Rodney groaned as he rolled over, his eyes still closed. Today was the day when a man had to accept a few things, for starters that he was officially getting older. Second off, that the only person who probably knew and actually remembered was his brother.
He felt the bed suddenly dip, and was prepared to open an eye when he felt two small hands press against his cheeks. He grinned as he slowly opened his eyes. There on his bed sat his eighteen month old baby girl.
"Good morning," he chuckled softly as he pulled her into a hug.
"Birt-day boy!" cried the girl giggling as she clapped loudly. A second giggle erupted from over in the corner, there stood Elizabeth smiling, her arms crossed in front of her chest, dressed down in a sweat shirt and a pair of jeans. She looked comfortable, but to Rodney, as always; she looked beautiful.
"Who told you?" he smiled softly as Elizabeth moved over to them. Sitting up, his daughter still between them, Elizabeth joined Rodney on the bed.
"John, he felt it pertinent, of course I told you we'd plan something…well months ago," she said smirking.
"You're dirty oh mighty woman," chuckled Rodney as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
"Birt-Day boy!" the little girl cried again.
"Lauryn, say birth…bir-th," he pronounced.
"Birfday…" she said clapping again.
"I think she's more excited for this day than me," mumbled Rodney.
"Oh, I don't know why, come on Rodney, it's your birthday," Elizabeth replied smiling.
"Right," he murmured.
"Okay sourpuss, get up, get a shower…then we've got a little surprise for you in the Mess Hall."
"Oh, great another surprise," chuckled Rodney.
"Oh just get up," shaking her head she lifted Lauryn off the bed and together the two women headed into Lauryn's room to get the little girl ready for a day of fun.
Against his better judgment, Rodney did as Elizabeth told, though he was half tempted to stay in bed all day, so everyone would forget he was a year older today. He took a quick shower, got dressed, shaved and soon was ready to go.
Elizabeth was sitting on the couch, reading an Athosian book to Lauryn when Rodney finally appeared, "Daddy!" the girl giggled as she reached her arms out to her father.
"Come here," he moved her so she was balanced on his hip and smiled at Elizabeth, "All right then, you're the boss, lead away," he stated.
Elizabeth nodded, putting down her book she reached out and clasped his hand; together they made their way down to the mess hall.
Rodney was stunned when they entered to find Waffles, pancakes, French toast, bacon…all the true fixings of a real home made meal and not just that military stuff. To top it off, there was a table, albeit it small, table filled with wrapped presents, and several cards. A large banner hung in the middle of the room…somehow, reading "Happy Birthday Rodney". Everyone even looked to have signed it.
"Happy birthday!" cried everyone at once. Not everyone on the base was present; Caldwell was there, Carson, John, Teyla, Ronan, most of the science teams, a lot of the military personnel that dealt with McKay on a daily or weekly basis, some of the medical teams. Although everyone he saw brought a smile to his face.
"You guys did this for me?" Rodney asked grinning.
"Well…it wasn't easy; we've been talking with Earth for the past two weeks of ways to get your favorite foods here. Needless to say we did manage it. Now…dig in!" grinned John as he gestured to the table.
"So anyway, my mother asked him, in the car what his intentions were, needless to say…Rodney wasn't to pleased," beamed John as everyone laughed.
"Dude, I had just caught Mono, how would you feel if your mother chose that moment to ask you if you were sleeping with the infected chick," pointed Rodney.
They had turned to telling stories from Rodney's past, although Rodney and John so far had been telling most of them. There had been a few memorable moments from other staff members, but a lot of them had been Rodney purely as a young kid.
"Okay, wait I have a request," grinned Elizabeth, "I wanna know about the nuclear bomb."
Rodney rolled his eyes while everyone else laughed, John nodded, "Okay, with the science fair less than a day away…
"Lauren…" Luke took a deep breath over the phone and forced a smile onto his face. "We've got a small problem…could you come down to the station please," Luke murmured trying to remain quiet.
"I'll be right there," Lauren replied as she quickly hung up the phone.
Luke Sheppard hung the phone up slowly and turned back to the interrogation table, his hazel eyes falling on the child they had decided to foster just over six months ago. He'd be eleven in less than a week, and he pulled a stunt like this. Luke carefully eyed the two police officers, the school's principal and the two federal agents that were now speaking to his son.
