What Dwells Within, chapter five
Jul. 24th, 2005 09:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveIt's been awhile. ;-) This chapter provided a bit of some stickiness, and I tried to fix it. Not sure if I succeeded yet. I also don't remember if I ran the fixed version past my beta. So - ms smooth, if you notice something, feel free to let me know.
I'm hoping that chapter six will not be so long in coming!
Chapter Four and links to all previous parts
Chapter Five
Carson was not that fond of the infirmary ceiling. It was a view he'd not had very often, granted. But it still wasn't a sight he cared for.
He wished Rodney and John were back from their mission, if only for the distraction. They'd both be frantic and shouting, of course -- even though Carson knew there was nothing to be alarmed about.
'Right?' he thought at Murdoc, knowing that the interface would respond appropriately.
Correct, Murdoc replied.
The timbre of the interface's voice was flat, as it always was. The only hint of intonation was from Carson's own perception -- projecting his own feelings and expectations onto the computer's words. It was only anthropomorphism, was all. The same thing that made people talk to their pets and plants and stuffed animals as though they could understand everything.
It wasn't that he didn't understand Dr. Weir's concern. He hadn't objected to the scans, either, knowing that the only way to reassure them was to let them discover for themselves that there was nothing wrong. From their point of view he might well have been taken over by an alien life-form, brainwashed and suborned. Refusing to cooperate would only convince them there was something seriously wrong. So Carson lay on the table, let them run each scanner over the length of his body, and answered all their questions as thoroughly as he could.
Now, Debbie and Dr. Weir were discussing the prelimary results, either unaware he could hear their every word -- or not caring.
"Can we be *sure* he isn't...under the influence of this thing?" Dr. Weir was asking, again.
"We can't be *sure* of anything," Debbie replied. "We'll study these results with the inital scans that were made five months ago, when the interface was first introduced. It looks as though there's no difference, but we'll take a closer look."
"Which may mean that this..thing has been alive, and aware, the whole time," Weir said, her voice worried.
"Maybe. Or it may be that Carson is correct, and it isn't alive at all. Elizabeth, just because it has a name doesn't mean anything."
Tricia, one of the nurses, came over, and let him know the last of the scans were done. He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck, but didn't get down from the table just yet. Carson glanced over and saw Debbie's hand on Dr. Weir's arm. Debbie looked earnest and professional -- as reassuring as any doctor could hope to be. It seemed to be having the desired effect on Dr. Weir. Slowly, Weir nodded. "You'll keep me informed. The *moment* you find anything, I wish to be informed."
"Of course."
"Then in the meantime," Weir paused and looked over at him. "We'll keep you off duty until we know for sure."
Carson nodded. He could hardly object to a course of action he'd have prescribed, himself, if it were anyone but him as the patient. He waited to see if she wanted to confine him to quarters or the infirmary -- not speaking up to suggest either.
Then Peter called Weir on the radio to tell her there was a Wraith Dart approaching the city.
Carson leapt down and ran after Weir to the control room. He said nothing, watching from the sidelines, both the activity before him and the flashing cascade of screens in his mind. The maintanence interface wasn't hooked into the main controls, of course, and the sensors behind Peter's station showed him more about the Dart's approach.
But the various weapons systems that were half-functional, barely functional, and completely dead were all suddenly shooting up to the "urgent" end of the repair scroll.
'Thanks, Murdoc,' he thought, sarcastically. As though he had time, now, to do anything. There was no reply from the interface, but Carson hadn't really expected one. He heard Weir ask how soon they could get Major Sheppard back to Atlantis.
"The Major's team is out of communication," Peter answered, his voice calm and steady as though the situation were completely normal.
"Do we have any defensive weapons?" Weir asked. Peter shook his head, then they both looked over at him.
"Nothing working,." Carson said, and he felt a stab of guilt. He should have done something. All this time, working on the ZPMs and the life support and dozens of pointless, trivial things around the city. He'd never once thought of finding out if there were weapons, and whether they were working. "The shield--" he began, and was cut off.
"The shield is working fine," Peter reported, though Carson had been about to say the same thing. "But it only protects us. If the Wraith Dart heads for the mainland...."
"It can destroy the entire Athosian settlement. Okay, we need options. The puddlejumpers are armed, yes?" Weir looked at each of them for answers.
"Yes, ma'am," Bates said. "We have pilots for three jumpers. We can take it out."
There was a long pause -- with a long, serious look from Weir to Carson, before Weir nodded. "Then do it." Weir nodded. Carson tried to remember who the three pilots were -- Miller, Markham...and himself?
