1. who moved by standing

He wasn't kidding. He liked Antarctica. He liked the cold and the white and the endless day of it. He liked to pretend that since the sun never set, he never had to go to sleep. He liked flying over the ice with the blinding sun slashing off his sunglasses and back down to the unforgiving snow and back again. He liked the extra layers of clothing that started from the skin out and covered him from prying eyes.

He knew he was going. Not from the moment he flipped the coin, not from the moment he sat in the chair, but from the moment he saw the wall of water in a concrete room full of strangers. It looked like flying. It looked like surf and ice and like a baptism. He could walk through the water and be reborn on the other side. He hoped that there would be a sky there, a place to fly.

He looked around the room to see who else was staring at it, to see who else wanted to wash something away, to emerge new on the other side. He saw people for whom this was a normal occurrence and people who were afraid and people who were already five steps ahead, desperate to get on the other side to explore.

He looked up to the control room to see the man who'd shown him how to touch the universe with a thought. He looked at blue eyes and saw the sky.

conceive a man,should he have anything
would give a little more of it away

(his autumn's winter being summer's spring
who moved by standing in november's may)
from whose(if loud most howish time derange

the silent whys of such a deathlessness)
remembrance might no patient mind unstrange
learn(nor could all earth's rotting scholars guess
that life shall not for the living find the rule)

and dark beginnings are his luminous ends
Who far less lonely than a fire is cool
Took bedfellows for moons mountains for friends

--open your thighs to fate and(if you can
withholding nothing)World,conceive a man

2. morning's beautiful friend

The morning before...the morning before Atlantis, before a new beginning, before a fresh start, Rodney McKay wakes up. He wakes up in a small room underneath the earth. Fitting, he thinks, that he should leave earth not from the surface, but from something closer to the heart.

He's not usually whimsical, and he won't be again for a very long time, but lying in the narrow bed that isn't his, he lets his mind skate along the possibilities. It could be that the city isn't there at all - it could be destroyed, flooded, broken in some unfixable way despite his genius. Maybe it is there, but there's nothing to breathe. It could be that it died long ago and it will stand there like a tomb, and they will walk all over it and look into all the corners and find nothing.

For the first time in his life, he hopes to be wrong. He hopes to be unafraid in the face of uncertainty. He hopes to be braver than he's ever been before. He hopes to know, to find a new place to learn, when the old place holds little for him. He hopes to walk out of the snow and into the ocean.

In the night, Rodney has dreamed of soft light and the click and buzz of a gentle welcome. He dreams that she - the city is always she in those moments between sleep and action, between dreaming and doing - will wake to them in the morning.

here's to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap
and to your(in my arms flowering so new)
self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain

and here's to silent certainly mountains;and to
a disappearing poet of always,snow
and to morning;and to morning's beautiful friend
twilight(and a first dream called ocean)and

let must or if be damned with whomever's afraid
down with ought with because with every brain
which thinks it thinks,nor dares to feel(but up
with joy;and up with laughing and drunkenness)

here's to one undiscoverable guess
of whose mad skill each world of blood is made
(whose fatal songs are moving in the moon

3. a proud dreamhorse moving

Atlantis has a sky. It's brilliant and blue and it calls to him. Because of Rodney, he can touch it. Rodney found the ships, and John named them puddlejumpers just to fuck with him, because John's spent his life fucking with people, so it's a hard habit to break. But Rodney lets him have it, lets him have his way, and John knows it's a tick-mark on a whiteboard, a score to be kept, a favor to be cashed in, and he finds that he doesn't mind.

When things calm down, John finally gets the opportunity to do what he came here to do. Not to kill Sumner or wake the Wraith or save a band of survivors, but to touch the clear Atlantean sky. He chooses a jumper, convinces Elizabeth that he should go - recon, mapping, finding land like Christopher Columbus, sticking a flag in the dirt to claim it.

It works, and he is once again in a seat that will change his world. He feels the controls like he's never felt before, and he was a natural to flight. With this he is beyond natural, he is born to this. He finishes a checklist of his own devising, (with an assist from the city and the jumper itself - both already keeping watch over him) but he's slow to leave.

There's a voice in his ear. It's Rodney, asking quietly, "Is there room for a passenger in there?"

