Fic: School Daze (Gen, PG)
Title: School Daze or How Rodney Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Gun
Author: kriadydragon
Recipient: negolith2
Pairing: None
Rating: PG, Gen
Spoilers Takes place in season five but no specific episodes mentioned.
Summary: An accident off-world leaves Sheppard injured, Rodney reminiscing against his will and Ronon trigger happy.
A/N: Apologies in advance for my complete lack of knowledge on the Canadian education system. I did research, but it was incredibly general and mostly seemed to comfirm what I'd already assumed.. Huge thanks to wildcat88 for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
-----------------------------
“Apprenticing, really?” John asked.
Ronon, taking the lead, cut through another leafed branch like it was melted butter with his sword. “Satedans believed you gain more experience by doing. Eight years of basic education, followed by four working in different fields as a lackey until you found something you liked. Or joined the Satedan military.” A buzzing whistle, then a snickt, and another branch was removed their path. P3X-421 was a tropical paradise with perfect temperatures, cascading waterfalls and so many flowers that John could taste their perfume (and feel their pollen irritate his nose. Rodney was getting to be a bad influence on him like that). It was enough to keep even Rodney's complaints to a minimum and made trudging through a jungle an actual pleasure.
But if they had to run for their lives, they were screwed. The jungle was too dense to land the 'jumper near the temple, forcing John to set down too many klicks for comfort in the nearest clearing. Call it pessimistic of him, but he had to agree with Granddad Sheppard - “If it's too good to be true, it probably is.” The old man had been borderline paranoid. John smiled on remembering; McKay would have liked him.
“Let me guess,” Rodney said from behind John. “It was straight to the military for you.”
Ronon hacked through a tangle of vines. “Naw. Tried metal smithing, garnak husbandry -”
“I don't even want to know what that is.”
“Like your planet's horses, McKay, only bigger. Carpentry, artistry-”
“You're kidding.”
“Nope.” Another tangle of vines fell under the blade. Ronon shoved them aside then made short work of a tangle of branches on the other side. “My mother wanted me to expand my horizons before I became a specialist. I think she was hoping I wouldn't become a specialist.”
“Been there, done that,” John muttered. Except his old man hadn't been too keen on any kind of expansion of horizons for his eldest son, and joining the Air Force hadn't been an annoyance grudgingly accepted - it had been a match tossed into a couple of powder kegs.
“What of Earth education?” Teyla asked. “I've heard you speak of it often but never... directly.” In other words, what she knew she'd garnered in bits and pieces from McKay, none of it positive. She'd already given her education history, which could be summed up as “taking a village to raise a child.” Like with Ronon's people, apprenticeship was a must, each child learning every possible skill the adults had to offer. That included the basics such as math and reading, and the not-so-basics like basket weaving and trade negotiations.
“Depends on where you're from,” John said. “Basically, though, it's about twelve levels, one a year. When you complete one level, you move on to the next. After that, it's a choice -”
“Dependant on how much you're willing to spend,” McKay added flatly.
“Keep going and gain a specific skill or set of skills, or not,” John continued, ignoring him.
“Or you gain special skills at an early age and skip a few levels because a bunch of people who thought they knew better but actually didn't felt it in your best interest,” Rodney said. John could hear the brooding glower in his voice. “I hated high school.”
“We know, McKay,” Ronon said.
“You never let us forget it,” John said.
“No, you don't know. You have no damn clue. I was a walking cliché in high school. My mother even dressed me in the dorkiest clothes she could find. To look like a professional is to be a professional. It was like her damn motto. And she honestly had the audacity to think snazzy 'dressing' garnered prestigious friendships. Except it didn't and I had to start sneaking clothes in my backpack to change into before school just to make myself less of a walking target.”
“Let me guess,” John said. “It was always the jocks who made your life hell.” He glanced over his shoulder when he felt Rodney's heated gaze drilling a hole in his back. Looks couldn't exactly kill when it came to Rodney McKay, but they could scorch. John narrowed his eyes at the other man. “What? Hey, you're the one who called yourself a walking cliché. Ergo, keeping to the cliché, it would have been the jocks making your life miserable. Unless it was the Latin club.”
“I was a member of the Latin club,” Rodney said, still giving John the visual third degree.
John just shook his head and turned away. McKay was touchy at the best of times, so John wasn't going to waste time figuring out how he'd pissed the guy off. When the burning continued, John sighed.
“Lighten up, McKay. You’re too many years and too many light-years from high school. Stop dwelling on it.”
“Easy for you to say.” Rodney murmured.
John shrugged. “What can I say? I know how to not live in the past.”
“I'm not living. I just... that stuff doesn't go away, you know. There is such a thing as mental scarring and I -”
“We're here,” Ronon announced, effectively killing the conversation, thank goodness. Nothing against McKay but the man was like a car alarm when it came to rants: without an outside source to shut him off, he'd just keep going and going.
They squeezed into a clearing too small for personal space and stood before a door the spitting image of the doors on Atlantis. Rodney, annoyance and glaring exchanged for bright-eyed anticipation, shouldered his way to the forefront.
“I knew it. That big an energy reading could have only come from a facility.” He didn't hesitate palming the crystals, which beeped in protest. He whipped out his tablet and clips and hooked them up.
John passed the time by studying what they could see of the structure, most of it buried under climbing vines and moss. Though it was impressively tall, it wasn't quite tall enough to get past the trees the height of redwoods, which explained why they hadn't been able to see it from above.
An annoying beep brought John's attention back to Rodney, who was muttering curses and insults under his breath.
“There's more than one way to open a door, McKay,” Ronon said, pulling out his blaster. The glare of annoyance Rodney shot him morphed quickly into panic.
“Don't you even! Who knows what kind of security protocols that might set off, and blasting a hole in anything isn't going to do us any favors if the Wraith or some other bad guy decides to show up. Just have some damn patience. Jeez, you and Sheppard and wanting to blow everything up.”
Rolling his eyes, Ronon shoved the blaster back in its holster.
Rodney resumed. A few more beeps, a few more curses followed by a high-pitched “Come on!” from McKay and the doors finally slid apart. Air rushed out in a burst of mold and mildew, making John's nose wrinkle
“Finally!” McKay barked. Without thinking, he started forward until Ronon yanked him back by the collar and took the lead. Sheppard joined him to provide some P-90 light.
The interior was like a lesser version of Atlantis, minus bubbling pillars and pristine copper walls. Everything was stained, crusted with white mineral deposits and splashed with a little rust in places. John heard the distant pat of dripping, and Ronon's next step confirmed the presence of standing water.
Even for an abandoned facility it was still a little surprising how bad the deterioration was. Most of the Ancient facilities they'd encountered had been air-tight and preserved. Those that weren't still hadn't wreaked of this much damage, making Sheppard nervously wonder what this place had done to piss its creators off; more importantly, how stable the place was.
“What is - was - the purpose of this facility?” Teyla asked as though having unwittingly read John's mind. They'd discussed it in their last staff meeting, McKay's explanation so technical that John had fallen into the usual routine of smiling and nodding at the appropriate times. If McKay said a place was promising, seven times out of ten it was, odds good enough to just go with the flow.
After they checked the place out first. As long as it was safe, Rodney and his band of brainiacs could play to their hearts’ content, and John could whip up a rotating duty roster so that the military half of the expedition didn't go postal from boredom.
“Well, we know how the Ancients loved to utilize alternate forms of energy,” McKay said.
“And also that the majority of the time it never works,” John felt the need to add. That was the problem with most bright ideas: good in theory but putting it into practice ran the risk of killing you. Especially when the idea was an Ancient’s idea.
“This place is one of those places,” Rodney said, ignoring him. “In that it's where they were experimenting with energy. Thermal energy, to be exact.”
John frowned at that. “You're kidding.”
“Relax,” Rodney said with a dismissive wave. “I did my homework, managed to find the research. Energy absorption was in the smallest possible of increments - like the difference between a nuclear power plant and a D battery. The amount they siphoned off was enough to power this facility and that's it. Even if they left it on, I doubt it would have done much damage.”
“You doubt. As in you're not sure?” John asked.
Rodney shrugged. “I would think not. This is a pretty small facility. More like a double A battery, really. Ah!” He made short work of the next door at the other end of the room, then the next, and the next until they were four doors in, each room just like the last - empty. Although the further they went, the less damage they found.
The fifth door wielded real results that had Rodney's eyes glowing like two blue Christmas lights: a console room, larger than the last four with five consoles on both sides of the room, each with a big-screen transparent terminal overhead. The largest two consoles were in the center, and Rodney made a beeline straight for them.
“Okay, this is what I'm talking about. This one and the one behind must be main power, the rest work stations.” He placed his hand on the surface, closed his eyes and concentrated.
John's spine tingled in alarm. “Whoa, hold on, McKay. Maybe you should make sure this place is work safe, first.” The two times out of ten when the facilities weren't worth the price of singeing their skin, they'd found out the hard way by being too anxious to light things up.
Once again, Rodney didn't seem to be listening. He cracked an eye open. “Nothing's happening.” Opening the second eye, he crouched next to the access panel and pried it open. “Look, the only thing we'd have to worry about is energy storage building up enough energy for a potentially catastrophic overload. If this console isn't working, then storage isn't working and we're safe.”
“No, we're screwed because you just jinxed us by saying that,” John said.
Rodney spared a moment to glower at him over his shoulder. “Yes, very logical and mature observation, Colonel. Maybe you should go find a horseshoe to toss over your shoulder while you're at it.” He turned his attention back to the panel. “Seriously, being around you is like suffering through Grade Five all over again. Correction, high school. The grade fives wouldn't even know what 'jinx' meant. Ah! Here's the problem, burned-out crystal.” McKay pulled it and tossed it aside, then scooted around to the right side of the console and pried loose another panel, pulling out a drawer of spare crystals.
It had taken them two years to discover that not all replacement crystals were found in Atlantis' sundry supply closets. It had taken Chuck stubbing his toe on 'gate access control to find the first drawer. Not every console had them - only those that it would suck if things went south, they shut down and there wasn't a replacement crystal to be found.
Rodney scooted back around and slipped the crystal in. Before the second attempt at lighting the thing up, he moved to the console behind them, checked it then, satisfied, rubbed his hands together in anticipation before spreading his fingers an inch over the surface.
“All right, second time's a charm. Sheppard, you activate the first console. I'll take this one.”
