Calculating to a Fault by Kriadydragon (Men and Machines Challenge)

[kriadydragon]

Title: Calculating to a Fault
Author: Kriadydragon
Rating: PG+, Gen
Characters: Sheppard, McKay
Synopsis: There was so much that Rodney McKay hated. Bit of humor, bit of angst, and some whump tossed in for kicks.

Calculating to a Fault

There was so much that Rodney McKay hated. Lemons, incompetence, having to explain himself then repeat what he'd just explained, enclosed spaces, pushy parents, witless teacher - but above all, Ancients and the overly emotional. Emotions were a scribble on existence, a formless ink stain, potholes in the road of life. Emotions varied in temperature, size, height, shape, weight so that it could never be gaged, measured, weighed. To grasp the concept of emotion was to grasp Jello too hard.

Give Rodney McKay tangible logic, cold hard science and very visible and obedient equations because emotions just down right sucked.

Especially love.

Sure, he had the capacity to love. He harbored certain affections for one Katie Brown, and affections eventually led to love, right? Or did affections equal love? Perhaps it was all divided into levels; incalculable and immeasurable levels only those phone psychics could figure out since there was nothing to figure out. They told people what to feel by telling them “this is why you feel the way you do” and emotions prostrated to the wisdom of ten bucks a minute.

Love, affections, emotions - they were feelings, electric signals shimmying from the brain down various nerve endings under the right stimuli. Brain waves could be read but didn't explain squat, except that chocolate really did make people insanely happy and being forced to eat green beans made them pitifully depressed. Or something. Rodney was pretty sure he had read that somewhere...

But the fact remained that the scientific method could not be applied to emotions, not entirely, and especially not to love.

Which brought Rodney back to his dislike of Ancients and emotions, because how the hell did the Ancients manage to create an artificial intelligence with friggin' abandonment issues!

“This thing is not coming off.” McKay poked at the thin film like skin ready to peel connecting a pinky-thick transparent filament to the top of Sheppard's spine. The filament seemed actually, organically, connected to Sheppard complete with hair-fine blue veins branching from the filament's tip, probably embedded into Sheppard's skin through the pores. Oh, and it was definitely not coming off, at least not without a certain amount of pain involved.

“I kind of figured that when you yanked on it, McKay,” Sheppard said through clenched teeth. The filament trailed from Sheppard's back to a small port in the largest console Rodney had ever seen taking up the width of a chamber twice the size of the gate room. Above the console was a transparent screen taking up the majority of the wall. The structure housing what Rodney had initially Christened as the real Deep Thought would only take up one branch of Atlantis, but was Atlantis-like in design, coloring, etc down to the bubbling pillars. Except it wasn't on an ocean, it was on a really big lake.

Rodney rubbed the slick, rather oily filament between thumb and forefinger. “Then Carson's just going to have to make one hell of a house call.”

Sheppard visibly shuddered. “Are we sure surgical removal is the way to go?”

“Entity Sheppard is correct,” chirped the flat, feminine voice of Not-So-Deep-thought-After-All. Or Cindy, as Rodney had rechristened her - the first girl he'd ever dated in exchange that he'd do her homework. She had refused to kiss him because he wouldn't do her book report, but he'd refused to suffer A Tale of Two Cities a second time around. Life had been depressing enough.

“Nobody asked you,” Rodney growled.

“My reply did not require questioning. Only I can remove the connector. By any other means will only do to cause entity Sheppard irreversible damage.

Rodney stopped poking, Sheppard scowling, and both men exchanged uncomfortable looks.

“Rodney,” John said in that tone of forced patience he used when he was anything but patient. “Maybe you should stop trying to find the answer on this end and find it on the other end.”

A small surge of pale blue light shot through the filament directly into John's spine. Sheppard jolted with an unmanly yelp, arching his back. “Today!” Another surge, another jolt and a yelp.

“Entity Sheppard, your presence is needed here. Please refrain from participation in interference with my prime directive.”

Rodney shifted position from Sheppard to the console where laptops were plugged in, screens scrolling with data. “So what is your prime directive other than electrocuting the man who woke you up?”

“My systems are capable of executing a limitless number of commands. Limited due to incompletion of this structure.”

