Spoilers: All of season 1. Set in Season 2 but AU really.

A/N: This is a pretty harsh and muddled up ship piece. It has McKay/Heightmeyer, implied Sheppard/Weir and unrequited McKay/Weir. You could probably call it extreme angst fic because it is that harsh, not one to read if you like fluffy stories.

Warning: For sexual content and a couple of swear words. I don't think it's so explicit as to have an MA rating (Mature Adults Only) but it may be borderline and if anyone disagrees please tell me, otherwise I'm hoping it's fine as M rated and with the warning for content.

Judgement
Everyday he slaved. Sleepless, practically a workaholic now, but it was his fault, he deserved whatever discomfort came to him.
He'd do anything to take it back - to not blurt out those words naively. He'd missed what he'd done just as much as he'd been oblivious to Allina's attentions, and now they all paid for his mistake. What was a little sleep compared to life or death?

He was pushing himself, he knew, but it was the price for his stupidity. Besides that he found no peace laying awake in his bed staring at the ceiling. His head would buzz with thoughts and on the rare occasion he fell into dreaming he would awake in a cold sweat plagued by the visions of things he'd tried to bury deep within.

Even now the crisis was over he carried on working, minimum sleep except for his collapse after the end. Elizabeth had come to visit him on the infirmary, concerned, but had quickly skipped over to John's bed to see how he was faring. John Sheppard - everybody's favourite hero. He ought to be dead but he always managed to get out of trouble relatively unscathed. And he was the hero right now, as if no one else mattered but the dead personnel, and the soon to be Lt. Col. Sheppard. Rodney was arguably closer to death than John but what did that matter to her?

But Kate cared. Kate the shrink, who he'd thought clinical and cold hearted. She was far from it he'd discovered - passionate and brilliant - exactly the type of woman he could go for. He could even ignore the shrink bit considering she had bouncy blonde curls and a smile that lit up for him. She'd been waiting to see him, concerned for his health – there as a colleague, a new found friend, and possibly more...

There was an irony to this. That he'd lied weeks ago, implicating them to Teyla. He wasn't sure he'd gotten away with it but it hurt to think it was now true. Him and Kate. Perfect match. everything just fine, logically. Except it wasn't.

And so why where they here in his quarters after their fifth 'date'? As much as you could call MRE's in the mess hall as date. And why had he let her in? Into his mind, into his quarters, into his pants...

It was wrong. Very clearly wrong. She was everything he could wish for, at least out here. Scratch that, she was a wonderful woman.
And more importantly she liked him, put up with him; wanted him. He didn't want to refuse her, he'd already held off for five dates, rather odd for all the scientists who were pairing up and hopping off to shag like rabid bunnies. And it wasn't like he didn't want sex. After all he'd not been with anyone for god knew how long. Way before Antarctica at least. It was comfort. Not that Kate should know that.

She'd pushed him back onto his bed by now. Grinning seductively at him and he'd taken that with a small nervous smile. If she'd noted his expression she didn't show it, she carried on, running her hands down the sides of his naked chest . Hands coming to rest on his hips as she climbed up onto the bed to straddle him.

He closed his eyes as she ran her thumbs in circles, her hands however not moving, stuck in their teasing position below his waist. She only sat there, legs on either side of his own, weight resting partially on his body. He realised she was too far down for what he was expecting and the thoughts caught up - interrupted by the feel of her mouth kissing him through his underwear. The warm damp breath felt exotic on his skin, reminding him of the long since missing feel of another body on his.

Comfort he reminded himself. It was always comfort round here, anyone who thought it was anything more, anything as foolish as love was an idiot. Just hormones - a zilllion chemical reactions - just like those that made him want that touch, the reluctantly received contact that he couldn't resist.

Nothing meant anything - he wanted to believe that so desperately. Because then maybe he could explain away his feelings. Inject some logic back into his head and stop wanting something he couldn't have; something he shouldn't want.

That was one of the reasons he kept his eyes screwed shut as Kate took his erection into her mouth. Without seeing her face he could pretend she was who he really wanted to be there. Fingers, mouths, tongues- they all felt the same mostly. It was easy to imagine it was anyone sucking on him and driving him crazy. He'd had no idea she was such a tease though- stopping and starting, employing every trick in the book to please him rather evilly by denying him.Only denial didn't always work that well he mused. Sure it made him feel better than he had in ages in this case but denial of what he truly wanted lingered there.

He wondered if she'd tease him like this - with a flick of the tongue on the most sensitive part and a smile as she kissed the tip; which kind of spoiled his dream, the reality of Kate breaking up his fantasy of who it was there.

And there he was back to where it was wrong. Looking down he saw Kate, hair spread out like an angel, doing this for him because she cared about him, because she might even love him he supposed. It wasn't duty or comfort or friendly fuck. Kate was the one that wanted him. Kate was the only in front of him doing unspeakable things to him that he didn't want to stop. Things he'd only dreamt of, but then he'd dreamt of them with her and not Kate. His body shook under Kate's touch but his mind screamed traitor at him for accepting this.

For what? For accepting reality, that he was royally screwed up and would never be able to say the truth? For being the worst kind of man? A coward. Couldn't tell her Kate the truth let alone admit he was one of those foolish to believe in something more after all, something that wasn't returned. A moronic abysmal love that was more trouble than it was worth. One that should never be unearthed. Worse was that he wasn't sure who's name he say when he came - but he already knew he'd wouldn't be thinking of Kate and that was enough to make it wrong.

