"Home is Where the Heart Is" (2/6)

[kristen999]

Title: "Home is Where the Heart Is" (2/6)
Authors: everybetty and kristen999
Word Count: 55,000-
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Some violence and a couple f-bombs
Genre: Gen. Drama, Action, H/C
Characters: Sheppard, McKay, Ronon, Teyla, Todd, various SG-1 members and OCs.
Summary: Atlantis is back on Earth; things should be quiet and boring, light years away from Pegasus. While trying to find a place in this new life, John struggles with politics, a pending promotion… oh, and a deadly conspiracy that threatens the lives of everyone on Earth. Again. John POV, Post-EATG.


Notes: This was written for susnn for her very generous donation to help_haiti.



“Previous Chapters”






-------------------

John was a patient man to a degree; every pilot had rocket fuel in their veins and it simmered and boiled during pre-mission briefings, pre-flight checks, post mission briefings, post mission reports, while updating maintenance logs—-no wonder everything else had to 'go very fast'. Bureaucracy ran like rivers in business, government, check-out lines, you name it, and that doubled when it came to leaving and returning to secret underground bases. Parking his car, going through security, and waiting on the elevator down knocked hours off his life. It also agitated the gerbil that raced on the wheel inside his head about the reason why Woolsey wanted to see him.

Woolsey wasn't in John's chain of command anymore and the man's position in regards to Atlantis had been as shifty as a politician during an election year. He popped in and out of the Mountain while racking up miles between D.C, Munich, Beijing and the rest of the globe. John's meal from the diner was a lead weight in his belly and slowed down his step toward the temporary offices used by visiting officials.

Except Woolsey was waiting for him as he stepped out of the elevator, his shiny expensive Rimowa attaché case under his arm. “Colonel, thank you for coming so quickly,” he greeted.

John mused on Woolsey's definition of quickly. “Of course.”

Woolsey cleared his throat, looking John in the eye, his usual sense of cool faltering slightly. “I wanted to speak to you before the scheduled meeting.”

“Scheduled meeting?”

“Yes, well. The one that's been on the books for those who don't feel the need to share with the rest of us.”

John wondered if this was the shoe he'd been anticipating for a while and folded his hands behind his back. “And the nature of this meeting?”

“To facilitate the ongoing debate about Atlantis' future. The Defense Secretary feels a liaison between the Pentagon and the IOA could help evaluate the pros and cons of the Atlantis situation and present a report along with your own to the review board.”

“A liaison?” Just what they needed--- another person's opinion in the matter.

“Yes, a neutral party who hasn't been influenced by either side,” Woolsey explained like he'd memorized a memo. “This representative was promoted from Homeland to Homeworld Security to avoid bias.”

John raised an eyebrow at that. Everyone had a bias. “So, a bunch of bureaucrats who don't know the difference between a Wraith and an Asgard sent someone who's just been read-in on the Stargate program, to write another opinion to toss on the pile?”

“In order for the President of the United States to make an informed decision on which way to vote on the matter, he wants a wide range of opinions, including those in and outside the influence of the military and the IOA. I happen to think it's a wise decision.”

“Alight, let's go meet this liaison.”

Woolsey started walking and John strode next to him. “Just so you know, I was only aware of this meeting after I left D.C. this morning.”

This raised a gigantic red flag inside John's head, but he knew the game well enough not to show his true colors, followed his former boss into a small office next to General Landry's, plastering on a smile for their visitor.

“Ms. Beauchamp, Richard Woolsey.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Woolsey.”

John's ears twitched as his head whipped around. He knew that voice.

Woolsey stepped out of the way, revealing a familiar petite woman. “I believe you already know Colonel Sheppard.”

His ex-wife stepped over, a nervous smile on her face. “Hello, John.”

“Nancy?”

Woolsey cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “I have some notes to go over before the meeting. Ms Beauchamp, may I rejoin you in a bit?”

“Of course, Mr Woolsey,” Nancy replied smoothly, her eyes never leaving John’s. “I think a little catching up of my own is in order.”

The bureaucrat nodded shortly and left the two of them alone in the tiny office.

John’s head swam with a million different things he wanted to ask her. Her sudden presence in the world he’d always had to keep from her had completely blindsided him. As he felt his lips starting to form about three different sentences, all variations of how and why and how, she took another step forward and broke eye contact, looked down.

“I’m sorry this had to be kept from you, John.”

The words were a familiar echo to those he’d rehearsed in his head, all those years ago. Every time a mission swept him off in the middle of the night, only a note left on the dresser, or an emergency call had taken him from a dinner party, his only goodbye a raised phone and a rueful smile across a crowded room. So many times on his return to a cold dinner wrapped in the fridge or a note of his own saying she was staying with her sister for the night, he had wanted to say, ‘I’m sorry this had to be kept from you.’

Before he could begin to formulate a reply she was stepping over, hesitantly at first, then putting her arms around him, rising on her toes to press her cheek into his neck. She wore the same perfume. He hugged back, his arms finding their same comfortable place around her slim form.

“Funny how these things work out, huh?” she murmured into his ear.

“Yeah,” he finally managed to reply. “Who knew two galaxies could be such a small world.”

She laughed warmly in his ear, pulled back but dropped her hands into his for a brief squeeze, looked up at his face. “You look good, John.”

“Yeah, you too.” And she did. Aside from the small smile lines at her eyes, she had hardly changed from their married days. “Gotta admit, I didn’t think we’d see each other again so soon.”

Nancy nodded and rolled her eyes a little. “Actually, I think it was the poking around that I did for you that got me noticed.”

John started at that, his eyes growing wider.

She laughed. “No, it’s okay, I swear. I like to think that my stellar work with Homeland Security helped, too.”

“I’m sure it did,” John said, returning her smile. “You always were pretty damn sharp. Smarter than me, that’s for sure.”

She punched him lightly on the arm and his grin broadened. Then he cast his eyes about the closet cum office. “This place is about as cozy as a jail cell. You have a few minutes to go someplace with a little more space and a little less fluorescent lighting?”

She glanced at the thin gold watch on her wrist and nodded. “Absolutely. As long as our new space has a coffee pot.”

