Authors Note: This hasn't been beta-read so I apologize if it has grammar/spelling errors in or if the characters sound a bit off. Please let me know what you think of this, complaints, suggestions; any feedback would be helpful as long as it is constructive.

Spoilers: For Season One episodes 1-14 definitely.

Great thanks to Jess and Iona for alpha-reading this and helping me make it just about right for now. This chapter has taken a lot longer to write but I hope it's worth the wait.

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Stargate in any incarnations of course and I'm not making any money, this is just some harmless fanfic fun.

Chapter 6: Far from it

Elizabeth walked into the dining area, eyes scanning the occupants, looking for him. She was avoiding Quentin, no surprise considering last night.

Everything was a mess. She saw now that Quentin was not as different compared to Rodney as she had thought. At first she'd felt comfortable with Quentin, an ease there that seemed right between them, of friendship. Of course Rodney had mistaken that for more, for her choosing one of them over the other.

Which had been something she'd never intended.
Nothing was meant to be there.
She'd struggled with her feelings after she'd decided anything between her and Simon was over. Her and Rodney...
The idea was difficult and the issue complex at best. How could it happen now there were two of them?
But it was probably better like this. Or would have been if not for the incident on the balcony.

The look Quentin had given her this morning as he brushed past her without a word had been hard to endure, but she knew it was her fault. Quentin had taken her spending time with him just the same as Rodney had. Both believing something more was going on.

There really wasn't anything she could do to make it up to Quentin, the issue better avoided until he had calmed down. Rodney, however, she'd owed him an apology for some time. She should have never let him cut himself off from everyone following Quentin's attempts to establish his presence as separate from Rodney. The whole thing had simply alienated both men. One trying to be someone he was not and the other struggling to maintain what he was.

It was fortunate that Rodney was there, sitting at a table in the corner, away from everyone else.
He seemed so rarely to be there until he had come out hiding away from them after his collapse four days ago. Since then she'd shared meals with him a few times but mostly visited him in his lab, finding it good to know he was well again and to see it with her own eyes.

She sat down next to him, not asking but flashing him a smile to let him know she was pleased to see him there.
He looked up from his food, a foul glance at her and said something very unlike him.
"I didn't say you could sit there."

She wasn't sure she had heard right. There was never much need to ask him if she could sit at his table. He usually preempted her question with a okay-ing wave to a seat nearby.
"Pardon?" she asked lightly.
He repeated it just as gruffly the second time.
"I didn't say you could just butt in and sit here, did I?"
"Well, no but..."
He cut her off, all too quickly losing his patience.
"Exactly so why don't you go find yourself another table. I'm sure you have people you'd rather dine with."

At which he dug into his food, stabbing the meat viciously with his fork and shoving a large chunk into his mouth.
"Not really." she replied, unsure of what this was about. She'd been spending more time with Rodney than with Quentin this last half a week and so this sudden change was unexpected and unexplainable.

"You sure?" he said in the same unwavering but affected tone.
"Yes." she replied, starting to get annoyed with his attitude.
His gaze was incredulous, as if searching for a crack in her facade that would betray the truth.
She didn't understand what exactly he was looking for but he got to the point fairly quickly after that.

"So you're telling me you'd rather sit here with me then be off smooching your boyfriend somewhere?"
The chatter of the mess hall stopped abruptly. Until then she hadn't been aware of how loudly he'd been talking back at her.

She could feel everyone's attention on them but he seemed to be beyond caring, scraping the legs of his chair on the floor hideously as he got up, leaving his tray of food unfinished.

She sat there, trying to avoid the stares of her people and thinking that it couldn't get worse than this. But then again she'd thought that last night too.
Question was what happened now. She was sure the whole of Atlantis would have heard about this within the hour and feeling there was nothing she could do to repair the damage done.

His life was a living hell.
He'd passed her in the hall this morning, not caring for the pity she held when she'd looked at him.

And he'd been trying ignore it, ignore the way she made him feel, to quell the excitement at seeing her because it was moronic. She'd never love him, she probably despised him for putting her in that position, for the guilt at what she'd done to his other self.
She might have thought she hadn't chosen between them but she already had, it was clear she wanted 'Rodney'.

But as Kavanagh had rattled on about a thousand and one things he needed doing today, all he could concentrate on was her. The fact they'd never kiss again, that she would take back that kiss in a heartbeat if she could, if she knew who'd been watching. And that was one of the things that made him feel slightly happier, that he wasn't the only one suffering.

It was as selfish as he could get but he didn't care. Rodney didn't know what a good thing he had going, most likely thought he was the one with the raw deal. It might as well be true if he already believed it.

