Four Times Rodney Didn't Celebrate His Birthday and One Time He Did

One

For nine months, eight year-old Meredith had watched his usually logical mother devolve into an absent-minded female who giggled at inappropriate times and cried for absolutely no reason whatsoever. His father had rolled his eyes and intoned, "Hormones," but Meredith knew better. It was that baby. When his parents had announced that he was going to have a sibling, he'd read every book he could get his hands on that dealt with pregnancy. Horrified at most of it, he swore off girls, sex, and most importantly children.

Why his parents thought they needed another child was beyond him. He'd done everything they'd asked of him, had excelled at it, but obviously they didn't think it was enough because there was going to be a crying, smelly baby in his space – the next door neighbor had brought a new one home every year for the past five years and ewww – and if he'd calculated correctly, the usurper was going to arrive sometime in early spring.

His birthday was in early spring. It was the one day that his parents paid special attention to him. He got to pick his favorite meal (spaghetti with extra meatballs) and cake (devil's food with fudge icing) and to select one (very expensive) item from his father's catalog of scientific equipment. He'd been waiting all year for a spectrometer. He'd marked the page in the catalog and left it in a prominent place on his father's desk, where it had lain for weeks without being touched.

His mother was admitted to the hospital five days before his ninth birthday. Two days later, Jeannie arrived.

Meredith never got a spectrometer.

Two

After the incident with the CIA over his grade six science fair exhibit, the educators at his school had a chat with his parents. Four years later, M. Rodney McKay graduated from high school and was shipped immediately to the University of Toronto where he was surrounded by serious scientists and intellectuals.

He hated it.

U of T had been his father's choice. No surprise since it was considered the top university in Canada (since he was still on the CIA's watch list, Northeastern and all other US schools weren't an option yet) and Rodney was expected to be the best. As an added bonus, he would be over three thousand kilometers from his family. While that was a bit of a relief, he was stuck in a big city with no family, no friends, and no car. Gawky and acne-prone, he holed up in his dorm room and studied, letting the world go by without him.

He spent his eighteenth birthday in a science lab, measuring gamma rays with the university's spectrometer.

Three

He'd been banished to hell. Well, Russia, but same difference. It should have reminded him of home, but it didn't. He didn't speak the language, the food tasted funny, and requisitions took three times as long to receive and were a fraction of the quality he needed.

The other scientists – and he used that term loosely – didn't try to hide their disappointment that they got him instead of Major Carter. The feeling was mutual.

"You…there." Rodney snapped his fingers at the passing flunky. "Hilda, Helga, Heidi."

The petite, dark-haired woman stopped and slowly rotated, stabbing him with an icy glare. "My name is Halina," she said, "as I have told you repeatedly, Doctor."

"Whatever. Where are the latest readings? How do you people think I'm going to help you construct a naquadah generator if I don't have the data in a timely manner?"

"We people think you should check your email more often." She whirled and stalked away.

"Email? I wanted a hard copy!"

But she had disappeared around the corner with a flutter of her lab coat. Rodney heaved a sigh and stomped back to his computer. He'd been avoiding email all day. Stupid, really, but he knew what he would find there: tersely worded messages from co-workers who didn't like him.

Nothing else except for the unfinished draft of a birthday greeting to his sister. Expressing himself had never been a strong suit and after the debacle of his last trip home, he had no idea what to say to her. She was throwing her life away, but she couldn't see it no matter how many times he said it. The slam of the door still rang in his ears.

Rodney clicked on his email, trying to avoid the draft folder, but his eyes were drawn to it like the wreck that it was. "Happy Birthday" hadn't seemed like enough. He'd tried for humor, but even he could tell it fell flat. He'd written and rewritten, and yet nothing sounded right. Then he'd gotten wrapped up in the latest test and spent two days arguing over an equation with the project's chief scientist. When he finally remembered, it was too late. Her birthday had come and gone.

With a sigh, he deleted the email from the draft folder and opened the analysis Halda had sent him. Rodney spent his thirty-fourth birthday ignoring a personal email folder that stayed empty.

Four

Rodney stumbled to a stop, clutching his middle as his insides knotted and spasmed, pain radiating from his core to his extremities. Come to the market with me. It will be fun. I hear there might be Ancestor technology. When was he going to learn?

