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Chapter Text

========== Chapter 1. What now? ==========

Atlantis was still moored in San Francisco Harbor. No orders had yet been received from command. Woolsey had gone to knock on doors at the Cheyenne Mountain base and the White House to figure out what to do next. The situation was complicated by the heightened threat from the Lucian Alliance. Events piled up, and now even General O'Neill was at a loss about the future fate of Atlantis, all of whose members had been given paid leave and assigned minimal duties until a decision was made. The days dragged on.

Sheppard, having recovered, preferred to spend most of his time on Atlantis, as did Carson and many others. On Chair duty, in case anything else happened. The only captive Wraith was soon requested for transfer to Area 51—it was unexpected, but inevitable. John didn't say goodbye to him for long, casually instructing him to behave, and telling the person authorized for his transfer to treat him with dignity, though the farewell left a bad feeling in his heart. The Wraith remained silent, but John felt his unspoken protest. And his own guilt towards him, as if he had wildly betrayed "their buddy Todd."

In part, this was dictated by the fact, through their combined efforts, managed to save Earth from the looming threat, and John's righteous anger had cooled. Moreover, John knew that what awaited the Wraith there was far from a vacation. But he also knew that, in any case, there was nothing he could do about it—certainly not now. He would have liked to vouch for the Wraith and somehow persuade him to stay in the city, but the request from the Pentagon representative was relentless. They took him away. Led him off in special handcuffs, like some kind of animal. He had no right to ask questions now, merely inquiring for appearance's sake:

"Will you be keeping him for long?"

"As long as it takes," answered the infuriatingly meticulous man in glasses, before disappearing in the company of the Wraith and his escorts, who held Todd under the strictest control in taut chains.

What followed was an endless cycle of uncertainty and blind hope. They heard nothing more about Todd. Over the course of nearly two weeks, Woolsey himself had only appeared in Atlantis a couple of times and hadn't brought the news they were all so eagerly waiting for.

"Permission is not yet granted. But I'm working on it, " he said, and then immediately left, as if he hadn't come at all.

Instead, they were inundated with inspections—as if they were keeping other dangerous creatures there besides the Wraith. How irritating these crowds of experts were, literally crawling through every corner of the city, assessing Atlantis's potential, looking into Janus’s laboratory, and simultaneously purging it of dangerous artifacts that required detailed study at Area 51. During their work, Atlantis lost more than a dozen finds. Thankfully, they didn't strip the panels from the walls and ceilings and left them the ZPM. They couldn't be talked to, but Sheppard`s tongue was itching to ask what they were going to do with all of it. However, they probably wouldn't have answered him anyway. McKay could only manage to drive them away from his instruments, shouting that he needed them.

During their entire stay on Earth, Atlantis was divided into two opposing camps: some (a minority) felt they were finally home and shouldn't leave, while the rest yearned to return to Pegasus and continuing their mission there. The wait was unbearable, and finally, Woolsey brought them news that struck like a bolt from the blue: Atlantis was not permitted to return due to the escalating situation with the Lucian Alliance. There were almost no one who rejoiced at this news. Looking at the dead silence that erupted immediately after the acting head of Atlantis spoke, even those who wanted to celebrate quieted down, seeing the others who were greatly disheartened by the news.

It was clear that this was hard for Woolsey to say—he himself had made a great effort to prevent this from happening. Infused with the mission of Atlantis and, for all its worth, the spirit of adventure, he too had dreamed of returning. But the government had decided otherwise—he couldn't go against that decision, and he was sorry. This also meant reducing staff to a functional minimum—to turn the city into a passive fortress, but one that would nevertheless continue to exist as a reliable outpost. Moreover, they also wanted to relocate it to the Moon to minimize the possibility of detection—which itself meant they couldn't "go out for fresh air," although it prevented the spread of all sorts of calamities directly onto Earth. Furthermore, McKay argued that Atlantis was not suited for such hard landings—roughly speaking, the loose, hard soils of the lunar surface could irreversibly damage the city's engines, and they wouldn't be able to take off again. The scientist was ready to appeal this, in his view, rash decision.

But the rest of the evening was devoted to something else. Among themselves, the Lanteans decided that those who wanted the city to stay on Earth would voluntarily step down—to avoid further bloodshed. This allowed those who saw their life's purpose in serving on Atlantis to remain in the city. However, no one challenged Sheppard's authority or his right to serve here. This was largely, perhaps, because no one wanted to see him anywhere else.

Teyla and Ronon were in a semi-legal position—no one had any problems with them. Rodney, too, had no problem staying. Beckett was officially dead;of course, he was taken to Area 51 several times for research—but in the end, he was given new documents and allowed to stay on Atlantis, as was Keller, who remained who remained the second most senior medic on Atlantis, even though she disagreed with it.

Wanting to forget all the bad things, or at least get rid of the obsessive thought that “it will always be like this,” it was decided to organize a mass feast with earthly food — together, they ordered about a dozen pizzas and other snacks, totaling $850, to the meeting point, and delivered it all via Jumpers to Atlantis without the knowledge of command. It was then that Sheppard saw Woolsey drinking for the first time.

To his credit, he only allowed himself one incomplete glass of cognac, secluded from everyone in his office on the second floor of Atlantis. When John came in to join him, Woolsey was looking at a framed photograph. Sheppard knocked on the glass twice, asking permission to enter.

"Come in, John," Richard invited.

Sheppard sat down opposite and stared at the back of the frame for a long moment, unsure where to start. He, too, had had a bit to drink with everyone, and his thoughts were a little foggy. Woolsey saw this and decided to start the conversation himself.

"This is a photo of my dog. His name is Tobby. My wife decided to keep him, after the divorce. Since I've been here, he's been living with my ex," he explained, turning the photo toward Sheppard. A Yorkshire terrier, standing on its hind legs at the moment the photo was taken, stared back at him.

John nodded. Woolsey smiled thinly and set the framed photograph aside.

"I once asked myself: am I really what I present to the world, or am I capable of more?.."

"And then you decided to come here?"

"First, I wanted to protect Earth from external threats. I never thought I'd find myself in a situation like this."

"You did everything you could to get us back. Why did they refuse?"

