Author's Notes: Inspired by Tipper's poetry challenge, this fic uses themes drawn from Michael Easton's poem "Picture," included in his anthology "Eighteen Straight Whiskeys." I'm not going to repost the poem here, due to copyright infringement, but if you google him and find his official website, you can read it there. He's a wonderful writer. (and edible. but that's beside the point.)

Spoilers for Tao of Rodney. Otherwise, no warnings. Flames will be laughed at, and posted up on my 'Wall of Flame,' which is a motivational tool I use to remind me of the stupidity of other people.

Picture

Radek Zelenka does not believe in god.

He believes in…

Einstein's theory of relativity. Darwinism. That truly great men cannot be politicians. That young boys will always make stupid mistakes, and that women are both enigmatic and frustrating.

That McKay is, only marginally, smarter than him.

He does not believe in god.

So why is he here?

The infirmary is cool and quiet, lighting dim and conducive to sleep. There are no nurses, no doctors. Beckett's office is dark, the Scot long departed to get the rest he deserves.

There is only one patient. McKay, after insisting he felt fine, took one step away from the podium and promptly fainted. His condition was diagnosed a result of low blood sugar and exhaustion.

That was ten hours ago. Radek has tried to sleep, without success. Staring at the walls of his room, listening to the background hum of Atlantis, suddenly missing his family home.

He takes a step closer toward the bed. McKay is pale against the sheets, bruises across his eyelids, his breath smooth and slow.

Radek lingers for a moment only, thinking of how close they came to losing the scientist.

Why is he here?

He changes his mind, abruptly. The man is sleeping, he tells himself, wanting an excuse to avoid the discussion he has come here to have. Radek turns, wanting to hide in his quarters or the lab.

"Oh, thank god."

He flinches, and turns back toward the bed. Rodney is not sleeping, as he thought, but awake, and pushing himself upright.

"I'm so bored," the scientist whines. "Carson is such a mother hen he won't let me out of here for another twelve hours even though I'm fine. Observation. What does that even mean? Do you see anyone observing me?" McKay's eyes narrow. "Where's my laptop?"

Radek stares, at a momentary loss, thrown by the abrupt greeting. "I do not have your laptop, Rodney."

"Oh." The Canadian scowls. "I suppose Beckett would just confiscate it, but you could have tried to smuggle it in." He frowns, alarmed. "Is there something wrong with the city? The ZPM, the Stargate, the tanks on the east wing - I knew those connections were unstable…"

"Nothing is wrong with the city," Radek interrupts, quickly.

"Then why are you here?"

He isn't ready to answer, not yet, not truthfully, so he changes the subject. "You return to work tomorrow?"

"No," McKay grumbles. "Not officially, anyway." His shoulders tense, and he looks up, his tone sharp and alarmed. "You've not let anyone touch my work, have you? I asked Sheppard to station a marine outside the door but he said that was overkill…"

"No," Radek says, "no one has touched your work."

Not due to a lack of curiosity, but more nervous, slightly fearful awe. The lab is empty, desolate. Radek has walked within its walls, curiosity triumphing over superstition - at least for a little while. A laptop on every surface, the air warm with their hum, pens scattered across the floor, nibs withered and dead. Board upon board of a familiar hand, written in haste and desperation. He has tried to make sense of McKay's scrawl, but the words are nonsensical, intimidating in their complexity, like the work of Escher. Chaos without logic. Radek stared at them in horror, for in place of understanding he only saw a dark and terrible abyss.

"Do you think you will be able to understand it?"

Rodney grimaces. "Maybe. Eventually."

"You managed a lot," Radek tells him, disquieted by the despondency in his friend's voice.

"Not enough," McKay says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Radek visualises the boards, the places where untidy scribble turns to scrunched up black/red/blue against white, the letters so compressed as to lose what little meaning they once possessed.

"The cost was too high," he says, without looking at McKay.

His friend doesn't respond, staring at the bed sheets unhappily.

"I never properly thanked you." Radek's hand tightens around the object he carries. "For saving my life."

McKay coughs, then suddenly straightens, turning in his bed to look Radek in the eye. "It was my fault the power surge happened. If I hadn't been playing about in the system…"

"I should be dead," he says, quietly, because Rodney does not understand.

The physicist rolls his eyes, huffing irritably. "No. And I'd have done the same for anyone else, alright? So don't go thinking you're special."

