Fic: Shattered Mirror (1/4)
Title: Shattered Mirror
Author: angelqueen04
Summary: Mirrors are tricky things. They are windows to the soul, but what we see can easily become distorted.
Type/Pairings: Gen, with hefty doses of friendship all around
Main characters: Elizabeth Weir, John Sheppard, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan, Rodney McKay, Radek Zelenka, Peter Grodin, and brief appearances of various different SG-1 characters.
Rating: PG-13/slight R-ish at the end
Warnings: Mentions of character deaths, some torture
Spoilers: Vague Season 4 spoilers.
Beta: havocthecat
Author Notes: I started this story way back before Season 4 aired, even before we heard the news about the casting changes. So as things began to develop on the show, the timing for this story has been tweaked a little as well. As a final result, this is set in a fictional Season 5 time period where those casting changes have been undone. Plus, I finally got to play with an alternate reality and go a little crazy with it. *g*
Author Notes #2: I look up at the above note and shake my head at how much time has passed since I wrote it during the earlier incarnations of this story. Now the story is finished (three parts plus a small epilogue), after much laboring on my part, but more on havocthecat’s, since she did two rounds of betaing on it. This story’s a true labor of love, or maybe insanity. You be the judge.
When she looks in a mirror, she no longer recognizes herself. At least, she no longer sees the fresh-faced, optimistic woman who walked through the Stargate for the first time, determined to face down every challenge thrown her way. Instead, Doctor Elizabeth Weir sees a hard, cold creature.
Change is a constant in life, and it has not left her at all unscathed. She is willing to do what it takes to win, to ensure the survival of her people, and if she comes out of it covered in the blood of someone who gets in her way? No matter. If she has to capture a few Wraith children on which to experiment? No need to hesitate.
For ten thousand years, the Wraith have kept this galaxy under their thumb. They’ve had no one to challenge them. They have culled and killed relentlessly, as though doing so were their divine right. When Atlantis rose again from the ocean, they were challenged for the first time since the Ancients abandoned Pegasus. Now for every culling or murder, they feel the sting of retaliation. One sting is an annoyance, but thousands can bring down even the strongest beast.
Total war in the Pegasus galaxy. She often wonders, with some amusement, what Generals Grant and Sherman would have thought of that.
The bottom line is that she will see Atlantis and its inhabitants survive, and nothing will deter her. Earth learned that the hard way when they attempted to send a team on the Odyssey to wrench the city from her and her people. The ship barely managed to limp back to the Milky Way.
Weir doesn’t let herself dwell on her choices too often. It does no good to sit and fret over could-have-beens or maybes, but when literally faced with herself, she finds it difficult not to do just that.
She stares intently at the screen, watching her doppelganger inside the isolation room. She then looks at the other four screens. Rodney McKay. Teyla Emmagan. Ronon Dex. John Sheppard.
She flinches inwardly, but she is pleased to note that her hands do not tremble. She’s conquered that.
“Elizabeth?”
She turns silently and sees Carolyn Lam walking toward her, a small stack of folders in her hands. Her dark, normally expressive eyes are flat and emotionless, the picture of professionalism.
“Well?” Weir asks. “Do I need to open a wormhole to Earth and tell them I’m tossing their agents through again, and if they want them alive, they’d better open their iris?”
Carolyn smirks briefly, and then shakes her head. “As amusing as that would be to watch, not this time.” She looks down at the papers and then nods toward the five screens. “The DNA proves it. They are who they appear to be, even the other… you.”
Weir stares at them and murmurs, “An alternate reality?”
“It seems so,” Carolyn replies. “Rodney… Doctor McKay even made a fuss when I examined him. Kept demanding that he only trusted a Doctor Carson Beckett not to ‘use a leech on him.’” She shakes her head. “I was able to assure him that I had no intention of poisoning him, though it took some doing.”
Weir isn’t all that terribly surprised. It seems only fitting that, even across realities, some things remain the same. Rodney McKay’s aversion toward medical science is a pleasant enough start. Of course, even with that, she can still see the differences. His insistence on seeing Carson Beckett, one of the doctors who had turned down an invitation to join the expedition, was proof enough of just how different this Rodney is.
“I triple-checked the results,” Carolyn adds. “The samples we still have on file for the others matched up perfectly.”
A chill sweeps over her, and Elizabeth clenches her fists for a moment. She abruptly moves toward the door. Tapping her radio, she calls, “Weir to Ronon.”
“Go ahead.”
“Meet me in Isolation Room Two,” she orders. “It’s time we got some answers from our guests.”
“Copy that.”
Ronon says nothing as he watches Doctor Weir speak to the… whatever she is that looks like Teyla Emmagan. She told him that she was Teyla, but not their Teyla. This was Teyla Emmagan from an ‘alternate reality’, where things had turned out differently.
That’s obvious, actually. After all, this Teyla’s alive. So are McKay and Sheppard.
“Tell me again, Teyla, how did you come to be here?” Weir asks, her voice betraying no hint of whatever she might be feeling. Ronon’s curious to hear Teyla’s answer, and he listens, but he also watches Elizabeth.
He’s watched her for the past ten months, since Sheppard choked on his own blood and died right in front of her, just after watching McKay die in a puddle jumper explosion. Both of them died because of a foolish war begun by people on Earth who had no idea of what the expedition faced. She hadn’t taken either death well, and he’s since taken up what used to be Sheppard’s duty: protecting her from threats, even if the threat is herself.
She’s a far cry from the woman he met when Sheppard first brought him to the fabled city of the Ancestors. Ronon can’t remember the last time he saw her smile or laugh in a way that didn’t send chills down even his spine.
“Doctor McKay believes he can reactivate the portal if it has sufficient power.” Teyla’s last words break through his thoughts.
Weir stares at her. “So that is why you were on Hoff. You were hoping to find a power source.”
Teyla nods. “Yes. We were not certain how different this reality was from our own, but we did not think it had diverged so much that the Hoffans still existed as a people and were in a close alliance with you.”
