A/N: Okay, some of you seem to think you're smarter than Rodney McKay and have completely figured out what's going on here. Cheeky little buggers. ;0) I won't say whether you're right or wrong, but I will say keep reading! Even if you've figured out some of the puzzle (all right, a chunk of it), there's more to the story.
Side note: This chapter turned out very different from what I'd originally envisioned. For one thing, I didn't plan to include Ronon. But he wandered in, and who's going to tell the big guy to get out? Not me...
Thanks again to beta Stealth Dragon. Not only have her writing suggestions been fabulous, but she also saved me from an embarrassing misspell. Thank you!
Keep the reviews coming. . . I love to hear what you all think. (Brilliant suppositions included. :-)
McKay paced along the front of the infirmary. His body ached, protesting every step, but he had too much nervous energy to stay still. "I'm not sick," he said. "And I'm definitely not crazy."
From his seat by the door, Sheppard held up his hands in a "hey-buddy-I-believe-you" gesture. "No one's saying you are."
"Really." McKay stopped, crossed his arms and looked pointedly at the door. "I'm free to go then?"
"Yeah, no."
He resumed pacing. "I know what I saw," he grumbled after a moment. "I know what happened and it was real."
"Just relax," Sheppard said. "Keller will be done reading your tests any minute now. Whatever she finds, we'll go from there."
McKay stopped stop short. Something in Sheppard's tone, his choice of words….
"Oh Christ," McKay said. "Carter's already called the SGC to get a shrink up here, hasn't she?"
When Sheppard didn't answer, McKay let out a squeak of indignation and started pacing faster.
"Rodney — " Sheppard said, but cut himself off. McKay turned to see Keller.
"Good news," she said. "I found no toxins, hallucinogens, parasites, or signs of infection in the blood tests. No concussion, tumor, aneurysm or signs of stroke on the scans. Not even any unusual brainwave activity."
"So we know what it isn't," Sheppard said. "Do we know what it is?"
"Well, there are definite signs of stress. His blood pressure's through the roof. He's jittery, distracted. He said he's had headaches and bouts of dizziness, but I can't find a physical cause for them."
"Hello!" McKay waved his hand in annoyance. "Standing right here."
"Dr. McKay — "
"Look, I know what this seems like. You're thinking I'm having trouble recognizing reality, that my accident with that device yesterday triggered some sort of, what, guilt complex over Carson?" He started pacing again. "I grieved for Carson, yes. I still miss him, yes. Who doesn't? And yeah, for a while there I blamed myself, thought there was something I could have done to prevent his death. But I'm telling you, I'm fine. Something else is going on here. And just because Carson died trying to save Watson's sorry ass, that doesn't mean I have some deep-seated fear that you two or Ronon or Zelenka or whoever could have died trying to save mine."
Keller and Sheppard were looking at him strangely. He stopped pacing.
"What?"
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The shrink was due in two days.
Stargate Command hadn't hired a full replacement for Heightmeyer yet, so it took some scrambling to find someone who could A, meet the security clearance requirements and B, deal on short notice with an unusual situation.
McKay wasn't sure whether "unusual situation" meant Atlantis or him.
From his spot in the infirmary, he didn't really care.
"Piercing headache, vertigo, and boom, Carson." McKay said under his breath. He'd given up pacing and was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds. "The first time it happened, I was asleep. Didn't feel anything. But last time. . . headache, vertigo, Carson. Then, you know, . . . headache, vertigo, Keller."
From the chair by the door, Ronon grunted but didn't interrupt.
"It means they're connected. Obviously. A biological response to a paranormal manifestation? No, jeez, Carson was real. It wasn't like I was talking to his ghost. A warning, then? A physical precursor to — " McKay snapped his fingers at Ronon. "I need my laptop."
"Sorry," Ronon said. "Can't do it."
"God!" McKay pounded his fist on the bed in frustration. "What do they think I'm going to do with a laptop?"
Ronon shrugged. "I dunno." Then a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Hallucinate a Wraith attack and set the citywide self-destruct?"
"Oh funny. You're hysterical."
It had been twelve hours since he last saw Carson and McKay protested to anyone who'd listen that he felt fine. Still, Keller refused to release him from the infirmary until she could find an organic cause for his hallucination or until the SGC shrink got there, whichever came first. His team members rotated four-hour shifts to keep him company. At least they called it keeping him company. It felt more like a rousing game of Guard the Crazy Man.
The infirmary doors slid open and Sheppard ambled in, yawning. He raised an eyebrow at McKay.
"How come you're still up? Thought Keller told you to get some rest."
In unison McKay and Ronon said, "Can't sleep."
"That's cute," Sheppard said. "Can you guys do any other tricks?"
Instead of answering, Ronon got up and stretched. He tapped Sheppard's shoulder lightly with his fist, like an odd Atlantis version of tag. "He's all yours."
"G'night, Ronon," McKay said.
"Night, McKay."
When Ronon was gone, Sheppard settled in the chair by the door.
"I need my laptop," McKay told him.
"You know I can't," Sheppard replied, sounding apologetic.
McKay sighed. He hadn't really expected any other answer. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he laid back and stared at the ceiling. A few moments later, the infirmary lights dimmed.
"I'm not sleeping," he said.
