Disclaimer:I don't own anything you recognize from the show, folks.
A/N: Right… so, I have a weakness for stories about McKay and Music. And McKay/Sheppard whumping (that's non-slash). Ohhh, yes, and Team Sheppard saving the planet one last time.
Present time
*past*
Flashback/recollection
** * ** * **
The bar was overflowing, filled with smoke and rude company. Irritating Yanks stumbled over one another, catcalling at whichever scantily clad creature was currently prancing around on the stage to whatever charming little ditty his fingers felt like playing. Occasionally, one of them would jostle him, knocking him against the keyboard or off his bench. Shrill whistling turned into a dissatisfied grumbling as the girl left the stage wearing more than her birthday suit, even as he continued to play. The mumbling turned into a dull roar, easily drowning out his music. No one ever came here to listen to him play, but the pianist didn't mind.
Or, rather, he didn't seem to notice.
Somehow, over all the ambient noise, he managed to make out an approaching jingling sound accompanied by a familiar chronic cough. Still playing, he turned his head in the direction of the newcomer, if only because he knew she found it unnerving.
"Tiffany."
"Cough – right." He could hear her shudder before gruffly delivering her message. "Saffron's a no-show and Satin refuses to go out again. The boss says to play something lively."
He grunted, irritated. "Something lively", he knew, meant the Maple Leaf Rag – which he detested. In fact, he hated most of Joplin's songs.
Feeling rebellious, he started in to a bouncy version of the Beatles' 'Yellow Submarine'. He smirked when a few nearby only-somewhat-drunks began howling along. His smirk quickly turned sour and he swore that after he got fired from here he'd play for a jazz club.
At least they didn't sing along.
But no, he was just fooling himself.
He wouldn't play jazz for the same reason he wouldn't play anywhere but the seediest taverns – cushy gigs left him too much time to think.
And thinking was anathema to his very survival. He refused to go insane.
He'd kill himself before he let his subconscious take over – to torture him with all the memories of his failures.
Even so, with all of his precautions, Insanity, the dark temptress, taunted him his every waking moment and many sleeping ones.
The only way to guarantee not insanity was to die – which is something he really should have done a long time ago.
After all, why did he survive? Surely he wasn't meant to – it was a mistake. He should have died along with all the others – the innocents, the undeserving. He could do it, tonight –
His mind blanked in panic when a heavy arm was abruptly draped around his shoulders. He nearly reached for a gun that wasn't there when his mind registered the raucous Beatles rendition…
He focused on the feel of the keys under his fingers, ignoring the drunk leaning against him. He counted the notes, not smelling the foul breath that would have reminded him of another place, another time.
He just wanted to forget – so that he could stay sane.
** * ** * **
"Any luck, Hermoid?"
The little gray alien stared at him with unblinking black eyes.
"The Asgard do not believe in luck, Colonel Sheppard." Hermoid's eyes narrowed. "But, as I am sure you meant to ask, I have not been able to locate Dr. McKay."
John sighed. He knew he was being a nuisance and that the Asgard had much more important things to do with his time than scan any and every world the Daedalus passed for Rodney the Wayward Scientist.
"You realize, Colonel, that the probability of finding him is extremely slim to none." He let out a soft snort at Hermoid's casual misuse of American slang. Other than that, Hermoid wasn't saying anything that he hadn't been saying for years. "If Doctor McKay is alive – which is unlikely – he would have either been found or made it back to Atlantis by now. You should stop interrupting my duties."
"Yeah, yeah" John brushed off the habitual scolding. Even after five years, he couldn't bring himself to give up on Rodney – not until he knew for sure.
John remembered…
** * **
It was a delightful day on a pleasant planet and Lt. Colonel Sheppard was in a marvelous mood.
He, Teyla, Ronon, and McKay had 'gated to the planet yesterday afternoon – McKay claimed to have discovered some interesting energy readings in the thick deciduous forest a few clicks from the village nearest the Stargate. For once, things seemed to be going perfectly.
The natives were friendly and open to trade, and this time there seemed to be no "buts". The villagers – the Landerins – even offered to help them look for McKay's mysterious signal.
So, after a day of feasting and chatting, some very strange music, and a decent night's sleep, Sheppard and his team found themselves trailing the guide contentedly – well, except for Mckay, who whined, as per usual.
