The work was exhausting and involved, which served in large part to keep John away from Rodney and so busy he couldn't dwell on just how magnificently he'd fucked up. Again. During a brief bathroom break, John dwelled in wonderment at his growing ability to destroy his own contentment. In the past, it had been a slow, almost accidental process; he'd fall into a comfortable, routine relationship with some girl and then let himself--mostly through hubris or laziness--start to think that it would last once they had to discuss things less fascinating and deep than which movie was more accurately reflective of their generation's psyche: Rushmore or Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Then he'd stare in hapless disillusionment as she walked out, pissed off that he'd expected her to budget for both her new clothes and the water bill, or put up with his continued Saturday night outings with the boys, or his then-unpursued attraction to his own gender, or the way he didn't bother to hide his dislike for her parents, or some other something or another that inevitably brought life crashing down on his head. Again. And that didn't even factor in the male friends he'd lost because either he or they--or both--weren't willing or capable of being what the other needed.

John strongly suspected that he'd have been a lot happier if he'd paid more attention to those kinds of things early on. He'd have never let the female friends become lovers, or the girlfriends become fiancées. The guy friends would've stayed buddies and the fuckbuddies never would've come over for the Super Bowl. He knew this stuff, back and forth and in Farsi, because the Air Force thought he needed to learn Farsi in case he ran into anyone who spoke it in Afghanistan.

Yet he'd managed to ignore all those painful life lessons not once, but twice, and in quite possibly the worst situation--a human ant farm. Or maybe it was a habitrail, the metaphor was the same. He was stuck with two people and he wasn't sure how to relate to either of them, and he couldn't reasonably avoid them, or explain himself, or apologize, or commit seppuku in regret because neither would find any comfort in the act.

The sound of Lieutenant Ford calling out for him jarred John from his longer-than-strictly-necessary break and he returned to crisis management, perversely wishing he was alone on his balcony and not immersed in a sea of people. Out there he had no place to hide, no way to forestall his self-condemnation. How fitting that the cries of the hopeless and the damned would save him from his own painful sentence.

“Hey,” Carson murmured as he sat down next to Rodney in the mess hall. “I didn’t expect to see you in here.”

Rodney looked up from his bowl of jello. “I needed comfort food.”

Carson chose not to think too much about what it meant that Rodney’s comfort food of choice was dubiously flavored gelatin. “Ah, yes. Always a good choice in times like these. So I take it you’ve gotten your flock suitably calmed down?”

“You tell me; how many showed up for tranquilizers and/or therapy?” Rodney snarked, jabbing viciously at his jello. “I can’t believe I forgot how catastrophic disappointment can be. Then again, I’m used to it; the rest of these people haven’t quite picked up the knack of expecting the worst and then being pleasantly surprised.”

Rodney seemed a little more sharply bitter than usual—no mean feat given his disposition, and that worried Carson. “So you’re heading back to your lab for the night, then?” He inquired gently, wishing Rodney didn’t look so stretched and worn. Even the man’s scowl looked tired.

Much to his surprise, Rodney shook his head. “No, Dr. Weir practically ordered me to take the night off—something about not setting a good example for my subordinates. Utter crap, really, but it’s easier to go lie in bed and pretend to sleep than listen to her go on and on about whatever motivational mumbo jumbo she’s so fond of spouting at early morning meetings,” He replied, still butchering his hapless jello. Suddenly he stopped, looking down at the jello in surprise. Then he began to spoon it up, although Carson couldn’t believe the now mostly liquid jello was in any way appealing. It was red and runny, with tiny globs that had escaped Rodney’s jellocidal rage.

Something was wrong, something more than their recent failure to contact Earth. Carson had been there with Rodney after the Wraith and Genii wrecked havoc on the city. Properly speaking, Rodney had been there for Carson as they’d weathered the aftermath, but regardless Carson knew what Rodney should look like right now. The man’s troubles had nothing to do with not getting home, and Carson had no idea what else there could be to make Rodney so troubled.

