Series: Moments Sacred and Profane

Title: MSP8: The Beauty You Love

Author: Mice

Email: just_us_mice@yahoo.com

Category: Stargate: Atlantis, McKay/Beckett

Warnings: slash, a bit of angst

Spoilers: Rising

Rating: PG13

Summary: A tale of Rodney McKay, an Ancient device, and Art.

Archive: If it's on your list, you can archive it. If it isn't and you'd like it, just let me know were you're putting it.

Feedback: Feed me, Seymour.

Website: Mice's Hole in the Wall https://www.squidge.org/mice

Mirror: http://mice.inkpress.org

Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to many other people. But if they were mine, they'd be having very interesting adventures.

Author's Notes: The boys needed a bit of a break, so I decided to give them one. We deal with some Rodney issues here, but in a good way, and it opens the door for the next story. Thanks to Jenji for beta work and snark control. Thanks again to Aby for her awesome amazing betaness.

~~~

The Beauty You Love

Let the beauty you love be what you do.

Don't go back to sleep.

~Rumi trans. by Coleman Barks~

Rodney had been working with the little gadget for about three hours, and he didn't even have a theory about what it did yet. He was starting to get frustrated with the whole thing and considered calling Carson in to try to get it to light up. Carson didn't have too much success with Ancient tech unless he was really focused, and he tended to be nervous about it, but he at least had the gene naturally and that sometimes made a difference.

"I break things like this," he'd explained once, shortly before Rodney had stuffed him into that chair back in Antarctica -- and nearly shot down General O'Neill and Major Sheppard. It was something Carson was never truly comfortable talking about, and he'd avoided Ancient tech whenever he could since then. The fact he was being taught to pilot a Jumper was something he complained about, loud and long, though he understood the necessity of it.

The fact that Rodney had actually seen him excited about Ancient tech once or twice -- the hologram incident where he'd been wasting precious power, for instance, or even his crowing about the power he'd felt in the chair -- told him that Carson wasn't entirely afraid of the stuff. It seemed he just wanted to be absolutely certain of what a thing was likely to do before he messed with it. It was understandable, actually, considering that Carson's decisions often made the difference between life and death for his patients. It seemed like a natural and even desirable caution on the man's part.

Thinking about Carson made him smile. He closed his eyes and relaxed a little. Things were strange around Atlantis now, and tense, but since the exile of the men who'd assaulted Carson, Zelenka, and Lin Yao, people had been more open about who they were with. Sometimes it was like people were challenging the rest of the population to make a big deal of it.

He felt uneasy about expressing his affection for Carson publicly, unwilling to believe that there would be no further trouble, but it felt good not to have to hide that truth about himself. Rodney also knew he had friends now, people who would stand with him if need be, though it still felt very strange. Carson had been relieved and said he'd never really wanted to be in the closet anyway. It didn't feel right to him.

Rodney was still trying to adjust to this whole being in love thing. He really didn't understand it very well, though Carson kept telling him he was doing just fine. He wasn't so sure. Half the time it felt more like panic or anxiety than anything else, but that feeling of pure *rightness* when he was with Carson made the rest of it worth the effort.

It had been a little over two weeks since everything had gone down. Sheppard had been released on medical leave a few days ago, and Zelenka was due to be released from the infirmary tomorrow. When he asked Carson why Zelenka had been kept so long, he'd said that Zelenka had been in a coma -- his injuries had been worse than those Carson sustained in the fire. Rodney shuddered at the thought.

Osbourne had been there with Radek most of the time, and was going to be taking care of Zelenka until he was released for light duty, probably another week from now. Geoff had actually asked that they be assigned quarters together to make it easier, and Weir had done so in full knowledge that the two were lovers, expressing only minor discomfort at the fact.

He saw how Geoff hovered around Radek, and wondered if that had been what he'd done when Carson was still recovering. Rodney was glad that Carson was back to being himself again, and that he was pulling his usual full load. He was still a little more easily tired than before, but it wasn't too bad. Or, at least, that's what Carson claimed.

He turned the gadget over in his hands, staring at it some more. There were no markings on it, nothing to indicate its purpose. Size had little to do with function when it came to Ancient technology. He tapped his comms unit on.

"Carson."

"Aye, Rodney, what is it?" He sounded distracted and vaguely annoyed.

"Do you have a few minutes? I have something I'd like you to look at with me." He shook the device impatiently.

"Not right now, but maybe in an hour. Unless it's some kind of emergency?"

"No, nothing like that, just a massive frustration. I'll see you in an hour. Call me if you can't come."

"Right then," Carson said, and the earpiece went dead.

Rodney put the device down and went to search the Ancients' inventory documents. Maybe he'd be able to find an image of it that would help him narrow down its purpose.