Sheppard positioned himself in front of it and placed one hand flat on its edge. Rodney placed both hands on his. The consoles hummed to life, winking at them with a myriad of lights as the screens flickered and data scrolled.
But the hum kept building, growing louder. An unpleasant tingle climbed John's wrist, up his arm then down into his chest, making his heart pound.
He wetted his lips nervously. “Uh, McKay. Is it supposed to be doing -” A blinding flash and a concussive force shoved him in the chest. For a single heartbeat, he was weightless then his left side met a sharp, agonizing resistance, shoving the air from his lungs and snapping his body sideways. He crumpled in a heap to the floor, blacking out to the underwater cries of his team.
--------------------------
John woke to pain, a metallic taste in his mouth, and the faint odor of ozone. The taste was nauseating, but when he tried to roll and spit, fire clawed up and down his left side. He grunted.
“Ah... crap!”
“Easy, John. You need to lie still.” That was Teyla's voice, so it must be her hand applying gentle pressure to his shoulder, urging him to not move.
John easily complied while he breathed through the pain. Breathing too deep made it feel like a knife was pricking his ribs. He swallowed, the metallic taste briefly forgotten until he felt it sliding down his throat, making him grimace and gag. Teyla's other hand pressed against his chest.
“John?” she asked with a waver of alarm in her voice.
John shook his head. “Good, 'm good.” He winced when the pain pinched. “Okay, not good. What... what the hell happened?” He tried to lift his head only for the careful pressure of Teyla's hand on his chest telling him it would probably be a bad idea if he did. That was when he realized he was sans one tac vest which, for some inexplicable reason, was the final incentive to force his eyes open to Teyla's worried face.
“We do not know,” she said. “There was a... power surge of some kind. I do not know what else to call it. It threw you back and caused the consoles to explode. You collided with the second console. I think the impact has broken your ribs, among other things.”
John angled his head enough to see a dark stain on his right side and blood-stained gauze peeking through a four inch tear through both shirts. “Among other things... is right.” A spasm of pain made him choke. Then it hit him.
Consoles, as in plural. As in... He ignored the pain of a too deep breath and attempted to get up. Teyla wouldn't have it, holding him a little too easily in place. “John, you need to -”
“Rodney. Where's McKay?” His eyes darted around his limited field of vision, showing him nothing.
“I've got him,” Ronon called, and John lifted his head enough to see, whether Teyla liked it or not.
McKay was stretched out on the floor, his feet elevated by one of their packs and Ronon crouched on his right side. From the little John could see, there was no blood, let alone any discernible bruises or scrapes. It still wasn't enough to get John to breathe a sigh of relief, not with how still McKay was, and pale.
“It was like McKay was stuck to the console,” explained Ronon, taut-faced. “I had to pull him off. That's when it started to spark. Then the door shut and I haven't been able to get it open, or McKay to wake up.”
John dropped his head back to the floor with a shuddery exhale. “Well, crap.” And like the magic word, pain and exhaustion flooded him in one foul deluge. Each breath made his chest feel like it was buried under rocks and a dull blade was pricking his side. Despite that, he groped for some kind of purchase to help himself sit up.
“Teyla, could you...?” His hand touched the side of the console. There was a hum then pop, and sparks fountained from the surface with a snapping hiss. Both John and Teyla cried out, Teyla in alarm and John in agony when she yanked him away.
The sparks died and the console went dark.
“Son of a bitch!” John gritted. He could have sworn his heart had migrated to the area of his injury, because he could feel it beating against the busted rib. It felt like forever until the pain abated enough for him to breathe; then he opened his eyes (he hadn't even realized they were closed) to Teyla's alarmed face.
“John, I am so sorry but the console -”
“I know,” John said, shaking his throbbing head. “Did the right thing. Still need you to help me up. Can't breathe lying down.”
Teyla complied with some reluctance, Ronon joining to help, both doing most of the work until John was sitting braced against Teyla's side. When Ronon was sure Sheppard wasn't about to pitch in various directions, he returned to McKay, checking his pulse.
“Any injuries?” John asked.
“Just his hands. The console burned them pretty bad.” Ronon carefully turned one of Rodney's wrists enough for the poor lighting to reveal Rodney's hands wrapped in field bandages.
It took a moment for John to realize they had lighting. Crappy lighting, but enough not to have to rely on the P-90. And if the lights were on, that meant this place was still functioning. John's heart stuttered.
“Crap.”
“What?” Teyla asked.
He looked at her. “We can't touch anything.”
Ronon arched an eyebrow, “What?”
“Me and Rodney, we can't touch anything. Not if all we're gonna get is a repeat of last time, or another fireworks show. Which means...”
“Getting out of here's going to be a bitch,” Ronon finished.
“To put it mildly,” John said, twisting his mouth in consternation as he visually swept the room. There wasn't anything of immediate use, but sometimes getting the lay of their surroundings produced ideas, later if not sooner. All the same, he asked to no one in particular, “What the hell happened? Why did it overload like that?”
Ronon, still crouched by McKay, shrugged. “Dunno. But McKay did say this place was built to study energy creation, and that it had the ability to store energy. Maybe it had too much stored and...” He clapped his hands together with a loud pop.
John raised an eyebrow, impressed. “That makes pretty good sense.” It wasn't that Ronon didn't have a head for science; he just usually didn't give a damn about the whys, only the hows - such as how they were going to get out of here.
“We need to -” John began, only to be interrupted by a light coughing fit that was still hell. He felt Teyla's arm supporting his back tense, her hand squeezing his arm.
“John?”
John waved her off when the pain finally quieted. “Good, I'm good. Lungs always itch after an explosion.” He wasn't just placating. The cough hadn't spattered his mouth with anything metallic tasting, which he had no choice but to take as a good thing. On the negative side, he'd lost his train of thought. He never lost his train of thought. He blinked dazedly, trying to recall what he'd been about to say while wondering if more than his side had hit that console.
Then McKay groaned.
John started. “Oh, yeah... we need to wake McKay. We can't touch anything but maybe he could talk one of you through opening the doors.”
Ronon was on it, patting McKay's cheek and carefully shaking his shoulder. “McKay. Hey, McKay. Nap time's over; get up.”
Rodney's head rolled side to side, his lips moving, mumbling incoherent ramblings that John could have sworn translated into something like, “Five more minutes, Mom.”
Ronon tapped a little harder, though no less gently. “McKay!”
Like a jack-in-the box or a reanimated corpse on a horror movie, McKay jackknifed upright with a gasped, “I'm up! I'm up, I'm up. I'm...” He glanced vacantly around. “What - what happened? Where am I? What happened to me? Oh, crap, did I get electrocuted? I did, didn't I? And it was that stupid electric ball thing. Gah, I knew I shouldn't have touched it! Mr. Wilkins is so going to kill me.” Then he looked at his hands, his face draining of all remaining color. “Oh no. Oh, hell no, what did that damn ball do to me? Where's Mr. Wilkins? Someone needs to call my parents. No! They need to call an ambulance before my hands become infected. Does anyone know what degree burns these are? I need to know because second and third degree burns can get infected real fast and result in a very painful horrible death... where the hell... uh... I mean, heck, is Mr. Wilkins! Oh, gosh, I cussed. Don't tell my mom I cussed!”
John exchanged bewildered looks with Ronon, then Teyla, then back to Ronon. “Uh, Rodney?”
“She's gonna kill me if she finds out. Oh, crap, I'm gonna die! And don't you talk to me! This is all your fault. I knew I shouldn't have listened to you. You and your stupid hockey buddies did this. You broke the stupid thing, didn't you! Don't deny it, someone did. That thing was supposed to be harmless. Oh, you are so getting your ass suspended for this -”
“Rodney!”
“No, no,” Rodney held up a finger with a triumphant smile, “this is worse. This is attempted murder. You're getting your ass - butt! Butt. Your butt thrown in jail! And it'll serve you right because there's only so far you can push someone before you cross a line. And you, my brainless friend, have crossed a l-”
“Rodney!”
“What!”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Rodney huffed. “Oh, don't even try playing innocent with me. You and your fat-head pals sabotaged that stupid electric ball, asked me to show you how it worked, got me to touch it and pow, I get an arrhythmia and you get a laugh.” With a flinch of alarm, Rodney pressed his fingers to his own pulse point. “How is my heart anyway?” With the other hand, he pointed to Ronon then Teyla. “And you two are witnesses. I'm pressing charges. You're not getting away with it this time, Kyle, no matter how much Coach Dale whines about it.”
John exchanged another questioning look with Ronon and Teyla, tainted by a little extra concern.
“Rodney,” he said, calmly, levelly. A worried tone was always a catalyst for a panicked McKay. “My name's John.”
Rodney waved indifferently, still intent on his own pulse. “Whatever. Where's Mr. Wilkins? And why's the door shut?” He glanced around as though finally realizing where they were. “What exhibit is this? I thought we were in sciences.”
Worry ratcheting another notch, John asked, “Rodney, where do you think we are?”
“What do you mean where do you think I am? The Smithsonian, sciences.” He glanced around a second time, looking more bewildered by the second. “Looks like sciences. And where's Mr. Wilkins? And my question packet? Where are my worksheets? Did you take them! You took them, didn't you, you bas - uh, jerk.”
“Who is Mr. Wilkins?” Teyla asked, earning a mixed look of disbelief and mild irritation from McKay.
“Uh, our teacher? Tall guy with a receding hairline?” Perking, Rodney snapped his fingers rapidly. “Oh, that's right. The pep squad came with Mrs. Casey's group. You all have some kind of... international pep - sheer - whatever competition or something. Least that's what I heard. So why's the door shut? What's going on?”
“A cheerleader. Wasn't that what you called the scantily clad women dancing during that football game you showed us?” Teyla asked John. She raised her eyebrow as though John were somehow at fault.
Another surge of fatigue and pain made John's skull start to throb. He dug the heel of his hand between his eyes. “Son of a... He thinks he's in high school. How's that even possible?” And he really didn't want to pin it on their earlier conversation - it felt too freaky even for this galaxy - and didn't want to even think about what would have happened if they'd talked about what they'd remembered from their toddler years (because with a brain like McKay's, he was pretty damn sure the man remembered a lot.)
“Rodney...” John began with a string of reality checks teetering on his lips. Except he knew Rodney, but didn't know what the hell was going on with him. If saying “John” and “Teyla” didn't cause a hiccup in whatever hallucination he was having then anything else he said would be dismissed as a joke, wasting minutes they probably didn't have. John wasn't feeling too hot, but more importantly there was no telling the extent of damage Rodney had sustained without a medical scanner. There could be a slow bleeder on the brain for all any of them knew.
