Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Condemned into everlasting redemption."

—William Shakespeare, Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 2.

"What atonement is there for blood spilt upon the earth?"

—Aeschylus

"It is easier to do one’s duty to others than to one’s self. If you do your duty to others, you are considered reliable. If you do your duty to yourself, you are considered selfish."

—Thomas Szasz

***

Doctor Rodney McKay stormed through the hallways of Atlantis, his mouth set in a thin line, his head down, his eyes refusing to meet anyone else's. He could hear their whispers as he passed by, could feel their eyes on the small of his back. They weren't subtle about their stares, about their comments. The chill in the hallways wasn't due to some strange misfire of the heating units.

It was because of him.

How long had it been since Elizabeth had dismissed him unceremoniously from her office, her disgust with him clearly etched into the lines of her face? Five minutes, maybe less. And the rumors had already spread, rolling out in waves before he could get under cover, before he could crawl into his quarters away from the prying eyes, from the accusation he knew was in their eyes.

His room was now his haven and his prison. At least she hadn't insisted on an armed security escort.

The words still echoed in his head, Weir's anger mixing and mingling with his own guilt and terror. He knew he'd screwed up. He wasn't oblivious to everything that went on. Screw ups were things he never forgot.

You destroyed three quarters of a solar system!

What was it about him that couldn't help but make corrections, adjustments, even when he was being reprimanded? Even standing there in Weir's office, the door closed behind him, McKay knew that their heated exchange could be heard all throughout the control room. Out of the corner of his eye he'd seen Teyla and Ronon pause, glancing up toward the second level after the gate closed behind them even as Elizabeth's angry words demanded his attention. His mouth, though, had another thought in mind and he found himself responding. Crossing his hands over his chest, he'd replied, his tone arrogant, his words condescending.

Well, five sixths. It's not an exact science.

Nothing in his life was an exact science. It never had been and he was resigned with it never changing. Sometimes he wished he could predict the outcome of every decision he could make with the same accuracy as his astrophysics calculations. Then, he wouldn't have to worry or feel guilty when he screwed something up and someone paid the price.

And the list kept getting longer and longer.

This time no one had died. Scratch that. No one had died today. Yesterday was another matter entirely. He still swore he could smell the scent of Collins' radiation-laden and burned corpse that he'd had to bring home in the back of the jumper. He knew he would never forget the tendrils of smoke that rose from the fused fingers on those blackened hands. Hands that had been sure and steady while piecing together circuits and electronics, hands that would never wrap around his "Spock Lives" mug of earl grey tea.

And Collins had been one of the smarter ones in the science department—except for Grodin, Zelenka, and himself, of course. But come to think of it, Grodin was dead already, blown up on the Ancient space station months ago, the staff still trying to fill his place in the control room and in the science department.

He rounded another corner, nearly colliding with a shocked airman who quickly flung himself against the nearby wall allowing McKay to proceed without missing a beat. Good reflexes on the new recruits, he thought absently. Too bad most of them didn't have two brain cells to rub together when it came to common sense. And the scientists were just as bad. Maybe it was time for him to talk to Carson about clones. At least they'd be able to get the city up and running and he'd be able to sleep more than four hours in a night.

But then, they'd just accuse him of catering to his ego or something else just as ridiculous. Was it his fault that he was always right…most of the time?

Rodney, can you give your ego a rest for one second?

Apparently, that was something beyond his grasp, he thought as he finally reached his quarters. Waving his hand in front of the sensor, the door slid open. He thought the lights on—a handy skill thanks entirely to the Ancient gene therapy Carson had given him—dimming them immediately so that most of the room was shrouded in darkness. He wasn't in the mood for bright lights.

As soon as the door closed behind him, he engaged the lock with another mental command before dropping fully-clothed onto his bed.

He groaned into the pillow, his relief at being home tempered with the fact that he had nowhere else to go.

After Elizabeth had yelled at him, her voice raised in anger as she tried to get through to him, she'd closed down. Rodney could see the exact moment it happened, her face becoming set in stone, her fury cold. She'd walked behind her desk, fingering the reports piled to one side. It didn't take her long to make a decision, to choose his sentence. Her words still stung, even now. He knew she had a backbone and a temper—she needed one to run the SGC and Atlantis and for all the high-level treaties she brokered—but he'd never experienced it firsthand.

I can't let this drop, Rodney, not this time. You are supposed to lead, to be an example for your staff. I can't remember ever seeing this kind of inappropriate, unprofessional behavior from you before and I expect to never see it again. Understood?

Her eyes flashed once, the anger in them rendering him speechless. He'd nodded once, slowly, a tendril of fear creeping up his belly.

I'm relieving you of duty for the next week and you are confined to your quarters. Doctor Zelenka will take over your responsibilities during this time. This is non-negotiable.

She'd added the last part as soon as he'd opened his mouth to protest, the words dying before they had the chance to leave his tongue.

And you are also to consider yourself grounded for the next four weeks. Colonel Sheppard will either make do with one less team member or else choose another scientist to accompany him off-world. At that time we can re-evaluate your standing on this base.

He'd swallowed hard and he could feel the blood draining from his face as she'd continued, his eyes widening with every word she uttered.

Am I perfectly clear?

Rodney had nodded, muttering something that passed as an affirmative answer as his eyes dropped toward the floor, whatever little of his pride, his self-respect disappearing in an instant.

Do I need to send you with an escort or can you make it to your quarters on your own?

His head came up for that question, surprise, anger, and hurt running through his mind, the emotions sweeping across his face. He'd told her no, that he could find his way; that they weren't necessary. She'd nodded sharply, her eyes cold.

He'd blanched at her treatment, at the coolness of her words as whatever color was left in his face drained away. He'd turned on his heel and retreated from her office without looking back.

And now, lying on his stomach, his face mashed into his pillow, Rodney realized just how screwed he was. It wasn't bad enough that she had made him feel like some errant five-year-old as he was reprimanded and sent to his room. But it was obvious—even to the usually oblivious physicist—that he'd lost her trust and her respect.

He needed to apologize. Not only to her, but to Radek, the science staff, and Colonel Sheppard.

He had to start somewhere. To try and make things right with an apology was a small gesture, but right now that was the only thing within his power to do. But, stuck as he was in his quarters, he didn't have many options.

Groaning as he levered himself upright, he headed for his laptop sitting on his desk at the far side of the room. He'd moved the desk a few weeks ago when he'd been working on some project or another. It had been tough and his mind hadn't been as cooperative as it normally was. But once he'd moved the desk, positioning it so he could see out of the glass door leading to the small balcony outside his room, he'd discovered that everything came easier—even though he often found himself staring out at the ever-changing sky above Atlantis.

Popping his laptop open, he booted the machine and began rummaging in his desk drawers. He had a few PowerBars stashed in there somewhere. After finding one, he moved to the balcony door, opening it to let the cool air brush against his flushed face. Ripping open the foil wrapper, he took a bite of the bar, chewing slowly as he tried to calm his mind that was threatening to run away with him. He knew what he had to do and it was just a matter of taking everything step by step. Then, things would be back to normal in no time.

He hated being reminded that he was human, that he wasn't always right. He preferred being the genius, the so-called 'Answer Man'. Those men didn't make the mistakes he did, didn't send people to their deaths.

Several minutes passed before he turned back to his computer, his fingers flying over the track pad to click on several icons, launching a variety of programs in addition to his email client. While he was fiddling around with the laptop, he might as well check on the experiments he had running in the lab. And there was some research he'd been meaning to do in the Ancient database. His week of downtime might end up being very productive.

Several rude beeps erupted from the machine on his desk, pulling Rodney's attention back to the messages flashing on the screen.

"Access denied."

"Access denied."

"Access denied."

What the…?

His email was up and there were several messages waiting in his inbox, but nothing else had launched correctly. Quickly closing the dialog windows, he tried logging onto the various servers again.

And got the same response.

Sighing heavily, he raised his hand to his ear, clicking his radio on to transmit. What was Zelenka doing to the computer system? There was nothing scheduled, no maintenance. Everything should be up and running. He'd been gone a few hours and the Czech already had the system in knots.

He couldn't help it, but his frustration and anger bled into his voice. "McKay to Zelenka, respond."

It took a few seconds before his call was answered—and not by the scientist. "Doctor McKay," came the smooth reply, "is there some kind of emergency?"

"Sergeant?" he sputtered after a few seconds as his brain made the connection of who had answered his call. It was the Canadian who sat at the communications console in the control room. Rodney could never remember his name—first or last. It took too much energy to remember every last person's name on the expedition and he had better things to spend his brain power on. His reply was lame, he knew, but it was the only thing that came to mind. "I was trying to reach Zelenka."

"Yes, sir. Is there something I can help you with?"

The man's tone—overly polite and condescending—drove him to distraction, ratcheting his anger and frustration up another notch. "Unless you know how to fix a computer mainframe, then I think the answer is no. I need to speak with Radek."

"Hold on a moment, Doctor."

"Finally," McKay muttered, his hand drumming a steady beat against his bouncing leg. This was unbelievable. The Czech had the guy in the control room running interference for him, taking messages, acting like his secretary. Apparently, his temporary promotion to head of the science department was going to his head and it only took fifteen minutes. Unbelievable.

What was more astonishing to Rodney was why he didn't think of it first.

"Doctor McKay, what seems to be the problem?" Weir's icy tone immediately snapped him back to the present, his hand and leg freezing in place.

"Elizabeth?" he choked out. He'd been planning on avoiding her for the better part of a day before attempting the apology. Fate, it seemed, had a wicked sense of humor.

"The sergeant mentioned that you were looking for Doctor Zelenka. Can I ask what it's in reference to?"

Rodney sighed. He was going to have to have a serious talk with Radek when this was all said and done. What did he have on Elizabeth that she was acting as his secretary? "There seems to be some problem with the mainframe because it's not letting me log into any of the servers or the database. I was hoping to discuss that with Radek."

"There's nothing wrong with the computer systems."

"What do you mean there's nothing wrong?" he asked testily. "I keep getting error messages."

"Apparently, I did not make myself clear when you were here earlier. You have been relieved of duty for a week, which means no research, no access to the servers or to the database. If you need to leave your quarters for any reason, you have to get it cleared by me or Colonel Sheppard and you will be accompanied by a security officer at all times. If your expertise is needed for a project and Doctor Zelenka deems it important enough, we will contact you directly. Do you understand now?"

He swallowed twice before replying. "Perfectly."

"If that's all, I have some reports which need my attention."

"That was all. Sorry to bother you. McKay out." He clicked off his radio, yanking it from his ear and tossing it on the desk, watching as it bounced several times before stopping. Turning slightly in his chair, he leaned down, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands as he tried to breathe, tried to get rid of the heavy weight that had landed on his chest.

He was so screwed.

***

Colonel John Sheppard never did things halfway. He was an all or nothing kind of guy and, so far, it seemed to work very well.

And to top it off, he had always been a good judge of character, of people.

Until now, it seemed.

When had things gone pear shaped? And how could he be so oblivious to not see it coming in the first place, or the second place for that matter?

This was why he never let anyone get close, why he kept everyone at arm's length. It was easier to see through all of the bluster and the arm waving, to get to the heart of the matter when his emotions weren't engaged.

Cold and clinical kept you alive.

Mistakes happen when you get too close. It happened to him in Afghanistan. And that wasn't the first time. He had sworn back then that it wouldn't let it affect him again, but somehow, someway, McKay had wormed his way past his defenses.

And sure enough, mistakes had followed.

And he wasn't sure who he was angrier with—himself or the scientist—for in this instance they were both to blame. Even if John hadn't pushed the button, he'd allowed it to happen, allowed McKay to manipulate the situation so he'd have to go along with his plan, his idea, his over-inflated ego.

Trust me.

Rodney's words still echoed in his ears, taunting him, haunting him.

He should have known better, shouldn't have let their friendship be the deciding factor in what had been a very straightforward decision. But he did trust—had trusted—the scientist with his life time and time again. They were a team. Life and death hung on the confidence they had in each other. And it was true, McKay had never asked for his support, his trust, in such a public way.

But it seems as if it might have been misplaced.

Stalking down to the infirmary, Sheppard refused to stop, dodging bodies that got in his way. He just wanted to get this stupid exam over with so he could get some real work done. He had reports to write and things to do and a date with a very heavy punching bag in the gym.

Teyla and Ronon should be back soon—at least that's what he thought. Hopefully that trade agreement had gone better than this blasted science experiment.

What had McKay been thinking? Smarter than the Ancients… What was it with McKay and that ego of his? Sooner or later that was going to be the death of them all—and it nearly was this time. As it was, they'd lost Collins.

There had to be a better way to control it, or at least contain it. Whatever Weir had in mind as punishment for McKay was probably nowhere near what he really needed. She was soft, lenient when it came to the scientist—always had been. If there was a time for tough love, this was good enough as any. There had to be a way to rein McKay in. They couldn't afford to have another incident like that again. John couldn't even begin to imagine what might have happened, how many more people could have died if he'd allowed the other scientists McKay had wanted to return with them.

Storming into the infirmary, John spotted Beckett at the far end of the room talking with one of the nurses—Matthews he thought. She was a new recruit, coming over with the last batch on the Daedalus. Either he'd heard his stomping feet or else the eyes in the back of his head had 20/20 vision, because Carson turned offering a smile in welcome.

"Colonel Sheppard, what a pleasant surprise that you're here and I didn't have to track you down." His eyes slid around the Colonel obviously looking for someone else. "Where's Rodney?"

"Still with Doctor Weir. Look, can we get this over with?"

Beckett's eyes widened, but he didn't comment at John's harsh tone, merely gesturing to a nearby bed. "Hop on up and we can get started."

The doctor moved quickly, every motion crisp and efficient, keeping conversation to a minimum, which suited John just fine. He wasn't in the mood to talk. He'd been talked at all day long and was ready for some peace and quiet.

What made matters worse was that his day was far from over. The paperwork that went along with destroying a solar system had to be bad. He was about to find out.

And he still had to finish his conversation with Elizabeth. God only knows what mood she'd be in when she concluded her discussion with Rodney. He could try your patience on a good day, but after this debacle… John was glad the flight home had been short. He normally wasn't a violent man, but this time if he had to spend another minute alone with McKay, he might have done something the physicist would have regretted—and would have involved copious amounts of drugs from Beckett.

McKay should be grateful for small favors.

As Beckett finished filling the last vial with blood, the infirmary doors slid open and John tensed, his hands clenching into a fist. John forced himself to relax the muscles in his arm, but they weren't cooperating as quickly as normal. He could hear the sigh the doctor uttered as soon as he'd reacted, but Beckett didn't say anything, instead turning his head to catch sight of Ronon Dex and Teyla Emmagan, the other half of Sheppard's team, as they walked in the door.

"I'll be with you two shortly," he said, turning back to John.

"We are not in any hurry, Doctor Beckett," Teyla replied, her voice musical, her tone tighter than normal.

John shifted a little on the exam bed, trying to see around the doctor. Beckett tugged him backwards slightly so he could finish. John scowled, but permitted the doctor's hands-on approach. There was no point in fighting with it since it only meant that this whole ordeal would take longer. "Everything okay?"

"We are fine, Colonel," she replied, stepping closer as Beckett taped the gauze pad to the inside of Sheppard's elbow.

"You're done," Carson replied, a slight edge to his voice. But Sheppard ignored it as the doctor turned to the two new patients. "If you give me five minutes I'll be back for your exams."

"Fine," Ronon replied, his hands on his hips, his eyes never remaining still for long.

Teyla nodded her head, offering a tired smile to Beckett. "We shall be waiting your return."

Beckett moved away without another word, making notes in Sheppard's chart as he took the blood samples back to the lab.

Sheppard eyed his teammates, eyes shifting between the two of them. "What happened on Belkan? I haven’t seen you this tense in a while." He slid off the exam table, shoving his sleeve down and shrugging on his jacket.

"Nothing, Colonel. The negotiations were difficult, but no more so than expected. We obtained the grain Doctor Weir requested. It should bolster our supplies for a time. Some of the Marines have already transported it to the labs for testing before it is brought to the kitchen."

Teyla's response, while appropriate, didn't seem to be the entire story. Glancing at the tall warrior, John tried to figure out what was tweaking his radar, but Ronon wasn't offering any hints.

"Colonel?" Teyla began a few moments later, her head tilted to the side, her forehead furrowed. He turned toward her and she continued. "When we arrived through the Stargate, we…overheard part of a conversation between Doctor Weir and Doctor McKay. It seems as if things did not go well on Doranda."

"You could say that again," Sheppard muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. Before either Ronon or Teyla could respond, he continued. "The power source we found ended up blowing up in our faces. If it weren't for the Daedalus, McKay and I probably wouldn't be here right now."

"What went wrong?" Ronon asked, worry and surprise briefly sliding across his face.

"McKay went wrong." From their startled expressions, John knew they probably had a lot more questions, but this wasn't the time or the place. And besides, he wasn't in the mood. Near-death experiences made him testy. "I have to get back up to finish my briefing with Elizabeth. Why don't we meet in the morning and I'll try to explain what happened?"

Teyla inclined her head in a deep nod while Ronon offered a shrug. "Sure, Sheppard."

"Colonel, you're still here?" The question startled him, jerking his head around to come face-to-face with an irritated Beckett. "I thought you were in a hurry."

"I'm just leaving," John replied, striding to the door. He could feel the weight of Beckett's stare between his shoulder blades but he didn't turn around. And even before he was out the door, it was gone as the doctor moved to tend to his two new patients.

***

Doctor Elizabeth Weir picked up her tablet PC in an attempt to do some work, but her mind kept drifting. Between the death of Collins, the communiqué from Colonel Caldwell about the results of McKay's science project, and the brief conversation she'd had with both Sheppard and McKay when they returned through the wormhole with a frantic 'close the iris' command, she'd had just about enough aggravation and stress to last a lifetime.

And if she was honest with herself, she was angry, furious even.

She'd worked with Rodney for more than two years now and she'd grown used to the arrogant man. She trusted him. He had his faults—his ego for one—but they'd never gotten in the way of his job, of his duty, his responsibilities. For some reason, even as abrasive as he was, people trusted him, listened to him, followed his lead…respected him even. It was odd, to put it mildly.

He was a genius; of that she was certain. It was evident in everything he did.

But his behavior today…

Weir sighed, resting her elbows on her desk as she absently fiddled with the open file on her desktop. Even thinking about everything that had transpired today made her blood boil.

And it wasn't only his abysmal behavior. It hadn't helped the situation to have Colonel Caldwell egging McKay on, which only placed her in a more difficult position. Even if she'd said 'no' to the continued experiments, she knew the Pentagon well enough to know that they would have issued an order permitting the continuation of the work Rodney had begun. She would have bought them a few days, a week perhaps, but the amount of lives that may have been lost if most of the science department had been there when the weapon exploded was too immense to imagine.

She'd been elegantly backed into a corner especially when John had come to her, asking her to reconsider. She should have stuck to her initial decision, whatever the cost, refusing to allow circumstance and strong personalities to change her mind.

A knock on her door drew her attention to her visitor, a rather ragged-looking John Sheppard.

"Colonel? I thought you were doing your post-mission check-up with Carson?" she asked, gesturing for him to take the chair across from her desk. As he seated himself, the door to her office slid shut behind him. Some days she was jealous of his ability to use those mental commands.

"I'm done. Ronon and Teyla are in there now. Things went well with their mission?"

"I think so. I didn't get the chance to speak to them when they returned. I’m sure Teyla will stop here before she turns in for the night."

"They didn't stop to give you an update?"

Weir glanced down for a beat. Raising her head once again, she held his gaze steadily as she answered. "I was otherwise engaged at the time. Doctor McKay and I were having a…conversation about the events on Doranda."

John's eyebrows rose as he shifted in his seat, his face hardening. He'd understood her unspoken words. "What did you decide?"

Glancing down at her hands briefly, she raised her head once again to meet his eyes. "He's been relieved of duty for a week and he's grounded for three weeks beyond that. It's up to you if you want to add a fourth to your team while he's restricted to the base."

John's expression didn't change, but Weir wasn't expecting it to. When he entered military mode, nothing appeared to faze him. "You have Zelenka in charge of the science department?"

"Temporarily, yes. I haven't decided yet if it's for the month or just the week."

Sheppard nodded. "If we draw a more scientific-oriented mission, I'll talk to him about assigning one of the scientists to my team. They need more off-world experience anyway."

"John…" she began, glancing down once again, noting her rough cuticles, a jagged edge on one of her nails. The frustration and anger she was feeling began to bleed into her voice as she continued, "What happened out there? Rodney was so sure this would work, but then Doctor Zelenka approached me with other information. What went wrong?"

"McKay."

"That's it?"

John shrugged, his eyes drifting to a spot over her left shoulder. "There's really nowhere else to look. Everything revolved around what McKay thought he could do and we all know what he thinks about his own abilities. That's never an issue when it comes to McKay. We should have stuck with our first decision instead of letting him talk us into it." He paused, a flash of something Elizabeth couldn't recognize crossing his face before he met her gaze once again. "And honestly, Colonel Caldwell was no help."

"Agreed," Weir nodded, leaning back in her chair. "But he was right. Once the SGC and the Pentagon got involved we would have had no control over the situation at all."

"But, it would have bought us time," Sheppard replied, his tone determined and strong. "Maybe Zelenka would have been able to talk some sense into McKay. All we needed was a little more time." John took another breath, letting it out slowly. "McKay was wrong and he still couldn't see it even when the building was beginning to crumble around us. If we had delayed a few more seconds, nothing would have saved us from that explosion."

"What do you mean?"

"If I hadn't been able to get McKay to move, he would have stayed there trying to fix things until the building exploded with him inside of it. He had tunnel vision, like he couldn’t see anything except that damned Nobel Prize he keeps talking about."

Weir felt her anger bubbling once again as John verbalized what she'd been trying not to think about. "We can't have that kind of attitude here. We can't afford to." She paused, trying to draw an air of calm back to herself. "And I know that's just a human failing, Rodney's biggest failing. But I can't just let this slide. Something has to be done."

"I agree and I think what you've done might be enough to dissuade any of the other scientists from doing something—anything—even remotely like that again. But, honestly, I’m not sure if that's enough to get through to McKay."

"After the month, we’ll have the opportunity to re-evaluate him and we can decide then if it's a good idea for him to remain on Atlantis." John narrowed his eyes, but Weir continued before he could say anything.

"We have to consider it, John. If we can't rely on Rodney to do his job, he might be a liability. As much as we need him on Atlantis, there are other scientists who can step up to the plate. I admit that he's probably the best man we have, but if he continues with this kind of one-track mentality, these kind of incidents, we're not going to survive his experiments, let alone the Wraith."

John didn't reply, but he nodded his head slightly, enough for her to know that he was following her, listening carefully to her words.

"Step back and look at the whole situation," she continued, her voice firming up as the words formed. "This is an entirely different job than I agreed to. We were supposed to be exploring a new galaxy, making allies and discovering the great secrets of the Ancients. Instead, we're fighting a war. There's no room for personal quests and I don't think there's a doubt in either of our minds that Rodney was focused. Not on the benefits this technology could have brought to Atlantis, but on what kind of acclaim it would have brought him personally."

She took another breath, her eyes holding John's steadily as she leaned forward, her elbows on her desk, her hands clasped in front of her. "We should know in a month if he's up for the job he signed on for."

***

The insistent beeping of his headset pulled Rodney out of the half-sleep state he'd fallen into, his arm thrown across his eyes as the damp ocean air swept over the bed and through the room.

Rolling to his feet with a groan, he hissed as the muscles in his back complained. He stumbled across the room in his sock-clad feet, grabbing the headset and jamming it in place.

"McKay."

"Oh, there ye are, Rodney," Doctor Carson Beckett replied. "I need you to report to the infirmary for your post-mission check. It seems as if it may have slipped your mind."

"Fine," he said, shaking his head as he moved to close the balcony door. "Give me a few minutes."

"Aye. And no gettin' sidetracked."

"Trust me, I don't think that's going to be a problem. McKay out."

Wonderful, he thought. As if being locked in his room wasn't enough, now he was going to be poked and prodded by the good doctor and resident sheep shearer.

Turning his radio off, he sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced around the room. He spotted his uniform jacket lying in a heap near the bathroom door, still in the same place he'd thrown it an hour ago.

Staring at pile of rumpled material, he realized that he didn't feel like wearing it, didn't feel like wearing anything he had on. And besides, he was off duty as Elizabeth had so plainly reminded him.

Moving quickly to his closet, he stripped off his shirt and threw it in the same general direction as the uniform jacket as he dug into the closet, his fingers finding the pile of T-shirts on the back shelf. He pulled the top one off, shrugging it on quickly, checking to make sure he had the blue Atari logo in the front.

His pants came off next, landing in the same pile as his other clothes. He grabbed for his jeans, shoving several pairs of his uniform pants out of the way to reach them. He slid his legs in, the cool, thick fabric warming immediately against his skin.

He leaned down, looking for his sneakers. Snagging them, he moved back to the bed, sitting down to get his old familiar footwear in place.

His casual clothes felt good. Rodney couldn't remember the last time he'd worn them. It had been too long. There had been a time in his life that jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers were all he wore. It was a simpler time. Less stress, less chance of dying in some freak, horror-show way.

Maybe it was time to go back.

Shrugging off the thought, he headed for the door, unlocking it with a quick command. It slid open before him, but even before he took a single step outside of his quarters a voice stopped him.

"Doctor McKay? Where are you going?"

Turning, he came face-to-face with Major Lorne. Rodney wasn't sure who was more surprised by this turn of events: him or the Major.

"Are you loitering outside my quarters?" Arrogant and condescending all wrapped up in a single question.

"I don't think Colonel Sheppard or Doctor Weir would consider guard duty loitering, Doctor," Lorne replied, a slightly sheepish expression on his face as he continued. "Were you going somewhere?"

"Carson asked me to go to the infirmary for my post-mission check up. Is that a problem?"

"One second, Doctor, and I'll find out." He turned, tapping his radio. He spoke quickly and quietly, the conversation taking no longer than thirty seconds. Swinging back around, Lorne offered a smile. "If you'll accompany me, we'll be in the infirmary shortly."

"I know how to get there, Major," Rodney replied, the words pushed past his tightly clenched jaw, his muscles rock hard. He could feel knots forming in his shoulders. 

"I know you do, but I'm under orders, as are you I imagine. Just consider this part of the service."

Gritting his teeth, Rodney nodded and gestured for Lorne to lead. Following a half-step behind, Rodney could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. This was humiliating. He kept his head down, his eyes watching his feet as they walked through the corridors, the Major greeting many of the people they encountered along the way.

Could this get any worse? He wasn't sure how, but as soon as that question entered his mind, he knew somehow, someway it would.

The door to the infirmary slid open and Lorne paused just inside the door, waiting as Rodney stepped through. "I'll wait here until you're done."

"Fine," he replied, waving off the other man with an absent gesture of his hand. Maneuvering through the quiet room, Rodney found Carson at his desk, sipping at a mug of tea.

Clearing his throat to get the other man's attention, McKay offered a weak smile when his friend raised his head. "You were looking for me?"

"Aye, Rodney," Carson answered, putting his mug down gently as he rose to his feet. "I wasn't expecting you so quickly."

McKay shrugged his shoulders. "Figured it would be easier than having you haunt me."

Beckett moved briskly past him, leading him to an exam bed. Patting it with his hand, he continued walking. "Sit up here. I'll be right back."

Watching the back of his departing friend, he settled onto the bed Carson indicated, his right hand drumming a steady beat on his leg. A few minutes passed before the Scotsman returned. Throwing a glance over his shoulder as he got closer, Beckett turned his puzzled look on McKay, his eyes widening when he finally looked at him.

"What's with the clothes and your friend by the door?"

"The last time I checked I was allowed to wear clothes other than my uniform when I'm off duty," he snapped as Beckett got to work. Shoving up his sleeve, Carson quickly pulled the tourniquet tight against Rodney's arm, tapping the inside of his elbow to get the veins to come to the surface. "You do own jeans, don't you? I've seen you in enough of those hideous sweaters to know that you did bring some casual clothes to Atlantis."

Rodney flinched as the needle pierced his skin and Carson quickly filled two vials with blood. Gauze replaced the needle and McKay held it without being asked. He'd been through this too many times to complain—although that didn't necessarily stop him normally. "You might best remember who has the big needles, Rodney," Carson commented as he deposited the vials on the nearby tray. "And Major Lorne just decided that you needed company?"

"Can you just drop the game of twenty questions, Carson, and get this over with? I'd like to go back to relaxing sooner rather than later."

Beckett raised an eyebrow at the comment, throwing a puzzled look at the other man, but nodded in agreement. The rest of the examination was done quickly and in silence—much to McKay's surprise and relief.

Fifteen minutes later, he was hopping off the exam table and heading for the door. He could feel Carson's eyes on his back, but he refused to turn around. He didn't want to see the confusion or the pity in his friend's eyes. That was the last thing he needed or wanted.

***

Moving easily through the dimly lit and silent corridors, Carson Beckett smiled slightly to himself. It wasn't very late, but it was far enough into the evening that most people were already where they were going to be for the rest of the night. He'd passed the science labs a little while before and he'd spotted Zelenka hunched over a laptop, while one or two others were packing up to head out.

He'd kept moving, not seeing McKay anywhere in the science area, and not willing to bother an obviously busy Radek.

It wasn't as if he were looking for Rodney. He really wasn't. Between him and John and then Major Lorne's obvious presence during the physicist's post-mission check, Carson was certain something had happened.

And if Rodney wasn't in the labs, then he had to be in the mess or in his quarters, but something made him hesitate from going to either location. What was he going to say anyway? The whole 'something weird is going on and I think you need to tell me about it' only got him so far. And besides, they were in another galaxy, for Pete's sake. Everything here was weird.

It had been several hours since he'd seen either of them—and no one was talking, which was odd in itself. Usually, he got updates about missions and things, just from conversations with the people who dropped by.

But not today.

Surprising himself, Carson discovered that he'd walked to the gate room, his feet slowly taking him up the stairs toward the control room. The second shift was in place and he smiled at them as he passed through toward the low-lit office at the end of the room where he could still see a figure seated behind the desk.

Slowing as he reached the door, he watched her for a minute, her forehead creased in concentration as she studied the laptop screen before her.

He tapped quietly, trying not to startle her. "You know, looking at computer screens all day is bad for your eyes, lass," he said, keeping his tone light as he caught the tension in Weir's frame.

She glanced up, her eyes wide. Elizabeth was jumpier than normal tonight. "Carson," she finally said with a light smile—the expression obviously forced. She settled the tablet to the side and gestured to him to enter her office. "I didn't hear you."

"Obviously," he replied pinning her with a glance for a moment before she turned her eyes away. Sliding into the nearest chair, he tilted his head, trying to catch her eye again. Instead of ignoring him, however as he thought she would, Elizabeth straightened in her chair, her jaw tightening, her eyes narrowing as she returned the look with equal weight, examining him carefully.

"You wanted something?" she asked finally, her voice stern, clipped.

"Yes, but are you okay, lass?"

"I'm fine, it's just been a long day and I should really head back to my quarters." She began to lean forward, her hands reaching for the papers scattered over her desk. "Can this wait until the morning?"

"Depends," he replied and stilled immediately, the iris of her eyes darkening. He plunged on even though his better judgment told him to back off. "There seems to be a problem with Colonel Sheppard and Rodney. They're not acting like themselves."

Weir replied, rising to her feet, her voice cold. "That particular conversation is best left to another time."

"Why?" Carson said as he stood, his confusion blending with anger and heating his words. "Are you uncomfortable with the topic or is it some deep, dark secret? Having Major Lorne follow Rodney around isn't exactly subtle."

He waited, letting the question sit between them, watching Elizabeth carefully. She was trying to control her temper and it surprised him. For as long as he'd worked with her on the Atlantis project, Elizabeth was the only one who rarely, if ever, lost her temper. Maybe that was due to her training as a diplomat. And with all the different nationalities and people involved in this project, they needed people who could keep their heads.

Usually, Elizabeth was the voice of reason, but something had worked its way under her skin and it had to do with John and Rodney. What the hell had they done this time?

She took a breath, as if the additional oxygen would steady her. "Doctor McKay has been relieved of duty for the next week and is restricted to the base for a month due to his actions on Doranda. We're hoping that this situation will be temporary."

"We?"

"Colonel Sheppard and I."

"So, what does this mean exactly? Rodney's not military."

"Everything's been explained to him. He knows what he can and cannot do."

"And Major Lorne is around to make sure Rodney follows your orders to the letter? Whose brilliant idea was this?"

Weir's eyes flashed an angry warning and he knew he'd gone too far. "This is not up for discussion."

The muscles in Carson's back immediately tightened as he straightened in surprise, his own temper rising quickly to the surface. "Fine," he replied tightly. "I'm nae gonna say a word about it. But, whatever you're hoping to accomplish with this piss poor example you're making of Rodney is not going to work. This is not the way to prove a point to him or to his staff. It just shows them that you're hurt and you're angry. This'll come to a bad end. "

"Your concern is noted, Carson, but we're going to do this my way. I guess we'll see what happens in a month."

"This isn't a game, Elizabeth. We're talking about Rodney—"

"Yes, we are. And right now he needs to understand exactly what his responsibilities to this expedition entail. Playing hardball is the only way to get through to him."

"So you say," Beckett replied, shaking his head as his anger drained from his body as he discovered how unmovable she was on the topic. Arguing right now would not get him anywhere and might only get Rodney into more trouble. "But don't be surprised if you discover him to be a very different person than you think he is."

He turned, moving to the door and into the control room beyond. A few steps into the corridor and he turned around, walking back to her office, pausing in the doorway. "Do me one favor," he began once he caught her eyes. "Think about it carefully tonight and if you have doubts, any doubts, please change your mind. My mother always reminded me that the wrong decisions make themselves known in the wee hours of the night. Give Rodney the benefit of the doubt. That’s all I ask."

Elizabeth nodded once, some of her own anger draining away only to be replaced by a deep weariness. "Good night, Carson."

"Night, lassie, and get some sleep. Things always look better in the morning."

***

Day One

Shifting for the tenth time on slightly numb feet, Major Evan Lorne shoved back his sleeve and glanced at his watch. It was 0910 and there had been no sign of Doctor McKay in about fourteen hours. After his exam in the infirmary, Lorne had tried to convince the doctor to get some dinner, but he'd refused, claiming not to be hungry. They'd argued for a while, standing in the middle of the hallway, until McKay finally relented, agreeing to let Lorne procure a handful of PowerBars and a few bottles of water.

Having the doctor die on him because he hadn't eaten anything wouldn't look good on his record. He was supposed to make sure he didn't sneak out to the labs, not starve him to death.

When Lorne relieved Captain Andrews at 0700 the man reported that it had been a quiet night, the ten hours passing easily.

It was odd that McKay hadn't surfaced.

When another twenty minutes passed without the doctor poking his head out the door, Lorne thought it might be time to get a bed check. There was a balcony attached to the room and he doubted McKay was desperate enough to try to escape via that route. Although, a part of his brain could picture McKay tying the sheets together, securing one end to a girder before throwing the free end over the railing so he could sneak into the lower level.

He was a genius after all—or so he told everyone.

A check might be a good thing.

Turning to the door, he waved his hand in front of the door panel, hearing the answering chime inside the room. A minute or so later he tried again, following it up with a knock.

With visions of the scientist dangling from one of Atlantis' balconies in his mind, he knocked again—harder—when no answer was forthcoming.

With a sigh, he triggered the door to open with a quick mental command, the panel sliding upon to reveal the dimly lit room beyond. There was no sign of McKay and the door leading to the balcony was open.

Double crap.

Entering slowly, Lorne glanced around, his eyes trying to see into the shadows. "Doctor McKay?" He resisted the urge to add 'come out, come out, wherever you are' in a singsong voice. His mind, though, had no such compunction.

His eyes slid past the open door of the attached bathroom and, finding it clear, continued on. Moving past the rumpled bed—sheets still in place, but obviously slept in—he crossed to the balcony door.

Slumped in the corner, Lorne found McKay—his back against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest with his arms curled around them, tugging them close to his body, his eyes fixed on the horizon beyond.

"Doctor McKay?" Lorne asked, his eyebrows drawing together. When he didn't get a response, he moved closer, noticing that the doctor was still dressed in his clothes from the night before, minus his sneakers and socks. Kneeling beside the scientist, he reached out slowly, resting his hand lightly on McKay's cool arm. "Doctor McKay?"

It took a few seconds before the physicist responded, slowly coming back to the here and now. He turned his head, his blue eyes bloodshot and clearly confused. "Major?" he began, his voice low and gravelly. He cleared his throat, but it didn't help much. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, obviously," Lorne replied, feeling the man shiver slightly. "How long have you been out here?"

McKay shrugged, turning back to the ocean and the city below. "I watched the sun come up. I was having problems sleeping. Nothing new."

A few beats passed before Lorne spoke up again. "Did you have breakfast?"

"Why?" he asked, turning back to face Lorne, an expression of exasperation firmly etched on his face. "Are you trying to ask me out or something? Cause if that's the case, I don't want to know anything and I suggest you get out of my room."

"McKay," Lorne replied, sighing as he rose to his feet. "You look like shit and I know you didn't eat a real dinner yesterday. Andrews said you didn't ask him for anything during the night. Now, I didn't see a camp stove in your quarters or the remnants of anything that resembled breakfast and I know what happens when your blood sugar drops too low. I have no intention of telling Colonel Sheppard or Doctor Weir that you accidentally passed out because you didn't eat. Now," he continued, reaching down to grab the other man's arm and hoist him to his feet. "I recommend that you get in the shower and get some clean clothes on so you can go and get yourself something to eat."

The scientist grumbled to himself and Lorne decided to ignore the few choice words he caught. "Shower. Now," he said, steering McKay into his quarters. The scientist shook him off, heading to the closet where he retrieved some new clothes before moving to the bathroom where he shut the door behind him. A few seconds later, Lorne could hear the water running.

That was far easier than it should have been, Lorne realized as he leaned against the balcony door, his eyes drifting to the scenery outside. The fact that McKay had capitulated so quickly was odd, but then this whole situation was not exactly normal. Shaking his head, Lorne moved away from the wall and back to his post outside. He'd wait for the scientist there.

***

Stumbling out of the shower, McKay wrapped a towel around his middle and moved toward the sink, the floor cool against his wet feet. Leaning over the counter, he rubbed a hand over the mirror, trying to get some of the condensation off so he could get a look at himself.

Even blurry, Lorne was right. He looked like crap. He was pale, the dark circles under his eyes standing out more than usual. And his stubble gave him a certain unkempt look.

Deciding that he didn't have the energy to shave, he turned away from the mirror, reaching instead for his toothbrush and toothpaste. Moving through his morning routine quickly, he found himself reaching for the clothes he'd brought into the bathroom, his brain finally connecting to what his fingertips were telling him. In his haste he'd grabbed his uniform from the closet.

He sighed, rolling his eyes ceiling-ward as he debated whether it was worth the time and effort to get something else to wear. These were perfectly good clothes. There was nothing wrong with them. But after yesterday…

Screw it. If they had a problem with him wearing his uniform when he was off duty, they could take his clothes and shove them somewhere the sun didn't shine.

After sliding into his boxers, he shoved his legs into his pants, the shirt and jacket quickly following. Padding into his room in bare feet, Rodney dug through his closet finally locating a lone pair of socks, thankfully ones without holes. The Ancient version of the washer and dryer kept eating his good socks whole and giving him back the ones they nibbled on.

Glancing around as he dropped onto his unmade bed, he noticed that Major Lorne had snuck out. Best not to let them think he was conversing with the criminal. Pulling on his socks, he finally spotted his shoes lying in a heap on the other side of the room.

Dragging himself upright again, he slid in his sock-clad feet, almost ending up on his ass. That would have made one hell of a bruise. Moving a little slower, he picked up his boots and settled into his desk chair, his eyes flicking over his inbox, the unsent email in his "drafts" folder.

Turning, his shoes forgotten for the moment, he opened the email document, reading over the words he'd written in the middle of the night. Making a quick decision, he clicked 'send' before he could chicken out. He knew he had to start somewhere with the apologies and, honestly, this email to Colonel Caldwell was probably going to be the easiest one of the lot.

Swiveling in his chair, he grabbed his boots, pushing his feet into them and lacing them up tightly. Moving to the door, he paused, glancing around his room. He'd clean when he got back. It would give him something to do.

***

Major Lorne turned as the door opened behind him and watched as a hesitant McKay poked his head out.

"Am I allowed out?"

"For meals, yes."

"Oh," McKay replied, his face falling a little. "I wanted to make two quick stops before we went to the mess hall."

Lorne tried not to sigh. He knew this was going to come sooner or later. He was hoping it would be later rather than sooner. "Where?"

"The labs and the control room."

"McKay, you know that they're—"

Rodney raised his hands, stopping Lorne before he could continue. "Look, I know I'm not allowed out of my room until next week, but before I go stir crazy I'd like to talk to Zelenka, Elizabeth, and Sheppard for a few minutes." As Lorne opened his mouth to argue, Rodney continued. "It'll take five minutes, I swear. You can drag me out if I'm any longer. I just want the opportunity to apologize before any more time passes. And besides, I don't know if I'll have the nerve if I wait any longer."

Rodney paused, tilting his head to the side a little as he widened his blue eyes slightly. "Deal?"

Lorne looked away, trying not to sigh in the doctor's face. He tuned back a minute later, resignation in his voice. "Where to first?"

***

Typing quickly, Doctor Radek Zelenka finished an email before turning to one of the scientists hovering behind him. Between the staff meetings and all the currently projects, he couldn’t get anything done. He had no idea how McKay could do everything and his own research projects and off-world missions. The man must never sleep—but then, he knew that already.

And then McKay had to go and do this, he thought, as his mind went through everything that still had to be done today. He didn't have time for the physicist's ego, but that's what got them both in this mess. It was because of him that Collins was dead and Radek had been insulted in front of the entire control room staff. Not that it didn't happen on a regular basis—the insults, that is. But this had been different. Radek knew he was right.

From that one moment it was obvious to him and the entire science staff that McKay didn't trust any of them. And that was the worst part of this whole situation—his apparent lack of trust for the entire science department. What were they doing then, if Rodney would only listen to Rodney? Radek had read all the files. He knew the entire department—probably even better than Rodney. These people were brilliant in their fields, but McKay refused to see that, to trust them.

Maybe now something would change.

Radek sighed to himself, shaking off the thought. He knew it was more wishful thinking than reality. McKay was not about to shed his skin and change. That was too much to hope for.

"And you are still standing here. Did you not understand instructions?" he griped, pushing his glasses back in place as he eyeballed the scientist beside him, clutching the pile of reports to his chest.

"I just was hoping you could help—"

Zelenka rose, waving his hand absently as he reached for his tablet. There were several experiments—and scientists—he had to check on before they accidentally blew up the lab again. "Ask Matthews. He's good with thermodynamics."

Not hearing any other protests, he started to move off but another voice stopped him dead in his tracks. One he had been assured he wouldn't hear for a week.

"Matthews is a good choice."

Zelenka turned, first catching the look of complete surprise on the other man's face, before discovering McKay and Major Lorne in the lab.

"Rodney," he said after a few beats had passed, trying unsuccessfully to remove his own surprised expression from his face. "Why are you here? Did not Doctor Weir…"

McKay nodded, waving his hand. "Yes, yes." He glanced over his shoulder and Lorne made a point of looking at his watch. "Look, I don't have much time. Can we talk somewhere a little less…public?"

Raising an eyebrow, Radek nodded, moving toward McKay's small office that was attached to the main lab. It was close and no one else would dare go in there.

"Actually," McKay said loudly, making Radek stop and turn around. He'd stopped in the middle of the lab, an uncertain expression on his face. "I came here to apologize to you," he continued, his voice carrying throughout the room. Several heads snapped up, their eyes focusing on McKay.

"Rodney?" Radek asked, his eyebrow on the rise.

"This is something you should all hear," Rodney said, his eyes flickering around the room, refusing to land anywhere for more than a second. "When it came to the incident on Doranda, I should have listened to you, Radek. I'm sorry if I was condescending and arrogant. It was uncalled for."

Silence echoed throughout the main lab, lasting for several seconds before Rodney cleared his throat, his face beginning to turn red. "Radek," he said, gesturing to the room Zelenka had been heading to before he'd decided to make his apology public.

"Of course," Radek replied, turning back to the office, his mind refusing to believe what he just heard. This could not have come from the man who threw out insults as a matter of course.

"Two minutes," Lorne commented, making Radek glance over his shoulder to the other man. Rodney nodded to the major, but didn't stop moving. In fact, it seemed like he was speeding up.

Once they entered the small office, Zelenka turned, leaning back against the desk. "You did not have to do that," he said, watching as the other man refused to stand still, shifting from one foot to the other, his eyes darting around the room.

"Yes, I did. And it had to be in public."

"Why?" Radek asked, the first words that came to mind falling out of his mouth. "Did you need the entire staff to see that you aren't the arrogant bastard they say you are?" As Rodney's face paled, he realized how harsh that sounded—especially in light of the words McKay had spoken only moments before. He was astonished by his own anger toward the man, his own callousness. Sometimes he felt like he was becoming just like him—and he needed to stop that from happening. "I'm…" he began, only to be cut off by McKay.

"No, no. I deserved that," he said, finally coming to a stop, his arms resting quietly at his sides. "I wasn't grandstanding out there. I figured that since I insulted you in public it was the least I could do to apologize in public." McKay paused again, his eyes dropping to the floor, his shoulders forming a half shrug. "I can't guarantee that it won't happen again, but I wanted to say I was sorry."

Radek nodded slowly, words refusing to cooperate. He knew he should say something, thank him at the very least, but part of him couldn't. He wasn't ready to forgive and forget. It was going to take time, more than McKay probably realized.

"I think your time is up," he said instead, seeing a shadow grow into the form of Major Lorne.

McKay glanced over his shoulder, letting out a long breath. "And so it is." He moved slowly toward the door, his shoulders more rounded than they'd been when he'd entered. McKay and Lorne silently meandered their way through the maze of desks and scientific instruments to the corridor, vanishing through the door a moment later.

Standing alone in the small office for several moments, Radek sighed and pulled off his glasses, rubbing his face. After delicately placing them back on his nose, he shoved himself off the desk and entered the main lab where most of the scientists were still standing around, their jaws still slack with shock.

Clapping his hands, he glared at them. "There is work to be done, is there not? This is not time for day dreaming," he said as the science staff scurried to get back to work.

Zelenka aimed toward the wing of smaller labs. He had rounds to make, experiments to check, scientists to coddle. Apologies and second thoughts would have to wait.

