Fic: Cross Multiplication, Part One
Nov. 15th, 2006 07:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quasar273Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis, Stargate: SG-1, The Sentinel
Title: Cross Multiplication, Part One
Author: Quasar
Rating: R
Pairing: John/Rodney, Jim/Blair
Date written: November 2006
Length: ~20,000 words
Summary: After being returned to his own universe, John Sheppard finds that everything has changed.
Notes: This is a sequel to Cross Product, and may not make much sense unless you read that one first. However, having been written for NaNoWriMo, this story has a different, lazy, rambling style, with minimal editing. Caveat lector.
It happened just like the first time. One moment John was walking down a corridor, and the next moment he was standing in a tiny room with a thing disengaging from his head. He looked around in bewilderment.
It was the same tiny room he'd found himself in last time. The door was closed, and Rodney McKay, wearing shapeless black fatigues, was watching him suspiciously. There was no one else in the room.
"Er, Sheppard . . . ?" Rodney asked cautiously.
"Shit!" John spat. "Still not Kansas."
Rodney's brow wrinkled. "What?"
"This is the wrong place. I'm not home yet, McKay. You just switched your guy with the wrong universe." John looked down at himself. Still his hands, check. The face felt like his own, as well -- no wait, there was a cut on his cheek, with stitches; that hadn't been there before. He rolled up the right sleeve of his fatigues -- the same design as Rodney's. Colonel Sheppard's ugly blue mole-scar wasn't there. The watch on his left wrist did look familiar.
Rodney looked around at the mostly-empty room. "How can you tell?"
"Well, for starters, how about being in the wrong galaxy? I'm supposed to be in California."
"You were in California," Rodney countered. "But you -- Colonel Sheppard -- couldn't get home from there, so he came to the SGC, and we brought him here."
John went still. "I'm a civilian here?"
"Discharged three years ago."
"Flying news choppers?"
"I have no idea. Sheppard said he switched places while you were surfing."
Well, that sounded right. John ran a hand through his hair and found it longer than Colonel Sheppard's. "What about this?" He brushed the stitches on his face. "It's recent?" It certainly felt tender and fresh.
"That happened yesterday."
Yesterday, he hadn't been living in his own body. "Okay," he conceded. "Maybe it's the right universe. But still the wrong place. What now?"
Rodney grimaced. "That, uh, might get complicated. But first you have to be introduced to everybody." He turned and waved at the room's tall, narrow door.
The outer chamber was in much better shape than the one John had seen in the other universe. It had consoles and display screens alight and humming, with no gaping holes to mark ripped-out technology. There was only a little sand tracked around on the floor, although he saw that the doorway was nearly swamped with sand. Apparently this place hadn't been vandalized like the one Rodney -- the other Rodney -- had taken him to.
There were people in the outer room, but he didn't recognize them. They looked at him closely.
"Well?" said one of them, a young man with a shock of dirty-blond hair and one oddly-dark eye wearing an Atlantis expedition uniform -- without insignia, of course. "So . . . what?!"
Rodney whuffed out a breath. "It worked. John Sheppard, this is Gen-- Captain O'Neill."
John shifted uneasily. It was always uncomfortable running into military people since his discharge. He wasn't even sure which service this guy was in. At least he wasn't tempted to salute first; he would have had the higher rank, while he was still in the Air Force. "Captain," he said with a nod.
One of the other men in the room -- near John's age, scruffy-jawed, wearing the same black fatigues as he was -- stepped forward and extended a hand. "I'm Daniel Jackson." Evidently not an officer.
John shook hands with him and looked at the third man, in another expedition uniform, who had a Middle Eastern or maybe Mediterranean look about him.
"Peter Grodin," he said in a clipped British accent. Okay, not so Mediterranean after all.
"Dr. Grodin is head of the Atlantis expedition's science division," said Jackson.
John turned to Rodney. "Wait, aren't you --"
"In this universe, I didn't go with the expedition on the original mission," Rodney said, looking uncomfortable. "I've only been here a couple of days. Dr. Jackson and I accompanied you -- um, Colonel Sheppard -- through the Gate from Earth."
"And we're all glad you did," drawled Captain O'Neill.
Jackson -- apparently another scientist -- chimed in with more helpful information. "Jack -- I mean, Captain O'Neill, is acting head of the expedition's military division."
O'Neill shrugged. "It's a long story. But that might change anyway, since there are several people with higher rank here now."
Both Grodin and Jackson looked uncomfortable at the possibility of a change in command. That was curious, if Jackson had just arrived.
O'Neill rubbed his hands together and grinned at them broadly. "So, we did what we came for. What do you say we blow this clam bake and haul for home?"
"Fine by me," said John.
"He means Atlantis," said Rodney. "We, uh . . . we don't have any way of contacting Earth right now."
John stared.
"We're working on it, though!" Rodney said quickly.
Grodin rolled his eyes. "We've been working on it for over two years," he put in drily.
"But that was before you had me helping you," Rodney affirmed.
They headed for the door and slogged up the steep ramp of sand beyond. Rodney slipped and John caught his arm quickly. Rodney looked at the hand on his sleeve, then at John, considering. John let go.
Once they had reached the top of the dune, they saw a puddlejumper parked on the sand with a woman John recognized standing by the hatch.
"Teyla," he greeted her with a smile. He'd met her in the other universe, and she'd immediately struck him as tough, sensible and serene.
This Teyla was frowning at him not-so-serenely. "You know my counterpart?"
John hesitated, thrown off balance. "Uh, we met."
"Do not assume I am she." Teyla turned into the jumper.
"Okay," John said under his breath, and followed.
O'Neill was standing at the front of the cockpit. He looked at John shrewdly. "You want to fly it?"
John grinned. "Sure!" It would be nice to fly one of these babies without worrying about imminent death or Rodney yelling bizarre instructions at him. He hadn't thought he would have another chance at it. He hesitated a moment as he realized this might be his last chance, then put that aside and slid into the pilot's seat.
"Okay, this is a piece of cake," O'Neill instructed. "You just have to --"
John looked around to make sure everyone was on board, then commanded the engines to power and the hatch to close. A moment later, they were hovering.
O'Neill blinked. "Done this before?"
John shrugged. "Just the once. One flight, one dogfight, one Wraith dart that won't be reporting home." He figured he'd earned the right to be just a little smug about that.
"Well . . . great," said O'Neill. "Take us home, then."
John called up the schematic that showed the way back to the Gate and turned the little ship in that direction. "I, uh, haven't really gotten the hang of the DHD thing, though. Can't remember those addresses."
"Just think of it like a phone number," Rodney chimed in from behind him, at the same moment that Jackson said, "Think of it as a word." A second later, the two were arguing about mnemonic representations of Stargate addresses.
O'Neill shook his head. "I'll take care of dialing when you get us there."
John slid his eyes over to the officer -- probably Air Force, he thought. "Time for a couple of maneuvers on the way?"
"Sure, why not?"
John glanced backward. "They need to be strapped in better than that?"
"Nah, the inertial dampeners will take care of it."
That turned out to be true, although it took half the fun out of it. John could hardly feel the barrel roll at all, even though it made Rodney squawk with dismay. Only the sharpest turns produced any noticeable g-force at all, and even then it was a tiny fraction of what it should have been.
"I could get used to this," John admitted as the little craft followed his every command through moves that would have been impossible with any aircraft on Earth.
"Not quite like an F-16, but it has its charms," said O'Neill. Yep, he was Air Force all right.
All too soon they were at the Gate, and O'Neill called up the shimmery blue event horizon. They slipped through the puddle into Atlantis, and the autopilot took over.
-----
This Atlantis looked a lot like the one John had just left, but there were subtle differences. The people were a little thinner, a little angrier, a little more worried. No one seemed to care very much about him or his problems; with Colonel Sheppard sent back to his rightful universe, they seemed to regard that as a solved problem. John was just another warm body, and very few people here bothered to nod or greet him when they passed in the hallways.
Dr. Weir seemed distracted when she debriefed them; she wasn't nearly as warm toward John as the other Weir had been. There was a Colonel Caldwell present at the debriefing in a wheelchair, and a Colonel Mitchell -- who wore what John now recognized as SGC fatigues instead of an Atlantis or Daedalus uniform -- sitting in as well. They both seemed to regard Captain O'Neill as an equal despite his youth and rank, but John could see where questions of command were starting to make things uncertain.
Dr. Beckett gave him a cursory checkup with very little personal interaction.
"So . . . " John tried tentatively. "Did you know Colonel Sheppard well?"
"Not at all. Only met the man twice. I probably owe him my life, though."
"Right." John sighed. Even the people who didn't actually know Colonel Sheppard seemed to like him better than John.
He was standing outside the door to the infirmary, wondering where to go next, when Rodney appeared and snagged his arm. "Come on, let's go see if there's anything left in the mess worth eating."
John blinked. "Okay."
Over plates of a rice-type food that was actually a little more like orzo, topped with a savory meat that John wasn't going to ask about, Rodney outlined the differences between this universe and the one he'd visited, and explained what had happened during the past week while Colonel Sheppard had been stirring things up here.
"Sounds like he made a big difference here in just a few days," John said a little glumly, poking at a cube of meat with his fork. He'd left the other Atlantis pretty much the same as he found it, except the other McKay now had burned hands and a lot of issues to work through. Looked like John was still the screw-up when compared against the great Colonel Sheppard.
