Well, this is my first Stargate story. It's Rodney-centric, at this point in time, though it will branch out. It's mainly targeting the events of Sunday, and though angsty, will brighten up!

Another thing to note is that having watched the episode 48 Hours (both parts) and the episode Sunday not three days later, they kinda meshed, and I got to wondering why Rodney's never mentioned the piano thing…and well, the plot bunnies attacked from there.

The last thing to note is that since Sunday, about three months have passed. Dr. Keller has formally stepped up as Acting Chief Medical Officer in the past few weeks. The events of Submersion occur after this story, obviously, and time proceeds normally.

Disclaimer: If I owned these characters, I stare at them all day and forbid them to leave the house.

Imperfect Order

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Accidental: A sharp, flat or natural that is not included in the given key

"Look, I…I never meant for anyone to get hurt, much less you."

"It's okay. We had to try something."

His eyes lost some of their focus. "I always wanted to be a pianist."

"Excuse me?"

"A concert pianist- you know, a guy who plays piano in front of lots of people."

"Right."

"What did you think I said?"

She let loose a peal of laughter despite her pain. "Nevermind."

"I had a not so comfortable childhood. My parents hated each other, blamed me. Music was my salvation. It had this perfect order for me," he finished, a breathless laugh that was devoid of humor trailing his words.

"That's nice…really." She looked up in confusion, as if questioning his sanity under pressure.

"When I was twelve, my teacher told me to quit. A fine clinical player, he said, but no sense of the art whatsoever." What he didn't mention was the heartbreak at the loss of the only thing that he had thought himself good at. What he didn't mention was the barbed wire he wrapped his heart in after having his dreams shatter before him.

She looked uncomfortable. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Hospital gowns turn me on," he replied, delivering the perfect amount of snark to alienate himself once more. And yes, he thought, that sounds a lot better than saying 'if we die here, I don't want you to hate me'. "I turned to science because I thought it would be different from music, but it isn't. It's just the same. It's just as much of an art as anything else."

She sighed, though she felt the stirring of pity in her chest, feeling she was understanding the man a little better. "Look, it's not your fault the EM pulse didn't work."

"You're an artist, Major. Maybe the best I've ever seen. I'm just critical because I'm jealous."

"I'm touched…really. I wish I had a brilliant plan to draw for you."

"And you're funny too, even electrocuted. Me? I've got…I've got nothing."

"You're creeping me out, McKay."

"It's just self-preservation, see? I'm beginning to realize that I'm not going to solve this, and that one of your typically insane ideas is probably going to be our best chance."

She was back to business now. "How much time until detonation?"

He responded to her seriousness with a curt, "You were right. We cut it almost in half."

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Dr. Meredith Rodney McKay awoke from his memories when a work- calloused hand was placed on his shoulder. He blinked blearily, unsure of how long he had been staring at his computer screen, and then rubbed his smarting eyes. His brain scrambled to refocus itself, and once righted, in half a second, recognized the feel of the rough palm. A smirk tugged on his lips as he turned to Dr. Radek Zelenka, who promptly yawned.

"I am go to bed," he told Rodney in a tired tone, richly accented voice loosing its normally good grasp of the English language. He lifted his glasses off his face, covering his second yawn with the other hand.

"Really?" Rodney began, confusion furrowing his brow. "But it's only…" he trailed off as he caught sight of the clock on his laptop, before finishing, "Two in the morning?"

Radek raised an eyebrow at the scientist's unusual distraction. "Yes," he informed Rodney gently, "That is why I go to bed. And if you insist on staying, I not be the one to explain to Dr. Weir why you missed tomorrow's meeting. Things are stressful enough around here without rescheduling meetings."

The reaction was cold and immediate.

Rodney pulled his shoulder out of Radek's grip, lips thinning irritably. The engineer immediately regretted the casual observation as Rodney's face turned hard and grim. Radek let loose a stream of Czech insults; already he had blundered, and he hadn't even been in the genius' presence for five minutes.

"Fine. I'll get out of here soon," Rodney responded in a clipped voice.

Radek winced, but refrained from saying anything further. Rodney was not interested in what he called 'hollow insipid automatic responses from those who never understood in the first place'. So instead of kind words, Radek simply smiled softly.