Rodney studied the readings on the laptops. “Got a database?”

“I do.”

Information of a different sort filled the mammoth glass screen to capacity. Mountains of data in Ancient, which didn't mean a damn thing without key words to simplify the search.

“Got anything on how to shut you down?” Rodney ventured since it never hurt to ask. It was a computer and computers were supposed to be helpful.

The giant screen went blank. “That goes against my programing.” Then again, three-fourths of the time, computers never were.

“What, you're saying you were programmed for self preservation?”

“Yes.”

Rodney arched his eyebrows. “Huh,” then turned to Sheppard. “Hear that, Casanova? She only wants you for your gene after all.”

John tossed a scathing glance over his shoulder. “Don't you think this,” he grabbed the tether and shook it, “a little bit of an extreme way to go about it? Okay, so it's been a while since anyone's activated you and you're not ready to go back into hibernation. But I'm not the only one with the gene. There's plenty of people where we come from who would be more than happy to light you up again. Hell, they'd probably move in right down the hall.”

“I do not wish to risk the loss of anymore entities. Your genetic structure is strong and... I have missed engaging with organic beings.”

Rodney's fingers stopped flying in mid-type. He snapped his head up, bewildered, even a little shocked. “You really are... were, lonely?”

“Organic beings gave me purpose, commands. They spoke with me, filled me with data...”

McKay gaped. “Holy crap, I was kidding when I'd said that!”

Sheppard mirrored Rodney's expression. “So I am being kept as some kind of...” he grimaced at his next choice of word, “pet?”

There was a moment of thin silence as Cidny's data rolled swiftly across the screens of the laptops. “What is this... pet, you speak of?”

“Uh,” Sheppard exchanged a helpless look with Rodney. “A...”

“Companion,” Rodney supplied.

“Then yes, a pet.”

Sheppard gave Rodney a scowl that should have melted the flesh from his bones. “Thanks McKay.”

Rodney shielded himself against the heat with a mock smile. “You're welcome, Colonel.” Sheppard could be quite dangerous when peeved, but Rodney had learned long ago that he was more bark than bite... unless weapons were involved and lives at stake. McKay resumed typing. Cindy was true to her word. She was amiable about most of the commands except for those that would have led McKay to whatever constituted as an off-button on this thing. “Seriously, as happy as I am that you found companionship, you can't keep him. For one, he's not house-broken.”

“McKay!”

“Can't hear you, colonel, working here. As I was saying, a pet is a big responsibility, you see. They require a lot of care, have a lot of needs. Granted, you have the shelter thing covered, but he also needs food, water, clothes, a place to, uh, dispose of waste.”

Cindy's console blinked and winked an array of pretty colors. “Those who built the surrounding structure did so with their own needs in mind. Part of my directive maintains the filters providing clean liquids and there are rooms designed for the purpose of waste disposal.”

Rodney checked his watch. It had only been ten minutes since Ronon and Teyla had taken off to fetch Beckett, Zelenka, and any other computer guru they could round up. McKay needed them here, now, manning the other laptops in a full-on siege of digital proportions. Perhaps with enough hands typing they could keep Cindy preoccupied enough for one of them to get to that off switch.

“That still leaves food,” he said.

“And exercise,” Sheppard added. “Like hell I'm keeling over from heart disease.”

“Food can be brought back from your world,” Cindy stated reasonably. “As well as this clothing you mentioned. I am able to extend the connector allowing you to move as far as you please within the confines of the structure.”

Sheppard started to pace, twisting his lip in a rather vicious-looking sneer. “Really got all the bases covered there, don't ya?” He then approached the console laying his hands flat on the surface and leaning in wearing the same flesh-melting scowl that was completely wasted on the giant computer. “Listen, I feel bad for you, I really do, but I have responsibilities that require me to be some place else other than here. And I can't do my job from here. Plus there's another computer that needs me. A whole city, actually. Goes by the name Atlantis, ever heard of her?”

The scrolling data began to slow and the dancing console lights dim. “Atlantis?”

Rodney didn't think it was possible, was probably hearing things, but could have sworn Cindy had just rolled the word across a non-existent tongue like tasting something bitter.

