Untalented And Completely Unprepared, But Giving It His Best Shot Anyway

by Dasha

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/asd/dasha/untalent.php
Summary: "Rodney, I know you've hacked your personnel file. You've read the letter that goes into great detail about how your strong suit isn't compassion or kindness, that your arrogance makes you incapable of rational judgment, and that you should never be trusted in positions of authority."

The accident, and the near disaster that followed, had been Zelenka's fault. At the end of the day, however, Rodney didn't apportion blame out loud. Somehow the triumph of having not been the one screwing up faded against nearly losing your best friend to one of your own worst nighmares.

It wasn't necessary to point fingers anyway. It wasn't like anyone didn't already know it was Zelenka's fault. It was Zelenka who had--despite working very carefully and slowly--cross-connected the central power conduit to the internal maintenance net. The ZedPM, while nearly expended, still had more than enough to completely melt the maintenance net servicing the west wing of the complex. The resulting explosions had in turn taken out both primary and secondary power in a spectacular overload that not only cut power to the stasis fields in the west wing labs, but also set one of them on fire and popped three of them open.

Rodney was in one of the west-wing labs with Dex, Sheppard, and one of the linguists when the lights went out. The hiss and shower of sparks from the one of the opaque stasis chambers that ringed the walls provided only a dim, spastic light, and Rodney turned away to look into the darkness as he snapped into his mic, "All right, which one of you idiots was it? It was you, Wallerstein, wasn't it? What did you break?"

And then the linguist and Sheppard turned their lights on. In the dimness of the wide-beam setting, the shape of the lab equipment was visible again. Rodney could see the doors, the work table, the computer console, the bulky shapes of the stasis chambers, the chairs, ghostly and shadowless. Over the headset he could hear Radek cursing in Czech and possibly also some Chinese picked up from Ling Zhao. And then the linguist said very carefully and loudly, "We have a problem!"

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Rodney had snapped, although he was not, specifically, irritated with the thin, fussy woman. While she was so completely unmemorable that it wasn't worth working up a proper jeer he couldn't let the chance quash open stupidity.

The woman ignored him. "Oh, my," she gasped. "Ooooh my." Rodney turned to look, his angry demand that she shut up dying unspoken. Something was climbing slowly out of one of the stasis chambers.

It wasn't very big--the size of a large cat at most. And it was moving slowly, the roundish body taking several seconds to pull itself out of the half-open lid. Three spindly feet groped spastically at the air, and then, making a soft squeaking noise, it plopped forward to the floor.

As one, the Atlantis party scooted back, but the alien animal made no move to attack or escape. In fact, it couldn't quite seem to stand up. Sheppard focused his flashlight to a tighter beam and shined its beam on the quivering body. "It looks like a rabbit," he said. "Is it sick? Or just having a hard time waking up?"

"It looks...old," Dex said.

It managed to stand up, but collapsed and lay still again almost immediately.

"Um, look," Rodney said, "Not to be the token pessimist here, but what if that isn't the only chamber that opened?"

"It doesn't make a whole lot of sense," Sheppard said, sweeping the room with his flashlight. Nothing else seemed to be moving. "Isn't it usually more complicated to get things out of stasis?"

"Well, maybe they systems for lab animals aren't as complicated as the ones for humans. The point is we've passed dozens of these things, and I really, really think we should leave now."

"Hey, look at the bright side," Dex said. "At least this way we won't have to wait for the biologists to get here to tell us what was in them."

"Right, well, this has been fun," Sheppard said cheerfully.

Rodney took it as his cue to head for the door. "Have we got any power anywhere," he groused into his headset, "or did you manage to break everything?"

"*It appears to only be the west wing,*" Wallerstein answered. "*The central atrium and the south wing seem to be still functioning*."

"Wonderful. Fantastic. Don't touch anything."

Setting the light on his own P-90 to a wide arc, Rodney fell in line after Sheppard for the walk back. The moving lights made multiple, shifting shadows on the walls as they passed. It was hard not to jump, imagining every dark shape was some kind of creature getting ready to leap out--

"Has it occurred to anyone else that we may have lost containment on something microscopic? We could be walking through a cloud of viruses or nanites right--"

"Yes, thank you, Rodney, we've all thought of that."

"But shouldn't we--"

"All we can do is head to the areas that still have power. And let the Ancient technology check us over for contamination." Sheppard sounded irritatingly patient and calm.

"Oh, yes, that worked so well last time."

"Look at the bright side; Atlantis is already sending a team from medicine and life sciences."

Rodney walked a little faster.

"What happened last time?" Dex asked.

"Containment failed in a part of the city we were exploring and we--"

Rodney was interrupted by Sheppard's scream. It was so completely unexpected--Sheppard yelled quite a lot, but he didn't scream--that Rodney jumped and tripped over the quiet linguist. He landed hard on the floor--and screamed himself as something small and leggy ran over his hand.

"Oh my," the linguist said, still in that careful, loud voice. "What are those?"

Rodney, yelling and shuddering, scrambled to his feet and scampered backward, trying to make sense of the small shapes that seemed to scurry on the floor. Something popped under his boot and he leaped in the air.

"Insects," Dex rumbled, and he stepped firmly on something that snapped before it squished.

"Oh," the linguist said. "My. Aren't there a lot of them."

"Oh. My god," Sheppard said, and his voice was high and funny. Rodney swung toward him in alarm, but in the shadowed dimness, he couldn't make out his expression.

He could, however, see small bodies scuttling along the floor. So many of them. Black and glittery and as fat as Rodney's thumb. And they were moving faster than that rabbit-cat thing had been. But then wasn't that old joke about cockroaches being resilient enough to survive a nuclear war based on some kind of fact? Insects were pretty durable, at least on Earth. "Let's get out of here," he said. And then the linguist screamed and jerked, and Sheppard, standing several feet away jumped away and tripped and went down. Swearing, Rodney grabbed the linguist and shoved her forward down the hall. "Go, just go, let's find some light, let's get out of here--Shut up," he added to Wallerstein, Feder, and Zelenka, who were asking useless questions like "what's going on?" over the radio.

Sheppard, unaccountably clumsy, yelled again. It sounded more like pain than panic this time, and turning back, Rodney saw Dex lift Sheppard bodily and charge the door.

They rushed down dusky corridors, hoping they weren't being pursued, trying not to picture what else might be escaping from other labs. At last they saw a light up ahead and charged into a corridor where the power still functioned. Walls came down on either side of them creating a tiny ad-hoc room that Dex began to test for weakness at once. "Wait, wait," Rodney said, as lines of light began to flicker over them, "this might be decontamination. It might be our only chance, depending...." Depending on what they had been exposed to. Depending on how well ten thousand year old equipment worked. Depending on how well the sensors and computers could compensate for differences in human and Ancient biology.

"Wait," the linguist agreed, looking at the characters scrolling across a panel set in the wall. "It's looking for, well, I don't know what the word means, but it's not classifying the threat as deadly. Whatever it is, it's just a...a nuisance." Even as she finished speaking, the lines of light blinked off and the wall ahead of them parted. "We're clean, I guess. Whatever those bugs were. Um, wait a minute." She leaned over, fussing with her boots. "This really hurts. What did that thing bite with?"

Despite himself, Rodney looked as she pulled her boot halfway off and rolled down her sock. The bite was a tiny, round point, deep enough to bleed a little. "Ow," Rodney said, actively fighting an urge to strip off his clothes and dance around frantically. The Ancient decontamination chamber had said he was clean. Clean. Clean. Clean. Nothing dangerous had come out with them.

"Yeah, no kidding," Sheppard said, and that was when Rodney looked and saw two welts on Sheppard's left hand. One was at the base of the thumb, the other just three centimeters or so toward the center. Both bites were bigger than the linguist's. They were redder and swelling.

Swallowing hard, Rodney glanced back at the door that was so reassuringly sealed behind them. "What were those?"

"They were *bugs*," Sheppard said, his voice heavy with horror and loathing. "They looked like little *iratus* bugs, all dark and shining. Little tiny crawling--" He broke off, turning away, and Rodney thought, *here's a shocking idea: itty bitty *iratus* bugs. Do you suppose he's picked up a phobia?* Because, hey, in his place, Rodney sure as hell would have one. He remembered the scream in the room and felt a stab of sympathetic embarrassment.

"You know, this really takes the cake," Sheppard continued. "Those arrogant morons were experimenting with--" He stopped, drawing himself up and blanking out his horror and revulsion in a way Rodney could never hope to emulate. "Oh, hell. Let's find out what happened to the power."

They headed back down the wide corridors of the research station. The linguist was limping a bit, but Rodney was content to walk slowly because he was listening to Zelenka's ongoing report on the power failure over the com. The facility covered nearly an entire acre, and it looked like fully a third of it was out of power. The good news was, the facility had quarantined almost every access point between the broken and functional areas and the sensors appeared to be functioning even in the areas where they hadn't yet been triggered. The mass escape of mini eratus bugs--or maybe bug-cousins--had been contained. Which was a relief, because nuisance or not, they were--ugh.

Rodney was so completely wrapped up in the report that he didn't notice that Sheppard had fallen behind until his voice called, "Hey, can you wait a minute?"

The first thing Rodney saw when he turned around was Sheppard's hand. It was purple and swollen to nearly twice its normal size. "Colonel?" Rodney said softly.

Sheppard was pale and sweaty and his eyes were wide with confusion he wouldn't admit to.

"*If what I'm looking at is the power junction,*" Zelenka was saying, "*then it is completely burned out and will need replacement parts. Rodney, I--*"

"Not now, okay? Just shut up a minute." He turned off the headset.