When compared to Rodney, Dr. Weir or Colonel Sheppard, Radek knew that Carson seemed almost outshone. Rodney's brilliance, Colonel Sheppard's easy smile and heroic feats, Dr. Weir's ability to keep the expedition in one piece made it easy to see how the Chief Medical Officer was a little ignored. However, just when it seemed possible that the good doctor would protest the unconscious belittlement, he would grin as if he had won a prize because he had managed to save another life. That made him someone special; someone who would listen to complaints and put them in perspective, someone who knew the needs of his patients before they did, someone who was content being in the background.

Consequently, someone so well loved it was hard to believe he was gone.

All of the Atlantis personnel had felt the loss of Carson heavily, but Rodney, John, Elizabeth, Teyla and Ronon had been in their own ways inconsolable for the past weeks. Rodney snapped at his lab rats indiscriminately, hot temper alienating many of the newer scientists, though the more experienced member of the scientists were willing to allow his temper to slide; their tempers were calmed by the fact that Rodney was looking almost obsessively in any new piece of Ancient technology for signs that the tumors could be reproduced. Sheppard dealt with his guilt by repressing emotion, lashing out at those who suggested he speak with someone. His warm smiles were rare, his frosty glares common. Dr. Weir swamped herself in work, a feeble attempt to prevent herself from questioning every decision she had made the past three years. Teyla could be found unconsciously singing parting songs, or staring off to where New Athos had once been. Ronon was an impenetrable wall of brooding silence that pondered dark matters and trained those who entered the gym with an iron fist.

The worst part was the underlying strain that existed between the five; something indefinable but awkward. Not to mention utterly depressing. Radek only suspected the reason for the tension, but his theory had yet to be confirmed or denied.

Radek's eyes brimmed with tears for both his fallen friend and for those who still struggled, but refused to let Rodney see them. Neither interrupted the silence, and finally the engineer shook his head sadly, patted the astrophysicist on the shoulder and quietly vacated the labs.

Rodney turned back to his computer, a lump rising in his throat. "Look, it's not your fault the EM pulse didn't work," rang in his head, the long ago spoken phrase of Sam's bringing no comfort to the room. They eerily echoed Carson's last sentiments, and Rodney buried his head in his hands. It's not your fault…it's not your fault…It's not your fault…whispered the room. Furious, Rodney flung a beaker against the wall, where it broke into several pieces, but the voices stopped.

"Of course it's my fault!" he ground out acrimoniously. His hands clenched as he stared at his computer screen. His anger ebbed then faded, leaving him spent. He rubbed his face again. Lips trembled as he muttered, "What's done is done, and it's killing me."

In the quiet of the laboratory, he let a few tears fall, confident that they wouldn't be discovered.

He scrubbed at his eyes a moment later to clear them of all incriminating evidence and sighed heavily. He stared blankly at his laptop screen for a few moments, feeling miserable and hurt. Then Rodney sighed again, and placed his hands flat on the table, staring at his new scars and old calluses without ever really seeing them. His nimble fingers had always had a sense of elegance about them; they were one of the few physical features that Rodney truly liked. They were his pride and joy as a younger man, able to span three past an octave and wire a bomb of any sort in under two minutes.

Sam's words and his idle thought brought his memory to the surface once more, and his fingers began to idly tap the table as his eyes gazed on something unseen. His first meeting with Sam (to be honest, every meeting with Sam to date) had not been one of his finest moments, not by a long shot. The other meetings fell even shorter of the mark. Most would claim that Rodney's issue was the fact that he had been wrong on every occasion. Of course, here in the dim light of the lab, he was able to admit the real reason why he viewed the events with such disgust. He understood now why the first time they met Sam had been so adamant that Teal'c could be, would be saved. It was because he was closer than a friend, more like family.

Rodney understood now, because he had just lost some of his.

When Carson had first been made an expedition member, Rodney had made it clear how high his disdain was for the medical sciences. Though Carson was a well known doctor for his work on the ATA therapy, Rodney was always more concerned with Carson as an ATA wielder (until Sheppard and his gene came along), and therefore remarkably uninterested in Carson as a person.

Beyond the initial lack of care, Rodney wasn't comfortable with the field of medicine. He knew more about it than Carson had ever suspected, being a genius and all, but the idea of an infirmary was miles outside of his comfort zone. The dead or the dying, the breathless closed feeling and the morbidly sterile environment gave him chills because he didn't know what to do about it. He couldn't help these people, not just because Rodney didn't naturally relate to other humans, but because the knowledge that he was surrounded by mostly helpless people made him feel uneasy. As Rodney and Carson's friendship grew, the scientist had no qualm visiting the doctor for his every hypochondriatic need, but lacked the courage to stay for long periods of time. The fact that, eventually, when injured, Rodney relented to stay in the infirmary for more than twenty four hours was an extreme testament to his trust in Carson.

