Pairing: McShep
Rating: NC-17
Summary: "Hey, McKay, why do all the aliens speak English?"
AN: You might have already read this on Wraithbait. This stupid story cost me a whole day, because I had to make up all the explanations to John's questions. Except for the first one, I got that from the magazine that comes with my SG-1 DVD collection. I guess it's the only one that really makes sense in a scientific way. *sighs* Oh well. I had fun.
Answer Man
"Incoming traveller."
Klaxons sounded. Lights flashed. The blur of activity in front of the Stargate came to a temporary halt as scientists were more or less politely asked to step aside and let the military take over.
General O'Neill had taken John on a tour through Cheyenne Mountain, showing him labs, cells, armoury, VIP quarters and whatnot, while trying to bring him up to date in what seemed like 'Turn Your Life Into A Sci-Fi Movie 101'. They had ended up in the gateroom to await the return of SG-11. See the Gate in action, as the General had put it.
The seventh 'chevron' clicked into place, and with a booming noise the Stargate came to life. A giant wave of water shot out of the circle like a fist, before pulling back in and settling into a peacefully rippling surface. It was… well, apart from the neat special effects, it wasn't very impressive, was it?
"So this is the Stargate."
O'Neill turned to him, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Yep. Pretty cool, isn't it?"
"It's a puddle of water."
"Actually, it isn't." One of the scientists stared at him with an it's-all-really-obvious-but-I'll-explain-i
O'Neill made a face, and turned away to welcome the members of SG-11 who came out of the puddle and walked down the ramp. But John's confusion had just been turned up a notch, and really, he was getting kinda tired of that.
"Event horizon? You mean like a black hole?" he asked, hoping it didn't sound too stupid.
The scientist gave him a look that was half annoyance, half pity. "Not a black hole. Look, the Stargate is made out of naquadah. When it's activated, it draws energy from neutrino-particles that are part of the naquadah, and creates an artificial wormhole. What you see as water are just fluctuations of the event horizon; the surface of the wormhole, you could say, although of course that would be horribly inaccurate. Now, if you step into the energy field, your body gets split into its molecules and travels through space inside the wormhole to a Stargate at the other end, where it reintegrates." John watched in growing fascination as hands flew and made jerky little motions to illustrate the high-speed explanation. Did that man even breathe?
"It's all pretty simple, actually," the scientist ended his impromptu lecture with a self-satisfied little smirk. John nodded. It seemed the safe thing to do, and besides, he had actually understood most of that. He opened his mouth to thank the guy, but the scientist had already turned away, caught up in an excited exchange with one of the technicians. John shrugged, and looked back at the General, who in turn regarded him with a sympathetic gaze.
"You'll get used to that. If my scientists get caught up in their technobabble, I just tune them out. They'll break it down into easier words if it's important. Although I'm not sure it's possible to get used to McKay," he added a little louder. The scientist who had just explained interstellar travel in under a minute gave a dismissive little wave over his shoulder, and O'Neill grinned.
McKay, huh?
"You like him," he said to the General on their way back to his office.
"He's an arrogant, self-absorbed asshole without any social skills who doesn't know when to shut up. Yeah, I like him." The General grinned again. "But I think I'll like him more when he's a few million light-years away."
Four days later, John was a few million light-years away, trying to settle down in a swimming city and to think not too hard about life-sucking aliens or his sudden promotion to the expedition's military commander. It was all a bit too much, and he desperately needed something to ground him, something he could cling to before this entirely insane situation drove him crazy.
As he stepped into the newly appointed mess hall to get himself a really strong coffee or twelve, McKay was there, sitting alone at a table and frowning at his laptop. It seemed natural to grab his coffee and join him.
The scientist seemed irritated as he looked up.
"Can I help you with something, Major?"
"Uh, yes. I thought maybe you could explain something to me." That wasn't at all what John had thought when he had made his way over, but the way McKay's face softened from impatience into curiosity sent a little thrill through the soldier.
"Really? What is it?"
Well, now he was here…
"Okay, here's what I don't get. The energy ran out, and the city rose out of the ocean, right?"
"Essentially, yes."
"Well, if the energy is gone, how does it stay up?"
"Hah. Interesting question." McKay's face lit up, and one hand rose from its place on the laptop's keyboard to point a finger at him. "You see, I was asking myself the same thing, so I did a little digging around in the Ancient database. It's pretty impressive; did you know that this city stayed on the ocean floor for over ten thousand years, running on reserve energy? It's amazing things work as well as they do. Well, the Ancients used longer lasting materials than we do, of course."
"Of course," John echoed.
"Yes. Anyway, what I found is that what looks like glass actually isn't."
McKay beamed at him, pleased with himself.
"It isn't." And that made the city swim… how?
