New SGA fic: Forget Me Not (4 of 5)

[maisierita]

It would be an exaggeration to say everything gets better immediately. It would even be an exaggeration to say it's all better a few weeks in, when they've got their new schedules worked out and John's learned his way around the fields. But it's still much better than it had been, and that, Rodney reflects, is a good thing.

If John is still occasionally irritable, if he seems sometimes to resent working in the fields almost as much as working in Rodney's apartment, if he seems every once in a while to forcibly contort himself back into the role of servant, then maybe that's just the way he is now. It's different than he was before, but different doesn't mean worse, even if he's a little less easy to live with than he used to be. Rodney likes challenges; also, John feels a little more genuine to Rodney now, more like a real person, less like someone who's been programmed to act a certain way.

Most days, though, John's a lot happier than he was. He goes to the fields two days a week, and on those days Rodney doesn't see him until late, after dinner, when he comes home filthy and exhausted and aching. Raku wasn't kidding: they work people hard in the fields. John's more tired on those days than he ever was after a day in the mines, so tired that he's barely got the energy to drag himself into the shower, and there is never any conversation or sex on those nights-there's really hardly any interaction at all. John heads straight for the shower and then straight for bed, and it doesn't matter, on those nights, whether Rodney's ready for bed himself or not.

The sun's turning John's skin bronze while the work's reshaping his body, broadening his shoulders, thinning his waist. "You look like a model," Rodney says one morning after John gets out of the shower.

"A model what?" John asks. He pulls the towel from around his waist and rubs it through his hair, exposing the rest of his tanned, glistening body.

Rodney swallows hard, and looks away. "That's completely unfair. I'm leaving for work in three minutes."

"Sorry," John says, but he is completely unrepentant, although he does wrap the towel back around his waist, restoring a little bit of modesty and some of Rodney's self-control. "A model what?"

"Oh. Just, you know." Rodney waves his hand around vaguely. "A model. Someone who stands around and looks pretty for a living."

John sounds interested. "People do that?"

"Sure." Although Rodney isn't actually completely sure about it, because certainly nobody does that in the compound, but he's pretty sure there are people who do it somewhere, and it's definitely not a concept he would have made up himself. This is just one more item on the list of things he can't talk about with anybody but John. The list is pretty long by now.

"Sounds boring," John says. "And unproductive."

"God forbid," Rodney says dryly. John is all about being productive. Even moreso, now. The long days in the fields are burning away his chronic restlessness, but he's still got more energy than he knows what to do with.

"You're going to be late," John says. He flicks the towel over his shoulder and walks, bare-assed, into the bedroom. "I'm making ita root casserole for dinner tonight," he calls out from the other room. "Picked the roots myself. And ice cream for dessert. Don't be late."

"I'm never late for ice cream," Rodney calls back. And then he curses, because he's going to be late for work if he doesn't leave right now.

~~

Mid-day comes, time for lunch, but Rodney's deep in some theoretical calculations and doesn't want to leave, so he's all alone in the lab, snacking on a nutrition bar, when an Administrative Aide shows up. "Inmate," she says formally, "the Administrator Raku has requested your presence in his office."

Rodney doesn't panic. Much. But Raku's never sent for him before; Raku is always wandering around, and just seems to show up at random. Rodney hadn't even realized Raku had an office, although obviously he must. All the other Administrators do, in the big, gleaming Administrative Tower. Nothing good ever comes of being called there, though, and the stiff, formal way the Aide is speaking doesn't bode well either.

Except Rodney hasn't done anything that would warrant such a summons. "Is it John?" he asks, shutting down the computer in a hurry. "Is he okay? Did something happen?"

"I was not advised of the reason you were summoned," she says. "Only that you were."

"Right. Of course. But are you sure Raku didn't say anything informative? Like maybe if I'm in trouble? Although I can't imagine why I would be, because I have been following all the rules. Except, okay, maybe I have been eating a few too many meals at home each week but I'm only using the rations I've been given, and I don't see how it can be held against me that we eat leftovers."

"The sooner we reach the Administrator's office," the Aide says primly, "the sooner you will learn why you were summoned there."

Rodney worries the entire way there, for the long walk down the narrow thoroughfare that leads to the central transport hub, and all during the short ride to the central Administrative Tower. It's a fairly long trip, and Rodney has an extensive imagination, so by the time they reach the Tower, Rodney has worked himself up into a huge hypothetical panic. Since Rodney can't seriously believe he will be punished for a food-related infraction, most of his panic is centered around something bad having happened to John.

Rodney has only ever been to the Tower once that he can recall, on the day he was upranked from a support position to a supervisory one, and it has grown no less foreboding in the interim. There are personal transport vehicles parked all around the building's perimeter: transportation for the Administrators who live outside the compound. Outside the compound, Rodney thinks a little jealously, with husbands and wives and families, and all their memories intact.

There are two strange vehicles parked in the lot as well: short and squat and oblong, of a design Rodney's never seen before. His stomach flutters-nerves, he thinks-and he follows the Administrative Aide quietly up the stairs, biting his cheek to stay quiet.

As they reach the second floor, there's a blur of movement and then John's there in front of him, looking harassed and wild-eyed. "Rodney! Jesus, I thought-they wouldn't tell me anything. I thought you were dead or something."

Rodney sags a little with relief. "Me too. I mean, I thought you were dead. Or something." Or Treated, he doesn't say. Tortured and memory stripped away again, downranked and sent to the pits ... it's such a relief to see John standing there, whole and healthy and in full possession of his memories (such as they are), that Rodney almost reaches out and hugs him. But John's funny about physical contact outside of the bedroom, and they are in public. The master/servant relationship is understood to be often intimate, but only in private.

"There are people here," John says. His voice is low, barely audible. "In uniforms, with weapons. They keep staring at me."

Rodney sees them over John's shoulder. They are staring in his direction; when they see him looking, they look away unsubtly. The uniforms are dark, somber, and ominous; the weapons are rifles of a sort, sleek and lethal, very different from the small, innocuous-looking subduers the security officers here use. "Soldiers," Rodney says.

