Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Water dripped from the ceiling, plopping onto banks of Ancient equipment slimed with the algae and barnacle-like crustaceans that had made themselves at home in this section of the city during the long years it had been flooded.

The gaggle of scientists paused in the doorway, surveying the mess without venturing any closer — until the sound of impatient snapping got them moving.

"Yes, yes, people," Rodney McKay barked, scattering underlings out of his way. Ignoring the drips and the slime and the pervasive smell of old dead fish, he marched to the middle of the room, dropped his laptop on a console — also ignoring the squelching sound it made as it landed — and whirled to face his demoralized staff. "It's a half-flooded Ancient lab. That's something you don't see every day. Except, oh wait. Yes, we do."

The science team dispersed through the room without comment. It was a large space, even by Atlantis standards, and empty except for banks of computer consoles and the room's most distinguishing feature — a wall of what looked like multicolored glass, backed by bubbling water. Watery portholes dotted the other walls, giving the illusion of an undersea view.

The Ancient database had contained frustratingly little information about the room. Intrigued by the layout, McKay had bumped it to the top of the "to-explore" list, as soon as the water had been drained from this section of the city.  Unfortunately, due to the swiss cheese nature of the damage to the exterior walls down here after the Wraith siege, it had only just been patched up enough to allow depressurization.  Two and a half years is a long time to wait for something this interesting.

Humming tunelessly to himself, McKay booted up his laptop and prepared to jack into the nearest control panel. He flicked off a tiny orange clam that had taken up residence on one of the control crystals. Say what you will about the Ancients—their technology could take a licking and keep on ticking.

A gusty sigh interrupted his happy reverie. He turned to find what’s-his-name, one of the computer techs, wiping slime off a neighboring console with his face screwed up in an expression of disgust.  He was balding, a little pudgy, and looking thoroughly annoyed.

"Doctor McKay," what’s-his-name huffed. "Couldn’t we have waited until the room was dry, at least?"

McKay blinked in honest confusion. "What difference would that make? It's not hurting the equipment." He hit the command key on his laptop and beamed as the room glowed to life around them.

"It's hurting us," another minion piped up from across the room — the blonde Brit with the braids, this time.  She lifted a soggy shoe and waggled it at him. "We're going to have trench foot by the end of the week at this rate."

McKay planted his hands on his hips and glared at his mutinous crew. "In the first place, we are not going to be at this long enough to get trench foot..." His gaze darted nervously toward the inch or so of standing water soaking his boots. Curling his toes inside his soggy socks, he made a mental note to schedule a quick check-up with Carson at the end of this shift. He plowed on. "And second of all, suck it up, people, it's just one day."

"Just one day, this week," another voice piped up. Rodney stiffened. Et tu, Nguyen?  Make someone a department head and suddenly they get uppity.

"Last week, it was back-to-back shifts in sub-zero temperatures, tracing a glitch in the cooling system." This time is was the tech guy — seriously, what was his name? Some kind of bird. Duck? Pigeon? Grouse?

"Look, Goose—" McKay began.

"Gos!"

"Whatever. We are an intergalactic science team, exploring strange new worlds. So, yes, sometimes we're going to get our feet wet and sometimes we're going to be cold, and sometimes we're going to have to dangle off the North Tower in rope harnesses to repair a sensor array—"

"Whaddaya mean, 'we'?" Nguyen interrupted.  Next to him, the dark haired Dr. Hardaway smiled crookedly. 

"I have an inner-ear thing," McKay began airily, gesturing toward his ears, then caught himself. "And why are we even discussing this? Me boss, you minions. Get to work! Chop, chop before our toes really do rot off."

"So..." He surveyed the room, and focused on the three people whose names he knew—the ones who weren’t newbies. "Nguyen, Hardaway, Goose—"

"Gos!"

"—I want you running diagnostics to make sure a few years marinating in seawater hasn't damaged any of the room's systems. You and you," he continued, pointing to the blonde Brit and the pudgy, short man, not even bothering to try to come up with the wrong names. "Start searching the data on these machines, see if you can figure out what this room was used for. And," he pivoted to study the final member of the team – a tall, blond Nordic fellow who smiled brightly at him.  McKay’s eyebrows lifted.  "Are you even in my department? Never mind. Get on the radio.  Ask the control room to send down some mops or something, and then get started on an inventory of the contents of this room. Go!"

Around the room, the whining of the scientists subsided and each turned to their assigned tasks.

Satisfied, McKay turned his attention to a large control panel set into the glass wall. He paused, head tilted quizzically as he studied the crystals inside.  They were blinking in an erratic pattern.  "That's odd—" he began.

Whatever else he was planning to say was cut off when a jet of water shot out of the access panel and hit him full in the face.

====

Alarm claxons blared, echoing crazily off the dank, warped walls. John Sheppard rounded the corner at a flat run, cursing as his feet skidded on the scum-slicked flooring.

On the long list of priority repair projects on Atlantis, mopping up miles of waterlogged corridors was nowhere near the top of anyone's list.  As Sheppard skidded again and went down hard on one knee, nearly triggering a five-Marine pileup in the corridor behind him, he decided that maybe there was room in the duty roster for a mop brigade or two after all.

He accepted a helpful push from behind and was back on his feet, pelting down the hallway with one hand cupped to his ear. He could barely hear the radio transmission over the din of the alarm.

"Well, you must have touched SOMETHING!" McKay's voice rang with equal parts fear and outrage. "You! Receding hairline! Stop doing whatever it is you think you're doing and--glub!" McKay's tirade ended in a pathetic gargle as splashing noises filled the airwaves.

They were getting closer to McKay's position now. Close enough to see a pool of water seeping down the hallway to meet them. Sheppard swore and picked up the pace. Rising water inside a floating city was never a good sign.

He rounded one final corner and skidded to a halt at the laboratory door.

His jaw dropped.

The room was going off like a lawn sprinkler. Jets of pressurized water were shooting out of the walls, the floors, the ceiling — oscillating and turning on and off like some bizarre children's fountain in the park. Some were shooting out with the force of a fire hose, some in playful little arcs.

McKay's team was scuttling around the room like so many drowned rats, trying to stem the flow. As Sheppard watched, a bedraggled McKay twiddled something on a console that cut off a ceiling downpour directly above his head -- only to whirl with a yelp as a fresh jet of water shot out of the floor and smacked him squarely on the behind.

"Gah!" the scientist howled, flailing in a frustrated half-circle. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the onlookers.

"This situation is under control," he hollered, pounding another command into the console, with no apparent results. He pushed sopping-wet hair back from his forehead, causing it to stick up like a broom, and blinked to clear his vision.

Sheppard's eyebrows shot up. "I can see that," he called out. "But you're the one who called in a citywide alarm, Rodney."

"Well..." McKay made a vague gesture around at the waterworks. "The situation seemed fairly alarming.  At the time."

Both men winced as a powerful geyser erupted from the colored glass wall and caught a pretty brunette scientist off-balance.  She went skidding across the room on her backside, like a kid on a giant Slip-N-Slide. At a glance from Sheppard, the Marines waded into the room to try to help the science team keep their heads above water.

Grumbling and pounding the side of his head in an attempt to shake the water out of his ear canal, McKay splashed over to the glassed-off water wall at the back of the room, where one of his scientists appeared to be trying to stop a jet of water with his finger.  The blond man was hunched over, but he was still taller than McKay.

"What are you, Dutch?" Rodney yelled at the blond, bumping him aside as he yanked open another control panel.

"As a matter of fact, yes," the bedraggled man shouted back. The spray of water between them cut off as McKay made one final adjustment to the crystals. The Dutch scientist threw up his hands and splashed off to rescue the team's laptops from the deluge.  Rodney continued to call out orders to his minions as he moved to another panel.

Sheppard glanced down at the ankle-deep pool of water eddying around his boots and took a cautious step back into the hall.

"Control room?" He tapped his earpiece, tuning out McKay's sputtering commentary in mid-complaint. "Just how far underwater is this part of the city? Just in case we need to, oh, swim for our lives?"

Zelenka's bewildered voice crackled over the headset. "That is the odd thing.  Although you’re beneath the waterline, Rodney told us it's fresh water, not seawater. Whatever is going wrong in that room, it appears to be a...plumbing problem. Maintenance crews are on their way."

There was a shriek and an enormous splash from the laboratory, followed by the sound of watery cursing. Sheppard keyed the radio again. "Better send along a medical team while you're at it." 

And then everything shuddered.  The movement in the room halted as everyone stared around themselves at the walls and ceilings.  Only Rodney was looking down at the floor—the first to make the connection.

The reason for the wide, empty space in the middle of the room was suddenly abundantly clear.

The floor was moving, splitting down the middle and retracting with disturbing speed into the walls. Scientists and Marines went scrambling, hopping across the widening gap toward the exit.

Sheppard backpedaled to the solid, unmoving floor near the door – a broad ledge that supported the banks of computer consoles.

“McKay!” he hollered, waving his arms to try to catch the scientist's attention.  “What the hell happened?” He leaned forward, frowning as he glimpsed a wide expanse of water in the widening gap between the floor edges.

McKay ignored the question, and the calls from the other scientists, urging him to take a running leap and jump to dry land while he still could. “I can fix this!” he insisted, fiddling with the access panel in the glass wall.

Sheppard turned to the bedraggled science team. "What happened?"

A diminutive fellow with a shock of curly hair plastered to his head spread his hands and shrugged. "Nobody touched anything. The floor just started...sliding."

"Right," Sheppard said, not taking his eyes off Rodney. "Just like the water turned on by itself."

The little fellow — what was his name again? He vaguely remembered Rodney calling him some sort of bird name — started to protest, but Sheppard cut him off. "We'll sort this out later, Goose."

"Gos!"

A crow of triumph from McKay cut them off. “Almost got it! One more minute…There!”

Just like that, the water in the room cut off, like someone had turned off the spigot.

The floor, however, kept moving.

The delight on McKay’s face faded, as he registered the growing gap between him and the rest of the group. Sheppard moved to the edge on his side and peered down. It was a yawning space, opening into the flooded deck below.  Wait, not a flooded deck -- the underwater jumper bay. 

He looked up and locked eyes with McKay. “Oh crap,” they said in tandem.

On McKay’s side, there was less than three feet of floor left between the wall and the water's edge. Rodney retreated until his back hit the glass wall and grimaced at the thick green blanket of algae floating on the surface of the pool below.

The floor glided closer to his toes. McKay closed his eyes and pinched his nose shut, braced for the plunge.

With a resigned sigh, Sheppard shucked out of his jacket and bent to unlace his boots.

And then the floor just…stopped.

Everyone in the room let out a collective breath.  Sheppard started to stand up again.

“What’s all this then?” Carson Beckett’s sudden voice at his shoulder nearly startled Sheppard into falling into the water. The doctor snagged him by the collar and pulled him back, leaning out himself to study the muck below. He let out a low whistle and beamed across at the bedraggled form of McKay, who was still splayed against the far wall. “Rodney? What are you doing all the way over there, man?”

But McKay was staring down at the motionless floor beneath his feet, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Of course!" he said. "They’d need something to stand on to access to the controls on this side of the room. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Before anyone could frame an answer to that, a strange groaning vibration filled the room. McKay froze, eyes widening with a terrible suspicion.

Then water exploded out of every nozzle in the room – including the massive jet immediately behind McKay. The force of the spray swept him off the narrow ledge and into thin air. He hit the water in a spectacular belly flop and sank like a stone.

====

Three slime-covered figures slumped miserably on the beds in sickbay.

Carson Beckett sneezed violently, but mustered a wan smile for the nurse who was holding out a package of wet-wipes to him — at arm's length. The stench of three grown men covered in algae and brackish seawater was enough to clear the room of all but essential medical personnel — and a few highly amused spectators. The rest of the scientists and soldiers had been checked over and sent back to their quarters, wrapped in towels and blankets.

"I said I was sorry!" McKay croaked, holding out a hand for the steaming mug of tea Elizabeth Weir had just brewed in the electric kettle in Carson's office.

Carson glowered at his friend. "You pulled me into that cesspool," he said, again.

"I don't know what you're complaining about," Sheppard mumbled from the third bed, holding an icepack to his swollen jaw. The algae had done fascinating things to his hair, which now stuck up in corkscrews and spikes and even more improbable angles than usual.

McKay huffed, adjusting the ice pack on the golf ball-sized lump on the top of his head.

"I'm not apologizing to you. I was doing just fine until you decided to jump on my head." He coughed, shuddering at the lingering taste of the water he'd inhaled in shock as he hit the pool. He sank then, stunned for an instant, until instinct kicked in and he managed to kick weakly back to the surface — just in time for the top of his head to meet the bottom of John Sheppard's jaw with a resounding crack. "Nice rescue, Captain America."

That got a snort of laughter out of Ronon Dex, who was leaning against the wall between their two beds. Teyla shot him a quelling look and gave the rest of her teammates an encouraging smile, without moving any closer than necessary. "From what I have heard, you both did an admirable job of supporting each other until you drew close enough to—"

"To bloody well pull me in with you!" Carson said, reaching greedily for his own mug of tea from Elizabeth.

Weir stepped back quickly, her nose wrinkling slightly.

"I think a shower should be the first order of business, don't you?" she asked sweetly. "Then, if you're feeling up to it, I'd like to schedule a debriefing to discuss exactly what went wrong out there today."

"What," Sheppard cackled. "You mean besides Rodney mistaking an Ancient car wash for the scientific breakthrough of the century?"

"Oh, shut up," McKay grumped. "We're in a city that's thousands of years old. A city, I might add, that gets blown up and flooded on a regular basis. And you're surprised that we run into the occasional technical glitch?"

Dex snorted again. "Room tried to drown you, McKay. I'd call that more than a glitch."

McKay rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "Yes, well. My staff can just finish the inventory, collect what data they can and then seal the place up. Would that satisfy everyone?"

"Suits me," Sheppard said, fingering his jawline again.

Weir nodded. "I think that would be for the best, Rodney. We don't want a repeat performance of today's waterworks." Her eyes twinkled. "I have to admit, I'm almost sorry I missed it."

"Don't be," Radek Zelenka said, entering the medlab with a pleased smile and a computer disc. He waved the disc at Weir, Teyla and Ronon. "The city's surveillance system captured everything. We're burning copies now."

The three swimmers glared as their erstwhile friends vanished into Beckett's office to watch their latest home movie on his laptop. At the first shriek of laughter from the office, Beckett hastily set his mug aside and hopped off the exam table with a squish.

"Shower," he grunted, trudging off toward his quarters.

Sheppard followed suit, grimacing at his sodden uniform began to chafe him in disturbing places. McKay stayed where he was, staring off into space.

"You heard the doc, Rodney," Sheppard said, surprised McKay hadn't already bolted for the showers with a gallon of antibacterial soap. "Shower. You need one. You smell like week-old sushi."

"Huh?" Rodney looked up, blissfully unaware of the insult he'd just missed. "I was just thinking I should take a quick swing through that lab, on the way back to my quarters. There was something a bit odd about—"

Sheppard grabbed him by the collar and hauled him off the exam bed. With a gentle shove, he sent him shuffling toward his quarters. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure it's the oddest Puddle Jumper wash on Atlantis.  Let it go, McKay. Not every room can be a ZPM warehouse."

McKay allowed himself to be propelled along. "What was that you were saying earlier about sushi? Want to grab something in the mess hall after we clean up? I'm telling you, I could really go for some seafood..."  

Chapter Text

Elizabeth Weir sat with her head in her hands as she watched the recording one more time, studying the events in the waterlogged room, watching for some sign that would reveal what had gone so horribly wrong.

The whole incident was terrifying, awful and — as she watched it again from the safety of her office — pretty damn funny. 

Carefully, she kept her held tilted just so, hiding the smile that played at her lips.  The walls of her office were transparent, after all, and it wouldn’t be right for the leader of the expedition to appear so amused at the discomfort of others.

It had been a week since the incident in the waterworks — a room that McKay finally determined to be exactly what Sheppard had proclaimed — a sort of ‘car wash’.   Jumpers, when they came into the underwater bays after studying the marine life, must have been coated in algae and other ocean slime.  They could be raised up into the ‘cleaning facility’ for a quick hosing down. 

It also worked for hosing down a room full of scientists.

Copies of the recording had become the hottest commodity in the city.  How did it become released to the general population?  Well, it was just the way the city worked —there were few secrets, and it was hard to beat a good slapstick comedy starring the head of the Science Department.

She watched the tape, searching out new incidents that she’d missed before — little happenings in the background.  Pressing her lips together, she managed to stifle a laugh as Dr. Jaap Van Steenvoort took a spurt of water right between the eyes.  He stumbled backwards, flopping blindly into Dr. Nguyen, whose feet promptly slid out from under him on the slippery surface, and they both splatted to the wet ground under a tumult of spraying water.  They struggled to get to their feet, leaning drunkenly on one another, as McKay shouted.

Dr. Lewis dove this way and that, attempting to follow McKay’s orders, but always managing to keep one hand firmly planted over his balding head.  His hair took on a transparent appearance and his eyes looked haunted. 

Dr. Barbara Chaplin, her long blonde braids matted like ropes to her shoulders, grasped Dr. Gos tightly to her chest as they backed into a corner.  Elizabeth wasn’t certain if Chaplin was using the man to protect herself — or if she were attempting to save the undersized Dr. Gos from the impending flood. 

In any case, it was entertaining as Gos fought to free himself.

Dr. Kelly Hardaway stood in the middle of it all, poking random buttons on one console, wincing as the occasional spray caught her in uncomfortable places. She glared at McKay, as if blaming him for all her woes when he called her over to the back panel.

Weir held her breath when Sheppard and the others arrived at the door and McKay worked to shut off the water spewing from above.  Hardaway was hit with a burst of water from the wall, sending her sliding across the floor in what had been dubbed her “slip-n-slide” moment.  Elizabeth knew what would happen next.  Her hand hovered over the mouse, anticipating — waiting for a jet of water to catch Dr. McKay right on the ass.

There!  She froze the picture.  His look of mortified shock was caught perfectly by the camera — the angle couldn’t have been better.  One of his eyes was half shut; his mouth formed a surprised “O”.  Her smile grew broader and she coughed in an attempt to hide her amusement — in case anyone was looking.

Yes, she needed a screenshot of that to save for moments when Rodney was being particularly prickly.  Maybe she’d use it as her wallpaper.

She glanced up, submerging the smirk as she checked on the scientist through the windows.  He was in the control room, and she could easily observe him through the opening in her office.  Having taken over Chuck’s seat, he was ruthlessly typing away at a wired-in laptop.

Chuck stood over his shoulder, looking uncomfortable and a bit annoyed about being displaced, but his attention was on McKay’s work, and he couldn’t help but show a little jealously as the physicist’s hands flew over the keys.

Rodney paused a moment, his cool blue eyes scanning the screen as he hunched his shoulders.  And then his fingers went into motion again.

He might have drowned, she remembered.

Her glance returned to her laptop.  Maybe it wasn’t right to find such levity in the situation, Elizabeth thought.  Maybe it was wrong…

Chuck leaned closer to the physicist, peering over his shoulder.  Rodney, noticing that he was too close, snapped “Back off.”  The technician dutifully stepped back a half-pace.

Weir saved the screengrab.

Chuck seemed to notice that she was looking at them, and he raised his gaze to meet hers.  He smiled awkwardly, and then returned his attention to the computer that McKay was ravaging.

A glance at her clock reminded Weir that it was time to get moving.

She shut down the media player and stood.  She had a meeting to attend and wanted to get a cup of coffee before McKay made it to the conference room — the man was a bottomless pit when it came to drinking the stuff and she needed to ensure that she had her chance at the carafe before Rodney filled up.

She stepped around her desk at a quick clip, hoping to make it to the conference room before he checked the time.

A smile grew as she realized he was too involved in his latest obsession to notice, and she hurried to step through the open space that connected her fish-bowl office to the command center — and slammed full-force, face first, into the firmly-shut glass wall.

Stunned, she staggered, clutching her smarting, blood-gushing nose, as the whole room seemed to spin.  The pain was exquisite, consuming her as she quickly back-stepped — ramming her butt squarely into the sharp corner of her desk.

With an undisguised bellow of pain, she squeezed one hand to her maligned posterior, as the other hand remained clamped on her bleeding nose.  She closed her eyes tightly, trying to get a grip on the pain.

Good God, it hurt like a…

“Elizabeth?”

Quickly, she removed her hand from her rear as she opened her eyes to stare at the group that had gathered outside her glassed-in office.  McKay was staring up in disbelief at the transparent door that had appeared out of nowhere.  Chuck looked startled.

Her eyes focused on the smear left on the door where her face had impacted it, and she wondered if anyone else noted that she needed to be using a little less foundation. 

A door?

“Elizabeth?” McKay called again, his voice was slightly muffled by the mysterious door as he charged from the control room towards it.  “You’re bleeding.  Medical emergency!”  He turned to Chuck.  “Call Beckett!  She’s not responding to me!  I think she’s in shock.”

Chuck didn’t move, looking to Weir instead for direction.  

“I’m fine,” she declared, her voice sounding silly and muffled.  She could feel the blood pooling warmly in her palm, dripping onto her shirt, her pants, her shoes, the floor.  She tried to contain it without luck.

“You don’t look fine,” McKay told her.  “Seriously… that’s a lot of blood!”  He looked suddenly pale.

“This door – it…” she started.

“There shouldn’t be a door here,” McKay cried, gesturing angrily at it.  

“I know,” Elizabeth stated, trying to sound calm when her nose was streaming like a fountain.  Great.  Just great.  She squeezed her nostrils shut, sucking in a breath as a jolt of pain ran through her.  Broken – oh wonderful.  She’d just broken her nose. 

“This door shouldn’t exist!” McKay persisted.  “Where did it come from?”

 “You tell me!” Weir shot back.

“Floor?  Ceiling?”  Rodney backed up, assessing the situation.  A snap of the fingers and he declared.  “It came from above.  See, it used to fit up there.  Huh.  Wonder why I didn’t realize that before.  Good thing you weren’t right under it when it came down because… it’d be the French Revolution all over again.”

Elizabeth grimaced, not wanting to think about that particular scenario.

“How’d you get it to activate?”  McKay went on, as everyone from the command level gathered around him to peer in at her.

“I didn’t do anything,” Elizabeth insisted.

Rodney cocked his head.  “You must have done something,” he told her.

“I was just trying to leave my office!” Weir responded.  “Just like I always do.”

In response, McKay muttered, “Must have done something.  These things don’t activate on their own.” 

“Maybe it was you,” Elizabeth responded darkly.

McKay looked aghast.  “I wasn’t doing anything remotely concerned with the doors.  Besides, how could I activate it from that laptop when I wasn’t even in that system?”  And he paused, thinking.

Elizabeth grimaced and walked over to the set of doors that led into the hall.  She waved a hand over the controls.

And nothing happened.

McKay had watched her, his eyebrows lifting as he pointed at the other set of doors. "That shouldn't have happened either!"

She gave him a dark look, "Obviously."

"A lockdown?  Just of your office?"  McKay looked behind him at Chuck, but the gate technician just shrugged.  He looked back at Elizabeth, his eyes narrowing. "What did you do?  Maybe it has something to do with the blood!  No… "

She gave him a death glare and was pleased to see him rock back a step in response.

“Look,” Weir said with a sigh, “I just want to get out of here and take care of… this.”  And she gestured toward her nose.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Rodney asked, his voice a little high.  “That’s a lot of blood.  An awful lot of blood.  Look, you’re bleeding all over the floor and your clothes and looks like you got it on the walls and the desk and… wow… everywhere.  You’ve stopped the bleeding now, haven’t you?”

With a long-suffering sigh, Elizabeth grumbled,  “Can you just get this door to retract?”

“Well, yes,” Rodney responded, looking about for the door’s controls.  “Just give me a minute.”

Elizabeth slowly turned and limped to her desk in search of something to sop up the mess. 

Chuck called on the radio for a maintenance crew.

Great, Elizabeth thought, grabbing a handful of tissues.  She released her grip, finding that her nose still oozed, leaving droplets all over the floor and on her shirt.  The tissues remained adhered to her sticky hands when she tried to work them into a serviceable bandage, and she ended up wrapping the big wad of Kleenex around her nose, grimacing as she applied pressure again. 

Her nose… how could something so small hurt so badly when broken?  The fact that her butt ached didn’t help much either.  She held her nose and waited for McKay to release her from the glassed-in prison.

It didn’t happen.

“Rodney?” she called, as she tried to flutter some of the stuck tissue free from one bloodied hand.  “Why isn’t the door open yet?”

“I’ll have it in a second.”  McKay stated.  “Here we go!  Ha!”  He looked pleased as he found a panel on the wall beside her office.  “This must be the place.”  And he pulled loose the cover and began reconfiguring the crystals.

Elizabeth waited, watching the people that looked back at her through the transparent pane.  They whispered among themselves, studying her.

McKay went on, “Who would have guessed that this office had a door?  Well, I suppose I should have figured that out.  This room really needs one.  A little privacy is a good thing, right?  Especially when you’re having conversations that should be kept confidential.”

He kept puttering about as Elizabeth waited.  She prayed that her nose would stop pounding with pain.

 “A door makes sense,” McKay went on as he moved the crystals about.  “I should have looked for one before.”  He stopped messing about with the panel and glanced to the door.  “Huh,” he paused.  “That’s strange.  Okay, give me a minute.  Weird.”

“Rodney?”

“That should have worked.”  He stepped back, putting his hands on his hips as he glared at the crystals.  Then he snapped his fingers.  “Wait, I have a patch I’ve been meaning to try.”

Rodney hurried back to the laptop he’d been using, detached it from the console and brought it back to the door.  He smiled smugly as he wired it to the crystals.   Supporting the computer with one hand, he clattered away at the keyboard.

Elizabeth watched as a repair team came bursting onto the upper level of the gateroom, armed with toolboxes, blowtorches and an assortment of pry-bars and other vicious-looking instruments.  Was that a sledgehammer?  They positioned themselves in a semi-circle around her office, ready to jump into action. 

Several people had followed them, joining the mob that had formed outside her office.  Below, on the gateroom floor, another larger group had gathered.  It was as if everyone with free time had decided this would be the perfect entertainment for the hour.

God, she was a mess.  She brushed at her hair before she realized she was just going to get blood there as well.  Fantastic.

She paced slowly, holding her nose and feeling the soreness of her bruised bum.  Couldn’t be better.

The repair crew waited, eyeing McKay as he worked, and hefting their weapons of destruction.

The last thing Weir wanted to do was destroy the glass walls of the office.  Every time disaster struck the control room, it took weeks to get everything put back together.  She didn’t want to spend the next month behind a barrier of plastic sheeting.

Of course, there were times when being out of view would be rather beneficial.  And she limped slowly in the small space, looking down at the group that watched.

McKay was still fussing at the computer just outside her door.  “I wonder what made it activate,” he muttered.  “And why the hell can’t I get it to go away.”

Elizabeth sighed.  “It’s 10,000 year old technology.  I guess it’s bound to need a little adjustment every now and then.”  She grimaced at the scratchy sound of her voice. 

“Maybe,” McKay said softly.  “But the Ancients knew how to keep doors from popping out of nowhere for no good reason.  Here we go… I think I got it.”

The door did not open.

“Any time, Rodney,” she murmured.

“Hang on… hang on.  Wait.  This is it.”  McKay smiled, that lopsided, satisfied grin.  Then, pointing one finger at the mysterious door, he activated something on the laptop and, with a “Ta-da!”  — the door zipped up —disappearing so rapidly that they hardly saw it move.

Finally.

Stiffly, swiftly, Elizabeth stalked out of her office, aware of all the eyes on her.  She was a bloody mess, her nose throbbed, and her butt hurt to boot.

“I am going to my quarters to clean up,” she declared as she moved past the repair crew.  There’d be no smashing of walls today.  They looked at her mournfully.

God, all she wanted to do was get away from all the prying eyes.

“Might want to hit the infirmary,” Rodney suggested, looking up from tapping a few more notes onto his tablet.  “You know, blood and everything.  Seriously, if you’re bleeding, it’s a good idea to stop by Carson’s and get a checkup.” He pointed to his own nose.  “You might have broken something important and you need your nose for breathing.  Hopefully you didn’t get a deviated septum or anything like that.  I hear they use some sort of tiny crowbar and a shove a splint up there to get your nostrils back into ‘breathing’ position.”  He shuddered.  “Still, it’d be good to have that fixed.  And, you don’t want to end up with some hooked honker, do you?”

Elizabeth gave him a narrow look, but there was a certain amount of wisdom in McKay’s chatter.  At least the infirmary was nearby, and her nose hurt like crazy.  If nothing else, Beckett would know how to get the thing to stop bleeding, since her attempts didn’t seem to be working – and the good doctor would give her a nice analgesic to get her through the day.

“And … oh… you really should see the bruise that’s forming.  It’s going to be big,” Rodney went on.  “Half your face is turning black and blue!  Might even swell your eyes closed.  Oh!  Wait up!” he called as she strode away.

She moved through the hallway that would lead her to the good drugs, as Chuck called ahead, letting the medical staff know that she was coming with a ‘minor’ injury.

There was a thud of feet beside her and knew by their uneven cadence that it was Rodney.

He huffed as caught up to her.  “You should probably tell me what you did to activate—“

“I didn’t activate anything,” she snapped, turning a corner a little too quickly in her annoyance and nearly running into someone coming the other way.  The scientist, the tall blond Jaap Van Steenvoort, smiled and stammered out an apology in Dutch as they danced around each other. Elizabeth finally stepped around him and kept moving.  Rodney’s eyebrows lifted as he watched his minion disappear down the corridor, then ran to catch up to Elizabeth again.

“You need some help?” he asked.  “You know you nearly bowled over Dutch back there.  Are your eyes swelling closed?  Because you might not be able to see very well if your eyes swell closed.  Although it’d probably be best if I didn’t touch you.  Nose blood can’t be sanitary.  That’s a lot of blood.  I don’t know if you’re going to be able to get that out of your shirt.  I had a bad nosebleed once, and it ruined — completely ruined — a brand new shirt — great shirt — and I’d purchased it on sale.  A really good sale, too.  I tried to return the shirt to the store, but they wouldn’t take it back.”

Elizabeth kept moving, tissues gathered around her nose.  Rodney, at her side, probably wouldn’t do much good as a guide as he babbled on about his lost shirt.

“And they didn’t have any more in my size.  The cashier said that it was last season’s and that I’d probably purchased it on clearance — but it wasn’t clearance it was just a really good sale.”

As they moved, she caught glimpses of others in the hall, giving her strange looks.  If she could just hurry, she’d make it out of sight before too many witnessed her in this condition.

The infirmary, thankfully, was nearby and she reached her destination as Rodney’s commented on why the return policy at the Hudson’s Bay Company has an awful lot to be desired.

“Rodney,” Weir stated, cutting him off. 

“Oh,” McKay paused, startled by her comment.  “What?”

“I can take it from here,” Weir told him, nodding to the interior of the infirmary.  “Just go and find out why that door activated, so we can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“It won’t happen again,” he said. “I’ve locked it into place.  Still…” He gained a puzzled expression, “you know that whole door thing was just… wrong.  Not necessarily that you might have activated it without knowing, but—”

“I didn’t activate it.”

“Sure you didn’t,” he said airily with a quick wave of his hand, clearly not believing her.  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed again, but he didn’t notice.  “But what I’m saying is, it’s not the fact that you activated the door that’s strange, but that it caused you harm and it wouldn’t then open again after you closed it.  And that the other doors in your office locked as well.  That shouldn’t have happened, in fact…”

He trailed off, looking down again at the tablet resting on his arm, eyes seeming to turn inward.  When he didn’t continue, his free hand almost patting the tablet as he studied the information on it, Elizabeth opened her mouth to ask what he was thinking.

“Hullo!” Beckett suddenly appeared in the opening to the infirmary, smiling in greeting, but the cheerful expression quickly fell.  “Oh dear,” he muttered.  “Looks like you broke your nose, Elizabeth.”

Weir sighed, and muttered a muffled, “Yes, I’m pretty sure of it.”

“Well, come on in, then,” Carson directed, gesturing to the entrance.  “We’ll fix you right up.”

“I’m sorry for this,” Elizabeth said, gesturing toward her broken beak.  “Having to come here for something so minor.”

“Aye, but it’s mighty painful, isn’t it?” Beckett replied sympathetically.  “I know I’ve been through the same a time or two.  Not nice at all.  Come on in.  I’ll fix you up.    I was just finishing up with Major Lorne. Seems he got himself run over by a tool cart in the jumper bay.  It was a bit of a mess.”

“She was bleeding everywhere,” Rodney suddenly pointed out, his tablet seemingly forgotten.  “We probably need a HAZMAT team for the control room to clean it all up.  Might need two teams.  And she’s probably down a pint or two.  You probably want to hook her up to some fluids right away.”

Carson regarded the physicist and sighed.  “Yes, thank you, Rodney.”  And he gently grasped Elizabeth the elbow and guided her in.  “So, unless you have something that’s ailin’ you…?” he directed at McKay.

Rodney raised his arms to ward off the doctor.  “No… no… not me.  I’ll, ah, be going now.”

“Great,” Carson responded and led Weir as they made their way into the infirmary.

Weir moved stiffly, weary of her aching head, and still feeling the blow she’d suffered to her hindquarters.

As she moved away, she heard Rodney call to her, “Did you know you have a handprint on your ass, Elizabeth?”

When she looked over her shoulder at him, he continued, “It’s a perfectly placed red handprint.”  He reached out a hand as if to demonstrate its positioning.

With a groan, Elizabeth faced forward and kept moving.

Chapter Text

The cafeteria was abuzz with its usual noontime fervor.  Scientists and Marines were filtering in, lining up at the chow line, or finding a place at the tables with their filled trays. 

Zelenka entered in the midst of the lunch rush, quickly making note of who had snagged the prime tables.  Dr. Nguyen and Dr. Van Steenvoort had taken over the corner table by the window.  Van Steenvoort was talking animatedly about something, jabbing a finger at his laptop and occasionally swiping his blond hair out of his eyes.  Dr. Nguyen sat back, with his fingers just resting on his laptop’s keyboard, looking slightly detached. 

Radek didn’t see Rodney’s team.  They often met at this time of day for lunch, but McKay had been busy with what had been causing a series of minor malfunctions in the city’s systems, like the activation of Dr. Weir’s door last week, and so the others had probably found something else to do during this hour.

Returning his attention to the lunch line, Radek grimaced as he noted the daily special—macaroni and cheese, hot dogs and jello.  He sighed.  It wouldn’t be so bad, except they’d served the same meal on the previous day.  Sadly, they’d been running short on supplies, and, with the Daedalus still two weeks away, it would be some time before they were stocked again.  They hadn’t received their full allowance of supplies with the last run, so the next one promised to be a bounty for everyone.

Until then, they had to make do with what was available.  At least there was ice cream for dessert.  The promise of butterbrickle at the end of the line encouraged the Czech and he allowed himself a smile at that thought.

“Radek!” he heard someone call and looked up to find Dr. Barbara Chaplin entering the mess hall. Quickly, she sidled up behind him, with Dr. Lazlo Gos in her wake.  “Hey, what’s for lunch today?”

“Oh,” Radek responded.  “Same as yesterday,” he said glumly.

Gos nodded and tucked his laptop under his arm.  “It’s not so bad,” the scientist commented softly.  “I lived off Ramen and mac-n-cheese in school.  I survived it.  Wouldn’t have afforded college without making a few sacrifices.”  He nodded to the corporal who was serving, and pointed to the bin of hot gooey orange pasta.  “Sometimes you have to go through a little pain to get what you want, right?” He received a large spoonful.

“Yes, we all suffered,” Zelenka responded glumly as he regarded his own tray.

“Can I just have a hot dog?” Barbara asked the server sweetly as she held out her tray.  She was pretty and blonde, and always smiling, the sort of person that lit up a room the moment she entered.  She winked at Gos as she added, “I just love a good wiener.” 

Radek stifled a chuckle as Gos dipped his head with a blush and looked away.    Lazlo had an innocence to him; with his thick curls and large brown eyes, he looked almost like a hobbit.  Barbara got a kick out of teasing him, but he also seemed to enjoy the extra attention she gave him.  Hell, any hot-blooded man would. 

The lines stalled out at the ice cream as a mob of Marines were trying to get their fill.  Zelenka frowned, hoping that they didn’t finish off the butterbrickle before his turn.  The last time they had ice cream, only spumoni was left once the Marines were finished.

Typical of the scientists in Atlantis, when faced with a few minutes of waiting around, Gos and Chaplin leaned against a nearby table and flipped open their laptops.  Zelenka glared at the Marines, wishing the force of his gaze was enough to hurry them.  It wasn’t working.

Hardaway suddenly appeared behind them.  “Hey, busy beavers,” she called, nodding at the open computers.  “Can’t just sit still, can you?”

“There’s always something going on,” Barbara reminded, glancing up with a smile.  “We have that big project that needs to be finished today.”

“Don’t I know it,” Kelly responded, nodding to her own laptop that she held, partially open.  “Hey, you guys know that DVD copy of our fun in the jumperwash?  I’ve made extra discs with a ‘special edit’.”  She winked.  “All the prime McKay moments with captions.  Perfect for the next time he unloads this much work on us again.  Oh, hello, Dr. Zelenka.  I didn’t see you there.”  The brunette smiled smugly, cocking her head slightly as if daring him to say anything.  She had earned that smugness by having been here long enough for McKay to learn her name—and Zelenka honestly didn’t mind that the minions felt comfortable enough with their boss to make fun of him.

In fact, he wouldn’t mind a copy of that “special edit” himself.  But before Radek could ask, she turned sharply and waved at the balding man who’d entered the mess hall.  “Eugene!  Eugene!” she shouted.  “Come on over!  We’re having a commiseration party over here.  Did you get a good look at Dr. Weir today?  Almost a week and she’s still got that shiner!  I think it’s getting worse every day.”

Dr. Lewis seemed like a deer caught in the headlights for a moment as he looked at the exuberant young woman.  He smiled uncomfortably  and shuffled toward her.  “Ah… Hi, Kelly,” he said softly, coloring a little at her enthusiasm.  “Have you finished that program for McKay yet?” he asked as he clutched at his laptop.  “I’m only halfway through mine and could use some—”

“Time to relax a bit, Gene,” Hardaway stated.  “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.”

“But… it’s free, isn’t it?” Dr. Lewis responded.

Zelenka sighed and faced toward the dessert stand again, annoyed that the line had not moved.  In fact, the mob of Marines had grown thicker.  Some of the men had ‘cut the line’ and were trying to take advantage of the situation.

“Gentlemen,” Radek started as he moved closer, holding the tray close to his chest.  “Why is there so much difficulty in choosing your flavor?  There are only three available.  Is this difficult for you?”  He tried to muscle his way in, jabbing an elbow into someone’s stomach.

“Nuts!” one of the men exclaimed.

“Oh!” Radek exclaimed, drawing back quickly.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Dang it!” another one called.  “What the hell’s gone wrong with the nut chopper?”

With a frown, Radek noted that the Marine had come away with a bowl of ice cream completely covered with shredded peanuts.  The dispenser was still going, grinding and scattering ground nuts everywhere.

“Hey!  Just keep away from the chocolate sprinkles! Don’t bogart the jimmies!” another man called.

“Dudes,” another uttered.  “Something’s seriously wrong with the cooler.  I think it’s getting warm.”

“Well, close the lid, idiot.”

“I mean, warm.   Like… close to hot,” the man commented.

Zelenka leaned in, and rested a hand on the side of the cooler.  Warm.  Yes, the casing was definitely warm when it should have been cold to the touch.  “Someone must have switched the controls,” he stated quietly.

“Well, someone should fix it,” a Marine said pointedly.  “And he should figure out how to turn off the nut chopper while he’s at it.”

Radek looked up at the man, a tall fellow named Burke.  Zelenka fixed a tight expression, and wanted to say something snappy, but instead just muttered, “Yes, someone should.”  And he turned to walk away, when one of his feet went out from under him.

His tray, still clutched in one hand, flew from his grasp and smacked Burke hard on the side of the head as gravity yanked him to the ground.  He fell, hard.

OW!

One of the other Marines dove forward, trying to catch him, but was caught up in the same unexpected slickness.  Soldiers went down right and left, fighting in vain for balance as shoes slid and skidded on ice-cream melt.

Those that were smart enough to grab hold of the dessert stand, instantly released their grips as the ‘warm’ of the container suddenly turned to ‘hot’.

“What the hell?” Burke growled, wiping jello from his face as he fought to keep his footing.  Cheese clung to one eyebrow and macaroni was lodged in his hair.

Zelenka touched the hot side of the stand as chopped nuts shifted down on him and ice cream dribbled.  He glanced across the room.  The steam table, which had been simmering and keeping bins of macaroni and hot dogs pleasantly heated, suddenly started to hiss.  Servers and patrons stepped away as water bubbled up over the laden food bins.

“Dr. Zelenka!” Eugene cried, gesturing to the table.  “Something’s wrong.  Something’s gone seriously wrong here.”

The dairy bar, with its milk cartons and yogurt, gurgled and started to steam. The soda fountain sizzled.

Zelenka struggled, trying to get to his feet as hot butterbrickle and nuts rained down on him from above.  He looked anxiously toward the Marines that had been assigned KP.   The corporal was frittering away with the controls for one table, as a private messed about with another.

The din of the room rose.  Everyone was shouting, running this way and that.  Hot macaroni and cheese belched like Yellowstone’s paint pots, sending up glops of yellow goo, scalding the servers as they slid and scuttled to get away.  Hot dogs boiled out of their tray.  Split and horrible to look at, they rolled helter-skelter across the cafeteria floor.

Zelenka made an ill advised attempt to use the dessert table to help pull him up, and instantly pulled his hand back as it sizzled momentarily on the stove hot surface.  Capt. Burke grasped hold of his wrist and steadied him, hauling him to his feet, asking if he was okay.  As Zelenka slid about in warm butterbrickle, he could hear people calling for assistance over their radios.

The boiling hissing continued, as Sgt. Fuller, wide-eyed and red faced, came storming out from the kitchen, shouting, “It’s gone mad!  Everything’s gone mad, I tells ya!”

“What’s going on?” Burke demanded.

“I don’t know.  I will find out,” Zelenka promised.  He barged forward, past the serving tables and through the doors to the kitchen, followed by Fuller and Burke.  Chaplin, Gos, Hardaway and Lewis stumbled in behind.

If the serving area was in chaos, then the kitchen was one of the lower levels of hell.  It was hot.  It hurt to breathe.  The stoves beat cherry red.  Ovens opened their carnivorous mouths, belching heat and smoke into the room as dinner was crisped beyond recognition. Saucepans smoked and spat on the stovetops, their contents boiling out to be consumed in bright flames on the burner

Zelenka hurried in, cradling his singed hand to his chest as he looked from one stove to the next.  A conglomeration of Ancient tech and Earth tech, the machinery had been wired together into what they considered a food cooker should look like.  Up until now, their technology patches and changes had worked wonderfully.  What had gone wrong? 

“Why isn’t the fire suppression system working?” Hardaway asked from behind him.

“I don’t know…” Zelenka responded, transfixed for a moment by the flames.  “It should have started immediately.”

The huge mixers whirled madly, splattering the evening’s cornbread batter; the electric can opener buzzed heatedly; the blender blended; the automatic bread toaster groaned and clattered.  In the back corner, the dishwasher gushed madly, swishing an insane amount of suds about, dribbling and drooling onto the floor.  Already the drains were starting to back up.  It was only a matter of time before…

Zelenka looked about, trying to find an access panel as Hardaway poked at the controls of one stove.  The heat blasted them, nearly cooking them both.  Burke and Fuller had grabbed fire extinguishers and were working at putting out the flames.

Lewis went down one aisle as Gos and Chaplain went down another, trying frantically to shut down the equipment.  Temperatures in the room continued to rise. 

Zelenka found what he was looking for, pried off the panel and stared at the crystals for a moment, calculating his move before diving in.  If he could shut down the power to the room, that would solve everything.   He began rearranging the crystals, trying one sure-thing, and then another, yet the room remained lit, the dishwasher kept churning, microwaves blared, the stoves scorched, mixers mix-mastered, the toasters were getting toastier.  Batter splattered everywhere.

He glanced up, catching sight of Nguyen and Van Steenvoort peering in the door.  The two tall scientists quickly took in the scene and drew back.  They disappeared back into the cafeteria—obviously wanting no part of the mayhem.  Radek cursed them, but couldn’t blame them.

Flame licked at the cupboards near them.   Everything was getting hotter by the moment, and his patches weren’t working.  His hand moved quickly to his radio, and listened for a moment to the tumult of voices and heard a certain strident tone.

“Rodney!” Zelenka shouted, interrupting the Canadian, “I’m in the kitchen!  Cut the power! Cut it now!”

“I’m working on it,” McKay snapped back.  “What are you doing in there? I haven’t seen a power spike like this since...  ”

Aggravated, Zelenka snapped, “Shut it down, Rodney!”

“Give me a minute.  Damn, that’s not right.  Wait … I…” 

“Barbara!” Lewis shouted.  “Step back!  Get away!”

Radek looked up to see Chaplin heading toward a bank of running microwave ovens.

She lifted her head toward Dr. Lewis with a curious expression then turned to the ovens.  “Don’t worry about it, Eugene,” she said as she poked buttons without success.  “I’m just trying to shut them down.”

“Still,” Lewis said, raising a finger. “Don’t.  I don’t like this.  It is…weird.”

Barbara just smiled reassuringly.  “Electricity is our friend,” she cajoled.

Eugene looked about the room, at all the equipment that hissed and moaned and steamed and splattered and belched.  “I don’t like it.”  He flinched as he received a face-full of splattered cake batter.

She pulled one of the microwaves forward.  “I’m just trying to unplug it.”  She frowned as she peered in behind it.  “Did they hardwire in everything?”  Frustrated, she set the running oven on the floor beside her and started to work on the next one, huffing again as she discovered the same problem.

Zelenka kept working on the panel, flinching as spaghetti sauce pooted up at him from the pots. He touched his radio again. “Rodney! The power!  Are you working on it?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Rodney retorted.

“From the looks of it, you are NOT shutting off the power!” Radek shot back as he continued to fuss with the crystals.  “I need the power off NOW.”

“No need to get all snippy,” McKay proclaimed. “Look, this should be easy…”

“Yes, easy.  So, shut it down!”

“I said it SHOULD be easy, but… gah… it’s just not… damn it. It’s that same glitch, with some new twists—what the hell is it doing? Mutating?  Come on already!”

The room was hot, stinking of a hundred different foods all cooking and burning and melding together.  Sauces and batter still spewed out at them.  Fuller and Burke continued to fire off the extinguishers, making the air even more difficult to breathe.  The smoke grew thicker.

The dishwasher sounded angry.  Dishes clattered and smashed within as soap oozed out of every pore.  The mixers seemed to vomit out and endless volume of batter, and the pots on the stove were peppering Radek and Hardaway with scalding tomato sauce.

Gos peeked into the walk-in refrigerator.  “Oh,” he said quietly.  “Everything is hot in here, too.” He shook his head woefully. “Seriously, not good.”

“Something’s wrong here too,” Hardawy said, pressing a hand to the door of the big freezer.  “The door’s hot.  Wasn’t this thing packed with ice?”  And she pulled on the door handle.

“No!” Zelenka shouted, but it was too late.

A sea of flash-cooked hot dogs, egg rolls, chicken breasts, won tons, tamales, Hot Pockets, tater tots, a Pegasus version of halibut, and who knows what else came surfing out at them on a wave of heat and water, scented with too many cooked hamburger patties, badly steamed broccoli and tutti-frutti. 

It was that moment that the dishwasher finally burst.  Doors buckled, and hoses detached to flail like tentacles.  Waves of suds spurted out to the floor where the drains were already overwhelmed.  The gushing water spread out, heading toward the running microwave that sat by Barbara’s feet.

“RUN!” Zelenka shouted, throwing up his arms, even though he knew it was too late.  He gasped explosively as something snapped, expecting to see Barbara electrocuted before his very eyes. 

Instead, everything stopped.

The humming, lit microwave had gone dark.  The mixers stilled, stopping their rain of batter.  The toasters stopped toasting.  The mad dishwasher quit churning, but its loose hoses flapped hysterically, soaking everything.

Barbara had tensed up, eyes squished shut against what she too had expected to happen, her hands clenched in fists.  At the first tick of the clock after everything when quiet, she cracked open one eye.  Then the other.  A moment later, Radek watched as she slumped down to her knees with a heavy sigh, both hands going to cover her face.

Breathing harshly, Zelenka looked about.  The ovens and stoves were still red hot, but they were slowly dimming, lighting the room strangely.  The electrical lights were out.   Radek looked down as loose corndogs battered his shoes in the ankle deep water.

“Well?” a voice smugly called over the radio.  “Did I save the day again?”

“Yes,” Radek said with a sigh, grimacing a little at feeding the beast. “The power is off.  We were nearly all electrocuted, but you managed it in time.”  He rubbed at the tomato sauce that dotted his face, careful of his tender hand.

“I knew I could do it,” McKay returned.  “Only a matter of time.”  But under the certain words, Radek could catch the quiet trill of unease.  Rodney had been afraid.

Radek looked up at the others.  Barbara Chaplin was staring at the waterlogged microwave, her bottom lip sticking out a little.  Kelly Hardaway hurried to the dishwasher to stop the gushing water.  Gos stood in the doorway—the only one of them who’d had the sense to run. He walked back into the room, feet squelching through the sweet mix covering the floor, glancing uncomfortably at the now silent equipment.  Lewis looked shell-shocked.  Burke and Fuller held their empty extinguishers as they surveyed the wet mess. 

And when Kelly managed to stop the water, the room was finally quiet.

“The food!” Fuller cried suddenly.  “Good God, the food.” He rushed about the room, splashing in the water that wouldn’t drain, moving from the coolers to the storage shelves.   He sobbed a little when he saw the extent of the destruction.

Zelenka sighed and touched his radio.  He asked softly, “Rodney, what just happened? You said it was the glitch?”  He shuffled, feeling the dampness that filled his boots, remembering the layers of ice cream that coated his backside.

There was a pause and McKay responded, “Possibly.”

Radek frowned.  Only possibly?  “Well, what else could have caused it?” he asked, wincing as he clenched his hand.

The pause was longer this time before Rodney replied, “I don’t know.  But…” he paused again, “No.  It’s not possible.  It can’t be.”

Radek glanced at the four scientists with him—they all stared back.  “What’s not possible?”

Rodney didn’t answer.  Radek looked down at the ice cream, water and batter swirling over his boots.   Tomato juice streamed down one leg, looking unnervingly like blood. 

Rodney sighed. “It’s nothing.  Forget it.  Go get cleaned up.  You look like a reject from Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory with all that cake batter in your hair.”

Radek looked up again, surprised.  “Wait, how do you know what I—?“

It was then that the couplings to the soda canisters burst from their moorings, soaking them all with carbonated water. 

Chapter Text

A shrill beep sounded, and John whacked the heavy bag a final time before stilling it with one gloved hand.  Sweat ran down his face as he finished the workout.  He breathed heavily, wanting to feel satisfaction.  How could his time be up already?  He glanced to Ronon, thinking he should be finishing, too.

The big man didn’t seem to be wrapping it up.  Well, Ronon could deal with Teyla when she showed up for her scheduled gym time.

Sheppard used his teeth to tear at the wrapping from one wrist. Once he had the end of the binding loose, he flexed his hand in a circle creating an unwinding spiral. It only took a moment to loosen. Shoving the glove under his arm, he held it in place while he pulled his hand free.  It took another moment to free his taped fingers.  Once that was done, he reached for his water bottle and guzzled the remaining contents. Damn, he was thirsty. 

At least water wasn’t at a premium.  Since the incident with the cafeteria several days ago, food resources had become a concern.  It would be some time before the Daedalus could restock them.  Until then, they had to survive off canned foods, MREs and what they could beg, borrow and trade from the residents of the Pegasus galaxy.

Research missions had been put on hold as teams went out in search of food, and to find friends who were willing to part with it.  Yes, it was back to the good old days.

Sadly, they’d come to realize that they hadn’t made that many friends in their tenure here – and that ‘trading’ missions were a lot less interesting than exploratory operations.  There was something intrinsically frustrating about sitting around, discussing crops and exchange rates – and thus his need to beat the hell out of the punching bag in the gym. 

Sighing, Sheppard shook his empty water bottle.  Yes, there was something therapeutic about whaling on the bag. It was a great way to let off steam and vent his frustration.  Sometimes, he imagined someone’s face as a target – a certain chieftain of an especially stingy and long-winded tribe had been in mind today.

However, for some reason, the workout didn’t really help this time.  He was left feeling restless, off-kilter and a little annoyed.  Teyla didn’t need to schedule her time directly after his block with Ronon.  Why did she need the entire room to herself anyway?

Shaking the empty bottle again John tucked it under his arm and worked at the second glove. Well, he wasn’t in the mood to dance around a bag anymore.  Teyla could have the room.    He didn’t want it anymore.  He had better uses of his time.

Glancing over at Ronon, Sheppard grinned in spite of his own mood. The Satedan worked the bag with controlled, calculated hits.  Good thing Ronon’s target was the ‘Body Opponent Bag’ — anything other than the B.O.B would probably be dead by now.

“Hey,” Sheppard called as Dex began to pick up speed, his hands striking with fast, brutal force. “Need a refill?” he asked, already picking up Ronon’s empty water bottle.

“Yeah.” The answer was more of a grunt than a word.  Ronon’s movements didn’t falter.

John nodded. He needed more people like Ronon around this place — loyal and willing to watch a guy’s back. Always quick to protect, to step up and attack when danger threatened. Never backing down.  Yes, he liked having someone like Ronon around him at all times.

Lost in his own thoughts, Sheppard never saw the tall, gangly man coming into the gym as he exited to reach the water station just outside the doors.  They collided with such force that both staggered back a step. “Hey, watch it!” John snapped at the tall man.

“I am so sorry, Colonel!” the other man instantly responded.  “Please, I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you okay?”

Sheppard recognized Dr. Nguyen from the labs, and scowled. “Well, start paying attention. What are you doing here anyway?”  This just proved that the scientists never paid attention to what was going on around them.  It was a sure-fire way to get them into serious trouble, and he couldn’t protect everybody!  

“He is with me, Colonel.”

John spun around, and found Teyla at the water station. She took a sip from her overflowing sport bottle before capping it. “I am teaching a few of the scientists some fundamental techniques of meditation today,” she explained before he asked, “You are finished with the gym?”

“You need the space for meditation?” he questioned, not knowing why he was so frustrated.  He was spoiling for a fight, and he couldn’t seem to stem it.  “Couldn’t you have used one of the balconies or half a dozen other unused rooms?”

The sound of Ronon’s blows striking at the B.O.B. intensified from inside the gym as Teyla gazed back at him, her eyes narrowing slightly.  Another man and two women joined Teyla as she lifted her chin to answer.

“I have had this block reserved three times a week for several months.  It has not been a problem in the past,” she said evenly.

Frustrated, Sheppard waved a hand.  “Fine, do whatever you want.  We were leaving anyway.”

Teyla frowned as she regarded Sheppard, as if she didn’t know quite what to say.  Finally, she asked, “John, are you feeling well?”

“Perfect!” Sheppard snapped.  “Couldn’t be better.  If we could just get back to some decent missions, I’d feel a hell of a lot better.”  He shook himself, trying to calm jittery nerves.

Teyla nodded, looking as if his response satisfied her.  She nodded to her pupils and said quietly, “Please, go on in.”

Dr. Kelly Hardaway came first, and then a marine named Davidson, followed by a blonde wearing a black robe. They moved around him almost cautiously, casting hesitant glances at him.  What was their problem? John shrugged off their weird looks and strode outside to fill the water bottles. Why were they looking at him like that?  He shook his head again and took a long drink of water, recapped his bottle and headed back into the gym. 

The newcomers were already staking out spots.  The blonde scientist removed her robe and draped it over a weight stand, and Ronon threw her an unhappy look.  Dex had his reasons – the weight stand was definitely not meant to be a clothing rack.  She probably had a stairmaster back home, Sheppard reasoned, and used it the same way.  Unlike Hardaway, whom Sheppard knew because she’d been here a while, the blonde was new and looked less than fit.  If she’d had exercise equipment, she clearly didn’t use it very much.

He chuckled, strangely pleased at the mental put-down, and he gazed at the robe.  It was shiny—silk maybe?  Not a lot of stuff that nice around here. 

He wondered if it would fit him.

More people filtered in, and a few others walked past the doorway, as if curious to see what all the people gathering in the gym were going to do.  A tall blond man grinned at John and waved.  John arched an eyebrow and looked away.  Rodney’s people were much too cheerful.  He snorted and took another drink.

Teyla tipped back her bottle and then set it to the side as she sank into an uncomfortable looking position on the mat.  Her students sighed and followed her example, mimicking her position.

They looked ridiculous, Sheppard decided.  It reminded him of his time stuck with the Ancients who’d had nothing better to do than to try to ascend. He shivered. Meditation ranked right up there with Iratus bugs on his list of “things Sheppard hates”. 

It was a pathetic use of time, really.  Maybe he should talk to Elizabeth about changing things around here. No meditation allowed in the gym. Yeah, he liked that idea.  How safe was it to sit around with your eyes closed waiting for someone or something to catch you unaware? Around here one always needed to be ready to fight.  It was a useless way to spend time—why was Elizabeth even allowing it?  Why wasn’t she making them work out more?  Making them all learn how to fight? 

Casually, he tossed a water bottle at Dex who managed to turn and catch it without any warning — he made it all look disgustingly easy. “Thanks.” Ronon popped the top and drank deeply.

“Yeah, whatever.” Sheppard rolled his eyes. “Next time, get your own.”

Ronon lowered the bottle and stared at John a moment before shrugging. “Sure.” He glanced at Teyla. “Guess our workout’s finished.”

“Guess so.” John picked at his sweat-soaked t-shirt, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable in the thing. He frowned. He could have sworn he felt something crawling…he shook off the thought. There was nothing there – no bugs.  “You see Elizabeth at all today?” He tried to think about something, someone else.   No bugs.  There were no bugs on him.  The jittery feeling in his nerves seemed to become even more intense.  

“Yup.” Ronon grinned, bouncing in place a few times. “Her black eyes are almost gone. Just a little yellow around the edges now.”  He threw a few punches at the air.  “Damn, I don’t want to stop.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gah! What the hell!  It felt like there were ants crawling all over him!   John set the bottle down and peeled off his t-shirt, not able to shake off the creepy crawly feeling. His dog tags jingled noisily as he tossed the shirt aside. 

Ronon raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” he asked as he rolled his neck and stretched his arms.  “I thought we were leaving.   In fact,” he frowned, shaking his arms out, “I could use some air.  It’s getting cramped in here. ”  He grabbed the shirt and tossed it back to John. “Put it on.  We gotta get out of here.”     

“We will begin with some deep breathing exercises.” Teyla’s voice was strong and smooth behind them.

“There was something on me,” Sheppard said, his voice low.  He threw the shirt to the side.

Ronon looked at the shirt, then at Sheppard, his eyes narrowed.  “Don’t see anything.”  He shook his arms out again, then his legs.

“It was on my shirt.”  He glanced at Teyla and felt annoyed with her stillness as she worked with the others.  Really, it was pathetic.

“Sheppard?” Ronon questioned, glancing again at the castoff shirt.

“There’s something wrong.”  He paused.  Yes, that was it.  Something had changed.  He could feel it, down to his bones. Ronon and Teyla didn’t have the gene so they were totally unaware – they weren’t like him.  “Something’s here.” John looked around, turning sharply, one way and then the other.

“What?” Dex asked, looking around before lightly punching John’s arm.  He danced about him, throwing punches that didn’t connect. “Well, if there is…” he grinned menacingly, “Bet I can catch it before you do.”

There was no doubt about it.  Sheppard could feel it, like an electric wire running through him.  “It’s bad,” he decided.  “A Wraith? I don’t know, maybe…”

“Wraith?” Ronon stopped moving, then his eyes seemed to narrow to slits. “It’s mine,” he growled.

“Well, it might not be…Ronon?”

Ronon was already gone, charging out of the gym as if lives depended on it.  Maybe they did.  

The scientists looked up at him, nervously.  The marine working with Teyla got to his feet, frowning at Sheppard, and asked a quiet, “Sir?”

Sheppard shook his head, and waved away his concern.  “I don’t know,” he hissed. “I don’t know what it is, but something is wrong.  Something is definitely wrong.”  He moved in a nervous circle, rubbing at his sweaty arms.  His skin felt like it was on fire, now.

The scientists looked toward each other, and Teyla stood up as well.  She took a step towards him, and John threw out a hand to stop her.  She almost seemed to shrink back at the action.  “John?” she called softly.  Her voice trembled slightly, which was not like her.  “John, what’s wrong?”

“I said, ‘I don’t know’!” Sheppard snapped and went back to searching. He shivered as sweat rolled down his back, feeling suddenly vulnerable without his shirt – but there were bugs on it.  He would not put it back on again.

The blonde’s robe was still draped over the weight rack.  He reached for it, snatching it up and feeling the smooth silk in his fingers.

“Hey, that’s mine,” the girl declared.

Feels more like ‘mine’, Sheppard thought. 

“John?”

“What?” He spun to find Teyla had approached again—almost within touching distance.  He backed away from her, the black silk clutched in his hand.

“Is everything alright?” She looked concerned…and distracted. Her eyes darted nervously towards the small group still sitting on the floor. “You are right.  Something is very wrong.  I can sense it.”

“Wraith?” John pulled the robe over his shoulders.  It was a bit tight, but the material felt cool against his burning skin.  “Have we been invaded?” he demanded, leaning into the Athosian.

She jumped back from him. “I…I don’t know.  I…What is happening?” she whispered timidly.  Her eyes still darted. 

The marine stepped toward his superior.  “Sir, shall I alert the control room?”

“No,” Sheppard hissed.  “That’s just what they’d expect!”

The other scientists scrambled to their feet as well at the statement.

Davidson’s eyebrows lifted. “Sir? Who are you talking about?”

Teyla moved to the side, towards Dr. Nguyen and away from Davidson and Sheppard.  She was muttering, her eyes on the floor, “I feel that something has changed.  Ronon left so suddenly, and you,” she looked up at John, “are you…?”

“What?” John placed his hands on his hips, his sense of urgency growing. He didn’t have time for delays. He needed to find a weapon. Something he could use to defend everyone…to defend the city.

“Um, Colonel?” the blonde scientist called out timidly.  “You’re wearing my robe and you’re all sweaty.  Do you think you could…”

“Enough!” John cut her off, his heart hammering inside his chest.  There was no time for this! “It’s mine now.” He turned and headed toward the door. “I need to…” What?  What did he need to do?  How could he protect them?  He had to protect them!

“Where are you going?” Teyla asked, reaching out a hand as if she meant to grab him, but instead she stepped backward.

“The city’s in danger, I need…,” John glanced around, looking out the window.  He paused, searching for the right word, trying to visualize exactly what he needed.  It came to him in a flash.  “I need to defend the city, defend you…the only way I know how.”

Davidson stepped forward, his hands raised placatingly.   “Colonel Sheppard? Are you certain you’re alright?”

“Back off, Davidson!” John yelled at him.  He started toward the door. “No one’s going to be alright if I don’t get there in time.  We have to stop them!  I will stop them!  Tell Rodney to meet me there!  Teyla, get everyone to safety,” he ordered. “Now!”

And then he was flying down the hall—he had to get to the transporter.  It was—

“Colonel Sheppard!” a voice shouted behind him.  It sounded urgent.  Sheppard slowed, looked behind him.  Kelly Hardaway was in the doorway, her face pale beneath her dark hair.  “Colonel, wait!”

“What?” he yelled.   What could it be?  Couldn’t she see he was in a hurry?  Hardaway knew better than most of them what Wraith in the city meant—she’d been here when they came before.  She knew.

Hardaway shook her head. “Just…don’t take the transporters,” she begged.  “They’re…they’re dangerous.  Um…” Her eyes were very wide. 

John nodded.  He trusted Hardaway. “I’ll go on foot.  Now get inside and lock that door!  Now!”

====

Kelly blinked, but Colonel Sheppard was already running again, the black robe flying behind him like a superhero’s cape.   She hoped she’d slowed him down.

He’d looked ridiculous in Barbara’s robe.  Like a would-be king. 

It made her giggle. 

She looked back inside, to where Barbara was watching her nervously.  Kelly smiled at her and started laughing.  Sheppard had taken her robe!  Barbara would look ridiculous walking around in her little pink top and shorts in the halls.  Teach her right!

From somewhere inside, Teyla suddenly screamed.

Kelly just laughed harder.

====

 Weir tentatively reached a hand forward, then quickly stepped out of her office and onto the balcony leading into the control room.  She didn’t slow until she came to where Rodney was working, the scientist glancing up at her before going back to his laptop.

“I told you,” he said snippily, “it’s locked.” 

Elizabeth twisted her lips wryly, knowing he had seen her little dance. It was one she’d been performing a lot lately.  

She gave a nod. “Sure,” she said, “but this ‘glitch’ of yours seems to be affecting more and more systems.  My door is only the tip of the iceberg.  I need to know that it’s fixed.  You didn’t sound certain before.” She tilted her head.  “Are you certain?” Her tone was more impatient than she intended. She didn’t mean to whine, but it’d been days since she could enter or exit her office without fear of getting her nose smashed again, or perhaps even cleaved in two if things were timed a bit differently.  It was annoying and she hated the fear-laced paranoia that plagued her.