"We are already late, Rodney," Teyla said. "The gate is not far ahead. John and Aiden are expecting..." She glanced back at him and gasped. "What is wrong?"

He slumped to his knees with a groan. "I can't." He clenched his eyes shut against the pain, ignoring the tears that dripped down his cheeks, then doubled over, one hand around his stomach and the other braced against the ground. "Whatever was in that drink…" His elbow gave out and his forehead smacked the red clay path. "I was thirsty and the guy offered." What he intended as a laugh came out as a moan. "I don't even really like milk."

Teyla knelt in front of him, her hands pulling him upright until he was squinting into her horror-filled eyes. "You ingested vohrnak? A milky white liquid?"

He nodded miserably.

"Oh, Rodney," Teyla sighed, wiping away the sweat that was stinging his eyes. "Vohrnak is a…recreational drug of the Itoorians."

He breathed through the next spasm. "He drugged me? Why?"

"Perhaps to steal your belongings; perhaps out of cruelty." Teyla helped him to his feet and pulled his arm over her shoulders, wrapping an arm around his waist. "If vohrnak is not properly prepared, it can act as a poison."

Rodney staggered down the path, trying to make sense of what she was saying. "I've been poisoned?"

"If you are in pain, yes." She grabbed his belt and hoisted him higher. "How much did you drink?"

"All of it," he mumbled. "I was really thirsty."

Teyla tugged at the small bag she had purchased at the market until it slid from her shoulder to her elbow. "Why did you not say something before now?"

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. "I don't know. That's not like me, is it? Oh, God, I have brain damage." Left, no, right foot. Left foot. "That's worse than dying."

At the merchant's table, his hand had brushed over something that made his skin tingle. Ancient tech, just like she'd said. He'd been so absorbed with finding it that he'd forgotten where he was. The man had offered the glass, and Rodney had downed it without thinking.

"Don't tell Sheppard."

Teyla's grip tightened as they reached the gate. "I believe Major Sheppard will notice that you are ill when we arrive."

"No, I mean about me not asking you about it first."

"It was an accident," Teyla soothed. "Any of us could have done it." She propped him against the DHD and paused, breathing heavily. "Try to not do it again."

Rodney clung to the DHD, praying his knees wouldn't give out. "Never, for the rest of my life, as short as that will be."

Teyla dialed, inputted her IDC, and slung Rodney's arm over her shoulders again. "You are not going to die anytime soon. I refuse to allow it, especially today."

"Refuse to allow…" Rodney stumbled toward the shimmering blue that represented the city that was beginning to feel like a real home. "I don't think you can… Wait, why especially today?"

Teyla smiled and dragged him through the gate.

Half the expedition was waiting for them. Happy Birthday! reverberated through the gateroom.

Rodney promptly passed out.

Five

"Come on, McKay. You've avoided celebrating your birthday every year since we got here." Sheppard spun on the lab stool next to him. "I'm not letting you miss this one."

"I'm busy," Rodney growled. "Go bother someone else."

"Can't. It's not anyone else's birthday. I checked." Sheppard nudged him with an elbow. "Chef made your favorite."

Rodney's mouth watered involuntarily. Sergeant Ray made the best spaghetti he'd ever had. He cut his eyes toward Sheppard, irritated to see his trademark smirk grow wider. "You know how I feel about birthdays."

Sheppard snorted. "I know what you say you feel about birthdays. I don't believe it for a second. Who doesn't like birthdays? There are presents and cake."

"Says the man whose childhood birthday parties had Evel Knievel as entertainment."

"Yeah." Sheppard leaned back with a dreamy smile. "Best birthday ever."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "You got Evel Knievel. I got a baby sister."

"Sounds fair."

"You suck. Have I ever mentioned that?"

"Frequently." Sheppard looked completely unrepentant. "Doesn't change the fact that you're going to this party."

Rodney turned to face him and folded his arms over his chest. "Why should I?"

"Because it's for you." The humor faded from Sheppard's face. "Because we need a party, a morale boost. It's been a hard year and people need to let loose a little."

