Chapter 20

Nicholas Rush did not believe in the afterlife. He believed in ascension, but that wasn't the same thing. He'd heard hundreds of theories, arguments, philosophies, and opinions, and he hadn't taken to any of them, choosing instead to believe that death was the end, after which there was nothing. He knew once that sedative hit his brain he wouldn't have to worry or wonder where he was going to wake up, because he wasn't going to. It would be over. Not for the people he was leaving behind, certainly; but wasn't that the way of all things?

So it was with infinite amazement that he became cognizant of sound somewhere out in the darkness. He couldn't see anything, couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed, and trying to blink didn't help. He wasn't even sure if he had eyes. But his ears were still there, registering that faint, faint sound out in the periphery, and it was getting louder. Coming closer?

"Doctor Rush?"

A voice in the abyss. Cutting out the noise, and then replaced by it again. Where was it coming from? A sensation overwhelmed him, or perhaps several did at once – fear, panic, confusion, desperation, longing, elation. These were emotions. And he was feeling them. How was this possible? How was he capable of feeling anything if he was dead? Was this the afterlife? Why was it so dark? And why couldn't he move?

"Doctor Rush."

Who are you?

And what was that sound?

"Doctor Rush, can you hear me?"

Yes, but I don't know why.

What was going on here? How was this happening? Was it even happening at all? That was a silly question. He would have to be existing to be capable of wondering if he was existing. Whether or not he was alive was yet to be determined.

"Continue backing off the propofol."

Music.

That's what that sound was. He remembered music. Sweet, glossy notes that made the loneliness a little less lonely, the darkness a little less dark. It was strange, this understanding, because he'd once heard that there was music in heaven, but darkness in hell. So, where was he? Nothing about this was right. He pushed against it, grappling with a reality that didn't make sense, trying so hard to reach out into the void and grasp some shred of not even logic, but simple sanity.

What he grasped instead was a hand.

The darkness was less oppressive now, and it felt more…external. He could feel things. More than just emotion; he could corporeally, tactilely feel things. Weight. Pressure. Matter. Temperature ranges. Air movement. He became acquainted with his physical body again, and he located his eyelids for the first time. They were closed. Slowly, he opened them.

His environment was not what he expected at all. White walls. A ceiling. A door. There was a soft bed beneath his back, a warm blanket over his body, and sunlight – real sunlight – streaming in through a window somewhere to his left. This wasn't heaven or hell. This wasn't even the infirmary on Destiny. This was a hospital, probably on Earth. And there were faces around him, faces he didn't know, smiling, nodding, chattering.

He saw white institutional coats.

Clipboards.

Wires and tubes.

A badge that read, "Brightman".

"What is going on?!" he shouted. Or, he tried to. He discovered that he was intubated, with something hard wrapped around his face and a needle in his arm. He choked on his panic, and the faces all began talking at once, fading in and out before his eyes, circling above him like birds over prey. The voices drowned out the music.

There were hands on him. Restraining him. He was fighting to get up, out of instinct and confusion more than anything else, but it seemed that his body was misinterpreting the wild signals his brain was sending, and one arm flailed freakishly while the other lay dead still. Amidst the mayhem he noticed a strange thing: his iPod was in its dock on the bench under the window. He fixed on that sight, looking to it as if to a monolith, knowing it was important but not comprehending why. Then a firm grip pinned him to the bed, and he felt his body grow heavy. They were drugging him.

They moved around the room and around his bed, checking vital signs and equipment, making notes, prattling to each other. He tried to follow their movement and the conversations, but to his hazy mind they were just ghosts, and the words were just noise. He didn't think they sounded too concerned. That was probably good. The room dimmed and came into focus again and again while he sailed adrift in the waters of half-consciousness, trying to get his feet on some solid ground only to find nothing there. He was slipping. No, no, no, stay awake, what's happening, tell me what's going on...And things went black again.

The next time he woke up, it was night, and he was alone. At first he felt the familiar rush of alarm and dislocation, but while he was more mentally alert this time, whatever drugs he'd been given must have still been in his system. He couldn't move. And for that he was thankful. He needed to think, or whatever it was one did with a broken mind, and he couldn't do that if an emotional crisis was overriding his reason. Trying to get out of bed was a bad idea, he decided, and he would probably just hurt himself in the process. No, he needed to approach this logically. He needed time to adjust. To wrap his head around the fact that he was, apparently, actually alive. This was no out of body experience, no existential phenomenon. This was life. Consciousness.

This was...unforeseen.

He remembered dying. On the ship. He was so sick, and so weak, and his whole body had started breaking down, and Lieutenant Johansen had given him that sedative, and everything disappeared. It had all gone as anticipated. The possibility of this was so remote that he hadn't even considered it a possibility at all, and he found it staggering to the point of lunacy. He wasn't even sure how he felt about it yet.

He wondered what his condition really was now. He felt himself shaking even though he wasn't cold. Was he healing? Had they discovered a cure? Or was he still sick, had the sedative failed, and had he awoken just in time to learn that the end was still coming, and there was still nothing they could do to stop it? He felt unexpectedly lonely, and this line of thinking had him wishing that he hadn't woken up at all. If he was going to die anyway, he would rather not be conscious for it. It was a battle just to keep his eyes open. Where was everybody? Where was he? With absolutely no point of reference, everything and everyone he ever knew felt so distant right now, so wholly out of reach, worse than when he'd actually been on the ship, and the only thing he wanted was a familiar face.

Then he remembered his iPod.

And he realized he wasn't alone. They'd been here. Maybe that meant they'd be back.

