Work Text:
"Major Sheppard," Teyla greeted as she sat opposite him one morning in the mess.
"Good morning, Teyla," he replied amiably, "Have a good sleep?"
"I did; I had forgotten how comfortable our beds are here."
John nodded knowingly; they'd spent the last week camping off-world with some natives in an attempt to ingratiate themselves and secure a trade agreement. They'd succeeded, thankfully, but their backs would probably prefer to never see a sleeping bag again (Rodney swore that his spine was about to fall out altogether).
"I have a question about your people's social structure," she said, watching him attentively.
"Shoot."
"Why is it that some members of your group have golden bars on their flags? I understand that the flags indicate their country of origin, but what do the bars represent?"
John blinked at the question and looked out over the rest of the mess hall. He'd never bothered examining people's badges too closely; if they were a technician and he needed one, he didn't care where they were from. He eyed the table that the currently off-duty medical staff were all seated at and noticed that at least two of them had thin gold stripes boxing in their flags on either side.
"Huh," he said, surprised, "You know what? I have no idea. I'll have to ask around. Good morning Rodney."
"It's not even close to good until I've had my second cup of coffee," the scientist muttered as he dropped onto the bench beside Teyla, still looking half asleep, "But yeah. Good morning to you both, too."
John opened his mouth to continue speaking with Teyla when he noticed that Rodney had gold bars adorning his own flag as well.
"Hey, Rodney," he said as the man in question picked up the still-steaming coffee and proceeded to chug it, "What's with the gold bars?"
The scientist polished off the cup (in less than half a minute, which was frankly very alarming) and put it down, glaring at his toast now; "It's to show that someone's distinguished in their particular field. I'm surprised you didn't know that already."
"It's a pretty small detail, I guess," John shrugged, "I'm not surprised Elizabeth missed it when she was briefing me. Besides, I don't really care how good someone is, as long as they can get the job done."
Rodney looked up and examined his face for a moment, before snorting and picking up his toast. "One day you'll realise that comparative skill levels actually do matter, Sheppard."
Blue car syndrome set in after that; everywhere he looked he saw golden-barred flags and, subconsciously, began cataloguing just who they belonged to.
The most obvious was Rodney; he worked closely with the physicist and could honestly say that the man deserved his flashy accreditations. The next was Doctor Beckett, and John couldn't say he was surprised; the man was brilliant, and had been working tirelessly to keep them all in peak form since arriving in Pegasus. Five members of medical - almost all of them, in fact - had the gold stripes, and that made perfect sense. If anyone on the expedition should be the best of the best of the best (what a mouthful), it should be those who kept them in one piece.
Almost a quarter of the scientists had the same stripes, and that made sense too. What didn't make sense were his Marines. He had access to every personnel file on the base, but it was the military contingent that he'd paid particular attention to when going through them. While they were all crack shots and extremely well-trained, not many of them were particularly spectacular in any one field. Lieutenant Ford, for example, was no less qualified than Lieutenant Torres, and yet Torres had the stripes while Ford did not.
It was watching the stripe-bearers interact that really clued him in to something odd going on. They all seemed to defer to one person in particular, and not their respective senior officers or even Rodney - who should never be underestimated - but a man from medical named Harry Potter. Even Carson, who was literally in charge of the younger man, seemed to look to him for guidance outside of the infirmary, and Potter was the only man in possibly the entire universe who could bring Rodney down from a tantrum every time.
It very quickly became clear that there was a hierarchy of sorts to the Goldies, as Sheppard was coming to call them in his head. At the top stood Potter, with his easy going smiles and humble attitude. Directly below him were Carson and Rodney, presumably because they were older than most of the others. Past that there were definitely more rungs of the ladder, but to an outsider they were barely perceptible. The Marines, thankfully, were capable of observing rank and experience rather than whatever qualifiers made rank in the Goldies' world, but the academics didn't have to abide by those rules so strictly. Sheppard could only wonder whose orders they'd follow if they conflicted: his or their "superiors'".
He didn't know much about Potter, other than that his bedside manner was impeccable and that he'd only qualified to become a fully licensed doctor two months before the expedition had set out.
