What? WHAT! Rodney injured, hypothermic, and hallucinating; a huge whale creature that's waaaay too interested in them; depressurization to worry about; and, oh yeah, there's that little thing about the jumper only having a few minutes of power left before the shield fails and they -- oh, I don't know -- IMPLODE! I ask you, honestly, is that any place to end an eppy?
So, here's my tag. It's pretty tame since I'm not looking to create a new story, just conclude this one to my personal satisfaction ;-). That said, I don't own Stargate Atlantis or its characters. Heck, I don't even own stock in MGM.
Beta: Nebbyjen. But as always, mistakes belong to me and me alone.
DECOMPRESSION
Sheppard glanced back to make sure everyone was settled for lift-off. "Grab a seat, Rodney," he shouted from the pilot's chair. "Places to go, people to see, sea monsters and explosive decompression to avoid."
Looking up from his laptop where he was checking their power usage, Radek saw McKay standing near the rear of the puddle jumper. He quickly made his way to the scientist's side. "What are you looking at?"
Rodney blinked, realizing that the jumper's hatch had closed. "Um…nothing."
"Come on." He tugged on McKay's arm, pulling him back from the door and guiding the injured and dripping scientist towards the front of the jumper.
"No, wait," said Rodney, suddenly resisting his colleague's pull. "I have to decompress."
Sheppard was flipping switches and checking his readings, too busy to even shoot a glance in their direction. "Aren't the jumpers…"
"Yes, usually, but I had to increase the pressure to try and keep the water out," Rodney snapped impatiently.
"I can pressurize the rear portion of the ship," Zelenka decided. He helped Rodney sit on one of the bench seats, then unplugged his laptop from the cockpit area and grabbed the first-aid kit off the wall before stepping over the threshold. "I will stay with him," he told Sheppard. "I can monitor our power usage from there just as easily."
"Power? What's wrong with our power?" Rodney's tone was both confused and a little panicked and he stumbled unsteadily to his feet.
Sheppard managed a quick look over his shoulder. "Nothing for you to worry about, McKay. Just sit tight and let us take care of everything."
"Seven minutes," mouthed the Czech, before he hit the door control that would close off their section of the jumper.
Giving a quick nod of understanding, Sheppard returned his attention to the controls in front of him. He lifted off the sea floor, fighting the current and keeping an eye out for the enormous whale creature they had seen earlier. At thirteen hundred feet, he tried his radio. "Atlantis, this is Sheppard. Do you read?"
"We read you, John." Weir's reply was faint, with a slightly garbled quality to it, but it was a steady signal.
"Our rescue mission is complete. We're on our way to the surface."
"Rodney and Griffin?" she asked. She had obviously picked up the fact that he had used the word 'complete' rather than 'success'.
"We've got Rodney," he replied. From silence on the other end, he knew he wouldn't have to elaborate on Griffin's fate.
"Understood."
"How is Rodney?" This time it was Beckett's voice over the radio.
"Beat up, soaked to the skin, and half frozen -- he has a nasty gash on his head and there was a lot of water in the jumper by the time we got there. Hang on, I'll patch you through to the rear compartment…" he flipped the switch that would tie in both Radek's radio and the jumper's speakers. "Zelenka's with him in the cargo area trying to pressurize it."
"Why is he doing that?" asked Beckett.
"Because I don't want to suffer from decompression sickness!" was the muffled reply from Rodney; shouted loud enough to be broadcast through Zelenka's headset--McKay's own radio having apparently succumbed to the corrosive effect of the seawater during his last underwater dive to activate the auxiliary door control.
Sheppard grinned. Radek was going to have his hands full.
-o-
"Okay, okay, there is no need to shout!" said Zelenka. "And please to sit down before you fall down." He waited until Rodney had reluctantly obeyed. "Now, what pressure did you use in the jumper?" He plugged a long cord into his laptop and then flipped down an overhead compartment, revealing neat rows of lighted crystals. He attached the other end of the computer lead to one and then looked expectantly at McKay.
