Round #1 Challenge #1 - Voting
ENTRIES 1-10
ENTRIES 11-22
11. A Faulty Premise
Rodney McKay was not a lucky man. He could figure possibilities and probabilities and choose the most likely results and how they could be most beneficial to his desires. If pressed, and if given enough time and motivation, he could also often determine ways to skew the odds in favor of his desired outcome.
He did not believe in luck, at least not in relation to himself. Luck was the province of idiots and children - those who didn't know any better, yet accomplished the statistically improbable anyway. He was not an idiot - thank you, very much - and as such, he did not appreciate having his hard work and sheer genius reduced to such mundane circumstance.
On the other hand, Colonel John Sheppard was one lucky bastard. Oh, it's not that Rodney thought that Sheppard was a complete idiot - at least, not most of the time - but how many people do you know that can actually survive a suicide bombing run with a nuclear weapon? Exactly.
Since Rodney considered luck to be an even more unlikely possibility than the idea that he could have been wrong, he had absolutely no idea how he had ended up here - sharing a too small cot, with the lean, sweaty, naked form of his best friend - his presumably straight best friend.
Well, that was probably the start of his miscalculations. However, it was obvious that he had been working from a faulty data set, and that wasn't completely his fault, even though he would have ridiculed any of the people who worked for him, for making the mistake of not verifying their source materials.
However, even the fact that John liked men, and was, like him, bisexual, did not lead automatically to them in bed together. Despite his bluster and bravado, Rodney did not make it a habit of lying, at least not to himself. He was awkward, and socially inept, mostly because he lacked patience for the inane rituals of society and courtship. He was also balding, on the wrong side of 35, and a bit soft around the middle. He wasn't a catch, in the traditional sense, though he firmly believed that anyone stupid enough to dismiss him for these faults was too stupid to be worth his time, anyway.
Sheppard wasn't stupid - at least not most of the time. He had proven himself to be quite mentally agile on several occasions, and he seemed to approve of Rodney's wit, and even contribute his own, provided they weren't actively dying, or being threatened with such, at the time. He was also not balding, not *soft* anywhere, and more than reasonably attractive. He also, apparently, found Rodney more than a little attractive, considering that he had been having sex with him for just over five weeks now.
That was what was keeping him from his much earned rest. Rodney still couldn't figure out how he had gotten here, and he didn't like what he didn't understand. Yet, he did like the too warm weight pressed against his side, and the stupid look of satisfaction, evident on John's face, even in sleep. He liked it enough to reconsider his original premise. Maybe, he was lucky, after all.
12. Just Like Everybody Else Does
Lt. Michael Kenmore senses that he's living someone else's life, and not just because he has another life that he can't even remember. He can't say why he feels this way. He has different words to articulate what he's feeling but then again, they aren't words. He speaks a language he doesn't even know.
Who could blame him for falling in love with the Athosian, Teyla Emmagen? She is beautiful, in any culture, anywhere in the universe. She is the only one who treats him like a human being, which is hilarious when he learns he isn't one.
Apparently being human means you get a built-in sense of irony.
After the initial shock wears off, he weighs his options. He knows he can escape; his mind is far superior to theirs. But when he thinks about leaving Teyla, he can't do it. He doesn't want to do it.
Teyla has taught him that he has desires. The desires of a man. He likes where these desires lead him. She comes to his room late at night and helps chase the nightmares away. He has only the vaguest idea of what to do with a woman in his bed, but Teyla just comes to comfort him. She lets him lay his head on her chest until his thoughts are no longer of the Wraith reflection in his mirror, but are more muted, more muddled; a sensual and pleasurable haze that hangs over his mind and eventually lulls him to sleep after a peak of wakefulness.
How can he leave her?
He doesn't. Dr. Beckett's retro-virus works in larger doses, and he deals with the side effects of the drug and the new body he's got. His dedication to being human is not lost on Teyla and if he's right -- and he may well be -- she has feelings for him, too.
***
Teyla would never put her life in the hands of a Wraith. And she's well aware that is exactly what Michael is, deep down. She has dreams, just like Michael. She goes to comfort him when he screams, but she wouldn't have heard him if she herself hadn't already been awake, stalking the corridors.
Her recurring nightmare is that she's comforting Michael in the darkness but when she puts her hands to his face, she feels the clammy, bone-like ridges of the Wraith, hears him hiss and feels his rage, hot under her hands. She can see his white hand hovering in the deepening blue that surrounds them. It brushes the air in front of her like a ghost and when she looks up to his face, she thinks she sees betrayal there in his yellow, slitted eyes, eyes that have not yet fully sunk back into his graying, changing flesh...
She opens her mouth to scream.
But it's not real. Michael is still Michael and not the Wraith she sees in her nightmares.
When he reaches for her, she feels her nostrils flare instinctively and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she goes to him anyway. He needs the kind of comfort that all humans need. The others can turn away from him in disgust, but Teyla can't.
His eyes are still blue, his skin still smooth. The late sun sets and he is lying in his bed, sweaty and sick. She stays with him until he's resting fitfully, his eyes glassy but eventually closing. She lets her fingers trail over his forehead like a sigh.
***
No other Wraith are turned in the way that Michael has been; they consider him a puzzling and failed experiment. They use the retrovirus, but they don't administer higher doses. They let the rest of his race die, as creatures not quite human. But Michael is their burden. They can't kill him now.
Michael doesn't think about his fellow Wraith and their quiet deaths in the lab when they are captured. He also doesn't miss the siren call of the hive ships, once they disappear from the Pegasus Galaxy, on the run from the retro-virus. He grows comfortable not caring.
Michael Kenmore only thinks of Teyla. His head and heart are full when she agrees to become his wife.
He has friends, too. Tentatively, John Sheppard has accepted him, and a few others. Ronon never grows to like him, and eventually he leaves Atlantis while Michael stays on.
He works hard at the odd jobs he is given to do around Atlantis (nothing in the labs, nothing with computer access, nothing with weapons).
And if Michael sometimes thinks about how he'd love nothing more than to slam his palm down onto Teyla's chest as she's sleeping next to him? He simply looks at her face, takes in her beauty and casts his imagination to what life would be like without her and the craving burns away in his chest. Even when she's no longer beautiful, but aged and wise and small under the sheets that cover her at night, he's so full of what they call love that he forgets what he would even have to do in order to feed from her and his hands are so wrinkled and arthritic he'd never be able to complete it.
***
Teyla attends to the young children, teaching them, and continues her regular duties in Atlantis. Occasionally when she returns to their quarters - hers and Michael's - she is startled by a stranger in the room - a deadly, dangerous enemy that makes her skin crawl - and she draws up short, reaching for her weapons or her sticks beside the door.
It's just Michael.
"I... I thought you were someone else there for a moment," she says when he looks at her, puzzled. "But it's you. It's just you."
13. Wonderful
Ford knows how to blow stuff up, shoot things dead, and break things downs. He’s never been quite so good at the putting everything back together.
Which, he had to admit, is pretty problematic, given the latest things he just took out in an impressive display of pyrotechnics and accompanying ka-blooey sound effects were the only two ways off the planet he had just crashed onto: the planet’s gate, and the wraith dart he borrowed (and yes, it was borrowing; he and his cousins had looked up the actual definition of borrowing in his grandfather’s old copy of Webster’s once, and it had only spoke of the intention of returning, not the actual returning bit, which, of course, was an argument that held no sway with his grandparents when he’d tried to explain how that justified ‘borrowing’ the car for the evening -- christ he missed them, not to mention how he missed all the blood he must have lost to be having such fuzzy memories right then) from the Hive ship seconds before it too had gone ka-boom. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the excessive bleeding, and dizziness, he’s fairly certain he would have cursed his stupid luck, the stupid galaxy, and the stupid Wraith. Instead he just passed out.
He didn’t even really think about what the people who lived on the planet would think.
He doesn’t really remember his recovery time, so he so no idea what impression he must have made between his broken bones, and withdrawal symptoms. Add in the space ship - the Wraith ship, no less, ‘cause yeah he knows how to crash a planet in style - and he can’t help but wonder why they didn’t just kill him to begin with. So, yeah, he can’t be blamed for thinking that maybe it’s the trippy drugs they’d been giving him for the past few weeks getting to him when he’s finally let out of the makeshift hospital only to find a crowd of villagers waiting to greet him with a roaring cheer. … And later it hits him: they’re his own freakin’ Munchkins.
He always thought Sheppard was more the Dorothy type.
Somehow they got the impression that he was something else though. It took him awhile to get that (seriously, good, trippy drugs) because at the SGC and Atlantis he was used to planet natives varying between the two extremes of being super hostile versus displaying super hospitality, so their lavishing kindness wasn’t that strange. That all changed when they showed him the cave paintings (and it was always cave paintings in Pegasus; never was there time for anything more permanent unless it was Ancient…) that they claimed prophesized him as … he didn’t even know what the right term was. The Anti-Wraith? Alien Jesus?
"You’re a good Wraith," the religious leaders explained to him seriously, "sent by the ancestors to protect us from your wicked brethren."
He thinks they’re crazy. There’s not a chance in hell he’s going to be their Glinda - he refuses to travel by bubble.
Still. He’s stuck on their backwater planet for who knows how long, and everyone in Atlantis thinks he’s dead (again); he’s not sure they’d even come looking for him if they thought otherwise. So, he helps where he can: helps build a house here, teaches a bit about farming techniques there, and joins the hunt for some weird cross between a lion and a bear.
They think he’s wonderful.
14. Prey
Sheppard turned the small device over and over in his long fingers.
"I’m still not sure about this," Elizabeth was saying somewhere at the edge of his concentration.
He brought himself back to the room on Atlantis where they were all sitting. "It may be the best way - "
"It’ll work," Ronon interjected, loud and urgent. The conference room wasn’t small, but his strong voice filled it insistently. "You need a single Wraith and these guys run in groups with one exception. "
"How do you know they will even respond anymore? Maybe there aren’t any Runners since the Hives woke up. It’s been a while - " Elizabeth again, the voice of reason.
