Even The Wicked (or: The Seven Nearly Deadly Sins Of Rodney Mckay)

by Sage

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/ass/sage/wicked.php
Summary: Rodney's not trying to be the hero

I. Gluttony

"Just because the D'halla are giving us more food doesn't mean you need to eat more, Rodney," Sheppard says, sitting on the stone next to Rodney's stone.

Sheppard looks a little tired, but then again, he's spent all afternoon negotiating with the D'halla. Nice enough people, even though they seem to live solely off leaves, berries, and roots and have a tenuous hold on the concept of clothes. Rodney cringes to think that he's never seen so much pubic hair in his life, and not in a good way either.

The food wasn't bad though. Ceremonial friendship leaves aren't his idea of breakfast, but it staves off the hypoglycemic reaction quite nicely. Which he wouldn't have risked if Major 'Rise and Shine' Sheppard hadn't decided they needed to head out two hours earlier, completely preempting breakfast.

Just because Sheppard can't technically give Rodney an order doesn't mean he can't push him around and make his life just that much harder.

Rodney licks mustard off the side of his mouth with his tongue and doesn't seem to mind the comment that Sheppard just made. "First, I've had this and friendship leaves all day. Second, who are you, the food patrol?"

"Two sandwiches?"

"Survival of the fittest, Major."

Sheppard lightly slaps Rodney in the stomach. "Yeah, fittest."

Then he walks away, smiling. Rodney puts his sandwich down. He tells himself he's perfectly justified in taking two sandwiches, maybe even three. It's not like he's a pig or anything. And it's not like they're starving. There's enough for everyone.

He can still feel Sheppard's slap to his gut. He hates him for that, for making him feel guilty about it. He hasn't felt guilty about eating since his father.

Rodney wraps up his sandwich and figures that it just isn't his day anyway. The way this mission is going.

And for his next trick, the Amazing and Unhappy Rodney will examine a bunch of stupid religious articles for any trace of technology. Which, if he finds anything even remotely justifying his presence on this mission, will be the first official miracle of the Atlantis expedition.

II. Greed

"It's a religious artifact, it belongs to them!" Teyla snaps. "We can't take it."

Rodney sighs. "I'm not saying we steal it entirely. We just switch our ZPM for their ZPM. They'll never know the difference!"

Sheppard clucks with his tongue and the gentleness of his tone is so perfectly acidic. "Now, Rodney, we've been over this."

Hey, if Major 'Rebel Without a Cause' Sheppard wants to get into it, Rodney can dish it right back out.

"This is not powering anything!" he shouts. "It's sitting on an altar and they're singing songs to it. This is an almost completely charged ZPM, Major. Fully charged. We're talking about going home, powering the shields for months, being able to use everything in the city."

"Okay, so?" he asks.

Rodney shakes his head. "What, you need the Sesame Street version? Want me to put it to music? I'll use smaller words. We need this ZPM. A lot more than they do."

"They did say that removing it would make the gods angry," Ford pipes up. Rodney glares at him. "That could mean that removing it would cause something to happen. You never know. What they call gods could be some kind of technology."

"Well I've met a couple of gods and trust me, they'll never know. We won't tell them. Even if somehow, someway, there's technology here that I can't detect. And there's not. Replacing it with a less charged ZPM won't hurt anything. Okay, so it runs out a couple hundred years sooner, so what? We're talking about shields, power, defense against the Wraith. Come on, someone back me up here."

Rodney looks over at Teyla, hoping, praying, that somewhere in her wishful alien brain that she'll understand what this means.

"The D'halla do not wish us to take the artifact. I believe it is more important to have allies who are willing to freely give us food supplies than to risk making an enemy for a power source that we may be able to acquire elsewhere," Teyla says, responding to his plea. "It would be a grievous violation of their trust. I would not feel right if we did this."

Rodney shakes his head. "What, so every time we find something that we could potentially save our lives we have make sure it makes us feel good about ourselves? I personally will feel a lot better about myself if I'm not having the life sucked out of me by the Wraith!"

And there's Sheppard, shaking his head like none of Rodney's pleading and arguing has gotten through his inch thick shield of cool.

He whistles, "You are a sad little man, McKay. Just keep searching. Maybe they've got another ZPM around here they're not worshipping. Two more hours and we're heading out."

"Fine."

Rodney turns away and marches through the tall grass back towards the temple.

"Hey, where you going?" Sheppard calls after him.

"To finish going over the temple, Major. If you need me, you know where to find me."

He waves a dismissive hand at Sheppard and shakes his head.

And they buy it, that he's gone back to the temple to pour over readings and sulk. Teyla, Sheppard, and Ford go find whatever it is that resembles leadership among the D'halla.

Nobody is watching him. The D'halla are all oohing and ahhing over Teyla's lighter and Ford's oh-so-cliched quarter-behind-the-ear magic trick. These people's ignorance bothers him deep down. How can they just get away with being this simple and stupid? How they can exist when their entire lives are just made up illusions and ghost stories and friendship leaves?

It's not like they'd miss a ZPM, really. They'd just make up a story about the gods taking it or something. And Atlantis would be safe. They might even get enough power to make a trip home.

Rodney thinks about Italian food and potato chips and his cat and internet porn and his big, big bed and being able to brag to Dr. Carter and all the things that these people's retarded superstitions are keeping him from.

He knows that nobody's going to love him for what he's about to do. But hey, it's not like anybody loves him anyway. He's not out here trying to be a hero.

They brought Major Sheppard and Lieutenant Ford for that.

Him they brought to make it work.

So he's going to make it work.

