The Wait of Water

by liketheriver

RATING: T for language.

SEASON: Second season before, during, and immediately after Grace Under Pressure.

MAJOR CHARACTERS: The boys, of course, (if you don't know who I'm talking about, you're in the wrong fic),along with Radek and a little bit of Carson.

CATEGORY: a little of this, a little of that.

SUMMARY: Evidently you can't have too many Grace Under Pressure tags. Zelenka's point of view as he and Sheppard help McKay decompress. Sheppard-McKay friendship.

SPOILERS: Anything up to and including Grace Under Pressure is fair game but Grace and Epiphany are hit pretty hard.

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I thrive on it and so do the bunnies.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own them but I sure as hell try to fix them on occasion.

NOTES: This story is part of the Point of View series. It's not necessary that you read the others but things might make a little more sense if you did. The list is on my profile page if you're interested. Also, I felt TPTB whumped Rodney enough in the episode that this story is much more in the comfort than the hurt category. Go back and watch the ep if you feel the need for physical pain, in this one you're getting the emotional angst and the comfort that Rodney so desperately needed.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Special thanks, as always, to Koschka for the betaing and constant demands for more fic! And thanks to Kodiak Bear Country for some enlightening discussions on physics.

A cubic foot of water weighs sixty-two point four two seven pounds. Such an odd, clumsy number, really. I prefer to think in terms of metric system…as most of intelligent world does, as my beloved Czech Republic does. A cubic meter of water weighs one thousand kilograms. See, is that not much better? Clean and neat and precise without pesky decimal points and significant digits to worry over. And tidiness is important. It keeps computers operating instead becoming glorified coasters. It keeps experiments progressing and under control. It keeps repair teams running like well oiled machines. And any system that does that inherently should be adopted by all.

But even though the Atlantis expedition is made up of scientists from all over the world, the vast majority is still American scientists, civilians and military, which insist on using antiquated system with outdated and complicated units of measure. Even Rodney, who grew up with nice orderly system based on multiples of ten has abandoned the native tongue of Mother Science and fallen into habit of using English system now and again. He has spent much too much time with the Americans. Tsk. Such a shame. It is only a matter of time before he begins to say 'dude' and crave weak coffee, mediocre chocolate, and watered down beer… that comes in bottles measured in fluid ounces instead of milliliters.

Twelve hundred feet he had told me when I finally reached him by radio an hour after his Jumper had disappeared from our screens. Not in meters did he report his depth, but in feet, although the pilot was American so displays were probably catering to his needs. They were at a depth of twelve hundred feet and falling at a rate of twenty feet per minute. Well, yes, clearly that was the case. Simple algebra tells me this without him stating the obvious. But algebra was not the problem, trigonometry was. And with the loss of his radio signal a few moments later, I lost the only way to triangulate his location. It was probably the only time in history of mankind that a person was sorry Rodney McKay had stopped talking. And at that moment, I would have gladly listened to him tell me all sorts of blatantly obvious facts if I could have used the time to pinpointed his exact location. But, alas, that did not happen, and I was left the difficult task of much more complicated algorithms to limit the search area so that we could find him.

What he did not get the chance to tell me, but my mind quickly calculated, was that the Jumper had sixty million pounds of water resting on it at the moment we lost contact. Actually, my mind first converted feet to meters then calculated twenty-seven million kilograms, which I then converted back to pounds for the benefit of Colonel Sheppard should he ask. It was not necessary, however, as he did not ask. Did not do anything more than scowl and frown and snap at me for stating the reality of the situation and he absolutely refused to believe that the men in the Jumper were anything but alive and capable of being rescued. Even when we found the Jumper sitting at over six hundred meters depth… I mean two thousand feet… with over sixty-eight million kilograms… one hundred fifty million pounds of water pressing down on top of it. No matter what unit of measure you use, that is staggering amount to be pushing down on top of your head, with only the hull of a damaged Jumper holding it back. Yes, the weight of water, it is impressive at that depth.

But the wait of water, that is even more impressive, still. Rodney had spent over four hours under water by the time we rescued him. Time, now that measurement is a constant the world over that anyone can understand. Sixty seconds to a minute, sixty minutes to an hour… And yet, it is not so simple, no? Einstein proved that time is relative. Of course he was speaking in terms of distance and velocity but it is also relative to how close a friend it is that is trapped in a freezing ocean and how long it has been since you last had contact with him. And without knowing for sure if he made it into the rear compartment of the Jumper when the window gave way to the enormous pressures at that depth, that wait seemed much, much longer than the more than three hours that had passed on the clock since I had last spoken to him.

So it is with relief that has my knees weakening beneath me, that I hear Rodney answer Colonel Sheppard's hail from outside the Jumper. We have ventured out into our little protective shell of a shield and the Colonel bangs on the hatch to prove to Rodney that we are really here. The Colonel's broad smile that appeared when he heard our friend's voice wavers with the delay that follows but finally the door of the craft opens and water washes over our feet, puddling around them instead of soaking into the saturated sand on which we stand. Much water, cold and never ending it seems, and with a sickening realization of how close we have come to being too late, I know that Rodney's wait is not over. In fact, it is just beginning.

"Damn." The awe in his voice which mirrors that on his face tells me Colonel Sheppard is thinking the same as me. "How full do you think the back section was?" he asks in a low voice as we wait for the hatch to open completely.

"This much water?" I shake my head in the same amazement. "At least seventy-five percent, maybe more."

"So what's that equate to, pressure-wise?"

A quick calculation of Boyle's Law and I grimace, "Four possibly five atmospheres."

"And from what Beckett told you, what does that mean?"

I exhale and push up my glasses. "We have a long day ahead of, Colonel… at least."

But he pays no heed to my words as the hatch is open and he sees Rodney, as do I, lying face down on the floor, and we both move quickly to his side.

I had been moving quickly as well when Dr. Beckett tracked me down in the halls of Atlantis. Maybe not as quickly, maybe I was perhaps a tiny bit reluctant to reach my destination of the Jumper bay where Colonel Sheppard awaited my arrival so that he could whisk us off to unknown depths and dangers that lurked in the Atlantean ocean. I rolled my eyes heavenward and mumbled a curse in my native tongue that I had become colleagues with such a one as Rodney McKay. What was worse, I had also become his friend, a feat that defied all logic and several laws of nature at once. How anyone could consider someone as brash, grating, and overly confident in himself as Rodney a friend amazed me, and I threw in extra curses at myself for doing so. Still, I was not the only one; Colonel Sheppard was even closer to Rodney than was I. And I made a mental note to check the water supply for mind altering substances when I returned as that was the only viable explanation as to why. When I returned, hmpf! More appropriate to say if I returned.

The Jumpers were not designed for going in oceans, no matter what Rodney and his adventuresome Airforce officer friend wished to think. Why would Ancients desire to do something so ridiculous? There are no stargates under water. In space, yes, there are plenty and the spacecraft were built for such travel. They were made to hold atmosphere inside not keep water out. The ocean, outer space, they are very different environments. I try to tell Rodney this, but does he listen? Ha! Does he ever listen to anything that does not spew forth from his own mouth?

"Rodney," I say, "pressures are too great at depth. It is not the same as flying through vacuum of space."

"Oh, we'll limit our depths," I mimic in recollection of his voice, "the seals will hold the air in and we'll be fine."

Fine! Yes, he was fine now, was he not? No, he was not. And now it was up to me to go and save him from drowning or worse, being crushed to death by the increasing pressure on the hull, and risk the same fate myself in order to do so. Of course it was not like he did this intentionally, but it was only because the accident happened before he and the Colonel could convince Elizabeth to let them try on their own. And I had no doubt that if they had, I would be in same position of saving them from themselves.

"Radek!" I was drawn from my internal rant by the voice of Dr. Beckett. I stopped and waited for him to jog up to me with the bag he carried. "Good, I caught you before you left. I was worried I wouldn't make it in time to give you these."

He thrust the bag at me and I was surprised by its weight. "What is it?"

"A few odds and ends that you may need when you complete your rescue." I had to credit him with his confidence that we would be successful. "Blankets, dry clothes, fluids, I. V. bags, oxygen bottles..."

"Why do we need these?" My voice rose in a near panic at the implications that I would somehow have to administer such things. "If we find them, we will bring them back to you for treatment, yes?"

"Radek, if the Jumper is taking on water, then the pressure inside is rising as well. Which would mean they will be at risk of decompression sickness if they are brought to the surface too quickly. If that is the case, we may need to use the Jumper as a hyperbaric chamber until they can decompress… raise the internal pressure to match that in the disabled Jumper and decrease it at set intervals until they can safely return to normal sea level pressure without the risk of nitrogen bubbles forming in their blood streams or an arterial gas embolism reaching their hearts."

"How long will this take?" I asked as I nodded in understanding, although the understanding of the potential did nothing to alleviate my worry that I would need to use the items in the bag.