There is, and they move out together into the unknown.

what a proud dreamhorse pulling(smoothloomingly)through
(stepp)this(ing)crazily seething of this
Raving city screamingly street wonderful
flowers And o the Light thrown by Them opens

sharp holes in dark places paints eyes touches hand with new-
ness and these startled whats are a(piercing clothes thoughts kiss
-ing wishes bodies)squirm-of-frightenedshyare whichs small
its hungry for Is for Love Spring thirsty for happens
only and beautiful

there is a ragged beside the who limps
man crying silence upward
-to have tasted Beautiful to have known
Only to have smelled Happens-skip dance kids hop point at
red blue yellow violet white orange green-
ness

o what a proud dreamhorse moving(whose feet
almost walk air). now who stops. Smiles. he
stamp

4. life's lived wrongsideout

They come together on the back sides of their lives - they've waited what seems like forever. There are a lot of reasons why, but the biggest one is that John could just as soon risk losing Atlantis as losing a limb.

Rodney understands. He hates it, but he understands. They talk and they play chess. They walk on a hundred worlds and close each others' wounds and wait by beds that smell of antiseptic. They find a rhythm. They can complete each others' sentences, they crack the same jokes at the same time and share a half-grin when it happens.

They fight. They have arguments that send Rodney's minions scurrying and John's men attentive to their duties in a way that almost hurts. They yell and disagree and say things they don't mean, and they say them loudly. They go days without speaking and one time for months, though it may not count because they each got injured in turn - John clipped by an arrow coated in poison, Rodney in a lab accident. They each spent a couple of weeks in the infirmary, but not together. In the end, they make up by each nodding at the other and then going back to status quo.

One day the rules change. They spend their first night together discovering everything they've denied or delayed. After, neither can sleep, so they play chess 'til dawn. The next morning, they kiss in the mess hall, their happiness on display for everyone.

Atlantis - collectively - shrugs.

(known being wishless;but love,all of wishing)
though life's lived wrongsideout,sameness chokes oneness
truth is confused with fact,fish boast of fishing

and men are caught by worms(love may not care
if time totters,light droops,all measures bend
nor marvel if a thought should weigh a star
-dreads dying least;and less,that death should end)

how lucky lovers are)whose selves abide
under whatever shall discovered be)
whose ignorant each breathing dares to hide
more than most fabulous wisdom fears to see

(who laugh and cry)who dream,create and kill
while the world moves;and every part stands still:

5. freedom a drug that's bought and sold

The day they cut ties with Earth, Elizabeth cries. She does it in her office with the windows blacked where no one can see her. None of them know what independence really means - they're soldiers playing at politics and scientists playing at soldiers.

They decided together - representatives of each department in endless meetings and endless votes until it finally becomes unanimous, until finally they make a document. That document is printed on paper, something that will become rare, with no office supply store across the wormhole.

They don't call it a constitution or a charter - it is simply "the document"; it's saved on a hundred hard drives and memory keys and into the Ancients' database.

Elizabeth cries for Simon, for her dog long dead, for her mother's grave unvisited. She cries for the expedition, for herself and John and Rodney and Radek and Lorne. She cries for their dead who will never be returned home, for those who chose to go back in the final connection to Earth, walking just ahead of the transmission of the document and the raising of the shield.

Teyla and her people wonder what the big deal is - they've always been free. Ronon understands, though - Sateda was no paradise, split by civil war long before the Wraith came. He does his best to explain it to his children, but their mother continues to not understand - to believe that people should be ruled by a council of their elders.

Elizabeth cries for the cost of freedom.

my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height

this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if(so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm

newly as from unburied which
floats the first who,his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

and should some why completely weep
my father's fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.

Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead called the moon
singing desire into begin

joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice

keen as midsummer's keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly(over utmost him
so hugely) stood my father's dream

his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn't creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.

Scorning the Pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grain

septembering arms of year extend
yes humbly wealth to foe and friend
than he to foolish and to wise
offered immeasurable is

proudly and(by octobering flame
beckoned)as earth will downward climb,
so naked for immortal work
his shoulders marched against the dark

his sorrow was as true as bread:
no liar looked him in the head;
if every friend became his foe
he'd laugh and build a world with snow.

My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)

then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine,passion willed,
freedom a drug that's bought and sold

giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear,to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am

though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit,all bequeath

and nothing quite so least as truth
--i say though hate were why men breathe--
because my Father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all

6. but love is the sky and i am for you

They didn't know that the chitinous blue that held him prisoner was like the cocoon of a moth or butterfly, like the shell of an egg. They thought John was gone, but he lived in there and became something new. He kicked his way out into the world again, tearing through membrane and armor.

