SGA fic: Failsafe (McKay/Sheppard; PG-13)
Title: Failsafe
Characters: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG-13
Words: About 3100
Summary: It starts with a power spike, late at night.
Notes: The idea for this came from a chat with mklutz, who subsequently was awesome and encouraged me to write more. Many, many shiny thanks to lyrstzha for pushing me on the storyline, and for the beta (and the title suggestions)! Spoilers for up to all US aired s3 eps.
Warnings: Somewhat grim.
When Rodney figures it out, when it all finally clicks together, he asks, "Where's the body?" The body. It sounds so impersonal. His voice doesn't shake; he doesn't step back, or radio for Elizabeth, or start yelling. He just hopes he's wrong, that he's misread all of the data.
The smile - bland and professional and knowing - tells him he's not. "Atlantis took care of it."
Of course, Rodney thinks, refusing to blink. Sanitation and hygiene functions run automatically.
*
It starts with a power spike, late at night. Rodney's sleeping, but he has automatic alarms rigged to signal unscheduled power drains. He wakes up, from a dream of bees and fields of flowers, to a persistent buzzing in his ear. "Damn it," he mutters, rolling out of bed, already radioing Radek.
By the time he gets to his lab, power usage has returned to normal. He and Radek work for hours, trying to trace it to some process, some origin. They don't get anywhere, except that it seems to have happened in the residential area.
"Some kind of automatic system, running in the background," is what he says to Elizabeth and Sheppard, the next morning. That's about as good as he can do, and it didn't affect the ZPM levels in a significant way.
They shrug it off, although Sheppard looks puzzled.
"What, what?" Rodney asks, impatient.
"You don't know what it means?"
How many times is he going to have to explain to these people that he doesn't work miracles? "Isn't that what I've just been saying?"
"But -"
Rodney doesn't have time for yet another discussion about why he doesn't know how everything works. He waves absently, and walks out of the room.
Later, much later, Sheppard corners him in a hallway. He steps out of shadows, like he's been waiting for Rodney to walk past. From a distance, it wouldn't look like anything other than a quiet conversation - like maybe they're discussing personnel or a mission. But Rodney knows better; he sees the focused way Sheppard is watching him, half-smiling, mischievous. They haven't ever talked about this, about the way Sheppard looks at him sometimes, or that these days, more and more often Rodney finds himself wanting something he knows he can't have.
But now it looks like he was wrong about that. His breath catches. "So. We're going to - we're doing this now?" Why now, he wants to ask, but he thinks he knows. Kolya, and the Wraith, and the draining. Things have changed; Sheppard has a new lease on life.
"Do you want to?" Sheppard asks, leaning slightly closer, like he's being pulled towards Rodney.
Rodney laughs. "Are you insane? Wait, no, clearly you are. Yes, yes, come on, let's get out of this hallway." He's already walking towards his room. He doesn't need to look back to know that Sheppard is following him.
*
"What happened?" he asks, sitting down heavily, his hands on the desk. The metal is cool against his fingertips, and he concentrates on that. Cool, solid, unshakable.
"Heart failure," comes the response, unexpected words from a mouth that has become very familiar.
Rodney doesn't believe it for a minute. Carson would have seen warning signs. These things just don't happen overnight. There are regular medical checks for a reason.
"Organic beings are fragile," he's told with a gentle smile. "You know that. There are many stressors. And when the Wraith -"
Rodney closes his eyes. He knows. They all should have understood that it was too good to be true, that a Wraith couldn't really give anything worth having.
*
He doesn't forget about the power spike, but he files it away as yet another thing they don't understand about the city - one more thing he'll hopefully have years to figure out. But other than that, he doesn't think about it. There's too much work: missions, new crises, new finds, new theories.
But then he starts to notice a persistent, low-level drain on the power reserves. "The city is losing power," he says, at the next command meeting. Radek passes out copies of the data, the graph that shows the minute drain that can't be attributed to anything. "We thought it might be something external. A virus or command the Asurans managed to transmit, or the Wraith left behind. But there's no evidence of that. The drain is part of the internal systems. We can't isolate it, and we can't make it stop."
