Part 2
Excerpt from the letters of Dr. K. Heightmeyer
Oh, Tony, sometimes I hate being right.
Sheppard's cut McKay out entirely. I don't think they talk at all beyond their jobs. It's having an effect on the others - Aiden isn't sleeping, Teyla has been in twice to see if there's anything she can do.
I only see him in passing, but I know what's happening. He's closing down again. Only thing is, this time there are still people on the outside who care.
And McKay's stopped talking. He still comes, but he doesn't really talk, he just natters.
I think I'm losing him, Tony. I think I'm losing them both.
xxxxx
"He's been ducking me."
Weir turned from the window and looked at Kate Heightmeyer, raising an eyebrow. "Rodney?"
"Major Sheppard. He's been deliberately avoiding me. I heard from Carson he asked for a sleep aid."
"It's that serious." Weir sat opposite.
"He was irritable before, but now he's graduated to depressed, withdrawn, and easily angered. Dr. Zelenka has approached me about intervening."
"He's still fulfilling his duties, Kate. His decisions are still sound. I'm going to make certain he keeps that appointment."
"One session won't make it better."
Weir sighed. "I understand your concern, and if we were in a normally functioning expedition situation I would pull him off duty. But right now…" she leaned forward "I can't afford to do that. Unless, and until, he starts behaving irrationally, he stays on duty and in charge of the military."
Heightmeyer shook her head. "I don't like it, and it's my opinion this will just make it harder when he finally does come by." She sighed. "That said, and on record, I understand."
"Thank you." She caught Kate's eye, and repeated it, seeing in the other woman's face her dislike for the position she found herself in. "What about Rodney?"
Heightmeyer frowned. "That's another issue," she said. "He's stopped communicating. He still comes to the sessions, but I can't get him to open up anymore, and I think it has something to do with how his relationship with the Major has soured. If something doesn't happen between them, and soon, he'll begin to backslide."
Weir toyed with a pen. "What if nothing happens?"
Heightmeyer sighed. "You might have to go back to your first instinct. Break them up. Keep McKay on Atlantis."
Weir stared. "It would kill him."
"He's nowhere near peak condition, Elizabeth. He's in no shape to go offworld. Neither is Sheppard, but I have to bow to reality there."
Weir's expression was closed, thoughtful. "Recommendations?"
"I'm speaking as a friend here, not a psychologist. Give it one more mission. See if they can sort it out between them. If they can't, keep McKay in the city, at least till I can do more work with them both."
xxxxx
Standing in her office, staring out at the gate again, she recalled Heightmeyer's words.
"Careful what you wish for," she whispered to herself.
Chaya had happened, and the simmering anger had bubbled forth. Things had been said, in her presence and outside them, that made her despair of the friendship the two had shared.
McKay had slotted firmly back into the obnoxious scientist mode the day after returning from Deemas, spending more time alone in his lab, falling into old habits of sleeplessness and overwork. Even the untrained eye could see him beginning to backslide.
She'd stood by her decision, sent her first team out again, and now she wondered what, if anything, could pull them back together.
"He's way overdue."
McKay could move quietly when he wanted to, and Weir was hard-pressed not to jump when he appeared suddenly at her elbow.
"I know," she replied. "He knew the score."
"You're not seriously thinking of abandoning him?"
She stared at him. Maybe that friendship wasn't quite dead yet. She tightened her lips. "He knew we couldn't come after him. He knew he was on his own."
"She was an Ancient, Elizabeth. We don't know why she was shunned - we only have her word for it. He has to be under her influence. It's the only explanation for his behaviour."
She rounded on him at that, deliberately channeling her frustration into her words. She'd learned, in her experience with negotiation, that sometimes you used the carrot. Sometimes the stick.
"What would you know about his behaviour?" she snapped, and he stepped back. "You've cut off from us, Rodney. You spend all your time in your lab, and when you're on missions you spend all your time fighting with John."
He frowned, and she sighed. "Or he's fighting with you. We've gone over this, Beckett, Heightmeyer and I." She glanced around. They were being carefully ignored, and no one was within earshot. "I know about the panic attacks. The nightmares. Did you know the Major has been having similar problems?"
Judging by the surprised look, he hadn't. "He's been pulling away," he said. "Hasn't talked to me in days, except to give me orders or crap."
