Chapter 11 – Awkward Conversations
Rodney finished working on the sensor-system late in the evening; most residents of Atlantis had already gone to sleep. He stretched his back and got up from his chair. The long numbers of the codes started to dim into glimmering light-lines in front of his eyes, and when he could not chase it away anymore with a few quick blinks, he realized that he was too exhausted to go on. As he left the lab, a sudden thought occurred to him: he wanted to talk with John Sheppard about his odd behavior yesterday morning. He was just too busy with his research, and forgot about it, but now the wish to shed light on the case returned.
As he reached the corridor where Sheppard's private dwelling quarters were, he decided to try to settle things. He just did not know how to do that. As for talking about emotional matters, it was definitely not something he was used to. He was about to knock on the metallic surface of the door, but his hand stopped in the air. First, I should think through what I'd like to inquire about, he thought, but this idea made him more uncertain. He was not sure what exactly happened between his friend and him during the checking of the camera-records, what could cause that strange change of mood with John. What if he was mistaken and John wasn't angry with him? In that case he would just make a fool of himself. He decided to go back to his room to take a shower and try to sleep, so he turned away and made a few steps back, but then he came to a halt. What if he was not mistaken, and John was really hurt? Maybe, he said something truly offending, and he should have apologized for it? He returned to the door.
"Okay, Rodney, it'll be a few minutes' chat about trivia, nothing serious," he tried to reassure himself. "He won't laugh at you if you mention it, you just need to be as cool as possible."
He took a deep breath and knocked. As John opened the door, Rodney had butterflies in his stomach. Sheppard had his pyjamas on, and his hair was rumpled as if he had been woken up by the knock on his door, and Rodney found him so... sweet. Well, sweet is not the right word, he amended quickly in his thoughts. Funny. Yes, he looked funny as he blinked sleepily at the scientist.
"Hey, sorry for disturbing you, I just wanted to... erm..." Rodney got stuck in the middle of the sentence. He realized that he had no idea how he should have continued it.
"Come in," John invited him in gleefully, and it solved the awkward silence, McKay followed him in. He was happy that Sheppard did not seem to be affronted anymore. It might have meant that Rodney had been mistaken, and John had never been angry with him at all.
The room greeted Rodney with familiar warmth. He had already visited John three or four times with some matters that needed to be discussed immediately, though it was always a special occasion if he had the chance to enter the private room of Sheppard. He saw that the bed was made and the blanket was crumpled, so he was certain now that he woke up John. He felt a bit uneasy about it, he glanced at the other man apologetically, but as Sheppard smiled back amiably, he felt reassured. John sat down on the side of the bed, and he signed for Rodney to do the same too. McKay looked around nervously, and he caught sight of a chair in the opposite corner of the room. He took that chair, even though it was clearly not what Sheppard meant. The scientist felt somehow odd about sitting so close to John, and taking place in that distant chair gave him the illusion of comfortable stolidity.
"So, I was just coming to... er..." Rodney cleared his throat. "Yesterday morning there was a bothersome happening between the two of us, I guess..."
"What?" John asked with a smirk.
"I'm not sure," the scientist admitted, "But I felt that you got somehow hurt. Maybe, I said something, or I did what, I really don't know..."
"It's okay," John answered, still keeping a bright smile on his face. "It wasn't you, it was me."
"You? What do you mean?" Rodney looked at the other man dumbfounded.
"It was a stupid thing that came into my mind. You don't need to pay attention to it, it was really unimportant and completely off the point."
"But... what?" McKay now felt perfectly puzzled. "What was that?"
"Nothing, really nothing," John shrugged. "I don't think we should care about it."
"But-but... you seemed so affronted..." Rodney stammered. "I want to know the reason why..."
John got up from the bed, and he stepped in front of McKay, putting his left hand on the scientist's shoulder.
"I assure you it was really nothing important." He said calmly, but the way he was mysteriously avoiding to unveil the reason of his former bad mood made the whole case very bizarre and suspicious in Rodney's eyes.
"I see you don't want to talk about it..." he began, but John broke off, "It was so unimportant I even forgot what it was."
It was so obvious that he was lying, that Rodney just sat there agape, staring at him.
"You... forgot... it?" he repeated sarcastically, when he finally found words again. "Do you think I'm such an idiot that I will believe that?"
"Rodney, I think, you should go to sleep now," Sheppard said slowly. "You are tired, and maybe you just..."
"No, no, no, don't try to fool me!" The scientist got up from his chair, pushing away the other man's hand from his shoulder. "I thought we were friends or something like that, and we could talk about things."
"Wait, I've never said that we are not friends," John protested, but McKay walked round him and went to the door.
"You are right, I should leave now," he said sharply, and before Sheppard could have stopped him, he rushed out.
Rodney was not sure, why he left. Usually he was very stubborn, he always stuck to his questions, but now he felt that John would not share with him the reason of his behavior even if he had kept him questioning all night, and it hurt him more than he expected. He felt upset like he had never done before.
The steps of Doctor Weir going up the stairs echoed in the corridor which was full of morning light coming right through the huge windows looking at the ocean. As Elizabeth left the last corner, and reached the entrance leading to the ground where the Daedalus was resting, she stopped. She needed a minute to stand there, looking at the grayish blue waves underneath the city, preparing herself for the next conversation, and then she moaned silently and went on with her walk in the direction of the spaceship.
She found Caldwell alone in the main control room of the ship, sitting in the commander's seat and reading some reports.
"Good morning, colonel," she greeted him with a smile which was not returned.
"Good morning," he answered sternly.
"How are you?"
"What's the reason for your visit?" he asked in a strikingly unfriendly tone, neglecting her question.
