Elizabeth walked out to her favorite balcony, feeling the sun, warm against her cheeks. It felt as though its gentle rays could wash right through her – like she wasn’t even there. The ocean waved lazily in the slight breeze, and down far below she could hear it lapping against the piers with a hollow ring, like the meditation gong sounding.

John thought she liked this balcony because it was close to the control tower, but the real reason was the sound. She could hear each direction with its signature ring, carried on the wind. It was like Altantis was playing a symphony just for her – speaking to her like she imagined it did to those lucky enough to carry the gene.

Sometimes Elizabeth wanted so desperately to hear that song, but after what she’d seen recently, perhaps she understood how the song could be a siren’s call, a brush with godliness too great, a burden to protect because you could. She wondered if that burden was not the reason the Ancients chose not to intervene. Elizabeth, with her worldly burdens alone, could still feel them weighing her down, aging her before her time.

The sun was too bright, too purifying, and she shivered against its warmth. Not even those cleansing rays could sweep this burden away.

She had the burden to make decisions for her people. She had the weight of command on her shoulders. No matter what she herself wanted to do, she had to think of her city, of the people in it.

She would kill for these people, as surely as she had killed for herself and for Teyla and for John and Rodney and those that needed them to keep the expedition running. Elizabeth thought about it now, seeing that blood flying, hearing the shots fired into people that were not objectively her enemy. She used to think that she was a diplomat – that she would not kill because there was always a better way.

But now she understood what all those generals had told her across a conference table long ago – war is just a tool of politics. She’d thought that it’d meant that the threat of war could and should be used by diplomats (an opinion she wholeheartedly supported) but now she understood that they meant something else - that war itself was the extension of politics. It was just as coercive, deceptive, powerful . . . it, too, hinged on rhetoric, on the apparatus of the state, on the rules that governed a society’s actions. War was what you did when diplomacy proved too ambiguous.

Elizabeth had always believed in necessary sacrifice. It was the uniquely political form of optimism to believe that even the most horrible actions could bring a greater good. There was a line that she would not cross, but losing lives had never been it. And increasingly, after coming here, she was beginning to realize that she did not know where that line was.

She could kill someone. She could do it calmly, as calmly as she had agreed with the generals when they ordered those bombing strikes, as calmly as she had threatened sanctions that would starve the people into rebellion, as calmly as she had read CIA reports of forcing economic destabilization and coups. A part of her was still horrified at herself. A part would still stay up nights seeing those faces. But she could live on knowing that she would and could do it again.

She wasn’t like Teyla. She was capable of stepping back and seeing numbers instead of faces. On her world, there were so many numbers to see. More people could die in a flood than lived on Teyla’s entire planet.

She was capable of stepping back and seeing what needed to be done.

Elizabeth turned and walked back into the control room, surprised to find John there, speaking quietly in a corner with Lieutenant Parker, who nodded solemnly and walked stiffly out.

“John? Are you sure you should be . . .” she’d seen him only once since her return - in the infirmary after Carson had dressed her shoulder wound. John had been pale and tired looking, his whole back covered in gauze. He’d smiled and said he was happy to see her and then gone back to sleep.

“I could say the same about you.” He gestured to her shoulder, arm still in a sling.

“Touché. So what are you doing up and about?”

He made as if to shrug, then seemed to think the better of it. “Checking in with Parker. She had a bit of a scare with Kolya. But I need her at her best while I’m out of commission and Ford’s still got that cast on.”

John’s eyes were dark, distant. And for a second, an image flashed across her vision – the Magi struggling above her, holding her down. John’s eyes, too, mixed coldness with regret. Elizabeth took a compulsive step backwards.

John noticed. She could tell. But he didn’t say anything, or cock his head to the side in playful question, as she might’ve expected. Instead he turned away from her, looking down at the Gate beneath them. “You know, Elizabeth, I think you’re right. I am feeling in need of a little siesta. You should do the same.”

She nodded slowly, wondering what he was thinking. John was still so much of a mystery. “I’ll think about it. But there’s some business I have to take care of first.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later. Maybe when Beckett finally clears both of us?”

“Maybe.”

Something was off. She and John weren’t friends per se. Their relationship was still largely formal. But she wondered how he intended to not see her until Carson cleared him (which seemed to be in the far future). But then again, he had been tortured. She had trouble keeping that in mind. John was always such a strong man, so willfully independent, so easily charming. She supposed she just had trouble believing that he’d let any one event change who he was, or at least who he pretended to be.