Of course he wanted to find out; Rodney was his best friend and all other feelings aside he felt a certain obligation to assist his friend whenever possible. “If you’re not working, you can keep me company,” Carson said, putting a hand on Rodney’s shoulder as he stood from the table. “Since you’ve got our power levels back up to civilized standards, I’ve got some DVDs I’ve been wanting to see.”

Rodney frowned in confusion. “You’re not going to eat?” He asked, indicating his own tray of partially eaten but mostly mashed up food. “And what movies? We’ve seen everything you’ve got.”

Carson rolled his eyes. “I’m not eating that stuff,” He replied. “I’ve still got MREs. And no, we haven’t watched these DVDs. Come on, I’m in no mood to dally around the mess hall all night. This place is pleasant as a funeral home.”

Rodney couldn’t disagree; most of Atlantis’s crew, though no longer hysterical, was stuck in a rut of morose disappointment and moderate ennui that reminded Rodney of mildewed canvas. The mess hall really was like a funeral home, or perhaps a hospital waiting room. He quickly disposed of his tray and joined Carson, exiting the room with as much haste as they could muster.

As they left, Major Sheppard and Lieutenant Ford passed by, discussing something or another in their weird military jargon. Carson fully expected John’s blank gaze as it fell on him, but when it continued on past Rodney he was shocked. Not as shocked, though, as when he saw Rodney stiffen slightly and return the empty glare.

Apparently he wasn’t the only person Major Sheppard had turned into a regret. Carson continued walking alongside Rodney, his mind preoccupied by this new information. Rodney’s unhappiness made far more sense now; considering what Carson knew of Rodney and John, whatever had gone on couldn’t have ended well. Carson felt a very brief twinge of jealousy—that John had gotten something he’d never been offered—but he smashed it down with a healthy slap of guilt.

“So what DVD have you been hiding away ever since Antarctica?” Rodney asked as they entered Carson’s quarters. “And why have you been keeping it from me?”

Carson smiled briefly. “I wasn’t keeping them from you in Antarctica; I didn’t have them then,” He replied, pulling out a small box of discs. They were mostly homemade, given to him by friends and family and recorded from shows that weren’t available commercially—or that they’d simply chosen to rip. A few of them were old arthouse movies his mum thought he’d enjoy during his ‘extended assignment’ overseas.

Rodney slumped down in one corner of the couch while Carson flipped through the discs. Knife in the Water was a good movie, but perhaps not the best choice given their current states of mind. He wavered this way and that before deciding on a couple of episodes of Fawlty Towers. If John Cleese couldn’t lighten Rodney’s mood, nothing short of morphine could.

He fetched his meager dinner and let Rodney begin watching the show while Carson himself sat at the table. Watching Rodney wasn’t difficult given the angle he had so Carson observed the way he very slowly relaxed, sliding farther down the couch and folding his legs up into apparently comfortable contortions.

“I never can decide whether pre- or post- Monty Python John Cleese is funnier,” Rodney commented as Carson was cleaning up after his meal. Carson took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, turning so he could see both Rodney and the computer screen.

“I'd say Monty Python was the definite pinnacle of his career,” Carson replied, grinning at the show’s antics.

“You don’t have Blackadder, do you?” Rodney inquired, glancing at Carson. “Hugh Laurie made such a glorious fop.”

“He certainly did play a genius idiot,” Carson agreed. “And I think I have them somewhere—me or Peter, anyway. We tried to coordinate on all the classic bits of British humor.”

Rodney nodded sagely. “Good idea, especially since it’s so much better than anything the Americans have put out lately.”

Carson took pause, not entirely sure if Rodney was referring only to American media outlets or not. “I didn’t notice you hoarding Canadian comedy,” He pointed out, momentarily skating the topic.

“That’s because you weren’t looking,” Rodney replied with a smirk. “I’ve got everything worth watching, and some stuff that’s not. Damn near every decent American comic is actually Canadian. Did you know that?”

“No,” Carson hummed absently. “It does make sense, though.”

“Why’s that?” Rodney asked, curious.