"It depends," he told me with a sigh. "Given the pressures and the time at depth, it can take anywhere from a few hours to a few days."

"Days?" I couldn't hide the shock.

"Aye, lad, days. But that is only in extreme cases… pressures up around five atmospheres with serious physiological responses to boot. We'll know more when you report back about the conditions they are under when you find them."

"And you expect for me and Colonel Sheppard to stay with them during this time?" At his nod, I ask, "Won't the pressures be dangerous for us?"

"You will only be exposed to the higher pressures for a few minutes at a time, half hour at the most, before they start to decrease. The risk is minimal." He patted my shoulder with a reassuring smile. "Good luck and God speed. The sooner you find them, the better their prognosis."

"Atlantis, this is Sheppard. Do you copy?" I drape a blanket around a dripping, shivering Rodney as our pilot tries to contact the base. We have passed above the danger zone of collapsing the windshield and I have deactivated the shield to conserve our dwindling power supply.

"John," Elizabeth calls back anxiously, "were you successful?"

"He has a bump on the head, is soaking wet and saying some strange things, but he's alive, he's mostly coherent, and we're on our way home," Colonel Sheppard reports happily.

"He?" Elizabeth asks through the radio.

The Colonel sobers as he lowers his voice. "Yeah, just McKay. Griffin didn't make it."

"Understood, Colonel," Dr. Weir's tone is somber, as well, before brightening a small amount. "But that is wonderful news about Rodney."

"Yeah, it is." He turns to regard our friend with a genuine smile but it goes unnoticed.

Rodney pulls the blanket I have placed around his shoulders a little tighter and shivers, lowering his own eyes to the floor. I start to tell him it is not his fault, about Griffin, but I remain silent, afraid that he will voice the guilt that I myself have and lay the blame on my shoulders.

I had been responsible for the repairs of the Jumper. I know the craft better than anyone on Atlantis, even Rodney, although he would never in million years admit to such a truth. But admitting it or not, it is fact. I have mapped every system, know the purpose of every crystal, can calculate power usage of every schematic… but even I am not Ancient. And I doubt even they would have been able to repair the ship given the damage it had suffered being shot down on an alien planet. The weapons were crude but the damage severe and replacement parts are few and far between. Maybe I missed something; maybe it was something so small that even those that designed the vessel would not have seen it.

Then again, maybe I am responsible after all.

"What do you mean, 'he's saying some strange things,' Colonel?" It is Carson this time, doing what he does best, worrying over his flock… and unlike Rodney, I do not mean that in derogatory way.

"I'm not sure, but I think he may have been hallucinating in the crashed ship," the Colonel admits warily. "He was talking about Carter telling him to raise the pressure in our Jumper for the trip back."

"Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter from SGC?" Beckett asks in surprise.

"Only Carter I can think of that McKay knows," Sheppard responds

"Oh, please stop trying to act like I can't hear you, I have my radio on for Pete's sake," Rodney snaps between chattering teeth. "And yes I was hallucinating, Carson. I have a concussion at the very least. For all I know, I still am hallucinating or I'm already dead. Although if that is the case, then I've obviously gone straight to Hell and my punishment is to be trapped in a Jumper with Sheppard and Radek for all eternity while I freeze to death."

"If you're already dead, how can you freeze to death?" the Colonel challenges with a scowl that doesn't dim the good humor in his eyes.

"It's a figure of speech! Christ, make yourself useful and instead of playing semantics turn up the heat or something."

"Rodney," Carson calls calmly, "get out of your wet clothes, I sent along a change for you. And yes, the hallucinations could have been a result of the bump to your noggin or the stress or quiet possibly oxygen toxicity from the elevated pressures your body was under."

"Oxygen toxicity?" The panic sends his eyes darting and his voice rising. "What the hell is that? Is it lethal?"

"Not if we catch it in time," the physician reassures. "Now, you need to calm yourself. Your body is stressed enough without your psyche adding to it. Given how lucid you appear to be at the moment, if it is oxygen toxicity, it is in the early stages and is no worse than being good and wonky after a few too many pints and will feel much the same."

"Okay, okay," Rodney takes deep breathes and nods his head at the disembodied voice. "Wonky is a good way to describe how I feel right now."

"Good, lad. That's good to hear. Now, Radek, have you and Colonel Sheppard increased the pressure inside the Jumper?"

"Yeah, Doc, we've got it up around four atmospheres," Sheppard provides.

"And Rodney, how are you feeling? Any muscle or joint pain? Any trouble breathing?"

"I don't feel anything but cold," he chatters in response.

"Then we'll go forward under the assumption that the pressures are correct and we'll start decompression from there. So, lads, make yourselves comfortable, you have about eighteen hours ahead of you." I sigh and watch as Rodney leans his head back wearily against the bulkhead at the news.

Sheppard eyes us and when no one responds, he does. "Copy that, Doc. We should be back on Atlantis in about fifteen minutes."

"Very good, Colonel. I'll have further instructions for you then. In the meantime, get him dry, keep him warm and have him start drinking fluids. I packed plenty of Gatorade, but intermingle it with water, the last thing we need is his blood sugar spiking out of control on top of everything else."

"I am right here," Rodney insists, "if you have directions tell them to me, not them."

"Rodney, I have officially deputized Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Zelenka to act as members of my staff until this entire ordeal is over. You will cooperate with them as you would with any other nurse under my jurisdiction. And the punishment for not abiding by the care they give you will be as severe as those for sassing any of my staff in the infirmary. Are we clear on the matter?"

"Hmmm, let's see, I am to sit quietly while I receive medical attention from one man whose bedside manner typically equates to telling me to suck it up and be a man," he frowns at the Colonel before rolling his eyes my way, "and another that turns green every time you draw his blood after an off-world mission, both of whom will be receiving guidance from someone who completed his residency on Old McDonald's Farm. Does that about sum it up, Carson?"

Dr. Beckett sighs heavily across the airwaves. "I swear, Rodney, I am nigh well tempted to leave you in there for the full forty-eight hour treatment. However, I would be breaking my oath to do no harm if I had to subject Sheppard and Zelenka to you for that long. Eat a power bar, drink some water and we'll see you in a bit. Beckett out."

I retrieve the bag that Carson has sent along and pull out the hospital scrubs and a towel and hand them over silently. He yanks them from my hands and frowns. "Unless Carson left instructions for a sponge bath as well… which God help me, I will not abide by if he did… I'd like a little privacy."

I snort and frown back. "Do not worry, Rodney. If he had, that is one order I would not follow no matter what punishment he threatened."

He flicks his hand in dismissal and I am more than happy to oblige, making my way to sit in the copilot seat as we ascend out of the water and into the air once again. I cannot help but exhale in relief that we are no longer under water. Evidently Rodney, he feels the same, because I can hear him mumble, "Thank God," when the sunlight shines through the cockpit window.

"Almost home, Rodney," Sheppard assures him which only serves to aggravate our injured compatriot more.

"Yeah, well, that's what I thought before, and look where that got me. Just concentrate on flying the damn Jumper and not distracting me with talk of home and tomatoes and things like that."

The Colonel looks to me and mouths the word, "tomatoes?" in bewilderment. I risk a worried glimpse backward to see a partially dressed McKay peeling a sopping shirt over his head.

"Eyes forward!" he barks and moves further back into the compartment.

I shake my head and speak softly, "Even near death he is irritating. How can it be that I am beyond happy to see him alive yet cannot wait to get as far away from him as possible?"

Sheppard grins and lowers his voice as well. "It's the whole near death thing that has him riled up. You get used to it after a while; learn not to take it personally."

I try and fail to return the grin. "Problem is, he does take it personally." Slumping in my seat, I admit quietly. "Maybe he should. After all, I was supposed to be in Jumper, not him."

"And I could have been flying the Jumper just as easily as Griffin. If there's one thing I've learned since being in the Pegasus Galaxy, it's that shit happens…a lot… a hell of a lot… a lot more than it should, statistically speaking." He frowns in contemplation before clearing his head with a shudder. "You can't linger on it, you just have to put it behind you and move forward."

I look to him hopefully. "So you think that maybe Rodney will not blame me?"

"Oh, hell no," he snorts, "he'll blame you, he'll blame Griffin, he'll blame the Ancients that built the Jumper and the locals that shot it down. Shit, I'm sure he'll even find something to blame on me."

"Great," I grumble morosely. "I am cursed to spend entire day trapped with the only thing more overwhelming than the ego of McKay and that is his antagonism."

"Ohhhh, yeah, you're screwed," he confesses in amusement. "That's the only thing that I've got going for me. He's going to be so pissed at you he might cut me a little slack."

With crossed arms I flash my best sarcastic smile. "Thank you, Colonel. Is huge relief to know that my suffering will go to serve higher purpose."

The boyish grin grows slightly before fading with a shake of his head. "The key is, don't buy into it. Because deep down, he doesn't believe it himself. It's all a cover for what he's really doing… blaming himself."