Both of Sheppard's eyebrows arched high toward his hairline. “Atlantis? Flying city, used to be sunk under the ocean? It's where most of your creators liked the hang out.”

The scrolling data went from a crawl to whipping over the screen like a well-ordered stamped. A ball of light the size of Rodney's fist ripped through the tether straight into John's back burning bright enough cast a silhouette of John's back-bone against his suddenly transparent skin. He arched, crumpling, screaming, clawing at the entry point of the tether until blood was drawn. Rodney cursed loud before leaping forward to grab Sheppard's wrists and pull them away. Tendons dug into McKay's hands and an unnaturally fast pulse beat against his palm.

Sheppard threw himself to the floor, fingers curled, spine curved in a perfect bow.

“Stop it!” Rodney shrieked, his heart hammering fast enough to match Sheppard's. “Stop it, you're hurting him, stop!”

The light X-raying Sheppard's back extinguished. Sheppard's body went boneless sprawled on the pristine floors, unconscious. Rodney still had hold of his wrists tight enough to continue feeling that absurdly speedy pulse. Thankfully, it was starting to slow, and when it did Rodney's own heart and breathing slowed with it.

“What.. what he hell!” he squeaked. He gently set John's hands on his stomach, straightened, then whipped around to point a rigid and shaking finger at Cindy. “What the freakin' hell was that!”

To which Cindy calmly replied, “Discipline.”

“Discipline!” Rodney spat letting the spittle fly. “You call that,” he snapped his arm back to point at Sheppard. “Discipline!”

“It was necessary,” said Cindy. “He must learn that his place is here, now. Not with... the other.”

A bark of incredulous laughter burst from Rodney's throat. “Wha... but... what? You're a machine! You're not supposed to get jealous.”

Lights flickered over the console as the data scrolled slower. “Jel-us?”

Rodney heard an odd, muffled squeak inside his head and realized that it was his teeth grinding together. The absurdity and weirdness of it all made him want the argue the point that machines weren't supposed to feel anything, but Sheppard hadn't woken up, yet. McKay checked the man's pulse through the wrist and felt it a little fast but steady. The periodic twitching in the colonel's lanky limbs, however, prevented him from relaxing. He needed to get Sheppard disconnected. First, he needed to make sure the pilot was going to be all right.

Since McKay wasn't Carson, the best he could do was place his folded up jacket beneath the messy head. He then returned to the laptop plugged into the most advanced yet dumbest interface ever created. “Jealous - a mindless state of irrationality that momentarily causes an individual to drop in I.Q. points and do incredibly stupid things. Usually brought on by anger.”

The console blinked and data crawled as Cindy processed this. “I am not capable of such a state of being.”

Rodney's jaw trembled as he fought to keep from grinding his teeth down to the roots. Not capable his ass. “Hmm, well, gee, could have fooled me. So, if I say 'Atlantis is the best' it has no affect on you what so ever?”

“None.”

“What if I said Sheppard loves Atlantis and Atlantis loves Sheppard?”

More blinking and more methodical data crawling. “Love?”

“Kind of like jealousy, but instead of being stupid because you're angry, you're stupid because you're ridiculously happy.”

“Atlantis makes entity Sheppard happy,” Cindy said, processing.

“Yes, by doing things like not putting an organic leash on him so he can go where he wants.”

“Entity Sheppard will be free to go where he wishes when he has learned to... love me.”

Now he was thoroughly pissed. Rodney slammed his hands on the console, hunching his shoulder with hackles raised. “Bad news, Aphrodite. You can't force someone to love you! It doesn't work that way.”

“Then how does it work?”

McKay snorted, tossing his hands up. “I don't know! It's complicated. For some people it just happens, for others it's over time. But one thing I do know for a fact - hurting him will not make him love you. It will make him hate you. If you want him to like you and stick around, you have to be nice to him, like Atlantis is.”

Blinking - rapid blinking - and rapid data scrolling. “I cannot let him go where he pleases. He will return to Atlantis and never come back. I cannot risk that.”

Rodney's shoulders dropped in momentary defeat. “Then don't expect him to start picking curtains with you.”

“Cur-tans?”

“Never mind.”

