fic: Isn't Supposed to Be Chapter 4, part 2
Title: Isn't Supposed to Be
Pairing: John/Elizabeth
Rating: PG
Summary: When two teenagers show up in the gateroom and make an astonishing claim, John must risk everything to get them home, even if it means changing everything that he knows. Set in S5.
A.N: Thanks to God for letting me start writing again, and thanks to Him for the ability in the first place.
Chapter 4: Homesick, part 2
Emily was tired of being passed around like a plague-ridden marker in a relay race. Ever since they’d gotten here, she and Connor had been transferred from the watchful eye of one set of guards to the other, back and forth, here and there, only ever alone when locked inside their quarters. As they entered the apartment, Emily went straight to her room and flopped on the bed. Even their dad had shoved them off on somebody else as soon as he could. She rolled over onto her side, staring at the blank wall. What right did he have to get so angry, especially considering he’d outright asked to take charge of them? He could have carried on avoiding them, just like Connor said. Why bother talking to them if he didn’t want to hear about who they were?
The wall offered no answers, just a plain expanse of cool blue paint. The generic looking potted plant was equally unhelpful. Emily had never known she could hate a plant, but she was starting to despise that one. She tossed around until she was laying on her other side, her arms pillowed under her head as she looked out the window. The view hadn’t changed. A endless sheet of glass and metal filled the pane, a neighboring tower blocking out everything else. After the sunshine and openness of the veranda, the only sky she could see was what was reflected in the opposing building’s glass shell. It was the Atlantis equivalent of a hotel room looking out on a brick wall, like she’d seen in movies.
Falling on her stomach, she snatched at her pillow, buried her face in it and let out a shriek. She didn’t bother wishing that things would be different when she looked up, that these boring walls and uncomfortable bed would disappear and she’d be back in her own room. It hadn’t worked the first hundred times she’d tried it. Emily knew she should be grateful for these quarters - and she had been, really - but the sense of claustrophobia seemed to have followed her from the holding cell, sneaking up on her the longer they stayed, shrinking the walls around her until screaming and running began to seem the only bearable option. The trip outside had only made it worse by comparison.
Connor had been trying to make her laugh by telling the story, had been trying to engage their dad on any level at all beyond frigid awkwardness. And at the time, for her at least, it had worked. Between the fresh air and the annoyingly familiar tale, she had managed, for a few short moments, to forget. But now... She reached up and fingered a curl of hair, remembering her mother’s face when Elizabeth had given the order to cut it all off - equal parts horror, annoyance and relief. That eleven-year old Emily had found funny. Her dad had simply ruffled her hair and said she looked fine. Rachel had been as delightfully smug and condescending as usual, and Max’s entire response to the situation had been a shrug and a “So? At least you didn’t get stuck outside and freeze to death.” She smiled into her pillow at the memories, but the expression crumpled and faded as the longing rushed in after it. Words couldn’t express how desperately grateful she was that Connor was here with her, but it wasn’t enough. Not if they were going to be trapped here indefinitely. The walls were closing in now; what would be left of her in a month, two months, a year? What if they never fixed it at all? Like a broken record, the subsurfaces of her mind started
praying -pleading - in a constant loop. She needed the rest of her family, her friends, her home...
She pushed herself up on her elbows, the rush of air cool against the tears on her cheeks. Home... She sat up and swung her legs over the bed, biting at her lip. This could be a very bad idea. But if she timed it right, maybe she could... No. She’d promised Connor that she wouldn’t run off again. And to be honest, the thought of being hunted down and hauled back to a cell - not to mention a lecture from Woolsey - wasn’t exactly appealing. Still, the thought of asking a guard for something so personal rankled. She released the curl of hair she’d been pulling and sat straighter. So she wouldn’t ask a guard.
Waiting a ten count, Emily crept out her door and down the short hall. She peered around the corner into the living room but Connor was nowhere to be seen. Intrigue quickening her heartbeat, she tripped silently to the main door and opened it. The guard spun around and gave her a sharp look, hand on his weapon. Emily held up her hands.
“I’m not trying to leave, I promise. Look, can I use your radio? I want to talk to Teyla Emmagen. Is that alright?”
The guard’s eyes narrowed and he hesitated, as if searching his memory banks for orders regarding this situation. “I’ll make the call,” he said finally. Not taking his eyes off her, he reached for the radio secured in his vest pocket, tilting his head towards it as he spoke. “Ms. Emmagen? This is Sergeant Harris. One of our guests is asking to speak with you... The girl... No, it doesn’t look like an emergency...” He listened for another moment and turned back to Emily. “What do you want?”
“I, uh...” She licked at her suddenly dry lips. “I want her to take me somewhere. Somewhere in the city.”
Frowning, Harris relayed her answer and several agonizing moments passed as he listened to the reply. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and keyed off the radio. “She’ll stop by this afternoon. She’s busy right now.”
“Oh.” She calculated the hours that still stretched ahead of her and gave the guard a tight smile. “Thank you.” She stepped back inside and swiped the door closed, resting her forehead against the cool metal. What was she going to do until the afternoon? Besides slowly go insane. Pivoting around, back pressed against the door, her eyes swept across the room until they came to rest on the stack of books sitting on the coffee-table. An airman had brought them with yesterday’s lunch. Emily grabbed one of the books and rolled onto the couch. If she couldn’t leave her surroundings, at least she could try and ignore them for as long as possible.
-o-
The sky outside was turning orange as Emily lowered her book and glanced at her watch for the fifth time in the last hour. Afternoon was steadily turning into evening and Teyla still hadn’t come. Allowing her foot a twitch of impatience but resisting the impulse to get up and start pacing, Emily raised her book and tried to concentrate on the third-to-last chapter. The story was mediocre and somewhat boring, but under the circumstances she’d stuck with it. She read a page, moved to the next, realized she had no idea what had just happened, reread the previous page and dropped the book onto her chest with a groan. She pressed her palms against her forehead. It was no use; nothing was sticking anymore. Her head spun as she levered herself upright, muscles complaining from lying inactive for so long.