"Are we picking up a meat shipment on the way back to Atlantis, Sheppard? Because that is the only explanation I can come up with for why you are keeping it so damn cold in here."

Rodney's bluster is muffled by the towel he uses to scrub over his head. With hair as askew as that of his teammate who is flying us home, he drops the cloth on top of the pile of wet clothes at his feet and bundles the blanket around himself once again. The Colonel only raises his eyebrows in an unspoken, 'See? What did I tell you,' manner.

"Ice cream, actually," he calls back good-naturedly over his shoulder. "Wouldn't want your Chunky Monkey melting before we get home, now would you, McKay?"

"Ha! I would pay money to thaw out my Chunky Monkey right now." Colonel Sheppard and I exchange glances…mine of alarm and his hovering somewhere between amusement and disgust. Rodney, realizing what he has said, reddens, opens and closes his mouth like a fish kissing reflections in a tank, then straightens with slivered eyes. "The state of my Chunky Monkey is no concern of yours, Colonel. Now, turn up the damn heat."

"I believe the correct term to describe me now is scarred for life, Rodney." Sheppard grimaces but I feel the temperature increase slightly, enough so that I shed my own jacket. "Now, take a seat. Nurse Zelenka will be serving your in-flight meal of power bars and Gatorade. I expect to have visual contact with Atlantis here in a few minutes, and if we don't have at least some food in you before we land, Beckett will have our asses." With a fleeting look in my direction, he informs me, "Radek, you're up."

With a sigh I rise from my seat and begin pulling out supplies that the good doctor has packed for us. Rodney accepts the food eagerly, hands shaking so violently that I take it back and open the wrapper for him. He glowers at me as I return it, but says nothing, and I try to remember what Sheppard has said and convince myself that it is more his anger at his inability to help himself he is demonstrating than his anger at me for helping him.

"I'm not thirsty," Rodney pouts obstinately as I hand him a bottle of shocking blue liquid, the cap already removed. "I just spent the last couple of hours soaking in water. Why the hell would I be dehydrated?"

"I don't know, Rodney," the Colonel drawls from his seat. "Maybe it has to do with the fact that it was sea water you were sitting in and you probably haven't had anything potable to drink in hours. Maybe it has to do with the fact that your body was under tremendous pressure, physically and emotionally for that same amount of time. Maybe we should call Carson on the radio and let him explain it to you."

At the last threat, Rodney snatches the drink from my hand and swallows with a wince. "Gah! This stuff is horrible."

"Chase it with water if you like, but I expect that bottle to be empty by the time we set down on Atlantis."

He glowers at our pilot but chugs the bottle before returning to the power bar. He sits silent while he eats, head resting back against the wall and I busy myself sorting through the supplies in the bag, noting with regret that there is another set of hospital scrubs in the bag that have no purpose now. When he finishes the food I hold up the first aid kit that Beckett has sent along. It is more fully stocked than the field kits and fortunately, we will not need to use most of the materials inside.

"Maybe we should clean and rebandage wound on your head, yes?"

He regards me for a few seconds, as if weighing his options before finally nodding in agreement. With an antiseptic wipe, I clean away the trail of blood that is caked on his temple, even attempting as best I can to remove it from his hair. He winces and hisses and curses under his breath then curses above his breath when I remove the old water-logged dressing from his head and, with a grimace, I clean the wound as well. I do not mind the complaining, it gives me something besides the blood to concentrate on.

"Dammit, Radek, are you trying to cure me by exfoliation? You can't rub the injury away."

"Sorry," I offer, "This is not something I have need to do very often."

"Yeah, well, lucky you," he tells me dryly and I can sense the dig about my lack of field experience.

"Not all of us wish to be Indiana Jones of physics," I counter.

He sighs and mumbles, "Once again, lucky you."

I am not adventuresome type. Some would say that my statement is false, given where I am and how I arrived here. True, I had stepped through the stargate not knowing if I would ever step back onto the soil of the planet that had always been my home. Is that not the definition of adventure? To walk intentionally into the unknown, regardless of the danger that may wait? I would argue that I was not so much an adventurer when I signed on to join the expedition as in absolute denial of what could happen. I mean, what could be worse than threat of Goa'uld attacking Earth? This is what I thought…what could be worse? I found out answer to my question very soon after arriving on Atlantis. A city about to collapse around our ears, followed by discovery that Wraith were out to destroy us, followed by nanovirus that nearly killed everyone without Ancient gene, followed by another crisis and another and another. With so much empirical evidence staring me in the face, I could no longer deny that Pegasus Galaxy was very dangerous place. I am a scientist after all.

Do not get me wrong. I love Atlantis; love my work, my science, discoveries that we make every day. Just as Rodney does. It is why I decided to remain, even when the chance to return to Earth was presented. But unlike Rodney, I was more than content to stay ensconced in the city, working in lab, learning about the Ancient devices, deciphering the secrets of the Jumpers and repairing them when needed. Yes, the Jumpers are my responsibility, my babies. I know them as only someone can who has traced every wire, mapped every crystal, disassembled and reassembled every system of the ship. No one loves Jumpers more than me, except for maybe Colonel Sheppard. He may not know how to rebuild the cloaking system, but he knows the ships…knows them. Can think a thought and… poof! Just like that, the ship does what he wants. That is difference between us, he knows not why and I know not how. And maybe that is why as much as I adore my Jumpers, I do not trust them.

But Rodney… Rodney he knows how and why, thanks to my hard work and Beckett's artificial genes. He is genius, yes, but he is fool as well. Never has term idiot savant truly applied to a person before McKay. There is no other way to explain the fact that he knows enough about Ancient technology to understand true dangers and yet jumps with both feet into the crocodile infested waters that they represent. This goes a long way to explain why Rodney was in the Jumper instead of me.

Rodney had managed to limp the ship home from the planet months before, and I had been working almost half my time since then to fix it. But the damage was extensive and the repairs slow going. When finally they were complete, I approached Rodney in his lab. He barely looked up from his computer when I informed him of the repairs, so engrossed was he in the calculations that spooled across the screen.

"Great," he responded distractedly. "Talk to Sheppard and get a pilot assigned to take you on a test flight."

"Test flight?" I asked nervously. "Why does it need a test flight? We have already run tests and simulations on all the systems."

"Radek, I'm not sending an untested Jumper back into the field without putting it through the wringer first."

"It has been tested," I insisted. "All the systems read as one hundred percent operational on the diagnostics we ran."

"Computer diagnostics are not the same as real world tests and you know it. I, for one, fly in these Jumpers regularly and don't want the thing falling from the sky or experiencing system failure during a key moment, like when the Wraith are trying to kill us. I'm not going to risk the lives of the people on my team or any other team, for that matter, and I'm definitely not going to risk my own life on an untested Jumper."

"Fine," I told him with a toss of frustrated arms, "if you feel so strongly about it, then you take it for flight yourself."

"What?" The incredulous tone was accompanied by a twisted face and shake of his head. "Are you serious? I've got too much crap to do as it is without joy riding and taking on your job as well."

"I have much work waiting for me, as well, Rodney. The repair has taken weeks out of my other research, not to mention the upgrades I have been working on for the sensors. You take the Jumper out, you like to fly in the Jumpers, it will be a nice excuse to get out of lab and stretch your legs. Maybe not get so many cramps that way."

Folded arms were accompanied by a smugly lifted chin as he rocked back on his heels. "Oh, I get it, now. You're scared to go. You hate flying worse than Carson, even in a fully functioning Jumper, and with your shoddy work the only thing keeping the craft airborne, you're afraid it won't stay that way long enough to pass a test flight."

The man was incredible! I cursed his lineage with a string of Czech mumbling before finally snapping back in English. "My work is far from shoddy, Rodney, and you know it. You would not have assigned me the maintenance and upkeep of the fleet if you thought otherwise and you know this for fact."

"I would hardly call the handful of ships that you occasionally crawl around on and pop open a panel here and there a fleet, Radek," he scoffed.

"You are petty man, Rodney McKay," I seethed. "But if you insist of being such, then so can I." I stood straighter and crossed my own arms. "You owe me."

"Owe you?" Shock quickly wiped away all traces of self-righteousness on his face. "How the hell do I owe you?

"For me going to planet of juvenile delinquents and repairing their EM field generator."

"Oh, that's just ridiculous. You should be thanking me. I was the one stuck here trying to keep a Goa'uld from blowing up the entire planet while you sat around playing Mary Poppins with the kiddies."

"Ha! Would have gladly taken Goa'uld threat over small hellions. They drugged me Rodney… put sedatives in my food and let little girl use me as life size Barbie doll. Style hair, paint face, then cry buckets of tears when I remove them until I relented and let her do it all over again. Emotional black mail from young Satan spawn. Is amazing how curly blonde hair can hide demon horns and angelic giggles can turn to ear piercing screams of damned when I say no. I allowed her to continue only to save myself from fate of hearing loss and hang over from drugs they sneak into my dinner. I think it is worth one Jumper flight on your part to have avoided the same fate."

