(no subject)

[troutkitty]

Title: Coveting Neighbours
Seven Deadly Sins: Envy
Author: Barb G
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Slash
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers through to the end of season 2
Summary: Atlantis has something Kolya wants


Coveting Neighbours

"Their teeth were falling out," a soldier said. He wasn't looking Kolya in the eye, but flinched when Kolya tapped his stick at the soldier's feet. "Their hair, too. It's coming out in clumps."

"McKay said the shielding was inadequate a year ago."

"We doubled the shielding."

"Apparently you should have tripled it at the very least."

"The calculations were sound, sir. Pain leads to growth."

Kolya looked at the man, and realized in that instant that they were reinventing the wheel. The Atlantians had gone here before. Tried these same trials, and had survived.

"We need an Atlantian," Kolya said, pursing his lips together. "We need Dr. McKay."

* * *

John didn't say anything. The door slid open, overriding Rodney's lock, and John entered the room. Rodney looked up from the book he was reading at his desk, saved his spot and turned off the reader in a single motion. John smelled of dry and dusty planet, old sweat and tainted fear. He'd been running for his life some time that day.

Rodney stood up, his bad ankle only twinging. The dead giveaway was John not talking about it. He headed straight for Rodney's shower, dropping bits and pieces on the way. Rodney followed him, picking up the vest. Huge claw marks had gone through the Kevlar. He took another step and picked up John's jacket. Three gashes cut seven inches across John's chest. Rodney picked up John's shirt, hesitant, but the shirt itself was untouched.

He sighed. The shower started behind him. He piled John's clothes over the desk chair and entered the bathroom itself. Steam began to fog the mirror, but with the door opened it only covered half the glass.

John was in the shower, arms up over his head, water coursing over his head, and Rodney knew John had overridden the water protocols to give him maximum pressure.

"You must never go down to the end of the town if you don't go down with me," Rodney said, idly.

John made a sound that at once meant 'not now' and 'I don't want to talk about it, ever'. Rodney decided to split the difference and just join John in the shower. He stripped down. John's conditioner was cool on Rodney's palm, even with the shower's thick, hot air, and John said nothing, only strained further down the shower stall. The conditioner on Rodney's dick was even cooler, and to go from the chill to the tight warmth of John made Rodney groan.

John groaned as well, bowing his head, and Rodney braced himself against John. His ankle hurt, but he didn't adjust his stance. The stall was only three feet by three feet. John's fists hit the wall hard enough to change the water temperature. Rodney banged against the opposite side of the stall, and he was glad it was against an outer wall. When John's hip became too slick to grip, Rodney abandoned his attempts at any smooth motion in the limited space. He put his hands on John's shoulders and pulled him back towards him rather than thrusting. His fingers found purchase, and the low grunts John was making made Rodney want to push harder. Their bodies slapped together, John pushing against Rodney as much as Rodney was pulling on John.

"Now," John said. Rodney's hand slid though John's hair, but he got a good grip on it. John howled inarticulately, and Rodney reached down with his other hand to John's chest. He ran his hand down John's wet belly, and wrapped his hand around John's cock, hotter than the water. The water kept their skin slick. Rodney's fingers tightened on exactly the right spot, just below the head of John's dick, and John began shuddering. That, combined with the way John moved beneath him sent Rodney off.

Rodney leaned against the wall until his legs could support him again. John pulled away first, stumbling past Rodney to get out of the shower. Rodney finished washing up before joining him in the main room.

John had changed into the spare clothes he kept in Rodney's closet and sprawled on the bed like a cat. Rodney went back to his desk and turned his screen back on. John's snores began a moment later. So much for the quick nap he'd intended. Rodney stood up long enough to remove John's boots, shaking his head at barbaric American customs, and went back to his book.

John woke up with a snort, a scowl, and a solid thump as he fell out of bed. "One of these days you're going to remember that my bed's on the opposite side of the room than yours," Rodney said, over his shoulder. John pushed up to a sitting position, resting his elbows on his knees. Still, he said nothing.

"This is the point where you're supposed to tell me you could have used me down there," Rodney continued. "You're supposed to tell me how much I was missed and how much you needed me."

John held out his hand.

Rodney stopped talking, the sick feeling in his belly spreading. He wanted to ask how many and who, but if it had been Teyla or Ronon, he would have known. Wouldn't he?

"It wasn't Teyla or Ronon," John said. "But half Lorne's team."

Rodney glanced down to the wrapping on his left ankle. John climbed back into bed and Rodney joined him after only a moment. John wrapped himself around Rodney so that they could fit together on the single bed, and slept.

