Chapter 3
In the end, it was Kavanagh who came up trumps.
"Major Sheppard, come in."
"Go ahead." They had appropriated channel 6 for co-ordination. It could only be Kavanagh being so formal when everyone else was chipping in like a girl's sleepover.
"The internal sensors indicate an unauthorized presence in my labs."
"Understood, I'm on my way."
Carson nodded, and they began trotting towards the minor labs. In his ear, he heard Kavanagh continue. "If you find that it is Dr. McKay, can you remind him that I was led to understand that my lab space would be private. I have some very sensitive experiments in progress and I will hold him personally responsible for any detriment to their progress."
Carson rolled his eyes in a very McKay expression.
Typical Kavanagh, but Sheppard was secretly glad he had been the one to locate the missing scientist. Some of the others may have been foolish enough to try and tackle him themselves. Kavanagh was well versed in McKay venom and had a healthy streak of self-preservation. He wouldn't be risking life and limb.
Even John was dreading this part. He imagined McKay as a grizzly deprived of its warm slumber, woken early from hibernation and unless McKay was actually asleep, it wasn't going to be pretty. He suspected it may end in one of Beckett's little vials of sedation finding a new home.
--
"So, Major, how do we play this?" Carson asked as they stood outside the lab door.
"You're the doctor."
"Aye, but you're the strategist. We normally just come along at the end and tidy up the mess." He brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his jacket.
John smiled. He had a plan. "Well, you get to be cavalry for this little engagement. I'll approach the target from the south in obvious view."
"You'll go in the door," Carson translated, and Sheppard nodded.
"I will then assess the target's status."
"Whether the fool's asleep or not."
"If the target is still conscious, I will attempt to engage it in conversation and remove it to a place of safety." John summed up the plan with a snap of his fingers. "Job done and we go home for lunch."
Carson nodded. "What about plan B?"
"Who says we need a plan B?" John asked as he neared the door.
"It's always prudent to have a plan B."
"Of course there's a plan B. You can't have a plan A without a plan B; otherwise it would be just The Plan." John felt a whole lot better now that he knew where Rodney was.
"And," Carson prompted.
"While I'm implementing Plan A, you sneak round the back and sedate him if necessary."
John thought Carson might argue. He suspected there may be some kind of medical rules preventing doctors sedating unsuspecting patients, but if there were, they didn't seem to be applicable to Atlantis situations. Sheppard found the thought both reassuring and unsettling. If Carson was happy to sedate Rodney from ambush he might do the same for Sheppard.
Although, Carson didn't look happy at the moment, his face was set in a frown and his mouth tightened to a grim line.
"So," Beckett muttered, "creep in and hide out, intra-muscular injection when required."
John nodded, and patted his shoulder. "It may not come to that. I'll give you the signal when we shift plans."
He palmed the door open and focused his whole attention on the lab in front of him. Not before, however, he heard Beckett say, "What signal?"
Sheppard grinned. Carson would recognize the signal when he gave it.
Then, he dismissed Beckett from his thoughts entirely.
This lab was a contrast to McKay's chaos. Careful stacks of ancient tech balanced at the end of the work-benches he could see. There was a pile of notes on the nearest desk, a pen lying neatly on top. The only laptop was powered down.
He could see no sign of McKay, but the life signs detector continued to show three steady lights.
"Rodney?" he said quietly and stepped into the room.
He scanned the direction the detector indicated, and saw one of the pillars that littered the whole structure. They contained pipes and wires, but the Ancients seemed to delight in using them to create the most elaborate decorations. This one was carved in a forest scene reminiscent of a woodcut from A Midsummer's Night Dream. The work-bench continued around the back of the pillar and Sheppard realized where McKay would be.
John said "Rodney," again, a little louder. At the same time he stepped left to a spot that afforded him a clear view of the hidden area.
Behind him, he could hear Beckett's quiet footsteps creeping across the room. Years of tiptoeing in sleeping wards made the doctor nearly silent.
John took another step, and the target was in sight.
Rodney McKay sat at Kavanagh's desk studying a laptop. His radio lay forgotten, as did a couple of uneaten power bars and a cold mug of tea.