“Well,” Carson began reasonably, “If you go on television in Canada and make fun of Yanks, everybody gets nervous about international relations. If you go to New York and make fun of Yanks, you get a contract for a series and a fat paycheck.”

“Point,” Rodney conceded. “But why do they all stay?”

Carson looked over at Rodney incredulously. “For the same reason there are more people of Scottish descent in the US than there are in Scotland, man! The weather is foul, the food worse and…”

“And what?” Rodney pushed.

“Nothing,” Carson mumbled, suddenly very interested in the show.

Rodney stared at Carson, willing him to speak. “Carson, you can’t get away with not finishing. Spit it out.”

Carson felt a little of the devil climb up into his head. “Make me,” He exclaimed, wondering when he’d regressed to twelve years old.

“Make you?” Rodney gasped, laughing. “Make you tell me?”

“Didn’t think you could,” Carson said snidely, smirking at the man. “Besides, if you can’t figure it out, it’s not worth saying.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “God, you’re worse than Jo…”

Carson watched Rodney’s face turn to stone, his mouth sliding closed. “I doubt that,” Carson murmured in reply to what Rodney hadn’t been quite able to say.

Rodney turned away. “I’m not talking about it.”

“Neither am I,” Carson agreed softly. He considered the situation for a moment before moving over a little, until he was closer to Rodney. Carson placed a hand comfortingly on Rodney’s shoulder, bringing him back around.

“What? You want to wallow in mutual idiocy?” Rodney sneered, but Carson noted he didn’t try to move away.

“We’re not the idiot here,” Carson retorted, his voice still quiet. “You’re my friend, Rodney, and I’m yours just the same. I don’t like seeing you suffer.”

Rodney relaxed suddenly, melting back against the couch. Carson gathered him up with only a little awkwardness, trying to give comfort while figuring out where to put his hands. He wasn’t used to actually holding Rodney and as such wasn’t sure of exactly what he should do.

Most of his dilemma was solved by Rodney himself, who simply leaned against Carson’s shoulder and kept half an eye on the still-playing television show. “It’s a bit more than that,” The scientist said in a whisper, not sounding the least bit concerned.

“I’m not talking about it,” Carson said in an echo of Rodney’s earlier statement. He wasn’t ready to discuss such things, not with everything going on, both behind their bedroom doors and in the halls of Atlantis.

“Neither am I,” Rodney parroted with a half-smile. “But it’s there, has been for a while.”

Carson nodded at the acknowledgement, wondering how Rodney knew that just knowing the attraction was there, and mutual, would make him feel better. It had always been a constant for Carson, but now it was one he could not only count on feeling himself, but knowing Rodney felt it too. Perhaps its new realness was what made him feel less lost.

That was all they had tonight, not that Carson was complaining. At the moment, it was all either of them could handle and even if it never turned out to be anything more, it was something they hadn’t had previously. Carson had a pleasant suspicion that neither of them would let it falter into a morass of what might’ve been, however. They were both a bit too impatient for that.

Rodney saw Halling approach him and knew that whatever the man had to say wasn't going to be good. He, like every other crew member in the city, had been working nearly non-stop to get the place back to normal again, although thankfully this time didn't involve any actual mechanical issues. Of course, that meant that the issues involved were people issues, and Rodney knew he wasn't very good at such things. For instance, he knew that Halling was about to complain to him about Rodney's participation in a conversation that had concluded with the Athosian's access to the ‘gate severely curtailed and highly monitored, as well as a draft proposal that strongly encouraged his people to start actually participating in the city's day-to-day operation. The problem was that Rodney wasn't well-equipped to keep Halling's forthcoming displeasure from turning into an all-out shoutfest. When time came to fulfill his soft science general education requirement at University, Rodney had chosen a statistics class.