“You okay?” asked Connor. Her brother was sitting at the table in front of the window, doodling in the margins of a book.
“Yeah,” said Emily. The dizziness was fading now. She frowned at Connor. “What are you doing?” He had never been one to write in books and had lectured her as a kid for scribbling in her own.
“I’m writing a note to my future self.”
“You’re kidding.”
“‘Dear Connor,’” he read. “‘Do not go to MX9-563. Bad. Also, don’t play frisbee in Uncle Rodney’s lab on your seventh birthday. Worse.’”
Emily laughed. “You did not write that.”
“Yes, I did,” said Connor. “What’s the harm? I figure, if we never get born, then it’ll be an intriguing mystery for somebody, and if we do, then at least I’ll have done something useful while we’re here.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Say what?”
“That we’ll never get born.” She tossed her book on the coffee-table. “It’s creepy.”
“Well, so’s your face.” Connor looked at her out of the corner of his eye, a smirk fighting to emerge from beneath the innocent façade.
Lip curling, Emily rolled her eyes and propped her elbows on the back of the couch. “Paging Dr. Keller! We’ve discovered a new symptom of time travel to the past: age regression! From seventeen to five in just-”
The door chimed. Forgetting her brother, Emily jumped off the sofa and rushed to open it. It was about time! Teyla stood outside, wearing a soft blue top with bell sleeves, her toffee-colored hair smooth and feather-light around her shoulders.
“Good afternoon, Emily,” she said with a polite smile.
“Hi.” Emily frantically combed her hair with her fingers, suddenly conscious of her couch-potato state in the face of such neatness. She smiled at her honorary aunt and stepped past her into the hall. “I’m ready if you are.”
“Very well,” said Teyla, clearly startled at her abruptness. She pointed at the closing door. “Is your brother not joining us?”
“No.” Emily shook her head. “I wanted to be by myself for a while.” She gestured at Teyla. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Very well,” Teyla repeated in a somewhat befuddled fashion, nodding at the guard on duty as they moved down the hall. “I was somewhat surprised at your message earlier. The guards could not take you where you wished to go?”
“Oh...” said Emily, mood deflating as she looked at her feet. “I’m sorry. You’ve got lots of other things to do. If you don’t want to-”
“No, it is fine,” Teyla hastened to reassured her. “I simply wondered. I can understand the wish to see a more... familiar face.”
Emily heard the arch note in Teyla’s voice as she said ‘familiar’ and briefly returned the older woman’s smile.
“Definitely,” Emily agreed. “The guards are just doing their jobs, but that job is to put other people at ease, not me.” She rubbed at her arms. “And more than that: after this morning, I needed to see a friendly face, not just a familiar one.” She caught Teyla’s questioning glance and Emily’s mouth twitched wryly. “We ran into Dad - I mean, Colonel Sheppard - on our way outside. Out of nowhere, he just dismissed our guard and started walking with us.”
“Did he?” Teyla raised an eyebrow, her face taking on a thoughtful look.
“I know. I was surprised too. Glad mostly, but surprised. I thought it might be a sign of a turn around, like now that you’ve found some proof that we’ve been telling the truth, he might warm up to us some.” She let out a bitter puff of a laugh. “No such luck. It was going fine and then-” Emily snapped her fingers and sliced a hand through the air. “Square one.”
“I am sorry,” said Teyla. “I know it would be easier for you if Colonel Sheppard were more open. But you must try to understand-”
“I know he’s not going to act like we’re used to, and I don’t expect that,” Emily interrupted, heading off the lecture. “Not totally. I just would have thought... I don’t know.” She frowned. “Well, look at you! You’re different, but you’re still basically...” She threw up her hands. “You.”
“And Colonel Sheppard is not?”
“No.” Her face fell further. “He’s not.”
Emily wanted to explain in more detail, to vent to someone who wasn’t her brother, to see if anyone else had noticed the off-ness lurking in John’s eyes, but Teyla didn’t press any further. They walked in silence for a time until Teyla smiled and said:
“Tell me: what was it like growing up in Atlantis?”
Flashing back uncomfortably to Woolsey’s interrogation, Emily gave Teyla a searching glance, but she seemed genuinely interested. “It’s hard to say,” said Emily, shrugging as she thought. “It’s home; it’s always seemed normal to me. There were lots of places we weren’t allowed to go until we got old enough, which was really annoying - I probably got in trouble for sneaking around more than anything else. Lots of science; technobabble is like a second language.” She smirked, her mood lifting as she sorted through her memories for what to share. “Trips off-world to ally planets on special occasions, especially New Athos...”
“So there are still close ties, then, between my people and Atlantis?” Teyla asked.
Emily smiled at her eagerness. “Yeah. You and Uncle Kanaan and Torren and Cha-” Emily swallowed the last word as she realized what she was saying. It wouldn’t do to give too much away. Teyla gave her a sharp questioning look, but Emily ignored it. “I mean, you guys are like a big extended family.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Teyla, though a flare of curiosity still burned in her eyes and Emily knew she had stored away the half-spoken name in her mind to ponder over later. “And Torren... he is well then?”
“Torren’s fine.” She smiled reassuringly then looked at the walls and muttered under her breath: “In multiple senses of the word.” With his honey-gold skin, sweep of dusky hair and keen brown eyes, nearly half the girls on New Athos were in love with him. Atlantis too, she thought with a smirk, picturing Rachel McKay’s awkward blushing.
Emily felt her own cheeks darken when she turned back and saw the look in her aunt’s eyes. Clearly the woman had excellent hearing. Desperate to avoid any comments, Emily rapidly changed the subject and began asking questions about the away team’s last mission, hoping for details that Uncle Rodney might have left out. Teyla didn’t have much to add, but unlike Rodney, she reported things clearly and succinctly, which left Emily feeling much more knowledgeable than she had that morning.
They stepped into the transporter and, as Emily automatically reached for the screen to choose their destination, she realized Teyla had been letting her lead the way the entire time.
“You haven’t even asked me where we’re going,” Emily said, staring at the other woman.