 “I’m certain about your door,” he answered shortly.

Elizabeth frowned.  That didn’t fully answer her question, and he knew it.  She leaned a hip against the console. “What aren’t you telling me, Rodney?”

Rodney grimaced and shook his head. “I’ve fixed everything that I’ve found.” He grimaced, “And I haven’t seen any evidence of the glitch since the meltdown in the Mess a few days ago.  It shouldn’t be an issue anymore.”

“Shouldn’t?” she asked. “Or won’t.”

He closed his eyes, then looked up in time to see her gingerly touch her nose again.  “You feeling any better?”

She smiled weakly.  The roof of her mouth had stopped hurting and she could comb her hair and brush her teeth without undue discomfort.  She was even eating crunchy food again.  Still hurt though.  “Getting there.”

“Dr. Weir?” a woman’s frantic voice sounded over her radio.   Elizabeth straightened up, and she saw Rodney straighten as well.

Tapping her radio on she answered, “Yes?”

“We have an emergency in the gym.”

“An emergency? What’s going on?” Beside her, Rodney stood and turned to look at the map of the city behind them, the screen zooming in on the gym area and a cluster of life signs. 

“Um…It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Try,” McKay ordered as he tapped his own radio.

Weir waved him off.  “Who am I speaking with?”

“This is Dr. Chaplin. There’s a small group of us in the gym working on meditation skills with Teyla.”

“And?” Rodney jumped in again. 

“Colonel Sheppard and Ronon were here as well, but…something funny is going on.”

“Funny?” Weir exchanged a confused look with McKay. “I thought you said it was an emergency.”

“Well…yes and no. It’s really…” She trailed off again. 

Weir shook her head.  “Please, Dr. Chaplin, you’re not helping us understand.”  She lifted her head, “Can I talk to Teyla?”

“Uh, no, see, that’s just it. I’m sorry.  It’s just… there’s something wrong with them.”

“Wrong with them?  What do you mean, wrong with them? Who is ‘them’?  Is something wrong with Teyla?”

“Elizabeth?” Carson called, jogging up the steps from the Gateroom.  “We’ve got a problem.”

“Another one or the same one?” Rodney asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“What?” Carson looked confused as he came to a stop at the top of the stairs. 

“Rodney,” Weir shook her head. “Hold on just a moment, Dr. Chaplin. What’s wrong, Carson?”

“It's Ronon.” Carson paused to catch his breath. “He mowed down Major Lorne in the hallway.” 

“Okay.” Weir waited for more. One collision didn’t seem like a problem.

Carson shook his head. “No, you don’t understand.  He knocked the major out, he hit him so hard.”

Weir’s eyebrows lifted. “Did Ronon explain himself?”

“That’s the problem,” Carson waved his hands, indicating behind him, where Dr. Van Steenvoort stood panting, standing on the landing at the top of the stairs—he’d obviously followed the doctor here.  “Ronon never stopped. Evidently, he’s just running.  Jaap here saw it happen.”  The tall Dutch scientist nodded, swallowing down his heavy breaths.

“Running?” Rodney said. “Why?”

“We don’t know,” Carson shook his head, looking to the Dutch scientist.

“I saw him.” Van Steenvoort spoke up between breaths. “He’s going faster than I’ve ever seen anyone run before, and he’s showing no signs of slowing anytime soon. Dr. Lewis and I were working when it happened.  We tried to stop him after he hit Major Lorne, but it was like he never heard us or even saw us standing there.” 

Weir closed her eyes and tried to think of what they could do to stop Ronon. Stun him? “Is he armed?”

“Does it matter?” Rodney huffed. “Armed or not, the man’s practically a tank.”

“Dr. Weir, are you still there?” Dr. Chaplin’s anxious voice sounded over the radio again.

“Yes, I’m sorry, Dr. Chaplin, I was just getting an update on Ronon.”  Weir frowned.  “You’re right.  Something strange is going on.”

“Is Colonel Sheppard with him?”

“Should he be?” Weir rubbed her forehead. She could feel the headache starting already.

“Ronon ran out of here.  Colonel Sheppard followed, shortly after ordering all of us to ‘get to safety’. He thought there was some sort of danger.  Is something happening?” 

“Danger?” Rodney and Elizabeth asked in unison.

“The colonel said he had to defend the city. He just acted… well… different.”

Elizabeth glanced at Chuck, but the sergeant was shaking his head, having anticipated her question.  “Nothing on the long-range sensors,” he said.  “Whatever danger he’s imagining…it’s not out there.” 

“Oh, this isn’t good,” Rodney moaned.

Elizabeth frowned, looking back at the screen showing the Gym that Rodney had called up. “Chaplin, did Colonel Sheppard say anything else?”

“No, not really. He started acting funny when we arrived. He put on my robe because he said there was something on his shirt.”  There was whispered conversation on her side of the line, followed by what sounded oddly like giggling.  “Right, right, I forgot about that.  Thanks, Kelly. Um, Dr. Weir, the colonel said that there was danger, but that he’d stop it.  Or, he’d stop them.  And that we should tell Dr. McKay to meet him there.” 

“There? Where is there?”

“I, um, I don’t know. I don’t think he was…in his right mind, exactly.”     

“You think?” Rodney jogged over to the city’s sensor console, keying in a series of commands to call up the life signs grid. “There.” He pointed at a fast-moving dot on one of the upper decks. “That’s got to be Ronon.  Wow,” he huffed a short laugh. "Look at him go." He didn’t look to see if Elizabeth or Carson had joined him as he turned his attention to the rest of the city.  His whole face suddenly fell. “Oh no.”

“What is it?” Elizabeth peered over his shoulder.

“That has to be Sheppard.” McKay pointed at another moving dot.

“How can you tell?” Beckett asked, joining them.

Rodney pointed to another level. “Because he's bee-lining for the Chair Room.” 

“Oh God.” Weir wanted to go back to bed. “Where he can ‘defend the city’.”  Rodney was already pushing past her, to get back to his laptop.  She turned with him. “Can you…?”

“…shut it down before he gets there?” Rodney said. “Already on it.”

“Sergeant,” Elizabeth looked over at Chuck, “Chuck?”

“Shutting the doors between the colonel and the Chair Room now,” the technician answered.  He clicked some keys, then looked up. “But there’s only four.  It won’t slow him down for long.”  He gave a shrug. “We’re lucky he didn’t take the transporters.”

Elizabeth just shook her head and returned to staring at the two blinking dots moving in opposite directions from each other. Frowning, she tried to wrap her brain around her options. What was going on with them?  Talking the colonel down seemed the best bet with dealing with John.  But, Ronon…well, she’d send a team of marines after him.  She rubbed at her forehead again, avoiding her nose. Her whole face felt like it was beginning to throb again.

“Um, Dr. Weir? There’s more.” Dr. Chaplin sounded apologetic.

“What?” Weir looked back at the gym, and suddenly remembered her earlier question.  Her eyes widened—how could she have forgotten?  “Barbara, what’s wrong with Teyla?” 

“Yeah. That’s what I wanted to tell you. She is also…acting strangely.”

“Oh God, they’re gonna kill us all!” Rodney exclaimed at her pronouncement.

Ignoring him, Elizabeth stepped away from the LSD. “What is wrong with Teyla?” she questioned.

“She’s hiding.”

“She’s what?”

“Hiding. It’s like she’s afraid of every one of us. I think she’s seeing Wraith.”

“That can’t be right,” Rodney said, frowning at the laptop he was working on.  His fingers were moving very fast. “Teyla doesn’t hide.  She never hides.”

 “She is now.”

“Where is she hiding?” Elizabeth asked, trying not to find the humor in the situation.

“Uh, at the moment, she’s behind Dr. Nguyen. She won’t let go of him, and he doesn’t seem to mind.  I should also mention that Corporal Davidson is dancing with Kelly Hardaway.  I can’t get them to stop—they both also seem to find everything extremely funny.  I think…I think I’m the only one who isn’t…who isn’t…um…crazy.”

“Oh, God,” Rodney muttered. “No.  Not now.”

Elizabeth turned to look at him, to find Rodney’s hands hovering over his keyboard, his eyes wide.  “Rodney?”

“It’s…the glitch.  It’s locked me out of the Chair room—and I’ve already tried three different ways to get around it. I can’t shut it down from here—at least, not in time.”  He looked up at her, blue eyes wide. “Sheppard will get there before I can stop him from using it.”

Elizabeth decided that, right now, hiding sounded like a terrific idea.  She looked across at her chief of medicine.  “Carson?”

He tapped his radio, “Dr. Cole, this is Dr. Beckett.  I need a medical team to the gym, right away.  Take some marines with you—whomever you can find.  At least four people will need your help there—and take stunners, just in case.  I also need a team to the Chair room—but tell them to wait until I get there.”  He lowered his hand and looked at Elizabeth. 

She nodded and looked back at Rodney. “John said he would meet you there—perhaps he won’t do anything until you do.”

Rodney grimaced, but nodded. “I’m on my way.”  He grabbed his tablet and turned to run towards the transporter, and Carson jogged after him. 

“Wait!” Elizabeth called, tapping her radio one more time.  “Chaplin, a medical team is on the way,” she called, then she moved to catch up with the other two.  “I’m going with you to help the Colonel.”

“We better hurry and figure out how we’re going to stop him.” Rodney pointed to the screen again. “He’s already through the first door Chuck locked.”

Chapter Text

Rodney ran down the corridors with Carson and Elizabeth, the three of them forcing those they met to plaster themselves against walls to prevent from being trampled.  A security detail had been called to block the Colonel’s entrance into the chair room.  Another was sent after Ronon.  They were having a tough time catching up to him.

McKay had keyed his radio as he entered the transporter, commanding Radek to work on cutting power to the control chair, divert power — anything to buy them time in case they failed to intercept the colonel. 

Radek had muttered something about already being somewhere, but Rodney couldn’t quite make it out as they had charged out of the transporter at a full gallop.  After that, all he could really hear was his own breathing—and Carson’s.  Elizabeth was in the lead, he was in the middle, and Carson was a few steps behind, huffing and puffing like a coal-fed locomotive chugging up an eleven percent grade.

If they didn’t make it to the control room soon, McKay figured the doctor was going to need a doctor — a cardiologist from the sounds of it.

Finally, the three rounded the last corner and slowed to a stop.  The security detail stood outside the control room appearing slightly confused, milling about aimlessly but trying to appear purposeful.  Carson’s medical team chose that moment to come down the hall behind them, all of them red-faced.  Carson waved them to stay back.

“Gentlemen?”  Weir breathed. Her slight shoulders rose and fell with each breath she dragged in. 

“He beat us, ma’am.” A soldier pulled his shoulders back and reported briskly, “Dr. Zelenka is also in the room.” The marine paused, grimacing slightly. “He directed us to stay out.” 

“Radek’s in there?” McKay stared at the sergeant in disbelief.  The flag designation put the soldier from the States. Perhaps one of the slower states.  “Are you sure?  Why’s he in there?  He’s not supposed to be in there.”

“Well, apparently he is,” Elizabeth said, looking at Rodney.  She turned back to the marine. “Thank you, Sergeant Cunningham.” Weir forced a small smile, obviously cautious of her healing broken nose. 

Obviously impatient with the conversation and with a potential patient waiting, Carson brushed by Rodney and Elizabeth and headed for the room.  McKay followed, trying to maneuver around Beckett to no avail. The man was still heaving like an asthmatic cat.

Carson stopped suddenly. “Oh dear.”

Rodney bumped into him from behind and unceremoniously shoved Beckett further into the room. “What?” Rodney started and then slowly stopped.  “Oh no,” McKay softly muttered.

Beckett nodded in agreement. “Aye.”

Sheppard sat in the upright control chair ensconced in a silky black robe.  His hands lay regally within the digital control interface, his shoulders square and feet pressed securely to the footrest.  He appeared imperial, like a king on a throne.  He reminded McKay of the Pictish King MacAlpin, even down to the minute tremor.  MacAlpin was not known for his tolerance for those who challenged him.  Rodney had once thought it possible he was descended from MacAlpin—now he was sure Sheppard was a closer match.

Sheppard was wide awake and staring to his left, his jaw set in a furious frown.  Even the silhouette of his profile appeared harsh.  The reason was obvious—the Chair was unlit.  An abandoned laptop sat at its base, the little green percentage bar reading one hundred percent, yet the chair was powerless.

The focus of his stare was also likely the reason the Chair wasn’t lit, and why the city currently wasn’t being bombed into oblivion with drones.  

Radek stood quietly off to one side near the second entrance to the room as if trying to meld with the wall, become invisible beneath the stare.  Rodney caught Radek’s eye and gave a nod.  Radek just blinked at him, then looked back to Sheppard.  Carson, meanwhile, seemed to have a death wish—he moved further into the room. 

“Wait,” Rodney hissed softly, trying to stop him.  Sheppard may not have a weapon, but the man was still trained to kill.  Didn’t Carson know that?

“Colonel?”  Beckett offered tentatively, stepping forward slowly, clearly trying to project an aura of calm.  Rodney swallowed, biting his lip. Unstable or threatened kings were known to behead others.

Sheppard turned his head and faced the newcomers.  The harsh light brought a sharpness to his cheekbones and left his eyes within deep shadows. 

Gone was the boyish charm, the laidback commander, the sense of humor and carefree attitude.  There was a fierce determination in his flushed expression.  Sweat dotted his forehead and ran down from his temples.  Hands shook.  Dilated pupils stared back at them.

“Oh, crap,” Beckett whispered.

“‘Oh, crap’ what, Carson?” Rodney whispered, his voice wavering somewhere between urgency and frustration.

“That’s pharmacological.”

“What?”  Rodney looked from Carson to Sheppard and back to Beckett. 

“Dilated eyes, sweating, flushed, tremors….” Carson rambled off the observed symptoms but was interrupted by Sheppard.

“Rodney?”  Sheppard’s voice was like a whip-crack.

“Um, yeah?”  Shaking slightly, Rodney stepped forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with the physician. “It’s me.”

“The chair isn’t getting power!” Sheppard said, his eyes seeming to bore into Rodney’s. “I can’t protect you!”

“Okay,” Rodney said.  “I’ll get on it and, um,” he wagged a finger at Carson, “Carson will help you.  Okay?” When Sheppard only frowned, Rodney pressed a hand to Carson’s back and nudged him forward.  “Do something,” he hissed at him. 

Beckett tossed McKay an annoyed glance. “Like what?” he hissed back.

“I don’t know? Something medical?” McKay shot back.  His voice rang no softer than a stage whisper.  He motioned Beckett to step forward with a twitch of his head. 

Carson scowled but took a tiny step forward. “Colonel...”  he called, and Rodney hoped there’d be no beheadings today.

“Damn it, McKay!”  Sheppard raised his voice. “Stop wasting time!  The Wraith will be here any second!”

“Ooh, a hallucinogen, I bet,” Carson muttered.   

“Not helpful,” Rodney muttered. 

“Rodney!  Get over here!”  Sheppard’s hands were gripped so tightly now, he looked like he could smash through the delicate controls on the arms without a second thought.  

Rodney glanced at Carson, then over his shoulder at Elizabeth, who was standing still in the wide doorway.  She nodded at him.  With a sigh, he moved forward and, never taking his eyes off of the colonel, he sank down in front of the laptop.  Sheppard kept his eyes on him the whole time. 

“Where’s Elizabeth?”  he asked suddenly.  Rodney stopped pretending to read the screen and looked up.  He looked over at Elizabeth in the doorway—she wasn’t hiding.  Sheppard should be able to see her easily.  

“I’m here, Colonel,” she called.  She frowned when he didn’t answer.  She took a step forward.  “Colonel Sheppard, can you see me?”

Sheppard gave no indication he heard anything at all.  Elizabeth’s eyes widened.  Rodney looked up at the colonel again, then turned back to the laptop.

“Rodney?” Sheppard said again. “Where’s Elizabeth?  Is she safe?”

“She’s safe,” Rodney said weakly.  “She’s with Carson.”

“Carson’s alive?” Sheppard sounded surprised.  Rodney closed his eyes.  Not good.  Not good at all.  Swallowing, he looked over at the doctor.

Carson hadn’t moved, but upon realizing that he too hadn’t been seen or heard, he licked his lips and spoke to Zelenka. “Radek, lad, keep still, no sudden moves now — same for the lot of you behind me.  I’m not sure what exactly he’s seeing or hearing, so let’s keep things calm.”  Beckett smiled, teeth concealed and calmly ordered. “Someone inform the infirmary of what’s going on. And no one is to confront Ronon.”

“What is going on, Carson?”  Elizabeth asked. 

“It’s some sort of hallucinogen.  It could be natural like peyote, but possibly synthetic too like PCP or LSD, or this could be something completely unknown to us.” Beckett was whispering, never taking his eyes off the colonel.  “I won’t know for sure until we can break it down.” 

“Rodney!”  Sheppard shouted, turning McKay’s name into a command.  Rodney flinched.

“John,” Elizabeth stepped forward, “there are no Wraith.”  She waited a moment, then added, “Rodney, tell him there are no—“

“Damn it, Rodney!” Sheppard growled.  “Too slow!” The colonel threw himself back against the control chair trying to force it to recline, to respond to his will.

The small laptop in front of Rodney continued to glow quietly, the green bar still doing its job and diverting energy. 

Sheppard appeared to be on the verge of snapping, continuing to shove against the chair to initiate it.  Beckett both took an involuntary step backward, bumping into Elizabeth.  His shoulder jostled her hand that was tentatively touching her tender nose. She hissed.

The sound jerked Sheppard’s head up, and he stared directly at Elizabeth.

“Queen,” he whispered.  Rodney looked up, then around at Elizabeth, then back to Sheppard.

“No, no, Sheppard.  There’s no one there.  Please, you have to believe me.”

“Can’t you see them?”  The colonel’s hazel eyes were shiny and unfocused and so, so wide. “They’re everywhere!”  He stood up and stepped forward, and Rodney stood up with him, hands raised.  Sheppard looked at him, then back to the group in the doorway.  “Rodney,” he hissed, “get behind me.” 

Rodney shook his head—he was the only thing between them right now.  “Sheppard, no, wait, you need to listen to me.  There’s—“

“Now, McKay!” Sheppard grabbed Rodney’s shoulder and propelled him to the side, towards Zelenka.  McKay staggered, falling to one knee.

Radek’s eyes widened, and he took a tentative sidestep away from Rodney.  When Sheppard didn’t seem to notice, the engineer slowly started moving along the wall towards the doorway, cautiously skirting the chair, clearly trying to make his way closer to the others. 

Radek was obviously trying to move unobtrusively, sticking close to the wall, inching his way toward the others.  Rodney remembered how his friend had boasted about how he could be stealthy, catlike when the time called for it.  How the military often underestimated the physical abilities of the scientists like him. 

Rodney didn’t think this was a good time for him to prove it.  He shook his head.

“Radek,” he whispered. “No.  Carson said not to move!”

Zelenka ignored him and pivoted a foot.  The synthetic sneaker tread caught on the smooth flooring and squeaked — loudly.  Radek paused, heart hammering in his chest. 

Sheppard snapped his head around in the direction of the sound.  He stepped around the chair and stared directly at the engineer, who was now standing only about a foot away from Rodney.  Without hesitating, Sheppard vaulted off the chair’s dais and shouted to McKay. “Rodney, run!”

“No!” Rodney tried to get between them, but Sheppard just shoved past him, charging the hapless Zelenka. 

Radek yelped and made a mad dash for the door towards Carson, Elizabeth, and the security personnel.  His thoughts were obvious — If he could make it to them, they would slow the colonel down whether they meant to or not. 

But he wasn’t fast enough.  The colonel smashed him into the wall like a punter under a linesman.  Air rushed from the Czech's lungs as his glasses flew up into the air and fell to the ground, making more distance to the door than he had.

Zelenka was forced to the floor under the colonel.  What little residual oxygen in Radek’s lungs was brutally expelled when Carson unceremoniously rushed in to help.  The road to Hell might have been paved with good intentions, but more commonly than not it seemed to detour through the infirmary. 

The sound of snapping eyeglasses under a booted foot managed to elicit a moan of pain from Zelenka. 

Marines piled on, adding to the avalanche of bodies.  Rodney watched helplessly as his best scientist shut his eyes, covered his head, curled into a ball when bodies shifted slightly, and simply absorbed the mash of bodies.  Rodney just watched, grimacing at the pile of heavy breathing, shouting, spit, elbows and knees and, ack, inappropriate hands.  

Pig pile was no fun when you were ‘Wilbur’.

Elizabeth walked up next to him—also smart enough to stay out of the melee. 

“Well,” she said, “at least we know he won’t be blowing up the city.”

Chapter Text

Radek sat on the edge of a stretcher in the infirmary, holding an icepack to the side of his head.  One bed over, Major Lorne slept.  A little further away, he watched as Beckett rolled his neck slightly as he stared down at the first set of blood test results.  After a moment, the doctor sighed and looked up at the man who had delivered them—Dr. Lewis.  He was someone Radek didn’t know that well—mainly because he was a chemist and an environmental engineer.  It made him one of Rodney’s minions, but he wasn't in Zelenka arena. 

“Did you get that sample from the water station outside the gym, Eugene?” Beckett asked.  After careful questioning of Teyla’s more alert meditation group, it seemed the water was the common denominator for everyone who experienced erratic behavior. 

No one else in the city appeared affected yet.

“Already sent it down to the chemists to have it analyzed,” Lewis answered.  The scientist stood in a back corner away from the hum of activity that filled the main room of the infirmary.  He swiped at his long stringy bangs and laid them over to the side in an attempt to hide his increasingly visible and enlarging forehead.  “Thought I’d go down and see how they were progressing.”

“Wonderful.” Becket responded. “Thank you.”  He turned away, not watching as Lewis faded out of the room.  Zelenka, though, watched it all, before turning his attention to the empty bed on his far side.  He knew who it was for.

But Ronon, it was rumored, was still doing laps around upper levels of the city.  

Teyla sat on another bed, her legs slung over the side and around the front of Larry Nguyen’s legs, where he stood next to her.  She clutched tightly to his back, leaning heavily into him, curling more and more bonelessly against him, resting her head on his shoulder, her hands gripping his narrow chest.  He couldn’t seem to pry himself free to walk away—nor did he seem to want to.

Radek squinted, gazing through the one good lens of his glasses.  Judging from Larry’s smirk, he appeared to be thoroughly enjoying Teyla’s attention.  Nguyen got all the luck.  Teyla and Nguyen should get a room.  Radek averted his gaze to the colonel. 

Sheppard lay lethargically on a gurney with ankle and wrist restraints in place, just in case.  He stared owl-eyed at the ceiling.  The blank dilated look was a bit unnerving.  Coupled with the sweating and muscle tremors, he looked no different than someone coming off a bad trip. 

 Zelenka twirled the mangled ear-pierce to his lopsided glasses.  The left lens was a maze of spider cracks.

His glasses looked to be in no better shape than Major Lorne.  Someone had said the Major had been flattened by Ronon. A tool cart almost seemed like the lesser of two evils. 

“Ach, me!”  The snapping of electricity punctuated the sharp exclamation.

Radek looked up just in time to see Beckett jerk his arm back as he jumped, dropping the Ancient scanner to the tabletop.  It clattered, sounding more solid than it appeared.  The Ancients made things to last.  A residual of snapping electric current curled around the device. 

Rodney sat on a gurney next to Radek, swinging his legs as he typed on his tablet.  He stopped tapping on his keyboard and glanced up at the chief of medicine.

Beckett scrutinized the dropped medical scanner as if it were a venomous snake.  Taking a hesitant breath, Carson reached out as if to nudge it.  Test it.

Would or wouldn’t Dr. Beckett go through with his motion and actually touch the scanner again?  Radek bet that he wouldn’t.  Medicine was indeed a soft science, but they were educated, learned individuals.  There was reason to believe it would shock him again. Surely, Dr. Beckett realized this. But if he did, it would be amusing and would prove an unstated edict about those in soft sciences and the strengths of their PhDs.

Zelenka lost his own bet, but chuckled nonetheless. Personal conjecture was affirmed, so there was something to be said for that. 

Beckett vigorously shook his burnt hand as electricity sizzled around the instrument for a second time.  The ‘Ach, me’ had been transformed into something a little more noteworthy.

“What is it now, Carson?” McKay seemed more bothered by the interruption than anything else. 

“It shocked me!” Beckett muttered, slightly hurt, as if the safety and sanctity of his infirmary had been violated and the working relationship he had with Ancient technology within it had been betrayed. 

“Must be your electric personality,” Zelenka offered wickedly.  He rubbed at his upper abdomen where Carson’s knee had landed when Beckett tried ‘save him’ from the colonel. 

“I doubt it.”  McKay put his tablet aside, ignoring his schematics that traced water flow from the desalinization tanks to the storage tanks and then to Ancient version of plumbing that fed the city.  

Beckett stared at the scanner accusingly.  “It shocked me,” he repeated with a hurt tone.

Rodney sighed, “Yes, Carson, we heard you.”  McKay slid off his stool and made his way toward Carson. 

“Dr. Beckett,” Amy, one of the nurses looked up from her examination of Sheppard. “His pulse and respiration are dropping slightly.” She paused and added, “His color is good.”

“First good news today,” Beckett said, ignoring the zapping Ancient scanner now and reaching for another.  His fingers passed over an Ancient bench-top blood analyzer. 

Tiny, brighter, blue bolts of energy shot from its surface and seared the tender underside of the physician’s wrist.

“Ach!” Carson bellowed and flew backward, knocking into McKay, catching the astrophysicist solidly in the eye with an elbow.

Rodney cursed, grabbing his face, as the force of Beckett’s backward lunge slammed him into Radek.

The fatal snap of eyeglass frames echoed through the infirmary under the deep groans of the astrophysicist.  His good lens skittered along the floor.  Czech curses followed hotly afterward adding to the chorus of malcontent. 

“Carson!” Rodney hollered, covering half his face with his hands and hunching forward.

“Ahh, Rodney, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Beckett apologized.  “The daft equipment is shorting out.”

“That’s still impossible and improbable,” Rodney whined, slowly straightening back up.

“Well, then you touch something.”  Carson challenged. 

McKay stared at the nurse hovering near Colonel Sheppard, “You, you there…pick something up…like that scanner there,” he ordered.

Amy hesitated, looking to Dr. Beckett.  The physician, however, was focused on examining the insides of his wrists, comparing the two for rubor. 

McKay impatiently snapped his fingers at the nurse. “Today, would be preferable.” 

Amy sighed and stepped forward.  She reached with a hesitant hand and touched the bench-top analyzer.  Nothing happened.  A relieved smile brightened her features and with more confidence picked up the instrument.  She turned it over in her hand, examining it.

“Over here, hand it over here,” McKay demanded holding one hand out and wiggling his fingers in impatience.  Amy happily handed the instrument over.

McKay studied the small device, scrutinizing it, activating it and deactivating it.  He puzzled at it for just a bit.

Zelenka leaned a little closer, trying to get a read on the instrument.  He held his spider-cracked lens up to his eye in an attempt to focus better.

“Here, Carson, it seems fine now.”  McKay tossed the instrument to Beckett. 

“What?! Rodney? No!”  Reflexively, Beckett caught the scanner before it could hit him in the chest.  Blue bolts of energy snapped forth searing the physician’s hands, forearms and chest. Beckett let out a howl, juggling the scanner between his hands like a hot potato until he finally let it fall to Major Lorne’s bed. 

The instrument lay quietly, unassuming.

“Huh,” Rodney said. “Well, that shouldn’t have happened.”

Carson stomped in a tight circle, waving his arms and shaking his hands vigorously. “Rodney, so help me….”

“That is peculiar,” Radek stated. He gingerly leaned around McKay and stared through his one broken lens at the instrument that now lay across Lorne’s blanketed legs. 

“It makes no sense,” Rodney muttered.  Finally lifting his hand off of his now bruised eye, he stared at the instrument puzzled and intrigued.  He ignored the mumbled diatribe sprouting from Beckett who continued to shake his hands as if trying to remove the lingering sensation of being shocked.

“Carson, try something from…,” McKay looked around the area.  Radek quickly leaned back just in time to avoid Rodney’s pointed elbow.   “There.”  He pointed to the small counter just next to Major Lorne’s bed.

“Why don’t you?”  Beckett shot back with a touch of a dare interlaced with a heavy dose of fear. He wiped his hands on his lab coat in short, irritated movements. 

“Oh, stop being such a baby,” McKay demanded, touching his abused eye again.  “And I need some ice. I think you’ve blinded me.  I need some ice now.  Someone get me some ice.”  He spied Radek’s bag of mostly chilled water. “Give me that, I need it more than you.”

Radek shielded his dripping baggy of ice with his body. 

“Dr. Beckett,” Amy spoke up again her voice tentative, but needing attention.  “Colonel Sheppard?  His blood pressure seems to be dropping just a notch.” 

“Aye, okay, okay,” Beckett sidestepped the counter with the attacking ancient technology and reached for the ancient coagulation instrument just beside Major Lorne’s bed.  The major slept on peacefully.

Beckett stretched a hesitant hand out, turning his head protectively to the side with a slightly raised shoulder and slowly reached for the analyzer.  He wiggled his fingers nervously. 

“Oh, just do it already,” McKay grumbled impatiently.

Carson stared over his shoulder at McKay, who simply urged him along with a flick of his hand. 

Zelenka merely raised an eyebrow in challenge. His icepack dripped, making a puddle on the floor.

Beckett faced forward, swallowed and slowly stepped toward the instrument.  He squeezed his eyes closed and grimaced in a pre-pain flinch as his hand ghosted over the analyzer.  A more powerful jolt of energy shot from the instrument, enveloping Beckett’s hand. 

The quiet sanctity of the infirmary was shattered by Carson’s howl.  He jumped backward, throwing his shoulders up and around, twisting away from the source of searing pain.  The ball of his foot slipped on the concave broken lens of Zelenka’s glasses and his feet shot out from underneath him, sending him flying backwards into and over Major Lorne’s bed and the forgotten scanner. 

The forgotten scanner zapped his lower back and backside.

Another indignant painful yelp erupted.  He scrambled desperately for purchase on the infirmary bed, pulling sheets, un-tucking blankets, while trying to avoid numerous zaps, all to no avail, and he disappeared, head first with feet bringing up the rear and landed unseen with a heavy thud.  There was a moment of silence. Ozone filled the air.

The moment was broken with a deep groan from the far side of the gurney. 

Major Lorne dangled precariously over the side of his bed, insensible to the drama around him.   And, after a moment, the major’s form succumbed to gravity and toppled onto the prone physician.

Beckett’s sudden exhale and moan were muffled by Lorne’s shoulder. 

McKay and Zelenka shared a look and both, with Nurse Amy, leaned over and to the side of the now partially stripped infirmary bed, to stare at the crumpled and twisted physician.

“Carson?”  McKay asked, still cupping his swollen and maligned eye with one hand.

“Fine, I’m fine,” Carson answered tightly, his voice muffled. “Just going to lie here for a moment or two.” 

Amy sighed tiredly.  “I’ll have Doctor Keller check on Colonel Sheppard…and Major Lorne.” She paused and then stated, “possibly you.”

“Brilliant, lass, brilliant idea.” Beckett managed to articulate on a strained exhale. “No rush, no rush.  Just the back….and head… lay here for a moment.” His mutterings slowly tapered away. 

Zelenka sighed and gave up on his glasses.  He’d send for his ‘back up’ pair and hopefully things would be normal again in the morning.

====

When Elizabeth returned to the infirmary early the next morning, the only person awake (other than the medical staff) was Rodney. He sat on the infirmary bed next to Sheppard’s, propped up on pillows, his laptop on his lap. His hair was sticking up in all different directions like an old broom, probably from running his hands through it repeatedly, and his eyes had the haunted quality of someone who’d been staring at a computer all night.

Which he likely had. 

Sure, Carson had tried to send him home last night, but when he'd been given the order, Rodney was already engrossed in his laptop, studying the data from both the malfunctioning water system and the infirmary equipment.  Apparently, he still was. 

“Hey,” Elizabeth called softly, settling herself down next to Rodney.  The scientist glanced at her and gave a nod, his expression grim.  Elizabeth frowned.  Keller had informed her last night that the effects of the drug in the water would be gone by this morning.  In fact, she had come down here to see if Sheppard or Teyla or any of the others were awake yet.  McKay’s expression worried her.

“They’re going to be okay, aren’t they?” she asked softly, looking across the scientist to John.  The colonel was curled up in a ball on his side, looking too young.  He was no longer wearing restraints—surely that was a good sign?

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Rodney replied, his voice scratchy, as if using it for the first time in a while. “They’ll all be fine.  Bruises and stuff, mostly.  And, with any luck, hangovers from hell considering all the trouble they put us through.” He lifted up a hand to rub at his forehead as he spoke and winced when he got close to the mark next to his right eye.  

The skin had purpled along the outer edge.  Carson’s elbow had just missed the eye socket, but it still left a nasty bruise that would mark the scientist for a while. Elizabeth grimaced in empathy.  When she’d seen the bruises on Zelenka’s face this morning upstairs, when he’d come in to check Chuck’s work, she couldn’t help but think that her whole team was quickly becoming an ad for “how not to run a safe workplace.”

Rodney snorted suddenly, as if in disgust, and dropped the laptop to the bed.  Curling his legs up more, he rested his arms on them and covered his face with his hands. 

“This whole thing is moronic,” he grumbled. "It shouldn't have happened."

“I agree,” Elizabeth said, and then straightened. Time to get the possible recriminations out of the way, not that it was Rodney's fault, of course. Accidents happen, but....  “In fact, we need to make sure it doesn’t happen again.  I assume that’s what you’ve been working on all night?  Some way to improve the diagnostic protocols?”

Rodney snorted again, lowering his hands. A moment later, he frowned and looked at her, his expression betraying puzzlement.  “What?”

She frowned. “Last night, you determined that water runoff from the botany labs—which should have been sent down the sewers to the water treatment facilities—was somehow rerouted to the water station feeding the gym, yes?”

Rodney gave a nod, so Elizabeth continued.

“Well, Chuck told me it was that same random computer glitch that cut you off briefly from the Chair room, and he spent most of the night working with Doctors Gos and Chaplin to fix it—Radek is looking over their work as we speak.  But we need to make sure this doesn’t happen again.  Clearly whatever you’ve been doing hasn’t been enough.  Perhaps more checks of the system at regular intervals or—“

“Oh please,” he scoffed. “One thing I know for sure now—this is no glitch.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m sorry?”

Rodney looked up at her, then grabbed his laptop again. “There’s nothing wrong with the city’s systems,” he said, sounding miserable.

Elizabeth stared at him a moment, then gave a quick head shake.  Had she heard right? No glitch?  Then what has Rodney been fighting to fix for the last few weeks?  “Rodney, I don’t understand.  There must be a glitch.  If not, then…what?  The city is doing this on purpose?  Putting us in danger, like this?”

“No, of course not,” Rodney said, looking back to Sheppard, his tone now carrying an undercurrent of anger. “But, at the same time, there is nothing wrong with the system. It isn’t broken.  There’s no glitch.”

She frowned. “But, yesterday, you—”

“I’ve been rationalizing, Elizabeth.   For three weeks now, I’ve been rationalizing.”  Rodney shook his head, sitting up more on the bed, stretching his legs out and reaching for the laptop again.

Elizabeth frowned. “Rationalizing,” she repeated. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ve been ignoring the obvious, because the obvious is…” he paused, “not acceptable.” He shook his head. “Even though it hasn’t made any logical sense, I’ve been telling myself it has to be a glitch, one related to the power systems, maybe something caused by the beatings the city has taken since we got here.”

Elizabeth gave a nod, “Well, it wouldn’t be surprising, if—“

“Power surges, for example,” Rodney continued, ignoring her, “causing the Jumper Wash to activate without a Jumper in it, causing your office door to come down without you telling it to, even the Mess Hall…”  He trailed off.  “But what happened yesterday…” 

She stared at him, and, when he didn’t continue, she gave a nod. “It couldn’t have been a power surge,” she guessed.

He sighed and nodded.  Quickly, he turned the laptop towards her, on which she could see Atlantis's complex water system—complete with sewage, water filtration, water treatment, desalination tanks, storage tanks and, of course, the individual water stations—depicted in various shades of blue and green. It looked complex and intelligent and perfect—like almost everything else in Atlantis.

“This city is smart, Elizabeth," Rodney said. "Really smart. It’s not sentient by any means, but it’s as close as you can get.  And this system?" He pointed at the screen. "Is brilliant. It, like everything else here, was built to protect the people living here above all else—hundreds of fail-safes were incorporated into its operating system to make sure that, if something went wrong, no one got hurt as a consequence."

She nodded, "Okay, so?”

"So, sewage waste being rerouted into a drinking water station?  That's a big 'wrong,' Elizabeth.  The system, even if it were shorting out all over the place, would never have made that mistake.  It couldn’t have made that mistake—it would have meant sending water up instead of down a pipe—like a river flowing uphill—it just doesn’t happen.”

Elizabeth shrugged, “Yes, but nothing’s imposs—“

“This is,” Rodney snapped. “But just in case, because I knew you'd ask, I checked the system, and I checked, and I checked and I couldn’t find anything that looked like a degraded system or a broken connection or a glitch.  All I found is what Chuck found—a viral piece of coding that integrated itself into the computer system and instructed, and, yes,” his eyebrows lifted, “I mean instructed, as in, deliberately directed, the specific sewer pipes connected to the botany labs to bypass dozens of fail-safes, not to mention the basic laws of gravity, to route their discharge to that specific water station feeding the gym.” 

Elizabeth continued to stare at him, absorbing that slowly.  “So…,” she frowned, still trying to wrap her mind around this, “what you’re saying is…?”

“That this wasn’t an accident.   And, after studying some of the other malfunctions we've had over the past few weeks, I don’t think any of those were accidents either.”  

“If it wasn't an accident," she said, dropping her voice, "then what was it?" 

Rodney’s mouth thinned into a straight line, and he lowered his head.  “I…” 

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a long groan from the bed to McKay’s left.  Immediately, both of them were on their feet, Rodney looking around for a nurse, while Elizabeth leaned over John’s bed. 

As the hazel eyes slowly opened, blinking dazedly, she smiled.

“Hello, Colonel,” she greeted. “Welcome back.”

The eyes blinked a few more times, squinted a little, and then rolled up in his head.  For a moment, she was alarmed, then he let out a heart-wrenching groan and started whispering, “gonnabesick, gonnabesick, gonnabesick,” under his breath. 

Elizabeth backed away in a hurry as soon as she figured out what the garbled words meant, which was just as well, because, perhaps due to Rodney’s being more used to this than she was (or perhaps because he’d been there all night, and had seen this happen a few times), McKay shoved his way past her and held a clean kidney bowl next to Sheppard’s head.  The poor colonel then spent the next couple of minutes vomiting into the pan, much to Rodney’s obvious complete and utter disgust.  But he never pulled away.

When the bout was over, McKay pressed the bowl into the hands of one of the nurses standing by and bent over to look Sheppard in the face.

“Better?” he asked snidely.  Sheppard mouthed something, and Rodney grimaced.

“Now is that any way to speak to the man who just held your vomit bowl for you? I think not.  And you’d better be nice to me if you want some water now.  Which, believe me, after smelling your breath, you need.  It’s toxic.”

Sheppard mouthed something else, and Rodney rolled his eyes. “First, that’s not nice, and Second? I will so not. You think I want my head handed to me by Beckett?”

Sheppard smiled weakly, then coughed. 

“Doctor McKay, if you don’t mind.” Doctor Cole slid up and jostled McKay away, before leaning in to check in on the colonel.

Within moments, she had him sitting up and drinking a glass of water, which John did without too much obvious misery.  Soon after that, Cole proclaimed that he would be fine—he’d just feel a little hungover for a few hours.  That earned her a death-glare from the man in question, as if he were questioning her sanity at using the word "little".  Tapping him on the leg, Cole smiled and disappeared, leaving the colonel with Elizabeth and McKay.

He sighed, rubbed his hand through his hair, and turned to Elizabeth, blinking owlishly at her.  "What happened?" He blinked again and focused for a moment at the black robe that was draped at one corner of the bed -- a particularly feminine looking piece of clothing with pink piping and little posies embroidered at the lapels.  "Where did...?"

"John," Weir intoned, gaining his attention, and then answered his questions, keeping it as succinct as possible.  Rodney interrupted near the end, starting in on his "prankster" theory, when John suddenly sat up straight in bed.  As Elizabeth had spoken, the colonel had been surveying the room, taking in Teyla in the bed opposite, and Nguyen in the next bed over.  The two beds seemed strangely close to one another.  He looked at the other lumps as well—Hardaway, Davidson, Lorne…

Elizabeth rocked back a step, and so did Rodney, neither forgetting the man's erratic, paranoid behavior yesterday, but when John focused on her, his eyes were very clear and very worried.

"Where's Ronon?"  

Chapter Text

He was cold, very cold, enough so that he was shivering.  His arms were pressed tight against his body, wrapped protectively around his belly, and he had curled himself into as tight a ball as possible.  But he still shivered.

This was not a new sensation.  Waking up cold, alone and in an unfamiliar place was something he knew well from his years as a Runner.  For some reason, though, he had a feeling he shouldn’t be feeling it now.

Where was he?

Without opening his eyes, without moving (which might give his position away to any predators in the area), he listened to the sounds around him and tried to make sense of the smells.

Water—lots of water.  Sea birds called to each other overhead, sounding bored, which was a good sign.  Birds often fled when Wraith were around.  Waves crashed loudly nearby against…what….a beach?  No, there was a soft clanging noise, a slight metallic tinge to the air.  A pier.  A metal pier.  He was next to an ocean, if the saltiness he tasted was any indication, on a metal pier….

Atlantis.

With the recognition came confusion.  If he was on Atlantis, why the hell was he out here?

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he unpeeled his eyelids, peering blurrily out at his surroundings.  When his eyes didn’t immediately clear, he brought cold, shaking hands up to rub his eyes into submission. 

Definitely a pier.  He turned his head, looking up at the structures around him, the beautifully wrought metal buildings reaching high into the sky overhead. 

He had absolutely no idea where he was. 

Pushing himself up off the metal floor, trying not to freak out over his extremely vulnerable choice of resting place (damn it, he knew better than that!), he struggled to his feet, grimacing when a fantastically painful headache started to beat against his skull.  Groaning heavily, he pressed his hands to his head and staggered around for a few minutes, trying to get his bearings.  His stomach churned…and he threw up over the side of the pier.

This felt like a hangover.  A really bad hangover.  But when had he been drinking?

He sorted through his memories, but succeeded in only seeing scattered images from yesterday.  He recalled being in the gym—perhaps his last really clear memory—beating up the B.O.B., and…and…running.  He recalled running.  Sort of.  Why had he run?

He hoped someone else had better answers than he did, because this was really too hard to figure out right now. 

He then realized he could hear voices, very faint voices…someone calling his name.  He could also hear static.  He patted down his shirt, and then his pants…and found his radio.  Apparently, he had stuck it in his pocket.  Why had he done that?  Lifting it up, he looped it over his ear, wincing at the new, harsh sound of a voice competing with the headache.

“Ronon, this is Sheppard, please respond.  Ronon, if you can hear me, please respond.” Sheppard sounded scared—Ronon wondered why.  It’s not like he was dead.

He clicked the earpiece, swallowed roughly, and spoke, “I’m here.”

“Ronon?  Oh thank God.  Where are you?” The relief in Sheppard’s voice was obvious.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? What do you mean, you don’t know?”  

Ronon winced in pain—that was McKay that time.  The man’s voice was like an icepick to his brain.   

“I mean, McKay,” he growled, feeling his stomach flip-flop again, “that I don’t know.  And could you tone it down?”

“Tone it…? Fine. Whatever. Look, can you at least give us a general idea?  Sensors are down all over the city, for some reason…well, I have a pretty good idea why, but that’s neither here nor there…so you’ll have to give us a location.  And for the record, I have a very pleasant voice.”

Ronon sighed, wanting to roll his eyes but knowing his headache wouldn’t like it.  He looked out towards the ocean.  “I’m on a pier.”

“Oh, that’s helpful,” Rodney snarked. “There’s only a few of those in Atlantis.”

“Rodney, not helping,” Sheppard said, and he sounded as tired as Ronon felt right now. “Ronon, can you give us a direction.  It’s about 0800 hours right now.”

Knowing the time actually was helpful, and Ronon looked off to his left, where the sun was still hovering fairly low in the sky.  Gotcha.

“I’m on a southeast facing pier,” he said, rubbing his head again, running his fingers along his scalp between the dreads. “It’s sort of stubby.  There are two longer piers on either side.”

“Are you in the Subcity?” Rodney asked.

“Um,” Ronon turned around, blinking up at the buildings behind him.  “Maybe.”

“You know, for someone who, of all people, should have a really good sense of direction, you pretty much suck at—“

“McKay.  Just help the man.”

There was a heavy sigh on the line, then, “Fine.  Look, Ronon, just go into the first really big building, and see if there’s a transport station.  Most of the really big ones have one.”

Ronon grimaced, rubbed his head again, and stumbled over to the first set of doors he came across.  This one looked big.  Reaching over, he swiped his hand across the panel…and nothing happened.

“It’s not working,” he said out loud, squinting at the door controls.  “The door won’t open.”

“What?”

“He said the door won’t open.”

“Yes, Colonel, thanks for that.  What I meant was, why isn’t it working?”

“I don’t know,” Ronon replied, yawning spectacularly and looking back at the water.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Rodney said then.  

“Well then, who were you asking?” Sheppard said.  

“I wasn’t asking anyone! I was talking out loud!”

“Over the radio?” Sheppard’s mockery was clear.

“Oh, like you don’t do that!”

“No, I don’t. I know how to use a radio.”

“And I don’t?”

“No! And, frankly, it gets on my nerves.  As soon as this is done, I’m going to teach you how to use a damn thing without—-“

“As soon as this is done, I’m getting some sleep, so you can take your radio etiquette lessons and shove them up your—“

“Are you two idiots really going to keep arguing, or are you going to help get Ronon home?”  That was Carson, and Ronon had to grin.  The physician sounded tired as well—there was an edge to his voice that suggested he hadn’t had an easy night of it either.  Ronon, meanwhile, had gotten tired of waiting.  He pried open the panel next to the door and inspected the three crystals inside.

“Fine!” McKay snapped. “Ronon.  Here’s what you do.  Open the panel, and—“   

“Already on it.  Out, up and bridge, right?”  He’d seen this done enough times that he didn’t really need to hear the instructions.  Pulling the top crystal, he put the lower one in that position, then bridged the two crystals with the one in his hand….and still nothing happened.  He frowned, tapping his radio again.

“McKay, I did the crystal bridge thing, but it’s still not working.”

“Really?” McKay sounded honestly surprised. “You pulled the top one, replaced it with the bottom one and—“

“Yeah,” Ronon yawned again, and leaned against the wall, pressing his burning forehead to the cool metal.  “That.”

“Huh.  Okay, hang on…let me just…What the…?  How the hell…? There’s no power going to that section at all!  But even so, there should be enough residual power to open the doors once with that trick.  They store enough energy specifically for that reason, so people don’t get trapped.  It’s as if someone deliberately drained….” There was a long pause, then, in a furious sounding mutter, McKay swore. “Son of a bitch.”

“Look, I’ve had enough.” Sheppard sounded angry. “ Ronon, we’re coming to get you in a Jumper.  Rodney, keep working on whatever you’re working on.  Soon as we get back, we’re having a meeting on this.”  

“Sure, sure…”

“I’ll be waiting,” Ronon said, turning and heading back out to the end of the pier.  Sitting down on the edge, he studied the water, letting it lull him to a sort of wakeful sleep.

====

Not five minutes after Sheppard had left him to run up the stairs to the Jumper Bay, Rodney was deep into the city’s power systems, chasing the elusive virus running amok in the mainframe.  It was almost as if it was looking over his shoulder, anticipating his every move—every time he thought he’d cleaned it out, it showed up somewhere else.  What the hell? 

And then it got worse.

“McKay,” Sheppard called over the radio.

Rodney glanced up.  “Yes?”

“Jumper Bay doors aren’t opening.”

Rodney swore and twisted around to look behind him.  Zelenka was over by the sensor grid, the young, blonde British scientist by his side, mirroring his every move, and the curly haired Dr. Goose…Gos?...whatever, was bustling around in the control systems on the upper dais.       

“Radek.” Rodney pointed to the stairs up to the Jumper Bay when Zelenka looked over at him. “Go.  Take…” he stared at the blonde for a moment before giving up on trying to remember her name, and waved at her, “her with you."

“Chaplin, sir,” the woman said, helpfully.  Rodney just glared at her, then turned back to his computer.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zelenka running up the stairs, Chaplin on his heels.  It left Rodney still fighting to undo whatever was blocking power from reaching the southeast pier.  It looked like the entire Subcity was down—which was insane.  And for all intents and purposes, Atlantis didn't seem to know that the power was down out there.  Which was making this incredibly hard to fix.

Damn it.

He should have seen this coming yesterday. After what happened in the infirmary, why hadn't he posited that whoever was doing this could manipulate the power grid on a grander scale?  And they had had a whole night to set up this mess!  Why hadn't he anticipated this? 

And now the Jumper Bay…

Rodney looked up, catching Elizabeth's concerned gaze out of the corner of his eye.  She was standing over Chuck's shoulder, but she was watching him, waiting for him to tell her he'd solved this latest mess.  He gritted his teeth and returned his attention to the two laptops sitting in front of him.  He had a perfect record when it came to this city—with one exception—and he wasn't about to break that now.

Of course, that one exception was the ZPM almost exploding in their faces a year ago.  It didn't matter that he couldn't have been expected to undo months of hacking into the Atlantis mainframe in a few hours...it was still a failure.  The only thing that had saved them was getting those codes, not his work.  It rankled. 

And it was something he was not going to repeat again.  No one beat him in Atlantis.  This was his city, damn it.

"McKay," Zelenka's voice called in his ear.  Rodney reached up to tap his earpiece.

"What?"

"I think the city's power problem and the ceiling doors not opening in the Jumper Bay are related.  They are not opening because no power is getting to the mechanism."

"What?" Rodney snapped, jumping to the station where the Bay's functions were stored.  Dr. Goose got pushed aside, the little man falling to his rear as Rodney started calling up information on the mainframe.  Sure enough…there was the viral code again.  

"I don't get this," he snarled, as much to himself as to Radek still listening in. "The Jumper Bay's power grid is the same as the Control Room's.  We've power down here—you should have power up here."  

"I admit, it's a puzzle.  But, perhaps if you and I can isolate what's stopped the doors from opening up here..."

"We can figure out what’s stopping the power from getting to the Subcity at the same time," Rodney finished. He nodded, jumped over Goose (who was still on the floor), and grabbed his tablet from the lower console.  "I'm going up to the Jumper Bay," he called to the room, though it was technically directed at Elizabeth.  "Goose..."  

"Gos!" the scientist corrected shrilly, still on the floor. 

"Whatever, you’re with me.”

“But I don’t have a tablet, and my laptop’s still conn—“

“Then disconnect it, and come on!"  He didn’t even look behind him to see if Gos had obeyed, just took the stairs two at a time, climbing up to the Bay up above.

====

When Rodney stormed into the Bay, he saw Zelenka standing in the middle of the room with a tablet on his arm, looking up at the ceiling and pushing his spare set of glasses up higher on his nose.  Rodney followed his gaze, and grimaced.  Jumper Five, with Sheppard, Teyla and Beckett on board, was hovering high overhead, just below the narrowed tower leading up to the doors.

“McKay,” Sheppard called, a distinct edge to his voice that sounded like he was still feeling horrible. “I’m warning you, I’m on the verge of blowing my way out of here!” 

“Oh please,” Rodney snapped, rolling his eyes as he headed for the main console on the wall.  Dutch was standing in front of it, his tablet hooked up to it, and McKay shooed him out of the way, pointing him towards another console.  “I’ve got enough drama going on without you adding to it with empty threats!”

Sheppard snorted, his voice lowering to an angry burr, “How do you know it’s an empty—“

“Because you’re not an idiot!  Now just give us a minute!” Rodney knelt down, pulling the metal covering off the wall to reveal the guts underneath.  Why Dutch hadn’t gone straight to the wiring, he didn’t know.  Peering inside, crystals and clear wiring glittered back at him, half glowing with power and half without.  He hooked up his tablet to the dead ones, and started checking the readings.

“We’re on a clock here, McKay.” Sheppard said then. “Ronon’s—“

“I know!  But Ronon’s not dying.” At least…he hoped not.  Rodney’s eyes narrowed as information started spooling down his screen, mentally comparing these readings with the ones he had been getting downstairs from the Subcity.  “He can wait a little while longer.”

“You can’t know that, Rodney,” Beckett said, sounding almost as on edge as Sheppard, though he wasn’t angry.  Just worried. “He could be—“

“No,” Ronon interrupted, sounding absurdly calm. “McKay’s right.  I can wait.  It’s actually kinda nice out here.  Though something to drink would be nice.”  He trailed off, his voice growing soft.  Beckett’s voice lost its edge, switching instantly to gentle concern and calm tones, as he ordered Ronon to switch to the Medical channel, and both he and Ronon disappeared off the line.

“McKay!” Nguyen’s voice rang through the room, as he and Kelly Hardaway appeared from the transporter.  They jogged up to him.  “What can we…?”

“Check the auxiliary panels,” Rodney replied, pointing to stations across the room where Dutch was working. “Look for anything that doesn’t belong.”

The two nodded and quickly darted away.

“McKay…”  Sheppard said again, and he sounded like he was getting desperate.

“We’re working as fast as we can!” Rodney shouted.  “Stop distracting me!”

Grimacing impatiently as the tablet continued to download information, Rodney traded worried glances with Zelenka, who was still standing in the middle of the room.  The Czech pushed his glasses up on his nose again, nodded back, and started working on his own tablet. 

At almost the same moment, heralded by a bout of heavy panting, Gos barreled up next to McKay, holding a laptop to his chest like a security blanket.  He was obviously less fit than Rodney, which was sort of surprising.  The curly haired scientist was smaller and trimmer than he was—he actually looked a little like that actor who had played Frodo in the Lord of the Rings Trilogy.  Still panting, he raised his eyebrows at Rodney in question, and McKay pointed to the next console over.  Gos nodded and went straight to work.

“Look, should I set this thing down?” Sheppard asked then, sounding only moderately calmer.  “Or do you two think you might have this solved this century?”  Oh yeah, he was not in a stellar mood. 

“Actually…”  Zelenka was pacing a bit, moving around in circles over the Jumper Bay floor, “I think I may have it.  McKay, take a look at this.”

Rodney’s console beeped, and he followed the link Zelenka sent him using his tablet.  Sure enough, he spotted the insidious code he’d been chasing since the mess hall, sitting inside the power grid’s matrix like a pimple.  His lips curled in disgust.

“See,” Zelenka continued, “I can just bypass it and…”

Rodney frowned watching as different parts of the grid started to flash in response to Zelenka’s work, but then he spotted something else.  His eyes widened.

Zelenka gave a chuckle. “That should do it,” he said happily, hitting the final keys on his pad and looking up.  “Colonel, the doors should be—“

Rodney turned, raising a hand and shouting, “Zelenka, no!”  

But it was too late.  Gears started to turn, and metal started to release, and the doors started to open. 

Right under Radek’s feet.

The scientist shouted in terror, slipping as the ground shifted below him, the floor beginning its tulip like retraction that opened the Jumper Bay to the Gate Room.  He fell hard on his side, dropping his tablet and scrabbling for purchase.  Screaming for help, Radek started to crawl towards Rodney as the triangular slices of metal slid sideways away from him, disappearing into the floor. 

The tablet fell off the edge where he had dropped it, hurtling to the ground fifty feet below, shattering into pieces with a bang.  Zelenka froze, staring down at the increasingly visible Gate Room.

“No! Run, you idiot!” McKay shouted, jogging towards him, nearing the edge of where the hole would finish. “Run!”

Radek looked up, saw McKay, and, amazingly, listened.  He staggered to his feet and started to run, then squealed as his feet suddenly pressed down on thin air. 

McKay didn’t even think, just dove, grabbing at the other man’s hands as Zelenka plummeted…

And miraculously caught him, hands grasping around the Czech’s thin wrists and holding on.

It only occurred to him a second later that diving forward had sent him over the now fully open hole as well.

He probably screamed as gravity took over, but he couldn’t have said for sure, aware only of the dead air below him as he plunged into nothingness, Radek’s wrists still gripped in his hands.

Sudden weight on his legs, hands scrabbling at his ankles, and he was hanging, suspended over the Gate Room floor fifty feet below, and someone—he didn’t know who—was holding onto his feet in a death-grip.  He was vertical to the ground, blood rushing to his head, completely helpless to do anything but hold on to a still screaming Radek.

“Help!” a soft voice called, and Rodney managed to tilt his head forward to peer up.  Two spindly little arms were wrapped around his ankles, and a curly head was bent between his feet.  The rest of his body was hidden by the part of the floor that didn’t open.

Gos’s large brown eyes were wide and terrified as he yelled, “I’m slipping!” 

Chapter Text

Hovering impatiently under the closed ceiling hatch, Sheppard’s first sign of trouble was a tiny beep from the jumper’s control panel.

“Wrong door, McKay!” he snapped, glaring as the panel indicated that he was clear to descend to the Gateroom, instead of letting him know that the upper hatch was open to the outdoors.

The only response was a confused babble of voices from the radio. Aggravated, he angled the jumper’s nose down until he had a clear view of the floor spiraling open – right under Zelenka’s feet.

And from there, events unfolded like one of those old silent movies, all herky-jerky action and mouths opening and closing in soundless screams.

“McKay!” Sheppard shouted, lunging toward the window as if he could reach down and grab the scientist as he dived after the falling man, caught him…and followed him over the edge.

He could hear Beckett and Teyla crying out in fear behind him. The radio was a confused jumble of crosstalk as voices called out warnings, demanded explanations. Sheppard ignored them all, his attention focused on the small figure that had dived after McKay.

The human chain jolted to a bone-jarring halt and for a moment, the only movement was the slow sway of the two men dangling with nothing but 50 feet of air between their linked hands and the Gateroom floor.

Other figures came running, piling on top of Gos' flailing legs, anchoring him better than the flimsy cable he'd cinched around his waist.

"Medical teams, to the Control Room and Jumper Bay!" Weir's voice rang out over the emergency channel with the brusque, clipped cadence she only used at the height of a crisis. "We need ropes and safety harnesses, and sergeant, we need to jury-rig some sort of airbag on the floor down here..."

Sheppard exchanged a glance with Beckett, who was leaning forward in the copilot's seat, hands clenched and white-knuckled.

"We don't have time for that," Sheppard said. He tapped his radio. “I’m coming down.”

“What?” Elizabeth’s voice snapped.

“I know what I’m doing, Elizabeth,” he said, hoping it was true.

Abruptly, the view through the window shifted. Beckett gasped and leaned back in his chair as if expecting gravity to send him smashing into the window as the jumper rotated until it was standing on its nose. The inertial dampeners kept them solidly in their seats, but Sheppard swallowed queasily as the horizon line tilted into a full view of the open hatch and the Gateroom far, far below.

"John?" Teyla’s voice was sharp with worry, her fingers digging into the back of his chair.

"It’s all good," he answered, more for himself than her.

There was less clearance than he liked between the line of dangling scientists and the sides of the hatch. He adjusted the angle one more time and started down. The nose of the jumper eased through the hatch and Sheppard locked eyes briefly with the straining young scientist who held two lives in his hands.

"Hurry," Gos mouthed at him, as other hands reached around, scrabbling for a hold on McKay's ankles.

John nodded. Down, the jumper eased, pulling even with McKay. His shirt had come untucked and the fabric was up around his armpits and chin. Two wide, terrified eyes peered out at him. John gave him a thumbs up, and was rewarded with a brief flash of annoyance before the terror returned.

Beckett was pressed up against the window like one of those Garfield dolls with the suction-cup paws. He banged against the glass, trying to get the frightened man's attention.

"Hang in there, Rodney! We're coming!" he yelled, mouthing the words again when he noticed that McKay's headset was missing—it must have been dislodged when McKay fell. Sheppard suppressed a groan at the doctor's word choice.

McKay's eyes narrowed and he snapped something that they were probably all better off not hearing.

Beckett winced. "I mean, hold on! No, wait, I mean—" But by then, the jumper was down to Zelenka's level. The Czech scientist gave the ship one terrified glance as it brushed by him, and screwed his eyes shut tight.

Sheppard eased the jumper horizontal again and eased it as close to Zelenka's dangling toes as he could, with the help of shouted directions from above and below. It wasn't much, but at least it was something between his friends and a killer drop.

"Okay, Zelenka," he said, wishing like hell the jumper had a skylight. "We've got you."

====

McKay stared incredulously at the jumper hovering beneath them.

"This? This is your rescue plan?" he said, glaring down at the ship's roof. It looked suspiciously like a log ride in a really weird theme park, and McKay wanted no part of it. "Just pull us up already, Gos!"

"Oh, now you remember my name?" Gos huffed, his voice even squeakier than usual with McKay's heels digging into the side of his neck. "And we're trying to pull you up! You're too heavy!"

"We're trying to rig up some sort of winch!" A helpful voice called out from the bay above. "Maybe a block and tackle!"

McKay wanted to say something biting about that, really he did. But every ounce of energy that wasn't going to maintain his grip on Zelenka, he needed to keep himself from screaming.

The rear hatch of the jumper was swinging slowly open, revealing Teyla's lovely, anxious face. She edged out onto the open door, braced one hand against the roof and reached the other up to them encouragingly. Beside her, Beckett's face, white with shock,

"All will be well, Radek," she called out. "We are directly beneath you. Colonel Sheppard will not allow you to fall."

Zelenka, unable to see her, shook his head frantically and tightened his grip. McKay gritted his teeth as the bones of his wrist ground together.

"Oh, don't be such a baby," he snapped, pleased to see Zelenka's eyes fly open and fix on him. The look of panic on his face faded, to be replaced by a more familiar grimace of irritation. "The jumper's two inches under your toes and I can't hang around here all day holding your hands on this one."

Zelenka sputtered.

"So, on three?" McKay prompted.

"You are a miserable—"

"One..."

"—sweaty-palmed—"

McKay huffed. "Two!"

"—son of a—"

Their only warning was a frightened cry from above, an instant before the fingers digging into McKay's left ankle slipped. McKay yelped, feeling himself swinging loose, anchored only by one leg. The shout turned into a choked scream as he felt something give way in his left shoulder with a grinding pop. His numb hand lost its grip on Zelenka who frantically switched to a two-handed deathgrip on McKay's right wrist.

For a heart-stopping moment, they swung clear of the jumper. By McKay's involuntary calculations, if he lost his grip now, Zelenka's trajectory would end with a moist splat directly underneath Weir's picture window in the Gateroom. He scrabbled, trying to get his deadened arm to take a more secure grip on Radek.

By then, the pendulum swing had reversed, and was carrying them back. The view of the floor was blocked by the reassuring roof of the jumper.

Zelenka took a deep breath, looked up at him one more time with a tiny reassuring smile...and let go.

McKay cried out as Zelenka slipped through his fingers. But the Czech had timed the drop well and landed solidly on the jumper, left of center, straddling one of the wide grooves.

"What happened to 'three'?" McKay yelled down at him giddily. Zelenka beamed up at him with a matching, loopy grin. Teyla and Beckett whooped and gestured frantically, trying to get Zelenka to make his way to the rear hatch.

Zelenka turned toward them -- and wobbled. McKay's smile faded as he watched the scientist's feet skid on the curved, frictionless dome of the puddle jumper.

"Wait. No. I need to get back down there!" McKay protested, fighting the hands that were pulling him up onto the solid safety of the Jumper Bay floor.

Below, he heard Beckett screaming at Sheppard to descend, fast. The doctor had managed to pull himself almost on top of the puddle jumper himself, scrabbling against the smooth hull as he tried to reach Zelenka.

The ship plummeted toward the floor with Zelenka teetering on top like a dashboard hula doll. McKay, lashed out, feeling his foot connect with something soft and yielding. The hands restraining him fell away and he rolled back to the edge and stared down, willing the ship to descend to a safe distance. Thirty feet to go. Twenty feet... Beckett was edging across the roof on his belly.

Too late. Zelenka was losing the battle with gravity. His feet skidded out from under him, one sliding into a groove while the other went upwards, and he gracelessly belly-flopped onto the side of the jumper roof and disappeared over the side.

The sound when he hit the floor carried all the way to the Jumper Bay above.

McKay stared mutely at the splayed body, one of the legs bent at an improbable angle, a pool of red spreading slowly underneath the head. The jumper landed beside the sprawled form with a graceless thump and Beckett was tumbling off the roof and rushing to the downed man before anyone else in the control room had shaken off their shock enough to move.

McKay rolled away from the sight and stared blankly at the ceiling.

Chapter Text

Teyla staggered out of the jumper, staring in numb horror at the broken form of Radek Zelenka. She'd promised him they wouldn't let him fall. How could she have failed the gentle scientist so badly? Ronon's voice over her headset was a welcome distraction and she took several steps away from the crowd of medical workers to offer him the few reassurances she could.

