WARNING This chapter contains a scene which may be offensive

The next several hours were spent in a frantic effort to restore power. The city was getting hot, even with the ocean breeze that seeped into the smaller, opened windows. Rodney had often marveled at the pure ingenuity of the Ancients to be able to keep such a large area under perfect climate control. He had previously found, quite by accident, that the city actually had a series of elemental controls, rather than what would pass for heating and air. Apparently it had to do with the sensors that took the average body heat accumulated in the highly populated parts of the city and adjusted the climate controls accordingly, which would explain why it was always warmer in the deserted parts of the city. And hopefully, it would explain why he was sweating now. He passed the arboretum, swinging his light past and trying not to think of the flowers he'd left in the infirmary. Maybe they were from Ashanta, a Nigerian who had brought her favorite plants to Atlantis from her homeland, and was horrified when Rodney found what passed as a central watering system; a set of sprinklers that jutted from the ceiling like fire extinguishers and released what seemed like cubic tons of water in forty second spurts. Over watered, her plants nearly died. Rodney, shamed by his action, rigged a greenhouse for them. Almost a hot house, it was kept very dry, and saved the only memory she had of her home. He hadn't seen her since. The incident had happened shortly before he stepped foot into the sub that lead him to hell. Maybe the flowers were her tokens of appreciation.

He doubted it.

In fact, he was starting to get a very, very bad feeling.

He tapped his radio. "Preparing to reroute controls." He studied the wall before him and removed a large piece of casing, then stepped inside a tiny room that made a closet seem like a dome stadium. His shoulders wedged as he leaned over to access the temporary backups, to see if there was any chance in hell that there was any power left anywhere on the station.

That was when his flashlight went out.

"Crap." Wedged in the darkness, he closed his eyes ad tried not to panic. He felt for the tiny crystal chips that served as capacitors. All were in place, and without light, that was about all he could say. "I need a light down here, mine went out. You know, someone really needs to rethink stocking the generic batteries and find a way to get some damn Duracells."

"Thought it was Energizer that keeps going and going."

"Durecells are last longer, Major. . .where are you?"

"Behind you." The loud voice at his shoulder made Rodney jump, knocking his head against the low ceiling.

"Dammit!" He managed to twist and take the light that was handed to him. "Thank you."

"Whatcha see?"

Rodney winced as the white glare lit the crystals. One was black. "Ah. Got it." He put his hand on the crystal and handed the light back to Sheppard. Using both hands, he gave a tug.

The flood lights came on in the corridor.

"Sweet." Sheppard reached into Rodney's pack and pulled out a replacement crystal. "You still need this?"

"Yes." He reached back without looking, and Sheppard put the crystal in his hand. A moment later, the hall was brightly lit.

"One down, seventeen to go." Sheppard backed away as Rodney withdrew himself from the closet space with pronounced grunts. He stopped, body bent over, hands on his knees. "You okay?"

Rodney waved him away. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

"You still need some rest."

"Later."

"If it's just a matter of replacing a crystal, I can do that."

"It was a matter of replacing one in this case. As for the other seventeen cases, who knows." He picked up his bag.

Sheppard glanced down the hall and keyed his radio. "Zelenka? Why don't you come down here and see if you can help McKay. I need to get back to the gateroom."

"I am already on my way, Major." Sheppard nodded at the response, noting the way Rodney glared at him.

"What'd you do that for?"

"I did it because I need to get back to the gateroom. Didn't you just hear me say that?"

"I'm perfectly capable of doing this myself!"

"And I'm really going to let you go around this place alone?" He waved away the coming retort. "Besides, with Radek here you can get things done twice as fast!" In response to his name, the Czech appeared around the corner, toting his own bag and equipment. "Now behave. No bullying."

"Oh please." Rodney handed his scanner to Radek and gestured for him to lead the way. He sent one more glare at Sheppard before following. Sheppard merely smirked in return.

Radek fumbled with his flashlight, more as a distraction than anything. He wasn't comfortable. Knowing that Rodney suffered from. . .something. . .made him uneasy in his dealings with the man. He hadn't gone as drastic as avoiding him, but he had kept a close watch over him, from a distance. And he could tell Rodney had things going on, things that really did not need to be going on. It was plenty enough to make him wary, and yet the man was perfectly capable of doing his job. Hell, even the scowl on his face was typical, so what was the reason for concern? Maybe he really was better. Maybe Radek himself needed to let up.

He stopped in front of another console and popped off the panel. Rodney had already set his bag on the floor and was rummaging through it, muttering to himself. "Shouldn't you wait until I see inside?" Radek asked.

"Why?"

