Rating: PG
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard... oh, it's somewhere in there. I swear.
Length: 1100 words
Spoilers: None, really. I'm only up to 4.02 myself, but I started writing this mid-S3, so let's call it AU from about 3.17 onwards.
Summary: "Somewhere out there, there's probably a room with a dozen vats of clones of me who are undergoing accelerated growth and having their psyches warped." Set shortly after Don't Wear It Out. All of the 'verse fic (such as it is) is tagged here.

A/N: Wow, for flimsy-excuse-type kid!fic this has been weirdly thoughtful writing for me. I have about 6 pages of rejected text already. Huh. Also, it's time for a 'verse icon. *ponders*

"The most important thing," Rodney announced at the senior staff meeting that afternoon, "is to find out who stole my DNA, track them down, and make sure they're not growing an army of super-geniuses and turning them evil for their own nefarious purposes."

Elizabeth turned in her chair just far enough to look pointedly over at the video feed coming in from the infirmary. Ingram was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. He was trying to pin an inflated latex glove under one small foot and seemed to be thrown into paroxysms of laughter every time it sprang free. He had an emesis basin perched upside down on his head and was liberally covered in adhesive bandages.

"Um," said John. "You were a late bloomer, I take it?"

"Well, obviously this one has escaped," said Rodney, exasperated. "But somewhere out there, there's probably a room with a dozen vats of clones of me who are undergoing accelerated growth and having their psyches warped."

"Actually," said Keller, "accelerated growth leaves some biological and psychological signposts, and from what I can tell, Ingram has developed along normal timelines: he's most likely exactly the age he appears to be, about three and a half years old. He was probably even gestated in a surrogate mother and born in the usual way." She glanced back at the screen, where Ingram was now investigating his right nostril with his finger.

"While it does trouble me that someone in Pegasus is undertaking genetic manipulation on this level," Elizabeth broke in, drawing everyone's attention away from Ingram's discoveries, "I have to disagree with you, Rodney. Our first order of business should be to assign temporary guardianship of the boy. Now, I know you've provided a short list of potential foster families, Kate, but I think in this case we have to give right of first refusal elsewhere." She pressed her lips together and directed her eyes towards Rodney.

"What?" Rodney blinked, when he realized everyone was watching him. "Oh, god! No, please no. First refusal, right here." He raised his hand eagerly.

Kate leaned in. "Have you thought this through, Dr. McKay?" she asked, concerned. "For all we know, this little boy may be your only living blood relative."

Rodney opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. A weighted silence descended on the table as everyone who'd met Jeannie Miller took a moment to acknowledge her absence. "Be that," Rodney began, avoiding everyone's faces, "be that as it, as it may…"

Silence fell again. John kept his gaze fixed on the table, but shifted in his chair so he could press his knee against Rodney's, offering some small comfort.

"I…can't." Rodney licked his lips, helpless. "I'm sorry, that probably makes me a selfish person or a crazy person, but-- it's just too strange. I can't do it."

"All right," accepted Kate, the first one to speak. "Okay, you have every right to make that choice, we don't hold it against you. In the meantime, I'm sure we can find someone else who feels better able to take on the --"

"I'll do it," said John, then blinked and felt his head snap back with surprise at the sound of his own voice. He tested the thought, considered it consciously for a moment, and found himself nodding. "Just for now," he clarified, and glanced back at the screen, at the small black-and-white figure alone in the middle of the infirmary floor.

"Are you sure?" asked Elizabeth, small lines forming between her eyebrows.

"Well," John answered, forcing a half-smile, "I'm used to babysitting McKay."

There was a pause during which everyone heard and ignored Rodney's huff of indignation, and then Elizabeth cleared her throat and shuffled her file folders into order. "Well, that's settled," she said, as though John had agreed to change his security rotations or something equally ordinary. "Thank you, Colonel. Now, given that Dr. Keller's estimate for the boy's age," she said, "we can pinpoint the latest likely date of conception and narrow down the range of mission reports we should be reviewing as we try to form a list of suspects. Teyla, could you and John take on the task of compiling that list?" And the meeting ground back into action, Elizabeth delegating work and everyone chiming in with their opinions and points of expertise.

John's gaze kept straying back to the infirmary monitor, to the small boy who had Rodney's brave wide mouth, and who was alone. For all he'd teased McKay about it, part of John was waiting for the other shoe to drop, too. Nothing was ever as simple as it seemed in the Pegasus galaxy.


"What the hell are you doing?" demanded Rodney, following close on Sheppard's heels as they left the meeting.

"I'm going back to my quarters," said Sheppard, not slowing down. "I have to make up a bed and put away all my knives and porn."

"You're seriously doing this?" Rodney asked. He grabbed for Sheppard's elbow and missed. He had better luck on the second lunge, forcing Sheppard to pause and look at Rodney. "Seriously, you're taking that -- you're going to -- in your quarters? This isn't a cat, Colonel, you can't just throw a litter box in the corner and a bowl of kibble by the sink and act like it doesn't affect your life in any way."

"It's only for a couple of days," Sheppard said. "And I'm not really a cat person anyway."

"Yes, because you're such a *people* person," Rodney returned, exasperated. "In your sudden random quest for foster parenthood, did you pause to consider how this might affect *me*?"

"It doesn't affect you," said Sheppard, annoyingly neutral. "My quarters, my knives, my porn." He ticked the items off on his fingers. "My business."

"My clone!" Rodney shouted, making a couple of passing scientists scurry even faster.

"You said you didn't want to take him," said Sheppard, shrugging Rodney off and heading down the corridor again.

"And what, that makes it open season on the kid?" Rodney demanded. "Listen, I don't want you to --" He closed his mouth around the next words, uncertain of how to tell Sheppard that he didn't even want to *see* the kid, let alone spend the next few days watching Sheppard tote him around the city like a new pet, like it was cute and normal and not at all the creepiest thing he'd ever done.

Sheppard didn't respond, only picked up the pace.

"I'm not comfortable," Rodney tried, awkwardly keeping step with Sheppard, "with the idea of --"

"Not everything's about you, Rodney," said Sheppard, and veered right into a transporter. "Get over it."

Rodney was left gaping in the corridor, wondering who the hell this was all about if it wasn't about *him*.