Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Rodney wakes up, he knows he’s in the infirmary for three reasons: the feel and smell of the cool, crisp sheets wrapped around him; the fact that he’s lying flat on his back instead of curled up on his front; and the sound of the infernal ticking clock – tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock - that Carson insists on having in all the rooms for manual pulse-taking. God, how Rodney hates that sound, associates it with the worst times of his life when one of his teammates is lying in a hospital bed and all he can do is keep vigil and count the number of stitches on their exposed skin over and over and over. (And yes, all right, once or twice at 0400 he has found himself checking their pulse rate against the ticking of the second hand, but he has sleep deprivation to blame for that not some kind of archaic, sheep-loving, temporal kink.)  

The muted sounds of the infirmary hustle and bustle tell Rodney he’s in a single room, not the main ward, which means he’s been in for a while. A couple of days at least. He should be worried but he’s not because of the tap-tap-tapping to his left; the familiar sound of John typing two-fingered on his laptop, and if John’s here with him and not in his own hospital bed then it can’t be that bad. He wants to reach out, grab John’s hand, but he’s not sure if they’re alone and he’s too tired to open his eyes and check, so he keeps his hands at his sides even though his nasal cannula tickles and his ear itches and there’s a sharp pain in his chest when he breathes.  

Someone, no, two someone’s sweep into the room. Rodney can hear the rustle of fabric and the squeak of leather. From the footsteps he knows it’s Ronon and Teyla, the other half if his team, and he’s immediately and measurably relieved that they’re both okay. As a general rule Rodney doesn’t concern himself with the safety and security of individuals (only that of the expedition as a whole), but John, Teyla and Ronon are the exceptions. Rodney would do anything for them. Hand over his morning coffee. Clean up leaking bodily fluids. Babysit. Take a bullet (or a blade or a rock or an axe). Kill.  

“How is he?” asks Teyla, softly, somewhere off to his right.  

John shifts next to him, his BDUs rustling, and the tapping stops. “No change,” he murmurs.  

“Want us to take over?” comes Ronon’s booming voice from Rodney’s feet.  

There’s the soft snick of a laptop being snapped shut, followed by John’s patented drawn-out sigh. “I’m fine,” he says, eventually.   

“You need to rest John,” says Teyla, firmly but not unkindly.  

“I need to be here when he wakes up.”  

“If there is any change, anything at all, you know we will radio you.”  

“I can’t-”  

“Don’t argue with Teyla,” says Rodney, or at least he tries to; he chokes over the words, tongue arid and rough against the roof of his mouth.  

“Rodney?” says John, voice breaking, and a hand grasps his left one where it lies on top of the sheets.  

“M’here.”  

“Hey, buddy, open your eyes for me.”  

“Can’t.”  

“Come on, McKay,” rumbles Ronon. “You can do it.”  

“Tired.”  

“We know you are so very tired, Rodney,” says Teyla. “But if you would just open your eyes for a few moments we would be so relieved...”  

Rodney can’t say no to Teyla, not when she’s pleading like that, so he squeezes his eyes tight for a moment then tries to force them open. His eyelids are a little fused together with grit but he manages to part them a crack to catch the sight of three blurred shadows looming over him. The glare from the light above him makes his eyes ache so he shuts them quickly.  

“S’bright.”  

Someone turns out the overhead light so he cracks his eyes open again. The blurred shapes slowly come into focus in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. Teyla’s beaming at him, eyes wide with emotion and Torren asleep on her hip. Ronon’s grinning, arms folded against his chest. They both look whole, healthy, safe. But John...he looks...his cheeks are hollow and his eyes are sunken and red-rimmed, but it’s the scraggly beard that betrays his anguish.  

“John?”  

“I’m here, buddy.” John leans in closer. “How are you feeling?”  

“Sore.”  

“I’ll get Carson,” says Ronon, and he heads through the door and out of sight.  

Rodney makes to get up, but John pushes him back down with a gentle hand. “Here, let me.” He picks up a bed control and raises the head of the bed until Rodney’s sitting up higher and he can see all around the room. The white, plastic clock ticking away above the door; the cluttered hospital table pushed up against the wall; John’s jacket crumpled on the floor where it’s fallen from the back of his chair. Next to his face Torren hiccups and snuffles into his mother’s chest, oblivious to the adult’s distress. Teyla kisses her son’s head and sits on the edge of the bed, grasping Rodney’s right hand in her free one.   

“It is good to see you awake, Rodney,” she says, voice thick with emotion. Something must have happened, something bad if even Teyla lost faith in him waking up.   

John turns to the table, grabs some ice chips from the water jug with his bare fingers. “Here, have some of these.” He puts them in Rodney’s mouth and Rodney sucks them gratefully as the water moistens his dry mouth. He licks his lips when they’ve melted and tastes something fruity and familiar.  

“How long?” he asks.  

“A while,” says John, but Rodney knows it’s been more than a while. It’s been so long that chapped lips have become an issue and John’s borrowed a tube of strawberry lip balm from Cadman. He’d point out the discrepancy but Carson comes tumbling in the door, eyes dark with lack of sleep but hands holding a clipboard steadily. Marie is hot on his heels with a tray of equipment and a syringe. Behind them, Ronon stands at the open door and radios someone in hushed tones as Carson approaches the bed, a look of pure relief on his face. Teyla steps out of the way to make room, lifting Torren a little higher on her body and cradling him with both arms.  

“Awake at last,” says Carson, voice weighted with his Scottish brogue. “How are you feeling?”  

“Tired. Sore. Time’sit?”  

“Twenty-five hundred hours.” Carson shines a light in his eyes and Rodney flinches from the brightness. “Sorry, lad, but I’ve got to check you over.”  

“How long?”  

“Too long. I have to admit, I'm bloody glad to see you’ve finally woken up. Where are you sore?”  

“Chest.”  

“That’ll be the fractured ribs.”  

“Painkillers?”  

“Aye. Marie is on it.”  

Marie is definitely on it, and it’s the good stuff if the warm haze settling over him is anything to go by. She finishes fiddling with his I.V. then discretely heads out of the room with her tray as Carson checks his pulse against that damned clock with the firm press of his fingertips. “Right. Can you tell me the months of the year backwards?”  

“Can,” says Rodney, “but won’t”  

Carson sighs as he scribbles on his clipboard. “Do you know where you are?”  

“Atlantis. Infirmary. Coffee?”  

“We’re not quite there yet, lad.”  

There’s the sound of hurried footsteps outside the door, and Elizabeth rushes around the corner in her pyjamas, hand grasping the doorframe as she pauses on the threshold momentarily. She enters the room and comes to a stop at the end of the bed, the tips of her fingers touching the blankets gently. “Welcome back, Rodney,” she says, smiling broadly. There’s no diplomatic façade, no schooling to her expression, just genuine joy and relief. Elizabeth isn’t easily visibly rattled, and that alone tells him there’s something incredibly wrong here. He looks around at all the smiling faces of the people he lives and works with and loves: John sitting on a chair at his left grasping his hand, gaze intense and mouth shut tight; Ronon hovering by the door, watching him with wary eyes; Elizabeth at the end of the bed pushing the strap of her camisole back up her shoulder nervously; Carson to his right writing on his clipboard, cheeks flushes and hair mussed; and Teyla, lovingly cradling Torren by the window, with her eyes fixed on Rodney in the bed.  

“H-how long?” he asks again.  

Carson shifts and sits on the bed next to him, in the spot that Teyla vacated moments ago. “Rodney, maybe it’s best if we-”  

“How. Long.”  

Everyone stares at him, unsure what to say but he stares them each down in turn. It’s John that breaks first. “Six weeks.”  

Six weeks? “My...brain?”  

“All your brain scans are normal,” says Carson quickly. “I’ve had you under a scanner every couple of days. No brain injuries, no deterioration, damage or decay. You weren’t even in a coma. You just wouldn’t wake up.”  

“Sleeping?”  

“Definitely not sleeping,” says John, intensely.  

“More like...anaesthesia,” says Carson. “But without any actual anaesthetics.”  

“What...happened...?”  

“No, that’s enough.” Carson stands and pats his hand. “I promise we’ll tell you everything, but you need to get some rest. When you’re stronger we’ll tell you what happened.”  

“I’ve been resting for six weeks.” It hurts his throat to speak, but he has to ask, has to know.  

“That you have. Another couple of hours won’t hurt.”   

“Carson-”  

“In the morning, Rodney,” insists John, firmly. “I promise.”  

A promise from John is as good as done, so Rodney relaxes back and lets everyone say goodnight to him – a gentle hug from Ronon, a forehead press from Teyla, a pat on the arm from Elizabeth – then watches Carson drive them out the door. John doesn’t move, stays sat in his chair gripping Rodney’s hand like it’s a lifeline, eyes never leaving his face. Carson returns quickly, armed with some medical equipment and a couple of nurses, and when pressed John allows himself to be herded out of the room momentarily. Rodney’s vitals are taken, and the bed raised so the nurses can reposition him, propping him onto his right side with pillows all down his back. Through the window he can see the lights of the towers of Atlantis stretch up into the night sky, can hear the rush of the waves against the hull of the city. He’s so exhausted that the effort of turning wipes him out, and by the time John returns he’s almost dozing. He listens as John drags the chair to the other side of the bed and picks up his hand again, feels the unfamiliar scratch of John’s beard as he kisses his knuckles one by one, then his palm, the inside of his wrist, the pads of his fingers.  

“Thank you for coming back to me, Rodney.”  

“Always,” mumbles Rodney, squeezing John’s hand, and he feels sleep pull at his consciousness and drag him under.   

It’s morning and John’s snoring softly in the chair when Rodney wakes up for the second time. He lays there and watches him for a while, taking in the worry lines on his face and the dark shadows under his eyes. The past six weeks have clearly been tough on him. The beard is a little freaky; the only body hair that John ever shaves is on his face and he’s utterly anal about it. Unless the Wraith are literally in the skies above them then every morning, without fail, John can be found in the bathroom with a razor and a bar of shaving soap making long, slow strokes with the blade, feeling for missed spots with his fingertips. It’s a ritual and on the rare mornings when Rodney doesn’t have to sneak back to his room at 0430 he likes to sit in the bathroom and watch. Rodney, being much fairer and significantly less hirsute can get away with a couple of days' worth of stubble, but by nightfall John’s five o’clock shadow is more like a ten o’clock shadow and sometimes, on very calm days, he can be found back in the bathroom late afternoon, going back over the planes of his jaw with his razor. So to see him with a scraggly beard is both strange and telling. The last time he saw John like this was when they rescued him from the time dilation field, but he hadn’t looked so gaunt then. Rodney reaches out and grabs hold of John’s arm, watching as he stirs sluggishly out of his sleep.  

“Hey,” whispers Rodney, thumb stroking over the delicate bones of John’s wrist.  

“Hey.” John smiles sleepily and moves his hand until he’s holding onto Rodney’s. “How are you feeling?”  

“Kinda high. Carson’s got me on the good stuff.”  

“That he has.” John leans in and kisses Rodney on the mouth softly, gently, his nose dislodging the nasal cannula. “God. I am so glad to see you awake. You’ve been unconscious for so long.”  

