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Where Did All the Physics Go? by Amireal [Reviews - 41]
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Category: Crossovers > Slash Pairings
Characters: John Sheppard, Other, Rodney McKay
Rating: NC-17
Genres: AU - Alternate Universe, Drama
Warnings: None
Series: None

Word count: 24261; Completed: Yes

Summary: "But that's just not possible!" (McKay/Sheppard)




Warnings: This should never have been written, ever. It's wrong and... evil and wrong. And they're digging me a special place in hell just for thinking of writing it.

Author's note: I really don't want to tell you what the crossover is because it sort of ruins the punch, if you really want to know, there's a link up top that'll take you to a seperate page that'll tell you what you want to know. You find out pretty quick though, so if you're willing to bear with me, you won't be waiting long. Thanks to chopchica for the beta, for I am a surly and unthankful bitch.

~*~

"Everyone out! Out out out!" Rodney yelled.

The room smelled of ozone, burnt plastics, and other materials Rodney could name later when he wasn't running for his life from the glowing, smoking Ancient device. Sheppard was right behind him, the last out of the blast range, making sure everyone else made it through.

Rodney stopped just long enough to grab Sheppard around the arm and pull, which was how, his legs already heavy from exhaustion, he managed to trip over the nearest heavy object.

He fell to his knees and his lungs compressed, leaving him out of breath. Something heavy hit his back and a grunt of pain sounded in his ear. Sheppard's weight pushed him to the floor just as the first flash nearly blinded him.

They curled up, shading their eyes, huddled together as the flashes got brighter and faster. Rodney was sure there was the vaguest resembles to Japanese TV.

Eventually there was nothing but the light and Sheppard's body next to his holding him down. The floor seemed to disappear for endless seconds until finally they landed.

His head spun and the thought of opening his eyes was nauseating, but Sheppard was dead weight on top of him and it was starting to get suffocating. Rodney pushed feebly, his arms giving way a few times before they worked correctly. Then suddenly the weight was gone and there were helpful hands under his arms, hauling him up into a sitting position.

A loud whirring sounded in front of his face and he cracked his eyes open, only to close them again as the beam of light pierced directly through his skull.

"That's it, son, keep your eyes closed," Carson's gentle voice admonished, its cadence soothing.

"You're fine, just kicked around a bit. I'm going to see to your friend."

"Colonel?" Rodney gasped, "Is he okay?"

"Give me a minute, and I'll let you know."

Rodney realized that it wasn't actually Carson speaking to him - the voice was distinctly Southern. He opened his eyes slowly and looked around. Gray walls greeted him and he squinted, looking for the muted, rich colors of Atlantis, but there wasn't a stained glass panel in sight.

Several people walked in and out of his sight line, tall people with lots of deep crimson... and gold highlights... and ... no.

Rodney shook his head, headless of the disorientation and squinted again, pointing to the nearest one. "You, what's your name?"

The man turned around and smiled the most easygoing smile Rodney had seen since Sheppard. "You can call me Jim."

Rodney shook his head again, whipping it from side to side and hoping the jarring would shake something loose and make the hallucination die a vicious death. "Oh no. No I can't." His limbs scrambled out behind him as he backed away in some sort of demented crab crawl.

"McKay!"

He spun; taking about a half second to be grateful that Sheppard was okay enough to be annoyed with him. "This has to be some sort of big Ancient induced acid trip."

Sheppard's eyes were wide and his skin pale. "I sure hope so, because otherwise this has just gone past the amount of weird crap I have to deal with in the course of a week."

Rodney nodded frantically. "You!" He pointed to the doctor examining Sheppard. "What's your name?"

The doctor looked up and narrowed his eyes. "Are you always this polite to people who are trying to help you?"

Sheppard nodded. "For McKay that was downright congenial."

"Name!" Rodney ordered again, voice getting embarrassingly higher.

The doctor gave them a withering look and had just opened his mouth to answer when the wall-- no make that the door-- whooshed open and really, Rodney should be used to that from Atlantis. Still, the noise made him jump.

Both he and Sheppard looked at the newcomer, mouths agape.

The curly haired one-- Jim, turned his puzzled glance away from them and to the lanky newcomer. "Ah, Spock, any idea what happened?"

Rodney thought seriously about passing out.

"Rodney?" Sheppard's voice sounded suspicious wobbly. "Tell me we're hallucinating."

Carefully, Rodney got his feet under himself and stood, despite the protest of-- the doctor. "You got a tricorder on you?" he asked Spock, even though just thinking that made him a little woozy.

Spock raised a very well-groomed eyebrow, thought about it carefully, and then slowly handed over the small black box.

With shaking hands, Rodney accepted it and flipped it open. "Wow," he breathed. "Radek would be on the ceiling."

Sheppard appeared over his shoulder. "Hey, can it tell the difference between human life signs?"

Rodney nodded raptly.

"Cool," Sheppard agreed.

"You guys gonna need a room?"

They both looked up to see McCoy's -- Rodney twitched a bit-- smiling face. "Ah, no." He stared at the tricorder some more. "Can I take this apart?" he asked hopefully.

For someone with no emotions, Spock certainly moved fast and decisively when it involved electronics.

"McKay." Sheppard slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Let's not destroy the nice man's toys."

Rodney didn't pout. Really.

"So, Bones, are they going die?" Jim-- who was he kidding -- Kirk asked.

"One day," McCoy groused.

Kirk smiled broadly. "Good. Now, would you gentlemen like to tell me who you are, and what you're doing here?"

Rodney got the distinct feeling that this was not a name, rank and serial number sort-of situation. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, not sure where to start. "So, what do you know about alternate universes?"

He was actually kind of proud to have put that look on Kirk's face.

*****

Rodney stepped into the briefing room and stopped abruptly, only to be shoved out of the way almost immediately as John slammed into him.

"Oof- Rodney!" John's annoyed grump came from behind him. "Try not to be a human stumbling block, okay? This is weird enough without wrestling with you again for the same piece of the floor."

Rodney threw a disgruntled look over his shoulder as he stumbled out of the way. "You're the pilot. Be more graceful."

A chuckle interrupted them both.

McCoy was laughing at them.

Rodney resumed staring, possibly with a dumbstruck look on his face, though if pressed, he'd never admit it. He could feel John fall into place beside him, and a quick check showed an equally stunned expression.

"You gentlemen going to sit down, or is that sort of thing not done in your universe?" McCoy was also smiling at them and Rodney was struck by the actual country doctor charisma he exuded.

"Um, yes, sitting, we can do that. Right, Colonel?" Rodney was already reaching for the nearest seat. Only after he sat down did he realize that Spock was directly across from him, being all stoic and Vulcan-like and utterly unnerving.

John chuckled. "I'm sure we're not compromising anything if we take a seat, Rodney." His smile was easy going, but Rodney recognized the slouch as his 'twitch wrong and you'll be eating lead' position. It was oddly comforting.

Kirk leaned forward a bit, looking less constipated than before and more amused. "So, do you have any idea how you got here?"

Taking a deep breath, Rodney tapped his fingers nervously on the table. "Well, if I limit myself to breaking the laws of physics that have been broken by my esteemed colleagues before me? There are three or four possibilities." He shrugged. "If I have to branch out, the possibilities are almost endless." A sour feeling started in the pit of his stomach. "And considering my karmic standing is in the negative numbers, I'm betting on the latter."

Spock raised a curious eyebrow. "You are a Buddhist?"

"What?" Rodney shook his head rapidly. "No. What does that have to do with-- never mind, I don't want to know." He waved an excited hand at one of the styluses littering the table. "Will that thing let me draw circuit diagrams? What about math? What's the computing power on it, will I need to use the ship's computer and what about--"

"Rodney!" John cut him off, sounding amused. "Breathe."

Reflexively, Rodney breathed. "Right." He scowled. "So, computer?"

Kirk nodded. "We can provide you with access for computations and planning, that's not a problem, and Mr. Spock can assist you with anything else you need." He looked at them curiously. "So, where are you from?"