"Why pull out what we may not need?"

"I'm checking to see what I have in left here. Been a while since I packed it."

It suddenly occurred to Radek that Rodney was nervous as well. His flashlight whitened the interior of the wall. "You know, I think maybe you should have a look. You seem to find problems better than I do."

"That comment can be taken two ways, you know." Rodney stood and took Radek's place. "I'm not a magnet for trouble."

"That was not what I meant, and you know it. That is your own guilt speaking."

"So now my guilt speaks. Funny, all this time I thought it was my intellect."

"Usually it's your ass." He tried to peer in over his friend's shoulder. "What do you see?"

"Burnt crystal, same as before." Rodney reached back and snapped his fingers, his eyes glued to the interior workings.

Radek managed a smile and pulled out the crystal.

Rodney replaced the crystal in one quick swap, but his attention wasn't on his work. It was on his hand. He kept wiping at it.

Radek pocketed the burnt crystal. "Got an itch?"

"Yeah. Won't go away. Wonder if these things collect dust?"

"Never seen it. Think there is some sort of electromagnetic. . ."

"Yeah, yeah, been there." Rodney replaced the panel and straightened, stretching his spine with a mild groan. He swiped at the back of his neck, and frowned at his hand.

Radek shook his head in bemusement. "What are you doing?"

"I itch! When one itches, one scratches! Look, am I getting a rash somewhere or something?"

"I see nothing." Radek shouldered his bag. "We have many more, can we go?"

Rodney slapped at his neck, then rubbed his arm vigorously. He looked at his hand, squinted, then shook it. "Damn bug."

"Bug? In here?"

"Yeah." He slapped again, and examined his hand. "See?"

Radek looked. "No."

"How can you not see it? It's right there!"

"Rodney, your hand is empty. You are paranoid again, can we go?"

"It's not! Look, it's. . ." he rubbed at his face, worry creasing his forehead, and flung his hand. And again. And he paled.

Radek slowly set his bag down as his friend started to back away. "Rodney?"

"No! No, don't come near me, they might get on you." He was staring at his arm, and his puzzlement grew into horror. "Shit! SHIT!"

"What? Rodney?" Radek launched forward and grabbed the man, who was suddenly flailing about, slapping at his head and arms, raising his legs to wipe at them, like a man who had stepped in an ant bed.

But for Rodney this was much worse, as his increasingly panicked cries showed.

They were all over him. Tiny, white and squirming. He wasn't dead. Maggots were associated with dead things. And they covered him. "Radek!"

"What is it?" Frantic hands grabbed at him, trying to still him, but he wasn't having any.

"Get 'em off!"

"Get what off? Rodney, what?"

"The maggots! Get them off!" His jacket was shed and flung aside, stomped on as he tried to back away from his nightmare. He clawed at his skin like a victim of drug withdrawal, trying his hardest to get rid himself of his realistic vision. The scratches started to bleed.

But he wasn't finished. Pulling himself again from Radek's grip he dove for his bag and picked out a blade used for splicing wires. On his knees, he stretched his arm, and raked the flat of the blade across his skin.

"Rodney!" Radek fell to his knees, fighting the man for the blade before he could do himself damage.

"Stop it! I'm getting them off!" Rodney twisted away, aiming for his arm once again, carelessly dragging the blade over his skin, this time cutting deeply. "There!" He gasped, as if partly aware of what he had done, and horrified by it. "They - they don't like the blood, look. . ."

Radek performed the only action that allowed itself to cross his mind. He grabbed the blade and yanked it away from Rodney, throwing it aside with a yell. It clattered faintly, covered by the sudden groan as Radek cradled his blood covered hand.

There was something about Radek's injury and pained whimpers that stilled Rodney. When he looked down, there were no maggots, no bugs of any kind, only bleeding arms and a semi-lit corridor. And Radek, huddled across from him, fighting his own pain and grimacing at him, his light blue eyes wide in fear and concern.

It was the look that did it. Radek's glasses were gone, bent and sitting beside the wall. Seeing his uncovered gaze snapped Rodney to clarity. "I – I. . .ohgod it was. . ." he doubled over his knees, curling tightly, his face in his hands as he fought for control. His shoulders trembled, gasps of restraint overcame the tremulous dread. He quickly looked up and crawled for his jacket, returning and wrapping Radek's hand in it tightly. It was obvious that the grip required to wrench the blade away from Rodney was a tight one. He glanced at his own still-bandaged hand, and wondered when he started bearing responsibility for so much pain. "We need to get you to Carson. Now."

"Are you okay. . ."

