Author's Note: Given the number of people that put this on a story alert, I felt compelled to write more. Truth be told, I had expected the last part to finish this off. But for those of you that wanted more, I hope you enjoy this little something I cooked up.

Keep going, McKay, you can do this. He quickened his pace, willing himself to breath in and out in an ordered effort. Just a few more rounds and you're done. There is no pain in your side. It doesn't matter. Just go forward. Ignore the burning in your thighs and the stars in front of your eyes; just keep going. The catwalk framed in and out of view as Dr. Rodney McKay continued his jog along the metal plating. His foot caught in a grating, but he didn't notice. The tumble was quick, halted by his now-aching palms. Damn it, so close.

Get up!Pretend the city is in danger; pretend your team is in trouble; get up now! But even as he played the role of his own personal drill sergeant, the pain was taking control. The all-knowing but entirely pathetic scientist was once again unable to help himself.

"Rodney? That you? You okay?" a familiar voice called from behind.

The old McKay, the one that relied on enzymes to find control, would have complained. He would have cried about how he was sure he must have broken something. But the new McKay, a recovering addict of God knows what, refused to be that person. He cut off his typical rant, and turned to face Sheppard. "I could use a hand."

The Colonel nodded, concern etched in his face. He offered out an arm.

Rodney focused all of his strength unto landing cleanly on his feet.

"Mind telling me what you're doing up here?"

He limped down the hallway, using his team leader as a crutch. "Well, Colonel, if you must know I've decided that you were right. Congratulations, by the way. It's not often that someone picks up on something I've missed." He grimaced as each step took more effort. The old McKay wondered how bruised his ankle was and if maybe a blood clot was forming. The new McKay chastised himself for worrying about it and told himself to just deal. That is what the rest of his team would do. They would just deal.

"I'm not sure I'm picking up on what your saying right now, to be honest with ya."

"Of course you do. Clever of you, actually, using probability to get your point across."

He nearly cried out at the shot of pain that pierced through his leg, but caught himself. The only thing that kept him from crashing back to the ground was Sheppard's steadying grip. Moving all of his weight unto his left foot he started a few hops before realizing that his calf muscle refused to cooperate. Grabbing unto the adjacent railing, he waited for his body to stop quivering before wiping beads of sweat from his forehead.

"I'm calling for a litter," the soldier stated.

The old McKay would have agreed in a heart beat. He had once wanted a stretcher just for a splinter, even as his friend suffered from a critical injury. But what about the new McKay? He glanced down the narrow passageway to the steps that looked far too distant. The lift was down those foreboding stairs. The new McKay would hold his own.

Think that your team is in danger. Are you so weak that you cannot save them? Move it, McKay, or be forever branded pathetic and useless. It was strange, berating himself in a harsh, unforgiving voice. Though he took the conscious time to think the words, it was as though he could hear them. It was as though those thoughts came from an outside, jaded presence that took pleasure in tormenting him. I am not useless! He answered the imaginary voice with one that sounded more like his own.

He straightened his back, managing a determined countenance.

"No, I can do this," he whispered.

"I'm not tumbling down those stairs while trying to support you, Rodney. I appreciate what your trying to do, but I'm calling the infirmary."

As Sheppard made the call, the physicist lowered himself to the ground. His head came to rest against the side railing. A bottle of Gatorade was waved in front of his face, and the scientist gladly took it, gulping it down a bit too quickly for his tired breath.

"So are you trying to prove a point to yourself, or to me?"

He chuckled, nearly choking on the blue liquid even as it soothed his dry lips. "Please, Sheppard. I've had enough angst for a while now."

"I'm just wondering why the sudden fascination with exercise. Sure you've slimmed up over the last few years, but I know you've still been doing the most basic work out up until now. You are aware it's 3 am, right?"

"Actually more like 2:45. I should think you would be happy I was doing this. A few more lessons on shooting properly, a couple more miles a week, and maybe some training with a few of your soldiers and you won't have to worry about protecting the weakest member of your team."

"I thought you didn't want anymore angst?"

"Yes, well, I'm still somewhat recovering from a drug overdose. I can't be held responsible for anything stupid or emotional I might say."

The sound of feet hitting metal announced the arrival of the medical crew. The old McKay would have insisted that they wake up Carson, the only quack fit to assist him. The new McKay just concentrated on not screaming as a doctor started examining his feet. Tears soaked his face, but he brushed them off quickly. He had to handle the pain. It was just a stupid sprained ankle. He had had so much worse. He could handle it. He had to handle it.

It was quite the feat how the medical crew eased the physicist down the stairs and into a lift. At least he had had the good sense to get injured in the early morning when no one could gaze upon his predicament with their nosy interest.

