Chapter 13. The Capacity to "Get It."

Rodney had no doubt their quiet breakfast with Jeannie this morning was only held in place by his desire to look like a normal, well-adjusted adult with reasonable family ties as much as Jeannie's disinclination to disappoint Pippin. It was a little something like habit, given the three-week trip on the Daedalus. Pippin had been bored out of his mind the whole way back, but there wasn't much Rodney could tell him to do except to work on his school work.

Even still, this breakfast felt like the first one he'd had with her in a long time. And that was sad, wasn't it? A little? Especially since he couldn't think of anything to talk about that wasn't work-related.

They really should have gotten right to work yesterday, but… well, Pippin was eager to get home and Rodney had to admit to a certain amount of inexplicable jetlag. Rodney didn't know what Jeannie did for dinner, but he expected it had something to do with Sheppard. Maybe Zelenka.

He didn't want to say bringing her here was a mistake, but he could only imagine the stories…

"Very nice," Jeannie was saying to the presentation of a drawing Pippin had been working on over the trip on the Daedalus. She looked at Rodney, spun the page around, and pushed it toward him for his approval. "You didn't mention Pippin was an artist when you called."

Rodney shrugged and pulled the sheet of paper toward him. "I didn't know it at the time," Rodney said, and then nudged Pippin with his elbow. "Is this what I think it is?" He realized he shouldn't have asked that, since he hadn't exactly explained in detail about the Goa'uld to Jeannie.

It really was, he had to admit, good. Pippin's technical skill in recreating scenes around Atlantis in pencil and paper were beyond what he would assume the average thirteen-year-old could do. But this was an Asgard, or what looked like an Asgard, engaged in some kind of firefight with a very large Goa'uld-like creature—the snake, not the possessed human. It was in a realistic sort-of comic book style, the shading accomplished with a rubbed crosshatch, and a lot of the texture owed to stippling.

Pippin looked, nodded, and went back to his toast. "Yeah. That's Hermiod."

"Oh."

That was not at all what Rodney was referring to, but he wasn't about to argue with that. "Well, it's good." Still, he focused hard on the Goa'uld that had to be the size of a Stargate. Pippin would have seen pictures of the aliens, but… he hoped those pictures included things like quarters, for scale.

"Can you get it to him?" Pippin asked, almost as if it were an idle inquiry.

"I—?" Pausing a beat to imagine that nigh inconceivable scene, Rodney looked to Jeannie, as if she could somehow help with that question. Of course, she couldn't. She'd known Hermiod three weeks, if those three weeks on the Daedalus actually counted for anything. "I don't know? I guess?"

He could just see it now. He would present the drawing to Hermiod, explaining what it was. Hermiod would be able to see that it was an Asgard (hopefully that looked like him, as opposed to some other Asgard) and that it was an out-of-scale Goa'uld. And, of course, being Hermiod, he would make a comment on how wildly inaccurate it was. Rodney couldn't disagree if he did. Would Hermiod even get it?

Did Rodney get it?

"Why?" Rodney found himself asking, not really sure what he was asking about. Why give it to Hermiod? Sure, a valid inquiry. Why draw a picture of Hermiod as a space commando in the first place? Again, another valid question. Why was the Goa'uld so big? He was sure there was something to be said for the fact that the Asgard and the Goa'uld were both alone, dodging between trees as the snake-like alien was obviously trying to eat the Asgard. Why was Hermiod screaming? Or was he just yelling? Space commandos did that, probably.

Should he give this to Doctor Heightmeyer first? What the hell.

"Because he's always nice, I think," Pippin said with a shrug. So, answering the question why give it to Hermiod. And how was he supposed to set Pippin straight that Hermiod was vulgar, rude, and condescending? "For an alien, I mean."

Jeannie stifled a giggle. "How many aliens have you met?"

Pippin shrugged again, and looked at Rodney. "Are the Athosians aliens?"

"Yeah, we're all aliens." Rodney sighed and flicked a shard of scrambled egg across his plate. "Technically speaking, none of us originated on this planet. The Athosians are also more closely related to the Ancients than we are, so even if they look a lot like the Ancients like we do, we're still pretty distant cousins."

Pippin seemed very pleased with that answer, and addressed Jeannie. "I know lots of aliens. And, besides, I mean there are whole species of evil aliens that want to eat us or possess our bodies. The Asgard don't. That's nice of them."

"Really, Mere." Jeannie gave him a glance as if he was supposed to do something about the fact that everything Pippin had said was absolutely correct.

Except for the part about it being nice. The Asgard were just a decent race that didn't subscribe to ideas of their own godhood or the necessity of eating a burger so damn sadistically. The bar for nice was apparently really low around here. Kind of like how Pippin's bar for good parent was similarly located somewhere just above obvious hatred.