Ronon listens to her words and wonders at them. The Hoffans are good allies. They’re determined to destroy the Wraith by whatever means possible, which is why he likes them. He’s read the early mission reports. There had been some minor friction between the Hoffans and the Lanteans over some experimentation with drugs on a Wraith, but after one trial of the drug on their people killed some of their most brilliant scientists, they had agreed to try another way with the help of the Lanteans, who counseled patience and more research before human trials. Were her experiences so different?
They have grown especially closer to them since breaking from Earth. Weir no longer hesitates to capture Wraith for them to experiment on. She even sometimes talks of capturing Michael again and sending him to the Hoffans. A kind of poetic justice, she once told him quietly, for what he did to Teyla. Ronon can’t agree more.
After several moments of tense silence, Weir says only, “Thank you, Teyla.” She then turns on her heel and leaves the room, not even pausing to glance at him. She knows he’ll follow.
He intends to, but not before Teyla catches his eye. She smiles at him, like his Teyla always did. He doesn’t smile back. He can’t - won’t - let himself get attached. Ronon’s come to know Weir enough to know that the moment she has a way to send these people to their home, she will.
Even if it’s only to avoid the stirrings of the remains of her own conscience.
Elizabeth has never liked the isolation rooms, and she likes them even less from the inside. She learned that when she was held by the Asurans. They’re cold, and they’re lacking in anything resembling privacy, which, she supposes, is the point.
Of course, she has also found little to like about this alternate Atlantis or its expedition members. There are so few faces she recognizes. Carson was not the one who examined her, instead it was Carolyn Lam, who is apparently not the CMO of the SGC, and would never in her dreams take a job where she had to work with her own father. Peter Grodin is still alive and in charge of the control tower, but with little of the wit and cheer that she had known before his death in her own reality.
John, Teyla, and Rodney are nowhere to be found. She hesitates to ask, because her other self does not appear to be a woman who invites questions. She won’t even let Elizabeth see her team.
This whole place bothers her. She could just kill Rodney for activating the portal before knowing what it was.
The door to the room hisses open, interrupting her thoughts. She stands up immediately from the corner of the cell, where she had wearily settled earlier, and faces the two people who enter the room. Ronon and the other Doctor Weir.
Seeing them stand side by side, Elizabeth is surprised to find that they resemble one another, in a strange, almost frightening way. Ronon looks much as she is used to seeing him, but Doctor Weir is different. Her other self is much shorter than the Satedan, and her hair is not at all wild or chaotic, but they both wear almost identical grim expressions that give away nothing. There’s a noticeable scar that runs down her cheek from the corner of her eye, following a tear’s path. Elizabeth wonders when the last time this fierce-looking woman has dared allow herself a luxury such as crying.
“You sought a power source on Hoff to use to re-power the portal, yes?” her other self asks without as much as a greeting.
Elizabeth blinks briefly, but then nods. “Yes,” she answers. “We had hoped to make it home without causing too much of a fuss--”
“Well, you failed,” her doppelganger cuts her off. “It nearly got you tossed through the Stargate back to Earth, where they would have likely refused to open up their iris.” The woman glares at her for a moment, but then shrugs. “No matter. I’ll have Zelenka and Simpson come up with something that you can use. They’re speaking with Doctor McKay even now.”
Elizabeth watches her turn, knows her intention is to leave as quickly as she came in, and cannot help but call out. “Wait! What about the rest of my team? Why won’t you let us out of here? We’re no threat to you or your people.”
Her other self turns and looks back at her. Elizabeth’s breath catches as the dim lighting makes the scar stand out even more on her pale face, along with her dark, harsh eyes. “Perhaps not,” she concedes, “but I have to consider the emotional welfare of my people. They don’t need to be confronted with the faces of those who are dead to them. The fewer that see the rest of your team, the better off we’ll all be.”
With that, she leaves. Elizabeth expects Ronon to follow, doesn’t expect him to say anything, as her Ronon probably wouldn’t have. But just before he steps through the door, he pauses to stare at her. “Don’t judge her,” he says. “You don’t know what she’s been through.” Then he too leaves, leaving her alone in the cool, dimly-lit isolation room.
“No no no!” Rodney shouts. “Is it possible for you to be even MORE incompetent in this reality than in mine?! How many times do I have to tell you, it doesn’t work like that!”
In truth, Rodney isn’t all that upset. He just wants to test the waters with this new Radek Zelenka and Fiona Simpson, to see just how they work and how different they are from the scientists he knows. Much to his surprise, they don’t even blink at his outburst. Are they used to it? Do they even care? Are these people Data-like androids in disguise?
He sighs. “Look,” Rodney says with deliberate slowness and not paying attention to the door opening, “this isn’t working. I can’t give you an accurate description in mere words. I need equipment to make you understand. I need my lab.”
“It’s not your lab, McKay.”
Rodney looks to the entrance and sees the other Ronon standing there, his expression… exactly like the Ronon he knows, really. The two don’t seem all that different, at least outwardly.
“Well, of course it isn’t, but you know what I mean,” he blusters. “My lab is waiting for me to come home, and that isn’t going to happen if you people insist on keeping me in here and letting the Fumble Twins here,” he gestures at the still-silent Zelenka and Simpson, “try to do what needs to be done without my help.” He straightens, trying to make himself seem just a bit taller than he actually is. “I need to get out of here.”
“Weir says you’re to stay.”
Rodney stares incredulously at Ronon, and then throws his hands up in frustration. “Well, then I guess I’ll be stuck in this depressing place full of pod people for a long, long time!”
Ronon doesn’t even bat an eye at his histrionics. Rodney considers stomping his foot in frustration, but opts against it. It never works with his own Ronon, so why would it work with an alternate version of him who isn’t all that different? Instead, he changes the subject. “So, can we negotiate about the food here? If I’m supposed to come up with something brilliant without all the information any other person would need, then I’ll need the brain food.”
