John ambled down the corridor towards Elizabeth’s quarters. It was unusual for him to seek her there, as she was rarely in anyhow, but he felt as though what he needed to do was more personal than it was professional.

He did not hesitate to press the door chime, waiting patiently for her to answer.

Elizabeth looked tired and surprised, but she smiled instead of tensed when she saw him, even though John was prepared for it if she had. He understood now why she did, even though it was only slightly less condemning.

“John, it’s good to see you. I heard Carson cleared you for light duty today.”

John nodded. “Yes, he did. And you?”

She pointed to the sling. “Still off ‘duty,’ but I’ve gotten pretty good at typing one-handed.”

He smiled at that. Elizabeth was as much of a workaholic as Rodney. “Well, that makes one of us.” When injured, John still did the ‘hunt and peck.’

Elizabeth opened the door further. “Would you like to come in?”

John nodded slowly. He’d never been inside Elizabeth’s quarters. It was crossing a line he wasn’t sure he could uncross. But then again, with what he had to tell her, it wouldn’t be the first line he would cross tonight.

Elizabeth’s quarters were exactly as he’d imagined them to be: sparse, but tasteful, filled with Athosian tapestries and various gifts given to her in trade agreements. Elizabeth must have only taken the mission’s prescribed one personal item, because all he saw from Earth was photos. Most were of her with various tall lanky guys who shared her green eyes and her smile. Only one showed her standing outside a house in the snow, covered in white and laughing with another man holding her. She looked so carefree, so different from the Elizabeth he knew.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

Elizabeth hesitated for just a second before she said. “Oh . . . that’s Simon. My . . . well, I guess he’s my ex.”

John nodded his understanding. He knew that Elizabeth had left someone on Earth. He’d seen it in her joy when they thought they could return, in the sadness her eyes afterwards.

“The rest are my brothers. And my dog, Sedge.”

“How many?”

“Brothers? Three. The picture with Simon is at my parent’s house in New York. My oldest brother Tommy’s the one taking it. You have any siblings, John?”

She’d read his file, so she probably already knew, but he answered anyway. “No. I was an only child - not the spoiled kind, though.”

“I wouldn’t dare suggest it,” Elizabeth said with a grin, moving to take a seat at her desk, letting John take the bed, for which his back was grateful. It was still sensitive.

“Elizabeth . . . I came here because I had to tell you something.”

She nodded. “I had a feeling that you did.” For both of them, the idea that he would come to her here without a reason was impossible.

“It’s not on any of the reports right now, but if you feel the need to report it, I won’t try to stop you.”

Elizabeth sat up straighter, fear flashing in her eyes. “John, are you all right?” Funny, she should ask that. Everyone kept thinking of him as the victim - Parker and Heightmeyer and Rodney, even. But he wasn’t a victim. He’d been the one in power. He’d had control.

“It’s not something that happened to me. It’s something I did.”

Elizabeth nodded, but kept as still and silent as a breezeless night.

John took a deep breath. This had to be said. “I . . . well, when we couldn’t find Rodney, I tortured Kolya.”

She nodded again, not looking surprised. “I can’t say I condone it, but I can see why you did. What he did to you, John . . .”

He stood, the anger all flashing back in a second, a knife-blade curved like a boomerang. “It wasn’t about what he did to me! I don’t give a damn about what he did to me! I deserved it. But what he was going to do to Rodney . . .”

Elizabeth stood too, reaching out her good hand to grip his. “I understand . . .”

“No, you don’t understand! I raped him, Elizabeth. I raped him, and maybe I even enjoyed it a little bit, because what he said, what he was going to do to Rodney, to Rodney, I couldn’t . . . I didn’t think. I just wanted to break him.”

Elizabeth had stepped back, eyes frightened, but she tightened her jaw and looked John directly in the eyes and said. “You’re a good man, John. Tell me why good men can do horrible things like that.”