He stuffs the ZPM deep in his pack and covers the ceremonial case for the ZPM up with things on the altar, trying to hide his theft. To give them enough time to get to Atlantis before these people go ape.

Maybe he's an asshole for it, but he'll be an asshole who's alive in a big bed with a cat and potato chips and it's not like anyone loves him anyway. Not like Sheppard's going to save his ass when the Wraith stop by for lunch.

And he deserves it. He didn't even get to finish his damn sandwich because of Sheppard, so who cares what he thinks? Rodney could sit down and make a mile long list of reasons that this isn't even remotely the wrong thing. He can think of maybe five that it is.

Even Sheppard ought to be able to do that math.

He comes out of the temple still pretending to sulk. Still covering up his deception. And his pack weighs a lot more than he remembers it weighing this morning.

III. Pride

Okay, so Plan A sucked.

"What did you do?" Sheppard demands, furiously.

"Why did I have to do something?" Rodney yells from behind him, racing through the trees, trying to keep up with Sheppard and Teyla. Ford is behind him, laying cover fire. "You're the one trying to teach football to the natives!"

Sheppard takes a deep breath and scans the area. They all crouch down.

"I think they've fanned out, sir," Ford says, breathing hard and fast. "I don't know what we did to piss them off."

"We were merely discussing games, the D'halla are a peaceful race. I do not understand what would have upset them," Teyla agrees.

McKay can feel the ZPM getting heavier and heavier on his back. He's tempted to drop his pack and make a run for it.

"That leaves you," Sheppard says in a loud stage whisper. "What the hell did you do in the temple?"

"I wrote Rodney was here all over the walls," he snipes back. "What do you think I did?"

Rodney stares at Sheppard, waiting to see if he buys it, if he makeshift cover of leaves and sarcasm works.

And he knows it doesn't. Sheppard stands up.

"You took the ZPM, didn't you?"

Teyla and Ford both look like they've just seen Sheppard pull a rabbit out of his ass. The cover story worked for them. But Sheppard just can't be fooled by the shallow things. Ever.

Rodney takes a deep breath and stands up, to look Sheppard in the eyes. "We needed it. They don't. They're a bunch of half-naked retards running around in the woods. It's a trinket to them, Major. This could save our lives. And if you're not prepared to make intelligent decisions, then I will."

Even Rodney has to take a moment to realize how horrible that sounded. He isn't sure where that came from, because it doesn't feel like it came from inside him. Doesn't feel like he even had anything to do with it.

It's like he took a camera and watched another Rodney McKay do all that.

"Well, we're all going to march down there and give it back to the nice half-naked retards and hope they'll accept your apology."

Rodney clenches his fists. "No."

"What?"

"No. If we have to give it back, fine. But I'm not apologizing to anyone. I'm right about this, and you know it."

Suddenly Sheppard has him by the collar of his jacket and he's backed against a tree.

"McKay!"

"They don't need it!"

"We are in the middle of the woods, being hunted by god knows what and you're -"

Rodney gets ramped up to say something even worse, but then Ford screams something and he turns and the world goes into serious slow motion. Ford's suddenly down, Teyla's firing and screaming. The shots are the only thing moving fast, because he's practically frozen. Sheppard tries to lay cover fire so Teyla can drag Ford out.

Something bright and red hits Sheppard hard, so hard that it nearly flips him when it knocks him back. Rodney ditches his pack and doesn't even get his Baretta out of the holster before gets hit by the same hard force. He falls on his face next to Sheppard.

And he knows he was wrong. Knows it the minute he hits the ground. And while he's fading into blackness, he thinks about saying sorry.

But he just can't.

Rodney gets one good look at the thing that's been hunting them. It's wearing a black cloak and the face is obscured. The hand that reaches towards him does not have five fingers. Only three.

Yeah, Plan A really sucked.

IV. Jealousy

Rodney wakes up on a floor. It's a very cold stone floor that's dark and he can't see a wall anywhere near. He rolls over and groans and something stings his entire arm in a bad numb-tingle way that tells him they're being kept in by a force shield.

"Gah!"

He rolls the other way and gets up.

"Morning, sunshine," Sheppard says. Rodney turns and sees Sheppard leaned against a wall sitting in between Teyla and Ford.

Ford doesn't look so good.

"Where are we?" he asks.

"Jail, I guess," Sheppard answers. "We woke up here."

"Well, it doesn't look Wraith," Rodney murmurs, in lieu of something actually comforting or helpful.

"You took the ZPM," Teyla says, sharply. "We agreed that we would not take it and yet you did."

"Yeah," he admits. "I know. I didn't mean for this to happen."

It's a second-cousin to 'I'm sorry' and if you squint and turn your head the right way, it looks just like an apology, Rodney figures. And it's true. He did not at any time plan on them getting hurt.

"But why? It was not necessary. The D'halla had given us food, called us friends. And now they will never trust us again. Now they will spread word to their allies that we are liars and thieves."

"She's right, McKay."

Rodney sits down. "I said I didn't mean for this to happen. What do you want?"

Sheppard shakes his head. "How ya holdin' up, lieutenant?"

Ford shakes his head and frowns. "Peachy, sir."

Sheppard shifts and crouches next to Ford, checking him over. He look at McKay and says, "We need medical supplies, but they took everything."

He doesn't even have to say "because of you", he doesn't even have to imply it. Because everything he's been saying since Rodney woke up has been for the sake of making that point.

Rodney sits down in the middle of the floor and feels the bruise across his ribs, the soreness in his muscles.

"Well, you're gonna have a hell of a scar, Lieutenant," Sheppard says, softly. "But I don't think it'll ruin your social life."