"You have no idea how lucky you are, Radek. Sitting back and tinkering with Ancient devices while I go out on the front lines day after day. I give you a simple assignment on a friendly planet and you even complain about that."

I snorted at how ludicrous his argument was. "You like it so little, then you stay here, Rodney. Let Sheppard's team go out without you."

He blinked at me in surprise. "I can't do that. It's my job, my responsibility. They're my responsibility."

"You are head of science department; you can assign anyone to team. If I'm so lucky, then you be lucky, too, and stay behind."

"I told you, I can't do that," he insisted with a shake of his head.

"Can't or don't want to?"

He sighed and waved a dismissive hand at me. "Look, if I take the damn Jumper for the test flight will you just drop this whole conversation and leave me the hell alone so I can finish these calcs?"

With a smile of victory, I flicked my eyebrows. "Knew you could not remain behind."

"It has nothing to do with that," he protested with a frown. "That stint with the kids evidently traumatized you and we have too much shit to do around here for you to be spending half your day on Heightmeyer's couch talking about how hanging around a bunch of orphans brought back memories of how your father never hugged you and the like."

"My father hugged me, Rodney," I told him simply.

"Oh. He did?"

"Yes, every day."

"Well, I guess that means you're even luckier than I thought," he snapped with a dismissive return to his computer.

And maybe I was, or Rodney was even unluckier than a man has a right to be, but either way, Rodney had flown the Jumper and here I sit pulling gauze from a sterile package to rebandage his wound.

I position the new bandage on his forehead and he slaps my hand away when I press too hard for his liking. Touching at the area gingerly, he finally asks, "So, how did you end up finding me?"

"Put together a team to limit the search area based on your last transmission and prevailing currents," I explain with a small shrug. "Then we… what is term? Cruised around… until we find you."

"Cruised around? You cruised around in the ocean until you just happened to find me?"

"Actually," I admit, "Colonel Sheppard, he noticed giant sea creature swimming around same area again and again. Thought maybe it was attracted to the Jumper."

"And you say you have trouble making friends," the Colonel dismisses amicably.

"That's how you found me?" Rodney pays no heed to the comment as he demands incredulously. "If Moby Dick hadn't thought my transmitter was a mating call I'd be a permanent resident of Davy Jones' locker right now?"

"Davy Jones? He was one of The Monkees, yes?" I smile weakly at my attempted joke because what he says, it is true. If not for stupid luck, we would not have found him in time, we would have run out of power, he would have run out of air, and our happy ending would not have been so happy.

Rodney does not find my humor any more amusing than do I. "You're kidding me right? You couldn't program the sensors to lock onto a giant chunk of metal sitting on the ocean floor?"

"The geologic profile of seabed interfered with arrays we tried to run," I justified.

"Couldn't boost the transponder to detect my radio signal?"

"I had to reroute several power systems to convert cloak to shield."

"Oh, look," Colonel Sheppard calls in a cheerfully loud voice trying to distract Rodney from his increasing agitation, "I can see the towers of Atlantis."

But Rodney, he continues to ignore him. He stands and the blanket falls away from his shoulders, but he is ignorant of this fact as well. "So I guess homing in on my single insignificant life sign was out of the question, too, huh?"

"Rodney, you must calm yourself." I speak calmly in demonstration, as I would to panicked child or rabid squirrel, which really are not very much different by my experience.

"Fuck. And all that time I was afraid that Free Willy there was going to eat me and he ended up saving my life." He laughs but there is no humor, only brittle emotions that are crumbling around the edges.

"Why don't you sit down, Rodney?" Sheppard tries again. "We're about to land." The spires of the city have grown and we are weaving amongst them now, but Rodney continues to stand and continues to laugh sickeningly.

"How the hell is that for irony? The most brilliant minds that Earth supposedly has to offer working to find me and I end of being saved by a horny whale looking to score with a sweet piece of metallic ass." He pokes a finger in my chest and the laughing stops. "Something you couldn't figure out how to do on your own." I back away from him, tripping over the pile of wet clothes he has discarded in the process.

"McKay, that's enough! Now pull it together and sit your ass down."

At the Colonel's command, he turns all his attention and anger toward him. "Considering what I have been through, Colonel, I think I have pulled it together as much as I possibly can. And considering that the only reason that I am alive is because of sheer, dumb luck…" his voice wavers and he pales. For a second I believe that he is going to break down… even more than he has. And I for one would not fault him the action. Instead, he turns on his heels, takes two steps before dropping to his knees and pukes up the power bar and drink he has just consumed moments before.

"Rodney?" Colonel Sheppard calls in concern and I squat beside him as he continues to retch.

I place a hand on Rodney's shoulder which he swats away weakly. With a sigh, I sit back on my heels unable to leave but unable to provide any support either. It is then that I feel a hand on my own shoulder and see Sheppard standing above me. We have landed and he pushes me gently to the side before draping the blanket around our friend's shoulder and resting a hand on his back. Rodney flinches away, but the Colonel, he does not give up so easily as I have. He leaves the hand firmly in place with a mumbled, "It's okay, McKay." This time, Rodney does not flinch, only finishes emptying his stomach on the Jumper floor and breathes heavily from the effort. When he finishes, he leans back into the Colonel's hand.

"Feel better?" Sheppard asks tentatively. He's answered by a silent nod. "Sheer dumb luck," he says with a pat to Rodney's shoulder, "I've personally grown pretty fond of it. It's always served us well in the past."

Rodney shakes his head as he gulps air. "It shouldn't… have to."

"Doesn't matter," the Colonel informs him and he runs a hand briskly up and down Rodney's arm as he shivers, "I'm just glad it does."

"Colonel, is there a problem?" The worried voice of Dr. Beckett comes across the radio of the Jumper but I can also see him looking in through the front window along with several others.

"Not any more," Sheppard tells him. "Rodney just guzzled his Gatorade a little too fast and it came up on him." Rodney gives his teammate a small grateful smile for not revealing his outburst as the cause.

"He's vomiting then?" The news causes Carson's worried frown to deepen.

Sheppard looks to me meaningfully and I hastily contribute, "The fault is mine, I did not watch him closely enough when he drank. You know Rodney and food, is like feeding ravenous animal. Must count all fingers to make sure did not lose one after it is done." And Rodney's scowl at my comment, it is underlain with maybe a small amount of gratitude, as well.

"If you're sure then," the physician relents hesitantly, before adding, "You need to keep an eye on him. If it happens again, I want to know straight away."

"You got it, Doc." Sheppard tugs on one of Rodney's arms. "Let's get you up before this toxic blue puddle creeps over and eats through my boots. Radek, you think you could…" He indicates the mess and I quickly toss the discarded towel over it, using a foot to hastily sop it up with a disgusted shudder. This rescue has been anything but neat and tidy, both literally and figuratively.

Behind me I hear a disgruntled, "Christ." Looking back I see what has annoyed Rodney yet again. The one or two people that had been standing with Dr. Beckett have grown to several dozen. "Maybe I should charge admission… let them pay to have their picture made with the amazing water balloon boy while I stand by the window."

"I'll take care of it," the Colonel promises as he moves back to his seat in the front of the Jumper. "One privacy curtain coming up."

"What…what are you doing?" Rodney asks in alarm but the Colonel, he has already activated the hatch door and it closes between the cockpit and back of the Jumper where we wait. Rodney moves quickly to the door and bangs on it frantically. "Sheppard! Open the door! Sheppard! Goddamn it, John, don't you do this, too."

The door slides open again and Colonel Sheppard twists his face into a confused frown. "McKay?"

Rodney licks his lips nervously, eyes still a little wild. "It's… uh… It's a little small back here with it closed."

Understanding dawns with a curse. "Aw, hell… Okay, we'll leave it open," Sheppard assures him.

The Colonel keys his radio. "Lorne, this is Sheppard, we could use a little crowd control in the hangar. Essential personnel only; Beckett can help you weed out the lookie loos."

"Copy that, Colonel, we're on our way. Oh, and congratulations on the rescue, sir."

With a thanks to the Major, he walks Rodney to the back of the ship and sits him down on the bench, taking a seat beside him. "Sorry about that whole door thing. Did Griffin…?"

Rodney cuts him off with an adamant shake of his head before his friend can complete the memory for him. "Just my claustrophobia, that's all."

Sheppard rests a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. "Sure. I should have remembered that. But, the security team will have it cleared out in here in a few minutes so we won't have to shut it again. In the meantime, we'll just hang out in the back here."

"Colonel Sheppard, could you give me a duration for how long you have been at four atmospheres?"

At Carson's question and the Colonel's thoughts, the displays come up. "Looks like it's been just shy of nineteen minutes."

"Very well, we're just about ready to attempt the fist decompression interval. This one will be for twelve minutes. I'll need you to adjust the pressure down to the equivalent of one hundred and twenty feet below sea level."