He didn't speak, he just stumbled to where he could see the water, where the breeze could blow the feathers dry. Leaning out over the railing, yearning, he slipped into the air. He didn't look back as he touched the brilliant blue sky; if he had, he would have seen eyes of that same clear blue watching.

He stayed away for twenty-four days. Each day Rodney went to some random balcony at some random time and looked for John, hoping to see a flash of black hair or white wing or wide joyful smile. Finally, he moved into new quarters - up high and with a wide terrace that he hoped could entice the creatures darting and soaring above the waves. He always kept the terrace doors open just a little, always kept one ear on the sounds of the night and the wind and the sea.

Asleep in his bed, Rodney jumped awake at the crash. By the time he got outside, John was there, disentangling one leg from the tumbled outdoor furniture and looking sheepish.

"You?" Rodney whispered, stepping forward to be enfolded into strong arms and the soft, white blanket of John's wings.

as freedom is a breakfastfood
or truth can live with right and wrong
or molehills are from mountains made
-long enough and just so long
will being pay the rent of seem
and genius please the talentgang
and water most encourage flame

as hatracks into peachtrees grow
or hopes dance best on bald men's hair
and every finger is a toe
and any courage is a fear
-long enough and just so long
will the impure think all things pure
and hornets wail by children stung

or as the seeing are the blind
and robins never welcome spring
nor flatfolk prove their world is round
nor dingsters die at break of dong
and common's rare and millstones float
-long enough and just so long
tomorrow will not be too late

worms are the words but joy's the voice
down shall go which and up come who
breasts will be breasts and thighs will be thighs
deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
-time is a tree (this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough

7. love is the every only god

The Athosians don't have a formal wedding ceremony. The couple goes to the forest or the shore or any secret place of their devising. Once there, they make their vows one to the other, and the words are theirs alone. They spend a few days alone with their beloved. The only excuse for disturbing them is the Wraith, and that is a good reason for the disturbance of all things.

When they have found their way to one another and made their covenant, the couple returns to a celebration. The entire settlement takes part, and it is traditional that those who have lost their spouses - to death or culling - sit by them for a moment and tell of their own vows and their own love. They take the stories as gifts, as testaments, and they promise to remember them.

On Sateda, marriage is a formal affair, and a political one. It requires many forms and signatures, a formal declaration, a public ceremony that is half blessing and half business partnership. There are strictures in place; the words have existed since time immemorial. They are spoken with gravity and reverence.

After, the couple is celebrated for 27 days with parties and structured events. There are dinners and balls; the couple attends in the appropriate clothing and with the appropriate manners. After the parties are completed, they are finally free to consummate their union. Some never do; some live apart the entirety of their marriage.

Teyla and Ronon go to the woods.

love is the every only god
who spoke this earth so glad and big
even a thing all small and sad
man,may his mighty briefness dig
for love beginning means return
seas who could sing so deep and strong
one querying wave will whitely yearn
from each last shore and home come young
so truly perfectly the skies
by merciful love whispered were,
completes its brightness with your eyes
any illimitable star

8. let's go

Convincing - that's not Rodney's strong suit. He usually just steamrollers over any opposition and bends people to his will. John doesn't bend. He never has.

"Atlantis," Daniel says, his face alight, and Rodney says, "Yes." John says, "I'll let you know." Rodney turns incredulous eyes on him and watches him walk out the door.

Rodney finds him in San Francisco, sitting on a grassy hill in view of the famous bridge. "GPS?" John asks. Rodney sits beside him. "Government car, Big Brother always knows where you are."

John nods, as if it is no surprise to be tracked and watched and known.

"I want you to go," Rodney says, ruffling the soft grass with a hand more used to keyboards and machinery than the outdoors. He watches his fingers part the blades and speaks to the grass, to his moving hand. "I want you to go with me."

"I know that," John says, turning a quarter over and over in his hands. It flashes in the sun. "But does it matter what I want?"

"Of course it does," Rodney said. "It's a new place. Things can be different there. You can be different there, if you want to."

John frowns at him, eyes narrowed against the glare. "Everything will be different there," he says. "And despite the fact that this galaxy hasn't liked me very much, at least I know what to expect."

"What do you have to lose?" Rodney asks him.

"You," John says quietly. And flips the coin.

pity this busy monster,manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim(death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness
-electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange;lenses extend

unwish through curving wherewhen until unwish
returns on its unself.
A world of made
is not a world of born-pity poor flesh

and trees,poor stars and stones,but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence. We doctors know

a hopeless case if-listen:there's a hell
of a good universe next door;let's go

9. he was a handsome man

His mother is beautiful, in her own way. Rodney can see what she used to be - pretty and slim with flipped up hair and a pastel dress. He can also see what she was to Carson - home and hearth and warmth and love.

