Sheppard walked the halls. He had been walking for four hours, unable to sit still. He'd had three showers, paced in the small cubicle as the water poured around him. He had scrubbed his skin raw. Washed his hair. Even now it stood in wet spikes. He changed his clothes five times, each time feeling sick as the fabric touched him. Nothing was comfortable. But he couldn't walk the halls naked. And he couldn't sit in his room. And there was no way he was going to find Rodney.

He had seen the two of them in the commissary. He stood aside, watching, not really able to hear anything. He saw Rodney leap up from his chair in a classic "eureka" moment, and for a moment he nearly followed him. But images of a bound body laying prone beneath him snapped him back, and although Rodney didn't seem the worse for wear, he wasn't sure he would be welcomed.

And they had been getting on so well.

For the first time he accepted the fact that the man's arrogant opinions mattered to him. Hell, he really was a friend. The pure revolting emotions that grazed his nerves when he thought of what he'd nearly done was proof enough. The thing was, he had no memory of going to Rodney's room. No, that was a lie. He did remember, and he remembered a chill as he entered, and how everything seemed to dim. . .and the look of sheer terror on Rodney's face as he 'came to' and realized what he was about to do. His hand down Rodney's pants. . .he swallowed hard and tried not to give in to the wave of nausea. There had to be a logical explanation for it. Had to. Because if that was the true John Sheppard, then he had a date with a pistol.

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The next day was dark, with grey clouds swirling over the station. Rain spattered on the window of the requisition room. It was about as dismal as a day could get, and it reminded Ford of the waterfall, how he could stand grinning underneath the spray of the first tier, his face upturned, letting the water hit his teeth. Further down, the water joined with another band, coming together to form a 'y' which tumbled over the rock and created a huge rush that cascaded into the large pool below. He wanted to go back to the falls. Things were. . . happy. Frat parties had nothing on that. Just chillin'. No watches, no worries. No pending attacks. No freakoid scientist running around looking like the living dead.

He liked to watch over McKay, or at the least, look out for him. Meaning either he was in the mood to be civil, or be avoided at all costs. The man was totally unreadable. Not that Aiden considered himself a fragile person, he could take McKay's insulting dishes all day and lap them up. No worse than dealing with his crowd back home. But lately the cat was just. . .weird.

Since his return, Ford had been holed up recounting the regular mission supplies; MRE's, or "phat-packs" as he called them, flashlights, emergency and first aid kits (why these weren't combined, he'd never know), thermal supplies (not that they needed it so far), flares. Then on to weapons check and cleanings, ammo counts. . .it was like he was being punished for having had a good time. On the other hand, the supply and weapons units were excellent places for gossip, and that was where he was getting most of his intel on McKay. It seemed he wasn't only one who thought the man was losing it.

"I mean, I can understand. The guy's got the brain cells to fry, he can stand losing a few." Johnson was with him that day, taking stock of the dried food supplies two rooms down. He kept walking over to Ford, who was unboxing the MRE's and sorting them into bins for easy pickup, when mission bags were packed. Ford listened to the prattle, and realized he didn't even know Johnson's first name. To everyone, he was just "Johnson". Spent a lot of time with what was becoming known as "Big Boy", the supercomputer on the upper level of the gateroom that linked all the systems of Atlantis. McKay commented once that the relationship between Johnson and Big Boy was like Chandra and SAL. Ford had to admit he never watched the movie, which of course led to a learned dissertation on the finer arts, and misarts, of science fiction. Freaky, to say the least. "But I tell you," Johnson continued, "seeing him without those few cells, I mean, the man's cranky enough, you know? Now he's worse."

"I hear he hasn't been sleeping well." Ford sniffed at a packet of chicken, winced and chucked it.

"Who has? I know I haven't. Been spending twelve to fifteen hour shifts with Big Boy for the past three weeks. Partly because of the trouble you guys seem to get into." He offered a grin, which Ford caught feebly.

"Anyway," he continued, "this is more than lack of sleep. People've seen him go running down the halls like a bat outta hell. Talks to no one. Shows up with these injuries, but no one knows how he got them. I'm telling you, the man's losing it."

"And why are you telling me, exactly?" Ford could feel his defenses rise. McKay was an ass, sure, but he did like the man. All the talk was sounding more and more like crap.

Johnson popped his head around again, looking surprised. "He's your team member. Shouldn't you know what's up with him?"

"No else tells me anything," Ford mumbled, "gotta find out from Mr. Wizard."

"You've been gone," the voice faded slightly, "you're just out of the loop."

Maybe. But he'd seen enough. And it was more than a lack of sleep. So he kept a watch, from a distance.

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"I've got you, I've got you. . .dammit!" Radek spun on his heel and rushed from the lab to the gateroom, tapping his headset. "Bush, do you hear me?"