They found a corner of a mostly empty break room, pulled up plastic chairs on either side of a chipped brown formica-topped table. John took his time, blowing lightly over the top of his black coffee as she added two sugars and a dash of half and half. She pulled the end of the plastic stir stick through her lips to clean it off, the action achingly familiar after all this time.

“So,” he finally ventured. “Homeworld Security a little different?”

“Just a little,” she scoffed. Then she sobered, pierced him with a serious look. “My boss could only tell me that I was being considered for a promotion…. I’m honestly not even sure he knew what it was for. I had to sign piles of forms, non-disclosure agreements, authorizations for them to do deep background checks. They downloaded every email I’d ever sent, logged every phone call. I even had to take a physical where they put me through this really odd glowy MRI CAT scan thing…”

John nodded at the image. How many times had he been under one of those damn scanners?

“Then they had me take an hours long polygraph. It was… more invasive than the physical. And all of this without knowing why.”

“I’m assuming you have a better grasp on why now?”

She smiled tightly. Looked around and seemed to realize she could speak more freely where they were. “Still haven’t wrapped my head around the whole snake alien controlling your body thing.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty jumpy about that around here,” was all John commented.

“I get that. Anyway… the polygraph - they seemed a little obsessed with our marriage, brief as it was,” she added softly. “They kept asking me what I knew of what you’d been doing all those years… seems they couldn’t really believe you’d never spilled any of your secrets.”

John chewed his lip and worked over that for a moment, trying to get a take on whether that was a good thing or not. He sighed. “Sounds like my being a - what did you call me? A ‘one man Fortress of Solitude’ was the right choice,” he finally replied.

Nancy paused and seemed to do a little pondering of her own. Then she nodded. “I guess you’re right.”

It was only then that John’s eyes flicked down to where her left hand was playing with the stir stick. Huh. Still no wedding band. He wanted to ask about Grant - or was it Graham? but decided it was up to her to bring it up.

“Anyway,” she continued, pulling in her left hand as if she sensed him looking at it, “by the time they pulled me in for what they said would be another round of ’interviewing’ I was fit to be tied. I went in there, all wound up, ready to start swinging…”

John laughed at that, remembered her temper well. “You can take the girl outa Texas… Please tell me you didn’t…”

“No, no. No, but I was fixing to.” She smiled broadly. “My daddy mighta had a daughter but he raised a son who could fight. I stomped in, planted my hands on my hips and stared down the only man in the room. His face was rock hard, stern, and he just eyed me right back. Then he stuck out his hand, introduced himself as General Landry and welcomed me to HomeWorld Security. I almost didn’t catch the change in title I was so riled up.”

“Oh, man.” John shook his head in disbelief. He looked around briefly then whispered, “Landry is a real hard ass.”

“Oh, no he’s not,” Nancy replied with a wave of her hand. “He’s a teddy bear once you get to know him.”

John just stared at the description. “If you say so… think you know a completely different man than I do…”

“I’m sure I probably do. You military guys are good at wearing different faces.”

Ouch. He just nodded noncommittally.

“It was a whirlwind after that,” she continued smoothly. “I remember a guy coming in after a while, his arms filled with a projector and a box of files. He fumbled with the stuff, setting it up, sorting out the folders… just your garden variety professorial type. Little did I know it would be my first meeting with the famous Dr. Daniel Jackson.”

John quirked an eyebrow. “Famous?”

“Oh, yes. He figured out how the chevrons worked on the gate. And he found Atlantis and single-handedly figured out how to dial the gate there, and then he solved the problem of the ninth chevron… John, do you know he’s been Ascended? Twice!”

John felt his eyes start to roll and then he caught her grin. “So I hear,” he said dryly. “You know, I almost--“ He closed his mouth, suddenly aware of what he was about to tell her. A heartbeat later he realized he no longer had to keep so many secrets from her. This was gonna be weird.

“You sound like a veteran,” he commented. “Gates and chevrons… and Atlantis. So. You know about her.”

“Her.” Nancy smirked and sat back, folded her arms. “Yeah, I know about the other woman, John. But I haven’t gotten to meet her. Yet.”

“She’s beautiful,” John replied, not a trace of self-consciousness. “And I can’t wait for you to see the city. If I can get some time away, maybe I could take you on a tour?”

“I’d like that,” Nancy said. Then she was quiet and John realized he had a million things he wanted to tell her - everything he had had to keep quiet about for all those years. But where to start?

“Well, hello!”

John turned to see Rodney entering the break room, empty extra large coffee mug in hand. The physicist had clearly been making a beeline for the coffee machine, only to pull up short on seeing the two of them. John raised a hand in greeting and Rodney stuck a finger up at him, rushed over to the pot and dumped half of it into his massive mug. A sloppy spill of creamer and a small stream of sugar later, Rodney dropped a stir stick in and made his way over to their table.

He took a sip of coffee, grimaced. “Gah! The coffee in here is terrible!”

“You knew that, McKay… why are you getting it from here and not your office?”

“They took my Krups.”

“Come again?”

“They took my…” as if finally realizing there was a beautiful woman seated with them at the table he paused and gazed appreciatively at Nancy. He reassessed his statement and smiled disingenuously at her. “My mischievous friends in the lab thought it would be great fun to appropriate my coffeemaker - I’m sure they’re just hiding it. All in good fun. You know I love a good laugh. Who’s this?”

John sighed. “Dr Rodney McKay, this is Nancy Beauchamp of HomeWorld Security…”

Rodney’s eyes were already rolling as he looked away with scorn.

“…and she also happens to be my ex-wife.”

That was worth the wait. Rodney’s eyes bugged before he broke into a genuine smile, held out his hand and pumped hers with vigor. “Wow, so Sheppard really had an actual Earth woman at one time.”

“Rodney!” John spluttered.

“Oh, please.” He waved John off, his eyes only for Nancy. “Didn’t Kirk have an ex-wife named Nancy too?”

“No, that was Dr. McCoy,” Nancy answered without hesitation.

Rodney’s eyes lit up with glee. “How did you let this one go, Sheppard?”

“I didn’t,” John said shortly. “What are you doing here, Rodney?”

His friend continued to gaze with open admiration at Nancy and gave him only an offhand reply. “Told you. They have me back here working on a new place for -- Wait.” He turned and looked at John. “Did you say HomeWORLD?”

