Last Man Picked for the Team
by Berzerker_prime
Summary: A tag for "Hide and Seek." Rodney is feeling a little like a fraud and Sheppard is feeling a little like doing some team-building.
He had a lab to organize.
At least, that was what Rodney McKay was telling people. The fact of the matter was that he just needed to get away from everyone for a few hours. He couldn't take all the appreciative pats on the back, the pumped handshakes, and the high-fives he kept getting from the members of the expedition, to say nothing of the strangely awed looks and bowed heads from the Athosians. It just wasn't right. It was like he had stepped into the damned Twilight Zone; a world where he was some sort of super-hero. He knew it wasn't going to last. He knew he should have been enjoying it for the moment.
The thing of it was, he knew what the members of the expedition actually thought of him. Dr. Weir's absent "I thought as much" comment had told him so. His history with the SGC wasn't exactly a love story and that had clearly gotten around before they had all stepped through the stargate and into Atlantis. He was the guy who had insisted that there was no hope and that the SGC should just let the great Teal'c of SG-1 die. He was the guy who didn't care about anyone or anything. He was the guy they had shipped off to Siberia in order to get out of the way. Surly, arrogant, expendable; that was Rodney McKay, according to the rest of the world. And he had made his peace with that.
Which was why all the praise he was getting now was annoying. And why he had shut himself up in the room that was now organizing itself into his lab. He had long ago resigned himself to the fact that people didn't like him. For people to suddenly turn around and act as though they did was just plain wrong. And rather mean-spirited, really, considering that they would just go back to normal within the next few days, anyway, after having given him a taste of friendship and appreciation.
A week was far too long to go without organizing all this damn equipment, anyway. Best to get it done while no one else was under foot. If his underlings and the rest of the IQ-deficient members of the expedition could refrain from, oh, say, releasing a giant, electrifying cloud monster for just one night, maybe he could finish getting things in order.
Absently, he paused, lighting on the side of a counter and pulling from his pocket the discharged and powerless husk that had been the personal shield generator. The thing had caused him so much trouble earlier that day. He remembered every look of scorn he had received, every hurtful joke that had been hurled his way. And that sucked enough without heaping on top of it the fact that the shield had revealed the worst in Rodney McKay.
He was a coward. He may have stepped through a stargate and gone to another galaxy. But, really, what was that other than running away? It had taken the threat of him having to do something that was actually heroic for it to pop off him in betrayal and show just how much of a coward he was; a personal indescructible force field and he still wasn't willing to risk himself for others.
The sad thing was, he had a hard time believing what had happened in the 'gate room. Even Rodney had to admit that rushing headlong into danger in a last-ditch effort to save everyone was pretty out of character for him. His own disbelief was compounded by the fact that he didn't remember a single thing after the words "this is a disaster" had tumbled from his mouth.
No, that wasn't true. He remembered hearing Weir and the others discussing the fact that they had zero options left and they were all pretty much screwed. But it sort of faded out in the middle of that, somewhere. From what people were saying, he had actually put on the shield and waded into the electric cloud monster with reckless abandon. They didn't know specifics after that, since they couldn't see, but the next thing they knew, the monster had been coaxed through the stargate, the naquadah generator was gone, and Rodney was unconscious on the floor.
He played along, of course. Whenever someone asked Rodney about what happened, he made a show out of proudly saying that he did what he had to do, just like anyone else might have. When pressed for details, he would just mutter something about having things to do and tactfully yet heroically retreat. No one ever needed to know that he had, apparently, completely clocked out in order to turn into a hero.
Which, of course, made him a coward. Hiding and running away. Again.
His hand had tightened around the disabled shield generator and it was digging into his palm. He was overcome with a sudden urge to get rid of the thing. So he threw it, as hard as he could, across the room and into the far wall. It bounced off the wall with a high clang, then clattered to the floor.
That, of course, accomplished nothing. Rodney sighed and tilted his head upward, resting against the counter again.
"What the hell am I doing here?" he muttered to the open, silent air.
"Thing is," said a voice behind him, loud and intruding into the silence. Rodney spun around, jumping half out of his skin.
There was Major John Sheppard, casually leaning against the door frame, arms folded across his chest, hair unruly as it always seemed to be. At the moment, he looked like a strange mix of a man clinging to boyhood and a man with something serious and profound to say. Rodney wasn't sure what to say, just then, so he just stared at Sheppard in stunned silence.