Sheppard stalked around the edges of the rescue scene, fingers twitching as if he ached to pummel someone. “Is he…?” he asked of Beckett. The physician looked up and gave a reassuring nod.

“We’ll know better after he’s been under the scanner, but…” Carson looked back down at Radek, “he just muttered something uncomplimentary about Rodney’s mother, and I’m taking that as a good sign.” He gave a small smile, and John closed his eyes. Sure enough, now that he could see Radek a little better, John could see him moving sluggishly. Sheppard suddenly stepped back and looked straight up.

"McKay!" the colonel shouted, craning his neck, clearly looking for Rodney in the circle of pale, shocked faces peering down at them. Teyla looked up as well.

"He's okay," Chaplin's voice floated down to them. Her blonde head popped up in the hole in the ceiling, braids dangling. "Pretty much," she amended.

Sheppard rolled his eyes and clicked on his headset. "Define 'pretty much', doctor."

Apologetically, the programmer switched to the radio. "Well, I think he hurt his arm. But he's moving around pretty well. He kicked Dr. Gos in the stomach and wrestled Dr. Hardaway's laptop away. He…oh…he says to tell you he'll have the upper hatch open in just a—"

Bright sunlight flooded down, illuminating a circle around Zelenka and the jumper. Sheppard squinted up at the blue sky, torn. Two of his teammates were down.

Teyla drew him back with a gentle hand on his arm as a medical team came rattling in with a gurney. "Beckett will take care of Radek. I will look after Rodney," she said. "Ronon has been away too long already."

"'M fine," Ronon's voice slurred over the radio. There was a sound like a ‘thunk’ punctuating his sentence. "Almost got this door opened..."

John sighed, covering his eyes with his hand. "You know, buddy, that trick where you throw knives at the control panel until something opens—I don't think that works with Ancient tech." He headed back toward the jumper with purposeful strides.

"Oh," Ronon said, sounding crestfallen. There was a pause, then another chink of metal against metal. Clearly, Ronon wasn't quite ready to give up on the knife vs. door theory just yet.

Teyla gave a soft smile as she turned and headed for the exit, to get to the transporter.

“Teyla! John!”

The call turned Teyla around, and she saw Sheppard looking over his shoulder where he stood on the jumper’s hatch. Elizabeth was standing at the base of the stairs.

"As soon as you get back with Ronon," she said to John, then to Teyla, "And you and Rodney come back down...” she lowered her head, intensifying her gaze, “we need to talk."

Yes, Teyla agreed with a nod. John nodded as well, then he was gone, the hatch closing behind him. Teyla turned back towards the exit, feeling the whoosh of air play with her hair as the Jumper lifted up behind her.

====

The jumper gone, Rodney cradled his numb left arm to his side, and hit a few more keys. He sighed in relief as the laptop he’d purloined from Hardaway showed the Subcity lighting up like a Christmas tree on the screen. About time.

Zelenka had been right—figuring out how the code was blocking the Jumper Bay doors answered the question of how it was blocking the power from reaching Ronon’s pier. It was really pretty quick, once he’d figured out the trick. Ronon could transport back now…but Sheppard had probably already picked him up.

He looked up, to see that most of the technicians had left the bay. Only Nguyen, Hardaway, Dutch and Chaplin were still up here, double checking his work on the various consoles in the room. Gos—he wasn’t going to forget the boy’s name again, he promised himself—had staggered off to the infirmary, and Rodney didn’t blame him. He’d have gone as well, if he’d thought he had time. But the power system came first. And now that was done…

He needed a break. He lowered his head, then looked up. And found his four remaining minions stood before him in a semi-circle. Something about the way they were standing, almost like they were planning to attack…

Alarm bells went off in his head, and Rodney scrambled to his feet. “What?” All three took a step forward and Rodney’s eyes widened…and he took a step back.

Nguyen raised his hands. “It’s for your own good, sir.”

Rodney dropped the laptop.

====

Teyla stepped into the transport, hit the icon for the Jumper Bay above and slumped against the wall. It had been two very long days and her very bones ached with the thought of the tragedies that had narrowly been averted. She didn’t recall much of what happened yesterday after she had gotten to the gym, but listening to everyone talk this morning in the infirmary, and, later, in the control room as they frantically searched for Ronon…

It was almost as if Atlantis was playing with them, deliberately trying to hurt them. Perhaps a bad spirit? Could it be what the Colonel called a poltergeist?

The transport chirped as it arrived at its destination. Teyla stepped out, and froze. She was in a dim, dusty corridor, illuminated only by the faint glow coming through a cloudy window. She stepped over to it and frowned as she took in the view of the city that she recognized as coming from the south pier.

Confused, Teyla backtracked to the transporter and carefully pressed the station representing the Jumper Bay again. Perhaps in her distraction, she had mis-directed herself.

This time, when the doors hissed open, Teyla found herself looking out at mess hall. Several diners spotted her and waved. Shaking her head, Teyla hit the keypad again.

This time, when the doors opened, the sea rushed in.

====

Reports were coming in from all over the city. The transports were going haywire, delivering people to random points all over the city, scattering them like breadcrumbs.

Elizabeth dropped a hand on Chuck's shoulder. "Issue a citywide alert," she said. "Order everyone to avoid the transporters. Get the rest of the jumper pilots in the air. Tell anyone who's been marooned on the other side of the city that we'll be along to pick them up."

With that, she headed for the stairs, resigned to the long climb up to the Jumper Bay level.

As she climbed, she keyed her radio. "Rodney? Can you hear me? Can you do something about this transporter situation?"

But it was Doctor Chaplin who responded. "Doctor McKay is, um, unavailable at the moment." In the background, she could hear what sounded like furniture overturning and McKay's outraged squawking. She picked up the pace and arrived at the jumper level red-faced and gasping for air.

She was greeted by the sight of McKay being chased around a stack of storage containers by three members of his own staff. Dr. Van Steenvoort, Dr. Nguyen and Dr. Hardaway were talking fast, bobbing and weaving around the canisters, trying to get close to Rodney, who had his left arm clutched protectively against his chest.

"No! Get away, you vultures!" McKay yelled, dodging Nguyen as he lunged for his shoulders.

"It's going to have to go back in, sir!" Chaplin said, wringing her hands on the sidelines. "Maybe if you just banged your shoulder against the wall a few times, it would pop in? It always works in the movies!"

McKay snatched up a laptop with his good hand and used it to mash Nguyen's fingers the next time he got within grabbing distance. "Watching Lethal Weapon two dozen times does not entitle you to carry out major medical procedures, Chaplin!" he snapped, spotting Elizabeth and bolting toward her. "I want Beckett. I want a sterile operating theater and I want lots and lots of the good drugs before anybody gets near this shoulder." He made one more swat at his staff with the laptop and ducked behind Elizabeth for safety.

"Enough," she said, shooting a quelling glance at the scientists, who shuffled off grumpily to resume their duties. She turned to Rodney and eyed him with concern. Between the grotesquely misshapen shoulder, the red and raw wrists and bruised eye, he did look like an immediate candidate for sickbay.

Then again, the fastest way to get him there was to get him to fix the transporters.

"Rodney," she sighed. "Can you fix whatever's been done to the transportation system?"

Rodney sank down on one of the storage barrels with a sigh and rested the computer on his knees. He nodded, then looked up at Elizabeth with a worried frown.

"Radek?" he asked.

Elizabeth lowered herself onto the barrel beside him. "He was awake and talking when they took him down to the infirmary," she said gently. "Carson's going to report in as soon as he has him stabilized."

McKay nodded, blinking hard as he stared unseeingly at the computer screen. Elizabeth started to pat his left shoulder consolingly, but caught herself in time. McKay sniffed hard once, then got to work, hunting and pecking at the keyboard one-handed.

A shadow fell across the open ceiling hatch. Sheppard's jumper spiraled gracefully down and settled into its berth. A moment later, the hatch dropped to reveal Ronon slumped heavily against Sheppard, one arm slung over the smaller man's shoulder.

"Little help here?" Sheppard gritted out, trying to manhandle his teammate down the ramp without dropping him. The scientists rushed over, but Elizabeth beat them to it, shouldering as much of Dex's weight as she could. They led him over to where McKay was sitting.

"Wha' happened?" Ronon slurred, eyeing McKay's hunched posture. McKay just gave him a sour look and swatted again at Nguyen, who was trying again to poke at his shoulder.

"He dislocated his left shoulder," Chaplin chirped. "And he won't let anybody touch it."

McKay wheeled on her. "I won't let anybody touch it until they come at me with a huge hypodermic full of—GAH!" His rant broke off in a howl as Ronon suddenly grabbed his arm and slammed the ball joint back in its socket with brutal efficiency.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow—what the hell was that?" McKay screamed, giving Dex a two-handed shove, apparently unaware that he could move both arms again. The half-hearted shove was enough to overbalance the Satedan, who collapsed to the deck with a thud. Moments later, McKay collapsed in a heap beside him.

"Never," McKay panted, glaring up at the ceiling. "Never do that again."

Ronon snorted, the sound slightly muffled by the fact that his face was mashed against the floor panels.

"No promises, little man," he said.

Elizabeth let out an apologetic cough. "Rodney? The transporters?" She held the laptop out to him. “And you,” she looked at Ronon, “we need to get you to the infirmary.” Ronon had his eyes closed.

"Fine," McKay grumped levering himself up until he could snatch the laptop back. He keyed in a quick series of commands. The lights inside the transport flickered briefly then hummed back to full strength as the door hummed shut. "Fixed. Happy now?"

Sheppard's eyebrow shot up. "That's it?" he said. "A couple of keystrokes and it's all better?"

McKay started to say something, but the transport chimed and everyone turned to see if his fix had really worked.

The doors opened—and out swept a wall of water, and Teyla, who skidded across the floor and took down Sheppard and Weir like a pair of ninepins.

"Huh," McKay said, standing and limping over to the waterlogged transport. "That's a new one."

Sheppard levered himself up and coughed out a mouthful of seawater. This was getting old.

"You okay?" he asked Teyla, wincing as her sharp elbows dug into his solar plexus. With some effort, they disentangled themselves from each other and from Elizabeth, who remained flat on the floor, stunned.

"I am...confused," Teyla said hoarsely. Her hair was clinging to her head in dank clumps, but the smile she turned on Rodney and Ronon was radiant.

"Confused is a good word for it," Elizabeth said, sitting up finally and pushing her sodden bangs out of her eyes. Her glare raked the room.

"I want every member of the command staff in the conference room, now."

Chapter Text

They straggled in, three of them wet and cold, two in need of an infirmary visit, and everyone miserable.  But, an emergency meeting had been called and there was no time for everyone to run to their rooms.  Elizabeth knew from experience that allowing everyone to visit their quarters could cause rather lengthy delays, especially when restyling hair was involved.  The group had moved immediately from the jumper bay to the conference room.

Weir was the last to reach the room, limping from her collision with the floor after being toppled by a wave of seawater and a sliding Athosian.  She’d landed hard on one hip and a bruise was already forming there.  Terrific—just what she needed—another pain in the butt.

She’d managed to pull on a sweatshirt that she kept stashed in her office, but it didn’t help much when her clothing was otherwise soaked and cold.  The chafing—she dreaded the horrible chafing that was sure to follow.  

She walked in, shooting an anxious look at the doors and hating herself for the uncertainty.  After what had happened with her office, she had the unsettling suspicion that all the doors in the city were out to get her.

Beckett smiled warmly at her, in spite of his own aches and pains—she’d heard all about his unfortunate experience in the infirmary.  “We have Zelenka in surgery for his leg,” he told her quickly, answering her question before it was asked.  “Dr. Keller is seeing to him, as I was expected here and my head isn’t exactly right yet.  He’s in the best of hands.”

“Thank you, Carson,” Weir responded.  “How is he?”

With a sorry shake of his head, the doctor told her, “I have no worries about his leg, but as for his head—I can’t say anything yet.  He was awake before we brought him in and that’s very good news.”  He tapped his headset and stated, “She’ll tell me as soon as she knows more.”  

Elizabeth nodded and took the empty seat beside Beckett.  On her other side, two of McKay’s people leaned in toward each other, whispering warily.  She wondered why they were present at the moment, but neither looked as if they meant to stay.  Dr. Van Steenvoort had a ‘ready to bolt’ look about him, but the other, Dr. Nguyen, seemed intrigued and happy to be exactly where he was.

Across from them, one wet and one very bedraggled, Sheppard and Ronon slumped in their seats.  They both sported an unhealthy pallor from their run in with the botanists’ run-off yesterday, and both looked as if they were still attempting to shake off the hangover.  Sheppard’s hand massaged his forehead—Elizabeth could only imagine the headache he must be sporting.  Ronon’s hair hung as if someone had drugged Medusa’s snakes.  The dreadlocks coiled unhappily about his neck, and the Satedan looked out from under them with narrowed eyes.  He clutched a large bottle of purple Gatorade, lifting it to lips from time to time to down another mammoth mouthful.  He huddled over the bottle, looking wretched and ready for a nap.

Teyla looked a little more bruised and a lot more ‘drowned’.  She’d been intelligent enough to put on an offered robe and was tugging it tightly to her small frame.  She shivered slightly.  Her eyes remained downcast on the table.  A box of tissues sat beside her.  She sniffled and occasionally coughed into one.

The three of them, sitting side by side, would have been the most pathetic creatures that had ever met her eyes, if Rodney hadn’t been putting up such a fuss. 

The bruise around his eye looked horrible.  The time upside-down had worsened the swelling—though he could still see.  He was making pain-filled little mewling sounds as he tapped away at his keyboard, muttering and moaning as he worked.  But at least he wasn’t wet. 

A triangular bandage had been clumsily tied at the back of his neck, but it hung limply and unused at his chest.  Elizabeth could see his reddened wrists every time he moved, and she figured his ankles were no better.  He moaned again as he shifted in his seat.

Beckett sighed and turned toward his ornery patient.  “Your shoulder would feel better if you let me fix the sling, Rodney,” he said with a tired sigh.  “Honestly, I don’t know who tied it for you.  They managed it completely backward.  Anyone would know that the point goes toward the elbow.”

Rodney kept working, seemingly oblivious to Beckett’s comments.

Sheppard pulled a tissue from Teyla’s consignment, balled it up, and flung it, hitting McKay on the side of the head.  McKay flinched, made a face and kept working.  Ronon watched, a flicker of a smile showing from beneath his curtain of dreads.

“Well,” Weir stated, ready to get going.  “We have a problem.  And because of that, I’ve asked….”  Her eyes scanned the room, as if looking for someone, then frowned.  “Wait, she’s not here.  Has anyone seen—“

“Hey!” McKay finally looked up when Ronon and Sheppard managed to bean him simultaneously with wadded tissues.  “Quit it!” he shouted, moving his hurt arm to protect his head, hissing as he rotated the shoulder.

“That’s it!” Beckett declared as he stood and rounded the table.  “You’re going to stop moving that arm if you want the swelling in your shoulder to reduce.  You’re not doing yourself any favors by—”

“I’m fine!”  The fear on the scientist’s face was brief, as annoyance took over and he glared at the approaching physician. “Just…just…”   Rodney shook his head.  “You know and I know that I don’t have time for that, Carson,” he snapped.  “I need my arms right now.  Soon as I have a day without a disaster hanging over our heads, I’ll take some time off and relax, okay?  So, just back off and let me work.”

Rodney nodded to the minions who were waiting with as much patience as they could muster.  “Soon as I’m done with this, I can send these two off to check on a couple things, and we can finally get to the bottom of this.”

With a grimace, Beckett muttered, “Fine, fine… do as you like.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat, trying to not let them get the better of her. “As I was saying before I was interrupted, has anyone see Doc—”

“Is anyone else cold?” McKay looked up, then to Beckett. “I mean, seriously, it’s cold.  And damp.  Why does it feel so damp in…”  He looked at the still sodden Teyla, who was glaring as well as she could with a tissue pressed to her nose.  He gave a weak smile. “Oh.”

Elizabeth sat forward in her chair and covered her face with her hands.  

Beckett had returned to his chair and, glancing toward the other drowned rats in the room, he gave a nod. “It might help if we raise the temperature in the room a wee bit,” he suggested, as he fished another bottle of Gatorade from his bag and settled it in front of Dex – blue this time (the sports drink, not the Satedan).  He paused to take the Ronon’s pulse, and the big man allowed it, either trusting Beckett– or simply too beat to put up a fight.  “And if we can get a little warm air circulating, it might help dry everyone out a little.”

Weir straightened in her seat and gave him a small smile.  At almost the same instant, a warm breeze blew past her as Beckett or Sheppard mentally adjusted the controls in the room.  Obviously, McKay was too busy to bother.  She believed that at least one of Rodney’s scientists had the gene as well, perhaps both of them.

“Ah,” Beckett said pleasantly, feeling the change as well, “That’ll make things more pleasant.”

Sheppard and Ronon made disagreeing sounds.   Teyla sniffled.  Rodney tapped and groused.

Dr. Van Steenvoort was looking unhappily toward his boss, his own laptop open in front of him.  Dr. Nguyen kept chancing glances toward Teyla and smoothing his uniform.

Elizabeth stood up again. “Now that’s settled,” she said. “Rodney, are you ready?”

“Hold on just one more second,” McKay said, raising his left hand at her, then wincing.  And then his hands raised away from the keyboard.  He winced again as he moved the arm gingerly.  “There!” he finally proclaimed.  “Just need to download the data.”  He pulled a thumb-drive from his laptop and slid it across to Van Steenvoort.  “You know that to do with that, Dutchy?”

“Jaap,” Van Steenvoort corrected, sullenly.

“What?” McKay returned. 

“It’s my name… Jaap.”

“No one calls you Dutchy?”

“No,” Jaap returned, fitting the jumpdrive into his computer.

“How about Dutch?”

“No.”

“I’ve been calling you Dutch.”

“I know.  Please stop.”

“Huh,” McKay thoughtfully intoned.  “Funny, I would have thought someone would have called you Dutchy.  I always wanted to call someone Dutchy, or Dutch.”

“It’s Jaap,” the man who wasn’t known as Dutchy or Dutch repeated firmly.

“Fine… whatever.”  Rodney wavered his good hand at them.  “Take care of it,” he told them.   When they seemed to hesitate, he frowned and pointed with his right hand to the door. “What are you waiting for?  Go!” The order sent Jaap Van Steenvoort and Lawrence Nguyen scurrying.  The doors pivoted open, and the two rushed out as a woman stepped into the room.  The doors shuttered behind her.

Elizabeth sighed in relief.  About time!

“I apologize,” Dr. Heightmeyer said hurriedly as she rushed in to take the seat that Van Steenvoort had just vacated.  “I had a…” and she paused as she took in the appearance of the others around the table.  She leaned back and spoke to Beckett in a stage whisper, “Should any of these people actually be here in this condition?”

“No, lass,” Beckett admitted.  “They should all be in bed.”

Elizabeth gave a small smile.  “Thank you for coming, Doctor.”  She looked at Rodney again.  “Now, Rodney, I assume you are finally ready?”

“Of course,” he huffed, as if he’d been that way for hours.  Elizabeth didn’t miss Teyla rolling her eyes off to the side. 

Sheppard, who’d taken to kneading his forehead, glanced toward the physicist.  “You mean you’ve figured out what’s causing this?”

Peeved, McKay responded, “I already know what’s causing this.”  He looked toward Elizabeth.  

“Yes,” she responded, catching what he was implying. “It appears that a saboteur has compromised our systems.”

Rodney shook his head slowly, chuckling softly, “Oh, but it’s much more insidious than I thought.  This is no mere saboteur.  Let me show you something.” Rodney hit a couple of keys on his laptop, and the main display screen in the room lit up.  “Watch this, children.”  

A media player popped up, displaying the very familiar water ballet from the jumper wash.  The Canadian was the only one who didn’t laugh when the clip caught a beautiful moment as the jet of water kicked a scrabbling McKay from a ledge.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he muttered.  “Who’s next?”  And he pulled up another clip.  It was a scene from the control room that had managed to catch the instant Elizabeth ran face-first into a door that shouldn’t have existed.   The incredible BANG and her look of shock were memorialized forever.

Weir winced in memory, and McKay, thankfully, changed the clip before she suffered any further.  The next shot displayed the cafeteria with Zelenka fighting off erupting saucepans of spaghetti sauce, while blenders and mixers vomited various viscous liquids onto a half-dozen underlings and the dishwasher spat annoyed suds into the air.

The next clip showed the gym – with Ronon, Sheppard and Teyla acting like paranoid freaks.   It was impossible to miss their wide-eyed strangeness, and in the clip, Ronon took off in a sprint while an agitated Sheppard shifted about and pulled on Chaplin’s robe. The clip showed Teyla huddled behind Nguyen, practically glued to the tall scientist.  The Athosian looked away and drew her own robe closer.   

Next, the image switched to the chair room, where Sheppard leaped at Zelenka, causing a chain reaction and a pig pile of Marines.  

With a grimace, Sheppard grumbled, “Yeah?  So?”

“Moving on,” McKay stated, and the next scene was the infirmary, focusing on Beckett getting zapped by one of his doo-dads, drawing back and reaching for it again only to get a repeat zap.

Ronon snorted a chuckle.

“Next one…” Beckett grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah,” McKay responded.  “Here’s the latest one.  Fresh from the surveillance system.”

They all sat forward, watching the activity that had unfolded only moments before – filmed from above; Zelenka shouted and started to fall; McKay made his long-shot grab, and almost followed the Czech into the pit beneath them.  Then both of them were left to dangle with nothing but a hobbit to anchor them.

Elizabeth drew in a breath, seeing the drop for the first time from this angle, seeing how close Rodney and Radek had come to going over.  

Rodney stopped the media player.  Freezing the video so that the scene showed a downward shot, catching Zelenka’s terrified expression.

“Hey,” Sheppard complained.  “I was watching that.”

“You can watch the whole thing later.  You can see all your heroics over and over again if you want,” McKay sniped.  “We don’t have the time right now.”

Elizabeth’s face softened slightly as she focused on the image, two men dangling over the edge, Rodney hanging onto Zelenka for all he was worth, while above him some faceless form with curly hair kept McKay from falling.   She winced as she recalled how the weight had pulled Rodney’s shoulder out of its socket.  That must have hurt like hell. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Huh?” Rodney replied, looking confused by the question.

She shook her head slightly.  “After what happened, are you okay?”  Next to her, Beckett crossed his arms over his chest and waited for the response as well.

Rodney blinked for a moment, and Weir wondered what he was thinking about.  After clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair, he muttered, “Aside from the shoulder, the eye, almost being drowned again and some serious rug burn on my wrists and ankles?”  His tone softened.  “Strange as it seems, my back hasn’t felt so good in ages.”  He reached his good hand over his shoulder and looked speculative as if testing to be sure.  “Carson, you should set up something like that in the infirmary.”

Carson muttered something under his breath in thick accent.

Elizabeth folded her hands before her, sorry that she’d asked.  “Okay, Rodney, what was that supposed to tell us?”

“You tell me.”  He poked an angry finger at the laptop’s display. “Don’t you think what you saw was funny?”

Sheppard gave him an odd look and then looked at the image again – Zelenka getting damned close to falling and breaking his neck – and taking McKay with him.  “The other incidents… yes.  This one, not so much.”

“Exactly!  Yes!  The others.  Hilarious, right?” McKay went on.  “Well, except for when we lost the majority of our food.  That was a travesty.”

With a slow exhale, Elizabeth admitted, “Yes, I have to admit.” She lifted a hand toward the screen.  “Viewed from a distance, these incidents seem relatively benign.”

“And funny,” McKay added.

Ronon shrugged.  “I don’t know about ‘funny’.”

“Irritating, uncomfortable, bewildering, aggravating,” McKay went on.  “But nothing seemed designed to truly hurt anyone—at least, not intentionally.  Sure, I fell into the flooded room.  It might have been a lovely “It’s a Wonderful Life” moment, but then Mr. ‘Never Look Before you Leap’ landed on my head.”

“Hey,” Sheppard snapped.

“Elizabeth wasn’t expecting the door.  That’s why she ran into it.  Dr. Chaplin wouldn’t have nearly been electrocuted in the mess hall kitchen if she hadn’t pulled the microwaves off the wall.  And we lost the food, but we have enough MREs and canned goods to eke by if we can drum up a few fresh things from our trading partners, right?  And who would have suspected that a wigged out Sheppard would head right for the chair and attack anything that moved?”

“Wigged out?” Sheppard echoed.

“Stoned, tanked, pickled.”  McKay responded, waving his good hand at him.  “Snookered, three sheets to the wind, wrecked.” 

“I think I take offense,” Sheppard grumbled.

“Ronon and Teyla came to no harm in that one, right?  Night on the pier?  That’s pretty normal for someone like you when you’re hammered.  Right, Ronon?”

Dex grunted.

“And Teyla,” he moved the hand toward Miss Emmagan and a nonplussed look came over him.  “You, I have no idea why you’d act like that when you’re trashed.  I mean, who would have thought you’d crawl all over Larry?  But, you know, that’s fine.  We’ve had regular checkups and we’re all adults, right?”

Teyla glanced toward the door where Dr. Nguyen had just exited, and then slowly looked away, her face a deep red color.  Her voice was unusually low as she stated, “I was not myself.”  She snuffled into a tissue.

“Fine, fine, whatever,” McKay went on.  “And Beckett?  Shocking, but suffered no permanent effect.” He turned toward the good doctor. “Anyone with any sense whatsoever would have stopped touching the damn things after the first or second zap, right?”

Carson clenched and unclenched a hand speculatively, but didn’t say anything.

“Even this,” McKay fluttered his good hand towards the screen.  “Zelenka triggered the doors himself while he was standing on top of them, not having seen that the virus had, in essence, turned the room upside down.  If he hadn’t been standing there…”

“He would have just been made to look like a fool,” Heightmeyer supplied quietly.  

Rodney nodded at her. "And who knew that Teyla would randomly start poking buttons in the transporter when they were going haywire? I mean, what are the chances of hitting one of the transporters that was in a flooded part of the city."

Teyla grumbled and narrowed her eyes at him.

“So, up until this point,” McKay paused – dramatically, “It’s all been fun and games.  But there’s also always been an aim to this mayhem, a purpose.”

“Humiliation,” Heightmeyer piped in with an air of authority.  “The incidents you described were meant to humiliate.” 

Sheppard grimaced, annoyed as hell.  “So, we have someone who wants to make us look like idiots?”  He glanced toward McKay’s laptop, seeing the frozen image of Zelenka’s terror-filled face.  “And it’s all been filmed.”

McKay snapped his finger and pointed at Sheppard.  “Exactly!  And not just what you’d expect from a surveillance film.  It’s as if the camera is always perfectly set up to capture exactly what is wanted.” 

“So, someone is deliberately creating these incidents,” Sheppard surmised, “just so he can have a few laughs?”

“Yes,” McKay responded.  “I started Nguyen and Dutch researching the surveillance systems this morning, and they’ve definitely been tampered with.  They think they’ve found even more incidents—but no one alerted me to the earlier ones because they had been so small.  I think they might have been trial runs.   The event in the jumper bay washroom was the first ‘big’ event, so to speak.”

Sheppard leaned forward on the table, and with a little grin, asked, “Was there one showing when Major Lorne was run over by a tool cart in the jumper bay?”

McKay mumbled, “Haven’t been able to dig that one up yet.”  And he smiled slightly.  “But we’re still looking.  It could be unrelated.  You know, an accident.  How is the major, by the way?”  McKay asked, turning to Beckett.

The doctor blew out a breath.  “Unfortunately, after he came around following his most recent mishap…”  Beckett paused to run a hand over his bruised head, “…he had a bit of a reaction to a beverage.”  

“A beverage?” Sheppard echoed him.

Beckett shrugged and looked unhappy.  “We had no knowledge that he was allergic to prunes.  He’s going to be down and out for a while yet, poor lad.”

Elizabeth frowned, realizing that the conversation was once again getting away from them.  “But opening the floor of the jumper bay isn’t in the same league as the other incidents,” she cut in.  “People could have died.  Radek was seriously injured.  And it’s a miracle that no one was seriously hurt with the transporter malfunctions.”

“The incidents are getting more dangerous because whoever is doing this is escalating their attacks,” Heightmeyer said, her eyes looking up at the video screen.  “The intensity level is rising.”

McKay had been about to say something to Elizabeth, but, instead, he turned an approving eye to Heightmeyer.  “Yeah.”  She gave a nod, showing she was on the same page as him.

“You called them ‘attacks,’” Sheppard repeated.  “So it is a saboteur.”

“No,” Kate spoke before Rodney did, shaking her head. “Dr. McKay is correct.  This is not a saboteur.  It’s a hacker.”

“Yes,” Rodney agreed, snapping his finger and pointing at Kate, “Exactly.”

“Um, Exc--CHOO!”  The loud sneeze filled the room, turning all eyes to Teyla.  She sniffled, and looked up.  "Sorry.”  She wiped her nose and tried again. “Can you tell me," her brow furrowed, "what a 'hacker' is?  I do not know that term."

“Me either,” Ronon said. 

"Ah," Rodney responded, his lip curling a little, "a hacker is someone who gets off on breaking into computer systems and taking them over." He shook his head. "It's juvenile."

"It's more than that," Kate said. “It’s about power.  The hacker wants to prove his or her superiority by taking command of what others have created.  They do not wish to destroy, as a saboteur might, but to control."

"And that's what this person is doing?" Teyla asked, wiping her nose on the wad of tissues in her hand and looking at Kate.  "Trying to show their superiority?" 

The psychiatrist nodded.  "Precisely.  That is the reason for the surveillance feed, for the humiliation.”  She looked at Elizabeth. “You," she looked around the rest of the room, "All of you, were the intended victims.  This person wanted to control the systems in order to make you all look like fools.  Particularly," she looked to Rodney, "You, Dr. McKay.  And probably Dr. Zelenka."

McKay's face pinched slightly, but he didn't respond openly.  He didn't need to.

“Tell me,” Kate said then, still looking at Rodney. “How good are the hacks?”

“Oh, um,” McKay twisted his lips.  “Well, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit this hacker is clever.  Very clever.  Some of the hacks are…”  a glow of a smile crossed the scientists face, as if he were filled with admiration, “… really quite intricate and show a remarkable understanding of the systems, tremendous aptitude.  Of course, there hasn’t been anything that I couldn’t figure them out and fix relatively quickly.”

Heightmeyer frowned.  “Yes, clearly.  Which is making it worse,” she stated.

Rodney’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?  I’m making it worse, because I fix things when someone throws a monkey wrench in the works?” McKay frowned.   “What am I supposed to do?   Leave people locked in their rooms?” He waved at Elizabeth. “Or just leave the floor to the jumper bay wide open?  People could have died in some of these scenarios.”

“The hacker hacks, and feels quite clever.  The work is extraordinary,” Heightmeyer went on, steepling her hands in front of herself.  “And then you come in and undo everything.”

“Hang on,” Sheppard said, sticking a finger in the air, then wagging it at McKay. “Not everything.  He didn’t fix the wash.”

“Yes, I did,” Rodney defended, crossing his arms. “I shut it down.”

Sheppard’s brow furrowed, “What are you talking about?  The floor opened up!”

“Because I’d ended the cycle.  It was supposed to go on for an hour, and the water was supposed to flood the room.”  Rodney’s brow was equally furrowed, glaring back at the colonel.

“Oh,” Sheppard looked down.

“He opened the door to my office,” Elizabeth nodded, obviously thinking Kate’s statement through, “in, what, five minutes?”  At Rodney’s nod, she continued, “And shut down the power to the mess hall kitchens in about the same.  And once you knew about the water poisoning problem…”  She trailed off, her eyebrows raised.

“That took longer, because that system is more complicated,” Rodney admitted. “Maybe ten or fifteen minutes.”

“What about the power to the Subcity, and what happened in the jumper bay?” Sheppard asked.

“Oh, that’s unfair,” Rodney huffed. “I was hanging upside down!”

“Actually,” Elizabeth noted, “if you count the time you worked on it in the control room, and the time you spent on it in the jumper bay…”  Her eyes narrowed.  “I don’t think you were on it for more than twenty minutes total before it was fixed.”  McKay gave a small shrug, and winced as it obviously hurt his shoulder.

“So, all in all, all of your fixes have been very fast,” Kate said. “It probably took the hacker weeks to set up each event, and you undo it in minutes.”  Her brow furrowed, looking past Rodney to the screen showing the jumper bay. “And I would think that would be very frustrating.”

“Frustrating?”  McKay cried, his voice going high.  “Frustrating for who?  I don’t see him dangling from a height!”

“Imagine,” Heightmeyer said, leaning forward in her seat and speaking with a quiet intensity, “That you were trying to accomplish some task, yet were thwarted at every turn.  His ‘hacks’ are quite exceptional, wouldn’t you say?” the psychologist persisted.

“Exceptional?  Well, I don’t know about that,” McKay told her.  “I mean, there’s exceptional… and then there’s…” he stopped, one hand pressed to his chest. 

A slight twitch of her lips showed Kate holding back a smile, but she was frowning again when she continued. “Regardless,” she pressed, “regaining control of the systems as quickly as you did has clearly fueled this person's need to prove himself in bigger ways.  Hence his attacking more complicated systems.  He has moved from the security systems—the doors, to the power grid, to the water system, to the transporters, to—“

“Wait.” Ronon cut him off with a sharp question, “Do you hear that?”

Everyone paused, listening.  The only sound was the continued rush of air.  Weir frowned, wondering what Dex had heard.  McKay looked particularly perturbed at the interruption.  And then, Weir realized what had happened.  The sound of the air had changed.  Warm air was no longer flowing over her shoulder – the breeze seemed to have reversed direction.

It seemed almost as if the air was rushing from the room instead of into it.

Sheppard was suddenly on his feet.  “What the hell?” he shouted, holding a hand to the vent.  “McKay!  We’re losing air!”

With a grumble and groan, the scientist hobbled to his feet.  “Just open the doors.  I’ll get this fixed,” he declared.

Kate jumped to her feet and waved her hand over the sensor.  The doors remained shut.  She tried again without luck.  “It’s not opening,” she said.

“What do you mean?” McKay asked angrily, but then his expression grew grim as he watched her try the doors again.  “We’re screwed,” he muttered.   He moved toward a control panel and had his laptop wired in almost immediately.

Ronon moved in beside Heightmeyer, and tried the sensor, too, getting the same result.  He responded by drawing back and ramming a shoulder into a crack between the doors.  The levering wall rattled, but didn’t move.

“Is any oxygen coming in through the doors?” McKay squeaked as he tapped into the system. 

Ronon held his hand in front of one of the long cracks that separated the doors.  “Doesn’t seem like it.”

Sheppard put a hand to another vent.  “It’s all rushing out, McKay,” he stated sharply.  “Goddamn it!  Get those doors open, McKay!”

“Working on it!  Working on it!” McKay declared.  “This sucks.  Oh God, this sucks… literally sucks.”

“We have to stop the oxygen from leaving.  Block the vents!” Sheppard ordered.

The room was full of activity – Ronon went back to slamming his shoulder into the doors, trying to tip them open.  McKay typed away as if their lives depended on it.  Beckett called into his radio, calling for medical, mechanics, the control room, anyone who would listen.     

Sheppard, Teyla and Weir wheezed and stumbled as they shoved everything they could against the visible vents – letting the suction work for them as robes, towels, a tissue box, a medical bag were all shoved into place. 

“It’s working!” Elizabeth declared, jamming her sweatshirt over another vent – it vacuumed into place.

“Thank God,” Heightmeyer cried as she stood near the door sensor, still trying to get it to function with a frantic waving of hands.

Weir smiled slightly at their success as she gasped.  Her lungs hurt and her head started to buzz as they moved quickly, discovering any other hole where the air might escape.  Bending down to check for another opening, she almost fell over, and was only able to save herself by grasping hold of the table at the last minute.

“This is not good,” McKay muttered from where he leaned into a corner.  “This is SO not good!”

“We did it …” Sheppard panted out as he shoved McKay’s worthless sling in front of the life-sucking vent.  “Did it.  We’re going to be… we’re going to be… fine.” 

And they allowed themselves a little congratulatory smile.  But the damage was already done.  The removal of air might have been stopped, but they were seven people in a small, sealed room that had been mostly emptied of oxygen.

“So screwed,” McKay whispered as he huffed and typed.

Elizabeth glanced at Kate, who was looking even paler than usual.  “I guess we can add the air systems to the hacker’s list,” she said quietly.  Rodney glanced up, his blue eyes looking stark and hopeless, then his jaw set furiously and he went back to typing.

Sheppard’s hands were on his knees.  His mouth opened as he fought to breathe.  Teyla wavered, leaning against the wall to remain standing.  Beckett looked lost, as if it ate at his very soul that he could do nothing for any of them.

Heightmeyer, near the door, hadn’t moved.  She just watched Ronon, as the big man kept pummeling himself against the doors – trying over and over again to move them. 

Weir’s head pounded.  “Rodney,” she hissed.  “Can you…?”

Rodney shook his head once as if to say “don’t bother me.”  His gaze never left the screen as he continued his one-handed typing – obviously not giving up the fight. 

Outside, they could hear a clatter and clamor.  Someone, some people, were battering from the outside.  She could only make out muffled shouts, voices calling to them, trying to assure them.  People buzzed over the radio, asking for status, trying to offer advice – all of it worthless.

“Yes! I tried that already,” McKay snapped to what sounded like the British scientist, Dr. Chaplin’s suggestion. 

Weir leaned on the table, feeling dizzier by the moment.

Teyla tottered, and tried to catch herself on the table.  Her arms clattered loudly on the surface as she slipped.  Beckett lunged, catching her, but ended up going down with her.  They gaped like fish.

Sheppard, made a step toward them, and collapsed, straining to breathe.

Ronon slammed himself into the door one more time and crumpled, sliding down the door to form a little pool of Dex at the sill.

Elizabeth moved, her whole world going fuzzy as she knelt beside Ronon, fighting to keep from collapsing on top of him.  The big Satedan’s chest jerked as he continued to fight.

She panted, desperate for air.  Heightmeyer was suddenly beside her, and without a word, they rolled Ronon, to keep him clear of the door, and outside someone continued to pound, to pry, to attempt to pulverize the doors.

The two women looked across at each other.  Weir could see the doctor’s lips turning blue and her whole body was wracked with the effort of trying to breath what little oxygen was left.

Weir didn’t want to die today – not like this.

And McKay, leaning into the corner of the room, kept typing.  His head bowed against the wall.

Then suddenly, he stopped.  The absence of the tapping sound brought Weir of out a stupor.  “Rodney?” she called with a gasp.

He whispered hoarsely,  “I… I think… I think I have it…Tried to block me, but I was faster.  But it just might be a bit…”

“Do it!” Weir ordered, shocked at how hard it was to speak.

Rodney nodded, hit one more key and the panel literally blew apart in a tremendous KABLAM and an explosion of white.

Blinded momentarily, Weir turned away, shielding her face, and missed seeing the doors as they spun open.

Suddenly her gasps were rewarded as fresh air flooded the room.  She opened her eyes to find the wall of doors open, and the room outside was crowded with people.  She watched, on hands and knees, panting like a dog as they stormed in, urgently trying to get everyone out.

McKay wobbled, blinking rapidly, his eyes still focused on the laptop in his hands.  It smoked.  And after a despairing moment, he dropped the fried machine and stumbled out – to come to a dead stop just outside the room.

One of the crew had grasped hold of Elizabeth’s arm, and she let him help her to her feet.  She stumbled into the hallway, taking in great draughts of air, and stopped as well, her gaze falling instantly on the sight that had arrested Rodney.

Just on the other side of the wall, opposite the panel where McKay had been working, another control panel arced and snapped.  On the floor, flat on her back and smoldering, lay the body of Dr. Barbara Chaplin.  A technician was beside her, cradling her head.  Her long braids seemed to smoke as he smoothed them.  He looked up at Rodney…and shook his head.

Chaplin was dead.

Elizabeth gaped and tried to move toward her as the medical team burst into the room.

Chapter Text

Damn it. Damn it!

He leaned in close to his monitor and watched the security feed as the medical team somberly zipped Dr. Chaplin into a plain black body bag. He couldn’t help the thought that echoed through his mind.

McKay did this. McKay killed her.

His gaze settled on the subject of his hate. Mr. “I’m the smartest in two galaxies” was looking downright horrid. Bruised and battered, panting and pale, McKay sat and leaned heavily against the balcony rail as a nurse monitored his vitals. His shadowed eyes followed the progress of the body bag, while his shoulders slumped with obvious guilt.

Good, he thought, good. McKay should feel guilty. If not for him, Chaplin would be alive. Barbara didn’t deserve to die today. He’d liked her. She was a good person—she shouldn’t have died due to one of McKay’s mistakes.

Damn it. If it wasn’t for that rat bastard with his snappy fingers and bossy commands and ability to think so goddamned fast, things never would have gotten this serious. No, Barbara’s death was McKay’s responsibility. If the so-called chief scientist hadn’t blown apart the panel in his haste, the doors would have opened on their own – after everyone was soundly unconscious within.

He was in control, not McKay, and would have sent the ‘open’ command – eventually.

Most would have been brought back, right? There had been a medical team right outside the door.

Besides, if people had died inside that room, then it was their own damn fault. Beckett picked the wrong people who were incapable of treating their patients – or maybe those in the room were just too weak and couldn’t take a little oxygen deprivation.

They’d all be suffering from a bitch of a headache for the rest of the day. That fact alone made him smirk coldly.

Still…no one was supposed to die, but if someone did get killed due to McKay’s ineptitude, it wasn’t his fault.

It was McKay’s, and the Canadian needed to be taught a lesson.

The observer curled his fingers away from the keyboard and leaned back in his chair as he continued to take in the scene. He gave a dark smile as the image on the screen showed Beckett holding his aching head. Weir and Heightmeyer seemed to have suffered somewhat less than the others, and were standing unsteadily. Ronon and Teyla, obviously still suffering from their previous encounter with genius, hunched together along a console, looking absolutely miserable. Sheppard stood to one side, watching McKay, a hand pressed to his forehead. Yes, they all looked as if they suffered.

They deserved everything they received. And they deserved much worse.

The people in the room watched as Barbara was lifted to a gurney, and the watcher watched it all.

He’d come so close — so very close. But even in his defeat, he’d won a victory. Yes, the demoralization on display was enough to sate him for the time being.

He felt his shoulders shake with a combination of restrained laughter and genuine fear. Never before had he felt anything quite like this. He was elated and hyper and terrified and nauseated all at the same time. How could so many feelings be felt at the same time? He didn’t understand it. He liked it and hated it. He wanted more and wanted it all to stop. He wanted to run away and hide and shout to everyone that he had made this happen!

When he’d started, all he’d wanted to do was hack into a few of Atlantis’ systems — just to show he could, and to screw with the great McKay and all those who went to him to fix everything around here. It wasn’t like compromising the different systems was that hard, not anymore at least, not now that he’d perfected his viral code and could modify it to come back whenever anyone tried to delete it. But, after the first few successes…he didn’t just want the laugh anymore.

Now, the challenge, the risk and the reward were almost as necessary as breathing.

Now…now he wanted to win.

It was like an addiction. When something was perfect, revered even, like Atlantis, there was something fantastically cathartic about poking holes in it, messing with that perfection, bringing it down and taking it over and mocking its creators for their hubris.

And when someone lorded over that perfection…that person, those people (his eyes followed the ‘command staff’ as they congealed together, whispering to each other)…they needed to be taken down.

When he was a kid, it had been diagnosed as stereotypical teenage rebellion. Instead of shoplifting, or spray-painting his name over buildings, he did his damage with a computer.

He was good at it.

He had hacked every major system he could get into. Of course, back then, internet security wasn't as good as it was now. Still, even as they grew harder to find, there were always holes to exploit, redundant systems that could act as backdoors, glitches in the masses of coding that created a gateway for people like him.

And he was good. Very good. He kept pushing the envelope, trying harder, getting further. He even managed to hack the FBI a few times, and that had been amazing. He’d felt like a god.

But he had finally been caught, at age seventeen, when he'd attempted to hack into the IMF. There had been a whirlwind of activity, with everyone shouting his name, and struggling to get their hands on him. It was the first time his parents ever seemed to take note of him. He remembered hearing his mother say, “My baby… my baby,” as he was led away in cuffs.

But he wasn’t a baby anymore, and the CIA had made him an offer, so he said goodbye to everything he had known, and went with the men in suits.

The CIA trained him to use his skills for them.

He never went to college, never found a girlfriend, never really had a life outside of the computers he worked on. The only thrill he achieved, his only reason to live, was the rush he felt when he completed a successful hack.

The CIA loaned him out to the SGC during the height of the war with Anubis, and he'd worked on cracking Go'auld systems, hacking into spaceships and pirated Ancient equipment. Once in, nothing could stop him. He was credited with taking down one ship all by himself. A virus, perfectly placed, and the ship vented its entire atmosphere—along with every living thing on board.

He'd hidden his unmitigated glee. So much destruction had been caused by his fingers. He’d feigned humility as people solemnly clapped his back in thanks. Apparently, loss of life, no matter whose life, was something to be sorrowful about. He'd learned to pretend to believe in that.

In reality, he knew that there were those that deserved to live — and those that needed to die. Chaplin was one of those that should have lived, she’d been his friend, but even as he watched her gurney shunted out of the room on the surveillance system, he realized, deep down, that he didn’t even care about her.

Most of humanity annoyed the hell out of him and the world was too full of people.

When the chance to go to Atlantis, to another world, was offered to him, he jumped at the chance. After all—what greater challenge was there than to hack the most technologically advanced city ever created?

But, as it turned out, there were so many distractions, so much to do, he didn’t immediately get that itch to ruin what he was working on, to infect the Ancient computers the same way he'd so destructively infected systems back home. They were just too far beyond his understanding, and it was all he could do to carve out even one corner of the database that he could call his "own." You can't hack what you don't comprehend. He was effectively neutered, until such time as he could make sense of what he'd immersed himself in.

Plus, there was that constant threat of being eaten by the Wraith thing. That was pretty distracting.

The worst part, though, the thing that was the most distracting and disheartening, was the horrible feeling that, possibly...

Probably...

Almost definitely...

Rodney McKay might be smarter than him.

It was the when the Trust planted the seeds to turn the ZPM into a bomb that he saw just how good the chief scientist was. He'd stayed behind with the last of the personnel, trying to help McKay save the city, and, at one point, he'd looked up to see McKay type on the two computers on his station, hit a series of keys on the Ancient console, roll his chair to another station and type into another laptop, then roll over to the DHD and do it again with two more laptops.

McKay was running five computers and three Ancient consoles as effectively as if he'd been eight different people.

That sort of speed, memory retention and efficacy was awesome, in the truest sense of the word. Most people, even genius level people, couldn’t maintain that many separate levels of coding in their head at the same time—it wasn't human.

Except, apparently, it was. Because McKay was human.

But, as it turned out, he also wasn't God. Despite the superhuman level of McKay's work, the city still would have exploded. Sure, McKay's work, putting up as many dams as possible to forestall the ZPM overload, had given Sheppard and Weir the time to find the codes, but McKay hadn't, in the end, been the one to prevent it on his own. It meant he was fallible.

It meant he was hackable.

So, he had really learned two things that day. One, that McKay was better than him. And two, that McKay could be beaten.

And he resolved that night, lying alone in his bed while parties celebrating yet another near miss rang through the halls outside his door, that he would do what the Genii, the Wraith, the Asurans, the Trust, and the Go'auld could not. Because he was better than all of them.

He would take control of Atlantis, and beat McKay.

His plan though, it kept changing. Like his desire to hack bigger and more complex systems, Atlantis was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of. Each time McKay found his code or rewrote and righted the system he’d so carefully screwed with in the last few weeks, it’d both thrilled and enraged him.

He’d laughed hysterically at all the accidents and humiliations he’d so carefully orchestrated, but McKay and his minions had charged in and fixed every single one of them, forcing him to up the stakes each time.

And he knew they were getting more dangerous.

And it just made it even more incredible.

It was mere coincidence that Zelenka had been standing on the Jumper Bay floor when it’d started to open, but when he’d seen the look of sheer terror in Radek’s eyes as he fell— it was a whole new feeling of power and fear.

He shivered.

But now he had a problem. McKay, Weir and the others knew there was a hacker. Hell, McKay had probably known for a while, but, in his egotistical mind, the man hadn’t been able to fathom the idea that it could be one of his own doing it. It had made things easier. Now it would get hard. McKay was zeroing in on his viral coding, and, this time, as McKay had worked to open the conference room doors, he had actually gone up against McKay in real time, trying to stop the chief scientist from circumventing his work. And he’d failed—McKay had opened the door. It meant his code had to be better, harder to change, more difficult to find.

McKay wouldn’t defeat him next time. He would do whatever it took. He would win this, because he was better than them. He was better than all of them. He would beat McKay.

And he’d bring down Atlantis at the same time.

He started typing.

Chapter Text

With the death of Barbara Chaplin, everything seemed to stop.

Despite the need to discuss what had happened, to figure out why and who, there was no question that every member of the senior staff was in need of an infirmary visit. The incident in the conference room, combined with all the other hurts of the last twenty-four hours, resulted in a strain on every person in that room, and they needed a moment to just sit and breathe.

And Doctor Keller wasn't about to let them out of her sight until each one had done that.

She ordered the senior staff to the infirmary, and, one by one, checked them out and ordered them to shower and change into dry clothes. She forced a proper sling on Rodney, and everyone was treated and let go to rest in their rooms for a few hours with orders to return if they felt nauseous or ill beyond their headaches. All except Ronon, who needed real sleep. Him, she kept.

Of course, once she had let them out of her sight, Doctor Keller's control over them was lost. If she actually thought that they would head to their quarters after leaving the infirmary, she had a lot to learn about the people in Atlantis.

Using a Jumper was John's idea, because Atlantis' security system could not see through a cloak, and communications could be sealed off. Having to use that level of security was depressing enough, but after the conference room had been compromised, it was their best option.

Rodney was the last to arrive, stumbling a little on the ramp as he made his way into Jumper Four, rubbing his still hurting forearm through the sling. He squinted against his headache as he nodded at the others already inside.

Sheppard was leaning against the bulkhead between the front of the ship and the rear, and he gave a curt nod back. Beckett was sitting on the bench on the right side, leaning forward with his head in his hands, while Heightmeyer sat to his left, watching everyone critically. Teyla sat on the opposite side, ramrod straight, staring at nothing, a tissue in her hand. Elizabeth, meanwhile, paced up and down the center of the Jumper, barely nodding at Rodney as he closed the hatch behind him and sat on the bench next to Teyla.

"How's Zelenka doing?" Sheppard asked.

"Same," Rodney replied, glancing at Beckett. Carson gave his friend a soft smile. It was still too early to say for sure whether the other scientist was out of the woods. At least Ronon was just sleeping comfortably. No one mentioned Doctor Chaplin.

"All right," Elizabeth said, stopping her pacing and turning to face Rodney, "how do we find this hacker?"

"First things first," Sheppard said. "We need to stop him from acting out again. Can we cut this hacker off from the major systems? Lock them down? Including the ones he hasn't attacked?"

Rodney gave a soft sigh, but nodded. "I can password lock them, allowing only a few people in."

"Who?" Elizabeth asked, staring at him.

"The department heads," Rodney replied, looking up at her. "Myself, Zelenka, Coleman, Kusanagi, Simpson and Nguyen."

"Larry Nguyen?" Kate asked.

That turned all faces to her, and Rodney frowned. "Yes, of course. He's my head of—"

"Computer engineering and integration, yes," she said, her eyes narrowing. "I know. Didn't he formally hack systems for the U.S. Government?"

Rodney's eyebrows lifted, then narrowed darkly. "What?" It came out like a snarl. "What are you implying?"

"Just," the psychiatrist tilted her head, "that he has some experience—"

"Nguyen has been here since the beginning," Rodney snapped. "He's not the hacker."

She raised a hand, "I'm just suggesting—"

"It's not Nguyen."

"Okay," she said, her tone placating. Rodney narrowed his eyes at her.

"Besides," he said, leaning back and crossing his good arm over the one in the sling, "it's not like he's the only one here with experience as a hacker."

"Really?" Carson asked, his eyebrows lifted.

"Sure, of course," Rodney looked at the physician like he was an idiot. "It's a skill, like any other. I've hacked hundreds of systems—you think the first time we went onto a Wraith ship, I was given permission to break through their door controls to steal their technology?"

"How many of your staff have this skill?" Elizabeth asked, frowning at him.

Rodney gave a half shrug, and grimaced as it obviously pulled on the still sore shoulder. He reached up to rub it as he replied, "A few dozen at least. Hell," he waved a hand at Kate, "everyone in the jumper wash room that day is a skilled hacker." He winced suddenly. "Was," he amended, obviously thinking of Chaplin, who had been a hacker for MI-5 before being recruited by the IOA, his voice dropping, "was a skilled hacker."

“Really? Huh,” Kate said, though it was more of a thought than a question. Rodney frowned at her again. She was studying the floor, so was oblivious to his gaze.

Elizabeth sighed and resumed her pacing. "Well, locking down the major systems seems to be the most obvious first step. The next is to figure out who on Rodney's staff— "

"Why does it have to be my staff?" Rodney demanded suddenly, sounding affronted. "Why not someone in the military? Or on Carson's staff? Or yours?"

Elizabeth just looked at him. "As you said, Rodney, hacking is a skill. No one outside of the science staff has that skill."

"Some of the military—"

"Not really," Sheppard grimaced. "Not on the level we're talking here. You called it exceptional before, remember?"

"Clever," Rodney amended, holding up a finger. "I called it clever. She," he pointed to Kate, "called it exceptional."

"Either way," Sheppard shrugged. "No marine's that good, and you know it."

"And certainly none of my staff could do something like this," Beckett agreed. "They wouldn't have the time, for one thing."

Rodney glared at him. "Oh, what, suddenly your staff is busier than mine?"

"No," Carson quirked a smile at the defensive tone, "but your staff could have learned how to do this at the same time as doing their actual work. I don't think mine could have learnt how to hack computer systems while they're stitching up wounds or sequencing DNA strands or cataloguing plants in the botany labs."

McKay's jaw worked a bit, but, after a moment, he huffed and looked away.

"Rodney," Kate said, leaning forward to look at him more evenly, "I know you don't like to think that it might have been someone on your staff doing this, but the evidence—"

"Yes, yes," he said, waving a hand at her, "whatever. Fine." He clicked his jaw shut, not looking at her. In fact, he wasn't looking at anyone, and the tension he now radiated was almost as high as it had been during the whole incident on Doranda. Teyla, on his right, lifted a hand as if to touch his leg in comfort, but it soon fluttered back down.

"Fine," Elizabeth echoed Rodney's tone, pursing her lips and pacing one more time. She glanced at Sheppard, who just lifted his chin, waiting for orders. She nodded at him, and once more looked at Kate. "All right. Kate, can you try to build us a more comprehensive profile of this person? I know that's not your job, but you are the most skilled in that area."

Kate gave a single nod and Rodney threw a glare at her, as if challenging her to try to once again add Nguyen to that list. The psychiatrist looked away.

"Meanwhile, Rodney, you need to put together a list of everyone with the skills and knowledge base to pull something like this off. And I mean everyone," Weir said.

He looked up at her with dark eyes, "Fine. I'll put myself at the top of the list, then."

Elizabeth's eyes pinched, but she didn't look away. "If you wish," she answered. "And please provide a copy to myself, Colonel Sheppard and Kate."

Rodney frowned, looking away again.

"Colonel," Elizabeth turned to John next, "Can you ask your men to help us put together a list of incidents? We need to find a pattern."

He nodded. "Sure. Easy enough."

"And," she lowered her voice, "you should do what you think is necessary to secure the City better, including increasing surveillance on the labs."

"The hacker doesn't have to use a lab, Elizabeth," Rodney said. "He just needs a computer and connection to the City. Watching my labs is pointless."

She sighed. "Fine," she snapped angrily. "Then, tell us what we should do to beef up security, Rodney. Or do you want to wait until the next incident occurs and someone else dies before we try to stop this idiot?"

He sucked in a tight breath, challenging her gaze with his own.

"I think, perhaps," Kate said soothingly, "we may all still be a little tense after what happened this afternoon? Maybe we should take a break?"

"No," Elizabeth and Rodney snapped at the same time.

"We need to resolve this," Elizabeth continued, pacing to the back of the Jumper. "Before anything worse happens. Our systems have been compromised, and I don't care whether you call this person a hacker, a saboteur or a murderer, because, to me, he or she is all those things." She stopped and faced the group. "I want them stopped now."

"I think we can all agree with that," Carson noted quietly.

"Colonel," Rodney said, looking across at Sheppard, "if you want to find a pattern, you won't find it in the incidents themselves. It'll be in the coding." He sighed. "This person left a signature every time they hacked in. I was beginning to piece it together in the infirmary this morning. I saved everything onto my laptop, but..." he shrugged, "obviously it got fried."

Sheppard frowned, "Wait—but didn't you give a jump drive to Nguyen and Dutch—"

"Dr. Jaap Van Steenvoort," Kate corrected. Not surprising that she was good with names. Sheppard didn't even glance at her.

"—yeah, Van what's-his-name, for some reason? Before you kicked them out of the room?"

"That? That was nothing. It was the jump drive Dutch gave to me of the security feeds he'd spliced together. I was just giving it back to him."

"Oh." Sheppard frowned, "So," he lifted an eyebrow at McKay, "how many on your staff now know you're looking for a hacker?"

Rodney looked at him, and then shrugged. "Nguyen and Dutch both have an idea now, obviously. Other than that, no one."

"That won't be true for long," Sheppard said.

Rodney pursed his lips, and then glanced at Kate.

"That could be a problem," she said quietly. "Knowing that we're after him—"

"Or her," Elizabeth interjected again.

"—could put the hacker into panic mode."

"What might the hacker do?" Teyla asked.

"Well," Kate shrugged, "he'll either go to ground, or..." She looked up at the expedition leader, "Or escalate."

Elizabeth tensed in worry, and she turned to look at Rodney, then to the Colonel.

Sheppard's eyes narrowed, and he looked at Rodney again. "All of Atlantis's systems have not been hit yet," he asked, "have they?"

Rodney stared at him a moment before answering. “No.”

“What are you saying?” Elizabeth asked, looking at Sheppard.

"The defense systems," Sheppard replied. "The hacker hasn’t tried to compromise the shield, the drones, or the Chair…”

“Or the Stargate," Teyla said, looking up. “He hasn’t hacked the Stargate.”

Rodney glanced at her but nodded. “She’s right.”

Elizabeth groaned softly, lowering her head and closing her eyes. Sheppard just met Rodney's gaze a moment longer, then turned to face Elizabeth when she looked up again.

"Not going to happen, Elizabeth," he said confidently. "We'll stop him before he does any more damage."

====

The meeting ended not long after, everyone heading off to their assigned tasks. Rodney was the first one out of the Jumper, striding swiftly out of the Jumper Bay almost at a run.

The colonel frowned and, with a nod to Teyla and Carson, he jogged to catch up with him. "Hey!" he called, seeing Rodney was almost to the stairs leading down to the Control Room. Man could really move when he wanted to. "Hey, wait up!"

As if it were a hardship, Rodney slowed and turned, allowing the other man to catch up. "What?"

"I just..." Sheppard shrugged. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Rodney eyebrows lifted, and, slowly, he smiled. It was not a nice smile. "Okay? You want to know if I'm okay?"

"Yeah." Sheppard shrugged again.

Rodney nodded, his eyes sliding away towards the wall, "Well, let's see. Today, not only did I have to watch a room full of people nearly suffocate, one of my closest friends slipped from my grasp and nearly died in a fall to the gateroom floor. And, oh, I've been ordered to go on a witch hunt and finger one of my staff -- people whom I chose for this mission and brought here -- as guilty of going crazy, compromising the city and attempting murder. And, as if that wasn't enough," he looked back at John, "I killed someone today. So," he tilted his head, "How do you think I'm doing?"

John grimaced. Ouch. "So," he noted quietly, "not so good then."

"No," Rodney said, turning to head down the stairs. "Not so good." He was halfway down before Sheppard broke out of his stump.

"Wait," he called again, hopping down the steps to catch up to Rodney on the first landing.

Rodney stopped again, slumping his shoulders. "What now?"

"You, uh...you maybe want to, you know..." John hesitated, and Rodney gave him a dark look.

"If you say, 'talk about it,' I will hit you," the scientist snarled.

John gave a half smile, shaking his head. "Look, I just," he shrugged, "I wanted you to know that this isn't your fault. You know that right? That this isn't your fault?"

Rodney continued to stare at him, until, finally, he said, "Of course it is." He glanced back towards the Jumper Bay, "You saw Elizabeth in there. For a moment, I thought she was going to live up to her namesake and take my head off."

"She's just stressed."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure that's all it is."

"No, really," Sheppard shook his head, "She knows as well as I do that this isn't your fault. She's just trying to make sense of what is happening, and..." He shrugged again. "…you're an easy target."

Rodney snorted.

"Rodney." Sheppard looked at the floor. "Surely if there is one thing you have learned since coming here, is that we can't predict what people will do. Even people we thought we knew. Heightmeyer has books and books in her office on this sort of thing. Some people," he shook his head, "they can't handle this place. And, while most of those people have probably gone home, you were unlucky enough to have the one who decided to go nuts on you. What this hacker person is doing," he met Rodney's gaze, "it is not your fault."

McKay stared at him, just blinking. Finally, he gave a nod. "I'm sure Barbara Chaplin's family will be grateful to know you think that," he said finally.

And without another word, he turned and jogged down the rest of the steps, disappearing down a corridor and out of John's view.

The colonel sighed, leaning against the banister. "Damn."

====

“Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth turned in the hall at Kate’s call, her eyebrows lifting as the psychiatrist caught up to her. Kate smiled as she came up alongside, then, with a look at the leader of the expedition, gestured for Elizabeth to follow her into a side room.

“What is it?” Elizabeth asked as the door slid shut behind them, placing them in an unused lab. Kate sighed and shook her head.

“Something I didn’t want to say in front of Dr. McKay,” she replied, keeping her voice pitched low. “I think the hacker is one of the scientists who was caught in the incident at jumper wash.”

Elizabeth couldn’t hide the surprise on her face. “What? But, I thought the intention had been to humiliate Rodney and his scientists. If the hacker was one of those in the wash, then wouldn’t he or she have been humiliated as well?”

“Yes and no,” Kate said. She lifted her chin. “I think you and I can agree that the incident in the jumper wash was the first ‘real’ incident that occurred—the first that involved Dr. McKay. It was a significant event for the hacker, and he or she would still have been testing their ability to control the scene. I think,” her eyes narrowed, “that they would have wanted to be there to see their work’s fruition firsthand.”

“Why?”

“In case the security feed didn’t work exactly as they wanted,” Kate said. “And because they could control the scene more if they were there. He or she may not have intended to become fully immersed in the chaos—but even if they did, the hacker would know that people’s amusement would be focused on Dr. McKay first and foremost.” Kate arched an eyebrow, “Even you, I would guess, probably focused on him over the others.”

Elizabeth frowned slightly. Besides her own screengrab, she had heard there was a ‘bootleg’ version of the incident going around that did, in fact, focus solely on Rodney.

She wondered who had put it together.

“In any event,” Kate said, “I don’t want to rule out other possibilities, but focusing on the six or seven people in that room would probably be a good starting point.”

Elizabeth nodded slowly, her gaze turned inward now. She suddenly felt incredibly sad. Now that she could potentially put a real person’s face and name to the hacker…

She shuddered.

“Anyway,” Kate said again, drawing Elizabeth’s attention back. “I wanted you to know that. I’m going to go work on some profiles now, but…it might be a good idea to think more on the idea of not allowing Dr. Nguyen access to the systems, regardless of what Dr. McKay believes.”

Elizabeth gave a slow nod, and sighed. “Of course.” She nodded again. “Thank you, Kate. I’ll take it under advisement.”

Heightmeyer nodded back, then turned and opened the door. Walking out, she gave another sad smile to Elizabeth, then disappeared around the corner.

Elizabeth hugged her arms to her body—no matter what, this was going to get ugly.

====

The following week was quiet. Rodney came up with his list. There were about forty people on it.

And Elizabeth, with Kate and Major Lorne, interviewed every single one, including Rodney himself.

Elizabeth was able to dismiss about half of them quickly, while others were more difficult. Adding to the problem, as the week went on, Kate's profile adjusted and morphed, showing that, as skilled as the psychiatrist was, criminal profiling was not really what she had been trained to do. Major Lorne, also, was little help. While John had ostensibly made the man chief of security, he did not have the dogged tenacity of Sergeant Bates, and, after he was nearly silent for three interviews in a row, Elizabeth found herself missing the by-the-book soldier.

The interviews also meant that, of course, everyone in Atlantis knew they were looking for a hacker. The scientists began speculating amongst themselves, and sending 'anonymous' messages to Rodney, Colonel Sheppard and Elizabeth, with their theories. Hushed conversations became the norm in the labs, and seeing groups of scientists clumped together in corridors with their heads together became commonplace.

It didn't help that Barbara Chaplin had been well-liked.  The pretty, blonde British scientist had been one of the funniest members of the staff. Her memorial service was attended by the whole city, and many stood up to speak about what a good person she had been. Rodney really was the only one to blame himself for what happened to her—everyone else blamed the nameless hacker. And distrust began to grow, especially against those scientists who were generally considered outsiders.