"Dr. McKay," Halling began in his best diplomatic-leader-of-the-people voice. "You know that we object to being barred from the ‘gate, and there is nothing--

"I don't care, and yes there is," Rodney said, sweeping a hand in front of Halling to shut the man up. "You've proven, quite effectively I might add, that you have no business going planet-hopping. Your very first trip off-world during a crisis situation nearly resulted in every single resident of this city becoming Wraith fodder. Had you paid attention to your so-called trading partners, or allowed us to send a fuller, more experienced contingent of our people, the entire situation would have been averted."

Halling glared indignantly at Rodney. "Then we learn from this incident, but do not treat us like children!"

Rodney's eyes rolled dramatically. "If you want to be treated like an adult, act like one! We didn't say you weren't going to get to go anywhere, just that you weren't going to get to go anywhere on your own or without our approval and supervision. When you show us we can trust you, we will." Rodney almost enjoyed watching Halling suppress a royal snit.

Off to one side, Dr. Weir, Major Sheppard and Dr. Zelenka watched apprehensively. They all knew that the Athosians weren't going to like their edicts, but none of them could have predicted that Dr. McKay would be the one approached by the Athosian leader. It was a curious choice for a confrontation and Dr. Weir thought perhaps Halling had chosen it due to Rodney's predilection for dramatic gestures. Irrationality on Dr. McKay's part would only aid the Athosians in their complaint.

Unfortunately for Halling, he had severely underestimated Dr. McKay.

Before Halling could throw another self-righteous poniard at Rodney, the scientist picked up the speed of his rant. "As for the part about you contributing to the city, it is only fair that you help maintain the place that is keeping you alive. We're not your babysitters, nor your caretakers. As you've said yourself, you aren't children. Act like it and take some responsibility. We have neither the time, manpower nor the inclination to mollycoddle a bunch of narrow-minded, reflexively self-serving nitwits. Either you support yourselves here or you leave."

That statement definitely got Halling's attention. "You wouldn't force us away!" He growled menacingly. "You can't. Dr. Weir has given us sanctuary here; Atlantis is the home of the ancient ancestors. No one can make us leave!"

Rodney's eyes narrowed sharply and he took a step forward, managing to loom over the taller Halling, who moved backward in surprise. "You think I can't? My people have command of this city; we determine its governance. You are here because we offered you shelter and if we determine that you are a threat, we can ask you to leave."

"Dr. Weir would never allow you to send us to our deaths," Halling said confidently. "She--

"Is in charge, yes," Rodney hissed, "But hers isn't the only voice in this city. Or have you forgotten that I am the Chief Science Officer, that Dr. Beckett is the Chief Medical Officer, or that Major Sheppard is the Commanding Officer of all the military forces in the city? And that, in fact, I am the second in command of this city, even though I rarely wield that power?"

Halling's face fell in confusion, obviously unaware that Rodney really had that kind of authority. Meanwhile, Rodney continued his surprisingly controlled dressing-down of the Athosian leader.

"If I decide your people are a continuing threat to this city's safety, never think I would hesitate to have you all thrown right back out onto the mainland and left to fend for yourselves. Don't ever delude yourself into thinking it would give me pause, because it wouldn't. When the issue is our survival, your petty concerns don't even register on my annoying shitometer," Rodney spat. "While you're pouting about not being able to go trade for fresh fruit, try some perspective-taking. We are stranded here and willing to risk our lives to keep you safe. Most of the rest of the galaxy doesn't have the security you do against the Wraith. Ponder that," Rodney finished, spinning around to stalk away--completely ignoring his small audience in the process.

"Teyla, may I have a word with you?" Dr. Weir asked as the Athosian walked by. After more than a week of constant meetings and crisis control, Atlantis was finally back to a semblance of normalcy. The last major item on Dr. Weir's list was getting the shaky relationship between her crew and the Athosians back on track.

"Yes, Dr. Weir?" Teyla murmured, her voice devoid of any warmth.

"I'd like to schedule some time to discuss continuing off world missions with you and Halling," Dr. Weir said, much to Teyla's obvious surprise. "Our joint trading and exploratory missions have been successful and important to Atlantis and even factoring in our recent difficulties we can't afford to keep them continually suspended."

