Fic Post: Destiny Manifest, SGA

astolat

astolat

Destiny Manifest

Sheppard finally cornered him in his own lab, thankfully alone.

“No. Hell no,” Sheppard’s chin was tilted down at an angle, the better to stare penetratingly from under his eyebrows. “Tell me you did not build a femmebot of yourself, McKay.”

Rodney’s forehead wrinkled into a frown. “Alright, ignoring the slight to my masculinity, no I did not build a robot of myself.”

Sheppard's shoulders came down into their usual deceivingly relaxed pose, and his expression began to lose its stormy flavor.

“It’s more of an avatar, really.”

“Jesus, McKay. Please tell me this isn’t something kinky.”

Rodney looked offended. “I’m arrogant, Colonel, but I’ve never been accused of being literally narcissistic.” He paused, then waved a hand dismissively. “Well, not by anyone with a real degree, anyway.”

By now, John's hand was on his own forehead, thumb rubbing at one temple and forefinger at the other. Rodney had that effect on him. Frequently. “Okay, so you just woke up one day and thought, ‘Gee, wouldn’t it be cool to have another me running around?’” He held up one finger preemptively, without uncovering his eyes. “And before you answer that, that would be a no, Rodney.”

He dragged the hand slowly down his face and off his chin, and looked up to see McKay giving him the twisty-lipped expression signaled an incoming eye-roll. “No, Colonel, I’m fairly certain no universe could adequately contain more than one of me.”

“Uh-huh. Then would you care to explain why there’s a Mini-McKay, minus the mini?”

Rodney wasn’t making eye contact anymore. This could be interesting. “What gave it away, anyhow?”

“Oh, I don’t know… We were kinda worried when Ronon mentioned he saw you in the dining hall. Said you weren’t eating. That’s a scary thing, McKay, so I decided to check it out. Zelenka said you'd stopped by the labs. Turns out you told Kavanagh he looked like a myopic ferret with membership to the Hair Club for Men and sent him to his room 'until he could stop being irritating on a molecular level.' That little man has an evil laugh, you know. Zelenka, I mean.” He stopped, pretending to need a moment to recall. “Hmm. Oh, and then you followed Caldwell around for the better part of the afternoon, which would have been weird enough, but when you started to do it without pants...”

Rodney was a painful shade of red. “Ahm… Yes, there seems to have been a problem with impulse control.”

“You’re controlling the impulse to jump Caldwell?”

“No!” Rodney gave a little shudder. “No, no. I’m fairly certain there was a power-allotment issue. When its battery got low, so to speak, the avatar got… confused.”

“Uh-huh.”

Rodney tried for a winning smile, and came off as vaguely nauseous. Considering this conversation included nudity in combination with his (technically) superior officer, Sheppard understood. “I think it recognized his relative position in the hierarchy and made some unfounded connections,” Rodney finished lamely.

“Oh. Good to know it thought it was following me around unclothed. That makes me feel so much better. I never liked this job much anyway.” It was perversely amusing to see Rodney squirm.

The astrophysicist-cum-bot-builder looked a little sicker. “Okay, yes, that was a minor setback, but I can fix this. I just have to program in some periodic recharge times, and maybe an override for when resources get too low –"

John held up a hand. “I think you’re missing the point here. Let’s try this again: why is there a RoboRodney?”

“Oh, that’s cute. I like that.” The crossed arms and foot twitch gave him away. “Technically incorrect, but maybe we could patent –"

“McKay.”

Rodney sighed and seemed to deflate. “Yeah, didn’t think you’d buy that.” His lips moved as he ordered his thoughts. “Look, I’ve run the numbers, alright? And don’t tell me you haven’t, Mr. MENSA.”

Sheppard briefly debated which face would convey the appropriate level of confusion, and went with the single eyebrow raise.

“I’m not going to survive this galaxy.”

He felt himself freeze. “Rodney –"

“No, listen. Statistically speaking, I wasn’t exactly a candidate to live long and prosper even on Earth, given the allergies and family history and the odds of blowing myself up eventually. Coming to Atlantis definitely didn’t improve my chances. Factoring in the Wraith and leaving room for unspecified contagions, it would be an anomaly if I make it more than 5 years, maximum.” He was looking at the floor just to the outside of Sheppard’s left foot. “And, with the exception of the lovely Colonel Carter, I know more about a great many things than anybody in either galaxy.” A beat. “Not counting the Asgard, of course, or any lingering Ancients. Although, really, they’ve not been all that helpful, historically, and definitely not reliable…”

Sheppard let the ramble continue, having figured out its main destination. He thought it over, jaw tightening. “Rodney.”

The words cut off, and the other man blinked at him. “Yes?” he asked, warily.

“I know I’m going to regret this, but mind telling me what that thing is, exactly? How did we get from ‘certain doom’ to ‘Life Size Barbie’?”

Back on safe ground, McKay loosened up a little. “Well, I originally started playing with the specs for the hologram in the Library, but without the ZPM there wasn’t much chance of practical application.” Sheppard had always been mildly disturbed by the place, himself. The holographic Ancient that was its main feature reminded him uncomfortably of a ghost, and of the knowledge that the city was full of them.

“Then we got the ZPM, and I began some small programming trials. Nothing really exciting, mind you, not until we went to the Aurora. The data from the virtual environment proved enough to make it plausible.”

Sheppard’s voice came out deceptively mild. “Obviously this thing has gone beyond the voicemail stage.”

“Well, yes, of course. It’s not a recording, not exactly, or even an AI.” For the first time the glow of technical fervor reached his eyes. “It’s me.”