"Well, at least he gave the SGC the kick in the pants they needed to realize my idea about the power source was right. Too bad it can't be used again," Rodney mused. "And now Earth knows that the Atlantis expedition is still out here, and in some trouble. They'll send the Odyssey. Worst case, you can be home in a couple of months."
"Home." John sighed. "Back to good ol' Fox News."
Just then, Peter Grodin stepped into the mess and looked around. He caught sight of John and Rodney and came over to their table. "Good, I found you," he said, looking at John. "Dr. Weir wants to speak to you."
John looked around. It was night, and from what he understood of the Atlantis clock, it was pretty late. "Now?" he asked.
"Yes, it's the first moment she's had free." Grodin looked harried himself. "I was going to take her a plate."
John dug into the rest of his stew stuff. "Put together something she'd like, and I'll take it to her. You look like you need to sit down a few minutes yourself."
"Right." Grodin nodded and went off to the tables set with food. By the time he was back with two plates, John was ready to go.
"Oh, Peter," Rodney said as John stood up, "I wanted to talk to you about the damage to the dialing crystal --"
John sighed. Apparently no one ever stopped working around here. These people needed to learn how to have some fun.
Dr. Weir's office was much the same in this universe as in the other, tastefully furnished with a few artifacts from various cultures. John set the covered plate on her desk and ran a finger down one of the carved statues, wondering if more of these were from the Pegasus Galaxy and fewer from Earth than the other Dr. Weir's.
He turned as she came into the office. "Sorry," she said breathily. "Colonel Caldwell wanted to discuss something. Oh, food!" She peeked under the cover.
John gave her his best charming smile. "Peter Grodin sent that along."
"Good, I'm starving." She didn't start on the meal, though, but settled into her chair with her hands on her desk. "I apologize for keeping you waiting."
"No problem. I've got nothing but time, until I can get back to Earth."
"Yes! Well. That's . . . what I wanted to talk to you about."
John took the chair opposite. "You don't think I'll be able to get back to Earth?"
"Oh, I'm sure you can, if that's what you really want."
John blinked. "Why wouldn't I want to go back to Earth?"
She smiled -- firmly, confidently. "Mr. Sheppard, I'd like to offer you a place on this expedition."
John's heart was pounding, but all he said was, "I see."
"You could be a great asset to the work we're trying to do here. And I think you would find it exciting, challenging work --"
"You do realize I'm not Colonel Sheppard, don't you?" John could see it clearly; the expedition members are locked up, prisoners in their own home, until the mighty Colonel Sheppard comes charging through the Gate to their rescue. Of course they wanted to hold on to any piece of that hero they could get. But John couldn't be their consolation prize.
"I understand that," said Weir. "But you have the same genes, same background, similar skills --"
"Similar but not identical. I'm pretty rusty at the command thing. Actually, I was never really good at it in the first place."
"We aren't asking you to take command." Weir's voice went dry and sardonic. "We have more than enough colonels around here at the moment."
"Okay. But pretty much everyone here is either military or science, right? I'm no egghead, and the Air Force is never going to take me back. So what job are you proposing to give me?"
"I can hire you as a civilian pilot. I do have that discretion -- or I did, when the expedition was formed, and I presume that's still true. Captain O'Neill says you're already better than anyone except him at piloting the Gateships."
John was amused. "What, not 'puddlejumpers?'"
She blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"It's what they called the Gateships in that other universe."
"Oh." Weir didn't seem to know what to make of that. "Well, whatever they're called, I think it's evident that you can fly them. Your Ancient gene could also be useful to us in other ways -- for example, you should be able to control the weapons chair platform as well as O'Neill does."
"Okaaay." John hadn't heard of that one. Maybe it was one of the places Teyla and Ronon weren't allowed to show him in the other Atlantis.
Weir went on with her pitch. "As a civilian, you would have the same payscale and benefits as any of our scientists -- I can assure you, that's a very competitive package."
"It'd better be," John murmured. "So, what would I be doing, and who would I report to?"
"In general, directly to me. Captain O'Neill . . . that is, the ranking military officer would have the right to request your services when needed. The science team might want your help in activating equipment on occasion. And there's a very good chance you'll be invited to join one of the offworld teams. If you choose to do so -- entirely at your own discretion -- then you will have to obey the orders of your team leader whenever you're offworld or on specific assignments here on Atlantis."
"Sounds . . . pretty exciting."
She leaned forward, hands clasped on her desk. "So, what do you say, Mr. Sheppard?"
He frowned. "I'll have to think about it."
She looked surprised, as if she couldn't imagine why anyone would be reluctant to join an expedition millions of light-years from home in constant danger from Wraith and pseudo-Nazi soldiers and who knew what else. "All right, I think we can give you time to consider. Please let me know if there's anything else I can tell you that would help with your decision."
"Well actually, now that you mention it . . ."
"Yes?"
"What about my job back home? As I understand it, Colonel Sheppard popped into my body on my day off work and just took off without telling anyone where I -- where he was going?"
"Ah." Weir studied her hands. "I understand Colonel Sheppard did ask General O'Neill -- the head of the SGC -- to intercede for you with your employers. He'll probably tell them you were called away urgently by the Air Force on a matter of national security."
"Oh great, they'll be sure to believe that."
"We'll get more current news when we re-establish contact with Earth, or in the worst case, when the Odyssey arrives."
"So, like, a couple months from now."
"Perhaps sooner." Weir sat up a little straighter. "As head of this expedition, I'm prepared to arrange a stipend for your time here, even if you decide not to stay. We could pay you at your old salary effective the day that you -- Colonel Sheppard -- arrived through the Gate, until you reach Earth again."
That sounded like a pretty good deal; John looked for the catch. "And you're sure your, uh, bosses back on Earth will agree to that?"
"Even if the leadership of the International Advisory has undergone changes, I'm sure they can be persuaded that you're worth the money. After all, you did essentially rescue this expedition."
John grimaced. "Yeah." Except it hadn't been him. If even Weir couldn't keep that straight, how could he expect anyone else to remember?
Weir stood. "I hope you will consider staying with us, Mr. Sheppard. We can use a man of your abilities on this mission. But regardless of your decision, we're conscious that we already owe you a debt of gratitude. The same events that may have endangered your employment back on Earth were very much to our benefit."
Great. Colonel Sheppard had stiffed John while he was playing the hero, and that meant Atlantis owed John. Riiiight. Perfectly sensible.
John stood too, and smiled politely at Weir and shook her hand, but he was feeling more disheartened than ever. It was silly, since he'd just been offered a way out of the hole he'd dug for himself three years ago, a chance to redeem himself, a chance at a new life with some real meaning and excitement in it.
But he couldn't help feeling the offer was being made to another man. Colonel Sheppard was the one who was getting the chance to fix John's mistakes. Once they realized John was just going to screw it all up again, the offer would be rescinded.
As Weir pulled her dinner toward her, John stepped out of her office with a frown tugging at his mouth, only to find Rodney McKay waiting on the other side.
Rodney bounced on his heels and raised his eyebrows. "So, what did she say?"
John glanced around uncomfortably at the people scattered throughout the control room. He didn't recognize any of them. They didn't seem to be listening, but you could never tell. He started walking randomly and found himself taking the stairs up to the jumper bay. Gateship bay, whatever.
"She said General O'Neill would tell my boss I was called away urgently for reasons of national security." John snorted. "Guess I can kiss that job goodbye." What would he find to do next, tourist hops around the islands?
Rodney frowned. "Wait, that's it? That's what she told you?"
"Well, that was part of it." No one seemed to be in the bay, but John headed for one of the craft and asked it to open.
Score another point for Weir's offer: John would give a lot to be able to fly these things regularly. There was just something about a machine that did whatever you wanted. John wondered if the Ancients had invented any sex toys, then shook himself and brought his focus back to reality. "So, is Captain O'Neill related to General O'Neill? Is that how he got the job?"
"Sort of. Not really. It's a long story." Rodney huffed irritably. "What else did she tell you?"
John led the way into the little jumper and sat on one of the rear benches. When Rodney followed, he ordered the hatch to close. "She offered me a job."
Rodney beamed. "Yes! I knew it. This is perfect. Apparently O'Neill hates coming into the labs to initialize the equipment, but with your gene we can --"
"I told her I'd think about it."
"What? Are you crazy? What's to think about?"
"I don't know, maybe not wanting to get killed in some bizarre way? Not wanting to get that close to military service again? Not wanting to take the risk of getting screwed over and abandoned by my superior officers and then blamed just because I didn't want to sit around and watch my buddies die in front of me?" John realized he had raised his voice until he was nearly shouting. With an effort, he bit his words off.
Rodney closed his mouth slowly. "Still have some issues, huh?"
"Not that it's any of your business," John retorted.
At that, Rodney looked hurt. He glanced away, toward the front windscreen. "I just thought it would be, you know, fun . . . if we were here together."
John didn't know what to say to that. Why should Rodney care?
"I've wanted to come to Atlantis ever since I heard of it," Rodney said thoughtfully. "Before we knew it was Atlantis, even. I was supposed to come out with the original expedition, you know, but I was . . . sick. So I had to wait. Then a year later the Daedalus shipped out, and they still wouldn't take me. I thought I would never get here."
"Until the gallant Colonel Sheppard swept you up on his white charger and carried you off to the city of your dreams," said John bitterly.