***

"Well now, what is it you wanted me to look at?" Carson asked, poking his head cautiously into the lab. "I hope it's not one of those Ancient thingies."

Rodney waved Carson in. "Right. Thingie. How precise."

Carson eyed him suspiciously. "So it is, then, isn't it?" It was just as he feared.

Rodney held up some little thing about the size of a matchbox. "Yep. I want to see if you can get it to activate."

"And what's it supposed to do, Rodney? Does it blow things up? What if it's irreplaceable?" He crossed his arms uneasily over his chest, unwilling to lay so much as a finger on it unless he knew what it did. "I break things like that, you know. And remember what happened in Antarctica." He shuddered, wishing he'd never been forced to sit in that bloody chair. Not only had he almost killed two people, he was truly afraid he'd get addicted to the way that much power felt.

"I'm pretty sure it's harmless, Carson." Rodney looked vaguely displeased, but that didn't surprise him. Rodney always looked vaguely displeased when Carson didn't want to mess with the tech.

"And how would you be knowin' that?" He shot Rodney his most accusatory look.

Rodney gave him a lopsided grimace. "Come on, Carson, how could something this small hurt anybody?"

"You've obviously never had a virus in your life," Carson muttered. "Danger and size have absolutely no correlation. In fact, sometimes I think the smaller a thing is the nastier it's likely to be."

"But--"

Carson threw his hands in the air. "For all you know, it could open the gates of Hell."

"I don't believe in hell. Atheist, remember?" Rodney smirked. "Look, just try to make it light up. That's all I'm asking here. I can figure the rest out on my own."

"So why don't you ask someone like Cpl. De Lancie? He's got the gene as well, and he actually loves messing about with all the glowing things." Carson's irritation was getting the better of him.

Rodney looked like he was going to snap something rude at him for a moment, then his face softened and he smiled. "Because he's not you, and I'd really rather have you here." He reached out and put a hand on Carson's shoulder.

Carson melted at that and smiled back with a soft chuckle. There were definitely reasons he loved Rodney.

"Seriously, Carson. Would you try it for me?" He placed a soft kiss on Carson's lips.

"That's bribery," Carson said, trying not to smile.

Rodney grinned at him smugly. "Yes. It is, isn't it?"

"Well..." He paused, waiting for Rodney's annoyed ferret look. He didn't have to wait long. Carson let himself smile. "I suppose if you put it that way."

"Yes!" Rodney grinned at him and handed him the device.

Carson focused on it for a few moments, but it didn't light for him. He wasn't sure if it was because it was locked somehow, or because he was still reluctant. "I'm not so sure I can do this," he said.

"So let's try it with both of us touching it," Rodney replied. Carson held out his hand, the device still in it.

Rodney's hand slipped over his, their fingers twining, the small device held between their palms. It felt good, and he knew that holding his hand wasn't necessary to the procedure. They stood close, face to face, hands between their hearts. There was something more than a little sensual to it. He was glad they'd been getting closer recently, and tightened his fingers in Rodney's. Rodney was still very reluctant to show his affections in public but little by little he was getting past it. It made Carson very happy.

He closed his eyes and focused on the beastie, knowing Rodney would as well. Rodney wouldn't let anything untoward happen to them if he could help it. He had better control than Carson did. If they could get it to work, Rodney would find a way to make sure it was safe.

After a moment, he could feel something inside the device *change.* He got a tingle of that same vast power he'd felt in the chair in Antarctica, and twitched. He opened his eyes, just as Rodney was opening his.

"It worked," Rodney said, a grin on his face. "Thanks!" He kissed Carson again and their hands parted. The wee thing glowed in his palm, illuminated with a kaleidoscope of coruscating colors. Most things he'd seen simply glowed in monochrome -- blue or green, sometimes yellow, occasionally red.

"So what is it?"

Rodney shrugged. "Damned if I know. But now I can find out." He focused for a moment, and soft, strange music rose out of nowhere.

They both looked around. Rodney looked at the device in Carson's hand.

"D'ye think it's that then?" Carson shifted uneasily. "That it's some wee music box?"

"I'm not sure. Try to change the tune."

Carson thought about changing it, and another tune began, equally soft, equally strange. "This must be Ancient music," he said. "And this must be some kind of recorder."

"Yes!" Rodney was excited, taking the thing from Carson's hand. "Thank you!"

The door opened and Tryggveson walked in. "What's that?"

"Some kind of musical recorder," Rodney said, waving it at the other scientist. "Carson helped me get it working." Carson saw him focus for a moment, and the tune changed again. This one had some kind of lyrics.

Tryggveson pushed his glasses up on his nose. "You know who would kill to see that?"

"Who?" Rodney asked.

The Norwegian grinned. "Dr. Siwicki."

