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sga_flashficTitle: You Don't Get A Second Chance To Make A First Impression (But If You're Going To Do Something, You Might As Well Keep At It Until You Do It Right)
Author: Sian1359
For the SGA FlashFic Second Verse Challenge
Pairing: McShep pre-slash
Category: AU; Action/Adventure
Rating: PG-13 for adult situations and implied violence
Word Count: ~16,000
Disclaimer: Not Mine
Spoilers: I've used/abused canon details about families for some of the characters.
Warnings: None
Notes: Texans, please note that Rodney's impressions are his own. I know nothing about the Nobel selection process or the FBI other than what I could find on line. Also, my last trip into the tunnels under Houston's downtown district was thirty years ago, so many liberties are sure to have been taken. Finally, as I've placed this story some ten years ago, certain information may be slightly modernized as it is difficult to find outdated news articles, reviews and general information since the web is all about what's happening now.
Not betaed; maybe if I stop writing 'flashfic' I'd have time to request a full, proper edit. I'm sure there are typos; hopefully there aren't too many egregious mistakes, although I did change locations a couple of times and had to go back and find all the fixes -- I certainly could have missed one. Feel free to send in corrections.
Summary: Rodney is not the only one to find out he's on the 1996 Nobel short list
********
Rodney McKay, PhD, was used to things blowing up in his face, both literally and figuratively. Working on the cutting edge of theory and technology pretty much insured things that went boom were di rigueur, and that booms weren't so much mistakes as necessary trial and error steps. As such a cutting edge physicist, well, his work and his genius just didn't allow him the time to waste on the social niceties and making friends, a trade off he'd always felt well worth what he got in return. Like his first doctorate at twenty-two, a second doctorate and a Pappalardo Fellowship from MIT by age twenty-five, and now being short-listed for a Nobel Prize at the age of thirty. Sure, he wouldn't be the youngest to ever win the award, but Bragg's was co-earned with his father and so didn't really count. And Heisenberg had been thirty-one.
The Prize was his, Rodney was sure, if he could just keep that hack Carter from adapting their work at with the Tevatron last year before she'd broken their partnership to continue working on her indefensible theories about exotic matter leading to traversable Lorentzian wormholes that was more science fiction than science fact. If she wasn't careful, her first full blown test might end up destroying five sixths of the Solar System, or end up with her naming the new element Samonium or something instead of Rodnydarium.
The Prize was his, if Rodney could just find a fucking parking spot so he could get through the upcoming meeting with the selection committee representatives.
Although if one more thing messed him up…
His bad day had started with Carson emailing him a list of things he not only recommended Rodney talk about during the evening's meeting, but things to avoid talking about. As if Rodney only ever talked about Kavanaugh, Carter and Lee's betrayals and the idiocy of every other physicist currently alive but especially his competition if he wasn't talking about his work. He also rather thought the Nobel committee should hear why the University tenure system was enabling the dumbing down of science in general and physics in particular by awarding those who wrote and communicated well instead over those who actually advanced or disproved the theories. And why the Military-Industrial Complex was no better, with their emphasis on weapons research and the bottom line instead of uncovering the secrets of the Universe. This was why Rodney needed the Nobel. Not for the recognition and ego boost as everyone expected and accused him of coveting, but for the money that would enable him to leave off working for administrators or facilitators who never did a honest day's work themselves -- or who knew a breakthrough if it walked up shook their hands.
Then Carson's girlfriend Laura had insisted Rodney go back and change three times before she pronounced him suitable to be seen in public when he'd run by their apartment for the keys to Laura's car to get him downtown. As if the fact that he had mixed stripes and polka dots, and didn't have a matching tie and handkerchief meant he didn't know a quirk from a quark.
Or there was being asked to meet at the Lancaster Hotel at eight pm on a Friday evening on a night when the Opera was playing as well as Shakespeare at the Alley Theatre practically next door. In a Mexican-Seafood restaurant, of all places, that almost guaranteed that Rodney couldn't actually eat anything due to his citrus allergy and the inevitable dousing of everything with lime or lemon. Gee, anaphylactic shock or passing out from hypoglycemia, which would make the better impression?
Probably, though, the true highlight was going to be that he might very well end up losing what he'd earned, not because someone came up with a better theory or application, but because he was an hour and ten minutes late for the dinner meeting, and no doubt the selection committee people would chalk it up to Rodney's reputation of arrogance and assumed he'd just blown them off. He'd only ever done that the one time after accepting the invitation and honorarium offered as a keynote speaker for some science foundation. But the conference had also been honoring a couple of UFO enthusiasts calling themselves scientists including an archeologist who was claiming the Pyramids were ancient spaceships or something, so it wasn't like he could actually attend without becoming a laughingstock in the physics community. Just because a couple of dilatants got lucky with an airline and a piece of software didn't mean they knew squat about real science. Hell, they probably still read their horoscopes every day --
"May I help you, Sir?"
At least in a place where the maitre d' was dressed better than Rodney was, they were also paid well enough not to make any assumptions about their clientele. Even Rodney knew he looked half-crazed despite his impeccable six hundred dollar suit.
"I'm Doctor Rodney McKay. I believe --"
"Of course, Doctor McKay. This way."
Rodney was led toward the crush of bodies amidst the overcrowded restaurant and he certainly hoped this place had private rooms. Before he could insist on one, or at least on a discreet and quiet table, the maitre d' signaled to someone in the bar. The bar made sense, Rodney supposed, since he was so late and it would have been rude for the representatives to have ordered and eaten before his arrival. Only that might also mean that his interviewers were well on their way to being drunk as well as hungry, and since his work was already almost too difficult for his so called peers to understand when they were in their right minds, all of this would fall back on what kind of impression Rodney made.
Rodney was screwed.