He's not very good at comfort, but even he knows that parents shouldn't outlive their children.

When she looks up at him, tears standing in her eyes, he notices that they are as blue as Carson's...were. Past tense is still ill-fitting. He suspects that it will be for years to come.

He has carried this coffin twice - he and John. The first time was through the gate after exchanging a look that said strength and love more eloquently than any words. The second time was out of a small stone church in the highlands, in the company of Carson's cousins and one uncle - a frail old man determined to see his nephew through to the end. Rodney takes as much of the weight as he can.

The eulogy is different - softer than Elizabeth's barely-disguised pep talk as she tried to steer her people through an unimaginable loss with platitudes and words she couldn't say caught in her throat. Carson's cousins and old friends and colleagues come to the podium and tell stories of him from childhood and medical school and research labs.

When Rodney steps up, he searches the crowd. He meets John's eyes, sees him nod, and opens his mouth.

"He was my friend," he says.

Buffalo Bill's
defunct
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver
stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
Jesus

he was a handsome man
and what i want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death

10. rather than anything

Rodney likes being beneath John, on his front, face turned to the side, John inside him. He likes the way John's hips roll, the way his fingers clutch the backs of his hands and push them hard against the mattress.

He also he likes being on his back, seeing John above him, his face flushed with exertion, his hair spiky with sweat, his eyes alight with something he doesn't understand. He likes his legs around John's waist, his hands around John's shoulders, the way he becomes their anchor.

Rodney likes pushing John to his knees and touching him inside to make a place that waits to be filled. He likes the gasps and moans and he really likes it when John begs. He likes putting his hands and his mouth on every bit of John he can reach.

He likes this - them -- in stolen moments and in long, languid nights. He likes them under a bright sun or three moons or a yellow sky. He likes them in the variegated light of the windows at home, in the dark with the sounds of the sea far below.

Rodney likes that John started it. He likes the way he looked up one day and saw something on John's face that made his eyes go wide and his heart beat faster. He likes that John came to him, that he was worth pursuing. He liked the way John kissed him then, and he loves that those kisses have never changed.

i have found what you are like
the rain,

(Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light
with thinned

newfragile yellows

lurch and.press

-in the woods
which
stutter
and

sing

And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,
your kiss

11. Antything Old Being Everything New

Torren is one of those kids that invites doting behavior. Of course, Teyla and Kanaan are wrapped around his tiny finger, and both Ronon and Rodney are infatuated to the point of making him tiny replicas of weapons and ZPMs, respectively. But John is enthralled; he's mesmerized.

John likes to sit, well, anywhere and hold Torren, who he calls T-man. John loves the solid weight of Torren's little baby butt in the palm of his hand. He loves the way Torren waves his fists and the squinched-up faces he makes, and the way he occasionally flexes his whole body and stretches trustingly across John's whole lap.

John thinks it probably started when he had T-man - only an hour old - on his lap in the dart, bringing both Teyla and him home. John was so in awe of this little person he'd been trusted with that he could hardly look away from him to fly.

John remembers when Dave was born. Their mom let John sit cross-legged on the bed and settled the warm bundle on his lap, admonishing him to hold on tight but not too tight, and to keep Davy's head in the crook of his elbow for support.

John likes to bend his neck and let the fine wisps of Torren's hair brush his face. John puts his cheek against the top of T-man's head and remembers his mom laughing gently at his five-year-old self doing the same to Davy.

His mom said, "Babies smell like love." She was right both then and now.

if everything happens that can't be done
(and anything's righter
than books
could plan)
the stupidest teacher will almost guess
(with a run
skip
around we go yes)
there's nothing as something as one

one hasn't a why or because or although
(and buds know better
than books
don't grow)
one's anything old being everything new
(with a what
which
around we go who)
one's everyanything so

so world is a leaf is a tree is a bough
(and birds sing sweeter
than books
tell how)
so here is away and so your is a my
(with a down
up
around again fly)
forever was never till now

now i love you and you love me
(and books are shutter
than books
can be)
and deep in the high that does nothing but fall
(with a shout
each
around we go all)
there's somebody calling who's we

we're everything brighter than even the sun
(we're everything greater
than books
might mean)
we're everyanything more than believe
(with a spin
leap
alive we're alive)
we're wonderful one times one