"Luke…" came a voice from the door.
Luke offered a warm smile as he shook Elaine's hand, "Nice to see you again…I just wish it was under better circumstances," whispered Luke.
"Me too…" Elaine replied as she looked at Rodney. In the months that he'd been with the Sheppard family, it was fairly pleasant. Rodney was getting used to being with the family and they loved Rodney. She slowly turned to Rodney and looked at the child, his face was pale, he looked terrified, but what caught her attention was the way he was looking at her in sadness and fear, tears were welling in his eyes and threatening to overflow. "Rodney," she said curtly, but the tone never reached her eyes.
"Elaine…" he whispered softly. He looked back over at the man who had been like a father to him for the past six months and shook his head.
Everyone was quiet as the FBI agents continued to question the boy, suddenly the door opened again, "MOM!" cried Rodney, before anyone could think or speak, Rodney hurled himself into Lauren's arms.
Lauren saw her little fireball running towards her in fear and she instantly braced herself. Hefting the child up into her arms as she held him close to her, "Shh, I'm here baby," she whispered gently.
"Don't leave me mom, please don't leave me," he sobbed into her shoulder.
Lauren sighed as she eyed her husband, then her eyes landed on Elaine and everything began to connect, "no sweetheart, you're not going anywhere I promise," Lauren replied as she ran her hand through his hair.
"Gentlemen…Elaine, may I speak with my husband," she asked softly.
"Ma'am…this is a matter of National Security," explained one of the agents.
"Look…agent…"
"Hudson," he replied.
"Look Agent Hudson, this is a brilliant little boy, dying for attention from his teachers and wishing to impress his foster parents. Rodney has lived with us for six months. Trust me, he's not the member of any teenage…terrorist movements, he's just a little boy, he's my little boy. I'm sorry gentlemen, but you're finished here."
"Ma'am…you do realize the child made a nuc…"
"I don't care what he did, he's eleven, you're frightening him, he's a little boy, and like all little boy's he made a mistake, trust me, he'll be punished. Didn't you ever do something stupid Agent Hudson, when you were his age?"
"Of course…"
"Did you spend the entire week wondering if your mother and father would get rid of you?"
"No…" replied the agent.
"Well I assure you this child will if you continue this. Please, do whatever you have to, whatever you have to get people off his back, but I will not allow you to harm this child a moment further," she said as he continued to cling to her.
"He's started a file on himself, we can't stop that, I'm sorry…"
"That's fine, but are you finished?"
"Yes ma'am, I think we are…but if I may, I'd like to speak with your son for one more moment," Hudson replied.
"Rodney," Lauren said gently looking at the child. He raised his blotched face from her shoulder, tears covering his face. "Look at Agent Hudson sweetheart."
Two blue eyes turned to Agent Hudson's dark brown, "What you did…was…dangerous Rodney, I realize it wasn't a functional bomb, but you scared a lot of people. Rodney, I need your word that you will not do this…ever again."
"Mr…Hudson," the boy finally spoke. "I wanna work in the space program….can I still do that?" he whimpered.
Jack Hudson smirked; he had a son barely younger than this boy. Shaking his head he reached for the boy and sat him on the table, where they could look at each other directly. "Rodney, you just made a nuclear bomb…so I don't think your brain is going to hold you back. You're going to be grounded for a very long time kiddo, but after that…have your mom give me a call, I know a few people."
"Really?"
"Yeah, but this is punishment, remember that…"
"Wait a minute Jack…" spoke the other agent grinning, "You're putting this kid with a smarter person as punishment?"
"Ah yeah, someone has to out smart him," joked Jack. "What I'm trying to say Rodney, is that you did make a mistake, but like all mistakes it'll blow over. You're going to have a record with the FBI now…but don't' worry about it, keep yourself clean and I doubt you'll ever see either one of us again."
"You're not going to take me away from my parents?" he asked softly.
"No…No Rodney, we don't take children away from parents unless the parents are bad to the child…and from the looks of it I think your mom and dad love you to pieces."
Jack smiled as he ruffled the boy's hair and looked at his friend, "Come on Bobby, I think it's time to go…Luke, we'll call you," Jack said shaking the Captain's hand.
"Sounds good, thank you Agents," he replied smiling weakly.
