Bounded in a Nutshell by Purna (Not Happening Challenge)

[purna]

Bounded in a Nutshell by purna
McKay/Sheppard
~8,000 words
NC17
Summary: The answers to everything are in a room in Atlantis.
A/N: Beta thanks to lamardeuse, who made me stop and think. Thank her for the ending.



Bounded in a Nutshell

"Here it is. The diagram points to this room," Rodney said.

Radek, watching the diagnostics scrolling across his laptop display, bumped into Rodney's back.

"Sorry," he said, but Rodney didn't react. He was looking at the closed door where they'd stopped.

"Energy readings seem normal," Radek said. He pulled up the diagram they had downloaded from the Orion's database and touched the Ancient text that labeled the room. "'Neural space or room,' Dr. Weir said this translates to. I say it's a computer."

"Then why didn't they label it with the Ancient word for computer?" Rodney said, distracted by something he'd found on the control panel beside the door. "Touch this, Radek."

Radek laid a hand where Rodney pointed, then pulled it away when nothing happened. "A special computer, then. A bag of my Kona coffee says it is," Radek said.

Rodney frowned and touched the panel himself. The doors of the room slid open. "Hmmm. You're on. If you're right, I'll do your basic maintenance chores for two days."

"Three," Radek shot back. "It is very good coffee." He held the laptop in the crook of one arm and rubbed his chin with his other hand. "And this is the first room we've seen on Atlantis that requires the ATA gene for entry."

Rodney nodded, the frown still on his face. "Two, three, doesn't matter, because you're wrong. So. Very. Wrong." He tapped a finger in the air with each word.

Rodney took another look at the control panel and shook his head. "And yeah, weird. Anyway, let's hope we find something interesting in here. Dr. Weir said the Orion's archives mentioned this room in the section on the Wraith." He motioned into the room. "After you, Radek. Age before beauty."

Radek snorted and walked through the doorway. The laptop display caught his attention again; one of the sensors was spiking as he drew closer to the far wall. He scrolled through the other sensor readings, and returned to the anomalous reading.

"Rodney, look at this," he called, but there was no answer. "Rodney."

He turned around. "Oh, my God," he gasped, as the laptop fell from his suddenly nerveless hands. Rodney was caught in a column of coruscating light, eyes closed, head thrown back.

"Rodney." Radek rushed over and stopped himself from touching Rodney at the last moment. "Rodney, can you hear me?"

There was no response. Radek steeled himself and reached out. He yelped and snatched his hands back at the painful sparks that erupted.

He stepped back and tapped his headset. "Zelenka here. I've got a medical emergency. We triggered something here; it's trapped Rodney somehow. He's alive, and I don't see obvious harm," he added, knowing that Colonel Sheppard monitored the emergency broadcast channel.

A thought struck him and he added. "Dr. Beckett, you should not enter this room. The medical team -- no one with the gene should be on it. I think that's what triggered it."

Ignoring the frantic radio chatter that started up on the heels of his announcement, Radek watched Rodney's face, bathed in the eerie blue light. His eyes were darting beneath the closed lids, his lips twisted into a grimace. It was a look of pain, and then Rodney started convulsing, held upright by the column of light.

"Rodney," Radek yelled and threw himself at Rodney's shuddering body, but the light threw him back, nearly across the room, with a thunderous crack. Ears still ringing, Radek sat up with a wince. His skin felt tight, like a burn, and he couldn't watch Rodney writhe in the column of light for very long before he had to look away.

Just a few minutes ago, they'd been joking around, and now--Radek couldn't finish the thought. This was not happening. This could not be happening.

But it was happening and frantic denials of the situation wouldn't help Rodney. He scrambled on hands and knees over to the laptop. He ran shaking hands through his hair and then started to work.

*

Light through water, Rodney thought, the patterns weaving and bending about him. Intricate patterns captured his attention, drawing him down, down, down.

Then his world seemed to expand and contract at the same time, like the cognitive switch of an optical illusion, and suddenly Rodney was in a mental space that felt very familiar. It was where he went just before the moment of intuition, before the big 'a-ha,' the mental room where problems almost solved themselves.

This was that moment to the nth power. The distillation of intuition, a never-ending space where everything aligned, all solutions in his grasp. Scattered words, concepts raced in his head, nagging questions unfolding. How to charge a ZPM, how to defeat the Wraith -- the solutions were there, just below his consciousness, accessible if he tried hard enough. His mind was running concurrently on so many levels, both inhabiting each problem on its own level, and exploring the gestalt that was beyond each problem's individual parts.

"Rodney," he thought he heard, and it distracted him for a moment. But the infinite cold beauty of the mental room drew him in again, no pain, no fear, just surgical clarity, expanding awareness.

He'd been here before, but not like this. He'd been a temporary visitor, but this was different. This was his chance to live here, happily, forever, and he remembered being eight years old, the fierce desire to know everything burning him up inside.

Yes, he thought, yes.

*

"Zelenka!" Sheppard yelled from the door. "How much longer?"

"Stay outside, Colonel Sheppard," Radek said, without looking up from his laptop. "I don't know how the room might react to the strength of your gene."

