SG-1/SGA: There's No Such Thing... 2/5
Part One
"Come on, Rodney," John said. "I thought you said you wanted to be home in time for lunch."
They were wading through an endless sea of brown and green grass that was almost as tall as he was. It stretched for miles and miles. John stopped to allow McKay to catch up. Behind him, he could make out the faint signs of a village, but it looked impossibly far away; in the direction he and McKay were headed was a huge man with dreadlocks, and John could just about make out the coppery top of a woman's head. The man kept glancing down at her and chuckling, the sound carried back to John by the wind.
Rodney hurried to John's side, panting and red-faced. "Not all of us have your freakishly long limbs, Colonel."
John raised an eyebrow. "We're practically the same height."
Scowling, but still flushed, Rodney said, "Yes, but I'm much more well-proportioned than you are."
"Hey, I'm proportionate," John protested, glancing down at his body.
"I have two words for you: chicken legs."
John rolled his eyes, even though McKay wouldn't be able to see it behind his sunglasses. "Quit your belly-aching, we're almost to the gate."
As he said it, they reached the top of the hill, and the stargate came into view. It was resting on a high stone platform; engraved steps on all four sides disappeared into the grass.
"Finally," McKay sighed, wincing and pressing a hand against his side.
The man and woman they were traveling with waited for them on the steps, guns drawn and aimed behind Rodney and John. McKay ambled over to the DHD, muttering under his breath.
"Do you think Weir will be mad we destroyed their government?" the guy in dreads asked. His face was blank, but he sounded amused.
"No," John replied. He paused. "Well, maybe a little."
"John," the woman called urgently.
John turned in time to narrowly miss an arrow landing on his foot. At that moment, McKay finished dialling and the wormhole formed, the tail end barely reaching the edge of the platform. Another wave of arrows hit the stone floor, ricocheting off in every direction, causing McKay to yelp loudly and the woman to determinedly fire into the grass.
John reached up and turned on his radio, shouting, "Atlantis, this is Sheppard. We're coming in hot."
"You have a go, Colonel," said a voice in his ear.
McKay and the woman jumped through the wormhole together, and John and the big guy threw themselves against the far side of the platform just as a wave of arrows plummeted down on where his team had just been standing, effectively blocking them from getting through the gate. John counted to three, raised his head, and fired in the direction the arrows had come from, satisfied by the cries of alarm coming from the field. The other guy did the same, but he had some kind of cool laser pistol.
"Wonder what we did to piss them off," John yelled, and the man gave him a look.
After they'd been arrow-free for three minutes, John turned to his teammate and said, "On my count, make a run for the gate."
The man nodded. "And you'll be right behind me." It wasn't a question.
"You betcha," John replied. He braced himself for a moment, and then pushed up on his knees, shooting down into the grass. Before John even finished firing the last bullet, the other guy leapt to his feet and jumped, from exactly where he was standing, into the wormhole.
John gaped for a second. Then he realized there were no answering arrows, and he took a running leap for the event horizon, and--
John awoke with a start.
He blinked up at the cement ceiling; for an instant, he didn't remember where he was, but the hard mattress and chilly air brought him back to reality. That had been one intense dream. He'd felt the grass as he'd walked through it, he'd known those people, and Weir -- that had been the woman from his first offworld mission, hadn't it? The last time he'd had a dream that vivid had been the day he'd gotten his assignment, a month ago, and all he remembered about that was a city on an ocean.
December had been relatively quiet. John's team had gone through the gate four times since that first mission, each one slightly more sticky than the one before it, but nothing they couldn't handle. Even McKay was starting to bitch less and less. In the past three weeks, his team had been trapped in a cave (John and Ford), nearly cannibalized (McKay), married to an alien princess (Ford again), and stabbed (Mitchell, in the foot). From what John understood, this was pretty typical of the gate teams. One of the medical doctors -- a pretty but scary lady -- was practically an honourary member of SG-1. (John never got her during his post-mission physicals; he was always stuck with this chatty Scottish guy who liked to lecture him on how much he was eating, or not eating, or what he was eating, or something; John just smiled, nodded, and let his mind wander.) Most of Earth's leaders had been shipped off to other worlds with the help of other various gate teams, and SG-13's recent four missions had all been recon.
At least his team didn't get the kinds of missions SG-1 did. Jonas would disappear sometimes for days at a time and come back looking worn out. John found him on several occasions hunched over his desk, reading book after book in strange, alien languages. The rest of SG-1 wasn't much better. John had heard from McKay that Major Carter liked to lock herself into her lab, alone, and whenever John saw Colonel O'Neill in the corridors the man pretended not to recognize him. Teal'c remained as mysterious as ever.
Despite the coolness of being able to go to other planets, being a member of the SGC was kind of boring. There wasn't much for John to do when he wasn't gearing up for a mission, especially since he didn't have many excuses to go to the surface. He'd gone up a few times to check out the bookstores in Alzamay and Nizhneudinsk, but getting back and forth had been such a hassle, it wasn't worth it. He'd also gone skiing twice with Ford, but Ford kind of talked a lot, and apparently it looked bad to request to go skiing alone -- something about moles in the SGC, or something.
When he ran out of his own books, he started asking around. Luckily, Jonas had a library in his office, a tiny, cluttered room on level eighteen. It was more accurate to say Jonas's library contained an office; books covered the room from top to bottom, on shelves, on tables, and even on the floor. He also had a tv, on which he was constantly changing the channel to find a news station with the weather. (John could've predicted the weather for him: snow, snow, clouds of ash, more snow.) He didn't seem to notice, or care, most of the channels were still running old episodes of Russian soaps.
The morning of his dream, a cold, January day, John went to see if Jonas had anything to read in English. He would've even settled for manuals at this point. He was thinking about maybe teaching himself Russian, or reading up on stargates so he could surprise McKay the next time McKay lectured them on wormhole travel -- anything to distract him from the intensity of that dream. There was something about it he couldn't shake off.
Atlantis, he thought dully on his way to Jonas's office. Why did he have a weird feeling about that?
He found Jonas studying something that looked like a stone tablet. He was popping green grapes into his mouth, one by one. Today his tv was turned to Russia's Channel One, which was telling John the weather outside was a cool minus forty-three Celsius.
"Knock, knock," John said, leaning against the door frame.
"John," Jonas said brightly. He tucked his pencil behind his ear.
"Mind if I borrow a book?"
Jonas looked amused. "Be my guest. I might even have a few fiction ones over there." He gestured to the far right corner of the room, where the books were a little less faded and weather-beaten than the rest.
"I've never heard of these," John murmured, scanning the titles. There were a few in Russian and French, but most of them were in languages he didn't recognize.
"It would be strange if you did, considering they're from another planet," said Jonas, chuckling.
"Cool," said John, pulling one from the shelf. He had no idea if the squiggles were supposed to be read right to left or left to right. "Which planet is this one from?"
"Mine."
John's head snapped up.
A smile tugged at Jonas's lips. He looked delighted by John's surprise. "I'm from Langara. I met SG-1 when they came through our stargate last year."
"And they let you on their team?" John asked. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard someone refer to aliens -- or humans not from Earth, John guessed, or else really human-looking aliens -- in a way that wasn't borderline-xenophobic. John didn't have any problems with people from other planets himself, even if most of his missions ended with his team getting shot at; he'd figured all societies had their good and bad. It must've been a big deal for SG-1 to have an alien on their team.
"Well, they already had Teal'c..."
John's mouth dropped open. "Teal'c's an alien too?"
Jonas frowned at him.
He was still dwelling on this new information when he went to the mess to get lunch. Suddenly it made sense why Jonas didn't have his PhDs on his wall like the other scientists and anthropologists, and why he had smiled blankly at most of John's jokes. Those had been some funny jokes, too.
Disappointingly, his detour to Jonas's office had put him just in time for the lunch rush, and the mess was bustling with activity. He tucked the physics book he'd borrowed under his arm and joined the line.
A few minutes later, he was scouting for a free table. He wanted one to himself, but it didn't look like that was going to happen. Mitchell had his t-shirt sleeves rolled up and was talking to a pretty blonde at his very populated table; Ford, at another table, was laughing at something one of his young friends was saying. John caught a glimpse of O'Neill near the door, doing what looked like paperwork, but the prospect of sitting with him was too scary. There were a few other people John recognized, but no one he really knew well. And wow, he was just realizing he'd been at the SGC for three weeks and knew the names of less than fifteen people. He wasn't going to be winning any popularity contests anytime soon.
Finally, he spotted the perfect place to sit.
As soon as John set down his tray, McKay snapped, "Funny, Major, I don't remember saying you could sit here."
While John contemplated whether he should leave and eat in his office or stay and annoy the crap out of McKay, McKay stammered, "Sorry, sorry, of course you can sit here." He pushed some of his papers aside to make more room. "Sorry," he repeated. "I'm a little on edge right now."
"Anything I can do to help?" John asked, eying McKay's half-empty coffee mug. McKay really needed to see a shrink or something.
"Not unless you can postpone Major Carter's latest paper while I finish mine. She's three ahead of me now. Three! It's humiliating."
John took a bite of his Chicken Surprise. "So that Major Carter's pretty smart, huh?"
The outraged expression on McKay's face was pretty funny. He stared at John furiously for a long pause and then said, "Oh, I see what this is. You're trying to goad me. Well, it's not going to work."
They ate quietly for a few minutes. McKay pointedly snorted at John when he set the physics book down beside his tray, but John was determined to ignore it. Instead, he contemplated what he'd just learned. Jonas didn't act like the kinds of aliens John had imagined when he was a kid. He wasn't a Spock or a Chewbacca or a Dalek. He was kind of like a Luke Skywalker though; Luke Skywalker had started out as a normal guy.
"Did you know Jonas is from another planet?" John asked as casually as possible.
McKay's brows rose. "Yes, of course I did."
"Why didn't anyone tell me?" John demanded. He felt like an idiot.
"I've been calling him 'that little alien guy' for weeks," Rodney said disbelievingly, which didn't make John feel better at all.
"I thought maybe he was Canadian or something," John exclaimed.
McKay scowled. "I'm Canadian."
"You think you know a guy," John said sullenly, and McKay's scowl deepened. "Anyway, he told me he'd replaced someone, how was I supposed to know he wasn't from Earth? He implied the guy died."
"That's right. Radiation poisoning," McKay explained, expression grim. "Horrible way to go, if you ask me."
"Just like Spock," John agreed, digging into his green beans. They tasted stale, like they'd been frozen for too long.
McKay froze mid-motion, fork inches away from his lips. "Just like-- how did you--? I said the same thing when I found out."
A month ago, having the same reaction as McKay would've pissed him off. But either McKay was less of an asshole now, or John had gotten used to him -- or maybe both -- because instead he felt pleasantly surprised. "I've got MechAssult for Xbox," John found himself saying. "You wanna play a few games?"
McKay blinked and lowered his fork. He looked bewildered. "I-- Yes. Okay."
*
"Major Sheppard, can I help you with something?"
John had been standing outside General Landry's office for a better part of an hour, waiting for the man to finish his numerous daily phone calls. Everyone on base knew what those calls were: the only way prime ministers, congressmen, presidents, vice presidents, ministers, and other stately heads could get orders to their nations (the ones that hadn't descending into chaos, at least) was via the stargate, and vice-versa. John had heard from Mitchell, who'd heard it from Sergeant Silar, who'd heard it from Sergeant Harriman, that Landry had been forced to cut back on offworld missions to make room for the daily transmissions, which were beamed to the SGC and then sent out to the governments for which they were intended.