“I’m sorry.”   

“Just...don’t do that again.”  

“As soon as you tell me what happened, I’ll take steps to make sure I don’t.”  

John looks down at their joined hands but doesn't say anything.   

“John, you promised.”  

“I did. And I will. But Carson and Elizabeth need to be here too.”  

“So radio them and-”  

The door opens suddenly and Rodney instinctively pulls his hand back from John but John won’t let go of him. Marie walks in, and Rodney’s surprised that she doesn’t even glance at their joined hands, just checks his IV line and writes something down on his chart.   

“How are you feeling, Doctor McKay?”  

Panicky, he wants to say, but he doesn’t want to draw attention to the very gay hand-holding that’s going on under her nose so he just acts like it’s not a thing. “I’m fine. Bit woozy.” Hand-holding? What hand-holding? John’s just checking my pulse rate.  

“That’ll be the IV morphine. We’ll wean you off that now that you’re awake and able to take tablets.”  

“Is Carson here?”  

“He’s on his rounds, he’ll be in shortly.” She finishes scribbling. “Any pain or nausea?”  

“No.”  

“Do you need anything?”  

“I’m fine, thank you.”  

Marie puts his chart away, fixes his nasal cannula and steps out, closing the door behind her.  

“Are you insane?” snaps Rodney. “What are you doing? You need to be more careful!”  

“Rodney, it’s okay, I-”  

Carson opens the door and strides into the room, followed by Teyla, Ronon and Elizabeth. This time John lets go when Rodney pulls back, but he stays close. Too close for propriety. Ronon hangs back and locks the door, and Rodney wonders how bad this is going to get.  

“How are you feeling today, Rodney,” asks Elizabeth as she takes her place at the end of the bed.  

“I’m fine.”  

“Any pain, nausea-” begins Carson.  

“For God’s sake, Carson, I’m fine. Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?”  

“You’re not dying,” says Ronon immediately, and it’s probably meant in jest but Rodney appreciates it just the same.  

“Well, good, great. So what is it? A tumor? Appendicitis? Lupus?”  

“I’m not really sure where to begin,” says Carson. "There was an incident off-world. Your team was-”  

“We were all captured, Rodney,” says John, wringing his hands. “I couldn’t get to you-”  

“None of us could get to you,” interjects Ronon.  

“They intended to sacrifice us all to their Gods,” says Teyla. “They started with you.”  

This seems familiar. “Wait...wait...I remember...an alter? A big stone alter covered in blood.”  

John grimaces. “Blood was yours, buddy.”  

“Mine? But I’m okay, I’m alive.” Rodney looks down and feels his chest with both hands. No incisions or stitches or...sure he has sore ribs, but nothing to indicate loss of blood.   

“There’s no easy way to say this, Rodney,” says Carson. “As part of the ritual, they cut off your left foot.”  

“But you fixed it, right? I mean, my foot is fine, it’s right here.” Rodney flings the covers back to show them, but where his lower leg and foot should be there’s a bandaged stump. Elizabeth pulls back from the bed in shock, and Teyla places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “What? No. That’s not- My foot, where’s my foot?”  

“They were going to take us all apart piece by piece,” growls Ronon. “They started with your foot.”  

“But...Carson, you can put it back on, right?”  

"Rodney-”  

“You...you have it on ice somewhere and you’re going to reattach it? Carson?!”  

“I’m afraid it's not that easy, Rodney.”  

“Where...where is it?”  

“They-” Teyla swallows. “I am sorry Rodney, but they cremated it.”  

“Burned it to appease their gods,” spits Ronon.  

“I saved as much of your leg as I could,” says Carson. “I had to remove a little more tissue a few days ago due to infection, but you’re responding to the antibiotics and it’s healing well.”  

“No no no, no, this is...this is not happening.”  

“I’m so sorry, buddy,” says John, and he strokes Rodney’s forearm with his hand.  

Rodney bursts into tears. “No no no, John, I-”  

“C’mere.”  

John grabs Rodney and pulls him into his arms, squeezing tightly and kissing the top of his head.   

“We are all so very sorry Rodney,” says Elizabeth, but Rodney can’t bring himself to respond. He clings on to John for dear life, almost choking on his sobs. Someone tucks the blanket back around him.  

“I think...” begins John, his voice breaking. “I think we should pick this up later.”  

“Yes, of course,” says Elizabeth. “I’ll be in my office, radio me any time.”  

In a matter of moments, someone palms the door shut and Rodney and John are alone again, silent but for the sounds of Rodney crying into John’s shoulder and the tick-tock of the clock.  

“Rodney?” whispers John.  

“No. No,” sobs Rodney. “This is not happening. It’s not real."  

“I know. God, I know.”  

“My foot...”  

“Yeah.”  

“But I...I need my foot. How am I going to run away from the Wraith?”  

Rodney feels a shudder run through John’s body, and hears his breath hitch. He pulls tentatively and John follows him back onto the bed, tucking himself along Rodney’s good side and mashing their faces together.  

“We’ll...we’ll figure it out,” says John, breathing warm air onto Rodney’s face, his beard tickling at Rodney’s chin.  

Rodney sniffs and wipes his nose on his sleeve. “We...uh...we are so far past plausible deniability right now. You don’t seem to care.”  

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”  

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter? How can it not matter? Court-martial? Leavenworth? Ring any bells?”  

John pulls his head back to look at Rodney’s face. “They know. They all know.”  

“What? How do they know?”  

“Someone told.”  

“Someone told. And you, what, confirmed it?”  

“Rodney. I’ve been sitting here by your side for six weeks. Even if no one told, everyone would know.”  

“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Rodney starts to panic. “They’re gonna take you away from me. First my foot, and now you and-”  

John kisses Rodney’s forehead and wipes away the dampness under his eyes. “It’s okay, it’s fine. Woolsey’s on it.”  

“Woolsey? He’s a blood-sucking IOA lackey.”  

“He’s also the foremost expert in intergalactic law.” John dabs at his own eyes with his sleeve. “Technically I’m on medical leave, and by the time I’m back on duty he’ll have a plan.”  

“Well,” sniffs Rodney. “I have a contingency plan. If you go, I go, and they can’t actually lose me so...plus you could always retire and work in the labs as a mathematician. God knows we need one. Oh my God, my foot. Please tell me this is a bad dream.”  

“I’m sorry.”  

“I can’t...how will I...Oh god. The alter. There was a priest...a really big blade...John...I think I’m gonna-” Rodney feels his stomach contract and before he can do anything to stop it he throws up all over himself. John doesn’t bat an eye, he just disentangles his limbs from Rodney, wets a washcloth at the sink and makes a start cleaning him up. “You know they have nurses for that,” grumbles Rodney, embarrassed, as he pulls at his top ineffectually.  

John eases his scrub top over his head. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of you,” he growls.  

Oh Jesus. How much care is he going to need without his foot? “Yes, cause that’s a totally appropriate use of your time as the military commander of the base. Wiping up my vomit.”  

John flings the soiled top in a linen basket. “I don’t give a fuck about my position Rodney! You almost died!”  

“I did?”  

“There was so much blood. You passed out on the alter and then you were unconscious for six fucking weeks. I thought...” John sighs as he dries off Rodney’s chest. “Doesn’t matter. Lorne and his team got us out of there.”  

“I always liked Lorne.” Rodney takes the fresh scrub top that John passes him and pulls it over his head, slowly, but John has to help him get it down his back. It’s a big effort and he collapses back onto the pillows afterwards. “What am I going to do? What if they send me back to Earth?”  

“They won’t.”  

“But-”  

“No, Rodney, they won’t. You don’t need both feet to lead the science expedition. Hell, you don’t even need one foot.”  

“But the team-”  

“It doesn’t matter.”  

“I’ll be a liability.”  

“Your brain is the single biggest asset we have in this expedition. No one is gonna send you anywhere you don’t want to go. Elizabeth’s already made the case for you to the IOA and the SGC and won. That ship has sailed.”  

“But my foot...”  

“Yeah. I know. Fuck. I know.”  

The rest of the day passes in a haze of morphine-induced naps and friendly visits. Teyla brings Torren again and Rodney’s glad when he climbs up on the bed with him and calls him “uncle Rob-dee”, grinning adorably in that way only a child can, and kissing him clumsily and wetly on the chin. Rodney’s never considered himself to be particularly paternal, but holding Torren always gives him a thrill, a little feeling of warmth and home and family. Torren's first word was “Why?”, something Teyla attributes to Rodney’s preference for stellar dynamics as a bedtime story whenever he takes care of him overnight. The memory of his birth is removed in time long enough to have passed from disturbing (Oh my God! Teyla pushed that baby out of her vagina!) to wondrous (Oh my God! Teyla pushed that baby out of her vagina!), and just lately Rodney has found himself feeling glad to be a part of it.  

When Ronon visits he persuades John to go for a shower – “Sheppard, you stink.” – so it’s just the two of them and they sit in companionable silence until Ronon cracks and grumbles “I’m sorry” as though he’s to blame for Rodney getting hurt. Rodney tells him in no uncertain terms that he’s not at fault, but if it makes him feel better he can carry him to safety next time there’s a Wraith attack, which makes Ronon grin boyishly. He pulls a bar of Dairy Milk from one of his many hidden pockets and they share it quietly (Rodney manages to suck on one piece of the chocolate, and Ronon demolishes the rest of it), listening to the waves crashing against Atlantis through the open window, having a non-conversation that calms his inner turmoil just a little. 

John’s hair is still half damp when he returns with a tray of the blandest food he could get from the mess. There’s oatmeal with brown sugar, specially made and still piping hot, ice-cold apple juice and blue jello with a foil lid. Rodney manages a couple of spoons of the oatmeal and most of the apple juice, but he saves the jello for later claiming lack of hunger. He can’t quite get his thoughts in order. He knows his foot isn’t there, but it doesn’t feel like it’s gone and it just doesn’t seem real, like any moment he’s going to wake up and find it was just a bad dream.   

John’s inordinately tactile, and it’s a big change from the usual infirmary visits where one of them is bound to a bed and they have to sneak a life-affirming hand squeeze when no-one is looking to tide them over until they can get each other alone. Rodney’s so used to sneaking around that he still pulls away every time there’s a sudden noise. John rolls his eyes, but it’s alright for him, he’s had weeks to get used to this change. As far as Rodney is concerned, yesterday he was sneaking out of John’s room with an LSD to shower and dress in his own. Having John hold his hand pretty much all the time now feels dangerous and risky as hell, and he can’t just shut that fear off after years of hiding their relationship.  

