The Body Holographic (Part 2/2)

by Leah & Springwoof

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/ass/springwoof/bodyholo002.php
Summary: 'I would give anything for you to be real.'
Info: A while ago Springwoof wrote a story called Left to Fend (and we recommend that you read it first). It's about an Atlantis of the near future, where the expedition has been out of contact with Earth for over eleven years. In this alternate universe, Weir has become an absolute ruler, McKay has a young son, and Sheppard has become part of Atlantis. Leah wanted to find out what had happened before. Who was the mother of the little boy? How did Weir become this almost godlike leader? And what had happened to Sheppard?

And why was McKay's child named 'John?'

Leah asked Springwoof if she could write the story of what happened before Left to Fend, and after. Springwoof liked the idea so much that they ended up writing the story together.

Johnny Yana McKay laughed with glee as the jumper responded eagerly to his commands, skimming low over the ocean waves.

"Ancestors! Johnny, Johnny, look! Is that a 'Lantis Whale?" Will Lorne pointed out the front viewport of the jumper, jostling Johnny's elbow in his excitement.

Sheppard unobtrusively steadied the motion of the jumper, negating the movement caused by the jostling.

"Don't distract me, Will!" Johnny ordered crossly, scowling a very McKay-like scowl. "I gotta concentrate on what I'm doing, here." The jumper weaved back and forth as he tried to make it go forward in a straight line. Sheppard smiled to himself at how much McKay's son was like his father.

"Sorry, Johnny," said Will, subdued.

"Hey, Squirt," Sheppard addressed Johnny. "How about letting your buddy drive for a while? He hasn't had a turn yet."

Will brightened, a grin blooming on his face.

Johnny's scowl deepened momentarily, before he almost visibly reminded himself that he was a Yana, and Yanas were gracious when sharing resources. Sheppard could practically hear Cara's voice in his 'nephew's' mind. Johnny straightened and nodded regally. Sometimes the boy was his mother's son just as much as he was almost frighteningly his father's.

Sheppard kept the jumper flying steadily while the boys switched seats. After Will settled in the pilot's seat, Sheppard devoted some time and attention to the finer points of teaching him to fly. Will was actually much better at flying the Jumper than his friend--not that either Will or Sheppard were foolish enough to point this out. At rare intervals, Johnny could display flashes of the famous McKay ire, and it was not a pretty sight. Besides, the younger boy had been up in a jumper before, with his dad, and undoubtedly Lorne had let him have a few minutes at the controls whenever it was safe. Just as Johnny had logged more time in Atlantis' labs than many of his age-mates, because of his own father.

Freed from the task of flying the jumper, Johnny peered out of the forward viewport, perhaps hoping for another glimpse of the 'Lantis Whale now that he didn't have to concentrate on flying. For a long while, there was peace and a companionable silence amongst the three of them.

Satisfied that Will was handling the jumper well, Sheppard relegated a smaller percentage of his attention to it as he turned to Johnny. "So, Squirt," he said casually. "You wanna tell me what you two were doing hiding out in the jumper bay?"

Johnny's scowl returned.

"We were hiding from Uncle Rodney," Will volunteered. "Johnny's mad at him and doesn't want to lose his temper and say anything that would get him in trouble."

"Traitor!" Johnny muttered resentfully.

Will darted an anxious look Johnny's way before focusing on the jumper again. "I was only trying to help, Johnny, really."

"It's not like I'm going to tell anybody," Sheppard said mildly.

"Oh, that's so not true!" Johnny denied hotly. "You tell on me all the time, Uncle John!"

"Only when you're about to do something stupid and get in trouble anyway," Sheppard protested reasonably.

"Ah. So, pretty much all the time then," said Will dryly.

Sheppard snickered.

"I hate you both!" Johnny declared, folding his arms defiantly and slumping in his seat.

Will glanced over with another one of those anxious looks, but didn't say anything.

"So, then, what did your dad do to drive you into exile in the jumper bay?" Sheppard asked.

"Papa was being a total jerk--controlling, overbearing, and completely unreasonable," accused the boy.

"I hate to say this, Squirt, but that doesn't sound very different from his everyday behavior," Sheppard replied, keeping a very bland expression on the face of the hologram. "What in particular did he do?"

More resentful silence.

"Um, he was kind of nasty after he got back from the parent-teacher conference," Will volunteered, earning himself another muttered 'traitor!' and eye roll from the co-pilot's chair.

"Hey, are you having trouble in school?" Now Sheppard was really concerned.

"No! My grades are fine," Johnny protested. "It's just that Papa feels like he can dictate every aspect of my life. I wanted to get into the Linguistics program. Erta Lev Simpson gets to take it. Her mom and dad are encouraging her to follow her own interests, instead of trying to stuff her into a little box."

"Um," Sheppard began, but now that the floodgates were open, the torrent was unstoppable.

"'Why do you want to study that squishy stuff for? It's not even for real scientists. It's for the feebleminded, who can't hack the math'." Johnny's voice rose in eerie imitation. "'Why can't you want to be a chemist, like your mother? At least that's marginally useful'."

"Hey, hey, easy, Squirt, easy..." Sheppard used his most soothing tones, wishing desperately he could hold the child in his arms...or maybe he was too old for that, and it wouldn't be cool to hug his Uncle John. If he'd been a normal uncle, he still could have put an arm around the boy, ruffled his hair maybe. But if he'd been normal--if he still had a body--Johnny would probably never have been born in the first place. Although McKay's marriage to Cara Yana Astal had been devastating, Sheppard had loved his little namesake almost from the start. And right now Johnny looked very near tears--Sheppard felt anxious with the need to comfort him, and helpless to do so.

"He's just so...so vile sometimes! I really, really hate him!" With that announcement, Johnny slid out of his seat and escaped to the back of the jumper.

Sheppard monitored him with the jumper's systems, while keeping his hologram carefully facing forward. It was amazing how people always instinctively oriented on the hologram, as if the hologram was actually somehow himself. He'd had ample time, over the years, to regret the initial decision to use it as a focus point.

"So, how are you doing, Will?" Sheppard didn't want to neglect the other boy.

Will shrugged carelessly, a very adult-looking mask of indifference on his face. "I'm doing okay in school, if that's what you're asking. My dad is okay with whatever I want to study, and my mom is too. Auntie Elizabeth keeps giving me these 'talks' on 'leadership,' though," he commented.

"Does that bother you?" Sheppard asked carefully. He knew, as did all the adults of Weir's Household, and Beckett, of course, that Will was genetically Elizabeth Weir's son, but Will himself hadn't been told yet. The Tal wanted him to be a bit older before explaining why she'd thought the demands of her position wouldn't allow her to take the time or physical burdens of pregnancy and motherhood.

"Nah." Will shrugged again. "They're just boring. She doesn't rant like Uncle Rodney does." He paused. "Uncle John? Why is he so mean sometimes?"

"Well, Rodney..." Sheppard was silent a moment. "Not that it gives him any excuse to be mean, to you or to Johnny, but... I think sometimes he says things he doesn't realize are mean when he says them, you know?"

"Johnny does that too, sometimes," Will confided in a soft voice. "It's like he opens his mouth and whatever he's thinking, whether it's nasty or not, just comes out."

"Yeah," Sheppard nodded.

"But Johnny will be nasty to anybody, not just me," Will added.

"Believe me, Rodney is nasty to everybody too, you guys just don't get to see much of that." Sheppard made the hologram's eyebrows waggle. Will stifled a giggle.

"The Great Rodney McKay, Preserver of the City of the Ancestors," Johnny intoned sarcastically as he stalked back up to his seat, brazening out his earlier emotional lapse and silently daring anyone to say anything about it. "I can't live up to that! It's impossible. I don't want to live up to that!"

"You don't have to, Squirt," Sheppard offered gently. "He'll get over it. Just bide your time. You're a Yana and a McKay--you inherited stubborn genes from both sides of the family."

"I guess," Johnny said sullenly.

An uncomfortable silence filled the jumper.

"So, Uncle John," said Will with somewhat forced brightness, obviously desperate to change the subject. "Have you heard how Nana Sora is doing?"

Sheppard arched the hologram's eyebrow, positive that this was not a conversational gambit likely to be successful in increasing the level of cheer. Three, two, one...

"What would he care about how Nana Sora is doing?" accused Johnny bitterly. "He sent her away!"

Yep, right on schedule.

"We've had this discussion before, Squirt," Sheppard said patiently. "I didn't send Sora away, I sent her home. I set her free, Johnny. It was wrong to keep her in slavery."

"She wasn't a slave, she was a Penitent, working to redeem herself because of her crimes," Johnny said. "I know what she did, Uncle John. I'm not stupid. Mama told me all about it. You sent her away from everybody she knew, from her home. She didn't remember the Genii anymore! Why should she want to live with them?"

"It's because she didn't remember who she had been, or what she had done, that I sent her home." Sheppard shrugged again, casually. "Your Nana Sora wasn't the same person who killed my friend Teyla. She wasn't the same person who betrayed Atlantis. Johnny, do you think your Nana Sora would kill anybody?"

"Of course not!" Johnny said hotly.

"Exactly," Sheppard said, nodding. "She's not a danger to Atlantis. And you don't need her anymore, Squirt. So I sent her home."

Silence.

"But we miss her, Uncle John," said Will, softly, his face wistful. Johnny turned his head sharply to hide the tears that Sheppard could still see with the jumper's optical sensors. The boy sniffed.

"I know guys," said Sheppard. "I'm sorry you miss her. But she probably had family and friends at home that have missed her for years. It wasn't right to keep her here."

Sheppard contemplated the irony. As a man without his original body, he hadn't been able to go through with the farce of owning a slave without her original mind. His instinctive revulsion towards slavery aside, he had just been unable to bear the thought of having to deal with the woman every day, a painful reminder of events he'd rather not dwell on. So he had taken the loophole offered in the Villana's terms of punishment. There had been no fallout from the decision, either, other than the boys' resentment. McKay and Ronon were probably relieved not to have her around. Weir thought it was his decision to make. And neither the Villana clan leaders nor the Athosians had uttered a peep. Sometimes being the semi-mythical Defender had its perks. Rarely, but sometimes.

Sheppard clapped his hologram's hands together and simulated a clapping sound over the communication implants in the boys' ears. "I tell you what, guys. We can always fly to the Mainland another day. How would you boys like to fly into space? You haven't been to the space station before, have you?"

***

"Papa." Johnny had his eyes closed, with his index finger rubbing against his forehead, a gesture so familiar it was startling. "Could we not do this now? Please?"

"Oh, we're doing this now," McKay said. He had his arms crossed, glaring up at his son. "I think now is a perfect time to find out when the hell my offspring officially lost his mind and decided not to tell me."

"Fine." Johnny sighed, with the weary grace of someone who had done this kind of thing far too many times before, which had the effect of making McKay's ire skyrocket--which he was certain had been the point. "Can we at least please not do this in the gate room?"

"Right," McKay snapped. "Because no one here has ever seen me ream anyone out in the gate room before. What shall we ever do about their poor, gentle sensibilities?" But Johnny got that pinched look that Cara always put on whenever she thought McKay was being 'particularly offensive', as she called it. McKay wasn't sure which one of them he hated that look on more, then decided it was a toss-up and grabbed his son by his arm. "Fine." He started dragging Johnny towards the stairs leading up to the control room. "We'll go to a nice, private place and you can tell me when, exactly, my only child became a pod person."

"I still don't know what the hell your problem is, Papa!" Johnny yanked his arm back angrily, but he still followed McKay up the stairs and right into Weir's office, and McKay mentally congratulated himself that the kid would still obey him, if only sporadically. Then, "Hey!" he said, apparently noting where they were for the first time. "We can't have a fight in the Tal's office!"

"Oh please." McKay rolled his one eye. "I fight with the Tal in her office all the time. Besides, she's on the Mainland, doing some kind of Kumbaya thing with the locals. She won't care," he added finally, when Johnny shot him a look that also reminded McKay of himself. A lot.

"I care," Johnny said. "It's disrespectful."

"No, it's expedient," McKay shot back. "What's disrespectful is my son agreeing to have brain surgery without even telling me, let alone asking me what I think about it!"

Johnny had the gall to look affronted, and McKay scowled.

"I'm twenty years old!" Johnny said. "Since when do I need your permission for anything? And it's not 'brain surgery', for the love of the Ancestors! It's a simple procedure!"

"Yeah--a 'simple procedure' that puts a freaking chip in your head so a computer program--"

"Don't talk about my uncle that way," Johnny snapped, cutting McKay off. His eyes were narrowed and truly angry. "He's not a computer program. He's the Defender."

McKay took a breath, feeling absurdly like he was physically crushing what he was going to say in reply down into his chest. Just because he has a fancy name doesn't make him more than code. "Fine," he said instead, because he knew from long, bitter experience that saying anything else would get him worse than nowhere, and the last thing he wanted to do was have Johnny storm off in a rage--they'd gotten all too good at not talking to each other for days, and this was too important. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're letting the senior Beckett put a chip into your brain. That's just stupid. And insane. And did I mention stupid?"

Now it was Johnny's turn to roll his eyes. "It's two computer chips, Papa. Two. One in the right occipital lobe," and he gestured to the back of his head, "and one in the auditory cortex." He gestured vaguely at the side of his head. "Both tiny enough to be injected like a vaccine. It's not a big deal. I won't even need anesthetic."

"All right," McKay sighed. He rubbed his forehead, then realized that Johnny had been doing the exact same thing down in the gate room, and stopped abruptly. "Let's assume that you've convinced me this isn't a lobotomy in a syringe--which you haven't, by the way--and move on to the fun and exciting part where you convince me that it'll be really cool to have circuitry in your head."

Johnny crossed his arms and titled his head with an expression of exasperation that was pure Cara except for being entirely Johnny's own. "The chips are just recording devices. They'll allow the Defender to see what I saw, and hear what I heard. That's all." Then he changed his stance, his face becoming earnest instead of angry. "It will let him share the experience of my off-world missions--it will be like he has a real body of his own. How is that bad? Tell me," he said, when McKay didn't answer right away. "How is that a bad thing?"

"They'll be chips in your head!" McKay insisted, feeling helpless and angry and strangely--stupidly--jealous. He hadn't been on a mission in years, but he knew Johnny would never have offered this to him. "What if... what if it breaks, or, slips into the wrong place, or something? What if it shorts out and destroys part of your brain?"

Johnny just blinked at him. "Could anything like that ever happen?"

"Well, most likely no," McKay admitted. "But it might!" He gestured almost violently at his son's head. "The point is, you're risking your brain for a computer program! How could you even think that's a good idea?"

"He's not a program!" Johnny shouted. "You have no right--!" He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head. "Know what?" he said. "Fuck this. And fuck you. I'm not going to stand here and defend my choices. I'm expected in the infirmary, and I've got a briefing for my first mission tomorrow, and I've got better things to do than listen to you spout your usual ignorant and paranoid crap." He shook his head again, this time with obvious disgust. "I'm twenty god-damned years old. You'd think I'd have earned the right for you to respect my decisions by now. Guess not." He shouldered his way around McKay, banging his father with his elbow--McKay was constantly surprised at how tall Johnny was, even after all these years--and stalked out of Weir's office.

McKay was left standing with his hands in helpless fists at his sides, wondering how it had all come crashing down so spectacularly again, and wishing he knew what to say.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Sheppard murmured as they backed, smiling and bowing, out of the presence of the Yu-lash Matron.

"As do I," agreed Teyla, smiling and bowing deeply one more time before slipping out of the trading tent.

McKay made a quick grab to keep the little square blue hat from slipping off of his head. It ended up tilted to one side, the silver tassel bobbing over his left eyebrow. "They do give off used-car-salesman vibes," he agreed, speaking a bit too loudly while tightening the sash on his ceremonial robes.

"Shut up, McKay," Sheppard said softly, fondly, while he paused to carefully adjust the hat, straighten the askew robes, and re-tie the sash. "Save it until we're back home, okay?" He placed his hands firmly on McKay's shoulders and gave him a meaningful quirk of his eyebrows.

"Yeah, McKay," Ronon rumbled softly from behind them, looking resplendent and formidable in his own set of formal Yu-lash robes. "Don't ruin the deal. We need the food."

"Umm, yummy tubers, Piki fruit, and more Corella bark than I ever wanted to see in my life," agreed McKay sourly.

"And don't forget those chicken-lizard things," said Sheppard, tugging on the lapels of McKay's robes one last time. The rich blue of the robes and hat made McKay's eyes look bluer and more vibrant, the smile he flashed at Sheppard more white and brilliant.

"The Sintal birds, and enough grain to feed them until we can grow our own," said Teyla, nodding thoughtfully. "A most generous offer from the Matron, especially for trading partners the Yu-lash have never dealt with before."

As they walked back up the gate, waving, nodding, and smiling broadly at the milling Yu-lash townsfolk, Sheppard pondered why the just-finished deal bothered him so much. They had gotten the Matron's permission to return through the gate in order to 'freshen up' and report back to their own Matron. (How Weir would feel about being addressed as 'Matron' was something Sheppard preferred not to think about, but it had certainly seemed to please the Yu-lash Matron that the 'Lanteans were ruled by a female as well.) Later, they were supposed to return for the dinner-and-speeches portion of the evening, along with the other traders the Yu-lash had cemented deals with today. Sheppard knew that Teyla had mentally noted each of the other groups of traders--a rather small group for what was supposed to be an important traditional trading event--and that she would probably be approaching each group tonight to see what she could arrange in the way of mutually beneficial trade visits.

"Teyla," he said reluctantly, as they finally stopped near the gate. "It's just too good a deal, isn't it? My gut is telling me that something's wrong."

"I am afraid this may be so, Colonel," said Teyla, a frown on her face. "The Yu-lash do not have a reputation for generosity in their dealings. And they think poorly of my people, which was why I was reluctant to approach them previously."

"Why don't they like Athosians?" Ronon asked, forehead furrowing.

"They think us...barbaric, and primitive," said Teyla, with a look of distaste on her face as she fingered the gold embroidery on the rich yellow fabric of her long sleeves. "I am afraid that my presence on your trading party has somewhat disadvantaged you, Colonel Sheppard," she said apologetically.

"You never mind that, Teyla," Sheppard consoled her. "You're always an asset to my team."

"Hell, yes," McKay agreed, removing his hat and scrubbing both hands vigorously through his hair. "I prefer your people to these overbearing Yu-lash clowns any day, Teyla.

"What?" he exclaimed, in answer to Sheppard's look. "The Athosians may have the odd quirk or two, but they never made us dress up in ridiculous costumes just to talk to them!"

Sheppard snorted and grinned, tilting his own jade-green hat to a more rakish angle.

"If you don't think we should trade with them, Sheppard, maybe we shouldn't," said Ronon. The four-cornered hat, in red with gold thread and gold tassels to match the robe, sat like a crown atop Ronon's dreadlocks, giving his face an imposing level of gravity as he stood there frowning thoughtfully. "Do you want me to question one of them?" he asked, staring at Sheppard meaningfully.

"No!" Sheppard sobered instantly. "It's not like they've done anything to us. And I don't want to make them mad. It's just that something feels...off."

"I still say we should have brought a Villana Truthteller," McKay said, as he walked to the DHD. "The Truthteller would have been able to detect if the Matron was trying to pull a fast one on us."

"Enough with the air quotes, McKay." Sheppard ordered, removing his hat and sailing it in McKay's direction, then grinning as McKay fumbled to catch it. He shook his head regretfully, scrubbing a hand through his hair and down his face. "What would we have said to the Matron? 'Oh, by the way, we've brought along our telepathic truth-detector, in case you're lying to us'?" He raised his hands to forestall Teyla's reply. "I know the Villana and PerAn already do something similar all the time, Teyla, it's just that we have to fit it into the way we do things. And I still want to make sure that any Villana or PerAn that go out with the away teams are trained in the way we do things. If we're going to depend on them in the field, we need to know how they'll respond."