Landry was poking his head out the door and waiting for John's reply. John straightened up from his slouch against the wall. "Sir, if I could talk to you privately..." he started.
With a sigh, Landry gestured for him to come in. John took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. On the desk itself was a framed photo of an Asian woman and a girl in her twenties. This must be Landry's family, John realized. Their absence was probably a bad sign. Maybe that explained why Landry was such an asshole.
"What did you need to talk to me about?" Landry asked, taking the chair behind the desk.
John hesitated. He must've been nuts, asking Landry something from a dream, but it was really bothering him -- he'd felt like he'd heard the name Atlantis before, and not from any ancient myth about a lost city. It was the same feeling that told him his dream wasn't an ordinary dream. Since it was Landry's job to read every mission report from every team, if anyone in the SGC knew, it would be him.
"This is going to sound weird," John said, squirming, "but have you ever heard of something called 'Atlantis'?"
He expected Landry to laugh it off, or to ask him if he was cracking from the pressure of being a team leader, but something changed in Landry's face. "Just that old myth," Landry said with an obvious forced casualness.
He was lying.
John stared at him incredulously, until Landry said, "Anything else, Major?"
"You've never heard of Atlantis?" John repeated.
"No, I haven't." Landry's voice was cool. "Was that all?"
It wasn't until he was on the way back to his quarters that John started to get angry. Landry had flat-out lied to him, and for what? What was Atlantis? Did it have something to do with Anubis, was that why he didn't want John to know? Even if that was the case, it was John's dream, he had the right to know what was happening in his own head. The only reason he could see for Landry not telling John was because he didn't trust him. Well, that was fine, because John sure as hell didn't trust him. John had had plenty of COs just like him.
"Major Sheppard," an unfamiliar voice called.
"What?" John seethed, turning around.
To his surprise, a man was hurrying down the otherwise empty corridor to catch up with him. He had short blond hair and dark eyes, and he was wearing a full dress uniform. A thin, white scar ran from under his eye to his jaw. He didn't look familiar at all. "Do we know each other?" John asked.
"We should know each other very well," the officer said eagerly, slightly out of breath. Now John recognized he had a Russian accent -- and his English wasn't too great, either. "I am Major Viktor Damurchiev, representing the Russian Federation in this fine place."
"Nice to meet you," John replied automatically. But he wondered if it was okay for them to be talking; no one had bothered to tell him exactly how much Russia and the United States were "cooperating" with each other. For all he knew, the SGC was undergoing a second Cold War and John was violating all sorts of unspoken rules. As pissed as he was, bringing down the SGC really wasn't in his agenda for the day. He'd kind of gotten used to going through the gate.
"How'd you know who I was?" he asked.
"Everyone knows you, Major Sheppard. You are often a subject of conversation in the mess."
John stiffened. "Oh, is that right?" He wondered what was being said about him -- probably nothing good. He guessed as long as no one was speculating about his sexuality it wasn't really important what they were saying. That didn't make it any better to hear, however.
Lowering his voice, Viktor said, "I am wondering, if you will answer, why is it you were brought here."
John blinked. "What do you mean?"
Viktor glanced side to side before stepping even closer and replying, "I have seen your record. There is nothing special there. Other SGC officers, they are at the top of their class. You are a good pilot, yes, but you were not brought here to fly airplanes through the stargate. Is this not right?"
"That's right," John said carefully, although it wasn't like the same thing hadn't crossed his mind. "What are you trying to imply, Major?"
"The old SGC leader, General Hammond, he was open with my commander, Colonel Chekov. This General Landry is most secretive."
It was nice to know John wasn't the only one Landry was frustrating. "Look, I don't know what to tell you," he said frankly. "I just go where I'm assigned. If General Landry has some ulterior motive, I don't know it. I don't know anything! I don't know how we got a stargate, I don't know how we got to be in this intergalactic war, I don't know anyone who works here, and I seriously, honest to God, don't know why they picked me for a gate team."
Despite John's outburst, Viktor's eyes narrowed. "I--" He poked John in the chest. "--do not believe you."
John put his hands on his hips. "Fine," he sneered, drawing the word out.
Viktor wasn't intimidated. He started to stomp off, looking incensed, medals on his chest clinking with every heavy step, when something occurred to John.
"Hey," John called. Viktor turned, looking curious. "Have you heard anything about something called 'Atlantis'?"
He waited for the same flicker of recognition he'd seen on Landry's face, but it never came. "No, I have not," Viktor replied, disappointingly. "Is that a... what do you call it, code word?"
"I wish I knew," John said, disgruntled.
By his team's next mission, a week later, John was having doubts. Maybe he'd been so eager to find a reason for having such a weird dream he'd imagined Landry's reaction. Since then, he hadn't had another one; just his usual, muddled dreams about flying and clowns and showing up to work naked. It didn't make sense that Landry could know something that was happening in John's head. It was impossible.
His conversation with Major Damurchiev had only increased his uncertainty. Obviously, Landry was acting shady around the Russians, too. For all John knew, he was just one of those guys who always seemed to be up to something.
John was half-listening to McKay detailing how badly he was going to kick John's ass at chess when Landry entered the briefing room. He clicked a remote, and a digital image from the MALP jumped on the projection screen.
"Gentlemen, your mission is to pick me a flower from this seemingly unguarded field."
"Why would it be guarded?" John asked.
Landry smiled. "Yes, why would it be guarded?"
"That didn't really answer my--"
"Wait one minute," McKay interrupted loudly. "You want us to pick you a flower?"
John was behind Rodney one hundred percent with this, but he was glad Landry's cool gaze was directed in his teammate's direction instead of his own this time. "Yes, that's exactly what I want," said Landry.
McKay didn't seem to notice the temperature of the room had dropped ten degrees. "Is this a magical flower?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"McKay!" Mitchell hissed. "Shut your pie hole."
The flower, to no one‘s surprise, was on a planet run by the Goa'uld. The field wasn't guarded, but the crumbling stone temples between it and the gate were; as soon as John plucked the flower, about a dozen Jaffa appeared out of nowhere, weapons drawn. The team managed to get off a few shots of their own before hiding behind one of the temple remains.
At least half of the Jaffa were dead when John heard, over the sounds of gunfire, a cracking noise. McKay shouted, "Watch out!" and rammed into John. The force of it knocked both of them over, and a heavy stone -- which would have landed right on top of John -- crashed harmlessly to the ground. Unfortunately, then part of the temple broke off and trapped the two of them between it and what was left of the temple wall, cutting them off from the fight.
While they were waiting to be rescued, John asked, sitting on the ground and staring at the sky, "What was the point of this mission?"
McKay looked unhappy. John nudged him with his foot. "Thanks for, you know. Trying to save me."
"Of course I'd try to save you," McKay said. One corner of his mouth curled downwards. "We're-- we're teammates. We're friends. Aren't we? I mean, not Ford and Mitchell and myself, but you and I are, right?"
"Yeah," John said, both touched and surprised -- at McKay, and at himself. "We're friends."
The thing was, John didn't have a lot of friends. There were plenty of people who liked him -- there had been a couple of guys at Bagram he'd played chess with, and he and Holland had started hanging out after one memorable PS2 NFL tournament -- but he'd never really felt like he was part of anything, and there had never been anyone with whom he'd really connected. Dex and Mitch had always had his back, even when he'd done things they didn't approve of (like sneak around with Holland), but he was pretty sure the only time they'd ever taken him seriously was in the field. And they hadn't been the only ones who'd treated him that way. It was something John had always had trouble understanding, because seriously, he was such a cool guy.
He knew exactly who to blame for all his problems. "Sometimes I have so many feelings," a teenage John had once said to his father. "Keep it to yourself," his dad had replied.
For some reason, knowing McKay didn't have many -- if any -- friends, and yet considered John one, made John, well, feel kind of close to him, in a way he never expected. Part of him wanted to ignore it, but another part of him couldn't stop thinking about the sincere look on McKay's face.
That look haunted him for the next few days. On the third day, Mitchell knocked on his door at seven AM and asked if he wanted to go for a jog.
"When you said 'jog,' I thought you meant around a track," John panted as they ran through level twelve side-by-side. They'd passed John's door four times by now. "Why don't we go to the gym on level thirteen?"
"I don't run with Russians," Mitchell said darkly. "They smell like potatoes."
"I guess that's as good a reason as any," John said slowly, eyes on the wall ahead.
When they stopped for a water break outside the communal toilet, John found himself leaning his hands on his knees and asking, "Hey, Mitchell, how well do you know McKay?"
Mitchell gave him an odd look as he towelled the sweat off his brow. "I know he used to work for Area 51 and got sent here because he pissed off General Landry and Major Carter. Teal'c got stuck in the stargate--"
"Hold on, that can happen?" John asked worriedly. No one had ever told him you could die in the stargate. Sure, near, in front of, behind, and in the general vicinity of, but not in.
Mitchell ran a hand through his short, damp hair. "Nah, not that often, I'm pretty sure. Anyway, Teal'c got stuck, and McKay wanted to turn off the stargate, which would've--"
"Killed him," John finished with a dawning realization. No wonder Carter hated him. Well, that, and he was annoying. "Did McKay ever, you know, apologize?"
"McKay, apologize?" Mitchell replied with a snort, which was all the answer John needed. "No one likes him. Get this, they sent him here so they'd never have to deal with him again, and then everyone had to come here after Anubis... A lot of people were pissed. A couple of the geeks were from Area 51 and had to work with him back in the day. They say he's not any better now. I reckon General Landry put him on our team hoping he'd get a staff weapon to the face."
John frowned. "How do you know all this?"
"I talk to people. People talk to me. It's not hard. You oughta try it sometime."
"Hey, I talk to people," John said indignantly.
"No, you talk to Aiden, Quinn, and me," corrected Mitchell. "I know you don't like people, but you should try being more social. The future Mrs Sheppard could be out there."
The last Mrs Sheppard hadn't spoken to him since he'd cheated on her with her brother, but John had a feeling it wasn't a good idea to share that with Mitchell, not unless he wanted everyone else at the SGC to know too. (Also, she was probably dead, so he would have felt bad talking about her like that.) Instead, he bent down and took his time tying and retying his laces.
"Man, listen to me," Mitchell said fondly. "I sound like my mom."
He went quiet, and John cringed; Mitchell's family had been in Kansas, which was currently under several hundred feet of nuclear-poisoned earth and water. He diligently pretended to work on a knot.
When he stood back up, Mitchell was draining the last of his water bottle, but his eyes were sad. "What's up with all the questions, anyway?" Mitchell asked.
John shrugged. "I think I should spend more time with him. As team leader," he added awkwardly. He didn't feel embarrassed, exactly, but he felt weird about Mitchell knowing he and McKay were friends.
"Great, losers unite," Mitchell said. John glowered at him, but Mitchell didn't seem to care.
This time when they reached John's door again, Mitchell decided they were done for the day. Good-naturedly, he called as he headed towards the elevators, "You have fun with McKay. I'm gonna go sit in the mess and gaze longingly over at SG-1's table. See you later, alligator."
John rolled his eyes -- and he'd called John a loser -- and headed inside for a shower.
