A.N: Not so long a wait this time. Hopefully I can keep it up. Thanks for your support on my last update and, above all, thanks to God for giving me the gift that is the ability to write and this story to practice on.

Cheers and enjoy. :)

Chapter 4: Homesick

"Please, try not to panic," said Woolsey, stepping towards them with palms raised.

Panic? Emily glued a hand over her mouth, unsure what would come out of it – a scream or an ugly choking sound. No, this wasn't panic. This was worse. This was a room-spinning, chest-tightening, soul-crushing freak out of the highest level. They couldn't be stuck here! It would be like looking into a cracked mirror for the rest of her life. Beside her, Connor was staring at the floor with wide eyes, his mouth a thin line.

"Dr. McKay and our other scientists are going to do everything they can to try and repair the laboratory," Woolsey continued, trying his best to sound comforting. "It may simply take some time."

Connor scrubbed at his face and laced his fingers through his hair. "How much time?"

"We don't know yet. The investigation is still very much in the early stages."

"Ballpark then!"

"I honestly couldn't say, Mr. Sheppard. I'll have Doctor McKay come and speak with you when he returns. Colonel Sheppard's team is due back in a couple of hours. Perhaps they'll have better news for us then."

Emily's feet began moving of their own accord, carrying her to the sofa and back, again and again. She dug her knuckles into her lips, her other hand a fist against her ribs.

"If it's any comfort," said Woolsey, "I've found during my tenure here that if Dr. McKay can't fix something, there are very few people who can." Emily saw him attempt a smile as she turned. "Although I would appreciate it if you'd refrain from mentioning that to him."

When they didn't respond, Woolsey coughed awkwardly and looked at his feet. In some far un-overwhelmed corner of her mind, Emily felt slightly sorry for the man and his pitiful attempt at lightening the mood. Not enough to like him, of course, but at least he wasn't treating them like criminals anymore. That was a nice change.

"Thank you, Mr. Woolsey," said Connor, and she could hear the strain the politeness took. Her brother straightened his shoulders, let his arms fall to his side and looked their jailer in the eye. "I appreciate your telling us." The words expressed gratitude, but Connor's tone and expression were an unmistakable invitation to leave. Emily halted her pacing and cast anxious glances between the two.

Woolsey didn't explode, however. He didn't even look remotely angry. He simply gave a resigned and understanding nod. "Yes... Well, I will be sure to keep you informed of any new developments."

"Thank you," Connor repeated.

As soon as Woolsey left, Emily was tossed by a fresh wave of panic; adrenaline surging, she turned and kicked the nearest chair, letting out a strangled cry of mingled anger and fear. She looked up and sought Connor's eyes, wrapping her arms around her chest and squeezing.

"What are we going to do? Connor, what are we going to do?!"

"Calm down," he said, sinking onto the sofa and propping his forehead on his palms. "We don't know anything for sure yet."

"We know something's gone terribly wrong! I'd say that's something we know! There wasn't any storm damage when we were there!"

"Everything else is different. Why shouldn't our ticket home be too." His voice was edged with gravel and steel and his heels beat an angry pattern against the tile floor.

Emily turned away, her own need for comfort floundering in the midst of her brother's anger. She was just glad it wasn't directed at her. Emily doubted he knew it, but Connor was very much like their father when he got angry. Sure, they'd yell about lesser things and cross their arms and set their jaws, but when the Sheppard men were really, truly angry... they were sharp, hard and scarily, dangerously silent.

She glanced out the window. The amber on onyx skyline of the city at night was just as beautiful as ever, but she hardly saw it. Her chest hummed with tension, with the urge to shout and scream and cry. Her own words jabbed into her mind like knives, 'stuck here, stuck here, stuck here...' She shut her eyes and forced herself to take deep breaths before she began hyperventilating in earnest. In, out... Connor was right, they knew nothing for sure. In, out... Uncle Rodney would fix this; he always did. In... and out... Gradually, she fought back the tide of panic, though Emily knew that if she examined her meager wall of calm too closely it would crumble and she would be swept away.

Biting her lip, she turned to look at her brother, at the taut line of his hunched shoulders, at the brown waves sticking up at all angles from the fingers laced tightly through his hair. She circled slowly around the couch and was half surprised to find that the intensity of his gaze hadn't scorched a blackened circle into the floor between his feet. Emily lowered herself down onto the couch next to him. She intended to speak but realized that she couldn't even find the words to properly comfort herself, so she didn't even try. Instead, she placed a hand on his shoulder and, after a few moments, he sat up and covered it with his own.

Emily leaned over and rested her forehead against their stacked hands. "They're going to fix it," she murmured. "They have to."

"I know, Em," said Connor. The weariness was back and she wondered how long it would take before it was a permanent part of his voice. "I know. Of course they will."

-o-

John sank back against the pilot's seat, eyes closing in relief as his muscles relaxed against the chair's cushions. He had been on his feet for hours, acting as errand boy, scout and janitor, and now his thoughts were composed almost entirely of hot showers, hot meals and soft beds. He reached out and the jumper's heads-up-display blinked into life, the course setting back to the gate already calculated. 'Good jumper,' he thought with a smile, and almost patted the dashboard. Right now, being around technology that worked felt like a gourmet meal after a month of MREs.

McKay's first words on entering the main laboratory had been "This place is a dump!" He'd kicked around a few pieces of debris and made comments about not being a miracle-worker. John had been in the middle of reminding him, rather shortly, that they'd dealt with flood damage at least this bad in Atlantis, when the scientist had suddenly gotten that 'Christmas had come' look in his eyes and begun to dismantle a console near the room's center. While McKay tinkered and patched, occasionally barking orders over the radio to Teyla in the power distribution center, John and Ronon had cleared debris. They'd hauled away the largest pieces, shoving them into the nearest empty room, and piled the smaller against the wall. The glass and rubble would have to wait until a proper clean-up crew could be sent from Atlantis, but at least the room was somewhat more navigable. Not that Rodney had noticed.

Whenever he had run into a problem – which had been frequently considering the amount of damage he was dealing with – McKay had interrupted the clean-up to send the other two men exploring, giving them directions to one laboratory after another with instructions to run specific diagnostics and report back. Thankfully, none of the rooms John and Ronon had scouted were as heavily damaged as the main lab, even though the storm had clearly left its mark in the surrounding area. All but three of the computer systems had come online with minimal coaxing and John had been able to send Rodney most of what he needed.

Enough to know that, so far, it didn't look good.

Sighing, John opened his eyes, keyed in a few commands and the jumper took off. It was late evening now, and as the jumper rose above the complex's outer wall, the sky visible through the cockpit was a deep blue-streaked teal. It was a short ride to the gate. In no time at all they skimmed over the brief stretch of forest, the trees below a rustling silvery-green pond in the light of the twin moons hovering over the horizon. Teyla, sitting in the co-pilot's seat, dialed the address, punched in the IDC code and a few moments later they plunged into rippling turquoise and were home.

Woolsey was waiting for them outside the jumper bay and John's eyebrows lowered. He was too tired and irritated to give any kind of report right now.

"Colonel Sheppard, Doctor McKay, Ronon, Teyla..." Woolsey nodded at each of them in turn. "Welcome back.

