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“So, do you think he’s acting different?” Rodney McKay swung his legs as he sat on the edge of the diagnostic table, restless.
Carson Beckett, safely to one side of Rodney’s idle kicking, was concentrating on his exam. “Move your arm this way. Who’s acting different?”
“Major Sheppard.” Across the infirmary, said major was supervising the return of bagfuls of medical supplies Kolya and his Genii stormtroopers had tried to steal. The same people responsible for Rodney being there. He glanced over at the puckered wound Beckett was inspecting, gulped, and looked away.
Carson paused to also give Sheppard a once-over. “What do you mean, different?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Different.” Rodney’s legs scissored harder. Actually, he did know; the mental list he’d been keeping those last thirty-six hours since they’d kicked the Genii out of the city and the storm from Hell had finally ended, was up to eight observed anomalies now.
Item one: Sheppard hadn’t eaten more than some fruit and one piece of Athosian dessert in all that time. Rodney had been watching.
Item two: He’d run into the major—almost literally—at 2 am the night before. Rodney had been running around fixing all the systems the storm’s lightning had overloaded. Sheppard had been jogging. Granted, important for health and all that, but hardly so crucial it couldn’t wait until morning.
Item three: The major’s answer, when asked by Rodney as to why he was jogging at 2 am, had been, “I don’t think as much when I run.” Not exactly a confidence-inspiring response in the best of circumstances.
And so on.
Different.
“No, I haven’t noticed the major acting different, at least not more than any of you since we got back.” Beckett gave Rodney a cheerful smile as he patted the newly bandaged arm. “That looks like it’s healing well. How does it feel?”
Feel. That was the problem. In science, you never had to feel, you just dealt with facts. Feelings were so much more ambiguous and needlessly complicated. From the movies Rodney had seen, they usually seemed to involve a lot of messy talking and little measurable progress, but Sheppard had shown no signs of even uttering a peep. Nothing except for being different. And apparently, no one had even noticed that besides Rodney.
“Rodney?”
“Hmm?” He looked up at Beckett and replayed the doctor’s last words. “Oh, my arm.” Across the room, Sheppard’s people had finished their task and trailed out. The major hesitated, half-glancing Rodney’s way as if he wanted to know how the exam had gone but didn’t want to intrude. As if that had ever stopped him from barging in with a sarcastic comment. Rodney added item nine to his list, lips pressing together in disapproval. Yes, something was wrong, something he didn’t know how to fix.
Something that needed more time.
Rodney glanced down at his arm. “Uh, actually, it still hurts quite a bit.”
“Does it now?” Carson regarded him suspiciously. Rodney had waited too long to complain and he knew it, but he didn’t back down.
“Yes, I keep getting these…spasms. My whole arm just goes stiff. I didn’t want to bother you with it, Carson—”
He’d said the magic words. Beckett’s frown became a crease of concern. “Don’t be an ass, Rodney—this is what I’m here for. You need to let that arm rest for a few more days—light duty only.”
“But Elizabeth—”
“You let me talk to Elizabeth. There’s no hurry to be racin’ off through the gate, is there? Now let me see where it’s been pulling.”
That had been easier than he’d expected. Rodney looked up, pleased. Just in time to see John’s jaw clench, a cloud passing over his face before he turned and stalked out of the room.
Well, okay, maybe not so easy. He hadn’t thought of how Sheppard would take the news about being grounded a little longer. But at least it gave him some more time to go back to normal, or for Rodney to figure out what to do if he didn’t. That was a good thing, right?
Sure: people, feelings, Psych 101—simple. No problem at all.
He really, really hoped John would snap out of it on his own.
It wasn’t happening. One more day passed, then another, and Rodney’s list grew longer while his faith in USAF majors’ coping skills waned. Okay, that wasn’t completely fair; John had adjusted just fine to moving to another galaxy, an unexpected command, and a few crises, several of which had nearly cost him his life. Maybe it was the killing fifty-plus soldiers with a flick of a switch, or the fact he’d been trapped between duty and the lives of two people he was closest to. But even the oh-so-flexile John Sheppard had his limits, and Rodney had a feeling the Genii had stretched them into completely unrecognizable shapes. And they weren’t snapping back.
He’d rather expected someone else to have noticed it by now, though, perhaps doing the cajoling bit they always seemed to do in buddy shows: Teyla over a workout session, or Elizabeth in one of her heart-to-heart talks. Problem was, no one seemed to be paying attention to the fact that Sheppard had racked up a list of seventeen defective behaviors and showed no signs of stopping. Where were the safeguards against a military head who was malfunctioning, the caring Elizabeth kept insisting Rodney pretend to show, the intuition of friends, for God’s sake?
