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“Hey, McKay.”
Rodney jumped, not expecting to hear any voice in the quiet lab, let alone that one. He turned with surprise and some relief. “Major! I thought you were still off-world. When did you get back?”
“’Bout an hour ago.” John Sheppard’s hair was still wet from showering, his clothes fresh, but there was an air of fatigue to him that wasn’t so easy to shed.
Rodney noted and filed that away without comment. Sheppard had come down to the lab instead of going to bed, obviously looking for some distraction, and Rodney could oblige him that at least. He grinned, easily enough—okay, yes, so he had been a little worried about the mission—and turned back to his work. “I don’t suppose you have time to activate a few things for me?”
“Don’t tell me you’re finally admitting my gene’s better than yours.” John uncrossed his arms with a languid smile and came over to the workbench. He was moving a little stiffly and up close Rodney could see scratches on his face and hands.
He frowned at Sheppard. “I admit nothing—my gene’s working fine, thank you very much. But it’s a little hard to think ‘on’ all the time while trying to study something, whereas you seem to have no trouble with single-track thinking. Turn this on.” He stuck something under John’s nose.
Sheppard recoiled, then glowered at him. “Thanks so much. What does it do?”
“I don’t know what it does,” Rodney said almost patiently. “If I knew what it did, I wouldn’t be asking you to activate it. How did the mission go?”
The strengthening glow in the spiny ball suddenly faded. “It succeeded,” Sheppard said flatly. “Look, McKay—”
“How about this one?” He actually had a good idea what the sardine can-shaped black object did, but that wasn’t so much the point anymore.
John stared at him a moment longer, then concentrated on the object. His brows drew together. “Is that making that smell?”
Rodney grinned back. “We think it might be a smell recorder, like a tape recorder but for scents.”
“What is that good for?”
“I have no idea.”
“Ah. That’s—”
The door behind them whispered open to admit Radek and Eisley, the two dark heads bent over an electronic clipboard held between them.
Sheppard moved fast, spinning around and, Rodney noticed, placing himself between McKay and the door. His hand was at the sidearm on his hip before he registered the two scientists. Even so, Zelenka had looked up at the motion and froze at whatever he saw in John’s expression.
Rodney made a face. “And you say I scare the scientists.” He watched Sheppard’s posture relax by reluctant degrees, and failed to read the expression thrown at him over one shoulder. He rolled his eyes. “Just don’t shoot my staff—I’m low enough on manpower as it is. Now if we can get back to work here…”
But the teasing had the opposite effect, hardening whatever had already set in John’s face. “Raincheck,” he said in that same emotionless tone, and turned to leave.
“But…” But nothing. Sheppard didn’t even hesitate, pushing past the two scientists on the way out, and Rodney’s protest died. He met Radek’s puzzled look with a weak shrug. “Long day?”
Zelenka shrugged back. The soldiers were often a mystery to the scientific community; that was nothing new. Rodney had thought he had made some headway figuring out at least one of them, but there were still many sides to John Sheppard he didn’t know, and maybe didn’t even want to know. But sleep and time would help, and Sheppard would be better the next day, back to the major Rodney recognized and knew how to deal with.
Yes. Good plan. Rodney redirected his focus to Zelenka and Eisley and their data.
And felt only the smallest twinge of misgiving at having given up his own study so easily.
Rodney stepped inside the mess hall and gathered a tray, trying not to be obvious about it as he scanned the room. There were few enough people on the expedition whose conversation wasn’t too vapid to tolerate for a whole meal, but one in particular he’d hoped to see there. But no, no head of statically-charged dark hair was evident in the crowd. Rodney’s mouth turned down in displeasure. That made three meals now, and from his subtle questioning of the serving staff at breakfast, he gathered it wasn’t just his timing.
The tray clattered back into place and Rodney took a wrapped sandwich instead, hesitated, grabbed another, then walked back out of the cafeteria.
Okay, where would he go if he were Major Sheppard? Rodney grimaced; there was a pleasant thought. So, besides the very dark and scary place that was the major’s mind, where would he go? His room? No, that would be the sensible thing to do, and if he could count on the man being sensible, there wouldn’t be a need to look for him, would there? Infirmary? Ditto. Gym? Rodney tilted his head in contemplation. That was an idea. Sheppard did often seek physical outlets. Tucking one sandwich under his arm, Rodney unwrapped the other and set off for the workout rooms, munching.
