After getting a report from Carson, John retapped his comm, glancing around to make sure the few female gene-carrying Marines he had sitting around weren't falling over yet.

"Sheppard to Lorne, Bates--got a problem, gentlemen. Every female gene-carrier on the base is going to be coming in with fever and dizziness. Looks like we've got one of the Pegasus specials on our hands. Lorne, we're going to need to set up a secondary infirmary area in the storage rooms behind Carson's labs--I need you to gather a group and have them start clearing the rooms out so we can get some beds going up in there. Bates--I've sent teams out to start looking the base over for any women who haven't been able to come in unde their own power. See if you can get a roster out of who we're missing and where they might be. I'll be helping find those we're missing and working with Carson to see if we can't figure this thing out."

John crouched behind the thick pile of brush, his knees dug comfortably into the soft loam beneath, his elbows stable against a fallen tree. They'd been lying in wait for more than three hours with no sign of any wraith activity. The inhabitants of the planet had been easily persuaded to resettle on a secondary planet while John and his teams lay in wait for the first wraith culling groups. Lorne lay beside him, quiet as always, their teams spread out to each side in a long firing line, their stunning weapons close, the better and faster to accomplish their mission.

For the third time in the last hour, John clicked his radio and spoke quietly into it.

"Alpha leader to Red team. Tell me you see something, Turner."

Turner came back quickly, sounding as if she were stifling a yawn.

"no Sir, not even any interesting native animals---though you should have seen Crowne screaming like a girl when a spider dropped out of the canopy."

There was a shout of complaint over the line and John fought the urge to laugh. They were getting punchy and bored, which with this many men and women with this much firepower, could end up a little dangerous.

"understood, Turner. Take four and do a perimeter for me, check in if you see anything."

"aye, sir."

John huffed a quiet breath and blew a few alien gnats from in his face, scanning the clearing again, just waiting for the scream of darts overhead.

"isn't quite as exciting as I'd hoped, Major.....you?"

Some people have power but still they grieve
While these hands brought me happiness

A pile of discarded manuals lay to the side, a jumble of white paper, black ink, step-by-step in four languages, all of which he could read, if not well. He'd read none of them, of course--he'd flown these planes, or ones like them--knew them as well as he knew his own body, as well as he knew the bodies of his spouses, the layout of his city. And those he'd been too young or too busy to see, he'd read about.

Still, he didn't think the P-51 Mustang's wings were supposed to go that way.

He frowned over at the pile of manuals and turned his back on them, letting the warm evening sun paint the model's skin orangeish instead of it's accustomed drab green. The ceiling overhead is already hung with three finished models, the planes he loves best--the F-25, the Raptor, and the F4F Wildcat. The room is already heady with the smell of paint and glue, but he's set up a ventilation system he thinks the engineers in the family will yell at him about, but he's not dead yet. The fan blows quietly, mixing with the sound of smoothly rushing waves outside, and John smiles to himself, fingers caked with glue over callouses that never seem to go away. This is for his child, and for his child...maybe...just maybe...

he glances over his shoulder at the manuals, then back at the off model.

maybe

P7X-M77 is a more peaceful planet than most, if one can ignore the constantly-raging storms in the distance and the unsettling hoot of alien animals in the forests beyond. The botanists describe the climate as tropical to subtropical--John's pretty sure that's just a fancy word for "likely to give you a fungus". His mouth still tastes of Rodney, and he licks his lips, smiling as he steps through the gate, carrying through lightyears his little piece of his once always-companion. He motions for the team to spread out, and Parrish holds tight behind him, as he's told her to do. He wants to be at least a little resentful of the young chemist--but she's been a good match for the team so far--and Teyla seems quietly smug about having second female on the team. They are to search the perimeter of the 'gate--look for indigenous peoples to make contact with, scope the place out for possible retreat sites, and see if there are any trade possibilities. The usual. Boring. Normal and safe.

.....he should have known better, really.

