Angels in the Architecture

one

Things were relatively peaceful in Atlantis on the day John's world fell apart.

The Wraith were still fooled, the Genii were crippled enough that they wouldn't be a thorn in Atlantis' side for quite a while, and with the newest ZPM, things were humming along as smoothly as a plane gliding through a glass-clear sky. Rodney had been nearly impossible to drag out of the labs lately for missions, absolutely entranced by the million-and-one projects he had going on. But other than that, things were good. The worst he'd expected out of the briefing with Beckett about his progress on the gene-therapy was an acute case of boredom. The best would have been news that Carson had finally figured out a way to make the inoculation work for everyone.

He shouldn't have been surprised when it didn't go quite that way.

"John." Elizabeth greeted him with a smile, her friendly, happy-day smile, then swiveled in her chair so she could face Carson again. Rodney came panting in a few seconds after John settled into his seat, which was nearly a record for a non-emergency event.

"Rodney," she said, and Rodney waved back carelessly as he flopped into his seat. Nearly two years of hard field missions, and Rodney still puffed like an asthmatic whenever he rushed himself. Sometimes John wondered if it was psychosomatic; he'd seen Rodney run hard when his life was in danger, and his breathing fits only seemed to kick in after he stopped being so afraid.

Or maybe adrenaline really was the wonder drug.

"Carson, do you have good news for us?" Elizabeth asked. She sat forward, folding her hands in her anticipatory posture. "Your request seemed unusually urgent."

John frowned as Carson glanced at him nervously before focusing back on Elizabeth. Carson opened his mouth, then glanced back down at the screen of the laptop in front of him.

"Not exactly," he finally said. "I know you were hoping to hear about a breakthrough with the therapy, Elizabeth, but I'm still working on that. I've found something else in the course of my research, however. The results are far from conclusive, but at this point I believe I need to discuss the possibilities with you."

"Okay," Elizabeth said slowly. "What exactly are you talking about, Carson? Is there a problem?"

Carson glanced his way again, and John got a really, really sick feeling in his gut.

"I'm not certain. And as far as I can tell, there's really no way to even test my hypothesis to determine if it could be a problem." He grimaced. "As a matter of fact, this was a bloody terrible idea. Just pretend I never brought it up."

"Dr. Beckett!" Elizabeth snapped as Carson tried to stand. He ducked his head, looking like a hang-dog mutt caught with the family roast. "Carson," she said more calmly, "I have no idea what you're going on about, but I want to hear it no matter how terrible or outlandish you think it might be. Now sit back down, and start from the beginning."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Carson said. He sat back down, blew out a breath, and started talking. "I've been studying Colonel Sheppard's genetic profile more thoroughly in an attempt to determine whether there is another gene involved besides the one I've been attempting to engineer."

"You're saying that the Ancients may have differed from us in more ways than one," Elizabeth put in.

"More or less," Carson hedged, obviously suppressing the urge to explain his entire field of expertise. "There may need to be another gene present in order for the ATA gene to express the Ancient abilities."

"All right, go on," Elizabeth said. John twirled his pen, impatient with the drawn-out explanation. If something bad was going on, he wanted to know about it. He glanced over at Rodney, who had his arms folded over his chest, eyes toward the ceiling in an expression of perpetual frustration.

"I haven't made much progress on that, I'm afraid. But I discovered something unusual, a marker that I've seen nowhere else in human genetics. It seemed familiar to me, however, and once I compared it to the screens on Chaya and Orlin, well. They matched."

Rodney sat forward abruptly. "Did you check it with the genetic material from what's-her-name, the Ancient left behind in Antarctica?"

Carson nodded gravely. "Aye, Ayianna. She didn't have it."

Elizabeth looked as confused as John felt. His undergrad genetics course was a long time ago, and Carson's half-explanations had him lagging as he tried to put the pieces together. "Wait. Back up so I can understand what you're saying. I have something in common with Chaya that nobody else has. So is that why..." He trailed off, not sure if he wanted to revisit that fiasco.

Rodney, predictably, rolled his eyes and huffed. "Yes, yes, that's why you were drawn to Chaya like a dog in heat, but you're missing the point."

John frowned at him, but he was distracted by another of Carson's fretting looks. "What?" he demanded.

"It's all conjecture, you understand," Carson hedged.

John glared.

Carson sat up straighter, leaning forward a little with his hands folded in front of him. "I don't think you were descended from an Ancient, Colonel. I think you may be an Ancient, descended."

The room was dead silent. The Ancients must have perfected the Cone of Silence, because John couldn't hear any of the bustle and conversation of the control room outside. The only sounds he could hear were the soft breaths around him and the squeak of the chair as Rodney shifted his weight. Those, and Carson's voice echoing in his head with words that couldn't mean what he thought they meant.

"I don't think I'm following, Doc."

"John," Elizabeth said, sympathy in her voice already. He cut her off with a wrist-snapping wave.