Refugees from MX2321-01 streamed through the stargate through the night and were shunted off to the mainland. Sometimes the groups were forty or fifty and they had to wait for the next available shuttlecraft, but for the most part, sadly, the rest of the planet evacuated in family groups of three or four. The wraith had had their fill before Elizabeth had received word of their predicament, then other beasts had moved in to prey on the weak before they arrived.

John brought him coffee. "How's the ankle?" he asked.

"Doesn't hurt that much," Rodney said around his muffin. He swallowed, harder than he meant to.

John still looked haggard, but at least he attempted a smile. "And by that much you mean your leg hasn't completely rotted off because of the gangrene."

Rodney peered over his coffee. The running joke of how heroically he'd hurt his ankle saving an ever-increasing number of hapless villagers with exponential feats of bravery no longer seemed that funny. "It was just twenty-four hour gangrene," he said, instead.

"I'm off call at nine," John said. He put his hand on Rodney's shoulder, squeezed it, and Rodney patted his hand as he walked past. Rodney waved him off and went back to his computer.

He still felt as though someone was watching him. He looked up, smile on his face. It wasn't John standing at the door, but one of the refugees. The door was closed. The man was staring at him. Rodney stood up, not understanding his growing sense of dread.

The glazed, stressed look on the man's face melted off, leaving his face empty. Rodney reached for his radio, not even sure why, when the refugee took out his pack. He pushed a button, just as the crackle told Rodney the radio was on.

Two Genii soldiers beamed into the room.

Rodney pushed his desk between him and the two men, screaming, "I need some help in here!" They grabbed Rodney by the arms, he saw the refugee push something else, and suddenly he was in a cell, somewhere deep underground.

He still held the cup of coffee John had just given him. He took a sip, but it was stone cold in the cup. "Well, that's just great!" he snapped.

* * *

"What the hell happened?" John demanded. "He was just here!"

Zelenka didn't look up from the computers. Ronon was there a second later. "He's not here now," he said, voice flat. Teyla arrived a moment after that.

"Rodney was captured," Zelenka said, and turned the monitor so they all could see i. The refugee opened his pack, Genii soldiers appeared, and Rodney was fighting, even as he was beamed back into the pack. It all happened so quickly. "Some portable wraith sweeper?"

John tapped his radio. "I want a total city-wide lock down. Cancel all evacuations, and shut down the stargate."

Elizabeth's voice came over the radio a moment later. It was a private communication with none of the static from a citywide transmission. "I think we're already too late. You'd better come."

John sent Teyla to support the refugees, now, he supposed, detainees, and brought Ronon back with him to the control room. The pack was open on the DHD, a green light blinking on the metal beneath. There was no sound coming from the box and the air itself felt static charged. "What's happening?" John demanded.

The refugee, the one that had started it all, was kneeling down beside Elizabeth with his hands over his head. He didn't move, but his triumphant smile made John turn away to control the fear, anger and rage inside him.

"It's transmitting," Elizabeth said. "Over a trillion gig and climbing."

"Shut it down," John said. "Close the gates, switch it off, whatever."

Elizabeth grabbed his arm. "Three people, at least, are inside it," she said. "What happens to non-discrete packets sent through the stargate, colonel?" She motioned the man kneeling. "And he says the device itself is a bomb."

John pushed down the rising panic. He pushed his radio, already calling for Lorne and Teyla to report to the gate-room, but Elizabeth's hand didn't move from his arm. "There's no atmosphere on the other side, John. You'll kill them all if you try."

"The puddlejumpers, then," he said, turning to run to the transporters, when the green light flickered twice and then turned to red. The gate shut down, then powered up again, dialling gate after gate, scrambling the last known address. John threw open the door, ready to take his chances with the bomb, the lack of atmosphere, anything at all, when the metal melted in a phosphorus flash of light. John threw his arm over his eyes, but it was already too late. Anywhere he looked, black splotches obscured his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, hard enough that it hurt, but the damage was already done. As quickly as the metal had melted, it hardened into a solid lump over the keys.

"Get Zelenka in here," John snapped. "And bring the prisoner to conference room A."

* * *

"You've been transported through a dozen or so relay points to get here, Dr. McKay. If the only thing you've lost was the heat from your coffee, I should think you should be grateful."

Kolya stood in front of the bars, holding a block of metal no bigger than an early CD player. "A what now?" Rodney asked, his brain not just yet working at par, but then remembered the Genii soldiers. The pack the refugee carried, and the green light switching on. "A dozen?" he asked, voice cracking. "And they were all built by the Genii?" He felt faint.

"Don't worry, Doctor. Our small brains can manage the odd bit of technology, every now and then."

"Yes. Your lack of shielding and ability to blow stumps up have certainly proven that to be true," Rodney said. He looked up. Kolya. There was something about the man. "You were missing," he said, as the thought occurred to him.