*
Most of the lab doors on level nineteen were closed, but one or two were open; on his way to visit McKay, John passed one room where a few scientists were territorially circling some kind of cylindrical, glowy rock while debating matter. As he approached McKay's lab a single, angry-sounding voice got louder and louder. Suddenly, the door slammed open and out ran two terrified-looking scientists, almost knocking into John.
"Whoa there," he said, catching Dr Lee's glasses before they hit the floor.
"Thanks," said Lee. He put them back on his nose, where they perched crookedly. He didn't seem to notice. "Dr McKay's in quite a mood."
"Major Carter figured out something before he did," explained the other scientist, Dr Rode, wringing her hands.
"Well, I don't know why he's so upset," Lee said indignantly. "Someone was bound to realize sooner or later it used zero point energy. If it hadn't been Major Carter it would have been someone else. Maybe even me."
"Or me," Rode said, narrowing her eyes.
John ducked into McKay's lab as they started arguing among themselves. As soon as the door shut, McKay sneered, "What can you idiots possibly-- oh, it's you."
"Just me," John replied lightly.
John had only been in there a few times, but he was unsurprised to see the lab a total wreck. Empty pudding and Jell-O cups, gnawed-on pencils, and files littered the tables. A half-finished equation was on the white board. On the opposite wall, an empty can of Folgers was turned over on the bookshelf. McKay was hunched over a laptop and glaring.
"Hurricane McKay strikes again, I see," John said.
"Funny," McKay said. His t-shirt today said 'I'm Huge in Japan,' and it was a little snug around his arms, which suddenly looked a lot stronger than John had realized.
John, trying to keep his eyes off McKay's arms or chest or shoulders, tried peering around McKay's laptop. "Whatcha doing?"
"Something far too important for you to understand," McKay scoffed, moving his laptop so John couldn't see what was on it. "Why are you here?"
If John hadn't known McKay secretly wanted to be his best friend, he would've been hurt. "Just wanted to see what you were up to," he replied. "I thought you might want to go running with me in the mornings."
"I don't know who it was who told you I work out, but they were lying," McKay said shortly, giving him the stink eye.
"No one told me. I figured you might want to, you know, hang out."
"Oh." McKay looked thoughtful. "I'm not in the mood to give myself a heart attack, but we could do something else, maybe?"
Was McKay coming onto him? "I, uh..."
McKay reached under his bench and took out a cardboard box, setting it on the table. He dug around for a moment, then pulled out two of the Star Trek movies. A quick peek told John there were a bunch of DVDs in there. "How do you feel about Star Trek: The Original Series?"
John wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. "That depends," he said instead, leaning a hip against the bench. "We don't have to watch the one with the whales, do we?"
McKay snorted. "Only if we're trying to punish ourselves. Quick: who was originally up for the role of Spock?"
"Martin Landau," John replied automatically.
McKay looked impressed. "Congratulations, you've just outed yourself as a Trekkie."
"I believe the term is Trekker," John said.
Together, the two of them carted McKay's laptop to an unoccupied lounge ("Supposedly, this is for my so-called peers," McKay explained, "but I don't think anyone ever uses it") and watched two Star Trek movies and The Matrix. It had been a long time since John had hung out with someone who knew about his love of sci-fi and didn't think it was lame. During a heated argument over which Star Trek movie was the best -- John's vote was for The Wrath of Khan, but McKay's personal favourite was The Search for Spock -- John realized this was the most fun he'd had in months. McKay was still a jerk; he kept insulting John and their team and the other SGC personnel offhandedly, like he didn't even notice he was doing it, but it wasn't nearly as irritating as it had been a month ago. In fact, now it was kind of funny. They'd played Xbox together just last week, and chess a few days before, but things were a lot easier between them now since McKay had admitted John was his friend.
As soon as McKay stopped to take a breath, John said, happily, "It's nice we can talk like this."
"Whoa," said Rodney, holding up his hands, "let's not ruin the moment with feelings, okay?"
Movies turned into chess, chess turned into MechaAssult, MechaAssult turned into sitting around and just hanging out, and by the end of the week, they were eating meals together and writing emails to each other when they should've been working. It was strange McKay was the first one on the team John was the most comfortable with, but, well, McKay was his age and liked a lot of the same stuff (except sports; he was pretty adamant about that), why shouldn't they spend time together? It beat getting pitying looks from Sergeant Harriman whenever he caught John eating alone.
"The defense didn't cover the receiver because he didn't think the quarterback could throw that far," John was saying on the walk back to his quarters from a team pow-wow late one night, two weeks after almost getting his ass kicked over a flower.
"You realize I don't care about any of this, right?" McKay asked crossly. He looked offended. "Who the hell likes Star Trek and football?"
John narrowed his eyes. "Me, that's who. Come on, what's not to love about football? It's real, it's unpredictable, it's full of passion and... beer... and hotdogs..."
"Cheerleaders," McKay agreed. He smiled blissfully, caught up in some memory John didn't want to know anything about.
They reached John's door soon enough, but when McKay didn't show any signs of leaving John said pointedly, "Night, McKay."
McKay blinked, freezing. "Oh. Yes. Right, I'll see you tomorrow then." He wandered back towards the elevators, muttering to himself.
John couldn't help laughing as he got ready for bed, first brushing his teeth in the restroom down the hall and then tossing his BDU pants in his overflowing hamper. He tried reading another chapter of a book he's borrowed from Jonas -- something about Ancient Egyptian religion, but at least it was in English -- but three paragraphs in his eyes started to droop. The book slipped from his hands, but he was too tired to set it back on the nightstand...
"Come on, what are the odds of me having the same gene as these guys?" John asked.
Much to the Scottish guy's obvious horror, John took a seat in the freaky blue chair. As soon as his ass touched the seat, the back reclined, startling him. The armrests under his hands lit up, and blue tinged his vision; the back of the chair had probably lit up too. The Scottish guy yelped, "Dr Weir! Don't move!" he lectured John, holding out a hand like he expect John to leap from the chair, and then he scurried off.
John couldn't get up if he tried. While he stared at the domed ceiling, frozen in place, several people ran up to him: Rodney, Scottish Guy, O'Neill, Weir, and a familiar-looking man wearing round glasses, all with identical shocked expressions.
"Who is this?" asked Weir. She was gazing at John like he was too good to be true.
"I said don't touch anything," said O'Neill, sounding pissed.
John was in so much trouble. "I-- I just sat down," he explained.
Rodney, looking like he'd packed on a few pounds and dressed in a puffy orange vest, instructed clearly, "Major, think about where we are in the solar system."
John did. In the empty space above him, a beautiful digital image of the solar system formed. It came out of nowhere, but McKay looked like he'd expected it.
"Did I do that?" John asked worriedly.
They all started talking at once. Rodney was making excited sweeps with his arms, and the beaming smile on Weir's face was blinding. Even O'Neill got into it. The four of them seemed to forget John was there, throwing out words like, "Ancient gene" and "aliens" and "stargate."
John started to move, but a firm hand on his arm stopped him. The guy in glasses was leaning over him with an intense expression. None of the others seemed to notice what he was doing; they continued their argument without so much as glancing in John's direction.
"John, you will go to the Dagoba System," the man said. "No, wait, Taonas. Now that's just embarrassing." He sighed, shoving something into John's hand: a piece of paper with a seven-symbol gate address on it. "This is all Teal'c's fault. Taonas. You really want to go to Taonas."
John's eyes snapped open. I have to get to Taonas, he thought immediately.
He rolled over violently and fell out of bed and onto the floor. It was enough to wake him up completely.
After a long run that made his legs feel wobbly, John found himself in the mess. He grabbed a carton each of Cheerio's and milk and was heading back towards the exit when he noticed a familiar, hulking figure sitting at one of the tables.
John sat down. "Hey."
"Hello, Major Sheppard," Teal'c said blandly. His tray was piled high with eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast, fruit, and two different types of juice. He didn't blink an eye at John joining him.
"Can I ask you a personal question?"
Teal'c rose an eyebrow. "You may."
"Do you like Star Wars?" John asked.
"I do not like Star Wars, Major Sheppard," said Teal'c. John was beginning to feel a faint sense of disappointment when Teal'c added, "I love Star Wars."
"Was there any way I would've known that?" John asked.
Teal'c cocked his head. "You may have known this if you've spoken to O'Neill."
In other words, no, John thought, stomach twisting nervously. But this time his fear was tinged with excitement; something was happening here, something real, and something important. First Landry had known something about Atlantis, whatever it was, and now this. He wasn't going nuts after all. He just wished he knew what exactly this important thing was.
*
But John didn't get a chance to try to figure out why he was getting visions telling him to go to Taonas, because later that day he and his team went through the gate. It had taken them a few missions, but they had a routine by now: Ford had enough C4 in his tac vest pockets to blow up what was left of Texas, Mitchell was clutching a grenade in his hand, and both John and Rodney had their safeties off before they even walked through the event horizon. The MALP hadn't found any signs of human (or humanoid, whatever) life on P4Y-1264, but John sure wasn't placing any bets.
On the other side of the wormhole was a room, which hadn't been what John was expecting. This was the first time he'd gone through the gate and ended up indoors, not counting all the times he'd gated back to the SGC from another planet. The dry, musty air and the hard flooring under his feet threw him off a second.
From the looks of things, they were in some kind of laboratory. Along three of the walls were dusty glass cases, each one of them packed with fragile-looking dirt and sand at varying levels. They sat on tall, grey consoles, with computer screens built onto the top, directly in front of the glass cases. It would've looked like a museum had it not been for the table lined with misshapen beakers and unfamiliar, decaying equipment.
"Hey, those look like terrariums," said Ford, peering over John's shoulder.
McKay frowned at him. "What?"
"Terrariums," Ford repeated, shrugging. "You know, you grow mini-environments in them, maybe have a frog or two? I had to make one in high school Bio."
John remembered that, kind of. He was pretty sure all his plants had died though. High school was a crazy time. "You think this was a garden?" he asked.
"Nope," said Mitchell. He was standing at the fourth wall, where there were no terrariums, awkwardly poking the lit screen of one of the computers and squinting at it. The terminal was almost as high as his shoulders.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" John asked warily, edging towards him. He wasn't in the mood to get blown up today.
"Don't touch anything!" McKay exclaimed, shoving past John and Ford to stand beside Mitchell. "How stupid can you possibly be?"
Mitchell pointed the screen, glaring at McKay. "There's plans for a city in there."
"How'd you turn it on?" John asked. He glanced around. None of the other screens were lit up.
"I touched it, and bam, there it was. It's one of those touch-pads, like they have at the bank."
Rodney scoffed. "They're called 'touch screens,' genius. And how'd you know this was a city? It's all in... alien. Don't tell me they teach you alien in the Air Force now."
"I knew because it looks like a city," Mitchell said irritably.
As Mitchell turned to let McKay touch the screen, John caught a glimpse of some kind of blocky, Lego-like script scrolling across it. "It doesn't look like any language I've ever seen," he mused. Not that he had a lot of experience in alien civilizations or anything, but he liked to think he could contribute somehow.
"You think?" McKay asked sarcastically. John resisted the urge to reach over and flick his ear.
While the rest of his team was gawking at that, John wandered off, looking to see if they'd missed anything. When he reached the far eastern wall a door panel silently slid open, automatically.
"Huh," John said.