"I didn't expect you to take what I said quite so... seriously, McKay." John Sheppard had taken the nearest seat to the bed where a brunette nurse had began wrapping the injured scientists foot.

McKay grimaced, not daring to open his mouth to reply. If he tried, he knew he would scream. I am not weak. I will not be weak.

Cued by the silence, Sheppard continued, "I mean, yes, it's true that you're a bit of a security risk right now. I can't bring you off world because we both know what it would eventually come down to. But working yourself to exhaustion and injury isn't exactly the best way to get back on active duty. Nor to prove to us that you're on the up and up, if you know what I mean."

The nurse moved away, offering a wink and a smile to Sheppard. Rodney rolled his eyes. Maybe the new McKay, the one he was determined to form with every last bit of his abilities, maybe that McKay would be the type to attract beautiful nurses as well. As it was, only one member of the Atlantis expedition ever showed interest in him, and well... Katie Brown wasn't likely to be speaking to him again for a while. Stop pitying yourself! Came the estranged voice within his own head. How pathetic can you possibly be? Just keep concentrating on not screaming. You don't need them. You just need to support yourself. Support yourself so others don't have to.

The pain medication was kicking in. The hypochondriac in him wondered briefly about his poor organs that had taken in so many happy pills over the last few years, but the rest of him breathed a sigh of relief. "I don't really care what you think, Colonel. If you don't put me on active duty again, fine. What do I care? I came here to work in labs and study ancient technology, not to go gallivanting around the universe, putting myself in danger, and having everyone risk their lives for me."

"So what are you saying? You want off the team?"

"I'm saying that the only way I'm walking through that gate again is if I have some control over my actions and the actions of those around me."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, I think it's best we set up an intensive training for all the scientists on this base, especially those of us called to go off world."

"You're serious? You want me to put you through military style training? Did you hit your head?"

"Of course I'm serious. You're right. If I go out on the field now, it's only a short while before I go looking for an edge again. You know what? I wouldn't be wrong either. I love power Sheppard and now that I've tasted it... I tell you... You have no idea how wonderful it felt to pound those bullies into the nearest wall. I watch Ronon do that all the time, and for once, Rodney McKay, he had his day. And you know what? He liked it."

"You do know you started talking about yourself in the third person, right?" Sheppard raised his eyebrow, examining his friend with a quizzical stare. "Look, Rodney, no offense but you're not exactly Rambo. It's not your job to go looking for trouble."

"Yes, well, I don't have to go looking for it really, now do I?"

"So you think some training will help make it all better?"

"I think Heightmeyer might be more inclined to release me back in the swing of things if she has something tangible to say I'm not a risk."

Before Sheppard could reply, the nurse came back, swinging her hips casually from side to side. She wore an alluring smile that was sure to put any man in his place. Sheppard was smiling too, and McKay knew they were both thinking the same thing. 3 am really was the best time to end up the infirmary.

With a crutch poised beneath each of his armpits, McKay started his journey away from the medical bay and back towards his quarters. Beside him, Sheppard walked with a light skip to his step.

"Please, do you always have to be in competition with Captain Kirk on how many women you can woe?"

"Do you always have to aim for the man with the most snark award?"

"Yes, well, you still haven't answered my request for training."

He arrived at his room, bidding his team leader goodnight. His muscle pains had long subsided, but his bed called to him with a mystical voice. Damn it, he silently cursed. He'd blown it again. Even the very act of trying to get himself stronger made him weak. Pathetic. Out of Control. Damn it!

He remembered how it felt to have that precious liquid run through his veins, empowering him with every second that passed by. He closed his eyes, willing himself strength from the mere memory of the enzyme. It had made him a knight even if only for a brief while. But it had also screwed everything up.

The old McKay had taken the drug because he had had to. The old McKay had taken tons of it because he believed he need to. The new McKay had to suffer for it. The new McKay was born because of it. But the new McKay was just as weak. He looked down at his injured foot with a scowl. He grabbed the object closest to him, watching as it shattered against the nearest wall.

He leaned back down unto the bed, burying his head in the comfort of his hands. Stupid, stupid. Like you could ever play the knight. Stupid!

He grabbed another object, pulling it behind his back, but the inner jaded voice had turned soft. But you didn't scream, the strange voice reminded him. Lowering the degree frame back on his desk, he let out a deep sigh. The old McKay would have bawled and I didn't so much as whimper, he cheered. Closing his eyes, he laid back against his prescription mattress. A smile crept upon his woeful countenance. Maybe there was something to this new McKay afterall.

THE END

A/N: My story Weakness is a sequel to this story.