"I'd been working at the SGC three years, though," he'd assured John as he wrapped up a particularly nasty slash on his arm, "Between Janet, Carson and my university professors I was never short on amazing mentors."
He also knew that the man had a stash of chocolate that he'd smuggled in, making him the most popular civilian on Atlantis. John had barely noticed him at the time, but looking back on their departure day Potter was obvious in his memory. A hard guitar case - obviously his one personal item - had been meticulously strapped to his back to allow him the use of his arms, which had been full of boxes filled with what was presumably medical equipment.
As it turned out, the guitar case had contained a beautiful cherry red acoustic guitar, unstrung at the time because inside the guitar was enough chocolate to last possibly until Armageddon.
"You can never have too much chocolate," Rodney had said sagely, munching on a - frankly illegal - Mars Bar while he worked on a computer program in the Control Room, "Or coffee. Sadly, Harry only brought enough Jamaican Blue for one teeeeeny tiny cup each, and I'm saving mine for a really, really bad day."
The time came, apparently, after the Genii incursion had ended and those who had left the city returned.
"So apparently, it's no longer comfort coffee, but celebratory," he'd sighed that evening, cradling the cup like it would disappear if he didn't savour it.
After almost three months of observation, John decided that as long as their odd hierarchy wasn't interfering with Atlantis' operations he'd let it slide. He did, however, go to Elizabeth. Allowing it was one thing, not knowing what it was was another.
"Elizabeth," he said, knocking on the doorway from the Control Room, "Can I speak with you?"
"Of course," she said with a small smile, gesturing him inside, "What can I do for you?" she asked as he sat down.
He grinned amiably, "I was just wondering, and you're the head of the expedition, so I thought you'd know; what's with the gold stripes? I know," he interrupted when it looked like she was going to repeat Rodney's words, "it represents excellence in their field. I was referring to their behaviour."
Elizabeth stared at him intently for a moment before nodding and rising, walking over to the door and calling, "Rodney! Can you come in here please?"
Rodney looked up from the console he'd been working at in surprise, before spotting John sitting at Elizabeth's desk and nodding curtly. Elizabeth returned to her seat and Rodney walked in a moment later, swiping the control so that both doors into the office would shut and lock before seating himself beside John.
"I'm feeling that "classified" describes what I'm about to hear," John said, trying not to show the tension he was filling with.
"To hell and back," Rodney confirmed with a small smirk. Well if Rodney wasn't looking worried it couldn't be too bad.
"The gold stripes, John," Elizabeth said, "represent a certain faction of our society which is very secretive and, in the United States at least, kept separated from the rest of the general public."
"A religion?" John asked, taking a wild guess.
Rodney snorted; "Not quite. It's a literal way of life. Britain and all its remaining colonies removed the division between the way they've been living and the way we have in 2000, after a good three years of rallying and yelling from Doctor Potter and his friends."
"Britain doesn't technically have colonies anymore, does it?" John asked.
"You'd think so," Rodney shrugged, "That's beside the point, anyway. The reason we all run around listening to Harry is because he's a major reason we're even on this expedition at all. Well, some of us anyway; I left that world behind decades ago."
"And that world is...?"
Rodney grimaced, and Elizabeth took over for him; "A society of people with a mutation that allows them to do incredible, and sometimes almost impossible things."
"Within reason and all of which can be explained by science," Rodney asserted quickly, "It's just so advanced that most people can't comprehend it."
"Magic," Elizabeth said, and Rodney made a face at the word, "or at least that's what laymen call it. The ability to manipulate the world around you into whatever you wish it to be."
"Within reason," Rodney added again, "No one's running around drying up oceans or obliterating mountains."
"Within reason as in what we would consider reasonable as moral human beings, or as in there's a limit to what can be done?" John asked, frowning.
Rodney hemmed and hawed for a moment before answering; "Every individual has a limit to what they, personally, can do," he said, "and that in turn is limited by whatever moral system they have. For example, I'm a Transfiguration prodigy because I understand the science - it's incredibly complicated, by the way - but I'd never turn a sentient being into, say, a table. Not because I can't - because I definitely can - but because it is bad and wrong and I'm an essentially good person."
"I see. And Potter is respected because he fought for equal rights or something?"
