"Excuse me, Dr. Rush, I needed to get-"

"Sorry, Dr. Rush, Young asked me to-"

"Hey, doc, I'll be out in a second, I just need to-"

When he was a professor at Berkley, Nicholas Rush had had an office. It was a nice little office, nothing special, but out of the way. The location had a special kind of power: it made students and colleagues alike work to find him. They searched him out like he was a sage whose guidance they desperately needed. It made him feel perhaps more important than he was.

He was later recruited to work with the Stargate program: specifically on the problem of the Icarus gate's nine chevron address. The importance of his work here also allowed him an office. It was bigger than his Berkley office, but more central. However, since he was almost the only person working on the equation, few people ever had to disturb him. He could sit alone in his office all day, devoured by strings of numbers and theories, and not bother with the morons outside. It was his haven.

Offices had always been Rush's sanctuary. Places he could go to be away from people and alone with his own thoughts. He'd even had one in his own house for when the numbers got too loud and Gloria too sad. His office was his castle.

But here, on Destiny...

"Oh, hey Doctor. Wray wanted me to come ask-"

"Dr. Rush, where are the numbers for-"

"Won't be a minute, Dr. Rush. Just let me find..."

The people, the people, the people. In and out, fluttering around, all day, every day. Not a moment of peace for him to work alone. He had no sanctuary, no place of refuge. Just a common work area he shared with everyone else. It was enough to drive a person completely out of their head. Would a quiet place to figure out his beloved ship away from the chatter be so much to ask?

"Dr. Rush!"

"Doctor?"

"Dr. Rush!"

"Doctor?"

"Rush!"

And people wonder why he never told anyone when he found Destiny's bridge.