Rodney gave him a puzzled look, then sat up sharply. "You're jealous!"
"Of perfect Colonel Sheppard and his perfect life in that other perfect universe? You're damn right I am."
"Well . . . you shouldn't be," Rodney said lamely.
"Why not?"
"Because! Because this isn't his universe, it's yours. You get to make whatever you want out of this place and the opportunities you find here."
"You mean the opportunities he bought for me."
"Oh, get over it already!" Rodney snapped. "You think I didn't get a little miffed every time he talked about what his Rodney could have done? Sheppard trusted me the moment he met me, but it had nothing to do with me! It was all about what that other Dr. McKay had done. Things I could have done if I'd come on the expedition in the first place like I was supposed to, but it didn't happen that way."
John blinked. Okay, so maybe someone did understand how he felt.
"But when the chance came to make up for it all and get to Atlantis two years late instead of not at all, you'd better believe I jumped at it. And if you let this chance pass you by just because you don't like how it came to you, you're a lot stupider than I think."
John looked away angrily. Maybe he was stupid, compared to Colonel Sheppard. How would Rodney know?
"Do you know how he ended up on the expedition?" Rodney asked.
"Probably through some daring feat of heroism that brought him to the attention of the SGC," John guessed.
"Wrong. He touched something -- actually, he just sat down -- and turned it on, and they realized he had the gene. They dragged him along just for that."
"And then he shot his superior officer and ended up in command," John mused, remembering a conversation with Teyla. Maybe Colonel Sheppard's world wasn't so perfect after all.
Rodney was taken aback. "Is that what happened? He didn't tell me that part."
John shrugged. "I heard it was a mercy killing. Guy got caught by a Wraith."
"Oh." Rodney swallowed. "I haven't seen any Wraith, but they sound, uh, pretty nasty."
"I've seen one." John remembered the canopy of the Wraith's ship flickering and then fading out, leaving him facing a ghoul-white face with teeth like a shark's. "They're certainly . . . ugly." And that one had been wounded even before John emptied a nine-mil into it. He supposed when they were healthy they'd be even more impressively disturbing.
"Well," said Rodney firmly, "I can see being afraid of the Wraith -- I'm afraid of them, after all! But you shouldn't let that stop you from accepting Dr. Weir's offer. This is an incredible opporuntity, don't you get it? You can't let a little danger get in the way of, of, progress, and the advancement of humanity, and all that."
"And winning the Nobel Prize," John added wryly, guessing that was a big factor for Rodney based on what he'd seen of the man's counterpart.
"Yes, yes," said Rodney impatiently, as if he didn't want to admit he cared about that. "And all sorts of other honors and awards when the world finds out what great work we've done. And you want to pass all that up just to go back to California and surf?!"
"I haven't said no," John pointed out mildly.
"And you haven't said yes, either. Why not?"
"What do you care?" John retorted.
"Well, I just thought we were . . . I mean, I thought we could be . . . you know. Friends."
John groaned. "Oh hell, you're in love with him too, aren't you?"
"What? No! I mean, it's the other way around."
John wrinkled his brow. "What, he's in love with you?"
"No, with his Rodney McKay. Look, the first time he laid eyes on me, Colonel Sheppard hugged me. In public."
"Huh?" That did not sound like the very straight and strait-laced Colonel Sheppard that John had heard about from the other McKay.
Rodney shrugged dismissively. "Well, he not only thought I was his Rodney, he also thought I'd come to rescue him from some evil virtual environment or something like that. But the point is, he trusted me and relied on me just because of who I look like. It was obvious from the way he acted that Sheppard and McKay make a great team. I thought that could be true for us, as well as them."
John eyed him closely. Maybe it was time to make this very clear. "By 'team' you actually mean couple, don't you?"
Rodney's fair skin bloomed pink under the jumper's lights. "Well, I suppose that might play into it a little. But really, just as a, a working team -- you know, complementary skills and all that. Or friends, if you --"
"I don't think I want to be friends with you, Rodney," John said slowly.
"Oh." Rodney stared dejectedly at the floor of the jumper.
"You know, when that, uh, device brought me back here, I was on my way to McKay's quarters to try to seduce him."
"Oh?" Rodney perked up a little.
"It wasn't easy -- turns out he was sort of a prude. And he was pretty convinced Colonel Sheppard was straight."
"Uh, no, not in the strictest sense." Rodney's face was bright red now, making John struggle not to smirk. "Or any sense at all, really."
"I guess they really got their signals crossed there, huh?"
Rodney's mouth quirked up on one side. "Good thing they had us to straighten out their perfect lives for them."
"Or un-straighten them, as the case may be."
They were both leaning forward from the edges of their bench seats, faces only a few inches apart.
John closed that distance and brought their mouths together. Within a few minutes he had to concede that maybe this universe had a few things to recommend it over the other after all. Also, as he soon found out, this Rodney was much better at graceful acceptance of blowjobs than his counterpart, and no slouch in the enthusiastic-reciprocation department as well.
Straightening his clothes afterward, John looked toward the front of the jumper and wondered if it could tell him whether there was anyone outside. Immediately, a schematic of the upper levels of the central tower popped up, showing the jumper bay, the Gate room, and several other places he wasn't familiar with. All the blinking life signs were concentrated in the Gate room. "Cool," he murmured.
"I should be getting back to the labs," Rodney said as he checked his fly for the third time. He was still a little pink around the ears, but his eyes were exceptionally bright and his mouth was more than a little smug. "There's so much I have to catch up with, and so little time . . ."
"Wait a second," said John. "Do you know where I'm supposed to be staying? Do I have a room here?"
"You -- uh, Colonel Sheppard -- got guest quarters for last night. I guess you can still use those."
"And you know where that is?"
"Um." Rodney coughed. "Yes, I can show you."
The room turned out to be pretty small and sparsely furnished. There was a backpack sitting in the corner, but when John headed for it Rodney quickly said, "That's mine."
"Oh." There didn't seem to be any other luggage in the room. "Where's my stuff?"
"Colonel Sheppard didn't bring anything. It was, um, pretty hectic when we went through the gate."
John stared. "You mean these are the only clothes I have?" No wonder they smelled a little ripe.
"Supposedly we can ask a Sergeant Bates for any spare clothes or supplies they have available. I guess he's responsible for, you know, allocating that sort of stuff."
Great. He might not be back in the military again, but apparently he had to suck up to the quartermaster anyway.
"He'd also be the one to ask about getting a larger room. If you want it. I mean, if you're staying . . ."
John gave a long sigh. "In the morning, I'll tell Weir I accept."
"You will?" Rodney lit up like an Ancient toy. "Good! Well . . . wonderful. That's great."
John shrugged. "There's nothing for me back on Earth. And this is a pretty amazing place, even with the Wraith and, you know, all the other bad guys. And, uh . . ." He looked at Rodney shyly. "There are some pretty good guys here, too."
Rodney beamed. "Good. But now I really should be getting --" He jerked a thumb out the door.
"Okay, go. I'll find this Bates myself. Will you be, um, coming back here tonight?"
Rodney gulped. "If that's okay with you?"
"Yes, okay. I mean, better than okay. I'd like that."
"Then I will. But it might be pretty late, so don't wait up."
John suspected it was already pretty late, but he didn't say anything.
He found Bates by walking around the corridors until he bumped into someone and then asking where he should look for the Sergeant. The fourth person he asked was actually helpful, and it turned out Bates was still awake, so John asked for what he needed.
Bates -- a dour, suspicious man who looked like he was spoiling for a fight -- wanted to know whether John was with the scientists or the military. Apparently the uniforms were color-coded, and there was no color for guests or civilian pilots. John ended up with a mish-mash of clothes and personal effects from two dead men named Miller and Kavanagh -- one Marine and one scientist, apparently. They and another scientist had died while investigating a crashed Wraith ship on the second habitable planet of this solar system.
If John counted only the black and grey clothes, he had enough to wear for two whole days, plus the black fatigues he had on now. He might have to consider wearing a little bit of color -- but only if he was really desperate. He resolved to find out how laundry got done around here as soon as possible.
With nothing to read or watch or listen to, he fell asleep at once and barely noticed when Rodney crawled in next to him.
-----
Rodney wasn't there when John woke to sunlight (odd, yellow-greenish sunlight) streaming in through the oddly-paned window that ran from top to bottom of the oddly-angled wall. Standing nude before the narrow window, he looked out on a forest of towers, many of them oddly-shaped.
Fortunately, he'd already been introduced to the bathroom fixtures on the other Atlantis. They were functional and effective -- the water starting out at exactly the right temperature was the most noticeable -- but he wished just a little that they could be less pretty and more familiar. The vaporizer thing that took the place of a toilet was just weird, and made him want to tuck his dick safely out of the way.
When he emerged from the bathroom and reached for his newly-acquired clothes, he found an open laptop sitting on top of them. Cautiously, he tickled the trackpad, and the screen came to life with a message in an extra large font:
"Got this computer for you. Not enough CPU power for real work, but adequate for email and DVDs. Has some decent games on it too, I recommend the sudoku. Your account is jsheppard, password is the other name for the gateships. -RM"
John's mouth quirked as he read the message. It was a pretty thoughtful gesture for a self-centered guy. "Gee, Rodney, does this mean we're going steady?" He wondered what would be the Atlantis equivalent of letting Rodney wear his letterman's jacket.