"Isn't this expected?" Elizabeth asks. "We knew the ZPM wouldn't last forever -"
"This isn't the usual power usage," he interrupts, impatient. No one ever listens. "Look, when we got the ZPM, I calculated its lifespan based on the resources we needed, and the occasional extra drain for emergency purposes. This isn't part of any of that. It's new. It started with that spike, weeks ago. And see," he points at the graph, the predictions, "it's getting stronger. Two months from now, the drain will be more noticeable. A year from now, and we'll have reduced the ZPM lifespan by 23.4%."
Elizabeth frowns. "This is a problem."
"Obviously." He glances at Sheppard, who looks unconcerned. "Colonel? Thoughts?"
Sheppard shakes his head, but he's not looking at either of them. He's staring out the window, down at the 'gate room.
Rodney tamps down on the annoyance. It's not like this is Sheppard's problem to solve.
Later, after the meeting, he's starving. "Want to grab something to eat?" he asks Sheppard, as they walk down the hall.
"Nah. Got things to do."
"We all do," he mutters. "I never see you in the mess hall at meals these days. What are you doing, keeping odd hours?" Avoiding us? He doesn't ask. Avoiding me?
Sheppard smiles at him, wide and open, increasingly familiar. "Something like that. See you later, Rodney." He says Rodney's name in a lazy, low way, and then turns, walking away.
Rodney grins.
*
"I'm going to have to tell Elizabeth," Rodney says finally, looking down at his hands.
"No."
His head snaps up. "What do you mean, no? You know as well as I do that this is -"
"She doesn't need to know. None of them do. Think about it."
He doesn't want to think about it. Just for once, he wants to stop thinking, stop asking how this was done and what it means, and if it will be done again.
He wants it to stop.
*
Sheppard has been odd since the Wraith drained him and then put it all back. They don't question it too much, because none of them can even begin to imagine what it was like. Sheppard has a spring in his step; he looks younger and healthier and capable. He doesn't complain, he doesn't flag, and he doesn't lose track of details. If anything, he's better at all of it.
Sheppard's on top of the game, Rodney can see that, and sometimes, just sometimes, he wonders if he would have gone through that, just to get a new edge.
But no, he knows he wouldn't have.
Maybe Elizabeth and Ronon and Carson only see Sheppard's energy. Maybe Teyla talks about his increased strength and endurance, frowning slightly, but not truly worried. Maybe they ignore the cracks that are starting to show, but Rodney can't do that. He catches the small slips, the way Sheppard's face goes blank, sometimes, like he's stalled in mid-thought; he sees the strained expressions, the times that Sheppard looks at him, obviously holding something back, deliberately keeping his mouth shut.
And there's the sex. Rodney's not complaining - he really, really isn't - because the sex is fantastic and messy and just the perfect shade of rough. Sometimes they barely get through the door before John's pushing him up against the wall, one hand pulling Rodney's pants open. Some days it's Rodney who's pushy, who manhandles John back to towards the bed, no longer fumbling awkwardly with John's belt.
He gets used to John's mouth on his neck, his hands pushing at Rodney's shoulders or holding him close, his body curled up against Rodney's back. And as much as Rodney loves it, as much as he's wanted this, he knows the John Sheppard of three years ago would never, ever have let himself do this.
If Rodney were a different man, he'd say something; he'd suggest a visit to Heightmeyer, or he'd ask pointed questions about decisions and timing. But Rodney knows what it's like to be smothered by people when all you want is distance, time, peace.
So he doesn't smother. He tells himself that John gets what he wants from Rodney already - touching, and sex, and no questions. He isn't more cautious, more solicitous either - he doesn't let the lines blur, and he still calls Sheppard on his shit.
"Colonel," he says one day, when he finds Sheppard in a lonely hallway, his forehead pressed against the wall, small lights blinking on the panel, "have you finally lost your mind?" He hides his worry with irritation; how dare Sheppard litter the hallway with his body?
"Just recharging, McKay." He doesn't move away from the wall. "You know how it is."