"Don't, Elizabeth. Carson's just going to explain his theory again, nice and slow for me. Right?"

Beckett glanced at Elizabeth, and she must have nodded. "I don't know how to put it more plainly. Your genome differs in two respects from most humans. Some humans have the gene that allows them to manipulate Ancient technology, just as you do. But I've discovered no one who has the other."

"Except the Ancients," John said.

Carson shook his head. "Not all of the Ancients. Only the ones who we know had ascended, and then taken on human form again."

John laughed. It burst out of him before he even realized the impulse was there, high-pitched and sharp, and it took him a few breaths to rein it back in. "I'm not an Ancient."

It was a statement. Fact. Carson looked lost, like he didn't know what to do in the face of his certainty.

"Colonel, what's your earliest memory?"

John spun in his chair so he could glare more effectively. "What are you getting at, Rodney?"

"Please, you know I think Carson's full of mumbo-jumbo most of the time, anyway. Just help me test a theory."

Rodney didn't look away, didn't back down. John sighed and rubbed his eyes. He never liked to dredge up his past purposely--it came back to him on its own far too often. But if Rodney thought it would be that easy to lay this to rest...

"I don't know, it's kind of fuzzy. Lots of heads peering down at me. My mom holding me and giving me a bottle. That kind of stuff." He snorted. "There was this mobile over my crib that just fascinated me."

"Let me guess. Planes?" Rodney asked mildly, sarcasm so faint it probably wasn't intentional.

John shook his head. "No, sorry to disappoint you. Moons and stars."

They all exchanged loaded glances.

"Rodney, what's your earliest memory?" Elizabeth asked, as if she knew something John didn't.

"Pulling a box I wanted down off a shelf onto my head. I was in a walker at the time."

She nodded. "Mine's sitting in my father's lap petting a puppy. I would have been about two." Elizabeth looked down at her hands, weighing her words or avoiding looking at him, something. "John, most people can't remember much earlier than that age. Some, those who were extraordinarily advanced, like Rodney, can remember slightly earlier."

John swallowed hard. The room seemed stuffy, all closed off for privacy like this. He wished they'd opened the door to the balcony; a little sea breeze would feel good right now.

Elizabeth looked back up at him. "What you were describing? Sounds like less than a year old. That's impossible by what we know about child development."

He shrugged. "So I was wrong. That's what I assumed I would remember."

She nodded. "Maybe."

He looked over at Carson, who was giving him the sheep-dog face again. He turned back to Rodney. Rodney wasn't looking at him at all now.

"You know what? I think we're done for today." He stood and turned so sharply that Marines would have been impressed. Nobody said a word as he left the room, the doors opening for him as smoothly as they always did.

Elizabeth found him first.

He hadn't really gone that far, just down to the wide balcony that overlooked the elegant C-curve of their tiny bay, so he knew that she must have been giving him some alone time. John appreciated the consideration. He truly did.

It just didn't help any.

"How are you doing?"

He shrugged and turned back toward the view. The sun was high overhead, glinting off of the water and the shimmering spires of the city. He needed to get back to work soon. He had three more meetings scheduled for the afternoon.

"You don't really think Beckett's right, do you? It's pretty damn far-fetched."

Elizabeth stepped forward to stand beside him, her shoulder not quite brushing his own. She draped her arms over the railing like she didn't have a care in the world. "I don't think it's impossible. I've seen a lot of crazy things in the past few years, John."

"Tell me about it," he muttered. Ever since he sat in that damn chair in Antarctica, more often than not he'd felt like the universe was playing a big joke on him.

"It doesn't change who you are. You know that."

He shook his head. "You've already made up your mind, haven't you?"

"No, I haven't. But I do think that it makes a lot of sense." She sounded completely confident--and intrigued.

He snorted. "Just think, a living, breathing Ancient right beside you this whole time. Just what you always dreamed of."

"John..." Elizabeth brushed his shoulder, her thumb rubbing a quick circle before she drew away.

He turned to face her. "You're just pissed I can't remember anything."

Her eyebrow shot up into an imperious arch, letting him know he'd crossed the line yet again. "I realize this is difficult for you, but please try not to take it out on those of us who're trying to help you."

He sighed. "I know, I'm sorry. It's just going to take a little time to get used to the idea."

Her face relaxed, her eyebrow settling back down into a more understanding dip. "Hey, it's okay. We'll get through this."

John nodded, then turned back to the sea, done with his dose of palliative and platitude for the day.

Elizabeth didn't take the hint.

"Was there something else?"

"I have to let Stargate Command know."

He spun around, feeling as badly jarred as the times he'd ridden a jumper into a crash landing. "You can't, Elizabeth. They'll ground me for sure, pull me back to Earth for a bunch of tests that you know won't tell them shit."