As a rule Rodney never apologized, and it wasn't as if the five car pile-up on the 610 had been his fault, but he supposed he had better --
Shit. Not only screwed, but absolutely fucked (yes, please).
Rodney's contact was a committee of one and he was young -- maybe Rodney's age or only a year or two older. He wasn't anyone Rodney recognized, and God, he would have had this, this… vision been remotely connected to Rodney's field.
Back at MIT there'd been a Czech fellow that had been constructing AIs who had coded a template for input on what the first humanaform robot straight out of Asimov should look like. Rodney hadn't bothered to forward his opinion, of course, but he had played around with the program a little and now striding toward him with his hand was pretty much a living, breathing example of Rodney's male ideal.
The Nobel representative's walk and clothes screamed American, with their sense of easy confidence and comfort within his own skin that no other society mastered quite as well, a sense that Rodney envied as well as hated. He'd had five years of it with Samantha Carter as a shining blonde example, and didn't think he would ever get over the bitterness of her betrayal -- or get over the fact that he would still take her back as a co-worker or as anything else she'd be willing to offer him if she called. Undoubtedly that was the real reason he felt pale and jittery and maybe just the slightest bit inadequate standing before the other man; because he already knew his ideal never found him ideal in return.
"Doctor McKay, I'm Agent John Sheppard."
Up close Rodney could see that although his first impression of his contact was essentially correct right down to the laconic drawl of Rodney's name that was southwest, but, mercifully, not Texan like all of the other nearby babbling, there was also evidence that not all was perfect in Mr. Ideal's life. He could hope that the little lines around the other man's hazel eyes might be as much laugh lines as stress, and that the generally air of weariness that included surprisingly messy hair could just as easily be jet-lag even if the guy was American. But there was something in this Shepherd's eyes that spoke of a deeper weariness than would come from a plane flight as well as something that might not be the type of stress Rodney was constantly besieged by himself, but was still at least a concern.
These little imperfections, however, made Rodney breathe a little easier.
Until he got to thinking that maybe this was a prank, that someone (Kavanaugh) could have found out Rodney's preferences and hired this guy as a lure or a distraction to encourage Rodney into something untoward and jeopardize his chances.
"Doctor McKay?" The concern in Shepherd's eyes grew deeper even as he offered a hand and a tentative grin that Rodney refused to be devastated by.
He let his own lips fall into a crooked line that wasn't a smile or a frown, but extended his hand in return. He wasn't going to lose because of offended sensibilities. "There was a six mile back-up on the 45 which spilled over onto all the feeder roads. I've been stuck in traffic for the last two hours."
Shepherd's smile grew knowing; Rodney supposed they had traffic jams in Stockholm or wherever too.
"Then you're probably not going to want to get back on the road right away. Do you want to start with a drink before the introductions?"
Rodney would actually kill for a LaBatts Ice, but he hadn't found any bar in Houston serving. Given the specialty of the house, no doubt if he asked for a beer, it would be a Corona with a twist, which would actually be better tasting than most of the swill American's brewed even as it closed his throat and depressed his breathing.
"We're already starting late, so maybe we should just get to it?" Since he'd practically had to yell that in Shepherd's ear just to be heard over the sudden roaring of the crowd, Rodney wasn't anxious to go into the bar at all.
"Sounds like the Oilers just scored," Shepherd now grinned and turned a little as if he was trying to get a glimpse of the ubiquitous television hanging over the bar.
Rodney's brow rose all on its own. "You actually care?"
"Well, I prefer college football to the Pros, but they are the home town team even if they look like they're really going to suck this year. You're not a fan?"
Ready to explain just how not a fan he was as they finally began walking toward the back of the restaurant and the possibility of food, Rodney instead paused with his mouth open as, for once, he actually had reason to care about the consequences of speaking his mind. Already despairing of being judged more for his reputation and lack of eloquence instead of his work and accomplishments speaking for him, Rodney almost choked on the thought that they were looking for a rounded scientist instead of someone whose dedication had him spending most all of his waking hours in the lab or at least with his laptop. "I prefer Hockey," Rodney managed as he got moving again and silently congratulated himself on not falling into Shepherd's trap. "I'll probably get season tickets for the Aeros next year if I'm still here instead of going back to Fermilab or maybe over to CERN."
That bit of creative thinking earned Rodney a pleased smile before Shepherd had to dodge around a burdened waiter. Fortunately Rodney had gone to one Aeros game last season and still actually followed the Vancouver Canucks and NHL hockey in general that he could carry on a further conversation about it if necessary, although he'd rather spork his eyes out than ever attend a sporting event in Texas again. He thought the idiots who painted their bodies and shaved their heads to show team mascots so they could get on television were the worst, but they had nothing on Texas moms.
Before either of them could say anything more, however, Shepherd was pulling a cell phone out of his jacket pocket; it must have been on vibrate since Rodney hadn't heard any ring now that he could as they moved out of the crush around the front. By the looks of it, it wasn't good news, and Rodney was once again feeling uncomfortable, realizing that he was suddenly being stared at quite intensely and not in that hey, I like hockey too, lets go fuck way. All Rodney could imagine was that for some reason the committee had been pissed off at how long they'd been made to wait, and that they were now calling their greeter to tell him to tell Rodney 'so long'.
"Doctor McKay, I'm sorry, but I need you to go ahead on back to the Pei Room." The weariness was back in Shepherd's eyes in spades, and even maybe a little wariness but Rodney couldn't think why it should be because of him. "One of my people, Teyla Emmagan, will be there waiting for you. I shouldn't be more than a half hour, but go ahead and order whatever you want, on the Bureau's tab. And if she instructs you to leave with her, please do so."