Beckett stood helplessly with Sheppard at the door, while the medical team stood by inside the room, looking frustrated. Rodney's convulsions seemed to cycle, easing and worsening at random intervals. The medical team's efforts to penetrate the column of light had been no more productive than Radek's, and the wait to use their skills and gear no doubt felt endless.

"The room appears to be operating just as it was designed to do," Radek said.

Dr. Simpson was working at a panel they'd pulled away from the wall. "I don't see a way to turn this thing off gracefully. We could pull the control crystals--"

"And it might kill Rodney," Radek snapped. He looked over at Dr. Simpson's face, pale and drawn, the bluish light giving her skin an unhealthy cast. "Sorry," he said.

She shrugged off his apology, her eyes narrowed as she tested the circuitry with a probe. "There's no way to do this safely at the hardware level." She looked over at Radek, frowning. "Rodney obviously can't turn it off himself. But what about--"

"A natural gene carrier," Radek's voice overlapped with Simpson's. He sighed. "It might work. Or this natural gene carrier could himself end up trapped."

"I'll do it," Sheppard volunteered from outside the room.

"I thought you might," Radek said with a tight smile. He held up a hand as Sheppard took a step forward. "But do your best not to turn anything on when you come inside."

Sheppard stepped cautiously into the room, eyes locked on Rodney, who remained frozen in his column of light. "I'm thinking 'off' at it." His eyes were closed in concentration.

"It's not working," Simpson said with an edge to her voice.

"Off, off, off." Sheppard's teeth were clenched. He opened his eyes, shooting Radek a worried look. "This isn't working. I'm going in."

"No, wait, Colonel..."

Before Zelenka had finished speaking, Sheppard was bathed in a column of blue light, eyes closed.

Radek met Simpson's horrified gaze with his own. "Shit," she said, scrubbing at her eyes tiredly.

"Oh, crap," Radek breathed.

*

John was floating. Warm and peaceful, like swimming in the Gulf when he'd been stationed at Eglin. He felt himself smile lazily, relaxing into the sensation. He could almost hear the cry of gulls, smell the iodine ocean smell.

Then, suddenly, he flashed onto the last sparring session he'd had with Ronon, replaying each movement in excruciating detail. Only it was different this time, because he could see every possibility, see the many different responses to Ronon's attacks. If he'd chosen this move, then that would have been the result, which led to this.

He watched the many ghost-Johns acting out the possibilities and could sense the probabilities involved. This move, followed by that and that, made for John's triumph in the match half the time, while the choices he'd actually made doomed the chance of success to near zero.

"Cool," he said, or maybe he only thought he had, but out of the warm darkness around him came an intrusion. He sensed frenetic thoughts, concepts and theories that flew right past him, an intensity that felt familiar. A fierce joy, thought processes that moved faster than John could follow.

"Rodney." And it all came back to him, Rodney trapped, convulsing in that damn column of light, and, "Rodney, we've got to get out of here."

There was no response, so John tried again. "Rodney. Come on, you've got to stop. This is killing you." Stop it, stop it, he tried to think into the darkness.

He sensed annoyance, incredulity, and could practically hear Rodney saying, "Are you kidding me?"

"Stop it, Rodney. We've got to leave now. Right now." When push came to shove, Rodney always listened to him, obeyed him when it really mattered.

Which made it all the more surprising when he sensed Rodney's retreat, a sense of a horrified protectiveness -- this is mine, go away -- and in desperation, John let slip something he'd always sworn he'd never say.

"Don't leave, Rodney." It was his trump card, thrown out for nothing, because the sense of retreat continued, the Rodney presence fading further and further.

Stunned, he did nothing for a full minute, listening to the silence about him. It wasn't until the seductive pull of possibilities and probabilities started up again that he made himself think out, out. I want out.

And then he was himself again, heavy and blinking, and he felt his knees crumbling. I'm going down, he thought, just before he hit the floor.

*

"Colonel, are you all right?" Radek asked from where he crouched on the floor, peering at his laptop. Simpson went over to check on the Colonel, but he batted her hands away. Then the medical team was pushing her aside, doing all the things they'd been unable to do for Rodney.

"Go away," Sheppard mumbled, but they ignored him, shining lights in his eyes and moving him to the gurney.

"Wait, wait," Simpson said before they rolled him out into the hallway. "Rodney. What about Rodney?"

Radek looked back down at his laptop screen, where he was pulling up the sensor data for the past few minutes. Perhaps the readings of Sheppard entering the neural room differed from Rodney's, something that might give them a hint as to where to go from here.

The sensor readings looked identical, no obvious differences that might explain why Rodney remained trapped. Radek frowned. "Colonel, you were able to leave the neural space. Why can't Rodney?"

Sheppard sat up on the gurney, waving aside the medics with an impatient gesture. "Move, let me talk to him." When he looked at Radek, his face was white and set, a suppressed panicky look in his eyes "Zelenka, it's not that he can't. It's that he won't."