"Oh, dear," the linguist was saying. She wriggled out of her pack and produced the first-aid kit. "The scanner in the decontamination chamber didn't say there was any hazard." Unceremoniously, she squeezed a glop of analgesic disinfectant onto Sheppard's good hand then wiggled her own hand down her boot to smear some on her lower leg.

Sheppard looked at his hand as though he wanted to cut it off and then quickly scrubbed the disinfectant into the wounds. "Well?" he snapped, "what are we standing around for? If we really put our minds to it we can either completely trash the place or get killed by it by the end of the day."

He made it perhaps a dozen steps before stumbling to a halt and leaning against the wall, panting. Looking into his face, Rodney shivered. The whole thing felt completely wrong and horribly familiar. Sheppard let his gun slide to the floor and cradled the swollen hand, which looked worse now, even though only a few seconds had passed.

Sheppard looked up and met Rodney's eyes. Confusion there, and a little bit of fear. A 'little bit' that was a hell of a lot more than Rodney was used to seeing from him. "Colonel, what's wrong?" he asked. After the words were out he regretted that he hadn't tried to sound more gentle and supportive because, hey, Sheppard looked like somebody a person ought to be nice to right now, but it was too late.

"I feel...funny."

"What kind of funny?" Rodney demanded, glancing at Dex (who looked completely confused and a little detached) and the linguist (who looked like she was about to be sick).

"I dunno. Funny." He was panting as though they'd been running down these corridors rather than quietly moseying. Not good. Very not good.

Stupid, Rodney thought. Fucking moron. How much time have I just wasted? He dumped his own backpack on the floor and began to rummage. What he wanted was in a smooth, plastic box in a pouch on the front. "You, um," he said, pointing at the linguist, "you, get your kit back out."

The little plastic box held two epi-pens and four kinds of antihistamine; Rodney's own, very special emergency kit. "Colonel, I'm just going to give you a little shot, okay?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Well, you're having an allergic reaction to the bites. Or stings. Whatever." And really, given how much bug crap Sheppard had had dumped into his system over the last couple of years, it wasn't a huge surprise, was it? Rodney should have recognized the problem as soon as he saw the welts swell up. It wasn't like he unfamiliar with the symptoms.

Abruptly, Sheppard slid down the wall to slump, seated, on the corridor floor. "Um, what the hell?" he asked, his voice already sounding thick and slurred.

Rodney squatted beside him, considered trying to wrestle down the uniform trousers and gave up, pushing the needle in through the cloth instead. "That's your blood pressure crashing. The 'shock' part of 'anaphylactic shock.' Welcome to my world." Rodney adjusted his com for longer range. "Teyla, when you get to the gate, tell them we need Dr. Beckett right now."

A short, slightly confused pause, "*We were sent to get Dr. Beckett.*" Sheppard had sent Cadman and Tayla back to bring the lead medical team and some biologists in order to help sort out just what kind of research was being done and what, exactly, was in stasis.

"It's a medical emergency. We've had an...incident. Run."

She didn't waste time asking questions or responding to Rodney's order. Teyla was reliable like that.

Sheppard was holding out the swollen hand. "Maybe...it was poisonous."

"Well, let's hope not, because I can't treat poison." Rodney said to Dex, "Take another look at her leg. See if that bite is swelling up." He selected a tiny, flat disk from the emergency box and pulled out a pink capsule. "Open your mouth," he ordered briskly.

When Sheppard obeyed, Rodney swiftly broke open the capsule and dumped the powdery contents onto a tongue that was already visibly swelling. Sheppard jumped and grunted at the bitterness. Rodney handed him the water bottle. "Wash it down." Now. While you can still swallow.

"My god, what is that?" Sheppard complained, gulping at the water that only made the bitterness worse.

"Antihistamine. Open up. Let's do it again."

"No! That's--awful." Rodney wasn't even tempted to follow orders. Sheppard was still breathing hard and flushed.

"The whining is just not convincing from you. Open your mouth. John, now."

A second capsule. A third. The little clock in Rodney's head told him that the epinephrine should be working by now, but Sheppard was still getting worse. For want of anything more useful to do, Rodney busied himself freeing Sheppard from the backpack and heavy vest. He didn't fight, but he was too distracted by breathing to be of any help. "How are things with that ankle? What does it look like?" Rodney asked.

"It doesn't look like anything," Dex said. He sounded confused and impatient. "It's just a bug bite."

"Right. Ok. You're useless. Good to know. Shut up now."

"Rodney," Sheppard gasped. "I think I'm in trouble."

Gee, do you think so? But Rodney wasn't in the mood to take a swipe at his boss for being a little slow. He was in the mood to get out of the way and let some professional take over. Somebody whose specialty was bodies, not power systems and wormhole physics, for example. Medicine was certainly not his prevue. Medicine was completely unpredictable and usually uncontrollable and completely scary. Really, he didn't know why anybody tried to do anything with it at all, given how incomprehensible the subject and how pointless it was to try to control it. "Just relax," he said. "You're going to be fine."

Even as he heard the words cross his lips, Rodney was astounded. He'd always sworn to himself that he would never, ever say that to anyone. For any reason. In any context. People who said things like that were clueless idiots who didn't know what they were talking about and were clearly incapable of doing anything useful to help.

Although, really, there wasn't a whole lot more he could do right now, so he was, in fact useless. Amazingly, it was almost as helpless and terrifying to be on the outside of one of these emergencies as it was to be the victim. Who knew? To cover his utter lack of usefulness, Rodney opened his com to general broadcast. "We've run into a little problem on our end. For the moment, everybody just wait. Nobody touch anything. Nobody go anywhere."

Zelenka: "*Rodney, can we help?*"

"You can help by not getting in the way. Everybody just stand down." With that done, he had nothing to do but turn back to Colonel Sheppard. Rodney took half a second to make himself look calm before risking a peek. It was about as bad as Rodney had assumed it would be. Sheppard was pretty much concentrating on breathing. His lips were noticeably swollen and his color was a harsh red. The little clock in Rodney's head said the shot should be kicking in by now. "John," he asked, remembering to try to sound kind this time, "Is it still getting worse?"

A nod.

Bad. Very bad. "Is it getting worse as fast?"

Sheppard shook his head.

"Good. That's good. You're a little behind schedule, but we might be all right here."

Sheppard pulled off his headset and held it out. "'S for you."

"*--nel Sheppard, this is Atlantis. Please answer.*"

Oh, thank god. "Elizabeth, this is Rodney. Colonel Sheppard can't talk right now."

"*Rodney, what's happening?*"

"Well, you're supposed to be sending me a medical team." He answered testily. "Are you sending me a medical team?"

"*Dr. Beckett is on his way to the gate room. What's your situation?*"

"Colonel Sheppard's been bitten by something--" Rodney was sure he heard a collective gasp on the other end. It retrospect this wasn't a surprise. Most of Atlantis was still mass-traumatized by the last two times Sheppard had been bitten by things. "He's having a systemic allergic reaction."

"*Are you sure it's an allergic reaction?*"

"Yes. I'm sure." And, geeze, Elizabeth wasn't usually this stupid. "It turns out I have some experience with allergies."

"*Can we bring the rescue team in by puddlejumper?*"

"No. There probably was a landing site once, but it's all completely overgrown now."

"*Rodney, this is Carson. What have you given him?*"

"One epi-pen and about seventy-five milligrams of diphenhydramine."

"*Rodney, that's an awful lot--*"

"No fucking kidding. Carson--"

"*All right, son. Give me his vitals.*"

It took three tries to get an accurate count of Sheppard's pulse. Rodney didn't have a lot of practice collecting biological data and anyway, when could find the tiny flutter beneath his fingertips, it was too weak and fast and irregular to count easily. While Rodney struggled with that, they shut the gate down so that they could re-open from the other side and let the doctor through.

"*Well, Rodney?*"

"His heart rate is about one-thirty, but I'm having some trouble finding it."

"*Respiration?*"

"Twenty. He's not getting any better. He's starting to get tired."

"*Rodney, you need to stay calm. How long ago did you give the shot?*"

"I don't--I don't know. A while ago. I..." Rodney's internal clock seemed to have melted.

At that moment, the linguist demonstrated that she wasn't a complete waste of space after all by saying, "Fifteen minutes."

That long? That little? "Fifteen minutes," he repeated gratefully.

"*Give another shot.*"

Right. Okay. Good idea. Sheppard didn't even seem to notice the needle this time. His head leaned back against the wall and his eyes were closed. "John? How you doing?"

"Arm. Hurts."

Rodney glanced at the swollen hand. "Yes," he agreed, "I bet that hurts a lot."

"Other arm."

Other arm? Other arm? And wasn't that just like the Pegasus Galaxy? Every time you thought you had a situation you understood and could deal with, things got weird. Unless--" is it another bite?"

John only panted.

It took a moment to get the sleeve up. Rodney had no idea what he was looking for if it wasn't another bite. Maybe Sheppard had managed to break something when he fell, although how he would have managed not to notice something like that--

The lasts time Rodney saw the feeding scar left by Ellia had been about two weeks before. It had looked like a small, blue wart. Not very alarming, really. It hadn't even been hard not to stare. Now it was the center of a red, swollen lump. A huge, red swollen lump.

Sheppard, pulling his arm back to see what Rodney had found, panicked. He tried to jump up, fell forward, made a horrifying noise.

Rodney grabbed him and shoved him hard against the wall. "Stop! John, stop! John, listen to me."

John, gasping, fought him with all the strength he had. Even now, he was pretty strong, and it was all Rodney could do to keep him still.

"John, listen to me. You are not turning into a--a thing! Your immune system is attacking the cells in your arm. Carson can--can cut it out. You'll be fine. John, please. Think."

But the fight was already going out of him. John slumped in Rodney's arms, gasping.

