sga_flashfic | Found, by Ekaterinn & The Acrobat (Scars Challenge)

ekaterinn.livejournal.com posting in

Title: Found
Authors:

the_acrobat
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Summary: "She says her name is John, which they pronounce 'Shon' and Ni'ara names her Shon're, which means found one."
Notes: This story contains both sexswitch and amnesia. (5159 words)

They find her, naked and feverish, in the midst of a culled world. Shan'tale almost misses her, but she is being careful this time and looks into every house, and finds her in the ruins of the last one. She says her name is John, which they pronounce “Shon” and Ni'ara names her Shon're, which means found one.

Shon're tells them “city”, but the city in the distance has also been destroyed, may the Ancestors take them up. So they take her back to their valley and they nurse her and when she wakes, they find the fever has taken most of her memory.

*

She wakes up shivering. There are heavy blankets over her, but they don’t seem to help at all. Her body feels twitchy, almost alien. Nothing, not the bed, not the tent, not the light coming in, is familiar. She feels herself beginning to panic, but something makes her try to control her breathing, to pretend to be asleep until she can figure out what’s going on. But it’s to no avail, because a woman - young face, long dirty blonde hair, unarmed - rises from the other side of the tent.

The woman touches her forehead with a cool hand. “Your fever’s breaking,” she says, sounding pleased.

She tries to speak, but her mouth is dry and instead of words, only a brittle cracking sound comes out. The woman frowns and turns around, reaching for bronze kettle just behind her. The kettle looks out of place in the brown and white colors of the tent but if the woman notices, she doesn’t seem to care, pouring out steaming liquid from it into a clay mug. Turning back around, she holds out the mug. “Here, drink this. Ton’de said it would help.” Seeing the confusion on her patient’s face, she blushes and says, “He’s our herbalist. My name is Ni’ara.”

She takes the mug. The tea is strong and sweet, soothing her throat. “Where am I?” she asks, hoping she sounds calmer than she feels. The mug is warm in her hands.

“This is Hemi'ganga, the third settlement of the Vary'ara” Ni’ara says, obviously proud, but she must wear her confusion on her face, because Ni’ara gently asks her what she remembers.

She remembers dreams. Vivid dreams of towers rising in the light, bursting forth from the water. She remembers dreams of flying and seeing the towers in front of her coalesce into a city. She remembers wanting it, oh, so much.

“Not much,” she tells Ni’ara, who doesn’t look reassured by this statement.

Ni’ara calls her Shon’re. It’s good name as any, and really, she is more concerned about the fact that she can’t make her body do anything she wants. She’s off-balance, barely able to make it from the tent to the outhouse without falling flat on her ass. “Muscle weakness left over from the fever,” Ton’de says and presses more tea on her. She’s beginning to have feelings about that tea. But worse than the weakness and the endless mugs of tea is the way that her body seems to be remembering things she cannot. If she’s startled, she ducks and makes a swooping gesture with her left arm, as if pulling someone else to get down. Or she’ll reach down to the side and be horrified to find that there’s nothing there.

Shon’re is scowling to herself over the tea when Ni’ara comes back into the tent. She’s humming to herself, but stops when she sees Shon’re’s face. “You look cranky,” she says, hiding a smile.

“My hair is annoying,” Shon’re replies. It’s the first thing that comes into her head, but it’s also true. Her hair is short, but wispy around the edges where it has been growing out for the past month or so, rubbing against her neck.

“It does look a bit strange,” Ni’ara replies, “sticking up like that on the top.” She pats Shon’re’s hair, trying unsuccessfully to make it stay down.

Shon’re doesn’t flinch, like she used to, before she got accustomed to the way all of the Vary'ara express themselves by touch. Instead, she just scrunches up her face and says, “The hair doesn’t respond to insults, Ni’ara. Can’t I just chop it off?”

Ni’ara laughs at this, but tells her that winter is coming soon, and it’s better to let it grow out for the warmth. "’Nother month and you’ll be able to tie it back, I promise.”

“Fine,” Shon’re says, “But just remember, I know where you keep your favourite hair ties.”

“I see that I’ll have to take lessons in being sneaky from Shan’tale.” Ni’ara jokes, sitting down and arranging her skirts comfortably. Shon’re watches how she does this, because although she finds it easy enough to walk and navigate in the clothes she’s been given, she’s still kind of shaky on transitions from standing to sitting and vice versa. “But until then, shall I tell you the latest gossip?”