“I did.”

“So I can--?”

“You can,” John said with a nod.

“Cool.” Rodney went back to working his charms on John’s ex-wife. “I’m working on finding a new place for Atlantis, which believe you me is quite the task. A city the size of Manhattan displaces a LOT of water. And then there’s the cloaking and shipping lanes and environmental issues…”

“I was to understand they were thinking of sinking Atlantis someplace,” Nancy said hesitantly. “I mean, if she stays here,” she quickly added at John’s scowl.

“Yeah, if,” John grunted. He was saved from further discussion by the vibration of his cellphone. He thumbed it on, looked at the ID. Lorne. The text message was brief but had his blood boiling.

“Son of a bitch.”

“What’s wrong, John?”

He waved a hand at Nancy, but his stayed eyes pinned to the message. “Nothing.”

“Ah,” Rodney scoffed. “A famous John Sheppard ‘nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine, by the way something’s going to blow up and kill us all in five minutes’.”

John cast him a death glare then looked up to see Nancy’s brow knit with concern. “It really is nothing, this time,” he sighed. “Just a … an issue. With a certain guest of ours,” he added with a meaningful look at Rodney.

Who clearly either didn’t get or didn’t care about the meaning. “Oh, you mean Todd?”

John just fumed for a second, then bit back, “Yes, Rodney. With Todd.”

“What’s he bellyaching about now?”

“Dunno,” John said as he put away his phone. “But this time Lorne seems to think it really does require my attention. My immediate attention.” He shrugged in apology to Nancy. “Sorry I gotta cut the visit short. Not the first time you’ve heard ‘duty calls’ though, right,” he chuckled bitterly.

He expected a light derisive snort or at least a smile. But Nancy’s eyes were widening. With curiosity… Crap.

“Todd… that’s ……” She lowered her voice unnecessarily. “He’s a Wraith, isn’t he?”

Double crap. It appeared she’d been completely read-in. John wondered for the first time how powerful a position she’d been given.

“Yes,” he sighed, daggering another glare at Rodney. “Currently occupying a guest suite here on base til we figure out what the hell to do with him.”

Nancy’s eyebrows lifted. “A guest suite?”

“More like a titanium-barred and force field-surrounded prison cell,” John grunted.

“Word is he finds his accommodations… less than accommodating,” Rodney observed.

“Like I give a -- crap,” John muttered.

“Apparently you have to,” Rodney pointed out with a finger thrust at John’s phone.

“Are you going to see him?” Nancy asked, a touch of almost creepy awe in her voice.

“Lorne wouldn’t bother me with this if I didn’t have to,” John allowed. “I’m really sorry about cutting the visit short,” he tried again. But he’d seen that look before.

“Let me come,” she blurted out. “I promise to stay completely out of the way and--”

John cut her off with a shake of his head. “No.”

Her hopeful look quickly turned hard. Yep. Seen that look before, too.

“If I am to make decisions - world-altering decisions - based on the threat his race plays here and in Pegasus, I think it appropriate to see a representative of that race. And my understanding is that for my first face-to-face encounter, this Todd would be the ideal choice. He’s worked with the SGC --”

“He’s seized our ships and taken my people hostage!”

“But ultimately, you have found him to be an ally at times, isn’t that correct?” Nancy continued smoothly.

“At times,” Rodney piped in in a slightly strangled voice. “Other times… not so much.”

“He’s not an ally, he’s a prisoner!” John yelled, standing and pushing his chair back in a single, abrupt motion. “We don’t ally with Wraith. We kill them.” Wow. Channeling Ronon, John? “Or… in this case, keep them prisoner,” he added in a slightly chastened voice. “You’re not ’meeting’ him, Nancy. End of subject.”

The appraising look she gave him had him again wondering just how deeply she’d been read-in. She chewed a lip, appeared to consider a rejoinder. Then she relaxed back into her chair. “Okay, John. Since there’s an issue you need to address, maybe this isn’t the ideal time.”

“Don’t count on there being an ideal time,” John muttered back. He sighed as he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket again. “I gotta go. I’ll get a Marine to take you back to Woolsey--”

“Oh, I’m sure Dr. McKay can take care of me… if you wouldn’t mind, Doctor?”

The physicist blushed and grinned. “Not at all. Call me Rodney. Say, you know, it’s not as entertaining as watching Sheppard bantering with Todd but there are a few cool things I could show you.”

John got up and left the break room, fuming already at having to deal with a situation he’d been working damn hard at avoiding. Behind him he heard Rodney pouring on his odd brand of charm.

“We even have this invisibility ray -- wait. What level clearance do you have again?”

-----

Having a chit-chat with Todd was on the bottom of his list of fun things, below root canals and prostate exams. Goading and verbal sparring aside, interacting with the Wraith was a strategic mental game. It required a variation to the facade he used in negotiations, smooth talking an enemy while secretly plotting how to double cross him. Black jack, poker, chess. Aerial dog-fights. It was all about mastering the bluff.

Todd didn't intimidate him—John just couldn't stand sharing the same air with the Wraith. It had nothing to do with flashbacks of a certain Genii prison, or those nights woken up in a cold sweat, hands pushing down his t-shirt to search for fresh wounds on his chest. Nor did it have anything to do with the countless times Todd had stripped John's control away by holding all the cards during one of their stand-offs.

Maybe though, just maybe, it had more to do with John's twisted sense of loyalty toward his adversary for upholding a bargain. And that inkling of respect that never went away, no matter how hard he tried to vanquish it.

Scribbling his signature in the visitor log, he waited on the guards on duty to enter the key code and escort him toward the stockade. Another pair of Marines was stationed inside; one approached him as the door was locked behind John.

“Sir,” the Marine saluted.

Glancing at the last name stamped on his collar, John nodded. “Sergeant Garrison, I hear your visitor has been a bit unruly.”

Garrison was a burly one, short and squat, with the hands of a mason, a tattoo peeking out from the rolled sleeve on his left arm. “You could say that, sir. He refused to stand up and go to his daily debriefing session two days ago and was belligerent toward Sims and King yesterday morning.”

“Was force used?”