John threw her one of his charming smiles and walked out the door, not seeing Elizabeth tense behind him.

But now was not the time to think about how this might change their working relationship. She turned to Wu, steeling herself for what she was about to do. “Doctor?”

“Yes?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath. She could do this. It was for the good of Atlantis. “Can you dial the address Teyla and I gated in from?” They had started a program to triangulate the coordinates of any incoming wormhole and then check them against the Ancient database, so Wu should be able to find them . . . find the Magi so she might undo what she had so hastily done.

Wu looked down at his laptop momentarily, typing furiously. “I’m sorry, Dr. Weir, but the coordinates we recorded did not match any entries in the database. If you know that address . . .”

“I’m afraid I don’t. What about nearby gates? Could we maybe send a message or a Puddle Jumper from there?”

Wu shook his head. “No, Dr. Weir. The coordinates we calculated are in a dark region of space with few solar systems and no known habitable worlds.”

Elizabeth threw up her one good hand. “So that’s it then?”

“I suppose so, Ma’am.” Wu was as calm as ever, though he looked truly apologetic this time.

“Okay, then I suppose I’m going to take Major Sheppard’s advice of an afternoon nap.”

Wu smiled. “ Feel better, Ma’am.”

“Thanks.”

But instead of returning to her quarters, Elizabeth headed back out to the balcony, letting the sun spill through her, hopefully to wash out the regret. She wondered if when people looked into her eyes they saw the same thing that she saw in John’s.

Sergeant Eugene Bates was pissed off. He wasn’t angry – it was too strong a word. He was just extremely pissed off.

What right did that little c-nt have to come in here and tell him that he was fucking shipping out with the Geek Squad tomorrow? That was her duty. She was the one that got to deal with that weasel, Kavanagh, twenty-four hours a day until the mission was complete, not him. The man spent more time berating the marines for their stupidity than he did actually doing work.

And after he’d covered for the little bitch! He’d made up some bullshit story about her being all compassionate, which would surely win her brownie points with Mama Weir. And they said Marines couldn’t think.

But what did the ungrateful pussy do? She fucking betrayed him with nothing more than an ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant, but Major Sheppard doesn’t want me going on missions for a little while.’ If it hadn’t been a punishment for her too, that would’ve been when Gene got angry.

But God must be punishing him or something, because before he could get less annoyed, the biggest annoyance in the city strolled around the corner and practically walked straight into him.

“Oh . . . Sergeant. Hi. Just the man I was looking for, actually.”

Gene gritted his teeth. “What can I do for you, Doctor?”

In truth, McKay wasn’t that bad of a guy. He was friendly with that Athosian traitor and was a complete and utter pussy, but he also knew where the line was drawn – who was in charge of security and who was in charge of science. Gene could respect that.

“I was just wondering . . . about Kolya. You see . . . he captured us and . . .”

“I’m aware of that, Doctor.”

McKay cleared his throat nervously. “Oh, well . . . yes, but I just . . . I’m . . . I’m concerned . . . “

“We didn’t let him escape with any strategic information. He knows no more about Atlantis than you told him during the storm.” Gene didn’t blame McKay – he wasn’t trained to withstand torture. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t . . . pissed-off by it.

“That’s not . . . well, he is on my team and I heard that he’d been in . . . he interrogated the prisoner . . . and . . .”

“You mean you’re concerned about Major Sheppard?” Huh. Well, McKay was a scientist. He had different priorities.

“Yes . . . erm . . . you see, he has this unique talent of keeping me alive and you know how I feel about staying alive, hm? And if he’s off his game for some reason . . .”

Did McKay know? There’s no way he could. Gene had erased the security tapes. Sure, McKay could probably do something scientific to unerase them or something, but how would he even know to look at them? Why would he want to?

“If you’re worried about torture, Dr. McKay, I can assure you that we have all been well-trained for this kind of thing. Even the jet-jockeys accept it as a possibility. Major Sheppard is a strong man. He won’t let it get to him.”

Gene honestly believed that. As much as he disagreed with the kind of trust Sheppard placed in aliens and his seat-of-the pants, cult-of-personality style command, he was an admirable soldier. Maybe not the strongest guy in hand-to-hand, but he was a strategist. He was possibly even a better strategist than Colonel Sumner, though Gene would never admit it out loud. And he’d saved Gene’s life, which had to count for something.

