Trinity Tag

All for Nothing

By Jeanne R. Gold

For Kati, my inspiration

Happy Birthday!

Rodney stood in the doorway, unwilling to move closer, yet unable to walk away. There was a roaring in his ears, drowning out every sound but the frantic beating of his own heart. The gurney sat not fifteen feet from where he stood, and atop that gurney…

He clutched at the doorframe with white-knuckled fingers, suddenly dizzy and nauseated. He took a step forward, even though he hadn't planned to, but could go no further. He couldn't loosen his deathgrip on the door. He turned to stare at his hand, horrified that he was unable to control his own body. With great effort, he finally managed to pull his hand free, the force of it sending him stumbling backward into the room. His back hit against something that moved slightly under his weight. With a shaky breath, he glanced down, seeing the edge of the gurney. Hadn't it been farther away…?

Movement caught his eye, and the breath lodged in his throat, threatening to choke him. Jostled loose by the movement, a hand slipped out from under the sheet. A hand with red, blistered flesh, frozen in its own deathgrip.

Rodney turned and jumped back with a yelp. Oh, God, it was all true. It hadn't been some horrible, awful nightmare as he'd hoped. Collins was dead. And Rodney was to blame. He stood there, staring at that hand, unable to keep his body from trembling.

Suddenly, he found himself moving closer. Some part of his mind screamed for him to stop, but his body wouldn't obey. Then he was standing beside the gurney, a shaking hand reaching out and coming to rest on the sheet above a cold, lifeless shoulder. Tears lingered in his eyes, but didn't fall.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sor—" His words, as well as his breath, were cut off as Collins' hand rose with lightning speed to fasten that deathgrip around Rodney's throat. He tried to pull it away, but it only squeezed tighter. Charred flesh crumbled beneath his hands. Horrified, Rodney wanted to scream, but he couldn't. He couldn't make any sound at all.

Collins sat up, the sheet falling away from his upper body to reveal the gruesome truth behind his death. Rodney felt the last of his breath betray him with a whimper as his legs weakened and his vision began to darken.

"You did this to me," Collins said. "It's only fair you come with me."

Rodney was terrified. Repulsed. And about to die.

He sat up with a strangled cry, his hands going to his neck to fight off his would-be murderer, but finding nothing there. His legs kicked at the sheet that covered him, trying to escape. He curled in on himself, his body shaking furiously, his lungs gasping for air. Darkness surrounded him and very slowly he realized he was in his room, in bed. He drew a hitching breath, jamming the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop any more wetness from escaping.

Another surge of anxiety hit him, twisting his stomach into knots. Wrapping his arms around his aching middle, he tumbled out of bed and lurched toward the bathroom. The light activated as he entered. He made it to the basin, where he splashed cold water onto his face. He didn't want to be sick again. There wasn't anything left in his stomach anyway.

Rodney gripped the edge of the basin until the shaking stopped. Very slowly he lifted his head to the mirror. He wasn't very happy with the man he saw reflected there, but he needed to look, to check. The dreams – the nightmares – had been so real. There were no marks on his neck….

Of course there weren't. That was foolish. Stupid.

And suddenly the bathroom was too small. The walls were closing in on him. He staggered from the small room into his quarters and stood in the center of the room. He still felt suffocated. He needed to be…somewhere else.

Dressing quickly, Rodney tried to block the images that still lingered in his mind.

He couldn't.

Zipping up the front of his shirt, he left his room for the dim corridors of the sleeping city.

oooOOOooo

He was wandering. He knew that. Trolling the halls. Usually it helped clear his mind, but tonight…

He couldn't shake the feeling that everything was falling apart. And he couldn't for the life of him figure out why it mattered. He'd spent years telling himself what people thought of him was no concern of his. Just get the job done. You couldn't get hurt that way. But here, in Atlantis, it was different. They wanted him. Well, he was always wanted back on Earth, too, but all they wanted was his mind. The rest of him just happened to be a package deal. But here…

Rodney stopped, drawing a hitching breath. On Atlantis he'd found a home, and more of a family than he'd ever known. And he had…friends. At least, he thought he'd been making progress in forming friendships...