***

Walking silently through the corridors on the way to the control room, Major Lorne couldn't help but keep glancing at the subdued physicist beside him. Of all the things he expected, the public apology hadn't been anywhere near the top of his list.

That took guts.

Generally, McKay avoided anything that could make him look bad, that showed any kind of weakness, and showed him to be human. While it hadn't been perfect—a little too much honestly thrown in there for that—it had been heartfelt. But then there were some people who would argue about him having a heart in the first place.

While McKay knew how to get the job done, guts were not something that Lorne thought the man had in abundance. In fact, given the opportunity to weigh in on the subject, guts would never even come to mind. Whining, complaining, arrogant, condescending, and stubborn were closer to the truth.

Today, Lorne had seen a different side of the doctor and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

"I'd like to talk to Colonel Sheppard if I can find him," McKay said quietly, pulling Lorne back to the present.

He nodded. "If he's not in the control room, I'll try to find him for you."

"Thank you."

Lorne nodded again, letting the silence stretch between them. What else could he say?

***

Taking a sip of her lukewarm coffee, Elizabeth Weir tapped her stylus against her tablet PC. She'd not gotten much sleep last night, refusing to take one of the little pills Carson had prescribed a few months ago. She hated having to rely on drugs for a good night's sleep.

And honestly, she didn't think they would have helped. She was too wound up, her mind moving in a million directions at the same time, threatening to pull her along.

Sleep had come, sparingly and slowly, but it had been welcome when it finally arrived, the darkness smothering her thoughts, her anger, her hurt.

A letter had to be written, one more to add to the pile. One more of her expedition gone. One more person who would never go home. One more family missing a loved one.

She raised her head as she heard the knock on her door, fully expecting to see the lead botanist standing in the doorway. They had a meeting scheduled to go over some of the reports from the past few weeks.

Instead, it was Rodney McKay.

A flash of surprise followed by anger crossed her face before she could control her features once again. "Doctor McKay, I thought I been clear about your status this week."

His features faltered, his eyes dropping to his hands. "You were." He paused, raising his head to meet her gaze. "I wanted to apologize in person. My actions were both unprofessional and uncalled for. Because of my…shortsightedness we lost a very good scientist. I know there's nothing I can do to bring him back, but I guarantee that I will do everything within my power to never let anything like this happen again."

Placing her mug carefully on her desk, away from her computer and any paperwork, Elizabeth leaned her elbows on the surface, her hands clasped together before her. "While I appreciate the obvious effort it has taken you to come here, I honestly find it…difficult to believe that you can guarantee anything like this from occurring again."

McKay nodded, his eyes still fixed on her. "I understand how you must feel. But you also have to realize that I am…painfully aware of the lives that were lost, or that might have been lost, if it were not for Colonel Caldwell's appearance."

"That's when hindsight comes into play, isn't it?"

"Yes," he replied, his feet becoming more interesting once again. "I know you have other things to do and I shouldn't be here, but thank you for not throwing me out on sight. Again, I'm sorry, Elizabeth."

Turning quickly, he moved off, Major Lorne offering her a sharp nod before he followed McKay through the control room and down the stairs. Her eyes caught sight of Carolyn Edwards, her ten o'clock appointment. Time to get back to business.

***

Major Lorne leaned against one of the railings in the control room as Doctor McKay slowly made his way to Weir's office. He figured the other man would prefer a little privacy for his apology. He had five minutes, just like he'd had with Doctor Zelenka, and Lorne didn't think it would take that long. From the word on the street, she was still pretty ticked off about the whole situation.

The technician had said that Colonel Sheppard had been up here this morning for the department heads briefing, but that had been a few hours ago. He'd asked the man to pass along a message if the Colonel stopped by and the Sergeant had agreed. Lorne, though, decided to locate Sheppard over the radio. He had to report in anyway.

"Lorne to Sheppard."

Gazing down over the gateroom, he let his eyes wander over everything, still amazed by what was here. People moved briskly through the wide-open space, papers or computers in hand, but when they reached the center of the room, they all looked up, their eyes caressing the gate and the room. There was just something about this place, about being here, that was still so unbelievable.

"Lorne, this is Sheppard. There a problem?"

"No, sir. Reporting in to let you know that things are quiet. Also, Doctor McKay would like to speak with you when you have a moment."

Silence filled the link for a moment and Lorne nearly clicked the radio to check the connection, but Sheppard's voice came back, the tone colder than it had been only a moment ago. "I'll keep that in mind, Major. I have a number of things to take care of today."

"I understand, but I told the Doctor I would try to get hold of you."

"Consider your promise fulfilled. I'll see if I can stop by later today."

"Yes, sir," Lorne replied, turning back to glance at Weir's office. McKay was turning to walk out. Less than five minutes. "I'll let him know."

"Good. Anything else?"

"No, sir."

"Okay. Sheppard out."

Lorne shook his head, holding back a sigh. Apparently, no one was going to make it easy for McKay today. God only knows what the rumor mill had dug up and spit out since yesterday. A minute later McKay was at his side, his mouth pulled down in a frown, his face white. "All done?"

The other man nodded sharply, refusing to meet his gaze. "Could you get Sheppard?"

Lorne shook his head. "He's in meetings most of the day. He said he'd try to stop by later."

McKay snorted, rolling his eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "That's the nice way of saying he doesn't want to talk to me. Fine. Can we get breakfast?"

"Of course. Isn't that where we started going this morning before you pulled us off on our little field trip?" Lorne asked, acknowledging Weir's gaze with a quick nod before they started down the stairs.

"Honestly, I think I probably got you in trouble for letting me go on our 'little field trip'," McKay commented, his words clipped but without the usual venom.

Lorne shrugged. "I can deal with it. And, besides, I wasn't told you couldn't apologize to anyone. But, I think if it had taken any longer we both would have gotten our asses in a sling."

"Oh, and isn't that an image to remember," McKay said, shaking his head. "I think I might be blind for life."

Chuckling, Lorne glanced sideways but the scientist refused to look up, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor in front of his feet. They settled into an uneasy silence as they made their way through the busier hallways leading to the mess hall. As soon as they turned inside, Lorne paused, finally making McKay look up at the other man.

"You invite me to breakfast and now you won't come in?"

"I ate earlier. Go and get some food. I'll wait here. Or would you rather have me hovering over your shoulder?"

"God forbid," McKay sighed. Looking a little uncertain, he wiggled his fingers and continued, "So, when I'm done should I….you know, just meet you…here? I've never had to do this before."

Lorne nodded, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall. "I'm not going anywhere and if you try to sneak away I'll be sure to find you, so don't get any ideas."

McKay's bloodshot eyes widened and he took a step back. "I wasn't…"

Lorne reached out to grab him before he backed into a nearby chair. "I was kidding, McKay. Go and get some food before you pass out."

"Funny," he scowled, shaking off the Major's hand. "This shouldn’t take long."

Lorne sighed and shook his head as the scientist headed for the line. It was strange to observe like this, watching the person he was in charge of and how everyone else reacted. He'd been trying to get McKay to lighten up a little, but he must have felt the weird shift in the air as soon as they'd walked in. These people were not happy to have the physicist here. The hovering military escort would just make matters worse. It was bad enough that he had to stand at the door.

The rumor mill was apparently working very well these days.

He watched as people's eyes followed McKay, as the whispers began anew when he passed by. Outwardly, it looked like the physicist didn't notice, but Lorne could tell he did. It was the little things that gave it away. The muscles in McKay's back tightened with each step, his posture straightened minutely, his hands shaking a little as he reached for the tray.

You'd miss these signs if you weren't looking for them.

Concentrating on the people in the room, Lorne saw them staring, ducking their heads to converse quietly, their rushed, hushed voices carrying further than they thought. The Airman on KP duty tried to school his features, but the contempt was there in the way he looked at McKay, in the tone of his voice, in the way he slapped the food on the plate McKay held out, letting it splatter against the scientist's sleeve.

Instead of complaining like he normally would, McKay moved away without a word, his mouth a thin line as he made his way to the coffeepot, finding only the barest remains of liquid. Glancing toward the airman, McKay visibly sighed before putting the glass pot back and grabbing a bottle of water.

He moved to a table in the far corner, slumping into the chair. McKay began to eat, his head down, the act mainly mechanical without the enjoyment Lorne normally associated with the scientist.

It seemed as if a few of the louder whispers reached McKay's ears and he froze, obviously hearing something Lorne could not. He didn’t think it possible, but the doctor's head dropped even further and he began pushing the eggs and bacon around on his plate.

Everything about this made Lorne's blood boil. If it continued, he was going to have to say something to Colonel Sheppard and Doctor Weir. This was uncalled for. This was unprofessional. Whatever issues they had with McKay were just that—between them and the doctor. There was no need for the entire base to get involved.

There had to be a better way than this to get a point across.

***

Apparently, "humiliate McKay" was on Lorne's "to do" list for today.

Pushing the food around on his plate, pretending like he actually felt like eating, that he could get the cold food past the lump in his throat, Rodney McKay tried not to listen to the words flying around the mess hall.

They were hard to ignore.

"…arrogant…"

"…the gall he had yelling at Doctor Weir…"

"…deserves everything he gets…"

"…about time they did something about the bastard…"

"…Doctor Zelenka has the labs running so smoothly…"

"…so much easier without him there, yelling and ranting…"

He knew this was a bad idea as soon as Lorne had mentioned it. He should have said no immediately instead of agreeing to be dragged to this farce masquerading as breakfast. But he'd been tired and hungry and he'd agreed, thinking Atlantis would be different from every other place he'd been.

He'd been wrong.

It was all the same. Every time he got comfortable, every time he felt like he belonged, he did something to screw it up. Why was it that when he finally found a place where he felt like he belonged, he had to go and ruin it? He'd turned the people he'd trusted, even become friends with, against him. It would be a very long time before things got back to normal—if they ever did.

There had to be a way to make things right, to make things better. He didn't want to leave Atlantis, but he knew when push came to shove, and if Elizabeth and Sheppard thought he was a liability, they'd be sure he was part of the next group of people transferred back to the SGC—out of their hair and their lives.

He liked Atlantis.

And he cared about what happened to her and the people in the city.

That was what it all boiled down to, why this punishment hurt so much. Atlantis and its inhabitants had gotten under his skin. He wanted things to go well. He wanted to be a part of bringing this awesome city back to life. Everything he learned made him want to learn more, do more. And the more he grew in tune with the city, the easier the mental commands came to him, the easier it was to interface with the controls, to make them do what he needed them to. It was addictive. Just the thought of losing that…it was more devastating than he wanted to consider.

Here, he made a difference, he was useful—at least he thought he was.

He was good at fixing things, always had been. His sister, while generally avoiding him at all costs when they were growing up, always brought stuff to him to repair—and he did so, easily and with little complaint.

He could fix this; he knew he could. It would take time, but right now, he had all the time in the world.

Abruptly rising to his feet, he brought his tray back to the counter, dumping most of its contents into the trash. Spying a small stack of paper bags in the corner, he grabbed one and opened it as he moved to the counter where the non-perishable and take-away foods were kept. He shoved in several PowerBars, followed by two Granny Smith apples. There were some granola bars, of which he grabbed two, and a few packages of cookies.

After snagging another bottle of water, he headed for the door where Lorne was lounging. McKay could feel all the eyes on him, watching him, but he ignored them. Not like he could do anything to make them go away, and any kind of comment would just make it twice as bad when he came back—as if he was. Meals in his room were looking like a better option.

Lorne eyed him as he approached, raising an eyebrow as he got to his feet. "Done already?"

"Yes, you could say that. And, if it's not too much trouble, I'd like to go back to my quarters now."

The major nodded, gesturing for McKay to lead the way. At least then he'd be away from everyone's prying eyes. There he'd be able to plan what he'd do next, once his imprisonment was over. There had to be some way he could make it up to everyone.

He was a genius. He'd find one.

***

Moving gracefully, Ronon circled Sheppard on the exercise mat, his hands held up, his eyes watching for any twitch, any subtle movement that would indicate the other man was about to strike.

They'd been sparring for the past thirty minutes and a light sheen had grown on the exposed skin of both men, the sweat sometimes dripping into their eyes, stinging, but not enough for either to take their mind off the fight.

Sheppard was hitting harder than normal, more aggressive, which Ronon didn't mind. There weren't many people on the base he could really fight with except Teyla and Sheppard, but he still tended to hold back. Accidentally damaging your teammates was generally not good.

Today, though, there was a distance in Sheppard's eyes and Ronon knew that the other man was fighting something other than the Satedan.

"What did McKay do?" he asked abruptly, the other man's eyes widening, his step faltering a little before he quickly recovered.

"What makes you think he did something?" Sheppard asked, throwing several punches that Ronon blocked, countering with several of his own.

"They way you're acting."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, but didn't answer, continuing to move forward as he balanced on the balls of his feet.

"Everyone's talking about it."

"Then, if everyone's talking, you don't need to hear it again from me," Sheppard replied, sounding winded. "And we talked about the mission at breakfast."

"But you still didn't answer my question." Ronon lowered his hands and took a step back, indicating a pause to their match. "What did McKay do?"

"Why are you so damn insistent?" Sheppard asked, moving to the bench on the side of the room, grabbing a plastic bottle from his pack and taking a long pull of the cool water. Digging inside the bag again, he dragged out a towel, rubbing his face briskly before throwing it around his shoulders.

Ronon moved to his own supplies, nearly finishing his bottle of water in one long gulp. Toweling off his face and upper body, he turned back to the other man. "You're different."

"Different?"

"Strange."

"Strange?"

"You're not acting like yourself."

"So, you're the expert on how I'm acting these days?"

"No. I'm just commenting," Ronon said, looking at the visibly agitated man before him. He gestured to the exercise mat with his chin. "You weren't fighting me out there."

"Who do you think I was sparring with? I didn't see anyone else in here. Did you?" Sheppard snapped, refusing to meet Ronon's eyes.

The Satedan shook his head. "I don't get it, Sheppard. Something obviously happened yesterday."

"Maybe it's none of your damn business," he said, shoving his water bottle back in his bag as he headed for the door.

"If you have a problem with McKay it is my business."

"Might not be for long. I'm fine. Just leave it alone."

Sheppard stormed out the door, leaving Ronon standing in the exercise room. He shook his head, still confused by the man's behavior and his loss of a sparring partner. Sheppard never left in the middle of one of their sessions unless there was an emergency. Seemed like he'd hit a nerve.

***

Major Lorne could be a bastard when he wants to, Rodney thought, as he stormed back from the mess hall for the third time today. As if breakfast wasn't enough, Lorne had dragged him back down in the middle of the afternoon just when he'd been up to one hundred and forty-two wins at solitaire.

Then the man had insisted on going again now, before his shift was over. What, did the Major think it was fun to watch everyone skewer him with evil, hate-filled glances? Did he like hearing all the derogatory things everyone couldn't keep to themselves?

Dinner had been no different, although this time the behemoth also known as Second Lieutenant Holden Clark insisted that he 'put his boots on and move' before he was 'dragged there in his bare feet'.

He hated the military mindset sometimes. Their little minds were only good when you needed them to follow directions.

Tell them to 'go shoot that Wraith drone so the scientist lives,' and they walk off happy to be able to do something useful and play with their toys. If it involves explosions, they comply even faster.

"Doctor McKay," Clark called to him, his muscle-clad body too heavy to drag after the quickly moving scientist. "Wait up."

"I know how to get back to my quarters, lieutenant," McKay yelled back, refusing to pause. Besides, he could have sworn he'd seen Sheppard up ahead.

Picking up the pace, he swore as the figure turned down another hallway, preventing him from making a positive identification. It certainly loped down the hallway like Sheppard and that nest on the top of his head was hard to mistake for anyone else.

And whether the Colonel wanted to or not, McKay was going to talk to him.

***

Swearing under his breath as he heard the lieutenant yelling for Doctor McKay to slow down, John Sheppard made a decision to duck down the nearest hallway in an effort to get away from the conversation he knew McKay was intent on having with him.

He wasn't in the mood and had no intention of talking to the man for a very long time.

Realizing he'd turned down a dead end, he quickly turned on his heel intending to slip back down the main corridor to the next intersection when he spotted McKay coming directly at him.

Turning back around, he realized that there was a transporter only a few steps away. If he could just get there…

"Oh, Colonel! Colonel, I've been looking all over for you."

Sighing, he turned to face the scientist, folding his arms over his chest as he let the other man come to him. He didn't disguise his current feelings. Why pretend to be nice when he wasn't in the mood? "I heard."

Disappointment and hurt flashed over McKay's face before being replaced by a mask of feigned disinterest. "I suppose I deserve that. Look," he continued, his words coming slower, more uncertain. "I just…um…I wanted to apologize about what happened. I was wrong. I'm sorry. And I wanted to assure you that…uh…I intend not being right again—about everything, effective immediately." He offered a hopeful smile and John resisted the urge to lash out and wipe it off the man's face. John smiled slightly, without humor, but kept his arms folded. McKay's grin faltered a moment later.

"That was a joke."

"Good one," John said, turning to the transporter alcove. He could hear the footfalls of the other man following behind him, so he turned again, fastening a look of impatience on McKay, who began to babble almost immediately.

"I've already apologized to Elizabeth...and Radek... and I thanked Colonel Caldwell for, uh, caring enough to spy on the experiment from orbit. I sent him a nice little email, actually. But I saved you 'til last 'cause, um, honestly, I would ... I would hate to think that recent events might have permanently dimmed your faith in my abilities, or your trust. At the very least, I hope I can earn that back."

John stood there, surprised at the words tumbling from McKay's mouth. Was he kidding? Trust? Faith? Those flew out the window as soon as he decided to use both of them to manipulate him into doing something that he thought was a bad idea from the beginning. He'd trusted McKay, believed him when he'd come to his door in the middle of the night, asking—begging him even—to trust him, to convince Elizabeth that it was a good idea to learn more about that power source.

Any more situations like that and they wouldn’t have to worry about the Wraith anymore in the Pegasus galaxy—there wouldn't be any of it left if McKay kept blowing it up.

His eyes hard, he finally managed to mutter a reply before turning and stepping into the transporter alcove. "That may take a while."

"I see," McKay replied, his face a misery.

Sheppard could hear the sound of stomping feet fast approaching and used the time to position himself in the transporter. "But, I'm sure you can do it, if you really want to try." Poking a spot on the transporter map, somewhere near his quarters, he looked back at the other man, offering a smile as the visibly annoyed lieutenant turned the corner, the doors closing before he could hear the bellowing Sheppard knew was about ready to begin.

From the looks of things, McKay was in trouble and he deserved everything the lieutenant could throw at him. Something had to be able to get through to the arrogant man.

John sighed, stepping out of the transporter on the opposite end and heading toward his quarters. He'd change first and then head back to the gym. Maybe one of the Marines would be up to a little one-on-one.

***

Day Two

When Lorne arrived the next morning at McKay's door, Captain Andrews quickly reported 'all quiet' before heading off down the corridor at a quick clip. Glancing down the hall, a puzzled expression on his face, Lorne turned back to the door, triggering the chime.

Through the wall Lorne could have sworn that he heard McKay reply, "For the sixteenth time. Go away."

Lorne leaned on the chime again.

When the door slid open a few seconds later, he discovered an agitated McKay in jeans and a T-shirt glaring at him. The scientist's eyes widened when they landed on Lorne. "Oh, sorry, Major. Thought it was Andrews. Been driving me crazy all morning." He walked away, waving absently for the Major to enter. "You wanted something?" he continued as he made his way to his desk.

Lorne glanced around the spotless room; everything was organized and put away. It was odd to see the change in such a short period of time.

"Major?" McKay prompted, looking up at him as he sat in his desk chair, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back. "I don't think you invaded my imprisonment for your health. You wanted something?"

"What's with Andrews?" he asked, changing the subject and adopting a parade rest stance at the end of McKay's bed.

"What does it matter to you?"

"He's supposed to be guarding the door, not making your life hell."

"Too late for that anyway, Major," McKay said with a roll of his eyes. "Colonel Sheppard and Doctor Weir have that covered. Oh, and did you get your jollies yesterday parading me around?"

Lorne took a deep breath, trying to control his annoyance. He should have known the mild-mannered physicist wouldn’t last. Although this McKay sounded more normal than the one he babysat yesterday.

"I was doing my job."

"So, it's your job to humiliate me in front of the entire Atlantis base? That's new. I'll need to brush up on my military protocols when I get server access again." McKay stood, taking several steps toward Lorne before stopping, looking down his nose at him. "Was there something you wanted, Major? If not, I have work to do."

"Work?"

"Not all of my work was on the server and the last time I checked I was allowed to access the contents of my own hard drive. Or are you going to run and report to Elizabeth that I'm working on personal projects?"

"No," Lorne said, trying to figure out how he lost control of his conversation. He'd only wanted to know if the doctor wanted to get breakfast, but from the looks of things he'd been up for hours already.

"Then, I suggest you go outside and do that guard duty thing you're so good at. And remember the next time you want to 'mock the prisoner' that I don't want to play."

McKay turned and walked back to his desk, dropping into his chair, his fingers immediately clicking on the keyboard. Lorne shrugged and shook his head, moving out into the hallway.

I guess, he thought as the doors slid shut, that would be a 'no' to breakfast.

***

As soon as the door closed behind Lorne, Rodney sighed and slumped in his chair, cradling his head in his arms as he leaned on the desk. He was so tired and bored. And, knowing his current state of mind, would probably yell at Mother Theresa if she happened to walk through the door.

This was worse than torture.

It wasn't bad enough he had trouble sleeping—he kept seeing Collins' charred remains coming back to life, stumbling after him, murmuring it was all Rodney's fault he'd been burned. Sometimes he'd wake up sweating and shaking, convinced the man's dead and fused hands were throttling him in his sleep. Other times, he was standing there, watching as it happened, watching as Collins' skin turned black, cooking him instantly, the man crying and yelling, begging Rodney to stop the pain.

Sometimes it was Sheppard in Collins' place.

He wasn't sure which was worse.

And then Captain Andrews thought he was being cute, playing the 'ring and run' game—not that Andrews had anywhere to go either. But it always seemed that as soon as McKay had finally fallen into a dreamless sleep the door chime would go off, startling him to wakefulness. Apparently, the good Captain had decided Weir's punishment wasn't enough, that he had to add to it, just to make it better.

At 0500, he'd given up trying to sleep, taking his time showering and puttering around the room. He'd started straightening his closet and then one thing led to another. By the time he was finished, his entire room was organized.

It would make things easier in the long run he knew.

He'd tried working on the few projects on his hard drive, but they refused to hold his attention for long. Why was it that when you had all the time in the world to work on research, you never had the desire to sit and do it? Why did you always want the things you couldn’t have?

He was trapped, so he wanted to walk out to the end of the East Pier. He had time to work on his personal projects, but his mind drifted back to the events on Doranda. Hell, he'd even go work out with Teyla just to get out of the room. It was irrational, he knew, and frustrating at the same time.

But sitting here, sipping on his bottle of water to wash down the two pain meds he'd found stashed in his first aid kit and the crumbs of a PowerBar, his mind was working away. It wasn't equations and formulas this time, however. He was going through what he could remember from the Ancient's database about planets and weapons and power sources. There had to be something he could use, something he could find and fix. Something that would make their life easier in the Pegasus galaxy.

He knew he'd locate it once he could delve into the database, but until he had his access privileges reinstated, all he had were memories. He hoped they were going to be enough.

***

Day Three

McKay refused to leave his quarters all day.

Lorne had asked several times—politely, nicely—only to be insulted and unceremoniously thrown out. There was only so much food the physicist could horde in there before he would have to come out, but who knew what he had hidden away. It wouldn't surprise him if the scientist had managed to MacGyver some sort of Ancient mini-fridge out of spare parts.

By the time the next day rolled around, Lorne was worried. According to Andrews and Clark, McKay had refused any offer to go get food. A man could not live on PowerBars alone—even though McKay would probably try to argue against it.

Preparing himself for a fight, Lorne squared his shoulders and waved his hand over the door panel, triggering the chime. After a few minutes of no response, Lorne tried again, adding several pounds on the door with his fist.

"Doctor McKay?"

Thinking the door open, Lorne poked his head in, catching sight of the overly organized and spotless room. And sitting at the desk—slumped over it was closer to the truth—was the scientist.

Approaching slowly, Lorne noted he was breathing—always a good thing. A light snore rose up from the sleeping figure and he shook his head. Even off duty, the scientist didn't know when to quit. It didn't even look as if he'd ever made it to bed last night.

Reaching out a hand, he placed it lightly on the sleeping man's shoulder, trying not to startle him. "Doctor?"

McKay half-muttered, "Go away," before shifting slightly, a grimace finding its way to his face.

He woke then in stages, his hand immediately going to clutch at his back, the other one grabbing at his head. "Oh, god…" he groaned. A minute later he glanced over his shoulder, his bloodshot blue eyes glazed with pain. "What are you doing in here? Don't you people torture me enough?"

Lorne leaned back, his eyebrows drawing together. "Torture? What?"

McKay waved him off, rising to his feet with a hiss. "Never mind. Where are those damn pills?"

"What's wrong, McKay?" Lorne asked, following the staggering scientist as he stumbled to the bathroom. A field fit appeared a moment later that he rustled through, finally pulling out a bottle of pain meds.

"What does it look like?" he replied, shaking two pills into his hand before popping them into his mouth and dry-swallowing them.

"You look like you're eighty, that's what," Lorne said, eyeing the man critically. "Why don't you try sleeping in your bed?"

"Oh, thank you for bringing that to my attention, Captain Obvious. I hadn't thought of that before," McKay said, rounding on him. "And why are you in here anyway?"

"Major Obvious to you, doctor," he said, trying to lighten the atmosphere in the room—without success. Narrowing his eyes, he took a good look at the man leaning against the bathroom doorframe. He was paler than yesterday, the circles under his eyes darker. McKay was obviously sporting one hell of a headache if the squinting eyes were any indication. Top that off with stiff back muscles from falling asleep at his desk…well it was no big surprise why he might be a little testy.

"When was the last time you ate something?"

McKay folded his hands over his chest. "I know how to take care of myself, Major. I don't need a nursemaid."

"Just answer the question."

"Yesterday sometime…this morning. What does it matter?"

"Let me guess. A peanut butter PowerBar?"

McKay huffed at him, confirming his assumption. "So, since we're settled with when and what you ate last, how about breakfast? I'm sure the sudden decrease in caffeine is not helping your head. I'll make sure there's a full pot."

It took a moment before he answered. Shaking his head slowly, McKay's eyes were guarded. "Why do you care?"

"I have eyes and ears, McKay, but I choose to make my own decisions. Up for some breakfast? I'll join you this time."

McKay held his eyes for a long moment before answering. "You promise there will be coffee?"

Lorne smiled. "Promise."

***

Teyla walked purposely toward Doctor McKay's quarters, her training bag in hand. Although Colonel Sheppard had explained the mission that had led to the Doctor's current predicament to both her and Ronon, the real reasons behind the Colonel's anger were not clear. And, no matter how much she and Ronon pushed, he would not speak any further about the matter.

She had heard the talk in the hallways, in the gym, in the mess hall, in the infirmary, and even in the control room. There was not much else being spoken about. The words were hurtful, full of vengeance and distain. She had known that the scientist was not the most popular person on the base, but she had never expected the tone of the conversations she'd overheard.

Lieutenant Holden Clark was standing guard outside the Doctor's quarters, a bored expression on his face. As soon as he saw her coming, however, he straightened up, his professional mask slipping in place. When she stopped in front of him, his eyebrow rose.

"Ma'am…can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Doctor McKay."

"He's not available."

"Is he not inside his quarters?"

"Of course, he's there."

"Then, why am I not permitted to speak to him? Did Doctor Weir specifically state that Doctor McKay was to receive no visitors?"

"Well, no, not exactly."

Teyla narrowed her eyes. "Would it not be best to check with Doctor Weir before we stand here with the situation unresolved?"

"But—" he muttered, but Teyla cut him off as she reached for her comm. "Doctor Weir?"

Weir's response was almost immediate. "Yes, Teyla? Is there a problem?"

"I had a question regarding the specifics of Doctor McKay's confinement. Is he permitted visitors?"

Weir was quiet for a moment before she finally responded, her tone curious but with a strange hard edge, her words coming slowly as if she was carefully considering them. "Was there something you wished to discuss with Doctor McKay?"

"No. He is a member of my team and I wish to speak with him. Has he been denied companionship as well as removed from the duty roster?"

"No," Weir finally answered. "Anyone who wishes to speak to him may."

"Thank you, Doctor Weir. I will inform Lieutenant Clark of your decision. Teyla out." Turning the comm off, she turned to the man standing beside her, his expression a combination of worry and annoyance. "Doctor Weir says that Doctor McKay is permitted visitors. If you will stand aside, I wish to speak with him."

"Your funeral," Clark muttered, waving his hand over the door chime.

Teyla turned back him, her anger rising. "What did you say?"

"Just that he's been in a piss-poor mood for the past three days. Might be safer out here."

"And if you had been treated the way he has been, would you not also be in a 'piss-poor' mood, Lieutenant?"

The doors slid open revealing a bleary-eyed McKay. "What do you want?"

***

Breakfast had been an interesting affair.

There had been coffee—as promised. As many cups as he wanted. Lorne had even procured a thermos from somewhere, filling it with the hot liquid before they returned to his quarters.

Pseudo-eggs had graced his plate, along with pancakes and toast, everything just the way he liked. And after a day of PowerBars, and the other odds and ends he'd be able to grab, it was heavenly.

The whispering was still there. The leering stares. The distain-filled glances.

But McKay had ignored them, intent on the hot food in his plate. But still, the words got through and by the end of his meal he'd been as tense as a piano string. Glancing up at Major Lorne, he knew the man had heard everything, his eyes flickering over the people in the room, remembering phrases and faces and names. It was as if McKay could see Lorne cataloging everything and storing it in the back of his mind. What he was going to do with the information, he didn't know.

The incident happened when they were leaving.

It was said quietly, but the disgust had been clear. "Who knew McKay could find another bedwarmer so quickly? Wonder if he even waited for Sheppard to get his toothbrush before moving in."

McKay had turned, his eyes finding the culprit immediately. It was hard to miss the condescending glare and the up-lifted chin. It wasn't Kavanaugh, but the tone was just about right—as was the attitude. It had to be one of his minions.

Lorne had put a hand on his arm, trying to stop his forward movement, but he shrugged it off. His eyes narrowing as he approached the scientist, McKay could feel his blood pressure rising with every step.

"You were saying something, Wisinski?" McKay asked, the name popping into his mind as he got closer. The scientist stood, drawing support from the other three sitting with him at the table.

Ignoring Lorne's warning of "McKay" in the background, Rodney had kept moving, only stopping when he was in the man's personal space.

Wisinski had glanced toward his companions, puffing up with confidence at their encouraging smiles. "I was just commenting on how quickly you change boyfriends, McKay. What's with you and the military? Or maybe you just have a thing for uniforms?"

His hands shaking, the pulse point in his forehead throbbing with each and every beat of his heart, he stepped closer, only to find Major Lorne moving between then, blocking his way.

"I believe this conversation is ended gentlemen," the Major said, his voice boding no argument, a hand on each man's chest, gently forcing them apart.

"I wasn't done. In fact I was just getting started," McKay growled, his eyes refusing to leave Wisinski's face. He was briefly rewarded when he saw a hint of fear in the scientist's eyes, but it quickly faded when Lorne continued, shoving McKay back a few paces.

"Yes, you were. Now, Doctor Wisinski, if you'd kindly return to your meal, Doctor McKay and I will be leaving." He paused, turning slightly as he aimed the last part at the smug scientist. "Let me make a suggestion. Make sure this…conversation never happens again."

Lorne had moved away, grabbing McKay by the arm, forcibly removing him from the mess hall. Snagging the thermos full of coffee from the table, they'd returned to the residential section of Atlantis in silence, McKay still fuming about the incident, Lorne companionably quiet.

When he'd refused to leave for lunch, Lorne ordered someone to bring something, dropping the tray on the desk with a thump before turning on his heel and heading back out the door. McKay didn't even have the chance to say 'thanks' when the door slid shut behind the major.

Dinner was a different matter entirely. Holden, apparently acting on orders from Lorne, nearly dragged McKay to the mess hall, but merely watched as the physicist retrieved a tray-full of food before heading back to his quarters.

They could force him to come here to get food, but they couldn't make him stay. There was only so much humiliation a man could take in one day.

So, here he was, sitting on his balcony, picking at the remnants of his dinner and trolling through the events of the day. Looking back, McKay knew that Wisinski had been trying to get a rise out of him, and, like clockwork, he'd responded. Maybe it was the attitude. Maybe it was the tone. Or maybe he just didn't like to see someone who was finally treating him like a human dragged down to his level. Besides, there was only room down here for one.

Besides, Lorne was a good man. Why should he sully the man's reputation just because he wanted to be nice to one of the biggest screw-ups in Atlantis? He was new. That must be it. Lorne must not have had the pleasure at being at the receiving end of his sharp tongue yet. Well, until now, he imagined, chuckling to himself humorlessly, bitterly.

He'd shoved himself against one of the outside walls, hunched down in the corner of the balcony furthest from the door, his knees pulled up toward his chest. He'd curled in on himself, cold but refusing to get up and retrieve more clothes. He could deal with a little discomfort. This was far less embarrassing and uncomfortable than the punishment Elizabeth decided he needed.

He thought he'd had a rapport with her. They'd worked together for more than two years, nearly three. They were friends, or as close to it as he ever got—at least that's what he'd always assumed…until now. Yes, he may have blown up the majority of a solar system, but Carter had blown up entire stars—on purpose he might add—not that it would add any credibility or justification to his argument. They'd just think he was trying to be his usual impudent self.

His equations should have worked, and because they didn't one man was dead—a scientist who actually had more than two brain cells and seemed to know what he was doing. Because of his carelessness, his arrogance, his ego, he'd lost someone from his team. And even trying to set things right once again—to give Collins' death meaning—had just made things worse. Horribly worse.

Sighing deeply, his food long forgotten, he leaned his head against one of the wall supports and folded his arms over his chest, tucking his arms in his armpits, trying to keep the little heat he had close to his body.

But, when you considered all the alternatives, there was only one thing that was clearly evident—at least in his mind. It was his own fault he was in this situation. It wasn't as if he could blame Elizabeth for meting out the punishment she'd given. He might want, to but it wasn't fair on his part. She'd really had no choice in the matter and it was his actions that had forced her hand. Did it hurt? Yes. Was it necessary to set the example that shortsightedness and personal ambition had no place in this expedition? Definitely.

He understood it intellectually, of course. He just hated being the example.

But, there was light at the end of the so-called tunnel, even as clichéd as that sounded. In a few day's time he'd go back to work, beginning to fashion a plan to ensure the city's safety, to show them he could make things right once again. It was only a matter of time, he knew, before he'd come up with something. That's what he did—solved things, fixed problems.

He'd fix this, whatever it took.

The sunset and the sound of the ocean below had been calming, allowing his thoughts to drift, giving him a sense of peace he'd thought he'd long since lost. But as quickly as it came, it deserted him once again—much like everyone he'd known. Collins hovered just beyond the railing. His charred fingers reaching out, brushing against his face, tightening around his throat…

McKay's eyes snapped open quickly, his breath catching in his chest, his hands rising to ward off the last vestiges of his nightmare.

Heart pounding, he staggered to his feet, one hand grabbing onto the railing while the other wiped the sweat from his forehead. The chime of the door shattered the remaining tendrils of the dream from his mind, as his legs pushed him unsteadily toward the door.

Disorientation quickly turned to anger as his body shivered from the temperature change. What the hell did the Marines have against him?

He sent a mental command to unlock and open the door as he approached.

"What the hell do you want this time?"

His angry words were already out of his mouth before he saw who was standing in front of him.

"Um…" he stuttered, moving back to allow her to step inside, the door sliding closed behind her. "What….why are you here, exactly?" he asked, watching as she moved toward his bed, dropping her bag on the surface. She turned toward him, her hands on her hips as she regarded him carefully, her eyes narrowing in displeasure. McKay straightened self-consciously under her gaze. His right hand moved to its familiar position, resting comfortably behind his back, while his left hand was free to roam, the limb in constant motion, his fingers clenching and unclenching as if they were as unsure about what to do as he was.

"You have missed your workout sessions," she said without any preamble, her voice unthreatening, merely stating a fact.

"I didn't exactly have much choice in the matter," he replied quickly, defensively, a frown finding its way to his face as Teyla reached into her bag and produced two sets of sticks. He took a few steps backwards as she approached, panic sliding across his face. "Wait a minute. What do you think you're doing with those?"

"Since you cannot attend our sessions in the gym, I decided to come to you."

"I see that," he said, eyeing his teammate carefully. "But that still doesn't explain why you're chasing me with big sticks."

She didn't sigh, exactly.  It was more like she exhaled a little harder than normal. "I would suggest you change into something more appropriate for this type of activity."

"Or?"

"Or we can begin practice immediately," she said, offering him a set of the sticks. "I do not believe you will be comfortable in the clothes you are currently wearing, however."

McKay stood his ground, his arms crossing over his chest as he glared at the woman. "I don't understand this. You come barging into my quarters and begin waving sticks and demanding that I change into different clothes to do an activity I don't enjoy. Why should I listen to you?"

She raised her hands, holding the sticks higher.

"Right," he said, snapping his fingers as he moved to his closet. "Big sticks." He rummaged for a minute, digging for the workout clothes he knew were there. Spotting them, he reached in, coming up for air a moment later. He continued talking as he walked toward the adjacent room. "Give me a minute and I'll get changed."

"I shall give you all the time you require," she said as he entered the bathroom, the door closing quietly, leaving him alone. Resisting the urge to simply slump against the surface behind him and take a deep shuddering breath, he willed himself to move, to get his limbs to obey his command. The switch of clothes didn't take long, but he used a few of those minutes to compose himself and wash off the stench of fear from his waking nightmare. Sometimes he swore he could still smell the odor of burned flesh.

Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths, allowing a small sense of control to flow over him. He knew it wouldn't last, but he needed this time and this slight feeling of normality for his own sanity—although, it shouldn't make that big of a difference since he was in doubt of it on a regular basis.

Steeling himself for what he knew was to come at the hands of his teammate, he opened his eyes and exited the bathroom, stopping short as he realized his room had changed. Teyla smiled gently at him from across the room, his bed now pushed to the side, making a larger space in the center of the room. Whatever other small items that had been around were also gone, placed in a pile on his now-closed laptop. Even on the balcony, the tray he remembered leaving there was gone, most likely due to his over-zealous teammate.

"You…you moved everything," he said, the only reply he could manage as he gaped at her.

"Yes," she said, drifting closer, her expression moving quickly to concern. "I did not think you would mind since we require a larger area to practice than what was available. If I was presumptuous—"

McKay shook his head, his hands waving before him. "No…no, you're fine. Just took me by surprise." He let his eyes glide around the room, cataloging every change. He never liked people touching his things. Most didn't show the same care he did, but Teyla was okay. She wouldn't break anything, ruin anything. There was something about the Athosian woman that he simply trusted. Meeting her eyes once again, he forced himself to nod, offering a tired half-smile as he moved toward the closet. "Let me just put sneakers on. I can't defend myself very well in socks."

"I'm certain you would perform more than adequately, Doctor," she replied. And, even without looking, he knew her head was tilted slightly to the side and there was a smile on her face.

Ever the optimist, he thought, wrestling with his footwear. Even with her village destroyed and her people facing annihilation by the Wraith, she continued to fight, continued to believe that they would survive to live—and fight—another day. How they could keep going with that kind of weight dragging them down, he did not know. He didn't envy their way of life. It was hard and each day was uncertain. But then, so was their own.

Finally standing once again, he moved to take the a pair of the fighting sticks from her, his hands finding the weights familiar, his body and his muscles falling into the position it had come to know. "So, you're going to go easy on me, right? We're not in the gym or anything. No mats. Remember, I bruise easily."

She smiled easily. "I remember. Now, concentrate," she ordered. He nodded once and they began circling, each sending out test strikes, every one easily blocked.

Rodney fell into the movement, watching Teyla carefully as they circled. His eyes fixed on her, looking for openings, for indications when she would strike. He lost himself in the moment, his hands and arms acting and reacting, sometimes without conscious thought.

They danced.

The sticks struck each other in a growing composition of sounds—the crack of wood against wood combing with the harsh breaths and the swoosh of their feet against the floor.

And then, as if a silent command had been given, they stepped back in unison, drawing deep breaths as they offered a parting bow, signaling the end of their practice session. Sweat glistened on their brows, their clothes sticking to overheated bodies. Smiles, though, graced both faces.

"You have done well, Doctor McKay," Teyla praised as she retrieved the sticks and returned them to her bag. "You have progressed greatly since we began sparring."

He offered a thankful smile, ducking his head at the compliments. "I never thought I'd have to do anything like this, but I like knowing I can do it if I have to. You're a good teacher, patient when others would not be."

"Then it is their loss. You are an apt student, and quick to learn. Do not value yourself less just because you are only now learning what others have known. I am only sad that you have been forced to travel this path." She paused, her face drawing in on itself, her eyes darkening. Her tone though was quiet, thoughtful, but strong. "Be strong. There are still many who would call you friend."

Moved by her comments, McKay wasn't sure what to say, if he should thank her, so he let the silence grow between them instead.

Picking up her bag, she walked toward the door, turning just before she reached it. "Would it be permissible to return again tomorrow night to continue your training?"

McKay nodded, grateful for the normal question as his pulse and his breaths came easier. "That…that would be fine. I think I'd like that."

Teyla smiled, inclining her head toward him. "Then, I shall return tomorrow." As the door opened, he called out to her once again, making her pause.

"Hey! You didn't move the bed back."

Glancing over her shoulder, McKay swore she was smirking. "Consider it…homework."

***

Atlantis at night was heaven to John Sheppard. The corridors quiet, except for a few solitary figures wandering the halls. Sometimes he'd hear laughter echoing down a stairwell or from an open door and he'd smile. They'd made Atlantis their home, and at night it sounded like they belonged.

Tonight, however, he wasn't listening to the satisfied hum of the city or the words floating on the air, drifting from the gatherings throughout the city. As he entered the residential section the sounds quieted, but there was a sense of people living here.

Approaching one of the doors, he stopped, drawing a breath before he waved his hand in front of the door chime, waiting patiently for the occupant to answer. He was rewarded a few moments later when the door opened and a rumpled Major Lorne squinted up at him.

"Colonel?" he asked, trying to straighten up, but Sheppard waved him off.

"At ease, Major. I wanted to speak to you about a change in your orders beginning tomorrow."

"Sir?" Lorne said, his eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement, seemingly unfazed that he was standing in the doorway in boxers and a T-shirt.

"Doctor Beckett needs to go to the mainland in the morning to perform some routine checks on the Athosians. I need you to go with him."

"But, I'm scheduled—"

"Change it. As it was, you were supposed to delegate that particular assignment."

"Sir? I thought you had left it up to my discretion."

"I did, but I'm assigning someone to replace you. Report to the jumper bay at 0700 hours and be prepared to give Doctor Beckett whatever assistance he requires. I believe he said this would take several days to complete. You may want to talk with the Doctor to determine if he plans to remain on the mainland until he's finished."

Lorne's face hardened, but he nodded. "Understood, sir. Anything else?"

"Nothing, Major. Have a good night."

Sheppard turned on his heel, striding away from Lorne, vaguely hearing the door to the Major's quarters slide shut. He headed a few levels up, his feet taking him unerringly to Teyla's door.

She answered quicker than the Major, calling out to him to enter as the door opened. She was seated on her bed, obviously in the middle of some of her nightly exercises. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he began as he stepped inside. "I tried calling you on the radio, but you didn't pick up."

"I apologize, Colonel. I had taken it out once I returned to my room and did not think to turn it loud enough for me to hear. It shall not happen again." She paused, looking him over carefully before speaking. "However, if it had been an emergency, you would have paged me, so it must be another matter. Why are you here, Colonel Sheppard?"

"There's been a change in our mission schedule."

"When did this occur? I did not think we would be continuing with our missions while Doctor McKay was restricted to the base."

"I never said that," Sheppard replied, pacing a little. "Doctor Weir left the decision up to me as to how I wished to handle the situation and I do not think it's a good idea for the flagship team to just sit home because of the change in status of one of its members."

John paused, glancing at Teyla, but her face was unreadable. "Doctor Weir has been going over some of the records you provided and she believes that the Mazurkians would make a very good trading partner for Atlantis. She suggested that we go and make first contact since you had mentioned that you knew their leader."

"Yes," Teyla nodded. "I have known Soony for several cycles. He is a good man and would be amenable to trade."

"Good," he said, clapping his hands together. "It's settled. I talked to Ronon already and we can ship out first thing in the morning. Be ready to leave at 0800 hours."

"Very well, Colonel," she replied simply. When he didn't move, she continued a beat later. "Was there something else?"

Sheppard shook his head slowly. "No. I think that's it."

"Then, if you do not mind," she said, rising to her feet. "I have much to do to prepare for the morning."

"Good night," he said, already turning to the door. He didn't expect a reply and wasn't surprised when none was forthcoming. He could tell that Teyla was angry with him, but she'd get over it by morning—which was not far away. He should probably get some sleep. At least now, he could rest. His job was done.

***

Day Four

Carson Beckett cursed under his breath as he dragged the large hard-sided case down to the jumper bay along with his over-stuffed backpack. Cresting the bay doors, he spotted Major Lorne hovering near one of the crafts, a tablet in his hands. It looked like he was going over a checklist. It wouldn't surprise him. They needed a lot of extra stuff for this trip to the mainland.

Elizabeth had promised quarterly check-ups for the Athosian people—for any who wanted a medical exam—and it was that time once again. Carson had argued that it could wait a week, that he had other things that needed to be done, but Elizabeth had refused claiming Halling was expecting him first thing in the morning. He just wished someone had given him more than twelve hours warning.

"Morning, Major," he said, sighing as he dropped the case on the floor at the rear of the jumper.

"Morning, Doctor," he replied, glancing up from the tablet in his hands. "Did you need anything else from the infirmary? I can run down with you to pick it up. I think I have all the supplies Doctor Weir promised the Athosians already on-board." His eyes drifted back down to the device in his hand as he checked off several other items on his list. "And did you decide what you wanted to do about overnight accommodations?"

"Nae, I didn't," Carson replied, shaking his head as he critically examined the mostly full jumper. He waved his hands at the boxes stacked within. "It looks like we're starting a new colony with all this…stuff."