Rodney looked puzzled. "Why?"

"Because she's the only ethnomusicologist they sent. They didn't think we would need one, which is why she's doing cultural anthropology and linguistics." Tryggveson looked up at Rodney. "Offer her that," he pointed at the device, "and she'll be your best friend for life. She would probably even sleep with you. Everybody says she's a jaevla hore anyway." He smirked.

"That's no way to speak of a lady," Carson snapped.

"Lady." Tryggveson snorted. "Everyone knows bisexuals--"

Carson was too shocked to say a word, but Rodney grabbed the man by the collar. "I don't know what fucking rock you've been hiding under for the last two weeks, but if you *ever* say anything like that again, I'll have you in SCUBA gear measuring the cubic volume of the city bilges with a *micrometer.*"

Tryggveson looked startled. "What? You can't do that. I'm a vulcanologist! A geologist!"

"You work for me," Rodney said, in Tryggveson's face, his voice a soft, dangerous snarl. "And if you want to keep that job, you'd better have a little respect for people like me." Tryggveson turned an absolutely astonishing shade of purple and fled. Rodney crossed his arms and growled. "Asshole. God, did he sleep through that whole thing?"

"Maybe he was offworld, though I can't imagine he wouldn't have heard. Him being Norwegian, the attitude astounds me." Carson turned to Rodney. "Having Erin look at it's not a bad idea though, really."

Rodney frowned, brow wrinkling. "Why do we need her to look at this? And besides, she's on the mainland for the next five months or so."

"Well," Carson offered, "if it's her specialty, shouldn't she be looking at it? I mean you'd burst if someone found a Zed-PM and didn't tell you."

"Hey, I have some musical experience," Rodney said, sounding vaguely miffed.

Carson was surprised. "You do?"

Rodney shifted uncomfortably. "I played piano for years."

"Oh." Carson nodded. "But do you have experience with non-western music? Different time periods?"

"Did I tell you I know almost everything about almost everything?" Rodney said, smug.

"Constantly." Carson rolled his eyes. "She's the expert, though -- she's got the degree in it. I'm sure we could learn a great deal about the Ancients from the music and the lyrics, depending on how large the catalogue is."

"Yeah, well, she won't be back for months." Rodney looked annoyed. That, of course, was one of his normal expressions. It didn't mean much, really. "Besides, what are we going to learn from sappy Ancient love songs?"

"It's all right, Rodney, no one's going to steal your toy." Carson chuckled.

Rodney shot a sour look at him. "Et tu, Carson?"

Carson held both hands out, palms up and open. "No knife here, Julius." He grinned and left Rodney to his work.

***

Three days later, Rodney was still fussing with the musical device. He'd bitched to Carson about it every day, not being able to figure it out.

"I've gotten it to display what I think is some sort of musical notation, but I can't really make heads or tails of it. It's arranged in circles, and they don't operate on an octave system." The sound of frustration in Rodney's voice was keen as they sat in Carson's quarters after a long day at work.

"But you have some of the lyrics translated?" Carson asked.

Rodney snorted. "Sappy Ancient love songs." He sounded terribly disappointed.

Carson sat on the couch next to him and pulled the player from his hands. He slid an arm around Rodney's shoulders. "You need a break from the wee beastie. It's getting too obsessive for you. I don't think that's very healthy, and there's far more important things to look at in your lab, wouldn't you agree?"

Rodney sighed, his shoulders sagging. "You're right. Maybe I should get this over to Siwicki. She might have a better chance of getting something out of it."

Carson squeezed Rodney for a moment. "Well, it is Erin's field."

"Linguistics and anthropology. I should have read her record, but I wasn't paying that much attention to the squishy sciences people when we were getting the expedition together. I left most of that side of it to Dr. Sakai."

"Mariko did a good job with the selections, from what I can tell," Carson said.

Rodney nodded absently and Carson tossed the player onto the little table in front of his couch.

"Be careful with that," Rodney grumped.

"How about if I be careful with you?" Carson drew Rodney into his arms and leaned back. The two of them rested together on the couch, Rodney's head on his shoulder. Rodney sighed deeply and relaxed.

"I'd prefer it if you were a little rough, actually," he said with a sly, crooked smile. One broad hand stroked Carson's side. "Why are you always so good to me?"

Carson chuckled. "Because I love you, you daft git." He ran his fingers through Rodney's hair.

Rodney grinned. "I like the sound of that." Carson tilted his face and kissed the top of his head.

One kiss led to another, and soon they were hot and excited in each other's arms. Carson loved the feel of Rodney's mouth on his, the way their tongues moved, and the press of their bodies together. They moaned softly, caressing each other, hands under shirts, taking in warm, bare skin. He wished they could make love, but Rodney still hadn't been willing to speak of his demons. Carson wasn't going to do something so fraught with potential for disaster until he understood a bit of what was happening in Rodney's head. He wanted to know where the mines were buried.

