A BEE IN THE BONNET By NotTasha
So many lovely reviews! I really feel spoiled. Thank you so much!
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PART 11: BLUE

Frustrated, Sheppard made his way back to the corridor – the balcony where McKay had disappeared. The lights had turned off while they were gone – they came back on as he walked along. Finding the place dark had disturbed Sheppard. Had they abandoned this area already? Had they already given up on continuing to checking within that 10-meter radius? He knew that there were personnel on the neighboring floors, but why hadn't anyone stayed here?

The recharging of the 'bee' was taking far too long. The popper didn't need to be held throughout the procedure, they'd discovered. Zelenka would monitor it, but the transporter hadn't yet reached its previous luster, and after the fiasco of using the partially-charged device, Sheppard conceded that it would be best to wait a bit longer. Ford would bring the bee to him once Zelenka relinquished it. Teyla was with Weir, talking leader-to-leader, discussing what their next moves might be. Sheppard was alone again.

Not knowing where else to go, Sheppard went back to where this started. He passed rooms that displayed their ransacked contents, where teams had searched through every possible space – and had come up empty-handed.

10 meters – McKay had insisted that the range of the device was only 10 meters. So why had they strayed so far from that limit? Because they'd searched everywhere already – they'd checked every possible place within that limit, hadn't they?

It was late – very late. Sheppard gazed out across the ocean as he walked. A gentle breeze blew past him, comforting and cool. It looked as if the sky was beginning to lighten in the east, and he checked his watch – morning was nearly upon them. He and most of Atlantis had been up all night – searching.

He trod onward, his feet falling heavily with his discouragement. Why hadn't they found McKay? The only explanation was that he was dead. Otherwise they would have found him by now, or Rodney would have made his presence known somehow. Sheppard sighed. He didn't want think that McKay was dead. He didn't want to do this without the physicist. Sure, the doctor was a pain in the ass at times, but weren't they all?

Okay… maybe McKay irritated more often than others… but Sheppard liked him -- honestly liked him. There was something exciting about being around such genius. It was like watching lightning. But it wasn't just that McKay was as smart as hell … Sheppard just liked him, liked exchanging barbs with him, liked his sense of humor, liked having him around.

The thought that he'd never see McKay again, made Sheppard feel like crap. Already, Sheppard missed him.

He'd failed McKay. Yesterday, he'd gone looking for Rodney, wanting to make him feel better about that damn letter – and this was what come of it.

10 meters – Rodney really should have been within those ten meters. But he wasn't. They'd searched everywhere. If McKay wasn't in Atlantis… John gazed out into the black surf and hoped for a better answer.

That's what he needed – a better answer. But where was the Answer Man?

Wearily, Sheppard stopped his slow walk, just beside that black mark on the floor – where they were BOTH supposed to have appeared, safe and sound. He leaned against the railing and stared at the floor. "Where the hell are you, McKay?" he asked for the umpteenth time. "What happened to you? Why can't I find you? What's the answer?" He let himself slide down, to sit on the flooring.

He closed his eyes, resting his head against the half-wall. Frustrated, he tried again, calling inwardly, Are you in here, Rodney? Come on… if you're in my brain somewhere, you'd better come out and say it because we've been looking everywhere. Been missing your sorry ass. It'd be a real kicker if you were so close all the time. I know it isn't quite as orderly in there as you're used to, but you shouldn't be THAT offended. So, come on … ah hell, who my kidding. He's not here. I know that.

He thought he heard a thump… a muffled pounding. Perhaps someone was still in the area, looking.

He opened his eyes and stared out over the walkway, looking at nothing in particular, crossing his arms across his chest as if he was cold, although the barrier protected the space from the wind. Why couldn't he find Rodney? What had they missed? Where had they neglected to look?

And he cringed as he remembered the image Ford had created – McKay transported into a wall – half formed into a solid object, an arm or leg sticking out. It didn't happen! Sheppard reminded himself. There was a failsafe! McKay didn't get himself into a wall or the ceiling or the floor!

There was that thumping again… seeming far away, yet close at the same time.

John's unfocused eyes suddenly shifted as something flitted about in the corners of his perception. A bit of fluff caught in the breeze, no doubt. He tried to find what had gained his attention, needing something to focus on. He frowned at his inability to find the thing.

It must have been his imagination.

But no… there it was again. Something shifted. There was a trace of blue against the white floor. Sheppard leaned forward, crouching on hands and knees, determined to be able to solve SOMETHING today – even if it was to just catch the bit of litter and throw it into the proper trash receptacle. Now where…?

There again, something blue and very fine flopped about. Sheppard leaned closer, ready to snatch up the debris, but it was so hard to focus on the fiber. The thread flounced about in the wind, but there was no wind so near the floor.

Puzzled, John leaned closer – squinting at the thread that didn't move away from its spot, though it continued to flick one way and then the other. It was anchored somehow.

Slowly, he reached for it, taking a couple attempts to capture the moving figment. It was frayed, frazzled, the filaments, twisted apart. He grasped it between thumb and forefinger, holding it tightly as it tried to twist out of his grasp. He tugged it, lightly. Something tugged back. He pulled harder and it came away in his hand – plucked from some tiny pinhole in the floor.

He squeezed on the bit of frayed thread. It felt like plastic, like polyester. It was dusty blue … like the shirts that the scientists wore.

For a moment, Sheppard's heart seemed to stop. "Oh, for the love of…" he exclaimed as he reached for his radio. "I've found him!" he shouted – much louder than necessary. "I found him!"

The channel burst with activity, people excitedly responding to his announcement, but John didn't listen as he leaned to the floor, trying to find that hole… that tiny little pinhole that had produced the thread. Damn it! Too small to find.

"McKay!" he cried, thumping with one fist. "McKay! Answer me! Goddamn it!" He held his breath, turning off the radio, and listened. Rodney was down there – he had to be.

But Sheppard received no response – not even a tiny tick to show that he'd been heard. "Come on, Rodney," he whispered. "I know that was you… I know it…"

But there was nothing… just the sound of the ocean.

John leaned back, still holding the bit of blue thread. McKay was there! Sheppard had no doubts. God, how were they going to get him out? He turned on the radio again, in time to hear Weir's voice call him over the radio, asking: where… how… what?

Grimacing at his own stupidity, his own inability to have figured this out sooner, Sheppard uttered, "He's in the goddamn floor. He's been right here the whole time!"
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A/N - Finally!