“You get what everyone else in the city gets. Deal with it,” Ronon shoots back. He turns to the two scientists. “Did you find out anything new?”
“In between the ranting and shrieking, you mean?” Fiona asks wryly, speaking for what seems like the first time in nearly forty-five minutes. “Yes, I think so. Enough that we can work with for a while.”
“Good. Get to it.”
The two scientists nod silently and walk out the door, Ronon following them. Rodney stares after them in shock. Finally, he flops down on the floor. He wonders why his other self isn’t in here. If he could talk to him, then this might go better. He can communicate on the same level with him, and this could go so much faster with a less likely chance of him dying a painful, horrible death from Temporal Entropic Cascade Failure.
“This isn’t fair,” he mutters.
Weir stares at the door to Isolation Room Five. She’s dithering, and she knows it. She shouldn’t, not in front of the Marines guarding the door. It’s bad enough that she’s given them the job of guarding the person inside it; she shouldn’t show them that his presence bothers her as well.
Weir straightens her shoulders. This is ridiculous. She’s always been excellent at hiding her emotions. Even if this man’s other self always saw past the walls she built up around herself, that does not necessarily mean that he will as well, but then she recalls the scene in the Gate room when Major Lorne’s team brought them to Atlantis from Hoff. He was always careful to keep a close watch on her other self close, and had even fought back when she was taken away for examination by Carolyn and isolation afterwards.
Weir doubts theirs is just a professional relationship. They are friends, good friends, just like she and her John were. Before the IOA’s stupidity got him killed, that is.
She gives herself a little shake and steps toward the door determinedly. She’ll do what has to be done, no matter the cost to herself. That’s how it’s always been.
She enters the room and finds him sitting inside the cell, leaning casually against one of the corners of the cell’s confines. He looks up when he hears her come in and their eyes meet. His expression is clearly guarded, but Weir thinks she might have seen a flash of some sort of emotion in his green eyes just before the mask comes down.
“So,” he drawls, “do I get to take in the sights any time soon, or am I stuck in here for the rest of my stay?”
For a moment, Weir debates on whether or not to answer him. She’s already had this conversation with her other self, she has no desire to repeat it. Maybe she should have sent Ronon to deal with him and gone to check on Radek and Fiona herself.
“I’m keeping you here for the sake of my own people’s morale,” she says anyway. “Your Doctor McKay is assisting my scientists from his own cell.”
He snorts. “Two Rodneys. I’d almost pay money to see that.”
“I’m afraid not,” she answers. She intends to add that they no longer have Rodney McKay around to save their lives at least twice a month, but decides against it. It won’t change anything.
Why has she come here? She could have easily sent anyone to tell him that there were people working to get him and his team home, but no, she had to come herself. Why? Just to torment herself, to remind herself of what she has lost? She has better things to do, such as preparing herself to respond to Earth’s latest pathetic demands that she and her people surrender Atlantis immediately or risk bringing down the wrath of the U.S. government and its allies upon them. She could be checking up on their latest weapon against the Wraith, or asking for an update from the Hoffans about their newest biological agent. So much to do, so little time, and she came here.
Weir turns, intending to leave, when his voice rings out again, this time with none of the mocking that he has been using.
“Elizabeth.”
She stops, but she doesn’t turn. If she closes her eyes, she could almost make herself think that…
No. She has too much to do.
She leaves.
John watches her go.
He doesn’t know who she is. She is a stranger with Elizabeth’s face. He knew that when he first saw her in the Gate room. The Elizabeth he knows would never have so little compassion, so little light in her eyes.
John has read the SGC mission reports where SG-1 encountered alternate realities. Practically every single one of them involved a galaxy facing some sort of great apocalypse. Even though he has seen very little of the circumstances of this galaxy, he has a feeling that this is no exception. Something bad, very bad, is happening here.
He leans back against the cell enclosure. He’s demanded numerous times to see his team, and has been rejected each time. He would try and hotwire the cell to let him out, but John is fairly sure that they’re watching him for that. It’s probably why they split them up in the first place. Separating them makes them easier to watch in different places, plus it’s easier for them to get honest information. There’s no way for them to coordinate any lies between them. John knows he’d do the same thing in their place.
Nonetheless, he wants to know what’s going on. He wants to know if his team is all right, if Elizabeth is all right. They took her away first and he hasn’t seen her since. He likes to think the other Elizabeth wouldn’t harm her alternate self, but again, she is a stranger. He doesn’t really know what any of them will do.
John’s already managed to gather a little bit of intel just by watching how everyone around him operates. When they were first brought to Atlantis, Lorne clearly took orders from her, so that hasn’t changed. The lights were all on a low setting, indicating that they’re attempting to save power. Ronon stood right next to her when she came down from the control tower and the marines took orders from him without hesitation. Clearly, his position here is much more than just being a member of the primary team.
He wishes he knew more. He might need it if he’s going to get his team and himself out of here and there’s a fight. If he knows the right buttons to push, he might be able to distract them long enough for them to make their escape. But he doesn’t have enough information at the moment. Right now, John knows that these people, these strangers wearing the faces of friends, are a very cohesive unit and it will be difficult to get past them with what little knowledge he has.
So he waits and watches people come and go. Hopefully, an opportunity to get out of here will present itself.
Ronon leans against the wall of Weir’s office, watching her fingers fly over the keyboard. Though she has long ceased to write report after report for the I.O.A. and Stargate Command, he knows that she still keeps something of a log of events, if only for her own benefit.
“Maybe we should let them out,” he comments.
She does not pause in her typing, nor does she look up, but she does reply. “It’s better to keep them isolated from the rest of the base. The less they are seen, the better off we’ll all be. Less of a chance that people will get attached, only to be hurt again when they leave.”
It isn’t the first time she’s said that, and Ronon wonders if the reason why she keeps repeating it is to make herself believe it.