Shon’re groans at the suggestion and Ni’ara smiles wickedly. “Or you could tell me a story?” One night a few weeks ago, Shon’re told Ni’ara one of her dreams and now Ni’ara loves hearing about them, shaking her head in wonder at all the strange details Shon’re provides. As for Shon’re, though she’s not about to talk about her nightmares - sand and water and blood overlain with a stench she knows is death - she finds spinning stories out of her dreams a good alternative to sleeping or trying to walk more than twenty feet. Or, Ancestors forbid, drinking more tea.

“We rose into the sky and started flying,” she begins and Ni’ara’s eyes widens as she leans forward eagerly.

Another month and she’s indeed able to pull her hair with the common brown ties that all the women in the valley use, though Ni’ara also gives her a green one because it goes with her eyes. It’s a relief to get it out of her face, but it’s surprising to learn that hair can hurt if tied back too tight.

Unfortunately, that’s not the only unpleasant revelation that month: she also finds out what the tenderness in her breasts and the queasy feeling in her stomach means, much to her disgust. But she seems to have regained her balance; her body now does mostly what she tells it to do. Ton’de even approves her graduation to beer-drinking, which is just fantastic. Ni’ara agrees, but warns her that the time for winter tea is just a few weeks away. Shon’re spends a few days with Ni’ara and the others harvesting the last of the grains, racing the sky before the first of the winter snows. Everybody pitches in for the work, and soon Shon’re finds herself joking with and being shown tricks for gathering the grain by most of the settlement. At the end of it all, she’s tired and sore, but it‘s a very satisfied kind of sore. There’s a celebration afterward, with lots of beer and rare sugary treats. Ni’ara makes her dance, which she turns out to be comically bad at, tripping over her own feet.

“I blame the beer,” she says, after she’s stepped on Ni’ara’s foot again. Ni’ara giggles and lets her slink off to the wall before catching the hands of one of the older men. Shon’re grins and watches them twirl around on the dirt floor, nearly crashing into two other couples. Better him than me, she thinks, smirking to herself.

That night, Shon’re also meets Me’are, the leader of Hemi’ganga Settlement. She’s a tall and intense woman whose overall impression is one of restrained strength. Me’are takes Shon’re’s hands in her own and tells her, “There is a Vary’ara saying that ‘A stranger in need may be an Ancestor in disguise’, but I always believed that need provided its own reasons for aid. Ni’ara and Shan’tale did well when they brought you to Hemi’ganga.” She squeezes Shon’re’s hands lightly. “Welcome, Shon’re.”

Shon’re squeezes back, feeling the calluses on Me’are’s hands and seeing the warmth in her eyes and smile. “Thank you,” she manages.

The next day, Shon’re has a pounding headache, but this doesn’t deter Ni’ara from insisting that this would be a perfect time for them to go out hunting with Shan’tale in the forested area at the other end of the valley. Shon’re’s curiosity overcomes her desire to crawl into bed and just die already: she follows when Shan’tale explains that they trap vermin that menace the crops in the fields, but use bow and arrows to hunt larger game in the forest.

“If the animal is too large and wild for a couple of hunters to take down safely,” she goes on, “then we get a group of people skilled with all of our weapons: bows and arrows, spears and guns.” Shan’tale is darker in colouring and more practical in purpose than Ni’ara, but she has her same trick of imparting information casually, as if Shon’re had already known all this and just needed a reminder.

“Could you use the guns against the Wraith too?” Shon’re asks.

It’s Ni’ara who answers, her tone uncharacteristically serious. “If a Wraith actually landed here, we would. But our best defense against their ships is still the caves.”

Shon’re nods, remembering how the bell over the well was rung earlier that month and everyone stopped what they were doing, gathered up the children and headed for the caves at the side of the mountain. Ni’ara was quick to reassure that this was just the quarterly drill, but she had been taken aback by the urgency and order involved nonetheless.

Flashing her a quick smile, Shan’tale adds, “We might want to try you on one of the guns, if you take to hunting.”

“I can’t be worse at it than sewing,” Shon’re replies. Ni’ara, an accomplished seamstress, giggles.

In fact, she turns out to be much better at it, hitting the centre of the targets in practice area with ease. Even Shan’tale is mildly impressed. She shows her how to track a dorne through the forest and how to kill the half-length four-legger with efficiency and a minimal amount of pain.