“No, he hasn't even moved from his sitting position on the floor. He did threaten to bite anyone's fingers off that got near him. And today is when he started demanding to see you. Every. Five. Minutes,” Garrison sighed, clearly irritated.

“John Sheppard! I will speak to John Sheppard!” came Todd's deep, broken voice.

“Every five minutes, huh?”

“For the last eight hours.” Garrison waved a finger at his head. “Stuffed cotton in my ears to muffle the noise, but it cuts right through. Unfortunately.”

“Sorry about that. I wasn't aware the situation had escalated so quickly,” John apologized.

“Well, the doc's been worried about his physical state since he hasn't...well, you know,” Garrison schooled his face. Neither of these men had ever seen the results of a feeding; only training videos and case files. “Hasn't eaten anything in the last week.”

John grimaced. Todd's diet had been a highly debated subject when they'd first arrived, but his nutritional requirements had become someone else's problem. He walked over toward the other guard, but the Marine never took his eyes of their prisoner; his face looked chiseled from a block of stone, all sharp angles and a square jaw. His head was freshly shaved, no doubt with a razor, no clippers for this warrior. The rest of his six-foot two frame was a model for Bo-Flex and John smiled to himself for finding Ronon's next sparring partners.

He walked over and the young corporal's posture went ramrod stiff. “Sir.”

“Everything all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

The corporal's gaze snapped back toward the twenty-by-twenty cell.

“I'm going to have a little talk with our guest here. Corporal....”

“Martinez, sir.” The walking giant stalked toward the bars, verifying Todd was out of reach of the doors, barking, “You will remain where you are. Do not move!”

Garrison was next to John, zat out as Martinez opened the door, left hand resting on his weapon.

John walked inside calmly, arms loosely crossed in front of him, ignoring the nagging feeling in his gut to be on alert. But outward appearances were part of the game. “I've heard you wanted to speak to the manager about your accommodations.”

There was a cot to sleep on, bolted to the floor, along with a small steel toilet and sink. There was even a beanbag chair to sit on - John's idea. They'd given him a child's desk made of soft plastic and paper and markers to write with. But nothing that could be fashioned into a weapon.

Todd didn't stir; he sat tailor style on the floor, elbows perched on his knees, his gaze blankly straight ahead. Standing spitting distance away, John noticed the unpleasant odor of an unwashed body and he wrinkled his nose. Garrison and Martinez flanked John, both men wound pretty tight, Martinez the most, his finger a bit too eager on the trigger.

“I'll take it from here,” John nodded at the door.

Neither man budged, both stepping in front of him when his name was suddenly bellowed. John pushed past their protective positions and stared at Todd screaming nonsensically, as if unaware the object of his demands was right in front of him.

“Hey! I'm here, no need waking the neighbors.”

Todd's voice died mid-rant, reality returning to his dull eyes. “Awwww, you have finally granted my request.”

“More like a landlord's visit about a rowdy tenant. You've been breaking the noise ordinance.”

With a quirk of gray dry lips, Todd gave his best sneer. “Maybe you have forgotten what it's like to be held at the mercy of others.” With a growl, he sprung to his feet, chains jerking his arms taut, cutting short their reach.

John stood his ground, hands on the shoulders of the guards, trying to block any attack. “Easy, fellas. That was Wraith for hello.”

Todd was poised in a low crouch, and despite an unhealthy sheen to his skin and a slight tremble in his limbs, he could still probably pounce on John before anyone got off a shot. As if reading his thoughts, Todd gave a raspy chuckle and backed off, relaxing his muscles. “Your guards may leave us. If I wanted you dead, I would not require my feeding hand.”

“Go on,” John ordered his escorts. “It's not like I haven't killed a Wraith before,” he grinned, hand moving to the butt of his .45. “I'm even kinda good at it.”

Todd gave a snarl of amusement. “Easy to say when you have the upper hand.”

“Don't plan on giving that away anytime soon.” John cocked his head to the side at the guards, who quietly obeyed his command to leave. Giving his full attention to Todd, he laced his tone with annoyance. “I know time can get lost down here, but I don't have a lot of it.” With a flick of his wrist, he tapped his watch. “You have two minutes.”

Growling, Todd stood straighter, the gray coveralls he'd been forced to wear slightly baggier around his frame than the last time John had seen him. “In the past, we have always found a way to find a common ground for discussion. I do not understand why this is not the case anymore.”

“If you haven't noticed, we're not in Pegasus anymore. You're what we call an enemy combatant.”

“A fancy word for prisoner.”

“Potato, potahto,” John shrugged. “One minute left.”

“The food source your people have provided me is inadequate for my needs.”

“I've seen the area they keep the livestock. Cows, goats, deer. Many would call that a four-star menu of choices.”

“Your scientists know very well that such food is...unsatisfying.”

“I'm sure it provides your calorie requirement just fine. I've had plenty of MRE's. You’ll get used to yours.” John turned to leave and Todd cut him off, prompting the antsy guards to draw their weapons. John held out his hand, freezing their actions, despite how Todd loomed over him.

“You found a way to feed me before,” Todd whispered in his ear.

“Different circumstances,” John growled, getting in Todd's face. “We don't need you that badly.”

“But don't you?” Todd dipped his head down, whisps of hair brushing against John's shirt. “You need me more than you ever have. Your people have no idea what the Wraith are planning now that there is nothing to distract their pursuits. Do you really think that Earth is safe? How long before another advanced Hive is constructed while you waste your time, waiting to be slaughtered?”

Sweat trickled down the back of John's neck, his breathing even while his heart pounded. “You're holding back something.”

“So are you. Your herd animals lack the proper sustenance that a human provides. I will only grow weaker if you force me to feed off creatures that do not offer what I require.”

“But you'll survive. I've seen plenty of Wraith live off worse.”

“And if our roles were reversed, and I fed you iratus bugs, enough to keep hunger at bay, but not enough to sustain you. Would you not see it as a form of torture?”

“Not my call.”

“Never thought you'd take the easy way out.”

That hit a nerve, but John bit his tongue. “You'll live.”

“Yes, perhaps for a little while. But like last time, nothing's changed. And as I slowly starve, keep reminding yourself that you are better than Wraith, or even the one who kept us both prisoner when we first met.”

John didn't have a witty comeback and turned his back on Todd, giving the signal to open the door.

