The House of Three Skylarks (John Sheppard/Rodney McKay; R)
Title: The House of Three Skylarks
Author: Mirabile Dictu
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: John Sheppard/Rodney McKay
Rating: R
Word Count: 20,541
Summary: Like radiation, Rodney was everywhere, snapping his fingers, talking too loudly and far too quickly, and now, like radiation, he was undergoing exponential decay.
A/N: Beta by ciderpress, auburnnothenna, and lady-of-asheru, with encouragement from namastenancy.
Warning: Character death.
The House of Three Skylarks
Six: A Shadowy Trace
John didn't believe in ghosts. He didn't believe in any supernatural phenomena, and learning about stargates and wormholes and Ancients and ascension only made him less likely to believe in the supernatural. Gods, ascended beings claiming to be gods, or snake-like creatures inhabiting humans who claimed to be gods: all bullshit.
So it was bullshit when he overheard whispers that Rodney was haunting Atlantis. He overheard it in the mess, when he passed the Marines, two claiming to have seen Rodney while they were on duty in the gateroom one night. An oceanographer, Banks, who'd been stung by a jellyfish claimed he'd seen Rodney the night he'd spent in the infirmary. That was definitely bullshit; the oceanographer hadn't even been stationed in Atlantis when Rodney had been around to terrorize non-physicists. But then John had overheard Miko, her hair falling into her eyes, whispering to her newly-arrived cousin that Dr. McKay sometimes visited the labs. John had seen little saki-sized cups full of Rodney's favorite sweets left out at night in the labs; he'd even stolen a few Tootsie Rolls before he realized he wasn't just feeding his sweet tooth but rumors about Rodney's ghost.
He still took the Tootsie Rolls though because, as Rodney would have said, Tootsie Rolls.
But when Elizabeth joined in, he knew he had to do something. "He walked right through me," she said, rubbing her forehead.
"Now, Elizabeth," John said gently. "You know that's not possible. Have you talked to Carson?"
She gave him a look, one Rodney might have given him. "Of course it's possible; this is Atlantis," she said, and he had to laugh and shake his head. "You're not seriously suggesting this is a symptom of menopause, are you?"
"Um, no? But I still want you to talk to Carson." He hesitated, and then said, "Actually, I've heard this before. I suppose I should do something, try to sort it out. Probably one of the newer scientists thinks it's a good joke. Maybe that Banks guy."
"If that's the case, I'll work on a suitable punishment," Elizabeth promised.
John talked to Lorne afterwards; it turned out he'd seen Rodney, too. "Well, I wasn't going to say anything," he explained. "You two were so close, and his, well. Anyway. Yeah, I saw him. In, well, in your favorite jumper."
"You saw Rodney's ghost in a jumper."
"Look, I know it isn't possible. I don't know what I was really seeing. It was late, I was tired, it was dark, and it was just a movement that caught my attention."
"But something made you think it was Rodney."
Lorne hesitated for a long time, not meeting John's eyes. Finally, he said, "I knew Rodney pretty well. Yeah." He looked at John. "It was Rodney. He was my friend, too, John," he added softly.
"I know," John said, but it hurt, that so many people thought they were seeing Rodney. "Okay," he said, trying to sound resolute. "Let's put together a list of all the times and places he's been seen, and who saw him. Maybe there's some kind of pattern."
"I'll get right on it," Lorne said. He hesitated, and then said, "If I see him again, I'll try to talk to him."
John didn't know how to respond, so he just pulled out his notepad. "So when was it that you thought you saw him?"
~ ~ ~
Nine: How many losses does it take to stop a heart
He'd kept a list, of course; Rodney had kept lists about everything. Usually in his head, of people who'd offended him or pissed him off, lists of things to do, personnel concerns, needed supplies, military irritations, and who knows how many other lists, on his computer, on scraps of paper that littered his desks, on yellow stickies stuck to his laptops, and a few times scrawled on the palm of his hand. So it was no surprise to John to learn that Rodney had kept a list of beds he'd slept in.
"Chronological, reverse chronological, preference, reverse preference, or alphabetical?"
"Reverse alphabetical," John suggested, but Rodney glared at him. "Okay, preference."
"Oh my god, that bed on Maui, remember? At that estate they put us up at, after the Stargate program went public? Do you remember?" Rodney sighed.
"Was it the bed, the room, or the place that gets such high marks?"
"All of the above. Plus what happened in the bed," Rodney said, leering at him.
John leered back, and they laughed. "Yeah, it was good. We always said we'd go back, but we never did."
"Well, it's a galaxy away. Plus we've been busy." Rodney waved a hand. "And there've been other beds. Like the state bed on P7X-whatever."
"That's your second favorite?"
"Okay, no, but it was memorable."
"Trying to sleep with all those people watching us? Yeah, memorable is one word for it." He grinned at Rodney. "It was fun watching you wipe up your drool when you woke up, though."
"Asshole. All those people staring at me." John watched as he sipped iced coffee. "And the ritual beforehand."
"It was something," John agreed. "They cut my hair."
"At least you still had some hair afterwards. And then they smoked us."
"Like hams. Smelled good, that stuff. And it did mellow you out."
Rodney smiled in recollection. "Yeah, it was good shit. Made everything else seem not so crazy. We should have traded for that."
"Elizabeth wouldn't let us, remember? I bet Carson would have."
"Carson? What?"
"Well, it could be used medicinally."
"Colonel, that's the oldest excuse . . . Well, yeah, actually. A toke now wouldn't go amiss."
"Sorry."
Rodney shrugged. "It was a long time ago."
"But that bed. The state bed. Lying in it --"
"Stark naked."
"Lying in it stark naked with the entire village watching us."
"And Ronon and Teyla."
"Yeah, that's right. They were there, too."
"Oh, God, that's right. But who wouldn't block the memory of Ronon checking out their ass?"
"I remember the bed."
"You know what I remember? The canopy over us. The embroidered material; it was all sparkly with gold, like gold wires woven through it, and the deep red color. Elizabeth called it Chinese red."
"What I remember is how people came up to us to bless us."
"With incense that made me sneeze. Why couldn't they have used more of that dope? I'd like some now."
"You gettin' sleepy? Should I . . ."
~ ~ ~
Autumn Rain
Light drizzle didn't bother John, though Rodney grimaced and grumbled about it the entire time. Ronon didn't appear to notice it, and John wondered if the stuff he put on his dreads kept his hair dry. Teyla simply pulled her collar up and kept walking.
The village elder said, "You should stay. The srugen is coming. We are well stocked, well prepared -- stay with us."
Rodney said, "Srugen? Like a fish?"
John said, "Thanks, but we gotta run. We appreciate the offer, but we're expected."
"Then take care, friends, and return soon. We look forward to trading with you again." He slid the doors shut behind them, leaving them in a light rain.
"Oh my god, this is hideous," Rodney said, but he lifted the sack of grain and slung it over his shoulder. John raised an eyebrow; all this hiking around was strengthening Rodney, and John bet Rodney hadn't realized it. He picked up his own sack and followed Teyla back toward the jumper.
The rain got heavier, and though the sacks were thick, he thought the grain was getting wet, and Parrish had warned them that that would spoil it. All this work for nothing. "Let's speed up," he said, and broke into a trot. He heard Rodney groan but since Ronon didn't say anything, he assumed they were keeping up.
By the time they reached the jumper, rain was sheeting down. "Is this a srugen?" Rodney wondered, staring out the back end of the jumper. "Can we fly in this?"
"I can," John answered, settling into his seat. He was wet clear through and anxious to return to Atlantis. He heard the hatch closing, and then Teyla draped an emergency blanket around his shoulders. "Thanks."
Rodney plunked into the co-pilot's seat, rubbing a corner of his blanket over his head. "Heater, heater, ah, here." John felt a gust of warm air and sighed.
"Thank you, Rodney," Teyla said. John could tell she was shivering.
"Listen to that rain," Rodney marveled.
John agreed; the puddlejumper thrummed beneath the heavy downpour. "Listen to that," he murmured, as he slowly took them up. He could see the tops of the trees beaten by the rain, and standing water glinted on the ground as they soared toward the stargate. He'd be glad to get off this wet rock and into space.
As they rose above the tree line, gust of wind slammed into them; the inertial dampeners kept them stable, but John could feel it through the skin of the jumper, and he felt it tremble beneath his hands. The wind surged again, harder, as they increased altitude, and he suddenly wondered if they'd be able to get above the turbulence. At that thought, a new HUD appeared. Rodney said, "Hey, hey. That's turbulence -- is that real-time? Sheppard, this is bad, very bad."
The jumper shuddered so violently that the inertial dampeners didn't keep its occupants from jerking to starboard. "Fuck," John said, and for the first time had to wrestle with the controls.
"Seriously, Colonel," Rodney said, and John heard the concern in his voice. "Look at this," he said, pointing at the new HUD, "the wind, it's transitioned into chaotic flow -- and here -- see, the drag -- oh!"
"I'm taking her down," John said. "Hang on." The jumper seemed grateful to sink out of the chaos of the upper atmosphere, though she set down more heavily than he was used to, and the lights flickered. "Rodney?"
"Yes, yes. I'm checking. I think the bouncing unseated some of the crystals; nothing more than that."
Lightning slashed across the dark sky, leaving John seeing blue and yellow afterimages. Almost instantly, thunder followed, and then more lightning, a nearly-constant barrage. John put his hands over his ears and turned away from the windscreen to check on his team. Teyla had sunk to the floor, cross-legged, and shut her eyes, obviously trying to meditate through the cacophony. Ronon half stood, his muscles bunching and shifting under his skin in the flickering light.
Rodney stared into his tablet, the lightning flashing across his face making his eyes bluer than ever. John watched him as the thunder exploded around them; he could feel it under his feet.
Ronon sat next to Teyla, staring up at John, who felt the weight of responsibility to his teammates. Ronon could do that to him even more than Rodney could. John wasn't sure if they should have stayed, or left earlier, but he didn't like sitting in this tin can while the storm raged; he felt too much like the key on Ben Franklin's kite.
The wind blew harder, hard enough to send shudders through the jumper. Leaves and small branches battered the windscreen, and something thudded against the hatch, making Rodney jump. "I hate this," he muttered, and John silently agreed.
Teyla opened her eyes and asked, "Is it lightning less?"
All four turned their faces to the windscreen and waited. John slouched deeper into his seat and crossed his arms.
"That's one," Rodney said, but it was distant and pale, and John counted, "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi," until he reached five. "Wind's still pretty fierce," he started to say when there was a sudden bang and they all jumped. Another bang, and John stood, drawing his Beretta. The jumper's exterior lights switched on, and three people came into view.
"Look," Teyla said, standing. "They are from the village. I recognize the man with the braid."
John punched the switch so the hatched opened. "Come with us," the young man shouted. "Father says that the storm will return. You will be safer with us."
John looked at Rodney, who nodded, frowning deeply. "They're right. The storm is coming back, but even if it weren't, the turbulence in the upper atmosphere is still too powerful for the jumper."
"Then we accept your invitation," John said, and swung his pack over his shoulders.
"Hurry!" a young woman urged them. "The lightning returns." She was holding something over her head, shiny in the jumper's lights, like plastic, John thought, and the wind tugged tirelessly at it, nearly jerking it from her grasp. "Please."
Rodney grumbled, but pulled on his pack and helped Teyla with hers. John drew his hood over his head, and then Rodney's over his. The wind hit him hard when he stepped out; he had to grab the jumper to keep his balance. Ronon seized his shoulders and held him steady. "Thanks, buddy," John said, but the wind stripped the words away. It was picking up, and the lightning was flashing more frequently again. He helped Teyla and Rodney out, letting Ronon hang on to them while he closed the hatch.
"Hurry!" the man with the braid shouted over the wind. "It is dangerous to be out in this." Small branches smacked into John's leg, and Rodney had wet leaves plastered to his shoulder. They followed the three from the village, ducking into the forest. The wind wasn't as strong, but it was even noisier, whistling through the leaves, and the trees themselves surged like a storm on Atlantis.
The path was narrow, winding, and slick; John stumbled once, Ronon catching him by the arm and pulling him up. Rodney and Teyla clung together. The only light came from the lightning, which was getting brighter and more frequent. They jogged awkwardly, pushing their way through the heavy wet underbrush. John's feet kept tangling in the low bushes that snagged like blackberry canes.
"It's getting worse," Ronon shouted into his ear, and he agreed. The wind blew the rain directly into their faces, so they had to bend forward, following the heels of the three villagers. Water had run into John's boots and soaked his trousers from the knees down; when he'd stumbled, he had sat in sodden clay. He saw the same smudges on the back of Rodney's legs each time the lightning flashed.
"Here!" he thought he heard someone bellow. "Over here!" He peered through the rain, but he could see only the blurred images of his teammates. Then there was a light -- not lightning, he realized, but a lantern held up. Its rays streamed out, shining on the face of a man holding it up, and bouncing off the pouring rain. In another minute, they were under a large wooden awning, the thrumming noise of the rain as it rebounded from the roof worse than in the forest. The man with the lantern led them deeper in the shelter, through two heavy doors, and finally they were inside, out of the wind and wet, their clothes steaming in the warm dry air.