Their friendship began when the city had first risen from the depths of the ocean. The scientists had managed to get the city consistently running, the generators newly installed. Rooms were being hastily arranged and rearranged. The infirmary had been scoped out, as had been the labs and gym. They had visited the Athosians, encountered their first Wraith attack, and had Teyla's people with them, and John had finally been cleared to put together official teams.

Starting with his own.

Teyla and Ford had agreed almost instantly. They were more than logical choices for SGA-1. Teyla, the initial diplomat, was a wise and loving person. Ford, though young, was eager and brave, showing a real camaraderie with Sheppard. A scientist would be the last logical choice, someone brave and hardy, someone brilliant. Someone, who, by chance, was willing to risk his life to get rid of a crazy sentient gas-of-doom thing.

To John, there was only one choice: McKay.

When asked, a part of McKay wanted to say yes. The part that craved approval, glory and knowledge. Common sense, survival instinct, and the rest demanded he give John an adamant No!

Survival instinct won out.

Before long, Rodney was on the run from the man, trying to avoid the Colonel's pleas, bargains, and threats. As he had told Sheppard before, Rodney was very happy working on Atlantis' systems. After turning down Sheppard five consecutive times, Rodney darted from the labs and escaped towards the infirmary, the last place that anyone would think to look for him. As he saw the blessed doors, Rodney slowed down, heaving for breath, and as his heart stops trying to pound it's was out of his chest. Hiding in the shadows of the still unstable lighting that is in many Atlantis hallways, Rodney listened carefully for the sound of feet against the city's floors. What he heard was far more unusual; a faintly familiar melody was floating out the infirmary doors.

Rodney crept inside, curious to discover who was playing the music. After all, anything classical was surprisingly unpopular on Atlantis. No one was in the infirmary proper, though Rodney could hear the chatter from the adjoining rooms. The music, however, was residing in the largest room of them all, with a clear view of the infirmary. There was no need to guess who was playing Debussy's Arabesque.

Guesswork was not involved. Curiosity, however, was. Surprised by Carson's taste in music, Rodney stuck his head into the office. Carson had his back to the scientist, whistling to the tune while filing medical record after medical record. Rodney's attention was captured by the music and he peered at the CD player with growing disgust. The sound was tinny and dim, sounding more like a badly recorded record than a new age compact disc. "Ewwww," Rodney announced from the doorway when the quality became too much to bear. "What did they do to it?" he finished, outrage clear.

"Do to what?" Carson asked a little blankly, lifting the medical files from his lap and dropping them on his desk.

"To the recording, of course! Did someone try and record from across the room in a dark studio or something?" Rodney looked vaguely offended on behalf of the song. "I think whoever did this killed it!"

"Killed might be a harsh word," Carson managed diplomatically, but his face fell a little when he glanced at the CD player. "I know. It's that bad, isn't it? I was copying CD's together, trying to save space, but I think I tore this one out a little early."

"Yes." Rodney told him flatly. "Yes you did."

Carson frowned a little, looking wistfully as the music continued. Rodney debated for a moment before speaking again. "It's your lucky day though, because I have a better copy than that trash you appear to be listening to."

If he was surprised by the offer, Carson didn't show it. Instead, he settled into his chair, a grin giving his eyes more sparkle. "Aye? Well aren't you the lucky bugger. How did you manage that?"

Rodney smothered a smirk. "Let's put it this way. My laptop was hand designed by me, and has twice the space than that currently on the market. It means that I can hide a program or two. iTunes seemed like a reasonable choice, because it doesn't care how much I put on it. And I'm a genius, Carson. Do you really expect that I'd get caught?"

"Ah," Carson nodded in understanding, "So that's how you got around the 'one personal item' rule." His lips curved even further up at Rodney's revelation. "And no, for the record, I wouldn't expect you to get caught."

Rodney's chest puffed up a little, and his smirk turned into a genuine smile. Courage, and a rare desire to please someone else made Rodney open his mouth to continue, "Well, like I said, I have a copy. If you'd like to, you know, borrow it or something…" He was instantly gratified for his kindness when Carson's face threatened to split from his smile and his brogue thickened to biblical proportions.