"It's all right. This is no problem. Carson can fix this." Rodney had no idea if this was true. All the times people had lied to him about everything being 'fine' and 'under control' swirled in his mind, mocking him, but really, he had to get John calmed down. Help was more than an hour away, because there was no way Carson was as fast cross-country as Teyla had been. An hour was a long time, and if John didn't stay calm and save his energy for breathing, he wouldn't last that long.

"Carson, things have hit a little snag," he said into the mic.

Rodney would have sworn he could hear the wince on the other end of the line. "*Define 'snag.'*"

"He's, um, there's...that little blue scar he got from Ellia is swelling up now." He shifted John's weight so that it leaned against his shoulder.

"*Oh. That's...a snag.*" And Carson was not supposed to sound quite so appalled. "*So, how much is it swelling?*"

"Lots. All right? Lots. The welt is as big as my hand--" Rodney squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. "Look, we're...we're all right. We're just going to wait, okay? It's...Just hurry."

"So, we're okay," John wheezed. John was afraid, and Rodney had gotten used to John being the one who wasn't afraid. Or at least the one who didn't care about fear very much. And he was trying now. Rodney could see him trying not to be afraid.

Rodney managed a tight scowl. "Well, so far. Although you're beginning to get on my nerves. I mean you realize this is the third time, right? And frankly the first time was bad enough. The first time used up your horrible bug quota. Life long. And the second time? I'm still having nightmares about that. All I can say is that this better be the last time. Because I am not doing this again."

A thin smile flashed, faltered. "Rodney--"

"I know. John, I know. Carson's coming."

"'kay."

Rodney clicked on his headset to the subchannel used by engineering workgroups. "All right, you morons are tying to pass yourselves off as engineers. Engineer me a damn stretcher and get over here now."

"Dizzy," John managed, "lemme lie down."

At a loss for anything comforting to say, Rodney patted John's hair. "It's harder to breathe lying down. Here." He shifted around so that he was braced against the wall and John was securely braced against him. "That should be a little better."

"Right. You do this. All the time."

"Eleven times. One more and it's an even dozen. I get double frequent flyer miles."

The laugh John attempted was nearly silent and not very convincing.

"I remember all of them. Jeanie always said I couldn't remember the first time, because I was a year and half, but...she was wrong." He swallowed hard. "If *I* can do this, you can do this. You're much tougher than I am."

"Lemons."

"Lemons," Rodney agreed. "Oranges. Limes. Grapefruit. Kumquats."

"...'quats?"

"Yeah, we were on vacation. Some buffet at the hotel. We didn't know what they were, and Jeanie dared me to eat three. Actually, I think she thought they were small, orange rocks."

John grunted sympathetically.

"Yeah. Not real smart. Pretty well ruined the trip to Disney World. You okay?"

John shook his head spasmodically. "Worse."

"Worse? What's--"

"Can't breathe."

"Right. Okay." He opened the channel. "Carson? He needs another shot."

"*You've given two already?*"

"Yes."

"*How bad is it?*"

Rodney looked down at the swollen hand, tilted John's face up so he could take a good look and shuddered. The alarming flush was gone, replaced with an even more alarming grey pallor. "His lips are blue."

"*Vitals?*"

"Damn it, Carson. Both arms are swollen now. Even if I could find his pulse--"

"*Do it.*"

Rodney held out his hand and the linguist passed over the epi-pen from her first aid kit. She had one. Dex's kit had one. Rodney's regular kit had one. Three more physicists and engineers, and they each had one. They had so much adrenalin that overdose would kill John long before they ran out. But Carson would come before either option became an issue.

And Carson was coming. Over the headset he could hear the sounds of running.

"Rodney...." John tried.

Rodney set the injector and pushed to trigger the needle. "This will help."

"Rodney...please...."

"I'm doing all I can, I--"

"Something's wrong. Something's...wrong."

"No kidding," Rodney snapped. "Now is not the time to panic. Stop it right now."

"Can't...breathe."

"You're breathing. When you can't breathe, you'll know it. You. Whatsyourname. Get out another injector. We may need it. John, you need to try to calm down."

"Keep talking," John wheezed, his eyes on Rodney's face.

"Like what should I say? Is this a good time for chewing you out for another damn bug? And what is it with you and bugs anyway? Are you trying to give everyone a complex?"

"S'right. Live to ruin. Your day."

"You know, this is actually worse than the first time, which, I don't have to remind you was a horrible experience on so many levels--"

John tried to laugh and began choking. "No, no," Rodney murmured. "You've got to stop laughing. I can't believe how really bad you are at this. I mean, I know it's your first time and all, but you're doing it all wrong."

If Rodney was hoping for a snappy retort he was disappointed. John's only answer was a noisy gasp.

"I mean, that first time, I didn't even like you all that much. Which is not to say I disliked you. Nice guy. Quick to see the fun potential of cool Ancient toys. Willing to touch things and turn them on. But seeing that thing trying to eat you alive, it was horrible, but it wasn't personal. I mean it wasn't like I would have missed you."

That last was probably a lie, but it had the desired effect. "Asshole," John managed to pant, and hit him in the leg.

"And last time, it was so far outside of everyone's experience, all I had to do was try not to think about it and wait for Carson to figure it out. It wasn't even until I saw you--" Until he had seen John, blue scales coving his clawed hand and crawling up his face, Rodney had managed to shove the impact of just how bad things were out of his mind. Even when Elizabeth had come to tell them that it was time to say good-bye, Rodney had fixed his mind firmly on the idea that they had gotten out of impossible, scary situations before and John would be just fine. And then he had seen those yellow eyes. Vacant eyes, bisected by thin pupils, and god. To think of that happening to someone, turning into something and knowing it was happening to you--

It happening to John. Maybe John dying, like that. It was still more than Rodney wanted to think about, but maybe this was worse. Because this time there was no Carson to take charge, no anybody who had more clue than Rodney. And John still might die.

"*Report,*" Carson demanded.

"His color's a little better. He's...he's good enough. A little tired." More tired than Rodney liked. John's eyes were flagging and unfocused. Exhaustion on top of lethargy from the reaction and the depressive side affects of the antihistamine. They'd been at this for a while. Half an hour? More, surely, although Rodney's internal clock was still crap. How long could John fight like this?

"*You'll have to manage a little longer, Rodney.*"

"No kidding." Rodney looked down at John, slumped against him. "Hey, come on. Sit up a little. You need to stay alert."

"Can't...Rodney..." John's voice was almost inaudible. He was tired, and he needed more medical support than Rodney had on hand.

Rodney knew what he had to do. He never thought he'd do it, that any force in the universe could make him do it. "You're going to be fine," he whispered, telling the ridiculous, premeditated lie with a straight face. "You're through the worst of it, John. We've got it under control."

"You're kidding...."

"No, you're just a little tired. You need to stay awake awhile longer, that's all. You're okay. Compared to the hell you've been through the last two years alone, this is nothing. You're doing fine."

And John, looking really pissed, sat up a little and hissed, "You're...insane."

And, hey, he'd been going for comforting not annoying, but if irritation could keep John fighting until Carson got here, well fine. "You're okay. From here it's all down hill. Believe me. I know." He hesitated only a moment before adding, "Frankly it wasn't even all that bad. You didn't even have to be resuscitated once. I don't now why you're being such a baby about this."

To Rodney's great satisfaction, John flipped him off.

Running footsteps echoed in the hall, but it wasn't Teyla bringing Carson, just Radek and the other engineers with their stretcher. Okay. Good enough. Rodney could work with that.

John resisted when Rodney tried to detach himself. "No, no. We're going to go out and meet Carson. We're going to put you on the stretcher. Actually, they did a nice job on it. Not bad." Supporting John's shoulders, Rodney eased out and squatted uncomfortably beside him. "It's ok. Here. Your hands are a mess, so Ronon--Ronon, over here-- is going to come over and help me lift you on to the--or he's going to do it by himself. Whatever." Rodney scampered out of the way as Dex lifted John without even wincing and set him on the stretcher.

"Radek, what's the shortest way out of here?"

"That way and--"

"Good. You lead. You, translator person, linguist, are you all right? Good. Don't fall behind. Dex, you take the head, you're much taller. You want to keep him at an angle, head higher than feet. Wallerstein?" Rodney considered. Short, stocky: yes, "Wallerstein, you take the feet."

Ten thousand years ago the road must have been very nice: Wide, smooth, gently sloping. There had been three landslides and a couple of sinkholes since. The soft, flexible surface of the road hadn't broken, but in the places the pitch was seventy degrees or more it might as well have. Progress was slow.

Rodney walked beside John, helping steady the stretcher when the terrain got rough, watching always for signs that things were getting bad again. The party had only been traveling for about fifteen minutes when they met Teyla and Cadman escorting Dr. Beckett.

Teyla was hardly breathing hard, but Carson was damp with sweat and too out of breath to talk as he dropped down beside the stretcher. Rodney took a step back, unspeakably relieved. Carson had the oxygen out already and the mask strapped over John's face. Everything actually was going to be fine.

Carson examined the swollen hand, gently turning it over and coating the punctures with a fine pink mist of something or other. Then he moved to the other side and, producing some kind of utility knife, slit John's sleeve open.

The little blue scar was completely lost in folds of swollen purple flesh. Carson gave a soft gasp. The look on his face was one Rodney had seen perhaps a dozen times in the two years they'd worked together. It was Carson's 'god forgive me' look, his 'what have I done?' look. It was a look that was usually followed by at least five minutes of repentant dithering, and Rodney was stung by a little surprise as he realized that if Carson started dithering now, Rodney would probably deck him.