Before Rodney could agree -- or protest -- Shepherd was heading past him and back toward the front of the building. Rodney turned to watch, his mouth once again open in shock. Could he really call someone else on rudeness when it was obvious his delayed arrival had thrown off other people's schedules too? Although it was damn unlikely the committee would actually be meeting another candidate in Houston, and Rodney wasn't even sure one of the nominators would have come from here. He was only here because of some consulting work he was doing for conceptualization of an International Space Station out at the Johnson Space Center.
When Rodney caught a glimpse of two more men meeting up with Shepherd at the front entrance, he began to wonder if he hadn't made a horrible mistake, one that might be even worse than just considering that Mr. Ideal had been a prank sent to compromise him. Because the basketball player with the dreads that had just come up could in no way be connected to the Nobel prize people, and the other guy who also joined them was definitely carrying a gun.
Fuck! Why hadn't he asked for credentials? Although anyone could make up business cards saying they were from the Nobel Foundation and how would Rodney know? Reporters didn't generally carry guns, but kidnappers did. Not that he had anyone since breaking up with Sam, and everyone knew the US government didn't pay ransoms unless you were a stupid archeologist or botanist taken in a foreign country, even if Rodney hadn't been a foreigner himself. Canada certainly wouldn't claim him after he'd told the head of the Defence Research and Development Canada to go fuck himself. Same thing he'd also pretty much said to Jeanie when she'd started married that English major, not that his sister had the money to pay any ransom since she'd also let that English major knock her up.
Okay, well going to the Pei Room was definitely out, as was heading back toward the front, obviously. Rodney might be able to lose himself back in the crowd in the bar and to save his own life, he supposed he could handle interacting with Texas football fans, but there wasn't any guarantee enough of them would be leaving once the game was over to provide Rodney with the cover of the masses, especially not when they would have all been drinking. He needed another option, although just considering sneaking back through the kitchens had his throat closing up in anticipation of the citrus he'd been chancing. Maybe there was a window to the outside in the men's room?
"Doctor McKay?"
Rodney jumped and spun around, raising his hands defensively even though his newest accoster was a young redhead no taller than his rising chin. She held out a delicate hand for him to shake and gestured with her other to a hatchet-faced man that looked much more the part of a kidnapper -- or a Nobel representative -- than had the male model.
"I am Sora Van Tyrus and this is my mentor, Acastus Kolya. We had a dinner meeting set up? We're from the Nobel Foundation?" she added when Rodney didn't take her hand and didn't say anything.
"Herr Doctor," Kolya bowed with an accent and a snap of his heels straight out of the Third Reich. "Please forgive our delay, but there was a terrible accident on the motorway."
"I… yes, I … I don't know you. May I see your credentials?" Rodney finally stammered.
"Of course, Doctor," Sora smiled prettily and withdrew both a passport and some sort of identification card from the Foundation. Kolya produced the same into Rodney's shaking hands.
"Has there been a difficulty, Herr Doctor?"
Rodney should have felt relief under Kolya's sharp concern, although the even sharper once over he was being given would actually be terrifying under other circumstances. "Actually, yes there has," he drew himself up with resolve, although it was his practice to avoid interaction with the authorities whenever possible due to their general lack of competence other than causing him great inconveniences. This one time, though …
"You are the second to lay claim to my time this evening," Rodney explained when all he wanted to do was leave. Now that was an idea. "I'm afraid I must insist that we re --"
"This first, he was perhaps a man who identified himself as Herr Sheppard?" Kolya interrupted with a hint of eagerness that was quite off-putting.
"Ah, maybe?" Rodney prevaricated, when Kolya's sharp look became downright predatory.
"A handsome man full of charm and easy smiles?" Sora added, except her own expression was one of understanding and maybe even commiseration. Commiserating as if she, too, had once been fooled by that charm and easy smile.
Rodney nodded, his bewilderment over their reactions only adding fuel to his need to leave. There were very valid reasons he was slow to make friends, as people were no where near as structured and predictable as the laws of the universe.
"You have done well to remove yourself from his attentions, Herr Doctor," Kolya commended him, although his harsh tone was quite at odds with his praise. He also began pushing Rodney toward a opening along the side of the restaurant Rodney hadn't noticed previously, one that looked like an exit into the hotel instead of back on the street as where he'd entered from.
"I am afraid this Sheppard may be dangerous," Kolya continued without apparent notice of Rodney's reluctance and growing apprehension although he had to know his words would cause such a reaction. "Interpol has been put on notice, but so far there has been no proof and so they have been reluctant to act other than to issue a watch on the man. It appears your FBI has not taken it seriously either, however I fear that we must."
"Proof of what?" Rodney squawked, deciding that was more important than reminding this Kolya that they were his FBI. Of course, he was a resident alien under contract with the United States Government, so maybe they were?
"What did he want from me? Ransom? Industrial Secrets?" he continued more quietly as Sora patted his arm and offered another odd smile he supposed was meant to calm him down as they were beginning to draw attention. "Because what I'm doing may be the next best thing to Newton and Einstein, but there isn't any sort of practical application that can come from it, yet, so it's not like I can provide him with some sort of super weapon or something."
"I am sure you are underestimating your brilliance," Sora turned downright coquettish as she threaded her arm though Rodney's to make things look a little more benign.
Being managed was just as annoying as being steered, but Rodney suspected their closing ranks around him was their way of taking responsibility and offering some sort of protection. He'd have preferred that they'd let him contact the authorities if this Shepherd was indeed dangerous, but he'd left his own cell phone in the car recharging after yelling at Laura for getting him stuck in traffic and he didn't suppose the FBI would do anything more now that Shepherd had made contact. Unfortunately this wasn't the first time Rodney's life had been threatened, even if the FBI and the Canadian Security Intelligence Service hadn't really believed him, and getting a restraining order needed a lot more proof of harassment than Rodney could produce, as he'd found out with Kavanaugh.