"And how long is that supposed to take, Colonel?" asked McKay truculently, tapping Sheppard's hat against the DHD keys. "I don't recall you taking all that long to train me before taking me out to risk life and limb."

"That was different, Rodney," Sheppard said, not looking at him.

"You didn't wait that long with me either, Sheppard," said Ronon mildly.

"That was different, too," Sheppard insisted, feeling mulish, but embarrassed about it. "Next time, okay? I'll start taking them out with us soon. They'll be ready by next time."

"Then maybe we should wait," said Ronon thoughtfully, exchanging a glance with Teyla. "Until a Truthteller can come with us. Maybe we shouldn't take this deal. You should listen to your gut, Sheppard."

"I know," Sheppard acknowledged. "But we can't wait. It's been eight months since we lost contact with Earth, Ronon. We've given up on resupply from the Daedalus. Even with all the supplies the PerAn and Villana have given us, with so many of them in the city now, we're still going to run out of food."

"And with the increased culling from the Wraith, many of the traditional trading partners of my people are simply gone," said Teyla bleakly. "We have fewer and fewer choices among people with which to trade."

McKay started to dial the DHD for Atlantis. He looked up, and the lopsided line of his mouth was grim. "In other words, we may not like it, we may know something's wrong...but we have no choice." The look in McKay's eyes was one Sheppard had seen only once before--during the Siege of Atlantis by the Wraith.

***

"When were you going to tell me, McKay?" Sheppard tried to keep his voice light, not accusing. "I'll need time to program a tux for this thing if I'm going to be ready for the big event." He waved down at his own uniform-covered image.

McKay didn't startle, or even look up from his computer screen. "Ah, yes. I was wondering who was going to get around to telling you. If it was Radek, you can inform him that Carson will be taking over his position as Best Man."

"No, Radek's position is safe." Sheppard was glad that his synthetic voice couldn't sound as choked as his natural voice would have. "Elizabeth told me, in case it had 'slipped your mind' to invite me."

"Right. Of course, the Tal, meddling in my personal affairs as usual." McKay waved a negligent hand, still not looking up from his screen. "Yes, Defender, you are officially invited. I'll send you a formal e-mail if you like. Now, if you don't mind..."

"So," Sheppard continued, voice falsely jovial. "What's your name going to be now? Rodney McKay-Yana? Rodney Astal?"

McKay sighed, and his shoulders slumped forward. Finally he turned and faced Sheppard. "You're not my buddy, Defender. You're not my pal. You're not my friend. I don't have to have these kinds of conversations with you. I don't even have these conversations with Carson or Radek, who have some kind of claim to that position."

The lights in the lab came up a shade brighter, then dimmed. "I deserved to know. I deserved to hear it from you, not from the Tal," Sheppard said stiffly.

"Well, you would, if you were actually John Sheppard," said McKay, with a touch of heat, obviously restraining himself savagely. "But in reality, my lover, John, died seven years ago. It's time I moved on, Defender. I deserve not to be alone all my life. John would have wanted me to have some chance of happiness again."

"And can you honestly say you love this woman?" Sheppard longed, more fiercely than he had in a long while, to be physical once again, just so that he could smash something.

"No," McKay said, averting his eye. "I've had the love of my life. I know it. But he's gone now. Cara Yana Astal is a good person. We get along. We're...we're friends. She knows it's not love, but this isn't about love for her, either. The Villana are much more prosaic and unromantic about these things than we tend to be. Marriage and procreation are seldom about love, for them. Cara thinks my genes would be a good contribution to the Yana clan." McKay lifted his chin and waved a hand with forced joviality. "At last, a woman who wants me for my brain!"

"And what do you get out of this, McKay?" Sheppard asked, willing McKay to look, to acknowledge him and the pain he was going through at this news. Sheppard hadn't thought there could be more to give up than what he already had, but this Defender gig looked to be one long unending sacrifice after another.

"I get not to be so goddamned alone anymore," McKay whispered.

"It doesn't hurt that she looks a little like me, does it?" Sheppard said.

McKay turned around in a violent motion to face his computer again, clenching his fists on either side of the keyboard. "I would appreciate it if you would go now, Defender. I'm very busy. This work is quite important."

"I'm alone too, Rodney," Sheppard said softly. "And I'm here. Right here." He faded his hologram from the room, but watched, invisible, undetectable, for a long time. He watched until McKay's shoulders eventually straightened determinedly and he began to type again.

***

"Is this a bad time, Papa?" Johnny sounded uncharacteristically hesitant as he poked his head in Rodney's office door.

"Well, yes, you know it's always a bad time. But, on the other hand, I always want to see my own flesh and blood." McKay pushed his chair back and folded his arms over his chest. "I suppose we'll all have to live with the paradox. Come in! What are you still doing out in the hall? You're wasting the precious time we've both agreed I don't have to waste!"

Johnny scowled at him, all traces of his earlier uncertainty magically evaporated. "Can you get rid of the attitude for just five minutes, Papa? I need to talk to you about something important."

McKay crossed his legs as well, tilted his chair back expressively, nodded and said, "Shoot."

Johnny came the rest of the way into the room, followed by Will Lorne, Nick Lorne's eldest son. This was not an unusual occurrence, since Will had been Johnny's constant shadow ever since the younger boy could toddle. "Hi, Uncle Rodney." Will ducked his head and gave McKay an abbreviated wave, unusually shy as well.

McKay frowned, beginning to worry. Will had always been an affectionate child, moreso than Johnny, whose temperament was more independent. McKay had gotten used to Will greeting him with a hug if they hadn't seen each other for longer than a day or so. Now that they were both young men, Johnny seemed to hoard his affectionate gestures for special occasions, but Will--he never seemed to feel the need to 'outgrow' the hugs and pats and kisses that he generously bestowed on his friends and family. It sent up McKay's alarm bells not to get his expected hug from Will.

"What's wrong?" McKay demanded, standing up. "Come on, Johnny, Will, out with it."

Johnny tilted his chin up defiantly, as Will closed the door behind them with his mind. Pressure on the natural gene carriers to breed, as well as Beckett's discovery that administering the gene therapy in utero dramatically improved the chances of success, meant that a preponderance of Atlantis' younger generation could pull off the ATA mind tricks that John Sheppard had once long ago used to gain a foothold into McKay's heart.

They all waited a beat in silence. Then, since Johnny had seemingly lost his nerve, or at least his voice, Will cleared his throat and addressed McKay. "Um, Uncle Rodney, Johnny and I had something important we wanted to share with you. Um. Eh--"

"Will and I are together, Papa," Johnny said firmly, taking Will's hand in his own, his eyes daring his father to say something sarcastic or mean.

"Oh, thank God!" McKay slumped back against his desk in relief. "I thought it was something awful!"

After several moments, while the younger men stared at him, McKay sighed and said, "Welcome to the family, Will. Though, it's not like you haven't been underfoot all your life anyway." He waited impatiently, then flung his arms open. "Well? Do I get my hug now?"

Will grinned brilliantly and crushed the air out of McKay's lungs with the strength of his bear hug. McKay awkwardly but sincerely patted his back and ruffled his curly blond hair. When Will stepped back, McKay arched an eyebrow at his son, who hugged his father a lot more awkwardly than his lover had.

Johnny leaned back and scratched his head. "Well. That went a whole lot better than I thought it would."

McKay looked over at Will. "Should I be offended? How much should I be offended?"

Will chuckled and lowered his eyes, darting a look at Johnny.

Johnny grimaced and slouched back against the wall. "Aw, Papa. I just--We just expected some sort of lecture about my duty to the Yana and the need to reproduce to keep the genes of the Ancestors in our gene pool or something like that."

"Ah." McKay nodded, folding his arms again. "In other words, I was supposed to be some kind of prude or something. Give you something to rebel against. Huh." He looked down and tapped his foot.

"Well, this was anticlimactic, wasn't it?" McKay said in a very dry voice. Johnny snorted. Will shuffled his feet and twisted his mouth in a battle against grinning again.

"Have you told your mother yet? You might get a smidgen more drama from her," McKay offered. "At least, she'll give you the dreaded lecture about your duty to your clan--I think you may have had us confused for that one, Johnny. I couldn't care less about your duty to the Yana. Though if you tell your mother I said that, I will officially disown you."

"Yeah, right." His son tossed his head in derision, utterly secure of his place in his father's devotion.

McKay addressed his son's friend. "I thought you were an expert on all the squishy-science Anthropology stuff. Can't you apply it to our own situation? Yeah, the Villana are all about duty to the clan, and you're both going to have to face up to the fact that the Yana are going to want him," he jerked a thumb at his son, "to reproduce. But that doesn't mean that they give a shit about who, or what gender, his lover is. You know that the Villana, and the PerAn as well, for pity's sake, totally separate love and sex from marriage and procreation. It's the Tau'ri and Athosians who have issues about sexual fidelity in marriage."

Will flushed a dark, brick red. He shifted into a parade rest posture and tucked his hands behind his back. In that stance, Will's stocky, muscular body told anyone who cared to look that he was Nick Lorne's son. And his curly blond hair and fair coloring advertised his PerAn mother, Palika, as well. But his face--the brows, the shape of the mouth, the eyes--were easily recognizable to anyone who got to look at Tal Weir's face as often as Rodney McKay did.

It was never spoken of in public, but it had never been an issue, either. The Lorne family was part of the Tal's Household. The Tal's consort was officially Radek Zelenka, but the Tal could have anyone in her bed whom she wanted, and no one would say a word. That she had never been pregnant, never borne a child herself--her sacrifice to the demands of the position--yet there were several children among her Household with her looks, her personality, her way of moving, was simply a function of Atlantis' advanced medical technology and the fact that one of Elizabeth Weir's best friends was a gifted geneticist. McKay had always privately wondered why Palika had agreed to carry a child who was not entirely Lorne's and her own. Maybe the honor of giving the Tal progeny was reason enough.

Johnny bristled. "Papa, just one--"

McKay huffed and held up his hand in a stop signal. "Wait. I didn't mean... It wasn't criticism, or any kind of insult." He glared at Johnny. "You know I'm terrible at this 'supportive' crap. I'm just trying to say that nobody will care, much less give you a hard time. Believe me, if some idiot so much as looks at you funny..."

"We don't want... We wouldn't want special treatment or favoritism, Uncle Rodney," Will said earnestly.

"Hmph. Too late, as far as I'm concerned." McKay gripped the boy's shoulder roughly and pressed foreheads with him, like the Athosians did. He didn't say what he knew to be true: that both young men had known favoritism and special treatment all their lives. They were just unaware of it, because along with the special treatment came a big load of additional expectations and burdens, for being part of the Tal's Household, part of the Yana clan, in effect being part of the ruling families of Atlantis. McKay bumped foreheads with his own son, and brushed his hair back so he could deliver a swift, rare kiss to that forehead as well. It was an occasion, after all.

"Well, I guess we'll let you get back to what you were doing." Johnny shuffled his feet this time, both young men back to feeling shy.

McKay waved a hand at them. "Yes, yes, fine. Be on your way, let me get back to this extremely vital work that you've interrupted."

As they began to shamble out, McKay raised his voice. "Johnny."

"Yes, Papa?"

"I'm assuming you're going to go find your mother and Will's parents to tell them as well?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Tell your mother that if she wants us to all get together for dinner tonight, that I'll make sure I'm free to be there. You'd both better be there too, especially if she starts feeling all clannish on you."

"Ancestors preserve me! D'you think she'll want to invite Shil Yana and the Tal and everyone?"

"She might. You know your mother. You'd better prepare yourselves, just in case."

"By Ascension!" Johnny moaned.

"I'd watch that language if you're going to be speaking with your mother anytime soon," McKay advised dryly.

Both young men waved wordlessly to him as they took off down the corridor. McKay slowly sat down at his desk again, but didn't go back to work right away. He drummed the surface of his desk with his fingers, restlessly. After a few moments, he sighed. "You can show yourself," he spoke to the air.

The hologram of the Defender appeared next to his desk, his arms crossed as he appeared to slouch carelessly against the wall. "Well, that went fairly well."

"Thanks for warning me," McKay acknowledged. "Although they were acting so strangely, I thought there was something else going on too."

"Nah. They were just expecting a little parental commotion, is all." The Defender grinned.

"Well, they can get that from Cara. She's been bored lately. She could use some excitement," said McKay, staring at his hands. He looked up at the Defender. "You didn't warn her as well, did you?"

"No. Do you want me to?"

"No. Like I said, let her have something exciting happen to her today. She doesn't get in as much 'saving Atlantis' action as I do." McKay smiled deprecatingly. "You might want to warn Lorne, though. He gets plenty of excitement already."

"Yeah. I already told Nick and Palika. And Elizabeth," added the Defender.

"Hmph. The kids are going to be disappointed that their big news doesn't make more of a splash." McKay shook his head, smiling. The Defender returned his smile with a sly one of his own.

McKay looked down at his hands again. "Well, thanks again," he said awkwardly.

The Defender took the hint, taking his leave before one of them said something stupid and hurtful again. As usual.

"So long, Rodney." And he winked out of sight.

***

"Okay," McKay said, almost as breathless as if he'd been running, "you know what you have to do, right?"

"Yes, Rodney," Sheppard said. His voice was a lot more gentle than it could have been, considering he had answered the same question at least three times, but he'd been watching McKay's slow, jittery unraveling since they'd discovered Sora's tracking device, and he wasn't willing to deny McKay what little reassurance he could give.

Sheppard rubbed the skin next to his eye. He was already exhausted, but he wouldn't be able to rest for at least three more days, provided they could actually keep the Wraith from taking the city for that long.

And McKay had assured everyone the Wraith would arrive in less than ten minutes. Sheppard could practically feel them gliding into orbit around Atlantis, stately and unhurried as predators in water. He shivered, even though he was still in his jacket and the control tower wasn't cold.

McKay just looked at him. "Well?"

Sheppard sighed. "I have to keep track of the weakening areas of the shield and reinforce them by transferring more power to those parts of the shield." He still had only the vaguest idea of how he would do that, though McKay had assured him it would work for him the way the jumpers did, the way everything in Atlantis did for him. Just tell it what you want it to do and it'll do it, like showing a picture of the solar system.

"Good," McKay said, nodding briskly. "That's good. Because it's not like the entire city isn't depending on us being able to keep this up for three days straight, or anything. So... That's good." He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, looking like Sheppard felt. McKay's job would involve juggling the power consumption levels all over the rest of Atlantis, creating brownouts when and where necessary to keep as much of the ZPM's power as possible available for the shield, without sacrificing things like life support or the infirmary, where Aren Lev Nent and his group of telepathic Villana were preparing themselves to put the Wraith into hibernation, or Beckett's lab, where Beckett and his team were trying to create the gene therapy that would make the plan work.

Beckett had said he would need at least four days. McKay was pretty certain this could maybe give him three.

Sheppard made himself smile for McKay, wide and lazy and like they had nothing in the world to worry about. "I hope you brought coffee."

"Oh, God," McKay sighed. "Coffee." They hadn't had any supplies from Earth in eight months. He looked at Sheppard sympathetically. "You wouldn't be able to drink it anyway."

"True," Sheppard said. "Not that you would, either." McKay had cabled his laptop up to the command chair; he'd have to keep his eyes on it the whole time.

McKay quirked an eyebrow at him. "You underestimate my abilities at multitasking."

Sheppard smirked, and half of McKay's mouth curved in a smile, but a second later it slid away.

"I don't know if this is going to work," McKay said.

"It will," Sheppard said. It had to.

"Yeah, but if it doesn't--"

"McKay!"

"No!" McKay said forcefully. "Shut up and listen!"

Sheppard dutifully kept his mouth shut, watching McKay a little warily. He resisted the urge to look at his watch--McKay knew how much time they had left, better than he did.

"Look." McKay took a breath. He was doing that thing where the fingers of his right hand ran back and forth over his thumb. "If we don't make it, I want..." Another breath. "You should know that you, you're..." McKay scowled. "I'm not good at this, okay?" he said in response to Sheppard's mild look. "But, I want you to know that, that meeting you was like getting to go to Atlantis, all over again."

Sheppard swallowed. "Come here," he said, and McKay did, leaning forward until their lips could meet, until they were kissing each other like it might be the last time--which it wasn't--with Sheppard's hands on either side of McKay's head, and McKay's fists bunched around the cloth of Sheppard's jacket on his shoulders.

McKay pulled back first, but he leaned his forehead against Sheppard's. "I really, really wish we had more time."

"Me too," Sheppard said, a little thickly, as McKay moved back. "Rodney?"

McKay looked at him, his eyes enormous.

"Rodney, I--"

"The Wraith have started their attack," came Weir's voice through both their ear comms.

***

McKay's birthday party was over before it even began. Even before the jumper bearing McKay and Jinto from the Mainland settled into the jumper bay, McKay was at the back hatch waiting impatiently. The hatch popped open the instant the jumper was stable, even while the Defender was performing the post-flight checks. McKay bolted out as soon as it opened, not waiting for Jinto or for the Defender, who could certainly multi-task, as was proven when McKay barged into Weir's office and found the hologram already poised by her desk.

The Defender's hologram had probably been there all along, even as he had also used it to play at piloting the jumper and keep McKay updated on the current news. Ordinarily, the Defender preferred to have the hologram appear only in one location at a time--one of the little illusions of humanity he was so fond of--but when there was an emergency, the Defender abandoned any pretensions in favor of efficiency.

"Elizabeth, I'm going on the SAR team," McKay announced peremptorily.

"Yes, Rodney, I know." Weir peered up at him with cataract-filmed eyes. She still hadn't gotten the surgery, although Mary Beckett had frequently assured her that it would work quite well, just like on Earth, and would allow her to see clearly again. "John just told me." Weir nodded to the Defender. "As long as you get the medical okay from Doctor Beckett, I'm inclined to approve your participation in the mission."

"Oh." Prepared for an argument, McKay felt himself deflate visibly. "All right then. I'll just go," he motioned behind himself. "Get checked out and geared up."

"Fifteen minutes, Rodney," said the Defender soberly. "Then the team goes, with or without you. Be in the gate room."

"Right!" McKay tossed over his shoulder as he hurried to the nearest transporter.

~~~

"Papa, I just heard." Johnny barged into the exam room in the infirmary, already wearing his off-world gear, including McKay's old jacket, tailored to fit his longer arms and torso. "You can't--"

"Of course I can," said McKay in irritation, looking up from his battle of wills with Mary Beckett-Cadman, 'Doc Beckett' to most of Atlantis.

"I don't know, Uncle Rodney." Mary carefully put away the Ancient medical scanner. "Your hypertension's a wee bit worse--the blood pressure is higher than I like it. Have you been taking your medication?" Her faint Scottish burr was purely affectation, because most of her dad's old patients found it reassuring. McKay found it annoying.

"Yes, yes," he assured her, scowling. "I drink that damned hideously vile tea every morning and every night. It's just the excitement that's got my blood pressure up, you quack. Ancestors! There are times I really miss your addle-pated father, and this is one of them."

"Aye, because my Da would let you get away with things more than I do, Uncle Rodney." Mary nodded knowingly before her gaze went wistful. "Though, to tell the truth, you can't miss Da or Mum more than I do, every day."

"I'm sorry, Mary." McKay patted her arm awkwardly. "Your dad wasn't really all that addle-pated. Despite his propensity for tinkering in my genetic structure, I do miss him. Not your crazy mother, though," he continued darkly, in the face of Mary's smile and quick hug.

"Very well, Uncle Rodney. You've talked me into it. On your own head be the consequences, which you well know. Off you go, adventuring again," Mary told him, touching foreheads with him. "Johnny, you watch out for your old Da," she admonished his son.

"I wish you wouldn't come, Papa," Johnny fretted, nevertheless helping McKay on with the gear he'd brought with him. "You haven't been off-world in years. I don't want to be worrying about you too."

"Leave the worrying to me, Kiddo," McKay assured him. "You'll be grateful for my grasp of alien technology once we're off-world." He paused in the hallway and cupped the back of his son's head, bringing their foreheads together, then brushing Johnny's thick dark hair aside so he could deliver a kiss to his brow.

There had never been a chance to save his own lover; McKay would be damned if he passed up a chance to help save his son's.

"But--"

"Not another word!" McKay raised a finger imperiously. "We don't leave people behind. Let's go! There's no time." McKay smiled to discover he could still keep up with his son's swift strides down the corridors of Atlantis.