Lauren walked over to her son and shook her head, "I don't even want to know how you made a non-working model nuclear bomb…however…you are grounded for a very long time."
"Mom…" he whispered.
Lauren's beautiful blue eyes stared into his beautiful ocean eyes, "Yes?"
He reached out for her again suddenly, tears falling down his face as Elaine watched him, "Please…please don't send me back," he cried.
"Oh, honey," She hugged him close for a moment, "Rodney, I would ground you if we were sending you back. You made a mistake baby; you didn't blow up the world…a stupid little mistake. You're going to get involved in working somewhere as a volunteer…you're going to spend a few weeks in your room, you're going to be mercilessly ribbed by your brother and then it's going to be over. You're—Luke and I love you; you're our son sweetheart."
Rodney opened his mouth to speak, but Luke came over and gently cupped the back of his son's neck, "Listen to me kiddo, just because Lauren and I didn't have you biologically, doesn't mean that we don't love you just as much as Johnny, you're our little man just as much as he is. We love you. You're mom is right, you're going to do some community service, you're going to spend a few weeks grounded in your room, and you're going to be suspended for a few days. We've already forgiven you."
"I'm sorry dad," whispered Rodney.
Smiling Luke pulled his son into a hug and nodded, "I know kiddo, I know. Elaine, maybe you'd like to say something to our intrepid…evil genius," smiled Luke.
"Rodney, I'm here strictly for you; that was a cry for attention, why?"
"Cause I wanted mom and Luke to be impressed."
"Sweetheart, they're already impressed, they love you…promise me you won't ever do this again."
"I won't…I promise…unless it's my job," he stated suddenly remembering Agent Hudson had said.
"Good, that works for me. Luke, Lauren I'll see you guys later. Rodney be good."
"I'm sorry," whispered Rodney.
"You're forgiven, let's get home," Luke replied.
"Wait a minute…" Carson said, "You got off scott free?"
"Oh no…" John said laughing, "He spent the next three weeks under house arrest essentially. He was driven to school by dad, picked up by mom, spent most days in his room for three very long weeks. Not to mention he had some trouble with the kids at the school too…no Rodney didn't get off with nothing, he also spent the entire summer working at a summer camp for kids interested in the space program."
"You did?" Elizabeth whispered.
"Hardest job I ever had to do. I was never put through so much work in my life—but I loved every moment of it. By the time I was fifteen I was a camp counselor there. I still hated kids, but I loved the idea of space. I was working with astronauts on a regular basis."
"So…next story," grinned John.
"How did you meet Elizabeth?" asked Radek.
Rodney grinned, "Well…ironically I didn't actually meet her via the Stargate Program."
Elizabeth slipped into more formal attire, feeling refreshed after her short nap in the car and a shower. She still had an hour before meeting the Foreign Minister. A short walk around the block - or the Russian equivalent thereof - would be nice. As she stepped into the hall, a security guard jumped to his feet.
"Doktor Weir!" His surprise came through even his thick accent. "Can I help you?"
"Nyet, spasibah," she assured him. "I'm just going for a walk. Pogulyaoytye."
He nodded, unsure. "The Minister expects you in one chas."
"Yes, I know. Don't worry, I will not be long."
She stepped out into the cold Russian air and breathed deeply. No doubt the guard would follow her despite her assurances but she was grateful for even the semblance of privacy. She had never been to Russia before, but she had studied the country extensively and dealt with Russians at the UN. Even though the Cold War was ostensibly over, many Russians still didn't trust Westerners - particularly Americans. She was fairly certain she was under constant surveillance.
Out here, though, only one security guard was watching her and no one could hear anything she said. She reveled in the feeling, letting the bustle of a busy Moscow street flow around her as she strolled aimlessly. She had always loved the Russian language and the snatches of Russian conversations that drifted past her had a very calming effect. Suddenly, her reverie was broken by harsh English cries.
"Hey! Can you tell me where I am? Does anyone speak English? Hey! I'm talking to you! English? Directions? Where am I?"
She frowned, trying to find the speaker. It wasn't too difficult; she soon spotted a frantic man standing on a corner, trying to snag various passersby. He wasn't dressed for the weather, she noted; only a white lab coat overlaid his first layer of clothing and, when he wasn't yelling at pedestrians, he jumped up and down to keep warm.
