Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard stepped into the lab. He took a look around, not finding – or, more precisely, not hearing, which would have been the more likely sense affected if he'd come across what he was looking for – his favorite scientist. It was after ten in the morning and he and his team were on an extended period of downtime from off-world missions as they got reacquainted with Atlantis. The 'new' Atlantis. The science team had been especially busy figuring out what worked still, what worked better, and what no longer worked at all after the tinkering that the Asurans – the Replicators – did to the city while the expedition members had been exiled from it.
Sheppard walked over to Dr. Radek Zelenka, who was speaking in Czech with an associate.
"Hey, Doc," the colonel said lightly as he interrupted the two. They had been heads down, no doubt completely engulfed in geek speak, foreign language-style. Zelenka said something to the tall blonde that Sheppard assumed excused her to other things as she headed to the far side of the room.
"Yes, Colonel?" Radek asked as he stepped in front of the first of three computers set up at his work station. "Rodney is not here."
"I can see that." John wondered if that was what they all thought; that his only purpose in visiting this section of the city would be due to his need to find McKay. It was true this time. Was it true all of the time? He didn't think that it was, but try as he might he couldn't come up with any recent examples of it not being the case. And so what if it was? He and McKay were friends, teammates. Did he really care what others thought? Not really. Even if they were assuming things, making giant leaps to incorrect conclusions, conclusions that could put him before a review board and potentially out of the military. Of course, that wouldn't happen because it wasn't true. The conclusion, that is, or the assumed conclusion. Alleged conclusion? But that wasn't really the question, was it? The real question was whether John Sheppard wanted it to be true. And the important follow-on question was: would Rodney? John thought he knew the answer to the first question. He needed to find McKay to get his answer to the second.
"Colonel?" Radek asked. Huh. How long had John been standing there saying nothing and thinking about…things?
"Um, do you know where he is?" Sheppard asked.
"He said he wasn't feeling well. He was going to his quarters to lie down for a while." Radek looked at Sheppard over his glasses. "He did not look well. I think he has been fighting an illness in order to spend more time analyzing the city." Zelenka smiled as he checked out his surroundings in awe and then said, "We have come across some impressive enhancements to some systems. We believe that certain areas in the…" The scientist was cut off by the colonel's next question.
"He went to his quarters, not the infirmary?" he asked as he stepped toward the lab's exit.
"Well, yes. He thought that…" Radek paused, realizing how incongruous the situation was. There were normally just three circumstances that existed in Rodney's world, at least in the genius' world since coming to the Pegasus Galaxy, that would take his attention away from the lab besides eating – happily and often, sleeping – reluctantly, or missions: 1) other work on Atlantis that would keep him busy until he dropped due to sheer exhaustion, 2) heading to the infirmary due to a hangnail, or fear that he had been contaminated with one of the many things – some real, some imagined – that he might be allergic to that could bring on imminent death, or 3) true imminent death.
Unfortunately, a fourth disturbing trend had come into play during their time here. Rodney McKay realized that many people on Atlantis – his friends and colleagues, sometimes medical personnel, Elizabeth Weir at least once or twice, even John on occasion – had believed him to be a bit of a hypochondriac. McKay had taken it upon himself to not mention when he wasn't feeling well, or he would simply suffer alone in silence, rather than deal with the sidelong looks or otherwise skeptical reactions of those he came in contact with when he did admit serious injury or illness. When he was caught red-handed, like when John had shot him, it worked out okay for the scientist; nobody would be able to call him on it when he was bleeding out all over the ground. Sheppard often wondered about a personality that would have all activity stall around him for a paper cut but shy away from treatment or comfort when it was truly needed.
"I see what you mean," the Czech scientist said with a frown. He said something else in his native tongue, followed by, "Would you like me to contact Dr. Beckett?"
"Nah, I'll take care of it," the colonel called back as he jogged from the room. John heard 'stubborn' and 'strangle' interspersed with angry Czech as he hurried away and to McKay's room.
Sheppard waited until the hallway was clear and then called for McKay through the door. He knocked and then used the Ancient equivalent of a doorbell. None of those things brought McKay to his door. Maybe the scientist had headed to the infirmary after all. John called one more time and started to step away when the door finally opened.
"Oh, shit!" John said as he looked at his friend. McKay's face was flushed red, his cheeks, his forehead so bright that it almost distracted John from the terrible paleness underneath.
"What?" Rodney asked.
