Per Alicus Oculae

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, and I love the guesses as to what's happening! None of you got it quite right, but I will say goldanima was the closest. Not entirely correct, but close. :)

I have to say I'm really proud of this chapter for some strange reason. I think I had too much fun writing Rodney in this one. It kinda came naturally, which is really scary, because that means I think like him. And if I'm thinking like him, that means I need my head checked out. :)

Chapter 3: Headaches Suck

Tylenol. A big honkin' bottle of Tylenol is what he needed right about now. Maybe if he took all 250 of the bottle's pills that little gnome inside his head trying to burrow its way out with a sledgehammer would leave him alone.

John chose to keep his eyes closed for the moment. Regaining consciousness was a good first step, but one thing at a time. No need to be an overachiever. He tried to remember the last thing that happened. I was in the lab, that Ancient machine, Campbell, was hooked up to all these instruments, there was a bright flash, and McKay and I were thrown backwards….

McKay! I'm gonna kill him, I swear to God….

His first mistake was opening his eyes too quickly as his retinas were immediately assaulted by the bright, artificial overhead lights of the infirmary. Okay, I'm in the infirmary. Nothing new there. Truth be told, it was one of his least favorite spots in the grand city, but one of his most frequented. He should put down a mortgage on the place so often he stayed. John had been in more scrapes than he could count and had more injuries than he cared to remember, so the infirmary was like his second home.

Groaning, the major tried to roll to his side. Noticing the movement, one of the nurses called out for a doctor.

Yes, I agree. Someone get a doctor, please, John thought. My head's going to explode….

"Doctor! Doctor!" she continued calling to someone.

Jeez, what is it with that lady? Can't she keep it down?

"Doctor! Doctor? Are you alright?" came the high-pitched voice again.

Great, what happened now? John wondered, annoyed. As if his day wasn't bad enough already, he had to deal with Ms. Helium Voice nurse here and now possibly an injured Carson. Someone shoot me….

Opening his eyes once more, he found the nurse was studying him. John looked about, confused. There were no other patients on any of the nearby cots, so she must have been talking to him. "What, me? Yeah, I, uh… I'm fine, I guess." What is with her?

The nurse, one which Major Sheppard realized he did not recognize (which was odd, considering the number of times he'd been in the med wing), gave him a reassuring but plastic smile. "Good. You gave us all quite a worry there, Doctor."

"Look, that's the second time you've called me that."

"Oh, I'm sorry," the young woman apologized. Clearly, she was green and inexperienced. "'Doctor Sheppard?'" she tried again, hoping she had corrected her mistake.

Oh boy. Maybe I have a concussion, too.

The nurse - 'Trisha Harland' her nameplate said - continued on, poring over some papers attached to the end of John's bed. "You were going over some of our patients' files when we think you accidentally slipped on some spilled coffee. You must have hit your head on a cot on the way down, because Nurse Gregor and I found you unconscious about ten minutes ago, sprawled out on the floor."

John looked up at her in utter bewilderment, using a few seconds to process what he had just been told. Doctor. Coffee. Slipped. Unconscious. "Huh?" was all he could manage.

Trisha held up a pen light and peered into John's eyes. He squinted against the sudden brightness but sat obediently still. He'd been through this little number so many times he could do it in his sleep.

"Well, the good news is you've got no signs of a concussion," she concluded after asking a few simple questions of the major. "Looks like you're all set to get back to work, Doctor. Doctor Sheppard. Sorry."

All he could do is stare at the woman for several beats, baffled, before looking down at his watch. The date registered June 3. So it's not an April Fools joke…. Just what in the hell is going on here?

"Look, I don't know what anyone told you, ma'am," he explained, chuckling slightly at the absurdity of it all, "but I'm not a doctor. I don't know the first thing about medicine, other than some basic field training. I'm a major in the United States Air Force. A pilot."

Trisha stared down at him, contemplating. Suddenly, she burst out laughing, which only confused John all the more. "That's a good one, Doc. A joke, right? Getting back at us nurses for hiding all your gauze patches? Well, rest up a bit more if you need to; I'll be back to check on you in a few minutes." She began to walk away.