"Thank you, Mr. Woolsey," said Teyla. She sounded just as tired as John felt but managed a polite smile.

"I won't keep you," Woolsey replied. "We'll have a full debriefing this afternoon, but before that I wanted to see if there was any positive news I could offer our... guests."

Rodney met John's eyes and shook his head. "Sorry. Our initial report stands for the moment."

"Nothing works," summarized John. "At least nothing important." He unclipped his P-90 and looked at their boss expectantly.

Woolsey nodded. "Very well. I won't say anything to the children for now. Doctor McKay, you and I can visit them later and apprise them of the current situation."

He informed them of the specific time for their meeting and was about to walk away. A question nagged at John's mind. He bit his lip and before he could talk himself out of it, let the words push their way out. "How did they take it?"

Woolsey paused and looked back, his eyes solemn. "As well as can be expected, Colonel."

John's lips drew into a thin line. "Right..." he breathed as Woolsey receded down the hallway towards the gate room. 'Stupid question.' He turned towards the ready room, unzipping his tac vest, and felt the eyes of his team watching him. John scowled at them. "What?" They didn't say anything, but as they followed him down the hall, he could practically feel the three of them exchanging pointed looks.

-o-

Connor looked down at his hands, studying the way the muscles stood out beneath the skin, and let Uncle Rodney's words permeate through his brain. The scientist's voice was steady and clinical, with only a slight hint of nervousness underneath. Or maybe it was excitement; Connor couldn't tell. A gleam had been present in his aged-down uncle's eyes from the moment the man entered the room, like he was itching to ask questions and conduct tests. But the eagerness was tempered by the news he brought.

"...most of the consoles are completely dead. It'll take a full salvage operation and a ton of replacement crystals to even get the lights on. We've been able to get a basic idea of some of the Ancients' operations from the other computer systems, but nothing concrete. My guess is all of the most pertinent info was stored in the main lab itself, but as I said, we won't know for sure what we're dealing with until–"

"Until you can actually turn the computers on," finished Emily dully. She was sitting next to Connor on the sofa, her knees drawn up to her chest, one hand fisted around the pendant of her necklace.

"Yes, well..." Rodney cleared his throat, eyes flicking between the siblings and the floor, and straightened in his chair. "We'll do what we can."

"I'll be sending a science team back to the planet shortly," added Woolsey. "With a full complement of minds working on the problem, I'm sure it will only be a matter of time."

"What's your best guess, Uncle Rodney?" asked Emily, fixing her eyes on the man in front of her. "How long do you think it will take?"

"I can only– I'm sorry, what did you call me?"

Emily cringed and sighed. "Sorry. Force of habit."

Rodney stared at them for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing. "So we're close then, in the, uh... future?"

Connor felt himself smirk slightly. Rodney McKay had been a constant presence in his life for as long as he could remember, as reluctant playmate, his dad's best friend, teacher and grumpy object of affectionate teasing. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Really?" The older man nodded, seeming to roll the idea around in his mind. "Huh." A smile crossed his face. "Don't tell me. I bet I'm your godfather or–"

"Doctor McKay, can we please keep the discussion on track?" interrupted Woolsey. "These young people are not fortune tellers."

"What? It's a matter of scientific interest – a strictly professional inquiry." He leaned towards Connor and Emily. "So is that it? Am I–?"

"Doctor McKay!"

"Yes, fine!" Rodney sat back in his seat, chastened, though the set of his jaw betrayed annoyance. "Now what was I saying?"

Connor glanced at Emily and they both ducked their heads to hide a smile. Even though he brought terrible news, Connor felt a rush of gratitude towards the man. That unmistakable mix of bluster, excitability and irritability was a fixed point in a spinning world and Connor clung to it in relief. Leave it to Uncle Rodney to prove that some things, blissfully, never changed.

Emily must have felt the same. She lowered her legs and Connor was pleased to see that a small smile still lingered on her face as she looked at Rodney. "You were about to answer my question about a timeline for the repairs."

"Oh, yes..." Rodney's face regained some of its seriousness. "At this point, all I can tell you is to think in weeks, not days." Connor's jaw muscles tightened, his eyes falling shut. Based on the initial report, he wasn't surprised, but a cold hand still squeezed at his chest hearing it spoken aloud. 'Weeks...' It had already been three days. Their parents must be going crazy; if they were gone for weeks... If their parents had even realized they were gone, Connor remembered despairingly. 'Stupid time travel.'

"Even once we get things up and running," Rodney continued, "there is a massive amount of research to be done before we even begin to know what we're dealing with. Now, this beam of light that supposedly shot up into the atmosphere – are you sure that originated in the main lab? I haven't been able to get any data yet, but the basic structure does support–"

"I don't think now is the best time, Doctor," said Woolsey.

Rodney looked confused. "Why not?"

"Yeah, why not?" asked Emily. "Please, Mr. Woolsey, we want to go home. We want to help."

"And I'm sure your assistance will be invaluable, Miss Sheppard, but one step at a time. This news is doubtless quite difficult to process for you and your brother, and regardless, the conversation is premature considering Doctor McKay has yet to restore power. When that occurs–"

"If that occurs..." corrected Rodney. Woolsey gave him a stern look and Connor tried to suppress the chill those two little letters had caused.

"When that occurs, there will be plenty of time for speculating and gathering details. Now I think the two of you should rest."

Connor thought of the eternity spent in the holding cells and the endless boring hours in these very rooms, unable to do anything but worry and stare at the walls.

"With all due respect, Mr. Woolsey," he said. "We've rested plenty. Please... let us help." He didn't like begging, but if that's the tool that worked then he wasn't above using it. "I'm not a computer expert, but I know the basics and so does Emily. We can help with repairs, carry equipment... fetch snacks, sweep up debris... anything!"

"Yes, anything!" echoed Emily, nodding in furious agreement.

"Please," said Connor, meeting Woolsey's eyes. "It's our future on the line. We can't sit here and do nothing."

Woolsey returned his gaze just as firmly. "I understand your frustration, believe me, Mr. Sheppard," he said, putting on his best politician's tone. Rodney just stared at Connor. "But I'm sure you also understand the continued need for discretion and prudence. Finding this facility was a high mark in your favor, certainly, but the safety of this city remains my number one priority. Let's say I do believe your story. You may have earned some benefit of the doubt, but that still doesn't mean that I am willing to let total strangers have free reign."

"But we're not asking for–"

"Therefore, for the time being you will remain here and under guard. We can arrange for some kind of limited exercise time in a non-critical part of the city if these rooms are becoming too confining."

Connor studied Woolsey's face for several moments before reluctantly admitting, if not defeat, at least a state of impasse. At another time he might have admired the man's commitment to duty, but just now he couldn't quite manage it. Shoulders slumping, he let out a breath and gave a short nod. "Alright."

Woolsey stood and tugged his uniform jacket into place, his face softening as he looked at the siblings. "These are bizarre circumstances for all of us. Until we can discover the cause, all I ask is for your patience and cooperation. If you truly know us as you claim, you know that we mean you no harm, and that our actions are intended with your best interests at heart as well as our own."