"Thank you," John said, pushing back his hood. "How did you know we'd returned?"
"We didn't," the girl said. "We were out looking for Halco when we saw you land."
The man cuffed the young man with the braid. "And where were you going, Halco, out on such a night?"
"Just out," he said sullenly. "Good thing I did, too, or you'd never have found them."
The man shook his head, his mouth pursed. "Go to your mother. She's worried sick." Halco left, shambling in a way John remembered from his own adolescence. "I am Bondir," the older man said. "We met earlier, but you spoke mostly with the elders. Come with me. We will find you a place to wait out the srugen."
"Thank you," Teyla said, serene even as she dripped. "We are grateful for your hospitality."
"What is this place?" Rodney asked, looking up and around as they walked through a long hallway. "I don't remember seeing this before."
Bondir said, "No, this is one of the back entrances to the warren. There are several, but we knew this was Halco's favorite. It's also nearest to his quarters."
"Is he your son?" Teyla asked.
"No, his father died some winters ago. He is a neighbor, though, and his mother is a good friend. We all try to look out for him. He is going through some rough times."
"Warren, you said," Rodney interrupted. "Like a rabbit warren? What do you mean?"
"I don't know about rabbits, but we have built under this hill to protect ourselves from the weather and the Wraith." As they continued, the corridor opened up a bit, and passageways led off from it, with many doors lining all of them. There were windows, too, looking into the corridors; John couldn't help but peer into some of them as they walked past. Most had curtains pulled over them, but a few revealed kitchens or living areas. Some of the doors were open, lights spilling out into the corridor, and voices echoed.
"Is that singing?" Rodney asked, slowing.
"Yes, to cheer the children. Sometimes the srugen frightens them. We sing the sun-songs on nights like these."
John nodded; he remembered sitting with his mother watching the lightning as if it were a television show. She had sung to him then, too, and he'd felt safe and loved, despite the ferocious storms of the American midwest.
"Through here," Bondir said, and they turned down a narrower passageway. "This is where Elder Kaifa lives. You met him earlier today, with his partner, Hanso."
Elder Kaifa, whom John did remember, was sitting in a rocking chair parked outside his open door. "Ah, you return," he called, puffing on a pipe. "Good, good. The srugen is not safe for anyone. Where will you put them, Bondir?"
"Ah, do you have a suggestion?"
"Oh, no. None at all. But you might think about Essa's old quarters; they've been cleared out."
"Good idea," Bondir said. John thought he sounded irritated.. "Do you --" Elder Kaifa waved his hand at them, smoke roiling from him. Rodney coughed. "This way, please." He led them back to the main corridor and on, winding through the passageways.
"Quite a complex you have here," Rodney said.
"Yes, it's been a long time in the making. Every generation excavates a bit more. All right, here we are. I think you'll be comfortable here. I'll be back with supplies for you."
"Thank you," John said, and Teyla bowed slightly. Rodney and Ronon wandered around through the small rooms.
"Nice," Rodney shouted back to them. "Dibs on this room."
John followed his voice. "Dibs? Did you really just call dibs?"
"Hey, I like it; it's got its own bathroom. Or something."
"There are only two bedrooms, so who gets the honor of sharing with you?"
"You three can have the other room."
John shook his head and dropped his pack. The rooms were small and a bit dark, but warm and the air was fresh. Every wall was covered in fabric, thick and quilted, in muted colors of brown and green, with a flicker of something silver catching the light of the sconces. What Rodney had called a bathroom was a shallow basin set into the floor, with a wooden bucket next to it. Rodney stood next to John and they stared down at it. "How do you think it works?" John asked.
Rodney shook his head. "Ah, I'll get back to you on that." He squatted, peering at the wall behind the basin.
John wandered into the main room, where Ronon was unpacking. "Hungry," he told John, pulling out powerbars, water bottles, and a camp stove Rodney had modified to run on naquadah.
"Rodney," John called, sticking his head back into the bedroom. "Tea? MREs or something else?"
"Oh, hey, I've got a couple chicken tetrazzini MREs, and uh, a box of English Breakfast teabags."
"Then get your ass out here and let's eat," he said, rubbing his hands together. This was much better than waiting out the storm in the puddlejumper. The warren was warm, Rodney would figure out the toilet, and they were safe from the lightning.
It was Ronon who actually figured out the toilet. "Had 'em on Sateda," he told them, showing them the hidden mechanisms, small pedals to close or open the drains, and how the small buckets were really hot and cold water tanks.
"No privacy then?" Rodney asked, hands on his hips. John shooed the others out, sliding the doors behind him. "Thank you," he heard Rodney sigh.
"I am grateful to have been invited here," Teyla said, filling the kettle with water.
"I was just thinking that," John said, sitting on the floor next to her. He could hear Ronon in the third room; it sounded like he was unpacking. "Much better than being in the storm."
"Srugen," Teyla corrected him, smiling. "Do you wish tea?"
"Yes, please." They watched in silence as the little camp stove began to glow.
Under the hill, he couldn't hear the rain or thunder at all; in fact, he could hear very little. The hiss of the water as it heated; Ronon moving in the other room; water running when Rodney flushed. The thick earthen walls absorbed everything else. They might have been completely alone.
The scent of the tea filled the rooms, an Athosian blend they were all fond of, even Rodney. The four of them sat around the camp stove, still glowing as it cooled, blowing on their tea. Rodney yawned hugely, which made John yawn. Ronon smiled at them, the smile that John loved because it told him how completely relaxed Ronon had become with them, and how integrated the team was. These moments, he thought, made everything else worthwhile.
Rodney yawned again. "Bed," he said, eyes watering. "Too much excitement today."
"Thank you, Teyla," John said, draining his mug. "Good night."
"Come on, John-boy," Rodney said, already pulling off his shirt.
"Yes, Mary Ellen," he replied, but it was an old joke now and provoked no response. John fell into his sleeping bag, rolled out on top of the low bed that shifted slightly beneath his weight. More comfortable than sleeping on the ground or even an air mattress, he thought. He felt Rodney's weight and warmth against his back and relaxed a bit more.
"All your chicks are safe," Rodney murmured, and John smiled into the night.
In the morning, after a quick breakfast, John and Rodney took their mugs of tea with them and wandered the corridors. "Here," Rodney called, and moved more quickly. John could hear the sound of the rain again, and smelled damp air, cool against his face. Turning a corner, they found a kind of patio built out into the open air. "For ventilation, maybe," Rodney guessed.
The deck was wood, as was the overhang, and little wooden troughs ran the circumference. The rain had settled into a steady downpour, but they saw no lightning today. What sky they could see between the steep hillside, the overhang, and the heavy trees, was dark grey, and the tops of the trees were hidden in the clouds. The wind was much lighter, but occasional gusts flung the water onto the patio, so they settled at the doorway of the warren.
Gutters ran along the edges of the roof and along the exterior of the deck, filled with rivulets. The air smelt rich and new, and was filled with the sound of running water. The ground, though a hillside, glittered with water, its mirror surface splintered by the rain, a thousand tiny circles overlapping. Each surge of wind tossed the tree branches, a wet exhalation of resin and evergreen needles and damp earth. John inhaled deeply. He loved Atlantis and the smell of the sea, but sometimes he missed earth and trees.
They'd be able to go home today, John thought. The puddlejumpers could easily withstand this intensity of the rain and wind.
But for the moment, the two of them sat in the doorway, sipping their steaming tea, listening to the rain. Neither spoke. Behind them, John occasionally heard voices: a child crying, a woman's laugh, a man singing a lullaby. The rain continued to fall, the wind to blow, and Rodney leaned against John's side, silent for once.
~ ~ ~
One: Stream Cypher
Rodney threw up right after dinner. He'd gobbled his food as usual, practically racing Ronon through the meal, looked up at John, his mouth slack and eyes wide, and bolted. John followed him, with Ronon at his heels.
"Great," John said. "I told you not to eat so fast."
"Fuck off," Rodney said thickly, wiping his mouth on his hem of his tee shirt. "Dammit. I feel like shit."
"You need to chew more," Ronon said, staring at the mess. John only glanced at it; the sight made his stomach lurch uncomfortably.
"Clean this up," he said to Rodney, who threw up again. "Oh, for God's sake. Ronon, take him to the infirmary. I'll clean up."
Rodney was uncharacteristically quiet, and permitted Ronon to lead him down the corridor. John sighed, and went to the kitchens for a bucket and mop. He nearly puked himself, but by taking frequent breaks and breathing deeply the salty-sweet air of Atlantis, he managed.
When the floor was clean again and the waste disposed of, he washed his hands and face and drank a big glass of cool water before heading to the infirmary. Silfven was there, writing something. "Oh, Colonel," he said, looking up. "Ronon took Doctor McKay to his room. He'll be fine. I gave him something for the nausea. He'll probably wake up hungry and cranky."
John smiled ruefully. "No changes there then. I'll just . . ." He left and found Rodney sprawled on his bed, an arm thrown over his face. "Hey, buddy." Rodney only wiggled his fingers in response. "Can I get you anything?"
"No," he whispered. "A new stomach?"
"Doc Silfven says you'll be fine. Just need to ride this out."
"Ugh."
John turned off the lights, leaving Rodney's laptop up so its pale blue glow was the only illumination. "I should go," he started, but Rodney moved his arm. His eyes were puffy, and he really did look terrible. In fact, he looked so miserable that John said, "How about I sit with you for a while?"
He pulled the laptop to him, sat at Rodney's desk, and pulled up his own webmail, and tried to do a little work. Rodney wasn't moaning or groaning, he wasn't complaining, but his very silence pressed in on John. Finally, he turned around and just watched. Rodney lay very still, his chest barely moving. "Are you in pain?" John asked.
Rodney shrugged, a tiny move. "Not sure what I feel," he said.
"Still sick to your stomach?"
"No, well, not much. I just ache."
John bit his lip. After a few second's hesitation, he tapped his mic. "Carson, this is Sheppard. Would you come to McKay's quarters?"
"Oh, not Carson," Rodney groaned, but that's all he said.
"Well, I don't know," Carson said when he'd finished examining Rodney. "No more nausea, no fever, really nothing but this malaise."
"Look at him, Carson. He looks like hell."
"He's right here," Rodney said.
"Yes, sorry, Rodney. There's room in the infirmary; why don't you spend the night there, just in case. If you still feel poorly in the morning, we'll start running blood and urine tests. Right now, I'm inclined to think it was just something he ate."
"Oh, not in the infirmary," Rodney groaned, but Carson had made up his mind and John was relieved.
"Up, up," he said, bullying Rodney into standing. "I'll grab your sweats."
"It was nothing," Rodney told John in the morning when they met before a department heads meeting. "Not even a fever. Sorry you had to, uh, clean up."
"Well, now you owe me, Rodney," John said, smiling as enigmatically as he knew how. Rodney looked flustered, and the meeting started.
~ ~ ~
Seven: The Unseen Seen
"It was he," Halling said as John entered the jumper bay, ready to make a supply run to P2X-311. He looked rattled, and dour.
"Who was he?" John asked, but Halling seemed lost in thought. "Stackhouse?"
"I didn't see him, sir," Stackhouse replied crisply, almost saluting in his anxiety John thought.
"See who?" John asked again.
Halling and Stackhouse exchanged glances. Both looked unhappy, then Halling said, "Doctor McKay."
"Oh, for -- May I remind you that Rodney is dead? He died in my fucking arms," John snapped. "I don't want to hear anymore of this bullshit about Rodney's ghost."
Halling drew himself up, towering over John. "I am not mistaken," he said firmly, his voice deeper than usual. "Nor do I bullshit."
John took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Halling. It's just," he gestured helplessly. "I don't believe in ghosts."
"What you believe in is irrelevant," Halling said, but kindly. He rested his hand on John's shoulder. "Colonel. John. We all loved Rodney. We Athosians remember his name twice a year: on his birth day and on his death day. I do not mean to distress you. But I know I saw him, in the puddle jumper, just before we landed here in Atlantis."
John saw that Halling was entirely serious. He looked to Stackhouse.
"I didn't see him, sir," Stackhouse said, "but I did see something. Movement, and a flash of blue, like a blue jacket. Out of the corner of my eye."
"A movement," John repeated. He wanted to tear at his hair. Instead, he said, "Thank you. I'm going to take the same jumper out for a test drive. I'll let Control know." Without looking back, he entered the jumper, tossing his pack behind the co-pilot's seat. P2X-311 could wait thirty minutes or so, long enough to hit the thermosphere.
John loved how responsive the jumpers were to him. Over the years, he'd grown accustomed to them, but never bored by them. This morning he especially rejoiced in their sensitivity as he took Jumper Four up. Atlantis quickly shrank to a silver island surrounded by blue; on the horizon he could see the green of the mainland, a thin crust disappearing beneath him. Then he turned the jumper and looked up, straight through the atmosphere, into the stars of this galaxy.