There was the “sticks” room, as it had come to be called, where Teyla practiced her Athosian brand of martial arts with those who were interested. Rodney peered through the colored glass but there was no one inside. Next-door was the main workout room, and he moved on to that, stopping just outside the open doorway.
Unlike its neighbor, this room was full of people in black and olive. There were pairs engaged in hand-to-hand, a few men and women crawling on floors, several wrestling. And making the rounds between them, a flushed and sweat-damp Sheppard, barking orders as he went.
Rodney swallowed his bite and narrowed his eyes at the scene, paying attention.
John stopped at a pair of wrestlers and said a few terse words. One of the men stepped off the mat, and the major took his place. The two parties assessed each other a moment, then Sheppard struck suddenly, sweeping his opponent off his feet before the man knew what hit him and knocking him spine-jarringly to the mat. Another barked phrase and he moved on, leaving his two men staring at his back. The one standing finally extended a hand to help his compatriot to his feet.
Well, wasn’t that interesting? Normally the sign of the soldiers training made Rodney feel more secure, and just a tad flabby and weak. Now, it was a whisper of worry. And he wasn’t one to ignore worry.
“Dr. McKay?”
He absently tapped his headset. “Yes, Elizabeth?”
“Could you come up to the control room? We’re having a little problem with gate controls.”
“On my way.” But he stood there another few seconds, watching. “Hmm,” he finally said to no one in particular, and turned away.
Elizabeth was waiting for him, and Rodney nodded briskly at her. “What’s the problem?”
Grodin took it up. “I’ve been chasing a glitch around in the gate shield circuits but I can’t seem to lock it down, and the shield is off-line at the moment. Could you take a look?”
He rolled his eyes; there were at least a half-dozen people on the expedition who could figure that out, including Peter, but they always wanted the best. Sometimes it was a real burden being a genius. But considering he didn’t want any unfriendlies arriving on their doorstep—and listen to him, sounding like John—he shoved his sandwiches into Grodin’s hand and climbed under the console to take a look.
“Oh, Elizabeth?” he called out while he took the panel off.
“Yes?”
“That mission Major Sheppard went on yesterday, do you know what happened on it?”
“Besides the fact the three men with him died?”
His hands stilled. Rodney blinked at the circuits, then twisted so he could look up at Weir. “They died? All of them?”
Her grave expression answered before she did. “It was a dangerous mission, Rodney—that’s why the major took an all-military team in the first place. They succeeded in dismantling the Genii plot, but all of his men were lost in the attempt.”
“Oh.” His gaze puddled at her feet, seeing nothing except a man who’d come to him yesterday gray and weary, seeking escape from his world in McKay’s. And Rodney had joked about John shooting his people. He winced, and slid under the console again. Great. Really great. “But did he tell me what was bothering him?” he muttered to the circuits as he disconnected one and tried rerouting it. “No, that would be too easy. ‘McKay’ll figure it out, he’s so good at reading people.’ Seriously, would it hurt to at least give me a clue?”
“What’s that?” Peter asked from above.
“Nothing,” Rodney snapped. Fine. Sheppard wanted to suffer in silence, that was just…well, not okay at all, and he would just have to accept help. As soon as Rodney figured out what help that was. At least he had a few minutes to think as he worked, then he’d go have a little talk with their stoic ranking military officer.
But of course, it didn’t quite happen that way.
“What’s going on?”
The sound of Sheppard’s voice startled Rodney out of the work he’d immersed himself in over the last few hours, and he looked up from the electronic clipboard he was hunched over.
The major was geared up again, his weapon clutched comfortably in one hand. A little too comfortably, to Rodney’s mind, and he wondered for a split second if John would have shot Zelenka and Eisley in the lab if he’d had his P-90 in his grasp. It was something Rodney would never, ever wonder out loud, but the thought made him briefly queasy. Especially at the intense flame that burned in Sheppard’s eyes.
