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Author's note – This is my second SGA fic (the other one still in the works if you want to check that out as well!). I like writing adventure fics with hurt/comfort, but at the same time, between what the show covers and the type of fics that are normally written, and yes, the fics I write, I feel like recovery times are often tightly compressed. We skip the three weeks of boredom while someone is hurt and then recovering and jump right to the bit where they are ready to jump back in the saddle; I am guilty of this too. But I wanted to maybe explore this, and this story is the result of this idea. I am hoping to turn this fic into a long-term study of what goes on in that window of time, the recovery period where our favorite characters are hurting, wanting to get back to work, but not quite there. This story should chronicle the frustrations of being on the sideline and the friends that are there to help in one Rodney McKay's time of need, they will be his wingmen.

Wingmen

Prologue

Five Years Ago

"So you're clearing me then?" Rodney asked as he sat on the edge of the medial be in the military hospital, swinging his legs back and forth as he looked up at the Scottish physician with an anxious expression.

"Aye, against my better judgment. Ye should really take another week off, ease back into things around here. But yer superiors seem to be of the mind that no headway will be made on that Zed-PM they think they might be on the trail of in your absence."

McKay let out a sigh of relief. "Thank the lord for stuffy military men. I swear they only get every third word I speak to them. Must have finally sunk in through their thick skulls that I am the most vital scientist they have up here."

"Heh, ever pause to maybe consider they only caught every third word because ye speak a hundred words in one breath? Can't blame them for not being able to keep up with ye."

"Oh, har, har, har, let's go three rounds of heckle the scientist. I'm good to go though?"

"I can't understand yer desire to get back to that frozen cave they call a base. Ye should take a visit back to the States, visit yer family, then come back in a week and start back in again. Yer shoulder's not ready for the abuse I know yer about to force it through."

"Carson, I was in this hospital for three weeks, then not working for another three because of your illegitimate claims that I would overwork myself. That's six weeks of nothing but fielding questions from the scientists by e-mail and typing with one hand and watching TV reruns on the three channels you guys have here. Cable my ass. I've rested plenty."

The Scottish man flipped through his patient's chart one more time, trying to find any reason to be able to put off his return to overworking himself for one more week. "We've talked about the fact that ye should have the surgery to stabilize that shoulder before ye go back to work. According to yer patient history this is your second dislocation of that shoulder?"

Mckay rolled his eyes, "I was twenty when it happened last time, working on my PHD, as the youngest person in the graduate program if I might be so bold as to boast a bit. A couple of buddies and I were working on a physics experiment, and a rope got wrapped around my wrist right as it was getting pulled taut by a system of pulleys. The shoulder got yanked out of the socket, so yeah. But it healed just fine then just like it healed fine now well enough for me to go back to work."

Beckett sighed; there really was no reasoning with any of the lab types sometimes. Seemed like a bit of fresh air did something funny to their heads, all they wanted to do was rush back to their hole and bury themselves in whatever project real life had dragged them away from. "Rodney, I know ye want to go back, and I know there are grey haired geezers sitting in leather chairs in some stuffy office pushing for you to get back on their defense work, but this is yer health we're talking here. It's standard medical protocol have an orthopedic surgeon perform a stabilization after the second dislocation on a shoulder, tighten the muscles around the joint-"

"Look, you've tried to push this surgery on me twice already, three times if you count this conversation. My shoulder is one hundred percent! Look," Mckay said defiantly as he raised his arm away from his side where it had remained motionless until this point. He slowly raised it out in front of him and rotated his arm, flipping his palm from facing the ground to facing the ceiling. "The physical therapist said that was major progress. I couldn't move my arm away from my body at all a month ago. It's fine to be put to work typing on a computer."

A muscle in his bicep twitched harshly, Rodney's face curling into a grimace as he dropped the arm back into his lap and rubbed as his upper arm gently with his other hand.

"Aye, fine indeed," Carson said without concealing the sarcasm in his voice. "Without the surgery yer going to be more prone to dislocations in the future, it's not worth whatever project ye have waiting back in the lab. And that pain right now? That's yer body telling ye it's not ready to go back to the abuse cycle ye put it through on a regular basis. I'm not clearing ye for duty."

"Carson! It's been six weeks; I'm going crazy with boredom!"

"Rodney, one more week will do ye some good. Work through your physical therapy, go stateside for a few days perhaps and I'll have ye back here in a week for another exam."

"I'm sick of exams! I'm sick of the physical therapy and the pain that keeps me from sleeping afterwards, and I am tired of feeling useless!" Rodney finished with an exasperated sigh.

"Rodney, I know it's been a long recovery. Ye've done well up to here but I won't have ye jeopardizing all that."