He felt vaguely like he wanted to cry, but he wasn't sure if that was the relief or the drugs or the shock to his system or what, and all of his strength was concentrated on staying awake. His heart settled a bit, which really didn't help his grip on consciousness, and soon his eyes fell shut, and the battle was lost.

The third time, it was a little easier. He was reluctant to get used to the idea that this was going to be a normal thing, waking up, but really, it was nice. He kept his eyes closed and spent a long time just breathing. He no longer had the tube down his throat, and he knew that was good, even if he couldn't recall when it had actually been removed. He felt stronger today, which was to say he didn't think he was going to spontaneously pass out at any given moment.

After confirming that he really was breathing under his own power, he took a chance and began to test his body. He could feel the crinkly hospital bedspread under his hands. Curling his fingers, he gripped the sheet. Success.

His feet were next. He moved them side to side and felt the sheet rustle against the tips of his toes. This really was something! He flexed and bent at the ankles, then curled and uncurled his toes.

It took him a minute to realize that he was only moving his left side. Still paralyzed? Panic tried to rise, but he forced it down. Baby steps, he told himself. One thing at a time.

Satisfied he had some mobility, he took a chance and opened his eyes. He was still in the hospital but apparently in a different room. It was morning, judging by the position of the sun. That was an absurd observation, he realized, because he really had no idea where the sun actually was in relation to his window. He just felt like it was probably early. So, morning it was.

There was only one face this time. Colonel Everett Young, who was staring at him very, very attentively.

"Rush," said Young, in a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter reality. Nick wasn't sure he was too far off there.

Nick tried to speak. The sound came out scratchy, not human at all, and it hurt his raw throat. He swallowed hard but didn't try again. Didn't matter. Young looked enormously pleased.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you," the colonel said.

Nick didn't think he'd ever been quite so glad to be seen. He still didn't get what was going on, and he knew it would be a long time before he did, but seeing the colonel was a comfort of its own. He licked his lips and tried to communicate his disorientation through his facial expressions.

"Look," said Young, "I know this is a lot to take in. I'm not sure how aware you are right now, or if you even understand anything I'm saying. I know you have questions, or you will soon, but trust me, there will be time for that. You're going to be okay. We'll just take it slow, all right? For now, just relax."

All of that sounded very promising, and Nick had become accustomed to following orders from Young. He allowed himself to ease under that consolation, closed his eyes, and just breathed. Air in, air out. It was calming.

He probably fell asleep. When he woke up again, Young was still at his side, this time with a book in his hands. He was instantly alert the moment Nick opened his eyes as if he had set off some kind of alarm.

Young put the book down. "Hey. You with me?"

"Ysss," Nick said. That was an improvement, anyway. But his throat was still sore.

Young just nodded. "Okay. Here's what we can do. You don't need to talk out loud for now, okay? Just shake your head or nod or something. Do you understand?"

Do you understand? That sounded familiar. There was a memory there, and he tried to chase it down. The roles had been reversed, where Nick had asked Young that very question. What was it? What was he trying to explain? And what did water have to do with it?

"Rush?"

He blinked. Then again. He was confused. Apparently, so was Young.

"Okay, we'll try that again. Just shake and nod your head. Understand?"

Oh, how fun it would be to mess with this man's mind right now. All he would have to do is shake his head, and then Young would get that hilarious look he always got when he felt like he was being baited. But Nick wasn't in the mood for practical jokes at the moment, so he obediently nodded one time. Young actually smiled.

"All right. Good. Very good. Now we play Twenty Questions. Just close your eyes when you're ready to stop and we'll stop, okay?"

He nodded once.

"All right. I'll go first. Do you know where you are?"

Nick stared at him. There were many possible answers to that question, and he wasn't sure if any of them were right.

"Right, too broad," Young realized. "Okay, well, I'll tell you. You're on Earth."

Aha!

"In a hospital."

Called it!

"In Glasgow."

Saw that one comi-

WAIT. What? Glasgow? As in, Scotland? As in, home? His mind stopped all processes then and there. He could only stare at the colonel, not blinking, and now he wasn't sure he remembered how to breathe anymore.

Young just nodded at him. "I know, it's a shock. That's okay. But it's true. Listen, a lot happened after we said goodbye. I can't tell you all of it right now, but we'll work up to it. Want to keep going?"

Nick shook his head with more energy than he thought he had. Of all the places he could have been, Glasgow was not a possibility he had considered. His fragile mind gave up the game, and he fell asleep again.

He was getting the hang of this whole waking-up thing. Realize you're alive, remember to breathe, open your eyes. Each time it was easier.

Young was still there. Or perhaps he was there again. He really had no sense of time at this point. How long had he been here? What had happened to Destiny? Where was the crew?

"You good?" Young asked him.

"Yee…esss," Nick said with effort. It hurt less this time. He was healing. That was good. He reaffirmed his answer with a nod. "Yes."

Young smiled. "Great. The doctors say you're stabilizing, so it won't be too much longer until you can get out of here."

Nick tried to push himself up before remembering he couldn't move half of his body. His left arm moved him too fast, and without his right arm to balance him, he almost went over the edge. Young grabbed for him like lightning and kept him on the bed.

"Hey, take it easy," said the colonel. "Don't overdo it. Slow, remember?"

Nick never was one for taking things slow. He had no patience for processes. He wanted final results. He didn't want to heal, he wanted to be healed. Who were these doctors who couldn't seem to get him back to himself in…however long he'd been here? Nevertheless, he allowed the colonel to settle him back and fix the blankets. He touched his face, fingering a small, thin wire taped there. He knew that was probably a feeding tube. This was weird.

"I'm sure you're wondering about the crew," Young said. "I want to let you know that everyone's okay."