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw a frowning Emily open her mouth and, with a surge of dread, he jumped to his feet to cut her off. "Thank you, sir," he said quickly. "We'll try to remember that." He barely resisted the urge to shoo the man towards the door. 'Turn around, leave now, go go go!'

"Yes, thank you," Emily muttered from behind him, and Connor's heart sank. "I'm sure locking us up was totally in our best interests."

He turned and shot a 'what is the matter with you?!' glare over his shoulder, but defiance was written all over his sister's face. She was mad, and the fact that their future welfare depended on Woolsey's good will clearly meant nothing to her in that moment.

"What was that?" said Woolsey.

Connor was about to reply with a vehement 'Nothing!' when Rodney spoke up.

"What was what?" the scientist asked. Woolsey gave him a questioning look and he shrugged as he stood. "I didn't hear anything." Rodney glanced at his watch, held up his arm and tapped at the device. "Shouldn't we be going?"

Woolsey eyed the three of them but then seemed to decide that insisting wasn't worth the trouble. With a slight air of exasperation in his voice, he agreed with Rodney and said goodbye with another promise to keep the siblings informed.

Watching Woolsey head towards the door, relief turned Connor's muscles from coiled springs into cooked spaghetti. He turned to Rodney gratefully. "Thanks for that."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Rodney, and Connor smiled. True, his adopted uncle was often oblivious, but he was also a very bad liar.

Emily rose from the couch and stood next to Connor. He noted ruefully that she didn't look remotely sorry, but it seemed her anger had dissipated. "You'll let us know if we can do anything?" she asked.

Her earnestness seemed to take Rodney off guard. "Well, I... We'll need you for tests if we're able to get access to the database and the experiment files."

Emily nodded. "Of course. Whatever you need."

Connor echoed the sentiment and Rodney angled himself towards the door. On his way there, however, he paused and looked back. "Hey, look" he said hesitantly. "I wouldn't worry too much. We'll have things fixed up and get you back to your own timeline or reality or, uh... home. We'll get you home in no time." He tried out a small awkward smile and vanished into the hallway.

"You know," said Emily. "Out of everyone here, I never would've expected that Uncle Rodney would be the nice one."

A bemused smile crept across Connor's face as he ran his fingers through his hair. "No, neither would I."

-o-

John could feel Rodney's smug smile as his teammate sat down across from him. It was the dinner hour for most of Atlantis's personnel and the mess hall was just shy of crowded, yet John suspected Rodney's mood had nothing to do with finding a seat or the giant slice of chocolate cake crowding his tray. Bracing himself, John concentrated on his pasta; he didn't have to wait long.

"So... 'Uncle.'" Rodney seemed to savor the latter word like it had delicious significance.

Huh? John looked up at Rodney, eyebrows furrowing. If the man had any feathers on his chest, he'd be puffed out like a Canadian cotton ball. He narrowed his eyes at him. "Aunt..." Was this some kind of game or had Rodney finally lost it?

Rodney sighed and shook his head. "No, no. The kids, Sheppard. Your kids." He grinned. "They call me 'Uncle.'" He was practically crowing. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, visions of sugarplums dancing in his eyes. "I've clearly made a deep and powerful impact on their lives. Probably as a beloved mentor, a fount of wisdom and knowledge... They didn't confirm that I'm their godfather, but I'm almost certain–"

"First off," interrupted John, holding up a finger. "They are not my kids. Second: don't ever say the words 'fount of wisdom' again. And third: don't get attached; we're not going to keep them."

"But let's not kid ourselves," continued Rodney, spreading his arms. John might as well have been talking to a wall. "I'm totally their godfather. You know, I'm really touched, Sheppard, to know that you respect me that much."

John rolled his eyes. "Just for this, whenever I do have kids, Ronon's going to be the godfather."

"Oh, come on! Teyla already named her kid after you, you can't give me this? You already did!"

"Well, you'll have to take it up with Elizabeth, because I know it wasn't–" John's brain caught up with his mouth and he froze. An equally statue-like Rodney stared at him, the grin falling from his face. John replayed what he'd just said and mentally cursed, his stomach twisting bitterly. That's what these kids did. They stirred up things that were settled – stirred up things where there was nothing to stir in the first place. Annoyed by Rodney's expression, John tried to salvage the situation.

"I mean... the Elizabeth in their timeline. If we could talk to her. She was probably the one who..." He trailed off. "Forget it. This was a stupid conversation anyway." The atmosphere newly tense, he refocused his attention on his food, but spent the next few silent minutes pushing the spaghetti around on his plate more than eating. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and, giving his forkful of noodles a last twist, he stood up. "I've got some work to do. Woolsey wants personnel recs for your science team's security detail."

"Sheppard..."

He picked up his tray. "I'll see you later."

John dropped off the tray and picked up a sandwich for later, whenever his appetite returned. As he walked towards his quarters, the near-empty hallways and the violet sunset painting the sky outside exerted their influence and his agitation slowly faded. Grudgingly, he was forced to admit to himself that he didn't really blame the kids. As much as part of him might want to, he couldn't very well resent them for existing. They clearly wanted to be here about as much as John wanted a pet Iratus bug. It wasn't their fault. But still, he thought as he swiped open his door, that didn't mean he couldn't wish they were gone.

-o-

The next morning, John took his coffee and sat on a bench in one of Atlantis's wide glass-walled walkways, hoping the sunshine would wake him up. The last stretch of his sleep had been troubled by dreams he couldn't remember, but that had left him with a lingering unsettled feeling. While waiting for the caffeine and sugar to work on his system, John played sudoku on his PA and mulled over training schedules. He was halfway through his second puzzle and a third of the way into next week's roster when he glanced up and noticed Connor and Emily, a guard hovering several feet behind, walking in his direction. They didn't look like they'd spotted him yet. There was a decent sized potted plant to John's left and, with nowhere to run, he leaned back behind it and peered at the approaching party through the fronds.

Free from the pressures of conversation and the restraints of being observed, John's carefully subdued curiosity shot forward like a horse with miles of open country ahead of it. Connor was taller than Emily by about four inches, all length and leanness but old enough to be past the gangly stage. His sister was slender, with John's long waist and shorter legs, the awkwardness of her age diminished by a certain confidence in her movements. They both wore the clothes that had been provided for them: sneakers, gray pants and black t-shirts. Emily had tied the hem of the latter, a couple of sizes too big for her, in a knot at her waist. The pair stopped and John saw a hint of a smile cross Emily's face as she looked out the window. She pointed something out to her brother and he nodded, a corner of his mouth lifting in response.

John hadn't given himself the chance to really study the teenagers since they'd first arrived, but, as he had then, he found himself cataloguing their features bit by bit, amazement growing with every similarity. He picked out Elizabeth's jawline on Emily, his own nose on Connor. Their hair was a hard-fought compromise between unruly wildness and curling waves. He saw himself in the set of their mouths, Elizabeth in the lift of their eyebrows. With a jolt of the bizarre, he recognized the general look of Connor's chin: it belonged to John's grandfather. He looked away in an effort to let his brain process what he was seeing and took a long swig of coffee. This was beyond weird. So far beyond...