Ford smiles and almost laughs, but coughs instead. And he's still managing to smile. Just to draw it out, of course. To make Sheppard sorrier for him.

"I was worried for a minute there."

"Well, the ladies of the Pegasus galaxy can rest easy."

And Ford is still smiling that stupid smile just to make everyone feel bad. Oh, poor poor Lieutenant, smiling through all his pain. Please.

Rodney crosses his arms and surreptitiously touches the bruise along his ribs.

He's noticed that nobody's bothered to ask if he's okay. Not that he needs them to, but it'd be nice. If they cared. Be even nicer if he actually deserved it, he thinks.

Rodney sees a shadow move across the wall in front of him. He turns and sees one of the things that captured them coming towards them.

It's something resembling humanoid. Two legs, arms, hands - if you wanted to call them that - a face in the middle with two solid black eyes and a hole at the bottom that probably could be a mouth, with careful plastic surgery. And there are teeth. Two rows on top and bottom.

It opens it's mouth and a sound comes out, something that sounds like a cross between Chewbacca and the lion that roars in the beginning credits of movies.

Red light passes in a curtain that's probably the creature opening the force shield surrounding the cell.

It roars again.

Rodney stands up.

Something he can't see pushes him forward and he lands hard on his face. He doesn't even get the chance to scream because the shock of pain radiating from the bruises is so sudden.

He looks up.

"What?" he asks, standing up. "You want the ZPM back, fine. You have it. So you can let us go now, all right?"

"McKay, I don't think this is the best way to negotiate our release."

McKay turns. There's Ford, malingering and looking at pale as possible, which is kind of silly considering. And Teyla, with her sharp judgmental eyes. And Sheppard, looking kind of scared.

"I can handle this."

"McKay!" Sheppard screams.

McKay is just about to scream back and tell Major Hissy Fit that he's dealt with aliens before but something cuts him like fire across his back. He falls forward, again. His back burns, his ribs throb.

Then another streak of glass and fire. He screams and curls on his side, too taken by pain to think, speak, do anything but try to curl his body away from it.

He hears a crackle and a thud and Sheppard cursing.

Sheppard tried to charge the force shield, tried to get out and help him. Rodney holds onto that thought while he stares at the floor.

The creature roars and points a hand-fin towards the darkness.

Rodney takes shallow little breaths, trying to function again. His brain is a CD player that's been dropped on the ground. He's not sure if it's going to keep spinning or not.

"Dr. McKay?" Lieutenant Ford calls to him. He's not smiling now, and that's not what Rodney wanted at all.

Rodney pounds the floor with a fist. He groan-screams when another shot of pain ricochets across his skins, millions of neurons firing in order.

The pain recedes. Endorphins kick in. McKay remembers it from something Carson said once. About pain and torture and endorphins and how to deal with it. Some medical thing.

He stands up and takes a deep breath and wipes the spit from the sides of his mouth like excess mustard.

"Well, what's my day without a little torture?" McKay asks.

Even with the thrum, thrum of pain across his spine, McKay manages to stroll into the darkness of the corridor outside their cell room like a teenage punk walking into detention. Like it doesn't matter.

V. Rage

He can see the ZPM from where he is. He can see it resting on the edge of the table in what he's figured out long ago is something like a lab.

In fact, it's about all he can see. Belly down on a metal table in a room that is nowhere near room temperature, Rodney is thinking that he's never going to find alien probe jokes funny again.

God why did anyone ever think they were?

Having something foreign touch him, not in a nice way, hell, not even in a way he truly understands. How was the idea of that ever funny?

It's not even as basic as torture. Occasional jabs here and there, but they're not asking him any questions. Which is why it's almost worse.

There's nothing to fight, nothing to anchor the pain and make it fit in his head. Nothing to give it a context.

Just pokes when he least expects it, when he thinks it's over.

It's been hours, maybe half a day. He's been on this table just that long and he'd kill to have a watch, just to know how much he's endured.

But he's stuck, spread eagled on his stomach, breathing shallow breaths, always afraid of the pain that comes when his lungs expand too much too fast and press his ribs into the metal.

It's a tiny microcosm he inhabits now.

His team - Sheppard, Teyla, Lieutenant Ford - they're light years away. Atlantis might as well be gone. He's given up thinking about anything that isn't breathing softly and trying not to look at the ZPM.

It was such a good idea at the time, he thinks while he winces and hates the dread that comes with waiting for the next bad thing. That comes with having no way to gauge when it's coming or when it'll be over.

Maybe they're done this time. Maybe they'll stop touching him.

Only they don't. Hard fins that feel like crusty snake skin push him and he rolls over onto his back.

He can't see anything but up up up into the skylight that promises only a vague light gray for a sky.

This is so much worse. Rodney just shuts his eyes.

And a hard, cool snakeskin fin presses down on his belly. He tries his hardest not to breathe, because he swears he's going throw up. It's foreign and scaly and touching him. Touching him on his naked skin with no barrier.

The hand lifts and Rodney watches the head of the alien lean to one side. It stares down between his legs with adamant curiosity.

He's been an atheist since 7th grade and he's still praying to God to help him out.

The creature wraps it's hand around his penis.

Rodney gasps, the air burns cold all the way down and he keeps sucking it in because he doesn't even know how to breathe anymore and let it out again.

"Stop! Oh, jesus, god, please stop!" he wails. "Please, don't. STOP!"

They don't. They don't heed his pain or his utter horror. They don't even acknowledge it.

Their hands are alien and he is being touched, grabbed, and he swears his balls are shriveling up, trying to recede back inside and he can't even squirm that well. He can't breathe and maybe he's crying. He's so far past being able to tell.

