Author's Notes: Sorry for the slight delay between updates, a plot bunny bit me. If you feel like reading the results, then please do. Otherwise... I appreciate every one of you who has stuck with me this long! After this chapter there are two more to go, and then we're done.

The Puppet Master

Chapter Thirty Four - Loose Ends

Two other patients shared the infirmary with McKay. Lieutenant Hartley lay two beds down from the door, her leg in a cast, propped up against a pillow and in deep discussion with her team mate Michael Gatley, who sat in a chair beside her. One of the scientists lay in the cot opposite, fast asleep and seemingly unharmed save for an ugly purple rash covering two thirds of his face.

Sheppard walked past them, pausing briefly to greet the two Lieutenants before moving to the bed in the furthest corner of the room. Curtains were drawn closely around it, and had been for the past two days. Carson hadn't objected, under the defence that it hampered the attempts of the other scientists to bother their leader with a variety of problems. Sheppard wondered at the concession but had chosen to make no mention of it to the Scot, although he'd seen the guilt, and the way McKay would tense every time Beckett approached.

He ignored the barrier as he had on every visit, deliberately scuffing his shoes against the floor as he approached to give his friend enough time to compose himself, but not to object. "McKay, you asleep?"

"If I had been, I wouldn't be any longer, would I?"

McKay sat on the edge of the bed, barefoot but clothed in loose fitting pants and a t-shirt he was pulling over his head.

Sheppard squinted at the fine print. "This was supposed to be the future. Where is my jet pack, my robotic companion –"

"Yes, yes, you can read." He tugged at the shirt sharply and glared.

"Carson know you're escaping?"

"No," McKay shot back, "and I intend to keep it that way. He's on his lunch. Pass me my shoes."

He blinked at the change of topic, then turned to where the physicist pointed. "He'll be pissed," he pointed out unnecessarily, picking up the shoes and handing them to McKay.

"Probably." The scientist's voice was muffled as he bent to pull them on. "I doubt he'll say anything. He's barely said a word since I woke up. I think he's feeling guilty about something but I can't imagine what."

He winced. "You're not being very fair."

"No, I'm probably not. Being wrongly diagnosed with schizophrenia tends to do that to a person."

"McKay –"

Rodney's shoulders slumped. "Alright," he admitted. "I know it's – it's not fair."

"None of this is," Sheppard agreed.

McKay ducked his head. "True. And I – I'll stop blaming him."

"If you want someone to blame," John suggested, "I suggest the walkway outside Kavanagh's quarters, a bucket of water, and a dozen of Beckett's best surgical gloves."

"Hmpf. It's an idea." He lifted his head sharply and stared at Sheppard. "Do you have it?"

"Please," he drawled, "McKay. It's all ready."

He received a satisfied nod in response. "Good. And nobody asked any questions?"

"Relax. The only one in there was Dr Kusanagi and she scarpered as soon as I told her Kavanagh wanted her. She's a little jumpy."

The scientist snorted derisively. "Jumpy? It's enough to be contagious. Even being around her makes me nervous."

"You owe her," Sheppard reminded him. "Her, Zelenka and Beckett."

"Fine." He took a deep breath. "I get it, alright? You'd never win any awards for subtlety, Major."

He shrugged. "Tact was never part of the job description."

Pushing up from the bed, McKay caught Sheppard's gaze briefly, then looked away. "You don't have to do this."

"I gave my word."

"It's my responsibility."

"Are we really going to argue about this?"

McKay stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "Why I bother giving you a get-out clause…"

"Hey," Sheppard joked, following McKay as he moved through the infirmary, "like I can't find my own excuses."

"Oh, I'm quite sure you're capable of weasling your way out of anything," McKay said, conversationally. "That Sheppard charm will get you a long way. But not with Elizabeth."

"I can handle her."

He received only a sceptically raised eyebrow in response.

"Well, alright," he conceded. "But I'll talk to her, explain things. Plus by then it will be –"

"Too late?" McKay finished, grimly. "I'll need my tool kit."

"It's already there."

"Good." There was a pause. They stepped through the infirmary door, ignoring a surprised nurse, and started to walk down the corridor. "Where, exactly? I can't go to my lab, it's the first place Carson will look."

"I found somewhere." Sheppard placed a hand under the scientist's elbow and guided him firmly to the right, into a transporter alcove. The doors closed and he hit the control panel, lighting up a western section of the city on the display beside them. "You'll like it."

McKay tried to peer around Sheppard's hand at the map but was too slow to see anything. "As long as we won't be interrupted."