"We'd hoped this mission might help. We were going to discuss this with you both when you returned."
"Well, that worked out real well," he said bitterly. "So, I've stopped improving and he's got PTSD. Off we go."
"It was a chance." She dropped her elbows on the balcony, staring down. "We're hoping to salvage the two of you," she admitted frankly. "I don't want to believe Kolya has managed to beat you both."
"Both." A sharp laugh. "Didn't see him getting the crap beat out of him. Or finding out first hand that yeah, you do piss yourself when some loon wires you up to a big old battery."
"No." Elizabeth damped down the anger. "He dug at the rock with his bare hands, managed to keep it together when he found a body with no head. He didn't lose control till after he gave his report, then we didn't see him for hours. Teyla found him. He was in your quarters, sitting in a corner, and he'd finally fallen asleep."
McKay stared at her.
"Rather than waking him, embarrassing him, she went back outside and hammered on the door till he heard her. Then she took him back to his own quarters and stayed with him until he slept again."
McKay dropped his eyes to the floor, finding his shoes suddenly very interesting. "I thought we were fine - well, ok, anyway - until we went back to Deemas."
"Kate tried to get him to see her, he broke two appointments. I was going to make it an order after Chaya left." She sighed. "I should have spoken to him sooner."
"Incoming wormhole." The alarm interrupted them, and they shared a relieved glance when Grodin added "Major Sheppard's IDC."
xxxxx
They were waiting when he'd postflighted the jumper and shut down, but he didn't get up right away. Elizabeth and Rodney were out there, and he'd seen the reality of Chaya...he just didn't feel like the confrontation he knew was coming.
He'd caught a glimpse of what the Ancients had spent so much time chasing, and he was trying to understand. If it were before - funny how quickly his life had fallen into 'before' the kidnapping and 'after' - he would have been able to show up at McKay's lab door, maybe with a couple cups of coffee, wander in, sit down and describe it. He knew just how McKay would react, too, if it were before; when he listened and evaluated new information like whatever you'd just told him was the most important thing in the world at that time. The man was a sponge for information. He'd analyse it, disassemble it, flip it upside down and go through it again, and by the time he was done you'd know everything you wanted to know.
He knew, though, what McKay's reaction would be if he tried that now.
Not that he blamed the man. Sheppard knew, now, just how easy it was for her to pull the wool over everyone's eyes. He realized that he, too, Mr. Skeptic, had been influenced, and it was that discovery that Chaya had seen in him. The offer to glimpse asencion had been by way of apology, he knew now, and it was an apology he still wasn't certain he accepted.
He was still furious, a targetless, diffuse anger. He sat there, trying to decide who he was angrier at - himself, for being influenced, Chaya for influencing, or McKay for being right.
He looked up at the sound of the hatch opening, and McKay hurried forward.
"Major?" He sounded concerned, worried that Sheppard was hurt instead of just woolgathering. It made the Major feel embarrassed, which in turn made him irritated.
"I'm fine, fine." He stood, turned, frowned at McKay who stood just inside the internal doors, shifting foot to foot. "What?"
"Three hours without radio contact in a hot zone, that's what!" he exploded, frustrated. He recognized the beginning of a fine McKay rant, and tried to forestall it.
"I was on the surface with Chaya. She had no problems taking care of the Wraith, they were gone within minutes."
"And what kept you from calling, just to let us know?" McKay wasn't moving, and Elizabeth was stuck behind him. "You know, so we knew you hadn't been blown to bits."
"I was with Chaya." He couldn't help using a tone of voice that gave Rodney the whole story, if not exactly the details.
"Perfect! Just perfect! While we were waiting here, wondering, you were indulging in some interspecies nookie!" He was in full cry, and Sheppard stepped forward, jaw set.
"She showed me what it was to be ascended, McKay. She showed me a lot of things. She wasn't as powerful as we thought she was, no evil sorceress sitting in her prison waiting to break loose, just a really old, really lonely woman. Sorry about that." He bit off the last three words.
"Showed you a lot of things. I'll bet. You were gone for hours, Major. Believe it or not, there are some people on this city who actually give a damn about you. Not, of course, that you give a rats ass when you're getting your rocks off with an immortal whore…" He stopped talking abruptly as Sheppard, furious, grabbed him by one shoulder, pulling his other fist back. The fury coalesced, he had a target and a deep desire to hit something...