He'd always wanted to fly, but knew he'd never be an astronaut. Now he was, flying between planets as easily as he had flown between cities. He could fly forever in a jumper, fly until he starved to death, and still the jumper would continue on.
No noise disturbed him, no motion but the slow movement of the stars as he flew out of the world. He lost track of time, watching those stars, breathing deeply, relaxing out of the hyper-vigilant state that Halling's words had pushed him into. Halling was a good man, but he was getting on, and carried many responsibilities. And Stackhouse had said he'd seen nothing.
When the weight on John's chest had completely gone, and his head no longer throbbed, he turned the jumper around and began the return to Atlantis. The world was tiny, and shrouded in dark; he was approaching from the southern pole, where it was night. As he drew nearer, he saw a nearly perfect circle around the pole glowing deep green, rippling like curtains. The aurora australis blazed and dimmed and blazed again, a bitter green against the soft blue of the ocean. He stared at it, wondering what Rodney would have said about it. "Solar wind," no doubt. "Magnetosphere." He could almost hear the words in Rodney's voice. But even he would have found this beautiful.
John flew out of the trembling darkness and around the world, back into day, back to Atlantis. "Control, this is Jumper Four," he said. "Off to P2X-311 to deliver the payload and pick up our supplies. Estimated time of return: thirteen thirty."
"Roger that, Jumper Four," Control said.
"We'll have a late lunch," Teyla added.
"Roger that, boss," John replied, smiling. Maybe Halling had told her what had happened in the jumper bay, but she sounded her usual serene self. "See you soon."
~ ~ ~
Two: A New Algorithm
"We cannot trust them," John said. He stared at Elizabeth, willing her to listen to him. "They've never done anything to earn our trust."
"They have," Elizabeth insisted. "Ladon Radim has been a friend to Atlantis. He isn't Kolya, he isn't Cowan. Yes, he has his own agenda, but we share it: to defeat the Wraith."
"He might, but how many of his followers are secretly spies for Kolya?"
"John, it's done. I've invited a delegation of Genii to Atlantis to discuss long-term strategies. They'll be here in two days, so you have time to do whatever you think needs to be done to protect Atlantis." He opened his mouth to object, but Elizabeth simply held up her hand. "Let's take this off-line until after the meeting."
John subsided, trying not to twist his mouth in irritation. The agenda was lengthy and focused primarily on prioritizing repairs and retrofitting the infrastructure of Atlantis. Necessary, yes, and John had to pay attention and make intelligent comments, but in the back of his head, John was already listing what needed to be done to prepare for the Genii. An inventory of weapons, a meeting with Lorne and Radnor, who needed to be where, and when, and for how long . . .
Rodney caught his eye, and John knew that Rodney agreed with him. Radim hadn't tortured John, but Kolya had, and they were both Genii. Rodney hadn't forgotten that, nor would he forgive. Not that Elizabeth would forget or forgive, either, but she was a diplomat and skilled in negotiations. John admitted to himself that the Genii, under different circumstances, could be good allies. But they weren't different circumstances.
Radim and his entourage arrived midday, six of them following Radim around in their proto-Schutzstaffel uniforms with matching caps, standing at attention. John felt compelled to slouch in their presence, and he was glad for his tee-shirt and grateful for his Beretta.
"It's good to see you again, Elizabeth," Radim said, bowing slightly before taking Elizabeth's hand. Very gallant, John thought, feeling his mouth purse. "Thank you for this invitation."
"And thank you for coming, Ladon. Let's adjourn to my office. I would like a cup of tea; may I offer you one?"
John stayed with Rodney watching them climb the stairs to Elizabeth's office, Lorne following closely, followed by two of Radim's men. "We should get up there," Rodney said, but he didn't move. John sighed, and, glancing at the Marines on the floor, nodded.
Elizabeth and Radim were already settled at the conference table, and she was pouring him a cup of tea. "Gentlemen," she greeted them, not looking up from the steaming teapot. "Would you like some? It's hari flower tea, and there are nux cookies."
"Yes, yes," Rodney said enthusiastically. John refrained from smacking his shoulder and just sat next to him, accepting a cup of the tea. He did like hari flower tea.
"Thank you, again, Ladon. Some time ago, you helped us locate John when he'd been kidnapped by Kolya." John stared into his cup, wishing Elizabeth had phrased that differently. "Since then, we've run into a new, ah, difficulty."
"We will help if we can. You know we are not a wealthy people, and that we are much splintered since Cowan's disappearance."
"Yes, of course." Elizabeth hesitated, and John could hear Rodney chewing energetically on a nux cookie. "A few weeks ago, we discovered another civilization in the Pegasus Galaxy, one that has kept to itself for thousands of years. We thought they were Ancients; they told us they were. But in fact, they were, ah, machines that look like humans. They'd been created by the Ancients as tools and weapons, and then left behind when the Ancients fled to the Milky Way galaxy."
"Machines," Radim said, frowning at her.
"Yes. They call themselves the Asurans, but they were literally created by the Ancients. They've evolved over the millennia, and they are hostile. We want to share this information with you for two reasons: so you'll know to avoid them, and in case they try to return to Atlantis, we'd like to be able to call on you for assistance."
Radim nodded, sipping at his tea. John leaned further back in his chair, watching Radim closely. He looked interested, and intelligent, and dangerous. "Thank you, Elizabeth," Radim said at last, "for sharing information about the Asurans. We have not encountered them."
"I hope you do not," Elizabeth said earnestly.
"As do I. Do you believe they have plans for Atlantis? Is that why you called me?"
"I fear it, yes. They've come once, and very well may regroup and try again to take the city. If they do, may I call you? Would you help us?"
Radim set down his tea cup and folded his hands on the table. "If it were just up to me, the answer would be yes. I hope you know that. But I am responsible for my people, and must ask for something in return."
"Of course, absolutely. And that's why we're here today: to come to some agreement."
"Our scientists have a theory. They call it mutual assured survival. The idea is that to cooperate with competitors is in the long run more advantageous than to compete with them. Cowan, unfortunately, disagreed with the theory; he never understood the math."
"Prisoner's dilemma," Rodney said, looking interested. "You know that?"
"Yes, of course. It's one of the biggest divisions in the Genii. We have scientists who've devoted their entire careers to working out the logistics of the problem."
"And you realize that cooperation is more productive than competition," Elizabeth said, smiling at him. "Let us cooperate with you, Ladon. You know what we can offer; you know that we, like the Genii, are not wealthy. But we are hard workers, we are productive, we have allies."
"You have Doctor McKay," he said, and John sat up straight.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
"I am not threatening anyone," Radim said, raising one hand. "I'm a scientist. I know his value. I'm asking for his help in fighting the Wraith. We have plans, but they aren't ready. With the help of Atlantis, we might be able to strike back at the Wraith."
"Be specific," Rodney barked at him.
"Not at the moment. Elizabeth, let's come to an agreement in principle. Then we can involve Doctor McKay."
Elizabeth looked coolly at Radim for several seconds before nodding. "John, Rodney. I'd like to speak to Ladon alone for a few minutes. If you wouldn't mind?"
"I would mind," John said firmly. "McKay is the chief science officer, and I'm the base commander. This is our decision as well."
"Colonel Sheppard," Radim said. "I appreciate your position, and in fact, I agree with you. But I too would like just a moment with Elizabeth. What I have to say to her is for her ears only."
"Please, John," she said.
He sighed, and slowly stood, turning to Rodney, who looked thunderous. Rodney shoved his chair back and stalked out, pausing at the door to wait for John. "In five minutes, no matter what, we're coming back in," John said.
Radim nodded his head. John stood just outside the conference room and watched as the doors slid shut. Radim's men looked as uncomfortable as John felt; Lorne looked as angry as Rodney. John checked his watch compulsively, but after only three and one-quarter minutes, the doors opened again.
Elizabeth was a little pink in the face, and smiling, and to John's shock, Radim was, too. "Thank you," she said. "Um. Well, let's get started on the negotiations, shall we? Ladon?"
"Of course." He beamed at John and Rodney; John longed to hear the sound of Radim's nose crunching under his fist, but he sat quietly and listened. Rodney pulled a little notebook from his back pocket, clicked his pen a few times, and started taking notes. "As you know," Radim said, "we have suffered greatly from the development of what you call nuclear weapons. I understand that you don't want to give us a triggering device, but surely you could assist us in the development of safety and shielding devices and techniques, and with treatment for people suffering from radiation poisoning."
"No triggering device?" Rodney asked. John didn't believe Radim, either.
"No. Perhaps someday, but not now. We aren't willing to share all our military secrets with you, so I won't ask you to share all of yours with us. But shielding? Medicine? In return for our assistance if the Asurans return."
"Or anyone," John said. "If the Wraith come and we need a place to hide."
"If they come to us, would you put us up in Atlantis?" he countered.
"On the mainland," John said firmly.
"There's no gate on the mainland."
"We'll ferry you there, same as we do the Athosans."
"Tava beans," Rodney said suddenly. "What can we trade for them?"
"Tava beans?" John looked at him disbelievingly.
"They make a pretty good soup," he said, lifting his chin.
~ ~ ~
Ten: to lay waste to the vocabularies of desire?
"No, I'm not getting sleepy. Let's see. Maui. The state bed on P7X. Uh, the captain's bed on the Glorious Gull."
"Nooo," John said, covering his eyes. "I get seasick just thinking about it."
"Wuss. What kind of pilot gets seasick?"
"I don't get airsick, but on the water, going up and going down and going up and going down --"
"Okay, okay, I take your point." They grinned at each other. "But it was cool. The windows --"
"Portholes."
"The portholes open, that sea breeze blowing, and seeing all those stars at night. The sunsets. Being brought breakfast in bed."
"That was very cool, once we left the ocean and were sailing up that river. Why didn't we go back?" John wondered.
"First contact team. Once we made contact and came home, it was up to Lorne's or Stackhouse's team to follow up. But I wish we'd just gone back to visit. It was heaven." John nodded, and watched as Rodney wrapped his fingers around John's hand. "It really was heaven. So. Those are my favorites."
~ ~ ~
Winter Snow
"What does the database say?" Elizabeth asked, frowning at Rodney.
"I'm not a meteorologist," he reminded her. "But Doctor Tjärnqvist says there is a history of blizzards on this planet. Not frequent, and they're usually closer to the poles, not in the mid-latitudes where we are. But he says it's not unheard of."
"Have him send me a summary report," she said and turned to Radek, who said, "Yes, well, I'm not a meteorologist, either, but I have lived in snow country most of my life, not just Antarctica," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Hey, we all lived in Antarctica for a while," Rodney said, and Radek's dimples flashed. John noticed Elizabeth's tiny smile at that.
"Yes, Rodney, we know," Radek said. " I have been tracking polar low pressure systems. There is a massive one reaching down toward Atlantis. Originally, it was several systems that merged --"
"Hey," John interrupted. "Like in that movie we saw, uh, Day After Tomorrow."
"Oh, please," Rodney started, but Elizabeth held up her hand.
Radek continued. "Several smaller ones that merged, and now it's heading toward us. It's quite interesting, watching the temperature gradient. Doctor Tjärnqvist has recorded drops from fifteen to twenty-six below in less than an hour."
"Celsius?" John asked. "That's, uh, wow, from sixty degrees to fifteen below?"
Radek nodded. "Wind speeds are quite high, too."
John leaned forward at that. "What do we need to do to prepare?"
"Well, batten down the hatches, I think you say."
"If I were Navy, yeah. Specifically?"
"Recall everyone from off-world missions. Evacuate the mainland. Keep everyone inside. Close down Atlantis as much as possible."
"What about heat?" John asked.
Rodney said, "We should be okay. We have the naquadah generators, and we're surrounded by water. The lower levels of the city will naturally be warmer because they're insulated by the ocean. But we need to block off the upper levels."
Elizabeth asked, "The farms on the mainland? The gardens on the south pier?"
Radek shook his head. "We'll need to discuss this with the people who know, but I think we'll lose whatever's left."
"Most of the stuff has already been harvested," John put in, remembering hauling bushels of tomatoes, corn, apples, and the Athosian equivalents. "We should check with the kitchens, though, to be sure they're stocked with everything they might need."
Elizabeth sighed and looked around the table. "Well, we all have something to do. In addition, we'll use this to update our emergency preparedness and response plans. Please note all you do and get it to me so I can collate it. We'll meet daily until the danger has passed. Thank you all." She rose, and chairs scraped as they all backed away.
John walked with Rodney and Radek, who were discussing Tjärnqvist. "Have him come to the next meeting," Rodney said. "You don't have to be a weatherman, but it would help."
Radek nodded, his hair flopping wildly. "I see him right away." He split off, presumably heading to Tjärnqvist's lab.
"You really think it's going to be that big a storm? That we need to worry, here in Atlantis?" John asked Rodney quietly, aware of the Marines watching them as they passed in the corridor.
"Hmm, well, on the mainland, yes, definitely. Teyla and Halling will need to get all their people here, just in case. But in Atlantis -- I don't think so. As long as everyone uses some common sense, which is unlikely, we should be okay. People are so idiotic that I'm sure we'll lose someone, or at least some fingers to frostbite, but other than that, I think it'll be like any other day."