"Relax. They're not going to report you as AWOL to Carson for a while yet, and by the time they get around to looking for us we'll be long back." He paused, and glanced at McKay doubtfully. "How long will this take?"

"Not long."

"It took Zelenka –"

McKay rolled his eyes. "Please. That was entirely different. And I know what I'm doing. I should do, by now."

The transporter deposited them out into another corridor, this one dark and cold, untouched by power output from the city centre. The air felt fresh and cool, and the two men followed a chill wind to an open doorway and the sky outside.

"Oh," said McKay.

"Told you you'd like it."

"Thanks."

Sheppard gave a small, bitter smile. "You're welcome."

They stood beside one of the city's vast desalination tanks, but unlike the two that pumped water to the current inhabitants this one was clearly in a state of demise. A heavy layer of green mulch covered two thirds of the surface, delicate white flowers just beginning to lace between the leaves. Along its edges sprouted tall bulrushes and reeds. Birds circled above them, crying out to each other, wailing into the wind.

Sheppard watched his friend closely, trying to gage the man's emotions. For his part, he felt at peace with his choices, but he could not say the same for McKay. Rodney had barely spoken of his experience and John did not want to push, settling for guesses and half truths formed from the scientist's behaviour.

Though he was still worried. McKay had been unusually quiet since waking, particularly with the medical staff, and although a little of the snark and wit had returned to their conversations it felt stilted, as though the scientist was only making a gesture at normality.

But then, he thought, nothing about this was normal, and the question of whether something felt right to him was unimportant. His view wasn't the one that mattered.

"McKay –"

"Did you bring everything else?" McKay interrupted quickly, looking away.

"Over there." Sheppard led him along the side of the tank to the wider wall standing at the far end, between the city and the sea. The spires of Atlantis towered above them, sparkles reflected in the still water. "All boxed up, like you said."

"Of course. Even Zelenka knows it's more than his life is worth to touch my equipment."

He snorted. "You never learnt to share, did you, McKay?"

"It was never a module under Physics one-oh-one, no." Rodney snapped out a hand abruptly. "Any time you're ready."

He held his tongue, carefully pulling the alien device out from beneath his jacket and handing it to the scientist. Rodney gently took it from him and slipped it from the cloth bag Sheppard had placed it in for protection. Alarmed, John tried to snatch the object back, only for his hand to be slapped away.

"Be careful –" he admonished.

"Relax," McKay responded, fingering the metal with his fingers. "As much as I appreciate your concern, it's perfectly safe."

Sheppard saw the scientist's arm suddenly jerk involuntarily, almost causing him to drop the device. McKay clenched his free hand, trying to quell the spasm, and cursing when the tremors increased. Reaching out, Sheppard laced his fingers firmly around his friend's wrist and kept a firm grip as together they rode out the shakes.

"Side-effect," McKay said, between gritted teeth.

"I know."

"It'll pass." And it was, the tremor fading into a quiver, and then stilling.

Gently Sheppard loosened his grip and lowered his hand. McKay flushed and looked away, dropping down to sit awkwardly on the floor, concentrating on his kit.

Sheppard took a step back and looked out across the tank. "We should come out here more often," he mused. "Bring a picnic."

McKay didn't answer. John turned, watching his friend simply sit, still and quiet.

And that was definitely not normal. He shivered.

"Look, Rodney, when you said before that I don't have to do this – the same goes for you. There's a choice."

"Not really." McKay took a deep breath. "I just need a minute."

"Right." Sheppard pushed his hands into his pockets and waited.

The sun was out, but there was a chill breeze and he shivered. The wind sent ripples across the water, and a flock of birds rose suddenly from the reeds, circling each other beneath the clouds.

"He lived beside a lake."

Rodney was looking away from him, down to his hands and the tools lying on the floor.

"Kezan?"

"His village stood on the shore of a lake, several miles from the main town. His father was a teacher, first to fifth graders, I think. After lessons he would go fishing, but Kelal was afraid of the water –"

"Kelal," Sheppard interrupted, quietly.

"His brother."

"The one he –"

"Killed. Typical, that of all the parts to his existence, the one I remember in most detail is that."

"You remember." He'd suspected, but hadn't said anything, fearing McKay would clam up.

"Bits and pieces. It's like I've been dreaming I was somebody else." He took a deep breath, and reached out for a thin file. "Its quite fascinating," he mused, working over the device with careful hands. "Essentially, the mind is nothing more than energy stored in our synapses, so in theory the idea of one person's memories being implanted into another person's –"

"No souls," Sheppard interrupted.