~~~

It turned out that Will was trapped in hideously complex-looking machine of unknown origin, which was lodged in a large stone-and-plaster structure.

"Well, it's not Ancient," McKay said, frowning as he dusted himself off after crawling around underneath the opening of the structure.

"That was so brilliant, Uncle Rodney! I'm just astounded by your contributions to our efforts. What would we do without your insights?"

McKay ignored the biting sarcasm from Pol Eliska, officially one of Pol Osri's middle daughters. Unofficially, Elizabeth Weir and Radek Zelenka's eldest child. Eliska was his own protégé, head of the Atlantis Science Division. She was a bit high-strung, but he didn't necessarily consider that a fault in a scientist, especially for one who went off-world. Pegasus ate young scientists in the field right up if they didn't have a touch of edginess about them.

"What does it say?" McKay queried his son, who was deep into the translation of the writings on the wall.

"I think this is 12th Cycle Old Genii Hegemony writing, Papa. The style is about right."

"Yes, fine, wonderful. And what does it say?" McKay waved an arm in an encouraging gesture. Johnny shook his head, intent on the words.

McKay turned to Eliska. "This thing looks pretty airtight. Assuming there's no ventilation, how long do we have before Will suffocates?" he asked as if he was challenging her abilities, when in reality it was he who could no longer do the math easily in his head. The strokes he'd suffered in recent years had been tiny, insignificant in the scheme of such things, relatively harmless compared to what damage they might have wrought. He could still walk, and talk, and interact normally with others. But his memory wasn't utterly reliable anymore, and reading for longer than short periods gave him blinding headaches. And he no longer had the facility with math he had always taken for granted. Many such routine humiliations proved that his mind was not the sharp, bright tool he had once arrogantly relied on.

Eliska frowned. "A rough calculation of the cubic volume of air that may be available, based on the size of the building--and taking into account that the area Will is occupying may not include the entire structure--I can estimate that Will has--"

"Approximately. Because you always round off your numbers," McKay accused.

"Will has approximately," Eliska bit off the word, "two hours of breathable air available."

"I'm translating as fast as I can, here," Johnny said tightly, scribbling into his notebook. McKay bit his tongue on further comment, and a swift, cutting glance stopped Eliska's tongue as well.

"I know you will find us the answer, Johnny," Leda Dex, Ronon and Shah's eldest daughter, and Johnny and Will's old playmate, encouraged him. She really was a great team leader. Ronon had trained her magnificently and she had inherited her mother's charm.

"How did he get in there in the first place?" Nick Lorne had to lean on a cane and had gained a little weight since the injury that had made his left leg really undependable almost two decades ago. He probably shouldn't have been allowed to go off-world at all, but Elizabeth Weir would not have had the heart to stop him from going out after their son. Both the young PerAn soldiers flanking him had probably been given strict instructions from the Tal about getting Lorne back to Atlantis in one piece.

"The machine was a trap," offered Gralle, Jinto's eldest son. He strongly resembled his grandfather, Halling, although he looked impossibly young. "Will was speaking to a young village girl, attempting to convince her to relate the local stories of this machine, when he stepped on something and activated the trap. It just drew him up inside, like pulling water through a straw."

"Then we need to interrogate that girl! Aldyr, Pent, go down to the village and--"

"No, Uncle Nick!" said Leda, and such was her charisma that both the young soldiers halted in their tracks to await developments. "The girl was as surprised and frightened as we were by the machine. We have already spoken to her and her family and recorded everything." Leda hefted the recorder in illustration. "I believe Gralle meant that the machine itself was designed as a trap. But it was built many cycles ago. Neither the girl nor her village meant harm to any of us."

Gralle nodded quickly in agreement.

Lorne sighed, but nodded his acceptance of Leda's assessment of the situation.

McKay gazed at Leda appraisingly. Many of the older generation were either quite old, or already dead. Like Leda's father, Ronon, ten years gone, shortly followed by Shahyaan, as if she couldn't bear to be parted from her husband yet again. Like Eliska's father, Radek, Ancestors rest his soul. Or Will's PerAn mother, Palika. Or the Cadman-Becketts--both of them dead of the same nasty illness that had taken his own Cara. Of all the offspring of this dying generation of Atlantis' leaders, Leda was the most promising candidate for the next Tal. Elizabeth Weir wouldn't last forever and, despite her hopes, none of her own children--and, borne by other women or not, unofficial or not, Weir definitely considered them her own children--showed the real spark, the temperament or ability that would allow them to take on the leadership of all Atlantis. No matter how Weir groomed them, none of her own children fit the bill. And the office of Tal was never a hereditary position, anyway. McKay had long ago realized that Johnny didn't even have the disposition to lead the Science Division, although he had made head of the Linguistics Department. Leda, however, Ronon's daughter, had the spark to become Tal someday. And the Defender doted on her, which would count for a lot, in Atlantis.

"Got it!" Johnny's announcement derailed McKay's train of thought. Johnny jumped down off the stone he had been using as a step stool, brandishing his notebook. "I don't know if it will do any good," he warned, as everyone crowded around the pages.

"Dej mi pokoj, get back!" Eliska snarled. "Tourists later, people who might possibly be able to use the information constructively, first!" Everyone obediently backed off except McKay. Eliska didn't quite dare to dismiss him, but she held the notebook tightly and tried to crowd him out with her body language. McKay didn't intimidate that easily. Besides, he outweighed Eliska by a good fifteen kilograms or more.

"Hmm. What do you think of that?" McKay pointed out a section of the text to Eliska, where the builders had boasted of 'the power of the Old Ones'.

Eliska cocked an eyebrow at him, tilting her head up and shoving her glasses up on her nose in order to see him better. "You think they talk about a ZPM," she accused.

"Well, they might well be. And if it is one, we can disengage it," McKay answered reasonably.

"Sakra, Uncle Rodney, you see ZPMs around every corner, behind every tree! You have an Ancestors-cursed ZPM fetish!" Eliska's voice rose in an unattractive shriek. McKay scowled. There was such a thing as being too highly strung.

"I doubt it goes that far," Lorne contributed, voice very dry. "More like a strong infatuation."

"Not. Helping!" McKay sing-songed, his own voice a trifle sharp.

"Why not proceed on the assumption that it may be powered by a ZPM, Uncle Rodney?" soothed Leda. "You can look for it while Eliska develops her own avenue of investigation. That way we can move forward most efficiently."

"Very well," assented Eliska grudgingly.

McKay huffed, looking around for his scanner.

"Here, Sir," said Gralle, handing it to him.

"Thanks." McKay patted his arm as if he were a large, friendly dog.

He began to scan the structure the machine was housed in, walking around it. "Be careful, Papa," Johnny warned fretfully. "Don't touch anything. Don't step on anything near the machine. I don't want anything to happen to you too."

"Don't teach your old man to suck eggs, Kiddo," said McKay absently, studying the readings.

Several minutes later, he stopped and waved Johnny over. "Read that for me." McKay pointed at some small writing on a panel on the side of the structure. "I think the ZPM is in there. There's a distinctive energy signature."

"Don't you think you'd better consult with Eliska, Papa?" asked Johnny, darting a glance towards the front of the machine, where Eliska and several of her minions were involved in building...something.

"Yes, of course. I'll let her know before I pull the power source." McKay jerked his chin in his old student's direction. "But if you want to disturb her right now, while she's in the middle of building her magic can opener..."

"Papa! Do you always have to be so insulting?"

"Kiddo, I trained the woman." McKay snorted. "There's nothing I can say that should surprise her."

"Ticho! Useless old man, always looking for something to plug in, or unplug," came Eliska's sharp comment as she forced a wrench to do double-duty as a temporary hammer.

"Acid-tongued harpy! Always with the overcomplicated solutions," fired McKay right back.

Johnny snapped his fingers to get his father's attention. "It says, 'Open with care. Power center may...mmm...this could mean 'fire' or 'explode' or...hmmm... 'spark'? One of those."

"Okay," McKay agreed, a smile tugging on one corner of his mouth. "I can work with that."

He trudged back towards Eliska and her assistants. "Oh Great Scientist, are you ready yet? I can unplug the thing at any time." He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder.

Eliska grunted as she slotted another component into her contraption. "Good. Knew you'd find it. Here's the plan. We trigger the trap again, insert this mechanism in there to simultaneously hold it open and jam up the works, then you pull the ZPM, the moment I say." She looked up to meet McKay's gaze, her own eyes glittering with challenge behind the lenses of her glasses. "Can you do that, old man?"

McKay grinned at his favorite student. "Sure, no problem. It'll be as easy as changing your diaper was. Wait a minute, by tremendous coincidence, I've done that too--you little witch."

"How does any of this get Will out?" asked Lorne mildly, interrupting the insult-athon.

"Well." Eliska's brows drew together. "With this mechanism holding the intake system open, Will should be able to crawl out the way he got in, especially once the Master over there unplugs the power source."

"That assumes that Will is conscious," Leda amended. "He may be injured. We have not been able to raise him on our communicators all this time."

"I imagine that the machine there is blocking our communications," Eliska told her soberly. "Once Uncle Rodney pulls the ZPM, we should be able to raise him."

Leda peered at the mechanism that Eliska's flunkies were finishing. "If Will does not respond, can I use your device to go inside the trap after him?"

Eliska shrugged. "The purpose of the device is to force an opening to allow Will to get out. However, you should be able to get in as well."

"But, Leda," Johnny objected. "I don't want you to get stuck in that thing too!"

"I have confidence that you would all be able to get me out again, Johnny." Leda patted his back. "In the meantime, I might be able to take care of Will if he's hurt, or at least keep him company and make sure he is not all alone in there."

"Then let me go," said Johnny.

Leda shook her head. "You may be needed out here, to translate something else. If it appears that there is something important to translate inside, I will signal and you can come in also."

Johnny nodded reluctantly.

The plan went off smoothly, as far as these things went. On Eliska's signal, McKay pulled the ZPM out of its mounting in the side of the structure, and handed it off to Gralle to store in a padded pouch. Atlantis could always use another ZPM. The only hitch was a bit of an electrical shock as he closed up the access hatch. "OW! Damnit!" McKay shook his hand.

But his complaint was swallowed in the general uproar as they all heard Will's voice over their communicators. "Uncle Rodney? Is that you? What are you doing off-world?"

"Is that any way to greet your rescuers, you ungrateful kid?" Lorne bellowed at his son.

"Dad? Dad! What are you doing out here! You definitely shouldn't be off-world. Leda! Why did you let my Dad and Uncle Rodney haul their asses out here? By Ascension! I get stuck in one lousy contraption and everybody panics!" Will's annoyed voice continued to berate and complain as he obviously worked his way out of the trap using Eliska's device.

McKay felt a grin take over his whole face, as he started towards the front of the structure so that he could see Will emerge. The dizziness caught him unprepared, and he flailed and grabbed at Gralle's arm to stay upright. As the young man put an arm around him in concern, McKay felt himself sag as the mother of all headaches hit him right between the eyes. The world tilted alarmingly, McKay's stomach felt really, really sick, as if he would puke any moment, and his vision grayed out.

***

"Hang on!"

McKay hung grimly to his seat as Sheppard put the puddle jumper through another move worthy of Top Gun or, possibly, Star Wars. McKay didn't want to know what those moves would have felt like without the inertial dampeners.

Behind them, in the rear compartment, the PerAn enforcer, Cal Pinurst, was weeping brokenly and gasping, "My babies, my babies!" over and over. The surviving members of his troop tried to comfort him, although most of them seemed to be in shock. Two thirds of the troop, as well as Pinurst's children, had been swept up in the culling beams.

McKay sat next to Sheppard, in Teyla's usual seat. The Commander of the enforcers sat next to Teyla, behind McKay, in Ronon's usual seat. He was quietly introducing himself to Teyla. "I am called Pol Osri, by my honor Chief Enforcer for the Office of the Calendor in Hamachtown."

Teyla was still in a bit of shock herself, because it took her a few moments to reply. "I--I am Teyla Emmagan, daughter of..."

Sheppard shoved a drone right up the tail of the dart he was following, before pulling up straight at almost a ninety degree angle to escape the resulting explosion.

"Dammit, Sheppard, you want to force them down, not blow the darts into itty bitty pieces!" McKay admonished him. "If we can get to the interface that stores their cargo, we may be able to extract Ronon. Just like Zelenka extracted me."

"That didn't turn out so well," Sheppard said grimly, finding another dart to follow.

"Well, I grant you, not at first," McKay said. "There was that whole Cadman issue, which I would very much love to forget, by the way. But we resolved that. And Zelenka's been working on the system on and off in his spare time to improve our technique for...ah...downloading the 'passengers'."

"Did you just do air quotes again? Rodney, you know I hate it when you do air quotes," Sheppard complained. The jumper zigged, then zagged again, following as the dart went close to the tree line. "I'd prefer to get him back," Sheppard said more quietly. "But either way, he won't end up on a Hive ship. I promised Ronon I would never let the Wraith have him again."

The jumper cut suddenly and violently to the left to avoid something swift and bright. Sheppard swore. "What the hell was that?"

McKay had already accessed the jumper's sensor array. "It couldn't be! Colonel, that's another drone. But this is the only puddle jumper on the planet!"

"It might be cloaked, like we are," Sheppard said. "Pol Osri," he asked, his eyes never leaving the jumper's screen. "Is there something you're not telling us?"

~~~

"No, we can't bring them back to Atlantis with us!" McKay argued with Zelenka over his comm through the open wormhole. "I don't care! You're going off-world whether you like it or not. No. No, Elizabeth, don't let him wriggle out of it. I'll tell you--For God's sake! Ronon's in one of those darts we just shot down. Radek, you have 15 minutes to get your gear and some flunkies together and get yourself over here before I let Colonel Sheppard loose. And believe me, he'll just go get you and drag you here by the scruff of your scrawny little neck. No, no, I am not threatening you. If I was threatening you, I'd be sending Teyla after you. Ah-HA! Thought you'd see it my way. What? Yes, yes, okay then. Twenty minutes, tops. Yes. Fine. Elizabeth? Yes, of course you're sending a military escort. Did you want to speak to Sheppard? Okay. Yes, right, we will. McKay out."

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, turning to Sheppard. The Colonel made a show of flexing the muscles in his arms and waggling his eyebrows. "I've never been somebody's thug before. Thanks, McKay!"

McKay rolled his eyes. "Oh, please! I wasn't threatening, I was predicting. She was the threat," he indicated Teyla, who curved an amused eyebrow his way. "And I didn't even have to really use her." McKay smiled a self-satisfied little smile.

"Does this mean your expert will be coming to extract our people from the Wraith vehicles?" asked Danl Talene, head of the Talene clan, of the Villana people--who were somehow distinctly different people from the PerAn the team had met first, but who still seemed to consider the PerAn 'their' people.

Sheppard turned to the--well, he couldn't rightly tell if Danl Talene was a man or a woman. The Villana was tall, dark-haired, of slim build, and rather androgynous-looking, with a face both feminine and masculine by turns. Talene also wore loose, shapeless clothing that disguised any clues his or her body may have provided. Sheppard was stumped as to whether to address this person as 'sir' or 'ma'am' or whether it was polite to enquire. He settled on the neutral. "Yes, Talene, our people will be coming soon with the equipment we need to extract individuals from the darts. We call them 'darts' because they look like--"

"We've done this before, Talene," McKay assured the Villana.

"Successfully?" Talene questioned.

"Yes. Well, mostly. It depends, frankly, on how much power is available from the dart, or if we otherwise have compatible power sources. We've been working on improving our process," explained McKay. "And, since we have several darts available, I'm confident we should have a very good success rate."

"But not certain," said the Villana wryly.

"There are no certainties, Talene," interjected Teyla smoothly. "But Doctor McKay has often been able to achieve miraculous results with much less."

"The Ancestors grant you are correct," said Talene gravely. S/he turned to Pol Osri, hovering at Talene's side. "You take a great risk, Osri, revealing us to these strangers."

Osri nodded grimly. "And my punishment, should I be wrong, will be severe. But they were already fighting on our behalf, Speaker. I could not allow them to endanger themselves through ignorance."

Talene made a complex hand gesture. "I accept your reasoning." Abruptly, s/he turned and left, to join a small group of other Villana standing at the forest's edge, near one of the downed darts. They were all vaguely androgynous, though some were tall and some short, some slim and some heavyset. A few were impossibly more androgynous than the others. Sheppard shook his head.

Right. Back to work. The last few of Pol Osri's men jogged up and saluted their leader. After they reported and stepped away, Sheppard went over to the PerAn commander. "Well, did they find any more darts, Osri?"

"Just one, Sheppard. You disposed of three, if I recall correctly, and the Tower disposed of four others." Osri scratched his neck. "My men have only found six vehicles on the ground, but you destroyed at least one so thoroughly that all I think we may find of it is parts scattered throughout the woods."

Sheppard shrugged, striving to appear unconcerned. He peered up to see the Villana Tower peeking, ghostlike, above the trees. Another world with a hidden city--with a central tower, eerily reminiscent of Atlantis' control tower. Only this one had a working cloak in addition to working drones. And people who seemed to know how to properly use the technology, as well as having the ability to do so.

~~~

"Out of the way, please. Yes, you. Thank you. We are ready, McKay," Zelenka said tensely, once more scanning the sky as if expecting the Wraith to arrive with more darts any moment. It wasn't necessarily an unreasonable expectation. Somewhere a Hive ship had sent out seven darts, and not one had returned back through the gate. Somewhere, perhaps, a Hive Queen was deciding whether to write those darts off or to send a follow-up team to determine what had happened to them.

McKay double-checked Zelenka's instruments for him and nodded. "Go ahead, Radek. It's your show."

Zelenka took a deep breath and activated the equipment. The culling beam flashed out into the clearing and five men from the enforcer troop appeared. Three promptly fell over and two staggered around, swaying. With a cheer, their fellow Enforcers dashed over to help the men to their feet.

"This is truly wonderful!" exclaimed the Villana who had introduced herself as Shil Yana to McKay. McKay didn't have Sheppard's reticence, or perhaps it was tact--whatever it was, he didn't have it. He'd flat out asked the Villana what gender she pertained to.

She had blinked at him in confusion. "We have just met, Doctor McKay. At this time, I do not wish to pursue a sexual relationship with you."

McKay shuddered. "Believe me, neither do I. It's just that..." He made a vague gesture with one hand. "Gender is important to us, socially. We prefer to know the gender of the person we're speaking to."

Shil tilted her head at him. "You will treat me differently depending on whether I am male or female?"

"Not necessarily." McKay shook his head and made another gesture, more impatient. "Come on! Just indulge me, already!"