The medics rolled Sheppard away as Radek stared after them, his eyes wide. He looked over at Simpson, whose eyes were just as wide. What now, was the thought that hung unspoken between them.

Movement in the light column caught Radek's attention: Rodney was convulsing again, more violently than ever before.

"Oh, my God," Simpson gasped.

"We've got to get him out." His voice was shaky, and his hands even shakier when he reached up to tap his headset. "Dr. Weir. Rodney is getting worse. I think we have no choice but to pull the control crystals. As soon as possible."

Her response was immediate. "I thought you said it might kill him."

Simpson triggered her own headset, her voice frantic. "This thing is killing him. At least we can give him a chance. But it's not going to be pretty."

"Do it. I sent another medical team a few minutes ago; they should be there any second."

Radek cleared his throat and looked into Simpson's worried eyes. "You pull the crystals; I've got Rodney," he ordered.

She moved over to the wall panel and reached inside. Looking over at him, she nodded.

"Now," he said, and everything happened at once. Sparks flew, blue light exploding over them both, and then Radek was staggering under the weight of Rodney's limp body. Radek lowered him to the ground.

"He's not breathing," he said a little too loudly, and that was when someone pushed him aside. Radek stumbled and would have fallen if Simpson hadn't caught him by the arm.

The medical team had arrived. "No pulse, no respiration," he heard in low, tense tones and he went cold inside. Then they were wrestling Rodney onto the gurney, and Dr. Nguyn was doing chest compressions while they raced out of the room.

He let his breath out in a gaspy little sigh, and all of his strength evaporated with it, leaving him weak-kneed and putting most of his weight on Simpson. He wrapped his hand around Simpson's, and she looked down in surprise at their interlaced fingers. Her hand looked competent, small compared to his, and he looked up to catch her astonished expression.

He shrugged. "It looked like you could use a hand to hold."

"It did?" she asked.

He gave her a tight smile. "Well, perhaps I needed a hand to hold." He tugged at her hand. "Come. We should check on Rodney and Colonel Sheppard."

*

Darkness. Rodney's chest felt tight and sore, and the blackness in his head felt all encompassing. There was something missing; quicksilver thoughts slowed to lead, his brain bruised and clumsy again. He'd had it all, everything within his reach.

The sharpness of that intuitive place, the ease of a mind functioning on multiple levels, concentration as bright as the sun, as dense as a neutron star. The answers to every problem he'd ever wanted to solve -- he'd held them in the palm of his hand. The secrets of the universe, how to defeat the Wraith, he'd solved it all, and now his frantic mental grasp was flailing.

The razor sharpness of thought had dissolved like honey in hot tea, and he felt like screaming. To have never had that acuity, that mental quickness like lightning, was one thing, but to know it and then lose it -- that was a special kind of hell, the great Dr. Rodney McKay walking around with a hole in his head forever and ever.

He must have made a noise, because he heard someone moving, Sheppard's drawl saying, "Rodney, how are you feeling?"

"How do you think I feel?" was what he tried to say, but "Mmmmph," was what came out.

"Easy, Rodney." Carson's Scots burr, and how the hell could he be 'easy' with half his brain missing in action?

He managed to crack his eyes open, the light searing until his eyes adjusted. "You. Are all. Idiots," he managed in a weak voice that didn't sound anything like his own.

"The hell, Rodney?" Sheppard said.

"It's gone. All gone. You have no idea what we've lost," Rodney said and then had to catch his breath. He closed his eyes again. He didn't have the energy for this.

"What's gone? What have we lost?" Sheppard asked, but Carson shushed him.

"Don't overtire him, Colonel Sheppard. You should be resting yourself."

Rodney tried to motion for attention but only managed a weak twitch of his hand. "The neural room. It helps you...figure things out."

Carson tried to shush him, but Rodney interrupted. "Let me say this. I might...forget this, too."

"Forget? What are you talking about, Rodney?" Sheppard asked.

Rodney opened his eyes. Sheppard was standing beside his bed, looking pale and rumpled, face tight with worry.

Rodney paused, taking in the patient scrubs Sheppard was wearing. "You. You're okay?"

Sheppard gave the barest of nods, his eyes darting for a moment to look uneasily at Carson. "Yeah, I'm fine, Rodney. What's this about 'forget'?"

"In the neural room. It helped me figure it out."

"Figure what out, Rodney?" Carson had apparently given up trying to keep his infirmary a quiet zone.

Rodney took a breath, closing his eyes with a grimace. "I'm fine, fine." He waved Carson's concern off. "In the neural room, I figured out everything. Everything. The Wraith weakness. Any problem you could think of."

"I hear a 'but' in there, Rodney," Sheppard said uneasily.

Rodney felt his mouth twist, his fingers clenching painfully in the sheets. "It's gone. The answers. I'm forgetting it all."

*

John was out of the infirmary within the day, although Rodney was stuck under Beckett's care for an entire two weeks. Rodney wasn't himself when John visited him, quiet, a little depressed even. John couldn't blame him; he figured the neural space was a little like nirvana for a brain trust kind of guy like Rodney, and he'd lost it. And not only had he been pried out of his geek nirvana, he hadn't even been able to keep the knowledge he'd discovered there.