Rodney searched his mind, grimacing as he became more and more uncomfortable at their current pressure. "Um, thirty, no forty dbr…I think?" He doubled over and wrapped his arms around his stomach.
Zelenka's hand paused over the keyboard as he hesitated. Taking in the scientist's bedraggled appearance, his eyes flicked to the bandage on Rodney's head uncertainly. "Are you sure? That doesn't seem like enough pressure compared to your depth..."
"I had to trade power to create a pressurized atmosphere. Forty dbr was the best return for the least amount of power." Wincing, he hugged his stomach tighter. "So if you're done second guessing me..." When the Czech continued to hesitate, he snapped, "Sometime today would be nice!"
Muttering to himself, Radek made several entries into his laptop. After a few seconds, there was a sudden and noticeable change in pressure. Gripping his nose, he swallowed several times to equalize his ears. "Better?" he asked Rodney.
Exhausted from his ordeal, McKay simply nodded and slowly began to uncurl, leaning heavily against the bulkhead wall for support. He closed his eyes, gasping in relief and shivering in earnest.
Zelenka peered at him in concern. "Rodney?"
"I'm…I just need to rest my eyes for a minute," slurred the injured scientist.
"Radek?" Beckett inquired.
Zelenka turned his attention to the radio. "We've pressurized the rear compartment of the jumper to the approximate pressure Rodney was experiencing previously…"
"Crap!" Sheppard's voice cut in.
"What's wrong?" asked Zelenka and Beckett simultaneously.
"Hang on!"
Grabbing the cargo net overhead with his right hand, the Czech automatically braced Rodney against the wall with his left as the jumper shuddered.
"What was that?" Rodney mumbled, waking from his stupor and struggling weakly against Zelenka's restraint.
"We've got company, folks," said Sheppard, his voice strained. There was another slight bump to the outer hull of the ship, causing it to rock a bit despite the inertial dampeners.
"Lassie's back," said Rodney as understanding dawned.
"Damn it, go find someone else to play with you overgrown collie!" Sheppard said tightly, on the same wavelength as Rodney for once.
Zelenka chanced a glance at his laptop, which was lying open on the seat beside Rodney. "Two minutes, Colonel."
"I don't need a countdown! I need a jumbo stick to throw this thing so it will go play fetch and leave us the hell alone!"
"It's the beacon," Rodney said through chattering teeth.
Zelenka frowned at him. "We are not broadcasting a distress beacon."
"What?" Sheppard asked, only getting one side of the conversation.
Radek clarified. "Rodney thinks it is attracted to the beacon."
"We're not broadcasting a distress beacon."
"That is what I said, yes?" Zelenka replied with irritation.
"If it was attracted to the frequency of the beacon to begin with, then maybe it can be repelled by a different frequency," Rodney reasoned, the words spilling out of his mouth so quickly it took a second for Radek to process them.
"Rodney has an idea," Zelenka told Sheppard. Releasing his grip on both the cargo net and McKay, he turned to type in several commands into his laptop.
Rodney watched him with bleary-eyed curiosity, "What are you doing?"
"I'm broadcasting a signal on different frequencies to see if I can find that will repel it."
"Oh." He blinked a few times, clearly not firing on all thrusters. "Repel what?"
Radek shook his head in exasperation. "Colonel, let me know if the creature suddenly shows change in behavior."
"So far it seems more curious than anything else. You're, ah, not gonna to piss it off are you?" He paused and there was a slight tremor as the creature playfully nudged the jumper again. "Because I'm not so sure that's such a good idea."
"I hope not," the Czech mumbled under his breath as he tried several different frequencies in succession.
"Hang on a sec, it looks like it's moving away."
Zelenka waited nervously. He knew Sheppard would have pulled up the HUD to track the creature.
