Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Through the Portal

Chephren Mitchell was having a perfectly ordinary day at MIT until the moment her world literally turned inside out.

The linguistics lab was quiet that evening, just the way she liked it. Her copper-red curls were piled haphazardly atop her head, secured with a pencil as she hunched over ancient texts. Her green eyes flicked between her laptop and the fragile papyrus fragments she was digitizing and analyzing. The university had received the collection on loan - pre-Sumerian artifacts with linguistic patterns that defied conventional translation models.

"You're still here, Cheppy?" Professor Davenport paused in the doorway, his wizened face creasing with concern. "It's after nine."

"Just finishing up," she replied, not looking up from her work. "I think I've found something in the pattern recognition algorithm. The syntax structure has similarities to--"

He chuckled. "Save it for tomorrow. That perfect memory of yours won't fail overnight."

Cheppy smiled but didn't move to pack up. "I'll head out soon. Promise."

After Davenport left, she reached for her insulin pump, adjusting her levels. The type 1 diabetes was just another pattern to manage in her life - numbers and timing she'd mastered out of necessity. Her fingers moved automatically, muscle memory taking over while her mind remained fixed on the linguistic puzzle before her.

Three hours later, the lab was still illuminated by a single desk light, Cheppy's eyes burning from staring at the screen. She stretched, finally admitting defeat for the night. As she began gathering her materials, a strange humming filled the room, vibrating through the metal tables.

"What the--"

The air in front of her shimmered, distorting like heat waves off asphalt. Cheppy froze, her hand halfway to her bag. The shimmer expanded, swirling outward until a pulsing blue light tore through reality itself. Wind whipped through the lab, scattering papers and sending artifacts skittering across surfaces.

"No, no, no!" Cheppy lunged for the priceless fragments, her fingers just grazing the edge of the papyrus when the blue energy surged forward like an incoming tide, washing over her. There was a moment of absolute, deafening silence, followed by the sensation of being pulled inside out through her own ribcage.

Her scream never made it past her lips before darkness claimed her.

"--completely irresponsible! I told you not to activate that sequence until we'd properly translated the control parameters!"

An agitated male voice with a distinctive Canadian accent pierced through Cheppy's fog of unconsciousness.

"Rodney, you're the one who insisted on pushing forward with the experiment despite Dr. Zelenka's concerns."

A woman's voice, authoritative yet diplomatic.

"Yes, well, I didn't expect it to tear open a wormhole to Earth and kidnap a random civilian!"

Cheppy groaned, the cold hard floor beneath her finally registering. Her head throbbed in time with her racing heart, and every muscle in her body protested as she struggled to open her eyes.

"She's awake," a third voice announced, this one carrying a Scottish brogue.

As Cheppy's vision cleared, she found herself staring up at a circle of unfamiliar faces in an utterly alien room. The architecture was unlike anything she'd ever seen - sleek, with geometric patterns that seemed both ancient and futuristic simultaneously.

"Where..." she croaked, her throat desert-dry. "Where am I?"

A man with kind eyes and a medical insignia on his uniform knelt beside her, scanner in hand. "Easy now, lass. You've had quite a journey."

"Dr. Beckett, how is she?" asked the woman Cheppy had heard earlier. She wore a red uniform shirt and carried herself with the unmistakable air of someone in charge.

"Vitals are stable, though her blood sugar's a bit low," the doctor replied, checking a handheld device. "Nothing immediately life-threatening."

Cheppy struggled to sit up, wincing as her head spun. "What happened? Who are you people?"

"I'm Dr. Elizabeth Weir," the woman said, her tone measured. "This is our Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Carson Beckett, and our Chief Science Officer, Dr. Rodney McKay." She gestured to a man with thinning hair who was frantically typing on a tablet, barely glancing up.

"McKay's the one who accidentally yanked you here," a tall military officer with spiky dark hair added, leaning against a console with deceptive casualness. His hand never strayed far from the sidearm at his hip.

"That's Colonel John Sheppard, our military commander," Weir continued. "And you are...?"

"Dr. Chephren Mitchell. Everyone calls me Cheppy," she answered automatically, trying to process what was happening. "I'm a computational linguist from MIT. I was working late in the lab when... something... happened."

"Yes, yes, something indeed," McKay finally looked up from his tablet, his expression oscillating between fascination and frustration. "That 'something' was me activating an Ancient device designed to create stable wormholes between specific coordinates. It should have connected to the Antarctic outpost, not some random university lab!"

"Ancient?" Cheppy echoed, finally managing to stand on shaky legs. Dr. Beckett hovered nearby, ready to catch her if she faltered. "And where exactly is 'here'?"

Weir and Sheppard exchanged a glance that made Cheppy's stomach drop.

"You're in the city of Atlantis," Weir said carefully, "in the Pegasus Galaxy."

Cheppy blinked. Twice. Three times. "I'm sorry, did you say... Atlantis? As in the mythological lost city? In another galaxy ?"

"It's not mythological, it's just been, uh, misplaced for about ten thousand years," Sheppard offered with a shrug.

The room started spinning again, and Cheppy would have collapsed if Dr. Beckett hadn't caught her arm.

"I think we should continue this conversation in the infirmary," he suggested, his voice gentle but firm. "She's in shock, and I need to run some proper tests."

"I need my insulin," Cheppy managed, suddenly remembering her medical needs. "My pump... my bag..."

"Your bag came through with you," Beckett assured her, nodding toward a familiar messenger bag on a nearby console. "We'll make sure you have everything you need."

"And we'll figure out how to send you back," Weir added, though something in her tone made Cheppy suspect it wouldn't be that simple.

"Figure out?" Cheppy looked toward McKay, who suddenly became very interested in his tablet again. "You don't know how to reverse this?"

"Well, it's complicated," McKay said, not meeting her eyes. "The power requirements alone are... and then there's the matter of calibrating the exact dimensional frequency to ensure you return to the right reality... it's not like dialing a phone number, you know!"

"Rodney," Weir warned.

"What? I'm not going to lie to her!" McKay exploded. "The chances of reproducing the exact conditions that brought her here are astronomically small, and that's assuming we even had the power to attempt it, which, oh right, we barely do!"

The full weight of her situation crashed down on Cheppy like a physical blow. "You're saying I'm... stuck here? In another galaxy? With no way home?"

"For the foreseeable future... yes," Weir admitted, compassion in her eyes.

Two armed military personnel stepped forward at Sheppard's almost imperceptible nod.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Mitchell, but I'm going to have to ask that you remain under escort until we can fully assess the situation," Weir said. "It's standard protocol for unexpected arrivals."

"You think I'm a security threat?" Cheppy asked incredulously. "I'm a linguist who was literally abducted by your experiment!"

"We have to be careful," Sheppard said, his tone not unkind despite his vigilance. "We've had... experiences... with things not being what they seem."

"Colonel, the lass needs medical attention," Beckett insisted. "I'll take full responsibility for her while she's in my infirmary."

Weir nodded after a moment's consideration. "Agreed, but security remains posted outside. Dr. Mitchell, once you're cleared medically, we'll arrange temporary quarters and discuss your situation further."

As Dr. Beckett gently guided her toward the exit, Cheppy glanced back at McKay, who was now arguing with a bespectacled scientist over the device that had changed her life.

"This is not my fault, Zelenka!" McKay insisted defensively. "How was I supposed to know the calibration would target a random linguistics lab on Earth?"

"Perhaps by listening when I said, 'Rodney, the translation parameters are incomplete, we should wait'?" the other scientist replied with exasperated resignation.

The last thing Cheppy heard before the doors closed behind her was McKay's indignant sputtering, followed by Weir's stern, "We'll discuss responsibility later, Rodney. Right now, our priority is figuring out what to do with Dr. Mitchell."

What to do with her. Like she was a problem to be solved, not a person whose entire life had just been upended. Cheppy swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat. Twenty-eight years old, brilliantly educated, with a promising career at MIT... and now she was stranded in another galaxy, with nothing but the clothes on her back and whatever happened to be in her messenger bag when McKay's experiment snatched her away from everything she'd ever known.

As the reality of her situation settled in, one thought crystallized with perfect clarity: Dr. Rodney McKay had a lot to answer for.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Learning to Heal

Cheppy stared at the tray of food before her, poking at something that vaguely resembled scrambled eggs. Three days in Atlantis, and the surreal reality of her situation hadn't faded. If anything, each passing hour only cemented the crushing truth: she was stranded in another galaxy with no clear way home.

The mess hall buzzed with activity around her, expedition members chatting over breakfast, planning their day. Nobody sat at her table. Even if they weren't actively avoiding her, the armed guard stationed nearby guaranteed a certain social isolation.

Cheppy sighed, checking her insulin pump. At least Dr. Beckett had helped her calculate the nutritional values of Atlantean food to maintain her blood sugar. The kind Scottish doctor had been her one source of genuine compassion since her arrival, treating her as a person rather than a security concern or an inconvenience.

"Mind if I join you?"

Speaking of the devil. Beckett stood beside her table, coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other, his smile warm.

"Please," Cheppy gestured to the empty chair. "Not like anyone else is lining up for the privilege."

Carson sat, his eyes reflecting sympathy. "Give them time. We've had our share of... unexpected situations. People are cautious."

"Cautious is one word for it," Cheppy muttered, glancing at the guard who pretended not to be watching her. "Paranoid is another."

"Aye, well, when you've faced the threats we have, a healthy dose of paranoia keeps you alive." He sipped his coffee. "How are you settling in?"

Cheppy gave him a pointed look. "You mean besides being treated like a potential saboteur? My temporary quarters have all the charm of a military holding cell, and I'm not allowed to touch anything without supervision."

"I've been speaking with Dr. Weir about that," Carson said. "I think we can ease some restrictions, especially if you were engaged in meaningful work here."

"What kind of work? McKay made it abundantly clear he doesn't want me anywhere near his labs."

That had been a particularly humiliating encounter. Yesterday, desperate to be useful, she'd approached McKay about helping with translations of Ancient technology. His dismissal had been swift and cutting: "Unless you have a doctorate in Ancient alien languages I don't know about, you'd be more hindrance than help. And let's not forget, your presence here is already the result of one catastrophic mistake. I'd rather not risk another."

Carson winced. "Rodney can be... abrasive. But there are other ways you could contribute." He hesitated. "I could use some help in the infirmary, actually."

Cheppy blinked. "I'm not a medical doctor."

"No, but you're clearly intelligent, and I'm shorthanded. Nothing complicated at first—inventory, data entry, basic assistance. I could train you." He smiled encouragingly. "It would get you out of your quarters, give you something meaningful to do while we sort out your situation."

The offer was unexpected, but the thought of purpose—any purpose—was too tempting to refuse.

"When do I start?"

"These go in the supply cabinet, organized by type and expiration date," Carson explained, pointing to boxes of medical supplies. "And don't worry about the Ancient labels on some of the equipment. Most have English translations added."

"Most?" Cheppy asked, peering at a sleek device with elegant script etched along its surface.

"Aye, well, we're still figuring out some of the more specialized tools ourselves." Carson smiled. "Unless you happen to read Ancient?"

Cheppy's fingers traced the flowing symbols. "I'm a computational linguist, actually. Pattern recognition is my specialty." She examined the device more closely. "I don't suppose you have any reference materials for Ancient? Might give me something to work on in my down time."

Carson considered her request. "Nothing classified, but I could find some basic medical texts we've already translated. Might be useful to have another perspective."

A nurse called Carson away to attend to a patient, leaving Cheppy to organize supplies. The simple task was oddly comforting—a small pocket of order in the chaos her life had become.

Later, as she cataloged medications, a commotion at the infirmary entrance caught her attention. A team had returned from off-world, one member supported between two others, blood soaking through a makeshift bandage on his leg.

"Carson!" Cheppy called, already moving toward the injured man.

The infirmary sprang into action. Carson directed his team with calm efficiency, and for the first time, Cheppy felt truly helpless, standing awkwardly aside as medical professionals worked to stabilize the wounded soldier.

"You there, new girl," a nurse called out. "Make yourself useful. Bring me those bandages from the supply cabinet."

Cheppy didn't correct the 'new girl' label, grateful simply to be included. She retrieved the supplies, then found herself pressed into service holding equipment, passing instruments, and eventually helping clean up after the crisis had passed.

"You did well," Carson told her afterward, looking tired but satisfied. "Jumped right in without hesitation."

"I didn't do much," Cheppy admitted. "But it felt good to help, even a little."

Carson studied her thoughtfully. "How would you feel about some basic medical training? Nothing fancy—first aid, vital signs, simple procedures. Could make you more valuable in situations like today."

"I'd like that," Cheppy said, surprising herself with how much she meant it.

Two weeks later, Cheppy had fallen into a routine. Mornings in the infirmary helping Carson, afternoons devoted to learning basic medical skills, evenings spent in her quarters studying the non-classified Ancient medical texts Carson had provided.

The guard outside her door had been reduced to occasional check-ins, a small victory that Carson had fought for on her behalf. Dr. Weir had been cautiously supportive, though Colonel Sheppard remained wary. As for McKay, he seemed content to pretend she didn't exist whenever their paths crossed.

Cheppy sat cross-legged on her bed, Ancient text on one side, notebook on the other, meticulously comparing symbols and tracking patterns. Her photographic memory proved invaluable, allowing her to recall every detail of the translated English versions Carson had provided alongside the originals.

"The syntax structure has similarities to Proto-Sumerian," she murmured to herself, making another notation. "But the conceptual framework is entirely different."

A knock interrupted her concentration. Carson stood in the doorway, a tablet in his hand.

"Making progress?" he asked, nodding toward her notes.

"Some," she admitted. "It helps to focus on something intellectual. Makes me feel... more like myself."

Carson nodded understandingly. "I've good news. Dr. Weir has approved extending your access to non-sensitive areas of the city. You're now officially a civilian support consultant for the medical department."

Cheppy felt a weight lift from her shoulders. "Really? I can move around without an escort?"

"Within reason," Carson clarified. "And you've proper quarters now, not these temporary accommodations."

The gesture meant more than Carson could know. It was the first sign that perhaps she might eventually find a place here, a purpose beyond being "the woman McKay accidentally kidnapped from Earth."

"Thank you," she said simply, knowing the change in her status was largely due to his advocacy.

"You've earned it," Carson replied. "You're a quick study, helpful in the infirmary, and everyone's noticed how hard you're working to adjust." He paused. "Well, almost everyone."

They both knew he meant McKay.

"Speaking of hard work," Carson continued, "I have something else for you." He handed her a small data tablet. "More Ancient medical texts. These ones deal with treatment protocols for various conditions. Thought they might help with your self-study."

Cheppy took the tablet reverently. "Are you sure this is allowed?"

"They're all declassified materials we've already translated," Carson assured her. "But having fresh eyes on them might yield new insights. Your background in computational linguistics gives you a different perspective."

"I'll be careful with them," she promised.

After Carson left, Cheppy explored the new texts, excitement building as she recognized patterns from her earlier studies. This was the first time since arriving in Atlantis that she felt truly in her element—analyzing language, tracking patterns, building a framework for understanding.

She worked late into the night, so absorbed that she almost missed her insulin check. As she adjusted her pump, a thought struck her. If she could master enough Ancient to be useful as a translator, perhaps she could finally contribute in a meaningful way beyond the infirmary. Perhaps she could even earn McKay's grudging respect, force him to see her as more than just an inconvenient reminder of his mistake.

The path forward wouldn't be easy. She knew that. But for the first time since the blue light had torn her from Earth, Cheppy felt something like hope.

The following week brought her first real test. Carson had shown her how to perform basic medical procedures—taking vital signs, administering routine medications, dressing wounds. Today, he would observe while she handled these tasks on her own.

Her patient was a marine with a training injury—a sprained wrist that needed wrapping.

"Dr. Mitchell will take care of you, Lieutenant," Carson said, using her proper title for the first time since her arrival.

The marine—Walker, according to his chart—eyed her skeptically. "You a real doctor?"

"Computational linguistics," she replied honestly, gathering supplies. "But Dr. Beckett has been training me in basic medical procedures."

Walker frowned. "You're the one McKay pulled through from Earth, right? The mistake."

Cheppy's hands stilled momentarily. "I prefer 'unexpected visitor,'" she said, keeping her tone light despite the sting. "This might hurt a bit."

She examined his wrist with gentle efficiency, asking the right questions, noting swelling and range of motion. Carson watched approvingly as she applied the proper wrapping technique.

"Good work," he said when she'd finished. "Clean, professional. The lieutenant here is lucky to have such competent care."

Walker looked surprised but nodded his thanks before leaving. One small victory, Cheppy thought. Now she just needed about a thousand more to feel like she belonged.

Later that day, she ventured beyond the infirmary and residential areas for the first time, exploring one of the cleared corridors. Ancient architecture soared above her—elegant, mathematical, and utterly alien. She ran her fingers along the wall, feeling the subtle vibration of the city beneath her touch.

"It responds to some people more than others," said a voice behind her.

Cheppy turned to find a tall woman with caramel skin and a serene expression watching her. "I'm sorry?"

"The city," the woman clarified. "Sometimes it seems almost... aware... of those who inhabit it." She inclined her head slightly. "I am Teyla Emmagan."

"Chephren Mitchell. Cheppy."

"Ah, Dr. Beckett's new assistant." Teyla smiled warmly. "He speaks highly of your progress."

"You're not from Earth," Cheppy observed, noting subtle differences in the woman's clothing and mannerisms.

"I am Athosian. My people are allies of the expedition." She studied Cheppy with perceptive eyes. "It is difficult, is it not? Finding oneself suddenly displaced from all that is familiar."

The simple acknowledgment of her situation, free from pity or suspicion, was unexpectedly comforting. "Yes. Very."

"When my people first came to Atlantis, I found solace in routine and purpose," Teyla offered. "And in time, in friendship."

"Friendship seems in short supply at the moment," Cheppy admitted. "Except for Carson."

"Dr. Beckett sees people, not potential threats," Teyla agreed. "Others will come to see you similarly, given time."

They walked together for a while, Teyla pointing out features of the city and sharing stories of her early days with the expedition. It was the longest conversation Cheppy had enjoyed since her arrival that wasn't focused on her medical training or restricted status.

When they parted, Teyla surprised her with a gentle touch to both shoulders—an Athosian gesture of respect. "Perhaps you would join me for tea tomorrow? I find Earth's concept of 'afternoon tea' quite civilized."

"I'd like that," Cheppy replied, warmth spreading through her chest. A second ally in this strange new world. A small step, but significant.

"You want to what?" McKay's voice echoed through the lab, drawing curious glances from nearby scientists.

"Help with translations," Cheppy repeated, standing her ground despite the knot in her stomach. "I've been studying the Ancient language for weeks now—"

"Studying medical terminology from already-translated texts," McKay interrupted dismissively. "That hardly qualifies you to work on complex technological systems that could, oh I don't know, blow up the city if mistranslated!"

"I'm not asking to work on critical systems," Cheppy persisted. "Just routine data entry, basic cataloging. My background in computational linguistics—"

"Is irrelevant!" McKay cut her off again. "Look, Dr. Mitchell, I'm sure Carson appreciates your help alphabetizing bandages, but this is actual science. I have PhDs working under me who barely keep up."

The casual dismissal stung more than it should have. "I have a PhD too, Dr. McKay."

"Yes, yes, in Earth linguistics. Very impressive. Call me when you've mastered a ten-thousand-year-old alien language." He turned back to his computer, signaling the conversation was over.

Cheppy stood there a moment longer, anger and humiliation warring within her. "You know," she said finally, her voice quiet but steady, "for someone so brilliant, you have a remarkable blind spot."

McKay didn't look up. "And what might that be?"

"You assume everyone else is incompetent until proven otherwise. I wonder how many valuable contributions you've missed because of it." She turned to leave, then paused. "And for the record, I don't just alphabetize bandages. I stabilized Lieutenant Sharma's compound fracture yesterday while Carson handled the head trauma."

She walked out before McKay could respond, her cheeks burning but her spine straight. The encounter confirmed what she'd suspected: the science department was a dead end for now. McKay would never see past his own mistake in bringing her here accidentally.

But that didn't mean she couldn't keep learning, keep preparing. Carson's Ancient medical texts were just the beginning. If McKay wouldn't give her a chance, she'd make her own opportunity.

"He's not entirely wrong, you know," Carson said later, after Cheppy had recounted the disastrous interaction with McKay. They were inventorying supplies, a task that had become oddly therapeutic for her.

"About what? My qualifications?" she asked, stung that even Carson might doubt her.

"No, no," he hurried to clarify. "About the stakes. Some of the systems they're working with are extraordinarily dangerous if mishandled." He handed her a box of surgical instruments. "But he's dead wrong about you not being capable of learning."

"I just want to contribute something meaningful," Cheppy admitted, organizing the instruments with practiced efficiency. "Being useful in the infirmary helps, but it's not... it's not who I am."

Carson considered her thoughtfully. "Who are you, then?"

The question caught her off guard. "I'm a computational linguist. I analyze language patterns, develop algorithms for translation and understanding. I was working on pre-Sumerian pattern recognition when McKay's experiment yanked me here." She sighed. "Now I'm just... adrift."

"Not entirely," Carson countered gently. "You've made yourself valuable here. That Lieutenant you mentioned? His leg will heal properly because of your care."

"It's not enough," Cheppy insisted, then softened. "I'm grateful for the chance you've given me, Carson. I am. But I need to use my mind too, not just my hands."

Carson nodded slowly. "I understand. And perhaps there's a middle path." He reached for his tablet, scrolling through files. "There's a section of the Ancient database we've partially translated—medical research journals, mostly. Fascinating stuff, but our linguists have been focused on technological and historical sections."

He transferred files to her tablet. "These are officially declassified, so you can work on them without security concerns. If you could help refine some of the translations, identify patterns in terminology... well, that would be quite valuable to my department."

Cheppy accepted the tablet, hope flickering to life. "Thank you. I won't let you down."

"I know you won't, lass." Carson smiled warmly. "You've got a brilliant mind trapped in extraordinary circumstances. But don't underestimate what you're already accomplishing here." He gestured around the infirmary. "Everyone starts somewhere. Even Rodney McKay wasn't born knowing Ancient technology."

The thought of McKay having to learn anything from scratch was so incongruous that Cheppy actually laughed—the first genuine laugh since arriving in Atlantis.

"There now," Carson said, pleased. "That's a sound we should hear more often."

That night in her new quarters—sparse but at least feeling less like a holding cell—Cheppy immersed herself in the Ancient medical texts. Her computational background allowed her to identify patterns in terminology and structure that might have eluded others. She created a rudimentary database, cross-referencing terms and tracking contextual usage.

Hours slipped by unnoticed as she worked, her mind fully engaged for the first time since arriving in Pegasus. This was familiar territory—analysis, pattern recognition, the building blocks of understanding.

When exhaustion finally forced her to sleep, Cheppy felt something she hadn't expected to find again so soon: purpose. It wasn't the life she'd planned, but perhaps it could become a life worth living.

And if, in the quiet hours before dawn, she still ached for home—for the familiar streets of Cambridge, for colleagues who respected her work, for a world where she wasn't defined by someone else's mistake—well, that was her secret to keep. In the morning, she would continue learning to heal, both others and herself.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Hidden Talents

The Ancient script glowed faintly on Cheppy's tablet, casting a blue hue across her face in the darkness of her quarters. It was well past midnight, but sleep eluded her. Instead, she found herself absorbed in the medical texts Carson had provided, her fingers tracing the elegant symbols as if touch might somehow unlock their meaning faster.

Three weeks in Atlantis. Three weeks of being the outsider, the accident, the burden. Three weeks of desperately trying to find her footing in a galaxy that wasn't her own.

"Establish patterns," she murmured to herself, the mantra familiar from her linguistics work at MIT. "Context creates meaning."

She pulled out her handcrafted notebook—actual paper being a luxury she'd been grateful to receive from Carson—and continued her meticulous cataloging system. Each page contained Ancient symbols paired with their English translations, cross-referenced with contextual usage and grammatical patterns she'd observed.

Her photographic memory had always been her academic superpower. Now, it was her lifeline. When she closed her eyes, she could visualize every Ancient symbol she'd encountered, mentally manipulating them, testing combinations, and building a framework for understanding that went beyond simple memorization.

"If this connects to Indo-European patterns..." she murmured, sketching a diagram that linked several symbols to their potential root meanings. Language had always been more than communication to Cheppy—it was architecture, mathematics, the underlying structure of thought itself.

A yawn finally forced her to acknowledge the late hour. Her insulin pump needed adjusting before sleep, the rhythmic routine a grounding reminder of the physical world beyond her intellectual pursuits. As she prepared for bed, her eyes fell on a small silver device Carson had asked her to check—an Ancient medical scanner with untranslated markings along its side.

"Tomorrow," she promised herself, finally sliding into bed. Even as exhaustion claimed her, her mind continued to process Ancient symbols, rearranging and connecting them in her dreams.

"You look tired," Carson observed the next morning, handing her a cup of coffee. "Not sleeping well?"

"Just lost track of time," Cheppy admitted, gratefully accepting the brew. The Atlantis science staff had somehow recreated a decent approximation of coffee, for which she was eternally thankful. "Those medical journals you gave me are fascinating."

Carson raised an eyebrow. "Fascinating enough to keep a linguist up all night? Most doctors I know find them dry reading."

"The language structures are incredible," Cheppy explained, warming to her subject. "Ancient isn't just a different vocabulary—it's a fundamentally different way of conceptualizing reality. The medical terminology especially shows a holistic understanding of biological systems that Earth medicine is only beginning to approach."

"Well, they were ten thousand years ahead of us," Carson reminded her with a smile. "Though I'm impressed you've gleaned that much from basic texts."

Cheppy hesitated, then reached into her bag. "Actually, I've been working on something. It's just a start, but..." She pulled out her notebook and handed it to Carson.

He flipped through the pages, eyebrows rising progressively higher. "Cheppy, this is remarkable. You've created an entire reference system."

She shrugged, trying to downplay her pride. "I'm good with patterns. And having the translated versions helps, of course."

Carson stopped at a particular page. "These connections here—between what we translated as 'cellular regeneration' and 'neural pathway'—we missed that relationship entirely." He looked up at her. "You have a gift for this."

"Computational linguistics is basically pattern recognition algorithms wrapped in cultural context," she replied. "Once you identify the structural rules, the language starts to reveal itself."

Carson closed the notebook, handing it back with newfound respect in his eyes. "I knew you were smart, but this..." He shook his head. "Have you shown this to anyone in linguistics?"

Cheppy's expression fell. "After my last encounter with McKay? I doubt anyone from the science team would take me seriously."

"Rodney doesn't speak for everyone," Carson said gently.

"Maybe not, but he influences how they see me." She slipped the notebook back into her bag. "For now, I'd rather keep this between us. Until I'm sure."

"Sure of what?"

"That I'm right." She smiled wryly. "I don't exactly have a reputation to spare around here."

Before Carson could respond, a medical emergency call came through his radio. A training accident on the East Pier required immediate attention.

"We'll continue this conversation later," he promised, already gathering his equipment. "But Cheppy? This work is valuable. Don't sell yourself short."

After Carson left, Cheppy continued her morning routine in the infirmary, restocking supplies and preparing examination areas. Her eyes kept drifting to a newly arrived piece of Ancient medical equipment that had been set aside for cataloging. The elegant script along its side called to her like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

Unable to resist, she picked it up during her break, studying the unfamiliar markings. Unlike the terms she'd been working with in the medical journals, these symbols were new. But the structural patterns...

Consulting her notebook, Cheppy traced the linguistic connections, applying the grammatical rules she'd identified. If this symbol group followed the pattern for procedural terms, and these indicated biological systems, then logically...

"It's a tissue regenerator," she realized, excitement building. "Specifically for epithelial layers—skin!"

"What's that now?" Carson had returned, looking weary but satisfied after handling the emergency.

"This device," Cheppy explained, holding up the Ancient tool. "I think it's designed for rapid healing of surface wounds—burns, abrasions, minor cuts. The inscription describes accelerated epithelial cell reproduction without scarring."

Carson took the device, examining it with renewed interest. "We thought it might be medical, but hadn't prioritized translating it yet." He looked at her with undisguised amazement. "How did you figure that out?"

"The syntax follows patterns I've identified for therapeutic instruments," Cheppy explained, pulling out her notebook and showing him her methodology. "See how this symbol group appears in contexts related to cellular repair? And these modifiers consistently indicate target tissues."

Carson's expression shifted from amazement to something deeper—genuine respect. "This is exactly the kind of insight we need, Cheppy." He handed the device back to her. "Would you be willing to help catalog more of these unidentified medical tools?"

"Really?" The opportunity to do meaningful work with her actual skills was almost too good to be true. "But what about security clearance issues?"

"These particular items have already been cleared as non-critical," Carson assured her. "Administrative work, really—but with your skills, it becomes much more valuable." He smiled encouragingly. "Consider it a side project, alongside your medical training."

"I'd love to," Cheppy replied, trying to contain her excitement. This wasn't just busywork or charity—this was a genuine use of her expertise.

"Good." Carson nodded decisively. "Let's keep this between us for now. Not because your work isn't valuable," he hastened to add, seeing her expression fall slightly, "but because I'd rather you develop your system further before we present it to others."

"A proof of concept," Cheppy agreed, understanding immediately. Science was science, even in another galaxy—results spoke louder than credentials.

"Exactly." Carson's eyes twinkled. "McKay isn't the only one who appreciates a dramatic reveal backed by irrefutable evidence."

For the first time since arriving in Atlantis, Cheppy felt a genuine laugh bubble up from within her. "I'd pay good money to see his face when he realizes the 'random civilian' he accidentally kidnapped might actually be useful."

"Aye, it would be quite the picture," Carson agreed with a chuckle. "Though in fairness to Rodney, he's under immense pressure. The entire city depends on his understanding of Ancient technology."

"All the more reason he should welcome help," Cheppy countered, but without rancor. Her newfound purpose was too exciting to be dimmed by old frustrations.

Carson checked his watch. "Night shift starts in ten minutes. Most of the lab will clear out for dinner." He gave her a conspiratorial smile. "Might be the perfect time to access the medical database with fewer interruptions, if someone were interested in continuing their Ancient language studies."

Cheppy's eyes widened at the implied permission. "Are you sure that's allowed?"

"The non-restricted medical database is available to all medical personnel," Carson replied innocently. "And you, Dr. Mitchell, are officially medical personnel."

The small acknowledgment—both of her professional title and her place within the medical team—meant more than Carson could possibly know.

"Thank you," she said simply.

"Don't thank me," he replied. "Just keep doing brilliant work." He headed toward his office, then paused. "Oh, and Cheppy? Try to get some actual sleep tonight. Brilliant minds need rest too."

True to Carson's prediction, the infirmary quieted considerably after the day shift ended. Cheppy found herself alone with the night nurse at the main monitoring station and a single patient sleeping peacefully in the recovery area.

With the medical database terminal to herself, Cheppy dove into her studies with renewed purpose. Carson had discreetly increased her access permissions, allowing her to browse a wider selection of Ancient medical texts. Not the restricted research or critical systems, of course, but enough to significantly expand her understanding.

The hours slipped by unnoticed as she compiled more extensive references, cross-checking terms and building complex syntactical models. Her computational background proved invaluable as she began developing a rudimentary algorithm to identify linguistic patterns more efficiently.

"This is like Proto-Sumerian meets Sanskrit, with a dash of quantum physics terminology thrown in for fun," she murmured to herself, fascinated by the elegant complexity.

By the time her self-imposed midnight deadline arrived, Cheppy had added fifteen pages of notes to her growing translation guide. Her eyes burned from staring at the screen, but her mind buzzed with excitement. This wasn't just academic curiosity anymore—it was practical knowledge that could actually contribute to the expedition.

As she prepared to leave, Dr. Biro arrived for a late check on the sleeping patient.

"Still here, Mitchell?" the pathologist asked, surprised. "Carson working you to the bone already?"

"Just doing some research," Cheppy replied vaguely, tucking her notebook away. "Time got away from me."

Dr. Biro nodded knowingly. "Happens to the best of us. Though usually it's lab results keeping me up, not..." she peered at the screen Cheppy had hastily cleared, "...Ancient medical journals?"

"Carson thought they might help me understand the equipment better," Cheppy offered, not entirely untruthfully.

"Hmm, ambitious," Biro remarked. "Most of us just learn which buttons do what without worrying about the Ancient terminology."

"Force of habit," Cheppy said with a self-deprecating smile. "My background is in linguistics."

"Well, whatever keeps you sane in this crazy galaxy," Biro replied with a shrug. "Get some rest, Mitchell. Tomorrow always brings new crises."

The next three weeks established a routine. Days were spent learning medical skills with Carson and cataloging Ancient medical devices. Nights—at least three per week—were dedicated to expanding her Ancient language studies via the medical database.

Her translation guide grew from a simple notebook to a comprehensive system, complete with grammatical rules, contextual modifiers, and specialized terminology. Carson provided gentle guidance when needed, directing her toward particularly useful documents and checking her progress.

"You've learned more in a month than some of our linguists managed in a year," he remarked one evening, reviewing her latest translations. "Of course, they're spread thin across multiple projects, but still—it's impressive."

"I have an advantage," Cheppy pointed out. "I'm starting with already-translated texts, working backward to understand the language structure. They had to build understanding from scratch."

"Don't sell yourself short," Carson admonished. "Your approach is brilliant in its simplicity. Pattern recognition at its finest."

The praise warmed her, but Cheppy remained cautious. "It's still just medical terminology, mostly. I doubt I could translate Ancient engineering specs or weapons systems."

"All languages start with specialized vocabulary before branching out," Carson reminded her. "Think of children—they learn concrete nouns before abstract concepts."

Late one night, Cheppy was alone in the infirmary database section when an emergency disrupted the quiet. A science team returned from a late exploration of newly accessed city sections, one member displaying strange symptoms—elevated temperature, disorientation, and what appeared to be bioluminescent patterning across their skin.

"Dr. Mitchell!" called Marie, the night nurse. "Dr. Beckett is being paged, but we need to start assessment now. Can you help?"

Heart racing, Cheppy jumped into the familiar routine of taking vital signs and assisting with basic procedures. But as she worked, her mind made an unexpected connection—the symptoms looked remarkably similar to a condition described in one of the Ancient medical journals she'd been studying.

"Has anyone checked for radiation exposure?" she asked, recalling the Ancient text's description of a particular type of energy absorption that caused bioluminescent patterning as the body processed the foreign particles.

"That was our first check," Marie replied, looking grim. "Levels are normal."

Carson arrived, quickly assessing the situation as the patient's condition deteriorated.

"His cellular structure is breaking down," he announced after scanning with an Ancient diagnostic device. "But I've never seen a pattern like this. We need to identify the cause before we can treat it."

Cheppy hesitated, then spoke up. "I think I've seen something like this in the Ancient medical journals. There was a case study about researchers exposed to a particular type of energy field that caused similar symptoms—they called it..." She struggled to find the English equivalent for the Ancient term. "Something like 'quantum-resonance destabilization.'"

Carson looked at her sharply. "You're certain?"

"The bioluminescent patterning is distinctive," she said, pointing to the spreading blue-green lines across the patient's skin. "According to the text, it's caused by the body's attempt to process and expel the foreign energy."

"And the treatment?" Carson asked, already reaching for his tablet.

"They used a targeted electromagnetic pulse to disrupt the resonance pattern, then a cellular stabilizer to prevent further degradation." Cheppy closed her eyes briefly, visualizing the pages she'd studied. "The pulse frequency was calibrated to the specific energy signature causing the destabilization."

Carson was already moving. "Marie, prep the EM pulse generator. Cheppy, find that journal entry—I need exact specifications."

Cheppy raced to the database terminal, her fingers flying across the ancient interface. Thanks to her extensive notes and memory for where she'd seen particular terms, she located the case study within minutes.

"Here," she called, transferring the data to Carson's tablet. "The frequency calculations are based on the patient's biometric readings, according to this formula."

Working together, they calibrated the Ancient medical device to emit the precise electromagnetic pulse needed. Within minutes of treatment, the bioluminescent patterns began to fade, and the patient's vital signs stabilized.

As the crisis passed, Carson looked at Cheppy with newfound respect. "That was remarkable work, Dr. Mitchell."

"I just happened to remember the case study," she demurred, suddenly self-conscious as others in the infirmary stared at her with curious expressions.

"You didn't just remember it—you understood it well enough to apply it in an emergency situation," Carson corrected. "That's far more than simple recall."

Later, after the patient had been stabilized and the emergency had passed, Carson found Cheppy in the quiet corner of the infirmary where she normally studied.

"Your 'little hobby' just saved a man's life," he said without preamble. "I think it's time we considered expanding your access to non-medical Ancient texts."

Cheppy looked up in surprise. "Really? But the security concerns—"

"Can be managed," Carson finished for her. "We'll start small—non-critical systems, cultural documents, basic technology descriptions. Nothing that could potentially harm the city if mistranslated."

Hope bloomed in Cheppy's chest. "Do you think Dr. Weir would approve?"

"I think she'd be foolish not to," Carson replied confidently. "But let's continue to keep your progress relatively quiet until you've built up a more extensive portfolio of work. Success speaks for itself, and I'd rather you weren't hindered by... preconceptions."

They both knew he meant McKay's dismissive attitude, though Carson was too kind to say it directly.

"I'd like that," Cheppy said, unable to suppress her smile. "Thank you, Carson. For everything."

"Thank you for proving my instincts right," he replied warmly. "I thought you showed promise that first day when you couldn't take your eyes off the Ancient script on our medical equipment. But you've exceeded even my optimistic expectations."

As Carson left, Cheppy returned to her studies with renewed purpose. She was still an outsider in many ways—the woman pulled accidentally through space and time—but for the first time, she felt as though she might eventually find her place here.

Not just as an auxiliary medical assistant. Not just as Carson's charity case. But as Dr. Chephren Mitchell, computational linguist and budding Ancient language specialist.

It was a small victory, but a meaningful one. And perhaps, she thought as she turned back to her translations, it was just the beginning.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Crossing Paths with Lorne

"Deep breath in," Cheppy instructed, pressing the stethoscope to the marine's broad chest. "And out slowly."

Two months in Atlantis, and she had developed a confident routine in the infirmary. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency as she documented vitals and basic observations—preliminary work that freed Carson to focus on more complex cases.

"Everything sounds normal," she told the marine—Sergeant Rodriguez according to his chart. "How's the headache today?"

"Better, ma'am," he replied. "Those pills Dr. Beckett prescribed are helping."

Cheppy nodded, making a note in his file. "Good. Any dizziness or visual disturbances since yesterday?"

"No, ma'am."

"Excellent. Dr. Beckett will be with you shortly to complete your post-concussion evaluation." She offered him a reassuring smile. "But your vitals look great."

As Rodriguez settled back to wait, Cheppy moved to the supply cabinet, restocking items for the next patient. The infirmary had been unusually busy with routine checkups—standard procedure for teams returning from off-world missions. Carson had mentioned that one of the major exploration teams was due back today, which always meant additional work.

She was organizing sample containers when Carson appeared at her side, looking harried but cheerful.

"Cheppy, lass, can you handle the preliminary workup for Major Lorne? He's just arrived for his post-mission evaluation." Carson gestured toward the entrance where a man in tactical gear waited, speaking quietly with a nurse. "Nothing complex—standard protocols, blood samples, the usual. I need to finish with Rodriguez and his concussion check."

"Of course," she replied, already reaching for a fresh chart. She'd heard Lorne's name before—he was Colonel Sheppard's second-in-command for military operations—but their paths hadn't crossed until now.

As she approached, the major turned to face her. Cheppy's first impression was of quiet competence. Not as overtly intimidating as Sheppard, but with the same alert readiness that characterized Atlantis military personnel. His dark hair was slightly mussed from his tactical cap, and lines of fatigue showed around his eyes.

"Major Lorne?" she greeted him professionally. "I'm Dr. Mitchell. I'll be handling your preliminary evaluation before Dr. Beckett takes over."

His eyes flicked to her briefly, taking in her civilian clothing and the medical insignia on her sleeve—the compromise Carson had arranged to help staff recognize her role despite her unofficial status.

"Ma'am," he acknowledged with a polite nod that neither welcomed nor rejected her.

"This way, please." She led him to an examination area, maintaining the brisk professionalism she'd learned worked best with military personnel. "Any injuries or concerning symptoms to report?"

"No injuries," Lorne replied, removing his tactical vest as he sat on the examination table. "Standard recon mission. Some hiking, minimal contact with locals, no incidents."

Cheppy noted his responses while preparing the blood collection equipment. "Roll up your sleeve, please."

Lorne complied, revealing a muscular forearm with a few scattered scars—evidence of a career in dangerous situations. Cheppy worked efficiently, finding a vein on the first try and drawing the required samples with minimal discomfort.

"You're new," Lorne observed as she labeled the vials. "Medical division?"

"Not exactly," Cheppy replied, securing the samples. "I'm learning as I go."

A flicker of recognition crossed his face. "You're the one who came through McKay's experiment. The linguist."

The designation was better than 'the mistake,' which some still used behind her back, but Cheppy tensed nonetheless. "That's right," she confirmed, adopting the neutral tone she'd perfected for such moments. "Blood pressure next."

If Lorne noticed her shift in demeanor, he didn't comment on it. He remained quiet as she wrapped the cuff around his arm and took the reading.

"135 over 85," she noted. "Slightly elevated but within normal range after a mission."

"It's always up after coming through the gate," Lorne said with a slight shrug. "Adrenaline."

Cheppy nodded understanding. "Deep breath in," she instructed, pressing the stethoscope to his chest. His heartbeat was strong and regular. "And out."

As she continued the examination, Cheppy maintained a professional distance, asking only necessary questions related to his health. Lorne, for his part, responded with the same polite reserve, neither friendly nor hostile—just another task to complete before he could move on with his day.

It was refreshing, in a way. No pitying looks, no poorly disguised suspicion, no awkward questions about how she was "adjusting." Just a straightforward medical evaluation between two adults doing their jobs.

"Reflexes are normal," she noted, putting away the reflex hammer. "Any unusual fatigue, major stress, or sleep disturbances to report?"

Lorne raised an eyebrow. "Besides the normal stress of potentially deadly missions in an alien galaxy?"

Cheppy's lips quirked up despite herself. "Yes, besides that baseline. I'm assuming Atlantis calibrates its 'normal' stress metrics a bit differently than Earth."

That earned a small but genuine smile from the major—the first crack in his professional facade. "Fair point. No, nothing unusual by Atlantis standards."

She made a final notation in his chart. "Alright, Major. Your preliminary checks are complete. Dr. Beckett will review these results and finish your evaluation when he's available." She hesitated, then added, "It might be a short wait. He's dealing with a concussion case."

"No problem," Lorne replied easily. "I've got mission reports to mentally compose anyway."

Something in his tone made Cheppy suspect that "mentally compose" meant "figure out how to phrase the truth in a way that won't cause unnecessary panic back on Earth." She'd overheard enough conversations in the infirmary to understand that particular diplomatic art.

"The paperwork never ends, even in another galaxy," she commented, organizing her supplies.

"Some things are universal constants," Lorne agreed dryly.

Their brief moment of rapport was interrupted as Carson bustled over, Rodriguez's file in hand.

"Ah, Major, good to see you back in one piece," the doctor greeted warmly. "How was P3X-447?"

"Wet, Doc. Very wet," Lorne replied with resigned humor. "Apparently we arrived during their monsoon season."

"Well, let's make sure you didn't bring back any exotic fungi from all that dampness," Carson said, taking the chart from Cheppy. "Thank you, Dr. Mitchell. Everything look normal?"

"All preliminary readings are within standard parameters," she confirmed professionally. "Blood samples are prepared for analysis."

Carson nodded approval. "Excellent. I'll take it from here."

As Cheppy moved away to check on her next patient, she felt Lorne's eyes follow her briefly. Not suspicious or pitying—just observant. Evaluating. It was the look of someone who made a habit of assessing people and situations, filing away information for potential future relevance.

She wondered what category he'd mentally placed her in. Probably "medical staff, civilian, non-critical," she thought wryly. But at least it wasn't "security risk" or "McKay's mistake," and that felt like progress.

Later that afternoon, Cheppy sat in the small reading nook she'd claimed in a quiet corner of the infirmary, using her break to continue her Ancient language studies. Carson had recently provided her with access to a broader selection of non-sensitive texts—cultural documents, basic technological descriptions, and historical records that posed no security risk.

The expansion of her study materials had accelerated her progress dramatically. Medical terminology had provided an excellent foundation, but these new texts revealed conversational patterns, idiomatic expressions, and broader conceptual frameworks that deepened her understanding.

" Navigo per astria ," she murmured, testing the pronunciation of a phrase she'd encountered. "'Travel through the stars.' The linguistic root for 'Astria Porta'—their name for the Stargate."

She was so absorbed in her translations that she didn't notice the approaching footsteps until a shadow fell across her tablet.

"Dr. Mitchell."

Cheppy looked up with a start to find Major Lorne standing before her, now dressed in his standard uniform rather than tactical gear.

"Major," she acknowledged, quickly saving her work. "Did Dr. Beckett need something?"

"No, I'm all cleared," Lorne replied. "I actually came back to return this." He held up a small silver device. "Doc asked me to give it to you specifically. Said you'd know what to do with it."

Cheppy recognized the Ancient medical scanner she'd been cataloging before shift change. "Yes, thank you. We're updating its entry in the equipment database."

Lorne handed over the device, then hesitated, his eyes falling on her tablet and notebook. For one alarming moment, Cheppy thought he might question her work with the Ancient texts. While not technically prohibited, her self-directed studies weren't widely known outside Carson's department, and she wasn't eager to invite scrutiny.

But Lorne merely nodded toward her notes and asked, "Learning Ancient?"

The direct question surprised her into honesty. "Trying to. It's complicated."

"I imagine so," he replied, his tone neutral but not dismissive. "Most of our people spend years studying it."

Cheppy tensed, expecting the conversation to turn toward her qualifications—or lack thereof—but Lorne surprised her again.

"Useful skill around here, though," he continued. "Half the city still isn't properly translated, and we find new sections every week."

The casual acknowledgment of her efforts as potentially valuable, without question or judgment, caught Cheppy off guard. "It's mostly just medical terminology so far," she admitted, downplaying her progress out of habit.

Lorne's gaze was assessing but not unfriendly. "Everyone starts somewhere." He gestured to the scanner in her hand. "That's Ancient tech, right? How's that work with the project?"

"I catalog the Ancient inscriptions and cross-reference them with known functions," she explained, relaxing slightly at his apparent interest. "It helps build a specialized vocabulary database."

"Smart approach," he commented. "The science teams usually just slap English labels on everything and move on."

"Expediency has its place," Cheppy acknowledged diplomatically, though privately she'd always found that approach frustratingly short-sighted. "But understanding the original terminology can sometimes reveal functions or connections that aren't obvious from just observing the technology in use."

"Makes sense," Lorne agreed. "Like how different Earth languages have words for concepts that don't translate directly."

His casual insight surprised her. Most military personnel she'd encountered in Atlantis treated Ancient language as either a bureaucratic hurdle or a purely scientific concern, not as a living system of thought.

Before she could respond, Lorne's radio activated. "Major Lorne, please report to the control room for mission debriefing."

"On my way," he responded crisply, then nodded to Cheppy. "Dr. Mitchell."

"Major," she returned, watching as he strode away with the same quiet efficiency that seemed to characterize all his movements.

The brief encounter left her with an odd sense of... not quite connection, but possibly recognition—as though for the first time, someone in Atlantis had seen her as simply another professional doing her job, neither an outsider to be wary of nor a charity case to be pitied.

It was a small thing, this moment of normalcy. But in the strange new reality that had become her life, small things sometimes mattered most.

The next week passed in its now-familiar rhythm: days in the infirmary assisting Carson, evenings dedicated to her increasingly advanced Ancient language studies. Cheppy's progress had accelerated as she gained access to a wider variety of texts, allowing her to identify patterns and structures that transcended specialized terminology.

She saw Major Lorne once during that time, passing him in a corridor as he headed out with his team. He acknowledged her with a brief nod—the same professional courtesy he extended to most expedition members, she suspected. Nothing special, but nothing negative either.

On a particularly quiet afternoon, Carson approached her with an unusually serious expression. "Cheppy, a word?"

She followed him to his office, anxiety flickering at his grave tone. "Is something wrong?"

"Not wrong, exactly," Carson replied, closing the door. "But we've had a development I wanted to discuss with you personally." He gestured for her to sit. "Dr. Weir has authorized a full security review of all civilian personnel, including provisional members like yourself."

Cheppy's stomach tightened. "Why now?"

"There was an incident with one of the anthropology researchers," Carson explained delicately. "Nothing dire, but it raised concerns about our vetting procedures for civilians working with potentially sensitive information."

The implication was clear. Her unofficial status and access to Ancient texts, however non-critical, would be scrutinized.

"I see," she said carefully. "Should I be worried?"

Carson sighed. "I don't think so. Your work has been exemplary, and I've personally vouched for your character. But..." he hesitated, "it might be best to keep your more advanced language studies quiet until after the review. Stick to the medical terminology and basic cataloging for now."

"You think my self-directed learning would be viewed as suspicious," Cheppy stated flatly, understanding immediately.

"I think people who don't know you might question why you're so interested in mastering an alien language without official authorization," Carson corrected gently. "Remember, trust is still at a premium here, especially after the incident."

The warning was frustrating but not surprising. Despite two months of proving herself in the infirmary, Cheppy knew many still regarded her as an anomaly at best, a potential security risk at worst.

"I understand," she said, resignation coloring her tone. "Basic medical work only until the review is complete."

Carson squeezed her shoulder sympathetically. "It's temporary, lass. Your talents are too valuable to waste, but timing matters. Let's get through this review first, then we can formalize your language work properly."

After leaving Carson's office, Cheppy went through the rest of her shift mechanically, her earlier enthusiasm dampened by the reminder of her tenuous position. Every time she thought she was making progress toward acceptance, something pushed her back to square one.

That evening, she retreated to her quarters earlier than usual, too disheartened to face the communal dinner in the mess hall. Alone, she allowed herself a rare moment of self-pity. Two months in another galaxy, and she was still living a half-life—neither fully rejected nor truly accepted.

Sleep eluded her, so she turned to her tablet out of habit, opening the most recent Ancient text she'd been studying. She shouldn't risk working on it now, with the security review pending, but the elegant symbols called to her like familiar friends.

A knock at her door startled her from her thoughts. Hastily closing the translation program, she set the tablet aside before calling, "Come in."

The door slid open to reveal Teyla Emmagan, bearing a small tray. "I noticed your absence at dinner," the Athosian said by way of greeting. "I thought perhaps you might appreciate some food."

The unexpected kindness brought a lump to Cheppy's throat. "Thank you," she managed, gesturing for Teyla to enter. "That was thoughtful of you."

"It is nothing," Teyla replied, setting the tray on the small desk. "I remember my early days with the expedition—how isolating it could feel, despite being surrounded by people."

Cheppy nodded, grateful for Teyla's perceptiveness. Of all the Atlantis residents, the Athosian woman seemed to most intuitively understand her position as an outsider.

"Carson told me about the security review," she admitted, picking up a piece of fruit from the tray. "Just when I was starting to feel like I might eventually fit in here."

"Progress is rarely linear," Teyla observed, settling gracefully on the edge of the chair opposite Cheppy. "Particularly in matters of trust and acceptance."

"I just wish..." Cheppy began, then shook her head. "It doesn't matter what I wish. This is my reality now. I need to make the best of it."

"What were you going to say?" Teyla prompted gently.

Cheppy sighed. "I wish people could see that I'm trying to contribute, not looking for ways to cause trouble. I didn't ask to be pulled through that portal, but now that I'm here, I just want to be useful."

"In my experience," Teyla said thoughtfully, "actions speak more convincingly than words. Continue as you have been, and people will see your true character in time."

"Time," Cheppy echoed with a rueful smile. "The one thing I have plenty of, I suppose. It's not like I have anywhere else to be."

After Teyla left, Cheppy felt marginally better, though the underlying frustration remained. She was preparing for bed when her radio activated—the emergency channel Carson had insisted she keep, despite her unofficial status.

"Dr. Mitchell," came the Scot's voice, pitched low but urgent. "Are you awake, lass?"

"Yes," she replied immediately, concerned by his tone. "What's wrong?"

"We have a situation in the infirmary. Lieutenant Kaufman's team returned early from M4X-662 with multiple injuries. I could use another pair of hands."

"On my way," she responded, already reaching for her shoes.

When Cheppy arrived at the infirmary, she found controlled chaos. Three examination areas were occupied by injured personnel, with Carson moving between them, directing his staff with rapid-fire instructions.

"Cheppy, thank goodness," he called when he spotted her. "Bed three—Lieutenant Peters has a laceration that needs cleaning and suturing. Simple procedure, but I'm tied up with the more serious cases."

She moved without hesitation to the indicated bed, where a young marine lay with a blood-soaked bandage on his forearm. "Lieutenant, I'm Dr. Mitchell. I'll be taking care of that cut for you."

Peters nodded tightly, pain evident in his eyes but discipline keeping him stoic. Cheppy worked efficiently, removing the field dressing to reveal a jagged six-inch gash across his forearm.

"What happened?" she asked, partially to distract him as she cleaned the wound, partially out of genuine curiosity.

"Encounter with the local wildlife," Peters replied through gritted teeth. "Something like a cross between a wild boar and a porcupine, with a really bad attitude."

"Sounds charming," Cheppy commented dryly, examining the wound edges. "Good news is it's clean—no foreign objects, and the bleeding has mostly stopped. I'll need to put in some stitches, though."

"Do what you need to, ma'am," Peters said stoically.

Cheppy administered a local anesthetic, then prepared her suture kit. As she worked, she maintained a calm stream of conversation, keeping Peters distracted from the procedure.

"First time being attacked by alien wildlife?" she asked, placing the initial suture with practiced precision.

"Third, actually," Peters replied, his tension easing as the anesthetic took effect. "But who's counting?"

"Clearly not Atlantis recruitment," Cheppy quipped, continuing her neat stitches. "I don't remember 'may be mauled by extraterrestrial fauna' in any job descriptions."

That earned a small laugh from the lieutenant. "It's in the fine print, ma'am."

She was halfway through the suturing when she became aware of someone watching her. Glancing up briefly, she was surprised to see Major Lorne standing near the infirmary entrance, observing the activity with a commander's assessing gaze. His eyes met hers momentarily before he turned his attention to Carson, who was stabilizing a more seriously injured team member.

Cheppy returned her focus to Peters' wound, completing the sutures with meticulous care. "Almost done, Lieutenant. You'll have a scar, but it should heal cleanly."

"Another souvenir," Peters remarked with the dark humor common among military personnel. "Chicks dig scars, right?"

"So I've heard," Cheppy replied noncommittally, applying antiseptic and a sterile dressing. "Though perhaps consider less painful mementos for your next mission. Postcards are traditional on Earth."

Peters grinned despite his discomfort. "I'll take that under advisement, ma'am."

"Keep the dressing clean and dry for 48 hours," she instructed, securing the bandage. "Come back tomorrow so Dr. Beckett or I can check for any signs of infection. And take these antibiotics as directed—alien bacteria can be particularly nasty."

"Yes, ma'am."

As Peters left, Cheppy cleaned her workspace and prepared for the next patient. Looking up, she found Major Lorne had moved closer, now speaking quietly with Carson near one of the occupied beds. She caught fragments of their conversation—something about a mission debriefing and security protocols.

Carson nodded toward her, saying something she couldn't quite hear, and Lorne's gaze shifted in her direction briefly before he responded to the doctor. Cheppy busied herself with restocking supplies, trying not to appear as though she was eavesdropping.

Eventually, Lorne departed, and Carson approached her, looking exhausted but satisfied. "Good work tonight, Cheppy. That was a textbook suturing job on Peters."

"Thanks," she replied, then hesitated. "Is everything alright with the security situation? I noticed Major Lorne seemed concerned."

"Standard procedure," Carson assured her. "Whenever a team encounters unexpected hostility, military command reviews the circumstances." He patted her shoulder. "Nothing for you to worry about. And speaking of security matters, Major Lorne mentioned you'd be on his list for interviews during the civilian review."

Cheppy tensed. "Is that good or bad?"

"Neither, lass. Just procedure. Though if I were to guess, I'd say it's positive that he's handling it personally rather than delegating to a junior officer." Carson's expression softened. "Lorne's fair-minded. Just be honest with him, and you'll be fine."

The reassurance helped, though anxiety still fluttered in her stomach at the thought of a formal security interview. "When?"

"Day after tomorrow, I believe. He'll contact you with details." Carson stifled a yawn. "Now, unless there's another emergency, I suggest we both get some rest. It's nearly midnight."

The following evening found Cheppy in one of the newly accessible lab spaces near the infirmary, cataloging a collection of Ancient medical devices recently discovered in a previously sealed section of the city. Carson had assigned her the task as part of her regular duties, making it safely within the boundaries of what she should be doing during the security review period.

Her workstation was spread with various artifacts, each with distinctive Ancient markings that needed documentation. Despite the restrictions on her advanced language work, this basic cataloging still satisfied her linguistic interests while staying well within her official responsibilities.

She was photographing a particularly intricate device when she sensed someone enter the lab behind her. Assuming it was Carson checking on her progress, she spoke without turning.

"I'm almost finished with this section, but there's a device here with markings I haven't seen before. Might need more extensive translation."

"Find anything interesting?" came a voice that definitely wasn't Carson's.

Cheppy spun around to find Major Lorne leaning against the doorframe, arms casually crossed. Unlike their previous encounters, he wasn't in uniform but wearing the standard-issue Atlantis off-duty clothing—dark t-shirt and cargo pants.

"Major," she acknowledged, recovering quickly from her surprise. "I didn't realize you were interested in Ancient medical equipment."

"I'm not, particularly," he admitted with a slight shrug. "But Dr. Beckett mentioned your cataloging project when I stopped by the infirmary. Thought I'd see what was keeping the newest member of his staff working past dinner."

The casual explanation seemed plausible enough, though Cheppy suspected there might be more to his visit. Perhaps an unofficial pre-assessment before their scheduled security interview.

"Just trying to be useful," she replied, gesturing to the array of devices. "Most of these were gathering dust in storage until recently."

Lorne stepped further into the lab, examining the Ancient artifacts with casual interest. "You can read all these symbols?"

"Some better than others," Cheppy answered carefully. "The medical terminology is becoming familiar."

He picked up one of the smaller devices—a scanner similar to those Carson regularly used. "And this one? What does it say?"

Cheppy hesitated, unsure if this was a test. The symbols were clearly visible along the edge of the device: diagnostic cellular analysis . Basic medical terminology she'd documented weeks ago.

"It's a cellular analysis tool," she said finally, deciding honesty was safest. "For diagnosing issues at the cellular level. That symbol group there indicates 'diagnostic,' and the adjoining modifiers specify 'cellular structure.'"

Lorne nodded, replacing the device carefully. "Useful skill."

"In theory," Cheppy replied with a touch of frustration she couldn't quite suppress. "When I'm allowed to use it."

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Complaining about restrictions to the very person who would be evaluating her security status was hardly wise.

To her surprise, Lorne's expression held understanding rather than suspicion. "Security reviews are standard procedure, Dr. Mitchell. Not personal."

"I know," she sighed, embarrassment replacing her momentary frustration. "And I understand the necessity. It's just... frustrating to finally find something I can contribute, only to have to scale it back."

"Temporary setback," Lorne said with the calm certainty of someone accustomed to navigating bureaucracy. "From what Carson tells me, your work is valuable. The review is a formality, not an endpoint."

His matter-of-fact assessment was oddly reassuring—not empty comfort, but a realistic perspective from someone who understood the system.

"Thank you for that," Cheppy said sincerely. "It helps to hear it from someone in your position."

Lorne acknowledged her gratitude with a brief nod, then changed the subject. "Your interview is scheduled for 1400 tomorrow in my office. Standard procedure—background verification, current activities, future intentions. Nothing to worry about if you've got nothing to hide."

"I'll be there," she promised, relieved that the official notification had been delivered in this relatively casual way rather than as a formal summons.

Lorne's gaze shifted to her notebook, where pages of Ancient symbols and their translations were visible. For a moment, Cheppy feared he might question the extent of her studies, but he merely commented, "Impressive progress for someone who's only been studying the language for a couple months."

"Pattern recognition is my specialty," she explained, relaxing slightly. "Ancient has internal logic like any language, once you identify the structural rules."

"Still," Lorne said, a note of genuine respect in his voice, "most of our linguists take years to achieve functional proficiency, and they start with formal training."

The unexpected praise from someone in his position meant more than Cheppy wanted to admit. "Thank you," she said simply.

Lorne moved toward the exit, pausing at the doorway. "Don't work too late, Dr. Mitchell. Even linguists need sleep."

"I'll wrap up soon," she promised.

As he left, Cheppy realized their interaction had felt almost... normal. Not weighted with her status as an outsider or his as a military authority, but simply a professional exchange between colleagues. It was a novel sensation in Atlantis, and one she found she'd like to experience more often.

Turning back to her work, she noticed something odd about her open notebook. One of the pages appeared slightly displaced, as though it had been moved while she wasn't looking. On it was some of her more advanced translation work—well beyond basic medical terminology.

Cheppy frowned, trying to recall if she'd left the notebook open to that page. She didn't think so, but couldn't be certain. Had Lorne seen it? And if so, what did that mean for her security review?

The question nagged at her as she completed her cataloging and returned to her quarters. Tomorrow's interview would reveal whether her ambitious self-study was viewed as commendable initiative or concerning overreach.

As she prepared for bed, Cheppy realized that for the first time since arriving in Atlantis, she cared not just about proving herself useful, but about what a specific individual thought of her efforts. Major Lorne's opinion shouldn't matter more than anyone else's, yet somehow it did.

Perhaps because he'd been the first to treat her as neither a security risk nor a charity case, but simply as Dr. Mitchell—a professional with skills to contribute. It was the kind of recognition she'd been seeking since her accidental arrival, and having briefly experienced it, she found herself reluctant to lose it.

With that troubling realization, Cheppy finally drifted into uneasy sleep, the image of dark, observant eyes and a brief, assessing nod following her into dreams filled with Ancient symbols and unspoken questions.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: The Security Interview

Cheppy's fingers drummed nervously against her tablet as she sat outside the small conference room designated for security interviews. She'd spent the previous night reorganizing all her translation work—separating the official materials Carson had given her from her more ambitious personal projects. The latter now resided in a heavily encrypted folder that even she felt a twinge of guilt about.

"Compartmentalization," she murmured to herself. "Not deception."

The distinction felt important, even if it was splitting hairs. She genuinely wasn't trying to access classified information—she simply wanted to continue her work without constant scrutiny. Without having to justify every insight or breakthrough to people who still viewed her as an intruder.

"Dr. Mitchell?" Major Lorne appeared in the doorway, tablet in hand. Unlike most of the military personnel, he wore his authority comfortably, without the need to project intimidation. "Ready whenever you are."

Cheppy stood, smoothing her borrowed Atlantis uniform—a gesture born more from anxiety than any actual wrinkles. "As ready as I'll ever be for an interrogation."

Lorne's expression softened slightly. "It's just a standard security review, not an interrogation. Everyone goes through them."

"Even accidental interdimensional travelers?" she quipped, immediately regretting the nervous humor.

Surprisingly, Lorne's mouth quirked upward. "Especially those." He gestured for her to enter the room. "After you, Doctor."

The conference room was small and utilitarian—a table, a few chairs, and a surveillance camera blinking steadily in the corner. Cheppy took a seat, placing her tablet before her like a shield.

"Would you like some water?" Lorne asked, already pouring a glass from a pitcher on the table.

The gesture was unexpectedly considerate. "Thank you," she said, accepting the glass and taking a small sip to ease her dry throat.

Lorne took a seat across from her and activated his tablet. "For the record, this is Major Evan Lorne conducting a standard sixty-day security review for Dr. Chephren Mitchell." He glanced up. "Do you prefer Dr. Mitchell or Cheppy?"

"Cheppy is fine," she replied, surprised by the personal question.

He nodded, making a note. "Let's start with the basics, Cheppy. How have you been adjusting to life in Atlantis?"

It wasn't the opening question she'd expected. "Honestly? It's been... challenging. There's a lot to process—being in another galaxy, knowing I might never go home, trying to find my place here."

"That's understandable." Lorne's tone remained conversational rather than interrogative. "Dr. Beckett speaks highly of your work in the infirmary. You've developed medical skills pretty quickly."

"Carson's been very patient," Cheppy acknowledged. "And I'm a fast learner."

"So I've heard." Lorne tapped something on his tablet. "Your file mentions a photographic memory?"

Cheppy nodded. "It's not quite like in the movies—I don't glance at a page and instantly memorize it. But once I've studied something, I can recall it with high accuracy."

"Useful skill," Lorne observed. "Especially when learning a new language."

There it was—the segue into more sensitive territory. Cheppy maintained a neutral expression. "Yes, it's helped with the basic Ancient terminology I've been learning for the infirmary."

"Just basic terminology?" Lorne's eyes met hers, assessing but not accusatory.

Cheppy chose her words carefully. "Dr. Beckett has provided me with approved medical texts to study. They've been helpful in understanding the Ancient medical equipment."

"I see." Lorne made another note. "And have you requested access to additional language materials?"

"I asked Dr. McKay about assisting with translations," she admitted. "He made it clear that wasn't an option."

"So I heard." Something in Lorne's tone suggested he didn't entirely agree with McKay's assessment. "That must have been frustrating, given your background."

Cheppy hadn't expected empathy from this interview. "It was," she acknowledged. "But I understand the security concerns. I'm still an unknown variable here."

"Less unknown than when you arrived," Lorne countered. He set his tablet down, his posture relaxing slightly. "Off the record for a moment?"

Surprised, Cheppy nodded.

"The purpose of these reviews isn't just to uncover potential security risks," Lorne explained. "It's also to identify how people can best contribute to the expedition. Dr. Weir believes in utilizing everyone's strengths."

"Even accidental tourists?" Cheppy couldn't help asking.

The corner of Lorne's mouth twitched again. "We've had stranger recruitment methods."

He picked up his tablet again, returning to the official interview. "Let's talk about your work with Dr. Beckett. You've been assisting with patient care and inventory, correct?"

"Yes, and helping organize the Ancient medical database. Carson—Dr. Beckett—has been teaching me basic procedures. I've handled some minor injuries independently now."

"Like Lieutenant Sharma's compound fracture," Lorne noted. "That was good work."

"You heard about that?"

"Word travels fast in a city this size," Lorne replied. "Especially when someone unexpectedly steps up."