A heaviness was lifted from his chest. Suddenly, breathing was much easier. "Eli?"

"He's good," the colonel said. "His mom is doing just fine now that her boy is back home. He slept for two whole days when he got there, and he's eating cookies as fast as she can bake them, I'm told. But all things considered, he's fine."

Nick allowed a small smile. "Tamara?"

"She's good too. Her family went completely nuts when they saw her."

That made him unspeakably happy. He just nodded, unable to say anything, barely able to breathe.

"Chloe is fine too," Young said softly, without waiting for Nick to ask. "She spent a long time with her mother at first, and she's adjusting to life on Earth again."

That brought up a bunch of new questions, and he wanted to ask them all - Where are they? Why aren't they here? How long have we been back? - but his eyes and throat were burning. Something was moving within him, and he was starting to feel sick.

"I'm good too, thanks for asking," Young added, an amused smile at the corners of his lips. Nick smiled too, as much as he could manage. He wanted to laugh, cry, and throw up all at the same time.

So, that's what he did.

Young serenely held the basin and rubbed a hand between Nick's shoulders. Nick was momentarily lost in a maze of complete logical and emotional chaos, choking, sobbing, laughing, coughing, spitting, and then starting over. It was all hitting him at once and for a moment he didn't know what was real and what wasn't. The pounding in his head was real, and the wrenching in his stomach was real, but those had been his constant companions ever since he first got sick, and right now he wasn't sure if he'd ever even left the ship. For all he knew these moments of relief had all been a dream and he was still back there, waiting to die. He concentrated on the solidity of Young's hand on his back and tried to draw strength from it. At any other time it would have made him uncomfortable, but today it was grounding. It helped bring him, gradually, back to himself, and when the mania passed and he managed to settle enough to breathe normally again, the truth remained with him, firm and gentle.

Everyone had made it home, and somehow he was here to see it.

"Maybe that's enough for now," Young suggested wisely when it was over.

Nick settled back with what was meant to be a nod. He closed his eyes against the room spiraling around him, and he was asleep again before he even realized it.

The next day - or the next time he was conscious, whichever - the colonel returned to the room with the announcement that he had a surprise. Nick had always found surprises underwhelming, if not a complete waste of time, and to be honest he'd been given so many shocks recently that he wasn't sure if anything could really faze him anymore, but this one left him with his tongue in knots.

His friends filed in.

Chloe got to him first. She ran to his side with a tearful grin, squealing his name, throwing her arms around his neck and physically hauling him upright. She openly sobbed when he wrapped his good arm around her back and kissed her hair, and she rocked him as one would a child, weeping, cuddling him so close he could feel her heart thudding in his own chest. He wished he could hold her as tightly as he intended, but his strength was only a small fraction of what it once was. But her grip seemed to make up for it.

Eli hovered eagerly right behind her. He was shaking, as if he were experiencing some kind of emotional overload that he could barely contain, grinning, wringing his hands, impatiently shuffling from foot to foot. Nick nodded to him.

"Eli."

Impossibly, the grin got wider. "Doctor Rush."

Over Eli's shoulder Nick saw Tamara standing with Young by his feet. Both of her hands were folded in front of her face, but in her tear-filled eyes he could see the smile. She kept sniffing, letting out little laughs, scrubbing her face. The last time they had all come together like this, he was dying. How poetic that this time he was coming back to life.

"Okay, seriously," Eli said to Chloe, reaching down to pull her off. She stubbornly held on, and Eli scurried around to the other side. Uninvited, but not unwelcome, he shoved his arm into the tangle of limbs and laid claim to Nick's neck.

Nick wasn't sure whether to laugh or shove them both away. It was a little overwhelming. And by a little, he meant a lot. He only had one working arm, and while he was reluctant to take it from Chloe, he didn't want to give Eli cause to feel snubbed. Chloe whined when his warmth was removed.

"Hey," she said.

"You're hogging him," Eli snipped.

Nick snorted, and Young laughed out loud. When he felt Eli had been sufficiently hugged, he let them both go and settled backward against the mattress. "Up?" he said. Eli reached down and pressed the button that would raise the back of the bed. Tamara took that chance to come to his side, hold his face in her hands, and kiss his forehead, before bundling him in her arms the way she'd done after his heart had stopped.

"Welcome back, Doctor Rush."

He smiled a little more than he could control and made a point to hold her back. "Thank you, Lieutenant Johansen."

She pulled back and wiped her face again. "How do you feel?"

He thought that was funny. So long off the Destiny, and she was still acting like his medic. He supposed she always would be. "Confused, for one," he said. "Anyone care to explain?"

They all looked to Young. Young said, "You know what I told you on Tuesday."

"I brought some of my mom's cookies," Eli spouted excitedly. Nick nodded, already distracted by what the colonel had said. Tuesday meant nothing to him because he didn't even know what today was.

Young smiled. "I bet you've got a lot of questions. Ask away."

Where to start? There was so much he didn't know, so much he needed explained. He would start small. Easy. "How long?"

Eli answered that. "We've been on Earth for seven weeks. It's been over twelve since you…fell asleep."

Three months. He'd lost nearly three months. That alone was a lot to process. "Where is Destiny?"

Young raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Right where we left her."

Nick frowned. "For seven weeks?"

"Yep. The funding hasn't come through for the next team."

Uh-oh. "Telford…?"

"…Is waiting patiently for his turn." The smile went a little lopsided.

Nick nodded. He hesitated for his next inquiry, but knew it wouldn't do to put it off. He really needed to know, to prepare himself if nothing else. "What about the inquest?"

Young deferred to Chloe, who grinned sheepishly. "You don't need to worry about that anymore. Strom won't bother you."