He stared in disbelief as Bates waved him towards the stairs leading to the jumper bay. "This is.. I can't... I can barely fly! How am I supposed to *shoot* *down* another ship?" He didn't move, even when Bates' eyes narrowed.
"You're the only other one with the gene. Unless you're telling me you can't leave the city?" Bates asked. "I thought you could go anywhere on the planet."
"No, I... it isn't that. I just.. you *know* how badly I pilot those things. And you want me to--"
"Carson," Weir's voice was sharp, and loud. He looked at her, afraid of what she was going to say. "Much as I would love an excuse to keep you here, the Dart is a real, immediate threat." She hesitated, clearly re-thinking her decision. But she only said, "We need you up there. Go."
He nodded, swallowing nervously. But he went.
~~~
"I can't--" Carson began again, despite the fact he was already taking the jumper up and out of the jumper bay. Bates was sitting beside him as co-pilot -- a concession to what, he wasn't quite sure.
Possibly just to escape John's and Rodney's anger when Carson blew himself up.
"You can do this," Bates said, calmly. "Just concentrate."
"I can't," Carson said again, but his voice was half-swallowed in his throat. Right along with his heart and his stomach. God, he'd never felt this much fear before in his life. Stepping through the stargate, seeing the Wraith for the first time, discovering that his brain was wired into an ancient, alien computer system -- it all faded into nothing, compared to this.
He wanted to cry, wanted to throw up, wanted to let go the controls and let gravity take the responsibility from him.
The Dart sped past them and he froze. There was a display panel on the screen of the jumper, dizzying to look at with now three levels of reality to focus on. The repair screens could only dim so far, and the blue sky outside was fuzzy with clouds which made both of them look not-quite-real. The only thing clear and sharp in his vision was the display from the ship, which told him exactly where the Dart was and how easy it would be to fire at it.
Carson swallowed against the urge to vomit, again. His hands were shaking, and he wanted to protest this, even though he knew it would be futile. Bates would only tell him to shut up and fly, and take out the Wraith.
'Take out', as though it were a game, a sporting event the likes at which Carson had never been any good. Why John wasn't here to do this instead? He was the pilot, natural born to it and willing and able to be a soldier. Not him. Not--
There was a flash and the explosion blinded him temporarily.
"Markham's gone." Bates whispered. "Fire, damn it!"
"I don't have a clear shot!" Carson snapped, reading the display again and seeing the city's spires in the way, seeing what was in each section nearby that would be struck by falling debris. Personnel quarters, there, and at least a dozen people in them. The astronomy labs over there, with over a dozen more. Lights flashed in his innermost eye, telling him what was in danger if he fired now.
He realised, belatedly and with a sickening revelation, that the city's shields had gone down when the jumpers launched -- and never gone back up because they'd never got far enough away. They should have led the Dart out of range, should have-- he cut his thoughts off. There was no time.
He sent the jumper after the Dart, aware somehow of Miller's ship pacing his. There was a second in which he had a shot and he prayed that Miller would take it. Then he thought about firing, and the clepier seeker went flying from his ship and off into the sky. Seconds later, the Dart exploded.
Carson closed his eyes for a second, as Bates cheered. "We have a kill!" Bates said, his voice triumphant.
"We read you," came Weir's voice, and Carson could hear the echo of triumph in her voice as well.
He opened his eyes for a moment and saw that the triple fields were all still there. He focused on the blue sky and distant, peaceful clouds.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John stepped through the stargate and walked into the control room -- and knew instantly that something was wrong. Dr. Weir hurried towards them.
"What's up?" he asked, frowning. There was far too much activity going on.
"A Wraith Dart showed up," Weir said, and John had to stop himself from running towards the jumper bay. "It was destroyed, but not before Markham and Smith were killed. I'm sorry."
John blinked, and he felt a sudden silence at his back, where Rodney and Ford were standing. "What happened?"
"We sent three jumpers up; even though Atlantis has a shield, we couldn't risk the Athosian settlement coming under attack." She glanced towards Teyla, exchanging a nod. Teyla looked grateful.
John narrowed his eyes. "There's something you aren't telling me."
Weir took a deep breath. "Carson was the one who shot the Wratih down. And--"
"WHAT?" Rodney shouted, stepping forward. "You sent Carson up into a *dogfight* with a Wraith?"
John grabbed Rodney's arm and held him back; Weir stood her ground. "We had no choice. You know how few trained pilots we have."
