1. ONE: Finding Corey

**Title:** The Corey Files  
**Pairing(s):** Sheppard/McKay. Possibly a little Cadman/Beckett, Weir?. This is really a GEN fic overall, but those pairings occur in Corey's reality.  
**Rating:** Kid-frendly.  
**Categories:** Kid!fic. Slash, eventually. Fluff. A little angst, eventually. Accidental interdimensional travel through time and space.  
**Spoilers:** Seasons one and two are completely game. Also, some information from _Sateda_ will likely come into play. Other than that, this is completely disregarding S3, as this was plannd and had begun to be written back in the spring.  
**Feedback:** Please, please, please. Concrit is especially welcome :  
**Archive:** You may link it from wherever you like, but this is not to be reprinted anywhere. It can be found _here_, on FF.N, and on my livejournal.  
**Summary:** A series of linking snapshots from when Sheppard and McKay's adopted son from an alternate reality finds himself in the Atlantis we know from the show. Mostly GEN, slash is referred to (McShep); non-explicit het.

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Muttering about the injustices of the lack of respect his foolish colleagues bothered to pay him, Kavanagh harrumphed his way down a corridor, some sort of Ancient remote control that did _god-knows-what_ in his hands. Right now, he was just trying to get out of McKay's labs and find someplace quiet where he could work in relative peace. His concentration was solely fixated on believed grievances and this bit of technology; it was no wonder that he nearly tripped over the lump lying in the hallway. Taken aback, Kavanagh nearly dropped what he was holding as he took a few retreating steps to take a better look.

It was a kid. A small boy, curled up on his side and half-asleep. The child, who couldn't have been any older than four or five, was sleepily suckling on the thumb in his mouth, a worn-looking blanket clutched tightly to his chest by his other hand. Kavanagh spent only a few more moments staring in shock and wonder before calling up Weir on his earpiece. 

"Weir?" How the hell was he going to explain this? But just then, the boy began to stir, sniffling a bit loudly as he began sitting up. A set of big, vulnerable blue eyes peered up at him, thumb still lodged firmly in the boy's mouth. His sandy-colored hair was mussed and he was clutching his blanket pitifully. As Weir responded, the child stood and came over and grabbed Kavanagh's pant leg. The thumb popped from his mouth, but remained within range to jam it back inside at any time.

"You gonn' tell Papa on me?" he whispered quietly, big fat tears suddenly pooling in his eyes. Kavanagh was even more stunned. The little boy didn't seem at all surprised or scared by his presence. In fact, Kavanagh would go so far as to say that there was some sort of recognition in his eyes. 

"Weir, we have a slight... situation," he said a bit wearily, the boy tugging harder on his pant leg. He looked down sharply, staring at the kid. Both hands suddenly went up in the children's universal signal of '_pick me up!_'

"Up!" he said firmly, stamping his foot a little when Kavanagh didn't make any move to lift him from the ground within moments. Were the brat not so cute, if he didn't look so small and fragile, the scientist would have sneered coldly and told the kid to get lost. 

Unfortunately, Kavanagh actually _liked_ kids to some extent. More so than any of the other people with whom he was daily forced to interact, at any rate. With a resigned sigh, he reached down and lifted him up into his arms, holding the kid against his hip just as Weir responded to him. As Kavanagh made to answer, to explain the sudden appearance of a little kid lying in the hall as if he belonged there, the child squealed happily.

"Doctor Lizzie!" Kavanagh turned his head his head sharply and stared. 

"What was that?" came buzzing through his earpiece. Kavanagh was a bit speechless at the moment. The child knew Doctor Weir's name. This was definitely strange. The boy's clothes weren't Athosian, and they hadn't been any visits to the city lately, which ruled that line of thinking out of the equation.

"S'_me_. I got lost!" He almost sounded _proud_ about that fact. Kavanagh shifted the kid a bit, and quickly responded to the expedition leader.

"A boy. I have no clue where he came from, but perhaps if the military here were to actually _do their jobs_, and investigate the city properly, we wouldn't have these kinds of mishaps, hm?" He couldn't help it. He really couldn't. The smarmy tone of his voice rang loud and clear through the headset as he contemplated lodging a formal complaint.

"I want my daddies!" the brat, because, god, that was what most certainly the boy was, what with his sudden squirming and shrieking and kicking, yelped in his ear.

"Get him to the infirmary _immediately_, Kavanagh. Contact Sheppard or Lorne, and have one of them send a military escort to meet up with you, just in case." That caught his attention immediately.

