All of me loves all of you

In the end he'd been given detention and handed a note for his parents. He'd hoped he might have been able to hide it in his bag, but his mother had a habit of checking through his things. She'd pulled out the carefully folded paper, hidden within the pages of one of his books, and he'd gulped. There'd been a row then too. He'd held his tongue, even though it took an incredible amount of effort. If they'd just sent him to a decent school they wouldn't even be in this mess! If he could go somewhere they didn't think the giddy heights of reciting the twelve-times tables was impressive, then maybe this wouldn't be happening!

"Why can't you just be normal?!" Had been his father's last words, spat at him from the hallway before he'd stomped out of the house. His mother had fallen silent then and had barely said a word to him the rest of the evening. Dinner had been excruciating. His mother had hardly touched anything, Jeannie had just moved the food around her plate, whilst Rodney ate as fast as humanly possible. Excusing himself from the table the second his plate was empty and slipping away upstairs.

His father's words still stung; like venom slowly eating away at him. He'd always known he was different. Smarter than the rest of them. Well, maybe not Jeannie. As annoying as she could be, he knew she had a similar brain to him. She understood things. She wanted to know how the world worked. She could solve problems. Just like him. But somehow she didn't rub anyone else up the wrong way. She always managed to say the right thing. She didn't rock the boat.

Was there something wrong with him?

The fear behind that question had settled in his chest as he'd worked his way through the new books he'd taken out from the library. There was a limited science section at their local one, but sometimes you had to made do. At least until he could get into the city.

And now, tucked up in bed, only a few minutes after he'd heard the front door slam, his parents were arguing again. He could hear his name drifting up through the floorboards. Just to really slam the point home again. Apparently it was his fault. Their marriage falling apart. Their family breaking down. If you listened often enough you'd think he'd have engineered every problem they had.

With a sigh he rolled onto his side, lifting the side of his pillow to cover his ear, trying to block the noise out. A quick glance at the clock told him it was midnight. They could be at this for hours. He'd heard it all before. Eventually they'd give up. His father'd sleep on the couch. When Rodney would creep down in the morning, he'd be out cold, unshaven and stinking of beer.

Had Rodney driven him to that?

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the pillow harder against his ear. Why couldn't he figure out how to fit in? Jeannie managed it, she knew when to stop before crossing the line, whilst he just kept pelting forwards. A strangled noise crept up his throat and he turned his head, burying his face in the pillow, cutting the sound off as fresh yells rang from downstairs.

2.

This was exactly what he'd wanted, what he'd been wishing for since middle school, to be at college, to be away from the insufferable idiocy of his supposed peers and actually progress. Here he'd have a chance to learn something, maybe even get to test out a few of his own theories. And, most likely, prove to the whole cohort that a 15-year-old could outsmart them all. He'd already seen the caliber of some of his apparent classmates, hardly anything to write home about.

If you ignored the lower IQs than he'd been expecting, he was totally happy here. Very much so. Out of his house, away from his parents, his sister. Exactly what he'd wanted. And yet…

Shadows played across the unfamiliar ceiling, as footsteps tramped past his bedroom, doors slammed, people laughed, music floated through the walls. He tugged the covers up higher, tucking them under his neck as he stared at the opposite wall. He'd thrown up a few pictures from magazines earlier, pages cut as carefully as possible and then stuck to the wall with bluetack. Nothing much, just a few Star Trek stills…a Nobel Prize. Things to keep him motivated.

But now, he almost wished he'd brought a picture from home.

The light under his door dipped as people's feet obscured it. He could hear them. All happy. All having a great time. All ready to throw off the shackles of home. Just as he was. Definitely. Maybe…

He swallowed, pulling the duvet higher to hide his mouth. The clock on his bedside table shone accusingly in the dark: 00:30. He needed sleep if he was going to be sharp tomorrow; he needed to prove his worth, put them all in their place. His hands shook where they were curled into the covers.

Maybe this wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind…

3. 

Damn Samantha Carter. Damn her to…somewhere.

There she was, all high and mighty. Acting as if she was the smartest person in the room, just because she had more hand's on experience with 'Gate technology. Come on now. Just because she'd gone through it multiple times, didn't mean she knew exactly how wormhole technology worked! There was a reason he was brought in to sort out the situation, after all, and the SGC didn't just leave it up to her.

