Crooked Paths, holiday fic #6
This is for mesascaper who asked for either Crichton on Atlantis, or McKay on Moya. She got McKay on Moya.
I hope you enjoy this, mesa.
Crooked Paths
Fandoms -- Farscape/Stargate: Atlantis
Spoilers -- Farscape -- post "The Peacekeeper Wars"; Atlantis -- general early season two.
Rated -- Mostly Harmless
***
"You know, it would really help if you people could speak English. Or some derivative of a human language. Waving that ... that thing in my face is not getting your point across."
Doctor Rodney McKay, chief scientist of Earth's Atlantis Expedition, glared irritably into the red, oozing, eye-like feature of the betentacled creature waving long, gelatinous stalks under his nose, while making odd rhythmic clicking noises. When one stalk came too close for comfort, Rodney batted it away, earning a outraged hiss from the creature.
"Yeah, well, same to you, sparky," he grunted, turning away, trying to find something less alien and more reasonable.
Being kidnapped was always so inconvenient. There'd once been a time when Rodney probably would have found the whole situation overwhelming. These days he fought life-force sucking space vampires, so if some critter in a sack wanted to spit mucous at him, he was apt to be more annoyed than freaked. How nice to know that constant threat of death was an effective treatment for panic attacks.
The team had been on quaint, boring, agrarian planet number seven thousand and ninety-eight, or so. And as things always went on quaint, boring, agrarian planets, the mission went to hell almost immediately. Not that it had been Rodney's fault, of course; it rarely ever was. No, he'd been off minding his own business, avoiding cow-like animals and their delightfully large droppings, trying to track down a power source in a field of hay-fever, when the next thing he knew it was all explosions and running and frantic comm traffic. He was hit with some sort of disruptor beam, and he'd woken up in a large, smelly cage, no doubt about to be sold into his new life as the sex slave of a 400-pound alien queen with halitosis and bad hair.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, nor did he know where he was, but, being the highly intelligent man he was, he realized staying in his current location probably wasn't the thing to do. He'd made quick work of the laughable security, tried to herd his fellow captives out -- though, most unwisely resisted his attempts to lead them, preferring to wander off on their own, destined to be captured again. Breaking free of the building they were being held in, Rodney found himself in the middle of an immense marketplace. Yep, sex slave.
And here he was. Trying to find some way off this rock, and back to Atlantis.
The planet was a strange one for the Pegasus galaxy. Technologically they seemed quite advanced, like at least Earth advanced, and the variety of somewhat sentient species was astonishing. Unfortunately, none of them seemed capable of communicating effectively. They either made strange clicking noises and inarticulate grunts, gestured wildly, ignored him, or gave him amused, pitying looks. The latter were extremely aggravating.
So, when the sweet sounds of words he understood finally reached his ears, he was overjoyed. Unfortunately, that joy was brutally crushed when he scrambled over to the speaker, grabbed him by the elbow, and realized who he had in hand. Some savior.
"Crichton?" His voice climbed an octave or two and cracked, while he struggled to understand just what he'd done to make the universe torment him so cruelly.
The other man stood dumbfounded for a second and then yanked his arm out of Rodney's grip. "McKay," he replied, sounding just as disbelieving as Rodney. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Rodney's shock evaporated with Crichton's horrified and disgusted frown. "Just out for a stroll. Taking in the sights. Little things I like to do after I've escaped from kidnappers," Rodney told him, unable to keep his thin lips from curling into a sneer. Not that he'd really made much of an effort.
John Crichton was a scientist. Not nearly as brilliant as Rodney, of course, but then, who was? On McKay's most generous days, he'd allow that Sam Carter might come close. But he didn't have very many generous days, and today certainly wasn't one of them.
"So," he said after he'd gathered himself together a bit more. "I guess that idiotic little theory of yours didn't get you killed."
"Gee, I guess so." Crichton wasn't really bothering to hide his displeasure at the whole encounter either. He was standing back, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, watching McKay with as much loathing as McKay was watching him.
Oh, yes, they had a history. Grad school consisted of endless rounds of bitter combat. And after grad school, there was the vicious jockeying for position, and an unfortunate encounter at a conference here or there, but finally, mercifully, they'd been rid of each other. Crichton ended up at IASA, and then, to all appearances, got himself killed. McKay ended up in the SGC, buried under the words 'Top Secret'. Then, in some cosmic quirk of fate, they both ended up at the ass-end of the universe, starting at each other, shocked. How charmingly ironic.
"Well, great to see you, McKay," Crichton told him, sounding as though it had been anything but great. "Enjoy your kidnapping."
McKay very nearly let him walk away. To be brought so low as to have to ask his college rival for help, was utter humiliation. Reason won out, though -- Atlantis needed him more than he needed to brush off Crichton.
Grinding his teeth, swallowing what pride he had left, he jogged after Crichton, yanking on his elbow again. "Wait, wait. I ... I need some ... help," he choked out, almost swallowing his tongue.
"You need help," Crichton repeated, bewildered.
"That's right. And believe me, if it wasn't important, I wouldn't ask. I certainly wouldn't ask you."
Crichton chewed on that for a minute and then crossed his arms again. "Okay, hit me."
"Literally, or--"
"McKay."
"I'm stuck. I need to get off of this ball of dirt and back to my city."
Crichton regarded him with cool, blue eyes. God, McKay hated him. Tall, buff, all-American good looks, charm, cocky fly-boy attitude. McKay frowned at himself. Huh, no wonder Sheppard had driven him crazy when they first met. Not, that he still didn't drive him crazy, but Sheppard was almost tolerable these days.
"Well?" McKay prompted impatiently when Crichton continued to stare.
"What the hell are you doing out here?"
McKay pursed his lips and crossed his arms as well. For some reason, he just didn't feel like giving Crichton anything. "That's classified."
Crichton's mouth twitched, then, bowing his head, he laughed. He laughed so hard, he had to grab McKay's shoulder to keep from doubling over.
"Yes, yes, very funny. Can you get me back?" McKay growled, pushing Crichton's hand away.
"Oh, man. Classified? Are you serious?" Crichton laughed again, and didn't seem to show any signs of stopping. McKay stood silently, chin raised, teeth grinding, staring over Crichton's shoulder at the milling masses beyond.
"Damn, McKay," he said breathlessly, the laughter finally subsiding. "Who the hell am I going to tell?"
"Well, I don't know, do I?"
Crichton laughed some more, irritating McKay further than he thought was actually, humanly possible. Finally, the other man drew in a large breath and wiped the tears from his eyes. "Okay, fine, don't tell me. But, you know, I'm gonna need to know something if I'm going to save your sorry ass." Crichton grinned broadly and McKay felt the sick twisting of defeat in his gut.
"Whatever. Can we get out of here? I don't intend to be made a sex slave today."
"A what?"
"Never mind. I assume you have a ship of some sort?"
Crichton's brows drew down and he was looking perplexed again. Interestingly enough, it made Rodney feel a little better; he'd always known Crichton was just big and dumb. "Yeah, I've got a ship. How long have you been off Earth?"
"A couple of years. Not that it's any of your business."
"Did you miss that whole thing where I went home and the press were all over the place for months?"
"Probably. I don't find watching television a particularly effective use of my time," he told Crichton haughtily, eyes narrowing.
"Right," Crichton said with heavy skepticism.
McKay bristled at the implied criticism. "I was in Antarctica, okay? Doing bigger, more important things than you can imagine."
"Antarctica, huh? Best place for you." He continued to stare, an extremely unnerving stare.
McKay fidgeted and shoved his hands in his pockets. "What? What? What exactly?"
"I'm just trying to decide if I'm hallucinating, or not," Crichton said blandly, cocking his head to one side, continuing to stare. "I tend to come up with better stuff when I hallucinate, though. Or, at least, less annoying stuff."
"Fantastic. That's really wonderful. I'm happy for you and your delusions, but I assure you I am not a hallucination, and I'd really like to get out of here, before Queen Bertha gets her clutches on me, okay?"
"Who's Queen Bertha?"
"Does it really matter? Can we just leave, already?"
"God, you are a pain in the ass," Crichton growled. Shaking his head, he called out, "Aeryn? I'm coming back early. Bringing a guest."
"Is there a problem?" A woman's voice crackled from an oblong, gold badge on Crichton's black, leather coat.
Crichton gave Rodney a hard look, narrowing his eyes, pursing his lips. "No, everything's fine. The market didn't have that talbir root anyway."
***
Rodney was trying not to gawk. He was trying to be cool, smug, and unimpressed. He'd travelled the universe, right? He lived in a city millions of years old. Went to other planets on a daily basis. An old hand at space living, was Rodney McKay.
So, he wasn't going to compliment Crichton on his ship. Not on the smooth lines of her and the honey-golden hue, nor would he comment on the impressively cavernous landing bay, or the gracefully curving corridors. And if his curiosity was piqued by the strange, warm hum of the ship around him, and the distant hiss and sigh of systems he didn't know the workings of thrumming away behind the walls, he was sure he showed no sign.
No, he stayed aloof, letting his eyes wander over everything with the cool calculation of a veteran scientist, jaded by all the wonders he'd seen. He did take the time to sniff disdainfully in the direction of Crichton's battered old module.
And then he tripped over a small, yellow robot that darted between his legs. Catching himself against the wall, his hand landed on what could only be described as a pustule. The sore burst, drenching his hand and arm in a foul-smelling, green ooze.
"Oh my God. What is this? What is it?" He stumbled back, wiping frantically at his arm, his resolve to be cool scattering at revulsion.
"She's got a virus," Crichton told him, looking entirely too amused.
"A what? What sort of virus causes this? Oh god, that smell." Rodney held his arm as far out in front of himself as he could, but the thick odor slithered up into his nostrils, making him feel light-headed and queasy. "Is it poisonous? That would just figure, wouldn't it? You'd bring me here and kill me. God, I knew I should have gone with that ... thing with the eyestalks."