Oh.
He really hated it when he was brilliant and insightful.
Well, okay, if no one else was paying attention, that was fixable. He just made a little detour on his way back to the lab after yet another lunch eaten alone.
“Elizabeth.”
“Rodney.” She barely glanced up at him from her work.
He’d never been good with small talk. Rodney took a step into the office. “So…have you noticed anyone, say, in our team being a little…off lately?”
That earned him a quick look. “Carson told me about your arm—I’m sorry.”
Rodney groaned silently. He’d never been a fan of tact and this was why. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
This time the pen went down and Elizabeth gave him her full attention. “I’m sorry, Rodney—has something else been bothering you? I thought Doctor Height—”
Rodney threw up his hands with a strangled sound of frustration. He was surrounded by the blind. “Does it take a neon sign with you people? Not that nineteen quantifiable anomalies isn’t already as subtle as a two-story waving flag and a marching band, but maybe the obviousness is distracting.”
Weir’s brow furrowed. “What? Rodney—”
“Never mind,” he snapped. “I’ll just take care of it myself. I mean, how hard can it be? A simple mind like that—I’ve fixed toasters that were more complex.”
“But—”
“No, thank you, I’m fine.” Rodney ducked back out of the room and headed for his lab. “He will be, too,” was muttered at the empty hall in general. “He’s not getting off that easy, not if—”
He nearly ran into the object of his diatribe—again—just coming around a corner. Sheppard raised one eyebrow. “McKay.”
Half-greeting, half-question, which was one whole more than any opening Sheppard had given him thus far. And Rodney suddenly found himself absurdly speechless.
Something that had flared to life again in the major’s eyes went out just as quickly. “O-kay. Well, see ya around.” With a brief nod, he went around Rodney, still standing there stupidly, and disappeared around the next bend.
Rodney rolled his eyes. “That went incredibly badly. ‘How hard can it be?’—at least you don’t have to talk to toasters.” And what was up with the eye thing? Between that and Sheppard’s lack of interest as to why Rodney was standing there muttering to himself, that was at least two more deviations to add to his list.
A passing marine gave Rodney an assessing look, and he grimaced back but fell silent, starting to move toward his lab again. The truth was that even he, Dr. Rodney McKay, genius, had no idea how to fix an out-of-order John Sheppard. It was probably why those other so-called friends of the major’s had left it to Rodney, those selfish, lazy…really small handful of people. How many real friends did John Sheppard have on the expedition, anyway? Not many Rodney had ever seen. This friendship business was harder than it looked sometimes. The rewards…well, they’d been unexpected and were unquestionably worth it, but even when they weren’t—and the frustration of now was a good example—one still had to try.
But for now, he was sure he was needed in the lab. Urgently. Sheppard would wait for him.
Darn it, he always did.
Sheppard wasn’t the only one who was a little off.
Rodney woke gasping, yanked unceremoniously from the terror of a looming Kolya, knife in hand, into the peaceful silence of his Atlantean bedroom. It took a lot longer for his heart to stop trying to beat its way out of his chest and for the sweat clinging his shirt to his back to dry. Rodney took a shuddering gulp, and swung his legs out of bed to lean forward, face propped in one hand.
That was…not fun.
His arm throbbed weakly, and Rodney gave it an absent rub. It really wasn’t something he dwelt on, not even the worst injury he’d gotten since his arrival in Atlantis, but his subconscious seemed to be having more trouble accepting that. Near-death did that to him. He’d had nightmares for weeks after the whole wraith-tick incident, and he wasn’t even the one hurt that time.
Just like John. Rodney straightened, thoughts sharpening. Facing your own mortality was one thing. Facing that of people you love, that was a whole other level of therapy.
Great. He’d been the blind one the whole time.
“Of course he’s different,” Rodney spat as he stood, casting around for pants. “Of all the obtuse…stupid—” He found his clothes and wrestled them on. “‘Thank you very much, Major, for saving the city and your friends from certain death—now go run along and play.’ I’m surprised Elizabeth didn’t pat him on the head.”
Halfway through the doorway, Rodney froze. What was he doing? He ran a hand through his hair. A moment of understanding may have given him some empathy, but it still didn’t tell him what to do or say to give his friend a little perspective and maybe some peace. Then again, it wasn’t like there was a line of candidates queuing up to give it a try. No one else had even known the man well enough to notice he wasn’t as blasé about all the death and threats as he appeared to be. Would they intuit any better how to talk to him? Somehow, Rodney really, really doubted it.
Which left him, or nobody.