Sheppard didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, McKay went on, hands flying. “We already knew the Ancients had technology capable of interfacing with an organic brain. Back at the SGC, O’Neill once had their entire database downloaded into his head.” He grimaced. “Admittedly, that didn’t go so well, but the principle stands. A brain may not be meant to hold the database, but there’s no reason the database shouldn’t be able to hold a brain.” He finished pointing dramatically at his own head.

“You uploaded your brain.” The voice was flat.

“Well, more like emailed a copy, really, but yes.” He smiled smugly. “Very impressive, if I do say so myself.”

“And you gave it a body to walk around in.”

He seemed puzzled. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I? I mean, Radek would probably be fine with interfacing directly with the computer, but the rest of you might do better with a little packaging. Plus, what if there aren’t any terminals nearby when you need to access something? This will be far easier.” His eyes were earnest, obviously expecting agreement.

It was the certainty in his voice that did John in. He held very still for a moment, eyes focused relentlessly on the wall by Rodney’s head. Finally, he nodded once, sharply, and moved with the precision and speed of most of a life of combat training. He had Rodney pinned against the wall in time to feel the bland smile melt off those lips. His hands framed Rodney’s skull, gripping hard. When he finally twisted his mouth away, the other man was panting. He kept their foreheads pressed together.

“John –"

He kissed Rodney again, quickly this time, then slid off to mouth back a jaw line and down a throat.

“John.”

The nip beneath his ear was calculated. So were the words. “Would it feel that?”

“What? You are seriously odd and – "

“The avatar. Would it feel that?” His tone was low, but the words were precise.

“It's structurally a hologram, and therefore both incorporeal and lacking in nerve endings, so no, it – "

This time the bite fell in the center of him, where the ribs met and the sternum ended. John knew how to find that place. He’d learned that, and how hard to press, and how many counts, and when to breathe a long time ago. “How about that?”

“John, would you just – "

He’d worked his way under the shirt, kneeling between Rodney's feet. This time, his teeth went just above the waistline. He didn’t ask again, and Rodney kept silent.

He mouthed the same spot as his hands dealt with button and zipper, then pulled both pants and boxers down just far enough. He felt Rodney inhale to speak again, and opened his mouth first. What he did with it was make Rodney forget what he’d planned to do with his own. Rodney evidently forgot everything but arching off the wall, for a moment. When he did regain the power of speech, it seemed limited to ohjesus and god, John. John wasn’t bothering with skill or finesse or tact. There wasn’t room for them in his strategy.

When Rodney started to twist against the wall, hands scrabbling at John's jacket collar, he pulled off and slid a finger into his mouth. Rodney stilled above him, breathing hard. A second later, his breath caught altogether when John made use of the finger and swallowed hard. Rodney screamed through clenched teeth as he came, the back of his head his only contact with the wall.

It wasn’t until he blinked back to awareness that John realized he’d whited out. His head was against Rodney’s stomach, rising and falling with each slowly-leveling breath. The zipper on Rodney’s pants was digging into the side of his neck, and he couldn’t quite care. There were shaky hands stroking through his hair, gently, though no words yet.

He had three minutes of peaceful silence before they did come, and then they were single-file. “John.”

He shuddered, and didn’t look up. “John.”

He tilted his head back just enough to make eye contact, still leaning on Rodney. He looked down at John, eyes tired and deep. His right hand moved from John’s hair to his face, thumb ghosting over a cheekbone and across his lips. Finally, he sighed and slid down the wall, legs splayed around John’s knees. His left hand held John upright through the move, then slipped to his neck and pulled him forward. John let his forehead rest on Rodney’s shoulder, his arms limp at his sides.

John wasn’t planning anymore.

“Would it feel this?” It was a whisper.

Rodney kissed his head and spoke into his hair. “No, John, it can’t feel this.”

“Then I don’t need it. We don’t need it.” His eyes were shut tight. “It’s not you.”

“Okay.”

“I couldn’t… If you weren’t…” He swallowed. “Be the anomaly, Rodney.”

“Okay.”

Rodney’s left hand was warm on his neck, and his right stroked up and down John’s shoulder blade. He was solid against him, and John’s hands came forward to clutch at the fabric on either side of Rodney’s ribs.

“Hey?”

“Yeah.”

“More than one anomaly goes towards a statistical relevancy,” he paused. “And it would be damn lonely to be the only weird one.”

John found himself smiling faintly. “That settles it then. We’ll need to be weird together.”

Rodney snorted softly. “Oh, I think that’s a forgone conclusion.” He sobered slightly, although the gentleness stayed in his tone. “We’ll do what all great minds do when faced with data conflicting a brilliant hypothesis: we’ll pretend we’re right, and the hell with the rest of the universe.”

He must have felt the eyebrow rise against his shoulder. “I’m a theoretical astrophysicist, Sheppard. Ideas are my playthings.”

John was surprised by the wistfulness in his own voice. “And when we’re proven wrong?”

Rodney was still for a breath. “We just keep pretending.”

It wasn’t an answer, but John knew there wasn’t one to give. Neither one of them said anything for a while.

“I can’t take it off the system, John. It’s too important.”

“I know. But the hologram… let us just talk to the computer, okay?”

Rodney sighed. “I thought it would be easier, if it looked like me.”

John’s hands clenched involuntarily tighter on the fabric. “Not exactly.”

He felt Rodney nod against the top of his head. “Okay, then. I just… I want there to be something here, when I’m gone. I need to leave something behind.”

John raised his head, meeting blue eyes. “You will.”

He willed him to understand.

Rodney’s eyes widened, and his chest froze mid-breath. “Oh,” he exhaled. “Oh.”

John nodded solemnly, holding his gaze, then lowered his head back to Rodney’s shoulder. “So don’t.”

Neither one left the lab for quite some time.