Lorne moved closer, stopping beside Beckett as they both looked at their cargo. "Seems like it." A few beats of silence passed before the Major continued, his free hand gesturing to the jumper. "I hate to ask, but did you have anything else to add to the pile?"

Movement near the bay doors drew their attention and Carson smiled, waving the two nurses forward. "Just my nurses and their gear. I told them to pack for one overnight just in case."

Lorne nodded, already moving off. "Then we should be good to go. Let me confirm with Doctor Weir on the supply list and I'll be ready."

"Aye. We'll be here." Sighing, he directed the nurses to stow their gear as he dragged his case into the jumper, finding a spot and shoving it in place. He could hear Lorne talking, probably to Elizabeth, somewhere to the side of the bay. He appeared a few minutes later as soon as they had settled into the forward section—Carson in the co-pilot seat, the nurses behind.

"Looks like we have everything," he said, closing the rear hatch as he moved to the pilot's seat. "It shouldn’t take us long to get there and Halling is expecting us."

Lorne's hands grabbed the controls and the console lit up. Carson watched as the Major went through a quick preflight, nodding to himself when everything came up in the green.

Opening up a communications channel, Lorne spoke again, sharing a brief moment of eye contact with Carson as the signal connected through to the control room. Beckett narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher the look the Major had given him. Something was on his mind—that much was certain.

"Puddlejumper three to Flight, requesting permission to depart to the mainland."

"Jumper three, this is Flight," Weir said. "You're clear for departure. Have a safe trip."

"Thanks, Flight," Lorne replied, already lifting the puddlejumper into the air. "We'll give you an update later today regarding our overnight plans."

"Sounds good. Be safe and give my regards to Halling and the rest of the Athosians."

"We will. Puddlejumper three out."

A few moments later and they were cruising a few hundred feet above the ocean and Atlantis was growing smaller in the distance.

Carson sighed and leaned back in his chair, watching as the mainland grew in size. As much as he enjoyed getting out to the settlement, this time he wished he were staying behind.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth seemed to have other plans for him. And this time, he wasn't sure how he'd gotten dragged into it.

***

John Sheppard walked into the gateroom feeling rested and ready to head out. He spotted Ronon and Teyla near the stairs, while Doctor Weir was standing on the closest balcony overlooking the gate. It was a little weird to be going out in the field as a three-man…person team, but since there was no indication of anything more advanced than a turnip, John decided not to assign a scientist to the team—at least for now. He might consider it in the following weeks, depending on the mission.

"Morning, everyone," Sheppard said, striding over to where the rest of his team was waiting. "Everyone ready to go?"

Ronon nodded silently, while Teyla offered a tight smile. "We are prepared. However, it will not be the same without Doctor McKay joining us."

"I know what you mean," John replied, an answering smile on his face. "We don't have to hear his whining as we hike to the village. How far was it from the gate?"

"I do not know the exact measurement, but it should take us approximately three of your hours to reach the settlement. Do the Mazurkians know we are arriving? If so, they will probably have a guide to greet us."

Elizabeth answered, overhearing the conversation taking place just beneath her feet. "No, we decided to let your team be the first contact team, partially because of your prior relationship with them. Colonel Sheppard and I thought that the Mazurkians would be a good trading partner based upon your earlier recommendations. You're to see if that's still the case."

"Understood, Doctor Weir," Teyla said smoothly, but John had seen the flash of annoyance cross the Athosian's face. Seemed like she still wasn't over 'it' yet. The three-hour hike might be just the thing then.

"The usual, Elizabeth?" John asked, glancing upward.

"Yes," she replied, nodding. "Any fresh vegetables you can manage to get and grains would be good. We're beginning to run short and Doctor Beckett keeps reminding me that we need to eat well-balanced meals with fresh produce and less of the pre-packaged items we get from Earth."

"Veggies and grains. Got it." John paused, glancing around the room, his eyes taking in his teammates before looking back at Weir. "Looks like we're ready to go."

Weir nodded once, turning back to the sergeant who began dialing the gate. A few moments later the wormhole whooshed out, the shimmering event horizon giving the room a blue hue. The MALP headed out a few seconds later and began transmitting data within moments from M3D-218.

"All clear," reported one of the technicians whom Sheppard had yet to learn his name. The Daedalus kept bringing these wet-behind-the-ears recruits. Where they were coming from, was anyone's guess.

"You have a go," Weir said, offering a parting smile before Sheppard turned to the gate. "Be safe."

John nodded, hefting his P90 as he strode to the wormhole, Teyla and Ronon a few steps behind him. The transition from Atlantis through the wormhole to the other side was always unnerving. How SG-1 managed to do this week after week for nine years was mind-boggling.

He emerged on the other side, the cool, damp air of the planet caressing his face, his eyes immediately scanning the open area in front of the gate. A few seconds later and he heard the slurp that indicated Teyla and Ronon had stepped through, the gate shutting down a few seconds later.

It was green, eerily green—and he wasn't referring to the trees, although there were plenty of them here as well. It was as if everything was illuminated in a weak green hue, as if they were viewing everything through a tinted lens. "Teyla," he said, his eyebrows drawn together in concern as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. "Did this planet always look…sick?"

He turned in a circle, his eyes scanning everything in sight. He paused when he encountered Teyla's figure about twenty feet to his left. She was examining everything in much the same way as he was, but without the worry he seemed to have.

"Everything is the same as when I was here previously," she finally said. Her body relaxing as she moved closer to him. "Why do you say this planet looks sick? Have not all the worlds we have visited looked different or strange when we first set foot upon them?"

"It's green," commented Ronon quietly, his voice carrying in the silence.

"Exactly," Sheppard said, gesturing to the Satedan.

Teyla shrugged slightly. "The light is indeed different. However, the people are warm and welcoming." She paused, her eyes drifting to the wooded area beyond the clearing before returning to him. "We have a long journey before we reach the settlement. Should we not begin?"

Nodding, John waved his hand toward the path he'd spotted. "Since you know the way, why don't you take point?"

She nodded once before moving off, her stride sure and confident, her steps light. How she did that, John would never know. He followed in silence as Ronon settled in behind him, the sounds of the forest their only conversation. Teyla set a fast pace and the trail was not difficult, weaving through the trees in the forest—much like how McKay flew puddlejumpers.

He swore to himself as the thought popped into his head. McKay. Even on the other side of the Pegasus Galaxy he couldn't get the man out of his head. What was that all about? He should be enjoying the trip, but something was nagging at the back of his mind. He kept looking back, catching Ronon's eyes from time to time, the warrior finally raising an eyebrow at the repeated glances. He felt like he was missing something. Maybe that was the issue. Maybe he was so used to McKay's whining and incessant chattering that the absence of it was setting him on edge. That had to be it, because he as sure as hell didn't want to talk to him—or see him—anytime soon. It was bad enough that the man would be wandering around Atlantis next week.

And if John had his way, all of his upcoming missions would be just like this. Maybe he'd get Zelenka to join them. That man at least knew when to shut up. Radek knew his limits and had no problem admitting something was beyond his grasp. And he knew how to follow directions and orders—even better. Working with someone like that would be refreshing.

Taking a deep breath, John felt some of the edginess slip away. It was a pleasure to be able to travel in silence for once. Who knew? Maybe this would become the norm. Wouldn't that be nice?

***

Rodney McKay's grumbling stomach dragged him away from his dozing state, his head snapping upright quickly as he wiped the trail of drool from his chin. Groaning as his strained muscles complained, his left hand snaked up to rub at his eyes while he pushed his right hand against the small of his back, trying to straighten up and ease the pain that had lodged there.

He'd fallen asleep easily last night. A quick shower had relaxed him and he'd stumbled into bed, slumber coming quickly, the bout of exercise plus the nights of interrupted sleep, stress-filled days, and mental exhaustion washing over him. That hadn't lasted as long as he would have liked, however. By 0500 he was thinking of ways to take apart the door chime with the few paperclips he had on hand. If he could pry off the cover with his bare fingernails—and not rip them to shreds—he would have done it just for a little peace and quiet. At this point even electrocution was looking like a good alternative. At least he'd be able to spend some quality time sleeping with lots of good drugs coursing through his system and the stupid door chime at all hours of the night wouldn't bother him in the least.

He'd gotten up instead—even before the sun was rising—turning to his laptop and his research. He'd done a lot, but he needed the Ancient's database to finish some of it and that access was still several days away. Instead, he started another project and made some progress before his body decided to declare mutiny on his mind.

Rubbing his back with a slightly trembling hand and gazing out the balcony door, he frowned as he saw the thick grey clouds overhead. They didn't get a lot of rain, but every now and then they'd get a storm—apparently today was the day. Outside was off-limits. Wonderful.

Turning his left wrist so he could read the time, he was surprised that it was so late in the day. It was nearly time for lunch. The PowerBar at 0630 only lasted for so long and it was going on 1130. His body, though, knew that it was time to eat—the slight headache and his shaking hands attesting to the fact. But what happened to breakfast with Lorne?

Rising to his feet, he moved to the door. It slid open and he poked his head out, coming face-to-face with a stranger. This didn't bode well. "Uh…hello. Where's Major Lorne?"

"Not here."

McKay scowled at the young marine. "Apparently. If he were standing here it would be silly for me to ask the question, wouldn't it? Do you know where he is?"

"No."

Rolling his eyes, he sighed. "If it's not too much trouble I'd like to get something to eat."

Instead of answering, the man glanced at his watch.

"What? Is there some schedule I'm supposed to be on that nobody decided to tell me about? Just my luck. If I don't eat soon I'll be lying in a hypoglycemic coma. Might not be easy to explain to Doctor Weir in small words and short sentences how Atlantis' resident genius ended up that way, hmm?"

"Isn't it late?"

"For what, dying?"

"Breakfast."

"Breakfast, lunch, brunch. What does it matter what's it's called? I need to eat something." McKay paused, folding his hands over his chest as he glared at the marine. "Let me say this in the simplest way I can so you can get it through your thick skull. I'll use small words. I. Need. Food. It's time to eat. You know, mealtime, chow, food. Understand?"

The man's eyes shifted back and forth from his watch to McKay several times before he nodded. "This will be both your breakfast and lunch run, then."

"What!" McKay sputtered, words refusing to form as his surprise and anger surfaced. Taking a deep breath, he forced a calm he didn't feel, his anxiety level cranking up a notch. "The last time I checked, I was allowed to go to the mess hall for food. Just because I'm inconveniencing you with my choice of times doesn't mean that you can just unilaterally decide that this one outing constitutes both my breakfast and lunch. I'm under doctor's orders to eat three regular meals in addition to various snacks during the day because of my medical condition. When I decide to take my meals is up to me and not some uninformed marine."

Part of him couldn't believe he was arguing with the captain—whatever his name was—about going to the mess hall, especially after the incident yesterday. But at this point, it was the principle of the matter more than anything. He was allowed to eat. He was permitted to go to the mess hall to eat. There had been no limit to the number of times he could go either. If he wanted to get up in the middle of the night and go searching for a snack, they'd have to let him.

At least, he thought they would. He'd never had to do one of these 'restricted to your quarters' things before. The last time he screwed something up they sent him to Siberia. He wasn't sure which was worse.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he waited for Captain Dense to figure out what he was going to do. Along his hairline, he swore he could feel sweat starting to form. If he waited much longer he might be heading directly to the infirmary.

"Look," he began, his hands waving in the air, absently noting that they were shaking as well. "I'm already starting to have a hypoglycemic reaction here and if I don't eat something very soon you're going to be picking up my unconscious body off of the floor. Can we go?"

The man's right hand slid down to rest on the top of his sidearm and McKay resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Well?"

"Fine," he finally replied, gesturing with his left hand for Rodney to move ahead of him. "We'll use the transporter at the end of the hall."

"So you can sting together several words to form a sentence," McKay commented as he glanced over his shoulder, his feet continuing to move down the corridor. The marine refused to rise to the bait and Rodney shook his head, turning to watch here he was going.

With the captain at his back, he really felt like a prisoner. At least Lorne treated him like a human, walking next to him, offering conversation. This sucked.

***

Standing on the shore looking out across the ocean toward the storm approaching on the horizon, Major Lorne sighed before trudging back into the hut that was serving as Doctor Beckett's makeshift hospital.

The Athosians had done a lot since they'd moved to the mainland. The small, improvised camp had morphed into a complex collection of smaller settlements and villages, connected by well-traveled paths and a common bond. Fields stretched out between the houses, thatched huts in reality, but for them these buildings were home.

Greeted warmly, the quartet from Atlantis was offered food and beverages when they'd arrived. They'd visited with Halling and Jinto—the latter having grown tremendously according to Beckett in the short time since the doctor had seen him last.

And then the people started to arrive.

At first they were few and far between. Some of the sickest patients had been moved in the night before from the outskirts of the village and from other settlements further a field. Beckett worked quickly, efficiently, his brogue a comfort even from where Lorne stood outside. There was something so unassuming about the Scot. You just wanted to trust him—and these people did.

By lunch, there had been a line outside the hut, which quickly grew, stretching around the side of the structure and into the woods beyond. Beckett and his two nurses worked tirelessly, treating the sick and injured first before moving onto the others, giving check-ups to those who wished.

And as the day wore on, the line seemed to never shorten. The storm bearing down on the mainland was making an overnight stay more and more likely. Lorne nodded thanks as the line parted before him, allowing him to enter Beckett's new realm, the interior lit entirely with oil lamps and portable lanterns. Shelly Laurence glanced up from the patient she was checking, taking blood pressure and temperature readings of a young woman, offering him a tired smile. He could hear Beckett in the back, past the curtains that cordoned off a section of the hut giving him some kind of privacy.

"Think I can get a minute of the good doctor's time?" he asked, gesturing widely toward the fabric a few feet away.

Laurence nodded. "He should be done in a few minutes." Removing the cuff, she jotted several things down on the sheet she was carrying before patting the woman's arm and pointing her to the chairs at the side of the room.

Slinging the stethoscope around her neck, Shelly rose and stretched, her eyes drifting to the open door. "How many are out there?"

"You don't want to know," he replied with a shake of his head.

Her eyes widened but a yawn caught her off guard a second later. "Sorry," she said as soon as it passed. "I haven't worked like this in a long time."

"It's okay." The curtain parted, pulling their attention to the young man exiting, a smile on his face as he waved to Beckett who was a few steps behind him. The Scot looked tired, exhausted, but there was a quiet air of sheer pleasure around him. The man really enjoyed helping people.

"Major Lorne," Carson said stepping closer, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck, "everything okay?"

"Yeah," he answered nodding. "I wanted to talk to you about tonight."

"Aye." His face dropped slightly, a little more of the exhaustion leaking out. "I'm thinking we may not have the chance to return to Atlantis."

"I agree. As it is, there are some who will have to come back and stand in line again in the morning. And, to top it off, there's a storm heading our way. It seems to have hovered over the city for a bit, but is now on its way here."

"A storm?"

He could see the controlled terror and concern cross the doctor's face, and quickly moved to quell any anxiety. No need for Beckett to be upset by a normal storm. "Don't worry, Doc, it's nothing like the last one."

"Oh, good," Carson muttered, relief clearly evident on his face. "Has Halling mentioned anything about accommodations?"

"Not yet, but I wanted to check with you before I spoke to him." Lorne checked his watch and his eyes drifted outside, judging the light levels. "It's nearly 1800. Why don't you take the last few and call it a night. You look exhausted. I'll get us set up with Halling's help and get dinner started. Think you can wrap things up in about an hour?"

Beckett nodded, exchanging a glance with Shelly. "Go and check the line. Pull in the ones with complaints, the most critical of the bunch, but no more than two or three. Everyone else can wait until the morning. If you have issues come see me."

"Yes, doctor," she replied already moving out the door.

Beckett gestured for the woman sitting timidly along the wall to enter the room he'd vacated several minutes ago. "Anne'll get you all situated and I'll be there in a minute." She nodded, scurrying through the curtain into the room beyond. "Thank you, Major," Beckett said a few beats later, turning to Lorne with a tired smile. "We'll have to start bright and early if we want to make it through the rest of the Athosians tomorrow."

"We can stay another night if you need," Lorne began, but stopped as the doctor shook his head immediately.

"Nae. If we need another day to finish up, we can come back later in the week. There are a few I need to follow-up with in a few days time. Besides, I'd rather not be away from Atlantis too long."

"Worried they're destroying your lab?"

"I trust my staff. It's Rodney I worry about. With everything going on I didn't even get the chance to stop in and see how he's been holding up or even tell him what was happening."

Lorne's eyebrows rose at the doctor's confession, but part of him wasn't surprised. As different as the two men were, they had managed to forge a strange friendship. "He's coping."

"Aye, and I know Rodney. There's no telling what's going through that mind of his right now and with nothing to focus his energy on…" Beckett shook his head, a weary sigh escaping his mouth. "The sooner we get back, the better."

"Then I won't keep you any longer," Lorne said already moving to the door. "I'll send Jinto to find you once we're settled."

Beckett nodded, his mind clearly circling around the physicist. "Aye," he replied absently before shaking off whatever thoughts he'd had. "Let Shelly know since she's the one who'll spot him."

"Will do, Doc," Lorne said. He paused at the threshold of the door, glancing back over his shoulder as Carson ducked into the rear room, his familiar lilt already going full-stream ahead. Shaking his head and chuckling, he moved out, his feet taking him unerringly to Halling's residence.

***

Teyla yawned and stretched as soon as she dropped her pack onto one of the chairs in the house Soony had offered to the visiting Atlantean team. Colonel Sheppard was still hovering at the door, attempting to peer outside without appearing to spy upon the people who had welcomed them warmly, offered to share their evening meal, and provided accommodations for the group. Ronon was stalking the perimeter, glancing intently at the walls and windows, checking over every nook and cranny as if it would reveal some dark secret about the people they were visiting.

"I believe things to be proceeding well," she commented as she watched the two men examine their surroundings. She had assured them earlier that this was common—and in fact a desired response for the Mazurkians. If they had no desire to trade, the Atlanteans would have been turned away immediately, sent to return to the Stargate and Atlantis.

"I don't like it," Ronon growled, his body refusing to relax. "I don't trust them. They're too…accommodating."

"They are a peaceful and generous people. They have nothing to hide from us."

"So you say."

"Yes," Teyla replied firmly.

Sheppard moved into the common room, stopping beside one of the simple chairs and dropped his pack. "So, what should we expect in the morning? Any weird ceremonies I need to worry about?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, Colonel. Soony will offer to break our fast with him and we shall accept. Afterwards, if he is willing to continue our discussions of trade, he will begin negotiations. If he requires more time to get to know you, he will make his intentions known very clearly."

"That's it? No strange rituals?"

"No. What were you expecting?"

Sheppard shrugged. "I don't know. This," he said, waving his hand widely, the gesture encompassing the entire village, "is not what I imagined. We don't generally get easy missions. Usually it's the quiet natives that end up trying to kill us. And these folks qualify. All this…niceness makes me uneasy."

"I have been here on many occasions, Colonel, and the Mazurkians have been nothing except hospitable and generous."

"I know, I know," he said, sinking onto a chair. "You've told me a hundred times."

"If you prefer, I can recommend several planets where the inhabitants are less than friendly for you to visit. I, however, would insist upon remaining on Atlantis while you conduct negotiations."

"No," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. "I'll take happy, shiny natives over ones who want to poke holes in my team. This is just fine."

"Good," Teyla nodded once, sharply, her eyes narrowing at Sheppard. "Perhaps it would be beneficial for us to retire for the evening so as to be prepared for tomorrow's activities. We do not wish to anger the Mazurkians or dishonor their practices."

He raised an eyebrow at the tone of her voice, but didn't protest. "You're probably right. And you're also probably going to tell me that a watch schedule isn't needed."

"Because it is not," she replied, already moving down the hall to one of the rooms.

"Fine."

Teyla refused to glance back as she maneuvered her way into the room, closing the door behind her. Resting gently on the edge of the bed, she reached down, unfastening her shoes and pulling her feet free. She shifted her body, sliding under the bed coverings. She wasn't especially tired, but if she went back into the common room she knew she would come face-to-face with a sulking John Sheppard, and that was something she had no desire to see—especially now. Some days he insisted upon acting like a spoiled seven-year-old. This was one such occasion and she had no patience for his childishness.

Settling in for the night, she closed her eyes, forcing her body to relax. Listening to the quiet movements of the two men, sleep claimed her, carrying her into its welcome embrace.

***

Standing at the railing of his balcony, Rodney looked out at the city, his eyes drifting past the buildings to the ocean, watching as the moon's rays reflected brightly on the rise and fall of the sea swells below. The storm had finally passed, rushing toward the mainland beyond. It was probably raining there now, he surmised, squinting through the darkness trying to see the clouds. He could make out some of the lighting strikes high in the sky overhead, brightening the cloud-tops briefly before darkening once more.

But even as tried to concentrate, his eyes kept drifting back to the ocean and how the light played across it, shimmering, beguiling in its beauty, casting a silver halo over much of the city, the buildings seeming to absorb the light.

It still amazed him that he lived and worked in another galaxy, on an alien planet, in a city build by the first ones, the Ancients. He was surrounded by their legacy, their thoughts. Sometimes he swore the city spoke to him, singing to him, revealing her secrets one by one, like a playful lover, teasing and torturing him, while bringing him to greater and greater heights of sheer pleasure from the discoveries.

There were times when he worked in the deep, dark reaches of Atlantis that he swore he could still hear the Ancient's voices in the hallways. He would walk into the hallways, his eyes casting back and forth, looking for the physical evidence his mind required. His heart, however, knew better. If he tilted his head just a little and held his breath, maybe then, he'd hear more, catch one more phrase, one more word.

Ever since they'd fought to hold onto Atlantis as their home, it was as if she'd opened up even more to them, offering more of herself to those who would fight to keep her, fight to protect her. Maybe it was her way of saying 'thank you' to those who came, who woke her once again, freeing her from the loneliness and emptiness she'd been burdened with. The loneliness and the isolation—even now—were crisp and razor sharp.

Ten thousand years had been too long.

Tonight, he understood.

Once the clocked passed 2700 hours, heading into the small hours of the morning, Rodney had known Teyla wasn't coming. He'd moved the bed back to its rightful place and taken off his sneakers and socks, deciding to go barefoot instead, relishing the feel of the cold floor against his feet. Leaving his workout clothes on, he'd moved to the balcony, his feet encountering several small puddles as he found the perfect spot to star gaze.

Standing there, watching the ocean, he let himself drift, his mind skimming the surface of his thoughts, never resting upon any one for more than a few seconds. And sometime during his solitary meditations, something changed. It was as if the city itself had curled around him, holding him close. She was warm, nurturing, and not demanding of anything. He stood there, drinking in the feeling, his eyes closing as his mind reached out.

A smile briefly touched his lips and the pressure eased off, leaving him with the subtle sensation that he was not alone.

Moving into his room, the balcony door slid shut behind him and he dropped bonelessly into his bed. Relaxing into the mattress, his muscles easily released their tension and he slid into a dreamless sleep.

***

Day Five

Carson Beckett sighed wearily and shoved the curtain back as he walked into the outer room of the Athosian hut. Shelly Laurence was slumped in one of the chairs they'd used as their makeshift waiting room, her head held in her hands, elbows on her knees. He heard Anne Matthews treading heavily behind him, and turned to glance at her, noting that her expression matched the weariness they all felt.

Glancing toward the outside door, Beckett sighed as he caught sight of the blackness. After two days of nearly constant examinations they'd finally finished. He'd lost count of the number of people they'd treated.

And in reality, he still wasn't done.

There were a few that needed check-ups—some in a few days, others in a week. The first group was too large to have them ferried over to Atlantis, but the second might fit in a jumper—if they squeezed. And that meant Carson and his staff would be back here again.

He knew he could send one of the other doctors, but some of the Athosians were still a little skittish around outsiders and since he'd been treating the majority of them since they arrived, they felt more comfortable with him so he always felt like he should be the one to treat them.

A shuffle of feet against dirt drew Beckett's attention to the door, finding Major Lorne standing at the threshold, a questioning expression on his face. "Everything okay?"

Carson nodded, his heavy eyelids threatening to descend and not open for a few days. "Aye. We have to pack up…"

"Can't you leave some of it here? We're going to be back in a few days."

"I canna very well leave valuable medicines and equipment just lying around—"

Lorne raised his hands as if to ward off Beckett's words, his eyes wide. "It was just a thought. I know how tired you are and it would have saved us some trips back and forth to the jumper." He sighed, stepping into the room. "What do you want me to take first?"

Carson looked at the Major carefully for several beats before nodding his head slowly. "We can leave a few things, I imagine." Examining the room as he completed a three-hundred-sixty degree turn, pointed out various items that could stay and what needed to go back to Atlantis. Shelly and Anne began packing the items, while Lorne hovered, taking the closed and packed cases as the nurses filled them.

Beckett moved into the room he'd been using for examinations and quickly organized the extra medical supplies. Most of this could stay here, he thought, as he designated one of the cases for the items that would be remaining behind. Most of the medications were still in the case that had been set aside, which he quickly sealed and brought to the curtain that had been shoved roughly to the side. Lorne was there a moment later, moving the hard-sided container to the door where the pile was steadily growing.

Carson continued packing the examination room, Anne finally moving to help once Shelly had the outer room more or less under control. Both Lorne and Laurence had begun moving the supplies back to the jumper, leaving the two of them alone. Matthews was new to Atlantis, joining the expedition only a few months ago. She'd worked at the SGC with Doctor Janet Fraiser, dealing with the insanity that was the norm twenty-eight levels under NORAD.

He'd never known her, but Anne spoke highly of the work Doctor Fraiser had done, of her dedication and her compassion.

He hoped they'd be able to say the same of him when he finally passed on. That would be enough for him, he thought. It would mean that he made a difference in someone's life, that the things he did mattered.

"Doctor Beckett?"

He turned, offering Anne a tired smile. "Aye, lassie?"

"Are you okay? You've been standing there for a few minutes…"

He chuckled humorlessly, letting the packages in his hands fall into the case. "Aye. Everything is just catching up with me, I guess."

"If you want to head to the jumper, I'll finish up in here. You look like you're about ready to drop at any minute."

"Nae," he replied, shaking his head. "I'll be fine. We don't have much more to finish and it'll go quicker with the two of us."

"Only if you stay awake," Anne replied, making Carson glance at her, catching the teasing glint in her eyes and the smile on her lips.

Rolling his eyes, he chuckled and moved off to finish collecting the items from the side table. Retreating footfalls signaled Anne's progress to the other side of the room and the rustle of paper and plastic her continued efforts at packing.

By 2300, after Halling and Jinto saw them off, pressing gifts of Athosian tea and fruit into their hands, they were in the air headed for Atlantis. Carson scrubbed a hand over his face as Lorne piloted the ship through the night skies. Both Anne and Shelly were in the rear of the jumper, stretched out on the benches getting in a quick "power nap" so they'd have the energy to unload the jumper. Although, the sergeant in the control room had promised that there would be someone to meet them so they could retire for the night.

"So what do you think about all of this?" Lorne asked, the question startling Carson from his rambling thoughts.

He shrugged and glanced at the other man. "They're a pretty healthy lot, the Athosians, given the kind of life they've led. I'm nae happy about whatever virus or cold that they've caught. I'm hoping the blood samples will give me a little more insight into that bugger."

Lorne didn't reply for a moment, his eyes remaining fixed to the vista outside the jumper. But for some reason, it seemed as if Beckett had answered the wrong question. But what else could he be referring to? The Athosians had been welcoming, even more so than on previous occasions. It was nice to see these people truly beginning to open up. They had such a large capacity for compassion and there was something so refreshing when it was directed toward you. Even through everything, they remained hopeful and strong, determined to live despite the horrors life held for them.

"Doctor," Lorne began quietly, his tone making Carson really stop and listen. "If I'm stepping out of bounds, please tell me know. I guess since you're civilian I thought you might see things differently than I do…" His voice trailed off and Carson saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Lorne glanced quickly to the side, catching Carson's eye briefly before focusing once again out the windshield off the jumper.

"Laddie, I'm not gonna jump down your throat for asking a question," Carson prompted, shifting in the co-pilot's seat a little. He tried to smile but he knew it probably appeared more worried than concerned and open.

"It's about Doctor McKay."

"Aye?" he replied, the muscles in his back immediately tightening. He'd been trying not to think about that particular subject ever since they'd been ordered to the mainland, but in the back of his mind he was hoping that things were quiet and that nothing else had gotten out of hand. Teyla had expressed her desire to do something to help McKay and had approached Carson privately, late one night. Conscious of Elizabeth's demand for his compliance and non-interference in Rodney's sentence, he hadn't felt comfortable speaking his mind, but he had hoped that his subtle advice had been enough to persuade Teyla to take matters into her own hands.

He hadn't had the opportunity to speak with her again before he'd been ordered to attend to the Athosians.

Carson glanced to the back of the jumper, the low lights giving him just enough illumination to see the slumbering figures of his nurses.

He lowered his voice just in case. "What did you want to know?"

"I've been in a lot of strange situations since I've joined the SGC," Lorne began, the words coming slowly, carefully, pitched just loud enough to reach Carson's ears. "But even before this posting, I'd worked with a lot of scientists and non-military personnel. Now, I know this is an entirely different situation—a very unique situation—and I'm sure Doctor Weir, as a civilian leader, must sometimes feel that she has to act like a governor or make military decisions, but what exactly…how is Doctor McKay's current situation in any way related to what's going on? I don't know the whole story and I know he can be a royal pain in the ass, but what changed?"

Lorne finally looked at him, his normally unreadable face a conflicting tapestry of confusion, concern, and uncertainty.

When Carson didn't answer immediately, it seemed as if Lorne began to panic a little, turning back to the scenery outside and leaving Beckett with only his profile to look at. The doctor could see the instant physical response as the Major's jaw quickly tensed, his hands gripping the controls a little tighter than before. "I’m sorry," Lorne muttered. "I know I shouldn’t have asked. Forget I said anything."

Carson sighed lightly, his eyes drifting to the ocean they were flying over. "Don't worry," he began, trying to keep his tone light. "I have nae a problem with you asking. The answer, however, is more difficult than you may think." The silence stretched out between them for a moment and Beckett could hear the subtle shifting of the man in the pilot's seat. He was still tense, the movements sharp, but Lorne was patient.

"As the head of the science department, Elizabeth…feels that Rodney should provide the highest example of professionalism to his staff," Carson began, trying to keep his own feelings on the matter to himself.

"But you don't agree."

"It's not that I don't agree, Major. It wasn't my decision to make."

"Then you agree. It's either one or the other."

Carson sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across his face as he turned to the right, trying to hide his expression from the Major. The problem was he didn't agree with Elizabeth, but he had no choice but to agree—at least in public. He didn't like being deceitful and he did trust Lorne, but something made him hold back.

Maybe he didn't want to make things worse for Rodney. Maybe he wanted to present a united front for the entire expedition team—they needed it out here. Maybe he was tired of fighting with everything and everyone. Maybe there was a part of him that agreed that Rodney had been out of line. Maybe it felt good to see the smug scientist finally understanding what it was like to fail and maybe he hated himself for thinking that about someone he considered a friend.

Why was nothing ever simple?

"I think Elizabeth had her reasons for doing what she did, as did Major Sheppard for supporting her decision with security officers."

Lorne sighed heavily, making Carson turn back. He was shaking his head, and Beckett swore there was a frown in his face. "I didn't expect you to toe the line, Doc. I didn't peg you for one of the followers."

"It's not like I had much of a choice in the matter," Carson said, suddenly defensive.

"We all have choices."

"Aye, we may, but not every one is for the best."

"And you obviously think Doctor Weir's decision was the right one, so we shouldn't question it. End of discussion."

"I’m not sure what you're fishing for, Major, but I expected you—as one of the military contingent—to understand the whole 'chain of command' or has Colonel Sheppard been rubbing off on you too?"

"I have no issues with following orders," Lorne said, finally turning to Beckett, letting his angry eyes meet Carson's. "I know you're not blind, Doctor. You probably know more of what's going on than anyone else on base. You can see what's happening. You've heard the rumors, the whispered innuendos, maybe even the threats. I'm not sure what's harder for me to understand—your support for something that was unnecessarily harsh or your turning a blind eye to what's happening."

"What makes you think I'm either? I'm senior staff, Major. I just canna do whatever I please."

"But that's just it. If you see the things that are going on, to someone who is your friend—how can you just stand on the sidelines? I've been outside his quarters for days now and do you know how many people have stopped by to see him, to check on him? No one. I'm not even talking about trying to bypass Doctor Weir's orders. I'm talking about basic concern for another human, a friend. Or do you think this is justified? The last time I checked we were allowed to make mistakes."

"And he blew up a solar system. That's a pretty big one if you ask me."

"Yes, he did. There's no denying it. But who here hasn't made a mistake? Who here can say that their decisions haven't resulted in tragedy in one form or another? Colonel Sheppard woke the Wraith. Should we blame him because we're caught in a war we might not win?"

"No, of course not…" Carson began, guilt slipping into him, but he trailed off, not sure what else to say. Lorne had a point, a very valid one, which is why he felt so guilty. There was some part of him that knew Rodney had just made a mistake. He wasn't always right; he was just as human as the rest of them.

Lorne sighed, the anger leaving his body in one fell swoop. "I'm sorry. I know I've only been here a short time compared to some…but what I'm getting at is that there might be more to this whole situation than meets the eye. Things just don't add up. Weir's reaction, Sheppard's, others. Maybe everyone's scared, maybe that's the real problem and McKay's mistake just emphasizes that he doesn't have all the answers, that he might not be the hero we thought he was, or hoped for him to be. I just don't see how this can be good for him or Atlantis."

Something shifted in the pit of Carson's stomach and it wasn't dinner related. "What do you mean?"

"He's not eating regularly, Doc. He doesn't sleep very well, if at all. What if this makes him more cautious—which seems to be exactly what Weir and Sheppard want. What if we need one of his crazy ideas, but because we've decided we want a less egotistical and more mainstream scientist leading the department, we're out of luck? I'm convinced we're all here for a reason—whether we want to believe it or not. We can't afford to be cautious with the Wraith as aggressive as they've become."

Beckett let the silence fall over them as the city grew larger through the windshield. They'd be home soon. Glancing toward the rear compartment, he was happy to see that the nurses were still asleep, their slumber undisturbed even through their heated—if hushed—discussion.

"Major," he began as he turned back to Lorne, his fingers tracing patterns on the forward console, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm…grateful to hear that you've been keeping an eye on Rodney. I shouldn't be telling you this…but…I tried to talk Elizabeth out of her decision, but she wouldn't budge. There's nothing I can do for him because if Elizabeth thinks his sentence was too easy, she'll find a reason to keep him in his quarters and away from everything. This…incident has people questioning Rodney's loyalty to the Atlantis mission, to the base, and the people he promised to protect. Things will change. People will come around. It's just going to take a little time."

"Thanks, Doc," Lorne replied, a half smile on his face. "I know you shouldn't have told me what you did, but I appreciate it. For some reason I seem to have a soft spot for the physicist."

"Aye. I noticed. That might not be a good thing for your health, laddie."

"I just hope that it doesn't take too long for everyone to get back to normal. It's not like we generally have the luxury of time when it comes to the Wraith."

***

Breakfast with Soony had quickly morphed into lunch and dinner. In between the meals, they would talk, negotiating for every single kernel of grain—at least that's what it felt like.

At some point in the afternoon Teyla had taken some pity on him and suggested they break for a while, perhaps to enjoy a tour of the village. Soony had agreed and Sheppard had to hold back a groan as he rose to his feet, his legs a little wobbly from sitting on the floor for most of the day, his limbs awkwardly folded under him in the "proper position" of negotiation according to Teyla. At one point, he swore she just made that up to make him more uncomfortable. He scowled at Teyla and Ronon as they rose easily, moving to the door before John had gotten his feet under him.

While the tour had gotten them moving and had restored some blood to John's extremities, the mind-numbing aspect of it nearly made him want to spork his eyes out. Might be less painful in the long run.

All this for veggies and grain. He'd have to remind Elizabeth about his great sacrifices once they got back—if they ever got back. If Soony didn't talk them to death first which had a high probability of occurring—at least from where he was currently standing.

The never-ending story of their cultural and developmental history served as the tour's soundtrack, much of which John ended up tuning out. He was sure that if Soony ever visited Atlantis he'd be coveting the weird statue on Elizabeth's desk the moment he set his beady little eyes on it. He seemed the 'peace, love, and happiness' type. Hell, he'd even gift wrap it for him.

Instead, he people watched.

The Mazurkians were different from what he expected on this puke-green-hued planet. Instead of the strange lighting making them look sick, they seemed to be thriving. They didn't have a lot, but they had more than enough to feed their people—and they were willing to share their excess.

The homes were not extravagant—not that any primitive agrarian society had three million dollar mansions—but they weren't the average hut he was used to seeing. There was an understated permanence to the structures, the stone foundations rising up to meet the wood and thatched roofs above. It was as if the Mazurkians were subtly thumbing their noses at the Wraith, their very presence a testament to the villager's unbroken spirit.

Children ran around in small groups, laughing and playing, weaving in and out of the homes and the people. Every now and then one of the parents would lean out a front door and yell at them to behave. Smells drifted from the buildings—some sweet, some pungent, nothing disgusting. The scent of cinnamon—or at least the local equivalent according to his nose—drew his attention to a small structure hidden at the edge of the forest, the sound of music—singing actually—drifting out from one of the windows.

The normality was oddly comforting.

It was the same wherever they went. There was a woman hanging out laundry around one corner, a man bleeding some kind of game animal around the next. A group of children running after a ball tore by then while two angry voices flew out of the open window of a building tucked down a short dead-end street. The bustling market square was a symphony of sounds, sights, and smells.

The people looked happy.

As Soony droned on about the Mazurkians' history as they trudged through the settlement, John considered that simple fact. As a whole, the Mazurkians were happy. They were realistic, John knew. They worried about the next culling, about strangers who might not be trustworthy, about the next harvest and the possibility of droughts or floods. But through it all, they were happy.

Maybe that's why he was so uncomfortable here. He was hard-pressed to remember the last time he was truly content with his life and in his skin.

Even after dinner concluded and they settled down for another night under Mazurkian skies, John found his mind continuing to churn. What did they have that he didn't? What made these simple people so satisfied? Was it family? Community? He had both, in a way—or so he liked to think.

Then, why did he feel so jealous, envious even, of what was here? Wriggling a little, he sank deeper into the mattress, pulling the blankets closer around him, trying to push the disquieting thoughts from his mind.

He had everything just the way he wanted.

Didn't he?

***

Day Six

Doctor Elizabeth Weir glanced up as she heard the light shuffle of feet near her doorway. With a smile, she gestured for Carson to come in as she put her tablet down, picking up her warm tea mug instead. Taking a sip, she waited until he settled wearily into one of the chairs in her office before speaking.

"I spoke with Major Lorne briefly last night when you got in," she began, the bloodshot eyes and stubble-marked chin giving her pause. "Are you okay? We don't have to do this now."

He nodded, his hand brushing through his hair, making it stand up a little more than usual. "Aye. Been a long two days is all. What did Major Lorne have to say for himself?"

"Nothing much, which is why I thought our conversation could wait until the morning since everything went so smoothly on the mainland. He did mention that you have to go back in a few days. Everything okay with the Athosians?"

"Mostly," he said nodding. "A few of them have a virus of sorts I haven't seen before. It doesn't seem too dangerous, but I wanted to have a look at them to make sure the medicines I gave them are fighting it. It'll also give the lab a chance to look over their blood samples."

"Anything we need to worry about?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Once we get the test results back I'll be able to give you a better answer."

"Good, good," she replied, nodding her head, her eyes fixed on the steam rising up from the liquid in her mug. She took another sip before setting it down carefully on her desk. "I was going to ask you for a favor, but I'm not sure it's a good idea," she began, her eyes drifting over the exhausted face of her chief medical officer.

"What is it?"

"Colonel Sheppard checked in a few hours ago and he mentioned that they were very close to closing the trade deal with the Mazurkians. He thought that some kind of…offering on our part would be enough to get them to agree."

"Offering?"

From the tone of his voice, she knew he immediately thought the worst. "Nothing along those lines, Carson," she replied, a smile playing on her lips. "John and I thought it would be a nice gesture if we had one of your staff go to the planet and help a few of the villagers who were sick. He said there was just a handful, three or four at the most. I was going to ask you to go, but taking a look at you now—"

She paused as Carson waved his hand, dismissing her thought. "I can go."

"But you're exhausted."

"Aye, but I've slept all I can right now."

"Okay, then it's settled. I'll have Major Lorne accompany you."

"Fine," he replied, rising to his feet. "When did you want us to leave?"

"As soon as you can pull everything together. Colonel Sheppard mentioned there was a clearing not far from the village you could use as a landing pad. It'll save you the three-hour hike through the forest."

"Aye. My feet'll thank you greatly for that. I should be ready within the hour."

"Good. I'll let Major Lorne know and have him meet you in the jumper bay."

Carson nodded once before turning and walking out of her office and into the control room. She just wished all trade negotiations went as well as this one was. They needed all the friends they could find.

***

Ronon glanced up, watching as the puddlejumper banked easily before it settled into the small field Sheppard had directed them to land in. A few moments later and the rear door slowly eased its way open, thumping to the ground with a solid sound. Carson Beckett emerged, a large case in his hand, with Major Lorne following behind.

Taking a few steps closer, he waited patiently while the two men looked around, finally spotting the Satedan and began moving toward him.

"Morning, Ronon," Beckett said once he got closer, offering a smile. "How are the negotiations going?"

He shrugged. "Slow."

One of the major's eyebrow rose, but he didn't comment. Both men looked tired, exhausted even. He hoped that there wasn't going to be any fighting or Wraith cullings while they were here. Although, come to think of it, maybe the Wraith would avoid them since they already looked dead on their feet.

"Did the Colonel happen to mention where he wanted me to set up?" Beckett asked, drawing Ronon's attention back to the present.

"Yeah," Ronon began as he turned to lead the way, grabbing the cumbersome case from the doctor's hands. "This way."

After a muttered thank you from Beckett, they followed behind him in silence as they weaved their way through a short patch of forest to the village. There was a medical center already here, primitive as it was, but Sheppard and Soony had decided it would be a perfect place for the doctor to conduct his examinations. It was amusing to him that Weir and Sheppard thought it was a good idea to inflict needles on innocent populations.

Although, he was not sure about a lot of things these days. It seemed the Atlanteans were even stranger than he thought. It was as if as soon as he started to know them, or think he knew them, something would happen and they'd react a different way entirely. And they thought he was strange… At least he was consistent.

Shaking his head to clear the thoughts that were lodging in his mind, he gestured to the large building they were approaching. "Sheppard wants to you set up in here. One of the local doctors is interested in learning more about your methods."

"Oh, joy," muttered Lorne, his voice barely loud enough to carry, but Ronan heard it. He flashed the man a quick smile before ducking into the building.

He introduced Beckett and Lorne to the village doctor—Guian—and waited a few moments as they began to talk, the doctor pointing to a room where Beckett would be able to set up his supplies. Ronon handed off the case to Lorne as they moved to the rear of the structure following Guian as he talked at length about some kind of fungus he was having problems treating.

Once he was sure they were in good hands, he ducked back outside, pausing to stretch before he walked back to the large hall where Sheppard and Teyla were still working on the negotiations. For all the hoops they were jumping through, it felt like they were trying to convince them to give up their firstborns instead of just some grain and vegetables.

Slow didn't quite explain how the negotiations were going. If they got any slower, he swore they'd start going backwards in time. If it weren't for Teyla he would have gotten to the point a little quicker, but it wasn't up to him. He was there just to scowl and scare anyone who might want to put a hole in any member of his team.

He could do that.

***

Radek Zelenka glanced up from his laptop, his eyes searching the room carefully. It was quiet but not silent. The sounds of clicking keys on keyboards, flicking switches, and murmurs reached his ears.

But what had piqued him to look up?

He continued to gaze around the lab, watching the various scientists working diligently on their projects. Two were in the corner going over the results from an experiment they'd run this morning. Nothing had blown up, but it hadn't gone exactly as they'd anticipated. Once the results were studied, torn apart, re-written, and examined again they'd repeat the test—hopefully with a better outcome and no explosions.

He sighed, realizing that he should probably go down to the lab Katie Brown had commandeered. Rodney swore she was creating some kind of man-eating plant down there. Had even taken to referring to one of her experiments as Audrey. What she saw in him, Radek would never know, but she was smitten—which was why she didn't punch him in the mouth when he made stupid ass comments like that. At least he hadn't called her Seymour to her face—yet.

And then there was Kavanaugh. He was not up to the verbal fencing match today, but the man's experiments and tests needed to be watched on a daily basis—if not hourly. He did not have the energy to fix the damage from another of his mistakes. The last one had smelled horrible and had taken nearly two days to get the lab back to rights.

Glancing down at his laptop screen, he sighed. His 'to-do' list kept getting longer. Some of the jumpers needed maintenance crews to look them over and then the Wraith technology they'd recently recovered was still being examined by another team of scientists. He needed a progress report in order to update Doctor Weir—and it was nearly 1800 hours as is. The day had quickly gotten away from him. She'd also requested that he suggest several possible planets for recon missions that might have Ancient technology. That would require him to search through the database and cross-reference the addresses with planets visited and those already on the mission roster. It was not hard, but it took time. And then there was his own research, which kept getting pushed to the back.

And then there was the problem with the transporter on the East Pier that the repair crew couldn't seem to fix and the strange electrical short that kept showing up on the Northwest Pier. There was still a lot of damage from the Wraith attack that had yet to be repaired, but they were getting there slowly. It just took time.

And time was always in short supply.

At one point in time when he was back on Earth, he wished for longer days so he could enjoy life a little more, have just enough time to work and do the things he always put off. When he'd first come to Atlantis with her twenty-seven hour days, he thought he'd died and gone to heaven. But that was before the Wraith came. Before people started dying.

The more time he had, the less time remained. He wished he'd known that before he'd moved to another galaxy.

Sighing, he logged off his laptop, locking it down before moving toward the door. He might as well go and check on Kavanaugh before the lower level of the science section exploded in a flash of metal and energy. He did not feel like dying today and tomorrow wasn't looking good either.

Perhaps he should have stayed on Earth. At least he wouldn't have to worry so much about life-sucking aliens.

But then again, how could he pass up the opportunity to bring Star Trek to life?

***

Teyla rose, exchanging parting comments with Soony before leading Ronon and Colonel Sheppard from the main hall and toward the building set aside for their use. Doctor Beckett and Major Lorne were to meet them to share a late evening meal. Sheppard's long strides brought him next to her a few moments later.

"That went well." His voice was quiet, reserved.