"They won't," she said, but there was doubt in her eyes. "I know you're nervous about it, but they have so many more resources than we do. Maybe Dr. Jackson will have some insight--"

"Do you even hear what you're saying? You'll be telling them that an alien entity has infiltrated the most secure project of the United States military. You think they're going to say 'oh, cool'?"

Elizabeth crossed her arms, putting her head down like she did when she was trying to plow through a problem with bull force. "I won't let them do anything to you, I promise. And yes, I do think that the US and its allies will be very excited about anything we discover. The Ancients are the one race who we haven't had any real success in communicating with, let alone forging an alliance. You could be extremely important to that happening."

John felt cold. Cold, and the coffee he'd had for breakfast was eating away at his gut like battery acid. It was the sensation of being undercut by someone he trusted. He remembered the feeling far too well.

"Elizabeth," he said, his voice raspy from that coffee-bile, "you're talking about my life. Please, please don't tell them."

She blanched, then her cheeks flushed like he'd slapped her. He could see her swallow, but she didn't look away, holding his eyes determinedly.

"I can't promise that," she said. "If it comes down to a question of your safety, or that of Atlantis, or Earth, then I will tell them." She sighed and looked down at her hands, holding out her fingers like she was inspecting a manicure. "But you're right. I should have considered your feelings first. I won't tell them unless I have to."

He took what felt like his first deep breath since the meeting that morning. "Thank you. And Carson?"

"I'll speak with him," she said. She forced a smile. "And I should probably get back, see what calamity has cropped up in the last half hour."

John smiled at her. "Good luck with that."

Her smile eased to something more natural, then she turned and left him to consider the view on his own.

Rodney found him last.

Of the three, John had expected Carson to be the one to avoid him, but Beckett had slunk into John's office late in the afternoon, full of regrets and reassurances and a confused jumble of attempts to simultaneously refute his conclusion and support it. John had felt like a heel for the way he'd acted in the meeting, but once he'd apologized and sent Carson on his way, he hadn't been able to stuff down the feeling that this whole thing wasn't a joke.

He'd gone for a run with Ronon, then rounded up Teyla for a good old-fashioned ass-whooping. She'd given him worried look after worried look, but there was no way in hell he was telling Teyla, of all people, that he might very well be one of the Ancestors. After he'd escaped her, he'd gone for a spin in the Ancient hot tub they'd found a couple months ago, but it turned out sitting around with nothing to keep his mind occupied was exactly the wrong thing to do.

So he wound up back in his quarters, fumbling his way through the toughest sheet music he had on hand. When the door chimed, he didn't bother to put his guitar away. Rodney gave him a funny look, but on a scale that included life-threatening annoyance and heart-wrenching openness, it barely registered as awake.

"What's up, Rodney?" John was pretty sure he could answer that himself, but then again, he'd been pretty sure that Rodney would have been at his side three minutes after he walked out of the conference room. He was finding that a lot of his assumptions about life were off lately.

Rodney stood in the middle of the room, twisting his fingers together nervously. He stopped once he noticed John's stare and crossed his arms across his chest.

"Have you thought about why?" Rodney huffed when John gave him a pointed look. "Yes, I mean of course you have, but you're probably coming up with all these horrible things like being forcibly descended like Jackson was."

John plucked the G-string hard, and sure enough, Rodney shut his mouth and glared. "Dr. Jackson was forcibly descended?" he asked mildly, strumming through a couple of chords without anything particular in mind.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Did you read any of the reports from the Stargate program at all? Or are you just blithely unaware of the notion that history repeats itself?"

John sighed and set his guitar on its stand. His fingers were starting to feel as raw as the rest of him, and he didn't want to risk damaging it if Rodney happened to push the right button.

"It's been a little hard playing catch-up, what with the need to survive and everything. Or maybe I should take to reading them in the field. I'm sure it won't affect my ability to protect you."

In truth, he did make an attempt to get through at least a sizable stack of reports every week. Unfortunately, the Stargate program had been operating for years before he'd ever heard of it, with up to a dozen teams at a time in the field. Nobody had bothered to prioritize the information for him. So he was stuck wading through dry scientific treatises on the possible consequences of one planet's rotational period, mining reports, and discussions on the cultural significance of pottery shards that might possibly be chamber pots, all in an effort to find the information that he was supposed to find valuable to his command.

Some days, he really got the feeling that someone back home didn't want him to succeed.

Those were usually the days he wound up reading about chamber pots.

"My point is, Colonel, that you have no idea why you might have descended. For all you know, you might be on a mission of mercy for the human race. So stop brooding about what you can't change."

"Thanks, Rodney, I'll keep that in mind," he said as he stood up. He realized that he felt empty, that he'd begun feeling that way sometime between the bath and playing. He was tired, and he was empty.

"What, that's it? No arguing your point, no telling me it's none of my business?" Rodney took a step forward, waving his hands belligerently.

"And what would that accomplish? You've already made up your mind about this whole thing. You and Carson and Elizabeth. I thought you were supposed to be a scientist, McKay. You know, remain objective about the hypothesis until the data is in? What happened to that?"

