- His body may be chained to the earth,

but so long as a man has an educated imagination

he will fly to worlds unseen by common men.

The only true freedom is freedom of the mind.-

PRELUDE

The multi-storied complex was eerily empty. Mugs of cold coffee and the odd stale donut sat on desks that had been emptied of any files beside computers that had been emptied of any information. The backs of the PC's were simply unscrewed and the hard drives melted with acid. Yet nothing had been wiped for prints. One mug even had a lipstick imprint left on it. In almost every room the lights were on, but nobody was home. They'd come upon lab after lab in the same state. One room had cages of mice lining the walls. In their entire CIA careers nobody on the team had seen anything like it. It was damned unsettling.

The team of ten moved silently through the corridors with weapons at ready.

"Hey, look at this," an agent indicated through the door he'd just opened. The room was kitted out like a boys bedroom. A boy interested in space, from the looks of it. Posters of planets hung on the walls, a planet mobile hung above the bed, and the ceiling was painted like a night sky. It was completely out of place in the vast facility of labs. The key pad on the outside of the door showed that it locked from the outside.

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"Yes, yes. We've been over that. He was abducted and experimented on by the organization you were double dealing with. The CIA found him, he got away, the CIA found him again. Let's skip forward, shall we?" The interruption was met with an offended scowl from the elderly former double agent. If his interrogator noticed the offence he certainly didn't care. The balding bureaucrat, Richard Woolsey, polished his glasses and regarded the retired, technically imprisoned, agent with infuriating condescension. "Need I remind you your continued comfort depends on your full and forthright ongoing cooperation."

Woolsey stressed the word ongoing even as his eyes shifted around the abode with an air of obvious disapproval. For all his crimes the prison which the aged double agent found him in bore greater resemblance to an underground retirement home, complete with around the clock nursing care, an indoor garden with deck chairs which they sat in now, a bar, a wide screen TV. The list could go on. Anders doubted he would receive any visitors at all if the Pentagon wasn't determined to profile a more complete history of Dr. McKay since his deceptions were outed.

"Yes of course," the elderly man agreed with a forced complacent smile.

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It had only been ten months since the boy criminal genius had been recovered from his hideout in Disney World, of all places. Special Agent Henry Fox had been quick to volunteer to look out for the boy. His request had been granted because he seemed to be the only agent able to even remotely handle Rodney McKay. Being the agent on the scene to recover him twice, first from the facility and then from the theme park, and being one who worked briefly with him before his abduction, seemed to have afforded him a small amount of trust; a very small amount. Since then Henry would swear that a good deal more of his grey hairs had gone white.

To say that the boy was troubled would be an understatement. The kid obviously had nightmares but wouldn't talk to anyone about it. He ran circles around his therapists, lying to them with ease and managing to convince one that it was she who had multiple neurosis. And if Henry left him under the watchful eye of any other agent Rodney ignored instructions and seemed to take great pleasure in giving them the slip. At first they would close in on him at airports, bus stations, train stations, or hitchhiking on the freeway. But lately he seemed to have given up on that idea. Today Henry had left him under the supervision of a full CIA surveillance team for just a few hours. When he'd left Rodney had seemed to be working pretty contentedly on some new gadget that Anders had assigned him. David Anders was the sour faced, grumpy SOB agent whom had somehow also been assigned to work with the boy as a go between on pretty much all projects. Anders would communicate and supervise any assignments the boy was given, and report the results to whatever departments made the request. The plan was to keep a buffer around their boy genius to protect his identity from other departments. Which pretty much just left Henry as a glorified babysitter. Not that that wasn't a full time job. Because it was.

When Henry got back the gadget was finished, along with a report Anders had requested for next week, a detailed design for a piece of new field tech that Henry was pretty sure nobody asked him for and a working model sitting right there on the desk top sending out a signal that had the surveillance teams live video feed on loop. Rodney was nowhere to be seen. And so, once again, Henry found himself driving around the city, directing three teams to hunt down one boy before he could cause too much damage or get himself into trouble, while arguing with Agent David Anders.

Henry gripped the wheel and narrowed his eyes, "I am telling you we are pushing him too hard."

"You mean we're not pushing him hard enough." Anders countered bitterly, "He's been playing us for idiots for a year now. A full CIA team has been proven incapable of keeping track of a 12 year old! If after doing all that work and more he's not too tired to run away then we need to tire him out more."

"He's almost 16." Henry corrected, not for the first time.

"Whatever." Anders dismissed. "The point is that's eight times now. He's shown zero gratitude for the fact that he's not in prison."

"So he's high strung." Henry deliberately ignored the prison comment. He and Anders had argued enough about that.

"He's a terrorist. " Anders insisted. Apparently they were going to have that argument again anyway. "And you mark my words, that boy is faking us out with that whole memory loss thing."

"He's just a kid." Henry insisted with greater force.

"He's a menace. Let's just find him before he does something that can't be contained." Anders volleyed back.

"Whatever," Henry turned the wheel and rounded into the city park that CTTV had caught Rodney entering. "My point is that he clearly doesn't belong with us. He should be with a family."

"Well he clearly doesn't belong with the public either," the animosity in Anders tone had been replaced with dread and aw.

All around the park fountain children giggled as they hovered slightly above the ground in giant bubbles. Now and then a bubble popped and a child would run back into the fountain and float out with a new one. On top of the pillar at the center of the fountain sat a soaking wet Rodney McKay, like a king on his throne, laughing at the entire spectacle. The two men sat in silence until a poodle floated past their window.

Then Anders spotted a reporter taking pictures and shot out of the car to confiscate the camera, but not before barking back at Henry, "Get him under control."

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The boy was sixteen, Henry had to remind himself as he sat across from the sulky teenager. Even after almost a year of good meals and top medical care he looked too young for his age. The all black wardrobe he'd chosen for himself did nothing to make him look healthier. His hair was still sodden and his skin slightly pink from the repeated showers. Whatever compound he had put in the water, the boys were calling it supersoap, he had also been covered in. Naturally they took him to be hosed off in the mens room. But the more water they added the more suds they created, until the entire room was quickly filled with suds, then the hall. Few people could manage to look Rodney McKay in the eye and put any blame on him so naturally the glares turned to Henry. Rodney didn't say anything but the amusement in his eyes was obvious as he watched six agents with buckets struggle to keep the suds away from any computer equipment or paper files.