“The quicker we get them out of here, the better off we’ll be,” he corrects her. “And the quickest way to get them out of here is to let McKay help Zelenka and the others.” She does stop then, and he presses on. “Everyone already knows who you have locked up, the damage has been done. Can’t get any worse letting people see them.”
Weir sighs. She sounds frustrated, though whether with him or herself, Ronon’s not sure. There are still many times when she is a mystery to him, despite the fact that they’re far closer than they used to be.
“Fine,” she concedes. “Let them out, but each of them is to have two marines with them at all times. Rodney is permitted into the labs, but only with Zelenka supervising. They are to be kept out of all restricted areas - chair room, ZPM room, jumper bay, everything.”
Ronon nods and pushes off the wall. “No argument here.” He’s just about to leave, when she speaks again, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I won’t be judged, Ronon, least of all by another version of myself.”
He nods again and continues on his way out, but as he moves through the Control room he can’t help but wonder if her other self judging her will have that much of an impact. Ronon can’t imagine her taking that from anyone; she has learned to live with her decisions.
Time will tell.
Elizabeth is nearly asleep when the door opens. The marine, a young woman she doesn’t recognize, tells her she is free to leave the isolation room. Once she steps out, she quickly seeks out her team. It doesn’t take her long to find them and the five of them convene together in the deserted mess hall. Their marine escorts stand at all the exits, giving them at least some semblance of privacy.
“I think we’re dead,” Rodney says suddenly, glancing around almost warily.
Teyla stares at him in surprise. “What do you mean?” she asks.
“Think about it,” he replies. “We’ve seen the other Elizabeth numerous times, and the other Ronon’s rarely far away from her. But while I was in that cell, they sent Zelenka and Simpson to ask me about what kind of power source we needed. If they want to send us home fast, the best way would be to send the other me in to get it done. They didn’t.”
“So,” John says slowly, “that means you’re dead? How do you know that you’re just not here? They’ve got Doctor Lam instead of Carson.”
“They recognized you, John,” Elizabeth cuts in before Rodney can come up with a sufficiently indignant reply. “And if the other you were here, he would have been the one interrogating us, wouldn’t he?” At his nod, she continues, “Ronon and the oth-Doctor Weir came and spoke to each of us. Ronon asked the questions and probably gave his own recommendations.”
“You believe that Ronon is the head of the military contingent here?” Teyla inquires, somehow managing to phrase her query in a way that did not sound overly incredulous. Ronon still stares at her pointedly.
Elizabeth nods. “It’s possible. But right now, we just need to focus on getting out of here. That’s where you come in, Rodney.”
“Of course,” the Canadian said, rolling his eyes. “Yet again, it falls to me to save everyone!”
“The rest of us,” she continues, ignoring the scientist’s sarcasm, “are going to find out whatever we can. Something isn’t right in this city.”
No one argued with her and they went their separate ways, Rodney toward the labs to meet with the scientists, Teyla and Ronon toward the training rooms in the hopes of finding some marines who might be talkative. That left Elizabeth and John alone with their escorts. Slowly, they walk down the hall.
“The hologram room, maybe?” John suggests. “If they’re anything like us, the might also be keeping a record in there for the database.”
Elizabeth nods. “That’s what I had in mind,” she agrees.
As they move, their escorts close behind them, John says lowly, “She came to see me. The other you.”
She glances in his direction. “Really? What did she say?”
“Not much,” he admits. “I get the feeling that Rodney may be right. I made the comment that it would be entertaining to see two Rodney McKays trying to work together without tripping over each other’s egos, and she said that wasn’t what was happening.”
“I see. Well, maybe there are answers in the hologram room.”
The rest of their trip is spent in silence and when they arrive at their destination, their Marines do not stop them from entering the room, but take up stations outside every door leading out.
Elizabeth steps up to the console and glances at a few of the familiar controls. “I hope they haven’t deactivated it,” she murmurs. “It does draw an enormous amount of power if used too often.”
John leans over her shoulder. “We shouldn’t be using it for too long, so it won’t use up too much juice.”
She presses a few of the buttons and within a moment, a hologram appears. Elizabeth blinks. “Well,” she comments, “that’s different.” Instead of the image of Ganos Lal, as she had expected, before them both is a male figure, one she also recognizes. “It’s Moros,” she explains to John. “He later became Merlin on Earth.”
“A different hologram,” John says slowly. “A little difference.”
Elizabeth nods, and then speaks to the hologram, “Could you please tell us when humans came to Atlantis after it was abandoned beneath the ocean?”
“Approximately five-point-four-four years ago, Lantean standard time,” the hologram replies promptly. “The first human to enter the city was Colonel Marshall Sumner, now deceased.”
So Colonel Sumner is also dead in this reality, Elizabeth thinks sadly. She glances over at John, and decides not to pursue the exact circumstances of his demise. Instead, she instructs, “List the senior personnel of the Atlantis Expedition.”
“Doctor Elizabeth Weir, civilian leader, Doctor Radek Zelenka, chief scientist, Doctor Carolyn Lam, chief surgeon, and Ronon Dex, acting chief military officer,” it recites.
“Looks like you were right about Ronon,” John comments.
“It seems so,” she says. “Though it did say ‘acting’. It might not be permanent.” She taps a few more controls and prepares to ask more involved questions.
It is a cloudy day, which only adds to the faint chill in the air. Weir breathes deeply, not at all uncomfortable with the cool temperatures. She’s grown used to the cold, almost enjoys it sometimes.
“They’re in the hologram room,” Ronon says as he steps outside on the balcony. He stays right at the doorway and does not venture over to where Weir leans against the railing. This is a sacred place, under Weir’s purview alone.
“She wants to know more,” she murmurs. “I think she’s about to find out some things that she might not like.”
Ronon stares at her. “Do you want me to get them out?”
She doesn’t answer him at first, considering. Finally she shook her head. “She’s curious. It’s not often that you literally get to see what might have been.” She smiles thinly. “No doubt she’s discovering that some things are better left a mystery.”
Ronon doesn’t understand, but he does not ask for clarification. He just watches her for a moment before going back inside.