“Rodney,” Teyla said, “I am not a cheer-” but John halted her with a shaky hand on her arm.
“The doors shut and we can't get them open,” John said. He whispered to Teyla, “Trust me, just go along with it.” Then he said louder. “I think my, uh, joke set off the security or something. We can't get it open. But you should. See that tablet next to you? I think you can use that to get the doors open.”
Ronon placed the tablet in Rodney's arms. Rodney looked at it, front then tilting enough to see the back with a pouty look of displeasure, turning that same displeasure on John. “It's an exhibit piece. As in not real” He tossed it aside carelessly. “The fake astronaut guy was just pressing buttons. The door's probably on a timer or something.”
John fought the urge to roll his eyes. He lost. “Rodney!”
“Perhaps,” Teyla interjected quickly, “it was an employee taking inventory -”
“Handheld computers wouldn't have been around when we were teenagers,” John whispered to her.
“Or a remote control,” Teyla said.
Ronon snatched the tablet and shoved it back into McKay's arms. “Just look at it. You know this stuff better than we do.”
McKay arched both eyebrows smugly. “Yes, well, be that as it may, if this is some kind of security reaction then no amount of fiddling with a remote control is going to change anything. We just need to sit here and wait for Mr. Wilkins and museum security to show up. Messing with anything is just going to raise their suspicions and make them think we were trying to steal something.” Looking dubiously at the tablet, Rodney set it aside, a lot more gently, before nudging it away. He then crossed his arms in with a look of plastered resolve.
John didn't miss the muscles jumping in Rodney's jaw. Injured in a sealed room with the screwed-up sense of being expelled looming over his head, McKay was only one crisis away from a full-blown panic attack
“Please, Rodney,” Teyla implored. “John has injured -”
“Good. Serves him right.”
Teyla took a cleansing breath. “No, it is not good. It is not good at all. You have both been injured, and you said so yourself that you needed medical attention. You both do, and the sooner we can find a way out, the sooner that can happen.”
Rodney worked his jaw, trying to keep his stubborn set even as his eyes betrayed him, flicking to and from Teyla. It was like watching a butterfly burst from a cocoon in fast-forward: Rodney's shoulders slumped and his entire demeanor softened. With a sigh, he dropped his hands into his lap.
“Fine. Rick.”
“Ronon.”
“Whatever. Help me up and watch my back.” He gave John the evil eye.
Ronon took Rodney by the bicep to help him up. Rodney huddled in front of the panel while Ronon sprawled next to him against the wall, watching his back like asked.
Rodney struck up a conversation with Ronon as he studied the panel, and either didn't know how to whisper or was seriously underestimating the acoustics of this room, because John could hear every word.
“Injured my ass. He is so faking it. Jerk's always trying to score sympathy points from Tina -”
“Teyla,” Ronon said.
“What? Oh, yeah, Teyla. How come I forgot her name? I never forget her name. He's just trying to get in her pants again.”
Teyla blinked. “He is trying to do what?”
Rodney froze. Then, slowly, with a small cringe, looked back. “You can hear me?”
“Every word,” John growled.
Ronon, wearing an impossibly huge crap-eating grin, gave Rodney a hard nudge in the arm. “Still got your back, McKay.”
McKay visibly relaxed. “Oh, uh, good. Good.”
“Until we get out of here, then you're on your own.”
John shifted his glare onto Ronon. “Way to motivate, Chewie. Rodney, just fix the damn door. You're having me arrested for attempted murder, anyway, so it's not like I'm going to be able to do anything about it.”
Relaxing again, Rodney beamed a little too smugly for John's liking. “Oh, yeah, right. Okay then.” He accidentally flexed his fingers and winced before gingerly removing the panel, muttering to himself about doubting whether the panel did anything and having seen better props on Flash Gordon. His hand hovered an inch from the crystals, a silent debate on which one to touch first. He went with the top and pulled.
The panel popped, spitting sparks that spooked Rodney flat on his back with a yelp.
“What the hell!” he squeaked. He craned his head back, scowling bullets at John. “You stupid jerk!” Flipping onto his belly, Rodney hitched onto his forearms to scrabble away from the door. Too late, all three realized his destination when he braced his shoulder against the nearest console. The console flashed, spitting more sparks that had Rodney flailing to the floor and curling into a ball. Ronon surged to his feet and pulled Rodney away by his tac vest.
“What the heck did you do to this place!” Rodney shrieked, looking straight at John in wide-eyed horror.
Having had enough of the blame-game, John narrowed his eyes. “Nothing, McKay. I didn't do a damn thing. This place is... broken or whatever, all right? And if you don't believe me, take a look.” He yanked his shirt up high over his wound. “See that? You think I'd be willing to do that to myself just for a few laughs?”
“You could have warned me!” Rodney countered. He narrowed his eyes in return. “Oh, wait, forgot who I was talking to for a moment.”
“I didn't know! Usually when a piece of technology tries to kill us it's either handheld or hooked to the floor. Doors just lock us in. I didn't friggin' know.”
Rodney snorted. “Yeah, right.” He rolled to his knees, wincing when his hands accidentally touched the floor. “Tell it to someone who doesn't know better. You may have gotten me with the electric crystal ball but that doesn't mean I'm not still on to you. How many days has it been since you last gave me a wedgie? A week? Two weeks since you last washed my hair in the toilet?” With a triumphant smile, he tapped the side of his skull. “Brains over brawn, my friend. Brains over brawn. I'm outsmarting you. I will always outsmart you, and no amount of pink bellies or shoving me into lockers is going to change that. I am who I am.”
Wet warmth tickled down John's side. When he touched the bandage, his fingers came away bloodstained. “Awesome, Popeye, but it also isn't changing our current status any.”
“You're right,” Ronon said, and as he shot to his feet, yanked out his blaster. Rodney's face went milk white, sending John into a momentary panic that McKay really was hemorrhaging.
“Oh crap,” Rodney breathed, high-pitched. “Oh crap, oh no, oh crap, he has a gun. He has... a gun, a gun. He has a damn gun! We're going to die. He's going to kill us all!”
“Yeah, that was my plan all along,” Ronon deadpanned. He shot the panel. “I just felt like waiting a couple of minutes to build the suspense.” When prying the doors apart with brute strength didn't work, he stood back and sent bolt after bolt until a good-sized hole was formed. When he moved to Rodney, the physicist cringed back.
Ronon sighed wearily. “If I was going to shoot you, I would have done it already.” He took Rodney's arm, hauled him to his feet and shoved him toward the door. “Don't touch the sides.”
John was next. Getting to his feet constricted and relaxed muscles he'd never realized were used when standing. The grinding ends of the broken rib about dropped him with piercing agony, making him cry out and his vision spark. It took both Teyla and Ronon to get him to his feet and keep him there. Teyla went through the hole first to take John as Ronon guided him through, using muscles right over the break. John blacked out for a whole two seconds halfway through the door, turning shouts of alarm into watery echoes. When his sight cleared, he was back on the floor against the wall, sick to his stomach and shivering. Teyla was in front of him, tying another bandage over the old one that was completely soaked through.
“Must be worse... than it looks,” he gasped.
Teyla said nothing, just gave him more worried looks.
“He really is bad, isn't he?” said Rodney hovering somewhere to the right.
“He will be fine once we get him some medical help,” said Teyla.
Ronon started blasting their way through the next door.
“Isn't there a faster way?” Rodney yelped above the whine and explosion. “We are so getting expelled for this.” John realized dazedly that Rodney had yet to even ask about the weapon. It could be that his memories were scrambled - mixing past with present - or, hopefully, that whatever had happened to him was clearing up.
“Nope,” Ronon replied.
They slipped through the next hole, and this time John did black out, because when he next woke up, he was outside being dragged through the sun-dappled woods by Ronon and Teyla.
“That was... fast...” he rasped, then coughed, hard, metallic saliva pooling in his mouth. He spat the glob on the ground and could have sworn it had been a shade toward red.
“Teyla suggested I try shooting the panels again,” Ronon said. “Guess the malfunction didn't extend through the whole facility. It worked.”
“Wh-where's... Rodney?” But his question was answered by the agitated muttering behind him.
“An atrium. I-I don't really remember going through an atrium to get to the science wing. Did we take a back way? Why haven't we run into any people yet? What the heck, was that a bird? It was friggin' huge! Sure we're not back in prehistory?”
The rest of Rodney's precariously calm rambling faded into white noise. John was finding it hard to breathe, the very air a boulder against his chest. He wanted nothing more than to shove it off then maybe pull the knife grating against his ribs from his side. Every inhale never brought enough air, every exhale pushing what he had left from his lungs. His chest burned, his side burned, his brain swimming in a crushing sea and his stomach Mt. Vesuvius about to erupt. Then it did, and he would have dropped to his knees if Ronon and Teyla hadn't had a firm grip. Each heave dug the knife a little deeper, shoved more air from his lungs, and when he next sucked in a straw-full of breath, it rode a whimper.
Crap, he just needed to breathe; one damn, stupid breath but there was no oxygen left in the world. His vision faded briefly, sticking him somewhere between asleep and awake. He heard Ronon and Teyla begging, ordering, and threatening him awake, and behind them Rodney's shrill, “What's wrong with him!” When John's vision finally returned him to the world, he was on his back, cool metal beneath him, metal ceiling above him, pack elevating his feet and sweet oxygen caressing his face within the confines of a mask.
It still wasn't enough, but it was a start.
“... do you assume I know how to do this stuff? Number one, I'm not authorized and number two, even if I was, then I would have received the training necessary to fly it. But I'm not, I don't know how to fly it and I wish you'd quit asking me!”
John arched his neck enough to see the top-half of the pilot’s chair, the top-half of Rodney and Teyla next to him holding on desperately to her calm.
“Rodney, please, it is not hard. It is a - a...”
John flopped his hand to his face, lifting the mask away just long enough to say, “I-interaction. Interactive, ex-xhibit-t.”
“Yes, that,” Teyla said.
John eased the mask back onto his face.
“It is very easy. Anyone can fly it,” Teyla said. John winced and groaned.
“If it's so friggin' easy then why don't you fly it?” Rodney whimpered.
“Because I am afraid of heights, as is Ronon,” Teyla quickly explained. She glanced at John, briefly then looked back at Rodney.
“Well, so am I!”