Obviously more amused than was for his own good, John gestured at Rodney. "He's from Canada, somewhere around Toronto I think, I'm from San Francisco."

McCoy snorted. "How about when?"

"2005," Rodney answered, something percolating in the back of his brain. "Hey, can we get full exams while we're here?"

McCoy looked mildly disturbed that someone was volunteering. "I suppose."

"Rodney." John was also giving him an odd look. "Usually, if there's nothing wrong, which is about forty-five percent of the time, you stay as far away from Beckett as possible."

Rodney rolled his eyes and shook his impatiently. "Yeah, well, they're like three hundred years ahead of us. They can probably fix things we don't even know are wrong yet."

"Only you would be a precognitive hypochondriac." John looked incredulous.

"Yeah well, I kinda miss orange juice," Rodney grumped. "And as much as I enjoy food, I can live without needing it every five hours in order to survive. At the very least, being mocked by big, sloping brow-monkeys like yourself when I pass out from manly hunger is not the highlight of my incredibly medically troubled life."

John looked at him mildly for a few seconds before turning to McCoy. "They got psychiatrists here too?"

McCoy thumbed a finger at Kirk and Spock. "I'd be an alcoholic by now if we didn't."

Rodney and John both held back a snort of laughter along with the rest of the table, except of course for Spock, who just raised an eyebrow again.

"My God." Rodney looked on in horror. "That thing really does have moods." It set them off into another round of near giggles, and left the rest of the table looking at them oddly.

Kirk cleared his throat. "That brings us to the other lurking issue." He looked at them questioningly. "You two seem to know us?"

Rodney abruptly stiffened, and then blushed like a loon. "Erm. Sort-of."

John nodded. "In theory."

"And that theory would be?" Kirk prompted.

Rodney looked at John pleadingly.

John looked back. "Nu uh. I'm not saying it."

"Well I'm not saying it." Rodney shook his head in panic. "If I hear myself saying that, I might have a psychological break of some sort, and then we'd be stuck in a universe where nothing in your lifetime would really be a surprise!"

"Well, you're not going to get me to say it, Rodney. Getting stuck in the real life version of Space Vampires from hell, let alone all the other crap I get to deal, with gives me a onetime exemption from insane explanations, which I'm going to cash in right now." John crossed his arms and looked stubborn. "Besides, as you're so fond of reminding me over and over, you're the genius, you figure out a way to say it without sounding like a flaming lunatic."

Rodney glared at him angrily before looking back at the rest of the table. "Okay, fine, but next time you need me to pull a technological miracle out of my ass in under twenty minutes, I won't be there. I'll be dead from humiliation."

"I'll get Zelenka to build me my nuclear bomb," John said smugly.

"He does shoddy work," Rodney argued on principle.

Spock raised that eyebrow again, tenting his fingers in front of him. "Nuclear bomb."


Suddenly remembering where he was, Rodney flushed bright again. "Ah right, not your thing. Don't worry, it was perfectly justifiable. Really, they were trying to eat us."

"Of course," Kirk agreed, nodding slowly.

John winced and covered his contorted face, looking like he was torn between laughing and throwing up.

"What's the matter?" Rodney asked.

John waved his hand indistinctly. "Priceline flashback," he muttered.

Rodney choked back laughter. "Don't do that!"

Kirk furrowed his brow, starting to look worried. "Priceline?"

John, who had about almost composed himself, lost it again, burying his head in his arms. He muttered things about 'round trip tickets to Trek, shop and compare' and 'the one with the high heels'.

Rodney took a few deep breaths, clinging to composure by thin, fraying threads. "Right. Ignore him for now. He occasionally has psychotic breaks. It'll be better in a few minutes." He took another deep breath and pressed on. "The thing we really don't want to actually say because we're secretly afraid this is an elaborate Ancient prank and that someone is recording us, is that where we come from, you people are a popular TV show."

Kirk looked ready to give McCoy a silent signal to examine their heads. McCoy looked ready to receive said signal.

Spock just looked at them serenely, raised an eyebrow and said, "Fascinating."

Rodney gave up being stoic and quietly lost it.

******

Twenty minutes and a shot of Saurian Brandy later, they were both a lot calmer, aside from the near fit Rodney almost had at the sight of the uniquely shaped brandy bottle.

"I'm really sorry about that," John explained. "It's just very surreal."

Kirk nodded like he expected John to pull a knife on him at any moment. "I'm sure it is."

Rodney sighed deeply and wagged a finger at John. "If you breathe a word of the next five minutes to anyone, I'll see to it you never get hot water again. Even if that means stalking you back to Earth and sabotaging your apartment."

John raised his hands in surrender.

"Ok, so you're Captain James T. Kirk. Formerly an Admiral, born in Iowa, lied about your age on the academy application, cheated on the Kobayashi Maru, and fathered a son who had your hair and his mother's attitude and then had what I'm sure was the horrible experience of listening to him die." Rodney carefully ignored John's wide-eyed look. "By the way, I'd just like to say I've always admired you for that Kobayashi Maru thing."

Kirk paled, but nodded thoughtfully. "Not bad." He didn't look thoroughly convinced, but he didn't look happy either. At least he was getting there.

"You." Rodney pointed at McCoy. "You were married to a bitch who decided a hard working husband trying to make a career for himself just wasn't appealing. You've got a daughter you don't see enough, you're too brilliant for words and probably have more degrees accumulated than I do, you're consistently pining for the simple life but you know you'd probably get bored within a week." He paused thinking carefully. "And you once had the brilliant idea to hide a terminal illness from your captain and best friend." Rodney frowned a bit and added, "and your other best friend," pointing in Spock's direction.

McCoy had a faint pinkness to his cheeks, but he smiled warmly. "Well, I'd say that thing about my ex-wife might have been a small exaggeration, and that inflexible machine in the corner wouldn't know a friend if it bit him in the ass."

Beside him, John choked, but maintained calm.

"And you." Rodney turned to Spock. "Are a--" A hand on his shoulder startled him.

John smiled at him condescendingly. "Let me, Rodney. You're starting to sound a little hysterical and I'd rather avoid playing a game of 'insult the Vulcan' until later, when I'm not there. They're about three stops from locking us in some loony bin somewhere right now, and if we wait, the possibility of it being over physics is a lot higher."

Rodney clicked his mouth shut, irritated and very close to losing it again, so he nodded. "Go ahead. I'd just like to remind you that your diplomatic skills aren't exactly the envy of Atlantis."

Kirk picked up on the most interesting tidbit right away. "Atlantis?"

John gave Rodney a long-suffering look. "As opposed to your big mouth."

"Please, it's not like it's really classified here." Rodney crossed his arms and continued to glare.

Blinking mildly, John faced a curious Spock. "You are Spock, son of Sarek, son of Skonn, son of Sokar, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, all the way down to Surak. Your mom is a nice lady named Amanda Grayson, originally a teacher specializing in original translation algorithms." He leaned forward and rolled his neck, choosing the next bit of information carefully. "You got that thing with the multiples of seven," he went on, discretely. "And that number in the furs in Sarpedieon probably appreciated you more than you think."

"Hardly conclusive," Spock countered, unperturbed.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Saavik is half-Romulan," he said under his breath. "And had a thing for your tricorder when she was young."

Spock nodded slowly, obviously convinced - or at least well on his way.

Rodney was slack jawed. "You big fake," he said finally. "Seriously, I mean, I knew it with the MENSA thing, but this cinches it. You are so one of us."

"Am not." John frowned.

Rodney frowned back. "I hate to admit it just as much as you, because you bring that whole military mentality that I'd rather not deal with, but you do that in front of Zelenka and he'll wander around Atlantis chanting 'One of us, one of us' until you break down. Finally, you'll let him stick on the Spock ears he made in that lab he thinks I don't know about. Then he'll force you into one of the science blue shirts and attempt to glue down your hair."

John looked a bit piqued. "That's... disturbing."