Hell yes, he does, but Rodney prefers to recharge in private. In a bed.
*
"You're draining the system. You know that. You knew it all along." Rodney can't keep the accusation out of his tone. He keeps the rest of it hidden away - the hurt, the first brushes of mourning, the anger - but he lets the accusation come through. "We're going to have to shut the program down." Twenty-three point four percent; the number is always in the back of his mind these days.
"Don't. You know it'll mean more harm than good. You know it, Rodney."
Who the hell, Rodney thinks, is he to start talking about good and harm?
*
It's in the 'jumper when he starts to make unwelcome connections. Twenty hours out from Atlantis, one more unused 'gate tagged for pick-up, and he's feeling pretty good until he notices it. He frowns. "Huh."
"What?" Sheppard glances over.
"The 'jumper's losing power."
Sheppard frowns, sitting straighter. "Are we in trouble?"
"Hmm." The control crystals are fine; there's no damage to any of the systems. "I don't think so." Still. It's worrying enough. "Look, I think we should turn back."
Sheppard sighs. "McKay -"
"It's a slow drain, but there's no obvious source, and what if it suddenly becomes a fast drain? What then? You want to sit out here as each system shuts down, until we suffocate?"
"That won't happen."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Optimistic. And what if a Wraith cruiser passes by just as we lose weapons capability?"
"There are no Wraith in the area."
"Not now."
"It's a slow drain, right? You need to relax."
"Turn us around." There's something about the drain pattern that's familiar. Something, something. He can't quite put his finger on it.
"You're worrying about nothing."
Some days, Rodney just wants to smack that laconic tone. "Are you the expert here? Just turn us around. We've found a 'gate, so go us, let's just leave the rest until Radek can figure out what's going on with the 'jumper." Nagging, it's nagging at the back of his head.
"Do you ever think maybe you're not the expert, McKay?"
"Look, I never said I was. We all know Radek is much better with 'jumpers -" He stops mid-thought, because oh, shit. He knows this particular drain pattern. He knows it and he doesn't want to think about what it might mean seeing it out here too.
But if he's right, Radek won't find a problem with the 'jumper.
Twenty hours back to Atlantis, and he wants to be wrong, wrong, so wrong. "So. How are you feeling? After the - " he waves his hand, gestures at his chest, "thing. With the Wraith."
"I knew what you meant, McKay."
"So -"
"It's fine. You know it's fine. Don't I look fine?"
Of course he looks fine; Rodney's seen that up close and personal. He looks better than fine. "Can you get us home faster?" he blurts out.
Sheppard just rolls his eyes, a movement so familiar that Rodney should feel relieved, reassured, foolish.
Instead, his hands feel clammy.
When they get back to Atlantis, Sheppard lands the 'jumper, claps Rodney on the shoulder, and heads off to report to Elizabeth. Rodney stands at the door, watching as he walks away. The 'jumper bay lights aren't constantly on these days; they're set to detect people, to automatically come on and dim. It's part of the energy-saving programs Rodney had implemented when the mystery power drain showed no sign of ending.
Atlantis doesn't automatically turn on the lights around Sheppard, who just keeps walking like he doesn't need light to find his way.
It's on the tip of Rodney's tongue to ask if he's pissed off the city. But he doesn't. Instead, he just watches and thinks.
*
"What gave it away?" His tone is hurt, a little accusatory.
The question startles Rodney. He's the one who should be asking things here; he's the one who should be making the accusations.
"You want the list? You stopped eating with us, but I thought that was just a post-Wraith thing. You started standing around, leaning on the walls more than you used to. Oh, and the sex should have given it away." He can't keep the bitterness out of his voice when he says that. He takes a deep breath before continuing, "Power drains followed you."
"The puddlejumper." His voice sounds so real, so disappointed.
"Yeah. That's when something flagged me. Really flagged me. I should have seen it earlier." He should have noticed the way some Ancient machinery was less responsive to Sheppard, even while Sheppard seemed to understand it more, seemed to know it. He should have picked up on evasive answers and increased efficiency and the way Sheppard just moved from one mission to the next, never breaking a sweat. Rodney can't remember the last time he saw a bruise on Sheppard's skin, or a scratch.