Carson didn't apologize. To Rodney's immense relief, he pulled out an ancient medical scanner and went over John from head to feet. Then he pulled out a syringe and took a sample from John's arm. That hurt, and John squirmed and ground his teeth to keep from crying out. "Easy, lad," Carson whispered, "Almost done. One more shot and we take you home." A tiny needle and a very small dose of something in the shoulder and Carson rocked back on his heels. He looked up at the small crowd gathered around. "It's not performance art. Laura, shouldn't you and Dex be checking a perimeter or something. And the rest of you go look at trees. Not you, Teyla. I have to get a bandage on this and I could use a second pair of hands."

The others made a point of stepping back and not staring. Rodney sat down on the ground and watched as Teyla gently lifted John's arm for Carson to wrap it in gauze. Then they shifted sides and wrapped the other arm, too. The last thing he did was attach two small, remote monitors, one to John's temple and one behind his ear.

"Rodney, are there any other injuries?"

"I don't think so."

Carson looked up at the crowd which was still pointedly not staring. "Then we are good to go," he sighed.

It was a long trip back. Every five minutes Dex and Tayla put the litter down so that Carson could check John over. For his part, Carson had his eyes on John, and not on where he was going, and he nearly tripped several times. It was a degree of carefulness that Rodney normally would have approved of, but in light of his revelation that Carson Beckett had no business treating human patients or running a scientific division, his unwillingness to multitask was just another disappointment.

How the hell had Carson gotten into this position anyway? Rodney was fairly sure it hadn't been on purpose. And it wasn't like Elizabeth to make flat-out bad personnel decisions. But Carson had been brilliant--as good if not better than everyone hired after him. And he had been brought on very early. First there had been Dr. Jackson, who predated actually finding the Antarctic base. Then Elizabeth, and the first thing Elizabeth had done was tap Rodney and offer him the chance of a lifetime. Then Meyers from the SGC. And then she needed a geneticist to figure out what was so special about Jack O'Neill that even after the ancient database was removed from his brain he could still turn Ancient technology on. The first group was on the way down in three days. Very quickly they had a large team of international physicists, linguists, engineers, and biologists, but for the first three or four months, Beckett had been the only real M.D. Why would you fly all the way out to the nurse practitioner stationed at McMurdo for your cold or minor injury or allergy shots when you had a doctor right here? And Elizabeth had already been thinking about a second team--mostly made up of the people from the first team--who would go to Atlantis, assuming Jackson and the linguists could figure out where it was. And Carson was brilliant and compassionate and organized and thorough and he got results very fast. The fact that he didn't like actually practicing medicine, that he was deeply uncomfortable treating any life form more sentient than a sheep (and not even a whole sheep, but little cell samples of cloned sheep), didn't figure into the equation for anyone. He was brilliant; how he felt about it was secondary. And really, he wasn't any better off as the head of life sciences, either. He did fantastic work, there was no question. But he hated taking risks, and if you backed him into a corner and made him actually field test one of his projects, you could count on him finding something to apologize for whether he was actually at fault for any problems or not. He lacked the confidence that made dangerous and desperate science fun.

They had just reached level ground and the easy walking of an undamaged road when something in Carson's pocket chirped alarmingly. Carson motioned them to stop and pulled the scanner out. "Damn," he whispered. "Teyla, run ahead and open the gate. I need a consult now."

Teyla passed her end of the stretcher to Cadman and sprinted ahead.

"What's wrong," Rodney asked, shifting from foot to foot. "John? Carson, why is he unconscious?"

"He's not unconscious, he's asleep. He's asleep because he is exhausted. Rodney, you're standing in my light."

"But what's wrong?"

"His temperature is up a bit. It's probably nothing to worry about."

"Right. Okay. Well if you can't fix it here, how about we get moving, hmm?"

"Is that your medical opinion, Doctor?" Carson asked pointedly, but he motioned the party to start moving again. Rodney comforted himself with the reminder that John's color was good and he was breathing evenly. Carson tended to panic and he was afraid of his own research, but he was the absolute best. John would be fine.

In a few minutes the radio hissed to life.

"*This is Atlantis. What is you situation?*"

"I need to speak to Dr. Van Buren."

"*Here, Carson. I am standing by,*" answered a brisk, European accent.

"I'm seeing a temperature rise of thirty-nine point three."

"*At this point that is not an indication of infection. An initial temperature rise was a normal side effect for twenty-five percent of our clinical trials.*"

"So in your opinion, I don't need do administer the STDB."

"*How far are you from the gate?*"

Carson shook his head and looked around. Dex said helpfully, "About fifteen minutes."

"*Then no, absolutely not. Bring him on back. We are waiting to receive you.*"

And oh, it was a long fifteen minutes. At last the road bended and the stargate was in sight. Teyla began dialing immediately. Rodney could have wept with relief.

A medical team was waiting on the other side. They descended on John like iron filings moving toward a magnet. Rodney swallowed hard and took a couple of steps back, out of the way. To his surprise, Teyla moved in beside him, pausing for a moment to pat him on the shoulder before turning her eyes to the flurry around their team leader.

One of the doctors had already slit John's uniform, and as they moved him off of the makeshift stretcher to a mobile bed, his outer clothing was whisked away. Within half a minute he had IVs in both legs and six or seven monitors attached to his body. In a single mass, the medical team started for the door, carrying the bed with them like the tide sweeping a raft out to sea.

Rodney and Teyla started to follow, but Elizabeth stepped into their way. "Report," she said firmly.

Rodney bit back an angry retort and managed to say calmly, though not patiently, "We had a power failure in one of the research wings. Some of the stasis chambers opened. Colonel Sheppard got bitten--or maybe stung--by one of the insects that got released. He had a very bad allergic reaction. Here we are."

"So it wasn't some kind of poison? You're sure?"

Rodney sighed. "Well the bite didn't do anything horrible to *her,*" he rolled his eyes in the direction of the linguist, "so, no, I don't think it was an issue of poisoning."

"You got bitten?" Elizabeth said, alarmed. She didn't wait for the linguist's affirmative. "Infirmary. No. Go. Dex, you and Cadman make sure she gets there." She turned back to Rodney. "What caused the power failure?"

"We did, what else?" Rodney snorted. "I think we were trying to run a systems diagnostic."

"Can if be fixed?"

"I don't know. Probably not, but I didn't see it. If we can get power flowing to the biological research wing, it may not matter because from what I saw, most of the equipment is fried anyway. Can I go now?"

"Rodney," Elizabeth said quellingly in just that tone of voice he hated most, "What about the rest of you? If insects escaped their stasis chambers there might have been some other contamination--"

"Well the monitoring equipment at the research installation didn't think so. And apparently Atlantis isn't finding anything dangerous either, because the City let Carson take John through the halls to the infirmary, not to mention the fact that Carson let us come back to the city at all, and are we done here yet?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Yes, go. All of you. Go to the infirmary and get yourselves checked out, just in case."

Rodney pushed his way to the head of the post-mission exam line, but it still took forever for the doctor to clear him and let him go. Rodney grabbed his jacket and hurried off, but he didn't leave the infirmary. He found Carson and Elizabeth standing at the window of an isolation chamber, watching the surgery team work on John's arm. His mouth was dry, and it took him a moment to get his question out. "How is he? Are you cutting out the-the-the you know?"

Carson sighed, the 'God forgive me' look back. "Lasering it out, aye. It'll scar, but there's no help for it. This is much worse than a normal tissue rejection. He won't survive his body having systemic allergic reactions to some of his own cells for very long."

Elizabeth was frowning. "Carson, why are the doctors in isolation gear? And why aren't you doing this in your operating theater? I thought he wasn't carrying any microbes. "

"What? Oh, it's not to protect us. It's to protect him."

"From what?" Elizabeth asked.

Carson winced and took a deep breath. "The systemic reaction wasn't under control. Once the cells in his arm were identified as an allergen, his immune system kept trying to attack it. I had to turn it off."

"Turn what off?" Elizabeth asked, looking slightly horrified. "His immune system off?"

"Only temporarily! STDD--Synthetic Tretonin Derivative D works much like the chemical adult Gou'ald use to keep the host from rejecting the symbiote, only it's more comprehensive. In small amounts it temporarily shuts down an immune system. Very quickly. Very thoroughly."

Rodney swallowed. "So right now John...."

"Is completely vulnerable, yes," Carson said somberly. "We've pumped him full of antibiotics and anti-virals, and in a couple of hours his immune system will start to return. But it's going to take a couple of days before he's...able to protect himself again. He'll stay in isolation until it's safe for him to come out."

"What, and that's it?" Rodney demanded hotly. "Is that going to be enough? He's got open wounds on his hand and you are doing surgery on his arm. If he gets--"

"Rodney. Relax. If the situation should...degrade, we have a supply of Synthetic Tretonin Derivative B. We've yet to find an infection that won't cure."

"So--use it now!"

"It has side-effects, Rodney. It's dangerous. I won't use it unless I have to."

Side effects, Rodney thought. He tried to remember the reports he'd read on tretonin. He hadn't paid too much attention, though. It was weird biological voodoo. "So he's going to have to spend a couple of days in isolation?"

"Three at the most. Statistically."

Three at most. Locked in a little, sterile room because he had no immune system. John. Rodney took a couple of deep breaths and tried not to feel nauseous. He took a couple more. John was going to be fine.

"Rodney," Elizabeth said softly. She was looking at him with knowing eyes. "He'll be out of surgery soon, and then he'll be conscious. If you're still looking that upset you won't be doing him any favors. And since he thinks my bedside manner, um, pretty much sucks, it's going to have to be you being the reassuring friend here."

"Right. So I should. Stop panicking. Because he's going to be fine."

The three of them watched in silence for several minutes, and then Carson quietly excused himself and went to check on Colonel Sheppard's blood tests.