It wasn’t an answer—it was barely even insight—but it was enough. It wouldn’t be the first time he would make things up as he went. That was starting to become his specialty.
Rodney sighed long-sufferingly, and kept walking.
The fact it was the middle of the night wasn’t an issue. If the major wasn’t in the gym or jogging through the hallways, he’d be in his room reading, not asleep. Rodney knew that as surely as he knew he himself, and didn’t even stop to wonder how. Some things about John Sheppard would always be a mystery to Rodney, including how often this polar opposite of his made sense.
The gym, his first stop, was empty at that hour except for one figure in the back corner, pounding away at a makeshift punching bag as if it were the Wraith personified. Rodney watched in wry sympathy; they all had their ways of dealing with the advancing Wraith threat. The nuclear weapon he’d been working on in the lab was only partly for potential city defense.
He’d been noticed. Rodney was clinically eyed from top to bottom, then the pounding continued.
He wasn’t being ignored, however. “I didn’t know you even knew where the gym was.”
Rodney snorted, starting around the edge of the room in an idle walk, avoiding the mats in the center. “Of course I did—how else would I have been able to avoid it? There’s a difference between ignorance and evasion.”
“Right.” A flurry of punches sent the bag reeling, and panting, John Sheppard finally stepped back and rubbed sweat out of his eyes with the back of one arm. “So what made you suddenly interested at—” he glanced at his watch, “—three thirty-three in the morning?”
This was exactly where his inspiration had stopped when he’d imagined this scene, and Rodney was none the wiser now for an answer. “Um…power regulation.”
“Power regulation.” The disbelief was heavy in Sheppard’s voice.
Rodney stuck his chin up. “Yes, power regulation—Radek picked up some power fluctuations in this area. Have you noticed anything: lights flickering, doors closing, that kind of thing?”
“No.” Disbelief had changed to suspicion. Rodney always had been a bad liar. He swallowed.
“And, uh, how long have you been down here?”
“McKay, what do you want?” Exasperation now.
Okay, this wasn’t going as hoped, but it was still salvageable. Rodney made an elaborate show of nonchalance as he checked a panel on the wall he already knew was perfectly functional. “I’m trying to ascertain how long it’s been since the last fluctuation.” At least it gave him something to look at besides that piercing gaze.
“Right. Whatever.” With a shake of the head, Sheppard went back to pummeling the bag.
Rodney paused, watching him, debating whether it was wise to bother someone who was happily punching things, hard. There was still no line at the door though, he’d checked, and Sheppard was up to twenty-three anomalies. If he’d been a machine, he’d have been shut down a long time ago for serious repairs. Rodney had no instructions for this kind of malfunction, however, no experience fixing anything similar. He was an astrophysicist for God’s sake, not an engineer, let alone a psychologist. John probably should have picked someone more knowledgeable for a friend…but he hadn’t. Apparently, they were stuck with each other.
Which was why he was there.
Rodney cleared his throat. “So…how long have you been here?”
The major shoved the bag away with a growl. “How long have you been working on the ‘fluctuations’?”
He stiffened. That was one place he did not want to go. “That’s not important—this is my job, Major.”
“Yeah, right, at three-thirty in the morning. Atlantis might go belly-up if the lights flicker a couple of times in the gym.” Sheppard squeezed one gloved hand under his arm for traction to pull the glove off, then jerked the other one off.
“Yes, well, not all of us can be heroes and save the city from an entire alien invasion—some of us have to worry about the little details, like keeping it running afterwards.”
It was only when he finished and saw John’s reaction that he’d realized what he’d said, and clamped his mouth shut on the already departed words. He was supposed to be here to help, not throw a few more logs on the self-immolation bonfire. Rodney flinched as Sheppard threw down his gloves and stalked toward the door, pale with banked rage.
Taking his life into his hands, he hurried after the man—his best friend—and planted himself between the major and his goal. “Look, that’s not what I meant.”
“Get out of the way, McKay.”
It was said evenly, like the calm had been before the storm had hit. Rodney raised his head higher. “Just listen for a minute—”
“Get out of the way.” Sheppard took a threatening step toward him.
Rodney knew what the soldier was capable of, especially after that last week. And best friend or not, he automatically shrank back in a moment of real fear in face of that advancing fury.
It was hard to tell who he startled more. And then John’s shoulders hunched, pain passing across his face before he turned away.