“You seemed certain of the direction and less than eager to talk about it. I simply decided to, as they say ‘go along for the ride.’”
“You trust me that much?”
“Would I be here if I did not?”
“I don’t know,” Emily said as they exited the closet-like space and merged into the traffic that still bustled through the main thoroughfare of the central tower. “If I tried anything, you could probably take me down in about two seconds, so it’s not all that much of a gamble.”
Teyla laughed, shaking her head. “It is so strange,” she said, quiet astonishment in her voice.
“What?”
“It is nothing.”
“Come on, tell me. Please?”
Teyla hesitated, studying Emily before she answered with a faint wondering smile. “I look at you and I see Elizabeth, but then you speak and I hear John Sheppard’s words coming out of your mouth.”
Emily looked at her hands, mouth lifting in a small smile. “I’ve heard that before.” Nearly everyone she’d ever met had said something similar at one point or another. As a little girl, nothing had made her happier. She’d look up at her dad and beam with pleasure at the thought of being just like him - brave, kind, funny, smart, and able to do anything and everything. But with one footstep - from one side of that turquoise puddle to the other - that man had disappeared. The steady foundation on which she’d settled her life was now a stranger, harder and more reserved. Her father had been her mirror and, for the first time, she didn’t see herself looking back. She felt a sneaking sense of relief that her mother wasn’t here to suffer by comparison and then hated herself, horrified, for thinking it. If it meant having her mom around, subtly yet drastically altered, or not having her here at all, Emily knew what she would choose; she’d rather have a damaged ballast than go spinning through the storm without one.
“Forgive me,” said Teyla, cutting into her reverie with concern. “I did not mean to upset you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Emily, shaking herself and waving Teyla off. Glancing around to regain her bearings, Emily veered off and led them down an empty hallway. The sounds of everyday life faded the further they went, until, several more corridors and a flight of stairs later, it became nonexistent, swallowed by the still quiet of abandonment that thickened the air. This part of the tower was dark and unused. The weight of the hush pressed on Emily’s throat, but the need to dispel it shoved back just as powerfully.
“Why don’t any personnel live here?” Emily asked, tightening her arms around her chest. Dim light fixtures awakened in their presence, blurring the metallic slabs of doorways with deeper shadows. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought it was a different part of the city altogether.
“These quarters were considered too large, and so far the expedition’s numbers have stayed small enough to make them unneeded. We believe they were designed for...ah.” Teyla trailed off, seeming to come to a realization.
“Families,” finished Emily. They rounded the last corner and she stopped three feet away from a door, unable to make herself move closer. “Yeah, they were.”
Emily stared at the door to her family’s apartment, wondering how it could look so familiar and yet so coldly alien at the same time. She almost turned around; maybe this was a bad idea. What was she expecting anyway? Yet the sight of home stirred up all her earlier craving and so, taking a deep breath through her nose and exhaling slowly through her mouth, Emily stepped up to the control panel and held out her hand. The door slid open and she walked inside, Teyla following.
Only faint accent lights worked themselves up to a glow as Emily stepped into the center of the room, leaving only the dim rays of a fading sunset to lessen the shadows. It seemed impossible that only four days before she had hurried excitedly through these rooms, getting ready to go on her first mission. Strange cloth-draped shapes were spaced about the floor in odd places, concealing furniture that Emily could already tell she wouldn’t recognize. The walls were bare of anything except the typical Atlantean panel decor - no photos, paintings or drawings. No eclectic pottery or stacks of books littered the tables, no surfboard or set of guitars propped in the corner. Nothing to give any hint of the family that called this place home.
“I will wait outside,” said Teyla softly.
Emily didn’t respond and the door hissed shut as the other woman left. Emily’s lips drew into a thin line as she pivoted on her heel. The shape of the room nudged at her brain, the familiar outline clicking into place, but that was all. Slowly, she walked through the other rooms in the apartment, one arm glued across her ribs and the other hand hooked around the back of her neck. Everywhere she went, more of the same: dark and empty spaces, full of shadows and devoid of life. The apartment had an almost clinical ghostliness to it. Emily’s stomach twisted as she realized that these rooms had probably been unoccupied for over ten thousand years, ever since the Ancients abandoned the city. The thought made her head spin. According to Woolsey, the expedition had only been here for five years; there was so much that they hadn’t accomplished yet, so much they hadn’t discovered...
She shuffled down a short hall, glanced into what should have been Connor’s room, turned and studied the door that she’d saved for last. Gathering her courage, Emily swiped her hand across the panel and stepped into her bedroom. The emptiness here was somehow worse than the rest of the apartment. Her eyebrows furrowed and her chest grew tight. It felt like she had died and someone had come along and thrown out everything she had ever owned. In her mind she saw the things that weren’t there: the photos and decorations, the turquoise quilt and the carved knick-knacks, the books and gym bag and the chest stuffed with her childhood toys. It was like uncaring hands had wiped away everything she was and had been. Like she didn’t even exist at all.
Emily blinked fiercely, even though no tears were coming, and tried to stop her mind from going any farther down that track. Her eyes roamed the bedroom. That kind of thinking was pointless and- Her gaze fixed on the bed that stood in the corner and something snapped, an illogical rush of anger burning away all other feelings. She strode across the room and ripped the dust cover off of the bed. ‘No,’ she thought grimly. ‘Something is going to be like it should.’ Wedging herself between the bed and the wall, she gripped the metallic frame and began pushing. The bed groaned in protest at such rough treatment after ten thousand years of peace, but Emily ignored it. She threw her weight against the bed, planting her feet against the wall and then the floor as she fought for every inch of movement. She couldn’t fix the laboratory on the planet, she couldn’t fix her parents, but she would fix this. All her fear and rage funneled onto the bed, blacking out everything else. The metal legs scraped against the floor, loud and high-pitched enough that she normally would have cringed, but the noise didn’t even register.
Teyla’s voice echoed from the living room. “Emily? Is everything alright?” A few moments, the sound of footsteps progressing up the hall, and the Athosian stepped into the room. “Emily?”