Now Rodney sat across from Henry in a debriefing room, with several heads of department and a psychologist watching from behind a glass mirror. It wasn't the ideal location for a heart to heart, but Henry had long since realized that Rodney was viewed and treated more as an intelligence asset than a child.

Henry sighed, "What was that all about?" He remembered how Rodney had climbed down from the fountain and gotten into the car without argument. He'd even waved at a couple of familiar agents on the clean-up crew as they set up barriers, popped bubbles, and bagged any stray camera's they came across.

Sullen, intelligent eyes blinked silently up at him. Before the kidnapping this boy had been near impossible to shut up. Now he barely said two words to anyone on even his good days.

When Henry didn't get an answer he ran his fingers through his rumpled hair and sighed again, "You're not even trying to run away anymore. It's like you just want to make trouble. And, you know, I don't get it. Why? Are you just bored?"

He looked at Rodney for a reaction, any reaction at all, and received none. "I can't help you if you don't talk."

Rodney's only response was to turn his head and glower at the two way mirror.

Of course they hadn't expected a two way mirror to fool him, they'd just expected him to be used to constant surveillance by now. Then it hit him. That was it. "Obviously, we're not alone. There's people behind that glass watching you right now and you can't see them."

The tensing of Rodney's shoulders and the tight crossing of his arms was confirmation that Henry's hunch was right, "That's what you hate. Isn't it?"

Rodney turned back away from the window and slouched miserably, "They're always there. I mean, not them specifically. Obviously. But someone always is. When I sleep, when I eat. Someone stands outside the door when I go to the bathroom. I'm constantly monitored, recorded, studied…" The sixteen year old grimaced in particular at the last word.

Henry was speechless for a moment. Not only was that the most sentences Rodney had strung together in a row since being recovered, it was the first time he'd hinted at remembering anything about the time he was taken.

"I wish they would just back off a little," Rodney finally confessed. "Give me a break now and then?"

"Well," Henry swallowed, now desperately worried that a wrong word could send the boy back into his shell, "I think that's certainly a reasonable request. I'll see what I can do."

The phone on the wall rang and Henry silently cursed it. "Excuse me just a moment," he could guess what it was about so he ignored the ringing phone and walked straight into the next room instead.

Anders huffed irritably and hung up the phone before whispering, "You can't seriously be wasting this opportunity. He mentioned being studied. He's obviously referring to his time at the facility."

"He might be," Henry hissed back, "and IF he is he will talk to me more about it when he is ready. This is the most he's spoken in almost a year and with all due respect sirs," he referred to the others in the little room, "I will not put that progress in jeopardy."

"I agree with Mr. Fox," the psychologist piped in, "Pushing at this point will only cause him to shut down again."

"You can't possibly know that," Anders protested but a sharp look from his superiors cut him short.

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The elder David Anders took a long drink from a glass of lemonade before continuing his monologue, "Henry, the soft hearted fool, didn't realize he was being played of course. They were all being played. Before Phoenix that boy was speaking multiple languages. He learned them with ease. He was brilliant with every piece of science he every touched, not just physics, math and computers. They wanted to believe he just magically forgot it all along with all his experiences? The psychologist suggested brain damage or post traumatic repression. Which he played up by just keeping quiet and refusing to say anything most of the time. If an adult had tried that during an interrogation you can bet we would have made him talk but he just got away with it. Take it from me, he remembered alright. "

Mr. Woolsey frowned grimly at his relaxed interviewee and his surroundings. By agreeing to cooperate fully with the investigations Mr Anders had bargained himself into a comfortable underground safe house, under guard around the clock and waited on hand and foot. This they called a prison. "I take it Mr Fox thought he should be placed with a family?"

"That's right", Anders set his glass down and eased back into his rocking chair. "He never said it but most people though he wanted to take the boy home himself."

"And the eight or more times that he tried to run away didn't indicate to you that he didn't want to work for the CIA?" Woolsey stated flatly, but a hint of accusation was still there in his eyes.

Anders sighed, "As I said, he was just acting out because he could get away with it. He didn't want to be placed with a family, it was whenever it looked like we were seriously considering it that we dragged him back from an airport or some such. He wanted the one thing we were never going to give him, total independence to run amok and pull god knows what frauds on an unsuspecting and unprepared public. At any rate it wasn't my decision. I think I've been clear that I'd prefer he be killed before he could do any more harm. He was out of control. No, the orders to keep him safe and working for the government came from higher up."

The dramatic pause lengthened until it became apparent to Woolsey that he would have to ask, "From who?"

Anders smirked, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I find out where the orders were coming from myself until much later in the game and I had a hard time believing it."

Woolsey leaned forward in his chair, "Try me."

"Dr William Black," Anders watched and waited for a reaction.

For the first time in all of their interviews Richard Woolsey actually laughed, "You're right. I don't believe you." He jotted down a quick note before moving onto his next question, "It was then that he was moved into his own apartment?"

"Dr Black keeps the custody papers that the McKay's signed in his home vault. Check for yourself and see what he has to say about it." Anders regarded Woolsey and sighed when it was clear that line of questioning would not be pursued today, "But yes. We put gave him his own place, he calmed down more then. Stopped running away for a while."

"Yes," Woolsey made a show of flipping back through his notes, "Until he was eighteen, when he apparently gave you and Mr Fox the slip in order to sneak himself into a field operation. Bored again, I suppose?"

The memory was welcomed with a sneer, "The Nobel Prize Ball. We had information that it was being used as an exchange point for some highly sensitive information. We had reliable intelligence pointing to it being planted on a mule without their knowledge."

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A husky voice sounded out of Rodney's ear piece, "Boy Wonder, this is Old Oak do you copy?"

Rodney rolled his eyes and looked at the three walls and curtain in the back of the supposedly inconspicuous black van he was stuck in the back of while the 'real spies' went to the party. Literally. "I really hate that codename. And what's the point, anyway? I mean if the bad guys really are listening in won't cheesy codenames kind of give them a clue that there are other secret agents in the building besides themselves? Wouldn't it be better to develop a code language that makes it sound like they've tuned into a soap opera or a regular telephone call or something?"