Crichton rolled his eyes and started walking again. "It's not poisonous. It's kind of like the chicken pox. We think she picked it up a couple of ports back. Poor girl, she's miserable," he said softly, patting the wall fondly, though he avoided the pustules, McKay noted bitterly.
Shaking his hand again, trying in vain to shed more of the vile goo from his arm, McKay stomped after Crichton, glaring at several more of the yellow robots who rolled out of small holes in the walls as he passed. He had the nasty suspicion they were mocking him.
"How does a ship catch the chicken pox?"
"Well, it's not exactly the chicken--"
"I get the analogy," McKay snapped impatiently.
"She's alive."
"Who is?"
"Moya. This ship, she's a living ship. I thought you were supposed to be a genius, McKay."
"Alive? Is it catching?" McKay asked Crichton's back. "Can I catch it? My hand is starting to itch."
"Frell, McKay, shut up. You're not going to catch it." Crichton shook his head wearily and strode on.
McKay wasn't so sure about that, he would swear his hand was starting to look a little splotchy under the sickly green streaks of the goop. He gingerly picked at the sticky residue with a fingernail, trying to keep his rebelling stomach under control. The smell really was astonishingly horrendous. Sort of a cross between brie and sewage.
A long walk later, Crichton waved his hand over a round control panel and a wide door swung out, letting them into a broad chamber. McKay wandered in, taking in his new surroundings, peeling green slime from his hand, and tripping again on another yellow robot.
"Can you do something about these?" he asked, exasperated, kicking at the 'bot. It squealed and darted away from him.
"Leave 'em alone," Crichton muttered absently.
"Ask them to leave me alone first," Rodney grumbled, eyeing the robot as it joined up with some of its robot friends. They turned their eyestalks towards him, lights blinking in a way he was now certain was mocking.
A dark-haired woman stood at a console on one side of the room. She was watching Rodney closely, eyebrow raised, seeming to evaluate him coldly. She said something to Crichton in an odd, guttural language.
"He's human," Crichton replied with a shrug. "From Earth."
The woman's look sharpened and she leaned back against the console, studying him in much the same way a Wraith studied you when it was trying to decide which of your bits are the juiciest. Maybe he should have gone with the creature with the mandibles.
"From Earth?" she repeated, in English this time. "How is he here?"
"That's the 64,000 kretma question," Crichton responded with a smirk. Leaning back next to her, he crossed his arms and grinned at Rodney. "He won't tell me. Says it's top secret."
The woman's lips thinned in what Rodney initially thought was a scowl, but she was apparently trying not to laugh. This became obvious when roughly two seconds later, she did laugh. A low chuckle that her pursed lips couldn't contain.
Rodney muttered under his breath and stalked across the room to the large view screen or port or whatever it was.
"Hey," Crichton said suddenly, struck by some astonishing revelation. "Where are my manners? McKay--"
"You have manners?" Rodney grumbled, refusing to turn, staring down at the dull, greasy, lead-colored planet below them.
"Sometimes. McKay, this is my wife, Aeryn Sun; Aeryn, this is Rodney McKay, a pain in the ass."
Rodney glared over his shoulder and examined the woman again. Long black hair, black clothes, sharp, striking features. She was beautiful in her way, Rodney supposed, like a knife-edged shadow. Not that he'd tell Crichton that. "I thought you went for blondes?"
"So did you. Well, you went for them, I don't remember if you ever caught one."
"Well, as a matter of fact, there is one blonde," McKay told him with an arrogant sniff.
Crichton bit his lower lip, trying not to laugh again and raised a dubious eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes, really. Blonde, beautiful, brilliant."
"Does she know you're stalking her?"
"She thinks I'm pretty fabulous, I'll have you know." It was so frighteningly easy to fall back into the rhythm of college days long gone. And, disturbingly, there was a sort of comfort in it.
Crichton's mocking smile seemed to soften, which disturbed McKay even more. As easy as it was to find the old patterns, it was also so easy to forget all the miles between then and now.
"Yeah?" Crichton asked with nary a hint of taunting laughter. "Who is she? She with you out here? In your top secret world?" Well, the taunting came back pretty quickly.
"Samantha Carter."
Crichton stared at him for a moment, then he blinked once and shook his head as if he hadn't quite heard correctly. "Sam? Sam Carter?"
"Oh, God. Of course you'd know her," Rodney groaned and raised his hand to rub at his face, only checking himself in time to stop from wiping ship slime on his forehead. "Don't tell me you dated her."
"Well--"
"No. I mean it. Don't tell me. I don't want to know. I like to maintain what few illusions I have, you could at least do me the one favor of not shattering them."
"Fair enough. Sam. Wow. Haven't thought of her in forever. How's she doing?"
Rodney finally turned all the way around and slouched against a not pustule covered bit of wall. "She's doing well. I ... haven't seen her in a few months."
"Last I heard she was in deep space radar something or other," Crichton was watching him with knowing eyes. "I guess this is pretty deep space."
"I guess so," Rodney replied blandly. Crichton may not be nearly as brilliant as he was, but he wasn't a complete moron. Usually.
"Yeah." Crichton dropped the subject and pushed away from the console. "So, McKay, how do we get you back home? We're not anywhere near Earth."
"I don't need to get to Earth. In fact, Earth would be problematic. Wait, I need star charts, I need to see where we are. And," he paused and pressed his non-disgusting hand to his temple, "I need food before I go into hypoglycemic shock."
"Never change, Rodney," Crichton said with a helpless laugh.
***
Sometime later, Rodney found himself in a room dubbed the "center chamber" with a plate of square food rations that would make play-do seem appetizing. Of course, the other option had been the large platter of something wriggling the ship's cook trotted out. Not that he'd trust anything that came from that woman's hands, wriggling or not. She was ... unsettling, watching him silently, the third eye in her forehead glowing brightly, circling him, leaning into his personal space, smiling at him.
Shuddering at the memory, Rodney picked up a food square and shoved it into his mouth turning his attention back to the star charts spread out in front of him. He was still in the Pegasus Galaxy, so he had that going for him. Of course, inconveniently, he was out on a far arm, the fringes of the galaxy, thousands of light-years from where he'd been. He was hesitant to lead Crichton to Atlantis, anyway, so finding a stargate seemed to be his best option. But, where to find one?
He sat back, and considered his surroundings again. Crichton hadn't told him much about how he'd come to be on this ship, with these people, not much beyond, 'I fell down the rabbit hole, and ended up on the other side of the galaxy.' There was obviously a much larger story there. The man wasn't the bluff, cocky son of a bitch he'd gone to school with. He was still a son of a bitch, but in a different way. Though, Rodney supposed that he'd changed, too. This is why he refused to go to school reunions -- he didn't like looking at himself all that much, and seeing the changes time wrought in others, made him more introspective than he was ever comfortable with.
A low whine from the floor woke him from his thoughts and he glared down at the small robot inching its way towards him. "Back off, bucky." He stomped his foot once, loudly, and the little, yellow bastard squealed away again.
"You gotta be nicer to the DRDs or they'll make your life hell," Crichton told him, dropping onto the bench on the other side of the table.
"If they leave me alone, we'll get along fine."
"They want to give you translator microbes."
"They want to what? What?"
"Translator microbes. They colonize at the base of your brain, and translate spoken language. Well, most spoken languages."
"Babblefish? You want to shoot me up with babblefish?"
"They're useful," Crichton shrugged. "Most people in the Uncharted Territories have them. Not so many in this galaxy, though." Crichton paused and looked thoughtfully at the charts in front of McKay. He pulled one towards himself and ran a finger over the celestial bodies plotted there.
"Piece of advice?" McKay asked, watching Crichton study at the paper.
"Sure."
"Leave. Don't stick around this galaxy."
"Bad news?"
"Very bad."
Crichton sighed and pushed the chart away. Propping his elbow up on the table, he leaned his chin on his fist and rubbed at his eyes with his other hand. "You sure you want to stay, then?"
"I have to."
"You've changed, McKay," Crichton told him with a weary smile. "We can take you back to Earth. Or close enough. It'll take a while, but ..."
"No, no. I have to stay."
"You're really not going to tell me why?"
"It's ... well, I was going to say you wouldn't believe me if I told you, but then, you're living on a ship with chicken pox, and married to an alien."
"Yeah, you're probably not going to shock me too much. Not these days."
"Okay, fine. Several years ago a number of pieces of alien technology were discovered on Earth. The leftovers of a race called the Ancients, or the Gate Builders. They lived on Earth in a city called Atlantis." Crichton's eyebrows shot up, but he held his tongue. "They eventually left and brought their city here. Unfortunately, once here, they ran into a species of life-force sucking space vampires. There was the inevitable war, the Ancients lost, and the last of them abandoned Atlantis and returned to Earth about 10,000 years ago. And it stayed abandoned until we found it, and that's where I've been."
"Atlantis. That's ... deeply cool, McKay." Crichton's blue eyes lit with interest.
"It is, isn't it?" Rodney found himself quite pleased by Crichton's impressed expression. "It's been hell, though. The Wraith are still out here. And you do not want to meet them."
"Got it."
"Trust me," Rodney pressed. He may not like Crichton much, but he wouldn't wish the Wraith on anybody.
"Believe it or not, McKay, I do."
"Well ... that's ... that's good, then. You should."
"College was a long time ago."
"Yes, it was."
Crichton nodded and tapped his fingers on the table. "So, we need to get you back to Atlantis. Is it on the charts here?"
"I don't think so. We're out on the far edge of the galaxy here. What we can do is find me another planet with a stargate."
"A what?"
"Oh, did I forget to mention that part of the story?"