"But Carson is *not* military. He's a scientist, like me! He isn't trained for this sort of thing!"
"And you are?" Weir interrupted, looking Rodney from head to toe. Rodney paused, confused, and looked down at himself.
Dressed identically to John, complete with sidearm and flak vest.
"That's not the point," Rodney said, but his voice had lost its strength. "Carson.... where is he?"
Weir frowned, and the worry didn't make John feel any better. "He went back to your quarters." She opened her mouth to say more, then stopped.
"So the Dart's destroyed?" John repeated. "There was only one?"
She nodded. "It sent a signal, which we're tracing now. Rodney, when you have a chance Dr. Zelenka will no doubt want your assistence with that."
Rodney acknowledged this absently. John knew it was because he was barely listening: thinking more about how soon he could go find Carson. "Is there anything else?" John asked, hoping there wasn't.
Dr. Weir took a deep breath. "You should know that Carson is temporarily off duty. Not because of the Dart -- but because apparently this maintenance interface might be more that we realised."
"What is that supposed to mean?" John fought back the urge to yell at her, to demand to know why she hadn't *started* with that piece of information.
"It's...complicated. Dr. Collin has already run all the scans to determine...if there's any sort of threat. If... 'Murdoc' is sentient."
"Who's Murdoc?" Rodney asked.
Weir looked decidely unhappy. "The maintenance interface."
"It has a name?" John couldn't believe it. "Why would it name itself after a villian from a tv show?"
"What?" Weir frowned.
"It's gaelic, which means Carson named it. Why do we think it's sentient?" Rodney said, still in that distracted tone. John wondered if he'd missed the part where Carson might have been compromised by an alien computer.
Weir shrugged. "We don't. We don't know it isn't. But...he *named* it, and talked about it as though it were real. I thought it best to be certain."
At this, Rodney nodded like it made perfect sense and that there was nothing to be worried about. John wasn't so sure --- but he could tell Weir wasn't, either. He could probably trust her not to let it go until they *were* certain.
"Do you mind if we go check on him?" John asked, realising he still had a tight grip on Rodney's elbow. For the second time he ignored Rodney's brief tug to free himself.
"Not at all." Weir nodded. "But we do need you back up here, as soon as you can." She said the last to Rodney, who nodded.
Taking their dismissal before Weir could demand a debriefing from their mission, John pulled Rodney after him and nearly ran out of the control room.
They didn't talk on their way down to their quarters. He thought maybe he should say something, but Rodney seemed lost in thought and he'd learned that sometimes it was better to leave him there. When they reached their front door, John had the weird thought yet again that they needed a doormat, and maybe something hanging on the wall that said 'Casa Del Sexo' or something.
Rodney entered ahead of him and they both looked around. There was no sign of Carson, so they split up. John headed for the room they'd designated as the library. Rodney headed to the bedroom.
When he didn't find Carson there, or in Rodney's office, he went after Rodney. As soon as he stepped into the room he saw the door to the balcony was open, and heard the drift of voices. Rodney was talking quietly and very, very calmly; John felt his stomach jolt and he hurried forward.
He stopped when he saw Rodney kneeling beside Carson, who was huddled against the wall, knees up and arms wrapped tightly around them. His head was down and John couldn't tell if he was even hearing what Rodney was saying.
"Come on, Carson," Rodney said again, rubbing his hand along Carson's arm. "It's all right. It's over, now."
John clenched his jaw. How *dare* they send Carson up? It was like they didn't have a *clue*.
"Carson? Can you hear me?" There was a catch in Rodney's voice that John hated to hear. Carson wasn't responding at all. Rodney moved closer, pressing his head against Carson's. For a moment no one moved.
"Rodney?" His voice was broken, and John was surprised he'd heard it at all.
"Yes, that's right. I'm right here. Carson, look at me."
John watched as Rodney coaxed him -- finally Carson's head lifted and Rodney reached out and placed his fingers underneath Carson's chin. Carson didn't seem to be focusing on Rodney at first.
"Rodney?" Carson said again, as though he wasn't convinced that Rodney was right in front of him.
"Yes, Carson. It's all right," Rodney repeated.
"I killed--" Carson stopped, and the anguish in his voice made John want to hit something really, really hard.
"You had to," Rodney said. "The Wraith are monsters -- they would have--"
"No!" Carson shouted, and he started crying. John had to clench his hands into fists. "Not.. I killed... Markham and Smith... they.. I should have... The city has weapons. But they're not working."
He dropped his head again, and Rodney moved forward to embrace him.