She nodded, glancing to her companions before turning back to the path under her feet. The dim light made travel through the village difficult due to the exposed tree roots and uneven surfaces. "I am most gratified to see how willing Soony is for this alliance. I believe it will bring much to all of us."

Ronon moved ahead of them. Even in the half-light, she could see the muscles in his back were tense. She'd tried to talk to him before Sheppard woke this morning, insisting these people were good, that they were safe. He'd listened to her, respectfully, even asking a few pointed questions, but he'd shaken his head at the end, refusing to budge. He couldn't change what he was, he'd told her as if that explained everything. And, in a way, it did.

"I just find it hard to believe that grain is worth three days of negotiations," Sheppard commented.

"But is that not what Doctor Weir sent us to obtain? Even with the additional supplies we receive from your home world, we still need to be self-sufficient. What if Colonel Caldwell and the Daedalus cannot return? What would happen at that time?"

"I know, I know." He sighed softly. When he didn't continue she glanced to the side, watching him carefully. He was all darkness and shadows, the profile of his face sharp against the softness of nature surrounding them. Sheppard had changed since they'd first met. The burdens of responsibility weighed heavily on him, even now with Earth only a wormhole away. Instead of making it easier, it seemed only to complicate things further, to increase the worry and the load he already carried.

Before she could say anything to ease his mind, Ronon ushered them into the building they were using as their home while with the Mazurkians. Doctor Beckett and Major Lorne were already inside, hovering near the large table where several dishes were laid out—some covered, others uncovered—each with a half-filled plate in their hands. Both men looked up, guilt crossing their faces before settling into embarrassment.

"Nice of you to wait," Sheppard commented as he stepped up alongside the doctor and peered down at the food littering his plate.

"We've been waiting, Colonel. Just because you decide to take your good ol' time to get here doesn't mean that I have to starve," Carson replied, his tone short. He looked tired, washed out. She was surprised Doctor Weir would have sent both the Major and the Doctor to the planet in their current condition. They had not heard of any problems on Atlantis to warrant his obvious exhaustion.

"Doctor," Teyla said as she reached for a plate, sliding up to Beckett's left side. "Is everything well on Atlantis? You do not look yourself."

"Aye, lassie," he said, turning a small smile toward her as he reached for a piece of bread from the basket in the middle of the table. "Been burning the midnight oil the past few days with the exams on the mainland that had to get done."

Her stomach fluttered. "Exams? Is there something wrong?"

"Nae, nothing. Just the usual check-ups. A few Athosians have a wee bit of a virus. The labs are running some tests, but I don't think there's anything to worry about."

Teyla's forehead creased in confusion. "Were they not scheduled for next week?"

"That's what I thought," he said without elaborating, his body stiffening a little before he turned back to the food spread across the table. Moving steadily, he took several more spoonfuls from the various dishes before turning to the chairs lining the side of the room.

Silence descended upon the room, each person hiding within their own minds. They all retrieved food and settled in to eat, eyes down, intent on the physical aspects of the meal.

"So," Lorne began, his voice hesitant, "how much longer until everything is all hammered out?"

Teyla thanked him with a smile, grateful for the conversation, for the opportunity to escape the silence. "I am confident that negotiations will be complete tomorrow."

"So, what exactly are we going to have to give them and what are we getting?"

"In exchange for food and seeds for our next planning season, we have agreed—in theory—to provide medical assistance, knowledge of other races who can similarly benefit from such trading partnerships, and advice on how to produce higher yielding crops. I believe it may be possible to ask some of the science staff to aid in that endeavor. They have been more than willing in the past."

Lorne nodded, scraping his dish with the piece of bread he was grasping between his fingers, sopping up the remains of the meat and gravy puddling at the bottom. He eyed the table before popping the last bite in his mouth as if he were trying to decide if it was worth it to get more.

"There is plenty of food remaining. Please, help yourself," she said, her smile broadening as he rose a moment later. "Please," she continued, gesturing with her free hand toward the table, "they have prepared the food especially for us and would be insulted if we did not eat to satisfaction. This is the type of food we shall have the opportunity to bring back to Atlantis."

Ronon snorted into his bowl.

"Perhaps you should ask for the recipes, too," Beckett said, glancing up from his own half-full dish. "I'm not sure the cooks will know what to do with half this stuff."

"The cooks on Atlantis are good at what they do," Ronon said already on his way across the room. He was just as unselfconscious about his eating habits as Doctor McKay. "They'll figure it out."

Beckett chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he went back to his meal. Teyla finished the last bite on her dish before setting it down on the floor beside her, leaning back against the pillows on the chair she'd claimed as her own when they'd arrived several days earlier. Sheppard was quiet, his eating mechanical.

"You are quiet tonight, Colonel. Is there something on your mind?" she asked, pinning her with a single glance.

With her eyes fixed on Sheppard, Teyla noticed that Beckett stilled at her question, his own eyes turning toward the other man. The low rumbling of Lorne's and Ronon's voices was comforting in its familiarity, helping to ease some of the tension that had formed in the small of her back.

Sheppard's lips thinned and he slowly released the breath he'd been holding before turning to her, an obviously forced smile on his face. "Nothing. Just enjoying the company and the food."

"You lie poorly."

His smile faltered as he turned away from her. His next words were harsh, direct. "I don't trust them."

"They have been nothing but welcoming and open. What have you seen to make you doubt their intentions?"

He shook his head and Teyla thought for a moment he was going to refuse to answer. His words came a few beats later. Confrontational. Demanding. "Don't you think four days is a bit much for grain negotiations? What takes so long? I guarantee they have other plans, that they're just stalling for time." His hand gestured wide as his voice rose in volume. "Have you even taken a look around this village? They haven't seen a culling here in a very long time. Don't you think it's strange? How come they've been spared when the majority of this galaxy has had close encounters with the Wraith? There's something wrong here."

"Just because they haven't been culled doesn't mean they're in league with the Wraith, Colonel," Beckett replied, the sound of his exhaustion and anger reflected in his voice, giving it an edge she wasn't familiar with.

"This doesn't feel right," he said, his eyes fixed on his hands, his fingers gripping the dish tightly. "I feel like they're manipulating us, using us, and I don't—." He stopped abruptly, rising to his feet. "I'm beat. You can stay up for as long as you like."

He moved quickly, his movements sharp. He dropped his plate on the edge of the table with so much force that the utensils bounced and nearly landed on the floor but were saved thanks to Lorne's quick reflexes. A few quick strides and he'd ducked into his room, the door slamming shut behind him.

"Well, that was interesting," Beckett said a few minutes later into the silence that had been left behind.

Teyla rose, stacking her plate with the Colonel's as Lorne and Ronon stood beside the table finishing the last bites from their second helpings. "It has been…difficult for the Colonel. He is accustomed to much different circumstances. He does not trust easily. The inactivity over the past days have made him uneasy."

"Uneasy does not explain that," Beckett said, gesturing toward the closed door with his fork.

She shrugged, her eyes lingering on the wood where he'd pointed. "He has had a difficult time as of late. He deserves our patience and our support."

She felt Lorne stiffen more than saw him, but he was silent. It was the doctor who commented once again, the anger replaced with weariness. "He's not the only one, lassie."

She met his eyes, inclining her head toward him an incremental amount.

Wishes of good nights echoed all around as everyone moved to their respective beds, leaving her standing at the table, her hands still holding the dishes she'd picked up. Sighing, she placed them where they belonged knowing someone would pick them up before morning came. Moving slowly down the hallway, she allowed the quiet of the house to settle on her, praying sleep would come easily tonight.

***

Day Seven

Trying to hold back a yawn, John Sheppard shifted where he sat at Teyla's side only to be rewarded by a sidelong glance from the Athosian. He'd been through this now for the better part of four days. He knew the routine. It just didn't make it any more pleasant.

"Yes," Teyla was saying, "I believe we can provide medical training as well as some medicines. I will have to confirm this with both Doctor Beckett and Doctor Weir, of course."

"Of course," Soony replied, inclining his head toward her, a half-smile plastered on his face. After a moment more, he glanced between the aids stationed at his sides and continued, his voice formal his stature regal. "Teyla Emmagen of Atlantis, Colonel Sheppard of Atlantis, and Ronon Dex of Atlantis, I wish to thank you for agreeing to abide by our customs although they are not your own. I believe this arrangement will bring much harmony to both of our peoples."

He rose swiftly, his hands gesturing widely.

John tensed. This was not part of the morning routine.

Several forms entered from all sides, swarming into the room. He moved as if to rise, his hand immediately reaching for the sidearm nestled in his thigh holster, but Teyla's hand on his arm stilled his movements.

He glanced sharply at her and she shook her head, her eyes fixed on the people filling the room, calmness and satisfaction radiating off her in waves.

Suddenly the table before him filled. Sacks of grain appeared along with baskets and bushels of fruit and vegetables. Wineskins full of liquor rested against loaves of freshly baked breads. Other goods also piled on top until he thought the table would break under the weight. And through it all, Sonny stood, his arms held out wide, a smile firmly fixed on his face.

When all the movement finally stopped, John continued to stare.

Sonny's voice, while quiet, reached every corner of the room. "And so let this demonstrate our commitment to this treaty. May it continue until times long-lasting, in plenty and in friendship."

Sonny clapped his hands together and the room burst once again into chatter. John found himself pulled to his feet, arms wrapping around him in hugs before they passed him off to others. He wasn't sure how to react and fought the urge to shove himself away from the obvious well-wishers. He lost Teyla and Ronon in the crowd, but as the minutes passed by the throngs thinned out, leaving only the negotiating parties behind.

Teyla, standing nearly in the same place she'd started while John was on the other side of the room, looked flushed but immensely happy. "Thank you for your trust and your friendship. I look forward to further visits, but we must—"

"Return," Soony finished, a sad smile on his face. "I know. I have enjoyed your company once again. May the time not be as prolonged as once before."

"I agree," she said. "Be well, my friend, and thank you."

Soony bowed at the waist before turning and walking from the room, his aides following closely behind. A few minutes later both Beckett and Lorne entered, surprise and worry on their faces.

"We saw all these people lining up outside and weren't sure what was happening." Lorne admitted, his eyes drifting over the pile of goods on the low table. "Teyla had assured us that there wasn't going to be any strange rituals that required blood to be spilled or sacrifices to be made, so we waited outside."

"Aye," Carson added. "If you all had started screaming we'd have come running."

John's eyebrow rose at the comment, but he let it go when he saw the amusement on Lorne's face. "You knew about this?"

The major nodded. "We spoke to Teyla this morning before you headed over here. She told us what to expect."

"I wish someone had thought to include me in that conversation," Sheppard growled, aiming a particularly scathing look at the woman standing beside Ronon.

She merely returned the glance. "You did not ask."

Before John could utter a reply, Ronon moved, hefting a large bag of grain over his shoulder. "We need to get this to the jumper." A few seconds later and he was already out the door.

Everyone responded, picking up whatever they could carry before they headed outside, following Ronon to the puddlejumper. When he was the last one in the room, he sighed and bent down, lifting one of the larger sacks to his shoulder. Huffing under the weight, he headed out. There was a lot to move, and if he wanted to get home in time for dinner he had better hustle.

***

Clutching his tablet and assorted papers and folders in his arms, Radek Zelenka tried to shift just enough to free his hand to shove his glasses back into place as he hurried up the stairs to the control room. He was nearly late and he had no desire to make Elizabeth wait longer than she had to—especially for the painful meeting they were about to have.

Rounding the corner, he glanced ahead, his eyes skating over the area, noting the personnel manning the various stations. The sergeant at the gate controls offered a brief smile and a nod as Radek walked past, and he returned the gesture with a slight tilt of his head.

As he got closer to Elizabeth's office, he noticed she was concentrating on the screen in front of her, her elbows propped up on the edge of the desk, her brow furrowed. Slowing down as he reached the door, he shifted his pile enough to get his hand free once again so he could knock lightly on the doorframe. As soon as his knuckles made contact, though, he felt the papers begin to slide and only his quick movement stopped everything from hitting the floor. The scrape of metal against the floor indicated that he'd made a grand entrance.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, fine," he muttered, daring a glance at the woman now standing to the side of her desk as if she'd stopped mid-stride. He moved a few steps into her office, setting the errant documents on a nearby chair. "I did not intend to make such an entrance as this," he apologized, waving his hand absently toward the door.

"That's fine, Radek. As long as everything is safe and sound. I know how pesky all that paperwork can be. Tends to get away from us sometimes."

He looked up half in surprise, not expecting her words. The curl of her mouth into a smile indicated that she was indeed joking.

"Ah, yes," he said, turning back to his reports, straightening them. "I must admit that I do not enjoy this aspect of Rodney's job, actually most of his job. I will be most happy to give it all back to him."

"Really?" she asked, her voice holding a curious tone. "I thought this would be an opportunity all scientists would want, the ability to run an entire department, to be the one with all the answers."

"As much as it helps my ego," Radek said, sinking down into a nearby chair as Elizabeth returned to her own seat, "I find it far too complicated. I prefer my experiments, my research. Much more orderly. It does not require me to baby-sit scientists who should know better."

"Who is it this time?"

"Kavanaugh, of course. Doctor Biro believes the dye will wear off in a few days. The lab, however, will need extensive decontamination before he will be able to continue his work. He has already begun demanding a new location."

Elizabeth chuckled. "Do I want to know what he was doing?"

Radek shook his head. "No. I did not want to know myself, however…"

"You had no choice in the matter," she said, her smile fading. She paused, her eyes holding his gaze steadily. "Are you comfortable with Rodney going back to work tomorrow?"

"Why do you ask this? Is his time not up?" Radek could feel his eyes widening behind his glasses. He wasn't sure he could take another week of this madness.

"His week of confinement will be complete by the end of today, but before I allowed him to return to his duties and turned everything back over to him I wanted to make sure you were comfortable with the situation."

"Of course. Why would I not be? This is Rodney's department, yes? I'm merely keeping his chair warm, metaphorically speaking. His chair gives me backaches."

Her face showed her confusion that her words only emphasized. "Then you don't have a problem with him resuming his duties as head of the science department?"

"No. Should I?" He waved his hand absently in the air. "Did he make a mistake? Yes. Did he insult me in public? Yes, but that was not the first time and it will not be last." Radek shrugged. "He is a genius when it comes to Ancient technology, but do not tell him I say so. He is where he needs to be."

Elizabeth nodded, pursing her lips. "Very well. I still need to discuss this with Colonel Sheppard when he returns, but it seems that Doctor McKay will probably be reporting for work tomorrow morning. I would appreciate it if you could be here when we meet with him later today."

"Are you certain?" Radek asked, his eyebrow drawing in close.

"Yes. You are the head of the science department until tomorrow morning and I believe you should be present."

"Then I shall be here as you request."

"Now," she began, glancing down at her computer screen, "I believe we have to go over some of the daily reports and also take a look at what you've discovered in the Ancient database."

Radek nodded. There was still a lot of work to be done before he could go back to the peace and quiet of his own lab and his own research. At least there was a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel—at least until Rodney pissed someone off or screwed something up big time again.

The yelling and the shouting and the whining he could stand. It was normal.

***

"And then when they finished filling the table with food and grain and anything else that would fit, Soony gave a speech and then we ended up in the middle of the sixties. Peace, love, and happiness," Colonel Sheppard commented, leaning back, his hands resting on the arm of his chair. Lorne swore that if it didn't have wheels, the colonel would have had it up on two legs right now, threatening to careen back into the wall behind him. One day, Lorne was certain, Sheppard would try it with the wheeled office chairs. It was more a matter of when than if.

"The sixties, John?"

"You know," he replied to Weir, picking up one of his hands to wave as if that would somehow explain everything. Apparently, the major wasn't sure how to word it exactly, settling for simple. "Hugging. They started hugging everyone in sight."

"Hugging is part of the traditional Mazurkian customs especially when closing a trade agreement," Teyla replied, her voice level, but Lorne could see the tension in the Athosian's shoulders. A few months ago he couldn't read most of the personnel on Atlantis, let alone those who were born in another galaxy. Sometimes that was still a hard idea to wrap his mind around. But now, with a just a single glance he could get a general sense of everyone. Being military and part of the security force, it was his job, but this was something he'd always been able to do. For some reason, the sense was just heightened here.

"Well," Sheppard replied as he shifted once again, his elbows coming to rest on the table as he glared across at Teyla, "I would have appreciated some warning."

Lorne raised an eyebrow at Sheppard's tone and his argumentative posture, but remained silent. Lorne sure as hell wasn't going to argue with his commanding officer in public, even though he was wrong. Teyla had informed them of what was going to happen. Sheppard just wasn't there at the time, deciding to take an early morning walk back to the jumper.

"I apologize, Colonel," Teyla replied calmly, her voice strangely subdued and even although Lorne knew she was annoyed at him. "I shall endeavor to be more cognizant in the future of such information. Please forgive my lapse in this instance."

Sheppard shifted in his chair and Lorne saw a look of guilt briefly cross his face before he shut down again, his unemotional mask snapping back in place. He nodded once, briskly. "It's okay. I just wasn't expecting it, that's all."

"Anything else I should know about?" Weir asked, looking around the conference room. "Carson?"

The doctor shook his head, the weariness from the past several days wearing heavily on him. "They're all relatively healthy and their doctors are interested in learning more from us. Some courses on basic first aid procedures might be a good thing."

Weir nodded, jotting some notes down on her PDA. "I think that can be arranged easily enough." She paused for a moment before turning to Lorne. "The supplies?"

"Are being checked over to make sure nothing extra was added. I didn't think we wanted any surprises or pests of the four-legged kind. Then they'll be placed in the appropriate storage facilities."

"Good, good." A few more scribbles and scratches on the electronic pad and she raised her head again, scanning the room, her eyes narrowed, her lips thin. There was something else going on behind her hazel eyes, but he was almost certain it wasn't about the briefing. His supposition was confirmed with her next words. "If that's all, you're dismissed. Good work. Colonel Sheppard, if you can remain, we have a few more things to go over."

"Of course," he replied, remaining in his chair, his arms resting heavily on the table as everyone else rose, striding out through the conference room doors accompanied by low conversation.

"Major," Weir called out before he crossed the threshold into the control room, making him turn back toward her.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Can you ask Doctor Zelenka to join us in a few minutes?"

Lorne nodded. "Of course. Anything else?"

"Give us about thirty minutes and then please escort Doctor McKay here."

He felt his eyes widen, and tried to school his features. "Yes, ma'am. He'll be here."

"Thank you, Major," Weir replied, her tone dismissing him as she turned her gaze back to Sheppard sitting across the table. As he left, the doors closed behind him. While he wished he could be a fly on the wall for the conversation going on in there, he knew one thing for certain—he did not want to be in McKay's shoes in thirty minutes.

***

Elizabeth turned back to her PDA, making a few more notes on the small screen as she waited for the doors to the conference room to close completely. They could have done this in her office she knew, but there was something off about John. It might be better here, behind closed and opaque doors.

Looking up, she narrowed her eyes as she openly studied him, watching as he shifted and moved in his chair, his dark eyes holding hers easily, daring her to say something, to provoke him. She was surprised to see the anger still in their depths even after all this time had passed. Her own ire had cooled, not entirely, but a week without Rodney beating down her door for one thing or another had been pleasant. She'd even enjoyed her meetings with Doctor Zelenka. He was so very different than the egotistical scientist she normally dealt with. While he wasn't as smooth or polished as McKay, he was just as detailed, and his tone and temperament was much more subdued.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied quickly, the words coming too fast.

She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips, tapping the stylus against her chin. "Let's try that again, shall we? What's wrong?"

He shook his head, the muscles along his jaw tightening. "Nothing, really." He offered a weak shrug. "Been a long week."

"Yes, but compared to most, somewhat quiet, apart from the mass hugging you recently experienced, of course," she said with a gentle smile.

"Apart from that, yes, I guess," he said, glancing down, a smile threatening to find a home on his lips. It was short-lived however, because when he raised his head any ghost of a smile that she'd thought she'd seen was gone. "That was unsettling. You would have thought it was downright odd if you'd been there too."

"I'm not even going to try to imagine what you went through," Elizabeth said, finding it hard to picture the event in her mind especially with the military commander was in his current mood. "But, that's not why I asked you to stay."

"McKay." The name came out quickly, the tone disdainful. It seemed the scientist was still the source of his mood.

"McKay," she repeated, nodding her head. "I spoke with Doctor Zelenka earlier today and he seemed amenable to having Doctor McKay begin working again tomorrow morning."

"And?"

"And I wanted to discuss this with you before we meet with him."

"It's really not my decision, Elizabeth. I'm sure my guys have better things to do than stand outside his door, so they'll be happy it's over. But isn't he still grounded?"

"Yes," she nodded, "for the next three weeks."

"So let him work. That's what he's here to do."

"It means he'll resume all of his normal duties, including staff meetings."

"And?"

"And I wanted to make sure you were going to be comfortable with the situation."

John shifted in his seat, his arms crossing over his chest. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well," she said, gesturing to him, the stylus pointing toward Sheppard. "I can tell just from your body language that you still have some issues with him and you're probably angry. I hope this won't interfere with the operations on this base."

"Of course not. I know how to act in a professional capacity." If possible his tone got even frostier than it had been.

"I didn't mean to imply that you don't know how to act appropriately. I just wanted to make sure you were going to be comfortable working with him. He will be recommending planets and assigning scientists to your missions. I need to make sure you'll abide by his decisions."

"Shouldn’t be a problem."

She raised an eyebrow in question, his tone belying his words, but a knock on the conference room door interrupted her. She nodded to John, silently asking him to 'think' the door open. She was still frustrated by his ability to connect to the city, how Atlantis just opened up at his command. One of the panels of the conference room opened and Doctor Zelenka stepped inside, his expression hesitant.

"Major Lorne said you wished to see me."

She offered a smile and gestured for him to take a seat as the door closed once again at John's request. "Yes. Doctor McKay will be joining us shortly and I wanted to make sure we all were in agreement before he arrived."

"Yes, you mentioned it when we spoke earlier," he replied, obviously on edge as he shifted in the chair he'd taken, his hands fluttering about, refusing to remain still. "Should not all of the senior staff be present?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head slowly. "I don't think this concerns the entire senior staff. Because both of you were directly affected by his actions and you will be working with him closely over the next several weeks, your opinions are the ones that should be considered."

He nodded after a brief pause, her words obviously making some kind of sense to the scientist. "Very well. What did you wish to discuss?"

***

As he stopped outside Doctor McKay's door Major Lorne nodded briskly to Captain Andrews who was standing guard, puzzlement flashing through his mind. "I thought you were on the morning shift."

Andrews shrugged slightly. "Clark asked to swap with me. He said something about a training session he needed to attend. Since I didn't have any other pressing assignments I didn't mind changing shifts." He eyed Lorne carefully, a slightly sheepish expression crossing his face. "I hope that was okay. You weren't around to ask, sir."

Lorne nodded slowly. "It's fine. Just run it by me the next time before you change things."

"Yes, sir."

"So, how's the doctor been?"

"Quiet. Grabbed breakfast and lunch in the mess already today. He should be ready for dinner in about two hours."

"Good." Lorne turned to the door, waving his hand in front of the panel to signal the door chime. Andrews shifted uneasily on his feet. Raising an eyebrow, Lorne glanced to the side. "There a problem, Captain?"

"The door chime seems to have stopped working."

"Stopped working?"

"I believe Doctor McKay didn't want to be disturbed at one point a day or so ago and he…seems to have dismantled it from the other side."

Lorne's eyebrows rose. "And why might he have done that?"

"You know how he gets. Claimed he was working on some important project and he didn't want to be interrupted." Andrews shrugged. "We were only trying to make sure he ate regularly. Hyperglycemia and all."

"Is he answering knocks?"

"Generally. When he's in the mood."

Lorne sighed, moving his hand to knock loudly on the door. Waiting a few beats, he knocked again. "McKay, open up."

When an answer wasn't forthcoming, Lorne closed his eyes briefly, forcing a security override on the system and thinking the door to unlock and open. It accommodated his request a moment later.

Stepping into the semi-lit room once the door slid open fully, Lorne glanced around, trying to locate the scientist. When at first glance he didn't see him, Lorne moved to the open balcony door. For someone who spent years inside in one lab or another, McKay certainly made use of every chance to spend time outside on Atlantis—not that he blamed him.

He spotted the casually-dressed scientist sitting with his back to the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, his laptop perched easily on his thighs, his fingers typing with both speed and fierceness as if he were beating the keys into submission.

Lorne leaned against the doorframe watching the engrossed scientist for several minutes before clearing his throat. "McKay?"

"It's about time you announced yourself, Major," McKay replied without looking up, his fingers never hesitating. "I was wondering how long you planned on standing there staring at me. I was starting to think you might have a strange fascination with my bare feet or something."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Lorne shook his head, his lips cracking a smile. "I didn't know you cared, Doc."

"I don't." He hit a few more keys, saving whatever it was he was working on before glancing up, squinting his eyes a little. Lorne was surprised at what he saw. It was obvious that the scientist had lost weight over the past several days, his face thinner, the circles under his eyes darker. The eyes themselves, though, were hard and cold, the whites redder than normal.

"You wanted something?"

Lorne shook himself slightly, dragging himself back to the conversation at hand and the man glaring up at him. "Doctor Weir wants to see you."

McKay raised an eyebrow, but didn't move. "She could have called and requested my presence, but it is apparent that she doesn't trust me to find my own way to her office. So am I to be marched there? Is it time for my final trial before a jury of my peers? Oh, wait. I don't have any of those here, so I guess I'll have to settle for you then."

"I’m just doing what Doctor Weir requested. I’m not here to give you a hard time."

"Sure." Rodney put his laptop next to him on the deck and slowly rose to his feet, bending down once he was fully upright to grab his computer before pushing past Lorne into his quarters. "And I thought I had locked the door."

"You did," he replied, watching as McKay bounded around the clean room. "You weren't answering."

"Oh, I wonder why," McKay replied, gesturing toward the open wall panel as he ducked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. The cover had been removed and there were several crystals missing. Lorne vaguely remembered seeing them on the desk when he'd walked in.

"I knocked several times," Lorne replied, raising his voice to be heard in the other room.

McKay appeared a moment later. "And I was apparently busy and did not want to be disturbed. It seems that my forced confinement also meant that I gave up all my rights of privacy as well. Are you reading my emails too?"

"I wouldn't even know how to get into your system and besides, I have no intention of reading your emails."

"Well, it's good to know that some of the military failed their computer systems hacking courses." McKay sat down on the edge of his bed, pulling on socks and sneakers, obviously not changing out of his jeans and T-shirt.

"And you know that you need to meet with Doctor Weir?"

"Yes, you did mention that several minutes ago." He speared Lorne with a condescending glance. "Are you having problems with your short-term memory? I know mine is working just fine, but perhaps you need to stop and see Carson. He might be able to give you something for that. He's into all that voodoo." McKay wiggled his fingers as if that helped to explain the terminology.

Lorne tried not to sigh, but it was hard. McKay was in one of his more exasperating moods. "I was merely pointing it out."

"I've been locked in my quarters for a week and denied any chance to do real work, something that might help save the city from certain doom when the Wraith come next. Every minute I'm away from my lab is another minute when there's no life-altering discovery. If Elizabeth wants to talk to me, she can do so whether or not I'm in uniform. It's not as if the very clothing on my body will stop her from forming complete sentences. She, unlike most people on this base, knows how to speak in compound sentences."

"Look," Lorne said, taking a few steps toward the bed, forcing McKay to raise his head at an awkward angle in order to keep eye contact. "I've been on base for less than twelve hours and in addition to escorting you to the main conference room I wanted to see how you were doing. This whole situation, in my opinion, has gotten out of hand, but I have no say as to what goes on here. I'd recommend making nice with Doctor Weir, Colonel Sheppard, and Doctor Zelenka in there. But since you're the genius, I guess you can figure things out all by yourself."

Lorne turned to leave, only to be stopped by McKay's voice when he was a foot from the door.

"Major, wait."

He turned, his arms folded over his chest, standing in silence.

McKay looked away, finding his feet and hands far more interesting for several seconds before standing up and moving toward him, his eyes finally meeting Lorne's once again. "I appreciate your concern, Major. I do."

Lorne eyed him for a moment before nodding slightly. "Nervous?"

The scientist bobbed his head. "I don't think I can do this for another week."

"I don’t have any advice for you, Doc, since I don't know what they want."

"Blood?" McKay chuckled humorlessly. "Although I think I give Carson more than enough for his fiendish experiments."

"There weren't any needles in the room when I left if that's any consolation."

"A little, Major, a little." Rodney gestured to the door as it slid open with his silent command. "Should we get going?"

Lorne nodded, moving into the hallway with the scientist trailing behind. "Andrews," he said pausing, "you're off of guard duty for the rest of the day and I think this should be it. If anything changes, I'll let you know."

"Yes, sir," Andrews replied, turning to walk down the corridor in the other direction as the door to McKay's quarters slid shut.

"You're awfully confident," McKay said a moment later as they approached the nearest transporter.

Lorne shrugged. "Why not? You've done everything they asked of you, right? You haven't made a menace of yourself all week and you haven't complained. Am I right?"

They stepped inside the small transporter and Lorne tapped the image of the central tower.

"I guess."

"So, why would they add more time onto your so-called sentence?"

"Because they hate me?"

"They don't hate you, McKay."

"Okay, then. They don't trust me."

Lorne shook his head a little as the transporter door opened. "Maybe," he said conceding the scientist's point, watching as McKay's wrung his hands together. "But making you miserable won't make things any better for the city in the long run. And I think they trust you more than you trust yourself right now. Give yourself time. You're grounded for three more weeks, right?"

McKay nodded, his face a misery. "If I don't screw this up."

"You're a genius, how can you do that?"

"Trust me, Major, my ego and I have screwed up more times than you know."

McKay pushed ahead as he hurried up the stairs to the main conference room, leaving Lorne to trail behind. As the scientist reached the door, he took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. Raising his hand, he knocked loudly, the door parting before him a moment later.

Offering a prayer to whatever god was listening, Lorne settled down to wait until the yelling and screaming was over.

***

Elizabeth Weir watched Doctor McKay carefully as he strode into the room, his body a miss-mash of signals. With his head held high, a smug expression firmly in place, he settled himself into one of the open chairs as the door closed behind him, for all intents and purposes the confident and arrogant scientist they all knew.

But, Elizabeth saw something different.

It was more than his casual clothes. She'd seen him many times in jeans and t-shirts or sweatshirts. No matter what he wore, the man underneath always remained the same to her, a constant even in the most complicated and convoluted times.

He looked worn out, his face more pale than she remembered seeing a week ago. The starkness of his skin made the dark circles stand out all the more. If possible, he even looked thinner though she knew he'd been eating regularly since she'd been reading the daily reports. Something had changed.

But now, she saw his slight hesitations, his shaking hand as he pulled the chair back. Near his hairline, a small line of sweat had appeared. His eyes refused to remain steady. It was obvious that he didn't want to meet anyone's gaze, his eyes jumping around the room continually, refusing to settle on any one thing. If she looked closely enough, she thought she could see the beginnings of a ring of sweat forming near his armpits. All of his actions were carefully controlled, but the signals were all there—if you paid attention.

He was nervous as hell and trying not to show it.

It was an interesting observation. Apparently this past week of confinement had helped the scientist find some kind of perspective on the whole situation. So much for Beckett's concerns about McKay's fragile nature.

Her gaze slid to Radek, sitting uncomfortably in his chair, his shoulders rounded as if he were trying to hunch over, to make himself as small as possible, to hide himself in the middle of the room. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, his chin resting on one hand, while the fingers on his other hand tapped soundlessly against the tabletop.

John had straightened when McKay entered, no longer slouching in the chair as he'd been before. His eyes followed the scientist's walk through the room, narrowing as McKay settled into his seat. What John was waiting for, Elizabeth didn't know. Was he waiting for him to twitch, to say something, do something? He continued to study him, his eyes fixed on the physicist.

"Thank you for joining us, Doctor McKay," Weir finally said as her gaze slid back to Rodney, his eyes barely connecting with hers before they were moving again, this time concentrating on a spot somewhere over her left shoulder.

"Major Lorne didn't give me much of a choice."

Her jaw tightened at his tone. It was pure Rodney that much was sure. "He was under orders to escort you here, so yes, he did not have much choice in the matter, nor did you."

McKay ducked his head, acknowledging her comment, but did not make one of his own. She continued a few beats later.

"We're here to discuss how we're going to proceed with the next several weeks. Both Doctor Zelenka and Colonel Sheppard have suggested that we continue as we'd already planned, which means that you will be returning to perform your duties as chief science officer beginning tomorrow morning." McKay's eyes widened at her statement, his eyes flicking toward the other two men in the room as surprise shifted across his face before it settled down into something less smug and more hopeful.

"I am in agreement with their recommendation in this matter."

She waited, letting the words settle over him. This time his eyes slowed down, meeting hers hesitatingly, as if the faintest of movement on her part would send them flying off again.

"Is that it?"

Weir inclined her head to the side a little, breaking their gaze as she glanced down at her PDA. "Almost."

A single "oh" fell from his lips, the word breathy and filled with weight.

"As discussed," she continued a moment later, her eyes taking in John and Radek with a single glance, "you will resume all of your duties as Atlantis CSO, however, you will remain restricted to the base for the next three weeks. Also, Doctor Zelenka has agreed to provide weekly reports on your projects. He will be acting as my eyes and ears during this period. Please treat him with the respect you accord me. Am I understood?"

McKay swallowed, his mouth tightening, his lips forming a thin line. "Clearly."

"Do you have any questions for any of us?"

McKay's eyes moved slowly around the room, meeting the other men's eyes briefly before continuing on.

"Just so I have this straight," he began, leaning forward, his forearms resting on the table, his hands gesturing while he spoke. "Radek, here, is going to be looking over my shoulder while I go about doing my job. A job, I might add, that was given to me nearly two years ago. Do I have to ask his permission every step along the way? And will Colonel Sheppard's friends be shadowing me as well?"

The muscles in Weir's back tightened at his tone, but she let it go. "Doctor Zelenka will merely be providing a weekly report. You are to go about your duties normally. And no, there will be no need for guards unless, of course, you would prefer to have them."

"No, a week of close contact with the Marines is plenty for me." McKay paused again, glancing at Sheppard whose eyes hadn't budged. "Am I also to attend senior staff meetings during this time?"

"Yes," Weir nodded. "Apart from your off-base restrictions, nothing has changed in your job description."

"Fine." McKay slid his hands back, holding onto the edge of the table, as if he were preparing to shove his chair back. "Anything else?"

"One other thing," Weir replied, noticing Radek's raised eyebrow. This she'd added as soon as McKay had walked in the door. "I want Carson to examine you before you begin work tomorrow. Have Major Lorne escort you there before you return to your quarters."

"I'm still under guard?"

"Until tomorrow, yes. I'd recommend not giving the Major a hard time."

"Fine." This time Rodney pushed back away from the table, rising to his feet. "If there's nothing else…"

"You're dismissed," she nodded, watching as he strode out the door, pausing at Lorne's side apparently to tell him what was next on their agenda. The Major glanced toward her in question and she nodded once, confirming Rodney's instructions.

As they headed through the control room, Weir turned her attention to the two men still seated in the conference room with her. "Well, I think that about does it."

***

"Weir to Beckett."

Carson jumped a little as the voice rang out in his ear. Even after nearly two years of wearing the stupid earpieces, he got startled whenever he was paged—especially if he was in the middle of something. Like now.

The techs in the lab had finally finished their analysis of the virus that some of the Athosians on the mainland had come down with and he'd spent the better part of the day wading through the reports and lab results. It wasn't anything deadly. Nothing life threatening, but it could end up crippling the Atlantean population if it got lose on the base.

So, he'd ended up chained to his desk as soon as he had stepped back through the wormhole and received his post-mission check from Doctor Biro. It was still odd to be on the receiving end of one of those.

Taking a deep breath to steady his frantically beating heart, Carson lifted his hand to click his radio on while he began pulling the pages that had spilled out of his fingers back together. He hoped he didn't sound like he'd just run a race.

"Beckett."

"Sorry to bother you, Carson, but I just sent Doctor McKay down. He's looking a little peaked and I want to make sure he's up to start working tomorrow morning."

"Peaked?" he asked, sitting up straighter as his brows drew together. He knew he should have made the time to stop there the other day.

"Paler. Dark circles. Might be nothing." He could see her shrug in his mind's eye.

"Paler than he normally is? That's not good although he hasn't been getting out much lately come to think of it. Aye. I'll give him a thorough going over. Anything else?"

"Let me know what you find."

"I will. Beckett out."

Dropping the papers onto the top of his report-covered desk, he rubbed his hands briskly across his face, trying to wipe the weariness away. Checking his watch, he realized it was nearly time for dinner. Where had the day gone?

Pushing himself up from his desk, his chair sliding back to hit the wall behind, he moved slowly into the main part of the infirmary just as the doors opened to reveal a sour-looking—and pale—Rodney McKay along with his ever-present shadow, Major Lorne.

Carson flashed the Major a quick nod before he set his sights fully on the scientist. "Well, Rodney, what brings you here?"

He came to a stop and his arms crossed over his chest. Tilting his chin up, he looked down at Carson. "Elizabeth sent me. I'm surprised she didn't call ahead. I would have if I were in her position, just to make sure I'd followed her instructions to the letter and also to warn you about the foul-tempered scientist was on his way. Can't ever be too careful."

Beckett's eyebrow scooted upward, but he didn't rise to the bait. Rodney knew Elizabeth far too well it seemed. Gesturing toward one of the exam beds with one hand, he shot Lorne a quick 'you can leave now' look as Rodney huffed and moved past him. "So, what seems to be the problem?" He asked the question once the scientist settled on the bed and the infirmary door swooshed closed as Lorne went to go stand outside.

"You tell me, Carson, isn't that your job? I’m just following directions like a good little lemming."

Frowning, Beckett moved toward the side table. "Lemming, eh? Well, then push up your sleeve," he ordered. After another long-suffering sigh, Carson heard the rustle of clothing and turned, finding Rodney rolling his eyes and shoving his t-shirt sleeve somewhere north of this elbow. Wrapping the blood-pressure cuff around his upper arm, Carson quickly got to work, taking readings and drawing blood—under protest from Rodney.

Elizabeth had been correct. McKay didn't look right. The normally pale Canadian was a few shades lighter than usual, his eyes redder than they should have been for someone not on the clock. He was a few pounds lighter than the last time he'd been given a thorough check-up and his blood pressure was still borderline.

Carson stepped back, jotting down several things on Rodney's chart. Pursing his lips, he glanced up at the strangely silent man. Everything seemed normal, at least medically speaking for Rodney, but it didn't explain why his radar was tweeting at him. There was something else going on.

Tapping his stylus on his lips, Carson narrowed his eyes, finally getting a reaction from McKay.

"What?"

"I'm thinking."

"I can smell the furnace igniting in that head of yours. What voodoo spells are you going to curse me with this time?"

Carson shrugged, holding the chart closer to his chest.

Rodney's eyes widened. "Am I dying? Is that what this whole look is for? I can take it. Just tell me plainly. How long do I have?"

Rolling his eyes, Carson slapped the chart down on the adjacent bed and shook his head. "You're fine, Rodney. A little hypertensive, but that's normal for you. I have to wait for your blood to come back to get the rest of your results, but you seem fit as a fiddle." He paused, tilting his head to examine his friend's face again. "Are ye gettin' enough sleep? What have you been working on the past week that's been keeping you up to all hours of the night?"

McKay stiffened a little, his arms coming up to cross over his chest. Carson absently noted that several fingernails on Rodney's right hand were torn and ragged, but when the scientist opened his mouth, whatever thought Carson had had about them quickly fled looking for shelter somewhere else. "Believe it or not, Carson, I do have projects and papers that need to be completed. This whole situation just gave me time to make a decent amount of progress on them. Besides, what does it matter when I'm working on them, or for how long? It's my time. I can use it any way I want. It's not like I was given a whole lot of options."

"Okay, okay," he replied, waving his hands, trying to get Rodney to calm down. He really didn't want to argue with him. "No more projects tonight if you expect to go to work in the morning. Agreed?"

The muscles along the physicist's jaw tightened, but he nodded a moment later. "Fine. I can agree to that. Anything else?"

"Are you sure you're doing okay, otherwise? I know I haven't seen much of you the past few days."

"Look. I'm obviously tired and the longer you keep me here the less time I have to rest—as you've just informed me that I have to do before I can work in the morning. So, if there's nothing else…"

"Nae. That should be it. I'll make my report to Elizabeth in a little bit. Off ye go," Carson said, picking up the chart and moving away from the bed as McKay slid off, straightening his clothes and yanking down the sleeve of his t-shirt.

Rodney turned and walked quickly toward the infirmary doors, pausing only long enough to pick up his military escort. Carson shook his head part in exasperation, part in amusement. It was good to have a certain number of constants in this crazy galaxy and the physicist could definitely be considered a constant. Carson was also glad there was only one Rodney McKay on the base. He wasn't sure if he—or the base—could take two of them.

One was more than enough.

***

After stepping into the room, the door slid shut behind him and Rodney mentally locked it, letting his body slump back against the flat, cold surface. And, as an extra measure, he keyed it only to unlock under his direct command or in the case of a medical emergency. He didn't want any further contact with people today. He'd had his limit.

Only a few more hours and he was free—relatively speaking, of course, since Elizabeth seemed determined about going through with the rest of his sentence. At least now he could do something.

It had been a hellish day, starting before the sun actually rose. Since he'd managed to disable the door chime yesterday—several fingernails later—the terrors also known as upstanding Marines had taken to pounding on the door every now and then. The pounding was easier to ignore than the door chime, but it still tended to wake him at the most inconvenient times—like when he'd just fallen asleep.

There was no point in complaining. Not like anyone would do anything and it was a matter of his word against theirs. And at this point in time, he doubted anyone would believe him since it was something only a five-year-old would do. How'd they'd managed to make it this far was beyond McKay, but that wasn't the issue.

Andrews had forced him to get breakfast and lunch, not taking 'no' for an answer. How he'd managed to get in the room when Rodney swore he'd locked the door last night was a question he'd like answered, but nothing was forthcoming.

And, coming back from the infirmary, Lorne had dragged him to the mess hall—right in the middle of dinner. He'd been trying to go before the rush or after it, but tonight Lorne wasn't giving up. He'd taken his arm in hand and bodily moved him to the nearest transporter, hustling him into the room like some kind of errant, misbehaving ten-year-old.

He could imagine the entrance they'd made—Lorne tugging the resisting scientist along while Rodney continued to babble, words flowing from his mouth in an effort to make the Major stop, turn around, and leave him the hell alone.

He still remembered the silence than had fallen over the mess when they'd strode in. He could still hear Lorne's hushed words in his ear. "You sure do know how to make an entrance, McKay. Must be the genius in you."

Shaking off his hand, Rodney had moved to the food line, grabbing a tray and filling it with whatever his hand ran across. Lorne had stayed right behind him the entire time, chattering up a storm with one of the other Marines who had fallen in line behind them.

After getting splattered by the special of the night, Rodney had moved to the beverage area, snagging a full mug of coffee from a fresh-made pot. He'd nearly got two mugs, but he thought it might be pushing his luck. Aiming toward the door, Lorne's voice had stopped him in his tracks.

"Find a table, McKay."

Turning, he'd given the Major one of his more strident glances, but the other man had either ignored it or just shrugged it off. Lorne, instead, had nodded toward an empty table in the center of the room. "There's an open one there."

"Major—" he'd begun, fully intent on arguing, but Lorne's eyes had hardened, stopping him even before the rant began.

"McKay, I'm tired and hungry and I plan on eating in the mess like a normal human. Now, sit down and eat. You can get back to being a hermit in a while."

His shoulder muscles tightening, Rodney had choked off a reply, nodding his head once, sharply, as he turned and stalked to the table Lorne had pointed to. Slamming his tray on the surface, he'd yanked back the chair and dropped into it, pointedly ignoring the stares he knew were turned his way. He could already feel them.

Getting down to business, McKay had picked up his utensils and began eating, the food both too bland and too spicy. How the cooks managed to get that strange flavoring was something he didn't even want to consider. Lorne and the chattering airman joined him a few minutes later, their conversation going full throttle. He'd listened, refusing to interject anything even though Lorne had obviously left room for him to reply. Instead, he kept his head down, focusing on the pile of food still in his plate, watching as his fork moved it around, mixing it together until it became even more non-descript and unrecognizable.

"Hey, McKay."

Jerking his head up, he'd realized Lorne had probably called him several times, but he'd managed to zone out. The babbling airman was also gone, leaving just him and the Major, who was staring at him strangely.

"What?" McKay had grumbled, letting his fork drop with a clank to the tray.

"You okay?"

"Peachy, Major. Are we done with today's social experiment of 'make a fool out of the scientist'? It's your last chance before tomorrow rolls around."

"Would you just knock it off, McKay?" Lorne had hissed, leaning forward on his arms as he pushed his tray to the unoccupied side of the table. "Why is it that you insist on making things harder than they need to be?"

"I'm a genius. What you consider hard and what I consider hard are two very different things."

"When it comes to science, I'd have to agree, but we're talking about social interaction here, not nuclear fission."

"Oh, nice example there, Major. Taking lessons from Colonel Sheppard now? Or is it Doctor Weir? I'm getting them all confused."

Lorne had shaken his head then, glancing away. Rodney had taken the opportunity to scan the mess, finding it much more deserted than it had been when they'd walked in. Thankfully, no one in their immediate vicinity had been paying much attention to their conversation. However, he did notice Carson sitting with his team on the other side of the room. A twinge of hurt had flashed through his mind, but he quickly shoved it to the side, pushing it away.

"Are you done?" Lorne had finally asked several minutes later, drawing Rodney's attention back to the other man. Turning, his eyes dropped to his mostly-full plate.

"Yeah. I'm not very hungry. I'll just grab a few PowerBars for later."

"Fine," Lorne had said, rising to his feet. "Since you obviously don't want to be here, we should probably get moving."

Rodney nodded, following the Major's lead. He'd felt everyone's eyes on him as he had moved through the mess, dropping his tray in the appropriate place, picking up a handful of snacks for later along with a bottle of water.

Lorne had been standing at the entrance, waiting patiently. When he'd approached, Lorne gestured for Rodney to go first, quickly falling in beside him. The walk to his quarters had been completed in silence.

When the doors finally slid open, Lorne's hand had come up, resting on the frame, stopping McKay from shutting him out—literally and figuratively.

Turning, Rodney had offered the man one of his more condescending expressions. "You wanted something, Major?"