John felt comforted. He awkwardly patted Rodney's arm and headed toward his own office. He needed to meet with Lorne to coordinate closing down Atlantis, especially the upper portion. He knew some of the men like to hang there during off hours; that would have to change.
He asked Lorne to attend the next morning's meeting; Timo Tjärnqvist was there, too, a tall thin man with very blond hair and smoke-grey eyes. "Yes, you see right here," he said, using a laser pointer on the powerpoint behind Elizabeth's head. "It's the contrast between the warm air around Atlantis, here in the mid-latitudes, and the polar air. There's a strong jet stream diving into the trough axis aloft from the developing low pressure, here." He stared at the glowing screen. After a moment, Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Yes, this is called bombogenesis. Right here, where the thermobars -- those lines -- are closest? That's showing a drop of thirty millibars in twenty-four hours. That's extraordinary. That's a bomb."
"Will it happen here?" Elizabeth asked. "And if it does, what will the effects be like?"
Timo smiled. "Spectacular, I do think, and of course, dangerous, if the worst comes to pass. Bear it mind, it probably will not. There's still thousands of kilometers between us, and predicting weather is for fools, not scientists."
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at that, and John stifled his laugh. Rodney probably agreed; he seemed to consider anything not math or physics to be a soft science, not just the social sciences.
"Well, better to be safe than sorry," Elizabeth said. "Best case scenario is we'll be prepared for when the storm of the century does arrive. John?"
"Lorne and I have patrols working their way through the city, making sure all windows in the upper levels are closed. No one lives above the fourth level, so we've made the fifth level and above off-limits. That goes for everyone, not just the military," he added looking around the table. "Get that information to your staff. I imagine that some people will be anxious to see the storm, whatever it's like; we need to find someplace safe for observation."
Carson said, "No matter how safe, we need to be sure people are dressing in layers, and we must all be on guard for excess alcohol consumption. We all like a nip to keep us warm, but in fact, it causes our bodies to lose heat more rapidly. As does caffeine, Rodney," he added.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "I have no intention of going out into the storm, Carson, and Radek and I calculate there will be no more than a two-degree drop in temperature in the lower levels of Atlantis even if the storm lasts for a week. Beyond that, we'll have to increase the use of naquadah generators for heat, and I already have several engineers working on retrofitting them into heating units."
"Good," Elizabeth said. "I've spoken to the commissary and we have enough supplies to last almost a year, though the food would get a bit boring after a while. Teyla?"
"My people are already moving to Atlantis. Major Lorne and Lieutenant Stackhouse have flown several groups here, and Ronon and I have settled them into the usual quarters."
"I have a suggestion about that," Carson said. "We keep having to shuffle these people back and forth. I think they should have permanent homes here. They're more than our allies by now."
Teyla smiled as Elizabeth nodded and said, "Teyla and I have already discussed that, and you're right. Some of the Marines spend more time working on the mainland than they do in Atlantis. It's good to have the Athosians among us, to share their traditions and knowledge. Teyla is evidence of that; no one in two galaxies would deny the benefits she has brought to us. So yes, excellent idea, Carson."
John said, "We've mapped out quarters for them, all on the northwest pier, facing the mainland. They have good sun there, too, so during the spring and summer they can have gardens if they want."
"And a school," Radek added. "I have spoken to Halling about this. Several of the scientists miss teaching." He spoke over Rodney's snort. "They would be happy to develop a curriculum for the Athosian children who are interested in learning our science, just as we are anxious to learn theirs."
"Very good, Radek." Elizabeth flushed slightly pink, with pleasure, John thought, smiling at her. "Let us hope this storm brings us all closer together. Well, stay safe. Keep your people indoors and in touch. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Thank you, Doctor Tjärnqvist. Please keep me posted on the development of this storm."
"It's like a storm in slow motion," Rodney complained to John as they left the conference room. "Talk, talk, talk, but nothing happens."
Rodney was wrong; the storm did come. Slowly drifting south, the polar low extended further toward them. The extraordinary quality of Tjärnqvist's work in conjunction with the Ancient equipment and the satellites that Rodney and Radek's teams had sent up with the help of John and Lorne meant they were able to track weather more accurately than on Earth. Since Tjärnqvist had come to Atlantis, they'd also been dropping data buoys into the ocean around the city, and moored a few dozen closer to the mainland. As a pilot, John already knew more than the basics of meteorology, including the math necessary to make predictions, but the kind of work Tjärnqvist was doing was closer to Rodney's work than John's. John and Elizabeth were interested in weather prediction; Tjärnqvist in climate prediction.
But right now, everybody was interested in the storm. The Storm, as John heard it. The excitement gave him a buzz, and several times he'd exchanged grins with Lorne, feeling almost foolish at the intensity of their preparations. But why not? As Elizabeth kept pointing out, even if nothing happened, their emergency preparedness plan would be updated and ready for the next time.
Tjärnqvist was wrong, too. The storm did come, but it came earlier than he'd expected. For three consecutive morning meetings, he said, "It is proceeding as projected," but on the fourth, he said, "My calculations were in error. I must re-think my assumptions. Perhaps I should also be taking the size of this planet into account."
Elizabeth said, "Excuse me, Doctor Tjärnqvist, but could you explain?"
"Oh, yes, of course. Rather, can you open these windows?" Everyone turned toward the windows beyond the stargate, visible from the conference room.
"I -- I don't know. Why?"
"Then let us adjourn the meeting to the balcony. Everyone, please?" Tjärnqvist stood, as abrupt as Rodney, and led the way out of the conference room, up the corridor, and onto the nearby balcony. John felt idiotic; everybody in the gateroom watched as they followed obediently, but as soon as Tjärnqvist opened the doors, he understood.
The wind pushed against his face, so icy cold that his nose hurt and his eyes began to water. Outside, he could hear how the wind howled as it spiraled around the towers of Atlantis, and he could see the breakers smashing against the steps below.
"When did this blow up?" Rodney shouted.
"Less than an hour ago," Tjärnqvist shouted back. "The barometric pressure is dropping steadily. There is no more time. Close the city."
John pushed his way through the crowd until he reached the balcony railing. The metal was cold beneath his fingers, and wet with spindrift. Clouds boiled overhead, dark grey and purple, deepening almost to black in the northeast. Tjärnqvist was right; the storm was here.
"Everybody in!" he shouted, turning to face them, shooing them back indoors. "Lorne, let's get these windows shuttered now." That had been on the schedule for today anyway, he thought, but he felt a bit guilty he hadn't had it done sooner. The higher levels were taken care of, and he'd send word out that no one was allowed there until the all-clear was given.
"Rodney," he started, but Rodney was already talking into his mic and to Radek simultaneously, demanding people get down to the lower levels to make sure the sensors were working in case something flooded. "Yes, yes," Radek said, and held up his hand to Rodney so he could turn to Elizabeth. "You will make the announcement now, yes? With the colonel?"
Elizabeth looked at John, who nodded. "This meeting is adjourned," she said, and everyone fled to their duties. John followed her into her office. "Email and an announcement, we agreed," she said, and he nodded. "Let's do it."
The day sped by, John cursing himself for not working more quickly and for believing Tjärnqvist's predictions, when Tjärnqvist himself said weather prediction was unreliable. Soon even indoors he could hear the sea smashing into Atlantis, and the moaning wind, and the rattling windows and their vibrating shutters. Wind crept in everywhere, which seemed impossible to him; Atlantis had been on the bottom of the ocean when they'd arrived, so how could wind get in when water couldn't?
"The ventilation system," Rodney told him through a mouthful of sandwich that evening. "We've shut down big chunks of it, but we need some fresh air. Theoretically, Atlantis herself will shut it down if necessary, and Tjärnqvist and Simpson are watching air quality, humidity, and temperature."
"It's colder in here, too," John said, wrapping his hands around his mug of tea.
"Yeah, it'll take a while to heat a place this big. Usually, just the number of bodies in here take care of that and we have to cool all the equipment. But tonight, we'll have to turn up the heat." He frowned, and John knew he was thinking about the energy required to heat a city the size of Atlantis, even just the lived-in portion.
John spent most of his time moving from work crew to work crew, checking on the quality of their work, but more to cheer them on, make a few jokes, make sure they were keeping hydrated and fed. He and Lorne worked out alternate but overlapping routes, meeting periodically to pass information.
By twenty-six hundred, John was ready to call it a day. He called a final meeting with Lorne, Radek, Rodney, Tjärnqvist, Simpson, Carson, and Biro; Elizabeth had gone to bed and he didn't want to disturb her. He also invited Halling and Teyla. They met in the mess hall over tea and cookies.
"You look like hell," Carson told them. Surveying the group settled around one of the big tables, he said, "As Chief Medical Officer, I'm instructing you all to go to bed. There's a skeleton crew for tonight, yes? Then let them do their work. They and the sensors will keep watch and wake you if need be."
"The good doctor kind of defeated the purpose of this meeting," John said, not looking at Lorne because he knew they'd crack up. "Any reason why we shouldn't take his medical advice? Doctor Tjärnqvist?"
"No, no. I'm am as tired as a Canal Street whore."
John felt his eyes widen and his mouth drop at that, and he had to laugh.
"Doctor Tjärnqvist, I take it you've spent some time in New Orleans?" Biro asked him.
"Yes, all meteorologists go. It is the mecca of meteorology. Lovely city. Terrible what happened to it."
Well, that was more than John was prepared to discuss tonight. He rubbed his eyes. "Okay, then. Bed. Lorne, see that Stackhouse gets some rest; he worked his ass off today. Rodney, don't even think about going back to the labs."
He grabbed two cookies, wrapped them in a napkin, and slid them into a pocket. Saying goodnight to the others, he waited for Rodney so they could walk back together. "You as tired as I am?" he asked, slumped against the transporter wall. Too bad they were instantaneous; no time to rest before the doors slid open and they were on their level.
Rodney yawned hugely, rubbed his face, and grunted. They passed an alcove and John impulsively grabbed Rodney's elbow and pulled him along. "What? I thought -- where are we going? Is something wrong?"
John just tugged and suddenly they were at a shuttered window. "Let's peek," he said, grinning at Rodney. They carefully and quietly set opened the window and lifted the exterior storm window up and to one side. The wind nearly pulled it from their hands, but between the two of them, they hung onto it.
"Jesus," Rodney gasped. The air was gelid, stunningly cold, so cold that the inside of John's nose froze, and his eyes watered. His fingers were already numb.
"Maybe not such a good idea," he said, but Rodney shook his head.
"No, it's brilliant. Look."
It was snowing. John had spent so much time in the desert places of Earth that snow, even after Antarctica, was still a pleasure. He squeezed forward, pressing his face into the narrow opening they'd made, and peered out. The cloud cover caught what little light there was and bounced it back, catching the swirling flakes. He tried to follow the path of one as it eddied from cloud to sea, but the wind's gusts and the density of the snow dizzied him.
"Smells like, like," Rodney murmured, his breath warm against John's cold ear. John moved a little back and aside so Rodney could see out too.
"Like Canada?"
"Almost, but not quite. Something different. I spent a winter in Newfoundland once, at Memorial University, the St. John's campus. It was a cold winter, and a stormy one. But the ocean smelled different."
"Well, it's on a different world." John felt Rodney's, "Hmph," more than heard it over the wind and waves. "Let's close this up." They wrestled the cover back in place and managed to shut with window with only one loud bang. When they'd stepped back, John saw snow melting on the floor beneath the window, and his sweater was damp and prickly.
"Look, we're iced," Rodney said, and pulled at his jacket. It made a crackling sound and tiny flakes of ice flew. "That was fun."
John smiled as he watched. He licked his lips, and tasted salt. "Yeah," he said, and nudged Rodney, who nudged him back. John felt mischievous, as mischievous as a child at the holidays. As John watched, Rodney tugged at the front of John's sweater, breaking the thin layer of rapidly melting ice that had formed so quickly. His touch made John gasp, and he sucked in his stomach, then put his hand over Rodney's.
Rodney's hand was cold and damp, so John put his other over it and gently rubbed, then raised Rodney's hand to his mouth, exhaling onto it. They didn't speak, except through their glances and touches. John felt the storm outside had somehow entered him, and maybe Rodney, too.
The wind suddenly gusted, slamming against the window, startling them both. Rodney squeaked and jumped, knocking into John, who caught him with an arm around the waist. He hesitated and then pulled Rodney closer who, in what John considered typical Rodney fashion, enthusiastically wrapped his arms around John, took a deep breath, and kissed John, right there at the window, the snow melting at their feet, the wind rattling the shutters.
When John woke the next day, he peeked through his window, feeling even more like a child at holidays, but it was solidly frosted. He rolled over to study Rodney, snoring at his side, radiating heat on this cold morning. John shook his head, and carefully climbed out of bed, trying not to wake Rodney. Atlantis seemed cooler to him, so he pulled on an extra sweater, then sat next to Rodney, who rolled nearer, sighed, and opened his eyes. "Get back in bed," he murmured.
