A big warm thanks to my betas: Kodiak Bear Country, Sholio, Ang w, and Egenus Fabula. All remaining errors are mine. (Yes, four betas. They each specialize in a different area).

Main Dish: Weakness

Ingredients: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Whumping

Some language. Spoilers for and up to the Hive including Trinity. Tag for the Hive.

Description: Rodney knows that his weaknesses will destroy him. Takes place directly after the Hive.

Disclaimer: I don't own Atlantis. I do not make a profit from this.

Chapter One: Petrified

There’s a Wraith standing over him. He can’t see it, but the heavy breathing gives the monster away. He can feel his body tremble as the creature’s hand moves toward him, inching arbitrarily close to stealing his life. But McKay’s eyes won’t open and the hand has yet to make contact with his bare chest. He’s trapped in a moment, a small portion of eternity, knowing that any second now he will be dinner.

The Wraith snarls as Rodney fights desperately with his eyelids to get them to open, to have some idea of what is happening. But damn it, they just won’t budge. Neither will the rest of his body for that matter.

Images of his friends shift through his mind. Sheppard or Ronon? They wouldn’t be lying here, a hopeless prey waiting for the end, paralyzed by fear. No, they’d make every effort to overpower their enemy, and do so in a nonchalant fashion that would leave any observer swearing that taking down a Wraith didn’t take any effort at all. As for Teyla, well there was no question that she could take one on and she’d do so with amazing agility and grace. But Rodney isn’t any one of his teammates, he is in fact a scientist who is inadequately trained for the field, and yet no stranger to it. And he is paralyzed, not even from a stunner, but from sheer terror.

“Pitiful. Is your life so worthless that you refuse to fight for it?” The Wraith spits the words in a deep, echoing voice, his putrid breath resonating in Rodney’s nostrils.

A barrage of insults all race through McKay’s brain, but he manages to keep his mouth closed, focusing on getting his body to respond instead. At first it is just the tiniest movement, a little pinky wiggling. The next thing he knows, he is acting on sheer instinct, rolling away from a shocked Wraith and coming to meet its beady eyes straight on. His hands clasp against a glass bottle, sending it crashing onto the specter’s head, but only fazing it a little. Its life-sucking hand grabs tightly against his wrist, forcing the scientist to the ground via the use of horrific pain. Gasping, McKay fights to catch his breath. His eyes fill with tears. The throbbing in his shoulders increases ten-fold. So much for his little escape attempt.

“Much better. Looks like you have some spirit in you after all. It will make for a much tastier meal.”

Damn, the Wraith are really just one large cliché, aren’t they?

Black metal shines in his periphery and he knows that reaching his long-forgotten weapon is his only hope. It is just his luck that the gun is so close and yet so far, sprawled on the ground. There is only one way to survive now. And it just happens to be something McKay is very good at: distraction.

“Is that all your race can think about, eating? It’s just a bit one-dimensional if you ask me. Don’t get me wrong, I like food as much as the next guy, but I mean seriously, get a life. And the simple fact that this is coming from me should really tell you something.”

He is blabbing, but it is all he can do to keep his mind off the pain. Any second now he is going to be nothing more than a dead old man and the transformation isn’t going to be pretty. So much for his fair complexion. Damn. Where is his team when he needs them? Maybe, just maybe they will get to him on time. Maybe. But he cannot count on it so he has to get to the gun.

“A weapon, is that what you want? You think you can defeat me if you reach your precious device?” The Wraith passes a maniacal glare, reading his thoughts as the open book that they are.

McKay is still panting, desperately struggling to get his burning arm free from the wretched feeding device that is the other's palm. But once again, he isn’t one of his teammates and he lacks the necessary strength. Salvation lies only a few feet away, and there isn’t a chance in hell he is going to survive. If only he could open his eyes.

Wait, no, his eyes are open. What is he thinking? Open your eyes, genius. You already know what happens next. And as strange as his subconscious sounds, it is right. He does know where this is going. He has lived this a thousand times over. But even as he faces the glossy, white hair of the vicious creature before him, he cannot force his real eyelids to budge. He is stuck in this nightmare of his own making, a victim of his own dreams.

Damn it, just wake up!

A blinding flash of red lights up the room just as the Wraith’s back arches. Its grip grows limp as it falls lifeless to the ground and at last Rodney is free. The scientist nods briefly at Ronon Dex, muttering a quiet, “Thanks,” before falling back onto the ground.

“Get up.” Ronon has no time for comfort and McKay finds himself glaring at the runner. He doesn’t understand what it is to be weak. None of them do.

“Do as he says,” Sheppard’s voice calls from some other room. “We can’t keep protecting you. Get your ass up and defend yourself.”

Knowing he is asleep and doing something about it are two very different things. Rodney feels his whole body tremble violently, his shoulder blazing with intense pain. “Go to hell,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m not doing this anymore.”

But his nightmare has never relented before, and isn’t going to tonight. Two more monsters enter; his teammate waves goodbye with a malicious smile. The real Ronon would never do that, McKay knows this, but knowledge alone doesn’t stop the feelings of betrayal from boiling to the surface. And then he sees them, two kids gripped in the Wraith’s hands. They are petrified and only McKay is there to save them. God he hates kids, but he can’t let the Wraith kill them.

