Family, by canadian_snoopy (Blood Challenge)
Title: Family
Author: canadian_snoopy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3255
Spoilers: Hot Zone
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Rodney's sure his brain is staging a coup.
Notes: Un-beta'ed and finished late at night, thus, read at your own risk
*****
The realization that he was thinking about Jeannie was weird enough to give Rodney pause for a minute, even with his hands buried in the dead wiring of what looked to be the Ancient equivalent of an Easy Bake oven that, instead of making inedible bricks, made things float.
Then the blue crystal he'd been trying to jury rig into the power source lit up and Rodney forgot about the weirdness and concentrated on the fact that his hand felt like it was on *fire*, fucking *hell* that *hurt*.
Carson was disturbingly unsympathetic, making noises about Rodney needing a babysitter that he felt were patently unfair, particularly given the fact that Rodney knew they were lucky the city hadn't sunk into the ocean or been blown up by the combined ineptitude of some of his staff. Getting a zap from an Ancient doodad (even an Ancient doodad that made things *float* in a way that gave Rodney ideas that would make Elizabeth kick his ass) didn't even register on his doom and gloom scale. It registered on his 'things to avoid getting zapped with because they hurt like a *mother*' scale, sure, but he saved the doom and gloom for pretty much three things -- the Wraith, the gleam in Sheppard's eye that indicated he was about to do something idiotically heroic and decaf.
The fact that those three things conspired against him with such regularity was the universe's way of balancing out his enormous intellect.
Then, during dinner, it happened again. The realization that he'd gotten distracted from Woo's report (not a difficult task given the woman's tendency to drone on and on about 'Oh my god we're going to die if we don't implement these protocols on fungus right *now*, you idiots!') by thoughts of Jeannie made him frown severely enough to make one of the biologists sitting in the table across from him pale considerably.
Now, Rodney was used to his brain surprising him with information. He'd gotten used to it, to physically be doing the most innocuous things (i.e. showering) and then realizing that they could draw more power for the generators by rerouting them through the existing power cells lining the corridors. That particular realization had bruised his ass in his haste to get out of the shower and to his laptop and forced him to sit on his hip for more days than he cared to remember.
However, when his brain surprised him, it wasn't generally a *total* surprise. He recognized that the generator thing had been the result of three days spent tinkering with the naquadah reactors and trying to get more juice out of them before finally needing to walk away and shower before he killed someone with eau de McKay.
But Jeannie? He hadn't given her much thought when they'd been sharing the planet, so why the hell was he thinking about her *now*, when he was in another *galaxy*, with *aliens* and Easy Bake ovens that made things float in *really* cool ways?
Teyla was straightforward in her suggestion, walking beside Rodney as they followed Sheppard and Ford back to the Jumper. "Perhaps you are simply missing her: it *has* been nearly two years since you've arrived at Atlantis."
"But I hadn't seen her in *years* before I left," he said, weaving a little to avoid a bug that looked a little too much like a bee for his liking. "If I didn't miss her when we were on the same planet, why would I now?"
Teyla frowned a little. Rodney knew she didn't understand how siblings could go years being separated. He'd tried to explain the distance between Nevada and Vancouver, how they'd never been close, even as children, and how he was convinced that his nephew was Beelzebub made flesh, but Teyla still couldn't understand. Rodney had finally given up, realizing that while the expedition shared a lot of things in common with the Athosians, family structure wasn't one of them.
Christ, the only people you got on a potentially one-way trip to another galaxy were a little messed up, anyway -- Rodney figured that if his own dysfunctional family was the price he had to pay for being crazy enough to say 'yes' to Atlantis, it was a price he paid gladly.
"Perhaps you are no longer the same person you were on Earth, Doctor McKay."
Rodney blinked at that, his steps stuttering a little. Teyla slowed, allowing him to catch up to her before continuing their previous pace behind the others. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted, a little bemused. Sure, being on the expedition had taught him how to shoot a gun, how to run like hell and how much the tuna surprise MRE *didn't* taste like tuna but he'd never really thought it had *changed* him. He still hated certain doom, he still felt overwhelmed by the stuff that was expected of him in a regular basis -- how had he *changed*?