“It doesn't matter; in time the 'discussions' with your people will grow old and the medical examinations will become more extensive,” Todd chuckled. “Alive or dead. Your people only want to study me as a specimen.”

That was another thing not under John's purview; the SCG was about research and they had the perfect subject at their disposal. Which was another point of contention among all those pulling their strings. What was Todd? A highly valued commodity to exploit and use? An enemy to mine information from? Or a prize for those who wanted the bounty of knowledge and were willing to bow and curtsey to get it.

All previous partnerships with the Wraith had been mutual with a helping of suspicion. Todd was at their mercy now, the scale tilted out of balance, tainting John's sense of honor. “I'm sure with a bit of forthcoming from your side, maybe we'll—“

“Cut my chains? Allow me to advance your people above their limited capabilities? For what? To live in another cell while a fire eats me alive?” Todd growled. He took three steps forward, still imposing, still confident despite being a prisoner. “Then kill me, John Sheppard. Do the honorable thing. If you do not, I cannot promise how things will be when we meet again. Or.....”

“Or what?”

Todd grinned, his dull eyes flashing with a slight twinkle before dimming. “Nothing.”

It didn't feel like nothing, but John backed, those cat-eyes glaring at him. “I'll request some pork next time. See if Ms. Piggy whets that appetite,” John offered, knowing that no variety of animal protein would satisfy what a Wraith required.

Todd hissed, resuming his sitting position on the floor to stare endlessly at his barrier to freedom. John left the stockade in his rear window so to speak, more pressing things vying for his attention. Like war games and committees and meetings. His ex-wife's new position in his world, a constant reminder of a life he'd left behind and how it crashed into his new one.

He scribbled his name in the log and gave Garrison a sharp nod. “Try not to let him get to you. If he starts ranting again, maybe we'll bring in some speakers. Play some Stones or Zeppelin.” At the Marine's not-so-thrilled expression, he amended. “Maybe Metallica or Jay-Z.”

“I heard the guys say that they might bring in an ox from some exotic meat supplier. Maybe even a bison.”

John wanted to say it wouldn't help; he knew first hand. A choice was going to have to be made, but he gave his stock grin, knowing it wasn't up to him, and he was secretly glad. “I'm not sure if we stuck him in a ring with a raging bull and a red cape that it'd give him what he needs.”

Which was fear. Defiance. That whole life and death struggle that was an irresistible drug to any Wraith.

With a glance at the two young guards, he prayed they'd never bear witness to a culling, have no memories of burning villages, of terror reflected in women and children and families that lived in fear of the skies above. But John stored all those images, brittle corpses, ruined worlds, all that was dark and brutal so that it fueled him—drove his fight for Atlantis to return to its rightful home. And the moment he felt a pang of sympathy for Todd, he allowed those memories to run rampant, reminding him why he shouldn't care what happened to the Wraith.

------

Hitting the gym was going to be heaven. Sweat, adrenaline, and the sting of burning muscles. He needed to work off some steam, get his blood pumping and shake off that whole ‘fused to an office chair’ feeling. And while John cleared up the rust, if he so happened to reach the equivalent of a runner's high where he didn't have to think about anything for a few minutes, that would be cool, too.

John tossed over a glance at Ronon walking beside him. “You seem to be in a good mood.”

“Looking forward to sparring. Got to make sure you haven't gotten soft.”

“Nooooo, I'm going to work out. You, on the other hand, get to meet your new students.”

“Don't you want to be my partner and show them what not to do?”

“Funny,” John said half-heartedly to Ronon's chuckle.

They entered the gymnasium, taking one of the far corners to observe SGC's finest, a mixed unit of Air Force and Marines warming up. “Most of these guys have several tours under their belt. They should be pretty eager to learn something new.” John leaned against the wall. “This doesn't mean you should break any of them.”

“Who says I will?”

“You’ve got that glint in your eye. Going off-world doesn't give you enough action?”

All sense of humor evaporated from Ronon's body. “No.”

John didn't need to be a mind reader to know what had his buddy so wound up. “We'll get back to Pegasus. It's just going to take some convincing.”

Ronon could hitch a ride back on one of the Daedalus runs that kept surveillance on Wraith activity. It was too early for such discussion, but it was always a possibility and he knew that both he and Teyla would return one day, even without Atlantis. Earth wasn't their home and they wouldn't stay behind with so many under the Wraith threat.

Channeling some hard fought optimism, he mustered a smile. “In the meantime, we both have jobs to do. You taught some of our best black-ops people and civilians how to survive.” John nodded towards the other soldiers. “Don't let those skills go to waste. There are plenty of bad guys in this galaxy that need their asses kicked.”

Straightening to his full frame, Ronon cracked his knuckles, a habit he'd picked up recently. “Still doesn't feel like I'm doing much.”

John had been saving his next bit of news for after the class, but there wasn't any need to hold it back anymore. “I talked to Colonel Lawler over at Fairchild Air Force Base. He's interested in you becoming an instructor for the SERE program.” Ronon seemed less than impressed, forcing John to elaborate. “SERE is our program for training downed pilots how to evade hostiles in enemy territory and survive off the land. If anyone knows how to do that, it's you.”

Ronon's neutral, 'Okay' didn't ring with much enthusiasm. John tried adding some excitement to his pitch. “You'll teach people how to adapt in extreme environments. Deserts. Arctic tundra. Sweltering jungles with vicious predators,” he tempted. “It'll be your version of a vacation.”

The mention of dangerous animals got a slight flicker in Ronon's eye. “And getting captured?”

“That's where the resist part comes in. Most countries have rules for treating prisoners---”

“Rules?” Ronon huffed.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Earth has too many, but not everyone follows them. With all the interrogation techniques you're familiar with, you'll be able to teach our guys news ways to deal with our old-fashioned ones.” John had his buddy on the hook and it was time to reel him in. “And you won't be dealing with just new personnel. There'll be plenty of advanced combat teams learning new ways to go in and out of hot spots and war-zones.”

“SEALS and stuff?”

“Yep. Rangers, Green Berets.”

“Cool.”

While pleased he cheered the big guy up, John wasn't feeling a lot of excitement coming his way and used his Ronon translator to read in between the lines. “You'd be close by in D.C., when you're not frog marching students all over the place.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

Ronon rolled his eyes. “Are you going to lead a gate team soon?”