The concern and confusion in her aunt’s voice broke through Emily’s fury; her legs turned to water and she collapsed against the mattress. The bed had scarcely moved. Breathing heavily, she raked a swath of hair out of her face and met Teyla’s eyes, embarrassed, apologetic and oh-so lost. “I just wanted something to be the way it was,” she said quietly.
Brown eyes softening, Teyla crossed the room and silently gestured for Emily to move over. Getting into position, Teyla nodded and, together, they shoved the bed the few feet into place. Emily staggered upright, back twinging in protest, and dropped onto the bed, foreign with its hard Ancient mattress. It didn’t even dip as Teyla sat down beside her, tucking back a displaced strand of honey-brown hair.
“This is your room?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Emily nodded, looking at her hands. “I’m sorry I dragged you all the way here. I thought coming here would be comforting.” She shook her head at her own foolishness. “Instead I just made it worse. Pretty stupid, huh?”
Teyla didn’t speak for several long moments. “Stability is something that has eluded my people for many generations.” She spoke slowly, seeming to gather her thoughts as she went. “We keep no permanent settlements, and our ties with each other, though strong, live in constant danger of being severed. Yet we endure. Do you know why?” She laid a gentle hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Because everything that makes us Athosian - our traditions and beliefs, the legacy we pass on to our children... all of that remains. The essence of who we are as a people cannot be altered, though all might change around us.”
The kindness in Teyla’s eyes made Emily’s sting, and she looked out the window at the achingly familiar arrangement of towers. The city was bathed in the last rays of sunlight, the towers glowing subtly gold. Soon the artificial lights would wink into existence and the city would turn into a glittering jewel against the darkness of night, just as she’d always known it. A measure of peace crept into her heart.
“Thank you,” said Emily, smiling gratefully as Teyla gave her shoulder a squeeze. Releasing it, Teyla turned her head and they watched the sunset kaleidoscope into evening. As the first lights began to shine through the dusk, Teyla stood and said that it was time to go. Emily nodded acquiescence and didn’t protest. She stood and, with one last glance out the window, followed her aunt from the room. Apparently there had been comfort to be found after all, Emily thought with relief. Yet despite Teyla’s words, a niggling doubt worried at Emily’s mind. If the essence of a person was supposed to stay the same... what had happened to her dad?
-o-
The next week passed slowly. Emily read all of the books on the coffee table and had to start over. She didn’t tell Connor, but one evening she swiped his pen and scribbled her own note in the margins: ‘Emily L. Sheppard was here,’ written in English and Ancient. Childish, she knew, but it felt appropriate. They’d given Connor a notepad and he spent his time sketching whenever he wasn’t reading. He didn’t share his drawings with her, but once Emily had snuck a glance over his shoulder and seen attempted portraits of their family and friends, a large one of their mother at the center, the words ‘just in case’ scribbled along the bottom of the page. The sight had shaken her more than she’d dare admit, not only as a visible proof of her brother’s doubt and fear, but because of the horrible idea that those sketches might eventually be their only link to those people. She made a mental note that, if they did get home, she would start carrying photos with her on every trip off-world.
Their father stayed away, to no surprise, though Teyla stopped in to visit twice. She didn’t mention the trip to the Sheppard’s quarters, for which Emily was grateful. Connor would have accused her of making a scene and she didn’t want to hear it. Sergeant Harris or one of the other guards took them on their daily walks. Emily didn’t know whether she felt more like a convict or a dog. As promised, Woolsey kept them up to date on the progress on Planet Ring-Lake, as Emily had taken to calling it. As promised, it was slow work. There had been a glimmer of hope when Dr. Zelenka had managed to restore a trickle of power to one of the main consoles, but that hope was smashed when the circuits overloaded and fried the crystal. Emily had no difficulty imagining the string of Czech curses that had doubtless blued the air. In those few seconds of power, Uncle Rodney had managed to pry some fragments of data from the complex’s archive, but only enough to tantalize and frustrate him. He’d found oblique references to planetary orbits and incomplete charts of solar patterns, but nothing concrete enough to be of real use.
Now it was Friday, and in a rare treat, Connor and Emily were being allowed to eat a meal outside of their quarters. Uncle Rodney had been scheduled to give them an update, and rather than delay a meal, as Woolsey’s appointment time dictated, Rodney had declared the meeting be moved to the mess hall.
Emily smiled into her pudding. The mess hall was bright, airy and humming with conversation and activity. Not even the guards at her back, the dated looking furniture or the quizzical stares of those around them could detract from the joy of being there. Not even the excessively detailed chatter coming from Uncle Rodney. Poor Connor was trying his best to listen and ask questions, but she could see him struggle to stay focused. He hadn’t yet mastered their mother’s ability to get Rodney McKay to stop talking; Emily privately thought that only the most skilled diplomats could manage such a feat without resorting to persuasion of a citrus-y variety. She tucked the observation away to craft into a joke to share with her dad later - over the years she and Connor had gotten pretty good at joining their father in lemon flavored one-liners and fake threats - but her smile faltered as she remembered. She jabbed her spoon into her pudding. If they were going to be stuck here, she wished she could just go ahead and get used to the idea. This constant forgetting and the bitter jolt of recall that followed was exhausting and she was getting thoroughly sick of it.
“...speculate that the power source is actually tied into the conduits for the main line. If that’s the case, then-”
“Um, Rodney?” Emily interrupted. He’d given them permission to call him by just his first name, but it still sounded weird coming out of her mouth. “I think you’ve already told us about the power conduits.” Connor cast her a grateful look.
“I have?” said Rodney.
“The day before yesterday. You said if that was the case, then it’s going to be one giant mess trying to isolate the necessary connections.”
“Oh...” Rodney took a bite of his food. “I guess I did,” he said, talking around a mouthful of blue jello. “But did I-?”
The shrill peal of a distant alarm cut off whatever he had been about to say.
“What’s that for?” Connor asked worriedly.
“I don’t know,” said Rodney, reaching for his earpiece. “But knowing this place? Nothing good.”