Rodney lifted his chin, his color high in his cheeks, but he didn't back down. "It's difficult to remain objective when that hypothesis is a friend," he said, and John was the one who looked away. "I've had that lesson beaten into me far too many times not to learn it."

"So why can't you give me the benefit of the doubt on this?" John asked quietly.

From his peripheral vision he caught the motion as Rodney threw his hands into the air. "See? That's what I'm talking about. You're so caught up in assigning values to whatever trauma is going on in your head that you're not even listening to me. I don't know whether Carson's been shaking his rattles over the happy smoke again or not. What I was saying is that if it does turn out that you're the Starman, it doesn't matter one damn bit."

John snorted. "Doesn't matter? Spare me the platitudes, Rodney. Of course it matters! God, Rodney, don't you get it? Beckett said I'm not fucking human!"

Rodney looked back at him with wide eyes, and John realized he was practically shouting in Rodney's face. He backed off and kicked at the foot of the bed, frustrated at himself for losing it.

"Being human isn't all about your genes," Rodney said, still logically illogical, still trying to make him feel better. "I'd bring myself up as an example, but I can already hear the jokes in my head. So what about Teyla? Is she human? I mean, she can even communicate with the Wraith, feel what they feel. That's got to make her different, don't you think?"

John very deliberately did not toss his pillow at Rodney's head. If he started throwing things, next thing he knew he'd be trashing his room. "It's not the same thing at all," he spat, "and you know it. My whole fucking life is a lie."

There. He'd said it. Acknowledged what he'd felt deep down since Carson had finally coughed up his theory. And Rodney fucking McKay, god damn it, had done what he'd probably been angling for all along by dragging it out of him.

"Go away," he said, more tired than angry. "I'm really, really done talking about this tonight."

"John--"

"Rodney."

He waited until he heard the door open and swish back shut. Then picked up his guitar and began making sure his fingering was absolutely correct on every chord he knew.

two

Oddly enough, the whole thing sort of faded into the background after that. Not that he stopped thinking about it, of course. The idea ate at him constantly, waking him up in the middle of the night with nebulous nightmares. He could usually put it out of his head during the day, but every now and then he'd look at something as innocent as the way the beams in the gateroom curved into a graceful arc, and then he'd think something like, "Hey, I'm an Ancient. Maybe I did that." He always had to fight down hysterical laughter whenever it happened.

For the most part, though, the others acted like that briefing had never happened. Carson didn't come after him for more samples of various fluids, or offer up any other cracked hypotheses. Elizabeth didn't report him to the SGC. And if he caught McKay watching him with worried eyes every now and then, well, it wasn't like Rodney hadn't ever looked at him that way before.

Their next mission went well, despite John's constant feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Unfortunately, he was so busy worrying about his shoes, he forgot to watch out for his socks twisting. And he really needed to stop thinking in metaphors like that, because if Teyla ever found out he'd compared her to a sock, she'd kill him.

She confronted him halfway back to the jumper.

"You have been very tense lately." Statement of fact, not a question. Whenever Teyla decided to deal with a problem, she dealt with it head on. "Is something wrong?"

John sighed. He shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun and did a sweep of their surroundings. McKay was a good twenty feet behind him, but John could still make out his merry humming over the naquadah deposits they'd found. Ronon was indulging him by pacing beside him as he covered their six.

"John?" she prompted.

"It's really nothing," he hedged. "I've just been mulling some things over."

He heard a scathing scoff that was more suited to Rodney, but when he looked at her she simply looked back at him like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, one delicate eyebrow perfectly arched.

"It is more than nothing," she said. "You have become distracted several times this mission. I am not only worried about you, but also whether you might endanger the team."

John winced. She cut right to the bone with that, as swift and deadly with her words as she was with her sticks. "You're right, and thank you for calling me on it. If I do it again, feel free to kick my ass."

Teyla nodded gravely. "I will be sure to do so," she said, the bare lift of a sly little smile on her lips. John laughed, and they continued on in silence for a few more yards.

"John," she said quietly, "I wish you felt that you could tell me what is troubling you."

He shook his head. "It's not you, Teyla, you know that. It's just one of those personal things that I have to work through on my own."

She nodded, but he thought it was grudging, as if she could tell that he wasn't quite telling the truth. John wouldn't put it past her; they'd always had an instinctual sense of each other. He felt shady, not telling her, but Christ, enough people were already looking at him like he might sprout horns at any second.

"I found Dr. Heightmeyer to be very helpful when you sent her to me," she added after another five minutes of silent walking. "Even though I did not wish to speak with her at first."

John nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

The jumper was just coming into view, shining like a signal mirror from the late afternoon sun. They didn't say anything more until Rodney started prodding him with questions about allocating personnel for a mining operation.

He went on fooling himself that he'd fixed the problem, right up until the point when Ronon tossed him flat on his back during one of their training sessions, planted a foot on his chest, and didn't let up until he started to see stars.