He glanced back. The siblings walked close to each other, in a sort of protective phalanx against the occasional passer-by, but they seemed fairly relaxed despite the general gloom in their demeanor. They were probably glad to be out of their 'quarters.' Quarters that, if McKay was right, they might be living in for quite some time. Subdued, John set down his cup. He'd had some experience being stuck in a place, not knowing if he'd ever get home; it wasn't fun. And it would have been worse if everyone had treated him like some kind of sideshow attraction, to be stared at but never approached. He remembered watching them comfort each other in the memorial hall. Letting out a deep breath, gathering his courage and his best nonchalant air, he stood up.

Connor spotted him right away, for he stopped walking and nudged his sister with his elbow. Emily turned away from the view with a quizzical look that transformed the minute she saw him. A seemingly automatic smile brightened her face, but she quickly schooled her expression into more neutral wariness. John remembered her disappointment at their last meeting and almost lost his nerve, but recalling his own behavior, however justified it may have been logically speaking, he supposed he didn't deserve much better. They watched him uncertainly for a few moments before Connor nodded in greeting and surreptitiously tugged on Emily's arm to signal that they should resume their walk. But they froze again when John deliberately moved towards them.

"Morning," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Morning, Colonel," said Connor.

"Yeah," said Emily, eyeing John as if he were a dog that might bite. An awkward silence fell.

"So..." said John, mentally hitting himself. He had not thought this through. "How are you?"

He didn't fault Emily for the look she gave him; were it physically possible, he would be doing the same thing.

"We're fine," she said coolly. "Thanks for asking."

The guard who had been following them caught up and nodded at John. "Colonel."

"Lieutenant," he replied, nodding in return.

"Is there a problem, sir?"

"No, no problem." John glanced at the teenagers in front of him and bit at his lip. He was probably going to regret this. "Look, Lieutenant, I'll take over from here." He jerked his thumb at the kids.

The officer looked slightly startled but didn't question the order. "Yes, sir."

As the guard turned and left, John found two pairs of green eyes staring at him in mixed surprise and suspicion. "So..." he repeated. "Where were you guys headed?"

"Fourth level veranda," said Connor, surprise seeming to win out, "then back to our quarters."

"Good. It's not far."

"We know." John detected faint traces of amusement, wry though it was, in Connor's voice and took it as a good sign. He waved them ahead and the three of them proceeded slowly down the walkway. The urge to look back practically radiated from the kids; they kept microscopically turning their heads towards him as if testing the limits of their peripheral vision. The set of Connor's shoulders had grown tense, and Emily began tugging destructively at her ponytail. John rolled his own shoulders.

"McKay went to see you yesterday," he said, desperate to end the silence. John was glad they couldn't see him, since apparently every word that came out of his mouth was going to be inescapably lame.

"He did," said Connor. "He seemed pretty confident that he could fix things, but then again he always says that, so..."

John felt his eyebrows raise. Heh. They certainly had Rodney pegged.

"So lucky us. Since he's almost always right," said Emily.

Pegged dead center, with maybe an extra gleam or two of polish.

"You were there, Colonel." Connor stopped walking and turned to face him, arms folded across his chest. "What's your opinion? Is it really that bad?"

Once again, two sets of eyes bored into him, concerned eyebrows furrowed in eerie familiarity, in a look he hadn't seen in a long time...

"It's not good," John admitted, shoving his mind back to the present and sending it scrambling for the relevant details. "Not impossible, but not good... I'm sorry."

"So are we," said Connor with a twist of his lip. He frowned at the floor. "I don't understand how this could've happened. It wasn't like that when we found it; we told you."

"Remember what Uncle Rodney said about alternate realities?" Emily offered. "He said it was a possibility. Unless..." She thought for a moment. "Unless we did just travel straight back in time and we're supposed to repair it so it'll be ready for us in the future so we can go back in time and repair it..." The girl's frown deepened the longer she spoke, her eyes widening.

John's head began to twinge at Emily's endless loop of cause and effect, the whole concept maddening enough that the title she'd attached to Rodney's name barely registered. "Don't even go there," he ordered. "I prefer to keep my brain unscrambled whenever possible."

She pressed a palm to her forehead, wincing. "Ow. Me too." She nodded in agreement. "Let's not go there."

"Look, I don't have any answers as to why everything is different," said John. "But things were close enough to cut you guys some slack around here, so let's take it as as a partial win, okay?" He gestured for them to keep walking.

"Fair enough," Connor said, the look in his eyes lightening somewhat as he turned around. "It is nice to be believed. I don't feel quite as much like I'm screaming at a wall."

Guilt prodded irrationally at John's mind, but he shook it off. "I said 'some slack,' not a total buy-in."

"Yeah, the armed guard following us kind of clued us in on that," said Emily.

"But we appreciate the effort," Connor added diplomatically.

"Though we know the city better than the guard anyway, so it's not like he could stop us if we really wanted to... oh, I shouldn't have said that." Cringing, she peered over her shoulder at John. "Should I?"

With a struggle, he turned the impulse to smile into a frown and shook his head. "No, probably not."

Connor glared at his sister. "Please ignore her!" he said, going into damage control mode. "She exaggerates and anyway we would never dream of–"

"Calm down," said John, holding up a hand. Given the nature of his job, the girl's statement should have probably set off more than a few red flags, but the poles stayed empty. She had already proven her knowledge of the city during her mad dash for the memorial room. If she wanted to abuse that knowledge and work mischief, she'd had the opportunity and hadn't taken it. "The deal you made with Woolsey stands." Still, if John felt obligated to suggest that the guards keep a sharper eye on their charges during outings, the kids didn't need to know that. "If we really thought you were dangerous we wouldn't have let you out of the holding cells."

Connor cleared his throat. "Right," he said. John could hear the bitterness and the unspoken rant lurking behind the word. He braced himself, but the boy remained silent and John let out a breath. No one could fault the kid's self-control, he admitted to himself gratefully. Even if John did feel sorry for them, he wasn't going to apologize for doing his job.

They reached the level four veranda and were greeted with a blast of wind. This high up, four levels down from the top of the south-east tower, the air carried only the faintest traces of salt, but retained the scrubbed-clean smell that only sea air could produce. Emily shut her eyes and smiled, inhaling deeply as her dark curls whipped around her head. Connor, his brown waves fluttering and snapping, visibly relaxed and he smiled like his sister. The two of them made a beeline for the railing. There were only a few other people around so John felt it safe to hang back and watch. The siblings seemed to drink in every sight like it was water in the desert: the cloud-filled blue sky, the endless ocean and the gleaming cityscape below. Emily turned her face to the sun and the wind carried Connor's laugh back to John. The boy's lips moved and his sister punched him in the arm, saying something undoubtedly rude in return. John smiled, remembering long ago days when he'd actually had a relationship with his own brother.

He resisted the urge to join the kids at the railing and walked to the nearest pillar, leaning against it with folded arms. A medical staffer whose name John should have known walked by and John casually looked at the floor, definitely not watching the pair who had started strolling along the veranda. He couldn't keep up the act for long, however, and when he looked up again they were standing in front of him.

"Join us, Colonel?" asked Connor. The worry line between his eyebrows had disappeared for the first time since John had met him.

