Chapter Four
"I've been looking at the most interesting specimen today."
Beckett was nattering on, like usual, as Rodney paged through one of his science journals in search of a reference for the surprise project Langham had suddenly saddled him with this morning. He reached out with his fork blindly for the small plate of leftovers that had been prepared. The fact that the plate was suddenly moved into range by his tablemate didn't register with Rodney, and he just hummed softly, indicating for Beckett to continue.
"It's just a tissue sample, but I think the specimen is from some new species in the Amazon. Certainly not from any animal I've seen before."
"Huh," Rodney grunted noncommittally.
"It seems to have regenerative properties, similar to that of salamander, but with a much faster speed."
"Really?"
"Oh, yes. A special project from someone downstairs, they said they don't have a live specimen at the moment, but they're hopeful they might be able to acquire one in the near future."
"From 'downstairs'?" Rodney stopped perusing his reference and looked up with a frown. "I thought they were just some offshoot of the X-302 Project."
"No," Beckett commented lightly, although Rodney could hear a trace of tension creep into the other man's tone, "I think they have a representative for each team in R&D."
Rodney took a bite of Laverne's macaroni and cheese, chewing it as he considered the information. "Have you ever been down there?"
"What?" Beckett asked. "No."
"Me neither. Actually, I'm not sure where they are in the building, just the non sequitur of 'downstairs'."
"I think it's in the basement," Sheppard said as he dropped into a seat next to Rodney.
"What—who—I—"
Sheppard quirked an eyebrow, waiting for him to finally catch up.
"You don't eat lunch here!"
"Brought the brown bag special today." He proudly pulled out a hastily put together peanut butter sandwich.
"You always go out!" Rodney insisted.
"And someone always steals my spot when I do. It's gotten a little annoying," Sheppard commented lightly.
"Is that the only reason?" Rodney asked suspiciously.
There was a moment where Sheppard looked distinctly uncomfortable, before he chose to notice the third occupant of the table in a none-too-subtle change of subject. "Oh, hey, I don't think we've met."
"Rodney, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" Beckett asked.
"He's not my friend," Rodney spat.
This only seemed to amuse both Sheppard and Beckett and they shared a grin together. Dear god, they really were alike. Stalker must attract stalker, one of those immutable laws of physics. Rodney buried his nose back into his journal while his stalkers made with the genial introductions, and did his best to tune out the conversation.
"So, Doc, how did our illustrious employer manage to lure you away from the hospital? Sounds like you were pretty happy there."
Ah, Beckett must have been telling Sheppard his life story. He very firmly turned the page and sought out another bite of macaroni with his fork. When it came back with empty air, Rodney realized that Beckett's attention was focused on the current conversation. He stole a glare at the two chattering cohorts as he was forced to scoop a bite of his pilfered leftovers without assistance.
"Oh, I was," Beckett munched on his lunch, "but the kind of research I can do here has the potential to change the whole medical world. Why, there's rumors that they might even be close to finding an experimental therapy to treating cancer without chemotherapy or surgery."
"You know, some people are trying to work here," Rodney pointed out sourly, waving his journal at his tablemates to accentuate his point.
Without even sparing him a glance, Sheppard snatched the journal out of his hand and tossed it to the far end of the table. "So, do you think the Steelers have a chance at making it to the Superbowl this year?"
Rodney made a grab for the journal, but Sheppard just slid it further out of his reach.
"Not a chance," Beckett replied, his lips quirking up into a smile.
"I hate you both," he muttered petulantly as he devoured the rest of Laverne's macaroni and cheese.
Sheppard just flashed a boyish grin before launching into a long, boring monologue about the stats of all of his favorite teams this year.
"Hey," John greeted as McKay dragged himself in, sipping on a large travel mug of coffee.
For his early morning enthusiasm, John earned the glare of the night owl. Four weeks in, and still John's first urge on seeing McKay was to dunk the man's head in the nearest well. Since those weren't too abundant in this day and age, and also since John had come out on top in their encounter this morning on the road, he was in the mood to be generous and opted to just verbally poke his rival.
"Hello," McKay finally responded glumly. "What time is it?"
"You've got a watch," John pointed out.
"Oh, right." McKay brought it to bear, squinting at the numbers as if they made no sense. "Why, I ask, why does the sun have to rise at such a god awful hour?"
"To make your face shine like it is right now."
"I am so not in the mood for you this morning," McKay mumbled.