Back to Chap. 4, part 1
Pairing: John/Elizabeth
Rating: PG
Summary: When two teenagers show up in the gateroom and make an astonishing claim, John must risk everything to get them home, even if it means changing everything that he knows. Set in S5.
A.N: Thanks to God for letting me start writing again, and thanks to Him for the ability in the first place.
Chapter 4: Homesick, part 2
Emily was tired of being passed around like a plague-ridden marker in a relay race. Ever since they’d gotten here, she and Connor had been transferred from the watchful eye of one set of guards to the other, back and forth, here and there, only ever alone when locked inside their quarters. As they entered the apartment, Emily went straight to her room and flopped on the bed. Even their dad had shoved them off on somebody else as soon as he could. She rolled over onto her side, staring at the blank wall. What right did he have to get so angry, especially considering he’d outright asked to take charge of them? He could have carried on avoiding them, just like Connor said. Why bother talking to them if he didn’t want to hear about who they were?
The wall offered no answers, just a plain expanse of cool blue paint. The generic looking potted plant was equally unhelpful. Emily had never known she could hate a plant, but she was starting to despise that one. She tossed around until she was laying on her other side, her arms pillowed under her head as she looked out the window. The view hadn’t changed. A endless sheet of glass and metal filled the pane, a neighboring tower blocking out everything else. After the sunshine and openness of the veranda, the only sky she could see was what was reflected in the opposing building’s glass shell. It was the Atlantis equivalent of a hotel room looking out on a brick wall, like she’d seen in movies.
Falling on her stomach, she snatched at her pillow, buried her face in it and let out a shriek. She didn’t bother wishing that things would be different when she looked up, that these boring walls and uncomfortable bed would disappear and she’d be back in her own room. It hadn’t worked the first hundred times she’d tried it. Emily knew she should be grateful for these quarters - and she had been, really - but the sense of claustrophobia seemed to have followed her from the holding cell, sneaking up on her the longer they stayed, shrinking the walls around her until screaming and running began to seem the only bearable option. The trip outside had only made it worse by comparison.
Connor had been trying to make her laugh by telling the story, had been trying to engage their dad on any level at all beyond frigid awkwardness. And at the time, for her at least, it had worked. Between the fresh air and the annoyingly familiar tale, she had managed, for a few short moments, to forget. But now... She reached up and fingered a curl of hair, remembering her mother’s face when Elizabeth had given the order to cut it all off - equal parts horror, annoyance and relief. That eleven-year old Emily had found funny. Her dad had simply ruffled her hair and said she looked fine. Rachel had been as delightfully smug and condescending as usual, and Max’s entire response to the situation had been a shrug and a “So? At least you didn’t get stuck outside and freeze to death.” She smiled into her pillow at the memories, but the expression crumpled and faded as the longing rushed in after it. Words couldn’t express how desperately grateful she was that Connor was here with her, but it wasn’t enough. Not if they were going to be trapped here indefinitely. The walls were closing in now; what would be left of her in a month, two months, a year? What if they never fixed it at all? Like a broken record, the subsurfaces of her mind started
praying -pleading - in a constant loop. She needed the rest of her family, her friends, her home...
She pushed herself up on her elbows, the rush of air cool against the tears on her cheeks. Home... She sat up and swung her legs over the bed, biting at her lip. This could be a very bad idea. But if she timed it right, maybe she could... No. She’d promised Connor that she wouldn’t run off again. And to be honest, the thought of being hunted down and hauled back to a cell - not to mention a lecture from Woolsey - wasn’t exactly appealing. Still, the thought of asking a guard for something so personal rankled. She released the curl of hair she’d been pulling and sat straighter. So she wouldn’t ask a guard.
Waiting a ten count, Emily crept out her door and down the short hall. She peered around the corner into the living room but Connor was nowhere to be seen. Intrigue quickening her heartbeat, she tripped silently to the main door and opened it. The guard spun around and gave her a sharp look, hand on his weapon. Emily held up her hands.
“I’m not trying to leave, I promise. Look, can I use your radio? I want to talk to Teyla Emmagen. Is that alright?”
The guard’s eyes narrowed and he hesitated, as if searching his memory banks for orders regarding this situation. “I’ll make the call,” he said finally. Not taking his eyes off her, he reached for the radio secured in his vest pocket, tilting his head towards it as he spoke. “Ms. Emmagen? This is Sergeant Harris. One of our guests is asking to speak with you... The girl... No, it doesn’t look like an emergency...” He listened for another moment and turned back to Emily. “What do you want?”
“I, uh...” She licked at her suddenly dry lips. “I want her to take me somewhere. Somewhere in the city.”
Frowning, Harris relayed her answer and several agonizing moments passed as he listened to the reply. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and keyed off the radio. “She’ll stop by this afternoon. She’s busy right now.”
“Oh.” She calculated the hours that still stretched ahead of her and gave the guard a tight smile. “Thank you.” She stepped back inside and swiped the door closed, resting her forehead against the cool metal. What was she going to do until the afternoon? Besides slowly go insane. Pivoting around, back pressed against the door, her eyes swept across the room until they came to rest on the stack of books sitting on the coffee-table. An airman had brought them with yesterday’s lunch. Emily grabbed one of the books and rolled onto the couch. If she couldn’t leave her surroundings, at least she could try and ignore them for as long as possible.
-o-
The sky outside was turning orange as Emily lowered her book and glanced at her watch for the fifth time in the last hour. Afternoon was steadily turning into evening and Teyla still hadn’t come. Allowing her foot a twitch of impatience but resisting the impulse to get up and start pacing, Emily raised her book and tried to concentrate on the third-to-last chapter. The story was mediocre and somewhat boring, but under the circumstances she’d stuck with it. She read a page, moved to the next, realized she had no idea what had just happened, reread the previous page and dropped the book onto her chest with a groan. She pressed her palms against her forehead. It was no use; nothing was sticking anymore. Her head spun as she levered herself upright, muscles complaining from lying inactive for so long.