"No complaining", Oak snapped out of Rodney's ear piece , "You aren't even supposed to be here."

Rodney grumbled incoherently then turned his attention to a small bleep from one the monitors displaying the second agents line of sight. Bingo. "Wrinkled Oak or whatever, look over to your right 19.352 degrees."

"I still cannot believe you followed us here." The agent complained even as he complied.

"What's the big deal? I'm staying in the van," Rodney argued, "Can you blame me for wanting to see my stuff in action just once? Besides, you gotta admit these prototypes I brought are pretty cool. You've turned your head too far."

"This is Black Ops!" The agent persisted in the futile argument, "In and out without being seen. If we are caught we are disavowed. You should NOT be here."

"What's done is done," the more sensible agent, codenamed Willow, interrupted, "Can we focus on the mission please? The worlds top minds are in this room and one of them is being used as a mule without their knowledge."

"Not including the top mind stuck in this inconspicuous black spy van outside you mean," Rodney sulked.

"Are you kidding me?!" Oak spat out, "Is THAT why you followed us here?!"

"You complain and you complain and yet you know you'd be lost without me," Rodney practically sang back before dutifully focusing his attention back on the mission. "Oak, you've gone way too far to the right. Look between the punch table and that girl in the red dress with long blonde hair, kinda cute. No don't look at her, look between her and the punch table. There." The monitor bleeped again and Rodney keyed in the confirmation for his newest program to do its job. "Scanning… Yeah, he's had some surgery but that's him for sure, Igor Barasoff. Can you believe his name is Igor?"

"You're sure?" The brainless one demanded, for that was how Rodney had now definitely decided to think of him.

"You doubt my facial recognition software?" Rodney huffed into the radio, "How can you not spot him anyway, the guy like oozes creepy hired goon. Go silent and get closer and I'll see if I can hack us into his digital frequency."

"You can do that now?" The other agent, Willow, asked in surprise.

"Since like last week!" Rodney hissed, "You people really don't read any of the tech briefs I send you, do you?!"

"You mean those War and Peace length books that keep piling up on our desks?" Old Oak hissed back right back at him, "The thing about briefs is they're supposed to be brief, genius."

"What do you want?" Rodney spat back sarcastically, "the Cat in the Hat version?

"Gentlemen", the usually patient woman snapped and enunciated, "Can we focus please?"

"Fine! Going silent…"

Rodney watched on his monitors as Oak wandered inconspicuously past the bad guy as though on his way to the punch table. He paused right next to him for a few minutes, seemingly to flirt with the woman in the red dress. Rodney willed himself to look away from the monitor and focus on his task. He was listening in on Channel Villain in no time. They were speaking in Russian, big surprise. Spy work really was cliché.

"We're in." Rodney announced as soon as Oak was at a safe distance and off radio silence, "Or rather, I am. And I've got to say their code names are way cooler than ours."

"Learning anything helpful?" Oak sang in an overly patient tone.

"Yeah", Rodney answered obliviously, too focused now on what he was hearing and on studying his monitors to pick a fight, "whoever he's looking at right now is the mark. His signal is going out to five other people in the building plus a vehicle parked about a block from here. Hey, are our teams always so much smaller than theirs?"

Oak ignored the question and dutifully followed the Russian agents line of sight. The truth was the rest of their team was dead and the youth's unplanned arrival had been a godsend. Given the nature of the information they were tracking scrapping the mission had not been an option, neither was failure. Even so, if he did or said anything to encourage the youths actions he was pretty damn sure Henry would kill him. "He would never look directly at his mark while talking about him. But it's good to know he's found what he's looking for. I'll stay on him."

"We'll stay on him." Willow corrected in a hushed voice while holding up her champagne glass to hide the movement of her lips. "Who is that small party of delegates leaving the room?"

With one glance at her monitor Rodney was able to answer. He'd taken the liberty of committing the entire guest list to memory. "That was Dr Weir. He's a high level diplomat and expert negotiator. The people he just left with are the leaders of a couple of countries that don't get along. Big surprise there. They were both coming to the ceremony anyhow so he's arranged a negotiation. That's not uncommon at events like these. The probability that he's the mole is very low."

"Our man is on the move," Oak reported.

"I see," Willow confirmed from the other side of the ball room. "He's heading in the same direction as Dr Weir."

"That would be the conference wing. A map of the building has already been loaded into your watches I'm launching a program to update them with his real time location every 10 seconds…now." Rodney typed furiously as he spoke.

Oak couldn't help but sound impressed now, "You'll have to show me which tech report that's in later."

The two agents checked their watches and sure enough a map like a Pacman screen had replaced the time and a highly unsubtle skull and crossbones moved through the digital halls. Two stationary blinking squares were also prominent. Nice.

"Where are the other four counteragents?" Willow asked, even as she strolled casually towards one of the three halls that could lead to the conference wing. This one happened to have a conference wing.

"You guys want the world on a stick! Don't you?!" Rodney griped at the lack of recognition, "You two are the stationary dots. You haven't been close enough to the others for me to pinpoint their signals. Sorry."

"It will have to do," Oak stated, pleased for the opportunity to sound less impressed. He mustn't encourage the runaway teen.

After about ten minutes they'd tracked their villain to a conference room on the far end of the building and taken up position in a room across the hall.

"Okay," Rodney brought up the video feed of Igor's room, "He's in there alone, the halls are empty...well this is anticlimactic."

"Patience," Willow admonished.

"He's going the phone! It's an internal call…to Dr Weir's conference room!" Rodney moved over to his switch board, pulled a wire and flipped a switch, "I'm patching the feed into our earpieces."

"Dr Weir," a cliché accent in a deep, over enunciated voice sounded out, "Unless you cooperate fully your daughter is about to be assassinated. My men are in the Ball Room observing her as we speak. Bring your Ambassador Velsnik to conference room three without hesitation."

Rodney flipped the switch back and replaced the wire, "Did you get that? Velsnik had dental work done last month. I bet they've planted a chip in his false tooth. That is so old school."

"Yes, we got it." Oak confirmed.

"I'm heading back to the conference room now," Willow announced tightly. Rodney could see her walking briskly towards the door.