The conversation continued with standard questions about her daily routines, her interactions with expedition members, and her understanding of security protocols. Throughout, Lorne maintained a professional but surprisingly personable demeanor.

Then came the question she'd been dreading: "I understand you've been working on translating Ancient texts in your spare time. Can you tell me more about that?"

Cheppy took a careful breath. "As I mentioned, Dr. Beckett provided approved medical texts for me to study. Given my background in computational linguistics, I've been analyzing patterns in the language structure to improve my understanding."

"And developing translation algorithms," Lorne added, watching her reaction closely.

Cheppy stiffened. How did he know about that? She'd been careful to keep her more advanced work private.

Seeing her expression, Lorne clarified, "Dr. Zelenka mentioned you'd discussed computational approaches to translation when he visited the infirmary last week."

Relief washed through her. "Yes, we had a brief conversation about it. He seemed interested in the concept."

"He was," Lorne confirmed. "Enough to mention it in his weekly report."

Cheppy processed this information. "Am I in trouble for discussing theoretical linguistics?"

"Not at all," Lorne assured her. "In fact, it raised some interesting possibilities."

Before he could elaborate, the conference room door slid open, and Colonel Sheppard strolled in with casual authority. "How's it going in here, Major?"

"Just about finished, sir," Lorne replied, standing slightly.

Sheppard nodded to Cheppy. "Dr. Mitchell. Settling in?"

"Yes, sir," she answered automatically, though the question felt loaded coming from the expedition's military commander.

Sheppard leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Heard you've been picking up Ancient pretty quickly."

There was no accusation in his tone, but Cheppy still felt defensive. "Just medical terminology, mostly. Dr. Beckett has been very helpful."

Sheppard exchanged a look with Lorne that Cheppy couldn't interpret. "Any chance you could read something for me?" he asked, pulling a small digital camera from his pocket. "Came across this on our last mission. None of our linguists could make sense of it."

Surprised, Cheppy glanced between the two officers. "I'm hardly qualified—"

"Fresh eyes sometimes see things others miss," Sheppard interrupted, sliding the camera across the table. "Just take a look."

Hesitantly, Cheppy picked up the camera and examined the display. The image showed a weathered stone panel covered in Ancient script—not the clean, precise lettering of Atlantis, but a cruder, more primitive version. She zoomed in, studying the patterns.

"It's a variant dialect," she found herself saying, professional interest overriding her caution. "See how the glyphs are connected differently? The roots are Ancient, but the syntax is... unusual."

She fell silent, realizing she'd just demonstrated knowledge beyond "basic medical terminology."

When she looked up, both men were watching her with interest rather than suspicion.

"Can you read any of it?" Sheppard pressed.

Cheppy hesitated, then decided honesty was her best option. "Some. It seems to be describing a... ritual? Something about 'cleansing light' and 'the worthy vessel.'" She pointed to specific symbols. "These repeated patterns suggest instructions rather than narrative. But without context, it's hard to be certain."

"That's more than our linguists got," Sheppard remarked, retrieving the camera. "They thought it was a burial marker."

"It could be," Cheppy admitted. "Funeral rites are often described as purification processes in ancient cultures. But these symbols here," she pointed again, "typically indicate an active process, not a commemoration."

Sheppard nodded thoughtfully. "Interesting." He glanced at Lorne. "Wrap this up and meet me in my office when you're done."

With that, he departed as casually as he'd arrived, leaving Cheppy bewildered by the unexpected test.

"Was that...?" she began.

"Part of your evaluation? Yes," Lorne confirmed. "And you passed."

"I don't understand."

Lorne deactivated his tablet. "Colonel Sheppard wanted to assess your linguistic abilities firsthand. That image was from P3X-774, where we found evidence of Ancient experimentation with ascension technology."

"Ascension?" The term was vaguely familiar from Carson's texts.

"The process by which Ancients evolved beyond physical form," Lorne explained. "The site had been examined by our linguists, but they missed the significance. You just identified it as instructions rather than a memorial in about thirty seconds."

Cheppy felt a mix of pride and apprehension. "So what happens now?"

"Now," Lorne said, standing, "I complete my report, recommending that your security clearance be adjusted to allow greater access to Ancient linguistic materials."

Hope flared in her chest. "Really?"

"With restrictions," he cautioned. "And oversight. But yes, your skills are too valuable to waste."

The vindication was sweeter than Cheppy had anticipated. "What about Dr. McKay? He was pretty adamant about keeping me away from anything important."

"Dr. McKay doesn't have the final say on personnel assignments," Lorne replied diplomatically. "Dr. Weir does."

As they exited the conference room, Cheppy felt lighter than she had in weeks. "Thank you, Major Lorne."

"For what?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his expression.

"For giving me a fair evaluation. For seeing me as potentially useful, not just as a security risk or an accident."

Something shifted in Lorne's eyes—a softening that felt almost personal. "Everyone deserves a fair shot, Dr. Mitchell. Even accidental interdimensional travelers."

"Cheppy," she reminded him.

"Cheppy," he acknowledged with the barest hint of a smile. "And you can call me Evan when we're not in official settings."

The invitation to first-name basis felt significant somehow. "I appreciate that... Evan."

They'd reached the junction where their paths would diverge—Lorne to Sheppard's office, Cheppy back to the infirmary.

"One more thing," Lorne said as they prepared to part ways. "That translation algorithm you discussed with Dr. Zelenka? You should develop it further. Could be valuable."

Cheppy nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It was the first time since arriving in Atlantis that someone had recognized the potential of her actual expertise, not just her ability to follow medical instructions or organize supplies.

"And Cheppy?" Lorne added, his expression unreadable. "Next time you're working on translations after hours, you might want to clear your tablet screen before falling asleep in the infirmary lounge. Security does regular sweeps."

With that cryptic parting comment, he turned and walked away, leaving Cheppy frozen in place, her mind racing. Had he seen her unauthorized work? And if so, why hadn't he mentioned it officially during the interview?

The implications were both alarming and oddly hopeful. Perhaps Major Evan Lorne was more of an ally than she'd realized.

The following morning, Cheppy arrived at the infirmary to find Carson practically bouncing with excitement.

"There you are!" he exclaimed, pulling her aside. "How was your security review?"

"Surprisingly positive," she admitted. "Major Lorne is recommending an adjustment to my clearance level."

"I know," Carson beamed. "Elizabeth just approved it. That's what I wanted to tell you."

Cheppy blinked. "Already? But Lorne only just left to file his report yesterday."

"Aye, well, Sheppard expedited things." Carson's eyes twinkled. "Apparently your quick translation of that artifact impressed him. Said you spotted something the linguistics team missed entirely."

"It was just an educated guess," Cheppy demurred.

"Nevertheless, you now have Level 2 clearance for linguistic materials," Carson announced proudly. "Still restricted from certain areas, of course, but you'll have access to the general Ancient language database."

The news was almost too good to believe. "Does this mean I can officially work on translations now?"

"Under supervision," Carson confirmed. "Dr. Weir is assigning you to work with Dr. Corrigan in linguistics three days a week. You'll still be with me the other two."

Mixed emotions washed through her—elation at the opportunity, gratitude toward Carson and Lorne, and a twinge of guilt about her unauthorized self-teaching. "I don't know what to say."

"You could start with 'thank you, Carson, for advocating tirelessly on my behalf,'" he suggested with a grin.

Cheppy laughed, the sound bubbling up from a place of genuine joy. "Thank you, Carson. For everything." On impulse, she hugged him briefly.

"You earned it," he said when she pulled away. "Your hard work made it easy to advocate for you."

The moment was interrupted by the arrival of Dr. McKay, who strode into the infirmary with his usual air of impatient purpose.

"Beckett! I need you to—" He stopped short upon seeing Cheppy. "Oh. You're still here."

"Good morning to you too, Dr. McKay," Cheppy replied evenly.

McKay shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, well. I hear you've been promoted to resident translator. Try not to mistranslate anything critical and destroy the city, won't you?"

Coming from McKay, this was practically a warm welcome. "I'll do my best," Cheppy promised, keeping her tone neutral.

"See that you do." McKay turned back to Carson. "Now, about those test results..."

As the two men moved away, discussing whatever had brought McKay to the infirmary, Cheppy found herself smiling. Two months ago, she'd been accidentally pulled across dimensions, treated as a security threat, and left feeling utterly useless. Today, she had meaningful work, growing acceptance, and the first tentative steps toward using her actual expertise.

And perhaps, she thought, remembering the way Lorne's eyes had softened when he told her to call him Evan, something more was beginning as well. Something unexpected but not unwelcome.

Humming softly to herself, she began preparing the infirmary for the day ahead, her mind already categorizing Ancient linguistic patterns and planning improvements to her translation algorithm. For the first time since arriving in Atlantis, the future felt bright with possibility.

Later, as she treated a minor burn on a scientist's hand, she caught sight of Major Lorne passing by the infirmary entrance. He paused briefly, their eyes meeting across the distance. His slight nod contained acknowledgment, respect, and something difficult to name—a connection, perhaps, or the seed of one.

Cheppy returned the nod, a silent understanding passing between them before he continued on his way. Yes, she thought, definitely something more beginning there. Something worth exploring, in this strange new life she was building, one day at a time, in a city among the stars.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Proving Ground

"Hold still, Lieutenant. This might sting a bit," Cheppy warned as she prepared to clean a laceration on Lieutenant Jensen's forearm. After a week in her new role with partial time in linguistics, she was back in the infirmary for her regular medical rotation.

"How bad is it, Doc?" Jensen asked, wincing as she applied the antiseptic.

"Not too deep, but you'll need stitches," she replied, falling easily into the calm, professional demeanor Carson had taught her. "And I'm not actually a medical doctor, remember? Just a linguist with basic training."

"Could've fooled me," Jensen said with a grin that quickly turned to another wince.

"Flattery won't get you out of stitches," Cheppy teased, preparing the suture kit. She'd performed this procedure several times now under Carson's supervision, but this was her first completely solo effort.

As she worked methodically on Jensen's wound, the infirmary doors slid open. From the corner of her eye, Cheppy saw Major Lorne enter with his team, all looking somewhat worse for wear after returning from a mission.

"Carson's with Dr. Nelson in exam room two," she informed them without looking up from her stitching. "Should be free in about twenty minutes."

"Actually," Lorne said, approaching her station, "I was hoping you might be available."

Cheppy glanced up, noting the dirt smudging his face and the tear in his uniform sleeve that revealed a bloodstained arm beneath. "Major, you're injured."

"It's nothing serious," he dismissed, though his grimace suggested otherwise.

"I'll be the judge of that," Cheppy replied firmly, turning back to finish Jensen's final stitches. "Take a seat on the next bed. I'll be with you in a moment."

To her mild surprise, Lorne complied without argument, directing his team to get checked out by the other medical staff.

After applying a bandage to Jensen's arm and giving him care instructions, Cheppy moved to Lorne's bedside, pulling on fresh gloves. "Let's see what 'nothing serious' looks like today."

Lorne's lips quirked in that almost-smile she was beginning to recognize. "Just a scratch from some thorny vegetation on P3X-591."

"The same 'just a scratch' that bled through your uniform?" Cheppy asked skeptically, helping him remove his tactical vest and carefully rolling up his torn sleeve. 

The wound was a jagged three-inch gash, deeper than she'd expected. "These 'thorns' must have been impressive."

"More like spines," Lorne admitted. "The botanical team is very excited about them."

"I'm sure they are," Cheppy murmured, examining the wound more closely. "This needs proper cleaning and stitches. It's not just a surface cut."

As she gathered supplies, she noticed Carson emerge from exam room two, spot them, and start heading over.

"Major Lorne, I see you've returned from—" Carson began.

"It's okay, Carson," Lorne interrupted. "Dr. Mitchell has this under control."

Carson raised an eyebrow, glancing at Cheppy questioningly.

"Laceration requiring sutures," she reported professionally. "No signs of significant foreign material or infection, but proper cleaning is needed."

"And you feel comfortable handling that?" Carson asked, his tone supportive rather than doubtful.

"Yes," Cheppy answered with more confidence than she felt. Lorne was her first high-ranking officer to treat solo, and the scrutiny made her nervous.

Carson studied them both for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. I'll be with Lieutenant Cadman if you need me."

As Carson walked away, Cheppy turned back to see Lorne watching her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher.

"What?" she asked, preparing the antiseptic solution.

"Nothing," he said. "Just appreciating professional competence."

The comment warmed her unexpectedly. "Let's see if you still feel that way after I stitch you up."

Lorne's injury required thorough cleaning to remove microscopic plant fibers. Throughout the uncomfortable process, he remained stoic, only the occasional tightening around his eyes betraying his discomfort.

"So," he said as she prepared the suture materials, "how are things in linguistics? Dr. Corrigan mentioned you've been making progress with the database from the east pier archives."

Cheppy looked up in surprise. "You've been asking about my work?"

"Just keeping tabs on our newest team member," Lorne replied casually. "It's part of my job."

"Of course," she said, feeling strangely disappointed by the professional explanation. "The east pier archives have been interesting. There's a lot of technical language I'm still learning, but the syntax patterns are becoming clearer."

"I hear you've developed some kind of translation algorithm?"

Cheppy's hands stilled momentarily. "It's still in the early stages. I'm trying to apply computational linguistics principles to Ancient language patterns." She resumed preparing the local anesthetic. "This will numb the area."

Lorne barely flinched as she injected around the wound. "Explain it to me—the algorithm. How does it work?"

The request seemed genuine, and discussing her work helped distract them both as she began the delicate process of suturing.

"It's based on pattern recognition," she explained, focusing on making each stitch neat and precise. "Ancient, like many languages, has recurring structures and contextual markers. I'm building a framework that identifies these patterns and their statistical relationships."

"Like predictive text, but more sophisticated?" Lorne suggested.

Cheppy smiled, impressed by his grasp of the concept. "Something like that, but with multiple layers of contextual analysis. The challenge is that Ancient often embeds conceptual meaning within its structure in ways that don't translate directly."

"Sounds complex."

"It is, but it's also fascinating. The Ancients thought differently than we do. Their language reflects that."

As she continued stitching, Cheppy found herself relaxing into the dual tasks of medical treatment and linguistic explanation. Lorne asked thoughtful questions that revealed a genuine interest beyond mere politeness.

"You know," she said as she tied off the final stitch, "you're the first person besides Carson who's actually asked about my work rather than just whether I might accidentally blow something up."

Lorne's eyes crinkled with amusement. "To be fair, that is a legitimate concern around here."

"True enough," she chuckled, beginning to apply an antibiotic ointment. "But I'm a linguist, not an engineer. The worst I can do is mistranslate 'warning' as 'welcome.'"

"Which could still result in explosions," Lorne pointed out.

"Fair point." She carefully placed a bandage over the wound. "There. Twelve stitches. Keep it clean and dry, and come back in two days so I can check for infection."

"Yes, ma'am," Lorne replied with exaggerated deference that made her roll her eyes.

As she disposed of the used supplies, she noticed him studying her work with an approving expression.

"Nice, even stitches," he commented. "Barely felt a thing."

"That's the local anesthetic, not my technique," she demurred.

"No, it's both." His tone turned more serious. "You've come a long way in a short time, Cheppy."

The use of her first name sent an unexpected warmth through her. "I've had good teachers."

"And natural aptitude," he added, rolling down his sleeve carefully over the bandage. "Carson says you've picked up medical procedures faster than any non-medical personnel he's trained."

"My photographic memory helps," she explained, feeling oddly self-conscious under his praise.

"It's more than that," Lorne insisted. "It's adaptability. Not everyone could be dropped into another galaxy and find ways to make themselves valuable within weeks."

Before she could respond to this unexpectedly personal observation, Carson returned, reviewing Lorne's medical chart on a tablet.

"How's our patient?" he asked Cheppy.

"Twelve stitches, local anesthetic administered, wound cleaned of all visible debris," she reported. "I've recommended a follow-up in two days."

Carson examined her work with a critical eye, then nodded approvingly. "Clean sutures, proper spacing. Well done."

"*Athex novus melior*," Cheppy murmured absently, the Ancient phrase for 'healing progress' slipping out before she could catch herself.

Both men looked at her with surprise.

"That's from the advanced medical terminology section," Carson noted. "You've been studying ahead."

Cheppy felt a flush creeping up her neck. "I've been exploring the language database in my free time."

"*Tempus non requies est*," Lorne replied unexpectedly.

Cheppy's eyes widened. The Ancient phrase roughly translated to 'time is not for rest'—a common saying among Ancient scholars according to the texts she'd studied.

"You speak Ancient?" she asked, unable to hide her surprise.

"Just a few phrases I've picked up," Lorne said with a modest shrug. "Comes with the territory when you've been here a while."

Carson looked between them with undisguised interest before clearing his throat. "Well, Major, you're free to go, unless there's anything else Dr. Mitchell needs to address?"

"I think she's been very thorough," Lorne replied, standing and collecting his tactical vest. At the doorway, he paused. "Dr. Mitchell, my team is scheduled for a routine survey mission to M4X-382 tomorrow. Dr. Weir mentioned you might join us to examine some Ancient text our preliminary teams discovered."

Cheppy's pulse quickened. "That's the first I'm hearing of it."

"Consider it official now," Lorne said. "0800 in the gate room. Nothing dangerous—just ruins and some inscriptions the linguists think might be significant."

After he left, Carson turned to her with raised eyebrows. "First off-world assignment? That's quite a vote of confidence."

"Apparently," Cheppy replied, still processing the unexpected development. "Though I suspect Dr. Weir wants to see if my translations hold up in the field."

"Or perhaps Major Lorne specifically requested you," Carson suggested with poorly concealed amusement.

"Don't start," Cheppy warned, though she couldn't entirely suppress a smile. "He's just being professional."

"Of course," Carson agreed, not sounding convinced at all. "And his insistence on having you treat his injury despite five other qualified medical staff being available was purely practical."

Cheppy busied herself with cleaning up her station to hide her flustered reaction. "He was evaluating my medical skills, that's all."

"Aye, if you say so," Carson replied, his Scottish brogue thickening with amusement. "Just as he's been 'evaluating' your work in linguistics by requesting weekly progress reports."

That revelation stopped her short. "He's been what?"

"Oops," Carson said, not looking remotely apologetic. "Did I let that slip?"

Before Cheppy could demand clarification, the infirmary doors slid open again, this time admitting a very agitated Dr. McKay.

"Beckett! Where have you been? I've had this headache for hours, and no one would page you!"

As Carson dealt with McKay's latest medical "emergency," Cheppy found herself replaying her interaction with Lorne. His request for her to join the off-world mission seemed professional enough, but Carson's comments suggested there might be more to it.

Was it possible that Major Evan Lorne—respected officer, experienced team leader, and one of Colonel Sheppard's most trusted men—had a personal interest in her progress? The thought was both thrilling and terrifying.

---

The next morning found Cheppy in the gate room at 0745, fifteen minutes early, triple-checking her gear with nervous precision. Dr. Corrigan had briefed her the previous evening about the Ancient inscriptions on M4X-382—preliminary photos showed what appeared to be a research outpost of some kind, possibly related to agricultural studies.

"First mission jitters?" a friendly voice asked.

Cheppy turned to find Teyla approaching, looking far more comfortable in tactical gear than Cheppy felt.

"Is it that obvious?" she admitted.

"Everyone is nervous their first time through the gate," Teyla assured her. "Even Dr. McKay, though he would deny it vehemently."

That image brought a smile to Cheppy's face. "I'm trying not to think about the whole 'molecular deconstruction and reconstitution' aspect."

"A wise approach," Teyla agreed. "Focus instead on the wonder of visiting another world. It never loses its magnificence."

Cheppy adjusted her backpack, which contained her tablet, reference materials, and essential medical supplies—including extra insulin and glucose monitors. Her diabetes management had become second nature over the years, but off-world travel added new variables she couldn't afford to overlook.

"Major Lorne mentioned this is just a routine survey?" she asked, seeking reassurance.

"Yes," Teyla confirmed. "The planet appears uninhabited, and previous teams encountered no dangers. It is an ideal first mission."

The rest of Lorne's team began to arrive—Sergeants Coughlin and Reed, both of whom nodded respectfully to Cheppy. She'd treated them in the infirmary on various occasions but hadn't interacted with them much beyond that.

Major Lorne was the last to arrive, striding into the gate room with purpose, fully equipped and radiating calm authority.

"Good morning, people," he greeted his team before his eyes settled on Cheppy. "Dr. Mitchell. Ready for your first trip through the gate?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," she replied honestly.

"Just remember to exhale before you step through and inhale when you reach the other side," he advised. "Helps with the disorientation."

It was such a simple, practical tip—exactly what she needed to hear. "Thank you."

Lorne addressed the team as the gate began to dial. "Standard survey protocol. We'll secure the immediate area around the ruins, then give Dr. Mitchell time to examine the inscriptions. Estimated return is 1600 hours."

The wormhole established with its characteristic kawoosh, the unstable vortex extending outward before settling into the shimmering blue event horizon. Despite having seen it multiple times from the control room, Cheppy still found herself staring in awe.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Lorne said quietly beside her.

"Breathtaking," she agreed. "And I'm about to walk through it."

"After you," he offered with a gesture toward the gate.

Cheppy looked at him in surprise. "Don't team leaders usually go first?"

"Usually," he acknowledged with that almost-smile. "But I thought you might appreciate a friendly face waiting on the other side for your first time."

The thoughtfulness of the gesture caught her off guard. Before she could overthink it, Cheppy exhaled as instructed and stepped into the event horizon.

The journey was both instantaneous and eternal—a freezing, breathless moment of nothingness followed by a sudden rush of sensation as she emerged on another world.

She stumbled slightly, remembering to inhale, and found herself standing on a stone platform beneath an alien sky where two moons hung faintly visible despite the daylight.

"Oh my god," she breathed, taking in the vista before her—rolling hills covered in silver-blue vegetation stretching toward distant mountains.

Lorne emerged behind her, his transition smooth from long practice. "Welcome to M4X-382," he said, scanning their surroundings with practiced vigilance even as he monitored her reaction. "First impressions?"

"It's..." Words failed her momentarily. "We're really on another planet."

"Gets easier with time," he assured her, though his expression suggested he understood her wonder. "Still takes my breath away sometimes, too."

As the rest of the team came through, Lorne shifted seamlessly into commander mode, directing Coughlin and Reed to secure the perimeter while he, Cheppy, and Teyla headed toward the ruins visible about half a kilometer from the gate.

The Ancient structure was partially reclaimed by nature, its elegant architecture draped in vines bearing delicate purple flowers. What must once have been a significant outpost was now reduced to a handful of connected chambers open to the elements.

"The inscriptions are through here," Lorne directed, leading them into what appeared to be the central room. One wall remained largely intact, covered in Ancient writing interspersed with technical diagrams.

Cheppy approached reverently, her fingers hovering just above the inscriptions without touching. "This is incredible," she murmured, already recognizing patterns in the text. "It's a research journal, I think. The syntax is more casual than formal Ancient documentation."

"Can you translate it?" Lorne asked, positioning himself where he could both watch her work and monitor the entrance.

"I'll need time," she replied, already setting up her tablet to record images of the entire wall. "But yes, I think so. The dialect is similar to what I've been studying."

For the next several hours, Cheppy immersed herself in the Ancient text, occasionally murmuring observations or asking Teyla to help her capture images from different angles. She barely noticed when Lorne stepped away to check on his men, or when a light rain began to fall, sending a cool mist through the broken ceiling.

"*Provectus agricola experimentum*," she read aloud, piecing together a section. "Advanced agricultural experimentation. They were developing drought-resistant crops here."

"Useful research," Teyla commented, having returned from a brief patrol.

"Very. And the principles could still be applicable..." Cheppy trailed off as her vision briefly blurred. She blinked hard, recognizing the familiar warning sign.

"Are you well?" Teyla asked, instantly alert.

"Just need to check my blood sugar," Cheppy assured her, reaching for her medical pouch. The reading confirmed her suspicion—her glucose levels had dropped while she was absorbed in her work. She quickly consumed a glucose tablet, mentally calculating when she'd need to adjust her insulin pump.

"Everything okay over here?" Lorne asked, returning from his perimeter check and immediately noticing the medical device in her hand.

"My blood sugar's a little low," Cheppy explained. "Nothing serious. I just lost track of time."

"That's on me," Lorne said, checking his watch with a frown. "I should have called a break for lunch an hour ago."

"I'm fine," she insisted. "The translation is going well. This outpost was focused on creating crops that could survive extreme conditions. Some of their techniques might still be viable."

Lorne studied her face, clearly looking for signs of distress despite her reassurance. "That's good information, but your health comes first. We're taking a lunch break now."

His tone left no room for argument, so Cheppy saved her work and followed him to where Coughlin had set up a small camp stove to heat their MREs.

As they ate, Cheppy continued to explain her findings, her enthusiasm for the Ancient research temporarily overshadowing her medical concerns.

"They were trying to create food sources that could survive in almost any environment," she explained between bites. "Part of their preparation for leaving the galaxy, I think. There are references to 'the great journey' and 'ensuring sustenance in unknown territories.'"

"That tracks with what we know of their exodus from Pegasus," Lorne nodded. "Any mention of where they stored their research results?"

Cheppy's eyes lit up. "Yes! There's a reference to a data repository in what they call the 'lower archives.' I think it might still be intact."

"Lower archives?" Lorne repeated. "We haven't found any lower levels."

"The text mentions access through the 'cycle of stars,'" Cheppy said. "I'm not entirely sure what that means, but it could be a hidden entrance activated by a specific sequence."

After lunch, they began searching for anything resembling a "cycle of stars." It was Teyla who discovered a faded mosaic on the floor partially hidden by debris—concentric circles of what appeared to be star patterns.

"This could be it," Cheppy said excitedly, carefully clearing away the accumulated dirt. "The text mentioned a sequence... let me check my notes."

She reviewed her translation, then pointed to specific stars in the mosaic. "If I'm reading this correctly, pressing these in sequence should activate something."

Lorne crouched beside her, studying the pattern. "You're sure about this? No mention of booby traps or security measures?"

"Nothing specific," Cheppy admitted. "But the text described this as a peaceful research facility, not a military installation."

After a moment's consideration, Lorne nodded. "Let's try it. Everyone stand back, just in case."

Cheppy pressed the indicated stars in sequence. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a grinding rumble, a section of the floor slid away, revealing a staircase descending into darkness.

"Well done," Lorne said, genuine appreciation in his voice as he switched on his tactical light. "I'll go first. Coughlin, Reed, secure the entrance. Teyla, watch our six. Dr. Mitchell, stay close to me."

The staircase led to a small chamber that hummed to life as they entered, Ancient technology responding to Lorne's ATA gene. Consoles illuminated around the room, and in the center stood a cylindrical device that emanated a soft blue glow.

"The data repository," Cheppy breathed, approaching one of the consoles. Ancient text scrolled across the screen, responding to her touch. "It's still functional! This contains all their agricultural research."

"Can you download it?" Lorne asked, maintaining a vigilant stance even as he permitted her to explore.

"I think so," she replied, connecting her tablet. "This could be immensely valuable, Major. The Athosians could benefit from these techniques, and maybe other allies too."

"Not to mention Earth," Lorne added. "Drought-resistant crops would be revolutionary in many regions."

As Cheppy worked to transfer the data, the console suddenly flashed a warning message. "That's odd," she murmured, reading the rapidly scrolling text. "*Potentia diminuta*... power is depleting. I think our presence is draining the facility's remaining energy reserves."

"How much time do we have?" Lorne asked, instantly alert.

"I can't tell exactly," she admitted, typing frantically. "But the system is implementing emergency protocols to preserve the data before shutdown."

The lights flickered ominously, and a grinding sound echoed from above.

"The entrance!" Teyla warned. "It's beginning to close."

"Time to go," Lorne ordered. "Dr. Mitchell, grab what you can and move out."

"Just a few more seconds," Cheppy pleaded, watching the data transfer progress. "We're nearly there."

The room darkened further, consoles beginning to shut down one by one. 

"Now, Doctor," Lorne insisted, moving to her side. "That's an order."

Recognizing the urgency in his voice, Cheppy disconnected her tablet, securing it in her pack as they hurried toward the stairs. The grinding noise intensified, dust and small debris raining down as the ancient mechanism struggled against ten thousand years of disuse.

They raced up the stairs, Lorne pushing Cheppy ahead of him as the opening continued to narrow. She stumbled on the top step, and without hesitation, Lorne grabbed her arm, practically lifting her through the rapidly closing aperture.

Coughlin and Reed reached down, pulling her to safety just as the floor panel slid shut with a final, decisive thud—leaving Major Lorne trapped below.

"Evan!" Cheppy cried out, the use of his first name slipping out in her panic.

There was no response.

"The panel," she urged, turning to the team. "Help me reopen it!"

They rushed to the star mosaic, Cheppy frantically pressing the sequence again. Nothing happened.

"The power's completely drained," she realized with horror. "The system can't respond."

"Stand back," Reed ordered, pulling out a small pack of C4. "We'll have to blast it open."

"Wait!" Cheppy stopped him. "The structural integrity is already compromised. An explosion might bring the whole chamber down on him." She turned back to the mosaic, mind racing. "There has to be a manual override. The Ancients always built redundancies."

Her fingers traced the edge of the mosaic, searching for anything that might help. Near the outer ring, she felt a slight indentation.

"Here!" she called. "Help me lift this section."

Coughlin and Reed joined her, their combined strength managing to pry up the edge of the heavy stone panel. Beneath it lay a crystalline mechanism—clearly Ancient design.

"It's a manual release," Cheppy realized. "But it's damaged... the control crystal is cracked."

"Can you fix it?" Teyla asked, maintaining calm despite the urgency.

Cheppy examined the mechanism, her mind recalling similar designs she'd studied in the Ancient database. "Maybe. I need to bypass the damaged section."

With trembling fingers, she rearranged the remaining intact crystals, murmuring Ancient phrases she'd learned from her studies. "*Aperio via... aperio via*... open the way."

For a terrible moment, nothing happened. Then, with a reluctant groan, the floor panel slid partially open—just enough for a person to squeeze through.

"Major Lorne!" Teyla called down into the darkness.

"Still here," came his strained reply. "Floor caught my leg when it closed. Think it's broken."

Relief flooded through Cheppy, followed immediately by renewed concern. "We need to get him out carefully."

Reed descended first, followed by Cheppy with her medical kit. They found Lorne pinned by a section of the floor mechanism, his right leg trapped at an unnatural angle.

"Fancy meeting you here, Doctor," Lorne managed through gritted teeth, his attempt at humor belied by the pain evident in his eyes.

"I told Carson I'd check your stitches in two days," Cheppy replied, matching his tone while quickly assessing his condition. "This seems a bit excessive as a reminder."

Working together, Reed and Cheppy managed to free Lorne's leg, Cheppy stabilizing it as best she could with her limited supplies.

"Compound fracture," she diagnosed grimly. "We need to get him back to Atlantis immediately."

The journey to the surface was agonizing for Lorne, though he refused to cry out as they carefully maneuvered him up the stairs and through the ruins. By the time they reached the gate, his face was gray with pain, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air.

As Reed dialed Atlantis and sent through their emergency code, Cheppy knelt beside Lorne, checking his vitals with professional efficiency that belied her internal turmoil.

"Some first mission," Lorne murmured, managing a weak smile. "Sorry about that."

"Don't apologize," Cheppy said firmly. "You saved my life. If you hadn't pushed me through that opening..."

"Just doing my job," he replied, though something in his eyes suggested it might have been more than duty.

"Well, I'm doing mine now," she said, administering a dose of pain medication from her kit. "And when we get back, Carson's going to fix that leg, and then you and I are going to have a serious discussion about heroics."

The ghost of his almost-smile appeared despite his pain. "Looking forward to it."

As they prepared to transport him through the gate, Lorne caught Cheppy's wrist with surprising strength. "The data," he said urgently. "Did you get it?"

She patted her pack where her tablet was secured. "Got it all. Your heroics weren't in vain, Major."

Something like satisfaction crossed his features before the pain medication began to take effect. "Worth it, then."

Back in Atlantis, Carson took over Lorne's care immediately, rushing him into surgery to repair his shattered tibia. Cheppy gave her report to Dr. Weir and Colonel Sheppard, explaining both the valuable data they'd recovered and the accident that had injured Lorne.

"You did well, Doctor," Sheppard told her after she'd finished. "Quick thinking with that manual override. Not everyone would have recognized it or known how to use it."

"Those Ancient texts Carson gave me," Cheppy explained. "They included maintenance protocols for similar mechanisms. I recognized the configuration."

"Lucky for Major Lorne that you did," Weir observed. "And lucky for us that you managed to secure the agricultural data. Dr. Parrish is already excited about analyzing it."

After debriefing, Cheppy headed straight to the infirmary, determined to check on Lorne's condition. She found Carson emerging from surgery, looking tired but satisfied.

"How is he?" she asked immediately.

"He'll recover fully," Carson assured her. "The fracture was clean enough despite being compound. We've set it properly and used the Ancient bone-knitting device to accelerate the initial healing."

Relief washed through her. "When can I see him?"

Carson's expression softened knowingly. "He's in recovery now. Should be awake in an hour or so. You can sit with him if you like."

"I just want to make sure he's okay," Cheppy said quickly. "He was injured saving me, after all."

"Of course," Carson replied, not quite hiding his smile. "That's the only reason."

Ignoring his implication, Cheppy made her way to the recovery area. Lorne lay still and pale against the white sheets, his leg elevated and immobilized, an IV delivering fluids and medication. She pulled a chair close to his bedside, settling in to wait.

True to Carson's prediction, Lorne began to stir about an hour later, his eyelids fluttering before opening fully. He blinked several times, orienting himself, before his gaze settled on Cheppy.

"Hey," he said, his voice raspy from anesthesia.

"Hey yourself," she replied softly. "How's the leg?"

"Still attached, which is good news," he quipped, wincing as he shifted slightly.

"Carson says you'll make a full recovery," Cheppy told him. "Though you'll be off active duty for a while."

Lorne grimaced at this news. "Great. Desk work. My favorite."

"Better than being trapped in an Ancient vault forever," she pointed out.

His expression sobered. "About that... thank you. For figuring out the override. Reed told me what you did."

"I should be thanking you," Cheppy countered. "You pushed me to safety at your own expense."

"Like I said, just doing my job," Lorne demurred.

"Is it your job to specifically request me for missions too?" she asked, Carson's earlier revelation still on her mind. "Or to ask for weekly reports on my progress in linguistics?"

Lorne had the grace to look slightly abashed, though the effect was somewhat diminished by his medical condition. "Keeping track of expedition members' development is part of my responsibilities."

"All expedition members?" she pressed. "Or just interdimensional interlopers with an aptitude for Ancient?"

A hint of his almost-smile appeared. "I may have taken a particular interest in your case."

"Why?" The question was direct, her curiosity overwhelming her usual caution.

Lorne studied her for a long moment before answering. "Because you didn't give up. Thrown into another galaxy, cut off from everything familiar, and your response was to learn, adapt, and find ways to contribute." His eyes held hers steadily. "That kind of resilience is rare, Cheppy. And valuable."

The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. "I didn't have much choice," she said quietly. "It was either adapt or fall apart completely."

"Many would have chosen the latter," Lorne pointed out. "You didn't."

A comfortable silence fell between them, broken eventually by Lorne's curiosity about the data they'd recovered. Cheppy eagerly filled him in on her preliminary analysis, explaining the potential applications with growing animation.

Carson found them this way half an hour later—Cheppy perched on the edge of her chair, tablet in hand, explaining Ancient agricultural techniques while Lorne listened with genuine interest despite his condition.

"As much as I hate to interrupt this fascinating discussion on drought-resistant root vegetables," Carson interjected, "my patient needs rest, and you, Dr. Mitchell, are due for a post-mission check-up yourself."

Reluctantly, Cheppy gathered her things. "I'll come back later," she promised Lorne. "There's still so much in the data we haven't explored."

"I'll be here," Lorne replied dryly, gesturing to his immobilized leg. "Not going anywhere for a while."

As she turned to leave, Lorne called after her. "Cheppy?"

She paused, looking back questioningly.

"Next mission will be less eventful," he promised. "No getting trapped in Ancient ruins."

"Next mission?" she repeated, surprised.

"If you're willing," he clarified. "Once this heals, of course." He tapped his injured leg. "Your skills proved valuable today, despite the complications."

The implicit vote of confidence warmed her. "I'd like that."

As she followed Carson for her own examination, Cheppy found herself smiling despite the day's dangers. Her first off-world mission had been far from the routine survey promised, but it had proved something important—both to herself and to Lorne. She belonged on that team, her linguistic skills and quick thinking complementing their military expertise.

And perhaps more significantly, it had confirmed what she'd begun to suspect since their security interview: whatever was developing between her and Major Evan Lorne went beyond professional respect. The way he'd pushed her to safety without hesitation, the relief in his eyes when he'd awakened to find her at his bedside, the promise of future missions together—all suggested a connection neither of them had anticipated but both might be willing to explore.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Breaking the Ice

Cheppy balanced a tray of medical supplies and a data tablet as she approached Lorne's bed in the infirmary. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, with a few wayward red curls escaping around her face after a long day assisting Carson.

"Major," she greeted him with a smile that came more naturally now. "How's the leg today?"

Lorne looked up from the mission report he was reviewing, his face brightening. "Dr. Mitchell. Right on schedule."

"I've told you before, it's just Cheppy," she said, setting down the tray. "Only my dissertation committee called me Dr. Mitchell, and they didn't even like me."

"Hard to believe," Lorne said with a hint of teasing in his voice.

Over the past week, their interactions had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. What began as basic post-op check-ins had evolved into longer conversations that stretched well beyond medical necessities. Carson had even started giving her knowing looks whenever she volunteered for Lorne's daily assessments.

"Any pain today?" she asked, checking the readout on his vitals monitor.

"Nothing I can't handle," he said, though she noticed the slight tightening around his eyes that suggested otherwise.

"You military types and your stoicism," she murmured, adjusting his pain medication. "You know, where I come from, we have this radical concept called 'admitting when something hurts.'"

"Sounds terrifying," Lorne replied with a straight face. "Next you'll suggest we talk about our feelings."

Cheppy laughed, the sound surprising her. Genuine laughter had been rare since she'd arrived in Atlantis.

As she checked his cast, Lorne gestured to the tablet she'd brought. "Is that the data from M4X-382?"

"It is," she confirmed. "I've been working on the agricultural research translations. Dr. Parrish is practically giddy over some of the findings."

"Show me?" Lorne asked, patting the edge of the bed.

Hesitating only briefly, Cheppy perched on the edge of his bed and angled the tablet so they could both see it. Their shoulders brushed, and she tried to ignore the warmth that spread through her at the contact.

"This section details advanced irrigation techniques," she explained, pointing to a section of Ancient text. "And here, they describe a gene-modification process that allowed crops to thrive in high-salinity environments."

"That could be valuable for settlements on coastal worlds," Lorne observed.

Cheppy nodded, impressed by his quick strategic thinking. "Exactly. It could revolutionize food security for several of our allies."

They spent the next hour reviewing her translations, with Lorne offering surprisingly insightful comments about practical applications. She found herself repeatedly revising her assessment of him—not just a soldier, but a thoughtful strategist with a keen mind for the bigger picture.

"You should present these findings at tomorrow's science briefing," Lorne suggested as they finished reviewing the data.

Cheppy snorted. "I'm sure McKay would love that."

"McKay doesn't run the science division," Lorne reminded her. "And this is important work."

"I'm not even officially part of the expedition," she said, the familiar insecurity creeping back. "I'm just... here."

"You've earned your place," Lorne said firmly. "More than some who came through official channels."

The conviction in his voice made her look up, meeting his gaze. For a moment, neither spoke.

"Dr. Mitchell," Carson's voice broke the moment as he approached the bed. "How is our patient today?"

"Stubborn," she replied, standing up quickly and smoothing her uniform. "But healing according to schedule."

"Good, good," Carson said, glancing between them with barely concealed amusement. "You know, lass, you've been on duty for ten hours straight. Perhaps you should get some rest."

"I'm fine," she insisted.

"She's been reviewing the agricultural data with me," Lorne added. "Important stuff, Doc."

"I'm sure," Carson said dryly. "Well, don't let me interrupt your... agricultural discussions."

After Carson moved on to other patients, Lorne chuckled. "I think we're not fooling anyone."

"About what?" Cheppy asked, genuinely confused.

"That these visits are entirely professional," he said with a slight smile.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. "I—they are professional. I'm just... being thorough."

"Very thorough," he agreed, eyes twinkling. "Especially considering Beckett is my actual doctor."

Before she could formulate a response, Dr. Elizabeth Weir entered the infirmary, heading directly toward them.

"Major Lorne, Dr. Mitchell," she greeted them. "How are you feeling, Major?"

"Better every day, ma'am," Lorne replied. "Should be back on my feet soon."

"Good to hear," Weir said. "Actually, I came to speak with both of you. The data you recovered from M4X-382 has generated quite a bit of interest."

Cheppy straightened. "It contains detailed agricultural research that could be immensely valuable to our allies."

"So I've heard from Dr. Parrish," Weir nodded. "He speaks very highly of your translations, Dr. Mitchell. In fact, he's requested that you present the findings at tomorrow's science briefing."

"Me?" Cheppy blinked in surprise.

"It's your work," Weir said simply. "And from what I understand, your translations have revealed nuances that our regular linguistics team missed."

"That's... I'd be honored," Cheppy managed.

"Excellent. 0900 hours in the main conference room." Weir smiled and turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Dr. McKay will be there. Try not to take anything he says personally."

After Weir left, Cheppy sank back onto the edge of Lorne's bed, shell-shocked.

"Did that just happen?" she asked faintly.

"Told you," Lorne said, not bothering to hide his satisfaction. "Your work matters, Cheppy. It's time everyone recognized that."

The use of her nickname didn't escape her notice. It was the first time he'd used it.

The science briefing went better than Cheppy had dared to hope. Dr. Parrish's enthusiasm for the agricultural findings provided a buffer against McKay's initial skepticism, and her detailed explanation of the translation process impressed the other scientists. Even Colonel Sheppard, who had slipped in late and lounged at the back of the room, had nodded approvingly at several points.

But now came the part she'd been dreading. As the meeting wound down, McKay finally spoke up.

"While these farming techniques are... quaint," he began dismissively, "I'm not convinced they're worth the resources to implement. Ancient agricultural science is hardly cutting-edge technology."

Cheppy felt her confidence waver. She opened her mouth to defend her work, but someone else spoke first.

"With respect, Dr. McKay, that's shortsighted."

All heads turned to the doorway, where Major Lorne stood leaning on crutches. He hadn't mentioned he would attend, and Cheppy felt a surge of surprise and gratitude.

"Major," Weir acknowledged. "We didn't expect you to join us."

"Wouldn't miss it," Lorne said, maneuvering carefully to an empty chair. "And I think Dr. McKay is missing the bigger picture."

McKay crossed his arms. "Oh? And what picture is that, Major?"

"Strategic advantage," Lorne said calmly. "These techniques could help our allies become self-sufficient. Less dependence on us means more stable alliances and frees our resources for other priorities."

"Not to mention," Cheppy added, finding her voice, "the gene modification techniques described here aren't just about crops. The principles could potentially be applied to other areas of research—including medical applications for treating conditions exacerbated by the ATA gene."

She saw Carson's eyebrows raise with interest, and even McKay looked momentarily caught off guard.

"That's... actually not a terrible point," McKay admitted grudgingly. "Though I'd need to see more evidence of applicability."

"I'd be happy to prepare a more detailed analysis," Cheppy offered, bolstered by Lorne's support.

As the meeting adjourned, scientists clustered around her with questions. Dr. Zelenka asked about translation methodologies. Dr. Kusanagi inquired about possible applications for her engineering projects. For the first time, Cheppy felt like a valued colleague rather than an unwanted guest.

When the crowd finally dispersed, she found Lorne waiting patiently by the door.

"That was quite an entrance," she said, unable to keep the smile from her face.

"Thought you might appreciate some backup," he replied. "Though you handled McKay better than most veterans of the expedition."

"Thank you," she said softly. "For coming. For speaking up."

"Just stating facts," he shrugged, but his eyes held warmth that suggested it was more than that.

As they left the conference room, Sergeant Reed and Lieutenant Coughlin—members of Lorne's team—approached from the opposite direction.

"Major," Reed greeted him, then nodded to Cheppy. "Dr. Mitchell. Heard your presentation was impressive."

"Word travels fast," Cheppy remarked.

"Small city," Coughlin said with a grin. "We're heading to the mess for lunch. Care to join us?"

Cheppy hesitated, expecting the invitation to be meant only for Lorne.

"Both of you," Reed clarified, seeing her hesitation.

She glanced at Lorne, who nodded encouragingly. "I could use a change of scenery from the infirmary walls."

The mess hall was busy with the lunch crowd, but Reed secured a table while Coughlin helped Lorne navigate with his crutches. Cheppy found herself seated between Lorne and Reed, included in their conversation as naturally as if she'd always been part of their group.

The conversation flowed easily as they ate. Lorne's team shared stories from previous missions, treating her as one of them rather than an outsider. They even began speculating about future missions once Lorne was cleared for duty, automatically including her in their plans.

"We should get you some basic weapons training," Coughlin suggested. "Nothing fancy, just enough to handle yourself if things go sideways."

"I'd appreciate that," Cheppy said, surprised by the offer but grateful for it.

"I'll supervise once I'm off these crutches," Lorne said. "In the meantime, Reed's a good teacher."

"Just don't let him talk you into knife throwing," Coughlin warned with a grin. "Man's obsessed."

"It's a practical skill!" Reed protested.

Their easy camaraderie made something loosen in Cheppy's chest. This was the first time since arriving in Atlantis that she'd felt genuinely included, not just tolerated.

After lunch, Reed and Coughlin headed off for afternoon patrol duty, leaving Cheppy and Lorne to make their way back toward the infirmary.

"Your team is nice," she said as they walked slowly to accommodate his crutches.

"Best in Atlantis," Lorne agreed. "Don't tell Sheppard I said that."

She laughed. "Your secret's safe with me."

They paused at a junction in the corridor. To the left was the infirmary; to the right, a balcony overlooking the east pier.

"Feel like some fresh air before heading back to Carson's domain?" Lorne suggested.

The idea was tempting. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

"These crutches and I have come to an understanding," he assured her. "Besides, there's something I wanted to show you."

Curiosity piqued, she followed him out onto the balcony. The afternoon sun danced across the water, and the gentle ocean breeze carried the tang of salt. Lorne made his way to the railing and carefully positioned himself before reaching into his pocket.

"I found this in the database when I was reviewing mission reports," he said, handing her a tablet. "Thought you might find it interesting."

Cheppy took the device and studied the screen. It displayed Ancient text—but not the technical language she'd grown accustomed to. This was flowing, lyrical.

"Is this... poetry?" she asked in wonder.

Lorne nodded. "According to the file, it was recovered from an outpost on M7G-677—the planet with all the kids. It's a collection of Ancient poetry and artwork."

She scrolled through the text, transfixed. "This is beautiful. Listen to this: 'The stars speak in patterns beyond mortal understanding, yet still we seek their counsel in the quiet of night.'"

"Thought you might appreciate it," Lorne said, watching her reaction with a soft expression. "I'm not much for poetry myself, but I know artwork when I see it. Some of the illustrations further on are remarkable."

Cheppy looked up at him in surprise. "You're interested in art?"

A faint color touched his cheeks. "I paint, actually. When I can find the time and supplies."

"You paint," she repeated, trying to reconcile this new information with the military officer she'd come to know. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Dr. Mitchell," he said with a hint of playfulness.

"Cheppy," she corrected automatically.

"Cheppy," he agreed. "And I'm Evan. At least when we're not on duty."

The offering of his first name felt significant—a small but meaningful shift in their relationship.

"Evan," she tested the name, finding she liked the way it felt. "Thank you for this," she gestured to the tablet. "For all of it, really. Standing up for me with McKay, including me with your team..."

"You earned it," he said simply. "I just made sure others saw what I already knew."

The sincerity in his voice made her breath catch. They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the waves. There was something peaceful about sharing this moment with him, something that made Atlantis feel, for the first time, like it could be home.

The peaceful moment was interrupted by Carson's voice over their comms.

"Major Lorne, I don't suppose you've seen my wayward assistant? She's due back for her shift, and a certain patient is overdue for his physical therapy."

Lorne grinned as Cheppy rolled her eyes. "She's with me, Doc. We're on our way back."

"I'm sure you are," came Carson's knowing reply. "Don't dawdle."

As they made their way back to the infirmary, Cheppy found herself walking closer to Lorne than strictly necessary, occasionally steadying him when his crutches caught on the Ancient flooring. Each brief contact sent a pleasant warmth through her.

"You know," Lorne said conversationally, "Carson's been giving me these looks whenever you come by for my check-ups."

"What kind of looks?" she asked, though she was pretty sure she knew.

"The kind that says he thinks there's more going on than medical consultations."

Cheppy felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Carson's just... he likes to mother hen everyone."

"True," Lorne conceded. "But in this case, I'm not sure he's entirely wrong."

Before she could respond to that loaded statement, they reached the infirmary doors, which slid open to reveal Carson waiting with arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

"Ah, there you are," he said dryly. "Had a nice stroll, did we?"

"Just getting some fresh air, Doc," Lorne said innocently.

"I'm sure," Carson replied, not fooled for a moment. "Well, since you've monopolized my assistant all afternoon, you can have her for your therapy session as well."

"Seems fair," Lorne agreed, a little too quickly.

As Carson walked away, Cheppy could have sworn she heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "young love" under his breath.

"I heard that," she called after him.

Carson turned, not a hint of remorse on his face. "I have no idea what you're talking about, lass. But if the shoe fits..." He winked and continued on his way.

Lorne chuckled beside her. "Subtlety isn't really his strong suit, is it?"

"Not even slightly," she agreed, but found herself smiling nonetheless.

As she helped Lorne to the physical therapy area, she reflected on how much had changed in just a few short weeks. From unwanted outsider to valued team member. From isolation to belonging. From suspicion to... whatever this warm, growing thing between her and Evan was becoming.

For the first time since arriving in Atlantis, Cheppy found herself thinking not about what she had lost, but what she might gain in this strange new reality.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Hectic Infirmary

Cheppy's eyes burned from exhaustion as she finished stitching up a gash on Lieutenant Miller's forearm. Around her, the infirmary buzzed with activity—three teams had returned within hours of each other, all with various injuries ranging from minor scrapes to more serious wounds.

"You're getting pretty good at this," Miller commented, examining her neat handiwork. "Almost as good as Doc Beckett."

"Almost being the operative word," Carson called from across the room where he was treating a marine with a dislocated shoulder. Despite the chaos, his voice carried its usual warmth. "But she's a quick study, I'll give her that."

Cheppy offered Miller a tired smile. "All done. Try to keep it dry for the next twenty-four hours."

As Miller left, Dr. Weir entered the infirmary, scanning the busy room until her eyes found Cheppy. The expedition leader made her way through the organized chaos, sidestepping medics and patients.

"Dr. Mitchell," Weir greeted her, still using the formal title despite Cheppy's lack of medical credentials. It was a small courtesy that meant more than Weir probably realized. "I was hoping to catch you. How are things going here?"

"Chaotic but under control," Cheppy replied, disposing of her gloves and washing her hands. "Carson's team is handling the worst of it."

"Actually, I came to talk to you about the Ancient text Lieutenant Peterson's team recovered from M3X-982. They found what appears to be technical documentation inside an abandoned facility. Our regular linguistic team is struggling with some of the more specialized terminology."

Cheppy's heart quickened with interest, even as fatigue pulled at her limbs. "I'd love to take a look, but..." She gestured around the busy infirmary.

"I understand your commitments here," Weir said, her tone diplomatic but firm. "But your skills might be more valuable to us in translation right now. The facility contained equipment that might help us better understand some of Atlantis's systems."

Before Cheppy could respond, Carson approached, having overheard the conversation.

"Elizabeth, I can't spare her right now," he said, though not unkindly. "We've got teams coming in left and right, and she's become essential to our operation."

Weir nodded, understanding the dilemma. "Perhaps once things calm down here—"

"Dr. Weir?" A new voice joined the conversation. Major Lorne stood in the infirmary doorway, his weight balanced on a cane rather than crutches—a recent upgrade that Cheppy knew he was particularly proud of. "If I might make a suggestion?"

Weir motioned him over. Despite his injured leg, Lorne moved with surprising grace, navigating the crowded infirmary with practiced ease.

"The technical documentation Lieutenant Peterson's team found could potentially help us understand the power fluctuations we've been experiencing in the east pier," Lorne said, standing straighter than necessary, a habit Cheppy had noticed whenever he addressed Dr. Weir directly. "If Dr. Mitchell could be temporarily reassigned to linguistics, my team could provide support for Dr. Beckett in the meantime."

Cheppy couldn't help but notice how Lorne had begun advocating for her work in linguistics, despite his own military background. The gesture warmed her more than it should have.

Carson looked skeptical. "With all due respect, Major, your team isn't trained in medical procedures."

"Not for the technical work," Lorne agreed. "But for managing patients, distributing supplies, and general support? We can handle that. It would free up your trained staff for the more critical tasks."

Weir considered this, looking between Carson and Lorne before settling her gaze on Cheppy. "Dr. Mitchell, what do you think? You're the one being pulled in multiple directions."

The question caught Cheppy off guard. It had been months since anyone in a position of authority had asked for her opinion about anything. The simple acknowledgment of her agency sent a surge of confidence through her.

"I think..." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I think Major Lorne's suggestion has merit. If his team can assist Dr. Beckett with the non-medical tasks, I could focus on the translations. The sooner we understand the power fluctuations, the safer everyone will be."

Carson's expression softened. "You've become quite the asset around here, lass. I suppose I can't keep you all to myself forever." He turned to Weir. "Alright, but I want her back when things calm down. And Major," he added, turning to Lorne, "your people follow my staff's instructions to the letter, understood?"

"Absolutely, Doc," Lorne agreed, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Then it's settled," Weir said. "Dr. Mitchell, you'll temporarily transfer to linguistics to work on the technical documentation. Major Lorne's team will support the infirmary until we get through this busy period."

As Weir left to arrange the details, Carson pulled Cheppy aside.

"Are you sure about this, lass? I know how much your work here means to you."

Cheppy glanced over at Lorne, who was already speaking with one of the nurses about how his team could help. "I'm sure. Besides, it's not like I'm leaving the infirmary forever."

Carson followed her gaze and chuckled. "Aye, and I'm sure having a certain Major championing your cause has nothing to do with it."

"Carson!" Cheppy felt heat rise to her cheeks.

"Don't 'Carson' me," he teased. "I've known you both long enough to see what's happening. Just be careful, aye? Atlantis isn't exactly conducive to simple relationships."

Before she could respond, a commotion at the infirmary entrance drew their attention. A team was rushing in, supporting Colonel Sheppard's team, all of whom appeared to be suffering from some kind of reaction—skin flushed an alarming shade of red, breathing labored.

"What happened?" Carson demanded, rushing to meet them.

"Unknown," Teyla managed between ragged breaths. "Plants... spores perhaps..."

Carson immediately began issuing orders, his medical team springing into action. "Get them on oxygen, start cooling measures, and prep the isolation room!"

Cheppy moved to help, but Carson waved her off. "Get your things and head to linguistics. We'll handle this."

"But—"

"Now, Dr. Mitchell," Carson said, his tone brooking no argument. "If this is contagious, I need as few people exposed as possible."

Reluctantly, Cheppy gathered her tablet and headed for the door. As she passed Lorne, he placed a hand briefly on her arm.

"They're in good hands," he assured her.

"I know," she said, though the guilt of leaving during a crisis gnawed at her. "It's just—"

"I'll keep you updated," Lorne promised. "Go. Do what you do best."

With a grateful nod, Cheppy headed toward the linguistics department, her mind already shifting gears from medical procedures to Ancient syntax. Behind her, she could hear Lorne organizing his team, his calm voice cutting through the chaos of the infirmary.

Three hours later, Cheppy was deep into the technical documentation when her radio crackled to life.

"Dr. Mitchell, this is Major Lorne."

She tapped her earpiece. "Go ahead, Major."

"Thought you'd want to know—Colonel Sheppard's team is stabilized. Dr. Beckett identified the cause as an allergic reaction to some flowering plant on M2X-339."

Relief flooded through her. "That's great news. How are they doing?"

"Better, though Rodney's doing his best to convince everyone he's dying," Lorne replied, his tone lighter now. "Carson says the reaction should wear off completely within twenty-four hours."

"Thank you for letting me know," she said, genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness.

"Find anything useful in those Ancient texts?"

Cheppy's excitement bubbled up. "Actually, yes. This isn't just technical documentation about power systems—it looks like instructions for a diagnostic protocol. If I'm translating this correctly, it could help identify the source of the power fluctuations in the east pier."

"That's... really impressive, actually," Lorne said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"I'm going to need more time with it, but I think—" She stopped abruptly as her eyes caught a familiar phrase in the Ancient text. "Wait a minute..."

"What is it?"

"I've seen this sequence before, in the medical database," she said, her mind racing. "It's describing symptoms similar to what Sheppard's team is experiencing." She scrolled through the text rapidly. "Major, I need to speak with Dr. Beckett right away. This documentation mentions a plant that causes similar reactions to what they're experiencing, and it includes treatment protocols."

"On it," Lorne replied without hesitation. "I'll patch you through to him directly."

Within moments, Carson's voice came over the radio. "Cheppy? Major Lorne says you've found something?"

"I think so," she said, scanning the Ancient text. "The documentation describes a flowering plant called 'caelestis rubor' that causes redness, fever, and respiratory distress—exactly what Sheppard's team is experiencing. But here's the important part: standard treatments only address the symptoms. There's a specific enzyme that can neutralize the allergenic compound completely."

"Can you send me the relevant sections?"

"Already doing it," Cheppy said, transferring the data to Carson's tablet. "The enzyme can be synthesized from components we have in the lab."

There was a pause, and she could imagine Carson reviewing the information she'd sent. "This is... extraordinary, Cheppy. If you're right, this could cut their recovery time from days to hours."

"I'm confident in the translation," she assured him.

"I'll get my team started on synthesizing this enzyme immediately. Well done, lass."

The praise warmed her, but she was already turning her attention back to the power systems documentation. If she could help in both areas, perhaps she could finally silence the doubts about her place in Atlantis.

By evening, Cheppy had completed a preliminary translation of the power systems diagnostic protocol and sent it to both Dr. Weir and Rodney McKay. The latter, despite still recovering in the infirmary, had immediately responded with a series of questions and modifications that, while phrased in his typically brusque manner, showed he was taking her work seriously.

She was making her way back to the infirmary to check on Sheppard's team when she encountered Lorne in the corridor.

"Heading to see the patients?" he asked, falling into step beside her, his cane tapping lightly against the floor.

She nodded. "I want to see how they're responding to the enzyme treatment."

"Remarkably well, from what I heard. Dr. Beckett is calling it a 'bloody miracle.'" His Scottish accent was terrible, and Cheppy couldn't help but laugh.

"Never do that again," she said, shaking her head.

"No promises," Lorne replied with a grin. Then, more seriously: "You know, you made quite an impression today. First the power systems diagnosis, then the medical treatment—it's like you were in two places at once."

"Just lucky timing," she demurred.

"Not luck," Lorne countered. "Skill. And a rather unique perspective that bridges multiple disciplines." He paused as they reached the infirmary doors. "The kind of perspective Atlantis needs."

The compliment caught her off guard, and she found herself staring at him, searching for any sign of insincerity. Instead, she found only earnest admiration in his eyes, and something else—something warmer that made her heart skip.

The moment was interrupted as the infirmary doors slid open, revealing a much calmer scene than earlier. Sheppard's team was awake and alert, their skin still flushed but significantly less so.

"Ah, there she is," Carson announced as they entered. "The woman of the hour."

Ronon, sitting up in his bed, looked at her with newfound respect. "Beckett says you found the cure."

"Not really a cure," Cheppy corrected. "Just a treatment that was documented by the Ancients."

"Which you translated and identified in record time," Carson added. "Don't sell yourself short, lass."

From his bed, McKay sniffed. "Yes, well, your translation of the power systems protocol wasn't half bad either. Though there are several modifications we'll need to make to adapt it to our current systems."

Coming from McKay, this was high praise indeed.

Colonel Sheppard, looking the most recovered of the group, studied her thoughtfully. "You know, Mitchell, when you first arrived, I wasn't sure what to make of you. But I'm starting to think that Ancient machine knew exactly what it was doing when it brought you here."

The words hit Cheppy like a physical force. For months, she had struggled with feeling like an intruder, an unwanted accident. To hear Sheppard suggest that perhaps her arrival had purpose...

"Thank you, Colonel," she managed, her voice steadier than she felt.

Dr. Weir chose that moment to enter the infirmary, her expression one of pleased surprise as she took in the improved condition of Sheppard's team.

"Dr. Beckett tells me we have you to thank for the rapid recovery of our people," she said to Cheppy.

"Just doing my job," Cheppy replied. "Both of them, apparently."

Weir smiled. "That's actually why I'm here. I've been reviewing your contributions since you joined us, Dr. Mitchell. Your work in the infirmary, your rapid progress with Ancient translation, and now this dual breakthrough..." She glanced at Carson, who nodded encouragingly. "I believe it's time we officially recognized your status."

"My status?" Cheppy repeated, uncertain.

"As a full member of the Atlantis expedition," Weir clarified. "Not a visitor, not an accident, but a valued contributor with all the rights and responsibilities that entails."

The room fell silent as the significance of Weir's words sank in. After months of being the outsider, the interloper, Cheppy was being offered something she had hardly dared to hope for: belonging.

She became aware of Lorne standing beside her, his presence steady and supportive. When she glanced at him, the pride in his eyes nearly undid her.

"I don't know what to say," she admitted.

"Say yes," Sheppard suggested with a wry smile.

Cheppy looked around at the faces watching her—Carson's fatherly pride, Weir's diplomatic warmth, Sheppard's newfound respect, even McKay's grudging acknowledgment. And Lorne, whose quiet faith in her had never wavered.

"Yes," she said finally, her voice stronger than she expected. "I would be honored to officially join the expedition."

Weir smiled. "Excellent. We'll formalize your status in the morning. For now, I believe you've earned some rest."

As the gathering dispersed, Cheppy found herself walking alongside Lorne once more, this time heading toward the residential section.

"So," he said casually, "how does it feel to be an official member of the Atlantis expedition?"

She considered the question. "Honestly? Surreal. For so long, I've been focused on just surviving here, on proving I wasn't completely useless. I never really let myself think beyond that."

"And now?"

Cheppy stopped walking, turning to face him fully. "Now I'm starting to think about what it means to actually live here. To build something here." The words felt significant, weighted with meaning that extended beyond her professional role.

Lorne held her gaze, his expression softening. "For what it's worth, I think you've already built quite a bit. Bridges between departments, new protocols, relationships..."

The last word hung between them, charged with unspoken possibility.

"I should thank you," she said quietly. "For advocating for me today, for believing in my abilities. Not everyone would have done that."

"I only pointed out what was already obvious to anyone paying attention," Lorne replied. Then, with a hint of his usual humor: "Besides, it's purely selfish. The better you get at translating Ancient technology, the less likely I am to end up with broken limbs on missions."

She laughed, grateful for the moment of levity. "In that case, I'll be sure to study extra hard."

They had reached the junction where their paths would diverge—her quarters in one direction, his in another.

"Well," Lorne said, suddenly looking almost shy, "I should let you get that rest Dr. Weir prescribed."

"Probably," she agreed, though she found herself reluctant to end their conversation.

After a brief hesitation, Lorne reached out and squeezed her hand lightly. "Congratulations, Cheppy. Atlantis is lucky to have you. We all are."

The simple touch sent warmth spreading through her chest. "Goodnight, Evan."

"Goodnight," he replied softly, before turning toward his quarters.

As Cheppy walked to her own room, exhaustion finally catching up with her, she realized something fundamental had shifted today. In the chaos of the hectic infirmary, in the midst of crises and breakthroughs, she had found more than professional recognition.

She had found her place. And perhaps, something even more precious was beginning to take shape alongside it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: The Ancient Journal

Cheppy leaned against the railing of the east pier balcony, watching as Atlantis's second sun dipped toward the horizon. The ocean breeze carried a hint of salt, tugging at loose strands of her red curls. Two weeks had passed since Dr. Weir had officially recognized her as a member of the expedition, and the change in how others treated her remained startling.

Scientists who had previously ignored her now sought her input on translations. Medical staff greeted her with genuine smiles. Even McKay had begrudgingly acknowledged her "marginally useful skills" during yesterday's briefing—high praise from the perpetually unimpressed physicist.

The sound of measured footsteps and the light tap of a cane against the floor broke her reverie. She didn't need to turn to know who approached.

"Thought I might find you here," Lorne said, coming to stand beside her at the railing. He'd traded his crutches for a cane weeks ago, and his physical therapy was progressing well enough that Carson expected him to return to limited duty within days.

"Am I that predictable?" she asked, smiling as she turned to face him.

"Let's call it dependably contemplative," he replied with a grin. "You tend to seek out quiet places after busy days."

She raised an eyebrow. "You've been monitoring my habits, Major?"

"Just observant," he said, though the slight flush creeping up his neck told her otherwise. "It's my job to know the patterns of everyone on Atlantis."

"Everyone, huh?" she teased, enjoying the momentary upper hand with him.

Lorne cleared his throat and shifted his weight, suddenly seeming almost nervous—an unusual state for the typically composed officer. "Actually, I was hoping to catch you alone. I have something for you."

Cheppy's curiosity piqued as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small object wrapped in cloth. "What's this?"

"Something I've been hanging onto for a while," he admitted, placing the bundle in her hands. "I was waiting for the right time."

The cloth was military-issue, clean but well-worn. Cheppy unwrapped it carefully to reveal a small, leather-bound book with unmistakable Ancient writing embossed on its cover. Her breath caught.

"Evan," she whispered, using his first name without thinking. "Is this what I think it is?"

He nodded, looking pleased by her reaction. "An Ancient journal. My team found it on M4X-791 about six months ago, before you arrived. It was cataloged as 'non-critical' since it appeared to be personal writing rather than technical information."

Cheppy ran her fingers over the embossed Ancient symbols, her mind already translating the title. "'Reflections of a Healer,'" she read aloud. "This is... this is incredible."

"I thought you might appreciate it," Lorne said, leaning against the railing. He was trying to appear casual, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed how much her response meant to him. "Officially, it's study material to help improve your Ancient."

"And unofficially?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

A hint of mischief appeared in his expression. "Unofficially, I may have borrowed it from the archives for an indefinite period."