Doctor Eugene Lewis, he of the receding hairline and quiet demeanor, was one of the most likely targets. Not particularly attractive and almost painfully shy, he had always kept generally to himself. Now, however, he found himself increasingly shunned in the labs and the mess, and he had taken to keeping almost entirely to himself in his room when not working.

He also became determined to find out who was the real hacker. Contrary to what others were saying about him, he loved Atlantis. He may not have had a big group of friends, but everyone had always been friendly to him, which was a lot different from anyplace he had ever worked on Earth. He wasn't going to lose that now.

And so it was that, a week after Barbara's death, a week where not one system had been hacked, perhaps in part because of the lockdown Doctor McKay had put in place, he found himself studying the footage of the jumper wash incident frame by frame, desperately trying to see something... anything... that told him something about who the hacker might be.

He'd already watched the footage a dozen times, if not more. He'd tracked every person in the room — McKay, Nguyen, Van Steenvoort, himself, Gos, Hardaway...and Barbara.

Actually, he hadn't been able to watch Barbara. Every time she appeared on the screen, he'd been unable to watch her, her loss too fresh. He doubted he was the only one.

This time, he resolved to watch everything, including her.

Slowly, methodically, he clicked the mouse forward. Frame by frame by frame. When the feed turned to Barbara, he took a deep breath and clicked forward. Various people crossed into the scene with her, as Barbara moved about the room. Frame by frame by...

What the hell?

Lewis sat up in his seat, his eyes widening as he focused on the frozen image in front of him. Barbara was looking to the right in the picture, so she wouldn’t have seen it.

No way.

Shaking his head, another thought popped into his mind, and he quickly opened up a new window, this one showing the event in the Jumper Bay. He frowned, ignoring the terrifying event as Zelenka fell, and Rodney dove to save him. He focused on the others in the room.

His breath caught so quickly, he nearly choked. Jesus.

No, no, he had to verify this, had to make sure he wasn't seeing things. He needed a second opinion.

He saved the frame from the jumper wash, then brought up his email. With shaking fingers, he stumbled through a message to Kelly Hardaway and attached the picture. All his message said was:

"Look at his right hand. Is that what I think it is? Is that a remote?"

And with a click, he sent the message.

Unfortunately for Dr. Lewis, Kelly Hardaway was not the only one to get the email.

Chapter Text

Dr. Lewis sat with his head in his hands, his fingers absently touching his balding head. His computer toned, indicating a new message had landed in his ‘inbox’. Eugene felt his heart race. Dr. Hardaway had replied to his note.

Eugene had no delusions about himself. He knew Kelly wouldn’t have given him a second glance had they been anywhere else but Atlantis. However, adversity, homesickness and isolation drew out even the most unlikely and peculiar friendships.

The camaraderie between Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay was case in point.

Kelly never disappointed. She was beautiful, brilliant and preferred only to deal in facts. Knowns. Occasionally Dr. McKay’s fly by the seat of the pants brilliance drove her to distracted frustration. His success at such out of the box theorems often sent her into fits of admiration and teeth grinding aggravation all at the same time.

Lewis read the email. Relief that she hadn’t dismissed his message was mingled with confusion. Kelly wanted to meet before bringing the findings to the attention of Weir, McKay and Colonel Sheppard.

Eugene could understand her hesitancy. A witch-hunt was the last thing they needed in a closed environment such as Atlantis. However, why did she want to meet in such a secluded spot? Why down in the bowels of Atlantis, to the subsections that were dry but surrounded by ocean? It seemed strange to meet in such a darkened, cold, uninhabited part of the city.

He wasted no time with questions, or superfluous details such as to ‘why’ they were meeting in such a dank and isolated place, etc. He simply agreed to meet with her. It was often just easiest to agree with Dr. Hardaway. She had her reasons and they were probably good enough for Eugene, even if he didn’t understand them, which was often the case for him when trying to deal with the opposite sex. Maybe she wanted a little private time with him.  He smiled at that thought.

He typed a response and hit the send key, then pushed away from his tablet as he shut it down and headed for the door.

====

Dr. Beckett removed his radio from his ear, replacing it with an ear bud. With his little white iPod was strapped to his arm, the play list selected, he walked briskly from his quarters. The quicker he got moving, the quicker he could separate himself from his work and the problems associated with it.

Beckett decided he’d jog down to one of the lower levels of the city. It was cooler there, a bit dark but the view of ocean life was amazing. He especially enjoyed seeing the giant shark-like creatures that slid in and out of the depths, skimming along the windows. Its large size belayed its grace. Its excessively huge mouth had rows of teeth. The jagged triangular teeth only enhanced its aggressive beauty. It apparently tracked its prey based on movement. At least that was what Beckett gleaned from studying it through the windows.

What Carson wouldn’t give to land that fish on his line! He’d send home a picture, make his older brothers jealous.

Of course, Carson was no fool. The one day he’d land the damn creature, would be the same day Rodney would actually decided to go fishing. The shark-like thing would probably eat its way up the fishing line only to take a chomp out of McKay, thus ruining Carson’s photo op and making his life a little more difficult for having to treat Rodney’s injury. It was just the way Atlantis seemed to work.

Still, Carson dreamed of landing the giant shark, of taking his photos and setting it free (something that big wouldn’t have tender meat, probably would taste ‘gamey’). A dream.

Carson slid his index finger over the plastic-coated dial of his iPod, increasing the volume and losing himself in the Dropkick Murphys.

====

Eugene leaned against the railing, watching the strange fish swim by the thick glass. The water had a greenish/blue hue with just a touch of cloudiness.

The little balcony he leaned on mimicked the one in the control tower. Behind him sat abandoned and water-damaged consoles. One story below was a vast open room, dotted with stagnant puddles, tipped furniture and rotted plants. Non-working doors hid empty rooms behind him, and a staircase did a lazy spiral up to a third-floor balcony and then the ceiling.

There were grooves and marks in the ceiling suggesting that at one time it had opened and closed, but the expedition had not had the time to investigate it further. There were no ordinances above or below them, no ZPM, no undamaged crystals, so exploration had been suspended until more critical areas were searched.

Atlantis was a phenomenal place — a thing of beauty. Heck it was larger than Manhattan. There were so many hidden treasures waiting to be discovered. There had to be. Atlantis was like treasure hunt waiting for the ‘go-ahead’.

Lewis ignored the stagnant mess below him and stared out at the large floor to ceiling windows that circled the cavernous room. The ocean surface was visible just at the level of the third story. The late afternoon sun reflected weakly off the wind roughened waves. It reminded him of the oceans at home.

That didn’t please him.

Eugene never enjoyed the beach. The sand, the people, the scanty clothes, it all seemed too exposed. He felt too vulnerable. He didn’t mind watching the ladies stride pass with their slips of fabric covering just enough to be legal, but he didn’t like the exposure. Thus, he wore his pants, often his socks and shoes and a hat. The sun was relentless in its assault on his skin, especially his head and nose. The zinc oxide lotion did wonders in protecting his Romanesque nose.

Even now he avoided the piers on Atlantis. While others sunbathed on their days off and some fished and others swam, Eugene was content to sit in the shadows of a balcony and watch the activity with his binoculars.

He did enjoy watching Dr. Hardaway sunbathe. She didn’t bother with a lot of clothing. Eugene hadn’t realized that Kelly knew he watched her until she flipped him the finger from the edge of the pier one afternoon. He had backed further into the balcony shadows, without lowering his binoculars, embarrassed and frightened that he had been caught.

His embarrassment took a whole new turn when she had then waved him down to join her. Eugene had almost hyperventilated right there on the balcony.

Lewis shook himself from his reverie with the approaching sound of footsteps. He snapped his head around and watched as Kelly strode across the abandoned two-story room.

She looked angry.

Eugene felt himself cringe within his blue shirt.

====

Beckett skipped down the steps, careful not to slip on their sharp edges and trying not to touch the slimy banister. It was degrees cooler down here. Darker, but much cooler than running outside along the piers and less crowded. He didn’t need any more unsolicited advice from the military or other running enthusiasts. Lift your legs higher, don’t lift your legs, hold your hands relaxed, drop your shoulders, stand up straighter, square your shoulders, too straight, too square….relax.

The advice was as contradictory as any medical journal or textbook. Everyone had an opinion, provided proven research, and helpful hints. It was all done with the best intentions to improve his plodding pace and heavy step, but in the end, if he had been truly meant to run, he would have been born a streamlined cheetah, and not a stocky Scot.

With the intent to avoid the helpful, yet tiresome advice of running critics, he alternated his route to the more unused sections of the city. And here, hopefully away from prying eyes, and unseen hacker’s surveillance cameras, he could slog out a few miles, lose the headache, fatigue himself enough to sleep and face the morning refreshed.

He jumped down the last two steps, gritted his teeth against the residual headache, rubbed at his back with his thumb and turned right, heading for the balcony that sat surrounded by glass walls and ocean. Sweat stuck his t-shirt to his chest and shoulders and he took some personal pride in his work out.

Maybe today he’d get to see the giant finned beastie feed, see what type of fish the shark enjoyed, and use that for bait. He grinned at his own cleverness and trotted down the hall.

====

“You said to meet you here,” Eugene stuttered. He pressed against the balcony.

“I most certainly did not,” Kelly leaned in on Lewis, enjoying her height advantage.

“Y—yes you did,” Lewis stated again. He would not be called liar — even by someone as beautiful as Dr. Hardaway.

“Why would I want to meet down here? We should be bringing this to Dr. McKay! Not sulking down here like river rats,” Kelly hissed.

Eugene paused, his brow furrowed and then his eyes widened in alarm.

Kelly stepped back. She obviously recognized his expression—it was one he normally only wore just before something exploded, something volatile fell, someone vaporized or a fire broke out. It never bode well for anyone.

“If you didn’t tell me to meet you here,” Eugene asked cautiously, fear nibbling at his toes, “why are you here?”

Hardaway straightened up. Her eyes rounded with the same realization as him. “Because you said to meet you here.”

Eugene slowly shook his head, pushing away from the railing. “No, I didn’t.”

Both whirled around at the sound of quickly approaching footsteps, and a voice calling their names.

====

Beckett frowned, surprised to find anyone down here in the bowels, especially in this room. But, sure enough, two white coated scientists were huddled together on the balcony. He recognized the taller of the two immediately, her dark brown ponytail something of a trademark. He raised a hand.

“Oh, hello, Kelly. And, ah, Eugene?” Beckett’s surprised voice clearly shocked the other two, as they both jumped. The physician slowed and paused his music.

The two scientists turned and faced the intruder only to find Dr. Beckett just a few feet from them, dressed in baggy T-shirt, shorts, running sneakers complete with iPod.

“Did someone tell you to come down here?” Lewis stammered quickly at him.

Beckett raised his eyebrows. Finding two scientists with their heads together in the abandoned part of the city was not good. Finding two scientists who were on the suspect list for being the hacker was even worse. He, being alone with the two, in an abandoned part of the city with no radio communication, probably didn’t bode well.

“Uh, no.” Beckett pulled the earbuds free and looped them over his shoulder. He stared at the two, trying to maintain a carefree, nonchalant attitude while figuring a possible escape if need be. “Are you here to admire the fish?” He was pretty sure he could outrun Eugene if need be. Dr. Hardaway, Carson wasn’t too sure about.

Lewis peered at the physician as if he had lost his mind. “The fish?”

Kelly shook her head as if to clear it of the preposterous question. “We know who the hacker is,” she said suddenly.

Beckett’s eyebrows went even higher. “What? How?”

“The surveillance footage from the jumper wash,” Lewis leaned forward. “He had a remote control. And if you add what he did in the jumper bay, it’s pretty clear.”

“Well, great,” Carson said. “That’s great news. Rodney and Elizabeth will…” He frowned suddenly, tempering his surprise with an obvious question, “Wait, if you know who it is, what are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be telling Elizabeth and Rodney upstairs?” From the corner of his eye, he caught a shadow moving against the outside of the glass. It was the monstrous shark-creature.

“We’re not sure. We think someone pretended to be us, and using email, convinced us both to meet here,” Kelly said, looking around. She was breathing quickly, and her hands were playing a staccato beat on the balcony railing.

Carson furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of Hardaway’s statement. Understanding came a few seconds later. “Oh, Crap.”

“Yes, indeed,” Kelly stated with a touch of harshness. She did not like being played a fool.

“Anyone else know you’re down here?” Carson asked. He peered down the corridor he had just come from. The deep shadows suddenly became very threatening.

“Just you,” Dr. Lewis stated.

“Crap,” Carson whispered.

“Yes,” Hardaway nodded. She also really disliked it when people repeated themselves. “And you?”

“Me? Me what?” Beckett asked with a bit of a squeak. He backed up a step.

“Anyone else know where you are?” Dr. Hardaway asked in a tone that mimicked Rodney’s.

Beckett shook his head.

Lewis ignored the other two and started tapping his radio. “Colonel Sheppard. Colonel Sheppard? Please, come in? Colonel Sheppard?” His forced air of calm was alarming. Eugene’s repeated calls for the Colonel were interrupted by a small popping sound.

All three froze, and then slowly turned to stare downward at the base of the looming giant glass walls not a few meters from them. A thin wisp of smoke coiled up from a small black device which hung from the suddenly spider-cracked glass.

“Oh no,” Kelly whispered. “He’s shattered the viewing window.”

Beckett stood, opened-mouthed, as a thin crack stretched and wiggled its way upward in a meandering fashion away from the device. The window popped and creaked. The crack grew in size and speed. The sound of failing glass punctuated its increasing speed and growth.

“There’s a force field,” Lewis whispered with hopeful confidence. “Ancient safety protocols will kick in…give it a moment.”

The sound of trickling water suddenly made itself heard.

“Oh Crap,” Beckett murmured. He stepped back from the rail, distancing himself from the breaking glass and the too slow-to-form force field.

The crack wiggled upward. Water slid down the glass.

“No force field, Lewis,” Hardaway noted with a bit of accusation.

Water puddled on the floor. The glass popped near the bottom, giving into pressure. A quarter-sized hole became a half dollar, then a fist….

“RUN!” Eugene shoved Kelly into Beckett. All three sprinted down the corridor Beckett had just come from moments earlier.

The trickle of water became a stream, then, with a massive crack, the stream morphed into a cascade. Kelly Hardaway breezed past Beckett as if he were standing still. Eugene Lewis closed the distance, muscled himself past the physician, and followed his colleague around the banister and up the stairs.

Beckett plodded behind, running for all his worth. straighten your shoulders, lift your chin, stretch your legs out… unwanted advice ran rampant through his subconscious. His sneakered toe stubbed against the lip of the first step, sending him careening, hands first into the third step. Damn it all to Hell. Screw the advice! He scrambled up the stairs, keeping his eyes on Lewis’s fleeing blue shirt. Lewis was fast. Impressively fast.

Or, Carson had to concede, he himself was extraordinarily slow.

The sound of cracking and popping glass filled the area as molecular bonds were sheared and cohesive properties were torn asunder. Other windows cracked from similarly placed devices both below and above their heads.

The trio sprinted up the stairs slipping and stumbling over the slimy steps. They scrambled for the upper levels, hoping to reach the balcony with the one working door just above sea level. Lewis was screaming for Colonel Sheppard over his radio, demanding help. Hardaway, having more faith in her boss to save the day, hollered for Dr. McKay, screaming at him to fix the force field.

Beckett brought up the rear, and kept repeating, ‘crap, crap, crap.’ He didn’t care who they called for, just as long as it was somebody with a life vest or two.

The sudden roar of rushing water filled the area. The walls and floors shook with the sudden influx of millions of gallons of seawater.

Beckett swung around and stared at the colossal wave of water coming straight for them. With a strange sense of detachment, he thought briefly at how exceptionally smooth it was, almost like sea glass, as it roared towards his face.

It was beautiful.

Eugene lost all of his professionalism and screamed. Hardaway shrieked for McKay. Shaken from his reverie, Beckett hollered for anyone who would listen.

And then the water hit.

Sucked downwards, he thought he saw the giant sea beast with its incredibly sharp teeth get spilled in through the massive rush of ocean water. Then he was kicking up. He popped out of the top and grabbed for the banister on the stairs, trying to get his feet onto the metal steps.

The water was rising impossibly fast. It vortexed around his legs, pulled his feet free of the steps, and pushed him upward. He scrambled desperately for purchase with his fingertips to no avail.

He was sucked into the swirling, turbulent rush of water.

Chapter Text

Sheppard led a team of marines down the corridors. McKay kept up. His pace had markedly improved from when they had first landed in the city so many years ago. Running for your life did that to a person.

McKay spoke to someone on the other end of the radio — Dutch, from the sounds of it. He was shouting about a failed force field. The safety protocols had failed, all of them. The room was flooding. They had people trapped.

They all heard the water rushing into the room over their radios, heard Beckett, Hardaway and Lewis crying for help and groaning when they obviously got spun into debris or scraped along walls. Everyone heard them choke and gasp when sucked under the surface.

Then calls of help from all three abruptly cut off.

Sheppard grabbed the corner of a wall and whipped himself around the bend. He jumped down stairs, skipping three and four at a time. The measured tread of following marines were interrupted by the ungainly footfalls of McKay. Teyla and Ronon both brought up the rear. Water rescue personnel were converging on the flooding section from the West Pier. Miller was already in a jumper and on his way out with a team of divers and medics.

Sheppard kicked off the last step and continued down yet another hallway. The fetid stench of stagnant water became more and more powerful.

Lives were on the line.

No one wanted to dredge for bodies.

====

Carson broke the surface, wild eyed, fighting the violent churn of water. He dragged in huge desperate gasps of breath, choking on salt water and air combined. Battling currents pulled on his clothing. His sneakers and socks were gone. He gripped tightly to an anchored piece of stairway, hoping to keep himself from being sucked under again with the turbulent currents or banged against walls. His head rung from the last impact.

He spotted Dr. Hardaway across the room, latched desperately to the dangling railing of the third balcony. Her dark hair was a sharp contrast to the greenish, foamy water that swirled around her. The sound of rushing water dimmed as the ocean quickly filled in the open dead space.

Beckett searched the area around him and found Eugene Lewis clinging desperately to a piece of twisted staircase. The scientist lay on his belly, hands gripping tightly to the outer edge of the stairs. His chest collapsed and rose with each heaving breath.

Both were alive. Thank God.

Carson felt the water still rising around him. He wasn’t up high enough. It inched steadily past his shoulders, then mid neck, his chin. He was forced to let go of his handhold.

Currents buffeted him, threatening to suck him down as a mini vortex was created and ebbed away. He panicked, clawing and struggling within the current, trying to beat it, but realizing how futile it truly was.

Something large bumped his leg. A dark fin slid away from him.

Carson froze. His breaths became truncated and short. Water lapped up over his face, submerging him for a moment. His hands lost their hold on the railing, and he broke free, spitting water and coughing. Shite!

Currents pushed him closer to the sheer walls, scraped him along them with just enough speed to keep him from gaining purchase. Crap, crap, crap! He was going to go under again!

Over his head, he heard Hardaway shouting for Eugene to grab hold of him as currents swung him near. Bless her heart!

Carson brushed past Lewis. The scientist reached out, trying desperately to grab a hold of the physician, but the turbulent currents sucked Beckett under just as Eugene’s hand would have closed over his shoulder. He struggled to the surface, smashing his head against the underside of a railing. He fumbled for it, grabbing it and holding on for dear life. Thank God.

Relentless swirls of water tore at him, jerked him about, and threatened to suck him under. He hooked an arm up over the railing and latched onto his wrist with his other hand. With that leverage, he struggled and lifted his legs, draping one bare foot over the banister and then locked it securely with his left foot.

Something scraped along his back. He whipped his head to the side and watched as the large triangular black fin slid effortlessly against the current and headed toward Kelly.

----

Sheppard slid to a stop outside the closed door to flooded section. A data port sat next to the door controls, another reminder of the multiple redundant safety protocols the Ancients utilized to keep the city safe. They had computer access to the room from out here. No fresh seawater dampened the floor. The door remained watertight.

“McKay?” Sheppard directed.

“Working on it,” Rodney snapped back. He tapped furiously at his tablet while barking at his minions over the radio. Without looking up, he pulled down the cover to the data portal and effortlessly connected his tablet to wall.

“McKay!” the colonel urged.

“Working!” Rodney bit back just as aggressively. Without looking up, he furiously typed one handed on his keyboard, while he supported the tablet on his other forearm. “Come on, come on, come on….” he whispered. His fingers flashed across the keys. His eyes darted remarkably fast, left and right as he read lines of codes. “Almost, almost….” Even one-handed, he never hit the backspace key. His eyes remained focused solely on the screen.

“Got it!” Rodney shouted, snapping his head up and staring triumphantly at Sheppard.

“You sure?” the colonel asked. He directed his teams to either side of the door. Just in case the water had reached this height and, if it came rushing out, at least it wouldn’t take them down in its immediate flush.

“Yes, yes! The force field is up. No more water coming in or going out.” McKay beamed with pride and impatience. “I’ve got firewalls up. He’s not going to get it down again!”

Sheppard hesitated.

“Do it!” McKay demanded. Those were his people in that flooded room, his minions, and a good friend. He stared at the life sign’s detector. It flashed multitudes of life. Impossible. There was sea-life in there. “Go! Go! Go!” Rodney shouted impatiently.

The colonel and the rest of his teams flattened themselves against the walls. The door slid open. The floor remained dry. As a group they rushed onto the upper balcony of the giant room….and froze.

Hardaway was screaming. It was a frightful high-pitched scream that sounded inhuman at the same time as being woefully human. Sheppard recognized the type of scream and snapped his P-90 up and ready.

Her cries gargled out and dimmed, revealing Lewis’s desperate shouting and pounding the water.

The colonel began firing his P-90 at the large black finned creature as it snapped itself left and right tearing Hardaway from her hold of the banister. Her ponytail swung wildly side-to-side. Her face had frozen in a silent scream. She disappeared beneath the suddenly darkening, red discolored water.

Lewis’s horrified screams softened and stuttered to halt.

Small waves lapped against the walls and broke against the third-floor balcony. Grotesque water spilled up onto the dry floor, staining it deep crimson.

McKay stood beside Sheppard and gaped.

Two feet below them, ocean water rippled. The bright light of a setting sun skipped across the surface. Pieces of furniture floated about, bobbing on the surface. The once cavernous room was filled with ocean water. One giant glass wall was missing. Debris floated in the water buffeted about by now gentle and diminishing currents.

The re-established force field kept the ocean at bay, but trapped their people within easy reach of a large predator.

Lewis clung to a floating staircase, his legs and feet curled up out of the water. He laid belly down, head and neck cranked up as he searched the water with wide wild eyes.

Sheppard noted him, saw that he was alive and out of the water, almost. The colonel swept the damaged room and found Beckett clinging to another railing his back curving down into the water. Beckett had remained ominously silent and completely still. Shock?

Suddenly, the railing gave, pulling from its anchor in the wall and dropping closer to the water’s surface. The physician's grip tightened on the railing, trying furtively to raise himself up out of the water.

“Shit.” Sheppard whispered. “Hold on, Carson!” he ordered.

“Fantastic advice, Colonel.” McKay bit, his fear finding a familiar outlet in anger.

Sheppard ignored McKay and radioed Miller, “Where are you, Sergeant?”

“Just coming around the west pier.”

“Well, hurry up,” McKay interrupted.

Just as he spoke, the railing gave completely and Beckett splashed into the water, with the banister still locked within his grip. He bobbed up. Panic seared his features as he floated silently, nudged about by the small waves. The black fin broke the surface and cut smoothly in the direction of the doctor.

Lewis screamed for Beckett.

Ronon fired his blaster. Red energy surged and snapped over the water’s surface, dissipating its energy before reaching either Beckett or Lewis. The fin diverted on its course and disappeared.

“Carson, help’s coming,” Teyla promised.

“Can you take the force field down?” A marine asked.

“Yes, but it won’t help,” McKay snapped.

“Why?” Sheppard asked without taking his eyes off the two men in the water.

“Would you leave?” McKay asked incredulously. Guilt flooded him. “That thing isn’t leaving even if we put up an Exit sign! It’s like bobbing for apples in there!”

Beckett merely floated belly down in the water, keeping still.

The fin re-emerged. This time it sliced the surface heading for the detached floating staircase where Lewis clung. The stricken scientist saw it coming and pushed backwards, and he fell into the water on the far side. Bobbing back up, the scientist started paddling desperately for the balcony just a few yards beyond his reach. The current pulled the other way.

“Stop! Stop, Lewis!” Rodney shouted. “Play dead! Like Carson!”

Sheppard and his marines began firing at the water.

Too terrified to listen, Eugene continued to paddle, gaining little headway against the current. His hand grabbed at the staircase again. Suddenly, the fin disappeared and a few tense seconds later the floating stairs exploded upward. Eugene was flung from his purchase and landed with an ominous splash even further from the raised balcony.

Lewis broke the surface, shaking his head. Without hesitation, he began swimming desperately in the direction of McKay.

“No! Eugene, stop!” Teyla shouted with the others.

Lewis however, saw his goal. He swam past Beckett, who floated in amongst debris and flotsam.

“Eugene, stop. Just float man,” Carson whispered.

The fin never re-appeared.

Eugene simply disappeared. A great air bubble, followed by thousands of pink colored tiny bubbles took his place. A great desperate, muffled scream surged just under the water.

The water calmed. The dis-colorization diluted itself and the sound of water lapping at Colonel Sheppard’s feet filled the area.

Beckett floated on his stomach, chin in the water, staring straight ahead at McKay and then Sheppard, afraid to move...and become the shark’s third meal of the day.

====

McKay rubbed his face. This was his fault. He’d trapped them. He just witnessed the violent demise of two of his scientists. Two more associates. Not friends. He didn’t make friends with his minions, but those two weren't so bad.

They were tolerable on a good day and even not so good days. He had never threatened to send them back to Earth. He even knew their names—Hardaway, who had come through with them all three years ago, and Lewis, who had been here since the Daedalus first showed up. They had been capable and now they were gone.

But Carson was a friend — in trouble — alive.

Rodney stared at the flooded room before him and returned Beckett’s stare. The man hadn’t even blinked. He floated in the water just meters from them, which might as well have been miles. The black fin abruptly appeared to Beckett’s left. Rodney watched as Carson’s eyes swiveled and fixed on the sudden movement.

“Don’t move, Carson!” Sheppard ordered.

Beckett remained still his eyes fixed on McKay.

The fin was nearly upon Beckett. The dark silhouette just below the surface dwarfed the doctor. It curved and bent its body effortlessly traveling though the room. Just as it reached Beckett it slapped its head to the side and then darted away.

Beckett was jerked roughly to the left. He yelped, squeezing his eyes closed, but remained still even as P-90 fire whistled through the water all around him.

“Hold your fire!” Sheppard held up his fist, commanding the others to stop. The room fell deathly silent. The smell of gun smoke mingled with the heavy stench of seawater.

Sunlight gleamed through the broken window at a shallow angle, casting shadows over the water. Beckett bobbed silently in the small swells surrounded by debris.

“Carson?” Sheppard called.

Beckett simply floated, unmoving with his eyes squeezed closed. From the balcony edge, nervous eyes examined the water. There was no telltale darkening of water. No blood.

“Doc?” Ronon shouted. Carson remained unmoving and unresponsive. Water gently buffeted him left and right while crests and swells lifted and lowered him. “Beckett!” Dex commanded sharply.

Carson opened his eyes. They glistened with moisture.

“We can throw him a line,” A marine offered.

“We move him, that thing will find him,” Rodney stated.

“We’ve got to try,” Sheppard responded.

“It has surfaced again,” Teyla stated with quiet alarm.

The giant fin slid into view to the right of Beckett and easily closed the distance. It veered sharply to the left circling to the front of the physician before disappearing under the water. It left no mark of its passing on the surface.

Carson carefully moved his arms and pulled himself through the water toward the balcony’s edge. He kicked his legs for a little extra propulsion.

“No, Carson! Stop!” McKay ordered.

The fin reappeared to the doctor’s left only to disappear immediately.

“Sir, the rope?”

“Do it.” Sheppard nodded in agreement to the marine’s idea and in rebuttal to Rodney’s previous protest.

Ronon took the rope from the marine, hefted it, gauging its weight as he took a step back. The Satedan stepped forward, tossing the rope out over the water. The white and blue rope sailed just beneath the ceiling, slowly uncoiling itself and landed with a splash beside Carson.

Beckett flinched, but slowly reached for the sinking rope.

“Carson! Here’s the deal. We’re going to tug you in, so just hold on,” Sheppard ordered.

The physician simply gathered the rope into his left hand and waited.

“McKay, what’s the life signs detector say?” Sheppard asked. He gathered a length of rope just behind Ronon. Two marines grabbed the end of the rope.

“Nothing, I can’t tell a thing. Everything reads the same.”

“We have it, sir. It just swam in front of us,” Miller stated from the submersed puddle jumper they couldn’t see.

“Okay steady, people. This is a ‘no wake zone’.” Sheppard turned his attention to Beckett. “Doc! Hold tight. We’re going to get you out of this.”

With steady hand-over-hand, the group began towing Beckett toward their balcony. They were cautious at first, steady and slow.

“It’s moving, sir,” Miller warned.

The others slackened the tension on the rope, allowing Beckett to simply drift. His body submerged a little deeper under the surface, leaving just his head and shoulders visible.

The fin broke the surface to Beckett’s right. The dark silhouette lazily made its way toward the Scot.

Carson squeezed his eyes closed.

People held their breath. The silhouette curved away toward the far broken glass wall and disappeared. The brittle silence that reigned was broken by radio communication. “It’s back down with us, sir,” Miller intoned.

The tension on the rope resumed. The steady, easy pull became quicker with each moment Beckett drew closer.

He was merely feet from the edge of the balcony when Sergeant Miller’s voice rang through their radios. “Sir, it’s heading toward you! Fast! It’s coming at you fast!”

Eyes snapped up from the line. Hand over frantic hand, people heaved on the rope, leaning forward and throwing themselves backward, putting all their strength into hauling Beckett closer. Beckett cut through the water, his arms outstretched. As he drew closer to the edge, his wake became wider, created bigger waves.

“Sir!” Miller shouted a warning.

Carson’s eyes widened. He desperately began kicking with his legs as the ledge came within reach. Ronon and Sheppard let go of the rope and together they dove forward reaching down into the water and latching onto Carson’s shoulders, back and shorts. They hauled him upward, throwing themselves back against the flooring, scattering marines and Teyla. Beckett curled his legs up, twisting onto his side as he rolled onto Dex and Sheppard’s outstretched legs.

The shark shot up out of the water running parallel to the balcony flooring, mouth open and teeth grating along the lip of the balcony. It slid its teeth along Beckett’s lower leg, slicing skin. He screamed, pulling his legs up and away from the razor sharp teeth, blood streaming in their wake.

People shouted and swore, scrambling back from the ledge, dragging Carson further from the water. The group froze, chests heaving in a tangled mass on the puddled balcony floor. Heavy breaths, bordering on panic mingled with relief, filled the air.

“Sir? You get him, sir?” Miller asked. “Sir? Did you get Dr. Beckett, sir?”

“Yeah, Yeah, we got him. We got him.” Sheppard rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself free. He climbed wearily to his feet. His clothes clung to him in a spotty manner, splotched with ocean water and blood. He stared at the blood on his jacket and down at Beckett, who was still partially hidden under bodies.

Ronon reached down in amongst the group, grabbed Beckett by the front of his soaked t-shirt and hefted him upright, and seated him against the wall.

“Doc, you want to tell me just what the hell happened down here?” Sheppard squatted next to the physician’s outstretched leg, eying the neat fresh gash that ran from just above his ankle to his knee. Blood glistened on the freshened edges of torn skin. Miraculously, it was only a flesh wound, but it had to hurt like a son of a bitch.

Sheppard shucked out of his jacket and pressed it over the wound. Carson didn’t react as he slipped to the side only to be grabbed by Rodney and pushed upright.

“Eugene and Kelly figured out who the hacker is,” Beckett whispered. He rubbed shaking hands over his face. His white ear buds dangled from his iPod and strung down into the puddle forming on the floor around him.

McKay and Sheppard stared at one another and then Beckett, who still sat with his face buried in his pruned hands.

McKay nudged Beckett’s shoulder impatiently. “Who?”

Carson looked up at the two men. “I don’t know. They said something about the surveillance footage of the jumper wash, and the jumper bay. He…the hacker is a man…he was there in both places.” He blinked slowly.

Both Sheppard and McKay hissed at the unequal pupils. Not good. Not good at all.

Something just over their shoulders caught Carson’s eye. It seemed so out of place in such an old abandoned part of the city. He stared over their shoulders at the ceiling. It was the shiny newness of it that caught his attention. He gently cocked his head to the side and continued to stare at the tiny black surveillance camera tucked up in a dry corner of the room.

Sheppard, McKay and the others followed Beckett’s uneven stare. The camera moved on its tiny bearings and settled in on the group. The lens telescoped out just a little, the tiny gears humming just above a whisper.

Beckett finally whispered, “Why would he do such a thing?” With that, Carson melted to the side into a puddle of unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

Rodney moved quickly through the corridors, Sheppard hurrying to catch up.

“Rodney?” the colonel called. “Hold up.”

“Busy!” McKay barked, not bothering to turn or to slow. Tension was evident in the stiffness of his broad back as he stormed. “Things to do!”

“He’s going to be okay,” Sheppard declared, adding a little extra speed to come alongside the quickly moving scientist. “Carson’s in good hands. He was bleeding like a son of a bitch, but the wound wasn’t as bad as it…”

McKay glared at him, cataloging the blood that soiled the Colonel’s clothing. “Of course he’s in good hands,” he spat out. “Carson personally chose every person on his staff. How could they not be good people?” He kept moving.

Sheppard kept up with him. “Rodney…”

“I don’t have time to chitchat, colonel,” McKay went on. “I need to find out what happened in that room.” He grimaced. “Okay, I know what happened… we have an insane hacker on the loose. I need to know HOW it was done. I have to check that recording of the jumper wash and the jumper bay and see what the hell Hardaway and…”

McKay came to a sudden stop, and Sheppard was several paces beyond him before he could throw on the brakes and turn.

Rodney’s expression was taut, his face red, and his eyes bleak. “Lewis… Eugene Lewis,” McKay repeated. “He was brilliant. I know he didn’t look like much, but he had this sharp mind, an ability to put two-and-two together and come up with amazing things. Kept to himself, but he was thoughtful, too. He’d bring cookies to meetings. He didn’t have to do that, but he took the time to go to the mess and bring up a tray of cookies. Always made sure he had some peanut butter ones because Hardway liked those best. And oatmeal chocolate chips...” He paused and his eyes took on a far-away look. 

McKay continued, “I thought he was fitting in pretty well. He seemed… happy at least. And Hardaway, she’s been here since the start. It’s like she’s part of a special club, one of the survivors. She was always on prepared and usually on time.” He smiled slightly, and then made an abrupt movement, turning back toward the flooded room. “I can’t…” he started, and then paused, clenching and unclenching his hands at his side. “I can’t stop it…” he ground out.

Sheppard watched Rodney in profile. The Canadian’s expression was both harsh and terribly sad at the same time. “You stop it every time,” John said soundly.

“Too damn late!” McKay told him. “Always too damn late! I can’t do anything until he strikes. I’m never fast enough. My God, I’ve lost three people! We’ve lost almost five! Zelenka could have split his head open. Beckett could have been eaten whole! I trapped the damn shark in there with them! I had to watch as Eugene and Kelly…and almost Carson…because I…”

“You were trying to save them,” Sheppard reminded.

McKay made an irritated gesture. “I don’t have time for this,” he spouted and tried to return to his quick pace.

Sheppard stalled him a moment, laying a hand on his arm. “You know it’s not your fault,” he stated bluntly. “You’re smart enough to see that, right?”

McKay sneered at the statement. “Of course it’s my fault! He keeps escalating because I keep ‘fixing’ things.”

“And by fixing his hacks, you’re saving others,” Sheppard reminded.

McKay was unmoved. “It’s not really ‘fixing’ if Barbara, Eugene and Kelly are dead, and Radek and Carson are in the infirmary! I trapped the shark in the room with them! I electrocuted Chaplin! If I had ‘fixed’ things, no one would have died!”

McKay attempted to continue on his way, but Sheppard held tightly. “You saved others. You know that. Everyone in that conference room would have died, you included. You saved everyone in the mess hall. You kept Carson from being bashed about in that current. He would have been a goner with the shark after him. Hell, you saved everyone that day in the jumper wash.”

McKay glared at him, and opened his mouth to speak when their radios came active with the gate technician, calling urgently. In a flash, Rodney had freed his arm from Sheppard’s grip and the hand flew to his radio control. “This is McKay,” he barked. “What’s going on?”

“Dr. McKay,” Chuck’s voice was breathless. “We have a problem with the gate. We need you here immediately.”

Rodney’s expression fell as he broke away from Sheppard and jogged toward the control room. “What sort of problem?” he asked, cringing a little.

“The gate is dead. Totally dead. We can’t make a connection to P4X-714.”

Rodney kept moving with Sheppard right beside him. “Have you tried another address? Have you tried a reset? Have you…? ”

“We’ve followed all standard protocols,” Chuck cut in — if he was annoyed at McKay’s obvious inquiries, his voice didn’t betray it. “We can’t get a connection anywhere – any kind of connection. It’s as if the DHD is totally offline.”

“Is it getting power?”

“Yes. We’ve been able ping it from one of the consoles, but it’s just not working. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Great… just great.”

Sheppard frowned with a realization. “Who’s offworld right now?” he asked over the radio.

“Major Lorne’s team, sir,” Chuck responded quickly. “They were on a trading mission for tava beans and other foodstuffs.”

“Dammit,” Sheppard responded sharply as he picked up the pace, getting ahead of McKay. “When was your last contact?”

“He left this morning, sir,” Chuck responded. “He was due to report in. When he didn’t dial us, we attempted to dial him.”

Sheppard flashed a look at Rodney as they ran side by side. “Not a big deal?” Sheppard tried, hopeful.

“This is bad,” Rodney muttered. “This is so bad…”

====

Sheppard watched as McKay went straight for his usual station in the control room, already typing on his computer before he even sat down. After a moment, he moved to another computer, and then another, typing in a few commands in each before ping-ponging to the next computer.

The scientist’s face was drawn in a constant scowl, and his expressive hands curled into aggravated claws as he drew them back from the latest keyboard momentarily, only to attack again. Minions drew close, trying to help, only to be swatted away. “You, move!” was the most verbiage that McKay could spare as he darted here, then there, then back again.

The colonel glanced at Ronon who was standing stoically near the control room’s railing. Teyla was beside him. Both looked like they were just trying to stay out of the way.

McKay paused by one of the Ancient consoles, struck a few keys, shuttled back to one of the laptops and then back to the Ancient controls and struck the same keys in reverse. “There,” McKay stated, drawing back a little, looking hopeful but his hands still fluttered as if unable to stop. “Okay, okay. That should do it. Yes! Now!” He pointed a finger at Chuck who’d dutifully remained at the DHD.

Optimistically, the technician reached out to touch the first key in the sequence. But the comforting ‘ka-chung’ sound didn’t follow and the gate didn’t illuminate.

Irritated, McKay came at him. Chuck, wise to the ways of his countryman, made way. Rodney poked at the keys, and poked again, trying another sequence – and nothing. With a disgusted groan, Rodney spun about, turning to his series of laptops and recommenced his attack on them.

“Any luck?” Sheppard asked, already knowing the answer.

McKay gave him a dirty look. “It should have worked,” he grumbled and kept working. “He’s getting better—he’s compensated for the hole I found in his coding last time. But I’ll get it. Just give me a few minutes more,” his eyes narrowed. “He’s not beating me.” He looked up momentarily as Weir entered the room, but turned his attention to the laptops.

“I just came from medical,” she announced. “Carson’s wound was, luckily, superficial.” The room was quiet and she added, “Dr. Keller said that it only required a few stitches, and as long as he ‘takes it easy’ for the next few days, he’ll be fine.”

People in the room made little sounds that told they didn’t quite believe that was possible, while McKay ducked his head and continued typing, stopping only when he switched to another console.

Sheppard continued to watch McKay. Teyla and Ronon glanced at each other, looking as if they wanted to do something – anything. Sheppard glanced at his watch. Unconsciously, he found himself timing McKay—ten minutes so far.

“Rodney? Any progress?” Elizabeth pressed.

McKay raised his hands in frustration. “Working on it!” he snapped.

Making a little grimace, Weir asked the gate technician, “There’s been no contact with Lorne’s team?”

“Nothing,” Chuck answered glumly.

“He’s on P4X-714, isn’t he?” she asked for confirmation.

“Yes, he is on Armadia,” Teyla supplied, happy to contribute anything.

“Isn’t that the planet with the awful smell?” Sheppard asked.

“Yes sir, it has the sulfur hot springs,” Chuck responded. “And the female dominant society.”

“Oh yeah…” Sheppard said with a groan. How could he forget? His team had spent two days there, in the choking fumes of the hot springs and geysers, being disregarded while Teyla did all the talking. He remembered that Ronon received many fine gifts, including beautiful long scarves, silky sleepwear and several bottles of fragrant ‘oils’. Sheppard had received only one of those bottles. Rodney had been ignored.

It was a rather… uncomfortable place for the colonel, but the Armadians were kind and made mighty fine tava soup. It was small compensation, but just the same, it was a good reason to send a team to trade when they were so low on food supplies.

“The Armadians are a gracious and inviting people,” Teyla continued. “They will provide Major Lorne and his team with comforts and whatever they might require, as long as the team remains…” and here she paused, as if realizing something, “… respectful of the people.”

“Great,” Sheppard responded, remembering that Lorne’s team had included Lt. Emily Harris, an able speaker, who would helm the negotiations for tava beans. Unfortunately, the rest of the team was male – and sadly, they had no one that’d compare to Ronon as a diversion. They had Parrish on that team, for Christ’s sake!

“Rodney,” Weir spoke, cutting into Sheppard’s thoughts. “I assume what happened to the underwater room was our hacker again? He breached the forcefields?”

“Yes,” McKay told her shortly.

“You have them back up?”

“Yes, though, not before the damage was done, obviously.” He hissed, looking up from his computer at the Gate, but he clearly wasn’t seeing it. “Damn it. If I had only—“

“He has them back up,” Sheppard cut in quickly, catching Elizabeth’s eye. She met his gaze…and understood. She wouldn’t press about what happened. Rodney glanced at Sheppard, and the colonel gave him a nod. Rodney frowned, then looked down again at his computer. He wasn’t typing though. His hands were shaking slightly.

“Who is doing this?” Weir asked, her voice hard. “We have to stop it before it happens again.”

McKay narrowed his eyes a moment, but it was Ronon who spoke up, saying, “Beckett said that Lewis and Hardaway had seen something on the surveillance footage. Something to do with the jumper wash and the bay.”

John added, “Apparently, there’s evidence somewhere in the footage, that one of the scientists in that room had activated a remote device.”

Weir drew in a sharp breath at this news. “Well, that narrows it down considerably! Where are they?” she asked. She looked at Rodney, who still hadn’t resumed his typing to fix the Gate. He looked lost. Elizabeth frowned. “Rodney, focus. I need to know the exact whereabouts of each of the people who were in that room at the time of the jumper wash malfunction.”

He turned and looked at her. He looked like he was in pain.

“Rodney,” Weir pressed, her voice flat, commanding. “Where are they?”

“Well, I’m here,” McKay stated. “Chaplin’s on ice in the morgue. Hardaway and Lewis are currently in bits and pieces inside super-shark’s belly. Fortunately, Jaws is still trapped in that aquarium, so if you need to question them…”

“Rodney,” Weir snapped, attempting to keep McKay on track, “Where are the others? Gos, Nguyen and Van Steenvoort?”

McKay closed his eyes, then opened them again. “Dutch has been working with whatever footage he can find of the incidents. He’s good with video. He seems to have a mind for tracking down clues.” He fluttered a hand as he thought. “Gos was in the infirmary the last time I saw him—I think he was still a bit shaken from saving me and Zelenka in the jumper bay, and I think he had some sort of breakdown after what happened to Chaplin. He’s probably balled up in a corner somewhere if he’s heard about Lewis and Hardaway.”

“And Nguyen?” Sheppard pressed.

Rodney lifted his head a moment and declared softly, “I don’t know.”

With a frown, Weir activated her radio. “Doctors Nguyen, Gos and Van Steenvoort, please respond.”

She paused, waiting for a response—any kind of response from any of them. As they waited, Rodney got back to work on the gate.

Elizabeth tried the three scientists again. Sheppard wished that McKay had trained his people on proper radio etiquette. When Weir still received no reply, John tried the station-wide communication system without any further luck. He looked at Rodney, who was furiously typing again. “We have to track them down,” he told McKay.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Was McKay’s response. “In a minute.” He pressed another key, and some of the tightness seemed to leave his face. “There,” he said and sighed. “That should clear the Gate system. Try it now.”

Chuck, who’d remained a step or two away from the DHD, moved forward and pressed the first key. Reassuringly, the key lit, the gate began its connection sequence. He let out a sigh of relief.

Sheppard smiled a little, thinking about how grateful Lorne would be to leave P4X-714 as Chuck pressed three more keys in the sequence. The expression dropped as the system made a weird little squeak, the lights on the console winked out, and the entire room was plunged into darkness.

The gate seemed to sigh pathetically as the dialing sequence died.

Looked like Lorne wasn’t going to be happy.

“No!” McKay cried. “No, no, no, no, no!”

Lit only by the daylight streaming through the stained-glass windows and the light of the laptops, the room was tinged in strange colors. It was quiet as no one spoke or moved for a long moment.

Until the aggrieved shout from Rodney McKay. “Oh, come on!”

Ronon spun about, as if looking for someone to fight. Teyla stood tense and ready for action. Weir blinked in surprise.

Sheppard moved closer to the scientist. “McKay?” he questioned. “What the hell’s going on now?”

Rodney hung his head as he hunched over his computer. “This is so not good,” he muttered. He pecked at the keyboard, his fingers lifting off and he held his hands above the computer, palms up, as if asking ‘why? Why? WHY?’

“How far does this extend?” Weir asked urgently.

Chuck and the other technicians were already on their radios, checking with other sections of the city. “Seems to be isolated to this tower,” the sergeant declared, trying to put a good spin on the news. He gestured to his workstation.

McKay leaned in to get a look. “Great. Freakin’ great!” he muttered and frowned deeply. “He shut off the power to all of the upper floors of the central tower.” He shook his head sharply.

“So…” John drawled, “Lorne isn’t coming home anytime soon?”

“I managed to repair the disconnect with the Gate,” McKay stated, “But it doesn’t do a hell of a lot of good when we have no power!” He was disconnecting the laptop as he worked.

“So, what do we do?” Sheppard tried.

“We fix the problem,” McKay corrected and started moving.

“Where are you going?” Weir asked.

“Auxiliary Control. I can’t do anything here,” he responded.

Sheppard moved alongside the physicist, a hand against his sidearm. “I’ll go with him,” he told Weir.

“We need to round up the other people that were in that room,” Weir reminded.

With a dismal sigh, McKay reached the door, glad to find it open. “Can’t exactly track anyone right now with no power. This is why I need to get to Auxiliary Control.”

“I’ll find them,” Ronon promised, looking as if he meant it. “They won’t give me any problems,”

“Do that,” Sheppard told him, clapping a hand on McKay’s shoulder and the two of them took off to the base of the control tower, and the bottom of the station where Auxiliary Control waited.

====

Dr. Jaap Van Steenvoort continued going over the video footage that they’d been able to save, looking through the recorded images frame by frame as music blared from his laptop’s speakers. 'Edo de Waart' conducted the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra. Stravinsky might have written the music, but Jaap told himself that it was the Dutch conductor that brought the music to life.

He was proud of his heritage.

The music reverberated through his laptop speakers in the open room. It was an isolated place, far off on the East Pier and rarely visited. The bay was some sort of ‘dissection’ room. It was unknown whether it was used for large animals or for the study of Wraith bodies, but it was conjectured that the activity at this lonely spot was kept from the eyes of others.

Many found the room to be ‘creepy’ with its strange hooks and cutting devices that curled along the ceiling, looking like insect legs, retracted. Jaap found the isolated space to be ideal for his needs – no one would bother him here – sensors had been knocked out long ago. It was perfect.

He could be here all day and remain outside of the scrutiny of McKay and the other long-timers who seemed to feel as if they were ‘better’ than the newer arrivals.

He could also play his music as loud as he wished and never have to worry about someone poking their red face into his space and yell at him to “turn that crap off!”

On the counter, beside him, his radio earpiece made a tinny sound but remained mostly inaudible as the music boomed through his laptop, echoing off the metal walls.

The music helped him think. It allowed him to clear his mind and to relax as he considered the hundreds of different ways a person could die in this galaxy.

He’d put together a list at one point, cataloguing the many ways people had died since the expedition began, augmenting the list as he considered alternatives and his mind traveled to places that no one should consider. He’d had to add to the list in recent days.

It had been a hobby of his.

Back on Earth, he’d read about on serial killers, and the United State’s penchant for breeding them. Not that the rest of the world didn’t have its fair share of horrible killers – they had been everywhere and throughout all of history. Even his beloved Holland had its Lucia de Berk and Maria Catherina Swanenburg.

Human life just bred them. It was as if – as if the killers couldn’t help it. They were born to it. He understood that feeling.

Perhaps they had a purpose? Perhaps there was a need?

Maybe herds needed thinning from time to time.

In his little home in the outskirts of Rotterdam, Jaap had a library devoted the despicable murders, those that took life with little regard. Reading about them gave him a strange thrill, it excited him. He had a wall devoted to the US serial killers, and knew all about the Son of Sam, the Greenriver Killer, the Boston Strangler, John Wayne Gacy, Ted Bundy. In another bookcase, half a shelf was reserved for Jack the Ripper, and three shelves went to Hitler and the Nazi’s atrocities.

The books were well-creased from his readings. Illustrations and photos were dog-eared. He studied the tales, learned everything he could about the killers and was always riveted by what the stories revealed about human nature. He knew some stories by heart. "Helter Skelter" and "In Cold Blood" were two of his favorites.

How did they do it? How thoroughly did they plan? What were their tools? What did they tell their victims to entice them into their clutches. How did the killers manage to ‘get away with it’ for so long? The tales were fascinating… intriguing. When he read his 'stories' he felt his heart race.

He understood these killers better than anyone.

And now, he studied the shark attack from the footage he’d just harvested. He watched as Kelly was ripped apart. He saw the terror in her eyes, the hopelessness, the blood. So much blood. It was fascinating to see a body torn to pieces. He watched the way her body went limp, and then focused on her eyes. He saw them dim before she disappeared into the red froth.

He sat up as he waited for Eugene to follow her.

It was horrible. So horrible. He watched, unable to take his eyes off of the images, watching Eugene disappear. His hands clutched at the sides of the laptop, eager for the moment. Poor Eugene, who used to bring cookies, just disappeared.

And then he stopped the footage before Beckett’s rescue, and started another video, going back to the first ‘big’ incident. He pulled up the jumper wash.

He’d never laughed at the footage. He'd shown nothing more than a tight smirk while those around him giggled at the antics.

He watched the footage, knowing how close some had come to drowning. His gaze darting from one image to another, intent on seeing everything. Underneath the hilarity, there was fear. He scrutinized the faces and frowned when he noticed the expression of one of the participants.

Behind him, something seemed to move. He turned and stared across the room as the music blared. Funny, what was that?

With a frown, he went back to the image, forwarding it frame by frame.

He knew more about serial killers than anyone in Atlantis, and he was determined to find whoever was causing the incidents in the city. He smiled at that thought, proud of his knowledge.

He would be the hero when he pinpointed the killer.

The video kept playing, frame-by-frame. And then he stopped it.

A smile split his lips as he realized what he was seeing in the man’s hand in the jumper wash. Grinning, he recalled that the hacker had also been in the jumper bay, and he skipped forward to that footage. He watched that one man carefully…and started to chuckle. “There you are…” he whispered, saving that scene and the one before it and placing them side by side on his screen. A present for McKay—he just had to email it up to the man. “I have you…” he said, already dreaming about the promotion he could get out of this, “I have you now.”

Again, something drew his attention. Carefully, he glanced about the room and noted that the doors had slid shut. Funny, he had left them open so that he could enjoy the breeze blowing in from the pier. Why would the doors close?

Something moved again. Something in the room, swiveled. Slowly, Jaap looked straight up to the ceiling, and his eyes widened. He ducked, but there was nothing he could do.

The music drowned out his screams.

Chapter Text

Force of habit brought Sheppard to a halt in front of the transporter. McKay plowed past him, heading for the seldom-used staircase that descended the length of Atlantis's massive central tower.

Right. Power outage. Resisting the urge to smack himself on the forehead, Sheppard followed Rodney to the stairwell entrance, trailed by Ronon. The three men peered down, down at the steps spiraling away into the darkness. If Atlantis was the size of Manhattan, the central tower dwarfed most of the skyscrapers Sheppard had ever seen.

McKay took a step back, his expression of grim determination faltering into uncertainty. "We're going to need—"

Behind them came a polite cough. They turned to find Teyla jogging up to them out of the darkness, holding up a flashlight and wearing the diplomatic smile she reserved for times when everyone around her was being particularly dense.

McKay tucked his laptop under one arm and grabbed for the flashlight. He frowned again. "We may need more than—"

Teyla pulled forward the bag she was carrying on her back, which had been stuffed with emergency supplies from the control room—flashlights, headlamps, flares, rations, water-proof matches, all jumbled with what looked like half the inventory of a camping gear store.

"Chuck was kind enough to direct me to the emergency supply cabinet," she said as her teammates lunged for the supplies. "I was not certain what you would need. So, I took everything."  She placed the bag on the floor then stood up again, watching as they rummaged.  “Where do you want us to start looking?” she asked then, gesturing to herself and Ronon.

Sheppard tucked an extra flashlight into his belt.  With a jerk of his chin, he indicated the corridor that led to the rest of the command level. "Start with the infirmary. If Gos isn't there, see if Zelenka has any idea where he and our other two missing scientists might be. Check the labs, check their quarters, check all the usual places."

Ronon twirled a flashlight in his hand, as if testing its heft to use as a weapon. "And if they aren't in the usual places?"

"Start checking the unusual places."

Teyla and Ronon nodded and headed out. Sheppard turned to find Rodney staggering to his feet with the bag of emergency supplies over his right shoulder and the laptop resting on his other arm. One of the headlamps was perched precariously on his head, its beam bobbing around the dim corridor in time with McKay's erratic movements.

"You're not seriously planning to lug all that crap down a hundred flights of stairs?" Sheppard demanded, wincing as McKay turned and half blinded him. He reached out and rotated the scientist until he and his high beam were facing the dark stairwell.

"What? We may need this stuff," McKay protested.  He winced and started shuffling toward the stairs.

Remembering McKay's sore shoulder, Sheppard relented and grabbed the bag from him, putting it over his own shoulder.  Rodney gave him a quick smile.

"And anyway," McKay continued as they started down the stairs. "It's not like we need to walk all the way to auxiliary control. We just need to get down to a level where the power's working and the transporters are running."

"And how far down does the blackout go?" Sheppard asked, wincing as McKay hit him again with the headlamp glare.

"Not far," the scientist said evasively, peering down the staircase, to where he could see light. "Five...ten. Fifteen levels at the most."

"Fifteen?"

"Maybe twenty. Twenty-five, tops."

Sheppard gritted his teeth and adjusted his grip. "And what makes you think the transporters will be safe to use? What makes you think they won't just go haywire and splatter us into a wall at base of this tower?"

McKay winced. "Thanks for that image, Little Mary Sunshine. Please, give me just a bit of credit. I know what I'm looking for now. On the off chance he decides to re-hack a system he's already cracked, I'll be able to detect it with one quick scan of the system and repair the damage. Believe me—" He paused a moment, breathing hard. "It'll be a lot faster than walking."

====

 "Got it!"

Twenty-seven stories down from the control room, McKay unhooked his laptop from the guts of the central tower transporter and bounced to his feet. He made little hurry-up gestures as Sheppard slowly dropped the ridiculously heavy bag of supplies into the small space and stepped in with a look of vast reluctance on his face.

"It was booby trapped, wasn't it," Sheppard said, crossing his arms and staring at the control panel.

"Hm?" McKay looked up from his laptop he'd used to correct the unpleasant surprise the hacker had left for them. "Oh, yes. You have a keen understanding of the criminal mind, Colonel. If we'd pushed that button, we would have ended up... unpleasantly."

"Unpleasantly?" Sheppard asked, not wanting to know.

"Inside out... or something," Rodney said reluctantly, then activated the radio and passed word to Elizabeth and Radek that the transporters were safe to use again in the areas of the city that actually had power, and then bent to the laptop. Realizing that they still weren't moving, he looked up at Sheppard.

"What are you waiting for? Push the button."

====

During most emergencies, the infirmary was a scene of controlled chaos. But there was nothing controlled about the scene that greeted Teyla and Ronon as they reached first set of rooms.

Sparks cascaded from the ceiling and wall outlets. Ceiling lights flickered. Some of the Earth-based technology sat blackened and smoking while other pieces of equipment had been shoved safely into the middle of the room, unplugged from the power sources. The corridors were full of milling repair crews and fast-moving medical workers pushing patients on gurneys away from the mess.

The teammates jostled their way down the corridor, against the flow of traffic, and into the main room where Carson’s lab was. The overhead lights flickered madly, like a strobe, lending an unreal stop-motion feel to the scene. Ronon shook his head to dispel the optical illusion. A blackout would be better than this. His hand twitched toward his gun.

A hand caught his forearm, stopping him. Dex looked down to see Radek Zelenka smiling wanly up at him from one of the last occupied hospital beds.  His glasses were currently held together with what looked like duct tape and he gave them a weak wave.

"Don't shoot the lights, please," the Czech said, pinching the bridge of his nose as if the strobe-lights were giving him a headache. “We're having enough trouble with them as it is.”  A small white bandage was the only reminder of his recent head trauma, but his leg was swathed from toe to hip in a large white cast and suspended in an elaborate traction rigging that was probably the reason he hadn't been evacuated with the others. Teyla moved to the scientist's side, smiling as she spotted the laptop he'd managed to prop against his cast.

Ronon shrugged and moved his hand away from the holster. "What's going on here, doc? I thought the lights were out on this level."

Zelenka's expression scrunched in disgust. "Emergency generators. Unfortunately, it appears that our hacker anticipated such a move. Every piece of our equipment that was interfaced with Ancient technology was caught in a feedback surge—"

"And fried," Ronon finished for him, eyeing the scorched skeleton of what had once been an outrageously expensive electron microscope. 

Zelenka nodded glumly.  "I contacted the control room to warn them not to attempt to bring in outside power sources," Radek said. "Until Rodney can wipe and reboot the system from auxiliary control, we must assume that every piece of Ancient technology in the city is unsafe to use until proven otherwise."

Teyla frowned, looking around the room.  Turning back to Zelenka, she leaned a little closer to whisper to him.  “Doctor, can you tell us—have you seen either Doctors Gos, Nguyen or Van Steenvoort down here?”

Zelenka’s eyebrows lifted, surprised by the question.  “Well, I haven’t been awake that long, but,  yes.  All three, actually.  Why?  Do you need them for—“

He was stopped as the radios flared to life. "Teyla? Ronon?" McKay's voice crackled out at them. "Are you in the infirmary yet? I need you to find Zelenka for me. Warn him not to let those imbeciles try to get the lights on until I can get to auxiliary control. We have to assume that every piece of Ancient technology in the city is--"

Radek snatched the handset away from Ronon. "Thank you, Rodney. That is vital information it might have been nice to know ‘ten minutes ago’!" The radio let out a squawk and he hastily smothered it with the pillow as McKay launched into an outraged monologue about imbeciles who thought Atlantis was the proper place to experiment with do-it-yourself projects.

Dex tapped Zelenka on the shoulder. "About those three guys of McKay’s—they been gone long?"

Zelenka waved vaguely toward the sparking depths of the infirmary. "Doctor Nguyen was helping out with the backup generators earlier."  He looked up at Ronon, “Might even still be here.” He winced as Rodney’s voice suddenly got louder over the radio.  He keyed it again, cutting McKay off in mid-insult. "That is not helpful, Rodney. What would be helpful is for you to get to auxiliary control and restore the system. What is taking you so long?"

“So, he was over there?” Teyla asked.  Zelenka gave a nod. 

“Thanks, doc,” Ronon flashed a terrifying smile, and he and Teyla moved deeper into the hissing, spitting mess of the infirmary, leaving the radio behind.  The air was bitter with a faint tang of smoke and ozone, and thick with curses of medical workers surveying their damaged equipment. They followed the sound of the loudest curses to a figure slumped in a wheelchair, banging furiously on a half-melted desktop computer.

"Bloody hell!" Carson Beckett yelped as his fingers came in contact with molten plastic. He gave the ruined computer a disgusted shove off the table and popped the burned fingers into his mouth. Catching sight of his visitors, he scowled. "When we catch this weasel, I want five minutes alone with him," he said surveying his reddened fingers.  "D'you have any idea how many months of data I had stored on that thing?" he croaked, his voice still hoarse from the seawater he'd swallowed.

Dex studied the doctor, debating whether to enlist his help or drop him in a bed next to Zelenka. Beckett's face was still a little pale with shock, but he seemed alert enough. "Weir wants a word with some of McKay's people. Any of them around here?"

Beckett's tired gaze sharpened in sudden understanding. "Aye. Nguyen was here earlier. But he left with a group that was scouting locations for a temporary evacuation site for the infirmary. Haven't seen him since."

"We must locate him.  Doctors Gos and Van Steenvoort as well," Teyla said. "None of them are answering radio hails."

Beckett sighed, and then straightened suddenly as an idea dawned. "Wait just a tick. I might have an idea where our missing Dutchman might be."

====

"Doesn't all this strike you as a little too easy?" Sheppard said, squinting suspiciously around the quiet, brightly illuminated warren of corridors that ran for miles beneath Atlantis.  They were headed down the corridor towards the far south pier, in which Auxiliary was housed.

McKay shot him an annoyed look. "What, now you're complaining because things aren't blowing up? Would it make you feel better if a giant boulder came rolling down the corridor and chased us like Indiana Jones?"

Sheppard swatted him with his free hand. "Don't give the crazy hacker any ideas. And yes, I'd prefer to know what's waiting for us. He's got to know that this would be your first stop after he blacked-out the control room. You think he's going just let you waltz into auxiliary control and undo all his hard work?"

Before McKay could work up a reply, they rounded a final corner. Ahead was a long white corridor leading to a single open door. "Auxiliary control," he said, swallowing hard. The bag of emergency supplies hit the floor with a thump.

Sheppard reached over and snatched the headlamp off McKay's head and pitched it toward their target with a grunt of satisfaction. It sailed through the door and hit the ground with a crunch of breaking glass.

"No giant boulder, no laser beams shooting out of the walls," Sheppard said, ignoring the poisonous glare McKay was sending his way. Together, they approached the room. "So far, so good."

McKay swallowed hard and took the first step into the room.

Still no giant boulders or laser beams.

Emboldened, he moved to the center of the room, where clusters of control panels formed concentric circles. Equipment crowded the small room, mimicking the systems in the control room high above. Humming softly under his breath, McKay activated the backup controls and set the protocols in motion that would initialize a purge and reboot of every system in the city.

Still wary, Sheppard paced around the room.  McKay's hands flew over the controls, then slowed, then stopped. With a grunt of frustration, he keyed his headset.  "This is going to take longer than I thought," he informed the control room.

"What's wrong?" Weir and Sheppard asked simultaneously.  The colonel circled closer and peered over Rodney's shoulder at room's central display screen. At the moment, it showed a vertical cross-section of the central tower. A large chunk of the structure was blocked off in red, indicating the blackout.  McKay hit another button and the view switched to the familiar snowflake outline of the entire city, with redlined areas spidering here and there.

The number of red areas was growing.

"We've got problems," McKay almost spat.

"Yes, Rodney," Elizabeth replied in a tone of exaggerated patience. There was a thud over the radio, followed by a hiss and muffled cursing, then her voice came back on, sounding as if she was talking through gritted teeth. "How are you coming with those lights?"

"That's one of the problems. We're looking at crashed or corrupted systems across the city. This is going to take hours and it's going to involve triage. We need to figure out which systems we need online right now, and which ones can wait until I can do a complete system wipe and reboot. So, you want power restored to the control room first?"

"Yes," Weir began eagerly, and then hesitated. "No, we have a logistical problem. Could you get the transporters near the infirmary working? We need to get Teyla and Ronon out to the east pier as quickly as possible."

McKay and Sheppard exchanged mystified glances, and then shrugged.  The east pier was mostly warehouse sized storage rooms, massive silos and, hell, sewage treatment facilities.  Clearly their teammates were taking the orders to search unusual places to heart.  Rodney bent his head, typing fast.  Endless minutes crawled by as Sheppard resumed his edgy patrol of the room and hallway.

Finally.  "Done! Ronon, Teyla, have someone hook up a generator to the transporter near you—it should work without causing a backlash," he said, making a distracted shooing gesture as he turned back to the mess of the city's systems. "Happy hunting."

====

"You sure this is a good idea, Doc?" Dex maneuvered Beckett's wheelchair along the far east pier.