"Get off," he wheezed. John wrenched at Ronon's ankle with all of his strength, but it was impossible to get any good torque in his position.

"What's going on with you, Sheppard?" Ronon eased off enough that John could breathe, but moving was still out of the question.

"At the moment, I'm contemplating whether my manly pride can handle getting McKay to off you by some untraceable means, or if I should just shoot you in your sleep."

Ronon grinned. "Funny. Now talk."

"What?" he asked, ignoring the whine in his voice. Ronon's foot was heavy, after all, even when he wasn't putting any effort into it. "Let me up."

"Not until you tell me why you've been moodier than a pregnant woman off her feed for the past few weeks. Are you pregnant, Sheppard?"

He glared. "Get the fuck off," he said. Ronon shifted his weight just enough, and John curled his abs as hard as he could, bring his knee up into the back of Ronon's thigh.

Ronon just grunted.

John collapsed into a limp sprawl, giving in. "Fine. Yes, there's been something bothering me, but no, it's none of your business."

"It's my business if it affects me."

John thunked his head against the mat. "I'll take care of it, okay? I'll talk to Elizabeth about it in the morning."

Ronon screwed up one eye, but he lifted his foot. "See that you do," he said as he offered John his hand.

John took it, then scowled down at the dusty print on his T-shirt and the feel of an Indian burn making itself known beneath the cloth. "I am so siccing McKay on you."

"That'd be a better threat if he wasn't the one who talked me into this," Ronon said.

John ignored Ronon's evil chuckle and stalked off to the showers.

"I need to see Chaya."

Elizabeth reacted just as he thought she would--eyes snapping up from the file she was studying, shocked wide before they narrowed into one of her probing gazes.

"Why?" she asked, though it sounded more like a demand than a question.

John sighed and lowered himself into the chair in front of her desk. "I think you know why. I need to know if she knows more than she let on. We don't have anything pressing on the roster, and the city's as secure as it can get. There's no reason for me not to go."

Elizabeth slid a paper clip onto the page she had been reading, then very precisely shut the folder and pushed it to the side.

"I can think of a few reasons," she said, not giving any ground. "Namely, the irrefutable fact that no matter what your instincts may tell you, we don't know for certain what her motives are. And let's not forget that the Ancients banished her to that planet, and may very well look askance at your attempt to question her for that very reason."

Well, he had known she would have objections. She wouldn't be doing her job if she didn't. "And maybe one of them will pop down to say hi, and we'll have old home week. I promise to send for you before I try negotiating. Elizabeth, come on. You know I didn't intentionally disobey you last time, and this might be the only way I'll ever learn the truth. Let me do this."

She held his eyes for a long moment, and he tried to get across his need and sincerity. Then she looked away, staring at the little rock garden perched on the edge of her desk. John sat back, relieved.

"You're not going alone," she said, and he leaned forward again.

"There's no reason to put anyone else at risk," he argued, realizing that he'd just contradicted himself. "Hypothetical risk," he added hastily. "I'll be fine by myself."

She shook her head. "With your team, or not at all. Take it or leave it."

John took it. And surprise, surprise, Rodney objected to the idea.

"You've got to be kidding me," he snapped as soon as Elizabeth got the planet designation out. "I am not taking time out of my busy schedule so you can go on a booty call."

That burned. John set his jaw as he stared back at Rodney, hurt that McKay of all people couldn't see past the obvious.

"Booty call?" Ronon asked.

"Booty call. You know, long-distance visit to bump uglies? Colonel Sheppard has a history of that sort of thing."

"Rodney!" Elizabeth looked ready to throw something�something pointed and with a lot of heft. "Think about what you're saying for once."

"Excuse me," Teyla broke in. "Why are we returning to Proculus? I thought Chaya asked us to stay away."

"Who's Chaya?"

John pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Chaya just happens to be the only living, breathing Ancient that we know of. She's set herself up..." Rodney trailed off. He looked over at John. "Oh," he said.

"Yes, oh," Elizabeth said, shaking her head. "Some days, Rodney."

"Sorry," he told her sheepishly, glancing at John afterwards.

John nodded, willing to let it go. He'd never understood Rodney's visceral hatred of Chaya, but it was water under the bridge for the most part.

"Oh?" Teyla asked. "Oh, what?"

Elizabeth raised her hand. "I'm sorry, this has gotten completely out of hand," she said, squinting meaningfully at Rodney. "Before I say anymore, however, I need your word that none of this will go beyond this room."

Ronon looked over at him. John nodded.

"You have it," he told Elizabeth.

"As long as it does not affect my people," Teyla said.

Elizabeth looked over at John, smacking the ball firmly into his court. Damn it.

"Look, Teyla," he said. "I promise you that this has absolutely nothing to do with your people. But I can see how you might think they should know. I'm asking you not to tell them, for my sake. Please."