Teyla didn't offer any more wisdom, leaving Rodney to think that particular suggestion over until the Jumper came into sight, Sheppard and Ford starting takeoff procedures ahead of them. Teyla just smiled a little at Rodney's muttered "Thanks" and then begun to help him stow their packs.
Kate said something similar during their next session. "But I don't *see* it," he complained, annoyed that there was something that apparently *everyone* could see except him.
This was like the damned piano, all over again.
"You wouldn't necessarily," Kate said, not intimidated in the least by Rodney's glare. Frankly, Rodney couldn't blame her -- he'd screamed much worse things to her in the past year and a half to be bothered by an expression of his. But still, could she *possibly* be more cryptic?
By the time M3X-75Y rolled around, Rodney was the unhappiest he'd been with his brain since the time it had spit out the solution to a dynamic equation in the middle of rewiring some burnt out controls in the chair room. It was how he had learned that pulling out junctions twenty and fourteen at the same time was a *bad* idea, another item on the long list of things to avoid doing because they hurt like a *mother*.
This fact, that his brain hated him, was what he was blaming their current situation on: being forced to hide in a cave that would've made Plato wax lyrical just made Rodney's latent claustrophobia rear its ugly head.
"It this a special skill of yours Major?" he hissed, his fingers wrapped tightly around his sidearm as he followed Sheppard deeper in, their path lit by the glow of the P-90's flashlight. "Pissing off the natives within twenty minutes?"
Sheppard grunted and pulled him into an alcove off to the side, flicking off the light after silently warning him to keep quiet. Rodney held his breath, his ears straining to hear something over the dripping sound of water and the thundering of his heart. Sheppard's hand was tight on his forearm for a few minutes but it relaxed a bit when no one seemed to be crashing into the cave after them. "You're attacking *my* people skills, McKay?"
Rodney nearly brained himself in surprise, the sound of Sheppard's indignant whisper seeming dangerously loud in the silence that had preceded it.
Then the words registered and he scowled, fear pushed back at the remembered irritation. "You were the one who was ogling the man's *fiance*, Major--"
"Appreciation does not equal ogling, McKay--"
"--apparently, a very *jealous* man who doesn't appreciate people with moronic hair coming--"
"--make it sound like you've never been chased by people with torches, remember P4Y--"
"--and *ogling* his fiance!"
"--wanted to string you up and feed you to their dogs!"
There was a sound, oddly echoed by the cave, that made Rodney swallow his next words in terror. Sheppard's hand gripped his arm again, reassuringly, and he heard the soft click of the P-90's safety coming off. The fact that *that* sound was reassuring only affirmed what he'd previously thought -- after years of faithful service, his brain obviously hated him.
He blamed caffeine withdrawal.
The sound turned out to be Ford, who signaled with their radio that they should come out before the natives began to backtrack their steps. Rodney was all over that plan and followed the others as fast as he could back to the Jumper, ignoring the stitch at his side for the sake of speed.
Beckett remained painfully unsympathetic, patching him up with a grumpier bedside manner than usual. Rodney would've asked what had crawled up his ass and died but the look in Carson's eye warned that there would be many painful needles in his future if Rodney opened his mouth.
Apparently, his brain didn't hate him nearly enough to subject him to *that* because Rodney's mouth remained shut.
"So, are you going to tell me what's bugging you or what?"
Rodney looked up, startled out of his contemplation of the scraped skin across his knuckle. He hadn't remembered getting the injury and had only noticed it after sitting down in front of his laptop, escaping from Carson's clutches with a painkiller for his bruises. The lab was quiet, which was a strange enough phenomenon to make Rodney want to take advantage of it, and he had, until he'd gotten distracted. And now that Sheppard was here, looking like he was comfortable enough to nap on the couch the morning shift had appropriated from one of the less water-logged rooms, Rodney was never going to get any work done.
"There's nothing bugging me." Sheppard raised one eyebrow to convey his skepticism. "Seriously," he repeated, annoyed at having to explain his mental state. "Nothing that some peace and quiet wouldn't cure at least," he hinted, pointedly looking at the door behind Sheppard.