John thought about for a few seconds, and started undressing.
On to Part Two
Author: Mirabile Dictu
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: John Sheppard/Rodney McKay
Rating: R
Word Count: 20,541
Summary: Like radiation, Rodney was everywhere, snapping his fingers, talking too loudly and far too quickly, and now, like radiation, he was undergoing exponential decay.
A/N: Beta by ciderpress, auburnnothenna, and lady-of-asheru, with encouragement from namastenancy.
Warning: Character death.
The House of Three Skylarks
Six: A Shadowy Trace
John didn't believe in ghosts. He didn't believe in any supernatural phenomena, and learning about stargates and wormholes and Ancients and ascension only made him less likely to believe in the supernatural. Gods, ascended beings claiming to be gods, or snake-like creatures inhabiting humans who claimed to be gods: all bullshit.
So it was bullshit when he overheard whispers that Rodney was haunting Atlantis. He overheard it in the mess, when he passed the Marines, two claiming to have seen Rodney while they were on duty in the gateroom one night. An oceanographer, Banks, who'd been stung by a jellyfish claimed he'd seen Rodney the night he'd spent in the infirmary. That was definitely bullshit; the oceanographer hadn't even been stationed in Atlantis when Rodney had been around to terrorize non-physicists. But then John had overheard Miko, her hair falling into her eyes, whispering to her newly-arrived cousin that Dr. McKay sometimes visited the labs. John had seen little saki-sized cups full of Rodney's favorite sweets left out at night in the labs; he'd even stolen a few Tootsie Rolls before he realized he wasn't just feeding his sweet tooth but rumors about Rodney's ghost.
He still took the Tootsie Rolls though because, as Rodney would have said, Tootsie Rolls.
But when Elizabeth joined in, he knew he had to do something. "He walked right through me," she said, rubbing her forehead.
"Now, Elizabeth," John said gently. "You know that's not possible. Have you talked to Carson?"
She gave him a look, one Rodney might have given him. "Of course it's possible; this is Atlantis," she said, and he had to laugh and shake his head. "You're not seriously suggesting this is a symptom of menopause, are you?"
"Um, no? But I still want you to talk to Carson." He hesitated, and then said, "Actually, I've heard this before. I suppose I should do something, try to sort it out. Probably one of the newer scientists thinks it's a good joke. Maybe that Banks guy."
"If that's the case, I'll work on a suitable punishment," Elizabeth promised.
John talked to Lorne afterwards; it turned out he'd seen Rodney, too. "Well, I wasn't going to say anything," he explained. "You two were so close, and his, well. Anyway. Yeah, I saw him. In, well, in your favorite jumper."
"You saw Rodney's ghost in a jumper."
"Look, I know it isn't possible. I don't know what I was really seeing. It was late, I was tired, it was dark, and it was just a movement that caught my attention."
"But something made you think it was Rodney."
Lorne hesitated for a long time, not meeting John's eyes. Finally, he said, "I knew Rodney pretty well. Yeah." He looked at John. "It was Rodney. He was my friend, too, John," he added softly.
"I know," John said, but it hurt, that so many people thought they were seeing Rodney. "Okay," he said, trying to sound resolute. "Let's put together a list of all the times and places he's been seen, and who saw him. Maybe there's some kind of pattern."
"I'll get right on it," Lorne said. He hesitated, and then said, "If I see him again, I'll try to talk to him."
John didn't know how to respond, so he just pulled out his notepad. "So when was it that you thought you saw him?"
~ ~ ~
Nine: How many losses does it take to stop a heart
He'd kept a list, of course; Rodney had kept lists about everything. Usually in his head, of people who'd offended him or pissed him off, lists of things to do, personnel concerns, needed supplies, military irritations, and who knows how many other lists, on his computer, on scraps of paper that littered his desks, on yellow stickies stuck to his laptops, and a few times scrawled on the palm of his hand. So it was no surprise to John to learn that Rodney had kept a list of beds he'd slept in.
"Chronological, reverse chronological, preference, reverse preference, or alphabetical?"
"Reverse alphabetical," John suggested, but Rodney glared at him. "Okay, preference."
"Oh my god, that bed on Maui, remember? At that estate they put us up at, after the Stargate program went public? Do you remember?" Rodney sighed.
"Was it the bed, the room, or the place that gets such high marks?"
"All of the above. Plus what happened in the bed," Rodney said, leering at him.
John leered back, and they laughed. "Yeah, it was good. We always said we'd go back, but we never did."
"Well, it's a galaxy away. Plus we've been busy." Rodney waved a hand. "And there've been other beds. Like the state bed on P7X-whatever."
"That's your second favorite?"
"Okay, no, but it was memorable."
"Trying to sleep with all those people watching us? Yeah, memorable is one word for it." He grinned at Rodney. "It was fun watching you wipe up your drool when you woke up, though."
"Asshole. All those people staring at me." John watched as he sipped iced coffee. "And the ritual beforehand."
"It was something," John agreed. "They cut my hair."
"At least you still had some hair afterwards. And then they smoked us."
"Like hams. Smelled good, that stuff. And it did mellow you out."
Rodney smiled in recollection. "Yeah, it was good shit. Made everything else seem not so crazy. We should have traded for that."
"Elizabeth wouldn't let us, remember? I bet Carson would have."
"Carson? What?"
"Well, it could be used medicinally."
"Colonel, that's the oldest excuse . . . Well, yeah, actually. A toke now wouldn't go amiss."
"Sorry."
Rodney shrugged. "It was a long time ago."
"But that bed. The state bed. Lying in it --"
"Stark naked."
"Lying in it stark naked with the entire village watching us."
"And Ronon and Teyla."
"Yeah, that's right. They were there, too."
"Oh, God, that's right. But who wouldn't block the memory of Ronon checking out their ass?"
"I remember the bed."
"You know what I remember? The canopy over us. The embroidered material; it was all sparkly with gold, like gold wires woven through it, and the deep red color. Elizabeth called it Chinese red."
"What I remember is how people came up to us to bless us."
"With incense that made me sneeze. Why couldn't they have used more of that dope? I'd like some now."
"You gettin' sleepy? Should I . . ."
~ ~ ~
Autumn Rain
Light drizzle didn't bother John, though Rodney grimaced and grumbled about it the entire time. Ronon didn't appear to notice it, and John wondered if the stuff he put on his dreads kept his hair dry. Teyla simply pulled her collar up and kept walking.
The village elder said, "You should stay. The srugen is coming. We are well stocked, well prepared -- stay with us."
Rodney said, "Srugen? Like a fish?"
John said, "Thanks, but we gotta run. We appreciate the offer, but we're expected."
"Then take care, friends, and return soon. We look forward to trading with you again." He slid the doors shut behind them, leaving them in a light rain.
"Oh my god, this is hideous," Rodney said, but he lifted the sack of grain and slung it over his shoulder. John raised an eyebrow; all this hiking around was strengthening Rodney, and John bet Rodney hadn't realized it. He picked up his own sack and followed Teyla back toward the jumper.
The rain got heavier, and though the sacks were thick, he thought the grain was getting wet, and Parrish had warned them that that would spoil it. All this work for nothing. "Let's speed up," he said, and broke into a trot. He heard Rodney groan but since Ronon didn't say anything, he assumed they were keeping up.
By the time they reached the jumper, rain was sheeting down. "Is this a srugen?" Rodney wondered, staring out the back end of the jumper. "Can we fly in this?"
"I can," John answered, settling into his seat. He was wet clear through and anxious to return to Atlantis. He heard the hatch closing, and then Teyla draped an emergency blanket around his shoulders. "Thanks."
Rodney plunked into the co-pilot's seat, rubbing a corner of his blanket over his head. "Heater, heater, ah, here." John felt a gust of warm air and sighed.
"Thank you, Rodney," Teyla said. John could tell she was shivering.
"Listen to that rain," Rodney marveled.
John agreed; the puddlejumper thrummed beneath the heavy downpour. "Listen to that," he murmured, as he slowly took them up. He could see the tops of the trees beaten by the rain, and standing water glinted on the ground as they soared toward the stargate. He'd be glad to get off this wet rock and into space.
As they rose above the tree line, gust of wind slammed into them; the inertial dampeners kept them stable, but John could feel it through the skin of the jumper, and he felt it tremble beneath his hands. The wind surged again, harder, as they increased altitude, and he suddenly wondered if they'd be able to get above the turbulence. At that thought, a new HUD appeared. Rodney said, "Hey, hey. That's turbulence -- is that real-time? Sheppard, this is bad, very bad."
The jumper shuddered so violently that the inertial dampeners didn't keep its occupants from jerking to starboard. "Fuck," John said, and for the first time had to wrestle with the controls.
"Seriously, Colonel," Rodney said, and John heard the concern in his voice. "Look at this," he said, pointing at the new HUD, "the wind, it's transitioned into chaotic flow -- and here -- see, the drag -- oh!"
"I'm taking her down," John said. "Hang on." The jumper seemed grateful to sink out of the chaos of the upper atmosphere, though she set down more heavily than he was used to, and the lights flickered. "Rodney?"
"Yes, yes. I'm checking. I think the bouncing unseated some of the crystals; nothing more than that."
Lightning slashed across the dark sky, leaving John seeing blue and yellow afterimages. Almost instantly, thunder followed, and then more lightning, a nearly-constant barrage. John put his hands over his ears and turned away from the windscreen to check on his team. Teyla had sunk to the floor, cross-legged, and shut her eyes, obviously trying to meditate through the cacophony. Ronon half stood, his muscles bunching and shifting under his skin in the flickering light.
Rodney stared into his tablet, the lightning flashing across his face making his eyes bluer than ever. John watched him as the thunder exploded around them; he could feel it under his feet.
Ronon sat next to Teyla, staring up at John, who felt the weight of responsibility to his teammates. Ronon could do that to him even more than Rodney could. John wasn't sure if they should have stayed, or left earlier, but he didn't like sitting in this tin can while the storm raged; he felt too much like the key on Ben Franklin's kite.
The wind blew harder, hard enough to send shudders through the jumper. Leaves and small branches battered the windscreen, and something thudded against the hatch, making Rodney jump. "I hate this," he muttered, and John silently agreed.
Teyla opened her eyes and asked, "Is it lightning less?"
All four turned their faces to the windscreen and waited. John slouched deeper into his seat and crossed his arms.
"That's one," Rodney said, but it was distant and pale, and John counted, "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi," until he reached five. "Wind's still pretty fierce," he started to say when there was a sudden bang and they all jumped. Another bang, and John stood, drawing his Beretta. The jumper's exterior lights switched on, and three people came into view.
"Look," Teyla said, standing. "They are from the village. I recognize the man with the braid."
John punched the switch so the hatched opened. "Come with us," the young man shouted. "Father says that the storm will return. You will be safer with us."
John looked at Rodney, who nodded, frowning deeply. "They're right. The storm is coming back, but even if it weren't, the turbulence in the upper atmosphere is still too powerful for the jumper."
"Then we accept your invitation," John said, and swung his pack over his shoulders.
"Hurry!" a young woman urged them. "The lightning returns." She was holding something over her head, shiny in the jumper's lights, like plastic, John thought, and the wind tugged tirelessly at it, nearly jerking it from her grasp. "Please."
Rodney grumbled, but pulled on his pack and helped Teyla with hers. John drew his hood over his head, and then Rodney's over his. The wind hit him hard when he stepped out; he had to grab the jumper to keep his balance. Ronon seized his shoulders and held him steady. "Thanks, buddy," John said, but the wind stripped the words away. It was picking up, and the lightning was flashing more frequently again. He helped Teyla and Rodney out, letting Ronon hang on to them while he closed the hatch.
"Hurry!" the man with the braid shouted over the wind. "It is dangerous to be out in this." Small branches smacked into John's leg, and Rodney had wet leaves plastered to his shoulder. They followed the three from the village, ducking into the forest. The wind wasn't as strong, but it was even noisier, whistling through the leaves, and the trees themselves surged like a storm on Atlantis.
The path was narrow, winding, and slick; John stumbled once, Ronon catching him by the arm and pulling him up. Rodney and Teyla clung together. The only light came from the lightning, which was getting brighter and more frequent. They jogged awkwardly, pushing their way through the heavy wet underbrush. John's feet kept tangling in the low bushes that snagged like blackberry canes.
"It's getting worse," Ronon shouted into his ear, and he agreed. The wind blew the rain directly into their faces, so they had to bend forward, following the heels of the three villagers. Water had run into John's boots and soaked his trousers from the knees down; when he'd stumbled, he had sat in sodden clay. He saw the same smudges on the back of Rodney's legs each time the lightning flashed.
"Here!" he thought he heard someone bellow. "Over here!" He peered through the rain, but he could see only the blurred images of his teammates. Then there was a light -- not lightning, he realized, but a lantern held up. Its rays streamed out, shining on the face of a man holding it up, and bouncing off the pouring rain. In another minute, they were under a large wooden awning, the thrumming noise of the rain as it rebounded from the roof worse than in the forest. The man with the lantern led them deeper in the shelter, through two heavy doors, and finally they were inside, out of the wind and wet, their clothes steaming in the warm dry air.
