The House of Three Skylarks, part two

[mirabile_dictu]

Part Two

Back to Part One

When they finally got up, the mess hall was boisterously full, and John was reminded again of Christmas. All the interior lights were on, but as in his room, the windows were blocked. He felt almost desperate for a breath of fresh air. Rodney blearily surveyed the steam tables, commuter mug tightly clutched in his hands. "Come on," John said quietly to him. Rodney raised his eyebrows but followed wordlessly -- John knew that would change later, but first thing in the morning, Rodney was often unusually quiet.

He led the way to the transporter and to the physical geography labs, where Tjärnqvist had been assigned. He was there, along with Bruce Granger and Hidetoshi Ooishi, who'd accompanied Timo when he'd come on the Daedalus a few months earlier.

The three men were peering at what looked like graph paper to John. "A beautiful example of the Kelvin-Helmholtz instability," Granger said. "Just look at this band of clouds here."

"Hello, Rodney, Colonel," Timo said. "What can we do for you?"

"What's the temperature?" Rodney asked.

"Ah, yes, good question. Where?"

"Um, ambient, around Atlantis," John answered before Rodney could. "Seems colder than usual."

Ooishi smiled, and John realized he'd never heard him speak. "Good morning," he said, but Ooishi only inclined his head.

Timo said, "The dry-bulb temperature is minus six, though when you factor in the wind, it would feel like minus forty-five."

"That would be, ah, about minus fifty in your degrees," Rodney said. John rolled his eyes.

"Wind speed?" he asked.

"Force seven, so about thirty knots." That was roughly thirty miles an hour; John shivered to imagine it. Timo said, "We are experiencing a severe blizzard. "There is already twenty-five centimeters of snow, and much larger drifts. Visibility is only a few meters."

"You can see out?" Rodney asked.

"Oh, yes. Would you like to? Ah, Colonel, we did not mean to disobey the orders, but we are here to observe and develop a prediction algorithm for Atlantis."

"It's okay, doctors," John said. "I understand. But yes, Rodney and I would like to see."

"Good, good," Timo said, and all three practically dashed out the door, trailed by John and Rodney. "It is not far, but it is above the level you said not to go. Again, I apologize."

"No need, really," John said. Rodney never apologized when he disobeyed John's or Elizabeth's orders; maybe Timo and his partners would be a good influence on him.

In moments, they were on the sixth level on the far north of Atlantis, where technically no one should be even were there not a blizzard because this part of the city hadn't been adequately searched. But John remained quiet when Ooishi opened the shutters.

No window blocked the polar wind streaming into Atlantis. John staggered back, and pulled his scarf up around his ears. Rodney tugged his hood up and put goggles on, making him look like an interplanetary rapper, John thought. The air smelled of alien ocean and ice, and instantly froze the hairs in his nostrils. He pinched at his nose and wiped his eyes, then covered his ears. Walking forward, trying not to slip on the icy and snow on the floor, he leaned across the windowsill, right out into the storm.

"Only for a moment!" Timo shouted into his ear. "You will frostnip."

Rodney stood behind him, bulky in his jacket, and in front of him: the world, unmediated and immediate, simultaneously transcendent and immanent. John's eyelashes stuck together, and then he couldn't see anything at all. He rubbed his eyes, and Ooishi, with Granger's help, closed the shutters again.

The silence after the storm was startling, and John took a deep breath, trying to orient himself. "Wow," he said, blinking at Timo, who beamed at him.

"Yes, ja, wow. Isande out there today, and probably tomorrow."

"The storm is passing, though," Granger said. "We need to capture all the data we can today. Extremes help us find the median. So if you'll excuse us?"

"Go, go," Rodney said, waving his hands at them. "We understand. I'm a scientist myself, you know."

Ooishi grinned at that, and the three men left, talking of isobars, millibars, and isotherms. John looked at Rodney and said, "Wow," again.

Rodney nodded. "The great storm," he said. "I forgot to ask how deep the drifts were. Maybe after tomorrow we'll be able to get out."

"Build a snowman," John suggested.

"I suppose we're disqualified from building snow angels," Rodney said as they slowly returned to the transporter. "At least I am. Destroying five-sixths of a solar system does that."

"At least it was uninhabited," John said. They were silent back to the mess, and separated for their breakfasts.

Rodney was right, though John didn't remind him of that, and they were able to get out in a couple of days. First, John and Lorne had the Marines remove all the storm windows and doors, stacking them carefully in an unused room, and then made sure the floors and walls hadn't been damaged. John had planned to have the exteriors swept, but the civilians and most of the Marines couldn't wait for that safety measure and streamed outdoors. Lorne claimed they'd only been looking after the civilians, but John felt the same excitement and was ready to escape into the fresh air.

"Fucking Christ, but it's cold," Rodney said, rubbing his arms. John agreed. Every breath puffed out a white cloud, and each footstep crunched.

"Grand, isn't it?" Carson shouted at them. He and Cadman were tossing snowballs at each other.

"Crazy Scot," Rodney muttered, but John seized a handful of snow and chased after him. "Get away, you idiot! I could fall and get a concussion and then where would you --" John managed to slip the melting snow down his collar. "Shit!"

Elizabeth was on the pier, too, and Teyla. Ronon stood in the doorway, the frosty glass of the opened doors framing him, and stared out. "No snow in Sateda?" John asked, ducking away from Rodney's attempt at revenge.

"Not like this," he said.

The snow mounded around them, a crisp layer crunching underfoot. The clouds were starting to break up, and streams of sunlight fell like beacons onto Atlantis. The wind had died, but John could see ripples in the snow running parallel to the wind, building to the heaping snow drifts. John knew he should start the men clearing it, but everyone was having too much fun. Instead, he caught the attention of one of the cooks and said, "What about a picnic? How hard would that be?"

"I think we can arrange something. Lend me some men?"

"Stackhouse. Stackhouse, hey. You, Frazier, Washington, and Hernandez, go with Kewell here. Kewell, quick as you can. Something hot."

"Yes, sir," he said, and he disappeared into the city.

In less than half an hour, John had a fried chicken leg in one hand and a mug of real coffee in the other. He and Rodney, carrying an entire plate of chicken, kicked at the snow ahead of them, digging a path to the steps of the pier. "Great idea," Rodney said around a mouthful of chicken. John was too busy eating to agree. He tossed the bone onto Rodney's plate and took another leg.

