Author: Barkeep
Rating: PG-13 for mild language
Category: general/angst/humor
Pairing: none
Disclaimer: Sadly, not mine.
Spoilers: though Brotherhood although no specifics
Author's Notes: Thanks to Ryp for the kinetics humor and the math. Thanks to Sweens for the nudges in the right direction.
Summary: "Honestly, how long do you think we'll last before our version of "Lost in Space" turns into a "Lord of the Flies" space opera?"
Rodney clenched his jaw in irritation when he heard footsteps behind him on the balcony. What part of, 'I would prefer to be left alone' did the woman not understand?
"What?" He ground out between clenched teeth. When his query was met with only silence he turned expecting to find Elizabeth again but to his surprise, it was John Sheppard. Great, thought Rodney, grimacing, she sent in reinforcements.
Sheppard didn't say anything, he simply joined Rodney at the railing, eyes closed, his face turned toward the evening sun.
Rodney sighed and scrubbed at his eyes tiredly. "Look, if Elizabeth sent you out here to mollycoddle me with more inane reassurances then you're wasting your time."
"She didn't." John said, companionably.
Rodney hated it when John was companionable. It was unnatural. "Well, good. Because I certainly don't need anyone to explain to me the time constraints we're operating under. I am probably more acutely aware than anyone of our proximate demise, thank you."
John raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Fine."
"Fine." Rodney retorted, frowning at the dying sun. "Even if we should miraculously come up with some sort of defense against the Wraith, would you like for me to outline the statistical improbability of our success?" He snorted. "Infinitesimal."
"So, you're saying there's a chance?" John asked, hiding a small smile.
"I'm saying that I'm fairly certain that in two weeks we'll all be either dead or stranded in this galaxy on some backwater planet with no chance of getting back to Earth and an appalling lack of indoor plumbing. Honestly, how long do you think we'll last before our version of "Lost in Space" turns into a "Lord of the Flies" space opera?"
"What's going on with you, McKay? This fatalism isn't like you."
"Are you joking? It's exactly like me. We have met before haven't we?" Rodney gestured expansively, "Dr. Rodney McKay, astrophysicist, intergalactic traveler and all around genius. I'm the guy you want on your side. Unless, of course, you had some absurd notion of actually living out your natural life expectancy."
Silence stretched between them for a long moment.
"It's not your fault." John finally said.
"Don't you think I know that? Of course I know that." Rodney pushed back from the railing and paced tight circles on the small balcony. "It's just chaos theory, cause and effect, something to be studied and analyzed. It's what I do, right? You know, I've been up for the last three days trying to work the problem, looking for solutions."
John studied Rodney as he paced - he certainly looked as if he'd been up for three days. "And?"
Rodney stopped pacing abruptly and returned to Sheppard's side, resting his forearms on the railing. "And I've concluded that I've completely lost my perspective," his mouth quirked down in a bitter frown, "or maybe gained a new one. But for me to do what I need to do… I need to deal with data, with probabilities, with, with… with objects and theories." Rodney let his head drop onto his forearms wearily. "Not with people's lives."
John was still trying to think of how to respond when Rodney's head shot up and he began pacing again. "And while that's an intriguing conundrum, it still doesn't explain what the hell I'm doing out here instead of in my lab trying to pull a miracle out of my ass to save us all from the Wraith ships that will be here in less than two weeks, does it?" he asked.
Without waiting for a response Rodney continued his tirade, hands gesturing emphatically in the air. "And the worst part is, is that even if I do spend the next two weeks in my lab, somehow managing to concentrate without obsessing about our imminent death, I seriously doubt I'm going to come up with an answer that can save our collective asses from three Wraith hive ships. But 'I'm sorry, I couldn't do any better' isn't going to be terribly comforting when you're getting the life sucked out of you by a Wraith, is it?" Rodney practically yelled, poking his finger fiercely in John's chest.
John flinched, a little taken aback. Head titled to the side, he contemplated Rodney for a moment, noting the bags under the other man's bloodshot eyes. "Maybe you should try getting some sleep?" he offered tentatively.