She approached him from behind just as he exploded with a frustrated, "Why doesn't anyone speak English?"
"Maybe because we're in Russia," she suggested with friendly wit.
He spun around with unbelievable speed. "Oh, thank God, you speak English," he sighed with relief.
"Can I help you?"
"Where am I?" he asked bluntly.
"The Foreign Ministry."
"Oh," he acknowledged neutrally, concentrating hard on something. "Okay, so I just went in a circle. Okay," he repeated, apparently to himself, before starting off.
Elizabeth watched the odd man walk away, his white lab coat making him easy to spot for quite some distance. It was a strange encounter, to be sure, but she thought little of it. The meetings of the next week were going to be more than enough to occupy her attention.
~Three days later~
"Minister Ivanov," Elizabeth smiled, inwardly gritting her teeth in frustration, "I assure you, the United States has absolutely no intention of attacking Russia. The list simply reflects nations that have, in the past, been hostile to the US. We must be prepared to defend ourselves." This was not the first time she had said this, nor, she expected, would it be the last.
"As must we, Doctor Weir," Igor Ivanov said earnestly, leaning forward and pointing to himself to emphasize his point. "It is...disconcerting to us when an ally is secretly planning to send a nuclear bomb to our country."
"If we were secretly planning this," Elizabeth pointed out, "would it have been published in the newspaper for all the world to see?"
"Ah, but secrets are not always kept," Ivanov returned swiftly. "For that matter, how do we know the newspaper article was not just a ploy to divert our attention from an actual missile pointed at Russia?"
"And yet your country has long-range missiles aimed at the United States, does it not?" Elizabeth mentioned casually, her smile never wavering.
The Foreign Minister hesitated slightly. "That is...an unfortunate remnant of our less friendly times," he allowed. "It is only a matter of government efficiency that they have not been removed."
"Of course," Elizabeth inclined her head respectfully, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
"I do not think we will progress much further today," Ivanov sighed dramatically. "Dobri vyecher, Doctor Weir. Da zaftra, until tomorrow."
"Da zaftra, Minister Ivanov," she replied. He stood as she left.
He sighed as he jotted several notes on his list. He shouldn't be doing this; he was a scientist, not an accountant. But there was no one else - at least, no one competent enough - and so he took on this job, too, along with the other twenty hats he wore at this facility.
He scowled as his pen suddenly stopped working, scratching only faint indentations into the page. "Chast Ruskaya starya," he muttered, throwing it in the wastebasket and reaching for another. It was one of the few Russian phrases he'd bothered to learn, along with Nyeh kosnetyesi etah! (Don't touch that!) and the very important G'dyeh twalet? (Where is the toilet?)
Chast Ruskaya starya was probably his favorite, though. It meant 'piece of Russian junk' - or at least, he hoped it did. He'd pieced it together out of his phrasebook/dictionary and had yet to try it in public, but it served him well as a private expletive.
He sighed again and returned to his catalogue. It was a cross between an inventory (nothing had gone missing yet, but you couldn't be too careful) and a budget. He hated having to justify scientific expenses to outsiders, especially outsiders as tight-fisted and military-oriented as the Russian government.
Suddenly feeling like the cluttered 'office' was too small, he scribbled a short shopping list from his work so far and left the building. He hadn't been outside since his little excursion three days ago and felt the need to stretch his legs a little. That and his stash of American junk food could use some restocking. The various nuts and bolts (literally) the facility needed provided a convenient excuse to get out.
He paid more attention to where he was walking this time, determined not to become disoriented again. He hadn't been lost last time, really; he'd just gotten turned around. He would have found his way eventually, even if that American woman hadn't helped him. And he certainly wasn't afraid to venture out on the Moscow streets again; he'd just been tied up with work. Scowling, he tugged his coat tighter around him. At least this time he'd remembered warmer clothes.
"Stupid freezing place," he grumbled. "It's supposed to be spring. Backward country can't even keep up with the weather."
"Some people do speak English, you know," a voice commented behind him, startling him. "You might want to be more careful."
"Jeez, don't do that," he managed, holding his chest dramatically.
"I'm sorry," the voice said and, turning, he saw the face behind it. It was the woman! The American who had helped him three days ago. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
"I wasn't frightened," he mumbled. "You're not following me, are you?"