"Fuck," John says, incomprehensibly.

"What?"

John blinks. "What?"

"You," Rodney says. "You said 'fuck'. You say that sometimes. What is it?"

"I don't know." John glances over at the looming soldiers. His jaw clenches. "What if they're-I don't even know what I did, Rodney. The Aide wouldn't tell me. It could have been-they're here for us. We must have done something."

"Maybe they're here for me," Rodney says. "It might have been me. You might not have had anything to do with it."

"If it had been you, they wouldn't have called me here," John says. "They might have called you here for me, but they'd never call me here for you."

This is almost certainly true. If John has done something bad, Rodney as his direct supervisor bears responsibility, but that relationship doesn't work both ways. This is only minimally comforting, particularly in the light of the strange, oblique glances they are both receiving from the soldiers at the other end of the hall.

"Maybe," John says, his voice a low and urgent whisper, "they know we're remembering things."

A coil of nausea slowly starts unfurling in Rodney's belly. "That's impossible," he whispers back. "I've never said anything to anyone." Except he's told everyone about John's pizza and ice cream; he's lectured his coworkers about Planck's constant and the theory of relativity. "Have you?"

"I don't know." John's gaze flicks to the soldiers and back again. "I might have."

"You said you only do it around me," Rodney hisses. "With the ... the weird expletives and the song lyrics and the strange alphabet!"

"I've never written in front of anyone else," John whispers fiercely. "But the rest ... Jesus, Rodney, I don't even know when I'm doing it. You're the only one who ever calls me on it."

"You just did it again. The Jesus thing. You have to stop doing that."

"I'm not doing it on purpose! It just happens!"

They glare at each other for a second, and then John glances over at the soldiers again. "They're still staring. Did you see those weapons?"

"No, I missed the huge rifles they're wearing around their necks because of my previously undiagnosed severe vision impairment."

"Maybe they're afraid we're going to remember what we did. Maybe that's why the soldiers are here. They think we're some kind of threat."

"I'm not a threat to anyone, except maybe Vanka, but seriously, he is too stupid to live and should never have been allowed anywhere near the lab."

"Rodney!" John hisses.

"What? I'm nervous! When I'm nervous, I babble. I can't help it. And don't pretend this is news to you."

John's eyes flick to the soldiers again, assessing them, Rodney thinks: the way they stand, the way they hold their weapons. "If they think we're a threat," he whispers finally, "they might Treat us again."

At that, the nausea that's been leisurely unfolding in Rodney's stomach turns into full-blown gastronomic distress. "No," Rodney whispers back fiercely. "No. They can't." He can't. Can't lose everything again, not now when he's just started to claw back bits and pieces of what was taken away, starting to build some sort of life that has purpose and meaning. "We won't let them."

"Let them? We have implants, Rodney. How in the hell can we stop them?"

"I don't know! But Raku's never been irrational. He's always ... he was very reasonable about the Elsha thing. If we just talk to him ..."

"Raku," John says with a frown, "never believes a thing you say until he gets it out of you with truth serum. Don't let the smiles and handshakes fool you. We're just inmates to him."

The door closest to them opens, and the Administrative Aide steps out, wearing a wan, polite smile. "The Administrator will see you now."

John steps forward in front of Rodney. "Stay behind me," he says, low and under his breath.

"What are you going to do, throw yourself on a grenade for me? We're in the Administrative Tower, John, not a war zone."

"Behind me," John repeats flatly.

"I think you're forgetting who's the servant in this relationship," Rodney whispers back sourly, but John's tone brooks no disagreement, and he is already moving in front of Rodney towards the open door.

The soldiers are staring openly now, talking among themselves, and Rodney wonders bleakly, and not for the first time, what the hell is going on.

~~

The first person Rodney sees inside the office is Raku, hovering nervously by the door. He looks tall and austere in his official Administrator robes, but his face is drawn and tense. Behind him there are other Administrators-five, Rodney counts, in a blind panic; he didn't know there were that many in the whole compound-and two of the foreign soldiers over by the window, the black of their uniforms stark against the white silk of the Administrators' robes.

"Are we in trouble?" he blurts out from his position behind John's shoulder. John in front of him is tense and wary, his right hand clenched and twitching strangely down by his thigh. He has not moved more than a step into the room, like he is ...

... protecting you, Rodney; yes, I damn well am; it's my goddamn job, so stay the fuck behind me! ...

Rodney starts, but John hasn't moved, and no one else is reacting. Because it wasn't real, Rodney thinks. Because he didn't say anything. Not here and now. But in the there and then, somewhere else, somewhen else, John had said those words; they're etched into the architecture of Rodney's brain, but what good does that do him to remember them now, except to prove what he's already figured out on his own? That John's been there for him before ...

... don't worry; I've got your six ...

Whatever that means.

"No," Raku says, in answer to Rodney's question. Rodney blinks, because it seems like hours have passed already. "No, of course you're not in trouble."

"You hauled us down here without telling us why," John says, brutally, glacially cold. He has not moved a muscle since they walked into the room, and his body is a solid mass in front of Rodney: a defensive wall. "What did you expect us to think?"

"I'm sorry," Raku says. He looks wretchedly unhappy. He is even wringing his hands. Rodney doesn't think he's ever seen anyone actually do that before. Probably not even in his previous life. The other Administrators are milling about, and none of them will look Rodney in the eye. "I didn't mean for you to think there was anything wrong ... I just didn't want to give the Aides any details that could be taken out of context."

"Details about what?" Rodney asks. "Why are we here?"

His voice a little strangled, Raku answers, "There are people here to see you."

"The soldiers," Rodney whispers into John's ear. John tenses even further, his right hand twitching again. Reaching for a weapon, Rodney thinks. Knows. His body remembers, even if his mind doesn't.