Startled, John found himself agreeing before he really knew what he was doing. He levered himself off of the pillar and fell in beside them. They walked in silence for a few moments and John let the wind buffer him into refreshing wakefulness, enjoying the peace of the morning and the breeze in his hair. It lulled him into relaxing and he almost forgot who he was with until they approached the far end of the veranda and Connor finally spoke.

"It's good to be out."

"Absolutely," said Emily, a dreamy lilt to her voice. "It's beautiful up here."

John felt he should make some attempt at joining the conversation. "Yeah, it is," he agreed.

"Of course," she continued, "it's like Mom says: it's kind of impossible to find a spot that's not beautiful here."

He swallowed and clenched his jaw. Please, could they just get through one encounter without bringing up Elizabeth? Just one? But, mercifully, Emily didn't seem inclined to pursue the topic; she probably hadn't even realized what she'd said, for no sadness tainted her expression. He risked a glance at Connor and just as rapidly looked away when he found the boy watching him, unfortunately all too aware. 'Don't push it, kid,' John thought, and chalked up another ten points in Connor's favor when he again kept his mouth shut. Clearly the kid had gotten Elizabeth's sense of tact.

John was mentally grumbling over his hypocritical brain as they reached the end of the veranda and began the turn back towards the exit. Connor let out a low laugh, drawing John to full attention. "Remember the time you got stuck out here, Em?" Connor said.

Emily groaned. "That wasn't funny!"

"Yes it was! Well, okay, it wasn't funny at the time, but later it was hilarious." Unasked, he turned towards John to give an explanation. "She was eleven and she and Rachel had roped me and Max into playing tag out here." Or at least Connor tried to explain. John got the sense he was expected to know who those people – obviously friends of theirs – were, but the names meant nothing to him. "We played for like an hour and then, as we're all going in, Em drags behind because she doesn't want to stop, the door malfunctions and she gets stuck outside for another thirty minutes while Uncle Rodney–" Aw, man. They really did call him that. Creepy. "–gets the door open. It had been a really windy day, and so then, when she comes in, her hair looks like Einstein on a bad day and–"

"And it's so knotted and tangled that they have to chop it off up to my ears," Emily recited, eyes rolled to the sky. Clearly this was a common story.

"You looked ridiculous," said Connor, laughing.

"Shut up!" She swatted his arm. "I also got an ear infection and had to stay in bed for two days." She leaned around Connor to look at John. "Don't believe him. This is not a funny story."

Connor met his eyes with a smirk and a look that said 'come on, Dad, we both know better, don't we?' It was an implicit assumption that John would join in the amusement, an invitation to return the knowing smile based on the bonds of an intimacy and relationship that didn't exist. Not here. Not with him.

John gave a meager half-smile and faced front and center. "Sure" was all he said. On a basic level, it was a cute anecdote, John supposed, but there was more going on here than that. Every word and inflection the kids spoke was shaped by layers of family history, layers and memories that they expected John to understand, but he couldn't. It was like they were speaking English in the wrong order; he understood the words, but the full meaning was an impassable gulf beyond him.

He imagined the puzzled looks the kids were giving each other and fervently wished he were elsewhere. He'd known this was a bad idea. It was too confusing for everybody. Just because the boy managed to call him 'Colonel' most of the time instead of 'Dad' didn't mean that–

"Aren't you the least bit curious about us?" Connor demanded. He stopped walking, forcing John to turn and face him. As predicted, confusion twisted the kid's expression, along with a fair share of anger.

"Sorry?"

"Come on, don't play dumb. You've avoided us whenever possible since we arrived." Connor frowned at him, shrugging. "I don't get it. Your kids drop in from the future and you're totally ambivalent about that? You don't want to ask us anything? I get that it's weird, but–"

"Who says it's my future?" John snapped, harsher than he'd intended. They stared at him and, abashed, he reigned in his tone, though his voice remained tight. "From everything you've said, I can tell you it's most definitely not. So then what's the point?" He jerked his head towards the door, suddenly sick of the wind. "Let's get you back inside."

The siblings exchanged a look and obediently marched ahead of him. Stepping inside the corridor was like going deaf, John's ears ringing with the lack of sound, his skin tingling from the absence of the buffeting wind. The kids remained blessedly silent, though they might not stay that way for long. Desperate to get away, John motioned over the first airman he saw and told him to escort Connor and Emily back to their quarters, which he did without protest, though the man was clearly headed in the opposite direction. John felt slightly guilty, but if you couldn't pull rank at a time like this, then when could you?

John glanced at his watch and realized gratefully that he had a training session in twenty minutes. Nothing like drilling Marines and barking orders to shake off the weirdness. Nothing like being dead-tired to prevent any more bright ideas. Running his fingers through his hair to try and make himself halfway presentable – to bring it down to at least a normal level of messiness – he began the long walk to the gym. A quarter of the way there, as he was passing through a gallery, he glanced out the window and froze as a memory came to him: walking behind Elizabeth as she escorted a visiting scientist down this hallway, hearing the smile in her voice as she said "I don't think it's possible to find a bad view in this city. The Ancients had quite the eye for aesthetics..."

John had heard Elizabeth give statements to that effect several times over the years he'd known her, usually as his friend looked around at her city with awed pride and affection in her eyes. He scrubbed at his mouth, a chill running up his arms and down into his stomach. "It's like Mom says: it's kind of impossible to find a spot that's not beautiful here."

-o-

Emily was tired of being passed around like a plague-ridden marker in a relay race. Ever since they'd gotten here, she and Connor had been transferred from the watchful eye of one set of guards to the other, back and forth, here and there, only ever alone when locked inside their quarters. As they entered the apartment, Emily went straight to her room and flopped on the bed. Even their dad had shoved them off on somebody else as soon as he could. She rolled over onto her side, staring at the blank wall. What right did he have to get so angry, especially considering he'd outright asked to take charge of them? He could have carried on avoiding them, just like Connor said. Why bother talking to them if he didn't want to hear about who they were?

The wall offered no answers, just a plain expanse of cool blue paint. The generic looking potted plant was equally unhelpful. Emily had never known she could hate a plant, but she was starting to despise that one. She tossed around until she was laying on her other side, her arms pillowed under her head as she looked out the window. The view hadn't changed. A endless sheet of glass and metal filled the pane, a neighboring tower blocking out everything else. After the sunshine and openness of the veranda, the only sky she could see was what was reflected in the opposing building's glass shell. It was the Atlantis equivalent of a hotel room looking out on a brick wall, like she'd seen in movies.

Falling on her stomach, she snatched at her pillow, buried her face in it and let out a shriek. She didn't bother wishing that things would be different when she looked up, that these boring walls and uncomfortable bed would disappear and she'd be back in her own room. It hadn't worked the first hundred times she'd tried it. Emily knew she should be grateful for these quarters – and she had been, really – but the sense of claustrophobia seemed to have followed her from the holding cell, sneaking up on her the longer they stayed, shrinking the walls around her until screaming and running began to seem the only bearable option. The trip outside had only made it worse by comparison.