"Yes," McCoy agreed. "Yes it is. Why would anyone make--" His mouth twisted, as if the words didn't want to come out. "Spock ears?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, John grimaced uncomfortably.. "Well, when we said TV show? That was a bit of an understatement." He bit his lip and slumped further into his seat, like a sixth grader talking about missed homework. "More like a nearly forty year obsession."

Rodney felt a migraine coming on. "Dear God, please don't talk about the fans."

John looked askance. "What do you take me for, an idiot?"

Rodney considered the question. There were so many ways to answer it.

A rush of air left John's mouth and his lip curled in sarcastic disgust. "Just forget it."

"Happily," Rodney agreed.

McCoy waved a finger at them. "You two are positively scary, you know that?"

Rodney nodded.

John crossed his arms. "I consider it a command style."

Kirk's grin was practically incandescent. "A perfectly valid one." He tilted his head, studying them curiously. "So, how much *do* you know about us?"

"Captain." Spock's voice held a warning tone. "Perhaps it is best if we do not ask."

"Ow," Rodney scowled. "The temporal implications just gave me a mini-stroke."

"Indeed," Spock agreed, already typing something into the pad in front of him.

Rodney twitched and muttered, "Okay, never going to get used to that." He turned abruptly to McCoy. "Is there such a thing as a mini-stroke?" He poked at his left arm. "Because I think I lost a little bit of sensation." Rolling up his sleeve, he pinched the skin of his forearm and nodded frantically. "Yes, yes, I sense a distinct lack of sensation!"

McCoy raised an eyebrow, obviously starting to doubt his sanity. "How many degrees did you say you had?"

"Not including the Bachelors? Four."

McCoy nodded. "And are they from *real* universities?"

"Of course they're from real-- is there some reason you're insulting me?" Rodney's voice had reached its upper registers, and he could see Spock holding back a wince. "You have some serious hospitality issues," he finished gloomily. "And if I lose the capacity to understand wormhole physics, Elizabeth is so blaming you." He glared pointedly at John.

John raised his hands, palms out. "Hey, hey! How is your hypochondria my fault?"

"Thinking about the numerous ways I might die or be incapacitated is far better than thinking about you doing something stupid, like flying a nuclear bomb into a hive ship."

John's eyebrows knitted together. "Are you still on about that?"

"Who did you think was going to have to pilot the next one, huh? Since after you, there was no one left who could operate the chair, thus letting us continue with Plan A, the ultimately saner and less incredibly stupid plan?" Rodney's cheeks felt flushed and his chest puffed for air when he was done. One look at John's wide eyes and pale face and he buried his own face in his hands. "I'm sorry. I think I might be a little--" He raised a hand in an expressive gesture "You know."

"On edge?" John asked quietly, though his tone held a little bit of ironic humor.

Rodney took a deep, calming breath. At least he pretended it was calming. "Yes, that." He looked up into the very startled eyes of the Enterprise officers. "It's been a long day."

"Hive ship?" Spock asked.

"Nuclear?" McCoy asked interrupting Rodney's thought process.

"Suicide mission." Kirk stated making Rodney's stomach clench.

Rodney saw John nod beside him. "It's been that sort of year."

Kirk nodded, a little taken aback. "I sensed that."

Spock leaned forward, fingers touching his lips. "However, since neither of you appear to be suffering from any sort of radiation sickness, nor are you significantly injured in any way that I can see, may I assume that whatever battle you went through was at least a limited success?"

Rodney's shoulders relaxed as he was reminded that yes, they had won and they'd won but good. "Yes. Limited."

Spock nodded.

John's eyes narrowed, and he stared at Spock for a few seconds before he retreated back into his chair with a mild "Huh."

******

Rodney, flanked by Spock, entered engineering. The tall column pulsing rhythmically in the center of the room made him pause.

"See." Rodney gestured at it. "Can someone explain to me how that works? Because from where I'm standing it's a glowing, throbbing rod and really-- has no one here read Freud?"

"That, laddie, is the heart and soul of the propulsion system," Scotty's rough brogue answered for him.

Rodney spun around, caught between a sense of awe at being in the presence of a Mecca of fake science, and sadness that news of the actor's death had arrived with the Daedalus. "So, what sort of technobabble are you going to throw at me to explain how that blister in the purity of science not only exists, but works?"

The hue of Scotty's cheeks darkened into a dangerous red before Spock stepped between them. "Mr. Scott, might I remind you that Dr. McKay hails from another universe, one in which our sciences might be... differently organized."

Scotty bit back a response. The determined look on his face didn't fade though, and Rodney could make out some indistinct muttering as they made their way to a station in the back.

"This is probably not where you will do any of your building. I've reserved one of the science labs for that," Spock began, already fiddling with some of the controls. "However, this will be a good place to display diagrams, do a large part of the calculations, and possibly serve as a forum for exchanging of ideas."

Scotty's face darkened at the suggestion, but he nodded, looking like he'd just swallowed a handful of nails.

Rodney was already inputting numbers and getting to know his computer. "Yes yes," he said distractedly. "Now leave me alone while I figure out how to go home without breaking the space-time continuum."

He barely noticed when they shared an amused look and left him to his math.

******

John leaned back in the chair with a quiet sigh. A rec room was a great idea. They had the supplies for one back on Atlantis, but nothing concrete had been put together yet. He made a mental note to look into it when they got back.

The view outside the window made him pause, as it always did when he had the time to be impressed.

"Is that a new sight for you?"

John looked up startled as Kirk down in beside him.

"The stars." Kirk gestured at the window. "You ever see them from this angle? You two weren't very forthcoming about your level of technology."

John lowered his head abashedly. "Yeah, sorry about that, we're just a little... freaked out at the moment." He turned back to the view. "And yes, I've had the chance before." His hand grazed the clear substance, feeling the coldness. "But I never thought I actually would."

"Pure luck?" Kirk asked, a knowing lilt to his voice.

John shrugged. "Earth in our time period is a lot like yours was. No one on has the technology to do much more than stumble around blind, deaf, and dumb, hoping we'll learn something before we kill ourselves, and we have to justify our expenditures to the public." His hand spread across the view like a spider, fingers spreading, as if reaching for something.

"And unofficially?"

"Atlantis," John whispered reverently. "A place that feels like home, in another galaxy." The cold on his hand made him shiver. The jumper was never cold like this, like the vastness of space was creeping up on them despite the safety of their ship. He shook his head. "Unofficially, there are aliens and wars and politics and we're just starting to catch up."

Kirk made a loud sniffing noise. "I smell massive political conspiracy."

John raised an eyebrow. "Funny, I always get that smell confused with shit. How do you tell the difference?"

Kirk shrugged. "More vultures."

A grin spread across John's face, and he turned deliberately from the window. "I'll keep that in mind."

"I'll bet you will." Kirk smiled casually, offering him a drink from a flask that appeared out of nowhere, along with some glasses.

John eyed the amber liquid. "You know, I forgot how often alcohol played a role on the show." He took the glass and swirled it experimentally, "I forgot that you were forged in the ideals of the Sixties."

Kirk obviously had no idea what to say to that. "Without wanting to sound like an alcoholic, I thought you looked like you needed it."

John saluted Kirk with the glass and took a careful sip. "As I said before, it's been a hell of a year."

Kirk drank with him. "I've had a few of those."

Trying not to choke on his drink, John nodded. "I might be familiar with some of them."

"Thought you might." Kirk's grin was hidden behind the rim of his glass. "Trouble is, at my age I have problems choosing only one year for comparison." He studied John from behind the glass and his eyes shadowed just a bit. "I think perhaps you and Spock should probably have a talk."

John found himself holding back words, things he shouldn't say, wouldn't if it were his own timeline. Instead, he nodded and let a companionable silence fall for a short time.

"Dr. McKay isn't going to get annoyed that you're not helping?" Kirk eventually asked. "He seems the type to take offense about whether you're there or not."

Smiling fondly, John looked at Kirk. "I've found that it's better to get out of Rodney's way until he's sure he can't do it."

"And then?"

John shrugged. "Then I smack him with something large and only occasionally metaphorical."