"Oh?" John spun in his chair, leaning back and lifting up his feet to give off the perfect image of an overgrown class clown. Like every other time he pulled the maneuver, McKay's eye began to twitch, ever so slightly. "Late night?"
"Stop that, you're making me nauseous."
"So it was a late night," John crowed, but set his feet on the ground, effectively halting his spin. "So did my little Poindexter find himself a fair maiden—I'm guessing of the blow-up variety—and sweep her off her feet for a night of romance and magnetohydrodynamics?"
"One, I am not 'your little Poindexter'," McKay spat. "Two, I can get a real woman if I wanted to. Three, you threw that word in just to sound cool! And four, it just so happened that I was up late—"
McKay ignored John's triumphant cry.
"—trying to work out the equations on Langham's stupid little mystery project."
John's eyebrows shot up. "Mystery project?"
"Do you have today's changes?" McKay grumbled and pulled out the extra desk chair that had been acquired after the fourth day in a row that the scientist had stolen John's. "I've got my suspicions."
"Yeah, hold on." John grabbed the new schematics, and without bothering to rise up, rolled his chair to the opposite end of the room where the work table sat and laid them out. "What kind of suspicions?"
McKay rose and pulled his chair over, as if engaging in a little goofing off might shake loose the stick that had taken up permanent residence in his ass. He sat down primly and indicated the new circuitry lining the cockpit that had appeared last week, but now had added detail. "There."
John frowned as he peered closer at the new, unfamiliar system. He had been too busy going over some of the controls for the simulator to look at the changes this morning. Now that he was looking at it, it definitely had his attention. He had never seen anything like that in any of the many aircrafts he had flown or studied over the years. "What the hell is that?"
McKay pulled out a spiral notebook, of which a good portion had been filled with scribbled equations and stuffed with various computer printouts. He leafed through the pages, eyes scanning each line until he found the one he was looking for. "Oh, yeah, that matches up perfectly."
John leaned over to peer at the equations. They looked to contain several elements from both aero- and astrodynamics, with several hastily sketched variations on escape velocity and several sidelined equations on what looked like possibly some calculations on g-force in varying forms. Just looking at the symbols and numbers littering the page didn't give him enough reference to figure it out on his own.
"Don't keep me in suspense."
"I should for the 'little Poindexter' crack," McKay muttered, and readjusted the glasses that had slipped down his nose.
"C'mon McKay..."
He looked hesitant. "I don't know."
"Why not?"
"If it's what I think it is, you're probably going to squeal like a little girl."
That got his interest. "Oh, really?"
"Yes," McKay sounded put out, but John thought he caught a hint of enthusiasm creeping into the other man's voice, "that is, if it's part of an inertial dampening system."
"Inertial—" John's eyes flicked to the designs, "that's not possible."
"According to my math," McKay tapped the notebook filled with equations, "it is."
"You're not kidding me?" A grin was threatening to break the surface, and it took all his self-restraint to keep it tamped down. "Inertial dampeners?"
"Yes." McKay waved his hand with a resigned sigh. "You can have your little flyboy geek out now."
"That is—that's so cool."
He sprang out of his seat as he grabbed the notebook from McKay's hand and started comparing the equations with several of the liner notes on the new system. The thought of traveling mach five, or higher, and barely feeling it was both unsettling and exciting as hell.
"It's what they've been working on to try and alleviate the problem of high gs during flight."
"This is like science fiction," John continued. "I didn't think anyone was even close to figuring this sort of thing out."
"They weren't," McKay commented lightly. "Amazing progress they've made, isn't it?"
"It's not amazing, McKay," John peered closer at the designs, "it's out of this world!"
"Yeah," McKay's tone was quiet, almost disturbed, "it is."
John's finger stilled in its exploration of the designs, and he furrowed his brow at the unusually taciturn scientist. McKay looked deadly serious, and not just a little perturbed. "You don't sound too excited."
"Oh, I'm ecstatic," McKay shot back, deadpan. "This is my happy face."
Before John could comment on the unnecessary sarcasm, a voice cut through the tense atmosphere.
"Knock knock."
McKay's entire frame tensed up at the innocuous greeting, and a tingling of warning worked its way up John's spine. He slowly shifted his gaze from the disturbed scientist to the man in the doorway. He hadn't even heard Marrick's arrival, but that was not unusual. The man moved through the halls silently, every step of his stride predetermined and deliberate. From his years spent in Black Ops, John had gotten pretty good at identifying Spooks. He had his suspicions Marrick had been CIA before VerTech had gotten its hands on him.