Sheppard, the asshole, grinned and made himself even more comfortable, propping a pillow behind his back and everything. "You've been testy for days," he said, interrupting Rodney's next words, which were going to be rude ones, with, "Even more so than usual."
Rodney scowled. "Yes, because annoying me is just the ticket to get me to open up to you."
Sheppard shrugged. "You're not a touchy-feely kind of guy, McKay."
"You know, whatever psychology teacher you had in the Academy should be shot."
Another grin, this one disarming, and Rodney could feel himself relaxing despite himself. Sheppard had a way of doing that, of putting people at ease even when they didn't want to be.
Frankly, it was one of the things about the man that irritated Rodney the most.
"You're very annoying," he mumbled, rubbing his thumb over his scraped knuckle, reading the raised skin like Braille, and wondering darkly who'd narc'ed on him. His money was on Ford -- it was always the innocent-looking ones that you had to watch out for and Aiden liked explosives entirely too much to really be trustworthy.
"So?"
Rodney shrugged, the post-mission adrenaline drain making him abruptly weary. Sheppard wasn't going to quit until Rodney told him something and Rodney wasn't feeling nearly stubborn enough to want to fight it out. "As I'm sure you know, from whomever *told* on me, I've been... distracted."
Sheppard ignored the jab and asked, "Thinking of home?"
"Among other things, yes." Sheppard looked at him, silently prodding him to go on with a hand wave. Rodney blew out a breath, biting back the urge to throw something at the major's head because that would only be fun for a few seconds and then Sheppard would kick his ass. "I can't explain it, all right? I'll be doing the usual things and then get sidetracked thinking about my sister. My *nephew* even, and he's the son of Satan himself."
Sheppard frowned a little. "So?" he repeated.
"This is *not* the normal state of affairs for me, Major," Rodney complained, running a frustrated hand against his forehead. "As hard as it is for you to believe, I'm generally too busy trying to keep the city from sinking into the ocean to think about Jeannie and David."
"David?"
Rodney looked up at that and frowned a little at the interested tone in Sheppard's voice. He was too tired to tell if the man was being sincere or just trying to get Rodney to blab about *feelings*.
Rodney hated talking about feelings.
"David's twelve," he said, finally deciding to go with sincerity since he figured it might make the conversation go faster. "He's a brat."
"Well, yeah," Sheppard said, shrugging a little from his perch on the couch. "He's *twelve*."
"When I say he's a brat, I mean that he's War, Famine, Death and Pestilence all rolled into one," Rodney said, annoyed that he was being made out to be some kind of non-fun adult who didn't get kids. He *got* kids -- they were annoying and their cuteness was nature's only way of ensuring that you didn't strangle them in their sleep and thus discontinue the species.
"Rodney--"
"He set my laptop on fire when he was five and then nearly pushed me down the stairs when he was seven."
Sheppard blinked and Rodney rolled his eyes at the grin beginning to tug at the other man's mouth. "Sounds like a McKay to me."
"Oh, shut up," Rodney grumbled, irritated at Sheppard's amusement. This wasn't *funny* -- that laptop had been brand new and the only reason Rodney hadn't broken his neck tumbling down the stairs was a timely grab of the banister. David was a *menace* and annoying in a way that reminded Rodney entirely too much of Jeannie at her worst.
"And Jeannie wasn't much better," he continued, wanting to wipe the smile off Sheppard's face because he was supposed to be on *Rodney's* side, damnit. "She blamed me for my parent's fighting, told me I was adopted and that my parents were alien janitors that had tossed me down a garbage chute."
Sheppard's eyes were crinkled around the corners and god *damnit*, Sheppard was *totally* supposed to be on his side, wasn't he? Weren't all the near death experiences supposed to instill closeness and friendship?
"She moved out as soon as she got accepted to UBC, leaving me to deal with our nutjob parents." Rodney snorted, leaning forward to lean elbows on his knees, feet propped up on the stool supports. "Hell, it wasn't as if I didn't understand it -- I got out of there as soon as the scholarship came through too, only I went further south and stayed there while Jeannie went back home when she got pregnant."
Sheppard looked at him, expression still faintly amused. "How much older is she?"
Rodney let go of a deep breath, thinking. "Five years, seven months," he said and son of a *bitch*, he got it, he finally got.