Cheppy's eyes widened. "You didn't."

"I did," he confirmed. "But don't worry—it's been classified as low priority. No one's looking for it."

She held the journal closer, suddenly protective. "Isn't this against regulations? Removing artifacts without proper authorization?"

"Technically, I have authorization to use training materials as I see fit for members of my team," he said, his tone deliberately light.

"I'm not officially on your team," she pointed out.

"Details." He waved a dismissive hand. "You've been on enough missions with us that it counts."

Cheppy stared at the journal, feeling the weight of his trust. "What if someone finds out?"

Lorne stepped closer, his voice softening. "Then I'll take full responsibility. But you deserve access to this more than anyone. Your work with Ancient linguistics has already saved lives and helped us understand this city better." He paused, then added quietly, "I believe in what you can do with this, Cheppy."

The sincerity in his voice warmed her more than she cared to admit. She ran her thumb over the journal's spine, feeling the aged leather. "Thank you," she said simply, the words inadequate for the mix of emotions swirling within her.

"Just promise me one thing," he said, his expression growing more serious.

"What's that?"

"Be careful who knows about it. Not everyone would understand... this."

The ambiguity in his words—whether he meant the journal or the growing connection between them—hung in the air.

"I will," she promised.

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching as the sun finally disappeared below the horizon. The city's lights began to activate automatically, casting a warm glow across the balcony.

"I should go," Lorne said eventually, though he made no move to leave. "Early morning physical therapy with Ronon."

"Ouch," Cheppy winced sympathetically. "Carson's really throwing you to the wolves."

"He says Ronon's motivational techniques will speed my recovery," Lorne replied with mock distress. "I think he just enjoys hearing me whimper."

Cheppy laughed, tucking the journal safely into her jacket pocket. "I'll make sure to visit you in the infirmary afterward."

"My hero," he said, the humor in his eyes shifting to something warmer. "Goodnight, Cheppy."

"Goodnight, Evan."

She watched him leave, the measured tap of his cane fading into the ambient sounds of the city. Only when he had disappeared from view did she pull the journal out again, eager to explore its contents properly.

In her quarters, Cheppy sat cross-legged on her bed, the journal open before her. A small desk lamp provided just enough light to read by, casting the rest of the room in comfortable shadow. She'd been at it for hours, completely absorbed.

The journal belonged to an Ancient named Elera, a healer who had lived in Atlantis during the height of their civilization. Unlike the technical manuals and formal records Cheppy had previously studied, the journal contained personal reflections, observations about patients, and—most valuably—everyday language and expressions.

Cheppy's fingertips traced the elegant script as she worked through a particularly poetic passage about the ocean surrounding the city. The language was more nuanced than anything she'd encountered before, with idioms and metaphors that challenged her growing understanding of Ancient.

Her radio chirped suddenly, startling her from her reverie.

"Mitchell, this is Beckett."

She tapped her earpiece. "Go ahead, Carson."

"Sorry to bother you so late, lass, but I've got a wee emergency with one of the Ancient diagnostic machines. It's displaying a message I can't quite interpret, and it's needed for a patient."

"I'll be right there," she said, already slipping on her shoes.

When she reached the infirmary, Carson was bent over an Ancient medical scanner, his face etched with concern.

"What seems to be the problem?" she asked, setting her tablet down and pulling up the reference materials she'd compiled.

"The scanner was working fine earlier, but now it's flashing this message," Carson gestured to the Ancient text scrolling across the small screen. "Something about calibration, I think, but I can't be certain."

Cheppy studied the message, her mind automatically processing the Ancient terminology. Thanks to her hours with Elera's journal, the conversational style of the error message felt more familiar than it might have just a day ago.

"It's not a calibration issue," she said after a moment. "It's saying there's a sensor misalignment—specifically in the quantum resonance array." She pointed to a particular section of the device. "According to this, if the housing is rotated thirty degrees counterclockwise, it should realign automatically."

Carson looked impressed. "You got all that from those few symbols?"

"The syntax is actually quite similar to modern medical equipment interfaces," she explained, carefully turning the section as instructed. "It's telling the user what's wrong and how to fix it—just in Ancient."

The device hummed softly, and the error message disappeared, replaced by the standard operational display.

"Brilliant," Carson said, patting her shoulder. "Your Ancient's coming along remarkably well."

"I've been studying," she said vaguely.

Carson gave her a knowing look. "Aye, and I've noticed you haven't been by the infirmary as often in the evenings. Seems you've found better company elsewhere."

Heat rose to Cheppy's cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course not," he said with thinly veiled amusement. "Just as I don't know that Major Lorne has been suspiciously interested in Ancient medical terminology lately."

"He's recovering from a broken leg," she defended. "It makes sense he'd be curious about medical equipment."

"Right, and I'm the Queen of England," Carson chuckled. "Whatever's going on between you two, I'm happy for it. You both deserve something good in this galaxy."

Before she could formulate a response, the infirmary doors slid open, and a medical team rushed in with an unconscious scientist who had apparently suffered an electric shock while working on a power conduit.

"We'll continue this conversation later," Carson said, switching immediately to doctor mode. "Thanks for your help with the scanner, lass."

Cheppy stepped back, allowing the medical team to work. With the emergency in capable hands, she slipped out of the infirmary, her mind already drifting back to the journal waiting in her quarters.

Three days later, Cheppy sat in the mess hall, the journal hidden beneath a stack of official reports as she ate breakfast alone. She had made remarkable progress, working through nearly half the journal's contents. Elera's writings offered insights not just into the Ancient language, but into their society and values as well.

"Mind if I join you?"

She looked up to find Lorne standing across from her, tray in hand, no cane in sight. The lack of support was new—a milestone in his recovery she hadn't been aware of.

"Please," she said, quickly sliding the hidden journal deeper under her reports. "No cane today?"

Pride flickered across his features. "Carson says I'm ahead of schedule. Still can't run marathons, but I'm cleared for light duty starting tomorrow."

"That's fantastic news," she said genuinely. "Though I'm sure Ronon's disappointed to lose his favorite training victim."

"Oh, he made sure our last session was memorable," Lorne grimaced, sitting down gingerly. "I have bruises in places I didn't know could bruise."

Cheppy laughed, then lowered her voice. "I wanted to thank you again for the journal. It's... incredible. I've learned more in three days than in weeks of studying the technical manuals."

Lorne's expression softened. "I thought you might feel that way. Technical writing only gets you so far—it's the everyday language, the personal reflections, that really show how people think and communicate."

"Exactly," she agreed, surprised and pleased by his insight. "Elera has such a different perspective on Atlantis than what we get from the official records. Her descriptions of the city, her patients, even the politics of the time—it's fascinating."

"Elera?"

"The healer who wrote the journal," Cheppy explained. "She was stationed in Atlantis during some kind of conflict with another Ancient faction. She doesn't go into detail about the politics, but she treats a lot of injuries from what sound like skirmishes."

Lorne leaned forward, genuinely interested. "So the Ancients weren't always the unified, enlightened society we imagined."

"Apparently not," she confirmed. "There are passages where she questions the wisdom of the leadership, especially regarding something called 'The Aperion Project.' I haven't figured out what that was yet."

"Sounds like you're making great progress," he said, his pride evident. "Any chance I could get a translation sample? For official records, of course."

She chuckled at his transparent attempt at discretion. "Of course. For the official records."

They fell into easy conversation about Lorne's upcoming return to duty and Cheppy's recent work with the linguistics department. As they talked, she couldn't help but notice how comfortable she felt with him, how natural their interaction had become.

"Major Lorne, Dr. Mitchell," a voice interrupted their conversation. They looked up to find Colonel Sheppard standing beside their table, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all, sir," Lorne said, straightening almost imperceptibly.

Sheppard's eyes flicked between them, his expression knowing. "I just wanted to let you know that your team's been assigned a mission to M3X-747 on Thursday. Standard reconnaissance."

"Yes, sir," Lorne nodded. "Should I report to Dr. Weir for the briefing this afternoon?"

"0900 tomorrow," Sheppard confirmed. "And Dr. Mitchell, Dr. Weir suggested you might join as well. Apparently, there's some Ancient writing that needs translating."

Cheppy straightened, surprised by the invitation. "I'd be happy to, Colonel."

"Good," Sheppard said, then added with deliberate casualness, "I'm sure Major Lorne won't mind having you along."

Lorne cleared his throat, but Sheppard was already walking away, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Is it my imagination, or is everyone on this base suddenly very interested in our... friendship?" Cheppy asked once Sheppard was out of earshot.

Lorne sighed, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement crossing his features. "Welcome to life in a closed community. Entertainment options are limited, so personal relationships become the prime source of gossip."

"Wonderful," she muttered, though she couldn't muster any real annoyance. "So we're the current hot topic?"

"Afraid so," he confirmed. "Though if it helps, Zelenka's recent lab explosion has taken some of the heat off us."

Cheppy shook her head, unable to suppress a smile. "I suppose there are worse things than being linked to you in the Atlantis rumor mill."

"Oh?" Lorne raised an eyebrow, a challenge in his eyes. "Like what?"

"Being linked to McKay," she shot back without missing a beat.

Lorne's laugh drew glances from across the mess hall, only fueling the very rumors they were discussing. Somehow, Cheppy found she didn't mind.

That evening, Cheppy received a message on her tablet, requesting her presence at the east pier outlook. The sender was listed simply as "E.L."—not exactly subtle, but then, subtlety had never been their strong suit.

When she arrived, the outlook was empty save for Lorne, who stood leaning against the railing, gazing out at the moonlit ocean. He had arranged a small collection of items on a nearby bench: two cups, a thermos, and what appeared to be a plate of cookies.

"Is this a date, Major Lorne?" she called as she approached, enjoying the way he startled slightly at her voice.

He recovered quickly, turning to face her with a smile. "Official team bonding, Dr. Mitchell. Very important before missions."

"Of course," she played along, gesturing to the spread. "And do all your team members get the moonlight treatment?"

"Only the ones who can translate Ancient," he replied, pouring something from the thermos into the cups. "Coffee? It's the real stuff, not the commissary's usual attempt."

She accepted the cup gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma. "How did you manage this?"

"I have my ways," he said enigmatically, offering her the plate of cookies next. "These, however, are standard issue. Even my connections have limits."

Cheppy took a cookie, settling beside him on the bench. The night was clear, Atlantis's moons casting silver light across the gentle waves. For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, sipping their coffee.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Lorne said finally, his tone more serious than before. "About the mission."

"Is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "No, nothing like that. I just wanted to make sure you know what you're getting into. Off-world missions, even routine ones, can be unpredictable."

"I've been off-world with your team before," she reminded him.

"Yes, but this is different," he said, turning to face her fully. "This is officially sanctioned. You'll be listed on the mission roster, under my command." He hesitated. "It changes things."

Understanding dawned. "You're worried about the professional complications."

"Among other things," he admitted. "If something goes wrong out there, I need to know I can make objective decisions. That I can put the mission and the team first, even if it means putting you at risk."

The confession hung between them, heavy with implication. Cheppy considered his words carefully before responding.

"I trust you to do your job, Evan," she said quietly. "And I hope you trust me to do mine. Whatever is happening between us... it doesn't change that."

Relief flickered across his features, followed quickly by something warmer. "And what exactly is happening between us, Dr. Mitchell?"

The directness of the question caught her off guard. They had been dancing around this topic for weeks, their growing closeness acknowledged only through sidelong glances and carefully worded conversations.

"I'm not entirely sure," she answered honestly. "But I think we're both curious to find out."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "That's one way of putting it."

"How would you put it?" she challenged, heart quickening despite her outward calm.

Instead of answering immediately, Lorne reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I've been studying the journal too," he said, unfolding the paper to reveal Ancient script in his handwriting. "There was a passage I thought was... relevant."

Curious, Cheppy accepted the paper. The Ancient words were carefully written, with phonetic notes beneath each line—evidence of his dedicated study.

"'When two stars align,'" she translated slowly, "'their light travels further together than either could shine alone.'" She looked up, meeting his gaze. "Elera wrote this?"

He nodded. "It's from a longer passage about healing partnerships. But something about it felt applicable to... other kinds of partnerships as well."

The implication was clear, his meaning unmistakable. Cheppy felt a flutter of both excitement and apprehension.

"It's beautiful," she said softly.

"I thought so too," Lorne agreed, his voice equally quiet. "I'm not very good at this—finding the right words. But when I read that..."

"You don't need to explain," she assured him, reaching out to touch his hand lightly. "I understand."

His fingers turned beneath hers, entwining them together. The simple contact sent warmth spreading through her, more intoxicating than any Ancient text or scientific discovery.

"So," he said after a moment, his thumb tracing gentle patterns on the back of her hand. "About this mission..."

"I'll be ready," she promised. "And I'll follow your lead, Major."

"And after the mission?" he asked, the question layered with meaning.

Cheppy smiled, feeling more certain than she had about anything since arriving in Atlantis. "After the mission, we continue this conversation. Preferably somewhere with more of this coffee."

Lorne's answering smile confirmed that, whatever was developing between them, they were both willing to explore it—carefully, respectfully, but without pretending it didn't exist.

"It's a date," he said simply.

As they sat together under Atlantis's moons, Cheppy realized that the Ancient journal had given her far more than linguistic insights. It had provided a bridge—not just to a long-lost civilization, but to a future in this galaxy that suddenly seemed filled with possibility.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: A New Mission

Cheppy stood in her quarters, meticulously checking her mission gear for the third time. Standard issue tactical vest—check. Canteen—check. Medical supplies, including her insulin and glucose monitors—double-check. Her fingers traced over the Atlantis patch on her shoulder, still unfamiliar but undeniably thrilling.

"This is actually happening," she whispered to herself, zipping up the backpack containing her tablets and translation materials.

Few months ago, she'd been an accidental interloper—unwanted, untrusted, and utterly lost. Now she was preparing for her first mission as Atlantis's officially recognized linguistics specialist. Unlike her previous venture to M4X-382—where Lorne had invited her to translate Ancient agricultural research texts and she'd ended up rescuing him from a collapsing chamber at the cost of his broken leg—this time she had full authorization and a designated role from the outset. The irony wasn't lost on her: in her original reality, she'd been struggling to find meaningful work despite her PhD in computational linguistics. Here, in a different galaxy altogether, she'd found not just purpose but belonging.

A knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Come in," she called, expecting Carson for a final medical check.

Instead, Major Lorne appeared, already geared up for the mission. His eyes took in her fully equipped tactical vest and the slight nervousness in her posture.

"First official mission jitters?" he asked, his expression softening.

"Is it that obvious?" Cheppy adjusted her vest self-consciously.

"Everyone gets them," he assured her. "Even Sheppard, though he'd never admit it." His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than strictly necessary. "At least this time we're going in with proper preparation, unlike your impromptu agricultural research expedition."

"Where I had to rescue you from a collapsed chamber," she reminded him with a raised eyebrow.

"Only after I heroically pushed you to safety," he countered with a hint of a smile.

"And ended up with a broken leg for your troubles," she finished. "Let's try to avoid any dramatic rescues this time, shall we?"

"Agreed," Lorne nodded. "You ready? Briefing starts in ten."

"As ready as I'll ever be," she replied, shouldering her backpack.

As they walked together through Atlantis's corridors, Lorne maintained a professional distance, though his occasional sideways glances conveyed more than his words. Since their confrontation with the Genii and their subsequent conversations on "their" balcony, something had shifted between them—something neither had put into words yet, but both acknowledged in these small, shared moments.

"Just so you know," Lorne said as they approached the briefing room, "McKay invited himself along at the last minute."

Cheppy's steps faltered. "McKay? Why?"

"Officially? Interest in potential Ancient technology." Lorne's mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Unofficially? I think he wants to make sure you don't miss anything important in the translations."

"Great," she muttered. "Nothing like having a self-proclaimed genius breathing down your neck on your first mission."

Lorne stopped just outside the briefing room door. "Hey," he said quietly, his voice dropping to ensure privacy. "You've earned this. Don't let McKay make you doubt that."

The sincerity in his eyes steadied her. Cheppy nodded gratefully, then straightened her shoulders as they entered the briefing room.

Dr. Weir was already there, along with the rest of Lorne's team—Lieutenant Reed, Sergeant Coughlin, and Dr. Parrish, the botanist who often accompanied them on exploratory missions. McKay sat off to the side, typing furiously on his tablet, barely acknowledging their entrance.

"Good, we're all here," Dr. Weir said, nodding to Lorne and Cheppy. "Let's begin." She activated the central display, showing aerial images from the MALP. "M3X-747 appears to be uninhabited, but our initial readings detected energy signatures consistent with Ancient technology approximately three kilometers from the gate."

The display shifted to show ruins partially obscured by dense vegetation.

"Major Lorne's team will investigate these ruins and determine whether they contain any technology or information of value to the expedition," Weir continued. "Dr. Mitchell will serve as your linguistics specialist, focusing on translating any Ancient text you encounter."

Cheppy felt a surge of pride at the official acknowledgment of her role.

"And Dr. McKay will evaluate any technology you discover," Weir added, glancing at the scientist.

"Assuming there's anything worth evaluating," McKay commented without looking up from his tablet.

Weir ignored him. "The MALP detected no immediate threats, but standard security protocols apply. Questions?"

"Weather conditions?" Lorne asked.

"Temperate, similar to late spring in the Pacific Northwest. Expect some light rainfall in the afternoon," Weir replied.

After reviewing a few more mission parameters, Weir concluded the briefing. "You depart in thirty minutes. Good luck."

As the team gathered their gear, Lorne pulled Cheppy aside briefly. "Remember, stay close to me or Coughlin at all times. If anything feels off, say something immediately. Don't try to be a hero."

"Yes, sir," Cheppy replied with exaggerated formality, earning a quick smile from him before he returned to his professional demeanor.

Cheppy stood before the shimmering event horizon, her heart racing. Unlike her previous off-world experience—when she'd been brought along as an emergency translator and ended up in that collapsing facility—this time she was part of the team from the beginning, with proper clearance and official responsibilities.

"Nervous?" Dr. Parrish asked beside her, adjusting his own pack.

"A little," she admitted. "It's different when you're not rushing through in crisis mode."

"Don't worry," he said cheerfully. "It's like a momentary cold sensation, then you're suddenly somewhere else. Much better than commercial airlines."

From the base of the gate stairs, Dr. Weir watched the team assemble. "Major Lorne, you have a go. Check in every four hours."

Lorne nodded, then turned to his team. "Coughlin, Reed, you're on point. Dr. McKay, Dr. Mitchell, Dr. Parrish, stay between us. Move out."

One by one, they stepped through the gate. When Cheppy's turn came, she took a deep breath and stepped forward. The cold enveloped her, along with the strange sensation of being stretched and compressed simultaneously. A heartbeat later, she emerged on M3X-747, momentarily disoriented by the abrupt transition from Atlantis's controlled environment to a sun-dappled forest clearing.

"Whoa," she breathed, taking in the vibrant colors and unfamiliar scents of an alien world.

"Better entry than M4X-382?" Lorne asked, appearing beside her.

"Definitely," she nodded, still acclimatizing. "No ominous rumbling sounds from underground chambers this time."

"And hopefully no power failures or structural collapses," he added with a wry smile, unconsciously rubbing his fully-healed leg. "Let's try to keep this one routine."

"Routine would be nice for a change," she agreed.

The terrain was challenging but beautiful—dense forest giving way to occasional clearings with stunning vistas of distant mountains. McKay complained steadily about the humidity, the insects, and the pace, while Parrish stopped every few minutes to exclaim over an unusual plant specimen.

Cheppy found herself walking alongside Lorne for much of the journey, their conversation limited to professional observations, though she caught him watching her explore this new world with poorly concealed amusement.

"Something funny, Major?" she finally asked after catching him smiling at her wide-eyed examination of a fluorescent blue flower.

"Not at all," he replied, his expression sobering, though his eyes remained warm. "It's just... nice to see you enjoying the exploration this time, instead of racing to translate Ancient agricultural data before the facility collapsed around us."

"The circumstances are definitely more favorable," she agreed. "Though that agricultural research did earn me some credibility with the science teams."

"And saving my life earned you credibility with everyone else," Lorne added quietly. "Including me."

Cheppy felt her cheeks warm at the memory of their conversations during his recovery, when he'd first admitted his "particular interest" in her progress. Before she could respond, Lieutenant Reed called from ahead. "Major, we've got visual on the ruins!"

"Most of us have gotten a bit jaded," he admitted. "Too busy watching for Wraith or Genii to appreciate the view."

"Well, that's just sad," she declared.

His smile returned. "Maybe we need more linguists and fewer soldiers."

"I wouldn't go that far," she replied, thinking of how he'd protected her during their encounter with the Genii. "I'm rather fond of some of the soldiers."

Before he could respond, Lieutenant Reed called from ahead. "Major, we've got visual on the ruins!"

Lorne immediately shifted back to full professional mode. "Secure the perimeter. Doc, you're with me," he said to Cheppy, moving forward.

The Ancient outpost was smaller than Cheppy had expected—a single-story structure partially reclaimed by vegetation, its smooth metallic walls contrasting with the organic chaos surrounding it. Geometric shapes and Ancient script adorned what appeared to be the main entrance.

"No obvious signs of recent activity," Coughlin reported after circling the structure.

"Alright, Dr. Mitchell, you're up," Lorne said, nodding toward the entrance inscriptions.

Cheppy approached the doorway, her excitement mounting as she recognized familiar patterns in the script. She traced the symbols with her fingers, mentally translating.

"It's definitely Ancient," she confirmed, pulling out her tablet to document the text. "From what I can tell, this was some kind of environmental monitoring station."

McKay appeared at her shoulder, peering critically at her work. "Environmental monitoring? Are you sure it's not 'atmospheric research facility'? The dialectical differences could be significant."

Cheppy bit back a retort, taking a slow breath before responding. "The phrase here—'contemplatio ambientis'—specifically refers to environmental observation, not atmospheric study. If it were atmospheric, it would use 'caelestis' or 'aeris'."

To her surprise, McKay didn't immediately contradict her. He studied the inscription more closely, then gave a grudging nod. "You're right. The distinction matters for understanding what kind of data might be stored here."

Buoyed by this small victory, Cheppy continued her translation, working methodically around the entrance. "It looks like this facility was established to monitor long-term environmental changes on this planet. There's something here about 'physiological adaptation' and 'genetic response'..."

"The Ancients were studying how environment affected their own biology?" Parrish questioned, suddenly interested.

"Possibly," Cheppy nodded, "or maybe how it affected the local organisms. I need to see more context."

"Can you get us inside?" Lorne asked, examining the sealed doorway.

"I think so." Cheppy moved to what appeared to be a control panel. "This looks similar to Atlantis's door mechanisms, just more weathered."

After several minutes of careful study, she pressed a sequence of symbols. Nothing happened.

"Are you sure that's right?" McKay asked skeptically.

"Yes, I'm sure," she replied, frowning at the panel. "The sequence is correct, but it's not responding. Maybe the power source is depleted."

McKay shouldered her aside, pulling out his own equipment. "Let me check the energy readings." After a moment, he looked up. "There's definitely power, but it's minimal—probably emergency reserves. We need to find an alternative access point."

For the next half hour, the team circled the facility, searching for another entrance. Parrish began documenting unusual plant growth patterns around the structure, while McKay took various readings with his scanner.

"There's something odd about this section," Cheppy said eventually, stopping at the back wall of the facility. Unlike the rest of the structure, this wall featured more elaborate script in a slightly different style.

"It's a different dialect," she realized, excitement building in her voice. "Older, more formal... similar to passages in Elera's journal."

"Who's Elera?" McKay asked sharply.

Cheppy froze, realizing her slip.  "An Ancient medical researcher," she explained, thinking quickly. "I found references to her work in the databases Carson gave me access to. She documented physiological adaptations to different environments."

McKay looked suspicious but didn't press further as Cheppy turned back to the wall.

"The syntax here is unusual," she murmured, mentally applying the computational parsing methods she'd developed. "It's not just descriptive text—it's instructions."

She traced the patterns, recognizing formulaic structures similar to those she'd observed in Ancient technical manuals. Pulling out her tablet, she cross-referenced her notes, fingers flying across the screen as she applied her linguistic algorithm to the unusual dialect.

"This isn't just a wall," she announced. "It's a concealed entrance. The text describes an access protocol for authorized personnel."

"Can you open it?" Lorne asked, moving closer.

"I think so," she nodded, studying the wall more carefully. "The lock requires a specific sequence of phrases spoken in Ancient, combined with..." she pressed her hand against a particular section of the wall. "...physical confirmation of Ancient physiology."

"Which we don't have," McKay pointed out.

"No," Cheppy agreed, "but the system might be degraded enough to accept an approximation." She gestured to her tablet. "I've isolated the command phrases. If I pronounce them correctly and activate this panel simultaneously, it might work."

"Worth a shot," Lorne decided after a moment's consideration. "Everyone step back, just in case."

Cheppy positioned herself before the wall, reviewing the phrases one last time. Drawing on her months of study and the authentic pronunciations she'd gleaned from Elera's journal, she began to speak in Ancient, her voice clear and confident as her hand pressed against the panel.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a low hum, the wall began to recede, revealing a hidden chamber beyond.

"It worked!" Parrish exclaimed.

"Well done," Lorne said quietly, the pride in his voice evident.

Even McKay looked impressed. "That was... unexpected."

The team cautiously entered the hidden room, which contained what appeared to be an advanced control center. Unlike the weathered exterior, this chamber was remarkably well-preserved, with multiple consoles and data displays.

"This is incredible," McKay breathed, his earlier skepticism forgotten as he moved toward the main console. "These are environmental monitoring systems far more advanced than anything we've seen before."

"Look at this," Cheppy called, focusing on a display with scrolling Ancient text. "It's a log of atmospheric changes spanning over a thousand years, correlated with physiological data."

As she translated more of the text, a clearer picture emerged. "The Ancients were monitoring how subtle environmental shifts affected their own biology over generations. They were looking for optimal conditions for their long-term survival and development."

"This could be invaluable," Parrish realized. "If we understand how the Ancients adapted to different environments, it might help us better acclimate to conditions in the Pegasus Galaxy."

"More importantly," McKay added, "these environmental control systems might be compatible with Atlantis. We've been struggling with the city's atmospheric regulation since we arrived."

For the next several hours, the team worked to document and understand the facility's systems. Cheppy moved between various displays, translating technical specifications and research notes, while McKay assessed the technology itself.

To her surprise, McKay became increasingly collaborative as the day progressed, actually seeking her input rather than questioning her translations.

"Mitchell," he called at one point, "I need you to look at this technical description. Does this refer to oxygen cycling or carbon filtration?"

Cheppy joined him at his console, studying the text carefully. "Neither, actually. It's describing a system for neutralizing specific airborne pathogens that the Ancients found problematic."

"Huh," McKay murmured, adjusting his analysis. "That makes more sense with these readings."

As they worked, Cheppy applied her computational linguistics approach, identifying patterns and relationships between technical terms that conventional translation might have missed.

"The system is modular," she explained, pointing to a schematic. "Each component addresses a specific environmental factor—atmospheric composition, radiation filtration, pathogen neutralization, and even subtle gravitational adjustments."

"This could revolutionize our life support systems in Atlantis," McKay acknowledged, genuinely engaged now. "If we could adapt even part of this technology..."

Their collaborative momentum was interrupted by a sudden alarm from the main console. Red Ancient text began flashing across the displays.

"What did you do?" Lorne demanded, immediately alert.

"Nothing!" McKay protested. "I was just trying to download the environmental data when the system started some kind of defensive protocol."

Cheppy rushed to the main display, rapidly translating the flashing warnings. "The system thinks we're attempting unauthorized access. It's activating a lockdown procedure that includes..." she paled slightly, "...atmospheric purging."

"Meaning what exactly?" Lorne asked sharply.

"Meaning it's going to remove all breathable air from this chamber in about three minutes," she translated grimly.

"Can you stop it?" Lorne was already signaling his team to prepare for evacuation.

"Maybe," Cheppy moved to the control panel, McKay close behind her. "The security override requires administrative authentication."

"Which we don't have," McKay stated, frantically typing on his own tablet. "I'm trying to hack the system, but Ancient encryption is notoriously complex."

"We don't need to hack it," Cheppy realized, studying the override protocols. "We just need to convince it we're authorized users." She pointed to a specific section of text. "The emergency override accepts voice authentication in proper Ancient dialect."

"You know the dialect?" McKay asked, surprised.

"I've been studying it for months," she replied, already formulating the necessary phrases. "But I need to get the pronunciation exactly right."

As the alarm intensified, Cheppy spoke a series of complex Ancient phrases into the console, her pronunciation meticulous. The system hesitated, then flashed a new message.

"Partial authentication accepted," she translated. "It wants secondary confirmation—a specific code sequence."

"Which we don't know," McKay groaned.

"Actually, I think I do," Cheppy said, her mind racing through the technical documents she'd translated. "The facility's original authorization codes should follow standard Ancient protocols. If this was established during the mid-period of their occupation of Pegasus..."

Her fingers flew across the console, inputting a sequence based on her understanding of Ancient security systems. The alarm paused momentarily, then began again with increased urgency.

"That didn't work," Lorne observed tensely. "Time to evacuate."

"Wait," McKay interjected, watching Cheppy's process. "I see what you're doing. The base sequence is right, but you're using the wrong modifier." He leaned forward, adjusting her input. "Try it with the environmental designation as the prefix."

Cheppy quickly made the adjustment and entered the new sequence. The alarm abruptly ceased, and the console displayed a message in green text.

"System reset. Security protocol canceled," she translated, sighing with relief.

"That was close," Lorne said, his stance relaxing slightly. "Good work, both of you."

McKay and Cheppy exchanged surprised looks, unaccustomed to working together successfully.

"Your understanding of Ancient dialects is..." McKay hesitated, as if the words pained him, "...more nuanced than I expected."

"Thanks," Cheppy replied, recognizing the magnitude of this admission from McKay. "Your insight on the security protocols was crucial."

With the crisis averted, the team returned to their documentation, though now with a more cautious approach. By late afternoon, they had compiled substantial data on the environmental systems and their potential applications for Atlantis.

"Time to head back," Lorne announced, checking his watch. "We've got about two hours until sunset, and I'd rather not navigate that forest in the dark."

The return journey passed without incident, though Cheppy noted that McKay's attitude toward her had subtly shifted. Rather than dismissive skepticism, he now regarded her with reluctant respect, even engaging her in a technical discussion about Ancient computational linguistics as they walked.

Back in Atlantis, the debriefing with Dr. Weir went surprisingly well. As Lorne outlined the mission outcomes, McKay actually highlighted Cheppy's contributions without his usual backhanded compliments.

"Dr. Mitchell's translation skills were instrumental in accessing the hidden chamber," he stated matter-of-factly. "Her computational approach to Ancient dialects identified nuances that our standard translation protocols would have missed."

Weir raised an eyebrow at this unexpected praise. "I'm pleased to hear it. The environmental systems you've described could significantly improve our operations in Atlantis."

"With your permission," McKay continued, "I'd like to have Dr. Mitchell assist my team in analyzing the data further. Her understanding of the technical terminology would expedite the implementation process."

Cheppy tried not to look too shocked at this request.

Weir nodded approvingly. "I think that's an excellent suggestion. Dr. Mitchell, are you amenable to this assignment?"

"Absolutely," Cheppy managed, still processing McKay's endorsement.

"Good. I look forward to your preliminary report by the end of the week," Weir concluded, ending the debriefing.

As they filed out of the conference room, McKay approached Cheppy. "My lab, 0800 tomorrow. We've got a lot of data to process." Without waiting for a response, he hurried off, already absorbed in his tablet.

Cheppy stood in the corridor, slightly dazed by the day's developments. Not only had she completed her first official mission successfully, but she'd somehow earned McKay's professional respect—an outcome she hadn't dared anticipate.

"I'd say that went rather well," Lorne's voice came from behind her.

She turned to find him leaning against the wall, watching her with undisguised admiration.

"I'm still processing the fact that McKay just voluntarily requested my help," she admitted.

"You impressed him," Lorne said simply. "Not an easy feat."

"I impressed him," she repeated, testing how the words felt. A smile slowly spread across her face. "I actually did it."

"Never doubted you would," Lorne replied. He glanced around, ensuring they were relatively alone, then added in a lower voice, "Think you could tear yourself away from basking in your triumph long enough for that conversation we never finished?"

Cheppy felt her cheeks warm slightly at his reference to their interrupted moment before the mission. "I think that could be arranged."

"Good," he nodded. "Our balcony, one hour? I'll bring coffee."

"Coffee sounds perfect," she agreed, her smile widening.

As he walked away, Cheppy leaned against the corridor wall, taking a moment to absorb everything. From accidental dimensional traveler to valued expedition member in just a few months—it was almost too much to believe. Yet here she was, with an official role, McKay's grudging respect, and... whatever was developing with Lorne.

For the first time since arriving in Atlantis, Cheppy felt not just acceptance but genuine belonging. This wasn't the life she'd planned or expected, but somehow, against all odds, it was becoming the life she wanted.

With a renewed sense of purpose, she headed toward her quarters to prepare for her meeting with Lorne—and whatever "partnership" they might be about to discuss.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Off-World Consequences

Cheppy stared at the Ancient text floating on her tablet screen, the symbols blurring slightly as fatigue set in. She'd been working with McKay's science team for nearly a week since their return from M3X-747, implementing the environmental control systems they'd discovered. Despite his initial reluctance, McKay had reluctantly admitted her translations were "marginally useful"—high praise coming from him.

A shadow fell across her desk, and she looked up to find Major Lorne leaning against the doorframe of her new lab space, arms crossed casually.

"Working late again?" he asked, a hint of concern beneath his easy smile.

Cheppy stretched, feeling the tension in her shoulders. "McKay wants these algorithms integrated by tomorrow morning. Apparently, they're 'critical to preventing catastrophic environmental fluctuations,' or something equally dramatic."

"Sounds like McKay," Lorne chuckled. "But I actually came with a proposition that might get you out of this lab for a while."

Her interest piqued, Cheppy saved her work and gave him her full attention. The evening after their return from the environmental monitoring station, they'd spent hours talking on "their" balcony, carefully navigating the changing landscape between them. Nothing official had been established, but there was an understanding—a partnership forming that went beyond their professional roles.

"What kind of proposition?" she asked, trying to ignore how the soft lighting caught the angles of his face.

"Dr. Weir just approved a diplomatic mission to the Taranians. They've discovered what they believe to be Ancient artifacts in some newly excavated ruins. They specifically requested someone who could translate on-site." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "I might have mentioned we have a certain linguistics specialist who's pretty good at identifying Ancient tech."

Cheppy's heart skipped. "A diplomatic mission? With Ancient artifacts?" The excitement of field work—real, sanctioned field work—was intoxicating after days cooped up in the lab. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow at 0800. My team will handle security. Carson's already approved your medical clearance." His expression grew slightly more serious. "You'll need to pack extra supplies. The Taranian settlement is remote, about a day's journey from the gate."

She nodded, already mentally cataloging her diabetic supplies. "I'll be prepared. Think McKay will pitch a fit about losing his translator?"

"Already cleared it with him," Lorne replied. "He grumbled plenty, but Dr. Weir overruled him. Said your diplomatic skills were needed more than your lab work right now."

The next morning came quickly. Cheppy triple-checked her medical supplies before joining Lorne's team in the gate room. Dr. Weir descended the stairs as the gate began to dial.

"Major Lorne, Dr. Mitchell," she nodded to them both. Cheppy still wasn't used to hearing her academic title used officially. "The Taranians are eager for our assistance. This could strengthen an important alliance."

"We'll do our best, ma'am," Lorne assured her.

"I'm sure you will. And Cheppy," Weir added with a smile, "this is your first official diplomatic mission. I have complete confidence in your abilities."

The wormhole established with its characteristic kawoosh, and Cheppy took a deep breath. This was it—official recognition of her value to the expedition. As they stepped through the gate, she felt Lorne's hand briefly touch the small of her back, steadying and reassuring.

The Taranian settlement was nestled in a valley of golden grass, simple dwellings clustered around a central meeting hall. Chancellor Lycus, a dignified man with graying temples, greeted them warmly.

"We are honored by your presence," he said, bowing slightly. "The artifacts were uncovered during excavation for new housing. We recognized the markings as similar to those of the Ancestors."

They were led to a small building serving as a makeshift museum. Several objects lay carefully arranged on cloth-covered tables—control crystals, fragments of consoles, and most intriguingly, a curved metallic device inscribed with Ancient text.

"This is remarkable," Cheppy murmured, carefully examining the curved device. "The dialect is older than what we typically see in Atlantis. More formal."

For hours, she worked to translate the artifacts, explaining their significance to both the Taranian council and Lorne's team. The curved device appeared to be part of a sophisticated astronomical calendar, possibly used for agricultural planning.

"If we could restore this," she explained to Chancellor Lycus, "it could help predict seasonal changes with remarkable accuracy. It might significantly improve your crop yields."

As the day progressed, Cheppy found herself acting as both translator and negotiator, building rapport with the Taranian scholars. By late afternoon, they had reached a promising agreement—the Atlantis expedition would help restore the Ancient technology in exchange for agricultural trade.

It was during the ceremonial meal that followed when things began to go wrong. The negotiations had run long, pushing back the elaborate feast the Taranians had prepared. Cheppy had been so absorbed in the Ancient texts that she'd neglected to monitor her blood sugar.

She was in the middle of explaining a particularly complex passage when the room began to tilt slightly. Her words slurred, and she gripped the table edge.

"Dr. Mitchell?" Chancellor Lycus looked concerned.

She tried to respond, but her tongue felt heavy, her thoughts scattered. She recognized the symptoms immediately—hypoglycemia—but couldn't seem to form the words to explain.

Lorne was at her side instantly. "Cheppy? What's wrong?"

"Sugar," she managed to mumble, reaching for her pack. But her coordination was off, fingers clumsy.

Understanding flashed across Lorne's face. He turned to Lieutenant Edison. "Medical kit, now!"

The confusion among the Taranians was palpable as Edison rushed forward with glucose tablets. Lorne helped Cheppy take them, his hand steady on her back.

"I apologize for the interruption," Lorne addressed the council smoothly. "Dr. Mitchell has a medical condition that occasionally requires attention. She'll be fine in a few minutes."

The Taranians exchanged concerned glances. Cultural misunderstandings could derail diplomatic relations, and Cheppy knew it. As the glucose began to take effect, clearing the fog from her mind, she forced herself to focus.

"Chancellor," she said, her voice stronger than she felt, "I should explain. I have a condition called diabetes. It means my body cannot regulate sugar properly. Sometimes, if I work too long without eating, this happens."

For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then Chancellor Lycus leaned forward, eyes bright with interest. "You manage this condition while serving your people? That shows remarkable dedication."

Relief washed over her as the Taranians began asking questions—not with suspicion but with genuine curiosity. What could have been a diplomatic disaster instead became a moment of cultural exchange, with Cheppy explaining modern medicine while the Taranians shared their own methods of dealing with illness.

Later, as she finished translating the last artifact, her hands still slightly shaky, Lieutenant Reed approached with a cup of sweet Taranian tea.

"The Chancellor insisted you try this," he said with unusual gentleness. "Apparently it's what they give their healers when they work too long without rest."

Lorne's team had closed ranks around her, not with embarrassment but with quiet support. They'd seen her vulnerability and responded with respect rather than doubt.

As they prepared to depart the next morning, Chancellor Lycus presented Cheppy with a small carved box.

"For your medicines," he explained. "Made from heartwood, which we believe strengthens the healing spirit. We look forward to our continued partnership, Dr. Mitchell."

The journey back to the Stargate was filled with light conversation, Lorne's team now treating Cheppy with a new familiarity. When they arrived at the DHD, Lorne held back as the others moved ahead.

"You did good back there," he said quietly. "Turned a potential problem into something positive."

Cheppy smiled, feeling the weight of the carved box in her pack. "I was afraid I'd ruined everything."

"You showed them your strength," Lorne countered. "And reminded me why I—" he paused, choosing his words carefully, "—why I value having you on my team."

The unspoken words hung between them as they stepped through the gate.

Dr. Weir was waiting in the gate room, eyebrows raised in question.

"Mission successful, ma'am," Lorne reported. "We've established a trade agreement, and the Taranians have agreed to let us study their Ancient artifacts further."

"Excellent work, both of you," Weir nodded, but her gaze lingered on Cheppy. "Anything I should know?"

Cheppy straightened her shoulders. "Nothing we couldn't handle, ma'am. The full report will be on your desk this afternoon."

As they headed to the infirmary for post-mission checks, Cheppy felt something settle inside her. She'd faced her vulnerability in front of others and emerged stronger for it. The expedition had accepted her knowledge and her limitations, making her not just useful but essential.

And Lorne... the way he'd looked at her when he'd said "my team"—as if she belonged somewhere, to someone—made her wonder if perhaps she'd found more than just professional acceptance in this strange new galaxy.

For the first time since coming through that accidental portal months ago, Cheppy felt truly at home.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: The Trial by Fire

Cheppy adjusted the strap of her tactical vest, still not entirely comfortable with its weight. Three weeks had passed since the Taranian diplomatic mission, and her success there had led to increased field assignments. Today's mission was different, though—uncharted territory with unknown variables.

"First time on an exploratory mission?" Lieutenant Edison asked, noticing her fidgeting as they waited in the gate room.

"That obvious?" she replied with a self-deprecating smile.

Edison chuckled. "Everyone's nervous their first time. Just stick close to the Major. He hasn't lost anyone yet."

As if summoned by his name, Major Lorne strode into the gate room, his gaze immediately finding Cheppy. In recent weeks, their relationship had developed into something both acknowledged yet undefined—private moments on balconies, shared meals in the mess hall, lingering glances that didn't go unnoticed by his team.

"All set, Dr. Mitchell?" he asked, professional as always when on duty, though his eyes conveyed more.

"Ready as I'll ever be," she replied, patting her tablet. "Though I'm still not sure why I need to catalog Ancient symbols on an uninhabited planet."

Lorne checked his P-90 with practiced efficiency. "The MALP showed ruins with extensive Ancient writing. Could be nothing, could be important. Better to have our expert on hand."

Dr. Weir approached as the gate began to dial. "Major Lorne, remember this is strictly reconnaissance. M7X-935 hasn't been visited by any of our teams before."

"Understood, ma'am. We'll be back in twelve hours."

The wormhole established with its characteristic surge of energy, and Cheppy took a deep breath. Despite her growing experience, the sight still filled her with awe.

"Stay alert, stay together," Lorne instructed his team as they approached the event horizon. His hand briefly touched Cheppy's elbow—a small, reassuring gesture that had become familiar.

They emerged onto a world of dense forests and misty valleys. The ruins were visible atop a nearby hill—crumbling stone structures partially reclaimed by vegetation.

"Reed, Edison, secure the perimeter," Lorne ordered. "Coughlin, you're with me and Dr. Mitchell."

The climb to the ruins was steep but manageable. As they approached, Cheppy's excitement grew. The stone walls were covered in Ancient text, different from the formal, technical language she typically encountered.

"This is incredible," she breathed, running her fingers over carved symbols. "It's almost poetic. More narrative than instructional."

"Anything useful?" Lorne asked, scanning the treeline with habitual vigilance.

Cheppy frowned in concentration, her tablet recording images as she worked. "It's describing some kind of refuge. A place hidden from enemies during a great conflict."

For the next hour, she methodically documented the writings, piecing together a history of Ancient refugees who had established a temporary settlement during the war with the Wraith. Lorne maintained a respectful distance, allowing her to work while keeping watch.

"Major," Cheppy called eventually, excitement in her voice. "This section mentions a protected chamber beneath the main structure. It might still be intact."

Lorne studied the section she indicated. "Worth checking out. Coughlin, radio Reed and Edison. Tell them we're extending our exploration underground."

The entrance to the underground chamber was concealed behind a fallen pillar. Working together, they cleared enough debris to create a narrow passage. Flashlights illuminated a stairway descending into darkness.

"I'll go first," Lorne said firmly. "Coughlin, you follow. Dr. Mitchell, stay between us."

The stairs led to a large chamber, remarkably preserved despite the millennia that had passed. Ancient consoles lined the walls, inactive but intact. In the center stood a raised platform with a control pedestal.

"This is amazing," Cheppy whispered, already moving toward the nearest console. "It looks like some kind of research facility."

As she worked, translating text and documenting the layout, Lorne received a transmission from Reed.

"Major, we've got company. Six armed men approaching from the east. They're not wearing any identifying uniforms."

Lorne's expression hardened. "Understood. Hold position but stay out of sight. We're coming up." He turned to Cheppy. "We need to go. Now."

"Five more minutes," she pleaded, fingers flying over a promising console. "This mentions a defensive system. If I can just—"

"No time," Lorne cut her off, his tone brooking no argument. "We don't know who's up there."

Reluctantly, Cheppy packed her equipment. They had barely reached the stairway when gunfire erupted above them.

"Reed, report!" Lorne barked into his radio.

"Genii, sir!" Reed's voice came through, punctuated by the sound of returning fire. "They've got us pinned down. Edison's hit, but it's not serious."

Lorne swore under his breath. "Stay put. We're coming to you." To Cheppy and Coughlin, he said, "Change of plans. We're taking the long way around. There's got to be another exit."

They searched the chamber frantically, finding a narrow corridor leading away from the main room. As they hurried through it, Cheppy's mind raced through the translations she'd completed.

"Wait," she said suddenly, stopping in her tracks. "The text mentioned a defensive barrier. What if we could activate it?"

"Dr. Mitchell, this isn't the time—"

"Major, please," she interrupted, her expression intense. "The Genii want Ancient technology. If we can activate the facility's defenses, we might be able to drive them back without a firefight."

Lorne hesitated, clearly torn between protocol and opportunity.

"Two minutes," he conceded. "Coughlin, watch our six."

They returned to the main chamber, where Cheppy immediately went to the central pedestal.

"The activation sequence should be here," she muttered, studying the controls. "It's similar to the environmental system we found on M3X-747."

Her fingers traced the Ancient symbols, her photographic memory recalling similar interfaces she'd studied. With a decisive motion, she pressed a sequence of controls.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the room hummed to life, consoles lighting up one by one. A holographic display appeared above the pedestal, showing the layout of the ruins—and several red dots moving across the upper level.

"It's a security system," Cheppy explained, eyes wide with excitement. "Those are the Genii."

Lorne leaned closer, assessing the tactical advantage. "Can you use it against them?"

Cheppy studied the controls, translating as quickly as she could. "I think so. This sequence should activate a containment field."

She entered the commands, hands steady despite the pressure. Above them, they heard shouting followed by the distinctive hum of energy shields deploying.

"Reed, report," Lorne called into his radio.

"Sir, you're not going to believe this," Reed's voice came through, awed. "Some kind of force fields just appeared, trapping the Genii in sections of the ruins. They can't get to us—or to you."

Relief flooded Cheppy's face. "It worked!"

"Good job," Lorne acknowledged, squeezing her shoulder. "Now let's get to Reed and Edison."

The hologram showed them an alternative route to the surface, avoiding the trapped Genii. They were halfway up a narrow stairway when the facility shuddered violently.

"What was that?" Lorne demanded, steadying himself against the wall.

The answer came moments later as the ceiling began to crumble. The Genii, trapped and desperate, had started using explosives.

"Run!" Lorne shouted, pushing Cheppy ahead of him.

They emerged into daylight just as another explosion rocked the ruins. Debris rained down, and Lorne shoved Cheppy clear with one powerful movement. She tumbled to safety as a section of wall collapsed, bringing Lorne down with it.

"Major!" she screamed, scrambling back toward the rubble.

He was partially buried, conscious but pinned by a large stone slab. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, and his left arm lay at an unnatural angle.

"Cheppy," he groaned, using her nickname despite the situation. "Get to Reed and Edison. That's an order."

"Not without you," she insisted, already assessing the debris. "Coughlin, help me with this slab."

Together, they managed to free Lorne, who bit back a cry of pain as they moved him. His shoulder was dislocated, and he had a deep laceration on his thigh.

"The Genii will break through those force fields eventually," Coughlin warned, supporting the injured Major.

Cheppy thought quickly. "The hologram showed the Stargate is east of here. If we stay in the treeline, we might avoid detection."

"Do it," Lorne agreed through gritted teeth. "Coughlin, take point. Cheppy, my nine-mil is in my holster. Take it."

The weight of the handgun felt foreign in her grip, but she nodded resolutely. In the distance, they could hear more explosions as the Genii fought against the Ancient barriers.

They moved through the forest as quickly as Lorne's injuries allowed. Cheppy stayed close to him, monitoring his condition with the medical training Carson had drilled into her. When his breathing became labored, she called for a halt.

"You're losing too much blood," she told him, examining the leg wound. "I need to bind this properly."

Working efficiently, she cleaned and dressed the injury, using supplies from her pack and knowledge gleaned from Ancient medical texts. For his dislocated shoulder, she improvised a sling from her jacket.

"Where'd you learn that?" Lorne asked weakly as she secured the bandage.

"Carson's Ancient medical journals," she replied, her voice steady despite her fear. "The Ancients had specific techniques for field injuries."

They continued their progress, making radio contact with Reed and Edison, who had managed to circle around and were now ahead of them. The sound of pursuit grew behind them—the Genii had broken free.

"They're gaining on us," Coughlin reported grimly.

Lorne's face was pale with pain and blood loss. "You two go ahead. Meet Reed at the gate. I'll slow them down."

"That's not happening," Cheppy said firmly. "I have a better idea."

Her mind raced through the Ancient texts she'd translated. "The defensive systems weren't just in the facility. They extended throughout the surrounding area."

She pulled out her tablet, reviewing her notes with frantic speed. "There should be auxiliary control points. If I can find one—there!"

A small stone marker stood nearby, partially hidden by vegetation. Ancient symbols decorated its surface—symbols Cheppy now recognized.

"Cover me," she told Coughlin, hurrying to the marker.

Her fingers traced the familiar patterns, mentally translating the activation sequence. As Genii voices grew closer, she pressed the final symbol.

The forest floor before them shimmered as a barrier materialized—invisible until disturbed by falling leaves. It extended in both directions, cutting off pursuit.

"It won't hold them forever," she warned, returning to help support Lorne. "But it gives us time."

They reached the gate without further incident, finding Reed and Edison already there. Edison's arm was bandaged, but he was conscious and alert enough to dial Atlantis.

"Medical team to the gate room!" Reed called through his radio as they stumbled through the event horizon.

The next hours passed in a blur. Carson's team whisked Lorne away for surgery while Cheppy gave her report to a concerned Dr. Weir. By the time she was cleared from her post-mission check, night had fallen over Atlantis.

She found herself outside the infirmary, hesitating at the threshold. Carson spotted her and beckoned her inside.

"He's asking for you," the doctor said softly. "Surgery went well. Dislocated shoulder, forty stitches in his leg, mild concussion. He'll be out of commission for a few weeks, but he'll make a full recovery."

Lorne was propped up in bed, his shoulder immobilized and leg elevated. His face brightened visibly when he saw her, despite the fatigue evident in his features.

"There she is," he said, his voice rough but warm. "My personal guardian angel."

Cheppy moved to his bedside, relief making her knees weak. "I wouldn't go that far."

"I would." He reached for her hand with his uninjured arm. "You saved our lives out there. Not just with the force fields. That field medicine you used? Carson says it prevented serious complications."

She squeezed his fingers gently. "I was terrified the whole time."

"Couldn't tell," he replied with a slight smile. "You were amazing. Not just as a linguist or a medic, but as a soldier."

"I'm not a soldier," she protested.

"Today you were." His expression grew serious. "Cheppy, I've always valued you for your skills. But today... today I saw all of you. Your courage. Your quick thinking under pressure. Your loyalty." He paused, eyes locked with hers. "I always knew you were special. Now I know just how much."

The weight of his words settled between them, shifting something fundamental in their relationship. This wasn't just professional respect or casual attraction. This was deeper, forged in crisis and mutual reliance.

"Get some rest," she told him softly, reluctant to break the moment but aware of his need for recovery. "I'll check on you tomorrow."

As she turned to leave, his hand tightened on hers. "Cheppy."

She looked back, caught by the intensity in his gaze.

"Thank you," he said simply. "For not leaving me behind."

"I never would," she replied, the promise extending far beyond this single mission.

As she left the infirmary, Cheppy realized that something profound had changed—not just in how Lorne saw her, but in how she saw herself. She was no longer just an accidental visitor trying to find her place. She was an essential part of this team, this city, this man's life.

The trial by fire had tested her limits and revealed her strength. Whatever came next, she would face it not as an outsider, but as someone who truly belonged.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Deeper Connections

The jumper bay doors slid open as Jumper Two made its final approach, gliding smoothly into the cavernous space before settling on the designated landing pad. Inside the cockpit, Lieutenant Reed powered down the systems while Edison kept a supportive hand on Major Lorne's shoulder.

"Easy does it, sir," Edison said as he helped Lorne to his feet. "Dr. Beckett's standing by."

Cheppy watched from her seat, exhaustion etched into her features. The past twenty-four hours had been a blur of adrenaline and fear—the Genii ambush, activating the Ancient barrier, Lorne's injuries. She'd barely slept, focusing instead on keeping them all alive and Lorne stable during their escape.

The jumper's rear hatch lowered to reveal Dr. Beckett and a medical team waiting with a gurney. The Scottish doctor's expression shifted from professional concern to visible relief when he spotted Cheppy.

"Thank heavens," he breathed, then quickly composed himself. "Let's get the Major to the infirmary straightaway."

As the medical team transferred Lorne onto the gurney, his hand caught Cheppy's wrist. "You did good," he murmured, eyes glazed with pain but lucid. "Really good."

"Save your strength," she replied softly. "I'll see you in the infirmary."

Carson directed his attention to Cheppy as they wheeled Lorne away. "You look dead on your feet, lass. You're coming with us too."

"I'm fine, Carson," she protested weakly. "I just need—"

"Doctor's orders," he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "Lieutenant Reed can handle the debriefing."

Too exhausted to resist, Cheppy nodded, falling into step beside him. As they walked through Atlantis's corridors, Carson kept stealing concerned glances at her.

"Your report mentioned you activated Ancient barriers," he said conversationally, though she detected his underlying concern. "And treated a dislocated shoulder in the field."

"I did what I had to," she replied, the weight of the past day settling heavily on her shoulders. "I couldn't let him—" Her voice caught unexpectedly, emotions she'd suppressed during the crisis suddenly surging to the surface.

Carson's hand on her shoulder steadied her. "You got them home, Cheppy. That's what matters."

The infirmary buzzed with quiet efficiency as nurses tended to Lorne's injuries. Carson had insisted on examining Cheppy as well, despite her protests that she was merely tired.

"Your blood sugar's lower than I'd like," he informed her, reviewing her readings. "When's the last time you ate?"

Cheppy blinked, trying to remember. "Before the Genii attacked, I think? Yesterday morning?"

Carson shook his head disapprovingly. "You know better than that. I'm having the kitchen send up a proper meal, and you're not leaving until you've eaten every bite."

From across the infirmary, Lorne's voice called out, "Better listen to him, Doc. He gets cranky when people ignore medical advice."

Cheppy turned to see Lorne propped up in bed, his left arm immobilized in a sling, various monitors tracking his vitals. Despite his injuries, he offered her a small smile that inexplicably made her heart flutter.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, moving to his bedside.

"Like I picked a fight with a cave ceiling and lost," he replied with a wince. "But I've had worse. Dr. Beckett says I'll live."

"Indeed he will," Carson confirmed, joining them. "Though he'll be off active duty for at least two weeks. That shoulder needs time to heal properly, and the leg wound isn't trivial."

Lorne grimaced. "Two weeks?"

"At minimum," Carson emphasized. "And that's assuming you follow my instructions to the letter."

A commotion at the infirmary entrance interrupted their conversation as Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Weir arrived. Elizabeth's face reflected both concern and relief as she approached Lorne's bed.

"Major, I'm glad to see you're awake," she said. "Lieutenant Reed briefed us on what happened."

"How much did he tell you?" Lorne asked cautiously.

Sheppard leaned against the adjacent bed. "Enough to know that Dr. Mitchell here saved your collective backsides with some impressive Ancient tech skills."

Cheppy felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I just applied what I've learned from studying the Ancient texts."

"Don't sell yourself short," Lorne countered with unexpected firmness. "She didn't just activate the barrier—she treated my injuries, kept the team moving, and made the call to delay our pursuers rather than engage. Textbook field decisions under extreme pressure."

Weir's expression softened as she turned to Cheppy. "It seems we owe you our gratitude, Doctor. Again."

"I was just doing my job," Cheppy replied, uncomfortable with the attention.

"Above and beyond," Sheppard corrected. "Not bad for someone who started out as—what did McKay call you?—an 'interdimensional interloper'?"

Weir shot him a disapproving glance before addressing Cheppy again. "What Colonel Sheppard is trying to say is that your actions have once again proven your value to this expedition. The decision to include you on Major Lorne's team has clearly been vindicated."

"Thank you, Dr. Weir," Cheppy managed, fighting against a sudden wave of emotion. After months of struggling to find her place, this acknowledgment meant more than she could express.

Carson, noting her fatigue, stepped in. "If you don't mind, they both need rest. Perhaps we could continue this discussion tomorrow?"

"Of course," Weir agreed. "Major, I expect a full recovery. That's an order."

"Yes, ma'am," Lorne replied with a tired smile.

As Weir and Sheppard departed, Carson turned to Cheppy. "Your meal should be here shortly. After that, I want you to get some proper sleep. You can visit the Major tomorrow."

"Actually," Lorne interjected, "if Dr. Mitchell doesn't mind, I could use some company. Still a bit wired from everything."

Carson looked between them, a knowing glint in his eye. "Just don't keep her too long. She needs rest as much as you do."

After he walked away, Cheppy settled into the chair beside Lorne's bed. "You don't really need company, do you?"

"Maybe I just want yours," he admitted quietly.

The simple honesty in his voice created a moment of silence between them, weighted with unspoken sentiment. Cheppy found herself studying his face—the bruise darkening along his jaw, the fatigue in his eyes, yet beneath it all, a warmth directed solely at her.

"I thought I was going to lose you," she finally confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "When that section collapsed and you pushed me clear..."

"Worth it," he replied without hesitation.

"Don't say that," she admonished. "You could have died."

"But I didn't," he pointed out softly. "Thanks to you."

A nurse approached with Cheppy's meal tray, momentarily interrupting their conversation. After she departed, Lorne watched as Cheppy mechanically began eating.

"You know," he said after a while, "when I was lying there, not sure if I could move, there was only one thing I regretted."

"What's that?" she asked, meeting his gaze.

"That I might never get the chance to tell you how important you've become to me." His voice was steady, though she could see it cost him some effort. "And I don't mean as a team member, though you're exceptional at that too."

Cheppy set down her fork, her heart suddenly racing faster than it had during their escape from the Genii. "Evan..."

"I know the timing's terrible," he continued. "And there are probably regulations we should consider. But nearly dying has a way of clarifying what matters." He took a deep breath. "I have feelings for you, Cheppy. Feelings that go well beyond professional admiration or friendship."

The confession hung in the air between them, transforming the space they shared. Cheppy felt simultaneously anchored and adrift, certain only of the thundering of her own heart.

"I don't expect you to say anything now," Lorne added gently. "I just needed you to know."

Cheppy struggled to find words that could adequately express the tumult of emotions within her. "I don't... I'm not sure what to say," she admitted finally. "This is all so—"

"Complicated?" he offered with a wry smile.

"Overwhelming," she corrected. "In a good way, I think. But I need some time to process it all."

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere." He gestured ruefully at his immobilized shoulder. "Literally, according to Carson."

The tension broken, Cheppy found herself laughing softly. "Two weeks minimum, he said."

"I've heard the infirmary chairs are surprisingly comfortable for extended visits," Lorne suggested with feigned casualness. "If someone wanted to drop by with Ancient texts to translate, that wouldn't be unwelcome."

"I'll keep that in mind," she replied with a smile, feeling something settle within her—not resolution, but the comfort of knowing they had time to figure things out.

Carson returned, eyebrows raised at the half-eaten meal. "I said every bite, lass."

"Sorry, Carson," Cheppy replied, dutifully resuming her dinner.

"The Major needs rest now," he insisted, though his tone was gentle. "You can continue your conversation tomorrow."

As Cheppy stood to leave, Lorne caught her hand briefly. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow," she affirmed, a promise in the single word.

Over the next week, a routine developed. Each morning, after completing her duties in the linguistics lab, Cheppy would bring lunch to the infirmary, sharing the meal with Lorne while they worked—she on translations, he on mission reports and the administrative tasks Sheppard kept sending to "keep him out of trouble."

Their conversations flowed easily, sometimes focused on work, often drifting to more personal topics—childhood memories, favorite books, dreams for the future. Lorne spoke of his family back on Earth, of his passion for painting that few in Atlantis knew about. Cheppy shared stories of her academic journey, her struggle with diabetes diagnosis in college, her fascination with language patterns.

They carefully avoided discussing Lorne's confession, as if by mutual agreement, allowing their connection to deepen naturally without pressure.

On the fifth day, as they sat companionably in the infirmary, Carson observed them from his office. Dr. Heightmeyer paused beside him, following his gaze.

"They make quite the pair, don't they?" Kate remarked quietly.

Carson nodded. "It's good to see her finding her place here. When she first arrived, I worried she might never adjust—transplanted not just to another planet but another reality entirely."

"The human capacity for adaptation is remarkable," Kate agreed. "Though I suspect having someone believe in you makes all the difference."

"Aye," Carson replied thoughtfully. "Lorne saw something in her from the beginning. The rest of us just took longer to notice."

By the end of the week, Carson cleared Lorne to return to his quarters, though not yet for active duty. His shoulder was healing well, and the leg wound had closed cleanly without infection.

"Don't overdo it," Carson warned as he signed the release forms. "No training, no heavy lifting, and check in every other day so I can monitor that shoulder."

"Yes, Doc," Lorne agreed readily, eager to escape the confines of the infirmary.

Cheppy arrived as he was preparing to leave, a tablet tucked under her arm. "Breaking out already?"

"With permission," he clarified, gesturing to Carson's retreating form. "Though I've been instructed to take it easy."

"Need help getting settled?" she offered.

The walk to Lorne's quarters was unhurried, punctuated by greetings from various expedition members pleased to see the Major up and about. When they finally reached his door, Lorne hesitated.

"I just realized my quarters are probably a mess. I wasn't expecting visitors when we left for that mission."

Cheppy smiled. "I've seen you covered in cave dust and Genii blood. I think I can handle a few dirty uniforms."

His quarters were indeed somewhat disheveled, but not nearly as bad as he'd suggested. A few personal items adorned the space—a small landscape painting propped against the wall, waiting to be hung; several books stacked on the nightstand; a worn baseball glove on a shelf.

"Home sweet home," Lorne said with a self-deprecating shrug. "Not much, but it's mine."

"It's nice," Cheppy replied sincerely, drawn to the painting. "Is this yours?"

He nodded, a hint of pride mixing with embarrassment. "Just a hobby."

"It's beautiful," she said, studying the Earth landscape—rolling hills under a sunset sky, rendered in warm hues that conveyed both peace and longing. "You're really talented."

"Thanks," he replied, seemingly touched by her genuine appreciation. "I find it helps clear my mind after difficult missions. Gets me out of soldier mode."

"I can see why," she said softly. "It's like you've captured not just a place, but a feeling."

Their eyes met, and Cheppy felt that now-familiar flutter in her chest—a sensation both exhilarating and terrifying in its implication.

The moment was broken by Lorne's radio activating. "Major Lorne, please report to the briefing room," Chuck's voice announced.

Lorne frowned, tapping his earpiece. "I'm on medical leave, Chuck."

"Colonel Sheppard specifically requested your presence, sir. He said it's not a mission, just planning."

"Understood. I'll be there shortly." Lorne sighed, turning to Cheppy with an apologetic smile. "Duty calls, apparently."

"Go ahead," she said. "I should get back to the lab anyway. Dr. Sato found some interesting text in the database about Ancient communication systems."

As they parted ways in the corridor, Cheppy felt a curious blend of relief and disappointment—relief at postponing the inevitable conversation about Lorne's confession, disappointment at losing a rare moment of privacy.

Three days later, Cheppy was in the linguistics lab when Carson found her, poring over Ancient text with Dr. Sato.

"There you are," Carson greeted, unusually cheerful even for him. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Is something wrong?" she asked, instantly alert.

"Not at all," he assured her. "Just thought you might want to join me for lunch. I rarely see you these days, now that you're not bringing meals to the infirmary."

Cheppy felt her cheeks warm at his knowing tone. "I've been busy," she defended weakly.

"Mmm," Carson hummed noncommittally. "Lunch?"

Once settled in the mess hall with their trays, Carson wasted no time. "So, how are things with the Major?"

"There's nothing to tell," Cheppy replied too quickly. "He's recovering well."

"Lass, I've known you both since your first day here. I think we're past pretending."

Cheppy sighed, absently stirring her soup. "He told me he has feelings for me."

"And this surprises you?" Carson asked gently.

"No... yes..." she struggled. "I don't know what to do about it."

"What do you want to do about it?" he countered.

The question hung in the air as Cheppy considered it seriously. "That's just it—I don't know. When I first arrived here, all I wanted was to go home. Then all I wanted was to belong. Now that I finally feel like I have a place here..."

"You're afraid of risking it," Carson finished for her.

"Partly," she admitted. "But it's more than that. Nothing in this universe is permanent for me, Carson. What if I find a way back to my reality? What if something happens to him? The mortality rate in Pegasus isn't exactly reassuring."

Carson set down his fork, his expression thoughtful. "When I first came to Atlantis, I was terrified. Space travel, ancient technology, the constant threat of the Wraith—it was overwhelming. But I've learned something important in our time here: uncertainty isn't unique to Pegasus. Life itself is uncertain, wherever you are."

He leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. "We can't guarantee tomorrow anywhere in any universe, Cheppy. All we have is today and the choices we make in it."

Cheppy absorbed his words, feeling their truth resonate within her. "When did you get so wise about relationships, Dr. Beckett?"

"I've had my share of heartache," he admitted with a sad smile. "Enough to know that regret lasts longer than fear."

As they finished their meal, Cheppy's radio activated. "Dr. Mitchell, please report to the control room," came Chuck's voice.

"On my way," she replied, giving Carson an apologetic look.

He waved her off. "Go on then. Duty calls. Just... don't wait too long to figure out what you want, lass. Some opportunities don't come around twice."

In the control room, Cheppy found Dr. Weir, Colonel Sheppard, and Rodney McKay clustered around a console, expressions serious.