The Wraith weakness -- that was a particular piece of knowledge that John himself would kill for possession of, and that was only part of what Rodney had lost. It must be close to Rodney's version of hell, to know everything, and then to lose it all.

John didn't see much of Rodney for another week even after he was released from the infirmary. By the time Rodney showed up at John's quarters late one night, John was starving for it.

"God, yes," he muttered and dragged Rodney inside.

In no time, John had Rodney flat on his back in his bed, fucking him sweet and slow. Even as close as they were, his cock inside Rodney, sweat-slick skin to skin, somehow Rodney didn't seem entirely in the moment, his expression a little detached.

"Rodney," John gritted and pushed in deep. He went for Rodney's lips, but Rodney turned his face at the last minute, and the kiss landed awkwardly just below Rodney's ear. John sucked on the lobe, but Rodney seemed distracted.

"You with me, Rodney?" he asked with a corkscrew twist of his hips that usually guaranteed a visceral reaction, but Rodney just closed his eyes. "Rodney," John repeated, a trace of annoyance elongating the first syllable, and thrust in a little rougher than before.

It was oh, so tight, and his cock sliding hot and slick inside Rodney was lighting up the space behind his eyes, sparks arcing down his spine. He groaned and thrust in again and again with a frenetic rock of his hips, and felt himself coming before he could stop himself.

He'd pulled out of Rodney, his brain shorted out, trying to catch his breath. He stirred; Rodney hadn't come yet. He reached over, but touched only Rodney's shoulder blade. Rodney was already frantically jerking himself, his back to John. He spooned up to Rodney's back, reaching around to take over, but Rodney twitched, using his elbow to block John's hand.

"I got it," Rodney gritted out through clenched teeth, his face pressed into the pillow. His hand working furiously, he came with a harsh cry.

John lay there and watched Rodney sit up and reach down to scoop his pants off the floor. He put a hand along the warm, sweaty curve of Rodney's back. "You okay, Rodney?"

Rodney froze for a moment, then turned to kiss him, a dry, close-mouthed press of his lips that left John aching for more, but Rodney didn't react when he tried to tease Rodney's mouth open with his tongue.

Rodney pulled away. "I'm fine."

John watched Rodney dress with a worried irritation that stole all the easy contentment out of his post-orgasm relaxation. Rodney looked tired and drawn, but John didn't bother to ask him about it. One more lie from Rodney, and John knew he'd lose it.

"I'll just go, then," Rodney said without looking over at him.

"Fine," John said, and failed miserably at not sounding sullen.

After Rodney left, he lay there in the dark, sleepless and staring at the ceiling.

*

Rodney managed to avoid Sheppard for a week after the sex debacle. His irritation and worry had been obvious, and Rodney should have told him then, but he just couldn't bring himself to say the words aloud. It was in his records now, no clearance for off world missions, and Sheppard could read it for himself if he were in the habit of snooping personnel files. When Rodney went in for his brain scans, Carson inevitably asked annoying questions about when he was telling his team leader, and said that if Rodney didn't do it, Carson would be forced to.

"Tomorrow," Rodney promised.

"Today. Or so help me, I'm marching over there right now and telling him myself." Carson's Scottish granny tone and expression almost drew a laugh out of Rodney, and he found himself nodding.

He caught up to Sheppard in the mess having a late breakfast. He plopped his tray down on the table across from Sheppard's. "Hey."

Sheppard looked over. "Rodney." He didn't say anything after that.

Rodney sighed and gnawed on his toast. It was dry and bland, and the only thing he could stomach right now. The medications left him feeling tired and shaky, in addition to the nausea, and wasn't that just so much fun on top of the hypoglycemia.

Sheppard's eyes darted down to Rodney's plate then up at his face. He frowned. "Ease up on the late night lab sessions, Rodney. You look tired."

Running a hand through his hair, Rodney sighed. "Very, very tired."

"Tomorrow afternoon good for you for the off-world briefing, Rodney?" Sheppard asked.

Rodney stilled, then lowered his coffee mug to the table with a hand that visibly trembled no matter how much Rodney tried to stop it. "I. Uh, I'm afraid I won't be attending."

"You can't go off world without the briefing, Rodney." Sheppard had speared a link of pseudo-sausage with his fork and wagged it under Rodney's nose.

The smell hit him just before the nausea spiked, and Rodney felt all the blood leave his face. He clapped a hand over his mouth and turned his face away. After a few moments, he turned back long enough to say, "Get that away from me," through gritted teeth.

Sheppard dropped the sausage onto his plate. "Jeez, Rodney, what are you, pregnant?"

"I'm laughing on the inside, Sheppard," he snarled, but then he tried to calm himself. Sheppard didn't know; it wasn't his fault Rodney didn't have the guts to talk about his mission status. "This is what I've been trying to tell you. I'm not going to the briefing because I'm not going off world."

Sheppard froze. "What?"

Rodney carefully looked down into his coffee mug. "Carson's got me on anticonvulsants. I'm not cleared for missions. Dr. Zelenka can go instead."