Jeannie seemed to get that message, and turned her attention back to Pippin. "Isn't that kind of scary?"

"Kind of," Pippin agreed. "But the Asgard have planets that they protect, and sometimes they even help Earth, which is cool." He pulled out his sketch book again and presented another sheet of paper to show Jeannie.

This one, Rodney knew he must have never seen a picture of. The monument of Thor's Hammer was artistically rendered as a giant mallet about to crush a trio of Jaffa whose brightest idea was to shoot at it—though they were armed with something more like machine guns. Pippin probably couldn't figure out how a staff weapons were supposed to work, mechanically. Rodney agreed it was a feat of moronic engineering not even Zelenka could have achieved.

"I guess you really like the Asgard, huh?" Rodney mumbled, wondering what other scenes Pippin had hidden in there.

"They're cool," Pippin said, and looked at Rodney. "Don't you like them?"

"No, yeah, of course. They're, uh… intelligent. Technologically advanced. They help us out. Sometimes." Rodney nudged Pippin, and couldn't help himself. "I didn't know you were drawing that much. What else you got in there?"

Pippin pulled out another sheet of paper. His rendering of Human facial anatomy needed some work, but in general the figures were recognizable. Ronon performing some kind of skateboard trick, John and Ronon engaged in similar combat with Wraith—except in this instance John and Ronon were the giants in comparison to the Wraith. The last picture Pippin pulled was of Rodney, John, Ronon, Teyla, and his green-clad space marine in combat with the aliens from his video game.

So Pippin apparently had a lot of time on his hands. And was very bored.

"Mind if we join you guys?"

Rodney glanced up to see Jeannie smiling over his head, at least at Sheppard. Ronon was probably with him. Rodney spun to see Teyla behind him, as well.

"Of course not!" Jeannie said, and patted the empty chair next to her.

"Thanks." Sheppard went around the table and sat in the chair Jeannie offered. Teyla followed.

"Hey, buddy, what's this?" Ronon dropped his tray next to Pippin's with a clatter and jabbed at the sheet of paper depicting the team battling fictional aliens. "Did you draw this?"

"Pippin's been drawing a lot, apparently," Rodney said, watching Ronon pick up the page to inspect it more closely.

Pippin hurried to gather the rest of his pages back into their folder. "Sorry."

Rodney didn't get the chance to ask him what in the world he could possibly be thinking to apologize for when Ronon spoke up again. "Hey, could you draw one of these for me?"

"Really?" Pippin looked up at Ronon, and scratched his nose.

Instead of answering, Ronon turned the page around and presented it to Sheppard.

Sheppard laughed as he took the paper. "Whoa, cool! What's this?" He pointed at something on the page Pippin couldn't have seen from the other side, and then showed the page to Teyla. "Hey, look at you, Teyla, such a badass. Is that its head?"

"Yeah," Pippin said quietly, drawing back a little into his chair.

"Sweet." Sheppard handed the page back across to Pippin, paused, and then looked at Rodney. "You've seen this, right?"

Rodney stared, trying to figure out what that squint was supposed to mean. Was Sheppard concerned? Did he think Rodney should present this picture to Heightmeyer as evidence that Pippin needed therapy just as much as Rodney? Teyla was holding a horned-turtle alien head aloft in triumph. Rodney was just pleased to see she was dressed in the most cumbersome fictional armor Rodney had ever seen designed for a woman—this Teyla showed less skin than the real one.

Or was Sheppard just doing his part to make sure Rodney was being a good, attentive parent?

"Yeah. Yeah, of course, I've seen it." Rodney hoped he managed to keep his questioning tone limited. "It's those aliens from your video game, right? The, uh…" He snapped his fingers a few times, but the name wasn't coming to mind.

"Elites." Pippin looked at Sheppard. "They're bigger and stronger than the other aliens, and they have swords like this." Pippin pointed to the split sword Teyla held in her other hand. Rodney guessed it was supposed to be glowing based on the starkly unshaded white surrounding it.

"Sometime, we should hang out in your quarters and play video games," Sheppard said. "I know someone else has some games we could borrow."

Ronon didn't look interested in that idea, or else he was just extremely interested in the pencil drawing.

"You know, we could probably just copy it," Sheppard said suddenly. "I know the linguists have to keep pen and paper to take rubs of carvings or whatever, and a copy machine. If you didn't want to draw a whole new scene for Ronon. And me."

"I don't mind. I think I could do better next time. Anyways…" Pippin picked through his folder and withdrew the picture of John and Ronon fighting the small Wraith, and handed it to Ronon. "This is for you."

