"We could always test you a third time, Rodney." – Weir.
"That's very funny..." – McKay
"There's got to be a mistake." McKay says as he tries to stare Beckett down over the edge of the doctor's clipboard, though he remains seated on the bed in the exam room.
Something is seriously wrong here, and he must get to the bottom of it, stat.
What? They use the word in medical dramas all the time – not that McKay would admit to knowing that, because he rarely watched television anyway, and his guiltiest of guilty pleasures was watching ER, but he never wanted that to get out.
Never.
"I don't think so," Beckett says, his tone mostly cool with a few not-so-subtle hints of laughter. "Your DNA is normal enough – no traces of the ATA gene."
Normal.
McKay wants to chew the word up and spit it out in a pile of cow manure.
He is not normal.
He's a member of MENSA, has in physics and mechanical engineering, and is one of the foremost experts on Stargate technology.
Some people might say he stands on Sam Carter's shoulders in that respect, but those who do just wish they knew even a tenth of what he knows.
Besides, the only reason she knows more is because she's been studying the Stargate for a decade.
Unfair advantage.
Back to the point, though, which is that Rodney McKay has never been and will never be normal.
So it stands to reason that his abnormality would be a perfect fit for the gene that controls Ancient technology.
Well, that, and he wants to shut up the nagging voice in his head trying to tell him there's no way he can interface Earth and Ancient technology in a way that will make it operable across all platforms.
Therefore, he needs to have the ATA gene.
There is no room for a negative test score here.
"You must have missed it," McKay says out loud, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Run the test again."
"I didn't miss it." Beckett's eyes level on McKay's, hints of exasperation in his tone underneath his normally jovial exterior. "I'm the one who found the bloody gene in the first place, Dr. McKay. I think I, more than anyone else, would know what I'm looking at."
"Run it again and prove it, then."
A momentary pause fills the room with quiet as Beckett takes a breath to either cool down or gather his thoughts.
McKay's not sure which, and although he's about to find out, part of him wonders if he really wants to.
"Okay, fine – but the results will be the same, I can tell you right now."
"No, they won't be." McKay opens his mouth wide, arms still crossed in front of him. This genetic testing is serious business, and he is not about to leave until he has an answer. "We'll both see that soon enough."
Beckett doesn't say anything, just grabs a couple of packets off the makeshift counter nearest the bed, opens them, and swabs for DNA before sealing them up.
"Come back in a couple of days, and we'll see who's right."
"Yes." McKay nods and slides off the bed. "We will. But you can't get it done any faster?"
"What do you want, botched results or the truth?"
"The truth will do."
"Then give me two days to run the tests properly."
"Are you trying to terrorize Dr. Beckett?"
McKay's head pops up from its intent focus on the grilled chicken - specially cooked, with no citrus, just like he'd had to scream at the camp cook ten times about before they got it right - on his plate at the sound of Dr. Elizabeth Weir's voice.
She doesn't sound irritated exactly - more amused than anything else - but her word choice suggests she's had a conversation with Beckett about the test results this afternoon.
Well, good.
If the method of testing was botched, better the expedition team members know it sooner rather than later.
"If by terrorize, you mean make sure the results are correct, then yes, I suppose I am trying to do so."
He sets his fork down as Elizabeth takes a seat beside him.
"We wouldn't want to find out later if someone's test results came back wrong, and they could use the technology after all."
"And you just happen to be an expert in the field of genetic testing as well as engineering and physics, then?"
Elizabeth smiles, but there is an edge to her words.
"I dabbled," McKay says with a hint of a smile. "Thought it might be fun during my undergraduate work to take a course or two in genetics. I still remember most of what I learned, but they did have the effect of reminding me how much I love physics."
"And those courses were enough to qualify you to judge your test results?"
The words hang in the air for a few minutes, as McKay absorbs what he believes to be the full meaning of Elizabeth's question.
"I suppose not," he admits. "But it is terrible use of the scientific method to not test the hypothesis multiple times to ensure the results of a test are correct."
"Which is why Carson is running the samples from your visit today as we speak, Rodney."
"I respect his diligence to his work, then." McKays picks up his fork. Time to finish eating before his blood sugar runs low. "And I look forward to hearing the results."
"And if the results are the same as the last time, you promise you won't ask Carson to run the test again."
"Yeah, yeah." McKay sticks his fork in the chicken, and finds it a little bit more difficult to do so than it was when Elizabeth appeared. "Of course. Is it just me, or is this chicken getting harder on purpose?"
He doesn't notice when Elizabeth stands up and walks away.
All he knows is that when he looks up, she's gone.
It's probably for the best - he's not exactly the cheeriest person in the world when his food isn't prepared correctly.
"Well, I have some good news, and I have some bad news."
McKay's head jerks up from the tablet in his hand - running calculations based on energy readings Grodin picked up earlier from one of the drones - at the sound of Beckett's voice, making a mental note as to where he's stopping.
It looks like the drone might be losing power.
Maybe the drone has a leak somewhere?
It is thousands of years old, though - and nothing last forever.
"Good news for me, that is," Beckett goes on, and McKay turns the tablet off, his attention shifting to the man with the clipboard. "Not so good for you."
"What does that mean?"
McKay doesn't even fight the images going through his head at the thought of what it could mean.
Markers for Parkinson's later on, or Alzheimer's...
The possibilities tumble around so quickly, he can't catch anymore for the time it would take to name them.
"Your previous and current test results say the same thing, Rodney," Beckett says. "You're not a carrier of the ATA gene."
McKay is slack-jawed for several minutes as the full implication of the statement sinks in.
He doesn't have the gene.
His DNA is normal.
It skipped him.
Skipped me...
"That can't be right, Carson," he says as he jumps up and starts pacing. "How can I not have it?"
"Because it's a rare one," Beckett answers. "And not having it doesn't take you off the expedition. You know that."
McKay forces himself to take a deep breath.
Beckett is right, and he knows it.
"Yes, but it certainly would make life a lot easier."
"Well, life isn't about being easy, and I think you know that as well."
There is wisdom to what Beckett is saying - much wisdom - but McKay just isn't in the mood to hear it right now. "I have some... Grodin's running some tests, and I need to..."
"Yes, yes, of course." Beckett starts waving him away. "I'll not be the one to blame for keeping you from your work."
McKay grabs his tablet, and stalks out of the room before another word can be said.
He's fairly certain that in the next few minutes, the entire camp will know he doesn't have the gene. And that he demanded the tests be run a second time.
So he has to do something to save face.
The only thing he can think of is to get the interface up and running.
If he can do that, they won't need the gene to run anything.
Then he'll be able to rub it into all of their faces.
Every single last one of them.