"Yes, it's definitely moving away."
Radek gave a sigh of relief.
"And we're above a thousand feet now, so you can deactivate the shield."
A quick input into his laptop and the 'time remaining' power display jumped dramatically. "We have several hours now that shield is no longer drawing so much power, Colonel."
"Great."
Apparently concluding that the immediate crisis had been safely averted, Beckett asked, "Can you give me some information on Rodney now, Radek?"
"Yes, sorry." The Czech closed the laptop and slid it out of the way, pulling the first-aid kit over to take its place. He reached for the bandage on Rodney's head but the scientist jerked away. "Let me see, Rodney," he said patiently as he reached for it again. This time McKay didn't pull back and Radek began gently peeling away the waterlogged gauze and tape. Rodney flinched and hissed when the adhesive pulled the tender skin and Radek winced in sympathy.
"He has large cut on his head with much bruising around it," said the Czech, starting a running commentary as he examined the water-swollen cut. "But it seems to have stopped bleeding on its own."
"How is Rodney behaving? Does he seem lucid?"
"Watch it, McFumbles!" McKay snapped, wincing in pain and slapping at Radek's hand as the new bandage was taped in place.
"He is behaving normally," replied the Czech wryly, then added, "He seems dazed at times, but lucid."
"Is that Carson? Let me talk to him." Rodney raised a shaking hand in an attempt to snag Zelenka's earpiece.
Radek leaned back, easily avoiding the scientist's uncoordinated grab. "I will see if I can find you a working radio of your own in one minute, Rodney. You need dry clothing first. Your skin is zmrzlina…like ice."
"There should be some extra clothing on the left side of the jumper, near the back," volunteered Sheppard.
Moving to the rear of the jumper, Zelenka began testing various sacks in the overhead compartment by feel.
"Nevermind, I'll find another radio myself," snapped McKay.
Sensing movement behind him, Radek turned to see Rodney lurch briefly to his feet before losing his balance and falling back onto the bench, catching himself with an outstretched arm against the bulkhead wall with an audible 'thunk'.
"What was that?" asked Sheppard.
"Rodney has decided it would be best if he remained seated," Radek replied dryly. The injured scientist flashed him an angry glare and Radek grinned to himself as he turned back to what he was doing. He pulled down a likely bag and unknotted the drawstring, emptying out several different hues of camo suits.
He found the black and white version was thicker than either the green or brown and took it over to Rodney, along with a couple of blankets.
The scientist was now leaning against the wall, eyes closed, and his pale face creased in pain.
"Rodney?" Radek asked gently, holding the jacket out. Blue eyes blinked open and stared at him blearily. "You will be more comfortable in dry clothes."
Giving him a half nod and grimacing as his sore head protested the movement, Rodney attempted to take off his soaked shirt. Zelenka quickly put down the jacket he was holding to give him a hand, wincing in sympathy at the livid bruises that stood out against the scientist's overly pale skin.
Instead of giving him the jacket right away, Zelenka used one of the blankets to briskly rub down McKay's chest and arms.
Rodney protested the rough treatment. "Ouch, Radek, what the hell are you doing, trying to take off half my skin? Those military-issue blankets have the consistency of sandpaper!"
"I am trying to get some of your blood circulating again, and I very much doubt you can feel it, you are too cold," he replied as he put aside the damp blanket and pulled the dry jacket over Rodney's head without bothering to unzip it. He watched the scientist flounder briefly as he attempted to get his uncooperative arms into the proper holes. "Now the pants," he said, holding them out.
Rodney looked a little taken aback, but common sense quickly prevailed and he began unbuckling his belt. "I just want to take this opportunity to mention that the water was very, very cold." He vehemently drew the line at Zelenka's assistance and snatched the already damp blanket from the Czech, toweling himself dry and slipping into the lightly quilted trousers before leaning back against the wall again, completely exhausted by the process.
