AN: My Czech translations are very, very, very, very off. If you know Czech (highly doubtful), then please don't laugh at me.Please. Oh, and thank you for the lovely feedback. So...yes. More, you say?

Chapter Five: Crime and Punishment
.

Seven days since arrival.

Progress with the Ancient device was not going well. McKay had reluctantly come to the conclusion that it was broken beyond repair, even if such a thing had been possible to begin with. Admitting defeat was hard. It meant not only was he not going back to his reality, but he also would never find out why he was stuck out here in the first place.

He had gone back to being Elizabeth—no, Dr. Weir's chief scientific advisor. It didn't take a genius to tell how thankful Zelenka was for that. Smart and resourceful, the Czech scientist may be, but the weight of so much responsibility, especially after the world-wide apocalypse had put a permanent crease in his spine.

On top of it all, M7H-885 was gone. Broken Ancient device? Okay, fine. Disappearing planet of origin? Bad. Very bad.

He didn't particularly care about M7H-855. Somehow, it had gone missing from the Ancient database. Someone had either erased it, or it was accidentally deleted when the DHD went under repairs, but either way it meant nothing to him. Going to the site of his supposed 'death' wasn't the world's most entertaining idea. Who visited their own grave? Who would hold it against him?

That thought was rudely interrupted by the palpable sound of a throat being cleared. McKay looked up from his laptop to find the last person he expected to see standing not ten feet away.

Dr. Sullivan Milton smiled warmly, his hands clasped behind his back in silent observation. The young man arched his eyebrows when he realized his presence had been discovered. "Ah, sorry. Am I interrupting?"

"No, no," said McKay with a tone that gave all evidence to the contrary. "Not…not at all. I'm languishing in the aftermath of scientific failure," he said, tapping his fingers on the useless Ancient 'remote' on the table before him.

"That's too bad," remarked the younger scientist. His blonde hair seemed matted, his eyes puckered with extreme exhaustion. "I was just passing by and thought maybe you wanted a hand?"

"No, it's—" Rodney paused suspiciously. "Wait, I thought this wasn't your area of expertise?"

Milton laughed. "Okay, it's not. But I overheard you mentioning to Colonel Sheppard, how I was the one who gave you the device back in your reality? I felt sort of bad about that, so I guess I'm here to say…sorry."

McKay snorted, pushing away from the counter and trying to work a kink out of his neck. "As much as I'd love to torture you in cruel and inventive ways, I can't bring myself to blame someone who's technically not at fault. Try not to fall over when I say 'apology not accepted'."

"You're right. Coming from you, that's almost blasphemy," said Milton. "I…I hope you don't find this awkward, but you should know that Dr. McKay was a close friend of mine…before he died."

"Ah, well excuse me if I don't recoil in shock," McKay said dourly. "Apparently, my alternate self was a lot more sociable than yours truly. Ever get that feeling like you don't belong somewhere?"

The scientist's expression didn't change. "All the time."

"See? You're the first person who actually understands that. Everyone else is too busy looking at me like I'm some kind of disastrous result of a Wraith experiment."

Milton tilted his head in an odd way. "And Dr. Weir? Does she?"

McKay's eyes flitted away for a second. Briskly, he snapped his laptop shut and disconnected the cords from the back. "She's different," he snapped, gathering the computer under his arm and taking the device from the counter. "I think I'll take this back to lab, I uh…yeah. Maybe Zelenka has a few ideas."

"Dr. McKay—" Milton turned as he brushed by him and headed for the door. "I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," McKay called, without looking back. He vanished down the corridor long before the young scientist had a chance to close his mouth. A moment later, the corners of his mouth fell. He glanced over at the station McKay had abandoned. For a good length of time, he did not look away.

It was meant to be a harmless visit. Sheppard had a question to ask that had been nagging at him for hours. Under normal circumstances, he was against disturbing Elizabeth in her quarters. This was, on the other hand, way beyond normal circumstances. A good friend of his, whose death he'd already accepted and put behind him (not without great difficulty), had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. And still, she was utterly devastated with an irreversible heartache. He could tell. Nothing slipped past his nose when it came to Elizabeth.

Which could only lead him to one conclusion—Rodney had said, or done something wrong. He wouldn't put it past the scientist—he was fully capable of screwing things up on his own.