From skin to tac vest: One tattoo: Unauthorized, blue ink, on the Officer's left hip. Mandelbrot set outline. Military-issue dogtags, two, one length of breakaway chain. Underwear: Atlantis-issue, grey, boxer-briefs. The Officer wears neither piercings nor jewellry beyond his tags, and a single set of wedding bands suspended from dogtag chain-- Also Unauthorized. Black undershirt tucked into blue BDU trousers. Black belt, overlap 2 inches, pointing left. Black holster, Omega VI, right draw. Mag pouch, two mags for an M9--Officer will be advised, keeping extra powerbars in the mag pouch is also Unacceptable and Unautorized. Blue BDU trousers, ALTRN footwear, dark grey. Blue Atlantis-issue overshirt, rank and insignia removed. Black Omega modular tactical vest, outfited with proper field gear. The Officer will be advised, keeping extra powerbars in tac vest is Unauthorized....even if the Officer's fieldmate demands the entire team carry extras. No cover, hair is overlong--non-regulation. Unauthorized and Unacceptable.

John smiles at himself in the still-fogged mirror, his hair sticking out at more angles than usual. He runs a hasty hand through it and turns to exit the bathroom again, his vest hanging open. Unauthorized. Unacceptable. Damn it was good to be in Pegasus. Rodney had been here a moment ago, he swears it--though with Rae and Radek gone, and with the wraith threat still jangling on everyone's nerves, they were either not keeping close enough tabs on one another, or hanging too close, depending on the moment. He calls out softly as he checks himself over one last time, dreading the moment he has to walk out of this room--has to walk into the hall, down to the transporter, into the gateroom, and into another world, without Rodney by his side. The mission doesn't seem deadly, a general reconnaissance and exploration run, a planet they'd never been to, but had no reason to suspect. Carson had been in and out all evening, and he had the weird urge to run down to the infirmary first, to see him before he stepped offplanet again. Maybe he'd luck up and his husband would drop by before time was up.

He waited a few moments for his call to be answered, then stepped out into the living room, waiting for his goodbye kiss, or at least a middle-finger from the still-grumpy Rodney.

He took one final look back at the plump, dark-skinned children that had followed them to the gate, before raising his hand in a farewell wave and slipping through the gate. The Inali were a primitive people, but friendly, more than willing to share whatever grains and produce they had to spare. Giving to a fault, John had to turn down several offers of houses, land, and bushels of foodstuffs he was sure the natives could put to better use. Ronon had been offered a young man and woman as what John had understood to be "personal assistants" of the most intimate sort. Apparently the Inali took his gruff demeanour and long, clumped hair to mean he was incapable of caring for himself. It amused John to no end until he was offered his own pair of nubile girls to follow him around the rest of the day. Even Teyla had to politely refuse a young boy to carry around her backpack...the Inali were nothing if not generous and free with their young people. Thank God Parrish was still earning her advanced weapons qualification, or she may have been shocked right back into her labs.

Returning to Atlantis is no different than usual, and as he hands his P-90 off to the waiting Marine, he wonders why there's a strange niggling itch in the back of his mind. He's halfway down the hall to the Infirmary for his checkup when he realises....Radek and Rae are gone...and Atlantis feels.....lonely. He rubs at the back of his neck and grimaces at the floor, mentally trying to soothe away the niggling loneliness. It's bad enough to worry with his own feelings without having the new Avatar's projected into his headspace.

Carson's already gone home, and it's a good enough thing, it's very late local time, unfortunately the planet they'd just visited was on the opposite solar cycle--midday there was far too fuckin' late to be up on Atlantis.

He gets his clean bill of health, minus a vial of blood and a cup of piss, and makes his way home, anxious to get the dust of the last few hours out of his hair. It's strange to come into the quarters and not see Rachel's robe lying across the back of the chair, to not see Radek's laptop lying open on the overstuffed couch, or his boots lying halfhazardly in front of the chair. Five weeks.....just five weeks.

With a weary sigh, he slips from his boots and lines them up against the wall, then begins to strip as he wanders into the bedroom. His shower is quick, and he's still damp when he crawls naked into bed, burrowing between the sleeping Rodney and Carson, idly wondering when five people to a bed had become normality, and only three had become too few.

But they, while their companions slept, / Were toiling upward in the night.

He's elbow-deep in personnell files and ordinance reports and two requests for section transfers when the call comes in. Chuck's on duty today, and though the voice is familiar, the news is less than soothing.

"Colonel Sheppard--we've got Lorne's team coming in hot--doesn't look good, might want to come down here."

it's over in seconds, and though he makes good time down the hallway, the second call comes in before he reaches the gateroom.