"I assure you, I've always known where I've been," Kolya said. "And about that shielding--"

"Tell me at least you had a redundancy system in place. Or at least a dedicated back-up to preserve the signal." Rodney felt dizzy all over again. "Oh, god. How many were in the hard drive? Hello? Hello?" he called, but he still felt alone inside his skull.

Koyla was watching him with narrowed eyes. "Are you quite through?" he asked.

Rodney sat down on the bench, but was still aware enough to put down the cold coffee before cradling his head in his hands. "Um. Yes. Go on with your threatening," he said, voice muffled.

"We need your help, Doctor."

"Yes. And when is that not true?" Rodney asked, looking up again. "What did you screw up this time?"

"You've always been cooperative before. It would be a shame if you spoil your reputation. No one is coming for you. As I said, we've bounced your signal through a dozen different transponders. Each one self-destructed once they received confirmation the signal had been received. They all dialled out a dozen gates, scrambling the actual gate address under hundreds of false ones. They won't find you."

Rodney's mouth twitched. He refused to let himself panic. His brain as always, clicked into high gear, and the truth of the matter came to him in a brilliant moment. The solution was clear to him, burning through the alarm and the fear. "They won't have to find me," he said slowly, and smiled. "They'll be looking for you."

* * *

John slouched in his chair. He kept his elbows on the table, his legs spread, and his wrists loose. It was a practiced pose, and it took effort for his jaw not to lock and unlock. Ronon paced behind him, feral, and his fists opened and closed in a way John wished he could have. After hours, the most they got out of their prisoner was his name.

Handers put down his fork, and meticulously dabbed at his mouth. He stared down at his hands, rubbing them as though he wanted them washed immediately. John nodded to Elizabeth behind them.

"So, Handers, tell us again, where is Doctor McKay?" John began. He dropped his left hand, letting it bounce once against the cold, hard top of the table, and he leaned back another inch. His stomach muscles began to spasm from the tension. Counting backwards from ten calmed the murderous rage inside him.

The man looked at him. There was real fear in his face, but he wasn't quite afraid for his life.

"Five minutes alone with him," Ronon growled, fists still pumping. "That's all I need."

John rolled his head back. Ronon truly had no idea how much of a cliché that was, but his sentiments were appreciated. "See, there's the problem. Apparently, we can't just beat the answers out of him. That would be wrong," he said, in a flat tone.

Just then Elizabeth wrapped her knuckles on the glass. John's back tensed, but he stood up. "Watch him," John said, and Ronon swooped down on the chair he had just vacated, cracking his knuckles one at a time. He stared hungrily at Handers, and John left him there.

"Wrap it up for the day," Elizabeth said. She sounded tired. He realized it must be late, but with no windows to the outside world and the burning, bitter taste in his gut, he hadn't realized it.

"We've just got him warm!" John protested.

"You've been at it eight hours."

"And we'll be at it for eight hundred more if he doesn't give me what I want."

"We're not like that, John. I won't let you."

"This is Rodney we're talking about," John snapped. He slammed his fist into his chest, knowing on one level how ridiculous it must have made him look, but it was the primeval need to do something. The possessiveness inside him had to come out somehow. "My Rodney. And I'll be damned if I let anyone or anything--"

"You are dismissed," Elizabeth said, her voice cold.

"What? No!" John snapped.

"I made that mistake once, Colonel Sheppard, and I am not going to let us become them again. You are dismissed. Your man will be taken back to a cell, and you will promise me you'll be on top of your emotions by the morning or I will find someone else who can."

"Rodney's out there, Elizabeth."

"I've spent an hour with Ladon. He says his Genii had nothing to do with this."

"Well, he's lying! Just let me--"

Elizabeth stopped listening to him. John looked behind him, and saw Handers watching them intently from the table. She stepped back away from him. "I can't let you turn yourself into something you aren't because of it. I'm sorry, John. Try to get some rest. You can start again in the morning."

John went back to his room. He hadn't slept in it for a week, and it felt abandoned and dusty, though Atlantis kept the air circulating and clean. He went for a run, twice as fast and hard to punish himself, and hobbled back to his room exhausted. When he returned, Ronon was waiting for him.

"I might have done a bad thing," Ronon said, instead of a greeting.

John towelled off his hair. "What did you do?" he asked.

Ronon pulled out the camera crystals. "After Weir finished checking on the prisoner and went to bed, these might have fallen out of the control panel. But you know how it is," Ronon said, and shrugged disarmingly.

"That's horrible," John said. "Make sure you put in a work-order to get those fixed ASAP."

"First thing tomorrow morning," Ronon said, and walked away.

John waited another minute, to follow, just in case he was being watched.