She chuckled. "No. He is, though." She pointed out a bulky Russian man about 20 meters behind them.
"What?" he turned, unconsciously trying to hide behind her. "Why?"
"The Cold War may be over," she explained, moving so that she was facing him again, "but a lot of Russians still don't trust Americans."
"I'm Canadian," he responded automatically. She raised an eyebrow. "Right," he muttered, embarrassed.
"I suppose two chance encounters merits an introduction," she changed the subject, offering her hand. "Dr. Elizabeth Weir."
"Dr. Rodney McKay," he reciprocated. "Let me guess, poli-sci doctorate." His voice bordered on condescending.
"One of them," she smiled. Her tone was modest but the subtle, unspoken 'Don't underestimate me' was not lost on him. "Hmm, I'd say yours is in physics."
"One of them," he smirked.
A passerby jostled them on her way past, giving a small "Izvinitye" as she hurried on. Elizabeth returned an automatic "Nichevo" and Rodney's expression changed from annoyance to surprise.
"You speak Russian?" he asked, smiling innocently. She nodded slowly, eyebrows coming together as she tried to determine what he was planning. "Can you read it?"
"Yes," she admitted. "Why?"
"I'll pay you twenty dollars to come shopping with me," he blurted eagerly. It was about the last thing she had expected to come out of his mouth.
"Canadian or US?" she joked, still unsure what exactly this was about but interested nonetheless.
"Canadian," he shrugged. "Still, I bet you don't have anything better to do."
"Well, no..."
"Look," he huffed, getting impatient. "I just need someone to read labels for me. I could figure it out on my own but that would take a lot of time and patience. Do you want to or not?"
Elizabeth wasn't sure why she agreed to help the obnoxious Canadian do his shopping. He certainly wasn't the most agreeable company, but something about him intrigued her. The diplomat in her was fascinated by his tactless honesty; he said things she had thought but would never dream of speaking aloud. The woman in her simply wondered why he was so difficult; there had to be some reason for his prickly behavior.
She found him several different varieties of washers, nuts, bolts, screws, screwdrivers, and, oddly, paperclips. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what he was going to do with them, although she assumed they were work-related. When meeting Westerners in Russia, it was best not to inquire about work. The personal purchases were far more interesting, anyway.
"Do you really need thirty Snickers bars?" she asked incredulously when he emptied the grocery store's shelf.
"Hypoglycemic," he offered by way of explanation, already tearing into one candybar. "I just wish they had more." He was apparently also rather fond of a Russian brand of powerbar, claiming its restorative powers as fairly legendary. He bought fifteen.
His choice in 'real food' was fairly bland, she thought, so she suggested some lemons for flavor. He sighed dramatically. "Allergic to citrus. I've always assumed that's why the whole 'when life throws you lemons...' thing doesn't work for me."
"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked. It seemed an odd statement, almost a joke but more of a personal revelation - if an unintentional one.
"Uh, well..." He seemed surprised, because she had asked or because he had said it in the first place, she wasn't sure. "Just that I've always been something of a pessimist. Only I call it realism."
Her translation was not needed for his coffee purchase; apparently he didn't discriminate.
"Coffee is caffeine," he explained around his Snickers as he scooped up bags and bags of beans. "I don't sit around savoring the aftertaste of my roast in conjunction with the fineness of my grind. If there was a faster way to get caffeine in my system I'd do it, but the IV's not very practical."
She laughed, helping him load the bags into the basket. Costco could have been invented for this guy. She looked up, realizing he was no longer grabbing coffee with the feverish intensity of a dying man. He stared at her with a strange expression on his face, almost awed.
"Rodney?" she asked, concerned. "Are you all right?"
"Hm?" He blinked, as if just waking up. "Oh. Yeah, I'm fine. It's just...never mind."
"It's just what?" she pressed.
"It's nothing," he insisted. At her look, he sighed. "No one's...ever...laughed at my jokes before," he trailed off into a mumble.
It was her turn to be rendered speechless as he tossed the final few bags in the basket and started walking away. No one had ever laughed at his jokes? She felt a wave of pity rise in her chest for this rough-around-the-edges little doctor who hid behind his credentials and his sharp tongue, never allowing anyone close enough to hurt him.