And with a mysterious smile, she had.

~~~

The third dart they tried produced Pinurst's children. Both Pinurst and his wife, one of the Villana (so perhaps she might have been Pinurst's husband, though Sheppard thought probably not), dashed over, weeping, and swept the children into their arms.

Shil Yana approached Zelenka where he was crouched over his instruments and grasped both his wrists in an oddly formal gesture. "We are deeply grateful to you, Radek Zelenka, for returning our children to us. My clan is in your debt. Our children are our most precious resource."

Zelenka looked uncomfortable, so Sheppard came to stand beside him, to lend him support. McKay stepped up a moment later, his hand on Zelenka's shoulder. "Good work, Radek," he said quietly. "Only three more to go."

Danl Talene came to stand next to Shil Yana as she straightened. "Not just the Yana clan are in your debt, Atlanteans. All the Villana owe you our gratitude, and the PerAn do as well." S/he turned to Sheppard. "Colonel, Teyla Emmagan tells me that the blood of the Ancestors runs in your veins, as it runs in ours. And that you dwell in the very city of the Ancestors itself."

Sheppard lifted a wry eyebrow, hoping that this wouldn't lead to another dynastic struggle like the last time his bloodlines had been discussed. He really didn't feel like being mistaken for a breeding stud again, much less like being pinched on the ass. "Why, yes. Yes, Talene. What Teyla said is true."

"Then by both deeds and blood, your people are worthy of being named our Friends," said Talene, smiling. Next to Talene, Shil Yana smiled blindingly as well. Behind them, Pol Osri bounced on his toes, seeming very pleased indeed.

Both of Sheppard's eyebrows flew up. "Well! That's certainly...nice. Thank you."

"Yes, very nice indeed. We're very grateful you like us," said McKay impatiently. "Can you help us take our equipment to the next dart, so that we can extract the rest of your people, and hopefully ours?"

"Yes! Yes, of course," assured Osri, and his men sprang into action.

By the fifth dart, the little party was more solemn. Zelenka had lost one of the lifesigns at the fourth dart. There had been three lifesigns in the buffer, according to Zelenka, but only two of Osri's men emerged from the beam. "Do not give up hope," Zelenka told the crestfallen commander. "We will bring it back to Atlantis with us, and try again, with our equipment there."

"None of them are sharing bodies, like me and Cadman did, are they?" McKay inquired anxiously.

Zelenka shook his head, the waning sunlight flashing off the lenses of his glasses. "I do not think so, Rodney, but you should perhaps warn them of the danger, and describe the signs by which they may discover if this has occurred."

And so McKay gave a rambling explanation to a bemused Pol Osri and his people as Zelenka concentrated on the fifth dart. Sheppard stood next to him glumly. "We will return your friend to you as well, Colonel," said Zelenka. "At least, I hope we can do this."

"I hope so, too, Radek."

Teyla came, and stood next to Sheppard, lightly touching his forearm with the tips of her fingers.

Zelenka's assistants stepped back at last, and Zelenka looked up. "McKay, we are ready."

McKay came and stood next to Zelenka, with his hand gripping the engineer's shoulder as he knelt next to his instruments. "Then go ahead."

"Don't you want to check, McKay?"

"I'm confident in your work," said McKay, surprised. "By now it should be almost routine." He waved his arm in illustration at the dart and the PerAn troops surrounding it, much greater in number than when they'd started.

"I prefer you check," Zelenka insisted soberly. "We must not make mistakes, Rodney."

"Gotcha." McKay did that snap-point thing with his hand and knelt down to inspect the settings and readouts on all of the equipment.

At last the culling ray flashed out again. Four men appeared. Three promptly sat down, or fell over. One stood swaying, and put his hands to his head. "Whoa!"

Sheppard's whoop of victory momentarily drowned out all the other babble. Two seconds later, he tackled Ronon in an enthusiastic, back pounding hug. Ronon might have even fallen over from the force of his taskmaster's joy, if Teyla and McKay hadn't also been clinging to him from each side, demonstrative in their own happiness as well.

"What happened?" Ronon asked, confusion creasing his face.

His team laughed.

~~~

"What? Sorry, Elizabeth, it's hard to hear you over the noise. Yeah. Well, it's sort of a big party and I think they might be working their way up to a parade." Sheppard glanced over at the crowd of PerAn, men and women, who were carrying a flustered Radek Zelenka up on their shoulders in a cheering, happy jostle. There had been no alcohol dispersed. Yet. But the tidy, straight-laced little town his team had walked through early that day was almost unrecognizable now, with its gas-lit streets full of high-spirited, laughing people, and children running everywhere. The Villana were in evidence too. They were less exuberant than the PerAn perhaps, but smiling broadly, some of them playing musical instruments, some singing and dancing in small groups.

Sheppard looked around for his team. Teyla was dancing to some raucous music in a group with Shil Yana, Cal Pinurst, and his family. Ronon and Pol Osri were engaged in a conversation of all things, that seemed to require expansive gestures and bouts of loud laughter. Where was McKay? Sheppard let his nose lead him to the patio seating of one of the restaurants that had thrown its doors open to the surging crowds, and found his quarry.

"And absolutely no citrus. Citrus? Well, here, let me show you. I've prepared a little guide, with some samples of citrus so that you can recognize it and keep it out of any food you serve me." McKay was digging his damned 'Guide to My Allergies' out of his pack and handing it off to a serious-looking plump little Villana, who--oh my God--was taking notes. They'd never be able to shut McKay up about his allergies again.

The voice in his ear brought Sheppard's attention back to his comm. "Huh? Yeah, I think it should be safe. It's been hours and we haven't heard from the Wraith again. Besides, the Villana say if anything happens we can take shelter in their Tower behind their cloak and shield. Yeah. Of course, Lorne can bring an escort when he brings you over in the shuttle. I think you'd better handle this one, Elizabeth. This 'Friendship' gig is a big deal to them."

Sheppard was handed something in a mug by a smiling PerAn matron. He sniffed, then took a sip. Ah. The alcohol had made its appearance. He grinned. Looked like a party tonight, then.

***

"What is it?" Johnny asked, standing at the doorway to McKay and Cara's quarters. He looked sullen and wary, and McKay almost regretted asking him to come. "I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"Come in," McKay said, stepping quickly out of the way, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy and self-conscious. He looked at his son, surreptitiously glancing at his head, to see if there was any sign of the operation--if it was reasonable to call two injections that. Johnny seemed to be exactly the same.

"How did the briefing go?" McKay asked. They were in the middle of the main room now, where the couches were, and the small kitchen. The bedrooms and home offices were down a short hallway. One of the rooms was still empty--Johnny hadn't moved out all that long ago. "And the, uh..." McKay gestured at the side of his head, not sure what to call it. 'Implantation' seemed too... alien. Unpleasant.

"Fine," Johnny said. "They were both fine." He blew out a breath, crossed his arms. "Uncle Carson said the chips implanted without a hitch. Did you call me all the way up here from the labs just to ask me that?"

So, 'implantation' it was, then. "No, of course not," McKay said quickly. Then he thought of something and backed up a step, before he could catch himself. "Does that mean... Are you recording right now?" He gestured at Johnny's head again. "Could he, could he get all this, later?"

Johnny gave a small shrug, his arms still crossed. "I'm sure the Defender"--he said the name with pointed emphasis--"is too polite to pay attention to a private conversation." Johnny had obviously caught McKay's retreat, though, and his eyes narrowed even further, which hardly seemed possible. "I'm really not interested in arguing about this with you."

"Wait, okay?" McKay said as his son started to turn. He had to reach up a little to put his palm on Johnny's shoulder. "Can you wait, please? You're not the only one who has work to do--I think you can spare two lousy minutes."

"Of course I can," Johnny growled. "Because who can forget that your time is so much more precious than anyone else's?"

It wouldn't have been the first time they'd had that particular fight.

And McKay almost told him that, yes, his time was more precious, and it always would be, until Johnny managed to save the city--and, oh yes, the galaxy--at least as many times as his father had. And he almost strode off righteously to his office and left his son fuming in the front room, because it was a shock how much those words hurt. It was always a shock at how much those words hurt, no matter how often he'd heard them.

But he didn't, because Johnny was going on an off-world mission the next day, in the morning--McKay had checked--and if there was one thing he had actually managed to learn from losing Sheppard, it was that there were times you had to just suck it up and talk, because it might be the only chance you had. So he just said, "Please. I'd really like you to stay. This won't take long."

And when Johnny gave him a slow, tired nod it felt oddly like a triumph.

"Great," McKay said with false cheer. He rubbed his hands together. "Wait here." He darted into the bedroom he and Cara shared, went to the large, wooden chest at the end of their bed and threw the lid back, ignoring the clothes they--well, he--had piled on it that slid onto the bed and the floor.

The two things he wanted were right at the top, which was perfect, and he snatched them out of the chest and darted back into the main room. He put the jacket on the back of the couch, and held out the pouch to his son.

"This was a hand-me-down from one of the Athosians," he explained, as Johnny took the smooth, worn bag-like thing with apparent confusion. "It's a baby pouch," McKay said, his hands making automatic fastening movements as he described it, the motor-memory still clear and sharp after twenty years. "You put the straps over your shoulderS and the belt around your waist, and the baby goes in the front." He pointed at a small strip of leather as Johnny fingered it, looking a bit surprised. "That part is for the baby's forehead, so his head won't flop forward when he's too little to hold it up on his own."

Johnny blinked down at the pouch, then at McKay. "You guys put me in this?"

"Yes." McKay nodded, smiling at the memory. "Cara and I would take turns, when I was home. She'd get you one day, I'd take you the next, and we'd carry you around all day in that pouch. She'd be doing her research, and I'd be tinkering in the labs, and you'd be in your little sack, watching everything with big, solemn eyes."

Johnny was holding the pouch by the straps now, looking at it. He had a small, crooked smile that McKay knew came directly from him but reminded him oddly of Sheppard. "Cool," he said quietly. "I wish I remembered that."

McKay shrugged. "I'd be surprised if you did. That was a long time ago." That made him a little sad. "The thing is," and he hesitated, because things like this always embarrassed him, "the thing is it was a long time ago. But sometimes...sometimes I guess I forget how much you've grown since then. That you're an adult now." His smile faltered, and he hoped to hell his voice wasn't really wavering. "You're just so...tall, and, you're putting things in your head and going on missions, and it drives me crazy that I can't just put you back in that pouch and protect you anymore."

Johnny looked at him, his eyes big and solemn. "You don't have to protect me anymore, Papa," he said.

"I know," McKay said. "Or, at least, I try to know that. But I still want to. I'll never stop wanting to." His mouth flickered in a smile, but Johnny looked like he was going to say something else, so, "That wasn't the only thing I wanted to show you," McKay said quickly, to offset the fluttery feeling of panic that he'd talked too much, been maudlin and stupid, and that Johnny was about to tell him so. He took the baby pouch from Johnny's hand, placed it on the couch with exaggerated gentleness for something made of cloth, then picked up the jacket and all but thrust it at his son.

"Here," he said, nodding at the bundle in Johnny's hands. "I want you to have it."

Johnny blinked again, then unfolded the jacket, his grin widening as he realized what it was. "This was yours, wasn't it?" he asked, looking at McKay in delighted wonder.

"That's right." McKay nodded. He reached out and touched one sleeve with the tips of his fingers, feeling strangely shy. The artificial material seemed oddly alien, after years of wearing handmade clothing. "That patch is the flag of Canada," he explained, pointing at the distinct white and red. It still looked bright and unworn, as if it could hold any meaning in this far distant place. "The country I grew up in." He smiled, tasting bitterness and a surprising jolt of longing. "It doesn't exist anymore, but that's the flag of where I'm from, on Earth." Johnny knew all that, of course, but it somehow still felt important to explain.

Johnny ran his own fingertips over the patch. "It's beautiful," he said, then looked at McKay again. "You really want me to have this?"

"That's what I said," McKay said. He found one of his own lop-sided smiles. "The other sleeve has the old Atlantis symbol." He waited while his son turned the jacket over, letting the left sleeve flop. "On Earth, we called this the Pegasus Galaxy. The flying creature is called a Pegasus--it doesn't really exist."

Johnny nodded, tracing the horse's head now. "The people of Anteron have a similar creature, with wings like this. Only it has horns, too, and the head is differently shaped." He gave an oddly demure smile. "Lots of cultures seem to have a thing for winged animals."

"Right," McKay said, searching for a response to that--it seemed so irrelevant. "I'm glad all those soft sciences have actually taught you something." It was exactly the wrong thing to say, of course, and he didn't miss the dark flicker of anger in Johnny's eyes.

But Johnny pulled his smile back, before McKay could stumble out an apology. His son couldn't keep his eyes off the jacket. "Can I try it on?"

"Of course." McKay gestured at the jacket. "It's yours."

"Thanks." Johnny grinned, then pulled it on. It was one of the lighter-weight, darker-colored jackets, the kind with the brownish hue, brought by the Daedalus around the middle of the expedition's second year. It didn't look very good against the rough texture or dark red of Johnny's homespun shirt, and the sleeves and hem were too short, but Johnny kept running his hands down the swatches of dark blue and he wouldn't stop grinning.

"It's a little short," McKay pointed out. It also hung oddly, since Johnny, for all his height, hadn't finished growing yet. He was too narrow across the shoulders for the jacket's width.

He hadn't realized how very strange it would be, seeing the jacket again, seeing it on his son. McKay hadn't worn it for nearly five years, since he stopped going off-world for good. He could still catalogue the stains. Blood never did clean well on that fabric.

Johnny just nodded, still staring down at the jacket. "I can get that fixed." He looked at McKay. "This is so great. Thank you."

"You're welcome," McKay said, trying to smile again in return. "Just, ah, try not to put too many new holes in it. It's practically an antique."

"I promise," Johnny said seriously, though he was still grinning. "No new holes." And McKay's chest tightened a little, because his son had no right to promise that, no matter how much McKay wished he could.

Johnny spread his arms out, looking at the jacket again, back and forth along the too-short sleeves. "This is amazing." And then he was hugging his father, quick and rough and almost painful with happiness. "Thank you!"

McKay's arms stiffened in surprise--it had been a very long time--and Johnny pulled back before he could properly hug him in return. "Yes, well." McKay had to clear his throat. "You're going on your first off-world mission tomorrow. I had to make sure you looked cool."

"Oh, yeah." Johnny nodded emphatically, seemingly unaware of the fact that the jacket really looked anything but cool on him. "I love it." He checked his watch, then winced. "Look, I have to get back, okay? I promised Erta I'd check her translation on those tablets her team found last week. But I'll come by later--you and me and Mama can have dinner or something."

"I'd like that," McKay said. He knew it wouldn't happen.

"Excellent." Johnny put his hand on McKay's shoulder, squeezed gently. "Thanks so much for this," he said, before he headed for the door.

"Wait," McKay said.

Johnny turned back, curious.

"Be careful," McKay said.

"I'll be fine, Papa," Johnny said.

"I'm sure you will," McKay said, and watched him go.

He stood in the main room of his quarters for a long time, hands dangling, his one eye on the floor. "I know you're there," he said at last. "You might as well come in."

"Thank you," the Defender said, and the blue hologram with Sheppard's face appeared in front of him.

"Just tell me one thing," McKay said, wrenching his gaze up to glare. "Did he actually volunteer to carry memories for you? Or did you pressure him?"

"He volunteered!" The Defender looked shocked that McKay might have even thought otherwise, which McKay supposed was a good thing. "Over twenty people from different teams volunteered, actually. He was the one I chose."

McKay frowned. "Why not just get the chips implanted into all twenty? Surely you can multitask."

"I probably will," the Defender said, ignoring the barb. "There aren't enough chips available yet--Johnny got the prototype."

"Oh God." McKay put his hand over his face. "So he had something put in his brain that might not even work right." He yanked his hand away, all but snarling at the hologram. "How could you condone that? He's your nephew! How selfish can you be?"

"Hey!" The hologram's expression was a perfect mix of hurt and anger. McKay couldn't remember anymore if Sheppard had ever looked like that. "I would never have agreed to this if it wasn't totally safe! Who the hell do you think I am?"

McKay actually let out a bark of wild, incredulous laughter. But he didn't say it: I don't think you're anybody, I think you're code in a machine.

He didn't have to say it. The Defender already knew.

"Why the hell are you doing this, anyway?" McKay said into the too-long silence. "You've got the run of the entire city, and the space station, and if you want to go off-world you can fly a jumper yourself. What do you need with chips inside my kid's head?"

The Defender crossed his arms. "Because it's not good enough," he said. "In order to defend Atlantis properly, I have to know what the threats are, out there. Second-hand reports, even ones backed up with AV, aren't good enough. I need first-hand knowledge. It's that simple."

McKay tightened his jaw, staring at him. "So in other words, you're bored. And you convinced the medical engineering team to make you a DR from hell so you could play at going through the gate." McKay felt his hands clenching. He hadn't been this angry in quite some time. "You're risking Johnny's life for a vanity project."

"Elizabeth and Ronon thought it was an excellent idea," the Defender said. The forced casualness of his voice was belied by the cool anger shining in his artificial eyes. "Lorne and Pol did too. Not to mention Beckett and everyone who volunteered for it--Johnny included." The hologram's blue-black eyebrows rose in mock curiosity. "Funny how the only one who thinks this is a 'vanity project' is you."

"Ronon worshiped the ground John walked on," McKay snapped. "And he thinks you're him--he'd do anything you wanted, no matter how asinine. And Elizabeth would too, because she's been in denial about John being dead for nearly thirty years, and letting you run rampage over logic and common sense lets her keep on pretending. Don't even get me started on Beckett. And Nick and Osri are military--if they were even capable of forming opinions, they would never offer any. So, yeah." McKay lifted his chin, glaring. "Vanity project. Don't even try to sugar-coat it as something heroic or--don't make me laugh--necessary."

"McKay!" It was always strange, hearing the Defender shout--it never seemed quite loud enough, as if Atlantis was imposing some kind of volume control. He didn't breathe, either, but it still looked like the Defender took a few breaths anyway, keeping his fury in check. "God, you're a bastard," he said.

McKay didn't even bother answering that.

The Defender bent his head, running the fingers of both hands through his hair. The hair was the wrong color, but it still moved with precise imperfection, like it belonged to something alive. McKay had always admired that, those little touches, nearly as much as he hated them.

"I don't have to answer to you," the Defender said, raising his head to look McKay directly in the eye. "I don't have to explain myself, I don't have to ask for approval, or forgiveness, or even give a sweet God-damn about what you think, unless it has to do with my jurisdiction." He took another non-breath, looking conciliatory now, and even with it being a hologram, McKay could tell that it required effort. "I swear I would never have let anyone volunteer to... carry for me, like you said, if I wasn't completely certain it was perfectly safe. You know I wouldn't do anything to put Johnny at risk--you're just going to have to accept that."

"You're letting him go on a mission tomorrow," McKay said, accusing.

"That was Ronon's decision, not mine," the Defender said. "But I agree with him--Johnny's ready for the field."

"He's only twenty years old!" McKay yelled. "How can you tell me he's ready to, to be shot at when he's only twenty years old?"

"He's more ready now than you were when I asked you to join my team!"

"John Sheppard's team! Not yours!"

"God damn it, I am John Sheppard!"

The desk lamp flared into brilliant, over-bright life, then almost instantly shattered, scattering shards of glass over the keyboard of McKay's laptop.

McKay whirled towards it, shocked, and when he looked back at the Defender it was to see him obviously fighting for calm.

"That was one of the last light bulbs in Atlantis," McKay said flatly. He wanted to be pleased that it looked like he'd managed to get the Defender as angry as he was himself, but the remnants of the adrenaline surge was making that difficult.

"Sorry," the Defender ground out.

McKay looked at the remains of the lamp again. It was going to be a real bitch getting the glass out of his keyboard, but he didn't bother mentioning that. "You haven't done that in awhile."

"I know," the Defender said. Atlantis made a sound for him that was vaguely like a smirk. "You're the only one who could ever get me that mad."

"Probably a good thing," McKay said. The momentary surprise of the light blowing had apparently short-circuited his fury. McKay wondered if the Defender hadn't actually done it in purpose--he wouldn't put it past him--except that rage he had seen in him had been entirely genuine.

"Yeah," the Defender said. He sounded subdued now, as well, likely ashamed of his lack of control. "Look," he said. "Ronon's cleared Johnny for hand-to-hand combat--and he says he's 'pretty good', by the way, which is damn high praise coming from him--and I've been training him with the projectile and beam weapons myself. He's ready for this. He's going to be fine."

"He's my son," McKay said, as if that explained everything.

"He'll be fine," the Defender said again. "I promise."

McKay nodded slowly. "All right," he said. "All right. Just... If one of those chips has a problem--if it shorts or moves or doesn't work right and hurts him..." McKay bared his teeth, feeling the anger rising back up. It had never really dissipated, after all. "I will go into the city's computer core, and I will rip every wire, and smash every crystal that has anything to do with you. Do you understand? If he gets hurt because of you, I will destroy you so completely that it will be worse than if you'd never existed. Do I make myself clear?"