"Ah, Dr. Mitchell," Weir greeted her. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"What's going on?" Cheppy asked, noting the tension in the room.

McKay gestured impatiently to the display. "We've been detecting anomalous energy readings at the outer edge of our sensor range. They've been increasing gradually over the past twenty-four hours."

"We think it might be related to some systems in the previously unexplored southern pier," Sheppard added. "Possibly Ancient tech activating in response to the signals."

"And you need a translator," Cheppy surmised.

"Precisely," Weir confirmed. "We're sending a team to investigate, and given your success with Ancient systems activation, we'd like you to accompany them."

"Major Lorne's team?" Cheppy asked before she could stop herself.

Sheppard's lips quirked in a barely suppressed smile. "The Major's still on medical restriction, but he'll be coordinating from the control room. Lieutenant Reed will lead the team."

"When do we leave?" she asked, pointedly ignoring Sheppard's knowing expression.

"0800 tomorrow," he replied. "Preliminary briefing in one hour."

As the others dispersed, Cheppy found herself alone with Sheppard.

"Something on your mind, Doctor?" he asked casually.

"No, sir," she replied quickly.

Sheppard studied her for a moment. "You know, when I first came to Atlantis, I had no idea what I was getting into. None of us did. But sometimes the best things in life are the ones you don't plan for."

Before she could respond to this surprisingly personal observation, he continued in a more professional tone. "Major Lorne's in the auxiliary control room setting up the coordination hub. You might want to check in before the briefing, review the Ancient database entries for the southern pier."

"Yes, sir," she replied, recognizing the suggestion for what it was—a chance to speak with Lorne privately.

"And Mitchell?" Sheppard called as she turned to leave. "The expedition has protocols for personal relationships. They're more... flexible than you might expect."

Cheppy found Lorne in the auxiliary control room as Sheppard had indicated, surrounded by tablets and displays. His left arm was now in a smaller sling, allowing more movement, and he looked up with a smile when she entered.

"Briefing's not for another forty-five minutes," he noted, checking his watch.

"Colonel Sheppard suggested I check in with you about the Ancient database entries," she explained, suddenly feeling awkward.

Lorne's expression turned knowing. "Did he now? Subtle as always."

"Not really his strong suit," Cheppy agreed with a small laugh, some of the tension dissipating.

"Here," Lorne said, indicating a seat beside him. "I've pulled up everything we have on the southern pier. Not much, unfortunately. The Ancients apparently weren't big on leaving detailed floor plans."

As they reviewed the limited data, their shoulders occasionally brushed, sending an almost electric awareness through Cheppy. Lorne seemed similarly affected, his voice shifting slightly whenever they made contact.

"What do you make of these energy readings?" she asked, focusing determinedly on the display.

"They're unlike anything we've seen before," he replied, equally professional. "The pattern is almost... rhythmic. McKay thinks it might be some kind of communication attempt."

"Communication from whom?" she asked, concern creeping into her voice.

"That's what we need to find out," Lorne said grimly. "The timing's suspicious, coming right after our discovery of that Ancient defense outpost."

They worked in companionable silence for several minutes, marking potential points of interest on the southern pier schematics. The task was routine, but Cheppy found herself hyperaware of Lorne's proximity, of the faint scent of military-issue soap and something uniquely him.

"I've missed this," Lorne said suddenly, his voice low.

Cheppy looked up, questioning.

"Working with you," he clarified. "The past few days, since I left the infirmary..."

"I've been busy," she offered weakly.

"Avoiding me?" he suggested, no accusation in his tone, just gentle understanding.

"Maybe a little," she admitted. "I needed to think."

"And have you?" he asked. "Thought about it?"

Cheppy took a deep breath, setting aside the tablet. "Yes. A lot, actually."

"And?" His voice remained steady, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the careful control in his expression.

"I'm scared, Evan," she confessed softly. "Not of you, or of us, but of what it means. I've lost so much already—my whole world, literally. The thought of caring about someone that deeply again..."

"It's a risk," he acknowledged. "For both of us. I know what it means to lose people in this galaxy."

"Carson said something today that made me think," she continued. "He said uncertainty isn't unique to Pegasus—it's just life. We can't guarantee tomorrow anywhere."

Lorne's good hand found hers on the console, his touch warm and reassuring. "He's right. But that's exactly why we can't waste today wondering about tomorrow."

Their eyes met, and Cheppy felt something shift within her—fear giving way to something stronger, something that felt remarkably like hope.

"I care about you too, Evan," she said finally, her voice quiet but certain. "More than I expected to, more than is probably wise. And I'm tired of letting fear make my decisions for me."

The smile that spread across his face was like sunrise breaking over the ocean—warm, radiant, full of promise. His hand tightened around hers.

"So where does that leave us?" he asked.

"Figuring it out together?" she suggested. "One day at a time?"

"I like the sound of that," he replied softly.

The moment hung between them, charged with possibility, until Lorne's radio crackled to life, summoning them to the briefing. With reluctance, they separated, gathering their tablets.

"We should probably..." Cheppy gestured toward the door.

"Yeah," Lorne agreed, equally disappointed at the interruption. "But this conversation isn't over."

"I know," she replied with a small smile. "Meet me on the east balcony tonight? After dinner?"

"I'll be there," he promised.

The briefing was concise and professional, with no hint of the personal undercurrents now flowing between Cheppy and Lorne. Lieutenant Reed would lead the team, with Sergeants Coughlin and Edison providing security while Cheppy and Dr. Zelenka investigated the Ancient systems. Major Lorne would coordinate from the control room, maintaining communication and tracking their progress through the largely uncharted area.

"Questions?" Sheppard concluded, looking around the table.

"What's our procedure if we encounter active Ancient technology?" Reed asked.

"Document first, then consult with Dr. Mitchell before attempting activation," Lorne replied. "We don't want any surprises."

"And if the energy signature increases?" Zelenka inquired.

"Fall back to the last secure position and reassess," Sheppard instructed. "We don't know what's causing these readings, so caution is the watchword here, people."

As the briefing concluded, Cheppy found herself caught in conversation with Zelenka about Ancient control interfaces, delaying her departure. By the time she reached the corridor, Lorne was already gone, summoned by McKay to review security protocols.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of preparation—studying maps, gathering equipment, reviewing Ancient technical terminology she might encounter. By the time Cheppy finished her preparations, the dinner hour had passed, and fatigue weighed heavily on her. Still, anticipation quickened her steps as she made her way to the east balcony.

The night air was cool and crisp, carrying the salt tang of the ocean. Stars glittered overhead in unfamiliar constellations, reminding her just how far she was from the Earth she'd known. Yet somehow, that thought no longer carried the same ache of loss.

Lorne was already there, leaning against the railing, gazing out at the moonlit waves. He'd changed from his uniform into civilian clothes—dark jeans and a simple blue shirt that deepened the color of his eyes. He turned at the sound of her approach, and the smile that spread across his face sent warmth cascading through her.

"I was beginning to think you might not come," he said as she joined him at the railing.

"Sorry, Zelenka had about a thousand questions about Ancient interface designs," she explained.

"Worth the wait," he replied simply, his gaze lingering on her face.

Cheppy felt heat rise to her cheeks under his appreciative scrutiny. She'd taken the time to change as well, trading her uniform for a soft green sweater that Carson had once mentioned brought out her eyes.

For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, watching the gentle swell of waves against the city's piers. The familiar setting—their balcony, as it had become—created a sense of privacy, a world apart from the constant demands of the expedition.

"So," Lorne finally said, turning to face her fully. "Where were we?"

"Figuring things out together," Cheppy reminded him with a small smile.

"Right," he nodded, taking a step closer. "I believe I was about to suggest that some things are worth the risk."

"And I was about to agree," she replied, her heart quickening as the distance between them diminished.

"Cheppy," he began, his voice soft but serious. "I know this isn't simple. Nothing in Pegasus is. But when I thought I might not make it back from that mission—all I could think about was you. Not the mission, not the team, just... you."

The raw honesty in his voice touched something deep within her. "I felt the same way," she admitted. "When you were hurt, I wasn't thinking about protocols or procedures. I was terrified of losing you before we even had a chance to..."

"To what?" he prompted gently when she hesitated.

"To see what this could be," she finished, gesturing between them. "Whatever this is."

Lorne's good hand came up to gently brush a stray curl from her face, his touch lingering against her cheek. "I know what I want it to be," he murmured. "But only if you want the same thing."

The question hung in the air between them, unspoken but clear. Cheppy took a deep breath, no longer fighting the pull she felt toward this man who had been her champion from the beginning.

"I do," she whispered, the simple declaration carrying the weight of decision.

Time seemed to slow as Lorne leaned in, giving her every opportunity to step away. But Cheppy only moved closer, her hand coming to rest lightly on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

Their first kiss was gentle—a question more than a declaration—his lips brushing against hers with exquisite care. When Cheppy responded, sliding her hand up to his shoulder and drawing him closer, the kiss deepened into something more profound—an answer, a promise, a beginning.

Lorne's arm encircled her waist, holding her as if she were something precious, while Cheppy's fingers traced the line of his jaw, memorizing the contours of his face. They remained that way for what felt like both an eternity and not nearly long enough, the rest of Atlantis fading away until there was only this moment, this connection, this shared breath.

When they finally parted, Lorne rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment. "Worth the wait," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

Cheppy laughed softly, feeling lighter than she had in months. "Definitely."

Before Lorne could respond, a shrill alarm cut through the night, shattering their private moment. They broke apart, instantly alert, as Chuck's voice came over the citywide comm system:

"Unscheduled off-world activation! Security teams to the gate room!"

Simultaneously, their radios activated with Colonel Sheppard's voice: "Major Lorne, Dr. Mitchell, report to the control room immediately. Those energy readings just spiked off the charts."

They exchanged a glance, personal concerns instantly set aside as duty took precedence. Without a word, they turned and ran from the balcony, heading toward the central tower where emergency lights now pulsed in urgent rhythm.

As they raced through the corridors, Lorne's hand found hers briefly, squeezing once in silent reassurance before they rounded the corner into the control center and separated to their respective stations. Whatever was coming, they would face it together—as colleagues, as teammates, and now as something more.

The screens in the control room displayed a chaotic array of data: energy signatures flaring across multiple frequencies, long-range sensors detecting movement in the upper atmosphere, and at the center of it all, a single, chilling identification:

"Wraith dart incoming, bearing 047," announced the technician, her voice steady despite the gravity of the situation. "Estimated time to intercept: three minutes."

Cheppy caught Lorne's eye across the room, both knowing that whatever had just begun between them would need to wait. Atlantis was under attack.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: The Wraith Attack

"Wraith dart on approach! All personnel to designated security positions!" The announcement echoed through Atlantis's corridors as emergency lights pulsed in urgent rhythm. The peaceful moment Cheppy and Lorne had shared on the balcony just minutes ago now seemed like a distant dream.

In the control room, organized chaos reigned. Colonel Sheppard barked orders while Dr. Weir coordinated with department heads to secure non-military personnel. Major Lorne, despite his healing shoulder, stood at the tactical display, his expression grim but focused.

"We're tracking just one dart," announced the technician monitoring the sensors. "Unusual flight pattern—it's not making a direct approach."

"Could be a scout," Sheppard said, eyes narrowed. "Or a diversion."

"Southern pier's energy signature is fluctuating wildly," McKay called from his station, fingers flying across his tablet. "Whatever's happening out there, it's responding to the dart's presence."

Cheppy moved to McKay's side, studying the Ancient characters scrolling across his screen. "That's not random fluctuation," she realized, recognizing patterns in the data. "It's a communication protocol."

McKay's head snapped up. "What?"

"These symbol sequences—they follow Ancient communication syntax," she explained, pointing to specific patterns. "It's like... like the system is exchanging information with the dart."

"That's impossible," McKay scoffed. "Wraith technology isn't compatible with Ancient systems."

"Unless they've adapted," Weir suggested, joining their conversation. "We know the Wraith have been evolving their technology."

Before anyone could respond, the entire city shuddered, lights flickering momentarily.

"What was that?" Sheppard demanded.

"The dart fired on the southern pier!" the tactical officer reported. "Direct hit on the energy source we've been monitoring."

"And now we've got multiple dart signatures appearing at the edge of our sensor range," another technician announced, tension evident in her voice. "A lot of them."

"Raise the shield," Weir ordered. "Colonel Sheppard—"

"Already on it," he replied, moving toward the door. "I'll take Jumper One and a marine squad to intercept."

"Major Lorne, coordinate defensive positions throughout the city," Weir continued. "Dr. McKay, I need to know what that system on the southern pier was communicating to the Wraith."

"On it," McKay replied, already gathering equipment. He glanced at Cheppy. "Mitchell, with me. I need someone who can read Ancient on the fly."

Lorne caught Cheppy's eye across the room, concern evident in his gaze despite his professional demeanor. "Be careful," he said simply.

She nodded, the memory of their kiss still warm despite the crisis unfolding around them. "You too."

As McKay and Cheppy hurried toward the nearest transporter, the citywide comm system crackled with urgent reports. The lone dart had somehow penetrated Atlantis's perimeter before the shield activated, and was now weaving between the city's towers, evading defensive fire.

"Why doesn't it just start culling?" Cheppy asked as they stepped into the transporter.

"Because culling isn't its mission," McKay replied grimly, selecting the southern pier on the destination map. "It's after something specific."

The transporter deposited them in a dimly lit corridor deep within the previously unexplored section of Atlantis. Emergency lighting cast eerie shadows along the ancient walls, and the distant sound of weapons fire echoed through the structure.

"This way," McKay directed, consulting his tablet. "The energy signature is coming from a chamber about two hundred meters ahead."

They moved cautiously through the unfamiliar territory, McKay's attention split between his readings and their surroundings. Cheppy kept pace, her hand occasionally brushing the sidearm Lorne had insisted she start carrying after their encounter with the Genii.

"The energy readings are increasing," McKay murmured as they approached an ornate doorway. Ancient script adorned the frame—complex, formal symbols that Cheppy immediately recognized as warning markers.

"Wait," she said, catching McKay's arm as he reached for the door control. "These inscriptions—they're quarantine notifications."

"Quarantine?" McKay's brow furrowed. "For what?"

Cheppy studied the symbols, translating as quickly as she could. "It says something about 'interdimensional containment' and 'reality fracture healing.'"

McKay's eyes widened. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "The system must be detecting—"

The ceiling above them exploded in a shower of debris and sparks as the Wraith dart blasted through the outer wall of the corridor. Cheppy barely had time to register McKay shoving her clear before a section of ceiling collapsed, separating them in a cloud of dust and rubble.

"McKay!" she coughed, struggling to see through the haze.

"I'm okay!" his voice came from the other side of the debris. "But I'm cut off from the chamber. You need to get in there and shut down whatever's drawing the Wraith!"

"How am I supposed to do that?" she called back, panic edging into her voice.

"You're the Ancient expert!" McKay shouted. "Figure it out! I'll try to find another way around!"

The comm system crackled to life in her ear. "Dr. Mitchell, come in." Lorne's voice was steady despite the tension evident behind it.

"I'm here," she replied, relief flooding through her at the sound of his voice. "McKay and I are separated. There's been a cave-in near the energy source chamber."

"I'm tracking your position," he responded. "Reinforcements are on the way, but they're encountering heavy resistance. The dart brought friends—we have Wraith inside the city."

Cheppy's blood ran cold. "What do you want me to do?"

"McKay's right—you need to reach that chamber," Lorne said, his tone shifting to professional focus. "Whatever's in there is what they're after. Can you get inside?"

She examined the doorway, which remained intact despite the destruction around it. "I think so. The door has Ancient script—it looks like a specialized access protocol."

"If anyone can figure it out, it's you," Lorne said, confidence evident in his voice. "I'll guide you as best I can from here."

Drawing strength from his faith in her, Cheppy approached the doorway. The script was unlike the typical Ancient door controls—more elaborate, more specialized. She brushed dust from the central panel, revealing a complex array of symbols.

"It's asking for authentication," she reported, studying the interface. "But it's an unusual dialect—older, more formal than what we typically see in Atlantis."

"Like the script on that journal?" Lorne asked, making a connection to Elera's journal that he'd given her weeks ago.

"Exactly," she confirmed, heart quickening as she recognized patterns from her extensive study of that text. "I think I can work with this."

As Cheppy began the painstaking process of deciphering the access protocol, the sounds of battle grew closer. Weapons fire echoed through adjacent corridors, punctuated by the distinctive whine of Wraith stunners.

"Mitchell, status update," Lorne's voice came through the comm, underlying tension betraying his concern.

"Almost there," she replied, fingers tracing specific symbol sequences. "It's a complex authentication system—something about 'reality gatekeepers' and 'dimensional oversight.'"

"Whatever it is, hurry," he urged. "We've got Wraith converging on your position."

The final symbol clicked into place under her touch, and the ancient door slid open with a resonant hum. Cheppy stepped through into a chamber unlike anything she'd seen in Atlantis before.

The circular room was dominated by a central pillar of pulsing blue-white energy that rose from floor to ceiling. Around it stood eight console stations, each displaying holographic Ancient text that scrolled and shifted in mesmerizing patterns. The air itself seemed charged, tingling against her skin.

"I'm in," she reported, awestruck. "It's... incredible. Some kind of control center, but different from anything we've seen before."

"What's generating the energy signature?" Lorne asked, all business despite the wonder in her voice.

Cheppy approached the nearest console, eyes tracking the flowing Ancient script. "It's a dimensional monitoring station," she realized, excitement momentarily overriding fear. "The Ancients were studying different types of interdimensional travel—both natural tears in reality and artificially created portals throughout Pegasus."

"Like the device that brought you here," Lorne observed, making the connection instantly.

"Exactly," she breathed, the implications staggering. "This system tracks dimensional anomalies and portal activations across the galaxy. It must have detected the energy signature when McKay's experiment pulled me through months ago, but only recently activated fully in response."

"Why would the Wraith be interested in that?" Lorne wondered.

Before Cheppy could respond, a thunderous explosion rocked the corridor outside. Through the still-open doorway, she could see Wraith drones advancing, firing steadily at the marine squad attempting to hold them back.

"They're almost here," she reported, fear clutching at her throat. "What do I do?"

"Find a way to shut it down," Lorne instructed, his voice tense. "The Wraith can't be allowed to access that kind of technology. If they could create their own dimensional portals—"

"They could cull across realities," Cheppy finished, the horrifying possibility crystallizing in her mind. "Billions of humans who've never heard of the Wraith—helpless."

Her fingers flew across the console, translating commands on the fly. The system was complex, but followed logical Ancient protocols she'd studied. "I think I can initiate a shutdown sequence, but it'll take time to power down safely."

"Time we don't have," Lorne replied grimly. "Security teams are being pushed back. You need to—"

His voice cut off as the comm system went dead, the thunderous impact of another explosion vibrating through the floor. Through the doorway, Cheppy could see the marines falling back, several already down. The corridor filled with Wraith drones, commanded by a male officer whose facial tattoos marked him as a high-ranking warrior.

Heart racing, Cheppy searched frantically for options. The system was too valuable to destroy completely—the knowledge it contained about interdimensional travel might someday help her return home. But she couldn't let it fall into Wraith hands.

A solution flashed into her mind—risky, but possible. Her fingers danced across the console, initiating a specialized protocol she'd encountered in her studies of Ancient emergency procedures.

"Access granted: temporal suspension initiated," announced the system in flowing Ancient text.

The blue-white energy pillar pulsed brighter, expanding outward to encompass the entire chamber just as the first Wraith drone reached the doorway. An invisible barrier flared at the threshold, halting the drone's advance. He snarled, firing his stunner directly at Cheppy. The energy blast dissipated harmlessly against the barrier.

"Containment field established," the system continued. "Dimensional quarantine in effect."

Cheppy stared at the Wraith through the shimmering barrier, heart pounding but momentarily safe. She'd activated the Ancient equivalent of a panic room—a temporal suspension field that isolated the chamber from normal space-time. Nothing could get in... or out.

"Temporal integrity failing in lower quadrants," the system suddenly announced, red symbols flashing across the holographic displays. "Breach detected in sectors 7 through 12."

The barrier flickered at the doorway, its blue energy turning unstable. The Wraith officer smiled coldly, recognizing the shield's imminent failure. Beyond him, in the corridor, Cheppy caught glimpses of continued fighting—marines holding position at the far end, but clearly outnumbered.

Her comm crackled back to life, cutting through with emergency priority. "Mitchell!" Lorne's voice, urgent. "If you can hear me, we've lost contact with your section. Colonel Sheppard is inbound with reinforcements, but they're still five minutes out. Whatever you're going to do, do it now!"

The temporal barrier fluctuated again, allowing one of the Wraith drones to push partially through before being repelled. The system's warnings intensified, red symbols multiplying across the displays.

Cheppy made a split-second decision. Racing to the central console, she initiated a different protocol—one she'd discovered in her studies of Ancient emergency measures. "Emergency phase shift," she commanded in Ancient, her pronunciation perfect after months of study.

"Command accepted," the system responded. "Phase shift in three... two... one..."

The energy pillar pulsed blindingly bright, expanding to fill the entire chamber. Cheppy felt a sensation like being pulled inside out—similar to her original journey through dimensions, but briefer and somehow more controlled. The world around her blurred, then reassembled.

When her vision cleared, she was still in the same chamber, but the Wraith were gone. So was the evidence of battle in the corridor beyond. The lighting was different—softer, amber-hued rather than the harsh emergency red.

"Phase shift complete," announced the system. "Chamber has been removed from primary temporal stream. Calculating dimensional coordinates."

Cheppy realized what she'd done—she'd shifted the entire chamber slightly out of phase with normal reality, effectively removing it and herself from Atlantis's timestream. The Wraith couldn't access the technology because it no longer existed in their dimensional plane.

"Oh god," she whispered, the implications hitting her. "I've trapped myself."

The system continued its calculations, Ancient symbols streaking across the displays too fast to read. Finally, it announced: "Temporal variance detected. Chamber will realign with primary timestream in approximately 6.2 hours."

Relief flooded through her—the situation wasn't permanent. She just needed to wait for the phase shift to naturally decay, returning the chamber to normal space-time after the Wraith had been dealt with.

Her comm was silent—unsurprising, since she now existed slightly out of phase with the rest of Atlantis. She was alone, but safe, and so was the Ancient technology. For now.

Hours passed in solitude as Cheppy explored the chamber's systems, learning more about interdimensional physics than she'd ever thought possible. The Ancient database contained detailed information about the very phenomenon that had brought her to Pegasus—information that might someday help her return home, if she wanted to.

The thought gave her pause. Did she want to return? Months ago, the answer would have been an immediate yes. Now, though...

Her thoughts drifted to Lorne—to the kiss they'd shared on the balcony, to the promise of something deeper developing between them. To Carson's friendship and mentorship, to her growing role within the expedition. To the sense of purpose she'd found here that had eluded her on Earth.

Before she could follow that train of thought further, the system announced: "Temporal realignment commencing. Phase shift reversal in three... two... one..."

The energy pillar pulsed once more, and the strange inside-out sensation returned briefly. When it passed, the chamber's lighting had changed back to Atlantis standard. Through the doorway, she could see marines standing guard, weapons ready but no Wraith in sight.

"Temporal realignment complete," the system confirmed. "Chamber has returned to primary timestream."

"Dr. Mitchell!" one of the marines called, spotting her through the doorway. "She's here! The Major was right!"

Cheppy stepped cautiously out of the chamber, legs wobbly after her dimensional experience. "What happened with the Wraith?"

"Repelled, ma'am," the marine replied, already speaking into his radio to report her reappearance. "Colonel Sheppard's team drove them back, and the shield prevented reinforcements from arriving. But you've been missing for over six hours. Major Lorne has been coordinating search teams throughout this entire section."

"I wasn't missing," she tried to explain. "I was phase-shifted—existing just slightly out of sync with your reality. It was the only way to protect the technology."

The marine looked confused but nodded respectfully. "If you say so, ma'am." He spoke into his radio again. "Sir, we've found Dr. Mitchell. Yes, sir. Understood."

He turned back to Cheppy. "Major Lorne's on his way. He hasn't stopped searching since the attack was contained. Refused to even take a break, despite Colonel Sheppard's orders."

At the mention of Lorne, Cheppy felt a surge of anticipation. Before she could ask anything further, rapid footsteps echoed down the corridor. Lorne appeared, disheveled and exhausted but moving with purpose. When he saw her, he stopped abruptly, relief washing over his features.

"Cheppy," he breathed, closing the distance between them in a few long strides.

Without hesitation, he pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around her with a desperation that spoke volumes. For a moment they simply held each other, both trembling slightly with the release of fear and tension.

"I thought I'd lost you," he murmured against her hair, his voice rough with emotion. "When you disappeared and we couldn't reach you... and then the Wraith..."

"I'm okay," she assured him, her own voice unsteady. "I had to phase-shift the chamber to keep the technology from the Wraith. It took me out of normal time temporarily."

Lorne pulled back slightly, his eyes searching her face as if to confirm she was really there. One hand came up to gently brush a smudge of dust from her cheek. "Out of time for six hours? Do you have any idea what that was like for me?"

The raw emotion in his voice made her heart clench. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't have time to explain—there were Wraith breaking through the barrier, and the system was failing, and I just... I had to make a choice."

"You made the right one," he said firmly. "You protected the technology and yourself. That's what matters." His hands were still on her shoulders, as if afraid she might disappear again if he let go. "But next time, a little warning would be nice."

Despite everything, Cheppy found herself smiling. "I'll try to schedule my dimensional crises more considerately in the future."

The joke broke the tension, and Lorne's expression softened into something warmer, more intimate. For a moment, it seemed he might kiss her, despite the presence of the marines tactfully pretending not to notice their reunion.

Instead, he took a small step back, though his eyes never left hers. "We should get you to the infirmary. Standard protocol after... whatever it is you just experienced."

"I feel fine," she protested. "Just a little disoriented."

"Humor me," he replied, the concern in his eyes making it impossible to refuse. "Carson will want to check you out anyway. And Weir and Sheppard are going to want a full debriefing."

As they walked toward the transporter, Lorne kept close to her side, occasionally touching her elbow or the small of her back, as if reassuring himself of her solid presence. The marines followed at a discreet distance, giving them as much privacy as possible under the circumstances.

"The chamber," Cheppy said as they waited for the transporter. "It's a dimensional monitoring station. It contains data about interdimensional travel, including the kind that brought me here."

Lorne's step faltered, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You mean it might have information about how to send you back?"

"Possibly," she acknowledged, watching his reaction carefully. "It's going to take time to analyze the data, but... yes, it might."

A series of emotions flickered across his face—surprise, concern, and something that looked remarkably like fear. But his voice remained steady when he asked, "Is that what you want? To go back?"

The question hung in the air between them, weighted with implications neither had fully voiced before now. Cheppy thought of the world she'd left behind—familiar but unfulfilling, where she'd been struggling to find purpose. Then she thought of Atlantis, with all its dangers and wonders. Of the place she'd carved out for herself here. Of the man standing before her, waiting for her answer with carefully contained hope in his eyes.

"No," she said simply, the truth of it settling into her bones. "Not anymore. My life is here now."

The relief that washed over Lorne's features was unmistakable. He reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "Good," he said softly. "Because I'm not ready to say goodbye to you, Dr. Mitchell."

The transporter doors opened, but neither moved immediately, caught in the moment of understanding between them.

"I'm not going anywhere, Major Lorne," she replied, returning the pressure of his hand. "Except maybe to the infirmary, if you're going to be stubborn about it."

His laugh was low and warm as they stepped into the transporter. "Stubborn doesn't begin to cover it. I just spent six hours searching for you—I'm not letting you out of my sight anytime soon."

"Is that a promise?" she asked, surprising herself with her boldness.

Lorne's eyes darkened with emotion as the transporter doors closed. "Count on it."

In the aftermath of chaos, in the wake of fear and danger, Cheppy had found something precious—not just in Lorne, but in herself. The woman who had arrived in Atlantis terrified and alone had become someone stronger, braver, more certain of her own worth.

And that woman, Dr. Chephren Mitchell, had found her home among the stars.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: The Hidden Truth

The gentle hum of Ancient technology filled the dimensional monitoring chamber as Cheppy worked, her fingers dancing across holographic controls with practiced ease. Three weeks had passed since the Wraith attack, and she had spent every available moment studying the chamber's vast database. What had begun as a security assignment—understanding the technology the Wraith had targeted—had evolved into something far more personal.

"Found anything interesting today?" Lorne asked, entering the chamber with two steaming mugs. In the soft blue glow of the Ancient consoles, his smile was both warm and tentative—still adjusting to their newly acknowledged relationship.

"Coffee?" Cheppy asked hopefully, looking up from her work.

"The real stuff," he confirmed, handing her a mug. "Courtesy of the Daedalus supply run."

She accepted it gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma. "You're officially my favorite person in Pegasus."

"Just Pegasus?" he teased, moving to stand beside her.

"Well, I don't know many people in Andromeda," she retorted with a smile.

Their easy banter had developed alongside their deepening relationship, providing moments of normalcy amid the extraordinary circumstances of life in Atlantis. These past weeks had been strangely peaceful—no Wraith attacks, no major crises, just the rhythm of expedition life and the quiet evolution of what existed between them.

"So," Lorne prompted, gesturing to her work, "any breakthroughs?"

Cheppy hesitated, unsure how to articulate the magnitude of what she'd discovered. "Actually... yes. I've found something significant."

She tapped a sequence on the console, bringing up a section of Ancient text and technical diagrams. "The Ancients called it the 'Traveler Archive.' It's a comprehensive record of cross-dimensional travel events throughout Pegasus."

Lorne studied the display, his expression thoughtful. "Cross-dimensional? Like what happened to you?"

"Exactly," she confirmed, excitement coloring her voice despite her attempt at professional detachment. "According to these records, my experience wasn't unique. The Ancients documented dozens of cases of individuals traversing dimensional boundaries, both accidentally and intentionally."

"Intentionally?" Lorne's brow furrowed. "You mean the Ancients were deliberately crossing between dimensions?"

"Not just crossing—studying, mapping, and in some cases, establishing protocols to stabilize the passages." Cheppy brought up another display, this one showing a complex energy matrix. "They developed methods to harmonize dimensional frequencies, creating stable corridors between realities."

Understanding dawned in Lorne's eyes. "Are you saying they found a way to send people back to their original dimensions?"

The question hung between them, weighted with implications neither had fully articulated since their conversation after the Wraith attack. Cheppy had told him she didn't want to return to Earth, that her life was in Atlantis now. But the possibility of choice—that was different.

"Yes," she said finally, watching him carefully. "In some cases, they were able to create controlled pathways that allowed travelers to return to their origin points safely."

Lorne set his mug down, his expression carefully neutral. "And you think this could apply to your situation?"

"Theoretically." She pulled up another section of data. "The chamber contains references to a device the Ancients developed—the Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer. It was designed specifically to correct 'unintended dimensional shifts' by realigning the traveler's quantum signature with their native reality."

"Where is this device?" Lorne asked, his voice steady despite the tension she could see in his shoulders.

"That's the thing—it's not clear." Cheppy scrolled through more text. "The records mention several research stations throughout Pegasus where the technology was being refined. One was on a planet called Asuras, but there are no gate coordinates listed."

"Asuras?" Lorne's eyes widened slightly. "That's the Replicator homeworld. Not exactly a vacation destination."

"I figured as much from your reaction." She sighed, running a hand through her copper curls. "The other locations are equally cryptic. It's as if the Ancients deliberately obscured the information."

Lorne was quiet for a moment, staring at the displays. "Have you told Weir about this?"

"Not yet. I wanted to understand it better first." She hesitated, then added softly, "And I wanted to talk to you about it."

His eyes met hers, conflict visible in their depths. "Why?"

"Because it matters to me what you think," she admitted. "Because this isn't just about scientific discovery or Ancient technology. It's about... us."

The word settled between them—simple yet profound. They had been navigating their relationship carefully, taking small steps, learning each other in quiet moments stolen between duties. Neither had pressed for definitions or declarations, content to let their connection develop organically.

Lorne moved closer, his hand finding hers on the console. "What do you want, Cheppy?" he asked quietly. "Really want?"

It was the same question he'd asked after the Wraith attack, but now it carried new weight, new possibility. Then, her answer had been simple: she wanted to stay in Atlantis, with him. Now, with the theoretical possibility of return open before her, the question demanded deeper consideration.

"I don't know," she confessed, the admission difficult. "Six months ago, I would have given anything for a way back. Now... now I have a life here. Work that matters. People who care about me." Her eyes held his. "Someone who matters more than I expected."

Lorne's thumb traced circles on the back of her hand, his touch gentle yet grounding. "This is your choice," he said, his voice low but resolute. "Whatever you decide, I'll support you. But I'd be lying if I said I want you to leave."

The simple honesty in his words touched her deeply. "I'm not making any decisions right now," she assured him. "I'm just... exploring the possibilities. Understanding what's out there."

"Of course." He nodded, professional composure returning. "It's what any scientist would do."

The slight distance in his tone didn't escape her notice. "Evan," she said softly, using his first name deliberately, "finding this information doesn't mean I'm planning to use it. It just means I have options now. Options I didn't have before."

"You always have options," he replied, squeezing her hand once before letting go. "That's what makes a choice meaningful."

Before she could respond, her radio crackled to life with Dr. McKay's impatient voice: "Mitchell, where are you? You were supposed to meet me in the main lab twenty minutes ago to review the power integration protocols."

Cheppy winced, checking her watch. "Sorry, Rodney, I lost track of time. I'll be there in five minutes."

"Make it three," McKay huffed before the radio went silent.

"Duty calls," she said ruefully.

Lorne's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Go on. McKay in a temper is worse than a hive ship on your six."

"We'll talk more later?" she asked, suddenly reluctant to leave things unresolved between them.

"Of course," he nodded, already stepping back. "I've got a security briefing with Sheppard anyway. Dinner tonight?"

"I'd like that," she replied, gathering her tablet.

As she hurried to meet McKay, Cheppy couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them—subtle but significant. The discovery of the Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer had introduced a new variable into their equation, one neither had anticipated.

The main laboratory was its usual hive of activity, scientists from various disciplines clustered around workstations in organized chaos. McKay stood at the central console, arms crossed impatiently as Cheppy entered.

"Finally," he grumbled. "I was beginning to think you'd phased yourself out of our dimension again."

"Sorry," she apologized, ignoring the jab. "I was examining more of the dimensional chamber's database."

McKay's expression shifted from irritation to reluctant interest. "Find anything useful?"

For a moment, Cheppy considered telling him about the Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer. McKay would be fascinated by the technology, eager to explore its potential. But something held her back—perhaps the lingering uncertainty in Lorne's eyes, or her own complicated feelings about the discovery.

"Nothing concrete yet," she replied instead. "Still piecing together the Ancient terminology."

If McKay suspected her evasion, he didn't show it. "Well, focus on the work at hand. These power integration protocols won't translate themselves, and I've got three separate projects waiting on your 'linguistic insights.'"

Despite his perpetually acerbic tone, McKay's reliance on her translations represented a significant evolution in their working relationship. From initial dismissal to grudging respect to genuine collaboration—it was one of many unexpected connections she'd forged in Atlantis.

They worked steadily through the afternoon, dissecting Ancient power management systems designed to interface with the dimensional monitoring station. The technical challenge provided welcome distraction from her earlier conversation with Lorne, allowing Cheppy to lose herself in the familiar rhythms of translation and analysis.

"This section is talking about 'quantum alignment protocols,'" she explained, pointing to a sequence of Ancient symbols. "It's describing how the station maintains dimensional stability while actively monitoring multiple realities."

"Fascinating," Zelenka chimed in, joining them at the console. "The power requirements for such monitoring must be enormous."

"They are," McKay confirmed, scanning the data. "No wonder the system was dormant until recently. It probably activated when it detected the energy signature from..." He trailed off, glancing awkwardly at Cheppy.

"From the accident that brought me here," she finished for him, long past taking offense at the reference. "It makes sense. My arrival created a dimensional ripple that the system was designed to detect."

"Which means it might contain data about the exact nature of your interdimensional transit," Zelenka suggested, his eyes brightening with scientific curiosity.

"Possibly," she allowed, careful to keep her expression neutral. "If it does, the information would be useful for understanding how to prevent similar accidents in the future."

"Or how to replicate the effect under controlled conditions," McKay added, too absorbed in the scientific possibilities to notice her tension. "Intentional interdimensional travel could have countless applications."

"Let's focus on understanding the basic systems first," Cheppy suggested, steering the conversation away from dangerous waters. "The power integration is complicated enough without adding dimensional travel to the mix."

The remainder of the afternoon passed in technical discussion, with Cheppy carefully avoiding any mention of the Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer. By the time they finished, evening had fallen over Atlantis, the city's lights glimmering like earthbound stars against the darkening sky.

As she left the lab, Carson fell into step beside her in the corridor. "There you are," the Scottish doctor greeted warmly. "I've been trying to catch you all day."

"Sorry, Carson. McKay had me translating power protocols."

"No need to apologize. I just wanted to check how you're feeling after your latest adventure in the dimensional chamber." His concern was genuine—Carson had been monitoring her closely since the phase-shift incident, worried about potential physiological effects.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "No headaches, no dizziness, no feeling like I'm about to slip between realities."

"Good, good." He studied her face. "Though you do look tired. Not pushing yourself too hard, are you?"

Cheppy smiled at his paternal concern. "Just the usual Atlantis workload. Nothing I can't handle."

"Well, you know where to find me if that changes." They reached a junction in the corridor. "Heading to dinner?"

"Actually, I'm meeting Evan," she replied, still finding it slightly strange to use Lorne's first name in conversation with others, despite their now-acknowledged relationship.

Carson's expression softened. "Things going well there, I take it?"

"They are," she confirmed, unable to suppress a small smile despite her earlier unease. "It's... nice, having someone."

"I'm glad," Carson said sincerely. "You both deserve it. Just remember to take time for yourselves amid all the chaos around here. Atlantis has a way of consuming everything if you let it."

"I'll remember," she promised, touched by his advice.

As they parted ways, Cheppy found herself reflecting on Carson's words. Atlantis did have a way of consuming everything—attention, energy, time. But it gave back in equal measure: purpose, community, wonder. It had given her a second chance at a meaningful life, connections she treasured, work that challenged and fulfilled her.

And now it had given her something else: a choice she never expected to have.

The mess hall was relatively quiet when she arrived, the dinner rush having subsided. Lorne sat at their usual table near the windows, his back to the wall in habitual tactical awareness. When he spotted her, his face brightened, the earlier tension seemingly forgotten.

"Survived McKay's lab?" he asked as she set her tray down across from him.

"Barely," she replied with a dramatic sigh. "I think he's trying to set a new record for most Ancient systems translated in a single day."

"Sounds like McKay," Lorne chuckled, pushing a small plate toward her. "I saved you the last chocolate pudding. Figured you earned it."

The simple gesture warmed her unexpectedly. "My hero," she said, only half joking.

They ate in comfortable conversation, discussing the day's events, carefully avoiding any mention of dimensional travel or Ancient devices. It was only as they finished their meal that Lorne's expression turned more serious.

"I've been thinking about our conversation earlier," he began, his voice low enough to ensure privacy.

Cheppy nodded, having anticipated this moment. "So have I."

"I want you to know something," he continued, meeting her gaze directly. "I meant what I said—this is your choice, and I'll support whatever you decide. But I also want to be completely honest with you."

"Please," she encouraged quietly.

"When you disappeared during the Wraith attack—when I thought I might have lost you—it hit me harder than I expected." His voice remained steady, but she could see the emotion behind his composed exterior. "It made me realize that what I feel for you is... significant. More significant than I've felt for anyone in a long time."

Cheppy's heart quickened at his words, at the vulnerability beneath his normally controlled demeanor.

"I'm not telling you this to influence your decision," he clarified. "I just think you deserve to know where I stand. What's at stake for me."

"What are you saying, Evan?" she asked softly, needing to hear it explicitly.

He took a deep breath. "I'm saying that I'm falling in love with you, Cheppy. That the thought of you returning to your dimension scares the hell out of me. But I'd rather lose you to your choice than keep you from making it."

The confession hung in the air between them, profound in its simplicity and honesty. Cheppy felt something shift within her—a crystallization of feelings she'd been unable to fully articulate until now.

"I don't know what the future holds," she said finally, reaching across the table to take his hand. "I don't know if the Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer even exists anymore, or if it could work for my specific situation. But I do know this: what's happening between us matters to me. It matters enough that I'm not rushing to find a way back to a life I was only half living."

Relief flickered across his features. "That's... good to hear."

"I can't promise you forever," she continued honestly. "Not yet. But I can promise that whatever decision I make, it won't be made lightly or without considering what we've found together."

He nodded, understanding the complexity of her position. "That's all I can ask for."

Their conversation shifted to lighter topics as they finished their meal, but something fundamental had changed. The unspoken had been spoken, feelings acknowledged, stakes made clear. It wasn't a resolution, but it was a foundation—solid ground on which they could build, regardless of what the future held.

As they walked through Atlantis's corridors afterward, their hands occasionally brushing in subtle contact, Cheppy felt a curious sense of peace. The discovery of the Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer had unsettled her, forcing her to confront questions she'd begun to set aside. But Lorne's honesty—and her own response to it—had provided unexpected clarity.

"Want to watch the sunset from our balcony?" Lorne suggested as they reached a junction in the corridor.

Our balcony. The casual claim of shared space sent a pleasant warmth through her. "I'd like that."

The eastern balcony was bathed in golden light, Atlantis's twin suns descending toward the horizon in a spectacular display of amber and crimson. They stood side by side at the railing, shoulders touching, watching nature's artistry unfold.

"It's beautiful," Cheppy murmured, letting the peaceful moment wash over her.

"Yes, it is," Lorne agreed, though when she glanced over, she found him watching her rather than the sunset.

A comfortable silence settled between them, punctuated only by the gentle sound of waves against the city's piers. As the first sun disappeared below the horizon, Cheppy made a decision.

"I'm going to tell Dr. Weir about the Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer tomorrow," she said quietly. "The expedition should know about it, even if we never find it or use it. It's too significant to keep to myself."

Lorne nodded, his expression calm. "I think that's the right call."

"I also want to continue researching it," she added. "Not because I'm planning to leave, but because understanding it matters—scientifically and personally. I need to know what's possible, even if I choose not to pursue it."

"I understand." He turned to face her fully. "And I'll help however I can. Whether that's tracking down Ancient research stations or just giving you space to figure things out."

Touched by his support, Cheppy moved closer, her hand finding his on the railing. "Thank you for being honest with me earlier. For telling me how you feel."

"I've never been great with words," he admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "Action has always been more my style."

"I don't know," she teased gently. "You did pretty well with words today."

His free hand came up to brush a wayward curl from her cheek, lingering against her skin. "Maybe you inspire me."

The tenderness in his touch, in his voice, made her heart swell with emotion she could no longer deny. Standing in the fading light of alien suns, millions of light-years from the Earth she'd known, Cheppy realized a profound truth: home wasn't a place or a dimension. It was a feeling, a connection, a sense of belonging.

And somehow, against all odds, she'd found it here.

"Evan," she said softly, her voice steady with certainty, "I think I'm falling in love with you too."

The words seemed to suspend the very air around them, time slowing as their significance settled. Then Lorne was drawing her closer, one hand gently cupping her face as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Unlike their first kiss—urgent with relief after the Wraith attack—this one was unhurried, deep with shared understanding and acknowledged feeling. Cheppy leaned into him, her arms sliding around his neck as his encircled her waist. In that moment, dimensions and Ancient devices and difficult choices faded to insignificance. There was only this—his warmth against her, the gentle pressure of his lips, the feeling of being exactly where she belonged.

When they finally separated, breathless and slightly dazed, the second sun had disappeared, leaving Atlantis's lights to sparkle against the gathering dusk. Lorne's eyes held hers, filled with emotion that needed no translation.

"Whatever happens with the Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer," he said quietly, "whatever you decide—just know that right now, in this moment, I'm grateful for the accident that brought you here."

Cheppy smiled, her heart lighter than it had been in months. "So am I."

The future remained uncertain—questions unanswered, paths unexplored. The Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer might offer a way back to her original reality, a choice she'd once desperately wanted. But standing on their balcony, secure in Lorne's embrace, Cheppy understood that some truths transcended dimensions: that love, found in the most unexpected places, could become a compass pointing toward home.

And for now, that home was here, in Atlantis, with him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: The Turning Point

The ancient saying that secrets were only as valuable as the wisdom used to wield them had been running through Cheppy's mind for days. Standing now before Dr. Weir's desk, McKay pacing impatiently behind her, she still wasn't certain she'd made the right choice.

"Let me make sure I understand," Dr. Weir said, her composed features betraying only a hint of surprise. "You believe the Ancient database contains information about a device that could potentially send you back to your original dimension?"

"Yes," Cheppy confirmed, maintaining her professional demeanor despite the personal implications. "The Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer was designed specifically to create stable pathways between realities. According to the records, the Ancients used it to correct what they called 'unintended dimensional shifts.'"

"Like yours," Weir observed.

"Exactly like mine." Cheppy glanced at the tablet displaying her translated findings. "The device could theoretically create a stable corridor between dimensions, allowing for controlled transit."

McKay stopped pacing, his scientific curiosity overriding his impatience. "And you're only bringing this to our attention now? This could revolutionize our understanding of interdimensional physics!"

"I needed time to verify my translations," Cheppy replied carefully. "The dialect is complex, highly technical. I wanted to be certain before raising possibilities that might not be viable."

Weir studied her thoughtfully. "And are they? Viable?"

The question carried weight beyond scientific inquiry. Cheppy took a deep breath. "Theoretically, yes. But there are significant obstacles. The database mentions several research stations where prototypes were developed, but the locations are either obscured or reference planets we know to be hostile—like Asuras."

"The Replicator homeworld," Weir noted with a frown.

"Exactly. And even if we could locate an intact device, there's no guarantee it would work for my specific situation. The technology was experimental even for the Ancients."

McKay was already tapping rapidly on his own tablet. "We should assemble a research team immediately. If we could understand this technology—"

"Hold on, Rodney," Weir interrupted. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves." She turned back to Cheppy. "Dr. Mitchell, I appreciate your bringing this to our attention. It's clearly significant, both scientifically and... personally."

The careful emphasis on that last word made it clear Weir understood the full implications. This wasn't just about Ancient technology—it was about Cheppy's potential future.

"I'd like permission to continue researching the database," Cheppy requested. "There may be additional information about the device's locations or specifications that could help us understand it better."

"Of course," Weir agreed readily. "This falls within your established duties. Dr. McKay can assign resources to assist you if needed."

McKay was already mentally assembling his team. "Zelenka has experience with dimensional theory, and Dr. Kusanagi's work on quantum mechanisms could be applicable..."

"This stays within the senior staff for now," Weir cautioned. "Until we have more concrete information, I don't want speculation spreading throughout the expedition."

"Understood," Cheppy nodded, relieved by Weir's sensible approach.

As the meeting concluded, Weir asked Cheppy to remain behind. Once McKay had departed—already dictating notes to himself about research priorities—Weir's expression softened.

"I hope you know, Cheppy, that this expedition values your contributions enormously. Your decision to share this discovery, given its personal nature, speaks to your character."

"Thank you," Cheppy replied, touched by the acknowledgment.

"That said," Weir continued carefully, "I'd be remiss if I didn't address the personal aspect. Have you considered what you would do if this device proves viable?"

Cheppy had been asking herself that question since discovering the first reference to the Stabilizer. "I've thought about little else," she admitted. "But I genuinely don't know. Three months ago, I would have given anything for a way home. Now..."

"Now you've built a life here," Weir finished perceptively.

"Yes. And connections that matter to me." Cheppy couldn't quite meet Weir's eyes, knowing the expedition leader's keen insight might read more than she was ready to share.

"Including Major Lorne," Weir observed gently.

Cheppy looked up, startled by the direct reference. "Is it that obvious?"

Weir smiled. "Atlantis is a small community, and I make it my business to understand the dynamics within it. For what it's worth, I think you've both been good for each other."

"It's complicated," Cheppy sighed.

"Matters of the heart usually are, especially in our unique circumstances." Weir's expression turned thoughtful. "Take it from someone who has navigated her share of difficult choices—sometimes the path forward only becomes clear when you stop trying to predict where it leads."

The wisdom in those words stayed with Cheppy as she left the office, heading toward the linguistics lab where McKay had undoubtedly already assembled his impromptu research team. She was halfway there when her radio activated.

"Dr. Mitchell, please report to the physics lab," came Zelenka's voice, unusually tense.

"On my way," she replied, changing direction immediately. "Is everything okay?"

"We'll discuss it when you arrive," he said cryptically before signing off.

When Cheppy arrived at the physics lab, she found Dr. Zelenka studying a complex simulation on his monitor, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"You needed to see me?" she prompted when he didn't immediately look up.

"Ah, Cheppy, there you are." He gestured for her to join him, pushing his glasses up nervously. "I've been analyzing the Ancient records about dimensional travel that you shared with the team last week."

"Did you find something?" A hint of anticipation crept into her voice.

"Indeed I did," Zelenka replied, his expression serious. "It seems the Ancients discovered that interdimensional portals like the one that brought you here aren't permanently stable. They're subject to what they called 'dimensional decay.'"

"Meaning what, exactly?"

Zelenka handed her the tablet, showing translated Ancient text alongside his calculations. "According to these records, portals between specific realities have a limited operational window. After that window closes, transit between those particular dimensions becomes increasingly hazardous."

The implications hit her immediately. "Are you saying there's a time limit on my ability to return home?"

"I'm afraid so," Zelenka confirmed. "Based on the Ancient calculations and the data we have about the event that brought you here, I estimate you have approximately six months before the dimensional pathway between your reality and ours destabilizes beyond safe use."

"Six months?" Cheppy echoed, the timeframe settling in her mind like a weight.

"Give or take," Zelenka nodded grimly, adjusting his glasses. "The Ancient physicists were quite specific about the decay rate of interdimensional pathways. It's why they developed the Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer in the first place—to counter this natural deterioration."

Six months. The timeframe transformed an abstract theoretical possibility into a concrete deadline. If she wanted to return to her original reality safely, she had perhaps half a year to find the Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer.

"I need to tell Rodney," she said, already reaching for her radio. "This changes the research parameters completely."

"Cheppy," Zelenka said gently, stopping her with a hand on her arm. "I thought you should know first, before this becomes another urgent project for McKay to obsess over. This affects you more personally than anyone."

The kindness in his voice nearly undid her composure. "Thank you," she managed. "I appreciate that."

"Have you discussed any of this with Major Lorne?" Zelenka asked carefully.

"He knows about the Stabilizer," she confirmed. "But not about... this deadline."

"He should hear it from you," Zelenka advised. "Before McKay makes it the talk of the entire science division."

Cheppy nodded, knowing he was right. "I'll tell him today."

As she left the physics lab, her mind whirled with implications. What had been a theoretical possibility—returning home someday—was now a decision with a ticking clock attached. Stay in Atlantis permanently, or leave within six months while safe return was still possible.

And Lorne... how would he react to this new development? They had finally acknowledged their feelings for each other, started building something meaningful together. Now she had to tell him that her theoretical choice had become an imminent decision.

She found him in the training room, overseeing hand-to-hand combat drills with a group of marines. Watching him from the doorway, confident and focused as he corrected a lieutenant's stance, Cheppy felt an ache beneath her ribs at the thought of potentially leaving him behind.

He spotted her and immediately sensed something was wrong, excusing himself from the session with a few quick instructions. "What is it?" he asked as he joined her in the corridor, concern evident in his eyes.

"We need to talk," she said quietly. "Not here."

They walked in silence to their balcony—the unspoken sanctuary where their relationship had evolved through countless conversations and quiet moments. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the city, the ocean beyond glittering with reflected light.

"Dr. Zelenka called me to his lab," Cheppy began, facing the horizon rather than Lorne, afraid her resolve might falter if she met his eyes. "He's been studying the Ancient records about dimensional travel."

"And?" Lorne prompted when she hesitated.

"The portal that brought me here isn't permanently stable," she explained, instinctively shifting to the clinical language of science to maintain composure. "There's a natural decay in the connection between dimensions over time."

Lorne processed this information with the quick understanding she'd come to rely on. "What does that mean for you?"

"It means that in approximately six months, the pathway between my original dimension and this one will destabilize beyond safe use." The words came out more steadily than she felt. "If I want to go back, I need to do it before that happens."

The silence that followed seemed to stretch into infinity. When she finally turned to look at him, Lorne's expression was carefully controlled, only the tightness around his eyes betraying his emotional response.

"Six months," he repeated, his voice neutral despite the weight of those two words.

"If Dr. Zelenka’s calculations are correct," she confirmed. "It could be longer or shorter—this isn't exactly a well-documented phenomenon."

"And the Stabilizer? The Ancient device you told Weir about?"

"If we can find it, it might allow me to safely travel through the deteriorating pathway before the deadline."

Lorne turned to face the ocean, his hands gripping the railing with enough force to whiten his knuckles. "So instead of a theoretical possibility 'someday,' now you have a deadline to make your decision."

"Yes," she whispered, the simple word inadequate for the complexity it contained.

Another silence fell between them, filled with unspoken fears and questions. When Lorne finally spoke again, his voice was low but steady.

"What do you want, Cheppy?"

It was the same question he'd asked her twice before—after the Wraith attack, and again when she'd first discovered the Stabilizer. But now it carried the weight of inevitability, of a choice that could no longer be postponed indefinitely.

"I don't know," she admitted, the words catching in her throat. "I've built a life here that matters to me. Work that challenges me, people I care about..." She reached for his hand on the railing, relieved when he didn't pull away. "You."

His fingers intertwined with hers, a small gesture of connection despite the uncertainty between them. "But?"

"But I also had a life before—family, friends, a career." She struggled to articulate the complex tangle of emotions. "I didn't choose to leave them behind. That choice was made for me when McKay's experiment pulled me through."

"And now you have the chance to choose," Lorne observed quietly.

"Yes," she agreed, "but with limitations I didn't expect. Six months to decide whether to stay here permanently or return to my own reality."

Lorne turned to face her fully, his free hand coming up to gently cup her cheek. The tenderness in the gesture nearly undid her composure.

"Whatever you decide," he said, his voice rough with emotion, "know that I meant what I said before. I'm falling in love with you, Cheppy. That doesn't change because of interdimensional physics or Ancient devices or six-month deadlines."

The declaration sent warmth coursing through her despite the circumstances. "I'm falling in love with you too," she admitted. "That's what makes this so difficult."

"We have time," he reminded her, thumb brushing softly against her cheek. "Six months is a lot of days."

"But if we don't find the Stabilizer—"

"Then you'll make the best decision you can with the information you have," he finished for her. "And I'll support you either way."

The simple acceptance in his voice broke something inside her. Tears she'd been holding back spilled over, and Lorne pulled her against his chest, arms encircling her protectively as if he could shield her from the impossible choice she faced.

"I'm sorry," she managed between shaky breaths, face pressed against his shoulder.

"Don't apologize," he murmured into her hair. "Not for this. Not for anything."

They stood that way for long minutes, holding each other as the sun began its descent toward the horizon. When Cheppy finally pulled back, wiping at her tears with embarrassment, Lorne's expression had shifted from careful control to resolute determination.

"We're going to find that device," he stated with quiet conviction. "McKay, Zelenka, you—you're the best scientific minds in two galaxies. If the Stabilizer exists, you'll find it."

"And if we do?" she asked, the question that had been haunting her since Zelenka’s revelation.

Lorne took both her hands in his, his gaze steady on hers. "Then you'll have a real choice, not one forced by a ticking clock. And whatever you decide, I'll be right here."

"Even if I choose to stay permanently?"

"Especially then," he answered without hesitation.

"And if I decide I need to go back?" The question was barely audible, but she needed to ask it, needed to understand the full scope of his support.

Pain flickered across his features, but his voice remained steady. "Then I'll help you find your way home, and I'll treasure every day we have until then."

The simplicity of his answer, the depth of understanding and acceptance it conveyed, left Cheppy speechless. In that moment, standing in the golden light of Atlantis's sunset, she realized she'd found something rare and precious with this man—a connection that transcended circumstance, that offered support without demands, love without conditions.

"I should join McKay's research team," she said finally, practical concerns surfacing through the emotional tumult. "If we're going to find the Stabilizer, we need to start immediately."

"I'll speak with Colonel Sheppard about reconnaissance missions," Lorne agreed, shifting smoothly into his role as second-in-command. "If any of those research stations are accessible, we'll find them."

As they walked back into the city, their hands occasionally brushing in subtle reassurance, Cheppy felt a curious sense of clarity amidst the uncertainty. The ticking clock of the dimensional pathway had forced a confrontation with realities she might otherwise have avoided indefinitely.

She didn't know yet what she would choose if—when—they found the Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer. Her original home with all its connections and familiar comforts, or this new world with its dangers and wonders and the man who walked beside her now. But for the first time since arriving in Atlantis, she felt fully present in her circumstances, not caught between what was and what might be.

The next six months would bring what they would bring. For now, she had work to do, people who cared about her, and a partner who promised to stand by her regardless of her ultimate decision. It wasn't certainty, but it was enough to move forward.

In the weeks that followed, Atlantis hummed with the focused energy of a new scientific priority. McKay had assembled a research team dedicated to the Dimensional Stabilizer project, with Cheppy and Zelenka as primary leads. They worked tirelessly, combing through the Ancient database for any references to the device's locations or specifications.

Lorne, true to his word, coordinated with Sheppard to organize reconnaissance missions to potential sites gleaned from their research. Most proved disappointing—abandoned outposts, ruins reclaimed by nature, or locations rendered inaccessible by time and circumstance.

Throughout it all, Cheppy and Lorne continued to navigate their relationship within the new constraints imposed by the dimensional deadline. They spoke little of it directly, focusing instead on the search and on building connections in the present moment.

On a rare free evening, they sat together in Lorne's quarters, sharing a simple meal courtesy of the Daedalus's most recent supply run. The room reflected his personality—organized but not austere, with a few personal items, several books stacked on a nightstand, and most notably, his paintings. A new canvas stood on an improvised easel in the corner, covered with a cloth.

"How's the research progressing?" Lorne asked, pouring them both the Athosian tea that had become a staple of their quiet evenings together.

"Slowly," Cheppy admitted. "We found references to another research station on M7X-935, but according to the database, it was abandoned during the war with the Wraith. The Ancients apparently moved their most promising prototype to a more secure location."

"Did they specify where?"

"Not explicitly," she sighed. "Just cryptic references to 'the sanctuary beyond the veil.' Zelenka thinks it might be a space station in a nebula that shields it from sensors, but McKay insists it's more likely a phase-shifted facility like the one I activated during the Wraith attack."

Lorne's hand found hers across the table, a gesture that had become natural between them. "You'll figure it out. Between McKay's ego and your linguistic skills, there's no Ancient puzzle that can stay hidden for long."

His confidence brought a smile to her face despite her frustration. "How about you? Any luck with the latest reconnaissance target?"

"Nothing significant," he reported. "Lieutenant Reed's team checked out those ruins on M4P-328, but they'd been picked clean centuries ago. Just empty chambers and damaged consoles."

The disappointment was familiar by now—each failed lead another small erosion of hope. Two months had passed since Zelenka’s revelation, leaving her with approximately four months before the dimensional pathway destabilized beyond safe use.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"For what?"

"For all of this." She gestured vaguely. "The search, the deadline, the uncertainty. It's consuming resources the expedition could be using elsewhere."

"Hey," Lorne said firmly, squeezing her hand. "This is important work, not just for you personally. The Dimensional Stabilizer represents advanced Ancient technology that could have significant applications for Atlantis. Weir wouldn't authorize these resources if she didn't believe it was worthwhile."

"I know," Cheppy acknowledged. "But sometimes I wonder if we're chasing a phantom. What if the device never existed beyond theoretical designs? What if all the prototypes were destroyed during the war?"

"Then we'll know we tried everything possible," Lorne replied simply. "And you'll make your decision based on that reality."

His steady pragmatism grounded her, as it had throughout their relationship. Even facing the possibility that she might choose to leave him, he remained her most consistent supporter, never pressuring her or withdrawing emotionally despite the personal stakes.

"You're remarkable, you know that?" she said, the words escaping before she could reconsider them.

Lorne looked up, surprised. "What brought that on?"

"Just... you. The way you've handled all of this." She struggled to articulate what moved her. "Most people would be pushing for me to stay, trying to influence my decision, growing distant at the thought I might leave. But you've just... been here. Completely."

A faint flush colored his cheeks at her praise. "I told you how I feel about you," he said simply. "That means I want what's best for you, even if it's not what's easiest for me."

The quiet declaration struck Cheppy with its profound simplicity. In her original reality, she'd dated academics and professionals who approached relationships with strategic calculation—what they could gain, how to minimize vulnerability, when to cut losses. Lorne's straightforward love, devoid of manipulation or self-protection, was something she'd never fully experienced.

"I love you," she said suddenly, the words spilling out without premeditation.

Lorne's eyes widened slightly, his hand tightening on hers. They had acknowledged falling in love, but neither had made this direct declaration until now.

"I love you too," he replied, voice rough with emotion.

The simple exchange shifted something fundamental between them—a certainty amidst uncertainty, a truth that existed independent of dimensional physics or Ancient technology or looming deadlines.

"I have something for you," Lorne said after a moment, releasing her hand to stand. He moved to the covered canvas in the corner, suddenly appearing almost shy. "I've been working on it for a while, but now seems like the right time."

He carefully removed the cloth, revealing a painting that took Cheppy's breath away. It depicted their balcony at sunset, Atlantis's towers gleaming in golden light, the ocean stretching toward a horizon where two suns descended in a blaze of color. But what made her heart catch was the small figures at the railing—two people standing close together, looking not at the spectacular view but at each other.

"Evan," she whispered, moving to stand beside him. "It's beautiful."

"I wanted to capture it," he explained quietly. "Our place. That moment after the Wraith attack when you told me you were staying. Before dimensional portals and Ancient devices complicated everything."

She traced the edge of the canvas, noting the meticulous detail, the careful interplay of light and shadow, the expression he'd captured in the tiny painted figures—a mixture of wonder and certainty.

"Whatever happens," Lorne continued, "whether you stay or go, I wanted you to have this. A memory of us, of Atlantis, of the place where we found each other against impossible odds."

Tears pricked at Cheppy's eyes, not of sadness but of something deeper—recognition of the rare gift she'd been given in this man, this relationship, this moment in time. Without words, she turned and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as if to imprint the feeling of his solid presence in her memory.

His arms encircled her in return, strong and sure. They stood that way for long minutes, the painting bearing witness to everything they couldn't quite say—fears for the future, gratitude for the present, the weight of choices yet unmade.

When Cheppy finally drew back, her decision was made, though not the one that had dominated her thoughts for months. This was a different choice—to be fully present in each moment they had together, to love without reservation despite the uncertainty ahead, to treasure what they'd found regardless of what the future held.

"Thank you," she said softly, knowing he would understand she meant more than just the painting.

Lorne smiled, the expression reaching his eyes in a way that made her heart flip. "You're welcome."

=========

She rose on her toes and kissed him, soft at first—more gratitude than invitation—but the moment their lips met, something deeper awakened between them. Lorne responded with a quiet sound, one hand coming up to cradle her face, the other settling at her waist as if anchoring her to this moment, this reality.

The painting stood forgotten as Cheppy deepened the kiss, her hands finding their way beneath his uniform shirt, seeking the warmth of his skin. He drew a sharp breath against her mouth, and suddenly they were moving in wordless agreement—crossing a threshold they'd been approaching since that first moment on their balcony after the Wraith attack.

They moved slowly toward his bed, neither willing to break contact for long. Lorne paused only to remove his shirt, then hers, before guiding her gently onto the mattress. In the soft lighting of his quarters, she could see the careful control in his eyes giving way to something more primal, yet still tender. His gaze met hers in silent question.

"Yes," she whispered, answering what he hadn't needed to ask.

His hands moved with reverent patience, mapping her body as thoroughly as she'd studied Ancient texts, learning each curve and plane with dedicated attention. He traced her collarbone with his lips, following an invisible path downward with gentle determination. When his fingers found the waistband of her uniform pants, she arched into his touch, breath catching as he slowly removed the last barriers between them.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, and the sincerity in his voice made her believe it.

He shed his remaining clothes with military efficiency, yet somehow without haste, revealing himself between lingering kisses. When he returned to her, the sensation of skin against skin sent electricity coursing through her veins. The expedition, Ancient technology, dimensional pathways—all faded into insignificance compared to this connection, immediate and profound.

He joined with her carefully, mindful of her comfort even as desire clouded his eyes. Cheppy gasped softly, drawing him closer, her body welcoming him as naturally as if they'd been designed for each other across dimensions. Every movement between them felt like communication—trust and devotion expressed without words.

"Cheppy," he breathed against her neck, her name becoming a litany as they moved together in perfect rhythm. She held his gaze even as sensation built within her, wanting to remember every detail of his expression—the devotion there, the wonder, the undisguised love.

Time seemed to stretch and compress simultaneously, reminding her distantly of her journey through the dimensional portal. But this was different—not displacement, but belonging. When release finally claimed her, it was with his name on her lips, her body trembling beneath his steady hands.

Lorne followed moments later, his control finally surrendering to the overwhelming connection between them. He settled beside her, immediately drawing her into his embrace as their breathing gradually slowed.

===========

Later, as they lay together in the darkness of his quarters, Lorne's steady breathing beside her a comforting rhythm, Cheppy found herself contemplating the strange journey that had brought her to this place. An accident of science had torn her from one life and thrust her into another. Months of struggle and adaptation had transformed her from unwanted interloper to valued expedition member. And now, as she faced perhaps the most consequential decision of her existence, she'd found love with a man who offered support without demands.

Whether they found the Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer or not, whether she ultimately stayed in Atlantis or returned to her original reality, this moment—and all the moments like it they would share in the coming months—was its own kind of miracle. A turning point not just in circumstance but in understanding what truly mattered, what home really meant, what love could be when offered freely.

In the quiet darkness of Atlantis night, listening to the heartbeat of the man she loved, Cheppy Mitchell found peace in uncertainty—and the courage to face whatever came next.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: The Parallel Dilemma

The soft blue glow of Ancient consoles cast elongated shadows across the dimensional monitoring chamber as Cheppy worked late into the night. Three months had passed since Zelenka's revelation about the dimensional decay, leaving her with approximately three months before the pathway to her original reality destabilized beyond safe use. The search for the Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer had intensified with each passing week, consuming more of her time and thoughts than she cared to admit.

"You're still here?" McKay's voice startled her from her concentrated focus. He stood in the doorway, tablet in hand, looking uncharacteristically concerned. "It's almost midnight."