The alien squeezes, twists, investigates him like it doesn't understand this strange floppy appendage that makes Rodney McKay cry like a little girl.

It doesn't even fit in his mind how bad this is.

So horribly, horribly alien. Worse than dirty. Worse than diseased. Foreign. Unknown.

The alien stops touching. Stares at another alien across the table. They whistle and then roar-groan.

And the strap holding him come loose. The aliens leave.

Rodney rolls off the table and into the first corner he finds. And he curls up. He hasn't cried like this ever. He puts his hand over his eye and his other arm is wrapped as tight around him as he can get. The shame, the fear, it's like nothing he's ever felt. Maybe he's like a little girl who's lost her mommy, but he'd rather be anyone in any situation on Earth, no matter how bad.

Maybe getting raped or murdered or beaten, but at least on Earth. At least with human hands.

The crying passes really quickly. Especially when it's apparent the aliens will not be returning any time soon. He sits up, rests his head against the wall and sits with his legs leaned to the side, trying for modesty that really doesn't matter, but it's comforting to hold on to stupid cultural things in times like these.

His arms drape across his lap, providing very casual cover.

McKay stares towards the door. Doesn't think, doesn't cry, doesn't feel. He's as thoughtful as an amoeba. Just stares, lets the natural and rather healthy process of shock take him over and wrap him up in a nice haze.

Okay, naked, but that's a big abstract concept and it's far, far, far away. And oh, there were people with him, something he was doing.

Oh yeah. All very far, far away. Probably long gone by now.

He's been in the corner for a hundred years. He was on the table for a thousand.

"McKay?"

Rodney looks up from the floor. Sheppard's standing there, fully armed, with a P-90 attached at his collarbone.

"Major?"

He blinks. Oh yeah, Major Sheppard.

Major Sheppard.

And he looks around. The ZPM. The table. Him. He's like some soap opera amnesiac, getting all his memories back in a flood. Because his mind snaps out of it's shock-fog in no time.

Him, naked, shame, alien touches, stealing, Sheppard's disapproval. Everyone's disapproval.

"You okay?"

McKay just sits there. "Naked."

Sheppard stares at the floor. "Yeah. Kinda noticed."

"Where are my clothes?"

"Umm, I don't know. They just laid all our stuff by the cell and then lowered the shield. I think they're letting us go."

"And they didn't return my clothes?"

"No. Just our equipment."

"So what am I supposed to do?"

Sheppard sighs and sort of scratches his head. "Look, we're all adults here. And it's nothing we haven't seen."

"You gotta be kidding me. You want me to walk all the way back to the 'gate naked?"

"You want to stay here and play doctor with them?"

"I am not -," Rodney stops to take a breath. "I won't."

"Oh, come on. So everyone gets to see the McKay family jewels. We need to get out of here. Lieutenant Ford is stable for now, but he needs medical attention. I don't have time."

"I'm so sorry, I should've checked my schedule for today. I guess naked time's over."

Sheppard shifts his weight irritably and stares. He unclips his P-90 and unzips his jacket. He throws it at Rodney. Rodney catches it just shy of hitting him in the face. He holds it there, mid air, staring.

"Tie it around your waist and let's go," Sheppard says.

Rodney double knots the sleeves of the jacket and lets them dangle down, hopefully covering something - anything.

This has gone so far past his worst nightmare.

"Today, Rodney," Sheppard demands, impatiently.

"Excuse me, Major. I would hate to take up any more of your valuable time, seeing as I'm stark naked and I just got molested by aliens."

Sheppard takes a big, deep breath. "Rodney. Lieutenant Ford is dying. Is there any place in that giant brain of yours where you get what that means? Fine, you want love and kisses? I'll give you all you want when we're back in Atlantis. But right now, I really don't care." Sheppard stalks towards him and backs him into the corner. "And if you have to do naked cartwheels to get us back the 'gate, you do that."

This is Sheppard at his fierce, macho military best. The way he's breathing is so much more ready to charge bull than human. Rodney covers the bruise on his ribs by crossing his arms and prays Sheppard won't punch him in the gut. Because that would probably kill him at this point, the way he's feeling.

"Fine. Okay," Rodney agrees. And he adds, "I didn't mean for him to get hurt, I swear I didn't."

Sheppard's face doesn't change much, but his eyebrows separate a little bit. He pats the side of Rodney's face and turns away.

Rodney bends forward, braces on his knees, and Sheppard's touch is just as foreign and incomprehensible as the roaring aliens'.

He stands up and starts towards the open door across the lab and he sees the ZPM sitting on a table, alone. He looks at it.

"McKay," Sheppard warns. "In case you forgot, that's why you're here in the first place."

McKay stares at it. Thinks about screaming for the alien to stop when it had his penis in one hand, when it poked needles into his spine.

"Yeah," he answers.

He picks it up in one hand.

"McKay!"

He contemplates the ZPM in his hand. For this stupid, stupid thing they think they have the right to do that to him, to Lieutenant Ford. For this? Just an over glorified battery. There's bound to be a thousand more in the galaxy.

"Sometimes, I can be so stupid," he tells Sheppard.

He puts the ZPM back on the table and walks out, seething. He walks out like he's wearing steel plated armor rather than being naked.

Sheppard leads him down a long dark tunnel, back to the open cell, where Lieutenant Ford is propped against the wall with Teyla trying to comfort him and stroking his forehead.

He cracks a little smile to the state Rodney's in.

"Making a fashion statement, McKay?" he asks, but his stare is kind of drifting.

"Yeah. Uniforms suck. I'll tell you all about it when we get to Atlantis," says McKay.

