, after all.

Sheppard looked nothing like those pictures. His hair was too long. He had too much beard. He… looked only vaguely similar to Uncle Ian – who he claimed was actually his brother.

And they didn't…

He wasn't…

"Now… what?" He barely managed to get the words out. Because… like it or not, this changed everything.

Sheppard seemed to wilt in his chair, now that the secret was out. And… he had been keeping that pent up for days. And they still hadn't found the expected answers.

"General O'Neill and his people are trying to hunt down some answers on their side. Unfortunately…" Dr. Beckett spread his hands in a shrug. "We won't know what they've found until after the Daedalus arrives at the next scheduled check in."

"He is keeping it quiet though." Sheppard said, still staring resolutely down at the table. "On one hand, it probably explains why your ATA gene is so strong. You have carriers on both sides of your family. But if word gets out, even the slightest hint that you might be related to someone, it's going to paint an even bigger target on your back."

Alex choked out a laugh, because it wasn't like the situation could get much worse. "I guess this wouldn't be a good time to mention that Woolsey knows about my stint as a SCORPIA assassin-in-training?"

Sheppard jerked back. "What?"

"Surprise?" Alex propped his elbows up on the table and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "He cornered me last night, while I was out running. He apparently got the message that I was Rothman's protégé, but missed the fact that she's, well, dead. Because of me." Along with all the other SCORPIA executives at the time.

Hence why everyone had a target out for him – he was known for single-handedly taking down a crime syndicate. Too many assumed that meant he wanted to create a new one for himself.

Dr. Beckett just stared at him in barely concealed horror, but Sheppard tilted his head in acknowledgment.

At least he seemed to get that most of Alex's actions the past few years weren't exactly thought through.

"This is such a cluster." Sheppard ran a hand through his hair, only succeeding in making it stand up even higher, and rocked back in his chair. "Something tells me your life would be so much easier if you had never tussled with SCORPIA in the first place."

Alex blew out another long breath. And yeah, so much easier. He probably wouldn't be sitting here. Probably wouldn't have any idea that aliens existed or that… well… he had living relatives.

"And this… SCORPIA is still causing you problems?" Dr. Beckett asked.

"Most of the leaders are… no longer around. But a few of the… students seemed to take the motto to heart. SCORPIA never forgives or forgets, and all that jazz."

Sheppard jerked forward at that, staring at Alex in horror. "Wait, what?"

"Uh, they don't exactly just let people walk away."

"No, not that. I mean… that phrase?"

"SCORPIA never forgives or forgets?" So maybe it wasn't the official motto, but he had heard it muttered often enough while on the island. And the remaining members certainly were doing their best to hunt him down to the ends of the earth. The ends of the galaxy…

Sheppard yanked at the sweatband he seemed to wear habitually around his wrist. Underneath there was…

Huh.

A tattoo.

Curly letters pressed together, on the inside of his wrist. Black letters with a highlight of red.

Never Forgive or Forget

Sheppard just stared at his barred wrist, almost in horror. "That was… I woke up with that. The same… same night Ian died. Well, when they told us he died. I just… I figured someone talked me into the hard stuff." He looked between Alex and Dr. Beckett almost desperately. "I don't remember getting it."

Alex reached out, fingertips not quite touching skin, but tracing the lettering. The i was stylized, almost to look like the SCORPIA logo.

It wasn't a coincidence.

He had seen a similar tattoo only once in his life – on one of SCORPIA's training instructors at Malagosto.

But… how did Sheppard not remember anything?

That tied his physical body to SCORPIA.

"Who knows about this?" Alex asked, pulling his fingers back.

"The tattoo?" Sheppard shook his head. "It's in my files, I'm sure. I don't exactly advertise it though." As if to make the point, he slid the wristband back on, covering up the tattoo.

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why do you hide it? It's not obscene or…" Any of the other reasons why the military usually looked down on certain tattoos. It wasn't even in a spot that was considered taboo. Just a little phrase, hidden on the inside of the wrist.

Sheppard rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "I… Gut feeling? That someone might get the wrong idea from it." He shrugged. "It never felt like it was mine."

Alex blew out a long breath. And that was a sentence to unpack.

And this man was supposed to be his… father.

The device on the table beeped ominously, before Sheppard reached out to shut it off. "And that's time. Rodney could only promise interference for an hour."

Right.

Because this wasn't exactly something they could advertise. It was just an even bigger target on his back.

"I'll take you back to the mess," Dr. Beckett said, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off his jacket. "Sergeant Pilkes will meet us there and you should spend the rest of the evening with Sierra Squad."

Sheppard studied Alex for a long moment, before his lips almost quirked into a smile. "You might consider letting Lieutenant Simmons in on some of your secrets. Not these most recent ones, of course, but if you'd feel comfortable with someone… else knowing some of your history. It might prevent some future accidents from happening."

Alex saw that for the olive branch that it was. Whatever happened, things were going to be awkward. There would be this… huge topic that they were going to be dancing around whenever they interacted. Dr. Beckett was his uncle – spilling his thoughts and feelings to someone who was inherently related to him was going to be a hard pill to swallow. But Greg was a neutral party… and so far, had seemed to roll with the punches.

No pun intended.

There was a soft click as the lock on the door released and Dr. Beckett guided him out of the room.

Sheppard was his… father.

Somehow, that was weirder than aliens and living in another galaxy.

A/N: Haven't dropped off the face of the earth, promise. Between work trips, vacation, and insane summer storms, it has been a lot. Next chapter will probably be a little shorter…

Anyway. I'm so glad you all liked the twist! And yes, more will be explained. Eventually. We've got quite a bit more in store.