Atlantis Revisited

After 'Enemies at the Gate'

The team stood in the control room of Atlantis,  watching as the ships sailed past and pleasure craft were diverted from passing beyond the Golden Gate bridge, the city humming with the cloak that concealed them utterly from the pedestrian and civilian eyes of the San Franciscans and their tourists. Teyla, fascinated by the bustle and magnitude of the city, stayed the longest, watching San Francisco stream by them, the traffic lighting first the eastbound lane with the running lights,  the the west.
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John Sheppard left the control room with Ronon, still unable to leave his friend, not quite reassured of his apparently vigorous health.  Wraith restoration worked, he was living proof, but Ronon wasn't just his team mate. He was his friend, and Sheppard wasn't about to allow him to slip off around one of the corners and ditch him until he'd come to terms with his resurrection alone.  He walked into the corridor that led to their quarters,  and headed for his rooms, beckoning Ronon to come with him. A rerun of his copy of the 'Hail Mary' was in order, and if he couldn't find the words to tell Ronon the guilt from all the years that had gone into his restoration never left, then football could fill the damn silence until he'd wrangled some words together that didn't involve the Wraith or the fact that they were now, essentially,  jobless. He'd get the DVR rolling, Ronon couched, and enough hot, buttery popcorn to fill both of them up.

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Carson Beckett stood in the sick bay, listening to his equipment and watching the comm-set's blank screen, his eyes on the monitor reflecting him from behind, his eyes seeing the images, but his mind far beyond the sleek design of the set. His mind was back in Pegasus,  the memories of his time with Michael and the other half-human, half-Wraith, and wondering when, and how, exactly,  this body had been made, and how his conscious mind had been moved to it. The scientific  and medical ramifications of the miracle of his being back on Atlantis,  alive, and now, quite as hale and healthy as it had been the day his real body had left it on the mission that had ended in such disaster.  Absently he took his pen from his lab jacket, and began flicking it across the table before him, his mind busy with the medical theories of this, well, his, now, body, and the equipment, technology and the housing of it, and how Michael had done it, within the time frame of his capture, his first body's release,  and his subsequent death, and reliberation of his made body, and how his mind had stood the splitting required to give him his full consciousness in both. As he thought, he hummed the Scottish anthem just under his breath, unaware of Lt. Cadman watching him from the entrance of the bay.

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     Rodney Mackay was beyond ecstatic.  He was on Earth, with Jennifer, and still on Atlantis. He couldn't have been happier, even if Mrs. Miller had shown up and has proclaimed him, publicly,  the undisputed genius hero of their family,  and told him his opinion was correct on her life choices, while Jennifer looked on the scene as witness. He snorted. "Snap out of it, Rodney, my boy. You're getting even more ridiculous than ever, and you've no reason to continue wishing for what will never be."
Jennifer jumped, surprised by his suddenly loud voice yanking her back for her wool gathering. She smiled at Rodney, her beautiful face lighting with the happiness, for just a moment. Her smile faded as she turned back to the windows that overlooked the eastern side of San Francisco.  She sighed.  As good as it felt to ne back on earth,  she couldn't shake the feeling of something wrong. Rodney walked toy her, and set his arms around her waist, nuzzling at her neck.
"What is it? Why are you so...so despondent?  You shouldn't be, you know. We can leave in a week, and you can drag me though whatever hell you choose, department stores, home visits, even worse restaurants. What's not to love about it?"
Jennifer reached back and gently smacked his head.
"That's not entirely the reason I wanted to come back,  Rodney!" Catching his reflection rubbing his head in the window, she smirked." Don't worry, Rodney. You've enough brain cells that if that killed a dozen, you'll never have missed them."
Rodney spun her round.
"Do you think I would care? Now, if you planned on murdering several of my I.Q. points on a daily basis, I might have to re-evaluate my continued contact with your lovely presence," and smiled as she shook her head in denial," then since you've confirmed you shan't be harming me in the cerebral sense,  then I won't bother wasting more calculating on how long I could remain in your company. "
Jennifer,  quite wisely,  laughed. And in such proximity with Rodney,  it quite sufficiently distracted him from forming a retort. At least, a vocal one. He kissed her neck, mumbling about how her genetic makeup had to have been given a benificial boost by the nearer location of the sun as it was relevant to the year she was born, creating a perfect environment for her skin to have been so grown to its soft, smooth texture.  She smiled as she lifted his chin by yanking on  his nape. "Rodney?"
"Ouch! Yes?"
"Shut. Up. And. Kiss. Me." She spaced the words deliberately,  watching his eyes dilate as her mouth formed each one. He moaned, and lifted her to her toes. And thoroughly, slowly, with just enough haste to set her heart thundering inside her, shut her up quite efficiently. 
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Ronon stood over John's sleeping body, his eyes shining, just a bit. His friend had him watch the football, and had gotten so much popcorn he could have poured it from the control tower, and by the time the first round bits landed and bounced, he would still be pouring. He carefully walked to the cot that John had used since the Atlantis expedition had found their destination,  and pulled the pillow and the blanket from it. He returned to the couch that they had been watching the box on, and gently lifted his friend's head just enough to slip the pillow underneath it. He knew that John's trust in him was explicit,  and his falling asleep in his presence was simply more proof, not that he needed any. He pulled the blanket to John's chin, and tucked it around his boots. He straightened up, and stood again looking at his friend. He hadn't allowed himself friends, after the Wraith made him a Runner. Then John, and his team, had changed that. No, he didn't need proof that John trusted him. He hadn't let him out of his sight since learning the Wraith had resurrected him, and hadn't let anyone question him about the experience. He'd been turned before, but that had been different.  Those years had been his own. He supposed that the ones he now had could be his own, but... but nothing.  He was alive, and could fight, and would destroy the Wraith. Even if he had to steal one of the inter-galatic travel ships to do it. The Daedalus would be repaired sooner than later, and he could get the ship's layout and blueprints easily enough.  He slid out of John's quarters silently,  heading for the control room.  They'd be on the memory drive of at least one of the smaller computers littered around that command tower. He'd find out which, whenever he figured out how to work one.