Sheppard must have noticed the figurative light bulb going off because he frowned. "What is it?"
"What's the date, what's the date," Rodney mumbled, swiveling in his stool so that he faced the laptop again. Rodney heard Sheppard get to his feet but he paid the other man no attention, focusing instead on the program they had running that kept track of Earth time.
And there it was -- October twenty seventh as of three hours ago.
"*Yes*, finally, my brain makes sense again!"
There was a choked sound behind him that Rodney knew was a stifled laugh but he was too pleased to care. Then Sheppard said, "It made sense at one point?" and Rodney's pleasure at having figured out the puzzle fizzled.
"Don't you have things to do, *other* people to annoy?" he snapped, pushing himself away from the computer and smirking at the way Sheppard quickly stepped back, finding himself entirely too close to Rodney's face.
"What was it?"
Rodney ignored him, shutting off his computer, cheerful mood returning at Sheppard's frown. It was obvious that his subconscious was a force to be *feared* with -- who knew that it could keep track of the date back on Earth so *accurately*? Rodney had just missed Jeannie's birthday on October twenty third, which explained his recent distraction and wrapped everything up neatly in his own mind.
Rodney hated loose ends.
"McKay--"
"I'm sorry, my nonsensical brain must have been wandering off somewhere, did you say something Major?"
Sheppard scowled at him, crossing his arms in a way that he probably thought inspired fear. McKay, who's been on the receiving end of one of Teal'c's looms, found the attempt humorous at best.
Rodney crossed his own arms and smirked.
Sheppard finally rolled his eyes and blew out an irritated breath, arms falling down to his hips. "Fine, I *apologize*, your brain is nothing less than a marvel of organization. It makes other brains weep in jealous agony, Rodney."
Rodney's smirk morphed into a grin and Sheppard seemed to find it contagious because he was laughing by the end of his little speech too. "Come on, just tell me," he wheedled, trying for charming and getting annoying cousin at best -- Sheppard was lucky that Rodney was feeling magnanimous.
"Her birthday was a few days ago," Rodney admitted, feeling his face heat a little at the surprise in Sheppard's expression. "I forgot," he defended, shrugging. "I remembered it last year because we had that Halloween party but this year--"
"I get it, Rodney," Sheppard said, smiling. "Saving the city from sinking into the ocean, right?"
Rodney laughed a little, relieved at the understanding in the major's face. "It *is* a full time job, especially given your own propensity to find trouble."
Sheppard's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "*My* propensity?"
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Were you not *there* for today's mission? Or did the hiding in caves and running for our lives completely escape your memory?"
Sheppard got a little flustered at the reminder and Rodney grinned, suddenly happier than he'd been in days, relief at the discovery that he wasn't going crazy making him a little giddy. And maybe it was the distance or the fact that he'd nearly been killed in surprisingly diverse ways every week since coming to Atlantis, but Jeannie and David's own attempts to murder him suddenly made him nostalgic.
Even at his worst, neither Jeannie nor David had ever actively tried to suck the life out of his chest. Sucked Rodney's will to live, sure, but even David, son of the Devil though he was, wasn't nearly as bad as the Wraith.
Granted he'd be a teenager soon and *wow*, that thought suddenly made Rodney very glad that a Stargate and several million light years separated him and his nephew. And his sister, the original Beelzebub herself -- hell, Rodney would bet the Ancient Easy Bake oven that she'd give the offspring *tips* on how to turn Uncle Rodney into a sobbing wreck.
And even that knowledge, terrifying though it was, didn't put much of a dent on his sudden nostalgia.
He blamed low blood sugar.
"Come on," he said, gesturing for Sheppard to follow him out the lab. "I hear that the tuna surprise tastes like macaroni and cheese today."
Sheppard grimaced, walking with Rodney to the transporters. "Yum."
"And if you're good," Rodney said, palming the transporter crystals with a grin, suddenly wanting to tell *someone* about his family, even if they were in another galaxy and able to drive him crazy faster than anyone he'd ever met. He was learning that family was like that, able to drive you batshit insane and to murderous thoughts even as you loved them. "I'll tell you about the time I dyed Jeannie's hair green."
