Leave it to Toderov to turn a perfectly routine test of their new mining equipment into archaeological hunt in the middle of a war zone.

SG-13 missed their fist check in, only to come in thirty-five minutes later with bombs exploding in the background and a dark cave showing on Toderov's camera. Paulson (on her very last mission with the team) and Lin seemed to be in some sort of chamber with Ancient writing along the walls.

John loomed over Harriman’s shoulder, trying not to seem too nervous. O’Neill and Carter were both out, so he was the ranking military officer on base. And this was still his team out there. It was moments like these that made him truly ache for the days of going through the Gate. Not only was it exciting, but he could appease his inner control freak and make everything go exactly how he wanted.

Now . . . now, he sympathized with all the commanding officers that he’d cursed or disobeyed when they ordered him back prematurely.

“What’s your situation, Major?”

“What it looks like we are doing – trapped in caves with bombs exploding outside,” Toderov sounded exasperated.

“Do you need back up?”

“No. The Stargate is in adjacent cave network.”

“Then why aren’t you going to it?”

“We have to find the Alarian's proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“Proof of this divine covenant . . .”

“What exactly does it do?

“Promises the holy land to all believers.”

“Ah, great, just what we need, another religious war. See why I devote my life to science? Nothing good can ever . . .” When did Rodney get there? It wasn’t like he was even particularly stealthy. John must be getting old.

“Shut up, Rodney. Toderov, forget the document. I can’t risk your team going on wild goose hunts for religious tomes. Maybe you can go back when things have settled.”

“By then the resistance will be gone.” Lin, in one of his few periods of verbosity. This was serious.

But still, no matter what Lin and Toderov thought, they couldn’t afford to get involved in every religious war . . . the Pentagon was cracking down on their budget expenditures and they already had more potential research leads than they could really handle. “I said ‘no,’ Major. I’m ordering you to come back here.”

“It’s the right thing to do, Sir!” Toderov yelled, like John had told Elizabeth so many times. But he was beginning to see that maybe he’d been too nearsighted back then. He used to think he was invincible.

“Major Toderov, ya naveshatu pizdyley if you don’t get back here right now. Got it?”

“I’m sorry, Sir, you’re breaking up . . .” Oh, that was low.

“Oh, you tricky bastard. You think I don’t know that one?”

“Sir? Toderov to Stargate Command. You copy?” Toderov said before the connection cut off.

“Damnit!”

John didn’t send backup. He couldn’t risk more people on Toderov’s little crusade.

It was sixteen tense hours before SG-13 stumbled through the Gate. Toderov was limping and Sergeant Saunders looked like a giant walking bruise. Paulson was covered head to toe in blood and shaking like a leaf, laptop cradled protectively in her arms – not the best mission for the newbie then. Lin was speechless, but in a completely different way than usual. He carried a flat black tablet about the size of an atlas in his hands. There wasn’t much writing on it as far as John could tell.

He reached out for it before Rodney could rush up the ramp, already fired up and ready to yell at Paulson. The second he took it out of Lin’s hands the writing lit up, projecting an image of some device and more text into the air above them. It looked kind of phallic, in John’s humble opinion, but then again, he’d been watching Rodney scream at people for the last 13 hours, and that was always a turn on.

“It . . . Sir . . . it didn’t do that before, I swear,” Paulson squeaked looking even more terrified now that Rodney was trotting toward them, looking greedily at the device.

“What is it?” John asked, turning the thing around carefully. The image didn’t move.

“I don’t know,” Paulson said.

“It’s a device that manufactures ZedPMs,” Rodney corrected, looking awed.

“I told you so,” Toderov gloated. “Sir.”

Rodney snatched the device and scurried off, calling over his shoulder, “Good job, Major. And, Paulson, I’ll deal with you later.”

“After a nice little trip to the infirmary,” Reyes amended, gesturing to the few waiting gurneys.

“I’ll walk,” Toderov started. Reyes just glared until he submitted. John had no idea how he’d ever survived her.

“Debrief at eleven hundred tomorrow,” John said. It almost felt like he was back on Atlantis. “Oh, and O’Neill called and said, ‘Don’t do that again.’”

“No,” O’Neill said. It was the same voice he used when he said ‘I’ll make this as succinct as possible.’ It was a voice John had grown accustomed to since O’Neill came back to base.

“What? Why not? You haven’t even listened to our . . .” Rodney pleaded, going straight to patronizing and dismayed, stopping only briefly to pick up his whine.

“Because I say so,” O’Neill said, before noticing the pile of papers that’d probably been on his desk for more than a week and poking them experimentally.

“But . . .” Rodney whined even more.

“But, Reyes says no gate travel and I trust her judgment. I won’t let you put Colonel Sheppard’s health at risk like this when you have plenty of trained gene-carriers at your disposal.”

“But there’s nobody else! I have the gene too and so does Lin, but when we touched it, the tablet didn’t so much as spark. We only have one chance at this, General.”

“I thought the whole point of time machines was that you got more than one chance.” O’Neill frowned.

“Theoretically, yes, but . . .”

“But what?”

“But in this time, we still only have one time machine, so if something goes wrong and oh, say, we die horrible horrible deaths, you’ve still lost your one chance.”

“You could still die horrible horrible deaths with Colonel Sheppard there.”

“We could, but I’d rather . . .”

“The Pentagon would rather he stay here continuing his research and as much as I hate to say it, I agree. Find someone else, McKay. No buts.”

“But . . .” Rodney looked to John for help. John just shrugged. He knew this was going to happen. He’d tried to tell Rodney. He wasn’t fit for missions anymore. He wasn’t a pilot. He was a scientist now. There was nothing he could do to protect Rodney anymore. He’d be more of a burden than anything. “John, tell him . . .”