But had he really? Friends weren't supposed to turn on you when you needed them the most. Were they? He'd never really had someone to confide in before. Someone whose opinion really mattered to him. Someone who accepted him for who he was, not simply for his genius. Someone with whom he shared a mutual trust. A trust he'd apparently broken.

Trust me.

He still wasn't really sure how. He could have gotten the generator to work. He knew it. He just needed more time. With time, anything was possible. In time, there would be a cure for cancer. And he had no doubt that in time, someone would solve P vs. NP. With time, he could have made that generator work. But there had been no time. And somehow that was his fault.

Trust me.

A sudden anger filled him and he clenched his hands into fists. He started moving again, his pace quicker. He wasn't even sure where he was, but it didn't matter. He just kept moving.

Trust me.

An ache formed in the center of his chest and blossomed out, making it difficult for him to catch his breath. He slowed to a stop, one hand going to his chest, the other to the wall for support. He needed to calm down. Maybe he should head back to his room. Where was he anyway? He looked up, tried to focus. He was…

…right in front of Sheppard's door.

For a moment, he was truly stunned. But then…He wanted to talk to Sheppard. Needed to. He had apologized, but he hadn't explained anything. He hadn't been given the opportunity. He needed Sheppard to understand. Of all people, Sheppard had to understand.

Rodney lifted his hand from the wall and straightened. He drew a deep breath that sent another pain through his chest, then lifted a hand to ring the bell.

Wait. What time was it? He checked his watch. Three AM? His shoulders sagged. Sheppard would kill him. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Rodney lowered his hand. He took a step back, staring at the closed door. How long would it be closed to him, he wondered? He turned to leave.

"Resorting to stalking now, McKay?"

Rodney gasped, startled. Before him stood Colonel Sheppard, clad in t-shirt and sweatpants. A white hand towel was draped around his neck, and his hair looked worse than ever.

"I—I…" Rodney tried to say something—anything—but coherent speech seemed to be eluding him at the moment. The hall tilted and became fuzzy. He didn't feel so good…

Yet it registered somewhere in the back of his mind that Sheppard was still standing there. His arms were folded across his chest, his head was tilted to one side, and his eyebrows were raised in that cocky fashion of his, but he was still standing there nonetheless. He wasn't trying to escape like last time.

Rodney lifted a hand, intending to run it over his face, but as the hall skewed again, he quickly reached for the wall instead.

"Rodney?"

Was that concern in Sheppard's voice? There was a roaring in his ears that made it hard to tell. Maybe…

A strong grip locked onto his arms and he suddenly realized he had started a slow slide to the floor.

"Maybe we should get you to the Infirmary," the colonel suggested, holding him steady.

Rodney blinked and everything snapped back into focus. The Infirmary? No. His dream… He pulled himself from Sheppard's support and shook his head emphatically. "No. I'm fine. Really."

"Then you want to tell me what you're doing outside my door at three in the morning?" Sheppard's eyes narrowed. "You really don't look so good."

"I just…can we talk?" There. He'd said it. It was out there. Now all he had to do was wait…

Sheppard ran a hand through his damp hair and shifted his weight to one hip. Both hands grabbed the ends of the towel and held on. "What's there to talk about, Rodney?"

Okay. Fine. Rodney's gaze began to wander, his fingers drumming against his palm. "How do you…What…" He sighed, closed his eyes and concentrated. "Haven't you ever lost someone…someone you were responsible for…and felt…like it was your fault?"

There was a long silence. Rodney opened his eyes and saw Sheppard staring at him, his mouth slightly agape as if he'd been ready to answer, but hadn't expected that question. His eyes glazed over for a moment, and Rodney saw his answer. He knew Sheppard was seeing it, too.