She nodded slowly, grudgingly. "Because you ask," she said.

"Thank you." He didn't smile at her, the weight of her trust too important for charm. But he dipped his head, and the tight lines around her eyes eased somewhat.

"Thank you, Teyla," Elizabeth echoed. "I'm not sure how to explain this, especially since it's conjecture at this point. Dr. Beckett came to a very interesting conclusion from some of his research. He believes that Colonel Sheppard may very well be an Ancient who chose to descend and live as a human being."

"An Ancestor?" Ronon asked, eyebrows winging upwards. "No way."

"That is not possible," Teyla said flatly. John met her hard eyes, hoping that it was anger that she was feeling. He could handle anger. The emotion he dreaded the most was reverence.

"Actually, it is," Rodney broke in. "We know of several ascended Ancients who have taken corporeal form at will, including Chaya. Another, Orlin, descended twice�the second time as a child in order to help Earth against the Orii. It's not inconceivable that one of them could take the form of a fetus."

John swallowed, finding Rodney's clinical tone more disconcerting than any of their previous discussions. He'd tried not to think about the implications of his supposed descension. How had that worked? Had he taken another child's place, or had his mother not been pregnant until he'd done whatever he'd done? It was all very, very weird. And kind of gross.

"But why?" Teyla asked.

"Apparently, Orlin had a thing for Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter," Rodney mused. "But then again, who wouldn't?"

"No, that is not what I meant. Why would you do such a thing?" she asked John.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "That's why I need to see Chaya again. I need to know if it's true or not. Find out if she knows anything else."

"So why are we talking about it?" Ronon always managed to cut to the chase. "Let's go see this Chaya."

Elizabeth was smiling softly with the look in her eyes that said see, you really can trust us. Teyla still wore a blank mask, but she nodded once. And Rodney...

"Fine. Just try to keep it in your pants while you're debriefing her, okay?"

John smiled deviously, unable to resist yanking Rodney's chain. "Oh, but didn't you know? Ancients don't have to take off their clothes to get down and dirty."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," Rodney muttered.

Rodney's insults stayed muted all the way to Proculus, though he didn't hold back completely-- especially when Ronon asked questions about the previous mission. John was pretty sure Ronon was trying to keep things light and funny, and that Rodney was trying to be considerate. Teyla was just too damn quiet. He only paid them minimal attention--his brain was already skipping ahead to what would happen when he got there. Whether Chaya would come to him. What she would say.

John half expected to be enveloped in her energy as soon as the jumper left the gate, but nothing happened. He took the shuttle right to the base of her temple, and left his grudging team in the courtyard.

"Chaya!" He raced up the stairs, as he had over a year ago, but his purpose was far different this time. "Chaya! I need to talk to you!"

A soft breeze lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. She was behind him when he turned.

"John." She didn't look surprised to see him, but her expression wasn't welcoming, either.

"Chaya. I've got a few questions for you," he said as calmly as he could manage. A little growl edged into his words, though. Chaya ignored it, stepping past him to enter the small room of the temple.

He followed her into the room. Water bubbled out of a sculpted boulder in the middle of the room, trickling down the sides of the pale stone and disappearing between the dark granite slabs below. Candles flickered in wall sconces, but most of the light came from the sun shining through the open doors on either side of the room.

Chaya trailed a hand through the water, then sat down on a low stone bench on the other side of the fountain. She patted the space beside her, and John indulged her by sitting down.

"I had hoped that if you returned to me, it would have been because you missed me," she said. The breeze kicked up again, billowing her hair out and then settling it back around her face in artful wisps.

John sighed. "Look, Chaya. You're great. I like you a lot. But I need to know what you know about me, and that's all I'm here for."

Chaya smiled ruefully. "I said I had hoped, but I am not surprised."

"You know why I'm here, then."

"I have my suspicions." She took his right hand between her own, turning it palm up so that she could trace his lifeline with the tip of her index finger. "When we shared, I felt something I did not expect to find. Is that why you came back?"

"Am I an Ancient?" he countered, tired of beating around the bush. "I'm one of you, aren't I?"

Chaya trailed her fingers softly over his skin as she slowly pulled away. He shivered; it felt like she was peeling him open from the inside.

"I cannot say for certain," she said. "But if I wanted to, I could simply push, and you would ascend."

The shiver turned into an ice-water bath splashed all over his insides. "Push?"

She nodded. "When we take form, we do so in specific patterns. And to release that form, one simply...unravels the matter into energy. Human form is not nearly as organized, not until after one gains ascension. I can help you, if you wish."

"No thanks," he said, trying to draw back from her on the short bench, without looking like he was actually doing so. He rubbed his clammy hands on his pants, and then had a fleeting moment of insanity as he wondered if he could accidentally unravel himself that way. "McKay would love to hear about it, though, I'm sure."

"It is not for him to hear."

"Right." John'd forgotten that the antagonism went both ways; he was kind of focused on his own issues at the moment. "So, you're saying I was ascended at some point in time."