"In case, _what?_" he asked, scorn dropping from his speech, now being replaced with thick apprehension.

"Just procedure, Kavanagh. Weir out." And that, apparently, was that, and Kavanagh was most _certainly_ going to lodge a complaint after this ordeal. But, first:

"Lorne?"

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Carson felt bad for the child currently seated on his own in a hospital bed. His 'woobie,' as he had insisted upon calling the blanket, was over his head, covering his face. By the way his arm was bent, it was easy enough for Carson to deduce that little Corey's thumb was getting a workout.

After Rodney had left the infirmary, flustered and in a state of disbelief that this child was somehow his, his and _Sheppard's_, Corey immediately began to sniffle, bottom lip trembling dangerously. Now, he wouldn't remove the ratty thing from his head to look at anyone, or allow anyone to look at him. With a soft, pitying sigh, Carson set back to work where he could keep half an eye on the child.

He didn't, however, manage to catch it when Rodney first ventured back into the infirmary. When Dr. Beckett finally managed to spare a glance over at Mini McKay (or was it Sheppard?), Rodney was sitting next to him on the bed while Corey demolished a small chocolate bar that McKay broke out from his personal stash. He must have a heart, somewhere, deep, deep down in there.

All right, so that wasn't fair. Rodney had shown not to be a self-centered asshole on more than one occasion. It was just that it didn't happen all that often. This was probably filling his 'nice' quota for the month.

"So," McKay started, his genial tone sounding forced and awkward. "How exactly did you end up with two dads, anyway?"

Rodney looked positively terrified of the answer. Carson was sure that Rodney was thinking something frightening and out of some twisted science fiction story. He wasn't McKay and Sheppard's biological child, at any rate. But Dr. Beckett wasn't about to clue him in on this little fact. Rodney could sweat it out for a little bit.

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Rodney had to admit: he never thought, not in any universe, mostly parallel or otherwise, would he ever adopt a child. He could understand if there had been some sort of mistake where he knocked up a native or some other, natural means of procreation where he would inevitably feel morally responsible over his spawn. But taking in an orphan hadn't exactly been on his list of Things To Do In Pegasus.

Yet, here he was, a child perched upon his lap and cuddling up way too close for his comfort. Being quite new at this whole (hopefully temporary) fatherhood thing, he hadn't been prepared for Corey to take his tentative hug as an invitation to fall asleep in his lap and drool on his uniform. His blanket, which he rather insistently called his 'woobie,' was in a death-grip in one hand, while his other held on tightly to the open edge of Rodney's gray and blue jacket.

Corey seemed rather attached to Rodney, even after that traumatic experience, earlier in the infirmary when Rodney had a mild breakdown and loudly disclaimed any relation at all to the child. Half a chocolate bar and a hug later and the boy was happily napping in his 'Papa's' lap.

He was still having no luck at all in reaching Sheppard via his radio. Bastard. Rodney was sure that the Lieutenant Colonel was avoiding him entirely. There was no possible way that this was mere coincidence. As soon as the man had heard the words 'child' and 'Rodney' uttered together in a sentence, he claimed some sort of training program going on in one of the gyms and promised to return at a more convenient time.

Rodney was quite certain that 'a more convenient time' was really Sheppard-speak for 'half past never' and was close to contacting Zelenka and having him hunt the colonel down. Unfortunately, the one hundred kilogram mass currently causing his legs to fall asleep made it fairly impossible for him to yell at his second in command over the radio or get up from the uncomfortable hospital bed to do it himself.


	2. TWO: Rodney plus Kids DOES NOT COMPUTE

**Date Completed:** May. 30th, 2006

If someone were ever to say that Rodney was good with kids, they would have to be certifiably insane. Rodney McKay never liked kids. He didn't even like other kids when he _was_ one. They were loud, unruly, obnoxious, and nowhere near his level of genius. He had been the first to disapprove of Jeannie's decision to marry that moron husband of hers and breed. He was also the last to continue to disapprove. 

Oh, she was happy, sure. But she had been brilliant; she should have been at the very top of the list for candidates to accompany the Atlantis expedition. She should have been there, right alongside Rodney as he saved the city and its inhabitants time after time. Instead, she was at home on Earth, probably feeding a drooling baby mashed peas and telling her son to stop playing ball in the house.

That had been the last straw for Rodney and his not-so-friendly relationship with children. They were tiny, stupid people who took up other people's time and energy and, well, really, he could better understand his parents' attitudes with him now. 