When Sheppard had started insisting that they always take a 'jumper on missions, Rodney had been relieved. He hadn't questioned the decision, because it made sense to have a 'jumper to fall back to.
"I hate you," he wants to say. Because he does. He hates this thing in front of him, this thing that fooled them all. He hates that he didn't figure it out faster, better; he hates that he sometimes - even if only in bed - called this thing John, and believed everything it said about want and desire.
"It's part of the programming," Sheppard says. "A failsafe for the leaders in case of emergency. It's automatic in wartime. You couldn't have known."
And Rodney sits up straight. "For the leaders."
Sheppard - it - smiles at him. "Yes."
"Elizabeth included."
"Yes."
He closes his eyes. "Is she -"
"No. She's fine. The system monitors her health. She's in no danger."
Of course she isn't. He would have noticed that power drain. And then he asks the thing he doesn't really want to know. "Me?"
It smiles again, serene and unnatural. "Yeah. Head of the scientists and all. I'd call that a leader."
Rodney has never wanted to be a leader. Not really.
*
He's careful and meticulous. The first possible answer - Asurans and infiltration in the city - is the one he almost hopes for. It would explain the small inconsistencies, the slight wrongness he's feeling.
There's no way he can test to see if this is another replicator mind-game. If it is, he's stuck - they all are - until the Asurans decide they have everything they need. Rodney pushes aside that possibility, because he can't do anything about it. Besides, it doesn't seem logical - Rodney can't figure out what they would be getting with this scenario, unless it's just their idea of having fun.
He watches, follows his thoughts through logically. And finally, when he's certain he's not imagining things, he asks Radek to work out a monitoring system, one that looks for minor fluctuations in the power drain. Radek finds that there's a constant drain, but there are smaller, transient and traveling drains on localized components and systems.
"This is exactly what I didn't want to know," Rodney mutters, looking over the data. He ignores Radek's questions.
The most frequent localized drains are in Sheppard's quarters, his office, the jumper bay, Elizabeth's office, the 'gate room. And Rodney's own quarters, of course, even though Sheppard has never spent the night.
No matter where he looks, what other hypotheses he makes, it all comes back to the city, to some kind of internal system. I don't want this, he thinks, as he closes his laptop, closes his notebooks, and moves away from his desk.
"Rodney?" Radek asks. "What is it? What does it mean? You look - "
"Not now," he says. He can't deny it any more, and something has to be done. As he walks through the halls, past the familiar labs, walls, panels - slowly, because he doesn't want this, he wants to be wrong - he silently asks how Atlantis could do this to them.
On his way, he requisitions a gun, and the marine on duty doesn't even ask why. The gun is a familiar weight, almost comforting. It's ridiculous. If he's right, it won't be any use anyway.
When he gets to Sheppard's office, he stands outside, staring at the door. He's not sure how long he stands there, how long he looks blankly at the door. But finally, he thinks it open.
He steps inside.
Sheppard looks up, smiling. The smile is familiar and welcome and almost mischievous. The smile says come on, Rodney, let's have a team night, you need to relax, why don't I come by later?
Rodney doesn't smile back. Instead, he takes a deep breath, and asks, "What are you?"
"Rodney -"
Rodney can hear it, the denial that's going to come, the dismissal. "Don't." His throat feels raw. Part of him is still hoping for reassurance, for a story of temporary replacement. "I know you're not him. What are you?"
He expects - almost hopes - that Sheppard will crumble away, reveal himself as an Asuran mindfuck. He almost wants to find himself sitting in a cold, dark cell, maybe alone, maybe with the others.
Instead, Sheppard sits up, all pretence of relaxation falling away, and it's worse, so much worse. His eyes flash, his smile becomes cold, mechanical. Unreal. "It's an automated system. A backup." he says.
Rodney's eyes close briefly, involuntarily, but he forces them back open. He doesn't step back, or radio for Elizabeth, or start yelling. "Where's the body?"