The words might be true, but it does not change the way Radek feels about the experience. He does not remember being struck, does not remember the lightening, only running, the sensation of his legs pounding with effort and knowing he was too slow. Of being terrified. Then waking up to bright lights and confusion, and an expression on Carson's face he hopes never to see again. Turning, and seeing Rodney leave, awkward and pale-faced, as though ashamed by his own actions.

Not ashamed, Radek realised later, when Beckett told him what had happened. When he touched the place on his chest the nurse explained was ruined flesh, and now there is no scar. When he heard words like v-tach and CPR.

Not ashamed. Horrified.

To raise the dead…

"I know," he says, carefully, "that you would have done the same for anyone. I must still thank you."

This was a bad idea, Radek thinks. His thoughts are clearly not mirrored by McKay. He should not have been foolish enough to think he could discuss this. Not here, not now. And not with anyone.

Rodney will not understand.

Zelenka opens his mouth, intending to make some pithy excuse for his departure, when McKay's gaze suddenly fixes itself on the item Radek carries.

"You brought me a book?"

He tries to say no, but his voice is a whisper and Rodney is not listening.

"You couldn't smuggle in a laptop so you thought a book would entertain me?"

"Sorry," Radek says, then hides the offending object behind his back.

McKay's eyes widen. "No, wait, a book is better than nothing. What is it? It had better be bloody interesting to compete with my laptop."

Dumbly, Zelenka lifts his right hand into the light, so the title of the text can be seen.

"A Bible?" The Canadian's tone is incredulous. "You brought me a Bible?!"

Radek looks down at the book. It is not special, not leather bound or gold trimmed. Nothing but a flimsy paperback, some pages torn and crumpled, the cover stained. He closes his fingers around it tightly, feeling the way it bends to pressure.

"It is my personal item. The one I brought from Earth."

McKay stares at him, dumbfounded. "You brought a Bible as your one personal object?"

"Yes." Radek shifts his weight from foot to foot restlessly, uncomfortable beneath McKay's stare.

"But you're not religious!"

"I have never said that."

"Well, no, but come on, you don't need to!" McKay spreads his fingers wide. "You're a scientist, you can't believe in god! And look at where we are! Christianity doesn't explain the Wraith."

"I did not say I was Christian," Radek corrects, quietly. "And it is possible to believe in god and science, as you know."

"It isn't logical."

"Faith rarely is."

"So?" McKay demands, impatiently. "If you're not a Christian, then what's with the Bible?"

Radek hesitates, thinking of misunderstandings and stereotypes. He supposes he should be speaking to Heightmeyer, not someone as pig-headed and ignorant as McKay would likely be - and yet, he knows she will not understand.

"Religion," he says, carefully, "has always been important within my family. My uncle was a priest. My youngest brother is in training. I do not know if you are aware of the history of the church within the Czech Republic…"

"Pieces," Rodney says, his tone clipped and guarded.

"There was a period, while I was growing up, when it was not easy to be a Christian. Particularly Catholicism, and my uncle…" He pauses, reconsidering his words. "I believe the repressive nature of the government made my family's belief stronger."

McKay's silence concerns Radek more than the expected sarcastic comment or snide remark. Rodney watches him, mouth set in a grim line, and under his gaze Radek withers, taking a seat at the bedside and staring at his shoes.

He swallows, mouth dry. "It was important. But I grew up. Discovered science. Although the two are not incompatible Rodney, despite what you may believe - I found myself questioning more and more the beliefs of my family, of the church I belonged to. Initially it was a form of teenage rebellion, and the propaganda that was circulating…" He breaks off, thinking of dark memories he will not share. "While my brother and sister's faith grew more fervent, mine waned. So no, I do not believe in god. But religion is not so easily dismissed."

"And that explains the Bible?"

"Sometimes beliefs are harder to shake," he says, simply. "You would not walk beneath a ladder, or smash a mirror."

"Those are superstitions," McKay objects. "Not a doctrine."

"And yet, when offered one item to bring from Earth to Atlantis, I chose this."

"Alright," Rodney concedes, relaxing into the pillows. Sat upright, the shadows beneath his eyes seem less pronounced, and Zelenka can distinguish the figure before him from the corpse Ronon laid upon the Ancient device. Radek now knows it is possible for a body to look cold, though it is a truth he would rather he were ignorant of. "I can accept that you brought the Bible to Atlantis because of some family tradition thing. But why show it to me? I hope you don't expect me to read it because I tried once and couldn't get further than the god created man part, because frankly, how anyone can dismiss the theory of evolution…"

"Rodney," Radek interrupts, because he is tired of McKay claiming not to understand the compatible nature of church and science. "I died."