Nick looked at her. "What's that mean?"

She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, leaning over to kiss his temple. "I learned a lot from my father," she explained. "Strom understands politics. Eli's calculations so far haven't proved either way whether you could have safely dialed anywhere else from Icarus. Strom had a first-class fit after T.J. gave you the sedative and wanted to have her court-martialed, but General O'Neill overruled that, thankfully. When he found out you were going to make it back home, he pretty much demanded that the inquest proceed in spite of the lack of evidence, so I threatened to have your lawyer take him to court for barratry if he didn't leave you alone. My mother also stepped in and said she would agree not to sue if they dropped the whole thing - or else she would make good on her promise to go public."

"They've already got their hands full with the wrath of the Franklins," Young added.

Nick looked over to Eli, who shrugged.

"I'm just following the evidence."

"They can't prove you did anything wrong, Nick," Chloe said. "And unless and until they can, there is no reason for them to push this any farther."

That didn't sound right. "So that's it? It's just over?"

She shrugged. "Well, it took awhile for it to be over. You just slept through it all."

True.

"Plus, there may have been some blackmail involved," she said, looking smug. "Eli made good use of those kinos. Strom and Williams didn't make very good impressions while they were on the ship."

He remembered Williams clearly. He remembered wanting to stab him with a pencil for putting his hands on Tamara.

Eli spoke up, "And their credibility isn't so good now that I was able to prove beyond a doubt that their little 'Rescue Plan' would have definitely blown up the ship."

Nick slid his eyes over to the colonel. "I wasn't aware that was in question." The colonel said nothing, just shrugging. After a beat Nick decided that it didn't really matter, and indeed, it appeared to be to their advantage that Eli had investigated it. He was rather stunned by how tenaciously these people had fought for him, and he found a vindictive triumph in the thought of Williams and Strom slinking off somewhere to lick their wounds. He cleared his throat. "Good riddance, then. What about O'Neill?"

"Retiring," Young said. "He's got one year left, but then he's done with this crap. He wanted to talk to you personally, but he's been unavailable."

Nick nodded. He wasn't sure what to say to that. He looked around and swallowed. "Why Glasgow?"

Young looked at Tamara. She smiled.

"It's summer," she said softly. "We thought it would be a nice thing to wake up to."

It was indeed. He dropped his eyes, smiling, nodding. Taking a breath, he realized he could no longer put off asking the really big question, the one that was clawing to come out. Quietly to his lap, almost afraid that lifting his eyes would make it all disappear, he asked, "How am I here?"

And just like that, the air shifted. He felt it instantly. Now he did look up. Gone were the smiles, the laughing eyes, the uncontrollable glee. In their place were now uncertainty and fear and anxiety. Rewind, go back, he didn't like this air.

"Could you guys excuse us?" Young said. That didn't sound good. The rest of them left and closed the door behind them, and Young sat in the chair by his side. Nick had to fight the instinct to flinch away.

"What?"

The colonel sighed. "We've answered a bunch of your questions already. It's time for you to answer one of ours."

That really didn't sound good. "Okay…"

Young looked him full in the face. "We found the stolen vaccine."

—

Watching Rush's face change was always fascinating. It was the eyes - they were easier to look at head-on, but from the side they took on a different presence. Something subtle. Slippery. And inexplicably…reptilian. It astounded Everett every time to imagine how fast the man must be thinking in order to anticipate what someone was about to say and be able to exactly reproduce the expected response even when he didn't feel it. He was watching that change now. Rush's eyes sharpened from confusion to suspicious curiosity. As if he didn't already know.

"That's not a question," Rush pointed out. How he could come back from the dead and immediately be a sarcastic idiot was mind-boggling.

"You don't sound very surprised, Rush."

Rush shrugged. "Well, it had to be somewhere." Then he hesitated. "But do you mind telling me where?"

It almost hurt to say it out loud. "In your quarters."

And it had been the worst day of Everett's entire life. When Eli came running hysterically into the infirmary with the little glass bottle clenched in his fist, his face red and his mouth moving a hundred miles a minute, it was a time of celebration. They'd gotten their miracle, the big thing they were waiting for. There was hope. There was time. They gave Rush the vaccine immediately and prayed.

It was a full hour before they were able to thoroughly comprehend the magnitude of what it meant. And then all of a sudden Everett was the one everyone was going to with their questions, seeking meaning in the madness, an account for the why and how of it all, like he was the one who should know Rush well enough to excuse it all away. But he had no answers. His own turmoil was reflected in all of their faces, and each one of them had left him with the same look of unmoored hopelessness that had settled into his own chest. They'd been living in agony ever since, desperate for an explanation, afraid they'd never get it. They agreed that not knowing would be worse than knowing, even if the truth was what they feared most.

Rush's face changed again. Now he did look surprised. Shocked, even. "What?"

Everett leaned forward on his elbows and lowered his voice. "Listen, Rush. I don't know how your brain works, even after all this time. I've come to terms with knowing that I never will, and especially now that it's on the fritz ever since you got sick. But I'm going to ask you a question, and I want a straight answer. Yes or no. Understand?"

Rush stared at him, gradually sinking into a glare. "Yes," he said icily.

"I expect honesty. I demand it. We deserve it. And whatever you say, I'll believe you. All right?"

Rush looked like he doubted that very much, but he gave his head a jerky sort of nod.

Everett asked his question very slowly and very clearly: "Did you steal the vial yourself?"

Rush snorted, looking offended at the very idea. "If I did, do you think I would be stupid enough to leave it in my quarters?"

