A/N: I am a huge Rodney fan and this weird idea has been rattling around in my head for days. The muse would not let me go. I tried to get away but she is a tenacious sprite and refused my pleas to allow me to complete my other stories first. So here it is, hope you like it.

Disclaimer: Oh how I wish it were mine.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

Rodney McKay was a mean son of a bitch. His tongue was as bad as his fists, and he could kick your ass and make you feel like you deserved it. The fact he was a drunk and an addict, did nothing to help his moods.

He wasn't always like this he used to have purpose and meaning in his life, but now he was just a bitter, and lonely man.

Rodney used to be special; he was brilliant and had an amazing life living in a different galaxy. What more could an astrophysicist ask for. But something happened to change all of that, something that was the final straw for this man.

His childhood had sucked but whose hasn't? Okay it was worse than that…Rodney had the shit beat out of him on a daily basis, and would often go days without food locked in his room for what were the barest of infractions. Such things like failing to take the trash out in what was considered a timely manner, or having to be reminded to do his chores, would earn him a whipping and two or three days in lock up.

However, that wasn't what brought him to this place, though it did represent the beginning of the journey.

"You wanna tell me now? Or should I keep punching you?"

"I—swear Doc I have no idea where it is."

"Let's say I believe you, I'm sure you know who does, don't you?"

The battered man before him shook in fear of the man with the piercing blue eyes. He had to make a choice, would he give his tormentor what he wanted and risk the wrath of the person he was ratting on? Or hold out and see just how far the menacing man, that was beating the hell out of him, was willing to go?

"It was Paco, he's the one that stole the heroin."

Please don't kill me… God if you get me out of this I swear I will quit dealing and go to rehab.

There was an evil glint in Mc Kay's eye. He was deciding what to do with this weasel. He got a thrill at picturing his hands around the little rat's throat, but chose to let him live because ultimately it would be less hassle. Dead bodies are bitch to get rid of and thanks to modern forensics crime scenes are virtually impossible to clean well enough. So the greasy loser got to live out of convenience.

"Alright Flacco you can go for now, but you better be where I can find you."

"Th—thanks Doc."

"Get your greasy ass outta here before I change my mind."

The man scurried out like the rodent he was.

Rodney turned to his right hand man, Bulldog.

"I want you to find Paco and bring him to me…unharmed. I want to enjoy explaining to him my displeasure."

"Okay boss will do. Shouldn't take long, last I heard he was holed up in an empty warehouse near the highway."

An empty warehouse? How cliché… God these morons bore the hell outta me.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you will. Now quit yakking and go already."

"Oh and your ass better get my heroin back as well."

"Sure thing boss."

The hulking mass of muscle walked quickly out. Rodney's hands were shaking and a fine sheen of sweat made his face slick. He needed a hit.

He pulled out the beautifully carved Athosian box that had been a birthday gift from Teyla. Inside were several baggies of various drugs, cocaine, heroin, ecstasy, meth, and even some oxy. You name it he used it, and sold it.

The box was a constant reminder of what he had lost, the drugs inside the box, a profane symbol of how far he had fallen.

He picked up his vodka tonic and downed the rest of it, wincing at his swollen and abraded knuckles.

I really should let Bulldog handle that. I'm getting to old for that shit. After all what's the point of henchmen if they can't beat the crap out of people for you? That is their primary purpose.

Rodney sank into his desk chair opened his box of goodies and brought his spoon and lighter out. He cooked up the heroin and sucked the golden fluid into a new syringe. Then he put the tourniquet around his bicep and smacked his veins, watching them plump up. He only now began using his arms again, so they were still good.

Rodney shivered in anticipation of the bliss to come, of the cessation of his aching need. He laid his elbow on the arm of the chair and with something akin to reverence, injected the high-grade heroin into his trembling body. He knew right away he had screwed up and taken too much, this heroin was dangerously pure, and required a delicate touch in dosing. He soon forgot his overdose because he was slipping away into warm clouds of nothingness.

Whatever… Was his last thought before he sank into unconsciousness.

Rodney McKay didn't care if he died and that was part of what made him a dangerous man, both to himself and others.

John Sheppard was on a quest. He was on a quest to find Rodney McKay, to save him from his self-destruction. He'd hired private eyes to aid him in his search, but it was the military and the intelligence agencies that were interested in finding his friend and locking him up forever. Rodney knew too much and was too volatile, making him a huge security risk. They had to find him dead or alive. John needed to get there first, had to beat them to Rodney and keep him from ending up dead.

John found himself hitting brick wall after brick wall. How do you find a genius who can write code in his sleep if he doesn't want you to? One of the PI's told him there was rumors of a man fitting McKay's description that was a notorious drug dealer in LA. But John couldn't believe that, so he cast the information aside as being preposterous. Several weeks later he would get more information that made him begin to consider the hideous possibility that his brilliant, astrophysicist best friend, was indeed a drug dealer…