"Okay, Lieutenant, rise and shine," says Sheppard. Both he and Sheppard bend down and let Ford put his arms around their shoulders. They slowly pick him up.

His legs are barely worth walking on, the state he's in. They're practically dragging him out of the room. But before they reach the door, a red light passes over them.

And they're standing outside in the woods, in the spot they got attacked.

"Okay, we're about a click and a half from the gate," says Sheppard.

They slowly half-drag Ford for maybe five minutes before a shot fires over their heads.

"What the hell?" Sheppard asks, ducking underneath Ford's arm, leaving all of Ford's weight on Rodney. They stand still and watch as Teyla and Sheppard scan the area.

Ford's head lolls back his voice sounds almost like he's crying because of his despair, "They let us go, sir, they let us go."

"McKay, tell me you didn't do anything to that ZPM when you picked it up!" Sheppard screams.

"You were there. I put it back, I left it alone!" Rodney shouts back. Sheppard draws his baretta and walks towards them. He hands the butt of it to Rodney.

Rodney takes the gun in his hand and kind of hopes that one of those aliens will come running right at him. Because right now, shooting something would be so good. He never though he was the kind of man who liked violence.

But he didn't think he'd be the kind of man standing naked in a forest holding a gun, either. Or the kind of man who'd steal something just because he could.

Apparently there were a lot of things Rodney didn't know about himself.

Another shot fires, right into the tree next to Teyla. Rodney crouches down and props Lieutenant Ford against a tree.

There are five of them, firing down at them. Teyla and Sheppard manage to shoot four of them outright and kill them. They wound a fifth one. It tries to limp away until it falls down on it's knees. The hood of it's cloak falls back and it looks to see that it's standing just a few feet away from Rodney and Ford.

It roars pitifully, almost a moan. It doesn't take a linguist to tell that's a plea. It stares at Rodney with large black eyes, blinking. It moans again and crouches down further.

Rodney stays still and has the gun aimed right at it. It looks just like the alien that poked him, that touched him. It's probably a different one, but he just doesn't care, frankly. He screamed and he begged for mercy and they didn't show any. They just kept right on poking and prodding. Like he wasn't a living being.

He fires right into alien's face and the blackness of it's blood splatters all over him.

Rodney is breathing like a steam engine at full speed. And he's still holding the gun out. In case anything else wants a piece of him.

"Let's move," Sheppard says, barely louder than the ringing in his ears. He helps pick Ford up again and they go as fast as they can back to the gate.

The two small suns of the D'halla world have started to set. The sky is bright pink and yellow. They radio the medical emergency into Atlantis and step through.

Rodney doesn't even remember that he's mostly naked until he gets on the other side of the wormhole.

Elizabeth and Carson greet them with a full entourage of doctors, nurses, and marines.

Everyone gathers around Ford, and Carson starts shouting medical orders left and right. One of the medics comes over to check him over.

The woman - her uniform says Jameson - reaches out to touch him. He slaps her hand back.

"Don't touch me," he warns her.

"Rodney?" Elizabeth comes near him with narrow eyes. She catches him by the arm. "What happened?"

Rodney shakes his head at her, and can't stand that she's so gentle or that her hands are nice and warm and he's shaking. He can't let her be nice to him like this, since she doesn't know what happened or that's he's the new bad guy.

It would be like cheating or stealing or something worse.

So he walks away like he doesn't know mission protocol or doesn't care.

He walks all the way to his quarters and barks at anyone who dares to stare at him or ask him if he's okay. He wishes he could slam his door, but he can't.

He sits on the edge of his bed and doesn't bother getting dressed. Just sits with his head in his hands.

Rodney had no idea he could be so angry. Most days he deals with a good level of annoyance. Stupid questions, stupid missions, stupid people. But this - he doesn't know how to deal. How to breathe. How to function.

Suddenly, he starts feeling very, very cold. Colder than he's ever felt before. And he just can't take in enough air.

He rips open the lid to his trunk to find his clothes and gets dressed furiously. When he can't find his jacket, the really warm one, it just sets him off. Like throwing a gallon of gasoline on a campfire.

He slams the lid shut. He picks up the first thing he can find, some ceremonial stick Teyla gave to him as a gift, and he starts hitting anything he can find. He smashes his lamp and smashes his trunk and even the stupid framed picture of his PhD on the wall that he was so proud of and made such a damn fuss about bringing.

Rodney is a whirling dervish. He even picks the broken frame up and hurls it across the room and doesn't even notice that he's cut his palm.

His door opens up.

And it's Sheppard, standing there in his tee-shirt and uniform pants. And a cotton ball taped to the inside of his arm.

"McKay?" he asks, looking around to see the wreckage.

Rodney just stands there holding the ceremonial stick, not really noticing that now there's blood dripping down the stick.

Sheppard takes a deep breath. "Okay, I don't really go in for the 'distressed' look myself, but I hear it's popular this year. And just so you know, they want you down in the infirmary."

Rodney nods. "Okay. Thanks."

He just stands there. Sheppard just stands there. They stand in place and don't look at each other at all.

Sheppard puts a fist to his mouth and gives a little cough, "Far be it from me to ask a stupid question at a time like this, but um, are you okay?"

Rodney just stares right at Major Sheppard. He never realized how good the man looked, even at times like these. He never realized that even the small things meant so much.

He never realized he cared for this man. Not until he stood there, too angry at everything - himself, Major Sheppard, the penis-grabbing aliens, Atlantis, his whole life - and suddenly there's Sheppard, making a special place inside of him hurt

He knows that he's lost something with Sheppard. Something like credibility only deeper than that, more important. Something very vital, something he just threw away for a half-charged ZPM. Which was stupid.

