Three Days in the Life of McKay - Part 3: The Day McKay Thought Maybe Sheppard Might Be His Friend
Written for the SGA_Secret Santa Exchange
Title: Three Days in the Life of Rodney McKay
Author: tepring
Recipient: sa_si_le
Pairing: John/Rodney Friendship
Rating: pg 13
Word Count: ~7500
Warnings: none
Summary: Sheppard nearly didn't survive his new Gate Team's very first mission offworld. What wraith warriors, a wraith queen and a dozen darts hadn't managed in their first hours on Atlantis, a mindless insect and malfunctioning drive-pods nearly did.
Sheppard nearly didn't survive his new Gate Team's very first mission offworld. What wraith warriors, a wraith queen and a dozen darts hadn't managed in their first hours on Atlantis, a mindless insect and malfunctioning drive-pods nearly did.
Rodney fought claustrophobia, panic, and a near hypoglycemic coma and at the end of the longest 38 minutes of his life, stood staring over Sheppard's body as Carson performed the medical voodoo that would hopefully restart Sheppard's heart.
"Well done, Rodney," Elizabeth had said as the defibrillator whined and Sheppard's body lurched.
"We'll see," he'd replied. It was in that moment that Rodney's definition of success was radically re-written. He'd performed the nearly impossible feat of rerouting the jumper's controls to retract the stuck drive pods with nothing more than a rough place to start and an understanding of debugging technique. If it had been merely pride or even only his own life on the line, that accomplishment would have had him crowing his brilliance to anyone who'd listen - and everyone else, too. Instead, he couldn't care about any of it if his teammate still died.
The realization so disturbed him that he found himself back at Sheppard's bedside late that night, long after even Elizabeth had stopped hovering and gone to bed. Sheppard looked pale and a bit puffy and he, too seemed to be having trouble sleeping if the man's restless squirming was indicative.
"What do you want?" Sheppard asked, though he didn't bother to open his eyes.
"I've come to resign my position on the gate team." Rodney thought getting to the point was probably best.
"I do not accept your resignation. Good night, Rodney."
Rodney was so surprised that it took him another minute to formulate an answer. "I don't want to ever go through something like that, again," was what he came up with.
"I know you don't. No one would. If you did, I wouldn't want you on the team. Resignation not accepted." Sheppard just laid there, his eyes closed, looking uncomfortable. It was maddening.
"What if you had died?"
"Then Ford would probably be moving into my room about now. He likes the view better."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. There're no guarantees, here. We live or we die out there. My odds of living are better with you on the team. Resignation not accepted."
"Your odds!"
"Mine. Yours. Everyone's. We're all we've got, now. Every person on this expedition must perform at full capability or none of us get home. It's "One for All" or all are dead."
Rodney felt a flush of anger and Sheppard had played the wrong card. Rodney was no one's safety net. "I did not sign on to this expedition to get you out of trouble that you should know how to avoid. You're the military expert. The one who's supposed to 'do and die'. I'm here to learn the secrets of Atlantis in the safety of the galaxy's most secure facility. You are supposed to protect me. Not the other way around."
Sheppard's jaw had gone stiff and his eyes were now open and glittering through pain-squinched eyelids. There it was again. Stare. Smirk. Except this time there was no humor in the smirk and the coldness of it sent a shiver of fear through Rodney's spine.
"It bothers you that you care about other people, here." Sheppard stated with cold assurance, completely missing the point. Or maybe he got the point more than Rodney was admitting.
"That is completely beyond…" Rodney started angrily, but Sheppard cut across his denial.
"So… don't care. If self-preservation is the only motive you can muster, so be it. Don't stay on the team for me or to help the expedition. Do it to save your own sorry ass. No one else on that jumper could have done what you did today. And if you'd been sitting here on Atlantis twiddling your thumbs, that jumper would have been chopped in half, sent through the wormhole in pieces and exploded in the gate room. I'd be dead, but so would you and probably Elizabeth and half the technicians."
Sheppard closed his eyes, jammed his hands under his arms and made a good show of pretending to go to sleep.
"There's no reason to assume the jumper would have exploded."
Sheppard just waved him off with an impatient flap of the hand and Rodney left in an angry huff. Sheppard was so wrong it wasn't worth even mental argument. He didn't care. Rodney had never cared about anyone (except maybe Jeanie and his father if he didn't include "like" in the definition of "care".) That wasn't why he'd resigned. He'd resigned because…he couldn't stand watching someone he…knew…die… Damn!