Ronon took the page and held it on the other side of his tray of food in silent contemplation. Rodney could tell that he was impressed, that he probably liked it, and that was why he was quiet. He doubted Pippin got the same message.

"I'll make a new one," Pippin said quietly.

"No, this one's great, buddy." Ronon gave Pippin a gentle slug on the shoulder and set the page aside. "I love it."

Suddenly, Jeannie stood up, looking at something beyond Rodney's head as she did. "Mere, we should get going. We shouldn't keep Radek waiting."

With a sigh, Rodney nodded and looked at Pippin. "You good here?" Then he realized he should have also asked Sheppard, Teyla, and Ronon, so he looked at them, too.

Sheppard shrugged and leaned back in his chair with a slice of toast. "I was planning on some skateboarding or something like that today. Ronon?"

Ronon nodded, but shoveled scrambled eggs into his mouth.

"I will… observe." Teyla smiled at Rodney. Even though she didn't sound terribly interested in it, he couldn't help but think she was genuinely happy to be doing it. "Is that alright, Pippin?"

Rodney walked away to the sound of Pippin telling Ronon about his plans for the scene he was going to draw next. Somehow, no matter how many weeks had passed, Sheppard and the others seemed as interested in Pippin as they had been the first day. Not that Rodney was getting tired of it… he was just tired. To them, Pippin wasn't a full-time job.

How many full-time jobs could one person be expected to hold?

The containment lab was already bustling with caffeinated productivity when they arrived. Elizabeth was there, talking pleasantly with Doctor Navarro about something not related to the test. Jeannie complimented Zelenka on the containment chamber modifications—Rodney would have been happy to know he could at least follow directions—even though they hadn't really checked everything.

With a sigh, watching Jeannie and Zelenka chat in his periphery, Rodney picked up his tablet and looked at Zelenka's checklist. Everything had been checked at least once, but he was going to do it again. Silently, he walked around the room, checking the monitors, and tried not to be too obvious as he walked past Jeannie and Zelenka. They were talking about their kids. Rodney didn't doubt Zelenka now knew more about Madison than Rodney did.

Still, he set up his tablet on the console and looked at everything. One at a time. In-chamber conditions were green. Containment field. Monitors. ZPM levels…

Son of a bitch, Zelenka could do something right if he really put his mind to it. All Rodney had to do was press a button.

"Everything's green," Rodney said, snapping them from their conversation.

Zelenka spun, glanced at the tablet, then the monitors. "Don't you want to do the checklist?" He looked shocked for some reason.

"Yeah, I, uh…" Rodney knocked on the edge of his tablet, trying to figure out what was so strange about this. "I just did. Why? Did you, uh…?" He glanced down at the tablet again, but he knew he'd been thorough.

"No, yes, I think it's ready." Zelenka shot Jeannie a grin with raised eyebrows and then nodded to the console sitting ready to activate the machine.

Rodney laid his finger on the enter key.

"Good luck," Elizabeth said.

"Want to, uh, turn it on together?" he heard Jeannie ask behind him.

He glanced at her, then at the key underneath his finger. "Why would we do that?"

"Because it's both of our work?"

Her tone said it was incredibly obvious, and… and, yes. Yes, it was. It was, actually, mostly hers. It was her proof. He'd contributed, but… yes, his wouldn't be the first name on this paper, would he? He hadn't even touched the machine, so, really…

He must have taken too long to say something, because Zelenka offered quietly, "He likes to push the button."

"No, go ahead. You do it." Rodney took a step back before taking his finger off the enter key. It was stupid, but… but it was really hard to do that. Really, anybody could hit the key, couldn't they? Even Zelenka could hit keys.

Again, Zelenka looked like he'd stuck his hand in an active power conduit.

"You, too, Radek. Hell, why not everyone hit the button?"

To Rodney's surprise, Jeannie smiled at Radek. "Yeah, why not? You got it ready to go." She nodded Zelenka over, and Rodney saw her move her finger over enough to fit another finger—or even two—on the key. "Come on."

"Well, I…" Zelenka cast a glance at Rodney, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes. It didn't matter to Zelenka at all. He grinned, shrugged, and rested his finger next to Jeannie's. "Yes, thank you."

They pressed the key together, and Rodney noticed Elizabeth staring at him. Rodney might have asked her what she was looking at him like that for, but the machine powered up. The center glowed gold, and Rodney could see past Jeannie's and Zelenka's shoulders to the readout.

"Containment field is holding," he said, casting another curious look at Elizabeth.