His voice doesn't shake.
Characters: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG-13
Words: About 3100
Summary: It starts with a power spike, late at night.
Notes: The idea for this came from a chat with mklutz, who subsequently was awesome and encouraged me to write more. Many, many shiny thanks to lyrstzha for pushing me on the storyline, and for the beta (and the title suggestions)! Spoilers for up to all US aired s3 eps.
Warnings: Somewhat grim.
When Rodney figures it out, when it all finally clicks together, he asks, "Where's the body?" The body. It sounds so impersonal. His voice doesn't shake; he doesn't step back, or radio for Elizabeth, or start yelling. He just hopes he's wrong, that he's misread all of the data.
The smile - bland and professional and knowing - tells him he's not. "Atlantis took care of it."
Of course, Rodney thinks, refusing to blink. Sanitation and hygiene functions run automatically.
*
It starts with a power spike, late at night. Rodney's sleeping, but he has automatic alarms rigged to signal unscheduled power drains. He wakes up, from a dream of bees and fields of flowers, to a persistent buzzing in his ear. "Damn it," he mutters, rolling out of bed, already radioing Radek.
By the time he gets to his lab, power usage has returned to normal. He and Radek work for hours, trying to trace it to some process, some origin. They don't get anywhere, except that it seems to have happened in the residential area.
"Some kind of automatic system, running in the background," is what he says to Elizabeth and Sheppard, the next morning. That's about as good as he can do, and it didn't affect the ZPM levels in a significant way.
They shrug it off, although Sheppard looks puzzled.
"What, what?" Rodney asks, impatient.
"You don't know what it means?"
How many times is he going to have to explain to these people that he doesn't work miracles? "Isn't that what I've just been saying?"
"But -"
Rodney doesn't have time for yet another discussion about why he doesn't know how everything works. He waves absently, and walks out of the room.
Later, much later, Sheppard corners him in a hallway. He steps out of shadows, like he's been waiting for Rodney to walk past. From a distance, it wouldn't look like anything other than a quiet conversation - like maybe they're discussing personnel or a mission. But Rodney knows better; he sees the focused way Sheppard is watching him, half-smiling, mischievous. They haven't ever talked about this, about the way Sheppard looks at him sometimes, or that these days, more and more often Rodney finds himself wanting something he knows he can't have.
But now it looks like he was wrong about that. His breath catches. "So. We're going to - we're doing this now?" Why now, he wants to ask, but he thinks he knows. Kolya, and the Wraith, and the draining. Things have changed; Sheppard has a new lease on life.
"Do you want to?" Sheppard asks, leaning slightly closer, like he's being pulled towards Rodney.
Rodney laughs. "Are you insane? Wait, no, clearly you are. Yes, yes, come on, let's get out of this hallway." He's already walking towards his room. He doesn't need to look back to know that Sheppard is following him.
*
"What happened?" he asks, sitting down heavily, his hands on the desk. The metal is cool against his fingertips, and he concentrates on that. Cool, solid, unshakable.
"Heart failure," comes the response, unexpected words from a mouth that has become very familiar.
Rodney doesn't believe it for a minute. Carson would have seen warning signs. These things just don't happen overnight. There are regular medical checks for a reason.
"Organic beings are fragile," he's told with a gentle smile. "You know that. There are many stressors. And when the Wraith -"
Rodney closes his eyes. He knows. They all should have understood that it was too good to be true, that a Wraith couldn't really give anything worth having.
*
He doesn't forget about the power spike, but he files it away as yet another thing they don't understand about the city - one more thing he'll hopefully have years to figure out. But other than that, he doesn't think about it. There's too much work: missions, new crises, new finds, new theories.
But then he starts to notice a persistent, low-level drain on the power reserves. "The city is losing power," he says, at the next command meeting. Radek passes out copies of the data, the graph that shows the minute drain that can't be attributed to anything. "We thought it might be something external. A virus or command the Asurans managed to transmit, or the Wraith left behind. But there's no evidence of that. The drain is part of the internal systems. We can't isolate it, and we can't make it stop."