"Go ahead." The physicist's voice was soft. "She'd be so proud of you."
Flustered, he let his arm drop, let McKay go, dropped into the seat behind. He heard McKay muttering, heard him turn and push past Elizabeth with a brusque 'sorry', and then her voice.
"This isn't over."
She was out of the jumper before he whispered, "It never will be."
xxxxx
Excerpt from the letters of Dr. K. Heightmeyer
I'm going to have to be the bad guy. Again.
Sheppard's got to keep going out there, that's been made clear, and the thing of it is, if he doesn't have McKay around to worry about and fight with he should be able to function. So we're going to pull McKay off the team. I keep saying 'temporarily', at least to myself, but if the pressure doesn't let up then Sheppard's going to go full on PTSD and I can just imagine what'll happen to McKay - it's so true, the old saw about genius and insanity.
It's going to hurt McKay, though. I think - I think he can work through it, as long as we're in the situation we are. He might appreciate the break from Sheppard; they almost came to blows about that Ancient, Chaya.
Who am I kidding.
xxxxx
It had been a quiet morning. Elizabeth gave up staring at her computer, finally, and stood, stretching. Very early, Zelenka had been in to see what he could do to help. Sheppard had been in, to apologise for his behaviour the previous day; more out of duty, shefelt, than any actual contrition. Teyla had come to discuss the situation between McKay and Sheppard. "They have shared so much, and that connection is still there," she'd said, "but I am at a loss how to help them find it again." She'd promised to keep Weir appraised of anything she felt important. Some might call it spying, she mused, but the two leaders recognized the necessity of it. Ford had been busy on the mainland since before sunrise with training exercises, and McKay was, as always, in his lab.
And Kate had visited. It had been uncomfortable, but the end result was what she'd thought it would be. She needed to speak with Sheppard, and then together they would talk to Rodney.
It was not a conversation she looked forward to having.
xxxxx
"You're kidding."
McKay stood, hands slamming down on the conference table. "You have to be kidding me. Elizabeth - you're not letting this...this grunt rescind my offworld privileges?"
"The Major and I," she emphasized the last two words, "feel your time would be better spent here, working with the Ancient technology already discovered. For all we know there's something that could turn the balance of power between us and the Wraith. You're our best bet to find it."
McKay strode around the table. Sheppard stood as he approached, stepping right up into the Major's face.
"You're kicking me off the team," he hissed. "What, I'm damaged goods, now? Can't be trusted?"
"You're being re-assigned," Sheppard replied steadily. "It happens. Don't take it so personally."
"And you!" he swung to Weir. "I believe it of him, but you?"
"I was uneasy from the first with the thought of having two department heads on one team," she admitted.
He stepped back, shaking his head as if he'd taken a blow.
"Fine," he said finally. "Fine. I'll be a good little geek and go back to the lab where I belong." The glare he aimed at Sheppard was murderous, and he hammered the door controls, barely waiting for the panels to swing before stalking out.
Sheppard sat as if all the starch had left his legs.
"That could have gone better," he said.
Weir touched the control gently, and the panels swung shut. She sat, staring at Sheppard for a long moment.
"What?"
"We made this decision together, and it's logical for now, but I think there's another reason you want him here, in the questionable safety of the city."
She raised an eyebrow at him, waiting, but he merely nodded.
"My team. My call," he replied simply. Standing, he opened the panels again.
"John," she spoke his name sharply.
"What?"
"Heightmeyer's office. Now."
He swung around, angry, but she met his gaze flatly.
"Now, John. Or you're grounded too."
xxxxx
Excerpt from the letters of Dr. K. Heightmeyer
I am so out of my depth, Tony. But I can't think of anything I could do that would have made it any better, or yielded a different result.
There have been two short missions with the new SGA-1 team, I recommended Stu Derry as McKay's replacement. Nice Aussie guy, easy to work with, and by all accounts the missions were not failures, but Aiden came by. Sheppard's almost completely uncommunicative now. On the plus side, he's not promising C4 to agrarian cultures (I can tell you about that later, it doesn't matter what I say, nothing of this will make it back to Earth) but he's just become - Joe Army Guy. I know what he's doing.
