Only ten minutes into the 33rd Annual International High School Sciences Competition and already John was in Hell.

Sure, conventional wisdom would have had you believe that Hell was filled with fire and brimstone, and if you put faith in the funny pages, red devils with pointed tails. He had it on pretty good authority now, though, that Hell was actually a ballroom in the Downtown San Francisco Hyatt, filled as it was with a maze of tables and folding chairs, a forest’s worth of poster board, cars, robots, and more students than were in John’s entire school back home.

What made it even worse, though, was that he shouldn’t have even been there in the first place.

He wouldn’t have been if he hadn’t arrived at his Physics class early, that one day six months ago.

Really, though, he blamed it on Elise Miller, because he wouldn’t have needed to be there early if she hadn’t insisted on taking his back row window seat the previous four classes in a row. So, fifteen minutes before the end of the lunch period, he’d walked into the physics room, walked past the Science Club members who were clustered around the backboard, and he’d staked his claim on his back row seat.

Still, though, he supposed he couldn’t really lay all the blame on Elise, because he would have been safe enough if he hadn’t opened his big, fat mouth. If he’d paid less attention to the numbers and symbols that Higgins, the president of the Science Club, was writing on the chalkboard. If he hadn’t noticed that said president had made a mistake in one of the derivatives on the second line of his equation.

If he’d refrained from saying, "You know, Higgins, you might actually be able to get the answer that you’re looking for if your math wasn’t wrong."

Higgins had turned bright red, stammered that his math wasn’t wrong, couldn’t be, and John had been forced to saunter back to the front of the room, to take the piece of chalk out of Higgins’ pinched fingers, and show him the error of his ways.

So, he’d corrected the mistake, and if he’d been smart, he would have stopped right there, handed the chalk back to Higgins, and gone back to his seat. But, no. No, he’d had to keep on going, reworking the calculations with the correct answer from the second line on, and then he’d kept going after the point where he’d stopped Higgins, asking (even though he really didn’t care), "So, what are you all making, anyway?"

Thompson, a wirey kid who barely reached John’s shoulder, said, "A solar-started, self-perpetuating, energy-producing Ferris Wheel model?"

John had looked up at that, and that was when he’d noticed that: a) Mr. Hill was there, a calculating expression on his face that John didn’t like one bit, b) the rest of the class was already in their seats, watching him, and c) that Elise had moved his backpack from his carefully staked out seat to the one right in front of it.

He’d tried to sneak out of class as quickly as possible that day, but Mr. Hill had cornered him, had mentioned extra credit, the possibility of a trip to San Francisco if they did well enough in the regional competition, a college recommendation. A chance to create something unique, on the cutting edge of science.

John had said, "I— I don’t— Now, Mr. Hill, I really don’t—"

And yet somehow, here John was, Higgins on one side, Thompson on the other, with Fitzpatrick and Lopez and Cho and Amy Ming hovering behind them, oohing and ahhing, and John was in Hell.

Literally.

Mr. Hill was standing in front of them, looking around the room, already evaluating the other projects that they were up against, John could tell. Then he said, "Okay, lady and gents, Mr. Higgins and Mr. Fitzpatrick will be the first to man our table, so the rest of you are free to wander and check out the competition. Then you can come tell me what you think our chances are. Deal?"

Thompson said, "Deal!" and then he and the rest of the Science Club started out across the room, heading towards the first of the long tables. It was Lopez who paused, looked back over his shoulder, and asked John if he was coming.

John took a step forward, because he didn’t have much choice, he supposed—he didn’t think Mr. Hill would let him hide out in the hotel room for the rest of the weekend, after all—but then he saw that most of the windows that edged the room had balconies, and that, right there, was going to be his saving grace.

"I’ll be along," he said. Then, "Don’t have too much fun without me."

Amy giggled, and Thompson rolled his eyes, but before they could ask what he was going to do, he hurried off in the direction of the nearest balcony.

*

He took a deep breath as he closed the glass door behind him, shivering as the icy moisture of the fog sank through his sweatshirt and pants, prickled at his face and hands. It was comparatively quiet outside, though, and the cold air felt soothing after the hectic warmth of the ballroom. He jammed his hands in his pockets, took a step towards the balcony railing, and that was when he noticed that he wasn’t the only person who’d had this idea.

The other student was short, with somewhat floppy hair and large glasses, and he was wearing a sweatshirt decorated with writing in a language that John didn’t recognize. For some reason, he was looking at John almost worriedly, so John just smiled at him, nodded, and leaned backwards against his own section of the railing, looking back into the ballroom

"It was a little overwhelming in there," John said after a few minutes, after he’d pried his fingers out of his jeans again, and had curled them up inside the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

He glanced over at the other guy and saw that he was looking back over his shoulder and into the main room, before looking back at John. Which answered John’s question about whether or not he understood English.

"Yes," his companion said. "It is, as you say, over-overwhelming." He spoke hesitantly, putting emphasis on the wrong syllables of the words. He started again: "I needed—" But then he stopped again and waved his around in front of him, but whether he thought John knew what he was trying to say, or whether he didn’t know the words, John didn’t know. He nodded again anyway, though, then turned around so that he could look out over the somewhat busy street down below.

After another minute or so, John thought that he should probably introduce himself, because it would be the polite thing to do, so he stuck his hand out and said, "The name’s John."

The other student stared at his hand for a moment, then gingerly reached out to take it. "My name is Radek Z—"

And just at that moment, the door to their balcony opened again, and another student stepped out. He was shorter than John was, but taller than Radek, and his sweatshirt had a maple leaf on it, so John was going to make the logical assumption that he was from Canada.