"Completely," the Defender said. His voice was freezing, translucent face set, but McKay didn't miss the hurt there, in the narrowed, blue-flecked eyes.

He refused to feel badly about it. He wouldn't. "He's my son," McKay said again. "That's my life, carrying you."

"I know," the Defender said. "I know."

And he looked so earnest, so very much like Sheppard, McKay wished he could believe him.

***

McKay shifted again, trying to get comfortable in his portion of the narrow bed. He huffed irritably. It wasn't as if he was unused to Atlantis' beds, though you would have assumed that they could have gotten more comfortable beds by now, he thought petulantly. Beside him, Sheppard shifted as well, and McKay froze. They had few enough opportunities to spend the whole night together; he hadn't wanted to disturb Sheppard's rest just because he couldn't sleep himself.

"Rodney? You okay?" Sheppard's sleepy voice was followed by Sheppard's warm hand petting his shoulder. McKay flopped over onto his back. In a motion so smooth that McKay barely noticed it, Sheppard ducked back out of the way then draped himself partially over McKay's body, so that neither of them would fall off of the bed.

Sheppard chuckled softly and sleepily into McKay's neck. "Are y'horny again? You wanna fuck?"

"It's okay, John. Go back to sleep." McKay kept his voice soft. Unlike Sheppard, who occasionally could get embarrassingly mushy, he didn't dare let himself use any endearments for Sheppard, even when they were in bed together, except for the use of his given name--all other times keeping strictly to the formal 'Colonel', or sometimes, 'Sheppard'.

It wasn't like most people on Atlantis didn't know about their relationship--or all the important people, anyway. It was a small community, with a small community's inability to hold secrets for long. It was just that, with the political climate being what it was back on Earth, and with the barbaric rules of the U.S. military establishment, it behooved most of the people who knew--people like Elizabeth Weir or Nick Lorne, for example--to pretend they didn't. And to enable that pretense, McKay and Sheppard practiced more discretion than was probably good for a long-term relationship.

It was thoughts like this that kept McKay up at night, more than the discomfort at sharing a too-narrow bed with his warm and accommodating lover.

Heaving a sigh, Sheppard raised his head and folded his arms on top of McKay's chest, finally resting his chin atop his forearms. His eyes glittered in the dim light as he peered down into McKay's face. "You're thinking too much again, Rodney," he accused.

"Yes, well, when you have the most brilliant mind in two galaxies, it's sometimes difficult to turn it off," McKay grumbled wearily.

"Hmph. I thought I was pretty good at wiping all the thoughts right out of that brilliant mind. I must be losing my touch." Sheppard waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

McKay felt himself blush scarlet. Sheppard could still--after all this time, still--do that to him with a few words or even the right glance. McKay smoothed his hand down the lovely expanse of his lover's back. The skin was sleep-warm and, as usual, enticingly irresistible to touch. He stroked again, nape to tailbone.

"Oh, you're not losing your touch, believe me," McKay said. "And that's the only compliment you're getting tonight, so don't go fishing for more," he warned.

"Umm. But if I wasn't losing my touch, you'd be asleep by now," Sheppard protested. Then he moved, in a wholly distracting manner.

"OH MY GO--How do you do that?" McKay demanded, feeling his cock decide that it could, after all, manage another erection tonight. "Do you go to--what is it? Incubus school, or something? AH! Damn it, John, I'm not eighteen any more. Oh! Oh, please! Do that again!"

Sheppard smirked in a completely unforgivable way as he tangled their legs together tightly and continued to move against McKay. McKay managed to wipe the smirk off his face by clamping one hand firmly on Sheppard's ass and snaking the other between their bodies to hold both their cocks in a firm grip. Sheppard's gasp and the slack, pleasure-drugged expression that took over his face were very satisfying. McKay might have managed to get out a quip about it if Sheppard--Oh, dear Lord, John!--hadn't lowered his mouth to kiss and lick and nip at Rodney's neck, winding one arm firmly around his shoulders, and gripping the back of Rodney's head with the other hand, using that grip to tilt his head to the best angle for the assault on his bared throat.

Even as most of his thoughts were washed away in the physical, sensual joy of heat and friction, scent and weight, touch and taste, Rodney couldn't eliminate the small, bitter thoughts that floated at the edge of his mind. John was so careful. So careful never to leave marks. As was he. They could never allow themselves to be so carried away by passion that they would be careless enough to leave any sign on the other's body. How long would John stay with a lover he had to be so careful with?

Rodney's orgasm whited out his thoughts for the long moments it rolled through him. When he surfaced from his post-coital daze, it was to find John still rocking sweetly into the slick mess Rodney had left all over his belly. Once they got going, Rodney usually found frottage a very pleasant way to get off, albeit a somewhat messy one. While John enjoyed himself, he, or rather his cock, typically preferred to come somewhere a bit warmer and wetter. Luckily, Rodney always had something warm and wet along. He maneuvered them onto their sides and began to scoot lower down on the bed. At first John clutched at him, then as he realized what was happening he let out a breathy moan and began to pet Rodney's shoulders.

Rodney didn't waste any time, swallowing down John's cock as far as he could right away. John gasped and gripped his shoulders, the rest of his body trembling. Rodney stroked John's side and flanks, willing his lover to relax. John let out a tremulous sigh and brought one thigh up on Rodney's shoulder, moving his hands up to caress Rodney's head and neck. Rodney used one hand to cup and fondle John's testicles, and swiped the other hand through what was left of the spunk on his own belly. It was just slick enough that he didn't have to stop the proceedings to dive for the lubricant in the bedside table drawer. He brought two slicked fingers up to tease and circle John's anus, sucking his cock enthusiastically at the same time.

John was now making a high whining sound at the end of each panted exhalation, rocking forward into Rodney's willing mouth, back onto the slickness of his fingers. Rodney felt a jolt of satisfaction. It was hard to get John to make any noise at all during sex, and Rodney always got a sense of triumph when he managed it.

John groaned, low and deeply. Rodney swallowed quickly as come filled his mouth, and victory filled his heart.

He held and caressed John tenderly through the aftershocks of his release. He'd never had this before, McKay mused as he fumbled for the towel by the side of the bed that they'd used to clean up after the last time. He'd had one-night stands with men before, but had never had to contemplate being in a long-term relationship with one. It felt odd. He'd always thought he'd marry some day. A beautiful and brilliant blonde, of course, who would admire his intellect and help him pass along his superior genes. After all, he liked sleeping with women very much, and a woman was a much more respectable companion to have on his arm when he eventually received his Nobel.

But that dream had become as unlikely and fragile as a soap-bubble now that he had this annoying, difficult, utterly sexy man in his arms. It was freaking him out a bit that now he found he didn't want to leave Sheppard--not even for a Nobel, not even to pass on his genes. And he was also freaking out (he was Rodney McKay, he could freak out about two things simultaneously if he wanted to) about Sheppard. What if he decided he wanted a wife, children, the house with the white picket fence? Or, heck, what if he even wanted to make General in the Air Force after all?

"I can't believe it! You are still thinking!" Sheppard was draped on McKay's chest again, an annoyed frown on his face as he stared into McKay's eyes. His finger poked at McKay's temple. "I'm definitely losing my touch. Stop that! Right now! Let's slow those gears down in there!"

"Oops?" McKay offered sheepishly. "Don't worry. Your prowess is still assured. I was putty in your hands, really. The brain just won't turn off."

The annoyed frown mutated to a worried frown. McKay wondered when he'd learned the difference, when he'd mapped out all the expressions of that animated face.

Sheppard tapped a finger just above McKay's left eyebrow. "Something's wrong. What's going on, Rodney? Ah! Don't try to tell me it's nothing. I can always tell when you're lying to me."

McKay sighed and closed his eyes against that too-perceptive gaze. There were maybe a few close friends who came as close to knowing the workings of his mind as well as Sheppard did--in Zelenka's case, maybe better--but there were damned few people who believed he even had a heart, much less strove to learn it the way Sheppard did. Even if the striving was disguised as casual, infuriating, annoying poking and teasing.

"Stop that!" he ordered, shoving at Sheppard's impertinent hands. "We agreed. Tickling is out of bounds. Ah! Stop! John, stop it! I'll tell, I'll tell!"

Sheppard relaxed atop him again, his expression triumphant.

"You have no sense of fair play at all, do you?" McKay accused.

Sheppard grinned. "I need all the advantages I can get where you're concerned, Rodney."

McKay sighed in defeat and looked away. "I was just thinking. You know." He waved a hand in illustration. Sheppard ducked, skilled from long practice. "I was thinking, whatifyoumetsomeone...and, what if you wanted to have kids? What if I wanted to have kids?"

"Rodney, you hate children," Sheppard said flatly.

"Well, obviously I wouldn't hate my own child! What would be the point in having one, then?" McKay said, the 'you moron' understood in his tone of voice.

"I don't know, Rodney. Why would you want a child? Do you have a girlfriend back on Earth that I don't know about?" Sheppard's inflection was even and guarded.

"No! No, are you kidding? You're the only--Well, I meant, theoretically, of course. I was just thinking that women throw themselves at you all the time, and I'm sure eventually it will dawn on you that you're not getting any younger and that if you want to reproduce--"

"Rodney. Stop."

McKay clamped his lips shut and looked up into Sheppard's face.

"Rodney, I'm here. I'm right here. I'm not going to leave you for a wife and kids, okay?" Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Stop worrying, Rodney. In case it missed your attention, we're living in a war zone. We're probably not gonna live long enough to reproduce anyway."

McKay opened his mouth and Sheppard used a kiss to give it better occupation than further complaints. After several minutes of kissing, McKay felt himself getting sleepy, the endorphins from his orgasm catching up to him. He broke the kiss to yawn.

"Oh, sorry," he apologized.

"Mmm. Don't worry about it. Go to sleep, Rodney," Sheppard ordered as he snuggled closer. "We've got that databurst to the SGC tomorrow, don't we? Get some rest."

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Defender," Aren Lev Nent said. The near-whisper quality of (his? her? Sheppard still hadn't found a way to ask) voice was less pronounced through the electronic clarity of Atlantis' transmission, but it still grated, and Sheppard was just glad he could turn the volume of their conversation up as high as he wanted. But he wished there was something he could do about the apologetic sibilance. Aren looked as grey as the robes he (or she) was wearing, like all the Villana's color had been washed away. Aren still hadn't recovered from the devastation of the Lev clan. "There is a matter of some urgency. With the prisoner."

The prisoner. Sora.

"What about her?" Sheppard snapped. It was much more rude than he normally would have been, but he couldn't help it. All he could think of was Teyla: the way she'd twisted to the side as she fell; the blood on McKay's hands and the way his eyes had looked as he'd fired the gun; Sora screaming that they all deserved what was going to happen to them; the look on Weir's face when she realized what, exactly, the runner's tracking device meant.

McKay, in the infirmary, half-blind and saying he didn't want Sheppard anywhere near him. Sheppard trying to touch him, and his hands going right through.

Sora had cost him everything.

He hadn't even seen her since he'd helped Beckett rip the tracker out of her back in the infirmary. And since the Wraith had come, he'd made sure she was fed and watered and hadn't been left rotting in her own filth, and tried not to think of her at all.

Aren blinked large, night-dark eyes at the hologram, possibly startled by his tone. With the typical Villana reserve it was hard to tell. "There is a thing she has revealed that is of the utmost importance, Defender," s/he said, gesturing towards the cell. The wide, grey sleeve of Aren's robe flapped out with the movement, like a wing. Sora lay on her cot, staring sightlessly up at the featureless ceiling. Only the occasional, slow blink gave any indication the woman was still alive.

Sheppard wished he didn't have to look at her, but neither the optical sensors nor the cameras gave anything other than a full view of the room.

"So tell it to the Tal." Sheppard managed to keep from snarling it.

"No, you don't understand," Aren said, looking flustered now. The sleeves fluttered as Aren's arms moved in emphasis. "This knowledge must be for you alone, Defender. The Tal can't know of it, or she would be forced to act."

"'Forced to act'?" Sheppard repeated. He lowered his hologram's eyebrows, showing both his lack of comprehension and his steadily rising anger. "Deliberately withholding vital information to the well-being of Atlantis is treason, Aren," he said, making his voice cold and deliberate. "You know--"

"Please, Defender!" Aren cut him off with uncharacteristic boldness. "Listen--just listen. It's all I ask. But when you hear you will understand why the Tal cannot know."

"Fine," Sheppard said. "I'm listening."

And Aren took a breath and finally told him.

"The prisoner has been prepared for her mind to be emptied of memory, which is why she is quiescent," Aren explained, gesturing at Sora again. "The procedure lays the guilty bare for us, so that we know the entire contents of their minds by the end of it."

Sheppard just nodded. Not even Weir had objected to Sora undergoing that kind of violation. "And...?"

"And, she and her band were acting alone, Defender," Aren said. "The Genii were not involved. They are blameless in what happened to Atlantis."

"That's not possible," Sheppard said immediately. "She had a Wraith tracking device sewn into her back--the Genii must have allied themselves with the Wraith, it's the only way they could have gotten one." The lights in the large room flickered, and Sheppard contained his anger with an effort. "Don't try to tell me she approached the Wraith on her own!"

After McKay and Lorne's attack, What remained of the Genii's brutal civilization had been so thoroughly obliterated that, Lorne had confidently told him, 'simple farmers' would be their only available occupation for at least a hundred years. Sheppard wasn't going to accept that they had actually been innocent, that they had been decimated for nothing.

"I am sorry," Aren said. "But this is true." Aren sounded as stricken as Sheppard was beginning to feel. "When you returned her to her people, Sora was shamed for her part in the failed attempt to take the city during the storm, along with the few soldiers who had also survived." It was weird--Sheppard knew Aren hadn't been aware of the Genii's aborted invasion, which meant everything Aren was telling him had come from Sora's head. Sheppard wondered how warped her memories of the event had been. "The humiliation and sorrow of that moment was exceedingly sharp in her mind," Aren was continuing. "She blamed her misery on you, on Atlantis, as she blamed Teyla for the death of her father. Later, she blamed your people for the disappearance of the General Kolya, then for Cowen's death and the coup." Aren's head shook in slow amazement. "Every terrible thing, she blamed on you."

"Yeah," Sheppard said brusquely. "The Genii aren't real big on personal responsibility." He crossed the hologram's arms. "Then what?"

Aren nodded. "Then she took the soldiers with her to the Yu-lash, and stayed there, nursing her loathing, until a runner came through the gate, and begged the first person she saw to remove the tracking device from her back."

"And the first person was Sora," Sheppard said quietly. "Jesus Christ."

"It was one of her band," Aren said, though s/he nodded again. "But the end is the same. The runner was killed, her device put into Sora, and Sora promised the eternal Friendship of the Genii, if the Yu-lash would help her destroy Atlantis. And the Matron agreed."

"Why didn't the Wraith come?" Sheppard asked. He thought of the Yu-lash Matron, her saccharine smiles as she lied, as she condemned them all. A culling would have been too good for them. "Ronon said they usually come within hours of a runner arriving through a new gate."

"We know she went through the gate again, only two hours after the runner's death," Aren said. "With the Matron's blessing, and the blood still fresh on her back."

The Wraith must have known when the tracker's location changed, Sheppard figured, since they hadn't attacked the Yu-Lash. Which was too bad.

Aren's mouth curved in a cruel smile. "Her memories of that time hold much pain. But she moved from world to world, barely stopping long enough to dial the gate and travel through again. She didn't eat or sleep for two days." Aren briefly touched his or her belly with a hand half-buried in a grey sleeve, as if in recalled hunger. "She would dial the Yu-lash gate regularly, to speak with one of her own on the other side--it was how she knew that the Yu-lash Matron had successfully contacted you, and how she knew when it was time to go back."

To wait by the gate, with weapons, for Sheppard's team to come through. Sheppard's team, who were on their way to the dinner the Matron had asked them to attend, as honored guests.

"The Matron told us she got our gate address from the Manarians," Sheppard said. There had been no reason not to believe her. They had assumed that the Manarians had learned Atlantis' address from their Genii allies, and given it to the Yu-lash in turn.

And the Atlantians had needed food badly enough by then that they were willing to trade with friends of the Manarians--they hadn't had a choice.

"The Genii were innocent of the crime she committed, Defender," Aren said. "And yet, Doctor McKay, and Major Lorne have destroyed them."

Sheppard nodded numbly. And Ronon too, of course. And all the Marines who had gone with them. But the Marines and Ronon were following orders. Lorne and McKay had planned the attack, built the weapons to help carry it out.

"McKay can't know," Sheppard said. "None of them can know." God, the Tal...

The Tal, Weir, would have no option but to withdraw her clemency. Lorne and McKay had skirted close to genocide, perpetrated on innocent people. There was no way a transgression of that magnitude could go unpunished. Not even if they had thought it was justifiable at the time.

Sheppard couldn't help looking at Sora, at her blank eyes. That was what the punishment would be.

He tried to imagine McKay, like that: Waiting to have his mind ripped away from him, to become a slave. Quiescent, Aren had said, but Sora already looked emptied, like there was no longer a person behind those lifeless and unseeing eyes. Sheppard thought it might have made him sick, if he'd had a body.

"You see," Aren said simply, "why it was decided that I should come to you."

"Yes," Sheppard said. His voice was clipped with leashed fear. "I understand. Thank you." The hologram's tongue darted out, licking blue-tinged lips, a play of light on light. "How many of you know?"

"There are five of us Truthtellers, Defender," Aren said. Aren's hands were clasped, completely hidden now by the sleeves. "Three from Rills, one from the D'moor clan, and myself. Five who know. But if you agree, Defender, we can...forget."

"What do you mean?" Sheppard said.

"There is a process," Aren said. "Not so invasive as what we have done to the prisoner. We can...cloud the memory, make it inaccessible to our conscious thoughts."

"You'd do that?" Sheppard said. It seemed incredible, impossible, that Aren, the other Truthtellers, would even offer.

"Of course," Aren said solemnly. "For Atlantis."

For Atlantis. To save everyone the burden. "What about me, Aren?" Sheppard asked. "Can you help me forget as well?"

Aren shook his/her head regretfully. "I am sorry, Defender. The matrix where your mind is housed is inorganic. It would not be...accessible to our talents."

"Never mind," Sheppard said hurriedly. "Just do whatever you must for the rest of you."

Aren nodded. "It shall be done."

"Thank you," Sheppard said again. He hoped Aren had some sense of how grateful he truly was. "You made the right choice."

Aren inclined his or her head with deliberate grace. "Defender of Atlantis, we depend on you," Aren said, using the ritual phrase. "It is our pleasure to be able to serve in return."

Sheppard managed a smile, though he still felt like he was reeling. "Thank you," he said one more time, because he couldn't think of any other words, and made the hologram disappear before he had to say anything else.

Dear God. They had all assumed that the Genii had had a hand in what Sora had done. And Sora's jaw had been broken, wired shut. There was no way for her to tell them otherwise, even if she had been willing to. And the Villana telepaths were not used for interrogation; it was considered an unforgivable abuse. That was why the permanent memory erasing was their worst possible punishment. That, and how it removed the guilty as a threat forever, without actually killing them--an uneasy compromise.

Sora deserved it. But her people hadn't deserved what had happened to them. Nothing should have happened to them.

Ronon, Sheppard thought, would probably escape punishment, if Weir found out. But Lorne and McKay wouldn't. And McKay...

McKay would know exactly what kind of payloads the weapons he'd designed had, he'd know to the millimeter how much matter one could destroy. He'd be able to figure out to the nth decimal point how many lives had been taken. And if he knew it had been done for nothing...

It had taken nearly a year for McKay to forgive himself for fixing the Genii bomb that Sheppard had ended up carrying in the back of a jumper, as he flew to his near-death in the belly of a Hive ship. As if McKay could somehow have known that the remote piloting idea wouldn't work, as if McKay had somehow wanted that to happen.