“He’s the general, Rodney.” It felt strange, submitting like that. He’d never been one to support something he disagreed with solely because it came with some extra pips and an official stamp. Maybe the problem was that he really didn’t disagree.

“Oh, come on,” Rodney moaned, allowing John to drag him out of O’Neill’s office.

“You’ll find a way, Rodney,” John said softly. Rodney always did.

Of course, Rodney never seemed to find the way John predicted.

“I don’t know, Rodney . . .” Sam said, not turning her back from dishwashing.

“You can convince him. You’ve done it before.”

“I can. But, Rodney, you are gambling with your best friend’s life.”

John hadn’t really thought about it that way before, and apparently neither had Rodney because he spun around, eyes imploring. John knew that look. It was rare, but it meant apology.

“Yeah, and I’m gambling with my life too. Who knows what kind of booby-traps the Ancients might have set. John’s the only one who can even get the damned map to work. Not even O’Neill can. You’re a scientist, Sam. You can’t ignore the evidence.”

Sam bit her bottom lip the way she did when she was nervous. John looked on dispassionately, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“What do you think about this, John?”

“Huh?” John asked after he finished chewing. He wasn’t ready for that.

“It’s you risking your life here.

Rodney looked indignant, protesting, “Hey, this isn’t just a walk through the park for me either. Who knows what kinds of . . .”

Sam completely ignored him. “But, do you really think you should go?”

“Of course he wants to go,” Rodney said.

“And is your name ‘John Sheppard?’” Sam asked, annoyed. She sounded like John’s fourth grade teacher scolding the loud kid. It was creepy.

“I want to go,” John finally responded.

“You want to go.” Sam was incredulous.

“Rodney says he needs me. It’s a ZPM manufacturing device, Sam. If we had another ZPM, we could power any number of projects. We could . . . we could contact Atlantis.” The elephant in the corner that they never discussed. They hadn’t heard from Atlantis in years. “If I can help, I have to. You would do the same.”

Sam sighed, putting down the last of the dishes and walking over to pull Max out of his high chair. He threw a bunch of Cheerios in her hair, but she just smiled and nuzzled his neck.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Rodney said, though it sounded more like ‘finally.’ He picked up the fallen Cheerios.

John wasn’t really expecting it to work. He knew Sam could be persuasive when she wanted to be, but O’Neill was also pretty stubborn.

Yet here he was, in full field dress, feeling as though his equipment didn’t used to be this heavy. Of course, Rodney looked just about as nervous as he felt, fiddling with all the straps on his field pack about five times each. It was a familiar routine.

“Now, you have to remember to think about the specific time indicated on the tablet.”

“I know. I know, Rodney. I’m not stupid.”

“Sure, you’re not.” Rodney rolled his eyes, but reached across the cockpit to squeeze John’s hand.

Toderov, Lin, and about six Marines who John didn’t really know were loading gear in the back. When he’d recruited the team, Toderov had quoted Jack Nicholson with a wink: ‘Walk softly and carry an armored tank division.’

“Feels strange, hm? Back in the field again?” Rodney squeaked, pulling at his collar.

“I like it,” John said in the same defiant manner he forced himself to love Antarctica all those years ago. The pack and the adrenaline and the detached cool of his new gun felt more alien than anything on Atlantis ever had.

“Yeah,” Rodney said, though they both knew he was lying. “Me too.”

Then a crash and Rodney moved to the back to bully Marines and squawk about delicate equipment. John took in a deep breath, preparing himself. On Atlantis, he’d never had the time to feel nervous, just navigating from one crisis to another. Now it was like back in Afghanistan, full of energy, but not too young and stupid to think that nothing could happen to him. So much already had.

After a minute, Rodney was back beside him and General O’Neill’s voice was coming in over his headset loud and clear and commanding. “Colonel Sheppard, you have a go.”

All he had to do was think, feeling the familiar tickle at the back of his mind, the comforting whisper of the Ancient technology like coming home, and then there they were.

The hills were shadowed, a dusty brown like the desert outside Edwards, the ghost of rivers traced into the crumbling dust like hieroglyphs. Lightning skipped across a dark, almost blood-colored sky, and John could feel Rodney fidgeting nervously beside him. But the storm made John feel almost calmer somehow, remembering that day he and Jonas had spent staring out across the horizon, watching lightning spark like fireworks.

“Zaebis,” Toderov said quietly.

“Yeah,” John agreed.

Rodney was busy squinting at the display that had just popped up in front of him. “Oh . . . okay, over there.” Rodney gestured vaguely.

“Where?”

“Between the next two mountains . . . that valley . . . there.”

John nodded, feeling it was right even before Rodney said it. He hadn’t had this feeling for a long time – since he’d first gotten back together with Rodney. It was like déjà vu, but not. It was like maybe he was already Ascended, or would be – like he could see past and future and present all superimposed on an instant.

For some reason he remembered ‘Lord of the Rings,’ all those scenic shots with the overly dramatic, slightly new-age music making everything more significant than it was. He could almost think of himself as Aragorn, sailing across the world on his faithful steed, fighting the good fight once more.

John settled the Puddle Jumper down gently, feeling it settle into the fine dust like falling into waiting arms. He could feel the anticipation all around him like electricity, like this land had waited eons for this moment, when, with time travel, it could have been even less than a day.

Rodney was fidgeting even more, fidgeting like his blood was crawling with ants.

John popped the hatch, but Rodney scolded him. “Hey, what . . . we don’t even know if the air’s . . .”

“It is.” He felt it. He felt safe.

“And you know this how? Numerology?”