Just as quickly, however, the feeling faded. Elizabeth realized that what Rodney McKay needed was not pity; he needed a friend.
~Two days later~
"You have done very well, Doctor Weir," Dmitri smiled, escorting her back to her room.
"Thank you, Dmitri," she returned his smile wearily. "I only hope relations between our two countries continue to improve."
"With people like you leading the way, I do not see how they cannot." He stopped outside her door. "I will see you tomorrow evening at the banquet?"
"I will be there. Da tagda," she said, retreating into her room.
"Until then," he echoed.
She slipped out of her shoes and walked across the room, savoring the feel of the lavish carpet on her bare feet. Spotting the phone on the bedside table, she slowly made her way towards it. She had a phone call to make; Dmitri's mention of the formal affair the next evening had reminded her.
"Operator? Canadian embassy, please." She held her breath while she was connected, hoping this would work. "Good evening. I'm looking for a phone number for a Canadian citizen working in Moscow..."
Rodney frowned in concentration, tightening a nut here and there and listening closely to the hum of the generator. Almost got it, almost...there! He wiped his forehead, though there was no trace of sweat, and smiled tightly in satisfaction. This was why he liked machines; they were easily understood and their problems could be fixed with the turn of a screw.
"Doktor Mac-Kay?" He turned. His de facto second-in-command - Sergei, he'd finally learned - stood nervously, licking his lips.
"What is it? Did what's-his-name overload the sensors again? If I've told them once, I've told them a thousand times: naquadah has a much higher power output than-"
"Ah, no," Sergei interrupted, smiling placatingly. "There is no prablyema. Only telephone for you."
"Oh," Rodney blinked in surprise. He wasn't due for a meeting with whatever government department ran this operation for several days. Who else would call him?
"Telephone in office," Sergei reminded him when he didn't move for several seconds.
"Thank you," Rodney retorted sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He walked into the office and snapped up the phone, barking, "What?"
"Rodney?" a female voice asked, apparently unperturbed by his less-than-polite greeting. "Elizabeth Weir. I translated labels for you the other day?"
As if he wouldn't remember her. "Ah, yes," he replied. "I guess I, uh, never thanked you properly for that." He cleared his throat. "Are you sure I can't pay you?"
"Quite," she answered. "At least, not in money."
"Um, what?" he asked, startled. Suddenly he realized how little he actually knew about this woman. Scenes from The Godfather sprang unbidden to his mind. "What, uh, what did you have in mind?" he asked, trying and failing to sound calm.
If she noticed his discomfort she didn't mention it. "The Foreign Minister is having a celebration tomorrow evening and, well, I could use an escort."
He couldn't contain his sigh of relief. "Um, well," he stalled, recovering from his surprise, "I'll, er, have to check my schedule. It's been very busy at work lately and you never know when something else will go wrong. Can I, ah, call you back?" He winced. Even with his limited social experience, he did not think that sounded like the right answer.
"Of course," she answered graciously, giving him her number. "I'll talk to you later, then."
"Right, yeah. Bye." He hung up quickly and stared at the phone as if it were an alien device. Well, no, he was used to alien devices by now; this was something entirely different.
Had she just asked him out? He realized he wasn't the foremost expert (an extraordinary admission in itself) on Sadie Hawkins-type customs but it hadn't seemed to be a romantically motivated request. Part of him said, Take it where you can get it, McKay; another part of him wondered vaguely what people would think if he admitted that his best friend right now was an American woman he'd met less than a week ago. Then again, who cared?
He picked up the phone and dialed the number she had given him. It rang several times and he was about to hang up when her voice came on the line.
"Weir."
"Elizabeth?" he confirmed, swallowing.
"Rodney," she answered with surprise. He didn't blame her; it hadn't been three minutes since he'd hung up on her.
"Um, yes," he replied nervously, before blurting, "Do you still need an escort?" It was a stupid thing to say, he knew, but he couldn't - for once - think of anything else.
It was silly, but he was sure he could hear the smile in her voice as she answered, "Why, yes. Are you available?"
Elizabeth stood before the mirror, concentrating on getting her earrings on. She was looking forward to tonight; it had been a long week and it would be good to relax for a couple of hours. Also, it had been a long time since she had been out with a man as a friend, with no romantic obligations. A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
"Doctor Weir?" Dmitri called. "Are you ready?"