-----
He pulled on black cargo pants and a long-sleeved gray shirt and headed to the mess first, thinking that Dr. Weir was likely to be busy in the mornings anyway and he might as well be fortified before talking to her.
He paused after filling his tray (half with identifiable but not particularly appealing things, half with strange stuff he didn't recognize) and looked around for a place to sit. A table in the corner caught his attention, with half a dozen women sitting around it talking very solemnly.
"Hey! Colonel Sheppard!" someone called.
Hiding his wince, John turned. A little girl -- no, just a very short woman -- was waving at him from a table not far away, where she sat with another woman and a man. Both the women were blondes and wore black SGC fatigues, and the man (also very young-looking) had an expedition uniform that John now knew indicated he was one of the Marines from the original group. Or possibly he had inherited his clothes from such a person, but probably he wouldn't be wearing the jacket if that were the case. Bates had been pretty adamant on that point; he hadn't even given John one of the uniform jackets, since there was no correct color for him.
He slid his tray onto the table next to the man's and smiled at all three of them. "Hi. I'm, uh, actually not Colonel Sheppard. Just call me John."
The small woman -- who had one leg propped up on an extra chair and a pair of crutches nearby -- cocked her head at him. "Oh right, I heard something about that. So you're not, uh . . ."
"Not actually the same guy who came through the gate a couple days ago. I gather you two also came through from the SGC?"
The second woman -- a darker, strawberry blonde -- nodded. "That's right. I'm Lieutenant Laura Cadman. The one with the romantic war wound is Lieutenant Jennifer Hailey --" Here the smaller woman smacked her on the shoulder, "-- and next to you is Lieutenant John Markham."
"Nice to meet you, John," said Markham.
"Ditto," said John with a grimace. "You can call me Shep . . . pard, if that's easier." He wasn't ready to be 'Shep' again. Maybe he never would be.
Hailey said, "I just wanted to make sure you didn't interrupt the therapy session there in the corner." She cocked her head at the tableful of women. "They're kind of anti-man right now."
"With good reason," Cadman added darkly.
"Sure, but he doesn't need to get his head bitten off just because he tries to make some friends." Hailey smiled at John. "Anyway, I'm having an argument with these two jarheads here, and I could use a little support from a fellow airman."
The hash browns caught in John's throat. "I'm not in the Air Force," he said.
"But you were, right? That's what I heard, anyway." Hailey glanced around the room but didn't seem to see whoever had passed the gossip along.
"I was discharged three years ago." John paused to take a sip of juice, bracing himself. "Dishonorably."
"See!" Cadman bumped shoulders with Hailey. "Air Force brass are idiots. Can't tell a good man when they've got one." She winked at John, and he relaxed just a little.
"All brass are idiots," Markham said, barely glancing up from his breakfast. "Doesn't matter which branch they're in."
"Right!" said Hailey stoutly. "So you can't go by that. I still say Air Force is way cooler."
Cadman snorted. "Please! You're only in the Air Force because they waived the height requirement for you."
"My sitting height is within the limits! Almost," said Hailey. "Anyway, it just proves my point. The Air Force accepted me because they value brains over brawn. Cooler, and smarter, too!"
"I have to admit," said John, getting into the spirit a little, "the Air Force definitely has the fastest and coolest things to fly." That had been his own reasoning, after all.
"What, you think Harriers aren't cool?" Cadman objected. "Or Ospreys?"
"They're fine," said John, who had flown Ospreys a time or two. "Just not the coolest things out there."
"I'm in the Corps, and I get to fly Gateships," said Markham. "Nothing cooler than that."
"Well, I'm a civilian, and I get to fly Gateships too," John returned, disposing of that argument.
"Hey!" Cadman leaned across the table. "So it's true? Weir offered you a job?"
"Yeah." John shrugged. "I guess she figured I could be a good pilot even if the Air Force doesn't want me anymore."
"Aw, she just wants to get into your jeans," Cadman said wickedly.
Hailey sniggered, and Markham groaned. John just stared.
"Is it true you have the strong ATA gene, like Jack O'Neill?" Markham asked.
"Uh, I guess so." John recognized the pun belatedly: Cadman had meant that Weir wanted his genes.
"I have the gene too," Markham volunteered, "but just the regular kind. That's not so special anymore, with everyone getting the therapy these days."
"I'm not getting it," said Cadman firmly.
"Aw, not even to get closer to Car-son?" Hailey sing-songed at her.
"Hey, Dr. Beckett's a hunk, you already agreed with me on that. But he can keep his research in the lab. There are other things I'd rather have him putting in my body."
Markham made a gagging sound. "Please, do you have to talk about stuff like that over breakfast?"
"Well, I'm getting the therapy," said Hailey, ignoring him. "Dr. Beckett won't let me try until my leg is healed up, but I bet it will take with me."
"What's this therapy you're talking about?" John asked. "And what happened to your leg?"
The rest of the meal passed enjoyably, with the three lieutenants explaining to John things that everyone already knew, or at least everyone on Atlantis. No one asked about the reason for his discharge; they all seemed perfectly willing to believe it was unjust. Their impression of him might be based on whatever they'd seen of Colonel Sheppard, but somehow John was beginning to find it didn't bother him that much. If they were willing to give him a fair chance, he was ready to make the most of it -- just like Rodney had suggested.
----
When he went looking for Dr. Weir, he found, as expected, that she was in a meeting. He hung out in the control room smiling at the technicians there and asking questions about the Ancient technology. A sergeant with a Canadian flag on his arm -- and what service was he in? John wondered. He'd thought only the scientists were international -- was explaining the DHD to him when the doors to the conference room rotated and O'Neill charged out looking impatient.
"Look, I'm tellin' ya," O'Neill said back through the doors, "the Iratus bug planet is the way to go. Less time in the jumper, less time for them to make trouble."
"Jack's got a point there, Colonel," said Colonel Mitchell, pausing by the door and looking back.
Colonel Caldwell pushed his wheelchair sharply through the doors. "But we'll have no way of monitoring them after that. What if they get off the planet?"
"Hello, space gate?" said O'Neill, hardly respectful to a superior officer.
"They could be picked up by someone else with spacegoing technology," Caldwell spat. "We'd never know."
"We know the Wraith visit that planet. What if they cut a deal with them? We can't take the risk of the Wraith know Atlantis wasn't destroyed." This was another officer John didn't recognize, muscular and sharp-eyed, his hair beginning to lose the battle with age in much the same way Rodney's was.
"No, man, the Genii would never do that!" protested another new voice, belonging to a young man with a mop of dark curls that reached down to his ears, wearing the blue-paneled jacket of a scientist over a brightly patterned shirt. "It's totally against their ethics."
"Most Genii wouldn't," said Caldwell. "But Kolya? I wouldn't put anything past him. We need to keep them in this solar system. That way we have complete control over their access to the rest of the galaxy."
"But if we have control, we also have responsibility," said the young man. "And we can't afford to feed them --"
Grodin followed the argument through the doors. "They can grow their own food. Our geologists and botanists say the climate on the other planet should be temperate enough at higher latitudes, and the growing season is just beginning in the northern hemisphere."
O'Neill palmed his face. "But it takes fifteen hours to get there in a Gateship!"
"Actually, closer to twenty just now," said Grodin apologetically. "The planets are at different spots in their orbits since the last time you flew there."
"Okay, how about somewhere else on this planet?" Mitchell said reasonably. "There's gotta be an island somewhere with decent hunting or fishing so they can feed themselves."
"Yeah, and build a nice boat," O'Neill objected.
"We could give them subcutaneous transmitters," said the officer with the retreating hairline. "Track them wherever they go."
"Gentlemen, enough!" Weir said, emerging through the doors. "Thank you for your input. We've been over the options. This discussion is suspended for now. Dr. Grodin, please check the database for other planets with space gates and give the coordinates to Captain O'Neill so he can check them out. Captain Ellison --" This was addressed to the unknown officer, "-- I want to see some options for keeping eight or ten Genii secured in the back of a Gateship on an extended trip."
Ellison looked annoyed at that. "With or without bathroom privileges?" he muttered, but quietly enough that Weir could pretend not to have heard.
"We'll discuss this again tomorrow morning," she said firmly. "Just now, I don't think we need to share this debate with the whole city, hmm?"
"No, ma'am," said Mitchell promptly. He smacked O'Neill in the arm and jerked his head at the door. O'Neill waved a salute at Weir and the two men headed off together.
"Dr. Weir," said Caldwell with a sharp nod, and started wheeling himself away. He was echoed by Captain Ellison and the young scientist, who left together in another direction.
Grodin stayed behind and seemed about to start some other discussion with Weir, until she caught sight of John leaning against the balcony railing and raised a hand to forestall Grodin.
"Mr. Sheppard, did you want to speak to me?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am." John looked around and decided there wasn't much point being secretive about it. He already had a sense that news traveled fast in Atlantis. "I've decided I should accept your offer."
She smiled. "Good. That's very good." Then she looked around a little hectically. "I'm busy at the moment, but I'm sure Dr. Grodin or Sergeant Campbell can introduce you to --"
"If it's all right with you," John interrupted gently, "Dr. McKay has been showing me around. I'll just see if I can find him and we'll get to know the city together."
She blinked. "Yes. All right, that would be fine. Come back and see me --" she waved a hand uncertainly, "-- later, and we can get the details worked out."