There were so many reasons – anger, torture, instinct. It could be because he was a soldier, or because he was gay, or because he, too, had once been touched inappropriately as punishment. “I did it because . . . because I couldn’t do nothing. I couldn’t . . . not with Rodney.”

Elizabeth looked puzzled.

John sighed. Yes, there were so many reasons, each as much an empty justification as the next, but the act was irrational. The act only made sense if you knew John, felt what he felt, knew what he knew. Irrational acts were as personal as secrets. And Rodney was the secret that would glue all the reasons together, make John’s irrationality tangible.

“Because I love Rodney.” That was the first time he’d ever said it out loud, to anyone.

Elizabeth’s voice was hushed but determined. She hid her own doubts and fears behind her concern. “Does he know?”

John nodded, defeated. “We’ve been involved for a while now. I should have told you sooner.”

“Well, I’m glad you finally did decide to tell me.”

He looked across the room at her. Her eyes were still set and determined, but her body was shaking like a leaf. He didn’t dare approach her. “Are we okay?”

Elizabeth looked down at her hands for a moment, and then back up at him, tears shimmering on the surface of her eyes like the wormhole, a gateway to so many unimaginable things. She held them there by determination alone. “Right now . . . no. But we will be. We have to be.”

John nodded. On the border of irrationality, laws still bound him. Love and anger and chaos danced at that edge, at the line he’d stepped over with Kolya, with Rodney. But secrets and necessity bound them up tight, dug in deep to make chaos a channel and a path all its own. He would do what he had to.

“Thank you,” he said, walking out the door.

The corridors were still filled with people. He walked among them like a ghost, realizing for the first time how different he was from them, how little they understood of him. Not because they couldn’t, but because he chose not to show them. Elizabeth was not his friend. Elizabeth had barely known him, but now, after a single conversation, he felt like she was the only one in all the world who did.

He didn’t want her to be the only one.

But perhaps she wasn’t, because when he returned to his room, Rodney was sitting there, playing Minesweeper on John’s computer.

“I don’t remember giving you a key,” John said.

Rodney snorted. “Puh-lease. There isn’t a door in this city that I couldn’t get open. You know that.”

“So you don’t want a key, then?”

“We don’t even have keys. They’re an absolutely ridiculous idea when the doors can sense the occupant just by . . . oh.” He looked stunned.

John smiled. It wasn’t every day he got to catch Rodney off-guard. “So, you’d lower yourself to being with a faggot like me?” Rodney’s voice was low and resentful, but also empty and sad.

John hung his head in shame. He’d meant it. But he hadn’t meant it. Faggot was the word he used to describe those disgusting horny grunts who looked at him and saw a hot mouth to fuck or a tight ass and a pretty face they could take into a dark alley somewhere. Kolya was a faggot. Bates was right about that. He was even right to hate and fear those kinds of men. But not all men who had sex with men or fell in love with men were faggots. Rodney, he loved. Rodney could never be one of them.

John sighed. But, as Heightmeyer had explained, Rodney wouldn’t understand that. He couldn’t understand so much of John’s world, so much of his fear and anger. Rodney had always been free to be whatever he wanted to be – if others didn’t approve, it was their problem. He was so unashamed, and that was probably the thing John loved the most about him.

“I’m so sorry, Rodney. I didn’t mean it like that. You know that I . . . that I love you.”

Rodney’s jaw trembled. His eyes were wide. He looked torn. “I love you too, John, and I forgive you. But if you’re disgusted by what we do together . . .”

Poor Rodney. He couldn’t understand. “No, no, I’m not disgusted by what we do . . . what we do is wonderful. It’s not the act. It’s the reasons why we do it. I’m disgusted by Kolya’s reasons, and mine.”

Rodney nodded, leaning in close, reaching out tentatively to cup John’s cheek. It was the first time they’d touched in weeks, and it sent a shiver down John’s spine. It was a soft touch unlike any of their other few unhurried moments together. Rodney’s fingers were light on him, but he could feel every inch, his fingerprints like scars. Rodney traced his hand down John’s neck, pulling him in close for a short, chaste kiss, and for the first time, it felt as though they truly touched.