It often left them both frustrated, but he thought Rodney was getting closer to being able to speak of it. The frustration was, at the very least, a motivating factor. Even with that, the kisses and the touch were good. They'd be enough for a little while longer. Rodney had stopped asking why they weren't going further. He knew what Carson would answer: 'when you can start to talk about it, then you'll be ready.'

Last week, even Rodney had agreed that waiting was the right choice for them. This didn't prevent them from spending a few nights a week in the same bed. Rodney had only had one more incident of waking, screaming, from the memories. That once had been more than enough, Carson thought. At least there'd been no further damage to either of them.

"Love you, Carson," Rodney whispered, his lips moving against Carson's.

Carson smiled. Rodney rarely said it, but when he did, the truth of it was always in his voice and his body. He opened his eyes and watched Rodney's face, eyes closed, lips parted, a bit of wonder in his features. He was a thing of beauty when he looked like that, and it always took Carson's breath away. It still seemed his lover couldn't believe Carson cared for him so. He wished there was a way to change that, other than time and patience.

He held Rodney tight in his arms and kissed him, slow and deep. Carson put all his passion and his love into it, hoping it would make some difference. Love was never an easy thing.

"Please, no more," Rodney panted, when they came up for air. "You're making me crazy here."

"All we have to do is talk, mo leannan," Carson whispered.

Rodney settled against him, trembling slightly with arousal. "I know. Not tonight. Soon."

Carson nodded and smiled. "I'll be here for you when you're ready."

"I know."

He touched one soft, final kiss to Rodney's forehead.

***

"Carson, you're just the man I wanted to see!"

Carson turned toward the familiar New England-tinged alto voice. Erin Siwicki was striding down the hall with a backpack strapped over her shoulders, and a large duffel bag in hand.

"What are you doin' here? I thought you were on the mainland." He reached for the larger bag. She handed it to him. It was much lighter than he'd expected.

"Monthly check-in with Dr. Weir. Oh, that's for you, by the way." She grinned, eyes alight.

Carson blinked. "For me? Whatever for?"

"Medicinal plants," she said. "The Athosians use these in their doctoring. Fascinating stuff. They're apparently found on a lot of the planets with Stargates and I'm willing to lay odds the Ancients seeded them like they did humans. I figured you'd want to get somebody onto analysis, see if any of it's worth pursuing. It's not like we're not getting supplies from home anytime soon. I've got seeds and cuttings for rooting in there too. Hydroponics will be jazzed."

Carson grinned at her. "A blessing on it then!"

Siwicki gave him a quick one-armed hug, which he returned. "Hey, that MA in ethnobotany comes in handy sometimes. One of those suckers seems to stop asthma attacks dead in their tracks, by the way. I've seen it used several times. Oh -- the notebook on top, those are my field notes about habitat, growth habits, uses, and rituals surrounding each plant they showed me. Lots of botanical illustrations of leaves, seedpods, flowers. And I get to give them their Linnaean nomenclature too!"

"Och, you're set, then." He followed her along toward her quarters.

"I just have to drop this crap off. I have to be in Weir's office in about..." she looked at her watch, "an hour. How have things been here since... um... the incidents? Are you doing okay?"

"Oh, aye. It's strange here now, but things are better. Most of the Thursday Night Crew are out now, except the military."

She nodded. "Yeah, I hear that. I'm so sorry about what's happened. How's Radek? I've been really worried. And how's Geoff coping?"

"He's recovering, but slow. Geoff's living with him now, with Elizabeth's approval. He's taking care of him."

"Oh good. That's a positive thing anyway. I heard it was really bad. Lin Yao wrote me again a few days after Weir sent those assholes off to the mainland. What happened with the military guy?" She looked at him, curious and a little cautious.

"He's in the brig. I don't know what'll happen with that, though. It's got some of the military upset about the whole thing, on either side of that fence." He shrugged.

"Oh, man. I just hope Bren doesn't toss him overboard. She's serious about protecting her friends." Siwicki shuddered.

"Why would she do that? Henderson, right? She's not one of us." Carson wasn't sure what this was about.

"She's straight, sure, but she hates it when people start doing the gay bashing thing. She's very justice and equality for all -- a true believer. She's fierce too. I wouldn't cross her on a dare. Ah, here we are." She thought the door open and gestured Carson inside. Erin was one of his ATA gene therapy successes, like Rodney -- less than half of the attempts succeeded. With a shrug, she dropped her backpack on her bed and turned to start unpacking her things.

"Oh, Erin, I wanted to tell you before I forget -- Rodney's found some wee Ancient gadget. It appears to be some kind of musical recorder, and it's got songs and tunes on it. Musical notation as well."