Rodney couldn't argue with that. They'd found Carson, sort of, only to have to ship him to Earth. Rodney had delivered Teyla's baby shortly after a building imploded while he was in it and then he'd almost turned into a hive ship. Well, he'd been pre-symptomatic, but still, the point was he could have turned into a hive ship. On top of that, Carter had been replaced by Woolsey. Bureaucrats were the scourge of humanity.

"Will there be alcohol at this party?"

Sheppard grinned. "Teyla donated her last bottle of Ruus wine, Zelenka made a new batch of moonshine, and Ronon managed to locate some of that Blevin ale he's been going on about." Sheppard leaned forward to whisper, "Did I mention cake?"

Rodney fought the urge to drool. "What kind?"

"Devil's food with fudge icing, of course." Sheppard waggled his brows. "And if you don't come, you won't get your presents."

Something strange stirred in Rodney's chest. "Presents for me?"

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "It's no one else's birthday, remember?"

"Yes, well, of course." Rodney felt his cheeks flame and turned away, hoping Sheppard wouldn't notice. How could a guy like Sheppard possibly understand how rare and wonderful it was for people to voluntarily get Rodney a gift? He'd always downplayed birthdays, telling himself that it was just another day in another year, because it was easier to ignore than to celebrate alone. He glanced over at Sheppard who was quietly watching him. "So, uh," he cleared his throat, "what did you get me?"

"You're going to have to come to the party to find out," Sheppard answered with a grin. "I'm looking forward to seeing what's in that big box your sister sent."

"Jeannie sent something?"

"Yep. Though I think Madison must have helped wrap it."

"I don't know. Jeannie has rather unique gift-wrapping skills." Rodney did a quick mental calculation. "The Daedalus left a month ago. You've had it all this time and didn't tell me?"

"Actually I had Ronon keep it. You don't barge into his quarters like you do everyone else." Sheppard looked at his watch. "Did she like that painting thing you got her on M4T-084?"

"I think she was more enamored with the properties of the paint they used than the art itself. She said she's been running tests on the paint chips I enclosed."

"Good. That's good. Can we go now?" Sheppard's mouth twitched, in that I'm-about-to-embarrass-you way.

"What?" Rodney demanded.

"What what?"

"What have you done that I'm going to kill you for later?"

Sheppard snorted. "You and what army?"

"My army of highly educated scientists who can turn you back into a bug."

"That's low."

Rodney arched a brow. "Then spill it."

Sheppard stared at the ceiling for a minute then sighed. "Okay, but it wasn't my idea." He glanced over his shoulder at the door, scanning the empty room. "There are candles."

"How many?"

"How many do you think?"

"You didn't."

"Do you know how hard it is to find forty candles? We had to use a few of Teyla's meditation candles. It's a damn fire hazard. Oh, and Teyla's leading the singing."

Rodney shrank into his chair. "Singing?" he asked faintly.

"You know how much she loves parties." Sheppard grimaced slightly. "Ronon's in charge of games."

"No, absolutely not."

"I told him that he couldn't force us, I mean, you to participate."

"I'm not going."

Sheppard checked his watch again and hopped to his feet. "Oh, yes, you are." He grabbed Rodney's arm. "If it makes you feel any better, Ronon says you're twenty-one according to the Old Satedan calendar."

Rodney let himself be dragged out of his chair. "What does that make him, twelve?"

"Something like that."

They took the transporter to the mess hall level where voices buzzed, occasionally punctuated by a shout of laughter and underlined with faint chords of music. The tang of spaghetti sauce combined with the sugary scent of icing to send Rodney's senses into overload. Maybe a party wasn't such a bad idea.

"Well, I can take consolation in one thing," Rodney said as they reached the door.

"What's that?"

Rodney slapped Sheppard on the back. "You'll always be older than me."

"By four months."

"Older," he sing-songed.

"I hate you."

Rodney laughed and stepped inside. Teyla kissed him on the cheek. Ronon slapped him on the back and shoved a glass of something strong and spicy in his hands. The spaghetti was just the way he liked it, the cake almost put him in a sugar coma, and the singing was as atrocious as he'd feared.

And inside the box from his sister was his very own spectrometer.

A/N: I'm a little behind in updating. Apologies for the story dump. Thanks to coolbreeze1 for the beta!