After some more rummaging in the bag, Zelenka was rewarded with a pair of thick woolen socks. When it became clear Rodney's fingers were too cold and stiff to manage, he took over and within minutes the scientist's feet were fully ensconced.
"He is in dry clothes, what next?" Radek asked the doctor.
"See if you can get me a pulse and respiration rate."
As Radek bent to his assigned tasked, Rodney tried to regain some control over the situation. "Tell Beckett, we need to calculate decompression based on…" he began to mutter softly to himself. "If one atmosphere equals about fourteen point six pounds per square inch pressure, and the pressure increases one atmosphere for every ten metres of depth…." he trailed off, his concentration waning.
Zelenka did a quick calculation in his head. "Forty meters or approximately one hundred thirty-one feet." He dutifully relayed the information to the doctor along with Rodney's pulse and respiration rate.
"How long was he at that pressure?"
Rodney had slumped against the wall and was hugging himself tightly in the attempt to conserve any shred of body heat. "Um, twenty minutes."
Zelenka relayed that information as well.
"Are you sure? You were down there a lot longer than twenty minutes," said Sheppard.
Sitting up, Rodney gave vent to some of his pent emotions by yelling at the bulkhead door, "I am fully aware of how long I was trapped in that, that coffin, Colonel--"
Sheppard's reply was mild. "Easy McKay. You bonked your head, we just want to make sure you're not confused."
"Well, I'm not!" He took a breath and leaned back against the wall again, closing his eyes tightly against the pounding of his head. "I didn't have to pressurize the ship until after it hit bottom," he continued in a more subdued tone. "By the way, explain to me how the ship can crash from midair onto dry land with negligible structural damage but the minute it bumps the bottom of the ocean, it develops stress fractures all over the place?"
Radek calmly shrugged then informed Beckett of the approximate time under pressure.
"You may need to do a stage decompression. Hold on, I'm trying to decipher this diving table," said Beckett. "In the meantime, see if you can get him to lie down, maybe even get some sleep."
Blue eyes snapped open. "Are you trying to kill me, Carson? What kind of voodoo are you practicing? Everyone knows you aren't supposed to sleep if you have a concussion," he yelled at Zelenka's mouthpiece.
"That's a myth, Rodney. Your body actually does its best healing while you're asleep. Normally we'd wake you regularly to check you for symptoms of intracranial bleeding; but in this case, there's nothing that Colonel Sheppard or Radek could do for you, even if you showed symptoms of a massive hemorrhage, so you might as well be as comfortable as possible."
"What kind of attitude is that?" Rodney yelled at the overhead speakers.
"We've cleared the water…should be home in about forty-five minutes, give or take" Sheppard reported.
"Come, Rodney," encouraged Radek, helping him get comfortable on the padded bench and spreading the remaining dry blanket over his colleague. He tucked it in tightly in an attempt to keep any warmth from escaping. Happily, he noticed a slight flush was replacing McKay's previously ghostly pale complexion. Rodney shot him an annoyed look at being treated like a child but soon his eyes closed and his face smoothed out.
Radek waited a few minutes just to be sure. "I think he is asleep," he reported quietly to Beckett.
"No doubt a blessing for us all," replied the doctor, wryly.
-o-
"Rodney, wake up."
McKay groaned and batted at the hand that was shaking him, coming alert with a start. "What? What happened? What went wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong," Zelenka quickly assured him. "We are on Atlantis, but we still have several minutes remaining at this decompression stage before we can open jumper hatch. Here," he said, handing an earpiece to the scientist, "Dr. Beckett wants to speak with you."
Rodney took the device and levered himself up on one elbow. It took him two attempts to get it over his ear. "Yes, Carson?"
"Rodney, how are you feeling?"
"Lousy." He squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding of his head. "Can I have some Tylenol, please?" He was almost begging but the pain was so intense he didn't care.