Her entire body sparked. "What? Why didn't anyone tell me? When did he find it? I'm gonna *kill* McKay for keeping this from me!" She headed for the door. "Where is that bastard? In his lab? No, it's nearly lunch, he's probably in the mess hall--"

"Whoa, lass, don't you be goin' off half cocked here! He agreed the other day that you should have a look at it, but we didn't realize you'd be here so soon. How long will you be on Atlantis?"

Erin relaxed. "Two days," she said. "Time enough to report, replenish some supplies, and head for the field again. The Athosians have a fascinating culture Carson. You should see some of the ways they do things. Marvelous, really. They're adapting to the new planet so quickly." There was genuine affection and admiration in her voice.

He grinned at her. It was a joy to see a person enjoying their work so much. "Come on, I'll take you to Rodney. We've enough time for you to get the wee thing before you see Elizabeth."

"Bitchin'! Lay on, MacDuff!" She tucked her laptop and a couple of notebooks under one arm and gestured to the door.

"Enough with the Shakespeare, lass." He winked at her. "Let's go."

"Lass, my ass," she said with a chuckle. "I'm what, eight years older than you?"

Carson grinned. "It's all about the attitude. You've got that, right enough."

"You say the sweetest things. Too bad you went for McKay." She laughed.

Carson smiled at her. "Not that your offer wasn't a very tempting one, dear lady."

"Yeah, yeah. Everybody's too busy. I know that story all too well." Still smiling, she shook her head, following him down the hallway.

Rodney was in his lab, which didn't actually surprise Carson. He sat examining reports, a sandwich and a large mug of coffee close at hand. He didn't look up when they walked in. "Who are you and what do you want? I'm busy."

"That's a fine way to greet me," Carson said, with a snort.

Rodney looked up. "Oh, Carson." He blinked. "Siwicki?"

"Weir," she answered. "Monthly report. I hear you've been holding out on me, McKay."

"The hard sciences people should be so prompt," Rodney muttered. "Holding out on you? What, you mean this?" He dangled the musical device in front of her with an exceedingly evil grin on his face.

Erin looked at it from where she stood, obviously fighting the urge to grab it from Rodney. He looked set for a game of keep-away. "Presumably." Her voice was much more tempered and even than Carson would have thought. "Unless you're just playing with my head, which I wouldn't put past you, by the way. And we 'squishy' types, as you so love to call us, can be quite reliable thank you."

Rodney's grin faded slightly. "Damn it, Siwicki, you're no fun. You fell right over."

She raised an eyebrow. "Firesign Theatre fan? I wouldn't have guessed." Carson had no idea what she was talking about.

"And why not?" Rodney held the device out to her. "I'm as quick-witted as the next verbophile. Quicker, in fact."

"Sure, but you're Canadian. I thought they were strictly a US phenomenon." She gave him an odd look as she took the wee thing from his hand.

"Right, like you people don't have the most invasive culture on Earth. I loved 'The Giant Rat of Sumatra.' Besides, good comedy transcends boundaries."

"Not as much fun as 'Everything You Know is Wrong,' and I beg to differ. Do you know how many Americans are utterly clueless about British comedy? Monty Python is completely lost on them."

Carson cleared his throat. "Erin's on a time limit here, Rodney. She's to report to Dr. Weir shortly."

Erin nodded. "Yep. People to do, things to see. How does this work?" She looked down at the device in her hand.

"Oh." Rodney took it from her again. "Like this." He focused on it and it started playing a song. Erin's mouth dropped open.

"Oh my gods. Ancient music!" She grabbed for it.

"Ah ah. I haven't been able to get much out of it yet, except for a few songs. Carson got some instrumental stuff from it." He handed it to Carson. "Show her, eh?"

Carson took it and demonstrated, watching as Rodney grinned. Erin was focused on the music.

"But the coolest thing is this." Rodney went back to his computer and hit a few buttons. The printer spit out a page with the musical notations on it. "How does that grab you?"

"You got notation?" She was nearly breathless with awe, her eyes wide.

Rodney nodded, still grinning. "Not that I can make heads or tails of it." He handed her the sheet.

"Hmm. Circular." She examined it closely.

"Right, and the notation makes no sense. It's not in octaves, not in any notation I recognize."

"No, you're right about that, but it reminds me of something." She closed her eyes and thought for a moment. She opened them with a grin. "Gamelan -- it reminds me of gamelan notation. They have 'octaves' of five or seven notes, depending on whether the scale is slendro or pelog. The circularity would lend itself to the cyclic nature of the gamelan repertoire, and-"

Rodney waved his hands. "Whoa, wait, you've lost me here. Gamelans, they're Indonesian percussion orchestras, right?"