Part Two
Title: Cross Multiplication, Part One
Author: Quasar
Rating: R
Pairing: John/Rodney, Jim/Blair
Date written: November 2006
Length: ~20,000 words
Summary: After being returned to his own universe, John Sheppard finds that everything has changed.
Notes: This is a sequel to Cross Product, and may not make much sense unless you read that one first. However, having been written for NaNoWriMo, this story has a different, lazy, rambling style, with minimal editing. Caveat lector.
It happened just like the first time. One moment John was walking down a corridor, and the next moment he was standing in a tiny room with a thing disengaging from his head. He looked around in bewilderment.
It was the same tiny room he'd found himself in last time. The door was closed, and Rodney McKay, wearing shapeless black fatigues, was watching him suspiciously. There was no one else in the room.
"Er, Sheppard . . . ?" Rodney asked cautiously.
"Shit!" John spat. "Still not Kansas."
Rodney's brow wrinkled. "What?"
"This is the wrong place. I'm not home yet, McKay. You just switched your guy with the wrong universe." John looked down at himself. Still his hands, check. The face felt like his own, as well -- no wait, there was a cut on his cheek, with stitches; that hadn't been there before. He rolled up the right sleeve of his fatigues -- the same design as Rodney's. Colonel Sheppard's ugly blue mole-scar wasn't there. The watch on his left wrist did look familiar.
Rodney looked around at the mostly-empty room. "How can you tell?"
"Well, for starters, how about being in the wrong galaxy? I'm supposed to be in California."
"You were in California," Rodney countered. "But you -- Colonel Sheppard -- couldn't get home from there, so he came to the SGC, and we brought him here."
John went still. "I'm a civilian here?"
"Discharged three years ago."
"Flying news choppers?"
"I have no idea. Sheppard said he switched places while you were surfing."
Well, that sounded right. John ran a hand through his hair and found it longer than Colonel Sheppard's. "What about this?" He brushed the stitches on his face. "It's recent?" It certainly felt tender and fresh.
"That happened yesterday."
Yesterday, he hadn't been living in his own body. "Okay," he conceded. "Maybe it's the right universe. But still the wrong place. What now?"
Rodney grimaced. "That, uh, might get complicated. But first you have to be introduced to everybody." He turned and waved at the room's tall, narrow door.
The outer chamber was in much better shape than the one John had seen in the other universe. It had consoles and display screens alight and humming, with no gaping holes to mark ripped-out technology. There was only a little sand tracked around on the floor, although he saw that the doorway was nearly swamped with sand. Apparently this place hadn't been vandalized like the one Rodney -- the other Rodney -- had taken him to.
There were people in the outer room, but he didn't recognize them. They looked at him closely.
"Well?" said one of them, a young man with a shock of dirty-blond hair and one oddly-dark eye wearing an Atlantis expedition uniform -- without insignia, of course. "So . . . what?!"
Rodney whuffed out a breath. "It worked. John Sheppard, this is Gen-- Captain O'Neill."
John shifted uneasily. It was always uncomfortable running into military people since his discharge. He wasn't even sure which service this guy was in. At least he wasn't tempted to salute first; he would have had the higher rank, while he was still in the Air Force. "Captain," he said with a nod.
One of the other men in the room -- near John's age, scruffy-jawed, wearing the same black fatigues as he was -- stepped forward and extended a hand. "I'm Daniel Jackson." Evidently not an officer.
John shook hands with him and looked at the third man, in another expedition uniform, who had a Middle Eastern or maybe Mediterranean look about him.
"Peter Grodin," he said in a clipped British accent. Okay, not so Mediterranean after all.
"Dr. Grodin is head of the Atlantis expedition's science division," said Jackson.
John turned to Rodney. "Wait, aren't you --"
"In this universe, I didn't go with the expedition on the original mission," Rodney said, looking uncomfortable. "I've only been here a couple of days. Dr. Jackson and I accompanied you -- um, Colonel Sheppard -- through the Gate from Earth."
"And we're all glad you did," drawled Captain O'Neill.
Jackson -- apparently another scientist -- chimed in with more helpful information. "Jack -- I mean, Captain O'Neill, is acting head of the expedition's military division."
O'Neill shrugged. "It's a long story. But that might change anyway, since there are several people with higher rank here now."
Both Grodin and Jackson looked uncomfortable at the possibility of a change in command. That was curious, if Jackson had just arrived.
O'Neill rubbed his hands together and grinned at them broadly. "So, we did what we came for. What do you say we blow this clam bake and haul for home?"
"Fine by me," said John.
"He means Atlantis," said Rodney. "We, uh . . . we don't have any way of contacting Earth right now."
John stared.
"We're working on it, though!" Rodney said quickly.
Grodin rolled his eyes. "We've been working on it for over two years," he put in drily.
"But that was before you had me helping you," Rodney affirmed.
They headed for the door and slogged up the steep ramp of sand beyond. Rodney slipped and John caught his arm quickly. Rodney looked at the hand on his sleeve, then at John, considering. John let go.
Once they had reached the top of the dune, they saw a puddlejumper parked on the sand with a woman John recognized standing by the hatch.
"Teyla," he greeted her with a smile. He'd met her in the other universe, and she'd immediately struck him as tough, sensible and serene.
This Teyla was frowning at him not-so-serenely. "You know my counterpart?"
John hesitated, thrown off balance. "Uh, we met."
"Do not assume I am she." Teyla turned into the jumper.
"Okay," John said under his breath, and followed.
O'Neill was standing at the front of the cockpit. He looked at John shrewdly. "You want to fly it?"
John grinned. "Sure!" It would be nice to fly one of these babies without worrying about imminent death or Rodney yelling bizarre instructions at him. He hadn't thought he would have another chance at it. He hesitated a moment as he realized this might be his last chance, then put that aside and slid into the pilot's seat.
"Okay, this is a piece of cake," O'Neill instructed. "You just have to --"
John looked around to make sure everyone was on board, then commanded the engines to power and the hatch to close. A moment later, they were hovering.
O'Neill blinked. "Done this before?"
John shrugged. "Just the once. One flight, one dogfight, one Wraith dart that won't be reporting home." He figured he'd earned the right to be just a little smug about that.
"Well . . . great," said O'Neill. "Take us home, then."
John called up the schematic that showed the way back to the Gate and turned the little ship in that direction. "I, uh, haven't really gotten the hang of the DHD thing, though. Can't remember those addresses."
"Just think of it like a phone number," Rodney chimed in from behind him, at the same moment that Jackson said, "Think of it as a word." A second later, the two were arguing about mnemonic representations of Stargate addresses.
O'Neill shook his head. "I'll take care of dialing when you get us there."
John slid his eyes over to the officer -- probably Air Force, he thought. "Time for a couple of maneuvers on the way?"
"Sure, why not?"
John glanced backward. "They need to be strapped in better than that?"
"Nah, the inertial dampeners will take care of it."
That turned out to be true, although it took half the fun out of it. John could hardly feel the barrel roll at all, even though it made Rodney squawk with dismay. Only the sharpest turns produced any noticeable g-force at all, and even then it was a tiny fraction of what it should have been.
"I could get used to this," John admitted as the little craft followed his every command through moves that would have been impossible with any aircraft on Earth.
"Not quite like an F-16, but it has its charms," said O'Neill. Yep, he was Air Force all right.
All too soon they were at the Gate, and O'Neill called up the shimmery blue event horizon. They slipped through the puddle into Atlantis, and the autopilot took over.
-----
This Atlantis looked a lot like the one John had just left, but there were subtle differences. The people were a little thinner, a little angrier, a little more worried. No one seemed to care very much about him or his problems; with Colonel Sheppard sent back to his rightful universe, they seemed to regard that as a solved problem. John was just another warm body, and very few people here bothered to nod or greet him when they passed in the hallways.
Dr. Weir seemed distracted when she debriefed them; she wasn't nearly as warm toward John as the other Weir had been. There was a Colonel Caldwell present at the debriefing in a wheelchair, and a Colonel Mitchell -- who wore what John now recognized as SGC fatigues instead of an Atlantis or Daedalus uniform -- sitting in as well. They both seemed to regard Captain O'Neill as an equal despite his youth and rank, but John could see where questions of command were starting to make things uncertain.
Dr. Beckett gave him a cursory checkup with very little personal interaction.
"So . . . " John tried tentatively. "Did you know Colonel Sheppard well?"
"Not at all. Only met the man twice. I probably owe him my life, though."
"Right." John sighed. Even the people who didn't actually know Colonel Sheppard seemed to like him better than John.
He was standing outside the door to the infirmary, wondering where to go next, when Rodney appeared and snagged his arm. "Come on, let's go see if there's anything left in the mess worth eating."
John blinked. "Okay."
Over plates of a rice-type food that was actually a little more like orzo, topped with a savory meat that John wasn't going to ask about, Rodney outlined the differences between this universe and the one he'd visited, and explained what had happened during the past week while Colonel Sheppard had been stirring things up here.
"Sounds like he made a big difference here in just a few days," John said a little glumly, poking at a cube of meat with his fork. He'd left the other Atlantis pretty much the same as he found it, except the other McKay now had burned hands and a lot of issues to work through. Looked like John was still the screw-up when compared against the great Colonel Sheppard.