Elizabeth seemed to have noticed it, too, and she was frowning as she stepped forward to meet John. “Hopefully nothing—we’ve just been having some problems with the gate shield. Grodin and McKay are working on it.”
Sheppard’s gaze swept them clinically, and Rodney’s feeble smile of welcome died fast. “So if somebody dialed in right now, we’d have no way to keep them out?” the major asked low and quiet.
“Not at the moment, no, but there’s been no gate activity and Dr. McKay assures me the shield will be up—”
“Doesn’t matter,” John cut in sharply. “I should have heard about this right away.”
Elizabeth considered that, nodded. “You’re right. We should have taken more precautions. I’d appreciate it if you’d station a few men by the gate just in case. But there’s no need for you to stay personally, Major—why don’t you get some rest? You look like you could use it.”
“I’m not tired,” he said shortly, and nodded at the two men stationed in the control room. They quickly moved to follow him, and Sheppard keyed his headset to issue a few more orders as he descended the stairs to the gate.
Rodney peered over the railing as he watched the men take up positions in front of the gate, then looked back to trade a glance with Elizabeth. Her frown had only deepened.
“I don’t think he slept at all last night.”
What had given that away, Rodney felt like asking, the sunken, red eyes or the sag of Sheppard’s face even while his frame stayed locked and alert? But all he said was, “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Because they never talked about these things, right, about how you saw your people murdered in the field where you killed or were killed? And then returned to civilization and were expected to just shrug off that mindset, that instinct, like a dirty coat and rejoin civilization. Disgusted at the world—heck, the galaxy in general—McKay looked away from Elizabeth, to Peter. “Get on the other side and let’s chase this glitch down.”
In the end, it took another hour before they finally cornered the problem and McKay stomped it out with some rapid rewiring and changing out one glowing circuit card. Mentally crossing his fingers, he reached up and activated the gate shield on the panel. The circle of energy flared to life down below.
“It’s fixed,” he called, as much for Sheppard’s benefit as Elizabeth’s.
“Is it gonna hold?” Sheppard called back.
Rodney made a face as he looked over the railing. “That’s usually what ‘fixed’ means, yes.”
“Good,” the major said, and motioned for his men to stand down. And without another word, turned heel and walked out the side door.
Rodney opened his mouth to call out, but realizing he had nothing to say, snapped it shut again. He still hadn’t figured out what he could do to help, and this wasn’t the place for that, anyway. Or the time, he thought impatiently, looking at the disassembled console. Major Sheppard’s ghosts would just have to wait.
And he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or annoyed about that.
Sometimes he thought he should plant a tracker on John. It wouldn’t be hard to place something subtle, maybe in that overgrown mess Sheppard euphemistically called hair. He’d never find it in there. It would save Rodney a lot of wandering around the city looking for the man.
He’d left the control room as soon as he’d been able, but that had given the major a good half-hour head start. But presuming he wasn’t hidden in some unexplored, unused room, that still left a finite amount of places to check, including some of the ones Rodney had tried or discarded earlier. No success. Even the workout room was conspicuously empty, the soldiers probably taking advantage of their boss’s absence and scattering. Wimps, Rodney snorted.
But the fact was he had few options remaining, and the most feasible, however unlikely, was Sheppard’s room. Could he finally have done something smart like go to bed? Maybe he couldn’t predict the major’s every movement or reaction, but Rodney had his doubts. The concentrated tension he’d seen in the workout and control room wouldn’t have dissipated just like that. Even for Rodney, post-mission adrenalin took hours to fade, and he never remotely had to lose himself as much in field mode as the major did. As the major had, only to come back alone. Rodney shuddered, wondering who they’d been, if he’d notice their absence later.
Squaring his shoulders, he headed for the nearest transporter, and Sheppard’s room.
Rodney hesitated at the door again. He was still without directions here, and this mattered a lot more than fixing some malfunctioning piece of equipment. Then again, he was good at thinking on his feet, right? Okay, scientifically speaking, but he was the closest thing they had to an expert on John Sheppard. And…he couldn’t leave. Not his friend. Rodney took a deep breath, and knocked.
No answer.