Crichton rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I think you did."
"Hm. Okay. Transport system, made by the Ancients, stone rings on planets throughout this and the Milky Way galaxy. A stable wormhole is created between two rings, allowing for near instantaneous transport."
Rodney noticed Crichton tense up at some part of his explanation, but he couldn't be sure which part. "Have you seen one?" he asked.
"A stargate? No, I don't think I have."
"Are you sure?"
"A stone ring? How big?"
"About twenty feet tall. They tend to stand on edge." He pulled over a chart and flipped it over, making a quick sketch of a stargate on the back side. "Like this."
Crichton looked over the drawing but shook his head. "Nope."
"They're all over the place out here."
"We haven't been here long."
Rodney watched the other man closely for a second. There was a very large something he wasn't being told. "I just need to find another one, then I can dial back to Atlantis."
"How do we find one? Can't really stop on every planet and look."
"We don't need to. If your ship's sensors are any good, they should be able to pick up the element they're made of. Possibly."
"Maybe."
"Right."
Crichton clapped his hands and pushed himself up. "Let's go talk to Pilot."
"Who's Pilot?" Rodney asked, getting slowly, warily to his feet.
"The guy piloting the ship, McKay. Keep up. Uh, he's not in a very good mood, though. The whole chicken pox thing."
"Great. Wonderful. Why is it I want to say the words, 'only you, Crichton'?"
Crichton's only reply was a small smirk and a sweep of his arm towards the door, waving McKay out.
Rodney's earlier attempt at being cooly aloof finally gave way as they moved deeper into the ship. He couldn't quite keep his curiosity in check, and he peppered Crichton with questions as they walked. How did the doors work? What were the little robots? What did the ship use as a fuel source? How fast did she travel? How did she travel? How is it she even existed? Crichton, a far cry from the man he knew so long ago, answered each question with good humor, not even a touch smug, even offering additional information, and sharing in McKay's awe.
They turned a corner and a shrill voice called out, startling Rodney, who tripped again on the little robots that had taken to following them like a tiny, menacing parade. He fell back against a wall, and ended up spitting pus while trying, frantically, to wipe it from his face. A sharp pain in his foot sent him leaping away from the wall, stumbling over to the other side of the corridor, where he managed to keep from falling on his face by the barest of margins, just catching himself on a support beam.
"Damn it," he howled. "Get these things away from me, Crichton, or so help me God, I'm going to find the nearest hammer and, in the name of science, find out what makes them tick."
Crichton, who'd looked on in dry amusement, scooped up the source of the initial screech, a small boy with sandy hair and sharp blue eyes, and called out, "Pilot, can you get Moya to call off the DRDs? They're making our guest a little unhappy."
The reply began as a garbled mess, but the sounds quickly formed into words. "--just curious, Commander."
"That's fine, but he's harmless, and the DRDs aren't making things any easier on him."
"Understood, Commander," the voice grumped, sounding rather surly.
"What was that?" Rodney demanded, panicked suspicion growing in his mind. "I understood that."
"You did?" Crichton looked at the disheveled and, no doubt, horrifically disgusting scientist, and then down to a particularly guilty looking DRD. "Guys," he chastised, with a shake of his head.
"Guys," the small child in his arms echoed while peering at McKay.
McKay stared at the child and took a step back. "You bred?"
Crichton gave him a flat look and brushed the boy's hair back off his face. "This is my son, D'Ar--"
"D'Argo!" A thin, gray-skinned girl skidded around the corner and slid to a halt in front of Crichton. "Sorry, Crichton. He got away from me."
"S'okay, Pip."
"D'Argo? His name is D'Argo? What the hell kind of name is that? And I thought Rodney was bad." The child continued to watch McKay, an unnerving steady gaze, and McKay took another step back. Pus he could deal with, children he really couldn't.
The girl's face twisted into a scowl and she stalked over to him, leaning into his personal space, their faces bare inches apart. "Who the fek are you?"
"He's an old friend of mine," Crichton told her.
"Well, I wouldn't call us friends, exactly," McKay mumbled, leaning away from the girl.
"No?" She slid up next to him, brushing her body against his arm. He tried to move away from her, but she followed every move he made, her motion smooth and lithe and alien and creepy.
"Chiana, back off," Crichton warned, sounding suddenly weary.
"Did you hear what the fekface said about D'Argo?"
"I heard, and he doesn't know, so back off."
She glanced over her shoulder at Crichton, then with one last quick dart of her head, making Rodney jump back, moved away from him and held out her arms to the child. Crichton passed his son over, and with one last venomous glance from Chiana, and one last screeching giggle from the child, the pair disappeared down a side corridor.
"What the hell was that about?" Rodney asked, wiping ooze off his forehead. It was probably a bad sign that he couldn't smell it anymore. His sense of smell was probably irreparably damaged. He'd never enjoy coffee again.
"Little D's named after a friend. He died just after my son was born."
"Oh," McKay replied inadequately. "I ... uh ... see."
"Let's get you to Pilot's chamber before you break something," Crichton told him, subdued and clearly no longer inclined to chat.
Not that anybody's disinclination to talk was ever enough to stop Rodney from filling up the silence if he could. "What are these microbes going to do to me? It's permanent? Will I ever get through quarantine again? Are they dangerous?"
"They just translate, McKay. That's all. It's permanent, but, hey, now you can understand your fellow scientists when they insult you in Korean, or Russian, or whatever. A whole new world for you."
"Or Czech," Rodney grunted and glared back over his shoulder at the line of DRDs in the hallway behind them. He was relieved to note that they weren't following.
After what felt like miles, they came to a wide door that swung open as they approached, granting them entrance into a massive chamber.
"Don't look down," Crichton muttered as they walked out onto a narrow bridge.
Rodney, of course, looked down. Closing his eyes, he swallowed heavily and leaned back away from the edge. Far below he saw the thin tendrils of other catwalks, tiny flashes of distant light, and a great dark void that almost seemed to taunt him, pulling on the circling wave of vertigo in his head.
"McKay, come on. The faster we do this, the faster you can leave."
"Right, right," he forced out, feeling his stomach lurch at the extreme drop on either side of the entirely too slender catwalk. He edged himself into the exact middle of the walkway, and stared down at his feet.
He was so focused on not looking at the size of the chamber, and the instant death drop, that he almost ran into Crichton's back when they reached the middle of the room. He stepped around Crichton and looked up, and up, and up, at the massive crustacean staring back at him with bulging, watery eyes. The enormous head titled to one side, the eyes took him in, and a long claw tapped at the edge of the console the creature sat behind.
"Pilot, this is McKay. McKay, Pilot."
Realizing his mouth was hanging open, McKay shut it with a click and managed to nod at the Pilot. Pilot managed a nod of his own, then his massive, bug eyes, slid back over to Crichton.
"Moya is not feeling well enough to starburst right now, Commander."
"I'm sorry, Pilot, the market didn't have the root. I looked, man, I really did."
The creature heaved a tremendous sigh and bowed his head. "I'm sure you did, Commander."
Crichton reached over the edge of the console and patted Pilot on one of his many arms. "We'll find it."
Pilot nodded and swung his head back to McKay. "Greetings, McKay."
"Uh, yeah, hi."
"Pilot, Rodney needs your help. We need to find a planet with a particular piece of technology."
"I will need more information before I can calibrate the sensors."
"Yep." Crichton stepped back and grabbed Rodney by the shoulder, pulling him up to Pilot's console. "McKay'll tell you what you need to know."
"Er, yes, yes, I can provide you with all the necessary information," Rodney confirmed nervously. He was fairly certain the creature could pop his skull like a grape with one of those massive pincher claws. Not comforting. Not comforting at all.
"Great." Crichton patted him on the shoulder and started off back across the catwalk. "I'll let you guys get to it."
"Wait, wait, where are you going?"
"I've got other things I need to do, McKay. You don't need a babysitter."
"Well, no, I don't, but ..."
"But what?"
"Oh, never mind," Rodney huffed, hating himself for feeling dependent on Crichton for anything. "Go away. We'll do this."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Call me when you're done."
McKay turned back around, facing the creature. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then, resigning themselves to their fates, each let out a melodramatic sigh.
***
"No, no, no, that's too high. It's not that common an element, but too large a deposit will mask the stargate."
"I am trying to correct the calibration, and I believe I would have more success if you would just get down." Pilot waved a claw at McKay, but Rodney ducked and leaned back over the console trying to peer at the readout on the monitor the DRDs had provided.
Two hours of this and McKay's wariness of the large creature had long since worn off. While it was true Pilot could probably break him in half, it didn't seem to be in his nature, so Rodney figured he was safe enough. In his impatience, he'd even climbed up on Pilot's console to better direct the search for a stargate. Much to Pilot's annoyance. They'd been hissing and snipping at each other ever since.
"Try over there. That quadrant there. No, no, the other one."
"Doctor McKay," Pilot's voice rose, pitching higher in his irritation. "You are in the way."
"Right there, that one right there."
Pilot let out a low growl and poked at McKay's ribs with a claw. Rodney yelped and slithered down off the console. Narrowing his eyes at the overgrown lobster, Rodney leaned up against the console again and snaked an arm over the edge to tap at the monitor. "I'm telling you, it's right there. Tighten the sensors."
Pilot growled again and shot a withering glare McKay's way. McKay blithely ignored it and waved his hand again. "Pilot," he prompted.
"Doctor McKay, I will be glad when you are gone."
"Ditto. You and your poxy ship will be rid of me soon enough, sooner if you just listened to what I'm telling you. Right there."
The low growl turned into a hiss and several of Pilot's arms came up to flail around wildly over Rodney's head. Ducking down, Rodney backed away from the console and held up his hands.
"Okay, okay. Fine. Whatever. Your ship."