"There are people on that committee who far more powerful than I am. And they think I've become too attached to you, too soft, to make responsible decisions. Perhaps it's my boyish enthusiasm talking, but Pegasus, despite all its danger, holds the greatest potential for us due to its unexplored territory. We knew almost nothing about this sector. Many secrets remain unexplored, not to mention the ongoing Wraith problem and the need to address it.”

John chuckled again.

"How's Todd?" he interjected, asking about their strange ally.

For a moment, Woolsey seemed not to understand what he meant.

"Not good. He was taken to Area 51, and I believe it's permanent. I deliberately didn't inquire about him. The last time I did, I was threatened with dismissal."

John sighed sadly. He wanted to hope that a better fate awaited the Wraith than dying in a cage, especially after he had essentially saved their planet from the Super Hive attack. John made a vague motion with his hands on the table—he hadn't expected anything else.

After a quick goodbye, John stood up and left the office, leaving Woolsey alone. It had been a long day… They were seeing their loved ones off and accepting the inevitable new realities. John felt the need to fall asleep now—perhaps tomorrow would be a little better. They could still hope that the complications with the Lucians wouldn't be eternal, and that sooner or later they'd be allowed back to Pegasus.

***

"Mr. Woolsey, you again?" the President asked as Richard entered his office."I believe I made it clear last time that I do not intend to approve this relocation"

Richard adjusted his briefcase and moved to the chair opposite the T-shaped desk.

"Mr. President, you must understand in addition to our own interests, we have certain obligations to the peoples of Pegasus."

"Such as?"

"For example, assisting them in their defense against the Wraith."

"And you, in turn, must understand that Atlantis isn't a seaside resort! It's a military base that could be used to defend Earth in the event of an attack." The President rose to his feet to appear more convincing. "Don't you think we've been meddling in other people's affairs too often lately, Richard?"

"With all due respect, sir, positioning Atlantis on the moon will not be effective," Woolsey retorted. "The Moon orbits the Earth, and it will be very difficult to target an object if it arrives from the far side."

The President glared at him, quietly letting out a breath.

"What about the self-guided missiles? Will their use also be 'ineffective'?"

"As far as I know, the amount in the city's arsenal is limited."

"It will be enough to protect us from a single Lucian attack—and after that, who knows, perhaps it won't be necessary."

The President didn't want to talk to him. Woolsey suspected the presence of a "third speaker" in this discussion, and that the President was nervous because he was not fully in control of the situation.

"Don't waste my time, Woolsey! Both you and I are trying to do something useful to protect Earth. However, you never used to contradict me." the President remarked.

"Sir, I used to be deeply and completely convinced that Stargate Command was doing a poor job. During my service on Atlantis, I have been proven wrong many times, and that correctly leading the mission is a difficult task. The recent situation with the Wraith showed that we still need to keep this sector under control, as some of them may now know where our planet is located. We are currently cut off from this knowledge—which leaves Earth defenseless."

"All the more reason for Atlantis to stay, to be able to protect the people! Enough. I don't want to hear this nonsense anymore. Atlantis will remain on Earth. Period. And you could lose your job." the President said, pointing a finger at him.

***

Mr. Woolsey decided to discuss the situation with his recent adversary, General O'Neill. For this purpose, his route led to the base at Cheyenne Mountain first thing in the morning.

The general was at his post, greeted him with a firm handshake, and invited him to sit down.

"Care for some tea?" the General offered with his usual half-joking tone, treating him more like a pampered pawn from the IOA than a colleague.

"Oh, no, no. I won't be long, and this will be a serious conversation."

Jack switched to a professional tone and commented, "I hear Atlantis is having visa troubles? Carter is dreaming of turning it into a Moon base."

"I want to hear what you think about that," Woolsey stated, getting straight to the point.

"Are you looking for allies for an escape? I won't cover for you. I'll agree with Carter," O'Neill said calmly, looking him in the eye.

"Oh, no, General, this time I want you to back my assertions. And I even know why you'll agree..."

***

Carson stood on the road near his home. He saw his parents through the window and wondered if he should go inside. As someone who had signed a non-disclosure agreement, he no longer had the right—since he himself was now essentially alien technology. On the other hand, damn it, they were his family!

He could just walk in, say hello, tell them he was fine, and that he had to continue working in a secret location. He just hoped his mother or father wouldn't have a heart attack because of it...

The old couple were having dinner together. He saw his father's bald head and his mother's face. He longed to go inside and hug them both. It was early evening, and he was afraid his mother would see him through the window. He was just steeling his nerves to go when he was suddenly interrupted by a call from Rodney. Beckett hesitated for a moment, then took the call and put the cell phone to his ear.

"Yes, Rodney, what is it?" he asked impatiently, annoyed by the ill-timed call.

"Where are you? Get back to Atlantis now!"

Carson choked on his indignation, but couldn't find the words right away.

"Did something happen?"

"I'll tell you everything when you get there. Just come on," McKay hung up. Beckett sighed.

Shaking his head and putting the phone in his pocket, he turned and walked away of the street. His mother got up from the table to clear a plate, and he feared she might have spotted him, so he quickened his pace, hastily turning onto an adjacent street. After reaching the corner, Carson got into his car and drove to the rendezvous point, but a sense of disgust lingered because he hadn't decided—hadn't managed—to go in. All because of Rodney.

The neighbor from the house across the street, getting out of her car, stared after him for a long moment—did her eyes deceive her, or was that really the neighbor's Carson, the boy who died while serving in a conflict zone? Could such a thing happen? She knew many stories of people supposedly missing in action or brought home in a lead-lined coffin returning as if nothing had happened, only for it to turn out they had been serving in a place they were forbidden to speak about! Perhaps this was one of those cases? The woman in heels quickly hurried toward the neighbor's house.

Naturally, no one believed old Mrs. Shapoklyak—in fact, she was vividly and shamefully chased away from the door. The memories of their only son were too fresh, too painful—for some old crow to mock his memory!

Mrs. Mills, however, didn't give up—she simply decided to proceed more carefully in the future. And when the "prodigal son of the Beckett family" returned, she would be ready.

***

"I spoke with Carter," the General said, clicking the door latch as he returned to the office.

"She's against it." Jack's gaze settled on Woolsey's face.

Richard awaited his return with a shudder and a hint of hope.

"She thinks setting up the Gate on the moon isn't a bad plan."

"General, you know the President's opinion is being manipulated. And it's not our dear Sam doing it. The only question is, for what purpose..." Woolsey posed the question.

