Black Staff

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Author's Notes:  Thanks to my Beta Sterling Dragonfly

This is an implied crossover with the Dresden Files series of books by Jim Butcher. Very entertaining and a highly recommended read. Set before 'McKay and Mrs. Miller'

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Two years, five months, one week and four days after the letter was first written, it finally reached its intended recipient. The SF seemed confused as to why he'd brought it all the way to the main labs after receiving it from an airman on the Daedelus. He blinked in confusion after the heavy envelope hit Dr. McKay's hand. There was certain to be at least an informal reprimand since he'd walked off without finishing the unloading.

"Yes, yes, I have it," Rodney snapped. "Leave now, without touching anything," he added testily.

Not even having looked away from his calculations, Rodney finally glanced over. He'd expected a classified packet. Perhaps some artifact in a padded container. He had not anticipated the archaic slope of his uncle's writing.

Zelenka looked up from his work at the crash of McKay's laptop. It had slid from his workstation as the Head of Science scrambled for his letter. As he watched, Rodney's face progressed from concerned to completely devastated. Without ever retrieving his equipment from its disarray, McKay left the room.

Radek raised his hand to his earpiece. "Colonel Sheppard?"

A pause, then, "Sheppard here. Whatcha need, Radek?"

"Has Daedelus become mail pony?"

"Uh, no," John replied in confusion. "Personal mail is scanned and comes in the data burst. You know this."

"Does McKay?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Although accustomed to walking all over the city, John was mildly irritated at having to track Rodney down. He wasn't even completely sure something was wrong with the scientist. Yet, after Zelenka's report, he didn't want to take a chance.

Finally resorting to a life sign detector, Sheppard came to this isolated spire. It wasn't quite a balcony but the circular room at the pinnacle of this tower had completely translucent walls. A center pillar, intended for decorative or unknown use, was currently being employed as a backrest.

"Not your usual hangout," John commented lightly to alert the sitting man to his presence.

Rodney harrumphed in response. Lifting a bottle from his lap, he drank deeply. Stopping in disgust, he dropped his arm back to his lap.

"How much of that have you had?"

John crossed to his team member. Crouched, he waited for Rodney's acknowledgement. That he had asked a question was answered when he was passed a, now empty, bottle of vodka. Hoping it hadn't been full when the scientist had started, John settled into a cross-legged pose on the floor.

"Does Dr. Z know you raided his stash?"

"As if I'd consume his rotgut moonshine," Rodney murmured without his usual heat.

Oddly, it was precisely this lack of inflection that concerned John the most. "What's going on, McKay?" he asked, hoping the sternness would jar loose a response. "If we're all going to die horribly, a little notice would be nice."

Rodney's hand shifted, revealing the paper he'd crumpled against his leg. "Not us," he replied, offering the item to John after a short pause.

Accepting it, since there was little else he could do, John was surprised to find that it wasn't paper. It was a thick, heavy parchment with an almost vellum texture. No simple Bic had been used to write this. The words lay practically atop the page, carefully inscribed at a nearly calligraphic angle.

"Aren't you a little old to be getting your Hogwarts letter?"

Rather than the anticipated glare, John's quip spurred Rodney into a series of chuckles before he snapped his mouth closed on a hiccupping sob. John waited as Rodney struggled to bring himself back under control.

"Rodney, I can't read Latin. You have to talk to me, buddy."

Still sniffing in a way that both men pretended to ignore, Rodney finally clarified, "The last of my family is at war and there's nothing I can do."

No, bystander was not a role McKay accepted easily despite his protests to the contrary. John hadn't heard of any Canadian war efforts, but… "If you need to go home, we can put you on the Daedelus."

As if he could hear John's mental litany of 'Say no, say no, say no,' the physicist shook his head.

"Wouldn't matter," he bit out, his bitterness plain. With sudden energy, he snagged the empty bottle from where John had set it aside and flung it with surprising force. It cracked against the not-glass walls with a striking display that left the translucence unaffected. McKay clambered to his feet almost unsteadily, one hand out against the pillar. "My father more than made sure of that."

The man swayed slightly, but made his way to the door. Tones of the usual Rodney had resurfaced as he spoke without turning. "Your appearance of concern has been touching, Colonel."

The sheer sarcasm of the statement belied the sentiment.