"I'm sorry, Rodney. Just hang on a little longer. Once we've checked you over, I'll give you something much better than Tylenol."
"Promise?" Desperation leaked into his tone.
"Promise," replied Beckett, sympathetically. "Besides what I imagine is a doozey of a headache, how are you feeling? Any memory loss, nausea, or blurred vision?"
Shifting so that he could recline against the wall of the jumper, Rodney closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. Now that he didn't have imminent death dogging his every step and could think about other things, he realized he did feel sick to his stomach. In fact, the more he thought about it, the worse he felt. He swallowed hard. "Yes, on the nausea." He wished he could say the same for the memory loss. Griffin's sacrifice, unfortunately, was burned vividly and permanently into his brain.
"Rodney?"
He realized Beckett must have asked him another question. "I'm sorry?"
"He asked if you were still cold," Sheppard prompted. He was sitting on the opposite side of the jumper with Zelenka, a stack of playing cards scattered on the bench between them.
Rodney blinked at him, fearing for a brief moment that he was hallucinating again. "How did you get back here?"
"I opened the door and walked in."
McKay gave an annoyed wave of his hand. "You know what I mean. I mean…"
"I came through during the last decompression step." The colonel shrugged. "It was lonely up there…and boring once we landed. Of course, playing Radek's limited repertoire of card games and watching you drool in your sleep has been equally fascinating." He punctuated the comment by interlacing his fingers and giving a bone-cracking stretch and a bored yawn.
Rodney surreptitiously reached up and wiped the corner of his mouth.
Sheppard grinned. "So, are you warm enough yet? 'Cause I'm getting a little tired of the whole sauna thing. I mean sure, if you threw in a few bikini-clad women and a six-pack it's a party, but this…"
Rodney realized both the colonel and Radek were stripped down to sweat-soaked tee shirts while he was still bundled in the insulated camo suit and wrapped in a blanket. He thought about it a moment. "Um…yeah."
Radek, who had perked up at the mention of women and beer, gave a relieved sigh and typed a command into his laptop. Within a few seconds, cool, though not cold, air could be felt circulating through the compartment. Zelenka and the colonel both raised their heads and let the refreshing breeze wash over their sweaty faces. After a minute, Sheppard looked back down at the cards in his hand with a bored sigh. "You got any sevens?"
"Go fish," was the heavily accented response.
The fresh air on his face actually helped his nausea a little and Rodney leaned back against the wall, letting his mind drift in a twilight sleep. He was startled back to full alertness when Radek's laptop began beeping. "What's that?" he asked, alarmed.
"Easy Rodney," Sheppard said, reaching for the release handle. "It just means we've decompressed long enough. We can open the hatch now." He got up and pulled the handle. The result of which was a slight hiss as the last of the pressure escaped.
The door slowly lowered to reveal a pacing Carson, an orderly, and a waiting gurney.
"Looks like you get to ride this time, McKay," Sheppard joked and he gave the scientist an encouraging thumbs up before he and Zelenka slipped out of the jumper to give Beckett some much needed elbow room. The doctor gave them a brief nod of thanks as passed.
Rodney found he didn't even have the energy to sit up so he remained half-reclined against the bulkhead wall, his legs stretched before him on the bench as Carson approached.
"Budge over," said Beckett as he put his bag on the floor beside the scientist. Rodney obligingly shifted his legs closer to the wall to make room for the physician to sit beside him. Carson gave the pale face a critical look as he sat down, his eyes traveled unerringly to the bruising around the bandaged temple. "Right mess you've made of yourself," he said as he pulled a penlight from his labcoat pocket.
"It wasn't my fault. If Griffin had been concentrating on piloting the jumper rather than expounding on virtues of the Spanish and how they discovered everything from circumnavigation to marinara sauce…" he began, but his tirade was cut short by the white-hot stabbing pains shooting through his head as Beckett shined the light into his eyes.