They carry the carcass back to the settlement and help prepare it in a tent set aside for the purpose. Shan’tale promises to let the other hunters know that Shon’re is able and willing to hunt. Smiling her thanks, Shon’re says, “That would be good. I think I might have hunted, before.” Though she’s pretty sure her prey was larger than a dorne.

Shan’tale simply nods, but Ni’ara says cheerfully, “She has also flown. In the sky.”

“But only the Wraith can fly now,” Shan’tale says, startled. “The Ancestors did, but --”

“I have dreamt it,” Shon’re says, looking her straight in the eyes.

After a moment, she opens her hands and says, “I suppose that there are still things I don’t know, in all of the worlds beyond the Ring.” The air is suddenly fraught, but Shon’re doesn’t back down.

“Oh, Shan’tale,” Ni’ara says softly.

But Shan’tale recovers quickly, adding, “Well and done, we’ll just have to take Shon’re gliding.”

“Gliding?” Shon’re asks, intrigued.

“Tomorrow,” Ni’ara tells her and refuses to say any more.

It is Shan’tale who declares the clear, cold skies the next day to be good conditions for gliding. She explains that gliding down from vantage points on the mountains, using large sails carefully tied to able people, lets them check the crops for signs of ill-health that might not be apparent on the ground. “Though sometimes, one does it for fun,” she adds, slyly. Shon’re laughs and listens carefully as Shan’tale helps her gear up and demonstrates the proper posture. When Shan’tale is sure that Shon’re has got the theory down, she wishes her luck and runs off the edge of the mountain, throwing herself into the sky. Shon’re, who has always wanted the sky, follows.

With wind in her hair, she attempts a swoop and gets thrown up in the air by an updraft. Whooping, she glides down the rest of the way, finally landing in the bare field just a few moments after Shan’tale. Ni’ara jumps up and down, cheering on the landings with glee. Shon’re is grinning like crazy, and her heart is beating out yes, yes, yes.

She’s starting to feel like a child on holiday, let out of the tent to glide, hunt and drink beer. Shon’re’s glad of it, because it distracts her from the way as the days grow colder, her nights become harder. She might wake and not recognise the tent for a long moment. She might glance around wildly for people she only knows as shadows in her dreams. There’s a grief in her, deep and wide, and all she knows is to keep going on. She might dream with the Ancestors, as Ton’de insists, but she lives in this waking world with Ni’ara and all of the Hemi’ganga. With each day that passes, her new memories seem more solid; with each day, it seems that she’ll never recover her old ones.

Eventually winter wears away like a skin on an old tent. Shon’re spent the season learning songs and stories, attempting to improve on her practice of the mysterious and finicky art of sewing and helping to coordinate the winter Wraith culling drill. There’s two babies born and she sits with the women at the welcome-in for them both. By the dint of Ni’ara’s irrepressible coaxing, she begins to tell some of her tamer dreams to the others during the long evenings, and she watches, bemused, as people add embellishes and retell them to her in the traditional way.

Still, she’s relieved when the spring comes and the snow melts. The winter tunic and skirts are shed and everybody puts all their effort into planting the spring crops. After the idleness of the winter, her body welcomes the hard work. Too, the laughter that seems contagious with the spread of spring helps; both her dreams and her nights are a lot more restful now.

When the planting is done and celebrated, preparations for the Gather begin immediately. Ni’ara explains that a Gather is held every year, near the Ring. There's trading, legal dealing and marriage-brokering done among all the Settlements of the Vary'ara. "Hemi'ganga is lucky," Ni'ara says, "because we're near the Ring, so everyone of legal age who doesn't have immediate duties here can come."

The sheer of number of people at the Gather, crowded into rows of tents, shocks Shon’re. She became used to Hemi’ganga, where she knew the name and the story behind each face. But there’s lots to do and see and Shon’re finds herself too busy to worry about anything. When she does have a quiet moment, she likes to look at the Ring, shimmering blue and deceptively serene. She wonders what going through it would feel like.

Shon’re also stands witness to several marriages and watches as the fine green cord is looped around the wrists of the couple, tying them together. The men will follow their wives back to their settlements, both eager to begin their “lives anew”, as the saying went. Two young women, one from Hemi’ganga, also get married, pledging their willingness to adopt a child left parentless before accepting the cord.