These days he was definitely a company man. John's first two months at VerTech had been one long test as Marrick dogged his every step, as if trying to determine if John was trying to threaten the company's interests. The intense scrutiny had not earned the man any points with John, and to this day he still tensed up whenever Merrick slithered into the same vicinity.
"Why hello there, Marrick," John greeted cheerily. "What brings you to our neck of the woods?"
"You seem to be in a good mood this morning," the security officer remarked lightly.
"Major scientific breakthrough, a cool new toy to play with up in the sky," John returned, "what's not to be happy about?"
"Yes, the research team downstairs was very excited to finally crack the inertial dampening system. They've been working on that one for years."
"Really?" McKay asked from his seat. "Why is it that I've never seen any of their research in the academic circles?"
"We can't be giving away our trade secrets, Doctor."
Marrick spared a tight smile for the physicist, and the uneasy tingling in John's spine gave way to a shock of warning. Unconsciously he shifted his weight as he eyed Marrick closely, hand tightly gripping the notebook of equations.
"I guess that's true." To John's ears it seemed like McKay wanted to say something else, but was holding himself back. That was so contrary to everything he knew about the man. "First one to the finish line, right?"
"Something like that."
John was a man who trusted his instincts, no matter how much trouble they got him in. Right now with the cold, calculating way Marrick was eyeing the scientist, John felt the distant, almost forgotten protective streak to defend the civilians flare up. He wasn't sure if he liked McKay all that much; however he liked the cold intent behind Marrick's gaze even less.
"So," John said, casually ambling to the center of the room, placing himself between McKay and the man at the door, "why was it you said you were here again?"
"Dr. Langham wanted to know if McKay had finished with those equations." Marrick's eyes tracked John's slow movements. "He sent me here to get them."
"These guys?" John held up the notebook before McKay could say anything. It was curious as to why Langham would send Marrick to grab a notebook. Not exactly a breach of security that should require his paranoid attention; if Langham had sent him at all.
Marrick gazed at him, nonplussed. "If those are the equations."
"Yep," John strolled over to the doorway and handed over the notebook without fanfare. "Here you go."
"Thanks, Sheppard," Marrick said dryly.
"Always glad to help," he returned smarmily.
Marrick gave him a long, narrow-eyed look before silently slipping back into the hallway. When he disappeared around the corner, John felt himself relax minutely but the tension didn't dissipate completely. When he turned around, McKay was staring at him incredulously. John just raised his eyebrows in question.
"What the hell was that?" Instead of exploding with the question, McKay's voice was quiet. Astonished.
"I don't know," he answered honestly, because he really couldn't explain what it was that had made him react the way he did. He owed McKay nothing, especially not a confrontation with security. "Guess he just rubs me the wrong way."
"You're not the only one," McKay muttered, eyes trailing to the doorway. "There's something very..."
"Creepy?" John offered.
"Thank you, yes, creepy about him."
"Well, hopefully he got what he wanted."
There was a brief flicker of fear in McKay's eyes which had that same fierce protectiveness surging to the forefront. Despite his earlier bravado, McKay was scared of Marrick. John pursed his lips, because it wasn't his concern, and deliberately focused back on the designs. "So, any other new insights on our monstrosity here?"
McKay peered at the designs closely, absently fingering his watch. "Not really. I think we can pick up on the inertial dampeners another time."
"Got a date?"
"Just more work," McKay groused, "it keeps piling on."
John knew the feeling. They were fast approaching their first ground test, and these new systems had to be reworked into the testing plan, and probably push back the test flight again. "It never stops."
"Sleep when you're dead, right?" McKay tried to sound nonchalant as he gathered his things, but the tired cliché didn't sound so funny at the moment.
"I think I'll work in some time for sleep." John dragged his chair back over to his desk before plopping in it gracelessly. He watched as the scientist started to make his way out. "McKay?"
He stopped at the doorway. "What?"
John had no idea what he was wanting to say, and couldn't think of a good reason for stopping him. Even if the encounter with Marrick had rang a few warning bells, it seemed silly to for John to tell McKay to be careful in the halls of the place they worked. "Never mind."
McKay left silently, a complete turnaround from his usual boisterous, annoyed, rant-filled exits. John turned his attention back to the computer in an attempt to focus on work. Fifteen minutes later, he was still staring blankly at the screen and unable to shake the ominous prickling that had taken up residence at the base of his spine.