"Yes…" Zelenka mused, and leaned closer to the screen. It would suck if he were somehow getting more nearsighted… Zelenka didn't say anything else, and moved to the second console across the room.

He couldn't explain the relief he felt at stepping back up to the tablet and getting a better look. There wasn't anything to do here but look anymore, but there was a sense of control to be the one at the panel. "Power generation is steady."

Jeannie followed Zelenka, her tablet on her arm. "What about exotic particles?"

"Jeannie, please, I'm on it." Rodney took a breath, feeling the eyes on him at snapping. "I mean, we're holding at five percent. Sorry."

"Good. Now what?" Elizabeth asked.

"The safe thing to do is hold at five percent for the next while," Jeannie said.

Rodney straightened, and stared across the room at her. He didn't realize he was literally biting his tongue until it started to hurt. He didn't want to argue with her—he'd just gotten her back, and this felt something like where he'd been four years ago. Indignant and self-satisfied. Elizabeth had been asking Rodney, because she always asked Rodney…

Or else, she was never asking Rodney. It could have been a question to anybody. Anybody that could answer.

"Alright, thank you," Elizabeth was saying as she left the room. "Keep me updated."

Again, was that to Rodney or… it couldn't be to Zelenka, could it? "Jeannie, you want to, uh, you know… familiarize yourself with the equipment?" Rodney asked with a sigh. He looked toward the door in the back of the room. He'd walked through last night before going to bed—three rows of servers back there supported all the work going on in here. "I need to check the back-ups."

"They're fine," Zelenka said, but added, "I'll come."

"Yeah, well, I want to make sure, anyway."

"Rodney, if I can write an Asuran communications virus in under ten minutes that actually works, I can match two blue wires together…" Zelenka muttered as he followed Rodney from the room.

"I said I just—wait, you what?"

"I was right." Zelenka huffed, shaking his head in what seemed like disgust. "You don't read any of my reports, do you?"

That was true, but—who cared? Zelenka was certainly not the most eloquently penned among them, that was for sure. He'd definitely gotten the most important parts of whatever was in the report. While he was gone getting Pippin, Zelenka had accompanied Sheppard and his team in Rodney's stead. One of those missions involved finding the Pegasus version of Replicators, and…

He'd stopped walking, and Zelenka'd stopped with him. "I read it—Pegasus Replicators, Asurans, whatever, they exist. As if we needed this in our lives, but… I just heard you say that you composed and released a virus into the replicators' code, and that—"

"I did."

"No, you did not." Rodney didn't know why he was being so insistent on it, except… Well, if Zelenka had done that, he just knew he would have screwed it up so badly that he'd have given them the ability to shoot lasers out of their eyes or something.

That was clearly an exaggeration, but it would have been similar, anyway.

"Rodney, the Asuran code is basically very similar to the Ancient code we use every day. I don't need your help with the alphabet. In fact, I run half a dozen—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Rodney waved away the bi-weekly reminder that he ran more projects, conducted more trainings, and was punctual in his reports to Elizabeth on top of it all. Easy to do when he wasn't going off world at least twice a month, and now had a kid to think about.

Okay, well, had a kid on the same planet to think about. Here in the middle of the server-room aisle, Rodney pulled up the mission reports and sighed. "What the hell did you do?"

"Just redirected their communications momentarily. Created quite the feedback loop, actually; worked better than I thought it would."

"Better than you thought!" Rodney laughed helplessly. Maybe he should give it a more thorough read. "You could have died! All of you could have died!"

"But we didn't!"

"Why didn't you just—"

"Yes, yes, after the battle, everyone is a general. But, look, I had ten seconds to think, and I already started typing before I finished. You probably could have done it better—hell, you probably could have made the entire hivemind self-destruct and been back for dinner." He glowered, like maybe he thought Rodney definitely couldn't have done that.

And he was probably right, but Rodney would have liked the chance to try. Instead of whatever he really wanted to say, he found himself mumbling, "Sounds like a good time."

"Well, I wouldn't say that much." Zelenka scoffed a little and got quiet. "Too much physical pain and psychological torture."

"Excuse me?"

"At least I know you don't read anyone else's reports, either…"

"I've been busy!"

"Yes, busy."

Rodney looked away from the glare Zelenka was giving him and watched the screen capture of Zelenka's work on the Asuran code instead. It wasn't what Rodney would have done. Not even close. But, even from here, Rodney could see that it could work. Not as well as, say, just putting in a quick glitch. In fact, this was needlessly complicated and he was lucky they did live—but he was typing faster than Rodney had ever seen anybody type and… this exploit actually took advantage of a code defect that the Replicators would have a difficult time eliminating, if they could at all.

"Alright, fine."