"It hasn’t been that long," Ronon growled softly, turning to look straight at her, his eyes dark with memory and something else - desire.
For revenge, John thought, even if it were only in some small measure. Elizabeth broke their mutual stare, Ronon’s of defiance, hers of inquiry and though she tried not to show it, John could see the doubt.
"John?" she asked, leaving the question open.
"It’s the best plan we got right now," he grimaced, his attention falling back into the bit of wires and metal in his hand.
"Do you think it will work?"
"Yeah, it’ll work," he said distantly. He wasn’t sure if he liked the plan, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.
"Carson, are you certain the Retrovirus is ready for this level of testing?"
Elizabeth had to ask, she was first and foremost the leader of the Expedition.
"Aye," Carson was answering, looking none the happier for it.
"Then have Rodney find us a suitable planet with a Wraith cruiser nearby," Elizabeth exhaled and issued the orders with far more assurance than John knew she must have felt.
He dropped the tracking transmitter on the composite table as he left and Elizabeth watched Ronon pick it up, the muscles in his arm trembling with restraint as he fought with himself to not smash the deceptively bland device into a thousand pieces.
***
Ronon stood several yards away from the Stargate, his stance insolent and impatient and a little too calm for Sheppard’s taste. Teyla held the transmitter, ready to dismantle it once again the minute a Wraith was subdued, Rodney waited on another planet with the jumper and a small contingent of three Marines fanned out behind John and Lorne in the ruins of what once might have been a Gatehouse. Cover was sparse but the planet was uninhabited and in a system similarly devoid of life, so there was no chance of luring the Wraith to an unsuspecting population.
The Wraith didn’t make them wait long.
As Ronon predicted, a single Wraith strode through the event horizon, stopping short at the sight of Ronon waiting for him. He proceeded cautiously, heavy boots clunking down the worn and broken stone steps of the Gate. He raised his weapon and advanced toward Ronon.
"We meet again," the Wraith smiled, his translucent teeth glittering and slimy. "I thought perhaps you’d been killed. Imagine my surprise when your transmitter was picked up again after so long."
"You should have learned never to count me out."
The Wraith snarled. "Tell me, have you grown tired of the Hunt? Is that why you wait for me?"
Ronon lunged at the Wraith, surprising him with a solid swing, knocking the gun away. The Wraith countered quickly, striking back, but Ronon took the hit and kept his feet.
"What’s he doing?" John hissed to Lorne. "This was NOT part of my really good, well thought out plan!"
Lorne shrugged and motioned the two Marines with stunners to shift around, look for an opening.
"Anybody gets a clear shot, they take it," he instructed them quietly.
The Wraith Hunter staggered under another blow from Ronon and returned it, grinning ferinely as Ronon hit the ground this time and rolled to his feet again.
"Get out of the way!" John ordered under his breath, willing Ronon to hear him, silently begging Ronon to obey him. When this was done, he intended to give Ronon a piece of his mind. Not that it would do anything other than make John feel better.
"You do not act like the other Runners," the Wraith snarled. "Prey does not usually fight back until you corner it."
"How does it feel to be the one being hunted?" Ronon taunted him.
The Wraith looked around quickly for the trap.
"I will savor your life as it drains from your body!" he roared.
"Not this time," Ronon growled. He slid a long knife from his sleeve and charged.
"Okay," John snapped, "that’s it! We wanted this damn thing alive!"
He rose from his place of relative safety, striding quickly across the clearing to where Ronon struggled with the Wraith. With the attention of the Wraith centered on Ronon, John walked right up to him, leveled Ronon’s stunner and fired point blank. The Wraith seized and fought the pulse before collapsing.
John turned to Ronon, irritated and pissed.
"As much as I understand what you’re feeling, you going all John Wayne was not part of the plan!" he barked, handing the gun back to its owner. "The plan was to stun the Wraith and get the hell out of Dodge before anyone else showed up!"
Ronon took the weapon, barely contained fury hidden badly behind his mask of indifference. Lorne and the Marines came forward quickly, gathering up the unconscious Wraith and heading for the Gate.
"Turn it off!" John ordered Teyla, watching her quickly break the transmitter down into component metal and circuitry as Rodney had instructed her.
When they were sure it was no longer transmitting, Lorne dialed the Gate and the group disappeared to another uninhabited planet and then another before meeting up with the jumper and heading in to Atlantis.
***
Atlantis Medbay
"Release me!!" the Wraith roared, struggling against the combined strength of Ronon and John.
"You’re gonna need a name..."
15. To Be Alone But Not
As soon as John realized he was awake, he tried to yell. He struggled to make something, anything come out of his throat, even if all he got was a whimper. His head was stuffed with wool, his throat so dry he couldn't even swallow, but he forced his hands to his face. Forced them to his eyes, forced his fingers to work and peel his eyelids open if necessary, just so he could see.
The dim lights swam overhead, sending a piercing pain through his skull. John grasped his head as he curled up on his side, tugging at the wires in his arms.
He was alive, but that had never really been the issue.
Someone touched his leg. John blinked, trying to get some moisture back in his eyes before it dawned on him that he was blinking; that he had moved his arm and touched his face, that he had been able to make a sound. He slumped back into the softness underneath him.
His head was empty. He was in control again, and that was the important thing.
"Colonel?" The voice made him turn and finally take in his surroundings. Beeping machines, something stabbing him in the arm¾ he was in the infirmary and Rodney was standing off to the side.
"He's awake," Rodney shouted.
Suddenly there was a swarm of activity as Beckett came running. Before John could say anything, there were people poking and prodding him, shining lights in his eyes and shoving things down his throat.
"Is it him?" Rodney asked, making John cringe as much as the cold stethoscope against his skin. That Rodney had to ask...
John lay back and let them finish. He wanted to fight, wanted to tell them to leave him alone but now that he could, now that he was back in control, he said nothing.
He'd done it because Elizabeth had asked. He let himself become host to an alien consciousness, because she was his friend, and he respected her. Because part of him secretly liked how she got a little sentimental sometimes, though he'd never acknowledged it in so many words. And also, maybe because another part of him felt a little bit guilty for challenging her all the times it wasn't necessary.
But mostly he'd done it because she'd asked him for something he could do and it had seemed like such a little thing at the time. Let a dying woman say good bye to her dying husband.
He just wasn't prepared for the cost.
Beckett fiddled with some wires slapped to the side of John's head. "Aye, it is. Welcome back, Colonel."
John stared at the ceiling, avoiding their eyes. That they still hadn't been sure was like punch to his gut. Turning his head away, he could see Elizabeth still lying unconscious in the bed next to him.
Beckett adjusted the IV in his arm. "He's exhausted Rodney. Why don't you come back later? I'm sure Colonel Sheppard would like some time alone in his head."
John finally glanced at Rodney, who looked worried and tired and John couldn't bear to disappoint another friend. "It's okay," he whispered, licking his lips. His tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth. "Stay."
Rodney looked uncertain for a moment, before coming back and sitting down on the chair while Carson and the nurses went back to their work.
"You had us worried there for a little while."
John bit his lip. The whole time Thalen had been in control, he'd been burning with the things he wanted to say and do but couldn't. Now that Thalen was gone, John felt like an empty shell.
Rodney tilted his head. "Not that I know exactly what you've been through but I had Cadman in my head, remember? Granted she wasn't an evil alien hell bent on killing Elizabeth and everyone that stood in the way, but I know what it's like to have someone speak for you. To have someone control your movements…"
John picked at a spot on his blanket, the memories still too fresh in his mind to stay silent for long. "I screamed Rodney. I screamed and screamed inside my head, and nobody heard. Near the end, I was starting to wonder if I even existed anymore."
John suddenly found the words spilling out of him and to his relief, Rodney just stood there, listening.
"I lost my control, my freedom, the ability to do anything I wanted to. Ronon trusted me. He thought I was me and I betrayed him. I left him there when he was shot. How can I ever regain his trust again?"
"You thought it was Elizabeth who asked you to do this. How are you ever going to trust her again?"
John shrugged and looked away.
"Okay. Do that silent brooding thing if you have to, get it out of your system. When you're done, I'll be in the lab--"
"What do you want from me, Rodney?"
"We're all alive. I guess I just want you to be happy about that. Ronon will be fine. Heightmeyer gets two more subjects for her paper on multiple personalities. It's not such a bad ending to the day."
"I'm thrilled to pieces."
Rodney crossed his arms and stood up. "Never mind. I guess I just want you to know I'm here, you know, if you still want someone to listen."
Silence settled between them and Rodney looked nervously down at his shoes. "I suppose I should let you get some rest--"
"Rodney," John interrupted him. "Thanks."
Rodney gave him a small smile before getting up from his seat. "We need to be alone in heads. But I'm speaking from experience here, and we shouldn't be alone on the outside as well."
16. Next Time, She'll Think Twice
When they return to the city, the first thing that Teyla does is apologize profusely to the Atlanteans. They tell her over and over again that it was not her fault, but she cannot quite bring herself to believe them. It was a failure of imagination on her part not to realize that there was something going on beneath the surface, because she spent more time among the Genii than any of her people and yet she never suspected anything even remotely like the truth.
As soon as she is alone in her room, she lets her mind wander to all of the times that she visited the Genii. She remembers slight contradictions in the stories she was told, and awkward glances and the occasional tense silence, all things that she never thought twice about at the time. Mostly the memories she has are of a simple and kind people, and she cannot tell if the signs of something more where actually there all along or if her new found knowledge is tainting her memories.
When she first met them, the Genii were reserved and somewhat suspicious, but she had not taken offense or been alarmed; many of the surrounding societies were just as reluctant to deal with outsiders, after all. But they had warmed to her quickly, or at least she’d thought they had, and after that the people of their village had become some of her closest friends, second only to her own people. And now Teyla has to wonder how much of that warmth was real, and how much of it was part of their conspiracy.