"Actually, he's what your people call a stalker," Sora then whispered "We cannot be sure, of course, and do not wish to slander anyone, but there have been rumours of confrontations and …" She trailed off to shudder delicately.
"Wait! What? A stalker? Like he wants to have sex with me?" Which, of course, Rodney had been thinking about in return at his first glance and, oh, god -- please god -- he did not blurt that bit first outloud! Not just that stalkers were bad (even if they did look like sex on legs), and the Nobel people did not need to know he liked men and have yet one more reason to dismiss him.
"But he's not alone," Rodney tried to salvage his reputation at least in this. "In fact he wanted me to meet a Tina Immogen in the Pei Room?"
The coquette was suddenly gone. "Do you mean Teyla?" Sora rounded on him, bringing all three of them to a dead stop. "Teyla Emmagen?"
"I think so?" Rodney maybe squeaked.
Sora made a sound Rodney was more used to from his cat when angry, and he looked over to Kolya but saw only another narrowed, dangerous gaze. This was now officially no longer fun, interesting or even worthwhile and Rodney really, really just wanted to get away from all of them. His work should be able to speak for itself, dammit, and if the Foundation couldn't recognize the importance of his contributions to physics without the bread and circuses --
"Go," Kolya commanded her. "Deal with her while I keep Doctor McKay company. If you haven't returned in five minutes, we will wait for you at the Metro station, but only until ten thirty."
He didn't say what would happen if Sora didn't make it by ten thirty, but Rodney was beginning to think that these were not Nobel representatives and before he could do much more than blink, she was leaving without any questions of her own, gliding through the tables and patrons with commendable focus. Which left him alone with Kolya, and that was definitely making Rodney more uncomfortable; Sora's departure seeming to take with her any veneer of friendliness or even civility from the other man.
"I don't need any company," Rodney tried to twist out of Kolya's grip and ended up swallowing the whine that then wanted loose as Kolya's fingers tightened hard enough to bruise. His "Mr. Kolya?" came out more as a yelp than a condemnation despite his best efforts.
"My apologies, Herr Doctor," Kolya seemed to be trying for polite and placid, but Rodney was now getting a sick thrill not unlike he'd felt when Larson turned on Lara Croft in that new video game he'd just picked up. The fingers held firm like a vice and were now practically dragging him toward the exit. "It is our fault you have even come to Herr Sheppard's attention in first place."
That however well meaning slight to Rodney's accomplishments finally enabled Rodney fully embrace his anger and to pull himself free. If Shepherd really was a weird physics groupie, of course he would have heard of Rodney long before the Nobel people finally deigned to recognize him, even if Shepherd was something like Sherry Nugil in Real Genius going after the top ten minds, only using Nobel contenders as his basis.
"I appreciate your concern and willingness to take responsibility, but I think we've all made a hash of this night and would do better to reschedule. I'll just pick up a taxi from the front to get me home, just in case Shepherd's staking out my car or something, and --"
"No, Doctor, I must insist that you come with me." This time Kolya made no effort to disguise his creepiness -- or the fact that he was carrying his own gun, although he only showed it to Rodney with a deft twitch of his jacket and didn't pull it free. "I would prefer that neither of us cause an incident here in public, but rest assured that I will do whatever is necessary to ensure your cooperation. Now, we are going to take seats in the lobby for a few minutes, and then I will signal you to head over to the elevators, where you will press down on the one marked parking. If you stay calm, quiet, and do what you are told, then no one will be harmed, including yourself."
This part of the hotel lobby wasn't vacant, yet neither was there anyone close enough to actually catch their attention with any subtlety. Rodney also had no doubt that Kolya was indeed just as ruthless a man as he looked to be. While Rodney assumed he could be brave when any situation warranted it, he also wasn't an idiot and couldn't recognize that he was at a tremendous disadvantage here, in bulk, in resources and in intent. If he tried something, maybe it would only be someone else who was shot, but becoming involved in a hostage situation wasn't any better than being kidnapped. At least in being kidnapped, there was only one side to threaten him. He'd seen enough videos of standoffs to know how often there was collateral damage and how often hostages actually got killed by 'friendly' fire.
The five minutes passed with interminable slowness, Rodney not even being able to lose himself within mental calculations in the face of the danger he was in. He didn't try anything, not even to speak. Kolya's expression darkened into anger anyway, but Rodney supposed that was because there was no sign of Sora, and even Kolya was likely feeling vulnerable just sitting there.
He got his signal to move to the elevator, but any hope that someone might take notice feel through when the elevator proved empty. Once inside, Kolya crowded into Rodney's personal space, maneuvering them both right next to the control panel. There was only one more button below the lobby level before the one marked N. Travis Tunnel, so there was still a chance that someone might get on with them -- until Kolya pulled out a keycard and inserted into the nearby slot to activate the tunnel button. Anyone coming from the lowest garage level would no doubt be going up if the tunnel level was supposed to be locked down. All Rodney knew of the Houston tunnel systems was that they'd been built to allow pedestrians freer movement between the Theatre, Historic and Skyline Districts. It wasn't as if he'd ever bothered to use them, so it could have said the Gate to Atlantis for all the good it would do him.
"Please tell me you're not the stalker instead," Rodney gave reign to his curiosity and panic.
Kolya's dirty chuckle only served to ratchet Rodney's fear higher.
"Do not worry, Herr Doctor. I am quite an admirer of intelligence, however, I bed only beauty like young Sora, or your FBI Agent, Herr Sheppard. You may not have thought up any practical applications for your work on the Higgs boson particle, but my people have, and we require your assistance in achieving the final solution. Help us freely and you will be amply rewarded. You may even get your Nobel, although I imagine you will have to share credit with Ladon."
"And if I don't?"