Tucking the penlight back into his pocket, Carson had the scientist follow his finger a moment with his eyes, then pulled a blood pressure cuff from his bag. "No one's blaming you for what happened, Rodney," he said, wrapping the device around the scientist's arm.
I blame me. "Good, because like I said, it wasn't my fault."
"Dr. Zelenka said he lost contact with you for an hour after the crash. Were you unconscious the whole time?"
"I don't remember anything between Griffin's mayday and Radek's call so I must have been." He shifted uncomfortably and winced. "You said something about 'good' drugs."
"Aye, as soon as we give you a thorough check in the infirmary," Beckett promised as he studied the readings on the gauge.
"So, explain to me why we're just sitting here when I could be happily floating in the 'arms of morphius'?"
"I just want to make sure you're not bleeding internally before we start moving you around. You don't mind, do you?" Carson asked with some asperity. After tucking the blood pressure cuff back into the bag, he waved the orderly to bring the gurney into the jumper. "Can you sit up a bit?" he asked, moving behind the stricken scientist and looping his arms around Rodney from behind as the orderly took his feet. "Let us do the work," he warned. Both men worked seamlessly to shift him smoothly onto the gurney.
Watching the ceiling slide by above him as he was wheeled to the infirmary was disorienting. Disorienting and dizzying and … "Stop. Stop! I'm going to be sick." Rodney felt the gurney slide to a halt but it was too late. Beckett helped support him as he rolled to his side and emptied his stomach of what little it contained. When he was done retching, he collapsed back onto the thin mattress, miserable and exhausted.
"Keep your eyes closed," suggested Beckett in sympathy as the gurney began to move again.
Closing his eyes did help and he drifted a bit until a cold cloth on his face brought him back. He squinted against the bright lights, bringing into focus the face of a nurse who was still holding a damp washcloth in her hand. He glanced around as much as possible without moving his head.
The nurse seemed to read his mind. "Dr. Beckett's just gone to make sure the equipment is calibrated properly for your MRI." She folded the cloth neatly. "Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?"
The nausea he was barely keeping at bay made him afraid to open his mouth and the splitting headache made it equally inadvisable to nod, so he managed a grunt. She apparently interpreted it as "I'm fine, thanks," evidenced by her small smile and an encouraging pat on his arm.
She glanced up at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Here he comes now.'
-o-
Beckett turned out to be as good as his word. After being poked, prodded, and scanned for what seemed like an interminably long time, Rodney had finally been given something that dimmed the pounding in his head to a bearable level. He drifted in and out of sleep for the next day, occasionally wakened by nurses so that he could be asked a list of what he considered to be inane questions before being allowed to return to his slumber.
By the second day, Carson had cut back on his meds and he was able to stay awake for longer periods at a time. He even managed to keep down a little jello–blue, of course.
Elizabeth, Sheppard, Radek, and even Teyla and Ronon stopped by the infirmary at intervals. Beckett never allowed any of them to stay more than a few minutes at a time, insisting what his patient needed most was rest. Rodney, though surprised and flattered by the attention, tended to agree with Carson. It didn't take long for his head to start pounding during such visits.
After the third day, his discomfort began to recede. He had even gone so far to ask for his laptop -- a request that had been denied point-blank by Carson. It was on that day that Rodney saw Sheppard pushing a wheelchair towards his bed. "What's that for?"
"Beckett's given you a short reprieve to attend Griffin's memorial service."
Rodney shot a glance toward the Scot's office but he was nowhere to be seen. Undoubtedly that's what Heightmeyer and the doctor had been discussing the previous day in quiet tones, just out of range of his hearing.
A myriad of thoughts and emotions passed through Rodney, first and foremost, he wished Carson hadn't been so lenient. This was something he could have done without. He firmly believed memorial services were just excuses for people to wallow in self-pity, or blackmail you into religion with the promise that you would be reunited one day. He could hardly say that to Sheppard though. The colonel took the loss of each and every one of his men personally. It didn't matter that technically, Griffin was a member of the Daedalus crew. Sheppard might have to accept that men would die, but he damn sure didn't have to like it.