Everett felt his temper spike instantly, and for a moment they were back on the ship, tangled in one of their inane arguments, wills clashing, egos colliding. The part of him that wasn't immediately cursing appreciated the familiarity. If he weren't so happy Rush was alive, he'd kill him.

"What did I just say?" he demanded, slamming his hand against the armrest of his chair. "Why can't I just once get a simple yes or no? It's really not that much to ask!"

"Well, it's a stupid question!" Rush shot back. "You think I planned all this?"

"I'm really hoping you didn't, but I'm still not hearing an answer! I don't know what to think, Rush, and that's why I need you to tell me!"

Rush held up his hands. "All right! All right."

Everett shook his head and swore again. It felt so good to yell at Rush. Not that he enjoyed yelling, but when Rush felt like himself enough to piss someone off, it was a good day. "Just tell me."

Rush stared hard at him. "No."

Everett squinted at him.

Rush said it again. "No. I didn't."

They watched each other, holding the gaze. Finally, Everett nodded. "There. That was easy, wasn't it?"

Rush either laughed or coughed. It was hard to tell which.

"So, you didn't take it," Everett reiterated.

"No."

"You didn't know it was right there, on your desk."

Even that seemed to perplex him. "No."

Everett nodded. "All right. I believe you."

Rush gave a scoff. "No, you don't."

"Yes," he argued, "I do. Because I'm choosing to trust you, and trust that after all this time you wouldn't still be a lying, manipulative fool who can't understand that there are people in his life who care about him. Do I have a reason not to believe you, Rush?"

Rush stared at him, shaking his head.

Everett shrugged. "There. It's settled. All we can assume, then, is that whoever did steal it never used it, and in a moment of conscience and cowardice decided to give it back to you in secret. Too bad you spent all that time in the infirmary. We would have found it sooner." Everett stood from his chair and moved for the door, stalling when Rush spoke again.

"And then what?"

Everett turned to him.

"What happened after? I'm still lacking some rather important details."

Everett sat again. "Well, it was touch and go for a long time," he explained. "You survived for a full day after T.J. gave you the sedative, and in that time we found the vaccine. T.J. honestly thought it was probably too late by then to do any good but we gave it to you anyway. When you weren't dead by the third day, we put you in stasis for the rest of the trip home. It was a gamble, but apparently these stasis pods do suspend the metabolic process, contrary to what you told Eli."

Rush didn't react. His blink was blank.

"Once we got back to Earth," Everett continued, "we made sure there were specialists standing by ready to take you into surgery and whatever else you needed. Don't ask me what all they did for you, because I haven't got a clue. I just know they kept you drugged up for a long time. We weren't even sure you were going to make it until a month ago when you woke up the first time. Once we got the clearance we had you transferred here. It's been almost two weeks."

Rush turned his eyes to the wall, taking it all in. He kept looking like he wanted to speak, even drawing in a breath to say it, before letting it out again without a word. After a long silence he got a little frown and looked back at Everett. "You went through an awful lot of trouble."

He snorted. "Don't sound so surprised."

"And you've all been here this whole time?"

He shrugged mildly. "T.J. wanted to see the Highlands."

"Why?"

"She heard they were beautiful."

Rush shook his head, blinking dizzily, touching his fingers to his forehead. "No, I mean why…did you...?"

Everett rolled his eyes. For all that genius, sometimes this man was as dense as a steel door. "Because we're family, Rush. Okay?" He got up and went for the exit again.

"Who found it?" Rush asked.

Everett said, "Eli. When he was boxing up your stuff."

Rush nodded, and Everett thought he could see a smile starting to form. He opened the door, gave a thumbs-up to the others waiting, and allowed them to come back in. They flocked to Rush and sat around him, T.J. on the bed by his feet, Eli in the chair beside him, Chloe on the bench under the window. Everett remained standing by the wall.

"You missed all the fun," Eli announced. "The welcome home party was legendary! I think I was hungover for two days, and it wasn't even Brody's fault this time."

Rush shook his head, looking amused. "Shame I missed it."

"Yeah. It was awesome. We needed something like that. Can you believe they wouldn't even let us see our families until after we were debriefed? It took us a week to figure out how to actually dial Earth once we got to the Icarus planet, and then once we crossed through the gate, there were all these marines and stuff waiting with guns! Like, what was that about?"

"Purely a safety precaution," Everett told him, for the eighth time.

"Pffft. Like a bunch of clumsy, half-starved refugees who couldn't even walk with Earth's gravity would pose a threat."

Everett remembered the giant heap of squirming, bumbling people lying on the gate ramp. He hadn't realized the gravity on Destiny was so different until they left it.

"At least we made them laugh," Chloe chimed in.

"Yeah, that helped defuse to hostility, I'm sure," Eli groused. "They picked us up and threw us in a van and off we went to D.C.! A week of debrief, decon, physical exams, psych evals, and not one visit from my mom! It was like prison!"

"Have you ever been to prison?" Everett asked.

"Of course not."

"Then relax."

Eli grinned at him.

Rush had a strange look on his face. His eyes were down and to the left, his forehead gently creased. He seemed to be following some thought that he couldn't quite track down.

"Rush?"

Everyone looked at Rush, and Rush looked at him. "Debrief?" he said, as if it had occurred to him for the first time.

Everett nodded his head. "They'll want to talk to you too. They'll be sending someone out in the next day or so."

Rush looked nervous. His working fingers curled around the sheet. "And what?"

"No legal action," Everett promised. "They said that they would only question you about the things that happened once we were already on board. And they agreed to allow someone else to be present for...support."

Rush raised an eyebrow. "You, I assume?"

He shrugged. "That's up to you."

Rush just nodded and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He was starting to look tired again.