He waited for something to happen, like an explosion or something to rush out and attack him, but nothing did. He poked his head in. It was a tiny room, with a small table and a white, boxy crate that John would have said was a refrigerator, had they been on Earth.
"Don't go in there alone, what's wrong with you?" McKay shouted.
John rolled his eyes. "I think this is a break room."
Behind him, Rodney let out an exasperated sigh. "What, an alien break room? It can't be--" He came up beside John, blinking comically. "Or maybe it is a breakroom. What are the odds?"
Mitchell raided the fridge while Ford took photos of the terrariums and Rodney muttered to himself, trying to download the data from the computers onto his PDA with some kind of scary-looking USB cable. Without much else to do, John paced the laboratory, keeping his eye on things. He wondered what would happen if he started pressing random buttons on the consoles.
"Y'all, I think the refrigerator still works," Mitchell called when John was walking right in front of the break room's doorway. His voice bounced around the inside of the crate. "Too bad the aliens didn't leave any brewskies in here. I think there's something in-- oh, gross. Okay, whatever you do, don't touch that. Anyone got any hand sanitizer?"
Ford took out a tiny bottle from his tac vest pocket and tossed it into the room. It sailed over John's shoulder. Mitchell rubbed a generous amount on his hands, making a face.
On John's fourth trip around the room, he noticed something he hadn't seen before: a thin, horizontal line going across one of the terrarium consoles, right beneath the screen. John poked it with his finger; it retracted slightly and pushed back. He felt along the side, and--
"Rodney, there's a drawer here," he said, pulling it open.
The only thing in there was something that looked like a miniature satellite dish and a remote control. He set the dish beside the terrarium and studied the remote, which was small and black and had one large, red button on its face.
McKay set his PDA down and joined John. "What is that?" he asked.
John touched the button. A tiny, red laser shot out of the dish and hit the wall, but otherwise nothing happened. "What the hell is the point of this?" he asked.
"Try aiming it at some of the equipment," Rodney said eagerly.
Mitchell came out of the break room saying, "Whoa, whoa, we're on a reconnaissance mission. The General didn't say anything about playing with the alien equipment."
Ford, predictably, said, "I agree with Captain Mitchell, sir. It could be dangerous."
"I'm making a command decision," John replied defensively. "We're trying this out. It's not going to hurt anything."
They tried aiming it at the terrariums, the refrigerator, the walls, and even, after careful deliberation, John, but the only thing that happened was the dish beaming out red light.
"Maybe you're not doing it right. Hand it over," Rodney insisted, prying it out of John's fingers.
So they tried the last thing they could think of: ice from the alien freezer. As soon as McKay hit the switch, a beam of light shot out of the dish and melted it into a puddle.
"Oh," John said, excited they made it work. Then he realized all it could do was melt ice. His shoulders slumped. "Oh."
"Well, that was incredibly disappointing," said McKay. The rest of his team looked equally dejected.
"I don't know, I thought it was kinda cool," Ford said. McKay shot him a nasty look.
Surprisingly, General Landry wasn't happy about their finding. When they told him they'd found something, he asked, face glowing with excitement, "Did you find it? Tell me you found it," which didn't make any sense to John. It wasn't like they'd been looking for anything specific. But as soon as Rodney and Mitchell gave him an overview of the laboratory, Landry's face fell. He didn't seem too interested after that; he told John to brief SG-9 and let them take care of it, much to John's team's disappointment.
"But, sir," John protested, exchanging a glance with a panicked-looking Rodney, "it's our discovery, shouldn't we--?"
"Your team is needed for more important things than cataloguing dusty lab equipment, Major," Landry snapped.
"What could possibly be more important than an alien laboratory equipped to deal with a food shortage problem?" McKay demanded. "In case you haven't noticed, there isn't much arable land left on Earth."
"That's why SG-9 will be handling it," Landry replied.
Rodney squeaked, "But--"
"Make sure Mr Quinn gets all of the reading material," Landry said, before storming away. Mitchell and Ford looked as confused as John felt.
The team quietly watched Landry leave. John could practically feel the rage steaming off Rodney. He was a little pissed off himself; it was their undiscovered alien lab, they should've been the ones to take it apart, not SG-9. SG-9 had two botanists and a guy whose default tone of voice was sarcastic, for God's sake. They weren't nearly as awesome as John's team was. He knew Rodney could figure out what all that alien stuff was long before anyone on SG-9 could.
"Were we supposed to be looking for something?" asked Mitchell, brow knitting.
"You would know," Rodney sneered. It was his turn to make a big production of leaving; he hurried off in the same direction Landry had, his "General Landry!" echoing as he disappeared down the stairs.
Mitchell looked uncomfortable. Ford did too, but it was a completely different kind of uncomfortable. "Sheppard, you know I'm not--" Mitchell began.
"Yeah, sure," John said dismissively. He knew Mitchell wasn't hiding anything, but he also knew Mitchell was reporting to Landry everything John said and did. Just because John understood didn't mean he was totally cool with it. He left his two teammates and followed the path McKay had taken out of the briefing room.
He bumped into McKay standing red-faced in the corridor. "He won't listen to me," Rodney explained. "I told him about the ice-melting beam, and he said, and I quote, 'What use is that? We can melt ice too. It's a special thing called room temperature,' and then he said he had a meeting with SG-1. Hmph."
With a report to prepare, John gave Rodney a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and headed for his office. He wondered if Landry was expecting his team to find something offworld. But if he did, why wouldn't he have told John? Or Mitchell, at the very least; John knew he was desperate to get close to his heroes, and not opposed to kissing Landry's ass.
The next day, SG-9 headed for P4Y-1264. John watched jealously from the control room. One of the guys on the team -- the sarcastic one, John noted, not one of the botanists or geologists or whatever they were -- gave him a little wave before following Colonel Edwards through the gate, as if he knew what John was thinking. They were back the next morning before John woke, and their data was immediately sent to Jonas for translating, who was supposed to send it to one of the other scientists for analysis.
Things were strained at breakfast. Rodney and Mitchell weren't speaking to each other. Ford, riled up from the tension, kept nervously knocking things over. At one point he flipped a piece of toast into McKay's lap.
"Jesus," McKay snapped, grabbing a handful of napkins to wipe off the butter and grape jelly, "how the hell are you an explosives expert? Don't you need to have steady hands for that kind of work?"
"Rodney, leave him alone," John said. McKay glared at John but wisely kept his mouth shut.
After a knocking back his own toast and orange juice ("You're going to choke if you keep eating that fast," McKay warned), John jumped up and said, "I'm going to see what SG-9 brought back."
On his way out of the mess, he bumped into Viktor Damurchiev.
"Major Sheppard," said Viktor, straightening his jacket, "we should discuss the sharing of informations."
"Sure, maybe later," John said, knowing full well it was never going to happen.
Viktor must have realized this too, because his smile grew strained. When John left him, he was muttering something under his breath that sounded like, "Amerikanski. Huyeplet."
When John made it to Jonas's office, Jonas was talking to the same guy from SG-9 who had waved at John the day before. Several open books lay open on his desk, as well as some plain, paper notebooks, filled with scribbling. "It's just so fascinating," Jonas was saying, face bright with excitement.
"What's up, Sheppard," said the guy, spotting John. Captain Lorne, if John remembered right. E-something. Erwin, maybe. Erwin Lorne. He didn't really look like an Erwin though.
"Hey," John replied, approaching the desk. "How's it coming along?"
Jonas beamed. "There's so much interesting material here. I'm not even sure where to begin."
"I thought McKay said it was all about plants," John said, raising an eyebrow.
"Some of the database was, sure. But the rest of it-- you saw those city plans, right?" Jonas asked. Too caught up in his discovery, he didn't bother to wait for John's reply. "I need to look at it some more. The only thing I was able to really decipher was something about overpopulation."
John leaned over to peek at Jonas's notes -- which didn't work; Jonas's notes weren't in English -- and said, "Maybe they were looking for ways to thin the herd, if you know what I mean."
Lorne looked concerned. But Jonas grinned and replied, "Ouch, that's cynical. You've been spending too much time with McKay."
"Ugh, I can't stand that guy," Lorne said.
John shrugged. "I like McKay," he said. Then, with some alarm, he realized it was true: he liked McKay. He liked McKay a lot.
"Don't tell Mitchell," he added.
*
In March, John had a chance to take a day trip to Nizhneudinsk. Part of him had expected the snow to be on the verge of melting, but instead Siberia in March looked exactly the same as Siberia in December. Rodney, who John had dragged along for the ride, claimed this was a result of the nuclear winter.
"It was about minus six here last March," he explained. His voice was muffled from a neon green scarf he had wrapped around his neck and chin. John did the math in his head: that was about eighteen degrees Fahrenheit. It was easily twenty or thirty degrees colder than that now, and the sun was covered by big, black clouds of soot, which only made it feel colder.
They got through one used bookstore and one tiny, hole-in-the-wall toy store before Rodney's bitching started to grate John's nerves.
"I'm freezing my balls off here," Rodney said for the third time.
"Jesus, Rodney, would you give it a rest?" John finally snapped, exasperated. "I get it, you're cold. I'm cold too, in case you haven't noticed."
Rodney huffed. "Why didn't you bring Quinn with you?"
John glanced at him sideways. "Can't, you're the only one who gets my jokes."
In truth, John hadn't wanted to take anyone else. Ford was too chatty (not to mention way younger than John, which just made it creepy), he and Mitchell didn't have much in common outside of sports and planes, and Jonas was a cool guy, but John couldn't imagine spending an entire day with him off base. When Sergeant Silar had told John it was his turn to use the hum-vee, he'd immediately known he and McKay were going to Nizhneudinsk, whether McKay liked it or not. Rodney must have wanted to get out of the SGC as well, because he had agreed to come before John had even finished asking the question.
"No one gets your jokes because they're appallingly bad," McKay said.
"Hey, you laughed at the Justice League one."
"I was laughing because it was so horrible," McKay replied, but he was grinning.
Together, they bought a bunch of pirated action movies with really horrible English subtitles, and John found a stack of old, used romance novels. They might have been crappy, but they were written in English, and that was all John cared about. But the best find of the day was the set of rusty golf clubs John got from a thrift store. Rodney was in the middle of a rant on how golf was the most boring sport in the world (after NASCAR racing, which, Rodney said, didn't count as a sport) when he spotted one of those ship in a bottle kits. John rolled his eyes as Rodney forked over five hundred roubles for it.
"I never realized you were an old man, McKay," John said as they walked back out into the bitter cold.
"I'm running out of physics journals," Rodney retorted.
John hefted the clubs higher on his shoulder. "You could read a book."
"We live in a post-apocalyptic world and are fighting a race of parasitic aliens," McKay said. "Why would I want to read fiction? Besides, I was never very good at using my imagination. It's one of my very few character flaws."
The drive home consisted of a few hours of bad Russian pop music, an argument of which was colder, Russia or Canada (or the Island of St Trudeau, as the remains were now called), and "I Spy" games. John was saying, "I spy with my little eye something..." when he noticed McKay watching him with a sappy, lopsided smile. John felt the intensity of his gaze all the way down to the tips of his toes. He swallowed thickly. "What, do I have something on my face?" he asked, feeling weirdly embarrassed.
McKay looked away with a sharp jerk of his head, as if coming out of a daze. "What the hell are we listening to? Music like this makes me glad civilization ended." He reached over the started fiddling with the dial, and John was stuck listening to Beethoven for the rest of the ride.