Elizabeth comes to see him in the evening while John’s in a meeting with Lorne, and Rodney apologises for forgetting to radio her to come down earlier. He has so many questions, so many fears, but Elizabeth is upbeat about everything, so sure that her talks with the IOA and SGC set in stone Rodney’s continued assignment to the city. Even when he bluntly states that if John has to leave he’ll be leaving with him, she remains optimistic about the future. It is an international expedition after all; John is safe as long as he is on Atlantis, it’s only if he goes back to Earth that shit will hit the fan (Rodney’s words, not hers, she’s far too eloquent to be so crass). She doesn’t say anything to make him feel bad for not telling her about their relationship, for which he’s grateful, but he feels like a chump anyway. She would have kept their secret just as readily as Teyla and Ronon, but they’re team and when you’ve bled together there are things you can’t hide for very long. They’d debated telling Elizabeth when they hit the one-year mark but decided against it. It’s bad enough taking those risks yourself without putting someone else in harm's way, and while she’s not military, she is still technically John’s CO and he’s still an American Airman, bound by the rules of the USAF no matter how trivial they seem when you work for the SGC. When John brings back dinner (meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy), Elizabeth makes to leave but hesitates and comes back to grab Rodney’s hand. She can’t find whatever words she’s looking for and instead kisses him on the forehead chastely, sweetly, then bids them good night and leaves. Rodney thinks then that maybe they’re forgiven for not telling her about them.  

Carson still has Rodney on the good drugs, so he dozes on and off for the rest of the evening, John a permanent fixture by his side. A few people drop in and out, all wanting to see he’s okay in the flesh (including some military personnel, much to Rodney’s surprise), and he does his best to speak to all of them but it wears him out and John quickly cuts off all visiting. The only person he lets in after dark is Radek, who comes to the infirmary (still in his off-world gear) the second he gates back from M7G-677, where he was doing routine maintenance on the shield emitter. For the first few minutes he babbles in Czech and when he grabs Rodney’s hand and says “It is good to see you, my friend”, Rodney squeezes back with as much strength as he can muster before passing out from manly exhaustion.  

When Rodney was six years old, he joined the Fort McMurray Eager Beavers. He was both excited and nervous on his first day, standing quietly at the side of the games hall until they brought out the Meccano sets for everyone to play with. They were tasked with building a bridge to go over an imaginary river and the team with the best design would win a prize. He was pared with three other children whose faces and names he can’t remember any more, but he can remember how frustrated he got at their lack of imagination or knowledge, and he told them, in no uncertain terms, that if they didn’t do it his way they would never win the prize. It’s the earliest memory he has at failing at something (the task being more about team-work than infrastructure) and his mother was asked not to bring him back the following week. He remembers sitting outside the office, listening to the leader explain to his mother that he “just doesn’t have the right attitude to be a beaver”. There was a white, plastic clock there too and listening to it then he realised, for the first time, that there was no such thing as a “tock”, that without a functional pendulum the only sound was a “tick” but that everyone was programmed to hear it go “tick-tock” so they did. It was the beginning of a realisation that he was different from other people that has stuck with him into adulthood. 

(It was his first time participating in an extra-curricular activity and it was also his last until John dragged him to his first movie night on Atlantis.)  

He dreams of that day, in glorious technicolour, only in his dreams he’s an adult and the children are all his academic peers (Hawking, Tyson, Nye, Tunney, Strickland). They’re given a ZedPM and tasked with bringing Atlantis’ defences online. His companions are still smart (not as smart as him, never as smart as him) but they lack the adult bodies needed to actually reach anything so he’s forced to follow their instructions, hopping from console to console on his lone foot to get everything up and running. When the Wraith come, because of course they come, the defences aren’t ready and it’s all he can do to bring up the shield. He heads to the weapons power supply console, intending to bring the drones online so that John can get some firepower, but he trips and lands hard on the ground. As he tries to get back up onto his foot it gets set on fire by an errant energy spark from an overloading console and burns to ash right in front of his eyes. He starts to crawl, but his arms disappear into the flames and he’s left lying there in the power distribution centre, limbless and powerless, burning alive, and as the Wraith breach the city he hears the screams of the people he loves through his earpiece. Ronon. Teyla. Torren. John.  

John wakes him up. It’s very late (or very early), dark and quiet, and John tells him he was crying out in his sleep. He can’t bring himself to speak so he just closes his eyes and feels the tears fall down his face, faster than John can wipe them away.  

“Hey, buddy, what’s going on?” asks John, which makes Rodney cry harder. John slides into the bed easily and wraps him up in his arms and cradles him, rocking back and forth to ease his anguish. “It’s okay. God, Rodney, it’s going to be alright. I swear.”  

It’s not okay, it’s far from okay. “The tock is a lie,” he says, and John probably doesn't understand the words, but he understands Rodney just fine, so he kisses him and kisses him until he relaxes back into the pillows and burrows under the covers.  

Carson dials back the IV pain relief and antibiotics after Rodney manages all of his breakfast, replacing it with a cocktail of pills and liquid morphine. Now that Rodney’s awake and coherent, John allows the medical staff to shoo him out of the room at times, but he still won’t sleep in his quarters, choosing the chair at Rodney’s side instead. When Marie comes in to check Rodney’s stump, John heads to the senior staff meeting, promising to bring back some real coffee from the labs. Rodney’s glad to see him go. He’s exhausted from the effort of talking and acting fine when all he wants to do is scream. He watches dispassionately as Marie uncovers and cleans the stump (she tries to get him involved in it but he refuses). It’s the first time he’s seen it out of the bandage, and he hasn’t even touched it yet. He’s avoiding it, if he’s honest, like if he doesn’t acknowledge it then it isn’t real. But there can be no denial when he’s face to face with it in the flesh. His leg ends halfway between the knee and ankle. There’s a red scar where the skin has been folded over the end of the bone and stitched in place. Looking at it he feels numb. This is not his leg, not his body. His foot. He has a foot. Where the fuck is his foot? He whimpers as Marie rolls a clean sock over the stump.  

“Does that hurt, Doctor McKay?”  

Rodney shakes his head, no, and lies back against the pillows. Maybe if he’s lucky, really lucky, this is all some replicator-induced dream state and any minute now he will wake up in a cell with John and Teyla and Ronon as a hand pulls out of his brain, both feet firmly attached and fully functional. Marie tucks him back into the blankets and pats his arm. Of all the nurses in the city Rodney likes Marie the most (she’s the only one who talks to him like the genius he is and doesn’t roll her eyes when he comes in for a plaster or some Tylenol), but he absolutely loathes her today. He pulls his arm away and looks out of the window, ignoring her questions and letting her words wash over him until she gives up and leaves. He keeps his gaze directed outside as the door snicks shut, watching the city come to life in the early morning light, the local star’s rays bouncing off the waves like glitter.  

John comes back some time later, showered and shaved, two mugs in his hands. Rodney takes one gratefully and sips slowly, savouring the aroma of freshly ground and brewed coffee beans. This is the good stuff, not the usual pre-ground lab coffee and he wonders aloud what kind of sexual favours John had to trade Zelenka for him to break it out.   

“Actually, my honour is still intact,” laughs John. “When I got there he was already brewing it.”  

“Huh. Must be a good day in the labs.” Rodney takes a bigger sip. “Or a very, very bad one.”  

John’s silent for a moment, peering into the coffee cup like it holds the answers to a millennium problem. “You’re probably desperate to get to the labs...” he says, haltingly.  

“I’m...I’m not sure,” admits Rodney. “I want to do something but...I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”  

The confession makes John look up at him, eyes wide. “Like what? Alive and well?”  

Rodney sighs. Of course John doesn’t get it. “Never mind.”  

John puts down his cup on the bedside table. “Rodney-”  

“No, forget I said anything. You’re right. I’m alive. That counts for something.”  

“It's everything, Rodney.” John reaches for Rodney’s hand. “Look, maybe I could bring you one of your laptops? At the very least you could catch up on some simulations.”  

“The personnel reviews are overdue...”  

“I think Radek's already done them. Elizabeth said all the housekeeping stuff was up to date this morning.”  

Fuck, is he no longer the head of the science department? That’s just fucking fantastic. What will he lose next? “Well...I guess-”  

There’s a knock at the door and John stands to let them in.  

“Good morning Doctor Mckay, Colonel Sheppard,” says the visitor. It’s one of his physicists. The annoyingly chirpy one with the perfectly coiffed blonde hair and the Scandinavian accent (even in the middle of a Wraith attack she always looks flawless).   

“Yes, good morning Doctor…Anders?” Damnit, he can never remember names.  

“Ambrose,” says his visitor, without malice, as she sits down on the chair that John vacated and crosses her legs. “How are you feeling today?”  

“Fine.”  

“Just fine?”  

“Yes.” God, he is not in the mood for this. “No offence, but I don’t think how I’m feeling is of particular importance to your report.”  

“Report?”  

“I assume you drew the short straw to get me up to speed on current events in the labs?”  

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head and her hair undulates with the motion. “I’m not actually here for that.”  

“Oh. Well. The last thing I need right now is a personal visit so if you don’t mind...”  

“No, you misunderstand me. I’m here in my capacity as a physiotherapist.”  

John grabs his coffee cup from the bedside table and beams his most charming of smiles at Ambrose. “I think this is one of those times I should make myself scarce.”  

“We won’t be too long, Colonel,” she says, twisting in the chair. “If you could give us an hour?”  

John kisses Rodney softly on the cheek - “I’ll just go check in with Lorne.” - and he leaves the room, turning around to wave at Rodney as he palms the door closed. Rodney looks back at Doctor Ambrose, feeling a little more vulnerable stuck in his bed without John to protect him.  

“You work for me,” he says. “I’m your boss. Isn’t that some kind of ethical conflict?”  

Ambrose smiles pleasantly and clasps her hands on her knee. “I assure you, Doctor McKay, anything that we discuss or do is covered by patient confidentiality. Under no circumstances would I discuss your care with anyone other than Doctor Beckett and the nursing team.”  

“All the same, I’d really rather have someone else.”  

“I understand how you feel, but-” Ambrose tilts her head. “-I am the most qualified physio in the city for your condition.”  

Qualified? That makes Rodney pause and consider. “What exactly are your qualifications?”  

“My first degree was in physiotherapy. I worked in Oslo University Hospital’s vascular department for five years before I went back to school to study physics. You know I have a PhD from Berkeley.”  

“Right. Yes. Of course. Mature student. Top of your class. I heard you moonlight as a masseuse.”  

Ambrose laughs. “Sports physio for the marines. It keeps me in chocolate.”  

“Oh. I don’t suppose you have any chocolate on you?”  

“Yes, I do, actually. But that’s for after your assessment. Ideally we would have started this on day one after your loss of limb, but under the circumstances…well. Better late than never.”  

Rodney fidgets with his blanket. He knows it telegraphs his nervousness, in front of a subordinate no less, but he’s a little anxious and in way over his head. Ambrose must realise how he’s feeling because she leans forward in the chair and stills his hands with her own.  

“You don't have to worry so much. All we’re going to do here are some basic exercises. Nothing complex and nothing that will hurt.”  

“I just...” Rodney fades into silence. What can he say? That he’s scared? That he can’t face a simple physio appointment? Is this why Carson didn’t mention anything about it, so he wouldn’t refuse? And John, the sneaky bastard, he knew she was coming too. Made plans to leave him alone with her, vulnerable and weak and missing his goddamn foot.  

“Doctor McKay, as with all of your medical care you can refuse to do anything you want, but what we do today is an important foundation to your future mobility and quality of life. With an amputation like yours, I’d expect you to regain full mobility with the use of a prosthetic.”  