"That room," the newcomer said, "is full of idiots. I mean, have you even looked at some of the projects in there? They look like they belong in a high school science fair—"

"I thought this was a high school science fair," John said, raising one of his eyebrows, but the new kid just batted his comment away—actually raised his hand and made a batting motion—as he kept talking. "Yes, yes, but there is a difference between brilliance and ant farms and I have seen far too many ant farms in there to give me any sort of confidence in the abilities of our judges—" And then he paused, looking stricken for a moment. "Unless, of course, either of you belong with one of the ant farms, in which case I’m sure that—"

John said, "No, no ant farm here. You, Radek?"

When Radek shook his head, the new kid seemed to deflate a bit, looking relieved.

"Oh, thank god. I thought I was going to have to say something nice about ant farms there for a minute, because, seriously, I could hear my grandmother’s voice in my head saying, ‘Now, Rodney, if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.’ And, okay, is it just me, or is that just about the stupidest phrase you’ve ever heard of? Because some things don’t deserve to have nice things said about them. Don’t you agree?"

Before John could answer, though, Mr. Hill opened the door, stuck his head out, and said, "Mr. Sheppard. Mr. Lopez said he thought he saw you sneaking off in this direction. There’s someone at our table here who would like to discuss some of your math with you, if you wouldn’t mind?"

John couldn’t very well say no, so he nodded at Radek and Rodney, and said, "See you around," even though he doubted he would, given how many other students were in the room, but it still seemed the thing to say. As he moved, though, Rodney stepped forward to take his place, already talking at Radek again, so he shot his original companion a sympathetic look, which Radek returned with something resembling a grimace. Then, following Mr. Hill, he stepped back into the too hot chaos of the ballroom.

As they moved in the direction of the table, Hill said, "You didn’t think you could escape that easily, did you, Mr. Sheppard?" He was grinning at John, like he’d known exactly what John was thinking earlier. But also like he was expecting John to change his mind at any moment, to decide that being here wasn’t so horrible after all.

Which John was just not going to do. Because it was hot and crowded, and really, he was only here for the math.

"No, Sir," he said. "I just wanted to get some fresh air."

"I understand," Hill said as he led John over to their school’s table, with their miniature solar-powered Ferris Wheel, where Higgins and Fitzpatrick were waiting with a man dressed in a military uniform.

"Major Collins," Hill said, "I’d like to introduce you to John Sheppard, one of my students. He was responsible for much of the math that you were asking questions about."

The Major stuck out his hand, and said, "Mr. Sheppard. It’s a pleasure."

John shook the hand, then listened as the Major started asking him questions about what he’d done, why he’d chosen to go about solving the problem that way. Had he considered—?

Ten minutes later, when John had a piece of paper in front of him and a pencil in his hand, and he was talking the Major through his thought processes, step-by-step, he thought, for the first time since he’d stepped into the ballroom, that maybe this whole thing wasn’t quite as Hell-like as he’d imagined it being.

Twenty minutes after that, when Major Collins handed John his card and said, "Son, the Air Force could use boys like you," he decided that maybe Mr. Hill had known what he was doing when he’d encouraged John to come along, after all.

*

Ten minutes after the last of the Athosians were settled, after he’d given Dr. Weir a more in depth briefing on Sumner and the Wraith, after he’d done the rounds and checked on his men, after he’d started to wonder exactly how large of a mistake he’d made coming here, John stood on one of the balconies off the control room, staring out over the water. He wasn’t surprised when the door slid open behind him, but he was expecting Dr. Weir, or possibly Ford, maybe Teyla.

He wasn’t expecting to see Dr. McKay, or—he didn’t know the other doctor’s name. Z-something. John was pretty sure he was Czech. But there they were, standing at the door, looking at him.

Almost like they knew him, John thought.

It was the unknown doctor who spoke first, saying, "It was a bit overwhelming in there earlier, yes?" He blinked at John through the large lenses of his glasses, and suddenly, John was struck with a mighty sense of dejavú. He stared at McKay, at the Czech scientist. Thought—

Thought—

But it couldn’t be.

The odds were—

Even he didn’t think he’d be able to calculate the odds.

"It was," he said slowly, "for awhile."

And then, as if to prove that they were all on the same page, McKay spoke. "High school science fairs, Major? Somehow you don’t seem the type."

"I wasn’t," John said, shrugging. "I was only there for the math. And you know, I’m still not quite sure how my physics teacher railroaded me into going."

Suddenly, he realized that he was almost smiling, like he hadn’t felt the urge to since he’d seen his first Wraith Dart earlier that day, and it was partly because of relief at still being alive to have this conversation, he knew, but also partly because of, well, impossibly small world.

"For the first ten minutes, I thought I was in hell," he continued, drawling the words just a bit, "but you know, it turned out not to be quite so bad after all." He didn’t say that if he hadn’t gone, he probably wouldn’t have ended up here.

McKay smirked at him, then walked forward to lean on the stretch of railing next to John’s. "Some people would call this Hell, I think, Major. Don’t you think so?"

The question was directed at Radek, and the other scientist nodded seriously, coming up to the railing on the other side of McKay.

"Some people, yes," he said.

Now John shrugged. "Life-sucking aliens aside, I’m hoping it won’t end up being quite that bad," he said. Then he elbowed McKay. "No ant farms, at least, right?"

"Small blessing, Major. Believe me, it’s a small blessing. Because I’m beginning to fear that—"

"Hey," John said. "After today, I’ll take what I can get."

This time when he met Radek’s gaze behind McKay’s back, Radek was the one to smile at him, and as McKay kept talking, his complaints and his enthusiasm equally buoyant, John started to let himself relax a bit, to let himself drift on the flow of words.