Part Three
"Come on, Rodney," John said. "I thought you said you wanted to be home in time for lunch."
They were wading through an endless sea of brown and green grass that was almost as tall as he was. It stretched for miles and miles. John stopped to allow McKay to catch up. Behind him, he could make out the faint signs of a village, but it looked impossibly far away; in the direction he and McKay were headed was a huge man with dreadlocks, and John could just about make out the coppery top of a woman's head. The man kept glancing down at her and chuckling, the sound carried back to John by the wind.
Rodney hurried to John's side, panting and red-faced. "Not all of us have your freakishly long limbs, Colonel."
John raised an eyebrow. "We're practically the same height."
Scowling, but still flushed, Rodney said, "Yes, but I'm much more well-proportioned than you are."
"Hey, I'm proportionate," John protested, glancing down at his body.
"I have two words for you: chicken legs."
John rolled his eyes, even though McKay wouldn't be able to see it behind his sunglasses. "Quit your belly-aching, we're almost to the gate."
As he said it, they reached the top of the hill, and the stargate came into view. It was resting on a high stone platform; engraved steps on all four sides disappeared into the grass.
"Finally," McKay sighed, wincing and pressing a hand against his side.
The man and woman they were traveling with waited for them on the steps, guns drawn and aimed behind Rodney and John. McKay ambled over to the DHD, muttering under his breath.
"Do you think Weir will be mad we destroyed their government?" the guy in dreads asked. His face was blank, but he sounded amused.
"No," John replied. He paused. "Well, maybe a little."
"John," the woman called urgently.
John turned in time to narrowly miss an arrow landing on his foot. At that moment, McKay finished dialling and the wormhole formed, the tail end barely reaching the edge of the platform. Another wave of arrows hit the stone floor, ricocheting off in every direction, causing McKay to yelp loudly and the woman to determinedly fire into the grass.
John reached up and turned on his radio, shouting, "Atlantis, this is Sheppard. We're coming in hot."
"You have a go, Colonel," said a voice in his ear.
McKay and the woman jumped through the wormhole together, and John and the big guy threw themselves against the far side of the platform just as a wave of arrows plummeted down on where his team had just been standing, effectively blocking them from getting through the gate. John counted to three, raised his head, and fired in the direction the arrows had come from, satisfied by the cries of alarm coming from the field. The other guy did the same, but he had some kind of cool laser pistol.
"Wonder what we did to piss them off," John yelled, and the man gave him a look.
After they'd been arrow-free for three minutes, John turned to his teammate and said, "On my count, make a run for the gate."
The man nodded. "And you'll be right behind me." It wasn't a question.
"You betcha," John replied. He braced himself for a moment, and then pushed up on his knees, shooting down into the grass. Before John even finished firing the last bullet, the other guy leapt to his feet and jumped, from exactly where he was standing, into the wormhole.
John gaped for a second. Then he realized there were no answering arrows, and he took a running leap for the event horizon, and--
John awoke with a start.
He blinked up at the cement ceiling; for an instant, he didn't remember where he was, but the hard mattress and chilly air brought him back to reality. That had been one intense dream. He'd felt the grass as he'd walked through it, he'd known those people, and Weir -- that had been the woman from his first offworld mission, hadn't it? The last time he'd had a dream that vivid had been the day he'd gotten his assignment, a month ago, and all he remembered about that was a city on an ocean.
December had been relatively quiet. John's team had gone through the gate four times since that first mission, each one slightly more sticky than the one before it, but nothing they couldn't handle. Even McKay was starting to bitch less and less. In the past three weeks, his team had been trapped in a cave (John and Ford), nearly cannibalized (McKay), married to an alien princess (Ford again), and stabbed (Mitchell, in the foot). From what John understood, this was pretty typical of the gate teams. One of the medical doctors -- a pretty but scary lady -- was practically an honourary member of SG-1. (John never got her during his post-mission physicals; he was always stuck with this chatty Scottish guy who liked to lecture him on how much he was eating, or not eating, or what he was eating, or something; John just smiled, nodded, and let his mind wander.) Most of Earth's leaders had been shipped off to other worlds with the help of other various gate teams, and SG-13's recent four missions had all been recon.
At least his team didn't get the kinds of missions SG-1 did. Jonas would disappear sometimes for days at a time and come back looking worn out. John found him on several occasions hunched over his desk, reading book after book in strange, alien languages. The rest of SG-1 wasn't much better. John had heard from McKay that Major Carter liked to lock herself into her lab, alone, and whenever John saw Colonel O'Neill in the corridors the man pretended not to recognize him. Teal'c remained as mysterious as ever.
Despite the coolness of being able to go to other planets, being a member of the SGC was kind of boring. There wasn't much for John to do when he wasn't gearing up for a mission, especially since he didn't have many excuses to go to the surface. He'd gone up a few times to check out the bookstores in Alzamay and Nizhneudinsk, but getting back and forth had been such a hassle, it wasn't worth it. He'd also gone skiing twice with Ford, but Ford kind of talked a lot, and apparently it looked bad to request to go skiing alone -- something about moles in the SGC, or something.
When he ran out of his own books, he started asking around. Luckily, Jonas had a library in his office, a tiny, cluttered room on level eighteen. It was more accurate to say Jonas's library contained an office; books covered the room from top to bottom, on shelves, on tables, and even on the floor. He also had a tv, on which he was constantly changing the channel to find a news station with the weather. (John could've predicted the weather for him: snow, snow, clouds of ash, more snow.) He didn't seem to notice, or care, most of the channels were still running old episodes of Russian soaps.
The morning of his dream, a cold, January day, John went to see if Jonas had anything to read in English. He would've even settled for manuals at this point. He was thinking about maybe teaching himself Russian, or reading up on stargates so he could surprise McKay the next time McKay lectured them on wormhole travel -- anything to distract him from the intensity of that dream. There was something about it he couldn't shake off.
Atlantis, he thought dully on his way to Jonas's office. Why did he have a weird feeling about that?
He found Jonas studying something that looked like a stone tablet. He was popping green grapes into his mouth, one by one. Today his tv was turned to Russia's Channel One, which was telling John the weather outside was a cool minus forty-three Celsius.
"Knock, knock," John said, leaning against the door frame.
"John," Jonas said brightly. He tucked his pencil behind his ear.
"Mind if I borrow a book?"
Jonas looked amused. "Be my guest. I might even have a few fiction ones over there." He gestured to the far right corner of the room, where the books were a little less faded and weather-beaten than the rest.
"I've never heard of these," John murmured, scanning the titles. There were a few in Russian and French, but most of them were in languages he didn't recognize.
"It would be strange if you did, considering they're from another planet," said Jonas, chuckling.
"Cool," said John, pulling one from the shelf. He had no idea if the squiggles were supposed to be read right to left or left to right. "Which planet is this one from?"
"Mine."
John's head snapped up.
A smile tugged at Jonas's lips. He looked delighted by John's surprise. "I'm from Langara. I met SG-1 when they came through our stargate last year."
"And they let you on their team?" John asked. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard someone refer to aliens -- or humans not from Earth, John guessed, or else really human-looking aliens -- in a way that wasn't borderline-xenophobic. John didn't have any problems with people from other planets himself, even if most of his missions ended with his team getting shot at; he'd figured all societies had their good and bad. It must've been a big deal for SG-1 to have an alien on their team.
"Well, they already had Teal'c..."
John's mouth dropped open. "Teal'c's an alien too?"
Jonas frowned at him.
He was still dwelling on this new information when he went to the mess to get lunch. Suddenly it made sense why Jonas didn't have his PhDs on his wall like the other scientists and anthropologists, and why he had smiled blankly at most of John's jokes. Those had been some funny jokes, too.
Disappointingly, his detour to Jonas's office had put him just in time for the lunch rush, and the mess was bustling with activity. He tucked the physics book he'd borrowed under his arm and joined the line.
A few minutes later, he was scouting for a free table. He wanted one to himself, but it didn't look like that was going to happen. Mitchell had his t-shirt sleeves rolled up and was talking to a pretty blonde at his very populated table; Ford, at another table, was laughing at something one of his young friends was saying. John caught a glimpse of O'Neill near the door, doing what looked like paperwork, but the prospect of sitting with him was too scary. There were a few other people John recognized, but no one he really knew well. And wow, he was just realizing he'd been at the SGC for three weeks and knew the names of less than fifteen people. He wasn't going to be winning any popularity contests anytime soon.
Finally, he spotted the perfect place to sit.
As soon as John set down his tray, McKay snapped, "Funny, Major, I don't remember saying you could sit here."
While John contemplated whether he should leave and eat in his office or stay and annoy the crap out of McKay, McKay stammered, "Sorry, sorry, of course you can sit here." He pushed some of his papers aside to make more room. "Sorry," he repeated. "I'm a little on edge right now."
"Anything I can do to help?" John asked, eying McKay's half-empty coffee mug. McKay really needed to see a shrink or something.
"Not unless you can postpone Major Carter's latest paper while I finish mine. She's three ahead of me now. Three! It's humiliating."
John took a bite of his Chicken Surprise. "So that Major Carter's pretty smart, huh?"
The outraged expression on McKay's face was pretty funny. He stared at John furiously for a long pause and then said, "Oh, I see what this is. You're trying to goad me. Well, it's not going to work."
They ate quietly for a few minutes. McKay pointedly snorted at John when he set the physics book down beside his tray, but John was determined to ignore it. Instead, he contemplated what he'd just learned. Jonas didn't act like the kinds of aliens John had imagined when he was a kid. He wasn't a Spock or a Chewbacca or a Dalek. He was kind of like a Luke Skywalker though; Luke Skywalker had started out as a normal guy.
"Did you know Jonas is from another planet?" John asked as casually as possible.
McKay's brows rose. "Yes, of course I did."
"Why didn't anyone tell me?" John demanded. He felt like an idiot.
"I've been calling him 'that little alien guy' for weeks," Rodney said disbelievingly, which didn't make John feel better at all.
"I thought maybe he was Canadian or something," John exclaimed.
McKay scowled. "I'm Canadian."
"You think you know a guy," John said sullenly, and McKay's scowl deepened. "Anyway, he told me he'd replaced someone, how was I supposed to know he wasn't from Earth? He implied the guy died."
"That's right. Radiation poisoning," McKay explained, expression grim. "Horrible way to go, if you ask me."
"Just like Spock," John agreed, digging into his green beans. They tasted stale, like they'd been frozen for too long.
McKay froze mid-motion, fork inches away from his lips. "Just like-- how did you--? I said the same thing when I found out."
A month ago, having the same reaction as McKay would've pissed him off. But either McKay was less of an asshole now, or John had gotten used to him -- or maybe both -- because instead he felt pleasantly surprised. "I've got MechAssult for Xbox," John found himself saying. "You wanna play a few games?"
McKay blinked and lowered his fork. He looked bewildered. "I-- Yes. Okay."
*
"Major Sheppard, can I help you with something?"
John had been standing outside General Landry's office for a better part of an hour, waiting for the man to finish his numerous daily phone calls. Everyone on base knew what those calls were: the only way prime ministers, congressmen, presidents, vice presidents, ministers, and other stately heads could get orders to their nations (the ones that hadn't descending into chaos, at least) was via the stargate, and vice-versa. John had heard from Mitchell, who'd heard it from Sergeant Silar, who'd heard it from Sergeant Harriman, that Landry had been forced to cut back on offworld missions to make room for the daily transmissions, which were beamed to the SGC and then sent out to the governments for which they were intended.