On the one hand, Teyla does understand their desire to hide. If the Althosians had possessed similar technology, she thinks that they probably would have taken some of the same measures to protect themselves from the Wraith cullings. She does not begrudge the Genii their attempts to protect themselves. She understands why they lied, although it is still difficult for her to accept.
But the thing that Teyla does not understand is the complete personality shift in people she was once so close to. She cannot believe Tirus, who opened his home her and laughed with her so many times, would be willing to callously murder another human being. And she has a hard time understanding why Sora, a girl she might have once listed among her closest friends, would be so fast to turn on her.
Teyla Emmagen has never considered herself a poor judge of character, but after today, she thinks she may have to reconsider.
17. Story of My Life
John Sheppard's life had been one incident of mistaken identity after another, starting with the fact that he'd spent the first few hours of his life labeled 'Baby Girl Anderson.'
It hadn't really been the nurse's fault; it was a small base hospital, and both he and his unfortunate cohort (Who had later been named Jessica Anderson) had both been emergency cesareans. Just like it hadn't been his grandmother's fault that her hearing was going and he spent an entire summer being called "That nice boy Jimmy." That one might have been easier to take if it hadn't followed a year of being confused with Juan Shepherd in tenth grade. That had stung, because Juan sucked at math and John had spent most of the year trying to convince his father to call the school and explain that he was supposed to be in the non-remedial math classes.
The point was, this wasn't the first time it had happened. It wasn't even the first time it had been embarrassing. He should be used to it. He really should.
That didn't make the Minarins assumption that he was Rodney's indentured servant (With benefits - usable as a trade commodity if one didn't feel like sharing one's concubine) any easier. With an air of quiet dignity John straightened his loin cloth, took a fortifying breath, and stepped out of the small alcove into the plaza to supervise the remainder of the negotiations.
18. False Gods
"I still can't believe you told those monks we were Ancients," John Sheppard muttered.
Next to him, Rodney McKay let out a sigh. "For the last time, what else was I supposed to say?" he shot back. "It's not my fault that all of the Ancient technology in this place started lighting up as soon as we walked in the door. There wasn't any sign of a power source. I didn't think this was anything more than some Ancient ruins that the locals had turned into a temple."
John rolled his eyes. "That doesn't explain why you said 'yes' when they asked us if we were Ancestors," he pointed out.
For several seconds, Rodney didn't say a word. Then he shrugged his shoulders. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he admitted.
John just raised an eyebrow. "A good idea?" he repeated. "How could telling them we were Ancients possibly have seemed like a good idea?"
"Well, for one thing, there's obviously something powering this place," Rodney snapped, a hint of hysteria building in his voice as he went on. "Since none of our equipment has picked up any kind of power source, getting the monks to tell us where the power's coming from could be vital."
John let out a sigh. "McKay."
Rodney didn't even pause. "Everything we saw made it seem like they thought the Ancients were gods or something, so I thought that passing ourselves off as their deities might have gotten us access to whatever they've got buried inside this place."
Shaking his head, John raised his voice an octave. "McKay!"
"It was a logical conclusion," Rodney continued, not even glancing in John's direction. "I mean, pretty much every civilization we've come across has worshiped the Ancients as gods. It was a reasonable assumption that these monks wouldn't be any different."
"Rodney!"
At that, Rodney finally shut up and turned his attention toward the other man. John held up as his hands, causing the chains wrapped around them to clang noisily. "Guess what, McKay," he said dryly, "I don't think these guys think we're gods."
Rodney gave him an exasperated look, with just a hint of panic mixed in. "Really? Where could you possibly have gotten an idea like that?" he asked. "Was it when they chained us up? Or maybe when they started talking about sacrificing us to the Wraith."
"Actually, it was when Ronon refused to come inside because he didn't trust their leader," John replied matter-of-factly.
Rodney blinked. "Oh."
John carefully tested the chains binding his hands together. "We're going to be getting out of here anytime now," he said casually. "It'll probably involve running for our lives. Again."
"Tell me, colonel, how could you possibly know that we're going to be getting out of here soon?"
John grinned at him. "You weren't listening to the two guys who tied us up?" he asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.
"No, sorry," Rodney snapped. "I tuned out around the time they mentioned sacrificing us."
The colonel's grin only grew wider. "They were going to go ask that Ronon and Teyla turn over all of their weapons."
Rodney opened his mouth to comment, but he closed it as John's words sank in. "Oh," he said in a surprisingly quiet voice.
Somewhere outside their cell's door, there was a loud crash followed by an angry yell that couldn't have come from anyone but Ronon.
John leaned back against the wall and rested his hands behind his head the best he could. "Here comes the cavalry," he said, still grinning.
19. Zero Hour Nine a.m.
The first time Rodney McKay watched John Sheppard die was the longest 38 minutes of his life. John's beautiful neck marred by a life-sucking giant leech thing that by all rights should have been seen on some Sci Fi channel movie of the week, not in real life. Rodney had rarely felt so powerless then. He felt ill equipped to cope with the crisis, but was surprised to find he could do what he had to do. If it had been him affected by the Wraith bug, Rodney knew he wouldn't have held up to the test. Even then, before they had given in to the connection they both felt, Rodney would do anything for John.
They became lovers not long after. As soon as Carson gave John the all clear to leave the infirmary. Rodney promised to keep an eye on him, just in case. By the time John's voice was back to normal, and the marks on his neck had subsided from angry red to faded yellow, it was Rodney who was marked instead.
He didn't mind. John was just as passionate as Rodney had anticipated. Sucking kisses into Rodney's neck as he stroke Rodney off. Moaning until his voice was rough again as Rodney swallowed him down. And when he was fully recovered, begging Rodney to fuck him. It was even better than Rodney would have believed.
The second time he watched John die, Rodney told himself he could never do that again -- which was stupid, really, because how many times could one person die? Well, several, if one had access to a Go'a'uld sarcophagus -- which they didn't. That was a mixed blessing, because Rodney didn't even want to imagine a John changed by repeated use of such a device. He'd only heard stories of the way it -- to use an unavoidable pun -- deadened you inside. He didn't want to witness it in person. On the other hand, if they were to find some Ancient healing device with similar properties (except for the soul sucking addictive parts), he'd be fine with that. He would be even happier if the Wraith would just go the
fuck away.
To Rodney's great relief, Major Sheppard had only almost very nearly died. Dumb luck in the form of a ship called The Daedelus had appeared and rescued him in the nick of time. It hadn't been in time for Rodney to avoid cursing the day he met the man, or at least the day he met John's indestructible libido. John's all too human heart had absolutely nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. Really.
"So long, Rodney." What the fuck did that mean? Of course John couldn't say something that would give the game away, let everyone know what they meant to each other. But surely he could have found something more meaningful. Even "Be careful Rodney" would do it. But then again, John knew Rodney
was careful. At least as careful as he could be considering he was faced with almost certain death on a very regular basis.
It dawned on him then, how different his life was now from what he had expected it to be. With his genius, he always knew he would be making important contributions to the world's knowledge and advancement. But despite the CIA, and others who had tried to recruit him for less noble purposes, his work had never had such immediate, real life repercussions.
Now, people live, and, he's ashamed to say, sometimes die because of him. Never has his intellect and ability been put to such strenuous testing. Everything he does matters. Not for the possible prizes and accolades he'll win, but because getting it right means Atlantis is safe through another crisis, getting it wrong can mean the destruction of most of a solar system. It isn't just experimenting anymore. Life on Atlantis was like constantly having to choose the "red wire or the black" like someone in an adventure movie facing a bomb.
While he'd much prefer not to be on the edge of terror all the time, there's a part of Rodney that enjoys the rush that comes when things go well and the Atlantis expedition reaps the rewards. Immediate practical application beats the hell out of "pure research."
Before John, Rodney's love life could best have been described as 'pure research' as well. Mostly theoretical -- he'd had sex, but not as often as he would have liked -- Rodney couldn't say he had been loved before. Certainly he'd never expected to find it with someone like John. Men were fun, but when and if Rodney settled down, it would be with a woman. It was vitally important to the world that the McKay genes be passed on to the future. Someday Rodney was going to die, and his brilliant son or daughter would continue on his path. He really didn't think of it in more personal terms than that. Rodney knew he wasn't so good with people.
But he's good with John. Or rather, John doesn't mind the way Rodney is with him. John has his own quirks, and Rodney is just fine with them, as well. They spark together, but then burn steadily. It isn't a devouring blaze, but a sustaining one. A fire that chases away the shadows as best as it can.
Rodney isn't usually one for introspection. He knew himself, or thought he did. Rodney McKay was smarter than everyone else on Earth, or near enough. He was someone who lived a life of the mind, not the body. His body was too likely to betray him, with allergies or just general averageness.
But the Rodney he thought he knew isn't the man he turned out to be. The case of mistaken identity is his own.
20. Henry
"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!...ow...ow...oh. Oh, that's nice." Rodney made a little snuffly noise and sighed. "Okay. Better."
Carson frowned. "Rodney?"
"Hiiiiiii."
"Oh, dear."
Major--ah, Major something-or-other, the new gentleman from the SGC--burst into the room. "Dr. McKay? I need a report on--Dr. McKay?" He looked up at Carson. "Is he conscious?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"Hiiiiii."
Carson applied himself to the arrow-endectomy.
"Hello?" Rodney asked the major blearily. "Did you have a question?"
"Dr. McKay, it's Major Henry."
"Henry?"
Oh, dear.
"Where's Henry? Here, kitty kitty kitty...kitty kitty kitty." Rodney flailed a hand out and patted the major on the sleeve. "You feel funny, Henry. Did I shave you?"
"Dr. Beckett?"
"Henry is Rodney's cat," Carson said softly.
"Dr. McKay--"
"Henry, you're talking. And you're funny colors." Rodney swiveled his head around a bit. "All the colors are funny."
Elizabeth rushed in. "Carson? How is he?"
"So many colors. Look at all the pretty horses."
Carson wasn't even going to ask.
21. Letter to Atlantis
No one ever actually saw the full message. Just a part that appeared in the middle of the barter board:
Kodak DC 5000 for what do u have?