John sagged against Rodney, body as limp as a sigh. “I came out to Elizabeth just now,” he whispered.

“You what?!”

John pulled back so he could look Rodney squarely in the eyes. “There’s still ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,’ but I don’t want us to be . . . isolated, anymore.”

Rodney didn’t seem to fully understand, but he kissed John again anyway. “It’s your decision.”

It had always been John’s decision. It had always been his fear and his sin and his guilt. His weakness. But it didn’t have to be a weakness. All he had to do was to forgive himself.

“I want to be with you,” John said.

Rodney smiled, sweet quickly turning to lecherous as he grabbed for John’s shirt, unbuttoning it and peeling it off carefully. They kissed again, more desperately this time. John could feel the heat spilling through him, like the sun, warming every lonely cavern, every crack and fissure, and sewing them back together again.

But then John broke off. “I don’t want to risk anything . . . I had Beckett test my blood again. He says it’ll take a few days, as there could be diseases that he hasn’t even encountered yet.”

Rodney nodded. “It’s okay.”

He kissed John again, hands coming up around him, stroking, feather-light over the newly-formed scars. John shivered, vulnerable.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No . . . it feels kinda good.”

Vulnerability was not a sin. If being with Rodney was a weakness, then it was a weakness he would forgive himself.

Rodney grinned. “Lie down.”

John obeyed, feeling Rodney settle kneeling beside him. Then, there was a warm breath, like a wind, flowing across the cuts, both cutting through him and filling him at the same time. John gasped at the pleasure, sharp like a knife.

And then he knew what needed to be done.

“Read them to me.”

And, as Rodney’s rich voice filled the room, like sunlight, shining bright and true over everything, John wept for the men whose lives he had taken, hoping that they, too, might forgive him.

Dr. Radek Zelenka cursed, kicking the useless excuse for machinery before him. Radek could replicate the Earth dialing program in a heartbeat, compensate for interstellar drift, etc., etc., but the gates in Pegasus were different. There was no way to lock them into a mechanical dialing process.

He sighed, pinching his nose. He’d get some coffee. Then he’d get back to work. Regardless of what Lieutenant Ford said, he couldn’t just leave the Elians without the use of their Stargate. It wasn’t something that Radek could personally do.

“You look like you could use a cup of the good stuff.”

Radek jumped at the sound, looking up to see Lieutenant Ford standing before him, grinning sheepishly and holding out a steaming cup of coffee.

Radek reached for it. It was, indeed, the good stuff. It must be from somebody’s private stores. He took a sip. Oh, god, it was good. “Heavenly. But . . .” Why was Ford doing this? “What do you want?” He frowned.

Ford shrugged. “You looked like you needed it.”

“Yes, well . . . thank you. Building new DHD from scratch is not exactly easy.” God, he was starting to sound like Rodney.

“I’m sure you can do it, Doc,” Ford smiled, giving him a friendly backslap.

“Hey, hey, watch the coffee and the 10,000 year old Ancient equipment.”

“Sorry.”

“You are not the first one. Those idiots in operations . . . how Elizabeth picked them. Such a wonderful woman . . . but she is too soft with those trained-monkeys.”

Ford laughed.

Radek frowned. “One cup of coffee does not make up . . . you said many . . . unsavory things, Lieutenant Ford.”

Ford nodded. “I know, Doc. And I’m sorry. I was stressed. And I guess . . . I guess I’m used to doing things a certain way. But we got McKay back, and I know we did the right thing. I just . . . I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

Radek nodded, knowing that Ford would never understand . . . that he could never understand. His ‘certain way’ would always be the way he did things, because violence and fear almost always worked, even if the aftermath was even more disastrous than the original situation. And even if it all went wrong, Ford could not change what he had been indoctrinated to be. Ford couldn’t change who and what he was.

“And about Dr. McKay and Major Sheppard?”

Ford looked down, almost blushed. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” Also part of the way Ford did things. There was no changing it. “Look, Doc, I know I’m no scientist, but if I can do anything to help . . .”