* * *

Kolya left Rodney alone. His bootfalls echoed in the metallic hall, getting further and further away. The echoes developed echoes. Once the door slammed shut and the lights cut out, the sound of Kolya leaving took a dozen heartbeats to die down. Frantic, panicked heartbeats, but a dozen of them, nonetheless.

"Great," Rodney said. It was still early morning for him. He'd had a stack of results to go through, then he was going to run a diagnostic of the crystals modulating the heat transfers for the 'jumpers for John, try to jury-rig a way to cut some of power to the redundant system grid without compromising any of their functions, help Elizabeth go through the trade requests to try to match up minor technology for food, and design a way to keep Zelenka's shower running cold for the next week. Then, after lunch, (and, because Zelenka had refused, hence the shower retaliation) he had to harangue the new scientists with another lecture on the A to Z methods of how not to blow up the entire city. They were on E. He was going to talk about electronics, and how to respect the sticky note of "Don't touch this. Ever." He'd made notes.

At least he hadn't wasted his time colour-coding them. That really would have been pathetic. He hobbled to the bed, using the light-display of his watch to give him some help.

Lying down didn't help his brain relax. "John's coming for you," Rodney told himself, out loud. Kolya's boots had echoed, but Rodney's words seemed smothered by a wet blanket the moment he'd spoken them aloud. "You know he is," he said, a bit louder, and was rewarded with a slight echo.

Rodney tried to concentrate on the redundant system grid, imagining it in his head, the entire interface they'd built overlapping on all the crucial junctions, but his brain would not cooperate, imagining instead the gap between John's shirt collar and his hair.

He banished the thought, going back to the system-by-system sweep. There had to be some power drain they could lose, but the scent memory of just that spot right there, the spot that remained uniquely John when all their other smells had intermingled, came back. It was that spot that started it all.

They were off-planet, helping a village uncover from a mudslide. It had been self-inflicted. The villagers had tried to build too much and stripped off the entire hillside for lumber, but rather than judging--he corrected himself--rather than Elizabeth judging them for their own stupidity, she'd sent as many teams as she could spare to help dig out the lost village.

He and John worked together. Rodney complained bitterly at the manual labour he hadn't signed on for.

His hands were chapped from pulling the ropes all day. His back ached, his abdomen hurt and his headache was beginning to turn into a migraine. He couldn't help it if his caustic attitude had driven away everyone but John. They were working together on the far hillside, trying to pull up the last of the barriers up the hill to install tomorrow.

John had stumbled. Not deliberately, he maintained even now, but Rodney stumbled as well because of it, and suddenly they were back to chest, Rodney's nose buried into the only clean spot on John's body, just below his hairline.

Rodney was about to say something, his nose stinging from the contact, but instead, as he inhaled to begin his lambasting, he smelled John: clean skin, clean sweat, and below that just the smell of another man.

He forgot what he was going to say. He remembered, just in time that while buddies could bang their noses against the soft line of hair on each other's neck, to actually run his tongue down the grooved line where John's spine reached his neck would have been bad form.

"You okay?" John asked, and Rodney realized he hadn't moved since he'd stumbled. And that had obviously been a while, because the tone in John's voice was that of confused amusement. "McKay?"

McKay. Not Rodney. Rodney pulled away. "I'm fine," he said, and together they finished hauling the fence up.

That night, in the old barracks that had once obviously had power, Rodney woke up to a scratching at his door. He got up, crossing the cold metal floor, and unhooked the high-tech hook from its corresponding eyelet. The door slid open itself. It was closing it that was the problem.

Colonel Sheppard stood there. It was easier to think of him as that; John was too familiar. John was wearing a clean uniform, and he'd obviously showered. He swung his towel over his shoulder and crooked his eyebrow in a way that asked, "May I?" and "You're not fooling anyone" at the same time. Rodney shrugged back in a way that said, "You may," and "*You* were totally fooled." John smiled. Together they wrestled the automatic door closed enough that Rodney could latch the door again.

A moment passed, that indeterminate amount of time now used in the English language that meant both a second and a minute and a half depending on its usage. Rodney really wasn't sure which definition was the better one. His mouth was dry. He wished he had better boxers than the one he had on, and he was wondering how he could make sure his hair wasn't poking out in nine different ways when John dropped to his knees in front of him.

"The metal--" Rodney began, but with another crook of the eyebrow, John silenced him. His mouth was wet and hot, the smell of soap and toothpaste didn't hiding the new smell of arousal, and they were back in bed. Every time Rodney had actually fallen into bed with someone, the flurry of arms and legs, teeth and noses, apologies and curses always threatened to kill the mood. For once in his life, there was nothing but the slick conservation of movement. He climbed behind John, John's saliva coated fingers (he hadn't spit--Rodney hated that) guiding him, and then Rodney was inside. The initial resistance made it all seem like this was exactly what should have happened.