She slipped on a shawl and grabbed her purse, checking herself one last time in the mirror before opening the door.
"Dobri vyecher, Dmitri."
"Smotretye krasevyeoysheme," Dmitri breathed, making her blush. "Ah, Doctor McKay is waiting at the ministry."
She took his proffered arm for the short walk to the ministry. As they came into the ballroom, she found herself searching for the familiar face Dmitri told her should already be there. In the sea of tuxedos, though, it was difficult to spot anyone.
A black-clad figure five feet away snagged a waiter and grabbed two hors d'oeuvres from his tray, asking, "Limon?" When the waiter shook his head, the man popped both appetizers in his mouth with hardly a thought. Elizabeth smiled slightly, thanked Dmitri, and made her way over.
"Rodney," she greeted him, tapping him on the shoulder.
"Ewivabef!" he choked, turning halfway towards her and swallowing. He completed his turn and stopped cold, gawking openly.
"Rodney," she prompted gently after a few moments. "Rodney, you're staring."
"Wow," he finally managed, blinking. "You, uh, look really...nice."
"You clean up pretty good yourself," she returned, smiling. It was true; shaved, hair combed, in a tuxedo, and even wearing a splash of cologne, he was new man.
He glanced uncertainly at himself, tugging at his jacket. "I feel like a penguin," he groused, though with little real acerbity. "And, uh," he frowned, "Dmitri wouldn't tell me where he got it. It's not stolen or anything, is it?"
Elizabeth chuckled. "No, just...borrowed."
"Oh, great," he shrugged with false brightness. "I feel so much better now."
"Ladies and gentlemen," the Minister Ivanov greeted. "Dabro pazhalovat!" Obligatory applause followed the welcome. "It has been a long week in the world of politics. Tonight, we celebrate!" More enthusiastic clapping this time. "The last thing you want to hear is more of my voice," he smiled indulgently at the somewhat canned laughter, "so I say only: Dinner is served."
Rodney applauded loudly with everyone else at that news, following Elizabeth to a table. He was almost in his chair before he remembered that he ought to seat Elizabeth first, causing an awkward moment as he tried to stand and pull her chair out at the same time. Once they were all seated, the food came. Now this he knew what to do with.
"Limon?" he asked the waiter, just to be sure. The waiter responded swiftly by dropping a lemon slice into his water. "No, wait-!" Rodney cried, too late. "Never mind."
Elizabeth discreetly traded water glasses with him before demurely returning to her own meal. She was far better at this sort of thing than he, understandably, and it was making him uncomfortable. Regardless of how little importance he placed on social rituals, he did not like being second-best at anything. Not a problem, he thought wryly. I'm probably closer to hundredth-best.
"How are you holding up?" she asked quietly as the first course was cleared.
"Fine," he lied, giving a pained smile.
"These things are a bore," she admitted, smiling graciously at their table-mates, "but I'm glad you're here."
"Oh," he replied, surprised. "Well."
He was saved any further awkwardness by the arrival of the second course, which he promptly dug in to with great fervor. He only looked up when his plate was half cleaned, suddenly realizing that his manners were probably not the best. Normally he wouldn't have cared, but Elizabeth had been nice enough to invite him to this thing; the least he could do was not disgrace her by eating like a pig. On the other hand, he was starving...
"The music is lovely," Elizabeth noted, to no one in particular.
"Maybe to the untrained ear," McKay mumbled, wincing even as he spoke. Elizabeth frowned. "I meant," Rodney backtracked, "I've always been a very technical person. My piano teacher said I should give it up because I was too 'clinical.' I just have a thing about mistakes," he finished lamely.
"You play piano?" Elizabeth asked, surprised.
"Played," Rodney corrected. "I listened to that teacher and went into science instead. Hey, dessert!"
It felt surprisingly good to dance with a woman who wasn't his sister. As he held Elizabeth and moved around the dancefloor, he was suddenly very grateful she had stopped to give him directions a week ago. Had it only been a week? It felt like he had known her for years.
The song ended and he walked her back to their seats. He almost hated to admit what a good time he'd had. Not that it had been particularly interesting, but Elizabeth's company made up for the numbness of the rest of the evening. He was stunned at how she was able to meet him on his level, something he rarely found in...anyone.