Rodney squirms within the bed. "Technically you didn't. Carson says your heart didn't stop, exactly - if it had they wouldn't have used those paddle things on you - but it was in, what was the word he used?"

"V-tach. Ventricular tachycardia," Radek says, because he remembers every word of Beckett's explanation.

"Beating funny. And you weren't breathing. But still, not the same."

And McKay looks so confident, sounds so determined, that Radek knows it is all an act, and Rodney believes it no more than he does.

"What about you?" he asks, because that is the heart of the matter. He already has his beliefs, but he wonders how far McKay's self-deception will stretch. "Did you…" He stops.

McKay stares at him searchingly for a moment, before he looks away. "If I had died, I wouldn't be here now, would I?"

"Then that is what you think?" Radek asks. "That there is no return from death, and therefore, if a person is alive, they cannot be said to have died?"

It is a tempting explanation, and one which would explain so much. If neither man ever faced death, then Radek has no cause for doubt.

But it is not true, and he cannot force himself to believe it.

"What's wrong with that?" McKay protests.

"How do you account for out of body experiences? For ghosts?"

"Oh please," the Canadian drawls, sounding like Colonel Sheppard. "A mix of scientific explanation and wishful thinking."

"And the afterlife? You do not believe in one?"

"No. Unless you mean the Ancient, Ascended-kind. And even that I have no trust in. When you die, that's it. No meeting loved ones, not clouds or halos." He pauses. "Is that it? You were expecting a light at the end of a tunnel, that sort of thing?"

"Perhaps not exactly that," Radek admits slowly. "But something."

"Well, I'm surprised. I never took you for being weak minded."

Radek lifts his head, his muscles tensing, anger rising. "Is that what you think? That anyone with faith in the un-provable is weak?"

"It's a comfort thing. Like a kid with a night light."

"And how do you know," he fires back, "that the light does not really keep the monsters at bay?"

"Oh, come on!" McKay protests, raising his hands. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult your family's beliefs, however ludicrous - but you said yourself you don't believe it!"

He sits back in the chair, willing to accept the apology, however badly phrased, for the sake of the conversation. Besides, Radek knows better. Rodney's heartfelt, if surprising confession of respect was a painful moment, and he recognises this antagonism as a man trying to hide his scars.

"That is what I thought," he says, softly. "I have not thought of god, of my church, in many years and yet, when I woke in the infirmary, and Carson explained what had happened, I wondered…" He stops.

"What?"

"What did you see, Rodney? When you - when your heart stopped?"

The scientist presses his lips into a thin line, and shakes his head. "Why? You think you can read something deep and spiritual into it?"

He can't explain. Not yet. Not until he has heard. "Please, Rodney."

McKay shrugs, the movement as quick and jerky as his words. "I don't know. I was a little pre-occupied with trying to ascend."

Radek says nothing, simply watches Rodney without wavering, keeping his body still, hoping to prompt his friend into the truth through his own silence.

"Oh, fine. It was like falling, only…" McKay stops, scowling. "This is stupid."

"Why?" he asks, with feeling. "Why do you think this is unimportant?"

"Because if I saw anything, it was because my brain was deprived of oxygen, or it was that machine - some physical reason for it."

"And that is all it could be?" Radek asks, feeling at once both jealous and sad for his friend's dismissive tone.

McKay's expression changes, eyes narrowing, muscles tensing. "What did you see?"

Radek looks away, and wishes intently he had never attempted this conversation.

"Radek?"

"Nothing," he says, tongue thick, voice sounding impossibly small to his own ears. "I saw nothing. From the moment I fell unconscious to the moment I woke here."

McKay, to Radek's intense relief, stays silent for a long while, his expression thoughtful.

Radek watches him, and thinks of his uncle. A figure of a great man, in statue and in power, standing in his pulpit, arm outstretched. Pleading with the lord. Then being taken away, imprisoned, and his mother's face was one of grief. Radek has lost his faith but not the image, or the emotions it summons. Awe and reverence and admiration for the strength before him, the strength his uncle had in his beliefs, the strength he gave to his family.