Beckett turned his face into the breeze and closed his eyes, breathing deep. "Aye. I'm telling you, I've seen Jaap half a dozen times on my runs out here. It seems to be his favorite retreat. If he wasn't in the labs or his quarters, odds are this is where you'll find him. Peculiar fellow, that one."

Dex grunted in agreement. The east pier was one of the least popular recreational destinations in the city. It was the closest thing Atlantis had to an industrial district, full of manufacturing facilities, warehouses, power generating plants and strange laboratories geared to wartime research. It was a treasure trove for the researchers, but the entire complex had a grim, utilitarian air that kept most people from spending any more time out there than they had to.

"I was talking about the part where you're out here with us," Dex said.

Beckett inhaled deeply again, grateful that Rodney had fixed the transporters in time to get him away from the stench of fried medical equipment. "I'm fine, lad.  It’s just a scratch.  Besides, you're doing all the work for me."

Teyla ranged ahead of them. The faint sound of music drew her toward an isolated structure near a landing pad large enough for a ship nearly the size of the Daedalus to land.

She banged on the door with the flat of her hand, feeling it vibrating under her palm in time with the muffled orchestral din inside. "Doctor?" she called, not really expecting to be heard. The music would have to be playing at ear-splitting volume to be heard through the solid doors.

She swiped her hand over the door control and frowned when it failed to open. Eyes narrowing, she pried off the panel cover and performed McKay's crystal-switching maneuver. The door beeped and swept open—and Teyla recoiled as the coppery stench of blood rolled out of the room and a blast of music hit her like a physical blow.

Ronon was beside her in an instant, his sidearm trained on the room.  Slowly, the gun lowered.

"What is it?" Beckett called out plaintively, trying to unlock the brakes Dex had thrown on his chair. "Have you found him, then?" Giving up, he hopped out of the chair and hobbled over to join them, only grimacing a little at the pain.  Meds were a wonderful thing.  Teyla quickly drew his arm over her shoulder as he reached her, lending him support.

His breath left him in a horrified sigh and he sagged against her. "Bloody hell..."

"That's a good word for it," Dex said, stepping into the room and trying not to put his feet in the tacky pools of red that seemed to cover every surface. The music crashed and boomed around them, alien and dissonant, full of throbbing drums and wailing woodwinds.

"What is this?" Teyla tightened her grip on Beckett as they moved closer to the horrifying centerpiece in the room—a grisly offering splayed across a tall conveyor belt that ran the length of the room.

“Oh,” Beckett groaned. “That’s not pretty.” 

Teyla gave a sickened nod and reached with her free hand to touch the hair on top.  “Blond,” she said, her voice soft.  Beckett nodded, looking towards where Ronon was kneeling down to look at what appeared to be a grate in the flooring, through which the blood was dripping down.

Teyla keyed her headset, raising her voice to be heard over the music. "Doctor Weir. I believe we have found Dr. Van Steenvoort. 

"Most of him," Dex corrected, standing up again and grimacing at the remains on the conveyor belt.

"There's the rest," Beckett said, peering unhappily into an array of specimen jars along the wall.

After a moment of shocked silence, Weir's voice came back to them. "He's...dead?"

"Murdered," Teyla confirmed. "Butchered like an animal."

"Quite literally," Beckett said, disentangling himself from Teyla and hobbling over for a closer look. He gestured to one of the specimen jars that now held a human arm. "Look at this. If he were a Wraith, this would have been his feeding hand."

Dex grimaced at a shapeless lump on one end of the conveyor. "If he was a herd beast, that'd be a prime cut."

"And one of our people did this to him?" Weir sounded revolted by the idea.

"It appears that this ‘room’ did it to him," Teyla said, stripping off her jacket and draping it over the remains—or at least, where the face would be.

Dex looked up from his study of the hooked blades that had frozen in mid-air over the body, their work done. "It's some sort of slaughterhouse. Or Wraith dissection...machine."

"How--" Weir began, and then interrupted herself. "Could someone ‘please’ turn off that racket?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Beckett said, looking across at Jaap's laptop, which was suspended in the air by a knife-wielding robotic arm like a butterfly on a pin. He limped over and awkwardly wrenched it free. The CD drive popped open to reveal the disc, and merciful silence fell over the crime scene.

Beckett set the disc aside gently and turned his attention to the laptop itself. Miraculously, the blade had slipped between the hinged sections, leaving the machine itself largely undamaged. He quickly cued up the Dutch scientist's last program and inhaled sharply as the familiar security tape from the jumper wash and jumper bay were sitting side by side, both frozen on a single moment, zoomed in on a single figure.

"He figured it out," Carson said, gesturing wildly at the screen. Teyla and Ronon frowned at the frozen image, clearly confused. Beckett thumped the computer triumphantly. "Elizabeth! Jaap figured out who our hacker is! He had the proof right here! It's been staring us in the face all along! That's why—oh dear."

A low grinding noise filled the room as the door slid tightly shut and the knife blades, hooks and saws that had been frozen in place around the room suddenly whirred to life.

Ronon and Teyla jumped to take up protective positions on either side of the physician as the room took aim on its new targets.

Looking desperately around for an off switch or an emergency exit, Beckett's eyes were drawn to a flashing red light in one corner of the room, near the ceiling.

A blade slashed through the air at neck level. A pair of strong arms yanked him back in the nick of time and Ronon's blaster blew the knife mechanism into twisted shrapnel. A rotating saw blade took its place, darting in so fast it nearly cut Teyla's legs out from under her.

A robotic claw descended, trying to pin Beckett in place long enough for the cutting arms to do their work. He threw himself backwards across the floor, aiming for the slim shelter beneath one of the specimen tables.  

The security camera panned to follow him.

Chapter Text

The scientist leaned closer to the series of laptops, eyes darting from one monitor to the next, taking it all in, watching the chaos that unfolded over the surveillance system.  This was all his doing, and he smiled, proud of himself.  Yes, Kate, he was exceptional.  Every life in this city depended on him – life or death – he could choose for them, make the decision with a flick of a finger on a keypad.

It made him feel extraordinary, remarkable, and incomparable—until his gaze fell upon the last monitor – where data scrolled at an astounding rate.  He narrowed his eyes as he realized what was happening.

Damn, but Rodney McKay was fast. He watched as coding scrolled across the screen and systems responded to the doctor’s fixes. He’d have to be impressed if he weren’t so furious with the man. No matter.  He had other ways of stopping McKay.

Listening to the radio brought a smile. They were so hopeful, still so very unaware that it was already too late.

His eyes flicked to the live feed and he watched with sick anticipation.  This wasn’t like the attack on Jaap. Good ole’ creepy Dutch had been completely caught off guard.  It’d been pure carnage, but there had been no choice.

The matter was out of his hands here as well. The mechanism was in movement.  It was too late for any of them. Carson, Teyla and the behemoth Ronon had sealed their own fates as soon as they’d gotten too close to the truth. It was not his fault. 

He flinched as he watched Ronon fire on the machine and Carson scramble for cover. Teyla was yelling into the radio now, desperate for someone to respond to her cries for help over the grinding of the machine. No one seemed to be aware of the blood-coated hook descending beside her.

He knew what was coming though, but didn’t think he could watch it again. Exhaling slowly, he muted the sound and closed his eyes. 

====

“Teyla!” Ronon shouted a warning as he ducked and spun, spotting the glint of silver beside the Athosian’s head as he dodged yet another blade.

He fired above her head, hoping to knock the entire arm of the machine out of commission. The metal appendage exploded into flaming projectiles.

Teyla ducked, but her pained shout alerted him she hadn’t escaped unharmed.

The machine kept grinding.  It glinted, and moved with a strange elegance, arms retracting and extending, implements presenting and going into motion.  It was dreadful and graceful and deadly.

“Behind you!” Carson shouted from his hiding spot, beneath the table, but even as Ronon turned, he saw yet another claw coming at him. He wasn’t going to…

====

Rodney and John stood, frozen for a moment, listening first to Carson’s stricken “oh dear” and then the shouts, screams and explosions erupting intermittently from their radios.

Elizabeth’s continued shout, finally spurred both into motion.

“Where are they?” Rodney demanded hurrying to a different console.

“East pier, I think.” John tried to remember if that’s where Carson had said they were heading when he’d called in. “Or was it the west?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you!” McKay spat out but kept typing commands into the computer. “There.” He jabbed at the display without actually touching it. “There’s an unusual energy reading coming from that building—east pier.”

John watched as he listened to the radio chatter. “What the hell is happening?” He started for the door at the sounds of Teyla’s shout and Ronon’s roar.

“Wait!” McKay stopped him. “You won’t get there in time. I’ve almost got the surveillance feed.”

“There’s a camera out there?” John turned back.

“He’s been watching so far. My guess is he is this time, too.”

====

“Ronon!” Dex heard Teyla’s harsh scream as pain exploded through his side. He didn’t know what had caught him—knife or claw or saw—he just knew it hurt like hell, and if he was going to get any of them out of here, he had to do it now.  Ignoring everything else, Ronon focused his fire on the main bulk of the machine.

====

“There!” McKay clicked a few more keys, and an image appeared on the screen.  Rodney’s eyes went wide, and a moment later, he felt himself gag slightly.

“Turn the machine off!” Sheppard shouted, shoving McKay towards the console. “Turn it OFF!”

Rodney just nodded dumbly and started typing.  But he knew—there was no way.  There wasn’t enough time.  In the five minutes it might take him to break through…

“McKay!” Sheppard shouted again, banging his fist into the console next to Rodney.

====

Teyla blinked blood from her eyes as she breathed deeply through her pain. Her arm burned—numb from her shoulder to her fingertips. Her head throbbed and she could feel the blood trickling down her face. She saw another huge knife slice at Ronon.  He stepped away at the last second, and the blade had just scalped the skin on his upper arm, still, it looked painful and bloody.  It was nothing, though, compared to the ragged slice in his side.  He roared, but he didn’t stop moving.

She couldn’t get near him to help without getting sliced herself, so instead she crawled along the floor toward the door, keeping as low as she could.  She needed to reach the doors, to open them, to free them all.

====

Elizabeth whirled around the control room, feeling as trapped as she had been when she was in her office.  Without power, she was blind.  All she could do was keep demanding information over the radio.  Damn it!   They needed power!

“RODNEY!” she shouted into her microphone.  “Rodney, what is going on?  I need to see!”

====

Carson scrunched deeper under the table as a saw just missing his nose. God, he was stuck. He knew both Ronon and Teyla had been hit.  Ronon was quickly adding to the pools of blood on the floor, while Teyla left a streak of red behind her as she pulled herself to the doors. They were injured and he couldn’t reach them. Every time he thought about crawling out from under the table another blade swept by. How were they going to get out of this?

Ronon dropped and rolled, clearly trying to evade another hook, but kept firing, aiming at anything and everything.  The red beam cut through the metal, but it wasn’t stopping it.  Suddenly, a massive metal clamp grabbed Ronon’s right shoulder in a crushing grip and he almost dropped his weapon.  Carson’s eyes grew wide as he watched the big man lifted off the ground.  He shouted Ronon’s name, but he might as well have whispered it for all that it could be heard above the cacophony of screeching metal.

Amazingly, however, Ronon just seemed to breathe through it, and Carson watched as the Satedan squeezed the trigger over and over again, screaming with each blast.

====

“McKay!” Sheppard’s cry was more plea than demand at this point.

“I’m doing my best!” Rodney replied, rushing madly, his eyes not blinking as he worked.

“Work faster!”

“It doesn’t work that way!”

“I don’t care!  You have to stop that thing!”

Rodney didn’t bother to reply—mainly because he agreed.  But he was only halfway there, at best...

“Wait,” Sheppard said suddenly.  “Oh man,” he said breathlessly, causing Rodney to look up at the screen.  Sheppard clapped a hand to Rodney’s shoulder.  “Seriously, I love that gun.”

====

Ronon was not going to let Carson or Teyla die this way.  He felt his weapon shaking, knew it was nearly out of power, but he kept firing and firing and firing.  Abruptly the grip on his shoulder released and he fell hard. Rage fueled him as he rolled to his knees and brought the weapon up to fire again.

“Ronon! Stop!” Teyla’s breathless plea stilled him.  “You did it.”

Blinking, Dex shook his head, swaying in his spot. The horrible grinding had stopped. The knives and hooks that remained intact after his decimation of the room’s workings clanked together overhead.

He did it.

====

Rodney looked down at his laptop.  As Sheppard grinned by his side, he shakily continued his work, even if it wasn’t needed anymore.  He still had to shut the room down—even if nothing in it would probably ever work again.  Because, honestly…you never know what else might come out of the walls in this city.

====

“Ronon?” Carson was slowly pulling himself out from under the table, his eyes wide with fear and concern.   Ronon had settled down so that he was sitting on his haunches, his head bowing forward.

Teyla staggered to her feet and held a hand to her upper arm where shrapnel had caught her. A small gash along her temple bled freely.   For a moment, the loudest sounds in the horrible little room were the harsh gasping breaths of its three battered, but living inhabitants.

“Teyla? Ronon?” Weir was calling, her voice nearing hysteria. “What’s happening? Carson?”

“Elizabeth.” Carson managed to whisper her name as his eyes scanned the room for any further threat, for any sign that the machine might start up again, but it remained a twisted mass of popping circuits, melted metal, and grotesquely damaged weaponry.  

“What’s happening?” Weir sounded calmer now that someone had responded, but still demanded an explanation. “Are you all okay?”

Carson eased closer to Ronon, limping and trying to look at the others critically. Teyla gave him a nod, to say she was okay, and pointed at the door. At his return nod, she moved to squat by the door, looking to find the panel to open it, while casting frightened glanced at the few remaining knives above, as if expecting them to spring back to life at any moment.

Ronon continued to sit where he was, still on his knees.  He still had his gun pointed upwards, protectively putting himself between what was left of the machine and the others.  Blood oozed from his left side and right shoulder, and Carson didn’t miss the way the Satedan was listing to one side as he struggled to keep his weapon raised and ready.  It galvanized the physician—he was needed—and Carson stood up straight.

“Elizabeth,” he snapped, cutting off another demand for a response from her. “We’re alive, but damaged. I need a medical team out here right now.” He hobbled over to Ronon and rested a hand on his shoulder just as Teyla managed to get the doors open.

Turning to look outside, the natural light made the physician squint and flinch away from the bloodbath around him.  “Good God,” he breathed.  He squeezed Ronon’s shoulder, as if to prove the other man was there—it was a miracle they were alive at all.  He didn’t want to think about the possibility that he was running out of miracles.

Teyla was suddenly at their side, ready to help support Ronon as Carson gingerly knelt down on his good leg next to the Satedan’s side.  The doctor leaned forward to see the face hidden by the curtain of dreads, and Ronon slowly turned to meet his gaze.  The big man was breathing very heavily, his left arm pressed against the bleeding wound on his side, eyes squinting from the pain. 

“It’s going to be all right, Ronon,” Beckett promised, turning his attention to the wound.  It  didn’t look deep, but it was bleeding profusely—they had to get it bandaged and get him to the infirmary now.  Steeling his jaw, he looked across Ronon’s shoulder to Teyla. “Let’s get him out of here.

====

“Rodney?” Elizabeth called, looking down at the laptops sitting on the workstations. “Can you transmit anything I can use?” she asked.

“Yeah,” came the dull reply.  “I’m emailing a link to the live feed to Chuck’s laptop.  You should be able to see what I can see.”

She nodded, her arms gripped tightly to her sides.  Walking across to the sergeant’s station, she peered over his shoulder as his laptop beeped with a new message.  Chuck hit a few keys, and then his screen was filled with a live feed from the security footage.

Chuck gasped, his hands covering his face.  Someone behind them uttered a pathetic “meep” noise.  Elizabeth frowned.

Dark streaks blurred the picture, letting them see only shadows beyond—people moving slowly to get out of the room.   For a moment, she didn’t understand what the streaks were…

Then the sunlight shifted enough to show color.

“Oh God.” Elizabeth said, moving back a step.  “It’s blood.” 

====

It took both Carson and Teyla to half drag Ronon out of the slaughter room, all the while Beckett was listing injuries and needs to his medical staff over the radio and telling them to hurry up and get out to them.  Ronon resisted his and Teyla’s care at first, but once Teyla had assured him for the third time that they were safe now, he relented and let Carson look at him.

The doctor knew his own injury had reopened on his leg and the wound was bleeding again, but he ignored it. At least he was bandaged—few stitches, and he’d be right as rain. Surveying Ronon, he knew he’d need help and fast. He hoped the temporary infirmary was set up and ready.

A long shallow cut curved along the Satedan’s left side as if the saw had skimmed his ribs but had gone no deeper. Beckett shook his head with wonder that in all the chaos Ronon hadn’t lost a vital organ. Ronon’s shoulder was bruised and torn where one of the mechanism’s claws had dug in and lifted—but he appeared to still be able to move the arm and his hand without too much trouble.  Truly, a miracle.  Carson softly instructed Ronon to put pressure on his side while using his own hand to clamp down on the shoulder wounds. He had nothing out here to even cover the wounds.

He cast a concerned glance at Teyla as he again ordered his med team to hurry. She followed his gaze to her own injured arm and she covered it with her other hand. “We will be alright,” she managed to assure him before closing her eyes and tipping her face up into the warm sunlight.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: OUT OF THE FRYING PAN…

“Right,” Rodney leaned both hands on the console, his laptop indicating that it was installing firewalls on the east pier. He tipped his head forward. “Least the dissection room’s down for the count.”

Sheppard sighed, hugging his P90 close to his chest and keeping an eye on the multiple doors leading off this large room. “Back to restoring power to the central tower, then?”

“Yeah,” Rodney said, exhaustion creeping into his tone. Between the mess in the aquarium room, the problems with the Stargate, the east pier, and now this—he’d clearly had his fill of emergencies for one day. He looked down at his laptop, and brushed his fingers over a few keys to clear the east pier from the screen. “Back to—“

The massive shudder staggered both John and Rodney, sending them crashing into consoles. John wrapped his arms over the top of the console he'd hit, holding on as the shuddering worsened, and stared up at the ceiling as if the answers might be there. A glance at Rodney told him the scientist was doing the same thing.

"John! Rodney! What is happening?" Elizabeth called over the radio, the transmission filled with static. "Damn it, Rodney! We need power!"

Rodney met John's gaze across the room, both having recognized the sensation even though Elizabeth did not. Before either could answer, the shuddering died, and Rodney twisted, moving over to the central console and quickly keying in commands. In seconds, the plans displayed on the various screens around the room expanded from showing the central tower to showing the entire city.

"Oh God," Rodney moaned.

The piers were aflame in bright blue, pulsing and brimming with diverted power. And everywhere else, the red spidery blackout locations continued to spread like an infection. Simultaneously, certain parts of the city were powering up...and the rest was dying.

“Hang on—is that shields?” Sheppard asked, pointing to one of the screens. Rodney followed his gaze, studied the information for a moment, and looked positively ill when he nodded.

“Yeah. He’s hacked the defense system.” The scientist gave him a pinched look. “Oh God, you know what that means?”

“No shield,” Sheppard growled. He slapped the console in front of him in anger. “That son of a bitch!”

“We are so dead,” Rodney muttered, returning his attention to the console in front of him.

"What?" Elizabeth demanded, sounding incredibly frustrated because they were effectively blind up in the control room. "What is it?"

"The engines just came on," John answered, trying to keep his voice calm as Rodney started attacking the keys again.

"The engines?" Elizabeth repeated. "Why?"

"I guess he's trying to make us fly," John said, not hiding his incredulity. "Although..." his eyes narrowed, "if he really is trying to get us airborne...," he snapped his fingers once, "he has to be in the chair room! You can't fly the city without the chair!" He tapped his radio, "All military personnel near the—"

"No." Rodney's voice shook, his face paling as information scrolled down the screen in front of him. "You're wrong. The engines aren't taking us up..." He looked across at John, and saw the colonel's eyes widen in understanding before Rodney finished the sentence, "the hacker is taking us down."

====

Teyla and Carson had fallen in the initial shudder, bringing Ronon with them to the floor of the exposed pier, but Teyla quickly scrambled back to her feet when the City suddenly seemed to tip in the direction of the ocean. She staggered forward into a nearby railing, and her eyes widened as a wall of water erupted over the edge of the pier not thirty feet away.

“Hang on!” she screamed, bracing herself as ocean water boiled towards them like a tsunami. She knew it was useless—they were going to be crushed by the weight of it long before they could be drowned. She ducked her head down, hoping that Ronon and Carson had found something to grip behind her…

Suddenly, the city rocked back like a cork popping out of a bottle, and the wave scattered and streamed away as quickly as it had come, sliding off the sides of the flat pier in a steady stream. Teyla breathed heavily at the near miss and risked lifting her head to look out. The horizon in the distance was moving up and down, and it was making her feel a little sick—especially when she realized it wasn’t the horizon that was moving.

The city was shuddering fantastically now, much more violently than before, and she could almost hear the metal screaming as the city fought to stay whole. Atlantis continued to rock, bobbing up and down like stick floating down a turbulent stream.

Back where he’d left it, near the door leading down into the city, Beckett’s wheelchair fell on its side and skittered off the edge of the platform they were on. Teyla followed it with her eyes, then turned to look behind her. Somehow, Carson had managed to hook an arm around a pole and hold onto Ronon, and the doctor was grimacing in obvious pain from the effort.

Then, as quickly as it began, the vibrations stopped and the city settled, coming to rest on the ocean’s surface, as solid as it usually felt.

“What the…” Carson’s voice shook as he spoke, “bloody hell…” he drew in a sharp breath, “was that?”

Teyla shook her head. Pressing one hand to the railing to stay upright, she used the other to wipe away the salt-water spray that had struck her face, and peered down at the long fat, spatula-like quay stretching away from her.

Carson’s question was a good one. What was that?

The answer came to her in a flash, as she suddenly remembered the feel of the city's engines powering up on the Replicator’s version of Atlantis. That initial vibration had felt just like that.

Except, she knew from Rodney that they did not have enough power to actually fly, which only left…

Her eyes widened with horror—understanding the wall of water that almost swept them away.

Whipping around, she skidded down next to Ronon, driving her arms under his shoulders and pulling up, ignoring his pained groan as she bodily heaved him to his feet. "Carson," she gasped as she tightened Ronon's good arm over her own shoulders, "we have to get out of here! Now!"

"What? Why?" At her urgency, Beckett was gamely trying to get to his feet in order to help her. His hurt leg, blood spotting through the bandages, was clearly not responding as well as he needed it to. He turned scared eyes to Teyla. "What's happening?"

"Atlantis just tried to submerge!" Teyla said, already dragging Ronon towards the door in the single-story building that would take them down to the transporter station. "We have to move! Now!"

As if on cue, the citywide com came to life, and Elizabeth's voice, tinny due to being patched in via a radio feed, called out for an immediate evacuation to the central tower.

====

"This is Doctor Weir," Elizabeth said into her radio, trying not to wince as the relayed radio transmission caused a nasty feedback echo over the citywide com. "All personnel, evacuate to the gate room and the jumper bay, per evacuation plan Red Alpha. This is not a drill. The city is attempting to submerge, and we do not have the shield to protect us. Drop everything, head straight to the transporters or stairs and get up here. Anyone trapped, contact your military team leader using your assigned radio frequency." She let go of her earpiece and dropped her hand to her side.

Atlantis started vibrating again, then started shuddering incredibly violently for the second time in as many minutes, tipping and rocking almost like a ship on choppy waters. Elizabeth fell back into the console behind Chuck's station, impacting the still tender spot on her ass. She bit back a swear and gripped the console for stability.

"Doctor Weir," Chuck said, glancing up at her, "I've got it."

Elizabeth leaned forward, focusing on the laptop in front of the technician, gripping his chair for stability as the city shook so much, it made her teeth hurt. The clever sergeant had managed to finagle his network connection to Rodney's laptop to see what Rodney himself was looking at. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the screen—Rodney was working absurdly quickly, and the screen flipped from schematic to data sheet to code back to schematic again without obvious focus, like someone mindlessly surfing TV channels. It barely gave them more than a glimpse of what was happening. But until Rodney returned power here, they were incapable of doing more than watch from the windows as entire sections of the city started to flood.

At the thought, she looked towards the large stained-glass windows—where the shield should have formed the instant the engines fired up. The hacker had managed to break through the biggest fail-safe that Atlantis had—he had hacked the defense systems—the last big "get" as Chuck had sourly put it—and was going to drown them all.

She shook her head, returning her attention to the laptop—but it was almost too dizzying to watch. Almost as dizzying as the carnival shake-shack ride she felt like she was unwittingly on. Loose items crashed to the floors, and something banged in her office. Glancing over, she saw that one of her large ceremonial masks had fallen off the wall and was skittering across the floor as if alive.

Then the shuddering stopped abruptly again. Someone in the control room breathed out a soft, “Thank God.”

"Rodney," Elizabeth called into her radio, swallowing and looking again at the fast moving laptop screen. "Tell me what you're doing."

"I'm darning my socks!" he snapped. "What the hell do you think I'm doing?"

She rolled her eyes, "Rodney..."

"I'm obviously trying to stop the hacker from taking us down."

"Well, it's obviously not working very well," she replied, forcing herself to remain calm as the city swayed sickeningly.

"Well, thank you for that brilliant piece of insight!" he whipped back. "Any other bright gems to offer?"

"How about raising the shield?"

"You think I haven't tried that?" he demanded. "The hacker's overridden the shield protocols. Even more insane, he's convinced the city that we're rising into the air, which is why it's not gone into lockdown despite the obvious fact that the city is trying to go under." He sucked in a breath, before adding, "Christ, if it wasn't reckless and completely psychotic, I'd almost say it was brilliant."

"Admire him later, Rodney!" Elizabeth admonished. "What about reversing the engines instead of turning them off?"

"Are you kidding? Why do you think we’re not already underwater? That’s what I’ve been doing! I haven’t had time to break through his hack fast enough to regain total control of the engines, but I was able to back door my way into them far enough to reverse them.”

“You did?” Elizabeth didn’t hide her confusion. “Then, why—”

“Reversing the engines is like throwing a car into reverse while it’s barreling forward at a hundred miles per hour. Every time I do it, the whole city nearly tears itself apart in confusion. Those massive, heaving shudders you just felt after the engines came on? That was me.”

“But they feel like they’re off now? Are we okay?”

“They’re not off, they stalled. The city’s fail-safes kicked in, and they shut themselves off.”

Elizabeth shrugged, not caring about the semantics. “So…we’re okay then.”

“Not by a long shot. The hacker’s online. Soon as I reversed the engines the first time, he anticipated that I’d run them until they stalled out. While I was working on that, he reset the system—soon as the engines cooled sufficiently, he started them again to pull us down. When I reversed them a second time, he attacked the first fail-safe…which is why the shuddering lasted longer the second time—the engines were on for longer. He’s also systematically diverting all of the city’s power to do it. Power grids are going down all over the city. I’ve been trying to stop it, but I also have to stop him from attacking the city’s fail-safes—and it’s all I can do right now to stop us from sinking.”

She gave a nod. “I see. But you still have power where you are?”

“Well, obviously,” he snapped again.

“The hacker wants to beat McKay,” Sheppard inserted. “Go head to head with him. And I think he wants to do it in real time, so he left Auxiliary alone.”

“And now that I’m here, I’ve set up a bunch of personal firewalls—he’s not cutting the power to this room without a hell of a lot of work.” Rodney’s usual smugness was off-set by his clear worry.

Elizabeth nodded again. “If you have power and need help, can we send anyone else down there?”

Atlantis started to vibrate again, and Elizabeth hissed and grabbed the console. Within seconds, the tower began to shake so violently, she had images of it cracking at the seams like something out of a disaster movie.

“Hang on!” Rodney shouted.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and prayed the city wasn’t as delicate as Rodney once told her it was when they’d been under the threat of the Storm.

After what could only have been seconds, the shaking stopped, and the city swayed like a drunken sailor. She was amazed that she still had her stomach—but retching from one of the technicians behind her suggested someone else wasn’t so lucky.

“Rodney,” she called, swallowing thickly. “Do you want me to send—”

“No, Elizabeth, don’t send anyone down here,” Sheppard said, his voice tight over the radio. “I don’t think they’d make it.”

Elizabeth nodded, afraid of that—the hacker had been too good at setting traps. He’d anticipated everything they’d done so far, and sending people to help Rodney now would probably just play even further into his hands.

“Rodney,” she said then, “how long can you keep reversing the engines like that?”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” he replied. “Not long. Too many times and I'll do serious, if not irreparable, damage to the engines, and this City will rip itself apart in the process. I’ve already got screens screaming at me of infrastructure ‘failures’."

“Failures?” Elizabeth grimaced. So much for hoping the city was sturdy enough to handle this. “What do you mean failures?”

“I’m not sure. But I’m betting things are falling down, or cracking apart. Water is getting in all over the place in the lower levels—though I’m trying to stop it.”

She closed her eyes, and let out a deep breath. When she opened them again, she held her calm. "I see. Well, what about doing something other than reversing the engines, something to slow down the descent while you break through his code?"

"That’s what I’m trying to do now." He drew in another tight breath, and Elizabeth could hear him typing furiously in the background as he spoke. "Soon as I figured out that reversing the engines wouldn’t work for long, I’ve been trying to come up with something else—but there’s just not enough time between fighting the engines, the power failures, and trying to keep Atlantis from flooding…damn it! Water is flooding the ZPM room! Sheppard, go over there, see if you can divert it. Where was I…Oh, yes, we’re screwed!”

"I see," she said again, sighing a little. "Okay." She glanced at Chuck, who was watching her, as was everyone else. "Is there anything we can do to help you from here?"

"Ha," Rodney snorted. "Help me? Not without power. Just start getting everyone out of there! I can’t do this much longer!”

"Well, that's a problem isn't it?" Elizabeth noted, crossing her arms, her fingers gripping into her elbows. "No power means no Stargate, and there's no way the Jumpers can hold everyone."

"Elizabeth," John interrupted, "wait. Rodney, can the Jumpers still dial the Gate? Or is no power getting to that as well?"

"They can dial it, but if it doesn’t have power...wait, wait...” Elizabeth heard snapping fingers in the background. “The Gate can be unplugged, so to speak, and connected directly to the ZPM and away from the power grid controlling the central tower's power so...yes...Elizabeth, he's right. Get someone up there to reconfigure the Gate to connect directly to the ZPM or, if you can’t connect to the ZPM, connect a naquadah generator to it. The Jumpers should then be able to dial—"

"Rodney!" Teyla's voice suddenly rang over the radio. "This is Teyla! Carson, Ronon and I are outside on the end of the east pier. The door controls aren't responding on any of the buildings! We have nearly been washed off this pier three times already—we need help!"

====

Rodney's eyes flew to the screen showing the dead part of the city, and swore. The whole east pier other than the engines was down. When had that happened?

"Hang on," he called. "I'm going to try to—"

"Dr. McKay!" a new voice called. "This is Coleman! We're trapped as well, over in the West Tower without power! And the lower levels connecting us to the central city are flooded!"

"Rodney, we're trapped, too!" a new voice called, and Rodney's heart skipped a beat as he recognized Katie Brown's voice. "We're still out on the northwest pier, in the botany labs."

He shook his head, typing furiously, trying to stem the tide of red blanketing more and more of the city—the whole thing was being drained of power except the engines. And then it happened again—the engines powered up and the city started to sink. Swearing, he hit the command to reverse them and braced himself as the whole room shook like an unbalanced washing machine on the spin cycle—he could almost feel the city cracking up around him. Alarms blared, screamed and bellowed around them, battling with each other even as they seemed to increase in volume and tempo—it was deafening!

At the same time, more calls were coming in over the radio from people, from different piers and different skyscrapers. Next to him, Sheppard called up a schematic showing life signs on one of the screens. Small pockets of people—ten groups in all—were scattered throughout the city, trapped without transporters and, with the lower levels already flooding…

Sheppard zoomed in on the three life signs at the end of the east pier—too close to the edge.

McKay felt the engines turn off, braced himself for one final shudder, and looked over at the life signs display in front of Sheppard. His shoulders slumped.

"Oh God," he whispered in the momentary silence, taking in the magnitude of what he'd need to do to reach all of them. "Colonel, I can't...not all of them, not in time, not if I have to also work to...There's no way I—"

Sheppard pressed his hand to the console to use the citywide. "Everyone trapped, this is Colonel Sheppard. Climb to your highest point and get outside, onto the balconies and the roofs. Stay in a tight group, and be prepared to swim if necessary. We will come and get you using the Jumpers. First, though, I want all of you to supply names and headcounts to Lieutenant Cadman—starting with the people on the north pier and moving clockwise through the city." He then tapped his earpiece, obviously switching to the military channel. "Lieutenant Cadman, you copy?"

"Loud and clear, sir."

"We've got ten sets of people trapped." Sheppard glanced up at the screen. "Use the Jumpers' HUDs to find them all, and designate fliers. They'll call you with their names in a moment. Soon as you’re up, focus on those lowest to sea level, and work your way up. Teyla, Ronon and Dr. Beckett need to be first—they’re the most vulnerable.”

"Yes, sir."

Sheppard glanced at Rodney when he dropped his hand from the control, and Rodney gave him a small smile. "Thanks," he said, meaning it.

"Just get back to stopping this," Sheppard said, and, for Rodney, it was oddly encouraging. Mostly because the colonel didn't sound even slightly doubtful that Rodney would stop the city from sinking. Setting his jaw, Rodney set back to work.

====

Beckett limped behind Teyla and Ronon, and whispered swears under his breath as he looked at the water. Normally, it was a good twenty-five to thirty feet below the edge of the pier, but, right now, it was almost level—which meant the city was taking on water, no matter what Rodney was doing. And the lower they dropped, the more likely that, the next time the engines came on, they would be swept out to sea.

They were in a lot of trouble.

Teyla, still half-carrying Ronon, continued to lead them forward, heading doggedly in the direction of the central tower, obviously looking for a way to follow John’s orders and get to higher ground. They had to get up. The problem was, this whole pier was industrial—it lacked the skyscrapers and towers of the rest of the city. The Lanteans clearly used to land their large ships here on the largely flat surface, and it was why it housed places like that slaughter room, and a mess of low-lying warehouse structures. Even one of the three drone release bays was here, sitting on the end that was threatening again to slip beneath the water. The result was, even if the doors were letting them get inside, there was nothing out here that was tall.

But they needed something, anything, to get them some measure of height...

"There," Teyla said, pointing over to the left. Beckett followed her finger, and sighed.

Five tall, round and brightly silver grain silos rose about twenty yards from where they stood. The silos were taller than the four or five story warehouses, and, at the top, a thin rail balcony circled each. The silos weren't all that high—not like the central tower that stood over a hundred floors above them and currently held them in its shadow—but they were their best hope out here. Small, thin looking doors were etched in the bottom of each and one of them, blessedly, was open. At the very least, they could get inside something—hell of a lot less likely to get washed out to sea that way.

The reason Beckett sighed was the fact that the warehouse was on the edge of the pier—logic dictated they try to stay as close to the middle as possible.

"Let's go," Teyla said, quickly making her way down a set of stairs in that direction, Ronon weighing against her shoulder. The Satedan continued to hold onto his bleeding side, and the lines of pain on his face told the physician what he needed to know—climbing that silo was going to be hell on him.

Hell, who was he kidding? Climbing that silo was going to be hell on all of them.

A loud vibrating rumble rolled across the pier just milliseconds before the pier shuddered beneath their feet.

It then dropped a good foot.

Teyla tossed her arms outward, bending her knees and riding the unexpected movement as the platform disappeared from underneath her and Ronon.

Beckett staggered to the side, arms wind-milling as he stutter-stepped, trying to utilize his injured leg to keep his balance.

Teyla tapped her radio just as the pier lurched again. This time it seemed to drop from under them at an angle. Beckett bent his knees, quickly adjusting to the sudden dropping sensation. It felt much like an amusement ride lift that dropped too quickly to the floors below.

“Hurry!” Teyla called, picking herself and Ronon up again and moving at a faster clip towards the silo. Beckett lurched after her, every jogging step sending shocks of pain up his injured leg. He gritted his teeth, determined to make it.

Ocean water boiled and clashed against the sides of the disappearing pier, spraying up over its surface. Sharp crests of water smashed into one another magnifying their height just before slapping into the sinking edges of the pier.

“Oh crap,” Beckett mumbled. He stared over the edge of the pier at the suddenly chaotic water. The sea churned, foaming with the massive disturbance.

Displaced water surged over the edges as the pier sank with unexpected rapidity. The three rode the movement like inexperienced surfers.

Turbulent water curved across the deck, encircling their feet. Then it stopped, jarring them.

Rodney.

Beckett smiled almost laughing out loud with relief. If anyone could turn the tides of Atlantis in their favor, it was Rodney.

Ahead of him, Teyla made it to the silo with Ronon, and Carson was nearly there…

Suddenly the pier dropped again, tossing Beckett to his hands and knees. White water circled his wrists, camouflaging his bent fingers under oxygenated disturbed water. Teyla fell back into the metal structure, her injured shoulder slammed against the rounded silo, leaving a bright red smear. The vertical hand railing caught the roughened edges of her cut skin. She breathed in sharply, closing her eyes.

Ocean boiled up over the surface of the disappearing pier, rolling and stretching, inches deep across the Atlantian surface.

Cold ocean swamped their ankles, lapped at their shins, soaked wrists and bit at exposed flesh of forearms.

“Dr. Beckett!” Teyla shouted. She grabbed Ronon by the back of his shirt and hauled him to her side again—he’d slipped down a little. Ocean rushed around her, pulling at her ankles, tugging her legs in multiple directions of conflicting currents. “We must get inside! Hurry!” As she spoke, she disappeared into the silo with Ronon—then she popped out again alone, gripping the edge and gesturing frantically to the doctor to join them.

The pier dropped another inch, perhaps more. Teyla crashed to her knees sending water spraying into the air. Carson tried to get to his feet and get to them, but he just couldn’t manage it. The pier was moving too much, and the water…

“Carson!” Teyla watched as the doctor tried to get up, pivoted on his injured leg and collapsed to his knee. Surging water suddenly shoved him up against the building’s side, pulling on his legs.

“I’m here,” Carson muttered to himself, grabbing at the door’s edge. “I’m here.”

Beckett struggled to his feet, using the side of the silo to steady himself and pulled himself inside through the open door. A sudden rush of water through the open doorway swept his legs out from underneath him. His sneakered feet flew upward, past his falling shoulders. He hit the floor of the pier with a splash. Shallow water swirled over his head and face with salt stinging his eyes. The frigid temperature and unexpected submerging had him bolting upright, eyes wild and panicked.

Teyla was at his side in an instant, helping him up. “Can you close the door?” she asked as she propped him against the wall. “It will not respond to me.”

“Aye,” he sputtered, as if tarrying was something he considered. Beckett swiped his hand across the controls—but nothing happened. The door remained open—and another wave was coming at them.

“Aw crap.”

Chapter Text

Sheppard breathed out a heavy sigh as the latest set of quakes finished, and the engines powered down, and he returned to trying to pressurize the ZPM room.  It was at the base of the central tower, and, like everything at that level, was filled with water.   Atlantis was now officially low in the water from the weight of the flooding—from the screens, it looked like the piers were all slightly submerged.  He hoped Teyla and the others had gotten to higher ground.

Staring at all the flooded corridors and rooms on the screens, his eyes narrowed…

“McKay,” he said, stalking the various screens in the auxiliary room like a panther to compare the different arms of the snowflake city.  “I’ve an idea.”

“Really?” Rodney looked up with wide, hopeful eyes. “What?”

“We’ve been trying to stop the lower levels from flooding, right? Using pressurization, sealing bulkhead doors, that sort of thing?”

“Yeah.”

“So…,” Sheppard peered at one screen showing the aquarium area.  There was still a single life sign swimming around in there. “If we started to sink, could we create air-pockets?”

“Air…?”  McKay paused, and then, like the sun appearing from behind clouds, he gave John a brilliant smile. “Yes! Yes we could!”

“How much?”

McKay’s face fell slightly. “At least some.  I could pressurize all the desalination tanks and all the underwater bays and underwater corridors—the ones that don't need a shield to protect them.  And if I divert some of the helium being used to cool the engines to fill some spaces…Yes, yes, we can do this!  Buoyancy! Why didn’t I think of that?”  He immediately started typing, and the screens around the room flashed green as they changed their focus.

“How much time would that buy us of the city is sinking?”

“Um…”  Rodney closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. “I don’t know. Not long.  I know from the database that it normally only takes the city about five minutes to submerge normally.  If I do this…it might take fifteen minutes, maybe?  So…I could get us ten minutes before the top of the central tower is under water…”

“That enough time for us to rescue everyone and for you to break through his hacks?”

Rodney grimaced, then looked at Sheppard.  “I—“ 

"John!" Teyla's voice shouted over the channel—she sounded exhausted and very worried. "We have a problem!"

John clicked his radio, turning away from Rodney, who had hesitated in what he was doing at Teyla's voice.  When John turned away, the sound of Rodney attacking keys came back.  "Go ahead," he called.

"We have reached a place where we can climb, a silo, but the door leading inside will not close behind us," Teyla called.

John frowned, looking up at the life signs screen. "Where are you?"

"There is a series of five silos attached to a warehouse on the east pier.  John, every time we go down, the water levels breaching the pier get higher and more dangerous—this area is already several inches below the water line.  We could get washed out of this silo if the door stays open. In addition, with Ronon's and Carson's injuries, I don't know how quickly we can climb or how much time—"

"Sir!" Cadman's voice broke in.  John scrunched his eyes tight.

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, the outer jumper bay doors aren't opening!"

"Aw crap, I forgot that the jumper bay doesn't have power either," Rodney muttered behind John, skidding over to another console. "Part of the Central Tower, right...hold on..."

"Shall I blow them, sir?" Cadman asked.

"No!" Rodney yelled suddenly, before John could answer. "Why is that always the military’s solution to everything?  You blow those doors, you'll seal the fate of everyone in the Tower ten times faster if I can't stop the city from sinking!  I can get them open...just...just....give me a minute..."  He skidded over to another console, pulling crystals and tossing them to the side as he typed in commands. 

John dropped his hand from his earpiece, frowning at the scientist. "Rodney."

Rodney looked up, and John frowned even more. 

"Teyla, Carson and Ronon don't have five minutes, Rodney," he said.

Rodney's whole body tensed, frozen for a moment as the words registered. Then his fingers started snapping and he pointed at the Colonel. "No, yes, we're okay!  You can go and get them!" he grinned and pointed at the floor. "The underwater jumper bay is only a few corridors away and down a set of stairs.  Go. Take one of those jumpers and save them."

John's eyes widened—he had forgotten about the underwater jumper bay. Just as the main jumper bay was right next to the control room, the underwater jumper bay was near auxiliary control.  But even though the solution was obvious, it meant...

"No, I...," he frowned, his need to be here to protect Rodney fighting his need to save the others, "Rodney, I can't leave you alone!"

"I'll be fine," the other man replied, sliding across to another console.  "You said it yourself—he wants to beat me.  He won’t hurt me until that happens.  Besides,” Rodney shrugged, “I'll just seal this room after you leave.  Whoever this hacker is, I'm still better, believe me.  He won't get in if I don't want him to."  He pivoted on his feet and danced to another console, his fingers flying across the keys.  When he looked up again, his expression had shifted from intense to annoyed.

"Why are you still here?" Rodney demanded.

"I—"

"Go!"

"This section is going to flood soon!  How are you going to get out?"

"Same as you.  If worse comes to worse, I'll just go to the underwater bay.  It's watertight in there, obviously, and the bilge pumps will work since it’s on the same power circuit as here.  If I can't fix this, I'll find myself a jumper and escape."  His eyes glazed over briefly, then he shook himself and returned to attacking the consoles. "But that's not going to happen.  Because I am going to fix this."

"John!" Teyla's voice was nearing panic.

"Sir?" Cadman called, obviously still raring to blow the hole in the roof that Rodney didn't want her to.

"Go," Rodney snapped at John. "Now! Hurry!"

Gritting his teeth, John nodded. "Good luck," he offered softly, causing Rodney's motions to hitch for a second over the keyboard. Then, he was back to typing, and John was running, heading out the door and to the underwater jumper bay, telling Teyla he was on his way and ordering Cadman to wait for Rodney to open up the Bay.

====

Rodney shut the doors behind Sheppard, then attached his tablet to one of the control panels next to the doors.  A couple of keystrokes, and all four entrances to this room sealed with four echoing beeps.  Three sets of 24 digit keycodes.  Let's see the bastard hack that.

Resting the tablet to the side, he returning to the console, and tried to locate the grain silos Teyla mentioned.  He tapped a few keys, and zoomed in on the east pier...and what looked like five silos sitting next to each other.  Gritting his teeth, his fingers flew across the keys.  He had to break through the hack cutting off their power long enough for them to close the door to the silo they needed.  Then...then he had to get back to getting the bay doors open.  They'd need both doors – the roof and the door to the Gate room open – for the Jumper DHD's to connect to the Gate.  He also needed to get power to the doors in the rest of the city, where people were sealed into rooms.  And then…the fail-safes.  He had to bulwark the fail-safes—he wasn’t going to stop reversing the engines until the very end. They had to stay above water for as long as—

Atlantis’s engines suddenly came back on.  God DAMN it!

His fingers flew faster, and some traitorous part of his psyche started singing "Nearer My God to Thee" in the back of his head.

====

The pier floor dropped again, and water poured through the open doorway of the silo.

“Rodney!” Teyla screamed, and Carson just closed his eyes, sending up every prayer he could think of. 

“Got it! There! Teyla, you can shut the door now!”  Rodney’s shout over the radio had Carson nearly jumping out of his skin.  Teyla, standing near the rungs of the interior ladder inside the silo with Ronon, looked over at the doctor, but he was way ahead of her, passing his hand over the controls.  Instantly, the door slid shut, pinching water off outside.

“Ach, now that’s better.”  He smiled at the other two, pleased for being a part of their rescue, instead of just needing rescued.  God…he needed a rest.  He looked down at the edge of the metal door, where it met the floor, and at the water seeping inside.  Light streamed down from small, rectangular windows staggered up the silo’s walls, casting everything in a surreal, diffuse light.

The city suddenly lurched violently—Rodney had reversed the engines again.  It felt powerful enough to tear them apart.

“Dr. Beckett, we must climb now.”  Teyla’s calm voice broke him from his reverie.

Water continued to seep in under and around the closed door. It leeched steadily across the smooth floor, deepening as seconds ticked passed.  Beckett’s heart lurched.  Panic flooded his system.  He suddenly felt incapable of moving another step.

“Dr. Beckett,” Teyla spoke again, guiding Ronon up the small rung ladder that scaled in the inner wall of the silo. “We must get higher.”

Beckett remained still, facing the door, watching the water pour in, feeling the cold wetness lap at his ankles and wick up his pant material.  Salt water stung the raw edges of his sutured skin through his gauze bandage.

Ronon reached out and, with a heavy hand, grabbed Beckett by the coat collar and yanked him to the side.  “Move.” 

Beckett stumbled, trying to catch his balance, throwing a hand out to brace against the rounded walls.  The smooth surface was cool to the touch.

“Aye, I’m moving,” Carson muttered.  He shook himself loose and stepped to the tiny metal ladder.  He stared at it, following its course upward to a small balcony just below the capped roof.  He then let his gaze drift back to the Athosian and Satedan. 

Ronon held his left side tightly as if trying to keep skin edges from peeling apart.  Dark blood stains deepened his already water-soaked shirt.   Thin streams of blood trickled under freshly formed blackened clots along his shoulder.  It was a miracle the man was still on his feet, let alone contemplating climbing a ladder. 

“Can you even climb, lad?” Beckett asked.  His voice rang around the hollow enclosure.

The city shuddered violently again. The small group stumbled left and right. Deepening water sloshed against the metal walls as people struggled to keep their balance. 

Teyla gripped the ladder with her good arm, doing her best to assist the Satedan with her injured arm. Water lapped steadily at their feet and ankles. 

The engines died again then, leaving it eerily quiet in the metal tube, except for the water sloshing inside and outside of the silo.  How much lower was Atlantis in the water now, he wondered?  As if in answer, a sudden surge of water cascaded around the closed door.

“Don’t have much choice,” Ronon answered over the noise.

“We must hurry,” Teyla stated.

“You first,” Ronon stated in a manner that left no room for discussion.   

Teyla simply nodded, not liking the decision, but understanding the strategy.  Leading the way, she could better assist the others onto the small platform near the pointed ceiling.

She took a breath and then stretched, reaching for the first rung with her good hand. With strength that belayed her injuries, she pulled herself upward. She hooked her injured arm over the rung and reached again for a higher rung, slowly making her way upward.

“Your turn, Doc,” Ronon’s deep voice rumbled over the sloshing water inside the silo.

“Nae, you should go before me.”  Beckett gestured with his chin. He cranked his head back and watched as Teyla manhandled herself higher.  Even injured she moved with unspeakable grace and elegance. 

“If I fall, I’ll take you with me,” Dex stated, having to explain what Teyla quietly understood.

“We won’t have far to fall now, will we?  Not if the water keeps rising,” Carson returned.  Even as they spoke, water lapped up to his knees, soaking his trousers.  His sutured lower leg had ceased stinging under the numbing cold of salt water.  This game Rodney was playing with the engines—it seemed pretty clear his current strategy was a losing one.  “Where are we climbing to anyway?” 

“Up,” Dex answered, carefully pointing, in case the doctor missed his meaning. 

Beckett gave him a scowl and shook his head slightly in exasperation.

Ronon smiled and turned to the ladder. With great effort, the Satedan grabbed the nearest ladder rung and hoisted himself upward with a grunt. He curled his abdomen inward and caught the rung with his booted feet.  The narrow streams of blood that ran from his shoulder and left flank thickened. Fat droplets made tiny dark splashes in the rising water. 

Ronon began his painful climb upward, utilizing his legs in manner that was both impressive and frightening.

The Scot stared up the ladder to the small balcony near the coned ceiling.  The purpose for the silo with small peculiarly placed windows, eluded him, but then engineering and architecture were not his bailiwick.  He stepped forward, the movement reawakening the sharp sting of salt against his injured leg.  Pink-tinged water swirled around his knees.

 With a heavy sigh, he reached for a rung and slowly started climbing.  Water licked his heels.  Carson pulled himself upward using shoulder strength and heavily favoring his injured leg.

Up. They were going up.  Great. 

====

Lying in the infirmary, left with just a skeleton medical staff and a handful of marines, Radek itched, wishing he could get up and help.  He had managed to link into Rodney’s computer, but, without more, like Chuck, there was little he could do.  He listened as Rodney told Elizabeth that Colonel Sheppard was going to go and get Teyla, Ronon and Carson.  He was grateful—but he didn’t like that, now, Rodney was truly alone.

“Rodney?  I’m here if you need me,” Zelenka called out over his radio, wishing he could do more.

“Great, great,” Rodney shot back, his tone biting. “Zelenka’s in the infirmary if anyone needs him.”

“I will help wherever I can,” Radek insisted, feeling helpless and small in the isolated room. “I have a laptop, if that helps.  And I can see what you’re working on.”

“Wait, you can? How?”

“He got the link from me, Doctor McKay,” Chuck answered.  “We can see your screen.”

“Well, hell, if you can see my screen…hang on…” 

Radek’s laptop beeped softly, then a screen popped up with an IM message on it.  It read, “New passwords.  The ones we joked about using once.  Use it.  I need someone firewalling behind me.”

Zelenka’s eyebrows raised, but, after a moment’s pause, he started typing quickly.  Breaking into Rodney’s computer required knowing six different passwords—and it was with some glee that he entered each one.  They were all number codes—based off of the numbers of planets the SGC had banned from the database.  He grinned as he suddenly had full access to Rodney’s computer.

“I’m in!” he said happily.

“Good! Now keep this son of a bitch off my back,” McKay demanded.  “Just keep firewalling whatever I fix.”

Radek frowned, feeling a rebuke at this mundane task.  “Yes, I can do that.  I am doing that,” he responded, “But wouldn’t my expertise be better used…”

“Radek, every time I fix something, he’ll come right behind me and tear it down, unless you keep up,” McKay responded, a bit of a whine reaching his voice.  “Just keep him from undoing my repairs, and I’ll be able to forge forward and save the city.”

With a nod, Zelenka stated, “I understand.  I will protect your work.”

“Thanks.” There was relief in the great Rodney McKay’s voice, and an evident weariness.  Radek realized that the softly spoken ‘thanks’ was heartfelt.  “If we could just get ahead of him for a few minutes we might be able to cut him off.  But first…Ha!”

"The roof of the Jumper Bay is opening!  We're heading out!" Cadman called over the radio, and Radek could hear applause over the radio.  Then it died down, and Elizabeth came on-line.

"Rodney!" Elizabeth yelled over the radio. "We need the other jumper bay door open, the one leading down!  So we can use the Gate!"

Radek suppressed the urge to warn people off the jumper bay floor.  Hopefully everyone had learned something from his misfortune.

"I know we have to open the floor!” Rodney snapped. “I have other people trapped in sealed rooms around this city. I can't do everything! Getting power to all those doors has kept me from working to keep the city afloat and...

The city lurched again, and Radek had to quickly grab his laptop to keep it from toppling to the floor.

“Damn it!” Rodney railed.  “I can’t believe… Damn it! Engines coming on again! Hang on to something!"

Then another massive shudder hit the city.  People screamed in the infirmary as medical personnel and military fell into each other like bowling pins. 

====

Out on the east pier, a massive crack appeared in the floor surface, beginning near a portion of the pier that stuck out more than the rest.  As the shaking grew to extreme levels, the crack grew, spreading down along the pier—headed straight for the warehouse with the five silos resting on the edge.

Chapter Text

Carson had learned quickly not to tilt his head and stare upward at the booted feet and posterior of the former Runner.  Saltwater and blood dripped down, smacking him in the forehead, occasionally between the eyes.  The ingrained fear of splashing blood kept Carson facing straight forward, staring into the grey wall of the silo.

“Doctor, you must hurry,” Teyla’s calm voice floated down to him from somewhere far above.

“Aye,” he whispered in return.  Teyla was fast, escaping lab mouse fast, and that was impressive. He, personally, didn’t understand what he was hurrying toward, but increased his speed at her behest.

Rodney would stop the city from sinking.  He’d get them out of this. Carson had no doubt.  Well…maybe a little.

The city shuddered again, and even gripping tight to the ladder rung, Beckett felt himself drop. His foot slipped from its rung and his lower body flashed downward a few inches, slamming flush against the ladder. 

He kept completely still, hanging only by his hands as the shuddering grew more and more vicious, and the metal walls of the silo began to groan in a way that was not at all comforting.

Then, suddenly, the whole structure seemed to lurch, listing powerfully from side to side…and then it dropped.

“Ronon!”  Teyla’s shout had Carson looking upward just in time to see the Satedan lose his purchase and tumble backward.

“Crap!” Beckett tucked his chin in tight to his chest and pulled himself as close as he could against the ladder.

All to no avail.

Ronon’s flailing body slammed into the doctor’s shoulders and bowed head, tearing him brutally from his purchase on the ladder.

Beckett heard himself scream for a split second, and then the roar of water and rushing bubbles filled his world.   He immediately found himself free of Ronon and kicked upward, swimming desperately for the surface.

He broke clear of the water and hauled in panic breaths as he instinctively treaded water.  What the hell?  Where did all this water…? Sharp crests slapped against his face, stinging his eyes closed.

“Carson! To your left!” He could hear Teyla shouting to him from somewhere high above. “Ronon is to your left!”

Beckett swivel to his right, and cracked open eye.  The grey wall of silo filled his vision.

“Your left, Carson! Your left!” Teyla shouted again.

Carson swung the other way, spitting water and gasping. Water splashed into his face, reaching into his nose, scalding his sinuses, filling his mouth and swamping his eyes.  He coughed and gagged, fighting for breath. 

He treaded his way right into a soft, but amazingly solid body.  “Ronon, lad?”  Beckett opened his eyes, coming face to face with the ex-runner.

“Sorry, Doc,” Dex muttered, sounding immensely embarrassed and repentant for being mercilessly thrown from a ladder, in a silo, by a sinking city.

“None of that now.  Let’s just get back to the ladder and try this again,”  Beckett directed between breaths and spitting water.

“You all right?” Dex asked.

“Oh, well considering, how the day’s been shaping up, Aye, I think I’m fine,” Carson answered in his best calm conversationalist tone, as if drowning in an Ancient silo was an expected every day event for him.

They reached the ladder together. Both held on tight for a moment, catching their breath and allowing the water to raise them slightly to the next rung.

“What the hell just happened?” Beckett muttered, looking at the water all around them…the rapidly rising water.  Did Rodney lose?  He patted his ear—no radio.  It must have fallen off in the fall.  He glanced at the Satedan, and noticed no radio on his ear either.

“Guess McKay’s plan failed,” Ronon said unhappily, closing his eyes for a long moment.  “Atlantis is sinking.”

“Well, if it is,” Carson mused, “it slowed down a bit.”

Ronon just grunted, and looked up to where Teyla was still hanging on the railing where they’d left her.  She was watching them, her eyes wide.

The water lifted them up to the next rung, and the two men let it.

“You know, I’ve been thinking on this,” Carson said, reaching for the next rung up, allowing the rising water to continue to lift him.

“What?” Ronon eyed him speculatively.  He had learned early on not to casually discount scientists’ thoughts in times of crisis.  The Earth scientists might not be much good with a weapon or hand-to-hand combat, but they often came up with some clever ideas.

“Why not just let the water do all the work and bring us up closer to the balcony, instead of climbing?”

The Satedan contemplated this for a moment and noticed that they were half way to the balcony.  He shook his head.

“We need to get out of here. If that door is up there stuck, we’ll need time to open it or we’ll drown,” Ronon answered as he pulled himself up onto the rung. He started the slow climb upward.

“What door?” Carson asked with sigh of despondency.  Floating was so much easier than climbing.

Ronon breathed deeply and simply pointed with his chin toward the ceiling.

Carson followed his gesture and, sure enough, just above the tiny balcony where Teyla just rolled onto, was a small hatch.  “Ahh,” he breathed as if he completely understood and reached for the next rung.

Beckett concentrated on climbing.  His injured leg had become painfully numb and refused to support his weight.  However, it was difficult to complain to Teyla or Ronon when they had unattended injuries much worse than his own.

“Don’t look out the window,” Ronon ordered from a few rungs up.

“What? Why?” Carson asked just as he came level to his first window.  He stared out the glass and came face to face with his own reflection from the deep soulless black eye of the shark-like creature. Its flattened dark head and wavering gills were surrounded by the muted green of deep ocean.

Carson squeaked and froze.

The creature turned and leisurely swam away, sliding into the depths of the rising ocean.

Beckett’s breath hitched.  “Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.” He began scrambling up the ladder in a panic, utilizing his leg that just a few moments ago he had thought useless.

“I said, don’t look,” Ronon stated tersely from above.

“You must hurry,” Teyla spoke from her tiny perch upon the balcony.  “Colonel Sheppard is in a Jumper heading for us.  We must leave this structure quickly. ”

“Why?” Beckett called up to her.

“Because I just looked out this window,” Teyla said, pointing to the side, her tone so calm, it sounded almost dead.  “And we no longer appear to be attached to Atlantis.” 

====

Rodney couldn’t move.  The engines had just shut off, leaving everything calm once more, but this time…

His eyes were glued to the image on the screen showing the east pier—and the part of it that was floating free and sinking fast.

“Sheppard?” he croaked.  “Do you see?”

“Yeah.”  It was quiet.  “I’m heading over there now.”

“What?” Elizabeth asked. “What has happened?”

“Part of the east pier snapped off from the main, and dropped into the ocean,” Rodney replied, blinking rapidly. “The part that Teyla, Ronon and Carson were on.”

There was silence on the line.  Then, “Have you tried to reach them?”

Rodney just shook his head dumbly, then, when he realized no one could see him, he answered. “No.”

“I have,” Sheppard answered. “They are not responding.  But there could be a lot of reasons for that.”

Yeah, Rodney thought, like they’re dead.

“Rodney,” Sheppard said suddenly, his voice sharp. “Stay focused down there.  I will find them.  Just work on my idea, will you?”

“What idea?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh,” Rodney looked down at his stilled fingers.  They were throbbing slightly, and his wrists had begun to hurt from the awkward way he’d been holding them for so long.  “Um…actually, this one.”  He hit a few keys, and the program he’d created to make the air-pockets integrated itself into the workings of Atlantis. 

He looked up at the main screen in front of him, showing the entire city matrix.

Blue spread out along different points within the red streaked snowflake, and he felt Atlantis shudder as the man-made air pockets lightened its weight and slowed the descent.  In the lowest parts of the city—where no one would go—he filled the corridors with helium, secretly thanking the Ancients for having the foresight to make gases other than oxygen available for use when needed.  It would be the helium down below that would do most of the work of slowing them down, but the oxygen pockets he created elsewhere would balance them out…

“Rodney,” Elizabeth breathed, obviously following the screen on her link to his computer from Chuck’s terminal. “Are you doing that?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling slightly.  “Do you need me to explain—“

“No.  I can see it clearly.  You’re creating air pockets.” She paused, then, “Will it work?”

“Well, it won’t stop us from going down, but it will slow the descent. I mean, I can’t reverse the engines anymore, can I?  Not after…”  he trailed off, his eyes drifting to the screen to his left showing the east pier again.  God, it had broken apart like a dry cookie...

“How much time will it buy?” Elizabeth said then, shaking him from his reverie.

“Oh. I don’t know.  Some.  But what he’s done, Elizabeth…it’s pervasive.”  It was the only way he could describe it. 

“Okay.”

Rodney waited a moment, expecting her to say more.  But she didn’t.  Elizabeth was finally out of words. 

His heart sunk.

“Focus, Rodney,” Sheppard said again, as if reading his mind from where he was.  Sheppard could be scary that way. “I’ll find them.  It’ll be okay.  My idea will work.”

Rodney closed his eyes, then opened them and started to type.  He’d bought them some time with Sheppard’s idea, yes, but even with it, he couldn’t tackle all the problems by himself.  Katie and some of the others were still trapped in sealed rooms with doors he needed to open, he still hadn’t opened the gateroom doors leading to the jumper bay, the city was still flooding in new areas, and the hacker was probably already working on attacking his new program.  Plus—the engines were about to come on again, and they’d be sinking for real.

He needed help—real help, not just someone backing up his work.  Screw this, one on one crap with the hacker.  It wasn’t fair when the other person had set up everything well in advance.  Looking over at the image of the central tower, he ignored the control room…and focused on getting power to the infirmary.

====

“Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap,” Beckett whispered to himself.  Shaking hands grabbed rung after rung, quickly closing the distance on the ex-runner.

Beckett approached the next window, and squeezed his eyes shut, determined not to look.

Yeah, right.

He opened his eyes, staring out through the submerged window and spotted a dark indistinguishable shape far off, heading toward them.  Was it one of the jumpers coming to rescue them?  He looked up at Teyla and then Ronon, who was almost to the balcony.

Beckett turned his attention back to the window.

Suddenly the creature morphed from the hazy green of ocean and rammed the window with its head.  The glass spidered. Beckett yelped and threw himself backward, letting go of the ladder.

He heard both Ronon and Teyla start to shout his name.  Carson slammed back first into the rising waters.  Air bubbles cascaded upward all around him as he sank.  Immediately, he righted himself and swam upward.  He broke the surface, coughing and sputtering.

“Doctor Beckett, you must hurry!” Teyla spoke firmly.

Rising water pushed him closer to the balcony and passed the second window that now held multiple radiating cracks.   Beckett grabbed hold of a rung and once again started upward.

“Don’t look out the window,” Ronon ordered again.  Beckett scaled passed the third window keeping his eyes squeezed shut.  Something slammed into the glass.  He heard it crack.  A small whimper escaped from him.

“You are nearly there,” Teyla spoke again.  “Hurry.”

“Coming, coming,” Beckett whispered.  He pulled himself upward, rung after wet rung. The sound of encroaching water, slapping off the walls of the silo inched after him.

“Grab my hand,” Teyla’s soft voice was suddenly just above him.

With one hand, Carson reached for the balcony while supporting himself with his feet on the rungs of the ladder.

Despite her injury, the Athosian easily guided him onto the tiny balcony.  Water rose only a few feet below.  The condensed air was thick and stale and pressure popped his ears.

Without thought, Beckett swiped his hand across the control panel.  Nothing happened.  He did it again, and still nothing.  No luminescent blue, no swoosh of a door, no rush of fresh air.  Nothing.

“It’s not working,” he muttered. No control panel sat adjacent to the door.

“Caught that,” Ronon stated.  “Might be because we’re no longer attached to the city,” he added dryly.

Carson buried his panic just enough to share an annoyed glare with the Satedan.

“Ronon, can you fire at that window?” Teyla asked.  Clear sunlight shone through the last and highest window that sat just at their level.  The ocean surface rested only a few inches to a foot below.

Dex turned, his blaster already swinging into his palm as he fired.  The red energy bolt shattered the ancient glass.  After a few seconds fresh air rushed in, filling their tiny little area.

“We must escape while we can,” Teyla said.

“Are you daft?” Beckett exclaimed.  “That thing is out there.”

“Would you rather drown in here?”  Teyla asked.  As she spoke she and Ronon manhandled the physician toward the window.