The Administrators part, silently and a little awkwardly, dancing around each other to get out of the way, and the soldiers from the back of the room come forward: two women, one tall and fair, the other small and lithe and dark. They're both smiling nervously as they step forward.

John has gone stock-still, utterly rigid. He croaks out a nonsense word, "Teyla?"

The smaller woman breaks out in a wide, relieved grin. "John," she says. She smiles at her companion, then turns back, beaming, to John. "They said you would not remember."

"I don't," John says. He's trembling. "I dreamt you. But I never thought you were real." With a step forward, he's in arm's length of her, and he reaches out with a shaking hand to touch her shoulder. "Are you?"

She laughs, a gentle cascade of sound. "Very much so." She places her fingers over his, and squeezes lightly, then lets her warm gaze come to settle on Rodney, gifting him with a similarly friendly smile, filled with affection. "We have searched for you both for quite some time."

"Are you his wife?" Rodney blurts out. He can't help it.

The woman-Teyla?-laughs again, and her taller companion smothers a grin. "No, Rodney. We are teammates, that is all. You and I and John and Ronon."

"Ronon," John repeats, obviously testing the sound and shape of the word out. He looks at the other woman speculatively. "Is that you?"

"God, no," the woman says, obviously taken aback. Then she plasters a smile on her face and says, "I'm Colonel Samantha Carter. Your boss."

"I don't remember you," John says. He glances at Rodney, who shakes his head. "We don't remember you."

"That's all right," Teyla says gently. "We remember you."

"Administrator Raku," the woman called Colonel Samantha Carter says-what a lot of names, Rodney thinks, and shoots John a look, because it's weird the way she said Raku's job, like it's part of his name, part of who he is instead of just what he does-"are you certain there's no way to reverse the effects of this treatment?"

"Treatment," Rodney corrects.

Colonel Samantha Carter-which is way, way too unwieldy; Rodney wonders if she has a nickname or something-smiles at him and says, "That's what I said."

"No," Rodney says. "You said treatment. That's not-that could be anything. Getting a bunion cut out, or a pimple removed. This is Treatment." He says it with the proper inflection. Colonel Samantha Carter looks interested, but still uncomprehending.

"She doesn't get it, Rodney," John says slowly. He's biting his lip the way he does when he's thinking, analyzing all the information he's got, synthesizing an answer. "She can't hear it because this isn't their language. They speak the other one that we can't really remember. Do you know what pizza is?"

Colonel-Rodney can't keep thinking of her as Colonel Samantha Carter; it's too unwieldy-looks startled, and a little amused. "Yes, of course. Bread, tomato sauce and cheese."

"Tomato sauce," John repeats. "It's red?"

"Yes," Colonel says bemusedly. "Tomato sauce is red."

Raku turns to the other Administrators. His face is flushed, maybe in anger. Maybe it's just general agitation. "Do you see?" he demands. "Do you understand now? Five Treatments, and still he remembers."

"That does not excuse it, Raku," one of the others says. She is tall and solid. Her face is hard. "You have greatly exceeded your authority."

"And what would you have had me do?" he says back hotly. It is agitation after all that's on his face, but he's defensive, too. "Ignore the signal, let them go on their way?"

"It is," another Administrator says coolly, "the proper procedure."

"And in another few weeks, maybe another season, John would do something else and require another Treatment. You know this as well as I do."

"Even so." The other Administrator is unconcerned.

"Each time, his abilities degrade." Raku is furious. Rodney's never seen him so emotional about anything. "And yet you would just keep Treating him over and over, though it does no good? How long until he is no longer able to function?"

"There is no evidence-" a fourth Administrator begins, but Raku interrupts him with an unfamiliar word Rodney suspects is an expletive.

"You've seen the scans, Dozhen. Do me the courtesy of not pretending you cannot interpret them."

"I'm sorry," Rodney says cautiously, "but there is obviously some very important information you're all aware of that John and I don't know. What did Raku do? What exactly is going on?"

Teyla turns with an apologetic smile. "Administrator Raku," she says politely, "was kind enough to contact our ship as we flew over this location, after he recognized that the ship's design was similar to the one you crashed. Had he not done so, we would have left again, still unaware you were here."

"Your cloak is quite impressive," Colonel adds. She is obviously trying to appease the other Administrators, who continue to look annoyed. "We had no idea the planet was inhabited."

Rodney starts, and he sees John jump a bit, too. "Planet?" Rodney says faintly. "You came here from another planet?"

"Are we aliens?" John is-well, Rodney's not quite sure what John is. Eager? Apprehensive? Intrigued?

"Is that why Treatment doesn't work on us?" Rodney asks.

Raku looks at him, askance, and Rodney flushes. "I remember some things," he mumbles. "Not as many as John."

The silence is long and frosty. "If by aliens," the tall, dour administrator says, "you mean that you are not of this world, then that is correct."

"That's what alien means, doesn't it?" Rodney shoots back. Next to him, John's staring at his skin like he's never seen it before, like he expects it to peel back and reveal scales or feathers.

"You are quite human, Rodney," Teyla replies. "As are you, John. There are humans on many different worlds in this galaxy."

"Many different worlds," Rodney says faintly. "When you said we were from very far away, Raku, I thought you meant another country."

The dour Administrator turns to Raku again, face even colder. "It appears you have been exceeding your authority in many areas, Raku."

"Perhaps." Raku's voice is strained, his fists clenched. "Perhaps I have. But I have had cause. You have not been here, Liria, and you do not know. They would not eat. They did not sleep. Rodney is far too bright to be satisfied with pat answers and half-truths. Perhaps if you read any of my reports, you might have offered your advice before the situation became so dire."

"I think it's crucial to remember here that John and Rodney did not intentionally taint your water supply," Colonel points out. Her voice is pleasant but underneath her tone is hard and unyielding. "Whether or not Raku overstepped his bounds in contacting us, the fact remains that our people have been wrongly convicted and held prisoner here for months. We have returned to this planet half a dozen times since their jumper disappeared. Surely you realized we were searching for them."