Steeling himself both mentally and physically, he allowed the colonel to help him out of bed and into the chair.
Thankfully, he wasn't expected to speak at the service. He was allowed to sit, lost in his own thoughts, in the back of the small makeshift chapel that had seen too many such services in the short time since they had discovered Atlantis. How many people had now died so that he could live? Was he really worth it? Was anyone?
He blinked and realized the service had concluded and the chapel was now half empty. Caldwell and Sheppard were off in one corner talking to Weir. Other people stood around in little knots, talking quietly amongst themselves. Most wore Daedalus uniforms. Caldwell glanced in his direction and their eyes met briefly. Why you? His head started pounding again.
"Rodney?"
He looked up and saw Carson and Kate peering down at him worriedly.
"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Beckett said to the psychiatrist.
Kate opened her mouth to reply but Rodney broke in before she got a chance. "Can we leave now?" he snapped.
She exchanged a glance with Carson. "Sure, I'll talk to you later."
Beckett wheeled the chair through the door and into the corridor. Rodney was so deep in thought it took him a few minutes to realize they were going the wrong direction. "This isn't the way to the infirmary."
"No, I'm releasing you from the infirmary, with the understanding that I have not approved you for active duty. That means no working in your lab either," he said, palming the door control to Rodney's room and wheeling him inside. "You need to take it easy for the next few days." He put a steadying hand on the scientist' arm as he got up from the wheelchair, but McKay shrugged it off impatiently and took a seat on his bed unaided. Beckett handed him a glass of water and a couple of white tablets.
Rodney swallowed the pills without either comment or complaint, then swung his legs up on the bed.
"Just in case you're thinking about nipping off to the lab behind my back, you can forget it. All the scientists have been warned to report sightings of you to either Dr. Weir or myself… and we scare them a bit more than you do--believe it or not."
"Fine," Rodney sighed, lying back on his bed and shielding his eyes from the light with his forearm.
Beckett seemed both worried and perplexed by the scientist's amenable behavior. "I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast. If you need anything before then, just call." He pointed to the headset resting on Rodney's nightstand.
Rodney said nothing, just nodded his head without uncovering his eyes.
Suppressing a small worried sigh, Beckett dimmed the lights and left.
-o-
"Rodney, what are you doing?"
He looked at the hand clasping his wrist and then at the orange glass in his hand.
"I thought you said you were allergic?"
"Um…I am. He put Sheppard's glass down beside his own. "Sorry, I picked up yours by mistake."
"That's some mistake," said Sheppard, moving his glass to the other side of his tray. "You seem more distracted than usual, especially since you're not working on anything in the lab. When did Beckett say he would move you back to active status anyway?"
"I'm not sure, probably this week. I have to get a last check with him and meet with Heightmeyer."
Sheppard rolled his eyes. "I hate those mandatory psych reviews." He wiped up the last bit of mystery gravy-like substance from his tray with his biscuit and popped it in his mouth. "Just be a good boy and get it over with. We've got a planet to go visit if you're cleared by the end of the week. And if we don't go on that mission, I'll have no excuse to ignore the mounds of paperwork on my desk any longer," he quipped before downing the rest of the juice. He handed off his now empty tray to a mess hall worker who was passing by with a bus cart.
Rising to leave, Sheppard hesitated a moment, then gave Rodney's shoulder a quick, understanding squeeze. He knew how it felt. Hadn't two men died trying to bring back Iratus bug eggs to save him? Rodney paused, mid-chew but didn't acknowledge the contact or the subtle support it conveyed. It was fine. Sheppard hadn't expected him to. It wasn't Rodney's way.
-o-
Rodney sat on the couch in Kate's office. "It wasn't my fault."
"You've been saying that a lot lately."