The sky was ablaze as the bright orange desert sun desperately clutched at the horizon, trying to hold off night for a few more minutes. Dusk was already starting to descend, and with it a cool breeze to break the heat of the day. September had quietly slinked off into the distance, and October began to usher in a somewhat milder climate. Living out in the middle of nowhere while working at the Groom Lake facility had already accustomed Rodney to the desert heat. He was used to the unbearably long summers and high electric bills from running the air conditioning full blast.
He sat out outside, admiring the expansive view his third story balcony offered him. It was his first night to venture out here, as it had been entirely too hot and arid to even think about spending more than the time it took to transfer from building to car to building. He was also trying to break his addiction to that show about the people stranded on a deserted island. It was interesting, but they tended to keep dragging things out, and he was getting sick of being held hostage by his television because the writers were unable to end an episode without a cliffhanger of some sort.
An angry roar grabbed his attention, and he watched in morbid fascination as a black and chrome monster pulled into one of the parking spots adjacent to his building. The machine growled as the engine idled, looking both menacing and almost beautiful in its own way. Actually, if he squinted a little, shading his eyes against the setting sun, Rodney thought that the motorcycle looked a little familiar—
—no.
It looked a lot familiar.
The rider killed the engine and leapt off the seat in a boyishly exuberant fashion. Like some horrible Hollywood cliché, he removed his helmet and ran a hand through his hair to raise the wild spikes that had been mussed by the head gear.
"You have got to be kidding me!"
He hadn't meant to shout it, but honestly, he was internalizing a lot these days so something was bound to slip. The rider stilled momentarily before managing to track down the source of the outburst, peering intently before he dropped the hand smoothing his hair.
Even if it was difficult to make out the rider's face from the distance, the grin in Sheppard's voice was as unmistakable as the sarcastic, amicable wave. "Well, howdy, neighbor!"
"No, no, no, no, no!" Rodney wailed. "This isn't even remotely funny!"
"Mind if I borrow a cup of sugar?" Sheppard yelled.
"Oh god, what more can go wrong with this stupid assignment?" he muttered to himself.
"We can like fight over who has the better lawn," the pilot continued to yell, apparently lacking any social inhibitions when it came to torturing his co-worker.
Rodney groaned and let his head fall dramatically to the railing where it smacked painfully.
"And steal each other's newspaper!"
"Just kill me now!" Rodney cried out to the world, but it wasn't listening.
"Oh, hey! This means we can carpool!"
Rodney flung open the door, interrupting his intruder mid-knock. He crossed his arms as he glared at the interloper standing in his doorway, holding up a six-pack of beer with a friendly expression. "Apparently I forgot to get you a housewarming gift."
"We're not doing this," Rodney announced and promptly slammed the door.
His cell phone trilled, and Rodney didn't recognize the number, just the Tucson area code. Probably someone from work, he mused annoyed, and snapped it open impatiently. "What?"
"That was rude," Sheppard said primly.
"How did you get my number?!"
"It's on your contact information in Outlook at work. Don't feel too special; I've got the whole Geek Squad in here in case I need to get a hold of one of you as you guys are flitting around the building."
"That's it! I'm moving!"
"But we haven't even commiserated over the fact that the elevator is always stuck on another floor when you need it," Sheppard whined.
"This complex doesn't have any elevators. And even if it did, you live on the first floor!"
"I knew I was forgetting something."
"What is wrong with you? We don't even like each other!"
"What can I say? I'm bored."
"That excuse is wearing thin," Rodney ground out.
"C'mon, McKay, just one beer. We can finally call a truce."
"Do you not speak proper English? We are not buddies. We do not drink beer and hang out at each other's apartments and bond over who can belch the loudest while watching women's mud wrestling on the television!"
"Who the hell were you hanging out with before you moved here?"
"I'm hanging up now."
"I'll just call back."
"Why won't you leave me alone?"
"C'mon McKay, it's not so bad. I brought the good beer."
"No."
"Not even a tiny sip?"
"No!"
"You don't know what you're missing."
"Right now, I'm missing sleep!"
"It's seven forty-three. The sun set like ten minutes ago."
"You're just doing this to piss me off, aren't you?"
"Maybe."
"Don't you have something better to do with your evenings than harass me? I mean what the hell, are you lonely or something?
"No."