He sat up abruptly and feebly tried to gently tear Kate away from him. She looked up worried, eyes searching him for answers.
He couldn't say anything - he only knew he couldn't do this. Bizarrely, she smiled at him, a bittersweet expression but one of understanding.
She withdrew carefully, sitting next to him and stroking his back tenderly. "I know"

"What?" he asked, trying to figure out what she meant.

"Did you think I couldn't tell, Rodney?" she asked, a slight hint of hurt.

"What do you mean?" he blurted out, knowing it was impossible to cover up if she really did know. And oh God, she did know, didn't she? Everything probably. He closed his eyes wanting to shut it all out. This wasn't happening, none of it. Not tonight, not any of it and particularly not her knowing what was going on.

She carried on, explaining how she knew exactly what he'd feared, but her voice held no hate in it. "I know how you feel about her, I just thought we might be able to make this work. Bit crazy of me really but..."

There it was, the human capacity for self-deception. Possibly the greatest flaw, only it was what helped them all cope. She wanted to believe he could love her and so did he.

"You wanted to pretend?" he said, not actually asking.

"Yes." she admitted with a small sigh.

"That's the stupidest thing I've heard for a long time." he replied, finally opening his eyes to meet the harsh light of the room. The words were insulting but he didn't say it with any menace. Wasn't like he could judge her, or anyone in this.

"Yes, it is and so is what you're doing. Why don't you just tell her?"

He knew, Kate knew. Did everyone or anyone else know? Was it there, on show, ready for their amusement? He doubted this fear and besides that what good would it do. Things couldn't get much worse but there was still that last leg, the stretch down into it being a complete nightmare and living hell for him.

"I can't! Do you have any clue how monumentally bad that idea is!" he asked indignantly.

"The truth's good for you, cleanses the soul." she offered, not getting angry with him at all. That was one of the good things about Kate. One of the things he liked about her. She took him as he was, or at least she had.

"Don't try getting all metaphysical on me." he warned, mocking her gently; unusually for him.

"Better than me getting physical on you." she retorted playfully.

"Don't get me wrong, its not I didn't like it. Far from it; you do things that would make succubi blush. "

That elicited a lovely smile from a very gracious Kate, "I know," she looked like she could laugh almost, but it faded quickly into a sad honesty, "But I'm not her... and...you... you wanted it to be her."

He knew then why this had been a mistake, no one could fool Kate, except herself he thought wryly.

"Goodbye, Rodney." she said as she reached the door, touching the panel to open it and giving him a surprisingly friendly glance before she left. He didn't follow her, what was the point, that was for when you wanted the person.

Leaving him there on his bed, excitement not having faded despite the depressing tone of what had happened. He needed to feel better. Almost anything was better than this. So he began to rub himself with sure strokes as the tears started to fall. Through closed lids he only felt their slow hot trail down his cheeks. Cheeks he wished she might run her hand across and take his fear away.

Maybe he did love her. He had this ache in his heart that wouldn't go away – desire he could deal with by himself, as and when it came up. He could even take being lonely. It was that she was here, so close but not here with him and not thinking of him either. She didn't love him. He'd never asked her but how could he? All he knew was that he loved her.

It was the worst thing he could believe and he didn't even want to. He wanted it to be something he could ignore but evidently it wasn't like he like could quell the returning desire for her anymore than he could deal with the stabs of pain at how things really were. Of just how happy Elizabeth was that John survived. John, one of his best friends – his superior just like her. John the fucking hero who could be screwing her right now for all he knew.

That's why he felt guilty. She wasn't simply someone he couldn't have. She was someone who everything pointed to John having and he should have been happy about that. They were both his friends, both so very happy, sickeningly happy together if that's what was going on as he suspected. It would make sense if he was happy for them and that was where he felt like an idiot, because he couldn't be more miserable and he hated himself for wanting her.

He hated himself because he was thinking of her lips around him instead of Kate's. And he hates that he's thinking now how perfect she is – almost funny how he compares. She's beautiful, wise, graceful, she makes the arguments go way and has a smile that makes his stomach sink. That's just for starters too. Top of his list, the one he's spent too much time putting together.

And he has another one too. Reason why not, what's wrong with him wanting her, what's wrong with him full stop. He's bumbling, thinks he knows best even though that's largely not true and he makes mistakes – ones that others pay for. He has a lopsided grin, unsymmetrical – mathematically defined as not handsome. And wait there's more; he's always the on who can't stop himself putting his foot in his mouth, he makes the arguments, gets in her way.

She always calms him down and he used to hope that meant more but now he's not sure. There might have been looks galore, touches that hinted at more, but they can't have meant anything – it was only ever him who stood there for a second after their banter, waiting for her controlled teasing to break out , that she'd kiss him with a passion no one had ever seen.

That's what he thinks of now. Of perfect Elizabeth Weir on top of him losing her careful facade, a fever in her blood for him, her calling his name erotically. Her making his pain go away, creating joy where he'd never expected him to feel any. Her filling the ache he has because he knows she's the only who can help him now. He's dependant on her and he doesn't even have her – a tie never formed that feels like its cut off bluntly – his lifeline gone and he's slowly drowning. Life the sea and the water his tears, his melancholy.

Most of all he despises that he can't make it go away, can't trick himself even, into taking less. He only hurt himself more and Kate in the process.

He hated himself for this and because here he was jerking off over Elizabeth Weir. All the while crying because it was pathetic and despicable, and exactly what he wanted without being it at all.