"Well, at least he gave the SGC the kick in the pants they needed to realize my idea about the power source was right. Too bad it can't be used again," Rodney mused. "And now Earth knows that the Atlantis expedition is still out here, and in some trouble. They'll send the Odyssey. Worst case, you can be home in a couple of months."
"Home." John sighed. "Back to good ol' Fox News."
Just then, Peter Grodin stepped into the mess and looked around. He caught sight of John and Rodney and came over to their table. "Good, I found you," he said, looking at John. "Dr. Weir wants to speak to you."
John looked around. It was night, and from what he understood of the Atlantis clock, it was pretty late. "Now?" he asked.
"Yes, it's the first moment she's had free." Grodin looked harried himself. "I was going to take her a plate."
John dug into the rest of his stew stuff. "Put together something she'd like, and I'll take it to her. You look like you need to sit down a few minutes yourself."
"Right." Grodin nodded and went off to the tables set with food. By the time he was back with two plates, John was ready to go.
"Oh, Peter," Rodney said as John stood up, "I wanted to talk to you about the damage to the dialing crystal --"
John sighed. Apparently no one ever stopped working around here. These people needed to learn how to have some fun.
Dr. Weir's office was much the same in this universe as in the other, tastefully furnished with a few artifacts from various cultures. John set the covered plate on her desk and ran a finger down one of the carved statues, wondering if more of these were from the Pegasus Galaxy and fewer from Earth than the other Dr. Weir's.
He turned as she came into the office. "Sorry," she said breathily. "Colonel Caldwell wanted to discuss something. Oh, food!" She peeked under the cover.
John gave her his best charming smile. "Peter Grodin sent that along."
"Good, I'm starving." She didn't start on the meal, though, but settled into her chair with her hands on her desk. "I apologize for keeping you waiting."
"No problem. I've got nothing but time, until I can get back to Earth."
"Yes! Well. That's . . . what I wanted to talk to you about."
John took the chair opposite. "You don't think I'll be able to get back to Earth?"
"Oh, I'm sure you can, if that's what you really want."
John blinked. "Why wouldn't I want to go back to Earth?"
She smiled -- firmly, confidently. "Mr. Sheppard, I'd like to offer you a place on this expedition."
John's heart was pounding, but all he said was, "I see."
"You could be a great asset to the work we're trying to do here. And I think you would find it exciting, challenging work --"
"You do realize I'm not Colonel Sheppard, don't you?" John could see it clearly; the expedition members are locked up, prisoners in their own home, until the mighty Colonel Sheppard comes charging through the Gate to their rescue. Of course they wanted to hold on to any piece of that hero they could get. But John couldn't be their consolation prize.
"I understand that," said Weir. "But you have the same genes, same background, similar skills --"
"Similar but not identical. I'm pretty rusty at the command thing. Actually, I was never really good at it in the first place."
"We aren't asking you to take command." Weir's voice went dry and sardonic. "We have more than enough colonels around here at the moment."
"Okay. But pretty much everyone here is either military or science, right? I'm no egghead, and the Air Force is never going to take me back. So what job are you proposing to give me?"
"I can hire you as a civilian pilot. I do have that discretion -- or I did, when the expedition was formed, and I presume that's still true. Captain O'Neill says you're already better than anyone except him at piloting the Gateships."
John was amused. "What, not 'puddlejumpers?'"
She blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"It's what they called the Gateships in that other universe."
"Oh." Weir didn't seem to know what to make of that. "Well, whatever they're called, I think it's evident that you can fly them. Your Ancient gene could also be useful to us in other ways -- for example, you should be able to control the weapons chair platform as well as O'Neill does."
"Okaaay." John hadn't heard of that one. Maybe it was one of the places Teyla and Ronon weren't allowed to show him in the other Atlantis.
Weir went on with her pitch. "As a civilian, you would have the same payscale and benefits as any of our scientists -- I can assure you, that's a very competitive package."
"It'd better be," John murmured. "So, what would I be doing, and who would I report to?"
"In general, directly to me. Captain O'Neill . . . that is, the ranking military officer would have the right to request your services when needed. The science team might want your help in activating equipment on occasion. And there's a very good chance you'll be invited to join one of the offworld teams. If you choose to do so -- entirely at your own discretion -- then you will have to obey the orders of your team leader whenever you're offworld or on specific assignments here on Atlantis."
"Sounds . . . pretty exciting."
She leaned forward, hands clasped on her desk. "So, what do you say, Mr. Sheppard?"
He frowned. "I'll have to think about it."
She looked surprised, as if she couldn't imagine why anyone would be reluctant to join an expedition millions of light-years from home in constant danger from Wraith and pseudo-Nazi soldiers and who knew what else. "All right, I think we can give you time to consider. Please let me know if there's anything else I can tell you that would help with your decision."
"Well actually, now that you mention it . . ."
"Yes?"
"What about my job back home? As I understand it, Colonel Sheppard popped into my body on my day off work and just took off without telling anyone where I -- where he was going?"
"Ah." Weir studied her hands. "I understand Colonel Sheppard did ask General O'Neill -- the head of the SGC -- to intercede for you with your employers. He'll probably tell them you were called away urgently by the Air Force on a matter of national security."
"Oh great, they'll be sure to believe that."
"We'll get more current news when we re-establish contact with Earth, or in the worst case, when the Odyssey arrives."
"So, like, a couple months from now."
"Perhaps sooner." Weir sat up a little straighter. "As head of this expedition, I'm prepared to arrange a stipend for your time here, even if you decide not to stay. We could pay you at your old salary effective the day that you -- Colonel Sheppard -- arrived through the Gate, until you reach Earth again."
That sounded like a pretty good deal; John looked for the catch. "And you're sure your, uh, bosses back on Earth will agree to that?"
"Even if the leadership of the International Advisory has undergone changes, I'm sure they can be persuaded that you're worth the money. After all, you did essentially rescue this expedition."
John grimaced. "Yeah." Except it hadn't been him. If even Weir couldn't keep that straight, how could he expect anyone else to remember?
Weir stood. "I hope you will consider staying with us, Mr. Sheppard. We can use a man of your abilities on this mission. But regardless of your decision, we're conscious that we already owe you a debt of gratitude. The same events that may have endangered your employment back on Earth were very much to our benefit."
Great. Colonel Sheppard had stiffed John while he was playing the hero, and that meant Atlantis owed John. Riiiight. Perfectly sensible.
John stood too, and smiled politely at Weir and shook her hand, but he was feeling more disheartened than ever. It was silly, since he'd just been offered a way out of the hole he'd dug for himself three years ago, a chance to redeem himself, a chance at a new life with some real meaning and excitement in it.
But he couldn't help feeling the offer was being made to another man. Colonel Sheppard was the one who was getting the chance to fix John's mistakes. Once they realized John was just going to screw it all up again, the offer would be rescinded.
As Weir pulled her dinner toward her, John stepped out of her office with a frown tugging at his mouth, only to find Rodney McKay waiting on the other side.
Rodney bounced on his heels and raised his eyebrows. "So, what did she say?"
John glanced around uncomfortably at the people scattered throughout the control room. He didn't recognize any of them. They didn't seem to be listening, but you could never tell. He started walking randomly and found himself taking the stairs up to the jumper bay. Gateship bay, whatever.
"She said General O'Neill would tell my boss I was called away urgently for reasons of national security." John snorted. "Guess I can kiss that job goodbye." What would he find to do next, tourist hops around the islands?
Rodney frowned. "Wait, that's it? That's what she told you?"
"Well, that was part of it." No one seemed to be in the bay, but John headed for one of the craft and asked it to open.
Score another point for Weir's offer: John would give a lot to be able to fly these things regularly. There was just something about a machine that did whatever you wanted. John wondered if the Ancients had invented any sex toys, then shook himself and brought his focus back to reality. "So, is Captain O'Neill related to General O'Neill? Is that how he got the job?"
"Sort of. Not really. It's a long story." Rodney huffed irritably. "What else did she tell you?"
John led the way into the little jumper and sat on one of the rear benches. When Rodney followed, he ordered the hatch to close. "She offered me a job."
Rodney beamed. "Yes! I knew it. This is perfect. Apparently O'Neill hates coming into the labs to initialize the equipment, but with your gene we can --"
"I told her I'd think about it."
"What? Are you crazy? What's to think about?"
"I don't know, maybe not wanting to get killed in some bizarre way? Not wanting to get that close to military service again? Not wanting to take the risk of getting screwed over and abandoned by my superior officers and then blamed just because I didn't want to sit around and watch my buddies die in front of me?" John realized he had raised his voice until he was nearly shouting. With an effort, he bit his words off.
Rodney closed his mouth slowly. "Still have some issues, huh?"
"Not that it's any of your business," John retorted.
At that, Rodney looked hurt. He glanced away, toward the front windscreen. "I just thought it would be, you know, fun . . . if we were here together."
John didn't know what to say to that. Why should Rodney care?
"I've wanted to come to Atlantis ever since I heard of it," Rodney said thoughtfully. "Before we knew it was Atlantis, even. I was supposed to come out with the original expedition, you know, but I was . . . sick. So I had to wait. Then a year later the Daedalus shipped out, and they still wouldn't take me. I thought I would never get here."
"Until the gallant Colonel Sheppard swept you up on his white charger and carried you off to the city of your dreams," said John bitterly.