"Aye lad! That would be excellent! I have yet tae meet someone else who thought to bring any good music!"

"Well, now you have," Rodney said, preening under the compliment.

"That I have, lad." Carson agreed. He gestured to one of the music. "You now know that Debussy is one of my favorite composers, and Arabesque is my favorite composition. You have to tell me your favorite in return." Carson privately smiled as he tricked Rodney into revealing more about himself. He wasn't expecting the seriousness with which Rodney considered the question, though.

"Arabesque is nice, but I prefer Clair De Lune," Rodney paused, unsure of how to continue. "I like some of Mozart's earlier work too. But Requiem is a really good song if you get it right. Of course, then you have to consider some of Bach's work, because there's always the classic Moonlight Sonata. The song is over played, I'll admit, but pretty in it's progression. Then there are days when all I listen to is Rachmaninoff. The man was brilliant in his own way, and then you've got more current composers. Eric Whitacre was my favorite before we left…" Rodney trailed off, stopping mid-gesture to drop his hands as a little color rose in his cheeks. Carson swallowed another smile at the genius' enthusiasm.

"Interesting opinion, Rodney. What's so special about Rachmaninoff?" Carson inquired, more interested in finding out more about the resident genius that the composer.

Rodney couldn't believe how at ease he was with the doctor, and found a chuckle lacing his answer. "Rachmaninoff was into mechanical technology. He actually composed a piece and then went on tour in order to earn enough money to buy and automobile!" He finished with glee.

Carson couldn't have possibly held back the laughter. Rodney spent a brief second looking offended, but Carson's chortles broke his resistance. For the first time, Carson felt like the prickly Canadian was truly opening up to him. "I can see why you think he's brilliant," the Scot teased, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Rodney shrugged the merest hint of flush rising in his cheeks once more. "Really, though, it's the interpretive freedom that you have when playing his music that I like best. Each time it's played, the piece is meant to sound a little bit different."

Carson tilted his head. "Why Rodney, you're making it sounds as if you've played a lot of piano before," he said, meaning to rib the scientist gently.

Rodney gestured off-handedly, but looked away. "I played until I was about twelve," he answered shortly, in hoped that it would deter Carson from the subject. He was mistaken; Carson had long known that something was off when Rodney was not interested in pronouncing his accomplishment to anyone who would listen.

"That bad?" Carson guessed sympathetically.

"Of course not! I always wanted to be a pianist. My parents were never on good terms and blamed me. I mean, how are parents supposed to cope with a child who builds atomic bombs in their spare time?" The dry words were meant to offset the slightly bitter tone. "Music was my salvation, though. It had this perfect order for me." Again Rodney gestured. He seemed unable to resist. Letting his hands fall, he continued, "However, when I was twelve, my teacher told me to quit. A fine clinical player, he said, but no sense of the art whatsoever. So I turned to science because I thought it would be different than music, but it isn't. It's just as much of an art as anything else." Rodney crossed his arms over his chest, vulnerable. He had unconsciously repeated the words he had told Sam, concentrating more on glaring at Carson, daring the man to laugh.

Carson's smile abruptly dropped, and he thought for a moment. Rodney braced himself for unintentionally cruel words and heard a wry snort instead, as Carson filed away the personal information for later processing. "That I have a hard time believing," Carson grinned. "Clearly, you've never seen yourself talking about this city, ever. You get so incredibly passionate about it. I have no doubt that your teacher was wrong about your playing." He grew pensive, gazing out his office window towards the brilliantly lit waters of Atlantis' oceans. "I would love to hear someone play piano again. My mum used to have me listen to her play whenever I was over, saying it would be good to have some culture in my life. Played all the time as I was growing up, too." Hopeful eyes were turned to his newly found friend, "You wouldn't consider…"

"Absolutely not!" Rodney snapped defensively. "Didn't you hear me tell you what my teacher said? Besides, even if I did agree, it's not exactly like we have a piano on hand! It's not exactly a necessary object!" He looked about to continue on his rampage, running fingers through his hair, but Carson held up a placating hand.

"Don't worry," Carson soothed, "It was an idle thought."

