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Rodney had no idea how that little, barely a scientist bastard had done it. None. Absolutely zero. He had no idea what pissed him off more, the fact that the little, barely a scientist bastard had the balls to put him, M. Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD, on sewer duty and somehow gotten away with it, or the fact that the little, barely a scientist, no-ATA gene bastard knew enough about something to get Atlantis to keep him, M. Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD out of all work areas except sewage until the chore was done. And he had no idea how that little, barely a scientist bastard had done it. Not a clue. He had no idea which was more galling, either.
Rodney sat in the mess with a cup of coffee, a wilting pie, and enough fuming rage pouring off of him to power the gate back to the SGC.
To make matters worse, Elizabeth had gone along with it. He'd taken his case straight to her, demanding that Smugbert get rid of whatever he'd done to Atlantis so Rodney could get back to work on the real projects that were important to Atlantis' survival that only he could do. Elizabeth had heard him out; he hadn't felt patronized until she'd frowned and steepled her fingers. Then she's explained that Rodney was no longer the only CSO and at times, Smackback could over-rule him. Him! M. Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD! He completely ignored her ridiculous diplomacy treatise on how important it was for the leadership to develop a working relationship, blah, blah, blah. He certainly hadn't appreciated her amusement with the entire debacle, either.
He'd spent nearly two days in a snit, either catching up on his reading—writing snide marginalia in the latest physics journals he'd brought with him—while plotting revenge, or lounging in the mess with a smug expression on his face. Rodney chose to act as if he were on vacation. Meanwhile, plotting revenge. He would have continued on like this until Elizabeth returned to her senses, put a leash on Snuggleball, and told Rodney exactly what that little, barely a scientist bastard had done to his city so things could get back to the way they were supposed to be; but Sheppard had to point out that his lounging was having a nasty side effect on his so-called physicists. They quit working, too. More and more, he'd find them lounging in the mess or other common areas, gossiping like a bunch of anthropologists. Unacceptable!
Elizabeth refused to see reason. Snidebilge was unreasonably reasonable in the most insultingly apologetic manner possible. Elvira the Neanderthal was ridiculously smug. Sheppard's gene either couldn't override whatever that little, barely a scientist bastard had done, or Sheppard was faking it. The fake sympathy practically oozed out of Sheppard's ridiculously coiffed head, so Rodney was betting on the latter. There was nothing for it but to capitulate, fix the secondary sewage control center—it was in dire need of attention and Rodney was one of the very elite few who could actually do something about it—and then begin his elaborate and ingenious cycle of revenge. It would only end with either Snickerbag's complete and utter public humiliation or, more likely because humiliation really wasn't enough, when Rodney got bored. When it came to revenge, Rodney rarely got bored.
The problem was Elweed. That Neanderthal had the luck of the truly stupid because he managed to bypass every single trap Rodney had erected on Atlantis—the electric shock therapy in the hallway coded just for that little, barely a scientist bastard was truly inspired—and Elmo kept himself glued to Smallbrain. It was disgusting. The little, barely a scientist bastard had managed to get through three weeks of ingenious revenge completely unscathed.
Sheppard dropped a tray on the table next to Rodney's coffee. Rodney sneered.
"Not looking so good, there, buddy."
Rodney glared at Smuckerbutt's back and Elbow's face. He made sure to keep from grinding his teeth in pure frustration because the dental facilities on Atlantis were inadequate.
"So, what's up with you Rodney?"
"That nitwit thinks he can outsmart me."
John looked over his shoulder, then turned back with a smirk. "Sandburg has been pretty un-singed since sewer day. I expected more from you, buddy, though I don't condone petty acts of retaliation, mind you."
"Oh, he thinks he can get away with it, but no. I will get that little, barely a scientist bastard if it's the last thing I do."
"Jeez, calm down. All you need is cat and you're a bad James Bond villain."
Rodney ignored that because one, he had a cat, and two, Rodney would have ruled the world if he'd chosen to go the villain route. And worst of all, because, three, that Neanderthal, Elmer, had smirked so damned smugly right at Rodney, as if he'd heard what Rodney had said from way across the noisy mess hall. Impossible!
"C'mon, buddy. I've got Torchwood on my computer and some beer. We can do shots every time they break the laws of physics. You'll feel better."
"We'll drink a six pack in the first minute." Rodney glowered at Elmira. "I will figure this out."
"Okay, fine, Dr. No. We'll just sit here and you can tell me how you're going to get some more power out of my baby. I'd bet you can get at least 25% more speed out of her in two hours."
Rodney blinked, then glared at Sheppard. "What?"
"Stock is fine, if you're a regular grunt. But I'm a connoisseur of aviation. So, trick out my ride." Sheppard smirked in that cool, confident, and completely annoying way of his.
"You want me to put bling on your jumper? Has the hair gel eaten your brain?"
"Hey, you're the best man for the job. Well, Radek could do it in a pinch. He gets the beauty of a fine piece of machinery, even if he is not Rodney Mckay, super genius. I won't let your minions near my baby. They'd turn her into something for a demolition derby."
Rodney's eyes narrowed and he stared at Eldon, and then Snarfblatt. Minions, huhm. Rodney smirked. Oh, this would work. It would get him revenge on that little, barely a scientist bastard and his hulking, knuckle-dragging buddy. Bonus, it would keep Kavanaugh yapping his ridiculous complaints in Sandblaster's office for the next decade. No matter how badly he'd want to run and hide from this bit of perfect revenge, that little, barely a scientist bastard had to deal with Kavanaugh.
Sheppard was eyeing him suspiciously. "You didn't build a nuclear weapon in the basement again, did you?"
Rodney grinned. "Even better, Colonel. Something even better."
"Okay, officially scared. What did you do?"
"I have found the perfect revenge, Colonel. Snagbarf will suffer for what he's done."
"So, what's the plan?"
Rodney rubbed his hands together and gave into the urge to chortle. "Oh, no. You'll just have to enjoy the genius of my plan unfolding, and snaring Satburp inexorably in the jaws of my trap. Only then will you fully appreciate my unimaginable cunning."
Sheppard's eyebrows rose. Ellard frowned. Weirdo.
"Come on. Let's go watch Torchwood and make fun of the science," Rodney said.
"You're not going to hurt anyone?"
Rodney frowned at him. This always seemed to amuse Sheppard, who started grinning. Rodney huffed. "Of course not. Just make him suffer a little. It's nothing less than he deserves for not telling me how he managed to keep me locked out of my lab."
Sheppard smiled his easy breezy smile. "Well, Carson owes me two chocolate bars. Told him it was the lockdown, not the sewer repair that pissed you off."
Rodney snapped to a point at the word chocolate. "Why didn't you say so! Let's go get the chocolate! Half of it's mine, of course."
Sheppard smirked. "Of course, Rodney. I'll share with you. You can tell me your super secret plan while we're watching Torchwood."
Sheppard grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him to his feet. Sheppard was nice enough to bus the tray for him, and then tugged him out of the mess, toward the infirmary.
Today was going to end perfectly. First, revenge. Second, chocolate. Third, best friend time. Sweet.