WHAT SAY WE?

PART 2: SHAVE AND A HAIRCUT

He rested where he'd fallen – half turned on his stomach -- and blinked in the low light. One hand clenched at the cloth beneath his hand as he considered closing his eyes and continuing his sleep, but his gaze moved past the white of the sheets and fastened on the dreaded alarm clock he'd bought in Germany all those years ago.

Damn… He'd slept long enough. With a groan, and a shake of his head, Sheppard pressed himself upright. Wincing, he wondered whether anyone would miss him for another hour. No one could fault him for wanting to sleep in – just once. But… he had to be somewhere. There was this strange feeling that he needed to get out of his room and take care of something.

Almost without thinking, he stumbled to his feet and began unbuttoning the shirt that he hadn't bothered removing the previous night.

Sheppard had retreated to his quarters without really considering sleep. Determined to continue his search for Ford, he'd planned to change his clothing, take a shower maybe. But he'd sat on the bed to remove his boots, and exhaustion had taken him.

Ford – damn it, Ford. The lieutenant had been clever. The ATA gene wasn't required to dial the Gate from the jumper. The automatic launch system had taken over from there – and he'd brought the jumper to a hostile planet, where any exploration required preparation. The corrosive atmosphere was enough to give anyone pause, but he'd been smart enough to leave the jumper too near the Gate to allow another through. Assembling a team that could travel on foot, properly suited-up, took time. And when they'd made it through to M4P-881, Ford was long gone.

Sheppard had returned with a dead feeling in his chest, returning the puddlejumper through the event horizon to Atlantis, to meet a sea of anxious faces. He'd nodded grimly at Weir as he disembarked in the hanger with Teyla at his side. He'd expected to find McKay there, too, shouting out questions in that rat-a-tat manner of his, but the physicist hadn't been there, and Sheppard was half-glad to have avoided him. Weir asked only a question or two, then wisely let him be.

Then, he'd slept for eight hours – felt like two.

He squinted at his image in the mirror and ran a hand haphazardly through his hair, trying – without success – to bring it under control. He probably needed a haircut, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Shower -- he needed a shower. The hand moved to his chin – and a shave. A manipulation of his jaw -- and his teeth definitely needed brushing. A change of clothes was absolutely necessary, he thought as he flung the shirt to one corner of the room. Breakfast – he was jonesing for some bacon. Maybe the Daedalus brought some along with the other supplies. Yeah, he could use some bacon. He could use a lot of things.

There's something I got to do, he thought, not knowing what.

With a yawn, he grabbed a towel and made his way to the shower.

"Anything new about Ford?" Sheppard asked as he strode into the Gateroom, showered, shaved, (unshorn) and shoved full of properly-cured pork products.

"Nada," the man at the gate returned without lifting his pale eyes from the display. It took a moment for Sheppard to remember his name – Marymere – usually on the night shift. It was a bit of a shock to find the night-guy working at this hour – to find creepy Marymere with his black hair and white complexion here instead of the salt-of-the-earth, steady-as-a-rock Peter Grodin. The technician looked too much like a Wraith for John's liking.

Sheppard gave the man a curt nod and continued on his path. Grodin was gone – one of many. The major had read through the reports, had seen the names listed – the dead, the wounded, the missing. Ford's name had yet to be added to that list. Maybe they just didn't know how to classify his departure yet.

The Gateroom was all a'bustle with scientists, newly returned from the Alpha Site. They seemed far too perky to fit into Sheppard's weary world, and he did his best to avoid them. How the hell could they have so much energy, so much zeal, when he felt as if a series of semis had run him down?

The scientists were organizing the repairs to the city, trying to figure out what to do first, and what to do next. Kavanagh was shouting to a knot of civilians, attempting to get them motivated, but nobody looked as if they wanted to follow his command.

Doctors Stanley and Sappho were morosely huddled at a display, pointing and piddling about at the keyboard, but not seeming to accomplish anything. Sappho was scowling about something, and Stanley looked at her askance, her mouth drawn tight as if she were considering laughing at her humorless companion, but a smile might have broken her face.