Connor had been trying to make her laugh by telling the story, had been trying to engage their dad on any level at all beyond frigid awkwardness. And at the time, for her at least, it had worked. Between the fresh air and the annoyingly familiar tale, she had managed, for a few short moments, to forget. But now... She reached up and fingered a curl of hair, remembering her mother's face when Elizabeth had given the order to cut it all off – equal parts horror, annoyance and relief. That eleven-year old Emily had found funny. Her dad had simply ruffled her hair and said she looked fine. Rachel had been as delightfully smug and condescending as usual, and Max's entire response to the situation had been a shrug and a "So? At least you didn't get stuck outside and freeze to death." She smiled into her pillow at the memories, but the expression crumpled and faded as the longing rushed in after it. Words couldn't express how desperately grateful she was that Connor was here with her, but it wasn't enough. Not if they were going to be trapped here indefinitely. The walls were closing in now; what would be left of her in a month, two months, a year? What if they never fixed it at all? Like a broken record, the subsurfaces of her mind started praying –pleading – in a constant loop. She needed the rest of her family, her friends, her home...

She pushed herself up on her elbows, the rush of air cool against the tears on her cheeks. Home... She sat up and swung her legs over the bed, biting at her lip. This could be a very bad idea. But if she timed it right, maybe she could... No. She'd promised Connor that she wouldn't run off again. And to be honest, the thought of being hunted down and hauled back to a cell – not to mention a lecture from Woolsey – wasn't exactly appealing. Still, the thought of asking a guard for something so personal rankled. She released the curl of hair she'd been pulling and sat straighter. So she wouldn't ask a guard.

Waiting a ten count, Emily crept out her door and down the short hall. She peered around the corner into the living room but Connor was nowhere to be seen. Intrigue quickening her heartbeat, she tripped silently to the main door and opened it. The guard spun around and gave her a sharp look, hand on his weapon. Emily held up her hands.

"I'm not trying to leave, I promise. Look, can I use your radio? I want to talk to Teyla Emmagen. Is that alright?"

The guard's eyes narrowed and he hesitated, as if searching his memory banks for orders regarding this situation. "I'll make the call," he said finally. Not taking his eyes off her, he reached for the radio secured in his vest pocket, tilting his head towards it as he spoke. "Ms. Emmagen? This is Sergeant Harris. One of our guests is asking to speak with you... The girl... No, it doesn't look like an emergency..." He listened for another moment and turned back to Emily. "What do you want?"

"I, uh..." She licked at her suddenly dry lips. "I want her to take me somewhere. Somewhere in the city."

Frowning, Harris relayed her answer and several agonizing moments passed as he listened to the reply. "Yes, ma'am," he said, and keyed off the radio. "She'll stop by this afternoon. She's busy right now."

"Oh." She calculated the hours that still stretched ahead of her and gave the guard a tight smile. "Thank you." She stepped back inside and swiped the door closed, resting her forehead against the cool metal. What was she going to do until the afternoon? Besides slowly go insane. Pivoting around, back pressed against the door, her eyes swept across the room until they came to rest on the stack of books sitting on the coffee-table. An airman had brought them with yesterday's lunch. Emily grabbed one of the books and rolled onto the couch. If she couldn't leave her surroundings, at least she could try and ignore them for as long as possible.

-o-

The sky outside was turning orange as Emily lowered her book and glanced at her watch for the fifth time in the last hour. Afternoon was steadily turning into evening and Teyla still hadn't come. Allowing her foot a twitch of impatience but resisting the impulse to get up and start pacing, Emily raised her book and tried to concentrate on the third-to-last chapter. The story was mediocre and somewhat boring, but under the circumstances she'd stuck with it. She read a page, moved to the next, realized she had no idea what had just happened, reread the previous page and dropped the book onto her chest with a groan. She pressed her palms against her forehead. It was no use; nothing was sticking anymore. Her head spun as she levered herself upright, muscles complaining from lying inactive for so long.

"You okay?" asked Connor. Her brother was sitting at the table in front of the window, doodling in the margins of a book.

"Yeah," said Emily. The dizziness was fading now. She frowned at Connor. "What are you doing?" He had never been one to write in books and had lectured her as a kid for scribbling in her own.

"I'm writing a note to my future self."

"You're kidding."

"'Dear Connor,'" he read. "'Do not go to MX9-563. Bad. Also, don't play frisbee in Uncle Rodney's lab on your seventh birthday. Worse.'"

Emily laughed. "You did not write that."

"Yes, I did," said Connor. "What's the harm? I figure, if we never get born, then it'll be an intriguing mystery for somebody, and if we do, then at least I'll have done something useful while we're here."

"Don't say that."

"Say what?"

"That we'll never get born." She tossed her book on the coffee-table. "It's creepy."

"Well, so's your face." Connor looked at her out of the corner of his eye, a smirk fighting to emerge from beneath the innocent façade.

Lip curling, Emily rolled her eyes and propped her elbows on the back of the couch. "Paging Dr. Keller! We've discovered a new symptom of time travel to the past: age regression! From seventeen to five in just–"

The door chimed. Forgetting her brother, Emily jumped off the sofa and rushed to open it. It was about time! Teyla stood outside, wearing a soft blue top with bell sleeves, her toffee-colored hair smooth and feather-light around her shoulders.

"Good afternoon, Emily," she said with a polite smile.

"Hi." Emily frantically combed her hair with her fingers, suddenly conscious of her couch-potato state in the face of such neatness. She smiled at her honorary aunt and stepped past her into the hall. "I'm ready if you are."

"Very well," said Teyla, clearly startled at her abruptness. She pointed at the closing door. "Is your brother not joining us?"

"No." Emily shook her head. "I wanted to be by myself for a while." She gestured at Teyla. "In a manner of speaking."

"Very well," Teyla repeated in a somewhat befuddled fashion, nodding at the guard on duty as they moved down the hall. "I was somewhat surprised at your message earlier. The guards could not take you where you wished to go?"

"Oh..." said Emily, mood deflating as she looked at her feet. "I'm sorry. You've got lots of other things to do. If you don't want to–"

"No, it is fine," Teyla hastened to reassured her. "I simply wondered. I can understand the wish to see a more... familiar face." Emily heard the arch note in Teyla's voice as she said 'familiar' and briefly returned the older woman's smile.

"Definitely," Emily agreed. "The guards are just doing their jobs, but that job is to put other people at ease, not me." She rubbed at her arms. "And more than that: after this morning, I needed to see a friendly face, not just a familiar one." She caught Teyla's questioning glance and Emily's mouth twitched wryly. "We ran into Dad – I mean, Colonel Sheppard – on our way outside. Out of nowhere, he just dismissed our guard and started walking with us."

"Did he?" Teyla raised an eyebrow, her face taking on a thoughtful look.

"I know. I was surprised too. Glad mostly, but surprised. I thought it might be a sign of a turn around, like now that you've found some proof that we've been telling the truth, he might warm up to us some." She let out a bitter puff of a laugh. "No such luck. It was going fine and then–" Emily snapped her fingers and sliced a hand through the air. "Square one."

"I am sorry," said Teyla. "I know it would be easier for you if Colonel Sheppard were more open. But you must try to understand–"

"I know he's not going to act like we're used to, and I don't expect that," Emily interrupted, heading off the lecture. "Not totally. I just would have thought... I don't know." She frowned. "Well, look at you! You're different, but you're still basically..." She threw up her hands. "You."