"Sleep? You're kidding me, right? How does the lyric go?" Rodney snapped his fingers wildly for a moment. "Oh right, 'I'll sleep when I'm dead'." He snorted derisively and resumed his place at the railing, looking out over the water. "Great pep talk, Major. Thanks for stopping by, I feel so much better now." He waggled his fingers at John dismissively. "Toodle-oo."
Toodle-oo? "Seriously, McKay, I think you need some sleep."
"Even if I could sleep, don't you think my time would be better spent trying to figure out how to save the city? I know your brain has atrophied during your service in the military but could you just try and focus on the big picture here?"
John bit his tongue and ignored the taunting. "Why can't you sleep?"
"Unlike you, apparently, I've got better things to do."
"Right, like watching the sunset."
Rodney pushed back from the railing and muttered something under his breath that would have made John's old drill instructor blush. With a glare, he shouldered past John and headed for the door.
In two steps, John caught up with him and spun him around, hands gripping Rodney's shoulders roughly as he pushed him against the wall next to the door. "Why can't you sleep?"
"What the hell are you doing?" Rodney's hands came up reflexively and fisted in John's jacket, pushing him away.
John pushed back - hard. "Helping you, you stubborn asshole. Now answer my question."
"Get your hands off of me, Major!"
John matched Rodney shove for shout. "Then tell me why you can't sleep, McKay!"
"Because every time I sleep I get to watch Brendan Gall blow his brains out all over the wall of a Wraith ship!"
John didn't know which of them was more surprised by the outburst. They stood, nose-to-nose, the utter stillness broken only the sound of their harsh breaths.
Rodney looked away first, uncurling his hands and dropping them to his sides. John let go of his shoulders and put his own back to the wall. In silence they both slid down the wall until they were sitting, shoulder to shoulder, hands on their knees.
"There but for the grace of God go I." John said softly.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Ah, excellent! Trot out the platitudes. God, spare me from lapsed Catholics with good intentions."
"Hey, I'm just trying to- wait a minute, how did you know I was Catholic?"
"Oh please, your repressed guilt practically oozes out of you."
"My repressed guilt?" Sheppard asked incredulously. "Oh that's rich coming from an atheist with a martyr complex."
"Well, at least I don't have a messiah complex."
"At least I'm not an egomaniac."
"Sub-literate narcissist."
"Neurotic glutton."
"Puerile grunt."
"Pompous ass."
"Troglodyte."
John bit his tongue on his retort and let his head fall back against the wall. It was refreshing, so he did it a few more times for good measure. Fun as it was to sling insults with Rodney, it wasn't really helping matters. He sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. "Look, if it has to be anyone's fault then it's mine – I woke the Wraith up, if you'll recall."
"And you call me an egomaniac," Rodney snorted. "Not everything is about you, Major."
"And not everything is about you, McKay."
"No, this is about them. In case you haven't noticed, Major, since we first set foot in
Atlantis, the first temporal derivative of the scientist population has been a large negative number. I've lost more scientists than you've lost military; that's got to be some kind of obscene record."
"It's not your fault."
"Isn't it? Someone has to take responsibility, step up to the plate and admit that I'm in way over my head," Rodney answered, a brittle edge to his voice.
"First of all, you're not allowed to make sports metaphors. Secondly, do you think any of us wanted this? Anticipated this? We're all in over our heads and you're doing the best you can – we all are."
"Well, your best hasn't gotten seven of your people killed recently, has it?"
John sighed. "McKay, you did everything you could for them. No one in your position could have done more."
"Are you certain of that, Major? Tell me you don't lie awake at night thinking about it. Because I have – every night going over the different choices I could have made. Choices that could have meant the difference between life and death for Dumais, for Abrams, for Gall…."
Rodney had him there. They both knew that the self-doubt and the helplessness bled through, especially in the odd moments when you least expected it, catching you naked and defenseless. The difference was that John had traveled this road before. McKay hadn't.
Rodney interrupted his thoughts. "You know the old adage that says every time you flip a coin the universe divides itself in two, one for each possible result?"
Sheppard frowned, "That's not really an adage."