"He fought to end segregation, but before that he fought in a civil war that ravaged Britain," Elizabeth said, leaning forward on her elbows, "It was mostly unseen by people outside the country, and doubly so because it was mostly confined to their community."
"Harry was a war veteran at seventeen," Rodney added, "and he defeated one of the most powerful - and evil - men of our time."
"After that he immediately set his sights on the British Governments," Elizabeth continued, "and started demanding change. The political sway he'd gained by winning the war allowed him to shorten a process that could've taken decades down to only two and half years. Then, once he was finished, he left the UK behind to continue his education. In between rallying for the curtain to come away, he'd been studying to become a doctor - one in our world - and that was where he came into contact with Carson."
A knock at the door drew their attention, and John realised suddenly that he was literally on the edge of his seat.
"Speak of the devil," Rodney said, getting up and letting the doctor in.
"I can go away if you'd like," he said, his soft voice amused as he approached the desk, "You looked like you were discussing something important."
"We were," Elizabeth admitted with a smile, "What is it?"
Potter offered her the tablet he'd been holding; "Reports on how our medical supplies are going, as well as the results of some of Carson's tests. Some of the plants the recon teams have been collecting have the potential to be made into replacements for some of our own drugs, thankfully; we underestimated the amount of over-the-counter grade pain killers we'd need here."
"God forbid," muttered Rodney, making Potter smile over his shoulder at the physicist.
"Pull up a chair, Harry," Elizabeth said, gesturing at the chair placed at the wall, "What we're discussing concerns you, anyway."
"Ah," Potter said, obviously understanding just what it was, "Alright then. Can I just tell Carson that I won't be back right away?"
"Of course."
He tapped his earpiece, walking over to grab the chair; "Potter to Beckett. I won't be back for a little bit; discussing the state of affairs with Elizabeth, Rodney and Sheppard. ... Yes, I promise not to get too sidetracked. ... Thanks."
He seated himself in his chair and leaned his elbows on the table, "So, where're we up to?"
"The end, actually," Rodney shrugged, retaking his seat after locking the doors again, "How you got caught up in the Stargate Program."
Potter smiled and turned to John; "The simple version is that I met Carson while I was attending college and he took me under his wing. The long version is that I wanted to meet him to discuss some of his research and I had to sign about a million non-disclosure forms just to get within a hundred metres of him. I was curious, of course, but no one was telling me anything. So I did my best to get into whatever it was that Carson was a part of and ended up being abducted by the IOA in broad daylight. If they hadn't told me that I was being considered to join Carson's team on a long-term project I probably would've broken their legs and booked it," he said thoughtfully, and John blinked at the casualness of the statement. "Apparently he'd recommended me to a few people as a "bright young doctor-in-training", and I wound up doing my residency in the SGC."
"Sounds stressful," John said.
"You have no idea," he shook his head.
"So why the stripes?"
"From what I understand, magic users tend to form very tight-knit communities," Elizabeth spoke up, and continued when Potter nodded; "It made sense to give them a discreet way to identify each other. The United States population is still demanding that they be allowed to remain a separate entity, so we don't have permission to inform every person in Atlantis."
"Which is ridiculous, of course," Potter snorted, "There's only so long they can keep it up before a zealot like Riddle pops up to enslave the masses."
"There's a story there," John observed, and Potter smiled.
"One for another time, maybe."
"Hmm... I have a question," he said, sitting back, "Does this relate in any way to ATA Genes? Is being a Goldy another thing that people could inherit from the Ancients?"
"Goldy?" Potter murmured as Rodney shook his head.
"It's a mutation completely independent of any Ancient ancestry we might have. It's something that humanity evolved completely separately, and as far as I'm aware it's only happened on Earth."
"Must be something in the water."
"Maybe," Potter shrugged, "I wouldn't be surprised if it's just Earthlings, to be honest. The amount of absolutely ridiculous creatures we had to deal with while coming up, you'd hope we'd develop some sort of defence system."
It took John a moment to puzzle through that one, and then he quickly turned to the doctor; "Please tell me that unicorns are real."
Potter just grinned, and John sat back with a barked laugh, wondering when the hell he'd fallen down the rabbit hole.