"Is it?" Cheppy blinked, rubbing tired eyes. "I lost track of time."

McKay entered the chamber, his gaze sweeping over the holographic displays she'd been studying. "Any progress?"

"Maybe." She gestured to a particular section of Ancient text. "I've been analyzing these references to 'the sanctuary beyond the veil.' The syntax suggests it might be more metaphorical than literal—not a location hidden by a nebula as Zelenka theorized, but a facility that exists in a slightly different phase state."

"Like what happened when you shifted this chamber during the Wraith attack," McKay deduced quickly.

"Exactly. The Ancients apparently developed the technology further, creating semi-permanent phase-shifted installations that would be virtually undetectable to the Wraith."

McKay's expression sharpened with interest. "That would explain why we haven't found it despite checking every possible location from the database."

"It also creates a new problem," Cheppy added, highlighting another section of text. "If the facility is phase-shifted, we'd need a specific frequency key to access it. Without that—"

"We could fly right through it and never know it was there," McKay finished grimly. Then his eyes widened with a sudden thought. "Wait, your original transit through dimensions—did it leave any kind of quantum signature we could trace?"

Cheppy straightened, making the connection. "My arrival might have created a frequency pattern that would align with the phase-shift of the sanctuary!"

"Finally, something useful about that accident," McKay muttered, already tapping notes into his tablet. "We'll need to analyze the residual energy patterns from your arrival point. I'll have Zelenka set up the equipment tomorrow."

His casual reference to the event that had changed her life no longer stung as it once would have. Indeed, there was an irony in the fact that the very accident that had stranded her here might now help locate the device that could send her back.

If she chose to go back.

That question had grown more complex with each passing day, especially as her relationship with Lorne deepened. They had settled into a rhythm of stolen moments between duties—shared meals, quiet evenings on their balcony, nights spent in each other's quarters. Neither pressured the other about the future, though the unspoken deadline loomed over them like Atlantis's twin suns, impossible to ignore completely.

"You should get some rest," McKay said unexpectedly, interrupting her thoughts. "You look exhausted, and I need your brain functioning optimally tomorrow if we're going to make progress."

The concern beneath his brusque manner brought a tired smile to her face. "Is that your way of saying you care, Rodney?"

McKay sputtered indignantly. "It's my way of saying this project is too important for you to burn yourself out. Your understanding of Ancient technical dialects is... adequate... and we can't afford to lose that right now."

"High praise indeed," she teased, saving her work and shutting down the displays. "I'll head back to my quarters."

"Good." McKay hesitated, then added awkwardly, "Major Lorne was looking for you earlier. Something about dinner plans you missed?"

Guilt flashed through her. She and Lorne had planned to meet in the mess hall hours ago, but she'd been so absorbed in her research that she'd completely forgotten. "Did he seem upset?"

"He seemed like Lorne," McKay shrugged. "Stoic, expressionless, irritatingly patient. He left some food for you in the conservation unit in the break room."

The simple gesture—so typical of Lorne's thoughtfulness—made her heart ache. "I should find him and apologize."

"Or you could sleep," McKay suggested practically. "And apologize in the morning when you don't look like you're about to collapse."

Cheppy hesitated, torn between guilt and exhaustion. "You're right," she conceded finally. "I'm not much good to anyone in this state."

"Obviously," McKay sniffed, though without his usual acerbity. As they left the chamber together, he added, "For what it's worth, Mitchell... we're going to find this device. Whether you decide to use it or not, you deserve to have the choice."

Coming from McKay, the statement was remarkably supportive. "Thank you, Rodney."

He waved off her gratitude with characteristic discomfort. "Yes, well, don't get used to it. I just need you focused on the task, not distracted by relationship drama with Lorne."

Despite her exhaustion, Cheppy smiled. Some things never changed.

The next morning, Cheppy awoke to her radio chirping insistently. "Dr. Mitchell, please report to Dr. McKay's lab immediately," came Zelenka's excited voice.

She glanced at her watch—0637, barely dawn in Atlantis. "I'll be right there," she replied, instantly alert despite her late night. Something in Zelenka's tone suggested a breakthrough.

The corridors were quiet as she made her way to the lab, most of the expedition still asleep or just beginning their day. When she arrived, she found McKay, Zelenka, and to her surprise, Lorne already gathered around a complex display of energy signatures.

"There you are," McKay greeted impatiently. "We've been waiting for twenty minutes."

"It's not even seven yet, Rodney," she pointed out, her eyes finding Lorne's across the room. His slight smile held no resentment for her missed dinner, only quiet warmth that eased her guilt.

"We've located it," Zelenka announced without preamble, gesturing to the display. "The phase-shifted facility. It's orbiting M7X-493—the uninhabited system with the unusual radiation belt that interferes with our long-range sensors."

"Perfect place to hide something you don't want found," Lorne observed, arms crossed as he studied the data.

McKay nodded smugly. "Once we calibrated our sensors to the specific frequency of Cheppy's dimensional transit, the facility practically lit up like a Christmas tree." He tapped a command, bringing up a schematic of what appeared to be a space station—a central hub with radiating arms ending in smaller modules.

"The Sanctuary Beyond the Veil," Cheppy breathed, recognizing the Ancient architecture even in the rough sensor image. "How do we access it if it's phase-shifted?"

"That's where this comes in," Zelenka explained, moving to a workbench where a small device pulsed with soft blue light—unmistakably Ancient technology. "We found this in the archives last night after you left. It's a phase-shift modulator designed to synchronize with specific frequency patterns."

"Like a key to the door between phase states," Cheppy realized, excitement building. "Does it work?"

"Theoretically, yes," McKay replied. "We've calibrated it to the frequency signature derived from your arrival. It should create a localized field that allows a jumper and its occupants to enter the same phase state as the sanctuary."

Lorne moved closer, examining the device with professional interest. "What's the mission profile look like?"

"That's why you're here, Major," McKay explained. "We need a pilot with the ATA gene to test the modulator. The facility's automated systems will likely respond more readily to someone with the gene."

"And we need Cheppy's linguistic expertise to interpret any Ancient interfaces we encounter," Zelenka added.

Lorne nodded, his expression neutral despite what this mission could mean for their future together. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as Dr. Weir approves the mission," McKay answered. "I've already requested a briefing for 0800."

"I'll inform Coughlin and Reed," Lorne said, already reaching for his radio. "We should have a full security complement given the unknowns."

As McKay and Zelenka turned back to their preparations, Lorne caught Cheppy's eye, tilting his head slightly toward the door—a silent request to speak privately. She followed him into the corridor, the door sliding shut behind them.

"I missed dinner," she said immediately, apology in her voice. "I'm sorry. I got caught up in the research and lost track of time."

"I figured," he replied without reproach. "It's okay. This is important work."

His understanding only deepened her remorse. "You're important too," she insisted quietly. "I don't want you to think I'm taking that for granted."

Lorne's expression softened, his hand finding hers briefly in the empty corridor. "I know you're not." He hesitated, then continued more seriously, "Are you ready for this? Finding the Stabilizer changes everything."

The question settled between them, weighted with unspoken implications. For months, the search had provided a buffer—time to be together while postponing the ultimate decision. If they succeeded today, that buffer would disappear.

"I don't know," she admitted, the honesty they'd always maintained with each other coming naturally. "But ready or not, we need to find it. I need to know it's real, that it works, before I can make any decision about using it."

"Agreed." His thumb traced a small circle on the back of her hand, the gesture both comforting and grounding. "Just... don't disappear on me again, okay? No phase-shifting yourself without warning."

The memory of the Wraith attack—when she'd shifted the dimensional chamber out of phase, leaving Lorne desperately searching for her for six hours—brought a rueful smile to her face. "I'll try to stay in this reality."

"Good," he replied, his eyes conveying everything he couldn't say aloud in the professional setting. "Because I'm rather fond of having you in it."

Before she could respond, McKay burst through the lab doors. "If you two are quite finished with your moment, Dr. Weir wants to see us immediately. Apparently, Zelenka's calculations show the radiation belt around M7X-493 is entering an active cycle. If we're going, it needs to be today."

The urgency in his voice broke the moment between them. Lorne straightened, immediately shifting back to military mode. "We'll be ready to depart within two hours of mission approval."

As they followed McKay toward the control tower, Cheppy felt a curious mixture of anticipation and dread. The Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer—the key to potentially returning home—was within their grasp at last. Yet instead of pure relief, she found herself increasingly torn about using it, her heart conflicted in ways she hadn't fully anticipated when the search began.

The jumper bay hummed with pre-mission activity as Cheppy completed her final equipment check. The phase-shift modulator was secured in a specialized container, surrounded by protective padding. Her tablet contained all the translations and research they'd compiled about the sanctuary and the Stabilizer. Everything was ready—except, perhaps, her heart.

"All set?" Lorne asked, approaching from where he'd been briefing Coughlin and Reed. His black tactical gear and P-90 reminded her that, for all the personal implications, this was still a military operation in potentially dangerous territory.

"As I'll ever be," she replied, adjusting her own tactical vest—a far cry from the civilian clothing she'd worn when she first arrived in Atlantis. Like so much else, her appearance had evolved to match her new reality.

McKay bustled past them, clutching his tablet and muttering about radiation shielding. Zelenka followed with additional equipment, his expression a mixture of excitement and nervousness. The team was rounded out by Lieutenant Edison, whose strong expression of the ATA gene made him a valuable addition for activating Ancient technology.

As they boarded Jumper One, Cheppy found herself seated beside Lorne in the co-pilot's chair, a position that had become natural during their missions together. The familiar routine of pre-flight checks and system initializations provided a welcome distraction from her tumultuous thoughts.

"Jumper One, you are cleared for departure," Chuck's voice came through the comm system as the bay doors began to open above them. "Good luck."

"Copy that, Control," Lorne replied calmly. "Estimated return in six hours."

The jumper rose smoothly under his skilled control, ascending through the opening and into the clear Lantean sky. Within moments, they had left the atmosphere behind, stars emerging in the blackness of space.

"Setting course for the Stargate," Lorne announced, his hands moving confidently over the Ancient controls. The jumper responded to his thoughts as much as his physical commands, a symbiosis between pilot and vessel that Cheppy still found fascinating.

"Dialing M7X-493," McKay called from behind them, activating the jumper's DHD.

The Stargate below them began to light up, chevrons engaging one by one until the familiar kawoosh of the establishing wormhole burst forth, settling into the shimmering blue event horizon.

"Jumper One, you have a go," came Dr. Weir's voice. "Be careful out there."

"Always are, ma'am," Lorne responded, guiding the jumper downward into the gate.

The familiar sensation of wormhole travel enveloped them—a momentary stretching and compression that Cheppy had become accustomed to over her months in Pegasus. They emerged into a star system dominated by a swirling red giant sun, its massive form partially eclipsed by the radiation belt that encircled it like a luminescent halo.

"Sensors are detecting the radiation field," McKay reported, studying his displays. "We need to approach on a vector of 227 by 184 to minimize exposure."

Lorne adjusted their course accordingly. "How close do we need to get before activating the modulator?"

"Within ten thousand kilometers of the facility's calculated position," Zelenka replied. "Too soon, and we risk destabilizing the phase shift. Too late, and we might pass through it entirely."

The jumper cruised forward, its inertial dampeners masking the incredible speed at which they traversed the vast distances of space. McKay kept up a running commentary on radiation levels and sensor readings, his voice growing increasingly tense as they approached the critical juncture.

"We're approaching optimal range," he announced finally. "Prepare to activate the modulator."

Zelenka carefully removed the device from its container, placing it in a specially designed interface they'd constructed to connect with the jumper's systems. "Initiating phase-shift sequence in three... two... one..."

The modulator pulsed, its blue light intensifying as it synchronized with the jumper. A subtle vibration ran through the vessel, and for a brief moment, Cheppy felt the familiar disorientation she'd experienced during the chamber phase-shift—a sensation of being pulled slightly sideways from reality.

"Phase-shift stabilizing," Zelenka reported, eyes fixed on his readings. "We're aligning with the sanctuary's frequency."

Through the viewscreen, the space before them seemed to shimmer, reality rippling like the surface of a disturbed pond. Then, suddenly materializing as if emerging from invisibility, an Ancient facility appeared. It was exactly as the schematic had shown—a central hub with radiating arms ending in smaller modules, all constructed in the elegant, geometric style characteristic of Ancient architecture.

"The Sanctuary Beyond the Veil," Cheppy whispered, awestruck despite her scientific understanding of what they were witnessing. It wasn't magic; it was advanced physics—yet the effect was no less miraculous for being explainable.

"Detecting automated docking protocols," Lorne reported as the jumper's systems interfaced with the facility. "They recognize the jumper as Ancient technology."

"The ATA gene is triggering response protocols," McKay added excitedly. "The facility is powering up systems that have been dormant for millennia!"

A docking bay opened in the central hub, illuminating as they approached. With practiced precision, Lorne guided the jumper inside, settling it gently onto the Ancient equivalent of a landing pad. The facility's artificial gravity enveloped them immediately, anchoring the jumper as the docking bay doors closed behind them.

"Atmosphere is registering as breathable," Lorne noted, checking the jumper's environmental sensors. "Gravity at standard levels. Looks like the automated systems are fully operational."

"The Ancients built things to last," McKay commented, already gathering his equipment. "Let's not waste time. The radiation belt's activity is increasing, and we have a three-hour window before it becomes dangerous even with the jumper's shielding."

The team disembarked cautiously, weapons ready despite the apparently deserted nature of the facility. Lights activated automatically as they moved through the corridors, responding to the ATA gene carriers among them. The air was stale but breathable, suggesting the life support systems had maintained minimal functionality during the millennia of abandonment.

Cheppy moved alongside Lorne, her tablet scanning for Ancient text and interfaces. "According to the database, the main research laboratory should be in the central hub," she reported. "If the Stabilizer is anywhere, it would be there."

Their progress through the sanctuary was eerily silent, their footsteps echoing in spaces that had once housed some of the most brilliant scientific minds in Ancient civilization. Unlike many Ancient facilities they'd encountered, this one showed no signs of hasty evacuation or battle damage—it had been methodically shut down and preserved, as if its creators had always intended to return.

"The main lab should be through these doors," Cheppy announced as they reached a set of ornate double doors inscribed with Ancient text. The script was more elaborate than usual, formal and ceremonial rather than purely functional.

"What does it say?" Lorne asked, his weapon lowered but ready.

Cheppy studied the inscription. "'Beyond this threshold lies the pathway between worlds, the bridge across realities, the anchor for those adrift in dimensions not their own,'" she translated slowly. "It's poetic, almost reverent. The Ancients considered this work significant—perhaps even sacred."

"Can you open it?" McKay prompted impatiently.

She nodded, tracing the sequence of symbols that formed the access protocol. The doors responded immediately, sliding open with a soft hum of ancient mechanics still functioning perfectly after ten thousand years.

The laboratory beyond took Cheppy's breath away. Circular in design, with a domed ceiling displaying a holographic representation of multiple overlapping realities, it was clearly the heart of the sanctuary. Consoles ringed the perimeter, while the center was dominated by a raised platform containing a device unlike any they had encountered before.

Roughly cylindrical, standing about two meters tall, the device was composed of interlocking rings of what appeared to be the same material as Stargates. At its core, a crystalline structure pulsed with soft blue-white energy, suggesting it had maintained power over the millennia or had reactivated upon their arrival.

"The Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer," McKay breathed, approaching it with uncharacteristic reverence. "It's beautiful."

Cheppy moved to the nearest console, already translating the displays that had illuminated at their entrance. "The system is running a diagnostic," she reported. "It recognizes recent dimensional activity—probably sensing my quantum signature."

"Is it functional?" Lorne asked, the question heavy with implications beyond the technical.

"According to these readings, yes," she confirmed, her heart racing. "It maintained a low-power state through some kind of temporal suspension field. Now that it's been reactivated, it's restoring full functionality."

As if in response to her words, the central crystals brightened, and the rings began to rotate slowly around the core. Ancient text scrolled across the displays, too rapidly for even Cheppy to translate completely.

"It's amazing," Zelenka murmured, adjusting his glasses as he moved to another console. "The Ancients were monitoring thousands of parallel realities simultaneously, mapping the connections between them."

"Not just monitoring," McKay added, studying his own readings. "They were deliberately creating stable pathways—controlled dimensional corridors for travel between specific realities."

Cheppy focused on the technical specifications, forcing her mind to stay professional despite the personal implications. "According to this, the Stabilizer works by identifying a traveler's original quantum signature and then creating a resonance field tuned specifically to their native reality. It doesn't just open a random doorway—it creates a pathway home."

The word 'home' hung in the air, its meaning suddenly complex and contested. Was home Earth in her original reality, with its familiar constellations and the life she'd known? Or was it Atlantis, with its twin suns and the people who had become her family—especially the man who now stood watching her with careful neutrality despite everything at stake?

"Can it be used safely?" Lorne asked, his voice steady despite the emotion she knew must be churning beneath his composed exterior.

"I believe so," McKay replied, engrossed in the data. "The Ancients designed it specifically to counter the dimensional decay phenomenon Zelenka identified. It can stabilize a degrading pathway long enough for a controlled transit."

"How much time do we have left before my original pathway becomes too unstable?" Cheppy asked, needing the cold precision of numbers rather than approximations.

Zelenka consulted his tablet. "Based on our calculations and these more refined readings from the sanctuary's systems... approximately twelve weeks."

Twelve weeks. The number settled in her mind with terrible finality. Three months to make the most significant decision of her life.

"Can we transport the Stabilizer to Atlantis?" Lorne inquired, his tactical mind already working on logistics. "Or does it need to remain here?"

"It's designed to be portable," McKay determined, examining the base of the device. "Not easily, but it can be moved. The power source is self-contained—some kind of modified ZPM technology."

"Then we take it back with us," Lorne decided. "Dr. Weir will want it studied properly, and this location is too vulnerable with the radiation belt's increasing activity."

The plan made sense, and Cheppy nodded her agreement despite the surreal feeling that had overtaken her. They had found it—the device that could potentially send her home. After months of searching, of hoping and doubting and wondering, it was real and it was functional. The choice she had been simultaneously seeking and dreading now loomed immediate and unavoidable.

As the team began preparations to transport the Stabilizer, Cheppy found herself drawn to a smaller console set apart from the others. The display showed a different type of information—not technical specifications or dimensional coordinates, but personal logs.

"McKay," she called, her voice slightly unsteady. "You should see this."

The scientist joined her, followed closely by Lorne. The Ancient text scrolling across the screen was in a more conversational format than the technical displays—the personal notes of an Ancient researcher.

"It's talking about test subjects," Cheppy translated, her finger tracing the elegant script. "People who had been accidentally displaced between dimensions, just like me. The Ancients were developing the Stabilizer specifically to help them return to their original realities."

"Did it work?" Lorne asked quietly.

Cheppy continued reading, her heart pounding. "According to this log, they successfully returned seventeen individuals to their native dimensions. The process was described as 'seamless' once they perfected the resonance calibration."

"So it does what we thought," McKay said, uncharacteristically subdued.

"There's more," Cheppy continued, scrolling further through the log. "The researcher notes that the Stabilizer can pinpoint a traveler's exact dimension of origin with remarkable precision. They were able to successfully return seventeen individuals to their native realities."

"So it does what we thought," McKay said, uncharacteristically subdued.

Lorne moved closer, reading over her shoulder though he couldn't understand the Ancient text. "Anything about limitations? Timeframes?"

Cheppy scrolled further through the logs. "According to Zelenka's calculations about dimensional decay, we have approximately twelve weeks before the pathway to my original reality becomes too unstable for safe transit."

"Twelve weeks," Lorne repeated, his voice steady despite what Cheppy knew must be churning beneath his composed exterior.

Twelve weeks. The number settled in her mind with terrible finality. Three months to make the most significant decision of her life.

McKay began typing rapidly on his tablet. "We'll need to run a complete analysis when we return to Atlantis. The Stabilizer will require calibration specific to your quantum signature."

Lorne's hand found Cheppy's shoulder, a steadying presence as her mind reeled with the new information. The choice she had been simultaneously seeking and dreading now loomed immediate and unavoidable. Returning to her original reality would mean leaving Atlantis and everyone in it—leaving Lorne.

"We should get this back to Atlantis," Lorne said finally, breaking the heavy silence. "Dr. Weir needs to be briefed on all aspects of the situation."

The team worked methodically to disconnect the Stabilizer from its primary housing, securing it for transport back to the jumper. Throughout the process, Cheppy continued downloading as much data as possible from the Ancient database, determined to gather every scrap of information that might help clarify her options.

As they prepared to depart, Lorne found a moment to speak with her privately while McKay and Zelenka argued over the safest method to power down the facility.

"You okay?" he asked simply, his eyes searching hers.

"I don't know," she admitted, the honesty they'd always maintained with each other coming naturally even now. "I thought finding the Stabilizer would provide answers, but it's only raised more questions."

"We'll figure it out," he promised, the certainty in his voice a lifeline she desperately needed. "Whatever happens, whatever you decide, we'll face it together."

"Even if it means I might leave?" she asked quietly.

"Especially then," he replied without hesitation. "We've faced worse odds together."

The simple truth of his statement grounded her. They had indeed faced extraordinary challenges since her arrival in Atlantis—Wraith attacks, Genii ambushes, Ancient technology gone haywire. Through it all, they had found strength in each other, a partnership that transcended professional cooperation to become something profound and essential.

"Major! We're ready to move," McKay called, interrupting the moment.

With practiced efficiency, they transported the Stabilizer to the jumper, securing it for the journey back to Atlantis. As Lorne guided the vessel out of the docking bay and back into space, Cheppy watched the Sanctuary Beyond the Veil shimmer and fade from view, returning to its phase-shifted state of invisibility.

The journey back through the Stargate passed in tense silence, each team member absorbed in their own thoughts about the implications of their discovery. For Cheppy, the emotional landscape had shifted dramatically. What had begun as a search for a way home had finally yielded results, but now faced with the real possibility of return, her feelings were more conflicted than ever.

As the jumper settled onto the bay floor in Atlantis, she found herself staring at the Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer—the device that represented both possibility and peril, freedom and fear, choice and consequence. Whatever she decided in the coming weeks would irrevocably shape her future. The parallel paths before her had never seemed more divergent or more fraught with uncertainty.

One thing alone remained clear amid the confusion: the man who stood beside her as they prepared to brief Dr. Weir—the man who had promised to support her regardless of her choice, even knowing what it might cost him personally. In Evan Lorne, she had found something rare and precious, a connection that had become an essential part of her life in Atlantis.

Whether that would be enough to keep her in this reality, or whether the pull of her original home would prove stronger, remained to be seen. But as they walked together toward the briefing room, their shoulders occasionally brushing in quiet reassurance, Cheppy knew that whatever path she chose, she would not walk it alone.

The parallel dilemma before her was hers to resolve—but she would do so with the wisdom, support, and love of those who had made Atlantis more than just a place of exile, but a true home.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: Shared Burden

The soft blue glow of Ancient consoles provided the only illumination in the dimensional monitoring chamber as Cheppy hunched over her tablet, eyes burning from hours of concentrated translation work. Three weeks had passed since they'd retrieved the Stabilizer from the Ancient sanctuary, and the weight of the looming decision pressed heavier on her with each passing day.

Nine weeks left. The countdown ticked relentlessly in the back of her mind.

The door slid open, revealing Lorne silhouetted against the corridor lighting. He carried a tray balanced in one hand with practiced military precision.

"Thought you might be hungry," he said, entering the dimly lit chamber. "Since you missed dinner. Again."

Cheppy straightened, wincing as her stiff muscles protested. "What time is it?"

"Nearly midnight," Lorne replied, setting the tray on a clear section of console. "Carson's threatening to put a tracker on you if you keep skipping meals."

"Sorry," she said, rubbing her neck. "I lost track of time. The translations from the sanctuary database are... challenging."

Lorne studied her face, seeing beyond her professional explanation to the exhaustion and worry beneath. "Any breakthroughs?"

"Some," she admitted, gesturing to her tablet where complex Ancient symbols scrolled across the screen. "We've confirmed that the Stabilizer can be calibrated to my specific quantum signature. McKay thinks we can establish a stable connection to my original reality within five weeks."

The timeline hung in the air between them—five weeks to prepare the device, four weeks to make her decision and potentially use it before the dimensional pathway destabilized completely.

Lorne nodded, his expression carefully neutral despite the implications. He'd become adept at this balance—supporting her work professionally while processing his own complicated feelings about her potential departure.

"You should eat," he said simply, uncovering the tray to reveal a plate of food from the mess hall, kept warm somehow despite the late hour. "You need your strength."

Cheppy's heart swelled at the simple thoughtfulness of the gesture. Lorne had been her constant through this entire process—never pressuring, never withdrawing, just steadfastly present as she navigated the impossible choice before her.

"Thanks," she said, suddenly realizing how hungry she was. As she took a bite, she studied him more carefully. "You look tired too. Long day?"

"Double shift," he confirmed, leaning against a nearby console. "I've been reviewing the security protocols for the Stabilizer project. Sheppard wants redundant systems in place before we attempt any test activations."

What he didn't say, but Cheppy knew anyway, was that he'd specifically requested oversight of the Stabilizer security—ensuring he remained connected to the project that would determine her future.

"We could both use a break," she observed, setting down her fork. "This research will still be here tomorrow."

Something shifted in Lorne's expression—a softening around his eyes, a subtle release of tension. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well," Cheppy said, a small smile forming, "Teyla mentioned you were holding onto a bottle of Athosian wine. For a special occasion."

Lorne's eyebrow quirked upward. "And this qualifies as a special occasion?"

"We're both off-duty, neither of us is in the infirmary, and there are no Wraith currently attacking the city," she listed, ticking points off on her fingers. "By Atlantis standards, that's practically a holiday."

His laugh—warm and genuine—was exactly what she needed to hear. "When you put it that way, how can I refuse?"

Their balcony had become a sanctuary over the months—a place where they could simply be Cheppy and Evan rather than Dr. Mitchell and Major Lorne. The twin moons of Lantea cast rippling silver paths across the gentle waves, and the night air carried the salt tang of the surrounding ocean.

Cheppy leaned against the railing, the goblet of Athosian wine warm in her hand. The amber liquid caught the moonlight, glowing like captured sunsets. Beside her, Lorne stood close enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed—a point of contact that grounded them both.

"So," he said after they'd stood in comfortable silence for several minutes, "how are you really doing with all this?"

The direct question, delivered without preamble, was characteristic of their relationship. They had built a foundation of honesty from the beginning, and now more than ever, that transparency mattered.

"Honestly?" She took a sip of wine, letting its warmth spread through her chest. "I'm terrified. Not of the technology—we understand the Stabilizer well enough now to know it works. I'm scared of having to choose."

Lorne nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "That makes sense."

"What about you?" she asked, turning to study his profile in the moonlight. "How are you handling all this?"

He considered the question carefully, as he did most things. "I've been taking extra security shifts around the Stabilizer lab," he admitted finally. "Sheppard noticed and asked if I needed to be reassigned from the project."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I'd rather be involved than wondering," Lorne replied simply. "Even if it's harder this way."

The admission, quietly delivered, conveyed volumes about how he was processing the situation—choosing awareness over protection, involvement over distance, despite the emotional cost.

"It is harder," Cheppy agreed softly. "Sometimes I think it would be easier if the Stabilizer didn't work. If the choice was taken out of my hands."

"But you deserve to have that choice," Lorne countered, turning to face her fully. "As much as I..." He paused, collecting himself. "As much as I want you to stay, it has to be your decision. Not circumstances, not obligation, not even... us."

The last word carried weight—a simple acknowledgment of the relationship that had grown between them, complex and significant beyond easy definition.

"And what about us?" Cheppy asked, the question she'd been avoiding for weeks finally surfacing. "If I stay... what would that mean?"

Lorne set his goblet on the railing, his expression serious in the moonlight. "It would mean whatever we want it to mean," he said carefully. "I'm not going to pretend I don't have hopes, but there's no ultimatum here. No pressure."

"And if I go?" The question was barely audible over the sound of waves below.

His hand found hers on the railing, warm and steady. "Then I'll treasure every day we have until then," he replied, the simple honesty of his words more touching than any elaborate declaration. "And I'll remember what we found here as something extraordinary, not something lost."

Cheppy leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder as emotion welled in her throat. "How did I get lucky enough to find someone like you in another galaxy?"

"I ask myself the same question," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her copper curls. "McKay's experiment may have been a mistake, but it's one I'm grateful for every day."

They remained that way for a long time, watching the moons track across the alien sky, the wine forgotten as they simply existed together in the moment—neither past nor future, just the precious now.

As they walked through the quieter corridors of nighttime Atlantis, their conversation turned to the paths that had led them both to this moment—histories shared in fragments over months now filling in more completely.

"I never told you why I joined the military," Lorne said as they passed through a particularly beautiful Ancient archway. "It wasn't my original plan."

"What was?" Cheppy asked, genuinely curious. For all their closeness, there were still new discoveries to be made about each other.

"I was studying art," he revealed, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "My mother is an art teacher. I grew up surrounded by canvases and clay. Everyone assumed I'd follow that path."

"What changed?"

Lorne's expression grew more thoughtful. "My father died when I was in college. He'd been in the Air Force—a pilot. After he was gone, I found myself wanting to understand that part of him better." He shrugged slightly. "I enrolled in ROTC, thinking I'd serve a few years then go back to art. But it turned out I was good at it. The structure, the purpose, the opportunity to make a difference—it fit me in ways I hadn't expected."

"But you still paint," Cheppy observed.

"When I can," he nodded. "It keeps me balanced. Reminds me there's more than one way to see the world." He glanced at her curiously. "What about you? Was linguistics always the plan?"

Cheppy laughed softly. "Not exactly. I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little."

"Ironic," Lorne commented with a smile.

"Isn't it? But then I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes in college, which pretty much ended that dream." She ran her fingers along the wall as they walked, feeling the subtle vibration of Atlantis beneath her touch. "Languages became my way of exploring instead. Each one is like a different world, with its own logic and beauty."

"And now you're translating the language of the Ancients in another galaxy," Lorne observed. "Maybe you got your space exploration after all."

"I never thought of it that way," she admitted, struck by the perspective. "I spent so much time seeing my arrival here as an accident, a mistake to be fixed. I never considered it might be..."

"Meant to be?" Lorne suggested when she trailed off.

"I was going to say 'an opportunity,'" she replied, "but maybe it's both."

They had reached the junction where they would normally part ways—her quarters to the left, his to the right. But tonight, neither moved to separate.

"Would you like to come in?" Lorne asked quietly, his quarters just down the corridor. "Just to talk," he added quickly. "No expectations."

Cheppy felt a flutter of warmth at the invitation, despite the fact that they'd shared far more intimate moments since their first time together after the Genii mission. "I'd like that."

His quarters reflected his personality—neat but not sterile, with a few personal touches that spoke of the man beneath the uniform. The landscape paintings he'd created were carefully displayed on one wall, and a small sketch pad sat on his desk beside a case of pencils. A half-finished drawing was visible—the outline of Atlantis's central spire against a sunset sky.

"Make yourself comfortable," Lorne offered, moving to a small cabinet where he kept a stash of water and snacks—a military habit of always being prepared that had served him well in Pegasus.

Cheppy settled on the edge of his bed, the only real seating option besides his desk chair. Despite their established intimacy, there was a different quality to tonight—a seriousness beneath their easy conversation that acknowledged the approaching deadline.

"Nine weeks," she said quietly as he sat beside her. "It seemed like so much time when Zelenka first explained about the dimensional decay. Now it feels like nothing."

"Time's funny that way," Lorne agreed, his shoulder brushing against hers. "Especially here."

She turned to look at him, studying the face that had become so dear to her—the intelligence in his eyes, the quiet strength in his features, the way one corner of his mouth lifted slightly when he was trying not to smile. Without overthinking, she leaned forward and kissed him softly.

He responded immediately, one hand coming up to cup her cheek with familiar tenderness. Unlike their urgent kisses after dangerous missions or their passionate encounters behind closed doors, this held a different quality—measured, deliberate, an affirmation rather than an exploration.

When they separated, Lorne's eyes searched hers. "What was that for?"

"For being you," she replied simply. "For making this impossible situation bearable."

His expression softened with understanding. "Goes both ways, you know."

===============

Cheppy didn't answer right away. Instead, she leaned into him, her brow pressing gently against his as they sat there, breath mingling. The room felt still, suspended, like Atlantis herself was holding her breath for them. His hand slid down from her cheek to rest lightly on her neck, thumb tracing the fine line of her jaw. She reached up to touch his chest, fingers splaying across the fabric of his shirt as though needing to remind herself he was solid, real, here.

He kissed her again—unhurried, coaxing rather than claiming—his lips brushing over hers with reverence. There was no urgency now, no haste to consume, only a slow unraveling. The kind of kiss that tasted like trust.

Her hand fisted loosely in the fabric at his shoulder, and when she shifted her body closer, he caught her waist and pulled her gently onto his lap. She went easily, straddling him with knees braced on either side, their bodies aligning like pieces that had been aching for this fit.

Lorne's hands slid up beneath her shirt, the callused heat of his palms meeting bare skin. Her breath hitched softly against his mouth, a small sound that made something low and protective stir in him. He let his hands linger at the dip of her waist, marveling at her warmth, the delicate plane of her ribs, the steady pulse fluttering beneath her skin.

"You sure?" he whispered, even now—always giving her the chance to back away, to redefine the moment.

"Always," she said, her voice low and roughened with emotion. "With you? Always."

She smiled, small and private, and lifted her arms so he could peel her shirt away. He did so carefully, reverently, as though undressing something sacred. The overhead lights were dimmed, but in the soft glow, her skin looked luminous, like moonlight over water. He touched her as though he were painting with his hands, mapping out familiar ground with newfound meaning.

When he bent to press a kiss just beneath her collarbone, she sighed—long and deep—as though the tension she'd been holding finally loosened. Her hands slid into his hair, fingers tangling at the nape of his neck. She felt his tongue trace the hollow between her clavicles, felt his breath there before he moved lower, nuzzling against the swell of one breast with a reverence that made her arch toward him.

Her bra joined the pile of clothing on the floor, and then his mouth closed around her nipple—slow, coaxing, the warm drag of tongue and gentle pressure of lips pulling a trembled moan from her throat. It wasn't the sound of surprise or lust; it was relief, it was gratitude, it was the soft ache of knowing.

"Gosh, you're beautiful," he murmured against her skin, the words rasped more than spoken.

She shifted in his lap, pressing closer, feeling the hard line of him against her through his uniform pants. She kissed him again, deeper now, tasting the moment as her hands slid beneath the hem of his shirt. He let her take it off, muscles flexing slightly as she worked the fabric over his head, and then they were skin to skin—warmth meeting warmth, every inch of contact sparking like a live current.

Lorne's hands cupped her hips, thumbs brushing over the tender skin just above the waistband of her pants. He lifted her gently, laying her down on the bed with a care that made her throat tighten. There was nothing rushed here. Nothing performative. Only him, and her, and the quiet gravity pulling them into each other.

He kissed her stomach, the curve of her hipbone, the stretch of pale skin beneath the edge of her waistband. When his fingers found the clasp of her pants, he paused.

She met his eyes. "Don't stop," she said softly.

He didn't. He slid her pants down, underwear with them, and she helped him kick them off, baring herself completely to him. For a moment, he simply looked at her—eyes roaming, reverent, not with lust but with awe. As though he was memorizing her again for the hundredth time.

Lorne undressed the rest of the way, watching her watch him. She reached out and touched his chest, then lower, her fingers curling around him with slow familiarity. His breath caught, hips pressing into her hand with a quiet groan.

"You drive me crazy," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her jaw, her neck, the corner of her mouth.

"You make me feel…" She trailed off, not knowing how to finish, because the words were too big for the moment. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down, legs parting to welcome him.

He took his time. There was no rush to get inside her. His mouth found her again, exploring her body with a devotion that made her writhe beneath him, whispering his name between small, broken moans. His fingers moved over her slick folds, finding the rhythm she liked best, coaxing her with practiced precision. He knew her body now, knew every tremble, every breathless intake of air. And he watched her as he brought her to the edge—watched the flush rise to her cheeks, the tremor in her thighs, the way her mouth parted just before she came with a soft, high cry muffled against his shoulder.

She clung to him afterward, breath ragged, and he held her there, grounding her with his weight and warmth. Then he kissed her again, deeper this time, and she felt him shift, felt the press of him against her entrance—slow, deliberate, pushing into her inch by inch until she gasped, arching beneath him.

It wasn't frantic. It wasn't rough. It was a joining, quiet and steady, each movement a reaffirmation of what they'd built together. He moved within her like he was learning her all over again, every thrust a whispered I'm here, every kiss a promise.

They didn't speak—there was no need. Everything they couldn't say was written in the way they moved together, in the way her nails pressed into his back, in the way his hand cradled her face while he made love to her like it mattered. Because it did.

She came again with him inside her, slower this time, a wave that took her under and left her shaking. He followed not long after, hips pressing deep, a guttural moan torn from his throat as he spilled into her. He stayed there, wrapped around her, buried deep and trembling with the weight of it all.

When he finally pulled back, he didn't go far. He slid onto his side, pulling her with him, arms wrapping around her from behind. She fit against him perfectly, back to chest, and for a long moment they said nothing.

Then, quietly, he reached down and touched her side—where her insulin pump rested, secure and always present. He traced it gently with his fingertips, reverent, as though it were as much a part of her as her heartbeat.

She turned her head toward him, emotion tightening her throat.

"I see all of you," he said softly. "And I love what I see."

Her eyes stung. She swallowed hard and shifted to face him, curling into his chest. "You're everything I didn't know I needed."

He kissed her forehead, then the curve of her temple, and held her there as the night deepened around them—decisions looming, time slipping—but here, in this quiet, tender cocoon, she could believe that maybe it would all work out.

================

Later, as moonlight streamed through the window and cast geometric patterns across the tangled sheets, Cheppy traced idle circles on Lorne's chest, her head tucked against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her, fingers stroking her upper arm in a soothing rhythm.

"I keep thinking about something Carson said to me," she murmured, breaking the comfortable silence. "When I first found out about the dimensional decay deadline. He told me uncertainty isn't unique to Pegasus—it's just life."

"Sounds like Carson," Lorne replied, his voice rumbling pleasantly beneath her ear. "Practical wisdom with a Scottish accent."

"He was right, though," she continued thoughtfully. "Even if I'd never left my original reality, there would be no guarantees. No certainty about the future."

Lorne's hand stilled on her arm. "What are you saying?"

"That maybe I've been thinking about this all wrong," she admitted. "I've been agonizing over which life is better, which reality I belong in. But maybe it's not about comparing two fixed options. Maybe it's about recognizing that life—in any reality—is unpredictable. And what matters is who you face that unpredictability with."

The weight of her words settled between them, more significant than any declaration they'd shared before. Lorne's arm tightened around her, a wordless response that conveyed understanding.

"For what it's worth," he said finally, his voice soft in the darkness, "you've built something real here, Cheppy. Not just with me, but with everyone. Carson, Teyla, your work, your place on my team. You're not just a visitor anymore. You're essential."

The simple truth of his observation touched her deeply. "When did you get so wise, Major Lorne?"

"Must be all the time I spend with this brilliant linguist," he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "She's rubbing off on me."

Cheppy smiled against his chest, feeling more at peace than she had in weeks. The decision still loomed, the Stabilizer still waited, but in this moment, wrapped in Lorne's arms, she felt anchored in a way that transcended dimensional physics and temporal deadlines.

"Stay with me tonight?" Lorne asked, the question carrying no pressure, just a simple desire for continued closeness.

"Wild Wraith couldn't drag me away," she replied, settling more comfortably against him.

As sleep began to claim her, Cheppy found herself thinking not of the reality she'd left behind, but of all she'd found in this one—purpose, connection, and a partner who stood beside her through impossible choices. The thought followed her into dreams: perhaps home wasn't a place or a dimension at all, but a feeling of belonging that she'd found here, against all odds, in another galaxy entirely.

The following weeks established a new rhythm between them as the Stabilizer project progressed. During the day, they maintained professional composure—Dr. Mitchell and Major Lorne, colleagues working on a sensitive Ancient technology initiative. But the nights became their sanctuary, a space where they could process the emotional complexity of their situation together.

Cheppy found herself lingering in Lorne's quarters more often than not, the practical comforts of her own space less important than the grounding presence he provided. Small traces of her gradually appeared among his possessions—a spare uniform, her preferred tea, a linguistics reference manual on his shelf beside military regulations.

If others noticed the subtle shift in their relationship, most had the tact not to mention it directly. Carson would occasionally give Cheppy a knowing look when she arrived at the infirmary for her regular check-ups, but his only comment was a gentle, "You're looking well-rested, lass. Whatever you're doing, keep it up."

Colonel Sheppard was less subtle, though still respectful in his own way. Passing Lorne in the corridor after a late-night strategy session, he'd simply commented, "You know, Major, being well-balanced is important for command staff. Glad to see you've found yours." The glint in his eye made it clear he wasn't referring to workout routines.

Only McKay remained apparently oblivious, his focus entirely on the Stabilizer technology rather than the human elements surrounding it. His single comment on the matter came during a particularly tense calibration session when he snapped, "Mitchell, if you could stop exchanging meaningful glances with Major Lorne for five minutes, we might actually finish this alignment sequence today."

The remark had drawn startled looks from the other scientists, but Cheppy had simply replied, "Focus on your calculations, Rodney. I'll focus on mine." The matter-of-fact response had effectively ended any further commentary.

Five weeks into the Stabilizer project, a significant breakthrough occurred. McKay burst into the command center where Weir was briefing the senior staff, his expression animated with scientific excitement.

"We've done it!" he announced without preamble. "The quantum alignment is complete, and we've established a stable resonance link with Mitchell's original dimensional frequency."

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Cheppy, who stood frozen beside the tactical display she'd been reviewing with Lorne.

"You mean..." Weir began carefully.

"The Stabilizer is fully operational," McKay confirmed, either missing or ignoring the sudden tension in the room. "We could initiate a transit sequence as early as next week, once we've run the final safety protocols."

"That's... excellent work, Rodney," Weir replied, her gaze still on Cheppy. "Dr. Mitchell, would you like to add anything?"

Cheppy felt Lorne shift imperceptibly closer beside her, not touching but present—a silent reminder that she wasn't facing this moment alone.

"The team has made remarkable progress," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "As Dr. McKay says, we'll need to complete several safety checks before considering an actual transit attempt."

"Of course," Weir nodded. "I'd like a complete report by the end of the day, please."

As the briefing concluded, Cheppy made her way to the balcony that had become her thinking spot—their spot—needing a moment to process. The midday sun glinted off the ocean waves, Atlantis's spires casting long shadows across the water.

She wasn't surprised when the door slid open behind her, the familiar sound of Lorne's measured footsteps approaching.

"I heard what happened," he said, coming to stand beside her at the railing. "McKay's announcement."

"News travels fast," she replied with a faint smile.

"Atlantis is a small community," he reminded her, echoing words they'd shared months before. "Especially when it comes to major technological breakthroughs involving senior staff."

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of what McKay's success meant hanging between them. The Stabilizer worked. Her way home was open. The decision she'd been preparing for could no longer be postponed indefinitely.

"Four weeks," she said quietly, naming the time remaining before the dimensional pathway would destabilize beyond safe use.

"Four weeks," Lorne echoed, his voice carefully neutral.

Cheppy turned to look at him directly, needing to see his face. "I'm still not sure what I'm going to do," she admitted.

"I know," he replied simply, neither pushing nor withdrawing.

"But I do know that whatever I decide, I don't want to waste the time we have second-guessing or wondering," she continued. "Whether it's four weeks or forty years, I want to be present for every moment we have."

Something in Lorne's expression shifted—a softening around his eyes, a release of tension he'd been carrying for weeks. "I'd like that too."

His hand found hers on the railing, warm and steady, as they looked out over the ocean together. The choice still loomed, the countdown still ticked, but in this moment—and all the moments they would share in the coming weeks—they were simply Cheppy and Evan, finding their way together across uncertain seas.

Later that night, Cheppy found herself outside Lorne's quarters, driven by a need for connection after a day of intense technical discussions with McKay's team. The weight of imminent decision-making pressed heavily on her, and she sought the one person who could understand without explanation.

The door slid open before she could knock, revealing Lorne as if he'd been expecting her. Perhaps he had been—their rhythms had become synchronized over the months, each anticipating the other's needs with increasing accuracy.

"Hey," he said simply, stepping aside to let her enter.

"Hey yourself," she replied, the familiar exchange a comfort in itself. "Long day?"

"The longest," he admitted, closing the door behind her. "Security briefings with Sheppard about the Stabilizer activation protocols. Everyone's a little on edge about creating a dimensional portal in the middle of Atlantis."

"Can't imagine why," she commented dryly. "It's not like anything ever goes wrong with Ancient technology."

His smile was tired but genuine. "Exactly what I said."

They moved together with practiced ease, the awkwardness of early relationship navigation long since replaced by comfortable familiarity. Lorne produced two cups of tea—her favorite blend from their last supply run—while Cheppy settled cross-legged on his bed, pulling a small tablet from her pocket.

"McKay sent over the latest calibration data," she explained, setting the tablet aside. "Said I should review it before tomorrow's test sequence."

"And will you?" Lorne asked, handing her one of the cups.

"Not tonight," she decided, accepting the tea gratefully. "I needed a break from thinking about dimensional frequencies and quantum alignments."

"Understandable." He sat beside her, close enough that their knees touched. "What did you have in mind instead?"

The simple question carried layers of meaning in the privacy of his quarters, with night falling outside and the soft glow of Atlantean lighting creating intimate shadows around them.

Cheppy set aside her untouched tea, taking his cup and placing it beside her own on the small bedside table. "I was thinking," she said quietly, moving closer to him, "that we've been very careful with each other lately. Walking on eggshells around the elephant in the room."

"The Stabilizer," Lorne nodded, understanding immediately.

"And my decision," she agreed. "But tonight, I don't want to be careful. I don't want to pretend that time isn't precious." Her hand came up to trace the line of his jaw. "I just want to be with you, without overthinking what it means or what comes next."

Lorne caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm with a reverence that made her heart ache. "I think that can be arranged," he murmured, his eyes darkening with an intensity that matched her own need.

==============

She leaned into him before he could say anything else, their mouths colliding with a heat that had nothing to do with ceremony or restraint. This wasn't slow or tentative—this was need, sharp-edged and immediate, ignited by weeks of pressure and quiet desperation. His hands found her hips, anchoring her as she straddled his lap, knees sinking into the bed on either side of him.

Their lips parted only briefly as she tugged his shirt over his head, exposing the lean muscle of his chest, the warm flush already rising beneath his skin. He caught her wrists as she went for her own shirt, not to stop her, but to slow her—his gaze locking with hers as his fingers tugged the fabric up himself, revealing her inch by inch. Her bra came next, loosened with deft fingers and tossed aside with quiet urgency.

"jesus, Cheppy," he whispered against her collarbone, dragging his mouth across the skin there as he cupped her breasts in his hands, thumbs sweeping over already-tight peaks. "You undo me."

She gasped at the contact, her head tipping back, a soft moan escaping her lips. "Good," she said, voice thick. "Because you unravel me."

His hands slid down to her thighs, tracing the hem of her sleep shorts. He didn't ask this time—just hooked his fingers beneath the waistband and began to peel them away, mouth following the descent as he kissed his way down her stomach. She lifted for him, helping him strip them off completely, then worked at his belt in return, freeing him with practiced fingers and tugging his pants and boxers down just far enough.

There was no teasing now, no slow build. She took him in hand, stroking him with sure pressure as she leaned in to kiss him again, her breasts pressed flush to his chest, her hips already beginning to rock against the hard length of him. Lorne groaned into her mouth, his grip tightening on her waist.

"You want this?" he asked, voice ragged, forehead pressed to hers.

"Gosh, yes," she breathed. "I need you, Evan."

He gripped her thighs, guiding her as she rose up and positioned herself over him. The moment she sank down onto him—deep, full, with a shuddering gasp—they both stilled. Her forehead dropped to his shoulder, his hands flexing at her hips as he exhaled hard, grounding himself in the sensation of being fully inside her. She was tight, wet, wrapped around him like she'd been made to fit there.

"Fuck," he whispered. "You feel... christ, Cheppy."

She moved then, slowly at first, finding the rhythm that let her take him again and again, the thick slide of him a sweet ache that built with every roll of her hips. He guided her pace, matching her stroke for stroke, the wet sound of their bodies meeting a counterpoint to their shared breaths and broken moans.

"Look at me," he said, and she did—eyes locking with his, her expression open, raw, vulnerable in a way that stripped her bare even more than the way she rode him. "I love you," he rasped.

"I know," she whispered, her voice cracking. She leaned forward, her mouth brushing his, breathless. "I love you."

His hand slipped between them, fingers finding her clit and circling it with practiced touch. She cried out softly, her rhythm stuttering as the pleasure became too sharp, too much. He didn't stop—just kissed her harder, his other hand cradling the back of her head as she trembled in his lap, walls clenching tight around him.

She came with a sob, clinging to him, her whole body shaking. He followed her moments later, thrusting deep with a broken groan, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside her, holding her so close it felt like he was trying to fuse them into one.

After, she collapsed against his chest, heart racing, sweat slicking their skin where it touched. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to her temple, breath still coming in shallow bursts.

They lay like that for long minutes, tangled and silent, the scent of sex thick in the air and the soft whir of Atlantis's systems humming in the background like a lullaby.

Eventually, she rolled off him, curling into his side, their legs still entwined. His hand found her hip, anchoring her there.

"You okay?" he murmured, brushing a curl from her damp forehead.

She nodded, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "Better than okay. Needed that more than I realized."

He was quiet a moment, fingers tracing lazy patterns over her side. When they passed near her pump, he paused, hand settling there — she turned into him, tucking her head beneath his chin, letting the quiet weight of his presence say what neither of them could in the moment.

They weren't fixed. Nothing about their situation was solved. But tonight, in the soft darkness of her quarters, they had each other—and that was enough.

=======================

Much later, as they lay tangled together in the peaceful aftermath, Lorne's fingers traced idle patterns along her spine. Cheppy's head rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart a comforting counterpoint to her racing thoughts.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked softly, his voice rumbling beneath her ear.

She considered deflecting with humor, but the intimacy they'd just shared demanded honesty. "I was thinking about quantum entanglement," she admitted.

Lorne's chest shook with a silent laugh. "Only you would be thinking about physics right now."

"No, listen," she insisted, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. "In quantum physics, when particles become entangled, they remain connected regardless of distance. What happens to one instantaneously affects the other, even if they're separated by galaxies."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "That's a pretty metaphor, Dr. Mitchell."

"It's more than that," she said earnestly. "I've been so caught up in the physical aspects of dimensional travel—the pathways, the stabilizers, the technology. But what if there are connections that transcend even that? What if some bonds remain, regardless of where we are?"

Lorne reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, his touch gentle. "Are you saying you believe in quantum-entangled souls?" he teased lightly, though his eyes remained serious.

"I'm saying," she replied carefully, "that finding you has changed me in ways I'm only beginning to understand. And whatever happens, whatever I decide... that connection isn't something that can be undone."

The admission—the closest she'd come to declaring her feelings outright—hung in the air between them, weighted with meaning beyond the words themselves.

"I feel the same way," Lorne said finally, his voice rougher than usual. "And for what it's worth, I think I'd feel it even across dimensions."

Cheppy laid her head back on his chest, her arms tightening around him as emotion welled in her throat. They didn't speak again for a long time, the physical connection between them saying more than words could express.

As sleep began to claim her, Cheppy found her mind drifting not to the reality she'd left behind, but to memories she'd formed in this one—Carson's fatherly guidance, Teyla's quiet wisdom, even McKay's reluctant respect. And most of all, the man holding her now, who had stood beside her through crises and celebrations, who had seen her at her most vulnerable and her most capable, who had become essential to her understanding of home.

The choice still awaited, but as consciousness faded, Cheppy realized with quiet certainty that her heart had already decided—long before her mind had caught up.

Morning arrived with McKay's impatient voice over the comm system, calling her to the main lab for the scheduled test sequence. As Cheppy and Lorne prepared for the day, moving around each other with the easy coordination of those accustomed to sharing space, a comfortable silence hung between them—the aftermath of night's revelations giving way to the practical demands of morning.

"Dinner tonight?" Lorne asked as they prepared to part at the corridor junction. "The Daedalus brought in fresh supplies yesterday. Rumor has it there might be actual steak in the mess hall."

"It's a date," Cheppy agreed with a smile. "Assuming McKay doesn't blow up the lab with his dimensional tinkering."

Lorne's expression grew briefly serious. "Be careful today. Ancient technology—"

"—has a way of doing unexpected things," she finished for him, the caution familiar after months in Atlantis. "I will."

With a quick glance to confirm they were alone, he leaned down to kiss her—a brief but tender gesture that carried the weight of everything they'd shared. "See you tonight."

As she watched him walk away, Cheppy felt a curious sense of clarity descending. The Stabilizer waited, the deadline approached, the choice loomed. But for the first time since discovering the device might send her home, she felt not torn between worlds but anchored firmly in this one—connected to Atlantis and its people by bonds that had become essential to who she was.

Whether those bonds would prove strong enough to keep her here permanently remained to be seen. But as she turned toward the lab where McKay awaited, Cheppy realized she was no longer afraid of the decision ahead—because whichever path she chose, she would walk it with the certainty that she had found something precious in this galaxy, something worth more than the familiar comforts of home.

And that certainty, more than any Ancient technology, felt like the true stabilizing force in her life.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19: The Final Test

The Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer dominated the center of Atlantis's main laboratory, its interlocking rings occasionally rotating with subtle mechanical precision as the scientists worked around it. 8 weeks had passed since its retrieval from the Ancient sanctuary, leaving Cheppy with approximately 4 weeks before the pathway to her original reality became too unstable for safe transit.

The lab had become her second home, her days filled with translating the extensive documentation they'd recovered and helping McKay's team understand the complex technology. Her nights were increasingly spent with Lorne—quiet moments and passionate connections that had grown deeper since their conversations under Atlantis's twin moons. Neither spoke openly about the dwindling time before her decision could no longer be postponed, but the awareness lingered between them like a silent third presence.

"The quantum alignment is nearly complete," McKay announced, looking up from his console with uncharacteristic satisfaction. "We've managed to isolate your specific dimensional frequency. According to these readings, the Stabilizer can establish a connection to your original reality with 99.7% accuracy."

Cheppy nodded, her response muted despite the significant achievement. "That's impressive work, Rodney."

"Of course it is," he replied, his usual arrogance tempered by the weight of what his success meant. "The next step is a controlled test of the resonance field. We need to verify stability before considering actual transit."

She turned back to her own translations, trying to focus on the Ancient text despite the emotional turmoil churning beneath her professional demeanor. The Stabilizer was working—her way home was nearly prepared. Yet the thought brought as much apprehension as relief, especially after the nights she'd spent in Lorne's arms, their whispered declarations of love becoming more certain with each passing day.

"You look like you could use this," came a familiar voice as a cup of coffee appeared beside her tablet. Lorne stood there in his standard black uniform, his expression warm despite the shadows of fatigue under his eyes. He'd been working extra shifts coordinating security for the Stabilizer project, insisting on overseeing every aspect personally.

"Thanks," she said gratefully, accepting the cup. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, a small point of contact that carried the echoes of last night's more intimate touches. "How did the briefing with Colonel Sheppard go?"

"As expected. He wants additional security protocols implemented before any live test of the Stabilizer." Lorne's gaze shifted to the device. "He's concerned about potential... complications."

"Like what?" McKay interjected, overhearing their conversation.

Lorne's expression remained neutral. "Like the possibility that creating a pathway to another reality might inadvertently allow something to come through from the other side."

"That's absurd," McKay dismissed. "The Stabilizer creates a highly specific, one-way transit corridor calibrated to Cheppy's quantum signature. Nothing could pass through in the opposite direction."

"Forgive us for being cautious," Lorne replied dryly, "but Atlantis has a history of Ancient technology doing unexpected things."

Cheppy found herself smiling despite the tension. "He's not wrong, Rodney."

"Fine," McKay huffed. "Extra security protocols. But I still maintain it's unnecessary. The Ancients were meticulous in their design of this device."

"The same Ancients who created the Wraith?" Lorne countered with a raised eyebrow.

McKay muttered something unflattering under his breath and returned to his console, effectively ending the debate.

Lorne turned back to Cheppy, lowering his voice. "How are you holding up?"

It was a question he asked often these days, always with the same genuine concern. After the night they'd spent discussing quantum entanglement, the metaphor had become a touchstone between them—their connection transcending simple physical proximity.

"I'm okay," she replied, the automatic response worn smooth with repetition. Then, because they had always been honest with each other, she added, "Actually, that's not entirely true. I feel like I'm being pulled in two directions at once."

Understanding flickered in his eyes. "I know the feeling." His hand moved imperceptibly closer to hers on the console, not quite touching but present—just as he had been through every step of this journey.

Before she could respond, her radio activated. "Dr. Mitchell, Dr. McKay, please report to Dr. Weir's office immediately," came Chuck's voice.

"Duty calls," Lorne said with a slight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Dinner later?"

"I'd like that," she replied, squeezing his hand briefly before following McKay toward the exit. The simple touch carried the weight of everything that had developed between them—the nights of passion, the quiet admissions of love, the uncertainty that still shadowed their future.

Dr. Weir's office was already occupied when they arrived. Colonel Sheppard leaned against the wall, arms crossed in his characteristic casual stance that belied his alertness. Dr. Zelenka sat in one of the chairs, tablet in hand, looking uncharacteristically grim.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," Weir greeted them, her composed features serious. "We have a situation developing that requires immediate attention."

"What kind of situation?" McKay asked, immediately suspicious.

Weir nodded to Zelenka, who tapped a command into his tablet. A holographic display appeared above her desk, showing Atlantis's power grid—with several sections flashing red.

"We're experiencing cascading power fluctuations throughout the city," Zelenka explained. "They began approximately two hours ago in the residential sectors but have since spread to critical systems."

"Why wasn't I informed immediately?" McKay demanded, already examining the data.

"Because initially they appeared to be routine surges related to the maintenance work in the east pier," Zelenka replied with strained patience. "It became clear only recently that there's a more serious underlying cause."

"And you think it's related to the Stabilizer," Cheppy deduced, reading between the lines.

Weir nodded. "The timing is suspicious. These fluctuations began shortly after you initiated the quantum alignment sequence."

"That's absurd," McKay protested. "The Stabilizer has its own independent power source. It doesn't draw from Atlantis's systems at all."

"Actually, Rodney," Zelenka interjected, "that's not entirely accurate. My analysis indicates that while the device does have its own power source, it's also interacting with Atlantis's systems on a quantum level. It appears to be causing some kind of resonance effect in our power conduits."

"Like a dimensional feedback loop," Cheppy suggested, the implications immediately clear. "The Stabilizer is designed to create quantum bridges between realities. If it's active without a specific target lock, it might be generating random micro-connections throughout Atlantis's systems."

McKay's expression shifted from denial to alarm as he examined Zelenka's data more closely. "This is bad," he admitted finally. "If these fluctuations continue to escalate, they could trigger a complete power grid collapse."

"How long do we have?" Sheppard asked, straightening from his relaxed position against the wall.

"At the current rate of progression, maybe twelve hours before critical systems begin to fail," Zelenka estimated grimly. "Life support would be among the first affected."

"Options?" Weir prompted, looking between the scientists.

"We need to deactivate the Stabilizer immediately," McKay stated. "Cut the quantum alignment process and put it into dormancy."

"Will that stop the fluctuations already in progress?" Weir asked.

McKay and Zelenka exchanged uncertain glances. "Possibly," Zelenka hedged. "But the feedback effect has already propagated throughout much of the power grid. Simply deactivating the source may not be sufficient."

"And even if it does stop the immediate crisis," McKay added reluctantly, "it means postponing the alignment process indefinitely. We'd have to start from scratch, which would take..."

He trailed off, his eyes meeting Cheppy's with rare compassion. The unspoken conclusion hung in the air: it would take longer than the remaining time before her dimensional pathway destabilized.

"So either we risk Atlantis's power systems failing," Sheppard summarized, "or we lose our window to send Dr. Mitchell home."

The stark choice silenced the room. Cheppy felt a curious numbness spreading through her chest as the implications settled. After all the searching, all the work, all the emotional preparation for making her decision about whether to stay or go—the choice might be made for her by circumstance. Yet alongside the shock came something else—an unexpected sense of clarity as she thought about her conversations with Lorne, their shared nights, the quantum entanglement they'd discussed.

"There might be a third option," she said finally, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "What if we accelerate the process? Complete the alignment and create a stable connection now, rather than waiting for the full calibration sequence to finish?"

McKay shook his head. "That would be incredibly risky. Without the complete calibration, we can't guarantee accurate targeting of your home reality."

"And the power drain would likely increase dramatically during an actual connection attempt," Zelenka added. "It might accelerate the system failure rather than preventing it."

"What about using the Stabilizer to counteract the fluctuations?" Sheppard suggested. "If it caused the problem, could it also fix it?"

A light sparked in McKay's eyes. "That... might actually be possible. If we reverse the quantum polarity of the alignment field, we could potentially create a dampening effect that would cancel out the resonance."

"But that would require completely reconfiguring the Stabilizer's core functions," Zelenka objected. "We barely understand how it works now, let alone how to fundamentally alter its operation."

"I could do it," Cheppy said quietly, drawing all eyes to her. "The Ancient documentation we recovered includes detailed specifications for the device's primary functions. With that as a guide, I could reconfigure it to generate a counter-resonance field."

"Are you sure?" Weir asked, concern evident in her voice.

Cheppy nodded, decision crystallizing within her. "It's our best option. We can't risk Atlantis's systems failing, and we can't simply shut down the Stabilizer and hope the problem resolves itself."

"There's one more thing you should all be aware of," she continued, her voice steady despite the weight of what she was about to reveal. "Once the Stabilizer is reconfigured to generate a counter-resonance field, it can't be easily converted back to its original function. We would effectively be sacrificing its ability to create a stable pathway to my original reality."

Silence fell as the implication registered with everyone present. Cheppy was volunteering to permanently close her way home to save Atlantis.

"Are you absolutely certain about this, Dr. Mitchell?" Weir asked softly. "Once done, it can't be undone."

"I understand," Cheppy replied, a strange calm settling over her. "But my choice was never really about having a way back—it was about deciding where I truly belong." Her eyes briefly found Sheppard's, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod of understanding. "And if I can save Atlantis, save all of you... that's worth more than keeping my options open."

The words came easily, with a certainty she hadn't fully recognized until this moment. Her nights with Lorne, their quiet conversations, the sense of belonging she'd finally found—all had been leading her toward this conclusion, even before circumstances forced her hand.

McKay cleared his throat, unusually affected. "We'll need to begin immediately. The reconfiguration will be complex, and the fluctuations are accelerating."

"Do it," Weir authorized with a nod. "Keep me updated on your progress. And Dr. Mitchell..." Her expression softened slightly. "Thank you."

As they filed out of the office, Sheppard fell into step beside Cheppy. "That was a brave decision," he said quietly. "You sure about this?"

"No," she admitted honestly. "But it feels right."

He studied her for a moment, then nodded in understanding. "Sometimes that's all we have to go on."

"And sometimes," she added, thinking of Lorne and the nights they'd shared, "it's enough."

The lab was a flurry of activity as McKay assembled his team and began the complex process of reconfiguring the Stabilizer. Cheppy worked alongside him, translating the Ancient specifications and guiding the modifications with a focus that kept her emotional turmoil at bay.

"We need to realign the primary resonance matrix," she directed, pointing to a specific section of the device's crystalline core. "According to the documentation, it controls the quantum frequency signature."

McKay nodded grimly, making the adjustment with uncharacteristic care. "This would be a whole lot easier if we weren't working against a ticking clock."

"When is it ever not a ticking clock around here?" she replied with a faint smile, the gallows humor familiar to everyone who had served in Atlantis for any length of time.

As they worked, the power fluctuations continued to worsen. Lights flickered throughout the city, and non-essential systems were shut down to conserve energy. The tension in the lab was palpable, everyone acutely aware of the consequences if they failed.

Six hours into the reconfiguration process, Lorne appeared in the doorway, his expression a careful mask of professional concern. "Dr. McKay, I need a status update for Colonel Sheppard."

"We're at approximately sixty percent completion," McKay replied without looking up from his work. "Tell him we need another four to five hours, minimum."

"May not have that long," Lorne warned. "The fluctuations are accelerating faster than projected. Zelenka estimates critical systems will be affected within three hours."

McKay swore under his breath. "We need to work faster. Kusanagi, recalibrate the secondary matrix while I focus on the primary. Mitchell, I need those translation parameters now, not five minutes from now."

As the team redoubled their efforts, Lorne caught Cheppy's eye across the room. With a subtle tilt of his head, he indicated the corridor outside.

"I need two minutes," she told McKay, who waved her off impatiently.

In the relative privacy of the empty corridor, Lorne's professional facade softened. "Sheppard told me what you decided," he said without preamble. His eyes searched hers for any sign of regret or uncertainty. "Are you really okay with this?"

"I think I am," she replied, the honest assessment surprising even her. "In a strange way, having the choice made for me by circumstance is... liberating." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "These past weeks with you, what we've shared... it's been helping me understand where I truly belong."

Something flickered in Lorne's eyes—relief, hope, and a deeper emotion that matched what they'd whispered to each other in the darkness of their shared nights. "I know we said we wouldn't pressure each other," he began carefully. "That your decision had to be yours alone. But I need you to know that if this is really happening, if you're really staying..." He took a deep breath. "I'm all in, Cheppy. Everything we've talked about, everything we've built—I want that. I want us."

The simple declaration, delivered with quiet conviction in a dimly lit corridor while Atlantis's systems failed around them, struck Cheppy with unexpected force. This was no heat-of-the-moment admission or desperate plea—it was a calm statement of truth from a man who had shown her nothing but steadfast support through impossible choices.

"I want that too," she admitted, the words coming easily now that the decision had been made. "I've been falling for you since that first mission when you broke your leg and I had to rescue you. Maybe even before that."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "We do have a habit of saving each other."

Before she could respond, the corridor lights flickered ominously, then dimmed to emergency levels. Her radio activated simultaneously.

"Mitchell, get back in here now!" McKay's panicked voice demanded. "The power fluctuations just hit the lab systems!"

"Go," Lorne urged, returning to professional mode. "Save the city. I'll be coordinating security from the control room."

She nodded, already turning back toward the lab. At the doorway, she paused to look back at him. "Evan," she called softly. "Remember what we said about quantum entanglement? How some connections transcend distance?"