“You okay?” asked Connor. Her brother was sitting at the table in front of the window, doodling in the margins of a book.
“Yeah,” said Emily. The dizziness was fading now. She frowned at Connor. “What are you doing?” He had never been one to write in books and had lectured her as a kid for scribbling in her own.
“I’m writing a note to my future self.”
“You’re kidding.”
“‘Dear Connor,’” he read. “‘Do not go to MX9-563. Bad. Also, don’t play frisbee in Uncle Rodney’s lab on your seventh birthday. Worse.’”
Emily laughed. “You did not write that.”
“Yes, I did,” said Connor. “What’s the harm? I figure, if we never get born, then it’ll be an intriguing mystery for somebody, and if we do, then at least I’ll have done something useful while we’re here.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Say what?”
“That we’ll never get born.” She tossed her book on the coffee-table. “It’s creepy.”
“Well, so’s your face.” Connor looked at her out of the corner of his eye, a smirk fighting to emerge from beneath the innocent façade.
Lip curling, Emily rolled her eyes and propped her elbows on the back of the couch. “Paging Dr. Keller! We’ve discovered a new symptom of time travel to the past: age regression! From seventeen to five in just-”
The door chimed. Forgetting her brother, Emily jumped off the sofa and rushed to open it. It was about time! Teyla stood outside, wearing a soft blue top with bell sleeves, her toffee-colored hair smooth and feather-light around her shoulders.
“Good afternoon, Emily,” she said with a polite smile.
“Hi.” Emily frantically combed her hair with her fingers, suddenly conscious of her couch-potato state in the face of such neatness. She smiled at her honorary aunt and stepped past her into the hall. “I’m ready if you are.”
“Very well,” said Teyla, clearly startled at her abruptness. She pointed at the closing door. “Is your brother not joining us?”
“No.” Emily shook her head. “I wanted to be by myself for a while.” She gestured at Teyla. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Very well,” Teyla repeated in a somewhat befuddled fashion, nodding at the guard on duty as they moved down the hall. “I was somewhat surprised at your message earlier. The guards could not take you where you wished to go?”
“Oh...” said Emily, mood deflating as she looked at her feet. “I’m sorry. You’ve got lots of other things to do. If you don’t want to-”
“No, it is fine,” Teyla hastened to reassured her. “I simply wondered. I can understand the wish to see a more... familiar face.”
Emily heard the arch note in Teyla’s voice as she said ‘familiar’ and briefly returned the older woman’s smile.
“Definitely,” Emily agreed. “The guards are just doing their jobs, but that job is to put other people at ease, not me.” She rubbed at her arms. “And more than that: after this morning, I needed to see a friendly face, not just a familiar one.” She caught Teyla’s questioning glance and Emily’s mouth twitched wryly. “We ran into Dad - I mean, Colonel Sheppard - on our way outside. Out of nowhere, he just dismissed our guard and started walking with us.”
“Did he?” Teyla raised an eyebrow, her face taking on a thoughtful look.
“I know. I was surprised too. Glad mostly, but surprised. I thought it might be a sign of a turn around, like now that you’ve found some proof that we’ve been telling the truth, he might warm up to us some.” She let out a bitter puff of a laugh. “No such luck. It was going fine and then-” Emily snapped her fingers and sliced a hand through the air. “Square one.”
“I am sorry,” said Teyla. “I know it would be easier for you if Colonel Sheppard were more open. But you must try to understand-”
“I know he’s not going to act like we’re used to, and I don’t expect that,” Emily interrupted, heading off the lecture. “Not totally. I just would have thought... I don’t know.” She frowned. “Well, look at you! You’re different, but you’re still basically...” She threw up her hands. “You.”
“And Colonel Sheppard is not?”
“No.” Her face fell further. “He’s not.”
Emily wanted to explain in more detail, to vent to someone who wasn’t her brother, to see if anyone else had noticed the off-ness lurking in John’s eyes, but Teyla didn’t press any further. They walked in silence for a time until Teyla smiled and said:
“Tell me: what was it like growing up in Atlantis?”
Flashing back uncomfortably to Woolsey’s interrogation, Emily gave Teyla a searching glance, but she seemed genuinely interested. “It’s hard to say,” said Emily, shrugging as she thought. “It’s home; it’s always seemed normal to me. There were lots of places we weren’t allowed to go until we got old enough, which was really annoying - I probably got in trouble for sneaking around more than anything else. Lots of science; technobabble is like a second language.” She smirked, her mood lifting as she sorted through her memories for what to share. “Trips off-world to ally planets on special occasions, especially New Athos...”
“So there are still close ties, then, between my people and Atlantis?” Teyla asked.
Emily smiled at her eagerness. “Yeah. You and Uncle Kanaan and Torren and Cha-” Emily swallowed the last word as she realized what she was saying. It wouldn’t do to give too much away. Teyla gave her a sharp questioning look, but Emily ignored it. “I mean, you guys are like a big extended family.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Teyla, though a flare of curiosity still burned in her eyes and Emily knew she had stored away the half-spoken name in her mind to ponder over later. “And Torren... he is well then?”
“Torren’s fine.” She smiled reassuringly then looked at the walls and muttered under her breath: “In multiple senses of the word.” With his honey-gold skin, sweep of dusky hair and keen brown eyes, nearly half the girls on New Athos were in love with him. Atlantis too, she thought with a smirk, picturing Rachel McKay’s awkward blushing.
Emily felt her own cheeks darken when she turned back and saw the look in her aunt’s eyes. Clearly the woman had excellent hearing. Desperate to avoid any comments, Emily rapidly changed the subject and began asking questions about the away team’s last mission, hoping for details that Uncle Rodney might have left out. Teyla didn’t have much to add, but unlike Rodney, she reported things clearly and succinctly, which left Emily feeling much more knowledgeable than she had that morning.
They stepped into the transporter and, as Emily automatically reached for the screen to choose their destination, she realized Teyla had been letting her lead the way the entire time.
“You haven’t even asked me where we’re going,” Emily said, staring at the other woman.