"Thank you," John said, pushing back his hood. "How did you know we'd returned?"
"We didn't," the girl said. "We were out looking for Halco when we saw you land."
The man cuffed the young man with the braid. "And where were you going, Halco, out on such a night?"
"Just out," he said sullenly. "Good thing I did, too, or you'd never have found them."
The man shook his head, his mouth pursed. "Go to your mother. She's worried sick." Halco left, shambling in a way John remembered from his own adolescence. "I am Bondir," the older man said. "We met earlier, but you spoke mostly with the elders. Come with me. We will find you a place to wait out the srugen."
"Thank you," Teyla said, serene even as she dripped. "We are grateful for your hospitality."
"What is this place?" Rodney asked, looking up and around as they walked through a long hallway. "I don't remember seeing this before."
Bondir said, "No, this is one of the back entrances to the warren. There are several, but we knew this was Halco's favorite. It's also nearest to his quarters."
"Is he your son?" Teyla asked.
"No, his father died some winters ago. He is a neighbor, though, and his mother is a good friend. We all try to look out for him. He is going through some rough times."
"Warren, you said," Rodney interrupted. "Like a rabbit warren? What do you mean?"
"I don't know about rabbits, but we have built under this hill to protect ourselves from the weather and the Wraith." As they continued, the corridor opened up a bit, and passageways led off from it, with many doors lining all of them. There were windows, too, looking into the corridors; John couldn't help but peer into some of them as they walked past. Most had curtains pulled over them, but a few revealed kitchens or living areas. Some of the doors were open, lights spilling out into the corridor, and voices echoed.
"Is that singing?" Rodney asked, slowing.
"Yes, to cheer the children. Sometimes the srugen frightens them. We sing the sun-songs on nights like these."
John nodded; he remembered sitting with his mother watching the lightning as if it were a television show. She had sung to him then, too, and he'd felt safe and loved, despite the ferocious storms of the American midwest.
"Through here," Bondir said, and they turned down a narrower passageway. "This is where Elder Kaifa lives. You met him earlier today, with his partner, Hanso."
Elder Kaifa, whom John did remember, was sitting in a rocking chair parked outside his open door. "Ah, you return," he called, puffing on a pipe. "Good, good. The srugen is not safe for anyone. Where will you put them, Bondir?"
"Ah, do you have a suggestion?"
"Oh, no. None at all. But you might think about Essa's old quarters; they've been cleared out."
"Good idea," Bondir said. John thought he sounded irritated.. "Do you --" Elder Kaifa waved his hand at them, smoke roiling from him. Rodney coughed. "This way, please." He led them back to the main corridor and on, winding through the passageways.
"Quite a complex you have here," Rodney said.
"Yes, it's been a long time in the making. Every generation excavates a bit more. All right, here we are. I think you'll be comfortable here. I'll be back with supplies for you."
"Thank you," John said, and Teyla bowed slightly. Rodney and Ronon wandered around through the small rooms.
"Nice," Rodney shouted back to them. "Dibs on this room."
John followed his voice. "Dibs? Did you really just call dibs?"
"Hey, I like it; it's got its own bathroom. Or something."
"There are only two bedrooms, so who gets the honor of sharing with you?"
"You three can have the other room."
John shook his head and dropped his pack. The rooms were small and a bit dark, but warm and the air was fresh. Every wall was covered in fabric, thick and quilted, in muted colors of brown and green, with a flicker of something silver catching the light of the sconces. What Rodney had called a bathroom was a shallow basin set into the floor, with a wooden bucket next to it. Rodney stood next to John and they stared down at it. "How do you think it works?" John asked.
Rodney shook his head. "Ah, I'll get back to you on that." He squatted, peering at the wall behind the basin.
John wandered into the main room, where Ronon was unpacking. "Hungry," he told John, pulling out powerbars, water bottles, and a camp stove Rodney had modified to run on naquadah.
"Rodney," John called, sticking his head back into the bedroom. "Tea? MREs or something else?"
"Oh, hey, I've got a couple chicken tetrazzini MREs, and uh, a box of English Breakfast teabags."
"Then get your ass out here and let's eat," he said, rubbing his hands together. This was much better than waiting out the storm in the puddlejumper. The warren was warm, Rodney would figure out the toilet, and they were safe from the lightning.
It was Ronon who actually figured out the toilet. "Had 'em on Sateda," he told them, showing them the hidden mechanisms, small pedals to close or open the drains, and how the small buckets were really hot and cold water tanks.
"No privacy then?" Rodney asked, hands on his hips. John shooed the others out, sliding the doors behind him. "Thank you," he heard Rodney sigh.
"I am grateful to have been invited here," Teyla said, filling the kettle with water.
"I was just thinking that," John said, sitting on the floor next to her. He could hear Ronon in the third room; it sounded like he was unpacking. "Much better than being in the storm."
"Srugen," Teyla corrected him, smiling. "Do you wish tea?"
"Yes, please." They watched in silence as the little camp stove began to glow.
Under the hill, he couldn't hear the rain or thunder at all; in fact, he could hear very little. The hiss of the water as it heated; Ronon moving in the other room; water running when Rodney flushed. The thick earthen walls absorbed everything else. They might have been completely alone.
The scent of the tea filled the rooms, an Athosian blend they were all fond of, even Rodney. The four of them sat around the camp stove, still glowing as it cooled, blowing on their tea. Rodney yawned hugely, which made John yawn. Ronon smiled at them, the smile that John loved because it told him how completely relaxed Ronon had become with them, and how integrated the team was. These moments, he thought, made everything else worthwhile.
Rodney yawned again. "Bed," he said, eyes watering. "Too much excitement today."
"Thank you, Teyla," John said, draining his mug. "Good night."
"Come on, John-boy," Rodney said, already pulling off his shirt.
"Yes, Mary Ellen," he replied, but it was an old joke now and provoked no response. John fell into his sleeping bag, rolled out on top of the low bed that shifted slightly beneath his weight. More comfortable than sleeping on the ground or even an air mattress, he thought. He felt Rodney's weight and warmth against his back and relaxed a bit more.
"All your chicks are safe," Rodney murmured, and John smiled into the night.
In the morning, after a quick breakfast, John and Rodney took their mugs of tea with them and wandered the corridors. "Here," Rodney called, and moved more quickly. John could hear the sound of the rain again, and smelled damp air, cool against his face. Turning a corner, they found a kind of patio built out into the open air. "For ventilation, maybe," Rodney guessed.
The deck was wood, as was the overhang, and little wooden troughs ran the circumference. The rain had settled into a steady downpour, but they saw no lightning today. What sky they could see between the steep hillside, the overhang, and the heavy trees, was dark grey, and the tops of the trees were hidden in the clouds. The wind was much lighter, but occasional gusts flung the water onto the patio, so they settled at the doorway of the warren.
Gutters ran along the edges of the roof and along the exterior of the deck, filled with rivulets. The air smelt rich and new, and was filled with the sound of running water. The ground, though a hillside, glittered with water, its mirror surface splintered by the rain, a thousand tiny circles overlapping. Each surge of wind tossed the tree branches, a wet exhalation of resin and evergreen needles and damp earth. John inhaled deeply. He loved Atlantis and the smell of the sea, but sometimes he missed earth and trees.
They'd be able to go home today, John thought. The puddlejumpers could easily withstand this intensity of the rain and wind.
But for the moment, the two of them sat in the doorway, sipping their steaming tea, listening to the rain. Neither spoke. Behind them, John occasionally heard voices: a child crying, a woman's laugh, a man singing a lullaby. The rain continued to fall, the wind to blow, and Rodney leaned against John's side, silent for once.
~ ~ ~
One: Stream Cypher
Rodney threw up right after dinner. He'd gobbled his food as usual, practically racing Ronon through the meal, looked up at John, his mouth slack and eyes wide, and bolted. John followed him, with Ronon at his heels.
"Great," John said. "I told you not to eat so fast."
"Fuck off," Rodney said thickly, wiping his mouth on his hem of his tee shirt. "Dammit. I feel like shit."
"You need to chew more," Ronon said, staring at the mess. John only glanced at it; the sight made his stomach lurch uncomfortably.
"Clean this up," he said to Rodney, who threw up again. "Oh, for God's sake. Ronon, take him to the infirmary. I'll clean up."
Rodney was uncharacteristically quiet, and permitted Ronon to lead him down the corridor. John sighed, and went to the kitchens for a bucket and mop. He nearly puked himself, but by taking frequent breaks and breathing deeply the salty-sweet air of Atlantis, he managed.
When the floor was clean again and the waste disposed of, he washed his hands and face and drank a big glass of cool water before heading to the infirmary. Silfven was there, writing something. "Oh, Colonel," he said, looking up. "Ronon took Doctor McKay to his room. He'll be fine. I gave him something for the nausea. He'll probably wake up hungry and cranky."
John smiled ruefully. "No changes there then. I'll just . . ." He left and found Rodney sprawled on his bed, an arm thrown over his face. "Hey, buddy." Rodney only wiggled his fingers in response. "Can I get you anything?"
"No," he whispered. "A new stomach?"
"Doc Silfven says you'll be fine. Just need to ride this out."
"Ugh."
John turned off the lights, leaving Rodney's laptop up so its pale blue glow was the only illumination. "I should go," he started, but Rodney moved his arm. His eyes were puffy, and he really did look terrible. In fact, he looked so miserable that John said, "How about I sit with you for a while?"
He pulled the laptop to him, sat at Rodney's desk, and pulled up his own webmail, and tried to do a little work. Rodney wasn't moaning or groaning, he wasn't complaining, but his very silence pressed in on John. Finally, he turned around and just watched. Rodney lay very still, his chest barely moving. "Are you in pain?" John asked.
Rodney shrugged, a tiny move. "Not sure what I feel," he said.
"Still sick to your stomach?"
"No, well, not much. I just ache."
John bit his lip. After a few second's hesitation, he tapped his mic. "Carson, this is Sheppard. Would you come to McKay's quarters?"
"Oh, not Carson," Rodney groaned, but that's all he said.
"Well, I don't know," Carson said when he'd finished examining Rodney. "No more nausea, no fever, really nothing but this malaise."
"Look at him, Carson. He looks like hell."
"He's right here," Rodney said.
"Yes, sorry, Rodney. There's room in the infirmary; why don't you spend the night there, just in case. If you still feel poorly in the morning, we'll start running blood and urine tests. Right now, I'm inclined to think it was just something he ate."
"Oh, not in the infirmary," Rodney groaned, but Carson had made up his mind and John was relieved.
"Up, up," he said, bullying Rodney into standing. "I'll grab your sweats."
"It was nothing," Rodney told John in the morning when they met before a department heads meeting. "Not even a fever. Sorry you had to, uh, clean up."
"Well, now you owe me, Rodney," John said, smiling as enigmatically as he knew how. Rodney looked flustered, and the meeting started.
~ ~ ~
Seven: The Unseen Seen
"It was he," Halling said as John entered the jumper bay, ready to make a supply run to P2X-311. He looked rattled, and dour.
"Who was he?" John asked, but Halling seemed lost in thought. "Stackhouse?"
"I didn't see him, sir," Stackhouse replied crisply, almost saluting in his anxiety John thought.
"See who?" John asked again.
Halling and Stackhouse exchanged glances. Both looked unhappy, then Halling said, "Doctor McKay."
"Oh, for -- May I remind you that Rodney is dead? He died in my fucking arms," John snapped. "I don't want to hear anymore of this bullshit about Rodney's ghost."
Halling drew himself up, towering over John. "I am not mistaken," he said firmly, his voice deeper than usual. "Nor do I bullshit."
John took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Halling. It's just," he gestured helplessly. "I don't believe in ghosts."
"What you believe in is irrelevant," Halling said, but kindly. He rested his hand on John's shoulder. "Colonel. John. We all loved Rodney. We Athosians remember his name twice a year: on his birth day and on his death day. I do not mean to distress you. But I know I saw him, in the puddle jumper, just before we landed here in Atlantis."
John saw that Halling was entirely serious. He looked to Stackhouse.
"I didn't see him, sir," Stackhouse said, "but I did see something. Movement, and a flash of blue, like a blue jacket. Out of the corner of my eye."
"A movement," John repeated. He wanted to tear at his hair. Instead, he said, "Thank you. I'm going to take the same jumper out for a test drive. I'll let Control know." Without looking back, he entered the jumper, tossing his pack behind the co-pilot's seat. P2X-311 could wait thirty minutes or so, long enough to hit the thermosphere.
John loved how responsive the jumpers were to him. Over the years, he'd grown accustomed to them, but never bored by them. This morning he especially rejoiced in their sensitivity as he took Jumper Four up. Atlantis quickly shrank to a silver island surrounded by blue; on the horizon he could see the green of the mainland, a thin crust disappearing beneath him. Then he turned the jumper and looked up, straight through the atmosphere, into the stars of this galaxy.
He'd always wanted to fly, but knew he'd never be an astronaut. Now he was, flying between planets as easily as he had flown between cities. He could fly forever in a jumper, fly until he starved to death, and still the jumper would continue on.