“Aye, as a matter of fact I would.” Carson tried to finagle his way free of their grip to no avail.  Instead, he braced his hands on either side of the shattered window refusing to go through.  “I’m not going out there.”  Carson braced his shoulders behind his upper arms, flattening his palms against the curved walls.

“The water will reach this level soon and either you will be trapped in here to drown, or you’ll be trapped in here with the creature,” Teyla answered.  Frustration tinged her tone.

“I thought Colonel Sheppard was coming,” Beckett whimpered.

“He will be here soon,” Teyla assured.

“I’m not going out there,” Beckett re-affirmed.

“Yes, you are,” Ronon slammed his hand down on Beckett’s inner elbow, collapsing the doctor’s right arm, while simultaneously shoving him between the shoulder blades.

Carson flew through the window, his horrified scream abruptly cut out with a splash.

Teyla stared at the Ronon in admonishment.  “You should not have done that.”

Dex gently stepped through the small window unrepentant.  “He’ll forgive me.” The big Satedan paused, half in and half out the window and stared up at Teyla, “if he doesn’t get eaten by that thing first.”

The Athosian shook her head in reprimand.  She tapped her radio. “John, we are out of the silo. The creature is nearby—the one you called a shark. You must hurry.”

“Nearly there,” came Sheppard’s reply. “Good to hear your voice!”

“Yes!” Rodney added, and Teyla gave a small smile.

“Yes, but we are still in great danger,” she noted.  “And injured.”

“Roger that,” Sheppard said. “Just hang on. I’m trying to find you now.”

Teyla gave a nod, then slid through the window and dropped the few inches into the ocean.  They'd have to rely on John seeing them on top of the silo.

She followed Ronon, who left a bloody trail of water, as he kicked awkwardly behind Carson.  Dr. Beckett was steadily making his way around the silo toward the small outer ladder that scaled the shallow incline of the peaked silo roof.

Teyla slowed her movements and quietly surveyed the ocean surface, searching for any sign of the creature and finding none.  It gave her no solace.  She struck out an arm and started swimming one handed for the exterior silo roof ladder.

It would be good to get out of the water.  When she turned back, she found Beckett had clambered up the ladder, but he now stood frozen on the slanted roof, staring ashen and wide-eyed in muted terror at something behind her.

Ronon grasped the ladder, his blaster raised, aiming just over her head.

Teyla turned, treading water and saw the large triangular black fin slice effortlessly through the ocean, directly toward her.

====

Radek listened to the pandemonium over the radio, switching from channel to channel as he tried to find somewhere he could help.  He felt frustrated and terribly stuck – inadequate.  With just a laptop and a link he’d managed to establish to Rodney’s computer, Radek had a hell of a time keeping up with what was going on, let alone keeping his laptop balanced on his cast.

He heard Teyla suddenly call for help from Sheppard, and Sheppard’s terse response.  Holding his breath, he waited, listening as voices were drowned out in the waves and Sheppard called out assurances.

No word.  No word yet.  Sheppard called again and there was no answer.  And he clicked his tongue in discontent and went back to the laptop, hoping to help, but at that moment, all he was doing was keeping an eye on Rodney’s work.  The Canadian was unspeakably fast.  He’d say that McKay was just showing off if he didn’t know better.

“Ronon?”  Sheppard called again.  “Teyla, please respond.  Beckett, I need your location.”

“Are they okay?” Rodney called out, not slowing in his work.

“I’m looking, Rodney.  It’s a mess out here.”

“You’ll find them, right?” his voice quavered.

“I’ll find them,” Sheppard pledged in return.  And Radek believed him.  Apparently McKay did too because he didn’t press the colonel any further.

Yes, yes, Zelenka thought.  If anyone will find them, it will be Colonel Sheppard.  The other jumpers must be airborne as well now.  All will be found.  All will be rescued.  Everyone will be fine.  His head jerked up as the city made a little lurch. 

Everyone will be fine, he promised himself.

And, suddenly, without warning, the infirmary lights burst into light at full power, and all the machines around him (that hadn’t been destroyed in the backlash) hummed back to life.  The few personnel still left down here with him, cheered. 

"Rodney!" Zelenka called over the radio. "That was you, yes?  We've got power back in the infirmary!"

"Yes," the scientist replied. "Which means you can help me.  I need additional safeguard measures.  He’s started attacking the new air-pocket program I just implemented—one I didn’t have time to firewall sufficiently. I don't have time to encrypt it and keep us afloat.  I also need you to work on diverting power back to the doors—we’ve still got people trapped inside rooms—and you can work on opening the doors from the jumper bay to the gateroom."

"You've powered the Infirmary but not the control room?" Elizabeth called, her voice tight. "Rodney, we can't—"

"Control is ten times more complicated! It's got too many systems feeding it, and the hacker has corrupted all of them differently," Rodney answered. "It would take me too long to break through.  On the other hand, the infirmary was simple, because he didn't really try that hard to cut it off—probably not thinking it would be useful to me. "

Radek smiled inanely at that.  He knew a compliment when he heard one, and that was a big one.

“Thank you, Rodney,” he said happily.

An undisguised snort came across the line.  “Just get your laptop connected to the system and do your job, Zelenka.  You know what I’m trying to do, so…help me.”

“Right.” Radek gave a nod, and smiled as his laptop jacked itself into the Atlantis mainframe.  His smile fell when he finally saw the extent of the damage the hacker had caused. 

Oh shit.

“I see them,” Sheppard said suddenly. Then, in clear breach of radio etiquette and in strange echo to Radek’s last thought, he added, “Oh shit.”

====

Until she came to Atlantis, Teyla had never seen the ocean. So it had never occurred to her that she might die at sea.

Cold salt water stung the cuts on her arm and forehead and soaked into the heavy fabric of her military-issue trousers, weighing her down and making every motion an effort. She ignored these distractions, all her attention focused on the creature cutting toward her through the water like a knife blade. Teyla took a deep breath, coiled and ready to lash out with fists, legs, even teeth, as soon as it came within striking distance.

She had spent her life battling monsters that dropped from the sky to devour whole worlds.

No oversized fish was going to make a meal of her.

It was close enough now for her to make out sharp teeth flashing beneath the waves. With a flick of its tail, the beast accelerated, only to veer sharply away, passing her by.

It wasn’t attacking, she realized. It was following a thicker blood trail.

"Ronon!" she screamed, whirling in the water to watch as the fin continued on its way toward the sinking silo and the wounded man clinging to the external ladder. Ronon stared calmly back at her, making no effort to climb higher. His mangled arm was hooked awkwardly through the rungs, keeping him upright. The other arm leveled his blaster at the waves, waiting for a clear shot.

Beckett, who had been plastered against the silo roof, threw himself down on one knee and leaned out dangerously far, trying to grab the injured man and pull him higher. "What do you think you're doing? Get out of the water!" he yelled, tugging on the only part of Ronon he could reach, which happened to be the Satedan's soggy dreadlocks.

Ronon ignored them both and fired. The red flash from the energy pulse lit the seawater like blood, but the creature continued on, unfazed.

"Great," Ronon grumbled. With a grunt, he heaved his legs out of the water, seconds before flashing teeth closed on the surf at the base of the ladder.

With a yelp of distress, Beckett reached out and snagged both legs and heaved them onto the narrow roof ledge, leaving Ronon dangling upside down on the ladder, his head almost touching the waves. The fin passed directly below him, parting his hair in passing.

It circled the empty water for a moment, apparently confused. Then a fat red drop of blood fell from Ronon's shoulder and hit the water. A second drop followed it. And a third. The fin pulled a hairpin turn and reoriented. Ronon's good arm fumbled for the ladder, even as the silo settled deeper into the water. Ronon's arm fell back and hit the water with a splash.

"No!" Teyla shouted, slapping at the water in front of her. She slapped again and again, trying to create a distraction. The fin paused and slowly turned toward her. Teyla smiled fiercely, kicking backward, trying to put more distance between the tower and her thrashing body.

"Catch me if you can," she whispered, noting with satisfaction that the doctor had caught hold of Ronon's hand and was pulling him to the relative safety of the roof.

Calmly she waited, treading water as the fin came toward her again, hunting in earnest this time. She tried to summon up a prayer to the Ancestors, but the only thought in her head was the certainty that Rodney McKay and John Sheppard would find the person responsible for the pointless cruelties of this day—and that she very much wished she could be there when they did.

And it was at that precise moment that something enormous and silvery dropped out of the sky. The water in front of her exploded in a shower of sea spray and pink mist as the great fish was cut neatly in half by the nose of a puddle jumper.

Waves from the impact caught Teyla and dragged her under the water. She somersaulted, then fought her way back to the surface, coughing and sputtering, to see the jumper hovering now, bare inches above the waterline. The back hatch was open, beckoning her to safety. Beckett and Dex were back in the water, floundering toward it.

Behind them, Atlantis gave another shudder. She could see jumpers sliding in and out between the towers like flies.  The base of the great city was completely submerged. Teyla's mouth set in a grim line and she kicked toward the jumper. Whatever Sheppard and McKay were planning, they would need to act soon. 

Chapter Text

Elizabeth slumped with relief as Sheppard reported that he had found Beckett, Teyla and Ronon, and was getting them safely on board the jumper.  She tapped her radio to tell him so, when, as if to mock her relief, the engines took that moment to come alive again.

And this time, Rodney would not be reversing them.  He’d be relying on the air-pockets.  Although more slowly than normal, Atlantis would now submerge fully if something drastic didn’t happen soon. 

Suddenly, a massive shudder ran through the control room, different from the ones before.  Elizabeth fell hard into a console, not expecting it.  Down below, the hundred or so people crammed into the gateroom cried out in fear where they were tumbling into each other.

“Rodney!” Elizabeth slapped her earpiece, nearly boxing her own ear with the ferocity of the motion. “I thought you weren’t going to reverse the engines again!”

A half-second later, the city regained its stability, but no one dared move for a moment, staring around at the central tower as if the whole thing might suddenly upend.

Elizabeth shared completely confused glances with Chuck, and slapped her radio again (this time a little more calmly).  "Rodney! Answer me! What the hell was that?!"

"Sorry!" he called back, sounding breathless. "That was one of my air pockets filling with water!  The hacker is working to undo my preventative measures.  He knocked out one of my bilge pumps—but I've got them back online. But...gah!  Oh...not good, not good, not good...Radek! What are you doing? Sleeping at the switch? You need to help me forge forward, remember?"

Elizabeth shut her eyes, then opened them again. "Rodney, I think it’s time we faced facts.  Even with the extra time you have gotten us, can you stop the city from sinking before it is fully submerged?”

“Yes.” There was a pause, then, “Maybe.”

“Yes or maybe, Rodney?  I need to know.  How long will before the city is fully submerged?”

Another pause. “Ten, fifteen minutes tops.  More like ten.”

Elizabeth shut her eyes, then opened them again. “Then you have to focus on opening the jumper bay doors to the gateroom.”

“Don’t you think I’ve been trying to do that?  That Zelenka’s been trying to do that?” Rodney snapped. “But, of all the things he’s done, the hacker has locked the jumper bay doors leading to the gateroom tighter than anything except his control on the engines.  He wants us to die, Elizabeth! Don’t you get it?”

She heaved a sigh. Yeah—she did. “Look, we have hardwired the Gate so that it has power from a generator,” she prompted.  “All we need to do is access the DHD, and we could evacuate people off the city.”

“I know!” McKay snapped.  “While we’re asking for the moon, can I ask for a Nobel prize?  That’d be nice.”

“Rodney,” Elizabeth said.

"I...damn it!  Hang on, he's attacking another of the bilge pumps!  Hold on!"

The city quaked again, and Elizabeth held her breath until it was over.  Breathing out heavily, she called, "Rodney?"

“Here. Sorry. What were we…? Oh yes, the DHD. Sure, if the DHD was working we could all go skipping merrily along with Lorne on the planet of the Amazon women,” McKay went on.  “And we could all get the snot beat out of us when we ask them why they all have mustaches, because I swear, last time I was there…”

“Rodney, wait!”  Zelenka called, filled with the exuberance of someone with an idea.  “Didn’t you resolve the issue with the DHD in the Gateroom before the power was lost? 

“Yes, yes,” the angry crackle of Rodney’s voice came back at him.  “Try to keep up!  Fat lot of good a working DHD does when it has no power!”

Radek continued, oblivious to the snark. “So, the issues that were affecting the Ancient equipment were fixed on the DHD, correct?  It was offline before the hacker’s latest assault so it should be clean.”

“Right, right,” McKay softly intoned.

“If we were to wire a naquadah generator directly to that location like the one Elizabeth said is now attached to the gate—we could dial out, yes?” Radek tried.  “With no power to activate the other systems, and the generator wired directly, the DHD would be isolated, and…”

“And our hacker wouldn’t be able to access it remotely!” Rodney responded.  “Yes!  Get over there, Radek!  Take care of it.”

“Yes,” Radek responded darkly.  “I’ll jump right up on my one good leg and do that.”

There was a short pause, as Rodney obviously realized the situation.  “Assign someone, anyone!  I’m kind of trapped here at the moment.”

“I can do it,” a voice sounded from Elizabeth’s left.  She nearly jumped out of her skin as she turned to look at the tall form hovering over by the doors to the main hall.  Her eyes widened.

“Dr. Nguyen?”

He gave a nod.  “I just came up from the infirmary—I’ve been helping the medical personnel evacuate the equipment they need.  I’ve been listening in,” he tapped his ear.  “I…”  He trailed off as marines surrounded him on all sides, and several had their weapons up.  “Um…”  he looked at a loss, then turned back to Elizabeth. “Dr. Weir?  I…I don’t know what’s happening, but I have access to McKay’s lab.  I can get a generator and get up here in a minute.  I…I, uh…”  He looked at the marines again.

Elizabeth frowned.  “That might not be the best idea,” she said quietly.

The scientist swallowed. “But I…I can do this. I can take care of everything related to the DHD,” Nguyen assured.  Sweat was beading on his forehead, and Elizabeth grimaced.  

“You need him, Elizabeth,” Rodney said then. “He’s right.”

Elizabeth dipped her head, then looked up at him again.  “I think it may be best if we send someone along with you,” she commented.

“Sure,” Nguyen said.  “But I can handle it, Dr. Weir.  I’ve worked with the generators, and I know the DHD system as well as Zelenka and McKay.”  There was a pause, and he seemed to stand taller.  “…Probably better,” he added. 

“I—“

“And I need to go now.  Ten minutes, right?” 

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed to slits, but she nodded. “Go.”  She looked at the marines, “And go with him.”

They nodded as a group, and then all of them were gone.

There was a pause, then Rodney finally spoke again. "Right, well, glad that’s settled,” he snarled. “I'm going back to trying to get the engines to turn off.”

====

The minute the jumper door closed, Sheppard was out of his seat. Teyla, Ronon and Beckett had collapsed in the cabin like so many heaps of wet laundry.

Teyla was sitting on the floor with her back to the closed door. Her bloodshot eyes tracked his movements around the cabin, as if it was too much effort to move any other part of her body. Water dripped steadily from her snarled hair, diluting the blood seeping from a deep cut on her forehead. She cradled a bloodstained arm close to her body.

Beckett was sprawled face-down on the floor, coughing wetly. He, at least, was making some effort to rise. He'd made it as far as his elbows and one knee, muttering under his breath between coughs. Sheppard caught him under the armpits and heaved him up on the padded bench beside Ronon, who was bleeding over everything in sight.

"Jesus," Sheppard muttered, shucking out of his jacket and using it as a makeshift pressure pad on the mess that used to be Ronon's shoulder. Beckett batted his hands away and applied pressure to the bleeding wound himself, still coughing.

"Twice," the doctor muttered in a tone of vast disgust. "Once, I could understand. Could happen to anyone. But twice? Staring down the gullet of a great bloody shark twice in as many days? That tears it." The doctor glared up at Sheppard, who took an involuntary step back from the maniacal gleam in the man's eyes.

He gave a weak smile and saw Beckett’s eyes narrow.  “You, uh,” Sheppard tapped Beckett’s soaked leg, “you okay?”

“No.”  Beckett loosed one hand to point up at the first aid kit on the shelf. “Get me that.”

Sheppard hurried to comply, only half listening to the conversation streaming in over the radio in his ear.  Rodney, Elizabeth and Radek were talking about getting the DHD fixed.  He heard something about Dr. Nguyen, and he paused.  They found Nguyen?

“Colonel!” Beckett called. “The kit!”

Sheppard shook himself, and turned, popping open the kit and handing it to Beckett.  He looked over at Teyla.

“How are you?”

“I am fine,” she said quietly.  Sheppard gave a small smile.  Her appearance belied that statement, but she knew that.  He needed to get them to the infirmary. 

Turning, he gave the doctor’s soggy shoulder a tentative pat, then beat a hasty retreat back to the pilot’s chair. The front window was streaked with shark guts and other unidentifiable bits of alien fish parts. He grimaced at the view for a moment, then wrenched the jumper around to look back at the city.

And gasped.

It was going down.  Water was a third of the way up the central tower, and it was descending fast.  The air pockets were clearly slowing it down some, but…Perhaps infirmary was not the safest place right now. 

“Doc,” he called.

“Yeah?” Beckett answered.

“Can Ronon wait?”

There was a pause, “Not for long, but yes.” Then, “Why?”

Sheppard looked back at the others, shook his head at them, and started listening more carefully to what Rodney and the others were saying. 

====

The city shuddered again, painfully—the tower was beginning to feel like a toothpick someone had stuck in a pile of wobbling jelly.  Still gripping the back of Chuck’s chair, Elizabeth looked down at the tech’s laptop, hating the fact that she didn’t believe Rodney would succeed.  Not in time.  He was spending almost all of his time just trying to keep his airpockets whole—there was no way he would stop the engines in the ten minutes he’d described.

“Rodney,” she called. “How—”

“Damn it...” Rodney snapped, cutting her off.  “Christ, he's infected everything useful! The only way I’m going to fix this is if I can shut everything down and reset all the systems all at once, and the only way to do that is…"

And he suddenly trailed off.

Elizabeth straightened slightly.  She knew that sort of pause, she could feel it in her bones.  And so did Radek.

“Rodney?” Radek said, sounding excited again.

There was a long silence, then, “Oh hell, why didn’t we think of that before?”

“I know.” Radek replied, still sounding thoughtful. “But we could, couldn’t we?  Shut everything down.”

“We should have done it in the first place,” Rodney said.

“Obviously, but we didn’t, because you didn’t know what he was doing until too late.  But we can still do it now, yes?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“Think about it, Radek.  For one thing—“

“Rodney!” Elizabeth frowned, annoyed because they were talking over her again. “Radek, stop that.  What are you talking about?”

“Disconnecting the ZPM, of course,” Rodney answered. “What did you think we were talking about?”

Elizabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and focused on the idea. "Would that do it?” she asked them. “Would it shut everything down?  Would it at least shut off the engines?"

There was silence on the radio for a moment, then Rodney answered, "I...well, yes, but..."

"But?" she prompted.

"Well, two buts, really.  One, I think the city may have already taken on too much water.  You shut off the ZPM, we're still going to sink..."

"Yes, but," Radek said, "if you can reset the system quickly enough, and we plug the ZPM back in—theoretically, the engines could then drive us back to the surface, couldn't they?"

"I...yes, possibly. Without the engines, the city would take hours to sink instead of minutes, and I’d only need maybe half an hour to reset everything…yes." Rodney sighed, "It's a good idea, but that doesn't solve the second problem."

"Which is?" Elizabeth asked.

"The ZPM room is at the base of the Central Tower, and...it's underwater," Rodney answered.  “I can't get to it from here.  No one can, not unless they can hold their breath for a really, really long time."

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “But if we could get down there somehow—a dive team, something—could you—?”

And ear-splitting squeal exploded in her ear, and Elizabeth cried out, pulling the radio out.  It only lasted a moment, but when she put the earpiece back in, all she got was static.

“Rodney?” she called.  “Rodney!”

====

Zelenka was typing away, listening to Elizabeth when there was a curious little pop over the earpiece followed by a squeal.  Zelenka tugged the earpiece away as the sound became piercing.  “Rodney?” he called into the mic as he held the speaker away from his ear. “Rodney, are you still there?”

And only the wail was returned, and no amount of adjusting would correct the situation on any of their channels. 

He scowled.

The hacker was in the communication system again!  At least the citywide system was separate from their military radios.  Radek quickly switched programs on his laptop.  He clicked, trying to access citywide communications, but found nothing – down – dead – offline.

“Marná práce,” he muttered.  The hacker had shut down both communication systems at once?  What were they dealing with?

Now what?  He glanced about, unable to see anyone near him. 

“Hello?” he called, but there was no response.

With a frustrated groan, Zelenka returned his attention to the laptop, returning to his work of protecting Rodney’s fixes.  He scurried after his boss’s work like a terrier.

====

“Whoa, whoa,” Sheppard said, tapping his radio.  “What the hell?”  He looked across at the city, now a third of the way down…and still going.  “Rodney. Elizabeth.  Radek.  Someone!”  He tapped his radio again.

“What is happening?” Teyla asked, walking (mostly) steadily up to where John was sitting in the pilot’s chair.  She slid into the seat next to him with a soft squelch.  Her eyes widened slightly when she saw the city.  She turned that wide-eyed gaze on him.  “Has everyone been evacuated?”

Sheppard clenched his hands into fists.

====

“Radek!” McKay shouted again, but there was no response on the radio.  “Sheppard?” he tried, hopefully accessing the city’s systems, trying to reach Sheppard directly but finding no success.

His expression fell as he realizing he’d have no way of knowing if Carson, Teyla and Ronon were okay.  Sheppard hadn’t given him any real status on them.

Damn.

He momentarily considered opening an instant messaging session to communicate with Zelenka, or Weir or anyone, or to send a tersely worded email, but there was no time to tap out a conversation.  Wasn’t he doing enough already?

And, knowing this hacker as McKay had come to know him, Rodney figured that the IM and email systems were already offline.

Fingers flew across his keyboard as he tried to undo everything their hacker had broken.  He noted the firewalls that came up almost automatically behind him, and recognized Zelenka’s work.

Thank goodness.  He didn’t think he could keep repairing his repairs while keeping up with any new damage.  Rodney sighed as he chose to forget about communications for the time being, instead going back to the bilge pumps, trying to keep the city buoyant, creating air pockets, attempting to slow the engines.  Let the hacker have communications for now.

Who was Rodney going to talk to anyway?  He was busy enough as it was without holding side conversations.  And Sheppard was too busy to speak to him.

He was too busy to feel lonely.

He glanced toward the doorway where Sheppard had disappeared, hoping he’d gotten to Ronon and Teyla and Carson in time.  God, he’d never forgive himself if anything happened to them.

Maybe it was better that he didn’t know.

McKay’s eyes darted across the displays as he worked at the engines, checking for the latest target for attack.  He attempted to roll his sore shoulder, but stopped with a start.  No… no need to aggravate it any more, he thought and wished he’d remembered what had happened to his sling.  He shouldn’t need it anymore, but his shoulder was really aching.

How could this have happened?  How could he have let this happen?

The engines still worked, still dragged at the city, bringing it down inch by inch in spite of every attempt Rodney made to slow it.  He’d managed to lessen some of the power going to the engines by powering up redundant systems and getting power back to the doors, and to inflate areas like a pool toy – but it wasn’t enough.

The ZPM.  They needed that ZPM shut down.

Fingers raced across the keyboard, chasing, undoing, correcting, fixing.

The city shuddered again. 

Damn it!  Damn it!  The hacker was back at work, breaking his air pockets.

This guy was good – but Rodney McKay was better.  If he could just keep the guy busy until power was cut to the city...or at least until everyone could be evacuated, if they couldn’t get anyone down to the ZPM room.  Yes, if he could manage that, they’d stand a chance.  He could do it as long as nothing new cropped up.

A sudden thudding boom shook the room. 

Rodney jolted back, hands drawing back from the keyboard.  His heart galloped.  What the hell was that?

Somewhere above him, something raced, something rushed, something roared.  He gazed upward in wonder.

What had the son of a bitch done now?

What was that sound?  He studied it, cocking his head, and then the realization struck him.

Oh God.

He hunkered over his laptop, feeling the ache in his shoulder as he searched out new answers.

Great… just… great.

Three floors above him, the sensors had gone dead.

Hands fluttered over the keyboard as he searched the situation.  Damn, the entire level was filled with water.

Freakin’ great! Why the hell did the hacker have to do that?

Wait… wait… A check of the systems told him that the hacker wasn’t behind his latest issue – no, it was a simple matter of physics.  They were sinking.  Doors that were never meant to be underwater were now submerged.

Doors had failed, and the sea rushed in.

He could hear the inner doors giving way with a kathump, kathump, kathump as water raged through the floor, knocking everything out of its way.

Oh God.  He tried not to picture the destruction, the rush of water, the flood above his head, so instead he fixated on another flood – in another time – a time outside of his own.  He remembered the story that old Weir had told them, of the flooding control room, of how he’d stayed behind in his attempt to save them – and ultimately failed.

He’d always thought that it must have been horrifying – to just stand there and await the water – await one’s own drowning.

So many had died in that alternate reality.  And he stiffened, resolving not to let that happen this time – no, not this time.

The flooded floor was unoccupied, he reminded himself.  No one was there.  Everyone should be in the top tower or in the jumpers by now.  No one is down here.

He frowned as he surveyed the damage report on the computer display.  He couldn’t pressurize the floor – the door was gone. He could run the bilge pumps until they fried, but the space would only refill instantly.

There was nothing he could do.

It was okay.  He had empty floors above him.  Nothing to worry about.  That was a fine barrier.  He’d be fine.

Above him, he could hear the uncomfortable creak and groan of strained seams, as water pressed in three floors above him.  The water was rising as the city continued to sink – he watched the progress, trying to ignore the implications as upper floors continued to flood.

He still had two empty floors above him, and he continued to work against the hacker.

“Not a problem,” he said to himself, mostly just to hear a reassuring voice. He ignored the timidity in the tone.  “Not a problem at all.”

Good God, would any of them survive this?

His hands kept moving at the keys.

And then BOOM!

He jerked in surprise as he felt the room shake.  He trembled.

Above him, closer now, water roared and rushed and poured.  Eyes wide, he lifted his head, gazing at the ceiling as hundreds of gallons of water filled the space two floors up.

The city creaked around him, not ready for the extra stress.

He remembered the jumper sinking, flooding, freezing.  It had been terrible.  He remembered water up to his neck as he struggled to hold out.

“Okay, okay,” he murmured.  “You still have an empty floor in-between you and certain death.  That’s plenty of room. Plenty of time.”

Hands froze for a moment as he debated pulling up stakes and making a run for the jumpers.  He could take a ship, and help with evacuating people from the outer reaches of the city.

It sounded like a good idea.  It would be heroic even – saving the stranded.

Warnings flashed on his laptop, reminding him of other problems.  If he left this room, he wouldn’t be able to access the necessary systems.  The hacker would win.

With a lurch the city dipped again, throwing him sideways.  He struggled to regain his seat, checking the systems again as he rubbed his arm.  What now?  Another air pocket in a far section of the city had filled in. 

“Oh, you think that’ll stop me?” he asked the air, as he sealed off the latest section, accessed the pumps, and worked at righting this problem.  He might not be able to empty the floors above him without completely unbalancing the city, but he could fix this.

The city settled again.

“Think you’re so smart, do you?” McKay asked.  “Ha!  I took care of that in no time!  Consider who you’re dealing with here!”

Two floors above him, components shrieked and popped under the strain of the water.

How much time did he have left?  The ZPM… someone was going to take care of that, right?  And the DHD, Larry Nguyen was going to fix that.  People would be saved.  If they could just evacuate everyone…

The next blast shook the room as if an earthquake had struck, sending McKay to the floor.  Above his head, water rushed.  He heard it surging clearly – roaring.  Minor doors blew out as the water raged, taking out every room on the floor, filling the space above him. He imaged desks and chairs surging, little leftover bits of Ancient technology swimming like salmon in the current.

He struggled to get to his feet, to return to his laptop.  Hands flew again, desperate to stop the hacker before it was too late.  He only had so much time left.

He didn’t want to drown.  Not like this. 

God, he didn’t want to die. 

The ceiling seemed to dip, as the horrible popping continued.

He remembered going to an aquarium, and that unsettling sensation as he walked through an exhibit where the fish swam right over his head.  There was something wrong about walking under so much water – something so very wrong.

Water was rushing into the stairwells, coming down to his level. 

There were other heavy doors there.  The doors would stop it.

Running a hand over his forehead, he went back to his work.  I have to stop him, he thought.  I must. 

Water was leaking onto his floor.  He could hear it, hissing in at the heavy stairway doors.  But that was fine, because, after that door was breeched, there were five doors leading into this room, and they were all heavy duty.  The doors to this room would stand between himself and the deep blue sea, they would protect him. 

Maybe he could try to block the door with something.

With what?

Not far from him, water squealed and rushed and squeezed its way around every obstruction.  He could picture doors buckling, bowing as the water kept pushing, kept shoving.  There were flooded floors above his head, and all that pressurized water would come rushing in when the stairway doors failed.

And then there’d be only the doors to this room left and if those final doors gave way… he’d drown.

He found himself hardly able to breathe as he stared down at his laptop.  He blinked, seeing that the hacker still hacked.  With a blink to clear his mind, he went back to work, because, what else could he do?

Water slammed into the doors, shaking him to his core.  The water had finally forced back the stairway doors.  The force of the water, rushing in under all the pressure, was filling this, the deepest floor of Atlantis, flooding nearly everything.

Everything except Auxiliary. 

But it wouldn’t last long.  

Chapter Text

Elizabeth ran down the stairs, marines and two technicians on her heels, heading towards the infirmary.  She’d had enough of this.  As soon as the radio went dead, she had taken off, leaving the control room and running.

People scattered out of her way where they were clustered and waiting to be sent through the gateroom to the Gate.  She waved a hand at the questions thrown at her, and tried not to fall as the city continued to sway like a pendulum and shudder like it was in convulsions.  The marines tracked her, never stopping her as she jumped over bits of burnt out equipment that had been stacked to the sides of the hallways. 

Running past another transporter station, she jumped down a set of stairs and landed on the floor two floors below control.  Whipping around a corner, she marveled at the fact that the lights were on ahead of her. 

“Radek!” she shouted, jumping over another piece of equipment and skidding into the infirmary.  She stopped briefly, looking around at the mostly empty beds…then spotted the edge of Radek’s propped up broken leg.  She came around the corner and smiled at his stunned expression. 

The technicians went to work, hooking up their laptops and one dragged the large screen over that Beckett used for full body scans.  Within moments, before Elizabeth even had her breath back, they had worked their magic, and the city was brightly lit before them, in all its glory.  It was nearly all blood red, except for smatterings of blue energy lines, and green spaces which were Rodney’s air-pockets.

Radek’s eyes were wide as he took in the screen.  “Wow,” he said, looking up at Elizabeth, now standing by his side.  “That was a good idea.”

She gave a nod, her eyes scanning the information pooling down the left side of the screen.  She reached out, and her laptop was promptly handed to her by one of the techs.  She hit a couple of keys, and life signs appeared on the screen.

“Yes," she said. "It's good to finally be able to see what's happening in my city."

She watched as seven tiny yellow dots buzzed here and there as pilots rescued the last of the stranded personnel—it looked like they had all of them now.  But she knew the jumpers would then hover—she had ordered them to do so if the city was clearly going down—to stay at a safe distance.  At least a hundred people would be already crammed into them by now—a little less than half the population.  They would be the only survivors if Chuck and (she shuddered) Dr. Nguyen didn’t get the gate working, or unless Rodney pulled a miracle.  Goodness knew what.

She spotted one jumper hanging off by itself—Colonel Sheppard.  She could only imagine what he was thinking since losing contact with her and Rodney a minute ago.  Would he return here?  With Ronon’s injuries, she couldn’t see him doing anything else.  But for now, she could see he was just hovering.  What was he thinking?

She tapped again for a side view of the city, showing life signs clustered mainly in the topmost levels of the command tower—close to the Stargate and the jumper bay, ready to evacuate. 

She scanned the length of the tower, to the glowing blue patches that marked flooded areas. Seawater had breached at least twenty levels in the sub-complex and lower tower levels. But the lowest levels of the city were also the most heavily reinforced, and below the flood were pockets of air, and even whole levels, still airtight.

In one of those small air pockets, a hundred or so floors below her out on the south pier, a lone life-sign glowed blue. Rodney. Elizabeth brushed her fingertips across the screen, as if she could push the water away from him.

She reached up and tapped her earpiece, then winced as a sharp hiss and crackle confirmed that the com system was still down. She would give a lot to hear McKay's voice right now.

Her eyes then drifted to the single room located at the base of this tower—filled completely with water.  A key tap, and she zoomed in on it.  Damn.

“There’s twenty floors of water between us and the ZPM room,” she breathed.  No dive team could get down there with that much water between them and their goal.  Not in time.

“Yes,” Radek said. “And by Dr. McKay’s calculations, we have about five minutes left to get there and remove the ZPM before we are completely submerged.”

====

Teyla shook her head.  “There must be something we can do,” she said. “We cannot let this happen.”

Sheppard frowned, his jaw tightening.  Right. 

He wrenched the jumper around and angled it toward the waves.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Beckett called out from the back, startled as the jumper hit the waves and dove smoothly under the water.  The circling sharks scattered out of their path. 

The doctor limped to stand behind the pilot’s chair.  “The infirmary is up there,” he said, waving an arm toward the surface.

“Yeah, but the ZPM room is down here, and I have an idea.”

“But—“

“We’re kind of on a timetable here, Doc.” Sheppard checked his watch, then cued the heads-up display to make sure he was traveling in the right direction. The jumper serpentined between submerged tower bases and flooded outbuildings, heading toward the sunken base of the central tower.

“You might want to slow down, son,” Beckett said, eyeing an oncoming wall apprehensively.

Sheppard’s only response was to trigger a volley of drones that blew out a great section of the submerged tower wall.  He wrenched the jumper around and backed it through the gaping hole. The ship settled with a thump on the rubble-strewn floor of what might once have been a laboratory of some sort.

He turned and caught the aghast expressions of Beckett and Teyla. “Shortcut,” he said with a shrug.

Moments later, Teyla and Beckett had shuffled a half-conscious Ronon into the front cabin, and they sealed themselves in.  Sheppard found himself standing alone behind the compartment door in the back cargo bay with a pile of scuba equipment piled at his feet. He eyed the apparatus suspiciously for a moment, then shrugged into the harness and face mask, not bothering with the wetsuit. Ever since McKay’s crash, scuba equipment had been standard emergency gear for all jumpers.

“Okay,” he muttered awkwardly around the regulator clenched between his teeth. He thumped on the sealed door to signal Beckett.  “Let’s do this.”

Slowly, the jumper door hissed open. Seawater sprayed, then gushed through the widening gap, hitting Sheppard with the force of a fire hose and nearly knocking him off his feet. He braced himself until the back section of the jumper filled completely, then kicked out into the flooded room.

The overhead lights were still on, lending an eerie aquarium glow to the scene.  He waved a hand over the door controls, relieved when they hissed obediently open to reveal a watery hallway. He glanced back and mustered a thumbs-up for his teammates, who were watching him, wide-eyed, from the front window of the jumper.  Teyla pressed one hand against the glass. Beckett mouthed something that might either have been “good luck” or “what are you waiting for?”  Ronon, heavy lidded and slumped in a seat, simply looked pissed off that he wasn’t the one in the water. 

The route to the ZPM room was simple enough: right at the end of the corridor, then left, then straight into the heart of the tower. The water was freezing cold, stealing his breath in spite of the scuba equipment. Sheppard kicked gamely forward, wishing he’d taken the time to squeeze into the wetsuit after all. Or at least to kick off his shoes.

A glance at his watch pushed that thought out of his head. Three minutes.  He kicked harder, rounding the final corner and finding the door to the ZPM room wide open and waiting for him.

His numb fingers fumbled at the equipment, trying to remember exactly how McKay had popped the ZPM out of its housing the last time.  He hit the sequence.  Nothing.  He sighed out a stream of bubbles and tried again.  This time, the lights on the control panel blinked obligingly and the glowing power source began to rise.  The minute it cleared its casing, he grabbed it and wrenched it free.

The room, the hallway and the entire city of Atlantis plunged into darkness.

Sheppard froze in place, wondering where the hell the damn exit was. The ZPM was heavy and smooth in his hands and he tucked it close to his chest, not sure how well it would handle a fall to the floor.

After a second, the lights flickered back on as the city’s backup naquedah generators took over. He let out a relieved sigh and peered down at the power source. 

It suddenly occurred to him that the jumper waiting for him was full of water, except for the front.  And that there was no way to drain it.  He wouldn’t be able to fly it back out. 

Beckett was going to kill him.

====

Rodney’s eyes widened, and he grinned.  “Yes! Well done, Sheppard!” he shouted, recognizing the jumper signature sitting next to…or was it inside…the central tower.  (Couldn’t be inside, could it?)  Still grinning, he looked up as the lights in the room all flickered and went out, then came back on full as the naquedah generators kicked in.  Checking the engines, he saw they were definitely off line…even better…the city descent had virtually come to a stop.

His smile faltered when he realized the city was now about half under water—and that it wasn’t going to stop sinking as most of it was flooded.  He glanced around at the surrounding walls and tried to tune out the water dripping and sloshing all around him.  No way out. He was thoroughly trapped.

He frowned then, and, with a narrowed gaze, turned his full attention to purging the city’s systems.  He had time now—that bastard was going down.  Even if it killed him.

====

Zelenka’s triumphant whoop signaled the interruption in the ZPM power supply before the flickering lights confirmed it. He quickly huddled over his computer, following his chief’s work, and began helping McKay to purge the city’s operating systems while the hacker was powerless to stop them.

Elizabeth grinned, and looked over at the screen, watching as four life signs came back together down near the gate room.  The puddle jumper signature location was interesting…she wasn’t going to question how he did it.  But she was glad he did it.

Settling down next to Radek, she just watched as he worked.  Her smile dipped slowly, as she looked down at the lone life sign on the south pier.  How long had he said it would take him?  Half an hour? He was trapped there.

She looked down at her watch. 

And considered going back to the control room—to find out how Dr. Nguyen was doing.

About five minutes later, the sound of jumper engines drew the attention of everyone in the infirmary.  Frowning, Elizabeth stood up and walked out onto the balcony, craning her head up to watch…and caught a faceful of freezing seawater.

Not again... The thought circled crazily in her head as a great wall of water swept her back through the balcony door and back into the infirmary. There were cries of alarm and disgust as medical personnel scrambled to rescue precious equipment from the inexplicable mid-air tidal wave. 

Elizabeth skidded, entangled in something semi-soft until she crashed into the far infirmary wall and lay still.  She sputtered for a moment, trying to catch her breath in spite of the heavy weight that pinned her chest. She cracked open one eye and discovered that the weight was Dr. Nguyen. Or rather, his head, nested comfortably between her bosoms.

She jumped to her feet with an undignified shriek and Nguyen’s head hit the floor with a clunk.

“I just came down to tell you that the DHD is up and running,” he said weakly.

Gathering herself, Elizabeth stood and glared at the marines standing around—all looking amused.  Wishing she could give them the finger, she turned back to the balcony and stalked outside once more.  It was only when she actually breached the threshold that she slowed…and approached with caution.  A jumper was hovering just over the balcony. She had heard the sound of distressed Scottish apologies from halfway across the room, but was only making sense of them now.

“…really am terribly, terribly sorry. I did not see you down there until the door was already opening.” A sopping wet Carson Beckett was leaning out the open back door of the jumper, looking bloodied, battered and thoroughly mortified.

Beside him, Teyla was trying to coax an even bloodier Ronon Dex out of the jumper and into the waiting arms of the medical staff below.  Dex eyed the five-foot drop to the balcony and dug in his heels, looking mulish. Elizabeth couldn’t blame him. If that wound in his side was half as painful as it looked, a sudden drop wouldn’t do him any favors.

“Carson,” Teyla sighed. “Could you not lower us a bit closer?”

Beckett’s litany of apologies broke off. “Ah, I’m not sure that’s the best idea right now, Teyla, luv. I’m apt to land the bloody thing on someone’s head. You saw what just happened.”  With that, he moved over and gave Ronon what looked like an encouraging pat, but was actually a nudge just firm enough to tip him over the edge and into the waiting arms of several burly orderlies.

The look the former runner shot the doctor as they wheeled him away promised payback – assuming any of them lived that long.

Elizabeth gathered herself to ask the crucial question.

“Looking for this, Doctor Weir?” She could hear the smile in Sheppard’s voice even before she turned to find him standing there, waggling the ZPM at her like a cracker jack prize.  He was sopping wet, and grinning like a madman.

Zelenka let out an explosive Czech oath and Nguyen swooped in and grabbed the ZPM, trying to tug it away. Sheppard scowled and wrenched the power source away from the grasping fingers. He crossed the room and deposited it on Zelenka’s lap.

“Okay, one problem down,” Sheppard said, walking back, leaving tiny puddles with every step.  “Two to go.”

Elizabeth dragged a hand through the bangs dripping in her eyes, only slightly mollified by the fact that Sheppard looked even wetter than herself. His hair was plastered against his skull and he was shivering cold and pasty white.  But he shrugged off the nurses who circled him, offering blankets and steaming beverages.

“Only two?” she said, arching an eyebrow. With a grateful smile, she accepted the blankets and mug of coffee that were pressed on her.

Sheppard crossed his arms in a pose that reminded her strongly of McKay at his huffiest. “We still have a hacker on the loose,” he said, his eyes cutting to Nguyen for an instant. “And last time I checked, Atlantis was still sinking.”

Elizabeth sighed, and nodded.

“And then there’s McKay,” Sheppard noted.  His eyes met Elizabeth’s, silently asking for reassurance.

“He’s alive,” she said, reaching out to touch the dripping fabric of his sleeve. It was ice cold. She waved a hand toward the lifesigns glowing on the big screen.  The lonely dot in auxiliary control glowed back at them. “But yes, he is trapped.  As for our unidentified hacker—”

“Not unidentified!”

Beckett landed on the balcony in a splash of seawater. Immediately, his injured leg bucked under him, sending him crashing to the floor. Teyla leapt down beside him with considerably more grace and helped the nurses pile him into a wheelchair.

The doctor reached out and grabbed the door jamb, refusing to let them wheel them away.

“Elizabeth,” he said. “I know who did it.  The dead scientists – the other members of McKay’s team – they figured it out and he killed them for it, one by one.”

Sheppard and Elizabeth stared at him for a long moment, then turned slowly to Nguyen, the last member of McKay’s team still standing.  The scientist cowered before the combined force of their glares.

“No, no,” Beckett cut in hastily. “I’ve seen the tape. It wasn’t him.”

He had the full attention of everyone in the room now.

“It was Gos.”

====

Rodney glanced at the side screens in auxiliary, keeping an eye on his air-pocket program.  Zelenka had fire walled it to death—every attempt to fill an air-pocket with water was rebuffed.   He gave a tiny smile, and returned to cleaning the city’s systems of the malicious coding.  One by one, he cleared security, heat and ventilation, transporters, power and, finally, defense.  The hacker had tried to stop him, had thrown up his own roadblocks and firewalls, but McKay had torn through each one in record time.

No one beat him when he was focused.  The hacker hadn’t stood a chance.   

And Zelenka was working on communications.  They’d have radios and city-wide back soon.

He smiled, even as his teeth chattered from the cold. 

The room was freezing.

It might have been bearable…if water wasn’t lapping around his calves. His feet felt like sodden icicles in his boots.  Water was leaking in through cracks caused by the city’s shuddering…it would fill this room soon.

He glanced down as he got another IM from Zelenka on his laptop.  He gave him a quick status update, and threw in the part about the water around his calves.

A second, and Zelenka asked him if he was kidding.

He gave a short, painful laugh and got back to work.  He’d told Elizabeth thirty minutes to clean the systems, then Zelenka knew, once implemented it would take thirty minutes for the city to “reboot”, as it were, before they could plug the ZPM back in. 

He’d overestimated the first part—he was nearly done.

But he’d still have to wait thirty minutes once complete before he could save the city.  Thirty minutes with water rising.      

====

Elizabeth sank into a chair, stunned to finally have a name to pin to their faceless evildoer. She had signed off on every member of the Atlantis expedition, had reviewed every file, every history, every psychiatric evaluation. She knew their strengths and weaknesses, and in the fishbowl of Atlantis believed that she was up to speed on most of the petty intrigues, feuds and disputes among the staff.  How could she have missed this?

Gos’s face, wide guileless eyes under a mop of unruly curls, floated before her and she felt her hands fist on the material of her trousers. She remembered Zelenka falling, the terrified screams of the scientists dragged beneath the waves, the blood spatter on the east pier security camera. How could he have done this? And for the love of God, why?

She looked up and saw Sheppard relieving the nearest security officer of his weapons and extra ammunition.

“Where the hell is he?” she asked. “He’s not on any of the jumpers—they would have radioed us, and I’m sure he’s not with the people upstairs waiting to evacuate—someone would have seen him.  But there aren’t any life signs anywhere else in the city…” She shook her head.

“It’s not that hard to shield life signs from the city. We know that,” Sheppard said, mouth tight with barely concealed rage.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, suddenly remembering the last April 1st, when the citywide communication system starting blared Motown hits and a frantic McKay had nearly torn out his hair until Lazlo Gos stepped forward to reveal himself as the April Fool’s Day prankster. She remembered his apple-cheeked grin and utter delight at McKay’s grudging admission that the newcomer to Atlantis had pulled off the best prank of the day – besting even whoever dyed all the toilet water purple for the day. She remembered laughing, at the time, happy to see her tightly-wound science team blowing off a little steam, even if it meant she’d had to walk around with “Brick House” stuck in her head for a week.

“I’m going after McKay.” 

Sheppard’s voice snapped her back to the present. She rose to her feet, frowning. “He’s trapped deep underwater. Until we restore full power and raise the city, there’s no way to get to him.”

“I’ll figure out a way,” Sheppard said, confiscating another P-90 from a passing Marine.  “And if I can figure out a way, you can be damn sure Gos will too.”

He looked towards the large screen showing the city next to Zelenka’s bed, as if he could see through it to where Gos was hiding. 

Teyla walked up to them, a bandage wrapped around her wounded arm.  She wore it like a badge of honor.  She was carrying a P-90, which she must have taken from a marine.

“Are we going after Rodney?” she asked, looking up at Sheppard.  He quirked a smile at her.

Just then, Larry Nguyen sidled up to them with a cough. Weir crossed her arms involuntarily over her chest. The fact that the man wasn’t a homicidal hacker didn’t make their last up-close encounter any more pleasant in her memory.

“Someone’s going to have to replace the ZPM,” Nguyen said. “Dr. Zelenka has been monitoring Dr. McKay’s activity over his laptop and he says he’s close to completing the necessary repairs—probably finished any minute now.  As soon as he is, we have thirty minutes before we can replace the ZPM—which we’ll need to fire the engines and raise the city again.”

Elizabeth gave a nod.  Of course.  She frowned suddenly, and looked up, about to ask Sheppard how he had pulled the ZPM in the first place when Zelenka suddenly shouted in joy.

“Ha!” Radek clapped his hands over his head. “Well done, Rodney!”

Elizabeth loosened her crossed arms, looking towards the Czech. “Radek?”

The Czech’s grin was huge when he turned his attention to her. “He’s done it! McKay beat him! And in record time, too.” His smile grew wry as he looked again at his laptop, “Oh, he’ll never let me hear the end of that,” he added under his breath.  He looked back at Elizabeth. “Rodney just finished cleaning the systems and has implemented the reboot sequence—in thirty minutes, we can plug the ZPM back in and lift Atlantis back out of the water!”  The response was instantaneous—all around him, people cheered and started hugging each other.  Several others ran from the room to tell the waiting people upstairs.  Elizabeth grinned at the colonel, and he grinned back. 

Radek lifted up the ZPM lying next to him on the bed and offered it up.  “You can take this back now, Colonel,” he said, still smiling brightly. “Finish saving the city!”

Sheppard’s smile fell instantly as he looked at module.  He glanced at Teyla, whose own smile had faltered, then turned back to Elizabeth. 

Sheppard and Weir locked gazes.

“I’m going after McKay,” Sheppard said again, enunciating each word carefully and clearly. “And then I’m going after Gos.”  In other words, the city could wait.

Weir didn’t back down. “And who do you propose we send to replace the ZPM? Dr. Zelenka?”

The Czech scientist suddenly seemed to forget he could speak English and buried himself back in his computer readouts.

From behind them, Dr. Nguyen coughed again. “I could do it,” he said. “If I take scuba equipment and swim down the flooded central access stairs, it wouldn’t take me more than forty-five minutes to reach it.”

Sheppard grimaced. “Yeah, about that. I found a shortcut.”

There was a snort from the nearest bed, where Beckett was finally allowing his staff to examine the torn stitches on his leg.

“I made a shortcut,” Sheppard amended.

Another snort.

“I blew a hole in the tower wall,” Sheppard conceded.

Weir stared at him, frozen, for a moment, then gave herself a mental shake and relegated the new hole in her city to the bottom of her crisis priority list.

“Oh,” Nguyen’s eyebrows lifted. “Well,” he glanced at Elizabeth, “I’m also certified to fly a jumper.”

She shook her head, “We’ll find someone else.” 

“Your best fliers are already in jumpers, hovering outside the city,” Nguyen argued. “I’m right here, and I can do this.”

Elizabeth looked at him, about to argue again, when Zelenka shouted something again—but this time, it was in fear, no joy.  All heads turned in his direction, to find he was pointing at the big screen.  It was showing the flooded areas of the city again—and it was zoomed in on the south pier.

On auxiliary control.

“I thought he was exaggerating,” Radek said, his voice weak.  “He sent me a message about being in ice water up to his knees.  I thought it was that English idiom—that he was just talking about being overworked.  But then I thought—no, that would be hot water, not ice water.  So…”  He glanced again at the screen.  “I checked.”  He swallowed, “There is water in auxiliary.  It’s filling up the room.”

Elizabeth tightened his arms over her chest, “How long until it fills up?”

“Perhaps twenty minutes, at best.  Less, more likely.  I don’t know.”  He shook his head. “He’ll drown if something is not done.”

“If he doesn’t go into hypothermic shock before then,” Beckett muttered, rubbing at his own ice-cold arms. “That water is freezing.”

“We have to go now,” Sheppard said, already turning in place to head back to the jumper.

“Wait,” Elizabeth said, raising a hand. “We only have the one empty jumper.  How are we going to get the ZPM—“

“I’m not letting him die, Elizabeth!” Sheppard snapped at her.

“And I’m not suggesting you do!” she snapped back. “But we can do both.”  She frowned, looked at Nguyen, then back at Sheppard. “We’ll split up,” she said. “Dr. Nguyen and I will drop you off in the underwater jumper bay with scuba equipment. That’s close to McKay’s position. You already have underwater gear and as you said, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

She turned to Nguyen, who was registering the ‘Dr. Nguyen and I’ part of her statement. “If you’re going to fly the jumper, we’ll need someone to swim back and replace the ZPM.”

It was Sheppard’s turn to frown in concern. “And you think that person should be you?

“I’ve been scuba diving before,” she said. “And I’m a strong swimmer.”

Sheppard narrowed his eyes. “How strong?”

“Swim team, high school and college,” she said, not caring to elaborate on the fact that it had, in fact, been the synchronized swimming team. It would be a cold day in hell before that chapter of her personal history came to light.

Sheppard looked like he wanted to continue arguing the point, but a glance at his watch decided him.

“You’ll need wetsuits,” Beckett said.

Sheppard shook his head, not looking up from his watch. “No time.”

“Then take the hazmat suits,” Beckett said, pointing off to the side. “Better than nothing.”

Teyla was already moving, heading towards where a nurse was quickly pulling the hazmat suits out of the storage cabinet.

All eyes turned to the jumper that still hovered off-kilter above the balcony.  

Chapter Text

Rodney stared at the glowing screen before him, smiling as he watched the system systematically fixing itself of all the hacker’s malicious coding.  It was beautiful.  Ignoring the ice-cold water that now lapped around his thighs, he shakily keyed in one more message to Zelenka, thanking him for everything he had done.  And to please hurry up with communications so that he could talk to someone before…

Yeah.

Glancing at his watch, he saw it had only been five minutes since he’d started the program.  So, twenty-five minutes left before they—whoever had the lucky job—could reconnect the ZPM safely. Plenty of time to get it down there and back into place.

A wave of fear rushed over him. It wasn't enough time for much else. He shivered as he waded to the wall, legs pushing through the frigid water, and he tried not to think about how long he'd been standing in it. The icy-cold seawater felt like it was soaking right into his bones.  How long did it take for hypothermia to set it? Of course, it wouldn't matter if he drowned first—he just hoped the room wasn't filling with water as quickly as he thought it was.  After all, no matter how numb he was, when the water filled his lungs, it would still burn like hell.

Reaching out, he touched the wall closest to him. His fingers disrupting the icy sheen of water that flowed from the ceiling. It reminded him of one of those ridiculously overpriced fountains designed to mimic rain on a windowpane. Those things had never been relaxing and he knew they never would be after this either.

The computer beeped behind him, drawing his attention from his potentially doomed end. Wading to the display, he accessed another screen and smiled again. Zelenka was a genius. He probably ought to have told the man that at least once. He shook his head as he watched Zelenka's code break down another firewall blocking communications. The hacker was persistent though and continued to fight with another line of code. Rodney chuckled, accurately predicting Zelenka's next command. Zelenka would win—whoever the hacker was, he'd obviously never played chess against Radek.

A loud creak and groan diverted Rodney's gaze to the ceiling. How much longer would this room hold back the water?

And did he really want to know?

No.

Oh, who was he kidding?  Of course he did!

He returned his attention to the laptop and pulled up another screen, this one showing where he was.  For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Water pressed in from above and all sides.  He knew the underwater jumper bay was a few corridors away and down the stairs, but despite what he'd told Sheppard—all the hallways leading to it were now filled with water. Swimming there, would be more than his lungs could take.

His eyes switched to some dry rooms near the engine room on this pier—one of his air pockets.  He could, theoretically, save himself by diverting water to those rooms, but...if he did that, the City would become dangerously unbalanced.  Until the ZPM was plugged back in, he couldn't risk it.  He just had to hope that the room wouldn't fill that quickly, that he wouldn't grow hypothermic, or...that Sheppard would find a way to rescue him. He shivered again, his teeth chattering almost painfully.

Speaking of Sheppard...he wouldn't be able to get through the locks he'd placed on the doors.  He bit his lip, staring at the door to the hallway to the underwater jumper bay.

Aw hell...at this point, he was dead anyway.  A few quick keystrokes, and the doors were unlocked.

He checked his watch one more time, then looked up.

The ceiling creaked again.

====

Gos scowled and stabbed viciously at the keyboard again, cursing under his breath. Damn it! He wanted to shout. He wanted to scream. He needed to throw something.  How the hell was McKay managing to foil his every move?

Another monitor beside him beeped and he glanced up.

"NO!"  he hissed as he attacked that keyboard, but it was too late.  Nothing he did was working anymore —all of his efforts were being undone. He flopped back in his chair trying to figure out what had happened. How had McKay managed to keep blocking his attempts to take out more of the city's systems AND reboot the central tower and main power system?  No one was that good…no one!

His attention was drawn back to his first computer where he was about to lose his final block on the communications.  Zelenka — God damned Czech! No, no...he couldn't give up.  He leaned forward and started typing, quickly keying in another string of code. He couldn't let them win…

But even as he attempted to outmaneuver Zelenka, he knew he had lost the battle. With the system rebooting, it'd wipe all his hard work away for good.

He'd heard Sheppard pull yet another 'save the damn day' rescue, screwing up his attempt to take Beckett out of the picture.  The doctor knew who he was due to the damned Dutchman.

It was over.

Eyeing another monitor, Gos pulled up a different screen. He couldn't get a camera feed from auxiliary control, but he knew McKay was still in there, trapped by water on all sides. He supposed he should be satisfied to know that McKay was going to drown there…but it wasn't enough.

Gos knew that he was going to end up paying for all this. He was a realistic man. Getting away from a floating city on another planet when the entire population was now looking for you…not likely.  If they hadn't been so damn persistent at fixing his code, he would have been able to get through the Gate when everything and everyone was drowned.  Now it looked like that wasn't going to happen.

He'd be arrested and sent back to Earth, to face charges and spend the rest of his life in some high security secluded prison. It wasn't fair…and it was all McKay's fault.

Drowning wasn't good enough for Rodney McKay, not painful enough, not frightening enough and most of all—not satisfying enough.

Leaning forward, Gos studied McKay's work, the stopgaps McKay had put in to stop the City sinking.  When the engines came back online after the ZPM was plugged back in, it would clear the halls of water —but until then, McKay's air pockets were the only thing keeping the City from sinking like a stone, and the only thing keeping it balanced.  He'd spaced them out evenly all around the City, trying to maintain the City's equilibrium so that it wouldn't upend.  Gos had tried to fill them, but he couldn’t get near the program maintaining them anymore—not since Zelenka had started protecting them.

Wait a minute...

What if he didn’t try to fill them?  What if he did the opposite?  There was nothing actually stopping him from creating more air-pockets, was there?

A dark smile creased his face.

It would be rather poetic, wouldn't it, if Gos could use those air pockets against his former boss?  There was a large one not far from the underwater jumper bay.  Most of the inner doors had been blown out during the flooding of the floor.  It wouldn't take much.  A few commands into the jumper's console, and...yes...yes, it could work.

The smile grew as he began entering new commands, completely abandoning his attempts to keep communications down. He opened floor hatches and ventilation system walls, and watched as the hallways around the Auxiliary Control Room began to clear—draining into this bay, where he could then expel it.  The bilge pumps worked, and he watched the water level lower from his computer screen.

McKay wasn't going to get to die saving the day. No, he wanted McKay to die on Lazlo Gos’s terms. McKay was going to know for certain that no one was coming to save him and he was damn well going to know who was responsible for his horrific death, too.

Smiling, Gos grabbed a scanner and a weapon and slipped out of the Jumper in the Underwater Bay -- his base of operations.  He'd have to wade a little, as the halls drained, but it'd be worth it.  He also knew he’d be visible as a life sign on their screens—now that his rigged jumper wasn’t cloaking him any longer—but he didn’t care.  They’d never be able to stop him in time. 

The doors leading from the underwater bay up to auxiliary had barely closed behind him when the Underwater Jumper Bay started to fill with water—ordered to do so by another Jumper, asking for entrance.

====

Sheppard stood impatiently and bit back another suggestion as Nguyen clumsily manipulated the controls of the jumper. He wasn't used to riding in one of these. He should be flying it, he thought absently.  There wasn't time for arguing though and since he needed to suit up with the haz mat and the scuba gear again and they were just being dropped off… it sort of made sense for Nguyen to fly.  Too bad the guy flew like a fourteen-year-old sitting behind the wheel of a stick shift for the first time.

John growled as the jumper bounced between the edges of the underwater bay’s entrance.  He stumbled in the unwieldy flippers, and steadied Teyla as she did the same.

"Sorry, sorry," Larry muttered as he tightened his grip on the controls.

"You're doing fine, Dr. Nguyen." Elizabeth shot John another warning look as she encouraged the scientist, but John was sure she didn't mean it. He could see how she clung to the co-pilot's chair with a desperate grip. He resisted the urge to growl again and wondered if maybe he'd been hanging around with Ronon a bit too much.

"Here’s good.  Go ahead and land," Sheppard ordered as they reached the interior of the bay, near the center.  As he spoke, he grabbed his regulator and pulled the tank onto his back.   He had an extra set ready for Rodney.  He was going to be a tricky retrieval because they’d have to flood Rodney’s room to get to him.  He only hoped that they managed to convey their intent to the man before they deluged him with water.

God, Sheppard thought, McKay would be terrified when it happened.  What he wouldn’t give for a dry passage to Auxiliary Control.

It took a moment for the jumper to respond to the inexperienced pilot and John tensed, expecting to hit the floor with a “thud,” but Larry managed well enough. They listened as the entrance doors behind them closed.

“Draining the room now,” Nguyen said confidently, hitting a key on the console.  Sure enough, the water slowly began to drain from the room just as it was designed to.

“Show us auxiliary,” Elizabeth said to Nguyen, clearly needing to do something while they waited, even if it was just to check on Rodney.  On cue, the HUD popped up, showing the section of the pier they were in, and focused in on Rodney’s position.  A life sign glowed brightly, floating (hopefully not literally) inside the large control room.

Sheppard stepped forward and looked over Elizabeth's shoulder, frowning as he studied the image.

"Rodney's still…" Elizabeth's voice drifted as they both focused on the single life sign.  Auxiliary was almost completely flooded—well, at least they wouldn’t have to worry about “deluging” Rodney with water.

John sighed, unable to find anything worth saying. He shouldn't have left Rodney alone. Teyla shifted beside him, getting ready for the swim.  Her battered presence reminded him that he'd had no choice—that Rodney had given him no other choice.  He checked his gear one more time—he’d waited until the last moment to zip up the suit—he hated the thing.

"Colonel?" Teyla asked, drawing Sheppard's attention back to her.  She was looking at the display, her brow furrowed.  “I thought the halls between here and auxiliary were filled with water?”

Sheppard instantly turned his attention back to the display.  He watched, stunned and confused as rooms and corridors that had previously shown as flooded with water now showed clear.

"How is that possible?" Weir looked at Nguyen for an explanation.   He shook his head.

“I didn’t do it,” he said.  “Perhaps it’s a reaction to the jumper entering this bay?  Although, that doesn’t really make sense.”  He leaned forward to type in some more commands.  Not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, Sheppard and Teyla quickly stripped themselves out of their gear.

They all startled when their radios suddenly crackled back to life.

"Dr. Weir? Colonel Sheppard?" Zelenka asked hopefully.

"We hear you, Radek." Elizabeth answered.  “Well done!”

Sheppard smiled and moved to the back of the jumper. The water was almost completely drained from the bay room—close enough, anyway.  He hit the door control, and the back of the jumper began to open.

"Don’t congratulate me yet.  It suddenly got very easy." Zelenka paused. "It appears that Dr. Gos is no longer trying to keep the radios silent and, actually, I'm detecting no activity from him. He's not even trying anymore."

"There's been no sign of him?" Sheppard asked, kicking off the flippers and hurriedly replacing them with his boots.  Teyla did the same.

"No.  I’ve been running through the different areas of the city, but no life signs are popping up anywhere outside of the central tower but yours and Rodney."

"Radek, are you the one draining the hallways around the Auxiliary Control Room?" Nguyen asked.

"No." Zelenka sounded surprised. "I have been too busy with other things. I assumed that was Rodney, actually. The way has been cleared from the underwater jumper bay to the auxiliary control room.  I assumed he was doing it to rescue himself—although...oh no, you're right.  He wouldn't have done that."

"Why?" Elizabeth asked.

"Because moving the water around like that will...oh...oh dear..."

"Radek?" Elizabeth leaned forward, gripping the back of the chair.  At the same time, they all felt the floor cant below them.  It was slight, but it was obvious.  Elizabeth's eyes widened, and she looked up at the HUD.

Way ahead of her, Nguyen had expanded the image to show the whole City.

It was tipping up.

"Rodney would not do that, not even to save himself."

"Radek's right," Teyla pointed out, worry eating away at her voice. "Doctor, have you tried to reach Rodney on the radio?"

"Of course.  I tried to contact him first. He's not answering."

"Doctor McKay is moving," Larry noted, staring still at the HUD.  He had zoomed back into   Sure enough, the dot in Auxiliary was moving towards one side of the room, towards the door to the now drained hallway beyond.

“Wait…are you all still in the jumper?” Zelenka’s voice suddenly cut into the conversation. “Colonel Sheppard as well?”

Sheppard straightened suddenly. “What?”

“I…I suddenly realized there are only four of you down there.  With Rodney, that makes five.  But…I am seeing a sixth life sign.  I don’t…I thought it must be the Colonel. I am sorry, I didn’t think to count…”

Sheppard dove forward into the front of the jumper, taking over control of the HUD with a thought.  Instantly, the pattern expanded to show the whole way to auxiliary.  

The life sign moved swiftly on the screen, traveling through the emptied hallways toward Rodney.

"No." Elizabeth gasped.

"Crap." John was in motion, grabbing a life sign detector and scanner and ran out the back of the jumper, Teyla on his heels. "Get that ZPM back where it belongs!" he shouted over his shoulder.

Elizabeth just nodded, and Nguyen closed the back hatch.

====

Oh this was not good. This was a new level of bad. Bad. Bad! Rodney touched the ceiling of Auxiliary Control and tipped his head back, trying to keep his face out of the water. His legs felt like rubber already and he remembered his nearly fatal trip to the bottom of the sea in the jumper.  He’d nearly drowned then – if it wasn’t for Sheppard he would still be there today.

He thought of the alternate universe that Old Weir had described, and chocked a little on the water.  He wouldn’t think of that… no.  He couldn’t think about that again – drowning – trapped – hopelessly trying to save a doomed city, failing.  The city had drowned because of his failure in that timeline.  Please, he thought, please, not again.

He bobbed suddenly, his leg cramping and pulling him underwater, chasing away thoughts of anything but getting back to air. He came up spluttering, but the cramp still there, tightening as though his calf muscle was turning to stone. Straining, he kicked harder, barely managing to keep his head up and out of the water.