"It isn't your fault," Rodney said, and he whispered something John couldn't hear. He pressed a kiss to Carson's temple and John had the sudden, weird sensation that he was intruding.
"I should have," Carson said.
"Why? Because you're the only one here who has a brain? Did anyone else think to ask about defensive weapons?"
Rodney's sarcasm brought Carson's head back up. "But I should have... I didn't.... If I'd fired sooner, or.. not argued, or got the weapons working they wouldn't be...." He choked for a second, then it was as though his entire being crumbled, even though the only movement was his head lowering again.
John couldn't hear what he said, but Rodney reacted instantly.
"You did *not*. You can't murder something that deserves to die! They are *monsters* and they have killed *thousands* of humans. Killing *one* of them is hardly wrong!"
"But..." Carson shook his head.
John knew he should step forward. He'd killed, before. Hell, he'd killed humans, before. Enemies, sure, but not even the excuse of destroying monsters. He could offer some kind of...insight to what it was like. How you moved on.
But he couldn't move; Rodney and Carson so focused on each other that he was afraid, somehow, that if he interrupted them that something would get lost.
Rodney was still talking. "I know. God, believe me, I know. This isn't what we signed up for. I was supposed to be brilliant and discover the mysteries of the universe and go back to Earth to win three or four Nobel prizes. Generations of future scientists would know my name and misspell it on their essay exams."
There was a pause, and an audible sniff, from Carson. Then he frowned, slightly. "How do you misspell 'Rodney McKay'?"
"Oh, believe me, they would. Students can be very creative when they're screwing things up."
There was a twitch at the corner of Carson's mouth. Rodney must have seen it as well, because he leaned back and smiled at Carson.
"And you'd probably write a few papers as well, for your voodoo journals. For...discovering the cure to cancer, or dementia, or stuttering or something."
Carson leaned his head back and John could see him beginning to relax. "You don't stutter anymore, Rodney."
"I never did! It was only a perfectly reasonable reaction to stresss. You could hardly expect an eight year old to address his entire class without stumbling over a few words."
John grinned briefly, remembering the story Rodney had told them. He still sounded righteously indignant about it.
"So, I get a Nobel for curing stuttering?" Carson asked, mildly. He sounded exhausted, but no longer trapped by anguish.
Rodney shook his head. "Well, no, not a Nobel. But I'm sure you'll be famous for being married to me."
There was a moment of utter silence and John was pretty sure neither he nor Carson were breathing. Then, "Married?" Carson sounded like he was trying to tease, but his voice was too flat to be anything but stunned.
"Er, well," Rodney began, and John thought that if he tried to deny it, he'd go over and hit Rodney on the head so hard his teeth would rattle. But then he said, "You don't mind, do you? Being known as.. well, not 'Mrs. Rodney McKay' but you can't be 'Mr. Rodney McKay' because that's me, except I'm Dr. McKay so maybe--"
"Rodney." Carson was looking at him, steadily now.
"Yes?"
"You...." Carson took a deep breath and finally seemed to be calm, again. John had a feeling that Carson was about to let Rodney off the hook. Maybe he'd have to thump Carson, instead?
Rodney said, "Well, yeah. I love you."
They froze, again, and this time Carson broke it by moving forward and kissing Rodney, hard.
John took a step backwards, then another through the doorway, then he turned and walked away. He got as far as the living room, where he began pacing. He had to... well, no, Rodney had to get to the control room. All he had to do was stand around and make sure everyone did their jobs. Maybe pack up Markham's and Smith's things and compose letters. Talk to Bates. Find out if the Wraith were an immediate threat.
Pack up his own things.
It had happened a lot faster than he'd expected. He'd known, all along, that Rodney loved Carson. Had known since that first day that Carson loved Rodney as well. But since then, none of them had ever said anything. Not while anyone was awake to hear it, he corrected. They'd all been content to just let that whole part of it go.
But that wouldn't be possible, anymore. Hell, even if Rodney had meant to joke about that 'marriage' stuff, he could tell that both Carson and Rodney meant it.
This was exactly what he'd been waiting for. John sat down heavily on the couch. He'd just been hoping for a little more time before they realised they wanted each other that much.
Even if they tried to act like nothing had changed, John knew that it had.
He could hear Rodney and Carson, now, moving inside. Into the bedroom, and the sounds he was hearing now were extremely familiar.
He jumped up, knowing there was no way he could sit hear and listen while they made love. He ran for the door, and stopped only long enough to ask himself if he didn't want one last time. But it wouldn't be fair to them, he knew. They deserved to be alone, together.