"Need us to leave?" Everett asked.

Rush shrugged with a shake of his head. "That's up to you."

Or, in Rush-speak, "I don't want you to go but I don't want to ask you to stay."

They didn't leave. The next several hours were a blur of more hugging, some crying, and non-stop chattering before a nurse finally had to kick them out.

—

The debrief went better than anyone expected. SGU sent General O'Neill, of all people, who was the best of all possibilities, and the time was spent feeling less like a military interrogation and more like a business meeting over lunch. He arrived with a piece of cake saved from the homecoming party Nick missed - "It's still good, we kept it in the freezer" - and seemed very impressed with Scotland in general before finally sitting in the chair with a laptop and a notebook and settling in for a very long story. As promised, O'Neill sidestepped the sensitive subjects relating to the arrival on Destiny, the fate of Doctor Franklin, and even Riley's death. Nick lost his train of thought on numerous occasions, even forgetting significant events entirely, forcing Young to step in and fill in the gaps. It was disheartening to know that his mind was still defective, but O'Neill took it all in stride.

Nick was released from the hospital a week later. He spent months in physical therapy recovering atrophied muscle strength, regaining function in his crippled limbs, and teaching himself to make good use of his non-dominant left hand. At Chloe's insistence, he returned to California with her and Matthew Scott when the autumn came. By the end of the first year, he could hold a pencil again.

His mind and brain would probably never fully recover. He continued to have headaches, perpetual numbness, partial paralysis, chronic pain, memory loss, fits of rage, and depression. He couldn't work, but SGU generously - or, at least, dutifully - reversed his termination and allowed him to take a medical retirement. He couldn't go back to teaching. His mind was too unpredictable for that.

He spent some time writing about his experience on Destiny. It was for his own sake, really, and when he finished in English, he wrote it again in Ancient. He was having trouble keeping his languages straight, and he wanted to be able to hold on to that much, at least. He was in constant communication with Eli, Tamara, and Young. Even Greer dropped a postcard now and then.

Two years after Nick woke up, they had a reunion. They all met up in San Francisco.

"Finally got an offer," Eli announced over a picnic spread. Corporal Barnes-Wallace grinned at his side, cradling their baby son. "You're looking at the producer of the future Academy Award-winning film The Destiny of All Things."

He looked so proud of himself, sliding his hands through the air as if smoothing an imaginary sign, as everyone applauded and whistled. Nick couldn't contain a snort.

Eli looked over at him, scowling. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I'm sure it'll be an enormous success." Eli looked not quite sure if he believed him. He just smirked. "I guess those kinos really did come in handy after all."

"Uh, yeah!" Eli said. "My documentary was awesome. You'd know, if you ever watched it, and they-"

"I did watch it."

Eli blinked, looking surprised. "Really?"

"Really."

Eli raised his eyebrows archly. "And it was spectacular, wasn't it?"

Nick had to nod. "Yes, Eli, it was. A true work of art."

The grin that followed was its own reward. Eli continued babbling on, and Nick just tuned him out as he looked around at where he was and who was with him. Colonel Young – he'd always be "Colonel", even since resigning from SGC – was sitting on the other side of the picnic table looking as happy as Nick had ever seen him. But there was an anguish there also, hidden deep within where only those, like Nick, who had felt it before could see it. It was Tamara, seated on his left. Her illness was presenting already. You could see it in the way she kept massaging her wrist. A jewel gleamed on her left hand, and she was due in two months. Nicholas didn't think it was prudent to have a child when she knew she was going to leave it motherless, but he held his peace. Any joy one could find in this life was worth having.

Greer and Park sat beside Tamara while their son Dale ran circles around the table. The kid was brilliant, pure kinetic energy, and just as obnoxious as his namesake. Lisa never did regain her sight, but Greer had filled the role of doting husband marvelously and she didn't even seem to miss it.

Chloe and Matthew sat beside them, with little Alan Everett Scott in the middle. The boy had his mother's blue eyes, his father's silly smile, and his surrogate uncle's awkwardness. And for some reason, Nick was the object of his unwavering fascination. Wherever he went, so went Alan. He would often feel eyes on him throughout the day, and he would turn around to find the boy right there every time, totally engrossed in whatever Nick happened to be doing at the moment, watching intently, not blinking. Nick had yet to win a staring contest against him. Right now, Alan was noshing on a strawberry, grinning across the table at him.

It was a sunny day. Early summer, the kind Gloria loved. Nick reached into his pocket and touched the picture he kept there, the picture he always carried with him wherever he went. Even if he forgot everything else, he wouldn't forget her.

He had been thinking less and less about Destiny as time went on. Whether that was because it was becoming less important to him or because his mind was still faulty, he didn't know. But it was actually a relief to find joy in something simple again, like a well-kept garden, or a masterful piece of violin music. Something that didn't cause him fear and pain with every encounter because it reminded him of something he no longer had. He was making new memories.

Back at home that night, Nick did what he enjoyed doing the most - he sat on the porch swing and stared at the stars. He wondered where the ship was, way out there. The lawsuit from Doctor Franklin's family had drained much of the funding for Telford's team, postponing their deployment by a full eighteen months. When it was finally time to ship out, Telford had taken to the command like a fish to water, and McKay and Williams were half-crazy with excitement. It was shocking, really, given what Nick's future self had said about the situation. All Telford had wanted was to abandon the mission and get everyone home. Perhaps it was because he was anxious to get the "right people" on board. Nick hadn't been there for the departure; it was too difficult knowing these people would be walking around his ship, his Destiny, without him, while he had no hope of ever seeing her again. He hadn't even gotten to say goodbye. He now wondered what the team had seen so far, what they'd done, if they'd met any other intelligent alien races, found any incredible worlds to explore.