Part II
Author: angelqueen04
Summary: Mirrors are tricky things. They are windows to the soul, but what we see can easily become distorted.
Type/Pairings: Gen, with hefty doses of friendship all around
Main characters: Elizabeth Weir, John Sheppard, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan, Rodney McKay, Radek Zelenka, Peter Grodin, and brief appearances of various different SG-1 characters.
Rating: PG-13/slight R-ish at the end
Warnings: Mentions of character deaths, some torture
Spoilers: Vague Season 4 spoilers.
Beta: havocthecat
Author Notes: I started this story way back before Season 4 aired, even before we heard the news about the casting changes. So as things began to develop on the show, the timing for this story has been tweaked a little as well. As a final result, this is set in a fictional Season 5 time period where those casting changes have been undone. Plus, I finally got to play with an alternate reality and go a little crazy with it. *g*
Author Notes #2: I look up at the above note and shake my head at how much time has passed since I wrote it during the earlier incarnations of this story. Now the story is finished (three parts plus a small epilogue), after much laboring on my part, but more on havocthecat’s, since she did two rounds of betaing on it. This story’s a true labor of love, or maybe insanity. You be the judge.
When she looks in a mirror, she no longer recognizes herself. At least, she no longer sees the fresh-faced, optimistic woman who walked through the Stargate for the first time, determined to face down every challenge thrown her way. Instead, Doctor Elizabeth Weir sees a hard, cold creature.
Change is a constant in life, and it has not left her at all unscathed. She is willing to do what it takes to win, to ensure the survival of her people, and if she comes out of it covered in the blood of someone who gets in her way? No matter. If she has to capture a few Wraith children on which to experiment? No need to hesitate.
For ten thousand years, the Wraith have kept this galaxy under their thumb. They’ve had no one to challenge them. They have culled and killed relentlessly, as though doing so were their divine right. When Atlantis rose again from the ocean, they were challenged for the first time since the Ancients abandoned Pegasus. Now for every culling or murder, they feel the sting of retaliation. One sting is an annoyance, but thousands can bring down even the strongest beast.
Total war in the Pegasus galaxy. She often wonders, with some amusement, what Generals Grant and Sherman would have thought of that.
The bottom line is that she will see Atlantis and its inhabitants survive, and nothing will deter her. Earth learned that the hard way when they attempted to send a team on the Odyssey to wrench the city from her and her people. The ship barely managed to limp back to the Milky Way.
Weir doesn’t let herself dwell on her choices too often. It does no good to sit and fret over could-have-beens or maybes, but when literally faced with herself, she finds it difficult not to do just that.
She stares intently at the screen, watching her doppelganger inside the isolation room. She then looks at the other four screens. Rodney McKay. Teyla Emmagan. Ronon Dex. John Sheppard.
She flinches inwardly, but she is pleased to note that her hands do not tremble. She’s conquered that.
“Elizabeth?”
She turns silently and sees Carolyn Lam walking toward her, a small stack of folders in her hands. Her dark, normally expressive eyes are flat and emotionless, the picture of professionalism.
“Well?” Weir asks. “Do I need to open a wormhole to Earth and tell them I’m tossing their agents through again, and if they want them alive, they’d better open their iris?”
Carolyn smirks briefly, and then shakes her head. “As amusing as that would be to watch, not this time.” She looks down at the papers and then nods toward the five screens. “The DNA proves it. They are who they appear to be, even the other… you.”
Weir stares at them and murmurs, “An alternate reality?”
“It seems so,” Carolyn replies. “Rodney… Doctor McKay even made a fuss when I examined him. Kept demanding that he only trusted a Doctor Carson Beckett not to ‘use a leech on him.’” She shakes her head. “I was able to assure him that I had no intention of poisoning him, though it took some doing.”
Weir isn’t all that terribly surprised. It seems only fitting that, even across realities, some things remain the same. Rodney McKay’s aversion toward medical science is a pleasant enough start. Of course, even with that, she can still see the differences. His insistence on seeing Carson Beckett, one of the doctors who had turned down an invitation to join the expedition, was proof enough of just how different this Rodney is.
“I triple-checked the results,” Carolyn adds. “The samples we still have on file for the others matched up perfectly.”
A chill sweeps over her, and Elizabeth clenches her fists for a moment. She abruptly moves toward the door. Tapping her radio, she calls, “Weir to Ronon.”
“Go ahead.”
“Meet me in Isolation Room Two,” she orders. “It’s time we got some answers from our guests.”
“Copy that.”
Ronon says nothing as he watches Doctor Weir speak to the… whatever she is that looks like Teyla Emmagan. She told him that she was Teyla, but not their Teyla. This was Teyla Emmagan from an ‘alternate reality’, where things had turned out differently.
That’s obvious, actually. After all, this Teyla’s alive. So are McKay and Sheppard.
“Tell me again, Teyla, how did you come to be here?” Weir asks, her voice betraying no hint of whatever she might be feeling. Ronon’s curious to hear Teyla’s answer, and he listens, but he also watches Elizabeth.
He’s watched her for the past ten months, since Sheppard choked on his own blood and died right in front of her, just after watching McKay die in a puddle jumper explosion. Both of them died because of a foolish war begun by people on Earth who had no idea of what the expedition faced. She hadn’t taken either death well, and he’s since taken up what used to be Sheppard’s duty: protecting her from threats, even if the threat is herself.
She’s a far cry from the woman he met when Sheppard first brought him to the fabled city of the Ancestors. Ronon can’t remember the last time he saw her smile or laugh in a way that didn’t send chills down even his spine.
“Doctor McKay believes he can reactivate the portal if it has sufficient power.” Teyla’s last words break through his thoughts.
Weir stares at her. “So that is why you were on Hoff. You were hoping to find a power source.”
Teyla nods. “Yes. We were not certain how different this reality was from our own, but we did not think it had diverged so much that the Hoffans still existed as a people and were in a close alliance with you.”
