-4-

"Maybe you're just out of—"

"For the love of god, do not finish that sentence!"

"...eh?"

Rodney pointed an angry finger at the man in front of him. "For your information, there's nothing you can do—and why the hell am I bringing this up? Your blank stare tells me that, as expected, you have no idea what you just said to me."

John stared at him like he had sprouted an extra head. "I'm... sorry?"

"Don't apologize if you can't remember your own idiotic statements."

"You've lost me," John shook his head. "I thought we were talking about—"

"Look, it really doesn't matter, and I've already wasted a good fifteen seconds that could have been spent doing something more useful."

"But—"

"No, no, you get to listen to me. We are stuck in the Groundhog's Day from Hell. We have seventeen fun-filled minutes of mind-numbing repetitiveness in which I have to fix that machine," Rodney pointed to the mild-mannered console standing next to him, "before Loopy Lupin from what you remember as 'this morning' decides to storm this marvelous fortress and start shooting up the place."

"What I remember as this morning?"

"For all I know a week has passed in the real world, making this the longest day of my life. So if you didn't get the Groundhog's Day reference, we're stuck in a time loop – an absurdly short one at that!"

"That's a little hard to swallow in thirty seconds or less."

"Well, I don't have the time and I'm sick of repeating myself." Rodney set the tablet aside and grabbed his bag, his hand going through the practiced motion of finding the screwdriver. "And I'm supposed to remind you about Denver, whatever that means."

"Denver?" John wrinkled his nose. "What the hell does Denver have to do with anything?"

"Maybe it was Derry—Danvers maybe?"

John went rigid, eyes widening in shock as the name registered. "Danvers? How the hell do you know—"

"You told me to bring it up, in your typical cryptic manner."

"I told you?"

"You were pretty damn insistent about it," Rodney paused, not liking the look on his friend's face. "Why? What does it mean?"

And like that the walls went back up, and John's tight smile was the only indication of any negative emotion associated with the name. "So, you mentioned something about a time loop?"

Rodney blinked, "Um, yes."

"And an ambush." John's expression darkened for a moment, but then it was gone. He tapped his radio, glancing at Rodney briefly with an unreadable expression. "Ronon, Teyla, we need to regroup. We've got trouble coming."

"You believe me?"

"You look surprised," John commented lightly, although the levity seemed forced.

"It's just that usually you accuse me of having a concussion – or being on drugs."

"Should I?"

"No... it's kind of nice."

"Then you get to working on that machine." John flicked a glance in Ronon and Teyla's direction as they joined them on the platform. "We don't have a lot of time, right?"

"Right," Rodney muttered, dropping to the ground. "Sheppard?"

"Yeah?"

"Who's Danvers?"

He froze, the mask slipping for just a moment before he caught himself. "Someone I don't like thinking about."

"Way to be cryptic," Rodney grumbled, but disappeared under the console. Even though his curiosity was piqued, he didn't have the time it would take to get Sheppard to open up about the name. He probably still wouldn't have enough even if he had all of the time the universe had to offer.

"You mentioned trouble?" He heard Ronon rumble, but focused his attention on popping off the panels near the front.

At the back corner, he could see the live wire still dancing with electricity. When they got back to Atlantis, the first order of business was making sure that every offworld team never left the city without a pair of insulated gloves. He didn't care if they were just taking a quick stroll through the agrarian fields of M83-810, they were going to have a pair to put on in case the ground sprouted dozens of sentient, sparking, uninsulated wires.

"Rodney," John stated, his strident tone indicating it wasn't the first time he'd called the name.

"A little busy down here!" He snapped, slamming the pieces of paneling to the ground. How many times did he have to tell the man about—oh, right, he hadn't mentioned it yet. "It's not like I'm trying to save us all from being trapped in this hell for eternity or anything."

The shifting of light and a stretching, spiky-haired shadow indicated that John was trying to peer under the console. "We need to know what Lupin's going to do."

"He usually tries to sneak up and catch one of you off-guard – but that was before I knew that he knew what we did each time."

"Come again?"

"I have thirteen minutes," Rodney moved aside so that the sparking wire could be seen from John's vantage point, "to get past that and figure out why this thing isn't shutting down. I cannot be the intergalactic repair man and military strategist against an army of thugs run by the village idiot!"

"Look—"

"I just need you to hold him off," he tried for patience, although it might have come out closer to condescending, "long enough to be able to figure this out. Preferably without any of you getting killed."

"All right." The figure moved away, letting the afternoon light back in. "Just hang in there, okay?"

"I'm trying," Rodney muttered, turning back to the panel.

He took in a deep, steadying breath, before clamping the two pieces of paneling around the wire. Wire successfully trapped, he carefully pulled it away so he could get a closer look at the circuitry behind it. Even in the dim lighting, he could see that one of the crystals was blackened and dull.

He reached in, being careful to avoid touching anything conductive in case the whole circuit was hot, and pulled out the bad crystal. The panel gave a brief blue glow, before another surge of electricity sparked from it.

