Title: The Corey Files
Pairing(s): Sheppard/McKay. Possibly a little Cadman/Beckett, Weir?. This is really a GEN fic overall, but those pairings occur in Corey's reality.
Rating: Kid-frendly.
Categories: Kid!fic. Slash, eventually. Fluff. A little angst, eventually. Accidental interdimensional travel through time and space.
Spoilers: Seasons one and two are completely game. Also, some information from Sateda will likely come into play. Other than that, this is completely disregarding S3, as this was plannd and had begun to be written back in the spring.
Feedback: Please, please, please. Concrit is especially welcome :
Archive: You may link it from wherever you like, but this is not to be reprinted anywhere. It can be found here, on FF.N, and on my livejournal.
Summary: A series of linking snapshots from when Sheppard and McKay's adopted son from an alternate reality finds himself in the Atlantis we know from the show. Mostly GEN, slash is referred to (McShep); non-explicit het.

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Muttering about the injustices of the lack of respect his foolish colleagues bothered to pay him, Kavanagh harrumphed his way down a corridor, some sort of Ancient remote control that did god-knows-what in his hands. Right now, he was just trying to get out of McKay's labs and find someplace quiet where he could work in relative peace. His concentration was solely fixated on believed grievances and this bit of technology; it was no wonder that he nearly tripped over the lump lying in the hallway. Taken aback, Kavanagh nearly dropped what he was holding as he took a few retreating steps to take a better look.

It was a kid. A small boy, curled up on his side and half-asleep. The child, who couldn't have been any older than four or five, was sleepily suckling on the thumb in his mouth, a worn-looking blanket clutched tightly to his chest by his other hand. Kavanagh spent only a few more moments staring in shock and wonder before calling up Weir on his earpiece.

"Weir?" How the hell was he going to explain this? But just then, the boy began to stir, sniffling a bit loudly as he began sitting up. A set of big, vulnerable blue eyes peered up at him, thumb still lodged firmly in the boy's mouth. His sandy-colored hair was mussed and he was clutching his blanket pitifully. As Weir responded, the child stood and came over and grabbed Kavanagh's pant leg. The thumb popped from his mouth, but remained within range to jam it back inside at any time.

"You gonn' tell Papa on me?" he whispered quietly, big fat tears suddenly pooling in his eyes. Kavanagh was even more stunned. The little boy didn't seem at all surprised or scared by his presence. In fact, Kavanagh would go so far as to say that there was some sort of recognition in his eyes.

"Weir, we have a slight... situation," he said a bit wearily, the boy tugging harder on his pant leg. He looked down sharply, staring at the kid. Both hands suddenly went up in the children's universal signal of 'pick me up!'

"Up!" he said firmly, stamping his foot a little when Kavanagh didn't make any move to lift him from the ground within moments. Were the brat not so cute, if he didn't look so small and fragile, the scientist would have sneered coldly and told the kid to get lost.

Unfortunately, Kavanagh actually liked kids to some extent. More so than any of the other people with whom he was daily forced to interact, at any rate. With a resigned sigh, he reached down and lifted him up into his arms, holding the kid against his hip just as Weir responded to him. As Kavanagh made to answer, to explain the sudden appearance of a little kid lying in the hall as if he belonged there, the child squealed happily.

"Doctor Lizzie!" Kavanagh turned his head his head sharply and stared.

"What was that?" came buzzing through his earpiece. Kavanagh was a bit speechless at the moment. The child knew Doctor Weir's name. This was definitely strange. The boy's clothes weren't Athosian, and they hadn't been any visits to the city lately, which ruled that line of thinking out of the equation.

"S'me. I got lost!" He almost sounded proud about that fact. Kavanagh shifted the kid a bit, and quickly responded to the expedition leader.

"A boy. I have no clue where he came from, but perhaps if the military here were to actually do their jobs, and investigate the city properly, we wouldn't have these kinds of mishaps, hm?" He couldn't help it. He really couldn't. The smarmy tone of his voice rang loud and clear through the headset as he contemplated lodging a formal complaint.