And Sheppard certainly had the stones to deal with Kolya the way he needed to be dealt with – like the weak pussy that he was. Gene might not have thought it of Sheppard, but he’d come through in the end. He was confident that if that weak bitch, Parker, hadn’t caved in the way she did, then they would’ve broken the bastard.

“No . . . no, I mean, that’s a concern, of course. But I’m talking about after your return to Atlantis. I mean . . . John . . . Major Sheppard’s not one to be entirely honest with his doctor, and I just get the feeling that something might have happened to him. That’s all. If you have any idea, Sergeant, then for all our good, you should tell me. I’ll make it seem like it was me who found out and informed Beckett. I swear, you wouldn’t be breaking any promises. It’d just be helping keep your commander fit and ready to . . . you know, make war and shoot things and do push-ups and all the other things you do . . .”

McKay was practically hyperventilating, waving his hands around like some sort of fag. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise Gene if he was one. Not that it was any of his business. Gene didn’t care who the fags wanted to fuck, as long as they weren’t the guys watching his back. A faggot made about as good a soldier as a woman, which, in Gene’s opinion wasn’t very good. You couldn’t have your fellow soldier checking-out your six instead of watching it, could you?

Maybe this was what that was. Maybe McKay had a crush on Sheppard or something . . . not that Sheppard would be into that. Yuck. Gene wanted to get this concerned little ninny, friend-of-Dorothy out of his face where he didn’t have to think about him.

“Sheppard went to interrogate the prisoner. He did this thing with the cell where it grew restraints just because he thought at it. There was absolutely no way Kolya could have done anything to him. I promise.” He tried to sound as confident as he was. He couldn’t afford to have McKay doubting the sanity of his team leader – then Gene might end up with the pudgy whining scientist on his team, possible having a crush on him. That was just plain unacceptable.

McKay seemed to consider that, then smiled. “Thanks, Sergeant . . . if there’s anything I can do for you . . .”

“Well, you could . . .”

“Oh, you mean right now?”

Only Gene’s training kept him from rolling his eyes at that one. Would it kill McKay to act like an ordinary human being every once and a while? “Yes. Right now. Parker just came in and ordered me and my team to go out with Kavanagh and Simpson until Sheppard’s done punishing her.”

“Punishing her?” McKay looked perplexed.

For someone who claimed to be a genius, McKay sure was stupid. “For letting Kolya escape.”

“Oh, yeah . . . right. Or course.”

Gene decided to just push on and ignore the interruption. “And I think it would be best, for everyone involved, that you didn’t send Kavanagh out with another troop of Marines.”

McKay frowned. “What phenomenal idiot would want to do that? He won’t get anything done.” Gene was glad that they could at least agree on something.

“My point exactly, Doctor.”

“Well, someone will have to go. I’ll put Zelenka on it if I have to. So . . . um . . . thanks.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Gene sighed. Women and faggots and scientists. No wonder they were all always about to die.

John had decided to shave before heading to bed. Sleeping on his stomach made his stubble rub unpleasantly against the pillows. But while he was there, he might as well take a stab at this whole sponge-bath thing. He was starting to smell pretty ripe, and though he’d gone longer without washing out in the field, everyone else there stank too, so it wasn’t impolite or anything.

He turned on the warm water in the sink, breathing in the steam in long deep breaths as he shucked off his pants. The sponge was soft and warm against his skin. He smiled, taking in the rich sensation of it . . . not having to think of anything else but warmth spilling through him. He wondered if anyone else could feel this cold.

John sighed, relaxing into it. And then the door burst open.

“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Rodney said, barging in.

“If I had a nickel for every time I heard that . . .”

“Oh, shut up. So I’m a little overprotective . . . you should be happy to have a lover that cares as much about you as I do.”

Lover? They’d never really called each other anything like that before. Sure . . . John loved Rodney. That wasn’t in question. It just wasn’t . . . a relationship. How could it be when they’d never even had a date? Never held hands or kissed in public, or done any of the things John had done with all his girlfriends? He and Rodney were just guys who loved each other, guys who just happened to fuck as part of that.

And John didn’t even deserve that. He didn’t deserve Rodney’s warm hand on top of his, or the thick puff of breath against his ear, or the pleased half smile and the bright blue eyes full of lust and wonder.