McKay looked up at him, confused. "What?"

"Souls, McKay. I know you're not an advocate of religion and hell, I'd be right behind you in the cue for atheistic damnation but," he shrugged, "I think there might be something in the idea of souls."

"Ghosts," the scientist said, very softly. Then he took another breath, and resumed work. "I suppose it's possible. Some unifying theme to the data contained within an entity, unable to be replicated in any copy. Given that the process of copying was so stupendously flawed, of course, the collection of information labelled as Kezan that was in my head was not the same as the collection that lived nine hundred years ago – and, I suppose –"

"So," Sheppard interrupted again, with a note of concern, "you're saying because Kezan had gaps in his memory, he had less of a soul than the original?"

"Please," said McKay, and rolled his eyes. "If you insist on using such poetic licence, then no, I'm not saying that, but –" He paused. "He is – was – a different person."

John took a step closer, his insides clenching. "Was."

"As in, will be described in the past tense."

Looking over McKay's shoulder Sheppard saw the device, now neatly parted into two halves, its innards of wires and silver open to the sky.

"The original," McKay continued, fingering the outside of the device absently, "died hundreds of years ago. But Kezan – the one inside my head – he knew. I'm not sure how but – he did."

"Never took you as the type to believe in ESP, McKay."

"I never believed in vampires, either. Until the Wraith." He shrugged. "Science is all about refining a theory, Major. Even dismissing it as fiction and starting again. Although," he added, "don't let that go any further. I do not need any free thinkers in my department. I've done my very best to stamp that out."

"And McKay's rule shall be law," Sheppard said, throwing a sloppy salute.

He was ignored. "There's been enough rebellion in the ranks already."

"You can handle Kavanagh."

"Oh, please. It's not even a challenge." He stopped. "Still…"

"McKay?"

The physicist shook his head. He straightened his back uncomfortably, and reached for a small glass bottle that stood beside the kit. "Let's get on with this."

Sheppard took a breath, watching his friend. McKay was pale, his jaw clenched tight, and there was a slight tremble to his hand as he uncorked the bottle.

He rushed out: "Rodney, I could do th–"

"I know, John. And –" There was a slight pause. "Thank you for the offer."

"Okay." He hesitated, wanting to say something, but unable to find the words. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

Slowly, and with intense concentration, McKay lifted the open bottle over the two halves of the device.

Sheppard heard his friend's breath catch in his throat as he tipped the bottle up.

The acid took a fraction of a second to hit the inner workings of the device, but the time seemed to lengthen painfully. It hit the silver and hissed, smoke rising from the chemical reaction as metal burned and boiled away.

A minute passed, and the hissing and smoke faded away, leaving only the liquid, ugly remains of tarnished silver.

When Sheppard tried to speak a moment later he found his throat dry and harsh, and had to swallow several times.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"He –"

"He's gone."

"Oh." It didn't seem real, that such a simple action, over in seconds, could take a person's life.

Except, Sheppard realised, it had never been a life in any real sense.

"You okay?"

"Fine." McKay's shoulders dropped a little. "I wouldn't mind – I'd rather have a minute."

"Sure." He lingered for several seconds.

Rodney turned towards him, his blue eyes oddly shadowed and empty. "I haven't thanked you yet."

"For this?"

"For talking to him."

"I just did what you asked."

"But if you hadn't – I'm not sure what would have happened. He was afraid, desperate. You gave him your word. It was the only thing I – he – could trust."

Suddenly John understood, saw with perfect clarity why he had been so confident that the transfer would work, that Kezan would do as he had sworn to do when the chance was offered. Why, in the infirmary, despite Carson's angst and Elizabeth's doubts, he had known with certainty that McKay would be returned whole and unharmed.

"I – " McKay stumbled over the words. "He trusted you because I do."

Sheppard opened his mouth to say something, but was at a loss. "It's – it's mutual, McKay. Always has been."

The scientist looked away quickly, mumbled: "Thanks."

There was an awkward pause.

"Right," Sheppard breezed, "so I should go. Just be back before Carson sends out the search parties. I don't want to face his interrogation."

"Agreed."

"And look, McKay, if you want to talk –"

"I know where you are."

"Right," he said, uneasily. Reluctantly John stepped away, but his gaze lingered on his friend. McKay sat awkwardly with his legs drawn up to the side, staring down at the ruined remains of what had once contained a life.