"Fine?" Zelenka asked.

"Yes, fine. This looks fine." Rodney tucked his tablet back under his arm and turned to the racks next to him. He didn't know why he was here.

"Are you feeling okay?" Zelenka asked.

No, not really, but he decided it would be better to just ignore him. He went to the nearest junction, seized a cord, and plugged it into his computer. As he probably should have expected, they were cleanly set up. Orderly. It had Doctor Krause's obsessive documentation all over it. Zelenka always put Krause in charge of stuff like this.

When he didn't get the answer he was looking for, or, probably, any answer at all, Zelenka shrugged helplessly. "Alright, well, I was going to leave Gilman here to watch the test. Is that alright with you?"

"Yes, fine, thank you."

Zelenka paused again. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Rodney brushed past him on the way back out. "I've got some other work to do. Jeannie?"

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised in interest. She didn't say anything, but she glanced behind him. Probably at Zelenka, probably looking concerned.

"Do you want to stay here, or, uh… well, I could show you my lab."

She nodded, and actually looked enthusiastic. "Yeah, of course." Jeannie thanked the tech she was working with, and then Zelenka just before they headed out the door.

Rodney didn't know why he was walking so quickly or why he felt so embarrassed. He had the brief thought that he never should have left his team in Zelenka's hands like that. He'd almost killed them. But what else was he supposed to do? Pippin had been with a foster family, and Rodney didn't want to think about what that had been like for the poor kid. If Rodney had left him there, he probably never would have trusted anybody again. Not if Rodney's ability to cope with new situations was any indication, anyway.

"I didn't know you shared credit…" Jeannie said as they walked.

Rodney shot her a glance, and then he realized she was smiling. She wasn't joking, but it was good-natured, anyway. That was better than... well, something else. Besides, Dad would have been so disappointed at how that whole thing between them turned out… and Rodney only just now realized he would have been disappointed with Rodney. Not Jeannie.

"Yeah, well… Dad would have wanted us working together like this, and uh… yeah."

Jeannie nodded contemplatively for a few seconds, and then gave him another look. "He would have loved to meet Pippin, Mere."

Either that was the luckiest shot in the dark, or Rodney had started wearing his thoughts on his name badge. "Yeah. Yeah, I think he would have, too." And, of course, where Dad was, always not far behind was… "I guess you told her?"

Jeannie offered an apologetic look that told him everything he needed to know. She offered an explanation, anyway. "I didn't think you would. Or that you'd mind."

That was probably right. Rodney didn't care what Mom knew. It didn't make any difference, anyway. "No." He sighed and looked up at the ceiling as he walked, regretting what he was about to say even though he was going to say it anyway. "What'd she say?"

"She was disappointed to not hear it from you," Jeannie said.

Rodney bet she was. She was always disappointed. He didn't say anything about that, though. Jeannie apparently had an alright relationship with their mother. For some reason, he didn't want to interfere with that.

"I know she was always harder on you than she was on me, so…" Her voice trailed away, and she shrugged. "Can I ask you a question?"

Rodney knew what the question was and didn't want to answer it. All the same he said, "Sure."

"Why didn't you… you know, check with Mom? About Pippin?" She gestured around the hallways, up at the ceiling, and then her eyes fell back on him. "Knowing this, that decision had to have been—"

"It wasn't an easy one," Rodney interrupted, just in case she thought to suggest Rodney thought it was at all a good or sane decision. It wasn't, by any metric. Nevertheless, they were here. "I mean, bringing Pippin here wasn't an easy decision. Not talking to Mom about it, that was easy." Never an option, really. And so much for not interfering with her relationship with Jeannie.

Jeannie nodded like she understood, but he really hoped she didn't. Mom… loved Jeannie.

"You know," Rodney said quietly after a moment, "I probably should have told her. She would have gotten a real kick out of it. Me ruining her life, only to have the same thing happen to me. She would have said no, and I'd still—"

Jeannie had stopped walking somewhere, so Rodney stopped talking. Spun around.

"You didn't ruin her life, Mere."

Rodney waved that away. "Oh, sure, I did. I mean, if it wasn't enough she didn't want me in the first place, I was a prodigy. I was dividing by four digits when I was three years old. Couples with kids like that don't stay together even if they'd wanted to be in the first place."

"That's not your fault."

"Maybe not, but—"

"No, no buts."

The longer Rodney looked, the worse it got. There were tears in her eyes, and she shook her head as if she really wanted to say something, but couldn't think of what.

"Look." Rodney sighed. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

"Not really."