Landry was poking his head out the door and waiting for John's reply. John straightened up from his slouch against the wall. "Sir, if I could talk to you privately..." he started.
With a sigh, Landry gestured for him to come in. John took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. On the desk itself was a framed photo of an Asian woman and a girl in her twenties. This must be Landry's family, John realized. Their absence was probably a bad sign. Maybe that explained why Landry was such an asshole.
"What did you need to talk to me about?" Landry asked, taking the chair behind the desk.
John hesitated. He must've been nuts, asking Landry something from a dream, but it was really bothering him -- he'd felt like he'd heard the name Atlantis before, and not from any ancient myth about a lost city. It was the same feeling that told him his dream wasn't an ordinary dream. Since it was Landry's job to read every mission report from every team, if anyone in the SGC knew, it would be him.
"This is going to sound weird," John said, squirming, "but have you ever heard of something called 'Atlantis'?"
He expected Landry to laugh it off, or to ask him if he was cracking from the pressure of being a team leader, but something changed in Landry's face. "Just that old myth," Landry said with an obvious forced casualness.
He was lying.
John stared at him incredulously, until Landry said, "Anything else, Major?"
"You've never heard of Atlantis?" John repeated.
"No, I haven't." Landry's voice was cool. "Was that all?"
It wasn't until he was on the way back to his quarters that John started to get angry. Landry had flat-out lied to him, and for what? What was Atlantis? Did it have something to do with Anubis, was that why he didn't want John to know? Even if that was the case, it was John's dream, he had the right to know what was happening in his own head. The only reason he could see for Landry not telling John was because he didn't trust him. Well, that was fine, because John sure as hell didn't trust him. John had had plenty of COs just like him.
"Major Sheppard," an unfamiliar voice called.
"What?" John seethed, turning around.
To his surprise, a man was hurrying down the otherwise empty corridor to catch up with him. He had short blond hair and dark eyes, and he was wearing a full dress uniform. A thin, white scar ran from under his eye to his jaw. He didn't look familiar at all. "Do we know each other?" John asked.
"We should know each other very well," the officer said eagerly, slightly out of breath. Now John recognized he had a Russian accent -- and his English wasn't too great, either. "I am Major Viktor Damurchiev, representing the Russian Federation in this fine place."
"Nice to meet you," John replied automatically. But he wondered if it was okay for them to be talking; no one had bothered to tell him exactly how much Russia and the United States were "cooperating" with each other. For all he knew, the SGC was undergoing a second Cold War and John was violating all sorts of unspoken rules. As pissed as he was, bringing down the SGC really wasn't in his agenda for the day. He'd kind of gotten used to going through the gate.
"How'd you know who I was?" he asked.
"Everyone knows you, Major Sheppard. You are often a subject of conversation in the mess."
John stiffened. "Oh, is that right?" He wondered what was being said about him -- probably nothing good. He guessed as long as no one was speculating about his sexuality it wasn't really important what they were saying. That didn't make it any better to hear, however.
Lowering his voice, Viktor said, "I am wondering, if you will answer, why is it you were brought here."
John blinked. "What do you mean?"
Viktor glanced side to side before stepping even closer and replying, "I have seen your record. There is nothing special there. Other SGC officers, they are at the top of their class. You are a good pilot, yes, but you were not brought here to fly airplanes through the stargate. Is this not right?"
"That's right," John said carefully, although it wasn't like the same thing hadn't crossed his mind. "What are you trying to imply, Major?"
"The old SGC leader, General Hammond, he was open with my commander, Colonel Chekov. This General Landry is most secretive."
It was nice to know John wasn't the only one Landry was frustrating. "Look, I don't know what to tell you," he said frankly. "I just go where I'm assigned. If General Landry has some ulterior motive, I don't know it. I don't know anything! I don't know how we got a stargate, I don't know how we got to be in this intergalactic war, I don't know anyone who works here, and I seriously, honest to God, don't know why they picked me for a gate team."
Despite John's outburst, Viktor's eyes narrowed. "I--" He poked John in the chest. "--do not believe you."
John put his hands on his hips. "Fine," he sneered, drawing the word out.
Viktor wasn't intimidated. He started to stomp off, looking incensed, medals on his chest clinking with every heavy step, when something occurred to John.
"Hey," John called. Viktor turned, looking curious. "Have you heard anything about something called 'Atlantis'?"
He waited for the same flicker of recognition he'd seen on Landry's face, but it never came. "No, I have not," Viktor replied, disappointingly. "Is that a... what do you call it, code word?"
"I wish I knew," John said, disgruntled.
By his team's next mission, a week later, John was having doubts. Maybe he'd been so eager to find a reason for having such a weird dream he'd imagined Landry's reaction. Since then, he hadn't had another one; just his usual, muddled dreams about flying and clowns and showing up to work naked. It didn't make sense that Landry could know something that was happening in John's head. It was impossible.
His conversation with Major Damurchiev had only increased his uncertainty. Obviously, Landry was acting shady around the Russians, too. For all John knew, he was just one of those guys who always seemed to be up to something.
John was half-listening to McKay detailing how badly he was going to kick John's ass at chess when Landry entered the briefing room. He clicked a remote, and a digital image from the MALP jumped on the projection screen.
"Gentlemen, your mission is to pick me a flower from this seemingly unguarded field."
"Why would it be guarded?" John asked.
Landry smiled. "Yes, why would it be guarded?"
"That didn't really answer my--"
"Wait one minute," McKay interrupted loudly. "You want us to pick you a flower?"
John was behind Rodney one hundred percent with this, but he was glad Landry's cool gaze was directed in his teammate's direction instead of his own this time. "Yes, that's exactly what I want," said Landry.
McKay didn't seem to notice the temperature of the room had dropped ten degrees. "Is this a magical flower?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"McKay!" Mitchell hissed. "Shut your pie hole."
The flower, to no one‘s surprise, was on a planet run by the Goa'uld. The field wasn't guarded, but the crumbling stone temples between it and the gate were; as soon as John plucked the flower, about a dozen Jaffa appeared out of nowhere, weapons drawn. The team managed to get off a few shots of their own before hiding behind one of the temple remains.
At least half of the Jaffa were dead when John heard, over the sounds of gunfire, a cracking noise. McKay shouted, "Watch out!" and rammed into John. The force of it knocked both of them over, and a heavy stone -- which would have landed right on top of John -- crashed harmlessly to the ground. Unfortunately, then part of the temple broke off and trapped the two of them between it and what was left of the temple wall, cutting them off from the fight.
While they were waiting to be rescued, John asked, sitting on the ground and staring at the sky, "What was the point of this mission?"
McKay looked unhappy. John nudged him with his foot. "Thanks for, you know. Trying to save me."
"Of course I'd try to save you," McKay said. One corner of his mouth curled downwards. "We're-- we're teammates. We're friends. Aren't we? I mean, not Ford and Mitchell and myself, but you and I are, right?"
"Yeah," John said, both touched and surprised -- at McKay, and at himself. "We're friends."
The thing was, John didn't have a lot of friends. There were plenty of people who liked him -- there had been a couple of guys at Bagram he'd played chess with, and he and Holland had started hanging out after one memorable PS2 NFL tournament -- but he'd never really felt like he was part of anything, and there had never been anyone with whom he'd really connected. Dex and Mitch had always had his back, even when he'd done things they didn't approve of (like sneak around with Holland), but he was pretty sure the only time they'd ever taken him seriously was in the field. And they hadn't been the only ones who'd treated him that way. It was something John had always had trouble understanding, because seriously, he was such a cool guy.
He knew exactly who to blame for all his problems. "Sometimes I have so many feelings," a teenage John had once said to his father. "Keep it to yourself," his dad had replied.
For some reason, knowing McKay didn't have many -- if any -- friends, and yet considered John one, made John, well, feel kind of close to him, in a way he never expected. Part of him wanted to ignore it, but another part of him couldn't stop thinking about the sincere look on McKay's face.
That look haunted him for the next few days. On the third day, Mitchell knocked on his door at seven AM and asked if he wanted to go for a jog.
"When you said 'jog,' I thought you meant around a track," John panted as they ran through level twelve side-by-side. They'd passed John's door four times by now. "Why don't we go to the gym on level thirteen?"
"I don't run with Russians," Mitchell said darkly. "They smell like potatoes."
"I guess that's as good a reason as any," John said slowly, eyes on the wall ahead.
When they stopped for a water break outside the communal toilet, John found himself leaning his hands on his knees and asking, "Hey, Mitchell, how well do you know McKay?"
Mitchell gave him an odd look as he towelled the sweat off his brow. "I know he used to work for Area 51 and got sent here because he pissed off General Landry and Major Carter. Teal'c got stuck in the stargate--"
"Hold on, that can happen?" John asked worriedly. No one had ever told him you could die in the stargate. Sure, near, in front of, behind, and in the general vicinity of, but not in.
Mitchell ran a hand through his short, damp hair. "Nah, not that often, I'm pretty sure. Anyway, Teal'c got stuck, and McKay wanted to turn off the stargate, which would've--"
"Killed him," John finished with a dawning realization. No wonder Carter hated him. Well, that, and he was annoying. "Did McKay ever, you know, apologize?"
"McKay, apologize?" Mitchell replied with a snort, which was all the answer John needed. "No one likes him. Get this, they sent him here so they'd never have to deal with him again, and then everyone had to come here after Anubis... A lot of people were pissed. A couple of the geeks were from Area 51 and had to work with him back in the day. They say he's not any better now. I reckon General Landry put him on our team hoping he'd get a staff weapon to the face."
John frowned. "How do you know all this?"
"I talk to people. People talk to me. It's not hard. You oughta try it sometime."
"Hey, I talk to people," John said indignantly.
"No, you talk to Aiden, Quinn, and me," corrected Mitchell. "I know you don't like people, but you should try being more social. The future Mrs Sheppard could be out there."
The last Mrs Sheppard hadn't spoken to him since he'd cheated on her with her brother, but John had a feeling it wasn't a good idea to share that with Mitchell, not unless he wanted everyone else at the SGC to know too. (Also, she was probably dead, so he would have felt bad talking about her like that.) Instead, he bent down and took his time tying and retying his laces.
"Man, listen to me," Mitchell said fondly. "I sound like my mom."
He went quiet, and John cringed; Mitchell's family had been in Kansas, which was currently under several hundred feet of nuclear-poisoned earth and water. He diligently pretended to work on a knot.
When he stood back up, Mitchell was draining the last of his water bottle, but his eyes were sad. "What's up with all the questions, anyway?" Mitchell asked.
John shrugged. "I think I should spend more time with him. As team leader," he added awkwardly. He didn't feel embarrassed, exactly, but he felt weird about Mitchell knowing he and McKay were friends.
"Great, losers unite," Mitchell said. John glowered at him, but Mitchell didn't seem to care.
This time when they reached John's door again, Mitchell decided they were done for the day. Good-naturedly, he called as he headed towards the elevators, "You have fun with McKay. I'm gonna go sit in the mess and gaze longingly over at SG-1's table. See you later, alligator."
John rolled his eyes -- and he'd called John a loser -- and headed inside for a shower.