Ronon listens to her words and wonders at them. The Hoffans are good allies. They’re determined to destroy the Wraith by whatever means possible, which is why he likes them. He’s read the early mission reports. There had been some minor friction between the Hoffans and the Lanteans over some experimentation with drugs on a Wraith, but after one trial of the drug on their people killed some of their most brilliant scientists, they had agreed to try another way with the help of the Lanteans, who counseled patience and more research before human trials. Were her experiences so different?
They have grown especially closer to them since breaking from Earth. Weir no longer hesitates to capture Wraith for them to experiment on. She even sometimes talks of capturing Michael again and sending him to the Hoffans. A kind of poetic justice, she once told him quietly, for what he did to Teyla. Ronon can’t agree more.
After several moments of tense silence, Weir says only, “Thank you, Teyla.” She then turns on her heel and leaves the room, not even pausing to glance at him. She knows he’ll follow.
He intends to, but not before Teyla catches his eye. She smiles at him, like his Teyla always did. He doesn’t smile back. He can’t - won’t - let himself get attached. Ronon’s come to know Weir enough to know that the moment she has a way to send these people to their home, she will.
Even if it’s only to avoid the stirrings of the remains of her own conscience.
Elizabeth has never liked the isolation rooms, and she likes them even less from the inside. She learned that when she was held by the Asurans. They’re cold, and they’re lacking in anything resembling privacy, which, she supposes, is the point.
Of course, she has also found little to like about this alternate Atlantis or its expedition members. There are so few faces she recognizes. Carson was not the one who examined her, instead it was Carolyn Lam, who is apparently not the CMO of the SGC, and would never in her dreams take a job where she had to work with her own father. Peter Grodin is still alive and in charge of the control tower, but with little of the wit and cheer that she had known before his death in her own reality.
John, Teyla, and Rodney are nowhere to be found. She hesitates to ask, because her other self does not appear to be a woman who invites questions. She won’t even let Elizabeth see her team.
This whole place bothers her. She could just kill Rodney for activating the portal before knowing what it was.
The door to the room hisses open, interrupting her thoughts. She stands up immediately from the corner of the cell, where she had wearily settled earlier, and faces the two people who enter the room. Ronon and the other Doctor Weir.
Seeing them stand side by side, Elizabeth is surprised to find that they resemble one another, in a strange, almost frightening way. Ronon looks much as she is used to seeing him, but Doctor Weir is different. Her other self is much shorter than the Satedan, and her hair is not at all wild or chaotic, but they both wear almost identical grim expressions that give away nothing. There’s a noticeable scar that runs down her cheek from the corner of her eye, following a tear’s path. Elizabeth wonders when the last time this fierce-looking woman has dared allow herself a luxury such as crying.
“You sought a power source on Hoff to use to re-power the portal, yes?” her other self asks without as much as a greeting.
Elizabeth blinks briefly, but then nods. “Yes,” she answers. “We had hoped to make it home without causing too much of a fuss--”
“Well, you failed,” her doppelganger cuts her off. “It nearly got you tossed through the Stargate back to Earth, where they would have likely refused to open up their iris.” The woman glares at her for a moment, but then shrugs. “No matter. I’ll have Zelenka and Simpson come up with something that you can use. They’re speaking with Doctor McKay even now.”
Elizabeth watches her turn, knows her intention is to leave as quickly as she came in, and cannot help but call out. “Wait! What about the rest of my team? Why won’t you let us out of here? We’re no threat to you or your people.”
Her other self turns and looks back at her. Elizabeth’s breath catches as the dim lighting makes the scar stand out even more on her pale face, along with her dark, harsh eyes. “Perhaps not,” she concedes, “but I have to consider the emotional welfare of my people. They don’t need to be confronted with the faces of those who are dead to them. The fewer that see the rest of your team, the better off we’ll all be.”
With that, she leaves. Elizabeth expects Ronon to follow, doesn’t expect him to say anything, as her Ronon probably wouldn’t have. But just before he steps through the door, he pauses to stare at her. “Don’t judge her,” he says. “You don’t know what she’s been through.” Then he too leaves, leaving her alone in the cool, dimly-lit isolation room.
“No no no!” Rodney shouts. “Is it possible for you to be even MORE incompetent in this reality than in mine?! How many times do I have to tell you, it doesn’t work like that!”
In truth, Rodney isn’t all that upset. He just wants to test the waters with this new Radek Zelenka and Fiona Simpson, to see just how they work and how different they are from the scientists he knows. Much to his surprise, they don’t even blink at his outburst. Are they used to it? Do they even care? Are these people Data-like androids in disguise?
He sighs. “Look,” Rodney says with deliberate slowness and not paying attention to the door opening, “this isn’t working. I can’t give you an accurate description in mere words. I need equipment to make you understand. I need my lab.”
“It’s not your lab, McKay.”
Rodney looks to the entrance and sees the other Ronon standing there, his expression… exactly like the Ronon he knows, really. The two don’t seem all that different, at least outwardly.
“Well, of course it isn’t, but you know what I mean,” he blusters. “My lab is waiting for me to come home, and that isn’t going to happen if you people insist on keeping me in here and letting the Fumble Twins here,” he gestures at the still-silent Zelenka and Simpson, “try to do what needs to be done without my help.” He straightens, trying to make himself seem just a bit taller than he actually is. “I need to get out of here.”
“Weir says you’re to stay.”
Rodney stares incredulously at Ronon, and then throws his hands up in frustration. “Well, then I guess I’ll be stuck in this depressing place full of pod people for a long, long time!”
Ronon doesn’t even bat an eye at his histrionics. Rodney considers stomping his foot in frustration, but opts against it. It never works with his own Ronon, so why would it work with an alternate version of him who isn’t all that different? Instead, he changes the subject. “So, can we negotiate about the food here? If I’m supposed to come up with something brilliant without all the information any other person would need, then I’ll need the brain food.”