"Lorne's teams' back home, Sir--seven casualties--Sergeant Bates and Major Lorne came home safe, but that's all we have. Lorne is taking bates to Doc Beckett."

The words he whispers under his breath aren't fit for a Commander, but his comm's off, and he feels like they just might be appropriate. He's losing men at a steady rate, no signs of stopping, not to mention the handfull of scientists Rodney had lost. He's half a mind to take all teams from rotation and do every damn mission himself--but at this point even his usual lack of fear probably won't be enough.

Lorne is already gone when he gets to the infirmary--but he knows where he's headed, and he'll get the report from Bates. The Sergeant has a nice raw spot on his leg from a pulse weapon, and though it's near-invisible, John knows it hurts like hell. Frankly the report is pretty damn simple. Just like any of a hundred reports of seemingly calm allies that turn at the least provocation, or none at all. He leaves the infirmary with a stern word with Bates about taking a few days off, then heads to the labs to finally have this out with Rodney. Parrish is going to be a good choice--he hardly knows her, but she seems competent enough, and that's all he really needs--competent. Anything else will seem like an affront to his husband.

"Rodney, where are you today? Need to ask you something" he says into his comm, already halfway to the labs.

White lightning, bound to drive you wild.
Mama's baby's in the heart of every school girl
"Love me tender" leaves 'em cryin' in the aisle
The way he moved, it was a sin, so sweet and true.

Always wanting more, he'd leave you longing for.

He hadn't meant to get sloshed, in fact he'd mostly started out with good intentions. Yesterday had been a bitch--and while the rest of the group had gone home to grieve and talk and to be normal people, he'd decided work was really the best course of action. He'd taken the second mission of the day, Crowne's team, and had come home tired and dusty and no closer to forgetting how bad it had been to watch Emmy walk through that shimmering space that took her back home than when he'd started. He'd been distracted offworld, something he'd always prided himself in avoiding--letting his personal life interfere with the job, with his command. He'd taken today off--when all his spouses save Rachel had decided to go back to work. It hadn't been a coincidence--he wasn't quite ready to face their grief yet either. Most of the day had been spent reading, or pretending to, wandering the house poking around, trying to avoid finding things that remind him of Emmy and failing miserably. By evening he'd been wired and fidgety and was pondering just going for a run. But Rachel was home...and he wasn't about to leave her alone tonight...even though he wasn't sure there was anything he could do for her.

The highball glass is something he'd had brought over right after they started getting regular Daedalus shipments--along with his egyptian cotton towels, his Johnny Cash CD collection, and two bottles of fine Kentucky bourbon. He hadn't had enough of a reason to open the second bottle yet--he and Carson had drank most of the first the night before the wedding.

Now seems as good a time as any.

By the time he's done with his third glass, the air and light outside are almost the same colour as the liquor, amber-yellow and thick. The balcony rail is still warm under his forearms, but the air around him is gaining the soft bite of evening chill--soothing against his bare back. The jeans had come out the same time as the bottle--if he's going to drink he might as well be comfortable--they'd lost their top fastener back in...probably '85 or so. With each passing year he's gladder of it--because he's not sure he can get the damn things fastened anymore. The faded blue fabric is butter-soft and riddled with holes and worn spots. Rodney had taken one look at the jeans months ago and declared them "unhygenic and unfit for a man of your station--take them off now.....oh, and get on the bed, they make your ass look hot."

John snorts into his glass at the memory, and drains the last drops of bourbon, letting his head hang back as the last bit of taste slips into his mouth. The sky spins lazily around him for a moment, and he grins up at it, amused at how little it takes to make him fly this high these days. He'd had quite the tolerance back in the academy...but soft living had made him a lightweight again. He shuffles barefoot through the rooms, noting the time--the men will be coming home in a few hours, if indeed they decide to be in on time...he has time for a nap....or...maybe something else.

He can hear the soft splash of water in the bathroom, can even see a few tendrils of steam drifting out from beneath the closed door. John climbs to the middle of the bed and collapses face-down for a moment, scrunching the blankets beneath his cheek as he breathes in the combined scents of his spouses. After a moment he rolls to his back, eyes closed, hair wild and windblown, basking in the golden light from the room's wide window. He wants to be here to see Rachel emerge, hair tightly-curled, maybe droplets still clinging to her pale shoulders. He wants to touch himself at the thought, but keeps his hands firmly behind his head, a soft, amused, half-drunken smile curving his lips.