But when John reached Elizabeth's door, he knew immediately that something was wrong. It felt like a stone in his stomach. Warily, he reached up to activate his radio. "Elizabeth?"

There was no response. He gave the closed door an apprehensive glance before using the comms again. "Control room, this is Sheppard. Can you tell me if Dr. Weir is in her quarters or not?"

"This is Zelenka," came the response. "There is someone inside Dr. Weir's room, yes, but scanners do not tell the difference—"

"Radek," John interrupted quickly. "Just open the damn door!"

The scientist's sigh could be heard on the other end. "Just one moment, please, Colonel." There was a significant pause. "No, this is not possible. Neuvěřitelný! It will not open!"

"Tell me that you're joking!" Sheppard snapped, smashing a palm into the console on the wall. Still the door did not respond. "Find a way to open it!"

"Ztišit, já jsem namáhavý…" Zelenka's voice trailed off with a slightly panicked trill. "There is nothing I can do. I am being blocked out from here!"

Clenching his teeth in frustration, Sheppard stepped back and drew his firearm. "Screw this," he hissed, and opened fire on the console. It exploded in a rain of sparks and broken crystals. A half-second later, the doors slid open. A rush of air tugged at him, as though he had just opened the door to an airlock instead. He ran into the room, keeping his M9 down but ready to react at any sign of danger.
Elizabeth lay slumped in front of her desk, a mug of freshly spilled coffee scattered and broken on the ground beside her. The first thing John noticed was the lack of any noticeable wounds. Putting away his sidearm, he rushed to her side and knelt, checking for a pulse—and found one, to his immense relief. She wasn't breathing easily. Shit.

"Beckett, this is Sheppard!" he spoke into his radio. "I need a medical team in Dr. Weir's quarters, now! She's hardly breathing!"

"Oh, crap. We're on our way, Colonel," the MD replied, sounding as though he'd been struck in the chest by a sac of bricks.

John had absolutely no clue as to what had happened, but he wasn't about to take any chances. Stepping over the broken bits of mug, he leaned over, hooking his arms around Weir's shoulders and under her knees. He then lifted her and carted her out of the room, where he set her gently on the floor in the corridor. The abundance of oxygen seemed to help her to suck in a little more air than before, but not much.

Elizabeth's eyes flickered as she regained consciousness, although she wasn't fully aware of him or anything else around her. It was right about then the team arrived, equipped with both stretcher and Dr. Beckett himself. John moved aside to allow Carson and a young medic he couldn't quite name to take over.

"Alrigh', what happened here?" the Scot demanded, resting a hand on her shoulder as the medic carefully strapped the oxygen mask over her airways. She clutched at it feebly, aware that the live-giving pure oxygen was suddenly there.

"I don't know." Sheppard replied with a grating tone. "I just decided to stop by and check on her. She wouldn't respond to my radio. I contacted Zelenka and he couldn't get the door open, so I shot it open. This is how I found her." He paused, feeling a surge of anger. "Carson, the air was sucked out of that room. Someone was trying to kill her."

"Now let's not go jumpin' tae any conclusions, Colonel," the doctor warned, giving Elizabeth's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Can ye hear me, lass? Jus' nod if ye can."

Her head bobbed weakly. Her blurred eyes traveled from his face to John's where they thanked him silently, but with a sincerity that unsettled him. He looked at the ground and placed his hands on his hips. Rodney…Rodney should be here. Hadn't he heard the call over the radio? He could be asleep, or his radio might be turned off…damn it, where was he?

His thought might as well have cued him, for an instant later, he saw McKay himself come charging down the corridor towards them. He grabbed the scientist's arm before he could completely lose his temper and held him at bay.

"Rodney, stop—" he started, but was immediately cut off by McKay.

"Elizabeth? What happened to her?" he snapped, jerking his arm away from the lieutenant colonel. "Sheppard, do not make me do something I'll regret doing later! Right now, you're standing between me and the woman I love! Does that sound like a good idea to you?"

And still John did not move, despite the astounding effect McKay's words had on him. Okay, too much to think about. Right now, he had to make sure the man stayed out of Beckett's way. Rodney could try to attack him, but chances were he'd win out in hand-to-hand conflict.

As he struggled to keep Rodney at bay, Carson was gingerly helping a medic to lift Elizabeth to her feet and onto the stretcher. Her eyes were round with surprise and she tried to look around their shoulders at Rodney, but she was also mindfully obeying Carson's direction. Finally, she gave in and lay back, taking oxygen into her starved lungs with immense relief.