*****
THE END
Author: canadian_snoopy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3255
Spoilers: Hot Zone
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Rodney's sure his brain is staging a coup.
Notes: Un-beta'ed and finished late at night, thus, read at your own risk
*****
The realization that he was thinking about Jeannie was weird enough to give Rodney pause for a minute, even with his hands buried in the dead wiring of what looked to be the Ancient equivalent of an Easy Bake oven that, instead of making inedible bricks, made things float.
Then the blue crystal he'd been trying to jury rig into the power source lit up and Rodney forgot about the weirdness and concentrated on the fact that his hand felt like it was on *fire*, fucking *hell* that *hurt*.
Carson was disturbingly unsympathetic, making noises about Rodney needing a babysitter that he felt were patently unfair, particularly given the fact that Rodney knew they were lucky the city hadn't sunk into the ocean or been blown up by the combined ineptitude of some of his staff. Getting a zap from an Ancient doodad (even an Ancient doodad that made things *float* in a way that gave Rodney ideas that would make Elizabeth kick his ass) didn't even register on his doom and gloom scale. It registered on his 'things to avoid getting zapped with because they hurt like a *mother*' scale, sure, but he saved the doom and gloom for pretty much three things -- the Wraith, the gleam in Sheppard's eye that indicated he was about to do something idiotically heroic and decaf.
The fact that those three things conspired against him with such regularity was the universe's way of balancing out his enormous intellect.
Then, during dinner, it happened again. The realization that he'd gotten distracted from Woo's report (not a difficult task given the woman's tendency to drone on and on about 'Oh my god we're going to die if we don't implement these protocols on fungus right *now*, you idiots!') by thoughts of Jeannie made him frown severely enough to make one of the biologists sitting in the table across from him pale considerably.
Now, Rodney was used to his brain surprising him with information. He'd gotten used to it, to physically be doing the most innocuous things (i.e. showering) and then realizing that they could draw more power for the generators by rerouting them through the existing power cells lining the corridors. That particular realization had bruised his ass in his haste to get out of the shower and to his laptop and forced him to sit on his hip for more days than he cared to remember.
However, when his brain surprised him, it wasn't generally a *total* surprise. He recognized that the generator thing had been the result of three days spent tinkering with the naquadah reactors and trying to get more juice out of them before finally needing to walk away and shower before he killed someone with eau de McKay.
But Jeannie? He hadn't given her much thought when they'd been sharing the planet, so why the hell was he thinking about her *now*, when he was in another *galaxy*, with *aliens* and Easy Bake ovens that made things float in *really* cool ways?
Teyla was straightforward in her suggestion, walking beside Rodney as they followed Sheppard and Ford back to the Jumper. "Perhaps you are simply missing her: it *has* been nearly two years since you've arrived at Atlantis."
"But I hadn't seen her in *years* before I left," he said, weaving a little to avoid a bug that looked a little too much like a bee for his liking. "If I didn't miss her when we were on the same planet, why would I now?"
Teyla frowned a little. Rodney knew she didn't understand how siblings could go years being separated. He'd tried to explain the distance between Nevada and Vancouver, how they'd never been close, even as children, and how he was convinced that his nephew was Beelzebub made flesh, but Teyla still couldn't understand. Rodney had finally given up, realizing that while the expedition shared a lot of things in common with the Athosians, family structure wasn't one of them.
Christ, the only people you got on a potentially one-way trip to another galaxy were a little messed up, anyway -- Rodney figured that if his own dysfunctional family was the price he had to pay for being crazy enough to say 'yes' to Atlantis, it was a price he paid gladly.
"Perhaps you are no longer the same person you were on Earth, Doctor McKay."
Rodney blinked at that, his steps stuttering a little. Teyla slowed, allowing him to catch up to her before continuing their previous pace behind the others. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted, a little bemused. Sure, being on the expedition had taught him how to shoot a gun, how to run like hell and how much the tuna surprise MRE *didn't* taste like tuna but he'd never really thought it had *changed* him. He still hated certain doom, he still felt overwhelmed by the stuff that was expected of him in a regular basis -- how had he *changed*?