"Great chicken," he said, sighing with pleasure. The clouds were dissolving under the brilliant sun, and everywhere the snow glittered: white and blue and green jewels scattered across Atlantis. Kewell and Petretei had organized tables with platters of chicken, German potato salad, a green salad from stuff grown on the mainland, and big carafes of coffee and tea. John thought it was the best meal he'd had in Atlantis.

Standing with Rodney, looking out at the ocean, the sun streaming on their shoulders, the smell of fried chicken and coffee tantalizing him, he suddenly realized he was happy. A moment of peace, a moment of pleasure, the company of a friend, and fried food. "This," John said, "is the life."

Rodney nodded vigorously. "The thing is," he said, and swallowed, "the thing that all scientists know is that everything is transient, everything is fragile, everything is knowable only for as long as it takes to think it's knowable. At that second, it changes and it's no longer knowable."

John stared at him. "And?" he finally said.

"And nothing. Just, yes, this is life. This is," he gestured with his chicken leg, "this is." He sighed gustily. "That potato salad looks really good."

John laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah," he agreed. "It really does."

Three: A Red Herring

John was late to realize there was a real problem. Sitting with Rodney and Radek at meals, he overheard their arguments, and was occasionally asked for an opinion. Finally he asked what, exactly, was wrong.

"Minor," Rodney scoffed, but Radek pursed his lips and shook his head.

"No, no. I assigned Prudhomme to backtrack the slowing processing time."

"I know why it's slowing: there are more of us doing more."

"Yes, and perhaps you are right." Rodney rolled his eyes; Radek repeated, "Perhaps."

"What else could it be?" Rodney asked.

"A virus. A worm. A Trojan horse. A systems error." Radek hesitated, and added, "A hacker."

"Hacker?" John sat up and looked at Rodney. "Is that possible? Here in Atlantis?"

"Anything's possible, Colonel. We're in another galaxy fighting vampires. What part of possible don't you get?"

"Rodney."

"Yes, it's possible, but even Radek will agree it's unlikely."

"Very unlikely," Radek said, but John could see he was unhappy.

"Do I need to do anything? Say anything?" Rodney made a choking noise, but John knew he just trying to swallow faster so he could excoriate John, so he said, "Never mind. I'm sure you'll let me know."

"Of course," Radek said soothingly, narrowing his eyes at Rodney.

John took a swallow of his coffee and promised himself to check with Radek in the near future.

~ ~ ~

Each one came rushing through the rooms he left

"Which are your favorite beds?" Rodney asked sleepily.

"Hmm. Uh, in reverse preference, the hammock on P3R-727, remember? It was so hot during the day, but the nights cooled down. Rocking in that big hammock, the breeze, and it smelled so good there."

"A paradise," Rodney nodded. "Though the swinging made me a bit seasick."

"You didn't act seasick."

"I was busy," Rodney said with exaggerated dignity, and they laughed. "Very busy."

"Yeah, as I recall, we were pretty busy. It was cool, remember, when we lay head to toe." John waggled his eyebrows.

"Very cool." Rodney yawned and slumped deeper into the bed.

John pulled the sheet around his shoulder. "Want me to fluff your pillow?"

"Fuck off. No, actually, there's something else you can fluff."

"I was hopin' you'd say that." But John only settled back into the chair, resting his hand on Rodney's where it curled over the edge of the bed. He watched their fingers link and loosen, link and loosen.

~ ~ ~

Beauteous Spring

"Hard to imagine being anywhere else," John said, stretching his arms overhead, looking up through the swaying treetops to the sky.

Rodney poked at his bared stomach. "Not that I want to, but yeah, even if I did, it would be difficult," he said.

Twisting away, John tugged down his shirt and lay back, pillowing his head on one arm. Rodney lay on his side next to him, blinking in the sunlight. "Feels good after such a long winter. Are the winters getting longer? Global cooling, maybe?"

"I'm not a meteorologist; how many times do I have to remind you? Not a meteorologist, not a vulcanologist, not a sociologist. I'm a physicist and an astronomer."

"Whatever," John said, and closed his eyes.

"Well, actually, I did overhear a conversation in the labs between Petretei, Tjärnqvist, and Ooishi, saying this might be part of a little ice age, but there's wasn't enough data from which to extrapolate. So who knows."

"Little ice age," John murmured. "Cool."

"Is that a pun?" John heard Rodney settle more comfortably, and his leg nudged John's. The sun really did feel good. Ever since the big snow all those years ago, when Tjärnqvist first came to Atlantis, the winters had been getting longer, and colder. John preferred to tease Rodney, but he had been talking to the meteorologists and geologists regularly; he worried about the Athosians and the crops they all depended on.

He heard Rodney yawn and smack his lips. "Oddly comfortable," Rodney said, and sneezed.

It was. Rodney had found this spot, trying to avoid a game of baseball. They'd had to give up visiting here during the three years of torrential rains, but this year, for the first time, the summers had been more like their first two years in Atlantis. Finally they'd been able to return, carrying lunch in their packs, and even a jug of the Ruddilian wine they preferred, and spread their blanket over the soft sand and grasses. Nearby, a stream gurgled its way to the ocean, and the gentle waves hissed on the salt-resistant grass.

The air smelt wonderful to John: of salt and water and sunshine and freedom. They'd had a good summer, with no visits from the Wraith, and tentative amnesty with the Genii, thanks to Elizabeth's tireless negotiations. Ladon was a good leader now that he was free of Kolya and Cowen. They would always be a suspicious people, Elizabeth told him, but who wouldn't be in the Pegasus Galaxy? Nonetheless, overtures had been successful, and finally they had a new trading partner and ally. John wondered if Ladon was becoming more than that to Elizabeth.

So food, and time off, and the freedom to enjoy both. John opened his eyes and looked at Rodney's face, so relaxed and open. Beyond him, the grass waved, still green and heavy with seed, but starting to gild as the pods ripened. This time of year was so rich; everything seemed pregnant and ready to give birth. The gentlest of breezes pushed at John's hair, enough to tickle Rodney's face; he jumped and huffed. "Fell asleep," he said, and sighed.

"Go back to sleep," John told him. "We're safe here. Radios are right here in case something happens, and anyway, it's Lorne and Zelenka's turn."

Rodney's gaze softened as he studied John. They stared at each other. After a long moment, Rodney said, "Hey."

"Hey." John plucked a stalk of grass and tickled Rodney's nose with it. "Don't try to bullshit me; I already know you're not allergic to this."

"It's still annoying, and who knows what I'm allergic to?"