"Dr. Zelenka?"

"Shut down the power grid in G-4288! Do it now!"

"Shutting it down."

There was no way this person was going to suck more power from them. He wasn't going to allow it.

Rodney was on his way to the grid, hearing Radek's order and wanting to witness the transfer himself. He was nearby, as it were, down the hall actually. Damned convenient for a change. "Radek? What's our status?" His voice was crisper than usual as he fought down the nausea of past events and became a machine.

"I'm checking. Scanner's gone red."

"Red? Shit!"

"Give me a minute."

Rodney paced in the hall, eyeing the control panel which, for the moment, seemed to be doing nothing. The last thing they needed was another huge spike. Rerouting the remaining power had been arduous at best. He didn't want to do it again. The nearby generator hadn't lost any efficiency, not that it had a lot to start with, but had merely shut itself down. Best he could figure, the city had a sort of failsafe for extreme power fluctuations. Now whether that had kicked in, causing the blackout, or not, he wasn't sure. At the moment his concentration was on the small control before him, his hand held scanner blinking red at him, just as Radek said. Power drain. "Where is the boost?"

"There is no boost. Just drain."

"It has to be going somewhere!"

"I'm telling you, there is no transfer! There is just a drain!"

Dammit! Rodney quickly set his scanner down and popped open the panel. Inside, the crystals glowed intensely, white hot to the touch. He pulled his jacket sleeve over his hand and grabbed a crystal plate, yanking it hard from its slot. There was a small discharge, making him jump and turn his head aside, then he yanked out another one. He was four in before the panel went dark, and his scanner beeped.

"All green, Rodney, what did you do?"

"I dismantled the damn thing!" He caught his breath, looking at the panel, then at the dark crystal in his hand. "I guess the only way to solve this is to tear apart the station, huh?"

"If that is the answer, we could let the Wraith do it."

"Tempting, but no." Rodney gathered his gear. "I'm heading back to the lab, see what can be done there. You stick near Big Boy for a while, okay?"

"What are you going to do?"

Rodney rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Get coffee, for starters. You writing a book?"

"No, Rodney. You get your coffee. Talk to me later."

"Oh. . .talk to the hand." Rodney sighed and moved on.

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Ford knew. There was no doubt in his mind now.

Rodney McKay was nuts.

"Talk to the hand? Did you really just say 'talk to the hand'?"

He had come around the corner just as Rodney finished his dialog with Radek. It was clear the scientist was in no mood for Ford's jests. He lowered his head with a sigh, shaking it and asking, "What could you possibly want right now?"

"Hey, calm down, man. Just thought I'd walk with you a minute. Been a while."

An incredulous look passed over Rodney's face as he stopped. "You want to talk? Catch up?"

"Sure."

Rodney actually smiled. And snorted as he resumed walking. "Why?"

"Why not? Haven't been on any missions together in a while, just thought I'd see what you had going on."

"What I have going on, is a station trying to collapse around me, and. . ." he suddenly clammed shut, and walked faster.

Ford was fit. He jogged alongside with no problem. "And what?"

"None of your business."

"Now is that the way to treat a team member? Someone who's helped to save your life?" His grin was flashy, but faded at Rodney's tense expression. "Take it back. Something's obviously gnawing at you, man."

"I'm fine, and I'm very busy, so if you don't mind. . .why don't you go find a nice chew toy or something."

"Right." His face fell as Rodney entered his lab without looking back. "I'll just go find something useful to do, huh? That suit you?" He took a few steps back, then turned on his heel with a huff. Take it back, he thought. Today he's very Rodney McKay.

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"Lt. Ford!" Radek caught up with the young man in the hallway, about an hour later. "You've seen Rodney?"

"Saw him a little while ago, he was heading for his lab."

"He is not there."

Aiden just shrugged and kept walking. "Maybe he got something to eat."

"No, he hasn't been there, Cynthia has not seen him. He is not in his room, I can not find him. I look. He's nowhere."

Ford stopped, frowning slightly. "He seemed kinda pissed or something. I thought maybe it was just him, but. . ."

"Yes, yes, what?"

Ford let his eyes roam the hall. They returned to Radek with a steady gaze. "Look, there's been talk. I've heard he's going through some sort of nervous breakdown or something, you know, like maybe his workload is too much, or the Wraith has him freaked, or. . ."

"His workload. . ." Radek stopped. He couldn't very well say it was fine, because it wasn't. "He's. . .under some pressure, yes. Is too much to go into. If you see him. . ."

"I'll send him your way." Ford snapped and pointed at Radek, and loosely walked on.

Zelenka watched him go, envying the grace and ease of youth. He sighed and continued his search.