McKay is working himself to a nervous breakdown, but I can't stop him. And there's a nasty little question there - if I could, would I? The Wraith threat is very real, and very close - we don't know how close yet but we know they've begun to cull. Grodin, Zelenka and the others are smart, geniuses, but they don't have the instinct McKay does, he is capable of making enormous leaps based on what would be scraps of information to anyone else.
I can't get any commitment to work with me from Sheppard, we've had three chats, and I see him losing himself in front of me. I can't even get McKay to open up anymore, and I can't get him to sit still with me for more than a few moments at a time. The thing is, I know what I need to do to save these two before we lose them, but in our present circumstances there's no chance I could have the time we need to do it.
I'm failing them, Tony. And I feel so helpless.
xxxxx
Peace.
He wandered the halls, idly, ostensibly mapping what had already been scouted and cleared, in reality trying to decide what had happened, where it all went south. He'd had a lot of extra time on his hands recently. The change in his habits of socializing had, initially, not gone unnoticed. He'd had offers from the rest of the military contingent; movies, football games, poker, and he'd accepted just enough to keep from being labeled too anti-social, then, over a few days, his "No, thanks" had begun to outweigh his "Sures", and he had started to withdraw. By then, though, nobody really noticed.
It had surprised him how much of his spare time had been spent with his team. He kind of missed working with McKay in the lab - since Chaya, he hadn't dared visit.
He and Ford didn't seem to spend the time they used to talking about football, previous duty stations, women, and the best way to tell if that bug-eyed monster was going to attack. Teyla had found herself suddenly very busy, and their sparring sessions had faltered, then stopped altogether. They stood by him on missions, were their usual trustworthy selves, but the ease they'd once had was gone. He spared a moment of compassion for Derry, a nice enough chap in a situation he had no control of.
And McKay - the man avoided him. In a weird way it was like he'd died after all, and there was a McKay ghost walking the halls, ignoring him when possible, angry and impenetrable when in meetings. There was no quarter given in their arguments any more, and the affection in the insults slung back and forth had entirely vanished.
It was so stupid. He leaned against the wall, letting his head thump gently against it. For McKay, it seemed being grounded was less a loss of freedom than a loss of trust. Sheppard had feared, deep down, that decision would cost him the friendship that had grown almost central to his life here, and it appeared it had. He'd thought it would be worth it if he could know, absolutely, that he'd never feel that tearing loss again, the rootless terror he'd known when he'd seen the body. The image of the physicist's corpse, crushed beneath the rockfall, was with him all the time now, inescapable.
Now, though, hewasbeginning to understandloss could be gradual, a different feeling but the same result. It was nibbling away at him. At them both? He'd heard McKay had turned grim, become a martinet, the only ones who didn't live in fear of the sarcastic wit were Grodin and Zelenka, by virtue of their close association from before, and Kavanagh, who seemed delighted at the shift.
He growled at the turn his thoughts were taking. Maudlin. They'd made their decision, and the bald truth was the city was safer, if only marginally. But it was an enormous cost. The stress was mounting on him. In response to it, he did as he and McKay had been known to do, he'd just done it a man short. He'd ducked the requested meeting this afternoon, avoided the rest of the expedition members, grabbed some water and a couple of energy bars, and headed down below.
Better a live McKay, who hated him and wouldn't discuss anything but business with him, than a dead McKay who couldn't even do that. But then there was a little voice yammering at him, asking if it was McKay he was thinking of, or his own peace of mind. And how much peace of mind did he have when he couldn't even talk to his best friend anymore?
Just sitting, like they used to, watching the comings and goings in the gateroom, or arguing over a chessboard. And the team, the way it had been, watching B-movies with silly aliens and throwing popcorn at the screen…
The door in front of him wouldn't open and he swore, turned away and headed down another hall. Now even the damn city was against him. Everything was falling apart, and though he was tempted to blame the Genii, he knew it was him. His own weakness.
He'd made a promise to himself, when he stood there in front of his superior officeryears ago being busted in rank, that never again would he let himself get in a similar situation. He'd be friendly but not friends, he'd do his job as long as he got to fly. Clouds were good. Sky was good. He'd leapt at McMurdo as a chance to finish his time out ferrying people around, the clean, cold whiteness was a blank sheet where all that had to be written by him was the clouds of snow the rotors kicked up, the runnels the skids left.