"And an idle mind is the devil's playground." Rodney spat back, but the orator had already lost most of his snarky temper. Rodney shifted as if settling down ruffled feathers while Carson hid a small grin once more. Despite the barbed nature, Carson could practically feel the man growing on him.

"Oh well. Maybe someday, if we ever find a way to contact Earth."

"Yeah. Someday."

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Rodney couldn't remember putting his head down. He blinked owlishly, then stared around him wearily. He couldn't seem to manage to clear his mind of cobwebs this morning. He'd never admit to it, no matter what the threat, but the minute or so after waking up were always the worst, and his brain ran sluggishly, unwilling to being working. His team knew, of course, and respectfully never mentioned it, but no one else had ever seen him in that state.

Rodney's first action was to make his way to the coffee maker that had been the first object placed in the room. Pouring himself a mug, heedless of whether the cup was even clean, he downed the hot caffeine in a few gulps, thanking God for small miracles. Such as the fact, for instance, that thanks to some upgrades, the coffee in the pot was always piping hot. His brain began to run up to speed and he checked the time on the computer. It was twenty of seven, meaning Rodney had just enough time to get back to his room and shower before attending the morning's meeting.

Rodney headed down the halls, absently closing the lab door behind him and made the few short turns that he needed to before entering his room. PowerBar wrappers, a patiently blinking laptop, dirty clothes and a mussed bed were only a few of the room's features. Rodney placed his personal laptop next to the on already on his desk, ignoring everything else in favor of stumbling into his bathroom, where he stripped down to the bare skin and thought On as hard as he could in the shower. His reward was a spray of hot moisture. Rodney showered quickly and efficiently, grabbing a warm towel from the rack next to the sink. He dried off, musing over the issue that Lorne had brought to his attention yesterday evening. Apparently, the water in the south wing wasn't getting hot, and at first the major had assumed that one of the military personnel had pissed off a scientist. When the issue was finally clarified, Rodney agreed to see if he could try and solve the problem. He was the Answer Man, after all.

Exactly eighteen minutes later, Rodney was pacing the halls at his usual brisk walk, downing his second power bar and third cup of coffee at a rate that alarmed the newest members of the expedition. He ignored their incredulous looks, and arrived at the conference room right on time, still musing over the water problem.

They had barely occupied Atlantis a month before Elizabeth agreed to make their bi-weekly meeting first thing in the morning. As the heads of the science and military divisions, Rodney and John had to be there and both expressed a desire for the earlier time frame: Sheppard because he found it impossible to sleep any later than the sun and preferred to get the meeting out of the way as soon as possible while Rodney preferred not to get interrupted while in the middle of something important. After all, if faced with a choice between an active experiment and a meeting, there was no contest. Teyla and Ronon usually joined them, and SGA-1 breakfasted together afterwards, the only time the team ever ate so late. Usually they had eaten by 7:30 and were going about their daily business not long after. Carson had joined them if he wasn't on duty, just as he attended the meetings faithfully, claiming that if he wasn't there, medical considerations would take a back seat to all other concerns.

Rodney's thoughts turned black when his mind turned to Carson, mourning the loss of his best friend silently but bitterly. Unconsciously, he stared at his hands, remembering Carson's words from three years ago. Clearly, you've never seen yourself talking about this city, ever. You get so incredibly passionate about it. I have no doubt that your teacher was wrong about your playing. He had never mentioned to Carson that despite his teacher's words, he had continued to play. Nor had he mentioned the fact that when the Daedalus had started to make regular runs between the two planted that he had blackmailed Novak into getting him a copy of Finale (though he was sure he was going to be discovered when the woman couldn't stop hiccupping in his presence). Rodney had stashed the music program on his computer for the times in the wee hours of the morning when he had a spare hour to compose his own music.A part of him believed that he shouldn't have done that, for his time would be more wisely used if he had no distraction, if he focused his effort on keeping everything together. Everyone needed to relieve stress somehow, right? Deep down, however, Rodney knew he had gone through all the trouble because it was the next best thing to a piano that he could offer to Carson.

It was all for him.

Rodney had been on the brink of showing the compositions to his Scottish friend when those scientists- Rodney's scientists!- had set of the device that created the tumors. Rodney tried not to agonize over what may have been: Would Carson enjoy the music, appreciate the long hours? Would he be reminded of the mother he had spoken of so often? Or would the good doctor find that Rodney's piano teacher had been right after all?