Tucking the bad crystal into his palm, he set down the trapped wire and pulled himself out into the light for a better look. John was still guarding the front of the console, and merely grunted as he moved to the side to make room for Rodney. At first sight, the platform seemed deserted. It took him several moments to finally spot Ronon and Teyla melting behind the other two corners, weapons drawn and ready.

He furrowed his brow at John, who pointed towards the woods and none too gently tried to push Rodney back under the machine. He bristled at having to hide, but carefully slithered back under in a way so he could still poke his head out easily in order to have some light to work with.

John gave him an irritated look, but Rodney ignored him and simply held the crystal up to the sunlight, trying to mentally catalogue it.

"Doctor Mêlée!" The call came across the distance, strident and full of fury. "Show yourself!"

Rodney almost dropped the crystal in shock. He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath, grip tightening on the object in his hands. When he felt in control enough he opened his eyes, seeing John watching him intently, mouth set in a grim line.

Rodney started to open his mouth, but John made a shushing motion. Reluctantly, he fell silent.

"We both know you are in there!"

It went against Rodney's very nature to be quiet, especially when it was that man and his grating, insane demands.

"I hope you've decided to come to your senses and just help me!"

Rodney started to respond, but John beat him to it.

"McKay's a little busy right now, Lupin. Come back next loop!"

"Hey!" Rodney whispered harshly. "I thought we were being quiet!"

"No, you're being quiet. He's baiting you."

"And you're an expert on him all of the sudden?"

"Nope, just keeping him busy." John quirked an eyebrow. "Isn't that what you need?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Ten minutes, McKay."

"I know that!"

"Then why are you arguing with me?"

"Because you started it!"

"I did not!"

"I was not speaking with you, Sheppard!" Lupin's voice cut back in, closer this time. "This is between me and Dr. Mackarel!"

"We've all got our own disappointments in life, Lupey," John raised his voice again, but gave Rodney a hard stare. "Yours will just have to be dealing with me."

Rodney started to peer around the corner the console, but a hard smack to his shoulder from John had him ducking his head back.

"That hurt."

"A bullet to the brain would hurt more."

"Oh, trust me, I know!"

John's expression tightened. "You do?"

"Look, that's not important right now—"

"The hell it isn't."

"I'm fine now!"

A dark look settled over John's face. "We're talking about this later."

"If you remember," Rodney snorted. "Which you probably won't."

"Oh, I will if you fix the machine," John growled. "You do your job and I'll do mine."

"Fine!" Rodney growled, shifting and turning so that his back was to John.

It was bad enough he had the responsibility of the team hanging over his head, dealing with his team leader's issues was not Rodney's problem. He forced his attention back to the crystal, and tried to drown out Lupin's angry shouting with his own thoughts. If he didn't focus, then this would never end – and Rodney needed it to end almost more than anything.

The crystal was a little thicker than his index finger and would have been a light, clear blue had it not been scorched. It was almost identical to the ones found in the DHDs, part of the systems responsible for regulating the power of it and the Stargate.

Damn it.

The unregulated power output most likely was overriding the signal from the tablet, which would explain the unresponsive interface. Sadly, Rodney needed that to work since he had yet to find a switch labeled "OFF" in Ancient.

He massaged his forehead with one hand, trying to knead the answer out of his muddled thoughts. The clock was ticking, John and Lupin were still shouting, and Rodney couldn't replace the damaged crystal with what he had on hand. He could feel despair creeping up, and he was sorely tempted to give in as the shouts gave way to gunfire.

He was smarter than this. He was Rodney McKay, the most brilliant man in two galaxies, and he had fixed things with fewer resources and a lot more riding on his shoulders.

Okay, he couldn't replace the crystal, couldn't fix it and use it to restore the machine's function to normal. That was fine. He didn't want to use the stupid thing, he just wanted to shut it down. Or blow it up. He was sure Sheppard had a little C-4 on him. That would be rather satisfying—

—not to mention a bad idea. It was drawing massive amounts of power. Power that had nowhere to go.

Nowhere but back to itself.

"That's it," he muttered to himself as he eyed the sparking panel. "That's it!"

"What's it?" John practically shouted as he ducked back behind the console.

"I may have figured it out!" Rodney crowed excitedly, pulling himself out from under the machine.

"About time." John grinned. "So what are you waiting for?"

"I just need a few things from my bag."

"Your bag?" John's eyes tracked across the open area to where the backpack lay, discarded and forgotten in Rodney's earlier haste. "Crap."

"My thoughts exactly," Rodney let out a shuttered breath, not believing what he was about to do. "Cover me."

"No," the pilot shook his head emphatically, "no way in hell."

"I need that pack, Sheppard."

"Then you cover me."

It was only a few feet. Chances were John could make it there and back safely in no time. Certainly faster than Rodney could. Really, it was just logical to let him take the risk.