"Yes, composed of gongs, metallophones and-"

He snorted at her. "Skip the lecture, you can tell me about that later. How does this notation relate to Indonesian music?"

"Well," she said, "I'd have to hear this piece to tell you if my theory's correct."

Carson watched as distress flashed on Rodney's face. "I... uh... I'm not sure how to make it play anything specific."

She took it from him. "Here, let me try." She looked at the sheet and the thing began playing a new tune. Erin's concentration was obvious as she listened and looked at the notation. After a couple of minutes she was quite excited. "Yes! This is the piece! Look -- you can see the tune starts here." She pointed to a place at the top of the circle. "Now the notes, like Indonesian music, they're a bare framework for the balungan, the melody around which the musician--"

"--composes," Rodney finished. "And so they don't bother with any ornamentation."

"Exactly. So we can assume, in this style of composition at least--"

"--that the player or players have the freedom to extemporize!" He grinned at her. Carson sat and watched them, delighted at Rodney's enthusiasm. He loved seeing Rodney like that. There was a certain childlike joy in him in those moments.

"Yes!" She was breathless in her excitement. "It's about the halus, the, the 'refinement' in Indonesian music. I wonder what else this plays?" In moments, a medley of different types of tunes and songs in different styles filled the air. Erin's eyes were closed in rapture, and Rodney just stared at her in amazement.

"How does she do that?" he whispered to Carson.

Carson shrugged. "I haven't a clue."

"Why do I only get sappy love songs when I play with it?" Rodney seemed more than a wee bit miffed.

Erin chuckled. "Maybe because you're a sap in love."

"Hey!" Rodney was only half-serious with his growl. "I'm the one with the corner on the snark here." He leaned toward her, attempting to tower over her. It was less than imposing.

She gave him a skeptical look. "Yes, Rodney, we all bow down to your studly intellectual superiority. Now, can I do my job?" She genuflected at him. Carson managed not to laugh.

"Of course I'm studly. I thought your job right now was reporting to Weir?"

She looked at her watch and grinned. "I still have ten minutes. I can get there in less than five. That means I can remain to torment you a little longer."

"It's a good thing I like you, Siwicki, or I'd have you stuffed in a supply closet for that attitude." Rodney crossed his arms and attempted to glare at her, but the effect was ruined by the smile he kept trying to suppress.

She waved the device at him, almost bouncing. "Do you know what this *means*? My career is *so* made! Journal articles! Academic texts! Documentaries! Music CD's! Once I do a book about-- awww SHIT." She slammed her hand on the table. "Damn, damn, damn!" Every damn was punctuated with another thump.

"What?" Carson asked, rather distressed by her reaction.

"It's Ancient music," Rodney said.

"And anything having to do with the Ancients is classified 'burn before reading, then go shoot yourself for knowing it's there'. No matter what I write, I can't publish, and even if I did, Dr. Jackson would be the only one who'd read it." The sound of defeat in her voice was clear and sharp.

Rodney put a hand on her shoulder. "Actually, I'd be interested in reading it. And there are anthropologists in the program who would probably find it quite valuable."

She gave him a suspicious look. "You would? You who know all and can't be kept from telling all?"

He nodded. "It seems my ethnomusicology studies are a little remiss. I should have recognized the notation."

Erin laughed. "I'll buy that; the remiss part, anyway. Thanks. I definitely want to write this stuff up after I've had some time to study it, even if it never leaves Atlantis. Mind if I take it to the mainland with me? I've been doing some work on Athosian music while I'm there. It'll be interesting to see how they may have been influenced by Ancient musical themes and tropes. The diffusion theories alone--"

"Go ahead. It's yours for now." Rodney nodded. "I'd actually love to talk to you about it."

"We won't have much time this month. I'm here for all of two days and I've got to pack a lot of stuff into them. Next time, I'll make sure I have an extra day. We can talk music all you like."

Carson smiled. "I'd like to be in on that myself. My family's always been a bit musical."

"Sure," Erin said. "The more the merrier. And a musician like yourself will appreciate this stuff more than anyone else."

"Rodney's a musician too," Carson said. Rodney made frantic 'no' gestures behind her back. "What, you don't want her to know that?"

Rodney sighed. "Look, I played piano for years, but I had to quit because I didn't have any actual talent for it. Lots of technical expertise, but no art." Carson was surprised at how sad Rodney looked, and how reluctantly he parted with the words. "Went into science instead. Not exactly thrilling memories, okay?"

Erin tilted her head. "You know, sometimes people *get* art as they get a little older. Don't lose hope on that, Rodney." Her voice was sympathetic, and she seemed quite emphatic about it.

He snorted. "Yeah, right. I'll be sure to order up a Steinway the minute the Gate back to Earth opens."