John opened the door and left, walking down a long corridor that seemed suddenly to be cold and empty.
I'm hoping that chapter six will not be so long in coming!
Chapter Four and links to all previous parts
Chapter Five
Carson was not that fond of the infirmary ceiling. It was a view he'd not had very often, granted. But it still wasn't a sight he cared for.
He wished Rodney and John were back from their mission, if only for the distraction. They'd both be frantic and shouting, of course -- even though Carson knew there was nothing to be alarmed about.
'Right?' he thought at Murdoc, knowing that the interface would respond appropriately.
Correct, Murdoc replied.
The timbre of the interface's voice was flat, as it always was. The only hint of intonation was from Carson's own perception -- projecting his own feelings and expectations onto the computer's words. It was only anthropomorphism, was all. The same thing that made people talk to their pets and plants and stuffed animals as though they could understand everything.
It wasn't that he didn't understand Dr. Weir's concern. He hadn't objected to the scans, either, knowing that the only way to reassure them was to let them discover for themselves that there was nothing wrong. From their point of view he might well have been taken over by an alien life-form, brainwashed and suborned. Refusing to cooperate would only convince them there was something seriously wrong. So Carson lay on the table, let them run each scanner over the length of his body, and answered all their questions as thoroughly as he could.
Now, Debbie and Dr. Weir were discussing the prelimary results, either unaware he could hear their every word -- or not caring.
"Can we be *sure* he isn't...under the influence of this thing?" Dr. Weir was asking, again.
"We can't be *sure* of anything," Debbie replied. "We'll study these results with the inital scans that were made five months ago, when the interface was first introduced. It looks as though there's no difference, but we'll take a closer look."
"Which may mean that this..thing has been alive, and aware, the whole time," Weir said, her voice worried.
"Maybe. Or it may be that Carson is correct, and it isn't alive at all. Elizabeth, just because it has a name doesn't mean anything."
Tricia, one of the nurses, came over, and let him know the last of the scans were done. He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck, but didn't get down from the table just yet. Carson glanced over and saw Debbie's hand on Dr. Weir's arm. Debbie looked earnest and professional -- as reassuring as any doctor could hope to be. It seemed to be having the desired effect on Dr. Weir. Slowly, Weir nodded. "You'll keep me informed. The *moment* you find anything, I wish to be informed."
"Of course."
"Then in the meantime," Weir paused and looked over at him. "We'll keep you off duty until we know for sure."
Carson nodded. He could hardly object to a course of action he'd have prescribed, himself, if it were anyone but him as the patient. He waited to see if she wanted to confine him to quarters or the infirmary -- not speaking up to suggest either.
Then Peter called Weir on the radio to tell her there was a Wraith Dart approaching the city.
Carson leapt down and ran after Weir to the control room. He said nothing, watching from the sidelines, both the activity before him and the flashing cascade of screens in his mind. The maintanence interface wasn't hooked into the main controls, of course, and the sensors behind Peter's station showed him more about the Dart's approach.
But the various weapons systems that were half-functional, barely functional, and completely dead were all suddenly shooting up to the "urgent" end of the repair scroll.
'Thanks, Murdoc,' he thought, sarcastically. As though he had time, now, to do anything. There was no reply from the interface, but Carson hadn't really expected one. He heard Weir ask how soon they could get Major Sheppard back to Atlantis.
"The Major's team is out of communication," Peter answered, his voice calm and steady as though the situation were completely normal.
"Do we have any defensive weapons?" Weir asked. Peter shook his head, then they both looked over at him.
"Nothing working,." Carson said, and he felt a stab of guilt. He should have done something. All this time, working on the ZPMs and the life support and dozens of pointless, trivial things around the city. He'd never once thought of finding out if there were weapons, and whether they were working. "The shield--" he began, and was cut off.
"The shield is working fine," Peter reported, though Carson had been about to say the same thing. "But it only protects us. If the Wraith Dart heads for the mainland...."
"It can destroy the entire Athosian settlement. Okay, we need options. The puddlejumpers are armed, yes?" Weir looked at each of them for answers.
"Yes, ma'am," Bates said. "We have pilots for three jumpers. We can take it out."
There was a long pause -- with a long, serious look from Weir to Carson, before Weir nodded. "Then do it." Weir nodded. Carson tried to remember who the three pilots were -- Miller, Markham...and himself?