Rodney gave him a puzzled look, then sat up sharply. "You're jealous!"
"Of perfect Colonel Sheppard and his perfect life in that other perfect universe? You're damn right I am."
"Well . . . you shouldn't be," Rodney said lamely.
"Why not?"
"Because! Because this isn't his universe, it's yours. You get to make whatever you want out of this place and the opportunities you find here."
"You mean the opportunities he bought for me."
"Oh, get over it already!" Rodney snapped. "You think I didn't get a little miffed every time he talked about what his Rodney could have done? Sheppard trusted me the moment he met me, but it had nothing to do with me! It was all about what that other Dr. McKay had done. Things I could have done if I'd come on the expedition in the first place like I was supposed to, but it didn't happen that way."
John blinked. Okay, so maybe someone did understand how he felt.
"But when the chance came to make up for it all and get to Atlantis two years late instead of not at all, you'd better believe I jumped at it. And if you let this chance pass you by just because you don't like how it came to you, you're a lot stupider than I think."
John looked away angrily. Maybe he was stupid, compared to Colonel Sheppard. How would Rodney know?
"Do you know how he ended up on the expedition?" Rodney asked.
"Probably through some daring feat of heroism that brought him to the attention of the SGC," John guessed.
"Wrong. He touched something -- actually, he just sat down -- and turned it on, and they realized he had the gene. They dragged him along just for that."
"And then he shot his superior officer and ended up in command," John mused, remembering a conversation with Teyla. Maybe Colonel Sheppard's world wasn't so perfect after all.
Rodney was taken aback. "Is that what happened? He didn't tell me that part."
John shrugged. "I heard it was a mercy killing. Guy got caught by a Wraith."
"Oh." Rodney swallowed. "I haven't seen any Wraith, but they sound, uh, pretty nasty."
"I've seen one." John remembered the canopy of the Wraith's ship flickering and then fading out, leaving him facing a ghoul-white face with teeth like a shark's. "They're certainly . . . ugly." And that one had been wounded even before John emptied a nine-mil into it. He supposed when they were healthy they'd be even more impressively disturbing.
"Well," said Rodney firmly, "I can see being afraid of the Wraith -- I'm afraid of them, after all! But you shouldn't let that stop you from accepting Dr. Weir's offer. This is an incredible opporuntity, don't you get it? You can't let a little danger get in the way of, of, progress, and the advancement of humanity, and all that."
"And winning the Nobel Prize," John added wryly, guessing that was a big factor for Rodney based on what he'd seen of the man's counterpart.
"Yes, yes," said Rodney impatiently, as if he didn't want to admit he cared about that. "And all sorts of other honors and awards when the world finds out what great work we've done. And you want to pass all that up just to go back to California and surf?!"
"I haven't said no," John pointed out mildly.
"And you haven't said yes, either. Why not?"
"What do you care?" John retorted.
"Well, I just thought we were . . . I mean, I thought we could be . . . you know. Friends."
John groaned. "Oh hell, you're in love with him too, aren't you?"
"What? No! I mean, it's the other way around."
John wrinkled his brow. "What, he's in love with you?"
"No, with his Rodney McKay. Look, the first time he laid eyes on me, Colonel Sheppard hugged me. In public."
"Huh?" That did not sound like the very straight and strait-laced Colonel Sheppard that John had heard about from the other McKay.
Rodney shrugged dismissively. "Well, he not only thought I was his Rodney, he also thought I'd come to rescue him from some evil virtual environment or something like that. But the point is, he trusted me and relied on me just because of who I look like. It was obvious from the way he acted that Sheppard and McKay make a great team. I thought that could be true for us, as well as them."
John eyed him closely. Maybe it was time to make this very clear. "By 'team' you actually mean couple, don't you?"
Rodney's fair skin bloomed pink under the jumper's lights. "Well, I suppose that might play into it a little. But really, just as a, a working team -- you know, complementary skills and all that. Or friends, if you --"
"I don't think I want to be friends with you, Rodney," John said slowly.
"Oh." Rodney stared dejectedly at the floor of the jumper.
"You know, when that, uh, device brought me back here, I was on my way to McKay's quarters to try to seduce him."
"Oh?" Rodney perked up a little.
"It wasn't easy -- turns out he was sort of a prude. And he was pretty convinced Colonel Sheppard was straight."
"Uh, no, not in the strictest sense." Rodney's face was bright red now, making John struggle not to smirk. "Or any sense at all, really."
"I guess they really got their signals crossed there, huh?"
Rodney's mouth quirked up on one side. "Good thing they had us to straighten out their perfect lives for them."
"Or un-straighten them, as the case may be."
They were both leaning forward from the edges of their bench seats, faces only a few inches apart.
John closed that distance and brought their mouths together. Within a few minutes he had to concede that maybe this universe had a few things to recommend it over the other after all. Also, as he soon found out, this Rodney was much better at graceful acceptance of blowjobs than his counterpart, and no slouch in the enthusiastic-reciprocation department as well.
Straightening his clothes afterward, John looked toward the front of the jumper and wondered if it could tell him whether there was anyone outside. Immediately, a schematic of the upper levels of the central tower popped up, showing the jumper bay, the Gate room, and several other places he wasn't familiar with. All the blinking life signs were concentrated in the Gate room. "Cool," he murmured.
"I should be getting back to the labs," Rodney said as he checked his fly for the third time. He was still a little pink around the ears, but his eyes were exceptionally bright and his mouth was more than a little smug. "There's so much I have to catch up with, and so little time . . ."
"Wait a second," said John. "Do you know where I'm supposed to be staying? Do I have a room here?"
"You -- uh, Colonel Sheppard -- got guest quarters for last night. I guess you can still use those."
"And you know where that is?"
"Um." Rodney coughed. "Yes, I can show you."
The room turned out to be pretty small and sparsely furnished. There was a backpack sitting in the corner, but when John headed for it Rodney quickly said, "That's mine."
"Oh." There didn't seem to be any other luggage in the room. "Where's my stuff?"
"Colonel Sheppard didn't bring anything. It was, um, pretty hectic when we went through the gate."
John stared. "You mean these are the only clothes I have?" No wonder they smelled a little ripe.
"Supposedly we can ask a Sergeant Bates for any spare clothes or supplies they have available. I guess he's responsible for, you know, allocating that sort of stuff."
Great. He might not be back in the military again, but apparently he had to suck up to the quartermaster anyway.
"He'd also be the one to ask about getting a larger room. If you want it. I mean, if you're staying . . ."
John gave a long sigh. "In the morning, I'll tell Weir I accept."
"You will?" Rodney lit up like an Ancient toy. "Good! Well . . . wonderful. That's great."
John shrugged. "There's nothing for me back on Earth. And this is a pretty amazing place, even with the Wraith and, you know, all the other bad guys. And, uh . . ." He looked at Rodney shyly. "There are some pretty good guys here, too."
Rodney beamed. "Good. But now I really should be getting --" He jerked a thumb out the door.
"Okay, go. I'll find this Bates myself. Will you be, um, coming back here tonight?"
Rodney gulped. "If that's okay with you?"
"Yes, okay. I mean, better than okay. I'd like that."
"Then I will. But it might be pretty late, so don't wait up."
John suspected it was already pretty late, but he didn't say anything.
He found Bates by walking around the corridors until he bumped into someone and then asking where he should look for the Sergeant. The fourth person he asked was actually helpful, and it turned out Bates was still awake, so John asked for what he needed.
Bates -- a dour, suspicious man who looked like he was spoiling for a fight -- wanted to know whether John was with the scientists or the military. Apparently the uniforms were color-coded, and there was no color for guests or civilian pilots. John ended up with a mish-mash of clothes and personal effects from two dead men named Miller and Kavanagh -- one Marine and one scientist, apparently. They and another scientist had died while investigating a crashed Wraith ship on the second habitable planet of this solar system.
If John counted only the black and grey clothes, he had enough to wear for two whole days, plus the black fatigues he had on now. He might have to consider wearing a little bit of color -- but only if he was really desperate. He resolved to find out how laundry got done around here as soon as possible.
With nothing to read or watch or listen to, he fell asleep at once and barely noticed when Rodney crawled in next to him.
-----
Rodney wasn't there when John woke to sunlight (odd, yellow-greenish sunlight) streaming in through the oddly-paned window that ran from top to bottom of the oddly-angled wall. Standing nude before the narrow window, he looked out on a forest of towers, many of them oddly-shaped.
Fortunately, he'd already been introduced to the bathroom fixtures on the other Atlantis. They were functional and effective -- the water starting out at exactly the right temperature was the most noticeable -- but he wished just a little that they could be less pretty and more familiar. The vaporizer thing that took the place of a toilet was just weird, and made him want to tuck his dick safely out of the way.
When he emerged from the bathroom and reached for his newly-acquired clothes, he found an open laptop sitting on top of them. Cautiously, he tickled the trackpad, and the screen came to life with a message in an extra large font:
"Got this computer for you. Not enough CPU power for real work, but adequate for email and DVDs. Has some decent games on it too, I recommend the sudoku. Your account is jsheppard, password is the other name for the gateships. -RM"
John's mouth quirked as he read the message. It was a pretty thoughtful gesture for a self-centered guy. "Gee, Rodney, does this mean we're going steady?" He wondered what would be the Atlantis equivalent of letting Rodney wear his letterman's jacket.