They shared quiet laughter, and John was struck by how right and how wrong the writers had gotten him. Kirk was charismatic, there was no denying that. The urge to spill his guts totally and completely still itched at the back of his throat. Kirk was also very smart; intelligent enough to make some mighty fine guesses, and compassionate enough to know when John just wasn't willing to talk about something.

What threw him was the vulnerability, his own ability to read Kirk; the fine lines about his eyes, and the grayness in the hair that seemed so much starker in person. This was a man who'd lived a long and dangerous career. This was also a man who still laughed. It was a sobering thought.

Kirk elbowed him gently in the side. "Best friends are some responsibility, huh?"

A hard, bitter lump appeared in his throat and John found himself taking a long pull from the glass in front of him, relishing the slight burn as it worked its way down, leaving an acidic feeling in his stomach. "Yeah," he rasped quietly. "At least yours eventually got past the socially retarded stage."

The loud coughing that came from Kirk wasn't really a surprise.

******

"Oh my God, you've just invented a new form of idiocy!"

"Now, laddie, there's no reason to be getting testy."

"Of course there is! Physics has just gotten up, danced on its ears, and taken up residence with a hobo! I can be as testy as I want!"

******

Kirk sat back down looking amused. "You sure security doesn't need to supervise?"

"He's all bark," John assured him. "I'd be more worried if there wasn't any yelling at all."

"If you say so." Kirk didn't sound reassured, but he didn't rescind his orders either.

John went back to the story about the two women with the jello shots.

******

"Overrated! I knew it! My entire childhood values system blown out of the water!"

"There is no need to become agitated, Dr. McKay, I was merely pointing out that--"

"You were wrong! Absolutely and utterly wrong! Go ahead, change your name to Mr. Can't Smell the Abysmally Wrong Physics That's Right in Front of His Face!"

"People have enough trouble with my name as it is, Dr. McKay."

******

Kirk watched as another red-shirt skittered around the corner to join an increasing number of white faced young men, all looking like they'd just escaped a war zone.

"You know," he said conversationally. "If you could harness that power..."

John nodded and slumped back in his seat. The third glass had numbed most of his nerves, and he was pleasantly relaxed. "We've thought about it, but he'd never sit still for long enough."

They both watched someone in science blue run in with a data pad, show off the screen, collect some information, and then skitter out again.

"Bet he's entertaining," Kirk observed.

John nodded. "He is, when you know, there aren't bullets and energy beams and stuff being shot at us."

Kirk winked. "You're young. It'll start getting entertaining all the time."

******

"Oh that's it. We're screwed. Totally screwed."

"You haven't even looked at my suggestions."

"I'm depressed enough, thank you."

******

McCoy sat down across from them. "Room at the table for another lush?"

John had shifted so his feet were casually draped on the table. He waved magnanimously from his reclined position. "Who you calling lush, Doc?"

Gesturing at the half-empty bottle McCoy smiled. "The evidence is before my eyes, and even I can come to a logical conclusion now and then."

John squinted at the doctor carefully. "How do I know you're the right kind of lush?"

McCoy waved a hand at Kirk. "He'll vouch for me." He was already pouring himself a glass.

"Best lush this side of the galaxy," Kirk confirmed, raising a glass. "To command decisions and their fallout."

John raised his glass. "To classy women and lemon jello."

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "To loose-lipped drunks."

They drank, and a nervous looking ensign appeared by their side. "Sir?" he said to John, and handed John a datapad.

"Anything wrong?" Kirk asked, suddenly sober and in focus

"Nah." John put the pad down. "It's just time for me to find my metaphor and smack McKay around with it."

******

Upon careful consideration, John decided to take the easy, if slightly dangerous approach. Spock noticed him enter quietly and took one careful step to the side, catching Scotty's eye as well. John gave them both a grateful nod and then moved in for the kill.

Rodney flailed at first, nearly getting an elbow into someplace sensitive.

"Hey, Rodney, time for food."

That certainly got a message across.

"Why didn't you say so?" Rodney groused, still struggling minutely.

John tightened the arm around Rodney's shoulders, and directed him down the corridor. "Well I thought that if I didn't make some sort of show of it, most of the engineering department would have tried to lock you in a small room somewhere."

"They're just jealous," Rodney sniffed.

"Sure they are."

******

They'd been housed in some sort of VIP suite, possibly to keep them contained, or perhaps to give them security in a foreign environment.

After an afternoon of drinking with Kirk, John still wasn't sure which one it was. It was probably both, and he couldn't give damn either way.

Rodney had collapsed into unconsciousness about thirty seconds after the last bite had entered his mouth, just long enough for him to finish a segment of math, and to place the tablet someplace he wouldn't accidentally step on it.

Of course, that left him little time to actually make it to bed. John shrugged; the couch looked comfy enough.

He left Rodney to his drool and resumed reading. Kirk had been kind enough to allow them access to their historical files, and John couldn't help but be curious. He hadn't actually asked for it, and Kirk had a knowing smirk on his face when he'd offered.

Sometime later he sat up and stretched, arching his back and popping none too few vertebrae as he stood, contemplating bed with a sleepy smile. He eyed Rodney, still sound asleep on the couch, and went and collected a blanket, draping it over his shoulders carefully. Rodney twitched violently, but didn't wake.

John shrugged and headed to his own bed. In the doorway, he studied the controls carefully, finding the combination of buttons to keep the door open. He took one last look at Rodney, still occasionally twitching, and slowly and deliberately pressed the commands in.

Later, in the darkness of artificial night, John heard a sound that made his heart pound and his eyes jump open. He searched his surroundings, but found nothing but blackness.. He rolled and shifted, pulling the blankets up to cover himself in the perfectly climate controlled room.

Then out of the blackness, the noise happened again. It was small and high pitched and full of--

He was out of the bed like a shot; his blanket fell in a tangle around his feet, nearly tripping him. He skid into the common room to find Rodney flipped over on the couch, clawing at the pillows beneath him, twisting out of some unseen grasp.

Rodney's eyes fluttered frantically as John carefully put a hand on Rodney's back, the fabric damp and sweaty beneath his fingers. "Rodney," he whispered, shaking him slightly.

Rodney gasped and shrank away from his hand, curling up into a corner even as his eyes blinked blearily. "Colonel?" he croaked.

John kept his hands up and within eye line while nodding. "That's right, Rodney, just me."

Rodney took a few deep, shuddering breaths, and nodded quickly. "Right, sorry, not used to," he waved his hands around in large sweeping arcs, "you know."

"Not really," John razzed, but let it go. "You okay?"

Already standing and pacing, Rodney dismissed the question with another series of hand motions that could have meant, 'slide into home after the batter bunts', or possibly, 'ham and cheese on rye'. With Rodney, you could never tell.

"Fine, fine, just... Spock as a Wraith, very scary."

John shivered. "Your subconscious is a freaky place, Rodney."

Rodney stopped pacing abruptly and gave John a sour face. "Yes, well, you and my analyst can discuss that later." He poked at a pile of things in the corner. "Where did I leave that computer?"

Sliding the black rectangle under the couch with one bare foot, John shrugged. "No idea."

Rodney collapsed suddenly into a nearby chair like his strings had been cut, long fingers curling over his face and moving in little circles around his temples. "This is going to be a long night."

The deep shadows of the room covered them both in a soft cloak, muffling everything that should have seemed sharp and painful. Even Rodney's slumped shoulders had the quiet cry of weariness instead of the loud bark of pain.

John's movements blended into the darkness as he crossed the room and leaned over Rodney's shoulder, fingers whispering past the slightly damp material to access the computer on the desk. "Look what I found," he said in a hushed voice, muted by his own tiredness.

Rodney pulled the monitor closer and stared at it, sneering at the glow of light cutting into the the room. "Chess?"

"Not just any chess." John couldn't help some of the giddiness that leaked into his voice. "Three-dimensional chess."

John set the board up while Rodney devoured the rules with a scary sort of hunger. The first few games were nothing more than trials, testing out the moves, adapting popular two-dimensional strategies, and getting a feel for the board.