Teyla seemed to weigh the statement carefully. "I was under the impression you did not want to use the ‘gate any more than necessary, so long as the Wraith are in this system."

Dr. Weir sighed briefly. "I'll admit it's not an ideal situation, but Major Sheppard and Sergeant Bates have developed additional security protocols for off world journeys that should increase everyone's safety," She added, emphasizing that the Athosians were included in that protection. "We aren't planning to travel extensively, not after what happened with the Genii, but we do need to expand our resource pool."

"I see," Teyla replied. "I shall discuss your proposal with Halling." She then turned to the Athosian section of the city and walked away. Elizabeth rubbed her temples and wondered if Simon still got those migraines. She'd never been able to empathize until now.

The crew's relationship with the Athosians was still frosty, although beginning to show signs of thawing. Dr. Weir had witnessed Teyla and Major Sheppard resuming their hand-to-hand combat training, and the Athosian children were no longer forbidden from visiting with the scientists and soldiers who called Atlantis home--but still the city was not truly at peace. The Athosians had, after much heated discussion, admitted to having acted in a manner unaligned with the security interests of the city, an admission that Dr. Weir knew was the closest to an apology she'd ever get. Their primary allies in the Pegasus galaxy were at least as savvy in the political arena as her own crew, all pretensions of agrarian simplicity aside.

It hadn't hurt when Rodney had nearly threatened the Athosians with being sent back to the mainland if they didn't start acting like they actually cared about the fate of the city. In a rather memorable scene, he backed Halling into a corner and told the man that even if Dr. Weir and Major Sheppard were too weak-stomached to send the Athosians away, Rodney himself was not and he had the ability to do so, along with the authority so long as he was able to rationalize calling the Athosians a continuing security risk. It was one of the very few times Elizabeth had seen Rodney wield the administrative power he held within Atlantis. His typical method of control was to overwhelm his opponents with sarcasm, insults and a huge vocabulary--not by throwing around his political weight. It had been a rather effective move.

Still, she couldn’t help but worry that she’d handled their relations with the Athosians rather poorly. If their positions had been reversed, she knew her people wouldn’t have been as gracious as the Athosians had been so far; blood would most assuredly have been shed.

Dr. Weir retreated into her office for a few minutes of privacy. She knew that the crew sometimes indulged in piss-and-moan sessions about the direction of their mission, but overall they were pleased with the city's leadership--and she worked very hard to make sure that they had nothing to complain about. It was the hardest job she'd ever taken on, and not because there was a race of ravenous monsters circling like piranha.

Being in charge meant she was supposed to observe everything going on with her people and then delegate what got done about it, and that was the part that was bothering her. Sometimes all Elizabeth wanted to do was sit down with a troubled soul and let them talk themselves out of whatever was wrong with them. Unfortunately for her occasional therapist tendencies, Dr. Heitmeyer was on staff for just such a thing. Buried somewhere in the protocols written for being in charge was the line 'thou shalt not be a buddy to thy staff'. That meant there was a gap in the care and feeding of Atlantis's crew; many people's troubles didn't warrant a trip to a professional therapist. They needed friends and downtime, two things that were stressed beyond belief at the moment.

Elizabeth knew something or another was bothering most of the people on Atlantis, but right now she was most worried about John Sheppard and Rodney McKay. Whatever was plaguing them wasn't enough to affect their performance on the job, but neither man was happy. She couldn't tell if it was something gone awry in their strange but typically effective dynamic, or two unrelated issues that had coalesced into the recent tension between them.

Carson Becket had taken up Rodney's cause, falling once again into the role of Rodney's best friend--a role he'd held throughout their collective tenure in Antarctica. Elizabeth was grateful to see that relationship back on track; Carson helped to blunt Rodney's sharper edges and Rodney in turn toughened the occasionally over-empathic Carson against the day-to-day brutality of life.