"Sam says the city's personnel are vetted, and they won't let you hire anyone else anytime soon."

"This is precisely about the long-term perspective. As Dr. McKay says, if Atlantis lands on the Moon's surface, it could be the last time... What if this is all just a precursor to an attempt to seize the city? From that standpoint, I approve of the fact that everything valuable was removed from the city."

Jack paused and scratched his nose with his little finger.

"Are you asking me to go against Sam?"

"To trust the opinion of one astrophysicist over another," Woolsey confirmed. "Especially one who has served on Atlantis for a long time and knows all the intricacies of the city."

"Even assuming all that is possible…" the General said wearily. "Richard, do you really think this is part of a cunning Lucian plot to take the city?"

"I don't know who's behind this..." Woolsey said pointedly. "But if Atlantis returns to Pegasus, it will be safer. Do you share that?"

The general stared at him for a long moment, weighing the risks against the prospect of an inevitable quarrel with Sam.

"I'll think about it and try to do something."

Woolsey was ready to proclaim his greatest victory and barely held back a smile. At that point, he had nothing more to say than to wish him luck. Picking up his briefcase, Richard passed the General on his way out.

"But I'm not promising results!" Jack shouted after him, closing the door into the corridor.

***

"What did you want to tell me, Rodney?" Carson demanded, slapping his jacket down on the table in the room with annoyance.

McKay tore his eyes away from the screen and looked at him, noticing Beckett was a little on edge.

"We need to talk. We know they won't let us go back with the city. So listen to what we can do..."

Chapter Text

========== Chapter 2. The Obsession ==========

John Sheppard had been suffering from severe nightmares lately... No pills helped him, neither those bought on recommendation at the nearest pharmacy, nor even those given to him by Keller. It's one thing to dream of trains flying at you and falling airplanes... It's quite another to dream of clowns... But what do you do when you repeatedly dream of the same Wraith?

And how does he manage it?! He's a good n miles away from John...

And what does he do? He just stands and stares at him. He stares at him for hours, as if he's not even breathing. Time feels different in dreams, and John doesn't realize how much time is actually passing. But the feeling of someone else's presence remains with him, even after he wakes up, completely unrested.

John was in no hurry to reveal the nature of his nighttime visions to Keller, fearing that he would be suspended from work due to his psychological instability. He also tried to forget about it, to dismiss it like a bad dream. "They're stuck here, and he won't be able to do anything about it anyway..."

The Wraith has his eyes; familiar, painfully familiar features—but no tattoo around the eye. Sometimes John thinks its someone else, not "his Todd." He doesn't know how they treat him there, in Area 51; he'd like to erase him from his life... And only Teyla notices that something is bothering him. But he doesn't dare tell even her.

"So, are we stuck here?" he asks Rodney when he finds him in one of the Atlantis bays.

McKay tears himself away from his tablet with difficulty. John notices that, for a while now, he's been a burden to everyone.

"Yeah, probably." Ever since the scientist was recruited to work on Destiny's mission, he's been too busy. "Until Сommand approves the decision to return, yes, we're stuck here." Rodney extends his short answer for the sake of propriety.

"But they won't approve it," Sheppard concludes, looking at him questioningly. McKay avoids direct eye contact and, as usual, pretends to be very busy.

John ends the conversation and goes to bother someone else. He goes to see Keller.

"Hi, John. Are the pills helping?" Jennifer asks, seeing him, as if caught red-handed.

She was rummaging through some packages in a drawer, and when John walked in, she immediately closed it. The Colonel again tries to push aside the thought that everyone around him knows something and is hiding it from him. He hesitates, shrugging. The medic sees from his look that they aren't working very well.

"Perhaps there's something stronger?"

"Just sleeping pills. But they'll make you sleep like the dead," Jennifer warns, reaching into the cabinet for a small bottle.

"I'm already close to that..." John says, rubbing his eyes and taking the medicine.

"Two pills before bed," Jennifer instructs, while John shakes the clear bottle, trying to estimate how long they'll last.

"Okay. Thank you." John practically flies away from her and goes to Teyla.

She, as usual, is holding a class for anyone who wants to join. He watches the stick fight for a while, then risks approaching her when she calls a break so her Marine trainees can recover a bit.

"Good fight," he praises her combat skills with a forced smile. The woman smiles back, but when she meets his face, she realizes the situation hasn't changed, and her smile also becomes slightly tighter—better than his. John tries not to pay attention to it.

"I wanted to take you and Ronon out today. How about a shopping spree in San Francisco? We could take Torren and Kanaan." Teyla smiled genuinely. She liked the idea.

"So, today at five o'clock local time. We'll fly the Jumper to the nearest grove, and from there we'll call a taxi."

Having agreed, John flies out to visit Ronon and inform him of today's foray into the city. His passport and citizenship haven't been processed yet, and the Satedan isn't allowed to leave Atlantis unaccompanied.

He found Ronon on the balcony. He could stand for hours, gazing at the bustling city below. Sometimes John wondered whether he wanted to stroll through it or stand like a statue, watching from the sidelines. After all, the runner's past had an effect on him, and the Satedan still showed caution before entering settlements.

Sitting down next to him, John also watches the beach for a few seconds.

"A pair of binoculars would be good here. Then you could discreetly check out those beauties in bikinis."

Ronon, as usual, gave a curt smile at his joke—such nonsense made him laugh, and these were the rare moments when a genuine smile could be seen on the seasoned giant's face.

Ronon remained silent in response, and John continued:

"What do you think about going for a walk? Say, today at 5? Teyla and Kanaan with the kid will be there." No matter how much John thought the Athosian was unnecessary in their company, when the phrase "Teyla with Torren" was mentioned, Kanaan was automatically added.

Ronon shook his head, as if he wanted to decline. John understood that he wanted to speak frankly and moved closer, leaning on the railing.

"When I look at this, I remember my home planet. It was almost as beautiful."

"Almost?" Sheppard interjected, but meeting his gaze, he added, "Got it, your own is always better."

"When I think about the Wraith getting here too... I want to kill them." The Sated grew bitter, clenching his fists and jaw.

Sheppard patted him on the shoulder.

"Come on, you'll clear your head."

A second later, Ronon followed him. Along the way, they encountered a group of Marines with Major Lorne. John shook hands with his comrades personally.

Teyla came down to the main hall from the opposite side—alone, but in a lovely, light dress suitable for the city.