“Our fear is worse. Now, please, Rodney. Just place your hands on the controls and think ‘on.’ You can do this, trust me. Please.”
John could hear Rodney's rapid breaths, interrupted by an audible gulp. John had to look away when pain spiked through his skull, but he could feel the vibrations of the 'jumper humming to life, feel the familiar mild warmth of take-off tumble down his spine, subdued because he wasn't the one flying.
“That's it, Rodney. You are doing well. Straight up, now straight over the trees.”
“Wait, is this one of those new VR simulations? I read about these. Wow, awesome special effects. It looks so friggin' real! Wait... how the heck are we supposed to get help in a VR thing?”
John lifted the mask. “M-moves... on a track to feel... feel real. Makes it feel... real.”
“Oh, so we are moving. Then why do I need to pilot?”
“It will not move otherwise,” Teyla said.
“Oh,” said Rodney, sounding a hell of a lot more relaxed, and John heard Teyla's breath of relief.
A large hand took the mask from John and settled it back on his face.
“Thanks,” John muttered. He felt a careful pat on his shoulder.
“This,” said McKay, “is one bitchin' museum. I mean cool, cool museum. Very cool... if anyone asks, I didn't cuss.”
---------------------------------
A too-deep breath woke John to familiar smells and sounds - chemical, clean, beeping and tapping. It was the mild ache in his chest that pulled him from his currently numb state, making him wish he could return to it. It was uncomfortable to breathe, and it felt like cotton was being used to smother the throb in his skull.
John opened his eyes, the lights overhead stabbing straight into his brain. He snapped his eyes back shut with a groan.
“Sheppard? You awake? John?”
Tentatively, John opened one eye. When the second assault didn't make him want to tear his own head off, the second eye joined the first. He carefully rolled his head in the direction of his questioner.
Rodney, sitting up against a mountain of pillows in the neighboring bed, held his bandaged hands in mid-type over his keyboard as he stared at John expectantly.
“'Parently,” John croaked, his throat feeling sanded and his tongue dried to leather.
Rodney's body did that melting thing again, hands flopping to his sides and back sinking into the pillow. “About damn time. Keller said you should've woken up a day and a half ago.”
“Scuse me.”
“Yes, well... I mean, yes she assured us it wasn't abnormal, but still... you suck at waking up from anesthesia.”
If John could have shrugged, he would have. Between the peace of complete oblivion or the obnoxious haze that morphed dreams into reality, blurring danger and safety, he preferred oblivion. At least while in a drugged sleep, he didn't have to worry about dreaming.
John felt himself about to return to that sweet oblivion when a nurse chose that moment to wander by. An ice-chip slipped into his mouth forced him back into reality unless he wanted to choke, but was a leash compared to the choke-chain of Keller pulling back the sheets to poke, prod and place a cold stethoscope to his chest all while laying out John's injuries in layman's terms: a mild case of blast lung exacerbated when the broken rib found its way to the pleural sack and punctured it. There'd been surgery, a brief stint with a tube shoved down his throat, but everything since then was looking good and healing nicely.
“Whatta 'bout Rodney?” John asked.
Keller sucked air through her teeth. “Yeah, his case was interesting. First degree burns on his hands - but you probably already knew that. His head... we're still not sure. Scans showed some very interesting activity. Very interesting. We had to keep him sedated most of the time when he kept trying to wander off looking for someone named Mr. Wilkins.”
“I told you already. He was my grade ten teacher,” Rodney said.
“It had us worried for a while until we realized it was starting to resolve itself. His head's pretty much cleared up now. We're just keeping him two more days for observation.”
“So he's fine?” John asked.
Keller smiled. “Yep. Even his hands are improving. Two more days then he can be released. You, however, are another story.”
Smiling tiredly, John touched the bandage covering his side. “Obviously.”
“Glad you understand,” Keller said. She patted his knee. “Your next round of medication isn't for another hour. You shouldn't feel anything until then but tell us when you do.”
John lifted his thumb. “Will do, Doc.”
Keller left, and only when she was gone did Rodney resume clicking away. Sleep tiptoed at the edge of John's awareness, creeping in inches at a time but not enough to force him back under. John turned his head to Rodney who was engrossed in whatever it was he was working on today. His expression was of a man looking inward at his own thoughts; narrowing his world to those thoughts, his fingers and what his fingers typed on the screen, bandaged or not.
If McKay remembered anything about what had happened at the facility, John couldn't tell. That didn't stop him from wondering. He'd known guys - alert and coherent - lose days, even months, to situations they couldn't handle, and guys so completely out of it as to be living in two realities remember everything. The former usually panicked, a lot. The latter, depending on how bad the two realities clashed, drowned themselves in denial. What McKay had been through John wouldn't even consider a wartime level of bad, but he wasn't going to call it innocent hazing either.
“McKay -”
“I need to apologize,” McKay said. His hands stilled, a pretty amazing feat for him. “About things I said... or may have said.”
“You remember?”
“Bits and pieces. Ronon filled in the rest.”
John furrowed his brow at that. “He did?” Ronon wasn't exactly detail friendly, much to Woolsey's chagrin.
“Well, it was more that he had a lot of questions - like what a wedgie was. I figured it out from there.”
John swallowed nervously. “Did you uh... tell him?”
“Oh, hell no! Not after what happened when one of your marines taught him what a noogie was. I told him a wedgie is when you sit on a person until they squeal like a girl. I figure since he does that to the marines anyway then no harm, no foul.”
John relaxed. “Good. Good. Smart thinking.”
“Naturally. Anyway, just wanted to apologize. It wasn't anything personal. High school... well, you know.”
“Yeah,” John said, nodding. “I know.” All the same, he eyed Rodney with what he hoped came across as the no-nonsense look when he wasn't in the mood to put up with any of Rodney's bull.
It took a moment for Rodney to realize it for what it was, and he immediately bristled when he did. “What?”
“You think I'm a jock.”
Rodney shrugged nonchalant. “Yeah, so? It's not like I think you were an asshole jock or anything.”
John half-lidded his eyes. “Really?”
“Really.”
“You sure about that?”
Again, Rodney shrugged, less nonchalant. “I'll admit to certain prejudices...”
“Against jocks.”
“Yes. I think my little time warp back on the planet should have cleared that up.” He sighed, though it sounded more like an annoyed huff. “It wasn't every jock, just this one guy - Kyle - all right? And, yes, he had his little gaggle of cronies who backed him up and played along. But when Kyle wasn't around they backed off, minded their own business. Kyle was the ringleader, and his actions might as well have been law. So, no, it wasn't jocks as a whole. Just one guy. One guy who could get away with anything and did up until the day he wrapped his car around a tree three days before graduation.”
Rodney lifted his head thoughtfully. “I think that's what pissed me off the most, though - that he could do no wrong. You bust your ass to get ahead in life, only to have these nobodies breeze by you - exempted from things that were pointlessly mandatory for me, getting scholarships thrown at their feet (well, okay, I got that too but still...) and all because they were good at hitting a stupid puck into a net.” He shook his head. “I just hated where the school's priorities were. Not like it mattered. I was off to college by sixteen. I only knew what happened to Kyle because mom told me.”
McKay looked ready to return to his typing, when he paused, looked back up, then at John, matching suspicion for suspicion.
“So... what kind of jock were you?”
John smiled. “Basketball.”
Rodney blinked. “Really? You, who salivates at the mere mention of college football, didn't even play it?”
“Didn't have the build for it. I'd hit a major growth spurt my freshmen year. I was so skinny the coach was afraid I'd shatter so he hustled me in the direction of the basketball coach. Played for about two years.”
“Why? Did you suck?”
John shrugged. “It was never really my thing. And, no, I never shoved kids into lockers or gave them wedgies.”
“Popular, then. You had to be popular. Rich kid, practiced flirt - come on.”
“Maybe a little,” John said then scowled. “Think about it, though - what's the one reason to hang with a kid who comes from money?”
“That couldn't be the only reason?”
“No, it wasn't. But when situations get bad, it puts things in perspective real fast.”
“Tell me about it,” Rodney said. “The only taste I got of anything resembling popularity was three weeks before exams, or when reports were due, or science projects. Don't get me wrong - I was practically a deity in my physics club but there were only about five members, all of them complete geeks of course.”
John smiled. “Of course.”
“But if it wasn't about precious football, then no one cared. But, come on, I can't believe you didn't have any friends.”
“Damn, McKay, stop assuming already. I didn't say I didn't have any friends. I had friends. It was just... hard to tell the real ones from the fake ones until they started asking me to buy them fake IDs and a damn car. Even when I was finally tossed into private school. They didn't want to get their damn credit cards dirty.”
“You're kidding.”
“I kid you not.”
“Little mooching bastards.” After a moment of scowling, Rodney brightened and asked, “Could you buy me a car?”
Had John the strength, he would have thrown a pillow at Rodney. Instead, he graced him with the flattest look he could, knowing it probably fell short. He was starting to feel drained.
Chuckling and shaking his head, Rodney went back to his laptop. It wasn't long before he was interrupted by Teyla and Ronon heading their way, but he seemed more pleased by it than annoyed.
“Oh, Ronon, Teyla. Just the people I wanted to see. I was just about finished.”
“Finished with what?” John asked.
It was Teyla who answered. “After what happened, Rodney, Ronon and I spoke. We felt it might be wise if Rodney were to create a... booklet of sorts on minor repairs to Ancestor technology.”
“Don't we have a monthly class for that?” John asked.
“Okay, not-so-minor,” Rodney said. “If it really was an overload then it would have been easy to fix, easy enough for me to talk Teyla or Ronon through it.”
“Without them getting electrocuted?”
Rodney opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Um... maybe. I don't know, but it still doesn't hurt to have a handy little guide, uh, handy. Once I'm out of here, I'm presenting it to Woolsey in the hopes of making it mandatory to have a booklet in every 'jumper, and maybe a smaller version for packs.”
John lifted an eyebrow. “Not a bad idea.”
“Not bad? It's brilliant. No more damaging facilities beyond repair by blowing holes in them.”
Ronon snorted. “Hey, it worked.”
“Yes, this time. Next time, you'll aim wrong and blow us up.”
“Yeah, but this time, it saved our asses.”
“This time,” Rodney emphasized.
A nurse came by with a needle full of pain medication that she injected after Teyla and Ronon were able to ask for themselves how John was feeling. Between the medication and flagging energy, it didn't take long for John to drift off to the chorus of his team's voices.
