Disclaimer - SciFi/MGM/Whoever own them, I don't. No infringement, etc etc.

SGA fic! Humour. McShep, but mostly the McKay part of McShep :) Set circa second half of season two, though no specific episode spoilers. Rated PG-13 for one use of bad language.

Many, many thanks to nel_ani for translations/inspiration, and to nel_ani, danvers and yamadara for looking over it. You dudes rock!

Feedback would be wonderful :)

*

"McKay," Sheppard greeted, as he swaggered towards Rodney's desk. Honestly, the man seemed incapable of walking anywhere without strutting around. Sometimes Rodney liked to think that the best way to defeat the Wraith was simply to blast them with Colonel Sheppard's testosterone, but he'd yet to find an effective delivery method (or at least one that didn't conjure up some frankly hideous mental images).

"Colonel."

He placed a hand on the edge of the desk, pausing. "Just thought I'd see how things are going. Any progress?"

They'd found yet another unknown piece of Ancient technology. Well, it looked more like a bracelet then anything else, but there was definitely the Ancient equivalent of a motherboard inside. As usual, everyone around him expected miracles. "Yes, actually. It's a database holding all the intel the Ancients ever had on the Wraith - their numbers, location, technology - cunningly disguised as a simple piece of jewelry."

Sheppard's eyebrows went up. "Really." He didn't sound convinced.

At least he wasn't completely surrounded by idiots. "No."

Sheppard's eyebrows went down. "You gotta admit though," his gaze fell to the bracelet, carefully situated in front of Rodney with an electrode sticking out of it. "It doesn't look half bad."

Well, yes, Rodney supposed it was aesthetically pleasing, but it'd clearly been built for some other purpose than to look good and that was all he cared about. Searching around for his pen, Rodney started frowning when he realised it'd gone missing. Shifting his chair back, he checked the floor. Nothing there. Typical. "Persson," he said, speaking to the scientist working at the other end of the desk. "Did you take my pen?" He didn't actually do that much writing these days, but he still liked to indulge his habit of fiddling with one as he worked over a problem.

Not looking up from her laptop, Persson didn't even pause typing. "Varför i hela världen skulle jag ta din penna, fåntratt?"

Ah, yes. *That*.

"Never mind," Rodney replied tightly, glaring, "I'll get a new one." It was incredibly annoying when he didn't understand what she was saying.

Dr Hanna Persson was a Swedish scientist who, sadly, didn't look anything like a Swedish scientist. Rodney was fairly well-versed on genetics, considering it wasn't one of his specialities, and he knew all about recessive genes and percentages and how they related to hair colour - not to mention stereotypes. Nonetheless, he was quite disappointed that the only Swedish scientist on the Atlantis expedition turned out not to be blonde (there had been Dr Brännström - slim, blonde and sufficiently intelligent. But once they'd gotten regular trips back to Earth, she'd returned to collect the Nobel price that had been awarded to her in her absence and never returned. Any interest he may or may not have had in her vanished at the news of the award: if that wasn't a blatant show of favouritism, he didn't know what was).

Of course, there was also the small matter of Persson hating Rodney's guts.

"McKay?" Sheppard asked, glancing towards Persson. "Did you actually understand any of that?"

"Not exactly," he confessed, then continued when Sheppard stared at him. "Okay, not at all. She may...only be speaking to me in Swedish."

"Why?"

"Because I annoy her, apparently." (Her exact words had been, "Rodney, you are an extremely annoying man and you show me no respect whatsoever. Until you do, I refuse to speak to you in English, skitstövel." He'd laughed. She'd called him something else he didn't know but had managed to completely understand).

Sheppard shrugged. "But you always annoy people, Rodney."

How charming. "Yes, you'd think she'd be used to it by now."

Sighing, Sheppard stood closer and lowered his voice. "McKay, we can't have two of our scientists not communicating with each other. You have to do something about it."

"Like what?"

"Whatever you did to make her angry," he gestured with a hand. "Apologise."

Oh, *right*. "I thought you were in charge? Therefore, shouldn't you do something about it?" He thought that was really rather clever of him.

"In charge of the military personnel, yes," Sheppard agreed, "but that's it. Look, maybe you need to start establishing a clear chain of command with the other scientists. Generally everyone knows you're the head scientist, but we've never arranged anything formal and it's probably long past time. Talk to Elizabeth about it."