"Kanaan decided to stay with Torren," she explained. Not that Sheppard was unhappy about the news.

"Then we won't need a child seat."

The team settled into the Jumper, and the small ship, entering cloak mode, flew out of Atlantis. They all kept silent about one thing: the past missions they'd flown together like this. Now, almost four weeks later, it seemed like a strange, hazy memory, like a distorted reality. They had long forgotten that there was an "another world," not filled with danger and the desire to hide and escape from it. Sheppard, couldn't get used to it. His home was somewhere else.

They landed in one of the city's wooded parks, parking the Jumper between the trees and hoping no one would find the ship in their absence. They carefully exited the cloak field. Sheppard closed the door using the remote control. Having reached the path, they made their way to civilization.

It all began with a simple shopping trip. John lent Teyla his credit card, and he and Ronon talked while watching her choose clothes she liked for herself, as well as Kanaan and Torren. John told the Satedian about the Earth way of life and promised to take them to an amusement park and a ride on the Ferris wheel afterward..

Teyla left the boutiques happy, having spent a significant portion of Sheppard's salary. Then they decided to grab a bite to eat. John wasn't shy and, knowing his friends' preferences, directed them straight to the best restaurant in the shopping mall they were in.

"I must say, the shashlik in my galaxy is better," Ronon admitted, gnawing meat off a wooden skewer. "But it's still good," he added, so as not to offend his friend.

John and Teyla laughed. Teyla had had too much to drink, and was laughing wildly at almost every joke, clinging to Sheppard with laughter.

Realizing people were starting to look at them strangely, John decided to suggest they take a walk back to the park. It was already about six-thirty in the evening, and they were starting to think about returning home.

Teyla admired the scenery, curiously looking at the parks and buildings. The Satedan was silent, walking beside him with apparent indifference to the stroll, weighed down by Teyla's bags, just like John himself. Oddly enough, the walk didn't improve his mood. Sheppard was apparently subconsciously trying to fill this gap in their missions. They had been here for four weeks already, and his native Earth had already begun to bore him. "No trips to other planets, no Wraith," John would joke.

Sometimes it seemed to him that the only person who could understand him was Teyla. Was she truly happy to be safe with her husband and son? Was Ronon finally glad to escape the Wraith and all the pain associated with them? Were the others happy to finally be home? He didn't understand something, but he still couldn't grasp exactly what...

This planet wasn't enough for him. He was here as if in exile. His place was in distant Pegasus. Here, he had left behind everything he had wanted to escape in his past life. There he left behind everything that had become the essence of his being. The Pegasus expedition had replaced his entire former life. "To some war is hell, to others, a kindly mother." as the ancient Russian proverb went.

It was time to leave. Finding the Jumper in the park without issue and climbing aboard, the team returned to Atlantis. Forward, toward sweet nightmares, Sheppard!

***

"Leave me alone, Todd!" the colonel's angry shout echoed through the midnight room of the half-empty Atlantis. John stopped taking his pills—they made him feel foggy. The visions haven't gone anywhere—they don't bother the Wraith at all. Throwing off the blanket, he starts to climb out of bed. With these symptoms, a rented place is what he really needs if he doesn't want to be discharged from service. However, he's not sure the Wraith will leave him alone even then. He hasn't had anything else for a long time—he can't exactly ask his older brother for help, can he?

After taking a cold shower and at least temporarily washing away the sleep, John, with dark circles under his eyes, decided to take a stroll around the city. And, as usual, catching Rodney working in the science bay at night, he couldn't resist blurting out:

"You must have a plan, right?" He immediately pursed his lip, seeing the desire in Rodney's eyes to fob him off.

A mostly useless endeavor. Sheppard turned away in response to the long silence and was about to leave when the scientist's voice called out to him from behind.

"Well, actually, I have a couple of ideas..."

Sheppard stopped in the doorway and turned back, re-entering the bay, ready to listen.

"We were debating whether to tell you or not..." McKay hesitated.

"Tell me or not? What do you guys take me for?" Sheppard protested.

"Well... you're a man of action, you know." But, meeting a look that spoke volumes, he cut himself off and decided to change the subject, turning his laptop toward him.

"Do you remember that modified Jumper that allowed Elizabeth to survive and save all of us last time?"

"The one the Ancients collectively decided to destroy?"

"Yes, that one. Its blueprints were left in Janus's lab—the few things I managed to save from the invasion of experts from Area 51. If I can manage to create a working time travel device... As a last resort, we decided to use it if they never give us the go-ahead to travel to Pegasus."

"We decided...?" Sheppard repeated and then asked seriously. "What stage are you at?"

"I've sorted out the blueprints and even started constructing the transfer module, but it's still untested..."

"And when did you start?"

"Three weeks ago," Rodney confessed, looking at him expectantly.

"You mean you've been hiding this from me for THREE WEEKS?!" Sheppard repeated slowly, beginning to get angry.

"Well, we couldn't risk it... If something had fallen apart at an early stage, there would have been nothing."

"And Teyla and Ronon are in on this too?" John asked. Rodney nodded. Sheppard pouted, trying to manage his internal boiling point. An oppressive silence hung in the air.

"And? No objections? Complaints?" Rodney asked.

John shook his head.

"None, if this works and gets us back to Pegasus. How much more time do you need?"

"Hey, understanding the principles of Ancient technology is not the same as ordinary physics, by the way!" the scientist complained. "But you didn't hear that this is our main plan, did you?"

"And what's the main plan?"

"The main one is to simulate the city's detonation in case Atlantis is not approved for the return trip."

"Wait, what?"

"I said simulate. Are you even listening? There won't be any actual explosion. It just needs to look natural."

"Maybe I don't fully understand," John began after a moment, "but where's the naturalness in that?"

Rodney leaned on the table with the air of a knowledgeable person and began to explain:

"Suppose the Ancients equipped the city with anti-theft protection. Whatever it is, it's not important right now. So it couldn't be used, say, like Destiny, even though Atlantis isn't suited for that anyway. And so that no one who accidentally captured the city could use it outside of Pegasus. Including you and me," he indicated with a gesture.

"And if the deception is discovered?"

"Then we'll most likely face termination. And prison. But to prevent that from happening, I'm working precisely on making it look like an internal Atlantis subroutine—and you'd better not interfere!"