He shook his head, even though neither of them could see him. He'd already stripped out of his pocketed vest and tool belt and down to his basic black trousers and shirt, and opened the back door of the van. "I'm already on my way."

"What?" Both agents barked out at once, "Wait." "No you don't" "Stay".

The van door closed and secured, Rodney pocketed the keys and smirked as he jogged up the parking lot of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences. "I can't hear you!" Rodney sang back at the protesting agents, "Breaking up. Oh well." Rodney imagined that the snow crunching under his shoes might sound like static. Without missing a step he lifted a black suit jacket out of the back of a Ferrari where a couple were too busy making out to notice. He even took half a second use their mirror in an awkward attempt to tidy his mass of floppy curls. He finally looked his age, but he thought his face was too thin and his eyes too large. On his way up the steps he bumped into another guest and apologized sincerely as he pocketed their invitation, all the while ignoring the plaintive requests, coming through his earpiece, that he get back into the van.

"He's ignoring us," Oak stated obviously, "This is why we should never ever recruit teenagers."

Hurrying to the door he suddenly realized that the guys at the door were likely matching faces to invitations and he had to get through before the guy he lifted it off of realized it was gone, which would not be long. Then he saw it, his real ticket in. "Holy cow, you're Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar!"

Rodney bounded straight up to one of the most highly honored guests and started walking in alongside him.

"Hello young man," the scientist looked down in mild surprise. His fans were usually a fair bit older, and tamer.

"Your quantum theory of the negative ion of hydrogen was awesome, way ahead of its time." Rodney gushed.

The scientists eyebrows shot up at this, "They're teaching that in schools these days!?"

"My, uh, Dad explained it to me. He's already inside, he just sent me out to pick up his notepad from the car. He's always noting down new theories and usually doesn't go anywhere without it." Rodney was sure say that loudly enough for the doormen to hear, and sure enough he passed right through with a quick wave of the invitation. They'd barely even looked at it. "I have some thoughts on your black hole mathematics though. Maybe I can run it past you later?"

"Uh, of course," the scientist stammered out even as the young man hurried off. "Huh," he thought out loud, "Must be older than he looks."

"Ok, you had your fun." Oaks voice buzzed irritatingly in his ear, "Now go back to the van… Are you listening to me?"

Rodney checked his watch. The entire infiltration had taken two and a half minutes. Not bad. He wasted no time in heading to the back of the ball room, where he'd already pinpointed Dr Weir's daughter, Elizabeth, on the video feed. Sure enough she was standing where she'd been all night playing the perfect wall flower in her royal blue gown. She was dazzling with her short hair pinned up, her eyes shining, and her complete oblivion to the overdressed thugs closing in on her on either side.

"Elizabeth!" Rodney gasped breathlessly as he reached her, "Um er, I mean Miss Weir."

"You are NOT in the ball room." Agent Oak stated stupidly. Obviously he was in the ball room.

"Hello," Elizabeth furrowed her brows, uncertain of this strange boy who had suddenly thrust himself out of the crowd at her.

Rodney worked his mouth for a moment, his voice catching as he suddenly realized he'd never actually spoken to a girl before. Certainly not like this at least. Then he spotted the two villains, who had paused in surprise at his sudden appearance, now with greater determination and speed. "Dance with me," it came out as more of a blurt than a polite invitation but it would do.

"This is unbelievable." Agent Oak exclaimed into his ear. "If you survive I'm going to kill you."

But it really wasn't registering with Rodney who was busy dealing with the combined adrenaline rush of thugs closing in on two sides, and the most heart stopping smile he'd ever encountered face to face.

"I don't even know your name." Elizabeth answered coyly. The boys clumsy request was so furtive it was cute.

"Miss Weir. Your father is asking after you." One of the thugs said simply as soon as he approached earshot, and held out an expectant hand.

Elizabeth looked that the stranger doubtfully, "In the middle of his negotiation?"

She didn't have time to hear the answer as Rodney grabbed her hand and tugged her into the crowd, "My name's Rodney."

Elizabeth knew she should probably be more offended than curious, but something about this boy made her the opposite. So she followed. "That was very rude, you know."

"Do you know that guy?" Rodney asked bluntly.

"No." Elizabeth answered honestly.

Rodney weaved her through the crowd, tugging her towards the center of the room, "Then you shouldn't be talking to him."

"I don't know you either though," Elizabeth pointed out quite accurately.

"I told you my name," Rodney answered pedantically. He quickly took in the position and dance steps of three of the nearest couples. One hand on her waist, the other on her shoulder, and step... The mathematical sequences and progressions were simple enough to follow. He guided her in a circle to get a view of the surrounding room. There was an enemy agent at three walls, watching in frustration. There was no way they could get at her while she was in such a prominent position in the room. Of course, that still left Rodney totally surrounded and at a loss of what to do.

"You should loosen up," Elizabeth said out of the blue. "Your shoulders are tense."

"U-uh," Rodney stuttered, "Sorry."

Elizabeth furrowed her brows again. This boys mood seemed to switch from overconfident and brash to nervous and stuttering fast and often. Now that he had her here he was also spending more time looking at the rest of the room than at her. "Maybe we should move back to the side of the room." Elizabeth suggested. He seemed to be more confident there.

Rodney looked at all sides again, where he now saw only two of three agents waiting with menacing patience. He had to think of something to keep her there. "Are you nervous out here? I would have thought a pretty girl like you would be used to being the centre of attention."

"Um, thank you," It was Elizabeth's turn to stutter. In truth, high political players were usually the center of attention at the events she attended with her father.

Rodney smiled broadly at her, pleased about having apparently said the right thing with barely any time to think it through.

"That's good," Willow admonished breathlessly, "Keep her in the crowds. I'm almost there."

"Where's my daughter?" the desperate question rung in Rodney's earpiece.

"I've secured the diplomat," Agent Oak explained then consoled Dr Weir, "She is safe and with one of our agents in the ballroom."

It was then that the fire alarm went off.

"This is not good," Rodney pronounced as he watched the guests flood out of the front doors in an orderly manner while the would-be abductors pushed their way in towards their target.