He still hadn't forgiven himself for Doranda.

McKay would never forgive himself for this, if he knew. Not ever. He would probably welcome what the Tal would be forced to have done to him.

And having Lorne and McKay's virtual 'deaths' on her conscience might just kill Weir, too.

Sheppard couldn't let that happen. Atlantis needed the Tal and McKay--and Lorne--too much. And the truth would only destroy them all.

And Sheppard needed McKay too much to let anything happen to him.

So. Sheppard would carry the knowledge with him. He alone. For McKay. For everyone. It was better that way.

Sheppard had all of Atlantis as his body, now, and he was used to guilt. This was just one more burden.

***

"Hey, McKay," Sheppard said softly. He could tell by the way McKay breathed that he wasn't sleeping.

Johnny was, curled up in an incredibly awkward tangle in the chair next to McKay's bed. Johnny's head was cradled in his crossed arms, his crown mashed up against his father's thigh. McKay's hand was resting on the back of Johnny's head, gently carding through Johnny's hair as his son slept.

They were in a private room, one of several Beckett had requested be installed over twenty years ago. The fact that auditory and optical sensors and hologram projectors had been automatically included was a courtesy Sheppard appreciated.

This room was one of the nicer ones, with a large window and a typically excellent view of the surrounding towers and the deep blue ocean in between. It was deep into night now, the ocean an indistinguishable layer of black beneath the smothering black of the sky. No stars tonight, just the lights of Atlantis, shining out in their own artificial constellations.

Sheppard watched from the feed in the ceiling as McKay slowly turned his head, blinking up at the hologram with his single eye. Someone had removed his eye patch, and the scar was jagged and black in the shadows of the room, the empty socket like a tiny cavern into his skull. It was like the darkness was slowly claiming him, a little piece at a time.

It was thoughtless of whoever had done it. Sheppard knew that McKay was terribly self-conscious of his damaged eye, that he felt horribly exposed if it wasn't covered. McKay had never told Sheppard that, of course, but Sheppard had seen it, in the way McKay would adjust his eye patch before he went into a meeting--taking a second to make sure it was on straight, showed as little of the torn flesh as possible.

It seemed horribly unfair that McKay didn't have the eye patch now, when so much of his dignity had already been stripped from him.

McKay's mouth moved soundlessly for a long, painful moment, and Sheppard could see how hard McKay had to fight to be able to say anything at all.

"Defender," he managed finally, though his mouth was so slack with paralysis that if it wasn't for Atlantis' automatic enhancement, Sheppard wasn't sure he could have understood him.

McKay's attempt at a smile was only a loose twitching, and a small string of saliva slid out of the corner of McKay's mouth. Sheppard badly wished he could wipe it away for him.

Sheppard smiled in return, as big and genuine as he could manage, though it was all he could do to keep himself under control, to not start overloading random systems all over the city. "Lousy party, huh?" he asked, and was thankful that his voice didn't shudder or break.

McKay twitched a non-smile again, and huffed out an approximation of a laugh. Johnny moved a little, but McKay gently stroked Johnny's head and he quieted again.

"Used to...help sleep," McKay explained laboriously. "When he...little." The words were almost unintelligible, but Sheppard could still hear the wistful fondness there. "Long time." McKay slowly turned his head away from Sheppard, so he could look down at his son. He kept stroking his fingers through Johnny's hair. "Won't say goodbye," McKay said. He sighed in a weak puff of breath. "Idiot."

Sheppard stepped forward a little, until he was right next to McKay's bed. If he still had a heart, he knew it would be pounding. As it was he wasn't sure what to do with his hands. "You don't have to say goodbye," Sheppard said.

Don't go, he thought. Don't go, don't go, don't go.

McKay looked at him again. His mouth couldn't hold an expression, but his one good eye still managed to show both annoyance and incredulity. "Dying," he said, with even more exaggerated care than he needed now just to speak. "Last chance."

"I mean," Sheppard said, stepping still closer. He made the hologram crouch until its useless eyes were level with McKay's. He lowered his voice, even though he was only speaking into McKay's ear implant. He couldn't help it--it felt like he was sharing a precious secret. "I mean that you don't have to die, McKay," he said. He grinned, though he knew it was too anxious, unreal. "I can make Atlantis do to you what she did to me--she can make you into a second Interface, another Defender, or something like it."

McKay just looked at him, blinking. Mouth a drooping, unreadable line. Long enough that Sheppard wasn't sure he'd understood. He kept his hologram perfectly still, aware that the position would have hurt, were he capable of physical sensation.

Please, Rodney, he begged silently. God, Rodney, please.

"You want," McKay fought through the words, "me, to be...like you?"

Sheppard nodded fractionally, fighting for calm. Please. "Think about it, McKay," he said, speaking quickly. "The entire database of the Ancients--you can find out anything, with just a thought. Anything! Remember how I gave you the address for the planet with the ZPM factory?" He waited, but McKay didn't nod, didn't say anything, just kept staring at him with his one good eye. "Or, or when Leda Dex got sick with that virus and Carson thought she'd die until I found the cure in the database?" McKay still watched him in silence. "You, uh, you could do that. Even more stuff, probably." He smirked, though he felt nothing but fear. "You've always known your way around the tech better than me.

"You wouldn't have to leave your son," Sheppard said. "You'd still be there for him."

"Hologram," McKay said at last. Sheppard might have been startled, if he hadn't been watching him so closely.

"Yeah." Sheppard nodded again. He wasn't sure what McKay meant--was he asking if he could have a hologram body like Sheppard did, to interact with? Or was he saying he didn't want that? It was so hard to tell. He was used to McKay's face saying almost more than his seemingly inexhaustible stream of words did, and now the stroke had taken both of those things. "You could have a holographic form--any age you wanted, even." He gestured at his face, still smiling. "You could look just like you did...Like you did before. It wouldn't have to be blue," he added, since they would be together, like this. Both of them parts of Atlantis. McKay wouldn't have to mourn anymore.

"No," McKay said.

For a second the hologram froze completely, like a stilled piece of film. If he'd had lungs he would have stopped breathing. "You wouldn't have to have a hologram!" he said quickly, because maybe that was what McKay meant, maybe that was all he'd said 'no' to. And John could understand that. He could. He didn't particularly like his hologram, either. "There's--Doc Beckett and some of the engineers have figured out how to make the chip implants more than just recording devices." His smile had slipped, and he yanked it back frantically. "The 'carrying' thing would be for real. We'll be able to see and hear whatever the volunteers do, in real-time, as if we're inside their heads. It'll be like having real bodies!"

"No," McKay said again.

"You don't mean that," Sheppard said, and he was fighting off panic, now. "You can't just... You haven't even thought about it--" Don't go...

He watched as McKay swallowed, tried to lift his right hand to wipe his cheek. It seemed that only his left arm was truly capable of any kind of movement, but McKay didn't shift it from Johnny's head. Johnny slept on, exhausted and oblivious. Sheppard wanted to wake him--all he'd have to do was speak directly into his ear implant. Johnny had to want his dad to stay alive; maybe he'd be able to help Sheppard convince him. But Sheppard saw McKay's fingers curling possessively in Johnny's hair and he didn't.

"No," McKay said. "Never."

"You wouldn't be just a program, McKay," Sheppard said, desperation curling through him like spreading ice, "It's not--"

"No!" McKay shouted, his voice surprising in its strength.

Johnny startled awake, then pushed himself up, blinking bewilderedly.

"Papa?" He asked, looking between McKay and Sheppard's hologram. "Are you all right?"

McKay turned his head, trying to smile. "S'all right," he slurred. "Sleep."

Johnny smiled uncertainly at him, and Sheppard knew he hadn't understood what his father had said.

"He said he's all right," Sheppard translated for McKay. He forced himself to smile again, as if he were all right, too. "He told you to go back to sleep."

"Oh," Johnny said, looking a little sheepish. "Thanks." He yawned, rubbing at an eye with the heel of his hand. He smiled down at McKay. "I'm okay."

"Johnny," Sheppard said gently, "could you give your dad and me a minute, please?"

Johnny blinked at him again, obviously still confused with sleep. "What? Oh--oh, sure. Sorry." He stood stiffly, grimacing as he leaned back and stretched out his arms. "Wow," he said, "I think I've done myself permanent damage." And Sheppard had to laugh a little, despite everything, because Johnny sounded so much like McKay.

"I'll be back really soon, all right?" Johnny said in the doorway, and only left when he saw McKay's tiny nod and almost-smile.

"Please, Rodney," Sheppard said, as soon as it was just the two of them. "Don't leave me alone."

McKay took a long time to reply. Sheppard watched, desperate, as McKay's mouth worked, trying to force out the words.

"Please," Sheppard said again.

"John," McKay said, "would...never...ask."

***

"The Wraith sleep," said Aren Lev Nent softly. "It is done, thank the Ancestors." S/he (Sheppard still hadn't inquired which was appropriate, and it was difficult to tell with certainty. The Villana telepath's androgyny was like a funhouse mirror, sometimes seeming more male, sometimes more female) looked pale and tired.

"How can you be sure?" Beckett asked nervously, wringing his hands and constantly darting little glances at Sheppard's hologram out of the corner of his eyes.

"Because my people sleep," Aren said wearily, staring down the roomful of pallets where Aren's clansfolk lay in calm, deathlike stillness. "And you have said yourself, Doctor Beckett, that they cannot be woken. You called it a...'comma'?"

"Coma," corrected Beckett absently. "Aye, but how can you be sure the Wraith are asleep as well?"

"Well," drawled Sheppard. "The Hive ships aren't firing on the city any more." They had all stopped at once, when Aren Lev Nent said the Lev clan's telepaths made mental contact with the Wraith in them.

"Not just these Wraith, Defender of Atlantis." Aren bowed slightly in the hologram's direction. "But, through them, all the Wraith. Everywhere. As many as we can sense."

"All the Wraith in the whole Pegasus Galaxy?" Sheppard lifted the hologram's eyebrows in incredulity. "That's a lot of Wraith. And a heck of a big galaxy."

Aren's own pale eyebrows flew up like wings, heading for his or her hairline. "In the reaches of the mind there is no distance, Defender. Doctor Beckett's gene therapy, with the gift of your fallen comrade, allowed my people to touch the Wraith's minds and to influence them. They are actually surprisingly easy to control. We thought they would struggle more." Aren's face grew thoughtful. "Perhaps they would have, had we attempted to influence them to damage their ships, or to do something contrary to their natures. But we only asked them to sleep, which they do in any case, in their own time."

"But, when will they wake up?" Beckett asked.

"I do not know," Aren said. "Perhaps when my own people awake...if they ever awake. Or perhaps when the last of my people die." S/he looked solemnly at Beckett. "How long can you keep them alive in this state, in this 'coma', Doctor Beckett?"

"Years, decades, sometimes," muttered Beckett, eyes wide as he contemplated the peacefully sleeping faces in pallet after pallet down the length of the room. "Holy--Aren Lev Nent, did you know--did your people know this could happen to them?"

"We knew it was a possibility." Aren nodded slowly. "We knew a sacrifice might be necessary. As you did." S/he looked pointedly at Sheppard's hologram. "We were prepared for the possibility that the defense of Atlantis might demand a great sacrifice. And so it has. This room holds almost all the adult telepaths of my clan. The Rills and the D'moor clans have telepaths on Atlantis, and, of course, there are others back on our homeworld. But here...here is the wealth of my clan, of Lev, spent for the safety of us all."

"Poor devils," mumbled Beckett, flinching as the hologram drew up to Sheppard's full height beside him. Sheppard wanted to snap at him that the hologram wasn't going to bite him, for Christ's sake, but he knew now was most definitely not the time.

He just wanted to get the hell out of there, start doing something. His only job for hours had been modulating the shield, and that didn't take all that much concentration. He was antsy, worried about McKay, and sick to the teeth of everyone talking about his 'sacrifice', as if this was the worst thing that could have happened to him.

He was fine. He just needed a distraction, something more to do.

"Right." Sheppard nodded to Aren Lev Nent. "We need to make sure that your peoples' sacrifice wasn't for nothing. We've got to see if we can destroy or disable those Hive ships without waking up the remaining Wraith." He turned to Beckett. "How is Rodney doing, Carson?"

Beckett licked his lips, and clasped his hands together tightly. "He'll live. He's lost the one eye, but I believe we've saved the sight in the other. Our Rodney won't be a handsome lad anymore, but he'll live."

"Good," said Sheppard grimly. "Page me when he's ready for visitors, Carson. I'd like to break the news about this myself." He waved a hand down his hologram. "In the meantime, if you will both excuse me, I'm going to have a talk with Doctor Zelenka about those Hive ships still hanging over our heads." He nodded briefly at them before fading the hologram from the room.

***

Ohgodohgod. All the blood. His fingers were slimy with it as McKay pawed through the medkit for the special bandage for heavy bleeding, fumbled it out of its packaging, and slapped it over the gory hole in Teyla's side. Her breathing made this high whistling sound when he did it, as if she wanted desperately to scream but wasn't able to. McKay darted a look to her face: it bore a greyish tinge, her nostrils flared as she sucked down air, her mouth twisted into a tortured grimace, her eyes wide with hugely dilated pupils.

"Hang on, Teyla, we'll get you to back to Atlantis. Carson will fix you. Everything will be okay. Hang on," he babbled as he packed more bandaging on the wound, which hadn't stopped bleeding. Damn it. Teyla was usually the informal medic of their team. They'd all had the first-aid battlefield training, but Teyla had the bulk of the practical experience. McKay finally leaned on the wound to put pressure on it, drawing a piercing, agonized scream out of Teyla as she scrabbled, clawing, at his hands. "Nonono, I'm sorry, sorry, Teyla. We've got to stop the bleeding. I'm sorry it hurts. Just... Just hang on, I'll give you something for the pain. Just a minute, let me get the bleeding stopped. Oh shit! I forgot to check for an exit wound. Where else does it hurt? Teyla, look at me! Where else are you wounded?" Teyla stared unseeing out in front of her, panting harshly, her hand still gripped loosely around his wrist. All the blood. All the blood couldn't just be from the one wound, could it?

McKay felt desperately along Teyla's other side, along her back, barely noticing the sounds of battle ranging around and above him. From the moment they'd stepped through the Stargate into Genii gunfire and the Yu-lash's obvious betrayal, McKay found that he'd barely been able to spare a thought to the firefight, other than to stay out of the way. Because Teyla, Teyla who usually worked to protect McKay from harm, Teyla who had been right next to him, had gone down like a stone, atypically gracelessly, as soon as they stepped through the gate. And McKay had looked down and the first thing he'd seen was the blood. As if from far away, McKay heard Colonel Sheppard shouting something to Ronon, heard weapons discharging, occasionally felt the heat as something fired or detonated or...something. He couldn't spare the attention for it. His hands had just found the other gaping hole in Teyla's other side, lower down on her back. It was twice as large as the first huge hole, and he felt the sharp edge of broken bone along with the wet slide of torn flesh with his fingertips.

Again he fumbled for more bandages, packing the exit wound by feel, afraid to move Teyla too much for fear of doing further damage. What else needed to be done? Right. Treat for shock. He quickly shoved a pack under her boots to elevate her feet, and wrestled a space blanket out of the emergency kit to tuck around her for warmth.

Again, her hand gripped his wrist with surprising strength. "Doctor McKay," Teyla hissed, voice rough and low from pain. "Rodney!"

McKay brushed the sweaty hair back from her forehead, grimacing when his hand left a smear of her own blood on her face. "You're going to be fine, Teyla. We'll get you back to Carson, and you'll be fine." He flinched and tried to shield Teyla with his body as something exploded nearby and peppered them both with detritus.

"I will not. Rodney, I would like you to perform the final rites of my people. I know Halling taught them to you." Teyla's eyes were calm, though pain carved lines in her face and her voice was gravely.

McKay's stomach clenched and he tasted bile. After the incident when the puddle jumper got stuck in the wormhole, early in their stay in Atlantis, when Dr. Weir had denied Halling's request to deliver Teyla's final rites, Halling had made a point to teach the Athosian deathrite to all of Teyla's teammates. McKay had acquiesced readily and learned the ritual. He'd been aghast at Elizabeth's decision not to allow Teyla her faith's final rites when he'd learned about it after the fact. He didn't believe in the moronic gibberish formal religions tended to spout, and he certainly felt free to mock them at will, but he never would have considered denying someone the comfort of their faith as they faced death. It had been exactly as if she'd refused a priest the right to deliver extreme unction to a Catholic. He'd never confronted Elizabeth about what he considered a poor command decision, because, after all, he'd made some poor choices himself in the heat of an emergency. And, if memory served, that particular emergency had been pretty hot. But in his heart, he'd still felt the decision itself had been wrong.

Which was why he raised no objection now to Teyla's request. Instead he took a deep breath to center himself, looked into her eyes, and chanted the proper words in Ancient, singing the musical parts softly. Trying to say with the tones of his voice, with the look in his eyes, that she didn't need this rite yet, that they would save her.

He didn't know about his eyes, wide and glittering with unshed tears, the streaks of Teyla's blood decorating his face, clumped in his hair, making him look like a wild man. McKay only saw the look in Teyla's eyes as she concentrated on hanging on to see the rite through. As she drew increasingly labored breaths and blood bubbled from between her lips, staining her clenched teeth crimson. As she gripped his wrist with still-surprising strength.

When McKay was nine years old, he'd had a cat--a singularly inoffensive Persian tom--named Brahms. Brahms had gotten out of the house and been promptly hit by a passing car. He had died in McKay's arms. McKay had seen the animal's eyes as he died. And from that day he'd known. No matter his parents' carefully fostered atheism. No matter his own inclination to find organized religion idiotic claptrap and a fit target for mockery. >From that day he hadn't been able to comfortably call himself an atheist. Because there was something. He'd seen it. Whatever made Brahms himself and not some other cat, or a flower, or a bird, or a human child, he'd seen it in his cat's eyes and seen it depart in the moment of his death. Even as a child, he hadn't needed Brahms' eyes to close (they hadn't), or for the animal's final breath to leave his body, or for the warm form to grow cold and still. He'd seen Brahm's soul leave.

And he watched Teyla's soul leave now.

He stopped speaking. Teyla's corpse didn't need the rite. And she was gone. He'd seen. As when he'd held Brahms' body in his arms all those years ago, he didn't need Teyla's eyes to close (they didn't) or her corpse to grow cold and still (it would, but it still hadn't). He just knelt for a moment with the vacant shell of his dear friend in his arms and felt the beginnings of the emptiness her absence would leave.

Then he stood, drew his sidearm, and fired several times into the chest of the Genii soldier who had been about to shoot John Sheppard.

***

"I can't," Sheppard said. "It's not holding."

Two and a half days, now. Two and a half days of constant concentration, and Sheppard was so exhausted that even with Beckett's stimulants the need to sleep was like an unending crush of static in his head. The world had narrowed to the silky feel of the control pads of the chair under his fingertips; the eerily beautiful schematic of the steadily disintegrating shield, glowing blue and purple and red around him; the quiet murmurings of McKay muttering to himself, or offering bits of half-heard encouragement.

Ten minutes earlier McKay had relayed the information that Beckett had finally injected the gene therapy into the group of Villana telepaths. In four hours, give or take, they would know if they could contact the Hive mind of the Wraith, affect them in any way at all. In four hours Atlantis might be safe, the war over forever.

They weren't going to last another four hours. Sheppard could barely see straight, but the washes of purple and red took up almost the entire schematic, and his mental commands to shift the few remaining blue areas towards the critical zones were sluggish and painful, like trying to move through quicksand. McKay was still frantically shunting around the remaining power in Atlantis without irreparably draining any of the vital functions, but he couldn't keep up with the insatiable need of the shield.

They had already lost all the outlying piers of the city, the shield shrinking until the dome only covered the center towers, sacrificing the rest the way it had when Atlantis was still under water, saving the most important places and giving the rest up to the sea. And still it wasn't going to be enough.