Sheppard chuckled. For once, talking to Rodney gave him a ray of hope. Things weren't so bad.

…

Changes were also evident on Mr. Woolsey's face—after talking to Rodney, John realized that he was also privy to their "backup plan." His spidey-sense spoke to him with renewed force; the only question was how Woolsey managed to persuade O'Neill—his long-time opponent—to switch to their side. John didn't like unsolved mysteries, so he approached him personally with a question, finding him in his office during his lunch break, deep in thought.

"What did you tell O'Neill to get him to agree?" John asked.

"The truth," Mr. Woolsey replied, hesitating a bit.

Chapter Text

========== Chapter 3. The Arguments ==========

Of course, all this led to a sharp cooling in relations with Sam, as if a magnificent, bright, and interesting toy had been snatched from her hands, but Jack now understood the full seriousness of the situation. Leaving Atlantis on Earth was not just could be, but was MOST LIKELY a damnable setup disguised by a plausible excuse.

With these thoughts, Jack entered the President's office.

"You're going to need a really strong argument, General, to make me change my mind," the President stated slightly irritatedly as soon as Jack entered.

O'Neill looked at him silently for a few seconds—with that look he usually reserved for truly unbelievable news from someone or for enduring an annoying defeat.

"I have nothing to add to that, sir. Except that the inhabitants of that galaxy need protection just as much as the people of this world do."

"Despite all that, you're arguing to save the life of that Wraith? With your permission, General, I prefer to worry about the safety of my own planet! Your latest demands cast doubt on your competence, and if this continues, I will be forced to... No, I will sign the order for your removal right now! I'll appoint someone else to this post!" The President pulled a sheet of paper from a stack and took out a pen, beginning to write something.

Jack couldn't take it anymore:

"You'll replace me with someone from the Intelligence Department? Go ahead. You'll put people with no boundaries in charge of the Stargate Program, allowing teams to loot other planets, and ruin our reputation in the eyes of other peoples, as has already happened. And most importantly—you'll make serious enemies! Not all members of our galaxy are so harmless, let alone the Wraith or other worlds unknown to us!" the General exploded.

The President stopped writing and looked at him, as if not expecting such a reaction.

"If the Wraith woke up and sensed a threat, they will look for where Atlantis went. And no one guarantees that they won't fly here. And what about the 'dark Asgard' that the Atlantis expedition discovered in Pegasus—and with whom we still don't know how to make contact. And how to defend ourselves... Or what they might do. I'm not even talking about the multitude of Ancient devices left in that world... That Wraith could be useful."

The President listened to his righteous monologue very carefully—his face betraying no sign that O'Neill had affected him. Meanwhile, the General continued.

"I ask you, sir, to think about what they are telling you! And extract the truth for yourself. Only after that will it make sense for me to speak with you." Jack stood up, put on, and adjusted his cap.

"May I go, sir?"

"Go," the President agreed, acknowledging he needed to think.

O'Neill turned and left. The unfinished document for his dismissal lay on the presiding officer's desk. The President scratched his nose several times, looking at the wall—a habit that allowed him to distract himself from negativity and focus—and again fell into deep thought. The situation was such that two sides were urging him to do the exact opposite, and both were presenting substantial arguments, but whom should he listen to? On the one hand, yes—Atlantis was needed to protect Earth from many threats, which, having read so many reports, he believed would surely arise sooner or later. On the other hand, these very threats could come from another galaxy, and it would be good to have a post there, as they were currently deaf and blind to the situation unfolding there... Moreover, Atlantis itself could become a source of threats.

It was a difficult choice. He told himself that he wouldn't trade human lives for Ancient trinkets—but then again, when those very trinkets could be essential for survival... And the situation with the Intelligence Department was even more interesting—O'Neill claimed that it was twisting the truth for its own needs, and what they would ultimately get... It somewhat contradicted their current aspirations and convictions. Besides, there wasn't much time to decide all this—no one knew how long their heightened tensions with the Lucians would last, or how long the Wraith would actually hold out, or how effectively he could be used. For now, he was holding back requests for his aggressive interrogation, leaving them unsigned. And on the other hand, everything came down to one simple "but": they simply didn't have additional ZPMs to send the city back to Pegasus. Something had to be done about all this, and he suspected he was in for another sleepless night.

…

With a sense of duty discharged, Jonathan O'Neill left the President's office and practically collided with an NID member—Jacob Forey—right on the doorstep. He was overly smiley, as always.

"General O'Neill, what a chance meeting!" the man exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

"Jacob, coming back to pull the wool over the President's eyes again? Don't you realize how important it is for the expedition to return to Pegasus?! Their work is worth more than your maneuvering for the city's technology! Especially since those technologies will be obtained sooner or later! By our own scientists!"

"I must admit, General O'Neill, I'd like to shake your hand. Your efforts to convince the President of your righteousness are admirable, but unfortunately, they are doomed to fail," the NID member said with an unchanging, open gaze of blue eyes.

"And why is that?"

"Because we hold all the leverage. Our people don't like to just sit around and take free places either—if our organization becomes unprofitable, it could be shut down. Besides, I'm sure you would still like to see, despite all the talk of equal contribution, that Our scientists are the ones making that very contribution to the development of our country's technology and increasing its potential. On behalf of the Department, I propose a deal: that only representatives selected by us will go on the Atlantis expedition, and we will act according to our principles in the name of Earth's protection—in that case, we will no longer interfere; on the contrary, we will facilitate Atlantis, WITH ALL ITS CORE INHABITANTS, returning to Pegasus."

The monologue was long, but Jack had only one answer long ago:

"Over my dead body, Jacob!"

"As you wish," the Department representative said, indifferently moving past him in the doorway, despite O'Neill trying to bump him with his shoulder and elbow as he passed.

"You don't even know who you're working for, Jacob! This endangers people's lives!" Jack yelled after him.

O'Neill stood on the grand staircase for a little longer, but for lack of anything else to do, he was forced to continue walking down it, heading toward the waiting car with a driver, annoyed by the day's events—when was it ever otherwise? But today, he had done all he could.

***

Beckett was again standing in front of his childhood home. Again, he was gathering the strength to go in and say something, or to stand there and leave. All of this felt maximally strange—standing on the threshold of a house where he had never been before, but where his childhood had passed. A jumbled text of justification was ready in his head, but then the hitch—a light drizzle began, which slightly spoiled his appearance. Beckett tried to pull his white jacket over his head to shelter from it somehow, and kept peering into the house's front window, hoping one of his parents would see him on their own and significantly ease his task—at least no one would have to faint on the doorstep.