Elizabeth sighed. She'd actually been having fun for once. "I know it's usually false alarms but we'd better go out with everyone else."

"Keep her in that room. Stay contained. Do not go out that door." Oak barked with stern desperation.

"I need you to trust me," Rodney blurted at her seemingly out of nowhere with a furtive urgency.

Elizabeth blinked, not knowing how to take that, "What why? Why?"

Her brow did that cute furrow again and Rodney felt his heart skip, coupled with the stress of the thugs rounding in on them he would forever remember it as his first small heart attack. Rodney cleared his throat and squeaked out, "Because those guys are trying to kidnap you."

She turned her head around, looked straight at one of the guys closing in and the cloud of oblivion finally lifted, "Oh my god."

The three thugs were now the only ones left in the room as the doors closed, and Rodney was willing to bet that the doormen he'd passed were in on it. "Run!" Rodney barked and darted straight for one of the guys. This was definitely not in his plan. He really hoped the agent codenamed Willow really was there within the next minute. He pushed her past himself and towards the thug that had taken up a football tacklers stance, ready to grab her. Rodney made a spider man hand and aimed his wrist straight at the thugs face. A fluid spat out of his sleeve and straight into the guys face; his own special concentrated pepper spray, never before field tested. The thug screamed and covered his eyes just in time for Elizabeth to duck past him. "Keep running for the punch table," he called after her.

She reached the punch table before realizing that Rodney hadn't followed, and turned in time to see him tackled to the ground and being strangled. The remaining thug still marched towards her as she screamed at the one on Rodney, "Get off of him!"

A look of surprise was shared between she and the thug approaching her when the one on Rodney immediately released his grip and tipped to one side leaving Rodney to rasp and scramble towards Elizabeth. Rodney quickly stood and repocketed an unassuming pen.

The remaining thug gritted his teeth in frustration and charged towards them with renewed determination.

"Under the table!" Rodney rasped painfully and tugged her down and under with him. Together they tipped the table over, sending a flood of punch and broken under the thug.

From the cover of the table they could hear the thug cursing as he slipped and fell heavily. Rodney peeked over the table, hardly believing that it had worked. Just as the thug braced his hand in the still flowing puddle to stand up, Rodney stood and aimed his other wrist at the puddle. He pressed a button under his shirt sleeved and a tazer wire shot out. The thug tensed and his eyes bulged as he shook uncontrollably.

"Enough!" A russian accent, thickened by anger, roared at Rodney. The click of a gun being cocked echoed loudly in the empty ball room. "How old are you boy? Who hires a child to do a mans work? Answer me!"

Rodney froze, his breath caught in his swollen throat. He had no idea where this guy had come from but he did know that he was well beyond over his head. It was then that one of the hall doors clattered open and the final thug was distracted by a single gunshot wound to the head.

The woman agent, Willow, jogged towards him, her long black hair damp with sweat, "Are either of you hurt?"

"I think I'm ok." Elizabeth squeaked in shock, still to shaken from the entire ordeal to stand.

"Me," Rodney was going to say him too but the first word cracked and his voice disappeared on the second word.

"The one that looks like he's sleeping strangled him," Elizabeth explained weakly.

Willow pulled aside Rodney's collar and grimaced, "Don't speak."

Oak stormed through another set of doors, followed closely by Ambassadors Weir and Velsnik. The two Ambassadors paused to take in the devastation, but Oak charged straight for Rodney. The irate agents complexion had actually achieved a state of red that was brighter than his flaming hair and goatee, "Stay in the van! Stay in the VAN! STAY IN THE VAN! Which part of that is not clear!?"

Rodney gulped and smirked nervously down at Elizabeth, who had yet to peek out from behind the table, "I'm supposed to stay in the van," he explained hoarsely.

"So I gather," Elizabeth replied shakily, grateful for the light humor to diffuse her nerves.

"Lizzie?!" Ambassador Weir called out in desperation when he didn't immediately see his daughter.

"I'm here," Elizabeth waved her hand and braced herself to stand but soon found it impossible under the weight of her father hugging her, "Dad, I'm ok... Really… I'd like to stand up now please."

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"Wait a minute! Hold on," a dumbfounded, slack jawed look hung on the face of the bureaucrat, "You mean to tell me that Dr Rodney McKay and Dr Elizabeth Weir actually met long before the Stargate Program even existed? That's amazing! What are the odds?"

It was Anders turn to throw a look of condescension, " Not as low as you'd think. This planets population may be enormous but the circle of influence is small. Global intelligence agencies tend influence this circle and in turn be influenced by it. The CIA is certainly no exception. The miracle is that he failed to encounter anyone of influence who would identify him and bare him ill will. Why do you think we were so adamant about keeping him out of sight? Henry was furious."

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"I thought I did pretty good for my first time out." Rodney's voice was no louder than a mutter, his throat too sore to be any louder. His facial expression spoke volumes, though, as he glowered in distaste at the all too familiar two-way mirrored debriefing room, with disrespect at anyone standing behind the two way mirror, with rage at the entire situation.

"First?!" Henry leaned forward and jabbed the table with his index finger, "That was the LAST time you go out on assignment."

Rodney leaned straight back, making a show of how not intimidated he was, "What else are you going to do, keep me locked away in the basement of Langley for the rest of my life?! Or is that just when I'm not holed up in that apartment up the street from the Pentagon surrounded by all those fake freak neighbors?"

The enraged youth swallowed painfully after the short monologue and Henry shoved a frozen fruit juice and notepad towards him, "Don't talk, write."

Henry paused while Rodney took a drink and then returned to glowering at his handler, "You're not a field agent. You're a Science and Technology Asset." Oh that deepened the glower. Henry narrowed his eyes firmly in return, "That means you know what our best technology is, hell you develop it! You're the guy we call when we need something hacked or decoded. The bad guys aren't supposed to know who's hacking their systems and cracking their codes. It puts you at risk. It puts us at risk."

"You'd rather I'd let her die?!" Rodney spat out in a hoarse whisper.

Henry stood in frustration and made a futile gesture at the notepad and pen that Rodney was supposed to be using for this discussion, "I'd rather your face remain off public record. I'd rather you had never been out there in SWEDEN in the first place. How did you even get there?"

"The clean up crew wiped the camera's," Rodney evaded.