"Maybe you should talk to Heightmeyer," the colonel said finally. He turned toward his door.

"Colonel, please." Rodney took a step towards him, but stopped when Sheppard whirled on him.

"Damn it, McKay—" And then he stopped.

Rodney wasn't sure why, or what it was that so suddenly changed the colonel's mind, but it really didn't matter.

The attitude melted from Sheppard's stance and he sighed. "Yes, Rodney, I have."

Sheppard looked at him in earnest, and suddenly Rodney could see in his eyes all the pain he kept hidden. He couldn't hold that gaze. Maybe he'd overstepped the boundaries. Maybe… "I'm sorry," he muttered as he turned to go, not trusting his voice to keep steady.

A hand locked onto his arm, and he glanced back.

"Come on," Sheppard said with a nod towards the door. It slid open and he gave Rodney's arm a gentle tug before letting go.

Sheppard went inside, but Rodney stood in the open doorway. This was what he had wanted, wasn't it? A chance to talk, to mend the fence, as it were. So why was he so afraid?

"Are you coming, McKay, or are you just gonna stand there?" Sheppard pulled a chair up beside his bed, then sat on the edge of the mattress. "Hey, I just took all my frustrations out on the punching bag in the gym, so you've got nothing to worry about."

"So…I did before?" Rodney took a few tentative steps inside.

"Did what?"

"Have something to worry about?"

"A word of advice. When I'm really pissed off, it's best just to leave me alone."

"You mean you would have hit me?" Rodney paused.

Sheppard gave the question some thought and shrugged. "You came pretty close."

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea…"

"Sit down, McKay."

His fingers thrumming even faster now, Rodney approached the chair and sat down. He shifted this way and that, trying to find a comfortable position. He couldn't, and finally came to the conclusion it wasn't the chair. Sheppard was watching him, and the scrutiny was making him extremely uneasy. He crossed his legs in an attempt to look casual, and avoided the colonel's gaze by taking a sudden interest in the room's décor.

"Rodney?"

"Hmm?" Thrum, thrum, thrum. He focused on the wall just over the colonel's shoulder.

Sheppard leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. "So are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

"Oh, I, uh…"

"It's Collins, isn't it?"

Rodney froze. The mere mention of the young scientist's name sent waves of pain through his middle as though he'd been gut-punched. He ran shaking hands over his face, steepling them over his mouth as he considered how to respond. Did Sheppard really want to hear this? Maybe Heightmeyer really was the one he should be talking to…

"It's not your fault, Rodney."

Rodney's eyes glazed over as his vision turned inward and he remembered the horrific scene. "The whole mission was a complete disaster. Worthless. Collins died—" His voice broke and he paused to regain control. "Collins' death was meaningless."

"He died in the line of duty."

"He wasn't a soldier, Colonel," Rodney retorted more harshly than he'd intended. "He didn't sign on for this mission to have his—to die the way he did."

"My men didn't enlist to die." Sheppard voice was quiet, but intense.

"I…I didn't mean to…" Rodney sighed. Why was this so difficult? "I'm not saying they did, Colonel, I just—"

"You're just saying it's okay for people to die, as long as they're my people, not yours."

Rodney met Sheppard's gaze then, the anger returning. "That's not fair."

"No, it isn't."

"I didn't mean it that way and you know it."

Anger flared in Sheppard's eyes, then it was gone. His shoulders sagged and he looked exhausted, as if he wasn't getting any sleep either. "Yeah, I know that."

Rodney nodded, tempted to comment, but for reasons he couldn't fathom, he remained silent. The room became very quiet. Too quiet. The walls were starting to close in again. "I keep having nightmares," he said softly.

"Yeah," was all Sheppard said.

"How do you get them to stop?"

The colonel's shoulders rose and fell. "They just do…in time. Meantime, Beckett can give you something to help you sleep."

"No!" Rodney said too quickly, then softer, "No."