John just rolled his eyes, following the troop of Marines out onto the dark brown dust. It clung to him like flour, forming a thick fog that made him cough.

“Are you okay, John? Do you . . . maybe you should go wait in the Jumper. Because we can handle this. It looks perfectly . . .”

“It’s just a little dust, Rodney. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Rodney’s eyes were wide and concerned. John couldn’t bring himself to snap at that look. God, when had he turned into such a sap? “Yes. I promise. Everything’s good.”

“You’ll tell us if . . .”

“Yes, I’ll tell you. Now, let’s move out.”

Toderov nodded and the Marines branched out in front of them.

“Thanks for undermining my credibility in front of the troops,” John whispered.

“Ah, the military, credibility over unimportant things like, oh, say, your life.”

“I’m fine, Rodney. Just drop it.”

Rodney mumbled something under his breath, but eventually fell silent, allowing John a moment’s respite before they reached a large fissure in the rock. It didn’t appear anywhere near stable to John. But then again, these were the Ancients. They built cities that could up and fly to other galaxies, surely they had engineers that could determine this sort of thing.

Rodney was busy taking readings and the Marines were establishing a perimeter outside the mouth, looking to him for orders.

He ignored them all and stepped right in. It felt right to be doing something for a change. In fact, it felt more than right. It felt as though all history led up to this moment. And perhaps it did. Perhaps there was something about this strange time-travel puzzle that was predestined. The Ancients could come back just a minute after the designated time and find out who was here. They could, in essence, know the future, and wasn’t that as close to omnipotence you could get without Ascension?

John almost smiled, making his way deeper and deeper into the darkness, turning on his light and bracing himself in the fine dust when the floor began to slope downwards. He could see Lin walking along the side of the cave looking for writing or signals, a Marine following close behind.

Rodney was oddly quiet, but then again, maybe he was feeling this, too – the almost sacred reverence of this moment.

Just when John though the slope was getting too steep, the darkness curved away from the crumbling rock of the ceiling and he stepped down with a clank onto some sort of platform. Rodney was just coming up behind him when the platform seemed to slide. Rodney lunged forward to try to grab him, but it was too late. He only ended up pulling Rodney down onto him as the platform slid away down the slope.

They both ducked, John trying to cover Rodney as they sped further and further into the darkness. They didn’t crash. In fact, John soon realized that their descent was controlled, smooth, intended.

“It must be the gene,” he said, as the platform slowed, approaching a glowing orange light in the darkness.

“Look what we have here.” John could hear the smile in Rodney’s voice.

As the approached, the orange light got bigger, brighter, completely out of proportion without any point of reference.

But the closer they got, the more it became obvious that, “There’s . . . that’s . . . wow . . .” Rodney sounded awed.

He had his scanner out before they’d even come to a complete stop. John smiled to himself. It’d been a long time since he’d seen Rodney like this. Even though Rodney claimed to love the lab, John always imagined him as made for fieldwork. Well, maybe minus all the whining and panicking and stumbling.

Then there was a flash of light and John was diving over Rodney, old instincts rising to the surface like breath bubbling upwards. When the brilliance had subsided, John stood tentatively to glimpse spiraling white lettering floating in front of him. Though his Ancient had gotten a lot better over the years (with lots of help from both Lin and Daniel), he couldn’t really figure out what it meant.

“Bounded possibility?”

“No, actually . . . yeah, pretty much.”

“I’m no genius, but . . . I have no idea what that means.”

“Hm,” Rodney said, stepping forward onto another platform and straight through the text, still floating in the darkness like the early morning fog out on the ocean.

“Rodney, are you sure we shouldn’t wait for Lin to check it out. It’s looking a lot like that platform in ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark,’ and we all know how well that turned out.”

Rodney waved his hands at John impatiently. “Don’t be silly. That movie’s ridiculously inaccurate. How was all the delicate machinery to work those traps supposed to survive since the time of the Mayans anyhow?”

“The Ancients weren’t exactly a bunch of calendar-worshiping natives with blowguns, Rodney.”

“It’s obviously some ridiculous purposely vague religious mind game, as the Ancients seem to be prone. What, are we supposed to wait here until we somehow Ascend?”

“You wouldn’t want to?” John asked suddenly. Despite all of the ridiculous rules of non-intervention, and the holier-than-thou superiority every time he encountered them, he’d always thought that Ascension would be kind of cool. It certainly beat dying.

Rodney was too busy fondling a thin ring of a device, a dusky silver like the Stargate. It was no bigger than his grip, but its position on the pedestal left no doubt that it was what they were searching for. You weren’t going to place your giant metal cock-ring suspended in a beam of light like that, were you? . . . well, unless the Ancients were a hell of a lot more fun (and a lot bigger) than he gave them credit for. “This is amazing. I mean, I have to analyze the data to be sure, but it looks as though the device actually creates a microsingularity that evolves . . .”

“Well . . . um . . . okay, let’s go.”

“Oh come on, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You have some serious issues with your inner geekiness, Mr. . . .”

Rodney’s voice trailed off as the cavern began to shake, boulders tumbling down around them. John ducked reflexively, wincing as the rocks grazed off his shoulder blades. Man, was he going to be bruised in the morning . . . if he survived to see the morning, of course.

“Oh, come on. You’ve got to be kidding me!” Rodney seemed to be yelling at the cock-ring. “One off-world mission without disaster. One . . . that’s all I ask. I have a wife . . . I have a snot-nosed little brat of my own now . . . you can’t . . . you can’t just . . .” Rodney gulped, hyperventilating now.

“Come on!” John yelled, grabbing Rodney and pulling him back onto the platform, coughing in dust and squinting as it stung in his eyes.