John stuck the grass in his mouth and grinned around it. Rodney pulled it out, tossed it away, and leaned over him. "You know I don't do outdoor sex," he said in his husky let's-have-sex voice.

John rolled onto his side so they faced each other and rubbed his nose against Rodney's. "No? That a hard and fast rule you got?"

"Not sure about fast," Rodney said, making John smile. He could feel the warmth of Rodney's skin and breath against his face, and he felt safe, at home. Here on an alien world in another galaxy, he felt profoundly at home, a sense of connection with the sand and grass beneath them, the water around them, the sky above them, and with Rodney at his side.

He kissed Rodney, lightly and gently, and Rodney kissed him back, holding John's face with one sandy hand, just teasing each other, lip-to-lip, soft little kisses that grew harder and wetter until John made a liar out of Rodney and they did have outdoor sex. Clothes on but open, burrowed into the blanket, John wriggled in pleasure when Rodney rolled on top of him, his weight pressing against John's dick so firmly, in just the right places, with just the right friction.

They took their time, squirming around on the blanket, John sleepy and aroused all at once, getting sweaty and slippery as the sun climbed higher and they got more serious in their efforts. John grabbed Rodney's shoulders and held him still, pushing against him, but Rodney struggled free and twisted around until he could suck John's dick into his mouth. He knew just how to do John, how hard to pull on his balls, how much to lick and how much to suck. John groaned in pleasure, lost in the sensation of Rodney's mouth and hands, the warm air, the scent and sounds around them, until he gave himself up to Rodney, and cried out, a little breathy sound.

Rodney sucked him gently until he was soft again, relaxed and half asleep. "Your turn," he said, and pulled at Rodney until he was turned around and facing John again.

"Later," Rodney said, kissing John's throat. "Just let me catch my breath." He fell asleep almost instantly. John pulled him closer, resting his head against Rodney's shoulder, and slept as well.

The sun was low when John woke, and shone straight into his eyes when he looked out at the water. Rodney was still snoring beside him, so he quietly stripped and slid into the water. The elements dissolved in the ocean of Atlantis made the water taste sweet as well as salty, like French fries dipped in fudge sauce, and he loved slipping through the sweet and gentle waves.

He flipped onto his back and stared up at the sky, already purpling into evening, with bands of lavender and pink at the horizon and the first star overheard. He heard splashing and raised his head to see Rodney delicately tiptoeing into the water. "Come on, Rodney," John said. "It's warm."

"Compared to what? You're a member of the Polar Plungers Club, aren't you? You probably think zero is comfortable."

"Just do it," John said, feeling his mouth quirk at Rodney's expression. "I'll warm you up." Rodney gave him a look, but plunged into deeper water, spitting like an annoyed cat, and swam toward John, who wrapped his arms around Rodney's shoulders. "See? Not so bad." Rodney just kissed him, tasting of their earlier lunch, the Athosian wine, and the sweet-salt of the ocean.

They floated on their backs, bumping into each other as the waves nudged them, and watched the sun set. When it was nearly dark, without a word, they made for shore and clambered out. The air was warm but the breeze chilled John and he huddled with Rodney in the blanket till he was dry enough to get dressed.

They paused for a moment then, looking around to be sure they'd left nothing behind, nothing to mar this beautiful spot, when John, moved by some impulse born, he thought, of the quiet and peace of spending a day alone with Rodney and by the presence of the ocean, took Rodney's hand. Staring at it, turning it over between his own hands, he said, "Life is, life's like that double-slit experiment, you know? The one where sometimes light is a particle and other times it's a wave? I never thought I'd spend the rest of my life here, and not with, well, not with you."

He was a little nervous that Rodney would take his words the wrong way, and then he'd have to jolly him out of a mood, but Rodney just squeezed his hand. Only after they had ferried all their stuff back to the puddlejumper and were settling into their seats did Rodney say, "You know I don't like to use science as a metaphor. Science is. But we are light, in a way, so we're both waves and particles, so yeah. We're both. And I never, either. Ever. But I'm really, really glad."

John hide his smile, turning away a bit, pretending to fuss over the jumper's controls, but he knew that Rodney knew and for that moment, they were both, simultaneously, particle and wave, humans from Earth in the Pegasus Galaxy, together despite all the reasons not to be.

~ ~ ~

Four: Not So Red After All

"What did Prudhomme find?" John asked Radek over the wacky pizza the mess hall had produced.

Radek pulled back a slice, a long string of cheese bridging from his mouth to the pizza. "Mmph," he said, and swiped at it with a finger. "S dovolením," he said when he could talk again. "Scuse me. Good, but weird."

"Wacky," John corrected. "Wacky pizza."

"Wacky, yes, well. Prudhomme is very persistent; I am pleased he came to Atlantis. He found a pattern to the disruptions, quite complex, but no evidence as to who or why."

"Just somebody foolin' around?"

Radek shrugged and took another bite of the wacky pizza. "Maybe," he said through the cheese.

John tried to talk to Rodney about the work Prudhomme was doing, but he dismissed it out of hand. "He's very good at sequencing," Rodney admitted. "He finds patterns even faster than the computer can. Very useful for data compression."

"But Radek --"

Rodney waved his hand. "Yes, I know, he thinks something is going on, and maybe so. But all that's being stolen is a few seconds time on the network. I can live with that."

John shook his head. "I don't like it. Think of it like crime: you wanna stop the small stuff before it escalates into the big stuff."

Rodney looked at him.

"Seriously, McKay. Let Prudhomme do his thing."

"He is. He's looking at the Ancient database and finding stuff we didn't know was there."

"You know what I mean."

"Talk to him yourself, then. But in his off hours. Seriously. The database work is more important."

John admitted to himself that the database was important; he still held out hope that they'd find information about possible weapons that Rodney and his team could develop in their fight against the Wraith. Rodney hoped to find how to make a ZPM. And they all hoped to learn more about how the Wraith came to be.

But he also cared about what was going on. Theft was theft, to his mind, whether of food or weapons or time on the network.

Prudhomme turned out to be a short dark man with a temperament much like Rodney's. "Oh, his highness has given me permission to continue the investigation?" he asked John.

"If by his highness, you mean me, the base commander, then yes, I have."

Prudhomme looked only a little abashed. "Thank you, Colonel. I've been working on it in my spare time."

"Do you have a minute? Can you explain this to me? In layman's terms?"