Pilot gave him a dark look and turned back to his controls. "I believe I have all the information I need to complete the search. I will alert you when I have found something."
Dismissed, Rodney stood uncertainly for a long moment. He wasn't entirely sure he remembered the way back to the center chamber.
Pilot raised his head and stared at McKay for a moment. "The DRDs can lead you back to the Commander."
Rodney looked down at the small robot advancing on him and shook his head vehemently. "No thanks. They'd probably lead me out an airlock."
Pilot snorted derisively and turned his attention to ignoring Rodney.
"Butter. Drawn butter," Rodney muttered thoughtfully. "No lemon."
Pilot's head came up slowly and he and McKay stared each other down. "Pardon me?"
"Never mind," Rodney replied cheerily, turning on his heel, and stalking back across the bridge. "Maybe a bisque."
He really didn't make much of an effort to find his way back to the center chamber, God only knew who or what he'd run into there again. The thought of either the old cook or the gray girl was enough to make his wandering feet take turns he knew were entirely wrong. Rodney of old might not have found it in him to hungrily explore the ship, but the Rodney of today got down on his knees and poked his head through openings in the wall, he opened doors, climbed the clusters of wires and translucent fibers gathered at various junctions, and curiously studied every part of the ship he could squirrel his way into.
However, after an few hours of wandering, he was hungry and tired and he found himself trapped in a large room filled with a running pool of some highly-antiseptic smelling liquid. Remembering that this was a living ship and god only knew what sort of bodily fluids he'd encounter if he wandered too much further, the pus was bad enough, he called out for a little assistance. Several DRDs appeared and squealed at him. It sounded a lot like "screw you, buddy," to his ears, but not ten minutes later, Crichton's wife came through the door.
"McKay," she greeted, amusement obvious under the smoky tones of her voice.
"Ah, yes, hello, thank you. What is this room?"
"The amnexus chamber."
He glanced from her down to the fluid lapping at his feet. "I don't really want to know, do I?"
"From what John has told me, probably not."
"Right. Okay. So, uh, center chamber, I guess?"
"The Command, actually. Pilot thinks he's found one of your stargates." She turned and led him out of the room.
"Really, that quickly?" McKay asked, trotting to keep up with her long stride.
"That quickly."
"Guess he really wants to get rid of me." Rodney knew he could be particularly hard to take, but it was never easy knowing somebody was anxious to never see you again.
"Moya's illness is affecting him badly."
"So, you're saying I shouldn't take it personally?" McKay laughed a little and shook his head.
"Well, you can if you'd like, but there have been many days where he'd like to have been rid of each of us," she smiled at him, a look that softened her striking, nearly harsh features, and McKay could begin to see how Crichton fell for this not blonde.
"How did you end up here?" McKay asked, Crichton's vagueness on certain details was annoying.
"I was a soldier, this was a prison ship, in the course of trying to take her back, I was pulled on board. And then John Crichton ruined my life," she laughed, a deep, sultry sound.
McKay hummed thoughtfully and they made the rest of the trip to the command in silence. McKay was relieved to see the room was empty save for Crichton, and the other man waved him over immediately.
"What do you think?" Crichton asked, pointing at the data logs in front of them.
McKay leaned over and pondered the numbers and graphs. "I think so. Atmosphere?"
"Nitrogen mix, a little higher in methane than Earth, but short term exposure shouldn't do any harm. It's well off the equator, looks to be a pretty temperate zone."
"Oh, joy, acid rain." McKay shook his head and sighed. "The Ancients loved to stick the stargate in the rainiest spot they could find. Sick bastards."
"Not many tropical beaches, huh?"
"I wish. It's all mildew and poison ivy. I spend my downtime picking moss out of my ears."
Crichton laughed and tapped at the console. "Moya's going to need a starburst to get us there."
"I thought she wasn't well enough?"
"She's fine, she's just itchy and the constant irritation is sort of wearing her down. You just gotta know how to coax her, and get around Pilot in one of his moods," Crichton informed him.
"And how do you do that?"
"I let Aeryn talk them into it."
Aeryn rolled her eyes and stepped away from the pair of humans, calling out softly to Pilot as she walked away.
"They like her best," Crichton shrugged, smiling fondly after his wife.
"You seem happy out here," McKay said suddenly, unable to keep his mouth from moving without having his brain fully engaged.
Crichton looked as startled by the statement as McKay was at having made it. "I am. I have what I need. What about you, McKay? You seem to have found your element. The McKay I knew would be huddled in a corner, whimpering about now."
Rodney snorted and crossed his arms. "I don't know. One of my scientists told me I'd become a thrill junkie."
Laughing loudly, Crichton raised his eyebrows. "I don't think I would have ever associated those words with you, Rodney."
"You and me both," McKay allowed honestly. "I go to different planets nearly every day. I carry a gun. Occasionally I get to blow things up. Frequently I have to save the day. I get first crack at technology so far beyond Earth tech it makes our stuff look like tinker toys. And ..." he trailed off, finding himself wandering into that uncomfortable introspective territory again.
"And?" Crichton prompted.
"I have ... friends." He shuffled his feet and stared off across the room. "Family."
Nodding knowingly, Crichton leaned forward on the console, crossing his arms. "Ah. And you can't just walk away from them."
"Exactly."
"Funny how we both ended up out here," Crichton mused. "Look at us, who would've thought?"
McKay glanced over at him, catching the shadows in the icy blue eyes, but also catching the contentment, the sense of belonging, of being right where one needed to be. He wondered if that's what Crichton saw when he looked at him.
"I certainly wouldn't have," McKay agreed.
Aeryn succeeded in talking Moya into the jump, and a short time later, they were in orbit around their target planet. They fine-tuned the sensors, and with admirable accuracy, Pilot and Crichton pinpointed the exact location of what was almost certainly a stargate.
Aeryn and Crichton led McKay down to the ship's bay, where Crichton would take him down to the planet. McKay risked a brief stop at Pilot's chambers to thank the big creature for his help. Pilot grudgingly accepted the thanks, but grumbled at McKay's back as he left. Aeryn shook his hand and smiled at him. He'd successfully avoided granny and the gray girl.
Crichton got them down to the planet quickly and smoothly, they landed just a handful of meters from the stargate. Climbing out of the transport, Crichton wandered over to the stargate, staring up at it, his face carefully blank. McKay watched him with narrowed eyes.
"What did the Ancients look like, McKay? Do you know?"
"They looked like us."
Crichton frowned and circled the stargate. "Really?"
"Yes, really. I've met one. I mean, other than their tendency to go glowy, they look pretty much like us. Why?"
"I knew a race once, they called themselves the Ancients, too. But, they sure as hell didn't look like us. And they didn't quite live in our universe." He stepped back around to the front of the gate, and looked down at the DHD's broad face. "This how you dial home?"
"Yes. Each location has a seven symbol address."
"Cool. Go ahead and dial home."
"You don't need to stay."
"What happens if you can't get a connection? Or this stargate doesn't work. You want to be stuck here?"
"Oh. No, not really."
"If it makes you feel better, I'll turn around and promise not to peek at the address," Crichton told him, smirking.
McKay rolled his eyes and leaned over the DHD, picking out symbols. "Not necessary." The wormhole engaged and McKay felt Crichton tense up again. He stared over at the other man, watching his face draw into a deep frown as he started fixedly at the blue, shimmering event horizon. "What's the deal with you and wormholes?"
Jerked out of his revery, Crichton cast a quick glance McKay's direction then looked back up at the gate. "You don't want to know."
"Right. Wouldn't believe it if you told me?" he asked, irritated at being dismissed.
"Oh, I think you'd believe it way too well."
McKay glared at his back sourly, and pulled his radio and IDC, sending his code, and then calling home. It was Elizabeth's voice that hailed him from the other side, telling him in relieved tones that the way was clear.
McKay stepped away from the DHD and started up to the base of the gate. "Well, Crichton, it was ... bizarre to see you again."
"Likewise, McKay." Crichton held out his hand and shook Rodney's firmly. "Good luck, Rodney."
"You, too, John."
Grinning, Crichton slapped him on the arm and stepped back. "See ya 'round the universe."
McKay nodded and walked up to the event horizon, relieved to be so close to home. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Crichton watching him with a steady gaze. The other man raised his hand just as McKay stepped into the breathtakingly cold rush of the wormhole.
Stumbling out the other side, into the warmth of home and familiarity, McKay couldn't help but look once more at the gate. It had been one truly bizarre day. John Crichton. God, his life was weird.
When he turned back around to face his city, Sheppard and Elizabeth were dashing down the steps from the control room, running up to him. Sheppard stopped short, leaning back, his face screwing up in disgust. Elizabeth was slightly more tactful, but even then she only managed a quick pat on Rodney's arm, before she stepped back and raised a hand to her face.
"What the hell happened to you, McKay," Sheppard coughed. "We couldn't find you anywhere on Sermish."
"Well, after I was kidnapped," Rodney told him with a sniff, "I ended up on a ship with chicken pox."
"Chicken pox?" Elizabeth echoed, looking a little green.
"You get used to the smell after a while," Rodney informed her with a slightly wicked smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I would like a shower and then I need food." He took a couple of steps away and then paused and turned back to the pair. "It's good to be home."
Elizabeth smiled and Sheppard smirked. "Good to have you home, buddy," Sheppard told him. "But, uh, yeah, do us all a favor and go shower. Man, you stink."
"I look forward to hearing about the ship with chicken pox," Elizabeth laughed.
"It's ... interesting. Later, later. Shower, food, and, please, tell me none of my teams managed to destroy themselves in my absence."
"Not for lack of trying," Sheppard muttered.
"Great."
"Later, Rodney. Welcome home."