His eyes softened with recognition of their private metaphor. "I remember."

"This is me choosing our connection," she said simply. "Not because I have to, but because I want to."

With that, she hurried back to the lab, leaving Lorne standing in the dimly lit corridor with an expression of quiet wonder on his face.

As she reentered the lab, chaos greeted her. Consoles were flickering, and the Stabilizer itself was emitting a high-pitched whine that set her teeth on edge.

"What happened?" she demanded, rushing to McKay's side.

"The feedback loop just accelerated exponentially," he explained tersely. "The power fluctuations are feeding directly into the Stabilizer now, creating a cascading effect. If we don't complete the reconfiguration in the next thirty minutes, we're looking at a total systems failure."

"Thirty minutes?" she echoed, staring at the complex work still ahead of them. "That's impossible."

"Welcome to Atlantis," McKay replied grimly. "Where the impossible is just Tuesday's special."

They worked frantically, recalibrating systems and rewiring connections with desperate speed. Sweat beaded on Cheppy's forehead as she translated complex Ancient instructions, guiding McKay through the intricate process of reversing the device's quantum polarity.

Twenty minutes in, the lab's power failed completely, leaving them working by the glow of emergency lighting and the Stabilizer's own pulsing blue crystals. The device's whine had increased to an almost unbearable pitch, suggesting imminent catastrophic failure.

"We're almost there," McKay announced, his hands working with surprising delicacy on the crystalline core. "One more alignment and we can activate the counter-resonance field."

Cheppy checked the translated specifications one last time. "The final sequence requires simultaneous activation of both the primary and secondary matrices," she reported. "They need to be perfectly synchronized or the feedback will worsen instead of resolving."

"No pressure," McKay muttered, positioning himself at the primary control panel. "Kusanagi, you take the secondary. Mitchell, you monitor the quantum harmonics and give us the signal when alignment reaches optimal parameters."

Cheppy moved to the monitoring console, her eyes fixed on the readouts. The complex patterns of Ancient symbols and diagrams would have been incomprehensible to most, but months of intensive study had made them as readable to her as English.

"Alignment approaching optimal range," she announced, watching the patterns shift. "Stand by... almost there..."

The patterns suddenly merged into perfect synchronization—a configuration she recognized immediately from the Ancient documentation. "Now!" she shouted.

McKay and Kusanagi activated their respective controls simultaneously. For a terrifying moment, nothing happened. Then the Stabilizer's whine changed pitch, dropping to a lower, steadier hum. The pulsing blue light stabilized, flowing outward from the device in concentric waves that seemed to pass through solid matter.

"It's working," McKay breathed, watching as the energy signature spread throughout the lab. "The counter-resonance field is neutralizing the fluctuations."

On the monitoring console, Cheppy could see the chaotic patterns of the power grid gradually stabilizing, section by section, as the counter-resonance field expanded through the city.

"We did it," she said softly, relief washing through her in dizzying waves.

Then, without warning, the Stabilizer's core flared blindingly bright. Cheppy staggered back, shielding her eyes as an unexpected surge of energy erupted from the device. A sensation like static electricity filled the air, raising the hair on her arms and sending tingles across her skin.

"McKay!" she shouted over the sudden roar of energy. "What's happening?"

"I don't know!" he shouted back, frantically trying to control the unexpected reaction. "The counter-resonance field is interacting with something in the city's systems!"

The energy surge intensified, concentrating around Cheppy with unnerving precision. She felt a familiar sensation—like being pulled sideways from reality, similar to what she'd experienced during the phase-shift, but stronger and more focused.

"It's targeting me specifically!" she realized aloud, her heart racing. "My quantum signature—it's responding to me!"

"Get away from the device!" McKay ordered, attempting to shut down the process.

But it was too late. The energy field collapsed inward, enveloping Cheppy in a cocoon of blue-white light. A roaring filled her ears, and the lab around her seemed to waver and distort, as if viewed through rippling water.

For a terrifying moment, she felt suspended between realities—neither fully in Atlantis nor anywhere else. Images flashed before her: her office at MIT, the linguistics lab where she'd been working when McKay's experiment pulled her through dimensions, familiar faces from her original life.

But unlike during her initial transit, these images felt distant, faded—like memories rather than beckoning possibilities. Instead, what filled her mind were more recent experiences: Carson's fatherly guidance, her first off-world mission with Lorne's team, late nights translating Ancient texts, the balcony where she and Lorne had shared so many conversations, and most vividly, the quiet intensity in Lorne's eyes when he'd told her he was "all in" just minutes ago.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the energy field collapsed. Cheppy fell to her knees, gasping as the world solidified around her once more—the familiar lab in Atlantis, McKay rushing to her side, the now-dormant Stabilizer standing silent at the center of the room.

"Mitchell! Can you hear me?" McKay demanded, uncharacteristic concern in his voice.

"I'm okay," she managed, though her entire body tingled with residual energy. "What... what just happened?"

McKay helped her to her feet, his expression bewildered. "I'm not entirely sure. The counter-resonance field interacted with your unique quantum signature. It was almost as if..."

"As if what?" she prompted when he hesitated.

"As if it was trying to reset you," he said slowly, his scientific mind working through the implications. "Your cells still retain traces of your original dimensional frequency. The counter-resonance field may have been attempting to neutralize that discrepancy."

"Did it succeed?" she asked, the question laden with significance.

McKay ran a scanner over her, studying the readings with a frown. "Your quantum signature has... stabilized. It's no longer fluctuating between dimensional frequencies." He looked up, his expression serious. "Mitchell, according to these readings, you're now permanently quantum-locked to this reality."

The implications hit her with physical force. "You mean..."

"I mean even if we could somehow restore the Stabilizer to its original function, it couldn't send you back anymore," he confirmed grimly. "Your molecular structure has been permanently altered to match this dimension's quantum frequency. You're... one of us now, in the most fundamental sense."

Cheppy sank into a nearby chair, overwhelmed by the finality of what had just occurred. The decision she'd been agonizing over for months had been made for her—not by choice but by physics. Yet instead of despair, she felt an inexplicable sense of rightness, as if the universe had simply confirmed what her heart already knew.

"I need to report this to Weir," McKay said, already reaching for his radio. "And we need to get you to the infirmary. Who knows what other effects this might have had."

She nodded numbly, barely registering his words as her mind struggled to process the new reality. She was here—permanently, irrevocably. No more pathways home, no more choices to make, no more uncertainty about where she belonged.

Just as McKay began his transmission to Weir, the lab doors burst open. Lorne stood there, slightly out of breath, eyes scanning the room until they found her.

"Cheppy," he said, relief evident in his voice as he crossed to her side. "Are you alright? The sensors in the control room went crazy, and then Zelenka said something about an energy surge centered on the lab..."

"I'm okay," she assured him, finding her voice. The sight of him—worried, disheveled, rushing to find her—crystallized everything she'd felt during the energy surge. "Just... processing some unexpected developments."

McKay, still on the radio with Weir, waved impatiently at Lorne. "Take her to the infirmary," he directed. "Carson needs to run a full workup. I'll explain everything once we've confirmed the city's systems are stable."

Lorne helped her to her feet, his concern evident in the gentle support of his arm around her waist. "Can you walk?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," she nodded, though she leaned into his steadying presence more than she might have otherwise. "It's not physical, it's just... a lot to take in."

As they made their way through the corridors, emergency lighting still casting everything in a muted glow, Lorne kept her close. "What happened in there?" he asked finally. "McKay looked like he'd seen a ghost."

Cheppy took a deep breath, the reality of her situation still settling in her mind. "The counter-resonance field interacted with my quantum signature. According to McKay, I'm now permanently quantum-locked to this reality."

Lorne stopped walking, turning to face her fully. "You mean..."

"I can't go back," she confirmed, the words strange on her tongue. "Even if we wanted to restore the Stabilizer, it wouldn't work for me anymore. My molecular structure has changed to match this dimension's quantum frequency."

For a long moment, Lorne simply looked at her, his expression unreadable in the dim lighting. Then, very carefully, he asked, "How do you feel about that?"

It was the perfect question—not presuming, not assuming her reaction would be either relief or distress, just a genuine inquiry about her emotional state. It was so quintessentially Lorne that something inside her settled, a certainty breaking through the confusion.

"Honestly?" she said, finding a small smile. "Relieved."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "Relieved?"

"I've been agonizing over this decision for months," she explained, the truth of her words becoming clearer as she spoke them. "Weighing my old life against this one, trying to determine where I truly belong. And now... now I don't have to choose anymore. The universe chose for me." She reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers. "But I think I'd already made my decision, even before today."

"And you're okay with how it all turned out?" Lorne asked, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his usually composed demeanor.

Cheppy stepped closer, drawn to the warmth and certainty she'd found in his arms so many nights. "More than okay," she assured him. "These past months in Atlantis—working with the expedition, finding my place here, being with you—they've given me purpose and connection I never had before. My old life was... it was comfortable, familiar. But this life is where I've grown, where I've become the person I want to be."

The tension in Lorne's shoulders visibly eased, relief washing across his features. "I was afraid you'd feel trapped," he admitted. "That having the choice taken away would feel like another violation, like when McKay's experiment first brought you here."

"It's different now," she said with quiet certainty. "Then, I was pulled away from everything I knew against my will. This time, I chose to help save Atlantis knowing it might mean closing my way back. The outcome is the same, but the journey to it matters."

Her words echoed their late-night conversation about quantum entanglement—how some connections transcended physical location, how what they'd built together had changed her in ways that couldn't be undone.

Lorne's free hand came up to brush a stray curl from her face, his touch gentle. "So you're staying," he said, the words somewhere between a question and a statement.

"I'm staying," she confirmed, a weight lifting from her shoulders as she finally spoke the words without qualification or uncertainty. "This is my home now. You are my home."

The simple declaration seemed to affect Lorne deeply. His eyes, usually carefully guarded, revealed everything he felt for her—relief, joy, and above all, love that had deepened through months of uncertainty into something unshakable.

"Dr. Mitchell," he said with mock formality, though his voice was rough with emotion, "I find your decision extremely satisfactory."

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her, a release of tension she hadn't fully acknowledged until now. "Is that so, Major Lorne?"

"Indeed it is," he replied, his smile growing. Then, with a swift glance to confirm they were alone in the corridor, he leaned down and kissed her—not their usual careful, measured kiss, but something deeper and more celebratory, a seal on promises now free to be made without reservations.

When they separated, slightly breathless, Cheppy felt a curious sense of rightness settle over her. The final test had come not in a choice between realities but in accepting the reality before her—and she had found it not wanting but wonderful, not a consolation but a gift.

"We should get you to the infirmary," Lorne said finally, though he made no immediate move to continue walking. "Carson will be worried."

"In a minute," she replied, not ready to break the moment. "I just want to remember this—the exact feeling of knowing where I belong."

Lorne's arm slipped around her waist, drawing her close against his side as they finally resumed their walk toward the infirmary. "For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I think you've belonged here all along. It just took a while for the universe to make it official."

As they moved through the recovering city, power systems gradually returning to normal around them, Cheppy found herself filled with a sense of peace that had eluded her for months. The Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer had served its purpose after all—not by creating a pathway back to her original reality, but by confirming that her true home had been here all along.

In the end, the final test hadn't been about choosing which reality to live in. It had been about recognizing where her heart truly resided—and that was something no quantum fluctuation or dimensional barrier could ever change. The simple touch carried the weight of everything that had developed between them—the nights of passion, the quiet admissions of love, the uncertainty that still shadowed their future.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20 : Quantum Entanglement 

The corridors of Atlantis felt both familiar and transformed as Cheppy and Lorne walked side by side after the Stabilizer crisis had finally been resolved. The weight of what had just occurred—her permanent quantum-locking to this reality—settled between them like a shared secret. She belonged here now, irrevocably, her molecular structure forever changed to match this dimension.

Neither spoke as they reached his quarters. The door slid shut behind them with a soft hiss, and suddenly the magnitude of everything hit her at once. No more uncertainty. No more impossible choices. She was here, permanently, by cosmic intervention rather than conscious decision—yet it felt exactly right.

"I can't go back," she said quietly, the words carrying both finality and wonder. "Even if we wanted to restore the Stabilizer, it wouldn't work for me anymore."

Lorne turned to face her, his expression carefully controlled. "How do you feel about that?"

The question—so perfectly him, offering no assumptions about her reaction—broke something loose inside her. "Relieved," she admitted, stepping closer. "I think I'd already made my choice, even before today."

His hands found her shoulders, thumbs brushing against her collarbones. "And you're okay with how it all turned out?"

"More than okay." She reached up to touch his face, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "These past months in Atlantis—working with the expedition, finding my place here, being with you—they've given me purpose I never had before."

Something shifted in his expression, relief washing away the careful neutrality. "I was afraid you'd feel trapped. That having the choice taken away would feel like another violation."

"It's different now," she assured him, voice steady with newfound certainty. "This time, I chose to help save Atlantis knowing it might mean closing my way back. The outcome is the same, but the journey to it matters."

He leaned down to rest his forehead against hers. "So you're staying."

"I'm staying," she confirmed, the words carrying the weight of absolute decision. "This is my home now. You are my home."

The simple declaration affected him deeply, his carefully guarded expression revealing everything he felt for her. Without another word, he kissed her—not their usual careful kiss, but something deeper, more celebratory, a seal on promises now free to be made without reservations.

When they separated, breathless, she felt a curious sense of rightness settle over her. The quantum field may have made her choice for her, but her heart had been ready long before physics intervened.

"We have time now," Lorne murmured against her lips. "All the time in the world. No more deadlines or pathways closing."

"No more uncertainty," she agreed, her voice catching slightly with emotion.

His hands cupped her face with infinite tenderness. "Just us. Just this life we're building together."

She surged up onto her toes and kissed him.

It started as a brush of mouths, but months of tension, longing, and now the permanence of her choice ignited something deeper. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer, and his hands wrapped around her waist, pressing her tightly to him. The kiss deepened—hungry and desperate—and she gasped as he licked into her mouth, tasting her like a man starved.

They broke apart only to breathe, then resumed with more heat. She tugged his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside without care, then splayed her hands over his chest, running her palms across warm muscle and old scars. He was panting softly now, pupils blown wide.

Her tank top followed, revealing the creamy expanse of her skin, the line of freckles across her collarbones. His mouth found them immediately. He kissed and nipped his way down her neck, then lower, pausing only to gently unhook her bra before letting it fall to the floor.

“gods, Cheppy…” he breathed reverently, his hands and mouth mapping every inch of her bare chest. His tongue circled one nipple, then the other, pulling soft moans from her throat as her back arched. She threaded her fingers through his hair, pressing him closer, rolling her hips instinctively against him.

He moved her toward the bed, guiding her down onto it as if laying something precious atop holy ground. His mouth never left her skin as he undid the clasp of her pants, then peeled them down her legs with aching patience, kissing the inside of her thighs as he went.

She was already slick with arousal, and when he gently traced his fingers along her folds, she gasped, thighs twitching. He watched her face as he dipped two fingers inside her, slow and deep, curling them to stroke the place he knew made her tremble. She cried out, fingers clutching at the sheets as he worked her open, his thumb circling her clit with practiced ease.

She was shaking when she came for the first time, hips jerking up off the mattress as a choked sob broke from her lips. He held her through it, kissing her thighs, her belly, her breastbone, whispering her name like a vow.

When her breathing slowed, she reached for him, tugging at the waistband of his pants. “Now,” she whispered, raw and certain. “I need you inside me.”

He shed the rest of his clothes quickly, his body hard and ready for her, every line of muscle tense with restraint. As he knelt over her, he paused, one hand on her thigh, the other bracing himself.

Cheppy wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down until their foreheads touched.

With a soft groan, he guided himself to her entrance and slowly pushed in. Her breath caught as he filled her—inch by inch—stretching her, grounding her, making her his in the most tangible way.

He stilled when he was fully seated inside her, giving her time, his forehead resting against hers, hands cradling her hips.

“jesus,” he whispered. “You feel like heaven.”

She pulled him into a kiss that was both reverent and needy, and then they began to move.

He started slow, rolling his hips in deep, fluid thrusts, savoring every second of her warmth wrapped tightly around him. The pace was unhurried, deliberate—meant to drive her mad with sensation, to let them both feel the full weight of what this meant. They weren’t just bodies moving together; they were two people who had made a choice, who had crossed galaxies and timelines to land here—together, in this bed, in this life.

Cheppy clung to him, her arms wrapped around his back, her thighs cradling his hips. Every time he moved inside her, a moan escaped her lips—sometimes soft and breathless, sometimes louder when he angled just right and hit the spot that made her toes curl. Her head tipped back, curls damp against the pillow, and Lorne ducked down to kiss her throat, her collarbone, the underside of her jaw.

“You feel so good,” she whispered, voice thick with pleasure. “So deep… Evan…”

That sound—his name on her lips, thick with desire and love—nearly undid him. He shifted her leg higher, hooked over his arm, and drove into her a little harder, a little deeper. Her breath hitched, eyes wide and blazing with heat, and she arched into him, meeting every thrust with equal hunger.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against her lips. “I’ve always got you, Chep.”

She kissed him fiercely, rolling her hips with intention, taking him deeper still. Their rhythm grew faster, rougher, driven by months of restraint and the floodgate of everything they’d held back. The bed creaked softly beneath them, the slick slide of skin on skin loud in the otherwise quiet room, save for their breathing, their gasps, the occasional hitched sob of sensation too deep to name.

Cheppy shifted suddenly, flipping them with a strength born of certainty. She straddled him, hair tumbling down over her shoulders, body gleaming in the dim light. Lorne’s hands went immediately to her hips, but she pinned his wrists above his head, leaning down to kiss him slowly, deeply, her breasts brushing his chest.

“My turn,” she whispered, voice low and confident.

She rocked her hips, dragging herself along the length of him, slow and excruciatingly controlled. Her head tipped back as she found her pace, riding him in a rhythm that was both sensual and powerful. Lorne watched her, utterly entranced—her flushed cheeks, parted lips, the way her breasts bounced slightly with each movement, the gorgeous little sounds she made when he flexed his hips up to meet her.

He reached for her, brushing his thumbs over her nipples, and she gasped, thighs trembling. She leaned down, kissing him again—messy and open-mouthed this time—as she sped up, grinding down with every thrust until they were both close to unraveling.

“Evan—” she cried, her voice hitching into a moan. “I’m—gonna—”

“I know, baby,” he whispered, his hands gripping her ass, helping her move. “Come for me. Let go.”

Her whole body tensed, her head thrown back as her orgasm crashed through her like a tidal wave. She cried out, back arching, muscles tightening around him as she shook in his arms. Her pleasure triggered his own, and he followed her over the edge with a deep groan, thrusting up hard one final time as he spilled inside her, his body trembling beneath hers.

They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and tangled sheets, her body sprawled over his, sweat cooling on their skin.

They stayed like that for several minutes—bodies pressed together, heartbeats gradually slowing, the weight of everything that had just changed settling around them like a warm blanket. Cheppy's cheek rested against Lorne's chest, her palm flat over his heart, feeling its strong, steady rhythm. His arms wrapped around her with instinctive protectiveness, fingers drifting lightly along her spine, tracing patterns as if reassuring himself that she was really here. That the quantum field hadn't somehow taken her away again.

Neither spoke.

They didn't need to.

The silence between them wasn't empty—it was full of wonder, of relief, of everything they hadn't yet found words for. The crisis was over. The Stabilizer had served its purpose, though not as intended. And she was here, permanently, irrevocably part of this reality now.

Lorne shifted slightly, just enough to brush a kiss to the crown of her head. Her copper curls were damp, sticking to her skin, and he carefully tucked a few strands behind her ear. She tilted her head up to look at him, her green eyes softer now, calmer. And he saw it there—that look he hadn't dared hope for until the quantum field had made the decision for them both.

Peace.

"I don't want this moment to end," she whispered, her voice still rough with emotion from the day's revelations.

He smiled gently, brushing the pad of his thumb along her jaw. "Then don't let it. Stay here with me. We've got nowhere else to be."

Her throat tightened at the simple truth of it. No more countdown clocks, no more dimensional pathways closing, no more impossible choices weighing on her shoulders. She was quantum-locked to this reality now. But more than that, she had chosen it—and him—long before physics made the decision permanent.

She kissed him softly, slowly, lingering. "I love you, Evan."

His breath caught for just a second before he cupped her face and whispered, "I love you too. So much, Cheppy."

She settled back against his chest, letting his warmth seep into her bones. One of his hands moved to her hair again, gently combing through the tangled curls as the last of the day's adrenaline finally bled from their systems. His other arm stayed firmly around her waist, as though his body had decided on its own that she was never to be out of reach again.

They drifted, lulled by each other's presence and the quiet hum of Atlantis around them. The lights dimmed to a soft glow automatically, the city's ancient systems singing their eternal song in the background. He felt her breathing even out, her limbs growing heavier as exhaustion from the day's crisis finally claimed her.

Cheppy had always carried tension, even in sleep—the weight of uncertainty, of not belonging, of choices yet unmade. But not tonight. Not anymore.

She melted into him completely, her breathing slow and steady, rising and falling with his own rhythm.

Lorne stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, one hand absently drawing circles on her bare shoulder. They had both been through hell—dimensional accidents, Wraith attacks, impossible choices, and now quantum entanglement of the most literal kind. They would face more challenges together, no doubt. But tonight, there was only this.

A soldier and a linguist from another world, held together by more than chance or Ancient technology. Connected now not just by quantum fields or dimensional resonance—but by love, by choice, by the irrevocable decision to build a future among the stars.

Eventually, sleep claimed him too—his last conscious thought a promise he didn't need to speak aloud:

She's mine. And I'm hers. Always.

In the morning, Dr. Weir would offer her an official position. McKay would grudgingly acknowledge her permanent value to the expedition. Carson would beam with fatherly pride. But tonight, in the quiet darkness of their shared quarters, the only thing that mattered was the woman in his arms and the certainty that home wasn't a place or a dimension—it was wherever they were together.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: A New Beginning

A soft breeze carrying the salt tang of the ocean ruffled Cheppy's copper curls as she stood on "their" balcony, watching Atlantis's twin suns descend toward the horizon. Two weeks had passed since the Stabilizer incident had quantum-locked her to this reality, permanently closing her pathway home. The city had fully recovered from the power fluctuations, with McKay's team successfully stabilizing the Ancient device into a harmless research tool, its original function now impossible to restore.

For Cheppy, these past weeks had been a period of unexpected adjustment—not to the loss of her old life, but to the certainty of her new one. The weight of indecision had lifted, leaving her feeling lighter than she had since her accidental arrival in Pegasus.

"Thought I might find you here," came Lorne's voice behind her. She turned to see him approaching, dressed in civilian clothes—a rare sight that still made her heart skip. The simple blue shirt and darker pants suited him, softening the military precision that defined him on duty.

"Just watching the sunset," she replied, smiling as he joined her at the railing. "Some things never get old, even after months in another galaxy."

"Speaking of things that don't get old," he said, reaching into his pocket, "I have something for you."

He produced a small metallic object that glinted in the fading sunlight—an official Atlantis expedition patch, identical to the one worn by permanent personnel.

"Dr. Weir wanted me to give you this," he explained, handing it to her. "Your official designation has been updated in the personnel records. You're now listed as 'Dr. Chephren Mitchell, Senior Linguistics Specialist and Ancient Technology Consultant.'"

Cheppy ran her fingers over the embroidered insignia, emotion welling in her throat. When she'd first arrived—confused, angry, desperate to return home—she couldn't have imagined this moment. The patch represented more than a job title; it was physical confirmation of her place here.

"Thank you," she managed, blinking back unexpected tears. "It's silly to get emotional over a patch, isn't it?"

"Not at all," Lorne assured her, his hand finding hers on the railing. "It matters. You fought hard to earn your place here."

She nodded, remembering the journey—from reluctant infirmary assistant to valued expedition member, from unwanted interloper to essential translator, from a woman desperate to return home to one who had found home in the most unexpected place.

"I have a meeting with Dr. Weir tomorrow," she said, carefully affixing the patch to her jacket. "Something about formalizing my role with the linguistics department and establishing protocols for Ancient technology assessment."

"She mentioned that to me," Lorne replied, his expression quietly proud. "She's creating a specialized position for you—a bridge between the science teams and military operations for anything involving Ancient language or tech."

The news surprised her. "Really? That sounds... important."

"It is important," he confirmed. "You have a unique perspective—both as a linguist and as someone who's experienced Ancient technology from a different angle than most of us. Weir recognizes that value."

Cheppy leaned against him, watching as the first sun dipped below the horizon, casting brilliant orange and gold across the waters. "Sometimes I still can't believe this is my life now."

"Having second thoughts?" Lorne asked, his tone light though she detected a hint of genuine question beneath.

"Not at all," she assured him, turning to face him fully. "Just... marveling at how much has changed. A year ago, I was grading papers at MIT, living alone, focused entirely on my research. Now I'm in another galaxy, part of something extraordinary, and..." she smiled, "well, definitely not alone."

The warmth in Lorne's eyes deepened at her words. Since the Stabilizer incident, their relationship had shifted—the uncertainty of her possible departure no longer shadowing their moments together. They'd begun spending most nights in his quarters, the arrangement evolving naturally without discussion.

"Speaking of not being alone," he said, something in his voice drawing her complete attention, "I've been thinking about that. About us."

Cheppy felt her heart quicken at his serious tone. "Oh?"

"With your position becoming permanent and everything settled now, I thought maybe it was time we discussed more... practical arrangements." A faint flush colored his cheeks—an endearing sight on a man typically so composed.

"Practical arrangements?" she repeated, curious where this was heading.

"My quarters are bigger than yours," he pointed out, "but they're still designed for one person. And you've got books and equipment spreading between both our rooms."

Understanding dawned, a warm glow spreading through her chest. "Evan Lorne, are you asking me to move in with you?"

His smile was equal parts confidence and vulnerability—the combination that had drawn her to him from the beginning. "I am. Though eventually, we might want to request one of the larger living spaces in the east pier. They were designed for families, according to the database."

The casual mention of families sent a flutter through her stomach—not panic but possibility. They hadn't discussed long-term future plans beyond her decision to stay, both content to let their relationship evolve naturally. This felt like the first step toward something more defined.

"I'd like that," she said simply, the truthfulness of her response reflected in her smile. "Though I should warn you—my Ancient reference texts take up a lot of space."

"I'll build you shelves," he countered immediately, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. "As many as you need."

The simple declaration—so practical yet so caring—epitomized what she loved about him. Lorne wasn't given to grand romantic gestures or flowery declarations. His love manifested in steadfast support, in showing up when needed, in building shelves for her books because he knew they mattered to her.

"How soon can I start moving my things?" she asked, leaning into his touch.

"Tonight, if you want," he replied, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "Tomorrow. Next week. Whenever feels right."

"Tonight sounds perfect," she decided. The certainty in her voice matched the certainty in her heart—a feeling that had grown stronger with each passing day since the Stabilizer incident.

Lorne's smile broadened, relief and joy mingling in his expression. He'd been so careful since her quantum-locking, never pushing, always giving her space to adjust to her new permanent reality. The fact that she was embracing this next step so readily clearly meant more to him than he would readily admit.

"I should warn you," he said lightly, "I'm very particular about how I organize my socks."

Cheppy laughed, the sound carrying across the water. "And I alphabetize my reference materials by Ancient dialect category."

"We're going to be that couple, aren't we?" he observed with mock resignation.

"What couple?"

"The terrifyingly organized one that everybody else finds slightly intimidating."

"Probably," she agreed, grinning. "Though I think McKay and Zelenka already have us beat in the 'intimidating organization' category. Have you seen their lab lately?"

As they lapsed into comfortable banter, the second sun began its descent, casting the sky in deepening shades of purple and crimson. Cheppy found herself studying Lorne's profile—the strong line of his jaw, the intelligence in his eyes, the hint of a smile that seemed more present these days than before. This man had stood beside her through the most difficult transition of her life, never pressuring, always supporting, loving her enough to let her choose freely.

"I love you," she said simply, interrupting whatever he'd been saying about McKay's organizational systems.

Lorne paused mid-sentence, his expression softening as he turned to her. "I love you too," he replied, the words coming easily now that they'd crossed that threshold. "What brought that on?"

"Just... gratitude," she explained. "For everything you've been through with me. For giving me space to figure things out. For being patient when I wasn't sure where I belonged."

"You'd have done the same for me," he said with characteristic humility.

"Maybe," she allowed. "But that doesn't make it any less remarkable." She took his hand, intertwining their fingers. "You know, Carson told me once that regret lasts longer than fear. He was talking about taking chances, about not letting uncertainty prevent you from embracing what matters."

"Sounds like Carson," Lorne nodded. "He's surprisingly wise for a man who talks to his lab specimens."

"He is," Cheppy agreed with a soft laugh. "And he was right. I could have let fear keep me suspended between worlds, never fully committing to either. Instead, I chose this world—chose you—and now I can't imagine being anywhere else."

Lorne's free hand came up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, his touch lingering against her cheek. "For what it's worth, I can't imagine being anywhere else either."

As darkness settled over Atlantis, they made their way back into the city, hands occasionally brushing in the comfortable intimacy they'd established. The corridors hummed with the quiet efficiency of night shift operations—scientists working in labs, security teams patrolling, the constant activity that kept the Ancient city functioning.

"Should we start moving some of your things tonight?" Lorne asked as they approached the residential section.

"Maybe just the essentials," Cheppy decided. "Clothes, toiletries, my current research. The rest can wait until we're both off-duty tomorrow."

They stopped first at her quarters, gathering what she needed for the night and the following day. As she looked around the room that had been her private sanctuary for months, Cheppy felt a curious lack of attachment. Despite her efforts to make it comfortable, it had always felt temporary—a reflection, perhaps, of her own uncertainty about her place in Atlantis.

"Ready?" Lorne asked from the doorway, a small bag of her belongings slung over his shoulder.

"Ready," she confirmed, taking one last look before letting the door slide closed behind her.

The walk to Lorne's quarters was short but significant—a journey from one phase of her life to another. When they arrived, he keyed in the access code, then paused before the door slid open.

"Welcome home," he said simply, gesturing for her to enter first.

The quarters were familiar after the many nights she'd spent there, yet different now that she was entering them not as a visitor but as someone who belonged. Lorne had already created space for her—a cleared section of closet, an empty drawer, a shelf for her books.

"You were pretty confident I'd say yes," she observed, noting the preparations.

"Hopeful," he corrected with a smile. "Though McKay did point out that statistically, given our previous interactions and established pattern of co-habitation, acceptance was the most probable outcome."

"You discussed this with McKay?" she asked incredulously.

"Not by choice," Lorne assured her. "He offered his analysis unprompted. Apparently, our relationship dynamics are 'mathematically predictable' according to some formula he's developed."

Cheppy laughed, the absurdity of McKay analyzing their relationship so perfectly Atlantis that she couldn't even be annoyed. "Let me guess—he has a formula for every couple on base?"

"Only the ones he finds 'scientifically interesting,'" Lorne confirmed with a grin. "I'm choosing to take that as a compliment."

As they settled into the familiar evening routine—Lorne checking security reports while Cheppy reviewed translations, occasional comments passed between them—the significance of the moment wasn't lost on either of them. This wasn't just sharing space; it was sharing lives, formally acknowledging what had been developing between them for months.

Later, as they lay together in the darkness, Cheppy's head resting on Lorne's chest, his arm wrapped securely around her, she felt a profound sense of rightness wash over her.

"It's strange," she murmured, her voice soft in the quiet room. "For months, I worried about making the wrong choice—staying when I should go, or going when I should stay. Now that the choice has been made, it feels like there was only ever one right answer."

Lorne's hand traced gentle patterns along her spine. "Maybe the universe knew better than we did all along."

"Maybe," she agreed, thinking of the quantum entanglement they'd discussed weeks ago—how some connections transcended dimensional barriers. "Or maybe we knew too, deep down. We just needed time to recognize it."

"Either way," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, "I'm grateful for whatever cosmic accident brought you here."

"Even though it gave McKay something else to be insufferably proud about?" she teased.

"Small price to pay," he replied, his voice warm with affection.

As sleep began to claim her, Cheppy reflected on the journey that had brought her to this moment—an accidental dimensional transit that had felt like the worst disaster of her life becoming the catalyst for finding where she truly belonged. The universe, it seemed, worked in mysterious ways indeed.

Her last conscious thought before drifting off was simple yet profound: she was home.

The following week unfolded in a whirlwind of activity. Cheppy officially moved her remaining belongings into Lorne's quarters—their quarters now—and assumed her new role as Senior Linguistics Specialist. Dr. Weir had formalized her position with surprising ceremony, gathering the senior staff to acknowledge her permanent status.

"Dr. Mitchell's unique perspective and exceptional skills have proven invaluable to this expedition," Weir had stated, her diplomatic tone warmed by genuine appreciation. "What began as an unexpected arrival has evolved into one of our most fortunate acquisitions of talent."

Even McKay had nodded along, though his only verbal contribution was a muttered, "She's adequate with Ancient syntax, I suppose," which from him was essentially high praise.

Now, a week later, Cheppy sat in the mess hall with Carson, sharing lunch and catching up on the latest expedition news. The Scottish doctor had been delighted by her decision to stay, declaring it "the most sensible choice you've made since arriving in this mad galaxy."

"So," Carson said, setting down his fork with deliberate casualness, "I hear congratulations are in order regarding your new living arrangements."

Cheppy smiled, unsurprised that he knew. "News travels fast."

"Small city," he reminded her with a twinkle in his eye. "And some of us may have had a wee wager going about when you two would finally make it official."

"Carson Beckett!" she exclaimed in mock outrage. "You were betting on my love life?"

"Not just me," he defended himself cheerfully. "Half the medical staff and most of Sheppard's team. Though I'll have you know I won—I said you'd move in together within a week of resolving the Stabilizer situation."

Cheppy shook her head, amused despite herself. "I should be offended, but honestly, I'm just impressed by your predictive abilities."

"It wasn't so hard to see where things were heading," Carson replied, his expression softening. "Not when I watched how that lad looked at you, even when he thought you might choose to leave. That's the kind of devotion that doesn't come along every day, lass."

"I know," she said quietly, recalling how Lorne had supported her through every step of her journey in Atlantis. "I'm very lucky."

"You both are," Carson corrected. "A good match, if an old romantic like me may say so."

Before Cheppy could respond, her radio activated. "Dr. Mitchell, please report to the gate room," came Chuck's voice. "Unscheduled off-world activation in progress."

She tapped her earpiece. "On my way." To Carson, she added, "Duty calls."

"Off you go then," he nodded. "Don't forget your check-up tomorrow. Being quantum-locked to this reality doesn't excuse you from regular monitoring."

Cheppy made her way quickly to the gate room, where activity buzzed around the active Stargate. Dr. Weir stood on the command balcony, overseeing operations with her usual composed authority.

"Ah, Dr. Mitchell," Weir greeted her as she arrived. "Perfect timing. We're receiving a transmission from M4X-382."

"The agricultural research outpost?" Cheppy asked, recalling her first mission with Lorne's team—the one where he'd broken his leg and she'd saved him from the collapsing chamber.

"The same," Weir confirmed. "They've discovered additional Ancient text in a previously inaccessible section. Given your familiarity with the site and the specific dialect used there, I thought you might want to handle the translation requests."

Pride swelled in Cheppy's chest at being the automatic choice for this assignment. This was what belonging felt like—being valued for her specific expertise, trusted with important work, integrated fully into the expedition's operations.

"I'd be happy to," she replied. "When do they need the translations?"

"Major Lorne's team is scheduled to depart for M4X-382 tomorrow morning at 0800," Weir informed her. "I've already added you to the mission roster, assuming you're interested."

The casual inclusion—so different from her early days when every off-world assignment had required special justification—reinforced her sense of rightful place within the expedition.

"I'll be ready," she assured Weir. "Should I coordinate with the original research team about what they've found so far?"

"Excellent idea," Weir nodded approvingly. "Dr. Parrish is in the botany lab preparing for the mission as well. He can brief you on the latest developments."

As Cheppy turned to leave, Weir added, "And Dr. Mitchell? It's good to have you with us. Permanently."

The simple acknowledgment touched her deeply. "Thank you, Dr. Weir. It's good to be here."

The rest of the day passed in productive preparation for the upcoming mission. Parrish enthusiastically shared what they knew about the newly discovered Ancient texts, theorizing they might contain advanced agricultural techniques that could benefit both Atlantis and their allies.

By evening, Cheppy had compiled preliminary translation notes and prepared her equipment for the mission. She returned to their quarters to find Lorne already there, reviewing mission parameters on his tablet.

"I hear we're going back to where it all began," he greeted her with a smile. "M4X-382—the site of my heroic injury."

"You mean the site where I had to rescue you after you got trapped in a collapsing Ancient facility?" she corrected, setting down her equipment bag.

"Details," he dismissed with a wave, his eyes twinkling. "Though I seem to recall you were quite concerned about my well-being."

"Of course I was. You were my ticket back to Atlantis," she teased, moving to stand behind him and wrap her arms around his shoulders. "Pure self-interest."

Lorne leaned back into her embrace. "Naturally. Nothing to do with my charming personality or rugged good looks."

"Absolutely not," she agreed solemnly. "Though I suppose those didn't hurt."

He turned in his chair to face her, his expression shifting to something more genuine. "It feels right, doesn't it? Going back there together—now that everything's different."

"Full circle," she nodded, understanding his meaning immediately. That first mission had marked the beginning of their connection, though neither had recognized it fully at the time. Now, returning as established partners, both personally and professionally, represented how far they'd come.

"Carson told me half the base had bets on when we'd move in together," she mentioned, settling into the chair beside him.

Lorne's laugh was warm and unsurprised. "Sheppard mentioned something about that. Apparently, Zelenka lost spectacularly—he'd put his money on 'never' because he thought you'd be too focused on your research to notice my obvious pining."

"Obvious pining?" she repeated with raised eyebrows. "Is that what you were doing all those months?"

"Absolutely not," he replied with mock dignity. "Military officers don't pine. We strategically evaluate potential interpersonal connections with appropriate professional consideration."

"Of course," she agreed solemnly. "My mistake."

Their easy banter continued through dinner and into the evening, a comfortable routine they'd established in their week of official cohabitation. Lorne reviewed security protocols for the upcoming mission while Cheppy made final notes on her translation references. Occasional comments passed between them—observations, questions, inside jokes that had developed over months together.

As they prepared for bed, Cheppy found herself pausing to take in the scene—her Ancient reference books alongside his military manuals, her clothes hanging next to his in the closet, the painting he'd made for her proudly displayed on the wall. Small pieces of their individual lives merging into something shared.

"What is it?" Lorne asked, noticing her contemplative expression.

"Just... happy," she replied simply. "It's still sinking in sometimes—that this is real, that I'm staying, that we're building a life together."

Understanding softened his features. "Any regrets?" he asked, the question gentle rather than insecure.

Cheppy shook her head without hesitation. "None. Which is the most surprising part, I think. I expected to feel at least some lingering doubt or grief about the life I left behind. But instead, I just feel... peaceful. Like this is exactly where I'm supposed to be."

Lorne pulled back the covers and they settled into bed, finding their natural positions—her head on his shoulder, his arm around her, their bodies fitting together as if designed for this alignment.

"You know," he said thoughtfully as the lights dimmed automatically, "when I first came to Atlantis, I told myself it was just another assignment. Extraordinary circumstances, but still just part of my military career. I never expected to find..."

"A home?" she suggested when he paused.

"That," he agreed. "And you. Someone who makes all of this—another galaxy, Ancient technology, the constant danger—feel worth it on a personal level, not just a professional one."

The admission, quietly delivered in the darkness of their shared quarters, carried the weight of everything they'd built together. Cheppy shifted closer, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"We make a good team, Major Lorne," she murmured.

His arm tightened around her. "The best, Dr. Mitchell."

As she drifted toward sleep, Cheppy's thoughts returned to the journey that had brought her here—from terrified accident victim to respected expedition member, from desperate homesickness to profound belonging. The Dimensional Resonance Stabilizer had ultimately served its purpose, though not in the way anyone had expected. Instead of creating a pathway back to her original reality, it had confirmed that her true home had been here all along.

Tomorrow she would return to M4X-382 with Lorne's team, coming full circle to where their story had truly begun. But unlike that first mission—filled with uncertainty and burgeoning, unrecognized feelings—this one would begin with clarity, with purpose, with the knowledge that they faced whatever challenges awaited them together.

The Ancient text she'd translated weeks ago from Elera's journal seemed particularly apt now: "When two stars align, their light travels further together than either could shine alone." Quantum entanglement, indeed.

Just before consciousness faded completely, Cheppy felt Lorne press a kiss to her forehead, his voice a soft murmur against her skin: "Sleep well, heimat."

The Ancient word—one she'd taught him from her studies—meant more than just 'home.' It encompassed belonging, safety, rightful place. That he had remembered it, had chosen to use it now, spoke volumes about how deeply he understood her journey.

"Heimat," she echoed softly, the Ancient syllables feeling right on her tongue. Home, at last, in every sense that mattered.

In the quiet darkness of Atlantis night, as the city's ancient systems hummed around them and the ocean waves lapped gently against the piers, Dr. Chephren Mitchell and Major Evan Lorne slept peacefully—two souls from different worlds whose paths had crossed against impossible odds, finding in each other the truest meaning of home.

The end... and the beginning.

Chapter Text

Chapter 22: The Right to Remain

The transformation was swift and unsettling. Within 48 hours of her arrival, Dr. Marie Mitchell had seamlessly integrated herself into Atlantis's scientific hierarchy with an efficiency that left Cheppy feeling like she was watching her own life being lived by someone else—someone better at it.

"The quantum resonance patterns in this database are fascinating," Marie announced from her position at McKay's primary workstation, her fingers flying across the Ancient interface with disturbing familiarity. "The computational algorithms I've developed for the SGC can process this information at least three times faster than traditional manual translation methods."

McKay, who normally bristled at anyone touching his equipment, watched with obvious admiration as Marie demonstrated her translation software. "Remarkable efficiency," he admitted, something approaching awe in his voice. "Most linguists we work with require hours to parse what you've just translated in minutes."

Cheppy stood at the edge of the lab, ostensibly reviewing her own research but actually watching this other version of herself work with growing unease. Marie's methods were undeniably impressive—a fusion of advanced computational linguistics and cutting-edge SGC technology that made Cheppy's careful, methodical approach seem primitive by comparison.

"The key is aggressive automation," Marie explained to the gathered scientists, her voice carrying the confidence of someone accustomed to briefing high-level officials. "Rather than relying on intuitive interpretation, we create systematic algorithmic frameworks that eliminate human error and subjective bias."

Dr. Zelenka adjusted his glasses, clearly intrigued. "And this approach works reliably with Ancient syntax? The language patterns are often highly contextual."

"Context can be quantified and systematized," Marie replied smoothly. "The SGC has developed contextual matrices based on thousands of off-world linguistic samples. It's simply a matter of applying proper scientific methodology to what has traditionally been treated as an art form."

The subtle dismissal of traditional linguistic methods—Cheppy's methods—hung in the air like a challenge. Several junior scientists nodded thoughtfully, apparently impressed by Marie's systematic approach to what they'd seen Cheppy develop through careful, intuitive analysis over the past year.

"Of course," Marie continued, her gaze briefly finding Cheppy across the room, "manual methods certainly have their place. Particularly when working with limited resources or in emergency situations where precision is less critical than speed."

The backhanded compliment was delivered with such diplomatic skill that anyone not listening carefully might have missed its sting. But Cheppy caught it, as did Lorne, who had entered the lab just in time to hear the exchange.

"Dr. Mitchell's methods have saved lives," he said firmly, approaching the group. "Her translations during the Wraith attack and multiple off-world emergencies have been crucial to successful outcomes."

Marie turned to face him with a smile that seemed genuine but somehow didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, I'm sure they have been, Major. Emergency improvisation is certainly valuable when proper protocols aren't available. Though I imagine with the right technological support, such... seat-of-the-pants approaches... wouldn't be necessary."

McKay's expression shifted with obvious interest. "You're suggesting we could automate much of our Ancient translation work?"

"Not just automate—revolutionize," Marie confirmed. "The SGC has developed translation protocols that could process years of accumulated Ancient texts in weeks rather than the months it would take manually. Imagine having instant access to properly categorized and cross-referenced Ancient knowledge."

The promise of such efficiency clearly excited McKay, who began firing rapid questions about processing speeds and algorithmic capabilities. As Marie fielded each inquiry with impressive technical knowledge, Cheppy felt herself becoming increasingly invisible in the field where she'd worked so hard to establish expertise.

Dr. Kusanagi leaned over to whisper to a colleague, "If we had this kind of processing power when we first discovered the dimensional monitoring chamber, we might have understood its full capabilities immediately."

The comment, meant to be heard only by her immediate colleague, carried in the quiet lab. Cheppy felt it like a physical blow—the implication that her careful development of Ancient language skills over the past year had somehow been insufficient, that crucial discoveries might have been delayed by her learning curve.

"Well," she said quietly to Lorne, "I think that's my cue to leave."

But as she turned to go, Marie's voice stopped her. "Oh, Cheppy, before you go—I've been reviewing some of your translation work from recent reports. Quite... adequate for someone who's been learning on the job. Though I did notice some areas where your interpretation might benefit from more systematic analysis."

The offer was phrased as collegial assistance, but the tone carried unmistakable condescension. Several scientists turned to watch the exchange, their expressions curious rather than supportive.

"I appreciate the feedback," Cheppy replied carefully, maintaining her composure despite the burning in her chest. "My methods have developed through practical application here in Atlantis. They've proven effective for the situations I've encountered."

"Of course," Marie agreed with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "Learning through trial and error is certainly... character-building. Though I imagine it must be challenging to develop expertise without proper institutional training or standardized protocols."

There was that subtle dig again—positioning Cheppy as someone who had improvised her way into knowledge rather than earning it through legitimate channels. The systematic undermining was subtle but effective, painting her as an amateur who had gotten lucky rather than a skilled linguist who had adapted and grown.

Lorne's jaw tightened visibly. "Dr. Mitchell's intuitive understanding of Ancient language patterns has led to breakthrough insights that saved the city during the Stabilizer crisis. Her approach may be different, but the results speak for themselves."

"Intuitive understanding," Marie nodded knowingly. "Yes, that's often how we describe pattern recognition that hasn't been properly systematized yet. It's quite impressive, really—developing functional translations without access to comprehensive databases or peer review processes."

The dismissal was expertly delivered—acknowledging Cheppy's work while simultaneously categorizing it as unrefined guesswork. McKay, absorbed in discussions of processing algorithms, seemed oblivious to the interpersonal dynamics, but others in the lab were clearly taking note of the hierarchical implications.

"I should get back to my current translations," Cheppy said, desperate to escape before her composure cracked completely.

"Of course," Marie replied graciously. "Though if you'd like, I could review your work before it goes to the senior staff. Quality control is so important in linguistic analysis, and I've developed quite an eye for catching subtle errors that might otherwise slip through."

The offer to "quality control" her work was the final straw. Cheppy felt heat rise in her cheeks, anger and humiliation warring in her chest. But before she could respond, Dr. Weir's voice cut through the lab's activity.

"Dr. Mitchell," Weir called, addressing Marie specifically, "could you join me in my office? I'd like to discuss implementing some of your protocols."

As Marie gathered her materials with professional efficiency, she paused beside Cheppy. "Don't take any of this personally," she said quietly, her voice low enough that only Cheppy could hear. "It's just that some of us have had to maintain certain standards. I'm sure you understand—working without proper credentials can be... limiting."

With that, she swept out of the lab, leaving Cheppy standing among the workstations feeling as though she'd been systematically dissected and found wanting by her own reflection.

Lorne moved to her side immediately. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she replied automatically, though her voice shook slightly. "I just... I need some air."

They walked in silence through Atlantis's corridors until they reached their familiar balcony overlooking the ocean. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the water, but the beauty of the view failed to provide its usual comfort.

"She's trying to undermine you," Lorne said finally, his voice tight with suppressed anger. "Every comment, every suggestion—it's all designed to make you look incompetent."

"Maybe she's right," Cheppy said quietly, staring out at the horizon. "Maybe my methods are primitive. Maybe I really have been learning through trial and error while she has proper training and institutional support."

"That's exactly what she wants you to think," Lorne countered firmly. "Cheppy, you've accomplished incredible things here over the past year. Your understanding of Ancient language and culture has provided insights that no algorithm could generate."

"But her results speak for themselves," Cheppy protested. "In two days, she's processed more Ancient text than I have in months. If her methods can revolutionize how we understand Ancient technology..."

"Then we'll use her methods where they're appropriate," Lorne interrupted. "But that doesn't diminish what you've contributed or what you continue to contribute. You're not just a translator, Cheppy. You're someone who understands the deeper meanings, the cultural context, the connections between different texts and technologies."

His words were meant to comfort, but they highlighted exactly what worried her most. Marie wasn't just offering superior efficiency—she was demonstrating that she could do everything Cheppy did, only better, faster, and with proper credentials.

"What if Dr. Weir decides that having two of us is redundant?" she asked, voicing her deepest fear. "What if they conclude that the SGC version is the upgrade and I'm the... the amateur prototype?"

Lorne turned to face her fully, his hands settling on her shoulders. "Then they'd be making the biggest mistake in Atlantis history. You belong here, Cheppy. Not because of your technical skills—though those are impressive—but because of who you are. Because of the connections you've built, the trust you've earned, the way you see possibilities that others miss."

"She's already got McKay wrapped around her finger," Cheppy observed with bitter humor. "And the junior scientists are clearly impressed by her systematic approach."

"McKay's always been dazzled by flashy technology," Lorne replied dismissively. "Give him a week and he'll find something to complain about in her methods. And junior scientists don't determine expedition policy. Dr. Weir does, based on results and relationships, not just technical specifications."

As if summoned by their conversation, Cheppy's radio activated with Dr. Weir's voice: "Dr. Mitchell, could you please report to my office?"

"Which Dr. Mitchell?" Cheppy asked wearily into the device.

"Both of you, actually. We need to discuss the database integration issues that have arisen."

Lorne's expression darkened with concern. "Want me to come with you?"

"No," Cheppy decided, straightening her shoulders with determination she didn't entirely feel. "This is something I need to face myself."

The walk to Dr. Weir's office felt longer than usual. When Cheppy arrived, she found Marie already seated, reviewing data on a tablet with obvious satisfaction. Dr. Weir looked up as Cheppy entered, her diplomatic expression revealing nothing.

"Thank you both for coming," Weir began. "We've encountered some complications with the Ancient database systems since Dr. Marie Mitchell's arrival."

Marie leaned forward with professional interest. "What kind of complications?"

"The computer systems are experiencing increasing conflicts about personnel access," Weir explained. "Specifically, they're becoming confused about which Dr. Mitchell should have clearance for various restricted areas and functions."

Cheppy felt her stomach drop. "Meaning?"

"Meaning the Ancient systems are gradually locking you out of areas you previously had access to," Weir said gently. "They appear to be recognizing Dr. Marie Mitchell as the 'authentic' personnel with proper clearance levels."

"That makes sense," Marie said matter-of-factly. "The SGC has comprehensive personnel integration protocols with all Ancient systems. My clearance codes are probably overriding whatever local access permissions were granted to... to her."

The casual way Marie referred to her as 'her'—as if she were some kind of irregular duplicate rather than a person with her own identity—stung more than Cheppy expected.

"Can this be corrected?" Cheppy asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

Weir's hesitation was telling. "McKay and Zelenka are working on it, but the Ancient systems appear to be designed to prevent exactly this kind of duplication. They may be trying to resolve what they perceive as a security risk."

"By eliminating the unauthorized duplicate," Marie added helpfully. "It's actually quite logical from a systems security perspective. Ancient technology is designed to recognize legitimate personnel and restrict access for... irregularities."

The implications were clear. Not only was Cheppy being outperformed professionally, but the very technology she'd spent over a year learning to work with was now rejecting her presence in favor of her counterpart.

"Dr. Weir," Marie said thoughtfully, "perhaps this is the universe's way of correcting itself. After all, I am the Dr. Mitchell who belongs in this reality. The one with proper clearance, appropriate credentials, and established protocols for working with Ancient technology."

"What are you suggesting?" Weir asked carefully.

Marie's smile was gentle but implacable. "I'm suggesting that perhaps it might be time to consider whether having... both versions... is really sustainable. The system conflicts could become quite serious if allowed to continue, and I can provide all the linguistic expertise the expedition requires."

The carefully worded suggestion hit Cheppy like a physical blow. Marie wasn't quite saying she should leave, but the implication was clear—that Cheppy's presence was becoming a liability that could be easily resolved.

"That's a significant consideration that would require extensive consultation with the senior staff," Weir replied diplomatically. "For now, we'll continue working on the technical solutions while evaluating all options."

As they left the office, Marie walked beside Cheppy with an expression of sympathy that somehow managed to feel patronizing.

"I hope you don't take this personally," Marie said quietly. "It's just that sometimes situations need to be... optimized. I'm sure you've built some meaningful relationships here, but you must understand that I can offer everything you can, plus resources and credentials that simply aren't available to someone who arrived by accident."

"This is my home," Cheppy said firmly, finding her voice despite the emotional turmoil.

"Is it, though?" Marie asked gently. "Or is it just where you ended up when things went wrong? There's a difference between belonging somewhere and simply being somewhere. Between earning a place and having one created for you out of necessity."

The question followed Cheppy as she made her way back to their quarters, Marie's words echoing in her mind. The distinction between belonging and simply being somewhere felt suddenly crucial—and uncertain.

She found Lorne waiting for her, his expression immediately shifting to concern as he read her face.

"What happened?"

Cheppy sank onto their bed, exhaustion and uncertainty weighing heavily on her shoulders. "The Ancient systems are locking me out of areas I used to have access to. They're recognizing Marie as the authentic personnel and treating me as some kind of security risk."

Lorne's expression darkened. "And?"

"And Marie suggested that maybe it's time to consider whether having both versions is really sustainable. That she can provide everything I can, but with proper credentials and authorization."

"That's bullshit," Lorne said flatly, his anger evident. "You've earned your place here through over a year of hard work, dedication, and genuine contribution. Some government bureaucrat with fancy technology doesn't get to waltz in and claim your life."

"But what if she's right?" Cheppy asked quietly. "What if I really am just someone who ended up here by accident, and she's the version who actually belongs? What if the Ancient systems recognizing her as authentic means something fundamental?"

Lorne sat beside her on the bed, taking her hands in his. "Listen to me. I've watched you grow from someone who was terrified and lost into someone who's essential to this expedition. You've saved lives, solved problems, and earned respect through your own efforts. That's not an accident—that's achievement."

"She has credentials I'll never have," Cheppy pointed out. "Resources, technology, official authorization from the SGC..."

"And you have something she doesn't," Lorne countered firmly. "You have the trust of this team, the relationships you've built, and the kind of intuitive understanding that can't be programmed into an algorithm. You have a history of being here when it mattered, of growing and adapting and becoming part of this family."

"But for how long?" she asked, voicing her deepest fear. "How long before Dr. Weir decides that efficiency trumps sentiment? How long before the Ancient systems lock me out completely? How long before everyone realizes that Marie really is the better version?"

Lorne's hands tightened on hers. "Then we'll fight for your place here. All of us who know your value. Carson, Teyla, Sheppard—everyone who's worked with you knows what you bring to this expedition."

"Even you?" she asked quietly, studying his face for any sign of doubt.

"Especially me," he replied without hesitation. "Because I know who you are, not just what you can do. And the woman I fell in love with doesn't give up when things get difficult. She adapts, she perseveres, and she proves her worth through action."

His unwavering support steadied her, reminding her of everything she'd overcome to reach this point. She'd faced skepticism before, had fought for recognition and respect. This was just another challenge—albeit one wearing her own face.

"You're right," she said finally, straightening her shoulders. "I belong here. Not because some database says so, but because I've earned it through everything I've done, everyone I've helped, every crisis I've faced. And I'm not going to let some alternate version of myself convince me otherwise."

Lorne's smile was fierce with approval. "That's my girl."

As night fell over Atlantis, Cheppy found herself more determined than before. Marie might have superior technology and official credentials, but Cheppy had something equally valuable: a place in this community that had been earned through adversity, growth, and genuine connection.

The battle for her right to remain was far from over, but for the first time since Marie's arrival, Cheppy felt ready to fight for the life she'd built among the stars.

Chapter Text

Chapter 23: The Parallel Expert

The arrival of Dr. Julian Keyes two days after Marie's integration into the science team brought a new dynamic to the already tense situation. Unlike the linguists and archaeologists who typically accompanied SGC transfers, Keyes was a theoretical physicist specializing in parallel realities and quantum counterparts—a field that had become increasingly relevant since the discovery of Ancient dimensional technology.

"Dr. Mitchell," Keyes greeted Cheppy warmly as they were introduced in the briefing room, his British accent lending a scholarly charm to his words. "Both of you, actually. This is quite fascinating from a quantum mechanics perspective—true counterparts from divergent timelines."

He was younger than Cheppy had expected, perhaps in his early thirties, with sandy hair that perpetually looked like he'd been running his hands through it and bright blue eyes that held genuine curiosity rather than the calculating assessment she'd grown accustomed to seeing from Marie.

"Dr. Keyes has been brought in to help us understand the theoretical implications of having quantum duplicates in one reality," Dr. Weir explained. "His research with the SGC has focused specifically on parallel reality interactions and their potential effects."

Marie straightened with obvious interest. "Your work on dimensional convergence theory was groundbreaking, Dr. Keyes. I've followed your publications since your first paper on quantum consciousness anchoring."

"Thank you," Keyes replied with a modest smile. "Though I must admit, having actual quantum counterparts to study is far more intriguing than any theoretical model. The opportunity to observe how parallel developments manifest in shared quantum signatures is extraordinary."

His enthusiasm was infectious, and Cheppy found herself drawn into the conversation despite her recent struggles with confidence. "What kind of effects are you concerned about?" she asked.

"Well," Keyes began, pulling up a holographic display from his tablet, "when two quantum counterparts exist in the same reality, it creates what we call a 'paradox pressure.' The universe essentially tries to resolve what it perceives as a duplication error."

"How does it resolve it?" Lorne asked from his position near the wall, his concern evident.

"In most theoretical models, one of several things happens," Keyes explained, his expression growing more serious. "Reality might merge the counterparts into a single being, push one back to their origin reality, or in worst-case scenarios, eliminate what it perceives as the paradox through... less pleasant means."

The implications hung heavily in the room. Cheppy felt Lorne's tension increase even from across the space, while Marie maintained her composed expression with only a slight tightening around her eyes revealing any concern.

"How long do we have before this 'paradox pressure' becomes dangerous?" Dr. Weir inquired.

"That depends on numerous factors," Keyes replied, scrolling through complex equations on his display. "The degree of similarity between the counterparts, the strength of their quantum anchoring in this reality, and the specific nature of the dimensional barriers involved. Without extensive testing, it's impossible to predict precisely."

"Testing?" Marie asked with professional interest.

"Quantum resonance scans, consciousness mapping, temporal displacement analysis," Keyes listed. "We need to understand how each of you is anchored to this reality and whether there are ways to stabilize the situation without... unfortunate consequences."

Dr. Weir nodded decisively. "Dr. Keyes, you'll have full access to our Ancient technology databases and whatever resources you need. This takes priority until we understand the scope of the situation."

"I'd like to start with extensive interviews with both counterparts," Keyes said, his gaze moving between Cheppy and Marie. "Understanding your divergent paths and how they've shaped your quantum signatures will be crucial for developing solutions."

Over the following days, Keyes established a temporary laboratory in one of the unused science pods, filling it with exotic monitoring equipment and quantum analysis devices that made McKay's usual technology look simple by comparison. His work required detailed collaboration with both Mitchell women, examining everything from their genetic markers to their memory engrams.

"Fascinating," he murmured during one session as Cheppy recounted her journey from MIT to Atlantis. "Your quantum signature shows remarkable adaptability—multiple reality anchoring points that suggest you've genuinely integrated into this dimension rather than simply existing as a displaced entity."

"Is that good or bad?" she asked, watching the swirling patterns on his monitors with curiosity.

"Extremely good for you," Keyes replied, adjusting his instruments. "It suggests you've formed genuine quantum entanglements with this reality—bonds that go deeper than mere physical presence. Your consciousness has actually adapted to this dimensional frequency."

"And Marie?"

Keyes' expression grew more complicated. "Dr. Marie Mitchell shows strong quantum anchoring as well, but of a different type. Hers are... foundational. She's the original inhabitant of this reality, with quantum signatures that match this dimension's base frequency perfectly. Her anchoring is essentially automatic—the universe recognizes her as belonging here at the most fundamental level."

The distinction intrigued Cheppy. While Marie's anchoring came from being the original inhabitant of this reality—automatically recognized by the universe itself—Cheppy's came from the relationships and genuine connections she'd built through adversity and growth.

Their work sessions often ran late into the evening, as Keyes meticulously documented every aspect of their parallel yet divergent lives. Unlike Marie's subtle condescension or McKay's impatient efficiency, Keyes brought genuine intellectual curiosity to their interactions.

"You mentioned developing a computational approach to Ancient translation," he said during one particularly long session, reviewing notes on his tablet. "Could you walk me through your methodology?"

It was well past dinner time, and they'd been working for nearly eight hours straight. Cheppy felt the familiar subtle tremor in her hands that warned of dropping blood sugar, but she was so engaged in explaining her linguistic algorithms that she initially ignored it.

"The key was recognizing that Ancient syntax follows mathematical patterns," she explained, pulling up examples on her tablet. "Once I mapped the underlying structures, I could develop predictive models for—"

The words seemed to blur together as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Her vision tunneled slightly, and she felt the cold sweat that always preceded a significant hypoglycemic episode.

"Excuse me," she said quickly, reaching for her testing kit with practiced efficiency. "I need to check my blood sugar."

Keyes looked up from his notes with immediate concern as Cheppy pricked her finger and tested her glucose levels. The reading confirmed what she already knew—her blood sugar had dropped dangerously low.

"Fifty-eight," she announced, already reaching for the glucose tablets she always carried. "I need to treat this and then we should probably call it a night."

"Should I get Dr. Beckett?" Keyes asked, his alarm evident.

"No need," Cheppy assured him, chewing the chalky tablets with practiced efficiency. "I just got too absorbed in our work and didn't notice the early warning signs. Give me fifteen minutes and I'll be fine."

She set a timer on her tablet and leaned back in her chair, methodically going through her established protocol for managing low blood sugar episodes. Keyes watched with fascination as she transformed from someone clearly experiencing medical distress into someone calmly and systematically addressing the problem.

"You handle that remarkably well," he observed. "Most people would be panicked by such a rapid onset of symptoms."

"Practice," Cheppy replied with a wry smile. "When you've been diabetic for over a decade, you learn to recognize the signs and respond automatically. It's all about patterns and systematic observation."

"Like linguistic analysis," Keyes noted thoughtfully.

"Exactly like linguistic analysis," she confirmed, retesting her blood sugar as her timer chimed. "Both require careful attention to subtle changes, pattern recognition, and systematic response protocols. Managing diabetes has actually made me better at my work—I'm trained to notice small variations that others might miss."

Her glucose reading had improved to seventy-five, still low but no longer dangerous. She pulled a protein bar from her bag and took a careful bite.

"You carry a full emergency kit," Keyes observed, noting the glucose tablets, testing supplies, and backup snacks organized in her bag.

"Always," she nodded. "Being prepared for contingencies is crucial when your pancreas doesn't work properly. But it's also crucial for field work in another galaxy. The skills transfer pretty directly."

"I imagine they do," Keyes said thoughtfully. "That level of systematic preparation and self-monitoring must contribute significantly to your analytical abilities."

"More than most people realize," Cheppy admitted. "Diabetes teaches you that small details matter, that patterns can be life-threatening if ignored, and that consistent monitoring prevents crises. Those same principles apply to translating Ancient texts or analyzing alien technology."

Keyes leaned forward with obvious interest. "Have you found that your medical condition affects how you approach theoretical problems?"

"It makes me more thorough," she replied after considering the question. "More patient with incremental progress. When you're managing a chronic condition, you learn that sustainable solutions are better than dramatic shortcuts. You develop a different relationship with risk assessment."

"Whereas Dr. Marie Mitchell's approach seems more... aggressive?" Keyes suggested carefully.

Cheppy smiled at his diplomatic phrasing. "Marie has never had to manage diabetes. Her SGC enhancements eliminated that constraint. She can afford to be aggressive with timelines and resource allocation because she doesn't have the same built-in requirement for careful monitoring and systematic backup planning."

"That's a fascinating distinction," Keyes mused, making notes on his tablet. "Different approaches to problem-solving shaped by fundamentally different relationships with personal risk management."

As her blood sugar stabilized completely, Cheppy found herself appreciating Keyes' perspective in ways she hadn't expected. Unlike Marie, who seemed to view her as a flawed prototype, or even McKay, who saw her primarily as a useful tool, Keyes was genuinely interested in understanding how her unique circumstances had shaped her capabilities.

"Dr. Keyes," she said as they began packing up for the evening, "can I ask you something about the quantum anchoring you mentioned?"

"Of course."

"When you said my consciousness has adapted to this dimensional frequency—what does that mean for the paradox pressure situation?"

Keyes paused in organizing his equipment, his expression growing serious. "Honestly? It complicates things. Your deep integration into this reality makes you harder to displace, but it also means that any resolution the universe attempts will likely be more... dramatic."

"Dramatic how?"

"If you were loosely anchored, you might simply fade back to your origin reality with minimal consequences," he explained. "But your level of integration suggests that removing you would require significant reality restructuring. The universe might attempt more extreme solutions to resolve the paradox."

The implications were sobering. Cheppy's successful adaptation to life in Atlantis, her relationships and achievements, might actually make her situation more precarious rather than more secure.

"And Marie?"

"Her foundational anchoring is incredibly strong," Keyes admitted. "As the original inhabitant of this reality, her quantum signature is essentially unshakeable—the universe recognizes her as belonging here at the most basic level. However, that's precisely what makes the situation so unstable."

"How so?" Cheppy asked.

"When a displaced counterpart exists alongside the original, it creates what we call 'quantum resonance interference,'" Keyes explained. "The universe recognizes Marie as authentic, but it also detects your presence as a duplicate signature. The conflict between 'this person belongs here' and 'this person also exists here' creates instability that affects both versions. Marie's strong anchoring actually amplifies the paradox pressure rather than protecting her from it."

Walking back to her quarters through Atlantis's quiet corridors, Cheppy reflected on the day's revelations. Keyes had helped her understand that her journey from accident victim to valued team member had created genuine quantum connections to this reality—bonds that couldn't be easily dismissed or replaced.