 Rodney really wasn’t expecting to hear that. “I will?”  

“If you work at it and let me help you.”  

“I’ll be able to walk?”  

“Yes.”  

This surprises Rodney. He’d assumed that without his foot he was going to be chair-bound at best, and considering how many unavoidable stairs there are in Atlantis he would be severely limited in where he could go. “Run?”  

“Hmm. Maybe.”  

“But I won’t be able to go off-world.”  

“I won’t lie to you, you will find you have some new limitations. You wouldn’t be suited to a first contact team, for example, and in a combat situation you’d-”  

“Be a liability.”  

“Well...”  

“No, don’t try to sugar-coat it. I’d just get in the way.”  

Ambrose shifts in the chair. “I wouldn’t expect you to sneak onto a live wraith hive ship, for example. You might not regain the dexterity to be an asset in a firefight, and it’s not something I’d want you to test in field conditions. But a derelict one? Absolutely.”  

“In all honesty, I kind of hold my team back anyway with that kind of thing.”  

“That’s not what Ronon tells me. But my point is, having a prosthesis won’t preclude you from going off-world altogether. We don’t currently have any expedition members with a prosthesis, whenever someone has had an amputation or loss of limb they’ve been sent back to Earth, but it’s only because of the added dangers inherent to the Pegasus galaxy, not because they were no longer able to live and work as normal.”  

“So what do I have to do?”  

Ambrose brings out a handful of leaflets and they read them through together, one by one. She starts with a leaflet on breathing. Breathing! He knows how to breathe! But she explains the inherent risks of chest infections when stuck in bed for prolonged periods and Rodney admits he’d been feeling a little phlegmy, so he promises to do the deep breathing exercises and to keep himself sitting upright and not slouch in the bed as he recovers. She teaches him how to do a productive cough, and he didn’t even know there was such a thing as an unproductive cough but there you go. When she moves on to in-bed exercises for his whole body, he’s glad for the pain relief because even having had a dose just an hour beforehand everything’s stiff and aches horrendously, and there are some things he just can’t do with his throbbing ribs.  

“You’ve been unconscious for a long time,” says Ambrose as she massages his aching calves after the exercises. “Everything is a little creaky from disuse.”  

He’s used to a measure of discomfort with his unreliable back, but not like this, so he promises also to do his exercises a few times a day to keep the stiffness away. When she gets him to shuffle around to sit on the side of the bed he feels a little wobbly, like the bed is moving under him, but she steadies him with strong, patient hands until he’s sitting upright and still, legs swung over the edge and right foot flat on the ground. His bandaged stump just dangles there, suspended in the air, useless and ugly and deformed, and it’s hard to imagine ever walking again, no matter how optimistic Ambrose is about the whole thing.  

She writes him out a personalised, in-bed, core-strengthening exercise regime (mindful of his cracked ribs) to follow three times a day and promises that on her next visit they will practice transferring from the bed to a chair. She suggests they could transfer to a wheelchair so that he can get out of the infirmary, there’s no medical reason keeping him quarantined after all, but he just makes a non-committal noise and she drops the subject. She doesn’t know what this feels like, how scared he is to face everyone, to leave the safety of the infirmary walls. The thought of having this body on display, everyone peering at his deformity, it’s just awful. People will stop and stare and pity him, and he can handle just about any sentiment from others except pity. Far worse though is the thought of being stuck in this body for the rest of his life, how can he-  

“You’re brooding." Ambrose’s voice cuts through his fog of despair as Rodney stares at his stump stretched out on the bed on top of the blankets. “I know you feel-”  

“What the hell would you know about how I feel?” snaps Rodney. “I’m trapped in a body that isn’t mine!”  

Ambrose is silent for a time, looking at him with narrowed eyes. “Doctor McKay,” she says finally. “I know exactly how that feels.” And shit, fuck, of course she does.   

“Oh. God. Of course you do. I’m sorry.”   

“It’s perfectly natural to be angry about your situation.”   

“Are you?”   

“Angry?”   

“Yes.”   

“About?”   

“Not being born in a female body.”   

There’s an awkward silence, and Rodney gets the impression he’s really put his foot in it (ha fucking ha) but he’s not entirely sure what he’s done wrong. He’s about to ask when Ambrose speaks. “Okay. That’s a little personal but...I guess it’s understandable all things considered.” She tucks her hair behind her ear as she pauses to consider his question. “I used to be angry,” she says, finally.   

“Not anymore?”   

“No. The anger fades. So does the fear and the sadness and all of those pesky emotions. It will get easier. I promise.”   

“I’m scared,” confesses Rodney, and it feels good to verbalise it, even if it’s to a subordinate.  

“I know.”   

“I’m going to be useless now.”   

“The great Doctor McKay? Useless? I beg to differ. All you have to do is try to face it. Colonel Sheppard tells me you’re awfully brave. I’d suggest you spend a little time taking care of your stump. It’s a part of you and it’s not going to go away. Have you even touched it?”  

“No.”  

“Okay. That’s your task to complete before tomorrow’s session. I want you to feel your stump through your bandages, get to know its contours and ridges, massage the muscles like I showed you. And tomorrow morning I want you to wash it when you bathe. Think you’re up to the challenge?”  

Rodney lifts his chin defiantly. “I am.”  

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ambrose gets up and tucks the chair back in beside the bed.  

“Uh, Doctor Ambrose?”  

“Jordan,” she says as she hands him a couple of Hershey’s kisses from her jacket pocket.  

“Huh?”  

“My name.”  

“Oh. You should call me Rodney then. When you’re in your physio shoes, I mean. And...uh...thanks for the chocolate, Jordan.”  

“You’re very welcome. See you tomorrow Rodney.”  

Tomorrow is a little easier, but not much. He’s been practising the exercises (with a little ‘encouragement’ from John) and when Jordan arrives for their session he’s mid-stretch. She tells him she’s impressed with his pro-active attitude as she removes her uniform jacket and he doesn’t have the heart to tell her he’s only doing it to alleviate a cramp that kept him up half the night. He did as she asked, he touched and washed his stump this morning, and it took everything in him not to fall back on the bed and weep. Everyone is so optimistic and enthusiastic about his rehab and it’s driving him crazy. John is so relieved that he’s alive that he shuts down any and all attempts to communicate his unhappiness with his situation. Teyla talks in allegory, something about tree roots growing upstream that he doesn’t even pretend to understand. Ronon tells him that he’ll adapt to the change, like it’s a new hairstyle or a new uniform. None of them takes seriously the devastating sense of loss that he just can’t shake off, and he resents them for it. He knows it’s not their fault, that in their place he’d probably feel the same way – loss of a foot is nothing compared to loss of life – but from this side of things that's no consolation.  

The next thing Jordan teaches him is how to transfer from the bed to a chair using just the one leg. He sits on the edge of the bed and she talks him through it, then stands and swivels easily, falling back into the chair with a thump, glad to get it over with.  

“Okay, that was a good start. Next time I want you to sit down gently rather than collapse in a heap.”  

Rodney grumbles then transfers again and again until his gracefulness is up to standard and he sits down as softly as one of John’s puddle jumper landings, his thigh muscles quivering with the effort. Everything is a lot harder on one leg, every movement feels unnatural, and his stump isn’t any use at all, even if Jordan says it helps his balance.   

He’s put it off twice already, but the third time Woolsey knocks politely on the door he has to let him in. Woolsey enters, bespectacled and far more balding than Rodney, clutching his briefcase and a travel bag.  

“Doctor McKay, I hope I’m not intruding?” he says, pleasantly.  

He is, but Rodney isn’t going to actually say that, he has some sense of propriety, even if blood-sucking lawyers bring him out in hives. “Mr Woolsey. Have a seat.”  

Woolsey sits in John’s vacant chair and puts his briefcase down on the table. “I brought you a couple of things from Earth,” he says, awkwardly, as he opens up the bag. “Some Werther’s Original, no citrus, I checked...” He drops the packet on the table next to his briefcase. “Some candy floss grapes, they’re really rather aromatic...” He adds a bag of grapes. ”And I hope it’s not too presumptuous, but I brought you some baby powder. I have an uncle with an amputation, his was above the knee, and told me this helped keep it dry and healthy, particularly if you intend to have a prosthetic.” He puts the bottle of powder down on the desk and the thump is like a gavel pronouncing Rodney's execution. The offending powder smells like babies, even unopened, and it reminds him of Torren but that doesn’t comfort him in the slightest.  

“Uh...that’s really thoughtful. Thanks for the candy.” He’s spared from commenting on the baby powder by the arrival of John, who slinks into the room and grabs a plastic, foldable chair from the back wall.  

“Sorry I’m late.”  

“Colonel Sheppard, thank you for joining us,” says Woolsey.  

John drags the chair next to Rodney and turns it backwards, sitting astride it and resting his arms on the back.  

“I’ll get to the point,” says Woolsey. “I’ve spoken to the SGC and the IOA. It seems your alleged relationship was...an open secret, and to be frank if no-one had come forward with accusations then the powers that be wouldn’t have cared one way or the other. You’re hardly the first people on a gate team that there were rumoured to be together. The fact is, someone has come forward and officially this needs to be investigated.”  

“This is bullshit!” exclaims Rodney.  

“I agree,” says Woolsey. “Given that we are in another galaxy, it hardly seems to be a real issue. That said, we have come up with a partial solution.”  

“We?” asks John.  

“Myself and Doctor Weir.”  

“Let’s hear it.”  

“Well, with a little creativity, the don’t-ask-don't-tell issue can be swept under the carpet. The official report will state Meredith R McKay rather than M. Rodney McKay. Anyone not at the SGC will read it as a simple case of fraternisation, hardly worth a visit to Leavenworth.”  

“Fraternisation,” says Rodney.  

“You will no longer be allowed on the same gate team of course, but to be blunt, since Doctor McKay’s future as a member of any team is up in the air, I don’t think that’s too big a problem right now.”  

John lets out a long, drawn breath. “See Rodney, I told you Woolsey would have an idea.”  

“Not good enough,” says Rodney.  

“Rodney-”  

“No. I’m a civilian, none of it is going to be a problem for me. But something like this could totally nix your career progression. If this goes on your record, even just as fraternisation, they could take your command from you.”  

“Hold on-”  

“I’m serious. It’s naive to think that no-one at the SGC would take advantage of this to get themselves posted here.”  

“Like who?”  

“Caldwell? Anyone? Seriously, John, there’s no shortage of people who would love to take your job.”  

“I already told you, I don’t give a fuck about the job. We always knew the risk. We took it anyway. You can't say we’ve been blindsided by this.”  

“And who’s to say whoever replaces you would let you stay on Atlantis? With your black mark and a fraternisation entry in your record? Especially considering how much you hate authority. You won’t be able to stop yourself pissing them off. Even if you’re on your best behaviour, they might just dislike you on principle and this will give them the excuse they need to remove you from their command.”  

John’s stunned by the realisation; his mouth moves but nothing comes out.  

“John, if it comes to it, I’ll go back to Earth with you, you know that. But this is the culmination of my life’s work and your career. If there’s a chance, even a small one-”  

“I know.” John turns to Woolsey. “Okay so, if there’s any chance...”  