"I can take everythin' from here, Rodney," the doctor promised him. "Don't ye worry abou' a thing."

McKay stood back from the scene as Beckett and his team left with Elizabeth in their care. He stared after them anxiously, ready to burst into action again at any moment. Sheppard purposely put himself between the scientist and the corridor, trying to distract his attention.

"She's in good hands, Rodney," he said sternly, earning a brief glance-over at last. "Let the man do his job. He's probably worried you'll knock him flat if he so much as lays a hand on her. I mean, look at you! Hell, even I'm afraid of you!"

"Tell me what happened, John!" the scientist demanded, looking sharply at him. "I think I have a right to know!"

"I know that!" Sheppard said just as harshly. "I'm not stupid, all right? How was I supposed to know you feel that way towards her? Last time I checked, you didn't want to be involved!"

"Oh, and since when is any of this your business?"

"I don't know, Rodney, maybe it's not!" Sheppard had forced himself to lower his voice. He was kind of glad he hadn't called for additional security, or he wouldn't have this chance to set things straight with McKay. "I watched Elizabeth fall apart for months after you failed to come back through that Gate. I know you, Rodney. You would never hurt Elizabeth. But if you think for just a second you could feel a fraction of what he felt for her—"

Without warning, McKay hauled back and delivered a hard punch to Sheppard's jaw. John swore loudly and stumbled back, cupping a bleeding lip as he glared at the scientist in surprise. Never, would he ever have expected Rodney to react like this. The man had just punched him, damn it!

McKay stepped back, glowering and shaking his hand. He clasped his bruised knuckles in his other palm before leaning in again to pronounce his words carefully. "Don't even pretend to understand how I feel about Elizabeth."

And then he pulled away, turned, and stormed off. He didn't even listen to Sheppard as he called after him. Let him question the sincerity of his feelings—go ahead, it didn't matter to him. Now he knew someone was trying to hurt Elizabeth, and he doubted his arrival in this reality was just a coincidental factor. Accidents didn't 'just happen' in the safety of one's quarters.

He wanted to head straight for the infirmary. It took a great deal of convincing himself that getting in Beckett's way would just earn him another point for idiocy. For now, he needed to talk to Zelenka. Everything he needed to know about the cause of the incident started in the control room.

"The code was switched? That's it? Elizabeth almost suffocated to death because someone changed the access code to her door?"

The wrath of McKay was unlike anything Radek had dealt with in the past four months, and despite himself, he found Rodney's antagonistic behaviour grating his already fragile nerves. He had already explained the issue to the man four times—why would the simple idiot not leave it alone?

"There is only two ways to switch such code," he said, knowing full well that he'd went through this concept already.

"Yes, yes, I know," McKay interrupted. He was standing across the glowing panels with his arms crossed. "You either have to be inside the room and have access to the console, or you rewrite the door's mechanism from here using the original code."

"Exactly. And because the computer did not recognize the new code, we know it was not Elizabeth who made the change." Zelenka looked flustered by this. "It must be someone from inside the room."

Rodney buried his face in his hands, trying to run thousand scenarios inside his head but none of them seemingly plausible in the least. "That's impossible. Even if someone—theoretically—managed to tamper with her door without her noticing, I'm pretty sure she would have noticed before that her old code wasn't working."

"Ah," said the Czech scientist with a shrewd smirk. "Not entirely true," he said, jabbing his pen towards him. "It is possible this person set up a…a time delay of a sort, for the code to activate itself."

"Are you kidding?" McKay snapped. "Do you know how much of a genius this guy would have to be to do that? It takes someone highly skilled in Ancient technology to tinker with something that advanced!"

"I couldn't have said so better myself."

Every head in the control center turned to the passage adjoining the Gate room. Bate stood there, aglow with the invisible aura of a man who had just caught a convict in the act of crime.

McKay closed his eyes and sighed. "Why, Sergeant, thank you so much for joining us."

"I'd be careful where you direct that sarcasm, doctor," Bates said. "Some people might start to suspect it's an act."

Zelenka was the one to step forward, holding the handheld computer almost as though he were thinking of the best way to use it against the sergeant's skull. "Is there something we can do for you, Sergeant?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm going to do you a favour. I happened to overhear something interesting from the investigation team you two sent to the labs."