"Why, Doctor, surely you are not saying your life isn't an even exchange for a million Euros?"
********
Part Two
Author: Sian1359
For the SGA FlashFic Second Verse Challenge
Pairing: McShep pre-slash
Category: AU; Action/Adventure
Rating: PG-13 for adult situations and implied violence
Word Count: ~16,000
Disclaimer: Not Mine
Spoilers: I've used/abused canon details about families for some of the characters.
Warnings: None
Notes: Texans, please note that Rodney's impressions are his own. I know nothing about the Nobel selection process or the FBI other than what I could find on line. Also, my last trip into the tunnels under Houston's downtown district was thirty years ago, so many liberties are sure to have been taken. Finally, as I've placed this story some ten years ago, certain information may be slightly modernized as it is difficult to find outdated news articles, reviews and general information since the web is all about what's happening now.
Not betaed; maybe if I stop writing 'flashfic' I'd have time to request a full, proper edit. I'm sure there are typos; hopefully there aren't too many egregious mistakes, although I did change locations a couple of times and had to go back and find all the fixes -- I certainly could have missed one. Feel free to send in corrections.
Summary: Rodney is not the only one to find out he's on the 1996 Nobel short list
********
Rodney McKay, PhD, was used to things blowing up in his face, both literally and figuratively. Working on the cutting edge of theory and technology pretty much insured things that went boom were di rigueur, and that booms weren't so much mistakes as necessary trial and error steps. As such a cutting edge physicist, well, his work and his genius just didn't allow him the time to waste on the social niceties and making friends, a trade off he'd always felt well worth what he got in return. Like his first doctorate at twenty-two, a second doctorate and a Pappalardo Fellowship from MIT by age twenty-five, and now being short-listed for a Nobel Prize at the age of thirty. Sure, he wouldn't be the youngest to ever win the award, but Bragg's was co-earned with his father and so didn't really count. And Heisenberg had been thirty-one.
The Prize was his, Rodney was sure, if he could just keep that hack Carter from adapting their work at with the Tevatron last year before she'd broken their partnership to continue working on her indefensible theories about exotic matter leading to traversable Lorentzian wormholes that was more science fiction than science fact. If she wasn't careful, her first full blown test might end up destroying five sixths of the Solar System, or end up with her naming the new element Samonium or something instead of Rodnydarium.
The Prize was his, if Rodney could just find a fucking parking spot so he could get through the upcoming meeting with the selection committee representatives.
Although if one more thing messed him up…
His bad day had started with Carson emailing him a list of things he not only recommended Rodney talk about during the evening's meeting, but things to avoid talking about. As if Rodney only ever talked about Kavanaugh, Carter and Lee's betrayals and the idiocy of every other physicist currently alive but especially his competition if he wasn't talking about his work. He also rather thought the Nobel committee should hear why the University tenure system was enabling the dumbing down of science in general and physics in particular by awarding those who wrote and communicated well instead over those who actually advanced or disproved the theories. And why the Military-Industrial Complex was no better, with their emphasis on weapons research and the bottom line instead of uncovering the secrets of the Universe. This was why Rodney needed the Nobel. Not for the recognition and ego boost as everyone expected and accused him of coveting, but for the money that would enable him to leave off working for administrators or facilitators who never did a honest day's work themselves -- or who knew a breakthrough if it walked up shook their hands.
Then Carson's girlfriend Laura had insisted Rodney go back and change three times before she pronounced him suitable to be seen in public when he'd run by their apartment for the keys to Laura's car to get him downtown. As if the fact that he had mixed stripes and polka dots, and didn't have a matching tie and handkerchief meant he didn't know a quirk from a quark.
Or there was being asked to meet at the Lancaster Hotel at eight pm on a Friday evening on a night when the Opera was playing as well as Shakespeare at the Alley Theatre practically next door. In a Mexican-Seafood restaurant, of all places, that almost guaranteed that Rodney couldn't actually eat anything due to his citrus allergy and the inevitable dousing of everything with lime or lemon. Gee, anaphylactic shock or passing out from hypoglycemia, which would make the better impression?
Probably, though, the true highlight was going to be that he might very well end up losing what he'd earned, not because someone came up with a better theory or application, but because he was an hour and ten minutes late for the dinner meeting, and no doubt the selection committee people would chalk it up to Rodney's reputation of arrogance and assumed he'd just blown them off. He'd only ever done that the one time after accepting the invitation and honorarium offered as a keynote speaker for some science foundation. But the conference had also been honoring a couple of UFO enthusiasts calling themselves scientists including an archeologist who was claiming the Pyramids were ancient spaceships or something, so it wasn't like he could actually attend without becoming a laughingstock in the physics community. Just because a couple of dilatants got lucky with an airline and a piece of software didn't mean they knew squat about real science. Hell, they probably still read their horoscopes every day --
"May I help you, Sir?"
At least in a place where the maitre d' was dressed better than Rodney was, they were also paid well enough not to make any assumptions about their clientele. Even Rodney knew he looked half-crazed despite his impeccable six hundred dollar suit.
"I'm Doctor Rodney McKay. I believe --"
"Of course, Doctor McKay. This way."
Rodney was led toward the crush of bodies amidst the overcrowded restaurant and he certainly hoped this place had private rooms. Before he could insist on one, or at least on a discreet and quiet table, the maitre d' signaled to someone in the bar. The bar made sense, Rodney supposed, since he was so late and it would have been rude for the representatives to have ordered and eaten before his arrival. Only that might also mean that his interviewers were well on their way to being drunk as well as hungry, and since his work was already almost too difficult for his so called peers to understand when they were in their right minds, all of this would fall back on what kind of impression Rodney made.
Rodney was screwed.
As a rule Rodney never apologized, and it wasn't as if the five car pile-up on the 610 had been his fault, but he supposed he had better --
Shit. Not only screwed, but absolutely fucked (yes, please).