Teyla didn't offer any more wisdom, leaving Rodney to think that particular suggestion over until the Jumper came into sight, Sheppard and Ford starting takeoff procedures ahead of them. Teyla just smiled a little at Rodney's muttered "Thanks" and then begun to help him stow their packs.
Kate said something similar during their next session. "But I don't *see* it," he complained, annoyed that there was something that apparently *everyone* could see except him.
This was like the damned piano, all over again.
"You wouldn't necessarily," Kate said, not intimidated in the least by Rodney's glare. Frankly, Rodney couldn't blame her -- he'd screamed much worse things to her in the past year and a half to be bothered by an expression of his. But still, could she *possibly* be more cryptic?
By the time M3X-75Y rolled around, Rodney was the unhappiest he'd been with his brain since the time it had spit out the solution to a dynamic equation in the middle of rewiring some burnt out controls in the chair room. It was how he had learned that pulling out junctions twenty and fourteen at the same time was a *bad* idea, another item on the long list of things to avoid doing because they hurt like a *mother*.
This fact, that his brain hated him, was what he was blaming their current situation on: being forced to hide in a cave that would've made Plato wax lyrical just made Rodney's latent claustrophobia rear its ugly head.
"It this a special skill of yours Major?" he hissed, his fingers wrapped tightly around his sidearm as he followed Sheppard deeper in, their path lit by the glow of the P-90's flashlight. "Pissing off the natives within twenty minutes?"
Sheppard grunted and pulled him into an alcove off to the side, flicking off the light after silently warning him to keep quiet. Rodney held his breath, his ears straining to hear something over the dripping sound of water and the thundering of his heart. Sheppard's hand was tight on his forearm for a few minutes but it relaxed a bit when no one seemed to be crashing into the cave after them. "You're attacking *my* people skills, McKay?"
Rodney nearly brained himself in surprise, the sound of Sheppard's indignant whisper seeming dangerously loud in the silence that had preceded it.
Then the words registered and he scowled, fear pushed back at the remembered irritation. "You were the one who was ogling the man's *fiance*, Major--"
"Appreciation does not equal ogling, McKay--"
"--apparently, a very *jealous* man who doesn't appreciate people with moronic hair coming--"
"--make it sound like you've never been chased by people with torches, remember P4Y--"
"--and *ogling* his fiance!"
"--wanted to string you up and feed you to their dogs!"
There was a sound, oddly echoed by the cave, that made Rodney swallow his next words in terror. Sheppard's hand gripped his arm again, reassuringly, and he heard the soft click of the P-90's safety coming off. The fact that *that* sound was reassuring only affirmed what he'd previously thought -- after years of faithful service, his brain obviously hated him.
He blamed caffeine withdrawal.
The sound turned out to be Ford, who signaled with their radio that they should come out before the natives began to backtrack their steps. Rodney was all over that plan and followed the others as fast as he could back to the Jumper, ignoring the stitch at his side for the sake of speed.
Beckett remained painfully unsympathetic, patching him up with a grumpier bedside manner than usual. Rodney would've asked what had crawled up his ass and died but the look in Carson's eye warned that there would be many painful needles in his future if Rodney opened his mouth.
Apparently, his brain didn't hate him nearly enough to subject him to *that* because Rodney's mouth remained shut.
"So, are you going to tell me what's bugging you or what?"
Rodney looked up, startled out of his contemplation of the scraped skin across his knuckle. He hadn't remembered getting the injury and had only noticed it after sitting down in front of his laptop, escaping from Carson's clutches with a painkiller for his bruises. The lab was quiet, which was a strange enough phenomenon to make Rodney want to take advantage of it, and he had, until he'd gotten distracted. And now that Sheppard was here, looking like he was comfortable enough to nap on the couch the morning shift had appropriated from one of the less water-logged rooms, Rodney was never going to get any work done.
"There's nothing bugging me." Sheppard raised one eyebrow to convey his skepticism. "Seriously," he repeated, annoyed at having to explain his mental state. "Nothing that some peace and quiet wouldn't cure at least," he hinted, pointedly looking at the door behind Sheppard.