"I want my daddies!" the brat, because, god, that was what most certainly the boy was, what with his sudden squirming and shrieking and kicking, yelped in his ear.

"Get him to the infirmary immediately, Kavanagh. Contact Sheppard or Lorne, and have one of them send a military escort to meet up with you, just in case." That caught his attention immediately.

"In case, what?" he asked, scorn dropping from his speech, now being replaced with thick apprehension.

"Just procedure, Kavanagh. Weir out." And that, apparently, was that, and Kavanagh was most certainly going to lodge a complaint after this ordeal. But, first:

"Lorne?"

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Carson felt bad for the child currently seated on his own in a hospital bed. His 'woobie,' as he had insisted upon calling the blanket, was over his head, covering his face. By the way his arm was bent, it was easy enough for Carson to deduce that little Corey's thumb was getting a workout.

After Rodney had left the infirmary, flustered and in a state of disbelief that this child was somehow his, his and Sheppard's, Corey immediately began to sniffle, bottom lip trembling dangerously. Now, he wouldn't remove the ratty thing from his head to look at anyone, or allow anyone to look at him. With a soft, pitying sigh, Carson set back to work where he could keep half an eye on the child.

He didn't, however, manage to catch it when Rodney first ventured back into the infirmary. When Dr. Beckett finally managed to spare a glance over at Mini McKay (or was it Sheppard?), Rodney was sitting next to him on the bed while Corey demolished a small chocolate bar that McKay broke out from his personal stash. He must have a heart, somewhere, deep, deep down in there.

All right, so that wasn't fair. Rodney had shown not to be a self-centered asshole on more than one occasion. It was just that it didn't happen all that often. This was probably filling his 'nice' quota for the month.

"So," McKay started, his genial tone sounding forced and awkward. "How exactly did you end up with two dads, anyway?"

Rodney looked positively terrified of the answer. Carson was sure that Rodney was thinking something frightening and out of some twisted science fiction story. He wasn't McKay and Sheppard's biological child, at any rate. But Dr. Beckett wasn't about to clue him in on this little fact. Rodney could sweat it out for a little bit.

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Rodney had to admit: he never thought, not in any universe, mostly parallel or otherwise, would he ever adopt a child. He could understand if there had been some sort of mistake where he knocked up a native or some other, natural means of procreation where he would inevitably feel morally responsible over his spawn. But taking in an orphan hadn't exactly been on his list of Things To Do In Pegasus.

Yet, here he was, a child perched upon his lap and cuddling up way too close for his comfort. Being quite new at this whole (hopefully temporary) fatherhood thing, he hadn't been prepared for Corey to take his tentative hug as an invitation to fall asleep in his lap and drool on his uniform. His blanket, which he rather insistently called his 'woobie,' was in a death-grip in one hand, while his other held on tightly to the open edge of Rodney's gray and blue jacket.

Corey seemed rather attached to Rodney, even after that traumatic experience, earlier in the infirmary when Rodney had a mild breakdown and loudly disclaimed any relation at all to the child. Half a chocolate bar and a hug later and the boy was happily napping in his 'Papa's' lap.

He was still having no luck at all in reaching Sheppard via his radio. Bastard. Rodney was sure that the Lieutenant Colonel was avoiding him entirely. There was no possible way that this was mere coincidence. As soon as the man had heard the words 'child' and 'Rodney' uttered together in a sentence, he claimed some sort of training program going on in one of the gyms and promised to return at a more convenient time.

Rodney was quite certain that 'a more convenient time' was really Sheppard-speak for 'half past never' and was close to contacting Zelenka and having him hunt the colonel down. Unfortunately, the one hundred kilogram mass currently causing his legs to fall asleep made it fairly impossible for him to yell at his second in command over the radio or get up from the uncomfortable hospital bed to do it himself.