Looking after him, Rodney sighed. "What do you think of Michele Dumont?" he asked Elizabeth.

"He's an excellent surgeon," she answered. "John is in very good hands."

"No, I meant--" Rodney caught himself. Although he never had much time for politics or compromise, he had, over the years, learned to negotiate over two things: budget and personnel. "Look, what happened was just as much my fault as it was yours."

Elizabeth looked away from the doctors hovering over John's arm and said, "Why thank you, Rodney. That's very generous of you. What are you talking about?"

"I don't pay enough attention to life sciences. I didn't fight you when you drafted one of my top people for Mission Operations."

"Okay. I'm still not following you?"

"Carson isn't suited for practice. He should be in research."

"Rodney," she said very softly, "Did something go wrong offworld? Did Carson...."

"Carson was...fine. He did just fine. He just looked ready to puke the whole time. Michele Dumont is a trauma surgeon. He's more suited to running an infirmary."

Elizabeth was staring at Rodney with thoughtful, narrow eyes.

"Medical Doctors need to believe they're god. Carson doesn't," Rodney finished.

She nodded very slowly. "You're right. He doesn't. Carson knows just how dangerous his research is and he knows his own limitations. Arrogance isn't his strong suit." She still had that intent, considering look. She leaned closer and said, very softly, "Rodney, I know you've hacked your personnel file. You've read the letter that goes into great detail about how your strong suit isn't compassion or kindness, that your arrogance makes you incapable of rational judgment, and that you should never be trusted in positions of authority."

Hot anger and shame washed over him. The letter appended to his file in November of 2001 by George Hammond. Rodney had been wrong. Rodney had disagreed with Hammond's pet physicist. Rodney had been wrong while disagreeing with the General's pet physicist about the chances of saving one of the General's friends. Rodney had called the General stupid to his face....

Elizabeth was saying, "I had a talk with Ronon while he was waiting for his physical. And with Carson. They both agree that your performance in the field today was exemplary. You were compassionate and kind. You were gentle. You kept your head in the face of an emergency that had nothing to do with engineering."

"Elizabeth--"

"No, hear me out. You kept John calm and comforted and you kept him alive. I'm sure you would rather not do it again, and it certainly wasn't your strong suit, but--"

"It's not the same."

"It is exactly the same. You think Carson's job would be easy on anyone? I wouldn't trust it to someone who wasn't bothered by the implications. But the bottom line is, Carson is a better doctor than Dumont. He has better instincts, he has a better bedside manner. And he is fully capable of working while terrified. Like you, he has risen to the occasion and performed magnificently."

"You haven't--"

"And then there's me."

Rodney blinked. "You?"

"I run a fort, Rodney. During a war. During a galaxy-wide war. Me." Her eyes flicked back to the window where the nurses were putting away the equipment and wrapping John's arm in gauze. "Do you know what my response was when he first told me about the Wraith? I wanted to *negotiate* with them. I never got any training in strategy. And here I am, running a war three and a half million light years from home. And Colonel Sheppard? According to his personnel file he's not capable of leading men into combat. He certainly never wanted to. Until last year, his ambition began and ended with flying. He was only brought along to turn things on."

"Elizabeth, I hear what you're saying--"

"No, you don't. If you are still arguing with me, you don't. Nobody was prepared for this place. It is exactly the same for all of us, and we are all in this together."

It occurred to Rodney that no one had ever told him he was being a complete ass this nicely before.

"Right," he said meekly. "Okay, then."

On the other side of the glass, John was coming out of the sedative they'd given him for the surgery. He squirmed uncomfortably and swallowed a several times. Rodney couldn't hear what anyone said in the isolation room, but he appeared to be arguing with the nurse.

Rodney and Elizabeth watched until the medical staff finished tidying up and left John alone to rest. Then Rodney excused himself quietly and went to a waste station down the hall to throw up. He told himself it wasn't nerves. Not at all. It was just low blood sugar that was making him queasy and the feeling would go away after he ate.

Rodney checked on John after dinner and again after the weekly staff meeting (which he hated, but made a point of attending when he was in the city) before heading to his room for the night. Both times he was asleep.

The next morning, Rodney stopped by the infirmary on the way to breakfast. Although, perhaps 'on the way to breakfast' was the wrong way to put it, since he had to pass the commissary to get there.

When he looked through the window to the isolation ward John was gone. Rodney had several long seconds to work up a spectacular panic before John came out of the sanitary alcove and waved tiredly through the window. Rodney swallowed hard and keyed the intercom. He regretted that at once because he couldn't think of anything to say.

John came to the glass (that wasn't really glass but some kind of transparency that Rodney was still trying to work out the formula for) and looked at him.

Finally, Rodney said, "I have to say, 'not on the verge of death' is a good look for you. You should go with that."

"Wow. What good advice. I can see the whole genius things is being put to good use. Thanks."

"So...how are you feeling?"

"Fine," John shrugged. Then he appeared to reconsider. "I feel like crap. They tell me it's normal, but you can't actually believe doctors...." He looked at Rodney hopefully.

"It's normal. You'll feel like a truck ran over you for...oh, most of the day, anyway."

"Okay. Right. Normal, then." John suddenly looked uncomfortable, and Rodney was trying to think of a polite and casual way to take his leave when he said, "Look. I...kind of lost it out there. I'm really sorry."

Rodney rolled his eyes in disgust. "That was 'kind of losing it?' Please. Only you. My first time I was screaming and crying."

John's eyes widened slightly. "Rodney, you were a baby." He stopped, frowning. "It probably doesn't get any easier. The first time, you have no idea what's happening."

No, it didn't. Rodney had learned to panic the practical way; practice. "You just have to stop getting bitten by things," Rodney said, meaning it to be a joke. It didn't sound like a joke, though. The thought of doing this again hurt.

"But your complex is coming along so nicely," John said, and this didn't make it as a convincing joke either.

There was no good answer to that, since with the not-glass wall between them he couldn't slug John in the jaw. Which, given that Rodney had no training for that and John did, would doubtlessly end in ignominy, so probably this was a good thing. Instead of answering, he said, "I've been designated your candy striper. Since Elizabeth seems to think you have something against her bedside manner."

"It's all clichés."

"I'm probably going to be all clichés, too; do you have any favorites?" That got a smile, and Rodney felt better, "So can I bring you anything? Do you want your book?"

"Not really. I'm thinking I'll go back to sleep."

"Shall I say something inspiring then?"

"Go for it. Give me your best shot."

"Get well soon."

John gave a helpless little laugh. "Perfect."

That day and the next Rodney spent a great deal of time not hanging out at the window to the isolation chamber. The physical sciences department was busy. It always was, Atlantis being packed practically floor to ceiling with goodies even the least of which a competent scientist could spend months analyzing and re-engineering. And Colonel Sheppard needed peace and quiet to recover--again--from having to fight for his life. So, really, Rodney had no business even thinking about pulling a chair up to that glass window and hanging out all day.

He did go to the infirmary for meal breaks. Now that they were getting regular supply runs from the *Daedalus* there were plenty of ration bars. Rodney could grab one on the way and spend the half hour he would have wasted in the commissary trying to be entertaining. Food was food, after all. It was a good compromise.

He tried not to think too much about this odd impulse to hover. It was hard not to think about it, though. Rodney tended to overthink most things anyway. And hovering? Rationally it didn't make any sense.

Maybe, he thought, dividing is attention between Wilson's progress report and his own spiral musings, it had to do with the way things had gone down at the research facility. For over an hour he'd been providing the medical care. He'd been in charge, *responsible*, and John--well, John had been in a very bad way. The entire situation had been overwhelming. Maybe this feeling was usual. Maybe this vague sense of anxiety and warmth was the real reason behind why doctors worked so hard at keeping a professional distance. Maybe this feeling was why Carson went into odd moods and apologized so much.

Maybe it wasn't related to Rodney being a caretaker, but being in charge. He didn't have a lot of experience being the final authority *anywhere*. But Tayla and Cadman had been at the gate, John had been incapacitated, Ronon was capable and experienced but not good with actual people. All of which meant that Rodney had been in charge. Maybe this feeling Rodney was feeling wasn't something from Carson's experience but from Elizabeth's and John's. And didn't that little insight make power really unattractive?

But, no. Probably not. Because Rodney felt just the same level of respect and irritation for Dex as he had before. His relationship with Radek and the other engineering team members hadn't changed. And that linguist? He was just grateful she hadn't turned out to be completely useless. He didn't have a mysterious urge to go check on any of them.

It was puzzling. Rodney hadn't felt like this the last few times John had nearly died. Of course, the other times Rodney had had the option of just not letting himself think about it. Rodney knew exactly how much danger there had been, how close they had come. Denial wasn't exactly possible when you'd held one of your best friends in your arms and tried to keep him calm while--

While--

And wow, even dancing around that thought made Rodney jump up, pace restlessly, and ask Radek to repeat his last question.

To distract himself, he took on a new project. The new chief engineer on the *Daedalus* had been requesting a meeting to discuss the Asgard hyperdrive. Everything worked exactly the way Hermiod said it should, but when you made power consumption equations about things like mass and energy and distance and hyperspace it became pretty clear that the Asgard had left out significant amounts of information about either their engines or about the nature of the space they were moving through. The reason there was a new chief engineer was that the last one had thrown in the towel and given up.

Rodney had enough impossible questions to answer just from the way Ancients approached physics. He didn't need to be thinking in three equasional languages rather than two. And he'd met the new Engineer, briefly. Captain Hailey was blond. And young. And very, very pretty. Worse, she was brilliant. Rodney had read some of her work. After a couple unremarkable work-ups of Tokra technology, she had done a brilliant theoretical piece on Thor's Hammer.