Rodney had declared any literature on the three-dimensional version within the computer databanks was to be off-limits, because damnit, he'd rather be trussed up like a pig on an alien planet than be hand-fed help by a piece of fiction.

By the fourth game, they really had something going. Fifteen moves in, their play had slowed, and each turn involved long contemplative moments before a piece was put into play.

Rodney was completely focused on the game, oddly relaxed despite the competition. Except that his long, agile fingers kept *stroking* the bishop he'd taken out several moves earlier.

John watched Rodney's thumb slowly trace the ridges of the bishop, one detail at a time, as it disappeared into that large fist. Then it circled the top of the pointy hat, and started back down as the bishop slowly reemerged. He swallowed past a dry mouth.

"You going to move sometime this century, or does your strategy include staring off into space?"

John started at the comment, cheeks burning. "Taking my time, Rodney." He moved a pawn to a clear space two-levels down. He'd already figured out his next three moves, his pauses and contemplations had been mostly for effect.

Rodney looked at the board thoughtfully, full mouth resting on his fist. His fingers were still wrapped around the bishop that had been so thoroughly fondled before. The juxtaposition of the chess piece so perilously close to Rodney's lips was distracting, and John was fairly sure the little helmet was mocking him, tip sticking out of Rodney's fist like that. The quick swipe of Rodney's tongue over his bottom lip was just enough to nudge John over from aching to half-hard. He shuddered.

"Cold?" Rodney eyed him. "*Some* people wear shirts to bed."

He really should have been freaking out right about then. "Just a premonition." He had the feeling he'd used his freak out quotient already.

Rodney finally moved a rook. "Precognitive now? What, the hair help with the reception?"

Frowning, John poked at his hair. "You are one jealous bitch." The tension in his body coiled tighter. "Just saw exactly how I was going to beat you, is all."

Licking his lips again, Rodney narrowed his eyes. "You are not going to beat me--"

John decided not to prolong the waiting He might have enjoyed it too much.

The gaping, open-mouthed look, really worked for Rodney.

"You-- you-- cheater!" Rodney sputtered.

Hands wide and open, waved at the board. "If you can tell me how I cheated, I'll admit to it," John offered.

Rodney sputtered some more, his own hands waving as if conducting some unseen orchestra. "You always cheat! It's your thing."

John straightened with a sinking feeling that they weren't talking about chess anymore. "My... thing?"

"Yes, your thing! You cheat, you do things no one should, and you do them better than anyone could possibly think to!" Rodney was up and pacing again, like potential energy just released. "You run away and don't say good bye, and then you don't even have the decency to leave us time to grieve properly, or resent you fully,because you just beam back in like you seem to think it'll be *poof!* all better, well I hate to say it, Colonel, but it's not!"

Rodney stopped in front of him, glaring angrily. "So long, Rodney? What the hell was that?" He kicked John's shin. "Might as well have told me to 'train the boy'."

John hugged himself tightly. "Ugh, you with a nine-year-old."

That stopped Rodney in his tracks and left him gaping again.

"And really," John continued. "I'm glad we didn't actually end up there, the hole in my chest would've really affected my surfing."

Later, he'd swear he never saw the punch coming.

*******

Darkness gave way to a faint throb of John's cheekbone. "Ow," he muttered.

"Oh thank God." Rodney's relieved face hovered in his blurry vision.

A pang of warmth at Rodney's concern nearly made John try to smile, despite the pain.

"Could you tell these people that you started it?" Rodney asked.

On second thought, he considered returning the favor.

Peering behind Rodney, he could see an impassive security guard, and a mildly amused Kirk. John swung his legs over the side of the bed he was in, and sat up.

"Hey hey!" McCoy came up next to him. "If I'm gonna be woken up in the middle of the night, you're gonna let me play doctor."

John grinned.

Rodney gave him an irritated look. "Oh, grow up."

"You're the one that slugged me." John sat still for the strange doohickey McCoy waved at his face. Something cold and full of pressure was held against his cheekbone, and then there was blessed numbness. The release of pain left him boneless and little dizzy. "Though to be fair," he addressed Kirk. "I may have goaded him a little."

"A little?" Rodney huffed.

"You were just angry I beat you at chess."

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "A fist fight broke out over a chess game? Your universe is really different, isn't it?"

John shrugged, watching McCoy attack his face with a new instrument. "Approximately one hundred scientists trapped together? Healthy competition takes on a new meaning."

Kirk surreptitiously dismissed the guard and Rodney crept closer, intrigued by whatever the doctor was doing to his face.

"Are you actually repairing the cells?" Rodney asked, hands twitching until McCoy rolled his eyes and handed the device over.

"Accelerating mostly. There's nothing broken, so I'm just speeding up cell production in a few minute areas. Wouldn't do for the body to forget how to heal itself." McCoy pointed out various dials and settings, and just as Rodney reached the point of salivating, he plucked it out of his greedy hands, put it away and said, "no, you may not take it apart."

Rodney made a small noise, but stayed silent.

When their guests finally left, Rodney's shoulders slumped infinitesimally. He turned to John and waved towards the common room. "I'll just go back to looking for that computer."

John watched as Rodney retreated. "It's under the couch."

Rodney stopped in the doorway, back stiff. "Do you hurt people on purpose?" he asked softly, before closing the door behind him.

*******

Rodney avoided John the next day. It was subtle and quite clever, but it was hard to disguise the lack of Rodney, or at least, the lack of sound.

Kirk, either being the gracious host, or sensing something was up, sent him out on a shuttlecraft with Chekov to do a little piloting. When they got back, there was an unsubtle exchange of winnings and mutterings about g-forces and internal tolerances.

John just grinned.

*******

Rodney kept to himself. After being escorted to the private lab, he didn't yell at all. Not even when Spock corrected his math.

*******

John checked to make sure Rodney had regular meals, but otherwise, left it alone.

*******

The next day Scotty dropped off some basic science books, and Rodney tore into him on everything from Warp theory to Entropy and back.

*******

"He's yelling again." Kirk told John over lunch.

John took a big bite of steak. "I know." He took another bite. "Took Scotty the better part of a morning to find the right book."

*******

Day three had John getting an extensive tour of their sensor systems and a visit to the shooting range.

"No," Spock said. "You cannot take it apart."

John shrugged nonchalantly. "Didn't really want to, but I was trying to figure out if I could get you to trade me a crate of those for Rodney."

"Do you suffer from some sort of illness?"

*******

By the third night, John was pretty much fed up with the whole avoidance thing, so he'd asked a simple question of Spock. A raised eyebrow had led to a stuttering explanation and a call to Kirk, who'd looked like he was going to hurt something not laughing when explained what he wanted and why. When he was finished, Spock had told him exactly what he'd needed to know.

Getting back to their humble abode about an hour before Rodney had taken to stumbling in, John got to work. When Rodney made his appearance, John was casually reading some twenty-third century literature. Those Andorians sure were sensualists.

It took about thirty seconds for it to sink in, but when it did...

"Okay, so that is probably the most childish thing I've ever seen." Rodney's voice cut through the silence.

Carefully not looking up, John answered, "Why, whatever do you mean, Rodney?"

"You locked the door!" Rodney actually jumped up and down a little.

"You were avoiding me," John said reasonably, even though the red tinge on Rodney's face had him considering crawling under the table for cover.

Rodney snarled, got to his knees, and started to take off the paneling around the buttons to the right of the door. John frowned. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"Scotty is going to be pretty mad if you break his ship," John cautioned.

"Scotty is already pretty mad at me," Rodney answered around some tool or another.

John let the muttering and cursing go on for a few minutes before speaking up again. "Wouldn't it be easier to talk to me?"

Rodney rolled his eyes and hunched his shoulders. "One day I should introduce you to my parents." He fiddled some more before turning to face John. "And really, since when do you talk about anything? Last time there was a problem, you pulled out that tired old football video and attempted to relate life on Atlantis to a bad pass."

Affronted, John leaned back in his seat. "Hey, you use what's available."