“You get what everyone else in the city gets. Deal with it,” Ronon shoots back. He turns to the two scientists. “Did you find out anything new?”
“In between the ranting and shrieking, you mean?” Fiona asks wryly, speaking for what seems like the first time in nearly forty-five minutes. “Yes, I think so. Enough that we can work with for a while.”
“Good. Get to it.”
The two scientists nod silently and walk out the door, Ronon following them. Rodney stares after them in shock. Finally, he flops down on the floor. He wonders why his other self isn’t in here. If he could talk to him, then this might go better. He can communicate on the same level with him, and this could go so much faster with a less likely chance of him dying a painful, horrible death from Temporal Entropic Cascade Failure.
“This isn’t fair,” he mutters.
Weir stares at the door to Isolation Room Five. She’s dithering, and she knows it. She shouldn’t, not in front of the Marines guarding the door. It’s bad enough that she’s given them the job of guarding the person inside it; she shouldn’t show them that his presence bothers her as well.
Weir straightens her shoulders. This is ridiculous. She’s always been excellent at hiding her emotions. Even if this man’s other self always saw past the walls she built up around herself, that does not necessarily mean that he will as well, but then she recalls the scene in the Gate room when Major Lorne’s team brought them to Atlantis from Hoff. He was always careful to keep a close watch on her other self close, and had even fought back when she was taken away for examination by Carolyn and isolation afterwards.
Weir doubts theirs is just a professional relationship. They are friends, good friends, just like she and her John were. Before the IOA’s stupidity got him killed, that is.
She gives herself a little shake and steps toward the door determinedly. She’ll do what has to be done, no matter the cost to herself. That’s how it’s always been.
She enters the room and finds him sitting inside the cell, leaning casually against one of the corners of the cell’s confines. He looks up when he hears her come in and their eyes meet. His expression is clearly guarded, but Weir thinks she might have seen a flash of some sort of emotion in his green eyes just before the mask comes down.
“So,” he drawls, “do I get to take in the sights any time soon, or am I stuck in here for the rest of my stay?”
For a moment, Weir debates on whether or not to answer him. She’s already had this conversation with her other self, she has no desire to repeat it. Maybe she should have sent Ronon to deal with him and gone to check on Radek and Fiona herself.
“I’m keeping you here for the sake of my own people’s morale,” she says anyway. “Your Doctor McKay is assisting my scientists from his own cell.”
He snorts. “Two Rodneys. I’d almost pay money to see that.”
“I’m afraid not,” she answers. She intends to add that they no longer have Rodney McKay around to save their lives at least twice a month, but decides against it. It won’t change anything.
Why has she come here? She could have easily sent anyone to tell him that there were people working to get him and his team home, but no, she had to come herself. Why? Just to torment herself, to remind herself of what she has lost? She has better things to do, such as preparing herself to respond to Earth’s latest pathetic demands that she and her people surrender Atlantis immediately or risk bringing down the wrath of the U.S. government and its allies upon them. She could be checking up on their latest weapon against the Wraith, or asking for an update from the Hoffans about their newest biological agent. So much to do, so little time, and she came here.
Weir turns, intending to leave, when his voice rings out again, this time with none of the mocking that he has been using.
“Elizabeth.”
She stops, but she doesn’t turn. If she closes her eyes, she could almost make herself think that…
No. She has too much to do.
She leaves.
John watches her go.
He doesn’t know who she is. She is a stranger with Elizabeth’s face. He knew that when he first saw her in the Gate room. The Elizabeth he knows would never have so little compassion, so little light in her eyes.
John has read the SGC mission reports where SG-1 encountered alternate realities. Practically every single one of them involved a galaxy facing some sort of great apocalypse. Even though he has seen very little of the circumstances of this galaxy, he has a feeling that this is no exception. Something bad, very bad, is happening here.
He leans back against the cell enclosure. He’s demanded numerous times to see his team, and has been rejected each time. He would try and hotwire the cell to let him out, but John is fairly sure that they’re watching him for that. It’s probably why they split them up in the first place. Separating them makes them easier to watch in different places, plus it’s easier for them to get honest information. There’s no way for them to coordinate any lies between them. John knows he’d do the same thing in their place.
Nonetheless, he wants to know what’s going on. He wants to know if his team is all right, if Elizabeth is all right. They took her away first and he hasn’t seen her since. He likes to think the other Elizabeth wouldn’t harm her alternate self, but again, she is a stranger. He doesn’t really know what any of them will do.
John’s already managed to gather a little bit of intel just by watching how everyone around him operates. When they were first brought to Atlantis, Lorne clearly took orders from her, so that hasn’t changed. The lights were all on a low setting, indicating that they’re attempting to save power. Ronon stood right next to her when she came down from the control tower and the marines took orders from him without hesitation. Clearly, his position here is much more than just being a member of the primary team.
He wishes he knew more. He might need it if he’s going to get his team and himself out of here and there’s a fight. If he knows the right buttons to push, he might be able to distract them long enough for them to make their escape. But he doesn’t have enough information at the moment. Right now, John knows that these people, these strangers wearing the faces of friends, are a very cohesive unit and it will be difficult to get past them with what little knowledge he has.
So he waits and watches people come and go. Hopefully, an opportunity to get out of here will present itself.
Ronon leans against the wall of Weir’s office, watching her fingers fly over the keyboard. Though she has long ceased to write report after report for the I.O.A. and Stargate Command, he knows that she still keeps something of a log of events, if only for her own benefit.
“Maybe we should let them out,” he comments.
She does not pause in her typing, nor does she look up, but she does reply. “It’s better to keep them isolated from the rest of the base. The less they are seen, the better off we’ll all be. Less of a chance that people will get attached, only to be hurt again when they leave.”
It isn’t the first time she’s said that, and Ronon wonders if the reason why she keeps repeating it is to make herself believe it.
“The quicker we get them out of here, the better off we’ll be,” he corrects her. “And the quickest way to get them out of here is to let McKay help Zelenka and the others.” She does stop then, and he presses on. “Everyone already knows who you have locked up, the damage has been done. Can’t get any worse letting people see them.”