The sudden cold quality of the other man's tone shouldn't have any bearing on the temperature in Rodney's apartment, but he felt a shiver run down his spine all the same. He swallowed, suddenly wishing for the genial asshole that had just been harassing him because the line had gone silent.
Trying to wrap his tongue around an apology wasn't working, especially since he had no idea what he had said that would have pissed off Sheppard. Of course, he really shouldn't care what the man thought anyway.
"The silence is really unnerving," he finally managed, "because things just got awkward again."
"You think?" The ice had left the other man's tone, but there was still more than just a small hint of tension. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"I'm impossible?" Rodney asked incredulously. "You're the one with the beer on my doorstep!"
"I'm trying to bury a hatchet."
"Why?"
"Because... look, it's just ridiculous for us to keep up this back and forth. We work together, so it would make things easier if—"
In a fit of sudden panic, Rodney hit the "end call" button. The last thing he needed right now was lonely test pilots trying to befriend him—or bury the hatchet or whatever the hell the term was. And he wasn't disappointed at all when the phone didn't ring again.
He really wasn't.
John plopped himself down at the table the next day at lunch, sending a disgruntled look at the man buried within a pile of notes. Whoever Rodney McKay was, he seemed bound and determined to keep people at arm's length. John had only intended to needle him a little with the beer last night. The attempt at making an actual friendly overture had been purely a moment of temporary insanity.
McKay remained oblivious to him, absorbed in his world of science, and Carson was currently sorting through a buffet's worth of leftovers. Laverne's cooking definitely could beat any of John's attempts any day of the week, and Carson made for good conversation.
"You look like you have something on your mind, lad," the Scot said, not looking up from his task.
"Not much, just discovered something interesting last night."
"What's that?"
"It turns out, I'm not stalking McKay."
"I didn't realize you were," Carson remarked as he divvied up a small portion for the scientist, who was pointedly ignoring the rest of the table as he pored over a mountain of reference material.
"Me neither," John shrugged, "but sadly, it seems that we just live together."
"We do not!" McKay snapped. "You just so happen to reside in an apartment building that may coexist in the same complex as mine."
John smirked, his barb having gained the desired effect of pulling the physicist into the conversation. "It explains why we keep running into each other."
"You do?" Carson asked as if he were only half paying attention.
"Oh, he didn't mention that to you?" John asked sarcastically. "I thought he might since he likes to bring it up with random strangers at meals."
"I was talking to myself," McKay bristled, eyes still focused firmly on his research.
"I thought you said that you weren't."
"I—" McKay sputtered, sending a few papers flying into the air with the sudden flurry of movement, "no one invited you here!"
"Beckett did."
"Well, no one invited him either!"
"You're positively anti-social some days."
"My job is not to socialize with you people," he insisted harshly.
"C'mon, McKay," John grabbed one of the pieces of paper floating lazily in the air from McKay's startled commotion, "first you slam the door in my face last night—"
"Rodney," Carson sounded scandalized.
"Then you hang up on me."
"Ach, that's not very professional."
"It was after hours!" McKay hissed and snatched the paper from John's hand. "I do not have to be professional and courteous when I'm off the clock."
"You're nice to me," Carson pointed out.
"You feed me!"
Carson paused in laying out his lunch leftovers, as if he just realized that was what he'd been doing for the past few weeks. "That's because those freeze dried meals will kill you before you reach fifty."
"There are more dangerous things in my life than artificial preservatives!" McKay stuffed the rest of his papers together as he angrily pushed himself away from the table.
"Hypertension?" John ventured.
"Leave me alone!" McKay snarled as he grabbed his stuff.
"McKay, c'mon—"
"I don't know what you two's problem is, but no means no!"
"No to what?" John asked innocently.
"No to... no to..." The scientist gestured at the empty air as he struggled to find the words. "No to—agh!"
John quirked an eyebrow, which only infuriated the gesturing man more, who gave off another cry of annoyance before he stalked off. That... had not been the intended plan. John had only wanted to needle him a little for the night before, not drive him away. "Where are you going?"
"My office!" The response produced more arm flailing. "Where I can at least can get some work done without people constantly nattering in my ear!"
John watched him go, finally turning to Carson. "What the hell was that about?"
"I don't know." Carson shook his head, watching the retreating form with a troubled expression. "He has to be the most stressed individual I have ever met."
"You're telling me." Like the incident with Marrick, John couldn't help but feel like there was more to it than McKay let on. Since it wasn't his problem, he shouldn't have been bothered by it.
But he was; and he had no idea why.