At that moment, the suspicious neighbor squinted, peeking out from behind her curtain. And with one well-aimed movement, she snapped his picture on her phone—unfortunately, completely forgetting the flash. Beckett turned around. The neighbor instantly darted back behind the curtain.

Carson was afraid his secret would now be widely publicized and began banging on the door, demanding to be let in. The door wouldn't budge. No keys were found under the mat either. Thinking it over, Carson walked around the house hoping to try his luck with the back door or windows, and was about to call for backup when the neighbor herself peeked out the back door—but only to photograph his full face!

"Aunt Meggie!" Beckett exclaimed, throwing up his hands, trying to convince her to listen.

The old woman slammed the door but then couldn't resist and peered out again. The rain intensified, turning into a full-blown downpour.

"We need to talk." Apparently, at some point, the woman just felt sorry for him, and the fact that he called her by name convinced her once more that this was not a stranger.

"Well, come in." The old woman suspiciously opened the door a crack and backed inside, which Beckett quickly took advantage of. However, he was nearly stunned upon reaching the threshold—a rifle, appearing out of nowhere, was pointed at him.

"Aunt Meggie, I can explain everything!" Beckett trembled, trying to persuade her not to shoot.

"You will explain." The woman jerked her head toward the living room, indicating he should come in. Carson realized the double-barreled shotgun was more a tool of persuasion and restraint than aggression, and he meekly obeyed, sitting down on the sofa in front of the small table.

The woman didn't take her eyes off him—only after moving around the obstacle did she sit opposite him and set her late husband's weapon aside.

"Aunt Meggie..." Beckett began, looking into her eyes tearfully.

"I'm waiting for an explanation, dear! Why are you standing on the doorstep and not coming inside after causing your parents so much pain?"

"The thing is... the thing is... I died. That's what the documents say. And that's how it has to be. It's related to my service. Can you imagine what will happen if the public finds out about this? So I ask you to delete those photos," Carson said, pointing at the neighbor's cell phone, which just chimed.

The woman took it out of her pocket and showed him a primitive mobile phone—nonetheless, it was still equipped with a messenger app. The screen showed that both photos had already been sent to his parents, and angry messages were already appearing beneath them.

Beckett realized things were bad.

"I don't care about this duty! I told them about your unexpected visit—but they didn't believe me! Go and confess to them right now that you're alive! At least to save my good name!" the old woman insisted.

Carson bolted for the door, hoping to get out of this madhouse before it was too late. He would figure out what to do and how to handle the situation later. Dealing with the door, he flung it wide open and was about to run—but on the threshold, he ran into his furious mother and father, who had apparently come to personally settle things with the pushy neighbor for sticking her nose in other people's business.

The woman gasped and clutched her face. The anger on his father's face instantly subsided and was replaced by bewilderment. An awkward scene ensued. His mother reached out for him, seemingly not believing he was still alive, and stroked his face. Carson allowed himself to be hugged, seeing no point in hiding anymore. The woman cried into his shoulder, repeating jumbled phrases—tears were already streaming from the corners of his own eyes. He looked at his dad. The man walked over in confusion and clapped him on the shoulder, seemingly also confirming his reality.

"How is this possible?" he asked in a half-whisper, looking into his son's eyes.

"It's me, Dad," the weeping Beckett managed to say.

The elderly couple were undeterred by the rain or the possibility of catching a cold: they couldn't take their eyes off their son! Finally, his father hugged him too, and together they dragged him inside, instantly forgetting the initial reason for their visit and the neighbor—they spent all their time there until the morning of the next day.

Chapter Text

========== Chapter 4. Risky Move ==========

Carson spent the entire evening and half the night talking with his parents. They were afraid to let him out of their sight even for a moment, fearing he would disappear—the shock was that profound. Of course, Carson didn't tell them the whole truth. He said that from now on, he was under a secrecy classification at a government facility and was officially recorded as deceased, but he couldn't help but appear. He refused to talk about his work, arguing he wasn't allowed to. He only said he was still functioning as a medic.

Afterward, however, they spent a long time looking at old photos. He asked his parents how they were doing, and if they needed anything. The elderly couple talked long and much, but all their attention was focused on their son. They put him to sleep in his old room, where they had barely entered since receiving the notice of his death. They had only tidied up a little. How pleasant it was to sleep in his own bed again! It seemed that even on Atlantis, with its subtle, lulling rocking on the waves, sleep wasn't so sweet.

After having breakfast in the morning and getting ready to leave, Carson explained his need to go again as a matter of duty. He promised he would definitely visit them again and that his existence must remain a strict secret—lest they be taken for mad. His mother kissed him goodbye. His father hugged him and clapped him on the shoulder. They watched him with longing eyes as he left his childhood home early in the morning—at 5 o'clock, to avoid attracting the attention of neighbors. Their son was alive—that was the main thing—and they were confident that he had everything under control and would definitely come to visit them again.

And they still had to consider making amends with the neighbor—who, after all, was the one who led him home.

***

"And what should I say then?" Rodney protested.

Sheppard walked into the lab, late for the briefing. Mr. Woolsey was dissatisfied with McKay's speech concept. John settled in behind Teyla and Ronon and crossed his arms, observing the scene.

"Just start with the most important thing, Rodney. New information has surfaced... There is a danger to Earth due to Atlantis exploding if it is not moved to Pegasus in time. And then start the explanations."

This lesson in public speaking from Woolsey would have been slightly amusing if not for the situation. Damn, they actually wanted to plausibly lie to the highest officials to get back to their missions in Pegasus. It was unnatural and unacceptable. They could be kicked out for even thinking about it! But, besides the simple desire to return, their only justification was that this way, they would prevent the Lucian Alliance from seizing the city should they attempt to do so.

"Try again, Rodney," Woolsey requested. McKay stammered again.

"Maybe we should all put in a word?" Teyla suggested tiredly.

"Yes, and it will look like a children's club," John disapproved. He agreed with Woolsey that Rodney, as the authoritative figure, should deliver the main speech—if the head of Atlantis himself started giving the reason and explaining the intricacies, it would be suspicious, to say the least. But, God, McKay!