“McKay, what's really a wedgie?”
The End
Author: kriadydragon
Recipient: negolith2
Pairing: None
Rating: PG, Gen
Spoilers Takes place in season five but no specific episodes mentioned.
Summary: An accident off-world leaves Sheppard injured, Rodney reminiscing against his will and Ronon trigger happy.
A/N: Apologies in advance for my complete lack of knowledge on the Canadian education system. I did research, but it was incredibly general and mostly seemed to comfirm what I'd already assumed.. Huge thanks to wildcat88 for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
-----------------------------
“Apprenticing, really?” John asked.
Ronon, taking the lead, cut through another leafed branch like it was melted butter with his sword. “Satedans believed you gain more experience by doing. Eight years of basic education, followed by four working in different fields as a lackey until you found something you liked. Or joined the Satedan military.” A buzzing whistle, then a snickt, and another branch was removed their path. P3X-421 was a tropical paradise with perfect temperatures, cascading waterfalls and so many flowers that John could taste their perfume (and feel their pollen irritate his nose. Rodney was getting to be a bad influence on him like that). It was enough to keep even Rodney's complaints to a minimum and made trudging through a jungle an actual pleasure.
But if they had to run for their lives, they were screwed. The jungle was too dense to land the 'jumper near the temple, forcing John to set down too many klicks for comfort in the nearest clearing. Call it pessimistic of him, but he had to agree with Granddad Sheppard - “If it's too good to be true, it probably is.” The old man had been borderline paranoid. John smiled on remembering; McKay would have liked him.
“Let me guess,” Rodney said from behind John. “It was straight to the military for you.”
Ronon hacked through a tangle of vines. “Naw. Tried metal smithing, garnak husbandry -”
“I don't even want to know what that is.”
“Like your planet's horses, McKay, only bigger. Carpentry, artistry-”
“You're kidding.”
“Nope.” Another tangle of vines fell under the blade. Ronon shoved them aside then made short work of a tangle of branches on the other side. “My mother wanted me to expand my horizons before I became a specialist. I think she was hoping I wouldn't become a specialist.”
“Been there, done that,” John muttered. Except his old man hadn't been too keen on any kind of expansion of horizons for his eldest son, and joining the Air Force hadn't been an annoyance grudgingly accepted - it had been a match tossed into a couple of powder kegs.
“What of Earth education?” Teyla asked. “I've heard you speak of it often but never... directly.” In other words, what she knew she'd garnered in bits and pieces from McKay, none of it positive. She'd already given her education history, which could be summed up as “taking a village to raise a child.” Like with Ronon's people, apprenticeship was a must, each child learning every possible skill the adults had to offer. That included the basics such as math and reading, and the not-so-basics like basket weaving and trade negotiations.
“Depends on where you're from,” John said. “Basically, though, it's about twelve levels, one a year. When you complete one level, you move on to the next. After that, it's a choice -”
“Dependant on how much you're willing to spend,” McKay added flatly.
“Keep going and gain a specific skill or set of skills, or not,” John continued, ignoring him.
“Or you gain special skills at an early age and skip a few levels because a bunch of people who thought they knew better but actually didn't felt it in your best interest,” Rodney said. John could hear the brooding glower in his voice. “I hated high school.”
“We know, McKay,” Ronon said.
“You never let us forget it,” John said.
“No, you don't know. You have no damn clue. I was a walking cliché in high school. My mother even dressed me in the dorkiest clothes she could find. To look like a professional is to be a professional. It was like her damn motto. And she honestly had the audacity to think snazzy 'dressing' garnered prestigious friendships. Except it didn't and I had to start sneaking clothes in my backpack to change into before school just to make myself less of a walking target.”
“Let me guess,” John said. “It was always the jocks who made your life hell.” He glanced over his shoulder when he felt Rodney's heated gaze drilling a hole in his back. Looks couldn't exactly kill when it came to Rodney McKay, but they could scorch. John narrowed his eyes at the other man. “What? Hey, you're the one who called yourself a walking cliché. Ergo, keeping to the cliché, it would have been the jocks making your life miserable. Unless it was the Latin club.”
“I was a member of the Latin club,” Rodney said, still giving John the visual third degree.
John just shook his head and turned away. McKay was touchy at the best of times, so John wasn't going to waste time figuring out how he'd pissed the guy off. When the burning continued, John sighed.
“Lighten up, McKay. You’re too many years and too many light-years from high school. Stop dwelling on it.”
“Easy for you to say.” Rodney murmured.
John shrugged. “What can I say? I know how to not live in the past.”
“I'm not living. I just... that stuff doesn't go away, you know. There is such a thing as mental scarring and I -”
“We're here,” Ronon announced, effectively killing the conversation, thank goodness. Nothing against McKay but the man was like a car alarm when it came to rants: without an outside source to shut him off, he'd just keep going and going.
They squeezed into a clearing too small for personal space and stood before a door the spitting image of the doors on Atlantis. Rodney, annoyance and glaring exchanged for bright-eyed anticipation, shouldered his way to the forefront.
“I knew it. That big an energy reading could have only come from a facility.” He didn't hesitate palming the crystals, which beeped in protest. He whipped out his tablet and clips and hooked them up.
John passed the time by studying what they could see of the structure, most of it buried under climbing vines and moss. Though it was impressively tall, it wasn't quite tall enough to get past the trees the height of redwoods, which explained why they hadn't been able to see it from above.
An annoying beep brought John's attention back to Rodney, who was muttering curses and insults under his breath.
“There's more than one way to open a door, McKay,” Ronon said, pulling out his blaster. The glare of annoyance Rodney shot him morphed quickly into panic.
“Don't you even! Who knows what kind of security protocols that might set off, and blasting a hole in anything isn't going to do us any favors if the Wraith or some other bad guy decides to show up. Just have some damn patience. Jeez, you and Sheppard and wanting to blow everything up.”
Rolling his eyes, Ronon shoved the blaster back in its holster.
Rodney resumed. A few more beeps, a few more curses followed by a high-pitched “Come on!” from McKay and the doors finally slid apart. Air rushed out in a burst of mold and mildew, making John's nose wrinkle
“Finally!” McKay barked. Without thinking, he started forward until Ronon yanked him back by the collar and took the lead. Sheppard joined him to provide some P-90 light.
The interior was like a lesser version of Atlantis, minus bubbling pillars and pristine copper walls. Everything was stained, crusted with white mineral deposits and splashed with a little rust in places. John heard the distant pat of dripping, and Ronon's next step confirmed the presence of standing water.
Even for an abandoned facility it was still a little surprising how bad the deterioration was. Most of the Ancient facilities they'd encountered had been air-tight and preserved. Those that weren't still hadn't wreaked of this much damage, making Sheppard nervously wonder what this place had done to piss its creators off; more importantly, how stable the place was.
“What is - was - the purpose of this facility?” Teyla asked as though having unwittingly read John's mind. They'd discussed it in their last staff meeting, McKay's explanation so technical that John had fallen into the usual routine of smiling and nodding at the appropriate times. If McKay said a place was promising, seven times out of ten it was, odds good enough to just go with the flow.
After they checked the place out first. As long as it was safe, Rodney and his band of brainiacs could play to their hearts’ content, and John could whip up a rotating duty roster so that the military half of the expedition didn't go postal from boredom.
“Well, we know how the Ancients loved to utilize alternate forms of energy,” McKay said.
“And also that the majority of the time it never works,” John felt the need to add. That was the problem with most bright ideas: good in theory but putting it into practice ran the risk of killing you. Especially when the idea was an Ancient’s idea.
“This place is one of those places,” Rodney said, ignoring him. “In that it's where they were experimenting with energy. Thermal energy, to be exact.”
John frowned at that. “You're kidding.”
“Relax,” Rodney said with a dismissive wave. “I did my homework, managed to find the research. Energy absorption was in the smallest possible of increments - like the difference between a nuclear power plant and a D battery. The amount they siphoned off was enough to power this facility and that's it. Even if they left it on, I doubt it would have done much damage.”
“You doubt. As in you're not sure?” John asked.
Rodney shrugged. “I would think not. This is a pretty small facility. More like a double A battery, really. Ah!” He made short work of the next door at the other end of the room, then the next, and the next until they were four doors in, each room just like the last - empty. Although the further they went, the less damage they found.
The fifth door wielded real results that had Rodney's eyes glowing like two blue Christmas lights: a console room, larger than the last four with five consoles on both sides of the room, each with a big-screen transparent terminal overhead. The largest two consoles were in the center, and Rodney made a beeline straight for them.
“Okay, this is what I'm talking about. This one and the one behind must be main power, the rest work stations.” He placed his hand on the surface, closed his eyes and concentrated.
John's spine tingled in alarm. “Whoa, hold on, McKay. Maybe you should make sure this place is work safe, first.” The two times out of ten when the facilities weren't worth the price of singeing their skin, they'd found out the hard way by being too anxious to light things up.
Once again, Rodney didn't seem to be listening. He cracked an eye open. “Nothing's happening.” Opening the second eye, he crouched next to the access panel and pried it open. “Look, the only thing we'd have to worry about is energy storage building up enough energy for a potentially catastrophic overload. If this console isn't working, then storage isn't working and we're safe.”
“No, we're screwed because you just jinxed us by saying that,” John said.
Rodney spared a moment to glower at him over his shoulder. “Yes, very logical and mature observation, Colonel. Maybe you should go find a horseshoe to toss over your shoulder while you're at it.” He turned his attention back to the panel. “Seriously, being around you is like suffering through Grade Five all over again. Correction, high school. The grade fives wouldn't even know what 'jinx' meant. Ah! Here's the problem, burned-out crystal.” McKay pulled it and tossed it aside, then scooted around to the right side of the console and pried loose another panel, pulling out a drawer of spare crystals.
It had taken them two years to discover that not all replacement crystals were found in Atlantis' sundry supply closets. It had taken Chuck stubbing his toe on 'gate access control to find the first drawer. Not every console had them - only those that it would suck if things went south, they shut down and there wasn't a replacement crystal to be found.
Rodney scooted back around and slipped the crystal in. Before the second attempt at lighting the thing up, he moved to the console behind them, checked it then, satisfied, rubbed his hands together in anticipation before spreading his fingers an inch over the surface.
“All right, second time's a charm. Sheppard, you activate the first console. I'll take this one.”
Sheppard positioned himself in front of it and placed one hand flat on its edge. Rodney placed both hands on his. The consoles hummed to life, winking at them with a myriad of lights as the screens flickered and data scrolled.