John bucked beneath him, hurrying him along. Any other time, any other person, Rodney would have apologized (he was Canadian at his most vulnerable, after all) but the silence was too...heavy wasn't the right word--sacred wasn't either, but it was the closest word that matched--to ever let that happen.

After that, it was a matter of friction and angles, depth and speed and reciprocity. It was a physics exam, and Rodney was very, very good at physics exams.

John groaned and grabbed him, pulling him as tight as he could, and for that perfect moment they were there, together. His brain stopped. His breathing stopped, his heart stopped, and he was sure his Isles of Langerhan had stopped producing insulin deep inside his pancreas, and he was suddenly sweating more than he had all day under the hard labour. His entire body felt alive, even as it was shuddering.

Just like it was, now. Rodney looked around the darkness of his cell, felt the heaviness inside his pants, and threw his head back. "Just great," he muttered, jaw clenching.

* * *

Teyla met him just outside the cells. "We shouldn't do this here," she said, her voice calm, and just loud enough to wake the prisoner. John saw the man's eyes flutter in the blue lights from the panels. His boots were carefully laid out beside the folded over shirt and trousers. Elizabeth was right when she said that he obviously wasn't a common foot soldier.

"Why not?" he demanded.

"The sound will carry. Ronon is waiting by the docks."

"Hey, Handers," John said, rattling the cell door a second. "You know that I don't have permission to harm you."

Handers nodded, desperately.

"I just want you to know that my friend is under no such compunctions."

He opened the cell, allowing Teyla to go in and get Handers out. "They have a saying here," Teyla said, in her calm voice. "It is, 'give me a reason'. I believe it is used when they wish to hurt the other person, but do not want to take personal responsibility for their actions. I just want you to know, I do not require a reason," she said, and Handers looked up to John.

He shrugged. Teyla didn't need any help pushing the man in front of her, and together they drove him down to the docks.

The smell reached them from inside the metal bulkheads, meant to withstand huge storms. John's eyes watered, his stomach rebelled, but he forced himself to push the door open. The holding tank, with its sick green foam swirled over the heavy oil slick, made him sick just to look at it. The smell of vomit and fecal matter was just as strong. He turned back to Handers. "Can you swim?"

Handers fought against Teyla, who pushed away his hands with no more difficulty than a mother denying her child a cookie. "He asked you a question," she said.

Ronon moved behind her, cracking his knuckles. "How long for the first swimming lesson?"

John narrowed his eyes. "Four minutes ought to it. Just to warm him up."

"You're not putting me in there," Handers said. His frantic flaying ended as Ronon moved into Teyla's space, but his eyes went wide and his skin tone paled another degree.

"No," John said. He took a step closer. "I intend to drown you in there. So tell me where Rodney is, or I'll hold your head under myself."

The man took a step back, smacking right into Ronon's chest, and Ronon held him there, by the arms. With a flick of his wrists, Ronon could toss the man easily into the middle of the pool. His hands tightened, about ready to, and the man began gibbering. "You can't! He'll kill me."

"You seem to think you'll be getting out of here alive," John said.

"He'll kill my family. My friends, he's even threatened to kill my dog."

John nodded. There was only one Genii who could inspire that much fear. "Kolya," he said.

Handers nodded before he even realized it. He went limp in Ronon's arms. "Please, I only know the address of the first transmission. There were dozens of transmitters! I have no idea where your man is, but Kolya--"

The floodlights around the pool came on. John turned aside, finally losing his battle with the retch that had wanted to come out since he'd first stepped into the stench. He hadn't smelled anything that bad since his first year of organic chemistry. Beckett was there the next second, flushing out the pool and its enzymes. The stench immediately began to dissipate.

"Well done," Elizabeth called from one of the upper balconies. "We'll send for Ladon again."

* * *

Rodney woke with a start. The room was still dark and tasted metallic. He sat up carefully. The light from his watch gave off enough glow to see nothing had changed. He groped below the bed for the cup of coffee he'd kept. It was cold and bitter, and he knew it was a diuretic, but he was thirsty and the cold felt good on his throat.

His radio was dead in his ear, but he pulled it off and stuffed it in his pants in case they came for it. He sat back, arms and ankles crossed, his bad ankle carefully placed to appear unharmed.

The lights came on. More footfalls echoed, and Kolya was back, staring at Rodney through the bars. "Doctor, you appear injured."

"My ankle," Rodney said. The wrap on it was pretty obvious.

"May I ask what happened?"

Rodney shrugged. "I tripped over a coffee thermos."

"You're getting better, Doctor. I can hardly tell you're lying any more."

Rodney shrugged. He was actually telling the truth. It was ignoble and embarrassing, and John had been half-naked at the time and the laughter helped the pain until they could make themselves decent enough to hobble down to Beckett. Rodney had made John swear to him that he'd never sweep anything off Rodney's table again without written permission.