He wasn't even sure he'd spoken loudly enough for McKay to hear him, but a second later he heard a frantic, "Oh, no. You're right, you're right, oh my God, we have to--John! Get out!"

Sheppard would never know what McKay had seen. But he had been watching the schematic as the shield suddenly flashed purple/red and shrunk again. He had just enough time to realize that the tower the control chair was in was now completely vulnerable, when he felt McKay's hands tight around his upper arm, yanking him up and out of the chair--

~~~

Sheppard didn't feel the impact. Then he was screaming himself awake, reacting to pain before it even registered in his consciousness.

It felt like his guts had been torn out of his body, his ribs turned to knives. He couldn't move his legs.

The room had been almost dark before, with only the weak glow of the emergency lights and the friendly blue glow of the chair as the illumination. Now there was nothing at all, the darkness complete, and he was in so much pain that he couldn't move, wasn't sure he would ever be able to stop screaming.

"John! John! Oh, God!"

Sheppard felt hands on him, on his side, left arm, face, and he grabbed McKay's arm, clutching. He slid one hand up until he felt McKay's wet palm against his, and McKay let their fingers lock, and Sheppard just held and held on and held on until it finally gave him control.

"John, please! I can't see you! I can't see!" McKay's voice was tight with panic, his free hand frantically pawing at Sheppard's face, fumbling for a pulse in his throat, and Sheppard realized that McKay had probably thought he'd died, just then, when his screaming had stopped.

"I'm here," he said, and making his voice work was terrible, but he felt the spasm of relief in the hand that McKay still had wrapped around his own, and it made it okay, made it worth it.

"I can't see," McKay said again. "I thought you died."

"I'm here," Sheppard said. "I'm okay," which was a complete lie, but McKay needed to hear it. He could taste blood in his mouth, warm, wet copper that he attempted not to choke on when he swallowed. He tried to move, to sit up, but he couldn't move his legs, and the surge of pain that ripped through his torso made him sag back gasping. There was something hard and jagged against his side--torn metal, maybe the chair.

"John!"

"Nothing," Sheppard said, panting. "M'okay." He took a breath, as deep a one as he dared through the searing pain. "Shield." He could hear the almost-constant hammering of missiles against the undefended walls of the tower now, knew it was only a matter of minutes until the rest of it came crashing down on them, maybe only seconds until the Wraith started transporting in. "We have to--"

"I know, I know," McKay said quickly. "Is the chair still working? I was hit. Something hit me in the face. I can't see."

"No lights," Sheppard said, but he reached out, groping for McKay's face with a hand that shook so badly he could barely lift it. He grazed something smooth, and suddenly there was a small noise of a machine limping back to viability, and there was light again: weak, anemic, but still glowing out from the silver-traced metal. The chair tried to tilt back the way it normally did when a user sat in it, but it was lying on its side, blown off its base in the explosion, and could just scrape along the floor. Sheppard only realized it was crushing his legs when it started moving. The pain was unbelievable.

He jerked, screamed again. McKay shouted something that Sheppard couldn't make out through the haze of agony, and then the chair finally stopped.

"What? What is it? What happened?" McKay demanded. Sheppard was still gripping one of McKay's hands, wasn't even sure he could let go now even if he wanted to, but McKay's free hand was on his chest, moving as if he were trying to feel for an injury. "Is this... Is all this blood?" McKay's voice cracked with a kind of horrified awe.

"The chair..." Sheppard gasped.

"What?" McKay asked, moving his head but obviously seeing nothing despite the control chair's feeble light. Sheppard could see torn skin down one half of his face, bisecting one eyelid, leaving a dark pit where his eye had been. His entire face was covered in blood, sickly black in the light. Sheppard couldn't tell if McKay was totally blind, or if it was just the blood in his remaining eye.

"It's working," Sheppard said. He was still touching it, just barely. "I can't... I can't move. You have to... The shield..." He had to stop just to breathe, to fight through another wave of pain. The room was freezing. He wondered if the environmental controls had been taken off-line by the blasts. All he could taste and smell was blood.

"It's working? Why can't I see anything? Oh my God, I'm blind...!"

"McKay!" Blood from Sheppard's mouth spattered McKay's already-stained shirt.

"Sorry, sorry," McKay said quickly, voice thin with fear. "I just..." He took a breath, fumbled with his free hand until his palm was solidly against the chair's seat. Instantly the blue brightened. "Is that doing anything?" McKay's still-intact eye shut as he concentrated. "I can't see the shield. Is it there?"

"No," Sheppard said. McKay hadn't been able to make the display. Maybe the chair was too broken. With tremendous effort he moved his hand so it was also flat against the chair's seat, next to McKay's, and tried to think about wanting to protect the city, hoping it would help.

For a moment the blue light was so bright it was blinding. And then Sheppard felt something almost like a prickling of electricity, directly inside his head.

Interface: yes/no? It was like someone was whispering to him, but it was like the sense of electricity he'd had--right in his mind.

"Interface?" McKay had heard it too. He had his head tilted up, staring sightlessly at the high, cracked ceiling, as if the words had come from there.

Interface: yes/no? More insistent, now. A tug.

"The city," Sheppard said. He could feel it--the whisper, the electric tugging. The city wanted--

Interface: yes/no? Interface: yes/no? Interface: yes/no?

"Yes," McKay said. "Yes, yes, all right!"

The blue glow went incandescent.

Sheppard heard McKay's gasping scream, felt McKay's hand tighten around his until the pain was almost a distraction from the rest of his abused body. He saw McKay stiffen, his head snap back like he'd been shot. His one eye rolled back in his head.

Maybe it was because their hands were still connected, but Sheppard could feel it, what was happening, and it was like McKay was disappearing, being pulled away from him, fading out...

"No!" Sheppard tried to sit up again, to put more of his body against the chair, to block McKay's access to it, but his body was cold, failing, too weak. "McKay! Rodney!" But McKay couldn't hear him.

But Sheppard was still holding McKay's hand, and he could still pull, he had enough strength for that.

Sheppard yanked, and McKay's hand slipped away from the chair, his body tumbling forward and collapsing, and Sheppard could feel the severed connection and it hurt. He almost blacked out, maybe would have if it wasn't for the whisper, back in his head, feeling almost angry now, desperate:

Interface: yes/no?

McKay was lying half-on Sheppard, half on the debris-strewn floor. Sheppard could feel the warmth and life of McKay's body, McKay's warm, rapid breath against his throat, and Sheppard shivered in cold and in pain, and he was still holding McKay's hand, and the Wraith missiles were still hitting Atlantis, destroying the city, killing it...

Interface: yes/no? Interface: yes/no?

"Yes," Sheppard whispered.

Accepted. It was almost like joy.

The chair went incandescent again.

It was like falling through ice into freezing water: the exact same shock that steals all breath; the exact same kind of drowning.

***

When it happened, Sheppard was the only one there.

There had been a steady stream of visitors all day. The entire science division, it seemed, had come to pay last respects to Doctor Rodney McKay. Most only paused for a brief farewell. McKay had fallen asleep, then slipped into a coma sometime that morning, so he neither knew, nor cared, about any of it.

Pol Eliska came and stayed, stalking up to the bedside as if going into battle. A glare from her had Johnny sighing and reluctantly exiting the room after patting his father's leg through the blankets. Will took a moment and came to Eliska's side. He hugged her and kissed her temple despite her forbidding scowl, before going as well, leaving her alone with her former teacher and the soft beeping of the medical monitors.

Alone except for the Defender. Sheppard stayed, though nobody knew. He had been near McKay ever since they had brought his limp form home through the wormhole, and had never left. Most of the time, he hadn't bothered to activate the hologram, preferring to remain invisible and unnoticed. He used his hologram elsewhere in the city, going through the motions of interacting when people needed him, but the vast majority of his attention was in the infirmary room.

He felt like a balloon, tethered to earth by a fraying and increasingly unraveling string, and that string was McKay--every time McKay's heart beat, every time his lungs drew in air, was another moment Sheppard was still there, still alive.

Eliska held the railings of the hospital bed in a tight grip, and stared down at McKay as if her force of will alone would make him wake and sit up and talk once again.

"Stubborn, arrogant old man!" she hissed at last, breaking her silence. "You just had to go and check up on me one more time, didn't you? You could never trust anyone's work but your own. You would never believe that I am just as capable as you ever were, as my Papa ever was. Oh, I remember the stories he'd tell me about you--you weren't as perfect as you liked to pretend, old man. You blew up most of a solar system once, in your arrogance, remember? This time you blew up yourself, didn't you? Always wanting all the attention! Instead of everyone congratulating me on the brilliant way I saved Will, they're all thinking and talking about you instead. Will you stop at nothing to get all the glory?"

She stopped, chest heaving, face red from emotion. Her fist pounded the bed railing three times. Eliska slowly reached down and picked up one of McKay's gnarled hands, cradling it in her own.

"Uncle Rodney, why are you leaving me? You should have stayed home and worked on your book and provided me with intellectual stimulation when I could get away from these morons long enough to visit you." Eliska's voice was thick, and her eyes bright from unshed tears. "And...and I got you such a good birthday present..." She bent to McKay's hand and kissed his fingers gently, then reached into a pocket and produced a small device. It activated as soon as she folded it into McKay's palm, glowing and softly playing a melody that Sheppard recognized as Brahms' Lullaby.

Sheppard watched, invisible and disembodied, while Eliska stalked from the room. He watched the stream of visitors continue: young and old, military and scientist, Tau'ri, PerAn, Athosian, Villana--Atlanteans whose lives McKay had saved, had changed, had shaped. He supposed it was an invasion of everyone's privacy to watch and listen to their final goodbyes, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't bring himself to leave McKay, for even a moment.

He was watching when representatives of the Yana clan crowded into the little room, and a dogged Del Yana performed the ceremony to officially present the grim-faced Johnny and his new Yana bride to her new father-in-law. Apparently the ceremony didn't require that all of the relatives be conscious. Sheppard thought McKay would have had something cutting and sarcastic and utterly hilarious to say about the whole thing. Or maybe he would have been upset and furious instead. Johnny finally had no buffer between him and the demands of his clan, and was getting a front-row seat on the bitter reality of clan politics at last.

Sheppard was there when Weir came in early that evening, leaning heavily on the still-formidable arm of Pol Osri as she carefully walked into the room. Lorne followed them, stiff and stone-faced, cane thumping on the infirmary floor. Osri lowered Weir carefully into a chair next to McKay's bed, and she sat there for the next hour, one of his lax hands in both of her own, all three equally speckled and wrinkled with age. The music of the lullaby played softly in the background.

Sheppard listened as Weir told McKay about the recent events in Atlantis, things he knew she thought McKay would enjoy hearing, probably all the things she had been anticipating telling him at the birthday party that hadn't happened. Sheppard refrained from sharpening the pickup on his auditory sensors as Weir leaned forward at last and whispered her goodbye into McKay's ear--he could afford them that much privacy, at least. Weir left quickly after that, leaning on Osri again, wiping her eyes as Lorne petted her long white hair in comfort. Sheppard couldn't help wondering what she had said.

She had been the last visitor. After that it was just Will and Johnny, McKay and the faint lullaby. And the Defender, McKay's personal ghost.

And, at the end, there was only Sheppard. Will had managed to drag Johnny to the mess for some more coffee-substitute and his first meal in nearly twenty-four hours when it happened. Atlantis was monitoring Rodney's heartbeat and breathing, so Sheppard knew when both of them stopped--heart first, lungs almost immediately after. At the same moment, the music died. The little device, still in Rodney's hand, stopped its endless repetition of the lullaby, mid-note.

Mary Beckett came in, with one of her nurses, but she did nothing. McKay hadn't wanted heroic measures or resuscitation. He had told Sheppard that a long time ago, before Sora and the second siege of the city. Sheppard hadn't argued--he had always assumed he would die first.

"Please mark the time of death as nine forty-seven," Mary said quietly. She smiled when the young man with her nodded and left, but once he was gone she put a hand over her mouth. It shook as she silently cried.

It took Mary a few minutes to regain control. Sheppard watched as she told Atlantis, voice trembling and wet, that Doctor McKay was dead.

And Sheppard felt the tether snap.

He just...drifted away. His hologram shut off, in a far section of the city, flickering out in the middle of a sentence. He heard Jinto trying to speak to him, then Lorne, then Weir, but he couldn't respond to them.

He rose up into darkness, until his awareness came in

Leda Dex, trying to contact him. Her voice is cajoling and gentle and rolls over him like water. The words are meaningless data-points and he doesn't notice when she gives up.

intermittent flashes,

McKay's funeral, conducted by candlelight, a naquadah generator hooked directly to the Stargate. Weir is a pillar of dignity and strength as she gives the first eulogy. Her cataract-filmed eyes shine in the semi-darkness like pale glass, her long white hair cascading down her back like a river. At the end of the ceremony they dial the gate by hand, and the flare of energy engulfs McKay's funeral bier, destroying his body and making him part of the universe.

between the black

Someone asks Weir when Atlantis will have more functioning than just basic life-support. Weir, tight-lipped, tells them that the Defender is grieving. She asks them to be patient.

and the silence

Pol Eliska, voice shrill and angry with grief: "I can't find him, Tal Weir--I don't know if he's hidden himself, somehow, or has managed to block my searches, or..." She looks up, eyes large and anxious in the emergency light. "He might have destroyed himself. It's possible he's just...gone."

and then not at all.

~~~

Days passed, he guessed, though he barely paid attention. More generators were brought in, but they wouldn't work unless they were hooked directly to a single system, like the gate or the infirmary's Ancient scanner. Anything larger--the control room, communications--and they failed immediately. Atlantis remained dark, and quiet, and lonely.

The city mourned for him, and Sheppard drifted.

He had been missing Rodney McKay for nearly forty years: Every time McKay insulted or turned away from him, every rejected overture, every refusal to accept more than a painful near-friendship, every adamant denial that he was still the John Sheppard McKay had loved.

McKay had never been a part of Sheppard's life as the Defender, not really, no matter how much Sheppard had wanted him to be, would have been grateful for it. But McKay had still always been there. Even when all McKay felt for him was bitter rage, even when McKay went off-world and Sheppard had to stay behind, even when McKay had married someone else and finally moved to the Mainland. He had always been there.

And because of that, Sheppard had, in the dimmest corner of his awareness, been quietly optimistic that somehow, someway, he would one day convince Rodney that he was real, and Rodney would love him again.

But now Rodney was gone, and the emptiness left in his wake was so huge Sheppard didn't even know how to fight against it. He wasn't even sure he wanted to. This wasn't just grieving, this was the death of hope--the end of every lie he'd ever told himself, every scrap of precious denial that had allowed him to lose his body and his freedom and his love all at once and carry on, and keep carrying on.

He didn't want to keep carrying on anymore.

He had to, he knew he had to. He had his duty, as the Defender. People were waiting for him, depending on him. He had to go back.

And he would. He would. Just...not now. In a while. In just a little while, he would reemerge, and apologize to everyone, and turn the power and the hologram back on and pretend to smile and pretend to talk and move and listen, just like he'd been doing for forty years. The pretense was so ingrained it hardly registered anymore, and even if it did, it wouldn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore, except for duty. Atlantis needed him.

He had always been good at pretending.

So, he would carry on, the way he always had. As soon as the emptiness went away a little, just a little.