He can remember the smell of candle wax and perfume, the way the hard wood of the benches pressed into his thighs. The tightness of his collar and the draft on the back of his neck from the open door. The tension in the congregation, the fearful whispers passing above a young boy's head.

"It wasn't a light at the end of a tunnel," McKay says suddenly, his voice terse. "That's a cliché."

"No tunnels," Radek agrees softly. He is nervous, his left hand trembling involuntarily.

"Have you ever dreamt of being in a really wide space, but you still feel, ah…" Rodney clicks his fingers, seeming just as twitchy, "claustrophobic. A cavern, or an enormous room, or…" He breaks off and glares at Radek with hostility, his cheeks flushed. "No, of course you haven't."

The words cause the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up, but Zelenka has no clear image to compare Rodney's description to. He tries to remember his dreams, but can only recall snatches of emotion and feeling, and nothing which resembled the shadows beneath Rodney's eyes.

"And then?" he asks, digging his fingers into his palm.

"I wasn't done," McKay says, shortly.

He does not know what happened in the infirmary, during what were presumed to be Rodney's final moments. Radek hid in the basement, unable to face a goodbye, burying himself in the machine and the hope that there he would not feel as helpless. But 'I wasn't done' does not explain the look on Sheppard's face as Rodney woke.

He chooses not to argue, looking down at the book in his hands as though he can suddenly find solace there. "Every religion promises an afterlife. I did not think I still believed in the lessons my mother taught me, and yet when I woke here, after you healed me…"

"Disappointed?" McKay guesses.

"Afraid." He dips his head, unable to meet McKay's gaze. "I thought I no longer believed in any of it. A god, its rules, or anything beyond that. But I did not realise the finality of it."

He remembers images in picture books from his childhood. Fluffy clouds and angels; not that he has ever believed in that, not the cherubs or halos or harps. Not the cliché, but the idea within.

This is not the end.

And had McKay not saved him, had he died in that corridor, body lying broken and alone in the dark, he would not have known. He would not be anything. And the others he has lost - his grandparents, his father, professors, friends, peers - their existence is over, and terms such as 'rest in peace' or 'gone to a better place' have no meaning.

It takes nearly dying for Radek to realise he still, unconsciously, clings to the hope of an afterlife.

I saw nothing.

McKay clears his throat, the sound causing Zelenka to look up. The Canadian fidgets with the sheets, his fingers pale and restless.

"I could be wrong, of course."

Radek frowns, too consumed by the idea of the lie he has uncovered to pay Rodney's words much thought.

"Theology has never been an area included in my expertise, but I do know that most of it comes down to faith, right?"

He sighs. "As I have tried to tell you. What is your point?"

"Four years ago I didn't believe in vampires. Then I met the Wraith. And the reality of ascension was only brought home to me very recently - unfortunately."

"So?" Radek asks, feeling tired. "You are saying rational explanations can be sought for all things?"

"No," McKay says, annoyed. He grimaces. "I'm saying I might - might - be wrong about some things."

His eyes widen in surprise. "You might be wrong?"

"Might," the Canadian repeats. "I still think the whole one god watching over us idea is ridiculous, but the rest, the, ah…" His description lapses into silence.

"Spirituality?" Radek suggests.

"Yes. I don't buy into it. But since I can't prove I'm right…" He shrugs.

Zelenka stares at him. He thinks of Sheppard, spending all those months trapped, searching for ascension with no success. Of Ronon, and of having your world ripped from beneath you, and of having nothing. Of Carson, and the temptation to play god.

And the faith of the Athosians. Though now on the mainland, their culture is not easily forgotten. Worshipping the 'Ancestors' as gods, the deification dismissed by the Atlantis mission, and yet it was the Ancients who represented McKay's best hope for life after death.

Radek stares at McKay, and wonders at how his own beliefs have been shaped by life in Pegasus.

It is not a positive change.

"You don't need to look at me like that," McKay snaps, bristling. "It's not a contradiction. I see it as a branch of metaphysics."

He is not the only one to have changed. "Spirituality as metaphysical principles?" he asks, exaggerating his scepticism.

"It doesn't mean that those people who choose to obey fictional rules based on those principles aren't idiots." McKay frowns, crossing his arms in a gesture of defiance. "I suppose you're going to comment on that?"

"No," Zelenka says, numbly.