"Wait, I'm serious! I'm an officer in the Air Force, have been since 1992. I flew choppers: Blackhawks, Apaches, Cobras, Ospreys…. Up until last year, I was stationed at McMurdo in Antarctica before coming here to Atlantis. Look," he said, reaching around his neck for his dog tags. They weren't there. Shit. Must've forgotten to put them on this morning. "My serial number is 306784159 AF."

Trisha took it all in silently. She looked at the man before him, his eyes full of confusion but pleading with her at the same time to understand. "Are you sure you're feeling okay, Doctor Sheppard?"

John expelled a lungful of air, exasperated. "For the last time, I am not a doctor! Never was, and sure as hell never will be!"

"Okay, I think we all need to just calm down a little bit…."

"I'll calm down when you stop calling me 'doctor,' how's that?" John stood to leave but stopped short when he caught his reflection in the screen of one of the monitors. What the…?

It was him, all right, dressed head to toe in a white lab coat. A stethoscope hung loosely around his neck, and where his P-90 should have been clipped to his vest, a pocket full of pens, measurement charts, and a thermometer stood out.

Okay, this is… different. "Where's Beckett?" he asked the nurse. "I need to talk to Beckett."

She cocked her head. "Beckett? Carson Beckett?"

"Yes, Carson Beckett," John said through clenched teeth. He thought maybe some of Rodney's impatience was starting to rub off on him.

Trisha shook her head, still confused. "I don't know…. The Jumper Bay maybe…."

"Why? What is the chief doctor doing in the Jumper Bay? Is he taking one out, going to the mainland?"

She gave him a small, nervous smile. Trisha decided to use his first name in an effort to calm him down. "John, you're the chief medical doctor. You have been since we arrived here, nearly a year ago. Your file says you specialize in rheumatology, but you also work in the fields of immunology, cardiology, and genetics. You got your degree from Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore in 1992, and you completed your residency at the Cleveland Clinic."

He looked at her like she had just spoken a foreign language. This is just too weird. "Okay, I have to go now…." Major Sheppard took one step toward the exit before being stopped by a hand on his arm.

"Oh no, Doctor. I'm going to have to keep you for observation. You seem a little… out of it."

I seem a little out of it? This was the last thing he needed: yet another stay in the infirmary. He had somehow miraculously acquired a degree in medicine, he had apparently slipped and fallen to the floor, Rodney was nowhere to be seen, and he had no explanation for any of it whatsoever. And to top it all off, he was being held captive by a nurse who sounded like she was a member the Lollipop Guild. All of a sudden, his headache had just gotten worse.

Oh, I so don't need this right now…. Somehow I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.

"Got anymore of that Tylenol?"

Okay, what smells like dead cat? No, not dead cat. Opossum. Dead opossum. And garbage. And some of that stuff they use to preserve organs and… well, dead things and whatnot. What is the name of that stuff, anyway? Formaldehyde, that's it. I remember this one time in biology class Susie Walker spilled a jar of it on the teacher. Now that was funny. Ah, Susie Walker….

McKay slowly opened his eyes to the glow of firelight. Patterns of the flame's light danced on the 'ceiling' - more like a tarp from what Rodney could discern - and bathed the surrounding area in a cozy warmth. Hey, this is kind of nice. I could get use to this.

Ah! What the hell? Reaching around underneath him, McKay pulled out from under his body a decent-sized stone covered in dirt. As he moved his hand about, he realized the entire floor was composed of dirt. So, is this what Elizabeth has done to the place? Wow, it's really gone downhill. I mean, I didn't expect a five-star hotel when I came to Atlantis, but a floor would certainly be nice. Ford and Sheppard must've trashed it. Someone's going to have to teach them a little something about interior decorating.

With a deep breath, the scientist sat up. To his (mild) surprise, he found himself inside a primitive looking tent, the walls and ceiling of which being composed of five white, taut canvases. Inside sat a small table, on which was placed a wooden bowl, some herbs, crude hunting tools, candles, and a satchel. On the wall hung several animal skins and primitive artwork.