This was one of the many reasons why John wanted to hit the gym to forget all the decisions looming over him. “I have lot of balls in the air. We'll see what happens.”

“You don't belong in an office.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Truth be told, John wasn't sure where he belonged.

Ronon must've picked up the shift in his mood and tried his own brand of cheering up. “By the way. Heard your ex-wife was here.” He gave a mischievous grin. “How's that going?”

Crossing his arms, John wondered how many times he'd be asked that today. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

When Ronon smirked, it reminded John how young he really was. “Huh. Cuz, you've been on a dry spell of late.”

Clearing his throat, John pushed off the wall. “We're not having this conversation.”

Ronon laughed. “I'm just sayin'.”

“Don't get any ideas, Chewie. She's here to evaluate....what do you mean a dry spell? I haven't been on a ...I mean, I've been busy,” John defended, trying to recall his last date and grimacing.

Ronon was having too much fun. “I know this cute gate tech. She's a little too old for my tastes. Maybe--”

“No need to pawn women off on me. Besides. I thought you were--”

“Colonel Sheppard, sir!”

Ronon was still grinning like a fool, which was better than the alternative. Turning, the officer before them nearly snapped in two from standing at attention. It was all John could do not to tell the Marine to knock it off. The three-ring-circus surrounding next month's events really needed to get over with.

“At ease...” John floundered at the name.

“Master Sergeant Jameson, sir.”

Ronon's mouth thinned into a straight line, his eyes sizing up the Marine and finding dozens of ways to make him scream like a girl. Which was saying a lot since it seemed the SGC fed all their men with genetically altered spinach and double helpings of chow that magically transformed right into muscle. Jameson was tall, dark, and full of spitfire. He didn't back down from Ronon's gaze, chest puffed, shoulders stiff. All warming up ceased and a small crowd milled about with a set of collective moon gazes sent in their direction.

“Sergeant Jameson, this is Ronon Dex,” John introduced.

Jameson offered his hand and Ronon took it, both men attempting to out-crush the other's fingers.

“Remember what I said about breaking things,” John reminded the big guy as he wandered off to find a place to stretch.

Ronon was the center of attention, his eager students hanging on to his every word. When bodies started hitting the mats, John focused on using the lap machine in the corner to work on his upper body. Normally he allowed running to be his outlet, but he hadn't seen Ronon in a while and he wasn't about to get soft from sitting on his ass all day. He pulled down on the pulley, working his biceps and triceps, allowing that slow burn to creep into his arms.

It was like doing a chin up, except he pulled the bars down without the need to lift up all of his body weight. Pull and release, pull and release. Beads of sweat dotted his brow, he drew in deep breaths of oxygen and slowly exhaled, releasing himself into a rhythm of force and resistance, the sounds of flesh smacking bone a distant echo.

It wasn't until that burning turned into a slight tremble and his breaths took on gasps of air that he eased up, having lost count of the number of reps. Had it been over a hundred? Hands on his knees, he bent over to calm his heart, perspiration dripping down his face. How long had he been on this machine? And would he be able to move his arms tomorrow?

“Need some water?”

A bottle appeared in front of his nose and he accepted it, taking a few gulps before slowing down. “Thanks.”

“Keep it. Got another, sir” Jameson replied. The Marine's green t-shirt was soaked through with sweat, his right eye sporting the start of a shiner. He drank down half his own bottle, focusing on Ronon sparring on the far mats. “He's good.”

“One of the best.”

“I hand-picked everyone for his class,” Jameson acknowledged and looked at him directly. “Your team has quite a rep, sir.”

John appraised Jameson, guessing he was part of either Delta Force or Division Recon, based on the amphibious divisions the SGC liked to partner with. “We were just doing our jobs.”

“Without another single recognized member of the U.S military… or Earth based for that matter.” Jameson sized John up. “That takes some leadership.”

“Because I had the best with me,” John stood, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. “Sometimes it doesn't matter what uniform you wear. Earth military or civilian.”

“Fortes fortuna juvat,” Jameson replied with a grin. The lights in the gym flickered, ghosting the fighting lessons with a film noir feel. “Betcha a geek just blew something up in the labs.” With a swipe to his domed head, he winced when his fingers hit a sore along his jaw. “I swear, if he messed up my most important attribute for my date tonight, I'm gonna be pissed.”

Considering the man looked like Dwayne Johnson, John didn't think the guy had anything to worry about. Ronon was scanning the room and caught his eye. “I wouldn't keep him waiting if I was you.”

Jameson grinned like a shark on the scent of blood. “Did I forget to mention, I was supposed to bring you over for some demonstration?”

“You got to be me kidding me?”

“No, sir.”

“I outrank you.”

“Yes, you do, sir. But then again, Mr. Dex is not in the military as we're both aware. I'm not sure he knows what the word 'no' means.”

John groaned; his sore arms were going to be the least of his problems.


------

Ronon hovered near the bench with a crooked grin that was both amused and contrite. “You sure you don't need to see the doc?”

John rearranged the blue flexible pack over his left knee with a grunt. “No, ice is just fine.”

“Shouldn’t it be applied directly?”

“It is being applied.” With a quick adjustment, trails of water dripped down his black track pants. “I'm just gonna let it rest for a few minutes.” John wasn't about to hang out in his boxers in front of the whole SGC. “After a few Advil, I'll be fine.”

“That was an impressive move.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. Until you twisted the wrong way.”

“Thanks for pointing that out. Would have never figured that one on my own,” he grouched. John was drenched with sweat, he could easily wring out his black t-shirt to produce a whole cup of water. He ran his hand through his spiky hair, sending it up in many directions, all the while Ronon stood easily, his dark tank top only partly wet.

“If that’d had been real, you would've walked away the victor.” Ronon shrugged, unapologetic. “A sore knee is better than being dead.”

His joint was good and numb; with some anti-inflammatories, he'd avoid any problems. John was calculating the most direct route to his quarters to change out of his sweaty clothes when a familiar face hesitantly came into view.

“John?” Nancy stood close by the bench where his leg was propped up, her eyes darting from the ice pack to Ronon, who had sneakily taken a few steps back. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine. Just a little training accident.” Standing to prove his point, he didn't even wince. “I wanted to ice it just in case.”