Sheppard looks to me and I tell him and the physician. "Carson, if you will provide me with intervals and times, I can download them into computer and have Jumper transition automatically."

"I have the file on my tablet, I'll download them into the mainframe and you can retrieve them from there. Just be sure to keep an eye on Rodney when the Jumper decompresses and let me know immediately if he exhibits any unusual symptoms. We may have to adjust the intervals slightly to make sure we're getting it right."

"We've got it covered," the Colonel tells him. "We're not going anywhere anytime soon."

"I'm well aware of that, Colonel, and you have my sympathies. Now, while Radek is setting up the computer, I need you take a few vitals on our patient."

I busy myself with the downloads, maybe more than I have need to. Partially to avoid dealing with Rodney and partially because he is much more comfortable with Colonel Sheppard than with me. The Colonel takes blood pressure and temperature and various other readings from Rodney and reports them back to Beckett, all the while joking and arguing good naturedly. And while Rodney may snap at him, there is little bite behind it. Outside the Jumper, I can see the security team clearing out all personnel, leaving just a handful of people… Carson, a few technicians to monitor the Jumper systems from outside and an emergency medical crew that sits off in the corner, waiting for what we all hope will not be necessary.

"Here. We'll start with water and move from there." Rodney crinkles his nose at the bottle of water the Colonel offers him. "I really don't want to try to get an I.V. in you, so just drink it, okay?" I watch from the corner of my eye as Rodney takes the bottle with shaking hands. "Still cold?"

"Gee, can't get anything by you, eh, Colonel?" He sips delicately at the liquid, still slightly green from his recent episode.

Sheppard strips off his vest. "Let's try a little body heat, then."

"What?" Rodney demands in growing alarm as the Colonel unzips his jacket. "Sheppard, what the hell are you doing? I'm fine, really. See? Don't even need the blanket any more." He lets the wrap fall away and even I can see the goose flesh on his bare arms.

"Relax, Rodney, your … chunky monkey… is safe." Colonel Sheppard smirks and drapes the coat around Rodney's shoulders. "Take the coat. I'm about to pass out from heat exhaustion as it is."

"Oh, well, then thanks." Rodney slips his arms into the sleeves which come down to his knuckles.

Sheppard chucks him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, champ, you'll grow into it."

"You are such an ass," Rodney frowns but pulls the jacket closer around him and sinks back against the seat. "But you're a warm-blooded ass with a well insulated coat, so I'll let it slide this time."

"Wow, McKay, a compliment, or at least as close as you've ever come to one. I'm getting a little misty eyed here." The Colonel folds the blanket across his friend's lap and pushes the water bottle back in his hand. "Flattery will get you nowhere, especially if you collapse from dehydration. Drink or I take back the jacket."

"You drive a hard bargain, Colonel." But he takes another sip as he crosses his arms protectively over the warmth he is finally receiving.

"We'll see how you feel about it when I break out the power bars in a few minutes." My ears pop as the controls I had loaded onto the computer system activate and the pressure decreases in the Jumper. From the wary look on the Colonel's face as he watches Rodney as closely as I do, he felt the change as well. After a few minutes, he finally asks, "Well, how ya' feeling?"

"Like shit, how about you?" Rodney snaps and takes another drink with an exaggerated swallow to clear his own ears.

"How shitty?" I ask. "Relative to before pressure change?"

"So now we have a scale of shittiness? How about worse than a pile of elephant crap but not nearly as bad as the giant pile of dinosaur dung in 'Jurassic Park'."

"And before the pressure drop?" Sheppard coaxes.

"Still worse than elephant crap," Rodney sighs and sips his water once again.

On cue, Dr. Beckett calls across the radio. "Colonel, how's Rodney doing with the pressure decrease? Any new symptoms?"

"I'm the same, Carson, including my still functional sense of hearing," Rodney answers impatiently before the Colonel can.

"Have you tried to drink more fluids, yet?" At the physician's question, Rodney holds up the half empty bottle and waves it at the window. "Excellent. Why don't we try another power bar, then?"

"We? Is it a group undertaking, now? Is everyone going to throw up when I do again? You know, in a show of moral support?"

"No, but Colonel Sheppard will get to try out his skills at following directions while I instruct him on how to insert a I.V. port if you can't keep it down this time."

Sheppard pulls a power bar out of his own vest and unwraps it. "You know, I have no desire to try it and you have no desire to have me do it, so just eat the power bar." When Rodney hesitates with tight lips, the Colonel waggles the bar. "Have you feeling as good as cow pies in no time." With an exaggerated sigh, Rodney takes the food and nibbles a small bite.

"Carson, is Rodney feeling up for visitors yet?"

At Dr. Weir's voice, Rodney leans his head back against the bulkhead and mumbles, "Guess a debrief during the decompression was inevitable."

Carson looks inside the Jumper and hedges his answer. "I don't see a problem with that, as long as Rodney agrees."

Rodney closes his eyes and lets out a nearly indiscernible curse, obviously hoping that Beckett would disallow any guests. Sheppard frowns at the reaction. "Purely social, right, Elizabeth?" It is a question, although there is little doubt that the Colonel will only accept one answer.

"Uhm…" Weir flounders for a second before recovering, "Of course, John. I just wanted to see for myself how he's doing and that he's being well cared for."

With a questioning look to Rodney, who silently acquiesces with a shrug, the Colonel calls, "Lorne, could you make sure Dr. Weir has access to the Jumper bay."

"We'll be looking for her, sir."

"Thank you, Colonel," comes the crisp reply and I can just picture her with raised eyebrow and tilted head wondering why she has been reduced to asking permission of her head of military to see her chief of science. "Weir out."

"Eat up," Colonel Sheppard cajoles, "company's coming."

"And me with only these hand-me-downs to wear." Rodney pulls himself up using Sheppard's arm and straightens with a grimace before heading for the copilot's seat.

The Colonel walks close by his side, carrying the blanket and another bottle of water. "Elizabeth may be the first, but she's not going to be the last that'll want to see you, you know."

"Christ, I'm like a car wreck and no one can look away." He settles into the seat and Sheppard returns the coverlet to its place across his legs.

"Technically it was a Jumper wreck, and people are just worried about you. You should be flattered."

"What's not to be flattered about?" he snorts. "I'm evidently the hottest ticket in town, Colonel. I even have my own bouncer dispensing the velvet rope treatment to anyone that comes along."

"Yeah," Sheppard drawls, "Somehow I don't picture Lorne as the dark glasses at night and bling-wearing sort of guy." He moves around to the pilot seat and slouches in comfortably. "All I'm saying is if it gets to be too much, let me know."

"I had no idea you were so diverse, Sheppard. Nursemaid, social director, body guard… and somehow you manage to fit lieutenant colonel in there as well."

"I lead a very multidisciplinary life, Rodney. I have to working around you."

"Colonel Sheppard, Dr. Zelenka, good job," Elizabeth offers cheerfully from outside the Jumper when she arrives a few minutes later.

"Thank you, Elizabeth, but most of the credit goes to Radek. Without his idea to extend the shield around the disabled Jumper, we never would have gotten McKay out." The Colonel, he tells this to Elizabeth but he meets Rodney's eyes throughout and I smile gratefully at what he is trying to accomplish. But the way Rodney slumps further into his seat with a roll of his eyes does not give me much hope that he is making progress.

"Well, then, excellent work, Radek." She acknowledges me with a tilt of her head and smile that causes my face to warm from the attention.

"Was only doing my job," I mumble and find the laptop display suddenly very interesting.

"And, Rodney, it's good to have you back safe and sound," she tells him.

"Relatively safe and sound," Rodney returns with a bite of his power bar. "I'm not out of the woods, yet."

With a surprised blink, our expedition leader turns to her chief medical officer. "Carson, is there anything to worry about?"

Dr. Beckett shoots Rodney an exasperated look before answering, "Technically, there are always risks involved in this type of treatment, but with close monitoring and proper care, I expect him to make a full recovery with no side effects."

"Could you explain exactly what the course of treatment is?"

"Well, we are using the Jumper as a sort of decompression chamber," Carson explains, "allowing his body to reacclimate to surface atmospheric pressures by slowly lowering the pressure in intervals according to the U.S. Navy Treatment Tables…"

And so it begins and so it goes for the next several hours. Elizabeth, Teyla, Ronon, several department heads, even Major Lorne finds an excuse to stop and give his regards. And through it all the pressure changes, slowly lowering and with it so does Rodney's anxiety. Chatting with friends, with team mates, with colleagues, it helps, but it also tires. And as time passes, Rodney slumps more, his thoughts drift more, and finally, Colonel Sheppard calls to Dr. Beckett.

"Hey, Doc, I know he can't sleep for a long time with the concussion and all, but I could sure use a nap." At Rodney's furrow of disbelief, Sheppard shrugs from his seat. "What? Nursing's tiring work."

"You haven't done more than hand me bottles of water and open an occasional power bar for me in more than two hours."