"No, it isn't. Each and every window in each and every tower in this city is made of an energy absorbing material, a bit like solar panels. There are little conductors in the window frames and walls, which is fascinating actually, because…" and the other hand joined its companion, waving around in growing excitement as the physicist went off on a tangent of electric resistance, fake naquadah, energy fluctuations and, finally, trickle recharging of ZPMs by use of the city's lightning rods, which was a theory of course, after all who could say if or when the next thunderstorm would come, and…
"McKay," he interrupted.
"Okay, yes. See, while the sunlight obviously isn't even close to being as sufficient as a ZPM or even a naquadah generator, it's enough to power Atlantis' subsurface energy fields and keep us afloat."
"Solar panels."
"Right."
The scientist's gaze drifted back to his laptop, interest gone, which John took as a dismissal.
"Well, thank you, McKay. You've been a real help."
A scowl at the monitor was his only answer. But he had been sincere, because strangely enough, it had been a help to him, and he felt better than he had half an hour earlier. He still thought he was in way over his head, but McKay's obvious confidence in his ability to understand all that needed to be understood had, well... It had grounded him.
And when Elizabeth asked him who he wanted to be on his team, he figured that someone who could provide answers to practically anything was a clear asset on offworld missions.
Even if his answer man had a disturbing tendency to panic.
Several encounters of the third kind later, after he heard one of the Spanish scientists root around for enough English to explain something to one of the Athosians, John mentally recounted the occasions he had negotiated with people from this galaxy. He came up with eight. Then he recounted the times he hadn't understood what any of them was saying. He came up with zero. And was it just him, or did that sound quite improbable?
Thankfully, he knew just the right person to ask. After a detour over the labs, he strolled into the mess hall and let himself drop into a chair without further ado.
"Hey, McKay, why do all the aliens speak English?"
"They don't," came the slightly muffled answer. The scientist was a firm believer in the value of his time, and saw no reason to stop eating just because somebody had prompted him to talk.
"Excuse me? I thought you just said they don't."
"That's because I did, Major. What are you, deaf and dumb?"
"Well, if you would stop eating for a second-" John began, but McKay interrupted.
"I have to get back to the laboratory. There's a pretty important experiment I started earlier, and I would like to finish it without any interference by morons whose names shall not be spoken."
"If it's so important, then why did you leave it?"
McKay gave him the look he normally reserved for children and his fellow scientists.
"Because I was hungry," he said with exaggerated slowness.
"Alright, sorry for taking up your precious time," John huffed, and got up. He had taken four steps when the physicist called after him.
"It's the Gate."
The soldier stopped, suppressed a smile, turned, and sat back down, looking expectantly at McKay, who actually swallowed before he went on.
"The Ancients built hundreds of Stargates in at least three galaxies, probably more. They connected their outposts, sure, but they also allowed them to meet their neighbours."
"It's that Great Alliance thingy, right? The four races?"
"Yes, yes, Ancients, Asgard, Nox and Furlings. However, all those races had a different language, so to overcome those difficulties, the Ancients integrated a translator function in the Gate that makes you think you speak the same language, when really you don't. You see, the Stargate splits you down into your molecules before sending you through the wormhole, right? To do that, and to put you back together again, it has to scan you." Every second now… and yes, lift-off. The scientist went on, completely oblivious to his companion watching his hands begin their dance with an almost entranced concentration.
"Now, assume it scans your brain, analyzes your speech pattern, and adds it to an ever-growing collection of different tongues and idioms, while simultaneously downloading the language of your destination into your memory. Now, to you the natives would sound like they were speaking English, and they in turn would think you'd talk like them. It's all a bit hazy, though. Biology is not an exact science, after all."
And once again, John had to marvel at McKay's ability to seemingly talk without breathing. But while that all sounded pretty interesting, it didn't really answer his question.
"So why English? Why no Spanish, or Russian, or Egyptian, or something like that?"
"I think English was set as Earth's default when Dr. Ernest Littlefield stepped through the Gate in 1945. Like a reset function. Think about it: the Stargate had been buried for three thousand years. Egyptian could no longer be assumed to be the main language."
"But General O'Neill said when they first went to Abydos, they couldn't understand a word."
"That's because the first dialling computer did just that, dial. The travellers were scanned, but nothing was downloaded. The later versions accessed a lot more of the Gate's basic protocols, which presumably included the translator function."
"Presumably."
"Yes."
"So it's just a theory?"
McKay shot him a completely unexpected grin that made John's heart flutter. "Sounds good, though, doesn't it?"
"So why don't the Goa'uld speak English?" a marine from the next table chimed in. Several other people around them nodded, curious.
"Ah, surprisingly enough, that's an excellent question." The marine sat a bit straighter, beaming with pride. John could relate to that – praise from Dr. McKay was a rare treat, backhanded as it might be.