“Training accident?” Sweeping the gym with a practiced eye, she studied the men still hanging around chatting. “With special forces units?”

“You could say that my team was a special force all its own,” he quipped.

She had access to his classified file now. While he hadn't trained with groups like Green Berets or anything, John had participated in his share of covert training exercises.

Nancy spoke volumes with a slight uptick of her lips. “Speaking of your team, I was hoping we could all have lunch together later today.”

That was a smooth change of topic; John was impressed. Then again, climbing the ladder to Homeworld required a mix of intellect and charm.

“Lunch? Today?” She was trying not to laugh at his stammering and John adjusted the weight to his right leg. “Why?”

“I'm going to be interviewing them for my report, to try to understand their perspectives and I thought it would be nice to get together under more casual circumstances to set everyone at ease.”

“I'll need to check my schedule.”

With a coy grin, she cleared her throat. “Your aide already cleared your calender.”

“Did he now?” How nice to consult me first.

Always able to read him, Nancy attempted to smooth any ruffled feathers. “I didn't ask him to, John. He seemed very eager to help.”

“You could have called; no need to come all the way down here.”

“Actually, we both tried to, but there was some type of interference or something with the coms. PO Nelson needed to inform the right department about the issue and I wanted to check out more of the base.”

John found his gym bag and felt between towels for his earpiece, force of habit causing him to assume an impending crisis.

“The radios work now.” Nancy pulled strands of her long hair away to reveal a com tucked inside her ear. “But I was already halfway here.”

With a quick glance at Ronon, John verified he hadn't been the only one ready to jump at an emergency call. “Well, you can never be too careful.” He couldn't help staring; it was so surreal to see her in his world, and he half expected her to be armed. He even checked for the bulge of a gun under her beige suit jacket, glad to see there wasn't one.

She turned toward Ronon, calm and poised. “It's nice to see you again, Mr. Dex.”

“Just Ronon.”

“Of course. Maybe we'll be able to really talk this time.”

Ronon was noncommittal and John resisted explaining that long conversations with the big guy were as rare as perfect uninterrupted evenings, but she was here in an investigative capacity and would figure it out soon enough.

“I'm not sure about the rest of my team. They’re pretty busy.”

“I've already spoken with Ms. Emmagan, a lovely woman. She was very excited to sit down with us.” Nancy repressed a smirk, her professionalism smooth as silk. “Tracking down Dr. McKay was a tougher task, but he had no problem shifting around his busy day.”

“Why I am not surprised?” There was no way of keeping the bitterness out of his voice.

“This wasn't an ambush,” Nancy sighed, using that patient but firm tone gained from many arguments during their marriage. “How about 1300 in the mess hall? It'll be more convenient than going off-base.”

“Sounds great. It'll give me time to hop in a shower,” John forced a smile.

With a glance at the melting icepack she matched his grin with something more genuine. “Maybe you should try taking it easy, John. We aren’t as young as we used to be.”

Nancy gave Ronon a nod, then made her way through the gym, several men taking notice as she passed. A few of them glanced John's way and hurriedly found other things to occupy their interest. Ronon was smart enough to keep any remarks to himself, and John wandered over and chucked the now warm icepack into the garbage.

His knee ached, but he flexed it without much pain and grabbed his gym bag. “I guess we're all having lunch later.”

“I'll catch up with you. Gonna hang back’ some of the guys wanted to stay later so I can show them some new counter arm-bars.”

“Right.” Ronon's voice was edged with exuberance and John was glad he'd clicked right away with his students. “Remember. We need them all in one piece.”

The lights flickered again and John took that as a sign that having lunch with his team and ex-wife was going to be a fun-filled adventure.

-------


Half an hour after showering, John's knee had stiffened up, and he wrapped an old ace bandage around it for support. If it got any worse, he'd get an x-ray. If it was his right knee, the one that still twinged from being smashed, kicked, and abused for the last twenty years, he would have been first to go to the infirmary. Instead, he used the next couple of hours in his quarters to catch up on paperwork without his phone ringing off the hook. He approved Cutler's selection for the remaining spots on the training squad and signed off on Lorne's tweaks to their war game plans. Next was scanning his travel itinerary for his trip tomorrow to inspect the 302s with Major Donnell and he double checked the tiny calendar icon in the corner and sighed.

The days were flying by.

He skipped the three priority e-mails from O'Neill and his phone's alarm chirped to let him know it was time for lunch. He took his .45 from the desk, verified the safety was on and slipped in his holster and buttoned up his green BDU shirt over his black undershirt. His hand froze over a nonexistent sensor and he manually opened and locked his door. He slowed his usual brisk pace in consideration of his knee.

The mess wasn't overly crowded; depending on the day, lunch was around 1100 and if you'd been off-world and day and night got switched around, meals were eaten at the craziiest of times. There was a very special mission going on that even John didn't know many details of, but SG-1 was part of it, and they took a lot of support crew with them. This might have been the reason that his team got a good spot in the far corner.

He snatched a yellow tray and got a large portion of beef stew, a heaping mound of mashed potatoes with lots of gravy and green beans. Walking over, he soaked in the sight of his team gathered around smiling. He ingrained the scene into memory, Ronon's easy slouch with a wolfish grin, Teyla's laughter at something that obviously had Rodney huffy in that indignant, but in a humorous way, nearly cracking a grin despite it all.

Teyla caught his eye and waved him over. “John! We've been waiting on you.”

“Sorry I'm late for the party,” he drawled, setting his tray down and sliding into a chair next to her.

“Well, we wouldn't miss it for the world,” Rodney smirked. “Having lunch with the ex. Mrs. Sheppard. It has a kind poetic justice wouldn't you say?”

“No, I wouldn't,” John said, jabbing his fork needlessly into his beans.

“Oh, I dunno. You had dinner with Jeanne how many times? Learning countless embarrassing tales about my childhood and every little secret a loyal sibling should keep?”

“And the last I checked, she wasn't piped into Homeworld Security or reported to the Defense Department, McKay.”

Teyla sipped her herbal tea. “It will be very nice to talk with her.”

John picked at his stew, trying to be nonchalant in a very uncomfortable situation.