Sheppard, the asshole, grinned and made himself even more comfortable, propping a pillow behind his back and everything. "You've been testy for days," he said, interrupting Rodney's next words, which were going to be rude ones, with, "Even more so than usual."
Rodney scowled. "Yes, because annoying me is just the ticket to get me to open up to you."
Sheppard shrugged. "You're not a touchy-feely kind of guy, McKay."
"You know, whatever psychology teacher you had in the Academy should be shot."
Another grin, this one disarming, and Rodney could feel himself relaxing despite himself. Sheppard had a way of doing that, of putting people at ease even when they didn't want to be.
Frankly, it was one of the things about the man that irritated Rodney the most.
"You're very annoying," he mumbled, rubbing his thumb over his scraped knuckle, reading the raised skin like Braille, and wondering darkly who'd narc'ed on him. His money was on Ford -- it was always the innocent-looking ones that you had to watch out for and Aiden liked explosives entirely too much to really be trustworthy.
"So?"
Rodney shrugged, the post-mission adrenaline drain making him abruptly weary. Sheppard wasn't going to quit until Rodney told him something and Rodney wasn't feeling nearly stubborn enough to want to fight it out. "As I'm sure you know, from whomever *told* on me, I've been... distracted."
Sheppard ignored the jab and asked, "Thinking of home?"
"Among other things, yes." Sheppard looked at him, silently prodding him to go on with a hand wave. Rodney blew out a breath, biting back the urge to throw something at the major's head because that would only be fun for a few seconds and then Sheppard would kick his ass. "I can't explain it, all right? I'll be doing the usual things and then get sidetracked thinking about my sister. My *nephew* even, and he's the son of Satan himself."
Sheppard frowned a little. "So?" he repeated.
"This is *not* the normal state of affairs for me, Major," Rodney complained, running a frustrated hand against his forehead. "As hard as it is for you to believe, I'm generally too busy trying to keep the city from sinking into the ocean to think about Jeannie and David."
"David?"
Rodney looked up at that and frowned a little at the interested tone in Sheppard's voice. He was too tired to tell if the man was being sincere or just trying to get Rodney to blab about *feelings*.
Rodney hated talking about feelings.
"David's twelve," he said, finally deciding to go with sincerity since he figured it might make the conversation go faster. "He's a brat."
"Well, yeah," Sheppard said, shrugging a little from his perch on the couch. "He's *twelve*."
"When I say he's a brat, I mean that he's War, Famine, Death and Pestilence all rolled into one," Rodney said, annoyed that he was being made out to be some kind of non-fun adult who didn't get kids. He *got* kids -- they were annoying and their cuteness was nature's only way of ensuring that you didn't strangle them in their sleep and thus discontinue the species.
"Rodney--"
"He set my laptop on fire when he was five and then nearly pushed me down the stairs when he was seven."
Sheppard blinked and Rodney rolled his eyes at the grin beginning to tug at the other man's mouth. "Sounds like a McKay to me."
"Oh, shut up," Rodney grumbled, irritated at Sheppard's amusement. This wasn't *funny* -- that laptop had been brand new and the only reason Rodney hadn't broken his neck tumbling down the stairs was a timely grab of the banister. David was a *menace* and annoying in a way that reminded Rodney entirely too much of Jeannie at her worst.
"And Jeannie wasn't much better," he continued, wanting to wipe the smile off Sheppard's face because he was supposed to be on *Rodney's* side, damnit. "She blamed me for my parent's fighting, told me I was adopted and that my parents were alien janitors that had tossed me down a garbage chute."
Sheppard's eyes were crinkled around the corners and god *damnit*, Sheppard was *totally* supposed to be on his side, wasn't he? Weren't all the near death experiences supposed to instill closeness and friendship?
"She moved out as soon as she got accepted to UBC, leaving me to deal with our nutjob parents." Rodney snorted, leaning forward to lean elbows on his knees, feet propped up on the stool supports. "Hell, it wasn't as if I didn't understand it -- I got out of there as soon as the scholarship came through too, only I went further south and stayed there while Jeannie went back home when she got pregnant."
Sheppard looked at him, expression still faintly amused. "How much older is she?"
Rodney let go of a deep breath, thinking. "Five years, seven months," he said and son of a *bitch*, he got it, he finally got.