He was tinkering with some long forgotten piece of ancient tech. It was roughly the size of a baseball and just as round. It remained dark as Rodney held it in his left hand. The right continued to type on the laptop. It could have been an ordinary scene except the hand holding the prize was shaking.
"Rodney," John said again, still louder, despite a vague misgiving about sleep-walkers. He couldn't remember if you were supposed to wake them or not.
Rodney looked up.
John's first impression was that the man looked awful. He looked like death warmed over. His complexion had gone beyond pale (a look he'd been sporting for days) into grey. His cheeks were almost sunken, betraying too many missed meals recently, but it was the eyes that caught and held Sheppard's attention; not the dark circles that haunted them, but the feverish light in them when his eyes met Sheppard's.
John had long since mastered nonchalance. It was a carefully honed tool in the face of superiors yelling and juniors panicking. He knew he had the look down perfectly - the slouch and the easy grin. If there happened to be a wall, he would lean against it. It was a look that said I may not know exactly what's happening, but I know how to deal with it anyway. He'd used it so often in the Pegasus galaxy that he felt it was his permanent state. He suspected few people realized that this was his response to danger, in the same way as McKay's was bluster.
He dropped into 'The Look' almost without thinking. He was going to have to be slow and casual if Plan A was to succeed. "Hi, Rodney," he said as their eyes met.
"You should be dead, you know."
As welcoming lines go, John reckoned this one was not designed to inspire confidence.
"Sorry to disappoint," John answered as casually as he could, "but you know me. I couldn't leave you to have all the fun by yourself."
Rodney nodded once, but he was already back to staring at the computer screen. It was eerie. McKay was there, but not talking. It was almost like being in a silent movie.
The silence stretched further, and John wondered if the other man even realized he was still there.
"So," John said eventually when it became clear that he was going to be ignored completely. "What are you doing?"
"Working."
If he hadn't been worried before, he was now. That was a one word answer to a question that usually resulted in a five-minute monologue; initially sarcasm, then whining, then excitement, then long-winded explanation. Instead he got one word and not a very helpful word at that.
Casual, though. Stay casual. "What are you working on?"
"This." Rodney waved the baseball for John to see.
Oh dear. At least "working" had been two syllables.
"What is it?"
At last the needling got through. "I don't know yet. That is why I'm working on it."
McKay looked up at Sheppard, and blinked as though focusing on him for the first time. "Aren't you dead?"
John pushed some of Kavanagh's paperwork to one side of the bench. He jumped up to sit on the edge. "You said that before." He made a show of patting himself down. "Nope. Still not dead."
All of McKay's attention was on Sheppard now. It helped Carson sneak into position.
"So the Puddle Jumper?"
"The Daedalus beamed me out."
Rodney clicked his fingers as he recalled out loud, "Of course, the Daedalus with Caldwell and an Asgard. I'd like to meet one of them."
"Call him for coffee," Sheppard offered. "A latte and muffin at the nearest Starbucks. The pair of you can discuss particle physics until closing time."
Rodney nodded and went back to concentrating on the laptop.
John was about to say something to break the silence before it got too long, when Rodney cursed angrily. He spun the laptop to face John. "What the hell is wrong with it?"
Sheppard looked at the display. He was no expert in how these things were meant to look, but he'd peered over McKay's shoulder often enough to know this wasn't any different from the normal scientific gibberish.
"I can't see anything wrong."
"Then why can't I read it?" Rodney's reply was almost a cry. He rubbed his fists into his eyes to try to clear his vision.
John had a good idea why Rodney couldn't read the writing on the laptop, and it wasn't the computer's fault. However, he didn't think that McKay was in the right frame of mind to hear Because you haven't slept in three days.
Instead he kept with the 'gently, gently' approach. "I could read it for you."
McKay beamed. "Would you?"
"Sure." He jumped down off the bench and went to Rodney's side. On the way he gave a thumbs up to Beckett.
"So, what would you like to know?"
"The power transfer, here and here," McKay jabbed at the screen. Now that John was closer, he could see the fine tremble that was affecting Rodney. His left foot tapped at the stool and he listed so much to the left that Sheppard was amazed he was still on the stool at all.
Sheppard surreptitiously moved to that side, ready to catch should gravity prove too much for Rodney's balance.