“Well,” says Woolsey. “Perhaps we all need to have a further think about things. I’ll have another word with Doctor Weir, see if we can fine-tune the plan a little. Atlantis has thrived under you and Doctor Weir, it would be a shame for the leadership to have to change.”  

“I really don’t think it will come to that,” begins John.  

“Colonel,” says Woolsey. “With respect, Doctor McKay has a very valid point. Many people would give their right arm to-”  

Rodney recoils at Woolsey’s words.  

“Oh shit,” says Woolsey, in an uncharacteristic slip of decorum. “Doctor McKay, I apologise unreservedly for that comment. That was incredibly thoughtless.”  

“I...”  

“Maybe we should leave it there,” says John, eyes fixed on Rodney.  

“Yes, of course.”   

Woolsey gathers up his briefcase and bids them goodbye. When the door closes the tears start falling and Rodney lets them. There’s no getting away from this. It’s real. It’s happened. He’s lost his foot and he’s off the team, maybe even off Atlantis.   

Rodney’s inconsolable for the next two days. He refuses visits from anyone that isn’t team, and even when Ronon and Teyla come by he hardly says anything, just sits on a chair and withdraws from the world around him. John’s a constant companion, but he pushes the cheer a little too hard and Rodney finds himself getting angrier and angrier with his joyfulness until he finally snaps and tells him to piss off. John looks hurt, but he does as he’s asked. For a few blissful minutes Rodney’s grateful for the peace and quiet, but the memory of John’s downcast eyes flash in his mind until he can’t bare it anymore and he radios him to apologise.  

“John, I-”  

“I’m getting lunch, do you want cheese or turkey in your sandwich?”  

“Oh, uh, turkey please.”  

“Hey, guess what, there’s butterscotch pudding today, want some?”  

“Yeah, I guess. But listen, I-”  

“Okay, buddy, I’ll see you in a minute.”  

When John returns it’s with two puddings each and he gives Rodney his spare so Rodney figures he’s forgiven. They don’t talk about the incident, or the foot, but he’s in a much better mood by the evening when Teyla comes by to sit with him while John and Ronon go for a run. He’s so cheered that he sits Torren on his lap and reads The Very Hungry Caterpillar to him until Torren falls asleep (drooling on Rodney’s chest) and Teyla wraps him up in her jacket and lifts him gently onto the infirmary bed.  

“Rodney, I have brought you something,” she says as she tucks Torren’s book back in her bag. She pulls out a woollen blanket; a hand-knitted, multi-coloured monstrosity that’s not quite square, but it’s thoughtful and beautiful in all the ways that he’s come to love about Teyla and her enormous heart. “I thought you could cover your legs with it until you are more confident in yourself.” God, and that’s Teyla all over, so certain that he will be okay and so wonderfully supportive when he’s not.  

“I...thank you Teyla. It’s beautiful.” Rodney takes off the thin, greying hospital blanket and drops it over the bed next to Torren. The new blanket is surprisingly lightweight, and he drapes it around his lower half, smoothing out the creases over the knees, swirls of colour wrapped around his legs, soft to the touch and gentle against his skin.  

“How are you feeling today?” Teyla asks now that Torren is fast asleep. Rodney stops himself from saying fine. He’s not fine. But thanks to John’s steadfast presence, Ronon’s loud encouragement and Teyla’s quiet confidence, he’s maybe not quite as not-fine as he was.  

“I’m doing better,” he says, reaching out to touch the top of her hand, and she turns it around to grab his, interlocking their fingers and holding on with all the strength of her love.  

In the end, his return to the labs is anticlimactic. Sure, everyone is happy to see him, gathering round to welcome him back. Miko gives him a hug and a box of the finest swiss chocolates that money can buy; Simpson’s already making him a coffee in his favourite mug (Schrodinger’s cat; Wanted Dead AND Alive!); and Radek has adjusted the database console from stool height to chair height and ensured that any and all passageways are wide enough to wheel through at top speed. But when Rodney spots Radek’s laptop on the desk in his office and Radek’s lab coat hung on the back of his chair, his heart sinks in his chest. This is no longer his lab, no longer his domain. Someone else is in charge and he’s been demoted to a regular lackey.  

So when Radek asks to talk to him in the office, his shoulders slump and he wheels bitterly into what used to be his space for the minutiae of leadership, preparing himself mentally to eat humble pie and follow orders like a good lab monkey. Radek closes the door and before he can say anything, Rodney gets the first word in to try to soften the blow.  

“Look, I’m happy for you, really.”   

“How so?”   

“You’ll be a great head of the science department, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Not even me.”   

“Rodney, I would be a decent head of the department, but the job isn’t up for grabs.”   

“Oh? Who’s in charge then?”   

“Proboha! You are. Have you hit your head?!”   

“I’m still...”   

“Of course you are. Did you think a little thing like a missing foot would undermine your authority? Is this why you have not been to the labs since you woke up? Ty vole. You are an idiot. Your job was never up for replacement. Even if it was, no one wants it. To stressful. Except for Kavanagh. He petitioned Elizabeth. She told him to go...uh...well, she said no. Loudly. The whole command centre heard her.”  

It’s then that Rodney realises that his office has been refitted for easy access from his wheelchair, just like the database console. The top shelves are empty, everything’s sitting snugly on the middle shelves, and the tall work tables and computer desk have been lowered down from stool height. Screens are at his current head height and there is space for his wheelchair to get up close and personal with everything in the room. He looks at Radek, wide-eyed with surprise. Radek just beams at him.   

“It was all easy to adjust. If you decide to get a prosthetic leg it will take an hour at most to move everything back to where it was. There is a summary of who is doing what and how far they are in your inbox, and the personnel reports are done. That is a one-time thing, Rodney, I mean it. I am never, ever, doing them again. I do not care what happens to you. Not even if you regress into a toddler or get eaten by a T-Rex or ascend. They are the reason I would not take your job.”  

He leaves Rodney alone in his office, stunned, but doesn’t shut the door. Outside is the normal hustle and bustle of the labs, people collaborating and comparing and simulating, coffee brewing and laughter and footsteps. Rodney opens his managerial laptop to sign off the personnel reports and considers that this might work out okay after all.  

A knock at the door to his office rouses Rodney from his work.   

“Come in!”  

In walks Caldwell, uniform sharply pressed and boots polished to a shine. Rodney gets a sinking feeling that this isn’t a social visit. Smart of him to come to the labs where there will be an audience.  

“Colonel.”  

“Doctor McKay. It’s good to see you up and about.”  

Rodney doubts that’s true, but it’s John’s career on the line, not Rodney’s, so he’ll play by the rules. “It’s good to be back in the lab. Have a seat, Colonel.”  

Caldwell sits down on the guest chair, smoothing the legs of his trousers, and Rodney turns his wheelchair to face him, tucking Teyla’s blanket more snugly around himself. There’s an awkward pause, far too long a silence for comfort. Rodney opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Caldwell beats him to it.  

“Doc, I would have-”  

Caldwell’s cut short by the arrival of John, palming open the door in a rage and stomping into the room in unlaced boots with a dark look on his face (it’s a testament to how much Atlantis loves him that the door opens twice as fast as it usually does).  

“Colonel,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.”  

“Colonel Sheppard.”   

“I didn’t know you had an appointment, sir,” says John, the implication that Caldwell should have informed John of his visit clear as crystal. “I would have been here on time.”  

“Well, Colonel, you’re here now,” says Caldwell, amiably, and Rodney’s surprised by his congeniality. Most superior officers would have had John written up for the laces alone.  

There are no other chairs in the office so John just leans against the wall. He doesn’t even pretend to be relaxed, every muscle in his body is rigid with tension. This is not his usual smirk and slump. Rodney idly wonders who tipped him off. Probably Miko. Radek’s out on the East Pier. 

“As I was saying,” says Caldwell. “It’s good to see you up and about and back in the labs. I would have visited earlier but...” From the angry silence radiating off John, it’s clear that he’s the reason Caldwell didn’t come by the infirmary. “Well, anyway, I am glad you’re alright. We weren’t sure you were going to wake up. I’ve ordered the Daedalus to remain in orbit for a few days. Novac wanted me to give you this.” He pulls a USB flash drive from his jacket pocket and hands it to Rodney. “I’m not one hundred percent sure what’s on there, but it’s from her and Hermiod so I'm sure it’ll be something you’ll find interesting.”  

“Thank you, Colonel,” says Rodney, taking the flash drive, and he wonders if the Daedalus will be able to beam his chair up with him, if the corridors are wide enough to accommodate it. He needs to talk to Novac and Hermiod about the sub-light engine upgrades they designed before the incident, and it’s better to do that in person.  

“If I may be candid...” says Caldwell, hesitantly. Rodney nods, but John snorts and keeps his eyes on the floor, mouth shut in a tight line. “It wasn’t exactly a surprise to find out about the two of you-”  

“Allegedly,” says Rodney, quickly.  

“Allegedly” defers Caldwell, nodding. “But if there was any truth to the rumour, I wanted you both to know you have my support.”  

John’s eyes snap up to Caldwell’s face. “But...sir, your career would be on the line.”  

“Some things need to be fought for, son. This is one of them. You can’t put people together and send them into danger day after day and expect bonds not to form.”   

Neither John nor Rodney say anything, both too surprised to speak, but Caldwell just stands and tucks his chair away.   

“Hermiod would like to visit you when you are free, Doctor. I’m afraid the Daedalus’ corridors aren’t spacious enough for your chair, but if and when you get a prosthesis you would be more than welcome on my ship. Both of you.” Caldwell taps his earpiece. “Daedalus, I’m ready to beam up.”  

Caldwell vanishes from Rodney’s office in a flash of striated light, leaving Rodney blinking to adjust his vision. “What does that mean?” he asks John.  

“I think it means he’s not after my job.”  

“Well...good. That’s great. So...does Caldwell have a lot of clout at the SGC?”  

“When he talks, people listen. Scuttlebutt is he’s about to make General. But I’m not sure that means much when it comes to the uniform code”  

“I guess we have to leave it to Woolsey then.” Rodney fiddles with his blanket. “We really need to talk about my replacement.”  

John sighs and pushes away from the wall. "Maybe it’s time for a gate-team shuffle. Teyla is more than capable of leading her own team, and Ronon-”  

“I don’t want you going off-world without Ronon and Teyla. Especially if I’m not there.”  

“Rodney-”  

“No. That’s just not happening, John. Look, Radek is the obvious choice when it comes to Ancient tech, but I honestly think Miko is the way to go. She’s a lot better at shooting things and she can run really fast. Radek’s worse than I am at hitting a moving target.”  

“But he is the next best geek when it comes to ancient tech.”  

“True. But he’ll be no use in a firefight.”  

“It’s not his job to protect me, Rodney. If I wanted that I’d pick an enlisted Marine.”  

“Whoever it is, they have to keep you out of trouble. You and your ascended women especially...”  

“Oh, so that’s what this is about,” says John, smiling as he crouches down in front of Rodney. “You don’t trust me to keep it in my pants?”  