"I'll be out here until the clock officially clicks over into tomorrow. If you want to talk, you know where to find me."

Rodney had nodded once, unsure what to say, but it was apparently enough since Lorne had stepped back, his hand dropping to his side. He'd stepped inside then, the feeling of relief washing over him so strongly that he needed the strength and the silence of Atlantis to keep him upright. The coolness of the door seeped through the clothing covering his back, giving him a measure of the relief he sought.

Opening his eyes, he glanced around the dimly lit room. How long had he been standing there, leaning against the door, going through the events of the day in his mind? He wasn't sure if he wanted to know or if he really cared.

Pushing himself away, he stumbled toward his bed, his legs feeling like they wouldn't hold him upright. Tumbling onto the soft surface, one arm pinned beneath his own weight, his legs hanging half off the edge, he groaned. Dragging his left arm up toward his face, he squinted at his watch-face.

Twenty hundred hours, give or take a few minutes.

That meant he had been standing there, leaning against the wall for… He tried to do the math, but his brain wasn't having it and settled for an approximation—far too long.

Shifting his weight he yanked his arm from beneath his body before all the feeling absconded from it and crawled up toward his pillow. He could see his laptop sitting on his desk, its siren song calling his name. He'd given Carson a promise and even though there was no real way for the doctor to enforce it, he felt like he owed him that much just because of their working relationship and their friendship.

He scoffed at the last thought, his breath leaving in a disgusted huff. Who was he kidding? It was plainly obvious who his friends were now, wasn't it?

Teyla had at least visited him once, so he needed to give her points for trying, at least a little, even though she'd probably lost some kind of bet or something. Why else had she not come back when she'd promised?

Lorne was forced to spend time with him. Hard to call someone a friend who was ordered to keep you company.

He really hadn't expected to see Sheppard or Radek, although it would have been nice for them to drop in and say hello. Sheppard used to do that when he was in the lab working late, but now everything was different. Radek had probably been up to his eyeballs with work. Rodney knew he hadn't been keeping up with things the way he normally did once that whole Arcturus project had caught his attention. But, knowing how Radek worked, everything would probably be in order when he walked in.

He let his thoughts wander, drifting through the upper reaches of his mind, settling on everything and nothing all at once. People and places all blended together—familiar faces in unfamiliar settings. It sometimes felt like he was running simulation after simulation, the situation resetting with different people and variables. Sometimes it looked like he was back on Duranda. Other times he was on the mainland or a planet that was vaguely mainland-like. Once he swore he was on the planet where the Guardian of Forever sat for all time, waiting for that single question. The Guardian would certainly be helpful in his case, giving him the ability to go back in time and change things, make things right, make him stop before he blew up an entire solar system. He could almost hear himself pleading with the Guardian, begging to be allowed to step through, to set things right, to make sure Collins didn't die.

In the early morning hours, he swore he could hear him, see him, pleading with Rodney to give his death meaning and purpose. His blackened hands would reach out to him, clasping the front of his shirt in a grip that Rodney couldn't shake, forcing him to look into his eyes, to see the pain and the anguish he'd experienced even in that short time.

And once he grabbed on, it always seemed like he would never let go, as if by that very touch he could drag Rodney right over the edge, never waking in this world again.

With his breath catching in his throat, Rodney jerked awake, his hands waving desperately to rid himself of the visitor his mind had created. With his eyes wide open, his panting gasps were loud in the silence of the room.

As he eased himself back down into his bed, he tried to calm himself, gradually slowing down his breathing and his heart rate, convincing his over-active mind that it was just another nightmare.

Once he settled down, he lifted his wrist, squinting through the darkness to try and make out the small number on the dial. When it was obvious that they wouldn't magically appear, he grumbled reaching to press the button that would illuminate it for a few seconds. The light, while low, still managed to blind him, forcing him to glare at the watch in order to read the time.

0430

Damn. His hands dropped to lie on the bed beside him. Why did he have to be awake and alert this early? Knowing that getting any sleep at this point was severely doubtful, Rodney groaned and rolled to a sitting position, his bare feet hitting the cold floor with a thud. Scratching his stomach, he pushed himself upright, stumbling to the bathroom.

He might as well get moving. There was probably plenty of work to be done anyway.

Dragging his unwilling body through the motions, he was ready to go in less than half an hour, but standing in the middle of his room, the lights on barely enough to illuminate the furniture and his overly organized belongings, he realized he didn't want to go to the lab right now. There were probably scientists already working, some of them still there from the night before.

Glancing down, he realized he'd dressed in the charcoal grey uniform he normally wore on missions. Habit, he guessed. But even with the uniform in place, he still wasn't ready to pull on all of his responsibilities just yet.

Taking a deep breath, he quickly made up his mind. Grabbing a PowerBar and shoving it into the pocket of his jacket, he unlocked the door to his quarters, disengaging the security program he'd placed on it the night before.

Peering into the hall, only silence greeted him. Lorne was nowhere to be seen. Neither were any of his guards.

He was free.

Turning toward the transporter at the end of the hall, he stepped inside, stabbing his finger at one of the locations as far outside the main areas of the city as he could get without ending up in the water—not that the system would allow him to beam himself into the ocean. He'd tried. Not for himself, but for another loud-mouthed scientist. For some reason that was one of the safety measures the city wouldn't allow him to override.

Elizabeth had been quietly amused, but had been officially disapproving of his side project. But that had been months ago when they'd been friends as well as colleagues.

Shrugging off the thought, he plodded on, not paying much attention to where he was going as long as he was walking.

A few minutes later he found himself on the East side of the city, on the East Pier, the night quickly giving way to the sunrise. Without conscious thought he walked, enjoying the feel of wind against his face, the freedom to go and do what he wanted.

He soon found himself outside and he pulled his jacket around him tighter, zipping it up to his neck and burying his hands in his armpits. The wind was chilly, colder than he expected, but he didn't care. His feet continued to move him forward, until he was standing at the edge of the pier. His eyes quickly scanned the area, finding a small alcove he could settle into that blocked most of the wind, but gave him a great view of the horizon.

Sitting, he curled himself into as small a ball as he could manage, trying to keep the heat from his body close to him. Hugging his knees against his chest, his arms locked around his bent legs, he kept his eyes fixed on the sea and the glow beginning far in the distance.

He let his mind drift, enjoying not having to think about anything. He knew the science behind the colors of the sunrise, but he didn't dwell on it, instead choosing to simply watch and wait for the show to conclude.

It didn't take long.

With the sky mostly clear except for a few high clouds, the rays of the sun shone out brilliantly, spreading across the dark sky like a firestorm. The day was born anew in a hue of reds and oranges and golds, the dark midnight blue quickly relenting under the onslaught of color.

Sometimes he wished he didn't know so much, wished he could simply enjoy the things others took at face value.

"Pretty, isn’t it?"

The words, although spoken softly, were unexpected. As was the sweaty, dreadlocked figure towering over him.

"What?" he said, his body twitching as he tried to recover.

"The sunrise," Ronon said, his chin gesturing toward the brightening horizon, perspiration glistening on his face, a bead of it running down his jaw to drop on his shirt.

"Oh, yeah," McKay nodded, turning his eyes back, trying not to be disappointed at the company. But it was as if Ronon's words had interrupted a great symphony and now, there was no going back. The mood was past. "What are you doing out here anyway?" he asked, turning back toward the Satedan.

"Running. I try to time my run so I can see the sunrise. I saw you come out here before."

"Oh."

"You okay?"

"Fine, fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

Ronon shrugged, using his should to wipe some of the sweat from the side of his face. "Didn't take you for a sunrise watcher."

"Just because I know the scientific principles behind a sunrise doesn't mean I can't enjoy it for beauty's sake alone."

Ronon raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I guess."

A few moments passed when neither man said anything, their eyes drifting back to the dying remains of the sunrise.

"I should keep moving," Ronon said finally, his gaze meeting Rodney's.

"Yes, yes. Don't want to get cold, tighten up all those muscles of yours."

Ronon nodded, his eyes drifting back to the water and the sun's rays as they danced on its surface. "See you around, McKay," he said finally, loping off along the outer edge of the pier, obviously circling back to the main section of Atlantis.

"Yeah," he replied, nodding absently as he watched the warrior's figure quickly fade away.

Taking a few more deep breaths, Rodney climbed to his feet, his limbs stiff from the cold and the awkward position he'd been sitting in, and slowly made his way back to the warmer hallways of Atlantis. Pulling out a PowerBar, he gnawed on it during his walk back, enjoying the solitude of the city, letting it embrace him slowly, corridor by corridor. As he reached the more populated sections, more and more people were also walking the hallways. They didn't say a word, but he could feel their stares, see their startled glances.

It was as if they didn't think he had the right to walk the same corridors they used, as if he should be relegated to using the catwalks, hiding in the shadows, never seen or heard, just appearing when there was a crisis or something needed to be fixed. He was the smartest man in two galaxies, but the very people he worked with and protected on a regular basis wanted nothing to do with him.

Putting his head down, he started walking faster, his feet taking him to the mess for coffee and then to the labs where he'd get to work. Knowing Zelenka, he'd be there already and Rodney was sure there was a lot to do.

***

A scrape of metal against concrete pulled Rodney McKay's attention from the pseudo eggs and toast on his plate as Major Lorne, clad in his usual grey and black BDUs, slid into the chair across from him at the mess hall table.

He scowled at the man as he shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth. Waving the utensil in the air, he mumbled around his breakfast, "Make yourself at home, why don't you."

"Why thank you, McKay," Lorne said with a tight smile, deftly pulling the military-issue silverware apart and digging into his own plate-full of food. "So, how are things?"

Rodney paused, glancing up from his coffee mug, his eyebrows scrunching together as he tried to process the words that had come out of the other man's mouth. "You know," he began, "that you don't have to follow me around anymore or pretend to enjoy my company."

Lorne glanced around the room quickly, his eyes theatrically wide. "Who said I was doing that?"

"No one," he replied, rolling his eyes and giving his head an absent shake. "Well, actually, I just did."

"And?"

"And, I thought it best to bring that to your attention. You can go and make merry with the rest of the marine core. There's no need for you to take up space at my table." He waved his hands, hoping the "shoo fly" gesture would make the other man move.

It didn't.

Sighing, Rodney turned back to this breakfast, discovering that he wasn't hungry anymore. Just his luck. The one time he was actually in the mess when they had reconstituted eggs, he lost his appetite.

"Look," he said after several minutes of silence apart from the clicking of Lorne's silverware against his plate. Shoving his tray forward a few inches away from the edge, he planted his elbows on the table. "Did you lose a bet? Or…maybe Carson put you up to this. He's been badgering me for days now, wanting to know how I'm doing. That man has a hard time understanding that I'm fine and have no desire—or need—to talk about my feelings."

Lorne shook his head, lifting his coffee mug to his lips and taking a sip. "No, none of that. I just figured you could use some company."

Rodney leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest. "Company."

"Yes, company." Lorne raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth threatening to rise. "You do know what the term means."

"Of course I do."

"Oh, yes. I forgot. You're the genius of Atlantis."

Rodney scowled, his eyes narrowing. "Go ahead. Mock the genius."

Lorne set his mug down carefully, his fingers drifting over the rim. "Look. I’m not here to cause you any trouble or to bother you. I just wanted to see how you were doing. You've been back on the job for a few days and the word on the street is that you've been working pretty hard. And from what I'm seeing," he said, his hand gesturing across the table, "it seems to the true."

"So, what, you're my mother now?"

"McKay…" he growled, letting the last syllable drag. "You could drive a man to drink some days, you know that?"

The scientist glanced at the digital readout on his watch. "Well, it's not even 0800. Think it's too early to begin?"

"I generally like to wait until noon, myself."

"It is noon somewhere in the Pegasus galaxy, I'm sure."

A smile grew on Lorne's lips as he raised his coffee mug to the physicist. "See, that's why I like you, McKay. You're smart."

The corner of Rodney's lips twitched, threatening a matching grin. He shook his head. "It always worries me when the military personnel start thinking for themselves." Pushing back from the table, he rose, picking up his unfinished breakfast try. "No rest for the wicked."

He paused before stepping away from the table. "And…thanks."

Lorne looked up, a smile firmly ensconced on his face. "You're welcome, McKay. Same time tomorrow?"

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I'd like that."

***

Rodney McKay looked tired. Glancing up from his computer as the door to the main lab whooshed open, Radek watched as the other scientist wandered in, bee-lining for his computer terminal, barely aware of anything except the coffee mug in his hand and the computer screen before him as it booted up for the day.

It had been the same exact routine the last few days. Rodney would stumble in and work diligently for several hours before acknowledging anyone else worked in the lab with him—and then the yelling ensued.

Some days the ranting actually made sense, other times Radek was convinced Rodney was doing it just for show. Although, only one member of the science staff had been reduced to tears this week—but there were still three more days to go. Plenty of time for Rodney to catch up for lost week.

Eventually, he'd turn back to his computer, muttering under his breath and punching savagely at the keys before announcing that he was going to check on some projects and find lunch. And Radek knew exactly where Rodney had been by the emails he left in his wake. Some of the scientists were getting more…creative than usual, others a tad more violent, but nothing Radek feared they'd have to worry about.

As much as McKay pushed the science department, demanding perfection, Radek knew he required it from himself as well. He'd seen Rodney's calculations from the Arcturus project, watching as he reviewed his notes, observing from afar as he ran simulation after simulation, delving deep into the Ancient database looking for something to help him explain what happened. The failure stuck with him, haunting him. Radek could see it in the lines of his pale and drawn face, in his shadowed eyes.

By the time afternoon rolled around, Rodney could most likely be found in a small lab one level up, a place he'd made his own, somewhere he knew he could work undisturbed. The shelves were lined with Ancient devices—small and large, most still a mystery to everyone—but Rodney continued to work with them, tweaking, touching, and examining every surface, every twist and turn, every nook and cranny. Sometimes Radek would stand near the open door, watching silently as Rodney worked, his concentration complete, his genius barely able to stay within his body, his limbs in constant motion as he absorbed everything before him.

It was in those moments that Radek felt the barest stirrings of jealously.

On other days, Rodney would be as still as an airless summer day, his fingers barely moving over the keys of his computer, completely engrossed in the data scrolling across the screen.

On both occasions, Radek would simply slip away, refusing to disturb the physicist, respecting the boundaries Rodney had set so long ago. In the main lab, Rodney was accessible, willing to interact with the other scientists, but in this little lab…this was his personal space, his retreat. Radek did not want to take that away from him as well.

He hated watching, observing, and reporting. Rodney was a pain in the ass, but a friend in an odd way. And even after everything, Radek still trusted him. The man might be an egotistical maniac, but he was right more often than he was wrong, and a genius to boot.

Shaking his head, Radek turned back to his own terminal and his projects, making a mental note to speak to Rodney before he began ranting today. There were several projects they needed to discuss before one of them blew up in their faces—again.

***

Rodney absently reached for his coffee mug, his fingers sliding against the ceramic surface a few times before he inched his arm further forward, enabling him to grasp it firmly. With his eyes still fixed on his computer screen, he lifted the mug to his lips, encountering the very cold coffee a few seconds later. Making a face into the liquid, he gulped one mouthful—nearly finishing the beverage—before putting it down abruptly.

In his opinion there was only one thing worse than cold coffee: no coffee.

Glancing around the lab, he spotted several people hunched over their workstations and he could hear the muttered Czech coming from somewhere behind him indicating Zelenka was hard at work—or fighting with Minesweeper again. They desperately needed more scientists—good scientists—not the lazy, troublemakers they kept sending him on the Daedalus. Apparently Atlantis wasn't exactly the easiest place to recruit for. The neighbors seem to put people off.

Shaking his head, his eyes drifted back down to his terminal. He'd managed to plow through most of the reports he'd missed last week, making notes and yelling at a few of the deserving idiots on staff. But there was still so much work to be done. They had so many improvements to make on Atlantis itself, to help save power, to make things better for everyone, but there was always something else to worry about, some other crisis.

The Wraith were the biggest threat hanging over their heads. Although, thanks to the whole 'let's pretend to blow up Atlantis' idea they'd had a few months ago, the Wraith had been quiet as of late, which left time to worry about the more mundane things: like feeding their growing population and maintaining shields and energy without overloading or wasting the finite amount of power they had on hand. It wasn't like the Pegasus Galaxy was giving away free ZedPMs with the purchase of a sack of grain. And from what they'd been hearing, the SGC was having issues all of its own and they didn't have an unlimited supply of naquadah reactors at their disposal.

Then there was always the Ancient database of which they'd only begun to scratch the surface. The interface program was helpful, but translating Ancient into English slowed down the terminals accessing the database. But with only a handful of people fluent in Ancient, it didn't leave them a whole lot of options. And that usually left him mining the data for anything that would help them to streamline their power flow. At least when Radek asked him about his time in the Ancient mainframe, he could say that he was looking for improvements to some of the environmental systems. It wouldn’t be a lie…entirely. He was looking. His search was just a tad bit broader.

He knew there would be something in here to help them, help him win back their trust, their respect. He just had to find it.

He didn't understand why the Ancients didn't tag their entries in a more user-friendly way. It would be helpful to have an index entry for "Wraith-killing devices". It would make his job a whole lot easier.

Instead, he found himself plowing through entry after entry, cross-referencing anything that even looked remotely like it was portable and deadly.

There wasn't a whole lot to go on so far, but he did have several possibilities. But, of course, none of them were on Atlantis, and that required him to convince several teams to go on egg hunts for him. It certainly made life interesting.

"Rodney?"

Turning abruptly, Rodney found himself face-to-face with Radek, the other man blinking serenely through the glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose. "What?"

"You have been staring at the screen for five minutes without moving or blinking," the scientist replied, pushing the glasses back into place with his index finger. "You normally would have begun yelling at the staff by now, so something must be wrong."

"I didn't think I had a timetable."

"Not one that we can set watch to, but it is there nonetheless."

"Did you have a point to interrupting?"

"Doctor Weir has scheduled us for a meeting this afternoon and we have not yet begun to discuss—"

"Yes, yes," Rodney replied, turning away as he waved his hand. "I know all about the meeting. I've been having this meeting once a week, every week since we got here. Nothing new."

"Then, you have suggestions for upcoming off-world missions?"

"Of course. I keep a running log of planets I run across in the database and depending on what we need this week, I offer the ones I think are most appropriate." Rodney grabbed his coffee mug again, scowling into its depths when he remembered the temperature of the liquid.

"You have a list?"

Rodney glanced up, meeting Radek's gaze. "How else do you think I come up with new places to visit every week?"

"I provided Doctor Weir with a list last week, and had to work from scratch."

"Oh," Rodney replied, his eyes widening a little at the other man's tone. "There were several coordinates in my file you could have used."

"Yes. This I have discovered now, but could have used before."

"You didn't ask."

"Would you have informed me of your file if I had?"

The corner of Rodney's mouth twitched. "Maybe. Depends on what you were offering."

Radek turned away, muttering under his breath. He swung back around a few seconds later, a hand raised, his pointer finger shoved in Rodney's direction. "You are an ungrateful bastard."

Rodney shrugged. "What did you expect? I have a reputation to maintain." Sliding off his chair and leaving Radek behind, he meandered to the coffee pot in the corner of the lab, pouring another hot cup, dumping in several heaps of sugar and topping it off with non-dairy creamer. He missed real milk and half-and-half.

Turning around he aimed an eyebrow at Zelenka, taking a sip of his coffee. "So," he said after several moments passed, "what did you want to discuss?"

The Czech's mouth dropped open, his eyes widening. Clad in the white coat Zelenka liked to sport when he was in the lab covering his tan science uniform, and with his hair standing on end in spots, it made him look like a mad scientist. And in this instance, it might actually be the truth. He was…mad, but not in the crazy, insane way that phrase was more commonly known for.

Throwing his hands up in the air, Zelenka shook his head, his hair obeying its own command. "Why do I even try?"

"You feel the desperate need to challenge yourself nearly every moment of the day?" Rodney padded back to his workstation, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest and he sipped from his mug. "I could suggest other, more productive ways to spend your time—like, oh I don't know. How about trying to figure out a way to conserve power in the less-used sections of Atlantis? Hmm?"

"If you paid attention to what we were doing before you drank six cups of coffee, you would have noticed that I sent you several suggestions earlier this morning."

Rodney poked at the keys of his computer, calling up his email client. Skimming the window as it popped up, he noted several unread emails. "I'm not a morning person, Radek. You of all people should know that."

"You are not much of a person, but we have become accustomed to you. Do you wish to get lunch and go over the report we are to give Doctor Weir in an hour?"

"Sure, sure," Rodney said, waving absently with his left hand as he carefully placed his mug on the counter with his right, already forming answers to most of the emails he saw in his inbox. Radek huffed and Rodney heard him shuffle away.

"Five minutes."

"Of course, Rodney."

Immersed in his replies, his mind quickly pushed his upcoming meeting to the background. Lunch could wait a few minutes.

***

Elizabeth Weir glanced at the two scientists—one clad in charcoal, the other in sand—sitting across from her in the conference room. It was the first time since Rodney McKay had returned to work that they'd had any real contact. Passing in the mess hall or in the corridors didn't count for much when it came to interaction.

And, from at least the way this meeting was concluding, the restrictions they'd placed on him last week must have had some kind of effect. While he was still argumentative and held strong opinions about the information he presented, his tone was less biting and he was more open to discussion than he was a few weeks ago.

Something had sunk into his thick skull—unless he was simply on his best behavior, but that wasn't Rodney. Like it or not, the man certainly took the phrase 'what you see is what you get' to all new levels. For all intents and purposes, McKay was an open book—at least to those who worked with him in any capacity and for longer than a few hours.

John Sheppard shifted in the seat next to hers and she glanced in his direction, noting the tension in his frame which had yet to fade from his body. "You have something to add, John?"

He shook his head, his fingers tapping against the tablet PC on the table in front of him. "No, these all look like good possibilities." He looked up, offering McKay and Zelenka a quick nod of his head. "And the suggestions for team assignments are solid. I'll start setting up these missions for the upcoming week."

"Is there anything else to go over?" Weir asked when silence fell upon the group. She caught John's eye and he shook his head. Turning to the scientists, she was about to dismiss them when Rodney leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"Actually," he began, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists, the fingers in constant motion. "We should discuss who will be replacing me on Colonel Sheppard's team."

Weir raised an eyebrow, tilting her head a little to the side. "I had left that decision up to the Colonel."

"I know you did, but there is an important reason to having a member of the science department on every team and I don't think that Colonel's Sheppard's team should be the exception to the rule while I’m grounded."

"It's only for a few weeks, McKay," John said, leaning forward himself, his shoulders stiffening further. "It'll take that long to break in a new scientist."

"So? It'll be good practice. And the stuff you're searching for won't exactly be out in the open. You're going to need someone with more than a 'shoot first, ask questions later' mentality so you don't end up blowing yourself up."

John moved again, his face darkening. "Funny you should mention that, McKay…" He drew out the last syllable, before his expression hardened further. "How sure are you that it won't be the scientists doing the blowing up?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond, but Radek spoke up, his voice cutting through the room, instantly diffusing the tension.

"I, for one, have no intention on blowing up anything, Colonel Sheppard. I can perhaps find another scientist who would be more to your liking? Kavanaugh perhaps?"

"You're going to join my team?"

Weir swore that John was holding back a laugh, but when she looked at him his expression was dark and serious.

"Yes. Rodney and I spoke at lunch and decided it would be best if I have more field experience. I have no intention to going with any other team."

"And you were going to bring this up—"

"Right now, actually," Rodney said, his jaw set, his face closed. "It's not like there were opportunities before and all the pertinent people are here." He waved his hand, the gesture encompassing everyone in the room. His voice when he continued was hard. "Do you have a problem with having a scientist on your team?"

"No," John said, the word harsh. He was about to continue when Weir spoke up, cutting off any other comments he might have. The tension and anger in the room was thick enough as is.

"I think this is a good idea. Doctor Zelenka needs additional time in the field and you've worked with him before." Weir raised her hand, forestalling the argument forming on John's lips. "When we arrived on Atlantis we decided that all teams should have at least one member of the science staff if at all possible. You've already had one mission without a fourth member and we need your team to lead by example."

She paused, her eyes tracking between all the people in the room, watching for their reaction. When the room didn't erupt in complaints, she continued. "I believe that will be all gentlemen."

Chairs scraping against the floor echoed throughout and hurried footsteps followed. "Colonel, if you have a minute," she said, making the man pause just inside the conference room doors, inches away from freedom. The scientists were already in the control room and heading down the stairs. They certainly could move fast when motivated.

She waited for him to drift back toward her, settling down on top of the table, one foot planted on the floor, the other dangling at an angle because of how he was seated. He speared her with a hard look before speaking. "You had a question?"

"I thought you weren't going to have any issues working with Doctor McKay."

"I don't have any issues," he replied, crossing his hands over his chest. "I think the information he presented was good. I said as much."

"Oh?" She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Then what was the whole 'I’m not going to have a scientist on my team' thing?"

"His suggestion took me by surprise, that's all."

"He was right to suggest it. As the head of the science department and part of the senior staff, it's part of his job to make sure the teams are properly outfitted with everything they need—from equipment to people."

Sheppard shrugged, letting out a long breath as he turned to study the wall. "Why can't we have three people on a team?"

"Because," she replied rising to her feet, "we decided teams would have four members to balance things out. You argued for it pretty strongly if I remember correctly." She moved past him, pausing before she reached the door. "And next time Doctor McKay suggests something, even if it is…surprising, I expect a much more professional reaction from you. Understood?"

He nodded once, looking toward her with a slight smile. "Fine. I can do professional."

"I certainly hope so," she said, turning back to the control room, her steps taking her out of the door. She threw the last words over her shoulder, her tone light. "I have no intention on trying to teach anything to an old dog."

"Hey," he exclaimed and she chuckled, letting it buoy her as she moved on to the reports she still had to read before the end of the day.

***

Knocking lightly on the door-jam of Carson Beckett's office, Major Lorne poked his head in. The doctor raised his left hand, gesturing for him to wait a moment as he continued to jot notes down in the chart on his desk. After a flourish of his pen, Carson looked up, flashing him a smile.

"It doesn't look like you are in desperate need of a doctor, so what can I do for you, Major?"

Lorne moved into the room, dropping down into the guest chair. "Just wanted to know if you'd seen McKay yet today."

"No, I've been busy sortin' through test results and getting things ready for tomorrow." He paused, tilting his head a little as he met Lorne's gaze. "I stopped by last night and ended up dragging him from the lab—which is getting to be a common occurrence it seems. Why?"

The major shrugged, glancing around the small office. "Did he seem…different to you?"

"Different? How?"

"I'm not sure. I can't put my finger on it," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "I sat with him at breakfast this morning. It was the first time I'd gotten the chance to talk to him since he's been back at work." Lorne paused again. "I guess he seems to be more or less his normal, acidic self."

"And you were expecting something different?"

"He agreed to have breakfast with me tomorrow."

"You know, Major, for as…awkward as Rodney can be in social situations and as much as he complains—quite loudly and about nearly everything—he does need to talk and relate to others. If you ask him, he'd deny it. More often than not, he won't turn you down—unless, of course, he hates you and that he usually saves for some of the more deserving members the expedition."

"Like Kavanaugh."

"Aye, like him." Carson narrowed his eyes, giving Lorne the once over. "There was something else, wasn't there?"

Shifting in his seat, Lorne nodded slowly. "Remember the look he had last week when we got back from the Mazurkian homeworld?"

Beckett nodded, worry sliding onto his face.

"He has it again. Not quite as bad, but it's only a matter of time."

"Aye," Carson said, nodded emphatically. "That dimwitted man can make the world turn on his command, but he canna take care of himself. I'll see to it."

Lorne rose. "Thanks, Doc. That's all I wanted. You set for tomorrow?"

"More or less. Anne's getting everything ready this afternoon. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours on the mainland as long as there are no complications, which I'm not expecting."

The major's eyebrow rose. "Did you just jinx us?"

"What?"

"About the complications. Kind of like at home when you're driving on the highway and there's no traffic. You have the urge to say you're making good time and then, bam! You hit wall-to-wall congestion. I think you just jinxed us so you better be ready for an overnighter, just in case."

"I did nae such thing."

"Humor me, Doc, and bring a change of clothes. You'll thank me, and we'll enjoy your company a whole lot more." Lorne moved toward the door.

"Fine, fine. I'll tell Anne to get a bag together for herself, too," he replied as Lorne stepped into the main infirmary.

"Remember, it's 0900 in the jumper bay. Don't be late."

"I'll be on time, Major," Carson answered. "It's not like you can leave without me."

"Oh, I can leave, but that means you'd have to fly yourself over. I think it might be safer for everyone involved if that didn't happen."

Beckett grimaced. "Vera funny. See you in the morning."

Lorne waved absently as he turned and headed back into the hallways, aiming for the gym. Time to beat the new recruits into the ground. Some days, he loved his job.

***

Leaning down to squint at some of the smaller numbers, Rodney hummed to himself, impressed by some of the creativity he saw in Doctor Jay Liebermann's latest progress report—but it was a little too cautious to be of much good to anyone. His fingers began typing furiously, his inserted notes making up a colorful addition to the document.

Check the equations on page two. If you increase the variables by a fraction of a percent you should be able to get far more usable and sustainable energy output. Any more than that and you could end up burning out the system instead. Caution is good, but too much and you just end up wasting time on negligible returns.

Moving down the list, he green-lit Doctor Steven Swartson's project, but added a brief warning to the end. His progress report next week would give the science staff the information they needed to see if this could be incorporated into another ongoing experiment.

You need to carefully watch the consumption of some of the more unstable elements. While they inherently bring tangible benefits for the short term, long-term use may be unsustainable. Make sure your simulations incorporate a longer time variable than the one you are currently using. Atlantis needs long-term solutions, not short-term patchwork.

Attaching the amended document to an email, he typed a brief message and then clicked send. Straightening up in his chair, his back cracking a little from the movement, Rodney grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to work out some of the knots as he waited for the message to upload to the Atlantis internal email server.

Once the program confirmed the message had been sent, Rodney leaned in, repeating the process with the second report. As the progress bar slowly moved, he rose to his feet, hissing as his aching muscles protested. He still had several more reports to read and comment on before he could move to his own projects.

Picking up his empty mug, he scowled into the bottom of it, glancing back and forth between the coffee maker and his workstation. He could make another pot and continue working, or he could run down to the mess and grab some food before he got back to the emails and reports sitting in his inbox.

A quick glance at his watch made up his mind. If he didn't go now, dinner would be a long-forgotten memory—at least for tonight. And as much as he claimed that he could live on MREs and PowerBars, he wasn't in the mood for either tonight.

Moving quickly, he readied the coffee pot, adding water and grounds and setting the timer. It shouldn't take him more than thirty minutes to eat and then he'd be back and a freshly brewed pot would be waiting. That sounded heavenly.

Locking down his desktop, he strode out into the hallway, heading for the transporter. The halls in this section were mostly quiet, unless of course he was yelling at someone, but then, it was generally well deserved. There were only a handful of people in the corridors and they didn't say anything as he passed by. Instead they watched him, but turned their eyes away when he noticed their gaze.

He was used to the silence, but the shifting eyes were new. By the time he reached the end of the hallway it was far easier to keep his head down. At least then he didn't see them look away, didn't see their pity, their accusations.

"Doctor McKay."

He picked up his head, turning to look at who was calling his name. The Athosian smiled at him as she approached.

"Teyla," he said surprised. "You wanted something?"

"I am grateful to have caught you."

"I didn't miss our practice time, did I? I thought that was scheduled for tomorrow. I can't do two days in a row of you wiping the floor with my ass. It's bad for my ego and my back doesn't appreciate it." He straightened, pressing his hand to the small of his back, illustrating his words with a grimace and a hiss.

"No," she replied, the smile reaching her eyes. "However, I did observe that you were not present in the mess at your usual time. I did not wish for you to miss dinner."

"Why?" he asked, stepping into the transporter, Teyla moving with him. With his finger, he pressed a spot for the transporter location nearest the mess hall and a few moments later they emerged, walking slowly toward their destination.

"I believe…meatloaf is one of your more desirous meals and I did not wish for you to miss it."

He stopped, raising an eyebrow at the Athosian as she moved a few more steps before turning around to face him. "You didn't want me to miss dinner? I find that hard to believe."

"Why? You are a member of my team and someone I consider a friend." She moved closer, her hand reaching out, gently resting on his shoulder. He tried not to tense the muscles under her palm, but it was difficult. Old habits and all.

Tilting her head, she looked at him more carefully, her gaze penetrating. "Should I not be concerned about your wellbeing? I am also very well aware of your tendency to skip meals, much to the detriment of your own health."

Rodney glanced away, his left arm creeping around to its usual position, his left hand held near the small of his back while he held his right hand in front of his body, his fingers constantly in motion.

Teyla's hand tightened briefly before she pulled it away. "Doctor McKay?"

He turned back, offering a small smile. "You said meatloaf?"

She nodded, her expression uncertain.

"What are we waiting for? If I don't get in there soon I'm sure there will be nothing left and I have no intention of eating a PowerBar for dinner when there's perfectly good meatloaf waiting in the mess hall." He moved off, pausing only long enough to look over his shoulder. "Are you coming?"

She gave him in a single nod in reply, a broad smile on her face as she stepped up beside him.

"Now, I have to tell you that this meatloaf is nothing compared to what I used to cook up when I was working in Russia," he said, grabbing a nearby tray.

"Russia?"

He flashed her a surprised look as the airman on KP duty dropped a large piece of meatloaf on his plate, the gravy splattering onto the tray. "I haven't told you about my experiences in Russia?"

"I do not believe you have," she replied, retrieving her own plate of food before they moved down the line to the coffee pots. Quickly grabbing a mug along with some cream and sugar, he grabbed a table, settling down quickly, his fork already digging into his dinner before Teyla had found her own seat across from him.

"I wasn't in Russia long, but it was one place I'm not likely to forget," he began, talking around the food in his mouth. "You wouldn't believe what I had to put up with when I was there."

Teyla tilted her head, her face open and interested. He smiled once, briefly, his lips twisting into the unfamiliar expression before launching into his explanation, his fork gesturing in the air in-between bites of his dinner. And through it all, Teyla listened, asking questions, and laughing with him—once he explained the appropriate cultural references, of course.

It was nice to have such an attentive audience. And even as he talked, in the back of his mind he tried to remind himself to enjoy it because, knowing his luck, it was something that wouldn't last.

***

Muttering under his breath, Radek Zelenka shook his head as he read through the slew of emails that had appeared in his email box this afternoon after Rodney had made his rounds of the smaller science labs. Some things never change, he thought, rolling his eyes at one of the more…creative uses of Ancient technology.

Deleting the majority of the messages and flagging two to speak to Rodney about tomorrow, he pulled up the status screen for his current project, checking the readings and comparing them against his earlier estimations. The sound of shuffling feet, however, pulled his attention to the open door and away from the data at his fingertips. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Colonel Sheppard hovering near the entrance of the main science lab as if he were unsure if he should come in or not.

"Colonel?" Radek said, pushing his glasses back in place. "I did not expect to see you so soon. Is there a problem?"

Sheppard took a few steps into the room before casually resting a hip against a nearby table, his arms crossed easily over his chest. "McKay's not around?"

Zelenka's eyebrow rose. "No. He's in his lab one level up, but I am certain you know Rodney's habits after all this time."

"Yeah…" he replied, letting the last syllable drag out a little.

"You are here to talk me out of off-world missions, no?"

Sheppard looked a little surprised at his question, but answered it a few beats later. "Actually, I wanted to make sure this was something you wanted and not something McKay was pushing you into doing. I don't want you to do it if you're not comfortable."

"If I believed that it was a bad decision, I would not have agreed with the suggestion. Most of the scientists require more time in the field."

"I know we have to get the scientists out of the labs more often, but that doesn't mean that you have to go into the field immediately. I'm sure you have other things to do, experiments—"

"Colonel," Radek said, cutting off the other man. "I know you are unhappy about McKay's performance on the Arcturus project, but it is unfair to apply it to the entire department. And, I believe it to be in the best interest of this department for more of the scientists to receive field training. I consider myself to be among that number."

Sheppard was shaking his head. "I don't have an issue with the science department, Doc."

"Then, we don't have a problem." Radek smiled humorlessly. "So, when do we have our mission briefing?"

Shifting on his feet, Sheppard moved, his hip no longer resting against the workbench. "Tomorrow morning. We tentatively have a mission scheduled for the day after tomorrow. A simple recon."

Zelenka nodded. "Good. If you will send me a meeting request I will add it to my calendar."

"Meeting request?"

"In email. Is that not how you schedule meetings?"

Sheppard shook his head. "I just tell my team the time and place and we all show up."

Radek's eyes widened. "I am surprised you are able to accomplish anything with such an informal system. And Rodney shows up to these…meetings on time?"

"More or less."

"Amazing. The man cannot remember where he leaves his pen, but meetings and obscure details he can recall."

"So, if I tell you to meet me at 0930 tomorrow morning in the main briefing room, do you think you can remember that?"

Radek turned to his computer, pulling up his calendar. Selecting a new appointment he entered in the pertinent information. "How long should it last?"

"The meeting?" Sheppard shrugged. "Thirty minutes, an hour. It takes however long it takes. Are you going to be this anal retentive the entire time we're on a mission?"

"Perhaps. I shall block off an hour to make sure I do not have a conflicting appointment."

"And make sure you block off all of Friday," Sheppard said, gesturing with his hand toward the computer. "It's not like we can stop a mission because you have a meeting back on Atlantis."

"I understand the time commitments of off-world missions, Colonel," Radek said, saving the mission briefing to his calendar. "I have often taken over Rodney's meetings when he is pulled away unexpectedly. Do I have to look over anything before the briefing tomorrow?"

"I'll forward the reports to you."

"Good. I look forward to working with you, Colonel. You have managed to keep Rodney alive for more than two years, although he does come back injured often enough for it to be worrisome."

"Yeah, well, he manages to get into most of those situations by himself. He doesn't need help from me."

"I shall keep that in mind." Radek paused, looking at Sheppard expectantly. "Was there something else?"

"No, I think that's it. I'll let Elizabeth know we talked."

"Certainly. Then, if you'll excuse me, I need to finish this experiment before I retire for the evening."

"Oh, of course," he replied, his feet already taking him to the door. "Have a good night and I'll see you in the morning. 0930 hours. Don't forget."

"How can I forget? I have my calendar set to remind me of the meeting several times in the next twelve hours. Good night, Colonel."

Radek shook his head as Sheppard finally moved off, his footfalls echoing down the hallway. At least he was going into this with his eyes wide open. If Rodney had thrown this on him unexpectedly, the physicist would have more to worry about than large objects logged in small places. Much more.

***

Carson Beckett hovered outside Rodney's small lab, watching through the open door as his friend typed rapidly on his keyboard, pausing to lift his hand, his forehead scrunching up as one of his fingers traced something on the screen, before resuming the frantic tapping. The remnants of some meal sat beside him, a sizable unidentifiable mass congealing in the middle of his plate, a half-eaten piece of pie within arm's reach.

Rolling his eyes heavenward, he took a few steps forward and stopped once again, just inside the door. Leaning a shoulder against the wall, he cleared his throat, hoping he wouldn't startle the obviously intensely working scientist.

Rodney glanced up quickly, his hands never hesitating in their movement, before his eyes returned to the screen, a scowl on his face. "You wanted something? I'm busy if you haven't noticed."

"I did."

The physicist looked up, exasperation residing on his face, his fingers finally stilling. "You did what? Want something or notice that I was busy? "

"I wanted tae see how you were doing, but it's obvious you've gone back to ye bad habits," Carson said, gesturing to his friend as he pushed off from the wall and moved toward the lab table, pulling up a nearby stool and settling down—much to Rodney's distain if his growing frown was any indication. "I thought you were gonna be taking it easy. You were a might bit run-down a few days ago and pushing yourself like this is nae gonna make it better."

Rodney narrowed his eyes, the frown taking up permanent residence as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, thank you, Carson, for your diagnosis. Did you have to search deep into the sheep's entrails to divine that or did you manage to come up with it all by yourself?" He turned to glance back at the computer screen for a moment, his eyes flickering across the data continuing to scroll past. "Look," he said, turning back to the doctor. "I appreciate your concern, but it's misplaced. I know how to take care of myself. I've been doing it for thirty-eight years now."

"Aye and have you taken a good look at yourself lately, man? I've been stopping here every night for the last three and you look worse each time." He waved his hand toward the tray. "You're not eating like you normally do. You're drinking far too much coffee than your borderline hypertensive condition recommends. Should I continue?"

Rodney huffed, refusing to meet Carson's eyes, his gaze strolling over the Scot's shoulder toward the door of the lab.

"I didn't think so."

"What do you want from me, Carson?" Rodney finally asked, exasperation in his voice. His hands gestured toward the workstation before him, his hands help palm up, the fingers extended. "I can't change who I am. This is what I do."

"I'm just sayin' that ye need to take it easy sometimes, that you don't need to work yourself to death."

"And when the Wraith come everyone will be asking me why I don't have the solution this time, why can't I save Atlantis. And what will I tell them? That my doctor told me I was working too hard. And, when the ZedPMs and the naquadah generators begin to fail and we're running out of power everyone will turn to me wanting to know what to do. What will I tell them? That my doctor thought my time was better spent if I was resting and sleeping. Do you see where I’m going with this?"

"Rodney…"

"It's really only a matter of when, Carson, not if. You know as well as I do that the Wraith are not going to stop coming. We might have bought ourselves time with this parlor trick of ours, but all it takes is one slip and the Wraith will know we survived. A quiet word mentioned in passing that gets spread from one person to the next. Soon enough, the right ears hear it and we have a dozen Wraith hive ships knocking on our front door." Rodney paused, tilting his head to the side, his eyes finally sliding down to meet Beckett's. "So, what would you choose? You're a doctor, sworn to protect lives, to save lives. What would you do in my place?"

Carson shook his head. "That's nae a fair question."

"But it's a valid one. We might not be in the middle of a crisis right now, but they are never far off."

Sighing, Beckett shrugged and rose to his feet. "It seems like I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this."

"Because I’m right."

Moving toward the door, Carson pursed his lips before turning back to Rodney. "If you're determined to continue working like this, I’m gonna have to say something to Elizabeth."

"Why?" Rodney asked, his voice rising in pitch as he clamored to his feet.

"For ignoring medical advice, first of all," Carson replied, ticking the points off on his hand.

"I ignore your medical advice all the time. That's nothing new," Rodney complained, but Carson continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"For pushing yourself to the point of physical and mental exhaustion when there's nae a pressin' need."

"There's always a need, Carson. Just because you refuse to see it doesn't mean it's not there."

He ticked off a third finger. "And I don't think this is what Elizabeth had in mind when she reinstated you as head of the science department."

Rodney scowled at him. "Are you done?"

"I can probably find other things if I think hard enough."

"Don't injure yourself, Carson," Rodney grumbled, turning back to his computer, his hands resting lightly on the keyboard. His voice when he spoke again was softer, hesitant. "If I stop for tonight, will you lay off?"

"Only if you agree to work normal hours for the next three weeks—unless, of course, some ugly crisis rears its head. Then all bets are off."

"Fine," Rodney said, his hands in motion once again, surely closing down programs and logging out of the mainframe database. In a few minutes he was shutting down his computer, closing the lid, and turning back to the Scot. "Are you happy?"

"Not entirely, but this is a start," Carson replied, his hands on his hips, a half-smile on his face. "So, how about a late-night snack? I think I know where the cooks hid the chocolate chip cookies."

Instead of verbalizing his agreement, Rodney rose and headed into the corridor making Carson hustle to catch up with him. Walking side-by-side, they headed toward the nearest transporter.

"I guess convincing you that cookies go better with coffee is out of the question?"

"Don't push your luck, Rodney."

***

Ronon Dex watched from a darkened corner of the mess hall as the two doctors entered, chatting amicably about some topic, their voices not pitched loud enough to carry across the room. Moving to the kitchen doors, they ducked inside, their conversation never wavering.

It was good to see McKay interacting with people—if what he did was called interaction. Confrontation and bombardment was closer to the truth.

It didn't surprise him that Beckett was one of the first to approach the scientist, to try and draw him out. The medic had expressed some of his concerns to Teyla late one night before they left on the mission to the Mazurkian homeworld. Beckett didn't say he was worried—at least not in those plain terms—but between the lines Teyla could see his anxiety. She, in turn, acted on his unsaid words and discovered his concerns to be well-founded. Unfortunately, she had been unable to do more than spar with him one single night before they were headed on a mission. And since they'd been back, between routine training and other duties, he knew Teyla had not been able to spend much time with McKay.

For a man so loud, brash, and abrasive, it was strange to see McKay reduced, as it was, to a person reviled and hated—even after all that he had done for the city, risking his own life in the process. They seemed to forget the good, choosing to remember the bad instead.

And then there were the rumors. He hadn't thought much of them at first. It was just talk; it didn't make a difference in how people were treated, in how they performed their jobs. But when they'd returned to Atlantis, things had changed dramatically. There was a tension in the air that hadn't been there before. A certain…darkness, something much more predatory in nature. It was hard to explain. He didn't think they wanted McKay to fail, but the undertones he was sensing certainly were leading to that conclusion.

The Atlanteans were different than he expected.

Ever since they'd returned from the Mazurkian homeworld, Beckett had made it his point to check on McKay several times during the day—or as often as his schedule allowed. Tonight was not much different than the past three.

Beckett and McKay stepped back into the mess clutching a mug in one hand and napkin wrapped object in the other. Moving to a table near the door, they settled in, their conversation never pausing. He spied a small item in McKay's right hand as he waved it about, gesturing about something, and realized they'd located the cook's secret stash of cookies. If any more people knew about them, they certainly could not be considered a secret any longer—and there wouldn't be any left by morning.

He let the low rumble of their voices wash over him, allowing his mind to wander, his eyes drifting around the room to examine the intricate glass designs the Ancients favored. He was not particularly artistically inclined—any of those leanings tended to get pushed to the background when you were running for your life—but there was something soothing about the patterns that helped put his mind to ease before he retired for the night.

McKay's sharp, raised voice, however, nearly made him take to his feet, his hand immediately reaching for the weapon he always carried.

"What do you mean you're going back to the mainland?"

Seeing no immediate threat, he sat back down, choosing to listen instead of interrupt.

"…check-ups from last week."

"Last week? What were you doing last week? No one told me you were on the mainland."

"The quarterly check-ups. You know the routine."