Two fists were planted hard on the table in front of Rodney, and Henry had a small measure of satisfaction when the stubborn youth jumped in his seat, "Those agents you helped take down were wired for sound and video. You think they didn't have a tech van backing them up, someone receiving those signals."

Rodney looked away, "You're over-reacting."

"You put yourself at risk," Henry countered.

Rodney sighed and looked plaintively up at his handler, "I can't hide forever."

Dammit. Henry hated that look, and the fact it was working on him forced him to look away and grit his teeth. He paced to make it look like he was just angrier, "Hey, if you want to go out and see a movie I'll arrange it. Hell, if you want to go to the mall I'll issue you a credit card and security detail you won't even notice. But you do not put yourself into the line of fire or even into line of sight on a mission or any situation that will connect you with the CIA."

"Yeah right," Rodney dripped all the sarcasm he could muster with his damaged voice, " I'll call up my friends and we'll all go clubbing."

Ouch. He could not even pretend to stay angry at that. Henry sighed in defeat and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. He hadn't slept from the moment Rodney had given them the slip again to the moment his helicopter had landed on Langley.

"Face it," Rodney persisted, sensing his weakness. "This work is all I have and the only way I'm going to get out and see anything is on Field ops."

"No, that's not true." Henry stated firmly but with none of his previous anger, "You have options and the only way you keep those options open is by protecting your identity."

The young would-be agents only response was to shoot his handler a disbelieving look, the two way mirror a distrustful look, and proceed to slouch sullenly in his chair and shut out the world. Henry hated it when he got like that. It could last for weeks at a time.

He slid back into the chair across from Rodney and tried to slide back into his line of sight, "It is not my goal to make you miserable. You know that. But you are not and will not ever be a field agent. This stunt absolutely cannot precipitate a pattern."

If this event was going to become a habit Henry swore he was going to have a nervous breakdown and wind up a dribbling shell of a man. Rodney's total lack of response was not encouraging. If he'd learned anything from 'handling' Rodney McKay it was that unless you came to some mutual understanding he would do whatever the hell he wanted and nobody would be able to stop him. Henry shook his head and rolled his eyes to the heavens as though seeking some divine inspiration, "I don't know Rodney. I don't know what you need. Help me out here. Help me to help you."

He was met with silence. It was time to bring out the big gun, "I didn't want to have to do this, Rodney, but here." Henry took a the folder he'd set on the corner of the table and set it directly in front of Rodney, "Go on. Take a look."

The youth narrowed his eyes suspiciously and lifted the cover of the folder. The contents were met with a grimace and he dropped the folder closed before redirecting a sardonic look on Henry, "What, is that supposed to scare me? Like those anti-smoking, anti-drinking, anti-drug, anti-sex, anti-living video's you made me watch?"

"Yes, Rodney, it's supposed to scare you," Henry answered with total honesty. "Those are pictures of the rest of the seven man team you crashed in Stockholm. They were killed before you got there, that's why only two agents actually made it to the Dec 10th Nobel Prize Celebration."

The revelation was met with stunned silence rather than sullen silence. Henry reached across the table, opened the folder, and spread the pictures across the table as he spoke. "These two were supposed to take the place of the doormen but the other side beat them to it. The team tech man was unlucky enough to be with them at the time. This one was supposed to remain in the van as support to the tech man and this one was supposed stay in the ball room."

It was Rodney's turn to get up from the table and pace away, "So my choices are go out and die or never live?!"

"No, Rodney. I am trying to tell you that you have other options!" Henry stood gestured at the table as he rounded on Rodney with fervency, "That is not life. Fieldwork is not life. Life is, is…"

Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a heavy knock on the briefing room door. Henry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before turning to open the door and snapping an angry, "What?!" into the hall.

"I thought you should see this sir," a calm voice answered simply and set a folder into Henry's hands.

Henry raised his eyebrows and quickly scanned the document before offering a tame thank you and closing the door. He stood there, flipping through the document for a minute more before turning his attention back to Rodney. "Sit down Rodney."

The document received a suspicious frown but Rodney complied.

Henry took another few moments to regard Rodney before speaking, "You know what I think. I think you're acting out because the one thing you want to do you've convinced yourself you can't do."

Rodney rolled his eyes and sneered, but with none of his previous venom, "Don't try to figure out my head, you'll just hurt yourself."

"That I believe," Henry chuckled, "But this time…"

Henry handed the report freely over and waited while Rodney glanced briefly at the first page then back at Henry and the window with fear. The document detailed conversations that Rodney had been having covertly with his sister. Henry had expected perhaps a bit of embarrassment, maybe more anger, but he had not expected fear. "Hey," Henry pulled Rodney's attention back from the window, "What are you worried about? You're not disallowed from contacting your family. You know that, don't you?"

Rodney's only response was to purse his lips and glance worriedly back at the window.

"Hey, would you forget about that window? That room is empty. This is me you're talking to. Don't believe me?" Henry picked up a chair and threw it through the two way mirror, revealing the empty room beyond. He opened the briefing room door long enough to snap out at a shocked looking agent, "We're fine!" and slammed the door closed again.

Henry turned his attention back to Rodney, "What is it you want, Rodney? We know she's having trouble getting the money together for University. We can fix that easily. You don't have to sneak around contacting her either. You want to talk to your sister right now I'll get you a phone in here. Anytime. Would you like her to come visit for awhile or to visit her? There'd be security, of course. But I can get some special guys in who can stay out of sight. You want to improve your life? Fine. Let's do it."

"I'd like to go to University with my sister," answered simply, his eyes transfixed on the wild haired man.

The request was answered with a smile that quickly broadened into a satisfied grin, "Well ok then. How about we got get you some ice cream or something for that throat?"

"Ok," Rodney stood immediately and let Henry guide him out of the room; like he was going to argue with a man who had just thrown a chair through a window.

"So, I kind've freaked you out, huh?"

"You have no idea."

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"It boggles my mind that that giving him whatever he wanted was their idea of 'handling' that spoiled brat." Anders shook his head in dismay.