"Is there something I can do for you?" Rodney hadn't eaten in twelve hours, and his hands were already a bit shaky, but he'd be damned if he'd beg.

Kolya said nothing. He nodded, and the door slid open. Rodney carefully unhooked his ankles and sat up. A meal was brought in, a soldier carrying a table already laid out with breakfast-type food, and the yellow of the egg made Rodney's mouth water. He stared down at it, and then back up at Kolya.

"Take it away. I'm not helping you."

"I'm appealing to your ego, Doctor McKay, nothing more basic, I assure you."

Rodney's mouth twitched. He ate, but only to stop the tremors. Kolya watched him as though he were a prized zoo specimen, and Rodney supposed that's what he was. He finished, drinking only the water, and swallowed, looking back to Kolya. "Cowen's dead," he said.

"I am aware of that."

"So what is it you want? You don't have access to your weaponry any more. What do you hope to accomplish? You know they're coming for me."

"I need your brain. I have no desire to harm you, and do what I say and I'll let you go."

"And why is it that I don't believe you?" Rodney demanded. "Oh, I remember now. You've cut into me. A couple times!"

"And it got me nowhere. Believe me, Doctor."

"I don't think so." He motioned the table. "We're done here," he said.

Kolya said nothing. Rodney crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm done eating, and you've just said you're not going to torture me. I think that means we're done here."

"Remove the Doctor's table," Kolya said, keeping his voice mild. "And his bed, bench and bucket."

The soldiers streamed in like ants, and like ants, each one took something away. Rodney looked to his empty cell, back to Kolya, and exhaled sharply.

* * *

"I do not believe for one instant that Kolya would make a deal with the Wraith," Ladon said. He was in one of the conference rooms, despite the lateness of the hour. "With all his faults, he is Genii."

"Whether he did or not is immaterial," Elizabeth said. "He took advantage of a culling to plant one of his operatives among the refugees, who then kidnapped our chief scientist."

Ladon's face went pale. "McKay? He kidnapped Dr. McKay?"

"Why is that important?" John demanded.

"Kolya and his men stole several kilograms of weapons grade plutonium as we were transporting it. We thought--"

"So now he has nuclear material and a nuclear physicist," John said. "Where is Kolya now?"

"We don't know," Ladon said.

John stood up. "We've come a long way, our people and yours. It would be a shame if that all came to an end over this." He rested his hands on his hips. And if that happened to be near where his personal side arm was, so be it. "And it will. Come to an end. Over this."

Ladon glanced to Elizabeth, obviously expecting her to be the voice of reason, but she drummed her fingers on her upper arms and said nothing.

"We don't know where he is," Ladon said. His voice broke, and he cleared it. "But we have someone who might know."

John smiled, and let his hands fall free. "Now, my friend, we are talking."

* * *

The old man didn't look up from the porch as John approached. He hadn't even looked up as the puddlejumper decloaked just off his property and settled down in the field across from his house. The day was crisp and clear, the brilliant blue sky stretching from east to west right down the distant tree-lined hills, and the only sounds once the 'jumper powered down was the cicadas, or whatever their alien equivalents were, from the fields.

The man was as ex-military as John had ever seen. He knew that practiced lounge. John had used it himself just the day before. The old man's body was a tangled wire of muscles and nerves, and John didn't doubt for one second there wasn't at least one weapon pointed at him as he approached.

Still, he went with his friendly, 'I'm okay, you're okay' grin. "Howdy!" he called. "Commander Stien?"

"How many other of them birds you got lurking about?" the old man demanded.

"You don't honestly expect me to you the real number, do you? I tell you two, you'll think seven. I say seven, you'll think two. Why start off this beautiful day in a lie?"

"Four," the old man said. "I'm willing to bet you got four of them things hidden away."

John pushed radio twice, and four of the 'jumpers decloaked. Not all five, but still, it was the thought that counted.

"And the one in the boot," the old man said, but nodded. "What do you want?"

John took off his sunglasses and squinted at the suddenly too bright sky. "I want my chief scientist back. Your old star pupil probably has him. I want your old star pupil."

"Kolya."

"That's the man."

Something shifted under the old man's blanket. John's ears perked at the sound of metal on metal, but with the Genii weaponry he couldn't tell if that was the sound of a safety-like device clicking on or off.

"I didn't agree with him trying to take over your city," he said. He looked up at the 'jumpers hovering. "Technology like that is a beacon for the Wraith, and even if he had taken it, he wouldn't have been able to keep it."

"I'm sorry about his son. I didn't want a body count."

"No. I suppose your people are weak like that. What will you give us if I give up Kolya?"