-----
He pulled on black cargo pants and a long-sleeved gray shirt and headed to the mess first, thinking that Dr. Weir was likely to be busy in the mornings anyway and he might as well be fortified before talking to her.
He paused after filling his tray (half with identifiable but not particularly appealing things, half with strange stuff he didn't recognize) and looked around for a place to sit. A table in the corner caught his attention, with half a dozen women sitting around it talking very solemnly.
"Hey! Colonel Sheppard!" someone called.
Hiding his wince, John turned. A little girl -- no, just a very short woman -- was waving at him from a table not far away, where she sat with another woman and a man. Both the women were blondes and wore black SGC fatigues, and the man (also very young-looking) had an expedition uniform that John now knew indicated he was one of the Marines from the original group. Or possibly he had inherited his clothes from such a person, but probably he wouldn't be wearing the jacket if that were the case. Bates had been pretty adamant on that point; he hadn't even given John one of the uniform jackets, since there was no correct color for him.
He slid his tray onto the table next to the man's and smiled at all three of them. "Hi. I'm, uh, actually not Colonel Sheppard. Just call me John."
The small woman -- who had one leg propped up on an extra chair and a pair of crutches nearby -- cocked her head at him. "Oh right, I heard something about that. So you're not, uh . . ."
"Not actually the same guy who came through the gate a couple days ago. I gather you two also came through from the SGC?"
The second woman -- a darker, strawberry blonde -- nodded. "That's right. I'm Lieutenant Laura Cadman. The one with the romantic war wound is Lieutenant Jennifer Hailey --" Here the smaller woman smacked her on the shoulder, "-- and next to you is Lieutenant John Markham."
"Nice to meet you, John," said Markham.
"Ditto," said John with a grimace. "You can call me Shep . . . pard, if that's easier." He wasn't ready to be 'Shep' again. Maybe he never would be.
Hailey said, "I just wanted to make sure you didn't interrupt the therapy session there in the corner." She cocked her head at the tableful of women. "They're kind of anti-man right now."
"With good reason," Cadman added darkly.
"Sure, but he doesn't need to get his head bitten off just because he tries to make some friends." Hailey smiled at John. "Anyway, I'm having an argument with these two jarheads here, and I could use a little support from a fellow airman."
The hash browns caught in John's throat. "I'm not in the Air Force," he said.
"But you were, right? That's what I heard, anyway." Hailey glanced around the room but didn't seem to see whoever had passed the gossip along.
"I was discharged three years ago." John paused to take a sip of juice, bracing himself. "Dishonorably."
"See!" Cadman bumped shoulders with Hailey. "Air Force brass are idiots. Can't tell a good man when they've got one." She winked at John, and he relaxed just a little.
"All brass are idiots," Markham said, barely glancing up from his breakfast. "Doesn't matter which branch they're in."
"Right!" said Hailey stoutly. "So you can't go by that. I still say Air Force is way cooler."
Cadman snorted. "Please! You're only in the Air Force because they waived the height requirement for you."
"My sitting height is within the limits! Almost," said Hailey. "Anyway, it just proves my point. The Air Force accepted me because they value brains over brawn. Cooler, and smarter, too!"
"I have to admit," said John, getting into the spirit a little, "the Air Force definitely has the fastest and coolest things to fly." That had been his own reasoning, after all.
"What, you think Harriers aren't cool?" Cadman objected. "Or Ospreys?"
"They're fine," said John, who had flown Ospreys a time or two. "Just not the coolest things out there."
"I'm in the Corps, and I get to fly Gateships," said Markham. "Nothing cooler than that."
"Well, I'm a civilian, and I get to fly Gateships too," John returned, disposing of that argument.
"Hey!" Cadman leaned across the table. "So it's true? Weir offered you a job?"
"Yeah." John shrugged. "I guess she figured I could be a good pilot even if the Air Force doesn't want me anymore."
"Aw, she just wants to get into your jeans," Cadman said wickedly.
Hailey sniggered, and Markham groaned. John just stared.
"Is it true you have the strong ATA gene, like Jack O'Neill?" Markham asked.
"Uh, I guess so." John recognized the pun belatedly: Cadman had meant that Weir wanted his genes.
"I have the gene too," Markham volunteered, "but just the regular kind. That's not so special anymore, with everyone getting the therapy these days."
"I'm not getting it," said Cadman firmly.
"Aw, not even to get closer to Car-son?" Hailey sing-songed at her.
"Hey, Dr. Beckett's a hunk, you already agreed with me on that. But he can keep his research in the lab. There are other things I'd rather have him putting in my body."
Markham made a gagging sound. "Please, do you have to talk about stuff like that over breakfast?"
"Well, I'm getting the therapy," said Hailey, ignoring him. "Dr. Beckett won't let me try until my leg is healed up, but I bet it will take with me."
"What's this therapy you're talking about?" John asked. "And what happened to your leg?"
The rest of the meal passed enjoyably, with the three lieutenants explaining to John things that everyone already knew, or at least everyone on Atlantis. No one asked about the reason for his discharge; they all seemed perfectly willing to believe it was unjust. Their impression of him might be based on whatever they'd seen of Colonel Sheppard, but somehow John was beginning to find it didn't bother him that much. If they were willing to give him a fair chance, he was ready to make the most of it -- just like Rodney had suggested.
----
When he went looking for Dr. Weir, he found, as expected, that she was in a meeting. He hung out in the control room smiling at the technicians there and asking questions about the Ancient technology. A sergeant with a Canadian flag on his arm -- and what service was he in? John wondered. He'd thought only the scientists were international -- was explaining the DHD to him when the doors to the conference room rotated and O'Neill charged out looking impatient.
"Look, I'm tellin' ya," O'Neill said back through the doors, "the Iratus bug planet is the way to go. Less time in the jumper, less time for them to make trouble."
"Jack's got a point there, Colonel," said Colonel Mitchell, pausing by the door and looking back.
Colonel Caldwell pushed his wheelchair sharply through the doors. "But we'll have no way of monitoring them after that. What if they get off the planet?"
"Hello, space gate?" said O'Neill, hardly respectful to a superior officer.
"They could be picked up by someone else with spacegoing technology," Caldwell spat. "We'd never know."
"We know the Wraith visit that planet. What if they cut a deal with them? We can't take the risk of the Wraith know Atlantis wasn't destroyed." This was another officer John didn't recognize, muscular and sharp-eyed, his hair beginning to lose the battle with age in much the same way Rodney's was.
"No, man, the Genii would never do that!" protested another new voice, belonging to a young man with a mop of dark curls that reached down to his ears, wearing the blue-paneled jacket of a scientist over a brightly patterned shirt. "It's totally against their ethics."
"Most Genii wouldn't," said Caldwell. "But Kolya? I wouldn't put anything past him. We need to keep them in this solar system. That way we have complete control over their access to the rest of the galaxy."
"But if we have control, we also have responsibility," said the young man. "And we can't afford to feed them --"
Grodin followed the argument through the doors. "They can grow their own food. Our geologists and botanists say the climate on the other planet should be temperate enough at higher latitudes, and the growing season is just beginning in the northern hemisphere."
O'Neill palmed his face. "But it takes fifteen hours to get there in a Gateship!"
"Actually, closer to twenty just now," said Grodin apologetically. "The planets are at different spots in their orbits since the last time you flew there."
"Okay, how about somewhere else on this planet?" Mitchell said reasonably. "There's gotta be an island somewhere with decent hunting or fishing so they can feed themselves."
"Yeah, and build a nice boat," O'Neill objected.
"We could give them subcutaneous transmitters," said the officer with the retreating hairline. "Track them wherever they go."
"Gentlemen, enough!" Weir said, emerging through the doors. "Thank you for your input. We've been over the options. This discussion is suspended for now. Dr. Grodin, please check the database for other planets with space gates and give the coordinates to Captain O'Neill so he can check them out. Captain Ellison --" This was addressed to the unknown officer, "-- I want to see some options for keeping eight or ten Genii secured in the back of a Gateship on an extended trip."
Ellison looked annoyed at that. "With or without bathroom privileges?" he muttered, but quietly enough that Weir could pretend not to have heard.
"We'll discuss this again tomorrow morning," she said firmly. "Just now, I don't think we need to share this debate with the whole city, hmm?"
"No, ma'am," said Mitchell promptly. He smacked O'Neill in the arm and jerked his head at the door. O'Neill waved a salute at Weir and the two men headed off together.
"Dr. Weir," said Caldwell with a sharp nod, and started wheeling himself away. He was echoed by Captain Ellison and the young scientist, who left together in another direction.
Grodin stayed behind and seemed about to start some other discussion with Weir, until she caught sight of John leaning against the balcony railing and raised a hand to forestall Grodin.
"Mr. Sheppard, did you want to speak to me?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am." John looked around and decided there wasn't much point being secretive about it. He already had a sense that news traveled fast in Atlantis. "I've decided I should accept your offer."
She smiled. "Good. That's very good." Then she looked around a little hectically. "I'm busy at the moment, but I'm sure Dr. Grodin or Sergeant Campbell can introduce you to --"
"If it's all right with you," John interrupted gently, "Dr. McKay has been showing me around. I'll just see if I can find him and we'll get to know the city together."
She blinked. "Yes. All right, that would be fine. Come back and see me --" she waved a hand uncertainly, "-- later, and we can get the details worked out."
Part Two
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