Shan’tale introduces her to her betrothed, who she will be married to at next year’s Gather. He’s the same age as her, but less serious. They make a good match. Ni’ara also has a bevy of friends to introduce Shon’re to, but the most important one seems to be a young man named Tor‘nade. He smiles and talks to Shon’re for several minutes before touching Ni’ara on the cheek and suggesting that they go somewhere private. Ni’ara bits her lip and looks at Shon’re. She nods her acquiescence and Tor’nade and Ni’ara slip out of the tent into the twilight.

Ni’ara comes back after a couple of hours, looking a little tired and a lot relieved. She says, “Our families know each other, but we’re still not sure.” Shrugging, she adds wryly, “We’ve been saying ‘next year’ for several years now.”

“If you don’t - ” Shon’re starts hesitantly. She’s never been good talking about feelings.

Ni’ara waves away whatever awkwardness Shon’re was about to come up with. “It’s no matter.” Shon’re reaches out and clasps Ni’ara’s hand in her own instead. Entwining their fingers together, Ni’ara smiles and says, “Perhaps you should come a-trading with me and Shan’tale this summer.”

Shon’re grins back. “I’ll like that,” she promises, already seeing in her mind both familiar Hemi’ganga and the adventure of the Ring beyond.

*

What strikes Rodney, when he stops to think about it late at night, blanket pulled tightly around his shoulders, worries of the coming days' work whirling through his mind, isn't how strange it feels to fall asleep without John's frigid feet entwined with his own, or to eat an entire plate of French fries without anyone else stealing a single one, or that there is no one around to complain that he left Back to the Future III in the common area where Sirgid from Anthropology accidentally spilled an entire cup of gløgg on it at Christmas time and that it hasn't played without skipping since ("That's what you get for leaving me, you pointy-eared flyboy," Rodney said to no one at all as he retrieved it from the sticky puddle, but when no one replied, he tossed it in the trash along with a pocketful of PowerBar wrappers and a lug-nut from some jury-rigged repair work they did on the Daedalus the last time it was in port, perhaps with more force than was necessary), but the way time seems to have become slow and circular, like the orbit of an enormous planet lumbering around its sun.

"Are we in a time loop?" he asks Radek, the twelfth time Elizabeth demands his latest mission reports, and he informs her that on a scale of one-to-saving the world, paperwork ranks a two, just above "Get a PhD in English Literature". When he stops visiting Heightmeyer (three weeks before the search for John is officially put on the backburner, three weeks after his invective loses all its fire), Heightmeyer starts coming to him in the lab. She sits on the counter with Juniper, the cat Cadman smuggled back on the Daedalus ("Do you honestly believe you can replace Colonel Sheppard with a cat?" Rodney had asked. "Thank you, Laura," Cadman had replied, thrusting it into his arms. "Is this even legal? How did you get this past those fascist guards at the SGC? Weren't you afraid it would evolve into some sort of Dior-obsessed humanoid that grooms itself with its tongue?") on her lap and sometimes Rodney talks but mostly he doesn't. She tells him about growing up in Derby Line, Vermont, and Radek gives her Czech cigarettes which they smoke together on the balcony around eleven o'clock, Atlantis Mean Time, while Rodney drinks coffee and stares out over the water looking for a sign.

They're working long hours, waking up before dawn and struggling to bed, wrapped in figures and diagrams and numbers long past midnight because everything on Atlantis seems off, wrong, the lighting suddenly dim and melancholy, barely bright enough to work by, the power blinking on and off for no discernable reason. Rodney isn't sure if these problems had germinated before John disappeared or Atlantis is mourning her prodigal, but when Jumper Three gets stuck in the Stargate on the way back from a routine mission because Lieutenant Butts forgets that all of the Jumpers have been leaning slightly to the left lately, and Heightmeyer (Kate) says over coffee, "Why don't you just follow them and see where they go?" Rodney can't think of a better solution than that, and so he throws up his hands and agrees to let the social sciences have a stab at saving the world for once. "It's completely moronic and won't fix anything, but I won't say I wouldn't enjoy a picnic at the end of the rainbow."

And so they give Chuck the keys to the city ("Make sure she gets to bed at a decent hour and don't let her watch any of that neo-Colonialist space opera bullshit.") and he and Ronon and Teyla and Lorne and Radek and Elizabeth and Kate suit up and head off on what Lorne insists on calling a Sunday Afternoon Family Drive and Kate calls a Mental Health Day and Radek calls a Field Trip and Rodney calls The Last Strange and Terrifying Adventure of Don Quixote, Space-Traveler Errant and bumps "get a PhD in English Literature" up to 3 on his scale, just ahead of "Paperwork".