< a href=http://atlantis_serv3/citylist/bar/189545562.html
like a This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me. So tired of just thinking about it, but I’d be a fool to just say it. Tell somebody I work with that I love them? Real fast way to lose a friend. I just want to reach out, touch, tell. But I can't. If anyone saw me with h
blender (North Tower) Nice Blender for a Nice Iron
Lkg LOTR Xed have Lagaan
***
Lt. Ken Baker knocked on the door of NTW15.
"Hi, B&D Classic Spray Mist?" he asked as the door opened.
"Yeah, Oster Dual Speed?" Dr. Moira Wright replied. At the nod, she added, "Come on in. That box looks new."
"Never been opened," assured Ken.
"Mine's not quite as pretty, but it works."
"That's all I need. Can't believe mine broke."
"Well, my soon to be margarita habit thanks you and your dead iron," Moira grinned. "Can I ask you something?"
"Uh, okay."
"You just came on the last run, right? How could you fall in love so fast?"
Ken's raised eyebrows and pained look led to the revelation that he hadn't seen the listing since he posted it. "Yours was the first email I got, so here I am."
Moira handed him her tablet, "Take a look."
"Not me!" Ken shook his head vehemently. "Must be a computer error."
"Maybe," Moira allowed, then gave a grin would have made a lesser Marine cringe. "Dr. Askay programs the list," she mused. How lucky she had a staff meeting at 1030, she thought as she saw the slightly confused lieutenant out the door.
***
At lunch, Moira reported that Dr. Askay hadn't programmed the list the day before - Dr. McKay himself had.
"McKay wouldn't make that kind of error," Dr. Rangman stated categorically.
"Even the best of us make errors, yes? Perhaps an accidental data transfer from a personal journal?" Dr. VanderScheldon nodded, wisely stroking his goatee.
"Unrequited love," chimed in Dr. Barton.
"Romantic," sniffed Dr. Wren.
"Who do you think?" asked Dr. Vega.
"No question," Moira stated flatly, noting the time and picking up her tray and nodding at the Marine who sat down at the end of the table as she left. She called back over her shoulder, "The way it's written, has to be Sheppard."
They all agreed that it was Sheppard, then discussion at the table moved on, as did Cpl. Roberts, who had an appointment with some PT courtesy of Major Lorne in ten.
***
"No shit, Sarge" Roberts assured Gillespie as his platoon pounded over the catwalk, full pack. "Was sitting at the same table with 'em. Col. Sheppard wrote it."
"What the fuck?" Gillespie muttered as they came to the end of the catwalk and went down. "Take five, but leave your packs on," and had no reaction to his men's groans.
Leaning up against a wall panel, Gillespie added, "I know he's Air Force and a pilot, but don't they teach officers dick about discretion?"
"Gotta be about Dr. Weir. He works so closely with her, and for a diplomat, she's seriously hot."
"Talking about your expedition leader, Marine," chided Gillespie, "but, yeah, hot."
They grinned at each other and stood up as Gillespie had the group form up for a return run to quarters.
"But she'd never be able to have that kind of relationship. I mean, she's the expedition leader fer crissakes," Gillespie bitched, taking them around the corner past the repairs being performed by Dr. Tahara. "You just can't go around putting up stuff like that on the city-wide bulletin board…" his voice trailing off as the unit beat feet for home.
***
Dr. Tahara finished calibrating the tertiary energy systems back-up sub-router SWT/4/B crystals, marked the task completed on his work order, and carefully put his tools away.
He met up with Dr. Lempke in stockroom 14C while getting more filament connectors.
"And you're certain?"
"I made particular note of them naming Dr. Weir as the party who wrote it," said Dr. Tahara. "You know that the military grapevine has access to information that we never get."
"I know what you mean," Dr. Lempke commiserated as they came out of the stockroom. "It seems like they always have the inside story."
"What's next on your list?"
"Gateroom main door. Seems it's been sticking."
"How come we never get the glamorous assignments?" Dr. Tahara bemoaned. "I've been on the filament replacement from hell detail for three weeks."
"We are the backbone of the expedition, my friend," Dr. Lempke assured him as the pair came to a stop to allow passage of pair of Marines pulling a loaded munitions cart. "Not everyone can be McKay."
"It seems odd to put something up like that for anyone to read on the citywide net," remarked Dr. Tahara, who was patting at his pockets.
Dr. Lempke gently tugged the glasses off of his friend's head and handed them to him, who sheepishly thanked him. "I wouldn't put it past Dr. McKay, though," he added with a knowing look. They nodded to each other as they parted at the transporter.
***
Pvts. Coleman and Jarvis pushed the cart into Magazine SWT3. "That's the last load, sir," Jarvis informed Col. Sheppard.
"That's great, Private," Sheppard replied easily. "Nothing like a full munitions inventory to get the blood going, yeah?"
"Yessir," replied Jarvis. He exchanged a look with Coleman, who patently agreed that, yes, their commanding officer was a little strange.
"Dismissed, gentlemen."
"Yes, sir," replied the privates, making their escape. Who knew what Sheppard would assign them next; the man hangs out with Dr. McKay, right?
"Hey, do you think McKay was writing about Col. Sheppard?" Coleman asked Jarvis as they got into line for dinner behind a group of scientists in lab coats talking ninety to the dozen.
22. Of Siblings and Sahaja
Dr. Jean McKay-Barton was furious. Her inquiries about her baby brother’s location had finally been answered, after four months of hemming and hawing and stonewalling by the U.S. Government. She was given Rodney’s location along with an invitation to go visit him, ‘cause hey, you’re pretty smart, too, and at the rate Atlantis is going through scientists, it might be good to have a back-up McKay. So after a year and a half of bribes, blackmail and interrogations and eighteen days on the Daedalus, the woman found herself on Atlantis, only to see her younger sibling being rushed to the infirmary on a stretcher, barely breathing and skin covered with hives.
She ran into the infirmary after him, only to be grabbed by a young nurse before she could reach him. "I’m sorry," the nurse said, "but you can’t go in there right now, Dr….?"
"McKay!" Jean spat out. "It’s Dr. Jean McKay, and that’s my brother dying of anaphylactic shock over there, you idiot!" She broke away from the nurse and headed over to the small group of people near Rodney’s bed, close enough to see him but far enough away to let the doctors work.
"Jean McKay, you said?" a voice asked, drawing Jean’s attention away from where her brother was being intubated.
"Yes, who are you?" she asked the dark-haired man standing next to her. He was military, but she couldn’t tell his rank; he wasn’t wearing his jacket and his dog tags were tucked under his shirt.
"Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, I’m the leader of Rodney’s off-world team." He looked over to Rodney’s bed, where the commotion seemed to be lessening. "It looks like he’s stabilizing; there’s nothing we can do here. I’m going to find the person responsible for today’s mix-up in the kitchens; would you care to join me?" Something about Sheppard’s voice told her that ‘find’ was just an abbreviated way of saying ‘find, flay, and destroy,’ and Jean could get behind that idea.
"Lead on, Colonel," she said, following the man out of the infirmary.
***
"Let me get this straight," Jean said, voice cold and incredulous. "My brother almost died because some idiot made a storage room mix up?"
"I’m sorry, ma’am. The sahaja fruit -,"
"Wait," Jean interrupted. "Sahaja fruit?"
"Yes ma’am," replied the young man. "It’s a Pegasus fruit we trade for; it resembles an apple but contains something very much like citric acid. It was being stored for tomorrow’s meal; everyone knows it’s not supposed to be served unless Dr. McKay’s off-world. Sergeant Brown just returned from a mission and didn’t know about the new shipment of fruit. He didn’t look at the labels on the boxes; he just thought they were apples and used them for the pie." The lieutenant Jean was laying into looked frightened and contrite, but Jean still wasn’t inclined to be forgiving. She hadn’t seen Rodney have a reaction this bad since he was twelve, her brother could have died today for God’s sake…
"That’s enough Stevens," Sheppard said. "Where is Sergeant Brown?"
"He’s in the infirmary; he rushed over as soon as he could to see if Dr. McKay was alright." Jean wanted to launch off on how touching it was that the man who had practically murdered Rodney was concerned for his health, but she was cut off by the sound of Sheppard talking into his radio.
"Brown. Yes, Sergeant, my office immediately." He turned towards Jean. "Dr. McKay, if you would like -." He stopped abruptly, hand flying back to his radio. "Sheppard. Go ahead, Carson." Apparently the colonel liked what he was hearing; Jean could see relief on the man’s previously expressionless face. "That’s good to hear; I’ll let her know. Thanks, Carson." When Sheppard turned back to Jean, he was smiling. "Dr. McKay, that was Dr. Beckett. He said that Rodney should pull through and that you can go visit him if you wish." Jean was halfway out the door before he finished his last sentence. "Hey, don’t you need someone to show you the way back?" he called after it.
"Nah, I can find it on my own," she replied without turning around. She hoped her brother was still awake. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind.
***
Rodney nearing sleep when Jean entered the infirmary, which wasn’t surprising; she had expected him to be rather groggy. She tried to be quiet when she sat by his bed, but he heard her and stirred.
"Whozzat?" He mumbled, turning towards her, arms flailing slightly to reach the person who had disturbed his descent into sleep.
"Shhhh, Rodney," Jeannie said, grabbing his hand. "Go back to sleep."
"’Lizbeth, that you?" His eyes opened a bit.
"No, it’s not, Ro-bear. Just go to sleep."
The use of his child hood nickname roused Rodney a bit more. "Jeannie, is that you?"
"Yes, Rodney. Now stop being a stubborn ass and get some rest. You need it."
"But you’re back on Earth. You can’t…wait. I’m hallucinating again, aren’t I?"
"Yes, Rodney. You’re having anaphylaxis-induced hallucination of your older sister because your body needs rest and you won’t do it on your own, so you need someone to order you around. Now shut up and sleep."
"Well, in that case…" Rodney’s words trailed off and he was shortly snoring, holding his big sister’s hand.