But those same bonds might make resolving the duplication crisis more dangerous for everyone involved.

She found Lorne waiting in their quarters, reading a mission report while keeping one ear tuned to her return.

"How did the session with Keyes go?" he asked, setting aside his tablet as she entered.

"Enlightening," she replied, settling beside him and explaining the day's discoveries. "I had a hypoglycemic episode during our work session—but handled it efficiently enough that Keyes was impressed rather than alarmed."

"Are you okay?" Lorne asked immediately, concern sharpening his features.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "But his reaction made me realize something. This condition I've always seen as a limitation—it's actually given me skills that enhance my work. The systematic monitoring, the pattern recognition, the careful risk assessment. It's made me better at what I do."

"I could have told you that," Lorne said with a warm smile. "Your attention to detail and systematic approach have saved our asses more than once."

"Keyes seems to understand that in ways Marie doesn't," Cheppy continued. "She sees my diabetes as something primitive to be overcome with technology. But it's actually shaped how I think, how I solve problems, how I approach challenges. It's part of what makes me effective."

"And Keyes appreciates that?"

"More than appreciates—he finds it scientifically fascinating. The way different circumstances shape different approaches to the same problems. He's not trying to determine who's the 'better' version. He's trying to understand how we became different versions."

Lorne's arm slipped around her shoulders, drawing her closer. "Sounds like he might be an ally in this whole situation."

"Maybe," Cheppy agreed. "Though he also warned me that my deep integration into this reality might make resolving the paradox pressure more dangerous, not less."

"Dangerous how?"

"The universe might attempt more extreme solutions to remove what it perceives as a duplication error," she explained, repeating Keyes' warning. "My connections here are so strong that displacing me could require significant reality restructuring."

Lorne's arm tightened around her protectively. "Then we make sure that doesn't happen. Whatever solutions Keyes develops, they need to account for keeping you exactly where you belong."

"And if the choice comes down to me or Marie?"

"Then we fight for you," he said simply. "Because you're not just a quantum duplicate or a displacement error. You're the woman who's built a life here, who's earned her place through everything she's contributed. And that matters more than any theoretical physics equation."

As they prepared for bed, Cheppy found herself cautiously optimistic about Keyes' presence in their increasingly complex situation. Unlike the others who seemed focused on choosing between versions of herself, he appeared genuinely interested in finding solutions that honored the reality both she and Marie had created.

Whether that scientific curiosity would translate into practical solutions remained to be seen. But for the first time since Marie's arrival, Cheppy felt like someone was approaching their dilemma with genuine intellectual honesty rather than predetermined conclusions.

That alone felt like progress worth protecting.

Chapter Text

Chapter 24: Professional Boundaries

The pre-dawn briefing room buzzed with the controlled energy of mission preparation as Colonel Sheppard outlined the parameters for their journey to M7X-194. The planet housed an Ancient communications outpost that had recently begun transmitting complex quantum signatures—signals that Dr. Keyes believed might hold the key to understanding and resolving the Mitchell duplication crisis.

"Intelligence suggests the outpost contains advanced dimensional communication arrays," Sheppard explained, gesturing to the tactical display. "Given the potential connection to our current... situation... we're taking both Dr. Mitchells and Dr. Keyes as primary personnel."

Cheppy sat between Lorne and Keyes at the briefing table, acutely aware of the way Marie positioned herself slightly apart from the group, reviewing mission parameters on her tablet with professional detachment. Over the past week, Marie had adopted an increasingly formal demeanor, as if establishing clear boundaries between herself and what she clearly viewed as the inferior local team.

"The outpost appears to be largely intact," Dr. Weir added, bringing up architectural schematics. "However, we're detecting unusual energy signatures that suggest active Ancient technology. Caution will be essential."

"I've been analyzing the quantum resonance patterns in the transmission data," Keyes interjected, his excitement evident despite the early hour. "The signatures are unlike anything we've encountered—they seem to be specifically designed for cross-dimensional communication rather than simple data transfer."

Marie looked up from her tablet with obvious interest. "Cross-dimensional communication? That could explain the quantum interference we've been experiencing. If the outpost is designed to maintain contact across multiple realities, our presence as counterparts might be triggering response protocols."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Keyes agreed enthusiastically. "Cheppy and I have been developing theories about how Ancient communication arrays might differentiate between quantum signatures from different realities."

The casual use of her nickname and the easy familiarity in Keyes' voice drew a subtle tightening around Lorne's eyes. While he'd been supportive of Cheppy's collaboration with the quantum physicist, their late-night work sessions and animated discussions of theoretical physics had created a professional bond that occasionally left Lorne feeling like an outsider to conversations he couldn't fully follow.

"The outpost's location presents some tactical challenges," Lorne noted, shifting focus to the military aspects. "It's situated on a plateau with limited approach routes. If we encounter hostiles or need rapid extraction, our options will be constrained."

"Understood, Major," Sheppard acknowledged. "That's why we're both going. Between your team and mine, we'll have the tactical situation covered while the scientists do their thing."

As the briefing concluded and team members dispersed to gather equipment, Marie approached Lorne with an expression of professional courtesy that seemed almost warm compared to her usual interactions.

"Major Lorne," she said, her voice carrying none of the subtle condescension she typically directed toward Cheppy. "I wanted to express my appreciation for the combined teams' professionalism during this... complex situation. It can't be easy managing the interpersonal dynamics involved when personal relationships intersect with mission parameters."

"Both teams handle whatever situations arise," Lorne replied carefully, uncertain where Marie was leading the conversation.

"Of course," she agreed smoothly. "Though I imagine it must be particularly challenging when personal relationships intersect with professional ones. The close working relationship between Dr. Keyes and... the other version of myself... could create uncomfortable situations for everyone involved."

Lorne's expression remained neutral, though internally he felt a flash of irritation at Marie's implied concern. "Dr. Mitchell and Dr. Keyes are collaborating on important research. Their professional rapport is an asset to the mission."

"Naturally," Marie nodded. "It's just that sometimes intellectual compatibility can create... bonds... that transcend professional necessity. Particularly when two people share such similar approaches to complex problems." She paused meaningfully. "I wouldn't want you to feel that your own expertise is somehow less valued simply because theoretical physics requires specialized knowledge."

The suggestion was subtle but clear—that Cheppy's growing collaboration with Keyes represented a shift away from her relationship with Lorne, that shared intellectual pursuits might be drawing her toward someone who could match her professionally in ways a military officer could not.

"I appreciate your concern," Lorne replied, his tone cooling slightly, "but Dr. Mitchell's professional relationships don't require my monitoring or approval."

"Of course not," Marie backtracked gracefully. "I simply meant that as someone who shares her face, I feel I can recognize certain... patterns... in her behavior. We are the same person, after all, even if we've developed differently. I understand how her mind works."

Before Lorne could respond to this presumptuous claim, Cheppy and Keyes approached, deep in animated conversation about quantum resonance calibration. Their easy rapport and shared excitement about the theoretical implications was obvious, and Lorne couldn't help but notice how Marie's eyes tracked his reaction to their interaction.

"Ready for departure?" Cheppy asked, shouldering her field pack. "Dr. Keyes thinks we might be able to establish baseline quantum measurements at the outpost that could help stabilize the interference patterns."

"The potential applications are extraordinary," Keyes added enthusiastically. "If the Ancient communication arrays can differentiate between dimensional signatures, we might be able to use that technology to create stable quantum anchoring for both versions without the current degradation effects."

"That would solve everyone's problems," Marie observed with apparent satisfaction. "Each version properly anchored in her appropriate reality."

The casual assumption that Cheppy would naturally be the one to leave grated against Lorne's protective instincts, but before he could respond, Sheppard's voice echoed through the jumper bay: "All teams, gear up. We've got a gate to catch."

The journey through the Stargate and subsequent flight to the Ancient outpost passed in relative quiet, both teams focused on mission preparation and equipment checks. Cheppy found herself seated between Lorne and Keyes, reviewing technical specifications while occasionally catching fragments of conversation from across the jumper where Marie discussed SGC protocols with Teyla and showed Ronon some of her specialized equipment.

"The energy readings are increasing as we approach," McKay announced from the co-pilot seat, his usual grumpiness tempered by scientific curiosity. "Whatever's activating that outpost, it's definitely responding to our presence."

"Specifically to quantum signatures," Keyes added, monitoring his specialized equipment. "The resonance patterns are amplifying in direct correlation to our proximity."

Through the jumper's viewscreen, the Ancient outpost gradually came into view—a crystalline structure that seemed to grow from the plateau's rocky surface, its faceted walls gleaming with internal light that pulsed in slow, rhythmic patterns. Unlike many Ancient facilities they'd encountered, this one showed no signs of age or decay, as if it existed in a state of perfect preservation.

"Detecting multiple active systems," McKay reported, his fingers flying across the jumper's controls. "Power readings are off the charts, and there are communication arrays extending deep into subspace. This place is definitely online."

"Landing zone looks clear," Sheppard announced, guiding the jumper toward a natural clearing near the outpost's base. "But stay sharp. Places that look too good to be true usually are."

As they disembarked and approached the outpost, both teams immediately noticed the way the structure seemed to respond to their presence. Lights brightened along the approach path, and what appeared to be scanning beams swept over each team member with gentle blue radiance.

"It's analyzing us," Keyes observed, watching the readings on his equipment spike. "Specifically analyzing quantum signatures and dimensional origin markers."

"Is that good or bad?" Lorne asked, his weapon ready despite the peaceful appearance of their reception.

"Unknown," Keyes admitted. "But fascinating from a theoretical standpoint. The scans are incredibly sophisticated—they're not just identifying us as individuals, but mapping our quantum histories and dimensional anchoring points."

The outpost's main entrance dilated open before them, revealing corridors that seemed to extend far deeper into the plateau than the external structure would suggest. Emergency lighting activated automatically, creating pools of soft illumination that guided them toward what appeared to be the central facility.

"Ancient text on the walls," Cheppy noted, pausing to examine elegant script that flowed along the corridor surfaces. "It's describing this place as a 'nexus of dimensional harmony'—something about facilitating communication across the barriers between realities."

"The perfect place to study quantum counterpart interactions," Keyes said with obvious excitement. "If we can access the facility's main communication arrays, we might be able to develop solutions for the interference patterns affecting both versions."

They proceeded deeper into the outpost, both teams spreading out in standard formation while the scientists examined the increasingly complex technology they encountered. Control interfaces rose from the floor as they approached, displaying holographic information in flowing Ancient script that Cheppy found herself translating almost unconsciously.

"The central communication chamber should be through here," she announced, studying a directional display. "According to the schematics, it houses the primary dimensional interface arrays."

"Excellent," Marie interjected, moving toward the indicated passage. "The sooner we can analyze the technology, the sooner we can resolve this duplication situation and return to normal operations."

As they entered the central chamber, the team was struck by the sheer scope of the Ancient technology. Massive crystalline arrays filled the circular space, each one pulsing with energy patterns that seemed to shift and flow like liquid light. Holographic displays showed what appeared to be maps of multiple realities, with connecting pathways that suggested vast networks of interdimensional communication.

"This is incredible," Keyes breathed, immediately moving to the nearest interface. "The technology here is centuries beyond anything we've encountered. These arrays aren't just communicating across dimensions—they're actively monitoring and mapping the quantum flux between realities."

"And they're definitely responding to our presence," Cheppy added, watching as several displays reconfigured themselves to show what appeared to be analysis of the team's quantum signatures. "Look—they're identifying each of us individually, mapping our dimensional origins and current anchoring points."

The implications were both exciting and concerning. While the technology might provide solutions to their current crisis, it was also clearly studying them with an intensity that suggested purpose beyond simple analysis.

"Dr. Keyes, Dr. Mitchell," Marie called from across the chamber, her voice carrying a note of urgency. "You should see this display. It's showing comparative analyses of the quantum counterpart situation."

Cheppy and Keyes hurried to join her at a massive holographic interface that displayed complex quantum equations alongside what appeared to be probability matrices. The information was dense and highly technical, requiring their combined expertise to interpret.

"It's analyzing the paradox pressure between us," Cheppy realized, studying the flowing calculations. "The system is evaluating different resolution scenarios and their probability of success."

"Some of these solutions involve dimensional separation," Keyes noted with concern. "Others suggest quantum merging or reality restructuring. The outpost is essentially computing various ways to resolve what it perceives as a stability threat."

"How long do we have before it attempts one of these solutions?" Marie asked, her professional composure not quite hiding her underlying worry.

"Unknown," Keyes admitted, adjusting his equipment to interface with the Ancient systems. "But the analysis appears to be accelerating. The longer we remain here as active counterparts, the more urgently the system seems to view resolution as necessary."

As if responding to their discussion, the chamber's lighting shifted from soft blue to a more urgent amber, and new displays activated throughout the space. Warning symbols appeared in Ancient script, flowing across surfaces with increasing frequency.

"Cheppy, what are those warnings saying?" Lorne called from his position near the chamber entrance, where he'd been monitoring their security perimeter.

She hurried to examine the nearest display, her face growing pale as she translated the increasingly urgent messages. "It's declaring a 'quantum stability crisis' and initiating 'protective protocols.' The system believes our presence as counterparts is creating dangerous instability that threatens the integrity of local space-time."

"Protective protocols?" Keyes echoed with alarm. "What kind of protection?"

Before Cheppy could answer, the chamber suddenly sealed itself—blast doors sliding shut with decisive finality, separating the three scientists from both teams. Emergency lighting shifted to red, and new displays activated showing countdown timers in Ancient numerals.

"The system is attempting to isolate us for individual quantum analysis," Marie announced, her voice tight with concern as she studied the nearest interface. "It's going to try to determine which version should remain in this reality and which represents the stability threat."

"Can we stop it?" Cheppy asked, already working at the controls to try to reverse the lockdown.

"Not easily," Keyes replied, his equipment interfacing frantically with the Ancient systems. "The outpost's safety protocols are incredibly sophisticated. It genuinely believes it's protecting local reality from a quantum paradox."

Through the sealed chamber walls, they could hear both Lorne's and Sheppard's voices on the radio, demanding status updates and organizing combined efforts to breach the containment. But the Ancient technology was designed to withstand far more than conventional weapons, and both teams found themselves facing barriers that were proving impossible to overcome through conventional means.

"How long does the countdown give us?" Cheppy asked, watching the Ancient numerals decrease with methodical precision.

"Approximately six hours," Keyes calculated. "After that, the system will implement whatever resolution it determines is most appropriate for maintaining quantum stability."

As the three scientists settled in for what might be their final hours together, each harboring different hopes about what solution the Ancient system might choose, none of them could predict how profoundly their enforced collaboration would change everything they thought they understood about identity, belonging, and the nature of home itself.

The outpost hummed around them with patient mechanical precision, calculating the fate of three lives while both teams fought desperately on the other side of impenetrable barriers to reach them before time ran out.

Chapter Text

Chapter 25: Fractured Reflections

The Ancient countdown had been running for two hours when the first wave hit.

Cheppy was hunched over a secondary control interface, working frantically to decode the outpost's lockdown protocols, when the chamber's crystalline arrays suddenly flared with blinding intensity. Energy surged through the communication networks in visible streams of light, and she felt something like static electricity crawl across her skin.

"What's happening?" Marie called from across the chamber, where she'd been attempting to access the facility's main database.

"The arrays are activating," Keyes announced, his voice tight with alarm as he watched his equipment registers spike beyond safe parameters. "The quantum resonance is increasing exponentially. Something's triggering a massive communication burst."

The light intensified until it was almost unbearable, and Cheppy felt a strange tugging sensation, as if something was trying to pull her consciousness away from her body. The chamber around her began to waver and distort, reality bending like heat waves off hot asphalt.

Then the visions began.

Suddenly, Cheppy found herself in a sterile briefing room deep within Cheyenne Mountain, but she wasn't herself—she was experiencing the world through Marie's eyes, feeling Marie's thoughts and emotions as if they were her own.

The briefing room was filled with high-ranking military officials and government scientists, all focused on her presentation about alien linguistic analysis. She felt Marie's pride as she demonstrated her translation algorithms, the satisfaction of being the smartest person in the room, the rush of having her expertise recognized at the highest levels.

"Dr. Mitchell's computational matrices have revolutionized our approach to off-world translation," General Hammond was saying. "Her work has directly contributed to several successful diplomatic initiatives."

But beneath the professional triumph, Cheppy could feel Marie's underlying isolation. The respect was real, but it was clinical—appreciation for her abilities rather than connection to her as a person. She was valued for what she could do, not for who she was.

The vision shifted, showing her Marie's daily routine at the SGC. Advanced medical monitoring that eliminated the constant vigilance diabetes required, but also removed the way that self-advocacy had taught patience and systematic thinking. Colleagues who deferred to her expertise but maintained professional distance. Recognition that felt increasingly hollow because it came without genuine relationship.

She felt Marie's growing frustration with the limitations of working within government bureaucracy, the way her innovations were constrained by protocols and clearance levels. The technology was impressive, but the human connections were formal, regulated, carefully maintained within appropriate boundaries.

Most painfully, she experienced Marie's deep sense of professional insecurity disguised as competence. Each achievement felt like it needed to be defended, each success measured against potential rivals. The constant pressure to prove herself the best, smartest, most valuable expert in the room had created a fortress of capability around her that kept others at arm's length.

Across the chamber, Marie was experiencing an equally profound immersion into Cheppy's journey, living through memories that felt simultaneously familiar and foreign.

She found herself in Carson's infirmary during those first terrifying weeks after arriving in Atlantis, feeling Cheppy's desperation and fear. The disorientation of being completely displaced from everything familiar, the humiliation of being seen as an inconvenience, the struggle to prove her worth to people who had no reason to value her.

But Marie also experienced something she'd never known—the gradual building of genuine connections through shared adversity. Carson's fatherly guidance wasn't just professional courtesy but authentic care. Teyla's friendship had been earned through mutual respect, not automatic deference to credentials.

She felt the satisfaction of that first successful translation that had saved lives, not because it demonstrated superiority over colleagues, but because it helped people she'd grown to care about. The achievement meant something because the relationships were real.

The most striking aspect of Cheppy's experience was the way her diabetes management had become integrated into her problem-solving approach. Marie experienced the careful monitoring, the constant awareness of patterns and changes, the way managing a chronic condition had taught systematic observation and patient analysis.

Through Cheppy's memories, she felt the pride of mastering something difficult rather than having technology eliminate the challenge. The insulin pump wasn't a primitive burden but a tool that reminded her daily of the importance of careful attention to detail—skills that transferred directly to linguistic analysis and quantum physics.

She experienced Cheppy's growing relationship with Lorne not as professional networking but as genuine intimacy built through shared challenges and mutual support. The connection was meaningful precisely because it wasn't based on what they could do for each other professionally, but on who they were as individuals.

As the visions intensified, both women found themselves living through pivotal moments from each other's experiences. Cheppy felt Marie's triumph at receiving her first classified clearance, but also the hollow realization that the achievement had cost her meaningful personal relationships. Marie experienced Cheppy's terror during her first off-world mission, but also the profound satisfaction of earning respect through courage and competence rather than credentials.

The contrast was stark and disturbing. Marie's path had provided recognition and technological advantages, but at the cost of genuine connection and personal growth. Cheppy's journey had been marked by struggle and uncertainty, but had resulted in deep relationships and earned expertise that felt meaningful rather than simply impressive.

Through his equipment, Keyes watched as both women's quantum signatures began to fluctuate wildly, their neural patterns showing signs of massive integration as they experienced each other's memories and emotions in real-time.

"They're not just seeing alternate realities," he realized, speaking aloud despite knowing neither woman could hear him. "They're experiencing each other's actual lives. The outpost is creating total empathetic connection between the counterparts."

His hands flew across his instruments, trying to find some way to moderate the quantum resonance without disrupting the process entirely. The concern in his movements was obvious—this wasn't just scientific curiosity, but genuine worry for both women, especially Cheppy. He'd grown to respect her analytical approach over their weeks of collaboration, and seeing her consciousness pulled into this uncontrolled state filled him with protective urgency.

Through the chamber walls, he could hear Lorne's increasingly desperate attempts to coordinate with both teams. "McKay, what's your progress on the door controls?" came the muffled voice, tight with frustration.

"I'm working on it!" McKay's reply was equally strained. "But this technology is designed to be impenetrable. We need someone who understands Ancient systems at the quantum level."

"That would be the people trapped inside," Lorne shot back, his voice carrying an edge of helplessness that Keyes had never heard before. The major was clearly struggling with being unable to help in a crisis that required expertise he didn't possess.

Keyes found himself torn between monitoring the women's conditions and trying to establish communication with the teams outside. His training told him to focus on the scientific aspects, but his growing concern for Cheppy—and by extension, her obvious distress—made him desperate to find solutions faster than careful analysis would allow.

For Cheppy, experiencing Marie's memories was both enlightening and heartbreaking. She understood now why Marie had seemed so condescending—it wasn't just arrogance, but a defensive mechanism born from years of having to prove herself the smartest person in every room to maintain her position. The technological enhancements and credentials weren't just advantages, but barriers that had prevented Marie from developing the kind of resilience and adaptability that came from facing challenges without technological shortcuts.

She felt Marie's loneliness, disguised as professional superiority. The way every interaction had become a test of competence rather than an opportunity for connection. The gradual erosion of authentic relationships as career advancement became the primary measure of worth.

Marie's experience of Cheppy's memories was equally profound. She felt the terror of displacement, but also the extraordinary growth that had resulted from facing impossible circumstances. She experienced the satisfaction of earning respect through demonstrated capability rather than institutional credentials.

Most powerfully, she felt the deep contentment of belonging somewhere not because you were automatically qualified, but because you had proven your worth through dedication and growth. The relationships in Atlantis weren't maintained through professional networking but through genuine care and shared experience.

She experienced Cheppy's diabetes management not as a limitation to be overcome, but as a source of expertise that enhanced other abilities. The daily attention to patterns and systematic monitoring had created analytical skills that technology couldn't replicate—the patience to observe subtle changes, the discipline to maintain consistent protocols, the wisdom to recognize when intervention was needed.

As the quantum resonance reached its peak, Keyes made a desperate decision. Ignoring safety protocols, he began interfacing directly with the Ancient systems, using his own neural patterns as a bridge to communicate with the outpost's consciousness algorithms.

"What the hell are you doing?" came Lorne's voice through the comm, having somehow patched through to the chamber's internal systems. "Keyes, your readings are spiking!"

"I'm trying to moderate the process," Keyes replied through gritted teeth, feeling the Ancient technology probe his mind with uncomfortable intensity. "If I can convince the system that forced integration isn't necessary—"

"Julian, stop!" Cheppy's voice, weak but urgent, cut through his concentration. She was beginning to emerge from the quantum visions, her consciousness fighting to maintain individual coherence. "You're risking quantum feedback. The system could lock onto your neural patterns too."

Keyes hesitated, torn between his scientific understanding of the risks and his growing concern for her wellbeing. Through the comm, he could hear Lorne's frustration building as the major coordinated with McKay and Zelenka on increasingly desperate plans to breach the chamber.

"There has to be something I can do," Lorne's voice carried clearly now, the helplessness evident. "I can't just stand here while—" His words cut off abruptly, but the implication was clear. He felt useless in a crisis that required quantum physics expertise rather than tactical skills.

The experience was overwhelming but ultimately clarifying for both women. Through Marie's memories, Cheppy understood that her counterpart's achievements had come at significant personal cost—technological enhancement had eliminated challenges that built character, professional advancement had required sacrificing authentic relationships, and constant competition had created isolation disguised as superiority.

Through Cheppy's memories, Marie experienced what it meant to earn your place through adversity, to build expertise through patient observation rather than technological shortcuts, to find satisfaction in lifting others up rather than proving your own superiority.

The quantum visions began to fade as both women's consciousness returned to their own bodies, but the understanding remained. They looked at each other across the chamber with new comprehension—not just of their differences, but of the profound costs and benefits of their respective journeys.

Keyes immediately rushed to check on both women, his equipment scanning for any signs of permanent neural damage. His concern was particularly focused on Cheppy, whose diabetes added another variable to the physiological stress of quantum resonance exposure.

"Cheppy, how do you feel? Any disorientation, memory gaps, confusion about identity?" His questions came rapidly, the scientific protocol barely concealing his personal worry.

"I understand now," Marie said quietly, her voice lacking any trace of condescension for the first time since her arrival. "Why you fight so hard to stay here. You didn't just end up in Atlantis—you earned your place here through everything you overcame."

"And I understand why you seemed so... competitive," Cheppy replied, her anger toward Marie replaced by sympathy. "The SGC environment required that kind of constant proving. But it also isolated you from the kind of connections that make success meaningful."

Through the chamber walls, they could hear both teams continuing their desperate attempts to breach the Ancient containment. Lorne's voice on the radio was particularly urgent, his concern for Cheppy evident even through the muffled transmission.

"Status report!" Lorne demanded. "What happened in there? Are you hurt?"

"We're okay," Cheppy called back, though Keyes was still running diagnostic scans on both women. "The system forced us to experience each other's memories. We understand each other better now."

"That's great," came Lorne's terse reply, frustration bleeding through the professional tone. "But you're still trapped, and I can't help with quantum physics problems. Keyes, what do we need to do?"

The helplessness in Lorne's voice was clear to everyone. He was accustomed to solving problems through tactical expertise and decisive action, but this crisis required specialized knowledge he didn't possess. His growing sense of inadequacy was palpable even through the chamber walls.

That voice—worried, protective, genuine—reminded Cheppy of everything she'd built in this reality that went beyond professional achievement. The connections weren't just professional networking but authentic relationships built through shared experiences and mutual care.

As if responding to their new understanding, the Ancient countdown timer began to fluctuate, its steady progression becoming erratic. The system seemed confused by the change in their quantum signatures, as if their shared experience had altered the parameters it was using to evaluate resolution options.

"The outpost is recalculating," Keyes announced, his equipment showing wild fluctuations in the chamber's energy patterns. "Your quantum signatures have changed. The system is trying to determine what that means for resolving the paradox."

New displays activated around the chamber, showing probability matrices that seemed to be weighing different factors than before. Rather than simply choosing between counterparts based on quantum authenticity, the system appeared to be evaluating their respective integration into this reality's social and professional networks.

"We need to work together to stop this before it forces a solution," Cheppy said, moving toward the primary control interface with new determination.

"Agreed," Marie replied, joining her with genuine cooperation rather than competitive positioning. "After experiencing your journey here... I can see that belonging isn't about credentials or technological advantages. It's about the connections you build and the life you create through your choices."

As they combined their efforts to break the Ancient lockdown, both women carried with them the profound understanding of each other's paths—though what to do with that understanding remained unclear.

Working together with grudging cooperation, they began to decode the Ancient lockdown protocols. Marie's systematic approach to quantum algorithms combined with Cheppy's intuitive understanding of Ancient cultural contexts proved effective, though the tension between them remained palpable.

"The system is treating us as an active paradox," Cheppy realized, her fingers working across the Ancient interface. "The lockdown isn't just containment—it's a stalling tactic while it calculates resolution scenarios."

"We need to convince it to postpone whatever solution it's planning," Marie added, understanding the urgency. "Buy ourselves time to find our own answer to this situation."

Keyes, monitoring their work, watched as the Ancient displays showed probability calculations continuing to run in the background. "I can create a temporary interference pattern," he announced. "It won't solve the underlying issue, but it might convince the system to delay implementation while it recalculates."

Working frantically, he interfaced his equipment with the Ancient systems, introducing enough quantum static to disrupt the outpost's decision-making algorithms. The countdown timer flickered, its progression becoming erratic as the system struggled to process conflicting data.

"Lockdown disengaging," Marie announced as the chamber doors began to unseal. "But this is only a temporary reprieve. The system will resolve the interference pattern eventually and resume its protocols."

The blast doors slid open to reveal both teams waiting anxiously outside. Lorne immediately moved to Cheppy's side, his relief obvious as he checked her for any signs of injury or distress.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his hands gently cupping her face as he searched her eyes for any signs of the quantum experience having changed her.

"I'm still me," she assured him, leaning into his touch. "But we've only bought ourselves time. The quantum interference between Marie and me is still building."

Keyes emerged from the chamber looking exhausted and concerned, his equipment showing ongoing instability in both women's quantum signatures. "The outpost forced a temporary standdown, but the underlying paradox pressure is still increasing," he announced grimly. "If anything, the shared experience may have accelerated the quantum resonance between them."

"Meaning what?" McKay asked, though his expression suggested he already suspected the answer.

"Meaning we need to find a permanent solution soon," Keyes confirmed. "The system gave us a reprieve, but it's still calculating ways to resolve what it sees as an unsustainable duplication."

As the teams prepared to return to Atlantis, Cheppy found herself walking alongside Marie with a complex mix of emotions. The shared experience had created understanding between them, but it had also highlighted just how irreconcilable their positions might be.

"I understand why you value what you've built here," Marie said quietly as they approached the jumpers, her tone lacking its usual condescension but still carrying an undercurrent of professional assessment.

"And I understand the costs of the path you've taken," Cheppy replied carefully. "But understanding each other doesn't solve the quantum problem."

"No," Marie agreed, glancing back at the Ancient outpost with its still-active energy signatures. "It doesn't."

The immediate crisis was over, but the underlying threat remained—and now both women carried the weight of truly understanding what each stood to lose if the universe forced them to choose who would remain and who would go.

Chapter Text

Chapter 26: Claimed Territories

The return journey to Atlantis passed in tense silence, both Mitchell women lost in the aftershocks of their shared quantum experience. Cheppy sat between Lorne and Keyes in the jumper, her mind still reeling from having lived Marie's memories—feeling her ambitions, her isolation, her desperate need to prove herself the smartest person in every room.

Across the compartment, Marie stared out the viewport with an expression Cheppy had never seen on her counterpart's face before: genuine thoughtfulness rather than calculating assessment. The quantum visions had changed something fundamental in both of them, creating understanding where there had been only competition.

But understanding, Cheppy was beginning to realize, didn't necessarily mean acceptance.

"Initial medical scans show elevated quantum signatures in both subjects," Keyes reported quietly, reviewing data on his tablet. "The resonance patterns have shifted significantly from baseline readings. It's as if the shared experience has created new interference patterns between them."

"Is it dangerous?" Lorne asked, his hand finding Cheppy's shoulder in a gesture of support that had become second nature over their months together.

"Unknown," Keyes admitted, glancing between the two women with obvious concern. "But the patterns are definitely unstable. We'll need to monitor closely for any signs of degradation."

Marie turned from the viewport, her green eyes finding Cheppy's with unsettling directness. "We need to talk," she said simply. "Privately. Once we're back in Atlantis."

The request sent a chill down Cheppy's spine. Marie's tone wasn't hostile, but there was something in it—a determination that suggested the shared understanding had led her to new conclusions rather than softening her position.

Two hours later, Cheppy found herself in one of Atlantis's smaller conference rooms, facing her counterpart across a table that felt both too large and too small for the conversation ahead. Marie had requested this meeting immediately after their post-mission medical clearance, brushing off both Dr. Weir's and Dr. Beckett's suggestions that they rest first.

"I understand you now," Marie began without preamble, her fingers steepled in front of her in a gesture eerily familiar—one Cheppy recognized as her own thinking pose. "I've lived your memories, felt your struggles, experienced how you built your place here through determination and genuine connection."

"And I understand you," Cheppy replied carefully. "The pressure you've faced, the costs of always having to be the best, the isolation that comes from viewing every interaction as competition."

Marie nodded slowly. "Yes. But here's what you need to understand—that knowledge doesn't change the fundamental reality of our situation. If anything, it clarifies it."

The words sent ice through Cheppy's veins. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Marie said, leaning forward with that sharp intelligence that had intimidated so many at the SGC, "that now I know exactly what you value. I understand what makes you feel secure here, what connections matter most to you, what fears drive your determination to stay."

"And?"

"And that gives me the insight I need to help you make the right decision." Marie's smile was gentle but implacable. "You see, experiencing your memories showed me that you're holding onto Atlantis not because it's where you truly belong, but because you're afraid of starting over again. The trauma of being displaced has made you cling to the first place that accepted you."

Cheppy felt anger flare in her chest. "That's not—"

"Isn't it?" Marie interrupted smoothly. "I felt your terror those first weeks. The desperate need to prove yourself useful so they wouldn't send you away. Every relationship you've built here has been shaped by that initial fear of rejection. Even your connection with Major Lorne began from a place of needing security rather than genuine compatibility."

The words were surgical strikes, targeting exactly the insecurities Cheppy had struggled with during her early months in Atlantis. Marie had indeed gained insight from their shared experience—insight she was now weaponizing with disturbing precision.

"You're twisting things," Cheppy protested, but her voice lacked the conviction she wanted.

"I'm clarifying them," Marie corrected. "And I'm doing it because I care about what's best for both of us. You've built something here, yes, but it's built on a foundation of trauma and displacement. Whereas I belong here naturally, without the psychological baggage that colors every interaction you have."

"My relationships are genuine," Cheppy insisted, thinking of Carson's fatherly guidance, Teyla's quiet friendship, Lorne's steadfast love.

"Are they?" Marie asked gently. "Or have you convinced yourself they're genuine because the alternative—acknowledging that you're still the accidental visitor making the best of a bad situation—is too painful to accept?"

The psychological manipulation was masterful, using truths twisted just enough to create doubt. Marie had experienced Cheppy's memories and was now reframing them through a lens that served her agenda.

"What do you want?" Cheppy asked directly, tired of the circular logic.

"I want you to consider a possibility," Marie replied. "The quantum interference between us is growing stronger. Our shared experience at the outpost has accelerated it. Eventually, it will force a resolution whether we want it or not."

She pulled out a tablet, showing readings Cheppy recognized from Keyes' equipment. "Look at these patterns. The resonance is building toward a critical threshold. When it reaches that point, the universe will step in to resolve what it sees as a paradox."

"We knew this was a possibility," Cheppy acknowledged, though seeing the data made it more concrete.

"Yes, but what you might not realize is that I can influence how that resolution occurs." Marie's expression grew serious. "My credentials with the SGC include clearance for quantum manipulation protocols. I can guide the resolution process to ensure a... favorable outcome."

The threat was subtle but clear. Marie was suggesting she had the power to influence which version of them the universe would choose to keep.

"You're bluffing," Cheppy said, though uncertainty crept into her voice.

"I'm offering you a choice," Marie corrected. "Volunteer to relocate to another reality—perhaps one where they need linguistic expertise but where you can start fresh without the trauma of displacement—or risk the universe making that choice for you when I guide the quantum resolution protocols."

"Dr. Weir would never allow—"

"Dr. Weir is pragmatic," Marie interrupted. "When faced with losing one of us to quantum degradation or having one volunteer to relocate safely, which option do you think she'll choose? Especially when I can demonstrate that my SGC resources and systematic approaches can provide everything you currently offer, but more efficiently?"

The meeting continued for another hour, with Marie systematically dismantling Cheppy's counterarguments using the intimate knowledge gained from their shared experience. By the time Cheppy left, her confidence was shaken in ways she hadn't felt since her first weeks in Atlantis.

She found Lorne in their quarters, his expression immediately shifting to concern as he took in her distressed state.

"What happened?" he asked, setting aside the report he'd been reading.

Cheppy sank onto their bed, exhaustion weighing on her more heavily than it should. "Marie knows exactly how to hurt me now. The quantum visions didn't create understanding between us—they gave her ammunition."

She recounted the conversation, watching Lorne's expression darken with each revelation of Marie's psychological tactics.

"She's trying to gaslight you," he said flatly when she finished. "Using partial truths to make you doubt your own experiences and relationships."

"But what if she's right about some of it?" Cheppy asked quietly. "What if my fear of displacement has colored how I see everything here?"

Lorne moved to sit beside her, taking her hands in his. "Cheppy, I fell in love with you not because you needed security, but because of who you are. Your strength in facing impossible circumstances, your brilliant mind, your determination to help others even when you were struggling yourself. Those qualities aren't trauma responses—they're who you are at your core."

"Marie suggested our relationship started from my need for security rather than genuine compatibility," she admitted, voicing the doubt Marie had skillfully planted.

"Bullshit," Lorne said with quiet intensity. "We connected because we complement each other. Because you make me see beyond military solutions while I help ground you during crises. Because we've built something real through facing challenges together, not in spite of them."

His certainty helped steady her, but the doubts Marie had seeded remained, small thorns working their way deeper with each passing hour.

Over the following days, Marie's campaign intensified with disturbing subtlety. She began volunteering for tasks that overlapped with Cheppy's responsibilities, demonstrating how her systematic approaches could achieve the same results more efficiently. During team meetings, she would reference insights from their shared experience in ways that highlighted Cheppy's initial struggles while minimizing her growth.

"When I experienced Cheppy's first attempts at Ancient translation," Marie mentioned casually during a linguistics briefing, "I was impressed by how she managed to achieve functional results despite the lack of proper computational support. Of course, with the SGC's translation matrices, we can eliminate that trial-and-error phase entirely."

The comment was framed as praise but effectively positioned Cheppy's hard-won expertise as primitive improvisation. Other team members began unconsciously comparing their approaches, with some gravitating toward Marie's promise of streamlined efficiency.

Dr. Kusanagi approached Cheppy after one particularly demoralizing meeting. "Dr. Mitchell's methods are impressively systematic," she said, clearly meaning Marie. "Though I sometimes feel she misses the cultural context you always catch. The efficiency is appealing, but..."

"But it lacks intuitive understanding," Cheppy finished, grateful for even this qualified support.

"Exactly. Your translations helped us understand not just what the Ancients were saying, but why. That matters more than processing speed."

Small victories like this helped Cheppy maintain her equilibrium, but Marie's systematic campaign was taking its toll. The stress began affecting her diabetes management, something Carson noticed during a routine check-up.

"Your blood sugar logs show increasing instability," he observed, reviewing her data with paternal concern. "Stress-induced fluctuations. What's troubling you, lass?"

Cheppy hesitated, then admitted, "Marie is using everything she learned from our quantum connection to undermine my position here. She knows exactly which buttons to push because she's felt my fears from the inside."

Carson's expression darkened. "Psychological manipulation using privileged information from a medical event? That's a violation of ethical standards in any galaxy."

"But how do I prove it?" Cheppy asked. "She's too smart to be obvious about it. Everything she says sounds reasonable on the surface."

"By documenting patterns," Carson suggested. "You're a linguist—you understand that systematic attacks leave linguistic fingerprints. Start recording her comments, analyzing the patterns of undermining. Build a case that demonstrates the deliberate nature of her campaign."

The advice was sound, appealing to Cheppy's analytical nature. She began documenting Marie's tactics, finding disturbing patterns in how her counterpart systematically targeted areas of insecurity revealed during their quantum connection.

The crisis point came during a critical system update for the city's power grid. Cheppy had submitted translations for Ancient safety protocols, carefully verified work that she'd triple-checked knowing Marie would be looking for any opportunity to demonstrate superiority.

When the update initiated, alarms began blaring throughout the city. Power fluctuations cascaded through residential sectors as safety protocols failed to engage properly.

"What's happening?" Dr. Weir demanded, arriving in the control room as technicians scrambled to respond.

McKay's fingers flew across his tablet, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. "The safety protocol translations are wrong! The system is interpreting shutdown commands as acceleration sequences!"

All eyes turned to Cheppy, who felt ice form in her stomach. "That's impossible. I verified those translations multiple times."

"Well, they're wrong now," McKay snapped, too focused on preventing city-wide system failure to soften his tone.

Marie stepped forward with apparent concern. "I noticed some inconsistencies in the translation database earlier but assumed they were minor variations. I should have flagged them for review." Her tone suggested reluctance to implicate Cheppy while doing exactly that.

"I need to see the files," Cheppy insisted, moving to a console. What she found made her blood run cold—the translations had been altered subtly but significantly, changes that would be almost impossible to detect without deep knowledge of her translation patterns.

Knowledge that Marie had gained from experiencing her memories.

"These aren't my translations," she said firmly. "Someone modified them after I submitted them."

"That's a serious accusation," Marie said quietly. "Are you suggesting sabotage?"

The room's attention focused on their confrontation, the crisis momentarily backgrounded by the implications of Cheppy's claim.

"I'm stating a fact," Cheppy replied, her anger overriding Marie's planted doubts. "These modifications target specific syntactical patterns I use—patterns you became intimately familiar with during our quantum connection."

Marie's expression showed wounded surprise. "You're accusing me of sabotaging city systems? Risking lives to... what? Make you look incompetent?"

"To demonstrate that I'm a liability," Cheppy shot back. "To show that the 'displaced version' makes dangerous mistakes while the 'authentic' one catches them just in time."

"This is ridiculous," Marie said, turning to Dr. Weir. "I'm trying to help resolve a crisis, and she's creating conspiracy theories to deflect from her errors."

But Cheppy had spent months building trust with this team, and that history mattered now. Dr. Weir's expression remained neutral, but her voice carried authority. "Dr. Zelenka, please analyze the file modification logs. Let's determine exactly when and how these changes occurred."

As Zelenka worked, Keyes moved quietly to Cheppy's side. "The quantum resonance patterns," he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. "Marie's signatures would leave traces if she interacted with your files. I can check..."

His offer of support, professional yet tinged with personal concern, provided unexpected comfort. Whatever his growing personal interest—which was becoming increasingly obvious—he clearly believed in her innocence.

"File modifications occurred at 0347 this morning," Zelenka announced. "Origin terminal was... untraceable. Whoever did this used sophisticated masking protocols."

"Sophisticated like SGC-level encryption?" Lorne asked pointedly, his position near Cheppy a clear statement of support.

Marie's composure finally cracked slightly. "You're all so eager to blame the outsider," she said with apparent hurt. "I came here to help resolve a crisis, and now I'm being scapegoated for someone else's mistakes."

"No one's scapegoating anyone," Dr. Weir said firmly. "But these are serious allegations that need investigation. For now, let's focus on resolving the immediate crisis. Cheppy, can you correct the translations quickly?"

"Already on it," she confirmed, her fingers flying across the console as she reverted the sabotaged code.

The power fluctuations stabilized within minutes once the correct protocols were implemented. But the damage to team dynamics was harder to repair. Marie had successfully created doubt about Cheppy's reliability, even if the sabotage couldn't be definitively proven.

Later, in the relative privacy of an unused lab, Carson found Cheppy running diagnostics on her insulin pump with hands that trembled slightly.

"Blood sugar?" he asked gently.

"Seventy-eight and dropping," she admitted. "The stress is making management harder. Every time I think I have things stabilized, Marie finds a new angle of attack."

"She's using your condition against you too," Carson observed with quiet anger. "Knowing that stress affects your diabetes management, she's deliberately creating situations to compromise your health."

"She experienced all of it," Cheppy said quietly. "Every moment of fear when my blood sugar crashed during a crisis, every time I worried that my medical needs made me a liability. She knows exactly how to make me doubt myself."

"But she didn't experience how you've turned that challenge into a strength," Carson reminded her. "Your systematic approach to health management has made you better at pattern recognition, more aware of subtle changes, more prepared for contingencies. Those are advantages she can't replicate with her SGC enhancements."

The encouragement helped, but as Cheppy looked at her continuously fluctuating glucose readings, she couldn't shake the feeling that Marie's campaign was working exactly as intended.

That evening, a priority message from the SGC arrived for Dr. Weir. The quantum interference between the Mitchell counterparts was beginning to affect Earth's Stargate operations, creating cascading errors in their dialing protocols. A resolution was no longer optional—it was becoming a matter of interplanetary security.

As the senior staff gathered for an emergency briefing, Cheppy caught Marie watching her with an expression that might have been sympathy if she didn't know better.

"I told you the universe would force a choice," Marie said quietly as they entered the briefing room. "The question now is whether you'll make it voluntarily or wait until the decision is made for you."

The quantum resonance patterns Keyes displayed showed the truth Marie had been building toward—the interference was accelerating, and soon Atlantis would have to choose which Dr. Mitchell to keep.

And thanks to Marie's systematic campaign, Cheppy was no longer certain which choice they would make.

Chapter Text

Chapter 27: Undercurrents

The lab was quiet except for the soft hum of Ancient technology and the occasional beep from Keyes' monitoring equipment. It was well past midnight, but the urgency of the quantum interference crisis had made regular hours irrelevant. Cheppy hunched over her workstation, translating critical passages from the Ancient database that might offer solutions, while Keyes worked nearby, their collaboration having evolved into an efficient rhythm over the past several days.

"I've isolated another resonance pattern," Keyes announced, rolling his chair closer to show her his tablet. "This one's particularly interesting—it suggests the Ancient systems can differentiate between quantum signatures even when they're nearly identical."

Cheppy looked up from her translations, unconsciously rubbing her temples where a stress headache had been building for hours. "Nearly identical but not exactly the same?"

"Precisely," Keyes confirmed, his enthusiasm evident despite the late hour. "It's like... imagine two paintings of the same scene by the same artist, but painted at different times in their life. The subject is identical, the technique recognizable, but the subtle differences in execution reveal different life experiences."

"That's surprisingly poetic for quantum physics," Cheppy observed with a tired smile.

"Physics is poetry when you understand it deeply enough," Keyes replied, then seemed to catch himself. "Sorry, I'm getting philosophical. It's been a long day."

"Don't apologize. I appreciate the perspective." She turned back to her screen, adding, "The Ancients seemed to view quantum mechanics in similarly aesthetic terms. Their descriptions often use artistic metaphors rather than purely technical language."

"Is that what drew you to linguistics?" Keyes asked, leaning back in his chair. "The intersection of technical precision and artistic expression?"

The question was personal but relevant to their work. Cheppy found herself answering honestly. "Partly. But mostly it was the puzzle-solving aspect. Every language is a code waiting to be cracked, a pattern waiting to be recognized."

"Like managing complex variables in quantum equations," Keyes suggested. "Or tracking glucose patterns and insulin responses."

Cheppy looked at him sharply. The reference to her diabetes management was unexpected but not unwelcome—he'd been nothing but professional about her medical needs during their long work sessions.

"I've noticed you're incredibly systematic about monitoring," he continued. "Every few hours, like clockwork. It's impressive."

"It's necessary," she replied, automatically checking her continuous glucose monitor. "Though stress makes it harder. The past few days especially."

"Since Marie intensified her campaign," Keyes said quietly. It wasn't a question.

Cheppy nodded, too tired to maintain pretenses. "She knows exactly which buttons to push because she's felt them from the inside. Every insecurity, every fear, every moment of doubt—she experienced them all during our quantum connection."

"That must be incredibly violating," Keyes observed, his voice gentle. "Having someone use your most private experiences against you."

"It is," she admitted, then forced herself to refocus on work. "But we have bigger problems than Marie's psychological warfare. These patterns you've found—can they help us stabilize the interference?"

Keyes seemed to recognize her need to redirect the conversation. "Possibly. If we can identify the specific resonance frequencies that distinguish you from Marie, we might be able to create harmonic buffers that prevent the quantum degradation."

They worked in companionable silence for another hour, occasionally sharing observations or theoretical insights. Cheppy found herself grateful for Keyes' presence—his brilliance made him an ideal collaborator, and his quiet support during the current crisis was genuinely helpful.

It was during a break to stretch and grab coffee from the lab's small kitchen area that the dynamic shifted subtly.

"Can I ask you something personal?" Keyes said as they waited for the ancient coffee maker to finish brewing.

"That depends on the question," Cheppy replied carefully.

"How did you and Major Lorne happen?" He held up a hand quickly. "I'm not prying, I'm just... curious. You seem so different on the surface—military precision and academic analysis."

"We are different," Cheppy acknowledged, pouring coffee for both of them. "But those differences complement each other. He grounds me when I get lost in theoretical spirals. I help him see beyond tactical solutions. We've faced a lot together since I arrived here."

"The shared experiences created connection," Keyes mused. "Rather like how our collaboration has evolved, I suppose. Working closely with someone during a crisis tends to accelerate understanding."

There was something in his tone—not quite flirtation but definitely more personal than professional observation. Cheppy recognized it because she'd heard similar tones from academic colleagues over the years, the subtle testing of boundaries disguised as intellectual discussion.

"Evan and I have been through more than just professional collaboration," she said gently but firmly. "We've built something that goes beyond work partnerships."

"Of course," Keyes agreed quickly. "I didn't mean to imply... I just find it fascinating how connections form in high-stress environments like Atlantis. The intensity seems to accelerate emotional bonds."

"It can," Cheppy agreed neutrally, steering them back toward the lab. "Speaking of intensity, we should check if the latest simulation has finished running."

But as they returned to their workstations, she noticed Keyes watching her with an expression that suggested more than professional interest. It was subtle—nothing inappropriate or aggressive—but definitely present.

The next evening, after another marathon session trying to stabilize the quantum interference patterns, Keyes made his interest slightly more apparent.

"You know, I've been thinking about what you said yesterday," he began as they documented their findings. "About how your diabetes management enhanced your analytical abilities."

"What about it?" Cheppy asked, focused on her data entry.

"It's remarkable how you've turned what others might see as a limitation into a strength. That kind of adaptive thinking is..." he paused, seeming to search for words, "extraordinarily attractive in a research partner."

The compliment walked the line between professional and personal. Cheppy chose to interpret it professionally. "Pattern recognition is pattern recognition, whether it's biological or linguistic."

"True," Keyes agreed. "Though I imagine not everyone appreciates the elegance of systematic analysis the way we do. It must be challenging when your partner doesn't share that same passion for theoretical frameworks."

The implied criticism of Lorne was subtle but present. Cheppy felt a flash of protective anger.

"Evan appreciates my work completely," she said firmly. "He may not understand every theoretical nuance, but he values what I contribute and supports my research unconditionally."

"I'm sure he does," Keyes backpedaled quickly. "I didn't mean to suggest otherwise. I just meant that there's something special about collaborating with someone who truly understands the intricacies of your work. The way we can build on each other's theories, challenge each other's assumptions..."

"Dr. Keyes," Cheppy interrupted gently but clearly, "I value our professional collaboration immensely. Your insights have been crucial to understanding the quantum crisis. But I need to be clear that my relationship with Major Lorne is not something I'm questioning or looking to change."

Color rose in Keyes' cheeks. "Of course. I apologize if I gave any other impression. I suppose I've been enjoying our work together so much that I... well. I clearly misread the situation."

"You didn't misread the quality of our collaboration," Cheppy assured him, trying to soften the rejection. "We work extremely well together, and I hope that can continue. But that's all it is—good professional teamwork."

"Understood," Keyes said, though disappointment flickered across his features. "I should probably call it a night. We've made good progress today."

As he gathered his equipment, the lab door slid open to reveal Lorne, still in his tactical gear from the day's security drills.

"Thought I might find you here," he said to Cheppy, his tone warm but his eyes taking in Keyes' somewhat flustered state. "Ready to grab some dinner? Or have you been surviving on coffee and determination again?"

"Coffee, determination, and the occasional protein bar," Cheppy admitted, suddenly realizing she couldn't remember her last proper meal.

"Dr. Keyes," Lorne acknowledged with professional courtesy. "Thanks for putting in the long hours on this. I know the whole city appreciates the work you're both doing."

"Just trying to find solutions," Keyes replied, his composure returning. "I'll see you both tomorrow."

After he left, Lorne raised an eyebrow. "Everything okay? He seemed a bit... off."

Cheppy sighed, shutting down her workstation. "He expressed some personal interest. I clarified that our relationship is strictly professional."

"Ah," Lorne said simply. "Do you need me to talk to him?"

"No," Cheppy said quickly. "I handled it. He was respectful about the rejection, just disappointed. I don't want to make it more awkward than necessary—we still need to work together on this crisis."

Lorne nodded, trusting her judgment. "As long as he stays respectful. If that changes..."

"I'll let you know immediately," she assured him. "But I think he'll be fine. He's a good person, just... misread some signals that weren't there."

As they walked toward the mess hall, Lorne took her hand, the simple gesture reaffirming their connection. "For what it's worth, I appreciate you telling me directly. Some people might have kept quiet to avoid potential drama."

"We've always been honest with each other," Cheppy said simply. "I'm not going to change that now, especially over something that isn't even a temptation. Keyes is brilliant, but he's not you."

"Smooth talker," Lorne teased gently, squeezing her hand.

The next morning, Marie demonstrated that she'd been observing the interpersonal dynamics with her characteristic strategic eye.

"Dr. Keyes seems to be putting in extraordinary hours on the quantum analysis," she commented during the morning briefing, her tone casual. "The collaboration between our best physicists and linguists is certainly bearing fruit."

"Both Dr. Keyes and Dr. Mitchell have been working tirelessly to find solutions," Dr. Weir acknowledged.

"Oh, absolutely," Marie agreed readily. "It's wonderful to see how well-matched intellectual partners can accomplish so much when they truly understand each other's work. That kind of meeting of minds is rare and precious."

The comment was innocuous on the surface, but Cheppy caught the subtle implication—that intellectual compatibility might be more valuable than other forms of connection. She noticed Lorne's jaw tighten slightly, though his expression remained neutral.

"Speaking of collaboration," Marie continued smoothly, "I've been analyzing the quantum patterns from a different angle. The emotional resonances between counterparts seem to be a significant factor in the interference. Strong emotional connections in this reality might actually be amplifying the quantum instability."

"What are you suggesting?" McKay asked, genuinely interested in the scientific theory.

"Simply that emotional entanglements might be complicating our ability to find clean solutions," Marie replied. "The quantum signatures become harder to separate when they're bound up with complex interpersonal dynamics. A more... clinical approach might yield better results."

"We'll take all approaches under consideration," Dr. Weir said diplomatically, though her glance toward Cheppy suggested she understood the underlying message.

After the briefing, Cheppy found herself walking with Teyla toward the gym for their scheduled morning training session—a routine they'd maintained for months as both exercise and stress relief.

"Marie seems to be suggesting that relationships are a liability," Teyla observed once they were alone.

"She's trying to normalize the idea that intellectual compatibility matters more than emotional bonds," Cheppy confirmed. "It's another angle of attack—if she can't undermine my professional standing directly, she'll try to make my personal connections seem like weaknesses."

"A perspective that reveals her own isolation," Teyla noted wisely. "In my experience, those who dismiss emotional bonds as weakness are often those who have been unable to form them."

The insight was perceptive and helped Cheppy reframe Marie's latest tactics. Her counterpart wasn't just trying to undermine her—she was revealing her own profound loneliness and trying to normalize it as strength.

That afternoon, Keyes approached Cheppy in the lab with careful professionalism, clearly having taken her rejection to heart.

"I owe you an apology," he began without preamble. "My behavior yesterday was inappropriate. You've been nothing but professional, and I let my... appreciation for our collaboration... cloud my judgment."

"Apology accepted," Cheppy replied, appreciating his directness. "I'd like to continue working together if you're comfortable with clear boundaries."

"Absolutely," he agreed with evident relief. "The work is too important to let personal feelings interfere. And for what it's worth, Major Lorne is a lucky man. The way you two support each other even when facing different aspects of the same crisis—it's admirable."

"Thank you," she said, genuinely touched by his mature response.

They worked together for the rest of the afternoon with renewed focus, the personal tension resolved. But Cheppy noticed Marie observing them from across the lab, her expression calculating.

Later that day, Dr. Zelenka appeared in the lab with an expression of grim satisfaction, carrying a tablet and what looked like a modified Ancient scanner.

"I've been investigating the file modifications from yesterday's power grid crisis," he announced, drawing the attention of everyone present. "And I've found something interesting."

Cheppy looked up from her work, hope flickering in her chest. "What kind of interesting?"

"The kind that proves systematic tampering," Zelenka replied, pulling up a holographic display. "The modification patterns show quantum trace signatures—essentially fingerprints left by whoever interacted with the files."

Marie, who had been working at a nearby station, straightened with apparent interest. "Quantum signatures? But those would only appear if someone with a specific quantum resonance pattern accessed the files."

"Exactly," Zelenka confirmed. "And here's where it gets fascinating. The signatures show two distinct patterns—both matching Dr. Mitchell's quantum frequency, but with subtle variations that indicate different dimensional origins."

The lab fell silent as the implications sank in. Keyes immediately moved to examine the data, his equipment confirming Zelenka's findings.

"These patterns," he said slowly, "they show someone with Dr. Mitchell's base quantum signature but anchored to this reality rather than displaced. The only person who fits that description is..."

All eyes turned to Marie, whose composed expression finally cracked.

"This is circumstantial at best," she said, though her voice lacked its usual confidence. "Quantum signatures can be mimicked, traces can be fabricated—"

"Not with this level of detail," McKay interrupted, having abandoned his own work to examine Zelenka's findings. "The quantum entanglement patterns are too complex to fake. This is definitive proof that you accessed and modified Cheppy's translation files."

Dr. Weir's voice came over the comm system. "Dr. Marie Mitchell, please report to my office immediately. Dr. Zelenka, please bring your findings."

As Marie gathered her materials, she paused beside Cheppy. "You think you've won something here," she said quietly. "But all you've done is delay the inevitable. The quantum interference is still building, and eventually, this reality will have to choose. When that happens, who do you think they'll pick—the original or the copy?"

"I'm not a copy," Cheppy replied with quiet strength. "I'm someone who earned her place here, who built real relationships, who contributes every day to this expedition. That's more authentic than any quantum signature."

Marie's smile was brittle. "We'll see."

After she left with Zelenka, the lab erupted in discussion. Several scientists who had been swayed by Marie's efficiency approached Cheppy with apologies, having realized how they'd been manipulated.

"I should have recognized the pattern," Dr. Kusanagi said. "Systematic undermining disguised as helpful improvements—it's a classic manipulation technique."

"She was convincing," Cheppy acknowledged graciously. "And her methods do have merit. But efficiency without ethics is dangerous, especially in a place like Atlantis."

Keyes, who had been instrumental in confirming the evidence, caught her eye across the lab. The personal tension from earlier seemed trivial compared to this validation of her integrity.

"Your work stands on its own merits," he said simply. "It always has."

That evening, as Cheppy and Lorne shared a quiet dinner in their quarters—a rare moment of privacy in the chaos—she reflected on the day's events.

"Marie's been officially reprimanded," Lorne told her between bites. "Weir's restricted her access to critical systems pending a full review. The sabotage charge is serious enough that the SGC is reconsidering her position."

"But she's not wrong about the quantum interference," Cheppy pointed out. "That's still building regardless of her actions."

"We'll face that when we need to," Lorne said firmly. "But at least now everyone knows exactly what kind of person she is. Your integrity was never in question—hers is."

"Marie's trying to use Keyes' interest as another weapon," she said, setting down her fork. "Even after being caught sabotaging my work, she's still suggesting that intellectual compatibility trumps emotional connection."

"Let her suggest whatever she wants," Lorne replied calmly. "I trust you completely. Keyes made his interest known, you handled it professionally, end of story. Marie can't create drama where none exists."

"I love you," Cheppy said suddenly, the words carrying weight beyond simple affection. "Not because you're convenient or safe, but because you're my partner in every way that matters. Marie doesn't understand that because she's never had it."

Lorne reached across their small table to take her hand. "I love you too. And no amount of quantum physics or psychological manipulation is going to change that."

As they cleared their dishes and settled in for the evening, Cheppy felt the undercurrents that had been pulling at her throughout the day finally still. Marie could try to manipulate perceptions, Keyes could misread professional collaboration as personal possibility, but at the core of it all was this—a relationship built on trust, communication, and genuine partnership.

The quantum crisis still loomed, the interference patterns still threatened both versions' existence, but in this moment, in the quiet of their shared quarters, Cheppy knew exactly where she belonged. The undercurrents could pull and push, but her anchor held firm.

Chapter Text

Chapter 28: Heart vs. Mind

The morning after Marie's sabotage was exposed, Cheppy found herself in the quiet observation deck overlooking the gate room, watching the early shift changes with unseeing eyes. Her tablet lay forgotten beside her, the Ancient translations she'd been reviewing blurred by exhaustion and the emotional toll of the past few days.

"Thought I might find you here," Keyes said softly from the doorway. His posture was carefully professional, maintaining the distance they'd established after yesterday's conversation. "May I?"

Cheppy nodded, gesturing to the bench beside her. "Couldn't sleep. Too much noise in my head."

"Understandable," he replied, settling a respectful distance away. "Having your work sabotaged by someone wearing your face... that would unsettle anyone."

They sat in silence for a moment before Keyes cleared his throat. "I need to apologize again. My timing yesterday was spectacularly poor. You were dealing with Marie's attacks, and I made things more complicated."

"You didn't know what she was doing," Cheppy said fairly. "And you backed off immediately when I clarified things. That matters."

"Still," Keyes persisted, "I should have been more aware. The signs were there—the way she was systematically undermining you, creating doubt about your relationships. I was so caught up in our research that I missed the bigger picture."

Cheppy turned to study him. The early morning light cast shadows across his features, making him look older than his years. "Why did you think there was a possibility between us?"

The direct question seemed to surprise him. "Honestly? Because we work so well together. The way you approach problems, how quickly you grasp complex theoretical frameworks... I suppose I mistook intellectual compatibility for something more."

"It's an easy mistake to make," Cheppy acknowledged. "Marie's been pushing that exact narrative—that intellectual connection matters more than emotional bonds."

"Except she's wrong," Keyes said firmly. "What you have with Major Lorne—I've watched you two during this crisis. He may not understand every equation, but he understands you. That's rarer than shared academic interests."

The admission clearly cost him something, but Cheppy appreciated his honesty. "Can we continue working together? The quantum interference is accelerating, and I need your expertise."

"Of course," Keyes agreed immediately. "The work is too important to let personal embarrassment interfere. Though I may need to establish better boundaries with myself."

"We both will," Cheppy corrected gently. "Clear professional limits, mutual respect, and focus on solving this crisis before it solves itself in ways none of us want."

An hour later, the senior staff assembled in the briefing room for an emergency session. Dr. Weir's expression was grave as she called the meeting to order, and Marie's conspicuous absence was noted by everyone.

"I've just finished a lengthy communication with the SGC," Weir began without preamble. "The quantum interference between our Dr. Mitchells has reached critical levels. It's affecting not just our systems, but the entire gate network."

McKay pulled up holographic displays showing cascading error rates across multiple galaxies. "The interference patterns are creating resonance feedback in the gate system's quantum substrate. If this continues, we could be looking at galaxy-wide gate failures."

"How long do we have?" Sheppard asked, his casual posture belied by the intensity of his focus.

"Best estimate? Two weeks before irreversible damage to the gate network," McKay replied grimly. "Less if the degradation accelerates."

"And it is accelerating," Keyes added, his own data supplementing McKay's. "The confrontation yesterday seems to have intensified the quantum resonance between the counterparts. Strong emotional states amplify the interference."

Lorne, seated beside Cheppy, tensed slightly. "So what are our options?"

"The SGC has made their position clear," Weir said carefully. "They want a resolution that preserves gate network integrity above all other considerations."

"Meaning they don't care which Mitchell stays as long as one goes," Sheppard translated bluntly.

"Not exactly," Weir corrected. "They've provided guidelines for evaluation should we need to make that choice. Professional capabilities, integration with expedition goals, security considerations..."

"Marie's qualifications would seem to give her an advantage in those categories," Zelenka observed reluctantly. "On paper, at least."

"On paper, Marie also sabotaged critical city systems," Lorne pointed out firmly. "That should weigh into any security evaluation."

"The SGC views that as a... complicated situation," Weir said diplomatically. "They acknowledge the sabotage but suggest it was driven by the quantum interference itself—a kind of survival instinct triggered by paradox pressure."

"That's ridiculous," Cheppy said, finding her voice. "Marie made conscious choices to undermine me using information from our quantum connection. That's not instinct—it's calculated manipulation."

"I agree," Weir assured her. "Which is why I'm not simply following SGC recommendations. This is our expedition, our decision. But we need solutions, not just objections."

Keyes leaned forward. "There might be another option. The dimensional communication array we found at the outpost—it was designed to create stable corridors between realities. If we could adapt that technology..."

"You want to open a portal to another dimension?" McKay interrupted skeptically.

"Not just any dimension," Keyes clarified. "A specific one. We've identified quantum signatures from the array that suggest parallel realities where they're facing their own crises—realities that might welcome a brilliant linguist with Ancient expertise."

"You're suggesting we find Marie a new home," Sheppard said slowly. "Somewhere she's needed rather than redundant."

"It would have to be voluntary," Weir noted. "We can't force dimensional relocation."

"After yesterday's events, Marie might be more amenable to alternatives," Teyla suggested. "Her position here has been significantly compromised."

The discussion continued for another hour, exploring technical possibilities and ethical considerations. Throughout it all, Cheppy felt the weight of being discussed as a problem to be solved rather than a person with agency. Lorne's steady presence beside her helped, his occasional touches—a hand on her shoulder, fingers brushing hers—grounding her in the reality of their connection.

As the meeting concluded, Weir asked Cheppy and Lorne to remain behind.

"I want you to know," she said once they were alone, "that I have no intention of treating this as a simple numbers game. What you've built here matters, Cheppy. Your contributions go far beyond what any qualification matrix can measure."

"Thank you," Cheppy replied, though uncertainty still gnawed at her. "But if the gate network is at risk..."

"We'll find another solution," Weir said firmly. "That's what we do here—face impossible situations and find ways through them that don't require sacrificing our people."

Later that afternoon, Cheppy and Lorne walked through the east pier, taking a rare break from crisis management. The afternoon sun slanted through the Ancient architecture, creating patterns of light and shadow that seemed almost deliberate in their beauty.

"How are you holding up?" Lorne asked, their hands linked as they walked.

"Honestly? I'm not sure," Cheppy admitted. "Every time I think I have solid ground, something shifts. Marie's sabotage, Keyes' interest, the SGC ready to treat me as expendable if it saves the gate network..."

"You're not expendable," Lorne said firmly, stopping to face her. "Not to me, not to this expedition, not to anyone who actually knows you."

"But I am displaced," she pointed out. "Marie belongs to this reality at a fundamental level. I'm the anomaly, the accident, the—"

"The woman I love," Lorne interrupted. "The person who's saved lives with her translations, who's earned Carson's paternal protectiveness, who's become Teyla's trusted friend. Those connections aren't accidents, Cheppy. They're choices—yours and theirs."

"Marie would say emotional attachments are compromising our ability to make logical decisions," Cheppy said, echoing her counterpart's earlier arguments.

"Marie's never had what we have," Lorne replied simply. "She doesn't understand that some things matter more than logic. That belonging isn't about quantum signatures or dimensional origins—it's about the life you choose to build and the people who choose to build it with you."

They resumed walking, but Lorne's words had shifted something in Cheppy's perspective. She'd been so focused on defending her position, on proving her worth, that she'd lost sight of a fundamental truth: she'd already proven it, through every choice and connection over the past year.