Okay, so I've traveled back in time to the age of the Native Americans; that's it, isn't it?

Rodney would have liked to been more surprised, because the fact that he wasn't mean he was growing accustomed to the strange surprises the Pegasus Galaxy had to throw at him, and that in itself was scary. But he was forced to admit to himself that he had seen and experienced far weirder things than waking up in Pocahontas's tent.

He sniffed the air once more. There was that damn smell again…. Sniffing himself, he immediately jerked his head back in disgust. Ugh! But I just took a shower this morning… maybe not. Maybe it's my deodorant…. Oh, I forgot to out deodorant on today, right?

For the first time, Rodney actually looked at himself. Oh God, what am I wearing? It looks like a cross between a hippie's outfit from the 1960s, something from the local Renaissance Festival, and a Mongolian's dead animal fur. And it reeks. I'm sure they can smell it all the way back on Earth. Does this actually pass as fashion in some cultures? And I use both the terms 'fashion' and 'culture' loosely….

He stood, an error on his part, for the sudden movement caused his head to spin. A headache at one of his temples made its presence known.

Stumbling out of the tent like a drunk making his way to the bathroom, Rodney looked around. There were dozens of tents, all similar in shape and color to his, and all arranged in columns and rows. Off to one side, a small tilled patch of soil sprouted some sort of greenery. Camp fires burned at various spots around the settlement. Numerous people milled about, all similarly dressed as him, coming and going from one tent or another.

And then it dawned on him: he knew where he was. He was on the mainland, at the Athosian encampment. But how did I get here?

The device. I hit the discharge button. Oh boy, the major's going to kill me…. Where is he, anyway? If we were both in the same room when it went off, he must be here, too. Right? For all his reasoning, Rodney wasn't entirely convinced his theory was correct.

"Hey! You!" he shouted brashly at one of the Athosians, a man carrying a basket of vegetables. The man turned to see who had hailed him.

"Yeah, you," Rodney continued as he approached the Athosian.

"Ah, Rodney, what can I do for you?" he asked politely.

"Oh," McKay answered, somewhat surprised. "You know my name. Good. How do you know my - nevermind. It doesn't matter; I should've assumed news of me and my work have traveled to all corners of the galaxy by now. Listen, where's Major Sheppard?"

"Major Sheppard? I… I am not sure…."

"Okay, fine." His fuse was short already. "Can you tell me how I got here then?"

"You appeared to have walked over from your tent-"

He was stopped by a cutting motion from Rodney's hand. "No, no, I don't mean here here, I mean here on the mainland here."

"Oh, I understand. Well you see, when your father and mother decided to have a child back on Athos-"

"What? What are you talking about? Listen, buddy, I'm a bit short on time here; don't have all day. Can we fast forward a few years to the present maybe?"

The Athosian was growing increasingly uneasy from Rodney's odd behavior. Little did he know this was how the scientist acted all the time. "Uh… all right…. As you recall, the Wraith attack on our home planet those many months ago forced us to flee to Atlantis. Soon after the discovery of the continent, we settled here on the mainland. Surely you remember?"

"Yeah, I remember, but why do you keep using word like 'we' and 'us?'" McKay threw his hands in the air, frustrated. "You know what? I don't care. I don't care. Just tell me how I lost consciousness; can you do that?"

"I am sorry, I do not know-"

"Is there anything you do know?" Athosian imbeciles. I'm marooned on a planet in a distant galaxy populated by Athosian imbeciles whom I wouldn't trust with a spoon without betting they'd hurt themselves with it. He took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down. "Can you at least tell me where my clothes are then?"

The poor man was baffled by Rodney's rant and odd question. "From what I can tell, you are wearing them."

McKay rolled his eyes. Fuse: now lit. "Yes, that's quite perceptive of you. Tell me, do all your people have as razor-sharp powers of observation as you do? Are they as on-the-ball as you so obviously are?"