"Hm." Prudhomme scratched his head too vigorously for John; he took a discreet step back. "Basically, while working on a lossy compression algorithm, I noticed a slowing of the processor. This is very unusual for the Ancient computer. I thought someone was doing maintenance, or maybe there'd been a runaway query, something using processing resources. I checked the percentage of the harddisk used, um, to see if any batch jobs were queued or running, but I couldn't find a thing. I noted it, but went on with my work, since the delay was minimal.

"But it kept happening. Just a few seconds here and there, which I know, it doesn't sound like much. But for a computer? It's the equivalent of the Jurassic period of the Mesozoic era."

John nodded. "Rodney said you'd discovered a pattern to it?"

"Yeah, after a while. Smarandache sequences, do you know that? It took me a while to spot because it's following the Pegasus galaxy's time, instead of what we're accustomed to, duodecimal time. Ah, we use base twelve; they use base eight," he added.

"I know," John said. "I got that. So the disruptions, if they're caused by somebody, are being caused by a native to this galaxy."

"Well, see, that would be a logical deduction, I agree. But wouldn't it be a good way to cast doubt on a native? It could also be something within the kernel of the Ancient's computer, or in the OS itself."

"I want you to find out, Prudhomme. Radek supports this, and if McKay gives you any grief, have him talk to me. Do you need help, someone with specialized knowledge of the Ancient operating system?"

"No, not right now. I'll get right on it. Rodney will be pissed."

"Rodney's always pissed. He's also my problem. I'm calling this a security breach, so it falls in my purview."

"Aye-aye, Colonel."

John opened his mouth to correct Prudhomme, but either the guy was joking or didn't care, so he just nodded again and headed to Rodney's quarters.

"A security breach? Give me a fucking break," Rodney said. John mouthed the words along with him, which only made Rodney scowl at him.

"Give it up," John said, flopping onto Rodney's bed. "The guy's a friggin' genius. He'll figure it out in no time."

"Oh, and I couldn't?"

"Yes, of course you could. But you're our Chief Science Officer; you have more important things to do." He waggled his eyebrows at Rodney, who sighed dramatically.

"If that's supposed to be seductive, you need to work on it more."

"We're guys, Rodney. I don't have to be seductive. I just have to say that I've been thinking about sucking your dick all day, and now I really want you to flop it out and let me at it."

"Jesus, you suck at this."

"Damn straight."

They cracked up, and Rodney dropped on top of John, straddling his hips. "Don't get your filthy boots on my bed," he whispered in John's ear, making him twist from the warm breath and slippy tongue in his ear.

"God, you're getting boney," John said, running his hands up and down Rodney's back. "I can count your ribs."

"It's all that running around you've got me doing, trying to get away from hostile natives with projectile weapons."

"No, seriously. You're not the same."

"Who is? This galaxy's changed us all, and by the way, shut up."

John smiled into Rodney's insistent kiss. He stroked his hand down Rodney's back again, then over his ass, trailing his fingers into the crease, rubbing lightly, teasing him. Rodney's legs fell apart, draping around John's legs, and he pushed into John's hardening dick, moaning into the kiss.

They kissed a long time, deeper and longer and wetter. Rodney loved to kiss, he had a doctorate in kissing, John thought, and he loved how aggressive Rodney became the longer they kissed. The key to Rodney was always his mouth; orally fixated didn't begin to describe him. Best of all, John knew that Rodney would eventually kiss his way down John's body until he reached John's dick, and then all that oral attention would be focused between John's legs.

When Rodney first licked John dick, wetting it, John pushed his hand through Rodney's hair, sighing in pleasure. But his hand came away full of hair. "Jesus!" he said, sitting up.

"Ow, fuck, what? I didn't bite you."

"Rodney, look." He held out his hand, palm up, full of Rodney's hair. They stared at it. "What aren't you telling me?" John asked.

Rodney sat up slowly, self-consciously running his fingers through his hair. "I assume it's radiation poisoning," he said, not sounding at all like Rodney. "You know how much exposure I've had out here. Frankly, I can't believe you have a hair left on your head."

"Does Beckett know? No, of course not. Come on. Get dressed."

"Can't I have a blowjob first? As incentive?"

"McKay. Either get your ass up or I'm calling Carson to come down here."

Rodney sighed exaggeratedly, but climbed off the bed and straightened his clothing. "I can't believe this couldn't wait another ten minutes."

As he chivvied Rodney out the door, John said, "Ten minutes? I'm offended. And setting a timer next time."

Carson was in his lab, but to Rodney's loud dismay, John insisted he personally check Rodney's health. "Look at this," he demanded, showing the hair he'd kept clutched in his fingers. "And he's been losing weight."

"I've been worried about his white blood cell count, too," Carson admitted.

"Hey, that was confidential," Rodney said.

John rolled his eyes. "Fuck this. Carson, you must know that Rodney and I are together. Just consider me his partner or something. I've got a right to the information."

"Ah, well, I thought you might in your role as base commander, but spouse will work as well," Carson said. Rodney stared at them both as if they'd grown horns.

"Congratulations, Colonel!" Nurse Lang called out. Rodney smacked John's shoulder.

But that was the last joke for a while.

~ ~ ~

Five: Caesium

John stood at the door, watching the hazmat-suited team systematically tear up Rodney's quarters. Every piece of furniture had been removed; they were now checking the walls. The radiation detectors they used were proportional counters, hybrids of Earth and Ancient technology, and Carson assured him they were extremely sensitive.

"You shouldn't be here," Lorne told him, coming to stand next to him.

"Bit late to worry about how much radiation I've absorbed," John said, staring into the room.

"Sir, please. Come on." When John didn't move, Lorne said, "John. There's nothing you can tell me that I don't know, and what I know is that Rodney wants you safe."

"Fuck that, Major."

"Don't major me. Come on. Or I'll get Elizabeth."

John finally looked at Lorne. "Man, you play a mean game."

Lorne held out his arms and tilted his head. "Dude, I've got this wacked CO. Only way to play the game."

"Dude," John said, shaking his head. "You win; let's go. Besides, I already know the answer."

"This is Jeopardy? I'm supposed to guess the question?"

"The question is what's wrong with Rodney. The answer is he's dying of radiation poisoning." Lorne was silent at that, and John felt a little bad about being so blunt. But only a little bit. His anger felt like a heart attack, a heavy pressure in his chest. Sometimes he just snapped and was as mean as he'd accused Lorne of being, just as an outlet for the pressure. Not that there was ever any relief. "Sorry," he said after a moment.

"It's okay," Lorne said quietly. "Just -- I'm pissed, too. We all are. It's Rodney."