He stared in disbelief as Bates waved him towards the stairs leading to the jumper bay. "This is.. I can't... I can barely fly! How am I supposed to *shoot* *down* another ship?" He didn't move, even when Bates' eyes narrowed.
"You're the only other one with the gene. Unless you're telling me you can't leave the city?" Bates asked. "I thought you could go anywhere on the planet."
"No, I... it isn't that. I just.. you *know* how badly I pilot those things. And you want me to--"
"Carson," Weir's voice was sharp, and loud. He looked at her, afraid of what she was going to say. "Much as I would love an excuse to keep you here, the Dart is a real, immediate threat." She hesitated, clearly re-thinking her decision. But she only said, "We need you up there. Go."
He nodded, swallowing nervously. But he went.
~~~
"I can't--" Carson began again, despite the fact he was already taking the jumper up and out of the jumper bay. Bates was sitting beside him as co-pilot -- a concession to what, he wasn't quite sure.
Possibly just to escape John's and Rodney's anger when Carson blew himself up.
"You can do this," Bates said, calmly. "Just concentrate."
"I can't," Carson said again, but his voice was half-swallowed in his throat. Right along with his heart and his stomach. God, he'd never felt this much fear before in his life. Stepping through the stargate, seeing the Wraith for the first time, discovering that his brain was wired into an ancient, alien computer system -- it all faded into nothing, compared to this.
He wanted to cry, wanted to throw up, wanted to let go the controls and let gravity take the responsibility from him.
The Dart sped past them and he froze. There was a display panel on the screen of the jumper, dizzying to look at with now three levels of reality to focus on. The repair screens could only dim so far, and the blue sky outside was fuzzy with clouds which made both of them look not-quite-real. The only thing clear and sharp in his vision was the display from the ship, which told him exactly where the Dart was and how easy it would be to fire at it.
Carson swallowed against the urge to vomit, again. His hands were shaking, and he wanted to protest this, even though he knew it would be futile. Bates would only tell him to shut up and fly, and take out the Wraith.
'Take out', as though it were a game, a sporting event the likes at which Carson had never been any good. Why John wasn't here to do this instead? He was the pilot, natural born to it and willing and able to be a soldier. Not him. Not--
There was a flash and the explosion blinded him temporarily.
"Markham's gone." Bates whispered. "Fire, damn it!"
"I don't have a clear shot!" Carson snapped, reading the display again and seeing the city's spires in the way, seeing what was in each section nearby that would be struck by falling debris. Personnel quarters, there, and at least a dozen people in them. The astronomy labs over there, with over a dozen more. Lights flashed in his innermost eye, telling him what was in danger if he fired now.
He realised, belatedly and with a sickening revelation, that the city's shields had gone down when the jumpers launched -- and never gone back up because they'd never got far enough away. They should have led the Dart out of range, should have-- he cut his thoughts off. There was no time.
He sent the jumper after the Dart, aware somehow of Miller's ship pacing his. There was a second in which he had a shot and he prayed that Miller would take it. Then he thought about firing, and the clepier seeker went flying from his ship and off into the sky. Seconds later, the Dart exploded.
Carson closed his eyes for a second, as Bates cheered. "We have a kill!" Bates said, his voice triumphant.
"We read you," came Weir's voice, and Carson could hear the echo of triumph in her voice as well.
He opened his eyes for a moment and saw that the triple fields were all still there. He focused on the blue sky and distant, peaceful clouds.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John stepped through the stargate and walked into the control room -- and knew instantly that something was wrong. Dr. Weir hurried towards them.
"What's up?" he asked, frowning. There was far too much activity going on.
"A Wraith Dart showed up," Weir said, and John had to stop himself from running towards the jumper bay. "It was destroyed, but not before Markham and Smith were killed. I'm sorry."
John blinked, and he felt a sudden silence at his back, where Rodney and Ford were standing. "What happened?"
"We sent three jumpers up; even though Atlantis has a shield, we couldn't risk the Athosian settlement coming under attack." She glanced towards Teyla, exchanging a nod. Teyla looked grateful.
John narrowed his eyes. "There's something you aren't telling me."
Weir took a deep breath. "Carson was the one who shot the Wratih down. And--"
"WHAT?" Rodney shouted, stepping forward. "You sent Carson up into a *dogfight* with a Wraith?"
John grabbed Rodney's arm and held him back; Weir stood her ground. "We had no choice. You know how few trained pilots we have."
"But Carson is *not* military. He's a scientist, like me! He isn't trained for this sort of thing!"
"And you are?" Weir interrupted, looking Rodney from head to toe. Rodney paused, confused, and looked down at himself.