The calvary arrived twenty minutes later. By then Sheppard had woken up - kind of. He was still on the floor, but upright, and groggy. So groggy he had yet to say anything, which was unnerving. Usually by now he was demanding in a sand-paper rough voice as to what the hell had just happened. Instead, he was staring at the floor glassy-eyed like he'd just regained consciousness after being heavily sedated.

Lorne rushed in at a power-walk, with Ronon, Teyla, Carson, Zelenka and a few marines and scientists following after. Beckett carrying his bag full of medical goodies went straight to Sheppard to start the vitals check, removing the pilot's vest and jacket to have easier access to his body. Heart, lungs, BP, assaulting the eyes with a penlight; the usual.

“Pulse is rapid, blood pressure elevated and pupil response sluggish,” Carson said, then looked up at Rodney. “What the bloody hell is this machine doing to him?”

“Think 'shock collar',” Rodney said between checking data and assigning each scientist a laptop. Cindy was uncannily silent the whole time as though merely observing the goings-on. Had she eyebrows, Rodney had the impression she would be lifting them in amusement at the puny mortals' attempt to best her, except machines weren't supposed to be amused.

“How did this happen?” Carson asked.

“Oh, the usual,” Rodney replied, typing away, trying to out-data-entry the emotionally damaged super computer. “Sheppard woke up computer, computer became smitten with Sheppard, an electronic leash shot out of the console sticking itself into the back of Sheppard's neck.” He paused with sudden realization. “And he didn't even need to flirt. Go figure.” He resumed.

“The hair,” Sheppard slurred. “Forgot.... about the... hair.”

Rodney glanced back briefly enough to see the man smiling drunkenly. Sheppard's right eyelid slid down in a limpid wink. “chicks... dig the... hair, you always s-sa-ay... gonna puke!”

Carson leaped back in time to avoid flying chunks of vomit debris. Rodney grimaced in disgust, his own gut knotting in sympathy. When Sheppard was done heaving breakfast, lunch, dinner and his entire stomach, he collapsed onto his side, moaning.

“I wanna go home.”

Rodney stiffened. “Colonel...!”

Too late. A slightly smaller ball of light shot through the leash into John's back momentarily illuminating his spine. John arched in a scream.

“Stop it!” Rodney shrieked above the howl of agony. He whirled on the computer, slamming his fists into the console. “Stop it you stupid bitch! Leave him alone!”

The torment ended more quickly than it had begun leaving an almost suffocating silence behind.

Cindy broke that silence with her monotone of pure indifference. “He was thinking of Atlantis. He had to be disciplined.”

Ronon yanked his blaster from its holster and switched the setting. “Maybe you're the one who needs disciplined.”

“Ronon, don't you even!” Rodney barked. “You have no idea what that might do to Sheppard. I'm just as eager to get him disconnected but solutions like that always have the nasty side-affect of someone getting killed. So just back off!”

As usual, Ronon hesitated for several drawn out, tense heartbeats before holstering his blaster and stepping back. Rodney breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Bloody fires of hell,” Carson gritted, pulling Rodney's attention to a twitching, convulsing Sheppard sucking in stuttering breaths. Beckett had his stethoscope down John's shirt that bulged and rippled whenever the bell was shifted. “That almost sent him into tachycardia.” The mild-mannered Scott turned a gaze that could have sent a wraith running to its momma at Cindy. He was a peaceful man on any given day, but he couldn't be called cowardly, not when it came to his patients. “You could have bloody-well killed him you mechanical witch!” He could even be scary at times; a closet “Dogs of War” subconsciously released.

“I will be more gentle next time,” said Cindy reasonably. Rodney wished she had a face so he could hit it, female-ish or not. Actually, he'd let Teyla do the hitting. She was better at that kind of thing, anyway, and was currently wearing an expression betraying just how much she wanted to.

True to her word, Cindy toned the disciplining down a few notches, sending jolts rather than body-twisting surges of energy. It was a rather vicious circle slowly wearing John down. The more he was jolted, the more miserable and sick he became, and the more sick he became the more he wanted to go home, in turn making him think about Atlantis.