John Sheppard wasn't so lucky, however. Rodney had been, more or less, his only decent friend in Atlantis. Lieutenant Ford was too young, mentally and physically, to keep up with John's mercurial brain while Teyla was the Athosian equivalent of Elizabeth herself. John could be congenial with her and maintain a very effective professional relationship. No matter how much they worked together, however, they would always have a barrier of command between them. They were friends, but they would never be the kind of friend John obviously needed right now. Elizabeth couldn't think of anyone in the city who could play that role--not when Rodney was unwilling to do it himself. She couldn't be that person--even if she wasn't in charge of the city, she just didn't see herself and John compatible enough to have that kind of friendship.

Elizabeth sat behind her desk, staring at her flickering computer screen and wondering when her favorite chrome fantasy had lost its mirror sheen. After a few minutes, she shook off the momentary self-pity and began reviewing their plans to resume mission objectives while not compromising Atlantis again.

“Sir?”

John looked over at Stackhouse. “What?”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” He inquired as they watched Bates and Ford go over security protocols with a group of Athosians. The Athosians weren’t doing all that badly, despite Stackhouse’s reservations.

“No,” John replied blandly just as yet another warning klaxon sounded and a Wraith dart approached the city. He barely twitched as the shield repelled a blast from the alien vessel. Within a minute, the alarms fell silent and the few people who had bothered to react to the noise and disruption were back at their appointed tasks. “But I’m pretty sure that not doing this is a worse one.”

John left Stackhouse at his post and wandered away, past the training rooms and laboratories where Rodney’s linguists were arguing over verb tenses and conjugations. He avoided the corridor containing Rodney’s own lab, knowing that walking past the man would make him twitch. Rodney himself wasn’t doing anything to bother John—not glaring at him or ignoring him or sending especially pointed barbs his way. No, Rodney was being his usual self, although without the closeness they used to share. Now the camaraderie Rodney used to have with John was focused on Carson and John was forced to watch from the outside as the two men did the friendship-type things together that he and Rodney had done before. John missed the movies and the arguments, the petty sniping and commiserating. Rodney treated him with the same warped professionalism he threw at everyone else in the city, excepting the few individuals Rodney considered a friend.

It hurt to be outside that circle, but John knew he only had himself to blame. He hadn’t even attempted a decent, non work-related conversation with Rodney since that night. Hell, he hadn’t really talked to anyone since then, and he couldn’t think of anyone to go to anyway. Well, except the shrink and he was not going to Heitmeyer, not without the pretext of some near-death experience.

John found himself on one of the city’s innumerable balconies, watching from above as the ocean lapped lazily at Atlantis’s hull. The sound of water was soothing and familiar as always, but John wished there were the local equivalent of pelicans or seagulls flitting about. If the shield hadn’t been up eventually the planet’s fauna would appear, he guessed, drawn to Atlantis like they would be to any island. He thought the city would be more interesting with tufts of grass in the balconies and spires where birds nested. Even with the threat of birdshit landing on his head and random divebomb attacks from panicking parents, the idea of a more vivid and diversely populated Atlantis appealed to him.

That would have to wait, though, until the Wraith were gone, and not in a temporary way. They couldn’t risk dropping the shield until the Wraith were pushed far away from the city, out of this system and on the run. His people were going to have to accomplish something the Ancients hadn’t been able to do, and John wasn’t clear on how they were going to do it. He knew, though, that he’d already put his faith in the people they had, even if he’d made it so they couldn’t rely on him for very much at all.

He turned his focus to the branching sections of the city, with their towers and pathways forming snowflake designs in metal and glass and wondered how the Ancients did it, living for so long in their self-constructed prison. It occurred to him then that something the Athosians could help them with was the mapping of the city—a project they’d set aside during the recent spate of shitty luck they’d encountered. John strongly suspected that if they looked in the right place, they’d find something resembling a greenhouse or a hydroponics area since he didn’t see a way for the Ancients to manage to survive on trading alone.

With that idea in his mind, John left the balcony for the interior of the city and went in search of Dr. Weir. Knowing her, she’d already considered this particular possibility, but it was worth mentioning. In the memorable words of Dr. McKay, there was no use in being stupid if he didn’t show it.