Yes, it certainly wasn't an eight-year-old's fault that Daddy went out drinking when he should have been working, or that Mommy slept with other men behind her husband's back, but he could understand that underlying blame being placed on his shoulders. If Rodney had never been born, his parents never would have felt the need to get married, or grow up too soon. It certainly wasn't fair, but he could understand the reasoning behind it.

He couldn't, however, understand why Jeannie had put her education, her research, her entire _life_ on hold for a man and a chance to procreate and add to the growing population. He just felt he wasn't wired the right way. Children were an annoyance and, unfortunately, a necessity when it came to furthering the species and passing on knowledge. 

That was why Rodney was having such a difficult time coming to terms with the fact that somewhere, _somewhere_ out there, another version of himself and Colonel Sheppard had adopted an alien baby and raised him as their own. It wasn't even the gay 'thing,' or the Sheppard 'thing' (though the second fact was most certainly the more disconcerting of the two.)

It was the fact that in some other reality, (one that was almost certainly one quite similar to his own, otherwise he was unsure of how he would be able to send the boy back, let alone the question of how Corey jumped through dimensions without even the vaguest of explanations as to how or why) some version of Rodney McKay who was likely very much like his own self, put things on hold to raise a little boy.

Never mind the fact that Atlantis was at war with the Wraith. The entire Pegasus _Galaxy_ was at war with them and still managed to pop out as many babies as possible. It was essential to their existence, yes, but there was the fact that it was being done. People were having babies of their own as little away as the mainland. It wasn't that there was a child in the city, or that Sheppard was in a homosexual relationship with the Chief Scientific Advisor in the program. (Although that, to be honest, was pretty insane.)

What Rodney could not wrap his head around was having the _desire_ to raise a child. Desiring to have a family, to be tied down, to share himself with other people on a more personal level. Rodney just didn't understand, and if there was one thing Rodney McKay hated more than Kavanagh, simpletons, and mortal danger _combined_, was not knowing something- was not having the capacity to understand a concept.

The little boy, now clutching onto the back of Rodney's collar as he was being carried down one of the main corridors, was definitely not an angel. He was Satan Spawn, as far as Rodney was concerned. The boy hadn't let his substitute father out of his sight for more than twenty seconds since he had returned to the infirmary, feeling guiltier than he should have, with chocolate and some kinder words than he had intended to impart.


	3. THREE: Wherein Rodney SO owes Ronon

**Date Completed:** Jul. 18th, 2006

Forget graduate school, forget working with ten-thousand year old alien technology, and forget the Wraith; taking care of a child was most certainly the most difficult thing Rodney McKay had ever dealt with in his life. And this was only a part-time gig, or so he hoped.

The biggest problem was that Corey shared a lot of characteristics with Rodney when _he_ was four years old. Except that Corey's were on a louder, more exuberant level. He blamed the colonel for that one. Or, rather, whatever rank the Sheppard from the other universe happened to possess. He wasn't certain, but from Corey's tales, it seemed as though his Atlantis was still cut off from Earth entirely, and unless something different had occurred in the past to give him a promotion to Lieutenant Colonel, then his Sheppard was still a Major. 

Either way, it was still his fault.

Corey was loud and opinionated and, unfortunately, very susceptible to sugar-highs. He was regretting using the chocolate as a peace-offering, now. Currently, Corey was racing up and down the halls, arms outstretched as he made little 'zoom, zoom' noises. Clearly, something that Other-Sheppard taught him, as there weren't any airplanes on Atlantis. Even if he was making what appeared to be Puddle Jumper noises.

However, despite the fact that Corey was alternatively pissing people off and stopping passersby so they could gawk and coo about how 'cute' and 'adorable' the boy was, Rodney had to admit that this was certainly an improvement. No more than five minutes ago, Corey had still been refusing to walk on his own, forcing Rodney to carry him around, perched on his hip. After the umpteenth break when Rodney had to put the kid down, Corey finally decided that he'd had enough.

"You're too slow!" he complained, breaking away and starting to run down the hallway, arms outstretched as he mimicked a flying airplane, baby blanket now tied around his neck, to take place of a cape, he assumed. Rodney had to tell himself that he was against corporal punishment _several_ times, to keep from doing anything… regrettable. And by regrettable, he clearly meant something which Carson or Elizabeth would undoubtedly berate him for.