Rodney frowned deeply at this and then stuck his chin up defiantly; he already had his packed bag waiting out in the military jeep outside with a soldier waiting to drive him the airport. No way one belligerent, argumentative, Scottish physician with a superiority complex was going to get in the way of that. "Besides, you said the higher-ups wanted me back up there, that means something big is going on. They trump even the mighty Dr. Beckett."

"Aye, we'll be seeing to that too," he said, rising from his stool and walking to the door, "ye stay right there with that stubborn attitude of yours and stew for a few minutes while I go make a phone call to yer buddies and have a chat about military chains of command screwing around with my medical decisions."

He stepped outside and shut the door behind him, leaving the scientist stare at the blank walls. He heard the raising of voices out in the hallway, a few curse words in another language, more angry arguing in a Scottish accent, and a few minutes Beckett reentered the room with a dangerously angry expression on his face.

"I have my walking orders I assume from the glowing expression on your face?" Rodney asked with a cocky smirk. That expression had only one interpretation, Beckett had finally been put in his place and told to rein in his protective streak.

"Quit while yer ahead Rodney, yer not out of here yet. General Carlson seems to be of the opinion that there are pertinent matters back at the Antarctic base that require your attention," Beckett muttered under his breath as he yanked a fountain pen from his white lab coat pocket and aggressively scribbled his signature across the release document.

"That's it then, I can go?" Rodney asked, pushing himself off the exam bed and stretching.

"As ye've already said, it seems the matter's been taken out of my hands. But Rodney, I'll reiterate one more time take it easy on that shoulder of yers, and skipping this surgery, it's a mistake that'll most likely come back to bite ye later on."

"Alright, alright. I've heard your medical opinion, I'll take it easy and be fine," he snapped as he snatched the document out of the doctor's hands and skidded out of the exam room, slamming the door behind him.

Carson sat down on his stool and began filling out the discharge notice in Rodney's chart. "Scientists, I swear they'll be the cause of an early trip to the grave. Stubborn scientists the lot of them."

Present Day

"Rodney! Are you ok? You called me but you're not answering now. I'm giving you another fifteen seconds until I come to find you myself!" The voice of John Sheppard reverberated from the radio through Rodney's ear.

Rodney's attention was focused on his misshapen shoulder as he carefully reached a hand over his shoulder to feel for an injury. The joint felt wrong, his arm was numb; his shoulder blade was sticking out at a funny angle. Fuck. He shouldn't have tried to grab for the railing when he went over the edge. Look where he was now.

Between pained gasps he tapped his radio, Sheppard was just paranoid to come after him if he didn't answer in the stated fifteen second window, "I'm fine Sheppard…I'm ok. Call off the search party lassie; I'll be home by dinner."

"Rodney! What's going on? I heard a scream and then the line went dead, where are you, I'm on my way to the nearest transporter to head out your way."

"Sheppard! I'm fine. I just got spooked for a second. I thought I got locked in this room, claustrophobia and all, the lights aren't working well, I'm working by flashlight. I thought I needed your gene to help me get the door open but I played with the wires on the console and got the doors to retract."

"Then you're on your way back? Scientists are supposed to work in teams, always, and shouldn't be out in the city exploring without a military escort. That was your rule McKay, remember?"

"No I didn't forget! Zelenka was going to come with me, but he got called away to go run through some calculations that one of our teams are working on to increase the efficiency of our Naqueda generator set-up. I didn't plan it this way."

"McKay, whatever circumstances resulted in you being out there alone, fine, it happened. Now we play by the rules. Either you come back in or I'm coming out to join you. No one goes out exploring or working in the city alone, you included."

God, he just needed to get Sheppard off his back for five minutes so he could assess the damage and decide whether he could manage this on his own, "I'm putting this console back together; I'm not leaving all the wires exposed like this. I'll be back in thirty minutes tops. If I'm not I give you full permission to come harass me in person."

"Fine, thirty minutes. And that means half an hour McKay, not three hours. I know how time somehow seems to disappear when you're working on something."

"Fine, ok, I need to concentrate, McKay out," Rodney finished as he switched his radio off with his one functional hand.

Alright, damage assessment time. He was currently sitting one floor down from where he had been working. He'd tripped and gone over the railing and grabbed to stop his fall. He'd managed to do just that, with his right hand snagging the railing and jerking him to a halt. That force had also pulled his shoulder out of his socket, immediately making the arm go numb, forcing his grip to release, and he had dropped the final five feet to the unforgiving ground where he was currently laying.

He knew that distinct feeling, the sharp pain, then numbness, this made a third dislocation. He also knew what it meant if Beckett had his say, the words echoed in his head every time his shoulder got a little sore, the surgery he should've had five years ago, and the one that Beckett would try to pin him with now if he got wind of this. No, he could do this; he was a genius after all. Better to let the sheep herder tend to the rest of his flock in the infirmary, Rodney could take care of this on his own and get back to work without anyone being the wiser.

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