If anyone had died.

He tried not to think too far in that direction; the memories were still too much. Some things he wished he could remember. Others, he longed to forget.

It was so quiet. Just him and a nice salty breeze, the gentle kind that told you summer was just waking up. He had always enjoyed the weather here, but now it was truly a blessing. The damage to his nerves had left him unable to tolerate heat or cold, and he needed to be in a place without radical temperature variations. The Bay Area was nearly perfect all the time. From where he sat he could just see the glowing tethers of the Bay Bridge, and Berkeley just a short jump across. He still had not rallied the courage to go there yet, unwilling to be seen by his former colleagues in this condition. He doubted he ever would. Constance, however, visited often.

He liked coming out here after dark, where he could have peace and time to think. About life. About the universe. About everything.

"Forty-two," came Chloe's voice behind him, followed by the creaking of the front screen door.

He turned to her. "Huh?"

She shook her head. "Oh, Matt was just asking how many payments are left on the car." She sat next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. She always remembered to sit on his left side, since his right was so weak. "Hi."

He put his arm around her. "Hello."

"Doing okay?"

He nodded. "Yep. You?"

"Mm-hmm. It was good to see Eli and the gang."

"Yeah, it was."

"I miss all of them. I wish they lived closer. Although Eli said they might be moving to Hollywood for his movie. That'll be closer than D.C."

"By car or by plane?"

She smiled. "Both."

"Ah."

"And T.J. said she always wanted to live near the water. I hope they can come out here now that she's starting to get sicker."

He didn't answer. The thought of losing Tamara still pained him, especially after how kind she had been while he was ill.

The briny air moved again, ringing a set of wind chimes hanging from the eaves. They were made of scrap metal from the ship, a thoughtful parting gift from Brody. Chloe caught Nick staring at them and sighed.

"Do you miss Destiny?"

He shrugged. "I'll always miss Destiny."

"Me too."

He used his good foot to push the swing gently back and forth. "Really?"

"Of course. Do you remember what I told you the day Matt and I got engaged? I'm remembering the good things."

He nodded. "I do remember."

"I meant that."

"I know."

He could feel her breathing. It was soporific, and he reclined his head to rest on the back of the swing, just breathing right along with her. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and unsure. "So…Colonel Young said you told him you didn't know the vaccine was in your quarters."

Well. Finally. It had taken her a lot longer than he expected to bring it up, but he had always known she wouldn't be able to leave it alone forever. He sat a little straighter. "I didn't," he said. She didn't answer, and he asked, "Is there a question in there?"

She hesitated too long before shaking her head against him. "No. I was just going to say that if you did, I wish you would tell me why."

"Hmm," he said noncommittally.

"But I guess it doesn't matter," she went on after a beat, "if you really didn't know."

"I really didn't know."

"Then it really doesn't matter." Another pause, and he knew she wasn't done. The chimes jangled again. "But if you did know" - there it was - "what would your reason have been?"

He sighed. He knew where this was going, and he felt his heart sink. He wanted to rub his forehead but she was lying on his arm. "Hypothetically?"

"Hypothetically."

"Speculatively?"

"Completely."

"A wild guess?"

"The wildest one you can make."

He cleared his throat. "Well, if I had been the one who stole the vaccine, and if I knew it was there and didn't tell any of you, and if it had all been a convoluted plan to orchestrate my own death and make it seem like a sacrifice, then I guess I would have to say…" He paused to choose his words. And maybe to stall. "I didn't want to be left behind again."

She sat up and shook her head. "Nick, we've talked about this…"

"You asked."

She stared at him, looking like she regretted that fact very much. Then she sighed and nodded. "Okay. Okay. So, why don't you explain this, then? Help me understand."

He shrugged. "Not much left to explain."

"There always is. Come on, Nick. We've opened the door, let's just walk through it. Keep going."

He watched her, feeling himself wearing down under her steady, coaxing gaze. He sighed and closed his eyes, steeling himself. "I've been alone a lot in my life, Chloe," he told her. "Some of it was my fault. Some of it was even my choice. But have you ever watched someone walk away, and wonder how they could ever leave you?"

She looked instantly sad, and somehow he knew what she was going to say before she said it. "Yeah. The day my father went into that shuttle. And the day I found out you were dying."

He cringed, guilt prickling. "I know what that's like."

"You mean like when Colonel Young left you on the planet?"

He hadn't even been thinking about that, honestly. He still nodded. "Well, yeah, there's that. But there was something else. Someone else." He turned his head just a little toward her, not actually sure why he was saying all of this. "My wife left me too."

And Chloe frowned and blinked, looking confused. "Wait, huh? I thought you told me she died."

He nodded. "She did die. But the truth is, she didn't have to. She just didn't want to go through treatment again."

Chloe appeared momentarily stricken, then made an undefinable noise and hesitantly took his hand. "Oh, wow. I...I didn't know that." She paused and seemed to be faltering for words. "Wow. But...you know, Nick, I'm sure she had her reasons."

He knew she was just trying to help. It didn't help. "Yeah, she did. And I'm sure they were very good reasons. And I told her I supported her decision, but...I didn't, really. I didn't understand. I still don't." He couldn't bear the look Chloe was giving him. He stared at the stars instead. "I know it sounds selfish, but I didn't understand why she would just give up. How she could choose not to stay. With me. And every time I looked at her, I wondered when I stopped being enough."

Chloe squeezed his hand. "I'm...sure it wasn't like that…" She trailed off and didn't finish.

"I know she loved me," he said, looking at her again. "But the thing is, I was watching it happen all over again on Destiny. And if I wasn't enough to make my own wife stay, what hope did I have for the rest of you?"