"Isn't this expected?" Elizabeth asks. "We knew the ZPM wouldn't last forever -"
"This isn't the usual power usage," he interrupts, impatient. No one ever listens. "Look, when we got the ZPM, I calculated its lifespan based on the resources we needed, and the occasional extra drain for emergency purposes. This isn't part of any of that. It's new. It started with that spike, weeks ago. And see," he points at the graph, the predictions, "it's getting stronger. Two months from now, the drain will be more noticeable. A year from now, and we'll have reduced the ZPM lifespan by 23.4%."
Elizabeth frowns. "This is a problem."
"Obviously." He glances at Sheppard, who looks unconcerned. "Colonel? Thoughts?"
Sheppard shakes his head, but he's not looking at either of them. He's staring out the window, down at the 'gate room.
Rodney tamps down on the annoyance. It's not like this is Sheppard's problem to solve.
Later, after the meeting, he's starving. "Want to grab something to eat?" he asks Sheppard, as they walk down the hall.
"Nah. Got things to do."
"We all do," he mutters. "I never see you in the mess hall at meals these days. What are you doing, keeping odd hours?" Avoiding us? He doesn't ask. Avoiding me?
Sheppard smiles at him, wide and open, increasingly familiar. "Something like that. See you later, Rodney." He says Rodney's name in a lazy, low way, and then turns, walking away.
Rodney grins.
*
"I'm going to have to tell Elizabeth," Rodney says finally, looking down at his hands.
"No."
His head snaps up. "What do you mean, no? You know as well as I do that this is -"
"She doesn't need to know. None of them do. Think about it."
He doesn't want to think about it. Just for once, he wants to stop thinking, stop asking how this was done and what it means, and if it will be done again.
He wants it to stop.
*
Sheppard has been odd since the Wraith drained him and then put it all back. They don't question it too much, because none of them can even begin to imagine what it was like. Sheppard has a spring in his step; he looks younger and healthier and capable. He doesn't complain, he doesn't flag, and he doesn't lose track of details. If anything, he's better at all of it.
Sheppard's on top of the game, Rodney can see that, and sometimes, just sometimes, he wonders if he would have gone through that, just to get a new edge.
But no, he knows he wouldn't have.
Maybe Elizabeth and Ronon and Carson only see Sheppard's energy. Maybe Teyla talks about his increased strength and endurance, frowning slightly, but not truly worried. Maybe they ignore the cracks that are starting to show, but Rodney can't do that. He catches the small slips, the way Sheppard's face goes blank, sometimes, like he's stalled in mid-thought; he sees the strained expressions, the times that Sheppard looks at him, obviously holding something back, deliberately keeping his mouth shut.
And there's the sex. Rodney's not complaining - he really, really isn't - because the sex is fantastic and messy and just the perfect shade of rough. Sometimes they barely get through the door before John's pushing him up against the wall, one hand pulling Rodney's pants open. Some days it's Rodney who's pushy, who manhandles John back to towards the bed, no longer fumbling awkwardly with John's belt.
He gets used to John's mouth on his neck, his hands pushing at Rodney's shoulders or holding him close, his body curled up against Rodney's back. And as much as Rodney loves it, as much as he's wanted this, he knows the John Sheppard of three years ago would never, ever have let himself do this.
If Rodney were a different man, he'd say something; he'd suggest a visit to Heightmeyer, or he'd ask pointed questions about decisions and timing. But Rodney knows what it's like to be smothered by people when all you want is distance, time, peace.
So he doesn't smother. He tells himself that John gets what he wants from Rodney already - touching, and sex, and no questions. He isn't more cautious, more solicitous either - he doesn't let the lines blur, and he still calls Sheppard on his shit.
"Colonel," he says one day, when he finds Sheppard in a lonely hallway, his forehead pressed against the wall, small lights blinking on the panel, "have you finally lost your mind?" He hides his worry with irritation; how dare Sheppard litter the hallway with his body?
"Just recharging, McKay." He doesn't move away from the wall. "You know how it is."