"Ow. Ow. Ow." This was so unfair.  He knew he wasn't going to make it. It hadn't been a full fifteen minutes since he'd started the system reboot, before water crashed in on him through the previously closed vents, blowing him sideways, nearly drowning him.  He'd lost his radio, his laptop, and all the rest of his equipment.  Everything below him became a blur of murky blueness, and it was pure luck that he managed to hold onto consciousness long enough to find the ceiling.

He really didn't want to die this way -- hopeless, alone, cold.  He wondered if the Rodney in  "Old Weir's" time had felt this way. He blocked the thought and tried to focus on something else.

This was worse than the jumper. Sheppard had gotten there in time.  Sheppard was never going to forgive him for this one.   He only hoped that Sheppard and the others survived this, that the city didn’t sink.  He hoped he hadn't failed them.

Then, suddenly, the water was going down. For a moment, he thought it was a dream -- wishful thinking -- and he chuckled a little.  But then, he realized that the water was definitely receding.  Numb feet touched the floor as Rodney searched for an explanation.  He floundered around, as the water dipped to waist-level.  Suddenly, he heard a seal releasing, a door opening, and then he was falling in a rush of water.

The quickly flowing water pulled him down, bounced him against a console, against the wall. It sucked him through a doorway and smacked him hard onto the floor.  Then the water was gone and he was coughing uncontrollably, but he wasn't dead. He hadn't drowned!

Thank God!  Thank God!  Sheppard's here!  I'm saved!  I knew he'd—

"Get up." At the sound of the harsh command Rodney raised his head and stared in shock at the man in front of him.  Pushing up onto his hands and knees, gasping for fresh, dry air, he blinked the moisture from his eyes as if that might help what he was seeing make more sense.

"Gos?" He coughed again, and wiped water and spittle from blue lips with a shaking hand. "What the hell are you doing?" he rasped, unable to look away from the gun pointed at him.

"Winning," Gos stated, wiping the damp curls from his face.

"You?” McKay sputtered.  Gos?  It had been him all along?  How had this…this troll, caused all this chaos and pain and tragedy?  “Win?  What do you mean, win?" Rodney cried incredulously, thinking of Barbara, Jaap, Kelly and Eugene, remembering how the shark had circled.  “Like a game?  This was just a game to you?”

When Gos just smiled serenely, McKay snapped, “Well, you didn’t win, you bastard! The city’s not going to sink.  You lost!”

"I lost the city, maybe,” Gos shrugged, gazing upward to indicate the city.  “But I’m still going to beat you." He jerked the weapon, his eyes wide and crazed. "Now. Get. Up!

"I'm getting, I'm getting." Rodney realized now he might have just gone from bad to worse, but what could be worse than nearly dead? Mostly dead?

Evidently, he didn't move his waterlogged, pained body fast enough for Gos, because the little man was suddenly in his face, pressing the gun to his temple and yanking him roughly to his feet. McKay cried out as the scientist wrenched his injured shoulder. It'd gone numb in the freezing water, but the feeling was back now, instantly stabbing like a thousand tiny knives.

“Get moving!” Gos demanded.

"Jeez, I'm coming," he muttered, stumbling and forcing Gos to drag him.  Gos jabbed the gun into his head, effectively erasing any thoughts of trying to fight or run away.

They headed back into the still very damp auxiliary, and Gos waved a hand over the console to shut the door behind them.  He then pulled them both over to the main console, and Gos stepped back.

“On the floor,” he ordered, then smiled. “On your knees.  Hands behind your head.”

Rodney grimaced, but he knew it wasn’t worth fighting.  He knelt down and put his hands behind his head.  Still training the gun on him, Gos leaned over and quickly keyed commands into the Ancient console.  Something beeped, and Gos chuckled maniacally.

Rodney turned to see what he had done, and Gos punched him in the head with the gun. 

Stars filled his vision as he felt a hand pull him up to his feet and propel him forward again.  When his vision cleared, he was headed away from the main doors and towards one of the side doors leading deeper into the south pier.  Gos was at his back, pressing the gun between his shoulder blades.

"You're not going to get away with this." Rodney grimaced as Gos jabbed him again. Okay, that was gonna bruise, damn it.  “I mean, fine, you want to kill me and there’s probably not a lot they can do about it,” his voice squeaked as he spoke those words.  “But they’ll find you.  You’ll be locked up for the rest of your life!”

"Shut up. I'm going to be locked up no matter what happens next." Gos shoved him through another doorway and down a flight of stairs as he ranted. "You…" He jabbed McKay again eliciting a pained hiss. "…ruined everything."

"What? By stopping your hacks? You killed people!"

"I wouldn't have if you didn't screw up everything I tried to do! All I wanted was to do…" He stopped and turned sharply, entering another room and banging Rodney into the doorframe as he went. "…was put you in your place."

"My place?" Rodney groaned, tensing as Gos shoved him into one of the maintenance rooms next to the engines—what they called the "engine rooms."  There was one next to the engines on each pier.  What the hell were they doing down here?

"You think you're so great. Smartest man in two galaxies and I was going to beat you." Gos was shouting now and waving the gun to punctuate his words. His round face was dark with rage.  "But you. You!" he screamed. "You ruined everything!"

"You want me to apologize?" Rodney yelled right back. "You tried to destroy my city. You killed my friends and tried to kill my team!"

"You wouldn't back off!"

"Would you?"

Gos froze and tilted his head to the side, wet curls flipping wildly as he seemed to think about his answer. "Huh. Probably not," he admitted calmly.

The change was frightening and Rodney backed up a step.

"It doesn't matter now," Gos continued, his voice low and emotionless. "It's over."

He raised the gun.

"Wait!" Rodney yelled, but it was too late. Gos fired, and Rodney's world exploded in pain.

One minute he was standing there, the next he was on the floor, his leg on fire with pain. He tried to concentrate on breathing through it, blinking the water out of his eyes and not getting sick. He tried to be still, but he writhed in spite of his efforts. God, it hurt.

He heard Gos chuckle.  "Damn. I was aiming for your gut. Guess my aim sucks." Gos nudged him with his foot and Rodney cried out as it jarred the damaged leg.   "This'll do though.  Lotta blood—with luck, I nicked the iliac.  Should keep you from moving around, but not kill you...immediately." Gos grinned down at him. "Just so you know," Gos gestured with the gun. "No one's coming for you.  I used the main console in auxiliary to hide all the life signs in this section. Sheppard and your buddies will already think I’ve killed you."

As he spoke, Gos moved about the room, touching switches, adjusting controls, silencing any warning klaxon that should have gone off.  Rodney blinked, trying to understand what Gos was up to as one hatch after another opened.  They were windows to the engines, designed to open so crews could climb inside and work on the engine coils.  Gos was opening them as if that was his plan.

What the hell?  Why?  Didn't he realize how totally unsafe it was to open all the hatches to the engine, especially when, in just moments, someone would plug the ZPM back in and…

A cold realization reached Rodney, chilling him further.  He struggled, trying to get up, but the incapacitating pain kept him on the floor.  Oh God… no.

Gos glanced at his watch. "Oh look. I better get out of here. Don't want to be hanging around in here when they start the engines to raise this puppy back out of the water. That'd be a bitch of a burn wouldn't it?" The grin on Gos' face twisted into a sneer, and he raised his gun again. "Nice knowing you, McKay."

Rodney screwed his eyes closed and covered his head as Gos started to fire.  

Chapter Text

Gos flinched involuntarily as he shot up the consoles in the engine room—the ones controlling the hatches, the doors, and the ones that gave control over the engines themselves—while McKay cowered on the floor.  The gunfire was painfully loud in the still wet corridors, and metal and glass showered McKay like rain.  Still, despite the noise, watching the Ancient controls explode and spark and shatter while McKay shook from fear was wonderfully satisfying. 

Once he had done enough damage, he popped the small magazine out of the 9MM, checking to see how many bullets he had left.  He frowned to see that he only had two.  Not a lot.  Still, if he'd learned anything from watching the military over the last couple of years, the threat was often more effective than the reality.  "Goodbye, McKay," he said with a chuckle, and closed the door on the engine room.

And then blasted the hell out of the outside controls. This door would not be opening anytime soon.

Letting out a breath, he stared back in the direction of the underwater jumper bay.  Initially, he’d always planned to “escape” using one of the Jumpers – after everyone was dead and drowned, he’d just guide the ship to the control tower and to the Stargate, then open up a wormhole underwater and fly to whatever planet he chose.

Obviously, with everyone still very much alive and the city still partially floating, that plan had to change.  Everyone would be gunning for him.  Using a Jumper might be enough of a threat to stop anyone following him—it had worked for Ford, hadn’t it?—but Ford had the element of surprise. 

They would see him coming a mile away—and probably shoot him down before he even got close to the Central Tower.   He may be smarter than that muscle-brained Sheppard, but he couldn’t deny the other man was a better pilot.

Which meant he needed more leverage.

Wiping a hand across his sweating forehead, brushing back the damp curls stuck there, he recalled the image he’d seen before he’d cleared the life signs from the computer —two dots moving quickly towards auxiliary control from the underwater jumper bay.  From the radio on his ear, he knew it was Sheppard and Teyla, dropped off by Weir and that hack Nguyen.  Having communications back online had at least that benefit.  When they got up there, they wouldn’t find McKay, so where would they look next? 

Well, obviously, they’d check the other corridors that were free of water, which meant coming down this way—to the engines.

He knew the alien woman was injured.  It might work.

Besides, he’d always wanted to take a hostage. 

====

Rodney held onto his thigh with both hands, gripping it as tightly as he could, as if sheer strength could make it stop hurting.  With his senses fading in and out, he bent his head over the bleeding, painful wound, trying to break through the agony, to come back to his senses.  How the hell had this happened?  One moment he was saving the city, the next…

He released a heavy breath, looking up through streaming eyes at the hatches exposing the massive city engine coils.  As soon as the ZPM was plugged in, the program he’d sent in motion would turn the engines back on full force, to lift the city back out of the water, and this whole room would fill with heat.  Worse, it wasn’t just heat he’d get hit with, it was radiation, powerful and life-destroying.

He had to find a way out of here!

He slithered back on his rear towards the destroyed consoles, using his good leg almost like a punt pole, and looked up to see if there was any part still salvageable.  A glance suggested not, but Gos hadn’t really been aiming—had admitted to bad aim.  He might have a chance still to fix this.

Releasing a breath, he lifted one hand off his leg, letting out a painful groan of agony.  Why hadn’t anyone told him leg wounds hurt this much?!  In the movies, the good guy got shot in the leg but always got up, always managed to drag his bleeding leg behind him.  Rodney couldn’t even contemplate straightening it out.  But he had to, he had to…or he was a dead man.

Which, truth be told, wasn’t really a new thing for him.

Jaw trembling, he turned his watch towards him, forcing back the bile in his throat when he found the face of it was splattered with water and blood.  His blood.

Ten minutes.  He had ten minutes left.

As if on cue, the whole room shuddered and creaked, and the city tilted.  Gos must have messed with his air pockets on this pier—that's how he'd cleared the halls.  And now this pier was too light and the city was upending—if the city tilted too far, it would crack in half, just like the east pier, just like the Titanic.  They had to get this city above the water now.

But, God, he didn’t want to die when they did!

Swallowing, he used his now free hand to peel off his still sodden jacket, switching hands when he had to.  Even letting up on his leg for one second was like pulling a finger from hole in the dam wall—pain slammed him like a brick.  Slapping the wet jacket onto the floor, he wiggled it under his hurt leg, then sucked in a breath.

Now or never.

He let go with both hands…and nearly passed out.  It was only sheer force of will that got him wrapping the jacket by its arms around his leg, tucking and tightening until it seemed like it wouldn’t move.  He was shaking violently by the time he was done, but at least he could use his hands for other things now.  He’d probably just done the worst possible thing for his leg by bandaging it that tightly, but right now, considering he was about to be fried like an egg, he really didn’t care.

He turned around and looked up over his shoulder at the console, which now seemed very high over his head.

The other thing about movies is that the hero usually had someone there to help him up, someone to get him to his feet and help drag him around.  Maybe throw him over his shoulder.

Sheppard.  Ronon.  Teyla.  Where were they?  Were they alive?  Last he’d heard, Ronon was bleeding from some sort of massive wound, and Teyla was injured as well.  Carson—what about Carson? God, how many were dead?  Zelenka, was he still okay? Headwounds can be tricky. How many were gone?

Barbara, Eugene, Kelly, Jaap…

“Focus, McKay.  Focus.”

The words passed his lips, but they were strained and tight.  It didn’t sound like his voice.  He sounded sick.  Weak.

Dying.

“Come on, McKay,” he grumbled. “Suck it up.”

He grabbed at the ruined console behind him with both hands and pulled up with all his strength. Yes…yes…he was doing it.  Somehow, he got his good leg under him, putting all his weight on the knee.  Panting shallowly, he lifted his head. On his knees, he was head height with the face of the console—and he saw the damage Gos had caused for the first time.

His head fell forward against the edge of the console, his eyes closing.

There was no way.  No way.  Gos had pulverized everything.  In ten minutes, they would plug the ZPM back in, and he would die.

He closed his eyes and tried to push himself up and away.

He would have made it too, if the City hadn't chosen that moment to suddenly tilt sharply.  He fell, hard, into the ruined console.  Pain exploded from his damaged shoulder and his leg as he bounced off, overwhelming his senses.

He was unconscious when he hit the floor this time.  As the city tilted, he slid under the edge of the console, smearing blood everywhere.

====

Elizabeth zipped up the haz mat suit and shouldered on her vest—planning to use it in place of a buoyancy compensator. Pulling down the goggles, oxygen and the mask from the storage bin in the Jumper, she quickly donned the dive gear, checking to make sure there was still sufficient oxygen in the small tanks to get this done.  It read almost full—more than enough.  The last things she grabbed were another set of fins and an extra tank and mask for Nguyen, in case he needed it.  He wasn’t going with her, but, if, for some reason, the front compartment filled with water, he’d probably need it.  He was currently putting on his own haz mat suit in the front (and had closed the bulkhead doors “to protect her modesty”.  (Even though she didn’t actually take off any clothes, she really hadn’t objected). 

Sucking in a breath, she checked her watch.  Ten minutes left.

She checked to make sure she was ready, then knocked on the bulkhead doors.  At Nguyen's shout that he was dressed, she opened them and stepped into the forward compartment.  Doctor Nguyen was steady at the controls, and had settled the Jumper into a sort of hover in front of the Central Tower.

Elizabeth grimaced when she saw the jagged hole John had created in the base for the first time—it was the width of two windows, tiny in comparison to the size of the tower, but it was ugly.  It looked like some mega-shark had come along and just chomped through a wall.  Speaking of sharks…  She dumping the fins and the extra tank and mask on the co-pilot’s seat, and crossed her arms.

“There aren’t any sharks inside the tower there,” she asked quietly, trying not to sound nervous, “or other life, is there?”

The scientist had been staring intently at the hole, like a college kid trying to figure out how to thread a needle for the first time and had been biting his bottom lip.  At Elizabeth’s question, though, his eyes widened as if startled, then widened further to show outright fear.  He searched the console, as if unsure of where to look, muttering, “um…um…”

“The HUD?” Elizabeth suggested softly, tilting her head at him.

“Right, right.” Nguyen closed his eyes tightly, pinching his whole face like a prune.  Almost instantly, a screen appeared, showing life signs in the vicinity.  Elizabeth frowned at it, seeing nothing in the immediate area, and let out a sigh of relief.  She glanced at Nguyen, and saw he was still concentrating with his eyes closed.  She let out another sigh, trying not to roll her eyes.  Oh, for the lack of the gene…

“It’s okay,” she said. “You’ve done it.”

One of Nguyen’s eyes popped open, and then the other.  His face lit into a huge smile as he saw the image.  Then he reached forward and waved a hand at it.

“Now, go away,” he said, hand flapping through the 3D image.  The screen did, and they were once more looking at the big hole.  “Right, so…” he looked at her, “Should I back in?”

“I think that would be best.”

He looked around, then frowned. “No rear-view mirror.”

“Doctor,” Elizabeth leaned forward, waiting until he was looking straight at her before continuing, “you can do this.  The Jumper will help you.  Just let it know what you need, and it will guide you inside.  Then you just have to settle us down on the floor of the corridor and I’ll do the rest.”

Nguyen stared at her a moment longer, then let out a long sigh. “Right.”

Turning to face forward, he pressed his lips tightly together and swung the Jumper around.  A screen changed on the HUD, showing the hole, lit in bright pink colors.  She felt the Jumper shudder slightly as Nguyen stopped it once they’d turned 180 degrees.  He stared up at the screen, then glanced at her.  Elizabeth gave a nod.  Swallowing, he gently pulled back on the handles, and the Jumper started to back up into the hole.

And for a moment, as she adjusted the mask over her face, Elizabeth imagined she heard beeping.

==== 

The auxiliary control room was empty.  Which, oddly, was a relief.  Sheppard lowered his head to catch his breath.  Until this second, he’d been convinced they would have found McKay -- a dead body on the still wet floor, unseeing eyes staring right at the Colonel.  He'd imagine Gos's body would have been there, too -- a suicide -- too damn cowardly to face his punishment.  These had been his first thoughts when the life signs had gone out on his hand-held scanner.  

There wouldn’t have been any accusation in the dead blue eyes —but he would have seen it anyway.

He felt a hand on his arm, and he was grateful Teyla was there.  Because she understood.

She stepped first into the room, sweeping it with her weapon.  The room wasn’t small—about the same size as the central Control Room—but it was enclosed, making it seem smaller despite three solid walls of consoles and displays.  There were three sets of doors: the double doors they had just entered by in the middle, and two smaller, single doors on the sides.  One, John knew, would eventually lead to the drone storage on this level.  That way should still be flooded, and, in fact, water was seeping under that doorframe.  The other would lead to general storage, and to the engine rooms and cores on this pier, until finally ending at a transporter.  That way would only be partially flooded.

That was the direction that Rodney must have gone.  Rodney and the hacker.

Teyla was already heading in that direction, her gun raised as she came alongside the closed door.  He moved to the opposite side and lifted his own P90.  He gave her a nod.  Teyla swiped her hand over the control and went low, while Sheppard went high, both aiming their weapons down the stairs to the corridor below.

Empty.

The City creaked ominously and canted further, and Teyla glanced worriedly at Sheppard.  He shook his head.  The city would be rising soon enough.  They’d be okay.

He moved down the stairs in slow measured steps, kneeling to see further down the dark hallway.  A shallow cascade of water dripped down the stairs, wetting his boots as he checked for bodies.

Still empty.

"Clear," he called softly, to encourage Teyla to follow him down. "So far.  There's a T-Junction up ahead though, that—"

“That’s far enough,” a man’s voice called from behind him, the sound was a strange combination of reedy weakness and smug superiority.  “Put your gun down, Colonel Sheppard, or I’ll take her head off.”

Sheppard froze, then swore softly.  He knew they should have looked more carefully under those damn consoles in the main room.  Schooling his face into one of nonchalance, he turned and looked up, to the top of the stairs leading to Auxiliary.

Teyla, looking thoroughly pissed off, was held in the tight grip of Doctor Gos, with a 9MM gun to her head.

“I said, drop it,” Gos reiterated. “Now.”

====

“What’s happening?”

Zelenka almost jumped at the growled question, not hiding his surprise as he looked up at the looming figure of Ronon Dex leaning over his bed.  He’d been so absorbed in his work on his laptop that he hadn’t heard the hurt man come over.  Ronon was pressing a bandage to his stomach, had a blood-soaked bandage on his shoulder, and was bleeding from where he’d pulled out his IV.

“What?” Radek croaked, shifting on the bed as it tilted up slowly with the floor.  “Aren’t you supposed to be getting a blood transfusion?  Something about nearly bleeding out?”  The Satedan did look far too pale to be standing.

Ronon just gave a headshake. “I’m fine.  What’s happening?  They get McKay?  Weir ready to put the ZPM back in?"

“Oh, uh…”  Zelenka blinked rapidly a few times, then looked back down at his screen.  He tapped a few keys, and a schematic of the bowels of the city appeared.  There were only four sets of dots down there.  He pointed to the two near the middle, where the base of the central tower would be.  “That’s Doctor Weir and Doctor Nguyen.  The one that’s moving is probably Doctor Weir.  Looks like…”  He stopped and looked at the watch on his wrist.  Ten minutes. “They’re waiting to flood the Jumper and then to plug in the ZPM. I expect to see her start moving in about five minutes.  As for Sheppard and Teyla…”  His fingers skidded across the mouse, and the schematic zoomed in on a different room located along the largest of the piers.  “This would be them.  They appear to have reached auxiliary.  If they’d found Rodney, I’m sure they would have contacted us.”

Ronon grunted.  “I still don’t get why we can’t see McKay or the hacker’s life sign.”

“Doctor Gos, yes.”  Zelenka winced.  He’d liked Gos.  The man had seemed bright.  He’d also saved his and McKay’s life not that long ago.  Of course…he was also the reason he’d nearly been killed in the first place.  God—that just made his head hurt.

“But why can’t we see them?”

“I don’t know.”  He wasn’t going to suggest the obvious – that both men were dead.  Not yet.  Not until Sheppard and Teyla reported that they'd found the bodies.

“What are they doing?”

“Hmm?”  Zelenka looked up at Dex, seeing him peering angrily at the screen.

“They’re just standing there," Ronon said. "Why aren’t they moving?”

Zelenka sighed, looking down at the marble floor as a kidney bowl slid towards the shelves on the far wall.  How would he know?  “I—”

“What the hell are you doing out of bed!”

Carson’s brogue filled the room like a thunderclap, and Ronon actually looked worried for a second.  He quickly covered it up though as Carson fought the tilt with his wheelchair, wheeling his way steadily towards them.

“I needed to see—”

“Like hell you did!" Carson snapped, setting the brake. "You’re bleeding all over the floor!”

"I’m fine!" Ronon attempted to loom over the Scot, gritting his teeth and lifting his chin. "I'm not moving until I know—"

"Oh, you think you have a choice?" Carson asked.

Ronon's eyes narrowed. "I have a choice," he snarled, backing it up with his most menacing expression. "I'm staying until—"

"Oh, please, are you kidding me?  You honestly think you can win here?" Carson pushed himself up off the chair onto his uninjured leg.  Even standing, though, he was a good foot shorter than the other man.  Not that that made one bit of difference—when he loomed forward, Ronon actually moved a step back.  "Believe it or not, Specialist Dex, I know you," Carson said quietly. "And I know you're about as likely to hit me as kick a pup right now, so don't even try it.  You're in my bailiwick now, big man, and you're going to do what I tell you.  Now," he pointed at the empty bed and the limp, hanging IV dripping on the floor that Dex had pulled out, "you are going to get back into that bed, and you are going to let the nurse put that IV back into your hand, and," he held up a finger when Ronon looked about to argue, "you are going to stay there until I say you can get out, do you understand?"

Ronon frowned more. "I—"

"That was a yes or no answer, Ronon, not requiring elaboration.  In that bed, now.  And maybe," Carson leaned closer to the Satedan so he could poke him in the chest, "and I stress the maybe," he leaned away again, "I'll have them pull your bed closer so you can follow along with Radek what's happening below.  But if you don't get back in that bed now, I'll have my ex come down here with a squad of marines and make you get in it.  Is that clear?"

Ronon's frown was so deep now, he looked almost ferocious.  He let out a growl of anger, as if about to fight, but, instead of moving forward, he turned away.

"Go," Carson intoned, pointing at the other bed.

Ronon stayed stoic a moment longer, then dropped his head.  Slowly, he dragged himself back to his bed. He scowled the whole time.

Carson waited until Ronon was actually lying down again, and letting someone administer a new IV, before sitting back down again in the wheelchair.  Letting out a sigh, he waved at one of Radek's minions hovering off to the side.  The scientists came forward contritely, as if afraid to be the next one to receive a tongue-lashing.

"Fetch us another laptop, would you, love?" Carson asked, patting her on the arm. "And set it up for Ronon.  Also, move his bed closer, will you?"

She nodded and took off at a jog—sliding into a wall at one point in her haste.  Ronon just snorted and, wonderfully, pouted.

Zelenka had to suck in his cheeks to stop himself from snickering.  He watched Ronon for a moment.  Now that the Satedan was lying down, he certainly looked a lot more comfortable and less like he was about to faint.  He then glanced at Carson, who was wheeling himself up next to Radek's bed.  The wheels skidded sideways a little on the uneven floor, but Carson gamely compensated in order to set himself up next to the Czech.

"So," the doctor said, tilting his head to see the screen. "What you got?"

"No news yet," Radek supplied.

Carson nodded.  He knew that.  "But those are Teyla and the Colonel?" he asked, indicating the screen.  Radek glanced at it, and frowned.  The two life signs were still static—in the same place they had been before.  Ronon was right—why weren't the moving?

"Something's wrong," he said quietly.  Carson's worried expression, mirrored by Ronon's across the way, didn't help matters.

====

"Stop trying to talk me out of this!" Gos snapped, dragging Teyla back another step.  They were back in Auxiliary, still next to the door.  Despite Gos's nervous movements, they hadn't really moved far, but they were moving, and John was trying everything he could to prevent Gos from going through with this hostage idea, or at least, to point the gun at him so Teyla might have a chance to get away.  If she could—she was still looking pretty banged up...

"Look," John said quietly, soothingly, "just let her go, and—"

"No! For the last time, I'm not switching her for you! You think I'm stupid? You're not hurt, she is.  I want her!  And we're going!"

"Colonel?" Teyla said, her voice absurdly calm.  It was the first time she'd spoken since Gos had put the gun to her head.

John let out a heavy breath, switching his gaze from Gos's to Teyla's briefly, before looking back at Gos.  "Yeah?"

Her eyes were as hard as stone, and filled with something which he didn't see too often in the typically cautious woman. "I am, as I've heard you say, a little tired of this game," she said.

John frowned some more, looking from her to Gos and back again.  The scientist also showed some confusion, and, to a degree, annoyance.  The hostage obviously wasn't supposed to talk.

"So,” she continued, “if you do not mind, I will just finish this now."   Teyla's right arm suddenly snapped up like a cobra strike, grabbing Gos's right wrist and shoving his whole right arm towards the ceiling, the gun in his hand discharging harmlessly into the metal above.   Gos let out a squeak as her left elbow simultaneously slammed into his sternum, followed by a fist to his groin.  John had just enough time to step back as Teyla then whirled around, bent and twisted, pulling Gos off his feet and throwing him over her back and onto the ground.

The small man landed hard on the floor, the air exploding from his lungs from the force of the hit, and Teyla crashed hard into his chest, digging her knee into his diaphragm, her left hand wrapped tightly around his throat.  The gun Gos had been holding skidded away across the wet floor, stopping next to the P90 John had dutifully put down earlier at Gos's insistence.

John blinked.

"Wow," he breathed.  Part of him tried to quell the fact that the whole two-second affair had been incredibly hot.

"Where is he?" Teyla snarled, tightening her hold on Gos's throat.  The young scientist gagged and drooled, his eyes rolling back in his head.  "Where is HE?!" Teyla shouted, digging her fingers even deeper into his skin.  Press any further, John thought inanely, and she'd probably separate his head.

"Uh, Teyla?" he called.

"What have you done with him?" Teyla demanded, and Valkyries would have run in the face of her anger.

"Teyla," John tried again, finally stepping forward so that he cast a shadow over the two of them.  She looked up, her eyes narrowed.

"What?"

"He can't speak if you're crushing his windpipe."

Teyla stared at John for a second, then, abruptly, she let go of Gos's throat.  He started to gasp and choke, but the bluish tinge to his lips started to fade.  He blinked, tears rolling down his face, and seemed to focus back on the two of them.

"Where is he?" Teyla asked again, her hand now balled into a fist.  Gos took in a few more short breaths, but, then, slowly, he smiled.

"You mean McKay?" he asked, as if it wasn't obvious.  His voice came out in a painful, creaking squeak.  Teyla snarled.

"Where is he, Gos?" John said, stepping around to stand beside her.

Gos coughed some more, and then smiled again, a hint of blood at the edges of his lips. "You're too late," he said. "Too late.  He's...," he sucked in a painful sounding breath, "he's going to die, Sheppard.”

John’s gaze traveled to the 9MM on the floor.  “You shot him?” he surmised, feeling his anger rising.

Gos looked beatifically happy.  “I had to slow him down somehow.  Keep him from moving around too much.  A gun works pretty well for that.”  And he exhaled sharply as Teyla jammed a knee brutally into his chest.

Gasping, Gos went on, “It probably won’t kill him outright.  Well, eventually it will.  He was bleeding pretty bad – like a stuck pig.”  And he laughed again, harshly, stopping only when Teyla shoved an arm against his neck.

“Where is he!?” Sheppard demanded, wishing he was the one crushing Gos’ windpipe.

Teyla relieved the pressure a moment, allowing Gos a breath.  He gasped out, “He can't stop it this time.  He's going to die at his own hands, in a blaze of glory!"  And he started to laugh, crazy and insane.

Teyla frowned, and she looked about to punch the little man again.  "What does that mean?" she hissed.

But John already knew.  He stared down the stairs to the corridor below, knowing where it led—the engine room on this pier was down there.  Oh God.  He checked his watch then, and the time...oh God, the TIME.

"Five minutes," he whispered, staring at Teyla. "Shit."

She frowned, still not catching on. "John?"

He just shook his head, "Bind his wrists and follow me.  Hurry!"

Without even checking to see if she would follow his order, he was sweeping up Gos's gun and the P90 he'd dropped before and was running down the stairs, towards the engine room.  He clicked his radio. "Elizabeth!  Elizabeth, do you read?"

"Colonel Sheppard?" Doctor Nguyen answered.

"Nguyen!  Where's Elizabeth?"  John nearly skidded on a large puddle and went down hard, but righted himself quickly.  His feet slapped the wet flooring as he reached a bend in the corridor and he leaped over a door that had blown out by the water, then bodychecked the wall as he turned it, and kept moving.  The tilting floor was a bitch!

"She's already gone.  We flooded the back of the Jumper, and she's swimming towards the—"

"You have to stop her!"

There was a pause. "What?"

"Gos has locked McKay into the engine room on this pier!" Sheppard shouted.  "He shot him!  And said something about Rodney going out in a blaze of glory.  I can only guess that—"

"He's exposed the room to the engine coils," Nguyen finished. "Oh my God."

"You have to stop Weir!"

"How?  If I try to go back there, I'll flood the front of the Jumper, and we won't be able to fly it back out."

"Sure you will.  They can handle water inside.  You’ll be fine.”

"But--"

“Nguyen! I’m not telling you, I’m ordering you!  Now do it!”

“Okay! Okay.”

Sheppard slammed into another wall around another bend, and then he was there, looking down the hall at a large, red metal door.  Slipping and sliding, he ran straight up to it and slammed his fists into the metal surface.  He could already see that the door control was beyond repair—Gos had obviously shot the thing to pieces with his 9MM.

"MCKAY!"  He hammered his fists on the door, "MCKAY!"

"Colonel?" Zelenka's trembling voice burst over the radio. "Did I just hear that right?  Gos shot Rodney and locked—"

"Yes!  And the door controls are shot.  Can you override them from up there?"

"I...I don't know.  Hang on."

Sheppard slammed his fists some more. "McKay! Answer me!"

Zelenka's voice cracked over the radio again, "Colonel?"

Sheppard was now trying to find a broken seam along the door edge—some other way inside.  "What?"

"Gos did something to the controls inside and outside the engine room.  I have to undo what he did, then I should be able to—"

"How long?"

"Ten, maybe fifteen minutes?"

Sheppard growled, looking at his wrist.  "You've got three, Doc."

"But—"

"Just do it!"  He started slamming on the metal again. "McKay!"

"Colonel?" This time it was Teyla.  Sheppard looked behind him, to see Teyla pushing a bound Gos before her like one would push a man towards the gallows.  Sheppard's eyes lit up.

Without conscious thought, he had his P90 up and pointed straight at Gos's head.  The scientist's eyes widened.

"If he dies...," John hissed through clenched teeth, finishing the threat by clicking off the safety on the gun. "Now tell me how to get this door open!"  

Chapter Text

Larry Nguyen frittered with the scuba gear.  “Oh, jeez,” he muttered.  “Oh, jeez.”  He tested the breathing controls, ensuring that the device actually worked, and then tried it again.  “Jeez…jeez…. Oh jeez…”

He’d been trained how to use the equipment and had an able mind.  Still, his gut clenched at the idea of actually swimming underwater and trusting the scuba gear.

He needed to go out.  He needed to catch up with Doctor Weir before time ran out, before she reinserted the ZPM and returned power to the city.  He had to stop her and save Doctor McKay.

Someone had to.

The room shifted again, and the jumper tilted with it, sliding along the floor.  The whole city was going to topple over if they didn’t hurry this up.

He glanced to the shield that separated his dry and warm cabin from the flooded rear of the jumper, and from the flooded ZPM room beyond.  Inside, it was dry, relatively safe.  Outside, it was cold and very, very wet.  He’d stand a good chance of drowning, getting eaten by a shark – or at the very least – ending up with swimmer’s ear.

And did he mention the shark thing?

He swallowed thickly.   This was bad on so many levels.

He was never a good swimmer. Every summer of his youth, his mother hauled him to the local pool and signed him up for lessons.  The athletic-looking lifeguards would look him over, smile smugly and insist that they’d take care of him.  They would ensure his mother that he’d be swimming, one way or another, by the end of the next session.  It always sounded rather like a threat.

Every summer, he skipped out of class to spend time in the library.  Nobody really noticed.  The library was a better use of his time and it wasn’t wet.

Every summer, his cousin tossed him – at least once – into the deep end of the pool and let him fend for himself.  “Sink or swim,” Janice would say. That’s how he learned to swim.

He hated water, he hated his cousin, and he rather hated summer as a result.

Nguyen fumbled with the breathing apparatus, wishing he could trust it totally, wished that he had actually attended a swim lesson, wished he knew something other than the dog paddle.  He pulled on the face mask and looked up, right out the large window of the jumper.

And something very large and dark swam past the tower, just outside the hole in the wall.  Nguyen froze, hands around his head, holding the face mask in place.

A moment later, the HUD was up, showing life signs swimming happily outside of the flooded tower.  Sharks.  What the hell?  It’s like they smelled the figurative blood in the water or something.  How smart were they?  Did they know what was happening? 

Oh God, why had he watched that DVD of Shark Week with Zelenka last month?  Why? WHY?

He did not want to go out there!

Maybe he could rig up some sort of underwater communication system to deliver the message.  He frowned, not knowing how he’d go about that.  McKay could probably figure it out.  The quickest way to stop Weir would be to swim after her and…

It would be a shame to flood all of this Ancient equipment.  McKay would be pissed off!

Yeah… Dr. McKay… The city was sinking.  The engines needed to be fired, but not before Sheppard was able to get into that room.

There was no time to waste.  Nguyen sat down and forced a flipper over each foot and prepared to open the bulkhead doors.  He could do this.  He’d lived in Atlantis long enough to know that, sometimes, people were pressed to do things that were beyond their usual scope.

And people had to face their sharks.  Fears.  Whatever.

He could do this!  Yes!  Flippers in place, he leaned over the control panel of the jumper and contemplated the panel.  He clicked and fretted with the controls, putting everything into a standby mode—or at least he hoped that’s what he managed.

Another shark swam past the large hole in the wall.  God, it would be so easy for them to get inside…and he couldn’t do anything.  At least in the jumper he could, theoretically, shoot a drone at one.

A quick thought came—maybe he could block the hole with the Jumper?  Yes, yes…if he just moved the jumper forward….

The little ship shuddered as it powered up, and Nguyen slowly moved it into the hole.  He extended the engine pods as far as he could…and then opened the drone bays.  The bigger the better.  The nose of the jumper stuck out of the tower, so that he could put the engine pods and drone bay doors flush with the edges.  Metal screeched a little, and he smiled.  There.  Stuck!  Perfect!  Now, on to the next event…

With a sigh, he tightened the mask and fitted the mouthpiece in place.  Clinging tightly to the back of one seat, he opened the shield and let the water rush in.

====  

Teyla smacked Gos hard when he still refused to speak and shoved him harder into the hallway wall.  There was a manic gleam in his eye—Sheppard's threats weren't working, and neither were Teyla's fists.  Damn it! 

Sheppard activated his radio.  “Zelenka, talk to me!” he ordered.  The hacker struggled futilely as Teyla continued to press him against the wall.  Around them, the city shuddered and cried.  Gravity helped the Athosian choke the hacker.  “Zelenka!”

“I’m trying,” the Czech insisted.  “This isn’t simple.”  His tone was apologetic.  “Gos has done a great deal of damage to the systems.  It’s not easy to undo.”

“The door,” Sheppard growled.  “I don’t care what other damage he’s done.  Open the damn door!”  He bashed an impotent fist into the door panel.  “Get it open, now!”

“I am working on it,” Radek returned.  “I will get it.”

“Has Doctor Nguyen been able to alert Elizabeth about the ZPM?” Teyla asked, her eyes never leaving Lazlo Gos.  She kept one arm pressed against his neck.  The other hand grasped a knife.

Beckett’s voice came over the radio, “Looks like Larry is leaving the ship now.  He’ll stop her.  I have faith in the lad.  He may not be the surest pilot, but…”

“Just get the door open!” Sheppard interrupted.

“Yes, yes…I am working on it,” Zelenka assured and then paused.  He swore in Czech and then muttered, “Something is still blocking me.”

Sheppard stepped closer to the saboteur.  “I don’t care how smart you think you are,” he stated, thumping a fist against the sealed door. “We’re getting Rodney out of there.”

Gos licked his lips.  A bit of a smile crossed his lips as Teyla moved to one side so that Sheppard could press near.  Still, her grip never lessened.  Gos said, “But do you have time to get in there?”

“We are getting him OUT,” Sheppard repeated getting nose to nose with the hacker.  The hallways groaned.  Everything continued to dip.  The city wasn’t going to last and McKay had been alone for too long already, shot – hurt – dying – alone.

Not dead, Sheppard reminded himself.  McKay can’t be dead.

Everything was tipping.  “City’s sinking,” Gos reminded, looking past Sheppard to the window at the end of the corridor—you could see the Central Tower through the murky water of the ocean.  "They need to replace that ZPM quickly, or the City's going to break into pieces.  Which means you only have a couple minutes to get him out of there before the engines fire up.  You won’t be able do it in time.   You’re better off keeping the door shut and saving yourselves from the heat.  But, even with this shut, it’ll burn you pretty good.  Better go.”

Gos gasped explosively as Teyla punched him in the stomach.  “We will save him,” she assured.  “Dr. Nguyen will be successful in stopping Dr. Weir.”

Struggling for breath, Gos proclaimed, “And then what?  The City's going to tip on its side—it'll crack, and all of McKay's air pockets won't stop it from going down. Everyone’s going to drown! Can’t see you letting that happen, Sheppard.  I mean, either everyone dies – or just one man?  They’re going to fire up those engines, which means McKay—” 

“No.  Not until my say-so,” Sheppard cut him off.

“Whatever,” Gos responded.  He licked his lips again, gaining his composure, and then said flippantly, “I’ve just got this feeling.”  He smiled in a way that might have been pleasant in other circumstances, but instead it looked only demonic.  “I’ve got this feeling that someone is going to burn.”

“Shut him up,” Sheppard growled, which Teyla did with pleasure, pressing her arm against the man’s neck again.

Sheppard turned his back on the gasping Gos, and returned to the door.  He pounded.  “Rodney!  Rodney!  Can you hear me? Rodney!”

But there was no response.  If he was already dead…

John pounded again. “Come on, Rodney, say something,” he whispered.  “Make a noise—something.  I know you’re in there.  You’re alive. I know you’re still alive.”  There was simply no other acceptable conclusion.  He leaned against the door, his head pressed to the surface.

Sheppard listened, willing himself to hear through the heavy panel.  “Rodney, come on…”

====

Something was banging. 

It was annoying.

McKay frowned.  Who would be banging on his door in the middle of the night, when he was sleeping?  Unless...was the City in trouble?

The City!  He tried to wake up. 

The floor was tilted.  Why was the floor tilted? 

Wait—why was he on the floor?

And then he felt the pain—sharp knives cutting up and down his leg, his shoulder throbbing like he'd broken the whole upper half of his body.  He cried out in agony, trying to curl away from the hurt.

The cry ended in a gasp as he saw where he was, blinking in confusion at the red-lit engine room.  What?  Why?

And he remembered.  He turned to look at the open hatches to the engine room.  Oh God, oh God, how long had he been out?  What was happening?  The tilt was getting to be too severe. 

They had to save the city.  He grabbed at his wrist and twisted it to see his watch. If they didn’t fire up the engines within the next minute, all of Atlantis would be lost.  When had he started the program?

29 minutes and 3 seconds ago.

57 seconds left.  He only had 57 seconds more to live. 

56.

55.

He closed his eyes and let out a whimpering sigh. 

54...

====

Elizabeth swam.  She swam for her life, for all of their lives.  The flooded corridor was both odd and familiar to her.  Some lights still functioned, others were out—leaving the area dimly illuminated and oddly bluish.  The water was cold—so damn cold that it chilled her from the instant the water rushed into the rear of the jumper. 

She swam, the cold making her teeth ache.  The sound of the regulator seemed to fill her head as she reached the ZPM console.  With one hand, she grasped hold of the edge of the platform to keep herself from drifting, then worked the pack off her shoulder, careful of her air tank.  She had the bag loose when she checked how much time was left.

One minute. 

She worked at the clasp, listening to herself breathe, assuring herself that she wasn’t going to hyperventilate, that she wasn’t afraid.  In fact, she felt strangely—good.  So often, when danger was at hand, her place was in her office, commanding from afar.  Now, she was in the thick of it!  Vital!  It was all up to her. 

It was thrilling!  It was electrifying!  So much rested on her ability to replace the power module at the right time. 

She would have smiled if the regulator allowed it, but the desire faded and she felt a little ashamed at herself for taking any pleasure in the situation.  There was too much at stake and too many had already died.

Lazlo Gos -- it was hard to believe that the sweet-faced man could have wreaked such havoc upon them.  She’d always thought that he looked harmless and rather… cute – like a fluffy chick or one of those little dogs that are so ugly they become adorable.  How could such blackness be hidden behind those big brown eyes?

She hoped that Sheppard and Teyla had reached McKay by this time.  Yes, Rodney would love to see the engines fire up.  It would be a special treat for him, and she hoped that he was in a place where he could truly appreciate the moment.

She checked the time again.  Forty seconds.  Waiting was horrible.  She never liked waiting.  To keep herself busy, she freed the ZPM from the bag and…

Something thrummed.  She could feel it through the water and she turned to look out the large window on the side of the room.  She could just make out the jumper.  Strangely, it seemed to be moving.  Pulling out of the window, sliding into the ocean. 

‘What?’ Elizabeth thought, not able to form a coherent thought concerning this latest situation.  ‘Why?’

The jumper steadily eked from the hole in the wall and drifted toward the depths of the sea.  The sound of strained metal rang through the water as it scraped against the jagged metal that edged their entry point.  Her eyes narrowed as she saw the drone bay doors were open.  What in the world…?  The jumper tipped as more of it was visible…nose pointing down.

‘No,’ she thought.  ‘No!’  What?  What was Nguyen doing?  Where was he going?’  The jumper dipped oddly and seemed to teeter.  Was Nguyen really that inept at controlling the thing?  The sides would be scraped to hell by now. It looked as if the thing was on the verge of sinking.

And then it was more out than in.  The jumper bobbed for a moment, balancing there.  She almost imagined that it was waving a reluctant goodbye.

The it was loose – sinking like a stone away from the tower, trailing a line of bubbles behind it.  Within seconds, it was gone.

Weir bit down on the regulator to keep from shouting in surprise.  ‘Nguyen?’ she thought.  ‘Oh, what did you do?’  Larry?  My god, was he still in there?’

And there he was.  Nguyen stood in the doorway.  She felt a wave of relief rush over her quickly freezing face!  For a moment, the scientist simply stared over his shoulder out the same window, at where the departed jumper had been.  Then, he turned.  His eyes were wide behind his mask.  He waved a hand at her, making an aggressive, angry gesture.

‘I guess he made it out,’ she thought, and her relief turned to annoyance that he’d abandon the jumper. ‘Why?  Why did he leave them without that safety net?’

And then he started heading toward her.

Alarms went off in her head, and she froze, grasping the ZPM.  There was something altogether strange about his manner, about his motions.  He wasn’t swimming as much as lurching forward.  She could see very little of his face behind the breathing mask, but his eyes revealed a fevered intent.

What?  What did he want?  Unconsciously, she backed away from him, clutching the power source to her chest.

Nguyen kept moving toward her, kicking out and paddling toward her violently.

The jumper was gone and she was alone with him.  His hands reached toward her, making slashing movements through the water.  His gaze was filled with frantic zeal, an all-consuming determination.  He kicked and surged at her.

And suddenly she realized that he was trying to stop her.

Oh God!  They’d been wrong!  Dr. Gos, with his expressive eyes and sweet curls, was innocent.  Somehow, Dr. Nguyen had deceived them!  Of course!  Of course!  Larry was a criminal mastermind, wasn’t he?  What better way to gain their confidence than to put the blame on another?

She was in trouble—big, big trouble.

Dr. Nguyen was heading straight for her, one hand reaching as he swam.  He stretched the hand toward the ZPM as if he meant to snatch it away, as if he meant to stop her from reinserting the power source, as if he meant to keep the engines from firing.

Oh, this was not happening!

Determination set her brow as she gripped the device.  Her teeth worked at the mouthpiece.

There was no way in hell that Larry would stop her from completing her mission.  Come hell or high water (and the water was high enough as it was) the ZPM would be put back in place.

Her city was not going to sink.  It wasn’t going to follow the jumper to the seabed, and this madman wasn’t going to stop her from completing her task.  Those engines would fire and the city would rise!

She girded herself as Larry came at her.

====

“What the hell was that?” Sheppard called over the com.

Zelenka paused in his work, looking up as if he could catch a glimpse of whatever had caught the colonel’s attention.  “What was what?” he asked.

“Something freaking-big just fell off the side of the Central Tower – I could see it through the window at the end of the corridor -- and it wasn’t one of those mega-sharks.”

“I don’t know,” Radek replied. “I haven’t been… oh…”

“Oh?” Sheppard echoed.  “What the hell is ‘oh’ supposed to mean?”

The scientist studied the readout on his laptop and grimaced.  “Jumper 14,” he declared. 

“That was Weir’s ship.  What the HELL is Nguyen doing?” Sheppard spat out.  “Underwater acrobatics?”

“I don’t think Larry was in it,” Beckett stated, leaning over Ronon’s laptop. “It looks like he’s in the ZPM room with Elizabeth.”

“Why did that happen?  What’s going on in there?” Sheppard demanded to know.

Zelenka grumbled, “I don’t have time to figure out everything.  I am rather… busy at the moment trying to save Rodney!”   Yes, trying to save that arrogant, petty, little man who would die if a certain Czech wasn’t fast enough.  Fingers clattered as he worked.   “I am doing everything I can!”

“I know… I know… just…”  Sheppard trailed off in frustration.  “God, what else can go wrong?”

Zelenka grimaced, because Dr. Weir and Nguyen were trapped now. 

“Damn it!”  Sheppard’s explosive shout made clear the strain he was feeling. “Lieutenant Cadman, do you read?”

“Yes, sir.”

"Where are you?"

"Hovering with a full jumper outside of the city, sir, as ordered."

"Drop those people off in the main jumper bay and head down to where Nguyen and Weir are—they’re going to need rescuing very soon."

"Yes, sir. It'll be a few minutes though, sir. And I—“

She was cut off by the sound of arguing in the background—people who sounded terrified.  The people in her jumper obviously did not want to go back into the city right now.  Cadman barked a clear order for quiet, and came back on the line.

“Uh...sir? The people I have here are reluctant.  Did you know that the north side of the city is sticking up out of the water, sir?  And I mean really sticking up."

Zelenka closed his eyes, knowing what she meant by that.  He was barely able to stay upright in his bed, and his leg was killing him with the uneven cant.  The traction really didn’t help when everything was tipped up at a 30 degree angle.

"Tell them I’m sorry, Cadman, but there’s no choice here.  Get yourself down there now!"

"Yes sir. Although, with the way the city is tipping, I’m not sure that…"

"Cadman!"

"Okay! Okay.  I'll try!"

She signed off.  Zelenka had not stopped typing that whole time.  For the life of him, he couldn’t seem to get the door to the south pier engine room to respond.  And, horribly, he didn’t think it was technical…he was afraid it was mechanical.

“That’s peculiar,” Beckett muttered, from his wheelchair between Radek's bed and Ronon's. He was staring at the big screen which was still set up to show life signs.  “What do you think Elizabeth and Larry are doing?”

Zelenka glanced to his own laptop.  The life signs in the ZPM room jitterbugged around almost like they were dancing.  He frowned.   Why would they be moving like that?

“Fighting,” Ronon declared.

Radek frowned.  “Fighting?  Why?  That… that makes no sense.”

“Maybe they’re just looking for somewhere to set the ZPM?” Beckett tried hopefully.

Zelenka squinted at the pair. Yes, the dots might suggest two combatants fighting.  They could also denote dancing.  Or – what was it called – synchronized swimming.  At a time like this?  He puckered his brow in consternation.

The city continued to groan unhappily, and Radek tsked, wishing there was something he could do, wishing he could jump up and take care of things – do anything.

“Why?” Beckett asked, flabbergasted.  “Why would they be fighting?”

Ronon shrugged, hiding a wince.  “Weir probably doesn’t understand what Nguyen trying to tell her,” he explained.  “Might think he's up to something.”

“Oh no…” Zelenka uttered, and clicked on his mic again.  “Colonel!  Colonel!  We have a problem”

“What now!?” the irritation was more than evident in Sheppard’s voice.

“We believe…,” and the Czech looked toward the Satedan, “Ronon believes that Dr. Nguyen has been unable to deliver the message, and that Elizabeth is currently fighting with him.”

“She doesn’t know?” Sheppard’s voice came back, sharp.  “She’s still trying to insert the ZPM?  Christ!”

Radek watched as the pair stayed entirely too near the ZPM console.  “Apparently, Dr. Nguyen has been unable to deliver the message,” he said with a sigh.

Ronon added, “Looks like Weir’s winning.”

"Of course she is," Sheppard sighed.

Radek's laptop beeped.  It was the thirty-minute mark.  Rodney's program was finished.

====

Rodney's watch beeped.  He squished his eyes shut even more tightly, and covered his head with his hands.

And waited for death.

And waited some more.  It was going to hurt.  It was going to hurt a lot.

Any second now.... engines, coming on, full blast.  He waited for heat and radiation and pain.

And waited.

Okay.

What the hell?

After a few long moments, he risked opening his eyes.  Blinking around at the room for a moment, he lifted his arm and checked his watch, watching as it moved past the thirty minute mark.

He wasn't dead.  They hadn't plugged in the ZPM.  Why?  Why not?

He finally pulled himself out from under the console, trying not to gag at the smell of blood—his blood—everywhere.  It stuck to his clothing, to him. 

It was then that he remembered the banging.  He'd woken up to banging on the door.  Someone was outside.  Sheppard.  It had to be Sheppard.

They knew.  They were trying to save him.  His heart beat faster.

He had a reprieve.  It might only be a few minutes—because the City was still sinking, tilting on its side, and couldn't take much more of this strain—but...maybe...

He grabbed at the console, his whole body shaking with his last reserves of adrenalin.  He had one more chance—he couldn't waste it.  He was a genius—there had to be something he could do.

Because if he didn't, and if Sheppard was still outside that door when the engines fired up...No...no, no, no....

Sheppard had to leave!  Had to get back to auxiliary—to safety!  He wasn’t taking Sheppard with him.  No way.  There had to be a way to stop this!

Chapter Text

Weir circled the ZPM stand, fluttering her flippers.  Her quadriceps complained as they strained. Her flippers moved heavily, but elegantly, curling against the water.  She kept her focus on the scientist in front of her.

Nguyen frantically mirrored her actions from the other side of the ZPM stand, making choppy arm and leg motion, creating streams of tiny air bubbles.  His hair waved like sea grass from his scalp.

The scientist moved anxiously with her, his eyes wild beneath the mask, nearly glowing in the darkened underwater environment. 

He seemed crazed. Bedeviled.  He jerked and slashed at his throat.  His hair wavered, victim to his storm of harsh movements.

Weir feinted left and then button-holed to her right, hoping to slam dunk the ZPM into its casing.

Nguyen dodged to his right, falling for her feint, giving her time and space to lunge for the ZPM housing port.

Larry screamed, a sound that rumbled deep within his throat, bubbles exploding upward. His eyes rolled wildly as he flipped over. Cold ocean water bubbled around his regulator as his muffled ‘No!’ was muted by the frigid ocean as he managed to slap a flipper over the ZPM port.

Elizabeth jammed the ZPM just on top of his flipper.  Her plan foiled. She growled in frustration, a sound that emanated deep from with her chest.

Larry looked at her and shuddered at the determination in her eye.  He continued to signal for her to cease and desist.  He slashed his hand across his throat.   His eyes remained wide.

Weir’s jaw was clenched, muscles bulged and her eyes were narrowed, conveying deep concentration and determination.  She seemed almost feral as she snarled in frustration and battered his leg away, determined to fulfill her part of the plan.

Nguyen whimpered and lashed out, his hamstrings pulling and contracting with enough force to bring searing pain to the untested muscles of his posterior.  His left butt cheek clenched and flexed.  Tiny muscle fibers tore and pulled.  It burned.

However, his foot rose through, his knee bending.  His trailing flipper clipped Weir at the base of her chin, scraping up along her face and knocking her regulator loose. Large air bubbles rolled forth.  

Elizabeth was forced back, tossing her head to the side in an effort to keep her mask in place. The ascending flipper sailed past her facemask, missing it by mere millimeters, and Larry grasped his butt and grimaced in pain.  

He tried to force a calming smile around his regulator.  He flailed and splayed his arms fighting the water in an effort to right himself and convey a pleasant expression in spite of the regulator.  He supported his abused butt muscles with one hand.

Elizabeth shrunk back as the man before him grabbed at his own posterior as he sported a lecherous expression.

He was a mad man.

Larry continued to make slashing motions with one hand while he gripped his posterior with the other.

Weir hugged the ZPM tighter to her chest.

====

“Still think Weir's winning?” Beckett mumbled.  He nudged Ronon to the side, making room for himself on the edge of the Satedan’s bed and put his injured leg up. He found a pillow and leaned against it, easing the tension in his lower back.  Stiffness leached from sore muscles.  Carson sighed and closed his eyes in momentary relief.

Dex eyed him with some trepidation but made space. 

“The creepy guy must be holding his own,” Dex stated matter-of-factly.  The city’s engines remained unpowered.

“Elizabeth is pretty scrappy,” Beckett conceded, cracking his eyes open again.

“Boney,” Ronon added nodding in agreement with his own assessment.

"Quiet, please," Radek said from the next bed over, still typing away furiously.  Carson glanced over at the Czech, and tried not to think about what would happen if Weir really did win before the engineer could get that door open.

====

Larry groaned and turned his head away as Weir’s pointy elbow caught him solidly in the eye.

The blow was deflected by his facemask, but the downward pressure on the ‘glass’ increased the suction of the mask to his face.  His eyes widened as pressure seemed to draw his eyeballs from his sockets.  Tiny conjunctival vessels burst.  His chin was harshly rocked upward as an equally poorly padded palm was thrust up into the underside of his chin.

Larry’s head was thrust backward, painfully arching his neck. His lower teeth were jammed into the rubber mouth guard of his regulator.  His upper lip became pinched between teeth and regulator and tender flesh was torn.  Blood wisped into the water.  The blow brutally forced him backward, and instinctively, he lifted a heavy knee to protect his exposed midsection and pelvis.  

The knee forcibly caught Weir in the upper portion of her inner thigh.  He cringed at her sharp but muted cry of pain.

Weir curled away from him, dragging a protective leg up closer to her torso while cinching her arms tighter around the ZPM.  Despite her pain and fatigue, she twisted around and once again lunged for the ZPM stand.

Nguyen intercepted her.  He grabbed for the ZPM.  He paused when his fingers missed their intended target.

Weir gasped as cold foreign fingers slid across her breasts, electrifying her in their sudden presence and inappropriate placement.  She cringed.  Fear, determination and repulsion surged and swirled within her.  She speared a look at Nguyen.

His eyes bulged from his head in a maniacal fashion.  A cloud of bloody water floated about his face as he seemingly snarled at her, his upper lip tucked in close to his regulator.

She pulled back trying to drag the ZPM away from him. Away from this crazed madman who was Hell bent on destroying the city. Her city.

Nguyen held fast.  He struggled and twisted as a dark shadow passed overhead.

====

“What’s this then?”  Beckett pointed to the screen at the sudden appearance of a third dot wending its way down the corridor towards the ZPM room.  Within moments it was inside and circling slowly toward the other two fighting dots, slowly closing the distance.

Ronon battered Carson’s hand out of the way and slapped the side of the monitor.  “Could be another sea creature.”

“Oh no,” Beckett breathed. “Surely not.”

“They’re in trouble,” Ronon stated not taking his eyes from the tablet.  The three dots nearly overlapped one another.

====

Nguyen threw his weight backward, kicking out with his fins in a desperate attempt to free the ZPM from Weir’s insanely strong grasp.

Elizabeth, in a fit of anger and in an act of devotion to her city, snapped her shoulders to the left and threw herself backward, keeping the ZPM tucked in close to her bosom.

The ZPM caught between two forces was seized in place, moving neither left nor right, forward nor backward for a second, then suddenly the ancient power source sprung free of the desperate grips that entrapped it.

The ZPM popped upward, spiraling through the water.

Nguyen flailed backward crying out around his regulator, escaping air bubbles marked his words.

Weir screamed a ‘No’ of enraged denial as she was shoved backward by her own momentum.

The ZPM shot through the darkened water, upward, into the opened jaws of the marauding shark as it lunged at them.  The unlit ZPM became wedged in the back of the creature’s mouth, jammed into the lateral edge of its maxilla and mandible.  The beast could neither open nor close its jaws.

McKay was going to kill him.  Larry knew it, as sure as the day was long Dr. McKay would blame Larry Nguyen.  Larry muffled a sob.

The giant creature arched upward, exposing its glistening white belly to the two below and swam toward the top of the room.  It shook its head, clearly trying to dislodge the power source jammed between its jaws.

Weir screamed again and began swimming after it.

Larry watched her with great trepidation.  She really, really wanted that ZPM.  He remained still, frightened by both the size of the creature and the animosity displayed by Dr. Weir.  She was a pit bull.

However, it was the fear of blame that would be levied on him by Dr. McKay that got Larry moving in the direction of the sharklike monster and human piranha in the form of Dr. Elizabeth Weir.

====

“Are they daft?”  Beckett muttered.  He tapped the monitor and then shook the screen. “Are they actually chasing the creature?”

Ronon gave the doctor a disgruntled look. “It must have the ZPM,” he surmised.

“Damn it,” Beckett uttered, “There’ll be no consoling Rodney if that thing eats it.”  He rubbed his thigh, hoping to assuage the pain in his lower leg.

Ronon arched his eyebrow at him, as if wondering whether the doctor was serious.  Carson wasn't.  The doctor just couldn't think about the alternative right now.  Couldn't think about what might happen in a matter of moments if the City's engines didn't come on and stop their sinking and tilting; couldn't think about what would happen if Rodney was still in that room when the engines came on; couldn't think about Sheppard and Teyla getting killed as well if the door to the engine room didn't hold; couldn't think about any of it. So he watched the three dots swimming down in the heart of the central tower and made jokes.

Ronon gripped his arm, holding it fast.  He knew.  Carson gave him a small smile and returned his gaze to the screen.

====

Rodney paused, closing his eyes and leaning heavily on the busted panel.  His tired hand clutched and loosened, then felt through the remains of the control panel.  Everything was left wet and blood smeared.  He braced himself with one hand as water dripped from his hair into the works and he wondered if he would get electrocuted on top of everything else.  Just his luck.

His head buzzed as tried to pull yet another rabbit out of the hat.  Not much of a hat.  The hat had been smashed to bits.  Any rabbit would have been torn up with it—just bits of scattered fluff and maybe a bald foot or two.

Why did people think rabbits’ feet were lucky?

He felt wonky, unbalanced.  He wondered if it was from blood loss and shock, or if the city was really tilting that much.  He hoped it was just because he was dying.

His hand glanced across something.  He thought a moment and then pulled a crystal from its mooring, marveling that the main crystal in the system had been left whole.

A laugh came from him, unbidden and a little hysterical in tone.  “Now that this one is free, I can…” he whispered, pressing more of his weight onto the panel.  “…bypass the panel and...”  He closed his eyes as a wave of pain, nausea and weariness came over him.  He started shaking.

“Stop,” he muttered.  “Stop shaking…”  But the shuddering wouldn’t cease, and he chuckled again.  Yes, if he only had the strength, if he could only think straight, he could clear the system and free himself and save...save...what?

Well, this was an effort wasted.

He slid down the wall, one hand still clinging to the control panel, the other holding the only whole crystal that had been left in the mess.

He was cold, wet, miserable, in pain and bleeding to death. He giggled because he realized this was nothing compared to what was going to happen next.

And he realized that giggling was totally inappropriate.  He tried to stifle the behavior, but was left shivering, his chest jerking as he breathed.

This sucked.  This really sucked.

Pain surged again, throbbed throughout his leg.  God!  Why’d it have to hurt so much?

He gritted his teeth and panted against the pain, trying to remember why he was laughing a moment ago.  Why laugh?  This was no reason to laugh.

The effort to still his chest made his stomach revolt.  He was going to be sick.

He pressed his head against the wall, willing himself not to puke because he didn’t need to add that to everything else.  Really, wasn’t being nearly drowned, frozen and then shot in the leg enough for now?

But there was another act to go.

After a moment the urge to upchuck lessened, even though the reason behind it remained.

Hurt – pain – agony.

Wet – cold – lonely.

He wished someone was with him – if nothing else, to listen to his bitching.

Why was he holding onto a crystal?  Where did it come from?  Maybe he was supposed to do something.  He glanced around, trying to remember and his gaze ended on the open hatches and the exposed engine coils.

This was going to hurt.

As cold as he was at the moment, frying to death by the engine’s heat and radiation was an awful lot worse.  That had to be right up there with getting your life sucked out of you by a Wraith.

And he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.  No – no – he was glad that he was alone here.  No need for anyone else to get caught up in it, right?   And he was alone—right?  There wasn't anyone else...no one....

Wait… Sheppard was just outside the door, maybe Teyla with him because certainly Ronon was too hurt to move.  He hoped Sheppard stepped back.

“Go…” he whispered to the door.  “Run.”

It was only a matter of time and the engines would start up – minutes maybe.

Shivering, he glanced at his leg, noting that the water-soaked jacket was turning darker as blood wicked into the cloth.  The slow creep fascinated him and he watched the progress as something hammered near his head.

He blinked, and something shiny caught his eye.  The crystal in his hand.  Why…

Wait…there was something…something he needed to bypass…If only he could remember…

====

Radek couldn’t fix it.  A computer couldn’t fix this.  Something was broken down there—shattered.  There was no way.  If he was there, maybe he could find the broken connection—pull the crystals, bypass the problem somehow.  But up here…up here he was useless.

He could hear Ronon and Beckett talking about Weir and Nguyen fighting, but he wasn't really paying attention.  Elizabeth would win—Larry wasn't nearly strong enough to beat her.  Which meant that ZPM would be plugged in any moment.  The thirty-minute mark was now five minutes past—and the City was dangerously tilted.  There was no time left.

Despairingly, Zelenka considered the options.  “Colonel,” he said softly, “You might consider leaving that area.  I’m afraid that the blast door won’t be enough to…”

"NO!" Over the radio, they could hear the sound of something pounding against metal.  Sheppard shouted, “Get this door open, NOW!”

“I am trying!  But…fact is, I don’t think there is anything I can do.” Zelenka leaned forward, rattling away at the keyboard, grimacing as he worked.  “I’m just saying, you should really back away from—”

"No!"

Radek closed his eyes for a moment.  He was struggling, not wanting to give into the hopelessness of the situation.  There was no time for such sentimentality.  He opened his eyes again.

“I am sorry, Colonel.”

“Not good enough.”

Zelenka pressed at the bridge of his nose as if shoving his glasses back into place, and kept working.  Fingers paused abruptly, drawing back from the keyboard and he gasped in surprise.

No, it couldn’t be!

“What?” Beckett responded, not wanting another shock.  “What’s happening now?”

Radek smiled, widely.  “I don’t know how, but…suddenly, it’s working!  I have it,” he stated.  Touching his mic, he stated, “Colonel, I should have the door open in a matter of moments.”

“Good job, Radek!” Sheppard called in return.

“Way to go, Radek!” Carson called.

“Sheppard and Teyla can get McKay out now?” Ronon asked.  Zelenka gave a quick nod.

“I just need one…more…minute…”  he bit his lip, focused on making the connections stable.  “And then Elizabeth can plug in the ZPM.”

“Ah,” Beckett said, “That’s still a problem.  Take a look.”

Zelenka glanced up, and saw that, indeed, the three dots were still circling around each other.

“We need to get out there,” Ronon stated firmly, trying to leverage himself up out of bed.