Burnaby and Powell were frowning, leaning against the balcony, watching the work of their colleagues, bitching about it no doubt, but doing nothing themselves.

A few soldiers stood about. Daniels and King were trying to look enthusiastic about standing around. Wilmington leaned against one wall, chatting to Dunne. The young soldier was trying to keep a straight face while the older man quietly cajoled him. Major Lorne, newly arrived with the Daedalus, gave them severe look and the two quieted. Finn was fidgeting around with a toolbox, trying not to get caught by Kavanagh.

"Just another day at the beach," Sheppard muttered as he skirted the room and continued up the stairway.

He sighed and found his way along the upper level, looking for someone who knew what was going on -- someone whose word could be trusted. He cringed when he heard the shout -- "Major Sheppard!" Kavanagh, finding his previous audience insufficient, tramped up the stairs. "Major, listen," he called as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm going to need some muscle. They've assigned me to get some of the repairs done. I could use about a dozen of your soldiers to get the projects moving so that I free myself to more important work. I MUST get back to my lab. Just consign them to me and I'll give them their orders." And he smiled smugly.

"Not now," Sheppard returned quietly.

Kavanagh made a face. "This isn't my problem! I was assigned! This place is in chaos! I can't believe that it was allowed to deteriorate into this state. Some people just can keep on top of things. They have no organization skills and let things go to crap. And guess who gets assigned the dirty work? Yeah, that's right -- me." And he frowned haughtily. "I'll have to get things fixed, but I'll need some more men. You should have a few extras just sitting around now, right? So if you'd just…"

"Kavanagh," Sheppard ground out. "My men gave everything they had to protect this city. They're getting some much-deserved rest. Those that are able to work at the moment are already assigned duties for the day. Those that are sleeping are going to keep sleeping until they feel like getting up. Everyone else is either in the infirmary or dead."

The response brought the big scientist up short. He lifted his chin a fraction. "We've suffered as well," he returned. "We've lost good men, too."

There was no denying that, and Sheppard wasn't about to get into a pissing match with the big freak. He was too damn tired of fighting. "I'll assign some men when we can free them up," Sheppard told him, knowing that Kavanagh wasn't asking for anything extraordinary. The repairs needed to be done – and as quickly as possible.

Kavanagh nodded, accepting this. He dipped his head a moment and muttered, "I'm sorry about Lt. Ford."

The statement surprised the Major. He looked to the man, expecting some sort of comeback – some snide addition to the simple statement.

When Sheppard said nothing, Kavanagh shrugged, looking uncomfortable, finally concluding, "That's all," and turned abruptly to descend the stairs and return to his little pod of people.

Sheppard shook his head, not knowing what to make of the exchange. Unable to understand it, he continued along the upper level of the Gateroom, until he came to one quiet corner in the ruckus. He let out a breath, glad. "Hey," he greeted.

A head bobbed up from behind a computer screen. "Good day, Major," the accented voice returned. His eyes returned to the display, and he rested his head on a hand.

"Surprised to find you up and around, Radek," Sheppard continued. "After what happened." He tapped his own head to illustrate where Ford had clobbered the scientist.

The Czech shrugged. "It wasn't a serious blow," he explained. "I thank you for coming to check on me last night. It was unnecessary."

"It was necessary," John restated, remembering his visit to the infirmary, when Zelenka was quiet as a mouse, looking up at everyone with overly large eyes – not seeming to comprehend anything around him.

Zelenka sighed. "I was able to rest long enough," he returned, touching his head. "But now I am awake. I find it easy to take – how do you say – cat-naps -- during the day – than to sleep all night."

"The doctor said you were able to go back to work?" Sheppard asked.

"What could he say?" Zelenka responded. "I spent the night in the infirmary, but could only remain at rest for so long."

"Yeah, I know the feeling."

Zelenka raised his eyes to watch the ebb and flow of scientists around him. Wearily, he looked toward Sheppard. "They do not understand what it was like," he explained. "They are excited, like children, and are glad that our Atlantis survived. They are glad to be back." With a sigh, he repeated. "They do not understand."