And then he wished, with every fiber of his being, that he could protect Rodney, whisk him away to some safe place where they could spend forever. Not just for Rodney, no matter how much he loved him, but for Sam and Max and the SGC and all of the other people that depended on him. John had always had a streak of selflessness in him, but he’d always taken with it a certain fairness. He would risk his life to save goddamn Kavanagh, if he thought he could do it, but he’d never thought so determinedly before, never wanted so badly, and wanted not just for him, but for the very working of the world.

Then there was a bright light and dust swirling into nothingness, the familiar stomach-sick pull of stepping through the wormhole, and there they were, standing in the safe confines of the Jumper.

“Oh my god . . . are we . . . have you . . . you did this?” Rodney gasped, doubling over in relief.

John took no such luxury. The ground was still shaking. Even if they were a lot safer than beneath a thousand tons of rock, they were still perched on top a very unstable mountainside, with a team to get to.

John dove into the pilot’s seat, feeling the familiar tickle at the back of his mind, letting it flood through him like the sudden warmth of a fire as you approached its simmering brightness.

With a thought, the sensor display popped up in front of him, and he was watching as eight dots struggled towards the surface.

“Come on, come on,” John pleaded, trying to find the figures in the red storm of dust as he coaxed the Jumper into flight.

They’d get out of this. Toderov, no matter how . . . Russian, was a good soldier. He’d get them out of there in time. John steeled himself against doubt and flew them deeper into the fury, unable, now that they were in the air, to feel the trembling of the world around them.

The dots were getting clearer, rising to the surface. John smiled, setting the Jumper down once again.

“What? Are you crazy?! The mountain’s going to shake itself apart any minute now!” Rodney screamed. “Do you know how hot boiling magma is?”

“No. You?”

“Well, no, actually . . . what do I look like? A geologist? But that’s beside the point . . .”

“They’re coming, Rodney. Just relax.”

“Fine, but can’t we wait at a safer distance . . . like, I don’t know, not on the completely unstable about-to-blow-up mountain?!”

And then the dots were almost upon them and John was opening up the rear hatch and they were going to make it, they really were . . . until the mountain crumbled away, and John felt it this time, just as he felt the controls being ripped from his fingers. And somewhere there was a harsh crack and a pain and he was watching dust fly by in a torrent of scraps and tumbles as they plummeted down into the fury, like paper boats crashing up against the shoals of time.

The world narrowed even as the darkness crept in. Breath came, jagged, like the tips of all those great mountains he’d never climb again, piercing a wide blue sky. Things shifted within him. Darkness, a flash, the constant murmur of Rodney freaking out washing over him like the sea, murky but luminescent.

And then he understood. It wasn’t some sort of Indian Jones type booby-trap. It, like all of history, was destined, if only by virtue of being different than every other universe in the sea of possibilities that defined existence. The Ancients chose this crumbling mountain-side, with the only key being time, because as the mountain crumbled to dust and molten lava traced itself across everything, there was no way any others could intervene . . . no way that anyone else could stumble upon it - the great safety-box of an instant.

He thought, perhaps, with Rodney leaning down over him, with the lights flickering back to life and his old broken body laid out on the floor of the Jumper like the sacrifice he just might be, that perhaps that was true of all instants. Perhaps every fleeting emotion - every second of beauty, of love, of life, of hatred, even - if passionate, could form a bubble around itself, float up to that place in eternity where anyone, theoretically, could return, ready to be reclaimed. Perhaps there was a moment when a few primitive apes invented love and every sonnet ever written since was just a return to that, if only for an instant.

And then, above him, as his body jostled, the pain rattling through him like a shiver, there was a voice, drawing on that first great emotion, calling out with a singular desperation, as though it could change the world the way a thousand lovers past had thought they could. “Oh, God, John. John, no. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I was wrong. See, I admitted it . . . and you said I couldn’t. John! John, don’t do this. Please. John. I’ll do anything, just don’t do this. I’ll . . . I’ll start going to church and bowing down to silly gold icons. I’ll . . . I’ll make daisy chains for the rest of my life. I’ll . . . I’ll leave Sam. John, I’m so sorry. I should’ve . . . I love you so much. It should’ve been you. I never should’ve . . . . God, John . . .”

As Rodney’s desperate pleas faded beyond the rushing in his ears and the pounding of his heart, he thought he saw Sam’s face in the patchwork background of shadows and color. Shock and sorrow, she was painted like the sea as it grew black and opened up to swallow him.

He woke panicked and disoriented, drugs tying all his senses in a straightjacket. He didn’t want . . . he couldn’t. He had to . . . where, what, how?

They’d gone back in time. They’d changed the world. Or maybe they hadn’t. Maybe this was meant to be all along. Maybe this was what a rip in the space-time continuum felt like – like there wasn’t enough of the universe to go around.

He gasped, breathless.

Then a warm hand enveloping his, bright blue eyes.

“It’s okay, John. Calm down. Reyes put you back on a ventilator. But you’re going to be okay. You’re going to be fine. I’m here. I . . . I love you. You’ll be fine.” Rodney was babbling. And Rodney babbling meant the situation was dire, but not intractable.

John tried to shake his head, though all the tubing and monitors made that kind of hard.

“You will be. We’ve got the best of the best. We’ll figure something out. We need you back in the lab, believe it or not. Felger and Combs are pretty useless without you. All they ever do is fight over bad sci-fi programs. And Sam . . .” Rodney’s voice trailed off, his eyes going all sad and distant. Even with all the medication, he could still read Rodney like a book.

Sam . . . Sam . . . he remembered. There was something about Sam . . . she knew! She saw. She was there. John pointed to the laptop plugged into the corner.

“Oh yeah . . . right . . .” Rodney bumbled, tripping over himself to fetch it for him.