"Well, those lids are on awfully tight. I think I may have sprained something." Sheppard just smiles at the scoff he gets for his comment before turning back to Carson. "Do you think maybe an hour or so would be okay?"

"That should be fine, Colonel. Things have slowed down now. You'll have twelve hours at your current pressure as opposed to the half hour intervals you've been dealing with. I think everyone could use a little break."

And so we follow the doctor's orders, so to say, and rest. Rodney makes a bed on one of the back benches; the Colonel simply slouches further into his pilot seat. I tinker with computers for a while before finally attempting to nap in one of the passenger seats. But sleep is elusive for me, for us all I believe, because even though I have my eyes closed when Rodney finally gives up himself a few hours later, I am not truly asleep. He makes his way to the copilot seat again, still wearing Colonel Sheppard's jacket but no longer taking the blanket with him wherever he goes.

When he sits, Sheppard cracks an eye and regards his watch. "Not much of a siesta, McKay. You still have almost twenty minutes before your next round of twenty questions."

"Couldn't sleep," Rodney replies quietly, assuming I am still asleep and not wanting to wake me, which is fine. If he wishes to believe such, I am not going to correct his erroneous assumptions.

"It's been a long day, you could use it," the Colonel counters.

"I'll sleep when I'm dead."

"Warren Zevon never spent four hours in a crashed Jumper sinking in an alien ocean. If he had come that close to a permanent nap, he probably would have changed his tune."

"Griffin's taking one now," Rodney mumbles, pulling the Jacket closer around him, "for the both of us."

"Zelenka said he survived the initial crash." Sheppard states the fact simply, no question, no accusation, just a piece of information that he has trying to put together the story of what happened to one of his men.

Rodney hesitates then tells him just as simply, "When the window started giving way, we moved to the rear compartment but the door controls wouldn't respond. He went back to the controls in the cockpit and shut the door from there. Shut himself in the cockpit seconds before the window gave way." Rodney shakes his head in disbelief. "Why do people keep doing that with me?"

Sheppard sits silent for a few seconds before offering, "He did what he was supposed to do, put the interest of the expedition and the lives of the civilians before his own."

"Well, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of watching people die, watching them sacrifice themselves for the greater good… sacrifice themselves for me."

"Rodney…"

"You want to know what his last words to me were? 'Good luck, Rodney.'" He chuckles but it holds no humor. "'Good luck, Rodney.' 'Rodney, go, save the day.' 'So long, Rodney.' I've heard them all. Famous last words followed by famous last acts of bravery…Griffin shutting a door in my face or Gall blowing his brains out or you running out a door to fly a Jumper on a suicide mission to a Wraith Hive ship. What is it about me that makes people feel they have to kill themselves? I mean, Sam said I'm petty, arrogant and bad with people, but I don't think it's bad enough that they would rather kill themselves than be stuck with me."

"I just want to point out, in defense of your petty, arrogant, bad with people personality, that I came back."

"Did you plan on coming back when you left the chair room?"

"No," Sheppard admits, "but I got lucky and I did. And not only did I come back, when I did, I took you to Vegas and paid a stripper to write Emc2 on her breasts in bright red lipstick and give you a lap dance."

"And as amazing as that was, I fail to see the relevance of this to our current conversation."

"The point is, I didn't have to do that. I could have just as easily come back and never said anything about going to Vegas again. But I didn't do that. I made you go and I dropped a hundred bucks at a 'gentleman's club' and I had a great time and so did you. So, not everyone is as anxious to get away from you as you think. Some of us actually enjoy spending time with your annoying, pain in the ass self."

Rodney gives his friend a sad smile. "You managed to come back, but Griffin's not going to be so lucky."

"No, he's not," the Colonel agrees quietly. "But what were the options? Both of you drowning when the window gave way? You closing the door from the pilot seat instead? Did Griffin have a chance in hell of lasting as long as you did in the back compartment?"

"Not unless he had been secretly studying how to interface with Ancient technology."

"He knew that, Rodney. Knew he was a goner no matter what, but you had a fighting chance. He made the right decision."

"It was still an incredibly brave thing to do."

"Yes, it was."

"Do you think… Can you put him in for a commendation?"

"Given what you've told me, I think that would be appropriate." Rodney nods in grateful acknowledgement. "Although, just for the record, when I came back from my nuke run to the Hive ship, I was called a self-sacrificing son of bitch, with no mention of how brave I was."

"You got a promotion," Rodney points out impatiently. "And I even eventually got used to calling you Colonel."

"I really do appreciate the effort you put into overcoming that hardship," Sheppard tells him dryly before offering, "Do you want to write something in the letter…for Griffin's family?"

"Oh, I don't think that would be such a good idea." Rodney shakes his head nervously at the suggestion. "You know, petty, arrogant, bad with letters of condolence."

"You'll do fine, McKay. I have faith in you."

"Faith, huh? That's something that seems to be in short supply lately." Rodney stares out the window for a few seconds, as if gathering the courage to ask a question. Finally he does. "Sheppard, when you were trapped in the time dilation field, did you believe we would rescue you?"

"Well, I stuck around in the cave for over a week waiting for you guys, but when you didn't come…" he sighs then continues. "At first I was worried something had happened to you, then when the backpack came through, I thought what the fuck?" He laughs. "Three canteens, a couple of power bars and MREs… who the hell is mounting this rescue? Montgomery Burns? We have more supplies in the emergency rations on the Jumper, even after McKay has raided them." The laughter at Rodney's scowl disappears as he continues. "And then, there was nothing… for a very long time. When the weeks turned into months it got a little harder to believe you guys would ever come for me."

"I was trying to hurry. We all were. It was kind of like being in one of those dreams where you feel like you're walking through molasses and the bad guys are moving at super fast speed and no matter what you do, you know you won't be able to outpace them. I knew we had to move as fast as we could to get to you in time, but the clock kept ticking away the seconds, you know?"

The Colonel exhales, in exhaustion, in relief, in a little of both maybe. "Yeah, I know… a little too well."

We all knew a little too well. All of us here on Atlantis worrying about whether or not we would locate the missing Jumper, how deep it would be, would Colonel's plan work to hoist it up for rescue divers, and if we did, would there be anyone still alive to rescue? So many uncertainties and all growing more uncertain as the time slipped by. But during all the preparations, Colonel Sheppard, if he had doubts, he never showed them, never fell victim to thoughts of 'what if' that had taken up permanent residence in my mind.

We had slipped under the waves seamlessly, just as I had told the Colonel we would. The ocean is a murky place around Atlantis, the water rough and the currents strong, more like the chill depths of the North Atlantic on Earth than the warm coral-reef-laden Caribbean. Perhaps in the tropical zones of this planet it is clear and bright, but when we descended into the Atlantean sea, it wasn't crystal blues and colorful aquatic life that greeted us, but cloudy grays and an empty void, except for giant sea creature that circled endlessly in one area.

So it was with a small amount of surprise that I looked out our window to see an amorphous form floating before us. "What is that?" I asked curiously.

Colonel Sheppard squinted as he directed the light to the shape. A second one hung suspended in the murk behind the first with five stubby tentacles fluttered about the bodies. "I don't know. Some kind of jellyfish maybe?"

I pushed up my glasses for a clearer image. "It looks almost like… surgical glove?"

"Holy shit, I think you're right," he chuckled. "Who would've thought they would make it all the way out here?"

"Well, currents around city are very strong, we are sitting just below one right now. Question is, how did gloves end up in ocean to begin with? Dr. Beckett is usually extremely careful to make sure medical waste only goes to incinerator."

A small wistful smile crossed his face. "I have a pretty good idea. Come on. Let's go find the culprit."

"Culprit?" I regarded him suspiciously.

"Fine," he confessed, "partner in crime. Just see if you can get a lock on the damn Jumper before it's too late."

It was the one and only time he had even hinted that we might not find them… might not find Rodney in time. And that crack in his confidence, it worried me almost as much as did the potential for a crack in the window from growing ocean pressure. I may be doubting Thomas, but that is my job, always has been… to play Devil's advocate to Rodney's belief that he is all knowing, all powerful Oz when sometimes he is just a man pulling the levers behind the curtain. Sometimes he listens and I am rewarded with reluctantly given credit. Sometimes he does not and I am accused of professional jealousy while he reduces a solar system into space dust. Still other times, he is right, beyond all logic or reason or chance, and I can only shake my head in wonder that we survived another crisis and we have Rodney McKay to thank for it. But for all my nay saying, I thrive on the cool confidence of those that wish to prove me wrong and themselves right in the process. Without it, Atlantis expedition would be hopeless, and me along with it. So believe me when I say that although I may be Cassandra spouting voice of doom for all the crazy schemes that Rodney devises, I am secretly Cassandra dressing in cheerleader dress and pompoms routing them on…figuratively speaking of course.

And hearing Colonel Sheppard now voice the worries he had hid so well, it sends a shiver down my spine at how lucky we truly are to have at least Rodney sitting here with us. I cover the action with a shift and snuffle, not wanting to interrupt the conversation by letting the two men know that I am awake.