But this is a dream. I don’t have to do anything.

But damn if it doesn’t feel real. One of the Wraith shouts a battle cry, or rather more of a growling snarl, before launching itself at McKay who is instinctively moving back. A chilling scream echoes from the girl just as Rodney is thrust against a nearby wall. Oh God, the other Wraith is going to feed on her and he can’t even save himself.

His attacker throws him effortlessly to the ground, his already aching shoulder meeting cold metal with a hard jolt. The wraith are laughing at him and the kids are screaming and he is doing nothing but wither in pain. Oh god, he is going to die and in doing so, condemn the children.

“When they die, it will be your fault.” The Wraith spits the words before swinging its foot into his abdomen.

He is still adjusting to the agony when he hears the boots of the Wraith shuffle away, the children screaming desperately for him to help them. But he can’t. Even though they are little brats, they don’t deserve to die. Hell, no one deserves the fate the Wraith offer. And he is weak and worthless. What he wouldn't give to be somebody—anybody—else right now. Somebody with something to offer other than a brain.

The dead Wraith doesn’t move, its wide eyes staring out into an endless void. He creeps toward it, desperately trying to ignore the dizzying aroma of burnt flesh. Its corpse barely budges when he gently pushes against the creature. The Wraith is truly dead, at least that is one element on his side. He doesn’t remember pulling out the knife, but its black hilt weighs against his grip. He raises it above the abdomen, ready to make his move. If they die, it will be your fault. The cold steel effortlessly passes through Wraith flesh just as one of the children screams once more from a nearby room. He hates to do this, but what choice does he have? What choice does he ever have?

The enzyme flows through his system as mother’s milk flows into a child. Its pure form quickly takes effect as all the hopelessness drifts away. He feels it course through his veins, relieving all of his pain; he feels great. He is more that just a brain with the precious drug, he is superman, and he is going to make the Wraith pay.

A malicious smile creeps into his features as he thinks of the way his team treated him, as though he were weak, as though he were slowing them down. But he is strong now, a thousand times more powerful than Ronon could ever hope to become. He wonders why he has taken so long to choose this course, to have the enzyme transform him into the amazing being he was always meant to be. He will do more than save the children, more than save his team, he will destroy all the Wraith, for he now believes himself capable.

SGA

It takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the night sky. Distant stars come into focus as he shifts himself against the metal plating, his left palm coming to rest on his right arm. The syringe marks are nearly gone now, but he can feel the enzyme course through his veins just as it had in his dreams. He flinches back from the movement, quickly checking to see if anyone noticed his moment of weakness. The pier is empty as most of Atlantis sleeps.

He is not an addict. He does not regret his decision. But he is no fool. He knows why he has dreamed that same nightmare since his return.

Tomorrow marks the return of Atlantis’s flagship team to active duty. He doesn’t want to go. He cannot afford to be weak.

SGA

Carson sighs as he lifts the warming coffee to his lips. It’s too bloody early in the morning to be awake, but Lorne’s team ran into trouble once again and it is Carson’s job to put them back together. He doesn’t mind, not really. What is sleep when there are people’s lives to save? He could always rest later. Maybe.

He paces the metal plating, massaging his neck with his free hand. Imaginary lights flash before his eyes and he knows that if he doesn’t sleep soon, he’ll have a debilitating migraine. Through the haze he can see another hunched figure walking wearily ahead of him in the empty commissary.

“Rodney, what are you doin’ up so late?”

The delayed response is more than noticeable as McKay turns on his heels and faces the medical doctor. Carson can see the dark bags collecting beneath his eyes and he doesn’t care much for the man’s complexion either.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I was…” McKay’s speech is slurred, his eyes unfocused. He has been off since his return from “rescuing” Sheppard and the others from the hiveship, but tonight he looks terrible. His hands are shaking. The Lord knows McKay has been through a lot and even if he has passed the worst of it, it isn’t as though the scientist is just going to be okay. Some things take time and his whole team needs to recover.

“I could give you something to help you rest. No reason to suffer if you don’t have to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

No snide remarks. No fake smile. The man is so weary Carson wonders whether he should have someone escort his friend back to his quarters and then keep an eye on him. Maybe he’ll just take McKay back to the infirmary with him, probably a good idea to check his sugar levels anyway. The scientist is so out of it, he won’t even notice it isn’t his room until he wakes up the next morning, or afternoon if Carson has his say. The scientist is swaying slightly so Carson grasps McKay's wrist, trying to steady him. “You need rest, Rodney. You’re a bloody wreck. And what’s this? You’re freezing cold. You didn’t spend the night on the pier again did you?” He passes the sleepwalker an admonishing glare, but McKay fails to react once again.

“Yes, well I could use some more sleep.” He offers a half smile as though hoping he can convince Carson that all is well. It is a pitiful attempt. He doesn’t even try to escape the physician’s clutches.

“Aye, you better. If you come to your pre-mission check-up without having had a decent 8 hours, you might as well not bother because I won’t clear you.”