"I know. But it's almost one. At some point you might want to."
Everything was quiet for a few minutes. Then McKay heaved another sigh.
"No laptop," Sheppard said.
McKay shook his head, knowing even as he did it that Sheppard probably couldn't see the gesture. "It's not that."
"What?"
McKay propped himself up on his elbows and frowned into the darkness. "How can you not believe me?" he demanded.
The lights bumped up.
"I believe you, Rodney," Sheppard said from his chair. "I believe you saw Carson."
"No, you believe I saw Carson in my head."
"Well, okay, if you want to get technical about it…."
McKay sat up and stared at Sheppard accusingly. "How can you not believe me?"
The words hung heavy in the air between them.
"It's. . . ." Sheppard leaned forward. "God, Rodney. . . it's impossible. No matter how much we want to it be true, it's impossible."
"After all we've been through, how can you say that?" McKay asked, his voice rising. "Lots of things are impossible. Instantaneous intergalactic travel. Self-replicating nanites. Hell, the Lost City of Atlantis. All completely impossible. Until suddenly they weren't!"
He clenched his fists, breathing hard, as if he'd just made a mad dash to the Stargate with an angry mob of natives on his tail. He slowly relaxed his hands, forced himself to calm down.
"All right," Sheppard said.
What McKay heard was "Are you all right?" He nodded and ducked his head, embarrassed at his outburst. He wasn't angry with Sheppard. Shouldn't be, anyway. It wasn't Sheppard's fault he was here. Really, he was only trying to — wait. "Did you say 'All right'?"
"Come on." Sheppard got up and gestured to the door. "Before Keller comes in to check on you."
McKay hopped from the bed. "Where?" he asked suspiciously.
"To get your laptop."
"Now you believe me?"
Sheppard lifted his shoulders in a self-conscious half shrug. "I believe in you. The results are the same."
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Skulking through the dark, empty halls of the city, they grabbed McKay's laptop from his lab and went straight to a large east wing balcony, the place Sheppard hit golf balls and McKay often stargazed. If Keller found them gone, she'd likely look first in McKay's lab, then the mess hall. She didn't know either of them quite well enough yet for the balcony to make the top of her search list.
It was cool and calm outside, cloudless, with a new moon. Just the kind of night McKay loved to spend lying on the deck and looking at the stars. Instead, he sat cross-legged and hunched, working with the computer open on his lap. Sheppard sat nearby, leaning against the wall.
"So, what's going on here, do you think?" Sheppard asked.
McKay paused in his typing. With no moon, the darkness settled around them like a shroud. McKay's computer screen glowed faintly, but it didn't offer enough light for him to see Sheppard's face and gauge whether he was humoring him or asking seriously. He sounded like he meant it seriously.
"I don't know yet. My physical symptoms definitely seem linked to the. . . incidents. Piecing pain and vertigo, I see Carson. Piercing pain and vertigo, Carson's gone."
"So is that causing it? Or warning you it's about to happen? Or —"
"I don't know!" McKay snapped his laptop shut and pressed a hand to his forehead. The pounding was back.
"McKay?" Sheppard started to get up, only to have McKay wave him away.
"I'm just tired," he said, flipping the laptop open again. "And frustrated. It shouldn't be taking me this long to figure it out."
"Well, seeing Carson alive and well must be a bit distracting."
McKay snorted a kind of half laugh. "You could say that."
He heard Sheppard shift. Probably leaning against the wall again, or maybe stretching out.
"So, uh, how'd he look?" Sheppard asked.
"Who, Carson?"
"No, the Jolly Green Giant. Yes, Carson."
"He looked fine." McKay frowned at his laptop. He couldn't find the data he needed. "He looked like he always looked."
"No missing arms? Singe marks?"
McKay looked over, annoyed. "What are you…? No. No missing limbs. It was like the accident never happened."
"Huh." The word was tinged with wistfulness.
McKay softened. "Yeah."
After a moment, he stopped typing and looked up at the stars. "Actually, I remember he said he'd just gotten back from Scotland. A vacation, I think."
"That's nice. Good for him," Sheppard said. He sounded tired.
McKay turned his attention back to the computer. "You know, I —"
A blinding pain sliced through his skull and the world bobbed and weaved around him. He thought he heard Sheppard say something, but a strangled cry rose from McKay's throat, drowning out whatever the other man had said.
And then, just as suddenly, everything cleared.
McKay pushed the computer off his lap and leaned back on his hands to catch his breath. A hand on his shoulder made him jump.
"Hey, just me, McKay," Sheppard said, sounding concerned, more tired. "You all right?"
He nodded, a little more shakily than he would have liked.
"C'mon." Sheppard helped him to his feet. "Let's get you back to the infirmary before Keller starts looking for us."
A light turned on in the corridor.
"Too late," Sheppard said.
Things were clicking together slowly for McKay, but they were clicking. He put a hand on Sheppard's arm to stop him from going inside. "Hey, you might want to wait a — "
Beckett appeared in the doorway.
"Are you two daft? What part of 'restricted to the infirmary' didn't you understand?"
Sheppard's jaw dropped and he stumbled back against McKay.
"Shit," he said. And then because once didn't seem to be enough, "Shit."
McKay couldn't help saying it. "Told you so."