He didn't know why he'd said that except that it made the most sense. He believed it implicitly, but he didn't think of it all that often. He hadn't talked to Mom in over five years. She mattered to him less Kaleb had, and that was really saying something until a couple of weeks ago. So, even if he believed it… it didn't matter if he did.

And Jeannie acted like she'd heard the words in his head more than the words he'd said. "It's not your fault, Mere. None of it."

Rodney shrugged, and felt an ugly defiance snarl somewhere deep beneath the surface. He wondered if that was what Pippin felt like whenever Rodney had the gall to tell him the same thing. But, of course, in Pippin's case, it was absolutely true. Rodney, well… he didn't make Mom and Dad do anything. But he was the reason they did it all. The reason they got married, the reason they divorced. The reason for everything in between. It wasn't his fault, but he couldn't figure out any better word to describe it.

"I know," he said.

Jeannie obviously didn't accept that answer, but she didn't say anything else.

#

There wasn't much to do, since they were giving the bridge a full twenty-five hours and two minutes to accumulate readings at low power... Was it really three in the morning?

Jeannie seemed to feel guilty about something during dinner, and he had to imagine it was the stories she'd told the night before about his childhood. He shouldn't have been surprised every humiliating thing in middle school was now public knowledge. Being ribbed about some of the worst days in his life by people like Ronon, who probably was whatever his own culture's version of homecoming king; John, who almost certainly was homecoming king; and Teyla, who was loved and respected by everyone whether they were in her culture or not, certainly didn't improve things much. Rodney was sure Pippin's being there had warded off the worst of it, but he would have preferred to know what, exactly, they were laughing at him for. He probably deserved it, but he wanted to know.

He didn't know why he thought that would be better. Children were cruel, and adults were the same… just more subtle. But that horribly apologetic look Jeannie shot him over dinner when Ronon brought up one of his more harmless run-ins with Douglas McPherson somehow helped a little.

Rodney wandered around the dark room, stacking up Pippin's things on the table. Rodney wasn't exactly tidy himself, but one person's untidy was manageable. Rodney knew he would still need to find his things, and doing so in a sea of Pippin's things would make that more difficult. He imagined the same was true for Pippin. So, here he was, at three in the morning, cleaning up.

Or, he had been. At some point, he sat down and perused Pippin's school notebooks. There were plenty of school subjects that Rodney hated or thought were a waste of time when he was younger, but this was something else. Pippin was on track with science, only a little behind in English, and ahead in math and literature. Rodney had also leafed through an entire notebook filled with sketches of varying detail—Atlantis; Hermiod; other fictional aliens and weapons; chess boards and pieces; and sketches of himself, Zelenka, Miko, Teyla, Ronon, and John. All of them were distinguishable.

But it looked like, according to Pippin's notebooks, that he'd not so much as cracked open a history book in over a week. Not since they left Atlantis, actually.

"Doctor McKay?" Zelenka in his ear sounded skeptical, tentative.

As he very well should have. It was three o'clock in the morning.

It was three in the morning. What was Zelenka doing up? "What the hell are you doing up, Radek?" For that matter, what was Rodney doing up?

"Hm." The single syllable was, this time, relieved. But still confused. Then he chuckled. "Well, no, you woke me up."

"I… beg your pardon?"

"You should come to the isolation room. Should I call Sheppard?"

"How should I know? You haven't told me what it is."

Zelenka chuckled again, and Rodney felt his patience thinning. "Well… it's you."

Since Zelenka wasn't going to answer his question, Rodney sighed and picked up Pippin's newly uncovered tablet and opened a new note. "I'll be right there. Call Sheppard." At least, if Sheppard was there, Rodney wouldn't be the only miserable person with no sleep. They could strangle Zelenka together for being cheery at such an ungodly hour.

"And what about Jeannie?"

"Well, I doubt she's doing anything…" Rodney decided it would be revenge enough for whatever she'd told everyone last night if he dragged her out of bed this early. All the better if he could use Zelenka to do it. "Sure, her, too."

"Yes, I will." The radio clicked without a goodbye.

Rodney sighed and tapped the stylus on the screen a few times, trying to figure out what to write.

Pippin, if I'm not back when you're up, please call me on the radio. I probably got distracted in the lab.

He stared at the short note, feeling unfinished. There was a weird sort of disconnect that had happened sometime on the Daedalus, and he couldn't figure out what it was. Now was not the time to be bringing that up…

Signing his name, he left the tablet on the table in front of the chair Pippin usually occupied and headed out toward the isolation room. Sheppard's door opened behind him just as he was about to step into the transporter.

"Zelenka call you too?" Sheppard said.

"He called me first."

Sheppard frowned and stepped into the transporter next to him. "I could swear it was your turn to get up. What could he possibly want from us both?"