No noise disturbed him, no motion but the slow movement of the stars as he flew out of the world. He lost track of time, watching those stars, breathing deeply, relaxing out of the hyper-vigilant state that Halling's words had pushed him into. Halling was a good man, but he was getting on, and carried many responsibilities. And Stackhouse had said he'd seen nothing.
When the weight on John's chest had completely gone, and his head no longer throbbed, he turned the jumper around and began the return to Atlantis. The world was tiny, and shrouded in dark; he was approaching from the southern pole, where it was night. As he drew nearer, he saw a nearly perfect circle around the pole glowing deep green, rippling like curtains. The aurora australis blazed and dimmed and blazed again, a bitter green against the soft blue of the ocean. He stared at it, wondering what Rodney would have said about it. "Solar wind," no doubt. "Magnetosphere." He could almost hear the words in Rodney's voice. But even he would have found this beautiful.
John flew out of the trembling darkness and around the world, back into day, back to Atlantis. "Control, this is Jumper Four," he said. "Off to P2X-311 to deliver the payload and pick up our supplies. Estimated time of return: thirteen thirty."
"Roger that, Jumper Four," Control said.
"We'll have a late lunch," Teyla added.
"Roger that, boss," John replied, smiling. Maybe Halling had told her what had happened in the jumper bay, but she sounded her usual serene self. "See you soon."
~ ~ ~
Two: A New Algorithm
"We cannot trust them," John said. He stared at Elizabeth, willing her to listen to him. "They've never done anything to earn our trust."
"They have," Elizabeth insisted. "Ladon Radim has been a friend to Atlantis. He isn't Kolya, he isn't Cowan. Yes, he has his own agenda, but we share it: to defeat the Wraith."
"He might, but how many of his followers are secretly spies for Kolya?"
"John, it's done. I've invited a delegation of Genii to Atlantis to discuss long-term strategies. They'll be here in two days, so you have time to do whatever you think needs to be done to protect Atlantis." He opened his mouth to object, but Elizabeth simply held up her hand. "Let's take this off-line until after the meeting."
John subsided, trying not to twist his mouth in irritation. The agenda was lengthy and focused primarily on prioritizing repairs and retrofitting the infrastructure of Atlantis. Necessary, yes, and John had to pay attention and make intelligent comments, but in the back of his head, John was already listing what needed to be done to prepare for the Genii. An inventory of weapons, a meeting with Lorne and Radnor, who needed to be where, and when, and for how long . . .
Rodney caught his eye, and John knew that Rodney agreed with him. Radim hadn't tortured John, but Kolya had, and they were both Genii. Rodney hadn't forgotten that, nor would he forgive. Not that Elizabeth would forget or forgive, either, but she was a diplomat and skilled in negotiations. John admitted to himself that the Genii, under different circumstances, could be good allies. But they weren't different circumstances.
Radim and his entourage arrived midday, six of them following Radim around in their proto-Schutzstaffel uniforms with matching caps, standing at attention. John felt compelled to slouch in their presence, and he was glad for his tee-shirt and grateful for his Beretta.
"It's good to see you again, Elizabeth," Radim said, bowing slightly before taking Elizabeth's hand. Very gallant, John thought, feeling his mouth purse. "Thank you for this invitation."
"And thank you for coming, Ladon. Let's adjourn to my office. I would like a cup of tea; may I offer you one?"
John stayed with Rodney watching them climb the stairs to Elizabeth's office, Lorne following closely, followed by two of Radim's men. "We should get up there," Rodney said, but he didn't move. John sighed, and, glancing at the Marines on the floor, nodded.
Elizabeth and Radim were already settled at the conference table, and she was pouring him a cup of tea. "Gentlemen," she greeted them, not looking up from the steaming teapot. "Would you like some? It's hari flower tea, and there are nux cookies."
"Yes, yes," Rodney said enthusiastically. John refrained from smacking his shoulder and just sat next to him, accepting a cup of the tea. He did like hari flower tea.
"Thank you, again, Ladon. Some time ago, you helped us locate John when he'd been kidnapped by Kolya." John stared into his cup, wishing Elizabeth had phrased that differently. "Since then, we've run into a new, ah, difficulty."
"We will help if we can. You know we are not a wealthy people, and that we are much splintered since Cowan's disappearance."
"Yes, of course." Elizabeth hesitated, and John could hear Rodney chewing energetically on a nux cookie. "A few weeks ago, we discovered another civilization in the Pegasus Galaxy, one that has kept to itself for thousands of years. We thought they were Ancients; they told us they were. But in fact, they were, ah, machines that look like humans. They'd been created by the Ancients as tools and weapons, and then left behind when the Ancients fled to the Milky Way galaxy."
"Machines," Radim said, frowning at her.
"Yes. They call themselves the Asurans, but they were literally created by the Ancients. They've evolved over the millennia, and they are hostile. We want to share this information with you for two reasons: so you'll know to avoid them, and in case they try to return to Atlantis, we'd like to be able to call on you for assistance."
Radim nodded, sipping at his tea. John leaned further back in his chair, watching Radim closely. He looked interested, and intelligent, and dangerous. "Thank you, Elizabeth," Radim said at last, "for sharing information about the Asurans. We have not encountered them."
"I hope you do not," Elizabeth said earnestly.
"As do I. Do you believe they have plans for Atlantis? Is that why you called me?"
"I fear it, yes. They've come once, and very well may regroup and try again to take the city. If they do, may I call you? Would you help us?"
Radim set down his tea cup and folded his hands on the table. "If it were just up to me, the answer would be yes. I hope you know that. But I am responsible for my people, and must ask for something in return."
"Of course, absolutely. And that's why we're here today: to come to some agreement."
"Our scientists have a theory. They call it mutual assured survival. The idea is that to cooperate with competitors is in the long run more advantageous than to compete with them. Cowan, unfortunately, disagreed with the theory; he never understood the math."
"Prisoner's dilemma," Rodney said, looking interested. "You know that?"
"Yes, of course. It's one of the biggest divisions in the Genii. We have scientists who've devoted their entire careers to working out the logistics of the problem."
"And you realize that cooperation is more productive than competition," Elizabeth said, smiling at him. "Let us cooperate with you, Ladon. You know what we can offer; you know that we, like the Genii, are not wealthy. But we are hard workers, we are productive, we have allies."
"You have Doctor McKay," he said, and John sat up straight.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
"I am not threatening anyone," Radim said, raising one hand. "I'm a scientist. I know his value. I'm asking for his help in fighting the Wraith. We have plans, but they aren't ready. With the help of Atlantis, we might be able to strike back at the Wraith."
"Be specific," Rodney barked at him.
"Not at the moment. Elizabeth, let's come to an agreement in principle. Then we can involve Doctor McKay."
Elizabeth looked coolly at Radim for several seconds before nodding. "John, Rodney. I'd like to speak to Ladon alone for a few minutes. If you wouldn't mind?"
"I would mind," John said firmly. "McKay is the chief science officer, and I'm the base commander. This is our decision as well."
"Colonel Sheppard," Radim said. "I appreciate your position, and in fact, I agree with you. But I too would like just a moment with Elizabeth. What I have to say to her is for her ears only."
"Please, John," she said.
He sighed, and slowly stood, turning to Rodney, who looked thunderous. Rodney shoved his chair back and stalked out, pausing at the door to wait for John. "In five minutes, no matter what, we're coming back in," John said.
Radim nodded his head. John stood just outside the conference room and watched as the doors slid shut. Radim's men looked as uncomfortable as John felt; Lorne looked as angry as Rodney. John checked his watch compulsively, but after only three and one-quarter minutes, the doors opened again.
Elizabeth was a little pink in the face, and smiling, and to John's shock, Radim was, too. "Thank you," she said. "Um. Well, let's get started on the negotiations, shall we? Ladon?"
"Of course." He beamed at John and Rodney; John longed to hear the sound of Radim's nose crunching under his fist, but he sat quietly and listened. Rodney pulled a little notebook from his back pocket, clicked his pen a few times, and started taking notes. "As you know," Radim said, "we have suffered greatly from the development of what you call nuclear weapons. I understand that you don't want to give us a triggering device, but surely you could assist us in the development of safety and shielding devices and techniques, and with treatment for people suffering from radiation poisoning."
"No triggering device?" Rodney asked. John didn't believe Radim, either.
"No. Perhaps someday, but not now. We aren't willing to share all our military secrets with you, so I won't ask you to share all of yours with us. But shielding? Medicine? In return for our assistance if the Asurans return."
"Or anyone," John said. "If the Wraith come and we need a place to hide."
"If they come to us, would you put us up in Atlantis?" he countered.
"On the mainland," John said firmly.
"There's no gate on the mainland."
"We'll ferry you there, same as we do the Athosans."
"Tava beans," Rodney said suddenly. "What can we trade for them?"
"Tava beans?" John looked at him disbelievingly.
"They make a pretty good soup," he said, lifting his chin.
~ ~ ~
Ten: to lay waste to the vocabularies of desire?
"No, I'm not getting sleepy. Let's see. Maui. The state bed on P7X. Uh, the captain's bed on the Glorious Gull."
"Nooo," John said, covering his eyes. "I get seasick just thinking about it."
"Wuss. What kind of pilot gets seasick?"
"I don't get airsick, but on the water, going up and going down and going up and going down --"
"Okay, okay, I take your point." They grinned at each other. "But it was cool. The windows --"
"Portholes."
"The portholes open, that sea breeze blowing, and seeing all those stars at night. The sunsets. Being brought breakfast in bed."
"That was very cool, once we left the ocean and were sailing up that river. Why didn't we go back?" John wondered.
"First contact team. Once we made contact and came home, it was up to Lorne's or Stackhouse's team to follow up. But I wish we'd just gone back to visit. It was heaven." John nodded, and watched as Rodney wrapped his fingers around John's hand. "It really was heaven. So. Those are my favorites."
~ ~ ~
Winter Snow
"What does the database say?" Elizabeth asked, frowning at Rodney.
"I'm not a meteorologist," he reminded her. "But Doctor Tjärnqvist says there is a history of blizzards on this planet. Not frequent, and they're usually closer to the poles, not in the mid-latitudes where we are. But he says it's not unheard of."
"Have him send me a summary report," she said and turned to Radek, who said, "Yes, well, I'm not a meteorologist, either, but I have lived in snow country most of my life, not just Antarctica," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Hey, we all lived in Antarctica for a while," Rodney said, and Radek's dimples flashed. John noticed Elizabeth's tiny smile at that.
"Yes, Rodney, we know," Radek said. " I have been tracking polar low pressure systems. There is a massive one reaching down toward Atlantis. Originally, it was several systems that merged --"
"Hey," John interrupted. "Like in that movie we saw, uh, Day After Tomorrow."
"Oh, please," Rodney started, but Elizabeth held up her hand.
Radek continued. "Several smaller ones that merged, and now it's heading toward us. It's quite interesting, watching the temperature gradient. Doctor Tjärnqvist has recorded drops from fifteen to twenty-six below in less than an hour."
"Celsius?" John asked. "That's, uh, wow, from sixty degrees to fifteen below?"
Radek nodded. "Wind speeds are quite high, too."
John leaned forward at that. "What do we need to do to prepare?"
"Well, batten down the hatches, I think you say."
"If I were Navy, yeah. Specifically?"
"Recall everyone from off-world missions. Evacuate the mainland. Keep everyone inside. Close down Atlantis as much as possible."
"What about heat?" John asked.
Rodney said, "We should be okay. We have the naquadah generators, and we're surrounded by water. The lower levels of the city will naturally be warmer because they're insulated by the ocean. But we need to block off the upper levels."
Elizabeth asked, "The farms on the mainland? The gardens on the south pier?"
Radek shook his head. "We'll need to discuss this with the people who know, but I think we'll lose whatever's left."
"Most of the stuff has already been harvested," John put in, remembering hauling bushels of tomatoes, corn, apples, and the Athosian equivalents. "We should check with the kitchens, though, to be sure they're stocked with everything they might need."
Elizabeth sighed and looked around the table. "Well, we all have something to do. In addition, we'll use this to update our emergency preparedness and response plans. Please note all you do and get it to me so I can collate it. We'll meet daily until the danger has passed. Thank you all." She rose, and chairs scraped as they all backed away.
John walked with Rodney and Radek, who were discussing Tjärnqvist. "Have him come to the next meeting," Rodney said. "You don't have to be a weatherman, but it would help."
Radek nodded, his hair flopping wildly. "I see him right away." He split off, presumably heading to Tjärnqvist's lab.
"You really think it's going to be that big a storm? That we need to worry, here in Atlantis?" John asked Rodney quietly, aware of the Marines watching them as they passed in the corridor.
"Hmm, well, on the mainland, yes, definitely. Teyla and Halling will need to get all their people here, just in case. But in Atlantis -- I don't think so. As long as everyone uses some common sense, which is unlikely, we should be okay. People are so idiotic that I'm sure we'll lose someone, or at least some fingers to frostbite, but other than that, I think it'll be like any other day."
