In a Clean White Room

“I saw the Pax Prometheana fail and fall.” Dr. Levant rasps.

“‘Nightmarish’ can mean many things.”

Sure hadn’t taken long for everything to go sideways.

The city’s joy twines into him: current, stone, and blown cloud.

“The term ‘Planetary Asset’ is dehumanizing and we object to it.” Eli stepped to Rush’s shoulder in solidarity.

Hope in the evening hour.

“Human, Serpentis, Promethean, Gray, Galactic Sprite, or Ghoul. CHOOSE. You have to choose. Just say one. I’m begging you.”

“Oh god,” Jackson muttered. “Do we think Nick Rush owns even one ‘wearable gemstone’?”

With a little flourish, Nick plucks a white shell from nothingness

Every door he opens deepens the debt he owes.

Nick, finally, arrives in totality.

How far is he from darkness? How far has he ever been?

Beauty is no defense against evil.

“Hi. I’m Daniel Jackson, peaceful explorer.”

Sheppard shrugged. “You’re a musician; I kill people for a living.”

This little sidearm-stealing pianist was gonna be a fight to stay clear of.

“Hey,” Rodney McKay snaps, a real edge in his voice, because he believes this. He does. “Science, done with low blood sugar, ends lives.”

Dr. Lam’s stance alone suggested the overburdened grief Everett Young and Rodney McKay filtered through their personal prisms. Here, it seemed, was another way to split the same sad light.

“The ring should be taken to Mordor,” Teal’c intoned.

“Come to Atlantis.” Sheppard shrugged, his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. “Write on sheeted crystal with light pens. You’ll never go back. To paper, I mean.”

“There was a day,” Young whispered, because this had to be true. It had to be. “There was a day that you woke alone, beside a river.”

Sheppard, party of nine?

So, Dale Volker is a guy who wears leather now. Yep.

“What do we look like to you?” McKay snapped. “Broken-down, burnt-out, worn-out shells of human beings who’ve spent half a decade battling soul-sucking monsters?”