But the hum kept building, growing louder. An unpleasant tingle climbed John's wrist, up his arm then down into his chest, making his heart pound.
He wetted his lips nervously. “Uh, McKay. Is it supposed to be doing -” A blinding flash and a concussive force shoved him in the chest. For a single heartbeat, he was weightless then his left side met a sharp, agonizing resistance, shoving the air from his lungs and snapping his body sideways. He crumpled in a heap to the floor, blacking out to the underwater cries of his team.
--------------------------
John woke to pain, a metallic taste in his mouth, and the faint odor of ozone. The taste was nauseating, but when he tried to roll and spit, fire clawed up and down his left side. He grunted.
“Ah... crap!”
“Easy, John. You need to lie still.” That was Teyla's voice, so it must be her hand applying gentle pressure to his shoulder, urging him to not move.
John easily complied while he breathed through the pain. Breathing too deep made it feel like a knife was pricking his ribs. He swallowed, the metallic taste briefly forgotten until he felt it sliding down his throat, making him grimace and gag. Teyla's other hand pressed against his chest.
“John?” she asked with a waver of alarm in her voice.
John shook his head. “Good, 'm good.” He winced when the pain pinched. “Okay, not good. What... what the hell happened?” He tried to lift his head only for the careful pressure of Teyla's hand on his chest telling him it would probably be a bad idea if he did. That was when he realized he was sans one tac vest which, for some inexplicable reason, was the final incentive to force his eyes open to Teyla's worried face.
“We do not know,” she said. “There was a... power surge of some kind. I do not know what else to call it. It threw you back and caused the consoles to explode. You collided with the second console. I think the impact has broken your ribs, among other things.”
John angled his head enough to see a dark stain on his right side and blood-stained gauze peeking through a four inch tear through both shirts. “Among other things... is right.” A spasm of pain made him choke. Then it hit him.
Consoles, as in plural. As in... He ignored the pain of a too deep breath and attempted to get up. Teyla wouldn't have it, holding him a little too easily in place. “John, you need to -”
“Rodney. Where's McKay?” His eyes darted around his limited field of vision, showing him nothing.
“I've got him,” Ronon called, and John lifted his head enough to see, whether Teyla liked it or not.
McKay was stretched out on the floor, his feet elevated by one of their packs and Ronon crouched on his right side. From the little John could see, there was no blood, let alone any discernible bruises or scrapes. It still wasn't enough to get John to breathe a sigh of relief, not with how still McKay was, and pale.
“It was like McKay was stuck to the console,” explained Ronon, taut-faced. “I had to pull him off. That's when it started to spark. Then the door shut and I haven't been able to get it open, or McKay to wake up.”
John dropped his head back to the floor with a shuddery exhale. “Well, crap.” And like the magic word, pain and exhaustion flooded him in one foul deluge. Each breath made his chest feel like it was buried under rocks and a dull blade was pricking his side. Despite that, he groped for some kind of purchase to help himself sit up.
“Teyla, could you...?” His hand touched the side of the console. There was a hum then pop, and sparks fountained from the surface with a snapping hiss. Both John and Teyla cried out, Teyla in alarm and John in agony when she yanked him away.
The sparks died and the console went dark.
“Son of a bitch!” John gritted. He could have sworn his heart had migrated to the area of his injury, because he could feel it beating against the busted rib. It felt like forever until the pain abated enough for him to breathe; then he opened his eyes (he hadn't even realized they were closed) to Teyla's alarmed face.
“John, I am so sorry but the console -”
“I know,” John said, shaking his throbbing head. “Did the right thing. Still need you to help me up. Can't breathe lying down.”
Teyla complied with some reluctance, Ronon joining to help, both doing most of the work until John was sitting braced against Teyla's side. When Ronon was sure Sheppard wasn't about to pitch in various directions, he returned to McKay, checking his pulse.
“Any injuries?” John asked.
“Just his hands. The console burned them pretty bad.” Ronon carefully turned one of Rodney's wrists enough for the poor lighting to reveal Rodney's hands wrapped in field bandages.
It took a moment for John to realize they had lighting. Crappy lighting, but enough not to have to rely on the P-90. And if the lights were on, that meant this place was still functioning. John's heart stuttered.
“Crap.”
“What?” Teyla asked.
He looked at her. “We can't touch anything.”
Ronon arched an eyebrow, “What?”
“Me and Rodney, we can't touch anything. Not if all we're gonna get is a repeat of last time, or another fireworks show. Which means...”
“Getting out of here's going to be a bitch,” Ronon finished.
“To put it mildly,” John said, twisting his mouth in consternation as he visually swept the room. There wasn't anything of immediate use, but sometimes getting the lay of their surroundings produced ideas, later if not sooner. All the same, he asked to no one in particular, “What the hell happened? Why did it overload like that?”
Ronon, still crouched by McKay, shrugged. “Dunno. But McKay did say this place was built to study energy creation, and that it had the ability to store energy. Maybe it had too much stored and...” He clapped his hands together with a loud pop.
John raised an eyebrow, impressed. “That makes pretty good sense.” It wasn't that Ronon didn't have a head for science; he just usually didn't give a damn about the whys, only the hows - such as how they were going to get out of here.
“We need to -” John began, only to be interrupted by a light coughing fit that was still hell. He felt Teyla's arm supporting his back tense, her hand squeezing his arm.
“John?”
John waved her off when the pain finally quieted. “Good, I'm good. Lungs always itch after an explosion.” He wasn't just placating. The cough hadn't spattered his mouth with anything metallic tasting, which he had no choice but to take as a good thing. On the negative side, he'd lost his train of thought. He never lost his train of thought. He blinked dazedly, trying to recall what he'd been about to say while wondering if more than his side had hit that console.
Then McKay groaned.
John started. “Oh, yeah... we need to wake McKay. We can't touch anything but maybe he could talk one of you through opening the doors.”
Ronon was on it, patting McKay's cheek and carefully shaking his shoulder. “McKay. Hey, McKay. Nap time's over; get up.”
Rodney's head rolled side to side, his lips moving, mumbling incoherent ramblings that John could have sworn translated into something like, “Five more minutes, Mom.”
Ronon tapped a little harder, though no less gently. “McKay!”
Like a jack-in-the box or a reanimated corpse on a horror movie, McKay jackknifed upright with a gasped, “I'm up! I'm up, I'm up. I'm...” He glanced vacantly around. “What - what happened? Where am I? What happened to me? Oh, crap, did I get electrocuted? I did, didn't I? And it was that stupid electric ball thing. Gah, I knew I shouldn't have touched it! Mr. Wilkins is so going to kill me.” Then he looked at his hands, his face draining of all remaining color. “Oh no. Oh, hell no, what did that damn ball do to me? Where's Mr. Wilkins? Someone needs to call my parents. No! They need to call an ambulance before my hands become infected. Does anyone know what degree burns these are? I need to know because second and third degree burns can get infected real fast and result in a very painful horrible death... where the hell... uh... I mean, heck, is Mr. Wilkins! Oh, gosh, I cussed. Don't tell my mom I cussed!”
John exchanged bewildered looks with Ronon, then Teyla, then back to Ronon. “Uh, Rodney?”
“She's gonna kill me if she finds out. Oh, crap, I'm gonna die! And don't you talk to me! This is all your fault. I knew I shouldn't have listened to you. You and your stupid hockey buddies did this. You broke the stupid thing, didn't you! Don't deny it, someone did. That thing was supposed to be harmless. Oh, you are so getting your ass suspended for this -”
“Rodney!”
“No, no,” Rodney held up a finger with a triumphant smile, “this is worse. This is attempted murder. You're getting your ass - butt! Butt. Your butt thrown in jail! And it'll serve you right because there's only so far you can push someone before you cross a line. And you, my brainless friend, have crossed a l-”
“Rodney!”
“What!”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Rodney huffed. “Oh, don't even try playing innocent with me. You and your fat-head pals sabotaged that stupid electric ball, asked me to show you how it worked, got me to touch it and pow, I get an arrhythmia and you get a laugh.” With a flinch of alarm, Rodney pressed his fingers to his own pulse point. “How is my heart anyway?” With the other hand, he pointed to Ronon then Teyla. “And you two are witnesses. I'm pressing charges. You're not getting away with it this time, Kyle, no matter how much Coach Dale whines about it.”
John exchanged another questioning look with Ronon and Teyla, tainted by a little extra concern.
“Rodney,” he said, calmly, levelly. A worried tone was always a catalyst for a panicked McKay. “My name's John.”
Rodney waved indifferently, still intent on his own pulse. “Whatever. Where's Mr. Wilkins? And why's the door shut?” He glanced around as though finally realizing where they were. “What exhibit is this? I thought we were in sciences.”
Worry ratcheting another notch, John asked, “Rodney, where do you think we are?”
“What do you mean where do you think I am? The Smithsonian, sciences.” He glanced around a second time, looking more bewildered by the second. “Looks like sciences. And where's Mr. Wilkins? And my question packet? Where are my worksheets? Did you take them! You took them, didn't you, you bas - uh, jerk.”
“Who is Mr. Wilkins?” Teyla asked, earning a mixed look of disbelief and mild irritation from McKay.
“Uh, our teacher? Tall guy with a receding hairline?” Perking, Rodney snapped his fingers rapidly. “Oh, that's right. The pep squad came with Mrs. Casey's group. You all have some kind of... international pep - sheer - whatever competition or something. Least that's what I heard. So why's the door shut? What's going on?”
“A cheerleader. Wasn't that what you called the scantily clad women dancing during that football game you showed us?” Teyla asked John. She raised her eyebrow as though John were somehow at fault.
Another surge of fatigue and pain made John's skull start to throb. He dug the heel of his hand between his eyes. “Son of a... He thinks he's in high school. How's that even possible?” And he really didn't want to pin it on their earlier conversation - it felt too freaky even for this galaxy - and didn't want to even think about what would have happened if they'd talked about what they'd remembered from their toddler years (because with a brain like McKay's, he was pretty damn sure the man remembered a lot.)
“Rodney...” John began with a string of reality checks teetering on his lips. Except he knew Rodney, but didn't know what the hell was going on with him. If saying “John” and “Teyla” didn't cause a hiccup in whatever hallucination he was having then anything else he said would be dismissed as a joke, wasting minutes they probably didn't have. John wasn't feeling too hot, but more importantly there was no telling the extent of damage Rodney had sustained without a medical scanner. There could be a slow bleeder on the brain for all any of them knew.
