Work Text:
The story you are about to read is a fib, but it's short. The names are made up, but the problems are real.
It was Tuesday, 9:56 AM Atlantis Standard Time. The traffic in L.A was so heavy, people were actually driving backwards on the freeway. Lucky for me, I live in the Pegasus Galaxy. I was working the Atlantis daywatch as a Mathnet liason, ready to step through the gate and serve justice once again. The boss is Sam Carter. The team is SGA-1. My name is John Sheppard: I'm a mathema –
"Who the hell are you talking to?" Rodney interrupts, exasperated.
Sheppard looks up from where he was tucking his calculator into his shoulder holster. He doesn't say anything – just looks surprised and hurt – but Zelenka, who's standing at the Atlantis DHD, does speak up.
"Rodney," he hisses, "He's Mathnet."
"Yeah, Radek, that still means nothing to me," Rodney calls back.
Sheppard claps Rodney on the shoulder and gives him a winning smile; Rodney refuses to be won.
"I'm sure you'll like me once you get to know me, Pard," he says.
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FLASHBACK COURTESY EARLIER SCENES:
"I'd heard rumours, like everyone else, but I didn't know it was an actual possibility," Sam says, low-voiced and reverent. Rodney, interested, walks over to where she's standing with Radek, Ambrose, and Kusanagi.
"What's a possibility?" he asks.
Kusanagi beams. "Mathnet," she says. Rodney waits for her to say more words, but she doesn't.
"Mathnet? What the hell is mathnet?"
All four of them take a little shuffling step away from Rodney, as if he's just told them that he has a rare but highly contagious disease involving pus and seepage.
"You do not know Mathnet?" Radek asks finally, half-laughing nervously.
"Uh, no," Rodney answers sarcastically, "Isn't that what I just said? Is it some sort of government think tank? A society associated with a university? A privately-funded research organization?"
Sam shakes her head. "It's Mathnet. They're just . . . Mathnet."
Ambrose sighs dreamily. Rodney scowls at him.
"Rodney, Mathnet has decided that the Atlantis expedition has become important enough to rate a liason from their . . . group," Sam says.
Rodney waits to hear more, unimpressed. They have people here from MSRI, from DIMACS, from every major research institution in the world. The silence stretches out.
"I can't believe we're getting someone from Mathnet," Ambrose says, turning away from Rodney and back to the other three. Sam quirks an eyebrow in agreement.
"I hear he's good-looking, too," she says, a little half-smile playing on her face.
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"And so, as you can see, the tiles progressed in Fibonacci sequence, with each tile representing the next number in the series," Sheppard explains, pointing slowly at each set of tiles as he lists them off: "one, one, two, three, five."
Rodney indulges in an elaborate fantasy. In it, Rodney has his hands around Sheppard's neck while Sheppard turns entertaining shades of red, blue, and purple.
Teyla nods, taking up the thread of the presentation. "The lizard-bird who recited these numbers led us to suspect that this infinite series was important, but we did not recognize it at first, due to the method with which the tiling system represented numbers in base-eight with a remainder. It was John who figured it out."
Sheppard offers that aw-shucks smile of his. Rodney's not sure, but he thinks he hears Doctor Colonel Samantha fucking Carter sigh from across the conference room; Rodney's eye begins to twitch.
"I couldn't have done it without the help of my team," Sheppard says earnestly. "We all worked together on this one, even Polly."
"One one two three!" the lizard-bird says from the corner.
Sheppard laughs wholeheartedly. "You said it, little buddy," he grins, turning to look at the lizard-bird. "You sure said it."
Everyone in the conference room (Rodney excepted) chuckles fondly.
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"Look," Rodney hisses, "I just don't understand the appeal. I mean, I ate the Fibonacci sequence for breakfast when I was five, and Ronon wrote his dissertation on infinite series, and we've already got more mathematicians on the base than you can shake a stick at, but somehow this one guy . . . And, okay, have you noticed how all of a sudden all of our missions seem to involve math in some way? I mean, the mission with the Ancient technology robberies that he solved with statistical analysis, and the one with the diamond lost in the fjord where he calculated the speed of the underwater currents, and, and, that thing where four people needed to cross a bridge in exactly seventeen minutes, all walking at different speeds? What the hell was that?"
"Rodney," Teyla says mildly, poking at the campfire with a stick, "John is coming back now."
Rodney shuts up. Sheppard moves into the circle of light cast by the fire and treats everyone to a firm, kind smile. "Hey, partners. What's going on?"
"We were just discussing the case," Ronon says smoothly.
"The mission," Rodney mutters.
"Oh yeah. You know, I've been thinking about that, and it seems to me that this case – sorry, Rodney, this mission - Mathnet habit! – just doesn't add up. I think we all know what has to happen next in the Mission of the Missing Alien Princess."
Teyla sits up straight – well, straighter – and brightens visibly. The team of Marines, who were previously ignoring SGA-1's conversation, all shuffle their rocks a little closer to Sheppard in anticipation.
"Is it – " Corporal Edwards asks, eyes bright and hopeful.
"Are you going to – " Ronon stutters.
Sheppard nods seriously. "That's right, team. It's time to play: What Do We Know."
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"And now that you've calculated the rate of continental drift and fed those numbers into the Ancient weather technology, our water table might even go back to where it was before! Isn't that right, Mr. Sheppard?"
Sheppard ruffles the tow-headed youngster's mop of unruly curls.