“She knows,” John typed.

Rodney nodded. “But don’t worry about that. I’ve got it all under control. You just . . . you just get better, okay?” Rodney’s voice cracked, but he put on a brave face, kissing John’s hand.

John nodded, already slipping back into a peaceful haze somewhere between sleep and wake. Outside time. He wondered if this was what Ascension felt like – so detached from the world . . . so permanent, like existence would never end, yet already had.

They didn’t talk about it again. John had a lot of visitors – Daniel and Teal’c and the guys from the lab, but no Sam. She was conspicuous in her absence and he missed her. She always knew the right thing to say. And she kept Rodney from babbling.

Nobody would tell him anything substantial. Mostly they’d just talk about the new work they were doing on P2Y-whatever-the-hell or stand there awkwardly when he pretended to fall sleep. The ZPM manufacturing was going well, apparently, though it demanded most of Rodney’s time. Even after Reyes took out the tubing and let John go back to his apartment for bed rest, Rodney was scarce. He’d shown up with a suitcase of clothes and enough computing equipment to start his own miniature cyber haven, but he was good at hiding when he wanted to.

John hadn’t seen him for more than five minutes at a time for the past few days and he was starting to get frustrated. He had a panic button clasped in one hand, but other than that, the phone was inaccessible, and he definitely wasn’t up to yelling. He was finding that when forced to take enough naps, they could grow to contain character. He would describe this current one as frustrated.

The next time he woke, Rodney wasn’t there. It was a familiar rerun of the Star Trek versus Star Wars debate between the dynamic duo. John smiled.

“Hey, I think he’s awake.” Felger.

“No, he’s not.”

“Why don’t you poke him then?”

“I don’t know . . . he looks kind of fragile . . .”

John opened his eyes. “Hey, hey, no need for anyone to get poked. I’m awake.”

Combs let out a puff of air. “Good. We were starting to worry.”

“You were starting to worry. I simply informed you that for recovery from such heroic feats as Colonel Sheppard has performed, one needs some time . . .”

“You wanted to poke him! I can’t believe . . .”

“Guys, guys, I’m okay, really. So, what’s up? Blow up anything cool recently? Join Rodney in flay-the-newbies?”

“Nope. We’ve been good since you’ve been gone,” Felger said, far too proudly.

“That’s not to say that you’re the cause of our troubles or anything . . . not at all . . .”

John grinned. More than six years working together and they were still trying to impress him. It was kind of sweet.

“We haven’t even pranked a newbie – in your honor, of course.”

“Rodney not sharing his toys then?”

“Does he ever?” Combs pouted.

“Speaking of which . . . how is Rodney, really?”

“Um . . .” Combs shifted uncomfortably, pushing his glasses up his nose and looking down at his feet.

“Well, about that . . .” Felger looked equally uncomfortable. “We’re on your side, Shep.”

“Yeah, we just want you to know that . . . well, you and Dr. McKay were just . . . you really care about each other, and well . . . whatever Colonel Carter does . . .”

“. . . no matter how hot she is . . .”

“We’re on your side.”

“Woah, woah, woah, guys, what’s all this about taking sides?”

“You mean he hasn’t told you?” If Combs’ mouth was open any wider, it might have to be documented for the good of science.

“Told me what?”

“He and Carter are getting a divorce. She’s been stonewalling all his projects, and O’Neill backs her up. It’s like . . . it’s like . . .”

“It’s like when Hathor took over the base and had all the men under her influence and Carter and all the women had to take it back . . . only without the evil Goa’uld and the guns and the fact that it’s not, you know, saving the world.”

“Just like it.” John rolled his eyes. “Look, guys, I appreciate it. But I don’t want you to put our research in jeopardy over this. Rodney and I are the ones that screwed up and we should take full responsibility. Sam’s just upset. She’ll cool down. Please don’t do anything drastic on our behalf.”

“She doesn’t have a right to let her personal fight with McKay get in the way of our research. It’s important stuff,” Felger said, jaw set and determined like John’d never really seen him. “If that’s the kind of person she is, she shouldn’t be in the position she’s in.”

That was true enough. But then again, they’d hurt her really badly. “But you guys know what they say about a woman scorned.”

“She acts like a bitch? Excuse my Chinese,” Felger said petulantly.

John sighed. “Look, this’ll all blow over. I’ll talk to Rodney. He’ll apologize. They’ll have some great make-up sex, life in the lab will go on and we’ll all live happily ever after.”

“Except for you,” Combs said.

“I’m tired. I think it’s time I got back to all this resting,” John responded.

He listened to their footsteps all the way out the door and studied the ceiling until Rodney came home, trying not to think about how everything had gone wrong.

Rodney came home with a black eye and a foul temper. He held the ice pack firmly to his eye, looking forlorn and dejected.

“She punched you?”

“No, this is an eye-hickey from her overwhelming gratitude to find out that I’ve been cheating on her and that I don’t want to get back together.”

“You have to apologize. Go back there right now and tell her you’re sorry. Tell her you’ll never see me again. Tell her whatever you have to.”

“I’m not going to grovel.”

“Rodney, we fucked up. If you want her back you’re going to have to make concessions.”

Rodney sighed, lowering the icepack to reveal fine red veins tracing a plum-colored bruise. John glared until he put it back. “Maybe I don’t want her back.”

“Rodney, you don’t mean that. You love Sam.”

“I love you more.”

“Rodney, I’m not going to be responsible for ruining your family.”

“Don’t think too highly of yourself, John. It’s my family. I can ruin it if I want to.”

“But you don’t want to, Rodney. Max deserves . . .”