"Of course it is. A quantum adage. I've factored in all the decisions we've made, the wrong turns, the timing of events, and at the moment I'm up to about 2x109 universes, which, integrated over all of the deaths in each one, yields about fourteen billion dead scientists. Three hundred million of which are me, incidentally."
"And this is supposed to help you feel better how?"
Rodney regarded Sheppard thoughtfully, a slightly surprised look on his face. "I don't know. I just can't stop… thinking about it.
"McKay, what's done is done, second guessing yourself – it just drives you crazy." Sheppard paused and then asked, "Fourteen billion?"
"Give or take." Rodney answered with a wave of his hand. When Sheppard didn't respond he looked over to find the major giving him the patented Sheppard Eyebrow of Skepticism. Rodney sighed with exasperation. "Hello, geek here. Which is exactly my point. What am I doing here?"
"A pretty good job under difficult circumstances, I'd say," Sheppard answered mildly.
"Look, Major, it's not that I don't appreciate the-"
"No, I don't think you do," Sheppard interrupted, losing his patience. "I think you're missing the point here. Every single person on Atlantis is doing everything in their power to figure out some way to defeat the Wraith. I'm trying to MacGyver a military defense and evacuation with the intergalactic equivalent of a shoestring and a box of Popsicle sticks. The only thing separating you and everyone else on Atlantis right now is the fact that you're the only one with a remote chance of pulling an answer out of your ass!"
"Just to recap, since you apparently weren't listening, I don't think I've got an answer this time," Rodney answered, bitterly.
Sheppard shrugged and bumped their shoulders together companionably. "Then we'll have to evacuate."
"That's not what… it shouldn't end like that. I don't want it end like that."
"Neither do I."
McKay nodded, studying his hands quietly for a moment. "Sometimes after… when I think about Gall…" he stopped and frowned, biting his lip. "I'm grateful that it was him."
"And not you?"
"Not me, not Ford, not Carson, not Teyla, not Elizabeth, not you…" Rodney trailed off. "What does that say about me?"
"I think it says that you're more well-adjusted than I would have ever suspected."
Rodney blew out a frustrated breath. "Yes, but what happens if or, let's not kid ourselves here, when it happens to one of you?"
"I'd prefer to make sure you never find out."
"But it-"
"McKay, trust me, you don't want to go there."
"But what-"
"McKay, let it go."
"But-"
"Rodney," John's voice was gentle this time, almost imploring. "Let it go."
"But if we-"
John just lifted a finger in admonishment and Rodney sighed defeatedly. "Fine, this is me letting go." He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before releasing it, letting his head fall back against the wall. He couldn't help feeling an absurd sense of relief despite himself.
They sat in companionable silence while the last of the sunset faded from the horizon.
After a while John tore his gaze from the emerging stars and asked, "Better?"
Rodney made a little hmming noise of assent as he stared at the night sky.
John nudged him with his shoulder. "Wanna go get some dinner."
Rodney looked at him thoughtfully. "I can do dinner."
"Of course you can." John stood and held out a hand to Rodney, pulling him to his feet.
Rodney hung onto his hand once he was standing and for a horrifying moment John thought the scientist was going to hug him. Instead, he released his hold and patted John's shoulder awkwardly, "Thank you."
John grinned wickedly. "No problem, after all I suppose even sub-literate narcissists have their moments, right?"
Rodney didn't miss a beat, "Yes, yes, look, if you don't mind, you're between a neurotic glutton and his evening meal."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I guess I'm too much of a troglodyte to figure that out," John declared, stepping aside for McKay to use the door.
McKay sniffed disdainfully. "I may have to revise my opinion; I think I've done the troglodytes a grave injustice."
Sheppard followed Rodney inside, "Did I forget to mention the gratingly overblown imperiousness? Because I really shouldn't have left that out."
"Imperious? Please, if you were anymore domineering we'd have to start calling you Napoleon."
"Funny, McKay, very funny," John smirked.
"You know my aunt had a dog named Napoleon; he was a terrier. Stubborn little thing. You remind me a little of him, actually. Anyway I remember this time when we went to visit her and…"
With ease borne of experience John tuned Rodney out as they ambled companionably through the halls of the city.