And so what if she'd been right? A lucky guess. A hunch. A hunch that had got him a one-way ticket to Siberia!

Damn her!

Rodney growled, rolling onto his side in the small bunk in his new, freezing room. He had three blankets, a sleeping bag, thermals, hat, scarf, socks and gloves and he was still too cold. And this was to be his life now. All because of her.

Well, not quite, came a nasty voice in his head.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block everything out, including that voice that sounded horrifically like his conscience. The one that always showed up at the worst possible moments, reminding him that he wasn't infallible. That he made mistakes, that he wasn't perfect, and that maybe, just maybe, it was worth listening to other people.

He hated that voice.

Okay, fine, so maybe he should have listened to Carter earlier, but how was he supposed to know there'd be a way round it? That they'd be able to get Teal'c out? From everything he'd read, all the simulations he'd been able to carry out, it was impossible. Besides she'd been way too emotionally invested in the whole thing, was it any surprise he'd taken anything she said with a pinch of salt?

It wasn't his fault!

Mostly.

Maybe.

Okay, maybe a little.

His stomach writhed uncomfortably. Must be the food. Great, a lifetime stuck out here and his stomach was already rebelling.

Anyway, they solved the problem, saved the day. The Jaffa was out, walking, talking. All back to normal. That's all that mattered really.

Except, what if they hadn't listened to Carter? Came that voice again. Calm, rational and hateful. What if they'd just given up as he'd wanted to? He'd have been responsible for his death.

Rodney swallowed, his gloved fingers gripping at the insides of his sleeping bag. He couldn't argue with that. No matter how much he might want to. Because…that was true, wasn't it? He could have killed Teal'c. This guy with…a family, probably, out there somewhere. And Rodney could have been the one to pull the plug. A life just snuffed out because he'd been too stubborn to even try and save it.

A shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperatures around him.

4.

The crook of his arm was aching. Briefly he wondered if it might be infected. He'd poured copious amounts of antiseptic on it when he'd cleaned himself up, before bandaging it as best he could. He'd even changed the bandages in the evening, when he'd realised he probably needed something against the skin, not just his uniform. It hadn't looked pretty, but it wasn't red or inflamed. He'd promised himself if it was he'd go to Carson's witchdoctors and get them to sort it out.

But it still hurt.

No matter where he put it, what position he lay in, he could still feel it. He could feel the tip of the knife sliding into his flesh, moving deeper, brushing against muscle and bone. He could remember the crushing weight of his own mortality hitting him in that moment; as he stared up at Koyla's grunt, watching the amusement dancing behind his eyes. The only reason he hadn't been killed right then and there was because he was useful. And he'd fallen right into their trap.

His hand automatically reached for his elbow, his fingers tracing the edges of his bandage. It hadn't taken much to break him. Just a few moments of pain and he'd been singing like the proverbial canary.

Sheppard wouldn't have. He'd probably have held his tongue no matter what they threw at him. Before the storm Rodney had rolled his eyes at the thought, completely bewildered by the whole idea of stoicism before pain…or death. But now, well, it had to be better than the crushing guilt he could feel in his gut. He could have cost the expedition everything. He'd told Koyla the plan within seconds, spilled his guts and only barely able to hold back tears.

With a huff he rolled onto his back, staring up at the dark ceiling. He could hear the waves lapping against the edge of the city; calm and harmless after the terror of only twenty-four hours ago. All around him he could feel the buzz of the city, full of people now everyone had returned from the Alpha Site.

He could have robbed them all of their home.

He swallowed convulsively as a lump worked its way up his throat. If it hadn't been for Sheppard either he'd have handed the city straight to the Genii or he and Elizabeth would be prisoners on another world right now. Yes, fine, his plan had worked, but all he'd done is press the button at the end. It was Sheppard who'd done all the hard work. And Rodney couldn't even remember thanking him.

Without thinking he pushed the covers off him, swung his legs off the bed and stood to gather his clothes. Sleep wasn't going to come, that was for sure, so maybe now was the time to swallow some pride and do something…useful.