"I... I've just got the report from Doctor Beckett about his examinations concerning the crew of the Daedalus," she told him, nervously adjusting the sleeves of her red jumper. "And... and I thought it would be appropriate to inform you that no member of your team has any sign of alien influence..."
"And I don't have any snakes in my head either," Caldwell added sarcastically, but he did not mean it as a light joke, his voice was cold as ice.
"No, no, of course you don't have any," she replied quickly, with a shamefaced blush appearing on her cheeks. "I'm sorry for even mentioning this Goa'uld-thing."
He gave no response. The silence began to linger on embarrassingly between the two of them, so Elizabeth went on, "Okay, that was all I wanted to say. I'd better go now and look after the new developments Zelenka made."
"Do that," Caldwell turned away from her, he did not seem to care about the fact that she came to tell him these few sentences in person, though it would have been enough to send him a message on the radio. It was so conspicuous that he excluded the opportunity to improve the miserably low quality of their relationship that Weir felt she had to say something before leaving. "Anyway, I have an hour or two free in the evening. Do you feel like joining me and playing chess?"
They used to play chess on their uneventful afternoons once or twice a week, but after the incident when Doctor Weir sent him away on the almost deadly mission to fight against the hives with the Daedalus and the help of the Orion, Caldwell did not accept her invitations anymore, he always found an excuse why he had no time to join her for a game. If it was just a coincidence or not, Elizabeth was not sure, though she suspected there must have been a connection between the two things. She made a resolution that if he declined this overture of hers again, she would make no further efforts to fraternize him.
Caldwell threw a somber glance at her, "I don't have any spare time today, I have reports to read," he told the see-through lie coolly.
"And what about tomorrow?" she risked the hopeless question, though she promised herself a moment before that she would stop trying as soon as possible.
"I can't make it tomorrow either." He did not even bother to give her an explanation why.
Doctor Weir sighed. "Okay, I understand. Well, I... I think I should really go now and check, if Zelenka..."
"How is the Wraith?" he asked sharply. "Is it still alive?"
"Yes, she is, naturally. She said nothing useful so far, but..."
"How surprising!" Caldwell interjected scornfully. "Or did you expect the brilliant John Sheppard's wonderful idea to work in ten minutes?"
"Why the hell do you speak about John with this distasteful sarcasm?" she asked irritated.
"He is jealous because he is not as intelligent, handsome and laid-back as Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard," they heard suddenly from the background. Both Weir and Caldwell turned astonished in the direction of the voice. Hermiod was standing there by a bracket, typing something on a keyboard.
At first, Caldwell's cheeks turned red, and then they grew very pale as he recognized the whole meaning of what the Asgard said. He stared at Hermiod and felt an intense desire to grab his gun and shoot him down. First, it was embarrassing that his childish jealousy of John Sheppard was so obvious that even an Asgard found out about it. Secondly, the fact that Hermiod shared the colonel's thoughts about John being much better than he was, did not feel the most pleasant. And the third thing, which was the worst, that the damned Asgard had to say it in front of Elizabeth Weir. It almost drove Caldwell mad, how much Weir seemed to idolize John Sheppard, to hang on every word he said, to stand by any plan he had, and she had never even noticed Caldwell and his efforts to do the right thing or the sacrifices he made for Atlantis. And now this idiotic alien emphasized the fact in Elizabeth's presence how much Sheppard was smarter than the colonel!
He felt that protesting against the Asgard's obviously true theory would make him look even more pathetic, he knew that the simplest answer "No, no, I'm not jealous in the least" would just show how much it cut him to the quick what the Asgard said, but what else he could respond, he was not sure. He was unable to look at Weir because he did not want to see pity or taunt in her eyes, so he turned entirely in the direction of Hermiod.
"Did I say something rude?" the Asgard asked innocently as he noticed the expression on the colonel's face. "According to your human habits, was it offending what I said? Is it a bad thing to compare someone to another person?"
Caldwell began to wonder if he should have rather shot himself instead of the Asgard, it would be a much quicker way to be quit of the humiliating situation.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he snarled.
"I just came to check the alarm-system," Hermiod replied calmly.
"And who asked your opinion? We were having a private conversation with Doctor Weir, in case you did not notice..."
"Okay, I see. I only wanted to answer her question," the Asgard apologized.
Caldwell clenched his fists so forcefully that it was almost painful. He felt so awkward that he decided to simply leave as fast as possible before he would lose all that remained of his dignity.
"Alright," he nodded briefly. "I think we have finished our discussion, haven't we?" he asked quickly, and, still not looking at her or not waiting for her answer, he left the room with stiltedly calm steps.
The Asgard turned to Doctor Weir, who was biting her lower lip as she was trying hard not to say a word.
"Was it rude what I stated about him?" Hermiod inquired.
She sighed, "Yes, it was. If you want to be polite, you'd better not refer to anyone's negative feelings if they don't mention them."
"Why not?"
"Because it's an intimate, private thing. But the second part of your sentence was the really hurtful one. You should not compare someone to a person he doesn't like, especially not the way you did." As she gave the quick explanation, she wanted to leave, but the Asgard stopped her suddenly, "You are bleeding."
She came to a halt. "What?"
"Your mouth," he added.
She lifted her hand hastily, and touched her lower lip. Hermiod was right, she bit herself so violently - when she was trying to stop herself from sharing her opinion on the Caldwell-Sheppard topic, for she knew her thoughts about it were not really something she should have revealed - that her lip got surprisingly injured, and now as she took away her hand from it, she could see that her fingers were covered with red blood.
"Oh, no," she moaned, blushing. "I'll go now and... and wash it off..." she mumbled, and hurriedly left the room before the Asgard could inquire about the question how she could bit herself with such force accidentally.