VOTING IS CLOSED! THANKS EVERYONE!
ENTRIES 11-22
11. A Faulty Premise
Rodney McKay was not a lucky man. He could figure possibilities and probabilities and choose the most likely results and how they could be most beneficial to his desires. If pressed, and if given enough time and motivation, he could also often determine ways to skew the odds in favor of his desired outcome.
He did not believe in luck, at least not in relation to himself. Luck was the province of idiots and children - those who didn't know any better, yet accomplished the statistically improbable anyway. He was not an idiot - thank you, very much - and as such, he did not appreciate having his hard work and sheer genius reduced to such mundane circumstance.
On the other hand, Colonel John Sheppard was one lucky bastard. Oh, it's not that Rodney thought that Sheppard was a complete idiot - at least, not most of the time - but how many people do you know that can actually survive a suicide bombing run with a nuclear weapon? Exactly.
Since Rodney considered luck to be an even more unlikely possibility than the idea that he could have been wrong, he had absolutely no idea how he had ended up here - sharing a too small cot, with the lean, sweaty, naked form of his best friend - his presumably straight best friend.
Well, that was probably the start of his miscalculations. However, it was obvious that he had been working from a faulty data set, and that wasn't completely his fault, even though he would have ridiculed any of the people who worked for him, for making the mistake of not verifying their source materials.
However, even the fact that John liked men, and was, like him, bisexual, did not lead automatically to them in bed together. Despite his bluster and bravado, Rodney did not make it a habit of lying, at least not to himself. He was awkward, and socially inept, mostly because he lacked patience for the inane rituals of society and courtship. He was also balding, on the wrong side of 35, and a bit soft around the middle. He wasn't a catch, in the traditional sense, though he firmly believed that anyone stupid enough to dismiss him for these faults was too stupid to be worth his time, anyway.
Sheppard wasn't stupid - at least not most of the time. He had proven himself to be quite mentally agile on several occasions, and he seemed to approve of Rodney's wit, and even contribute his own, provided they weren't actively dying, or being threatened with such, at the time. He was also not balding, not *soft* anywhere, and more than reasonably attractive. He also, apparently, found Rodney more than a little attractive, considering that he had been having sex with him for just over five weeks now.
That was what was keeping him from his much earned rest. Rodney still couldn't figure out how he had gotten here, and he didn't like what he didn't understand. Yet, he did like the too warm weight pressed against his side, and the stupid look of satisfaction, evident on John's face, even in sleep. He liked it enough to reconsider his original premise. Maybe, he was lucky, after all.
12. Just Like Everybody Else Does
Lt. Michael Kenmore senses that he's living someone else's life, and not just because he has another life that he can't even remember. He can't say why he feels this way. He has different words to articulate what he's feeling but then again, they aren't words. He speaks a language he doesn't even know.
Who could blame him for falling in love with the Athosian, Teyla Emmagen? She is beautiful, in any culture, anywhere in the universe. She is the only one who treats him like a human being, which is hilarious when he learns he isn't one.
Apparently being human means you get a built-in sense of irony.
After the initial shock wears off, he weighs his options. He knows he can escape; his mind is far superior to theirs. But when he thinks about leaving Teyla, he can't do it. He doesn't want to do it.
Teyla has taught him that he has desires. The desires of a man. He likes where these desires lead him. She comes to his room late at night and helps chase the nightmares away. He has only the vaguest idea of what to do with a woman in his bed, but Teyla just comes to comfort him. She lets him lay his head on her chest until his thoughts are no longer of the Wraith reflection in his mirror, but are more muted, more muddled; a sensual and pleasurable haze that hangs over his mind and eventually lulls him to sleep after a peak of wakefulness.
How can he leave her?
He doesn't. Dr. Beckett's retro-virus works in larger doses, and he deals with the side effects of the drug and the new body he's got. His dedication to being human is not lost on Teyla and if he's right -- and he may well be -- she has feelings for him, too.
***
Teyla would never put her life in the hands of a Wraith. And she's well aware that is exactly what Michael is, deep down. She has dreams, just like Michael. She goes to comfort him when he screams, but she wouldn't have heard him if she herself hadn't already been awake, stalking the corridors.
Her recurring nightmare is that she's comforting Michael in the darkness but when she puts her hands to his face, she feels the clammy, bone-like ridges of the Wraith, hears him hiss and feels his rage, hot under her hands. She can see his white hand hovering in the deepening blue that surrounds them. It brushes the air in front of her like a ghost and when she looks up to his face, she thinks she sees betrayal there in his yellow, slitted eyes, eyes that have not yet fully sunk back into his graying, changing flesh...
She opens her mouth to scream.
But it's not real. Michael is still Michael and not the Wraith she sees in her nightmares.
When he reaches for her, she feels her nostrils flare instinctively and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she goes to him anyway. He needs the kind of comfort that all humans need. The others can turn away from him in disgust, but Teyla can't.
His eyes are still blue, his skin still smooth. The late sun sets and he is lying in his bed, sweaty and sick. She stays with him until he's resting fitfully, his eyes glassy but eventually closing. She lets her fingers trail over his forehead like a sigh.
***
No other Wraith are turned in the way that Michael has been; they consider him a puzzling and failed experiment. They use the retrovirus, but they don't administer higher doses. They let the rest of his race die, as creatures not quite human. But Michael is their burden. They can't kill him now.
Michael doesn't think about his fellow Wraith and their quiet deaths in the lab when they are captured. He also doesn't miss the siren call of the hive ships, once they disappear from the Pegasus Galaxy, on the run from the retro-virus. He grows comfortable not caring.
Michael Kenmore only thinks of Teyla. His head and heart are full when she agrees to become his wife.
He has friends, too. Tentatively, John Sheppard has accepted him, and a few others. Ronon never grows to like him, and eventually he leaves Atlantis while Michael stays on.
He works hard at the odd jobs he is given to do around Atlantis (nothing in the labs, nothing with computer access, nothing with weapons).
And if Michael sometimes thinks about how he'd love nothing more than to slam his palm down onto Teyla's chest as she's sleeping next to him? He simply looks at her face, takes in her beauty and casts his imagination to what life would be like without her and the craving burns away in his chest. Even when she's no longer beautiful, but aged and wise and small under the sheets that cover her at night, he's so full of what they call love that he forgets what he would even have to do in order to feed from her and his hands are so wrinkled and arthritic he'd never be able to complete it.
***
Teyla attends to the young children, teaching them, and continues her regular duties in Atlantis. Occasionally when she returns to their quarters - hers and Michael's - she is startled by a stranger in the room - a deadly, dangerous enemy that makes her skin crawl - and she draws up short, reaching for her weapons or her sticks beside the door.
It's just Michael.
"I... I thought you were someone else there for a moment," she says when he looks at her, puzzled. "But it's you. It's just you."
13. Wonderful
Ford knows how to blow stuff up, shoot things dead, and break things downs. He’s never been quite so good at the putting everything back together.
Which, he had to admit, is pretty problematic, given the latest things he just took out in an impressive display of pyrotechnics and accompanying ka-blooey sound effects were the only two ways off the planet he had just crashed onto: the planet’s gate, and the wraith dart he borrowed (and yes, it was borrowing; he and his cousins had looked up the actual definition of borrowing in his grandfather’s old copy of Webster’s once, and it had only spoke of the intention of returning, not the actual returning bit, which, of course, was an argument that held no sway with his grandparents when he’d tried to explain how that justified ‘borrowing’ the car for the evening -- christ he missed them, not to mention how he missed all the blood he must have lost to be having such fuzzy memories right then) from the Hive ship seconds before it too had gone ka-boom. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the excessive bleeding, and dizziness, he’s fairly certain he would have cursed his stupid luck, the stupid galaxy, and the stupid Wraith. Instead he just passed out.
He didn’t even really think about what the people who lived on the planet would think.
He doesn’t really remember his recovery time, so he so no idea what impression he must have made between his broken bones, and withdrawal symptoms. Add in the space ship - the Wraith ship, no less, ‘cause yeah he knows how to crash a planet in style - and he can’t help but wonder why they didn’t just kill him to begin with. So, yeah, he can’t be blamed for thinking that maybe it’s the trippy drugs they’d been giving him for the past few weeks getting to him when he’s finally let out of the makeshift hospital only to find a crowd of villagers waiting to greet him with a roaring cheer. … And later it hits him: they’re his own freakin’ Munchkins.
He always thought Sheppard was more the Dorothy type.
Somehow they got the impression that he was something else though. It took him awhile to get that (seriously, good, trippy drugs) because at the SGC and Atlantis he was used to planet natives varying between the two extremes of being super hostile versus displaying super hospitality, so their lavishing kindness wasn’t that strange. That all changed when they showed him the cave paintings (and it was always cave paintings in Pegasus; never was there time for anything more permanent unless it was Ancient…) that they claimed prophesized him as … he didn’t even know what the right term was. The Anti-Wraith? Alien Jesus?
"You’re a good Wraith," the religious leaders explained to him seriously, "sent by the ancestors to protect us from your wicked brethren."
He thinks they’re crazy. There’s not a chance in hell he’s going to be their Glinda - he refuses to travel by bubble.
Still. He’s stuck on their backwater planet for who knows how long, and everyone in Atlantis thinks he’s dead (again); he’s not sure they’d even come looking for him if they thought otherwise. So, he helps where he can: helps build a house here, teaches a bit about farming techniques there, and joins the hunt for some weird cross between a lion and a bear.
They think he’s wonderful.
14. Prey
Sheppard turned the small device over and over in his long fingers.
"I’m still not sure about this," Elizabeth was saying somewhere at the edge of his concentration.
He brought himself back to the room on Atlantis where they were all sitting. "It may be the best way - "
"It’ll work," Ronon interjected, loud and urgent. The conference room wasn’t small, but his strong voice filled it insistently. "You need a single Wraith and these guys run in groups with one exception. "
"How do you know they will even respond anymore? Maybe there aren’t any Runners since the Hives woke up. It’s been a while - " Elizabeth again, the voice of reason.