"The Goa'uld are parasites, right? So that whole brain-scanning downloading thing just affects their hosts, but not them," John offered, earning himself another smile that really shouldn't make him feel so pleased.
"Yes, exactly. And naturally, the Jaffa would have to learn the language of their gods, before any of you ask why they speak both."
There were more nods, and animated discussions broke out around them. McKay checked his watch, and grimaced.
"While I'd really love to stay and chat, I'm afraid I have to go, before those idiots manage to blow us all into oblivion."
Without waiting for an answer, the scientist hurried out of the room, taking the rest of his meal with him. John was left behind, wondering why he reacted to the irascible astrophysicist like he did and fearing he already knew the answer. Somehow, he had become addicted to asking questions, just to see McKay's face get all animated when he would explain something, to watch his hands move in strangely fascinating patterns in counterpoint to his rapid-fire talking. It was a stupid thing to do, a dangerous path to walk, except he just couldn't seem to stop, and the scientist didn't seem to notice his CO's strange obsession. Which was just as well, because John didn't think their work relationship would stay as good as it was if McKay suspected… something. Not that there was… something, not really. Just the possibility, and to be completely honest, it scared the soldier half to death. He had left those things behind when his last best friend had died in Afghanistan. The last thing he needed was another.
Still, as with any proper addiction, he couldn't stay away from his drug.
"Why didn't the Ancients destroy the Wraith when they ascended?"
"Because for them, ascension apparently goes hand in hand with higher moral ground, which pretty much forbids interaction with our plane of existence. But I think they did put them to sleep, because…"
Needy.
"How can the cloaking device make you see through the jumper? I mean, it's perfectly visible when you're inside."
"Your point being?"
"My point being, that if it stays visible on the inside, how can it be invisible on the outside?"
"It's all a question of light. The jumper doesn't become invisible, of course, but the cloaking device serves to bend the light waves and reroute them, which is fascinating, because it shouldn't work, you see, the basic laws of physics tell us that…"
Foolish.
"Why can't we use the naquadah generators to recharge the ZPMs?"
"Because it would be like trying to power a sun with a nine volt battery. Does that sound like a sensible thing to you, Major?"
Insatiable.
"Do you really think we'll ever get back?"
"What kind of a question is that? Of course we will get back, it's just a matter of time."
"What if we don't find a ZPM?"
"This city is full of the most intelligent people Earth could find. I'm a genius. We'll think of something. Actually, we already did, see, Zalonski and I had this idea…"
Dangerous.
Then it turned to more personal inquiries, like "How many doctorates do you actually have?" or "What's your favourite food?". And it was fun, getting to know the scientist like this, comfortable in the certainty that he would always get an answer, even if it was sometimes hidden in half an hour of bitching and sniping. Which was fun, too. It was also stupid, because it turned interest into something entirely different, something he couldn't afford to feel, not here, not now. Then again, John had never really been one for caution, and when he started to think of McKay as Rodney, it just seemed natural, like the next step climbing up a ladder.
It was reckless
"How old were you when you kissed your first girl?"
"I'll have you know, Major, that this is so completely none of your business, it actually defies reason."
"So how old were you?"
Self destructive.
"If you had one wish, right now, what would it be?"
"Right now? I don't know. Silence?"
But the more questions he asked, the more restless he got, and then came the point when he decided to stop. Because keeping himself grounded was one thing, torturing himself with the unattainable was another. Because he was too close to showing just why he lo- liked their little game of question-answer so much.
Because it had gotten out of hand.
Rodney was looking at him strangely for the first few days, like he was trying to solve a difficult equation where the variables had suddenly and inexplicably switched signs. After strange came puzzled, then hurt, which John wasn't entirely sure he hadn't just imagined, because after that, there was just closed-off.
And it was like withdrawal, only harder, since it wasn't physical, it was all in his mind, and there was no one who could help him through it. After all, there was no one who knew, and he was grateful for that small favour, because it meant that he hadn't been too obvious, that the only one affected was him. Sure, his work relationship with Rodney was a little strained, but that would be normal, right? Their interaction didn't have the same easy rhythm as before, so they'd both need a little time to get used to the new team dynamics. He was sure they'd manage with a little time and patience.
Then there was the mission to the half-naked tattooed guys who lived in the remains of an Ancient outpost that still seemed to have some energy, and Ford asked a question.
"How do these light things work without a ZPM?"
Rodney didn't even look at him when he sighed, "I don't know."
And John realized that he had been wrong, that it wasn't just him, and what he was doing was unintentionally but indisputably cruel. It hit him like a brick.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry," he blurted, and while Teyla and Ford turned to him in confusion, Rodney's head shot up and the scientist stared like he was trying very hard to read John's mind. And maybe he was. The soldier swallowed.