"I didn't think you would find me," Rodney admits quietly. "Sam said you guys would come for me, I just didn't believe her."

"Sam?" Colonel Sheppard asks dubiously. "As in Samantha Carter? From the SGC? You thought she was in the Jumper with you?" He looks around the inside of our own craft. "Is she here now?"

Rodney rolls his eyes. "She was a figment of my imagination. A manifestation of my subconscious brought on by the concussion."

"So, then, you did believe we would find you… at least deep down."

"Yeah, I guess I did."

Sheppard considers the information for a moment before telling his friend, "You know, after all the time in the dilation field, after all those months, I still kept going back to the cave."

"So you believed we would come for you, too… at least deep down."

"Nah, I was just bored to hell with all the meditating," he grins boyishly at Rodney who shakes his head with a snort but can't stop his own smirk.

"You meditating, now that's something I would have loved to have seen."

"After about a month, I was able to do it without even toppling over in my sleep."

"So you never quite reached Nirvana, I take it."

Sheppard furrows his brow in mock confusion. "What's a rock band from the nineties have to do with anything?"

"Ha! I can just see it now: John Sheppard's search for inner peace derailed because he kept running into his inner frat boy playing 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' on his air guitar."

The Colonel assumes a philosophical air. "The path to enlightenment is littered with pitfalls."

"In your case, I think it was more like pratfalls and moshpits."

"Hey, they asked me to ascend didn't they? I must have been doing something right."

"Why do I have a feeling it was more because you were doing someone right?"

"Teer was a nice girl," Sheppard recalls defensively. "The kind you take home to mom and eat apple pie with, the kind you settle down with to raise two point three kids and dog."

"So why didn't you go with her?"

At Rodney's question he shrugs. "Maybe I'm just not ready to settle down yet. I'm an adrenaline junkie. I'd miss flying, miss the excitement, miss the death-defying feats we pull off day in and day out, miss the people that I do all those things with."

"Really? You'd really miss us?"

The Colonel suddenly becomes very interested in what is going on outside the Jumper, which is little more than Carson thumbing through a medical supply catalog. "Three months was a long time, Rodney," he confesses to his boots that are propped up on the consol, "a really long time."

Rodney blinks several times, "Sheppard, that's, uh… three months, wow…"

Sheppard cuts him off before he can babble more. "Besides, have you ever seen an ascended dog?"

Now it is Rodney's turn to grin mischievously. "No. Given that you decided not to ascend, I can't say that I have."

"Asshole. Maybe I should have gone with them after all. I'm sure it's a whole hell of a lot quieter when you're all glowy tendrils of energy."

"No ears probably has a lot to do with that. Although the lack of a belly button to ponder might complicate the whole meditation and contemplation of existence lifestyle you would be expected to lead. I'd hate for you to have to attend remedial omnipotence classes."

"And I repeat: asshole."

Rodney brushes off the droll insult with a smirk. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you didn't go either."

"Why? No one left to pick on if I had?"

"Absolutely. If you hadn't come back then poor Carson would have had to take up the slack for the bad hair jokes, and what with all the sheep insults he already has to put up with, the load may have been too much for him to handle."

"You know, McKay, you're the one that creates that load in the first place. You could give the poor guy a break if you wanted to."

"And you could have ascended and lived an existence without fear or worry or imminent death."

"Or insults from my supposed best friend."

"Or insults from your best friend," Rodney affirms.

The Colonel, he smiles at the intentional omission of 'supposed'. "Yeah, but where's the fun in that?"

The grin on Rodney's face grows to mirror the one on the Colonel's. "My thoughts exactly."

"You really could cut Beckett a little slack, though. He's a hell of a doctor and you know it."

"I suppose we could have done worse for the expedition," Rodney begrudges. "But just look at him out there." The physician makes an entry onto his electric tablet, double checking the item number he is recording against that in the catalog. "Happily ordering his supplies, pondering how he can justify those Velcro gloves…"

"Rodney," Sheppard warns.

Carson looks up from his work to see both men regarding him. When Rodney waves at him cheerfully, he keys his radio. "And just what are you up to now, Rodney? I can practically see the yellow feathers sticking out of your mouth."

"I was just explaining to Colonel Sheppard how there is probably a whole lot more virgin wool coming out of Scotland now that you're here on Atlantis."

Unscathed, Dr. Beckett simply turns back to his catalog. "Ah, I see. Well then, while you're at it, maybe you can explain to him how there's also one less virgin in Canada now that you're here, as well." Carson smiles serenely at the scowl Rodney wears. "No witty comeback, Rodney? Now I know you need more rest. Colonel, could you attend to your duties and escort the patient back to his bed and make sure he stays there for a few more hours. I'll okay the use of deadly force if you find it absolutely necessary…or even just convenient."

"You got it, Doc." Sheppard snickers as he stands. "Let's go, McKay, I told you you should cut him a little slack."

"Yeah, well Little Doc Peep just better watch himself," Rodney grumbles loudly through the open link of the radio even as he stands when Colonel Sheppard tugs on his arm. "I don't run for cover like the sheep of Scotland just because he walks into the room."

"Lovely chatting with you, Rodney. We'll do it again when you wake up in a few hours," the physician responds distractedly. "Beckett out."

When Rodney attempts to reestablish the channel, the Colonel gives him a firm push toward the back. "Enough, McKay, I would eventually like to get out of this damn Jumper, eat a real meal and sleep in a real bed. Not all of us consider scarfing down MRE's while sitting on a hard bench fine dining. But that's not going to happen if you keep pissing off the jail keeper."

"Jail keeper is right. He flashes his alleged medical degree around like a tin star, deputizing military officers as nurses, penning me up like livestock in a coral. Christ, he's Kit Carson Beckett, sharpest hypodermic needle in the West." The Colonel rolls his eyes then catches Rodney as he trips over a cable on the floor mid-tirade. "What the hell is that? Did Doc My-Brain's-On-Holliday issue lassoes to you two in case I got too rowdy?"

"It's part of the grapple system, McKay," Sheppard tells him as he kicks the stray wiring out of the way.

"Grapple system? For what?"

"We were going to use it to hoist the Jumper up to a shallow enough depth to allow rescue divers to get you out."

Rodney considers the block and tackle sitting over in the corner. "Whose idea was that?"

"Mine, actually," Sheppard tells him proudly as Rodney looks around the cabin and seems to notice for the first time the modifications that have been made to accommodate the equipment.

"And you did all this?" He waves an all encompassing hand.

"Yeah," the Colonel admits with an almost bashful bobble of his head. "And a few others on the outside as well."

"Well, it sure goes a long way in describing the Schneider-like tool belt your webbing has turned into." The Colonel frowns and Rodney continues. "I mean seriously, what the hell? You have a Bat-a-rang hidden in there somewhere?"

"Yeah, right next to my can of mad scientist repellent, don't make me break it out and put it to work." The sarcasm continues as he turns to walk back to his seat in the front. "Sweet dreams, McKay."

"It was a good idea," Rodney calls after him. Sheppard stops and looks back at his friend, but the pleased smile vanishes from his face when Rodney finishes his statement. "It didn't have a chance in hell of working given the water that we took on, but A for effort."

"And what brilliant ideas would you have come up with if you had been the one up here instead of down at the bottom of the ocean?"

"I was a little busy trying to save myself from down there to worry about what ifs from up here, Colonel."

"So, you're saying that you didn't need us to rescue you? That if we had given you a little more time you would have figured out a way to rescue yourself?"

"I didn't say that," Rodney mumbles.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." The Colonel turns back toward his seat but Rodney stops him again.

"John, I didn't mean… it's just, I was down there and you guys were up here without me to help…" He pauses before saying simply, "It really was a good plan and under the right conditions, it would have worked."

"I know it was a long shot, McKay, but I was willing to take that chance, we all were."

"Thanks… for risking it, for coming for me, just… thanks."

"I wasn't the only one willing to take a gamble, but Zelenka's was the only one that paid off. It wouldn't kill you to let him know that, too, because I have a feeling it probably would have killed you if his idea hadn't." Rodney simply nods and pillows his head on his arm and Colonel Sheppard squeezes his shoulder lightly. "Get some sleep, Rodney. You can shower Radek with praise when you both wake up."

Shower, I think with a roll of eyes behind closed lids, please, let me to get raincoat so as not to soak clothes with his tears of gratitude.

Rodney McKay does not praise. The only way you know that he is pleased with your work is if he does not belittle it. If he looks over your shoulder and walks away with nothing more than a noncommittal, "hmm," you are in running for employee of the month. And if he shakes your hand and tells you take care of his city while he flies off to Ancient weapons satellite, you have just been promoted to his second in command. The fact that as of yet he has not told me he places blame squarely at my feet is as good as a pat on the back in the McKay world of acknowledgment.