John breathes deeply of the salty sea air for a moment, and glances over his shoulder at the living room, where he can still see a spouse or two ambling around, getting ready or bed. Grodin's long-asleep, and Emilie as well. The paper in his hands is fine, elegant in a way the paper they have for general use never is. Trust Rachel to find only the best to send her words--she, like him, knows that the little things matter sometimes more than others. He cracks the seal on the letter and can't stop himself from bringing the envelope to his nose for a moment, hoping to catch a faint scent of perfume, some inkling of this woman so far removed from his own wife--yet so very much the same.

He draws the letter out, unfolding it slowly, carefully, the sea air ruffling the pages. Between a pilot's eyes, the wan light of a waning moon, and the light from inside, the writing is legible, in what he's come to recognize as Rachel's neat, flowing hand.

Once I rose above the noise and confusion
Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion
I was soaring ever higher
But I flew too high

He checked his chronometer again--3:15 a.m., too early for anyone to be up yet, too late for anyone to be still working. He would be there, if they were anything alike, he'd be there. Somehow they both know the only way they can do this is in the middle of the night. It would only be a few days until Emmy went home...the time he was supposed to have spent sleeping tonight had been spent sitting by her bed, back against the wall, watching the moonrise color her sleeping face. He can't imagine what they'll do with the room, the bed, her things when she goes--the thought of keeping them around is almost as unsettling as getting rid of them.

The room is dark on both sides of the mirror, but even before he gets close enough to see clearly inside it, he knows he's there. John sits in front of the mirror and opens the laptop that's been left there, the only light in the room. The John on the other side opens his as well, giving him his first glimpse of his alternate self, bathed in eerie blue. It's like looking at one of those "what's wrong with this picture" images. The differences are subtle, for the most part, but definitely there.

He has a few more lines around his eyes, perhaps from squiting too much or laughing too hard, but his face overall looks young in a way John's not sure he's ever been. There is a small streak of white on one side of his hair, probably from a scar John never managed to get. They look at one another in silence for a moment, fingers still on the keyboards, then he begins to type.

||She's ok, I just checked on her before I left. Sleeping soundly.||


He hurriedly turns the laptop around and lets his other self read it, eliciting what looks like a sigh of relief and a small smile. His twin begins to type and John sits still, just watching the strange spectacle that is his alternate self.

||I'm glad you're there to take care of her, not that I don't trust the others, of course...but well you know us...we take their security really seriously. I don't know what I'd do if we'd lost her. I'm afraid I kind of lost it there for a while when we couldn't find her, I think the entire base'll be relieved when she gets home. She's practically a minor celebrity over here now. I know how you must feel about giving her back, I know how I would feel. I don't doubt it'll be the hardest thing you ever do. We fell hard for her, for being her Father.||

John reads the text and smiles, almost a true smile, though it falls a bit short of it's usual brilliance.

||The others have asked how things are different, and I assume we agree we don't want to know, right? I mean, if our lives are anything alike, neither of us really wants to know.||

The alternate John's face looks older for a minute, and he nods slowly, silent agreement in the things they won't say, the past traumas they won't bring up. He knows alternate John has to have suffered similar tragedies..and he doesn't want to know..can't know, it's enough to deal with his own. The second John seems to shake himself, and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a mini-disk and grinning widely. He types for a few moments and turns the laptop around.

||Radek said you might be interested in this....in how it is for us being her father. I hear your Rachel is considering removing her implants, getting you five started on your own family. I don't know if they've told you, but our Rachel is pregnant again...with my child this time. This is the first time we've been able to see her pregnant, the time distortion kind of robbed us of that last time. She's only a few months along, just starting to show, to look really pregnant. You can't imagine. You just....you can't imagine until you see. I keep her in bed for hours just patting her belly and talking to it. Carson wants to do tests to see what sex the baby is, but I don't think I'm ready yet. I really want it to be a suprise.||

He holds the disk up after John's read the text, and tosses it through--there's a millisecond of lag, it seems, and the disk flies through smoothly, into John's hands. He looks at it for a moment, smiling, and tucks it into his back pocket. The second John types further while he's resettling himself.