"I simply can't speak with confidence when I don't fully understand the situation!" the scientist justified himself.

"How can you not understand something, Rodney?" Sheppard scoffed.

"Yes, I haven't fully worked out the plan yet—and you're asking me before I'm ready! The device isn't ready yet!"

Woolsey rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. It was a waste of time gathering here... McKay was already working overtime—and the lack of sleep was negatively affecting his temper.

"Why don't we all come up with our own plan for how to start and conduct the conversation, and then we'll compare notes at the evening briefing?" John suggested, somewhat echoing Teyla's recent proposal.

"I suppose that's better than nothing," Woolsey agreed tiredly. "Before we're all fired for redundancy." The head of Atlantis was the first to leave the room. Ronon snorted loudly but remained standing.

"What stage is your device at, Rodney?" Sheppard asked to monitor his progress.

"I'm assembling everything according to Janus's plan. But the controls are still unclear to me. I have to work under tight deadlines. I want to adjust the interface by creating a new, convenient slot where we can input familiar dates, but I can't guarantee that's even possible."

"Let's skip the innovations, Rodney! We'll manage without them."

"You mean you will manage! Of course, Ancient technology intuitively listens to you, but I want concrete specifics!" the scientist protested.

Sheppard waved off his grumbling.

"Alright, keep working. Tell me when you're done." John swiftly left the room. The others followed his example, leaving Dr. McKay alone. He just watched them leave, shook his head mechanically, muttered something under his breath, and continued modeling the device's operation. He wished Zelenka would return quickly with his freshly generated parts. Radek preferred to work in proud solitude away from Rodney—but only to him could McKay entrust such an important task as printing Alteran circuit boards and selecting crystals. Because he knew Radek would do it well, because he himself had neither the time nor the energy for it, because his genius brain had to be applied elsewhere—namely, in predicting all possible uses of the time machine and refining the plan.

It currently looked like they should inform Command about the suddenly discovered system subroutine that started a countdown (this subroutine was already fully prepared and integrated into the city's systems). Naturally, this would not lead to an explosion in any case. But to "avoid" it, the legend would require them to disconnect the city from the ZPMs—and then farewell to the cloak. The emphasis was also on the fact that the government wouldn't have too much time for deliberation—and then either Atlantis would reveal itself in all its glory to the public, like a magical Disneyland, or they would have to leave Earth in an emergency—which was more likely. The government would not want a disclosure of state secrets—that would shock the population, if not worse, and cause unrest. At the same time, there would be no talk of sending the city to the Moon—and there would be only one way out.

Next, a difficult journey to Pegasus awaited them. They would be able to lift off, but the flight between galaxies would drain the remaining ZPM charge long before they reached the necessary point. This was another headache for McKay. He planned to use Stargate-like drives (tunneling drives) again to move the city, and perhaps the tidal gravitational forces in the M33 area would help them accelerate—so they wouldn't have to spend energy on the constant operation of the engines. A more accurate calculation was to be provided by Samantha Carter, who had locked herself away at home to quietly tackle this problem. He understood her feelings, as well as her unwillingness to be in their company right now. Maybe... But he was sure she would do everything correctly so he could trust her calculations.

Rodney's main focus was far from the speech to the President right now—he would think about that the night before. Now, it was more important to figure out the device, and on that front, he was facing some difficulties.

To start with, he didn't fully understand how it worked. The principle of physical action was clear to McKay—a gravitational perturbation connecting them to another point in space relative to the time vector. Moreover, travel was possible along both vectors—moving a certain distance in space as well. The size of the captured area of displacement was also regulated. But what caused the orientation along the timeline? There were no specific levers on Janus's blueprints. One could assume that the machine was controlled by the mind—but something told McKay that in reality, it wouldn't be that simple... Or rather, in reality, it might not be simple at all! It might only seem simple to Sheppard, and he needed to understand the process to orient himself if something went wrong! And then all these dress rehearsals for his speech! Have a heart!

And if he had figured out the space coordinates, understanding how the time machine worked in relation to the most mysterious variable was not so simple. It was a failure of Rodney's intellect! He needed to distract himself... And rest... And distract himself. And look at it all with fresh eyes.

He could always assemble Janus's device exactly as it was designed and hope it would work as it should in a difficult moment—but Rodney didn't like uncertainty! Accuracy in calculations had repeatedly saved his life and the lives of all Atlantis personnel—so he still wanted to rely on strict facts rather than vague assumptions.

Of course, it would be better if they didn't have to use the time machine, but if something went wrong... They could always go back and prevent it.

The situation was risky. Launching into space with an insufficient ZPM charge seemed like suicide! Hope rested only on the Stargate-like drives, the power for which, even by the most approximate calculations, would not last them the entire way. But then they could still travel by inertia for some time and use the main engines—and thus complete the transit.

Rodney believed that he was a genius—and therefore hoped that he would be able to solve all the problems that arose during the mission in the shortest possible time after its start. And so he still continued to work on the unresolved enigma. After all, what good would a time travel device be if they simply couldn't use it?

***

Sheppard was having a particularly heavy dream. In it, the already familiar Wraith was not only standing and staring—but also reaching out his hands to him and getting angry—silently, wordlessly, but all this created such an aggravating feeling, as if he were being tortured, as if the Wraith were screaming at him. The dream proceeded excruciatingly slowly due to the long time John couldn't wake up and was forced to writhe on the bed, experiencing something like sleep paralysis while the Wraith stood over him. Waking up in a cold sweat on the crumpled bed, John distinctly felt goosebumps all over his body.

"Damn it!" the Colonel cursed to himself.

From a certain point of view, Todd was right—the only thing holding him back from attempting to extract him to Atlantis was the thought that it might not be necessary. There was no longer any absolute impossibility of doing it—from a standpoint of conscience, Sheppard was simply obliged to bring him home. But John remembered who he was actually dealing with and doubted whether he should even do it.

The cursed Wraith wouldn't let him forget about him. Maybe, of course, it was a symptom of stopping the pills—aggravated symptoms... But John was entirely and completely sure that TODD HIMSELF WAS PLAYING WITH HIM! After sitting for a short time and coming to his senses, Sheppard got up and quickly dressed. Todd simply did not want to be forgotten here—from his point of view, all this was justified. And John was even leaning toward attempting to free him closer to the time—not because he was tormenting him, but because it was the right thing to do. He owed the Wraith a certain "debt." The General would sign the papers if John put them under his nose on the eve of their departure.