"The thing is," Sheppard repeated, pushing off from the door frame and casually strolling into the lab, "there's this thing I did once that I don't remember." He came to a halt in front of the counter on the opposite side from Rodney. He languidly perched one butt cheek on the counter and slid his glance away from the scientist. "Fresh out of officer training, they tried to recruit me for Special Forces. Even put me through some of the training. One day, we were having some training with live ordinance."
Absently, Sheppard reached over and picked up a screw driver that had worked its way loose of a small tool kit that hadn't been put away yet. He fiddled with it for a moment, then held it up at eye level as if to scrutinize it closely, as if the conversation he was having was an afterthought.
"This grenade ended up getting its pin pulled. Don't ask me how it happened. I just know that it did. One moment, we're all standing around listening to the instructor, the next, there's all these shouts to hit the dirt. After that it's a blank hole and the next thing I remember is the instructor pulling me to my feet and telling me what a dumbass I was."
Rodney stared at Sheppard and he could have sworn he felt his mouth try to move. He wanted to ask "why?" He wanted to ask "what happened?" He wanted to ask "what the hell does that have to do with me?" He wanted to tell the Major to just go away and leave him alone. All of these warred for a moment, causing Rodney's stare to falter, his eyes darting back and forth from Sheppard, to the door, to the room, and back again.
"Apparently, I decided to scoop the damn thing up and toss it on to the ordinance field to explode. The stupid part was that no one knew how long the thing had been cooking before hand. I could have been blown to bits mid-throw. But, I probably saved the whole group of us from getting fragged by shrapnel."
Rodney still wasn't sure what to say, what to do. What did the guy want, a bear hug? Did he want Rodney to pat his head and tell him that everything was all right? If that was the case, Sheppard should have known better than to come to Rodney McKay, intergalactic man of snark.
"It's weird not remembering something like that," Sheppard went on, now spinning the tip of the screwdriver around like a top on the counter, "you'd think saving a bunch of lives would be something worth remembering. But, sometimes, it just doesn't work that way, I guess."
Rodney finally recovered himself. He put on an exaggerated sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. "There a point to this, Sheppard?"
Sheppard looked up at him, flashing him a crooked smile and rolling the screwdriver over the surface of the counter to rest with the tool kit again. "Not really, I guess," he drawled, pushing himself off the counter.
"Then is there a reason you came down here looking for me, or were you just passing by when you decided to pester me?" Rodney asked. "As you can see, I've got a lot to take care of."
"I can see that."
"Then are you done or what?"
"Actually," said Sheppard, crossing his arms across his chest again, "I came looking for you so I could have a word. Doctor Weir has me putting together my gate team. I've already got Ford on board. And Teyla has agreed to act as a sort of a diplomat to the Pegasus Galaxy for us, so she's in. What I'm missing is my egghead; someone who can tell us when we come across Ancient tech that could be of use."
"Ah. 'Egghead.' That's not a patronizing term or anything," said Rodney, gathering up the errant tools from the kit and putting them into their proper places in their tool box.
"Fine, scientist, smart guy, whatever," Sheppard pressed, "I want the best on my team and that's you."
"Well, granted," said Rodney, almost as if in reflex, "but I'm a lab guy, Major. Not really the kind of guy who goes running off to alien worlds and saving the day."
"Except of course that you're on an alien world and you just saved the day."
"I only did-"
"What anyone would have done. Yeah, I heard the party line you've been spewing."
"Then there's nothing else to say. The answer is no."
"Not asking," Sheppard persisted, heading for the door, "first mission's the day after tomorrow. 'Gate room, 0900 sharp."
"Not going!" Rodney called after him.
"Sure y'are!" Sheppard tossed over his shoulder as he swept out of the room.
"Great," Rodney muttered, slamming the lid closed on the tool kit. "Just great." He leaned up against the counter again, letting out a shaky sigh.
The breeze it caused sent something white fluttering across the counter and off the other side. Rodney started, curious, then pushed off from the counter and made his way around it to the other side. Sitting on the floor was a small scrap of paper. He picked it up and opened the single fold. Scrawled across the paper were five words.
You're one of us, McKay.
"Fine," Rodney said quietly to the empty air, "I guess I can give it a whirl. Maybe it won't be that bad."