John stood in the doorway, not quite sure about what his next move would be. Rodney was standing, but just barely. Sheppard would have laughed if he wasn't so worried, the old jingle about 'Weebles wobble but they don't fall down' coming to mind as McKay swayed precariously. It also kind of reminded John of his neighbor's dog when he was a kid. Miller, the Golden Retriever/Yellow Lab mix who when he wagged his tail gave the impression of the propeller from an old Stearman bi-plane crop duster – both the speed of the rotation and the wind that it could blow all around. Rodney's wobbling was nowhere near the speed of Miller's tail. And watching him try to stand steady made Sheppard lose the smile that thinking about that old, sweet dog had brought to his lips.
"Well, buddy," John said, still standing on the other side of the threshold, just a pace or so away from his unsteady friend. "You don't seem to be doing so hot there."
Rodney blinked a couple of times, as though trying to put John into focus, as though the only reason he knew it was John was from the sound of his voice. McKay pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward his bed and said, "I was heading…" he started, and then turned his head left to look toward the bed. "Um…I was gonna…" he continued, but the Weeble would fall down this time. Rodney lost his balance and stumbled back. John made the quick step and an half to catch his sick friend before he fell.
"Whoa, hold on," John encouraged as he helped Rodney to the bed. "Sit." Rodney sat. The colonel tapped his radio. "Medical emergency to Dr. McKay's quarters," he announced.
"No, no. I'm fi…" McKay started to say fine, but he saw the look Sheppard was sending his way. "Okay," he conceded, keeping his head conspicuously still, as though moving it meant really bad things to come. "I'm not fine. But I just need to sleep."
"Colonel, what's the trouble?" Dr. Carson Beckett's warm Scottish accent asked through the comm.
"Rodney doesn't look so good. He's sick. He's dizzy, he's really pale but he's flushed, too." Sheppard put his hand up to McKay's forehead. "He feels warm." Rodney just sat there and allowed the touch.
"Can you get him to the infirmary?" Carson queried.
Rodney practically sobbed with frustration. "Carson, I just need to sleep," he pleaded.
"I'm sorry, Rodney, but I don't think a fever is being caused by a lack of sleep."
"Even if I haven't slept for almost four days?" the scientist challenged. As soon as he said it he knew that he'd screwed up, big time.
"What?" John yelled as he slapped Rodney hard on his upper right arm.
"Rodney!" Beckett chastised loudly. "I'm on my way. You probably picked up a bug due to your bloody bangered immune system."
"I ought to ground you!" Sheppard yelled. "We've been through this before, McKay!"
"You can't ground me. Only Elizabeth can," Rodney answered snidely. The two locked eyes in anger, but Rodney quickly realized that he'd made another misstep. "Fuck."
"Well, she does listen to me…most of the time." John watched as Rodney rubbed his eyes gently. "What were you thinking?" he yelled.
"Can you and Carson please stop yelling at me?"
John looked at his friend sympathetically. The unexpected ache that he felt watching Rodney suffer was – different. He had never liked watching the scientist suffer, but this feeling, this was definitely different. This was just like Rodney's pain was his own, and that was such a new feeling that he wasn't exactly sure how to react to it. John Sheppard was a smart man, though, and he recognized what this was. What he didn't know was whether he was prepared to deal with what it meant.
"Sorry," the colonel apologized. "Look, why don't you lay down? That's what Carson's gonna have you do for a start anyway."
"I don't want to go to the infirmary. I need sleep and I can't sleep there."
"You can if Beckett sedates you," Sheppard assured his friend.
"I don't need nor do I want drugs!" McKay yelled, memories of withdrawal from the Wraith enzyme, and a minor overdose of morphine from the arrow to his gluteus maximus never far from his thoughts. Rodney hated anything that messed with his mind; he surely regretted his culpability in how he was feeling right now. He took a shaky breath and then added more calmly, "I just haven't slept."
"Radek started telling me about some of the good stuff that you guys have found."
Rodney scooted over to the head of the bed and rested his head on the pillow, toeing off his shoes once he was settled. He smiled a little when he said, "There's some good stuff we only just barely had a chance to analyze. It's amazing some of the enhancements the Replicators did. We're sure to find some equally squirrelly stuff, too." Rodney stopped talking and rubbed his left hand over his face. "I really feel like crap," he admitted as he pulled his hand away and looked Sheppard in the eyes. "I usually like to enjoy at least a little imbibing before I end up feeling like this."
"You don't look much better, buddy. Are you sure this is just from lack of sleep? You really haven't gone this whole time without sleeping, have you?" Sheppard asked, wincing at the thought of being awake for that long. It wasn't like any of them had experienced any good sleep prior to these days, either; being busy fighting Replicators tended to cut into quality shut eye.