Nodding, Rodney turned again and walked into his city. His city. His home. Yep. Strange how life turns out. Not too bad, though, really. Even with all the pus.
##
I hope you enjoy this, mesa.
Crooked Paths
Fandoms -- Farscape/Stargate: Atlantis
Spoilers -- Farscape -- post "The Peacekeeper Wars"; Atlantis -- general early season two.
Rated -- Mostly Harmless
***
"You know, it would really help if you people could speak English. Or some derivative of a human language. Waving that ... that thing in my face is not getting your point across."
Doctor Rodney McKay, chief scientist of Earth's Atlantis Expedition, glared irritably into the red, oozing, eye-like feature of the betentacled creature waving long, gelatinous stalks under his nose, while making odd rhythmic clicking noises. When one stalk came too close for comfort, Rodney batted it away, earning a outraged hiss from the creature.
"Yeah, well, same to you, sparky," he grunted, turning away, trying to find something less alien and more reasonable.
Being kidnapped was always so inconvenient. There'd once been a time when Rodney probably would have found the whole situation overwhelming. These days he fought life-force sucking space vampires, so if some critter in a sack wanted to spit mucous at him, he was apt to be more annoyed than freaked. How nice to know that constant threat of death was an effective treatment for panic attacks.
The team had been on quaint, boring, agrarian planet number seven thousand and ninety-eight, or so. And as things always went on quaint, boring, agrarian planets, the mission went to hell almost immediately. Not that it had been Rodney's fault, of course; it rarely ever was. No, he'd been off minding his own business, avoiding cow-like animals and their delightfully large droppings, trying to track down a power source in a field of hay-fever, when the next thing he knew it was all explosions and running and frantic comm traffic. He was hit with some sort of disruptor beam, and he'd woken up in a large, smelly cage, no doubt about to be sold into his new life as the sex slave of a 400-pound alien queen with halitosis and bad hair.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, nor did he know where he was, but, being the highly intelligent man he was, he realized staying in his current location probably wasn't the thing to do. He'd made quick work of the laughable security, tried to herd his fellow captives out -- though, most unwisely resisted his attempts to lead them, preferring to wander off on their own, destined to be captured again. Breaking free of the building they were being held in, Rodney found himself in the middle of an immense marketplace. Yep, sex slave.
And here he was. Trying to find some way off this rock, and back to Atlantis.
The planet was a strange one for the Pegasus galaxy. Technologically they seemed quite advanced, like at least Earth advanced, and the variety of somewhat sentient species was astonishing. Unfortunately, none of them seemed capable of communicating effectively. They either made strange clicking noises and inarticulate grunts, gestured wildly, ignored him, or gave him amused, pitying looks. The latter were extremely aggravating.
So, when the sweet sounds of words he understood finally reached his ears, he was overjoyed. Unfortunately, that joy was brutally crushed when he scrambled over to the speaker, grabbed him by the elbow, and realized who he had in hand. Some savior.
"Crichton?" His voice climbed an octave or two and cracked, while he struggled to understand just what he'd done to make the universe torment him so cruelly.
The other man stood dumbfounded for a second and then yanked his arm out of Rodney's grip. "McKay," he replied, sounding just as disbelieving as Rodney. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Rodney's shock evaporated with Crichton's horrified and disgusted frown. "Just out for a stroll. Taking in the sights. Little things I like to do after I've escaped from kidnappers," Rodney told him, unable to keep his thin lips from curling into a sneer. Not that he'd really made much of an effort.
John Crichton was a scientist. Not nearly as brilliant as Rodney, of course, but then, who was? On McKay's most generous days, he'd allow that Sam Carter might come close. But he didn't have very many generous days, and today certainly wasn't one of them.
"So," he said after he'd gathered himself together a bit more. "I guess that idiotic little theory of yours didn't get you killed."
"Gee, I guess so." Crichton wasn't really bothering to hide his displeasure at the whole encounter either. He was standing back, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, watching McKay with as much loathing as McKay was watching him.
Oh, yes, they had a history. Grad school consisted of endless rounds of bitter combat. And after grad school, there was the vicious jockeying for position, and an unfortunate encounter at a conference here or there, but finally, mercifully, they'd been rid of each other. Crichton ended up at IASA, and then, to all appearances, got himself killed. McKay ended up in the SGC, buried under the words 'Top Secret'. Then, in some cosmic quirk of fate, they both ended up at the ass-end of the universe, starting at each other, shocked. How charmingly ironic.
"Well, great to see you, McKay," Crichton told him, sounding as though it had been anything but great. "Enjoy your kidnapping."
McKay very nearly let him walk away. To be brought so low as to have to ask his college rival for help, was utter humiliation. Reason won out, though -- Atlantis needed him more than he needed to brush off Crichton.
Grinding his teeth, swallowing what pride he had left, he jogged after Crichton, yanking on his elbow again. "Wait, wait. I ... I need some ... help," he choked out, almost swallowing his tongue.
"You need help," Crichton repeated, bewildered.
"That's right. And believe me, if it wasn't important, I wouldn't ask. I certainly wouldn't ask you."
Crichton chewed on that for a minute and then crossed his arms again. "Okay, hit me."
"Literally, or--"
"McKay."
"I'm stuck. I need to get off of this ball of dirt and back to my city."
Crichton regarded him with cool, blue eyes. God, McKay hated him. Tall, buff, all-American good looks, charm, cocky fly-boy attitude. McKay frowned at himself. Huh, no wonder Sheppard had driven him crazy when they first met. Not, that he still didn't drive him crazy, but Sheppard was almost tolerable these days.
"Well?" McKay prompted impatiently when Crichton continued to stare.
"What the hell are you doing out here?"
McKay pursed his lips and crossed his arms as well. For some reason, he just didn't feel like giving Crichton anything. "That's classified."
Crichton's mouth twitched, then, bowing his head, he laughed. He laughed so hard, he had to grab McKay's shoulder to keep from doubling over.
"Yes, yes, very funny. Can you get me back?" McKay growled, pushing Crichton's hand away.
"Oh, man. Classified? Are you serious?" Crichton laughed again, and didn't seem to show any signs of stopping. McKay stood silently, chin raised, teeth grinding, staring over Crichton's shoulder at the milling masses beyond.
"Damn, McKay," he said breathlessly, the laughter finally subsiding. "Who the hell am I going to tell?"
"Well, I don't know, do I?"
Crichton laughed some more, irritating McKay further than he thought was actually, humanly possible. Finally, the other man drew in a large breath and wiped the tears from his eyes. "Okay, fine, don't tell me. But, you know, I'm gonna need to know something if I'm going to save your sorry ass." Crichton grinned broadly and McKay felt the sick twisting of defeat in his gut.
"Whatever. Can we get out of here? I don't intend to be made a sex slave today."
"A what?"
"Never mind. I assume you have a ship of some sort?"
Crichton's brows drew down and he was looking perplexed again. Interestingly enough, it made Rodney feel a little better; he'd always known Crichton was just big and dumb. "Yeah, I've got a ship. How long have you been off Earth?"
"A couple of years. Not that it's any of your business."
"Did you miss that whole thing where I went home and the press were all over the place for months?"
"Probably. I don't find watching television a particularly effective use of my time," he told Crichton haughtily, eyes narrowing.
"Right," Crichton said with heavy skepticism.
McKay bristled at the implied criticism. "I was in Antarctica, okay? Doing bigger, more important things than you can imagine."
"Antarctica, huh? Best place for you." He continued to stare, an extremely unnerving stare.
McKay fidgeted and shoved his hands in his pockets. "What? What? What exactly?"
"I'm just trying to decide if I'm hallucinating, or not," Crichton said blandly, cocking his head to one side, continuing to stare. "I tend to come up with better stuff when I hallucinate, though. Or, at least, less annoying stuff."
"Fantastic. That's really wonderful. I'm happy for you and your delusions, but I assure you I am not a hallucination, and I'd really like to get out of here, before Queen Bertha gets her clutches on me, okay?"
"Who's Queen Bertha?"
"Does it really matter? Can we just leave, already?"
"God, you are a pain in the ass," Crichton growled. Shaking his head, he called out, "Aeryn? I'm coming back early. Bringing a guest."
"Is there a problem?" A woman's voice crackled from an oblong, gold badge on Crichton's black, leather coat.
Crichton gave Rodney a hard look, narrowing his eyes, pursing his lips. "No, everything's fine. The market didn't have that talbir root anyway."
***
Rodney was trying not to gawk. He was trying to be cool, smug, and unimpressed. He'd travelled the universe, right? He lived in a city millions of years old. Went to other planets on a daily basis. An old hand at space living, was Rodney McKay.
So, he wasn't going to compliment Crichton on his ship. Not on the smooth lines of her and the honey-golden hue, nor would he comment on the impressively cavernous landing bay, or the gracefully curving corridors. And if his curiosity was piqued by the strange, warm hum of the ship around him, and the distant hiss and sigh of systems he didn't know the workings of thrumming away behind the walls, he was sure he showed no sign.
No, he stayed aloof, letting his eyes wander over everything with the cool calculation of a veteran scientist, jaded by all the wonders he'd seen. He did take the time to sniff disdainfully in the direction of Crichton's battered old module.
And then he tripped over a small, yellow robot that darted between his legs. Catching himself against the wall, his hand landed on what could only be described as a pustule. The sore burst, drenching his hand and arm in a foul-smelling, green ooze.
"Oh my God. What is this? What is it?" He stumbled back, wiping frantically at his arm, his resolve to be cool scattering at revulsion.
"She's got a virus," Crichton told him, looking entirely too amused.
"A what? What sort of virus causes this? Oh god, that smell." Rodney held his arm as far out in front of himself as he could, but the thick odor slithered up into his nostrils, making him feel light-headed and queasy. "Is it poisonous? That would just figure, wouldn't it? You'd bring me here and kill me. God, I knew I should have gone with that ... thing with the eyestalks."