When they spy land, it is densely forested and cut through with deep fjords, but after a few minutes of flying, Lorne spots a small village of skin huts perched in the lee of a mountain and brings the jumper to rest in a hayfield nearby. Teyla suggests they have a word with the villagers first ("Remember what happened on P4X-333?") and so they hike along the narrow path that flutters through the valley like a ribbon in the wind. There is a rustling of life in the bushes and Lorne and Ronon train their weapons in the direction of the sound, but Teyla inclines her head for them to ignore it. Though they lower their guns, it is clear by their posture that they are not at ease. The rustling splits into two, one crackling off and crashing into the distance ahead of them, the other following them like an echo. Radek struggles with the picnic basket and Rodney takes energy readings, all the while explaining to Kate how picnics have been very traumatic to him, ever since he went to a church picnic when he was eight years old and he ate a slice of key lime pie because a pretty girl with green eyes told him he should.

A tall, muscular woman in coarsely stitched leather clothes surrounded by a retinue of heavily armed women and men meets them a short distance before the village, a child of about eight clinging to her skirt. She raises her hand in greeting just as a second child bursts from the bushes and joins her twin, looking from the party of visitors to her leader and back again.

"Did Stell'me tell you --" she pants "-- that these people came through the Ring of the Ancestors in a ship? I was going to take them hostage, with sticks, as Shan'tale taught us, but Stell' said we should let you know first, and they haven't tried to eat anyone yet, so --"

"It's all right, Stell'mara. I believe these are friends." She turns to Teyla and says, "I am Me'are. I speak for Hemi'ganga and all who find shelter here."

"I am Teyla Emmagen, and with me are friends from the City of the Ancients. We travel together peacefully in search of trade and allies against the Wraith, but today we seek only to find a lost friend. His name is Colonel John Sheppard. Have you heard anything of his whereabouts?"

"Few survive alone in these times," says Me'are, "So it is our custom to shelter anyone left behind until their own people can be found. There is one among us who dreams of a city grander than any we have seen. Though her memory was taken by a fever when she came to us, she may know something of your Colonel Sheppard. Ton'de says she dreams with the Ancestors. Would you like to meet her?"

"We would be glad to," Teyla says with a smile, raising her voice just enough to drown out Rodney's muttered tirade about how next, they should consider asking the Ouija board if it knows anything about where John might be ("You have one of those in your office, don't you Kate?").

Me'are leads them to a small hut at the far edge of the village.

"Wait here," she says, then calls through the flap, "Shan'tale! I have guests from afar who wish to speak to Shon're."

Giggling and rustling comes from inside the hut, and the flap is pulled aside.

"Ni'ara," Me'are says, "Is Shon're in?"

"I am here." A woman of about thirty-five with hazel eyes and hair the colour of wet sand pulled back in a messy ponytail comes up behind Ni'ara and rests her chin on her shoulder. The smile she proffers to the guests is almost a smirk, artificial trying very hard to look genuine. "I am Shon're," she says in a drawl that contrasts starkly with Ni'ara and Me'are's melodic tones, "What can I do for you?"

Rodney blanches.

"We have come from the City of the Ancients in search of a lost member of our team," Elizabeth says. "Me'are tells me that you sometimes dream of a city --"

"Elizabeth!" Rodney hisses.

"We thought perhaps your dreams might help lead us to him."

"Elizabeth," Rodney says, louder this time. Shon're looks at him intensely, as if she has seen him before and is trying to remember where.

"Not now, Rodney," Elizabeth says.

Rodney opens his mouth to speak again, but Kate catches his arm.

"What is it?" she whispers.

"I think Shon're is Colonel Sheppard," he replies, not bothering to lower his voice.

Ni'ara steps in front of Shon're, shielding her with her body.

"Rodney?" Elizabeth says without looking back at him, part question, part warning.

"For crying out loud, I'm not going to hurt, er, her," Rodney says, stepping toward Ni'ara, whose hand rests by the hilt of the knife that she wears at her belt.

"I have dreamed of a Rod'ne," Shon're says, "a man with a woman's name, who is as wise and brave as a woman."

Rodney rolls his eyes. "4637," he says

Shon're looks confused.

"Prime," Radek says, after a moment.