"Yeah." John sighed, and rubbed his forehead; he had a headache most of the time these days.

"Sirs!" Someone shouted behind them and they turned. Talley had pulled off his helmet and approached them. "Sirs, it was in Doctor McKay's closet, in a corner between the wall and the floor."

"What was?" John asked sharply.

"The radioactive element. We've got it contained and will take it to the labs for Doctor Zelenka and the others to check out. But the initial readings indicate caesium chloride."

"Holy shit," Lorne said.

"Somebody had to put it there," John said, and Talley nodded.

"No way is this naturally occurring. It's a weird fucking thing to do."

"Any idea how long it's been there?"

Talley shook his head.

Lorne hesitantly touched John's arm. "Let's go," he said. "Rodney will want to know, and Carson and Biro need to know."

Talley returned to his teammates, fitting the helmet on again. John felt as if he were under water; he could move only very slowly, and the air felt thick and heavy. The smell of Atlantis, a smell he loved, soured, and he wondered if everyone were being poisoned. When he looked up at Lorne, he realized he was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. "Head back down," Lorne said, pushing on his neck, so he went back to staring at the floor. "Don't pass out, or I'll have to tell Rodney."

Rodney, John thought, closing his eyes. Like radiation, Rodney was everywhere, snapping his fingers, talking too loudly and far too quickly, and now, like radiation, he was undergoing exponential decay. Eventually, after enough half lives, he would reach zero. One or two, on or off, yes or no, alive or dead: it would all come to the same thing.

"Don't pass out," Carson said firmly, and snapped something in front of his face. John inhaled deeply and twisted away.

"Yuck," he said, sitting up.

"That's better. Now, keep your head down, lad. That's it. Don't hyperventilate."

"I wasn't hyperventilating," John said crossly.

"John, dear, are you all right?" Elizabeth asked.

He started to lift his head, but Lorne pushed him back down. He could see Elizabeth's trousers and black shoes. "I'm fine. Just."

"I know," she said, patting his knee. "Sergeant Talley told me."

"Biro's looking at it right now," Carson said. "We'll figure out what it is."

John raised his head to stare at Carson. "We know what it is," he said clearly, and people stopped milling around him to listen. "It's a radioactive substance that was put in Rodney's room to kill him. He's been poisoned. Carson, fuck, how did you miss that?"

Carson sat back, color draining from his face. Elizabeth put her hand on John's shoulder, her face sad and pained.

After a long pause, Lorne said, "The colonel is right; this is not an accident. We need to investigate this as a murder attempt."

"Attempt my ass," John snapped. "Rodney's dead. He just hasn't died yet."

"John!" Elizabeth said, and collapsed gracefully into lotus position on the floor next to him.

John caught her arm, steadying her. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but ask Carson. Hell, ask Rodney. He knows what his absorbed dose is. He tracks it the way the rest of us track our cholesterol."

"That's enough, John," Carson said softly, kneeling next to John and Elizabeth. "There's time to sort all this out when we know exactly what we're dealing with. Right now, I want you in the infirmary. That's an order, Colonel," he added, when John didn't move. Carson helped Elizabeth up while Lorne tugged at John.

"I'll get him to the infirmary," Lorne told him, and kept his hand wrapped around John's bicep. "Sir?"

"I keep telling you to stop sirring me," John said, but he let Lorne lead him away.

"This is fucked six ways to Sunday," Lorne said to him quietly. "You and I both know who's responsible."

"Yeah. Everybody knows. Nobody wants to say it."

"He's meeting with us in a couple days. I'll say it then."

John didn't have anything to add to that. He'd say it, too, and he did when they gathered around Elizabeth's conference table. The room had always struck him as cold and unfriendly, all the sharp edges and protruding prongs. Today, it seemed suitable.

Rodney was next to him, pale with red cheeks and a fizzy wheeze in his chest. When Lorne had walked John to the infirmary, he'd decided not to leave Rodney's side again. Lorne could run Atlantis; John would run the investigation.

On the other side of Rodney sat Carson, carefully attentive to his patient and friend, though John was irritated with him for not figuring out something was wrong earlier. He might be unfair, but he was angry at Carson and didn't know how to move past it.

Next to Carson was Elizabeth and seated next to her, across from Rodney, was Ladon Radim. Ronon sat across from John, and Lorne next to him, then Teyla, and finally, at the foot of the table, Captain Radnor, taking notes.

John and Lorne had sketched out how to broach the problem, but as he so often did, Rodney took care of it for them. "So why are you killing me, Ladon?"

Radim looked shocked. He half rose, staring at Rodney, then John, then Elizabeth. "Doctor McKay, please, I don't find --"

Rodney interrupted him. "Neither do I. Find it amusing. I assume you used caesium chloride because it's easy to produce? A bit slow acting, though; I would have used radium or barium. Is it easily available somewhere on your world?"

"I assure you, I have no idea -- are you saying you've been poisoned with caesium chloride?" Radim turned to Elizabeth. "You must know how highly I regard Doctor Mckay, Elizabeth. We have had many discussions about him."

"Great, great," Rodney said, his face turning redder. "You want to make it look as though Elizabeth, one of my oldest friends in this galaxy, was involved in the plot."

"No, I, what's going on? Elizabeth?"

"I'm dying," Rodney said slowly. He leaned across the table, staring at Radim. "I am suffering from excessive exposure to ionizing radiation. Some of it is my own fault, from the work I do, both here and when I lived on Earth. But the dosage I've absorbed is far beyond --" He began to cough. John silently poured him a glass of water.

"Doctor McKay, there is no reason for Genii, or for me personally, to wish you ill. None. Again and again, you have been a valuable ally to us, and we've tried to be the same to you ever since Cowan's disappearance."

Rodney flopped back dramatically, but John could hear his wheezing. He put his hand on Rodney's shoulder in a vain attempt to comfort him. To his surprise, Rodney didn't shake him off.

After a moment longer of appalled silence, Lorne scooted his chair sideways a bit, so he could look at Radim. "All right," he said. "No more secrets, no more horseshit. If you don't know about the murder attempt, you must know who would want Rodney dead. Someone who has access to this caesium chloride stuff, someone who's been to Atlantis, someone with enough freedom to get it into Doctor McKay's quarters. I've gone over the records and there are only a few people who match that profile."

Radim nodded. "I'm an obvious candidate," he said. "My personal assistant. My chief science officer. And her personal assistant. No one else."

"No one else," Lorne echoed, and crossed his arms.