And everyone knows Rodney's track record of dealing well with stupid.

Rodney looks down at his hand. "They need me in the infirmary?"

"Yeah. How 'bout we walk there together. And maybe you could uh, leave the stick here."

"Oh, yeah."

Rodney just drops the stick like it was nothing, lets it clatter on the floor of his wrecked quarters and walks off towards the infirmary with Sheppard very close to him. So close that once, their arms even brush.

Something about that feels like hope to Rodney.

VI. Lust

It's a toss up as to which is worse. Elizabeth's brutal tongue lashing or Sheppard's absolute silence.

He doesn't mind the idea of an official reprimand on his record, because hey, all his favorite people have them. General O'Neill, Colonel Carter, heck Major Sheppard's got more than few. So it would almost kind of be a proud moment. His first reprimand.

Only, he deserves it. And he knows that. Carter and O'Neill were saving the world when they got theirs. Sheppard was saving lives. He can't claim the same kind of justifiability.

He's never touching another ZPM as long as he lives. God, he doesn't even want to see another one.

The way Elizabeth looks at him, it really does hurt. Because she looks hurt. She looks stunned, too. Like she expected better. Which is even worse, because it means that at one point, she must have thought he was a decent guy.

And Rodney hates the thought that he managed to trick her. At least he's always been honest about being a terrible human being.

"I had the best of intentions, Elizabeth," he says, to put a temporary halt on the avalanche of shame that's barreling down at him.

"I can appreciate good intentions, Rodney, but I'm not entirely sure your good intentions came out of a good-faith motive."

Rodney stares at the table. "We're fighting the Wraith and it feels like we've got nothing. We've got a city that doesn't really work, and no way to get enough power to protect ourselves, and I just thought that if I could get a ZPM, then, I dunno. That we'd have something. That we'd be safe."

"Or that you'd be a hero," says Sheppard, from the other side of the table. "You really wanted to be the big man in Atlantis, didn't you?"

Rodney considers getting defensive about the remark, but he really doesn't feel like he's got the energy for it. So he says, instead, "I'm sorry. If I could undo it all, I would. Believe me. But I can't. I can say sorry. That's all I've got. So what now?"

Sheppard and Elizabeth look at each other.

Elizabeth leans forward and says, "I'll hold off on giving you an official reprimand this time, because I don't think intended any harm to come to your team. And I think you understand how much I disapprove of your actions and that I'm going to keep a closer eye on you from now on."

Great. She sounds like some rookie idealistic teacher trying to discipline a problem child. Really, Rodney would just rather get his brutal ten licks with the belt and have it done with. So much easier that way.

She keeps going and says, "From the missions reports, I think you've been punished enough and I have no doubt you understand why your actions were wrong. And luckily, Lieutenant Ford will make a full recovery."

Rodney nods at her. Elizabeth turns to Sheppard and asks if he's got anything to add. He doesn't, which kind of hurts. Anything, any snide remark, something so Rodney can get a handle on this. Sheppard just shakes his head.

Then Elizabeth dismisses them.

Sheppard leaves immediately, but Rodney sticks around to ask her something. Asking it makes his mouth go dry and his hands shake even though he's got them behind his back. He isn't exactly sure how he can talk so calmly about it, either.

They talk for about a half hour and then Rodney sits in his lab, alone, and drafts a copy of basically everything he's just said to Elizabeth. Every word, every keystroke hurts. He wants to write anything but this.

And somehow, these are the only valuable words he's got to say.

Once he's finally done, he prints out his one page of misery and leaves to find Major Sheppard.

The door to Sheppard's quarters slides open. Sheppard is barefoot on the bed, with a copy of War and Peace resting on his stomach while he reads. Rodney knocks on the doorframe.

"Major?"

"Did you need something?" he asks, putting the book on the nightstand and sitting up.

"Actually, I spoke to Elizabeth, and she says I have to submit my resignation to you," Rodney said, taking the letter out from behind his back. "So here."

He steps into Major Sheppard's quarters and hands him the one page resignation. Sheppard reads over it and moves his lips to the words. He even bobs his head side to side like he might start humming a tune.

"Okay," Sheppard says, folding the resignation and stuffing it into his drawer. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't just give me that."

"You're denying my resignation?"

"Yes," Sheppard says like Rodney's suggested something better than what he had in mind. "I'm denying your resignation."

"Major..."

"McKay, sit," Sheppard says. Rodney walks in and sits in the chair that's by Sheppard's bed. "Okay, you fucked up. You got people hurt. But like Weir said, we're all pretty sure you get that it was a mistake and you're not going to do it again."

"I might."

"What?"

Rodney shakes his head. "I'm a prick. A jerk. A gigantic, arrogant pain in the ass. And I got Ford nearly killed because I was too much of a prick to listen to anyone but myself. I have this very bad tendency of getting people hurt because I'm a prick. Like Sam Carter, and that was just my idea. So why don't we just head off the damage and stick me in a lab where I can't get anyone killed?"

"And who the hell am I supposed to replace you with?"

"I don't know. The little Czech guy. I can't remember his name. Zanka or something."

"Zelenka?"

"Yeah."

"You want me to take Zelenka out in the field."

"What's wrong with Zelenka?"

"He's not you."

"And what praytell makes me so irreplaceable?"

Sheppard laughs and falls back on the bed. "God, I never thought I'd hear you ask anything like that."

"Well, I'm asking, okay?"

Sheppard sits up. "You handle pressure better than most of the geeks here."

"They're also called scientists occasionally," Rodney drolls.