“Max deserves a father who’s not always wishing he were somewhere else, with someone else. Sam deserves a chance to find someone better.”

“But Rodney . . . you’re his father.”

“Yeah, I know . . . and I never thought I’d be the kind of guy that’d walk out on his son. I thought I was a good man.”

“You are. You’re just panicking; that’s all.”

“No, John. I’m not a good man. Maybe you won’t want me anymore after this, and that’s fine. But I can’t deal with this. I’m not that good. I’m not that strong. Maybe it’s genetic or something . . . but I honestly can’t see myself sticking with it. I’ll only fuck things up if I do.”

John wanted to draw Rodney into a kiss, but the whole bedridden thing made that a bit hard. “I’m not going to leave you, Rodney. I love you. But I don’t want you to ever regret this . . . I don’t want to be with you if you’re always thinking about the family you should’ve had.”

Rodney smiled ruefully. “Trust me, John. I won’t. Like I told you, I’m really not that good a man.”

But that was a lie, because even when objectively, John knew they were the ones in the wrong, his heart felt ready to burst. “No, you’re the best.”

Then Rodney leaned down and they sealed the deal with a kiss.

“Shouldn’t you be working? You know, saving the world five times a week and making labtechs piss themselves and all that?”

“No. I quit. Gave them my 2 weeks notice.”

“You quit?! But Rodney . . .”

“O’Neill was giving me shit about spending so much time out of the lab.”

“But isn’t the mountain going to like implode or something without your giant cerebral structure to hold it up?”

“Puh-lease, we’ve got a ZedPM and a shield now, not to mention the fact that a staff of 457 with more than a thousand PhDs between them should be able to handle it.”

“That’s not what you said . . .”

“Look, we have enough money to buy ourselves an island paradise and an army of evil minions, even if I lose half of it in the divorce, and after a few months of underling infighting getting in the way of progress, Sam will be begging for me back. She’s too nice to be the bad cop. And by that time you’ll be . . . you’ll be better.” Rodney’s voice was cracked and strained, broken like a junkyard, flattened like road kill. He was a terrible liar.

“Sure.” John said, trying to make it sound hopeful and instead falling into the familiar trap of sarcasm.

“You’ll be better,” Rodney said again, with more conviction than John’d ever heard him say anything. Then he looked down at their twined hands, giving John’s a squeeze. “I’m making eggs.”

It was so ridiculously domestic that John had to laugh. Except it came out more a wheeze, though both of them made a valiant effort to deny that fact.

It had been another Saturday, which was just like Sunday and Monday and Tuesday and every other day of the week, except there were reruns of ‘The Twilight Zone’ on. John spent the day sitting in bed, watching TV for a few hours. A nurse came to check on him, then he napped for a few more hours. When he woke up, Rodney would be home. He’d kiss John and bitch about the newest difficulty at the mountain and the five thousand reasons why they wouldn’t be able to function without him and how this proved it, then he’d crawl into John’s narrow bed and they’d make fun of whatever horrible action movie they could find on Pay Per View. Then Rodney’d put John to sleep with a kiss, and John would stay up wishing things were different.

But today was different, because Rodney wasn’t there when he woke up. Instead there were two dark-skinned figures standing at the doorway. John blinked the blurriness out of his eyes . . . it couldn’t be . . . he was dreaming . . .

“Ford? Teyla?”

“Hi, Sir.” Ford’s voice was deeper than he remembered. And he was stockier, even more well-muscled than before. And a Major, now, it seemed. He didn’t look like the little boy that John had taught everything he knew . . . or, at least, a lot of the things he knew.

And Teyla . . . with that long scar marring her beautiful face . . . John remembered a time when he would’ve loved her, kissed her, been with her if it wasn’t so wrong. And now at the sight of her, he didn’t even feel the stirring discomfort of regret. Her smile was still warm, her voice soft, her movements graceful as she came to stand beside him, her always unnaturally soft hands clasping his. “It is good to see you once again, Colonel.”

“Good to see you too, Teyla.” And it really was. He’d spent too many sleepless nights wondering about them . . . too much time haunted by the quiet sea and the multitude of spires rising like icebergs from the water. It was too hard to think that there was something they could’ve done . . . it was too hard to wonder ‘what if?’ What if he’d never been so stupid as to think that he could stand up against the military machine? What if he’d smiled and nodded and stayed on Atlantis where he belonged? Sam and Rodney’d still be together, John wouldn’t have gotten an arrow in the back, Radek Zelenka might be alive and maybe, just maybe, things on Atlantis wouldn’t have gone down the way they did.

“We missed you, Sir.”

“Same here,” John murmured.

Ford, though no longer the naïve little boy, still looked uncomfortable. But Teyla . . . Teyla, the perpetual diplomat, still knew how to keep the silence from becoming awkward. “We have heard much of your adventures, Colonel. I never would have expected you to become one of these . . . geeks, wasn’t that what you always used to call them?”

“Watch it, Teyla, you’re in my home, you know . . .”

“Indeed I do, John. And Dr. McKay’s, as well?”

“Yes, Teyla.”

Her smile warmed him. Ford looked like he was about to choke on his hat. “Relax, Ford, they changed the regs while you were out.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m happy for you.” But, it was written on that not-so-young face clear as day . . . he didn’t approve. He didn’t want to think about it. He was from Idaho after all, the same corn-loving faggot-hating state as John’s father . . . not that he really had any problem with potatoes.

Teyla, sensing the tension in the air, put on her brightest smile. “We have much to tell you, John. So much has happened since you left Atlantis.”