Sheppard must have noticed the figurative light bulb going off because he frowned. "What is it?"
"What's the date, what's the date," Rodney mumbled, swiveling in his stool so that he faced the laptop again. Rodney heard Sheppard get to his feet but he paid the other man no attention, focusing instead on the program they had running that kept track of Earth time.
And there it was -- October twenty seventh as of three hours ago.
"*Yes*, finally, my brain makes sense again!"
There was a choked sound behind him that Rodney knew was a stifled laugh but he was too pleased to care. Then Sheppard said, "It made sense at one point?" and Rodney's pleasure at having figured out the puzzle fizzled.
"Don't you have things to do, *other* people to annoy?" he snapped, pushing himself away from the computer and smirking at the way Sheppard quickly stepped back, finding himself entirely too close to Rodney's face.
"What was it?"
Rodney ignored him, shutting off his computer, cheerful mood returning at Sheppard's frown. It was obvious that his subconscious was a force to be *feared* with -- who knew that it could keep track of the date back on Earth so *accurately*? Rodney had just missed Jeannie's birthday on October twenty third, which explained his recent distraction and wrapped everything up neatly in his own mind.
Rodney hated loose ends.
"McKay--"
"I'm sorry, my nonsensical brain must have been wandering off somewhere, did you say something Major?"
Sheppard scowled at him, crossing his arms in a way that he probably thought inspired fear. McKay, who's been on the receiving end of one of Teal'c's looms, found the attempt humorous at best.
Rodney crossed his own arms and smirked.
Sheppard finally rolled his eyes and blew out an irritated breath, arms falling down to his hips. "Fine, I *apologize*, your brain is nothing less than a marvel of organization. It makes other brains weep in jealous agony, Rodney."
Rodney's smirk morphed into a grin and Sheppard seemed to find it contagious because he was laughing by the end of his little speech too. "Come on, just tell me," he wheedled, trying for charming and getting annoying cousin at best -- Sheppard was lucky that Rodney was feeling magnanimous.
"Her birthday was a few days ago," Rodney admitted, feeling his face heat a little at the surprise in Sheppard's expression. "I forgot," he defended, shrugging. "I remembered it last year because we had that Halloween party but this year--"
"I get it, Rodney," Sheppard said, smiling. "Saving the city from sinking into the ocean, right?"
Rodney laughed a little, relieved at the understanding in the major's face. "It *is* a full time job, especially given your own propensity to find trouble."
Sheppard's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "*My* propensity?"
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Were you not *there* for today's mission? Or did the hiding in caves and running for our lives completely escape your memory?"
Sheppard got a little flustered at the reminder and Rodney grinned, suddenly happier than he'd been in days, relief at the discovery that he wasn't going crazy making him a little giddy. And maybe it was the distance or the fact that he'd nearly been killed in surprisingly diverse ways every week since coming to Atlantis, but Jeannie and David's own attempts to murder him suddenly made him nostalgic.
Even at his worst, neither Jeannie nor David had ever actively tried to suck the life out of his chest. Sucked Rodney's will to live, sure, but even David, son of the Devil though he was, wasn't nearly as bad as the Wraith.
Granted he'd be a teenager soon and *wow*, that thought suddenly made Rodney very glad that a Stargate and several million light years separated him and his nephew. And his sister, the original Beelzebub herself -- hell, Rodney would bet the Ancient Easy Bake oven that she'd give the offspring *tips* on how to turn Uncle Rodney into a sobbing wreck.
And even that knowledge, terrifying though it was, didn't put much of a dent on his sudden nostalgia.
He blamed low blood sugar.
"Come on," he said, gesturing for Sheppard to follow him out the lab. "I hear that the tuna surprise tastes like macaroni and cheese today."
Sheppard grimaced, walking with Rodney to the transporters. "Yum."
"And if you're good," Rodney said, palming the transporter crystals with a grin, suddenly wanting to tell *someone* about his family, even if they were in another galaxy and able to drive him crazy faster than anyone he'd ever met. He was learning that family was like that, able to drive you batshit insane and to murderous thoughts even as you loved them. "I'll tell you about the time I dyed Jeannie's hair green."
*****
THE END