"Dr. McKay?"
He glanced up to meet Teyla's eyes, full of concern. His mood softened instantly, wondering what was wrong that she would be like that.

"Yes?"
She walked closer, her wide eyes fixed on him and he knew she was going to call in a favour and he'd gladly do it.
She started out tentatively. "I presume you have heard the rumours going around the base."

He stopped working once again, curious about what she was referring to.
"No."
People are saying that there is something between you and Dr. Weir."
"They are?"
How could they possibly know that unless...

"And I am deeply concerned for Dr. McKay's state of mind. I was hoping you could speak with him and put his mind at rest."

It took him a few seconds to comprehend what she was saying, the double use of his name still confused him but he should have know her concern would be for Rodney; it was predictable really and stupid that he ever held out hope that they might mean him.

"Fine, sure, whatever. I'll do it later."
His answer was flippant but she accepted it and left him in peace.

He couldn't believe the idiot had more or less told the whole base . As if them feeling awful wasn't enough Rodney had had to dump Elizabeth straight in it too.
He'd have a word with Rodney alright but he doubted it would do either of them any good.

"You can't do this!" exclaimed Rodney.

"Oh, really, give me one good reason." Quentin retorted, an amused smirk already on his lips as he watched Rodney pace past him, unable to think up a satisfactory answer.
"You... just... can't!" cried Rodney as if it was wrong for anything to be an iota less than his ideal.

Quentin no longer remembered how the argument got to this point but every word out of Rodney's mouth pushed him further into the heart of the issue.

"Why not? You get all the glory, all the kudos and I get friends, a life in fact. I like that arrangement." That one statement missing off the fact that what he had wasn't that great, far from it but he'd prefer Rodney thought that he was having the time of his life, just to rub it in even if it wasn't true.

"Well I don't." said Rodney suddenly quiet, almost remorseful as he wiped his face wearily in front of Quentin.

"Why can't we compromise, spread the work, share the fun?"
Quentin grinned at the audacity of the man. Now he wanted to make things easy but only once things had gotten hard on him. Rodney McKay couldn't have cared less about his counterpart and so why should he care about him.

"Because you got the damned gene, that's why." he spat back at the Rodney.
"I don't want the gene, I want..."
Rodney left it at that because in all honestly they both knew what he hadn't said, because neither of them, really, was bothered about the gene or even the science much.

"This isn't fair, you're taking over my life, taking my friends away from me, taking..."

Another sentence Rodney didn't actually finish, but Quentin knew what, who, Rodney thought he was stealing away. It was bittersweet to him that Rodney thought that, but then he was fine letting him think that, he certainly wasn't going to help the man. For now he'd ignore that matter.

"I can't help it if I'm a better friend than you ever were."
"Yes, yes you can. You're doing it to punish me for having this gene, something that I can't change. It's not my fault you didn't get it."
"And it's not my fault either." Quentin countered.

Rodney stayed silent for a few moments, trying to think of what to say , staring at Quentin before he put his hands up.
"Fine. It's nobody's fault, but it's not fair that you get everything I want" said Rodney.

To which Quentin harked back at him,"You have what I want most."
Rodney rolled his eyes and Quentin presume he was thinking of bloody gene and fuss it caused. Though that wasn't what Quentin meant; there was an irony that they were actually talking about the same thing and Rodney didn't know.

"You don't mean that and we both know it."uttered Rodney, voice barely above a whisper.

That surprised him. It really shouldn't have. Rodney was enough like him he could still tell what he wanted, he'd had been stupid to try to fool him because they both had the same memories to a point not that long ago when he'd 'happened'. Didn't mean he had was going to back down any though.

"Yeah and we both know life's unfair, we've been there. so deal with it."
"We've both been there so you should understand what's wrong with you doing this to me." reasoned Rodney.

Except he wasn't going to buy the logic of that, not when Rodney had so conveniently denied that previously, favouring his, Quentin's, continued grief.
"I don't care what this is doing to you. I care about me." Quentin remarked bluntly.
"That's obvious!" shouted an exasperated Rodney.

Then the lab was quiet, Rodney thinking and silent for a moment before stepping up in his face , trying to intimidate him.
"But do you care about anyone else?"said Rodney, his voice steady as he asked Quentin.

There they were again, tiptoeing around what they really meant. He was sick of it, of the continued denial Rodney clung to.

"You mean her don't you?"
"Yes, her, because if you are going to hold her over me, like...like some kind of taunt and solely for that reason then I'll..."
"You'll?" he questioned, mocking Rodney's threat.
Rodney glowered at him but did nothing, straightening up after that.