Faceless people, in and out. Hey, cold enough for you? Nope, don't see polar bears here. California. Sure didn't think I'd end up here. Not the ass-end of the world, but you can see it from here. Later!
Then O'Neill.
He stopped again, outside another door, tried to will it open. It remained closed. He slammed his hand into it, swore again at the pain.
O'Neill had brought him into some damn secret program. He'd met a whack of fascinating people. He'd done some things he was proud of and some he was ashamed of.
He'd broken his promise to himself.
The next door opened, and he was in a large room, blue green with filtered light from the ocean. The walls were transparent, and he walked over to them, staring out in awe at the changing shades. It was a few moments before he tore his eyes away and looked around.
It was roughly oval, and half of that oval skimmed into the ocean. The other half held a series of panels, and several chairs that faced the clear walls. He scanned the panels. There was some obvious damage, but others seemed intact. He touched one, and it blinked to life. There was some writing, but he ignored it, moving along the line, and by the time he got to the end of it three were active.
"Now what?" he muttered, knowing his first instinct was to call McKay 'Hey - guess what I found!' - in his mind he could see it, the way things used to be, but now…
He made a habit of keeping his military bearing up and running in the world above, but he was alone here. No reason to bother with that.
He dumped his gear, sat down in the chair, leaned back, and watched the ocean.
xxxxx
"…reading like a short." Zelenka trailed behind McKay.
They were down in the bowels of one pier, hot on the trail of a tiny power drain, but when they were facing the Wraith even a small one was worth plugging.
"A short?"
"Sporadic. It is very unusual."
"Well, here we are…" his voice trailed off and he crouched, checking the floor with the flashlight. "Someone's been here recently."
Zelenka frowned. "Problem?"
"Nope." McKay stood. "Army boots. Must be left from scouting," he touched the door and it opened obligingly.
The interior was oval, and the windows to the ocean let in shifting light…
"Oh, crap." McKay tucked his light into his pocket and ran to the occupied chair. "John? John!"
The Major was silent, secured to what looked like a smaller version of a control chair. McKay felt for a pulse, and Zelenka held his breath until the physicist nodded.
"Alive." His voice held relief. "But what's up with this?" He ran his hands over the silvery bands that held him to the chair, then he stopped and squinted at the man's head. "Something's very weird here…"
He started to search the area, touching things seemingly at random. Zelenka followed him. It wasn't often he felt envious of McKay and his adopted gene - well, when the nanovirus attacked, maybe, and he would like to learn to fly that jumper…
"Holy cow."
McKay was leaning over what looked like a monitor. It was on, dimly, and seemed to show a dimensional image of a human skull and brain. Given that there was only one human connected to the machinery, he knew who it was.
"Those probes."
"What?"
Zelenka peered over McKay's shoulder.
"See?" McKay pointed at the image the diagnostic projected. "They're seated in certain very specific areas of his brain. We haven't mapped the human brain, by any means, in fact we know more about our DNA than our brains, but those seem to be set in areas known to be related to memory and creative thought."
He tapped his radio. "Elizabeth, we found Sheppard - and I didn't even know he was lost. He's down here in the third level of the southwest pier, hooked in somehow to a damaged Ancient machine - it was causing our intermittent short. I don't know what this thing does, but it's got about sixty sensors buried in his brain. We'll need - well, everyone, pretty much."
Zelenka heard Weir begin to question, but McKay had tapped off and was back to examining the monitor.
He shuddered. "Having something in your brain...actually penetrating your skull..."
Zelenka nodded understandingly. McKay had been sensitive to the concept since his experience with another version of V.R., a test in behavioural theory that had made use of a V. R. helmet, and probes.
"This must be powered somehow," he commented.
McKay ran his hands over the lit panels. "That's just so wrong," he muttered as he worked, "stuff stuck into your head...Here it is."
It wasn't good news. It never was, not when he had that look on his face. Zelenka knew from McKay's shoulder set, his head tilt, that he was worried. He glanced over at Sheppard, down at the screen again and the concern was written on his face.
He and Peter had discussed it before. Grodin felt that the friendship between the chief science officer and the head of military had seen its last jibe. He'd been remarkably morose about it, and not only because of the negative effect that it had on McKay's personality. He confided he'd seen that relationship as proof the military and the sciences could get along, become more than the sum of their often-prickly parts.