In short, she was a slightly shorter Sam Carter. Just the sort of woman Rodney could easily become infatuated with. Which was always as humiliating as hell, because that sort of woman never looked at him twice. Really, it was a distraction he didn't need.

Until he decided it was just the distraction he needed.

It turned out she could come down right away. He barely turned off the communicator before she appeared in a flash of light not ten feet behind him. She started out by thanking him and flattering him and then launched into a monologue of equations in two languages, scribbling on his whiteboard while she talked.

Three hours later--the last hour of it listening to her make more and more subtle observations about Asgard engines--he said, "Forget the engines. Assume that they are working exactly the way you think they are and your power consumption figures are accurate. Assume all the equations are right--no, don't argue. Assume the equations are right. What does that say about space?"

"But we already know--"

"How have you still not figured out that most of what we know is wrong? Just go do it. Rewrite subspace and get back to me if you want to talk afterwards."

It was only later, as he walked to the infirmary while scarfing down his dinner, that Rodney noticed that he hadn't given this brilliant, perfect, glorious woman even a thought in hours. He wasn't sure what to make of that. It was odd, but probably best in the long run.

The third morning he was in the infirmary early and was waiting when the nurse arrived with the results of the latest round of blood tests. Elizabeth was there, too, although Carson was being deliberately casual.

It was good news. The nurse handed the results to Carson, who glanced at them and nodded and then opened the door to the little isolation cubicle. John came out smiling. Elizabeth hesitated a moment--just half a breath--and then shook his hand. "Welcome back."

"Vacation's over, then." He smiled the charming smile, shrugged, made a point of touching Elizabeth's shoulder. For three days the only people he'd been near had been Carson and the techs in full sterile gear.

"That's up to Carson."

"He can go to work tomorrow if he feels like it. I want him on this side of the stargate for the next week. Just in case."

"And bloodwork twice a day, yadda, yadda, yadda." Still the charming smile, still the calm confidence. Rodney found himself noticing what passed between John and the doctor. He was pretty sure they were reassuring each other, in some roundabout, inefficient way. But he wasn't sure how.

Sure enough, Carson rolled his eyes with a look that wasn't really cheerful but wasn't faked, either. "Aye, and an exam now, if you don't mind." He waved at one of the curtained cubicles he used for privacy and turned to lead Elizabeth out of the infirmary. That part was easy enough to figure out. Nobody had any real medical privacy, not here. How could they afford it? Carson would answer any of Elizabeth's indiscrete questions.

For his part, Rodney followed John toward the exam area. "So if you feel like it later, you should stop by the lab later. Radek found the most amazing gadget."

"And you want me to turn it on?" John guessed. He was just about four seconds from complaining that Rodney had the gene, too, and if he was having trouble he just needed more practice. And when had John gotten predictable?

"No, we can turn it on."

That surprised him. "You...need help figuring out what it does?"

Rodney had to smile. "No, we know what it does. We don't know why or what for, but, hey, it's pretty cool."

"So? What does it do?"

"When you think at it, it projects audio-visual images. Three dimensional pictures, abstract, but with really good resolution. And stereo. Very cool."

"Why?"

"I just told you we didn't know. We think it might be some kind of art form. Or a game. With enough practice, a person might be able to manage a mini-concert complete with laser light show." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "When you think math at it, it makes *fractals*."

And that, as Rodney had known it would, made John's eyes light up. "What, really?"

"I told you, you've got to see this thing."

"You could have brought it down--"

"What, here? I couldn't hand it to you while you were in isolation. Maybe you remember the last few days when you didn't have an immune system?"

"Oh, right. Physical contact necessary, then?"

"Yes, and a gene."

"Cool. But what was it for?" He drew aside the curtain that blocked off the exam table and politely held it for Rodney.

"Are you feeling okay? Maybe I should get Carson? Because you usually listen better than this. For the third time, we don't know why. The Ancients had a music box that could draw fractals. Well, so? They did all kind of quirky, irrational things. Frankly, this doesn't even make the top ten. I mean, hell, they were experimenting on *iratus* bugs. They left them lying around--" And Rodney froze, because suddenly a wave of pure venom had risen up, an anger and frustration so powerful that Rodney couldn't even put words to it.

Very, very softly, John said, "McKay?"

Rodney tried to take a deep breath and calm down. It didn't work.

John leaned forward, studied Rodney's face. "Cut it out," he said firmly.

"Right," Rodney squeaked. He could count on John to know when now wasn't a good time to panic. But there was this rage he couldn't put words to--and when had that ever happened?--still gagging him, and a memory of some nameless, unbearable fear.

A firm, solid hand on his shoulder. "Rodney."

Suddenly, without thought or transition, Rodney was hugging him. Both arms were wrapped around John and he was hugging very tightly. Which was appalling, but, what was worse, Rodney wasn't sure he could stop. He couldn't stop holding on, and he couldn't stop thinking.

What he was thinking was those long moments when he had done everything he could think to do, and John still wasn't getting better. What he was thinking was the last time John had been in the ring of Rodney's arms he had been dying. John, pale and sacred and way too quiet. John, gasping, struggling to breathe while his body swelled. John, in Rodney's arms, dying.

Under Rodney's ear, John cleared his throat and said calmly, "You want to talk about something?" But Rodney couldn't talk and he couldn't let go. John's hard, warm arms closed around Rodney's shoulders. "All right. Okay. Never mind."

"Have you both lost your minds? Or just your brains? You can't do this here." The hiss was Dr. Beckett's. It compensated in intensity what it was missing in volume. "You can't do this here. I'm serious. I don't care if it has been four days. Three of my orderlies are marines. It's just not safe."

Rodney gulped for air and tried to force himself to pull back. To his astonishment, John pulled him close again and cradled the back of his head in a large, warm hand. "He's having a panic attack," he said softly. "Or a breakdown."

Personally, Rodney was betting on a flashback, sort of. But he was still unable to speak.

"So what else is new," Beckett said lightly. But a very warm hand closed around Rodney's wrist and tested his pulse. "Damn. All right. Keep still."

A pinch on his upper arm and then Rodney felt a wave of *mellow* flush over his body. It spread from the middle outward, so that his toes and eyebrows felt mellow at the same time. "Carson," he said, "you've been holding out on me."

John patted his head but didn't let go. The doctor took Rodney's pulse again and then said, "Can you hop up on the table, Rodney? Let me take a look at you?"

"No," Rodney said, dredging up some sourness, though it was hard to find any in the mellow, "You need the bed to examine John."

"I've examined him more than a dozen times in the last few days. He can wait ten minutes." He smiled suddenly. "I'll put him in the scanner anyway. I didn't have a chance while he was in quarantine. Makes a lovely picture; inside and out and Technicolor three-dee besides." While he was talking he produced a hand scanner and pointed it at Rodney's head. "Any physical discomfort?"

"No, actually. I'm...strangely okay with the idea of having completely gone over the edge. Must be the drugs. Seriously? John? He's been holding out." He let John's hand guide him back and up onto the table. "Or is this new? Carson, are you using drugs that haven't been through the FDA again?"

John sighed. "Rodney, can you tell me what happened?"

"Happened?"

"What's wrong? Can you tell me what's wrong?"

John was watching him so patiently it was a shame to disappoint him. "No, actually. I've been trying to figure it out. I... don't have any idea. It's really very confusing."

"He's been under considerable stress," Carson said. "The last few days in particular." He toggled his headset. "Katie, this is Carson. Do you have a few minutes?....that'll be fine. Call me then." He turned the communicator off and said to John, "She can't get free for another hour."

"I can walk him to his quarters. Unless you'd rather keep him here," John offered.

"I'm keeping you here. I do want that exam. We could call Radek."

"No," Rodney protested, feeling dimly regretful. "Oh, no, you can't."

They looked at him expectantly. When Rodney added nothing else, Carson asked very patiently, "Why can't we call him?"

"He hasn't looked me in the eye in days," Rodney said sadly. "He's waiting for me to kill him. Well. Not literally."

Another long, expectant pause. "Why?"

"He thinks it's his fault. Well, it was his fault. But that doesn't matter. He was careful. He followed procedure. The machinery is just older than the Goa'uld. I mean, everything Radek did, I would have done. It might as well have been me that turned those things loose and killed you."

"Rodney...you've noticed I'm not dead, right?"

"That's not the point." He noticed that the doctor had produced another needle and was pushing up Rodney's sleeve to get a blood sample. "When did you get so paranoid?" Rodney asked. "Anybody gets a sniffle and you take a blood sample. Sometime in the last year you turned into a mosquito. I'm just having a breakdown. It's not like this is a surprise to anyone."

"Better safe than sorry." Carson patted Rodney's head. "Probably you've just cracked under the pressure, but you never know. You may be under the influence of some horrible alien microbe."

"Very funny. Were you a comedian with the livestock? But you gave me the good stuff, remember? Feeling no anxiety. Nope. Not even very sad, really."

"Livestock?" John murmured.

The doctor called for someone to come claim Rodney's blood sample. "Don't look at me. We don't even have any pets here."

"Sheep," Rodney said, waving a hand negligently. "Mice. Frogs. Medicine is pretty much voodoo, but I did look at your vita. I bet cell nuclei don't complain very much, do they."

"And they almost never get hysterical." He clicked on his headset. "Dr. Weir? We could use a hand in the infirmary, if you have a moment."

"Are we calling Elizabeth....?" John said doubtfully. "He's not himself."

Carson sighed. "The first time he explained how a ZPM worked to her, he hyperventilated. Elizabeth can handle him."

"Over the physics?" John said, bemused.