Dressed identically to John, complete with sidearm and flak vest.
"That's not the point," Rodney said, but his voice had lost its strength. "Carson.... where is he?"
Weir frowned, and the worry didn't make John feel any better. "He went back to your quarters." She opened her mouth to say more, then stopped.
"So the Dart's destroyed?" John repeated. "There was only one?"
She nodded. "It sent a signal, which we're tracing now. Rodney, when you have a chance Dr. Zelenka will no doubt want your assistence with that."
Rodney acknowledged this absently. John knew it was because he was barely listening: thinking more about how soon he could go find Carson. "Is there anything else?" John asked, hoping there wasn't.
Dr. Weir took a deep breath. "You should know that Carson is temporarily off duty. Not because of the Dart -- but because apparently this maintenance interface might be more that we realised."
"What is that supposed to mean?" John fought back the urge to yell at her, to demand to know why she hadn't *started* with that piece of information.
"It's...complicated. Dr. Collin has already run all the scans to determine...if there's any sort of threat. If... 'Murdoc' is sentient."
"Who's Murdoc?" Rodney asked.
Weir looked decidely unhappy. "The maintenance interface."
"It has a name?" John couldn't believe it. "Why would it name itself after a villian from a tv show?"
"What?" Weir frowned.
"It's gaelic, which means Carson named it. Why do we think it's sentient?" Rodney said, still in that distracted tone. John wondered if he'd missed the part where Carson might have been compromised by an alien computer.
Weir shrugged. "We don't. We don't know it isn't. But...he *named* it, and talked about it as though it were real. I thought it best to be certain."
At this, Rodney nodded like it made perfect sense and that there was nothing to be worried about. John wasn't so sure --- but he could tell Weir wasn't, either. He could probably trust her not to let it go until they *were* certain.
"Do you mind if we go check on him?" John asked, realising he still had a tight grip on Rodney's elbow. For the second time he ignored Rodney's brief tug to free himself.
"Not at all." Weir nodded. "But we do need you back up here, as soon as you can." She said the last to Rodney, who nodded.
Taking their dismissal before Weir could demand a debriefing from their mission, John pulled Rodney after him and nearly ran out of the control room.
They didn't talk on their way down to their quarters. He thought maybe he should say something, but Rodney seemed lost in thought and he'd learned that sometimes it was better to leave him there. When they reached their front door, John had the weird thought yet again that they needed a doormat, and maybe something hanging on the wall that said 'Casa Del Sexo' or something.
Rodney entered ahead of him and they both looked around. There was no sign of Carson, so they split up. John headed for the room they'd designated as the library. Rodney headed to the bedroom.
When he didn't find Carson there, or in Rodney's office, he went after Rodney. As soon as he stepped into the room he saw the door to the balcony was open, and heard the drift of voices. Rodney was talking quietly and very, very calmly; John felt his stomach jolt and he hurried forward.
He stopped when he saw Rodney kneeling beside Carson, who was huddled against the wall, knees up and arms wrapped tightly around them. His head was down and John couldn't tell if he was even hearing what Rodney was saying.
"Come on, Carson," Rodney said again, rubbing his hand along Carson's arm. "It's all right. It's over, now."
John clenched his jaw. How *dare* they send Carson up? It was like they didn't have a *clue*.
"Carson? Can you hear me?" There was a catch in Rodney's voice that John hated to hear. Carson wasn't responding at all. Rodney moved closer, pressing his head against Carson's. For a moment no one moved.
"Rodney?" His voice was broken, and John was surprised he'd heard it at all.
"Yes, that's right. I'm right here. Carson, look at me."
John watched as Rodney coaxed him -- finally Carson's head lifted and Rodney reached out and placed his fingers underneath Carson's chin. Carson didn't seem to be focusing on Rodney at first.
"Rodney?" Carson said again, as though he wasn't convinced that Rodney was right in front of him.
"Yes, Carson. It's all right," Rodney repeated.
"I killed--" Carson stopped, and the anguish in his voice made John want to hit something really, really hard.
"You had to," Rodney said. "The Wraith are monsters -- they would have--"
"No!" Carson shouted, and he started crying. John had to clench his hands into fists. "Not.. I killed... Markham and Smith... they.. I should have... The city has weapons. But they're not working."
He dropped his head again, and Rodney moved forward to embrace him.
"It isn't your fault," Rodney said, and he whispered something John couldn't hear. He pressed a kiss to Carson's temple and John had the sudden, weird sensation that he was intruding.