Hell yes, he does, but Rodney prefers to recharge in private. In a bed.
*
"You're draining the system. You know that. You knew it all along." Rodney can't keep the accusation out of his tone. He keeps the rest of it hidden away - the hurt, the first brushes of mourning, the anger - but he lets the accusation come through. "We're going to have to shut the program down." Twenty-three point four percent; the number is always in the back of his mind these days.
"Don't. You know it'll mean more harm than good. You know it, Rodney."
Who the hell, Rodney thinks, is he to start talking about good and harm?
*
It's in the 'jumper when he starts to make unwelcome connections. Twenty hours out from Atlantis, one more unused 'gate tagged for pick-up, and he's feeling pretty good until he notices it. He frowns. "Huh."
"What?" Sheppard glances over.
"The 'jumper's losing power."
Sheppard frowns, sitting straighter. "Are we in trouble?"
"Hmm." The control crystals are fine; there's no damage to any of the systems. "I don't think so." Still. It's worrying enough. "Look, I think we should turn back."
Sheppard sighs. "McKay -"
"It's a slow drain, but there's no obvious source, and what if it suddenly becomes a fast drain? What then? You want to sit out here as each system shuts down, until we suffocate?"
"That won't happen."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Optimistic. And what if a Wraith cruiser passes by just as we lose weapons capability?"
"There are no Wraith in the area."
"Not now."
"It's a slow drain, right? You need to relax."
"Turn us around." There's something about the drain pattern that's familiar. Something, something. He can't quite put his finger on it.
"You're worrying about nothing."
Some days, Rodney just wants to smack that laconic tone. "Are you the expert here? Just turn us around. We've found a 'gate, so go us, let's just leave the rest until Radek can figure out what's going on with the 'jumper." Nagging, it's nagging at the back of his head.
"Do you ever think maybe you're not the expert, McKay?"
"Look, I never said I was. We all know Radek is much better with 'jumpers -" He stops mid-thought, because oh, shit. He knows this particular drain pattern. He knows it and he doesn't want to think about what it might mean seeing it out here too.
But if he's right, Radek won't find a problem with the 'jumper.
Twenty hours back to Atlantis, and he wants to be wrong, wrong, so wrong. "So. How are you feeling? After the - " he waves his hand, gestures at his chest, "thing. With the Wraith."
"I knew what you meant, McKay."
"So -"
"It's fine. You know it's fine. Don't I look fine?"
Of course he looks fine; Rodney's seen that up close and personal. He looks better than fine. "Can you get us home faster?" he blurts out.
Sheppard just rolls his eyes, a movement so familiar that Rodney should feel relieved, reassured, foolish.
Instead, his hands feel clammy.
When they get back to Atlantis, Sheppard lands the 'jumper, claps Rodney on the shoulder, and heads off to report to Elizabeth. Rodney stands at the door, watching as he walks away. The 'jumper bay lights aren't constantly on these days; they're set to detect people, to automatically come on and dim. It's part of the energy-saving programs Rodney had implemented when the mystery power drain showed no sign of ending.
Atlantis doesn't automatically turn on the lights around Sheppard, who just keeps walking like he doesn't need light to find his way.
It's on the tip of Rodney's tongue to ask if he's pissed off the city. But he doesn't. Instead, he just watches and thinks.
*
"What gave it away?" His tone is hurt, a little accusatory.
The question startles Rodney. He's the one who should be asking things here; he's the one who should be making the accusations.
"You want the list? You stopped eating with us, but I thought that was just a post-Wraith thing. You started standing around, leaning on the walls more than you used to. Oh, and the sex should have given it away." He can't keep the bitterness out of his voice when he says that. He takes a deep breath before continuing, "Power drains followed you."
"The puddlejumper." His voice sounds so real, so disappointed.
"Yeah. That's when something flagged me. Really flagged me. I should have seen it earlier." He should have noticed the way some Ancient machinery was less responsive to Sheppard, even while Sheppard seemed to understand it more, seemed to know it. He should have picked up on evasive answers and increased efficiency and the way Sheppard just moved from one mission to the next, never breaking a sweat. Rodney can't remember the last time he saw a bruise on Sheppard's skin, or a scratch.