"You really cant do this..." Rodney's voice was lower, an anger seething there.
"You've said that before." he replied, totally unsympathetic to Rodney supposed misery.

All the man needed to do was get off his arse and see what was under his nose. Elizabeth was waiting for him to do something, say something and all the while Rodney held back out of fear. It was understandable, the rejection more painful than either could take; only Quentin had had to accept that because of 'Rodney' and for no other reason.

"Because I mean it. You really, really can't." was the weak reply, almost begging for mercy, not knowing it was something Quentin couldn't affect.

Here Rodney was making idle threats and pleading with him over something he'd never act upon. Rodney was pathetic carrying on this way. Quentin had had his life pulled out from under him from the start, expected to cope just fine, with Rodney's role barely changing. But Rodney broke down because little by little his life was being reclaimed from him and acted as if it was the cruelest thing in the world for Quentin to do to him.

Right this second he just about hated Rodney for that. For getting everything and not realising; no appreciation for how good he had it.

Rodney wanted what he had, mistaking what exactly that was, and he'd get it by the bucket load. And so Quentin taunted him, stepping up to meet Rodney's stare, only an inch between their faces; with an anger mirrored identically, but unlike Rodney, enjoying the temporary spreading of the angst.

He sneered at Rodney's defiant expression and said, "Oh but I will, just watch me."
At that the room exploded with them both talking at same time, a chorus of mocking and angry frustrated cries broken by the final scream of one of them.

"Because I love her, that's why!"

The surprise was evident, one that he'd said it in his hurt and the other blatantly happy that he'd caused that.
Neither noticed the shadow of a person at the door, who'd heard enough but not enough to know the truth.

The pier was cold at night, the winds sweeping across with little to break them.
The sea spray stung his eyes but he didn't let himself cry because he didn't work that way.

He fingered the gun in his hands, setting it down in his palm and trying to figure out what happened now.

For a short time he'd once again believed Elizabeth, that she hadn't turned against him, but Quentin had managed somehow to remedy that.
He'd seen it coming and done nothing, zero, nada – just stood by watching like he had with the balcony.
If anyone had failed it was him. Something he kept on doing lately.

He'd wanted to forget the argument – bury himself in work but then he'd remembered another thing he'd wanted to erase from history. The name on the report at the bottom of the stack, that had fluttered down as he shifted them to take them to the privacy of his quarters.
The project had been reassigned by now but there was the name scratched out the same as the person. Brendan Gaul – with a line through.
Brendan who'd given everything so he and Sheppard could live – because he'd thought they were the answer, the saviours of Atlantis who were to be kept alive at all costs.
But the list of those he'd failed went on and on; Abrams, Wagner, Johnson, Dumais, Hayes, Peterson...

What good had he done any of them, saving the day but always a minute too late. Time enough to rescue himself and his friends but not them. When he'd said he didn't care why he survived, that wasn't true anymore. What was it about him that meant he was always spared?

Why did he, the self-proclaimed ass hole that he was, deserve to get off scot free?
Or was this what this was?
Quentin was determined to torture him and maybe that was a twisted type of payback for all of it.

His world was crumbling, the foundations chipped at until the whole thing fell down and there would eventually be nothing left but what Quentin could salvage for himself.

He thought of the words, of the phrase that had been bantered about – a trade off.
How could Quentin say that, likes she was an object to be traded, something to assign to one of them?

He couldn't believe he'd be so insensitive and maybe the point was that Quentin wasn't him. Quentin was different from the moment he was created, atoms moving different directions. He might fool them all but Quentin was even more insensitive than he was, more arrogant and yet they didn't see through him. Rodney just hoped she would.

His thoughts of Quentin earlier came into focus; Quentin had had to change, adapt – that was their difference.

Rodney had been dangling legs off of the side into the water, not worried about if they were bitten off by creatures since he had come out wondering if his life was worth living.

Suddenly he retracted them, the fear clearly still there but laughing wryly at how stupid this was.

The man wasn't quite that vindictive, he hoped, that he'd want him dead but he didn't doubt that Quentin wouldn't lose much sleep if anything were to befall him. It was who could hang on longest, Quentin having the advantage of knowing who he used to be. That he, Rodney, hadn't changed much, except by Quentin's interference.

Now he could only make a guess as to how Quentin thought, but he would bet that Quentin had thought he'd pop his own clogs
That would fit nicely with what Quentin wanted, what Quentin expected him to do – making both their lives less complicated.

He was tougher than this and wouldn't let Brendan have died for nothing.
With that resolution he returned his sidearm to it's holster, glad he'd not been that selfish and stupid, grateful that he'd merely entertained the thought briefly before seeing logic.