“You seemed certain of the direction and less than eager to talk about it. I simply decided to, as they say ‘go along for the ride.’”
“You trust me that much?”
“Would I be here if I did not?”
“I don’t know,” Emily said as they exited the closet-like space and merged into the traffic that still bustled through the main thoroughfare of the central tower. “If I tried anything, you could probably take me down in about two seconds, so it’s not all that much of a gamble.”
Teyla laughed, shaking her head. “It is so strange,” she said, quiet astonishment in her voice.
“What?”
“It is nothing.”
“Come on, tell me. Please?”
Teyla hesitated, studying Emily before she answered with a faint wondering smile. “I look at you and I see Elizabeth, but then you speak and I hear John Sheppard’s words coming out of your mouth.”
Emily looked at her hands, mouth lifting in a small smile. “I’ve heard that before.” Nearly everyone she’d ever met had said something similar at one point or another. As a little girl, nothing had made her happier. She’d look up at her dad and beam with pleasure at the thought of being just like him - brave, kind, funny, smart, and able to do anything and everything. But with one footstep - from one side of that turquoise puddle to the other - that man had disappeared. The steady foundation on which she’d settled her life was now a stranger, harder and more reserved. Her father had been her mirror and, for the first time, she didn’t see herself looking back. She felt a sneaking sense of relief that her mother wasn’t here to suffer by comparison and then hated herself, horrified, for thinking it. If it meant having her mom around, subtly yet drastically altered, or not having her here at all, Emily knew what she would choose; she’d rather have a damaged ballast than go spinning through the storm without one.
“Forgive me,” said Teyla, cutting into her reverie with concern. “I did not mean to upset you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Emily, shaking herself and waving Teyla off. Glancing around to regain her bearings, Emily veered off and led them down an empty hallway. The sounds of everyday life faded the further they went, until, several more corridors and a flight of stairs later, it became nonexistent, swallowed by the still quiet of abandonment that thickened the air. This part of the tower was dark and unused. The weight of the hush pressed on Emily’s throat, but the need to dispel it shoved back just as powerfully.
“Why don’t any personnel live here?” Emily asked, tightening her arms around her chest. Dim light fixtures awakened in their presence, blurring the metallic slabs of doorways with deeper shadows. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought it was a different part of the city altogether.
“These quarters were considered too large, and so far the expedition’s numbers have stayed small enough to make them unneeded. We believe they were designed for...ah.” Teyla trailed off, seeming to come to a realization.
“Families,” finished Emily. They rounded the last corner and she stopped three feet away from a door, unable to make herself move closer. “Yeah, they were.”
Emily stared at the door to her family’s apartment, wondering how it could look so familiar and yet so coldly alien at the same time. She almost turned around; maybe this was a bad idea. What was she expecting anyway? Yet the sight of home stirred up all her earlier craving and so, taking a deep breath through her nose and exhaling slowly through her mouth, Emily stepped up to the control panel and held out her hand. The door slid open and she walked inside, Teyla following.
Only faint accent lights worked themselves up to a glow as Emily stepped into the center of the room, leaving only the dim rays of a fading sunset to lessen the shadows. It seemed impossible that only four days before she had hurried excitedly through these rooms, getting ready to go on her first mission. Strange cloth-draped shapes were spaced about the floor in odd places, concealing furniture that Emily could already tell she wouldn’t recognize. The walls were bare of anything except the typical Atlantean panel decor - no photos, paintings or drawings. No eclectic pottery or stacks of books littered the tables, no surfboard or set of guitars propped in the corner. Nothing to give any hint of the family that called this place home.
“I will wait outside,” said Teyla softly.
Emily didn’t respond and the door hissed shut as the other woman left. Emily’s lips drew into a thin line as she pivoted on her heel. The shape of the room nudged at her brain, the familiar outline clicking into place, but that was all. Slowly, she walked through the other rooms in the apartment, one arm glued across her ribs and the other hand hooked around the back of her neck. Everywhere she went, more of the same: dark and empty spaces, full of shadows and devoid of life. The apartment had an almost clinical ghostliness to it. Emily’s stomach twisted as she realized that these rooms had probably been unoccupied for over ten thousand years, ever since the Ancients abandoned the city. The thought made her head spin. According to Woolsey, the expedition had only been here for five years; there was so much that they hadn’t accomplished yet, so much they hadn’t discovered...
She shuffled down a short hall, glanced into what should have been Connor’s room, turned and studied the door that she’d saved for last. Gathering her courage, Emily swiped her hand across the panel and stepped into her bedroom. The emptiness here was somehow worse than the rest of the apartment. Her eyebrows furrowed and her chest grew tight. It felt like she had died and someone had come along and thrown out everything she had ever owned. In her mind she saw the things that weren’t there: the photos and decorations, the turquoise quilt and the carved knick-knacks, the books and gym bag and the chest stuffed with her childhood toys. It was like uncaring hands had wiped away everything she was and had been. Like she didn’t even exist at all.
Emily blinked fiercely, even though no tears were coming, and tried to stop her mind from going any farther down that track. Her eyes roamed the bedroom. That kind of thinking was pointless and- Her gaze fixed on the bed that stood in the corner and something snapped, an illogical rush of anger burning away all other feelings. She strode across the room and ripped the dust cover off of the bed. ‘No,’ she thought grimly. ‘Something is going to be like it should.’ Wedging herself between the bed and the wall, she gripped the metallic frame and began pushing. The bed groaned in protest at such rough treatment after ten thousand years of peace, but Emily ignored it. She threw her weight against the bed, planting her feet against the wall and then the floor as she fought for every inch of movement. She couldn’t fix the laboratory on the planet, she couldn’t fix her parents, but she would fix this. All her fear and rage funneled onto the bed, blacking out everything else. The metal legs scraped against the floor, loud and high-pitched enough that she normally would have cringed, but the noise didn’t even register.
Teyla’s voice echoed from the living room. “Emily? Is everything alright?” A few moments, the sound of footsteps progressing up the hall, and the Athosian stepped into the room. “Emily?”