"Your search was of no concern," Liria says, "so long as you did not detect our cloak. John and Rodney were given fair trial and justly convicted in accordance with our laws. Had they been found innocent, they would have been released."

"After you erased our memories," Rodney interjects. "Right? I mean, you'd hardly have let us leave your secret city with our memories intact, no matter what the outcome of a trial."

"We would only have taken as far back as was necessary to preserve our secret," Liria says. "You are not the first offworlders we have dealt with."

"You'd have treated them," Colonel says, missing the inflection again. Maybe John is right. Maybe she can't hear it. "Which brings me back to my original question: can the process be reversed?"

All the Administrators look at each. Liria is the one who answers, "Not to our knowledge."

"Understand," Raku says-is it Rodney's imagination that he sounds regretful?-"this is not our technology. It was bequeathed to us centuries ago by those who inhabited this world before us. Our engineers have been successful in replicating it, but ..."

"You don't actually understand how it works," Rodney finishes. "That's just great. You scrambled our brains with machines you copied. We're lucky we didn't end up babbling idiots."

"Speak for yourself," John says tightly. "Your abilities aren't degrading with each Treatment."

"A few short-term memory lapses don't make you a babbling idiot," Rodney points out sensibly. "It makes you forgetful."

"Forgetful? Rodney-"

Colonel interrupts with a slight cough. "We'd be very interested in seeing the machines you used to perform this treatment. Or better yet, the prototypes, if they're available."

One of the Administrators who has been silent to this point speaks up. "They have not worked in many decades."

"We'd still like to see them. We have extensive experience with technologies from all over the galaxy. It's possible we'll recognize it. We might be able to engineer a cure. That would be beneficial to you as well."

There is a lot of angry conversation, to which Rodney listens with only half an ear. The other half of his attention is focused on John. It should be expected, he thinks; after all, for seasons, John's been the focus of his attention. He tries to imagine what it would be like to regain his memory, worries that he will find out that he and John were never more than colleagues. He wonders whether that will change how he feels about John now. He thinks not. It seems doubtful there's any memory that could be strong enough, visceral enough, to override his more recent experiences, his strongest emotions.

But that's not to say it will be the same for John. For all the time they've spent together, John is still hard to read, hard to figure. His temperament is uneven, his response to situations dependent on the day of the week and the weather. Rodney still has no idea whether that's something inherent to his personality, or whether it's the successive Treatments that have made him this way. And if so, whether regaining his memory will erase that, or whether all he'll get back are the cold hard facts of his existence.

"Do not worry," Teyla is saying to John, patting him on the arm, which she shouldn't be doing, Rodney thinks, because John doesn't like to be touched in public, and in fact John is making the face he makes when he's trying not to show how uncomfortable he is. "Colonel Carter is extremely intelligent." (So it's "Colonel Carter", Rodney thinks, which is at least a bit shorter, though still unwieldy). "The scientists in our city are equally bright. I have every confidence that they will discover how to return your memories to you. But if they do not," and here she pats John on the arm again, "we will tell you all that we know so that you may regain yourself that way."

"What did I do?" John asks. "Before? I cook, here, and clean, and work in the fields. Is that the kind of stuff I did before?"

Teyla looks bemused. "I have never seen you cook when you didn't have to, nor clean, although your quarters were always tidy. We have no fields in which to work. You were leader of the military forces in our city, John."

John draws in a deep breath, and the look he shoots as Rodney is indecipherable. Or it would be, if Rodney didn't know how much John disliked almost everything he was assigned to do. John's relieved, but he's trying to hide it, because he doesn't want Rodney to know just how relieved he is.

"What about Rodney? What did he do?"

"He was the Chief Science Officer. It was in that capacity, and yours as the military leader, John, that the two of you came to this planet. Ordinarily Ronon and I would have accompanied you, but our presence was needed elsewhere and the mission was supposed to be, as you put it, a 'cake-walk'."

"John makes delicious cake," Rodney blurts out, then feels himself flush. "What?" he says defensively to John's outraged glare. "You do!"

"I think it's safe to say," John says levelly, "that I'm not making you any more cake."

Teyla continues to look amused, and she reaches out to touch them both. "I have missed you both very, very much. I think perhaps I did not realize how much until this moment."

"Colonel Sheppard." This is from Colonel Carter, who is looking at John expectantly. "Colonel Sheppard."

Rodney pokes John. "I think she's talking to you."

"Huh?" John says, at the same time as Raku is telling Colonel Carter, "They go by only one name here."

"Oh," Colonel Carter says with a small frown. "John."

"Is that my name?" John asks. "Colonel Sheppard?"

"I thought Colonel was a name for females," Rodney adds. "Do you use the same names for men and women? That must be confusing."

"Your name is John Sheppard," Colonel Carter explains with a small smile and an inexplicable eye-roll. "Your military rank is Colonel. We address you with it to show respect."

"You call me by my job title?" John says blankly. His gaze sidles over to Rodney and then back again. "Can we go home now?"

"John," Teyla begins hesitantly, "perhaps we should consider-" but John cuts her off.

"I don't care," he says. "Whatever it is you're going to say, I don't care. I don't like it here, and I want to leave. Wherever you take us has got to be better than here."

The Administrators are all visibly taken aback; Liria offended; Raku distressed. "John," Raku says, "I understand that your time here has been difficult, but surely-"

"My time here has been difficult?" John's eyebrows have possibly never been this high. "I don't even know how long I've been here. Every time I do something you don't like, you erase my memory again. In a process which, incidentally, is some kind of torture. If you think the fact that I don't actually remember it makes it better, you're wrong."

"It's not torture," Dozhen-the one who's seen the scans, whatever scans they are-says. "It's not torture. You don't-"

"Have you ever been Treated?" John shoots back. "Been strapped down to a table and had your neural connections ripped to shreds?"

"Of course I haven't been Treated," Dozhen says stiffly. "That doesn't mean I'm unaware of the process."