"Hey, you're the one who came here fishing for compliments," Sheppard says and he shrugs. "You're the best at what you do, you can fire a gun straight, and frankly, I don't think I have it in me to break in another 'scientist'."

"You really don't get it. I'm telling you that I'm dangerous. I'm not a nice guy, Major, and I can't change that. I'm an egotistical asshole and that's it. So before I get someone killed, take me off the team."

"I wouldn't put it like that. Haughty, maybe. Yeah, that's a nice word for it. Haughty."

McKay stands up, and he's shaking his head. "Well, I'm resigning whether you accept it or not. You're just going to have to get someone else."

He takes just one step towards the door and Sheppard is off the bed and spinning him around.

"I don't think you heard me right, McKay. I don't want anyone else."

"That's too bad, Major. Because I'm not going to get anyone else hurt."

"Then don't be such an asshole and it'll be fine."

Rodney can't stand having Sheppard for all the wrong reasons. So he pulls away and shouts, "I can't! That's who I am. And as usual you're not getting it through your thick skull."

Sheppard matches his volume and shouts, "And as usual, neither are you!"

McKay shuts his eyes for a long moment and exhales loudly. He doesn't have it in him for a screaming match that will only going to take them in exhausting circles. "You really don't know me, do you?"

"I think I do. And I doubt very much anything you say or do is gonna surprise me."

Something about staring at him, with his messy spiked hair and his tight teeshirt and his angry, sarcastic smile makes Rodney irrational. Hey, he's jumping ship anyway, might as well do the most insane, stupid thing possible. This day's already been shot to hell, and short of an all out Wraith attack, it can't get much worse.

Rodney takes Sheppard's face in his hands and he kisses him. Hard and long and with his eyes wide open staring at Sheppard's rather surprised expression. And then takes a step back and waits for Sheppard to take a swing. He waits for several thousand years it feels like. Waits for Sheppard to give some kind of reaction and the entire time every cell in his brain is firing off the same message: 'Mayday! Mayday! Ohshitwhatdidyoujustdo? Mayday!'

The door slides shut, probably on Sheppard's mental command. Rodney would take the time to be jealous of Sheppard having the gene, but he's preoccupied. So he doesn't. Instead he thinks that Sheppard has closed the door so he can not only accept Rodney's resignation but also beat the crap out of him in private.

Sheppard looks so angry that it's frightening. This is quite possibly the angriest he's ever seen Sheppard. Even angrier than when he found out Rodney stole the ZPM. And he was pissed then.

"Rodney," Sheppard says, drawing out his name and then taking Rodney by the collar of his jacket and pushing him back until he slams against the wall.

Rodney braces for the worst beating he's ever had. He's had a few of them. He even remembers all his handy dandy tips for survival. Curl up, protect the internal organs, find a happy place.

"Bet I shocked you," Rodney says, and doesn't actually know if he could have said anything more pathetic. He wonders if he screams for help now if someone will come in time to save him and possibly his face. He prays Sheppard won't hit him in the gut. And he closes his eyes and waits for the pain. "I can go now if you want," he says with his eyes still closed.

"You don't just kiss a man and then leave," Sheppard says darkly. His nose is mere millimeter's from Rodney's. Rodney can feels the heat of Sheppard's breath, Sheppard's body.

Just when Rodney expects pain, screaming, anything violent and horrible, he feels something wet, warm, and kind of soft against his lips. His eyes fly open and he sees Sheppard kissing him back.

He opens his mouth a little and in goes Sheppard's tongue and then suddenly one of Sheppard's hands is unbuttoning his pants and slipping in underneath his underwear. Oh god and Sheppard is holding Rodney in his hand and stroking.

Rodney moans loud into Sheppard's mouth and rocks his hips. Sheppard stops kissing and moves his mouth right beside Rodney's ear. The hot breath feels so good and his skin is tingling and he isn't quite sure he believes it's really happening. That Sheppard is stroking him god, slow and hard and tight just the right way. Up and down in a way that's making Rodney so dizzy.

Sheppard says, "You really don't know me either, McKay."

It almost isn't English because Rodney can barely understand, barely understand anything but horribly slow torturously good stroking going on and his earlobe in Sheppard's mouth and Sheppard laughing deep down in his throat.

Rodney lets his head rest against the wall and closes his eyes and gives in. Rocks his hips against Sheppard and prays his hand won't stop.

There's weird silence in the room except for Rodney's breathing, which seems so loud. That is, until Sheppard lets go and takes his hand out of Rodney's pants. Rodney tries to calm down so he can ask something - anything.

"Okay. Umm, okay."

"Take your shoes off."

Rodney stares at Sheppard like a man who's been hit in the head with a tennis ball in the middle of the World Series.

"Huh what?"

"Take. Your. Shoes. Off."

Sheppard walks away towards the bed. He turns the lamp by the bed off and Rodney can see his outline with the light from the crack under the door. He sees Sheppard taking his shirt off. And then he hears Sheppard's belt coming undone.

It all clicks in his head and suddenly Rodney is hopping all over like a mad man trying to get his shoes off.

He manages to get one off before he falls forward and catches himself on the chair. Sheppard is laughing hysterically from the bed.

"This is so not funny," Rodney says, sitting down on the chair calmly and untying his other shoe. He takes the liberty of removing his pants and hopes that he's not wrong for thinking they're going where he really, really hopes they're going.

Rodney sits on the side of the bed and reaches out and finds Sheppard's arm. Sheppard grabs Rodney's forearm and pulls him in. Rodney braces with his free arm and again, they're kissing. Not so hard, not so desperate as before but there's nothing hesitant about this.