"Anticonvulsants." John blinked in confusion.

"For seizures," Rodney supplied helpfully.

"I know what they're for, Rodney." It was the pissy tone that Sheppard always got when Rodney talked down to him. "Why--"

Then Sheppard went white, startled comprehension on his face. "You're having seizures? From using the neural room?"

"Don't worry about yourself, Colonel. Carson doesn't know if it's because you were in the space for a shorter time or if it's that your gene is natural, but your brain scans were clear."

Sheppard's face went red. "Damn it, Rodney. I was asking because I was worried. About you, you asshole."

Rodney took a sip of coffee, more to stall than because he really wanted to drink it. He set the mug down and fisted one hand around the other, trying to quell the little tremors that were one of the more annoying side effects of the medications.

"I...I know that," he admitted finally. "I just don't like to think about all this."

Sheppard glanced around surreptitiously, and then leaned forward to whisper, "Can you come over tonight?"

Rodney stifled a sigh. "We've been really busy in the lab, and I've been prepping Radek on what to do off world--" He trailed off after the first rush of words, then picked up his toast again and took a bite. Looking over at Sheppard's expectant face, he said, "I'll try, okay? I'll try."

Sheppard's face went blank, as if he knew that Rodney had no intention of showing up. It was all so much, too much, the medications, the fear that he'd never feel normal again. Since the neural room, he'd felt detached and disassociated, and the feeling persisted even while he was having sex with Sheppard. He hated that, hated it almost as much as knowing that he wouldn't be beside Sheppard the next time his team walked through the 'gate.

Rodney looked over at Sheppard and let his expression harden. It was better this way. It was. They'd get used to it. It was in the Pegasus galaxy that Rodney had learned you could get used to pretty much anything.

*

John was in a foul mood for days after Rodney's revelation. For one thing, Rodney had gone back to avoiding him. When they did run into each other, Rodney wasn't rude or mean. He was cool and polite, and it made John want to tear his own hair out.

He missed Rodney's company. Things just weren't the same without Rodney's acerbic comments, his complaints, his hot, wet mouth wrapped around John's cock. Just because Rodney was no longer -- it's just temporary, was John's frantic thought -- on the team didn't mean they couldn't hang out together.

But Rodney apparently thought it did and worked his hours in the lab and diligently went to the infirmary once a week for brain scans. He was pretty close-mouthed about the results, too, and John had to finagle out of Beckett the fact that parts of Rodney's brain continued to show damage.

John told Zelenka to get ready for their off world mission, but then assigned Major Lorne to provide the weapons training. John didn't feel up to doing it himself. It would have felt too much like accepting that Rodney was off the team forever, and John was in no way ready to do that.

So Zelenka shot John a startled look when he showed up at the practice range for Zelenka's lesson one day.

"Major Lorne is keeping Sergeant Avila company in the infirmary. I'm filling in."

"The Marine who was burned?" Zelenka asked, gingerly sliding a magazine into the 9mm he'd checked out of the armory.

"She'll be lucky to regain the use of that hand." John scowled. It was bad enough when his Marines got injured by enemy action, but this had been an accident, an explosion caused by old and decayed Ancient tech. It felt a little like betrayal, to think of Atlantis in some way causing the injury. Like Rodney's, he thought, and stifled a flinch.

Zelenka looked over at John. "We're adapting an Ancient device that may help her. Dr. Beckett's been scouring the database for anything that could be used to regenerate damaged tissue."

John started, surprised and trying to hide it. He realized he'd always gotten the lab gossip from Rodney, absorbing it by osmosis, but lately -- well, lately, he was lucky to catch five minutes with a too-polite Rodney before he pulled out his 'busy in the lab' excuse for the umpteenth time.

"Could it help Rodney, too?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Perhaps," Zelenka said, readying his 9mm.

John tried not to hope too much and bit back his questions. Zelenka wasn't being really forthcoming, as if Rodney had sworn him to silence, and John felt his eyes narrow. He shook himself. He'd deal with Rodney later; for now, there was Zelenka's lesson.

He cleared his throat, and pointed at Zelenka's eye protection, sitting uselessly atop his head.

Zelenka slipped them on over his glasses with an exasperated sigh. He racked the slide and set the safety to fire, muttering to himself. He looked up in time to catch John's raised eyebrow and flushed. "I kept forgetting, so Major Lorne said I should talk it through."

John shrugged. "Fine by me. Let's see what you've got."

What he had wasn't much, although John tried to sound encouraging as they looked at the targets afterwards. He pointed at the holes that scattered the edges of the paper. "Not the worst I've seen," he said.

Zelenka let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, please, Colonel Sheppard. I'm awful; I realize that. I've never liked these things."

John opened his mouth, but Zelenka held up his hand. "Yes, I know. I know it's necessary if I keep going off world. I know what we might run into. I'll get better. Rodney did."

John felt his lips tighten.

Zelenka was giving him a solemn look over the top of his glasses, his hair sticking out every which way. It should have made him look ridiculous but somehow it didn't. "You are angry at him."