But Sheppard got the feeling that he wasn't really as upset as he let on. Probably he was just trying to convince himself that he was miserable so he didn't have to worry about something truly miserable actually happening.
John couldn't really blame him – that did seem to be their luck.
** * ** * **
*
"Hey! Look, look, I think this really is something! We're getting closer and it is definitely Ancient Tech. I mean, I still have no idea what it was, but then, with the Ancients, who knows? But, still, it might be…"
"McKay, breathe!"
John glanced back and noticed that Ronon was right – McKay was looking a little blue in the face. Rodney really must be excited about this widget-domahickey. He was normally an expert rambler.
Maybe McKay found a ZPM?
"Could it be a ZPM?" Well, it couldn't hurt to ask, right?
"What- pzzzt –" McKay spluttered incoherently for a minute, before quickly recovering –
Only to have Teyla cut him off with a stern look of mock disapproval.
"You have not been listening, Colonel. Rodney has clearly stated that the signal is not strong enough to be from a ZPM." Teyla quirked up an eyebrow at him.
"Sorry, McKay." John tossed a sheepish look at the lagging scientist. "C'mon. Keep up, will you? Doncha want to find out what it is?"
"Of course I do, Captain Impatient. It just so happens to be difficult to traipse miles through heavily wooded terrain while simultaneously trying to calibrate an extremely sensitive piece of equipment to hone in on a foreign energy signal! Oh, and I failed to mention the bugs! How do people live here, with flying parasites the size of golf balls?" McKay paused briefly to take a breath.
John wasn't about to give him the chance to work up a full steam.
"Well, put that damn thing away, then, will you? Mik-kal knows where we're going." He turned back to the front where their guide was waiting patiently by a large, odd looking almost-pine tree. "Don't you?"
"Oh, yes, Traveler." Mik-kal bowed slightly from the waist, touching the back of his wrist to his forehead in a show of respect. "I know the way very well. You still wish to study the Temple of the Ancestors, yes?"
"That's right." Sheppard gave Mik-kal his most winsome smile, hoping to distract him from the undignified 'oompf' that had exploded from Rodney when Teyla discretely elbowed him in the midsection to prevent a sarcastic outburst.
This mission was going so well – the last thing they needed was for McKay to screw things up with his big mouth.
*
** * ** * **
The rest of the trip to the outpost (well, that was Rodney's best guess, anyway) went relatively smoothly.
Of course McKay still complained and dragged behind the rest of the group – but that was standard operations. Frankly, John would start worrying when the complaining stopped.
When they finally made it to the source, McKay avidly attacked the console attached to the small Ancient Outpost (whaddya know, McKay was right…). John had pestered him for details, but was shrugged aside by the excited scientist.
Rodney had been like a kid in a candy store.
John couldn't remember now, how long it had taken McKay to open the door, but he remembered feeling the outpost activating.
His Spidey sense had gone off, and he shouted, even though he had been facing away from the action.
Turning around, he managed a glimpse of McKay's startled expression before the world went white.
** * ** * **
Irritated, John shrugged away the memories.
He only had twenty minutes before he was due to beam down to Earth.
He, Weir, Zalenka and a few others had been 'summoned' to Earth – something about a yearly performance review or something like that.
Honestly, they lived in a different galaxy, regularly fought off space vampires, and spent their spare time patching up a really, really old Ancient city – and still they were bound by the red tape of bureaucracy.
Unbelievable.
McKay would have –
John cringed.
It was a bad day.
Bad days he couldn't stop thinking about McKay – about all the people he'd lost. But mostly McKay.
John had never seen the body. There hadn't been a body to find.
As gruesome as it sounded, he really needed to see a body. Dr. Heightmyer said it was his way of seeking closure.
John just considered it proof – proof that McKay was dead, and not off somewhere thinking he'd been abandoned.
Going back to Earth…
He couldn't help but think of McKay's sister. He had been the one to tell her, back when he still didn't believe that the scientist was dead.
Now, every time he went back to Earth Jeanie would call and he would have to repeat the same phrase he'd been hearing for the past five years.
He's still gone.
They hadn't found him – they wouldn't find him.
It would be easier if John knew he was dead.
** * ** * ** * **
A/N: Hopefully more up soon. Please review.
Something was wrong with the SuperGate, so he was forced to travel by ship.
And something else was wrong, which forced him to make the trip in the first place.