"Oh. Well… good." Forehead crinkled, McKay looks at Radek, then lowers his chin. "I don't believe in god. Never have done. Even as a kid I never bought into it. Or Santa. I mean, come on, the speed he must have been travelling at to make it around the Earth, the reindeer must have been…"

"Rodney," Radek interrupts, gently.

"All I'm saying is, I could do the math." He pauses. "Anyway… I don't believe in god. But sometimes… I wish I did."

Radek stares at the man before him. He is struck once again by the image of an abandoned lab, of the secrets scrawled across the boards within. He remembers last confessions, words he never expected to hear, words he discovered he never wanted to hear.

The cost was too high.

And here he is, doubting a belief he had forgotten he had, while a man - a friend - who has never believed in the hope of more faced his own mortality in a way Radek cannot comprehend. And who is trying to comfort who? However awkwardly, and from deep within a layer of insults.

After all, Radek tells himself, he never really died.

The tension in the air is unbearable. He clears his throat and says, loudly, "So I assume the book is not wanted?"

"No," McKay says firmly. He pushes himself further up in the bed, seeming entirely himself. Observation, Zelenka wonders, or an excuse to force the physicist to catch up on much needed sleep? If so Beckett's plan appears to have failed, dismally. "I'm starving," Rodney complains.

"Judging from the state of the lab," Radek comments, "it would seem you have spent the past few days surviving on coffee alone. It is not surprising Carson has imposed these restrictions."

"Well I'm hungry now," McKay snaps. "As soon as I'm out of here I'm getting the biggest slice of cake you've ever seen…"

"And going to the lab," Radek finishes. "Do not pretend otherwise, Rodney."

"If I don't get there soon one of those damn idiots will decide to 'tidy up.' Kusanagi, probably, in one of her irritatingly helpful moods."

"It is fascinating," Radek admits. "Do you have any idea what you have written?"

McKay pulls a face. "I can't remember any of it. I'm hoping it comes back." He hesitates, looking sideways at Zelenka. "If you wanted to assist, I suppose that would be acceptable."

"Two minds being better than one?" he prods.

"Assisting," McKay repeats deliberately.

"You're a brilliant scientist. And a decent human being… I just wanted you to know that."

Radek does not mention it. It is not within his rights to raise that memory, to publicly air words his friend thought to be some of his last.

Instead, prodding the bear, he suggests wryly, "You could ask Colonel Carter. Or perhaps your sister…"

McKay's eyes widen, his face turning pink. "The fact that you even think of suggesting that…"

He raises his hands in supplication, unable to repress a grin. "It was only an idle thought."

"If I can't understand it then they…"

"Four minds," he interrupts, "are even better than two."

McKay glares at him, visibly bristling, and for a moment Radek wonders if the other man is readying himself to leap out of bed and rush across the room to throttle his subordinate.

Then the physicist collapses back against the pillows, waving a dismissive hand at Radek as though to say, 'you're not worth it.' "If you didn't bring anything to entertain me," he says, decisively, "then at least get me some food. Something with sugar. A doughnut. Or a muffin. Two muffins. And coffee!"

Radek huffs, because that is the part he is supposed to play. He should not admit that for once, he is glad to be treated like an errand boy.

It is only fair, after all. A piece of McKay's honesty for the price of a trip to the food hall.

"Cake," he promises, "but no coffee. You should sleep while you have chance, Rodney."

"Probably," the man grumbles.

He nods, rising from his seat and moving towards the door, hoping that there are still some of the iced doughnuts, because a brush with the afterlife deserves chocolate. He should savour the short while of pleasant conversation before McKay returns to his cantankerous self.

"Radek."

Zelenka stops, the physicist's voice calling him back, but he does not turn.

"I'm not the best person to… well, it's just, if you wanted to speak more then…"

"You volunteer for a debate of faith?" he asks, knowing what the answer will be but touched by the offer.

"I was going to suggest Teyla or Elizabeth."

"Ah." Zelenka smiles, knowing his expression cannot be seen. "Then all is returned to normal?"

He says this part quietly, so McKay does not hear.

It is no different to how he would want. They have both been through enough that they question their beliefs - Radek discovering he still has his, Rodney wishing he did.

He thinks of his uncle, and the nature of faith. Of strength and defiance and passion, however ill-defined.

As he walks out of the door he turns in such a way as to allow him a brief snapshot of the man behind him. A living, breathing, healthy and whole version of his friend - though for a moment Radek imagines he can see into the past, and a paler imitation.

There is strength there, he thinks, and its ferocity has surprised them all.