Eventually Rodney twists and positions himself over Sheppard and Sheppard isn't wearing pants. Isn't wearing anything. His cock is leaving a slick trail of precum all over the inside of Rodney's thighs and dear god, the sweet misery of the way his own cock is rubbing against his boxers.

Sheppard puts his hand inside of Rodney's boxers and slides them down. Rodney somehow manages to slide them all the way down, past his knees and kicks them off into the random, irrelevant darkness.

He can't not moan and arch his back when their cocks brush against each other and he can feel the heat and the courseness and the hardness. He thrusts forward and pulls back over and over again. Skin and hair and god the slickness coming off of both of them. So good, so satisfying and not nearly enough.

"How far are we gonna take this, Rodney?" Sheppard asks, pushing against Rodney to make him stop.

"As far as you want, Major," Rodney replies, diving back down to kiss him again, to get back to that beautiful rhythm they had going.

"John," he tells Rodney, sitting up.

Again, Rodney has no idea where Sheppard's coming from or where he's going.

"Did you just call me John?"

Sheppard snorts. "No. My name is John. Not Major. John."

"Yeah. John," Rodney repeats, contemplating it and making a slow thrust. Yeah, John. Feels right. Feels better than Major or Sheppard or anything he could call this beautiful man who's got his buttocks in two hands and is thrusting up between his legs.

"So how far are we going?" he asks.

"Far as you want. Anything."

"Anything."

Sheppard - no John. This man is John. John. John pushes against Rodney hard and Rodney knows he's getting so close.

And John is kissing him harder and harder And thrusting faster and faster. There's nothing but slickness and heat between them. He can feel his balls slap against John's and oh god, John is moaning, has his hip held so tight Rodney can feel the bruises coming up and wants more.

He thinks, somewhere in the middle of moaning and devouring John's tongue that maybe he should warn him. Because after this he's gonna be down for the count. And this is just too much. They're flying too fast, too hard. Rodney is gonna crash any second now.

Only, John is apparently way ahead of him. His grip get tight as Rodney can stand and John thrusts erratically, and grunts in a way that could be pain but Rodney knows better. His whole body is close and his leg is wrapped around Rodney's. Then there's a warm, body-temperature spurt against Rodney's stomach.

And John's grip, his body, everything relaxes. He takes Rodney's cock in his hand and strokes.

Rodney thrusts and buries his face in John's neck, face down in the pillow, breathing so hard, so close. Because oh god, if he keeps touching and stroking like that - and his body feels so good, everything so good. But he wants it to last forever, he doesn't want it to end yet.

"John," Rodney moans, "Please slow down, too close oh god slow down."

But it can't help it, he's past slowing and past anything and it takes two more hard fast strokes to make him tighten every muscle in his body and moan in a high sharp whine and come all over John's hand.

Rodney mutters a trail of thank you's as he rolls over to the other side of the bed. He waits until he can breathe normally again and with his arm still over his face, he says, "I know I should go, but -"

"Hey, mi quarters, su quarters. Besides, the book I brought really sucked."

"Thank you."

Rodney has no trouble easing into something like sleep with John beside him, even if John has the pillow and apparently now all the covers.

Doesn't matter. He's still burning hot.

VII. Sloth

Rodney doesn't know it's a dream at the time. He just knows that somehow he's back in the woods and the scaly aliens are coming to get him and he lost Sheppard's gun somewhere along the way and Ford is possibly dead. Where Teyla and Sheppard are, he's got no idea.

He's naked and searching around in the leaves for the gun and the creatures grab him. Their hands are all over him, cold scaly rough hands.

And he doesn't know he's out of the dream for a moment when his eyes fly open and he's naked again, it's dark, and he's not entirely sure where he is because it's not his quarters.

Then suddenly, there's a hand on his chest.

A calm, disembodied voice says, "Hey, Rodney, it's okay."

Oh yeah, John. Or is he Major Sheppard again?

Rodney lays back and notices that somehow he's under the covers and has the pillow. He's not sure when in the night John gave it to him, but he's pretty sure he didn't just take it.

"Sorry."

"Eh, it's been a rough day."

"What time is it?"

Suddenly the green of an indiglo watch lights up.

"2249."

"Oh."

Rodney does the mental math. He's been asleep in John's quarters for nearly three hours. He should get up, he should go. People will get ideas, and he's got so much work to do. So many things that he should've been doing when he got back from the mission. People that are probably wondering where the hell he is. And he was supposed to go back to the infirmary for something else.

"Hey, John, mind if I ask you something?"

"Yeah, shoot."

"Are we ever going to do this again?"

John laughs. "Maybe."

"Does that mean I can stay?"

"Yeah, sure. No problem. Mind if I turn on the light, I'm supposed to be on page twenty five by now."

The light turns on and Rodney squints his eyes. He looks over at Sheppard who's got his pants and tee shirt on again.

"You're reading War and Peace on a schedule?"

"Yeah, well, gotta pace myself."

Rodney closes his eyes, basks in the mellow brassy gold of the lamplight and doesn't care what else he's got to do. Or that he should at least put on his pants.

He doesn't feel like it. He feels like laying next to John and not worrying about anything.

"Hey, Rodney?"

"Yeah."

"Don't resign, okay? I need you right where you are."

"The fact that I'm a complete prick not withstanding."

"You're actually a pretty decent guy. Okay, you're arrogant, but hell, if I was half as smart as you, nobody would be able to get my head in the door."

"Then I guess I'm not resigning."

And Rodney wants to bask more next to John, but he can't.

Because he's still on a team, and he kind of loves his team leader, and he's gotta do all the things that decent guys do.

Not that he is a decent guy, but John believes he is. And he's smart enough not to throw that away.