Rodney snorted. "Oh, do tell."

Bates aimed a sharp glare at the scientist. "Apparently, the command to vacate the air from Dr. Weir's room was given at a console in your lab, Dr. McKay."

It was like being struck by a lightning bolt. McKay's mouth opened soundlessly, all expression draining from his face. Everyone else within earshot had stopped what they were doing to watch.

"Wh-what?" Rodney managed to sputter at last. "But that's not…that can't be."

"I'm only stating a fact," Bates said, stone-faced. "Thirty-six minutes before Colonel Sheppard found Dr. Weir, someone connected to Atlantis's mainframe and ordered the atmosphere to be vented out of her quarters, slowly. I'm guessing whoever it was also knew that Dr. Weir didn't have her radio and wouldn't be able to open her door."

"Oh, so now he's guessing!" McKay threw his hands in the air angrily. "And here I thought we were just stating facts!"

"This command," said Zelenka, ignoring McKay's complaints. "You said it was given at the console in Rodney's lab? But he must be logged in under special clearance to use that computer."

Bates looked grim. "He was."

McKay, who had been leaning on the back of a terminal, looked up at this. "No, see, this doesn't make any sense. I was in the mess hall for at least an hour before I heard Sheppard contact Carson over the radio. When I left, I took my laptop with me. Obviously, I wouldn't forget to log…out." He trailed off as he realized how wrong he was. "Oh, no."

Zelenka continued to stare at him. "Rodney?"

"I didn't," he said feebly. "I didn't log out of the system. I was in a hurry, and I forgot to shut down the lab's computer. I must have…" His voice cracked. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "Milton!"

"Milton?" Radek looked genuinely confused. "You mean Dr. Milton?"

"Yes, Dr. Milton," snapped McKay, pushing back from the terminal. "He was still there when I left. Anyone with half a brain can input that command into the computer. Ask him."

"Are you saying he's the culprit?" Bates asked suspiciously.

"No," the scientist seethed. "I'm saying that anyone who happened to walk by my lab before the computer was accessed, but after I left could have done it. We're talking about a twenty-four minute span here."

"So it could be anyone," Zelenka confirmed wistfully. It was back to square one, then. They had nothing to work with as evidence.

Bates, with a final distrustful glare at McKay, turned to face the Gate room and strode out. McKay sighed his frustration, before making his way in the opposite direction.

Zelenka didn't even have time to argue—he was gone before he could look up from his datapad. Frowning, he muttered something rather unpleasant and probably best left in Czech for the collective ears around him. It was so hard to keep track of a man who needed to be everywhere at once.

Of course, if Rodney were capable of such a super-power, then there would be nothing left to prove his innocence to prying eyes. Radek pondered with a twinge of guilt, if McKay was even aware that Atlantis had now made him a suspect to a crime too vile to forgive—the attempted murder of Elizabeth Weir.

"You think I did it?" Milton all but squeaked. The unfortunate man looked horrified.

"We don't think you did anything," Sheppard explained carefully. Why was he the one saving the defenseless science geek's arse from getting interrogated, one might ask? It was simple—Rodney just couldn't keep his mouth shut, and now he'd involved someone else that probably didn't need to get involved. "All this is, is a matter of narrowing down the list of suspects, so I need to ask you some questions."

"Look, Colonel," the young scientist started and shook his head in disbelief. "I understand completely what you're saying. But whoever did this, it wasn't me. A-Actually, I don't think anyone could have done it. At least, not from McKay's lab."

Sheppard paused for a moment, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny. "Okay," he said slowly. "Explain."

"Well, Dr. McKay kind of…left in a hurry," Milton described. "After he left, I saw he'd left the computer running, so I shut it down. If…if what you say is true, then whoever accessed it must have turned it on again using his personal identification code." He swallowed, obviously unnerved by the presence of his fellow scientists.

"Colonel, I have to agree with Milton," said Simpson, her eyes grim but determined. "He's a specialist in forensics. He knows less about Ancient technology than Dr. Beckett."

"And there's that," Milton said quickly, brightening a little. "Seriously, I suck at this Ancient stuff. I'm just a biologist."

"I see," said Sheppard. He glanced around the lab at the faces of many researchers. "Well, sorry to bother you folks. I have to get back to the infirmary now. Milton, you need to tell Sergeant Bates exactly what you just told me. Just…if at all possible, leave out the part about Rodney's identification code."

