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This story is No. 12 in the series "The Places She'll Go". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Far removed from her galaxy of origin, of creation, the bonds of her magic, her extraordinary self stretched thin, she fought and strove and grew. And yet despite all this, there is nothing she can do.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Stargate > Faith-Centered > Pairing: OtherStrangerFR15610,86525415,7491 May 0820 May 08Yes


Disclaimer: I don't own it, except the obvious bits. And if they aren't obvious, you're a huge dork. So there.

AN: Look! PlacesVerse!chapter fic! Omg! And I haven't updated in an age, I know, there's no need to lynch me. You! Put down that tomato! Don't think I can't see you! Yes, its been an age, but to be fair, I have originals that need lovin' too. And then I started writing this. And it ate my brain.

Prologue – Swallowed

“Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,”

– W. B. Yeats –

There is a rush unlike anything he’s every felt, the suggestion of extreme heat as the jumper enters the wormhole. Before everything falls away, he can hear first Faith, then Rodney screaming at him to answer.

“John! John, talk to me. McKay, what the hell is going on?!”

“Sheppard, can you hear me? Is this thing even – Sheppard, answer! This is vitally important, John, you need to tell me what’s happening or I can’t help –”

And the comm. goes dead in a thick knot of static.

Unnatural flashes, rippling brilliance, blinding, brindled light scoring the backs of his eyes, and he realizes, he is seeing the unseeable: the inside of the Stargate’s wormhole.

He doesn’t think about how; there is no time to think, no time to wonder, no time to breathe.

He feels out of place and time, shattered and whole in the same moment. Stretched thin, impossibly thin, filled with freezing fever, he sees shapes that might be faces rushing past, blinking blurs beyond the larger blur that is the jumper’s front window. With them come whispers and roars, a million voices from a million or more throats. Some might be stories, others warnings or pleas or hundreds of other miscellaneous messages.

One face darts close and presses a whisper of a kiss to his lips, murmuring something soft and unintelligible before flitting away like all the others.

Finally, millennia or nanoseconds later, cold fire consumes him, fusing the shattered bits of him back into a self, into a person. In a blast of white light, he is ejected, reformed and reborn, into space.

The jumper clips the ‘gate, spins about and violently collides several times with orbiting debris. Just before the alarms begin and the malfunctioning atmosphere control and pressure regulator conspire to either crush him or poison him, he catches a glimpse through the front window.

Unfamiliar stars arc with painfully slow grace around him. Below is a green planet, its vast forests visible even from this far out. Seemingly endless tracts of woodland laced with deeper green and black that could be moors or clearings. There are brief glitters, winding ribbons of reflected blue – lakes, rivers.

And the whole picture is getting bigger.

John is falling.

The jumper coasts down, limping on its swansong voyage to the planet’s surface. Fifty feet up, he finally succumbs to unconsciousness, and the little ship falls like a stone, coming to a crashing rest in an estuary beside one of the lakes.

When John comes too, he’ll gasp air flowing from the shattered front window. He’ll stagger to his feet, and inspect the jumper, and find it will never fly again, nor dial the gate.

He’ll climb from the dead machine, and look out upon a new world where he is almost completely alone.


AN: And now its going to eat your brain too.
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