John felt comforted. He awkwardly patted Rodney's arm and headed toward his own office. He needed to meet with Lorne to coordinate closing down Atlantis, especially the upper portion. He knew some of the men like to hang there during off hours; that would have to change.
He asked Lorne to attend the next morning's meeting; Timo Tjärnqvist was there, too, a tall thin man with very blond hair and smoke-grey eyes. "Yes, you see right here," he said, using a laser pointer on the powerpoint behind Elizabeth's head. "It's the contrast between the warm air around Atlantis, here in the mid-latitudes, and the polar air. There's a strong jet stream diving into the trough axis aloft from the developing low pressure, here." He stared at the glowing screen. After a moment, Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Yes, this is called bombogenesis. Right here, where the thermobars -- those lines -- are closest? That's showing a drop of thirty millibars in twenty-four hours. That's extraordinary. That's a bomb."
"Will it happen here?" Elizabeth asked. "And if it does, what will the effects be like?"
Timo smiled. "Spectacular, I do think, and of course, dangerous, if the worst comes to pass. Bear it mind, it probably will not. There's still thousands of kilometers between us, and predicting weather is for fools, not scientists."
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at that, and John stifled his laugh. Rodney probably agreed; he seemed to consider anything not math or physics to be a soft science, not just the social sciences.
"Well, better to be safe than sorry," Elizabeth said. "Best case scenario is we'll be prepared for when the storm of the century does arrive. John?"
"Lorne and I have patrols working their way through the city, making sure all windows in the upper levels are closed. No one lives above the fourth level, so we've made the fifth level and above off-limits. That goes for everyone, not just the military," he added looking around the table. "Get that information to your staff. I imagine that some people will be anxious to see the storm, whatever it's like; we need to find someplace safe for observation."
Carson said, "No matter how safe, we need to be sure people are dressing in layers, and we must all be on guard for excess alcohol consumption. We all like a nip to keep us warm, but in fact, it causes our bodies to lose heat more rapidly. As does caffeine, Rodney," he added.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "I have no intention of going out into the storm, Carson, and Radek and I calculate there will be no more than a two-degree drop in temperature in the lower levels of Atlantis even if the storm lasts for a week. Beyond that, we'll have to increase the use of naquadah generators for heat, and I already have several engineers working on retrofitting them into heating units."
"Good," Elizabeth said. "I've spoken to the commissary and we have enough supplies to last almost a year, though the food would get a bit boring after a while. Teyla?"
"My people are already moving to Atlantis. Major Lorne and Lieutenant Stackhouse have flown several groups here, and Ronon and I have settled them into the usual quarters."
"I have a suggestion about that," Carson said. "We keep having to shuffle these people back and forth. I think they should have permanent homes here. They're more than our allies by now."
Teyla smiled as Elizabeth nodded and said, "Teyla and I have already discussed that, and you're right. Some of the Marines spend more time working on the mainland than they do in Atlantis. It's good to have the Athosians among us, to share their traditions and knowledge. Teyla is evidence of that; no one in two galaxies would deny the benefits she has brought to us. So yes, excellent idea, Carson."
John said, "We've mapped out quarters for them, all on the northwest pier, facing the mainland. They have good sun there, too, so during the spring and summer they can have gardens if they want."
"And a school," Radek added. "I have spoken to Halling about this. Several of the scientists miss teaching." He spoke over Rodney's snort. "They would be happy to develop a curriculum for the Athosian children who are interested in learning our science, just as we are anxious to learn theirs."
"Very good, Radek." Elizabeth flushed slightly pink, with pleasure, John thought, smiling at her. "Let us hope this storm brings us all closer together. Well, stay safe. Keep your people indoors and in touch. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Thank you, Doctor Tjärnqvist. Please keep me posted on the development of this storm."
"It's like a storm in slow motion," Rodney complained to John as they left the conference room. "Talk, talk, talk, but nothing happens."
Rodney was wrong; the storm did come. Slowly drifting south, the polar low extended further toward them. The extraordinary quality of Tjärnqvist's work in conjunction with the Ancient equipment and the satellites that Rodney and Radek's teams had sent up with the help of John and Lorne meant they were able to track weather more accurately than on Earth. Since Tjärnqvist had come to Atlantis, they'd also been dropping data buoys into the ocean around the city, and moored a few dozen closer to the mainland. As a pilot, John already knew more than the basics of meteorology, including the math necessary to make predictions, but the kind of work Tjärnqvist was doing was closer to Rodney's work than John's. John and Elizabeth were interested in weather prediction; Tjärnqvist in climate prediction.
But right now, everybody was interested in the storm. The Storm, as John heard it. The excitement gave him a buzz, and several times he'd exchanged grins with Lorne, feeling almost foolish at the intensity of their preparations. But why not? As Elizabeth kept pointing out, even if nothing happened, their emergency preparedness plan would be updated and ready for the next time.
Tjärnqvist was wrong, too. The storm did come, but it came earlier than he'd expected. For three consecutive morning meetings, he said, "It is proceeding as projected," but on the fourth, he said, "My calculations were in error. I must re-think my assumptions. Perhaps I should also be taking the size of this planet into account."
Elizabeth said, "Excuse me, Doctor Tjärnqvist, but could you explain?"
"Oh, yes, of course. Rather, can you open these windows?" Everyone turned toward the windows beyond the stargate, visible from the conference room.
"I -- I don't know. Why?"
"Then let us adjourn the meeting to the balcony. Everyone, please?" Tjärnqvist stood, as abrupt as Rodney, and led the way out of the conference room, up the corridor, and onto the nearby balcony. John felt idiotic; everybody in the gateroom watched as they followed obediently, but as soon as Tjärnqvist opened the doors, he understood.
The wind pushed against his face, so icy cold that his nose hurt and his eyes began to water. Outside, he could hear how the wind howled as it spiraled around the towers of Atlantis, and he could see the breakers smashing against the steps below.
"When did this blow up?" Rodney shouted.
"Less than an hour ago," Tjärnqvist shouted back. "The barometric pressure is dropping steadily. There is no more time. Close the city."
John pushed his way through the crowd until he reached the balcony railing. The metal was cold beneath his fingers, and wet with spindrift. Clouds boiled overhead, dark grey and purple, deepening almost to black in the northeast. Tjärnqvist was right; the storm was here.
"Everybody in!" he shouted, turning to face them, shooing them back indoors. "Lorne, let's get these windows shuttered now." That had been on the schedule for today anyway, he thought, but he felt a bit guilty he hadn't had it done sooner. The higher levels were taken care of, and he'd send word out that no one was allowed there until the all-clear was given.
"Rodney," he started, but Rodney was already talking into his mic and to Radek simultaneously, demanding people get down to the lower levels to make sure the sensors were working in case something flooded. "Yes, yes," Radek said, and held up his hand to Rodney so he could turn to Elizabeth. "You will make the announcement now, yes? With the colonel?"
Elizabeth looked at John, who nodded. "This meeting is adjourned," she said, and everyone fled to their duties. John followed her into her office. "Email and an announcement, we agreed," she said, and he nodded. "Let's do it."
The day sped by, John cursing himself for not working more quickly and for believing Tjärnqvist's predictions, when Tjärnqvist himself said weather prediction was unreliable. Soon even indoors he could hear the sea smashing into Atlantis, and the moaning wind, and the rattling windows and their vibrating shutters. Wind crept in everywhere, which seemed impossible to him; Atlantis had been on the bottom of the ocean when they'd arrived, so how could wind get in when water couldn't?
"The ventilation system," Rodney told him through a mouthful of sandwich that evening. "We've shut down big chunks of it, but we need some fresh air. Theoretically, Atlantis herself will shut it down if necessary, and Tjärnqvist and Simpson are watching air quality, humidity, and temperature."
"It's colder in here, too," John said, wrapping his hands around his mug of tea.
"Yeah, it'll take a while to heat a place this big. Usually, just the number of bodies in here take care of that and we have to cool all the equipment. But tonight, we'll have to turn up the heat." He frowned, and John knew he was thinking about the energy required to heat a city the size of Atlantis, even just the lived-in portion.
John spent most of his time moving from work crew to work crew, checking on the quality of their work, but more to cheer them on, make a few jokes, make sure they were keeping hydrated and fed. He and Lorne worked out alternate but overlapping routes, meeting periodically to pass information.
By twenty-six hundred, John was ready to call it a day. He called a final meeting with Lorne, Radek, Rodney, Tjärnqvist, Simpson, Carson, and Biro; Elizabeth had gone to bed and he didn't want to disturb her. He also invited Halling and Teyla. They met in the mess hall over tea and cookies.
"You look like hell," Carson told them. Surveying the group settled around one of the big tables, he said, "As Chief Medical Officer, I'm instructing you all to go to bed. There's a skeleton crew for tonight, yes? Then let them do their work. They and the sensors will keep watch and wake you if need be."
"The good doctor kind of defeated the purpose of this meeting," John said, not looking at Lorne because he knew they'd crack up. "Any reason why we shouldn't take his medical advice? Doctor Tjärnqvist?"
"No, no. I'm am as tired as a Canal Street whore."
John felt his eyes widen and his mouth drop at that, and he had to laugh.
"Doctor Tjärnqvist, I take it you've spent some time in New Orleans?" Biro asked him.
"Yes, all meteorologists go. It is the mecca of meteorology. Lovely city. Terrible what happened to it."
Well, that was more than John was prepared to discuss tonight. He rubbed his eyes. "Okay, then. Bed. Lorne, see that Stackhouse gets some rest; he worked his ass off today. Rodney, don't even think about going back to the labs."
He grabbed two cookies, wrapped them in a napkin, and slid them into a pocket. Saying goodnight to the others, he waited for Rodney so they could walk back together. "You as tired as I am?" he asked, slumped against the transporter wall. Too bad they were instantaneous; no time to rest before the doors slid open and they were on their level.
Rodney yawned hugely, rubbed his face, and grunted. They passed an alcove and John impulsively grabbed Rodney's elbow and pulled him along. "What? I thought -- where are we going? Is something wrong?"
John just tugged and suddenly they were at a shuttered window. "Let's peek," he said, grinning at Rodney. They carefully and quietly set opened the window and lifted the exterior storm window up and to one side. The wind nearly pulled it from their hands, but between the two of them, they hung onto it.
"Jesus," Rodney gasped. The air was gelid, stunningly cold, so cold that the inside of John's nose froze, and his eyes watered. His fingers were already numb.
"Maybe not such a good idea," he said, but Rodney shook his head.
"No, it's brilliant. Look."
It was snowing. John had spent so much time in the desert places of Earth that snow, even after Antarctica, was still a pleasure. He squeezed forward, pressing his face into the narrow opening they'd made, and peered out. The cloud cover caught what little light there was and bounced it back, catching the swirling flakes. He tried to follow the path of one as it eddied from cloud to sea, but the wind's gusts and the density of the snow dizzied him.
"Smells like, like," Rodney murmured, his breath warm against John's cold ear. John moved a little back and aside so Rodney could see out too.
"Like Canada?"
"Almost, but not quite. Something different. I spent a winter in Newfoundland once, at Memorial University, the St. John's campus. It was a cold winter, and a stormy one. But the ocean smelled different."
"Well, it's on a different world." John felt Rodney's, "Hmph," more than heard it over the wind and waves. "Let's close this up." They wrestled the cover back in place and managed to shut with window with only one loud bang. When they'd stepped back, John saw snow melting on the floor beneath the window, and his sweater was damp and prickly.
"Look, we're iced," Rodney said, and pulled at his jacket. It made a crackling sound and tiny flakes of ice flew. "That was fun."
John smiled as he watched. He licked his lips, and tasted salt. "Yeah," he said, and nudged Rodney, who nudged him back. John felt mischievous, as mischievous as a child at the holidays. As John watched, Rodney tugged at the front of John's sweater, breaking the thin layer of rapidly melting ice that had formed so quickly. His touch made John gasp, and he sucked in his stomach, then put his hand over Rodney's.
Rodney's hand was cold and damp, so John put his other over it and gently rubbed, then raised Rodney's hand to his mouth, exhaling onto it. They didn't speak, except through their glances and touches. John felt the storm outside had somehow entered him, and maybe Rodney, too.
The wind suddenly gusted, slamming against the window, startling them both. Rodney squeaked and jumped, knocking into John, who caught him with an arm around the waist. He hesitated and then pulled Rodney closer who, in what John considered typical Rodney fashion, enthusiastically wrapped his arms around John, took a deep breath, and kissed John, right there at the window, the snow melting at their feet, the wind rattling the shutters.
When John woke the next day, he peeked through his window, feeling even more like a child at holidays, but it was solidly frosted. He rolled over to study Rodney, snoring at his side, radiating heat on this cold morning. John shook his head, and carefully climbed out of bed, trying not to wake Rodney. Atlantis seemed cooler to him, so he pulled on an extra sweater, then sat next to Rodney, who rolled nearer, sighed, and opened his eyes. "Get back in bed," he murmured.
John thought about for a few seconds, and started undressing.
On to Part Two