"Come on." Rodney cut in, hoisting his injured friend to his feet, ignoring his own discomfort. Hoping that if he refused to acknowledge it, it would go away.

So far the tactic wasn't working too well. But he was getting used to it.

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It was quite possibly the worst day he'd had in a long while. All he wanted to do was – well, truthfully he wanted to vegge and watch television, but that wasn't an option. His guilt wouldn't allow him to sit still anyway, he kept making appearances in the infirmary until Radek was released with a hand that had been glued together. "Surgical glue," Carson had said, "better than stitches with no scarring." Rodney checked on Radek for the next hour, making certain his hand didn't come apart at the seams. There was something about gluing a body back together that was just so. . . vulgar.

He had managed to avoid Carson's questions and hightail it out of the infirmary with a few bandages to add to his collection. Radek kept giving him the eye, that look that plainly said, "if you don't tell him, I will." Rodney had waved it away with a nod, receiving a stern reply in Radek's expression. It was scary, how they were able to talk without talking. It was much like Sheppard and himself, which was probably the only reason the man tolerated him. Out on the edge of the known universe, it was nice to have someone who understood him, even if he didn't exactly like him. And vice-versa. Still. . .it was nice. The knock on his door however. . .not so much. The person standing there made him wonder if they should blame ESP for their odd link to each other. "Major? What are you doing here?"

Sheppard's expression darted between ire and worry. "I heard what happened, thought I'd come check up on you."

"What are you, my mother?" Rodney retorted without thinking. He stepped aside and let Sheppard in.

"You need one, apparently." He glanced around the room in disdain.

"I'm sure you'd fit the bill."

The response led to blackness.

Rodney woke with a throbbing head and no instant recall as to what had happened. It came to him slowly as his vision trickled in. Damn. . .he'd been joking. No reason to get cold-cocked. He felt softness give beneath him, and realized he was on his bed. Lazily, he looked around, trying to ignore the pounding in his skull, but groaning just the same. He could see Sheppard sitting in a chair, watching him with a steady gaze and unblinking eyes that unnerved him. "Major? You hit me! What the hell?"

"You fainted."

"Passed out. No thanks to you!"

"Whatever." He stood and walked over to Rodney.

The approaching figure swam before him. "Did I hit my head?"

"You could say that." He smiled, but it wasn't right, it wasn't Sheppard, even in his disjointed state he could sense that. There was no impish twinkle that drove Rodney crazy, like he didn't take things seriously enough.

"I suppose." Rodney frowned, and winced. He tried to pull his arms to him, preparing to push himself up, and realized with growing horror that he couldn't move. His wrists had been tied, very securely, to the bed, the ropes pulling his arms to the sides, fastened to the metal bedframe. "What is this?" He looked from one side to the other, testing the knots. They weren't budging, and trying them was making his hand throb. "What the hell's going on?" Puzzled eyes caught Sheppard as he slowly sat on the bed. Ignoring the pain, Rodney worked at his wrists, twisting them in the ropes, tensing his muscles, feeling Sheppard's body just touching his side. Where the hell had Sheppard gotten ropes? And for that matter, he wondered as he noticed a chill, where was his shirt?

"This was the only way I could get you to stay still," Sheppard responded quietly.

"That's bullshit." Rodney muttered, trying his hardest not to panic, especially as Sheppard leaned over him, one arm crossing his torso.

"I needed to talk to you. You need to see just how serious I am."

"What I need is to be untied. What's gotten into you?" He hated the way his voice squeaked, the way he felt violated though nothing had happened.

"I got into him." Sheppard smiled, slowly, sensually.

After everything he'd seen and been through, Rodney McKay thought he knew the meaning of horror. He had been wrong. That slow smile, Rodney recognized it. It had plagued his nightmares, and now it was staring at him, pasted on the face of his friend. Sheppard smirked as he saw the realization on Rodney's face. He straightened and slowly straddled him, making certain Rodney felt every movement. Running his fingers lightly over Rodney's bare chest, he asked, "Do you remember this?"

It was the most repulsive thing Rodney had ever felt. He closed his eyes tightly. "This isn't happening. Oh god, this isn't happening." He kept his eyes closed, obscuring the vision of his best friend being used against his will. "I knew it. I knew you were here, but I thought I was going crazy."

"Don't worry. I won't leave you as you left me."

That was the one thing that frightened him. "What do you want from me?" he gasped, hoping when he opened his eyes, he would see pale skin and fiery hair.

Hazel eyes stared back just before Sheppard leaned into his ear, and whispered, "ascension."

Rodney jerked. "Are you crazy? I already told you no!"