"What's that supposed to mean?" the scientist asked, instantly on the defensive.
"I just wonder who you're trying to convince."
He crossed his arms defiantly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Kate sighed. "Colonel Sheppard seems to think you should be returned to active duty."
While Rodney knew part of Kate's evaluation would include discussions with Beckett, Elizabeth, and Sheppard, it still bothered him to know they talked about him behind his back. "Well, there you have it then," he said, managing to keep all but a hint of sarcasm out of his voice.
"He did mention something about suicide by citrus..."
Leave it to Sheppard to make this harder than necessary. "It was just a glass of juice." He was doubly glad he had hadn't mentioned his hallucination of Carter to anyone.
"Dr. Beckett is not as confident..."
"Yes, well, Carson in his mother hen mode…" he interrupted. He really didn't want to hear the physician's thoughts on his sanity.
"He finds your obedient behavior troublesome."
Rodney turned on the sarcasm full blast. "Oh, that makes perfect sense. I do as I'm told and therefore I'm crazy." The last word was accompanied with a wave of hands to either side of his head.
"We don't use that word, Rodney, I've told you that before."
"Mentally deranged, then, is that more to your liking?"
"No."
Was that a hint of anger in her eyes?
"Is it more to your liking?" she asked.
Touché. "I'm not deranged."
"I didn't say you were. But I do think you're hurting. You're not yourself."
"You're going to flunk me because I obeyed the instructions of the Chief Medical Officer?" he asked her, raising his chin in disbelief. "What would you like me to do, run screaming through the base, breaking everything in site?"
Kate seemed to consider that scenario for a moment. "No."
"'No, you're not going to flunk me' or 'no, you don't want me screaming through the halls'?"
She leaned back in her chair. "Tell me about the crash..."
"We've already been through this. The engine pods misfired and we went down, hard."
"That's not the part I'm interested in," said Kate.
Rodney winced, knowing what she wanted. "The windshield couldn't withstand the pressure and Griffin was caught in the implosion."
"You said that you and he moved to the back of the jumper," she prompted.
"Yes, but the door wouldn't close so Griffin...," he had to pause and swallow, "...Griffin went back into the front of the jumper to activate the bulkhead door." He stared intently at his hands as he picked at a cuticle, refusing to meet her eyes.
"Did you try to stop him?"
"Yes, of course I did!" he snapped, glaring at her angrily, but deep down he replayed the scenario in his mind and wondered if he had really tried as hard as he could have.
"Did you try to follow him?"
"Well, I um...I wasn't sure at first what he was doing..." Liar. Coward.
"Self-preservation can be a very strong instinct," she said mildly. "It wouldn't be unusual for someone to hesitate under those circumstances. You realize that if you had followed him, you'd both be dead?"
"Yes, of course. That's me, always thinking logically," said Rodney, his voice heavy now with sarcasm. "Are we done here? Because I have things to do." This was still too fresh, too painful. He needed it to stop and if it meant he was stuck on Atlantis indefinitely, so be it.
She studied him again, then seemed to reach a decision. "I'm clearing you for gate travel."
"Really?" Rodney couldn't keep the surprise from his voice. "Well, um…" He hastily stood before she could change her mind. "That's great," he said, already halfway to the door.
"Rodney…"
He closed his eyes briefly before turning back. Too slow. Too damn slow.
"It wasn't your fault. Maybe in time you'll believe that, too."
He stood there, his mouth gaping like a stranded fish.
"That's all. I'll see you next week for our follow-up," she said, turning her attention to the pad in front of her as she made a few additional notations.
Rodney closed his mouth and walked quietly out the door.
END
If that wasn't enough for ya, I highly recommend "Decompression: Take 2" by b7-kerravon. As it happens, we had a lot of the same ideas and our stories ran almost neck and neck for a bit but hers quickly diverged to become a lovely nine-chapter extravaganza of h/c.