"It just might, Billy. It just might."
Rodney considers his options for a good thirty seconds.
"Yeah, no, I quit," he says, and turns to walk back to the gate.
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He manages to avoid Sheppard for the next week or so, even if it does mean that Ronon and Teyla shoot him constant dirty looks. But Atlantis is Atlantis, so they can't avoid each other forever; and, Atlantis being Atlantis, the next time Rodney does bump into Sheppard, it's not over jello in the mess hall.
"It seems as though we're trapped in a box," Sheppard pronounces, summarizing the situation.
"Uh, yeah," Rodney agrees. The room is about six by six, room enough for them to sit, but not comfortably, and not without touching. Right now, they're both standing. There are no mechanisms on the inside whatsoever: just cool smooth walls that don't even seem to join at the edges.
"I was taking a transporter," Sheppard continues, "I guess there must have been a malfunction."
"Yeah, I guess," Rodney says. Then he takes a breath and adds, "Me too, I was taking a transporter too." Sheppard smiles at him, that big closed-lips one that lights up his face. Rodney scowls.
"Well, we'll just have to count on our teammates to come rescue us," John replies brightly.
"We don't have a team together anymore, Sheppard."
For the first time, Sheppard's big smile falters. "Uh, listen. No time like the present, and I've been meaning to ask. Ronon and Teyla have some idea that you quit the team because of me."
"And?" Rodney crosses his arms.
"And, I wanted to talk to you about it, buddy." Sheppard looks like he desperately wants Rodney to throw him a conversational life preserver. Well, tough.
"So go ahead and talk," Rodney says.
Just for a moment, something passes across Sheppard's face that is almost annoyance. "I wanted to apologise for whatever I did to get us off on the wrong foot, and I wanted, uh, to get you back on the team," he says, haltingly.
"No."
Sheppard pauses. "What?"
"I said, no." Rodney keeps his arms crossed.
"You – what – you can't just say no to an apology!"
"Sure I can."
"But I apologized!"
Rodney grins smugly. "What for?"
Sheppard throws up his arms in the air – more emotion than Rodney's ever seen him show – and then drops them to his sides in exasperation. Then, to Rodney's surprise, John Sheppard, Mathnet golden boy, slumps down onto the floor (his posture is horrible, for once) and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Look, Rodney, I was recruited to Mathnet out of high school, okay? It's all I've ever known. And I've tried to make it work, I really have, and I try to be earnest and helpful and help kids and animals and all, just like the manual says, but I'm not," John looks up at Rodney suddenly, "I'm not very good at it, okay? So I'm sorry."
Rodney blinks. "You're not good at helping kids and animals? What the hell do you mean, the manual? Aren't you – "
John rolls his eyes – holy shit – and actually interrupts. "I'm not good at the whole thing, the clean spirits pure hearts love for humankind use-math-to-improve-the-human-condition thing, okay? The Mathnet thing, you've heard of it."
Rodney hasn't, but he doesn't think this is the time to say so.
"I tried on Earth, too," John continues, sighing. "I tried, but everyone thought I wasn't taking it seriously enough. They thought I was being sarcastic." This last with air quotes, and whoa, what happened to the John Sheppard that Rodney worked with for six weeks?
"So you – wait," Rodney says. "You got sent here as . . . as punishment? For not being earnest enough?"
Sheppard slumps even further down against the wall. "I guess so, yeah." He looks petulant for a moment, then adds, "I don't think they like me."
"Oh jesus," Rodney says. He's terrible at this. "I'm sure they like you fine." He doesn't even sound convincing to himself.
Sheppard waves a hand. "Whatever, I thought, new planet, new galaxy, new chance, but now I guess I blew it again."
Rodney sits down gingerly next to Sheppard on the floor. Their knees bump. "Look, you didn't blow it," he tries, awkwardly. Sheppard looks up at him.
"I mean, we're all kind of losers here, anyway. You'll fit in fine. I should've, um," he coughs loudly, "I probably should've given you more of a chance or something."
John brightens at that. "So, you'll give it another try? Come back to the team?"
"Uh," Rodney says. John's looking him right in the eyes, and Rodney's always been a sucker for a pretty face. "Okay, but listen, you gotta tone down the Mathnet stuff, okay? Try being a little less earnest, for once."
"Okay," John says slowly, as if Rodney's just suggested that he sprout wings and fly away. Then he sticks out his hand. "Partners?"
Rodney, sighing, shakes it. John's grip is firm and dry, with two solid pumps and a timely release. "Partners," Rodney chokes out eventually.
What the hell; they'll find a way to make it work.
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It was Friday-and-a-half, 28:19 Atlantis Standard Time. The fog was rolling in over the west pier, and in the Zoology lab, Dr. Franklin was trying to corral six goat-things from PIA-2G4 that kept escaping, with hilarious results. I was pulling a shift with my team, attached as liason with the Atlantis expedition. The boss is Sam Carter. The team is SGA-1. My partner is Rodney McKay. My name is J – "
"Whenever you say 'partner' like that, it's very nineties homosexuality," Rodney interrupts. John winks at him before continuing.
My partner in fighting crime and not having sex with men is Rodney McKay.
"Well, I wouldn't go that far. Speak for yourself, Sheppard."
Sheppard rolls his eyes. "You gonna let me finish the voiceover or what?"
Rodney makes a magnanimous gesture. "Be my guest."
My name is John Sheppard. I'm a mathematician.