Crichton rolled his eyes and started walking again. "It's not poisonous. It's kind of like the chicken pox. We think she picked it up a couple of ports back. Poor girl, she's miserable," he said softly, patting the wall fondly, though he avoided the pustules, McKay noted bitterly.
Shaking his hand again, trying in vain to shed more of the vile goo from his arm, McKay stomped after Crichton, glaring at several more of the yellow robots who rolled out of small holes in the walls as he passed. He had the nasty suspicion they were mocking him.
"How does a ship catch the chicken pox?"
"Well, it's not exactly the chicken--"
"I get the analogy," McKay snapped impatiently.
"She's alive."
"Who is?"
"Moya. This ship, she's a living ship. I thought you were supposed to be a genius, McKay."
"Alive? Is it catching?" McKay asked Crichton's back. "Can I catch it? My hand is starting to itch."
"Frell, McKay, shut up. You're not going to catch it." Crichton shook his head wearily and strode on.
McKay wasn't so sure about that, he would swear his hand was starting to look a little splotchy under the sickly green streaks of the goop. He gingerly picked at the sticky residue with a fingernail, trying to keep his rebelling stomach under control. The smell really was astonishingly horrendous. Sort of a cross between brie and sewage.
A long walk later, Crichton waved his hand over a round control panel and a wide door swung out, letting them into a broad chamber. McKay wandered in, taking in his new surroundings, peeling green slime from his hand, and tripping again on another yellow robot.
"Can you do something about these?" he asked, exasperated, kicking at the 'bot. It squealed and darted away from him.
"Leave 'em alone," Crichton muttered absently.
"Ask them to leave me alone first," Rodney grumbled, eyeing the robot as it joined up with some of its robot friends. They turned their eyestalks towards him, lights blinking in a way he was now certain was mocking.
A dark-haired woman stood at a console on one side of the room. She was watching Rodney closely, eyebrow raised, seeming to evaluate him coldly. She said something to Crichton in an odd, guttural language.
"He's human," Crichton replied with a shrug. "From Earth."
The woman's look sharpened and she leaned back against the console, studying him in much the same way a Wraith studied you when it was trying to decide which of your bits are the juiciest. Maybe he should have gone with the creature with the mandibles.
"From Earth?" she repeated, in English this time. "How is he here?"
"That's the 64,000 kretma question," Crichton responded with a smirk. Leaning back next to her, he crossed his arms and grinned at Rodney. "He won't tell me. Says it's top secret."
The woman's lips thinned in what Rodney initially thought was a scowl, but she was apparently trying not to laugh. This became obvious when roughly two seconds later, she did laugh. A low chuckle that her pursed lips couldn't contain.
Rodney muttered under his breath and stalked across the room to the large view screen or port or whatever it was.
"Hey," Crichton said suddenly, struck by some astonishing revelation. "Where are my manners? McKay--"
"You have manners?" Rodney grumbled, refusing to turn, staring down at the dull, greasy, lead-colored planet below them.
"Sometimes. McKay, this is my wife, Aeryn Sun; Aeryn, this is Rodney McKay, a pain in the ass."
Rodney glared over his shoulder and examined the woman again. Long black hair, black clothes, sharp, striking features. She was beautiful in her way, Rodney supposed, like a knife-edged shadow. Not that he'd tell Crichton that. "I thought you went for blondes?"
"So did you. Well, you went for them, I don't remember if you ever caught one."
"Well, as a matter of fact, there is one blonde," McKay told him with an arrogant sniff.
Crichton bit his lower lip, trying not to laugh again and raised a dubious eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes, really. Blonde, beautiful, brilliant."
"Does she know you're stalking her?"
"She thinks I'm pretty fabulous, I'll have you know." It was so frighteningly easy to fall back into the rhythm of college days long gone. And, disturbingly, there was a sort of comfort in it.
Crichton's mocking smile seemed to soften, which disturbed McKay even more. As easy as it was to find the old patterns, it was also so easy to forget all the miles between then and now.
"Yeah?" Crichton asked with nary a hint of taunting laughter. "Who is she? She with you out here? In your top secret world?" Well, the taunting came back pretty quickly.
"Samantha Carter."
Crichton stared at him for a moment, then he blinked once and shook his head as if he hadn't quite heard correctly. "Sam? Sam Carter?"
"Oh, God. Of course you'd know her," Rodney groaned and raised his hand to rub at his face, only checking himself in time to stop from wiping ship slime on his forehead. "Don't tell me you dated her."
"Well--"
"No. I mean it. Don't tell me. I don't want to know. I like to maintain what few illusions I have, you could at least do me the one favor of not shattering them."
"Fair enough. Sam. Wow. Haven't thought of her in forever. How's she doing?"
Rodney finally turned all the way around and slouched against a not pustule covered bit of wall. "She's doing well. I ... haven't seen her in a few months."
"Last I heard she was in deep space radar something or other," Crichton was watching him with knowing eyes. "I guess this is pretty deep space."
"I guess so," Rodney replied blandly. Crichton may not be nearly as brilliant as he was, but he wasn't a complete moron. Usually.
"Yeah." Crichton dropped the subject and pushed away from the console. "So, McKay, how do we get you back home? We're not anywhere near Earth."
"I don't need to get to Earth. In fact, Earth would be problematic. Wait, I need star charts, I need to see where we are. And," he paused and pressed his non-disgusting hand to his temple, "I need food before I go into hypoglycemic shock."
"Never change, Rodney," Crichton said with a helpless laugh.
***
Sometime later, Rodney found himself in a room dubbed the "center chamber" with a plate of square food rations that would make play-do seem appetizing. Of course, the other option had been the large platter of something wriggling the ship's cook trotted out. Not that he'd trust anything that came from that woman's hands, wriggling or not. She was ... unsettling, watching him silently, the third eye in her forehead glowing brightly, circling him, leaning into his personal space, smiling at him.
Shuddering at the memory, Rodney picked up a food square and shoved it into his mouth turning his attention back to the star charts spread out in front of him. He was still in the Pegasus Galaxy, so he had that going for him. Of course, inconveniently, he was out on a far arm, the fringes of the galaxy, thousands of light-years from where he'd been. He was hesitant to lead Crichton to Atlantis, anyway, so finding a stargate seemed to be his best option. But, where to find one?
He sat back, and considered his surroundings again. Crichton hadn't told him much about how he'd come to be on this ship, with these people, not much beyond, 'I fell down the rabbit hole, and ended up on the other side of the galaxy.' There was obviously a much larger story there. The man wasn't the bluff, cocky son of a bitch he'd gone to school with. He was still a son of a bitch, but in a different way. Though, Rodney supposed that he'd changed, too. This is why he refused to go to school reunions -- he didn't like looking at himself all that much, and seeing the changes time wrought in others, made him more introspective than he was ever comfortable with.
A low whine from the floor woke him from his thoughts and he glared down at the small robot inching its way towards him. "Back off, bucky." He stomped his foot once, loudly, and the little, yellow bastard squealed away again.
"You gotta be nicer to the DRDs or they'll make your life hell," Crichton told him, dropping onto the bench on the other side of the table.
"If they leave me alone, we'll get along fine."
"They want to give you translator microbes."
"They want to what? What?"
"Translator microbes. They colonize at the base of your brain, and translate spoken language. Well, most spoken languages."
"Babblefish? You want to shoot me up with babblefish?"
"They're useful," Crichton shrugged. "Most people in the Uncharted Territories have them. Not so many in this galaxy, though." Crichton paused and looked thoughtfully at the charts in front of McKay. He pulled one towards himself and ran a finger over the celestial bodies plotted there.
"Piece of advice?" McKay asked, watching Crichton study at the paper.
"Sure."
"Leave. Don't stick around this galaxy."
"Bad news?"
"Very bad."
Crichton sighed and pushed the chart away. Propping his elbow up on the table, he leaned his chin on his fist and rubbed at his eyes with his other hand. "You sure you want to stay, then?"
"I have to."
"You've changed, McKay," Crichton told him with a weary smile. "We can take you back to Earth. Or close enough. It'll take a while, but ..."
"No, no. I have to stay."
"You're really not going to tell me why?"
"It's ... well, I was going to say you wouldn't believe me if I told you, but then, you're living on a ship with chicken pox, and married to an alien."
"Yeah, you're probably not going to shock me too much. Not these days."
"Okay, fine. Several years ago a number of pieces of alien technology were discovered on Earth. The leftovers of a race called the Ancients, or the Gate Builders. They lived on Earth in a city called Atlantis." Crichton's eyebrows shot up, but he held his tongue. "They eventually left and brought their city here. Unfortunately, once here, they ran into a species of life-force sucking space vampires. There was the inevitable war, the Ancients lost, and the last of them abandoned Atlantis and returned to Earth about 10,000 years ago. And it stayed abandoned until we found it, and that's where I've been."
"Atlantis. That's ... deeply cool, McKay." Crichton's blue eyes lit with interest.
"It is, isn't it?" Rodney found himself quite pleased by Crichton's impressed expression. "It's been hell, though. The Wraith are still out here. And you do not want to meet them."
"Got it."
"Trust me," Rodney pressed. He may not like Crichton much, but he wouldn't wish the Wraith on anybody.
"Believe it or not, McKay, I do."
"Well ... that's ... that's good, then. You should."
"College was a long time ago."
"Yes, it was."
Crichton nodded and tapped his fingers on the table. "So, we need to get you back to Atlantis. Is it on the charts here?"
"I don't think so. We're out on the far edge of the galaxy here. What we can do is find me another planet with a stargate."
"A what?"
"Oh, did I forget to mention that part of the story?"
Crichton rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I think you did."