"He said it was me."

"You?"

Sheppard wasn't looking at him, so Rodney doubted he was supposed to answer. Sheppard obviously thought Zelenka meant Rodney was literally the one getting them up at three in the morning, rather than something more metaphorical, which was what Rodney's money was on. Of course, Zelenka would blame any mistakes in the calculations on Rodney, because… well, why wouldn't he? Rodney had done the calculations.

"Well, this will be interesting, then," Sheppard said.

Jeannie met them just outside the isolation observation room. There was barely enough time for a blurry good morning before they walked inside to see Zelenka standing in front of the glass with his arms crossed in distinct interest in whatever was down there.

Rodney didn't know why he was surprised. Just like Zelenka said, pacing around in the isolation room, was… him. He was wearing a leather jacket and, for obvious reasons, wasn't exactly him, but… well, it looked just liked him.

"What in the world…?" Rodney walked to the glass next to Zelenka and looked down.

"It's you," Jeannie said in confused awe.

"I mean, it's not him. Obviously. He's here. That is someone else." Zelenka didn't take his eyes off the man downstairs, as he gestured at him in confusion. "But, yes, the resemblance is uncanny. Doctor Weir is on her way."

"Uncanny?" Sheppard scoffed. "They could be twins."

"I suppose, by some definitions, they are twins. Carson is running DNA tests, but the preliminary indications are, you know…" Zelenka sighed, and chuckled in disbelief.

"Unbelievable," Rodney said as soon as his voice found itself. The McKay downstairs had more of a spiked hairstyle. Or maybe like he'd been standing on his head or hugging a Van De Graaff generator. "Where did he come from?"

Zelenka finally looked at Rodney and explained, "He appeared in the containment chamber, out of… how you say? Thin air. I shut down the project."

"Well, how'd he get in there?" Sheppard asked before Rodney got the chance.

"He claims to be from a parallel universe." With that, Zelenka shot Rodney a look that might have said I told you so if he'd bothered to put it in words.

Sheppard squinted at Zelenka. "Do you think that answered my question?"

"Colonel, this entire experiment has been about bridging universes. Does nobody read the reports?" Zelenka raised his hands in obvious irritation.

Jeannie had already turned to Rodney, her tone high and incredulous. "You said the odds against this were astronomical!"

"You saw the math!"

"Well, we got it wrong!"

"Yeah, well, he's here now." Rodney looked up at Zelenka, who at least did him the favor of not looking like he blamed this whole fiasco on him. "So what does he want?"

"To talk to you." Zelenka turned his attention back down on the other Rodney.

That would get really confusing for everyone else really fast… but he wasn't about to start going by Mere full time by everyone he knew. His twin downstairs certainly did not look like the type to be going by Meredith, either.

With a sigh, Rodney looked at Jeannie. "Alright, well… looks like I've got a meeting with… myself. From another universe. Oh, god." He wandered out of the room, wondering what in the world he was supposed to say to himself at three in the morning on no sleep. Especially himself who wore leather jackets and spiked his hair.

Jeannie fell in step beside him at the bottom of the stairs. "Well, when you put it like that, I have to see this."

The hallway seemed contracted, too short a distance to come up with anything to say besides the stupidly obvious introduction that his name was Doctor Rodney McKay—a name he was almost sure his doppelganger would share. The door pressed open and the man that looked exactly like him turned toward them with a smile.

"Wow. Now, I'd figure you'd be here," he said, pointing at Rodney. "But Jeannie? I'd always hoped we'd work together in Atlantis." This guy even stood differently. At ease, even though he was literally in the wrong universe.

"Huh." Jeannie frowned. "This is a first."

"For me, too." Rodney gave the stranger in his skin a glare when they said the same words at the same time.

The man smiled broadly and gestured to the chairs in the room, like this was his place. Like he belonged here. "Have a seat. Now, I presume you go by…"

"Rodney." He didn't sit as instructed, since his mystery twin hadn't, either.

"Ah. Rod."

Rodney watched him sit, glanced at Jeannie and the single other chair in the room. She was already moving to stand behind the chair, so he sat. It was no mystery to him that this guy had been able to get people to call him Rod. A feat Rodney had never accomplished. In retrospect, he was probably lucky he got away with Rodney.

"Okay," Rod said. "I'm gonna make some assumptions based on what I've seen here and from readings we've taken in my own space-time. Please stop me if I'm wrong. One: I presume you're running some sort of experiment that's designed to bridge between parallel universes? And two: it has something to do with power generation." He paused and looked between them. "Warm? Cold?"

Jeannie chuckled. "Hot."