Worst of all was the fact that Rodney had put off sharing any earlier because he dreaded the response. Carson was his best friend, and he couldn't even dredge up enough courage to show his compositions to Carson. Rodney despised the anxiety and weakness that had prevented him from ever sharing his music, but put the dark thoughts away for another time as he reached the conference room.

"Yes, hello, I'm here," Rodney greeted with a touch of impatience, ignoring the pang of sorrow that arrived as he effortlessly opened the door with his ATA gene. He had never properly thanked Carson for that either, but it was just one in a long list of regrets. "What's on today's agenda?"

Elizabeth and John looked up from their conversation. "Well, Daedalus is due any day now, and it'll be bringing some new recruits. Scientists, specifically." Elizabeth caught Rodney's eyes and gave him a warning look. "I can't have you scaring them, either." There was the slightest pause. "Especially not the geneticist on board."

Rodney stiffened and all movement in the room stilled. "A geneticist?" he asked in a curiously soft voice.

Elizabeth winced at the bland tone. "Yes, Rodney. The SGC feel that our best interests would be served if was continued working on the Wraith genetic code, trying to figure out what triggers the inability to process food like a normal human, that sort of thing. Her name is Dr. Amy Black, and she will be working with Dr. Keer in order to try and figure out more information."

The scientist stared down at the laptop in his arms, feeling faintly surprised that the SGC hadn't sent someone sooner. His next thought was At least it's not a guy. For some reason, seeing a male invade Carson's work would be a hell of a lot harder to watch than a female. Even the idea of another man taking control of the infirmary gave Rodney the heebie-jeebies. Thank God that Dr. Keller had stepped up.

Thank God for small miracles.

Finally the genius spoke. "What you mean to say is that they're sending someone to step up because no one else will take it."

Elizabeth had never truly regretted Rodney's ability to cut to the heart of a situation until now. "Yes," she replied, matching his even tone.

Rodney's blue eyes narrowed, becoming tempered steel. Elizabeth matched his look for a few second, but turned away first. Rodney opened his mouth to speak, but John cut him off. "Leave it be, Rodney. She didn't have a choice." The ire in John's voice made the others flinch, and John's shoulder's sagged.

Rodney didn't try to argue, visibly deflating. They were all under stress especially since…

John tried not to think about it to much. Who would want to, when every time he closed his eyes John could see how he had last seen Carson. There wasn't a great deal of recognizable features or body…afterwards. Locked into an endless cycle where John couldn't seem to stop noticing all the details that had changed since Carson's death. Even watching Ford's video letter wasn't as heart-wrenching as watching silently when Carson's personal belongings were removed from his room and the infirmary.

The only comfort that John had for the removal of the Scot's thing was the fact that Elizabeth had taken John, Rodney, Ronon and Teyla aside and allowed them each to pick something to keep from Carson's personal belongings. The only ones to know were Elizabeth and SGA-1, and their kept their secret safe. For them, erasing all evidence of Carson's presence would have been too much to bear.

In their weekly sessions, Heightmeyer had kept talking at him about how he needed to discuss the guilt issues and nightmares and every drop of pain John had ever suffered with someone, anyone. He kept telling the psychiatrist that he was working on in, and in a way, he wasn't even lying. Since his arrival in Atlantis he had found himself unable to keep from forming ties with those John now considered his surrogate family. Slowly but surely, John divulged more information about himself than to anyone he had ever known.

John Sheppard was a smart man. Not Rodney smart, but after disobeying those orders back in Afghanistan he was shoved into a psychiatric help ward and told to get his head on straight. If John was one thing, though, he was stubborn. He didn't believe for one instant that he'd done anything wrong.

But God, he wanted to fly. He wanted to fly more than anything. So he lied, reading psychiatric texts in his spare time to figure out what he needed to say to get out of there. It seemed to work, though more because the military needed their best pilot out there, even if it was doing grunt work and freezing his balls off.

In that short time, though, John learned a lot of things about the human mind. He read more avidly than he had in years to stop himself from ever needing to talk to a psychiatrist again, reasoning that if he already knew what they were going to say, he could beat them to the punch. John swore that he would deal with everything himself, because friends die.

Mitch and Dex did.

Yet as the Atlantis mission progressed, John found that he was revealing little pieces about himself to those around him; Ford, that first year, along with Teyla, Rodney, Elizabeth and Carson. Ronon joined the list mere days after he joined SGA-1 as well. Strangely enough, this resulted in John getting the best sleep he had in years. So Heightmeyer had a point; it was good to discuss your emotional status with people. John just didn't feel it necessary to discuss anything, let alone his personal business, with her.