"You and I have very different ideas of how to spoil a person," Woolsey muttered. "At any rate it sounds like that should have been all's well that ends well. He had an opportunity to reconnect with his family. He was meeting and interacting with people his own age. The record shows that he more than excelled academically, and yet the record also shows that left fairly abruptly. His professors and friends claim he disappeared one night and sent word that he'd been head hunted to take part in a cutting edge research project. Is that really what happened or is there something more to that story?"

"Yeah, there's more," the old man answered grimly, "It all went to hell. That's what."

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Blood soaked the floor surrounding his roommate's corpse. Lifeless eyes stared up from a face frozen in shock; two bullet wounds in the chest, one in the head, and one hole through the window. Rodney's photographic memory snapped it all in the seconds between him opening the door and being tackled away from the room by a heavy body. He felt the bullet whiz over his head as though in slow motion and a hand clamp over his mouth to stifle his cry of terror.

"Calm down Rodney. It's me. Calm down," the familiar voice admonished. Henry, in full black BDU's, quickly scrambled up and pulled Rodney to his feet and down the hall. "Your identity has been compromised. We're pulling you out now."

"I was working late on a project and fell asleep in the lab," Rodney whispered in disbelief, "That was supposed to be me. Oh god, Robbie!" He turned back, only to be forcibly turned around again and frogmarched to the rear exit.

"Jeannie?!" Rodney squeaked and needlessly clarified, "My sister".

"She's safe. She eloped, remember? She is nowhere near campus and we've retrospectively altered all of her school records, among other things, to Jeannie Miller. Even her new passport is in the mail along with some story about her winning a newlywed draw to get it free. Jeannie McKay never existed. They won't connect her to you and she'll have had the most headache free last name change in the history of modern America. " Henry scanned the outer exit defensively before tugging Rodney out behind him, "Of course, if she ever gets divorced she's screwed."

"Are you sure?" Rodney whispered with an air of desperation.

" We're sure," Henry whispered firmly, "Now focus on you. You're the one in danger right now so do exactly as I say."

The third year University youth nodded, his eyes darting furtively around in search of danger as he turned in the direction he was expecting they'd go in. He was surprised when Henry tugged him in the opposite direction, "Where are we going?"

"Extraction point Epsilon", Henry answered grimly and hastened in the new direction.

"Epsilon?!" Rodney hissed, "What happened to Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta?"

"Compromised," Henry answered simply; far too simply for the magnitude of the statement.

Whether the blood suddenly rushed to or from Rodney's head he suddenly felt feint. The images he'd seen of the Stockholm team flashed unbidden through his mind, "But that means..."

"Don't think about it." Henry snapped, "Just keep moving. Steady pace. Don't draw attention."

Rodney replied with a quiver, "If I wet myself in terror will that draw attention?"

"Keep that sense of humour," Henry tossed over his shoulder, "You'll need it."

"Who's kidding?" Rodney squeaked.

Suddenly Henry stopped in his tracks and lowered his head the way he did when he was listening to his earpiece. " New plan, Omicron."

Rodney paled, "Oh god. Oh god."

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Richard Woolsey leaned forward on the edge of his seat, all composure forgotten, "Well what did that mean?!"

"What you need to understand is normal extraction points don't go that high and we only had recorded up to Kappa. Had he been going to one of those an operative and support team would have been waiting to escort the two of them to a secure safe house to wait for transfer. Anything after Kappa is arranged by the handler by word of mouth on a need to know basis only. Meaning that only himself, the field agent or in this case McKay, and the helicopter pilot that he handpicked knew about it. It's rare but not unheard of for a handler to have that kind of fallback. To have to use it is all but unheard of." Anders licked his lips and paused to see that Woolsey was following.

"And?!" Woolsey demanded impatiently.

"And," the elderly ex-agent mimicked, "At this point we had to assume that the list was somehow compromised and that any operative we had waiting at those extraction points were dead. As it turns out it was the right call."

Woolsey narrowed his eyes accusingly at the unscrupulous old man, "Did you leak the list?"

That was just plain offensive to Anderson. "I did not. Whatever else you may think of me I love this country and would never do anything to cause harm to my fellow servicemen unless it was absolutely necessary. The KGB figured out how we were suddenly breaking all their codes so fast and outdoing their field tech. They figured taking him out would solve alot of their problems in one quick strike so they sent in a whole black ops team. Our mistake was over using him. Even in University we were consulting with him in any spare time he had. I may have wanted the boy dead but that wasn't my call and I certainly didn't want the Russians doing it."

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"Move quickly," Henry barked, no longer interested in looking natural.

Rodney followed his line of sight up the alley leading to extraction point Epsilon where the street light glinted off a red puddle dripping out of a rusty old dumpster. Henry grabbed his arm and propelled him forward, placing himself between Rodney and the alley in time for a single shot to whisper through the air. He shoved Rodney around the side of the building and drew his own weapon faster than Rodney could blink. Henry shot wildly in the direction of the shooter as he took cover behind the dumpster. "Run, I'll cover you."

"No. We can take him out and go together." Rodney peeked around the side of the building and saw blood trickling down Henry's leg, but he quickly had to withdraw his head to avoid the gunfire. "You were hit?!"

"Do NOT do that again!" Henry barked with an air of desperation. "They're after you, not me. You can't even fire a gun. If you stay here you will only get in my way. YOU have to run. You know where you're going. Now go. RUN!"

Rodney closed his eyes and focused. The quick glance around the corner was all he needed to commit the scene to photographic memory. He zeroed in on the flash of light high up on of the building. That would be from the shooters gun as he fired at Rodney. He knew that building and he knew what was inside it. His mind made up he ran down the street and another alley towards the building with the shooter.

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"But that's insane!" Woolsey protested as though all this hadn't already happened years ago and a much older McKay hadn't very obviously survived the ordeal.

"Yes," Anders agreed, "and yet that's what CCTV footage shows he did. Is it really necessary to interrupt so often?"

"But what did he hope to accomplish," the straight tied, bespectacled desk agent spoke as someone who'd rarely been in a position to consider rash action.

The seasoned veteran rolled his eyes, "He pulled the fire alarm to evacuate any civilians, remotely dialled up the temperature on all floors to maximum and cut power to the top floor where there was apparently some sort of highly volatile substance being stored at sub zero temperature. Since heat rises it didn't take long for the temperature of the substance to drop substantially below zero and, well, boom."