"73 in the bottom left and 26 on the bottom right."
"Now, that's not right," McKay said. He switched to tapping the other foot. "Why is that not right?"
"You're missing a percent?"
"Yes." The fingers snapped again. "Now, why?"
Sheppard was all out of answers. "I don't know, McKay. I haven't a clue what we're doing."
Rodney ignored the request for more information. Then he said. "It wouldn't work, Sheppard."
The feeling that John had turned over two pages at once was not unknown in a McKay conversation. "What wouldn't work?"
"Coffee with the Asgard. No coffee left." He waved a hand at the mug on the desk with its faint aroma of Athosian tea.
"Ah, McKay, poor McKay," John said, smiling. He patted the other man's shoulder. "You may mourn for coffee, but I happen to know about a small hold on the Daedalus, filled with crates of Columbian roast."
McKay jerked his head to look squarely at the major. The tremor was gone, and there was a hunger in his eyes. John gave his easy smile.
"Coffee?"
It was almost too easy.
Coffee, Rodney. Real coffee with all the caffeine you could want." Sheppard gazed into the distance and let a glazed expression come over his face. "Coffee beans, waiting to be ground by little hand grinders."
McKay looked wistfully in to the distance, too. "Real coffee?"
"Yep." He flashed another thumbs up for Beckett. "But we've got this," he fumbled for a word, "baseball to investigate."
"I suppose," Rodney said, sadly.
John gave him thirty seconds before he caved. He started counting in his head, but schooled his expression to one of polite interest in the baseball.
He reached twenty-two in his count before McKay's gaze flicked from the laptop to the mug on the desk. Just as quickly, his eyes flicked back, but there was no more typing.
At twenty-five he glanced back at the mug and stayed a moment longer. He frowned as he looked back at the screen.
At twenty-eight he looked at the mug, baseball, Sheppard, laptop and then back to the mug again.
Exactly on the thirty count, he slammed the lid of the laptop down. "Coffee."
John made a show of sighing. "Alright, McKay. If you insist."
It was no wonder the poor man was so bad at poker.
Rodney put the baseball back on the desk. He disconnected the cables from the ball as well as the laptop, and then slipped down off the stool.
It would have gone well, but his knees refused to hold him upright and he nearly ended up in a crumpled heap on the floor. John caught him by the elbow. It was a second before Rodney's reflexes caught up and he thrust his hands out to the table.
John used the work-bench to guide Rodney back to the stool.
"Let's do it slower next time," Sheppard said.
Rodney nodded numbly.
When Rodney was seated again, John spared a glance and a quick shake of the head for Carson. The doctor had stepped out of the shadows to assist, but crept back to his hiding place at John's signal.
Beckett didn't need to hide. Rodney had his head in his hands and was concentrating on breathing in gasps. He missed the whole pantomime. If a kilted Carson had appeared wearing blue face paint, McKay wouldn't have noticed.
"Now, nice and slow," Sheppard said gently, and pushed away the thought of Carson in a kilt. "I guess your legs have gone to sleep after sitting on a lab stool for," he paused and made a show of guessing how long McKay had been down here, "a couple of hours."
"Nearer eight," Rodney whispered.
John kept the concern out of his voice. "Well, then, you really do need a coffee."
Rodney dismounted the stool more carefully this time. He kept his hands on the work bench. Sheppard kept a hand under his elbow just in case. His knees managed to hold his weight, and he stood, albeit swaying alarmingly. Sheppard glimpsed Carson move again out of the corner of his eye, and waved him back.
"So your place or mine?"
"I really have no preference, Major. So long as I don't have to traipse halfway across this base to find your so-called coffee stash."
"Oh, I have a plan, Dr. McKay. It's not far."
"From here?" Rodney blinked owlish blue eyes. "Where? I thought we'd have to go to the Daedalus?"
"Once we get there, we'll call room service."
"Room service. The little ladies with the aprons and the black skirts. Did they come with the Daedalus as well?"
Sheppard grinned. "I have my resources. Once we reach Rec Room 1, we won't have long to wait for coffee." He glanced at Carson, who nodded once.