Rodney's contact was a committee of one and he was young -- maybe Rodney's age or only a year or two older. He wasn't anyone Rodney recognized, and God, he would have had this, this… vision been remotely connected to Rodney's field.
Back at MIT there'd been a Czech fellow that had been constructing AIs who had coded a template for input on what the first humanaform robot straight out of Asimov should look like. Rodney hadn't bothered to forward his opinion, of course, but he had played around with the program a little and now striding toward him with his hand was pretty much a living, breathing example of Rodney's male ideal.
The Nobel representative's walk and clothes screamed American, with their sense of easy confidence and comfort within his own skin that no other society mastered quite as well, a sense that Rodney envied as well as hated. He'd had five years of it with Samantha Carter as a shining blonde example, and didn't think he would ever get over the bitterness of her betrayal -- or get over the fact that he would still take her back as a co-worker or as anything else she'd be willing to offer him if she called. Undoubtedly that was the real reason he felt pale and jittery and maybe just the slightest bit inadequate standing before the other man; because he already knew his ideal never found him ideal in return.
"Doctor McKay, I'm Agent John Sheppard."
Up close Rodney could see that although his first impression of his contact was essentially correct right down to the laconic drawl of Rodney's name that was southwest, but, mercifully, not Texan like all of the other nearby babbling, there was also evidence that not all was perfect in Mr. Ideal's life. He could hope that the little lines around the other man's hazel eyes might be as much laugh lines as stress, and that the generally air of weariness that included surprisingly messy hair could just as easily be jet-lag even if the guy was American. But there was something in this Shepherd's eyes that spoke of a deeper weariness than would come from a plane flight as well as something that might not be the type of stress Rodney was constantly besieged by himself, but was still at least a concern.
These little imperfections, however, made Rodney breathe a little easier.
Until he got to thinking that maybe this was a prank, that someone (Kavanaugh) could have found out Rodney's preferences and hired this guy as a lure or a distraction to encourage Rodney into something untoward and jeopardize his chances.
"Doctor McKay?" The concern in Shepherd's eyes grew deeper even as he offered a hand and a tentative grin that Rodney refused to be devastated by.
He let his own lips fall into a crooked line that wasn't a smile or a frown, but extended his hand in return. He wasn't going to lose because of offended sensibilities. "There was a six mile back-up on the 45 which spilled over onto all the feeder roads. I've been stuck in traffic for the last two hours."
Shepherd's smile grew knowing; Rodney supposed they had traffic jams in Stockholm or wherever too.
"Then you're probably not going to want to get back on the road right away. Do you want to start with a drink before the introductions?"
Rodney would actually kill for a LaBatts Ice, but he hadn't found any bar in Houston serving. Given the specialty of the house, no doubt if he asked for a beer, it would be a Corona with a twist, which would actually be better tasting than most of the swill American's brewed even as it closed his throat and depressed his breathing.
"We're already starting late, so maybe we should just get to it?" Since he'd practically had to yell that in Shepherd's ear just to be heard over the sudden roaring of the crowd, Rodney wasn't anxious to go into the bar at all.
"Sounds like the Oilers just scored," Shepherd now grinned and turned a little as if he was trying to get a glimpse of the ubiquitous television hanging over the bar.
Rodney's brow rose all on its own. "You actually care?"
"Well, I prefer college football to the Pros, but they are the home town team even if they look like they're really going to suck this year. You're not a fan?"
Ready to explain just how not a fan he was as they finally began walking toward the back of the restaurant and the possibility of food, Rodney instead paused with his mouth open as, for once, he actually had reason to care about the consequences of speaking his mind. Already despairing of being judged more for his reputation and lack of eloquence instead of his work and accomplishments speaking for him, Rodney almost choked on the thought that they were looking for a rounded scientist instead of someone whose dedication had him spending most all of his waking hours in the lab or at least with his laptop. "I prefer Hockey," Rodney managed as he got moving again and silently congratulated himself on not falling into Shepherd's trap. "I'll probably get season tickets for the Aeros next year if I'm still here instead of going back to Fermilab or maybe over to CERN."
That bit of creative thinking earned Rodney a pleased smile before Shepherd had to dodge around a burdened waiter. Fortunately Rodney had gone to one Aeros game last season and still actually followed the Vancouver Canucks and NHL hockey in general that he could carry on a further conversation about it if necessary, although he'd rather spork his eyes out than ever attend a sporting event in Texas again. He thought the idiots who painted their bodies and shaved their heads to show team mascots so they could get on television were the worst, but they had nothing on Texas moms.
Before either of them could say anything more, however, Shepherd was pulling a cell phone out of his jacket pocket; it must have been on vibrate since Rodney hadn't heard any ring now that he could as they moved out of the crush around the front. By the looks of it, it wasn't good news, and Rodney was once again feeling uncomfortable, realizing that he was suddenly being stared at quite intensely and not in that hey, I like hockey too, lets go fuck way. All Rodney could imagine was that for some reason the committee had been pissed off at how long they'd been made to wait, and that they were now calling their greeter to tell him to tell Rodney 'so long'.
"Doctor McKay, I'm sorry, but I need you to go ahead on back to the Pei Room." The weariness was back in Shepherd's eyes in spades, and even maybe a little wariness but Rodney couldn't think why it should be because of him. "One of my people, Teyla Emmagan, will be there waiting for you. I shouldn't be more than a half hour, but go ahead and order whatever you want, on the Bureau's tab. And if she instructs you to leave with her, please do so."