Oh God, no. There was no way Rodney was telling Elizabeth he couldn't hack it just because one of his scientist was speaking Swedish at him. Besides, he *was* in charge of the other scientists, and everyone knew it. Right? "I don't think Elizabeth needs to be bothered with this."

Sheppard stared at him. "Then do something about it yourself, Rodney. Talk it out, apologise, hell - *tell* her not to do it anymore. Just do something." With a final nod, Sheppard turned away and strode out of the lab.

Hmm...Rodney squinted towards Persson. Sheppard did have a point.

Something did need to be done.

*

The next time Rodney came back from visiting Earth, he brought a 'Learn To Speak Swedish' kit with him.

*

Rodney had a great many things to worry about (and attempt to solve single-handedly). Stopping the Wraith. Protecting Atlantis. Deciphering every piece of Ancient technology they came across.

But right now there was something much more urgent.

"I'd like to buy that bicycle. Jag skulle vilja köpa den där cykeln."

He repeated the phrase each time.

"Excuse me, where's the nearest toilet? Ursäkta, var finns närmsta toalett?"

"How much does it cost for a beer? Vad kostar en öl?"

Frankly, Rodney was beginning to think that particular CD had been a bad purchase. Rather than actually helping you learn Swedish, it just had you mimic certain phrases often enough so you could get by if you were a tourist. Unfortunately, he wasn't about to discuss popular Swedish vacation habits with Persson anytime soon. Honestly, didn't anyone at these companies ever think that someday someone would have to deal with a sociopathic Swedish scientist?

Still, he wasn't about to give up. He'd learn all of these phrases, and he had more CDs, DVDs, CD-ROMs, and a Swedish to English dictionary. He'd make Hanna Persson rue the day she ever called him skitstövel.

Whatever that was.

Now that he thought about it, he tried searching for that term. It took a while, but eventually he figured out a translation.

And immediately ran out of his quarters.

Incensed, he made his way straight to the lab and started pointing at Persson the moment he saw her. "I am *not* a boot of shit!"

Eyes wide, Persson looked stunned.

Ha. 1-0, Dr Rodney McKay.

*

It didn't take long for the rest of the team to figure out what he was up to. Of course, that was because Teyla caught him furtively trying to read the dictionary in the corner of the commissary and asked him what it was. Rodney seriously didn't know how she managed to become the 'leader of her people' when she didn't have enough social skills to realise that he wanted to be left alone.

Still, she was really quite scary with those sticks, so he told her what he was doing - just not the reason behind it.

"I must confess," she told him afterwards, "I find it amazing the amount of different languages you have on your planet. I've thought so often since meeting the different people here, on Atlantis. It seems quite unusual. Everywhere else I've ever travelled, every planet I've ever been to, the people have all spoken the same language. Why do you suppose that is?"

Rodney was halfway through looking up the Swedish translation for "I don't care," when she left.

Somewhat predictably, Sheppard turned up at his quarters that night. Athosians were the worst kind of gossips.

"Come in, come in," Rodney gestured inside, turning away and returning to his laptop. "So, I suppose you've come to tell me that learning Swedish wasn't the best way to get Persson to co-operate."

"Rodney," he sighed, sitting down and slouching against the end of the bed (how did he *always* make that look good?), "if you know that then why are you even doing it?"

"Look," Rodney rolled himself closer to the bed on his computer chair. "It's not that I can't get her to co-operate and, quite frankly, it's not going to become a serious problem - Persson and I are both smarter than that. If we find ourselves in a life-threatening or serious situation, she's not going to keep doing it. It's...I suppose you'd call it an intellectual challenge. We'd never let it risk anyone's lives."

Sheppard watched him doubtfully. "And to win this intellectual challenge, you're willing to go as far as learning an entire language?" Rodney shrugged. Sheppard sighed. "Rodney, I know you think you know everything - and hell, we probably act like you do most of the time, too - but you really don't. And you really don't need to prove anything to anyone."

"She's trying to outwit me," he replied. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Be the bigger man...person?" Sheppard offered. "What are you gonna do the next time Zelenka mutters something? Learn Czech?"

"Now you're just being ridiculous," Rodney huffed. "That's hardly the same situation."

"Right," Sheppard scoffed. "*I'm* the one being ridiculous." Sighing, he leant further against the bed. "Fine. Just - really. Don't let it interfere with things, okay?"

"I won't." And really, Sheppard lounging around on his bed was entirely not fair whilst delving dangerously into the world of fantasy at the same time.