"No, seriously." She tapped his chest with the device. "I mean it. And thanks for this, Rodney. You're the best, but don't tell anybody I said so."

"Just see to it you don't go taking advantage of my legendary generosity."

She grinned and shook her head. "I need to go, but I'll see you guys later. Around dinner maybe?"

Rodney shrugged.

"Aye, Erin," Carson said. "I think we can manage that."

She trotted out the door and turned toward Operations.

"Now," Carson said, "what's this about you and pianos and art?"

***

It wasn't until the three of them had finished dinner that Erin brought the device out again.

"I discovered this thing has another function," she said.

Rodney looked at her, curious. "Oh? What's that?"

She smiled. "Composition. You can create music with it. I think you have to have the ATA gene to use it at all, but this is one of the things it can do." She gave it a little squeeze, and a tune began. It sounded like a techno-tribal cross between African drumming and Peruvian flutes.

"You did that?" Carson looked impressed. "It's quite good." He was next to Rodney on the couch. Erin sat in a small chair opposite them.

Erin smiled and nodded. "Yeah, isn't that amazing? It reproduces the sounds that you imagine in your mind." She handed it to Rodney. "Give it a shot. It's great!"

He shook his head and held his hands up before him. "No. I really can't."

"Why not?" Carson asked.

"I've already told you." He didn't understand why Carson would think he'd have any hope of producing anything decent. At best, he'd make some bad imitation Bach. The humiliation would be more than he could bear.

Carson shook his head. "That was years ago, Rodney. You're not that child anymore. That alleged teacher you had, you're still carrying him around with you, like too many other things."

Erin gave them a curious look, still holding the device out to him. "It's so simple, Rodney. All you have to do is imagine it -- focus on the making of it and just hear it in your head."

"You don't understand," he said to her. "I have no talent, no imagination."

The look of shock on her face surprised him. "Oh, don't even try telling me that, McKay. You've pulled everybody's ass out of the fire here more than once on nothing but fumes and imagination. You have to be the most brilliant man I've ever met. I say this because I've never met Stephen Hawking, of course, but I'm serious about it nonetheless. If you think you have no talent or imagination, you're blind. What you do takes a hell of a lot more than just logic."

"Genius doesn't equal talent," he said, feeling it in his bones. He leaned his elbows on his knees and took a swallow of his coffee, wishing he could avoid the horrible truth. "Just because I have the highest IQ in the Pegasus galaxy doesn't mean I have any talent."

"At least his ego about that is intact," Erin muttered.

"That's nonsense, Rodney," Carson said. "A few cruel words from so long ago haven't any true meaning. People change. I've seen you changing even just here."

Rodney snorted. "And when was the last time you ever saw any evidence of musical talent in me?" he asked. Carson wouldn't be able to answer that one, he was sure.

"Last time I heard you sing in the shower," Carson said with a smug smile.

Rodney blushed, embarrassed to be caught out. "I do not sing in the shower," he growled.

Erin laughed. "A shower singer. Figures."

Carson chuckled and shook his head. "Liar."

"Certainly," Erin said, "talent is more than just intellect. But it's about passion and imagination, and from where I stand, you seem to have those in spades. Passion and imagination are the cornerstones of any art."

"Right." She didn't know him, didn't know anything about him. Who was she to say he was passionate and imaginative? What right did she have to even think about him that way?

Erin cocked an eyebrow at him. "Who went ballistic on Overton a couple of weeks ago, shouting about his lover being hurt? That's not the act of a man entirely driven by logic. That's an act of passion. It's downright poetic in its intensity. Hell, Diophanes of Myrina could have written it, or Homer. Come on, Rodney, I've seen you and Carson look at each other. At least Carson's honest enough with himself that he doesn't try to hide it."

God, she'd heard about it. Not that she didn't already know he and Carson were involved, but that -- he still cringed at how he'd outed both of them in front of a couple dozen people in the most emphatic way he'd ever heard of.

"She's right," Carson said, before Rodney could reply. "You're all that and more, mo leannan."

Erin smiled at them both. She held the device out to him again.

He hesitated before he took it, heart beating wildly. This was going to be excruciating. "Look, I'll try it once, okay? Just don't let my humiliation leave this room."

"We're not expecting Mozart, here, Rodney," Carson said. "Just you."

"That's reassuring," Rodney said. It was nothing of the sort, of course. He'd be laid bare, his complete artlessness exposed like some mutant specimen on a slide. They thought he'd be a cell but they would find he was really just a thousand dancing hamsters.

"To do the composition, just focus on the sounds you want to hear, the emotions to express. Get the light to go green, okay?" Erin's voice was encouraging as Rodney closed his eyes and tried to focus.