“Rodney,” Teyla said, “I am not a cheer-” but John halted her with a shaky hand on her arm.
“The doors shut and we can't get them open,” John said. He whispered to Teyla, “Trust me, just go along with it.” Then he said louder. “I think my, uh, joke set off the security or something. We can't get it open. But you should. See that tablet next to you? I think you can use that to get the doors open.”
Ronon placed the tablet in Rodney's arms. Rodney looked at it, front then tilting enough to see the back with a pouty look of displeasure, turning that same displeasure on John. “It's an exhibit piece. As in not real” He tossed it aside carelessly. “The fake astronaut guy was just pressing buttons. The door's probably on a timer or something.”
John fought the urge to roll his eyes. He lost. “Rodney!”
“Perhaps,” Teyla interjected quickly, “it was an employee taking inventory -”
“Handheld computers wouldn't have been around when we were teenagers,” John whispered to her.
“Or a remote control,” Teyla said.
Ronon snatched the tablet and shoved it back into McKay's arms. “Just look at it. You know this stuff better than we do.”
McKay arched both eyebrows smugly. “Yes, well, be that as it may, if this is some kind of security reaction then no amount of fiddling with a remote control is going to change anything. We just need to sit here and wait for Mr. Wilkins and museum security to show up. Messing with anything is just going to raise their suspicions and make them think we were trying to steal something.” Looking dubiously at the tablet, Rodney set it aside, a lot more gently, before nudging it away. He then crossed his arms in with a look of plastered resolve.
John didn't miss the muscles jumping in Rodney's jaw. Injured in a sealed room with the screwed-up sense of being expelled looming over his head, McKay was only one crisis away from a full-blown panic attack
“Please, Rodney,” Teyla implored. “John has injured -”
“Good. Serves him right.”
Teyla took a cleansing breath. “No, it is not good. It is not good at all. You have both been injured, and you said so yourself that you needed medical attention. You both do, and the sooner we can find a way out, the sooner that can happen.”
Rodney worked his jaw, trying to keep his stubborn set even as his eyes betrayed him, flicking to and from Teyla. It was like watching a butterfly burst from a cocoon in fast-forward: Rodney's shoulders slumped and his entire demeanor softened. With a sigh, he dropped his hands into his lap.
“Fine. Rick.”
“Ronon.”
“Whatever. Help me up and watch my back.” He gave John the evil eye.
Ronon took Rodney by the bicep to help him up. Rodney huddled in front of the panel while Ronon sprawled next to him against the wall, watching his back like asked.
Rodney struck up a conversation with Ronon as he studied the panel, and either didn't know how to whisper or was seriously underestimating the acoustics of this room, because John could hear every word.
“Injured my ass. He is so faking it. Jerk's always trying to score sympathy points from Tina -”
“Teyla,” Ronon said.
“What? Oh, yeah, Teyla. How come I forgot her name? I never forget her name. He's just trying to get in her pants again.”
Teyla blinked. “He is trying to do what?”
Rodney froze. Then, slowly, with a small cringe, looked back. “You can hear me?”
“Every word,” John growled.
Ronon, wearing an impossibly huge crap-eating grin, gave Rodney a hard nudge in the arm. “Still got your back, McKay.”
McKay visibly relaxed. “Oh, uh, good. Good.”
“Until we get out of here, then you're on your own.”
John shifted his glare onto Ronon. “Way to motivate, Chewie. Rodney, just fix the damn door. You're having me arrested for attempted murder, anyway, so it's not like I'm going to be able to do anything about it.”
Relaxing again, Rodney beamed a little too smugly for John's liking. “Oh, yeah, right. Okay then.” He accidentally flexed his fingers and winced before gingerly removing the panel, muttering to himself about doubting whether the panel did anything and having seen better props on Flash Gordon. His hand hovered an inch from the crystals, a silent debate on which one to touch first. He went with the top and pulled.
The panel popped, spitting sparks that spooked Rodney flat on his back with a yelp.
“What the hell!” he squeaked. He craned his head back, scowling bullets at John. “You stupid jerk!” Flipping onto his belly, Rodney hitched onto his forearms to scrabble away from the door. Too late, all three realized his destination when he braced his shoulder against the nearest console. The console flashed, spitting more sparks that had Rodney flailing to the floor and curling into a ball. Ronon surged to his feet and pulled Rodney away by his tac vest.
“What the heck did you do to this place!” Rodney shrieked, looking straight at John in wide-eyed horror.
Having had enough of the blame-game, John narrowed his eyes. “Nothing, McKay. I didn't do a damn thing. This place is... broken or whatever, all right? And if you don't believe me, take a look.” He yanked his shirt up high over his wound. “See that? You think I'd be willing to do that to myself just for a few laughs?”
“You could have warned me!” Rodney countered. He narrowed his eyes in return. “Oh, wait, forgot who I was talking to for a moment.”
“I didn't know! Usually when a piece of technology tries to kill us it's either handheld or hooked to the floor. Doors just lock us in. I didn't friggin' know.”
Rodney snorted. “Yeah, right.” He rolled to his knees, wincing when his hands accidentally touched the floor. “Tell it to someone who doesn't know better. You may have gotten me with the electric crystal ball but that doesn't mean I'm not still on to you. How many days has it been since you last gave me a wedgie? A week? Two weeks since you last washed my hair in the toilet?” With a triumphant smile, he tapped the side of his skull. “Brains over brawn, my friend. Brains over brawn. I'm outsmarting you. I will always outsmart you, and no amount of pink bellies or shoving me into lockers is going to change that. I am who I am.”
Wet warmth tickled down John's side. When he touched the bandage, his fingers came away bloodstained. “Awesome, Popeye, but it also isn't changing our current status any.”
“You're right,” Ronon said, and as he shot to his feet, yanked out his blaster. Rodney's face went milk white, sending John into a momentary panic that McKay really was hemorrhaging.
“Oh crap,” Rodney breathed, high-pitched. “Oh crap, oh no, oh crap, he has a gun. He has... a gun, a gun. He has a damn gun! We're going to die. He's going to kill us all!”
“Yeah, that was my plan all along,” Ronon deadpanned. He shot the panel. “I just felt like waiting a couple of minutes to build the suspense.” When prying the doors apart with brute strength didn't work, he stood back and sent bolt after bolt until a good-sized hole was formed. When he moved to Rodney, the physicist cringed back.
Ronon sighed wearily. “If I was going to shoot you, I would have done it already.” He took Rodney's arm, hauled him to his feet and shoved him toward the door. “Don't touch the sides.”
John was next. Getting to his feet constricted and relaxed muscles he'd never realized were used when standing. The grinding ends of the broken rib about dropped him with piercing agony, making him cry out and his vision spark. It took both Teyla and Ronon to get him to his feet and keep him there. Teyla went through the hole first to take John as Ronon guided him through, using muscles right over the break. John blacked out for a whole two seconds halfway through the door, turning shouts of alarm into watery echoes. When his sight cleared, he was back on the floor against the wall, sick to his stomach and shivering. Teyla was in front of him, tying another bandage over the old one that was completely soaked through.
“Must be worse... than it looks,” he gasped.
Teyla said nothing, just gave him more worried looks.
“He really is bad, isn't he?” said Rodney hovering somewhere to the right.
“He will be fine once we get him some medical help,” said Teyla.
Ronon started blasting their way through the next door.
“Isn't there a faster way?” Rodney yelped above the whine and explosion. “We are so getting expelled for this.” John realized dazedly that Rodney had yet to even ask about the weapon. It could be that his memories were scrambled - mixing past with present - or, hopefully, that whatever had happened to him was clearing up.
“Nope,” Ronon replied.
They slipped through the next hole, and this time John did black out, because when he next woke up, he was outside being dragged through the sun-dappled woods by Ronon and Teyla.
“That was... fast...” he rasped, then coughed, hard, metallic saliva pooling in his mouth. He spat the glob on the ground and could have sworn it had been a shade toward red.
“Teyla suggested I try shooting the panels again,” Ronon said. “Guess the malfunction didn't extend through the whole facility. It worked.”
“Wh-where's... Rodney?” But his question was answered by the agitated muttering behind him.
“An atrium. I-I don't really remember going through an atrium to get to the science wing. Did we take a back way? Why haven't we run into any people yet? What the heck, was that a bird? It was friggin' huge! Sure we're not back in prehistory?”
The rest of Rodney's precariously calm rambling faded into white noise. John was finding it hard to breathe, the very air a boulder against his chest. He wanted nothing more than to shove it off then maybe pull the knife grating against his ribs from his side. Every inhale never brought enough air, every exhale pushing what he had left from his lungs. His chest burned, his side burned, his brain swimming in a crushing sea and his stomach Mt. Vesuvius about to erupt. Then it did, and he would have dropped to his knees if Ronon and Teyla hadn't had a firm grip. Each heave dug the knife a little deeper, shoved more air from his lungs, and when he next sucked in a straw-full of breath, it rode a whimper.
Crap, he just needed to breathe; one damn, stupid breath but there was no oxygen left in the world. His vision faded briefly, sticking him somewhere between asleep and awake. He heard Ronon and Teyla begging, ordering, and threatening him awake, and behind them Rodney's shrill, “What's wrong with him!” When John's vision finally returned him to the world, he was on his back, cool metal beneath him, metal ceiling above him, pack elevating his feet and sweet oxygen caressing his face within the confines of a mask.
It still wasn't enough, but it was a start.
“... do you assume I know how to do this stuff? Number one, I'm not authorized and number two, even if I was, then I would have received the training necessary to fly it. But I'm not, I don't know how to fly it and I wish you'd quit asking me!”
John arched his neck enough to see the top-half of the pilot’s chair, the top-half of Rodney and Teyla next to him holding on desperately to her calm.
“Rodney, please, it is not hard. It is a - a...”
John flopped his hand to his face, lifting the mask away just long enough to say, “I-interaction. Interactive, ex-xhibit-t.”
“Yes, that,” Teyla said.
John eased the mask back onto his face.
“It is very easy. Anyone can fly it,” Teyla said. John winced and groaned.
“If it's so friggin' easy then why don't you fly it?” Rodney whimpered.
“Because I am afraid of heights, as is Ronon,” Teyla quickly explained. She glanced at John, briefly then looked back at Rodney.
“Well, so am I!”