He’s guiding his friend as he talks, leading him through the corridors, hoping he doesn’t notice that this is not the way to his quarters. McKay’s skin is as ice and Carson is anxious to get him safe and warm. Some might call it mollycoddling but Carson knows it is just being a good friend and doctor. He realizes McKay hasn’t replied to the idle threat so his own pace quickens until he is pulling the physicist forward. A few minutes later and McKay is wrapped in a blanket, snoring softly as drool drips from his parted lips. He’s not even sure Rodney noticed that this isn’t his room.

“Bridgette, could you please check Dr. McKay’s blood-sugar for me while I check on Major Lorne?” he asks as he rubs his own tired eyes. Life in the Pegasus Galaxy has its moments, but no one would deny it is taxing. And tomorrow will be another day of danger; there is no doubting that. No time for rest.

SGA

The subconscious is often skilled at realizing things that the conscious mind is unable to grasp. Even though he is softly snoring and a nightmare is floating in the periphery, McKay is aware something is wrong. His eyes bolt open as the itchy sheets rub against his body. A nearby machine beeps in an awkward tempo that is all too familiar to the scientist. He hears the sounds of shuffling feet as he turns to see a pale-faced Lorne sound asleep on the adjacent bed. For a moment, McKay is pleased to see that it is not his own heart hooked up to the monitor, but rather the major’s. He doesn’t have time to feel guilty for the thought before a figure blocks his view.

“You’re looking much better. How are you feelin’, Rodney?”

He doesn’t remember coming here, but there is a clear image in his mind of sleeping on a pier, again. He runs a quick tally of his body, searching for any reason he would have ended up in the infirmary. He’s still a bit weary, but otherwise fine. An IV has been attached to his wrist and he wonders if he’s fainted once again. “Well enough. What am I doing here?”

“You weren’t looking too good last night, so I dragged you here. And a good thing too. Your blood-sugar level was dangerously low and you were freezing cold. You need to be taking better care of yourself.”

He probably should answer that, but he is groggy and he is still having a hard time focusing on the Scottish blur before him. What time is it anyway? Oh God, he didn’t miss the mission did he? He is looking forward to finally getting out again, and yet he isn’t. He looks to Carson who is now squeezing his shoulder while smiling down at him.

“Don’t worry. Sheppard wouldn’t leave you behind and I would have woken you up if he tried.”

As if on cue, John’s voice can be heard from just outside the infirmary. It is still too muffled to make out, and McKay can sense his own weary body falling back into nothingness. But he forces himself to stay awake as his teammates make their entrance. The IV drips in a methodical pattern and for a brief moment he wishes it was the enzyme pouring into his body, before forcing the disturbing thought away, not even sure where it came from.

“Well, we’ve got three of us. Don’t ask me where McKay is but he better get his… Oh…” The Colonel’s jaw is hanging just a little, even as he assumes his I’m worried but I’m pretending not to be bothered cross-armed pose. “What’s going on?” He looks from doctor to teammate taking in the brunt of the situation. He looks like a child about to be deprived of his favorite toy. An injured member means grounding for the whole team.

“It’s alright, Colonel. Rodney seems to have forgotten to eat yesterday and then fell asleep on the pier.” He’s passing meaningful glances to the team, asking them to continue the berating when he is done. Warning them to keep an eye on him. “He’s fine now so provided you’re all as healthy as I know you are, you can still go through the gate today.”

Sheppard is noticeably relieved, his stance just a bit more relaxed. “You’re sure you’re up for this?” He examines McKay, and the physicist does not flinch from his penetrating gaze. The soldier's mind is calculating, trying to figure out if his teammate is ready for the field. No matter how anxious Sheppard is, he will not endanger the team by pushing things too quickly. He takes a few more seconds after McKay’s nod to come to a decision, his face lighting up with anticipation. “Good. Let’s get this over with then.” His famous boyish smile shines on his face as he jumps onto the nearest bed.

Teyla and Ronon do the same, but the Athosian stops first to put her hand on McKay’s other shoulder. “If you do not feel up for the mission, do not feel that you must go.” She speaks with a diplomatic tone even when dealing with her surrogate family. She smiles down at him and he tries to smile back.

“No, I’m good,” McKay says. I just sleepwalk while trying to freeze myself to death. Any half-grown ape can see that I'm fine. Really. I can hold my own. He is glad no one can hear his silent addendum even as he remembers how strong the enzyme made him feel. Again, he thrusts the thought away, reminding himself that it's just an illusion, that the drug made him weak and not strong. But that is not what his body remembers.

These missions are what men like John Sheppard live for and even if McKay never admits it aloud, he’s beginning to feel the same. Still, as McKay hears Carson give him the all clear, his stomach falls. Another day through the gate is just another chance for him to get captured or injured, or worse—to get someone else hurt with his own weaknesses. He’s tired of everyone protecting him, of being a liability. But he also knows that he has his own roles to play, the grander part of science in the grand scheme of things. The others can shoot, but he can think. He doesn’t have to fight.

Sheppard is asking him if he is ready to go and he hears his own voice give some snide remark, but inside he is trembling.

END CHAPTER ONE