Rodney leans towards John in his chair. “I trust your intentions just fine, it’s you’re ‘just go with it’ attitude that I worry about. It gets you into...situations...and you’re too polite to say no.”  

John kisses him, softly. “I’m not going to forget that I have you to come home to. I promise.”  

“Well...good. You better not. I don’t want to have to come rescue you from the clutches of a gene stealing harpy in my wheelchair. That would be awkward.”  

John snorts and stands, squeezing his shoulder. “I gotta go do some stuff. See you later.”  

Later turns out to be after dinner, when Rodney drops by his room to pick up some things he needs. Clothes. Second favourite laptop. Ergonomic pillow. When he opens the door the first thing he sees is Major Lorne’s ass, bent over right at face level, greying boxers peeking over the top of his BDUs.  

Rodney clears his throat.  

“Oh, hey Doc,” says Lorne as he stands up, picking up a box from the floor.  

“It’s not that it’s not nice to see you, Major, well...parts of you, at least...but what are you doing in my room?”  

“Colonel Sheppard didn’t tell you?”  

“Tell who what?” asks John as he comes out of the bathroom. “Oh. Hey Rodney. Um. This was supposed to be a surprise.”  

‘This’ is a surprise. His entire room has been rearranged. There’s a brand-new double bed in the far corner, pushed up against a wall. Everything’s in a new place, moved to the side to create space in the middle of the room. Rodney wheels inside to take stock of the changes. “There was some equipment under the bed,” he says, eyeing the empty space where his single bed used to be.  

“It’s all in the wardrobe, Doc,” says Lorne, putting the box down on top of the chest of drawers. “This looks like it’s all data storage devices. Want me to take it down to the lab?”  

“Let me see?” Rodney rifles through the contents of the box. “Yeah, if you could put it in my office, I’ll sort it out tomorrow.”  

“I’ll just be on my way then. It’s good to see you out of the infirmary Doc.”  

“Yeah, thanks, Major.”  

John slinks over to Rodney as soon as Lorne leaves the room. “So...what do you think?”  

“I think I need a drink.” Some of Radek’s rotgut would do nicely.  

“Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have-”  

Rodney waves off John’s protests. “No, it needed to be done, and doing it without me is probably less anxiety-producing than the alternative. I just, you know, it’s really real, and-”  

“Hey.”  

“I’m-” Rodney tries to hold it in but a sob escapes and before he knows it, he’s crying into John’s shoulder. “I’m sorry...I can’t...I just can’t...”  

“Shhhh. It’s okay.” John rubs his back soothingly, letting him get it out, and he’s grateful for that. It’s been building up all day. He’s been swinging from everything is going to be okay to fuck, I’m never going to walk again and it’s exhausting, he’s so tired, all he wants to do is sleep, forget about all of this for a while.   

John pulls back a little and kisses him on the forehead. “I had a thought earlier, wanna hear it?” he says.  

“Okay,” sniffs Rodney.  

“Why don’t we sleep in here tonight? You’re more than capable of getting into the bed without a nurse. It might be nice to...”  

“To what?”  

“You know. Sleep. Together. In a bed. It’s a double for a reason.”  

Rodney wipes his eyes on John’s t-shirt. “You totally want to snuggle.”  

“Maybe,” chuckles John. “Yeah. I kinda do.”  

“Okay.”  

“Yeah?”  

“Yeah. Saves me taking my stuff to the infirmary.”  

Getting into the bed isn’t a problem. He’s gotten in and out of the bed in the infirmary a bunch of times now and it’s not too much of a struggle. But the thought of getting into the bed with John watching his flailing limb is far from appealing. Rodney puts it off as long as he can, but he’s getting tired and Jordan said not to transfer when he’s too tired because he’s more likely to have an accident and end up on the floor. He really can’t put it off any longer, but John hasn’t given him a chance to slip in unwatched; he hasn’t gone to the bathroom or to his own room for his pyjamas - I’ll just sleep in my boxers - and there’s no nice way to tell him he wants to be alone for this part. It’s like John knows how he feels and is waiting to see who cracks first.  

“Look, I’m tired and-”  

“Want a hand buddy?” asks John, quickly.  

“No, I can do it.”  

“You want me to turn around, don’t you.”  

“Yes?”  

“Is that a question?”  

“I mean, it’s not exactly graceful and I’m, you know, awkward enough at the best of times and really that’s something you don't need to see, at all, ever. So if you could just wait in the bathroom until I tell you to come back that would be great.”  

“Or, here’s a thought, you could let me stay with you.”  

“I’d really rather-”  

“You want me to go into the bathroom for the rest of our lives just so I don’t see you getting in and out of bed? Is that it?”  

Put that way it sounds patently ridiculous. Of course John would break it down into its most preposterous components. “I...uh...I suppose not.”  

“Rodney, what are you worried about?”  

“I just don’t want you to see me like this.”  

“You’ve said that before.”  

“I don’t think you quite grasp how difficult this is for me. You’re so relieved that I’m not dead that you’re glossing over the fact that I’ve lost my foot.”  

“Rodney, I know exactly what’s missing. I watched them hack the damn thing off.”  

“Can you just...can you please try to keep in mind that I’m struggling with this? It’s a big deal.”  

John sighs and scrubs his face with his hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I thought you were dead, then when I found out you weren’t I thought you were never going to wake up. It was the worst six weeks of my life. Compared to that, a foot seems like-”  

“A small price to pay?”  

“But you’re the one paying it. I’m sorry. I’ll try to keep that in mind. But please don’t hide from me.”  

“I can’t help it. I’m disfigured. I don’t want you to see-”  

“I’m not going anywhere.”  

Rodney smiles. "You’ve said that before. When I was losing my mind.”  

“It’s as true now as it was then. So stop being an idiot and get into bed.”  

Rodney hesitates but does as he’s told. If John thinks he can handle this, who is he to say otherwise? He puts the brakes on and transfers into the bed, shuffling around until he’s comfortable on his stomach. He doesn’t look at John, fearing what he’d see on his face. Pity? Disgust? Discomfort?   

John turns off the light and gets in next to him, pulling the blanket up to cover them both and wrapping his arms around Rodney’s body. “I spoke with Doctor Ambrose,” he says into the dark.  

“And?” says Rodney.  

“Had some questions. How to help. She said not to interfere with your mobility unless you ask for it. She also said you were probably gonna feel too proud to ask. So I’m asking you not to be. The last thing I want to do is take away your independence or cause an accident, but I need you to let me know when you need my help and not shy away from it. Cause I’ll do anything. Whatever you need.”  

“What I need right now is to go to sleep.”  

John snorts into the covers. “Okay, okay, I can take a hint. You’re insufferable, you know that?”  

“And you’re a dumb brunette. But I love you anyway.”  

Rodney can feel John smile against his neck. “Ditto, buddy.”  

Jordan radios in the morning during breakfast to ask Rodney to meet her in the gym for their next appointment. “Finish your breakfast first, I need some time to set everything up.” She cuts off abruptly and ignores his attempts to radio her back to cancel their plans. He’s getting used to people seeing him in the wheelchair but he keeps his legs covered in the blanket Teyla made for him at all times. If he does his physio in the gym, anyone could walk in and see his stump up in the air. He really doesn’t think he can cope with that.   

John buses Rodney’s tray when it’s clear that he isn’t going to eat any more of his eggs, then insists on walking with him to the gym.  

“I’m perfectly capable of getting there on my own.”  

“Hey, I’m just being the supportive boyfriend. I can be an asshole instead if you want.”  

They pass by a group of running marines, and Rodney is relieved when they all nod at John. Despite the need for open minds when travelling to another galaxy, Rodney’s still expecting the US military mindset to prevail, and, sure, gay-bashing isn’t technically allowed, but it’s rarely actually punished. John being out of the closet is a risk for so many reasons. Rodney wishes someone would tell him who told, but John refuses point blank to talk about it and Ronon and Teyla are remarkably quiet on the subject. All anyone will say is that the person in question has already been transferred off base at their own request, and seeing that the marines still respect John, Rodney suspects they encountered some hostility from the men. He hopes it was bloody.  

John leaves Rodney at the door to the gym and when he wheels inside Jordan is waiting for him. There’s no one else there, which is a relief, but still, anyone could walk in at any moment.  

“Have you been keeping up with your exercises?” asks Jordan, right off the bat.  

“Yes.”  

“Three times a day?”  

“Yes, but-”  

“So then, today we’re going to do something different. I have a present for you.”  

Jordan grabs something off a bench and brings it over to where Rodney’s parked the chair. It’s obviously an artificial limb, but it’s like no artificial limb Rodney has ever seen. It’s not clunky and beige like the ones you see in real life, but elegant and aerodynamic, all black wire mesh and curved lines.  

“It’s 3D printed,” says Jordan as she kneels in front of him. “We used your last full body scan to get the dimensions of your leg before the incident. This is a replica of your own leg, the exact size and shape.” She lifts up Rodney’s blanket and trouser leg to uncover his stump. “I’m going to check it for fit, then there are some exercises I’d like you to do, okay?”  

Rodney’s speechless, this is not what he was expecting to do today, but the leg is surprisingly beautiful in its own way. He nods and watches attentively as Jordan shows him how to fit the liner without trapping any air in it, how to slide on his artificial leg and roll the sleeve over the top. It fits seamlessly and snugly, comfortable against the stump, and Rodney is overwhelmed with the feeling of finally, like his body isn’t incomplete anymore and as he listens to Jordan talk he suddenly realises that he really is going to be able to walk again. Jordan wheels him up to the parallel bars that she’s set up in the corner of the room and puts the brakes on. The rest of the appointment is a blur of leg movements and, eventually, some standing practise. It feels so good to be standing on two feet instead of hopping on one.  

“Do you want to take some steps?”  

“Can I?”  

“I don’t know, can you?”  

Rodney grips the bars and steps forward on his good leg. The prosthesis takes the weight just fine, and he feels stable and secure. He takes another tentative step, moving the prosthesis forward and again letting it take his weight. Jordan is right by his side for every step and he makes it to the end of the bars.  

“I did it!”  

“Of course you did. Now, see if you can make it back to the chair.”  

Turning around is the trickiest part, but he makes it the last few steps without holding onto the bars. It feels strange to walk and not feel his foot on the ground, like when you try to walk when you have pins and needles. The prosthesis doesn’t rub or pinch, it’s secure in place and takes his weight easily and comfortably. Rodney feels such relief at being able to walk, like maybe everything is going to be alright.  

“You’ve done really good today,” says Jordan as he sits back down in the wheelchair. “But don’t get cocky. I don’t want you to practise walking without me, okay? Promise me.”  

“Okay, I promise.”  

“But you can and should wear the leg whenever you’re not in bed.”  

“I will.”  

“I mean it, Rodney. Transferring only, no walking.”  

“Yes, mom.”  

“Don’t make me tell the Colonel." Jordan frowns as she threatens him.  

“I get it! Jeez,” says Rodney. “No walking without you.”  

“Alright, good. So, we’ll do some more of this tomorrow morning.”  

Jordan turns to gather her things from the bench, and Rodney wheels over to the door to leave, but something niggles in the back of his mind and he turns back.  