"That'll be a good trick, Major Sheppard. I'll look forward to seeing that. Of course…"
Sheppard took the banter to be a good sign, but Rodney still looked like hell, and the tremor was back. "Rodney. Stop talking."
It worked. It was probably because conversation used energy that Rodney didn't have to spare, but for a second Sheppard let himself believe that it was because he'd finally beaten some obedience into the man.
John led Rodney through the corridors. He was glad now that they were mostly empty of regulars. Right now, Rodney couldn't care less that he was being led through the corridors of Atlantis looking like a zombie-film extra. After some sleep though, he'd be mortified. Of course, that's if he remembered.
As they walked, John chatted away. He sensed Carson following them, and kept his radio on for the doctor's benefit. "Weir gave everyone the day off, the place is full of all these new people, and I don't mind saying that it spooks me. I mean, who the hell were those guys," he gestured with his free hand at a couple of marines who had trotted past carrying a crate. "One minute you're living in your own little village, and then these newcomers move in."
Rodney stumbled and caught himself on the wall. Sheppard tightened his grip.
"Rodney," he said anxiously. "Rodney, are you alright?"
Initially there was no answer. He had to lean down to get a look at the other man's face. He was just about to call for Carson, who must be lurking nearby, when Rodney nodded.
"Just… let me catch my breath…"
Sheppard let out the breath he'd been holding. "It's not far."
In the end, they made it through sheer determination. John's grip on Rodney's arm because more like support, and he worried that he would have to call Carson out of hiding as an extra pair of arms.
When the door of the Rec Room came into sight, John was relieved to be able to say, "Nearly there."
The final few steps were the most difficult. Sheppard gave up the pretence and slung Rodney's arm over his shoulder, and all but carried him the last few feet.
Rec Room 1 was littered with various items of comfortable furniture the Athosians had salvaged from the ruin of their village. Each item was well worn with generations of use. Most were patched and lumpy but they all had the hard-won look of well loved furniture. Teyla knew the personal history of each item, and they all held tales of families lost.
Sheppard deposited Rodney onto one of the sofas. It had once been a child's bed, and had been converted by industrious members of the expedition team. It was one of Sheppard's favorites. He reckoned the sentimental part of him was drawn to the faded patchwork in primary colors.
He sat on the floor at his friend's feet. "So, Rodney," Sheppard said. "Coffee and some food. When did you last eat?"
McKay looked up, and there was some of the old scathing look there. "I ate, Dr. Sheppard. I get hypoglycemic if I don't. I had an energy bar." He looked at his watch. He pulled it close to his eyes, then held it at arms length; he squinted at its face, tilting his head from side to side, closing first one eye then the other. "I had it about… well, I did," he finished in a rush.
John would have found it funny, if he wasn't already so concerned. He did file it away in his memory though - Rodney's face as he tried to tell the time.
"And sleep?" he asked quietly.
The response was unexpected. Somewhere from deep within, Rodney summoned enough energy to stand and, of all things, to pace.
"I tried to sleep Mr. Oh-so-very-helpful Major Sheppard. I know I haven't slept in eighty-two hours, and god knows how long before that. Don't you think that's one thing I want more than anything else? Every time I stop moving, I can feel it creeping up on me. I've forgotten what it feels like to actually fall asleep. But I sit down, and I close my eyes, and it's not Grodin I see, or Ford, its Dumais and Johnson and Gaul. I see Gaul blow up his own brains because I didn't know how to fix it, and I can't make him go away. Dumais' screaming, and I can't help her, and I know its coming for me next and there's no gene to save me this time. I hear Grodin and I see Zelenka, and I can't make them leave me in peace to go to sleep."
Without a pause, the topic leapt. "You should have died, and you didn't wait and it was just 'so long Rodney' and that was it. That's not goodbye. You died, and I can't keep my head straight to remember if you're still alive or I'm imagining this. Or if Zelenka's in sick bay and not in the morgue…"
John stood again. "Rodney," he said quietly. He tried to fit the words under the torrent. "Rodney, wait."
Wonder of wonders, the talking stopped, and Rodney stood still and gasped for air. John placed steadying arms on his shoulders. The eyes that turned to him were full of fear.
"Listen for a minute. We did it. I didn't die. Zelenka will be fine. You're alright. You aren't on your own. You aren't going mad."