"Yeah," Sheppard responded. It was true. Everyone seemed far too jolly and energetic in the Gateroom – everyone was straining to get moving, bopping around like everything was right in the world. They had no idea. Even the soldiers that arrived on the Daedalus seemed too animated. Only their weary-eyed Marines, and a small group on the upper level knew.

The major watched them for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Zelenka's computer. The Czech was scanning systems of some sort – the display was filled with what appeared to be a map of circuits or ducts or maybe a septic system. Sheppard couldn't begin to comprehend it. And there was this odd feeling niggling at him. "You seen McKay yet?" he asked.

Radek shrugged. "I have only been awake for a short time," he explained. "I have not seen him, but I suspect that he is sleeping still. He slept very little since everything began. Two- three hours, maybe."

"Three hours a day?" Sheppard asked.

Zelenka sighed. "In total," he responded.

"What?" Sheppard returned sharply.

Radek sighed again. "When we discovered that twelve additional Hive ships were approaching -- he was asleep at his computer. First time I had seen him sleep. I was ashamed to awaken him, but it had to be done." Zelenka shifted his jaw and then stated, "I knew that he would understand what to do." And, returning his gaze to the screen, he added, "Rodney was so tired."

Sheppard harrumphed that this information. "Did anyone see if he made it back to his room last night?"

Again, Zelenka shrugged. "I don't know," he replied. "I was unconscious at the time."

Sheppard nodded and winced. What could he say? "I'm sorry about that."

"Yes, we are all sorry."

Sheppard watched Radek rub a hand at the back of his head as he continued to stare at the screen, turning his attention elsewhere. "I hope that Rodney's sleeping in his room," Zelenka finally declared. "He deserves some rest."

"What say we find out?" Sheppard declared.

Radek contemplated, then nodded as he pushed himself up from his seat. "Now that we have the ZPM, it is not foolish to use the sensors when it is… convenient." And he smiled. "We will see if he is in his room."

Radek smiled serenely, in his element as he settled himself behind the life sign system. The device, already active, responded to his commands as he called up the section of Atlantis surrounding McKay's quarters. "I hope he's not already at work," the Czech muttered. "It would be like him." And he tipped his head to see the screen.

Sheppard frowned as he regarded the floor plan, easily finding McKay's room and next-door lab -- empty. "Damn," Sheppard muttered.

Zelenka let out a slow breath. "So… he is not there," he uttered unnecessarily as he took in the blip-free space. A glance to Sheppard, and he added, "We shall find him." A frustrated shake of his head. "But, I don't know where to look. He should be here…" and he gestured to the room around him. "Or there." And he pointed to the empty square illustrated on the screen.

"Widen it out," Sheppard commanded.

Zelenka did as he was told with a wary expression. "We will be unable to tell which representation is Rodney," he explained. "There are so many people here now…" The screen changed to a wider view. Dots flourished everywhere.

"Keep going," Sheppard said softly. "All the way out."

Giving Sheppard a worried glance, the engineer stated, "This is not like the situation surrounding Lt. Ford." Almost to assure himself, Radek restated, "He will not be in the water."

"Keep going," Sheppard repeated, watching as Radek pulled out the view, far enough to take in all of the city and the water beyond. For a moment, neither said anything. Sheppard still felt it – that off sensation.

Finally, with an audible sigh, Radek stated, "You see." And he gestured to the 'water' around the image. "He is not there."

Sheppard wasn't ready to relax yet. Something wasn't right. Okay, there were a lot of things that weren't right at the moment – Ford for one, the destruction and death that surrounded them was another. Even the newcomers felt strange to him. John had become used to the select few that had spent nearly a year in Atlantis. The new people felt like interlopers to them – mere Earthlings when the rest of them had become Atlantians. His gaze still moved as he expected a telltale dot to appear, as if he expected to KNOW when they came across Rodney. As his eyes tracked, he noted one lone blip – far off on a lonely pier.

Oh, for the love of…

Zelenka followed his gaze and scowled. "There is no work scheduled for that area. It was not known to be damaged in the attacks. I don't know who would be there," he commented.

"I do," Sheppard responded, and turned sharply to stride out of the Gateroom at a fast clip.

TBC