Weir sighs. She sounds frustrated, though whether with him or herself, Ronon’s not sure. There are still many times when she is a mystery to him, despite the fact that they’re far closer than they used to be.
“Fine,” she concedes. “Let them out, but each of them is to have two marines with them at all times. Rodney is permitted into the labs, but only with Zelenka supervising. They are to be kept out of all restricted areas - chair room, ZPM room, jumper bay, everything.”
Ronon nods and pushes off the wall. “No argument here.” He’s just about to leave, when she speaks again, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I won’t be judged, Ronon, least of all by another version of myself.”
He nods again and continues on his way out, but as he moves through the Control room he can’t help but wonder if her other self judging her will have that much of an impact. Ronon can’t imagine her taking that from anyone; she has learned to live with her decisions.
Time will tell.
Elizabeth is nearly asleep when the door opens. The marine, a young woman she doesn’t recognize, tells her she is free to leave the isolation room. Once she steps out, she quickly seeks out her team. It doesn’t take her long to find them and the five of them convene together in the deserted mess hall. Their marine escorts stand at all the exits, giving them at least some semblance of privacy.
“I think we’re dead,” Rodney says suddenly, glancing around almost warily.
Teyla stares at him in surprise. “What do you mean?” she asks.
“Think about it,” he replies. “We’ve seen the other Elizabeth numerous times, and the other Ronon’s rarely far away from her. But while I was in that cell, they sent Zelenka and Simpson to ask me about what kind of power source we needed. If they want to send us home fast, the best way would be to send the other me in to get it done. They didn’t.”
“So,” John says slowly, “that means you’re dead? How do you know that you’re just not here? They’ve got Doctor Lam instead of Carson.”
“They recognized you, John,” Elizabeth cuts in before Rodney can come up with a sufficiently indignant reply. “And if the other you were here, he would have been the one interrogating us, wouldn’t he?” At his nod, she continues, “Ronon and the oth-Doctor Weir came and spoke to each of us. Ronon asked the questions and probably gave his own recommendations.”
“You believe that Ronon is the head of the military contingent here?” Teyla inquires, somehow managing to phrase her query in a way that did not sound overly incredulous. Ronon still stares at her pointedly.
Elizabeth nods. “It’s possible. But right now, we just need to focus on getting out of here. That’s where you come in, Rodney.”
“Of course,” the Canadian said, rolling his eyes. “Yet again, it falls to me to save everyone!”
“The rest of us,” she continues, ignoring the scientist’s sarcasm, “are going to find out whatever we can. Something isn’t right in this city.”
No one argued with her and they went their separate ways, Rodney toward the labs to meet with the scientists, Teyla and Ronon toward the training rooms in the hopes of finding some marines who might be talkative. That left Elizabeth and John alone with their escorts. Slowly, they walk down the hall.
“The hologram room, maybe?” John suggests. “If they’re anything like us, the might also be keeping a record in there for the database.”
Elizabeth nods. “That’s what I had in mind,” she agrees.
As they move, their escorts close behind them, John says lowly, “She came to see me. The other you.”
She glances in his direction. “Really? What did she say?”
“Not much,” he admits. “I get the feeling that Rodney may be right. I made the comment that it would be entertaining to see two Rodney McKays trying to work together without tripping over each other’s egos, and she said that wasn’t what was happening.”
“I see. Well, maybe there are answers in the hologram room.”
The rest of their trip is spent in silence and when they arrive at their destination, their Marines do not stop them from entering the room, but take up stations outside every door leading out.
Elizabeth steps up to the console and glances at a few of the familiar controls. “I hope they haven’t deactivated it,” she murmurs. “It does draw an enormous amount of power if used too often.”
John leans over her shoulder. “We shouldn’t be using it for too long, so it won’t use up too much juice.”
She presses a few of the buttons and within a moment, a hologram appears. Elizabeth blinks. “Well,” she comments, “that’s different.” Instead of the image of Ganos Lal, as she had expected, before them both is a male figure, one she also recognizes. “It’s Moros,” she explains to John. “He later became Merlin on Earth.”
“A different hologram,” John says slowly. “A little difference.”
Elizabeth nods, and then speaks to the hologram, “Could you please tell us when humans came to Atlantis after it was abandoned beneath the ocean?”
“Approximately five-point-four-four years ago, Lantean standard time,” the hologram replies promptly. “The first human to enter the city was Colonel Marshall Sumner, now deceased.”
So Colonel Sumner is also dead in this reality, Elizabeth thinks sadly. She glances over at John, and decides not to pursue the exact circumstances of his demise. Instead, she instructs, “List the senior personnel of the Atlantis Expedition.”
“Doctor Elizabeth Weir, civilian leader, Doctor Radek Zelenka, chief scientist, Doctor Carolyn Lam, chief surgeon, and Ronon Dex, acting chief military officer,” it recites.
“Looks like you were right about Ronon,” John comments.
“It seems so,” she says. “Though it did say ‘acting’. It might not be permanent.” She taps a few more controls and prepares to ask more involved questions.
It is a cloudy day, which only adds to the faint chill in the air. Weir breathes deeply, not at all uncomfortable with the cool temperatures. She’s grown used to the cold, almost enjoys it sometimes.
“They’re in the hologram room,” Ronon says as he steps outside on the balcony. He stays right at the doorway and does not venture over to where Weir leans against the railing. This is a sacred place, under Weir’s purview alone.
“She wants to know more,” she murmurs. “I think she’s about to find out some things that she might not like.”
Ronon stares at her. “Do you want me to get them out?”
She doesn’t answer him at first, considering. Finally she shook her head. “She’s curious. It’s not often that you literally get to see what might have been.” She smiles thinly. “No doubt she’s discovering that some things are better left a mystery.”
Ronon doesn’t understand, but he does not ask for clarification. He just watches her for a moment before going back inside.
Part II