He kept expecting pain to hit, kept waiting for it to punch him in the gut and take his breath. But since the explosion all he'd felt was numb. Hollow. Like someone had reached in and scooped his insides out. It didn't seem right somehow. He could still get through the day, he could still work, still eat, still walk around the city they'd called home for years now. He could still function, and somehow that felt like an insult.

Losing Carson should hurt him more. His best friend. The first person in…forever really, who'd taken the time to get to know him, who'd refused to be pushed away, who'd stood by him.

Losing Carson should have broken him. But instead, here he was, laid in his room, staring up at the blank ceiling, acting as if this was just another day. Carrying on as normal.

Except deep down he knew this wasn't normal. He felt…wrong somehow. The second that final explosion hit he'd felt something die inside him, something he'd never be able to replace. But instead of pain, he'd just felt emptiness. Like there was this big, gaping space inside him. Where Carson had been.

At least if it hurt he'd feel normal. He'd know that he cared. That he wasn't a complete freak. But instead all he had was…nothing. He hadn't even cried. The tears just hadn't come, even during the funeral in Scotland, when he'd been surrounded by Carson's friends and family. When he'd been sat next to Carson's mother, who'd gripped his hand tightly during the service as she stared at the coffin that carried…nothing. She wasn't even getting to bury her son.

Rodney stared upwards as the moonlight danced across the ceiling. He'd not even bothered pulling the curtains when he'd come back. His stomach rumbled softly, but he didn't move.

Why hadn't he just gone fishing?!

The question hit him, as always, with the force of a bullet. It fought through the hollowness inside, half-filling it with a guilt he'd become very familiar with over the years. At least he knew what to do with that. At least it was something. He could embrace that. After all, if he'd taken Carson to the mainland they'd never have gotten caught up in this.

Except then they might have lost Teyla. Was he placing Carson's life above hers?

"Fuck's sake." He breathed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. His eyes itched with tiredness - when had he last slept properly? Days? Weeks? The last thing he wanted to do was be revisited by his nightmares, not when they'd now acquired Carson's face and voice, the radio static filling his ear, the ice-cold certainty that he was gone.

Without another word he pushed himself upright, still fully dressed from when he'd slumped on the bed earlier, and left his room. Work would offer him something, surely. It'd fill a void for a moment at least.

+1.

"Stop staring, McKay," John's voice was thick with sleep, his hair even messier than usual, his features so relaxed. How exactly was he supposed to stop staring?! He still couldn't believe this was actually happening! "Get some sleep."

"Sleep's overrated," Rodney murmured, his gaze traveling almost reverently down the bare expanse of John's chest, illuminated by the moonlight. "Besides, for some of us, this is a novelty and we'd quite like to enjoy the moment. Then, at least when I wake up and realise this was all a dream, it won't be quite such a disappointment."

The sheets were drawn up to their hips, still slightly tangled and creased from earlier. He couldn't believe it. John appearing at his door, looking awkward and uncertain, offering something like an apology for…something, Rodney had forgotten the second their lips met. Clothes had been thrown aside, littering his floor, and then they'd stumbled to bed. Lost in the moment and the feel of one another's skin.

It wasn't what Rodney had expected. Ever. He'd assumed John was a ladies' man through and through. And so he'd settled for admiring him from afar, but now…well, he'd definitely seemed to enjoy himself, so maybe it wasn't just women that did it for him?

"'Snot a dream," John stretched out an arm, wrapping it around Rodney and tugging him closer. Rodney wiggled towards him, only huffing slightly at the loss of his view. "Sleep."

"We're not in the field now, Sheppard," he muttered slightly mutinously, "you don't get to boss me about here." John cracked one eye open.

"Thought you enjoyed that?" There was that irritating smirk, the one that always released butterflies in his stomach, whether he wanted them there or not.

"Don't put your kinks on me, Colonel," he huffed, settling more comfortably under John's arm, the other man's breath ghosting over his face, "not all of us joined this expedition to fulfill some latent submissive fantasy."

"Mhm, sure, Rodney," even in the dark Rodney could see the smirk grow into a smile, one he'd come to realise was reserved just for him. A perfect mixture of fondness and exasperation. "Come on, we've got a briefing in the morning and Woolsey's gonna be pissed if we're half-asleep for it."