*
Most of the lab doors on level nineteen were closed, but one or two were open; on his way to visit McKay, John passed one room where a few scientists were territorially circling some kind of cylindrical, glowy rock while debating matter. As he approached McKay's lab a single, angry-sounding voice got louder and louder. Suddenly, the door slammed open and out ran two terrified-looking scientists, almost knocking into John.
"Whoa there," he said, catching Dr Lee's glasses before they hit the floor.
"Thanks," said Lee. He put them back on his nose, where they perched crookedly. He didn't seem to notice. "Dr McKay's in quite a mood."
"Major Carter figured out something before he did," explained the other scientist, Dr Rode, wringing her hands.
"Well, I don't know why he's so upset," Lee said indignantly. "Someone was bound to realize sooner or later it used zero point energy. If it hadn't been Major Carter it would have been someone else. Maybe even me."
"Or me," Rode said, narrowing her eyes.
John ducked into McKay's lab as they started arguing among themselves. As soon as the door shut, McKay sneered, "What can you idiots possibly-- oh, it's you."
"Just me," John replied lightly.
John had only been in there a few times, but he was unsurprised to see the lab a total wreck. Empty pudding and Jell-O cups, gnawed-on pencils, and files littered the tables. A half-finished equation was on the white board. On the opposite wall, an empty can of Folgers was turned over on the bookshelf. McKay was hunched over a laptop and glaring.
"Hurricane McKay strikes again, I see," John said.
"Funny," McKay said. His t-shirt today said 'I'm Huge in Japan,' and it was a little snug around his arms, which suddenly looked a lot stronger than John had realized.
John, trying to keep his eyes off McKay's arms or chest or shoulders, tried peering around McKay's laptop. "Whatcha doing?"
"Something far too important for you to understand," McKay scoffed, moving his laptop so John couldn't see what was on it. "Why are you here?"
If John hadn't known McKay secretly wanted to be his best friend, he would've been hurt. "Just wanted to see what you were up to," he replied. "I thought you might want to go running with me in the mornings."
"I don't know who it was who told you I work out, but they were lying," McKay said shortly, giving him the stink eye.
"No one told me. I figured you might want to, you know, hang out."
"Oh." McKay looked thoughtful. "I'm not in the mood to give myself a heart attack, but we could do something else, maybe?"
Was McKay coming onto him? "I, uh..."
McKay reached under his bench and took out a cardboard box, setting it on the table. He dug around for a moment, then pulled out two of the Star Trek movies. A quick peek told John there were a bunch of DVDs in there. "How do you feel about Star Trek: The Original Series?"
John wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. "That depends," he said instead, leaning a hip against the bench. "We don't have to watch the one with the whales, do we?"
McKay snorted. "Only if we're trying to punish ourselves. Quick: who was originally up for the role of Spock?"
"Martin Landau," John replied automatically.
McKay looked impressed. "Congratulations, you've just outed yourself as a Trekkie."
"I believe the term is Trekker," John said.
Together, the two of them carted McKay's laptop to an unoccupied lounge ("Supposedly, this is for my so-called peers," McKay explained, "but I don't think anyone ever uses it") and watched two Star Trek movies and The Matrix. It had been a long time since John had hung out with someone who knew about his love of sci-fi and didn't think it was lame. During a heated argument over which Star Trek movie was the best -- John's vote was for The Wrath of Khan, but McKay's personal favourite was The Search for Spock -- John realized this was the most fun he'd had in months. McKay was still a jerk; he kept insulting John and their team and the other SGC personnel offhandedly, like he didn't even notice he was doing it, but it wasn't nearly as irritating as it had been a month ago. In fact, now it was kind of funny. They'd played Xbox together just last week, and chess a few days before, but things were a lot easier between them now since McKay had admitted John was his friend.
As soon as McKay stopped to take a breath, John said, happily, "It's nice we can talk like this."
"Whoa," said Rodney, holding up his hands, "let's not ruin the moment with feelings, okay?"
Movies turned into chess, chess turned into MechaAssult, MechaAssult turned into sitting around and just hanging out, and by the end of the week, they were eating meals together and writing emails to each other when they should've been working. It was strange McKay was the first one on the team John was the most comfortable with, but, well, McKay was his age and liked a lot of the same stuff (except sports; he was pretty adamant about that), why shouldn't they spend time together? It beat getting pitying looks from Sergeant Harriman whenever he caught John eating alone.
"The defense didn't cover the receiver because he didn't think the quarterback could throw that far," John was saying on the walk back to his quarters from a team pow-wow late one night, two weeks after almost getting his ass kicked over a flower.
"You realize I don't care about any of this, right?" McKay asked crossly. He looked offended. "Who the hell likes Star Trek and football?"
John narrowed his eyes. "Me, that's who. Come on, what's not to love about football? It's real, it's unpredictable, it's full of passion and... beer... and hotdogs..."
"Cheerleaders," McKay agreed. He smiled blissfully, caught up in some memory John didn't want to know anything about.
They reached John's door soon enough, but when McKay didn't show any signs of leaving John said pointedly, "Night, McKay."
McKay blinked, freezing. "Oh. Yes. Right, I'll see you tomorrow then." He wandered back towards the elevators, muttering to himself.
John couldn't help laughing as he got ready for bed, first brushing his teeth in the restroom down the hall and then tossing his BDU pants in his overflowing hamper. He tried reading another chapter of a book he's borrowed from Jonas -- something about Ancient Egyptian religion, but at least it was in English -- but three paragraphs in his eyes started to droop. The book slipped from his hands, but he was too tired to set it back on the nightstand...
"Come on, what are the odds of me having the same gene as these guys?" John asked.
Much to the Scottish guy's obvious horror, John took a seat in the freaky blue chair. As soon as his ass touched the seat, the back reclined, startling him. The armrests under his hands lit up, and blue tinged his vision; the back of the chair had probably lit up too. The Scottish guy yelped, "Dr Weir! Don't move!" he lectured John, holding out a hand like he expect John to leap from the chair, and then he scurried off.
John couldn't get up if he tried. While he stared at the domed ceiling, frozen in place, several people ran up to him: Rodney, Scottish Guy, O'Neill, Weir, and a familiar-looking man wearing round glasses, all with identical shocked expressions.
"Who is this?" asked Weir. She was gazing at John like he was too good to be true.
"I said don't touch anything," said O'Neill, sounding pissed.
John was in so much trouble. "I-- I just sat down," he explained.
Rodney, looking like he'd packed on a few pounds and dressed in a puffy orange vest, instructed clearly, "Major, think about where we are in the solar system."
John did. In the empty space above him, a beautiful digital image of the solar system formed. It came out of nowhere, but McKay looked like he'd expected it.
"Did I do that?" John asked worriedly.
They all started talking at once. Rodney was making excited sweeps with his arms, and the beaming smile on Weir's face was blinding. Even O'Neill got into it. The four of them seemed to forget John was there, throwing out words like, "Ancient gene" and "aliens" and "stargate."
John started to move, but a firm hand on his arm stopped him. The guy in glasses was leaning over him with an intense expression. None of the others seemed to notice what he was doing; they continued their argument without so much as glancing in John's direction.
"John, you will go to the Dagoba System," the man said. "No, wait, Taonas. Now that's just embarrassing." He sighed, shoving something into John's hand: a piece of paper with a seven-symbol gate address on it. "This is all Teal'c's fault. Taonas. You really want to go to Taonas."
John's eyes snapped open. I have to get to Taonas, he thought immediately.
He rolled over violently and fell out of bed and onto the floor. It was enough to wake him up completely.
After a long run that made his legs feel wobbly, John found himself in the mess. He grabbed a carton each of Cheerio's and milk and was heading back towards the exit when he noticed a familiar, hulking figure sitting at one of the tables.
John sat down. "Hey."
"Hello, Major Sheppard," Teal'c said blandly. His tray was piled high with eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast, fruit, and two different types of juice. He didn't blink an eye at John joining him.
"Can I ask you a personal question?"
Teal'c rose an eyebrow. "You may."
"Do you like Star Wars?" John asked.
"I do not like Star Wars, Major Sheppard," said Teal'c. John was beginning to feel a faint sense of disappointment when Teal'c added, "I love Star Wars."
"Was there any way I would've known that?" John asked.
Teal'c cocked his head. "You may have known this if you've spoken to O'Neill."
In other words, no, John thought, stomach twisting nervously. But this time his fear was tinged with excitement; something was happening here, something real, and something important. First Landry had known something about Atlantis, whatever it was, and now this. He wasn't going nuts after all. He just wished he knew what exactly this important thing was.
*
But John didn't get a chance to try to figure out why he was getting visions telling him to go to Taonas, because later that day he and his team went through the gate. It had taken them a few missions, but they had a routine by now: Ford had enough C4 in his tac vest pockets to blow up what was left of Texas, Mitchell was clutching a grenade in his hand, and both John and Rodney had their safeties off before they even walked through the event horizon. The MALP hadn't found any signs of human (or humanoid, whatever) life on P4Y-1264, but John sure wasn't placing any bets.
On the other side of the wormhole was a room, which hadn't been what John was expecting. This was the first time he'd gone through the gate and ended up indoors, not counting all the times he'd gated back to the SGC from another planet. The dry, musty air and the hard flooring under his feet threw him off a second.
From the looks of things, they were in some kind of laboratory. Along three of the walls were dusty glass cases, each one of them packed with fragile-looking dirt and sand at varying levels. They sat on tall, grey consoles, with computer screens built onto the top, directly in front of the glass cases. It would've looked like a museum had it not been for the table lined with misshapen beakers and unfamiliar, decaying equipment.
"Hey, those look like terrariums," said Ford, peering over John's shoulder.
McKay frowned at him. "What?"
"Terrariums," Ford repeated, shrugging. "You know, you grow mini-environments in them, maybe have a frog or two? I had to make one in high school Bio."
John remembered that, kind of. He was pretty sure all his plants had died though. High school was a crazy time. "You think this was a garden?" he asked.
"Nope," said Mitchell. He was standing at the fourth wall, where there were no terrariums, awkwardly poking the lit screen of one of the computers and squinting at it. The terminal was almost as high as his shoulders.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" John asked warily, edging towards him. He wasn't in the mood to get blown up today.
"Don't touch anything!" McKay exclaimed, shoving past John and Ford to stand beside Mitchell. "How stupid can you possibly be?"
Mitchell pointed the screen, glaring at McKay. "There's plans for a city in there."
"How'd you turn it on?" John asked. He glanced around. None of the other screens were lit up.
"I touched it, and bam, there it was. It's one of those touch-pads, like they have at the bank."
Rodney scoffed. "They're called 'touch screens,' genius. And how'd you know this was a city? It's all in... alien. Don't tell me they teach you alien in the Air Force now."
"I knew because it looks like a city," Mitchell said irritably.
As Mitchell turned to let McKay touch the screen, John caught a glimpse of some kind of blocky, Lego-like script scrolling across it. "It doesn't look like any language I've ever seen," he mused. Not that he had a lot of experience in alien civilizations or anything, but he liked to think he could contribute somehow.
"You think?" McKay asked sarcastically. John resisted the urge to reach over and flick his ear.
While the rest of his team was gawking at that, John wandered off, looking to see if they'd missed anything. When he reached the far eastern wall a door panel silently slid open, automatically.
"Huh," John said.
He waited for something to happen, like an explosion or something to rush out and attack him, but nothing did. He poked his head in. It was a tiny room, with a small table and a white, boxy crate that John would have said was a refrigerator, had they been on Earth.