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The blast echoed across the school grounds, breaking the early morning silence. Henry peeked out from behind the dust bin and gawked for a moment before quickly and quietly hobbling out from cover. He exited the alleyway to see a strange sinister looking men with guns also gawking at the burning building. The man must have been closing in on Henry from behind. He casually lifted his side arm and shot the bad-guy between the eyes before he was noticed. "That's for trying to kill my kid."

"Gotten a little attached, have you?" the harsh, familiar voice of Anders quipped through the radio.

Henry leaned against the building to take the weight off his injured leg. Students and faculty were rousing out of the dorms now, drawn by the sound of the explosion and the now nearing fire truck sirens. "Where is he?"

"We don't know." Anders answered grimly. "All our eyes are down. We have to assume that he's heading to the location. You're in no shape to catch up with him. Get yourself out of there."

A passing fire truck slowed and pulled over. Henry recognized them as part of the clean-up team. There would be no bodies for todays papers.

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The sun hung too high in the air. Rodney was acutely aware of how visible this made him as he walked into Belle Island Reservation. He was tired by now, being unable to sustain that level of terror, and his feet were aching. He also reasoned that if he'd been followed he'd be dead by now. He plodded into the marsh and towards the river where, as expected, a seaplane waited with a pilot that Rodney recognized from a photograph Henry had showed him. The pilot was actively scanning the surrounding area, along with a small number of masked men who quickly approached and surrounded Rodney. They quickly loaded him into the plane and started the engine without a word.

"Wait, what about Henry?" Rodney protested. We have to wait for him.

The pilot turned his head just slightly, "If he's not here with you then he's not coming. That was the arrangement."

Rodney tried to stand but was briskly sat back down and strapped into his seat, "Hey! But wait, is he alright?"

"I don't know. We are radio silent and we are going to stay radio silent until we reach our destination." The plane picked up speed over the water and they were in the air before Rodney could protest further.

"Where am I going?" Rodney ventured as he looked around at the masked men. They probably weren't allowed to be seen or heard, which probably meant they were hard as nails super secret agents rather than run of the mill agents.

"You've been on the run all night. Get some sleep. You'll see when we get there." After that the pilot flew in silence.

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"He was taken directly to Area 51 where he remained for the next fifteen years. Back then it was the single most secure facility that this government had. It was so secure that it was a considered a myth. This way McKay stayed safe and he stayed a national asset. Best of all from my point of view is he was contained. Everyone was happy."

The stuffy bureaucrat had settled back in his seat now that the tale had returned to familiar ground. That McKay had spent years at Area 51 was well know, at least among individuals who were authorized to know of its existence. "Was McKay happy to remain there?"

"He made do," the old man shrugged, "There were no other options. He cooled his heals in their lowest levels for about a week before I headed out to debrief him. No one at the base was authorized to speak to him until then. I made sure he understood his situation."

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"Thirteen people," Anders shook his head and sneered, "Good men and women are dead because you just had to go to University. It was obviously a bad idea but you were just a boy, they said. You needed a taste of real life."

The young man regarded him silently with unsettling blue eyes. David had to remind himself how dangerous this 'person' could be.

"Well," Anders asked with cruel nonchalance, "How did it taste?"

The expressive blue eyes darted away from the agent and around to anything else in the sparse room, "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"No, of course not," the agent replied more gently, "Well, whatever you did, however you were careless, however they found you it hardly matters now, does it? What's done is done."

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"Wait a minute," Woolsey protested, "I thought you said it was the agencies fault for over using him."

"That's right," Anders acknowledged, "but what McKay didn't know wouldn't enable him. The point was for him to stay put."

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Rodney crumpled, his shoulders slumping even further as he buried his head in his hands until only a fistful of curls remained, "What's going to happen?"

"You're staying underground, deep underground," Anders continued mercilessly, "You're going to stay here for as long as it takes for the KGB to forget you ever existed or to stop caring that you existed. You will not put any more people at risk by pulling any of your usual runaway stunts. You will not covertly or overtly contact anyone that you know by internet, telephone, letter, or any other means because that would put them and yourself at risk. It's time for you to grow up. Is that understood?"

"Yeah," Rodney whispered without lifting his head.

"I can't hear you," Anders barked.

Rodney lifted his head and enunciated, "Yes sir."

Anders allowed himself a small smirk at proving himself right. He'd always told Henry he was coddling the asset and a firmer hand was needed. But the smirk faltered and vanished when he looked at the young man now sitting straight backed in front of him. There was a deadness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. A thick, emotionless shell surrounded him. Anders cleared his throat before speaking again, "Good. That's good. You just hang in there. This place isn't so bad..."

"Your platitudes aren't necessary," Rodney interrupted flatly, "Was Henry one of the thirteen?"

"No," Anders answered and stood. He suddenly had a powerful need to get out there, "No he's going to be fine. But he won't be visiting."

He opened the door before Rodney could ask any more questions and waved in a thin, wild haired, white moustached man in a lab coat, "He's all yours."

The scientist nodded approached McKay, holding out his hand in greeting, "Welcome to Area 51, young man. Come, I'll introduce you to some of the staff you'll be working with."

"That won't be necessary," Rodney answered coldly and ignored the proffered hand, "Haven't you heard? I'm a valuable 'asset'. You've already wasted a week of my time. I work best alone, so just show me my lab and let me get to work."

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"So you completely isolated him." It was a statement rather than a question.

The elderly man shifted in his seat, a bare hint of regret in the motion, "For his own good and the good of those around him, yes."

"And Henry sanctioned this?" Woolsey asked without inflection.

"Henry was too close to the entire situation. It wasn't hard to make the decision makers see that he'd lost focus. Also we had every reason to believe that the Russians knew that he had been McKay's handler. He was taken off the case and ordered to stay away from Area 51 and not contact him." The old man blinked and let his head rest against the back of his chair. He was clearly exhausted from the long discussion, but still he continued, "Twelve years later he had his first invitation to Cheyenne Mountain. He was sent on a consult to Russia before being transferred back to Area 51 briefly, and then to the base in Antarctica where Dr Weir, with very little effort, lured him into the Pegasus Galaxy where he has remained since."