And if Quentin couldn't manipulate him so easily that must mean Quentin couldn't know him as he obviously assumed he did. They had both changed, changed very little perhaps but more than enough to be out of sync, out of each's loop, only the major qualities unaffected. He wouldn't let Quentin win, he'd give him a taste of his own medicine and show him two could play that game.

He sighed, realising how much of a relief it was to have the gun safely tucked away, he never liked having to use one. It was a necessary evil, something for survival, he embraced it as a tool to work towards that but nothing more.

He heard footsteps. He had thought at night no one would see him there, which was why he'd chosen the spot. Out of view, by the side – to simply drop off into the ocean quietly without any mess.

It was hard to tell who it was, someone approaching but he had no clue who until she called out questioning, "Rodney?"
He went back to watch the dark horizon.

"Pleased you can tell the difference."
"Of course I can" she said.
He smiled to himself, unhappily amused. Like he trusted that coming from her.

"What are you doing out here?"
She sounded worried.

"Could ask her the same thing." was his droll reply.
She teased him with " I asked you first."
The conversation seemed normal there, slipping into a comfortable zone they'd established eons ago

But it wasn't like that anymore, was it?
"Just thinking" he gave quietly.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked. When there was no answer she sat down next to him, "Me neither."

She touched his shoulder, a firm reassuring grip and his heart swelled with hope as he turned to look into her bright beautiful face. She battled to look at him, squinting against her wind swept hair that whipped up at her eyes.

He tore himself away from the torment. Reminding himself that she'd already made her choice.
There was no mistaking her adoring look into Quentin's eyes and the fact she'd kissed him after that.

"I'm glad you put the gun away, I didn't quite know what to think when I saw you sitting here with it, but I trusted that you do the right thing. You always do."

He didn't look at her; he couldn't. He closed his eyes, wishing for this horrible dream to go away.
She shouldn't have seen it, he should have never even considered it; never come down here, or got the gun out...

He felt her hand touch his shoulder again before her hand brushed past his neck, her hugging him to her side like a reversal of how things had been when they'd sat waiting outside by that grounding station.

She was trying to show she cared perhaps, some sort of friendly affection.
He swallowed his regrets and looked to her, seeing her face laced with worry for him.
Friends was good. If that was all he could have then he'd be happy at it and bear it as well as possible.

"Hungry?" he asked as he started to get up.
She withdrew her arm as she felt him pull away.

It was a blatant excuse to leave the place but she didn't push the issue. Elizabeth had a tendency to know when to leave things alone.
He offered her his hand, helping her up, stomach fluttering nervously at the contact of her as she braced herself against him as she stood.

She smiled at him, not letting go instantly.
"Thank you." she said softly.

He thought it odd she would be the one saying that, as something he should have said to her instead but replied in kind.
"No problem." he said genuinely. "Anyway, to the mess hall." he said, hand outstretched in the general direction, indicating she should go first.

Her eyebrow quirked up as she watched him in his usual demeanor, "Let me guess. MRE's again?"

It was one thing for her to distance herself but it hurt unimaginably to see them together, chummy once more.

Something had changed on that balcony but he'd not know exactly what that would mean.
Though that was a lie; he'd known already but he'd not accepted it entirely.
There had been hope left where he saw now that there shouldn't be.

Quentin watched from the same balcony, seeing Elizabeth leaving the pier with Rodney. In that one encounter she'd shown more affection to Rodney than she ever had for him. She laughed at his jokes and chatted, finding time spent pleasant but she had always held back that little bit and since last night she was nearly neutral to him.

And still Rodney was oblivious, missing the unhappiness behind Elizabeth's eyes as the two left, the sadness at Rodney's apparent disinterest. Each saw the value of their friendship, hopeful for more one day or at least that it was better than nothing – better than what he had as Quentin; Elizabeth lost to him.

A few tears escaped as he stared at the damned spot the two had sat, where Rodney had sat originally on his own. It could have ended today, with just a little pain but Rodney hadn't followed through like he'd expected. He'd been close, like Quentin had surmised from how he had been after the argument, the fragile balance disrupted.

He'd been all too hopeful that that might happen, that Rodney would solve it for both of them but instead they carried on in this odd battle of wits where no one could win.

He knew he could do what Rodney couldn't, in theory but no, he didn't have the guts either. Not while there was a slim possibility life could yet improve.

They pair below disappeared through the door and he allowed himself to stand there for a moment, looking out to the tumultuous ocean. The waves crashed on the decking at places but the metal was durable, almost ever lasting and unaffected.

Their hope destroyed his – he knew there was no way she'd ever love him, not as she knew him -she could only love 'Rodney McKay'.

With that he walked out, disgusted with himself for being weak.