So it is with trepidation several hours later that I nod a greeting to Rodney who stands behind me at the computer I have married into the Jumper's control system. We both watch as the monitor blinks and our ears pop with the decrease in pressure once again. I key my radio and report, "We are now at the equivalent of twenty feet of sea water."

"Very well," Carson calls back wearily. "We're in the homestretch now, lads, just four more hours to go."

It is the early hours of the morning, a few hours before sunrise, although there are no windows in the Jumper bay to indicate the time. Still, everyone's internal clock knows they should be sleeping and the patchy naps we have taken here and there only serve to increase the grogginess we linger under. Colonel Sheppard has commandeered my second laptop and is playing solitaire. He yawns and rubs at tired eyes from where he sits in one of the passenger seats with his feet propped on the wall.

Rodney taps the minimized icon on the screen of the primary computer that indicates the subroutine for converting cloak to shield. "So, let me see how you did it." I open the program and he budges me out of the way so he can have a better look. "This would eat up a ton of power," he tells me as the data scrolls. "Especially as the pressure increased with depth."

"Yes," I agree, "it did. Which is why I had to reroute power from these auxiliary systems." I indicate several schemes on the line diagram on the screen.

"You consider the CO2 scrubbers to be auxiliary systems?" he asks dubiously.

"Given short amount of time we had to work with at depth, decreasing their efficiency by forty-five percent did little to increase our risk of oxygen deficiency but bought us five more minutes for searching."

"You were cutting it that close that five minutes was critical?"

"Yes." What more can I say? There were mere minutes left before we had to abandon the search or we would not have made it back to Atlantis ourselves.

He regards me for a few seconds before turning back to the screen. "Hmm." I almost laugh at the hidden compliment. "What?" he asks when he sees the faint grin on my face.

"Is nothing. You would have maybe done something differently?"

"Well, I probably would have gone after the thrusters and left the scrubbers alone. The maneuverability of the ship would have been different under water and you might have been able to get away with a single burst from each drive pod instead of consistently firing both." Now it is my turn to inquire about his small chortle. "It's just that you were cutting the systems that I was working to maintain… life support, environmental controls. And then when I fired the thrusters… well, never mind."

"You fired the thrusters?" I ask in shock. Even Colonel Sheppard sits up and looks our way when he hears the news. "To what end?"

"Well, I had thought that I might reach the surface and be able to transmit a signal for you to hear."

"But that would use significant amount of power, could have thrown you out of search coordinates that we established, could have…" I sat heavily and cursed softly in Czech.

"We could have never found you." Sheppard says what I cannot.

"I never thought you would have anyway." He shook his head. "Look, it doesn't really matter because it didn't work. My plan didn't work and yours did, Radek, which ended up being good for everyone because I'm still alive and you now have gloating material to last for the next decade or so."

"Rodney," I offer with little conviction, "it was good idea, it could have worked."

"No, it wasn't, even I knew that. But desperate times, desperate measures."

"We were all willing to try desperate measures. Sometimes they work, sometimes they do not."

"Yes, but yours did and I owe you my life as well as a debt of gratitude."

"You would have done same, probably better," I concede, "if situation had been reversed."

"Well, obviously yes, on both accounts." I snort at his arrogance but really expect no less. "But the situations weren't reversed so it's really a moot point."

With crossed arms and dropped eyes, I consider what he says. If he is willing to make admissions of gratitude, then maybe I can make admissions, as well. "Maybe situations should have been reversed."

"Once again with the blatantly obvious, Radek."

"McKay," the Colonel grumbles from his seat.

"What? Even Radek admits he should have been overseeing the test flight. But he wasn't and that was lucky for all of us I guess, because I doubt he would have stayed alive long enough to be rescued."

I raise my eyes to give him dirty look. Finding fault was one thing. Insulting my capabilities was another. "You don't think I am capable of doing as much as you to stay alive in Jumper?"

Rodney crosses his arms in a mirror defensive stance. "No, I don't think you're seeing the out I'm offering you."

I blink behind my glasses. "Ah… yes… well, maybe you are right. On second thought, I doubt I would have been able to manipulate Jumper controls as well as you in order to stay alive."

"That's what I thought." The smug smile has more to do with me agreeing with him than him actually being correct, but at least it is not scowl of anger. Still, he is not right. "Even though I know more about Jumper systems than you," I cannot help but mumble under my breath.

"Do you really want to go down that path, Radek?"

He is implying, of course to the fact that the Jumper crashed in the first place, even when I had assured him the repairs were complete. No, I really do not want to travel this path, but some things…well they must be said, even if said very softly. "I was responsible for repairs."

"Yes, you were. And I expect better of you next time."

I wait for more, but he simply turns back to the computer and studies more of the reroutes I have performed. "That is it? No yelling? No crashing around like angry circus bear with tutu too tight? No telling me I am inept fool that does not deserve to be serving cheeseburgers at McDonald's, much less working as engineer on greatest scientific expedition of all time?"

"Would you rather I did that? Because I can if you want. Although you seem to know some of my best material and with the knock to my head it might take a while to come up with a whole new set of insults."

"Well, it would be more normal, not cause me to worry that maybe lump on head is more severe than we thought."

He rolls eyes with a shake of that injured head. "Look…yes, you were responsible for the repairs. No, they weren't successful. Yes, you should take the blame. But," he bobbles his head, "you weren't the only one who worked on the Jumper and maybe not all the fault is yours."

"I had top notch team working on repairs. And I was overseeing them so I was ultimately…"

He cuts me off by raising his voice slightly. "I was talking about me."

I open then close my mouth with confused frown. "You?"

"I manipulated that Jumper's systems beyond all reasoning. Between getting it to fire the drone on the prison colony and getting it flying again, the rewiring looked like a goddamn Cat's Cradle. Hell, I even integrated Wraith technology into it. I'm honestly surprised you got it up and running at all."

"Well, yes, it was huge mess, but…"

"But, there were a thousand different variables that figured into the repairs and the crash and as much as I would like it to be, everything here in Atlantis isn't a nice, neat problem for the solving. Sometimes, all the mathematical proofs and laws of physics go flying out the window and all you're left with is your gut instinct. And unfortunately, sometimes you're wrong. Believe me; I know that better than anyone."

"So, you trust me to maintain position as head of Jumper repairs?" I ask hopefully.

Rodney glances over to Colonel Sheppard who lifts his eyes from the computer game with a raised eyebrow. "I've been given a chance to redeem myself for past mistakes; I can't exactly not give you the same chance."

With a pleased smile the Colonel returns to his game. I nod in understanding and appreciation. "Thank you."

"Thank you." Rodney offers a hand that I take and shake earnestly. "Just never ask me to test fly a Jumper that you've repaired, ever again." I snort at his joke and he shakes his head. "No, I'm serious, never again."

My smile transmutes into a serious expression. "Never again," I assure.

"Well, as long as we're clear on that," Rodney looks around the Jumper awkwardly and twirls his hands. "I guess we're done with the whole… bonding… thing." I just stand and nod in agreement so that Rodney takes a deep breath. "Okay, so I'm going over here now." He walks quickly toward the back of the Jumper giving a snippy, "Shut the hell up," to Sheppard when he smirks at him as he passes.

The Colonel turns his grin to me, adding a silent 'told you so' waggle of eyebrows. I exhale in agreement, in relief, in satisfaction for the way this day is ending. It may not be a nice neat ending, like pretty package all tied up in bow, but maybe that is okay. Because really, the best part of pretty package is ripping it open and tossing bow and paper to the floor to see what is on the inside. And friendship, it is much that way as well.

Because a few hours later, when the decompression is complete, when the wait of water is finally over and the weight of water is gone, when the trip to the infirmary is finished and Rodney is free to go, it is to waiting friends and a waiting city that he returns. Colonel Sheppard walks with him to the cafeteria, where they are met by Teyla and Ronon to eat breakfast. With a raised hand, he hails me to join them. I take my tray and sit, listening to Teyla and Ronon tell of trip to visit trading partners that is planned for later this day, contributing to tale of mighty sea creature that hovered around downed Jumper, and watching as Rodney silently savors his cup of coffee.

"You doing all right there, McKay?" Sheppard asks at the uncustomary silence of our friend.

"Fine, now," Rodney assures with a contented smile. "There's nothing like eight ounces of pure caffeinated goodness to make everything okay again."

Eight ounces. I shake my head at the use of the outdated measurement and the praise of the pathetically weak coffee. He really has spent way too much time with the Americans. But the pat the Colonel gives to his shoulder makes me think that maybe that is not such a bad thing after all. Because, when you think about it, there is no metric system equivalent for relationships such as this. Friendships are often like English system, odd and clumsy. The best ones are far from simple, are far from clean and neat and precise, but no one an argue that the functionality is still there.

A cubic meter of water weighs one thousand kilograms. That is a heavy load for one man to bear. But with good friends to help, the burden, it is eased, the task, it is completed. And what does it matter if some of it sloshes on the floor? Tidiness, I have come to realize, is highly overrated.

The End