Rodney’s lungs deflated at the anti-climax. He wasn’t sure where to look next if Sheppard wasn’t there. Maybe he was there but just asleep. In either case, it wouldn’t hurt to take a look. With only a moment’s more hesitation, Rodney opened the door.
The room was dark, his eyes needing a moment to adjust. Rodney walked in slowly, looking at the bed first, which was conspicuously both empty and neatly made. So much for that. He glanced around the sparse room, trying to see into the gloomy corners.
“Looking for something?”
The voice to his left, calm though it was, made him start. Rodney was finally able to make out the object of his search sitting in a chair to one side, his back to the wall, facing the door. And his sidearm in his hand. Rodney licked his lips nervously. “You, actually.”
John leaned forward. “The shield’s still holding?”
“What?” Rodney frowned. “Oh. Yes, I told you, I fixed it. You really should pay better attention, Major.” He flinched as he heard his words; not exactly what he’d come here to say. “No, I, uh, just wanted to see how you were doing. You looked…tired in the control room.”
He expected denial, anger, maybe a cutting remark about having seen too many chick flicks. What he wasn’t ready for was the sigh, or the quiet, “Yeah.”
Rodney ventured forward gingerly, every step an experiment in how far he could intrude into John Sheppard’s space without being cut off. He finally sank down on the edge of the bed with a mixture of relief and uncertainty. “Not that I’m Carson or anything, but wouldn’t it maybe be a good idea to, I don’t know, get some sleep then?”
“Go back to your lab, McKay.” But there was still no anger, just a world of weariness.
“I don’t think so. Look, maybe I’m…I’m a little out of my depth here, I know, but I also know something’s wrong and I’m not going away until I find out what it is, okay? Maybe I can help.”
“You can’t help.”
“Well, I’m not just leaving you here like this, either. I mean, do you ever plan to sleep, or are you trying to kick the habit?”
“I can’t sleep.” The dark head bowed, obscuring the white of his face. “They’re all gone, McKay. All of my men—all of them. I can’t let my guard down anymore.”
Rodney’s throat tightened at the lostness of those words. And he had a sorrowful epiphany. Can’t let my guard down—he would never fully understand that, but at the same time, he got it. For the first time, he got it. Maybe this had something to do with killing and loss and the difficult transition back to a civilized world that didn’t really comprehend either, but at the end of the day, this was about a soldier who had no one left to watch his back.
And that, Rodney McKay could do.
“I can stay.” He cleared his throat when piercing eyes rose to pin him where he sat. “I mean, I don’t have to be anywhere right now—well, not urgently, anyway. I can stay for a while. You know, keep guard.”
Sheppard didn’t move.
Rodney fidgeted. Okay, the idea of an unarmed, barely trained, somewhat out-of-shape scientist offering to protect an Air Force Major was laughable at best, but if he understood this right, that wasn’t the point.
But maybe he hadn’t understood it right, because there was still no reaction from the major, just that same unreadable stare that was definitely making Rodney uncomfortable. Now what?
“Or, uh, I could always call Ford. Or we could have something to eat first? Maybe a glass of water?” He was reaching now, floundering even as he stood and hurried into the bathroom, but Rodney was out of ideas and doubt was stealing in. Maybe he shouldn’t have come at all—what did he know about battlefield trauma or the mindset of soldiers, even if the soldier was Sheppard? As tired as he looked, he probably would have already fallen asleep in that chair if Rodney hadn’t nosed in on him. With a gun in his hand. Yeah, that was a good idea. Maybe—
Maybe he’d been more right than he’d known. Cup of water in hand, Rodney lurched to a stop just outside the bathroom door to stare at the sight of Sheppard stretched out on the bed, fast asleep.
Bewilderment took a few moments to give way to pleased relief. Rodney’s mouth curled as he set the cup down on the table beside the bed and eased the gun from fingers that relaxed at his nudge. That went on the nightstand, too. Boots and jacket would just have to stay; they’d all slept in worse, but Rodney dropped a blanket over the sleeper at least. Then he drew up the chair John had vacated and sank into it, propping his feet on the bed and wriggling to get comfortable. He’d slept in worse, too.
Besides, you weren’t supposed to get too comfortable on guard duty, right?
The End