There was another, somewhat more personal reason for learning another language that Rodney had realised a few days ago. There were certain...things he wouldn't mind being able to get across, every now and then. Maybe. If no one else was around.

"So how's it going?"

Rodney was still stuck on those 'things'. "Uh, what?"

"Learning Swedish," Sheppard specified. "How's it going?"

"Fine, fine," Rodney shrugged, then realised this could be his opportunity. He licked his lips. "I've been learning some interesting phrases."

"Yeah? Like what?"

He swallowed, making himself meet Sheppard's gaze. "Du är otroligt snygg."

Sheppard frowned, clearly not understanding any of the subtle nuances Rodney had put into his performance. "What does that mean?"

Of course, the fundamental flaw in this plan was that Sheppard didn't understand Swedish.

"How much is the beer?" he replied, dejected.

Now he really wanted a beer, too.

*

During their next mission, Ronon was trying to wrap his mind - and his dreadlocks - around the idea.

"You wouldn't understand, Ronon. It's about bettering yourself, becoming more well-rounded," he lied. Well, technically it wasn't lying in general; just lying about his particular reasons. Which made it perfectly okay. "And plus," he held up his right hand, pointing with his index finger, "you never know when it might come in useful."

"Right, McKay," Sheppard said sarcastically. "I'm sure any day now we're going to come across some Swedish-speaking aliens."

"Fine," Rodney sniffed, "just don't come running to me for help when it happens. *I'll* be able to talk myself out of being tied up and you three will end up being thrown into some kind of Swedish alien prison." Hmm. Speaking of which, he hadn't watched a prison porn movie for a while...and thinking about his team mates starring in one was really quite disturbing.

"I think somehow we'll manage to survive."

Sheppard moved on, but Ronon was still staring at Rodney silently. He decided to be nice and give him the simple explanation.

"Chicks really dig it when you speak a couple of languages."

Lifting his head in understanding, Ronon grunted and lumbered forward. "What was that language called?"

*

The problem with trying to learn a foreign language well enough to able to speak it and translate it in his head automatically, was that it took time. Time he didn't have. Rodney was a busy man in the first place, and there was no way he could keep avoiding Persson. They were working on the same project together, which often meant working in the same lab - there was only so much he could do to avoid her.

But he wasn't going to put up with not being able to understand what she was saying for one more day.

So he cheated.

Putting together a program that translated Swedish to English took hardly anytime at all, for a man of his considerable skills. A lot of the programming he needed was already on the various CD-ROMs he had; he just had to find a way to collate the information. Yes, it was a rush job so it was hardly perfect, but he did what he could with the limitations of the situation.

Loading the program onto his laptop in the lab, he got there even earlier than usual to make sure he'd be there before Persson - anything that would surprise her or make her uncomfortable would work to his advantage. When she arrived she didn't look surprised to see him.

Rodney frowned. "Hello, Persson."

Eyeing him, she booted up her laptop and sat on her chair. "God morgon, McKay." Hmm, he knew that one. Good morning, McKay. Excellent.

He already had some phrases burned into his memory, ready for this confrontation. "Sovit gott?" Sleep well?

The moment wasn't as satisfying as it could've been - he'd shown his hand when he'd confronted her about the boot shit line, so since then she must've known he had at least some understanding of Swedish. Still, for a few seconds she looked disquieted before replying,

"Jättegott, inte för att du har något med det att göra."

Damn. He only recognised the odd word in that one, so he casually typed at his laptop, pretending to multi-task. Ah ha. Apparently she'd slept fine, but it had nothing to do with him. Or something. He typed some more, coming up with a response. "Jag bryr mig om mina anställdas hälsa." Which apparently meant I care about the health of my employees. Okay - so his accent was probably terrible, and the translation wasn't exactly what he was looking for...but. It worked.

Persson eyed him skeptically, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. "You're using something on the computer to help you."

Dammit. But! "Ha!" he pointed at her, grinning smugly. "You spoke English!"

Grunting, Persson glared at him and muttered something too quiet for him to hear before focusing back on her laptop.

Alternately victorious and annoyed, they ignored each other for the rest of the day.

*

That evening, Rodney ran into Carson in a corridor - literally.

Rebounding off each other quickly, they stumbled.

Carson spoke first, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay, Rodney?"

"Fine," he replied, pulling away, annoyed that he'd been so distracted.

Frowning, Carson kept watching him. "Are you sure? You seem...tense, even for you."

"I said I was fine."