When Sheppard had started insisting that they always take a 'jumper on missions, Rodney had been relieved. He hadn't questioned the decision, because it made sense to have a 'jumper to fall back to.
"I hate you," he wants to say. Because he does. He hates this thing in front of him, this thing that fooled them all. He hates that he didn't figure it out faster, better; he hates that he sometimes - even if only in bed - called this thing John, and believed everything it said about want and desire.
"It's part of the programming," Sheppard says. "A failsafe for the leaders in case of emergency. It's automatic in wartime. You couldn't have known."
And Rodney sits up straight. "For the leaders."
Sheppard - it - smiles at him. "Yes."
"Elizabeth included."
"Yes."
He closes his eyes. "Is she -"
"No. She's fine. The system monitors her health. She's in no danger."
Of course she isn't. He would have noticed that power drain. And then he asks the thing he doesn't really want to know. "Me?"
It smiles again, serene and unnatural. "Yeah. Head of the scientists and all. I'd call that a leader."
Rodney has never wanted to be a leader. Not really.
*
He's careful and meticulous. The first possible answer - Asurans and infiltration in the city - is the one he almost hopes for. It would explain the small inconsistencies, the slight wrongness he's feeling.
There's no way he can test to see if this is another replicator mind-game. If it is, he's stuck - they all are - until the Asurans decide they have everything they need. Rodney pushes aside that possibility, because he can't do anything about it. Besides, it doesn't seem logical - Rodney can't figure out what they would be getting with this scenario, unless it's just their idea of having fun.
He watches, follows his thoughts through logically. And finally, when he's certain he's not imagining things, he asks Radek to work out a monitoring system, one that looks for minor fluctuations in the power drain. Radek finds that there's a constant drain, but there are smaller, transient and traveling drains on localized components and systems.
"This is exactly what I didn't want to know," Rodney mutters, looking over the data. He ignores Radek's questions.
The most frequent localized drains are in Sheppard's quarters, his office, the jumper bay, Elizabeth's office, the 'gate room. And Rodney's own quarters, of course, even though Sheppard has never spent the night.
No matter where he looks, what other hypotheses he makes, it all comes back to the city, to some kind of internal system. I don't want this, he thinks, as he closes his laptop, closes his notebooks, and moves away from his desk.
"Rodney?" Radek asks. "What is it? What does it mean? You look - "
"Not now," he says. He can't deny it any more, and something has to be done. As he walks through the halls, past the familiar labs, walls, panels - slowly, because he doesn't want this, he wants to be wrong - he silently asks how Atlantis could do this to them.
On his way, he requisitions a gun, and the marine on duty doesn't even ask why. The gun is a familiar weight, almost comforting. It's ridiculous. If he's right, it won't be any use anyway.
When he gets to Sheppard's office, he stands outside, staring at the door. He's not sure how long he stands there, how long he looks blankly at the door. But finally, he thinks it open.
He steps inside.
Sheppard looks up, smiling. The smile is familiar and welcome and almost mischievous. The smile says come on, Rodney, let's have a team night, you need to relax, why don't I come by later?
Rodney doesn't smile back. Instead, he takes a deep breath, and asks, "What are you?"
"Rodney -"
Rodney can hear it, the denial that's going to come, the dismissal. "Don't." His throat feels raw. Part of him is still hoping for reassurance, for a story of temporary replacement. "I know you're not him. What are you?"
He expects - almost hopes - that Sheppard will crumble away, reveal himself as an Asuran mindfuck. He almost wants to find himself sitting in a cold, dark cell, maybe alone, maybe with the others.
Instead, Sheppard sits up, all pretence of relaxation falling away, and it's worse, so much worse. His eyes flash, his smile becomes cold, mechanical. Unreal. "It's an automated system. A backup." he says.
Rodney's eyes close briefly, involuntarily, but he forces them back open. He doesn't step back, or radio for Elizabeth, or start yelling. "Where's the body?"
His voice doesn't shake.