"Unaware of the process." John is even angrier now, vibrating with it, and the last time Rodney saw him this furious was about a minute before the fight with the security officer. "Rodney tells me when I got hit with the subduers, I went into convulsions."

"He did," Rodney says helpfully. "His whole body went into spasm. He was bleeding from his nose and ears and he was screaming and watching it happen was the worst experience of my life. That I can recall. I don't think calling it torture is that much of a stretch, really."

When she speaks, Colonel Carter's voice is much, much colder than it was only moments ago. "We'd really like to see those prototypes, if you don't mind. In the meantime, maybe John and Rodney would like to gather their things."

"What things?" Rodney asks. "There's nothing here I'd want to take with me." Except for John, really, but he's coming anyway. There's nothing else in the compound-on the planet, god-that Rodney cares enough about to take anywhere.

"I want my journal," John says.

It's funny, but now that John's voiced the want to go home, now that this Colonel Carter-Carter, Rodney thinks; Colonel is a title, so, presumably, Carter is her name, though whether he should address her as Carter or Samantha is another question-has suggested they gather their things, suddenly all Rodney wants to do is leave. Leave this building, leave this compound, leave, god, the planet, the faster the better.

"Let them get it for you," Rodney says, speaking fast. "Let's just leave right now. Let them get our stuff for us and we can sort it out when we get-" home feels too strange, too intimate, for a place Rodney has no recollection of, not even an imagining of-"back. To wherever. Let's just go."

"I want my journal," John repeats, arms crossed stubbornly on his chest. His glare at Rodney is half accusatory, half tentative, seeking permission: John's still getting accustomed to the idea that he is not Rodney's servant any more, after filling that role for literally as long as he can remember. Rodney's no better off: he's never known John in any other capacity. That John's a kind of bossy, obstinate servant doesn't really make a difference to the fact that their only interactions have been under these artificial circumstances. Rodney doesn't know how to relate to John as an equal; that's not because he wouldn't, but because John would never let him. "I don't want them to read it. I don't want them to touch it."

Rodney doesn't point out that there's probably no one else on the planet who can read John's journal except for John. When John gets stubborn like this there is no arguing with him-or there is, but only by playing the "master" card, which causes John to cave immediately, though the resulting sulk is hardly ever worth it-and Rodney can't really blame him, because if Rodney had anything as personal as John's journal is, it's possible he wouldn't want anyone touching it either, even if they couldn't read it.

"All right," Rodney says, "let's go get our things." He's careful not to make it sound like he's granting permission, just that he's agreeing to a logical suggestion. He doesn't know these other people-this Colonel Carter, or Teyla-he doesn't know how they think, can't predict how they'll react when they learn, if they haven't already, that John's job here was mainly to serve Rodney. But Rodney can remember his own instinctive reaction to learning he was having a servant, the assumptions he'd made about John without ever having met him, just because he'd been in the mines, just because he'd been expected to cook and clean for Rodney.

If John's really the military leader of these people, then it's probably best that it doesn't appear that he's looking to Rodney for approval for every decision, even if, in John's case, he takes everything other than flat-out disapproval as tacit consent. The point is that he shouldn't be asking for Rodney's approval at all, no matter what form it comes in.

"Take Major Lorne with you," Colonel Carter says to Teyla. "I'll just wait here with Administrator Raku while we see if the prototypes are available." Her tone of voice is not at all friendly, even though she's smiling.

Teyla gives a nod that is not subservient at all, so maybe, Rodney thinks, Colonel Carter is not her boss. He wonders what their relationship to each other is and wishes he knew more about these people who know so much about him.

This Major Lorne person is waiting outside, and keeps looking at John peculiarly. "It's good to see you again, sir," he says, when Teyla leads him over from where he has been hovering with the rest of the off-world soldiers.

John flinches, then nods awkwardly and takes a quick step ahead to join Rodney as they walk towards the exit. "Am I really in charge of those people?" he whispers, indicating with the slightest jerk of his head the remaining soldiers still milling about the hall.

"It looks that way," Rodney says.

"That's really ... weird," John says. He sounds very uncertain, and Rodney can see by the strain in his neck that he's forcibly stopping himself from turning around to look at them. "How many of them do you think there are?"

"Well," Rodney whispers back, "there's at least five more here." It doesn't sound like much, except that they are walking around with very nasty looking weapons. Subduers can be lethal, but only by sustained application; by design, they are meant to punish, not wound or kill. These weapons the soldiers carry are meant to kill, to maim; Rodney imagines the six soldiers here tearing a bloody swath through the compound, shooting the subduers out of the security officers' hands, offering violent resistance to a group of people who haven't been trained to expect it. The image is so clear in his head, rifles pumping out bullets, flesh ripping and blood splattering, that Rodney knows he's seen it before.

"There's more than six," John hisses back.

"Obviously. Nobody would bring their entire army on a rescue mission. Not that you could even call six people an army. More like a strike team. Would a strike team have a military leader?"

"Rodney."

They walk down the stairs in silence, Teyla and Major Lorne following a few paces behind.

"If you don't want to talk about my job," John says finally, still whispering, still irritable, "we can talk about yours. Teyla said you're the chief science officer. How many people do you think you're in charge of?"

He means it to be hypothetical and a little nasty, but Rodney answers, "Fifty," immediately.

Now John just looks disgusted. "How can you possibly know that?"

"Obviously I don't. I'm guessing. I just don't think they'd have a chief science officer if there were less than fifty scientists. Otherwise, why bother? If it makes you feel any better, I figure you're in charge of a couple of hundred people."

"A couple of hundred," John repeats faintly.

"At least. Could be more."

"Okay, that's not-you're just ..." John ducks his head and drops his voice to an even softer whisper. "Rodney, I've never been in charge of anything."

"Obviously you have been. You just don't remember."

"No, I don't! That's kind of a problem." John's chewing at his lip in a rare display of nerves. "It doesn't sound like the kind of thing I'd be good at."