At least he could prove Sheppard wrong about the jumper. To gain even a small sense of victory in the argument, Rodney went straight to the jumper bay and spent the next six hours poking through the onboard schematics and running scenarios. Just as the sky outside the bay's skylights was turning a pale morning purple, his tablet beeped to indicate it was finished crunching the numbers. He read them over. He scrolled back through his code to check his work, then against all logic, he read them again. A familiar shudder tickled his spine.
"I'll be damned."
Rodney didn't try to resign again and Sheppard never brought up the conversation. Rodney convinced himself that the Major had been drugged on pain killers and probably didn't even remember their midnight chat.
But Rodney remembered, and he took Sheppard's advice to heart. He went on missions but he was careful to maintain a narcissistic approach. He kept his motivations tied to the work and his co-workers at a distance. It was easy with Teyla and Ford. They were so different that "distance" was almost on the close side of the scale. Elizabeth was friendly with everyone, so while it was easy to feel comfortable around her, it was also easy to not take her warmth personally.
Sheppard, however, was a different matter. No matter how hard he tried, (and he tried really hard) Rodney simply couldn't bully the man, intellectually or in any other way. For every snap, Sheppard had a smirk and a comeback. For every accomplishment that Rodney would typically enjoy rubbing in, Sheppard had a quiet word of thanks that efficiently disarmed bragging.
They got into and out of trouble so many times that even Rodney was having trouble keeping score. When they took on the 10,000 year old cannibal Wraith, Rodney began to get uncomfortable again. The whole experience disturbed him greatly and what bothered him most was that, while he was saddened and troubled by Abrams' and especially Gaul's death, it was Sheppard’s close call that frightened him most.
He spent a long, agonizing 14 hours on the jumper ride home feeling overwhelming guilt. How could one life be more important than another? Why did he feel sick to his stomach at the memory of the wraith flinging Sheppard across the sand when, by all human standards, he should be more bothered by Gaul's grisly end? In the 13th hour of sleep-deprived honesty, Rodney could admit that Gaul's sacrifice had set him free to help Sheppard, and Sheppard was the one Rodney had wanted to help. (Not that Sheppard had really needed it.)
It was in that hour, as he glanced surreptitiously at a squirming and raspy-breathed Sheppard in the jumper’s co-pilot seat next to him that Rodney McKay wondered something he'd never wondered about anyone else before. Could it possibly be that he considered Sheppard… his friend?
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Title: Three Days in the Life of Rodney McKay
Author: tepring
Recipient: sa_si_le
Pairing: John/Rodney Friendship
Rating: pg 13
Word Count: ~7500
Warnings: none
Summary: Sheppard nearly didn't survive his new Gate Team's very first mission offworld. What wraith warriors, a wraith queen and a dozen darts hadn't managed in their first hours on Atlantis, a mindless insect and malfunctioning drive-pods nearly did.
Sheppard nearly didn't survive his new Gate Team's very first mission offworld. What wraith warriors, a wraith queen and a dozen darts hadn't managed in their first hours on Atlantis, a mindless insect and malfunctioning drive-pods nearly did.
Rodney fought claustrophobia, panic, and a near hypoglycemic coma and at the end of the longest 38 minutes of his life, stood staring over Sheppard's body as Carson performed the medical voodoo that would hopefully restart Sheppard's heart.
"Well done, Rodney," Elizabeth had said as the defibrillator whined and Sheppard's body lurched.
"We'll see," he'd replied. It was in that moment that Rodney's definition of success was radically re-written. He'd performed the nearly impossible feat of rerouting the jumper's controls to retract the stuck drive pods with nothing more than a rough place to start and an understanding of debugging technique. If it had been merely pride or even only his own life on the line, that accomplishment would have had him crowing his brilliance to anyone who'd listen - and everyone else, too. Instead, he couldn't care about any of it if his teammate still died.
The realization so disturbed him that he found himself back at Sheppard's bedside late that night, long after even Elizabeth had stopped hovering and gone to bed. Sheppard looked pale and a bit puffy and he, too seemed to be having trouble sleeping if the man's restless squirming was indicative.
"What do you want?" Sheppard asked, though he didn't bother to open his eyes.
"I've come to resign my position on the gate team." Rodney thought getting to the point was probably best.
"I do not accept your resignation. Good night, Rodney."
Rodney was so surprised that it took him another minute to formulate an answer. "I don't want to ever go through something like that, again," was what he came up with.
"I know you don't. No one would. If you did, I wouldn't want you on the team. Resignation not accepted." Sheppard just laid there, his eyes closed, looking uncomfortable. It was maddening.