Chaya reached for him again, but stopped when he flinched back.

"Who am I?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. It has been so long since I was among them. At times, I doubt my own memories."

John leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. Her answers didn't tell him anything at all. Just enough that he couldn't hide the truth from himself anymore.

"You do feel familiar to me," Chaya said, as if her words were comforting. "But I might only be wishing for what was."

"So do you have any clue why? I mean, is it a punishment?"

Her hand ghosted across his back, and he let her touch him. The feel of her was both comforting and disturbing.

"The rules of the others are harsh," she said. "It is not something I had ever seen done while I was with them, but it is possible, yes."

He sat up, her arm still around him, and met her eyes.

"That is all I know," she said. She cupped his cheek and kissed him softly. "Be well, John Sheppard."

Then she left. A quick swirl of light spun upwards, accompanied by a riotous breeze that spat water from the fountain across his skin before he was alone in the dead calm.

Rodney came clunking up the stairs some time later--the room was shadowed by then, the sun low enough that only a few rays angled across the floor.

"I'm not in the mood, McKay."

He watched Rodney's boots come closer. Short, careful steps, like he was expecting a landmine to go off. John sighed and looked up. Rodney had his hands in his pockets, and combined with the honest worry in his eyes, he should have looked like a lost little boy. But his shoulders were back and his mouth was set in a hard line, and John felt like he always did when he knew Rodney was going to save the day.

"So, uh, you ready to go?" Rodney asked.

John half-snorted, then shoved to his feet. "No reason to stick around."

Rodney gave him a funny look before he glanced around the room. "Did she tell you anything?"

Too much and not enough. "Beckett's not wrong," he said, stepping past Rodney before John could see whatever reaction was on his face.

John was halfway down the stone steps before Rodney clattered down behind him. He realized he had his shoulders hunched up, waiting for Rodney's questions or reassurances, but for once, he kept quiet, just a solid presence guarding his back.

"Let's go," he barked as soon as Teyla and Ronon caught sight of them. Rodney must have mouthed something at them, Ancient or Ancestor or Glowy poo-poo head for all John knew, because they both glanced his way before looking away to fuss with things that didn't need fussing.

"Great," he muttered. He stalked across the courtyard, wondering if he was going to end up a movie star or a pariah. Maybe a little of both for good measure.

"Colonel," Teyla called. The jumper was twenty feet away; he pretended not to hear her.

"John," she said, and grabbed his arm. He stopped, surprised. Teyla usually saved physical aggression for sparring and the Wraith.

"Teyla," he said. He looked down at her arm, gave it that macho 'get your hands off me' look that always worked so well in the movies. "Did you want something?"

She squeezed his arm, then let go with a look of her own that said doing so was purely her decision.

"This does not change who you are," she said.

"I think it does." John turned away, not wanting an argument or any more deep discussions. He appreciated her effort, but kind words and wishes weren't going to change the truth.

The trip back to Atlantis was silent, and John liked it that way.

three

The mission after that didn't go so good.

He would have liked to blame it on himself--distraction or a bad choice--but things fell apart without any help from him or his team. They'd walked out of the meeting hall and right into a handful of triple-barreled guns. Ronon had managed to stun the first wave, and they'd started their mad dash toward the puddle jumper.

"Come on, McKay," he called out as loud as he dared, panting to catch his breath while he waited for Rodney to clear the low wall in the alley. Why the hell they'd stuck a wall in the middle of an alley, he didn't know, but it was just one more thing on his list of things he could do without. Things like getting ambushed by Genii sympathizers and his team being split up so they could run away from said sympathizers.

He hit his earpiece as Rodney touched down on the ground. "Ronon, Teyla, what's your status?"

"We are clear of the city," Teyla said, hardly winded at all. "I believe we have lost our pursuers."

John paused at the end of the alley, taking a good look around before he responded. "Great. We should be right behind you."

"Colonel!"

John saw the guy a half-second after Rodney's warning. Saw Rodney's gun come up and shake in his hand. Saw the black-eyed purpose as the guy stared John down.

John pulled the trigger.

The report was louder than usual; the kick unbelievably hard. He knew he'd hit the guy, but all he could see now were the edges of dingy buildings telescoping into blue sky.

"Oh, Christ, oh fucking Christ," Rodney said. "Teyla! Get back here now! Sheppard's been hit."

And oh, fuck, there was pain. Pain and Rodney's eyes, blue as the sky behind his head, blue and worried like John had never seen him before. Pain, coming from Rodney's hands pressing into his gut like knives.

"Rodney?" he asked.

"John, God, don't do this, don't do this to me," Rodney babbled, so frantic he sounded beyond scared.

John frowned at Rodney's concern; the pain was fading.

"S'okay," he said, trying to reach for Rodney's shoulder, trying to pass on some reassurance. "You got it under control."

"John, please," Rodney begged.