"Now that," Rodney says, "is just ridiculous. You are bossy and you like to hit things. I don't know what other qualities you could possibly want in a military leader, except perhaps intelligence enough not to start random wars, and you're certainly smart enough for that."

"Gee, that may be the most flattering thing anyone's ever said about me."

"That's only because your memory doesn't extend back beyond the last month."

"I knew we'd laugh about it some day," John says dryly. "But seriously. Rodney. What if I'm terrible at it?"

"Please," Rodney says. "What experience have you had since you've been here that has given you any indication whatsoever of how good you'd be at this job?"

"Nothing. But-"

"No buts. You have been cooking and cleaning and mining and farming, and while all of these things are very valuable contributions to society, I don't see how you can use them as the basis to form an opinion of your ability to command an army."

"It's just a feeling," John says grumpily.

"Feelings are unreliable indicators of reality. You don't see me getting stressed about the prospect of supervising fifty scientists, do you?"

"You work in a lab," John says.

"As a glorified technician," Rodney scoffs. "Running experiments. In a capacity so far below my intellectual capabilities, it's laughable. It's not practical experience for leading a science department, but I'm nonetheless confident I can do just that."

"That's because you're smarter than everyone else around you."

"You," Rodney declares, "are being ridiculous." He turns around and snaps his fingers at the soldier, Major Lorne. "Hey. Is John a good commander?"

Major Lorne looks a bit startled. "Um."

"See," John says, with a pointed glare at Rodney.

"Um is not an assessment of your skills. Is it?" Rodney's glare at Major Lorne is just as pointed as John's. Lorne, flatteringly, now looks a little nervous.

"No," Lorne says. "I mean, no, it's not an assessment. You're a very good commander, sir. A bit unconventional for some, but I've always considered that an asset."

"As have I," Teyla says, stepping forward. "Do not concern yourself, John. You are very well regarded among the expedition's military personnel. You have been much missed."

"You too, Dr. McKay," Major Lorne says. "Or so I hear."

It takes Rodney a minute to realize he's the one being addressed (only after John nudges him). "Am I a doctor?" Rodney is a little disappointed, and a little surprised.

"Not a medical doctor," Teyla answers with a small, mysterious grin. "An academic doctor."

For some reason, this is a significant relief.

~~

The quickest way from the Administrative Tower to Rodney's apartment is to take public transport back to the central hub, and then from there to switch to the blue line, which has a stop that's only a short walk to Rodney's apartment building.

John leads them right past the entrance to the transport system, and onto the pedestrian concourse. Walking, it will take them nearly thirty minutes to reach home. For someone who was so eager to get off the planet, John now seems strangely reluctant to leave. "Taking the scenic route?" Rodney murmurs, too low for Teyla and Major Lorne to hear.

"Something like that," John says with a shrug. He kicks at a few leaves on the ground.

"You're just afraid to go back and face everyone."

"I don't even know who everyone is." But John doesn't otherwise contest the charge, and that's strange, because Rodney is not used to seeing John diffident about anything, at least not about anything that's to do with his own abilities. John's actually kind of arrogant, in a sneaky, quiet way that's a lot more subtle than Rodney ever is- John accuses him of having a bad case of "in-your-face egotism." John thinks he is better than almost everybody else at almost everything; the fact that he will never say it out loud doesn't mean he's not convinced that it's true. It's why he is always so reluctant to accept help, why he has let Rodney strip the sheets (once or twice) but would never even think of letting Rodney make the bed.

"Well," Rodney says, in what he thinks is a comforting manner, "we've been gone for seasons, and you don't remember anything of any real importance. They probably won't put you back in charge anyway."

John stares at him incredulously. "Please tell me you're not trying to make me feel better."

"Of course I'm trying to make you feel better."

"You're doing a lousy job of it," John says, and that is just petty, because Rodney has never claimed to be good with people.

"At least I can recognize that you are upset," Rodney huffs, "and in need of comforting."

"I'm not upset. I'm processing. It's a lot to take in."

"People don't process. Computers process. People overthink things in a desperate and ultimately futile attempt to subvert their initial, primal emotional responses to stressful situations. And don't tell me you aren't upset, because if we'd just gotten on the transport we would already have been home."

"If we'd gotten on the public transport, there would have been a riot as soon as someone spotted the huge automatic weapons Teyla and Major Lorne are carrying." John delivers this with his most evil look, the one Rodney has privately dubbed John's "I don't care how smart you are; sometimes you're just dumb," look.

Rodney bristles, but, unfortunately, doesn't have an immediate response, which means that John follows up his evil look with a smugly victorious smirk.

~~

By the time they get back to the apartment, Rodney has learned a few things about himself:

1. His full name is Meredith Rodney McKay. People generally call him Rodney, or McKay, or Dr. McKay, but never Meredith. Except for his sister, who is item 2.

2. He has a younger sister, whose name is Jeannie Miller. She is married to a Vegetarian (whatever that is) named Kaleb and has a daughter named Madison, which means Rodney is an uncle. Rodney has no other immediate family.

3. Rodney is not married. He has never been married. His most recent relationship was with a botanist named Katie Brown-a botanist? he'd asked in horrified disbelief-but their relationship ended several months before his disappearance, and as far as Teyla and Major Lorne know, he had not been dating anyone else since. ("A botanist," John had said with a smirk, and it had taken most of Rodney's self-control not to smack him in the head.)

4. He and John are from another galaxy. Another galaxy. "But how," Rodney had spluttered, "how is that ... I mean, how can-" after which John had smirked and whispered, "Processing," and this time Rodney had given in and smacked John in the head because a man can only take so much.

Rodney has also learned a few things about John:

1. Before John was a military commander, he was a pilot. "Damn fine pilot, sir," Lorne had said sincerely. "One of the best I've ever seen." And Rodney was thinking yes, yes, of course while John had been helplessly, transparently relieved.