"What if you had died?"
"Then Ford would probably be moving into my room about now. He likes the view better."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. There're no guarantees, here. We live or we die out there. My odds of living are better with you on the team. Resignation not accepted."
"Your odds!"
"Mine. Yours. Everyone's. We're all we've got, now. Every person on this expedition must perform at full capability or none of us get home. It's "One for All" or all are dead."
Rodney felt a flush of anger and Sheppard had played the wrong card. Rodney was no one's safety net. "I did not sign on to this expedition to get you out of trouble that you should know how to avoid. You're the military expert. The one who's supposed to 'do and die'. I'm here to learn the secrets of Atlantis in the safety of the galaxy's most secure facility. You are supposed to protect me. Not the other way around."
Sheppard's jaw had gone stiff and his eyes were now open and glittering through pain-squinched eyelids. There it was again. Stare. Smirk. Except this time there was no humor in the smirk and the coldness of it sent a shiver of fear through Rodney's spine.
"It bothers you that you care about other people, here." Sheppard stated with cold assurance, completely missing the point. Or maybe he got the point more than Rodney was admitting.
"That is completely beyond…" Rodney started angrily, but Sheppard cut across his denial.
"So… don't care. If self-preservation is the only motive you can muster, so be it. Don't stay on the team for me or to help the expedition. Do it to save your own sorry ass. No one else on that jumper could have done what you did today. And if you'd been sitting here on Atlantis twiddling your thumbs, that jumper would have been chopped in half, sent through the wormhole in pieces and exploded in the gate room. I'd be dead, but so would you and probably Elizabeth and half the technicians."
Sheppard closed his eyes, jammed his hands under his arms and made a good show of pretending to go to sleep.
"There's no reason to assume the jumper would have exploded."
Sheppard just waved him off with an impatient flap of the hand and Rodney left in an angry huff. Sheppard was so wrong it wasn't worth even mental argument. He didn't care. Rodney had never cared about anyone (except maybe Jeanie and his father if he didn't include "like" in the definition of "care".) That wasn't why he'd resigned. He'd resigned because…he couldn't stand watching someone he…knew…die… Damn!
At least he could prove Sheppard wrong about the jumper. To gain even a small sense of victory in the argument, Rodney went straight to the jumper bay and spent the next six hours poking through the onboard schematics and running scenarios. Just as the sky outside the bay's skylights was turning a pale morning purple, his tablet beeped to indicate it was finished crunching the numbers. He read them over. He scrolled back through his code to check his work, then against all logic, he read them again. A familiar shudder tickled his spine.
"I'll be damned."
Rodney didn't try to resign again and Sheppard never brought up the conversation. Rodney convinced himself that the Major had been drugged on pain killers and probably didn't even remember their midnight chat.
But Rodney remembered, and he took Sheppard's advice to heart. He went on missions but he was careful to maintain a narcissistic approach. He kept his motivations tied to the work and his co-workers at a distance. It was easy with Teyla and Ford. They were so different that "distance" was almost on the close side of the scale. Elizabeth was friendly with everyone, so while it was easy to feel comfortable around her, it was also easy to not take her warmth personally.
Sheppard, however, was a different matter. No matter how hard he tried, (and he tried really hard) Rodney simply couldn't bully the man, intellectually or in any other way. For every snap, Sheppard had a smirk and a comeback. For every accomplishment that Rodney would typically enjoy rubbing in, Sheppard had a quiet word of thanks that efficiently disarmed bragging.
They got into and out of trouble so many times that even Rodney was having trouble keeping score. When they took on the 10,000 year old cannibal Wraith, Rodney began to get uncomfortable again. The whole experience disturbed him greatly and what bothered him most was that, while he was saddened and troubled by Abrams' and especially Gaul's death, it was Sheppard’s close call that frightened him most.
He spent a long, agonizing 14 hours on the jumper ride home feeling overwhelming guilt. How could one life be more important than another? Why did he feel sick to his stomach at the memory of the wraith flinging Sheppard across the sand when, by all human standards, he should be more bothered by Gaul's grisly end? In the 13th hour of sleep-deprived honesty, Rodney could admit that Gaul's sacrifice had set him free to help Sheppard, and Sheppard was the one Rodney had wanted to help. (Not that Sheppard had really needed it.)
It was in that hour, as he glanced surreptitiously at a squirming and raspy-breathed Sheppard in the jumper’s co-pilot seat next to him that Rodney McKay wondered something he'd never wondered about anyone else before. Could it possibly be that he considered Sheppard… his friend?
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