"The heart versus mind dichotomy is false," she said suddenly, the realization crystallizing. "Marie thinks they're in opposition—that you have to choose between emotional connections and intellectual achievement. But they're not mutually exclusive."

"They're complementary," Lorne agreed. "Your best work comes when you're emotionally engaged, when the translations matter because they help people you care about."

"And our relationship doesn't diminish my intellectual contributions," Cheppy continued, the thoughts flowing faster now. "If anything, the stability and support you provide makes me better at my work. I take more informed risks because I know you have my back."

"Exactly," Lorne said, squeezing her hand. "We make each other stronger, not weaker."

That evening, an unexpected visitor arrived at their quarters. Marie stood in the doorway, her usual polished appearance somewhat disheveled, her expression lacking its characteristic superiority.

"May I come in?" she asked, the request surprisingly humble.

Cheppy glanced at Lorne, who nodded slightly. "Five minutes," she said, stepping aside.

Marie entered, her gaze taking in the shared space—the mix of military precision and academic chaos that characterized their life together. "I've been confined to quarters pending SGC review," she said without preamble. "But I needed to talk to you first."

"About?" Lorne asked, his protective instincts clearly engaged.

"About the fact that I was wrong," Marie said simply, the admission seeming to surprise her as much as them. "Not about the sabotage—that was calculated and deliberate. But about what matters."

Cheppy studied her counterpart warily. "What brought this revelation?"

"Dr. Weir had me undergo psychological evaluation," Marie replied with bitter humor. "Turns out that experiencing your memories didn't just give me ammunition—it also highlighted everything I've been missing. The evaluator was... uncomfortably direct about my 'emotional isolation' and 'maladaptive competitive behaviors.'"

"I'm sorry," Cheppy said, meaning it despite everything.

"Don't be," Marie shook her head. "It's overdue. I've spent so long viewing every interaction as a competition that I've forgotten how to just... connect with people. Seeing your relationships, feeling them from the inside, made me realize what I've sacrificed for professional success."

"So what do you want?" Lorne asked directly.

"To take Keyes' suggestion," Marie replied. "The dimensional portal to a reality that needs linguistic expertise. A chance to start over somewhere without the baggage of what I've become here."

"You'd volunteer to leave?" Cheppy asked, surprised by the offer.

"I've burned every bridge here through my own actions," Marie acknowledged. "Even if I could stay, who would trust me? Who would want to work with someone who sabotaged critical systems out of jealousy?"

"It's not just jealousy," Cheppy said quietly. "It's fear. Fear that there isn't enough room for both of us, that someone has to lose for the other to win."

"Scarcity mindset," Marie nodded. "The SGC operates on it—limited positions, competitive advancement, zero-sum thinking. I brought that here without questioning whether it applied."

"It doesn't," Lorne said firmly. "Atlantis has room for multiple forms of excellence."

"Maybe," Marie allowed. "But not for someone who's proven she'll undermine colleagues when threatened. I need to go somewhere I can learn to be better. Where I can build the kind of connections you have without the specter of what I've done here."

The conversation continued for a few more minutes, working out preliminary details of Marie's voluntary relocation. As she prepared to leave, Marie paused at the door.

"For what it's worth," she said, "you were right to reject that framework of heart versus mind. They're not in opposition. I just never learned how to integrate them."

"It's not too late to learn," Cheppy offered.

"No," Marie agreed. "Just too late to learn it here."

After Marie left, Cheppy and Lorne sat together in the quiet of their quarters, processing the unexpected development.

"Do you think she means it?" Lorne asked. "The voluntary relocation?"

"I think she recognizes that she's created a situation she can't recover from here," Cheppy replied thoughtfully. "Whether that leads to genuine change or just strategic repositioning... only time will tell."

"But it solves our immediate problem," Lorne pointed out. "If she volunteers to leave, the quantum interference resolves without forcing a choice."

"Without forcing the SGC's choice," Cheppy corrected. "She's still choosing to go, and I'm choosing to stay. Those are real decisions with real consequences."

Lorne pulled her closer, his arm around her shoulders. "Any regrets about your choice?"

"None," Cheppy said without hesitation. "This is my home. You're my home. Marie may have my face and my qualifications, but she doesn't have my life here. That's not something that can be replicated or replaced."

"Good," Lorne murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Because I'm not sure I could have let you go, even if it was the logical choice."

"Heart over mind?" she teased gently.

"Heart and mind in perfect agreement," he corrected. "Both know you belong here with me."

As they prepared for bed, the quantum crisis still looming but no longer quite as overwhelming, Cheppy reflected on the day's revelations. The false dichotomy between emotion and intellect had been used as a weapon against her, but recognizing its falseness had become a shield.

She was a brilliant linguist who happened to be in love. She was a dedicated researcher who drew strength from personal connections. She was intellectually rigorous and emotionally engaged. These weren't contradictions—they were the integrated whole of who she'd become in Atlantis.

Marie's voluntary departure would resolve the immediate quantum crisis, but the deeper resolution had already occurred: Cheppy's understanding that she didn't have to choose between her heart and mind because they'd never truly been in opposition.

In Lorne's arms, surrounded by the life they'd built together, she finally felt the last of Marie's planted doubts dissolve. Tomorrow would bring new challenges as they worked to implement the dimensional relocation. But tonight, in the quiet certainty of being exactly where she belonged, Cheppy allowed herself to simply be—brilliant and beloved, accomplished and connected, mind and heart in perfect harmony.

Chapter Text

Chapter 29: Quantum Preparations

The medical alert that changed everything came at 0347 hours Atlantis time. Carson's urgent voice over the comm system jolted both Dr. Weir and Colonel Sheppard from sleep: "We have a medical emergency. Both Dr. Mitchells are showing signs of rapid cellular degradation. I need them in the infirmary immediately."

By the time the senior staff assembled in the medical bay, Carson's scans had revealed the devastating truth—the prolonged quantum interference wasn't just creating system conflicts, it was literally breaking down both women's cellular structures at the molecular level.

"The quantum paradox pressure has reached a critical threshold," Carson explained, his usually steady hands trembling slightly as he displayed the medical readings. "Their cells are beginning to lose quantum coherence. In layman's terms, their bodies are forgetting how to exist in this reality."

Cheppy stared at the holographic display of her own cellular structure, watching areas of instability pulse like wounds in her very essence. Beside her, Marie underwent the same scans, both women finally united in facing a threat that transcended their personal conflicts.

"How long do we have?" Dr. Weir asked, though her expression suggested she feared the answer.

"Seventy-two hours, perhaps less, before the cellular breakdown becomes irreversible," Carson replied grimly. "After that point..." He didn't need to finish. Complete cellular collapse meant death for both versions.

"Then we accelerate everything," Weir decided immediately. "Dr. McKay, how quickly can we get back to the Ancient outpost and implement the dimensional portal solution?"

"Give me six hours to prep the equipment," McKay replied, already calculating logistics. "But Elizabeth, we're talking about adapting technology we barely understand, under extreme time pressure, to save two people whose quantum signatures are destabilizing by the hour."

"Then we'd better get started," Sheppard said simply.

Now, eighteen hours later, the Ancient communications outpost on M7X-194 hummed with frantic activity as teams from both Atlantis and the SGC worked around the clock to adapt the dimensional portal technology. What had once been a pristine, silent facility now resembled a high-tech construction site, with cables snaking between Ancient consoles and Earth-based equipment creating hybrid systems that would have seemed impossible just weeks ago.

"Power coupling stable at ninety-seven percent," McKay announced from his position at the primary control station, sweat beading on his forehead despite the outpost's controlled temperature. "But we're pushing these Ancient systems far beyond their intended parameters."

Dr. Keyes looked up from his calculations, exhaustion evident in his bloodshot eyes. "The dimensional coordinates are locked in. We've identified a reality where their Atlantis expedition suffered catastrophic losses—they're operating with less than thirty percent of their original personnel. They'd welcome someone with Marie's expertise."

"Assuming she survives the transfer," Zelenka added grimly, adjusting his glasses as he reviewed the medical data scrolling across his tablet. "The quantum degradation is accelerating faster than we anticipated."

From her position at a secondary console, Cheppy felt a wave of dizziness wash over her as she tried to focus on the Ancient interface. The symbols seemed to blur and shift, her photographic memory struggling to maintain coherence as her cellular structure continued to deteriorate. She pressed her hand to her forehead, trying to steady herself.

"Cheppy?" Lorne's voice came from directly behind her, concern evident despite his attempt to maintain professional composure in front of the mixed teams.

"I'm okay," she managed, though the tremor in her voice suggested otherwise. "Just need a moment."

Carson appeared at her side with practiced efficiency, scanner already in hand. "Your cellular degradation markers have increased by fifteen percent since yesterday," he reported quietly. "The quantum interference is accelerating the breakdown."

"How long do we have?" Lorne asked, his hand finding Cheppy's shoulder in a gesture of support that had become as natural as breathing.

"For both of them? Maybe fifty-four hours before the damage becomes irreversible," Carson replied, his Scottish accent thick with worry. "After that point, we're looking at complete cellular collapse."

Across the chamber, Marie worked at her own station with mechanically precise movements that couldn't quite hide her own physical decline. Her usually immaculate appearance showed signs of strain—her professional bob disheveled, her SGC uniform wrinkled from sleeping in the outpost's cramped quarters. When she reached for a data tablet, her hand shook slightly before she caught herself and forced it steady.

"Marie's readings are similar," Carson continued in a lower voice. "The quantum paradox is affecting both versions equally now. Whatever psychological barriers were protecting her as the 'original' have broken down completely."

Keyes approached their group, his tablet displaying complex dimensional calculations. "I've run the scenarios multiple times," he said, his voice carefully professional despite the obvious concern in his eyes as they lingered on Cheppy. "The portal activation requires precise quantum synchronization. If either of their signatures becomes too unstable..."

"The portal won't lock onto the target dimension," McKay finished, having overheard. "It could dump her anywhere in the multiverse. Or nowhere at all."

The implications hung heavily in the air. Marie's voluntary departure was meant to resolve the quantum interference, but their window for safe transfer was rapidly closing.

"Then we work faster," Dr. Weir declared, having just arrived with Colonel Sheppard and additional personnel from Atlantis. "Dr. McKay, what do you need to accelerate the timeline?"

"More hands, more power, and about three months to properly test the modifications," McKay replied tartly. "Since we don't have the luxury of time, I'll settle for every available scientist and engineer willing to work without sleep for the next three days."

Sheppard gestured to the military personnel he'd brought. "You've got full support. Whatever resources you need."

As the teams reorganized for maximum efficiency, Cheppy found herself assigned to work directly with the Ancient portal interface—her unique understanding of their linguistic patterns crucial for establishing stable dimensional coordinates. But the work that had once come naturally now required intense concentration just to maintain basic comprehension.

"The syntax protocols are shifting," she reported, her fingers moving slowly across the Ancient console. "It's like the system is adapting to our presence, but I can't tell if it's helping or hindering the process."

Marie, working at an adjacent station, looked up with effort. "I'm seeing similar patterns. The portal technology seems designed to... to learn from quantum signatures it encounters. Maybe it's trying to optimize for our specific situation."

It was the first time in days that Marie had spoken to her directly without hostility or calculation. The shared crisis and their mutual physical decline had stripped away the professional competition, leaving only two women fighting for survival.

"Can you stabilize the learning algorithms?" Cheppy asked, recognizing that despite everything, they needed each other's expertise to survive the next three days.

"I think so," Marie replied, then paused. "Cheppy... I want you to know that if this doesn't work, if something goes wrong with the transfer..."

"Nothing's going wrong," Lorne interrupted firmly, moving to stand between them. His protective instincts were clearly activated, but his concern seemed directed toward both women rather than viewing Marie as a threat.

"Major Lorne's right," Keyes added, bringing up holographic displays of their calculations. "We've run every scenario. The mathematics are sound. This will work."

But as Cheppy studied Keyes' equations, she noticed subtle variations in the quantum resonance patterns—fluctuations that suggested the deterioration was affecting their ability to maintain stable calculations. The brilliant theoretical physicist was making errors he would normally catch, his own judgment compromised by exhaustion and emotional stress.

"Julian," she said carefully, "these resonance frequencies in section seven... are you sure they're properly calibrated?"

Keyes looked where she was pointing, his face paling as he recognized the miscalculation. "Good catch. That could have been catastrophic." He immediately began recalibrating, but the fact that such an error had slipped through highlighted how precarious their situation had become.

Carson approached them with a medical update. "I've been monitoring both of your conditions continuously. The cellular degradation is following a predictable pattern, but there's something else—your quantum signatures are beginning to blur together."

"What does that mean?" Marie asked, setting down her tablet as another wave of disorientation hit her.

"It means the universe is trying to resolve the paradox by merging you back into a single entity," Carson explained grimly. "If that process completes before we can separate you dimensionally..."

"We become one person," Cheppy finished, understanding immediately. "Neither of us survives as individuals."

The revelation added new urgency to their work. Not only did they need to complete the portal before cellular collapse, but they had to do it before the quantum merging process reached completion.

"How long until merger?" Lorne asked, his military training taking over as he processed the new threat parameters.

"Unknown," Carson admitted. "It's not a process we've observed before. But based on the rate of signature convergence... hours, maybe a day at most."

McKay's voice cut through their discussion from across the chamber. "Portal framework is stable! We're ready to begin power integration tests."

The next twelve hours blurred together in a haze of technical modifications and increasingly desperate calculations. Both Mitchell women pushed themselves beyond safe limits, their combined expertise crucial for fine-tuning the dimensional portal while their bodies continued to break down at the cellular level.

During a brief rest period, Cheppy found herself alone with Marie in the outpost's small rest area. Both women were too exhausted to maintain their previous antagonism, the shared threat having created an unexpected truce.

"I keep thinking about the quantum visions," Marie said quietly, staring at her hands. "Experiencing your memories of building relationships here, finding your place through genuine connection rather than competitive achievement."

"And I keep thinking about your memories of always having to prove yourself," Cheppy replied. "The isolation that comes from viewing every interaction as a test to pass rather than a connection to build."

"Do you think I can learn?" Marie asked. "In this new reality, if the transfer works... do you think I can build what you have here?"

Cheppy studied her counterpart—this version of herself who had taken such a different path. Despite everything Marie had done, she found herself hoping for redemption rather than revenge.

"I think you can," she said finally. "But it requires vulnerability. It means letting people see your struggles, not just your strengths. It means valuing what you can contribute to others' lives, not just what they can contribute to yours."

"That terrifies me," Marie admitted with startling honesty.

"It should," Cheppy smiled slightly. "The best connections usually start with being scared enough to be real."

Their conversation was interrupted by alarms throughout the outpost. Both women struggled to their feet, heading back to the main chamber where red warning lights pulsed ominously.

"What's happening?" Sheppard demanded, striding to McKay's station.

"The quantum interference just spiked beyond anything we've recorded," McKay reported, his voice tight with concern. "Something's triggered a massive resonance cascade between the counterparts."

Carson was already scanning both women with his equipment. "Their quantum signatures are converging rapidly. The merger process has accelerated dramatically."

"How long?" Weir asked.

"Hours," Carson replied grimly. "Maybe less."

Keyes looked up from his calculations, his face pale with realization. "The portal isn't ready. We need at least eighteen more hours to complete the power integration safely."

"Then we make it ready," Lorne said with quiet determination. "Whatever it takes."

As alarms continued to sound and teams scrambled to accelerate their timeline, Cheppy felt Lorne's hand find hers in the chaos. Their eyes met across the chamber filled with frantically working scientists, and she saw her own determination reflected in his gaze.

They had built something worth fighting for together. Now it was time to fight for it.

The quantum preparations entered their final, desperate phase as two realities raced against time to save three lives—and preserve the connections that had made those lives worth living.

Chapter Text

Chapter 30: Parallel Paths

The portal chamber filled with an otherworldly blue-white light as the dimensional gateway finally stabilized, six hours ahead of the original schedule but still cutting dangerously close to the quantum merger deadline. Through the shimmering energy field, glimpses of another Atlantis became visible—corridors that looked familiar yet subtly different, as if viewed through a distorting lens.

"Portal matrix is holding steady," McKay announced, though tension remained evident in his voice. "Dimensional coordinates locked onto the target reality. We're seeing stable contact with parallel Atlantis designation 4-7-Alpha."

Dr. Keyes monitored the quantum resonance readings, his equipment showing the delicate balance they'd achieved. "The portal is configured for one-way transport. Once Marie crosses through, the dimensional barrier should reseal permanently, preventing any future interference between realities."

Cheppy leaned heavily against her console, the effort of maintaining her translations during the final portal calibration having drained her remaining strength. Her cellular structure was breaking down faster now, visible tremors running through her hands as her body struggled to maintain quantum coherence.

"How are the readings?" Lorne asked Carson quietly, though his eyes never left Cheppy.

"Critical," Carson replied grimly. "Both women are approaching complete cellular breakdown. We have perhaps two hours before the damage becomes irreversible."

Marie stood at the portal's threshold, staring through the energy field at glimpses of the reality that would become her new home. Her usual professional composure had finally cracked completely, revealing genuine fear beneath the surface.

"Tell me about them again," she said to Keyes, who had been monitoring communications from the parallel Atlantis.

"Their expedition suffered massive casualties during a Wraith super-hive attack eighteen months ago," he explained patiently, having repeated this information several times as Marie tried to process her impending transition. "They lost their entire linguistics department and most of their science staff. Dr. Elizabeth Weir—their version of Dr. Weir—has been desperately seeking qualified personnel."

"And they're expecting me?"

"Dr. Weir established communication protocols with their reality six hours ago," Dr. Weir confirmed. "They understand the situation and are prepared to receive you. More than that—they're grateful. Your expertise could be the difference between their expedition's survival and total collapse."

Through the portal's shimmer, they could see figures moving in what appeared to be the parallel gate room—personnel preparing to receive their unexpected arrival. The other Atlantis looked wounded, somehow, with visible damage to structures and far fewer people moving through corridors that should have been bustling with activity.

"They need you," Cheppy said, approaching Marie despite her obvious physical distress. "Not as competition for a position someone else already holds, but as salvation for people who are struggling to survive."

Marie turned to study her counterpart, seeing her own deteriorating condition reflected in Cheppy's increasingly pale complexion and unsteady movements. "Are you sure this is what you want? For me to take this chance at starting over?"

"I'm sure this is what you need," Cheppy replied carefully. "A place where your talents are desperately required, where you can build relationships based on mutual necessity rather than competitive advantage."

"The merger process is accelerating," Carson announced urgently, his scans showing the quantum signatures beginning to blur together. "We need to make the transfer now."

Marie took a step toward the portal, then hesitated. "Cheppy... when I experienced your memories during the quantum visions, I felt something I've never had. The security of knowing people care about you for who you are, not just what you can do for them."

"You can build that," Cheppy assured her. "But it requires letting people see your struggles, not just your strengths. It means asking for help sometimes instead of always being the expert with answers."

"I don't know how to do that," Marie admitted, her vulnerability startling in its completeness.

"Neither did I when I first arrived in Atlantis," Cheppy replied. "Carson taught me that healing—others and yourself—starts with admitting you need help."

Marie nodded slowly, then turned to face the portal with new determination. But as she prepared to step through, alarms began blaring throughout the outpost.

"What's happening?" Sheppard demanded, moving to the tactical displays.

"Massive quantum surge!" McKay shouted over the warning klaxons. "The portal's destabilizing—something's interfering with the dimensional matrix!"

Through the portal's increasingly erratic energy field, they could see chaos erupting in the parallel Atlantis. Emergency lights flashed, and figures ran through corridors as if responding to a crisis.

"They're under attack," Keyes realized, interpreting the quantum resonance patterns. "Wraith ships are approaching their reality's Atlantis. The quantum interference from our portal activation may have attracted them."

"Can we maintain the portal during an attack?" Dr. Weir asked urgently.

"Not safely," McKay replied, his hands flying across the controls. "The quantum instability will make dimensional travel extremely dangerous. She could be torn apart during transit."

Marie stared through the chaotic energy field at the parallel Atlantis under siege, watching as her potential new home fell under attack. For a moment, her old competitive instincts seemed to reassert themselves—the desire to wait for safer conditions, to calculate better odds.

Then something shifted in her expression. "They need help now," she said with sudden clarity. "Not when it's convenient or safe, but right now when they're fighting for survival."

"Marie, the risks—" Keyes began.

"Are acceptable," she interrupted, squaring her shoulders with new resolve. "I've spent my entire career waiting for perfect conditions, competing for ideal positions. These people are facing destruction. If I'm going to learn to build the connections Cheppy has, maybe it starts with choosing to help when help is needed most."

"The portal could collapse during your transit," McKay warned. "You could be lost between dimensions."

"Or I could arrive exactly when they need me most," Marie countered. "When they're facing a crisis that requires every available expert." She turned to Cheppy. "You said building relationships requires vulnerability, letting people see your struggles. What's more vulnerable than walking into a battle to help strangers?"

Cheppy felt tears prick her eyes—not of sadness but of unexpected pride in this other version of herself. "That's... that's exactly right."

"Portal stability at sixty percent and falling," Zelenka announced. "We need to make a decision now."

Marie looked around the chamber one final time, her gaze taking in each face. When her eyes met Lorne's, she offered a slight smile. "Take care of her, Major. And Cheppy... thank you for showing me what I've been missing."

Without further hesitation, Marie stepped into the swirling energy field.

The portal flared blindingly bright as her quantum signature made contact with the dimensional barrier. For a terrifying moment, it seemed as though the energy field might tear her apart, her form wavering and distorting as competing forces pulled at her molecular structure.

Then, suddenly, she was through—solid and intact on the other side, standing in the parallel Atlantis gate room as their alarm klaxons wailed around her. Through the destabilizing portal, they could see her turning to address the parallel expedition members, her voice lost in the quantum interference but her gestures clearly authoritative and helpful.

"She's through," Keyes announced with relief. "Quantum signature stable in the parallel reality."

"And our signatures?" Carson asked, immediately scanning Cheppy.

"Separating," he confirmed with growing excitement. "The quantum interference is dissipating rapidly. The merger process has reversed."

The portal continued to destabilize, the view of the parallel Atlantis becoming increasingly fragmented. But in the last clear moment before the dimensional gateway collapsed completely, they saw Marie standing beside the parallel Dr. Weir, her tablet already out as she began providing crucial information to help coordinate their defense against the Wraith attack.

"Portal collapse in three... two... one..." McKay counted down.

The shimmering energy field imploded with a sound like thunder, leaving behind only empty air and the fading resonance of dimensional forces. Silence fell over the chamber as everyone processed what they had just witnessed.

"She made it," Lorne said quietly, his arm around Cheppy as she swayed with exhaustion and relief.

"More than that," Dr. Weir observed, reviewing the final quantum readings. "She arrived exactly when they needed her most. Sometimes the universe has a sense of timing we can't predict."

Carson's scans confirmed what they all hoped to hear: "Quantum interference has dropped to negligible levels. The cellular degradation has stopped completely. Both signatures are stabilizing in their respective realities."

Cheppy leaned against Lorne's solid warmth, feeling strength gradually return to her trembling limbs as her quantum signature found stable anchoring in this reality once again. "Do you think she'll be okay? Really okay?"

"I think she'll be exactly what they need," Keyes replied thoughtfully. "And they'll be exactly what she needs—people who require her help immediately, without time for competitive games or political maneuvering. She'll have to build connections through action rather than calculation."

Dr. Weir began coordinating the shutdown of the portal equipment, but her expression remained thoughtful. "The parallel communication array should allow for occasional status updates. We'll be able to monitor her progress."

"Good," Cheppy said softly. "I hope she finds what she's looking for."

As teams began the complex process of powering down the dimensional equipment and preparing for return to Atlantis, Cheppy found herself watching the space where the portal had been. Marie was gone—not defeated or displaced, but choosing a new path toward the connections she'd never learned to build.

"No regrets?" Lorne asked quietly as they prepared to leave the chamber.

Cheppy thought about the question seriously, considering everything that had led to this moment—the quantum crisis, the sabotage, the forced confrontation with another version of herself who had made such different choices.

"None," she said finally. "Marie needed to find her own way to build meaningful relationships. Staying here, competing with me, would have prevented that growth. This way, we both get to become who we're meant to be."

"Parallel paths," Lorne observed.

"Parallel paths," she agreed. "Leading to the same destination eventually—understanding that connection matters more than competition, that belonging is built through choices rather than circumstances."

As they made their way back to the jumpers for the return journey to Atlantis, Cheppy felt a profound sense of completion. The quantum crisis was over, her cellular structure was stabilizing, and somewhere in a parallel reality, another version of herself was learning to build the kinds of relationships that made life meaningful.

She'd kept her chosen family, her earned place, and her hard-won understanding of what home truly meant. Marie had gained the opportunity to discover those same truths in a reality that desperately needed her expertise.

Both women, in their respective realities, were finally free to become the people they were meant to be—not in competition with each other, but in harmony with their own authentic choices about what mattered most.

The parallel paths had diverged completely, leading each version toward her own form of belonging. And for the first time since the quantum crisis began, that felt like exactly the right resolution.

Chapter Text

Chapter 31: Echoes of Resolution

The journey back to Atlantis passed in a haze of exhaustion and cautious relief. Cheppy dozed fitfully against Lorne's shoulder in the jumper, her body still recovering from the cellular trauma of the quantum crisis. Every few minutes, Carson would run discrete scans from his position across the compartment, monitoring her quantum signature's stabilization with the careful attention of someone who had nearly lost a patient.

"Readings are holding steady," he reported quietly to Dr. Weir, though his relief was evident. "No signs of residual interference or cellular degradation. The separation appears to have been complete."

Through the jumper's viewports, the familiar blue-green world of Lantea grew larger as they approached the Stargate. Home. The word carried new weight after everything they'd been through—not just a place she'd ended up by accident, but a reality she'd consciously chosen to preserve and protect.

"Atlantis Control, this is Jumper One requesting permission to land," Sheppard's voice came through the comm system. "Package delivered successfully, all personnel accounted for."

"Copy that, Jumper One. Welcome home."

Welcome home. Even Chuck's routine words seemed to acknowledge what they'd all been through together.

As they settled onto the jumper bay floor, Dr. Weir turned to address the team. "I want full medical evaluations for everyone, but especially Dr. Mitchell. Then we debrief in six hours—enough time to rest but while everything is still fresh."

"I'm fine," Cheppy protested automatically, though she made no move to stand as the others began gathering equipment.

"Humor an old Scottish doctor," Carson said with gentle firmness. "You've just survived quantum cellular breakdown and dimensional crisis. 'Fine' is relative."

Lorne helped her to her feet, his support more necessary than she wanted to admit. "Carson's right. And I want to hear his professional opinion that you're completely stable before I stop worrying."

The medical evaluation took two hours, with Carson running every scan he could think of to ensure there were no lingering effects from the quantum trauma. Other expedition members stopped by the infirmary throughout the process—Teyla bringing tea, McKay awkwardly offering one of his power bars "in case low blood sugar was complicating recovery," even Zelenka appearing with a small bouquet of Athosian flowers.

"You scared us, lass," Carson said finally, reviewing the last of his readings. "Your cellular structure came closer to complete breakdown than I care to think about. But everything's stabilizing beautifully now. No residual quantum interference, no signs of dimensional displacement stress."

"So I'm officially stuck here now?" Cheppy asked with a tired smile.

"Officially anchored," Carson corrected warmly. "Your quantum signature has fully integrated with this reality's frequency. You're not going anywhere."

"Good," Lorne said simply, taking her hand. "Because we have plans to make."

The debriefing six hours later was mercifully brief. Dr. Weir focused on the technical aspects of the portal technology and lessons learned for future dimensional incidents, while McKay detailed the equipment modifications that had made the transfer possible.

"Any word from the parallel reality?" Cheppy asked as the meeting concluded.

"The communication array is still online," Keyes reported, consulting his tablet. "Limited contact suggests they successfully repelled the Wraith attack. Dr. Marie Mitchell appears to have integrated seamlessly into their emergency response protocols."

"She found her crisis," Cheppy observed with satisfaction. "The kind of situation where her expertise was immediately crucial, no time for political maneuvering or competitive games."

"Sometimes the universe provides exactly what people need," Dr. Weir agreed diplomatically. "Even if it's not what they originally wanted."

As the senior staff dispersed, Keyes approached Cheppy hesitantly. "I wanted to apologize again for my behavior during the crisis. Professional boundaries—"

"Were maintained," Cheppy interrupted gently. "You supported the work, respected my position, and helped save two lives. That matters more than a moment of misread signals."

"Thank you," he said with obvious relief. "And for what it's worth, watching you and Major Lorne during this crisis... you're lucky to have each other. That kind of partnership is rare."

After Keyes left, Lorne helped Cheppy to her feet, noting how she still moved carefully, her body remembering the trauma even as it healed.

"Dinner in our quarters?" he suggested. "I have it on good authority that Carson slipped the mess hall a recipe for proper comfort food."

"Our quarters," Cheppy repeated, testing the words. "I like how that sounds. No more wondering if I belong here, no more competing for my place."

"You never had to compete," Lorne reminded her as they walked through Atlantis's corridors. "Your place here was earned through everything you contributed, everyone you helped, every connection you built."

"I know that now," she agreed. "But Marie's presence forced me to question it, to really examine what I'd built here and why it mattered."

They paused at the observation deck overlooking the gate room, watching the evening shift settle into their routines. Below them, teams prepared for night missions while scientists worked late in laboratories, the familiar rhythm of Atlantis life continuing around them.

"Do you think she'll be happy?" Lorne asked. "In the long run?"

Cheppy considered the question seriously. "I think she'll learn to be. She stepped through that portal not because it was safe or convenient, but because people needed help immediately. That's the foundation for building real connections—choosing to help when help is needed most."

"Like you did when you chose to stay and help resolve the quantum crisis instead of pushing for your own safety," Lorne observed.

"Like we all did," Cheppy corrected. "Carson risking experimental treatments, you coordinating security for an operation you couldn't fully control, McKay pushing technology beyond safe parameters. Everyone chose to help instead of protecting themselves."

"That's what families do," Lorne said simply.

Their quarters felt different somehow—not just shared space but truly home in ways Cheppy was only beginning to understand. Her Ancient reference texts had found permanent places beside Lorne's military manuals, her insulin supplies organized in the bathroom cabinet alongside his toiletries, her paintings displayed on the walls next to his completed works.

"I need to tell you something," Lorne said as they settled with dinner on their small couch. "During the worst of the crisis, when Carson wasn't sure either of you would survive... I started planning."

"Planning what?" Cheppy asked, curling against his side.

"How to live without you," he admitted quietly. "What I'd do if the universe forced a choice and chose the other version. How to honor what we'd built together even if you couldn't stay to enjoy it."

The confession hit her harder than expected. "Evan..."

"I couldn't do it," he continued, his arm tightening around her. "Every scenario I tried to construct fell apart because none of them included you. That's when I realized this isn't just love—it's fundamental. You're not someone I care about who happens to be in my life. You're the person my life is built around."

Cheppy turned to face him fully, seeing the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. "The quantum visions Marie and I shared—I experienced some of her memories of relationships that never quite clicked, connections that felt forced or strategic. It helped me understand what we have isn't just rare, it's... it's essential. Like we were meant to find each other across impossible odds."

"Quantum entanglement," Lorne said with a small smile, referencing their old private metaphor.

"Exactly," she agreed. "Some connections transcend dimensions, circumstances, even time itself."

They ate in comfortable silence, processing the events of the past weeks. Outside their windows, Atlantis's lights began to twinkle against the gathering dusk, the ancient city settling into evening routines that had become deeply familiar.

"Carson wants to monitor me for another week," Cheppy said eventually. "Make sure there are no delayed effects from the cellular breakdown."

"Good," Lorne replied. "I want every possible confirmation that you're completely stable before I stop having nightmares about quantum degradation."

"And then what?" she asked. "When we're sure the crisis is completely over, when life returns to whatever passes for normal in Atlantis?"

Lorne set down his fork, turning to face her with an expression that was both serious and hopeful. "Then we make plans for the future. Real plans, without the shadow of dimensional uncertainty hanging over them."

"What kind of plans?"

"The kind that assume we're going to be together for a very long time," he said simply. "Personal plans, professional goals, maybe even..." He hesitated, then continued with quiet conviction. "Maybe even thinking about what comes after just the two of us."

The implication sent warmth spreading through Cheppy's chest. They'd never discussed long-term possibilities like marriage or family, the uncertainty of her situation making such conversations feel premature. But now, with her place in this reality permanently established...

"I'd like that," she said softly. "All of it. Building a future together without wondering if it might be temporary."

"No more parallel paths to choose between," Lorne agreed. "Just our path, together, wherever it leads."

As they cleaned up from dinner and prepared for their first truly peaceful night in weeks, Cheppy found herself marveling at the strange journey that had brought them to this point. A quantum crisis that had threatened to tear them apart had ultimately strengthened their understanding of what they meant to each other.

Marie's departure hadn't just resolved the dimensional interference—it had forced both versions to confront what they truly valued, what they were willing to fight for, what kind of life they wanted to build. And the answer, for Cheppy, had been crystal clear: this life, with these people, in this reality that had become more home than any place she'd ever known.

"Sleep well," Lorne murmured as they settled into bed, his arms around her in the darkness. "Tomorrow we start building our future without any quantum uncertainty."

"Sweet dreams," she replied, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "And thank you."

"For what?"

"For standing by me through everything. For never doubting that I belonged here, even when I doubted it myself. For being my anchor in every storm."

"Always," he promised simply.

As sleep claimed her, Cheppy's last conscious thought was of gratitude—for the accident that had brought her to Atlantis, for the challenges that had helped her grow, for the connections that had made this place truly home. Somewhere in a parallel reality, Marie was learning the same lessons about belonging and connection. But here, in this reality, surrounded by the warmth of the man she loved and the certainty of her chosen family, Cheppy Mitchell was exactly where she belonged.

The echoes of their quantum crisis would fade with time, but the resolution they'd achieved—personally and professionally—would endure. Home wasn't about dimensional frequencies or quantum signatures. It was about the choice to stay, the decision to build something meaningful with people who mattered, the willingness to fight for what you'd found worth keeping.

And in that understanding, Cheppy finally found the peace that had eluded her since the day she'd first fallen through a portal into an impossible new world that had somehow become her heart's true home.

========================
Sunlight filtered softly through the sheer curtains of their shared quarters, casting pale golden lines across the bedspread. The silence in Atlantis at this hour was rare and precious—no alarms, no incoming crises, just the quiet hum of a city that had, for once, settled into stillness.

Cheppy stirred first, blinking slowly as warmth on her cheek pulled her gently from sleep. Her body felt heavy in the best way—rested, grounded, safe. Lorne’s arm was still wrapped tightly around her, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath her cheek. She didn’t move at first, just listened. The beat of his heart beneath her ear was a rhythm she had come to crave.

She shifted slightly, her thigh sliding over his, skin to skin. They’d gone to bed bare, too tired the night before to do anything more than hold each other. But now, in the soft light of morning, the tension was gone. No more fear of losing one another. No more quantum ticking clocks. Just time. And the man she loved.

Lorne groaned softly as she moved again, waking with a slow stretch beneath her.

“Morning,” he said, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” she replied, kissing the spot over his heart. “You sleep okay?”

He tightened his arm around her and kissed her hair. “Best I’ve had in weeks.”

They lay like that for a moment longer, the quiet intimacy stretching warm between them. Then she shifted again, slowly dragging her fingertips down the length of his torso. He tensed under her hand but didn’t stop her. His skin was warm, smooth under her palm, the light smattering of hair along his abdomen rising with goosebumps as she trailed lower.

Her hand curled around him, already hard from the combination of her touch and the nearness of her body. He hissed a breath between his teeth, hips twitching slightly.

“Chep…”

She kissed his chest, smiling against his skin. “Let me,” she murmured.

She moved down the bed slowly, deliberately, pressing kisses along his ribs, his stomach, lower. When she took him in her mouth, he gasped—hands immediately flying to her hair, fingers tangling in the curls. She moved slowly, unhurried and thorough, her tongue tracing every inch of him, sucking softly at the head, her hands stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach.

“God—” he groaned, one hand fisting in the sheets. “Cheppy… you’re gonna kill me…”

But she didn’t stop. Not until he was shaking beneath her, his breath ragged, his grip on her hair tight. Only then did she crawl back up his body, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him—deep and lingering. He tasted himself on her tongue and groaned into her mouth, rolling them suddenly so she was beneath him, his body braced over hers.

“Your turn,” he said against her lips, voice low and gravelly with need.

He kissed his way down her neck, her chest, taking his time with each breast, lavishing attention with lips and tongue until she was gasping, hips shifting restlessly. When he reached between her thighs and found her already wet for him, he smiled against her skin.

“Always so ready for me.”

“Only for you,” she whispered, breathless.

He slipped two fingers inside her, curling them just right, his thumb circling her clit until she was arching off the bed, moaning his name. He didn’t stop until she was coming apart, shaking beneath him, her cries muffled against his shoulder.

Then he positioned himself at her entrance and slid into her slowly, inch by inch, watching her face the whole time. She clutched at his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his waist as he filled her completely.

This time there was no urgency—just connection. They moved together slowly, rhythmically, like the rise and fall of the ocean outside the city’s walls. Every thrust was deep, steady, intimate. His forehead pressed to hers, breath mingling, hands clasped between their chests.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice thick.

“I love you,” she replied, eyes shining.

When they reached the peak together, it wasn’t loud. It was a shared breath, a shuddering release, a soft exhale against each other’s skin. And then they collapsed into each other, sweat-damp and sated, hearts still pounding but completely in sync.

Later, as they lay tangled in the aftermath, Lorne brushed his fingers gently through her hair.

“So…” he said quietly, smiling against her temple. “Now what?”

Cheppy stretched, utterly content. “Now,” she said, kissing his jaw, “we build the life we promised each other. One lazy morning at a time.”

He chuckled. “I like the sound of that.”

Outside, Atlantis stirred with the start of a new day. Inside, in the warmth of their bed, Cheppy and Lorne remained wrapped around each other, finally free to dream forward.

Together.

Chapter Text

Chapter 32: Quantum Recovery

Three weeks had passed since Marie's departure through the dimensional portal, and Atlantis had settled into something approaching its normal rhythm of controlled chaos. The quantum interference readings had dropped to zero, the Ancient systems had stopped flagging "duplicate personnel" errors, and life in the Pegasus Galaxy had returned to its usual complement of new crises and unexpected discoveries.

For Cheppy, the recovery had been both physical and psychological. Carson's daily scans had shown her cellular structure stabilizing completely, her quantum signature now permanently anchored to this reality with no trace of dimensional instability. But the deeper healing—from months of questioning her place, her worth, her right to exist here—had taken longer.

"Final scan," Carson announced with satisfaction, running his Ancient medical scanner over her one last time. "Completely stable quantum signature, perfect cellular cohesion, no residual effects from the dimensional crisis. Officially, you're as healthy as anyone can be after surviving something that should have been impossible."

"Officially released from medical supervision?" Cheppy asked hopefully, sitting on the edge of the examination table in the infirmary that had become so familiar over the past year.

"Officially released," Carson confirmed with a warm smile. "Though I reserve the right to periodic check-ins, given that you're our first successful survivor of quantum counterpart syndrome."

"I'll be your test case for the medical journals," she agreed with mock solemnity. "Dr. Chephren Mitchell: survived dimensional displacement, quantum interference, and cellular breakdown. Currently stable and thriving in an alternate reality."

"More than thriving," Carson observed, making notes on his tablet. "You've been positively glowing these past weeks. I take it things are going well with Major Lorne?"

Heat rose in Cheppy's cheeks, but she couldn't suppress her smile. "Things are... very good. Better than good, actually. It's like we've finally stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop and started actually living."

"Aye, that's what happens when people stop being afraid of happiness and start embracing it," Carson said sagely. "Though I have to say, the two of you have been setting quite the example around here."

"Example of what?"

"How to maintain a relationship under impossible circumstances," came Dr. Weir's voice from the infirmary entrance. The expedition leader approached with a tablet in hand and an expression of professional satisfaction. "Sorry to interrupt, but I have some news that might interest you both."

"Good news, I hope?" Cheppy asked, automatically checking her insulin pump—a gesture that had become unconscious but no longer felt like a limitation.

"Very good news," Weir confirmed, pulling up a holographic display. "We received a transmission this morning through the dimensional communication array. From Marie."

Cheppy straightened with immediate interest. "Is she okay? How is she adjusting?"

"See for yourself," Weir said, activating the message.

Marie's image flickered to life above the tablet—but this wasn't the polished, calculating woman who had arrived at Atlantis months ago. This version looked tired but genuinely happy, her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, her SGC uniform replaced by expedition casual wear that showed signs of recent field work.

"Dr. Weir, Dr. Mitchell... everyone," Marie's recorded voice began, warmth replacing her former professional distance. "I wanted to send an update on how things are progressing here. It's been... challenging, but in ways I never expected."

The background showed parts of the parallel Atlantis—familiar yet different, with signs of ongoing repairs and smaller staff moving with purposeful efficiency.

"The Wraith attack was repelled successfully, largely thanks to intelligence I was able to provide from our dimensional database," Marie continued. "But more importantly, I've found myself working as part of a team in ways I never learned before. When everyone is essential for survival, there's no room for competition or politics. We succeed together or fail together."

Cheppy found herself smiling at the obvious change in Marie's tone and posture. This was someone who had learned to find satisfaction in collective achievement rather than individual superiority.

"I've been working closely with Dr. Sarah Chen—their new expedition leader after they lost Dr. Weir to the Wraith—and Lieutenant Commander Torres, who leads their reduced military team. They've taught me what it means to be valued for what I can contribute to others' success, not just my own accomplishments."

Marie paused, looking directly into the camera with an expression of genuine gratitude.

"Cheppy, if you're watching this... thank you. For showing me what real connections look like, for helping me understand that belonging isn't about being the best but about being useful. I'm learning to build the kind of relationships you have with your team. It's harder than I expected, but more rewarding than I ever imagined."

The message included technical data about the parallel Atlantis's recovery efforts and some insights into Ancient technology that would be valuable for both realities. But what struck Cheppy most was the transformation in Marie's demeanor—from isolated competitor to integrated team member.

"She sounds happy," Carson observed as the message ended. "Genuinely happy, not just professionally satisfied."

"She found her crisis," Cheppy said, echoing her earlier observation. "A situation where her expertise was immediately crucial, where she had to work with others to survive rather than compete against them for advancement."

"Sometimes the universe provides exactly what people need," Weir agreed. "Even if it takes a quantum crisis to get them there."

That evening, Cheppy and Lorne sat on their balcony watching the sunset paint Atlantis's spires in shades of gold and amber. The peace between them had deepened over the past weeks, the shared trauma of nearly losing each other creating a new appreciation for the ordinary moments they'd once taken for granted.

"Carson officially released me from medical supervision today," Cheppy reported, curled against Lorne's side on the bench they'd claimed as their own.

"How do you feel?" he asked, his arm tightening around her.

"Free," she said simply. "Not just from medical monitoring, but from... everything. The uncertainty about belonging here, the fear that I was still just a displaced person making the best of a bad situation. For the first time since arriving in Atlantis, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

"Marie's message helped?" Lorne guessed perceptively.

"Seeing her find her place in that parallel reality... it confirmed something I've been realizing. We both needed to be in situations where we could become who we were meant to be. Here, competing with each other, we were both held back. Separated, we're both thriving."

Lorne nodded thoughtfully. "She needed to learn what you already knew—that connection matters more than competition. You needed to learn what you've finally accepted—that your place here isn't an accident or consolation prize. It's earned and chosen."

"Quantum entanglement," Cheppy said with a smile, using their old metaphor. "Some bonds transcend circumstances."

"Speaking of bonds," Lorne said, shifting slightly to face her more directly. His expression held a nervous excitement that immediately caught her attention. "There's something I've been wanting to discuss with you."

"That sounds ominous," she teased, though her heart rate picked up at his serious tone.

"Not ominous," he assured her quickly. "The opposite, actually. It's just... with everything settled now, with you officially stable and our future no longer uncertain, I've been thinking about next steps."

He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small object that caught the fading sunlight. It was a ring—not elaborate or ostentatious, but clearly crafted with care from materials that seemed to shimmer with both familiar and exotic properties.

"Evan," Cheppy breathed, her eyes widening.

"Before you say anything," he said quickly, "I know this isn't exactly conventional. We're in another galaxy, facing dangers that don't exist on Earth, building a life that no one back home could even imagine. But that's exactly why I want to make this official."

He took her hand gently, his thumb tracing over her knuckles.

"Cheppy, you've become the center of my world. Not because you needed saving or I needed protecting, but because we make each other better. Stronger. More complete. I want to build a future with you that acknowledges what we've already created together."

"Is that a proposal, Major Lorne?" she asked softly, tears pricking her eyes.

"That's a promise, Dr. Mitchell," he replied, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "A promise that whatever comes next—new crises, impossible situations, random dimensional anomalies—we face it together. Officially, permanently, with all the ceremony Atlantis can muster."

Cheppy looked at the ring, noting how the materials seemed to capture light from both their alien suns and reflect it back in patterns that reminded her of Stargate technology. "Did you make this?"

"With help from Zelenka for the technical aspects and Teyla for the cultural elements," Lorne admitted. "The metal is from both Earth and Pegasus—materials from both our histories. The stone is a crystal from the Ancient lab where you first started translating their technology."

"It's perfect," she whispered, then looked up to meet his gaze directly. "Yes. Absolutely, completely, enthusiastically yes."

As he slipped the ring onto her finger—a perfect fit, of course—Cheppy marveled at how right it felt. Not just the physical sensation of the ring, but the commitment it represented. They'd already been building a life together; this simply made it official.

"When?" she asked, admiring how the crystal caught the last rays of sunlight.

"Whenever you want," Lorne replied, then grinned. "Though Carson mentioned something about having officiant credentials from his seminary training, and Teyla's offered to coordinate Athosian traditions with Earth customs."

"They've been planning this," Cheppy realized with delight.

"They've been hoping for this," Lorne corrected. "The planning only started after I asked Carson for advice about proposing to someone who's survived dimensional displacement and quantum cellular breakdown."

"What did he say?"

"That after everything you've been through, normal romantic gestures might seem a bit mundane. That I needed to match the magnitude of what we've overcome together."

Cheppy laughed, her happiness bubbling over. "And you thought a proposal on our balcony at sunset, with a ring made from materials representing both our worlds, would be sufficient?"

"Too subtle?" Lorne asked with mock concern.

"Perfect," she corrected, pulling him closer for a kiss that tasted of joy and promises and the certainty of belonging somewhere completely.

Word of their engagement spread through Atlantis with the speed that only a close-knit community could achieve. By the time they made it to the mess hall for dinner, congratulations were flowing from every direction.

"About bloody time," Carson declared, pulling them both into enthusiastic hugs. "I was beginning to think I'd have to lock you both in a storage closet until you worked up the courage."

"Dr. Beckett," Cheppy laughed, "you've been plotting this, haven't you?"

"Encouraging," he corrected with a twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps with occasional gentle suggestions about the benefits of emotional security during stressful assignments."

McKay appeared at their table with uncharacteristic sentimentality. "Congratulations," he said gruffly. "Though I suppose this means we'll have to endure even more of your disgusting romantic synchronization during away missions."

"Our what now?" Lorne asked, amused.

"The way you two coordinate without communicating," McKay explained impatiently. "One of you starts to speak and the other finishes the thought. One of you moves and the other automatically adjusts position. It's like watching a synchronized swimming routine, except with Ancient technology and pulse rifles."

"That's called partnership, Rodney," Teyla interjected with gentle humor as she joined their growing group. "And it's something to be celebrated, not merely endured."

"I suppose," McKay grumbled, though his complaint lacked real heat. "Just try to keep the wedding planning from interfering with our current projects. We have three Ancient facilities to explore next week, and I need my linguistic expert focused on translations, not flower arrangements."

"Did you just call me your linguistic expert?" Cheppy asked with delighted surprise.

McKay looked uncomfortable with the admission. "You're... adequate at Ancient syntax. When you're not distracted by major life events."

"High praise from McKay," Sheppard observed, appearing with his dinner tray. "Congratulations, you two. Though I have to ask—are we talking about a small ceremony or full Atlantis production?"

"Whatever Cheppy wants," Lorne replied immediately.

Cheppy considered the question, looking around at the faces of people who had become her chosen family. "Something that acknowledges both our backgrounds but celebrates what we've built here. Earth traditions and Athosian customs, but distinctly Atlantis in character."

"A blend of realities," Weir suggested approvingly, having joined their impromptu celebration. "Rather fitting, considering your journey here."

"With proper medical supervision," Carson added. "I'm not having my favorite patient stressed to the point of blood sugar complications by wedding planning."

"Your only patient who's survived quantum cellular breakdown," Cheppy corrected with affection. "That makes me special, not just favorite."

"Aye, that too," Carson agreed warmly.

As the evening continued with increasingly elaborate suggestions for wedding ceremonies and reception details, Cheppy found herself marveling at the community they'd all built together. These people—from various countries, different backgrounds, thrown together by an impossible situation—had become more than colleagues or expedition members. They were family, in the truest sense of the word.

Later that night, as she and Lorne prepared for bed in their shared quarters, Cheppy caught sight of herself in the mirror. The ring sparkled on her finger, catching the soft light from Atlantis's evening illumination. But more than that, she looked... settled. Complete in a way she'd never quite achieved before.

"No regrets?" Lorne asked, noticing her contemplative expression.

"About what?"

"Any of it. Being pulled away from your life on Earth, ending up here by accident, everything that led to this moment."

Cheppy turned to face him fully, taking in the man who had become her anchor, her partner, her home. "Do you know what I was doing the night McKay's experiment brought me here?"

"Working late in the linguistics lab," Lorne replied. "You've mentioned that."

"I was working late because I had nowhere else to be," she said quietly. "No one waiting for me at home, no plans for the weekend, no connections that mattered enough to pull me away from my research. I was professionally successful but personally... empty."

She moved closer, her hands finding his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms.

"Here, I've found purpose that goes beyond academic achievement. I've found people who matter to me and who matter because of me, not just what I can do for them. I've found you—a partnership that makes me better at everything I do."

"Including surviving impossible quantum crises," Lorne added with a gentle smile.

"Especially that," she agreed. "Marie was right about one thing—I did end up here by accident. But staying, building this life, choosing this reality over the possibility of going back... that was deliberate. That was the most conscious decision I've ever made."

"Even knowing what it would cost? The life you left behind, the family and friends on Earth?"

Cheppy considered the question seriously. "I'll always miss them. But I can't miss a life I was only half-living. Here, with you, with our chosen family... I'm completely alive in ways I never was before."

As they settled into bed, Cheppy's new ring catching the moonlight streaming through their windows, she reflected on the strange journey that had brought them to this point. What had begun as the worst day of her life—being torn away from everything familiar—had ultimately led to the best decision she'd ever made: choosing to stay, to fight for her place, to build something meaningful with people who had become essential to her understanding of home.

The quantum recovery was complete in every sense. Not just her cellular structure or dimensional stability, but her integration into a life that felt purposeful, connected, and completely her own.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges—this was Atlantis, after all—but tonight, wearing her engagement ring and planning a future with the man she loved, surrounded by a community that had become family, Cheppy Mitchell was exactly where she belonged.

The accident that had brought her here had finally, fully, become the gift she'd never known she needed.

Chapter Text

Chapter 33: Integrated Whole

Six months later

The morning light streaming through the east windows of Atlantis's main conference room cast everything in warm gold as Dr. Chephren Mitchell-Lorne reviewed the quarterly linguistics report on her tablet. The hyphenated name still felt new on official documents, though she'd been wearing Lorne's ring for half a year now. Their wedding three months ago had been everything she'd hoped for—a perfect blend of Earth traditions, Athosian customs, and uniquely Atlantis touches that Carson still declared "the finest ceremony I've ever had the privilege to officiate."

"Dr. Mitchell-Lorne," Dr. Weir began, and Cheppy looked up with a smile that had become automatic whenever someone used her married name. "Your translation department's progress this quarter has been exceptional. The new Ancient medical protocols you've decoded have already improved our treatment success rates by thirty percent."

"It helps having a fully integrated team," Cheppy replied, gesturing to the holographic display showing her department's expanded operations. "Dr. Kusanagi's mathematical approach to syntax patterns and Lieutenant Cadman's field experience with Ancient technology have created a comprehensive translation matrix that's faster and more accurate than anything we've achieved before."

Six months of growth had transformed her small linguistics operation into a full department. What had begun as Carson's kindness in giving her basic medical texts to translate had evolved into Atlantis's most successful interdisciplinary collaboration—linguistics, mathematics, archaeology, and field operations working together to unlock Ancient knowledge with unprecedented efficiency.

"The collaboration with the parallel Atlantis has been particularly fruitful," McKay added from his position at the science department's section of the table. "Dr. Marie Mitchell's insights into dimensional communication arrays have revolutionized our understanding of quantum mechanics applications."

The dimensional communication array had become a bridge between realities, allowing both Atlantises to share discoveries and support each other's research. Marie's regular transmissions showed her continued growth and integration with her new team, while providing valuable technical insights that benefited both expeditions.

"Speaking of cross-dimensional collaboration," Sheppard interjected with a slight grin, "we received another message from Marie yesterday. She wanted to congratulate the newlyweds again and share some interesting news about their recent exploration of Ancient research stations."

Cheppy straightened with interest. Marie's messages had become highlights of their monthly communications—not just for the technical data, but for the ongoing evidence of her personal transformation.

"What kind of news?"

"See for yourself," Weir said, activating the communication display.

Marie's image appeared above the conference table, and the change from her original arrival at Atlantis was striking. Gone was the polished, calculating professional who had tried to undermine Cheppy's position. This version looked relaxed, confident in a way that came from genuine acceptance rather than defensive superiority. Her hair was pulled back in a practical braid, and she wore expedition gear that showed signs of recent field work.

"Greetings from parallel Atlantis," Marie began with warmth that would have been impossible six months ago. "I hope everyone is well and that the newlyweds are enjoying married life. Things here continue to evolve in ways I never expected."

The background showed parts of their Atlantis—bustling with activity as personnel went about their duties with the easy efficiency of a team that had learned to work together under pressure.

"We've had some remarkable discoveries lately, particularly in the field of Ancient medical technology. Dr. Chen and I have been working on something we think you'll find interesting—a synthesis of Ancient healing techniques with modern medical understanding that's shown promise for treating complex chronic conditions."

Cheppy's hand automatically moved to her insulin pump, the gesture now unconscious but still a reminder of how her condition had shaped her analytical approach to both language and life.

"The research has personal significance for me," Marie continued, her expression becoming more thoughtful. "Working with people who needed my expertise immediately, without time for competitive games, taught me something important about the value of solving problems that help others rather than just advancing my own career."

"She's found her purpose," Carson observed quietly, his paternal pride evident. "Using her brilliance to help people rather than to prove her superiority."

"More than that," Marie said, as if she'd heard his comment across dimensions, "I've learned what Cheppy tried to tell me about building genuine connections. My team here isn't just professional colleagues—they've become friends. People I care about beyond what they can do for my research."

Marie's smile was soft, genuine in a way that spoke of hard-won wisdom. "Lieutenant Commander Torres has been teaching me Earth poker games, Dr. Chen and I have started a book club focusing on pre-war literature, and Sergeant Phillips somehow convinced me to join their hiking group. It sounds mundane, but these simple human connections have given me something I never had before—belonging that's based on who I am, not just what I can accomplish."

The message continued with technical details about their medical research discoveries, including breakthrough treatments for metabolic disorders that could have applications across multiple realities. But what struck Cheppy most was the transformation in Marie's entire demeanor—from isolated genius to integrated team member.

"Before I close," Marie said, looking directly into the camera, "I want to say something to my counterpart, if she's watching. Cheppy, thank you for showing me what real success looks like. It's not about being the smartest person in the room—it's about using your intelligence to make everyone in the room better. I'm finally learning to be that kind of person."

As the message ended, the conference room fell into thoughtful silence. The contrast between the Marie who had arrived at Atlantis and the woman they'd just seen was profound—a living example of how circumstances could shape character when someone was willing to grow.

"She found her true calling," Weir observed with satisfaction. "Leadership through service rather than dominance."

"And we found ours," Cheppy added, looking around the table at faces that had become family. "All of us, really. McKay collaborating instead of competing, Carson mentoring across departments, everyone learning that we're stronger together than any of us could be individually."

The quarterly meeting continued with reports from other departments, but Cheppy found herself reflecting on the journey that had brought them all to this point. What had begun as a crisis—her accidental arrival, Marie's competitive displacement, the quantum interference that threatened everything—had ultimately revealed truths about connection, belonging, and the different forms success could take.

Later that afternoon, Cheppy made her way to the new linguistics lab that had been constructed in the east pier. The space was larger than her original corner workstation, with multiple translation stations, holographic displays for collaborative analysis, and even a small library of physical books that Teyla had helped acquire from various cultures throughout Pegasus.

"Dr. Mitchell-Lorne," called Dr. Kusanagi from her mathematical analysis station, "I've finished the syntactic modeling for the Ancient historical texts from P7X-541. The pattern recognition algorithms you developed are showing some interesting correlations."

"What kind of correlations?" Cheppy asked, moving to examine the holographic display that showed complex linguistic structures mapped in three-dimensional space.

"The historical accounts reference technological capabilities we haven't encountered yet," Lieutenant Cadman reported from her field equipment analysis station. "Specifically, transportation systems that might be more advanced than the ring transporters we're familiar with."

Cheppy studied the data, her pattern recognition skills immediately identifying the linguistic markers that suggested advanced Ancient technology. "This looks like descriptions of instantaneous transport across galactic distances. Not just between planets, but between star systems."

"Useful if it still exists anywhere," Kusanagi observed hopefully.

"It might," Cheppy said, highlighting specific symbol groups in the text. "These passages suggest the technology was preserved in secure facilities designed to survive the war with the Wraith. Hidden sites that would only become accessible when certain conditions were met."

"Like finding people who could properly translate the access protocols?" Cadman suggested with growing excitement.

"Exactly like that," Cheppy confirmed, already mentally composing a proposal for Dr. Weir. This was what she loved most about her work now—not just translating Ancient texts, but uncovering discoveries that could benefit the entire expedition.

Her radio activated with Lorne's voice: "Cheppy, are you free for an early dinner? I have something I want to show you."

"Always free for you," she replied, then addressed her team. "Excellent work today, everyone. Dr. Kusanagi, please prepare a full analysis of the transportation references for tomorrow's briefing. Lieutenant Cadman, check our Ancient database for any similar technological descriptions."

"You've got it, boss," Cadman replied with a casual salute that still amused Cheppy. Being called "boss" by someone with military training felt surreal, but natural given how their collaborative team had evolved.

She found Lorne waiting in their quarters with a bottle of Athosian wine and an expression of quiet satisfaction that suggested good news.

"What's the occasion?" she asked, accepting a glass of the amber liquid that had become their celebration drink for special moments.

"Two things," he replied, settling beside her on their couch. "First, Sheppard confirmed my promotion to Lieutenant Colonel. Effective next month."

"Evan!" Cheppy exclaimed, setting down her wine to throw her arms around him. "That's wonderful! Well deserved, but wonderful."

"It means more responsibility, probably longer hours, definitely more bureaucratic headaches," he warned, though his smile was broad. "But also more influence over expedition policies, better resource allocation for joint operations, and the authority to implement some ideas I've been developing about integrated team protocols."

"Ideas that might involve a certain linguistics department?" she asked with growing excitement.

"Ideas that definitely involve making sure the expedition's best translator gets the support and resources she deserves," he confirmed, pulling her closer. "But that's not the only news."

He reached for a tablet on their coffee table, bringing up what appeared to be architectural schematics. "Remember the larger living spaces in the east pier that we talked about? The ones designed for families?"

Cheppy studied the plans, recognizing the layout of substantially larger quarters with multiple rooms, expanded workspace, and what appeared to be areas designed for children. "These are beautiful, but why are you showing me—" She stopped, understanding dawning. "We're approved for reassignment?"

"As of this morning," Lorne confirmed, his eyes bright with anticipation. "Dr. Weir fast-tracked our application based on what she called 'exceptional service to the expedition and the probability of continued long-term residence.'"

"Long-term residence," Cheppy repeated with amusement. "That's Weir's diplomatic way of saying 'they're obviously never leaving, so we might as well give them room to grow.'"

"Something like that," Lorne agreed. "But Cheppy, these quarters... they're designed for expansion. For more than just the two of us, when we're ready."

The implication sent warmth spreading through her chest. They'd talked about children in abstract terms, someday-maybes that felt distant given their extraordinary circumstances. But seeing these quarters, designed specifically for families, made those dreams feel tangible.

"When would we move?" she asked, studying the plans more carefully.

"Whenever we want," Lorne replied. "The quarters are available now, but there's no rush. We can take our time setting everything up exactly how we want it."

Cheppy looked around their current quarters—the space where they'd built their relationship, where she'd recovered from quantum cellular breakdown, where Lorne had proposed on their small balcony. It held so many memories, but the plans on the tablet represented something else: a future they were choosing to build together.

"I love this place," she said, gesturing to their current home. "But I love the idea of space to grow even more."

"Good," Lorne said, his relief evident. "Because I may have already spoken to Zelenka about some modifications to the workspace areas. Apparently, he has ideas about integrated Ancient technology interfaces that could revolutionize home-based research."

"You're spoiling me," Cheppy accused with delight.

"I'm planning for our future," he corrected. "All of it—your career, my promotion, the family we might want someday, the life we're building together that keeps getting better than we imagined."

As they sat together planning the details of their expanded home, Cheppy marveled at how far they'd all come. Six months ago, she'd been fighting for her right to exist in this reality, competing with another version of herself for basic acceptance. Now she was leading a thriving department, married to the man she loved, planning for a future that felt both exciting and secure.

That evening brought their monthly team dinner—a tradition that had evolved from Carson's informal gatherings into a celebration that included all the department heads and their closest colleagues. The mess hall had been arranged with multiple tables pushed together, creating space for what had become Atlantis's version of family dinner.

"To Lieutenant Colonel Lorne," Dr. Weir toasted, raising her glass of wine, "whose innovative leadership has improved both our security operations and our interdisciplinary collaborations."

"And to Dr. Mitchell-Lorne," McKay added with surprising warmth, "whose linguistics department has finally given us the translation accuracy we need to stop accidentally activating Ancient death traps."

"That happened one time, Rodney," Cheppy protested with laughter. "And technically, the booby trap was already active when we found it."

"Details," McKay waved dismissively, though his affection was evident. "The point is, your work keeps us alive and makes us smarter. Even I can admit that's valuable."

"High praise from McKay," Sheppard observed with amusement. "Pretty sure that counts as a declaration of eternal friendship."

"Let's not get carried away," McKay protested, though he couldn't hide his smile.

Carson stood to address the group, his expression warm with paternal pride. "If I may be permitted a moment of sentiment," he began, his Scottish accent thick with emotion, "when I first met our Cheppy eighteen months ago, she was lost and frightened, convinced she had nothing to offer this expedition."

Cheppy felt tears prick her eyes as Carson continued, "Tonight, she leads one of our most successful departments, has contributed to discoveries that benefit two realities, and has shown us all what it means to find your place through determination and genuine connection."

"And she makes Lorne smile more than we've ever seen," Teyla added with gentle humor. "Which improves morale throughout the expedition."

"I object to being characterized as grumpy before I met Cheppy," Lorne protested mildly.

"You weren't grumpy," Sheppard corrected. "You were just... professionally focused. Now you're professionally focused and genuinely happy. There's a difference."

As laughter and conversation flowed around the table, Cheppy found herself studying the faces of people who had become her chosen family. Each person had their own story of how they'd ended up in Atlantis, their own journey of finding purpose and connection in impossible circumstances.

"I have an announcement," she said, standing as conversation lulled. "Well, Evan and I have an announcement."

The table fell silent with anticipation, and she could see speculation flickering across various faces.

"We're moving to family quarters in the east pier next month," she began, then paused as understanding dawned on several faces. "Not for any immediate reason," she clarified quickly, "but because we're planning for a future that includes... expansion."

"Expansion?" Carson asked with growing delight.

"Someday," Lorne added, taking Cheppy's hand. "When we're ready for the adventure of raising children in another galaxy."

The table erupted in congratulations and excited planning, with Teyla immediately offering Athosian child-rearing wisdom, Carson discussing the medical considerations of pregnancy in Pegasus, and McKay grudgingly admitting that "little linguistic prodigies might be useful for future translation projects."

"Children who grow up bilingual in English and Ancient," Zelenka mused with scientific fascination. "The cognitive development possibilities are extraordinary."

"Children who grow up knowing that home is about the people you choose to build a life with," Cheppy corrected gently, "regardless of which galaxy you happen to be in."

Later that night, as she and Lorne prepared for bed in quarters that would soon be just a memory, Cheppy reflected on the extraordinary journey that had brought them to this point.

"Any regrets?" Lorne asked, echoing the question he'd posed on their balcony months ago.

"None," she replied without hesitation. "Though I sometimes wonder what would have happened if McKay's experiment had never malfunctioned, if I'd never been pulled through that portal."

"You'd probably still be at MIT, working late in empty laboratories, brilliant but lonely," Lorne suggested.

"And you'd still be here, leading missions and protecting Atlantis, professional but missing something essential," she added.

"We found each other across impossible odds," Lorne observed, pulling her into his arms. "Marie found her purpose in another reality. Everyone ended up exactly where they needed to be."

"Quantum entanglement," Cheppy said with a smile, using their old metaphor one more time. "Some connections transcend dimensions, circumstances, even time itself."

As they settled into sleep in the quiet darkness of their quarters, Cheppy's last conscious thought was one of profound gratitude. What had begun as the worst accident of her life had ultimately led to the best decision she'd ever made: choosing to stay, to fight for her place, to build something meaningful with people who had become essential to her understanding of home.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new discoveries, new opportunities to grow and contribute. But tonight, surrounded by the life they'd built together and planning for the future they would create, Dr. Chephren Mitchell-Lorne was exactly where she belonged—integrated whole, completely home, and ready for whatever adventures awaited them among the stars.

The accident had become destiny. The displacement had become belonging. The crisis had become the foundation for a life more fulfilling than anything she could have imagined.

In the end, home wasn't about the galaxy you were born in—it was about the connections you chose to nurture, the purpose you chose to pursue, and the love you chose to build, one day at a time, across any distance and despite any odds.

And in that understanding, surrounded by her chosen family in a city of ancient wonders, Cheppy Mitchell-Lorne had found her perfect, improbable, absolutely right place in the universe.