|| I think I'm driving them a little crazy with the babyproofing--I keep locking Rodney and Radek out, mostly to listen to them bitch. Atlantis seems pleased, more responsive, almost...she wakes me up sometimes with these strange feelings, urges....I've found myself in several new rooms, something like a nursery, a communal playroom, half-asleep. She talks to you too, right? We can't be that different.||

It's John's turn to grin, wide and excited, and nod furiously, mouthing "oh yeah" before he begins typing. It's a little disconcerting, sitting here with....himself, imagining how this could be the brother he missed, this could be the answer to so much pain and discontent.

||I'll watch it with our Rae later. As for Atlantis, you won't believe it....first of all, yeah, she talks to me, in her way, you know what I mean. Feelings, urges, direction. But not too long ago, we found she has a body, an avatar...a woman. We had a lot of trouble with her and Kavanagh, apparently she became attatched to him, God knows why, and there was an incident..I found them, you wouldn't believe how drawn to her I was. It was scary, really--I still don't know exactly what went on, I woke up a few hours later and she was gone, I was back in my rooms...this was right before Rae and Radek came to tell me about the goddess-mark thing. We're growing ZPMs, though, and the city's revealing a lot of new stuff...not the least of which is that she can project the avatar whenever she wants.||

Alt!John's eyes go wide and he mouths "wow, coooool" His next message is short, but succinct.

||I need to get back, don't want them waking up an missing me.||

John nods in agreement and types a reply, smiling.

||yeah, me too--it doesn't take long for them to miss me lying over the pile. Look, I know we didn't want to talk about this, but I have to ask.|| John glances up for a second, and the alternate him has already typed a message, he's holding the laptop out in front of him, expession sad.

||He killed her. I don't know if it happened the same in your world, but he killed her. He didn't have to do it with his hands, it didn't take her long to die after he left us. He broke her heart. I was in the hospital for two months recovering, and he never came to see me once. It took three weeks for her to be able to walk without a limp. And I haven't seen him since.||

John erases the text he was typing and closes the laptop, nodding. He doesn't have to tell the alternate him how things differed, he'd escaped with only a broken collarbone, maybe the streak of white hair was from that night when they were 12, when their Mother's screams had become too loud for him to ignore. His Father had gone to live with his other family after--he hoped the alternate John's Father had died horribly. They nod to one another, still strangers, not quite making the connection he's sure the others have felt. John Sheppard isn't a man who really wants to know himself, no matter the timestream. They both raise their hands in tandem farewells and disappear into the darkness of the room.

Minutes later finds John in his office, dressed again in sleeping clothes, his baggy sweats and nothing else. For a moment he eyes the disk in his hands, wondering just how it will change things, knowing what he's like as a father, or what he can be like. He wonders if it will peel away his reservations, his fear, or only make the ache worse. He slides the disk into the drive and sits back as his own image flickers to life on the screen.

To: Dr. Dylan Moore
From: Lt. Col. John Sheppard

Doctor Moore:

If you have the time, there are a few important details I need to discuss with you regarding processes integral to the further smooth operation of Atlantis. If you would, please meet me in conference room 3, deck 5 tomorrow at noon.

Sheppad.

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

To: Major Michael Bates
From: Lt. Col. John Sheppard

I need to discuss a few operational issues with you tomorrow if you have the time. We'll be meeting in conference room 3, deck 5 tomorrow at noon. I'll make it as short as possible.

Sheppard

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

John leans back in his chair, a smile curving his lips. Best way to get them sorted out is to approach them simultaneously. Hopefully without either of them throttling him.

John's been up since far too early, had slept far too little, had done far too much already today. He'd seen Quinn in the Infirmary, had checked in on the twins, had a strange conversation with Rodney over lunch about how different the world on the other side of the mirror was, and what it meant. Emmy's going home....home. Here would stop being home. She'd step through the mirror, it's mercury-gossamer strands pulling her in, and she'd step out the other side, be in her real father's arms again. Not his--not his...and he'd never see her again.

He runs after lunch--Ronon following quietly beside, a lumbering, animal presence, a constant, silent companion as always. He knows there's something on John's mind, even looks at him once, oddly warm eyes asking if he should say so. John takes a deep draught of his water bottle and shakes his head, a miniscule, minute movement, as he hands it to Ronon.