Rodney sighed. "Not over the physics. Because I figured it out *first*." A wave of happy satisfaction overcame him. "I proved six 'unprovable' theories and changed three physical laws that day. Damn, I'm good." His satisfaction faded. "You have no idea what a shame it is I can't publish anything."

"The point being she can handle him," Carson said.

"That's true." Rodney smiled again. "Elizabeth is very reasonable. She's my friend." He looked John over. He was still in scrubs and he hadn't washed his hair in about two days. "I think I love you more, though. You're the best friend I ever had."

"Jeeze, Carson, What'd you give him? Truth serum?" But he put his good arm around Rodney's shoulders, so that was all right.

"I gave him a very mild sedative. Rodney, when was the last time you slept?"

"I'm very careful about that. Recent research shows that chronic sleep deprivation can lead to serious health problems. Unless we're in the middle of combat, I'm in bed no later than midnight and up no earlier than five-thirty."

"Yes, and how much actual sleep do you get?"

"This week, not a lot." Actually, that had been worrying him a little. Bad enough that emergencies happened often enough to make sleepless nights a fairly regular event, but between the stress and the weird length of the Atlantean day, Rodney was pretty sure there would be problems later from the nights he spent staring at the ceiling demanding that his body go to sleep.

"Oh, dear," Carson sighed. "I really should have thought of that."

"Why?" John asked. "What's wrong?"

"I think he's going to crash. Rodney, why don't you just put your head down--"

"You're not my flight instructor. How can I crash? I'm not flying anything at the moment. Hmmm. Pun, I think. Heh. Depending on how high I am."

He allowed himself to be guided down onto the firm, slightly squishy mattress on the narrow table. John was rubbing his outer arm firmly. It was very comforting. "I can't imagine what I'd do if you died," Rodney said. "Well, I've been sort of imagining it for a while now. Actually, that might be what's wrong. I just...I can't...I don't know how I'd cope. If you died. I don't know what I'd do. Which really is sort of a problem. You're a stupid fuck, and I'm pretty sure you're going to get yourself killed."

"Thanks a lot." But John was still holding his arm, so that was all right. "Carson, is he in any danger?"

"No, I think he'll just sleep it off."

A lighter step entered the curtained cubicle and Elizabeth's voice asked, "What's going on here?"

Sleeping had actually begun to sound like a pretty good idea, but when he heard Elizabeth's voice, Rodney remembered he had something important to say. "I'm really sorry."

She frowned at him. "About what? Carson? What's wrong with Rodney?"

"Er. He had a little panic attack and I gave him the wrong sedative. It's nothing to worry about, but--"

Here they went again, and Rodney had something important to talk about. "Don't start apologizing again, Carson. Nobody wants to hear it. Anyway, it's my turn. 'Lizabeth, I'm really, really sorry."

She gave him a hard, long look. "Is this about Doranda again?"

Startled, Rodney lifted up his head. "Doranda? Are you still mad about that? Because I really thought...I mean, aren't we over that?"

Her eyes widened slightly. She had a look Rodney had never seen and could not interpret. "Yes Rodney. I'm over that. What did you want to say to me?"

Say? "Oh. Right. It's just. I'm sorry I love John more. I don't know how it happened. I never meant to love anybody. It's really screwing things up. And...I'm sorry."

"I see," she said carefully. "Don't worry about it. It's all right."

"Oh," Rodney murmured, putting his head back down. "Good."

***

He woke feeling heavy and thick. There was a bitter taste in his mouth and, oh, when he moved, he could tell he hadn't been sleeping on his own mattress.

"Hey, Rodney. How are you feeling?"

The voice was a surprise. Not anyone he'd been expecting. Although, really, waking up with other people talking to him wasn't something he normally expected at all. "Laura?" his voice was much softer than he'd expected.

"Yeah, it's me."

Rodney pried his eyes open. He was still in the infirmary, still in the curtained-off niche. He had a blanket, now, though. "What are you doing here?"

"Well. First it was Dr. Weir. And then the Colonel. And then Carson. But it's been fifteen hours, so now it's my turn."

"Er. Yes. Your turn to--what, exactly?"

"Babysit. They wanted somebody who knew you, in case you woke up weird. I've already seen you as weird as you get."

"Yes, thank you, 'Lieutenant kick-ass marine who panics and has hysterics when she gets stuck in somebody else's body.' I've seen you at your worst, too."

"Look, if you're back to name-calling again, I can set up another meeting with Heitmeyer for joint counseling."

Rodney sat up, pushed a hand through his hair. "You wouldn't."

"Well, no. I wouldn't. Anyway, you've already got an appointment for tomorrow afternoon."

"Lovely. Wonderful. Look, I freaked out. It's not like that's unusual or anything. I mean, was anybody surprised? Oh crap. Did I tell John I loved him more than Elizabeth?"

"I don't know. Did you?"

"Probably. Oh, well. Respect is highly overrated." He tried to smile. He had a great deal of practice acting as though he didn't care what people thought of him. Since he really didn't care what most people thought, he could be pretty convincing.

She looked at him pityingly. Possibly, she was the only one in Atlantis who could or would look at him like that. "Right now the official story is sleep deprivation brought on by working too late and a sedative that was a little too strong. Everybody is sticking to that. I wouldn't worry."

Rodney realized she was trying to make him feel better. It didn't work. "Am I allowed to leave?"

"Not until a nurse checks you over and you eat. Rodney, I'm serious here. You have friends. Since you treat everybody like crap, I'm not sure why, exactly.....but, anyway, you do have friends, and I don't think this will change anything."

"Well, I keep saving their butts. Where is the nurse?"

"After you eat." She pointed to a portable table with a silvery pouch and a bottle of water on it. "Carson said to tell you he's not happy, and what have you been living on, ration bars?"

Food again. His life would be so much more convenient if he could just skip eating. Even sleeping wasn't as big a pain in the ass as eating. The pouch held two roast-something sandwiches with tangy greens taking the place of lettuce and onion. There were also three of the mushy, round mock-bananas that Carson was always pushing on people because of the vitamin content.

Cadman watched him while he ate. She waited by the outer door while the nurse checked Rodney's pulse and temperature. Then she walked him to his quarters. "Look, you can stop being nice, now," he said. "You've done whatever they told you to do."

She rolled her eyes. "You are such an idiot. I'm not here under orders. I'm here because I'm one of your friends."

"You think I'm an idiot," he pointed out. "With friends like you, I hardly need Wraith." He didn't really mind, though. He thought she was pretty much chaos in a uniform. They didn't really like each other, but they were stuck with each other kind of the way people were stuck with irritating cousins. Or no, maybe it wasn't quite that bad. Rodney had never trusted his cousins. But he trusted Laura, even though she did horrify him.

"Well, yeah. But you're also a good guy, deep down. You're way too uptight, though. You really should chill out."

Rodney shuddered. "No, I'm pretty sure that would be a horrible idea. But thanks anyway."

She shrugged and left him in the corridor. Rodney started to enter his quarters, but he wasn't tired. It might be close to midnight by Atlantis time, but he had just slept the whole day. He hesitated only a moment and headed off to the lab.

In his email was a report from Jennifer Hailey. She had taken a go at re-writing subspace physics. It was a pretty good first effort, and he could see the case building for the hypothesis that the nature of the universe varied depending on what engine you were using. And, wow, by the way, wasn't that taking relativity to the edge.

She was still running into problems. Rodney suspected she was trying to rely on too many universal constants. But dumping some or all of the universal constants (and how would decide which, trial and error?) left you trying to solve for too many variables at once. There were ways of determining universal constants, but how would you do it while traveling through hyperspace? Ships weren't built to open a window and sit there. And sensors were weird in hyperspace. Possibly--in retrospect--because they were calibrated for the wrong universal constants. It was an interesting puzzle.

Maybe it was really no puzzle at all. Maybe, if they asked the right questions, Hermiod would just tell them what they wanted to know. Maybe.

But how would you test, for example, gravity--not as it influenced things inside the ship, obviously. But he was beginning to think that 'inside the ship' and 'outside the ship' was a very interesting distinction in hyperspace.

Which--wow--meant the Asgard engines weren't doing at all what everyone at the SGC had been assuming they were doing.

When he got hungry, he took a powerbar off the shelf and ate while playing with equations on the whiteboard. He didn't realize how late it was getting until the morning sunlight made a glare on the writing and he had to turn it around. While he was resettling, John came into the lab and looked around. "You're up early."

"Yes. And I've eaten all the worms already, so run along."

John pretended to be hurt. "You said you had something to show me," he said.

"Oh. Right." Rodney had sort of forgotten. He rummaged on the shelf over his desk and produced the device. "Here."

"It looks like a flower," John said thoughtfully.

"Yes, if by 'flower' you mean 'small sea urchin on a stick.' Here, turn it on."

In John's hands it came to life at once. The thin, short tentacles shivered and spread. A glittering sphere, like a soap bubble, shimmered to life a couple of inches above the delicate strands. John grinned. "Fantastic."

"You haven't seen anything yet. Think about something."

"Like...what?"

"Anything--oh, hey. What's that?" The visual image was much larger and brighter, a mixed coil of white and yellow.

"I was thinking about how much I missed eggs. You know. For breakfast." The image brightened and cleared so that Rodney could almost see a fried egg in the Rorschach swirl. Then it suddenly faded and grayed. "That's the powdered the eggs at McMurdo."

"Yuck. They fed us much better."

With almost ridiculous ease, the image changed. Several vivid, solid-looking colored balls appeared, popping in one after the other in quick succession. For a moment they hovered...and then they began to move. They set up an orbit around one another.

"Pretty, huh?" John said, smugly.

"Pretty, but not original. I did that day before yesterday." He couldn't bring himself to mention that it had taken twenty minutes for him to make a moving model of a solar system, but he did add graciously, "Yours is prettier."