"Hm. Okay. Transport system, made by the Ancients, stone rings on planets throughout this and the Milky Way galaxy. A stable wormhole is created between two rings, allowing for near instantaneous transport."
Rodney noticed Crichton tense up at some part of his explanation, but he couldn't be sure which part. "Have you seen one?" he asked.
"A stargate? No, I don't think I have."
"Are you sure?"
"A stone ring? How big?"
"About twenty feet tall. They tend to stand on edge." He pulled over a chart and flipped it over, making a quick sketch of a stargate on the back side. "Like this."
Crichton looked over the drawing but shook his head. "Nope."
"They're all over the place out here."
"We haven't been here long."
Rodney watched the other man closely for a second. There was a very large something he wasn't being told. "I just need to find another one, then I can dial back to Atlantis."
"How do we find one? Can't really stop on every planet and look."
"We don't need to. If your ship's sensors are any good, they should be able to pick up the element they're made of. Possibly."
"Maybe."
"Right."
Crichton clapped his hands and pushed himself up. "Let's go talk to Pilot."
"Who's Pilot?" Rodney asked, getting slowly, warily to his feet.
"The guy piloting the ship, McKay. Keep up. Uh, he's not in a very good mood, though. The whole chicken pox thing."
"Great. Wonderful. Why is it I want to say the words, 'only you, Crichton'?"
Crichton's only reply was a small smirk and a sweep of his arm towards the door, waving McKay out.
Rodney's earlier attempt at being cooly aloof finally gave way as they moved deeper into the ship. He couldn't quite keep his curiosity in check, and he peppered Crichton with questions as they walked. How did the doors work? What were the little robots? What did the ship use as a fuel source? How fast did she travel? How did she travel? How is it she even existed? Crichton, a far cry from the man he knew so long ago, answered each question with good humor, not even a touch smug, even offering additional information, and sharing in McKay's awe.
They turned a corner and a shrill voice called out, startling Rodney, who tripped again on the little robots that had taken to following them like a tiny, menacing parade. He fell back against a wall, and ended up spitting pus while trying, frantically, to wipe it from his face. A sharp pain in his foot sent him leaping away from the wall, stumbling over to the other side of the corridor, where he managed to keep from falling on his face by the barest of margins, just catching himself on a support beam.
"Damn it," he howled. "Get these things away from me, Crichton, or so help me God, I'm going to find the nearest hammer and, in the name of science, find out what makes them tick."
Crichton, who'd looked on in dry amusement, scooped up the source of the initial screech, a small boy with sandy hair and sharp blue eyes, and called out, "Pilot, can you get Moya to call off the DRDs? They're making our guest a little unhappy."
The reply began as a garbled mess, but the sounds quickly formed into words. "--just curious, Commander."
"That's fine, but he's harmless, and the DRDs aren't making things any easier on him."
"Understood, Commander," the voice grumped, sounding rather surly.
"What was that?" Rodney demanded, panicked suspicion growing in his mind. "I understood that."
"You did?" Crichton looked at the disheveled and, no doubt, horrifically disgusting scientist, and then down to a particularly guilty looking DRD. "Guys," he chastised, with a shake of his head.
"Guys," the small child in his arms echoed while peering at McKay.
McKay stared at the child and took a step back. "You bred?"
Crichton gave him a flat look and brushed the boy's hair back off his face. "This is my son, D'Ar--"
"D'Argo!" A thin, gray-skinned girl skidded around the corner and slid to a halt in front of Crichton. "Sorry, Crichton. He got away from me."
"S'okay, Pip."
"D'Argo? His name is D'Argo? What the hell kind of name is that? And I thought Rodney was bad." The child continued to watch McKay, an unnerving steady gaze, and McKay took another step back. Pus he could deal with, children he really couldn't.
The girl's face twisted into a scowl and she stalked over to him, leaning into his personal space, their faces bare inches apart. "Who the fek are you?"
"He's an old friend of mine," Crichton told her.
"Well, I wouldn't call us friends, exactly," McKay mumbled, leaning away from the girl.
"No?" She slid up next to him, brushing her body against his arm. He tried to move away from her, but she followed every move he made, her motion smooth and lithe and alien and creepy.
"Chiana, back off," Crichton warned, sounding suddenly weary.
"Did you hear what the fekface said about D'Argo?"
"I heard, and he doesn't know, so back off."
She glanced over her shoulder at Crichton, then with one last quick dart of her head, making Rodney jump back, moved away from him and held out her arms to the child. Crichton passed his son over, and with one last venomous glance from Chiana, and one last screeching giggle from the child, the pair disappeared down a side corridor.
"What the hell was that about?" Rodney asked, wiping ooze off his forehead. It was probably a bad sign that he couldn't smell it anymore. His sense of smell was probably irreparably damaged. He'd never enjoy coffee again.
"Little D's named after a friend. He died just after my son was born."
"Oh," McKay replied inadequately. "I ... uh ... see."
"Let's get you to Pilot's chamber before you break something," Crichton told him, subdued and clearly no longer inclined to chat.
Not that anybody's disinclination to talk was ever enough to stop Rodney from filling up the silence if he could. "What are these microbes going to do to me? It's permanent? Will I ever get through quarantine again? Are they dangerous?"
"They just translate, McKay. That's all. It's permanent, but, hey, now you can understand your fellow scientists when they insult you in Korean, or Russian, or whatever. A whole new world for you."
"Or Czech," Rodney grunted and glared back over his shoulder at the line of DRDs in the hallway behind them. He was relieved to note that they weren't following.
After what felt like miles, they came to a wide door that swung open as they approached, granting them entrance into a massive chamber.
"Don't look down," Crichton muttered as they walked out onto a narrow bridge.
Rodney, of course, looked down. Closing his eyes, he swallowed heavily and leaned back away from the edge. Far below he saw the thin tendrils of other catwalks, tiny flashes of distant light, and a great dark void that almost seemed to taunt him, pulling on the circling wave of vertigo in his head.
"McKay, come on. The faster we do this, the faster you can leave."
"Right, right," he forced out, feeling his stomach lurch at the extreme drop on either side of the entirely too slender catwalk. He edged himself into the exact middle of the walkway, and stared down at his feet.
He was so focused on not looking at the size of the chamber, and the instant death drop, that he almost ran into Crichton's back when they reached the middle of the room. He stepped around Crichton and looked up, and up, and up, at the massive crustacean staring back at him with bulging, watery eyes. The enormous head titled to one side, the eyes took him in, and a long claw tapped at the edge of the console the creature sat behind.
"Pilot, this is McKay. McKay, Pilot."
Realizing his mouth was hanging open, McKay shut it with a click and managed to nod at the Pilot. Pilot managed a nod of his own, then his massive, bug eyes, slid back over to Crichton.
"Moya is not feeling well enough to starburst right now, Commander."
"I'm sorry, Pilot, the market didn't have the root. I looked, man, I really did."
The creature heaved a tremendous sigh and bowed his head. "I'm sure you did, Commander."
Crichton reached over the edge of the console and patted Pilot on one of his many arms. "We'll find it."
Pilot nodded and swung his head back to McKay. "Greetings, McKay."
"Uh, yeah, hi."
"Pilot, Rodney needs your help. We need to find a planet with a particular piece of technology."
"I will need more information before I can calibrate the sensors."
"Yep." Crichton stepped back and grabbed Rodney by the shoulder, pulling him up to Pilot's console. "McKay'll tell you what you need to know."
"Er, yes, yes, I can provide you with all the necessary information," Rodney confirmed nervously. He was fairly certain the creature could pop his skull like a grape with one of those massive pincher claws. Not comforting. Not comforting at all.
"Great." Crichton patted him on the shoulder and started off back across the catwalk. "I'll let you guys get to it."
"Wait, wait, where are you going?"
"I've got other things I need to do, McKay. You don't need a babysitter."
"Well, no, I don't, but ..."
"But what?"
"Oh, never mind," Rodney huffed, hating himself for feeling dependent on Crichton for anything. "Go away. We'll do this."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Call me when you're done."
McKay turned back around, facing the creature. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then, resigning themselves to their fates, each let out a melodramatic sigh.
***
"No, no, no, that's too high. It's not that common an element, but too large a deposit will mask the stargate."
"I am trying to correct the calibration, and I believe I would have more success if you would just get down." Pilot waved a claw at McKay, but Rodney ducked and leaned back over the console trying to peer at the readout on the monitor the DRDs had provided.
Two hours of this and McKay's wariness of the large creature had long since worn off. While it was true Pilot could probably break him in half, it didn't seem to be in his nature, so Rodney figured he was safe enough. In his impatience, he'd even climbed up on Pilot's console to better direct the search for a stargate. Much to Pilot's annoyance. They'd been hissing and snipping at each other ever since.
"Try over there. That quadrant there. No, no, the other one."
"Doctor McKay," Pilot's voice rose, pitching higher in his irritation. "You are in the way."
"Right there, that one right there."
Pilot let out a low growl and poked at McKay's ribs with a claw. Rodney yelped and slithered down off the console. Narrowing his eyes at the overgrown lobster, Rodney leaned up against the console again and snaked an arm over the edge to tap at the monitor. "I'm telling you, it's right there. Tighten the sensors."
Pilot growled again and shot a withering glare McKay's way. McKay blithely ignored it and waved his hand again. "Pilot," he prompted.
"Doctor McKay, I will be glad when you are gone."
"Ditto. You and your poxy ship will be rid of me soon enough, sooner if you just listened to what I'm telling you. Right there."
The low growl turned into a hiss and several of Pilot's arms came up to flail around wildly over Rodney's head. Ducking down, Rodney backed away from the console and held up his hands.
"Okay, okay. Fine. Whatever. Your ship."
Pilot gave him a dark look and turned back to his controls. "I believe I have all the information I need to complete the search. I will alert you when I have found something."