The sarcasm was lost on the man, who struggled with a response. "Well, yes, I suppose-"

"Forget it. I'll try again: where are my clothes, my Atlantis expedition uniform? You know, the nice khaki and dark blue jacket with matching khaki pants and light blue shirt? The ones I'm always in? Sets off my shoulders nicely? Hello, ring any bells?"

The man shook his head as he thought and shrugged. "You have no such clothing to my knowledge, Rodney."

He could tell this Athosian was going to be of no help whatsoever. "Right. Whatever you say. And it's 'Doctor McKay,' by the way."

By now, that man was so befuddled and dazed by what Rodney had been saying he thought it best to just agree with him. "All right, Doctor McKay… if that is what you wish to be called now…."

"Of course it's 'what I wish to be called!' What are you, a friggin' cyborg? It's only my proper title, and I'll have you know I worked hard for that degree. It's not easy being head of your class with a half dozen kiss-asses trying to worm their way into your spot by ingratiating themselves with the professor. Marty Schuman, he was something. It was always, 'Can I do this for you, Professor?' or 'I'm going to the café; what can I get for you, Professor?' Please. You know what that got him? Nothing, that's what. Here I am, head of the science team of the Atlantis expedition, in the goddamn Pegasus Galaxy for crying out loud, and where's Mary Schuman? Probably at home, living out of his mother's basement, and if he's lucky, working his nine to five at the local McDonald's asking 'Would you like fries with that?'"

Silence. The Athosian was beyond confused now.

"I…" he began.

"And you know what else?" McKay interrupted. "It really goads me when someone doesn't call me 'Doctor.' Not because I need my ego stroked or anything…." He though about that for a second and ultimately decided he was wrong in that assessment. "Anyway, I just think when one achieves as high a status as myself, one has earned the respect of the others around him. I mean, if you were elected Prime Minister, wouldn't you want to be called 'Prime Minister' instead of Joe… or whatever your name is? Wouldn't you?"

"I, uh… I suppose…."

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying! I'd just like the proper respect every now and then, unless of course it was a hot chick… then she could call me whatever she wanted. I wouldn't care, as long as she was actually talking to me. You know how hard it is to get a beautiful woman to talk to you? Of course you do." He paused, sidetracked. "But you know what I don't like about the whole 'Doctor' title thing? It's not clear, not concise enough. I mean, as a scientist, you're trained to be clear and concise in everything you do, so don't you find it ironic that science is the only field in which titles can be a bit ambiguous? For example, if I was to introduce myself as Dr. McKay, as I so often do, would you assume I hold a doctorate in the field of astrophysics? Or medicine? Or anthropology? Or the art of blowing up nice little balloons and twisting them into cute, furry animals?" He looked to the man for an answer.

"Rodney, I believe you are confused-"

He scoffed. "You bet I'm confused. Just how scientists in two fields as blatantly dissimilar as medicine and astrophysics - although I have some serious qualms about medicine being characterized as a science - can share the same title, I'll never know-"

"That is not what I mean."

McKay looked at 'Joe' - or whatever his name was - like he had just sprouted a second head. "What are you talking about?"

"Rodney…." 'Joe' spoke softly, so as not to startle McKay with what he was about to say. "Rodney, you are not one of these 'doctors.' You do not have a degree in astrophysics," he explained, pronouncing the unfamiliar words with some trouble. "You are a leader. Our leader, the leader of the Athosians."

McKay didn't respond, couldn't respond. He just looked at the Athosian with a sort of half-smile, half-frown, all-bewildered look on his face. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, his jaw opened and closed like a fish gasping its last breaths of air.

Thankful for the rare interruption in Rodney's ramblings, the Athosian took the opportunity to leave, and wisely so. If McKay started up again on one of his lectures, the man might not ever get a chance to escape.

Rodney's eyes followed 'Joe,' watching him quickly duck into a nearby tent. Oh boy, things really got screwed up this time. I so hope this is one of those things I can't possibly be blamed for.

He re-evaluated his last thought.

Yep, I'm a dead man.

TBC

'What the huh?' you might be saying? I promise, it will be explained later on. And no, there is no switching bodies involved whatsoever:)