“Jordan?” he says.  

“Yes, Rodney?”  

“I...uh...think I owe you an apology.”  

This gets her full attention and she looks up from her bag. “About?”  

“I was rude in our first meeting. I mean our first physio meeting, not our first-ever meeting. I mean, I might have been rude in our first-ever meeting, I can’t remember. But that’s not what I’m apologising for. I shouldn’t have asked...well...about your body. It’s none of my business. It’s none of anybody’s business and I was...uh...insensitive.”  

“Well. No harm done.”  

“Well, I’m sorry anyway. That was...that was it.”  

“Apology accepted. I’ll, see you tomorrow Rodney.”  

“See you tomorrow.”  

Hermiod is waiting for him when he enters the labs. Being at eye level with an Asgard is a little disconcerting. He can see his own face reflected back in the big black eyes. Hermiod seems utterly indifferent to the changes in Rodney, he doesn’t stare at the chair or eyeball his artificial limb. He’s as unflappable as always.  

“Ah, Doctor McKay. You have arrived. Have you had a chance to look over the sub-light engine upgrades I sent with Colonel Caldwell?”  

“As a matter of fact I have,” says Rodney. “And I’ve improved energy efficiency by twelve percent.”  

“Twelve percent?”  

“You’re welcome, by the way.”  

“Novac will be pleased.”   

Would it kill the Asgard to express some gratitude? Does he even have emotions? Rodney runs Hermiod through his changes to the upgrade schematics along with the math. Some of Rodney’s ideas seem to spark a hint of enthusiasm in the little grey alien (or at least make him blink more rapidly). They finalise the design and Rodney uploads it to the Daedalus for approval from Colonel Caldwell. When the ship gets back to Earth it’s due some maintenance time and Novac and Hermiod can oversee the upgrades in orbit. It means that there will be a longer delay between this visit and the next, but it can’t really be helped. Twelve percent is nothing to be sniffed at.  

Oh yeah, Rodney’s still got it.  

John, of course, thinks the new leg is the best thing since Ronon’s gun. It's black and sleek and oh so cool. He admits to Rodney he was also expecting some clunky, beige monstrosity and his relief that it’s space-age and high tech is palpable. But when he says it’s kinda sexy Rodney throws his coffee mug at him, shattering it against the wall, and tells him to fuck right off. John leaves, tail tucked between his legs, but when he comes back an hour later with some honest-to-god blue mountain coffee in a new mug, stuttering that he wasn’t being flippant and he really does like the leg, Rodney apologises for being an ass. John’s smile lights up the room.  

Rodney keeps up with his exercises and very quickly improves his walking with Jordan until he’s able to walk unaided and she sets him loose around the city on his prosthesis. It’s not the same, not really, but it’s good enough. Getting from A to B without the use of a wheelchair makes him feel more like himself and at times he can almost forget that he’s missing his left foot. Almost. But he can’t run and his resolve is tested when grounding station four overloads and threatens to blow up.  

“Doctor McKay,” comes Miko’s trembling voice through his radio. “There’s a power surge in grounding station four. This time the readings are so high, if they don't dissipate soon we could lose the entire pier.”  

Not this again. The grounding station hasn’t been the same since the Genii shot it up during the storm, and despite regular maintenance, it has a hiccup every so often. There are loose connections that no one can find and static electricity builds up and discharges periodically into the sea. Rodney about faces and strides to the nearest transporter.   

“Have someone bring me my emergency kit. I’m heading down there.”  

“Simpson is on her way.”  

The transporter is a couple of corridors away. God damn it. Rodney rushes along but he can’t run with this leg. It’s going to take an age to get there. Too long. He needs to be able to move faster. He taps his radio. “Simpson?”  

“I’m at the grounding station.”  

“Tell me what you can see.”   

Simpson relays the problem back to Rodney as he walks at top speed through the corridors of Atlantis. She’s already tried the obvious things so Rodney tells her to try some totally ridiculous things. Between Miko rerouting the power as fast as she can to block off the whole pier and Simpson rushing through Rodney’s instructions on-site, they manage to divert the disaster pretty quickly and by the time Rodney makes it to her, it’s all over. Rodney should be feeling elated that they saved the day, but instead he can’t help but feel mortified that he wouldn’t have made it in time. It should have been him or Radek at the grounding station fixing the power conduits, not Simpson. But Radek is off-world with AR1 on their first milk run and he’s just not fast enough. His people are good, they’re great even, but quite frankly most of them don’t have the ability to take theory and apply it on the fly. When they make it back to the main lab, Simpson keeping pace with Rodney’s prosthetic, everyone has moved on from the emergency and is back to their routine work. Rodney doesn’t want to face them but he’s the boss, he can’t shy away from what happened today, he needs to debrief them. He whistles for everyone’s attention.  

“With this leg, I...well, it’s clear I’m not going to be as mobile as I was. I’m gonna need you all to be my eyes, ears and hands in an emergency situation. Radek will schedule some emergency drills for next week when he gets back. Good work everyone.”  

Before anyone can try to talk to him, he leaves the lab and heads to the nearest balcony for some air. It’s cool outside and there’s a light breeze fluttering his hair, but not even the sight of the Flagisallus circling the city can ease his mind. There are things he’s become capable of since coming to Atlantis, and saving the day is at the top of that list, (right next to falling in love with a man). If he can’t do that anymore then he’s just not Rodney McKay.   

 It’s not much of a surprise when Jordan finds him a few minutes later watching the waves crash into the city. She leans on the railing next to him.  

“Hey Rodney,” she says, quietly. 

“Jordan.”  

“Are you alright?”  

“Why wouldn’t I be?”  

“What happened today was-”  

“A wake-up call,” interrupts Rodney.  

“Oh?”  

“I won’t be able to do what I used to. Is there no way to run with a prosthesis?”  

Jordan looks out to sea. “Have you ever watched the Special Olympics?”  

“Nope.”  

“There are plenty of people who can run in prosthetics...but most people never do.”  

“Athletes.”  

“Yes.”  

“I’m no athlete.”  

“No.”  

“I don’t know what to do.”  

“I thought your emergency drill idea was a good one. You’re already adapting to the change. Thinking outside the box. It’s something you’re good at.”  

“But if something happens and I can’t get there-”  

“There are other ways to be somewhere than physically. You already have an audio link to anywhere another member of the expedition is. You could add visual ones too.”  

“Give everyone a spy cam?”  

“Why not?”  

It’s an idea. Not a dumb one. He’s vital to the success of the expedition. Surely there’s a budget for things like this. Unexpected costs. Accessibility. Disabled rights.   

Jordan pats him on the arm. “I’ll see you in the gym tomorrow.”  

The Atlantis Gym has a lot of equipment for the military personnel. Rodney’s never spent much time in there, he used to get most of his exercise running for his life off-world, so he’s not familiar with the workings of the machines. Jordan has him on a stationary bike; she says it’s the safest cardio machine to use with a prosthetic. “It’s like running but with no danger of falling over.” Rodney’s bent forward, resting his arms on the handlebars, legs pumping the pedals as he works through a low impact interval training program. It’s tough, but it’s not impossible, and it’s a lot easier on the knees than the times Cadman used to drag him out running around the city at 0530. The program is built into the machine so Jordan leaves him to it, spends their appointment time on the bike next to him. She has an MP3 player and Rodney can hear the faint flurry of her music leaking from her earphones. It occurs to him that he could bring some music of his own next time; he has an MP3 player that Jeannie sent him for his birthday tucked in a drawer in his office. Maybe he could play some aggressive classical to set the tempo. Or even better, he could bring a tablet and watch a show. He’s got some episodes of the new Dr Who saved for a rainy day...  

Zelenka’s voice distracts him from his thoughts. “Rodney, are you still in the gym?”  

Rodney taps his earpiece. “Yeah. What’s up?”  

“Oh, there is no emergency, it can wait until you are finished.”  

“No...it’s fine, I’m on a bike.” The resistance increases slightly and Rodney has to pedal harder. “What do you need?”  

“I wanted to pick your brains about grounding station four. I have some ideas we could use to fix it. Permanently.”  

Rodney considers for a moment, but there is absolutely no reason he can’t talk to Radek while he works out, so they go through Radek’s ideas one by one until they come to an agreement on the best idea. Before he knows it, his work out is over and he’s mopping the sweat off his face and neck, signing off his radio to talk to Jordan. She’s as wrecked as he is and they huff and puff all the way to the changing rooms.  

For his next gym session, he brings a tablet and some duct tape to fix it to the handlebars. It works a dream and Jordan quietly approves of his multi-tasking as she pedals next to him. He manages to finish the math of three personal projects he was working on by the end of the program. It turns out that work-out time can also be research time. When Ronon comes to the gym to lift weights and discovers Rodney’s set up he laughs and calls it Burn and Learn. It isn’t long before other members of the science department catch on to it and bring their own personal projects to their gym sessions, and at any time of the day or night, someone can be found exercising away on a machine with a stylus in one hand and a tablet perched in front of them. The completion rate of non-essential research increases by over 600% and the regular attendance of non-military personnel in the gym increases even more than that.  

Jordan says it’s the butterfly effect. Rodney doesn’t believe in such moronic things but it’s nice to know he still has influence over his minions.  

The memory comes out of nowhere and it hits Rodney hard, like a truck doing 90 on a country lane and he’s got nowhere to jump. One moment he’s dressing down Kavanagh for insubordination (and god, how did he let himself be talked into taking that man back), the next he’s on the floor in his office, curled up under the desk and swaying forward and back with his legs curled up under him. He can smell it, all that blood, feel his lifeforce draining away as it spills onto the alter. He’s bound and gagged and alone; his team are tied to trees on the outer edge of the clearing and he can hear them shouting his name. It takes a few moments for the pain to register but when it does it takes over everything, blocking out sound and light and taste and touch. Just him and the agony of his foot being hacked off, piece by piece. They started with the toes, one by one, like some fucked up version of ‘this little piggy’, but after that he can’t tell where the pain ends and he begins.  

He doesn’t remember the rescue, passed out long before they were overpowered. John told him Lorne was the one to finish them off and his brain supplies an image of Lorne’s anguished face as he ties something around his calf, but he can’t be sure if that’s a real memory or a dream. But now here Lorne is again, sitting in front of him saying deep breaths doc, deep breaths, and rubbing his warm hands up and down Rodney’s bare arms. Rodney trusts Lorne so he sucks the biggest breath he can then exhales slowly, over and over until his head clears and he can think straight. Lorne’s kind eyes are locked with his and he’s talking slow and low while Radek shoves Kavanagh unceremoniously out of his office. By the time John arrives, huffing like he’s run a marathon, Rodney’s calmed down enough to feel embarrassed by the whole thing.  

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” he mumbles.  

“No worries, Doc,” says Lorne. “It happens to the best of us.” Lorne’s knees click as he stands and when he notices John he salutes sharply, maybe because it just doesn’t do to be caught with your hands on your CO’s partner, but John’s not the kind of man to get jealous over a little compassion.  

“You’re not supposed to salute me, Evan,” says John with a grimace.  