John let Teyla’s soft voice lull him into a comfortable sleep - triumphs over the Wraith, births and deaths and miracles a million miles away. It was like some great fairytale, the world that went on without him. But even with all of the magic and the joy in Teyla’s features, he couldn’t help but think of the conflict in Ford’s eyes, the idea that one of the people he’d trusted most in the world thought that what they were doing was wrong. How was he supposed to keep the courage to do this when it really was just him and Rodney against the world?

6295454

He knew numbers like a poet knew rhyme, and this one rang with the tattered elegance of any sonnet, like the number of years to reach Atlantis by Puddle Jumper, like the coldest temperature a human body could survive, like the number of times he’d wanted to wrap Rodney in his arms and kiss him, but couldn’t.

But this number, this ring, high and sharp and taunting from the night table just beyond his reach was the number of the cell phone of one General Jack O’Neill flashing a sickening bright green on the caller ID.

He had to listen to it ring five times before the answering machine picked up. It was the generic mechanical voice, “You have reached the mailbox of . . . John Sheppard.” He should’ve gotten around to changing it, but he’s just too damn tired.

“McKay? Hello . . . you there? Look, I spoke to Rush. Yeah, I know, I know, asshole, right? But as far as I’m concerned, you two deserve each other. Give me a call. You know the number.”

O’Neill’s voice, loud and clear and that angry sarcastic that always made John’s face pinch. Superiors weren’t supposed to be all cool and filled with dry humor like that. They were supposed to be people you could hate. And John found that he couldn’t even hate O’Neill after all the things he’d said about Rodney. O’Neill was right - they deserved what they got, after all.

But what was all this about Rush? John was convinced that he’d finally rid himself of that asshole. Out of sight, out of mind, nicely tucked away in some deep dank corridor of Area 51. Wait . . . Area . . . no, he wouldn’t. There’s no way Rodney would . . .

Then the slamming of a door, a low rumble of a typical Rodney rant. Except now, Rodney never let him hear the words. He didn’t let John know why he was pissed, because it wasn’t pissed at some incompetent newbie who didn’t have enough brain cells to rub together to start a fire, or a military asshole who dropped a very sensitive piece of equipment on Rodney’s foot, or even the universe in general, but something that he and John did . . . some new spitefulness born out of the fact that they had fucked up big-time, and Rodney didn’t want John to pay for it anymore than he already was.

John didn’t appreciate this new sensitivity. It was out of character, and when he was left grasping for constants the way a drowning man gropes around for a life preserver, all he wanted was for Rodney to act as though nothing had changed.

“What happened?” he mumbled.

“Oh, nothing . . . just kind of hard to move out when someone has glued all your stuff to your desk. The sad part is that I can’t figure out if it’s some sort of ridiculous show of solidarity on behalf of the few idiots who actually want me to stay, or just another ‘woman scorned’ bit of pettiness. Seriously, Sam . . . who would’ve thought?”

John smiled, leaning back into the pillows and enjoying a deep drag of heavenly pure oxygen, sending small waves of pleasure down the back of his throat to his brain. Unfortunately, a little bitching and an oxygen high weren’t going to get Rodney out of the doghouse just like that.

“So what’s this I heard about General Rush and a fun little place in Nevada? And I don’t mean Vegas.”

Rodney gulped – fish out of water. “How’d you . . . John, I’m sorry. I was going to tell you as soon as I knew, honest. I just . . . I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, if O’Neill said ‘no.’ He and Sam . . . let’s just say that he has a big reason to want to protect her now . . .”

John raised his eyebrows, adjusting the nasal cannula as he shifted in bed. “They’re together.”

“Apparently. I mean, she doesn’t even wait for me to sign the divorce papers before jumping into bed with someone else . . .”

Rodney was about to become ridiculously hypocritically indignant. John decided to spare him . . . mostly. “And you didn’t even wait for her to catch the newsflash before you jumped into bed with someone else.”

“Oh, and you’re one to talk,” Rodney huffed.

“I was single,” John pointed out, even though he felt as guilty as Rodney. Adultery was still adultery no matter how you cut the cookies. “Now about this Area 51 thing . . .”

“Look, I can’t stay at the SGC - that much is clear. At least, I can’t stay until Sam calms down, which judging by the pieces of government-issued wood veneer still stuck to the bottom of my favorite stapler, may be a while. And I thought about just leaving the whole thing behind, but . . . we just reestablished contact with Atlantis and if there’s any time they need my brilliance . . . it’s now. Sam left to install the new ZedPM that I created with the VCZedPD. . .”

“The what? Oh, you mean the giant cock-ring?”

“Yes, the giant cock-ring . . . you are such a pervert. Anyhow, with all of the new technology we’re getting in . . . a matter sequencer, a device that may or may not be able to manufacture drones, the control specs for the time-travel device Janus used on our Jumper . . .”

“Flux capacitor.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response. Anyway, what I was going to say was that I’m needed in the program - for the good of the world and all that. But, if all I’m doing is research, then there’s no reason why I can’t do it in Area 51 . . . well, except for the lack of trees and the sweltering temperatures.”

“I like Nevada.”

“Sure you do.”

“And not just Vegas either. I like the cool desert nights and the hot empty summers.”

“You’re a sick, sick man.”

John coughed in response.

“So, you’re saying, you’ll come with me?”

“Of course I’ll come with you, Rodney. What else do I have?”

“Your boyish charm and alien-bimbo attracting good-looks.”

“Oh, what am I doing with you, then? Where are the alien bimbos? I want them back! Rodney, where are you hiding them?”

Rodney laughed and leaned over John’s bed for a far-too-brief peck on the lips. John reached up, tugging and Rodney’s shirt as he made for his pants, but Rodney grabbed his hand and kissed him again, slower and more desperate this time. “God . . . I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but sorry, John. When you’re better.”