"Yes, of course I know what they are," McKay protested, his cookie dropping forgotten to the table, landing beside the napkin where the other two were current residing. His face contorted as he wiggled his fingers in the air. The gesture, apparently, helped him think sometimes. Ronon saw it often enough. "That was last week? I could have sworn they were set up for this week. We'd made some adjustments in the mission schedules to make sure there was a pilot to take the medical staff over. You mean to tell me that we were off by a week?"

Beckett shrugged, but seated the way he was, Ronon didn't have a clear view off the doctor's face. "I'd forgotten myself, but I’m glad the Colonel and Elizabeth were keeping track. Halling was expecting us."

"Sheppard and Weir, eh? I should have known." McKay turned away from the other man, his breath expelling quickly from his mouth. He turned back a few moments later, his face carefully controlled, but Ronon could see the betrayal from across the room. "Let me guess, it just happened to be a coincidence that Sheppard's team had those treaty negotiations, too. Cause I don't remember that being on the mission list either."

"I don't know what you're getting at, Rodney," Beckett began, but broke off when McKay shook his head.

"No, no, of course you don't." He paused again, his gaze dropping to his forgotten late-night snack. "I seem to have lost my appetite. Enjoy your trip to the mainland." Shoving his chair back, he stood. "Give my regards to Lorne, will you? I’m sure he'll be piloting you tomorrow since his team's mission was moved to later in the week. Now I know why."

"Rodney—"

"I may be dense with some stuff, but I'm not a genius for nothing. Even I can see what's going on here. Good night, Carson," he said, his feet quickly taking him into the hallway beyond.

The doctor's head dropped, nearly hitting his cup as he let out a long sigh. Ronon chose that moment to rise, making his way to the solitary figure.

His movement must have reached the doctor's ears since he'd lifted his head even before Ronon reached the table, watching as he dropped into the chair McKay had just vacated.

"He's hurt and angry."

"You heard?"

Ronon nodded. "Hard not to. I was sitting on the other side of the room."

Beckett shifted in his chair, glancing back toward the darkened section of the mess. "I didn't notice—"

"You weren't looking."

Picking up McKay's discarded cookie, Ronon sniffed it appreciatively before taking a bite. Beckett watched him, his hands stiff gripping his half-full mug of tea.

"Is he right?"

Ronon shrugged. "Seems he might be."

"I just can't see Elizabeth or John purposely doing that to him, taking away anyone that might show him some compassion, sympathy, companionship. That's not like them at all."

"Sheppard was angry."

"Aye, he was, and so was Elizabeth, but that doesn't mean they'd be cruel."

"Anger does strange things to men."

"Are you saying they did that on purpose, that they arranged the missions just to make sure Rodney was alone so that there was nothing to distract him from…" Beckett shook his head, his eyes dropping to his mug as his voice petered out. "I canna believe that."

Ronon shrugged again, swiping the last of the cookies McKay left behind as he rose to his feet. "Believe what you wish. I've found that actions speak louder."

He walked into the hallway, leaving Beckett alone in the half-light of the mess hall, his thoughts and beliefs his only companions.

***

Lorne glanced around the mess hall trying to locate one wayward scientist. It was 0820 and there was still no sign of McKay. Chatting with one of the new recruits about an upcoming mission, he bided his time, waiting for him to show.

It wasn't like McKay to miss a meal—at least not when there wasn't a crisis, or he was in a particularly bad mood, or if he forgot because some fantastic scientific discovery took away all thoughts of the more mundane physical requirements of his body. Granted, sooner or later he'd be forced to eat, but then there was always a PowerBar within reach. What really bothered Lorne was that Rodney had seemed genuinely appreciative of the offer to meet for breakfast. He guessed he might have been wrong about the scientist's actual enthusiasm toward the event.

Grabbing a tray he loaded up on breakfast and his third cup of coffee for the morning, heading for a table off to the side but with a clear vantage point of the main door. Settling in, he dug into his food, his eyes continually drifting around the room.

"Sir?"

Glancing up, Lorne was surprised to see Second Lieutenant Holden Clark hovering, an apple in hand.

"Clark. Have a seat," he said, gesturing with his spoon toward the open chair, a soggy cornflake freeing itself from the utensil and landing on the edge of his tray.

"Thanks for the offer, but I have to get going. Were you waiting on Doctor McKay?"

"Actually I am," Lorne replied, his eyes glancing around the Lieutenant looking for the man in question.

"I don't think he's coming."

"Not coming?" Lorne's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? Where is he?"

Clark took a half-step back. "I don't know where he is now, but he was in and out of here earlier. Probably about fifteen minutes before you came in."

"No, that can't be right."

The other man shrugged. "It certainly looked like him. I figured I'd let you know so you didn't sit around waiting."

"Thanks," Lorne replied absently. "And anyway, how did you know I was having breakfast with him this morning?"

"Honestly, sir, Atlantis is a pretty small community. Word gets around."

"People are watching who I'm eating with?"

"Actually, it's the other way around," Clark admitted, his gaze shifting sideways.

"They're watching McKay? Why?"

He shrugged again. "No particular reason. You might want to keep that in mind though."

"And why might I want to do that?" Lorne dropped his spoon, letting it hit the tray with a metallic clank.

"Just that people notice certain things." Clark glanced at his watch. "Look, sir, I’m going to be late. Enjoy your breakfast."

"Thanks, Lieutenant," Lorne replied, letting the other man go, his eyes following him out the door. He had a bad feeling about this.

***

Carson Beckett walked into the main science lab, his eyes drifting over the figures scattered throughout the room, most of them hunched over their respective workstations and equipment. Catching sight of Radek near the back of the room, he maneuvered carefully through the worktables and machinery, offering smiles to those who glanced up as he moved past. With the large pack on his back, he felt it prudent to take a little extra time to make sure he didn't knock anything over.

The Czech glanced up as he approached offering a perplexed expression. "Should you not be in the jumper bay?" He turned back to his computer briefly, his fingers moving to call up the clock. "Yes, Lorne must be getting worried. Is there problem? I do not recall anyone here calling for medical assistance…"

"No, no," Carson said, waving him off. "Nothing's wrong. I was looking for Rodney."

"Oh," Radek replied, his face closing off slightly. "He has already retired to his lab upstairs. He complained that he could not work here this morning."

"When did he start this morning?"

Zelenka shrugged. "He was here when I arrived and refused to answer most questions I posed."

"And you were here, when?"

"I have been here since 0600. He left for his lab around 0715."

"Isn't that strange?"

"For Rodney, no. It has been happening less that he goes and hides in his lab, but it is not uncommon."

Carson shook his head. Raising his hand, he squinted at his watch-face, trying to decide if he had enough time to run upstairs and then to the bay. "Thanks, Radek," he said, already turning. "Be careful. I don't want to see you loitering in my infirmary when I get back."

"Nor do I have any desire to be there. Safe trip for you," Zelenka said, the data on his computer screen pulling him back in.

Beckett moved quickly, finding the nearest staircase to the next level. Turning on his radio, he signaled for the Major.

"Lorne here, Doc," came the quick reply, concern in his voice. "Something wrong? We're set to leave in ten."

"I have one stop to make before I head out. I might be a few minutes late."

"I'll let Flight know. If you're going to be more than fifteen, give me another call. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Nae. I just have to check on something. Shouldn't be more than a few minutes."

"Okay. Anne's already here and the gear has been stowed."

"Great. I'll be there shortly. Beckett out."

Reaching the top of the stairs, he turned the corner into the corridor, heading directly for the small lab he'd dragged Rodney out of last night. Sure enough, the physicist was there, his grey BDUs rumpled-looking, an empty coffee mug at his side, his fingers tapping rapidly against the top of the lab table, his eyes fixed firmly on this laptop screen.

"Rodney, you are certainly a hard man to find," Carson said, stopping on the other side of the table in front of the working scientist.

"I didn't realize people were looking for me," he replied before glancing up. "And shouldn’t you be on a mission or something?"

"Why does it seem like people know what I'm doing today?"

McKay shrugged. "I read the schedule and you're listed for an 0900 departure. No real secret about it. Looks like Lorne might be leaving without you if you don't hurry."

"I already talked to him," he replied instinctively. Taking a breath, he continued. "Look, schedules aside, I wanted to talk to you about last night."

"What's there to talk about?"

"You can't honestly believe that John and Elizabeth are purposely changing the mission lineups just to make your life miserable."

"So it's all one big coincidence then?" Rodney huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, raising his chin.

"Yes, exactly," Beckett said, snapping his fingers. "There's nae a need for you ta get all bent out of shape about a coincidence, is there?"

"Look," he began, his gaze level. "I'm not sure where this is coming from, or why you think something like that would bother me, but I really do have work to do, several mission briefings to attend, and you have a jumper to catch."

"Rodney—"

"Busy here," he snapped, his hands moving to rest palm-down on the table, one on either side of this computer. His expression softened for a brief moment as he glanced up again. "Be safe."

Carson nodded slowly, backing away, realizing that pushing to have any kind of discussion about this now would be pointless and just end up making matters worse. "Thanks. I'll see you tonight and we can talk. Okay?"

"Fine, fine," Rodney said abruptly, absently waving his hand, his attention already fixed on his screen.

Sighing, Beckett walked into the hall, his feet taking him to the nearest transporter while his mind continue to spin, his thoughts continuing to circle around one specific difficult to manage physicist.

***

As the sound of Beckett's footsteps disappeared down the corridor, Rodney allowed his body to collapse onto his stool, his muscles quivering with tension. He had the distinct impression that this would not be end of the discussion with the nosey, busybody doctor. Nothing was ever simple when it came to dealing with Carson.

He'd figured that people would leave him alone if he was in his lab, but apparently that didn't apply to Beckett. He was sure he had Zelenka to thank for the visitor.

Shaking his head and releasing the breath he was holding, he turned back to his open word processing document, his eyes skimming across the last few lines he'd written.

Therefore, I believe some of Doctor Edwards' suppositions regarding Ancient hydroponics labs have merit. There are several locations throughout the city that seem to be ideally suited—already set up as well—for such environments. The Ancients had to have had another method for raising fresh produce apart from relying on mainland crops, as we have been forced to do. Under Doctor Edwards' plan, several primary locations have been designated as initial hydroponics gardens, and I believe that within time—a year or two—there can be several large gardens throughout the city, producing a portion of the city's crops for its increasing population, providing a much more stable and regulated source of fresh food.

Nodding to himself, he finished the passage, saving the document to his hard drive. Glancing at the time, he locked down his workstation and grabbed his tablet PC and empty coffee mug, intending to stop in the mess hall to replenish his beverage before the 0930 briefing.

He walked through the halls, eyes focused on the floor, his long strides eating up the distance. In and out of the mess hall within a matter of a minute, a full cup of coffee in his hands, he strode to the transporter, waiting only a few seconds before he was on his way to the central tower and the briefing room. He'd timed it perfectly, he realized, walking in just behind Radek. Sheppard, Ronon, Teyla, and Elizabeth were already present, each moving to take their respective seats.

After a few minutes of settling-in time, Weir began, her gaze taking in everyone present. "Good morning, everyone." She nodded toward Rodney. "Good to see you back at work, Rodney." He offered her a brief nod in response before she continued. "What are the highlights, Colonel?"

"We don't have that much to go on," Sheppard said, referring to the information in the PC tablets littering the table. "According to the information in the Ancient database, it seems this planet served as an outpost during the final days of the war."

"Which means?"

"We're looking for an Ancient outpost," Rodney said, trying to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Actually, we're looking for an Ancient outpost I believe was also a center for weapons development."

Elizabeth turned to him, her eyes narrowing. "Why hasn't this come to light prior to now? We certainly could have used this kind of advantage a few months ago."

"Obviously, we didn't know about it until now," he commented, his response curt. "I've spent considerable time in the Ancient database over the past few days and this was one of the locations that seemed to be the most promising." Rodney shifted in his chair, his fingers darting across the touch-screen, bringing up some of the details on the large screen in the room.

As schematics of the installation interspersed with Ancient scrolled on the display, Rodney spoke. "As Colonel Sheppard said, we don't know much about it. From the little we've been able to ascertain, it seems as if the Ancients used this particular location to design and develop weapons. I'm hoping there might be various prototypes or even some completed yet untested devices we can examine along with the plans of course."

Radek, seated next to him, was nodding. "Once we find the outpost itself, I would recommend a full evaluation of its contents and a complete download of the database. Since this appears to be a major center for development, the information is probably also only contained in this location."

"You have to find the outpost?" Weir asked, glancing back and forth between the scientists.

"It seems as if the Ancients didn't want just anyone stumbling across it," Rodney said. "We have vague instructions in the main database here, but I believe it may have been one of the locations that was under the 'need to know' heading. It might also be why it didn't come up in some of our initial searches."

Weir nodded. "Possibly." She turned to Sheppard, her expression thoughtful. "What are your plans?"

"Well," he began, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on the table, "we're going to follow the directions provided by the science department and locate the outpost. Once there, it's up to Doctor Zelenka. We'll bring back anything small enough to carry to allow for further study under controlled conditions."

"Do you think it's safe?"

"I'll leave that up to the good doctor to decide. Once he has access to the local computer system we should be able to make a much better evaluation," Sheppard said.

Weir nodded. "Any current inhabitants?"

Rodney shook his head, his fingers tapping the touch screen in front of him as environmental information appeared on the overhead screen. "According to the database, the world was unoccupied, but that information is outdated. The MALP we sent yesterday came back with atmospheric readings, and they don't indicate any kind of permanent industrial settlement and no signs of life in the immediate gate area. While it's doubtful there are inhabitants, I'd recommend caution. Thanks to the Wraith, most of the people we've met here are very good at hiding."

"Agreed," Weir said, turning back to Sheppard. "How long do you think would be advisable?"

Sheppard glanced toward Radek. "Do you think twelve hours is enough time?

Zelenka shrugged. "It depends on what is there and how long it takes us to find the outpost."

"I'll give you the green light for an initial twelve-hour survey of the planet. If you need more time, we can always extend it," Weir said, making notes on her small PDA. She glanced up a few beats later, her gaze trolling the room. "Anything else to add?"

When no one commented, she continued. "What time were you looking to head out tomorrow, Colonel?"

"The earlier the better."

Weir nodded. "I'll schedule you for an 0800 departure. Also, John, until we know what Major Lorne's plans are for tonight and tomorrow—depending on the status of the Athosians on the mainland—you may want to arrange to have someone else take over some of your duties."

"Agreed. I'll get that set up this afternoon," he replied with a brief nod.

"Good. I think that's all," she said, glancing around again, a brief smile filtering across her face. "Dismissed." She paused, glancing down at her PDA as chairs scrapped against the floor. Rodney, gathering his mug and tablet PC, was just rising from his chair when Weir looked up again, pinning him in place. "Rodney, if you have a minute I'd like to go over a few other items on the agenda for today."

"Of course," he replied, as she turned back to her own device, a knot forming in his stomach as he re-took his seat. Radek paused by the door, looking back at him, but McKay shook his head, indicating that he shouldn't stay. Zelenka scowled at him, but proceeded out into the hall, the briefing room doors closing behind him.

"How are you settling in?"

Rodney turned back to Elizabeth, confusion on his face. "What?"

Weir leaned forward, her forehead creased in what seemed to be concern. "I wanted to know how you were settling into everything."

"Fine," he replied. "It's not like I've never done the job before. Actually, I have a ton more time to work on projects that always end up getting pushed to the back burner." He paused, tilting his head as his lips formed a thin line. He tried not to sound too curt, but he wasn't in the mood for her placating nature right now. He didn't want to play her 'let's be friends again' or 'let's make nice' game. "You had some questions about the other mission briefings scheduled for today?"

Nodding quickly, she reaching for her PDA. She scrolled through a few pages before glancing back up, her professional mask back in place. "We have two other teams scheduled to go out tomorrow, each team searching for what looks like additional Ancient outposts or warehouses."

"Yes, that's correct." He waited, knowing the other shoe was about ready to make a horrendous racket as it tumbled to the floor. Based on his educated guesses, he didn’t think she'd question his choice of mission destinations. They were always looking for additional Ancient technology and resources to help them to better understand those that had come before. Searching for some of the last-known bases of operations was nearly a foregone conclusion. Unless of course she thought that he had ulterior motives; that she knew what was going on in his head better than he did.

"Is there any particular reason why all these planets have come up now?" She raised her head, her dark eyes intense.

McKay shrugged, trying not to let his anxiety reach his facial expressions. "I've finally had the chance to really dig into the database, and used a few different search methods. These looked promising. You never know when the Wraith are going to decide they want to check and make sure Atlantis is still gone. We don't have enough energy in the ZedPM to hold them back for long."

"I'm not going to argue with you—we need any advantage we can get."

He paused, waiting for her to continue, the silence stretched between them. He shifted in his chair. "And I'm sitting here…why again?"

"I wanted to go over the missions you've scheduled for the teams."

"So, let's go over them," he said, calling her bluff. "If you have specific questions, please ask them. I'll be happy to elaborate on anything you want to know. If not, I have work I need to do."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, her lips pursing together into a thin line. She nodded briskly, sharply. "Then, I won't keep you from your work. You will be attending the briefings scheduled this afternoon?"

"Of course," he said rising to his feet, the unsaid 'where else would I be' hanging in the air between them.

She nodded again, her gaze dropping back to her PDA, her shoulders hunching in a little more.

He moved quickly, striding out of the briefing room, refusing to glance back.

***

"So, Doc, how's it going?" Major Lorne asked, casually leaning against one of the large supports for the hut wall as a white coat-clad Carson Beckett stepped into his now-empty waiting room.

Beckett glanced around, his eyes scanning the area before settling on Lorne, the weariness clearly evident. "Am I finished? I thought—"

"You're finished for today. I sent Anne to our overnight accommodations. She was beginning to fall asleep sitting here."

The Doctor's face quickly turned from curiosity and concern to annoyance. "That was a tad bit presumptuous on your part, Major," he began, his words heated, only to stop at Lorne's upraised hand.

"I know, I know. I should have talked to you first before making sure Halling had somewhere for us to stay overnight. And I know I should have asked you first before I told Anne to leave, but she was dead on her feet. I was worried you were going to have another patient if I didn't send her for food and sleep." Lorne paused, shifting forward so he was standing upright. He took a few steps toward the doctor before pausing again.

"I know you want to get home as soon as possible. You've been working yourself at a hectic pace. But, it's late and there're still a handful of people that need to see you. They can wait until the morning. We'll head back to Atlantis in the afternoon. It's only twelve hours more at this point."

Carson scowled. "I guess there isn't any way to talk ye out of this."

Lorne shook his head. "Already called home and let them know we were spending the night."

"And ye did that, when?" Beckett asked, a single eyebrow raised, a knowing expression on his face.

Lorne glanced away, heat rushing to his cheeks. "This afternoon. It was pretty obvious."

Carson stepped over to the chairs set along the side of the room, allowing his body to slump into the closest one. "This is a little more complicated than I originally thought."

"The check-ups?"

"Nae, those are easy. It's this disease, virus, whatever it is," he replied, his hand waving tiredly in the air. He took another step closer to Lorne as he continued. "I haven't seen anything like it and it's pretty potent. Knocked some of these folks for a loop, but they seem to be over the brunt of it. I just don't know why they didn't ask for medical assistance earlier, when it was limited to only a few people. Now, we may have to so a more thorough check of the entire Athosian population and Atlantis as well. I'm not sure how it'll react to the city's population."

"How contagious it is?"

Carson shrugged. "I don’t know for sure, but these people I'm checking today should have been much better than they are. And most can't pinpoint when or where they may have contracted it. The test results I was going over yesterday gave me a little insight into this bugger, but not enough. It's not behaving as I thought it should. And," he added a little hesitantly, "I think—I'm not certain though—that there have been some deaths. The very young, the very old—those most susceptible. There's been some…talk among the Athosians, but nothing concrete."

"We need to tell Doctor Weir about this."

"Aye," Beckett said, nodding wearily. "But until we know more, I don't want to alarm her. It might be an isolated incident. I don't want to check everyone if we don't have to. A waste of time and resources."

"So, what's next?"

"I'm gonna have tae go to the jumper and let Elizabeth know what's going on and then finish the follow-up visits. Once I get everything back to the labs on Atlantis I'll know more."

"Are we in any danger?"

"I don't know," Carson shrugged apologetically, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "I don't think so. We haven't come down with any of the symptoms since we were here last week and the cases were worse then."

Lorne nodded his head slowly. "Okay, Doc. We'll play it your way for now. So, do I want to know the symptoms?"

"Let's keep you in the dark, Major. You can be my yellow canary."

"Oh, thanks," Lorne said, rolling his eyes. "So if I get it then you'll know we're all contagious."

"You did say you wanted to help," Carson said with a smile, as he rose to his feet, shuffling over to the other man. "Point me to the jumper and I'll go and make that call."

Lorne threw and arm over Beckett's shoulders. "I'll do you one better. I'll give you a personal escort. I wouldn't want you to get lost."

The doctor tossed a scowl his way. "I think you might be referring to Colonel Sheppard's legendary skills on the ground. I, however, am quite good with directions."

"Consider it part of the service then, Doc."

***

Teyla, dressed in her workout clothes, her fighting sticks in hand, walked through the halls of Atlantis getting sidelong glances from everyone she passed.

The Atlanteans were strange. It was as if they had never seen skin before, and yet there were times when all her preconceived notions about them changed drastically.

Rolling her eyes as the head of yet another Marine turned, she rounded the corridor, her goal clearly in sight, light spilling from the open doorway and into the hallway. Stopping just outside the lab, she glanced in, her gaze settling on the figure hunched over the desk, two computer laptops before him, a hand resting on the keyboard of each. Papers covered the rest of the desk's surface, scattered in what looked like random piles, the corners of the sheets bent and standing on end. She spotted glimpses of silver wrappers peeking out from between the scribbled and marked pages. A white ceramic coffee mug sat off to the right side, nearly at the edge of the workstation, brown stains dried on the side.

Muttering to himself, Rodney McKay continued to work, fingers typing on the keyboards, his eyes snapping back and forth between the two devices, seemingly oblivious to her scrutiny.

Stepping into the room, Teyla slowly approached the desk making a conscious effort to make some noise as she moved. There was no point in scaring the scientist. Before she could reach her destination, however, he spoke, startling her, his voice cold.

"You wanted something?"

She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to look at him a little closer. He had yet to glance away from the screens and toward her. When she didn't reply immediately, his bloodshot blue eyes finally rose to meet hers over the top of the computer. "You were standing there staring for quite some time. Obviously you wanted something."

"You missed our workout session," she said, choosing simplicity instead of confrontation.

"Oh," he replied, his eyes widening slightly before his eyes shifted once again, fixed solidly on the computer screen. His body twitched subtly. "That was tonight?"

Rodney McKay was a terrible liar. It wasn't that he was incapable of misdirection or speaking a falsehood. However, his own body always seemed to rebel against its most basic nature when he attempted it.

Before she could speak, he continued, his words bulldozing over whatever she was going to say—even though she had yet to formulate a response.

"Look, this is really a bad time. I’m in the middle of several projects and I can't exactly drop everything just to play Conan to your Xena. I barely have enough time to get the idiotic scientists to stop trying to blow up the labs on a regular basis I’m surprised I get a chance to work on my own research at all. I finally managed to string together a few spare minutes and I can't stop in the middle."

He paused, taking a breath before plunging forward once again, his tone a little less aggressive than it was at first, his volume substantially reduced. His eyes were fixed on the edge of the desk where the fingers of his right hand swept back and forth in short strokes against the cool, dark surface.

"Besides, it's not like I'll have any use for the training anymore. I've been thinking fieldwork might not be a good idea—at least in my case. I have more than enough to occupy my time here on the base without the life and death situations I find myself in on a regular basis."

"Doctor McKay," Teyla finally said, breaking in as the physicist took another breath. "Are you not making a hasty decision? You have nearly two more weeks before you are placed back on the mission lists. Might it not be advantageous to wait and see how you feel then?"

McKay shrugged, his fingers still in motion, his head down. "I don’t think anything will change."

"You have already made up your mind."

"No," he replied, shaking his head and glancing up. "That's not it. I'm not sure the decision to remain on the team is entirely mine to make."

"Surely everyone can see how much you have done in behalf of the city and its inhabitants." Her forehead creased as she thought further. "Why would they not allow you to continue?"

"Not everyone blows up a solar system."

She inclined her head. "That is most certainly true. However, is it not the nature of all things to make mistakes?"

McKay turned away, the muscles in his jaw tightening, the muttered words barely reaching Teyla's ears. "It shouldn't happen with me."

Teyla opened her mouth to say something else, but he turned sharply, anger etched into his features. "Look," he said, "I don't have time for this…this…sharing thing we've started and I have even less time or desire to be beaten by a pair of sticks. So, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to work."

Turning back to his computers, he bowed his head, pointedly ignoring her, his fingers tapping on the keyboards, his mouth set in a thin line.

Waiting several moments, Teyla finally nodded to herself, moving out, the clicking of the computer keys following her down the hall.

***

"So this might be an outbreak of some kind?" Doctor Elizabeth Weir said, glancing over her desk toward Colonel Sheppard who was sitting tensely in one of her quest chairs. The call had come in from Carson several minutes ago and when he'd given her a brief overview she'd asked him to wait, pulling Sheppard into the call as well.

"I dunna know for sure," came the Doctor's weary reply. "Once I get these round of tests to the lab and examined I'll know more, but it has got me a little worried."

"I thought you said in your report that it was nothing to be concerned about," Sheppard said.

"And I don't think it will be, but at this point I'd rather be cautious."

"So, what do you want us to do now?" Weir asked, leaning forward, her elbows on her desk.

"Nothing. I just wanted to give you and update and let you know that I was concerned. There's no need to put anyone into panic mode."

"We might want to halt off-world missions for the meantime, or at least until you can figure out what the problem is," she suggested, her eyes widening at Sheppard who nodded in agreement from his slumped position in one of the guest chairs in her office. He'd snagged one of the smaller statues and was twirling it in his hands. She shot him an annoyed glance, but he ignored her.

"I don't think that will be necessary, Elizabeth," Carson said. "It might be nothing—"

"But it might be something."

"But we've had no symptoms at all on Atlantis," Carson argued, a hint of weariness in his voice. "Right now it's confined to the mainland."

"Fine," Elizabeth said, nodding once. "We'll keep the missions as scheduled, but if you find out anything—"

"I'll let you know immediately, aye," Carson replied quickly.

"Okay. Thanks for the update, Doctor," Weir said. "We'll see you tomorrow afternoon. Stay well."

"Aye. That's my plan. Tomorrow then. Have a good night."

As Beckett signed off, Weir shut down the connection on her end, taking a deep breath as she looked across her desk at John. "This could be a problem."

"Maybe," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Beckett does seem worried, but no more than usual. It's probably some old childhood disease no one's seen in a while, that's all. The Pegasus' version of adult chicken pox."

"But that can be deadly."

"Not in most cases it isn't. More annoying than anything—at least that's what I've heard." Sheppard paused, taking a deep breath. "Do you still want us going out in the morning? I can delay the mission until Lorne and Beckett come back."

Elizabeth shook her head. "No. I want things to continue as is for now. If the doctor thought there was a chance of contamination then it would be a different story." She paused, pulling her worries and her thoughts together. "But let's be smart about this. If there's anything wrong, even if it's a minor complaint, I want you back here immediately."

"Fine." He shifted in his chair and slowly rose to his feet placing the figurine back where it belonged. His other hand reached up to rub at the back of his neck. "I should probably get myself together since we're shipping out early."

"Have a good night, John," she said, offering a tight, thin-lipped smile.

"You should get some rest. You look like you can use it," he said, pausing at the cusp of her office, glancing back over his shoulder, his body half-turned.

She nodded. "I will. I want to get through a few more of these reports before I call it a night."

John raised an eyebrow, his lips drawing up in a small smile. "Night." Turning, he strode out into the control room, speaking briefly with the techs on duty before ambling down the stairs and out of her sight.

Sighing, Elizabeth turned back to the reports. If she knew this job would involve so much red tape and paperwork, she might have thought twice about agreeing to come. But, given the opportunity to explore a whole new galaxy…that was a little hard to turn down. She just wished bureaucracy hadn't followed her here.

***

Rodney McKay glanced up, squinting at the cabinet across the room before dropping his gaze to his wristwatch. It was late—or early—depending on how you looked at it. The meetings he'd had, spread through the entire day, had taken up way too much time. And then Teyla had insisted on having a little heart-to-heart. Between all of the distractions, he hadn't gotten much done, which was why he was still in his office at 0200 in the morning.

If Carson could see him now…

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he turned back to this computer, his eyes on the screen, but not focused on the data displayed there.

Who was he kidding? As much as Beckett ranted and threatened and complained, it wasn't like he really cared about what he was doing or when he was working. Beckett's job was to keep him healthy enough for when they really needed him, for when they needed him to pull something out of his ass—not that it did much good as of late.

He'd found more references to other Ancient outposts and research stations. Some of them were strictly for medical research. He'd give those to Carson once he got back from the mainland, and let him figure out what everything meant and what was important. Several were military in nature—weapons research and storage. He had no clue about the rest, apart from the fact that the Ancients used these locations on a regular basis. Maybe they were meeting points, staging areas for attack fleets. He had to find out more about them before he could give any kind of mission recommendation.

But right now, he needed Sheppard's mission later today to go well. If the information he had on hand was even just remotely right, Zelenka should come back with a truckload of gadgets and gizmos. Some of them, he knew, would be exactly what he was looking for.

***

Radek Zelenka stumbled into the gate room, his heavy pack making him unsteady on his feet. He didn't really like going off-world. Too many uncertainties, too many variables, too many chances for something unexpected to happen.

But, he also knew that a lot of the situations the team encountered called for scientists. This was an opportunity of a lifetime, to work on alien technology in another galaxy—he just wished it was a little less hazardous to his health.

Colonel Sheppard, Teyla, and Ronon were already in the gateroom, waiting at the bottom of the stairs as he rounded the final corner.

"Ah, there's the good doctor now," said Sheppard with a tight smile. He turned, craning his neck to look upwards where Doctor Weir was standing on one of the balcony's overlooking the room below. "We're set to go."

"Dial the planet," she ordered, her expression serious. A few seconds later the wormhole connected, the puddle settling inside the lighted circle.

"We're receiving telemetry from the MALP on the planet," the gate tech said, studying the screen before him. There was another pause and Radek knew the camera was surveying the immediate Stargate clearing. "Looks clear, ma'am."

Weir nodded once. "It looks like you have a go. Be safe."

"Always," Sheppard said, already heading for the gate, his weapon drawn and at the ready. Ronon was only a few paces behind him. Teyla, however, was at his side, her concerned gaze looking him over.

"Are you ready Doctor Zelenka?"

He nodded hesitantly. "As ready as I’m going to be."

She offered him a smile and walked beside him toward the open wormhole. "We will protect you. Doctor. We have no intention of letting anything harm you."

"That's good to know, but I've also seen how often Rodney comes back in need of medical attention. Please do not be insulted if I do not believe you."

If anything, her smile widened. "We shall have to show you that we speak truth." She paused beside him, only a single step from the event horizon. "Are you prepared?"

He nodded and stepped into the cold wishing he was still curled up in his bed.

***

John Sheppard held the sensor in his left hand, scowling at the screen while his right hand held his P90 against his chest so it wouldn't bounce as they walked through the forest. That was one downside to having Zelenka on his team—he couldn't use Ancient devices, but at least he could interpret what came up on the screen.

"Colonel, are you still getting energy readings?"

He tried not to sigh as he rolled his eyes at the Czech's question. "Yes, for the fifteenth time."

"Are they changing? Increasing? Decreasing?"

"They're steady."

"Are we walking around in circles then? The reading should be changing." Zelenka shook his head, his voice dropping. "Rodney warned me about this."

John's eyes narrowed as he glanced over at the scientist. "About what?"

"Your substantial lack of direction on the ground. I did not believe it to be true, however. It is amazing that even with the Ancient device you still end up walking around in circles."

Trying not to let his annoyance and anger rise to the surface, John stopped, turning to glare at the scientist instead. "Would you like to try?"

"No, no," Zelenka grinned, his eyes showing his amusement. "I'm simply curious about the statistical improbability of a pilot unable to find his way on the ground."

John shifted his gaze, his eyes moving to glance at Teyla and Ronon who were remaining silent, although he could see they were enjoying Radek's teasing. "Fine. We might be walking in circles, but I'm not getting a direct signal to indicate much of anything, let alone an entrance. And if we don't find something soon we're going to have to turn around and head home."

Zelenka's gaze turned inward for a moment and John could swear that he could hear the scientist's mind working on the problem from across the clearing. "Have you tried scanning for additional power sources or energy signatures? We might not be looking for ZPM energy readings, but instead something else entirely." He paused, the scowl on his face quickly transforming to a tangible idea. "Have you tried looking for cloaking technology? The energy that is required to maintain an Ancient's cloak is very high but it also gives off a very distinctive signature. If the Ancients did not want to be discovered, they may have cloaked the entire base."

Part of John wanted to ask why they weren't looking for that in the first place, but he held his tongue.

Reaching around behind him, Zelenka unclipped his pack, letting Teyla catch it before it hit the dirt. He knelt down, digging inside, his hands pulling out a cable and his tablet PC. Sitting down on the dirt next to his pack, he fiddled with the computer for several moments, before wiggling his fingers toward Sheppard in a very McKay-like gesture. The physicist was rubbing off on everyone in the science department it seemed.

John moved closer, taking the end of the cord Zelenka handed him once he was in range, the fingers of the scientist's right hand continually poking at the touch screen. "Attach this to the scanner," he ordered without looking up. The other end was already plugged into the PC in his lap.

He complied, waiting for the scientist's next order. Zelenka scowled at the computer several times, his fingers hesitating over several keys before making a final decision. The scanner in John's hands immediately went dark.

"Ah, Radek…" John began, only to be waved off by the seated scientist.

"I'm rebooting the hand scanner. I wrote a patch asking the scanner to look for a very specific energy signature. Rodney will not like that I am altering the firmware, but we shall not tell him."

"How long until it reboots?"

"A few more seconds."

And sure enough, a few beats later the scanner lit up in John's hand, the screen showing an entirely different set of readings. "Whoa," he said, his eyes widening as he began to turn in a circle, watching as the readings changed. Zelenka stopped him with a hand against his leg, pulling the cable from the handheld.

"Now. What do you see?" He asked, tucking the cable away but hanging onto the PC. Teyla stepped forward once again to help him re-attach his pack.

"I'm not sure, but whatever it's picking up it's higher in that direction," John responded, lifting his hand to point back from where they came.

"Good. Let us find this base and bring back toys for the scientists to play with. It has been a long time since one of the teams have brought us anything worthwhile."

***

Carson sighed as the jumper touched down in the bay. They were later than they'd originally thought they'd be, an emergency call in the middle of the night giving him a late start in the morning after catching only a few hours of sleep.

One of the patient's he'd seen earlier in the day had been complaining of severe discomfort, his relatives clamoring at his door in the wee hours of the morning. He'd checked him over again, finally giving him some Tylenol to bring down the fever, and an injection to help with the nausea. He'd also fed him electrolyte-enhanced fluids to replace what he'd lost. It had been bad, but not life-threatening—at least not at this point.

Carson wanted to bring him to the infirmary on Atlantis to keep a closer eye on him, but until he knew more about what he was dealing with he was hesitant. As it was, he insisted on decontamination procedures for the three of them.

Just outside the cockpit window, he saw three members of his medical staff suited up in their gear, ready with the portable decontamination equipment. They'd set up a small location in the corner of the bay and would scrub everything down as well as the jumper in which they'd traveled. He'd also ordered Shelly Laurence, one of his nurses who'd accompanied them last week, to the infirmary for a check-up—just in case.

He had told Elizabeth he didn't think there was going to be a problem, but there was something in his gut warning him to take it slow. The initial test results had been inconclusive. He just hoped the new samples would shed more light as to what this little bugger was.

Now, with a case-full of samples by his side and a full-decontamination process still to come, the stress of the unknown washed over him. He had to get the samples to the lab and get his staff working on them immediately, but until they were clear he didn't want to risk the general population—just in case.

"Doctor Beckett?"

Lifting his head, he squinted through the forward window as he reached for the button to turn the radio on. "Doctor Biro? I didn't think you'd be here."

"Well, since there wasn't much else going on at the moment, I figured going through this little decontamination exercise of yours would be good practice. Besides," she added and Carson swore she had a broad grin on her face, although he couldn’t be sure, "how often do I get the chance to see my boss with his knickers around his ankles?"

"Doctor…" he warned too shocked to be angry.

"The bay's clear and we have everything set up, so whenever you want to head on out we'll get started. I know you want to get those samples to the lab, and the quicker we get you cleared, the faster you can get back to work," she continued, bowling over whatever he was going to say. The medical team had already moved out of his view around to the back of the bay where they'd set up shop.

Beckett nodded once to Lorne who was sitting stiffly in the pilot's chair. They'd…argued…on the way back to Atlantis about the necessity of this whole process, but after a quick discussion with Elizabeth, she'd agreed to err on the side of caution.

The major concentrated for a moment and the rear door began to descend revealing the interior of a makeshift white plastic room, the rear entrance of the jumper cut off from the rest of the bay.

He hated this part.

***

Running a hand over his face, Rodney McKay leaned back, stretching the muscles in his back. He'd spent a good portion of the day so far deep in the bowels of Atlantis. About two hours after he'd finally pulled himself away from his laptop to get a little rest, he'd gotten the call from Swartson about power failures. As fast at they had been re-routing circuits, they couldn't seem to find the source of the problem.

Instead of sleeping, he'd headed back to the labs, running several diagnostics before sending repair crews into the city. It seemed some of the back-up systems were acting up, the interfaces with the Earth-based equipment the primary culprits. After everything the city had been through in the past few months, it wasn't a surprise. Many of their repairs had been patches of patches, temporary fixes until they had the time for more permanent solutions—time they'd never found.

So, here he was, elbow-deep in several control panels and systems, checking and double-checking each and every connection before closing up one and moving onto the next. Three other teams were spread out in various other parts of the cities—two per team—taking care of the primary systems that had been affected. Currently, internal communications was spotty at best, the Earth-based audio equipment suddenly deciding not to talk to the system built into the city. Where he was—deep in the under-belly of the main spire—he was lucky to be able to reach a few levels above his head. The thicker deck plating and power conduits running through this section were especially notorious for hindering Earth-based audio communication.

Every now and then he'd catch the garbled end of a conversation, but unless they came looking for him—or he heard his name in a message—he ignored it. He had the urge to turn the damn thing off just to stop the high-pitched static and white noise that squawked out occasionally, making him jump at the most inappropriate times. Unfortunately, one of the Marines had visited an hour or so ago, bringing several messages from the other teams. He'd also run up several levels earlier on when the frantic repetition of his name broke through the static.

This was no way to run a city.

In the next Daedalus run, he was going to ask for plumbers and electricians—anyone with a more practical application of their degrees, half a brain, and a willingness to be creative and think outside the box. A lot of the problems they ended up fixing were minor, but because most of the science department were paper-pushers instead of Mister Fix-Its, repairs were never done quite right—except for his, of course.

Digging into his pack, he pulled out a water bottle and a PowerBar, turning and shifting until his back was pressed against the nearest wall, the cool metal seeping through his shirt and jacket, his legs stretched out in front of him. Yanking the wrapper open, the silver tearing at an angle until the seam at the back halted its progress, Rodney bit down, nearly inhaling a third of the bar in one bite.

Popping open his bottle, he tilted it back against his lips, several mouthfuls of water washing down the peanut butter-flavored energy bar.

He hated this.

He'd spent the last eight hours trying to fix things that shouldn't have broken—if they'd been fixed correctly the first time—and he had several more hours yet to go. The other three teams were each on a different pier, working as quickly and as carefully as possible.

Rodney wished Radek was here, coordinating everything from the science labs and yelling at him, but the scientist was off-world exploring the places he should have been seeing. Releasing the breath he'd been holding, he gnawed off another piece of the PowerBar.

He was worried.

What if there was something on that planet they couldn't decipher? What if it was inhabited and the natives were hostile? Although, hostile natives were a given in this universe. What if they needed two people with the Ancient gene? What if they got lost? Rodney had firsthand experience with Sheppard's sense of direction.

But, it was out of his hands. All he could do was hope for the best and pray the database and his extrapolations from it were correct. After the last screw up, anything was possible.

Shaking his head, he quickly finished off his snack and the rest of his water bottle, stowing the garbage in his pack. Groaning as he shifted position, he slowly rose to his knees and get his feet back under him. Aiming a stern look at the open panel, he sighed and picked up his tools, getting back to work.

***

"This is it?" John Sheppard asked, disbelief thick in his voice.

Ronon turned to face the two men, all his senses on alert. He'd been jumpy since they'd arrived, but he wasn't sure why or what had set him off—and he didn’t like not knowing.

Sheppard was staring at the scientist, confusion with a tinge of anger underlying his expression. He looked back at the device in his hands before glancing back up to the doctor.

"What did you expect?" asked Zelenka, his hands waving, his thin, brown hair unruly, his eyes wide behind the glasses that refused to remain in place. "You are the one holding the scanner. Are you telling me that you cannot read it?"

"I can read it just fine," Sheppard replied curtly, gesturing toward the rock face they were standing before with the hand that was still gripping McKay's scanner. It was odd, Ronon thought, narrowing his eyes as he watched Sheppard and Zelenka. Even though McKay wasn't here, he was. The scientific equipment Zelenka sported and used as easily as the other scientist was, in Ronon's mind, forever linked to the loud-mouthed physicist.

On the other side of the galaxy and McKay's personality overshadowed their every step. Maybe that was what was setting his senses on edge. He missed the complaining, the constant chatter that told him that everything was fine. Zelenka had the teasing part down, as well as some of the insults, but he didn't stand a chance against McKay's constant chatter.

Siding his eyes to his other teammate, he saw she was watching the other two men carefully, amusement fighting with exasperation on her face.

"I just thought there would be more here than a stupid hole in the hill, that's all."

"If you like, I can take several weeks and create great mountainous ruins for you to crawl through before reaching this point," Zelenka suggested. He turned to Ronon, incorporating him in the conversation. "Specialist Dex will be eager to help with the project, I'm sure. Would that be more to your liking?"

Sheppard scowled and Ronon had to hold back a laugh. What was it about the Atlantean scientists that gave them such balls on off-world missions? He'd thought McKay was the exception to the rule, but the more he worked with these people the more he realized it seemed to be a character trait of nearly the entire delegation. Although they might appear to be weak, there was a core of strength in each of them.

"Doctor Zelenka," Teyla said, drawing their attention, "is there more to the Ancient outpost?"

"Yes, of course," he replied, pushing his glasses back to the bridge of his nose absently. "I believe the 'hole in a hill' that Colonel Sheppard referred to is merely a portal through which we must enter the facility. I also believe this mountain is an image, a very sophisticated cloak designed to hide the outpost from prying eyes."

"But we found it." Ronon said.

"Yes, we did, but we knew exactly what to look for—more or less."

"So, can we go in?" Sheppard asked, clearly anxious to do something more than talk and hike.

"It might be prudent to take more readings before walking into an outpost we cannot see."

"So, take more readings. We don't have all day." Sheppard began to move off, but stopped at Zelenka's voice.

"Colonel, I require your assistance."

"What?"

"Without ATA gene, I cannot use the hand scanner."

"For crying…" he began, his complaint dying on his lips. "Fine," he continued a moment later. "What do you need me to do?"

***

Elizabeth Weir swore she could still smell the decontamination cleansers as she walked into the infirmary several hours later. She's been a little surprised when Carson's request had come through earlier, especially since he'd been so adamant that there was nothing to worry about just fourteen hours earlier.

What had changed?

It made her all the more wary since she had three teams in the field; twelve of her people were out there, hopefully not spreading the next form of the bubonic plague.

Which was why she was here.

Maneuvering through the quiet room, one of the nurses glanced up from her PDA, flashing her a quick smile before turning back to the shelves she was organizing and inventorying. Weir offered a nod and a half-smile in return, her stride never hesitating, only pausing once she reached the doorway to Beckett's office.

She frowned, finding the room empty.

She turned back to the nurse. "Do you know where Doctor Beckett is?"

"He's not in his office?" she asked, taking a few steps toward her, confusion on her face. "He was there a few minutes ago."

"He's not there now. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?"

The other woman shrugged. "The lab, maybe? He's been arguing with them since he got back."

Elizabeth tried not to sigh. "Thank you," she said to the nurse before turning back to stand in the relative privacy offered by the closet-like office of her chief medical officer. She tapped her headset. "Weir to Beckett."

It took a few moments before he replied, his voice rushed. "Beckett here. What did ye want, Elizabeth? I’m in the middle of something."

"I came down here to get an update," she replied, trying not to let her annoyance drip into her voice.

"You're in the infirmary then?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Nae a thing," he replied quickly before taking a long pause. "Look, I'm sorry ye came all the way down for an update, but I don't have much to tell you. Let me finish some of these tests and then I'll come up and give you a report."

"I need to know what we're dealing with, Carson. We have teams in the field."

"Aye, I know. We haven't been able to figure everything out yet. I need more time."

"Do you know anything?"

Beckett hesitated. "I'd rather not say until I know more. I might be wrong."

"About what?" Her words were loud, forced out through clenched teeth. She swung around, glancing over her shoulder toward the center of the infirmary, wondering how far her voice had carried.

"Elizabeth," Beckett said, his tone level and pleading, urging her to listen. "Give me time and I'll answer all of your questions."

"Carson—"

"I'll come up as soon as I have something."

Weir sighed, knowing she couldn’t rush him, but wanting to know immediately what her options were. "I'll be waiting."

"Aye, I know ye will."

***

After nearly an hour of readings, John Sheppard had had enough.

"Aren't you done yet?"

Radek shook his head, his hair moving with the motion. "There is still more data to analyze before we can enter. Elizabeth would not look kindly if you were injured because of a wrong assumption."

Sheppard tried not to sigh, instead opting to spit out his next question through his clenched jaw. "Do you know how to get in there?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, of course. I have known for some time how to proceed into the structure, but I was still attempting to ascertain the exact layout and purpose of the various—"

"You can get us in there now?"

Radek glanced up at him, his eyes wide. "Yes. Did I not just say that or was I imagining it?"

"Ronon," John said as the Satedan rose from where he'd sprawled an hour ago, "we're going in. I want you to watch our six. I'll let you know when the coast is clear."

The man nodded, his hand on the handle of his weapon as his gaze raked through the area around them.

"But Colonel—" Radek protested, but John refused to be put off any longer.

"The only way we're going to see what's in there is if we go. I appreciate your caution, but you're over-doing it. Sometimes an old Ancient outpost is just an old Ancient outpost."