Before Rodney could agree -- or protest -- Shepherd was heading past him and back toward the front of the building. Rodney turned to watch, his mouth once again open in shock. Could he really call someone else on rudeness when it was obvious his delayed arrival had thrown off other people's schedules too? Although it was damn unlikely the committee would actually be meeting another candidate in Houston, and Rodney wasn't even sure one of the nominators would have come from here. He was only here because of some consulting work he was doing for conceptualization of an International Space Station out at the Johnson Space Center.
When Rodney caught a glimpse of two more men meeting up with Shepherd at the front entrance, he began to wonder if he hadn't made a horrible mistake, one that might be even worse than just considering that Mr. Ideal had been a prank sent to compromise him. Because the basketball player with the dreads that had just come up could in no way be connected to the Nobel prize people, and the other guy who also joined them was definitely carrying a gun.
Fuck! Why hadn't he asked for credentials? Although anyone could make up business cards saying they were from the Nobel Foundation and how would Rodney know? Reporters didn't generally carry guns, but kidnappers did. Not that he had anyone since breaking up with Sam, and everyone knew the US government didn't pay ransoms unless you were a stupid archeologist or botanist taken in a foreign country, even if Rodney hadn't been a foreigner himself. Canada certainly wouldn't claim him after he'd told the head of the Defence Research and Development Canada to go fuck himself. Same thing he'd also pretty much said to Jeanie when she'd started married that English major, not that his sister had the money to pay any ransom since she'd also let that English major knock her up.
Okay, well going to the Pei Room was definitely out, as was heading back toward the front, obviously. Rodney might be able to lose himself back in the crowd in the bar and to save his own life, he supposed he could handle interacting with Texas football fans, but there wasn't any guarantee enough of them would be leaving once the game was over to provide Rodney with the cover of the masses, especially not when they would have all been drinking. He needed another option, although just considering sneaking back through the kitchens had his throat closing up in anticipation of the citrus he'd been chancing. Maybe there was a window to the outside in the men's room?
"Doctor McKay?"
Rodney jumped and spun around, raising his hands defensively even though his newest accoster was a young redhead no taller than his rising chin. She held out a delicate hand for him to shake and gestured with her other to a hatchet-faced man that looked much more the part of a kidnapper -- or a Nobel representative -- than had the male model.
"I am Sora Van Tyrus and this is my mentor, Acastus Kolya. We had a dinner meeting set up? We're from the Nobel Foundation?" she added when Rodney didn't take her hand and didn't say anything.
"Herr Doctor," Kolya bowed with an accent and a snap of his heels straight out of the Third Reich. "Please forgive our delay, but there was a terrible accident on the motorway."
"I… yes, I … I don't know you. May I see your credentials?" Rodney finally stammered.
"Of course, Doctor," Sora smiled prettily and withdrew both a passport and some sort of identification card from the Foundation. Kolya produced the same into Rodney's shaking hands.
"Has there been a difficulty, Herr Doctor?"
Rodney should have felt relief under Kolya's sharp concern, although the even sharper once over he was being given would actually be terrifying under other circumstances. "Actually, yes there has," he drew himself up with resolve, although it was his practice to avoid interaction with the authorities whenever possible due to their general lack of competence other than causing him great inconveniences. This one time, though …
"You are the second to lay claim to my time this evening," Rodney explained when all he wanted to do was leave. Now that was an idea. "I'm afraid I must insist that we re --"
"This first, he was perhaps a man who identified himself as Herr Sheppard?" Kolya interrupted with a hint of eagerness that was quite off-putting.
"Ah, maybe?" Rodney prevaricated, when Kolya's sharp look became downright predatory.
"A handsome man full of charm and easy smiles?" Sora added, except her own expression was one of understanding and maybe even commiseration. Commiserating as if she, too, had once been fooled by that charm and easy smile.
Rodney nodded, his bewilderment over their reactions only adding fuel to his need to leave. There were very valid reasons he was slow to make friends, as people were no where near as structured and predictable as the laws of the universe.
"You have done well to remove yourself from his attentions, Herr Doctor," Kolya commended him, although his harsh tone was quite at odds with his praise. He also began pushing Rodney toward a opening along the side of the restaurant Rodney hadn't noticed previously, one that looked like an exit into the hotel instead of back on the street as where he'd entered from.
"I am afraid this Sheppard may be dangerous," Kolya continued without apparent notice of Rodney's reluctance and growing apprehension although he had to know his words would cause such a reaction. "Interpol has been put on notice, but so far there has been no proof and so they have been reluctant to act other than to issue a watch on the man. It appears your FBI has not taken it seriously either, however I fear that we must."
"Proof of what?" Rodney squawked, deciding that was more important than reminding this Kolya that they were his FBI. Of course, he was a resident alien under contract with the United States Government, so maybe they were?
"What did he want from me? Ransom? Industrial Secrets?" he continued more quietly as Sora patted his arm and offered another odd smile he supposed was meant to calm him down as they were beginning to draw attention. "Because what I'm doing may be the next best thing to Newton and Einstein, but there isn't any sort of practical application that can come from it, yet, so it's not like I can provide him with some sort of super weapon or something."
"I am sure you are underestimating your brilliance," Sora turned downright coquettish as she threaded her arm though Rodney's to make things look a little more benign.
Being managed was just as annoying as being steered, but Rodney suspected their closing ranks around him was their way of taking responsibility and offering some sort of protection. He'd have preferred that they'd let him contact the authorities if this Shepherd was indeed dangerous, but he'd left his own cell phone in the car recharging after yelling at Laura for getting him stuck in traffic and he didn't suppose the FBI would do anything more now that Shepherd had made contact. Unfortunately this wasn't the first time Rodney's life had been threatened, even if the FBI and the Canadian Security Intelligence Service hadn't really believed him, and getting a restraining order needed a lot more proof of harassment than Rodney could produce, as he'd found out with Kavanaugh.