It was depressing, disgusting even. Sheppard twitching and shivering, pale and helpless on the floor. Rodney tried not to watch but the periodic moans and whimpers kept tugging on his attention. Sheppard had been trying to go for pissed with growls and epithets between the groans of pain, but his resolve was breaking down with his body. John's anger had become like like a cracked pair of shades barely covering the fear that was starting to take over in his blood-shot eyes.

It hurt to see it, adding to the vulnerability that one was never supposed to witness, turning him child-like which made the situation even more sick. Spousal abuse or child abuse? Either way, it was abuse. Cindy kept insisting that the discipline would not kill Sheppard, that she was monitoring his vitals and knew when she needed to stop. There would be side-affects - muscles spasms, sickness, rapid heart beat - but he would not die.

Being a machine, of course she wouldn't take in the mental damage this was going to do to Sheppard. Oh, he would hold out for quite a while, no doubts there. Growl, curse, mouth off like he always did even if he had to do it in his head because he could no longer move. He'd hold out, even if it took weeks, months, heaven forbid a year because that was Sheppard. The optimist, hugging hope tight to his chest that Rodney would get him out of this like he always did and, crap, Rodney had to stop thinking about it because it was making him physically sick. Odds didn't play favorites. There was just as much chance at failure as success if not more.

All organic creatures have limits. Everyone knows what happens to a dog if it's been kicked enough times.

Rodney's jaw clenched until his teeth felt ready to crack.

No way in hell was Rodney going to let some selfish, obsessive machine leave his friend thoroughly whipped until cringing in humble obedience to her every whim. He wasn't going to put up with returning day after day trying to free his friend only to watch him decay into a shell of what he once was.

No freakin' way.

Now if only he could act on that passion. Damn, but Cindy was fast, always ten steps ahead even with so many trying to break into the lead. Sheppard must have been thinking of Atlantis again when he yelped and whimpered. Rodney almost coughed out a hysterical laugh wondering what Atlantis would think if she knew what was happening to her golden boy.

Rodney paused and looked up.

Atlantis. If Atlantis had some kind of sentience like Cindy's...

“I need to go back to Atlantis,” he said, already disconnecting his laptop.

Carson sat up from where he'd been leaning over a shivering, sweating John. “What, why?”

“No time to explain. Gotta go.” He turned to the door, pausing for one last look at Sheppard, letting the image of the man's helplessness burn into his brain. “I'll be back as soon as I can.” He pulled himself away, two marines following to ensure he made it back safe.

--------------------------------

Rodney had already instructed the soldiers to take any questions and prevent him being interrupted as he worked. He connected his laptop to Atlantis, fingers flying fast inputing instructions and requests.

“Atlantis,” he muttered. “You're a people person... uh... machine, right? And flyboy... er... Sheppard happens to be your favorite. Well, guess what, a little AI vixen has just sunk her metaphorical claws into him and won't let go. Don't worry, you're still his one and only super-city and all that. In fact, he's probably thinking about you right now and getting is spine deep-fried because of it. She's hurting him, Atlantis. She's hurting your Sheppard because all he wants to do is go home. He needs help but I have no freakin' idea what to do, so if you do...?”

His computer beeped. Information in Ancient crawled up the screen. Rodney's jaw dropped in a gape, then his mouth curved in a wicked, gleeful, verging on giddy grin. “Yes, I believe that will do.”

------------------------------

Rodney strolled back into Cindy's domain with a smile on his face that quickly dropped into a frown at the sight of Sheppard. He was white, sweat-drenched, curled into a quivering ball and staring wide-eyed, vacant, but terrified. Carson looked up at Rodney helplessly.

“I don't think she's being very gentle,” he said. “In fact I'm starting to suspect she has no bloody clue what she's doing to him.”

“I am aware,” said Cindy.

Rodney placed the laptop on the console and plugged it in. “I doubt it. It seems your hard-drive wasn't quite as complete as you thought, leaving room for a few flaws. So please don't take it personal when I say I don't trust anything you have to say. Oh, and I talked with Atlantis,” Rodney typed, “she has a message for you,” pressed enter, “I believe somewhere along the lines of 'get your filthy hands off him, you thieving bitch',” and smirked.

Cindy didn't make a sound. Data skipping across laptop screens vanished and the console powered down with a descending hum.