Keeping an eye on the boy as he ran circles up and down the hall, both gradually made their way down towards the control room, as Elizabeth was very busy, but had expressed a wish to see Corey again. Rodney had nothing better to do, as he was being forced to play father to the rugrat, and Corey was content to just run around with Rodney in tow.

"Daddy, I'm hungry." Or not. The boy was standing directly in his path, and Rodney was wondering how he hadn't even noticed the movement; he nearly tripped over the child. He had one fist wrapped around the hem of Rodney's jacket, and the other with some of pants bunched up tight in his grasp.

Rodney contemplated saying something sarcastic or just plain _not nice_, but he knew through experience that it would most certainly be a _bad idea_. Instead, he settled with a weary, "Of course you are," and snatched the boys hand as he turned back in the opposite direction so they could get to the cafeteria.

"So what sort of foods do you like to eat?" he asked tentatively, wondering if he had a ridiculously picky eater on his hands, like he had been as a child. This entire situation was giving him some serious insight on how much his own parents must have suffered, raising him.

"I dunno," Corey mumbled, suddenly sobering and drawing in very close to Rodney, before just dropping and sitting on Rodney's foot. His spindly legs and arms latched onto Rodney's leg and he held on very tightly. Unsure as to where this was coming from, Rodney made a face before looking down and staring at the little boy, who was now looking very vulnerable and scared.

"What's wrong?" he asked, trying not to sound even half as frustrated as he felt. But Corey just scrunched up his face and looked like he was going to start crying soon.

"I want my papa," he whimpered, cheek pressed against Rodney's leg as he stared up, pale eyes sparkling pathetically as the tears began to form. Also forming, though this was in the halls, was a _crowd_. 

"What? Sheppard?" Rodney asked dumbly for a moment, before Corey started crying and he immediately realized that the boy must have meant _his_ Rodney, back wherever he was actually from. With a soft sigh, and Rodney feeling like a jerk, he leaned over and pried the boy from his spider grip on his leg, and lifted him up into his arms.

Rodney could only assume this was brought on by his question about Corey's taste in foods. It was probably easy enough for the little kid to pretend Rodney was his father once he stopped treating him like a piranha, but that was something his dad would know; something only a complete stranger would have to ask.

As soon as Corey was up in his arms, he burrowed into Rodney's chest, clutching tightly and crying, getting his shirt wet. Unsure of what, exactly, he should do in this situation, he just stood there until Carson passed by barely a moment later, and paused to stare.

"What the bloody hell did you do to him? You've only had him for half an hour and-" 

"Hey! It's not my fault!" Rodney shot back, cutting him off from saying anything more. This was most certainly unfair. First he gets saddled with the brat and then he has to endue the crying, before getting blamed for it. This was _not_ one of Rodney's good days on Atlantis; oh no.

"Oh, so he just started crying due to your loving and nurturing personality, I suppose?" Carson asked somewhat teasingly, only to be instantly surprised as a sullen looking Corey lifted his head and _glowered_ at the doctor. The crying seemed to have mostly stopped, but his cheeks were ruddy and his eyes were still damp.

"Don't talk to my papa like that!" he shouted, blanket beginning to come undone from around his neck. Rodney shifted the child in his arms slightly to grab at it before it completely fell off and slid to the ground. Handing it to the boy, Corey snatched it from him with one hand and held tightly to it with one fist.

"Corey, it's okay," he murmured softly, using that hand to now stroke the boy's back, lightly. "Are you still hungry?" A nod. "All right, let's go and get something to eat." Hopefully this would take the boy's mind off his troubles, and Carson. But, just as Rodney shifted him in his arms once more, to hold him more securely as they started down the hall once more, the boy yelled over Rodney's shoulder.

"And you're mean!" he yelled at Carson, before pulling his blanket, or 'woobie', or whatever Corey wanted to call it, over his head and sticking his thumb firmly into his mouth, sucking fiercely.

Trying not to laugh at Corey's outburst, he supposed the best thing to do would be to just ignore it, because he wasn't about to scold him and have him start crying all over again. Besides, it was nice to have someone to stick up for him, even if that someone was barely a meter tall and still sucked his thumb. (Anyway, everyone thought that Carson was nice- Rodney knew better. The man could be downright _vicious_. Clearly, the boy was influenced by Other-Rodney's intelligence.)

Regrettably, about five minutes later, Corey seemed perfectly fine, with his blanket behind draped over Rodney's head and tied underneath his chin like a bonnet. His arms were tight around Rodney's neck, nearly choking him, and he decided that he was going to tell Rodney a story as they made their way through the city.