It doesn't take long enough, doesn't fill enough time, running and paperwork and the few odds and ends he has to do today. Three teams are coming back in today, and he schedules himself fully for the next week solid, wants to be gone after Emmy leaves. He still hasn't found a replacement--and he wonders if he ever will. He can't. Rodney's his scientist, his husband...there is no other choice.

But Rodney's not able....and maybe that's better anyway, he doesn't plan on being good company for the next few weeks anyway.

After his run, his work, his quick shower, he finds himself in the infirmary again. Often he's turned up here lately, feet leading him to Carson without his knowledge--somehow he just keeps ending up here. Nurse Ricks gives him a knowing smile and answers his question before he asks it.

"he's in his office....doing charts, busy day today."

he smiles and nods, plays charming for a few minutes, though it makes him tired. He doesn't have to knock, but he does, because Carson will appreciate it. He'll ask about Rodney, make sure he can't be cleared for offworld--that will give him a reason to stay, to sit with Carson and be quiet and peaceful for a while.

He'd just thought paperwork was hard before Emilie--paperwork after Emilie was down right complicated. Every few minutes he'd drift off and end up tapping his comm, asking after her to Radek and Rae, Rodney and Carson--whoever would listen and who had recent news of her whereabouts. He knew all but he and Carson had been back to the mirror, had found it reassembling--hell, he'd even started calculations on the probability that things would go smoothly, the probability that some catastrophic failure would ensue and either leave Emilie with them--or leave her stranded somewhere different...away from them all. Perhaps even in a world where none of them existed.

He's always prided himself on being capable, independent, able to work in any situation....under any circumstances. He's always been able to do what's necessary, what's right, no matter the personal cost. But giving her up--letting her go, even if it's back to where she belongs....seems not only impossible....but absolutely unthinkable. The others hadn't mentioned a quantuum John--he wonders briefly if he's off somewhere in his timeline slowly losing his mind without his child, the way John fears he'll lose his. He knows he'll pick up, move on....but what if a child isn't in the cards for them? What if Emilie is his only chance? He shakes his head, stands up, stretching and wincing, paperwork forgotten. He's not hungry, but one more minute here wallowing in his morose thoughts isn't going to do him any good--he hits a few keys and saves the most recent batch of reports before leaving, bent on the mess hall, and blessed distraction.

John wakens before all the others, extricating himself ever-so-carefully from the warm pile of limbs and bodies that are his spouses. Carson seems to have developed a penchant for hanging onto the elastic of his underwear, so that cuts at least five minutes out of his travel time between the group room and Emilies. The sun is just rising, peeking over the glistening blanket of sea outside the windows, sending startling zings of light into his still sleep-sensitive eyes. He nearly falls over getting himself into a pair of jogging pants, and blames it on Radek's one discarded shoe at the door. By the time he reaches Emilie's door, the sun's just about to spill over the horizon, a glowing orb of orange and white that paints his child's room with slashes of brilliance. The door shushes quietly closed behind him and he falls to the floor, crawling the last few steps to Emilie's bed to see if she's awake yet. Her eyes are closed, lashes throwing long shadows down her plump cheeks, and her breathing is soft and even...but he knows how sneaky she is...the first morning he'd come to waken her she'd lured him in close and hit him with a pillow. Years of training does NOT prepare you for a precocious 11-year-old, no matter what the brochures say.

John waits, motionless and quiet, to see if the child stirs at his presence, watches her lashes flutter, and resists the urge to stroke her small face, to brush away her red curls and kiss her forehead, for fear of waking her. He'd prepared the jumper yesterday, had an entire team going over it from tip to tail for a good 12 hours, before spending the last 3 hours of his day repeating all the tests. Teyla and Dr. Brown are heading out today for a visit to the mainland, and they'll have an escort...he and Emilie, plus any husbands and/or wives that wake up early enough, will be accompanying them in a second jumper.

The day dawns pleasantly cool and perfectly cloudless, exactly the kind of day he'd been hoping for. Lt. Col. John Sheppard has been awake since before dawn, had slipped from the warm bed he shares with his spouses. The rooms's walls are littered with yellow postit notes, some giving direction, a few with lewd poems or badly-drawn doodles of the groupmembers.