"A power nap here and there. I don't know," Rodney admitted. "Maybe I did catch a bug or something."
John sat on the bed next to his sick friend. "Or maybe you're just getting old."
Rodney looked at John while the colonel smiled at his wry comment. "Ass."
"Why didn't you go to Carson if you were feeling this bad?"
Rodney waved his hand. "You know, that old 'Here comes McKay again' thing. It wears on you after a while."
"Maybe if you wouldn't make a big deal out of stubbing a toe…" Sheppard said, not planning to offer more, his point blatantly clear.
"Thanks for the support," McKay said as he turned on his side and faced away from his team leader.
"Look, when you're sick you should get it checked out. You're important around here. I…we…Atlantis needs its A-number one genius." John could tell Rodney was listening, he could see that the man's eyes were open, the long lashes blinking as he lay silently. John put his hand on Rodney's arm and shook it lightly. McKay turned to look at him. "I wanted to…well, you're very important to me." Rodney's eyes penetrated John's very being, despite how hooded and puffy they looked. The dark smudges over the puffiness just reinforced how tired and ill he must be feeling. But those eyes, they cut through John's consciousness like a knife; it was as though Rodney McKay held a new weapon with which to glean the information he needed from the Air Force man without speaking one single word.
But how long was that silence likely to last?
Not long, it seemed. "I am?" the astrophysicist asked the colonel.
John squinted and said with a minor grimace, "You know that, right?"
"Um," McKay started as he turned around to lie once again on his back. "Sometimes?" he questioned tentatively.
John's hand was now holding tight to Rodney's upper arm. He squeezed once, and then again, and then rubbed carefully at the spot where he'd hit him in frustration earlier. He let go and then leaned across McKay's waist, his arm now helping to hold him up above the scientist. If Carson walked in now Sheppard would have a lot of 'splainin' to do.
"What…" Rodney began. John raised his hand and placed it above McKay's chest, using only the silent signal to ask his friend to wait.
"I am surprised to find, and even more surprised to admit that I'm having unusual feelings about you. And I now realize, just now as I'm saying this that it's unfair to bring this up when you're sick like this. I am a shit," he added as he started to rise. Rodney grabbed John's hand and stopped the full out retreat by the military man.
"Wait. You're having 'unusual feelings' about me?" Rodney was using those eyes again, laser points of light like a detective would use a hot overhead lamp to elicit truths from his prey. John felt like Rodney's prey right now; it felt uncomfortable and thrilling all at once.
"About me?" McKay asked again.
"Yes," the colonel answered as he stood there holding Rodney's hand. He could let go…Rodney was too weak right now to really fight it.
But he didn't.
"Unusual like…unusual how?"
Sheppard lifted his head and rolled his eyes. He clasped McKay's hand tighter and then barely swung their hands back and forth for emphasis. "Do I have to say it?" he asked.
"Well, I could assume, but you know what they say…"
"Yeah, well, it wouldn't be the first time either one of us had been deemed an ass."
"No doubt. Of course, if what you are NOT saying and what I AM assuming are one and the same, then we both truly are asses, first rate asses, in fact, because I have had 'unusual' – your word – feelings for you for quite some time now."
John cocked his head and looked at McKay quizzically. "Y…y…you have? For how long?"
Rodney looked away, his eyes flying around the room and finally resting on their still clasped hands.
"I'd rather not say."
"Why?" Sheppard asked, sitting down again on the edge of the bed, forcing McKay to shift a little for him.
Rodney suddenly looked more ill than he had just seconds before. He blinked several times and then frowned as though at a bad memory. "Does it matter?" he asked. "Do you need to know that?"
"Not today," John agreed with a smile.
Carson Beckett chose that unfortunate moment to charge into the room.
"Gentlemen," Carson greeted them. "Shoo," he directed at John.
"That's very doctorly talk," Sheppard noted. Rodney smiled at the exchange.
"Ah, you've brought tears to my eyes with your criticism," Beckett retorted. "Rodney, I've a mind to admit you to the infirmary for simple spite."
"Your bedside manner…" McKay started.
"Oh shut up ya daft man. Some peace and quiet during this examination will go a long way with me," Carson instructed. Ordered.
It was pretty obvious that Dr. Carson Beckett was not in his happy place. Both John and Rodney remained quiet, neither man wanting to risk anything that would keep them from continuing their conversation where they'd left off.
"All right. Rodney, when did you first start feeling poorly?" the physician asked kindly, his previous huffy state all but forgotten.