"So, how do the light things work?" he asked with a cheerfulness he didn't feel.
"As I just said, I don't know. Could you at least try to pretend you're doing your job and pay attention?" And the tone had exactly the right amount of sarcasm, but there was just the hint of a smile.
Forgiven. Just like that.
But still, he had made a serious mistake. It was only fair to apologize properly.
"I'm sorry Rodney," he whispered again, in the privacy of the scientist's room, pressed against the wall while capable hands worked on opening his belt buckle, his shirt already flung aside.
"As well you should be, flirting with me for months and then turning away like that. I thought you changed your mind."
"I didn't think," he swallowed hard as his pants were unceremoniously yanked down to pool around his ankles, and warm fingers closed around his erection, stroking gently, "I didn't think you'd noticed. I didn't know you were interested."
"Oh, please." Oh God, on his knees, Rodney was on his knees, "Because I have a reputation for my willingness to answer every stupid question anybody throws at me."
John's answer died in his throat as Rodney's tongue flickered over the head of his cock, twirling around before licking a path down its length. Hot, moist breath hit his balls, and he moaned. His voice cracked when Rodney buried his nose in his coarse pubic hair and inhaled deeply.
"I've wanted to do this forever," Rodney announced breathlessly before gently mouthing his balls, lightly sucking at them, fingers ghosting over his perineum.
John let his head fall back against the wall, giving himself over to the sensation. All this time he had been obsessed with his friend's hands, when really it should have been that amazing mouth he should have paid attention to. He moaned again when he felt Rodney cupping his balls in one hand, tenderly massaging them while his tongue swept a broad wet path along the underside of his cock.
He wouldn't last, it had been too long, but he tried. God, he tried. Then his voice hitched as Rodney blew lightly on the head before licking at the small salty drop that had formed there.
"I love the sounds you make. It's really hot."
"Rodney…" stop torturing me, he wanted to say, but it was lost in a wave of need when he felt Rodney's mouth engulf his erection, hot and wet, slowly sliding down until he was swallowed to the root, and God, who would have thought the acerbic man could even do that? A rhythm was set, slick lips gliding up and down, up and down, speed and sucking increasing until he felt like he couldn't take it anymore.
"Please… I can't… just… please…" John whimpered brokenly when Rodney moaned around him, obviously turned on by his incoherent pleading. Rodney curled his tongue around John's cock, stroking, sucking, teasing, and generally driving him nuts.
He groaned when he felt a slight pressure against his asshole, a finger teasing his opening.
"Rodney-"
"Come." A firm quiet voice, a confident order, and shuddering helplessly, he obeyed, even as that wet heat closed around him once again and a firm hand wrapped around the base of his erection in quick, jerking movements. John's orgasm washed over him, and he put his hands on Rodney's shoulders to keep himself upright. Rodney swallowed, one hand still stroking, the other fumbling with his trousers to pull out his own straining cock even as he let John's cock slip from his lips. Four, five, six quick strokes, and he came, open mouth panting against John's naked belly as he spilled his seed over his fingers.
They clung to each other, heavy breathing the only sound filling the room as their heartbeats slowed down. John looked down at the other man who was still leaning against him, eyes closed.
"Bed?"
"Bed would be fine."
And they really had to do this more often, he thought, if it made Rodney this agreeable. Except he knew that even if it didn't, he would still come back, still ask for more, because now that he had touched, he would never be able to let go. And lying down next to Rodney, sliding closer until his head was on the physicist's shoulder and one arm draped over his belly, hand resting comfortably on his chest, seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Any world. He sighed, truly relaxed for possibly the first time ever, enjoying the feeling of the other man's pliant body under his.
But there was still a question, and it burned on his tongue.
"Rodney?"
"What?"
"Why don't you ever ask me anything?"
"Because, unlike certain military personnel who seem to live for posing one question after another, perhaps I like to figure things out for myself."
"Oh. Right."
And he just had to kiss that scowl away, had to lick at that frown until it smoothed out, had to nibble at that lopsided mouth until it opened underneath his lips and let him in. But it wasn't enough, never enough, he had to have more of Rodney, had to move on, explore, touch, caress, stroke, drink him in, till he felt like he might explode with emotion. Whispered words of affection were uttered in a helpless flow, words of love, of forever, promises he couldn't possibly keep, except Rodney's wide blue eyes were glued to his face, looking at him in a way that made his heart beat faster yet. And he knew that he would try like he had never tried before, would do anything to protect this precious soul, to keep this man happy.
And hours later, John leaned back, observed his work, and asked the very first question, the one that had kind of started everything, back on a chair in Antarctica.
"Did I do that?"
And grinned.
~~~
End.