"Actually, he's what your people call a stalker," Sora then whispered "We cannot be sure, of course, and do not wish to slander anyone, but there have been rumours of confrontations and …" She trailed off to shudder delicately.
"Wait! What? A stalker? Like he wants to have sex with me?" Which, of course, Rodney had been thinking about in return at his first glance and, oh, god -- please god -- he did not blurt that bit first outloud! Not just that stalkers were bad (even if they did look like sex on legs), and the Nobel people did not need to know he liked men and have yet one more reason to dismiss him.
"But he's not alone," Rodney tried to salvage his reputation at least in this. "In fact he wanted me to meet a Tina Immogen in the Pei Room?"
The coquette was suddenly gone. "Do you mean Teyla?" Sora rounded on him, bringing all three of them to a dead stop. "Teyla Emmagen?"
"I think so?" Rodney maybe squeaked.
Sora made a sound Rodney was more used to from his cat when angry, and he looked over to Kolya but saw only another narrowed, dangerous gaze. This was now officially no longer fun, interesting or even worthwhile and Rodney really, really just wanted to get away from all of them. His work should be able to speak for itself, dammit, and if the Foundation couldn't recognize the importance of his contributions to physics without the bread and circuses --
"Go," Kolya commanded her. "Deal with her while I keep Doctor McKay company. If you haven't returned in five minutes, we will wait for you at the Metro station, but only until ten thirty."
He didn't say what would happen if Sora didn't make it by ten thirty, but Rodney was beginning to think that these were not Nobel representatives and before he could do much more than blink, she was leaving without any questions of her own, gliding through the tables and patrons with commendable focus. Which left him alone with Kolya, and that was definitely making Rodney more uncomfortable; Sora's departure seeming to take with her any veneer of friendliness or even civility from the other man.
"I don't need any company," Rodney tried to twist out of Kolya's grip and ended up swallowing the whine that then wanted loose as Kolya's fingers tightened hard enough to bruise. His "Mr. Kolya?" came out more as a yelp than a condemnation despite his best efforts.
"My apologies, Herr Doctor," Kolya seemed to be trying for polite and placid, but Rodney was now getting a sick thrill not unlike he'd felt when Larson turned on Lara Croft in that new video game he'd just picked up. The fingers held firm like a vice and were now practically dragging him toward the exit. "It is our fault you have even come to Herr Sheppard's attention in first place."
That however well meaning slight to Rodney's accomplishments finally enabled Rodney fully embrace his anger and to pull himself free. If Shepherd really was a weird physics groupie, of course he would have heard of Rodney long before the Nobel people finally deigned to recognize him, even if Shepherd was something like Sherry Nugil in Real Genius going after the top ten minds, only using Nobel contenders as his basis.
"I appreciate your concern and willingness to take responsibility, but I think we've all made a hash of this night and would do better to reschedule. I'll just pick up a taxi from the front to get me home, just in case Shepherd's staking out my car or something, and --"
"No, Doctor, I must insist that you come with me." This time Kolya made no effort to disguise his creepiness -- or the fact that he was carrying his own gun, although he only showed it to Rodney with a deft twitch of his jacket and didn't pull it free. "I would prefer that neither of us cause an incident here in public, but rest assured that I will do whatever is necessary to ensure your cooperation. Now, we are going to take seats in the lobby for a few minutes, and then I will signal you to head over to the elevators, where you will press down on the one marked parking. If you stay calm, quiet, and do what you are told, then no one will be harmed, including yourself."
This part of the hotel lobby wasn't vacant, yet neither was there anyone close enough to actually catch their attention with any subtlety. Rodney also had no doubt that Kolya was indeed just as ruthless a man as he looked to be. While Rodney assumed he could be brave when any situation warranted it, he also wasn't an idiot and couldn't recognize that he was at a tremendous disadvantage here, in bulk, in resources and in intent. If he tried something, maybe it would only be someone else who was shot, but becoming involved in a hostage situation wasn't any better than being kidnapped. At least in being kidnapped, there was only one side to threaten him. He'd seen enough videos of standoffs to know how often there was collateral damage and how often hostages actually got killed by 'friendly' fire.
The five minutes passed with interminable slowness, Rodney not even being able to lose himself within mental calculations in the face of the danger he was in. He didn't try anything, not even to speak. Kolya's expression darkened into anger anyway, but Rodney supposed that was because there was no sign of Sora, and even Kolya was likely feeling vulnerable just sitting there.
He got his signal to move to the elevator, but any hope that someone might take notice feel through when the elevator proved empty. Once inside, Kolya crowded into Rodney's personal space, maneuvering them both right next to the control panel. There was only one more button below the lobby level before the one marked N. Travis Tunnel, so there was still a chance that someone might get on with them -- until Kolya pulled out a keycard and inserted into the nearby slot to activate the tunnel button. Anyone coming from the lowest garage level would no doubt be going up if the tunnel level was supposed to be locked down. All Rodney knew of the Houston tunnel systems was that they'd been built to allow pedestrians freer movement between the Theatre, Historic and Skyline Districts. It wasn't as if he'd ever bothered to use them, so it could have said the Gate to Atlantis for all the good it would do him.
"Please tell me you're not the stalker instead," Rodney gave reign to his curiosity and panic.
Kolya's dirty chuckle only served to ratchet Rodney's fear higher.
"Do not worry, Herr Doctor. I am quite an admirer of intelligence, however, I bed only beauty like young Sora, or your FBI Agent, Herr Sheppard. You may not have thought up any practical applications for your work on the Higgs boson particle, but my people have, and we require your assistance in achieving the final solution. Help us freely and you will be amply rewarded. You may even get your Nobel, although I imagine you will have to share credit with Ladon."
"And if I don't?"
"Why, Doctor, surely you are not saying your life isn't an even exchange for a million Euros?"
********
Part Two