But in the back of his mind, Rodney could still hear the single report of a gun, the sickening thud of flesh meeting the ground, and his own heart pounding in his ears. He couldn't... no... he wasn't going through that again.

"All right," Rodney nodded tightly, "just give me a second to get ready."

John unclipped the P-90 from his vest, preparing for the run. "Take your time."

He grabbed a hold of the other man's vest in a gesture of camaraderie. "Just so you know, I think this is a really stupid idea."

John smiled tightly. "I know."

"Good."

Using his grip on John, Rodney launched himself forward, the momentum shoving the pilot to the ground. The gunfire was almost deafening, and it had to be his imagination when he felt something whiz by his ear. He couldn't see where Ronon and Teyla were anymore, he had to hope they were okay if he was right about being able to fix things before this loop was up.

"McKay!" Oh, John sounded pissed. If Rodney's plan worked he was never going to hear the end of this.

This referring to what Rodney was sure was the absolute stupidest act in the history of stupid, heroic feats of bravery. He dove for the pack on the ground, feeling training from his self-defense lessons take in as he rolled with it to the edge of the platform. Well, part one completed. Now he just had to get back to the machine.

He flashed John a shaky grin. Take that Lieutenant Colonel Action Hero.

John wasn't grinning, though. In fact, he was shouting something.

"What?" He shouted back, really wishing the guns would stop for a few seconds so they could have a decent conversation.

"He said," the hairs on the back of Rodney's neck raised as the cool metal of the barrel of a shotgun met the nape of his neck, "behind you."

"Not again." Rodney tightened his arms around the pack, practically hugging it to his chest. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because," Lupin growled, "this machine is my destiny. Now get up and turn around."

"We both know it won't matter," Rodney said, but struggled up to his feet, turning to face his nemesis with the bag still pressed to his chest. "Nothing either of us does matters. You could shoot me every single time, but I'll still come back."

"I know," Lupin raised the gun to bear, "but that doesn't make it any less satisfying."

If the report of the nine millimeter was loud, the shotgun's was deafening. However Lupin's aim must have deteriorated, because instead of an explosion of pain across his chest, it just clipped his shoulder and sent him spiraling to the ground.

Geez, that didn't even hurt.

"Your aim sucks," Rodney snapped, angrily shoving at the heavy weight of the pack. "You didn't come close—"

The taunt died on his lips as the pack groaned at his touch, and Rodney's hand came away covered in red. In fact, the pack was remarkably human-shaped, and managed to roll away on its own accord, revealing itself to actually be human.

A human with a chest and torso full of buckshot, tac-vest practically shredded by the close proximity of the blast that he had been shoved out of.

"No," he murmured, crawling up to his friend's side, "no!"

This wasn't supposed to happen. God damn, stupid flyboys and their hero complexes. He had figured it out. They were going to get out of this—he reached John's shoulder and shook him harshly.

The action managed to elicit a strangled groan. "Ow."

"You stupid..." Rodney's voice shook. "Suicidal... stupid..."

"You already said stupid," he whispered painfully.

"I can repeat myself!" Rodney cried angrily. "I've been repeating myself forever!"

"Sorry," John coughed, his entire body shuddering with the action. "This kind of hurts."

"News flash, you were just shot!"

"Jealous?" Only John Sheppard could be in agony and stay flippant at the exact same time.

"No, I'm not—oh, god, there's blood everywhere."

"Sorry 'bout that."

"Stop apologizing!"

The movement of the chest beneath his hand grew more erratic, breaths more stuttered. This couldn't be happening. Not again. Not again.

"Again?" There was a hand, tightly gripping his forearm. "Rodney?"

His throat closed up as he looked down to see John staring back at him – expression stoic, trying to hide the pain that Rodney could literally feel under his hands as the pilot's breathing grew more labored.

"Rodney." Fingernails dug into his arm, hard enough to be painful. "Next time—make sure you remind me."

He wanted to ask, "About what?", but couldn't get the words past the lump in his throat. In a few minutes this wouldn't matter, because technically Rodney wouldn't need to make a mad dash across the platform, Lupin wouldn't be waiting for him, and no kamikaze pilots would take the blast meant for him. None of this would matter because it wouldn't have happened.

"You remind me," John's voice was as hard as nails digging into Rodney's arms, "about Danvers."

The strength went out then, John's grip on Rodney going lax. The chest beneath his hand depressed one final time before he stilled completely. Everything around him was silent. There were no roars of denial from Ronon, no gasps from Teyla, quite possibly because they were dead too.

Rodney had clutched to a rope since this slow descent into hell started. It had begun to fray with each successive loop, until he was left with one single, strong thread – a thread that tethered him to reality despite everything pushing him closer to the edge. He was dangling now, could see the pit yawning before him, an inky maw beckoning, waiting for him to lose his grip.

"Damn," Lupin pushed the dead body with his toe, "not as satisfying the second time around."

The thread snapped.