"You can tell whomever sent you that I am fine."

The final words were enunciated with a refusal to be anything but what he'd stated. John stared after Rodney for a moment. He cleaned up the fractured pieces of glass in silence, tucking the letter in his pocket for eventual return.

~~~~~~~~~~

The basic nature of the SGC's program led to rather complete dossiers on the participants. That Rodney was not only a foreign national (Canadian, yes, but still not American) but also one of their top scientists led to a file that comprised a nearly complete biography. McKay would be incredibly outraged, possibly even horrified if he knew how much Sheppard could know about him by virtue of his position.

He'd simply never bothered to look before.

The file didn't start with McKay. It began with his father, born American oddly enough on a ranch in Montana. The family name was changed when he immigrated to Canada. Originally McCoy, the elder brother retained the homestead. Everything about him was so highly classified that John could only access his first name - Ebenezer.

McKay's throwaway comment about his father began to take shape as John dug further. Domestic violence, against both the mother and children, that tied to a series of hospitalizations for all three. For Rodney, it was page after page of abandoned talents, culminating with a never accepted invitation to Julliard when he was twelve. Left to his father's lack of mercy and his mother's lack of interest, he was alone when his older sister moved away.

John scrolled forward through the information, stopping at the notation where Rodney ran away. He'd run, as most children do, to other family. Showing up in Montana, the system had been unable to return him home. Somehow, both parents had been murdered in his absence. Luckily for Rodney, the scene was clearly cult derived and timed such as he could not have potentially been present.

Considering the attachment voiced earlier, John expected to read that the young McKay had been taken in by his uncle. He hadn't. The reason was referred to only peripherally as the elder relative was already caring for an orphan by the name of Harry. Shunted into the foster system, Rodney had run away again within months.

As the files showed that this time McKay left for a college education funded by the American government, it was possibly a better situation. His time in the foster system had probably been spent solely devising a way out.

Depressed, John slouched back in his chair. What news could McKay have possibly received from the family that all but abandoned him that could upset him this much? There was one way to find out.

John clicked over on his earpiece from the public line to a private channel. "Sheppard to Zelenka."

"Dejít se, Colonel?"

"Does that program used to translate the database work for other languages?"

A long pause, then, "Theoretically, yes. It is much easier to speak with linguist."

"It's personal."

Zelenka was far more perceptive than he usually was credited. "If is personal, then would not need translation."

Sighing, John asked, "Dr. Z, can you help me out here?"

"Which language?"

"It looks like Latin."

"Will take time."

"This is important, Radek."

"Yes, yes. I will fix program. You will fix bombast. Is difficult enough to work with."

John's faint snort of amusement was unsurprised. "Thanks."

~~~~~~~~~~

The door slid open on Rodney's haggard yet sober visage. John swallowed hard, not yielding despite the clear resolve of unwelcome.

"I'm sorry about your sister and niece."

McKay stepped wordlessly aside. John took the invitation, letting the door slide shut behind him.

"May I have it back?" Rodney finally asked, subdued. He took the letter that was immediately offered, frowning. "You don't read Latin. Radek?"

"He loaned me the translator program but no one else knows."

A stiff nod in reply, then, "Thank you, Colonel. You can leave now."

"Look, Rodney, I may not know what it's like to lose your family to the same cult… But, then can't get you out here and you do have friends."

Rodney shook his head, a bitter laugh dragging down both corners of his mouth. "The Red Court as cultists. It's oddly appropriate."

He turned away, sliding the parchment beneath some papers on the small desk in his quarters. "I was supposed to be safe with the SGC," he mused, mostly to himself.

John blinked, wondering exactly what he'd missed that would make Rodney feel safer in the Stargate program. Finally, he offered the only thing he could - a promise. "I won't let you die on my watch."

Rodney froze, his back still to Sheppard. "No one sent you to deal with me, did they?"

There were times McKay could be oddly perceptive for his usual inability to grasp social interactions.

"No," was the quietly amused answer.

Turning around, Rodney took the opportunity to really look at John Sheppard. He shook his head, his odd quirky smile drawing up the side of his mouth. "My family would like you."

As John unexpectedly blushed, the shadow of just how little family he had left crossed Rodney's face. But it was John's face that had confirmed his hypothesis. The shock and grief were too new.

But, now, they both understood that their time would come.

Finis

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