The leash dropped from Sheppard to be sucked back into the console. With a small shudder, Sheppard exhaled in relief, closed his eyes, and let his body go limp in unconsciousness. Carson checked his pulse then listened to his heart.

“He'll be fine,” he said. “Although I'd like to get him back to Atlantis as soon as possible.”

“Do it,” Rodney said. “We'll be fine here.”

Zelenka looked from the console to McKay, brow knitted. “What did you do?”

Rodney beamed, lifting his chin. “Not a damn thing. It was all Atlantis. She downloaded a computer virus that I could upload into Cindy, here.” He slapped the console. “Nothing permanently damaging. It simply forced her back into hibernation, kind of like grounding her.” His smile widened. “All I did was ask.”

-----------------------------------

There was much that Rodney hated. Admitting when he was wrong was one of them, but he was a big enough man to do so when he had to.

“Atlantis loves you best,” he said, chin held high. Then he scowled. “Happy?”

The corner of John's mouth quirked in a small, tired smile. He was still pale, almost translucent accentuating all the little blue veins just beneath his skin, maintaining his current fragility. But the muscle tremors had stopped and his heart was beating steady according to the monitor. Food, rest, and an I.V. was all that he needed, and would be up and about in no time.

“I wasn't talking about who she loves best,” he hoarsely replied. “I was just saying that she has the capacity for love.”

“And I'm saying that's just freakin' creepy,” Rodney said. “Computers are about data, information, specific instructions and cold, hard fact. It's probably not impossible to program a computer to mimic love, but as clearly demonstrated by Cindy...”

“Cindy?”

“Yes, don't ask. As clearly demonstrated by her, and since there is no reason for a computer to express affection unless you're looking to make yourself a love-bot...”

Sheppard's brow furrowed in consternation. “Love-bot?”

“Again, don't ask. And stop interrupting me. A computer is just going to screw the whole thing up. Love is too complicated for a one-track artificial mind. It's complicated enough for the more superior intellect of the human brain as is.”

John snorted. “No it's not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No it's not. What - Cindy, you called her? - what Cindy did wasn't love. It was obsession, some kind of weird survival thing. But it definitely wasn't love. Love is about the other person, a willingness to do anything for that person. Brother, sister, parents, girlfriend, spouse, best friend or even the guy you push out of the way of a sniper's bullet because you saw a red dot dancing across their forehead...”

Now it was Rodney's turn to furrow his brow.

Sheppard shook his head. “Don't ask. The thing is, love is selfless, and Cindy was being selfish. So give your brain a rest, Rodney, Cindy wasn't emotional. She was just screwed-up.”

Rodney kept his brow furrowed. What Sheppard said made sense because it was just so simple. Too simple, in fact. “So helping a little old lady with her bags means I love her,” he stated laying the incredulity on thick.

John shrugged. “Sure.” He then gave Rodney a long, hard stare. “It's only complicated because you're over-analyzing. It's not like you're going to end up marrying the little old lady. There's more than one kind of love, Rodney. Compassion is love. Family is love. Friendship is love. You saving my life is... well, you know,” and hastily added “but of the friendship kind.”

“Good to know because I'm definitely not picking out curtains with you.”

John just grinned.

“So that's why you think Atlantis can love?” Rodney asked. “Because she takes care of us?”

Sheppard nodded. “That's how I like to think of it.”

McKay sighed. “I guess that's why they say love is unconditional and has no bounds. You think, uh,” he squirmed a little in growing discomfort, “that Atlantis likes me?”

Sheppard settled deeper into the bed, prepping for an oncoming nap, even closing his eyes. “You fix her and keep her going. What's not to like?”

“So she'd save me like she saved you?”

“In a heart beat.” John slitted one eye open. “You saved me, Rodney. Atlantis helped.”

“So you owe me one, again.”

Sheppard closed his eye. “In a heart beat. That's why it's called friendship, Rodney.”

McKay grinned, then patted Sheppard's spiky head, saying in a syrupy sweet voice normally reserved for his cat, “I wuv you too, Sheppard.”

Sheppard's eye slitted back open in a glare. “Let's just stick with saving each others lives.”

Rodney's smirk morphed into a smile. “That I can deal with.”

The end