Lorne ignores that completely. “Sir. I was close by, heard the chatter on my radio. Came to help.”  

“I appreciate that,” says John sincerely, dismissal clear as day. Lorne salutes once more then leaves the room, palming the door closed behind him. John stoops down and tucks himself under the desk with Rodney who buries his face in his shoulder.  

“Ugh. I can’t believe Kavanagh witnessed that.”  

“What's going on?” asks John as he wraps his arms around Rodney’s shaking form.  

“I think I...I think I remembered what happened. Blood and pain and a really big knife. For a minute I thought I was back there.”  

John kisses his head. “That explains the screaming.”  

“I was screaming?”  

“Yeah, you were. Heard it over the radio.”  

“God, that must have been...I’m sorry.”  

“Me too.”  

“What do you have to be sorry for?”  

“Couldn’t get to you.”  

Rodney pulls back as far as he can. “I hardly think you can be blamed for that. As I recall you were tied up.”  

“I let my guard down. You got hurt.”  

“If I thought it was your fault, I wouldn’t send Radek out with you.”  

“You wouldn’t?”  

“No, of course not. You’re a great CO. You make good decisions. Sometimes bad things happen anyway.”  

John pulls Rodney back into him as he ponders this. Rodney listens to his heart in his chest, the steady beat calming his own body until he relaxes into John. For the second time, Rodney doesn’t want to face his staff, he especially doesn’t want to face Kavanagh who will no doubt have some scathing remark to make. So he’s relieved when Radek enters to tell them he sent everyone for lunch and perhaps Rodney would like to take the rest of the day off? John offers to bring some ice cream from the mess (from the emergency stash of Ben and Jerry’s no less). Rodney demands Chocolate Fudge Brownie and agrees to meet him in his quarters.  

John’s off-world when Woolsey comes for his second visit. Rodney’s moping in his office, trying not to worry about his team going through the gate without him. Radek’s an exceptional scientist (John won that one) but not being there is driving him to distraction and he can’t help but fret about all the little ways a first-contact mission can go wrong. Especially if no-one is keeping a lookout for ascended women or farmers daughters. Radek won’t think to shield John from the clutches of all the harpies that want to scratch their nails down his back, Teyla and Ronon don’t seem to take the threat seriously, and John never sees it coming. And that’s even before you factor in the Wraith, Wraith worshippers, cannibals, unstable ground, wild animals, sentient fog and the Genii.   

When Woolsey knocks on his door with a flourish, Rodney can tell that he thinks he’s solved their dilemma by the faint smile on the usually unflappable man’s lips.  

“Doctor McKay, may I come in?”  

“Sure, have a seat.”  

“How many times have you and John gotten married?” asks Woolsey as he sits down.  

That takes Rodney by surprise. His gut reaction is to say never, but that’s just not true. As a part of various trade rituals, he and John have gotten married- ”Seven times. Well, eight if you include that time on M2S-557 but none of us can actually remember it. We only have the local shaman’s word on that one, and that’s dubious at best.”  

“Have you ever had any kind of ceremony with the Athosians?”  

“Yes,” admits Rodney, reluctantly. “A small thing, just for us.”  

Woolsey smiles and brings out a folder. “Normally the rule is ‘what happens off-world stays off-world’, but our trade agreement with the Athosians is different. It was the first agreement ever brokered in the Pegasus Galaxy, and it was made under difficult circumstances. At the time, no one thought to include such clauses. As such, any ceremony you’ve participated in is valid under intergalactic law. So if you were married in an Athosian ceremony-”  

“Oh my god, John’s a Canadian citizen!”  

“Technically not until he signs the paperwork I’ve brought. But the Prime Minister has agreed, as a personal favour to you, to allow his citizenship to be backdated to the date of the ceremony. Which I assume will pre-date the accusations made against Colonel Sheppard?”  

“It was...over a year ago. Teyla will know the exact date, she’s good at things like that.”  

“Well. I hope this will put an end to the investigation. General O’Neill will be pleased.”  

“Is DADT still going to be nixed?”  

“It looks like it. But these things take time. I’ll leave these papers with you. If you can give them back to me when the Colonel has signed them?”  

God, Woolsey’s done it. He’s found a way to keep them both on Atlantis. If Rodney had known it was that easy he’d have asked John to marry him on Earth a long time ago. John’s going to be so relieved. Sure he says he only cares about Rodney, but Rodney’s seen the way his face falls in meetings when Lorne takes charge of the workings of the military. John’s a good commanding officer and his men are loyal. Most of them, at least. John takes that responsibility seriously. To have lost that forever...it doesn’t bear thinking about.   

It’s 0230 Atlantis time when John finally slips in beside him. He’s warm and sweaty and unshowered.  

“Hey,” whispers Rodney.  

“Hey. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”  

“I’m glad you did.” Rodney reaches for John and pulls him in close, kissing his neck and breathing in his scent. “Mmmm. You smell good.”  

“Huh. I kinda reek buddy. Too tired to shower.”  

“You reek good. Guess what?”  

“What?”  

“Woolsey did it.”  

“He did?”  

“Says the ceremony that Halling officiated is legally binding. We’re married and you’re a Canadian citizen. The US military can’t touch you.”  

“God. Rodney...that’s...Jesus.”  

“All you have to do is sign some papers, and for once you can’t palm them off to Lorne.”  

John laughs at that and kisses Rodney’s temple softly. It stirs something in Rodney and he tilts his face up and slides his lips against John’s, capturing his bottom lip in his teeth and soothing it with his tongue. John sucks in a breath and pulls back to look at Rodney’s face in the moonlight. “Maybe...maybe I’m not so tired,” he whispers.  

For just a moment as he was waking up Rodney forgot about his leg but the memory comes crashing back – his foot...he’s disfigured and broken and ugly – and he turns away from John, disgusted with himself. He tries to move away but John pulls him back firmly and holds him close. “Hey, come back.”  

“I-”  

“Shhh, no, don’t be like that. If you don’t wanna do anything then we won’t do anything, but if you’re just freaking out about your leg then I gotta object.”  

“I just...”  

“Rodney,” whispers John. “Rodney, I still have you. I don’t care that you’re missing a foot. You’re still here.”  

“How can you want...”  

“Easily. It’s so easy, I don’t even have to try.” John presses his mouth to Rodney’s and his kiss is so sweet and loving. Rodney feels himself relaxing into it, opening up to him, hands pulling and pressing and needing, and when John’s tongue find his he moans. “See? We’re good together. We’re fine.”  

Rodney doesn’t argue the point, can’t, not when John is kissing his way down his body like that. Rodney clutches his shoulders and when John takes him in his mouth he cries out. By the time John whispers in his ear - “Wrap your legs around me” - he’s whimpering, almost begging, needing John in him now, right now.   

Rodney was rudely awoken when John got up at ass-crack o’clock in the morning for his run with Ronon, so he has a leisurely coffee and heads to the gym for an early morning cycle. He has some ideas about integrating Ancient cloaking technology with the personal shield, and he’d like to muse over them before the senior staff meeting. It would be nice to take something concrete to Elizabeth. He’s been cycling for fifteen minutes before he realises his heart isn’t in it. John had been carefully neutral when he spoke about yesterday’s mission in a post-coital haze, but Rodney still felt a little raw. Radek’s settling in well as their fourth team member, and it’s not a surprise because he’s actually brilliant, but it still stings to know that he’ll never do that again.  

Ronon appears next to him out of nowhere and Rodney jumps hard enough to knock his tablet off the bike and onto the floor.   

“Not breaking the laws of physics today?” asks Ronon as he picks up the tablet and sits on the stationary bike next to Rodney’s.  

“Not today,” says Rodney, peddling feebly.    

“Sup?”  

“I’m just...moping.”  

“About your leg.”  

“Yeah. I miss it.” Rodney stops peddling and turns to face Ronon. “I took it for granted. Thought it would always be there.”  

“Problem with your new leg?”  

“No. Not really. It’s fine. Great even. I just...”  

“It’s not the same.”  

Rodney realises suddenly that John has spoken to Ronon about things on their run. He wonders what that sounded like, if John spoke in complete sentences or if they just grunted at each other until they had an understanding. “I miss being on the team,” he says, surprising himself with his honesty.  

“You’re still team.”  

“Ronon, I’m not-”  

“No, none of that,” says Ronon, firmly. “You’re still team. That hasn’t changed.”  

Rodney’s pleased as hell at that statement, feels a weight lifting from his shoulders. He turns back to his handlebars and starts peddling again. Ronon just sits there, watching him. “Are you not going to cycle?” asks Rodney after a while.  

“Just keeping you company.” Ronon waves the tablet. “Tell me about today’s project.”  

“Oh, you’re gonna love this, I’m designing a portable, personal cloak...”  

It’s no surprise one Wednesday afternoon when Chuck’s voice comes over the city-wide PA announcing that AR1 is coming in hot. They’d only been off-world twenty minutes but it’s about time they had a misadventure, things had been too calm for too long. Rodney heads straight to the infirmary, trusting that the personnel in the gate room would get his team there safely. By the time he arrives, John is being half-carried half-dragged between Ronon and Teyla, eyes heavy-lidded and giggling – actually giggling – hands curling on his team-mate's shoulders, Radek carrying his tac-vest and gun behind them.  

“Hey, Rawdney,” he drawls, accent thicker than it normally is.  

“Oh, I see how it is. Some of us have been hard at work Colonel, while you’ve been puffing ritual herbs and getting high.”  

“M’not high,” mumbles John as he is unceremoniously dumped on a bed. Everyone pretends not to notice his tented BDUs.  

“Mmmhmm.”  

“No ritual herbs.”  

“Pull the other one”  

“John is correct,” says Teyla, wiping sweat off her brow. “There were no herbs. One of the priestesses gave him a ritual drink. I believe he was-”  

“Roofied,” says Radek with a sigh, dumping John’s gear on a chair.  

“What?!” exclaims Rodney.  

“Fertility ritual,” grumbles Ronon.  

“Every single time,” says Rodney, rolling his eyes.  

Carson comes in to check John over, snapping his blue vinyl gloves on his hands. “Let’s take a look at you, Colonel.”  

John giggles. “Carson, how are the rats?”  

“Dead, Colonel. For a few years now.”  

“Oh.” John pouts, looks like he’s going to cry, but then he sees Rodney again. “Rodney!” he stage whispers.  

“John.”  

“I have something for you...” John tries to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively at his groin but he only ends up looking adorably confused.  

“So I see,” says Rodney, suppressing a grin. “Later, okay?”  

“Okay,” says John, before he collapses in a heap and starts to snore.  

“Well,” says Carson. “I think he’ll be out for a while. Looks like he was given a little too much of whatever it was. I’ll take some blood samples.”  

Rodney looks at the rest of AR1, no worse for wear despite having run full throttle towards the gate and away from the disappointed priestesses.  

“Radek, you can’t leave his gear lying around,” he says when he spots John’s gun peeking out from under his tac vest on the chair.  

“Oh, right, of course. I’ll take his things to the armory.”  

“I’ll walk you,” says Rodney. "We need to have a little chat about John’s virtue...”