That raised a small smile. "Despite being unable to tell the time."
Sheppard smiled back. "Rodney, you're coming down from the biggest stimulant high that's medically prescribable. Carson can give you something to help you sleep."
"Great. More pills. That's how I got in this situation."
"Stop trying then," Sheppard said easily. "Sit down and have a coffee."
"Coffee in this state is going to do me a lot of good."
John grinned. "Then just sit down, for five minutes."
Twice in one conversation, McKay did as he was told. John suspected that might be some kind of record.
John slouched down on the sofa, too. He guessed Carson was already wangling coffee out of some poor unsuspecting orderly on the Daedalus.
He reached over to an Ipod on the table. It had a sticker on the top saying 'Belongs to L. Markham. If found, please return.' Someone had added an addendum. 'Recovered and recycled. Miss you buddy. Belongs to everyone now.' The message was unsigned. To fill the silence he flicked it onto the speakers and some guitar band began playing.
The nervous fidgeting began again, and Sheppard decided to pull out the big guns. No more mister-nice-Major, no more playing games. This was getting beyond a joke.
"Did I ever tell you, Rodney, about the first time I flew a helicopter?"
Rodney stared at him.
"Well, I was fifteen…"
He told Rodney about that first experience in the little helicopter his father used to fly. He described in great detail the controls. He explained how it felt, and how, at that moment, he had known he didn't want to do anything else with his life.
The figure on the makeshift sofa slowly became still. The fidgeting stopped first, then the tremors. Rodney sat back against the great patchwork cushions made from some long-gone child's bedspread.
John talked about the blue sky and the ocean below. He recalled the thrum of the rotors, and told Rodney how sometimes he wished the jumpers had the same kind of presence as those little choppers.
Rodney's eyelids dropped once, twice. Sheppard continued to talk. He told him about reaching the airfield, and taking off the ear-protectors. His father had shook his hand.
Rodney shuffled into the seat a little deeper, and his eyes closed.
Sheppard still talked. He spoke about the flight back with the rich passenger who tipped his father. The two adults had discussed golf over the microphones, and John had looked out to the unfolding scenery and thought how wonderful the world was.
Rodney's breathing slowed. The frown lines smoothed.
John Sheppard smiled.
Carson arrived with a tray piled high. He stared at the sleeping form on the little bed. John had lifted McKay's feet so he lay curled on the bed. A tartan blanket was tucked around his legs.
"That, son," Carson said, "is a bloody wonder." He was grinning widely. "I thought I'd have to give him this coffee."
John shrugged. "No big deal, Doc."
They sat, and the coffee was as good as Sheppard said it would be. There were also cakes and cheese piled onto the tray, and hot soup in a flask. Sgt. Markham's old Ipod played random music that neither man could recognize. They ate their lunch, while McKay snored quietly in tune with the music. "What were your plans for your day off?" Carson asked.
John looked towards the sleeping form. Obnoxious, arrogant and irritating, but something else that John had not been expecting. He wondered how he had managed to slip up again, and find friendship here.
"None really," he shrugged.
Carson nodded. "I thought I'd hang around for a while."
"He won't wake up for hours yet."
"Still, all these new folk in Atlantis, it's nice to be somewhere quiet," Carson said as he took another gulp of steaming black coffee.
Sheppard silently agreed that there was no better place to be in all of Atlantis at the moment, than here with two friends.
"So," Carson asked, "where did you learn to do that?"
"What?" Sheppard asked.
"That." Beckett waved a hand towards the sleeping form on the little bed. "I find it hard to believe that the handling of sleep deprived scientists was a big feature of military training."
"Crash course in Rodney McKay," Sheppard answered automatically, and then paused.
This was one of those moments that, under normal circumstances, he would let pass by; one of those opportunities to share an event that made him who he was. He didn't go in for that kind of thing. It got you trouble. It turned colleagues into something more, and he'd avoided that for years. He would sip his beer (or coffee) and smile and the conversation would move on.
In his defense, he had just survived a siege and a suicide run. He was safe and rested. He had found McKay, and saved him from his nightmares. The sun was shining.
Carson watched him from over the top of his mug.
"You see, Doc, I had this friend once who did the same thing…"
End