2. John had been married once, a long time ago. The marriage had been brief and John never talks about it.

3. Neither Teyla nor Major Lorne are certain if John has any siblings, or if his parents are alive. Rodney can not quite understand this. "That's ... that's weird, right? I mean, obviously nobody talked about their family here, but wouldn't you know something like that about someone you worked with for years?" Major Lorne had just shrugged, and Teyla had said gently to John, "You have always been a very private person." John seems very unconcerned.

4. John has dated exactly no one in the city since Teyla and Lorne have known him. "There was one woman from a nearby planet a few years ago," Teyla says, with something very weird in her voice. Rodney is immediately curious. "Her name was Chaya, and you were very much taken with her, but you were ... from very different backgrounds. It did not work out." "Okay," John says, but then he adds, "No one since then? Jeez." And then he glances at Rodney, but looks away again without saying anything.

When they arrive at the apartment, Rodney has a brief moment of thinking, "I am never coming back here again," that is both scary and exhilarating. But when he opens the door and steps inside, John says, oddly, "Smells like the stew's ready," and then suddenly Rodney is showing Major Lorne and Teyla around the apartment while John is setting the small table for four. It is strangely mundane, and it is hard to believe that in a few hours he will be off this planet and headed to wherever it is he used to call home.

The apartment, of course, is spotless, and it is not very big, so it takes very little time to show all of it to Teyla and Lorne. Rodney, once inside the bedroom, realizes that perhaps there are a few things he would like to take back with him after all: a sweater he has come to like particularly, some half-sketched notes on a propulsion system, the crumpled up piece of parchment on which John wrote "R-O-D-N-E-Y" in a foreign alphabet.

Over by the door to the bedroom, Teyla and Major Lorne are speaking in low, urgent whispers. "What?" Rodney asks, looking up and around. There is nothing of particular interest in the room, and it is as spotless as the rest of the apartment. "Is there a problem?"

"No," Teyla says, while at the same time Lorne says, "Yes."

"Well, which is it?" Rodney asks, while Teyla shoots an annoyed glare at Major Lorne.

Lorne shrugs. "They're going to have to know. Better they hear it from us."

"Hear what from you?" Rodney stares at Lorne with narrowed eyes. "What do we need to know?"

Teyla looks exasperated, or possibly just irritated. "Major Lorne noticed that there appears to be only one bed, and he is concerned that the two of you might-"

"I'm not concerned," Lorne breaks in. "It's none of my business. It's just that people will talk if they find out and-"

"What Major Lorne means," Teyla says frostily, "is that intimate relationships between members of the same sex are frowned upon in his military."

"They're more than frowned upon," Lorne says defensively. "Teyla, you've been around us long enough to realize-"

"It will not go well for John if people learned you and he shared a bed for this length of time," Teyla says. She appears to be ignoring Lorne. "Even if your relationship was entirely platonic and chaste."

Rodney is about to protest, because John was his servant and so it can hardly be held against him that he slept in the same bed as Rodney (Rodney is not sure if his relationship with John was ever platonic, but it was certainly not chaste; even so, John was his servant and that's how things are done here, so how can John be held to blame?), but then Rodney remembers the last time he'd had sex with John, John scrabbling at the wall with desperate, uncoordinated fingers, panting and cursing under his breath as Rodney had taken him from behind; pushy and demanding, there had been nothing of the servant in John then. Servants have to accede to all reasonable demands, but that doesn't mean they have to like it. So all Rodney says is, "Then we won't tell people. We don't want them to get the wrong idea," and he tries not to be offended when Major Lorne looks vastly relieved.

~~

Dinner is very strange. First of all, Rodney has never had guests in the apartment for any length of time before, certainly not for a meal. It feels crowded and claustrophobic with four people perched around the small table. And then there is the way Teyla and Major Lorne have of casually dropping startling pieces of information into the conversation like they are nothing startling at all. At first Rodney thought they didn't realize they were doing it; now he thinks they're having a little bit of fun at his and John's expense.

"Wait a minute," John says, staring at Teyla, who is looking back with amused interest. "You're not from the same planet we are?"

"No. I am a native of this galaxy."

John shakes his head. "It's going to take a little while to get used to all of this." He stands up and heads back into the kitchen, reemerging a minute later with the stew. "There's no point leaving leftovers. Anyone want seconds?"

Teyla demurs politely, but Lorne is enthusiastic about having more. "Feels like I'm back in my grandma's kitchen on Sunday afternoon." He takes a bite, and gestures appreciatively with his fork. "I had no idea you could cook, sir. If they don't clear you for active duty right away, you could take a turn in the canteen."

John freezes for a minute, then grins a small, brittle grin and says, "Yeah, I guess I could," even though every cell in his body is screaming, absolutely not. And Rodney doesn't say anything, because of Lorne's vast relief, earlier, the way he'd said, "It's none of my business," and Teyla's uncomfortable, "It may not go well for John." Realization is a cold, hard lump sitting sickly in his stomach, that there's more to worry about than he'd guessed, that it's not just the fact that John was his servant that they'll have to hide, but every facet of their lives together. And he hasn't had a chance to tell John this; it's only sheer, dumb luck, he thinks, that John hasn't accidentally confirmed what Lorne so desperately doesn't want to know. Dumb luck and the fact that John's so compulsively proper that he'd never touch Rodney inappropriately in public anyway. In light of that, Teyla's, "You have always been a very private person," rings even more true. So that, at least, is one thing about John that Treatment hasn't altered.

"I noticed," Teyla says lightly, "that you have a set of sticks here, John."

"He carved them himself," Rodney finds himself saying. "Polished them with leftover cooking oil. Took him weeks. He didn't even know what he was making until he was finished with them."

"You never told me that," John says, frowning.

"You never asked. There's probably a lot I didn't tell you." He hadn't, because John hadn't seemed all that interested, and Rodney had been able to understand it. What was the point in learning about a past that could be ripped away again at any time? Better to focus on the present.

"I dreamt about them," John says. "And you, Teyla. In my dreams, you went together with the sticks."