Rodney groaned. Oh, God, could he have possibly done a worse job of this? Maybe kick the man a couple more times while he was down? He may not have known how to fix Sheppard, but he certainly seemed to be doing a good job of finding where the wounds were and giving them a vicious poke. Rodney rubbed his forehead tiredly. “They always make this look so easy—they just look at each other and everything starts pouring out until, frankly, you’re ready to pay real money for them to shut up. But not you. Must be all that Air Force training—no talking under any circumstances. Do you have any idea how difficult this is for me, trying to get you to say more than two words? I’m usually trying to get people to shut up, especially when they’re talking about feelings, for God’s sake, like I’m supposed to care about how they feel about something. But you I practically send you a formal invitation and what do I get? ‘Get out of the way, McKay.’ I think one of us is watching the wrong kind of movies here.”
Okay, so he wasn’t quite sure how he’d circled around to accusation from apology, but something in there had gotten through. Sheppard had half-turned back to him, curiosity beating out misery. “What’re you talking about?”
What was he talking about? Rodney mentally reviewed his rant and shrugged, feeling sheepish. “Movies—you know, the kind women like? It’s always about talking, getting it all out. Meg Ryan falling for Tom Hanks because she hears him pouring his heart out on the radio, Julia Roberts and Sally Field getting chummy at the beauty parlor. It always seems to help.”
The major’s mouth actually quirked. It was the closest to smiling Rodney had seen in four days. “You watch chick flicks?”
Um, maybe he’d done a little too much talking. “Only on dates,” Rodney said quickly.
“Uh-huh,” Sheppard drawled. He shook his head and crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, most of the movies I watch work things out through a tactful application of C-4 and a truckload of ammo. Maybe talking’s good if your best friend just had an affair with your husband, but I’ll take explosives over that any day.”
“Right,” Rodney nodded. “I mean, who wants to sit around talking about what you can’t change anyway, right?”
“Rodney—”
At least they were up to first names now. He rushed on. “It’s not like you didn’t kill more of the enemy than you had to or saved any lives. Oh, wait—you did. Never mind. I guess there’s nothing to talk about then. You even got to play with your explosives, so everything should be great, right?”
“Rodney.” It was a growl, coupled with another step toward him.
It didn’t scare him for a moment, though. For the first time since they’d started this bizarre non-conversation, Rodney actually had an idea what he was talking about. “Of course, doing what you need to doesn’t always mean you feel good about it afterwards, even if you didn’t have any choice. Even if, say, I’d been there, I would have made the same choice.”
He got a raised eyebrow for that. Interesting.
Restlessness and a deep desire to look elsewhere had Rodney reaching out to fiddle with the weights on the table next to him as he went on. “And then there’s the whole friends-in-danger part. Not that I would know a thing about that—I only had to make sure the whole city wasn’t washed away in Hurricane Atlantis. No big deal. What’s there to talk about, right?”
Sheppard looked a little dazed at the flow of words, but he also seemed to know exactly what Rodney was doing. “Right,” he said, reluctant.
“There, you see,” Rodney said smugly. “Everything’s worked out and not a word spoken on the subject.”
“Sure. Everybody knows you’re the strong, silent type.” But that dry grin was pulling at Sheppard’s mouth again. And maybe it was wishful thinking, but those bunched shoulders seemed to have loosened a little.
Who would have guessed that his doing most of the talking would count, too? Or maybe it had simply letting John know he wasn’t alone.
“How’s your arm?”
“Oh, fine.” The change of subject—and the fact that he was holding a barbell with his bad arm—sank in too late. Just in time to see the dangerous glimmer in John’s eyes. “Uh, I mean, it’s much better today. Carson’s had me on this therapy—”
“It was fine a couple of days ago already, wasn’t it?” Another step closer to him. Rodney stood his ground, his fear not physical this time.
“It still aches sometimes,” he said defensively, and cast his eyes down as Sheppard’s lips flattened. “Okay, yes, it’s mostly fine. I just thought we…all needed a little extra time.”
But the major just made a face, and shook his head. “We’re going back on the duty roster tomorrow, after we both get some sleep, got it?”
Rodney nodded virtuously. It wasn’t like it had been his idea to be up at that hour.
John stepped toward the door, stopped, turned back. “And, uh…thanks, Rodney. If I ever need to not talk again, I’ll know where to find you.” A half-embarrassed flick of a hand in parting, and he wheeled away and walked out.
They never seemed embarrassed in those movies, either, but Rodney felt himself color faintly at the gratitude. Thankfully, there was no one there to see, and it was probably just a reaction to the overly warm room, but he did feel…encouraged. Better.
Maybe this talking thing wasn’t as overrated as it seemed. How many times did fixing something that was broken fix you, too? Rodney’s spine straightened as he followed Sheppard out. He was a better engineer than he’d thought.
Naturally.
The End