John laughed. "Wrong way around, Zelenka. He's mad at me."

Ignoring John's comment, Zelenka continued, "You are not a scientist. That is not your passion. What is yours? Flying, perhaps?"

John shrugged. Zelenka was getting too nosy, asking him about this shit. "Whatever. Don't forget to clean that," he said with a gesture at the table where Zelenka had placed the 9mm. He was turning away when Zelenka stopped him with a hand on his arm.

He gave Zelenka's hand his best move it before I chop it off at the wrist look, which had subdued Marines who could eat Zelenka for breakfast. To give him credit, Zelenka seemed unmoved.

"Whatever your passion might be, for Rodney it is a problem that bends to his will, the chance to learn, to stretch his intellect. The neural room -- to be utterly immersed in that moment when everything makes sense, when the puzzle almost solves itself..." Zelenka trailed off, staring dreamily into space.

Whatever the neural room had meant for Rodney, it sure seemed to have impressed Zelenka, and that kind of pissed John off.

"It's dangerous. And pointless -- Rodney doesn't even remember what those solutions were. The damn thing left him almost crippled; he should hate the place." A thought struck him. "I haven't seen any reports on what we're doing with the neural room. We're destroying it, right?"

Zelenka fidgeted with his glasses, moving them up and down his nose with a finger before settling them back into place. "Well, uh. Perhaps you should speak with Rodney--" he glanced up at John's face and whatever he saw there made him backtrack, "Elizabeth, then. Yes, yes, you should be speaking to Elizabeth about this."

John went cold. "You're stalling. You want to keep that room around, don't you?"

Zelenka looked down at his steepled fingers, then up at John. "It is too valuable to destroy, Colonel Sheppard. To have the gene, to be able to use the room -- ah, I can only imagine. If my gene therapy had been successful, I would have done it without a second thought. It's the only time I've been jealous of Rodney, when he talked about what it was like. Because his gene therapy worked, he could know the wonder of that place, and I. I never will."

John felt his face harden. "And Rodney? Does he feel the same way?"

Zelenka took a breath and met John's gaze. "Yes, Colonel Sheppard. I'm sorry. He does."

John was speechless for a good minute after that, his brain racing. What the hell was wrong with Rodney -- with Zelenka, for that matter, who was usually the sensible one -- that they could still be tempted by the neural room?

Of course, the most important person tempted by the dangerous potential of the neural room was Elizabeth, as John found out the very next day at a senior staff meeting.

Elizabeth went along with Rodney and Zelenka's little "the neural room is too valuable to destroy" song and dance number. And as if that weren't bad enough, Rodney proceeded to make even that seem reasonable when he suggested a return trip to the neural space.

John held up a frantic hand. "Wait, wait, wait, Rodney. You? You want to be the one to go back in?"

"I don't like this, Rodney," Elizabeth said, but Rodney was focused on John, giving him that stubborn little head tilt that John knew meant trouble.

"Of course, me," Rodney said. "Who else? I didn't notice you bringing back the secrets of the universe from your visit there. I know what to expect this time, and I'll be concentrating on just one thing -- the Wraith weakness. Radek and I have rigged a neural switch that should ease me out if necessary."

"And what's a little more brain damage between friends, right?" John knew it was childish and definitely not the best way to get anyone on his side, but the words spilled out before he could help himself.

"Colonel Sheppard," Elizabeth interjected, a reproving frown on her face. "Let's keep this civil, shall we?"

"Yes, let's all be civil while we talk about Rodney trying to turn himself into a vegetable--"

"I am painfully aware of the risks involved." Her voice was soft, cracking a little, and her eyes showed a depth of grief that stopped John cold.

She looked down at her clasped hands and swallowed. "I'm sure you'll agree that capturing the Wraith weakness is of vital importance to the survival of humans in two galaxies. The risk is real, but the potential return is incalculable. Rodney, you're certain you can do this without hurting yourself?"

"Positive." Then, with a look over at Zelenka, he corrected himself. "Well, reasonably sure. This isn't exactly an exact science," he said defensively when John shot him a glare.

Elizabeth sighed. "Rodney's convinced me."

"It's insane," John said, trying not to raise his voice. "We're just going to let Rodney fry out his brains? On the slim chance that he can recapture the solution and bring it back this time?"

Rodney was glaring at him. "Whatever I do with my brains, it's not your decision. And it's not a slim chance. It's a very good chance."

"I agree," Zelenka said, shooting John a nervous glance.

Elizabeth looked down at her folded hands, and then looked up, gazing at each of them in turn. "As do I." Her expression was sympathetic when she looked at John. "I'm afraid you're outvoted, John."

"At least let me go in with Rodney," John said abruptly, ignoring the startled and less-than-pleased look that Rodney shot him. "He kind of got lost in there last time. Maybe if we go in together, we can--" he shrugged, searching for words,"--keep each other grounded."

Rodney leaned forward, his body language bristling. "Elizabeth--"

Elizabeth cut Rodney off with a raised hand, not taking her eyes from John's. You owe me, he thought, you know what he is to me. She must have seen something, in his face, in his eyes. Leaning back, she let her eyes dart to Rodney, then back to him, her gaze dark with empathy.