“That’s not advisable,” Beckett said reluctantly.  “You nearly bled out, son.  You need your rest.  Besides, how would we get down there?”

“I‘ll find a way,” Ronon growled. “Don't try to stop me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Beckett said, smiling crookedly.

“Hey Zelenka,” Sheppard called, sounding thoughtful.  “You said the panel ‘suddenly’ started working.  What did that mean?”

Taking a breath, Zelenka responded, “It wasn’t me.  Something had been blocking my attempts earlier.  I believed the issue to be mechanical, not technical, so—”

“Cut to the chase,” Sheppard demanded.

“Oh… um,” Radek replied, trying to remember what that phrase meant.  “Ah yes, something changed," he said.  "Have you been accessing any of the panels there?  Removed any crystals?”

“We haven’t touched anything since we got here,” Sheppard told him.  “It’s all been blasted to hell.”

“It is very strange,” Zelenka went on.  “It is as if someone has freed an important crystal and…”  Radek paused, grinning slightly as he realized something.

“He’s still alive!” Sheppard deduced at the same time. “Well done, Rodney!” Zelenka heard banging in the background, and guess the Colonel was banging on the door with his fist. “Hang on, buddy! Zelenka, get the door open so we can reach him!”

Chapter Text

Rodney let himself slide bonelessly into a heap away from the console, from where he’d completed the bypass, and was lying on his side. His bad leg was folded awkwardly beneath him, but the bullet wound was a distant throbbing ache now. His entire lower body was numb.

Eyes still shut, he let his head thump back against the wall, fully prepared to pass out and let somebody else clean up the rest of this mess.

Except he still needed to reset the door controls, so they’d respond to the bypass.

God, he was so tired.

What was he doing again?

That annoying banging was back…coming from somewhere. He frowned, looking in the direction of the door. Banging. Why was that familiar? Using what was left of his strength, he dragged himself across the floor, using his arms, until his head was next to the metal door. Closing his eyes, he concentrated and gradually became aware that the banging was accompanied by words. People talking. Out in the corridor. Sheppard?

Oh God. Sheppard. He remembered.
He lifted an arm feebly and thumped at the door, trying to signal, trying to warn them to get away while they still could, before the engines fired up and fried the entire level with lethal heat and radiation.

There was an answering thump on the other side of the door. "Rodney?" Sheppard called, his voice still muffled, but louder now. "Hang in there, buddy. We're getting you out of there. Zelenka!"

"No," Rodney whispered, his voice a pathetic croak that barely carried to his own ears. "Get away. Run..."

The world was getting fuzzy again. Rodney struggled against it, knowing that if his team couldn't get through the doors to save him, he was going to have to find a way to save his team. But the controls were so far away, and he was so very tired. He leaned forward, planting one arm on the floor, ready to crawl back if he had to.

When suddenly the city gave a violent shudder, the worst yet, and tilted crazily on its axis. Already unbalanced, Rodney crashed and rolled, unconscious before his body hit the wall.
====
“Zelenka!”

I am working as fast as I can," Zelenka ground out, fingers flying over the keyboard as he tried to make sense of the hash Gos had made of the engine room's locking protocols. "Now that I am in the system, it should just take one more minute. One more minute, and…." The words trailed off as commotion on the other side of the sickbay caught his attention.

Ronon had commandeered an extra wheelchair, and he and Beckett were making their awkward way across the room, arguing loudly about how Ronon needed to help and how Beckett needed him to stay in bed.

It was rather like watching the slow-motion wreck of a very small, very noisy train as the chairs careened into each other, locked wheels, rolled free and ricocheted off the walls and furniture. Beckett, no stranger to late-night wheelchair derbies during his med school years, would have managed well enough, but Ronon, propelling his chair with only one arm, had put his chair into a spin and had become rather difficult to corral.

Zelenka winced and buried his head behind the laptop screen as the big Satedan gave his chair a particularly vicious shove forward -- which only served to whipsaw him around in a semicircle. His chair crashed full tilt into Beckett, who had pulled close behind him, trying to turn him back to the bed. Curses in at least three languages darkened the air.

"This is ridiculous," Beckett huffed, disentangling himself from Dex's wheelchair and rolling carefully backwards. "You'll have to stay put, son. You’re in no shape—"

“Try to stop me,” Ronon snarled. His words cut off abruptly as the walls and floors of the central tower let out a creaking groan. It was the only warning before the entire city lurched and tilted on its axis like a buoy in a storm-tossed sea. The central tower whipsawed, shuddered, and finally settled at an acute angle, sending people and equipment flying across the floor.

Beckett had the presence of mind to latch onto one of the anchored diagnostic beds, halting his slide.

Zelenka simply clamped one hand on the edge of his bed and continued typing with the other. He hissed as his broken leg swung free of the mattress, anchored only by the traction ropes, but kept his attention locked on the laptop. He almost had the Gos’ encryption cracked. Almost...

But Ronon, barely settled back in the wheelchair, was caught completely off guard as the chair rolled backward across the sloping floor, picking up speed -- heading straight toward the open balcony doors and the sheer drop-off beyond.

"No!" Beckett screamed. Without thinking, he released his hold and sent his own chair speeding in pursuit.

Dex's eyes widened, realizing the danger. He made a desperate one-armed grab for the balcony doors as he whizzed through them.

He missed.

With a crash, the chair hit the railing and flipped. Ronon Dex flew up and over the edge of the balcony and vanished from sight.

====

Sheppard picked himself off the slanted floor, wincing at the cacophony coming over his earpiece. It sounded like the city's latest shift wasn't doing the central tower any favors. A quick survey found Teyla still somehow on her feet, with one boot planted on Lazlo Gos's neck.

"McKay!" he shouted, scrambling up an incline that hadn't been there a minute ago and pounding on the locked doors. "Hang in there, Rodney. We're coming." He rested a hand against the door, hoping for an answering thump. This time, there was nothing. Hell, to be honest, he didn't even know if that first thump had been Rodney. It could have been anything hitting the door—but he had to believe it was the scientist.

A snicker broke the silence. Sheppard's eyes narrowed as he turned to find Gos grinning up at him through bloodied teeth, looking enormously pleased with himself.

"Told you somebody was going to burn," Gos chortled, ignoring the boot planted against the side of his neck. "What's it going to be, Colonel? You gonna save McKay, or you gonna save the city? C'mon!" the hacker's button-bright eyes sparkled with manic glee. "Let's light this candle!"

Sheppard reached down and, in one smooth motion, whipped Gos out from under Teyla's boot and slammed him into the nearest wall.

"Tell me how to unlock that door, Gos," he hissed.

Gos laughed harder. "Oh, you remember my name now, do you?"

He kept talking, apparently unconcerned that he was dangling with his toes several inches above the sloping floor.

"I'm the guy who debugs your computer. I'm the guy who fixes the environmental controls in your room when they go haywire at 3 a.m. I'm the guy who got your jumper flying again after that last dogfight with the Wraith dart. And this is what it takes for you to say two words to say to me." Gos paused and cocked his head a moment, calculating. "Eight words," he amended.

Sheppard almost dropped Gos. "That's what this is about?" he said, enunciating each word with care. "You killed half your department because we didn't thank you for doing your goddamn job?

Gos sneered back at him. "I want to hear you beg me to do my job. I want to hear you say you can't do this without me. I want to hear you say McKay failed and you need me to save the day." His eyes went flat and cold. "Go ahead. Say the magic words."

At that precise moment, the sealed engine room doors let out a gentle chirp, and slid open.

Sheppard blinked at the doors for a long moment, then turned back to Gos with a feral smile and said the magic words.

"Nice job, Radek."

====
Cadman swerved, barely missing the sides of the central tower as she gunned her now empty jumper out of the sharply angled hatch. She could hear the screaming of the people she’d dropped off below over the radio, all of them scattering like leaves blown by the wind as they fell to the floor of the jumper bay with this latest lurch. She gritted her teeth—hoping they were all okay.

Hoping everyone would be okay.

All she could do now, was follow orders.

As she flew around the tower and pointed the nose of the jumper towards the water, she thought she’d seen a glimpse of someone hanging off the infirmary balcony.

Nah. Couldn’t be. No one would have been stupid enough to be near the balcony when the city was upending…
====
Larry Nguyen watched, flabbergasted, as 100 pounds of Elizabeth Weir shot off in pursuit of 5,000 pounds of alien shark.

The shark itself seemed unaware that it was being stalked. It was too busy shaking its heavy head from side to side, trying to dislodge the ZPM. The beast's head clunked off the low ceiling and walls as it thrashed in the confined space. Ancient architecture was not designed to accommodate sea creatures the size of mini-vans.

The shark was just struggling through the effect of its latest head-on collision with the bulkhead when the attack came.

Elizabeth gracefully backflipped over a bank of flooded computer consoles and delivered a vicious kick to the shark's gills. She pirouetted, clocked the shark hard on the nose and spun effortlessly into a neat flip-turn that sent her rocketing out of reach as the enraged beast as it flailed after her, its mouth still wedged open by the ZPM.

Weir executed another complicated maneuver that ended in an underwater split and the shark slamming nose-first into a wall. Larry shrank into a corner and started pawing through supply cabinets, looking for something he could use as a weapon. Muttering around the mouthpiece of his breathing apparatus, he started pulling items out of the cabinet, letting them float away. Paper...pencils...thumbtacks? Nah. A block of soaked Post-It notes that would never be good for anything after this... Aha! Toolbox!

He emerged with his prize and turned back to the shark battle. Which, apparently, had taken an unfortunate turn.

Weir was crouched under an Ancient console, clutching her arm as a thin cloud of red spread through the water. The frenzied shark was churning the water above her like an eggbeater. Frustrated by its inability to bite, it was battering its head against her protection, knocking off pieces of the console with each blow.

Given enough time, the shark would either knock itself senseless, or clear the way to have access to Weir. What it would do to with her once it reached her was questionable. A shark that cannot bite isn’t that big of a threat is it? Nguyen cringed as another huge section of the console came loose.

Nguyen let out a bubbly sigh and did what he had to do. He gathered his equipment and floundered toward the exit. At the door, he turned. The shark was ignoring him completely, intent on the blood in the water.

"Hey!" Larry gargled, waving his arms to catch the monster's attention. There was a pause, then slowly, the shark pivoted his way.

Larry Nguyen might not be able to swim a stroke, but he had a killer right arm. Shortstop, Cal Tech, all four years. He drew back and flung a wrench… only to have it stall out inches from his hand, impeded by the water. It fell pathetically to the tilted floor.

With a sigh, Larry thought, ‘That went well,’ but somehow, the action was enough to grab the shark’s attention. It had abandoned its attempt to beat Weir with its head and was headed his way.

Larry’s breath came in panicky gasps as he keyed a command into the door panel, praying at least one piece of technology today would work the way it was supposed to work. He frowned, noting that he’d somehow activated all the doors in the room. Slowly, all three sets of doors began to slide close. He was happy to have just this one shut.

But, it was too slow! Nguyen risked a quick glance around the corner and let out a stream of bubbles that would have been a girlish shriek if there'd been any air left in the room. He pounded the door controls harder.

The shark's snout edged over the threshold of the closing door. Nguyen flinched back until his scuba tank hit the opposite wall. He crouched down, curling into the smallest ball he could manage, trying to present the least tempting morsel. The shark might not be able to bite, but Larry bet it could still swallow.

The doors continued to close, squeezing in on the shark’s body. It rammed forward once, twice, and finally shimmied within the increasingly narrow space between doors. Spotting its target, it surged forward, jaws aching to snap, with the ZPM a golden glow beyond.

The jaw might not close, but knife sharp teeth were too close.

And then, miraculously, the door slammed tighter, cinching the shark’s belly in a quick movement. The shark, if possible, looked shocked as the ZPM immediately popped out of the shark's maw like a cork and skidding to a halt at Nguyen's feet.

Nguyen looked up, blinking through the tears and steam that had fogged his facemask. Unable to believe his luck, he reached through the water and scooped up the ZPM, cradling it close.

The shark continued to thrash, maddened by the trap. Nguyen edged away in the too small space between the shark’s now snapping jaws and his own body, legs shaking as he tried to figure out what to do next. How long was he supposed to delay Dr. Weir before they could plug in the power source? The city wouldn't last long, floundering in the water like this. Surely, he'd managed to buy Colonel Sheppard enough time? If the ZPM wasn’t reinserted soon, all of them were going to die.

Life and death decisions were way above Larry's pay grade. Squaring his shoulders, he turned to take stock of his surroundings. He was in a long service corridor, leading to...hello! Still clutching the glowing ZPM, Larry dogpaddled up the hall and swiped a hand over a door control to close the door at the upwards end leading to where they’d formally parked the jumper. Then he turned and dogpaddled down the hall, following the declining tilt of the corridor, giving the shark as much berth as he could as he slid past its furious gyrations, still trapped in the door to the ZPM room. As he approached the door at the other end of the hallway, he made a quick mental review of the city's schematics to make sure the door led where he thought it led. Which should be an un-flooded stairwell leading to one of McKay's ballast air pockets. With the City tipped up—didn't really matter anymore that the ballasts were evenly spaced anymore, would it?

With another deep breath, he swiped a hand over the door's locking mechanism and lurched for the nearest hallway pillar, wrapping his arm around it as the doors opened -- and the force of several large rooms full of water went rushing past him.

He clung tightly, to the ZPM, to the pillar, to his regulator and facemask as it all surged around him. Slowly, the water level dropped, first rushing past his neck, then his chest, then his knees. Larry spit out the regulator and drew a grateful lungful of air. Shutting the door, he turned back in the direction of the ZPM room.

"Doctor Weir! Doctor Weir!" he yelled, splashing back up the hallway, slipping and sliding on the nearly 45 degree angle—and still canting. The shark was, if anything, even angrier now. It heaved itself back and forth, snapping, trying to figure out where all the water had gone. And now, with the ZPM gone from its jaws, it was able to bite.

Larry hovered, out of snapping distance, and called again. "Dr. Weir? I'm really sorry about all of this, but I had to stop you. Dr. McKay--" He jumped back with a squeak as the shark whipped around, snapping at him. He danced to the other side of the door, still babbling. "Dr. McKay is trapped in the engine room! If you had reconnect the ZPM before he was free, it would have killed him!"

He waited expectantly. Finally, Weir's voice floated past the trapped shark. "And you thought the best way to convey that message was to attack me underwater, clutching at your own backside? Remind me never to team up with you for a game of charades, Doctor Nguyen."

Larry felt himself blushing furiously. "Dr. Weir," he began, but she cut him off.

"Give me the ZPM, Dr. Nguyen," she said evenly.

"But...Dr. McKay!"

"Have you taken a good look at the floor lately?" Weir snapped. “If we don’t do this now, the city is going to sink.”

Larry glanced down, well aware that the hallway, and the city around it, was canted at a dangerous tilt. A few rapid mental calculations confirmed that a few degrees further and the entire city could capsize or break into pieces. Weir was right. McKay and everyone else had just run out of time.

Weir's voice was gentler now. "Colonel Sheppard has been able to free him in time. I believe that, and so should you. Now it's your turn to save the city. Give me the ZPM."

Larry nodded, forgetting that only the shark could see the gesture. He drew back his arm, looking through the crack at Elizabeth on the other side. Unfortunately, that gap was suddenly filled with the shark's head as it tilted its head up, following him. He shifted a few steps to the left and tried another angle, but the shark followed his movement and once again blocked him, jaws opening wide as if to swallow the ZPM again. It was blocking too much of the door!

"I don't think I can get it past the shark," he called out, voice panicky.

There was a long silence, interrupted by a strange sound. A different door leading into the ZPM room was opening, one Larry couldn’t see. Water suddenly cascaded down and around the trapped shark from the far side. Larry shrieked as the water streaming past his feet caused him to slip and fall on his ass, and the shark managed to inch closer to him, the liquid helping it wriggle a little out of its trap. He finally stopped shrieking when the water slowed to a trickle as whatever door had opened inside the ZPM room obviously closed again. Larry huddled backward against the wall, terrified, grateful that, somehow, the shark remained trapped.

But who had activated the door? Had Weir abandoned him here with the shark? It made no sense!

“Dr. Weir,” he heard a female voice call out.

“Lt. Cadman, are we ever glad to see you.”

“May I?” he heard a woman’s voice.

“Please,” was Weir’s response, followed by, “Get down, Dr. Nguyen. Get away from the door.”

Larry let out a little yelp and kept his arms wrapped around the ZPM as he dove out of the way. Seconds later, a hail of bullets bit into the back half of the thrashing shark.

Chapter Text

“Rodney.”  Sheppard practically breathed the name as he saw all the blood on the floor around the unconscious physicist.  Sliding into the room, feet slipping a little on the slick floor, he got to his knees next to the crumpled form and pressed a hand to his neck. He was so cold. A quick assessment had him pulling a set of bandages from his vest.  Rodney was bleeding too much, too quickly.  He had to get the leg wrapped tightly before they could even think of moving him. 

“Colonel?” Teyla leaned into the room, still holding Gos harshly with a gun to his head.  Sheppard just glanced up at her, then glared briefly at the smiling hacker, before returning his attention to Rodney.

“Better hurry,” Gos taunted.

“Shut up,” Sheppard snapped.  Ripping the bandage open, he got to work tying it around his friend’s leg.

==== 

"Ugh." Larry tried to skirt around the mess, but it was everywhere…even beyond the bent and twisted remains of the door to the ZPM room. There was no place free of shark guts. Slipping and skidding in the gunk, Nguyen held tight to the ZPM with one hand and reached out for support with the other.

Elizabeth and Cadman stood on the other side of the shark bent doors.  Larry had been able to partially open them, but they jammed up before going far, and the scientist had to crawl over the fishy, bullet ridden remains.

Weir eyed him warily, but didn't hesitate to reach out and help him crawl through the devastated shark remains.  Cadman stepped forward, relieving him of the carefully guarded ZPM.  It took a moment for Nguyen to realize it was okay to give it up.

Larry skidded on the slick floor, and Weir pulled him to his feet as the city shuddered again. "Hurry."

"What about Dr. McKay?" he questioned.

"He'll be okay." Weir voice sounded shaky. "He'd want us to get this finished," she said with more confidence as she reached for the ZPM in Cadman’s arms. 

“But, what if he isn’t free?” Larry tried, unsure.

"The city will sink if we don't act now," Elizabeth declared.  As if hearing her, the city shivered and tilted even further beneath their feet and Elizabeth moved toward the ZPM panel.  "Dr. Nguyen, Rodney would do anything to save Atlantis.  I must complete what he started."

"Do you need my…" He started to offer help, but Elizabeth was already at the control panel.  The three of them crowded close, and within seconds the still-moist array lit up.  Weir was in motion. Holding the ZPM over the slot designed for it, she paused, her eyes meeting Larry's and then glancing toward Cadman.

He wasn't sure if it was fear or pain he saw in her brief hesitation.

Cadman said decisively, “Colonel Sheppard will have gotten him out of there.”

And the tentativeness vanished from Weir’s expression, replaced by the determination they were so used to. She set the ZPM in its place and it immediately lit up. Together they watched as it disappeared down into the unit. 

====  

Zelenka's eyes widened as his monitor registered the changes in the ZPM room.  He’d watched as the jumper approached and maneuvered through the wall of the hallway, then had seen doors activated, as a single life sign moved, depressurizing on stretch of hallway, and then another.

Then suddenly, one of the lifesigns had winked out.

The three remaining dots slowly drew together. Zelenka held his breath to see if the bizarre game of keep-away was about to resume. But the dots simply met, then moved together toward the ZPM housing. 

“Colonel Sheppard?” Radek tried tentatively, because the group had been silent for so long.

“We’re with him,” Sheppard called over the radio, sounding upset, followed by muttered apologetic, cajoling, and futile sounding reassurances.  He could hear Teyla as well, both of them sounded upset.

There was no time for that.  "Colonel Sheppard, you need to get Rodney and yourselves out of that area immediately," Radek said, turning his attention to the tightly bunched dots in the engine room.

"How much time?" Sheppard responded, his voice tight with anger.

"No time at all," he snapped. "Grab Rodney and run. Run! Get as far away as you can, and find a room with heavy heat and radiation shielding."

"Auxiliary control?" Sheppard suggested.

"Perfect, yes. Go. Go!" Zelenka slammed the laptop shut, unable to watch the slow crawl of glowing dots.  “Go now!”

Besides, there was another crisis closer to home that demanded his attention.  He once more called over the radio, for anyone nearby to come to the infirmary immediately.

"Hang on, Ronon!" Beckett called out, leaning over the edge of the balcony, the upper half of his body hidden from Zelenka’s view.  “Help is on the way!”

As if on cue, a nurse and two marines ran into the room, and dove towards Beckett.  As the marines took over from Beckett, leaning bodily over the balcony to capture the man dangling there, the nurse grabbed Beckett and pulled him back.  

“But—“ the physician protested. The nurse was having no part of it, shaking her head vigorously.  

"Don't. Even. Think. About. It." Her strong hands grasped his shoulders and in one easy motion shoved the doctor efficiently back into the wheelchair.   

"But, lass," Carson twisted, trying to see as the nurse blocked his view.  "Ronon," he protested.  

"He’ll be fine until I get my hands on him again.  You, sir," she stabbed a bony finger into Carson’s chest. "Stay. Put."  

Zelenka watched as the marines successfully hauled Ronon up over the railing, the Satedan looking semi-conscious again.  Expelling a sigh of relief, Radek leaned back and reached for the abandoned laptop. He listened to Carson try to explain what happened. The head nurse talked over him, ordering new stitches and blood for Ronon before finally telling Beckett to shut up and get back in bed or she'd sedate both their asses and put them in restraints just for being stupid.   

====

 "Damn it, McKay." John hurriedly scooped Rodney up into a fireman's carry, frightened by the amount of blood smeared across the room and the complete lack of response from the scientist and his wet and chilled clothing. He wanted to make sure he wasn't hurting Rodney worse, but there was no time. Zelenka had been adamant. They needed to move—now.  

"No!" Gos lurched at John as came out of the engine room, but Teyla held him by his collar.  

"We must hurry," she told John, virtually ignoring Gos' struggling as John staggered against the tilt. She looked at Rodney. "Is he…?"  

"I don't know. Go." John nodded down the hallway.  

Teyla started, dragging her prisoner, but Gos suddenly let himself go limp.  Distracted by her concern for Rodney, Teyla didn’t immediately catch him, and he slid from her grasp and crawled out of reach.  

"No! You won't save him," Gos yelled, his face red with fury and hate. "It's too late for all of you."   

"Move it!" John snarled. "We don't have time for this, now move!"  Teyla made a grab for the hacker, but Gos slipped away and ducked into the engine room, shaking his head defiantly.  

"He's not worth this!" Gos glared at the figure bent over John’s shoulder as he stepped away from Teyla, who was stalking him now. "He's nothing compared to me. Nothing and you risk your lives for him? He can't save you now! It's too late! You're too late." Gos grinned. "Rodney McKay failed to save you and I killed him. I beat him. I wo--!" His triumphant shrill was cut short as Teyla in one gracefully move…slugged him.   

Gos was thrown a good foot before he collapsed to the ground, sliding across the floor to the far wall.  Teyla shook her hand out as Gos lay there quietly for a moment, his chest heaving from the assault.  Then his brow furrowed, and he smiled – a strangely serene expression.  And before Teyla could reach him, he pulled himself to his feet and dove for one of the open hatches leading into the massive engines on his pier.  They were designed for people to climb inside—for workers to check and maintain the engines.  Gos took full advantage of their design.  

The Athosian fired at the man as he disappeared, wriggling like a worm burrowing into a hole and falling down into the gap on the far side.  There was a startled, pained cry as the bullet hit its mark, but then he was gone, hidden somewhere inside the engine coils, and then all they could hear was Gos’ strange maniacally laughter.  

Teyla stepped forward, as if to go after him, but John stopped her with a shout.  

“Let him go!”  

She turned, confused, “But we must capture—“  

“He’s not going anywhere,” John said, glaring at the engine coils visible through the open hatches.   

“But aren’t there hatches on the other side?” she asked. “Leading to other engine rooms?  If he escapes--”  

“He won’t.”  John look at her, “He forgot something obvious,” his eyes narrowed, “he flooded all the other rooms.”  He took a step back out of the engines room. “Come on.  We don’t have much time.”  Turning, he pressed Rodney tighter to his shoulder and started to run for Auxiliary.  Teyla’s steps bounded after him.  

====

Zelenka watched the power readout even as he followed the four life signs in the depths of the city. He frowned in confusion as three of them began moving away from the fourth.  

"No," he whispered. His heart constricted as he keyed his radio. Had Rodney been mortally wounded? He was still alive. Why would Sheppard leave him behind unless there was no hope for survival?  

"Colonel Sheppard, there's..."  

"Not now, Radek.  Running here," Sheppard cut him off.  

"But—"  

"Not now!" The colonel sounded as if he was trying to get his breathing under control.  

Zelenka was staring at the single dot when the power readout fluctuated. The ZPM was ready to go. Radek felt a wave of guilt at his relief.  A sharp painful ache beat in his chest as he hit the enter key, sending the code to reset the city's power and restart the engines. He looked at the lone life sign again and then closed his eyes, unable to watch.   

====

Gos shook his head, trying to rid himself of the pain in his jaw and neck, and the dull throb coming from his rear end.  Damn, that bitch was strong!   He ran a hand across his hip, and felt the stickiness—a wound?  He looked in wonder at the blood on his hand.  Shot – she’d shot him.  In the butt!  

Bitch!  

It seemed little more than a graze, but it hurt like a son of a bitch.  Blinking back tears, he quickly studied the large engine coils he was lying in front of.  They were vibrating—powering up.  

Oh crap.   

He had to get to another hatch – a way out.  He tried to get to his feet, but his leg would not support him with the wound to his hip.  He cried out as he struggled, crawling across the angled floor towards the first coil.  He whimpered in pain, swearing at the Athosian as each bolt of pain arched through him. This was totally unfair!  

He reached the first coil, reaching for the metal ladder attached to the side.  He hissed as his fingers touched it—the metal was already getting hot.  Grimacing, he took hold of the first rung and pulled himself up.  The coil was about the size of a large sewage pipe, and just as slick and round.  There were handholds, and they were turning red from the growing heat.  If that bitch hadn’t shot him…  

"Come on," he urged as he pulled himself up onto the pipe. "Come on!  You're the smartest!  You're the quickest!  You're the best!  They are not going to beat you!  McKay and his cronies will not beat you!  This City bends to your will!  It will not win!  Atlantis is not better than you!"  

The coil started to thrum and tremble and click as he pulled himself onto the top—there were more handholds here, grooves so someone could walk along the top.  They were already red with heat.  No, no, no....  

"You have time," he whispered to himself as he pulled himself along, looking for evidence of a hatch on the far side of the coil, ignoring the identical coils on either side of him, all shimmering with glowing radiation.  "You'll make it.  You will not lose! You will make them rue the day!  You are the hero!"  

Of course, if he didn't...this was going to be a horrible way to go.  Although...mercifully quick.

"Stop dawdling, Lazlo Gos!" he snapped. "You will make it! Stop wasting precious—"  

Hot, white light filled the chamber as the engines came on, full power.  It incinerated Gos instantly.  

Atlantis doesn't like hackers.  

====

John stumbled up the stairs and through the doorway, his burden screwing up his balance and momentum. He tried to skid to a stop on the wet floor, but McKay's dead weight propelled his upper body forward. He cried out and, although Teyla tried to catch him, the three of them ended up in a tangled heap, sliding sideways across the canted floor.  

"The door!" John screamed even as Teyla pulled herself up and lunged for the control panel.  

John heard the ominous hum behind them growing into a dull roar. They were out of time. Dragging Rodney, he pulled the scientist away from the door and as far as he could into the room. He couldn't take time to worry about the trail of blood he was leaving behind.  

The doors snicked closed as the noise grew deafening.  

Teyla grabbed Rodney's other arm, hauling them all the last few steps to hide behind a console just as the blast hit full force.  

Chapter Text

The doors held--no heat was felt in the room.  But that was only the beginning.

Sheppard wrapped himself around Rodney's back and head, covering his friend's body as much as he could as Auxiliary Control started to shiver and jerk violently around them. He could feel the pressure building up in his ears and inside his chest, could feel the shaking inside his bones, as if the City were on the verge of exploding into pieces.  The engines were pushing against the heavy pull of the ocean, laboring against the weight of the water filling two thirds of the City's fragile frame, and they were struggling—trying to balance the City, to keep it stable and to keep it whole, but not give up.  Atlantis had done this before, and survived it before, but this time they were on an angle—and the damage was going to be worse.

A lot worse.

And if the City couldn't handle the strain....

He dragged McKay closer and felt the softness of Teyla's arm pressed up against his own.  She was doing the same as him, both trying desperately to protect their friend and to protect each other.  He loosed one hand to grab at the back of her jacket, drawing her in closer as well, pulling them all in as tightly as he could.

Then, slowly, he felt the floor begin to ease back on the angle, and there was the sinking sensation of rising in his stomach.  Rodney's program was working, the engines were lifting them up.

One way or another, Atlantis was righting itself—whether its buildings could handle it or not.

 ====

"It's working!" Chuck shouted across the control room, at the hundred or so people pressed together tightly on the Gateroom floor, all of them holding onto each other for dear life as the Central Tower shivered and shook like a baby's rattle.  "It's working!" He repeated, turning to stare out the large stained-glass windows as he hit the keys on the console for one added measure of protection—the thing they needed now more than ever.  "Please work," he begged the air.

Relief flooded him as the shimmering veil of the City's shield quickly wrapped itself up and over the towers, relieving a large amount of the gravity strain on the buildings.  Turning to the main viewscreen, he could see the City's engines working in tandem to right the City and raise it out of the water.  "Thank you," he whispered again, never more grateful for anything in his life than seeing the shield working at that moment.

====

Elizabeth held onto Doctor Nguyen, and Cadman held to both of them.  They clung onto the base of the ZPM console for dear life.  The room was humming with power, shaking with energy, pouring it all into saving the City from drowning. 

Weir looked up as she felt Atlantis begin to rise, as if she could see through the thick walls to the outside. 

For some reason, she found herself looking up at a shark tooth stuck on the edge of the ZPM console. 

And started to giggle at the absurdity of it all—she wasn't hysterical.  Not at all.

Nguyen held on tighter to her as the shaking grew even more intense.  Cadman leaned in close, trying to protect them.

 ====

 Ronon and Beckett held onto Ronon's infirmary bed, the headboard of which was nailed to the wall.  Most everything else in the infirmary had slid across the room.  Zelenka and Beckett's head nurse were pressed onto the other infirmary bed in their little section, and a couple of marines and another nurse were gripping the pillars in the room.  They were all of them just trying to hold on. 

Sunlight moved swiftly across the floor through the window to the balcony, a square of light that shifted as the City lifted and sought for balance.  Reflected shine skittered up the overturned and sideways metal shelves, blinding and beautiful. 

Suddenly, the City lurched—it had popped itself up out of the water—and it slammed down against the waves.  Everything in the infirmary seemed to lift and slam down with it.

 ====

Sheppard grunted, feeling the City slam down on the ocean's surface in every cell of his body.  It seemed to drive him hard into McKay's unmoving form while it caused Teyla to crash into him.  The three of them slid a little sideways as the City spun a little to the side. 

And then the City just stopped moving.

And so did everything else.  The shaking, rattling and quaking ceased as suddenly as if someone had flipped a switch.

For a moment, they didn't move, didn't breathe.  As if afraid that, if they did, something more would happen.

Then, slowly, gingerly, Sheppard lifted his head up from McKay's back.  Glancing to his left, he saw Teyla lifting her head as well, uncurling trembling arms from around McKay's waist.  She was looking around, scanning the room with wide, brown eyes, looking at the screens.  Sheppard turned his back and did the same.

And, one by one, the screens and consoles shut down.  Their job done.

Auxiliary didn't need to function when the Control Room in the Central Tower was working.

Sheppard let out a short laugh of relief.  Then laughed again, unable to believe they had made it. Smiling, still feeling shaky, he turned to look at Teyla.  She was smiling back at him, the same slightly shell-shocked expression on her own face. 

Both of them turned to look at the closed door leading to the Engine Room where they'd left Gos.  It was perfectly intact—no indication that it had just held back the full blast of a stardrive engine core. 

Teyla looked down then, looking at the man they had both been holding onto for dear life.  John switched his gaze as well, and all joy left his face.  There was blood—too much blood. McKay was so pale, he was almost translucent.  He looked dead. 

"No," he whispered, scrabbling to press a hand to Rodney's neck.  He nearly closed his eyes in relief when he felt a pulse—faint and thready, but a pulse.  But, based on the blood loss...how long had it been since he'd been shot?  How long had he been bleeding like this?  And so cold. Looking up, he caught Teyla's eyes, staring at him, the same horrible thought clear in her eyes -- that they were too late.

He slapped his radio, "Zelenka, do you read?"

"Yes!" Radek almost screamed into the radio, his voice a mixture of exhaustion, fear and utter relief. "Colonel! Oh, thank God!  Are you all right?  Did you...is Rodney—"  

"Yes, but we need to get him to the infirmary now.  Tell me the transporters are working, and that I can get to the one next to Auxiliary.  The halls were flooded in that direction before and—"

"Yes!  Yes, you can go. Atlantis is quickly dispelling the water from all the halls, but be aware, there will still be quite a lot of water—"  

"That's all I needed to know, Doc."  Without waiting for a reply, Sheppard had McKay hoisted over his shoulder and was running for the door on the far wall.  He heard Teyla jogging along behind him, both of their feet slapping against the still-damp floor.  He heard her tap her radio as well.

"Please inform Doctor Beckett that Doctor McKay has a gunshot wound to his lower leg," she said, "and it appears to have bled quite freely.  We do not know how much blood has been lost, but..." she sucked in a shaky breath, "it appears substantial."

Sheppard waved a hand down the door control and quickly jumped to the side as the doors opened.  Shifting McKay higher on his shoulder, he watched without speaking as several feet of water gushed into Auxiliary, only waiting long enough for the bulk of it to pass by before jogging through the doors into the formerly water-filled hall.  He could hear Teyla following close behind him, confirming more information for the infirmary over the radio, but he no longer cared, gripping McKay's legs tighter to his chest.  He was running for the double doors at the end of the corridor—the transporter.  Water continued to cascade past his boots and ankles, rushing down vents as the City acted to clean itself of the briny sea.

He was still several feet away when the doors slid open, and a body fell out of them.  He skidded to a stop, heart hammering in his chest, and Teyla gasped, both of them taking in the dead scientist.  Sheppard didn't even know who it was.  Poor man had obviously drowned in the transporter.  He gripped Rodney's legs even tighter, whispering apologies in his mind. 

Teyla pressed a hand to his back, pushing him forward.  "We must hurry," she said quietly.

Shivering, John stepped over the figure and into the transporter, jabbing at the screen for the infirmary.  Teyla was by his side, a silent sentinel; she reached up, and he felt a slight pressure where McKay was—Teyla was rubbing the scientist's back.

"He will be all right," she said softly.

Sheppard just set his jaw.  Gos frying in the Engine Room was too good a death for that man.

====

Elizabeth jumped out of Cadman's jumper with Nguyen and onto the infirmary balcony, then waved as the lieutenant flew away.  Turning, she jogged inside...and nearly tripped over a mess of infirmary equipment scattered everywhere.  Nguyen went down in a sprawl across a set of shelves, whimpering a plaintive "ow".  Grinning, Elizabeth turned to help him, but he waved her forward.  Nodding, and treading a little more carefully, she moved deeper into the room, looking for the others. 

She stopped when she heard orders being shouted on the far side of the room—Carson was shouting for oxygen and O Neg...and a crash cart. 

Paused in mid-step, she stopped breathing as she watched McKay's still form wheeled swiftly into surgery, an oxygen mask on his face and Doctor Cole straddling him, pumping at his chest.  Carson was hopping after the gurney, trying to keep up, calling out orders as he fell in behind his staff.  For a moment, she just stared, the elation she'd felt at Atlantis surviving vanishing as she realized that it might have killed their chief scientist to do it. 

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath and expelling it slowly.  When she opened them again, she was staring across the room at Colonel Sheppard—and the two leaders just regarded each other.  He stood still, eyes dark and haunted, clothes damp and stained, hands covered in blood...watching her.  Teyla stood by his side, but the Athosian was staring towards the doors to the surgery, her expression closed. 

"What happened?" Larry asked, stumbling up next to Elizabeth.  She jumped—she'd forgotten Doctor Nguyen was even with her. "Who just went in there?"

She shook her head and quickly scanned the rest of the infirmary.  Ronon was sitting up on a bed, pressing a hand to the bandage on his side, his eyes locked on the surgery doors.  Radek was lying back, his leg still in traction, and was watching her.  She nodded at the Czech, and he nodded back.

It galvanized her into motion again, and Elizabeth walked closer to Sheppard; he, in turn, climbed over scattered kidney bowls and Tupperware containers filled with medical supplies to meet her halfway.  She looked again towards surgery, then back to him.

"What happened?" she asked. 

"Gos shot him," Sheppard stated angrily.  "He couldn't beat McKay, so he shot him."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed slightly.  So it wasn't anything Gos did to Atlantis that 'stopped' Rodney, wasn't his hacks or anything clever—it was a gun.  Anger swelled inside her.

"The act of a small man who knew he had lost," she said, her tone biting.  Sheppard stared at her a moment, then inclined his head in agreement.  She turned to face surgery again, trying not to read too much into the stead whine of the heart monitor seeping through the cracks in the door.

"Speaking of Doctor Gos..." she began.

"He's dead."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"He got a little too close to the engines when they fired up."

Elizabeth looked sharply at the Colonel, not missing the dark amusement in his tone.  He saw her look, and shook his head.

"I'm not sorry," he said matter-of-factly.

"Nor am I," Teyla agreed by his side.

Sheppard lifted his chin.  "He killed good people, Elizabeth."

She stared at him a moment longer, then nodded her head.  "He did," she conceded.

A nurse burst out the doors of surgery, running past them.  In that brief moment before the doors shut, they heard Carson calling "clear!" and the chunk of a defibrillator being used.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest.  Damn it.

"Elizabeth," Teyla said quietly, opening the expedition leader's eyes again to focus on the other woman. Teyla looked worried. "Did you know you were bleeding?"

Elizabeth's eyebrows lifted, and she looked down, remembering her wound for the first time.  A jagged slash from the shark's teeth ran down her arm.  It was bleeding through the wrap she'd slapped on it in the Jumper, albeit very sluggishly. 

"Oh," she said. "So I am."

Only Nguyen's quick hands stopped her from hitting the floor as her knees buckled.  She didn't faint—not quite—just lost her concentration for a second.  Blinking up at Sheppard and Teyla, she smiled, feeling foolish.  She then tilted her head back so she could see Nguyen, who was still holding her up.  She gave him an even bigger smile.  He grinned stupidly back.  As medical personnel swooped in to help her, she thought she might owe the poor man a very large apology...and possibly a raise.

Aw hell.  Everyone deserved a raise.

It had been one hell of a day.  

She looked again towards surgery again--and it wasn't over yet.  

Chapter Text

Major Lorne walked through the event horizon and into Atlantis, wryly commenting, “Well, that took long enough.”  He was in an unpleasant mood, having been left waiting on a planet of women who just didn’t appreciate what he brought to the table.  It was infuriating.

Dr. Parrish followed him through, toting a large basket of fragrant oils, silk scarves and other ‘tokens’ from the women of Armadia.  Apparently, they appreciated a man who knew plants—that was the only way Lorne could explain it.   The ladies were all over the little man.  Parrish smiled giddily at his bounty as he struggled with the basket.

The rest of Lorne's men trooped in, laden with crates and sacks of tava beans, sweet fruits, some sort of tubers, a rack of pheasant-like birds (already beheaded and plucked) and enough tomato-like globs to keep them in sauce for weeks.  All in all, their mission had proven successful.

Atlantis should be celebrating!

It was good to be home.  Lorne just hoped that things would be improving for him.  What with getting run over by a tool cart, knocked down by Ronon, having an allergic reaction to prune juice (who knew?), being bodily thrown from an infirmary bed, and then getting stuck on the planet of the Amazon Women, he doubted anyone had a worse run of luck than his.

The Gate shut down and the room dimmed. 

It was unusually quiet.  Where was the welcome committee?  After all, he’d been locked out for hours, the better part of a day—and he was bringing the food to save the city.  The gateroom was a mess.  Chairs had been upturned and pushed to the side, and bric-a-brac had been scattered.  They’d probably had a party or something in his absence.  Lorne’s frown increased.

Beside him, Parrish just said, “Huh…” as he struggled with his basket.  “Looks like they were busy."  Then he gazed up and called, “Hey, Chuck, good to see you.”

Chuck stood from his station above them, and smiled down to them.  “Welcome back.” The technician yawned and blinked tiredly at his computer.  “It’s good to have you home.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Lorne responded.  “Do you have any idea what we went through on that planet?”

After a pause, Chuck answered, “Hadn’t thought much about it.”

Lorne’s scowl became even more pronounced.  “Great.  What happened to the Gate?  Why couldn’t we get through?”

Chuck blew out a tired breath. “That’s a long story.”

Moving toward the stairs, Lorne left Parrish to ooh and ahh over his presents as the rest of his men set down the foodstuffs and spread out, curiously examining the toppled furniture and foliage. 

“Long story?” the Major repeated.  “It’s nothing compared to what I went through.”  He remembered how the women made him sleep on a wood pallet after one of their too-short days, while Parrish was offered a feather-stuffed bed.  AND he had to wake up at dawn to help them with chores.  It was insane.  He glanced around the room, frowning at the general disarray.  “What happened here?”

To that, Chuck just sighed.  “Like I said… a long story.”

“Fine, Lorne responded, “Maybe someone can fill me in after we’re debriefed.  I’m too tired for much of anything right now.  Looks like no one else is up to it anyway.” 

Chuck muttered, “You have no idea.”

==== 

The following morning, Weir righted her chair and set it carefully beside her desk.  The desk was tilting slightly, but she’d managed to mend its broken leg with duct tape.  It would do for now.

She gazed about the room at what remained of her beloved decorations.  She’d been collecting the items throughout her career—handmade objects that had been presented to her at significant occasions. 

There were so many pieces of her life, thrown about, horribly altered and maligned.  Some had been shattered, some cracked beyond repair.  Many were partially broken or bent, but repairable.  Some escaped unblemished.

Working with great care, she sifted through the refuse, putting her office in order so that she could make the report to the SGC and let them know what had happened.  She put her mind in order as she did the same to her office, preparing both for the call.

A mirrored frame had fallen face down on the floor and she grimaced, hating the idea of bad luck, but she found herself smiling as she picked up the piece and found it whole – a small miracle.  And she frowned at her reflection.  Her nose and eyes still bore faint yellowed bruises from her collision with the door – and more recent abrasions from her battle over the ZPM with Larry and the shark.  Her arm twinged with pain at the memory.

Finding the ‘nail’ from which the mirror had once hung, she replaced it, and felt strangely satisfied to see it back in its place.  Eventually, everything would be back in its place.

There was so much to convey during this meeting and she dreaded the questions that would be put to her.  They still didn’t know the extent of the damage to Atlantis—and still didn’t really understand what had happened with Gos.

Is there ever a good explanation for what drove a man to madness and murder?

Next, she plucked one of the pottery people from the floor, where it had been wedged between the wall and a bookcase, and was glad to see that it had survived the catastrophe with just a chip that had taken off its shoulder.

It wasn’t so bad. 

It could have been much worse.  She closed her eyes, knowing at least one member of her expedition was still fighting downstairs in the infirmary.  But she couldn’t think of that now, she had to be calm.  Had to bring order again.

She settled the piece on her desk, in its usual place and regarded it for a moment.  Everything would be okay, she told herself, as she continued her work, getting ready for the call.

====

A weary staff went to work, fixing the extensive damage caused by one man. 

It took time to put everything right after the turmoil that had passed through the city.  So many rooms needed to be pumped clear of water, scrubbed down, and dried out.  Furniture had been soaked, equipment ruined, personal effects destroyed.

People had died.

There would be funerals to attend. 

The infirmary and its auxiliary were filled to capacity.  The chaos had battered and nearly drowned at least half of the expedition’s members.  The injured were checked out, one by one.  Some patients were allowed to return to their rooms after quick treatment, others remained overnight.  Some would need to stay for days.

Rodney had spent far too much time in surgery, and then in the Atlantis version of ICU, under constant watch.  There was a horrible feeling that hung around the scientist, as if there was little hope for the man.

“He lost an awful lot of blood,” Keller had told them, apologetically.  Then with a careful expression, she’d added, “His near hypothermia may have been the only thing that kept him alive long enough for you to get to him.  If he does recover, it looks like the damage done to his leg by the tourniquet might be minimal.”

“So, he’ll make it,” John had tried, when she went no further.

Keller had just smiled at them tightly and said, “He has a chance, but I’m afraid he was very weak after everything that happened.  It truly is a miracle that he’s survived this long.  He lost an awful lot of blood," she repeated as if needing them to understand that fact.  "So, he's going to need a lot of strength to come back. I’m not sure if he has any left.”  She looked dubious as she spoke those words.

She was new to Atlantis.  She didn’t know Rodney.

“He’ll be fine,” John said, lifting his chin and staring through the doors at the pale man under the spotlight of too many machines.

Keller nodded and drifted away.

 ====

They found the chunk of the east pier not far below the water, floating with just a tiny amount of air still trapped in the very tip of the silo.  Two jumpers attached grappling hooks and pulled it to the surface, laying it to rest and dry out on the remaining section of the pier. 

Bit by bit, the city revived, expelling water and cleaning itself out.  Many corridors remained wet, but that was nothing new.  It could all be fixed.  The city had been through worse.  Atlantis…would survive.

John gave Rodney constant reports on the status of the city, feeling somehow like it was his responsibility.  He’d asked Elizabeth for the right, and she’d just smiled at the request.  She understood.

But he was getting frustrated.  His friend wasn’t responding.  He was breathing on his own, but that was about it.  Sheppard tapped at the limp hand, wondering a little at how Rodney always rested his hands palm down, instead of on their side, like everyone else.  As if, any second, he’d wake up and start typing…or start playing the piano.  It made his hands seem strangely delicate.

“Come on,” he cajoled, tapping at the top of the hand. “Don’t do this.  Don’t let Gos win.  If you die, he wins, no matter what.  And you’re better than he is, remember?”  He looked up at the still face. “You’re better.”

At that moment, the city shuddered slightly. 

Sheppard jumped to his feet, staring up at the walls.  As soon as they stopped, he hit his radio.

“Elizabeth!  What was—“

“Nothing, Colonel, nothing to worry about,” she answered, just as quickly—he could hear the nervous laughter underlying her tone. “The Daedalus just docked, and they beamed a bunch of food into the mess hall.  I think Colonel Caldwell was trying to be efficient, but, apparently, some of the crates toppled over because the tables aren’t where they usually are.  But all is well—as I said, nothing to worry about.”

Sheppard’s shoulders slumped, “Oh, good.” He gave a relieved smile, “Can you ask Major Lorne—“

“He’s already there, Colonel.  He was, unfortunately, one of the reasons the crates toppled.  You might see him in the infirmary soon—sporting a few fresh bruises.”

Sheppard gave a wry smile.  Lorne had to have been sitting under a bad sign this month.  “Okay,” he said. “Good.  Thanks, Elizabeth.”  He clicked the radio to end the connection, released a heavy sigh, and turned back to Rodney.

To find two blue eyes peering up at him—open and worried looking.

“Hey!” Sheppard grinned, diving to hold the hand. “Rodney, buddy, you’re awake!  Can you hear me?”

The eyes blinked, and the brow furrowed.  The pale lips formed a word under the oxygen mask.  Sheppard frowned, trying to read his lips.  It wasn’t hard to understand.  He should have known.  Looking into his friend’s eyes, he smiled softly.

“Atlantis is fine, Rodney,” he assured. “The city is okay.”

The blue eyes creased a little, a tiny smile, then closed again.  Sheppard waited a moment, but they didn’t open again.  Turning, he shouted out the door.

“Beckett!  Keller!  Get in here!”  He was grinning now. “He opened his eyes!”

====

Rodney made it out if ICU two days later, and was brought to the bed beside Ronon, near Radek.  He was still under the watch of the nursing staff—but almost more importantly, he was back with his team.  He was improving.  That’s all John needed to know.

The city had survived.  They’d managed to stop Gos.  Rodney had to make it—had to wake up properly and see for himself, because the last thing Rodney probably really remembered was that he was dying—alone—and about to be fried by the huge engines that powered Atlantis.  There was no telling if he would recall waking up in the infirmary and seeing Sheppard.

Sheppard entered the infirmary, smiling to see Teyla sitting near their teammates.  She was looking much better with her bruises and wounds properly treated, but three nights was hardly enough to hide the violence of what had occurred.    But she sat, looking hardly affected by any of her aches, chatting softly with Ronon.

Radek was near them, and clattering away on his laptop, looking as if he’d grown used to the uncomfortable traction device, albeit tired of the whole thing.

“Hey,” Sheppard greeted.

“Good evening, Colonel,” Radek said, not looking up from his work.

“John,” Teyla responded, smiling softly at him.

Ronon just grunted at him.  He seemed annoyed and a bit stir crazy as he sat up in bed.

Sheppard moved past them to another bed and paused, disappointed.  Rodney still wasn’t awake yet.  Hadn’t opened his eyes since that first time.  But Beckett had promised him that Rodney would wake today—had even called Sheppard down.  Somehow, John’d expected to find Rodney already jabbering away, shouting across Ronon to Zelenka about some new and brilliant plan.  Instead, the man still lay, bandaged and terribly pale, hooked up to IVs and monitors.  Damn.

Sheppard sighed as he gazed down at Rodney, trying to image how the scientist must have felt, trapped in the engine maintenance room, knowing that in order to save the city—he would have to die.

He ground his teeth, his hatred of Gos only increasing. Closing his eyes, he quelled that feeling as he asked, “How’s Rodney doing?  Any word?  I thought Beckett said…?”

Before the others could answer, Beckett limped in. “There you are,” he called happily, grinning at John. “We’ve been waiting for you.”  He moved closer to the bed, peering down at his patient. “Rodney should be coming ‘round any moment,” he declared as he pulled over a chair. "And I think we're all a wee bit tired of waiting for him to do it on his own."  He settled into it with a sigh and stretched out his leg before him.

“You should probably stay off of that,” Sheppard said, tilting his head toward the doctor.

“Ach, don’t I know it,” Beckett responded, but smiled at the colonel, knowing that Sheppard understood.  The doctor glanced at the monitors around the Canadian’s bed, and looked pleased.  He leaned close to his patient, and called, “Rodney?  Rodney?  Can you hear me?”

McKay’s face twitched slightly at the Scot’s voice.

“Can you open your eyes for me?  Rodney, can you hear me?”

Rodney frowned, as if annoyed by the disturbance, but the expression quickly changed to shock and horror as his eyes shot open and his hands clenched at the bed.  Beckett fell back in surprise.  John, though, knew exactly what the problem was.

“It’s okay!” Sheppard exclaimed, moving in beside McKay.  “Rodney, listen, it’s okay!”

“The engines!” Rodney rasped, his eyes darting around the room that he didn’t yet recognize.  “Go!  Get out!  Run!”

“Rodney!” Sheppard cried, getting down beside the bedridden man.  “You’re safe.  You’re safe!”

McKay seemed to process this information, but a new look of dread took over. 

“Atlantis?” Rodney sounded sick as he reached one weak arm toward Sheppard.  “Don’t let it sink.  Please… not my city… don’t.  You have to fire the engines.”

Sheppard glanced across to Beckett, and then turned to glance at the others.  Teyla, Ronon and Radek all returned his gaze with resolute expressions.

He looked down at Rodney.  “The city is safe, Rodney,” Sheppard said distinctly.  “Teyla and I got you out of the Engine Maintenance room.  Radek was able to initiate your program.  The city rose.  We’re safe.”

With that, Rodney smiled, a quiet sad little smile.  “Is it…okay?” he asked softly.

Sheppard puzzled at the question, but Radek seemed to understand.  “The city has survived, Rodney,” the Czech stated.  “There is extensive damage, but we will rebuild it.”

“How many….” Rodney started, and then swallowed dryly.  Beckett reached for some water.  “How many died?”

Sheppard flinched at the question, and answered truthfully. “We don’t have an entire list.  We still have a few people missing and we’re searching for…”

But Rodney closed his eyes and sighed.

Beckett, holding out a cup, stopped before he brought it any closer. His eyes went to the monitors and then back to Rodney.  “Asleep again,” he proclaimed.  Then, settling the cup, he stood with a groan.  “He needs his rest yet.  You all need your rest.”  And he hobbled across the room.  “I need my rest,” he sighed as he went into his office.

Yeah, rest, John though.  We all need vacations… and raises.

====

Ronon was bedridden much longer than anyone might have guessed.  His fellow teammates were the only ones that weren’t surprised.  In the bed next to him, Rodney was progressing through a slow recovery.

The Canadian had come frightfully close to dying.  It had been touch-and-go for some time, and even days later, the scientist was sick and pale and weak.  Beckett was hopeful for a full recovery, but McKay had little strength to fight.

Ronon stayed, even though the infirmary was crowded and beds were at a premium.  If nothing else, it gave Sheppard and Teyla room to sit when they came for a visit.  Teyla had recovered from the worst of her injuries, and Sheppard kept an eye on her to ensure she rested.

Radek remained, trapped by his leg and traction.  Still, he seemed rather accepting of his plight and used the stillness as he worked.

Rodney remained quiet and fragile-looking.  He repeatedly asked about the city, asked about its people, as if unable to remember or accept that it was doing fine, and said little else.  Even as they assured him that repairs were well on their way, he seemed dubious as if he didn’t totally believe them.

“I am well aware of what happened to the city,” Rodney had snarled at one point.  “You simply can’t put that much tension, that much stress on a structure and expect it to survive.”

“But Rodney,” Radek had called from his place.  “They are fixing everything.  See?”  And he held up his laptop, as if Rodney could make out the screen from two beds over.  Ronon just crossed his arms over his chest as he lay between them.

Rodney squinted in Radek’s direction.

“If you want, I will ask them to bring your laptop,” Zelenka told him.  “You will see for yourself.”

Rodney just sighed and sank into his pillows.  “It’s only a matter of time and it’s all going to fall apart.” His voice because soft, unsettled.  “If I’d only been able to stop him sooner…” And he’d slip back into sleep, too worn out and wasted from his near ex-sanguination.

It took three days for Rodney to ask for his laptop, a sure sign of how sickly he’d felt.  He immediately began accessing systems and was finally able to get a true report of what had happened to the city, the full extent of the damage done, and his spirits seemed to sink.

“As I told you, we saved the city,” Radek had assured from the other bed, less annoyed than he should have been at Rodney’s need to see for himself.  “The damage can be repaired.”

And McKay had nodded, seeing the truth in the statement, but it didn’t change the fact that his city had been horribly hurt and profaned.

“You will see,” Radek had continued.  “By the time that you and I are walking about, it’ll be like new.”

“It’s not so bad,” Ronon had told him.  “I saw enough of it when I took a walk around.  They’re fixing everything up.”

“They are progressing very well,” Teyla commented.  “The city has not been permanently harmed.”

“It’s okay,” Sheppard had added.  “Trust us.  Trust Atlantis.  The city is stronger than you think.”

But Rodney just shook his head, looking discouraged as he read the reports.  “How could it take that much torque, that much trauma and be ‘okay’?”

Dispirited, he switched his attention to another task and began writing letters, starting with Barbara Chaplin’s parents, Eugene Lewis’ mother, and then Kelly Hardaway’s sister.  The letter to Jaap Van Steenvoort’s parents would have to be translated.  And the others too, scientists that had drowned in turbo lifts or their rooms, engineers that had been tossed to their deaths as the city tilted.  He wrote the notes slowly and laboriously, constantly stopping to revise or backspace or delete and start again.

He didn’t know what to do about Lazlo Gos’ father.  That letter would have to wait—and wait.

Repairs continued throughout the city, and Rodney monitored them from his bed, trying to look hopeful, but then he’d scroll though the lists of what had been damaged, where holes had been blasted, which rooms were still flooded.

And he said very little.

“Rodney!” Sheppard called as he watched McKay page through the latest updates.  “It’s going to be fine.  They’re fixing everything while you’re luxuriating here in the infirmary.  It’ll be good as new.”

“The city won’t be the same,” McKay groused.  “It won’t be ‘like new’.  You’ll see.”

Rodney remained downhearted and unusually quiet until Sheppard had finally had enough of it.  He strode into the infirmary one morning, his face set and his pace quick.

“You’re coming with me,” Sheppard declared.

“What?  Why?  How?” McKay sputtered in response.  “Can’t you see, I can hardly move?  How do you expect…”

“There’s a marvelous invention called a wheelchair.  Can you wrap your mind around that?”

Rodney glowered thunderheads at him.  “Go away.  I’m busy.”

But Sheppard would not be dismissed.  With help, McKay was loaded in.  Rodney said nothing as he was wheeled off, as Sheppard said, “The city will be fine.  You just need to get out in it, see for yourself.” 

Zelenka, looking a little jealous, watched him go, and then glanced at Ronon with a hopeful smile.

An hour later, Sheppard returned with the chair—but instead of a morose lump, McKay was talking animatedly, gesturing and making demands, looking as if he wanted to lift out of the seat and get working.

“Looked okay?” Ronon asked as he swung his legs from his bed, obviously ready to leave the place for good.

“It’s a mess!” McKay shot back, then raised a finger, adding with a shrewd smile. “But it’s not dead yet.”

“In fact,” Sheppard grinned, “it’s feeling much better.”

Rodney laughed at the reference, and let himself be wheeled back to his bed. 

Zelenka watched as Rodney was helped back into his bed.  For a man who trusted computer reports as much as McKay, it was interesting to see how much he just needed to ‘be there’ to know for sure.  It made the Czech smile.  “So, is the city still there?” he queried.

“Yes, yes,” Rodney snapped, hands waving about.  “What did you think? That it would all go away?  The city’s fine.  A little scuffed and stained, I admit.  We have plenty work ahead of us, but we have the best people here for the job.  Zelenka, what are you doing?  There’s plenty we can do from here and we have to get working now.  Chop chop!”

It was after this that things really started to improve in the City of Atlantis.

Chapter Text

Six weeks after the near-sinking of Atlantis, Jumper 14 was raised from the seafloor.  The grappling system devised for another jumper rescue was finally put into use and proved to be adequate enough for the job. The task had been delayed for some time due to so many other pressing matters – but the sea would need to give up the lost jumper eventually.

The ship, dripping with slime, and crawling with sea life, was hoisted to the surface.  Once afloat, Sheppard donned scuba gear and swam into the swamped craft. The jumper was pressurized, and then driven into the underwater jumper bay – and from there, into the jumperwash.

The room was in working order and could have easy been ‘turned on’ to clean the sea-fouled ship, but the controls were not activated after the floor closed and the ship was brought to a squishy rest.

Once the room was safe to enter, the door opened, and one man walked in.

Dr. Larry Nguyen, Head of Computer engineering and integration, sighed as he stood in the room.  His arms were loaded with buckets, sponges, a couple of hoses, long handled brushes and a bottle of dishwashing soap.  He stood there, staring at the size of the ship, realizing exactly what was in store for him.  

The puddlejumper might appear small when next to the city, but standing beside it, armed as he was, the ship was big.

Very big… and very dirty.

The rear hatch lowered, and he was given a further view.  The inside was coated with muck and unlucky fish.

“This,” Nguyen said, as a soaking-wet Sheppard strode toward him, “Is totally unfair.”

Sheppard nodded to the comment.  “Yeah, probably, but you’re the one that lost the ship, and it took a lot of man-hours to get it back.”  He settled his scuba gear against the wall.  “I think you’re the one who should clean it out.” 

“We have the system right here to do the job!” Larry sniped.

Sheppard shrugged. “Yeah,” he said, “But this is more fun.”

The door to the room opened again and Larry’s shoulders fell a little as a small crowd entered the room.  Dr. Weir was in the lead, with McKay, Ronon, Teyla and Beckett close behind.  Nguyen groaned.

“Hey, has the show started yet?” McKay asked as he moved gingerly into the room.

“Better not have,” Ronon added, keeping near the physicist.  “I want to see this.”

“What?” Larry cried as he turned to take in the group.  “Do I really need an audience?”

“Yeah,” Sheppard replied.  “I think so.”

“Definitely,” Weir said with a devious smile.

“This isn’t right!” Dr. Nguyen whined.

“Sounds right to me,” Rodney went on.  “We haven’t been able to totally check every system in this room and I can’t trust the cleaning routine to go off without a hitch.”  He grimaced and said, “You do remember what happened last time?”

Larry harrumphed.  “I have gone through the protocols personally,” he declared.  “It’ll work like a dream.”  He let go of the stack of buckets and the armload of brushes.  They clattered to the ground.  “There’s no reason why we can’t try it out.  Don’t you want to see it working?” he tried, leaning toward McKay.  “I mean, to see it working as it was meant to operate would be impressive, wouldn’t it?”

The physicist wavered, glancing around at the silent jets.  “Well…” he drew out.

Ronon snorted, “Sheppard doesn’t like it when people mistreat his ships.”

Teyla smiled at Nguyen sweetly, and Larry looked hopeful for a moment, until the Athosian pronounced, “It is your punishment for losing the jumper.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Larry whined.  “I was trying to stop Dr. Weir and save Dr. McKay and let Lt. Cadman in.  I can only do so much!” He looked from one to the other, and finally focused on the Canadian.  “I saved his life!  And other things, too!”

“He’s got a point,” McKay mumbled.

“He tried to use the Jumper as a stopper, then flooded it, essentially popping it out of the hole he’d tried to wedge it in,” Sheppard said sharply. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that is a very bad idea.  And, really, a physicist, of all people…”  He arched his eyebrow.

“I was under a lot of pressure at the time!” Larry spluttered. “And…and…and there were sharks!  Big ones!  With sharp teeth!”

“Did you not play that game with the blocks as a child?” Sheppard asked. “You know, the one where, if you put the too small cube in the big cube hole, it just slides right through?”

The scientist’s eyes narrowed.  “Fine, fine, so it’s my fault,” Larry groused.  “Still, I think my heroic actions made up for that one mistake.”  He sniffed.

“That is true,” Teyla spoke up. “He did perform … heroically.”

And Larry lit up a little at her statement.

“Aye,” Beckett added, leaning against one wall of the room.  “He did manage to slow down Dr. Weir and save Rodney from a horrible, fiery death.”

“Thank you for reminding me,” McKay mumbled.

Sheppard sighed, seeing a tide turn against him.  “Great, fine, what the hell.  Let’s just fire up the jumper wash then, see if it works correctly.  Or maybe it will just dump the jumper and all of us into the sea again.  I don’t care.”

“He’s brought several buckets, lad,” Beckett stated, nodding to the wealth of materials on the floor.

Weir smiled.  “The swim team had a charity carwash every summer,” she stated.  “We had people coming in from all over.  The father of one of the girls was a trucker.  He had all his pals bring their rigs around to support the team.  I’ve had plenty of practice.” 

McKay groaned.  “You don’t honestly mean…”

Rubbing her hands together, Elizabeth declared, “Come on, boys, let’s have an old fashioned car wash.”

Sheppard chuckled lightly and lifted his arms.  “I’m already wet from swimming into the jumper.  I guess I wouldn’t get any worse.”

“I’m in,” Beckett added.  “It’ll be a delight.  I used to wash me mum’s car every Sunday in the front yard.” 

“Every Sunday?” McKay asked. 

Beckett shrugged, “It was an old Bentley.  It deserved to gleam.”  He smiled wistfully, “Oh, it was a pretty car.” 

McKay rolled his eyes as Sheppard attached a hose to one of the room’s water jets.  With a little effort, he was able to make it work.

Ronon, looking perplexed, turned to McKay and asked, “So, they’re volunteering to wash down this thing?”

“Yes,” Rodney groaned, sounding unimpressed.

Teyla frowned. “They find this task enjoyable?”

“Apparently so,” McKay added.  “They’re idiots.”

Ronon shrugged and stepped forward, and picked up one of Nguyen’s discarded brushes.  “I’m in,” he stated.

Teyla shrugged, and joined him.

Looking annoyed with the lot of them, McKay back-stepped.  “I’m out!” he declared.  “Why would I want to participate in something so … wet and filthy?  I swear, every time I had to wash a car with… other people… I was the one who ended up hosed down and doused with dirty soapy water. I had to go home and explain to my father why my shoes were wet and...  No! I’m so out!”

Sheppard was heading back toward him, attaching a nozzle to the end of the hose.  “Come on, Rodney,” he encouraged.  “I’ll letcha control the hose.”

Rodney looked unsure, but slowly extended his hand.  A devious look took over his face.

Sheppard grinned and let him have the hose.  There was more than one after all, and if McKay planned to soak anyone, a certain scientist would receive the same in return.  As long as everyone ended up wet, it’d all be for fun.

“It’s about time we finished the clean up,” Weir added.  “This one last thing, and everything will be back to normal.” 

“Well,” Sheppard added.  “As close to normal as things come here.”

“Come on then,” Beckett called.  “Let’s get this started.”

And soon the room was filled with suds and water, and maybe for the first time since the trouble began, everyone had a good time.

THE END