"It hasn’t been that long," Ronon growled softly, turning to look straight at her, his eyes dark with memory and something else - desire.
For revenge, John thought, even if it were only in some small measure. Elizabeth broke their mutual stare, Ronon’s of defiance, hers of inquiry and though she tried not to show it, John could see the doubt.
"John?" she asked, leaving the question open.
"It’s the best plan we got right now," he grimaced, his attention falling back into the bit of wires and metal in his hand.
"Do you think it will work?"
"Yeah, it’ll work," he said distantly. He wasn’t sure if he liked the plan, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.
"Carson, are you certain the Retrovirus is ready for this level of testing?"
Elizabeth had to ask, she was first and foremost the leader of the Expedition.
"Aye," Carson was answering, looking none the happier for it.
"Then have Rodney find us a suitable planet with a Wraith cruiser nearby," Elizabeth exhaled and issued the orders with far more assurance than John knew she must have felt.
He dropped the tracking transmitter on the composite table as he left and Elizabeth watched Ronon pick it up, the muscles in his arm trembling with restraint as he fought with himself to not smash the deceptively bland device into a thousand pieces.
***
Ronon stood several yards away from the Stargate, his stance insolent and impatient and a little too calm for Sheppard’s taste. Teyla held the transmitter, ready to dismantle it once again the minute a Wraith was subdued, Rodney waited on another planet with the jumper and a small contingent of three Marines fanned out behind John and Lorne in the ruins of what once might have been a Gatehouse. Cover was sparse but the planet was uninhabited and in a system similarly devoid of life, so there was no chance of luring the Wraith to an unsuspecting population.
The Wraith didn’t make them wait long.
As Ronon predicted, a single Wraith strode through the event horizon, stopping short at the sight of Ronon waiting for him. He proceeded cautiously, heavy boots clunking down the worn and broken stone steps of the Gate. He raised his weapon and advanced toward Ronon.
"We meet again," the Wraith smiled, his translucent teeth glittering and slimy. "I thought perhaps you’d been killed. Imagine my surprise when your transmitter was picked up again after so long."
"You should have learned never to count me out."
The Wraith snarled. "Tell me, have you grown tired of the Hunt? Is that why you wait for me?"
Ronon lunged at the Wraith, surprising him with a solid swing, knocking the gun away. The Wraith countered quickly, striking back, but Ronon took the hit and kept his feet.
"What’s he doing?" John hissed to Lorne. "This was NOT part of my really good, well thought out plan!"
Lorne shrugged and motioned the two Marines with stunners to shift around, look for an opening.
"Anybody gets a clear shot, they take it," he instructed them quietly.
The Wraith Hunter staggered under another blow from Ronon and returned it, grinning ferinely as Ronon hit the ground this time and rolled to his feet again.
"Get out of the way!" John ordered under his breath, willing Ronon to hear him, silently begging Ronon to obey him. When this was done, he intended to give Ronon a piece of his mind. Not that it would do anything other than make John feel better.
"You do not act like the other Runners," the Wraith snarled. "Prey does not usually fight back until you corner it."
"How does it feel to be the one being hunted?" Ronon taunted him.
The Wraith looked around quickly for the trap.
"I will savor your life as it drains from your body!" he roared.
"Not this time," Ronon growled. He slid a long knife from his sleeve and charged.
"Okay," John snapped, "that’s it! We wanted this damn thing alive!"
He rose from his place of relative safety, striding quickly across the clearing to where Ronon struggled with the Wraith. With the attention of the Wraith centered on Ronon, John walked right up to him, leveled Ronon’s stunner and fired point blank. The Wraith seized and fought the pulse before collapsing.
John turned to Ronon, irritated and pissed.
"As much as I understand what you’re feeling, you going all John Wayne was not part of the plan!" he barked, handing the gun back to its owner. "The plan was to stun the Wraith and get the hell out of Dodge before anyone else showed up!"
Ronon took the weapon, barely contained fury hidden badly behind his mask of indifference. Lorne and the Marines came forward quickly, gathering up the unconscious Wraith and heading for the Gate.
"Turn it off!" John ordered Teyla, watching her quickly break the transmitter down into component metal and circuitry as Rodney had instructed her.
When they were sure it was no longer transmitting, Lorne dialed the Gate and the group disappeared to another uninhabited planet and then another before meeting up with the jumper and heading in to Atlantis.
***
Atlantis Medbay
"Release me!!" the Wraith roared, struggling against the combined strength of Ronon and John.
"You’re gonna need a name..."
15. To Be Alone But Not
As soon as John realized he was awake, he tried to yell. He struggled to make something, anything come out of his throat, even if all he got was a whimper. His head was stuffed with wool, his throat so dry he couldn't even swallow, but he forced his hands to his face. Forced them to his eyes, forced his fingers to work and peel his eyelids open if necessary, just so he could see.
The dim lights swam overhead, sending a piercing pain through his skull. John grasped his head as he curled up on his side, tugging at the wires in his arms.
He was alive, but that had never really been the issue.
Someone touched his leg. John blinked, trying to get some moisture back in his eyes before it dawned on him that he was blinking; that he had moved his arm and touched his face, that he had been able to make a sound. He slumped back into the softness underneath him.
His head was empty. He was in control again, and that was the important thing.
"Colonel?" The voice made him turn and finally take in his surroundings. Beeping machines, something stabbing him in the arm¾ he was in the infirmary and Rodney was standing off to the side.
"He's awake," Rodney shouted.
Suddenly there was a swarm of activity as Beckett came running. Before John could say anything, there were people poking and prodding him, shining lights in his eyes and shoving things down his throat.
"Is it him?" Rodney asked, making John cringe as much as the cold stethoscope against his skin. That Rodney had to ask...
John lay back and let them finish. He wanted to fight, wanted to tell them to leave him alone but now that he could, now that he was back in control, he said nothing.
He'd done it because Elizabeth had asked. He let himself become host to an alien consciousness, because she was his friend, and he respected her. Because part of him secretly liked how she got a little sentimental sometimes, though he'd never acknowledged it in so many words. And also, maybe because another part of him felt a little bit guilty for challenging her all the times it wasn't necessary.
But mostly he'd done it because she'd asked him for something he could do and it had seemed like such a little thing at the time. Let a dying woman say good bye to her dying husband.
He just wasn't prepared for the cost.
Beckett fiddled with some wires slapped to the side of John's head. "Aye, it is. Welcome back, Colonel."
John stared at the ceiling, avoiding their eyes. That they still hadn't been sure was like punch to his gut. Turning his head away, he could see Elizabeth still lying unconscious in the bed next to him.
Beckett adjusted the IV in his arm. "He's exhausted Rodney. Why don't you come back later? I'm sure Colonel Sheppard would like some time alone in his head."
John finally glanced at Rodney, who looked worried and tired and John couldn't bear to disappoint another friend. "It's okay," he whispered, licking his lips. His tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth. "Stay."
Rodney looked uncertain for a moment, before coming back and sitting down on the chair while Carson and the nurses went back to their work.
"You had us worried there for a little while."
John bit his lip. The whole time Thalen had been in control, he'd been burning with the things he wanted to say and do but couldn't. Now that Thalen was gone, John felt like an empty shell.
Rodney tilted his head. "Not that I know exactly what you've been through but I had Cadman in my head, remember? Granted she wasn't an evil alien hell bent on killing Elizabeth and everyone that stood in the way, but I know what it's like to have someone speak for you. To have someone control your movements…"
John picked at a spot on his blanket, the memories still too fresh in his mind to stay silent for long. "I screamed Rodney. I screamed and screamed inside my head, and nobody heard. Near the end, I was starting to wonder if I even existed anymore."
John suddenly found the words spilling out of him and to his relief, Rodney just stood there, listening.
"I lost my control, my freedom, the ability to do anything I wanted to. Ronon trusted me. He thought I was me and I betrayed him. I left him there when he was shot. How can I ever regain his trust again?"
"You thought it was Elizabeth who asked you to do this. How are you ever going to trust her again?"
John shrugged and looked away.
"Okay. Do that silent brooding thing if you have to, get it out of your system. When you're done, I'll be in the lab--"
"What do you want from me, Rodney?"
"We're all alive. I guess I just want you to be happy about that. Ronon will be fine. Heightmeyer gets two more subjects for her paper on multiple personalities. It's not such a bad ending to the day."
"I'm thrilled to pieces."
Rodney crossed his arms and stood up. "Never mind. I guess I just want you to know I'm here, you know, if you still want someone to listen."
Silence settled between them and Rodney looked nervously down at his shoes. "I suppose I should let you get some rest--"
"Rodney," John interrupted him. "Thanks."
Rodney gave him a small smile before getting up from his seat. "We need to be alone in heads. But I'm speaking from experience here, and we shouldn't be alone on the outside as well."
16. Next Time, She'll Think Twice
When they return to the city, the first thing that Teyla does is apologize profusely to the Atlanteans. They tell her over and over again that it was not her fault, but she cannot quite bring herself to believe them. It was a failure of imagination on her part not to realize that there was something going on beneath the surface, because she spent more time among the Genii than any of her people and yet she never suspected anything even remotely like the truth.
As soon as she is alone in her room, she lets her mind wander to all of the times that she visited the Genii. She remembers slight contradictions in the stories she was told, and awkward glances and the occasional tense silence, all things that she never thought twice about at the time. Mostly the memories she has are of a simple and kind people, and she cannot tell if the signs of something more where actually there all along or if her new found knowledge is tainting her memories.
When she first met them, the Genii were reserved and somewhat suspicious, but she had not taken offense or been alarmed; many of the surrounding societies were just as reluctant to deal with outsiders, after all. But they had warmed to her quickly, or at least she’d thought they had, and after that the people of their village had become some of her closest friends, second only to her own people. And now Teyla has to wonder how much of that warmth was real, and how much of it was part of their conspiracy.