"Yes, and that poor woman, who probably thought she'd been asked on a date, left looking dazed, confused, and not a little bit frustrated." Rodney returned to checking circuits.

John furrowed his brows. "That would explain the perfume."

Rodney made a little frustrated sound and hit the wall. "You can't really be that dense, can you?"

"If I try hard enough." John swung around in the chair and stood. "Was that the same hand you hit me with?"

Rodney glared, and rubbed the knuckles gently.

"So, I think maybe you should tell me why you're so angry," John said quietly.

"I'm an angry man, lots of repression from early childhood," Rodney bit out, turning back to the wall. "Something about unhealthy attachments to things that are bad for me." He tried another route on the lock. "Once a year I used to have something with citrus in it."

John could feel his brow knitting in confusion. "Why would you do that?"

Rodney's hands dropped. "To prove that I could? To know exactly what the reaction felt like? To try and allay the sense of false hope that the allergy would fade just as suddenly as it had appeared?"

John stepped around Rodney, pressed a few buttons, and waited as the door slid open with an anticlimactic hiss. "You look tired."

Rubbing his eyes furiously, Rodney slumped against the wall. "You try keeping two different sets of physics straight in your head, one of which relies on a set of rules that is simply absurd, and see how bright and chipper you are at the end of the day."

John sat next to him, knees brushing. "I couldn't have said anything else, Rodney."

Rodney hugged his own knees close to his chest. "Yeah well, don't expect me to care next time you try to kill yourself."

John knew there were moments where you were supposed to say something profound and deep and meaningful. You were supposed to take that chance and make that leap, but in thinking about those moments, he'd never thought about *those moments*, where you were stuck waiting to decide. He swallowed thickly and reached out, taking Rodney's shaking, sweaty hand in his own.

"I couldn't have said more, Rodney," he said again, his voice hushed. "Because anything else and I wouldn't have gone at all." John paused. "And I had to go."

Rodney's hand stayed passive in his own while Rodney thought hard enough that John could feel the brainwaves from where he sat.

"You can't know that for sure." Rodney shifted their hands and laced their fingers. "You can't be sure that there wasn't another way."

"No," John conceded, staring at their hands clasped tightly, relief surging through him in strong waves, "I can't. But at that moment I knew that I *could* possibly save everyone, and give you some time to do your thing."

Rodney's body leaned against him, heavy and warm. "There wasn't anyone left who could operate the chair."

"You could have done it." John pulled their clasped hands up to his mouth, letting his lips linger softly on Rodney's knuckles. "Technology quivers before your intellect and determination."

Relaxing even further against John, Rodney took their tethered hands and held them close to his body, his head tilted onto John's shoulder. "It's nice to know you recognize my vast intelligence. Now if only you'd listen to me on occasion."

John shifted his body so that Rodney's head lay on his chest, and his free hand reached around to cup Rodney's cheek. "I listen to you all the time."

Rodney stared at him, disbelief apparent in his eyes for a long second, before they closed as he leaned into John's palm. He could feel Rodney's resistance bleeding away into nothingness.

The stubble under his fingers tingled with electricity and, the sound of Rodney's soft breath as it got closer made him shiver. John leaned in, and Rodney's lips tasted of coffee and something sweet and the kiss was soft, so soft and gentle and full of emotion it was almost too much. The warm press of Rodney against his chest, of Rodney's hand on his neck pulling him closer, and the soft hitching of breaths, all combined until whatever was expanding inside of him threatened spill over.

The kiss ended with the slow parting of lips and the gentle touching of foreheads.

"What are we, Athosian now?" Rodney's voice was light and held together a bit too tightly for the barb to really be sharp. "Also, for the record, this is not going to make me less angry next time you do something stupid."

Instead of finding the right words, John kissed him again. Rodney made a small noise and arched against him, fingers resuming their steady grip on the back of John's neck, circling slowly, and John lost himself in the warm, wet lips. They parted, hands still entwined, tangled together on the softly carpeted floor, breathing in unison.

Rodney's free fingers traced lazy circles over John's breast bone, and he had trouble tearing his attention away from the soft caress to speak.

"So this could possibly not have been where I'd expected the evening to go," John whispered into Rodney's hair, huffing at it softly when it tickled under his nose.

He could feel Rodney's laugh as it started deep in his chest and rippled upwards through his throat and out his mouth. Rodney's lips glanced off his collar bone as they twisted, and John could see the expression on his face.

"Don't worry; I plan on continuing to be angry with you in the morning."

The leg wrapped around John's hip burned a mark into his skin as Rodney shifted around, curling closer. He found his free hand tracing the strong muscle between ass and thigh, thumb digging in just enough to elicit a small moan of contentedness.

Rodney mouthed underneath John's chin, licking and then breathing hot, moist air onto a patch of skin that made John's breath catch in his throat, and a violent shiver thread through his body, even as his cock began to ache lazily. His hips gave a slow, careful thrust.

The leg around his waist tightened, and Rodney gave his own tentative thrust back, erection burning into his thigh. The hot, sluggish spirals of pleasure felt better than anything had in a long time. It was all open mouths and unhurried movements and soft gasps and time stretched into long, endless shivery seconds.

"Wait," Rodney's voice rasped, hot and wet in his ear. "What if they're watching us?"

John licked a broad sweep over the shell of Rodney's ear. "Why on earth would they do that?"

Rodney shuddered in his arms. "SGC does it all the time." The breathless huff in his voice was such a turn-on.

They rolled, and John settled into the groove between Rodney's leg and body, straddling his thigh perfectly, and the intense feeling of two strong thighs pushing into him distracted him for a moment. "I thought," he said with his teeth worrying at Rodney's neck. "That Starfleet had risen above such base and patently intrusive practices."

Hot, agile hands worked under John's shirt. "Are you kidding me? This is Kirk's ship. Do you know how many scenes started with him putting his boots back on?"

"So, if Kirk's watching." John sucked on an earlobe. "We'll ask him for pointers." Even though he was arguing for not stopping, he slowed his own progress, carefully peeling himself away, lips aching at the loss of salty skin, hips missing the warm pressure of Rodney's. His cock got one glorious push along its underside as he slid away.

He caught his breath as his thumb slipped over Rodney's flushed cheek. "As comfortable as this floor is, it's probably bed time."

Rodney's eyes widened a bit, their glassy pupils shining with the reflection of the overhead lights.

"Alone," John said, offering a soft kiss of apology.

Frantic head bobbing signaled Rodney's agreement. "Yes. Yes, alone. I agree. Because this is undoubtedly some sort of partial insanity on both our parts."

John pushed himself upright, doing his best not to notice how their hands were still tightly wrapped together. "Partial insanity?" He was pretty sure there was a ridiculous grin spread across his face despite the ache of his throbbing erection.

Rodney sat up next to him, flopping against his shoulder. "We're making out on the floor of the Enterprise. You've got a better description?"

"Point." John stood, and tugged Rodney up with him.

They kissed one last time, lips lingering slowly, hands tightening painfully, until they both pulled away one slow inch at a time. In a fit of utter twelve-year-oldness, their linked hands pulled between them as they went in their separate directions, fingers slipping with one last silly attempt to hold on, and they managed to snap their fingers.

Rodney's laughter kept him going through the door, but when it whooshed closed, his fingers clawed at his pants, and he staggered to the bed, not quite making it. One hand braced on the bedspread, he buried his face in the crook of his elbow, as the other hand wrapped around his cock and pulled roughly.

He thought of Rodney's strong hands wrapped around his legs, and the flush spreading down past his collar, the taste of skin under his teeth. His hand moved fast, and his hips jerked wildly. The memory of rocking against that broad thigh made him shudder. He stopped momentarily to sweep his tongue across the palm of his hand in one long broad stroke. After that it was perfect, a wet, slick place to fuck, and his shirt, still smelling faintly of Rodney, making him hotter than he thought possible. The mattress jerked with his frantic movements, climax spiraling out of control. He whined Rodney's name into his sleeve and came so hard his muscles were sure to ache in the morning.