"So how does it work, exactly?"

"Oh, we have no idea. Not a clue."

"And it is directed by brain waves."

"Oh, yeah. Think about music!"

John frowned. "But what does it do to the brain? Is there any feedback?"

Rodney blinked slowly. "Right," he said. "Let's just go try this out under the scanner."

They hurried to the infirmary, not really worried, but struck with a new brand of curious. Carson was intrigued at once, but he made them go back to steps of incremental caution: first, turn the device on in the presence of the big scanner. Then with the scanner running. Then, finally, use it for a moment while it scanned you.... Everything seemed all right.

They took turns using it while the full body scanner recorded brain waves and specific biochemical activities. Carson made copies of all the readouts, grumbling that it was such a shame that Wilson, brain guy, had taken to working nights because most of his job was trying to make sense of Ancient neurological texts, and since those were as dense and oblique as all the other Ancient technical writing, he preferred to do it in the peace and quiet of third shift.

"What about Heitmeyer?" John suggested. "Wouldn't she love to see that?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I don't see why. The readout looks exactly the same when we're using the projector as when we're not. The interaction isn't two way."

Carson sighed. "She's trying to settle the feud between botany, ethnobotany, and mycology."

John was surprised. "Is that still running?"

"It's moved on to the sabotage stage," Rodney said irritably. "I threatened to fire them all since they could be replaced in a heartbeat, and Dr. Brown slapped me....I suppose you have to make allowances for biology and the social 'sciences.' They're all flakes anyway." He changed the subject. "Let's go another round. This time, we'll each hum something at it and see what happens. Colonel, you start."

He hummed "Pop goes the weasel," which was a little silly, sure, but made the device produce volumes of abstract art. Then Rodney climbed into the scanner, held the device, and hummed "Pop goes the weasel," and the thing produced a very nice line diagram of wormhole physics, which was a surprise. On Carson's turn, he got layers of fuzzy color that kind of resembled a watercolor landscape. Frowning, Rodney put John back in the machine and told him to try to make a watercolor landscape. Trying very hard, it took him ten minutes.

"This is fun," John said. "But what was it for?"

Rodney sighed. They had been playing around for about three hours now. "Maybe it was a toy." He dug a power bar out of his pocket and opened it absently. "I'm noticing that none of use uses a different part of the brain when we direct the device than when we pretend to direct the device. But the scanner images for each of us look slightly different from each other. I suppose we'll have to ask the neurologist if those differences are significant. It might explain why we have different results."

"It might be difference in our artistic or mathematical talents," Carson said, and he gently relieved Rodney of his lunch. "You're just not paying attention. Yes, you can live on these for weeks at a time, but I really don't recommend it."

Rodney tried to snatch it back. "I've got plenty. I'll share--"

John laid a hand on Rodney's shoulder. "How about we take a break, go grab some lunch?" It wasn't really a question.

"I don't want to take a break. I want to stay here and finish the project." He said it much more hotly than he meant to, and the others stared at him for a few moments.

"What do you think?" John asked, glancing worriedly at Carson.

"I think he's a little manic," Carson said.

"He's always manic--"

"Thank you very much!" Rodney said, starting to step away.

The hand on his shoulder tightened. "I want to know if you think he's in trouble."

"Er, hello. Standing right here." Rodney waved his hand.

Carson gave Rodney a hard look. "Aye," he said softly.

John took a deep breath. "Can we have a few minutes to talk?"

"Use my office. Take all the time you need."

Just like that, Rodney found himself in a small room, alone with John, with the door closed behind them. "What?" Rodney demanded, hoping that going on the offensive and trying for intimidating would gain him some ground.

Too late, he remembered that even when he was putting his best effort into being obnoxious, he had never succeeded in putting the Colonel in his place. Not since the first day he'd taken over the garrison had Rodney managed to confuse or humiliate the man into backing down. John just scowled and snapped, "What the hell is your problem?"

"I don't have a problem, thank you very much."

And to his astonishment, John just smiled a little and said, "Now that's worrying right there. Because you always have a problem, McKay."

He pretended to give in to the charm. "All right. Whatever. We'll go eat lunch with Carson--"

"I don't want you to humor Carson. I want you to tell me what's wrong."

"Fine. Everything just dandy here."

"Rodney, are you freaking out because Carson outed us? Because nobody heard him. It's not a big deal."

"Oh, hell, I was really hoping I misunderstood that? Are you sure--? I mean, I don't think--Are you mad? Anyway, he couldn't out us. We're not in. We aren't--We don't have that kind of relationship."

"No. We don't."

"Although I can kind of see why Carson would think so. I mean, clearly the only reason you haven't killed me yet is that I'm putting out."

Rodney had thought that last was very funny, but John ignored it to continue, "And even if we did, it wouldn't be a big deal."

"What the hell are you talking about? This is your career on the line. Damn it, it's your life. People have been killed over this, and ninety percent of the marines here can kick your ass. This is not the kind of rumor you can afford."

"Shit like that isn't very important here, Rodney. And we both know I'm not going back to Earth, not to live. Everything that matters to me is here, and with my gene, Elizabeth would hire me as civilian support staff if the Air Force discharged me. We've already talked about it. And as for the marines--on whose behalf I am affronted, by the way. They are not the enemy here....Even if they were a problem, Teyla and Ronon can each kick their butts, and both of them think we're involved and they're fine with it. So everything's fine."

"Oh," Rodney said. He didn't know what else to say.

"Rodney, what's wrong. Talk to me. I can't take you into the field like this."

"Oh, yeah. That's a credible threat. Just what urgent mission are you cutting me from? You are grounded for the next week, and Teyla left last night for the mainland. Nobody's going anywhere."

John just looked at him calmly.

"The thing is, I'm pretty sure that if I did do something really stupid and fall in love with you, you'd forgive me. I, er, saved your life recently, and everything...."

John didn't disagree, which Rodney considered a good sign. Until he came out and asked: "Are you in love with me?"

"I don't know. No, really: I don't know. I...thought I'd been in love before. But the way I feel about you--I've never felt anything like it. I can't imagine how anybody could have ever felt anything like it and it not...I dunno. And not it be the end of the world, or something. But I--this could just be stress. Carson is half convinced I'm losing my mind. Only...."

"Only?"

"Only....Jennifer Hailey doesn't do anything for me." He muttered. "And she's perfect. She's brilliant and blond and she likes me. Or at least respects me. I used to think I had this very specific thing for blond physicists. But maybe I just have a sort of general thing for Air Force officers who can do math, because even when I'm talking to her, I'm thinking about you. Mostly what I'm thinking is, however this turns out I really hope you'll forgive me."

John nodded, thinking. He looked very serious, but not angry at all. "I've been in love with you since you walked into the flying darkness that ate energy."

Horrified and disappointed, Rodney took a step backwards. "I'm not a hero," he protested miserably.

"No," John said, taking a step forward. "You're just a very good man."

Rodney froze. "Oh," he whispered. "I see. I think...I must be in love with you after all, because I could spend the rest of my life trying to live up to that." He shook his head. "Son of a bitch. Well, isn't that nice? I think you've just ruined my life."

"That's...one way to look at it," John conceded, looking a little amused.

"You love me."

"Yes," John said gently.

"Hey, wait. If you've been interested in me since the fourth day, what was that with Chaya? And every other woman we've ever met?"

"You wouldn't give me a second look."

"So now it's my fault?"

John smiled. "Yes. It's your fault."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "You are so--" the only end to that sentence he could think of was 'perfect.' He tried again and came up with 'beautiful.' Rodney swallowed hard. "Is it really a good idea to do this?"

John shrugged. "Compared to packing up and moving to another galaxy, it doesn't look that bad."

"Right. Right. Perspective," Rodney gulped.

"Is it the gay thing that's bothering you?" John asked. And he was still so calm and reasonable about all this. It really wasn't fair.

"Er, no. Well, maybe later. Probably not. Not as much as--" As the look in John's eyes right now. No one had ever looked at Rodney like that. No one had ever loved him as much. Never. It was as upsetting as hell. He could never live up to that, that love. He would never survive losing it. He would never figure out what to do with it. He would never, ever deserve it. Not the way John was looking at him now. He couldn't imagine anyone who would deserve that. "You love me?"

"A lot. Yeah. And let me say, for a genius, you're not all that quick. I mean, I think retarded is too strong a word. But average. Definitely."

"Shut up," Rodney whispered. John kissed him. It was gentle and brief, a soft, ephemeral something that was quickly gone and left a thousand questions and desires in its wake.

"Let's go get some lunch. Hmmm? Some real food. And then...I'm not working today. And you haven't taken a day in almost two weeks. We'll take a jumper and head out to the mainland. Find a beach near the settlement--"

"No. You can't leave the city."

"I can't go through the gate, but there's no reason--"

"No," Rodney said, because he could suddenly see that the only thing worthy of John loving him was loving John back. A lot. And, hell, by the way, damn it! because Rodney didn't expect to be very good at it. He'd barely mastered loving his cat, and he'd abandoned the poor cat in another galaxy, so look how that turned out. "We stay here."

"Okay. Fine. Here. We'll....go for a long walk on the east pier. I could use some light exercise. We'll take a snack. Hang out. Maybe that grand ball room sort of place with the pretty floor in Tower J? It'll be nice."

Rodney found himself nodding. Right. Go for a walk. With John. That would be nice. "Wait," he felt a flash of panic, "is this a date?"

"Yes," John said cheerfully. "Why? Is that a problem?"

"Yes it's a problem. I'm terrible on dates."

"That's all right. I'm good enough for both of us."

Right. He probably was. "Okay then."

---end---