However, with Carson's death, every one of his worst nightmares had come back to haunt him. Every death, every anguished face, every single tear pulled sleep further away. Add in the fact that he didn't want to dump his troubled on any of his teammates, and John knew that from a rational standpoint he was a mental breakdown waiting to happen. John ignored his mind's turmoil, focusing his attention back on the events in front of him.

Rodney didn't apologize, instead sending a remorseful look in Elizabeth's direction. She smiled wanly, and Rodney to a moment to absorb the dark circles and pale skin. Things were deteriorating fast, and once again Rodney had no idea how to save it.

Rodney gestured and tried to say something, but couldn't fine words.

"Can we do this meeting another day?" John interjected. Abashed, Rodney flinched and Elizabeth rubbed her arms as shivers ran down her skin.

"Sorry," they muttered to one another at the same time, but didn't touch on the deeper issue.

Teyla and Ronon chose that moment to enter the conference room. The pair took in the somber, wan and troubled faces and exchanged a distressed look. Though neither had known Carson as long as the Earthlings, they were equally devastated by the loss. However, they dealt with their loss by making sure that John, Rodney and Elizabeth didn't drown in theirs. Teyla found herself persuading Elizabeth to come to movie night, sparred with John more than ever and she hung around Rodney asking questions about Ancestral technology.

Ronon did his part in a more silent manner. Troubling reports or inane issues never seemed to make their way to Elizabeth. John and Ronon sat in companionable silence, trading only the most necessary of words. Rodney was the hardest, and Ronon often found himself simply loitering around the scientist. When that got to be too much, the Runner would drag Rodney to the gym, insisting on sparring practice. Despite hours of training, Rodney shared a starling amount of ineptitude that left Ronon wondering how Sheppard felt safe knowing there was a gun in Rodney's hand. Ronon did, however, let the ridiculous sparring outfit pass without to much comment.

A series of silent exchanges passed between Ronon and Teyla, and the Athosian fingered the scar where the shrapnel had been imbedded in her. "If you are willing to postpone the meeting, would you be willing to explain Memoirs of a Geisha? I am unsure of some of the cultural references," Teyla asked Elizabeth.

Elizabeth nodded graciously and began a conversation about the difference between the cultures of Earth, mentioning that Dr. Kusanagi might be able to better explain some off the nuances that were integral to Japanese culture. Teyla spared a meaningful glance with Ronon, and the big man knew that it was his job to cover John and Rodney.

"Sheppard, you never finished telling me about that MENSA thing McKay keeps mentioning," Ronon declared in what he hoped was an offhand manner. John shot him a look that stated he wasn't fooled, but Rodney fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

"You were telling him about MENSA? Without me? Sheppard, I hate to say this- actually I don't! You probably don't know the first thing about MENSA, closet mathaholic or not! I have been a member for as long as I can remember, thank you very much. Now Ronon, whatever John told you, forget it. It was most likely completely wrong-"

"Hey!" John interjected.

"-so I suggest we start from the beginning." Ronon's eyes widened and John couldn't resist as small smirk at the man's expression.

"I'm hungry. You hungry? Why don't we follow Teyla and Elizabeth towards food, okay?" John managed to squeeze into Rodney's tirade.

The Chief Scientist nodded briefly, continuing his explanation. At least now Ronon would be able to eat while feigning interest.

Talking quietly amongst themselves they made their way to the mess hall. In the commissary, everyone gave them wide birth. Though the five were slowly healing, no one else on the expedition felt that their condolences were enough, and preferred to stay clear of any dangerous topics.

In a rare show of awareness to Ronon's glazed eyes as they finished up their food, Rodney voluntarily changed the subject. "So…" he began, but found himself surprised to be at a loss for words. In such a dangerous galaxy, Rodney McKay was a man of diction, and it was unusual to be unable to say anything.

"What did you think of I, Robot?" John asked, naming the past week's movie for Guy's Night.

Rodney shot the other man a look, trying not to seem to thankful for the save. John pointedly ignored it, turning his attention to Ronon who commented, "I thought it was pretty good. The security machine seemed pretty realistic."

Coming from Ronon that was around of applause, so John chuckled, "Yeah, she's a pretty good villain."