Sheppard gave an exasperated sigh. "Why not? So you can punish yourself? You think you're the only one who's lost people? It doesn't get any easier. And if it does, you're more of a self-centered bastard than I gave you credit for."

That hurt. Rodney felt his chin begin to tremble, and he clenched his jaw to stop it. He allowed anger to replace the hurt, and stood. "Look at the time," he said with all the venom he could muster. He didn't even bother to look down at Sheppard. "Thank you so much for your help, Colonel." He turned and strode to the door. It didn't open.

"Damn it, sit down and shut up."

Rodney's head rolled along with his eyes. "Excuse me?" He turned back toward the room.

Sheppard was standing now, his hands on his hips. "You heard me."

"Open the door, Colonel."

"McKay…"

"Open. The. Door!" he demanded.

"Sit." Sheppard pointed at the chair, his tone brooking no argument.

Rodney stood in stunned silence for a moment, then, "I'm not a dog," he grumbled, but obeyed nevertheless.

"Now shut up and listen."

Rodney opened his mouth to object, but Sheppard held up a warning finger. Snapping his mouth shut, Rodney folded his arms over his chest with an indignant huff. Although he exuded the epitome of arrogance, his emotions were tearing his insides to shreds. He was relieved, but at the same time he was afraid of how this would end. It had already gone badly…

"Look…" Sheppard began pacing up and down the length of the bed. "Contrary to what you might believe, I have not lost total faith in you. You are, without a doubt, the smartest man I have ever met…"

As Sheppard spoke, Rodney's irate posture began to melt. His arms dropped, and he suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

"…but sometimes you totally lack common sense. There is no doubt in my mind that if I hadn't been there with you, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now because you'd be dead." Sheppard stopped his pacing.

Rodney knew the colonel was looking down at him, but he avoided looking up as he mulled over what Sheppard had said. He wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. Finally, he said softly, "I guess it's a good thing you were with me…" He chanced a glance upward.

Sheppard sat on the edge of the bed again, so they were on the same level. His voice was softer this time, too. "That's just it, Rodney. I may not always be there to watch your back. I need to know that I can trust your judgment when I'm not around. For your sake, and for the rest of the team."

Rodney didn't know what to say.

The colonel spared him the task. "I don't like having nightmares either. So let's try to avoid the cause, okay?"

Rodney nodded, still at a loss for words.

"Now, get out of here and let me try to get some sleep."

He didn't miss the use of "try to." With another nod, Rodney stood and headed for the door. This time it opened.

"Rodney?"

He turned back at Sheppard's call.

"Collins' death wasn't meaningless as long as you remember."

With a final slow nod, Rodney left the room, the door sliding closed behind him. Remember what? Remember Collins? He was certain he would never forget. Or…was Sheppard trying to tell him there was some twisted moral to the story? As long as he'd learned his lesson everything was just peachy?

No. Rodney gave himself a mental slap. That wasn't it at all. Well, maybe it was in part, but…

Sheppard was right. Rodney had been so engrossed, so single-minded, that he'd lost sight of everything else. If someone other than Sheppard had been with him… He shuddered at the thought.

But…he was a scientist. It was all about becoming engrossed. Never giving up. And yet…

The rules were different here. They were dealing with things no one understood. Of course, they'd had exposure to Ancient technology on Earth, but here there was so much more. Items ranging from the innocuous to the destructive. He'd learned that pretty darned quick. Were the rewards really worth the cost? Yes, he was responsible for blowing up five eighths of a solar system. A dead one. That didn't hurt as much as the loss of one gifted young scientist.

I'm sure you can do it, if you really try.

The answer was there all along, but it had taken all this time for it to sink in. Okay, so there were some trust rebuilding that needed to be done, but Sheppard still believed in him. He couldn't ask for more than that.

As he headed back to his room, Rodney felt the exhaustion settle into every bone. But it wasn't a bad feeling. Maybe now he could get some sleep.

And he made a silent promise to Collins that it wasn't all for nothing.