"You won't make an enemy of us again. We'll double our support and sign a mutual non-aggression pact. You would have my gratitude."

"Kolya's no friend of the Genii. If he does have nuclear weaponry like Ladon says he does, I can't imagine he'll be using them on the Wraith. That technology makes the young into old and the old into corpses. The first three things, I don't got no use for them. But the last one..." He looked past where John stood to the puddlejumper that was on the ground. "Take me up in one of your Birds."

* * *

Standing began to hurt Rodney's non-strained ankle. Sitting left the ankle hanging at a wrong angle, and sleeping on his side, which was best for his ankle, made his side ache. And the stones were cold. He sat up and pulled himself to the wall, but that only relieved his sore muscles for a few minutes. He pushed himself up, and hobbled to the cell door. He'd lasted almost twenty hours, but the hunger, thirst and exhaustion was getting to him. "What do you got for me?" he called.

The lights didn't come on, but Rodney wasn't fooled. He knew Kolya was being called. He waited another five minutes, trying not to shift his weight, but the pain made him sick. He didn't call out again. Eventually, the light came on. Rodney bowed his head, grateful for the next heartbeat, and then straightened as the door opened.

"I'm glad you saw reason," Kolya said. He didn't look pleased, any more than he looked anything when he wasn't homicidally enraged.

Rodney exhaled, a short, pain-filled blast. "Yes. Great. Whatever. Do you have any Advil?"

"Advil?" Kolya asked, eyebrow rose.

"Painkillers. Drugs. My ankle is killing me."

"Let's see what we got for you first, shall we?"

Rodney hobbled out of the cell. The lab they took him to was higher quality than the Genii home world, but there was a sick look to the men and women working that went beyond lack of sunlight.

"All right. That's it. No Genii is ever allowed to play with anything that has a half-life. Ever!" he snapped.

"I don't think that is your call, Doctor," Kolya said, behind him.

"No. But the good news is you've all already removed yourselves from the gene pool." He hobbled down the two steps, scattering the Genii between him and the reactor, and then realized what he was doing.

"Gene pool?" Kolya asked.

"Never mind."

"Can you fix it?"

"Yes," Rodney said. "But you have to realize you can't keep doing this. It took down John Wayne. Your swagger won't protect you, either."

"John Wayne?" Kolya asked.

"Never mind. And painkillers. And whatever stimulant you people use would be lovely. Okay, thank you, goodbye."

"Doctor McKay--"

Rodney glanced back to him, eyes narrowed, and Kolya, for once, backed off.

He was not denied basic sustenance. The painkillers came first, bitter white pills that took the edge off the pain made worse by the stress.

It took him most of the day to realize what the problem was, and then most of the night to realize he couldn't fix it. Minimize the damage, lower the radioactivity, but he couldn't shield the reactor entirely. John would use it to find him. It's how they found the Genii. He'd put two and two together and bring enough Geiger Counters to sweep the galaxy if he had to.

If Rodney had the time. Most of the people who'd been working around the reactor were already sick. He should be fine for the week or so, if by fine he meant not poisoned or cancerous. By not fixing the leak, he could be condemning the stupid technicians to their own deaths.

And he was okay with that.

* * *

The small, grey planet had an atmosphere, if barely. The grey clouds obscured much of its surface, and it just looked dead and dry. The stargate was half buried in the dirt. "What now?" Ronon asked.

"We do a sweep for radioactivity, breathable oxygen or any kind of venting system," John said. They did, and found nothing. An old settlement near the 'gate had some sign of new life, but there was no sign of anything but residual radioactivity.

"He was here," John said, as the Geiger counter barely registered. "Get Zelenka . I want to see which address was dialled the most often."

"He can do that?" Ronon asked.

"If he didn't before, he will now," John said grimly.

* * *

Rodney was nicely through most of his caffeine withdrawal by the third day, and had even managed to steal a tiny screwdriver to work on his radio at night. It was handy, but would have been better if it were sonic.

There was only one lab for the entire complex. It had both the reactor and the portable wraith sweepers. Rodney poked at it, seeing that the reactor charged the batteries. It seemed to be point and click, something so simple that he just wanted to shake his head. There were two of them left in a device meant to hold over a dozen. "Small bits of technology left over from the old world," Kolya said, behind him.

Rodney jumped. "Yes. Well. It looks..." he searched for the word. "Quite brilliant, actually," he confessed.

"Thank you, Doctor. Coming from you that means a lot. Now, if you would return to your reactor?"

"It's almost done," Rodney lied. "You said you would let me go."

"I said a lot of things. Return to your work, Doctor."

Rodney nodded. Kolya turned and walked away. Rodney stared back to where his radio was attached to the second box. He hadn't had time to turn the radio on to receive.