On the one hand, Teyla does understand their desire to hide. If the Althosians had possessed similar technology, she thinks that they probably would have taken some of the same measures to protect themselves from the Wraith cullings. She does not begrudge the Genii their attempts to protect themselves. She understands why they lied, although it is still difficult for her to accept.
But the thing that Teyla does not understand is the complete personality shift in people she was once so close to. She cannot believe Tirus, who opened his home her and laughed with her so many times, would be willing to callously murder another human being. And she has a hard time understanding why Sora, a girl she might have once listed among her closest friends, would be so fast to turn on her.
Teyla Emmagen has never considered herself a poor judge of character, but after today, she thinks she may have to reconsider.
17. Story of My Life
John Sheppard's life had been one incident of mistaken identity after another, starting with the fact that he'd spent the first few hours of his life labeled 'Baby Girl Anderson.'
It hadn't really been the nurse's fault; it was a small base hospital, and both he and his unfortunate cohort (Who had later been named Jessica Anderson) had both been emergency cesareans. Just like it hadn't been his grandmother's fault that her hearing was going and he spent an entire summer being called "That nice boy Jimmy." That one might have been easier to take if it hadn't followed a year of being confused with Juan Shepherd in tenth grade. That had stung, because Juan sucked at math and John had spent most of the year trying to convince his father to call the school and explain that he was supposed to be in the non-remedial math classes.
The point was, this wasn't the first time it had happened. It wasn't even the first time it had been embarrassing. He should be used to it. He really should.
That didn't make the Minarins assumption that he was Rodney's indentured servant (With benefits - usable as a trade commodity if one didn't feel like sharing one's concubine) any easier. With an air of quiet dignity John straightened his loin cloth, took a fortifying breath, and stepped out of the small alcove into the plaza to supervise the remainder of the negotiations.
18. False Gods
"I still can't believe you told those monks we were Ancients," John Sheppard muttered.
Next to him, Rodney McKay let out a sigh. "For the last time, what else was I supposed to say?" he shot back. "It's not my fault that all of the Ancient technology in this place started lighting up as soon as we walked in the door. There wasn't any sign of a power source. I didn't think this was anything more than some Ancient ruins that the locals had turned into a temple."
John rolled his eyes. "That doesn't explain why you said 'yes' when they asked us if we were Ancestors," he pointed out.
For several seconds, Rodney didn't say a word. Then he shrugged his shoulders. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he admitted.
John just raised an eyebrow. "A good idea?" he repeated. "How could telling them we were Ancients possibly have seemed like a good idea?"
"Well, for one thing, there's obviously something powering this place," Rodney snapped, a hint of hysteria building in his voice as he went on. "Since none of our equipment has picked up any kind of power source, getting the monks to tell us where the power's coming from could be vital."
John let out a sigh. "McKay."
Rodney didn't even pause. "Everything we saw made it seem like they thought the Ancients were gods or something, so I thought that passing ourselves off as their deities might have gotten us access to whatever they've got buried inside this place."
Shaking his head, John raised his voice an octave. "McKay!"
"It was a logical conclusion," Rodney continued, not even glancing in John's direction. "I mean, pretty much every civilization we've come across has worshiped the Ancients as gods. It was a reasonable assumption that these monks wouldn't be any different."
"Rodney!"
At that, Rodney finally shut up and turned his attention toward the other man. John held up as his hands, causing the chains wrapped around them to clang noisily. "Guess what, McKay," he said dryly, "I don't think these guys think we're gods."
Rodney gave him an exasperated look, with just a hint of panic mixed in. "Really? Where could you possibly have gotten an idea like that?" he asked. "Was it when they chained us up? Or maybe when they started talking about sacrificing us to the Wraith."
"Actually, it was when Ronon refused to come inside because he didn't trust their leader," John replied matter-of-factly.
Rodney blinked. "Oh."
John carefully tested the chains binding his hands together. "We're going to be getting out of here anytime now," he said casually. "It'll probably involve running for our lives. Again."
"Tell me, colonel, how could you possibly know that we're going to be getting out of here soon?"
John grinned at him. "You weren't listening to the two guys who tied us up?" he asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.
"No, sorry," Rodney snapped. "I tuned out around the time they mentioned sacrificing us."
The colonel's grin only grew wider. "They were going to go ask that Ronon and Teyla turn over all of their weapons."
Rodney opened his mouth to comment, but he closed it as John's words sank in. "Oh," he said in a surprisingly quiet voice.
Somewhere outside their cell's door, there was a loud crash followed by an angry yell that couldn't have come from anyone but Ronon.
John leaned back against the wall and rested his hands behind his head the best he could. "Here comes the cavalry," he said, still grinning.
19. Zero Hour Nine a.m.
The first time Rodney McKay watched John Sheppard die was the longest 38 minutes of his life. John's beautiful neck marred by a life-sucking giant leech thing that by all rights should have been seen on some Sci Fi channel movie of the week, not in real life. Rodney had rarely felt so powerless then. He felt ill equipped to cope with the crisis, but was surprised to find he could do what he had to do. If it had been him affected by the Wraith bug, Rodney knew he wouldn't have held up to the test. Even then, before they had given in to the connection they both felt, Rodney would do anything for John.
They became lovers not long after. As soon as Carson gave John the all clear to leave the infirmary. Rodney promised to keep an eye on him, just in case. By the time John's voice was back to normal, and the marks on his neck had subsided from angry red to faded yellow, it was Rodney who was marked instead.
He didn't mind. John was just as passionate as Rodney had anticipated. Sucking kisses into Rodney's neck as he stroke Rodney off. Moaning until his voice was rough again as Rodney swallowed him down. And when he was fully recovered, begging Rodney to fuck him. It was even better than Rodney would have believed.
The second time he watched John die, Rodney told himself he could never do that again -- which was stupid, really, because how many times could one person die? Well, several, if one had access to a Go'a'uld sarcophagus -- which they didn't. That was a mixed blessing, because Rodney didn't even want to imagine a John changed by repeated use of such a device. He'd only heard stories of the way it -- to use an unavoidable pun -- deadened you inside. He didn't want to witness it in person. On the other hand, if they were to find some Ancient healing device with similar properties (except for the soul sucking addictive parts), he'd be fine with that. He would be even happier if the Wraith would just go the
fuck away.
To Rodney's great relief, Major Sheppard had only almost very nearly died. Dumb luck in the form of a ship called The Daedelus had appeared and rescued him in the nick of time. It hadn't been in time for Rodney to avoid cursing the day he met the man, or at least the day he met John's indestructible libido. John's all too human heart had absolutely nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. Really.
"So long, Rodney." What the fuck did that mean? Of course John couldn't say something that would give the game away, let everyone know what they meant to each other. But surely he could have found something more meaningful. Even "Be careful Rodney" would do it. But then again, John knew Rodney
was careful. At least as careful as he could be considering he was faced with almost certain death on a very regular basis.
It dawned on him then, how different his life was now from what he had expected it to be. With his genius, he always knew he would be making important contributions to the world's knowledge and advancement. But despite the CIA, and others who had tried to recruit him for less noble purposes, his work had never had such immediate, real life repercussions.
Now, people live, and, he's ashamed to say, sometimes die because of him. Never has his intellect and ability been put to such strenuous testing. Everything he does matters. Not for the possible prizes and accolades he'll win, but because getting it right means Atlantis is safe through another crisis, getting it wrong can mean the destruction of most of a solar system. It isn't just experimenting anymore. Life on Atlantis was like constantly having to choose the "red wire or the black" like someone in an adventure movie facing a bomb.
While he'd much prefer not to be on the edge of terror all the time, there's a part of Rodney that enjoys the rush that comes when things go well and the Atlantis expedition reaps the rewards. Immediate practical application beats the hell out of "pure research."
Before John, Rodney's love life could best have been described as 'pure research' as well. Mostly theoretical -- he'd had sex, but not as often as he would have liked -- Rodney couldn't say he had been loved before. Certainly he'd never expected to find it with someone like John. Men were fun, but when and if Rodney settled down, it would be with a woman. It was vitally important to the world that the McKay genes be passed on to the future. Someday Rodney was going to die, and his brilliant son or daughter would continue on his path. He really didn't think of it in more personal terms than that. Rodney knew he wasn't so good with people.
But he's good with John. Or rather, John doesn't mind the way Rodney is with him. John has his own quirks, and Rodney is just fine with them, as well. They spark together, but then burn steadily. It isn't a devouring blaze, but a sustaining one. A fire that chases away the shadows as best as it can.
Rodney isn't usually one for introspection. He knew himself, or thought he did. Rodney McKay was smarter than everyone else on Earth, or near enough. He was someone who lived a life of the mind, not the body. His body was too likely to betray him, with allergies or just general averageness.
But the Rodney he thought he knew isn't the man he turned out to be. The case of mistaken identity is his own.
20. Henry
"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!...ow...ow...oh. Oh, that's nice." Rodney made a little snuffly noise and sighed. "Okay. Better."
Carson frowned. "Rodney?"
"Hiiiiiii."
"Oh, dear."
Major--ah, Major something-or-other, the new gentleman from the SGC--burst into the room. "Dr. McKay? I need a report on--Dr. McKay?" He looked up at Carson. "Is he conscious?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"Hiiiiii."
Carson applied himself to the arrow-endectomy.
"Hello?" Rodney asked the major blearily. "Did you have a question?"
"Dr. McKay, it's Major Henry."
"Henry?"
Oh, dear.
"Where's Henry? Here, kitty kitty kitty...kitty kitty kitty." Rodney flailed a hand out and patted the major on the sleeve. "You feel funny, Henry. Did I shave you?"
"Dr. Beckett?"
"Henry is Rodney's cat," Carson said softly.
"Dr. McKay--"
"Henry, you're talking. And you're funny colors." Rodney swiveled his head around a bit. "All the colors are funny."
Elizabeth rushed in. "Carson? How is he?"
"So many colors. Look at all the pretty horses."
Carson wasn't even going to ask.
21. Letter to Atlantis
No one ever actually saw the full message. Just a part that appeared in the middle of the barter board:
Kodak DC 5000 for what do u have?