"I'll admit that there is a superficial resemblance, but how would we know if it's really John?" Elizabeth asks, "Unless we take her back to Atlantis for genetic testing, and even then, all it would tell us is that John might have a sister he doesn't know about."

"John has a scar on his right inner-thigh, where he was grazed by a bullet in Afghanistan. If she is John, she might still have it."

"Would you be able to recognize it, Rodney?"

Rodney looks at her darkly.

"Yes. Okay."

Ni'ara turns to Shon're. "Would you permit these people to look at you in such an intimate fashion?" she asks.

"If these people know something about me, I'd like to know," Shon're says.

Ni'ara nods.

"Come in," she says. The women follow her into the hut, but the men, politely, remain outside.

"Coming, Rodney?" Kate asks, as she steps through the flap.

"I -- Yes," Rodney says, and stumbles into the darkness behind them.

Shon're sits on a chair by the door, where the light is brightest and slides her skirt up her thigh. Rodney looks at the fire that burns in one corner with a three-legged cauldron bubbling over it, at the braids of garlic and other herbs hanging from the ceiling, at the stack of weaponry in one corner; everywhere but at Shon're.

"There is a mark," Ni'ara says after a moment, and then Teyla says, "Rodney, you should look at this."

Rodney turns and looks Shon're in the eyes. "May I?" he asks.

"Yes," she says.

Rodney gets to his knees slowly - he isn't as young as he once was - and looks at the puckered white streak with mars the smooth whiteness of her inner thigh. It's perfect -John's angry memory exactly right - and without thinking, Rodney reaches up and touches the mark that he has traced so many times with his tongue.

Shon're hisses at the sensation.

"Oh! That was completely inappropriate! Sorry --" Rodney says, jerking back.

Shon're puts one hand on his shoulder to still him, runs her other hand along the line of his jaw.

"Rod'ne, were you my husband?"

"-- uh, yes? After a fashion?" Rodney squeaks.

Shon're grins and adjusts her skirt. "It's nice to meet you again, Rod'ne."

Rodney gapes.

"Rodney?" Elizabeth asks, "Rodney?"

Rodney shakes himself out of his daze. "It's definitely Colonel Sheppard. Now, can we take him - her - back to Atlantis and see if we can fix this, or are these people going to come after us with spears and pointy sticks if we try?"

"Shon're, you--" Ni'ara begins, but Shon're cuts her off.

"Ni'ara might come after you with a spear, but I can take her." She turns to Ni'ara: "I'll go. I need to find out if these people are who they say they are. I need to find out who I am."

Ni'ara looks deeply suspicious.

"Can Ni'ara come to the city as well?" Shon're asks Elizabeth.

"Certainly," Elizabeth says. "Would you like some time to gather your things?"

They agree to meet on the path below the village when the sun touches the west peak, which Rodney says is about 16:30, ship's time. Shon're and Ni'ara pack while the Atlanteans spread their picnic out on a hill overlooking the village where the people of Hemi'ganga take the mountain goats to graze. Rodney is silent and the others mostly leave him alone, but Ronon looms over him as if he would like to offer advice until Rodney waves his pudding cup at him and tells him to get lost.

Rodney is right about the time, and half the settlement is there to see Shon're and Ni'ara off. Shon're examines the Puddlejumper with the same wide-eyed awe with which John first explored Atlantis, and Rodney grins a step behind her.

"You named it," he said. "Ford wanted to call it a 'Gateship,' but you revoked his right to name anything. He was a good kid. You liked him."

On the way back, Lorne lets Shon're take control of the jumper for a minute, and she's a natural. She takes it through a series of complicated maneuvers while Rodney and Ni'ara shriek and cover their eyes, in spite of the inertial dampeners. They slide gracefully through the gate and come to rest in the middle of the gate room. Lorne lowers the gang plank and the rescue mission processes solemnly out the back.

When Shon're steps out the door of the jumper, flanked by Rodney and Ni'ara, everyone begins to cheer.

"These are my people?" she asks.

"Yeah," Rodney says, "This is Atlantis."

Shon're grins. She takes Ni'ara's hand in one of hers, and Rodney's in the other. "It's just like in my dreams," she says. "This is it. Atlantis. Home."

Rodney draws the origin symbol, the last symbol in the dialing sequence, the symbol for home on the palm of her hand with his fingertip and kisses her cheek.

"Welcome back," he says.

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ratcreature

This was very cool. I liked it.

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