“Unless the two of you still have trouble--”

“No, it's not that,” John protested. “It's just you know. I'm not exactly...

“Open.”

“Expressive.”

“A man with normal communication skills?”

John gave his team a baleful eye. They knew him all too well. “Maybe a little of all three. It's not like I've talked to Nancy much in the last few years. I don't even know what she did when she was at Homeland.”

“I was unaware that Ms. Beauchamp being so new to things would have such influence over the decisions regarding Atlantis,” Teyla inquired, the same question reflected on everyone else's face.

“That's the point. No bias,” John replied between bites of lumpy potatoes.

Ronon leaned back in his chair, hands crossed behind his head. “Think she can handle it?”

“That's what I'm here to do.”

John got to his feet, perhaps bit too quickly when his knee protested, but he pulled out a chair to his other side and Nancy accepted it. “Thank you.”

He wasn’t sure but her thanks seemed a bit cooler than usual. He sighed and gave her a game smile. When it was only partially returned he knew. She was still pissed off. Then as he watched her give genuine smiles out with her handshakes with the rest of his team he realized she was only pissed off at him. He still wasn’t quite sure why he had reacted so strongly at her request to meet Todd. Just the thought of her… in the same room with Todd. It just didn’t sit right, ex-wife or not. Hell, just the fact that she was a civilian, and an unarmed one at that. No, she’d have to meet Wraith the way all the IOA suits did. Video.

Nancy smiled as she looked at Ronon. “I had thought it was odd you brought a … what did Dave say you called him? A consultant? To your father’s funeral.”

John shoved in a forkful of potatoes, mumbled around his mouthful, “I think it was civilian contractor.”

“Well, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet you for real, this time, Ronon. And Teyla. Where is your son?”

“He is with his father for the day,” Teyla said, her eyes dropping. “His father will be returning home to Pegasus on the next run the Daedalus makes.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nancy replied. “I’m sure it’s hard for a father to leave his son.”

Teyla squared eyes with Nancy. “It is. But we both feel it is important for Kanaan to return. My people continue the fight with the Wraith and need him there to lead them.”

Nancy smiled broadly. “Ooh, I like that. Jumping right to the good stuff. Well, no guessing which side of the debate you’re on, Teyla. And John has been more than vocal about it I know. Ronon, can I assume you hold the same opinion?”

“If you mean Atlantis belongs back home in Pegasus, yeah,” Ronon grunted as if the question wasn’t a question at all.

Rodney stood from his chair, nodded towards the food line. “I uh, need more gravy for the potatoes. They’re really lumpy today.” Then he ducked his head and hurried off.

Ronon tossed a look at his back, rolled his eyes. “He hates it when we talk about it.”

“From the little we spoke the other day, I think he may be a little… conflicted,” Nancy said.

John’s eyebrows lifted at that. “First I heard he was conflicted. He was pretty clear with me, set on finding a permanent place for the city someplace here.”

“Rodney has orders he follows just like the rest of us,” was Nancy’s cryptic reply. She snagged a green bean from John’s plate and munched it down. “Hey, pretty good for commissary food. Think I’ll get a plate.”

The moment she was out of range John leaned in to his two friends. “Look, I know it’s a little… weird, having her be my ex and everything, but treat her like you would any suit. She’s gonna have a lot of pull with the powers that be when they make their final decisions. She’s got a mind of her own, trust me. But if we can break her down, really get a chance to explain to her our position… it could go a long way.”

Teyla sighed but nodded. “Perhaps I can arrange some time to spend with her? Your marriage speaks highly of her,” she said, smile quirked. “I welcome a chance to share our story with her.”

“What do you want me to do?” Ronon asked.

“Just don’t bark at her. If she asks questions, answer her, truthfully. And if she pushes back… you push back harder,” John illustrated with a jab of his fork.

Ronon’s grin was feral. “I can do that.”

“Not too hard, Chewie. Alright, here they come.”

He sighed as he saw Rodney and Nancy coming back to the table, laughing as if long time friends. When he saw the glint in Rodney’s eyes he knew the joke had been at his expense.

“What’s so funny?” he drawled as they sat down, still chuckling.

“Nancy was just telling me about your clumsy attempt to cook her dinner - what was it, your third date?”

“Fourth,” Nancy choked out around a muffled laugh.

“Really, Sheppard? You lost both eyebrows?”

John fumed, his face heating, his finger brushing self-consciously over one thankfully full brow. “So much for your vaunted tight lips, Nance.”

“Oh, John,” she teased. “I think Homeworld Security can survive with a few secrets let out. In fact,” she added animatedly, the group enrapt at the chance to hear more dirt. “Did he ever tell you about the time he got sick on a merry-go-round?”

“Wait a second!” Rodney crowed. “Top Gun Sheppard got sick on a” -- he choked and had to pound his chest with a fist as he cackled.

Even Ronon and Teyla were grinning.

“It was food poisoning,” John broke in hastily. “And I --” his Blackberry vibrated in his pocket. The group wasn’t really listening to his protest anyway. He prayed for something to call him away from lunch, just to avoid more It’s Your Life, John Sheppard.

The words on the cell phone screen made his blood go cold. He could only stare at the white on black letters, re-reading the brief sentence over and over, trying to make sense of them, not willing to believe they were true.

The group’s laughter died down at his silence.

“John, what is it?” Teyla asked.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Then everything slammed home and he rose from his chair, his bum knee twinging at him.

A Marine sat by himself at a neighboring table, reading a spy novel while picking at his food. “Sgt Ramos!”

The Marine lifted his head, stood as if on autopilot at the urgency in John’s voice. “Sir?”

“Please escort Ms Beauchamp to the nearest secure area. Protocol Alpha. Get her two guards, then assemble your team and await my orders.”

“Yes, sir!” The Marine saluted, left his book and half full tray and strode over to Nancy’s side. “Ma’am?”

“John, what the hell is going on?”

“Just go with him, Nancy!”

“I deserve an answer, Colonel Sheppard,” she shot back in her ‘I’m wearing my Homeworld Security pants now’ voice.

The rest of his team were all staring at him as well. He couldn’t even say the words. “It’s Todd. He’s escaped.”

-----

“Chapter Three”