< a href=http://atlantis_serv3/citylist/bar/189545562.html
like a This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me. So tired of just thinking about it, but I’d be a fool to just say it. Tell somebody I work with that I love them? Real fast way to lose a friend. I just want to reach out, touch, tell. But I can't. If anyone saw me with h
blender (North Tower) Nice Blender for a Nice Iron
Lkg LOTR Xed have Lagaan
***
Lt. Ken Baker knocked on the door of NTW15.
"Hi, B&D Classic Spray Mist?" he asked as the door opened.
"Yeah, Oster Dual Speed?" Dr. Moira Wright replied. At the nod, she added, "Come on in. That box looks new."
"Never been opened," assured Ken.
"Mine's not quite as pretty, but it works."
"That's all I need. Can't believe mine broke."
"Well, my soon to be margarita habit thanks you and your dead iron," Moira grinned. "Can I ask you something?"
"Uh, okay."
"You just came on the last run, right? How could you fall in love so fast?"
Ken's raised eyebrows and pained look led to the revelation that he hadn't seen the listing since he posted it. "Yours was the first email I got, so here I am."
Moira handed him her tablet, "Take a look."
"Not me!" Ken shook his head vehemently. "Must be a computer error."
"Maybe," Moira allowed, then gave a grin would have made a lesser Marine cringe. "Dr. Askay programs the list," she mused. How lucky she had a staff meeting at 1030, she thought as she saw the slightly confused lieutenant out the door.
***
At lunch, Moira reported that Dr. Askay hadn't programmed the list the day before - Dr. McKay himself had.
"McKay wouldn't make that kind of error," Dr. Rangman stated categorically.
"Even the best of us make errors, yes? Perhaps an accidental data transfer from a personal journal?" Dr. VanderScheldon nodded, wisely stroking his goatee.
"Unrequited love," chimed in Dr. Barton.
"Romantic," sniffed Dr. Wren.
"Who do you think?" asked Dr. Vega.
"No question," Moira stated flatly, noting the time and picking up her tray and nodding at the Marine who sat down at the end of the table as she left. She called back over her shoulder, "The way it's written, has to be Sheppard."
They all agreed that it was Sheppard, then discussion at the table moved on, as did Cpl. Roberts, who had an appointment with some PT courtesy of Major Lorne in ten.
***
"No shit, Sarge" Roberts assured Gillespie as his platoon pounded over the catwalk, full pack. "Was sitting at the same table with 'em. Col. Sheppard wrote it."
"What the fuck?" Gillespie muttered as they came to the end of the catwalk and went down. "Take five, but leave your packs on," and had no reaction to his men's groans.
Leaning up against a wall panel, Gillespie added, "I know he's Air Force and a pilot, but don't they teach officers dick about discretion?"
"Gotta be about Dr. Weir. He works so closely with her, and for a diplomat, she's seriously hot."
"Talking about your expedition leader, Marine," chided Gillespie, "but, yeah, hot."
They grinned at each other and stood up as Gillespie had the group form up for a return run to quarters.
"But she'd never be able to have that kind of relationship. I mean, she's the expedition leader fer crissakes," Gillespie bitched, taking them around the corner past the repairs being performed by Dr. Tahara. "You just can't go around putting up stuff like that on the city-wide bulletin board…" his voice trailing off as the unit beat feet for home.
***
Dr. Tahara finished calibrating the tertiary energy systems back-up sub-router SWT/4/B crystals, marked the task completed on his work order, and carefully put his tools away.
He met up with Dr. Lempke in stockroom 14C while getting more filament connectors.
"And you're certain?"
"I made particular note of them naming Dr. Weir as the party who wrote it," said Dr. Tahara. "You know that the military grapevine has access to information that we never get."
"I know what you mean," Dr. Lempke commiserated as they came out of the stockroom. "It seems like they always have the inside story."
"What's next on your list?"
"Gateroom main door. Seems it's been sticking."
"How come we never get the glamorous assignments?" Dr. Tahara bemoaned. "I've been on the filament replacement from hell detail for three weeks."
"We are the backbone of the expedition, my friend," Dr. Lempke assured him as the pair came to a stop to allow passage of pair of Marines pulling a loaded munitions cart. "Not everyone can be McKay."
"It seems odd to put something up like that for anyone to read on the citywide net," remarked Dr. Tahara, who was patting at his pockets.
Dr. Lempke gently tugged the glasses off of his friend's head and handed them to him, who sheepishly thanked him. "I wouldn't put it past Dr. McKay, though," he added with a knowing look. They nodded to each other as they parted at the transporter.
***
Pvts. Coleman and Jarvis pushed the cart into Magazine SWT3. "That's the last load, sir," Jarvis informed Col. Sheppard.
"That's great, Private," Sheppard replied easily. "Nothing like a full munitions inventory to get the blood going, yeah?"
"Yessir," replied Jarvis. He exchanged a look with Coleman, who patently agreed that, yes, their commanding officer was a little strange.
"Dismissed, gentlemen."
"Yes, sir," replied the privates, making their escape. Who knew what Sheppard would assign them next; the man hangs out with Dr. McKay, right?
"Hey, do you think McKay was writing about Col. Sheppard?" Coleman asked Jarvis as they got into line for dinner behind a group of scientists in lab coats talking ninety to the dozen.
22. Of Siblings and Sahaja
Dr. Jean McKay-Barton was furious. Her inquiries about her baby brother’s location had finally been answered, after four months of hemming and hawing and stonewalling by the U.S. Government. She was given Rodney’s location along with an invitation to go visit him, ‘cause hey, you’re pretty smart, too, and at the rate Atlantis is going through scientists, it might be good to have a back-up McKay. So after a year and a half of bribes, blackmail and interrogations and eighteen days on the Daedalus, the woman found herself on Atlantis, only to see her younger sibling being rushed to the infirmary on a stretcher, barely breathing and skin covered with hives.
She ran into the infirmary after him, only to be grabbed by a young nurse before she could reach him. "I’m sorry," the nurse said, "but you can’t go in there right now, Dr….?"
"McKay!" Jean spat out. "It’s Dr. Jean McKay, and that’s my brother dying of anaphylactic shock over there, you idiot!" She broke away from the nurse and headed over to the small group of people near Rodney’s bed, close enough to see him but far enough away to let the doctors work.
"Jean McKay, you said?" a voice asked, drawing Jean’s attention away from where her brother was being intubated.
"Yes, who are you?" she asked the dark-haired man standing next to her. He was military, but she couldn’t tell his rank; he wasn’t wearing his jacket and his dog tags were tucked under his shirt.
"Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, I’m the leader of Rodney’s off-world team." He looked over to Rodney’s bed, where the commotion seemed to be lessening. "It looks like he’s stabilizing; there’s nothing we can do here. I’m going to find the person responsible for today’s mix-up in the kitchens; would you care to join me?" Something about Sheppard’s voice told her that ‘find’ was just an abbreviated way of saying ‘find, flay, and destroy,’ and Jean could get behind that idea.
"Lead on, Colonel," she said, following the man out of the infirmary.
***
"Let me get this straight," Jean said, voice cold and incredulous. "My brother almost died because some idiot made a storage room mix up?"
"I’m sorry, ma’am. The sahaja fruit -,"
"Wait," Jean interrupted. "Sahaja fruit?"
"Yes ma’am," replied the young man. "It’s a Pegasus fruit we trade for; it resembles an apple but contains something very much like citric acid. It was being stored for tomorrow’s meal; everyone knows it’s not supposed to be served unless Dr. McKay’s off-world. Sergeant Brown just returned from a mission and didn’t know about the new shipment of fruit. He didn’t look at the labels on the boxes; he just thought they were apples and used them for the pie." The lieutenant Jean was laying into looked frightened and contrite, but Jean still wasn’t inclined to be forgiving. She hadn’t seen Rodney have a reaction this bad since he was twelve, her brother could have died today for God’s sake…
"That’s enough Stevens," Sheppard said. "Where is Sergeant Brown?"
"He’s in the infirmary; he rushed over as soon as he could to see if Dr. McKay was alright." Jean wanted to launch off on how touching it was that the man who had practically murdered Rodney was concerned for his health, but she was cut off by the sound of Sheppard talking into his radio.
"Brown. Yes, Sergeant, my office immediately." He turned towards Jean. "Dr. McKay, if you would like -." He stopped abruptly, hand flying back to his radio. "Sheppard. Go ahead, Carson." Apparently the colonel liked what he was hearing; Jean could see relief on the man’s previously expressionless face. "That’s good to hear; I’ll let her know. Thanks, Carson." When Sheppard turned back to Jean, he was smiling. "Dr. McKay, that was Dr. Beckett. He said that Rodney should pull through and that you can go visit him if you wish." Jean was halfway out the door before he finished his last sentence. "Hey, don’t you need someone to show you the way back?" he called after it.
"Nah, I can find it on my own," she replied without turning around. She hoped her brother was still awake. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind.
***
Rodney nearing sleep when Jean entered the infirmary, which wasn’t surprising; she had expected him to be rather groggy. She tried to be quiet when she sat by his bed, but he heard her and stirred.
"Whozzat?" He mumbled, turning towards her, arms flailing slightly to reach the person who had disturbed his descent into sleep.
"Shhhh, Rodney," Jeannie said, grabbing his hand. "Go back to sleep."
"’Lizbeth, that you?" His eyes opened a bit.
"No, it’s not, Ro-bear. Just go to sleep."
The use of his child hood nickname roused Rodney a bit more. "Jeannie, is that you?"
"Yes, Rodney. Now stop being a stubborn ass and get some rest. You need it."
"But you’re back on Earth. You can’t…wait. I’m hallucinating again, aren’t I?"
"Yes, Rodney. You’re having anaphylaxis-induced hallucination of your older sister because your body needs rest and you won’t do it on your own, so you need someone to order you around. Now shut up and sleep."
"Well, in that case…" Rodney’s words trailed off and he was shortly snoring, holding his big sister’s hand.
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