“Our fear is worse. Now, please, Rodney. Just place your hands on the controls and think ‘on.’ You can do this, trust me. Please.”
John could hear Rodney's rapid breaths, interrupted by an audible gulp. John had to look away when pain spiked through his skull, but he could feel the vibrations of the 'jumper humming to life, feel the familiar mild warmth of take-off tumble down his spine, subdued because he wasn't the one flying.
“That's it, Rodney. You are doing well. Straight up, now straight over the trees.”
“Wait, is this one of those new VR simulations? I read about these. Wow, awesome special effects. It looks so friggin' real! Wait... how the heck are we supposed to get help in a VR thing?”
John lifted the mask. “M-moves... on a track to feel... feel real. Makes it feel... real.”
“Oh, so we are moving. Then why do I need to pilot?”
“It will not move otherwise,” Teyla said.
“Oh,” said Rodney, sounding a hell of a lot more relaxed, and John heard Teyla's breath of relief.
A large hand took the mask from John and settled it back on his face.
“Thanks,” John muttered. He felt a careful pat on his shoulder.
“This,” said McKay, “is one bitchin' museum. I mean cool, cool museum. Very cool... if anyone asks, I didn't cuss.”
---------------------------------
A too-deep breath woke John to familiar smells and sounds - chemical, clean, beeping and tapping. It was the mild ache in his chest that pulled him from his currently numb state, making him wish he could return to it. It was uncomfortable to breathe, and it felt like cotton was being used to smother the throb in his skull.
John opened his eyes, the lights overhead stabbing straight into his brain. He snapped his eyes back shut with a groan.
“Sheppard? You awake? John?”
Tentatively, John opened one eye. When the second assault didn't make him want to tear his own head off, the second eye joined the first. He carefully rolled his head in the direction of his questioner.
Rodney, sitting up against a mountain of pillows in the neighboring bed, held his bandaged hands in mid-type over his keyboard as he stared at John expectantly.
“'Parently,” John croaked, his throat feeling sanded and his tongue dried to leather.
Rodney's body did that melting thing again, hands flopping to his sides and back sinking into the pillow. “About damn time. Keller said you should've woken up a day and a half ago.”
“Scuse me.”
“Yes, well... I mean, yes she assured us it wasn't abnormal, but still... you suck at waking up from anesthesia.”
If John could have shrugged, he would have. Between the peace of complete oblivion or the obnoxious haze that morphed dreams into reality, blurring danger and safety, he preferred oblivion. At least while in a drugged sleep, he didn't have to worry about dreaming.
John felt himself about to return to that sweet oblivion when a nurse chose that moment to wander by. An ice-chip slipped into his mouth forced him back into reality unless he wanted to choke, but was a leash compared to the choke-chain of Keller pulling back the sheets to poke, prod and place a cold stethoscope to his chest all while laying out John's injuries in layman's terms: a mild case of blast lung exacerbated when the broken rib found its way to the pleural sack and punctured it. There'd been surgery, a brief stint with a tube shoved down his throat, but everything since then was looking good and healing nicely.
“Whatta 'bout Rodney?” John asked.
Keller sucked air through her teeth. “Yeah, his case was interesting. First degree burns on his hands - but you probably already knew that. His head... we're still not sure. Scans showed some very interesting activity. Very interesting. We had to keep him sedated most of the time when he kept trying to wander off looking for someone named Mr. Wilkins.”
“I told you already. He was my grade ten teacher,” Rodney said.
“It had us worried for a while until we realized it was starting to resolve itself. His head's pretty much cleared up now. We're just keeping him two more days for observation.”
“So he's fine?” John asked.
Keller smiled. “Yep. Even his hands are improving. Two more days then he can be released. You, however, are another story.”
Smiling tiredly, John touched the bandage covering his side. “Obviously.”
“Glad you understand,” Keller said. She patted his knee. “Your next round of medication isn't for another hour. You shouldn't feel anything until then but tell us when you do.”
John lifted his thumb. “Will do, Doc.”
Keller left, and only when she was gone did Rodney resume clicking away. Sleep tiptoed at the edge of John's awareness, creeping in inches at a time but not enough to force him back under. John turned his head to Rodney who was engrossed in whatever it was he was working on today. His expression was of a man looking inward at his own thoughts; narrowing his world to those thoughts, his fingers and what his fingers typed on the screen, bandaged or not.
If McKay remembered anything about what had happened at the facility, John couldn't tell. That didn't stop him from wondering. He'd known guys - alert and coherent - lose days, even months, to situations they couldn't handle, and guys so completely out of it as to be living in two realities remember everything. The former usually panicked, a lot. The latter, depending on how bad the two realities clashed, drowned themselves in denial. What McKay had been through John wouldn't even consider a wartime level of bad, but he wasn't going to call it innocent hazing either.
“McKay -”
“I need to apologize,” McKay said. His hands stilled, a pretty amazing feat for him. “About things I said... or may have said.”
“You remember?”
“Bits and pieces. Ronon filled in the rest.”
John furrowed his brow at that. “He did?” Ronon wasn't exactly detail friendly, much to Woolsey's chagrin.
“Well, it was more that he had a lot of questions - like what a wedgie was. I figured it out from there.”
John swallowed nervously. “Did you uh... tell him?”
“Oh, hell no! Not after what happened when one of your marines taught him what a noogie was. I told him a wedgie is when you sit on a person until they squeal like a girl. I figure since he does that to the marines anyway then no harm, no foul.”
John relaxed. “Good. Good. Smart thinking.”
“Naturally. Anyway, just wanted to apologize. It wasn't anything personal. High school... well, you know.”
“Yeah,” John said, nodding. “I know.” All the same, he eyed Rodney with what he hoped came across as the no-nonsense look when he wasn't in the mood to put up with any of Rodney's bull.
It took a moment for Rodney to realize it for what it was, and he immediately bristled when he did. “What?”
“You think I'm a jock.”
Rodney shrugged nonchalant. “Yeah, so? It's not like I think you were an asshole jock or anything.”
John half-lidded his eyes. “Really?”
“Really.”
“You sure about that?”
Again, Rodney shrugged, less nonchalant. “I'll admit to certain prejudices...”
“Against jocks.”
“Yes. I think my little time warp back on the planet should have cleared that up.” He sighed, though it sounded more like an annoyed huff. “It wasn't every jock, just this one guy - Kyle - all right? And, yes, he had his little gaggle of cronies who backed him up and played along. But when Kyle wasn't around they backed off, minded their own business. Kyle was the ringleader, and his actions might as well have been law. So, no, it wasn't jocks as a whole. Just one guy. One guy who could get away with anything and did up until the day he wrapped his car around a tree three days before graduation.”
Rodney lifted his head thoughtfully. “I think that's what pissed me off the most, though - that he could do no wrong. You bust your ass to get ahead in life, only to have these nobodies breeze by you - exempted from things that were pointlessly mandatory for me, getting scholarships thrown at their feet (well, okay, I got that too but still...) and all because they were good at hitting a stupid puck into a net.” He shook his head. “I just hated where the school's priorities were. Not like it mattered. I was off to college by sixteen. I only knew what happened to Kyle because mom told me.”
McKay looked ready to return to his typing, when he paused, looked back up, then at John, matching suspicion for suspicion.
“So... what kind of jock were you?”
John smiled. “Basketball.”
Rodney blinked. “Really? You, who salivates at the mere mention of college football, didn't even play it?”
“Didn't have the build for it. I'd hit a major growth spurt my freshmen year. I was so skinny the coach was afraid I'd shatter so he hustled me in the direction of the basketball coach. Played for about two years.”
“Why? Did you suck?”
John shrugged. “It was never really my thing. And, no, I never shoved kids into lockers or gave them wedgies.”
“Popular, then. You had to be popular. Rich kid, practiced flirt - come on.”
“Maybe a little,” John said then scowled. “Think about it, though - what's the one reason to hang with a kid who comes from money?”
“That couldn't be the only reason?”
“No, it wasn't. But when situations get bad, it puts things in perspective real fast.”
“Tell me about it,” Rodney said. “The only taste I got of anything resembling popularity was three weeks before exams, or when reports were due, or science projects. Don't get me wrong - I was practically a deity in my physics club but there were only about five members, all of them complete geeks of course.”
John smiled. “Of course.”
“But if it wasn't about precious football, then no one cared. But, come on, I can't believe you didn't have any friends.”
“Damn, McKay, stop assuming already. I didn't say I didn't have any friends. I had friends. It was just... hard to tell the real ones from the fake ones until they started asking me to buy them fake IDs and a damn car. Even when I was finally tossed into private school. They didn't want to get their damn credit cards dirty.”
“You're kidding.”
“I kid you not.”
“Little mooching bastards.” After a moment of scowling, Rodney brightened and asked, “Could you buy me a car?”
Had John the strength, he would have thrown a pillow at Rodney. Instead, he graced him with the flattest look he could, knowing it probably fell short. He was starting to feel drained.
Chuckling and shaking his head, Rodney went back to his laptop. It wasn't long before he was interrupted by Teyla and Ronon heading their way, but he seemed more pleased by it than annoyed.
“Oh, Ronon, Teyla. Just the people I wanted to see. I was just about finished.”
“Finished with what?” John asked.
It was Teyla who answered. “After what happened, Rodney, Ronon and I spoke. We felt it might be wise if Rodney were to create a... booklet of sorts on minor repairs to Ancestor technology.”
“Don't we have a monthly class for that?” John asked.
“Okay, not-so-minor,” Rodney said. “If it really was an overload then it would have been easy to fix, easy enough for me to talk Teyla or Ronon through it.”
“Without them getting electrocuted?”
Rodney opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Um... maybe. I don't know, but it still doesn't hurt to have a handy little guide, uh, handy. Once I'm out of here, I'm presenting it to Woolsey in the hopes of making it mandatory to have a booklet in every 'jumper, and maybe a smaller version for packs.”
John lifted an eyebrow. “Not a bad idea.”
“Not bad? It's brilliant. No more damaging facilities beyond repair by blowing holes in them.”
Ronon snorted. “Hey, it worked.”
“Yes, this time. Next time, you'll aim wrong and blow us up.”
“Yeah, but this time, it saved our asses.”
“This time,” Rodney emphasized.
A nurse came by with a needle full of pain medication that she injected after Teyla and Ronon were able to ask for themselves how John was feeling. Between the medication and flagging energy, it didn't take long for John to drift off to the chorus of his team's voices.
“McKay, what's really a wedgie?”
The End