For several minutes, nothing happened. "Look," he said, opening his eyes, "nothing's happening. It's not going to work for me."

Carson tapped the device in Rodney's hand. "But it's gone green. That's its composition mode, isn't it?" He looked over to Erin. She nodded.

"Relax Rodney. Just let it flow, okay? This isn't hard. It's not wormhole physics here. It's the most natural thing in the world."

"Wormhole physics are entirely natural," he objected.

She smiled. "You know what I mean. Let go a little. Let yourself hear the music. Love and art are twins, man."

He sighed a put-upon sigh and looked at Carson. Carson nodded and rested a hand on Rodney's leg. He closed his eyes again and tried to let himself go.

He focused, trying to hear music, but that was hopeless. Nothing came. Nothing ever would. His brain did what it always did when nothing was working. Equations sparked; the perfection of wave and pattern, the energy of wormholes, fractal patterns in subtle motion. Rodney's fears flashed through him as he tried to think back to music, but that same fear pulled him to memories of Carson sleeping, warm and comforting, in his arms.

He was lost in it now, forgetting he was supposed to be trying to make music. He felt the warmth of Carson's hand on his leg. Carson loved him, though Rodney didn't know why. It was terrifying, but it was the best thing in his life. He was afraid of losing Carson, of being lost. Afraid of love as well, but feeling it with painful intensity.

No, it wasn't working. Nothing was happening.

When he looked up, Erin and Carson were staring at him. "Are you satisfied?" he snapped. "I told you this wasn't going to work."

She reached over and took the device from him. "I want you to listen to this," she said. There was a peculiar catch in her voice. She focused for a moment, and music began.

It wasn't like the Ancient music. Maybe it was something she'd done, but it was unlike the first composition she'd shown them. This one began in precision, a sort of transcendent order that rippled and spun like a galaxy. There were layers to it that felt like unfurling mystery. Soon, the sound shifted, darkening. The order remained, but the haunting doubt in the music sent goosebumps up Rodney's arms and he shuddered. Slowly, the shivering ache of it lifted and there was sorrow there, deep and profound. Darkness softly warmed and brightened, a seed of hope in it, but not so much as to truly become light.

It was beautiful. He hated it. Rodney looked at Erin when the music ended. "Why do you have to rub my nose in the fact that you have talent and I don't?"

"Rodney," Carson said softly, "you did that."

He blinked, shocked. Why was Carson lying? "What?" He took Carson's wrist in a tight grip.

Erin nodded. "That was you." She snorted. "So much for no talent and no art."

"Okay, when's the practical joke over with? When do people jump out from the bedroom and laugh?" He looked around, waiting for the inevitable.

Erin shook her head and sighed sadly. She stood and approached Rodney, then put a hand on his cheek. It was a far more intimate gesture than he ever thought she'd make toward him. He'd never realized her eyes were sea-grey. There was an intensity in them that astonished him. "You can't see yourself under the weight of whatever's inside you, Rodney." Taking the device, she left without saying another word.

Carson leaned back into the couch, his wrist slipping from Rodney's grasp, and Rodney looked at him, confused. There was an uncomfortable sadness in Carson's face. "It's true, mo leannan. There's art in you, but you're afraid of it."

"Carson, don't." It was too much to think he might have done that, might have actually created that. If it was true, then he'd been exposed, stripped to the core and left vulnerable in a way he could never have imagined.

Who knew that art would be so painful?

"You've so much inside, Rodney," Carson whispered. He reached out and Rodney leaned into his embrace. He needed it, needed the safety that Carson's arms gave him. Rodney's arms went around Carson, hands clutching his strong shoulders.

He couldn't find the courage to speak for a moment, but a few deep breaths cleared his mind. "How can you say that? You, more than anyone, you know what I'm like." He could hear his own contempt.

"Aye," Carson said, "I do. But it's clear as anything that you don't. You've no idea what's really within you, do you?"

"That's ridiculous. I have a very strong sense of who I am and what I'm capable of." Rodney didn't let go of Carson.

"In ways, I'll agree, but you've blind spots wide as the heavens. I wish I could find a way for you to see yourself as I do." Carson pulled him close, kissing his cheek. The scratch of his stubble was familiar and welcome. "You're a far better man than you believe, and what you did just now, Rodney -- that was art, indeed. Let yourself do what you love."

"But I am," Rodney said softly. He loved physics, loved his gadgets, loved the clean, sharp order of mathematics, loved falling into his work and delving into the great mysteries of cosmology and energy.

Carson nuzzled his ear. "But all these years, it's been your second choice. You need never set the scientist aside, but luv, maybe it's time to let yourself be a musician as well. It's the child that was made to fear, but you've long been a man. Face this like the man you are."

The truth burned.

~~fin~~

Norwegian in the story

jaevla hore - fucking whore