Zelenka hadn't argued the point too vehemently, but within himself he knew the ties that bound McKay and Sheppard were not so easily broken. Bent, fraying, stretched almost to the limits, but not broken.
He had no certainty of this but hope.
They had both been damaged, badly. He'd seen it before, hoped his friends would be spared. Survivours of torture had to deal with the resultant problems, physical and psychological; and friends of survivours had their own challenges to handle. Added to that the fact they'd thought McKay lost - and the incredible impact that had on the Major - and he wasn't altogether surprised at the fights. What alarmed him had been the silences. They were trying to deal separately, and originally, he felt, it had been to spare the other. Now their silence had become a habit, and Zelenka felt responsible in a way the others might not, having lived through something similar in his own family.
He'd suggested, diffidently, to Sheppard one day, that he might want to speak to Heightmeyer, if only to see how McKay was recovering. The scornful bite in the Major's response and the glare accompanying it made him simply nod, and retreat. He'd half-expected an apology - that was generally Sheppard's way - but none was forthcoming and at that point he'd realized that McKay wasn't the only one in trouble. A list mapped itself out in his mind; personality changes, shortness of temper, depression, withdrawing from social activities - it all led to what the Americans had christened Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He still knew it as shell shock.
It was a special kind of torture to see his friends tearing at each other. He'd told Weir and Heightmeyer of his observations, and a plan had been drawn - an intervention, of sorts - but then Chaya had happened and everything went out the window.
McKay was staring at the scrolling text, reading Ancient almost as fast as he did English. He paused it, checked another monitor, swore.
"Elizabeth, how long till they get here?"
"The team is assembled and on their way," came her voice. "ETA fifteen minutes."
McKay frowned, examined the monitor again. "He may not have fifteen minutes. Radek."
"Hm?"
"It's draining him." McKay stepped over to another panel, confirmed something, and came back.
"See? This shows the chairs, they're tied somehow, with two or more occupants it would just cycle between them, but with only one chair occupied - it's like a power cable in a puddle, every time it tries to shift sources it dumps more energy. And this was designed to be used by the real Ancients..." he trailed off, and Radek could almost see the wheels turning.
He looked at Zelenka, shocked. "It's going to kill him. And soon."
"Safety protocol," he replied immediately. "Redundancy - Ancients love it. Will not let him die."
"This is damaged. We can see it. Who knows if the backups are still functional? If they were, wouldn't they have kicked in by now? Look at that - I'm no doctor, but even I know those readings are bad news. They're getting worse." He ran his hand through his hair, distressed. "And again, designed for full-blood Ancients."
"We cannot remove him, not with how it has merged with him. Would be major surgery, could be damage."
"So we have to get it to release him." He stared at Sheppard. "But we haven't got much time..." He frowned hard, staring at the monitors, then at the screen that showed the probes. Back at the monitors.
Zelenka began to get a bad feeling he knew McKay's thought process. It was confirmed when he beckoned Zelenka over.
"Here's the documentation, accessible with this keypad," McKay told him. "Wiring diagram. This panel won't initialize, get Grodin on that."
"Rodney..."
"Right now it's an open circuit, discharging." He removed his comm and handed it to Zelenka. "It's designed for use by Ancients, and I have the gene. I'm closing it. It'll buy you time to get us out."
He trailed McKay as he headed to the second chair, trying to think of something to say, uncertain if he should say anything. It proved his theory, that the friendship still existed, but this kind of proof he could do without.
McKay paused a moment, looked back at him, and he saw the worry in his eyes.
"Radek..."
"I remember," he said quietly. "Kids, and the Unification theory."
He nodded, and without hesitation, stepped up and sat.
The chair glowed. Zelenka observed carefully as the bands grew across McKay's chest, wrists, lap and ankles. A forest of tiny wires extruded from the headrest, wavered like an anemone in the sea, then clasped around his head and seemed to vanish. He saw McKay's eyes roll back, a shudder went through his body, and his eyes closed.
Anxiously, he checked the monitoring area. The indicators showed more encouraging readings for Sheppard, while McKay's signs had dropped significantly, though not into a danger area yet. Footsteps behind alerted him, and he turned, unsurprised, to see Ford and Teyla. Nodding at them, he touched the comm.
"Dr. Weir, we have a situation."