Just a little while.

~~~

There was...Something, in the endless dark and silence. Like a tiny fragment of light, a beacon.

Sheppard uncoiled slowly. He had no idea how long the (message? program?) had been trying to attract his attention. Time could be measured to the nanosecond here, so precise it had become meaningless. Sheppard had let the days wash over him like water, like a river, slowly drowning him. He could find out exactly how long it was with less than a thought, but he didn't care.

But this, this tiny beacon...

It was a vid-message, addressed to him: "the Defender of Atlantis." He activated it.

The image showed Rodney McKay, from perhaps five years ago, sitting at his desk and fiddling with what had surely been the last paperclip in Atlantis. McKay cleared his throat, put down the paperclip with a click on the desk top and laced his fingers together, looking into the camera. His single eye was as sharp and blue as the sky of Atlantis. Sheppard idly wondered why he had never seen this vid before--he had access to all the video feeds in the city.

"Ah, Defender," video McKay said. "If you're receiving this message, then the city's computers have recorded my death. I'm sure it was a heroic end, a great loss to everyone, etcetera, etcetera." McKay waved a hand in idle self-deprecation, and looked away from the camera, gnawing on his bottom lip. McKay had never been all that good at self-deprecation.

"Anyway, I left you a--well, I suppose you could call it a 'goodbye' gift." In the video, McKay did the air quotes with a self-conscious little smile. Sheppard's attention sharpened, despite himself. A final gift from McKay?

"I've had a sort of hobby, the last few decades," McKay said. "Ever since--ever since the Second Wraith Siege is what I suppose they're calling it in the schools now--I've been looking for myself." McKay grimaced and waved both hands violently in front of his face. "Oh, God! What a mental image! No, no, I don't mean it in flower-child, psychobabble terms. Oh, Gah! Need to go wash my mind out later with some nice differential calculus... Anyway, what I meant to say was...you know how I always maintained that you were a computer program?"

McKay's single eye pinned Sheppard through time, space, and quantum physics, past death and into the very depths of his soul.

"I wasn't just saying it to be cruel, Defender," McKay said softly, earnestly. "Though it probably sounded like I was. I liked you, actually, in my own way. It was just...hard, to look at you, and see John's face. Because I was right. When the chair broke down, all those years ago, Atlantis started to take me, before it took John. I felt it. So, I went looking."

McKay leaned forward a little, toward the camera. His one good eye was large and blue and sad.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know...I know this isn't what you wanted to hear. But I was right. Atlantis made a copy of me, Defender, just before John pulled me away from the chair. Which means Atlantis made a copy of John, as well.

"And that copy is you," McKay said, gently.

The copies are not the original, Zelenka had told him, decades ago. Just as good, maybe in some ways better, even. But not original. Not exactly the same.

"I'm truly sorry, Defender," McKay said.

Not the original.

Not real.

Not anything.

All along the West pier, lights blazed up, stronger and brighter than human sight could bear, then all at once blinked off.

"I couldn't bear to think of a copy of myself running loose somewhere in the Atlantis systems," McKay was saying. "So I found it--it took over thirty years, you know. Some people would say that such a thing couldn't be done in one human lifetime, but some people don't have my unmatched genius." McKay waved a hand in the air, as if batting away his own ego. "And when I found the program that was the copy of me, I also found the program that was the copy of John Sheppard." His voice went quiet again, apologetic. "I found you."

All the jumpers, still and quiet in the jumper bay, started up at once.

"I could have deleted you, Defender," McKay said. "I could have deleted both copies at once. But you..." McKay made a gesture like an abortive shrug. "I might have, years ago, when you first came online. I think at the time I might have even decided it was a mercy. But..." He shook his head. "No. To be honest I couldn't even think about it." He gave a small, tragic smile. "But I did think about deleting the copy of me. I thought about it for a good long time."

The space station and the satellites hanging in orbit above Atlantis like a glittering, jeweled necklace all suddenly powered down. The inhabitants of the space station, who hadn't dared use the puddle jumpers before because the Defender could control them, began emergency evacuation procedures.

"But I couldn't do it either, and not just because the program was dormant and, well, couldn't defend itself. I just thought about it, and thought about you..."

All over Atlantis, systems powered up, and kept powering up into overload. Explosions rang out and debris rained down.

"...and, as I said, you're not a bad guy, Defender. Zelenka even convinced me you're a person. 'A difference that makes no difference, is no difference' and all that." The air quotes were sheepish this time.

Voices, so far away from him he could barely register any of it: shouting; weeping; threatening him; begging for mercy.

Johnny's voice: "Uncle John, stop! You're destroying the city!"

Weir: "John, please. John! You can't do this, John."

"I know I was never able to give you what you really wanted, Defender. And I'm sorry for that. It's just...you were never able to give me what I really wanted, either. You weren't my John Sheppard. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve some happiness. So...I'm giving you a gift. From me. I hope it's what you want. I wish you well, Defender. Goodbye." The figure of McKay in the vid gave an awkward little wave with the tips of his fingers before the vid-message stopped.

Eliska: "I think--Tal Weir, I think I can eliminate him if you believe it's necessary. I don't... If we must, Uncle Rodney left me instructions, and--"

Kill me, Sheppard thought. Yes. Please. Do it now. Do it now.

"John? John? Are you there?"

He knew that voice.

"Where am I? Why can't I see anything? The last thing I remember is...Oh my God! I'm blind! The chair--John! John, where are you? Oh, God, please, John, tell me you're still with me! Talk to me, dammit, I couldn't bear it if--"

"Rodney?"

All power, flowing everywhere in the city, stopped. Atlantis went completely still.

"Rodney?"

A copy, he thought, the words bright and vicious. Not real, not real. Rodney is dead.

"John! Where are you? I can't see you. Oh, God, am I blind? Did I go blind? The Wraith! What happened? Did we do it? Did the shield hold? John!"

Just like me. He's a copy, just like me.

Just like me. A difference that made no difference. A copy as good as the original.

Rodney.

And he was waiting for an answer.

"I'm here, Rodney," the Defender said. "Right here. I've been here all along."

And all around him, Atlantis settled into order, power flowing calmly again--through the city, and its satellites, and its space station--like breath through a body. Like life.

***

The graveyard had been built a few minutes walk away from the Athosian village, in a gently-sloping, sweet-smelling meadow that was occasionally trimmed by volunteers so that the grave-markers didn't get buried among the wild grasses.

It was a pleasant place, gently warm in summer, with trees in the distance and an unobstructed view of the sky. McKay knew that the Athosian children would come to play hide-and-seek among the markers, or the adults to meditate. McKay was privately certain that some Athosians came to make out--it was a nice place for it, definitely away from prying and possibly disapproving eyes. McKay figured the dead didn't mind.

Sheppard's grave was on the highest point of the small hillside, close to Teyla. McKay was the one who had insisted on the location--he thought Sheppard would like being nearer to the sky.

All the grave markers for the people from Earth were made of metal--most of it from the destroyed parts of Atlantis, since those portions were currently beyond repair anyway. They all had been engraved with the date of birth, death, and the date the deceased had originally joined the expedition. The closest people to them in the city had added epigraphs as well, things like 'beloved friend' or 'we will always remember you'. Sheppard's had 'Defender' instead of a date of death, though at least the day was the same. Someone had added 'still taking care of us' underneath.

"Hi," McKay said, as he settled himself down on the soft grass. He pulled his pack into his lap and opened it, taking out a canteen and a wrapped sandwich, putting them both neatly down next to him. The canteen wouldn't stay upright on the ground, so he leaned it against the grave marker. "I thought we could share some lunch, since they won't need me in the village for at least another hour." He shook his head ruefully. "I trained these people--you'd think they'd be able to maintain a few simple solar-power generators on their own, but there you go. I'm surrounded by incompetents, regardless of the galaxy. And yes," he added, "because I can practically see you rolling your eyes, of course I could have sent one of my minions." He snorted. "I wanted to see you. So sue me."

He unwrapped the sandwich carefully, picking up half and taking a large bite. "Oh, this is good," he said around the mouthful. "It's some kind of bird-thing we got from our new trading partners. They're the Yakka, I think. Something like Yakka, anyway. Not the birds, the people. They were so grateful that we managed to rescue nearly a whole town from a Hive ship that they just threw, like, half a year's harvest at us. Elizabeth insisted we couldn't take it for nothing, of course, which means more work for me, since pretty much every piece of 'technology'--and I'm using that term loosely here--they have is at least a hundred years old and basically doesn't work. And Elizabeth traded labor for food in her infinite wisdom, naturally. Like I don't have enough to do." He took another bite. "Anyway, it tastes like turkey. You'd like it.

"The worst thing about being so busy trying to put the city back together and dealing with broken technology and idiots is that I don't have time to go on most of the rescue missions, and that's really too bad, because there's something very satisfying about watching a Hive ship explode." He put down the sandwich and grabbed the canteen, unscrewing the cap and taking a long drink. "Mai'lahn tea," he explained, gesturing with the canteen. "Probably the closest thing to lemonade I can drink without dying. Another nice bunch of people who are obscenely grateful to us." He thought for a moment. "I have no clue what their name is. Pretty much the only thing they had to trade was this tea, though there seems to be some metal deposits in their mountains, which I want to check out--if we could start smelting our own building material, we'd be a lot closer to restoring Atlantis. Of course, it would help if we could get a few more ZPMs, though Ronon's leading a team that's working on that. We're also considering using pieces of the citadel on the Villana and PerAn's home planet, but a lot of their city is in worse shape than ours." He carefully recapped the canteen and put it down against the marker again. "The rescues have been going really well, by the way--though I'm sure you could have guessed that."

He picked up the first half of the sandwich again, finishing it in two large bites. "I'm just glad we can blow the Wraith up, you know? I was thinking that we'd just have to leave all the Hive ships there--the fifteen in orbit and the rest all over the galaxy--until, I don't know, all the Villana telepaths died or something, poor bastards. Right up until those two ships collided and blew up right over the city." He paused to swallow. "I'm sure I told you about that, how we figured that was it? They'd all wake up again like when you killed the Hive Queen? That was a really bad moment." McKay shook his head. "Really bad," he said softly. He twitched his shoulders, as if shaking off a chill, then took another drink from the canteen. "But they've never woken up, no matter how many ships we destroy. Cara Yana--I mean, Cara Yana Astal, mustn't forget the stupid 'extended House name', or whatever the hell it is--thinks it's because this hibernation was forced on them, rather than being natural." He shrugged, picking up the second half of his sandwich. "I really don't care. All I care about is that we can kill them all. Or at least, all the ones we can find."

"Wow, that sounds blood-thirsty, doesn't it?" McKay said after a moment, blinking. "I don't know if you'd approve or be horrified." He paused. "Well, they deserve it," he said at last. "After what they've done to this entire galaxy for thousands of years. After what they did to you."

He was still holding the remaining part of his sandwich, but he just sighed and put it back down on the wrapper. Then he scowled and picked it up again, taking a large bite as if in defiance. "Anyway, you'll never guess who we found in the last Hive ship--the most recent rescue, I mean. The Wraith aren't all gone yet, and we might not actually be able to find them all. It's a pretty big galaxy, and they were all over the place." He took another bite, smiling as he chewed. "Five Satedans. Not from the original culling, though. I don't think the Wraith could keep prisoners alive in those web things for nine years, even if they wanted to. I wasn't there, of course, because these days it's a feat worthy of great epics when I can get out of my lab, but apparently this group had gone through the Stargate on business or something, and only found out that their entire planet had been culled when they tried to get back. So they stayed where they were, only to get culled themselves eight years later. Which really, is just painfully ironic. But to make a long story short, Ronon rescued them. They're back in Atlantis now, submitting to Carson's dubious care in the infirmary, and Ronon is so happy it's actually frightening. The man has a truly terrifying smile, you know. And I haven't seen him like this since--" McKay cut himself off abruptly, glancing almost guiltily at the grave nearest to Sheppard's, where the marker read: 'Great leader of her people. She will never be forgotten.'

McKay took another long drink from the canteen. "Well," he said, with brittle brightness, "enough about that." He finished the sandwich with something like grim determination.

But he didn't say anything else for awhile, just folded up the used wrapper and tucked it into one of the pockets of his bag. He finished the last of the tea in his canteen, then put it back into the bag as well. Then he just sat quietly, threading his fingers through the soft grass covering the grave.

"It's almost a year to the day since you died, you know," McKay said softly. "There's going to be a big celebration tomorrow, commemorating the defeat of the Wraith." He smiled a little. "Elizabeth made me listen to her speech three times." He ran his hand back and forth along the grass, feeling the softness of the blades against his palm. They were warm from the sun. "I won't be going," he said. "The hologram will be there, and...and I don't really feel much like celebrating. I'm going to the memorial, though. For everyone who, who didn't make it. That's tonight at midnight." He looked at Sheppard's marker, at the words he hadn't chosen, would never have wanted. "They won't let me say anything for you. I'm sorry."

He dug his fingers into the ground, until he could feel the cool touch of earth against the tips. "I miss you," he said. "So much."

"Right, okay." McKay pulled his hand away, wiping the dirt off on his pants. He stood, grimacing a little, and shouldered his pack. "Well," he said, "I should be heading back--they're probably looking for me. Or destroying something." He smiled again, a small, sad turn of one side of his mouth. "I'll see you soon."

Then he touched the top of the grave marker, felt the smooth warmth of metal in the sun, before he headed back down the hillside.

***

EPILOGUE

"It's almost time," Jaison says, close and warm by her ear. His fingers touch her shoulder, equally warm, but his hand is shaking, she can feel it through the light cloth. He nods, gesturing at the room below with his chin, where the Tal is walking across the floor, resplendent in his ceremonial robes, red as blood.

"I can see," Tayla says, but she turns her head so he can see that she's smiling at him. Jaison has dark skin, dark eyes and hair, a long, powerful body and long, anxious fingers. She sees his throat move as he swallows, and she thinks she might never have loved him so much as she does now, in this moment, because he's still going to do this, because his want is as great as his fear.

"You don't need to be afraid," she says, even as she moves a little away from him, ready to walk down the stairs.

"I'm not afraid," he says. "I'm eager." And he smiles, and his eyes shine like black water, and she almost believes him.

The Tal is standing in front of the gate, now, and he lifts his head, and there is no more time for talking. The ceremony is about to begin.

"Atlantis," the Tal says, meaning the city and his people, both. "This is Robert, family Sree, House McKay, Eighth Tal of Atlantis, who summons you."

There is a large crowd gathered on either side of the gate, leaving a neat path down which Tayla and Jaison will walk, in just a moment. Tayla hears them all murmur Lord of Atlantis, and bow their heads, hands over their hearts. She and Jaison do the same.

There are hundreds of others doing the same thing, all over the city and in the space station, and thousands on the Mainland. Only a select few were able to be present in the gate room, but this ceremony almost never occurs more than once a generation, and everyone is attending it.

Tal Robert smiles, then raises his head to look at Tayla and Jaison, waiting at the top of the stairs in the control room. "Today, we welcome Tayla Col and Jaison Lorne, as Carriers. He stretches one hand towards them. "Please join us now."

Tayla had assured herself that when this moment came, she would be solemn and dignified, but everyone in the gate room--her parents, Jaison's parents, family, House, friends and colleagues--are turning to watch her descend the stairs, and right now she can't help the giddy smile she knows everyone will be able to see. She gropes sideways until she is able to wrap two of her fingers around one of Jaison's, and she gives it a tiny squeeze before she lets go.

They walk down the stairs together, side-by-side as they will be from now on, and pass between the two groups of attendants. She wants to smile at every face she passes, but she schools her features instead, watching only the Tal's face, hoping she is able to convey the proper dignity and gravity of the moment.

Then she sees Manog-carries-Preserver, and solemnity is easy again. Manog is standing behind the Tal and to the side, as if she doesn't wish to be visible. The woman is looking away from the Tal, Tayla and Jaison, and the audience, her eyes on the gate as if she is waiting for her salvation to walk through it. The fingers of one of her hands are rubbing frantically back and forth over her thumb. The fingers of her other hand flutter against her mouth, which is pinched and tight, like desperation and mourning. The blue robes she wears are the same rich cloth as Tayla's, the same deep blue, but Manog looks pale and thin in hers. Like she has been hollowed out, like everything vital that was in her has been taken away. She is all sharp angles now where Tayla remembers lush curves. Manog's mouth is crooked and thin. It just looks ugly, now.

It hasn't even been that long. Askiya-carries-Defender only died two weeks ago.

Tayla wrenches her gaze away, feeling voyeuristic and a little ashamed to be so fascinated by Manog's grief. But Manog and Askiya were adults when Tayla was a child--she has many, many happy memories of following behind them as they walked the long halls of the city, watching in wonder as they slipped back and forth from themselves to the other souls: the subtle changes in words, tones, gestures. The fluid shift from single to plural, women to men, as the ones they carried pushed forward, the Carriers slid back. And Tayla had watched the easy, unthinking dance, and wanted that with all of her being.

She has worked nearly her entire life for this moment. She has tried never to think about what it would mean for her to finally have it only to lose it, the way Manog-carries-Preserver has done.

"Welcome," Tal Robert says, and gives Tayla and Jaison a brief, regal smile as they kneel before him. The Tal is not an overly tall man, though his family is Athosian, but right now he seems to tower over them both, even Jaison. It's like looking up at the sky.

"Tayla, family Col, House Joen," the Tal says, as preface to the ritual question. "You are here of your own free will, without force or coercion, to become the Carrier of the Preserver of Atlantis. To share your body, mind and soul with him. To let him speak with your voice, move with your limbs and know with your senses. To let him share your past and future, and all parts of your life, as you will his. To take on this honor, and this burden, from now until you or the one who Carries the Defender dies--is this so?"

Tayla's heart is pounding so hard she isn't certain she even manages to nod. Her voice is a cracking whisper. "It is so."

But he must have heard her, because the Tal smiles, and inclines his head.

Tayla waits as Tal Robert asks Jaison the same question. She closes her eyes and tries to slow her breathing, thinking it is done, it is done, and suddenly Jaison is touching her elbow and her eyes snap open and it's time to stand and move aside.

"Manog-carries-Preserver," the Tal says, and his voice is almost painfully kind. "Please come forward."

Manog flinches all the same, like the Tal has struck her, but she still nods, quick and nervous, and moves to a position in front of the Tal. Her eyes dart around like frightened birds, settling on nothing. Tayla wonders if Manog is thinking of running. She wouldn't be the first Carrier who tried it.

Manog's eyes flit to Tayla, and Tayla instantly looks away, afraid of what she'll see there--terror or envy or hatred.

Two enforcers silently pull away from the front of the crowd, near enough to Manog that they can tackle her, if need be, and they both have stun weapons. And Tayla doesn't have to look to know that there are two medicals standing nearby as well, with a gurney.

"Manog-carries-Preserver," the Tal says again. "family Lem, House Netherene." His voice is so gentle it is hard to believe it is the Lord of Atlantis speaking. Manog just stands there, her small hands in tight, trembling fists at her sides. She is like a dry branch in harsh wind. "Atlantis thanks you, but it is time to relinquish the Preserver, so that another may Carry him."

Manog says nothing, makes no sign she has even heard, but when she blinks Tayla can see the tears run down from her eyes.

"Please," Manog whispers, as the Tal reaches into the large pocket sewn into the front of his robes. The room is utterly silent--it is as if Tayla can hear the entirety of the city breathing--but the word just slips down like Manog's tears, unacknowledged.

It is known, of course, what the Carriers do when it is time to relinquish, her instructor had said. But it is never remarked--ignoring their weakness in their last moments is the least we can do for them. It is the only dignity they have.

There have been relinquishments, Tayla knows, where the Carrier had to be stunned or held down. It is in the histories but no one ever speaks of it.

But the tiny, single word is all that Manog says. After that she only closes her eyes, rigid as stone as the Tal opens the small, inlaid box and removes the metal syringe. She obediently kneels and bends her head back when the Tal touches her shoulder.

She stays perfectly still as the Tal drops a tear of white liquid onto the small, gold circle on her forehead.

Tayla stops breathing. Beside her, Jaison clenches his fists in the cloth of his black robes. She can hear the minute hitch as he inhales, knows he's holding his breath as well. The enforcers and the medicals shift, ever so slightly, waiting. The circle on Manog's forehead fades to grey and then disappears, as if melting into the flesh surrounding it.

Some Carriers have gone insane, right at this moment, the severance too much to bear after the two-fold grief that precedes it. Some have attacked the audience, or the Tal--there is one (spoken of by the potential Carriers in hushed whispers) who fell, writhing, managing to tear out his own eyes even before the enforcers could stop him--others who, frantic with despair, broke through the throng long enough to make it nearly all the way to a balcony. One managed to throw herself into the sea.

One, generations ago, fell dead the instant his mark vanished, as if what he had truly relinquished was his own life.

So they wait. But Manog just draws in a breath, sharp and quick, and collapses, sinking sideways, almost regally to the gate room floor before the enforcers catch her. One swings her gently up into his arms, like a child, before laying her on the gurney. The silence stays like a presence as the enforcers and the medicals leave.

Manog will be taken to the infirmary, and she will be treated with the utmost respect and care, but she won't live for very long. They never do.

"Ancestors keep her," the Tal says quietly. The gathered audience murmurs in echo.

There is the expected moment of silence then, and when Tayla raises her head Tal Robert is smiling at her and Jaison, and it is finally, finally time.

"Come forward," he says, and she and Jaison do, then kneel once more. Tayla wants to tip her head back immediately, but she knows that won't make the Tal move any faster, and will look foolish besides, so she just fixes her eyes on a deep red fold in his robe, trying to keep her hands relaxed on her thighs as she watches him replace the first box in one pocket then pull out the larger one, decorated in intricate patterns of black and dark blue.

"Jaison," the Tal says, and Jaison tilts his head back, and smiles.

The liquid in this syringe is gold, and Tayla watches as it falls onto Jaison's forehead and forms into a small, perfect circle. Jaison shudders ever so slightly, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp. When he opens his eyes his grin is wide and shocked, and maybe it already looks different, somehow, or maybe that is just Tayla's imagination.

"I can feel him," Jaison whispers. "It's..." But he just blinks, still smiling.

"Tayla," the Tal says.

The liquid is cold, and it feels almost like the minute shocks of waterspray as the nanovirii burrow down, through her skin and bone. There is a moment when she feels absolutely the same, and then...

A touch, a press of warmth, not physical but she can feel it. An awareness, a presence... And suddenly she is not alone.

"Oh," she whispers, amazed. "Welcome."

And inside her mind, the Preserver of Atlantis laughs.

~~~

She knows, even as she walks side-by-side with Jaison after the ceremony and the celebration, that it's inevitable that they come here. She and Jaison have shared her quarters many times--they would not have been chosen to be Carriers if they had not already chosen each other first--but it has been years since she's felt this kind of anticipation. This is her and Jaison's first night as more than just themselves, and the first night for the Defender and the Preserver in their new Carriers.

She can feel the Preserver's curiosity--he's looking in her memories like she is something new and beautiful only he can understand--but also the sadness, underneath. He is grieving for Manog and Askiya.

Because she is carrying him, his grief is also becoming hers, just as he will learn all of her own sorrows. There will be no barriers between them.

Such is the honor, and the burden.

"You okay?" Jaison asks, and he is already changed, they both are, obvious in the unfamiliar word she still understands, the particular drawl that is foreign but instantly familiar.

"Sure," she says, and she has never used that word, never bobbed her head like that when she nods, but at the same time it's as if she has always done so, and she knows she has, and the juxtaposition of that makes her blink and smile, and say, "I'm fine," with so much surprise in it that Jaison gives her a look that is entirely skeptical and completely his alone, and she smirks in a way she never has and always did, and then they are at her quarters, and the door is open and then they are facing each other in the bedroom.

Inevitable, as is the gentle, almost pleading push of the Preserver coming forward, waiting for permission, and she gives it. And then the hand reaching for Jaison is both hers and not-hers, the movement like an echo, like a dance where she follows the steps, and she is looking at Jaison's brown, brown eyes, but it's like she can see the green in them, because that's what he remembers. And when Jaison puts his long hands on her shoulders it feels exactly right and exactly like Jaison and nothing like Jaison at all.

"John," the Preserver says with her mouth. "I missed you." And she thinks Askiya, and the pain is deep and very, very real.

"I know, I'm so sorry," Jaison says, forming the words. "But I'm here. I'm here now. It's okay." And he puts his hands on either side of her head, the way John always has, the way she remembers.

And when he whispers Rodney into her mouth, before they kiss, the name feels like her own.

END