She nodded, eyes still fixed on John's. "No, Rodney. That makes sense. Colonel Sheppard goes in with you," she said with a cocked eyebrow in enquiry, as if to ask, that suit you?

*

"Is it ready yet?" Rodney sounded nervous even to himself, and Sheppard was giving him a look that was half reassurance and half something that Rodney couldn't quite decipher.

"Yes, yes, Rodney. The control crystals are in place now," Radek called out from inside the room.

Rodney took a deep breath, and then Sheppard said, "Together," and held out his hand. Rodney thought about grabbing Sheppard's wrist instead, just to be contrary, but stifled the desire with a sigh. Pressing his lips together, he took Sheppard's hand in a loose grip. Sheppard's hand tightened around his almost to the point of pain, but he took one look at Sheppard's grim face and didn't protest.

Sheppard's eyes met his, and wordlessly they stepped inside the room--

--and between one breath and the next, Rodney was there again, transported, and he'd almost forgotten how incredible it was, limitless possibility opening up about him. He stretched to encompass it all, wider and wider, but something was calling him back, weighing him down. Sheppard, and he could sense the warping of space about them, containing them, rooting them in place, and knew it was Sheppard's doing.

Ease off, he tried to say, back off, and the restriction eased a little. Rodney let himself fill the space, felt himself expand and test the bonds that tried to limit his vision. He sensed Sheppard strain to contain him and felt a laugh bubbling up within him. This room, this space, was more his than anything he'd ever known in his life, and it was ludicrously easy to break free.

So many wondrous things for him to think on, and part of him was muttering, "The Wraith, the Wraith, figure it out and leave." But most of him was trapped by the beauty of time and gravity and strings and everything, everything he'd ever considered worthy of his genius. This was where he belonged, where he truly lived, and why should he ever leave?

Multiple dimensions and subatomic particles--and then anger and fear, Sheppard trying to pin him down again, and you'll die, Rodney, you'll die if we don't leave.

Die? Meaningless, because death didn't matter here, except as a concept. Nothing mattered except ideas and beautiful puzzles and the answers to any question you could come up with. You can go. I'll stay here, he thought.

He sensed anger, fear, a flash of some other emotion, hot and desperate. If you die, I die, and then a merging, his presence with Sheppard's.

No, he thought desperately. No, don't, you have to go, because while the cool logic of the place felt like home to him, he knew Sheppard was too grounded in the physical to truly live here, and it hurt, the part of him that remembered hurt, to think of Sheppard adrift in this place, a fate worse than death for him, probably.

I'm not leaving you. Warmth, affection--love? It dumbfounded him, to be the focus of all that emotion. It wrapped around him, almost like an embrace, but it came from the inside, too, warming up the deepest and darkest parts of him. It pulled him away from the tantalizing answers that hovered just out of reach, warmth, pulling him in, and he found himself welcoming it. The limitless space around them was no longer limitless, but he didn't care. His world was constricting, boundaries closing in again, his thoughts pulling back from the edges of the universe.

And this time when he felt the presence again, We need to leave, he let himself go with it, relaxed into the warmth.

Yes, he thought, and felt his body again, the hard floor beneath his back, the ache in his hand from Sheppard's grip.

"They are back," he heard Zelenka shout.

Rodney pried his eyes open, turned his head to look over at Sheppard. Rodney met that soft gaze and felt a dopey expression take over his face. He let his eyes ask the question, and the faint curve of Sheppard's mouth was the only answer he needed. Blinking in wonder, he felt a tired smile move over his face, and then his eyelids were drooping shut. Tired, so tired, but he managed to squeeze Sheppard's hand before the darkness closed in, and he heard a faint, "Rodney," in answer. It was enough.

*

John made sure to break it to Elizabeth as soon as he could, cutting into her concerned questions to say, "It didn't work. I'm sorry."

"I see." The expression flashed by so fast John might have imagined it, except that her voice was heavy with it, disappointment hovering just below her concern. Her lips tightened, her shoulders slumped for a split-second, and then her poise was back in place, her smile rueful but genuine. "It was a chance. One we had to take," she said slowly. "I'm just glad you both made it out. Safe and sound."

They escaped an infirmary stay this time by the skin of their teeth, and John breathed a sigh of relief. After a long medical checkup, which included brain scans and a great deal of wheedling on both their parts, Beckett allowed them to check out of the infirmary. They both had to swear to head straight to their quarters to rest, and before they left, Beckett delayed them a little longer. John didn't mind when he heard the reason.

"Excellent results with Sergeant Avila, by the way. I thought you both should know. Her tissues are regenerating. She'll use that hand yet," Beckett said proudly. He paused a beat, and a puzzled frown creased his face at their silence. "This is good news, lads."

John glanced at Rodney, whose expression was frozen between hope and wariness. "Rodney's seizures--" John started to say.

"No promises, but I've got high hopes," Beckett grinned.

