Swish. The transporter door opens almost before I even think about it, the lights activating at the same time. I grin as I step inside, the total relief of finally being safe flooding my system. Plus it's nice not to have McKay bitching at me about not using the transporters because of the power shortage. It had been a bizarre feeling when the Daedalus beamed the ZPM down; for the first time, I was actually as excited about some piece of technology as the scientist.
Where is McKay, anyway? I haven't seen him since Ford took off. That's kind of weird; usually he's pretty tough to shake. Probably in his lab, running simulations on the ZPM or something. I set off in that direction, determined to get the man to sleep. If he doesn't soon, he'll either collapse or become totally impossible to live with. Not that he isn't always, but sleep-deprivation has a way of making McKay even more cranky than usual. His assistants all know exactly where to find emergency stashes of coffee, for the safety of their lives.
Besides, McKay deserves a little rest. He's just saved the entire city from just about the worst death imaginable. The guy's a damn hero!
Not in his lab. That's really weird. Not in the mess, either. Where could he possibly be? I find myself outside his quarters, wondering if maybe he'd actually gone to bed on his own. Not likely; for all his griping about his skin and his stomach, the guy's remarkably oblivious to his body's needs. I'm about to barge in and forcibly sedate him, if necessary, when I call back the mental command. There are voices in there.
"Go to bed, Rodney." Elizabeth. What's she doing here? Probably the same thing I am, I guess.
"I will," McKay replies, not very convincingly. He's never been a very good actor.
"No, you won't," Elizabeth tells him, matter-of-factly.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Yeah, that's the sleep deprivation talking. Had to be. McKay never yells at Elizabeth.
"It means that you're running on adrenaline, Rodney." She stays calm, like always, but I can hear the authority in her voice. "You got your second wind or something; I don't know. I just know that you haven't slept in a week. Sooner or later, you're not going to be able to fight it anymore."
"Who says I'm fighting it?" Whoops. For once in his life, he's screwed up. Even I can tell he's being too defensive, and I'm not the trained people-person Elizabeth is. She has her opening now.
"Are you?" she asks. Simple, to-the-point. Good move.
McKay sighs loudly. Holy crap, is he giving up already? He really does need sleep. Normally, he could take an argument for miles.
Elizabeth must see something in his face, because her next question seems totally out of the blue to me. "Is this about Peter?"
"I don't want to talk about it." Wow, another first.
"That much is obvious." I have to hand it to her, Elizabeth doesn't back down from a challenge. And a challenge is exactly what Rodney McKay is most of the time. Now doesn't seem to be any different.
"Elizabeth, please!" I don't often hear McKay pleading. Whining, yes; bitching, all the time. He doesn't beg, though; he's too proud. Okay, so there was that time with Kolya -- but who wouldn't have in his shoes?
"Would you rather talk to Kate?" Yikes. Her voice is like steel. Behind that diplomatic front, Elizabeth is one tough cookie. There was a reason she got those North African assignments.
"No." Oops: mistake number two, McKay. Being sullen with Elizabeth is like telling your parents you're 'fine'; it never works and only makes them pry more.
"You have to talk to someone, Rodney." Her voice softens. She is good; McKay has no chance now.
There's a long pause. I suddenly wonder why I'm standing outside McKay's door, listening to him argue with Elizabeth about something that sounds like it's about to get really personal. All I'd wanted to do was get him to sleep, and I'm pretty sure Elizabeth's going to manage that. So why am I still here? I'm not really sure but, for whatever reason, I can't make myself leave.
"Every time I try to sleep," McKay says dully, giving in, "I see that satellite exploding. I can hear --" He makes a weird gulping sound; I can't tell if he's laughing or crying. "It's impossible, I know, but I can hear...I hear Peter screaming. Sometimes it's the fire that kills him; sometimes it's the vacuum of space and he...he just...oh, God!"
This time, he's definitely crying. Usually it's awkward for me when another guy starts blubbering; I get caught somewhere between feeling sorry for him and being disgusted. But somehow, listening to Rodney in there, I don't feel either. Only a sort of respect for this obnoxious little punk who's been running on empty for the past week, saving a city despite just witnessing the horrible death of one of the few people in two galaxies who could stand him. And he hasn't even been trained to deal with it.
"I keep trying," he finally continues, "to change things. I'll reroute the power a different way, or I'll get him the space suit somehow, or I'll go down there with him and figure out a way to get the jumper to dock. But it never works. It never works." He takes a raggedy breath and as hard as this obviously is for him, I'm glad he's talking about it. Holding it in doesn't work for everybody. "Sometimes," he whispers, and I lean closer to the door to hear him, "sometimes when he's screaming...he yells my name. 'Rodney! Help me, Rodney!' But I don't. Or I can't. I just watch as..." He trails off.
"Rodney," Elizabeth says quietly. She uses a different tone of voice with him; I've noticed it before. She talks to him on a different level than the rest of us. "It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done."
"I know that!" he says angrily. He's not angry with Elizabeth, I know; he's angry with himself. It's a funny dichotomy with him; he's the first one to crow about his own work but he's also the first one to beat himself up about something that goes wrong. His yelling at other people is just a cover.
"What can I do for you, Rodney?" she asks.
That simple question strikes me, somehow. We're always turning to McKay to solve our problems, to bail us out of our situations. And he always does. Loudly and obnoxiously, sometimes, but he's always there for us. When's the last time anyone did anything for Rodney? I mean, yeah, I've saved his life a couple of times. But that was more a duty thing, an obligation. He was on my team; I would have -- and have -- done the same for any number of subordinates over the years. I've never just sat with him, letting him talk about his life and any problems he might be having. The thought makes me feel a little guilty.
I've heard people talk about McKay and me, wondering how two people with such stereotypical and very opposite personalities could ever be friends. Some people comment that it's amazing someone like McKay could even have a best friend, let alone one like me. They've got it all wrong, I realize. Yeah, Rodney and I are, I guess, what you could call friends. But I'm not his best friend. Not by a long shot.
If a best friend is someone who understands you, someone who will give it to you straight, someone who doesn't try to make you something you're not; if a best friend will sit with you, listen to you, cry with you; if a best friend will make you talk when you need to and not be afraid to tell you to shut up...if that's what a best friend is, then I'm not Rodney's best friend. Elizabeth is.