He knelt on the floor, lungs heaving as the aftershocks rumbled through him, until finally, he shrugged out of his pants and shirt, wiped himself down, climbed into bed, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

********

John wandered out to the common room at the same time as Rodney, who stopped, flushed bright red, and ran a hand through his hair.

To stave off any attacks of, well, just about anything, John took three long strides across the room, grabbed Rodney by the back of the neck, and planted a blistering kiss on his lips. The flailing quickly morphed into holding, and possibly caressing, but John was too focused on movement of lips beneath his and the quick peek of tongue.

They parted, panting.

"Morning," John said, going for chipper.

"Coffee," Rodney countered, but didn't look too grumpy.

Later, after food and caffeine, Rodney pushed his plate away and looked up at John with narrow eyes and open hands. "So I noticed we didn't have sex last night."

John nodded carefully and tried not to condescend. "And they only call you a genius." Well, not to condescend too much.

Rodney's deflation was subtle, for Rodney. "Never mind then." He pushed away from the table and reached for the nearby computer.

"Hey, hey! Sarcasm! We're guys; I thought maybe I'd deflect the part where I considered your feelings."

Rodney straightened, and smiled brightly. "Oh, right! Yes, yes, carry on."

Thinking carefully, John studied Rodney and said, with a straight face, "I'm not having sex on the Enterprise."

Rodney blinked, opened his mouth to say something, snapped it shut, and then blinked again.

Defeated, John shrugged nonchalantly. "Last night was not the time for the sweaty, life-altering, possibly career-altering, incredibly good, amazing, gay sex."

"I'm highly disturbed that you modeled that sentence after the title of a children's book."

John frowned. "I'm highly disturbed that of all things, you chose that to comment on." He stood, walked around the table to Rodney, grabbed his shoulders, and pulled him in close. "Let me assure you, that I'd like nothing more than to bend you over this table and play hide the turtle until we turn blue and collapse, but --" He slid his hand down Rodney's arm until it reached Rodney's fingers which automatically opened and spread letting him hook between them. "You and I both know it's a hell of a lot more than really good sex."

There was a lot of blinking, a quick, harsh swallow, a flush, and Rodney looking at him funny. "Hide the turtle?"

"We really need to talk about your priorities."

"And you really need to start reading more. Did you actually bring War and Peace, or did you just glue the cover onto something else?"

There was a snappy comeback just about to leave John's mouth, when a loud, piercing, grating sound erupted from the speakers on the wall.

Rodney went very pale. "Shit, I knew it!"

Plugging his ears, John glared at the wall. "Damnit. I knew it had been too quiet. And Kirk's been none too helpful with sharing the tactical information."

"So you have no idea what it could possibly be?"

"None at all."

The sound of it all didn't last that long and soon after the brittle quiet settled back in, the ship rocked, sending them both slamming into a wall, and then to the floor, and then... nothing.

The deck plates beneath John hummed with more energy than he'd felt in their entire visit. They didn't bother standing back up. John grabbed the closest computer with terminal access and handed it to Rodney, who immediately logged into the engine room stats and the main bridge sensors.

"Well, we're apparently patrolling the border along the Romulan Neutral Zone," Rodney muttered, tapping in more commands.

John frowned, squinting at the data. "How on earth do you know that?"

"Memorized the coordinates."

"You're kind of freakish." John poked at Rodney's leg. "Let me guess, you were trying to build some sort of three-dimensional Federation map."

Rodney harrumphed. "Eighth grade was very boring."

The ship bounced around a few more times, but it felt more like the inertial dampeners catching up to sudden movement, than a hit of any sort. He told Rodney as much, after one serious hard jolt had him holding John's arm so hard blood had stopped flowing.

"If you say so," Rodney yessed him, without even looking up from the data.

Eventually they found themselves placing bets on which power usage set would spike and the nominals they'd return to. Finally the ship settled down, and they settled on playing some form of demented version of free cell which involved five suits of cards each, with twenty in the set. It took them fifteen minutes to figure out the picture cards.

"Well, that's an interesting solution to the deck being knocked out from under you." Kirk's voice startled them from an in-depth strategy discussion that involved such important matters as arguing that his hair gel did not somehow affect his cognitive reasoning abilities, because he didn't use any hair gel, thank you very much.

John looked up and resisted the urge to come to attention, damn the man for being a leader anyway. "Well, we kept getting knocked down here. We figured we might as well stay. The frat party over?"

"The kegs are empty." Kirk offered a hand up.

Rodney took it and gave them both a disgusted look. "Okay, the fact that you two speak the same language is starting to scare me."

John pulled himself up and ignored the popping in his back. "So, Romulans, huh?"

Kirk waved a finger at them. "Spock really wants to know how you did that, by the way. I've never seen him so startled."

Kicking the carpet with the tip of his shoe, Rodney actually looked embarrassed. "I guessed the admin password."

Eyes wide, John slapped a hand on Rodney's shoulder. "You *hacked* the Enterprise?"

"And no one will be believe me." Rodney nodded mournfully.

Smiling wide, John remembered why there was making out the night before. He turned to Kirk. "So, don't suppose you're here to tell us what they wanted?"

When Kirk just smiled, John got that wonderful feeling in the pit of his stomach, sort of like a free fall he hadn't initiated.

******

It turned out the Romulans had noticed a series of strange emanations coming from the Enterprise.

"What are they, repressed Catholics? What's wrong with emanations?" Rodney waved his fingers about, tapping them against the air.

"Ex-Vulcans," John prompted.

Rodney deflated slightly, thinking about it. "Ok, you might possibly have a point."

McCoy coughed behind his hand.

"What's wrong with them," Spock interrupted, looking stern. "Is that they are possibly not like anything that would come from a starship that they are familiar with, and that they are coming from a starship near their borders."

Rodney slumped in his seat looking pensive. "Is it wrong to miss the Wraith? At least with them I understand their motivations."

Reaching out extra slowly, John knitted his brows and patted Rodney on the shoulder. "Yes, Rodney, it's completely sane and preferable to be on the big, scary alien's lunch menu."

"Just checking." Rodney looked less than reassured. "So, what now, we stop?"

Kirk nodded apologetically. "I'm afraid so. I've had Uhura add requested recall orders to our last packet. Assuming all goes well, we should receive confirmation in the morning. After we finish out our last sweep, we'll head back to earth."

All the participants at the table were silent, letting the news sink in.

"I'll be continuing with the noninvasive research," Rodney stated, looking tense. "My only request is that you not get us killed or seriously maimed."

Leaning forward and looking only a little bit put upon, Kirk raised an eyebrow. "How about twisted ankles?"

Before Rodney or John could answer, Spock intervened. "Perhaps I can divert more of my time to help you, complete as much of the theoretical research as is possible."

Kirk regarded Spock for a long moment before giving a subtle nod and turning back to the proceedings.

John watched Rodney take a few deep breaths, obviously fighting something just under the surface. "Right, sure, it might be fun to listen to you attempt to be logical about the physics in this universe."

Spock raised an eyebrow and John held back laughter.

******

The beeps, whistles, and flashing lights of the small science lab didn't bother Rodney anymore. He supposed working in Atlantis had probably prepared him in some twisted way. It was just last week he'd likened his life to the bastard step-child of a book written by Anne Rice and Robert Heinlein -- with a smattering of Peter David thrown in for fun. Now that he was actually *in* a television show, he understood the depth and breadth of his misunderstanding.

Not that he was all that thrilled with his new understanding of the universe.

He bit his lip and poked at another equation.

Spock was on the other side of the room doing something mysterious to quantum physics. Rodney was really okay with not knowing the details. Because recently he'd started feeling like an overprotective babysitter to his favorite bits of Newtonian Physics, which was the sort of attitude he could do without. He had enough completely out of place feelings as it was, although at least those might end in sex.

Checking his email and not actually thinking about the fact that he now had an intraship memo address, he found Spock had sent him his latest theory; annotated, footnoted, with the math clearly spelled out. Possibly a little too clearly in some places -- perhaps his last remark about the likelihood of Spock understanding his highly advanced thought processes had gone a touch too far.