Pulling the hand scanner from a pocket, be turned it on, pointing it in the direction that the strongest reading was coming from. He heard more than saw Zelenka scrabble to his feet, his tablet PC clutched to his chest. Raising his P90, Sheppard took a few steps closer, watching as the readings increased. He was nearly on top of the cloaking field. "Teyla, keep an eye on the good doctor."

"Colonel!" Zelenka protested again as the tip of John's weapon vanished.

He pulled it out, checking to make sure it was in one piece. Nodding, he positioned the weapon again, moving forward at a faster clip, feeling only a slight tingle as he stepped through—and into what looked like the Antarctic base.

Keying his radio, he spoke. "Can you read me?"

"Colonel, are you all right?" Teyla replied, her voice showing her concern. "You just disappeared."

"I'm fine. Bring everyone through, the coast is clear," he said, his eyes constantly surveying the room he'd stepped into. A stumbling step behind him alerted him to the presence of the rest of his team. Turning, he caught sight of Zelenka's awe-filled face, his eyes seeming to caress the architecture and the walls around them.

"Radek?"

When John didn't get an immediate reaction he repeated the scientist's name, before finally taping him on the shoulder. "Doctor Z."

"This is amazing, Colonel," he replied, shaking off the other man's hand, moving into the room, heading for the nearest panel. "It looks just like the outpost SG-1 discovered that led us to Atlantis. I would have thought this location would be different, somehow, since it was built for a different purpose."

"We think it was, " commented Sheppard. "Who knows, it could have originally just been an outpost and not a weapons development facility."

The scientist didn't answer as he stopped before one of the inactive consoles. After a moment he turned, his eyes fixed on John. "Would you…" He waved his hand as his voice petered off.

Sheppard rolled his eyes and lowered his weapon, nodding as he moved forward. "So, now you want me to turn it on."

"Of course," Radek said. "You are the one with the magic gene that talks to machinery."

Setting his hand on the top of the console he thought briefly, mentally asking the system to turn on. A few beats later and the lights flickered on throughout the entire facility, every panel lit from within, and each overhead light shining brightly.

"Thank you, Colonel," Zelenka said, already moving beside him, the computer he carried perched on the top of the console, wires already connecting it to the Ancient equipment. Sheppard stepped a few feet back, giving the Czech room to maneuver.

The screen on the tablet PC changed several times before settling down into an interface that looked just like the Atlantis mainframe.

Zelenka hummed for a moment before his fingers descended upon the device, poking and sliding and moving continually. He paused after a moment before his pointer finger savagely pushed at the screen and he nodded to himself.

"I am downloading the information contained in this mainframe to my PC. It shall take time to get everything copied over."

"You can get everything?"

"Yes, yes," Zelenka nodded. "Rodney thought it was best to take his computer since it has the most storage space—even before the additional memory he added yesterday afternoon. According to the one screen I pulled up, the main storage unit is down the corridor to the left."

"You found it already?"

"Yes." Radek's voice was level, his eyes narrowing as his brow furrowed a little. "Was it not what we were looking for? The computer can download while we investigate. No?"

Sheppard shook his head, not sure he should be happy, excited, exasperated, or angry. The Czech was not what he expected. Sure, they'd worked together before, but nothing had prepared him for this.

"Teyla, take point. Doc, you're with me. Ronon, you've got our six. Let's see what the Ancients left behind."

***

Teyla moved slowly around the corners, all of her senses on high alert. Since she had joined with these people, she had been on many different planets, in many different places, had walked in places where the Ancestors had been.

This was unlike anything she had seen before.

Substantially smaller than Atlantis, this facility seemed to have never been inhabited, its starkness and silence disconcerting.

Ghosts still walked its halls.

Glancing over her shoulder, Sheppard gave her a nod to continue, his eyes hard, continually scanning the area as he walked beside the scientist. Ronon followed several paces behind them, his weapon out and ready to be used at a moment's notice.

"Teyla," Doctor Zelenka said, drawing her attention. "You should see a door coming up at the end of the hallway. That should be the main storage area. Colonel, you may have to open the door."

The Colonel nodded, gesturing for her to pause while he moved around her. She kept pace with the scientist as they proceeded, stopping only when they reached the dead end the doctor mentioned.

"Anything I should know before I touch anything?" Sheppard asked, his question tossed over his shoulder as he examined the panel beside the door.

"No," Zelenka said, shaking his head. "I do not believe there should be any problem."

"You don't believe?" Sheppard said, turning around, his eyes narrowing. "Are you sure about anything?"

"Yes. There is no one here but us. Of that, I cam certain."

The Colonel's eyes rolled upwards before he turned back to the panel, placing his hand gently on its surface and closing his eyes. A few moments later the large doors before them slid open, stall air rushing out from the room they revealed.

The doctor moved around Sheppard, the lights coming up in the large room as they entered, revealing shelving—complete with Ancient devices. Zelenka muttered something in another language before moving once again, his fingertips brushing against the nearest surface.

"Wow," Ronon said from his position behind her. The one word certainly expressed her feelings.

But even through her feelings of elation and wonder, she felt guilty, sad even. After nearly two years of searching, they had finally found a cache of Ancient devices—some of which were probably weapons to fight the Wraith—and Doctor McKay was not even here to see it.

***

Sitting back in his desk chair, Carson Beckett swore quietly under his breath in Gaelic knowing that if one of his nurses heard him they wouldn't understand anything he said—the phrases were certainly not designed for civilized company.

They'd run the tests several times already—some of them twice even—but this particular bugger was proving to be harder to diagnose than anything else they'd encountered.

It had similar characteristics to several viruses, but nothing was a direct match.

They were stumped.

There was no other way to say it. Between all of the doctors and researchers, they couldn't make sense of it one way or another. He still had teams working on the samples—some were doing DNA mapping while others investigated its structure, and another team compared its symptoms and tried to track its course and path through populations.

Carson knew Elizabeth wanted a report, but there was nothing new to tell her—yet.

They'd figure it out. They just needed more time.

***

"We need to take as much as we can," Radek Zelenka said, glancing over his shoulder, back toward the door where Ronon, Teyla, and Colonel Sheppard still stood, gaping at the storage room before them. Refocusing on the shelving before him, he shifted his glasses higher on his nose and stepped forward, his hands reaching out toward the nearest device.

It was like a dream come true. Rodney would be so jealous.

"Wait!"

Pulling his hand back suddenly at the shout, he looked toward Sheppard as an exasperated and angry expression flashed across the other man's face, only to be replaced by his professional mask.

"What? We need to decide which devices to collect for further study. I cannot do that simply by guessing."

Sheppard moved forward, his hand clutching his weapon, the knuckles turning white. "Isn't there any way to figure out what's on the shelves before any of us touch anything? Who knows what's in here. You said this was a weapons development center. I'm guessing most of this stuff probably doesn't need the ATA gene to be activated."

"Yes, Rodney surmised as much from the information in the database," Radek nodded, a finger tapping against his temple as his mind worked on the Colonel's question. The information was probably stored in the main database that he was downloading, but he didn't want to interrupt the process incase this was the only chance they had to gain that data. His eyes drifted around the room until they found a panel embedded in the wall, off to the side of the room, but not too far from the door. "Colonel," he said moving toward the object, "I believe this may help us. Can you open?"

"What?" He moved alongside Radek, Ronon and Teyla hovering just behind.

"You are the only one with ATA gene and since this is a secure facility, I doubt I will be able to pry the panel open with bare hands. I also do not relish bloodying fingernails."

He rolled his eyes, but shifted his weight, his hands rising to poke hesitantly at the panel, the tips of his fingers barely touching the surface.

"A more firm hand, Colonel, may be required. Scientists do not caress their equipment."

Radek was rewarded by a sharp glance from Sheppard, but he began to apply himself, muttering something under his breath that wasn't loud enough for Radek to catch. Shaking his head, he ignored the Colonel, watching instead as the other man felt around the outside of the panel, digging his nails in against the seam. A few beats later, he closed his eyes for a moment and moved his hand to the top. A click sounded throughout the room and the panel slowly opened revealing a smaller version of one of the control consoles, complete with screen and an Ancient command keyboard.

"Pomalé kolísání," he muttered as it lit up under Sheppard's touch. This technology never failed to amaze him. Glancing up to the Colonel with a grateful smile, he continued. "Thank you, I believe I can manage from here."

"You can read Ancient?"

"Enough to get by for now," he replied absently, already paging slowly though the screens of information. "The translation program on the computer would be beneficial; however, it is currently engaged in a more important activity."

Squinting at the screen, he nodded to himself. "I believe all the devices stored here are in a complete shut-down mode. They will not activate until someone with the ATA gene gives the power-up command. We should be safe in transporting them."

"How many do you want to bring back?" Ronon asked, finally pushing forward, his arms crossed over his large chest as he let his eyes roam around the room. He might appear casual, but Radek knew the man could kill him in several most creative ways in less than five seconds. Upsetting Ronon was not on his to-do list.

"As many as we can," he replied, half glancing over his shoulder as he tried to find the main index for the storage room. The Ancients always has redundant systems.

"That's why we brought the extra cases and packs," Sheppard answered, patting the other man on his back, standing beside him to survey the room in a similar manner.

"It's gonna take more than a few trips," Ronon commented solemnly without a hint of complaint or condemnation, more as a matter of fact.

"Colonel," Radek said a few minutes later, breaking the silence. "If you are ready, I believe I can direct you from here."

"To do what?"

"Take the objects off the shelves, of course. Preferably, in your case, without activating them."

An overly dramatic hurt expression crossed the other man's face. "Me?"

Rolling his eyes, Radek nodded as he turned to the console. "Let's start in aisle one."

***

"What part of 'no' did you not understand the first ten times I told you?" Rodney McKay asked as he stormed down the hallway, his face holding a thunderous expression. Shifting the heavy pack on his back, he waved his hand in front of the transporter door panel. He'd finished the work in the belly of the beast only to have to run clear to the end of the north pier to fix something else, quickly followed by a trip to the south pier. Was everything waiting to brake all at once?

Sighing loudly, he stepped into the small space, jabbing his finger at the transporter location closest to his quarters as the man on the other end of the conversation continued at full steam. A few seconds of transport wasn't about to make any kind of difference. Besides, Kavanaugh enjoyed listening to himself talk.

Stepping out on the other end, sure enough, the scientist hadn't shut up and Rodney hadn't missed anything important. For as long as McKay had known the man, Kavanaugh had never approached that state of silence or wisdom—nor was he likely in the near future.

Rolling his eyes, he cut into the scientist's monologue. "No matter what you think about my parentage or your supposed pedigreed genes, I'm still in charge of the science department and the answer is still 'no'. Anything that involves one of your experiments and a naquadah generator will forever be banned on Atlantis. I'm even considering banning you from using D-sized batteries. We both know what happened the last time."

The other man's voice steadily rose, claiming favoritism, despotism, and several other things Rodney tuned out. It was easier that way. Letting the man rant, McKay swung into the deserted mess hall, grabbing whatever food he could get his hands on. PowerBars for lunch, dinner, and two snacks left him craving something else. A minute later and he was headed back into the hallway and to his quarters. It was nearly 0100 and he was dead tired.

Besides, from the snippets of reports he'd heard while traipsing across Atlantis, Sheppard's team had struck pay dirt on their mission, requesting two jumpers to aid in the retrieval of Ancient equipment. Two of the marines had headed through shortly afterwards. He'd directed them to place everything in one of the science department storerooms that could be locked down.

If he was expected to start researching and sifting through the items they were bringing back, he needed more than two hours of sleep—not that he'd get more than that realistically, not with the nightmares he still had. He knew he should probably talk to Heightmeyer, maybe convince her to talk to Carson to give him something to help him sleep, but after everything, talking to someone about what was going on his head was the last thing he wanted to do.

Besides, it wasn't as if anyone really cared that he wasn't sleeping.

As he approached his quarters, Rodney could tell Kavanaugh was beginning to wind down. Another minute or two and the rant would be over.

Sure enough, just as Rodney was swinging his pack off his back and onto his desk, the scientist's words slowed down to a crawl before halting altogether. Putting his hands on his hips, Rodney waited for the silence to grow before he finally replied.

"Listen very carefully because I'm only going to say this once. If you can put together a decent proposal—taking into account any and all possibilities of success and failure—I'll consider your request. I'm going to tell you now that the only way this project of yours will get off the ground is if it's checked and double-checked by someone I approve. And even then, I'm not going to guarantee anything. Now, find someone else to pester. I'm going to bed. McKay out."

Yanking the radio from his ear, he dropped it on his desk next to his pack and stretched, his hands above his head. Eyeing his laptop, he knew he should probably check his email messages, but that could wait until later in the morning.

Stumbling across the room as he pulled clothing from his body, his shirt and jacket falling into a pile on the floor, he slumped onto his bed, dragging his feet from his boots and socks, his nose twitching at the smell. He hated the military-issue footwear, but down in the bowels of Atlantis, the thick soles were a much better insulator than his usual hikers. Besides, you never know what you might step in down there, and he'd hate to ruin his favorite shoes.

His pants came off last, joining the pile on the floor. With a sigh he fell back into his bed, sliding under the covers. Mentally he locked his door down and turned off the lights.

Tomorrow there were Ancient devices to discover.

***

Shrugging out of his dusty and dirty BDUs, John Sheppard remembered why he'd become a pilot in the first place. No heavy lifting.

Stretching carefully, he tried to get some of the cricks and cramps out of his muscles. It really wasn't hard work, carefully carrying and arranging the devices, but that much continuous bending and lifting wasn't good for anyone—and he didn't care how fit you were. That was the reason man made hand-trucks and carts and wheelbarrows. He just wished they had some of those.

They'd spent the past twelve hours trafficking Ancient artifacts to and from the base and Atlantis using two jumpers.

Radek had been in his element, yelling and shouting in various languages, some of them John didn't recognize, directing everyone—all five of the pack mules—where to go, what to do, and what, under no circumstances, not to drop.

They took him fairly seriously when one of the larger pieces nearly slipped out of Ronon's hands and Radek turned white.

Thankfully, there had been a slew of people waiting back on Atlantis to unload everything, but Radek had sent ahead strict orders—which Sheppard had asked Lorne to enforce: Absolutely nothing was to go into the science labs until McKay looked it over.

He'd been…concerned at first, but after Radek glared at him and then proceeded to jabber at him in high-speed Czech, he'd given up, letting the order stand. Once Radek got back to Atlantis he'd be at McKay's side during the initial evaluation process. Thankfully, the laptop that had the database loaded onto it had gone over in the first transport.

Hopefully, McKay would take the time to look it over before he just started turning things on. But that wasn't entirely fair, John knew. When McKay's ego wasn't in the way he was usually careful with alien technology—whatever it was. That whole self-preservation thing he had going. The stuff they found usually never worked the way they thought it did in the first place and, unfortunately, they'd learned that the hard way.

Wandering into his bathroom, he turned the shower on before he dropped all of his clothes in a pile on the floor. As the steam filled the room, he groaned as he rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension and the soreness.

The hot water felt marvelous when he finally stepped in, and with his forearms up against the wall, he leaned in, putting his head against his arms as he let the water pound against his back, loosening him up, relaxing him.

He let his mind drift, the water washing away more than just the dirt and grime and pent-up tension. As much as he wanted to just stop thinking, however, thoughts kept surfacing. Thoughts he didn't want to be thinking. Thoughts about McKay.

He didn't want to admit it, but the mission today—the first one without the physicist—had been strange, unsettling—and John didn't like that. He knew going into this that there would be some kind of settling-in period, but he hadn't thought that it would be so noticeable. He'd forgotten about everything McKay did right—from playing with his various devices to figuring out quickly how and why they worked the way they did. Zelenka had done well, very well especially since he didn't have a lot of off-world experience, but in this galaxy a scientist in the field without the ATA gene could be a liability, and a big one at that.

That was something he hadn't considered before.

Forcing himself to relax and stop thinking, he sighed and leaned into the hot water, letting it caress his shoulders, the droplets pounding into the knots in his muscles, loosening them slowly, as if his body was refusing to let go of the stress and the tension. The streams of water ran down his back and cascaded over the curve of his buttocks before hitting the floor of the shower stall and splattering against the wall before it all swirled down the drain taking the dirt, dust, sweat, and grime with it.

He stayed under the powerful showerhead until his fingers wrinkled. Drying off in the chilly bathroom, goose bumps rising on his exposed skin, John quickly pulled on his boxers and t-shirt, before leaving his wet towel on the top of his dirty clothes pile. He'd deal with it later.

But even as he dropped into bed, his mind refused to totally slow down, continually running through the events of the day. Something had been missing, and the more he thought about it, the tenser he became.

He was torn.

He was still angry, very angry, with McKay for what he'd done, for the lives he'd risked—his own in addition to others—and the people he'd manipulated to get what he wanted. But then, there was a part of him that had finally realized what had been missing today: McKay's blisteringly wide grin he always wore when they found something they could use.

Today, they'd hit the mother load and he wasn't even there to brag about it.

Sighing, he rolled over, trying to find a comfortable position. He wasn't sure if it was the bed, his muscles, or his mind, but sleep was a long time in coming.

***

By the time Radek Zelenka managed to drag himself out of his bed and down to the storage rooms, it was obvious—due to the multitude of PowerBar wrappers and empty mugs—Rodney had been here for quite some time.

Did the man ever sleep?

Walking into the room, he let his eyes drift, still not believing what was in front of him. The teams, under Lorne's direction, had set up the room exactly as he'd requested, the metal shelving that had been brought from Earth ages ago finally coming in handy. The rows had been set up exactly as the hidden Ancient base, the items placed roughly where they'd been on the planet.

At least it would be a little easier when they started their examination, one less variable.

Rodney was hunched over his laptop—the same one Radek had taken to the planet yesterday—the fingers of his right hand tapping on the arrow keys while his left drummed on the edge of the desk.

"Rodney, how long have you been here?" he asked, dropping onto the empty stool next to the other man.

"Hmm? What?" Rodney glanced his way, more out of habit than anything, before turning back to the database information. Glancing over Rodney's shoulder, Radek noticed that the information was still in Ancient. Wonderful. Rodney hadn't even bothered with translation, instead jumping in with both feet. It also meant he was one of the few people who could actually read it.

"Rodney," Radek repeated once the other man settled back into silence. "What are you doing?"

"Reading, and you're interrupting."

Rolling his eyes, Zelenka shook his head. He needed more coffee to deal with this man, but he didn't think there was enough on base in order to accomplish that feat. "If you had translated the database I could help you."

"Why are you here?" With his forehead scrunching up in confusion, Rodney finally looked at him instead of through him. "I need to go through this entire database until I can even begin to start on the stuff you brought back." He waved his hand in a large arc behind him, apparently referring to the nearly full shelves. "It's going to take some time."

"That's what I was saying," Radek muttered. "If you get your head out of ass then perhaps you would hear what I am telling you."

Rodney's eyes widened, the reddened white showing around the blue. Surprisingly, though, he didn't comment. Instead, he straightened up, his hands bracing himself against the worktable.

Radek frowned. "Are you ill?"

"No. Should I be?"

"You have not attempted to tear head from shoulders. I am…concerned that you are not yourself."

Rolling his eyes, Rodney took a deep breath. When he finally replied, his words were sarcastic. "I was just doing as you so eloquently requested; listening to you."

Instead of speaking, Radek leaned back, crossing his hands over his chest as he took a good look at the man sitting beside him. If it was humanly possible, Rodney looked worse than he did twenty-seven some odd hours ago when he'd stormed out of the main lab claiming he couldn't concentrate.

Rodney's uniform was wrinkled and rumpled, the untucked shirt bunching up on his side, as if the tail was stuck in the waistband of his pants. Stubble lined his normally clean-shaven cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes were all the more pronounced due to the pallor of his face.

With a room full of Ancient devices, Rodney should be excited. Something did not add up.

Moving slightly, seemingly uncomfortable under Radek's gaze, Rodney's expression moved from arrogance to annoyance. "What?"

"What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing. What's wrong with you is the better question. Since when do you sit staring at someone with that….that calculating expression on your face?" Rodney's right hand waved in his direction, the movements sharp. After a pause, his fingers clicked quickly several times and he started inching back. "Wait a minute. I know. You're…you've been infested with some kind of alien disease that makes you ask fellow colleagues strange and unusual questions before you disembowel them and leave them for dead."

If Rodney didn't seem so serious, Radek would have laughed in his face.

"No, no, no. I am fine. Whole team is fine. I am merely concerned about the health of my friend who is also one of the biggest hypochondriacs in the Pegasus Galaxy, not to mention the one with the most active and pessimistic imagination." He paused, taking a deep breath before the other man could move too far away. Although, knowing what was in this room, it was going to be next to near impossible to pry Rodney away in the next few days. "Look," he began, pushing his glasses to the proper placement on the bridge of his nose. "This is not a small project and I hate to admit, but you are the best person to make initial examination of the Ancient devices. It is not a weakness to ask for help from a fellow scientist and friend if you are…worn out from other projects."

Rodney's slumped shoulders straightened. His voice was tense, clipped. "I'm fine."

"So, I should just leave you alone so you can work yourself until you drop from exhaustion?"

"I said I'm fine. If you want to help, help, and stop interrogating me about everything." Rodney turned back to the laptop, his hands reaching for the keys to continue his reading. "But you might as well go and do something else since I'm not going to even begin to look at anything until I go through this database."

"That'll take hours, if not days."

"It'll take what it takes."

"The science department will riot."

Rodney shrugged. "Isn't the first time, won't be the last. They'll learn to deal with disappointment. I certainly have."

Unsure how to respond, Radek kept his mouth closed. He watched his friend for several more minutes before he slid off the stool, moving quietly to the door. Rodney's voice made him pause just before he stepped into the hallway.

"As soon as I'm done I'll let you know."

Radek nodded, but Rodney was intent on the screen, never glancing up. His comment was the only kind of request for assistance Rodney would offer. Radek wasn't going to say no. "I will keep staff in line. However, I expect many bribes to win back my favor."

A quiet chuckle followed him into the corridor.

***

Carson Beckett glanced up from the PDA in his hands as one his nurses, Shelly Laurence, wandered past. The infirmary was quiet, thank goodness, so they'd been catching up on inventory. After everything that happened, he knew he needed to restock some items, but until he knew exactly what he had on hand, he was hesitant to place a request for supplies. For some reason, he didn't want 50,000 tongue depressors cluttering up his supplies closet. Unless he wanted to build something, they didn't do much good in large quantities.

Offering a smile and greeting, his expression quickly turned to a frown. "Shelly, are ye feeling all right?"

She paused, wiping her hand over her weary and pale face, pushing a few strands of her straight blond hair behind her ears. It looked like there was a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead, catching a few of the fine hairs, making them stick to her skin. "Fine," she replied quickly. "Haven't been sleeping well, and it looks like it's finally catching up with me. I was actually thinking about asking you if it was okay for me to go and grab a nap since we're just doing inventory."

Placing his PDA on the shelf, he turned to her moving closer. She stepped back a few feet under his scrutiny.

"I'm fine, Doctor Beckett. Just a little tired."

He placed a hand on her elbow and ushered her into the main part of the infirmary. "Let me be the judge of that," he said, helping her climb up on the nearest bed, her legs hanging over the side, swinging slightly. He moved efficiently around the area, grabbing the few things he needed. There was a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach he was trying to ignore, but as he began his examination, the feeling continued to grow.

"How long have you been feeling tired?" he asked, noting her elevated temperature on the page he'd pulled out. He'd add it to her file when he was done.

She shrugged with one shoulder, the other one held captive by Carson's blood pressure cuff. "A day or so. It's nothing, really."

"So an elevated temp and a low pressure is nothing?" he asked, the sound of the releasing Velcro loud in the large room.

At least she looked abashed, he thought, scribbling more notes. Her glands were a little swollen, she was experiencing general muscle weakness, and it seemed she was dehydrated.

"You been drinking enough water? Eating normally?"

Shelly sighed. "No and no."

He raised an eyebrow, giving her a disapproving look. "My nurses, of all people, should know how to take care of themselves."

"I haven't been hungry and my stomach's been off."

"Off?" he asked, his pen poised above her chart, fearing the answer to his next question. "Any vomiting?"

Shelly glanced away, letting out a long breath. "Not until this morning."

"Mo chreach," he said, the curse slipping out under his breath.

"What?"

Carson looked up, the muscles in his back tightening. "I think you may have caught what the Athosians have."

Her eyes widened. "But how? It's been a week, more than a week. This is just a cold."

"It must be from one of our patients on the mainland," he replied, rubbing a hand across his face. "And it looks like it has an incubation period of about a week and a half. Love, why don't you make yourself comfortable? It appears like you're gonna be my guest for a little while."

***

Running his finger down the list on the screen, Rodney McKay paused at a few entries, matching what he saw with his eyes with what he'd stored in his memory. No. That wasn't it.

He kept going, one eye on the list, the other on the open door. He'd had several visitors this morning, all scientists wanting to take a look at what Zelenka brought back. He was actually waiting for Elizabeth or Sheppard to show up. The last scientist who poked his neck in had nearly gotten his head loped off—verbally of course. Was it his fault the man was more "sensitive" than others?

They really needed to send people with thicker skins. He had no use for the crybabies. He was sure Brady had gone running to mom. At least, that's what he'd done the last three times something like this happened.

He knew it was in here. It had to be. If it wasn't he was royally screwed.

He kept looking.

On the eighteenth page of listings he found it. A one line entry. Small. Insignificant if you didn't know what you were looking for.

Tapping his finger against the screen, he rose quickly, his momentum taking him forward before his feet could catch up. Stumbling slightly, he caught himself on the edge of a shelf.

Maneuvering around the end of one shelving unit and the two stools, he moved deeper into the room, his eyes searching the hand-written notes along the way, marking each section with its appropriate Ancient designation. He was glad whoever put this stuff away could at least make a passable copy of the Ancient scrawl.

He stopped when he finally found the reference number, his hands already pulling the device from its place. Ripping the piece of paper from the edge, he tucked it into a pocket, yanking the remains of the double-sided tape from the metal, flicking it off of his fingers and onto the floor.

Quickly, quietly, he moved back toward the front of the room, pausing at the end of the aisle, looking to make sure he was still alone. Silence greeted him and he grunted, moving back to the computer and his pack, where he secured the small device, pulling the top closed.

He dropped onto the stool, his heart racing. He had it. Now, he just needed to figure out how to get it to work. Time was something he had in spades.

***

"Carson, I thought you said it wasn't contagious," Elizabeth Weir said, trying to keep her voice level and calm, even though she felt like this might be a good time to panic. A disease or virus that the Pegasus Galaxy inhabitants are having severe issues with had now infected Atlantis personnel with an outcome even her head doctor couldn't determine.

Wringing his hands a little, his face displayed much of the emotions that were running through him—concern, worry, chagrin, frustration. "I didn't think it would be, but of the four of us who went to the mainland, she's the only one feeling any ill effects."

"Nurse Matthews?"

"Is in the infirmary under Doctor Biro's watchful eye, but she's as fit as a fiddle."

"And you?"

He shrugged, his lab coat-covered shoulders slumping a little more. "Tired, but no more than usual. Have you heard from Major Lorne yet?"

Weir glanced down at her tightly clasped hands. "No. He's due to return in about an hour. Do you think it will make a difference either way?"

"No," he said, shaking his head wearily. "If he followed Shelly's symptoms, he would have been feeling it yesterday or earlier this morning. In any case, if he has it then he's probably already given it to the rest of his team."

Weir could feel her eyes widening at Beckett's words. "Shouldn't you be…" she trailed off as a frown formed on his face.

"At this point, it's in the air, Elizabeth. I'm hoping the environmental systems can scrub out the particles, but I've been in touch with…nearly everyone in the past week. I don't know when we would have been contagious, exactly, but I imagine the damage is already done. The decontamination procedure was just to make sure that we didn't bring anymore of it back with us."

"What's your plan?"

He sighed, pursing his lips a bit before he spoke. "I’m keeping Shelly under observation so I can better understand the stages and see how it affects us, as opposed to the Athosians. I'm also going to have Doctor Biro closely monitor Anne, Major Lorne, and myself."

"Good," she said, nodding to herself. "Doctor Biro's a good choice."

"In case I do become incapacitated, I wanted to have someone else involved from the very beginning since I probably have a week's head start. But there's no telling who will come down with this virus, disease…" he sighed. "We're not even sure what it is exactly."

"Well, then I think you should get back to work," she replied, as Carson moved to her door. "I'll have Lorne's team report directly to you once they're back. I'm also going to recall all of the other off-world teams."

"Good idea, but honestly," he said, pausing, "I don't think there's a big hurry. They're either already infected, immune, or they'll catch it when they gate home. They might as well finish their missions."

"What about the other people they might encounter?"

Carson shrugged. "I think this is native to this galaxy so there's a very good possibility that we might have gotten it from one of the people we met. We should check all of the off-world logs going back the past month or so. We need to find out how the Athosians got it in the first place."

"I'll get a team started on that." Elizabeth caught Carson's eyes, and nodded slightly, giving him a light smile. "You'll figure it out, you always do."

"I hope yer right."

***

"Rodney, this is Weir, come in."

Releasing a deep breath as he straightened in his chair, pausing the scroll of the Ancient database on the laptop, he answered the call, not bothering to hide his irritation. "What?"

In the pregnant pause of silence that followed his remark, he could picture her expression, her eyebrow raised in surprise and the look of annoyance flooding her features. "I have some questions about the environmental systems."

"Can it wait? I'm trying to go through everything Zelenka's team brought back."

"If I thought it could wait I wouldn't have commed you," she responded, the tone of her voice hard.

He sighed. "Look. I'm serious when I said I'm busy, but Dave Nelson's overseeing any projects involving the environmental systems. He should be able to help you, unless of course you need me to completely rebuild something. Then, yes, you were right to call me."

"I have some concerns about the system transporting contagions."

"Contagions? Are you talking about an airborne plague? Did Sheppard bring something back with him? Am I going to die because I've been sitting in this room for twelve hours?"

"Doctor McKay, slow down," she ordered, stopping his incessant questions. "Doctor Beckett is concerned that a particular virus the Athosians have may have infected some Atlantis personnel. I was concerned that it may have the ability to spread through the environmental systems."

"Actually," Rodney said, his mind already moving, leaping ahead, "depending on what it is, it may be able to be transported through the system. Some things are filtered out, yes, but a virus might be able to get through. Of course, if it was something the Ancients knew about, the system might be able to recognize it and eliminate it as a threat, but if it's new, or a mutated version of something else…I don't know. Check with Nelson. He might have some thoughts."

"Thank you. That's what I needed to know. Weir out."

Shaking his head at her abrupt sign off, he stretched a little, his muscles aching from hunching over the computer for so long. A little more time and he will have made a first pass at the database, then he could start on a closer examination of some of the devices themselves. He'd need to get Radek down here, and maybe Kusangi. At least she had the gene.

As he delved back in, he focused quickly on what he was reading, all thoughts about contagions and environmental systems fading to the back of his mind until they were totally forgotten.

***

The three off-world teams all decided to come back within ten minutes of each other. Although, it might have had to do with the order he'd given about an hour ago.

John Sheppard stood at the balcony overlooking the gateroom as the last team stepped through, depositing their finds in the pile at the side of the room where several of the science geeks were standing, visibly drooling at the Ancient technology currently on display.

Catching Elizabeth's eye, she nodded and he turned, moving swiftly, his booted feet barely making a sound as he descended, the three teams all standing in a ragged group, clustered around the base of the stairs.

"Sir," Lorne said, stepping forward. "What's going on?"

John didn't answer immediately, his gaze moving through the room, pausing on each person standing before him, noting the worry, the concern, the boredom, the fear. He turned his attention back to Lorne, asking his own question, his voice soft, but tinted with a hard edge; the kind he got when he knew something was going wrong and he could do nothing about it. "Missions went well?"

Several nods answered his question, but each team leader stepped forward. Majors George Doyle and Doug Watson—the two teams who had to come back early—reported quickly, efficiently, evidently noting Sheppard's demeanor. Good missions. They'd found a small storage area and had brought back as many items as they could carry. Additional missions were recommended.

Lorne, had moved to the side, his head tilted as he listened to the reports, watching everyone carefully, most especially John.

"Okay. I need everyone to report to the infirmary ASAP. Lorne, if you'll stay for a moment?" At the Major's nod, he continued, "Good work, everyone. You're dismissed."

Twenty-two booted feet clattered into the hallway as John strolled toward his second-in-command who hadn't moved from where he was leaning.

"We might have a problem," John began.

Lorne nodded. "Guessed as much."

"It seems the illness spreading among the Athosians has made it here."

"Beckett?"

John shook his head. "One of the nurses, Shelly Laurence."

"The blonde, right?" he asked, his frown deepening at Sheppard's nod. "She was with us on the initial trip. I still don't know everyone on the civilian side of things. There's more of them than you think."

"It takes time, I know," he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Beckett's worried it may have spread during the past week, but he's not sure how. Nelson is checking the environmental systems."

"So, why don't I feel sick?"

Sheppard shrugged. "Beckett's fine, as is Nurse Matthews."

"And he thought I was the canary."

"The what?" A raised eyebrow accompanied his question.

"Miners used canaries as the first sign of toxicity. Beckett told me I was his 'yellow canary' when we were on the mainland the second time. Seems like the job fell to Shelly." Lorne paused, his face grim. "If what the Athosians told me is any indication, we might have a big problem."

Sheppard gestured for Lorne to follow him up the stairs. The Major had to report into Weir about the mission. He might as well do it now before he headed to the infirmary. From what Beckett had told them, it was pointless to try and isolate those they suspected were infected. At this point, it probably would have been nearly the entire base.

"What do you mean?"

Lorne matched his pace and stride, walking companionably beside him. "There was talk—nothing specific, nothing that I can point to. I'm sure Beckett already shared this with you, but this illness was new to the Athosians and in some of the outer villages may have been deadly."

"Yeah, Beckett said as much," Sheppard confirmed.

Lorne glanced at him, his eyes wide, confusion on his face. "So, what exactly are we doing about it?"

"Beckett's working on it."

"That's it?"

"That's it. What else do you think we can do?" Sheppard asked, some of the frustration and anger bleeding into his voice. "Until they can figure out what it is and what we can expect, there's not much more for us to do but sit back and wait to get sick."

Lorne scowled. "Now there's a pleasant thought."

***

Radek Zelenka muttered under his breath as Leiko Kusangi and Rodney argued. They'd been at it, on and off, for the past two hours.

He was of half a mind to throw up his hands and walk out and let them kill each other, but he thought there might be some…issues with that decision. First and foremost, he did not want Rodney's job. Secondly, he knew the Marine Kusangi was dating. He was big.

Instead, he sat and waited for one of them to take a breath so he could calm them down once again, try to talk sense into their thick skulls. Building a ZPM from scratch with no directions seemed like a far easier task to accomplish.

"Do you even listen to yourself?" Rodney was asking, his hands waving widely as his face reddened, the vein on his temple bulging a little. "Do you even have a degree, let along a science degree? I swear the only way you could even remotely think that was a good idea is if you have some kind of mental deficiency."

"You said for yourself that they had all been deactivated," Kusangi replied, her voice equally irate. She was the exact opposite of McKay's assistant Miko and sometimes Radek wondered how such diversity could occur between two women who could trace their family roots to the same exact village in a remote area. Apparently, upbringing and environment played a great deal in human development, but that subject was completely outside his own area of understanding. "We need to have the science department examining them to see if we can figure out what they did then reverse engineer them. The only way that's going to happen is if you actually let us do our jobs and stop hogging all the high-profile projects for yourself."

Radek nearly jumped in as Rodney's eyes widened dramatically his mouth hanging open for a few seconds. His reply, though, came soon enough. "Hogging! You think I enjoy working all hours of the day and night—"

"Obviously you enjoy playing the part of the martyr—"

"I’m just trying to do my job," he replied, his voice tight. "But if the majority of the science department wasn't idiots I might be able to delegate some of those so-called 'high-profile projects' without the fear of them blowing up in our collective faces."

Kusangi's voice dropped, her eyes narrowing. "Then if you can't trust us, why are we here? You were the one who made the final selection of science personnel. So what does that say about your judgment?"

Rodney stared at her for several beats, his jaw tight, the vein in his temple visibly throbbing, before he turned away. "Radek, pull up the list. Let's get some of these devices into the hands of the science teams. We're getting nowhere down here."

Swiveling in his chair, Radek turned back to the laptop and quickly brought the master list up. Rodney leaned over his shoulder, pointing to several items on the first page. "Let's start with these."

Radek nodded, glancing to his side toward Kusangi, catching her self-satisfied smirk. She was just as bad as Rodney. "Who gets these?" he asked, turning his attention back to the physicist hovering over his shoulder.

"I made some arrangements earlier," he replied, stepping closer to the workbench, moving the second laptop so Radek could see the screen. "It was my initial intention to have these go out sometime next week to the staff, but it seems like I may be a little too cautious in my evaluation of current workloads. I set it up with two people per team. Let's start at the top."

As Radek called out the identification numbers, Kusangi pulled them from the shelves, tagging each item with the appropriate name. Rodney recorded it on his sheets and called the respective scientist to report to the storage room.

It would take a while to get everything examined, but at least everyone would get to play a part in the discovery.

***

The next few days passed in a blur.

Carson Beckett had put the medical staff on high alert, everyone working long shifts to figure out what they were dealing with. From the reports she got twice a day, there was still a lot they didn't know, that they were guessing at. Nurse Lawrence's health was rapidly declining and a handful of others suffering similar symptoms had surfaced within the last two days.

One, thankfully, was not related to the illness, but that still left the medical staff with five patients—and with a number that would be growing.

Lorne, Matthews, and Carson, however, were symptom-free—so far. The only common denominator: they all had the ATA gene, whereas everyone else who contracted the disease did not have it.

But why hadn't this illness spread like wildfire through the Athosian population? There was something else, another factor at play. It was just a matter of finding it.

And that needed to happen sooner, rather than later. Especially after the report from the mainland this morning. Two of Beckett's Athosian patients—young men who had been in relatively good health prior to this—had died during the night.

Given the progress of the disease, Carson was estimating that they had about two weeks before it ran its full course. But would that be enough time to find a cure?

Weir had several techs going through the gate logs, trying to find out where this illness might have originated. There had been several Athosians off-world in the past few months. It was a matter of tracking everything down. But that also took time.

The science department, though, seemed completely oblivious to everything else going on. Like the medical department, they were working round the clock. The daily reports from Rodney about their progress with the Ancient devices were encouraging. Several were simple: timers for larger time-delayed devices, sensor relays, and shock grenades—much like what the Goa'uld used. It was still strange to see technology—Ancient technology—that was so clearly identified with the Goa'uld. Intellectually she knew that they were scavengers, using the technology they discovered, but it always gave her a start when she looked at something Ancient and instinctively thought Goa'uld.

It seemed everything they'd collected were pieces to much larger devices, mainly weapons. She could imagine John's reaction to the reports. If things had been different, he would probably have taken up residence in the labs alongside McKay.

But, that wasn't about to happen anytime soon, if she was any good at reading Sheppard's body language. He was still angry, not as intensely or all consuming as it had been, but under the surface it still burned. She wondered if it would ever completely go away.

"Ma'am?"

She glanced up, surprised by the interruption. It was late, way past time for her to be in bed. With everything going on, she'd been having problems falling asleep, so she'd decided to read a few more reports before attempting to catch a little shuteye.

"Yes, Brian? What is it?"

The gate technician smiled apologetically as he presses his headset closer to his ear. "I'm getting reports of an explosion."

She found herself on her feet, her chair pushed back away from her desk, without realizing when she'd stood up. "Where?"

"One of the science wings. Atlantis responded by closing down the section. Teams are already on the way."

She moved around her desk, walking beside Whitmore into the control room. "Do we know who was in there?"

"No. Communication within the affected labs is intermittent."

"Rodney will know who's in there." She pressed the call button on her comm. "Doctor McKay, come in please, this is Weir."

"Ma'am," Whitmore said, his hand on her arm, his face a mix of emotions. "Doctor McKay is one of the people I can't reach."

***

John Sheppard pounded down the hallway, dodging a few dirty and staggering scientists, the smoke getting thicker the closer he got to the source of the explosion. Thankfully, they were in one of the more unused sections of Atlantis—or at least unused until this week when it had been commandeered for any and all research involving the Ancient devices they'd uncovered.

McKay hadn't wanted the items in the main labs. It seemed he'd had good reason.

Ronon appeared at one of the intersections, pausing only long enough to set his pace next to Sheppard as they continued down the hall. It looked like the Satedan had pulled on whatever clothing was handy after John's hasty late-night summons. "What happened?"

"Explosion in the labs. No one can get hold of McKay."

The other man grunted in surprise. "He was in there?"

John shrugged, side-stepping around a medic who was bent over one of the scientists—Simpson, from the looks of it. "Hold up a sec," he said, moving back a few paces before dropping down to one knee beside the woman. She was half-covered in dirt and grime—soot maybe—her blue eyes a little glazed, her normally perfectly preened and arranged brown hair hanging limply around her face, the stringy ends sticking to the sweat on her neck and face.

"Doctor Simpson, what happened?"

She glanced up, squinting in the half-light of the hallway, but didn't move otherwise, allowing the doctor to treat her injuries, including a gash on her right forearm. "We were working on some of the devices we'd brought up from the storage room, had been for most of the day."

"Who's 'we'?"

"The science staff…more or less everyone who wasn't already busy with another project."

"How about McKay and Zelenka?" John could feel Ronon standing behind him, impatience radiating off the warrior in ever-increasing waves. He was a man of action and this, to him, was a waste. Glancing up quickly, John indicated with a wave of his hand for the Satedan to continue on without him. A sharp nod and Ronon was gone, the barest swoosh of fabric indicating his departure.

Simpson nodded in answer to his question, wincing as the movement jostled her arm. "They were overseeing the teams; Zelenka, McKay, and Kusangi. I was helping them out the best I could."

"You weren't working on anything specific?"

"No," she hissed, trying to pull her limb from the medic as he tried to clean the wound. "They kept asking questions, interrupting them. Zelenka thought it would be easier if the three of them were floaters in the lab. Less aggravation."

John nodded, agreeing with their actions. Glancing down the hall, he saw a good portion of the science staff littering the corridor, everyone with various injuries. From the looks of it, mostly minor.

Another group of medics hurried past, a grim-faced Carson in the lead, loaded down with medical supplies.

"So what happened?"

"Not sure. Brady called McKay over to look at something. Zelenka was down the hall, I think, with Swartson. Miko was there too somewhere, but I’m not sure who she was helping. She might have been with McKay. The next thing I hear is McKay ordering everyone out. Something about power spikes. But none of the devices were active. Most of them weren't even complete."

"You left?"

She nodded, wincing as her arm was wrapped in gauze. "With that tone, I wasn't going to argue."

"Tone?"

"Surprise. Panic." She shrugged. "His usual 'oh shit' reflex."

"How many scientists were in the labs?"

"This late…maybe twenty, twenty-five. I'd been helping Jones for a while and I hadn't gotten the chance to do a walk through in about an hour."

"You're all done, doc," the medic said, interrupting. "You should still report to the infirmary for a full check-up."

"I will," she replied, offering a quick smile of thanks to the man as he moved to the next patient.

"Which lab were McKay and Brady in?"

"One of the first ones off the main room, to the left I think." She paused, her eyes finally wandering around the corridor, taking in the smoke and the groans of pain and controlled panic as the teams tried to ascertain the damage. "Is everyone okay?"

"We're trying to find that out," John replied, helping Simpson to her feet and steadying her when she swayed. "You should probably go to the infirmary. Do you need help getting there?"

She shook her head. "I can wait."

"Doc—"

"No," she said, cutting off his comment. "I need to see what happened."

Gesturing to one of his men, John nodded to Simpson. "Fine. Captain Andrews here will stay with you and make sure you get to the infirmary when you're ready to go. Okay?"

She nodded. "Thanks."

John smiled briefly, tightly. "I have to go. Andrews, you know what to do."

"Yes, sir."

Turning, John moved down the corridor, trying not to inhale the smoke the environmental systems were trying to clear out. Something was still burning in the labs—a cross between wires, electronics, paper, and something else. That last part was something he'd recognize anywhere.

He clamped down on his fears, his worries. There was time for that later, once everything was cataloged and cleaned up and the dead were carried away.

"Colonel!"

He saw a figure walking toward him, hair even more askew than normal, his glasses bearing several smears of grime. Overall, though, he was one of the cleaner scientists in the area. Simpson was right. He'd been down the hall when this happened. "Zelenka?"

"Colonel, you must help me. I cannot find Rodney."

***

Teyla maneuvered through the congested hallway, passing many injured and ailing Atlanteans. She'd spotted Sheppard speaking with one of them, kneeling beside her as her wounds were bound.

She continued on, moving closer to the center of the destruction, trying not to get in the way, but it was hard. The explosion had taken out the main power in this section, leaving them only with emergency lighting, making the corridor even more treacherous.

Carson was setting up a single field station adjacent to the main door to the lab where several scientists—some of them injured and bleeding—worked alongside Major Lorne's team, trying to get the doors to open.

"Doctor," she called, moving to his side. "Where are Doctor McKay and Ronon? I do not see either of them."

He glanced up, pausing long enough to answer her question, his bloodshot eyes weary. She knew he had been busy studying the illness that had struck her people as well as his own. This had come at a most inopportune time—not that accidents in the science labs were ever opportune. "Ronon's with the other team tryin' ta get in. There's another entrance through some of the smaller labs. They're hoping ta get past the lockdown."

"Lockdown?" Her gaze scanned the corridor, the smoke slowly lifting, the smell unpleasant.

"Atlantis automatically reacts when something like this happens," Sheppard said, obviously catching her question as he appeared at her side. "It tries to contain the damage to one section, or a series of sections. Since it seems some of the scientists got out, the lockdown might have been progressive, letting people leave before locking up behind them."

"Aye, but that also means we canna get in."

"We're trying, Doc," Sheppard said, his face hard as he watched Lorne's team working on the doors.

Ronon's voice called out over the comm. "Sheppard?"

"Here," he replied, clicking his radio to transmit. "What is it?"

"We're about through. You might want to be here. It smells bad."

Sheppard's face twitched slightly, the only outward sign that this was affecting him. "Understood. I'll be right there." He turned toward them. "Carson, Teyla, you're with me."

She nodded, the doctor echoing her gesture, as they silently followed the Colonel down the hallway, grabbing equipment along the way.

When they reached the second group, Sheppard immediately moved toward the front, the strange equipment in his hands. She leaned over to the doctor, confused. "What is Colonel Sheppard doing?"