Rodney snorted. "The only good part was how the robots interpreted their coding. The ghost remnant of the deleted files and their subsequent haphazard combination were actually fairly realistic. I can't believe that they didn't add anything more about the nanites though. And Detective Spooner? Please! I figured out who the so-called villain was practically in the first ten minutes!"

John and Rodney exchanged a look. "Well, McKay," drawled John. "We can't all be super-geniuses. Or should it be genusi? After all, octopus becomes octopi?"

Rodney shot the military man a scathing glare, and then send a brief look to the heavens, as if asking what he had done to do such stupidity. "Do I look like an English major to you? That's Jeannie's husband's forte, not mine," Rodney stated sarcastically. "And for the record, that was rhetorical."

"Whatever," Ronon supplied, thereby ending the McKay- Sheppard spat that was brewing.

"Look, as much as I'd love to discuss the development of language with you all, I need to go find Zelenka. The south wing has been complaining that they haven't been able to get any hot water in their section of the city, and we need to figure out patch until we can repair the systems fully. And I need to do it before we go offworld tomorrow. Though," he said, stressing the word, "if I didn't have to go play with the locals, I could finish my work."

"Nice try, McKay. We're going as a team, and that's final." There was no mistaking the iron in John's voice, and Rodney scowled.

"Fine, fine, fine. But when I throw out my back from lifting boxes or something, I'll hold you accountable," Rodney retorted, waving a quick hand and then making his exit, leaving his tray on the table and a surprised team in his wake.

"What kind of bee has gotten into his underpants?" John asked the air mildly, turning back to his breakfast.

Ronon shrugged and ate the rest of McKay's scone.

Elizabeth finished what she had been saying to Teyla and gave the group a small smile. "Teyla, gentlemen, I'm afraid I'm going to have to follow Rodney's lead. I have a few reports to finish up, and I'm sure you have the same, John," she finished meaningfully.

John groaned, but didn't disagree. He stood up, stretching and followed Elizabeth out, the pair talking quietly about the reports that were due. From John's panicked face, it was clear that he hadn't touched a single piece of paperwork since…since Carson.

It always seemed to come back to Carson.

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John made his way to his office with great reluctance. Though he didn't know General O'Neill very well, his superior had found it humorous to use the Daedalus to carry emails to Rodney, Elizabeth, himself and occasion to Teyla, Carson and Ronon, thus including the six in his infamous email list. The first thing that had been sent upon the return of the Daedalus was General O'Neill's patented rules on how to avoid the maximum amount of paperwork for the maximum amount of time. Admittedly, the rules had been used on more than one occasion. However, Elizabeth was adamant this time; if all his paperwork was not completed, he would be indefinitely suspended from walking through the Stargate until it was.

His office was relatively little-used. Any sort of military gathering was held in one of the larger conference rooms, so with the exception of paperwork and the occasional private dressing down, the room was nearly always empty.

Of course, like all the offices, labs, and the like, the room had been fitted with state-of-the-art technology. John logged on with the little used password (The password was Kirk…God help him if Rodney ever found out) and checked his inbox first.

139 emails.

John moaned, practically feeling his day slipping away from him. Though most people had given up sending him emails, realizing that it would just be easier to talk to him, certain people seemed get a thrill out of flooding his inbox with messages.

His first job was to scroll down and check all the emails from Rodney. Each one was deleted as a waste of space, which sadly was completely true. McKay saw him on an almost daily basis, so there would be no point in checking the man's emails. Once McKay's emails were gone, John had a mere fifty-nine emails to read and respond to.

He started with the top of the list, figuring that those on the bottom had waited so long that another couple of hours wouldn't do any harm.

The first email was from Sergeant Smith, telling him that various emails and letters had been collected from the expedition members and was ready to be given to the Daedalus to be transported back to Earth. John emailed back the affirmative so that they could be included with the other items being transported.

Several other emails followed the same vein, requesting supplies for the labs, leave time on one of the local planets or back on Earth, and so on. Others contained military issues, such as squabbles or a recommendation for promotion (and in some cases, demotion). Most he had already dealt with; sick of waiting, the majority of the personnel had already spoken to him about it.

The long list of emails slowly dwindled and over an hour inched by.

When John reached the next email, he whipped his hands away from the desk as if it were burning hot. His hands shook and he stared at the screen, almost uncomprehendingly.

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TBC