Rodney had already attempted taking a transporter, but Corey had just pouted and whined and stamped his feet on the ground as he refused to get in one because he wanted to walk. And by walk, he meant be carried while _Rodney_ walked. He had no idea how his counterpart put up with this.

"And then, and then, guess what?" he asked for the third time so far in his tale.

"What?" Rodney asked in a pained tone that Corey either didn't identify, or didn't care about.

"Then Daddy said 'Whoa, there, Champ,' and grabbed me and then, guess what!" he said animatedly, using an exaggeratedly deep and drawling voice for what was clearly Other-Sheppard in his story.

"What?" Rodney asked, yet again.

"Then the monster snapped like _this_-" here, he made a large chomping action with his mouth before continuing, "- and it was _this_ close to eating me and then, then guess what!" Rodney wanted to gag him; that was 'what'. Thankfully, this time Corey didn't wait for Rodney to ask 'what' again.

"Then Papa screamed like a girl and said 'Oh my god, you almost killed him!' and-"

"Wait, wait, wait! Screamed like a _girl_?" Rodney asked, narrowing his eyes. "I thought you were on my side. I would- _your papa_ would never 'scream like a girl'," he complained.

"But he did!"

"No he didn't."

"Yes he did."

"No he didn't."

"_Yes_ he did!"

"_No_, he-" and here, Rodney paused, realizing he was getting into a 'Did Not, Did Too,' argument with a four-year-old. "I'm quite sure he didn't," he lamely finished off, lifting his jaw up in his usual 'I'm right, you're wrong' expression.

"Yuh-huh. I was told that when I told this story, that I had to tell it just like that," he explained, just as they, thankfully, made their way into the cafeteria. Hopefully some food would shut the kid up. 

"Oh really? And who told you to tell the story _just like that_?" asked Rodney, bristling a bit at that.

"Uncle Ronon!" the boy suddenly shrieked, before squirming madly in an attempt to wriggle his way out of Rodney's arms. In an effort not to drop Corey, he had to relinquish his hold and set the boy on the ground, who immediately pulled his blanket back as he ran away and towards the towering lug. Whom, Rodney was sure, was the one who told Corey to tell the story like that. It certainly couldn't be Other-Sheppard.

After all, if Other-Rodney and Other-Sheppard were to be (and here, he cringed) _married_, or something of the like, then there was no way that Other-Rodney would ever put up with that sort of behavior.

"Uncle Ronon, hi, what're you eating? Does it taste good? Can I have some? What's that? Why is it yellow? Does it have citrus? Papa doesn't like it when Daddy eats citrus, so I don't like to eat it either. Where have you been? Are you okay?" he asked, all in a rush as promptly placed himself in his 'Uncle Ronon's' lap without asking permission. Ronon seemed a little shell-shocked; either no-one had seen fit to impart the knowledge of the boy's appearance, or he was horrified that there were now two people in Atlantis who could talk that fast.

"Yeah. I'm fine," he practically grunted, or at least that's how Rodney saw it. Fortunately, Ronon seemed to either have the grace not to ask who the hell the kid was, or he just didn't care. Either way, Rodney was relieved because he was sure it would probably set Corey off crying again and he really didn't want to deal with that again; especially not so soon after the last time.

"Uh, I'm going to go get some food for you," Rodney said cautiously for a moment, eyeing the two of them. Ronon didn't seem particularly upset over the intrusion of personal space, and he didn't look like as if he was about to eat the little kid. "Can you sit here and behave with your… _Uncle Ronon?_ for a few minutes?"

Ronon scoffed at his question, even as Corey nodded dutifully, holding his woobie securely.

"Try having a little backbone, McKay," he said disdainfully. Rodney just shot him (the barbarian) a _look_, but instead of coming up with a retort, he just left. He was walking on eggshells around Corey for the time being. Maybe if he was lucky, he could dump the kid in Colonel Sheppard's lap, as he certainly didn't want to deal with this.

After collecting a tray of fairly bland, but still decent-tasting foods they were serving today, he came back and set a plate in front of the little boy, tentatively handing him a napkin and spoon. Ronon gave Rodney a look like, _are you serious?_ and gently took the napkin from Corey's chubby finger's and tucked it into the collar of his shirt. But he took one look at the plate of food, and immediately found fault.