Radim stared at the table for long seconds, and then he said, "I will question Tyra Mellon and Idros."

"I thought Idros was dead?" Elizabeth said.

He raised his head. "Another Idros, Tyra's personal assistant, and very loyal to her." Sighing, he said, "Tyra strongly advised me not to form an alliance with you. I thought I had persuaded her of your good intent, however misguided you sometimes appear."

"Why should we believe you?" John asked. "I can think of a dozen reasons why you might want Rodney dead, and none of them have to do with his personality."

"Hey," Rodney objected, but John squeezed his shoulder.

"I believe him," Elizabeth said quietly. She put her hand over Radim's. "Ladon and I are, we have." She straightened her back and met John's eyes. "Ladon and I have been together for some time. I don't believe he would do anything to harm Atlantis, or anyone who lived here."

"Shit," Lorne muttered. Rodney covered his eyes with his hands.

"Together," John repeated. "Okay, then you're compromised. I'm sorry, Elizabeth. Teyla?"

"Of course," she said smoothly. "Elizabeth, please forgive me, but I agree with John. You have been compromised. I hope Ladon is innocent, but we cannot know that and we cannot accept your word under these circumstances."

Elizabeth held her head higher but didn't argue. "What do you wish me to do?"

"Stop fucking him," Rodney said, dropping his hands.

"That's not going to happen," she snapped just as Lorne said, "McKay. All right, Doctor Weir. I can't say I'm wild about your choice. I won't apologize for that, Radim. Teyla, I agree with Colonel Sheppard; you're now the civilian-in-charge."

"Agreed," Rodney said.

"Thank you, Teyla," Elizabeth said quietly. She curled her fingers around Radim's; John dropped his eyes. This was so screwed.

He turned to Rodney, now so thin, his cheekbones sharp, the skin over them stretched red and shiny, his hair nearly gone, and what was left salt and pepper. "How will you question them?" Rodney asked Radim.

"Our interrogation techniques are . . . successful," he said.

"In the US military, that means torture," Rodney said.

Radim said, "No, that was Kolya's specialty. But we do use drugs that strengthen the desire to cooperate."

Lorne said, "Do it. Now. But here."

"You want me to bring them here?"

Lorne stood up, followed by everyone except Rodney. "Now, Radim. We'll send some Marines through with you, and if you're not ready to come back in ninety minutes, they're bringing you back alone."

"Understood." To John's dismay, Elizabeth and Radim swayed toward each other. They didn't kiss, but stared into each other's eyes. Then Elizabeth dropped her head and Radim followed Lorne and Radner out of the conference room.

John helped Rodney up, and they left Elizabeth with Carson and Teyla.

~ ~ ~

Eleven: Mouths open. Last words flown up into the trees

"And after the hammock?" Rodney murmured.

"Hm? Oh, I dunno. What about that Murphy bed, on M6S-584?"

"Well, it was comfortable, once we'd found it."

John nodded, remembering how they'd assumed they'd have to sleep on the floor after the locals had shown them to their rooms. Ronon and Teyla had disappeared into their own while he and Rodney stood staring at the empty room. "Tatamis," he said. "On the floor, remember? So I figured there'd be futons."

"And then the fucking bed fell on my head when you were opening cupboards hunting for the fucking futons."

Oh, Rodney had been pissed, John remembered, grinning even now. "Sorry," he said insincerely. "But it was a good bed. And I made it up to you."

Rodney smiled. "Yeah, yeah. You tried."

"Did more than try, you'll recall."

"It was a good bed. Really comfortable. And big. Very big. It was the width and height of the entire wall, and oh, that mattress -- my back has never been happier." John stared at him, and he added, "Or my dick."

"Good times, good times," John said, crossing his arms and leaning back, but that meant letting go of Rodney's hand, so he slumped forward again. "You look sleepy."

"I'll sleep soon enough," Rodney snapped, and yawned hugely.

"Uh-huh." He stroked Rodney's forehead, the permanent lines creased there. "Want your shoulders rubbed?" Without waiting for an answer, he stood and began massaging Rodney's neck and shoulders. "How's that?" Rodney groaned. "Just relax, dammit. Feels like rocks in there."

Rodney closed his eyes and leaned back, swaying as John kneaded his muscles. He'd lost most of his hair, and a lot of weight; sometimes John imagined he'd just blow away in the next big storm. He swiftly bent over and kissed the top of Rodney's head.

"That better not be a comment on my androgenetic alopecia."

"I would never stoop to comment on anyone's alopecia."

Rodney rolled his head back so he could look up at John. "If I were you? I would."

"Didn't you tell me it's caused by too much testosterone? So, theoretically, your androgenetic alopecia is a reflection of your, uh, manhood."

"Nice recovery, Sheppard. Keep rubbing."

"Yes, dear."

Rodney put a hand up to his shoulders, groping for John's hand. It was a silent apology, one John didn't need or want. He kept rubbing, soothing, moving his hands more slowly. He could hear Rodney's breath even out, and knew he was falling asleep again.

When Rodney was snoring softly, John slid away, back into his chair where he'd spent so many nights. "We had some good times," he whispered. "Funny how many of them were in bed."

In reverse order of preference, this will be his least favorite bed, he knows. Rodney knows it, too, though they never speak of it. Too much radiation, excessive exposure to ionizing radiation, too much of life in the Pegasus Galaxy, really. They were having a good moment, finally, but Carson had been clear: this was a respite only.

John wasn't supposed to touch Rodney, but how could he not? How could he not kiss his lips, his reddened face, his bruised skin? He wouldn't let Rodney die in some isolation chamber. Carson's protests had been perfunctory at best, Elizabeth's more so. Biro had watched them solemnly, and then shown John how to change IVs and bedpans and wash the sloughing skin.

His favorite bed would always be their first bed.

~ ~ ~

Eight: A False Image

"Hey," John said, coming to stand next to Radek.

"Stop talking," Radek said, but his voice was ragged with tears.

John swallowed, and turned to look out at sea. A light wind was blowing so the water was choppy, whitecaps dotting the horizon. The air smelled of salt and iodine. He put his hands in his pockets and prepared to wait.

Radek sniffled and wiped his glasses on his shirttail. "Who told?"

"Uh, Miko, actually. She's worried about you."

"Miko. She's hurting, too."

"Yeah."

"We all are," Radek said, and John felt his gaze like sunburn on his face. "It was a hideous death."