"Uh…sure," the man said with a twist of his eyebrows. "Sorry I couldn't be of more help, sir."

As Sheppard turned to leave, the features on his face darkened. His lip still stung. As he passed into the corridor, he said under his breath, "Yeah. Me too."

It was odd that Elizabeth found herself in this position. She visited the infirmary quite often, though she was accustomed to standing on her own two feet while doing it. It was her initiative to visit those who were wounded and tell them how proud she was for their sacrifice for the expedition. Sometimes she would stop by just to make sure Carson was holding out. He usually was. The visits were still nice.

She had been lucky enough to avoid serious damage, although her chest still burned with the reminder that shortly ago, her lungs had been screaming to be filled with air. Carson informed her that she had bruised several ribs, probably from the fall cause by a fainting spell rather than suffocation itself. In that event, she was ordered to remain in bed overnight. To be honest, she didn't feel up to disagreeing.

No one seemed interested in talking about it. She didn't blame them. Nearly dying from asphyxiation and living to tell the tale—at this, she closed her eyes. It was a cruel way to kill someone. The oxygen had been sucked out of her room slowly, which gave her plenty of time to realize what was happening. Several minutes, at least. By the time hypoxia hit, she had only barely managed to stand up and try for the door. The next thing she knew, she was in the corridor outside her quarters, in front of Sheppard.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Dr. Beckett's accented voice arguing quietly with someone else. A smile automatically shaped her lips. Even a quiet Rodney was an identifiable one. Who could mistake the sharpness of that tone? She could almost see him waving his arms, burdening Carson relentlessly with a tirade of insults—especially if he were preventing Rodney from seeing her.

And Carson would cave eventually, if only for the sake of his other patients.

She felt the expected twinge of grief that followed shortly after. It was becoming a constant reminder of the loss she—no, Atlantis had suffered four months ago. The Rodney that was here, in this room, was not her Rodney. She could make no such claim. If, by any chance, the Elizabeth in his reality harboured any feelings for him, she was not willing to steal that opportunity. She would rob someone of her first chance for a selfish attempt at a second one.

And she knew, that if Rodney did feel anything for her, she should not be the one on the receiving end of that affection.

She heard Carson move off, and Rodney appeared at the end of her bed. His hands were clasped behind him and he didn't seem too comfortable with the idea of standing still. But there was no mistaking the relief lining his sleep-deprived face. Elizabeth knew that the only barrier between them was of her own making.

"Hey," she said, hating the fact that she sounded so weak. Her throat was a bite sore. Please, don't worry about me, Rodney, she silently begged him. You have enough on your mind as it is.

He smiled almost painfully. "Hey," he replied, clearing his throat. "Did I wake you? Because if this is a bad time, I could always…"

"No, stay," she told him. "I'm glad you came."

"You are?" He looked surprised, and even a little hopeful. "Oh, well…that's…good. I wanted to come earlier, but there was a lot to do with the, uh…" Clearly he didn't want to bring up the incident, which was endearing in its own way.

"The accident," she supplied for him, gesturing towards the chair placed several feet away from the bed.

"Yeah, that." He pulled the chair closer and sat down, leaning forward.

"Rodney," she said softly. "We both know that what happened wasn't a coincidence."

At this, his jaw tightened and he looked positively vengeful. "I swear, Elizabeth, the moment I find out who's responsible for this, I—" He broke off mid-sentence, his fists balled tightly. "Whoever did this will pay."

She watched him for a few moments. Instead of replying, she simply lifted one hand off the sheet in a silent, meaningful offering. She read the surprise on his face as clear as day as he slowly sat up, glancing at that hand as though he couldn't quite believe it was for him. But he did gently take it in his own, resting their grip against the side of the bed.

There was no more talk of revenge or near-death experiences. She held onto him, grateful just for the warmth of his hand. Living, flesh and bone hand. If a perfect world existed, this would be it. There would be no more time, and she wouldn't be forced to accept that he would one day leave her again. A world where he chose her over an entire universe—a universe where things were different.

But no such world existed. For now, at least, she could selfishly pretend that it did. Just for a short while. It was all she could ask.

Neuvěřitelný -- Unbelievable

Ztišit,já jsem namáhavý -- Quiet, I am trying.