“Yeah, about that . . .” If this really was a relationship, then he could break it off.

Of course, Rodney was never one to make it easy. The hand that had been gently stroking John’s quickly appropriated the sponge as Rodney silenced John’s protest with a kiss. “Of course I will.”

It was only then that John noticed that while he’d been distracted by his own thoughts of guilt, his body had decided it really did like Rodney’s look of lust and wonder.

Then Rodney was kneeling in front of him, stroking the sponge up and down his legs with warm delicate sweeps. John wanted to tell him to stop – that he didn’t have to do this. But really, with his back, he couldn’t lean over to do this himself, and the warmth felt so good. It felt like maybe, someday, it could wash his sins clean.

Then Rodney was trailing the warm movements with small light kisses, unpredictable and tickling. John suppressed the urge to laugh as Rodney worked his way back up, turning John around so he could clean more intimate parts. The kisses had stopped, for which John, if not the hard-on he was struggling against, was glad. Rodney’s touch was now almost clinical as he wiped the sponge over John’s ass. This still felt really good.

Then the sponge stopped and so did all movement. John would’ve twisted around to see what Rodney was doing, if his wounds would’ve allowed it.

And then there was a sudden rush of air, Rodney expelling the breath that John had no idea he was holding, right over the most sensitive of places. John jumped. Whirling around to face Rodney.

“What the hell was that?”

Rodney looked sheepish. “I . . . well . . . I . . . you know how much I love your ass.”

Well, that wasn’t a lie. But . . . there was something off about it. John was just about to open his mouth to ask when he realized that turning around to face Rodney when the man was still on his knees in front of him was a supremely bad idea.

“There are other parts of you I like,” Rodney said.

John rolled his eyes, only to have whatever witty comeback he might have had stripped away by Rodney’s witty tongue.

And then his body took over, exactly the way it took over before. He was thrusting hard, abusing Rodney’s poor mouth, just as turned-on as he had been when he abused Kolya. He enjoyed Rodney, fully clothed on his knees like this. He enjoyed the power the way he’d enjoyed seeing Kolya helpless and bound.

He was one sick fuck.

Rodney hands came up to his hips a little, forcing him to calm. And that’s when he realized exactly what he was doing. How could he even think to compare Rodney to that monster? He loved Rodney. He never wanted to see him hurt, let alone to hurt him.

John pulled back, slamming himself back against the sink and letting out a yelp of pain.

Rodney was on his feet and at John’s side in an instant. “Are you okay? Oh my god . . . should I call Carson? What if the stitches ripped? I’m so sorry . . .”

John held up his hand. The pain was warm, as was the slight trickle of blood he could feel in the groove of his spine. Its heat was as purifying as the warm water had been earlier. “I’m fine, Rodney.”

The pain hadn’t even dulled his goddamn erection. If anything, it’d just made him harder.

Rodney seemed to notice this fact at the same time John did. He smiled. “Then how about we take this somewhere a little more padded . . . like the bedroom.”

This was his chance out of it. “I can’t lie down on my back. Remember?”

Rodney just smiled lecherously. “That’s okay. I know I don’t usually bottom, but I’ll consider granting you disability benefits.”

“No!” John shouted, surprising even himself with his own vehemence. He turned away, trying to force his body to stop betraying him and calm the fuck down.

Rodney, usually so completely and utterly dense, had clearly determined something to be wrong. He stepped closer, kissing John gently. “It’s okay. We’ll go at your pace. I just thought . . .”

“I know.”

“Look, I’ll just suck you off. You can sit up, or lean forward against the wall. We could sixty-nine. And you would’ve even have to . . . you know, reciprocate, if you don’t feel up to it.”

John looked into the concern deep in Rodney’s eyes, into the plea. Rodney wanted to pleasure him so badly. But John didn’t deserve pleasure, not when pleasure demanded so much pain.

Rodney kissed him again, deeper this time, and there was warmth there. Rodney’s mouth was searing, kissing away all thought, all doubt. He didn’t deserve this, but he was going to take it, like the sick bastard he was.

When they lay together afterwards, with John lying sprawled across Rodney’s chest, warm breath tickling through his hair like a solar wind, John didn’t think about Kolya and his acid taunts, or Parker and her hurried justifications, or Rodney and his skilled hands, but of Elizabeth and the fear that had thrilled through her body from just looking at him. Why was she the only one that saw what he really was?