McKay's eyes squinted in concentration, which was only slightly different from the squinting in pain that Sheppard had witnessed for much of his visit.
"I really only started feeling bad this morning," Rodney insisted.
"Is that right?" Carson asked.
"Yes," the scientist replied indignantly. "Before that I was just tired."
"Fine." Beckett performed the rest of the exam in silence and then started to put his equipment away. "How do you feel now compared to when the colonel called for assistance?" he asked as he put his fingers to Rodney's throat and neck and lightly palpated for signs of inflammation.
Rodney looked at Carson with a frown and then his eyebrows rose on his forehead as he realized the answer. He turned to John and then nodded to the colonel and then looked back at Carson sheepishly. "Better," he admitted.
"Have you been laying down for most of that time?" Beckett asked with a knowing grin.
"Yes," McKay responded reluctantly.
The chief medical officer looked up to John. "Have you done your best to keep from agitating him?" he asked.
"After I finished yelling at him? Well…sorta," Sheppard answered.
Carson looked back at Rodney. "I think you'll be fine. You need to sleep. The human body was never intended to withstand the abuse that you insist on subjecting it to, Rodney."
"Well what about all that running and getting beat up by Ronon and Teyla and stuff?"
"It was made to handle that, more if possible," Beckett answered quickly. "More exercise will do you good. But not for the next while. Your temperature is slightly elevated, not too bad, but your blood pressure is higher than I'd like. But since you're going to stay in this bed for the next twenty-four hours, except to use the facilities, then I'm going to assume that you will be fine."
"Carson, I…"
"Rodney, this is not a debate. It's not even a discussion. Right now and for the next twenty-four hours, you will not be living in a democracy. You will live under my tyrannical rule, and you will do as I say. If you don't, I will have you moved to my infirmary where someone far meaner than I will be in charge of ya. Have I made myself clear?" The physician ended his instruction with a question. They stared at one another, two stubborn men, one who knew everything and therefore knew that this was overkill, the other who knew only what needed to be done to keep his friend from becoming really sick.
"Rodney, you were lucky this time. When you allow your body to get this rundown, you run the risk of contracting any number of viruses or infections. We're all susceptible when our immune systems go haywire. What you did was very risky, you do see that?"
Rodney McKay looked over to John Sheppard. John still looked worried, but he also seemed to hold an aura of anticipation that McKay found infectious – and damned appealing. Staying healthy held a different meaning as he thought back to what he and John had just admitted to one another. Of course, admitting that would mean agreeing that Carson Beckett was right. Was he a big enough man to do that?
"You really are a drama queen, aren't you Carson?" John snorted a laugh at the pot calling the kettle black, but stifled it quickly once he saw the look on Beckett's face.
"He'll stay put, Carson. I'll make sure of it. I need him to behave himself, too." Beckett looked back to McKay to see if the stubborn Canadian would abide by his and Sheppard's rules. John, meanwhile, winked at Rodney, causing him to break into a small crooked smile.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing, Carson. I guess I'm just accepting that you two are ganging up on me and there's not much I can do about it."
"Really?" Beckett asked skeptically.
"No worries, Carson," John said as he picked up Beckett's large satchel full of supplies. "I'll be happy to dump him in your care if he gives me any trouble."
"That I can believe," the Scottish doctor noted.
"I'm right here in the room," Rodney complained, though with far less gusto than a normal McKay whine entailed.
"Rodney, I'm being a benevolent despot today," Carson warned.
"I appreciate that, Genghis," Rodney retorted.
Carson rose and took the bag from John. "Well, I didn't kill you and I didn't make you my vassal. Get some sleep. Please." Rodney folded his arms over his chest and sank his head further into the pillow. It was a sign of how tired and sick he felt that he didn't come back with a smart reply. John and Carson watched for just moments as Rodney soon fell into a seemingly restful sleep.
"Thanks, Carson, for letting him stay," John said as he walked Beckett to the door.
"Sleep, that's what he needs. Make sure he eats. Save everything else for another time," the physician said knowingly, his eyebrow raised in warning.
"What…" John started.
"Ack," Carson warned. "I'm not blind and I'm not a fool. You two have truly been both, and for quite a long time." Beckett leaned in and whispered, "I'm happy for you, John, even though I fear you may be touched in the head for taking on our Rodney." Carson stepped over the threshold and looked back at the colonel. He whispered more softly, "You'll need the patience of a saint, you know."
Carson Beckett walked away before he had a chance to hear the quiet reply: "I know," followed affectionately by, "and I will."
The End.