After his own morning shower, he'd drawn little beach umbrellas and suns in the steamy mirror-glass, hints about the day's activities. There is also a note on each laptop in the suite, with these words in big letters:

DO NOT TAKE ME, JOHN HAS OTHER PLANS FOR YOUR HANDS.

The final note is stuck to the front door, just beside the control crystals. It reads

West Pier, 10 a.m
bring your swimsuits or I'll make you skinnydip with me.

love you all
John.

P.s...yes, Rodney, it's safe. Yes, Rodney, I packed your sunscreen. No, Rodney there are no sharks.


He already has his own clothes, a picnic large enough to feed ten Marines (or several Rodneys), and all the gear they'll need for the day packed into The Catherine Elena. Rachels' been giving him lessons on how to treat her, so getting her ready, checking the rigging and whatnot are becoming second nature to him. By the time the sun rises he's shirtless, clad only in a rather loud pair of hawaiian shorts, and sweating over the packing, climbing, and tidying he's been doing.

John tiptoes back into the group quarters hours after the meeting, one hand in Radek's. They'd tried to sleep in his room, but after an hour of restless tossing and turning, they'd turned to one another in the dark, sharing a silent agreement--home is where they wanted to be. The rooms are quiet and dark, perfectly natural for 3 a.m...a large white box still sits on the floor between the couches, and the pillows are strewn across the floor. John peeks first into the master bedroom, suprised to see Carson's not nestled in close to Rodney and Rae, who are sleeping soundly. He hears Carson's distinctive breathing pattern from a bit farther down the hall, and a frown of concern flits over his features. Leaving had been selfish, and perhaps more damaging than he'd expected....

"Carson..." he murmurs quietly as he settles full-length onto the bed beside his husband. He strokes the doctor's cheek lightly and tips his head to the side, promising that if he doesn't wake up, they'll all just sleep and talk about what's happened in the morning.

I really intended to go home, rest with my spouses, and maybe share some incredible "we're not dead" sex. I really had. honest.

Lorne, Bates, Crown and I ended up heading the wraith-cleanup crews and starting on a complete security overhaul after everything calmed down, though. Half of the bodies ended up in Carson's storage facilities--he looked a little happier than I'm comfortable with when we came in with them all bagged up. Mayhaps my Doctor-husband needs a bit of quality human time. I think the mice and wraith bodies are getting to him. I haven't really seen any of my spouses for the last 24 hours or so, but Rachel's been keeping me up on things via comm. Apparently she and Parrish had quite the entertaining conversation with General Landry, and we'll all be expecting some much-missed home items soon. My wife, nothing if not ingenious and devious. I'm trying to be pissed that she didn't tell me she and the botanist were growing potentially incendiary substances without telling anyone, but I'm way too excited about the shiny new gun it bought me. I'm sure I'll calm down long enough to be properly chastising later.

The drones took out everything we had in the sky, and my men took out everything on foot, so all seemed to go pretty well---though Ronon was at my side most of the day, I haven't seen Teyla even once. Sounds like no one else has seen her either.

notes to self:

--make sure Teyla's not dead
--find spouses one-by-one and do thorough bruise checks, with optional nakedness
--make time for special conversation with Carson about his unnatural closeness with his mice of late
--write up 75 "dead alien on the base" reports

~encrypted~
--worry a *lot* about how fantastic it felt to feel Atlantis when she's got more power.
--definitely don't sneak into empty rooms any more just to sit there and let my mind wander over the city.
--definitely don't find self half-asleep and sitting in the command chair anymore, no matter how interesting it makes your dreams.

God, it was.....fantastic. Amazing. Atlantis with an extra ZPM's worth of power to play with? It's something you just can't imagine until you feel it--like...like being plugged into a sun's worth of power, and knowing nothing will stop you from using it. I was shaking when I got done, drained, like after working out for hours, or those marathon sessions Rodney and I used to have before we decided it was unhealthy. Then suddenly I was myself again...better, even....energized and tingling and horny as hell....not that that's not my usual state, especially after using the chair, but....this was....different. I've been wanting to do it again ever since. Kind of...craving it, I guess. She's so responsive, so eager...and willing to do anything I ask. Power corrupts....and absolute power? That's Atlantis through and through. I know I can handle it...it's just...I don't like wanting something like this.
~end encryption~

anyway, there's Bates now--I've been getting reports all day..hopefully things will slow down again soon and I can get back to having a life.