John shrugged. He couldn't disagree. He couldn't speak about that, not yet. Maybe not ever. They'd all lost so much since they came to Atlantis. He tried to remember how much he'd gained, but right now, waves of misery rolling off Radek like the whitecaps beyond the pier, he found it hard to remember what, exactly, he had gained. A friend, only to lose him? How was that fair? "Shit," he finally said.

"Yes. Z technickych duvodu zavreno." That made John look at Radek. "I found a note I'd written, not long after we came to Atlantis. It was a little joke, not very funny. To annoy Rodney, who couldn't remember my name. I stuck it on the back of his jacket. It means closed due to technical reasons."

John laughed, a short bark, despite himself.

"Maybe a little funny. He could be such a zmrd."

John nodded; he'd learned enough Czech slang over the years. "He could be a real asshole," he agreed.

"Do prdele," Radek murmured. He must be really upset, John thought, to have relapsed so completely into his native language. Radek rubbed his eyes, and slid his glasses back on. "I am fine," he announced, turning to John. "You do not need to be here."

"Maybe I want to be here," John said.

Radek shrugged. "As you wish."

They looked back out over the pier; the wind was rising, and the crests of the whitecaps frothy, splashing hard against the low steps beyond them. John's face and tee-shirt grew damp. He felt Radek shiver, and hesitantly put his hand on the small of his back. "Let's get some coffee," he said. Radek grasped the railing of the balcony, as if determined to remain out in the coming storm, but then sighed heavily.

"Coffee would be very good now," he said, and allowed John to steer him toward the wide glass doors. John saw in the reflection that Radek was looking up at him. "I sometimes feel him," he said quietly.

John paused. "Not you, too," he said, and pushed gently at Radek.

"Sometimes, yes. I think he is the dobry duch of Atlantis now."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what that means."

"Ah, guardian ghost, no, guardian spirit."

"Rodney is a guardian angel? You've been drinking the Marines' hooch again, haven't you?"

"Do not laugh, John," Rodney said, slowing. He lightly touched John's arm. "He is here with us, in Atlantis."

"You're drunk, Radek." John hesitated, and then added, "It's been a long time. Wouldn't he, ah, go?"

"Lossy data compression. Maybe death is a lossy transform codec, and enough remains that, that I can still, that despite the compression and distortion, we can still . . ." He sighed heavily.

Drunk, John decided. Well, coffee and sleep would help. Would help them both. He awkwardly patted Radek's back again, and herded him toward the mess hall.

~ ~ ~

Summer Sun

Rodney's grave held only a bit of his ashes. John had sprinkled them all over the Pegasus Galaxy: on the mainland, on several worlds where Rodney had been liked and appreciated, and of course in Atlantis. But he'd saved some for this place, not far from the beach where they'd swum and picnicked and spent so much of what little free time they'd had.

He stared at the patch, a deeper green than the grasses surrounding it. Ronon had piled small stones at one end, with pebbles on top. John added another pebble, one he'd found on the beach. It was a deep glossy black, scoured by the waves and sand. Carson had put up a white cross, even though John knew Rodney wouldn't have appreciated that. Jeannie had sent a marker through, some kind of green stone flecked with mica; carved into it was the symbol for infinity. Teyla had planted flowers opposite the marker, laughing and crying as she did, saying that Rodney would no doubt have been allergic to them.

John had watched and listened through several ceremonies. The Athosians in particular liked to remember Rodney. They'd always found him amusing, and appreciated his love of food and drink. That he'd saved them many times over the years made him remembered even more affectionately, and that Teyla had loved him meant no Athosian would speak ill of him.

A light breeze fluttered the flowers Teyla still maintained; they'd grown into a thick bunch, white bells silently ringing. Behind John, trees whispered, their needles sliding together in the wind, and he could smell the kauri resin oozing on their sun-drenched trunks. A ring of trees surrounded the gravesite; beyond them, the ocean glittered in the morning light.

It was already warm, even though it was still early in the day. After a long cold winter and a nearly spring-less year, summer flashed onto them, a nova of warmth and brilliant sunlight. Rodney would have complained bitterly, John thought, smiling to himself, and slathered them both in his homemade sun-block. But John could only rejoice in the return to light as the planet swung in its orbital plane.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, staring out at the waves. His right pocket crinkled, and his fingers wrapped around a slip of paper. On it, he knew, were the dates and times and observers of Rodney's ghost. No pattern to them: some claimed to have seen him in his lab, some heard his voice over their mics. Radek said he could feel Rodney's presence when he made a mistake, which fortunately wasn't too often. Even Ladon had seen him, or so he'd reported to John, wide-eyed in his disbelief. "He's not happy that I married Elizabeth," Ladon had said, and John could believe that much.

Within a few days of Ladon's sighting, he'd called a meeting of all the department heads in Atlantis and the leaders of the Athosian and Genii settlements on the mainland. Teyla now led the city; Elizabeth had stepped aside because of a difficult pregnancy. Halling and Sosa represented the Athosians, and Lenna and Api represented the Genii. Elizabeth had attended that meeting, though, standing next to Ladon, one of her hands in his, the other resting on her belly.

When all were gathered, Ladon said, "We have conclusive proof that Tyra Mellon and her personal assistant Idros are responsible for the caesium chloride found in Doctor McKay's quarters. Idros recruited one of your scientists, a Helena Kotsay. They became lovers. It was apparently quite easy for him to persuade her to get him access to Doctor McKay's quarters. He told her he was installing what I believe you call bugs into his computer so he and Tyra could access his research. He worked for Cowan, but I thought -- well, I used to work for Cowan. I did know that he and Tyra were still committed to developing a nuclear weapon against the Wraith, but I never thought they would harm someone to achieve that goal."

"Kotsay, Idros, and Tyra are together at this moment, under guard on the mainland in the Genii settlement. The question I bring to this group is: what next? We each have different systems of jurisprudence. What is the Genii's obligation to you all?"

"What would happen if this is left to the Genii?" Lorne asked, crossing his arms.

"They would be put to death."

Halling stirred uneasily. "The Athosians do not practice capital punishment," he said. "Not for any crime."

"The United States does," John said harshly, but he could hear Rodney in his head, excoriating him for trying to use US criminal procedure in his case.

"Many countries represented in Atlantis do not," Carson said firmly. "Has there been a trial? What evidence do you have?"

"They have admitted everything," Ladon said.

"And you use drugs to compel confession, do you not?" Carson asked, but John knew he already knew the answer. They all did.