Dismissed, Rodney stood uncertainly for a long moment. He wasn't entirely sure he remembered the way back to the center chamber.
Pilot raised his head and stared at McKay for a moment. "The DRDs can lead you back to the Commander."
Rodney looked down at the small robot advancing on him and shook his head vehemently. "No thanks. They'd probably lead me out an airlock."
Pilot snorted derisively and turned his attention to ignoring Rodney.
"Butter. Drawn butter," Rodney muttered thoughtfully. "No lemon."
Pilot's head came up slowly and he and McKay stared each other down. "Pardon me?"
"Never mind," Rodney replied cheerily, turning on his heel, and stalking back across the bridge. "Maybe a bisque."
He really didn't make much of an effort to find his way back to the center chamber, God only knew who or what he'd run into there again. The thought of either the old cook or the gray girl was enough to make his wandering feet take turns he knew were entirely wrong. Rodney of old might not have found it in him to hungrily explore the ship, but the Rodney of today got down on his knees and poked his head through openings in the wall, he opened doors, climbed the clusters of wires and translucent fibers gathered at various junctions, and curiously studied every part of the ship he could squirrel his way into.
However, after an few hours of wandering, he was hungry and tired and he found himself trapped in a large room filled with a running pool of some highly-antiseptic smelling liquid. Remembering that this was a living ship and god only knew what sort of bodily fluids he'd encounter if he wandered too much further, the pus was bad enough, he called out for a little assistance. Several DRDs appeared and squealed at him. It sounded a lot like "screw you, buddy," to his ears, but not ten minutes later, Crichton's wife came through the door.
"McKay," she greeted, amusement obvious under the smoky tones of her voice.
"Ah, yes, hello, thank you. What is this room?"
"The amnexus chamber."
He glanced from her down to the fluid lapping at his feet. "I don't really want to know, do I?"
"From what John has told me, probably not."
"Right. Okay. So, uh, center chamber, I guess?"
"The Command, actually. Pilot thinks he's found one of your stargates." She turned and led him out of the room.
"Really, that quickly?" McKay asked, trotting to keep up with her long stride.
"That quickly."
"Guess he really wants to get rid of me." Rodney knew he could be particularly hard to take, but it was never easy knowing somebody was anxious to never see you again.
"Moya's illness is affecting him badly."
"So, you're saying I shouldn't take it personally?" McKay laughed a little and shook his head.
"Well, you can if you'd like, but there have been many days where he'd like to have been rid of each of us," she smiled at him, a look that softened her striking, nearly harsh features, and McKay could begin to see how Crichton fell for this not blonde.
"How did you end up here?" McKay asked, Crichton's vagueness on certain details was annoying.
"I was a soldier, this was a prison ship, in the course of trying to take her back, I was pulled on board. And then John Crichton ruined my life," she laughed, a deep, sultry sound.
McKay hummed thoughtfully and they made the rest of the trip to the command in silence. McKay was relieved to see the room was empty save for Crichton, and the other man waved him over immediately.
"What do you think?" Crichton asked, pointing at the data logs in front of them.
McKay leaned over and pondered the numbers and graphs. "I think so. Atmosphere?"
"Nitrogen mix, a little higher in methane than Earth, but short term exposure shouldn't do any harm. It's well off the equator, looks to be a pretty temperate zone."
"Oh, joy, acid rain." McKay shook his head and sighed. "The Ancients loved to stick the stargate in the rainiest spot they could find. Sick bastards."
"Not many tropical beaches, huh?"
"I wish. It's all mildew and poison ivy. I spend my downtime picking moss out of my ears."
Crichton laughed and tapped at the console. "Moya's going to need a starburst to get us there."
"I thought she wasn't well enough?"
"She's fine, she's just itchy and the constant irritation is sort of wearing her down. You just gotta know how to coax her, and get around Pilot in one of his moods," Crichton informed him.
"And how do you do that?"
"I let Aeryn talk them into it."
Aeryn rolled her eyes and stepped away from the pair of humans, calling out softly to Pilot as she walked away.
"They like her best," Crichton shrugged, smiling fondly after his wife.
"You seem happy out here," McKay said suddenly, unable to keep his mouth from moving without having his brain fully engaged.
Crichton looked as startled by the statement as McKay was at having made it. "I am. I have what I need. What about you, McKay? You seem to have found your element. The McKay I knew would be huddled in a corner, whimpering about now."
Rodney snorted and crossed his arms. "I don't know. One of my scientists told me I'd become a thrill junkie."
Laughing loudly, Crichton raised his eyebrows. "I don't think I would have ever associated those words with you, Rodney."
"You and me both," McKay allowed honestly. "I go to different planets nearly every day. I carry a gun. Occasionally I get to blow things up. Frequently I have to save the day. I get first crack at technology so far beyond Earth tech it makes our stuff look like tinker toys. And ..." he trailed off, finding himself wandering into that uncomfortable introspective territory again.
"And?" Crichton prompted.
"I have ... friends." He shuffled his feet and stared off across the room. "Family."
Nodding knowingly, Crichton leaned forward on the console, crossing his arms. "Ah. And you can't just walk away from them."
"Exactly."
"Funny how we both ended up out here," Crichton mused. "Look at us, who would've thought?"
McKay glanced over at him, catching the shadows in the icy blue eyes, but also catching the contentment, the sense of belonging, of being right where one needed to be. He wondered if that's what Crichton saw when he looked at him.
"I certainly wouldn't have," McKay agreed.
Aeryn succeeded in talking Moya into the jump, and a short time later, they were in orbit around their target planet. They fine-tuned the sensors, and with admirable accuracy, Pilot and Crichton pinpointed the exact location of what was almost certainly a stargate.
Aeryn and Crichton led McKay down to the ship's bay, where Crichton would take him down to the planet. McKay risked a brief stop at Pilot's chambers to thank the big creature for his help. Pilot grudgingly accepted the thanks, but grumbled at McKay's back as he left. Aeryn shook his hand and smiled at him. He'd successfully avoided granny and the gray girl.
Crichton got them down to the planet quickly and smoothly, they landed just a handful of meters from the stargate. Climbing out of the transport, Crichton wandered over to the stargate, staring up at it, his face carefully blank. McKay watched him with narrowed eyes.
"What did the Ancients look like, McKay? Do you know?"
"They looked like us."
Crichton frowned and circled the stargate. "Really?"
"Yes, really. I've met one. I mean, other than their tendency to go glowy, they look pretty much like us. Why?"
"I knew a race once, they called themselves the Ancients, too. But, they sure as hell didn't look like us. And they didn't quite live in our universe." He stepped back around to the front of the gate, and looked down at the DHD's broad face. "This how you dial home?"
"Yes. Each location has a seven symbol address."
"Cool. Go ahead and dial home."
"You don't need to stay."
"What happens if you can't get a connection? Or this stargate doesn't work. You want to be stuck here?"
"Oh. No, not really."
"If it makes you feel better, I'll turn around and promise not to peek at the address," Crichton told him, smirking.
McKay rolled his eyes and leaned over the DHD, picking out symbols. "Not necessary." The wormhole engaged and McKay felt Crichton tense up again. He stared over at the other man, watching his face draw into a deep frown as he started fixedly at the blue, shimmering event horizon. "What's the deal with you and wormholes?"
Jerked out of his revery, Crichton cast a quick glance McKay's direction then looked back up at the gate. "You don't want to know."
"Right. Wouldn't believe it if you told me?" he asked, irritated at being dismissed.
"Oh, I think you'd believe it way too well."
McKay glared at his back sourly, and pulled his radio and IDC, sending his code, and then calling home. It was Elizabeth's voice that hailed him from the other side, telling him in relieved tones that the way was clear.
McKay stepped away from the DHD and started up to the base of the gate. "Well, Crichton, it was ... bizarre to see you again."
"Likewise, McKay." Crichton held out his hand and shook Rodney's firmly. "Good luck, Rodney."
"You, too, John."
Grinning, Crichton slapped him on the arm and stepped back. "See ya 'round the universe."
McKay nodded and walked up to the event horizon, relieved to be so close to home. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Crichton watching him with a steady gaze. The other man raised his hand just as McKay stepped into the breathtakingly cold rush of the wormhole.
Stumbling out the other side, into the warmth of home and familiarity, McKay couldn't help but look once more at the gate. It had been one truly bizarre day. John Crichton. God, his life was weird.
When he turned back around to face his city, Sheppard and Elizabeth were dashing down the steps from the control room, running up to him. Sheppard stopped short, leaning back, his face screwing up in disgust. Elizabeth was slightly more tactful, but even then she only managed a quick pat on Rodney's arm, before she stepped back and raised a hand to her face.
"What the hell happened to you, McKay," Sheppard coughed. "We couldn't find you anywhere on Sermish."
"Well, after I was kidnapped," Rodney told him with a sniff, "I ended up on a ship with chicken pox."
"Chicken pox?" Elizabeth echoed, looking a little green.
"You get used to the smell after a while," Rodney informed her with a slightly wicked smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I would like a shower and then I need food." He took a couple of steps away and then paused and turned back to the pair. "It's good to be home."
Elizabeth smiled and Sheppard smirked. "Good to have you home, buddy," Sheppard told him. "But, uh, yeah, do us all a favor and go shower. Man, you stink."
"I look forward to hearing about the ship with chicken pox," Elizabeth laughed.
"It's ... interesting. Later, later. Shower, food, and, please, tell me none of my teams managed to destroy themselves in my absence."
"Not for lack of trying," Sheppard muttered.
"Great."
"Later, Rodney. Welcome home."
Nodding, Rodney turned again and walked into his city. His city. His home. Yep. Strange how life turns out. Not too bad, though, really. Even with all the pus.
##