"He has the fire extinguisher ready, just in case."

"In case of what?"

"Don't you smell it?"

She turned to him, seeing the resignation in his eyes. "Smell what?"

"I'm surprised you can't pick it out. Maybe I've been around too many fires."

"Doctor Beckett, your words are troubling. What are you attempting to tell me?"

He sighed, looking away. "The scent that's turning your stomach, love, only comes from one thing. Burnt flesh."

***

The smell was stronger once the doors to the lab opened—much stronger. Two scientists were inside that first room, huddled in the corner, bruised and battered but alive.

Carson Beckett had quickly gotten to work, Teyla at his side as his assistant while the rest of his staff treated the wounded out in the corridor. His hands moved instinctively, cleaning and binding the wounds, speaking consolingly, comforting them as he helped them work through the pain before the meds could kick in.

But even as he worked, he was listening to the conversations around him.

There was another locked door, another obstacle. Sheppard had sent Radek to the control room to try to unlock the doors from the main system since none of the panels were giving them access.

There had to be a better way to do this. It was taking too long, much too long.

Lieutenant Clark helped move the scientists when he was done, walking them slowly into the hall where stretches waited to take them to the infirmary.

A cry of surprise rose up from the group at the door and Carson glanced up. There was an opening, he could see into the next lab.

"Good job, Radek," Sheppard said, even as two of the marines forced the door the rest of the way open, finally giving them access to the area. They moved through quickly, silently, the destruction getting more substantial the closer they got to the main section of the lab, to where they thought Rodney and Doctor Brady had been.

"Sheppard," Carson whispered, the lone word enough to get the Colonel to pause, to glance over his shoulder allowing Beckett to see the stern soldier mask that had been slipped onto his face.

The other man must have seen something on his face that made him stop, only speaking when Carson was beside him, the words hissed through clenched teeth. "Stop it. Stop thinking that. They're going to be fine."

"You don't know that, Colonel," he replied, knowing finally what Sheppard had seen. It was the same expression he saw on the others with them—horror and resignation that they were far too late to make a difference.

"I have to believe that otherwise we're doing this for nothing. Every person is important on this base and I'll do everything in my power to make sure they can live another day. You understand?"

Carson nodded, not sure what other response to give. But he could see as well as anyone else. How could someone survive this?

They continued on, side-stepping around debris that had been thrown from the blast. As they moved closer, some equipment was still smoldering but a quick burst from the extinguisher solved that problem.

It wasn't until they reached the main lab that they found the bodies.

Two of them.

"Oh dear, God," Carson muttered, his heart dropping. This couldn't be happening.

Weir's voice across the communications system nearly made him jump out of his skin. "Sheppard, come in. This is Weir."

John tapped his headset, his eyes refusing to look away from the carnage. "Go ahead," he said, pausing to listen to Elizabeth. Since he couldn't hear her side of the conversation any more, he assumed they'd gone on a private channel once he picked up the call.

"We're in the lab now. Were you able to get a final count? Radek was supposed to give you that information."

Carson moved slowly, trying to avoid the worst spots in the room where jagged metal poked out from under blackened debris.

"He's not sure? I need to know how many I'm looking for Elizabeth. Two is a much smaller number than five."

Finding a spot to kneel, he eased himself down, gently laying his pack beside him as if the small noises he made could wake the men lying before him. He closed his eyes, trying to get his emotions under control, but the image was burned into his mind.

"I understand. Sheppard out."

Glancing up, Carson caught John's gaze seeing the possibility of hope within.

"Zelenka says that there are five scientists missing. We have two here, so we're looking for three more. Get moving people. Time is not on our side tonight."

In between breaths, the rescue team moved out—carefully, cautiously. John, however, was standing in front of one of the still closed doors.

Carson watched as Sheppard turned his radio back on. "Doctor Z, I need you to open another door for me."

Whatever the answer, it was clear the other man didn't like it. "No, I don't care that the main systems are having heart palpitations as you try to re-route everything. I want you to do one thing: get the damn door open."

Standing, Beckett reached down and grabbed his bag, moving around the two bodies at his feet. It must have been in the way he was holding himself, but Carson knew that John knew something—or at least had a supposition.

"Colonel?" Carson asked, having the intense look Sheppard had on the door turned toward him.

"Doctor Kusangi said Brady and McKay were working in one of the smaller rooms off the main lab, but it's obvious the explosion happened in here, not in there," he replied quietly, evenly, his hand gesturing between the room they were in and the other one beyond the locked door.

"So, they moved the device?"

"Maybe," Sheppard replied, his voice thoughtful as he obviously tried to work through what happened. Trying to get into the mind of one loud, obnoxious, and over-bearing physicist in particular was a job Carson wouldn't wish on anyone. If what he could see on the outside was any indication, the inside of Rodney's mind was something altogether too frightening to even consider, let alone examine.

Sheppard narrowed his eyes at the door, but Carson doubted he was even seeing what was in front of him. "McKay would want to try and contain the blast. It would make sense that he would have tried to leave the device in the smaller room, closing and locking the door as he got himself and the scientists out of the labs. Rodney's sense of self-preservation always kicks in."

"True, but that's not what happened."

"Unless someone else thought it might be a good idea to move it somewhere else, maybe somewhere it would do less harm." Sheppard paused, his face firmly set in a puzzled expression. "I wonder what that room backs up to."

"You could ask Zelenka."

Sheppard nodded and pressed the call button again. This time Carson heard John through his headset echoing what he was saying as he stood beside him. "Sheppard to Zelenka."

The replying deep sigh nearly made Carson laugh. "You want doors open or not? If so, you should stop bothering the scientists who are working."

"What does this lab back up to?"

"What?"

"The small lab that you're trying to get me into. What's behind it?"

"Nothing of consequence. Large empty space that no one is using for anything. Why?"

Sheppard's forehead creased in confusion. "Then why did they move the device into the main lab? Wouldn't it make more sense to try to contain it in a smaller location?"

"Yes, but since when is commonsense a requirement for science? Hold while I bring up the schematics for that section."

The Colonel raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting a little before his gaze transferred to the lab and the teams that had spread out, covering all areas.

Ronon plodded back into the main lab a few seconds later. "One more body over here."

Sheppard nodded, acknowledging the warrior's report. Three dead, two more to go.

"Colonel," Zelenka said, pulling their attention back to the locked door. "It seems you were correct. Some of Atlantis' major systems are connected though the rear wall of that lab. Perhaps Rodney knew?"

"Systems? Which ones?"

"Power, for one. Environmental also. All primary."

"Damn. He had to have known."

"Yes, Colonel, and you should have access to door in a few more seconds."

Sure enough, the panels parted before them, opening several inches before stopping. Pulling out his flashlight, he aimed it inside, the light stopping on a set of booted feet.

"Someone's in here. Give me a hand, Doc," he said, his flashlight tucked in his tactical vest, already pulling and yanking at the door. Dropping his case, Carson leaned into it, tugging to open the door enough to let them enter. Slowly, they parted.

"Go, Doc. I'll get Ronon to help get them open all the way."

Nodding, Carson picked up his case and squeezed through the opening, the emergency lighting barely giving him enough illumination to see. Rounding the workbench, he stopped suddenly, stifling an urge to laugh.

For all intents and purposes it looked like he was interrupting an interlude between Rodney and Miko, one of McKay's scientists—at least until you looked closely and you took a deep breath, catching the coppery smell of blood. Rodney was on top, most of his body covering the smaller woman. Several large gashes adorned his back, the blood darkening his shirt and jacket.

"Doc?" Sheppard must have seen him pause.

"I have two in here, Colonel. Rodney and Miko."

"And that makes five," Sheppard said as Carson knelt beside them, his hands reaching out to check for vitals. Neither scientist responded to his touch, but their pulses were strong—although Rodney's was a little thready and faster than he'd like.

"I need more light," he called out as he opened his bag, his eyes drifting to the dark puddle on the floor and the blood on Rodney's face. Miko had a cut on her temple, but he wouldn't know more until he could move McKay. "And I need cervical collars and two backboards."

"The medics are already on their way," Sheppard reported a beat later, his voice much closer than it had been a moment ago, light now shining directly on his patients. Glancing over his shoulder, he discovered John only a few feet away, squatting down beside him, his eyes intent on the two scientists.

"You called them in?"

John shook his head, his expression closed off, his gaze not altering. "They were on their way already. They figured if we found anyone we were going to need a little help."

Carson nodded and proceeded to clean the cuts he could reach. He pulled several shards of metal from Rodney's back, dropping them into a small container Sheppard was holding for him. A muttered curse and a loud bang indicated the arrival of the medics a few minutes later.

Anne Matthews poked her head into the room, her face pale and pinched, strands of her brown hair hanging loose, having slipped free from her clip. "Doctor Beckett, where do you want this?"

Flashing a thankful smile, he turned back to what he was doing. He needed to get these wounds cleaned as best he could before he moved Rodney. "Bring the collars and the backboards in here. I'm going to need them sooner rather than later."

Five minutes later, after much straining and careful maneuvering, Rodney was strapped to the first board and headed to the infirmary. Miko was only a few minutes behind him. Neither had regained consciousness.

Now the real work began.

***

With environmental systems back online and the lights up to full power it was easier to clean up the mess. However, it also meant that they could finally see the extent of the damage.

John was glad he didn't have to try to explain this to the landlord. And Elizabeth wasn't going to be happy either.

All the injured, bruised, battered, and smoke inhaled scientists finally had been transported to the infirmary a few hours ago. The three bodies had finally been removed and sent to the morgue where Doctor Biro would complete the autopsies—even though they pretty much knew what killed them.

In the meantime, John had arranged several clean-up details consisting of both scientists and military personnel to sort through the wreckage, saving what they could and trashing the rest. As Ancient devices were uncovered, they were cataloged and set aside. They would need careful examination in a protected environment before anyone would get to look at them again.

Radek waded in as soon as he'd turned up about an hour ago, ignoring Sheppard's order to report to the infirmary. He was fine, he claimed, even though it looked like he was about ready to drop. Right now he was muttering to himself in Czech and scowling heavily.

Sheppard stepped up alongside, wiping his hands on his pants leg, blending additional dirt into the fabric. "Doctor Z," he said keeping his tone light and conversational. He wasn't in the mood to deal with spooked scientists. "You okay?"

Zelenka glanced up, the scowl deepening before he relaxed a little, slumping against the workbench. "Tired. Worried. This should not have happened."

John resisted the quip running through his mind that referenced a famous fictional English detective. "No, it shouldn't have." But even as he tried to keep his temper under control, there was a part of him that was very angry and upset. Three people were dead because of these stupid devices, with two more seriously injured, not including the twenty other scientists who'd been involved. As he continued, he knew his own frustration and worry tinted his tone more toward irate, but he didn't care.

"What was McKay thinking? I thought everything was deactivated. Are there any more we have to worry about? We have a storage room full of stuff."

Radek looked at him steadily for several moments and John thought that he might not respond at all. He'd opened his mouth to say something else—what, he didn't know—but the scientist finally spoke, the words pitched so they wouldn't travel further than John's ears.

"As much as we wished things were different, as much as we rely on exact figures and measurements, science is as much an art as anything else. Here, though, every decision we make—even small ones—can have disastrous consequences. Today is not a proud moment for any of us." Radek's gaze shifted from his fingers to the top of the worktable, refusing to lift his head. "Yes, we are arrogant, demanding, but it is because if we are not you may see just how terrified we are and then you might lose the small sliver of hope we have given you."

Finally, he glanced up, his face showing everything. John nearly took a step back from the intensity of the emotion, the starkness he saw on Zelenka's bare face. "I think I shall report to the infirmary. If you require my assistance, you can find me there until Doctor Beckett removes me."

Pushing himself away from the table, the Czech moved away, his shoulders even more rounded than when he'd walked in and surveyed the damage for the first time. Watching him step through the debris until he was out of sight, John finally turned, his gaze raking over the rest of the room, his hands on his hips.

What was next? At this point, he wasn't sure anymore.

***

Elizabeth Weir moved through the nearly silent halls of Atlantis, the reduced lighting only emphasizing her own dark thoughts. It was nearly 0200 and most of the city was still awake, recovering from the accident in the science labs.

She'd waited in her office, reading reports, helping to organize teams for rescue and clean-up, thinking about the three letters she'd have to write.

This shouldn't have happened.

She'd finally ventured into the labs to see the damage for herself and she couldn't help but be amazed at how much destruction the one device had caused. She spotted John and Ronon dismantling a section of cabinets that had taken the brunt of the blast, using both bare hands and hack saws. Lorne was sweeping another section, the clinking of glass and metal echoing through the room with every swipe of the broom. Several scientists were huddled in a corner wading through whatever equipment looked halfway salvageable.

It would take days before this section was back to anything close to normal, and the smell—she wasn't sure that would ever go away. In all actuality, she wouldn't be surprised if the science department moved out altogether. Although, there weren't many interconnected rooms like this left in this area.

Leaving the crews to their work, she'd turned and headed directly to the infirmary. By now thing should have quieted down dramatically. She should be able to get an update from Carson without receiving his wrath.

Stepping inside, she was unsurprised to see the majority of the infirmary beds full. Doctor Biro was hovering at the end of the nearest bed, writing notes down in the chart. She glanced very briefly over her shoulder as Weir entered, throwing her words over her shoulder as she continued to write.

"Lemons are in the shower. You'll want to start there if you're not bleeding."

"Lemons?"

Biro turned abruptly, her lips forming an "o" as she realized what she'd just said. "Sorry. We're still getting some of the cleaning crew stumbling down here with cuts and bruises. The lemon helps to get out the smell. If they're not bleeding, it's easier to have them shower first."

Weir smile was brittle. "I understand. Is Carson around?"

"Sure. I think I saw him last in his office. If he's not there, he's in one of the private rooms. Anne should know exactly where he is if you find her."

Elizabeth nodded and quietly moved deeper into the infirmary, offering gentle smiles and nods to those who were awake and caught her eye as she passed through. Turning a corner, she spotted Beckett seated at his desk, his elbows on the surface, his head in his hands.

Tapping lightly on the doorframe, she tried not to startle him. "Carson?"

"Elizabeth," he replied as he lifted his head, his bloodshot blue eyes glassy with fatigue. He gestured for her to enter and have a seat. "Come in. I was just gettin' ready to make my report, but ye beat me to it. Sorry about the mess," he added, as she moved a pile of paperwork that had accumulated on one of his guest chairs.

Depositing it on the floor, she chuckled lightly. "Don't worry, I've seen worse. So," she began, pausing slightly as she settled into the seat, not sure how to begin exactly. Where did you start? He obviously noticed her dilemma and just began speaking.

"I'll start with the accident report," he said, shuffling several pages on his desk before he picked up the one he wanted. "We treated twenty-two people, two of which were critical care cases, which I'll talk about in more detail in a moment. Out of the twenty then, most were treated for cuts and bruises and some smoke inhalation, but thankfully that was minor. The fire suppression system helped there."

Squinting at the sheet, he continued a beat later, rubbing his hand over one of his eyes. "A few of the rescue personnel were injured as well—mostly not paying attention to where they were stepping, but those were all minor. Overall, I'm keeping about ten overnight, just in case of any complications, but I’m not expecting any."

"Rodney and Miko?"

"I'll get there in a moment," he replied, shifting to another folder and another report. "We're making some slow progress with this disease, but after tonight, we're going to have to make up some time. Shelly's symptoms are progressing, but the cocktail I have her on seems to slow things down. I've started the other patients on a similar program and it seems to be helping—at least early on. We're keeping our fingers crossed."

"That sounds great, Carson," Weir complimented. She knew he'd be able to figure the illness out. It was just taking a little more time.

"Now for Rodney and Miko," he said, sighing a little as he shuffled more papers. "Doctor Kusangi had a minor concussion and a few cuts and bruises. It seems that Rodney managed to shield her from the majority of the flying debris. She regained consciousness not long after she arrived here, but because of the concussion we're keeping a close eye on her."

When he paused again, something in the pit of her stomach dropped. "Rodney was by far the one in the worst shape—apart from the dead bodies of course. He had multiple lacerations on his back, his arms and lower extremities as well as numerous cuts and bruises." Shaking his head he continued. "We managed to clean and debride all of his wounds, stitching a few, others we could close with a few butterfly bandages. I have him on pain meds because he's very uncomfortable."

"He was unconscious, I thought? The initial reports—"

"Yes, he was. He woke up mid-way through treatment screaming bloody murder, claiming we were ripping his skin off. The meds were for his comfort and safety."

He paused again, taking a few moments to rub at his eyes. "Once we were done and he settled down, I was able to get a better idea of how he was doing. Apart from the pain, he was coherent; knew where he was and what happened. Even though I didn't tell him about the deaths of the scientists, he knew already."

"Can I see him?"

Beckett shrugged. "If you want, but he was sleeping when I was in there a few minutes ago."

"I'd like to see him if I may," she replied, her words more of an order than a request. Hearing her tone, he nodded and slowly rose to his feet.

"Come on, but I'm going to insist that you do not wake him. The longer he sleeps, the less pain he'll feel."

She nodded, following Beckett as he led her toward the private rooms in the rear of the infirmary, he paused outside one, exchanging a few hushed words with his head nurse, Anne Matthews, before entering.

McKay was lying more or less on his stomach, a pillow half supporting him so he wasn't lying totally flat. Wires tracked from the machines surrounding him under the blankets that had been adjusted and folded perfectly so there wasn't a rumple. His face was pale and drawn, a few butterfly bandages on his temple and on the skin she could see above the sheet.

An IV ran into his arm and Beckett stepped to the side, adjusting the flow. She raised an eyebrow toward him and he moved back toward her, whispering a reply to her unvoiced question. "He was dehydrated and his electrolytes were all out of balance, so I'm trying to replace them while he's here. It doesn't look like he's been eating as regularly as he should."

"Does he have what's going around?"

"No, there's no sign of it. This is just Rodney being stubborn."

Gesturing for her to follow him, they stopped just outside the room where they could talk in something more than a whisper. "He should be right as rain in a few days. Depending on how uncomfortable he is, I may keep him here the entire time. Might be easier than listening to him complain. You may want to re-assign some of his current projects until he's back on his feet."

"How long?"

"It all depends on him. If he follows my instructions and takes it easy, a few days. If he doesn't…" Carson shrugged. "I'd say four days tops and he can return to light duty. Three if he behaves."

Elizabeth nodded. "I'll make the arrangements for Doctor Zelenka to take over some of his projects. Although, I imagine most of his time was going to the Ancient devices."

"I imagine you're correct," he replied, moving with her as they walked back toward the main section of the infirmary.

"You're going to get some rest, right?" she asked when they reached his office. He nodded wearily.

"Aye. Anne's been after me for a few hours now, so I’m going to catch a bit of shut-eye in one of the rooms in the back that's empty. I want to be around in case Rodney wakes up cranky. Anne can handle him, but there's no need to subject her to him when he's in pain."

"And it's okay that you do it to yourself?"

Carson shrugged, a wry smile touching his lips. "I'm used to it. Besides, if I don't he'll swear he's dying."

"Get some rest, Carson."

"Aye. You too."

"Have a good night, and good work."

He nodded, offering her a half smile that she took with her as she walked out of the infirmary and to her quarters, deciding to take her own advice to heart. She could finish everything up tomorrow.

***

He was tired of lying down. He was tired of blinking only to find several hours had passed and it was time for someone to poke at his wounds. Then, he grew tired of staring at the same walls for hours on end, keeping as still as possible because every movement hurt like the dickens. He was tired of drifting in and out when the pain got to be too much and he couldn't sleep, allowing him to hover somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

Apart from Carson and that Anne girl, oh, and an occasional visit from Radek, he'd been left to his own devices, allowed to stew and think of everything that had gone wrong and what he might have done to fix it.

Rodney was tired of playing the 'what if' game. He never won and it always made him depressed.

"Rodney?"

The voice came from the door, hesitant and with a lilt. Carson. What did he want now? Hadn't he just been in here to bother him a few minutes ago, or was that a few hours. He hated not knowing where the time went.

"What?" he mumbled into the pillow, tired of not being able to see who was coming in the room.

"Are you up for a visitor?"

"Not like I'm doing anything else," he replied, rolling his eyes as he shifted a little, hissing in pain, but realizing it wasn't as bad as he remembered.

"Okay, then, I'll leave you two alone," he said; the swoosh of fabric the only indication that Beckett had left. When no one came into view immediately, Rodney's jaw tightened in annoyance.

"If you're just going to stand there and stare I'm sure there are much more interesting things to look at somewhere else."

A shuffle of feet followed a beat later and John Sheppard came into view. Rodney's scowl darkened.

"Did you get lost?"

Sheppard returned the scowl as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "You up to answering a few questions?"

"Talking I can do."

"I noticed," he said dryly. "So what happened to the damn lab, McKay?"

"Oh, did you miss the whole event? I thought an Ancient device exploding within a confined space would be pretty obvious."

"Brady was working on it?"

"Yes yes yes. Brady was working on it," he replied, his arm itching to gesture and move, but he knew he'd end up paying the price. "He was having some issues so he called me into the lab he was working on. Kusangi, Zelenka, and I were floaters, helping anyone they needed it—which was most everyone, but that's another story entirely."

"The device?"

"Everything was fine until he decided to poke at the insides. He must have hit something because we started getting a power reading, one that was increasing steadily."

"Booby trap?"

"Maybe. In any case, we needed to turn it off, but Brady—the brilliant man that he was—decided he knew what the problem was and that he could fix it. That wasn't the case. So while he blundered along, I ordered everyone out as a precaution."

"How did the device end up in the main lab?"

"When it became painfully obvious to all of us that he didn't have any idea what he was doing, he started to panic. We had a safe box in the lab. I suggested we place it in there and let the damn thing explode. It would have been contained. I didn't want it going off in the small lab because god only knows what it would have done to the pipes and systems running through that back wall. Then Brady had an epiphany."

McKay shifted, trying to alleviate some of the tension growing in his back shoulder muscles. Just thinking about it made him angry. "There was some tool in the main lab that he knew would fix the problem, so he took it into the lab and the rest, as you say, is history."

"That's it?"

"That's it. What were you expecting 'War and Peace'? It was a stupid accident."

"And three men are dead."

"I know."

"So, how did Brady end up with the device in the first place?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "He got it from me."

"I see," Sheppard said, his tone condescending.

"What do you want from me?" Rodney asked, shoving himself a few inches upward so he could look at John a little closer. He hissed in pain, but didn't stop until he was poised on his elbows, his body lifted farther than it had been in nearly two days. "They knew what they were working with, knew it was dangerous. We were taking all the appropriate precautions."

Sheppard shoved himself away from the wall, taking a few steps forward before stopping, still more than an arm's length from the bed. "I thought you and Zelenka were going to go over every single entry in that database before handing out the devices like candy to babies."

"That would have taken weeks to go through everything. They knew what they were doing," McKay replied, pushing out the response through gritted teeth.

"Apparently not."

"What do you want from me? An apology?" McKay asked, his voice rising along with the noise from the monitors. "Well, you can have that. I’m sorry they're dead, but it was Brady's damn fault. If he'd only listened in the first place—"

"Listened to who? You?"

"Yes, me. Who else?"

"Well, if you'd only taken your time and examined everything before handing it out we wouldn't be having this conversation now, would we?"

"Gentlemen!"

Carson stormed into the room, rounding the bed so both John and Rodney could see the anger on his face. "I did not let you in here to agitate my patient, Colonel, so unless you can continue this conversation in a normal tone and volume, I suggest you leave."

"I'm done." Sheppard said, his expression locking down. He turned a moment later, walking out the door, his back so rigid it looked painful. He didn't glance back.

Rodney glared at the wall, refusing to meet Carson's eyes even when he felt a hand rest lightly on his shoulder, trying to help ease him back down onto the bed. His arms were shaking and it didn't take much before he was once again resting against the pillows, the pain in his back only fueling his anger, his frustration, his own guilt. He shouldn’t have listened to Kusangi, but the decision had been made and he wasn't one to point fingers. He was the boss and the buck stopped with him.

"Are you in a lot of pain? I should look at the stitches and make sure you didn't pull anything."

"I'm fine."

"Rodney, it'll just take a minute—"

"I said I'm fine. Now if you don't mind, I'm tired and I'd like to sleep." Closing his eyes, he shifted slightly, trying to make himself comfortable, trying to move without hissing.

A moment later and he felt his muscles start to sag in relief. He appreciated the fact that Beckett had ignored him, giving him a little something through the IV to take the edge off. As he drifted off to sleep he realized Sheppard hadn't even bothered to ask him how he was feeling.

***

"I still do not understand why I am here," Zelenka said, sitting down in one of Elizabeth's office chairs as Colonel Sheppard lounged near the closed door.

"We wanted to speak to you about what transpired the other night in the lab," Weir replied, her tone even, clearly intent on keeping and holding her composure. That night had scared many—her included—he thought as his gaze rested on her pale face.

"Did you not talk to Rodney? He gave me report when asked."

Weir's eyes slid sideways toward the Colonel. "John spoke with him."

"So, what seems to be issue?"

Her glaze moved again, this time resting on her clasped hands before she finally responded. "Colonel Sheppard and I think that it would be in the best interests of Atlantis for you to take over the project involving the Ancient devices the four off-world teams brought back."

Zelenka felt his forehead wrinkling a little as he glanced back and forth between the two people before him. "I'm afraid I still do not understand."

"It's simple." Sheppard said, forcibly removing himself from the wall. "We want you to make sure we don't have any more accidents like the one we had."

"But," Radek said, "I'm already in charge of that project. I spoke with Rodney yesterday when I got his full report. He informed me that I was to take over any further research regarding the Ancient devices, that he had other projects he needed to do that were more important." Zelenka shrugged. "Did he not speak to you about it?"

Sheppard and Weir actually looked shocked at his words. Elizabeth finally managed to pull her thoughts together. "No," she said, pausing to glance at the other man whose own gaze was fixed on the opposite wall. "He was sleeping when I was there last."

Radek, though, knew the truth of her statement. She'd been there once on the night of the accident and had yet to return. Sheppard, likewise, had visited once and had left as if the devil was nipping at his heels—according to the rumors that is. And Zelenka knew who to trust when it came to information like this.

"Then, if there is nothing more," he said rising to his feet and adjusting the glasses on his nose.

"No. No, I think we're done," Weir said, her lips a thin line.

Nodding, he walked to the door, palming the release on the side, waiting as the panel opened to allow him to exit. "Colonel," he added, before the door was completely open, "before you file your final report, you may wish to speak with Doctor Kusangi. She may have some additional information."

"Thanks," he replied, his voice distant. "I'll do that."

Walking through the control room he ignored the curious glances and the furtive looks. Sometimes he swore he worked in a high school instead of a highly classified alien outpost in another galaxy. At this point, he was not sure there was much of a difference.

***

John Sheppard wandered though the main science lab, the late hour making the trek a nearly silent one. Wisinski had confirmed that Kusangi was in the lab, 'somewhere in the back', which left quite a number of small offices and laboratories for him to search. He offered quick smiles to the scientists who looked up when he poked his head in the door, but mostly the few remaining ones ignored him. That was normal, though.

He finally found her in the back of the lab, apparently exactly where Wisinski said she'd be. Knocking lightly on the door frame, she glanced up from her computer workstation, pausing in her typing only long enough to wave him in.

"Colonel, what can I do for you?"

As he stepped inside, his eyes immediately scanned the room, noting the clutter on the shelves and surfaces. He was sure that she had every single dust particle cataloged. She was the type that even amidst absolute chaos would know exactly where something was.

The clicking of her fingers on the keyboard was the only sound as he settled into the stool opposite from where she was working. There was still a bandage on her arm from the accident several nights ago, but she seemed more subdued than normal. He'd been down here before when she and McKay were going at it. She could give almost as good as the physicist.

"I was finishing up my report of the accident the other night and Zelenka mentioned that you might have something to add," he finally said, deciding not to beat around the bush. The Czech had already side-swiped them today. He wasn't looking for a head-on collision with another immovable scientist.

The typing slowed before it finally trailed off entirely, her hands sliding off the keyboard to rest in her lap. She held his gaze evenly for a long moment before she nodded once, slowly, more, it seemed, in answer of her own internal question than anything else.

"What has Doctor McKay told you?"

"That Doctor Brady thought he could fix the device he accidentally turned on."

"No, not about that. We've all been through that," she said, rolling her eyes, her right hand lifting up enough to offer an absent wave. "Before that."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side a little. "I'm not following."

"I think you should know that it wasn't McKay's decision to distribute the Ancient devices a few days ago. Well, it was, but…"

"But?"

"It was going to take him weeks to go through everything and a number of the scientists didn't think it was fair that he was going to be the one to go though all the new technology—especially after what happened. So, I was elected to talk to him since I was already working on the project with him."

"And you talked to him?"

"Yes."

"And what did he say?"

"At the time, I thought he was being selfish and overly cautious. Now…I'm not so sure." She glanced down toward her fingers, watching them as she clasped her hands together. "Part of me wonders if none of this would have happened if I hadn't been so insistent."

"You can't second-guess yourself. This might have happened in another week and more people could have been injured. You can't keep playing the 'what if' game. It doesn't change anything." But even as the words left his mouth a pang of hypocrisy rose up from within, screaming and ranting at him, but he pushed it back. That was different…wasn't it?

"I know," she said with a shrug. "Doesn't mean I'm going to stop."

John nodded, rising to his feet. "Thanks again for your time, Doc. Appreciate it."

"That's it? I figured I might have gotten myself into a whole mess of trouble."

"No," he said shaking his head, partly trying to shake free the voice that was still railing at him. "I guess we'll just take this whole…situation as a hard-learned lesson. What do you think?"

"I think you're right. Good night, sir," she said, a relieved smile on her face.

As John made his way out of the science labs, he realized he had a lot to think about.

He'd been out of line, way out of line, when he'd talked to—yelled at, scolded, criticized, shouted at, take your pick—McKay. Not only was the man still recovering from an injury, he'd managed to protect the majority of his staff from major injuries when he ordered everyone to evacuate, and even make sure Miko was out of the direct line of fire when the debris were hurdling through the air, placing his body in the way instead.

And then, there was this whole project. Without batting an eye, McKay'd given responsibility to Radek as soon as the Czech showed his face in the infirmary. And he'd done it seemingly without a worry or concern about his ego, his chance to make a name for himself. For McKay to give something this big to someone else, especially something that involved Ancient technology, his specialty, he must have known what he and Elizabeth had been thinking, what they'd been planning. So instead of having it taken from him, he'd given it away to someone he trusted to do the job.

When had John lost the ability to know what McKay was thinking, to know what he was capable of?

That question bothered him more than he realized.

***

For the past four days Carson Beckett had watched Rodney.

In reality, there wasn't much more he could do. He gave the man medication when the pain got to be too much and he couldn't sleep. He checked and double-checked the wounds on his back, making sure they were healing correctly—but even that had become a battle. He even used one of the Ancient devices to help speed the healing process, watching as the wounds shrunk and the scars slowly faded.

He made sure Rodney was eating regularly, even if his appetite was barely existent. And then when he refused to eat, intravenous nutrients were given instead. Carson would not allow Rodney to win in that matter. He knew what could happen when his friend's blood sugar dropped too low. Although Carson knew spending most of your day sleeping didn't exactly build up a healthy appetite.

And between it all, Carson tried to talk to Rodney, but the man refused, feigning sleep or simply telling him he wasn't in the mood.

Damn, stubborn scientists.

So, instead, he watched from a distance, filling his professional role as a doctor and care-giver, but nothing more. Rodney wouldn't let him do anything else.

That simple refusal hurt.

Anne had dropped off Rodney's grey science uniform a little while ago, placing it on the small table adjacent to the bed. She'd spoken with him briefly, her tone quiet and calm, letting him know that he would be released in a few hours. Knowing how sore and stiff he still was, she'd offered to help him get dressed. Another set of hands would have been helpful, but of course, he'd refused as they both knew he would.

Carson had nodded to Anne when she'd stepped outside the private room shrugging apologetically, her lab coat-covered shoulders dropping. Usually Anne was one of the few nurses Rodney didn't terrorize. There was something he'd seen in her at one point that allowed him to treat her as another human being—at least as near as it was with him. Anne could cajole him to behave, to submit to some test or another, or on the rare occasion stop his rambling and ranting.

She'd told Carson last night when they were both standing at the door that the cold shoulder she'd received just brought her back to how it was when she'd first arrived; it was almost like she was starting over again with him.

He'd patted her shoulder, letting her know it was alright. One thing he'd learned when it came to patients is that sometimes you could only truly aid the ones who wanted to be helped.

So here he was, nearly an hour later, hovering outside the door to Rodney's room, McKay's chart tucked under his arm, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, watching as his friend struggled to get his uniform shirt over his head and tugged into place. It took several tries and many muttered curses, but it finally complied, the battle won. The jacket quickly followed and he tentatively settled back on the bed, the white scrubs in a pile next to him, his feet swinging as he sat and waited.

Steeling himself, he walked in, plastering a smile on his face. "Rodney, sorry it took me so long to get down here. I was caught up with some other things." Setting the chart down, he narrowed his eyes to examine his friend carefully. The clothes were a little big, hanging awkwardly in some places and Carson resisted the urge to tug them into their rightful places. The physicist was still pale, the dark grey only emphasizing the whiteness of his skin. Sweat beaded a little along his hairline—spoils from the battle with his clothes—dampening a few light brown hairs, turning them dark. His blue eyes still held the hint of pain, the recent movement taking its toll. Overall, though, McKay was a lot better than he'd been a few days ago.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

"Fine," he replied curtly, his crooked mouth turned down in a frown, his chin lifted slightly in the air. "Can I go?"

"In a minute. Before I release you I want to go over a few things," Carson said, dragging the visitor's chair so he could face the scientist.

"I know the routine." For a moment, Carson thought Rodney was going to straighten up and cross his hands over his chest in his usual gesture of stubbornness, but the physicist stilled, the tips of his fingers twitching a little, annoyance sliding over his features. Apparently, Rodney was learning the meaning of the words "take it easy".

"You probably do, but I want to make sure," Carson replied, tapping his hand against his the tan fabric of his thigh. "You're on light duty for the next few days."

"I said I'm fine." If possible, Rodney's frown deepened.

"Let me rephrase this for ye then," Carson said, narrowing his eyes at the stubborn scientist. "I don't want ye doin' anything strenuous until you're no longer wincing from every little movement because of the sore muscles in your back. And yes, I know it still hurts. It's written all over your face." When Rodney didn't protest, he continued. "After a few days, you'll be back on the active duty list, and if I'm not mistaken, that's just in time for you to go back on the off-world duty roster as well."

Rodney huffed but didn't comment.

"If you don't feel right for any reason, I want you to come and see me immediately. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes," Rodney glanced up, his blue eyes piercing. "You'll be the second person to know if anything is wrong with me after I finish having a panic attack. Can I go?"

"And light duty means no long hours in the lab and getting at least eight hours of sleep a night."

"Yes, yes, yes. I know the routine. Do I need to come back for a follow-up?"

"I'd like to see you in three days for a quick look at your back. Otherwise, you're free to go."

"Thank you," he said, sliding off the bed, his booted feet hitting the floor with a thump. A few seconds later and he had already vanished from sight.

Shaking his head, Carson rose, shoving the plastic chair back to where it had gone unused the past several days, only occupied once when Rodney insisted Zelenka sit because the Czech was giving him pains in his neck when he tried to follow his pacing movements.

Things had certainly changed.

***

Elizabeth Weir glanced up, a smile growing on her face when she saw Carson Beckett at her door. "You said you had good news. I could use some of that right now," she said, gesturing for him to take a seat. She leaned back in her chair, stretching some of the kinks out of her frame.

"Aye, I think it is," he said, settling in with a sigh, arranging his lab coat, the stethoscope still hanging around his neck, the ends banging slightly against his yellow-shirted chest. "We've finally narrowed this disease down."

"That is good news." She leaned forward, elbows on her desk, truly attentive for the first time in hours. There was only so much enthusiasm she could manifest for some of these reports. She had to read them all, but it didn't necessarily mean that they were exciting. Usually, the exact opposite.

"It seems that those with the ATA gene, either naturally or through gene therapy, are immune to this little bugger, which got me thinking why only some of the Athosians have contracted the disease. From what we can tell, it's triggered by the absence of a certain genetic marker. If you don't have the marker, you get the disease."

"So, as soon as you give everyone the marker we'll all be fine and this will be over?"

Carson shrugged. "Simply, aye, that's the answer, but it's a wee bit more complicated. We still need to isolate the marker and then create a vaccine. And we need to know how it got here in the first place."

"I agree. I have Sergeant Whitmore working on the off-world reports, matching team members with some of the places we've visited. He's going back about a month, month and a half. There's a lot to go through, but we'll get there. But in terms of the genetic marker, do you know what you're looking for?"

"Aye. I think we do. Now, I need to send Anne to the mainland with a pilot to get some blood samples from the uninfected Athosians. So far Teyla doesn't have it, but she's still within the incubation period. Once I get those samples I can be certain."

"We can get a jumper over there today."

Carson offered a weary smile as he rose to his feet, brushing a piece of lint or something away from the leg of his tan pants. "Good. That would be great. Let Anne know as soon as a pilot is available."

"I'm sure Major Lorne or Colonel Sheppard would be willing to make a quick run. Maybe even within the hour." He nodded in reply, his mouth settling into a thin line. When he didn't turn to leave immediately, she raised an eyebrow. "Is there something else?"

"I released Rodney this morning. He's on light duty for the next few days, but should be right as rain by the end of the week."

"That's good news, Carson. I'm sure he's happy to be back on his feet."

"About that…" he began, clearly unsure of what to say, his eyes focused on his boots. "I know you told me to stay out of your decision, but what's going to happen at the end of the week? Rodney should be finished with his on-base confinement by then."

Weir shrugged lightly. "I haven't had the opportunity to speak with Colonel Sheppard about the matter, but I don't see any issues with him returning to full active duty. It'll be up to him as to how he decides to fulfill those duties."

"He'd be permitted to join the off-world missions?"

"If he chooses to, yes. Of course, that's once we can get this virus cleared up."

"You don't think he will?"

Weir glanced down briefly before meeting Carson's gaze. "He's always complaining that he never gets to finish any of his projects; that he hates having to face death the way they do on such a regular basis. He might take this opportunity to change some things, to spend his time in the lab instead of in the field. You've heard him I'm sure."

Carson nodded. "Aye, of course, but that's just Rodney's way of blowing off steam. Ye can't take him too serious when he's in full rant mode." When the doctor paused she swore she could see the condemnation in his eyes, reminding her that she used to know Rodney very well, and that she could see though his bluster, but then his eyes softened and an emotion she couldn't identify replaced it. His words, while quietly uttered, held a note of steel, as if daring her to say no. "I'd hope that you'd talk him out of it if he decided to stay on base."

"Why?" she asked, more out of rote than anything. It wasn't like she had much influence over what the scientist decided to do once he made up his mind.

"For one thing, we'd be at a severe disadvantage. How many times has one of Rodney's crazy, panic-induced ideas saved our arses? And, while Atlantis gives Rodney a home, the Pegasus Galaxy lets him fly. Take that away and you might be surprised at the man that would be left behind." He moved, the fabric of his lab coat shifting with him. "Don't let him become something less than what he can be. Give Rodney the benefit of the doubt. That’s all I ask."

***

After he'd finally left the suffocating clutches of Beckett and his minions in the infirmary, Rodney McKay wasn't sure what to do with himself. Normally, he would have headed straight to his lab, involving himself in one of his many current projects, but he'd managed to finish a few of them over his confinement to his quarters and in the week following, leaving only his final report to complete. But, that could wait. The others he didn't feel like working on.

He could have wandered to the office where Radek had set up shop to study the Ancient devices, but he wasn't in the mood to deal with them right now, and besides, if he wanted to fiddle with them, he had his own device safely stashed in his quarters—partially dismantled from his tinkering before the lab exploded.

And what a mess that had been.

He should have known something like that was going to happen; things has been running much too smoothly. Between the three of them, they'd managed to help the teams figure out a few of the appliances and had even started a few scientists on their second round of toys. It seemed that everything was just a piece of a larger device, but some of them were designed to work together. They'd been making head-way until Brady called him in.

Why did that man have to get one of the volatile ones?

Pausing in his meanderings through Atlantis, he looked around, trying to figure out where he was. He didn't recognize the hallway or the area immediately, but then something slid into place. He was at the door to the secondary labs where they'd been conducting all of their research. The smell of smoke and something else was what brought all of the memories flooding back.

Stepping into the room, his eyes skittered around taking in the still-blackened walls and the voids where people or machinery used to lie. The room had been cleared of everything—garbage and intact equipment, the latter moved to Zelenka's newly-outfitted area for Ancient device research. He wouldn't be surprised if the Czech tried to claim that whole area as his once they were finished with the project—not that he'd let him, of course. At least not officially.

Absently scratching and itch on his chest, he slowly walked though the room, the smell of death in the form of Lemon Pine Sol swirling around him. It was light, but the fragrance was there. He wouldn't stay long in any case, but he needed to come here, to look at the damage his shortsightedness had caused.

If only he'd stuck to his initial decision, not caring what the scientists thought of him. Not that he really cared in any case, but after Doranda, he'd needed that acceptance from them—albeit misplaced and misguided as it was—since there was no where else to get it.

Whatever friends he'd made, bridges he'd built, had come crumbling down, but even though it all, he realized, he still…cared…worried about this place, about its people more than he wanted to. They'd broken through the walls and had taken up residence somewhere deep within. And it was for that reason, and that reason alone, that he was still here, still trying to make things better, make things right.

He sighed, his fingertips lightly skimming the surface of the nearest workbench, pausing at the edge, his eyes resting on the darkened surface of the containment vessel they'd discovered nearly a year ago, the same device that would have saved Brady's life—and the other two scientists—if he'd listened to Rodney and just placed it inside, sealing the cover over it.

Brady had gone the other way, instead, toward the selection of tools they'd set aside for group use. 'Trust me' he'd said even as McKay'd rushed after him, telling him that he was going to get them all killed.

And when the device started its shrill cry, McKay'd known it was too late, he'd turned and shoved Miko back in the small room and tried to think the door closed, but it was too late. He felt the hot blast as the device exploded, impaling his back with metal and debris as he tried to protect the diminutive woman from danger.

Instead, he'd managed to give her a concussion as they slammed to the floor, the door finally closing and locking, but far too late for either of them to care as their hold on consciousness faded.

So, what came next? To stay or to go, that was really what it all came down to. He was weary, tired of fighting with everyone, with everything that came their way. There had to be an easier way to do this, to live without the constant threat of death.

But then, he thought back and remembered that sometime during that first week, he'd briefly considered the possibility of going back to Earth, to just pick up and leave everything behind and something inside felt like it was going to crack, leaving him even more broken than he'd already found himself to be.

He couldn't imagine living anywhere but Atlantis. This was finally home—or as close to home as he was ever going to get. And even now, thinking about going back to Earth made him sick in a way Carson could never fix.

But there was another option.

It seemed like his mind might have made the decision without him. The life and times of a genius, he guessed, shrugging to himself as he stopped in the middle of the quiet lab, his arms pulled around him.

He stood there a few more minutes before shaking off his thoughts and moving toward the door, his steps confident, his head held high. He had work to do.

***

He'd watched McKay from the shadows of the lab, seen him pause throughout the room, seen the bare emotions on his face, watched as he seemed to shrink in on himself.

It was painful to see this normally loud and obnoxious scientist reduced to the same silence that surrounded him.

As soon as he'd seen the physicist walking toward this section of Atlantis, he'd known exactly where he was going and knew he shouldn't be alone—even if he thought he was. But then, after he slipped into the lab only a few seconds behind the scientist, he'd known he shouldn't be here, that this was a private moment between McKay and his inner demons.

Several minutes passed and then, without any advance warning, McKay was out the door, his long strides taking him away from here and to somewhere else.

But this time the physicist went alone.

For here, in this room, there were still demons to be battled.

***

A shadow on her table made Elizabeth Weir glance up from her lunch, a smile of welcome on her face for the Athosian. "Teyla. Have you eaten?" When the woman didn't move immediately, Weir gestured to the chair across from her. "You look like you have a lot on your mind. Why don't you sit?"

Teyla slid gracefully into the seat, resting her hand on the surface of the table, palms down, fingers splayed, her eyes fixed on the long, thin appendages.

"I was sorry to hear about Treling," Elizabeth finally said, breaking the silence that had settled between them. "I know he was much loved and respected among your people."

Teyla glanced up, her dark eyes holding the memories of her friend. They had all lost so much, so many friends and colleagues, over the past few years and for Teyla, each and every one mattered. She felt each loss as deeply as if it were the first. "I appreciate your words and your sympathies, Doctor Weir. It is regarding that matter of which I have come to speak."

"How can I help?"

"I wish to go and be with my people during this time. With our current…situation, I do not believe my absence will be noted."

Elizabeth shifted in her chair, her hands tugging and smoothing her red shirt into place as she stalled, tried to find the words she needed. All through her life and her professional career, she'd found the usefulness of words, of phrases and tones. Instead of battling with weapons, she used her mind and her tongue to break and to heal. "Teyla," she began, only to trail off at the shake of the woman's head.

"I am not asking this of you."

"Doctor Beckett believes it is wise for us to remain on Atlantis for the time being until he can develop a cure for this disease. I agree with his assessment. I don't—"

"Doctor Weir, you have said yourself that Doctor Beckett believes I may already be infected with this illness. If that is the case, no harm can be done if I travel to the mainland. And, if I am immune, no harm shall befall me among my people. I came to you as a courtesy. Please do not insist that I make a formal statement of my intentions. I had…believed we had moved past that."

Weir's lips thinned, but she nodded slowly. "We have, Teyla. I'm just…concerned about the welfare of everyone here and on the mainland."

"Then allow me this courtesy. My people are grieving the loss of such a respected man. Allow me to walk among them and comfort them. It shall only take a few hours."

"Very well. I'll ask John to pilot one of the jumpers. It shouldn't take him long to get ready."

Teyla rose, inclining her head toward Elizabeth in respect and gratitude. "Thank you, Doctor Weir. I must prepare. I bid you a good day."

As the Athosian swept out of the mess hall, Elizabeth couldn't help but sigh. There was something about the words she'd said, the concept of grieving and offering comfort that was universal in many cultures. Looking at her half-eaten sandwich and the pile of reports at her elbow, she quickly made up her mind, rising to her feet and disposing of the garbage. Gathering her belongings, she walked out of the mess and into the hall, letting her feet lead her down to the science labs.

It was time she walked among her people, the ones who were grieving for their own recent losses.

***