"I should have," Carson said.
"Why? Because you're the only one here who has a brain? Did anyone else think to ask about defensive weapons?"
Rodney's sarcasm brought Carson's head back up. "But I should have... I didn't.... If I'd fired sooner, or.. not argued, or got the weapons working they wouldn't be...." He choked for a second, then it was as though his entire being crumbled, even though the only movement was his head lowering again.
John couldn't hear what he said, but Rodney reacted instantly.
"You did *not*. You can't murder something that deserves to die! They are *monsters* and they have killed *thousands* of humans. Killing *one* of them is hardly wrong!"
"But..." Carson shook his head.
John knew he should step forward. He'd killed, before. Hell, he'd killed humans, before. Enemies, sure, but not even the excuse of destroying monsters. He could offer some kind of...insight to what it was like. How you moved on.
But he couldn't move; Rodney and Carson so focused on each other that he was afraid, somehow, that if he interrupted them that something would get lost.
Rodney was still talking. "I know. God, believe me, I know. This isn't what we signed up for. I was supposed to be brilliant and discover the mysteries of the universe and go back to Earth to win three or four Nobel prizes. Generations of future scientists would know my name and misspell it on their essay exams."
There was a pause, and an audible sniff, from Carson. Then he frowned, slightly. "How do you misspell 'Rodney McKay'?"
"Oh, believe me, they would. Students can be very creative when they're screwing things up."
There was a twitch at the corner of Carson's mouth. Rodney must have seen it as well, because he leaned back and smiled at Carson.
"And you'd probably write a few papers as well, for your voodoo journals. For...discovering the cure to cancer, or dementia, or stuttering or something."
Carson leaned his head back and John could see him beginning to relax. "You don't stutter anymore, Rodney."
"I never did! It was only a perfectly reasonable reaction to stresss. You could hardly expect an eight year old to address his entire class without stumbling over a few words."
John grinned briefly, remembering the story Rodney had told them. He still sounded righteously indignant about it.
"So, I get a Nobel for curing stuttering?" Carson asked, mildly. He sounded exhausted, but no longer trapped by anguish.
Rodney shook his head. "Well, no, not a Nobel. But I'm sure you'll be famous for being married to me."
There was a moment of utter silence and John was pretty sure neither he nor Carson were breathing. Then, "Married?" Carson sounded like he was trying to tease, but his voice was too flat to be anything but stunned.
"Er, well," Rodney began, and John thought that if he tried to deny it, he'd go over and hit Rodney on the head so hard his teeth would rattle. But then he said, "You don't mind, do you? Being known as.. well, not 'Mrs. Rodney McKay' but you can't be 'Mr. Rodney McKay' because that's me, except I'm Dr. McKay so maybe--"
"Rodney." Carson was looking at him, steadily now.
"Yes?"
"You...." Carson took a deep breath and finally seemed to be calm, again. John had a feeling that Carson was about to let Rodney off the hook. Maybe he'd have to thump Carson, instead?
Rodney said, "Well, yeah. I love you."
They froze, again, and this time Carson broke it by moving forward and kissing Rodney, hard.
John took a step backwards, then another through the doorway, then he turned and walked away. He got as far as the living room, where he began pacing. He had to... well, no, Rodney had to get to the control room. All he had to do was stand around and make sure everyone did their jobs. Maybe pack up Markham's and Smith's things and compose letters. Talk to Bates. Find out if the Wraith were an immediate threat.
Pack up his own things.
It had happened a lot faster than he'd expected. He'd known, all along, that Rodney loved Carson. Had known since that first day that Carson loved Rodney as well. But since then, none of them had ever said anything. Not while anyone was awake to hear it, he corrected. They'd all been content to just let that whole part of it go.
But that wouldn't be possible, anymore. Hell, even if Rodney had meant to joke about that 'marriage' stuff, he could tell that both Carson and Rodney meant it.
This was exactly what he'd been waiting for. John sat down heavily on the couch. He'd just been hoping for a little more time before they realised they wanted each other that much.
Even if they tried to act like nothing had changed, John knew that it had.
He could hear Rodney and Carson, now, moving inside. Into the bedroom, and the sounds he was hearing now were extremely familiar.
He jumped up, knowing there was no way he could sit hear and listen while they made love. He ran for the door, and stopped only long enough to ask himself if he didn't want one last time. But it wouldn't be fair to them, he knew. They deserved to be alone, together.
John opened the door and left, walking down a long corridor that seemed suddenly to be cold and empty.