Perhaps there was hope for the kid yet. “You can start stripping those coils over there. No prime numbers involved.”

Ford grinned, one of those young innocent grins that Radek had lost long ago. “Thanks.”

Radek drank his coffee, watching Ford for a second. He was actually rather dexterous for a Marine. He might indeed prove helpful. He smiled, letting the honest-to-god real coffee warm him.

The weariness felt natural, like it had melted into her, become a steady hum behind her reality. She blinked, even though there wasn’t much to see in the darkness . . . just the wrong stars twinkling outside her balcony, a gentle breeze blowing her curtains inwards, rippling like ghosts, like history moving in and out, changing and weaving and dancing.

Memory, too, had melted into her, become a living, breathing part of reality. It could never be excised or exorcized any more than the tired thrum of her senses could be blinked away.

But sleep could dull the exhaustion, bring it down to only a fleeting memory. Perhaps there were things that could dull the images, too – so many faces, cold and merciless – staring green eyes: John’s, the Magi’s, her own.

John was a good man. He was a good man that had done a horrible thing. Elizabeth, too, believed herself to be basically good. But she had killed and so had Teyla. It all came back to the utilitarian’s game - kill one with your own hand to save a hundred killed by some other . . . she knew she could do it. Kill a thousand to save a hundred thousand - it was harder, but she could do it, too. There was no action that was not somehow justified. There was no action so horrible that men could not be brought to do it under the right circumstances.

Wars past had proven that. But people never liked to see it . They would deny it in the name of goodness. They would say that it was horrible, that they were not capable of such animal brutality. They would say it was an aberration, because if they believed that was what people really were, then they, too, could not bring themselves to save anyone, connect to them.

She sighed into the darkness, pulling her blanket close around her and standing. One of Teyla’s people had woven this for her soon after they’d rescued them from the Wraith. She wore it like a mantle, protecting her against the cold and the dark as she stepped into the windy night.

The sea air was calming and fresh, and she settled into it, letting it numb her. She did not know how long she sat, only that it was less than forever. It was only the sudden light spilling in from the doorway that made her turn . . . the soft voice. “Elizabeth?”

Her muscles unclenched and she called out, welcoming. “Out here, Teyla.”

Teyla was wearing a long woven dress. It clung tightly to her curves, accentuating her beauty, her fitness. Teyla seemed to glow in the moonlight, her skin almost illuminated like a Wraith’s . . . no, like a ghost, with those baleful brown eyes.

“I could not sleep.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I’m not doing much better.” She held out a stretch of blanket, letting Teyla settle in beside her.

“I have been seeing faces . . . the faces of the men I killed. I had thought that if I faced them . . . if I forgave myself, then the dreams would cease. But they have not.”

“We have a saying on Earth – time heals all wounds.”

“But if forgiveness is a gift, then how can one ever give it to oneself?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Perhaps forgiveness is what we ask of others. Of ourselves . . . maybe it’s something different. Maybe it’s more of acceptance . . . or atonement. Or maybe it’s something else altogether that we need.”

“And what is that?” Teyla asked, eagerly, pulling the blanket tighter around them as the first sliver of dawn sighed up against the darkened sky, tickling Elizabeth’s vision, daring her to say that the sky was truly lighter at all.

“I don’t know.”

Elizabeth’s words hung in the air, as ambiguous as the beginning of the sunrise. They watched in silence as the colors spread across the sky, hiding the alien stars, everything that made their worlds so different. Elizabeth remembered the sunrises in Maine, melting through the predawn fog out over a grey sea. The water here was deep blue like the Pacific, but the sunrise itself was just as bright. Elizabeth sighed, scooting closer to Teyla, enjoying the beauty, letting the heat battle before her against the darkness of the night.

But even the warmth of the rising sun, spreading across the cold metal of the balcony and lighting the horizon, could not compare to the incredible heat of Teyla’s body beside hers. They weren’t okay. But they would be.

FIN