"Don't go in there alone, what's wrong with you?" McKay shouted.
John rolled his eyes. "I think this is a break room."
Behind him, Rodney let out an exasperated sigh. "What, an alien break room? It can't be--" He came up beside John, blinking comically. "Or maybe it is a breakroom. What are the odds?"
Mitchell raided the fridge while Ford took photos of the terrariums and Rodney muttered to himself, trying to download the data from the computers onto his PDA with some kind of scary-looking USB cable. Without much else to do, John paced the laboratory, keeping his eye on things. He wondered what would happen if he started pressing random buttons on the consoles.
"Y'all, I think the refrigerator still works," Mitchell called when John was walking right in front of the break room's doorway. His voice bounced around the inside of the crate. "Too bad the aliens didn't leave any brewskies in here. I think there's something in-- oh, gross. Okay, whatever you do, don't touch that. Anyone got any hand sanitizer?"
Ford took out a tiny bottle from his tac vest pocket and tossed it into the room. It sailed over John's shoulder. Mitchell rubbed a generous amount on his hands, making a face.
On John's fourth trip around the room, he noticed something he hadn't seen before: a thin, horizontal line going across one of the terrarium consoles, right beneath the screen. John poked it with his finger; it retracted slightly and pushed back. He felt along the side, and--
"Rodney, there's a drawer here," he said, pulling it open.
The only thing in there was something that looked like a miniature satellite dish and a remote control. He set the dish beside the terrarium and studied the remote, which was small and black and had one large, red button on its face.
McKay set his PDA down and joined John. "What is that?" he asked.
John touched the button. A tiny, red laser shot out of the dish and hit the wall, but otherwise nothing happened. "What the hell is the point of this?" he asked.
"Try aiming it at some of the equipment," Rodney said eagerly.
Mitchell came out of the break room saying, "Whoa, whoa, we're on a reconnaissance mission. The General didn't say anything about playing with the alien equipment."
Ford, predictably, said, "I agree with Captain Mitchell, sir. It could be dangerous."
"I'm making a command decision," John replied defensively. "We're trying this out. It's not going to hurt anything."
They tried aiming it at the terrariums, the refrigerator, the walls, and even, after careful deliberation, John, but the only thing that happened was the dish beaming out red light.
"Maybe you're not doing it right. Hand it over," Rodney insisted, prying it out of John's fingers.
So they tried the last thing they could think of: ice from the alien freezer. As soon as McKay hit the switch, a beam of light shot out of the dish and melted it into a puddle.
"Oh," John said, excited they made it work. Then he realized all it could do was melt ice. His shoulders slumped. "Oh."
"Well, that was incredibly disappointing," said McKay. The rest of his team looked equally dejected.
"I don't know, I thought it was kinda cool," Ford said. McKay shot him a nasty look.
Surprisingly, General Landry wasn't happy about their finding. When they told him they'd found something, he asked, face glowing with excitement, "Did you find it? Tell me you found it," which didn't make any sense to John. It wasn't like they'd been looking for anything specific. But as soon as Rodney and Mitchell gave him an overview of the laboratory, Landry's face fell. He didn't seem too interested after that; he told John to brief SG-9 and let them take care of it, much to John's team's disappointment.
"But, sir," John protested, exchanging a glance with a panicked-looking Rodney, "it's our discovery, shouldn't we--?"
"Your team is needed for more important things than cataloguing dusty lab equipment, Major," Landry snapped.
"What could possibly be more important than an alien laboratory equipped to deal with a food shortage problem?" McKay demanded. "In case you haven't noticed, there isn't much arable land left on Earth."
"That's why SG-9 will be handling it," Landry replied.
Rodney squeaked, "But--"
"Make sure Mr Quinn gets all of the reading material," Landry said, before storming away. Mitchell and Ford looked as confused as John felt.
The team quietly watched Landry leave. John could practically feel the rage steaming off Rodney. He was a little pissed off himself; it was their undiscovered alien lab, they should've been the ones to take it apart, not SG-9. SG-9 had two botanists and a guy whose default tone of voice was sarcastic, for God's sake. They weren't nearly as awesome as John's team was. He knew Rodney could figure out what all that alien stuff was long before anyone on SG-9 could.
"Were we supposed to be looking for something?" asked Mitchell, brow knitting.
"You would know," Rodney sneered. It was his turn to make a big production of leaving; he hurried off in the same direction Landry had, his "General Landry!" echoing as he disappeared down the stairs.
Mitchell looked uncomfortable. Ford did too, but it was a completely different kind of uncomfortable. "Sheppard, you know I'm not--" Mitchell began.
"Yeah, sure," John said dismissively. He knew Mitchell wasn't hiding anything, but he also knew Mitchell was reporting to Landry everything John said and did. Just because John understood didn't mean he was totally cool with it. He left his two teammates and followed the path McKay had taken out of the briefing room.
He bumped into McKay standing red-faced in the corridor. "He won't listen to me," Rodney explained. "I told him about the ice-melting beam, and he said, and I quote, 'What use is that? We can melt ice too. It's a special thing called room temperature,' and then he said he had a meeting with SG-1. Hmph."
With a report to prepare, John gave Rodney a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and headed for his office. He wondered if Landry was expecting his team to find something offworld. But if he did, why wouldn't he have told John? Or Mitchell, at the very least; John knew he was desperate to get close to his heroes, and not opposed to kissing Landry's ass.
The next day, SG-9 headed for P4Y-1264. John watched jealously from the control room. One of the guys on the team -- the sarcastic one, John noted, not one of the botanists or geologists or whatever they were -- gave him a little wave before following Colonel Edwards through the gate, as if he knew what John was thinking. They were back the next morning before John woke, and their data was immediately sent to Jonas for translating, who was supposed to send it to one of the other scientists for analysis.
Things were strained at breakfast. Rodney and Mitchell weren't speaking to each other. Ford, riled up from the tension, kept nervously knocking things over. At one point he flipped a piece of toast into McKay's lap.
"Jesus," McKay snapped, grabbing a handful of napkins to wipe off the butter and grape jelly, "how the hell are you an explosives expert? Don't you need to have steady hands for that kind of work?"
"Rodney, leave him alone," John said. McKay glared at John but wisely kept his mouth shut.
After a knocking back his own toast and orange juice ("You're going to choke if you keep eating that fast," McKay warned), John jumped up and said, "I'm going to see what SG-9 brought back."
On his way out of the mess, he bumped into Viktor Damurchiev.
"Major Sheppard," said Viktor, straightening his jacket, "we should discuss the sharing of informations."
"Sure, maybe later," John said, knowing full well it was never going to happen.
Viktor must have realized this too, because his smile grew strained. When John left him, he was muttering something under his breath that sounded like, "Amerikanski. Huyeplet."
When John made it to Jonas's office, Jonas was talking to the same guy from SG-9 who had waved at John the day before. Several open books lay open on his desk, as well as some plain, paper notebooks, filled with scribbling. "It's just so fascinating," Jonas was saying, face bright with excitement.
"What's up, Sheppard," said the guy, spotting John. Captain Lorne, if John remembered right. E-something. Erwin, maybe. Erwin Lorne. He didn't really look like an Erwin though.
"Hey," John replied, approaching the desk. "How's it coming along?"
Jonas beamed. "There's so much interesting material here. I'm not even sure where to begin."
"I thought McKay said it was all about plants," John said, raising an eyebrow.
"Some of the database was, sure. But the rest of it-- you saw those city plans, right?" Jonas asked. Too caught up in his discovery, he didn't bother to wait for John's reply. "I need to look at it some more. The only thing I was able to really decipher was something about overpopulation."
John leaned over to peek at Jonas's notes -- which didn't work; Jonas's notes weren't in English -- and said, "Maybe they were looking for ways to thin the herd, if you know what I mean."
Lorne looked concerned. But Jonas grinned and replied, "Ouch, that's cynical. You've been spending too much time with McKay."
"Ugh, I can't stand that guy," Lorne said.
John shrugged. "I like McKay," he said. Then, with some alarm, he realized it was true: he liked McKay. He liked McKay a lot.
"Don't tell Mitchell," he added.
*
In March, John had a chance to take a day trip to Nizhneudinsk. Part of him had expected the snow to be on the verge of melting, but instead Siberia in March looked exactly the same as Siberia in December. Rodney, who John had dragged along for the ride, claimed this was a result of the nuclear winter.
"It was about minus six here last March," he explained. His voice was muffled from a neon green scarf he had wrapped around his neck and chin. John did the math in his head: that was about eighteen degrees Fahrenheit. It was easily twenty or thirty degrees colder than that now, and the sun was covered by big, black clouds of soot, which only made it feel colder.
They got through one used bookstore and one tiny, hole-in-the-wall toy store before Rodney's bitching started to grate John's nerves.
"I'm freezing my balls off here," Rodney said for the third time.
"Jesus, Rodney, would you give it a rest?" John finally snapped, exasperated. "I get it, you're cold. I'm cold too, in case you haven't noticed."
Rodney huffed. "Why didn't you bring Quinn with you?"
John glanced at him sideways. "Can't, you're the only one who gets my jokes."
In truth, John hadn't wanted to take anyone else. Ford was too chatty (not to mention way younger than John, which just made it creepy), he and Mitchell didn't have much in common outside of sports and planes, and Jonas was a cool guy, but John couldn't imagine spending an entire day with him off base. When Sergeant Silar had told John it was his turn to use the hum-vee, he'd immediately known he and McKay were going to Nizhneudinsk, whether McKay liked it or not. Rodney must have wanted to get out of the SGC as well, because he had agreed to come before John had even finished asking the question.
"No one gets your jokes because they're appallingly bad," McKay said.
"Hey, you laughed at the Justice League one."
"I was laughing because it was so horrible," McKay replied, but he was grinning.
Together, they bought a bunch of pirated action movies with really horrible English subtitles, and John found a stack of old, used romance novels. They might have been crappy, but they were written in English, and that was all John cared about. But the best find of the day was the set of rusty golf clubs John got from a thrift store. Rodney was in the middle of a rant on how golf was the most boring sport in the world (after NASCAR racing, which, Rodney said, didn't count as a sport) when he spotted one of those ship in a bottle kits. John rolled his eyes as Rodney forked over five hundred roubles for it.
"I never realized you were an old man, McKay," John said as they walked back out into the bitter cold.
"I'm running out of physics journals," Rodney retorted.
John hefted the clubs higher on his shoulder. "You could read a book."
"We live in a post-apocalyptic world and are fighting a race of parasitic aliens," McKay said. "Why would I want to read fiction? Besides, I was never very good at using my imagination. It's one of my very few character flaws."
The drive home consisted of a few hours of bad Russian pop music, an argument of which was colder, Russia or Canada (or the Island of St Trudeau, as the remains were now called), and "I Spy" games. John was saying, "I spy with my little eye something..." when he noticed McKay watching him with a sappy, lopsided smile. John felt the intensity of his gaze all the way down to the tips of his toes. He swallowed thickly. "What, do I have something on my face?" he asked, feeling weirdly embarrassed.
McKay looked away with a sharp jerk of his head, as if coming out of a daze. "What the hell are we listening to? Music like this makes me glad civilization ended." He reached over the started fiddling with the dial, and John was stuck listening to Beethoven for the rest of the ride.
Part Three