But damnit, he was not going to give into his baser instincts and fanboy all over the man either. "So, why did you do it?"

Spock tilted his head to the right, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Are you referring to the latest set of equations I sent you?"

Offended, Rodney's brow furrowed. "No. That thing you did, with the dieing." He couldn't believe he was actually asking. "Why did you do it?"

Spock gently placed his stylus on the table, leaned back, and touched his fingertips together in a classic move. "The needs of the many--"

"--out weigh the needs of the few," Rodney interrupted. "Blah, blah, do you actually believe your own press? No, I mean why did you *really* do it?"

Spock looked mildly offended.

Wiping a hand over his face, Rodney gave Spock a serious eye. "There had to be another reason. How could your death have been the most logical step? Did it occur to you that your years of training, your experience, the whole that is more than the sum of your parts would be lost and that might have weighed differently compared to a junior officer just as capable of doing the simple repair?"

Obviously not expecting the question, Spock looked momentarily startled before settling in, his two pointer fingers resting gracefully against his mouth. "Are you implying that my life is worth more than a junior officer's?"

"Yes, fine. It is, if you want to generalize the whole thing."

Spock nodded. "For this argument, I concede the point."

The silence that descended on the room was tense. Rodney went back to his math, fist tight around his stylus.

"There are things one simply must do," Spock said finally.

Rodney's fist hit the table. "And Kirk? McCoy?" He breathed out raggedly. "The people you left behind? Did you think about them?"

"Until the moment I took my last breath." Spock's voice was deep and controlled.

A loud crack startled them both, and Rodney looked down to see the stylus in three uneven pieces in his hand. He slumped ungracefully. "I'm sorry," he muttered before grabbing his computer pad and leaving.

******

McCoy found him two decks later and enticed him with a strong drink and the promise of that full medical exam he'd asked for.

Rodney slid onto the exam table absently. "I want to know everything that you fix in detail Maybe you could write out a report or something, to take back to Carson. He gets upset when any sort of alien technology gets used on us."

McCoy hummed and fixed some settings. "I wouldn't call this alien technology."

The little whirring saltshaker buzzed around his head and Rodney eyed it warily. "I say anything I can't build myself, if I was so inclined, is alien technology."

Making a 'well aren't you the amazing scientist' face, McCoy continued with his adjustments.. "So, any complaints?" he asked when he finally looked up.

"I'm deathly allergic to citrus, I'm hypoglycemic, I get these tension headaches, there's a knot at the level of my 5th and 6th vertebrae that never goes away, I think I'm starting to get a touch of arthritis, there's the possibility I'm getting a little far sighted, I have a bad back in general and the other day at lunch I could have sw--"

"Hold up a minute," McCoy interrupted. "Let's try this again. You," he pointed at Rodney, "sit there and don't speak."

Rodney harrumphed, but remained silent during the bulk of his examination, only speaking to comment on the uncomfortableness of the exam table, and the high-pitched whining of the devices possibly damaging the upper registries of his hearing.

"It is not." McCoy said, looking like he'd prefer to make Rodney eat the hypospray, instead of injecting him with it.

"What is that? What are you giving me?" Rodney attempted to squirm away from the cold metal, but McCoy's grip was surprisingly firm.

"Arsenic, great for the circulation." McCoy grinned evilly.

"What?" Rodney did not shriek. The crack was due to his overly dry throat, a direct symptom of the re-circulated air on the ship. He had the same problem on airplanes.

McCoy's big blue eyes were a mask of innocence. "Oh, does it work differently in your universe?"

Rodney waved his hands frantically, crawling up the table. "Yes! Yes it does!"

"Hmm. Didn't expect that." McCoy frowned absently and wrote something down.

Eyes narrowing and brain catching up, Rodney frowned. "You," he pointed an accusing finger, "are a horrible man."

Nodding cheerfully, McCoy made some more notes. "And you are the first person, aside from me and Jim, who's ever shaken up Spock so much in such little time."

"Shaken up?"

McCoy finally looked up, pinning Rodney with a stern gaze. "He used the word please three times in three sentences."

"Lack of imagination is a symptom of a broken Vulcan?"

"He was talking to *me*," McCoy clarified.

"Ah." Rodney said and promptly shut up.

A few minutes later, while he was laying down on the exam table again, not thinking about his left leg falling into a quick and soon to be painful sleep, McCoy spoke again.

"That brain of his can analyze, compartmentalize, statistify, and go back and do it all again in the time it takes me to think about which hypospray I want to use next."

Rodney stared up at the ceiling, which had never featured very prominently in any of the movies.

"He doesn't know why he did it the way he did." McCoy let out a long breath. "Jim probably couldn't explain half the life-endangering decisions he makes in quantifiable terms either." He laid a hand on Rodney's shoulder in what Rodney assumed was supposed to be a comforting manner. "It's what they do."

The ceiling was the same gray paneling as the rest of the ship, except it managed to exude some sort of light source. Interesting.

The hand on his shoulder squeezed. "They're stupid that way," McCoy said gently.

Rodney couldn't help but agree.

The exam continued, with McCoy adjusting things here and there. Vitamins, slight chemical imbalances, a virus that apparently was malingering in his system -- No wonder he'd felt a little off.

"Don't you get angry?" Rodney asked somewhere between the cellular scan and the eye check up.

"All the damn time." McCoy put down the long silver thing with the flashy lights and reached into a nearby cabinet, retrieving a long-necked bottle and two glasses. He poured them each a large portion. "Drink this and then we'll talk."

Rodney shook his head. "I'd rather remain sober, thank you very much."

McCoy took his drink in one swallow. "If we're going to have this conversation, I'd rather not."

"Well, okay then," Rodney took a mouthful of his own drink. "So tell me, have you people ever heard of AA?"

Pouring another himself another drink, McCoy gave him a mild glare. "Come back to me in twenty years and ask that question." He topped of Rodney's glass and then put the bottle away. "Besides, modern medicine makes it rather hard for the body to become addicted to a lot of the traditional substances."

Rodney stared at the amber liquid, its smoky color refracting the light. "Oh, well then, that's good I suppose."

"Nah." McCoy relaxed into his seat. "It just means the human race has found stupider and more dangerous ways of altering its chemical makeup."

"Well, as I've learned, the human race has an infinite capacity for idiocy." Rodney took a shallow sip. Whatever the stuff was, it was strong.

"I showed them up once," McCoy said thoughtfully into his own glass. "Got in and risked my life before they could get the chance to risk theirs."

Rodney didn't need to ask when, he was pretty sure he had a good idea of the episode-- event McCoy was referring to. "What'd they do?"

"After they were sure I wasn't going to die," McCoy smiled bitterly, "they practically grounded me. I felt fifteen for a few minutes there. Then I grounded them right back."

A small bark of laughter bubbled up in Rodney. "I was far too gone on stimulants and lack of sleep to argue with any sort of coherency." He watched McCoy raise an eyebrow. "And at that point I'd been yelling pretty much nonstop for about two months. It was soothing," he continued, rolling over whatever McCoy was going to say. "Anyway, by that point my raised voice wasn't going to do much more than possibly get me an eye roll or two."

McCoy studied him carefully. "How long ago was this?"

"A little more than a month."

"And have you made an effort to detox? Regain a normal sleeping cycle? Reduce stress?"

Rodney stared at his glass again, fairly sure McCoy didn't actually expect an answer, but oddly, he found one anyway. "Did you?"

Clear blue eyes gazed at Rodney from behind deep wrinkles. "Which time?" McCoy pursed his lips and tapped his fingers on his desk. "The time my best friend died? The time my other best friend died? The time the entire planet nearly died? Or that other time my best friend died?" He finished off his glass.

Clarity was like a fist in the gut, breathtaking and painful. "They do it because they love us." Rodney choked on the words, feeling hollow and devastatingly tired.

McCoy leaned back into his chair, reflecting a fraction of what Rodney was feeling. "Life's a bitch, ain't it?"



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