"Well, I'm sure the experiment's been a success on this side, but it's having some rather serious repercussions in my universe," Rod went on.

Jeannie sighed and lightly smacked Rodney's arm. While he frowned and looked up at her, she took her own stab at it—a rather obvious one, but it paid to be clear. "Dangerous exotic particles that don't belong in either of our universes are being created on your side of the bridge."

"Oh, so…" Rod leaned forward ever so slightly. "You knew this could happen?"

"Of course, there was a slight risk, yes?" Rodney shifted uncomfortably. Of course, a copy of himself from a parallel universe would come to enumerate his many failings in this, now, too.

"Well, you're quite correct, Jeanie," Rod said. "And because these particles don't behave according to any of the laws of physics in our space-time, they are creating a tear in the fabric of our universe."

First a solar system... "How exactly did you get here?" Rodney asked before, he imagined, Sheppard could muse on something to that effect in the observation room over their heads.

"Well, we detected the anomaly about twenty hours ago in space above the planet. We maneuvered one of our jumpers in close and tried to broadcast a signal to whoever was on the other side."

"Yes, but of course, we would be unable to detect that signal from within the containment chamber."

"So, Sheppard and I came up with a plan to beam a person into the anomaly. They would be protected by an Ancient personal force field we discovered." Rod gestured to his chest, and Rodney remembered that small Ancient device he'd depleted in the early days of the expedition. Rightfully afraid of everything this universe could do to kill them.

"Still, that's an incredible risk…" Jeannie said, almost in awe.

"Well." Rod chuckled. "It was Sheppard's idea. We decided it might allow one of us to cross the bridge you created and bring the problem to your attention. There was very little time. And, uh, well, there seemed to be no other way. We drew straws."

"You lost." That, Rodney could relate to.

"No, I won!" Rod grinned broadly and spread his hands. "What, the prospect of saving an entire universe? No brainer!"

"Oh. Sure." Rodney shrugged while Jeannie took it upon herself to apologize. Seemed only fair, since it was her proof…

"Yes, well," Rod said quietly, "you could start by shutting down the experiment?"

"Already done." Rodney glanced up at Zelenka beyond the glass, realizing he'd have to double-check on that. But, then, whether the thing was on or off was probably too obvious to worry about. "And after hearing this, I see no reason why we'd start it back up again."

"Great. Then my work here is done." Rod gave a thumbs up. "Mission accomplished."

"Well, yes, but…" Rodney looked up at Jeannie and then at Rod as they seemed to find that statement somehow amusing. "But how did you plan on getting, you know, back? I mean, to your own universe."

"The matter bridge you created is unidirectional," Rod said, and he didn't sound crushed.

"But that means…" Jeannie whispered.

"Yes. Yes, it does."

Well, obviously this version of himself didn't have a Pippin to think about. Or else, he did, and didn't know it. Or, rather inconceivably, he did, and drew straws anyway. Rodney somehow ended up standing and staring at the window above them. "So, I guess…" he said, wondering how to broach the topic without seeming insensitive. "So, I guess, you don't have a son in your universe."

The silence was so thick, it could only barely be seen through. When he looked back over his shoulder, Rod just blinked in mute shock for several seconds. "I'm sorry, a what, now?"

"A son." Rodney almost choked on the word, and decided Rod must not have had a kid. Even in an alternate universe, Rodney doubted he would be so self-centered. "Or, you know… a kid." Since Rodney supposed the odds were even in infinite universes that Pippin could have been a girl.

"No. No, I'm… I'm pretty sure I don't have one of those." Rod planted his fists on his hips and let out an uncertain breath. Apparently, he was still integrating this new information.

Yeah, welcome to the life of Rodney McKay, buddy. "Okay. Okay, that's good." Rodney spun back to the window and hoped someone up there had been listening.

Sheppard's voice came over the intercom. "I guess we'll set up some guest quarters?"

Rodney nodded while Rod behind him laughed a little. "Sheppard?"

"Nice to meet you," Sheppard said, and, after a long pause added, "Rod."


Reviews

Guest - Thanks for the thoughtful review! I'm glad the characters are passing muster - that means a lot as this Rodney continues to strike me as really quite odd and difficult to write. And, yes, I can see thinking a trigger warning could be merited here. I didn't anticipate it coming up so often (I don't know why I didn't; the cornerstone of the story is Rodney's long-term issues - it wouldn't make sense for Pippin's to disappear over night), but given that this is all there is, I think I don't need one. For those who might disagree, I hope the pitch is slow enough. In the end, it is mostly saccharine nonsense, so I'll just update the summary to reflect that it's mostly saccharine. Still nonsense, though.

And thank you to all the other guests who read, as well!