Chloe's face crumpled, and she bit her lip. "Why didn't you tell me you felt this way?"

"Why would I? Would it have made a difference?"

She looked offended. "Yes! I would have tried to stay."

He shook his head. "I don't think so. You had to want it."

"I would have."

"No, you wouldn't. Not really. And nothing I said would have changed that."

"How do you know? You should have given me the chance."

"You had the chance," he reminded her. "You had the choice, and you chose to leave." He could see she was about to say something, and he continued, "I'm not blaming you, Chloe. You had your reasons too. And if that was what you wanted, then I didn't want to pressure you, or manipulate you, or guilt you into something you didn't want."

"What I didn't want was to lose you," she said.

"Well, it's not like that stopped you."

She jerked. "That's not fair."

"The truth is seldom fair." And the unfair truth was, he lived in a world that seemed to have no place for him. He was always much, yet never enough. Good, not great. The fallback. The Plan B. Someone to be left with, not someone to choose. And all the while, all he ever wanted...was to be wanted.

She was glaring at him. "You don't think I cared enough?"

He shrugged. "I don't think you tried."

"Well, maybe I would have if you had just talked to me instead of ignoring me for a month!"

"It wouldn't have changed anything. You knew how important it was to me, but we all have our priorities."

She looked disgusted. "Wow, Nick. I knew how much you wanted to stay, but I guess I kind of thought living on Earth would be a step up from being dead."

He grunted, recognizing this as one of those times when she lashed out to avoid confronting her true feelings, but he still took offense anyway. He swallowed hard, took a breath, and let it out. "You were right."

"Was I?" she challenged, but her veneer was cracking. The anger softened, replaced by pain. Her breath quaked when she spoke in spite of her stubborn efforts to control it. "You can't lie to me, Nick. I know you're not happy here. You knew you never would be." She closed her eyes and hung her head. "But I wish you were."

"Chloe…" The hurt in her voice hurt him too. He was always making her cry, and he hated it. "I'm not unhappy."

"That's not the same."

"It's a start."

She raised her teary eyes to stare at him.

He sighed. "Please don't look at me like that. I'm trying, okay? And anyway, this is all conjecture. It doesn't really matter, remember?"

Her hesitation was tangible. "It sounds an awful lot like it does."

He frowned. "Don't do that. You asked me a question, and I gave you my answer. Whether or not you believe it is not something I can control. You're going to have to start trusting me sooner or later."

She looked away, absently rubbing her arm. "I do trust you…"

She obviously did not, but he left it alone. He didn't want to fight with her anymore. "Then can we let this go? Please?"

She nodded, but the pain was still there. He didn't know how to fix it. But he was making an effort - that counted for something, right? He tugged on her arm, and she let him bring her to himself.

"I'm trying," he said again.

She squeezed his hand, running her nail along the side of his thumb. "I know."

He laid his weak hand on hers and gave her the strongest squeeze he could muster.

The hinges of the screen door squeaked, and a little voice called, "Mom?"

"C'mere, Alan," Chloe said, sniffing and rubbing her eyes. The toddler scampered over and reached up, and she pulled him onto her lap. Over her shoulder, he smiled at Nick. "It's past your bedtime, mister," Chloe said. "What are you still doing up?"

"Cream," the boy said proudly. He was still looking at Nick.

"Ah, your dad gave you ice cream, huh?"

"Yeah." It showed. Dark stains were all over his hands and his face and even in his hair.

Chloe kissed his sticky cheek. "Well, that's all for now. It's time for bed. Say goodnight."

The smile widened to a gappy-toothed grin. "Cheers, Granda'," Alan said merrily.

Nick patted the back of the child's head fondly with his good hand. "Cheers, lad."

Chloe put the boy down and sent him back inside to find his father.

Nick eyed her. "He can count by twos on his own now."

She looked delighted. Probably also relieved for something new to talk about. "That's great! I assume you'll be teaching him Ancient next?"

Nick snorted. "Well, your husband forbade that unless he learns it too. Apparently he's uncomfortable with the thought of your son and I having conversations he doesn't understand."

Chloe laughed. "He just wants to fit in." Then she looked thoughtful. "I do think it's a good idea, though. And Alan will probably pick it right up."

"Well, he's got his mother's brain."

"And his father's heart." She shifted in the swing. "And he's starting to copy your accent."

He laughed a little. Chloe pulled one foot up and sat on it, helping him swing them with the other. The wind chimes sang again.

"Hey," Chloe said suddenly, "can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

She squeezed his hand as if to prepare him. "What was your daughter's name?"

He looked obliquely at her. "Why do you ask?"

She shrugged. "Curious. You don't have to tell me."

It didn't bother him. She'd just never asked before. "Amelia," he finally said.

She smiled approvingly. "Amelia. Amelia Rush. That's pretty."

It was pretty. "Gloria picked it. Afterwards…"

She nodded to herself. "Amelia Rush," she said again. She grinned. "Thanks for telling me."

"You're welcome."

She clung to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Nick, for what it's worth, I'm happy you're here."

He nodded and swallowed and held her a little bit tighter. "Me too."

He knew he would really mean it someday. Maybe he already did. It was a long road ahead of him, but he had family by his side. He was going to be all right.

FIN

A/N: This is very different from the ending I had in mind when I started, but the storyline evolved so much that it led me here. I hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I want to thank everyone who read, reviewed, followed, fave'd, and even scrolled on past and thought, "That sounds interesting". You are my heroes. Thank you for taking the time to step into my mind and appreciate something I really care about. It means the world to me, and you're all awesome.