"The drugs don't --"

"Ladon," Elizabeth said, and the room fell silent. "I suggested that we all meet. I have seen the tapes of their confessions, and I do believe them. But I think all of us -- Atlantians, Athosians, and Genii -- should have an opportunity to do so. And then I think the punishment must be decided by all of us."

John left the room. He thought he heard Elizabeth call after him, and he knew he heard Lorne, but he continued walking away, not running, but walking as swiftly as he could. The corridors of Atlantis were too narrow to contain his feelings, the ceilings too low, the windows not wide enough. He avoided the transporters and fled, up into the towers, and then outdoors onto a favorite balcony, one that looked out to sea.

That day had been cold and chill, heavy clouds snagged on the spires of Atlantis and mist bathing him almost instantly. Walking onto the balcony was like walking into a sensory deprivation chamber, like looking into a bowl of milk, like being wrapped in damp swaddling. Even the world was too small for John.

He closed his eyes and dropped his head, inhaling deeply. The air was cold enough that he could feel it rushing down his throat and into his lungs. A memory of Sartrean philosophy fell into his mind, or maybe it really was the ghost of Rodney, whispering nothing, nothing, and nothing; life is unjustified, death even more so.

He exhaled and opened his eyes. Irrational and meaningless: Rodney would not have agreed. There was no ghost; Rodney was gone. Whatever meaning there was, John would have to find for himself.

When Carson came to take him inside, wrapping John's leather jacket around him, he said, "I don't care what happens to them. Live or die: it doesn't matter. All that matters is --" But his throat closed up and he couldn't speak.

"I know," Carson said. "I loved Rodney, too, in my own way. Not like you, John, I know, but he was a dear friend and I miss him every day. We'll let Elizabeth and Teyla take care of justice. Justice has no meaning for a medical doctor, nor for a military man, I should think. All we can hope for is kindness, and a bit of peace in our old age."

John knew the words were meant for Carson as much as for him; Carson was the doctor who had failed, just as John was the military man who had failed. Still, he said, "Jesus, Carson. You're a terrible therapist."

Carson nodded his head, smiling ruefully. "It's me Scots nature, I think," he said.

But that had been years ago, in the late autumn of a sad year, full of blizzards and gales, and now it was bright summer. The murk of the wearisome winter was behind them. Kotsay, Mellon, and Idros were long gone, banished to a gate-less planet; that was the Athosians' decision, and John had had no complaint. They were probably already dead and, if not, soon would be, he thought. He'd known Helena Kotsay, a strong woman; not the kind, he would have thought, to follow blindly her lover's plans, but love did strange things to people.

John could testify to that.

He knelt by the grave, clasping his hands between his legs. Rodney's ghost had never come to him. He knew that, even now, new recruits were warned of it and told to avoid Rodney's lab after midnight. Hermiod had mentioned it to John once, not long ago, asking in his oddly innocent way if this was common behavior for humans. John had shrugged and suggested he ask Caldwell, but Hermiod had given a human-sounding snort and said, "I prefer to avoid that humiliation." He'd sounded so much like Rodney for a moment that John had paused and really looked at him. But he was just a naked grey alien with a preference for human company.

"Well," John said, maybe to Rodney or maybe to himself; he wasn't sure. "Been a long time, buddy. I never did find somebody to replace you, but I bet you knew that. You could be mean as a snake, but you sure wound your way into my life."

He stood and, from his pocket, took another pebble, this one from Earth, sent to him by Rodney's niece Madison, and set it carefully on top of Ronon's stack. He wanted to say something profound, but what could he say to the ashes and flowers and trees that they didn't already know? "E used to equal m c squared," he finally said. "Still does in some parts of the universe. But not everywhere, Rodney. Not everywhere."

~ ~ ~

Twelve: At Home in the House of Three Skylarks

"John," Teyla greeted him when he opened the door. "How is Rodney?"

"The flowers you planted need thinning again," he said, and then immediately felt guilty. "They're beautiful, Teyla. In full bloom already."

"All the sun has been good," Ronon said.

"Oh, and you're a farmer now?" John asked.

"You know it, Farmer John." Ronon tossed John his big sunhat. "Time to go. Parrish, Bledsoe, and Concord are waiting in the south pasture. It needs work before we can let the geiz in."

"I know, I know." John crammed the sunhat on his head and pulled his geiz-skin gloves on. "Teyla? Try not to do too much."

She smiled at him, and Ronon rubbed her pregnant belly. "Just sit there and look pretty," he told her. She smacked his elbow, but kissed him and waved goodbye to them, standing in the door of their little house.

"Good you came to us, Sheppard," Ronon said when they were almost to the pasture. Ahead, their three partners in farming were already at work, turning over the wet grass, Parrish on his knees, probably measuring something in the soil. "Better here, I think."

"I dunno," John said, slowing to look toward the shore. "I miss the city."

"Too many Earthers," Ronon said. "You hate that."

"Well." John tilted his head in acknowledgment. Too many Earthers was right. But he still missed the city, the city he knew in the early days, when he and Rodney were wandering its corridors, alone but never lonely, full of the excitement of discovery. He missed the sound of the city, the quiet murmur of the water and air, the responsiveness of Ancient technology, the welcoming presence of the city itself.

But the city also meant Rodney, and he was tired of missing Rodney. Too many years ago, too much pain. Ronon was right. It was better here on the mainland, living in a shanty built at the side of Ronon and Teyla's home. All new, and all his, except for a few things of Rodney's he hadn't been able to leave behind.

"Besides," Ronon added as he clambered over the fence into the pasture, "that new colonel's a real zmrd."

John couldn't argue with that, either. Radek sent him daily emails about the new rules and restrictions placed on the Earthers by the new guy; he was about ready to move away himself. He was old enough to retire, John thought. And he'd like it here, too.

The House of Three Skylarks, Teyla had named their home, meaning not just the buildings but the land around them that they worked as a team. Three-quarters of his old team, plus others from Earth, two Genii, and an ever-changing mix of Athosians including kids pissed at their parents; those John always welcomed. He identified with them even now. John wasn't sure why she called it that, but he suspected it had something to do with Rodney.

"Yeah," he said, jumping from the fence to land beside Ronon. "Let's see what Parrish thinks, and then get started."

They walked toward the others, the smell of drying grass rising around them, steam from the damp earth coiling toward the sun, and John at home with his family at last.

~ ~ ~

How many losses does it take to stop a heart,
to lay waste to the vocabularies of desire?
Each one came rushing through the rooms he left.
Mouths open. Last words flown up into the trees.
--from Last Words, by Dorianne Laux