"That's great, Carson," Rodney said finally, clearing his throat. He raised an eyebrow at John as if sharing a joke, his smile soft and intimate. The smile made John's face heat up. It was a serious turn on, the feeling of being in synch with Rodney again, and he licked his lips.

He almost stepped on Rodney's heels leaving the infirmary, and Rodney chuckled. Catching the smoldering glance shot back at him from beneath Rodney's eyelashes, John felt his breath catch in his chest. He snagged a fistful of Rodney's jacket and tugged him back close enough to whisper, "My quarters are closer."

John knew they were both hungry for it when Rodney muttered, "Doctor's orders, even. I'm not planning on resting just yet, though--"

"Me, neither," John agreed, and at that, Rodney tore off down the corridor.

Rodney's eagerness didn't let up when they were in John's quarters. He was all over John, an irresistible force, warm hands and a warmer mouth, and John just let himself go with it. Kisses like Rodney was starving for them, rough enough to bruise, but John let him.

Let Rodney strip him with shaky hands, let Rodney push him back on the bed, let Rodney spread his legs apart to sprawl between them, conveniently face to groin.

Rodney looked up at John, sobering for a second. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, John. I didn't know--"

"Shhhh, Rodney," John breathed. "It's okay. We're on the same page now." He gestured a little frantically. "Just. Rodney, could you please..."

Rodney could and did, his warm, wet mouth swallowing John's cock down, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. Heat and suction, and John heard things spilling out of his mouth, "God, Rodney, yes, Rodney."

And then Rodney's finger was in his ass, the intrusion counterpoint to Rodney's mouth and tongue. A strong tongue slid up the sensitive underside of his cock and then wet suction again, and a finger pushing gently in and out of his ass. John was incoherent with it, sounds breaking from him, and he hovered between the two sensations, teetering on the brink until the finger thrust in deep enough to hit the spot. Like catching fire, a jolt like electricity all through him, that pushed him over the edge.

Total meltdown when he came. Rodney's mouth milked him through it, throat muscles working to swallow him down. It was a good one, whiting out his brain, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip to muffle the sound. His head slammed back against the pillows, his muscles seizing, and he was saying, "Rodney, so good. Please. Love you."

When his brain had stopped melting and he'd managed to catch his breath, he noticed Rodney was hovering over him. "Can I?" Rodney asked, in a desperate voice. "John, let me."

John nodded. "Do it. Like this, face to face."

Rodney paused, eyes searching John's for something. Whatever it was, he must have found it, because he nodded. Rodney's fingers were opening him up, and then Rodney was sliding inside, his cock filling John up, warm and strong like the rest of Rodney.

"Look at me," Rodney said.

He'd closed his eyes, but he opened them to see Rodney staring at him, mouth slack, pupils dilated. "John, you feel so good. So good," he groaned, with a thrust deep enough to hit the spot, to light him up.

John gasped, and even though he'd just come, arousal curled inside him. More diffuse, without the intensity of before, but a good feeling all the same. Like floating, buoyed up by a warm, salty sea, and he could do this forever. He probably didn't have it in him to come again, but it felt good anyway, Rodney's mouth on his, sucking on his bottom lip, Rodney's chest sliding over his, sweaty and solid. Rodney's cock pushed in and out, easy and slow, and then faster and harder.

Rodney was making low sounds, his breathing getting faster and faster. "John, John," he groaned as he thrust in deep. "John," he said again as the rhythm of his strokes broke, thrusting deep into John one last time, his hips stuttering unevenly, and then he was coming with a shout, spurting deep into John.

"Oh, god," Rodney gasped, and John winced a little when Rodney's softened cock slipped out of him. Rodney collapsed on top of him with a groan, and it was good, Rodney's weight pinning him down, the smell of sex and sweat heavy between them.

They lay there, just breathing, for a long time, and then Rodney stirred. Rodney's mouth was right next to John's ear, and he shivered when Rodney spoke. "That was...incredible."

"Hmm," John agreed happily, and slid a lazy hand over Rodney's ribs.

"Incredible," Rodney said again and then all was quiet again for a very long time, only the sound of their breathing to break the stillness. They settled themselves more comfortably, and John heard Rodney's breathing slow as he drifted off to sleep.

John smiled as he lay there awake, Rodney wrapped around him in the dark. Rodney snuffled in his sleep, stirring, and then resettled even more closely next to him. John let his hand drift up and down Rodney's back, relearning every bump, every scar. He'd missed this, missed breathing in Rodney's smell, the heavy warmth of him pressed close.

He closed his eyes, his hand still moving on Rodney's skin and smiled. If he concentrated, if he was quiet enough, the almost subliminal pulse and flow of Atlantis came to life around him, and his sense of the city was less elusive, more concrete since the neural room.

"High hopes," Beckett had said, but John knew there were no guarantees. The Ancient device might heal Rodney, return him to his rightful place on the team. Then again, it might not, but John knew that losing Rodney as a team member wouldn't be the end of the world. It wouldn't change things where it mattered, not now.

He dropped a kiss onto Rodney's temple, and knew that they'd manage no matter what happened. Atlantis provided and Atlantis took away with an equally heavy hand, but together, they'd manage.