"We used to spar," Teyla answers. She seems pleased. "Especially in our early days in the city, when things were so uncertain. It was a distraction. Of late you sparred more often with Ronon."

Ronon is the absent fourth member of their team. So far, Rodney has gathered that he has been a soldier for most of his life; he is huge, extremely capable with weapons and is very skilled in hand-to-hand combat. He is not here because he is back on Atlantis (which is either the name of their planet or possibly the name of the city in which they live) supervising "Pegasus Galaxy Boot Camp" for a group of newly arrived soldiers. "He will be very pleased to see you returned," Teyla had said earlier. "And though he will be upset to have missed this, it is perhaps better that he is not here." At this, she had exchanged significant glances with Lorne, without further comment.

"Sparring with Ronon," Lorne pipes up, "was just a display of masochism, if you ask me. I mean, Teyla used to kick your ass, sir, but she never put you in the infirmary."

Teyla frowns at Lorne. "You should not say such things. You will give them both a distorted picture of themselves. You are not a masochist, John."

Rodney wants to snort and say, "Like hell he isn't," because he remembers all the angry, violent sex, John punishing himself for something he couldn't even remember; Rodney remembers the way John pushed himself past all reasonable limits, days he came home from the mines or the fields so exhausted he was shaking with it, aching from a hundred self-inflicted bruises from overwork. At home, Rodney remembers John scrubbing toilets and showers until they gleamed, even though it made him miserable, even though Rodney hardly cared about those sorts of things. But these are more things Rodney doesn't think he should say out loud, not until he learns more about these people and the boundaries of what is and isn't permitted.

"That's good to know," John says evenly, but his eyes are shadowed, and Rodney wonders if he is remembering the same things as Rodney.

John scrapes out the bottom of the dish of stew, forcing thirds on Rodney and Lorne (who does a poor job of pretending to be reluctant about it), and then excuses himself to gather his things. A few minutes later, Lorne steps out into the hall to contact Colonel Carter-"I'm sure she didn't expect us to be gone this long"-leaving Rodney alone with Teyla, which is unexpectedly awkward, because Teyla remembers him, but he doesn't remember her at all.

"So this is awkward," Rodney says.

Teyla laughs. "You may have lost your memory, Rodney, but you have not otherwise changed very much."

"Oh. That's good, I think. Is it good? Did I need to change?"

"There are those who will say otherwise, but no, Rodney, you did not need to change. I like you as you are."

Rodney looks away toward the bedroom. "And John? Has he changed?"

Teyla shrugs delicately. "He is not so easy to read. In his essence, he still seems himself. With, perhaps, his emotions closer to the surface."

Rodney is flabbergasted. "Closer to the surface? You mean to tell me this is him being emotional?"

"He is upset, and unsettled, and apprehensive, and the fact that I can sense all those things from him is unusual." Teyla is silent for a moment, thoughtful. "He never seeks to hide his anger, or his amusement. But when he is uncertain, he keeps it close." Then she raises an eyebrow at him, speculatively. "His relationship with you seems much as it was."

Rodney fidgets with his napkin. "Does it? I don't remember what we were like before."

"You were friends," Teyla says, and it is impossible to tell if she means more by that than it sounds. "Teammates and colleagues. You spent a lot of time together. You fought often but always made up quickly. You shared a taste for practical jokes and juvenile humor. If there was more to your relationship than it appeared, you did not share that fact with me."

"But we wouldn't have. Right? I mean, it sounds like we wouldn't have been able to."

"You could always have told me," Teyla says gently. "Perhaps I am arrogant in assuming that you would have, had there been any such thing to share. But I am not part of John's military, Rodney, and I would never betray a secret."

The thing is, instinctively, Rodney trusts her, believes that she is telling the truth. But he doesn't know her any more than he knows Major Lorne or Colonel Carter, and he doesn't know himself well enough yet to know whether he can trust his own instincts. So all he says is, "That's good to know," and rises to his feet to start clearing the plates into the kitchen.

John, predictably, appears out of thin air at the sound of ceramic clinking in the sink. "I'll do it," he says with a scowl, and literally pushes Rodney out of the kitchen.

Rodney sighs. "This isn't your job anymore, John."

John's frown is fierce. "It's not yours, either."

"You're right. It's not either of our jobs. Just leave it. We're not coming back here. We don't have to leave the kitchen clean."

For a minute, Rodney thinks John is actually considering it, but neurotic compulsion ultimately wins. "I'll do it," John says. He pushes Rodney farther away. "It'll take ten minutes. Go get the rest of your stuff."

"You're awfully bossy for a servant," Rodney says sourly. "Have I ever told you that?"

"Only a couple dozen times a day."

"Enjoy it while you can," Rodney yells back from the living room where he's been banished. Teyla raises her eyebrow at him again. "In a few hours, your days of servitude are over. No more bossing me around."

"That's what you think," John calls out. "Not only am I the military commander, which totally trumps chief science officer, but Teyla tells me I'm our team leader. So from now on, I'll be bossing you around legitimately."

Rodney stares accusingly at Teyla. "Is that true?"

"He is indeed our team leader," she says helplessly. "Though if it is any consolation, you do not often listen to him."

Major Lorne comes back in at that moment. "Colonel Carter says we can take as long as we need, but that they're ready to leave as soon as we get back."

"Good," Rodney says. "That's really very good."

John comes back out at that moment and gathers up the remaining dirty dishes. "Five minutes," he calls out over his shoulder as he heads back to the kitchen.

Lorne stares at his back for a second. "Shouldn't we offer to help him, or something?"

"Waste of time," Rodney says. He looks around the living room, wondering if there is anything at all in it that he wants (there isn't). "He's a tyrant in there. If you even try to help, he'll just ridicule you and tell you that you're doing everything wrong."

"Huh," Lorne says with an odd sort of look on his face. "I wonder where he got that from."

"I have no idea," Rodney says, "but it's not one of his better traits." He is taken aback when both Lorne and Teyla start to laugh.

Part 5