"You've seen the alternative, Rodney McKay, the effects of death." Sheppard's finger traced over thick brows, coming to rest on trembling lips. "Look at what is happening to you, what you are becoming. I'm not the cause. This is a result of your own mind, your own body betraying you."

"Betrayal? What, this?" He yanked at the ties. "I would never do this to myself, and neither would he!"

"Not this. Your fear. It will stay with you, Rodney, unless you release your burden."

He wanted to knock away those hands, hands that belonged on a gun, not stroking him. He swallowed hard and reminded himself that it wasn't really Sheppard, that there was no way he would do anything like this. He had hoped maybe it wasn't physically his friend, that she was casting an illusion, but he could tell. There was a slight clumsiness in the movements, like he wasn't used to performing them. And she was so graceful, fluid. He even saw the electrical burn on his hand, nearly healed. "Why are you here, in him? Why not just come to me?"

"But I have been coming to you." Sheppard's hands trailed lower, over his ribcage, the softness of his belly, to his groin. "You've been ignoring me. It hurt me, Rodney McKay."

"Stop it!" Rodney couldn't take anymore. He bucked and twisted frantically underneath Sheppard noticing for the first time that the button on the waist of his pants was unfastened. "Oh god," he exclaimed, "Stop this! God, just stop! Leave him alone!"

"Is he so repulsive?" Sheppard looked confused. "I had thought you cared for him. I knew it before, you have a strong attachment to this person. I thought you would enjoy. . ."

"Are you shitting me? NO! He's just a friend, probably the closest one I've had, though it pains me to say it." His brain wouldn't turn off, it was processing everything. "God. Can he hear me?"

"Of course."

"Crap. Never mind. Look," he was breathing too fast, too panicked, "just get off me, untie me, and we'll talk. Let him go, don't make him do this."

"For his sake?"

"And mine!"

Sheppard sat there, his head cocked to one side as he contemplated. A small smile crossed his lips. "No. . .I don't think so. I think this just might break you, Rodney McKay. I should like that."

His shook his head vigorously against the pillow. "No," he whispered, and his fists clenched within the ropes. He had a horrible feeling of what was to come. "Major Sheppard?" he squeaked desperately. "John? Listen to me! You know you don't want this, don't let her do this, please, god, get control or something. . ." he squirmed as Sheppard backed on his knees and slowly lowered himself fully onto Rodney, pressing hard against his chest. Hands reached out and grabbed his bound ones, and a breath whispered in his ear.

"Join me."

Rodney jerked his head away, his vision swimming. "No!"

"One way or the other, you will." Sheppard ground his hips against Rodney's.

It was the worst thing imaginable. Rodney raged and tried to throw him off, thrashing from side to side as best he could. There was no way he was going to let this happen, no way in hell. "You bitch! You'll hurt him too, do you understand?" Spittle showered John's face. Rodney gave a vicious jolt. "Get the fuck off!" Hands reached down into his pants, feeling him. "NO! Get off!" he roared, only to have a hand clamp over his mouth. He whimpered, struggled, tears threatening in the corners of his eyes as he realized how helpless he was. He couldn't let this happen. He would rather die.

Are you certain, my love?

Yes, he thought.

The eyes that stared into his suddenly widened in surprise. John Sheppard gaped at him, at his bound hands and covered mouth, at the silent desperation in his eyes. His breath quickened against Rodney's chest. "Oh. . .fuck. . ." he pushed himself away violently. He hovered at the foot of the bed, then rushed to the bathroom and vomited.

Rodney angrily yanked at the ropes. It took a moment for him to realize it was over, leaving him gasping for breath, closing his eyes and trying his hardest not to weep. Thank god. Oh thank god. . .but oh shit. Shitshitshit. He waited until he had calmed slightly, and timidly called for his friend, half scared it was a brief interlude, and wanting to be untied before the next battle.

Sheppard rounded the corner and sagged against it. His expression was hollow, and for a moment Rodney was afraid he wasn't really there. But he slowly walked to the bed, his face white as a sheet, his whole body shaking. Rodney continued to blink, holding back the remaining tears, giving them nowhere to go. "Major?" he asked softly, and that one word broke him.

Sheppard's eyes tightened suspiciously as he sat on the very edge of the bed and reached for Rodney's right wrist. It was reddened and raw from the struggle, the knot tight. Sheppard's own hands were trembling, and useless. "I can't," he whispered.

"Cut them."

"No. I'll – I'll get Carson."

"No! Don't you dare, look, it's fine, just. . ."

"Carson. He'll get you out, I promise, I just can't. . ."

"Major? Wait!" But Sheppard was shaking his head as he backed away. It wasn't like he could stop him, anyway.