Suddenly, the room became too small. He needed to escape, like Cinderella, before something happened to ruin the evening. It was late enough; he could reasonably beg off with the excuse of an early morning.
"I should go," he told Elizabeth.
She nodded. "Let me walk you out," she offered. He didn't object and they walked silently to the front steps of the ministry. He barely noticed the cold as he turned to face her.
"Elizabeth," Rodney swallowed hard. She probably wouldn't understand all he was trying to say but that didn't matter. "Thank you."
Impulsively he leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Drawing back, he saw through her unshed tears that she did understand. Smiling crookedly, he turned and walked into the night. His image lingered in her sight long after his black dinner jacket had melted into the darkness.
"Thank you, Rodney," she whispered.
Everyone had a smile on their face as they looked between the couple that had come so far in such a long time. "So imagine my surprise when two years later I get a phone call from the very same Elizabeth Weir…asking for my expertise in a matter involving something highly secretive."
"How did she know to come to you?" asked one of the scientists.
"She remembered that I worked for the Air Force, and when she was told to pick a scientist, she gave me a call, I was actually in Scotland at the time…"
"Is that how you got Carson?" Zelenka asked, remembering that they had been friends before Atlantis.
"No…not exactly, actually I met Rodney…what, seven years before we found out about the Atlantis project?" Carson asked looking at his best friend.
"Yeah, that sounds about right…I think I was about twenty…nine?"
"Aye, you were," grinned Carson.
"How did you meet?" John asked, not recalling this story.
"I was doing research on space travel and it's affects on the body over a period of time. I was sent to the states for a few months…"
Taking a deep breath Carson looked up at the large building…this was NASA, he'd spent so much of his life researching genetic make up, stress effects on the body, and finally here he was, with the top position as medical supervisor to the NASA program for an unknown amount of time. Experiment after experiment, he'd finally come up with a way that might help lessen the stress on the astronauts as they went through all their tests.
Stepping through the door way he looked around, people were everywhere, "I'm a scientist! Just let me fly once!" came a loud voice.
Carson looked through one window to see a man about 5'9 to 6 feet arguing with a man that was much taller than him, "McKay, you haven't held up to any of the tests, I can't send you into space if you can't keep your head on straight," stated the larger man.
Carson stepped away from, the doors as McKay came bursting through slamming his way out of the office. "Oh, Doctor Beckett you're here, good. McKay, get back here!" called the man.
The guy named McKay turned around and scowled, stalking back over to Carson and the taller man he glared for a moment at the doctor, "Who are you?"
"Carson…Doctor Carson Beckett," he answered quickly, jutting out his hand in politeness, which was quickly ignored.
"Rodney, this is our new supervising Medical Officer temporarily, maybe you could discuss with him the problems you seem to be having," suggested the man as he quickly headed off in the opposite directions. Rodney glared at Carson, who instantly grimaced in nervousness.
"What was wrong with you?" Elizabeth asked.
"It was his claustrophobia; he became nervous every time he began one of the tests. Rodney wasn't nearly as controlled back then as he is now. Anyway I was there for about six months before I was reassigned back in Scotland. We met a second time there, when he arrived for a physics conference. I was in an apartment at the time, and offered him someplace to stay for awhile. He was between jobs at the time anyway…so he stayed with me for about a month then Elizabeth called. I was already on the Air Force payroll as well when I served three years with the equivalent of Scotland's Air Force," explained Carson.
"He was also the foremost expert in his field, both in surgical experience and genetic manipulation. He was famous, everyone in Scotland, Ireland and parts of the US knew him," grinned McKay.
"So much history," smiled Zelenka.
"Well, happy birthday Rodney, it's great to have you here, have everyone here," John grinned clapping his brother's shoulder.
"Yes, a toast, to the birthday boy," chuckled Elizabeth as held her glass in the air. There was a surrounding agreement.
"Happy Birthday Rodney," Elizabeth whispered pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"Thank you, it's been the best birthday ever," he replied softly looking into her beautiful eyes, he could hear John calling to eat cake. "I love you," he murmured to her, trying to keep his desire to kiss her in check.
"I love you too," she replied smiling.