The concern and confusion in her aunt’s voice broke through Emily’s fury; her legs turned to water and she collapsed against the mattress. The bed had scarcely moved. Breathing heavily, she raked a swath of hair out of her face and met Teyla’s eyes, embarrassed, apologetic and oh-so lost. “I just wanted something to be the way it was,” she said quietly.
Brown eyes softening, Teyla crossed the room and silently gestured for Emily to move over. Getting into position, Teyla nodded and, together, they shoved the bed the few feet into place. Emily staggered upright, back twinging in protest, and dropped onto the bed, foreign with its hard Ancient mattress. It didn’t even dip as Teyla sat down beside her, tucking back a displaced strand of honey-brown hair.
“This is your room?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Emily nodded, looking at her hands. “I’m sorry I dragged you all the way here. I thought coming here would be comforting.” She shook her head at her own foolishness. “Instead I just made it worse. Pretty stupid, huh?”
Teyla didn’t speak for several long moments. “Stability is something that has eluded my people for many generations.” She spoke slowly, seeming to gather her thoughts as she went. “We keep no permanent settlements, and our ties with each other, though strong, live in constant danger of being severed. Yet we endure. Do you know why?” She laid a gentle hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Because everything that makes us Athosian - our traditions and beliefs, the legacy we pass on to our children... all of that remains. The essence of who we are as a people cannot be altered, though all might change around us.”
The kindness in Teyla’s eyes made Emily’s sting, and she looked out the window at the achingly familiar arrangement of towers. The city was bathed in the last rays of sunlight, the towers glowing subtly gold. Soon the artificial lights would wink into existence and the city would turn into a glittering jewel against the darkness of night, just as she’d always known it. A measure of peace crept into her heart.
“Thank you,” said Emily, smiling gratefully as Teyla gave her shoulder a squeeze. Releasing it, Teyla turned her head and they watched the sunset kaleidoscope into evening. As the first lights began to shine through the dusk, Teyla stood and said that it was time to go. Emily nodded acquiescence and didn’t protest. She stood and, with one last glance out the window, followed her aunt from the room. Apparently there had been comfort to be found after all, Emily thought with relief. Yet despite Teyla’s words, a niggling doubt worried at Emily’s mind. If the essence of a person was supposed to stay the same... what had happened to her dad?
-o-
The next week passed slowly. Emily read all of the books on the coffee table and had to start over. She didn’t tell Connor, but one evening she swiped his pen and scribbled her own note in the margins: ‘Emily L. Sheppard was here,’ written in English and Ancient. Childish, she knew, but it felt appropriate. They’d given Connor a notepad and he spent his time sketching whenever he wasn’t reading. He didn’t share his drawings with her, but once Emily had snuck a glance over his shoulder and seen attempted portraits of their family and friends, a large one of their mother at the center, the words ‘just in case’ scribbled along the bottom of the page. The sight had shaken her more than she’d dare admit, not only as a visible proof of her brother’s doubt and fear, but because of the horrible idea that those sketches might eventually be their only link to those people. She made a mental note that, if they did get home, she would start carrying photos with her on every trip off-world.
Their father stayed away, to no surprise, though Teyla stopped in to visit twice. She didn’t mention the trip to the Sheppard’s quarters, for which Emily was grateful. Connor would have accused her of making a scene and she didn’t want to hear it. Sergeant Harris or one of the other guards took them on their daily walks. Emily didn’t know whether she felt more like a convict or a dog. As promised, Woolsey kept them up to date on the progress on Planet Ring-Lake, as Emily had taken to calling it. As promised, it was slow work. There had been a glimmer of hope when Dr. Zelenka had managed to restore a trickle of power to one of the main consoles, but that hope was smashed when the circuits overloaded and fried the crystal. Emily had no difficulty imagining the string of Czech curses that had doubtless blued the air. In those few seconds of power, Uncle Rodney had managed to pry some fragments of data from the complex’s archive, but only enough to tantalize and frustrate him. He’d found oblique references to planetary orbits and incomplete charts of solar patterns, but nothing concrete enough to be of real use.
Now it was Friday, and in a rare treat, Connor and Emily were being allowed to eat a meal outside of their quarters. Uncle Rodney had been scheduled to give them an update, and rather than delay a meal, as Woolsey’s appointment time dictated, Rodney had declared the meeting be moved to the mess hall.
Emily smiled into her pudding. The mess hall was bright, airy and humming with conversation and activity. Not even the guards at her back, the dated looking furniture or the quizzical stares of those around them could detract from the joy of being there. Not even the excessively detailed chatter coming from Uncle Rodney. Poor Connor was trying his best to listen and ask questions, but she could see him struggle to stay focused. He hadn’t yet mastered their mother’s ability to get Rodney McKay to stop talking; Emily privately thought that only the most skilled diplomats could manage such a feat without resorting to persuasion of a citrus-y variety. She tucked the observation away to craft into a joke to share with her dad later - over the years she and Connor had gotten pretty good at joining their father in lemon flavored one-liners and fake threats - but her smile faltered as she remembered. She jabbed her spoon into her pudding. If they were going to be stuck here, she wished she could just go ahead and get used to the idea. This constant forgetting and the bitter jolt of recall that followed was exhausting and she was getting thoroughly sick of it.
“...speculate that the power source is actually tied into the conduits for the main line. If that’s the case, then-”
“Um, Rodney?” Emily interrupted. He’d given them permission to call him by just his first name, but it still sounded weird coming out of her mouth. “I think you’ve already told us about the power conduits.” Connor cast her a grateful look.
“I have?” said Rodney.
“The day before yesterday. You said if that was the case, then it’s going to be one giant mess trying to isolate the necessary connections.”
“Oh...” Rodney took a bite of his food. “I guess I did,” he said, talking around a mouthful of blue jello. “But did I-?”
The shrill peal of a distant alarm cut off whatever he had been about to say.
“What’s that for?” Connor asked worriedly.
“I don’t know,” said Rodney, reaching for his earpiece. “But knowing this place? Nothing good.”
Back to Chap. 4, part 1