"And Colonel Sheppard is not?"

"No." Her face fell further. "He's not."

Emily wanted to explain in more detail, to vent to someone who wasn't her brother, to see if anyone else had noticed the off-ness lurking in John's eyes, but Teyla didn't press any further. They walked in silence for a time until Teyla smiled and said: "Tell me: what was it like growing up in Atlantis?"

Flashing back uncomfortably to Woolsey's interrogation, Emily gave Teyla a searching glance, but she seemed genuinely interested. "It's hard to say," said Emily, shrugging as she thought. "It's home; it's always seemed normal to me. There were lots of places we weren't allowed to go until we got old enough, which was really annoying – I probably got in trouble for sneaking around more than anything else. Lots of science; technobabble is like a second language." She smirked, her mood lifting as she sorted through her memories for what to share. "Trips off-world to ally planets on special occasions, especially New Athos..."

"So there are still close ties, then, between my people and Atlantis?" Teyla asked.

Emily smiled at her eagerness. "Yeah. You and Uncle Kanaan and Torren and Cha–" Emily swallowed the last word as she realized what she was saying. It wouldn't do to give too much away. Teyla gave her a sharp questioning look, but Emily ignored it. "I mean, you guys are like a big extended family."

"I am glad to hear it," said Teyla, though a flare of curiosity still burned in her eyes and Emily knew she had stored away the half-spoken name in her mind to ponder over later. "And Torren... he is well then?"

"Torren's fine." She smiled reassuringly then looked at the walls and muttered under her breath: "In multiple senses of the word." With his honey-gold skin, sweep of dusky hair and keen brown eyes, nearly half the girls on New Athos were in love with him. Atlantis too, she thought with a smirk, picturing Rachel McKay's awkward blushing.

Emily felt her own cheeks darken when she turned back and saw the look in her aunt's eyes. Clearly the woman had excellent hearing. Desperate to avoid any comments, Emily rapidly changed the subject and began asking questions about the away team's last mission, hoping for details that Uncle Rodney might have left out. Teyla didn't have much to add, but unlike Rodney, she reported things clearly and succinctly, which left Emily feeling much more knowledgeable than she had that morning.

They stepped into the transporter and, as Emily automatically reached for the screen to choose their destination, she realized Teyla had been letting her lead the way the entire time.

"You haven't even asked me where we're going," Emily said, staring at the other woman.

"You seemed certain of the direction and less than eager to talk about it. I simply decided to, as they say 'go along for the ride.'"

"You trust me that much?"

"Would I be here if I did not?"

"I don't know," Emily said as they exited the closet-like space and merged into the traffic that still bustled through the main thoroughfare of the central tower. "If I tried anything, you could probably take me down in about two seconds, so it's not all that much of a gamble."

Teyla laughed, shaking her head. "It is so strange," she said, quiet astonishment in her voice.

"What?"

"It is nothing."

"Come on, tell me. Please?"

Teyla hesitated, studying Emily before she answered with a faint wondering smile. "I look at you and I see Elizabeth, but then you speak and I hear John Sheppard's words coming out of your mouth."

Emily looked at her hands, mouth lifting in a small smile. "I've heard that before." Nearly everyone she'd ever met had said something similar at one point or another. As a little girl, nothing had made her happier. She'd look up at her dad and beam with pleasure at the thought of being just like him – brave, kind, funny, smart, and able to do anything and everything. But with one footstep – from one side of that turquoise puddle to the other – that man had disappeared. The steady foundation on which she'd settled her life was now a stranger, harder and more reserved. Her father had been her mirror and, for the first time, she didn't see herself looking back. She felt a sneaking sense of relief that her mother wasn't here to suffer by comparison and then hated herself, horrified, for thinking it. If it meant having her mom around, subtly yet drastically altered, or not having her here at all, Emily knew what she would choose; she'd rather have a damaged ballast than go spinning through the storm without one.

"Forgive me," said Teyla, cutting into her reverie with concern. "I did not mean to upset you."

"Don't worry about it," said Emily, shaking herself and waving Teyla off. Glancing around to regain her bearings, Emily veered off and led them down an empty hallway. The sounds of everyday life faded the further they went, until, several more corridors and a flight of stairs later, it became nonexistent, swallowed by the still quiet of abandonment that thickened the air. This part of the tower was dark and unused. The weight of the hush pressed on Emily's throat, but the need to dispel it shoved back just as powerfully.

"Why don't any personnel live here?" Emily asked, tightening her arms around her chest. Dim light fixtures awakened in their presence, blurring the metallic slabs of doorways with deeper shadows. If she didn't know better, she might have thought it was a different part of the city altogether.

"These quarters were considered too large, and so far the expedition's numbers have stayed small enough to make them unneeded. We believe they were designed for...ah." Teyla trailed off, seeming to come to a realization.

"Families," finished Emily. They rounded the last corner and she stopped three feet away from a door, unable to make herself move closer. "Yeah, they were."

Emily stared at the door to her family's apartment, wondering how it could look so familiar and yet so coldly alien at the same time. She almost turned around; maybe this was a bad idea. What was she expecting anyway? Yet the sight of home stirred up all her earlier craving and so, taking a deep breath through her nose and exhaling slowly through her mouth, Emily stepped up to the control panel and held out her hand. The door slid open and she walked inside, Teyla following.

Only faint accent lights worked themselves up to a glow as Emily stepped into the center of the room, leaving only the dim rays of a fading sunset to lessen the shadows. It seemed impossible that only four days before she had hurried excitedly through these rooms, getting ready to go on her first mission. Strange cloth-draped shapes were spaced about the floor in odd places, concealing furniture that Emily could already tell she wouldn't recognize. The walls were bare of anything except the typical Atlantean panel decor – no photos, paintings or drawings. No eclectic pottery or stacks of books littered the tables, no surfboard or set of guitars propped in the corner. Nothing to give any hint of the family that called this place home.

"I will wait outside," said Teyla softly.

Emily didn't respond and the door hissed shut as the other woman left. Emily's lips drew into a thin line as she pivoted on her heel. The shape of the room nudged at her brain, the familiar outline clicking into place, but that was all. Slowly, she walked through the other rooms in the apartment, one arm glued across her ribs and the other hand hooked around the back of her neck. Everywhere she went, more of the same: dark and empty spaces, full of shadows and devoid of life. The apartment had an almost clinical ghostliness to it. Emily's stomach twisted as she realized that these rooms had probably been unoccupied for over ten thousand years, ever since the Ancients abandoned the city. The thought made her head spin. According to Woolsey, the expedition had only been here for five years; there was so much that they hadn't accomplished yet, so much they hadn't discovered...

She shuffled down a short hall, glanced into what should have been Connor's room, turned and studied the door that she'd saved for last. Gathering her courage, Emily swiped her hand across the panel and stepped into her bedroom. The emptiness here was somehow worse than the rest of the apartment. Her eyebrows furrowed and her chest grew tight. It felt like she had died and someone had come along and thrown out everything she had ever owned. In her mind she saw the things that weren't there: the photos and decorations, the turquoise quilt and the carved knick-knacks, the books and gym bag and the chest stuffed with her childhood toys. It was like uncaring hands had wiped away everything she was and had been. Like she didn't even exist at all.