No matter how much he disliked the prospect of taking a monster back to Pegasus... it seemed they had no other choice.

***

The day of the meeting arrived. Rodney McKay, dressed impeccably and with a laptop in a briefcase, with a completed report, was invited to the President's office for an urgent matter concerning national security. The President was ready to listen to him, making an exception for the lead scientist, unlike his colleagues. Rodney was ready not to get bogged down in technical terms and explain as clearly as possible. Adjusting his tie, he entered the office. The door was specially opened for him.

The President sat in his chair before the T-shaped desk, hands clasped on the tabletop, and looked at him expectantly.

"Mr. President," Rodney greeted.

"Dr. McKay, get straight to the point. I've been told you have vital information regarding national security?" the head of state demanded, dispensing with formalities.

"I want to state right away that all data is verified and accurate," Rodney rattled off, opening the briefcase that had been checked numerous times on all approaches to the main man and taking out the laptop. He immediately launched the presentation, hastily put together in the last hours of his stay in the city and refined on the way here.

The President watched his theatrical preparations with restraint, noting only the exceptional fatigue on his face as a compelling argument to listen without interruption.

"During our study of the city's systems, we discovered a subroutine left by the Ancients in case Atlantis ever left Pegasus. It was found suddenly and by chance—because the city began a countdown. We tried to find out what this meant and concluded that the city will explode if it reaches the end. We have a few days of countdown left—so there's no need to worry. We will in any case manage to avert disaster from Earth; otherwise, we will have to disconnect the city from the ZPMs powering it, which will inevitably compromise its cloak before the civilian and military structures of other countries."

McKay saw the President practically jump in his chair at the mention of the city exploding and significantly tense up—but he still finished his speech, thankfully being given the floor. The master of the White House was considerably agitated, even if he wanted to believe it was a bad joke.

"Is this a joke, Dr. McKay? We just acquired a city capable of ensuring Earth's security, and now it suddenly turns out we have to abandon it because it will turn into a big fireworks display? Are you mocking me?"

"What jokes, sir?"

"Is the data accurate?" the President interrupted him.

"The data has been verified by me, other scientists from Atlantis, and also Samantha Carter," McKay replied, hoping Sam's name meant something to him. "Moreover, we have even developed and calculated several retreat plans."

"I see you came prepared," the President sat up straight. The ongoing situation increasingly resembled some kind of spectacle to him. First, rival agencies try to convince him of completely opposite things, then this... nonsense! If it turns out that subordinates conspired to orchestrate this carte blanche and faked all this—a massive investigation and a string of dismissals would follow. The country doesn't need such treacherous people! Moreover, they might very well be Lucian agents!

In his deliberations, the President started from one simple truth: having the Ancient city at hand is much better than not having it. All other conjectures seemed ridiculous—who could capture a guarded city, especially one located on the lunar surface? So, if Dr. McKay believes his position is legitimate—let him provide solid arguments and proof.

"If this is some kind of joke, Doctor, you'll be the first to lose your job! And then everyone else involved, and that Carter!" he threatened.

"I'm precisely trying to avoid that. But if Atlantis blows up—that will be a two-megaton explosion. I'm not making anything up! We have four days, 23 hours," McKay looked at his watch, "and 21 minutes left. And it's up to you to decide what happens to us and the city—a big explosion or the loss of the cloak. There is a third option. You don't have a very wide choice."

"The city must be evacuated!"

"Moving it deeper into the bay—that was an idea. But it won't help. Russian submarines float everywhere. We won't avoid disclosure."

"The Russians already know where Atlantis is. We share information with them for non-disclosure." The President had just said something McKay didn't know.

"It doesn't matter. You should consider the well-being of the people. If we want to use the city for our needs—we can only do that in Pegasus!"

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm tired of the back-and-forth. I haven't had a full night's sleep in several days, trying to understand what's going on and why. And then I flew on a plane and sat in traffic for eight hours preparing the report for you."

"Why didn't you inform me immediately? Then we would have had more time. I assure you, Dr. McKay, whatever you say—it will be thoroughly checked!"

McKay took a deep breath. Let them check—a genius like him took care that his followers wouldn't find any evidence.

"And yet, hear me out." Rodney requested, being unusually persistent for himself.

The President exhaled and leaned back in his chair, still willing to listen.

"Atlantis will NOT make it to Pegasus on the current ZPMs. Even if we connect them periodically and travel by inertia—it won't be enough. We need to get there as quickly as possible to continue operating the city, and I propose using the Stargate-like drives (tunneling drives), which create a wormhole in the direction of our movement. We will make one big jump, and then a small gravitational maneuver around the Triangulum Galaxy on conventional engines, which will allow us to accelerate like a slingshot, save ZPM charge, and significantly reduce the travel time." Rodney paused, taking a break in his speech, and continued, seeing extreme disbelief on the President's face.

"We can temporarily stop the countdown, but it will resume once the ZPMs are connected to the city. And during that time, the city will be completely defenseless—we won't even be able to raise the iris on the Gate, let alone the cloak or the shield?"

His words stung the President—he said tiredly, but still condescendingly:

"De-energize the city and find a way to stop the countdown." He almost ground the words out.

"We've tried. It didn't work. The program is hard-coded into the city's systems as a basic function. Trying to remove or alter it will damage other systems."

"Then find a way to avoid that," the President muttered wearily. He didn't understand information technology more than he needed to hold his position. "I will call an unscheduled meeting on this matter. And rest assured, McKay, my experts will check everything!" The President pointed his finger at him for emphasis.

"Yes, sir," Rodney replied wearily, ready to go. But he hadn't finished explaining the plan.

"Would you like to hear the remaining points?"

"Another time," the President dismissed him. "I presume this conversation will come up many times again..."

…

At the exit of the building, McKay was met by Colonel Sheppard and General O'Neill personally. A "parked" helicopter, piloted by Sheppard himself, awaited them on the helipad marked with an "H"—so Rodney wouldn't have to sit in traffic again. John and Jack shook his hand in turn.

"That was a great move. Now let the NID figure it out," Jack said.

Sheppard put on his dark glasses, and the procession of a tired Rodney and the Colonel and General, who were weary from standing in the sun, headed back to the helicopter.