"You should have only gotten him things he can't spill on his clothes, so you won't whine like a girl over it, McKay," he snorted. Oh yeah, Other-Ronon was definitely behind that particular story-telling.

"It's'okay," Corey said immediately, "I'll be careful." Corey beamed up at Rodney momentarily, before grabbing the piece of sweet Athosian bread, which Rodney intended him to eat for his dessert, off his plate and shoving it into his mouth. It was probably one of the few things familiar to him. Most of what they were serving today was Earth food, and nothing that he would have probably ever seen before.

Rodney just shot a triumphant look at Ronon before digging into his own food; maybe the 'brat' could be agreeable more often than he had previously thought.

"Daddy, what's in this?" he asked, mouth half full while he poked at the sandwich Rodney had gotten for him. 

"Don't talk with your mouth full," he scolded before he could even realize what the _hell_ had just come out of his mouth. Corey just looked put-upon, like that was a phrase he heard all too often. Then again, if Rodney said this to him without even thinking, he was sure it was something Other-Rodney told him constantly at meal times.

"It's a turkey sandwich. Turkey, lettuce, bread," Rodney said, waving his fork around in the air as he spoke. Corey's eyes widened until they were almost popping out of his head.

"You have turkey sandwiches here!" he squeaked loudly, drawing some attention from other people in the mess. Immediately, Corey grabbed the sandwich in his tiny hands and held it up as though it was something beautiful. "Daddy's always wishing for one when we have Lok-lok meat, 'cause he says it's kinda sim'lar but it's just not the same" he explained. Beaming, Corey lifted the sandwich to his mouth and took a large bite out of it, chomping on it enthusiastically, and completely ignoring his vegetable soup.

Not that Rodney expected him to eat it anyway. He just figured he ought to try, in an attempt to keep Carson off his back if he somehow found out what he was feeding the kid. He was scarily omnipotent when it came to things like that. 

Ronon laughed at Corey's enthusiasm, setting a huge hand upon his head and ruffling his hair in amusement.

"Reminds me of Sheppard," he said gruffly, patting his head once more before lowering his hand back down to his fork to finish off his mashed potatoes, which was easily his favorite food from Earth. Rodney stared at Ronon for a moment or two before closing his eyes and sighing inwardly.

"You have no idea," he mumbled to himself, wondering if he could possibly pawn the kid off on Ronon for a few hours. The Satedan looked up at Rodney for a moment, giving him a calculating look while he tried to decipher that comment, when he managed to catch Corey sneaking food off his plate out of the corner of his eye.

"What are these? They look sort of like Soma-Fries, but not red," he said, stealing a couple of Ronon's beloved French-Fries. For a moment, Rodney was worried that he was going to have to stand up against Ronon to prevent bloodshed, but the guy just grinned and pushed his plate towards the kid.

"They call 'em French-Fries. Have some," he said. Rodney was in shock. Ronon never let anyone _near_ his French-Fries, let alone actually sharing them. Even Sheppard, whom the guy practically worshipped. There was that one time that they had already started putting the food away for lunch, and he had only just got to the mess to grab some food- and all that Ronon had left on his plate were his French-Fries. He wouldn't let the colonel have even _one_. He just told him to 'go take one of McKay's power bars," and defended his fries until he had devoured every last one.

Rodney heard this story at great length while Colonel Sheppard tried wheedling some food out of Rodney, who had begrudgingly decided to be kind and share. But he did it only to shut the man up, because he was busy and wanted a reason to force him to touch things in the lab for him.

"Daddy, I'm full, can we go now?" he asked, after eating a handful or so of the coveted fries. Ronon looked shocked (the man showed an emotion other than cockiness or anger _twice_ in one day! McKay, 2 – Sheppard, 0.) and looked over at the kid, who looked _nothing_ like Rodney.

"Wipe your hands and mouth with your napkin, first," he commanded, grabbing Corey's plate and setting it onto his tray for him to take up. He waited a moment while the little boy pulled it out of his shirt and rubbed it, first, all over his lower face, and then, made a show of wiping off his hands. He then handed the napkin to McKay, who just offered the tray for him to drop it on.

"Come on, let's go," he said, waiting for the boy to say his good-bye to Ronon and pick up his woobie, so that Rodney could dispose of what was left and hand in the tray and dishes.

With Ronon looking the way he did at Corey calling him 'Daddy,' he figured asking him to baby-sit was out of the question. Maybe he could rope Elizabeth into doing it. She did, after all, want to see him again.


End file.