He didn't seem convinced. "Is this anything to do with you learning Swedish?"

God, was there *anyone* around the city who could keep their mouth shut? Fine. If Carson wanted to know, Rodney would tell him. "It wasn't satisfying! At all!" Well...that wasn't the entire truth. "Well maybe a little. But just a little. All that time and work and effort, and I barely got to say three phrases to her! It was pointless!" Frankly, the whole confrontation had been nothing but a huge anti-climax. All that build-up, with no satisfying conclusion.

Much like sex during his college years.

Carson was staring at him with his patented 'concerned doctor' expression. "Rodney," he said carefully, "I don't know exactly what's been going on or why you even decided to learn Swedish, but...you *have* accomplished something. Learned something you didn't know before. Any way you look at it, you can't consider it a failure."

Huh. Maybe Carson had a point. True, things hadn't ended the way he'd wanted them to - stunning Persson with his Swedish skills so much that she ended up a crying mess on the floor - but he'd added yet another talent to his already considerable list. And who knew? It *could* turn out to be useful at some point - he saw no reason why they couldn't stumble across some Swedish speaking aliens in the future. The amount of women who threw themselves at Colonel Sheppard seemed to indicate that anything was possible.

Yes. Yes, perhaps this whole adventure hadn't been a complete loss, after all.

*

Later that night, Sheppard turned up at his quarters again. Maybe he'd heard about the translation confrontation.

"Colonel," he greeted, standing in the doorway, "this is becoming quite a habit."

Sheppard just stared at him, before speaking - in Swedish. "Du är otroligt snygg."

Rodney's eyes started bugging out. No, no, this was *not* happening. "Excuse me," he cleared his throat, "what was that?"

"Du är otroligt snygg," he repeated. "That's what you said to me the other night, right?"

Quickly turning away, Rodney retreated into his quarters. "Well, well I can't quite remember. Who really knows with the Swedish language? Besides, I'm really just a novice myself - I make mistakes all the time." His hands had nearly taken on a life of their own, gesturing around frantically.

"Because I talked to Persson," Sheppard said from just a few feet away, having followed Rodney inside, "and you know what she told me?"

"How would I know what she told you?" Rodney faked a laugh, panicking. Why the hell had he ever thought telling Sheppard that would be a good idea?

"It doesn't mean 'how much is the beer', Rodney."

Oh, *God*. "Doesn't it?" Maybe he could get transferred back to Siberia.

"No. And frankly, the way you're acting now kinda suggests it wasn't an accident."

"What?" Rodney asked, desperate to focus on anything other than what he'd said the other night. "How am I acting now?"

"You're freaking out."

"I am not," he pretended to be offended.

"Rodney..."

"I'm quite serious. I've freaked out plenty of times before. Believe me, I know what freaking out feels like, and this isn't this."

Sighing, Sheppard reached out and grabbed one of Rodney's wrists - which definitely made Rodney shut up.

Sheppard took a step towards him. "Rodney,"

"Yes?"

"Jag bryr mig inte."

I don't care.

Luckily, he knew what that meant. Luckily, Colonel Sheppard wasn't about to have him kicked off Atlantis for telling him he was incredibly good-looking. In fact, judging by the look on his face right now, Colonel Sheppard *liked* that Rodney thought he was incredibly good-looking.

Holy shit.

"So..." This was completely surreal. "I suppose Persson taught you that, did she?"

He shook his head, smiling. "McKay..."

"Yes?"

Sheppard smirked, moving even closer. "Speak Swedish to me."

*Definitely* not a complete loss.

*

The next day Rodney hesitated, and paced back and forth, and clasped his hands together, and then walked right up to Persson to apologise.

Smiling, Persson told him that she graciously accepted his apology - in English.

And then gave him his pen back.

~FINIS

***

TRANSLATIONS FOR THOSE OF US WHO DON'T SPEAK SWEDISH:

Varför i hela världen skulle jag ta din penna, din fåntratt?: Why on Earth would I take your pen, you imbecile?
Jag skulle vilja köpa den där cykeln: I'd like to buy that bicycle
Ursäkta, var finns närmsta toalett?: Excuse me, where's the nearest toilet?
Vad kostar en öl?: How much does it cost for a beer?
Skitstövel: boot of shit
Du är otroligt snygg: You're incredibly good-looking
Sovit gott?: Sleep well?
Jättegott, inte för att du har något med det att göra: Very well, not that it's any of your business
Jag bryr mig inte: I don't care

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