Emily blinked fiercely, even though no tears were coming, and tried to stop her mind from going any farther down that track. Her eyes roamed the bedroom. That kind of thinking was pointless and– Her gaze fixed on the bed that stood in the corner and something snapped, an illogical rush of anger burning away all other feelings. She strode across the room and ripped the dust cover off of the bed. 'No,' she thought grimly. 'Something is going to be like it should.' Wedging herself between the bed and the wall, she gripped the metallic frame and began pushing. The bed groaned in protest at such rough treatment after ten thousand years of peace, but Emily ignored it. She threw her weight against the bed, planting her feet against the wall and then the floor as she fought for every inch of movement. She couldn't fix the laboratory on the planet, she couldn't fix her parents, but she would fix this. All her fear and rage funneled onto the bed, blacking out everything else. The metal legs scraped against the floor, loud and high-pitched enough that she normally would have cringed, but the noise didn't even register.

Teyla's voice echoed from the living room. "Emily? Is everything alright?" A few moments, the sound of footsteps progressing up the hall, and the Athosian stepped into the room. "Emily?"

The concern and confusion in her aunt's voice broke through Emily's fury; her legs turned to water and she collapsed against the mattress. The bed had scarcely moved. Breathing heavily, she raked a swath of hair out of her face and met Teyla's eyes, embarrassed, apologetic and oh-so lost. "I just wanted something to be the way it was," she said quietly.

Brown eyes softening, Teyla crossed the room and silently gestured for Emily to move over. Getting into position, Teyla nodded and, together, they shoved the bed the few feet into place. Emily staggered upright, back twinging in protest, and dropped onto the bed, foreign with its hard Ancient mattress. It didn't even dip as Teyla sat down beside her, tucking back a displaced strand of honey-brown hair.

"This is your room?" she asked.

"Yeah." Emily nodded, looking at her hands. "I'm sorry I dragged you all the way here. I thought coming here would be comforting." She shook her head at her own foolishness. "Instead I just made it worse. Pretty stupid, huh?"

Teyla didn't speak for several long moments. "Stability is something that has eluded my people for many generations." She spoke slowly, seeming to gather her thoughts as she went. "We keep no permanent settlements, and our ties with each other, though strong, live in constant danger of being severed. Yet we endure. Do you know why?" She laid a gentle hand on Emily's shoulder. "Because everything that makes us Athosian – our traditions and beliefs, the legacy we pass on to our children... all of that remains. The essence of who we are as a people cannot be altered, though all might change around us."

The kindness in Teyla's eyes made Emily's sting, and she looked out the window at the achingly familiar arrangement of towers. The city was bathed in the last rays of sunlight, the towers glowing subtly gold. Soon the artificial lights would wink into existence and the city would turn into a glittering jewel against the darkness of night, just as she'd always known it. A measure of peace crept into her heart.

"Thank you," said Emily, smiling gratefully as Teyla gave her shoulder a squeeze. Releasing it, Teyla turned her head and they watched the sunset kaleidoscope into evening. As the first lights began to shine through the dusk, Teyla stood and said that it was time to go. Emily nodded acquiescence and didn't protest. She stood and, with one last glance out the window, followed her aunt from the room. Apparently there had been comfort to be found after all, Emily thought with relief. Yet despite Teyla's words, a niggling doubt worried at Emily's mind. If the essence of a person was supposed to stay the same... what had happened to her dad?

-o-

The next week passed slowly. Emily read all of the books on the coffee table and had to start over. She didn't tell Connor, but one evening she swiped his pen and scribbled her own note in the margins: 'Emily L. Sheppard was here,' written in English and Ancient. Childish, she knew, but it felt appropriate. They'd given Connor a notepad and he spent his time sketching whenever he wasn't reading. He didn't share his drawings with her, but once Emily had snuck a glance over his shoulder and seen attempted portraits of their family and friends, a large one of their mother at the center, the words 'just in case' scribbled along the bottom of the page. The sight had shaken her more than she'd dare admit, not only as a visible proof of her brother's doubt and fear, but because of the horrible idea that those sketches might eventually be their only link to those people. She made a mental note that, if they did get home, she would start carrying photos with her on every trip off-world.

Their father stayed away, to no surprise, though Teyla stopped in to visit twice. She didn't mention the trip to the Sheppard's quarters, for which Emily was grateful. Connor would have accused her of making a scene and she didn't want to hear it. Sergeant Harris or one of the other guards took them on their daily walks. Emily didn't know whether she felt more like a convict or a dog. As promised, Woolsey kept them up to date on the progress on Planet Ring-Lake, as Emily had taken to calling it. As promised, it was slow work. There had been a glimmer of hope when Dr. Zelenka had managed to restore a trickle of power to one of the main consoles, but that hope was smashed when the circuits overloaded and fried the crystal. Emily had no difficulty imagining the string of Czech curses that had doubtless blued the air. In those few seconds of power, Uncle Rodney had managed to pry some fragments of data from the complex's archive, but only enough to tantalize and frustrate him. He'd found oblique references to planetary orbits and incomplete charts of solar patterns, but nothing concrete enough to be of real use.

Now it was Friday, and in a rare treat, Connor and Emily were being allowed to eat a meal outside of their quarters. Uncle Rodney had been scheduled to give them an update, and rather than delay a meal, as Woolsey's appointment time dictated, Rodney had declared the meeting be moved to the mess hall.

Emily smiled into her pudding. The mess hall was bright, airy and humming with conversation and activity. Not even the guards at her back, the dated looking furniture or the quizzical stares of those around them could detract from the joy of being there. Not even the excessively detailed chatter coming from Uncle Rodney. Poor Connor was trying his best to listen and ask questions, but she could see him struggle to stay focused. He hadn't yet mastered their mother's ability to get Rodney McKay to stop talking; Emily privately thought that only the most skilled diplomats could manage such a feat without resorting to persuasion of a citrus-y variety. She tucked the observation away to craft into a joke to share with her dad later – over the years she and Connor had gotten pretty good at joining their father in lemon flavored one-liners and fake threats – but her smile faltered as she remembered. She jabbed her spoon into her pudding. If they were going to be stuck here, she wished she could just go ahead and get used to the idea. This constant forgetting and the bitter jolt of recall that followed was exhausting and she was getting thoroughly sick of it.

"...speculate that the power source is actually tied into the conduits for the main line. If that's the case, then–"

"Um, Rodney?" Emily interrupted. He'd given them permission to call him by just his first name, but it still sounded weird coming out of her mouth. "I think you've already told us about the power conduits." Connor cast her a grateful look.

"I have?" said Rodney.

"The day before yesterday. You said if that was the case, then it's going to be one giant mess trying to isolate the necessary connections."

"Oh..." Rodney took a bite of his food. "I guess I did," he said, talking around a mouthful of blue jello. "But did I–?"

The shrill peal of a distant alarm cut off whatever he had been about to say.

"What's that for?" Connor asked worriedly.

"I don't know," said Rodney, reaching for his earpiece. "But knowing this place? Nothing good."

A.N.2: Thanks so much for taking the time to read. Reviews are much appreciated. :)