And then he died.

The waiting room was a perfect replica of his favorite curry place in Aukland, minus the regulars and with the addition of cherry pie on the menu. John decided on the daal and masaman chicken even though he wasn't hungry; it'd been ages since he'd had good curry.

The woman who slid into the seat across from him was just as beautiful as she'd always been-- dark hair pinned up so that wisps curled flatteringly around her face, dark eyes that would have been wise and weighing even without the ring of black eyeliner. He thought the turquoise-blue sari was a bit heavy-handed, though.

"Kelan," she said.

"Let's stick with John, all right?"

"Your name is Kelan."

He shook his head. "Not anymore, Oma. Now can I get some service, or am I going to have to wait on myself?"

She smiled, a small, amused, condescending smile, and waved her hand in a flashy loop de loop. Several platters appeared on the table, a veritable Indian buffet practically in his lap.

"Showy," he said.

Oma inclined her head in a bare fraction of acknowledgment. "It's good to have you back," she said.

He snorted. "I can't say the same. You wouldn't happen to know anything about why I'm here, would you?"

She smiled enigmatically. "Perhaps it was simply instinctual for you."

"Uh-huh," he said, letting the subject drop. He hadn't planned on ascending ever again, but he was damn well going to take advantage of Oma's meddling. "So, was there something you wanted?"

Oma leaned forward, her serene facade dropping away to reveal nothing but intensity. "You. Back at my side, fighting for what we both know is right. You've had your time to gain whatever it was you thought this venture would provide. Come back to us. We need you."

John held her gaze. Deep eyes, knowing eyes, unchanged from his very earliest memories. He sighed, flashes of memory, good and bad, rushing into the places that were still raw from his human life.

He leaned forward and took her hand across the cherry pie. "A big part of me really, really wants to. But I think you know the truth as much as I do. This isn't my place anymore. It's time for me to move forward."

"Move backward, you mean," she said bitterly.

John shook his head. "I mean live."

Oma looked away, and he thought he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "Must you leave right now?"

He squeezed her hand. "It's best if I do."

She nodded. "There is always a place for you here. If you can keep one thing, remember that."

John lifted her hands to his lips. "Thank you."

Oma cupped his cheek, but said nothing more. There was nothing else to say.

one

He took form behind Rodney, the memories fading fast, leaving him with fragments and impressions of what had happened. Rodney whipped around, off-balance as he sprang up out of his crouch.

"Oh, thank God," Rodney said, his voice a sandpaper whisper. His eyes were red around the blue, his cheeks wet and pale. He took two quick steps, hands out, but didn't touch John. "Thank God."

"Not God, Rodney," John said. He closed the distance between them, hugging Rodney tight, knowing that whatever he'd found out, whatever he'd seen, that this was as important as anything. That this was humanity, holding someone he cared about in his arms, being held in return. This was the reason he kept on trying. "Just me."

Rodney laughed against his neck, wet snuffles tickling his skin. Teyla came racing around the corner and pulled up short when she saw them. Ronon nearly ran her over.

John held out his right arm. "Come here," he said.

Teyla took two hesitant steps. Then she raced the rest of the way, barreling into them. Rodney oofed out a breath. John pulled her to him, kissing her forehead, and Rodney let go of him enough to wrap an arm around her as well.

Ronon stood a few feet away, looking like a little boy picked last for the kickball team.

"I'm out of arms," John said, blowing wisps of Teyla's hair out of his mouth. "Get over here."

Ronon grinned and wrapped his arms around them all, squeezing hard enough that he pulled Teyla off her feet. They were all laughing and crying, an embarrassing display of messy emotion, but John didn't mind one bit.

Elizabeth tapped her touchscreen stylus against the edge of the desk while she stared off into the distance. John waited, giving her time to formulate whatever question she was going to hit him with.

"I always wondered," she said at last, "what it would be like to have the power to play God. What I would do. Somehow, I don't think that having all that power means they have the answers to the question of what to do with it."

"They don't do much of anything with it." That he was convinced of, no matter how fuzzy his memories were.

"It can't be easy, though," she said.

John shrugged. "I couldn't say."

"I wish you would reconsider your decision to keep this from Stargate Command. I know you're concerned, but if something happens again..."

He didn't tell her it wouldn't, because he knew she wouldn't believe it any more than he did. Atlantis had turned him off of betting on those kinds of statements. "Look," he said, "I've gone over every file I could find on anything to do with the Ancients and ascension. And from what I can tell, I've got nothing to contribute that they don't already know. They're far better off keeping an eye on Jackson."

Elizabeth sat back with a small smile. "Daniel does have a way of being in the thick of things. All right, I won't bug you about it anymore."

"Thank you, Elizabeth."

"John," she said softly, letting her stylus drop to the desk with a small clink, "I know we'll probably never know what happened up there, but whatever it was, I'm really, really glad you came back to us."

He grinned. "I am, too." And that, he was sure of.

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