“But Rodney . . . I’m fine.” It would’ve been more convincing without all the medical machinery gathered around him like he was a warm fire in the dead of winter.

“I know . . . I know . . . but, let’s just make sure, okay? Maybe the dry air will be good for you, hm?”

John let his hands fall dejectedly on top of the blankets. “Yeah, maybe,” he grumbled.

“Hey, I’ve got to go see O’Neill, but I’ll be back as soon as I’m done with the paperwork. I promise.” He handed John the remote to the TV.

The second Rodney closed the door behind him, John allowed himself one small frustrated yell (made a lot less effective by reduced lung capacity). He really wished he was close enough to a wall to punch one.

John didn’t think it’d been that long when he heard the door. He must’ve dozed off or something. God, he hated this whole convalescence thing. He was a man of action. He couldn’t stand being bedridden. And, if that wasn’t enough, there was always Rodney’s stifling sympathy. He rolled over onto his side the second he heard the door opening. He wasn’t going to deal with this right now.

And then . . . “John?”

He opened his eyes wide in surprise. He knew that voice . . . that high inquisitive female voice. He rolled back over. “Sam?”

There she was . . . wearing a button-down white shirt and a light blue jacket. She smiled, and she almost looked happy – almost. “Good to see you’re all right, John.”

He wasn’t all right, but for some reason, he didn’t feel like letting her see anymore . . . sure, he and Rodney had betrayed her, not the other way around. But she hadn’t just left Rodney; she’d left John too, and on top of whatever divorce infighting was going on between her and Rodney, John didn’t need to add his own burdens.

“Good to see you too, Sam.”

She smiled just a little wider and he couldn’t help but smile back. He still loved Sam’s smile.

“Rodney’s not home, is he?” She winced, sticking her hands in her pockets.

“No.” He pretended not to be disappointed. Of course, Sam wouldn’t just get over it. She couldn’t . . . John wouldn’t if he were her.

“Good.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

Her voice was hushed, quiet like he’d never heard from her before. Sam had always been so steadfastly confident. “Don’t be.”

She stood there, still and silent, like the woman they’d found in the stasis chamber, old before her time. She cleared her throat, not meeting his eyes. “I spoke with Skadi about your condition . . . and you don’t have to agree if you don’t want to. I’m not sure if I would. But the Asgard are willing to waive their prohibition on cloning of other species in your case, because it wouldn’t be an unnatural extension of your natural lifespan.”

“So no fountain of youth then?”

“No fountain of youth. Just you, your body, your consciousness, no scars.”

“That’s . . . well, it’s not like I have much of a choice, right?” He tried to hide the excitement in his voice, the hope. He was done playing the perpetual optimist. Now he finally believed people when they said that things fall apart.

“You don’t have to . . .”

“No, trust me - I want to.” He could summon a little bit of hope, if only because the worst thing that could happen was that he could die, and he wasn’t so sure that wouldn’t be better than this.

She smiled, but there was something lost in it, like an impressionist painting of the smile he used to know. “I’m glad.”

And maybe there was something lost in him too, blown away on a wind of artificial air, because he asked the question that no complete person would speak out loud. “Why are you doing this?”

After what he and Rodney did, she should hate him.

"I don't blame you, John," she said. Which he thought was a little unfair, because she very clearly blamed Rodney, and John was a willing, eager partner to every single action that Rodney could be blamed for, including betrayal.

"I appreciate that." His voice was rough and dry and it had nothing to do with the cottony feeling in his mouth or the drugs. He wasn't sure whether or not he was being sincere, which frightened him, because usually, it was only the other people that didn't know.

"I mean . . . you had him first, right?" Her eyes were shining, and she said it like she doubted it, like the empty justification they both knew it was.

"And I gave him up when I had the chance." And god didn't he regret that decision? Rodney was right. As repugnant as it all sounded, as naive, he'd really like to go back and change time. Make it so that Sam and Rodney and Max would never have to get hurt. But, then again, Max wouldn't even exist to hurt. And how could you compare a life of suffering to no life at all?

"If it weren't for the regs, would you have stayed together?"

He didn't even need to think to answer that one. "Absolutely."

"So then it's the policy I should blame." Maybe she was willing to forgive. Maybe all she had needed was time. And as much as he liked Nevada (not), he'd love for things to get somewhere approaching normalcy (as normal as his life ever was). He'd missed Sam. Well, he'd missed everyone, but he'd missed her especially. And really, if they could put all the cattiness and the gender wars and the infighting behind them, he was sure that the science department would be a hell of a lot more productive.

He put on his most winning smile (or so he thought) and said quietly. "I've missed you. We've missed you."

"I missed you too, John. And though of course I miss . . . I can't forgive him. Maybe I should. I honestly don't know if I should, but I know that I can't."

"Why? You said yourself that the policy is to blame."

"The policy didn't lie to me." Her voice was hard, her eyes steely in a way that he'd only seen in battle. “That was the one thing I always counted on him for – his honesty. If I had known . . . I could have done differently.” John could say the same.

But that didn’t absolve him from the blame. "I lied to you."

"When I asked if you and Rodney had been lovers, you told me the truth. When I asked him if the two of you were having an affair, he lied."

"I would have too, if you'd asked." If there were sins of omission, were there forgivenesses of omission?

"But I didn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I think a part of me knew the truth, even then. I was afraid to really look." She sounded less angry - tired and defeated and older than he'd ever seen her look. As long as he'd known her, she'd always been a strong woman. She reminded him so much of Elizabeth, and sometimes he found himself confiding in her the same way. But he couldn’t confide in her now. He’d fucked up. They’d all fucked up, but he couldn’t really say when it was that they’d all gone wrong. There was nobody to blame and that scared him more than anything.