* * *
Zelenka found three possible addresses. Only the second one set the Geiger counter on the MALP off. When they gated in, however, all they found was another abandoned facility. They picked up stronger radioactivity, and it grew stronger as they approached the single vent in the middle of the planet's desert.

Blowing the hatch only took a second, and John's heart started beating faster as they climbed down past the huge, still fans. He was reminded of countless of Hollywood movies. He expected them any moment to come to life, chopping up the air in a sudden, murderous rage, but they remained dead in their vents as they climbed past them.

Kolya had been here. But the structure was too small to hold a nuclear reactor. It didn't look as though the small facility had been occupied in years, and a thick layer of dust covered the counters, tables and sinks. Abandoned flasks and test tubes lay broken and filthy. "This isn't Kolya," John said, looking around.

"What do you mean?" Teyla asked. Ronon was out of range of John's flashlight, but Ronon's light bobbed amongst the stack of garbage piled up on the eastern wall.

John kicked at an empty cupboard. The metal gave off a sound like thunder, and dust spattered down from the counter. It didn't lay still in the circle of light, but danced and rattled across the already dirty floor, blowing on some tiny draft. John banged his fist against the wall behind the counter, and it ever so slightly sounded hollow.

"It looks like they finally learned how to lock their secret underground hatches," he said.

* * *

Rodney heard the commotion coming from the hall. Kolya burst into the room, and Rodney recognized the black look in his eyes. He stumbled back.

Kolya's scientists weren't soldiers, despite their uniform. When Kolya brought his gun out, all the people in the room besides Rodney dropped down, covering their heads with their hands.

"I told you they'd find you," Rodney said. "You can't blame me for your own incompetence."

"Will you be this aggravating when there's a hole the size of my fist through your belly?" Kolya asked.

"Probably," Rodney said, truthfully.

Kolya shrugged, as though to say that was fair, when Rodney turned on the first sweeper. Kolya was swept up, sucked into his own machine, and Rodney tapped his radio on to receive.

The Genii soldiers were a moment later. They looked around the room for Kolya, but Rodney was alone but for the cowering scientists, who were now running out of the lab in ones and twos.

"Where is he?" the first man demanded.

Rodney motioned to the first device, hands above his head. The sweeper was still glowing green.

The man brought his weapon up to his shoulder, and then John was there, his gun resting on the man's shoulder. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he drawled.

Rodney's mouth quirked again. He really wished it wouldn't do that. "Gentlemen, I'll make you a deal," he said. He motioned to the first sweeper. "Take your commander and go. No one has to get shot. No one has to get hurt. Just take him, go, and we can all try to blow each other up another day. Sound like a plan?"

The first Genii nodded. Rodney picked up the sweeper and passed it to a scientist trying to scurry away without raising her head. They stood there again, everyone not even breathing, and then the Genii were gone.

Ronon crossed the room. He patted Rodney down as though to check him for broken bones or weapons, it was hard to tell which. Rodney motioned the second sweeper. "Grab that for me, will you?" he asked.

"What's inside?" John asked. From above, they heard ground fire. The Genii were being driven to the gate. That there would be no ambush made Rodney breathe deeply for the first time in a week.

"Kolya. I used the radio to beam him into the second one after he'd been swept."

John looked at him, confused. "It took over ten minutes to transfer you in Atlantis."

Rodney shrugged. "There was only one of him," he said. "And it all comes down to bit rates."

* * *

Back in the infirmary, Beckett treated Rodney for the minor radiation poisoning. Three of the Genii scientists, as well as Kolya himself, were being treated for much more serious dosages, but it was still enough to make Rodney feel queasy.

It would have been nice to say that John never left his side after that, but he realized how important John's job was. How important both their jobs were, which meant after the first day Rodney had much of his work brought to him when John wasn't there.

The door opened and closed. The lights were down, only Rodney's above-the-bed light illuminated the only bed occupied in the ward. It was close to two in the morning, earth time, but Rodney wasn't tired. It might have been his miraculous healing powers. Or the nine cups of coffee he'd had that day. He wasn't willing to commit to either cause.

"I'm dying of radiation poisoning," he said, as John moved into the light.

"You are not," John said. He smelled tired and dusty yet again, but there was no residual level of fear.

"Will you still love me once my hair starts to fall out?"

"I've got some bad news for you," John said. Rodney made room in the narrow bed, and John stretched out beside him on his side so they'd both fit.

"What are you saying?" Rodney demanded.

"Nothing," John said. His voice was slightly muffled, but it was also under the blankets, so Rodney supposed there was a good reason for it. "Permission to sweep matter off the bed," he said.

"Permission belayed," Rodney said. He lowered his computer carefully to the floor. "Okay, go."

John went. Shortly thereafter, Rodney followed.