Title: No Exit
Author: greatunironic
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: PG
Feedback: Sure.
Summary: Rodney gets himself in a jam. Carson comes to the rescue. With reinforcements, of course.
Etc.: The characters herein were smacked around into submission until they cried like little girls. Making fun of Rodney and Carson runs amuck, but I only do it out of love. Also, several references to Star Trek can be found. Premise from an episode of 'The Dick Van Dyke Show' and personal experience. Little bit of McKay/Beckett action, if you squint your left eye and move your head side to side.
THIS ISN'T HAPPENING.
This absolutely is not happening.
I refuse. I refuse to let this be happening.
I tug at my foot.
Okay.
It's happening.
You see, it would appear that I, Doctor Rodney McKay, renowned astrophysicist and all around really smart guy, have managed to get my big toe stuck in a faucet. I've been trying to pull it out, I really have, but it's just jammed in there. I'm stuck in a bathtub by my toe, and have been, for the past few hours.
At first, I was optimistic (despite the fact that some don't believe me to be capable of that feeling): someone was bound to come looking for me as I, being the genius that I am, am sought after by many a different person for many a different purpose. That plan got blown to hell after the first hour. Though, I'm still holding out some hope. I'm an important and smart guy; someone's going to need my input on something around here today.
Scratch that; it's about nine p.m. and I've been stuck in the bathtub since seven.
Still, I refuse to let go of hope (I'm giving myself another hour before I give into despair and start screaming for someone to come and get me the hell out of here). I mean, I've got a water source, so it's not like I'm about to die from dehydration. Sure, starvation will eventually off me, but I'm clinging to the thought that someone will come and get me out of here before I go that way. Plus, I've already almost been there. Though, I admit, it was exactly pleasant.
Being the scientific mastermind that I am, I do what every scientist stuck in this situation would do: I weigh my options. One, I can wait here until someone comes to get me and then have them release me; two, scream until someone comes to investigate; or three, slowly succumb to the depression that's threatening to engulf me and just waste away. I sigh. Either way, they'll find me in a bathtub with my toe stuck in the faucet covered with a towel. What's left of my dignity doesn't like these options. I'll wait.
But then, looking around my prison (which is actually pretty nice: there's a good shower with one of those nozzles that have all the different settings; a toilet; a tub, which I'm trapped in; some sort of towel stand, which was conveniently close to the tub I might add; and some nice cupboards and counters that I put some stuff in.), I realize I don't have to wait for someone to come get me. The Ancients, apparently, had thought to put a communications unit near the tub, in case some poor bastard got himself into the situation I'm currently in.
Now, I've got to think of whom to call. One thought pops into my head.
Carson.
Part of me says 'no'. He'll make fun of me. Call me names. Never let me forget this.
But then, he's the only person I actually feel comfortable with seeing me in this situation. Sure he'll make fun of me, but it's better than being found here by someone else. Carson's a doctor; he'll know what to do. Anyway, he's my best friend, and if you fell flat on your face, wouldn't you want to have done it in front of your best friend?
I press the button. One of the nurses answers.
"It's Doctor McKay. Get Doctor Beckett," I demand.
"Sure." She says sarcastically. The nurses don't like me much, but she walks away and gets him anyway. I am, however, sensing retribution in the form of the Big Needles next time I'm in the infirmary. Nevertheless, that is infinitely better than being stuck in a bathtub for the near future, so I figure I can stick it out. I wait a few moments and than Carson's on the line.
"What can I do for you, Rodney? You haven't burned yourself again, have you?"
I'd laugh (in a completely sarcastic manner, of course) but I'm a little stressed considering I've got my big toe stuck in a faucet.
"Are you alone?"
"Why?" He sounds apprehensive. I'm not exactly about to blame him.
"Just answer me, Bones."
"Not when you call me 'Bones'."
"Would you prefer Scotty?"
He gives a long suffering sigh. "Yes, I'm alone."
I explain the situation.
"You're what?" asks Carson. His tone indicates to me that he's understood perfectly well, but is finding this highly amusing.
"You heard me," I grind out.
I hear him laughing.
"It's not funny." I swear to God, I'm going to kill him when I get out of here.
He stops laughing. "You're right, I'm sorry. It's not funny." His voice sounds suspiciously tight. I narrow my eyes and hope my glare and utter displeasure can be felt through the comm unit. "Okay. Tell me. Is the toe beginning to change colours?"
"I can't really tell, as it's, you know, up a faucet currently. Why?" I ask. His voice isn't the tight one anymore; it's the doctor one. I'm slightly frightened.
"When I was a med student at Cambridge, my professor told out class about this girl got her finger stuck in one of those Chinese finger traps. If her finger had changed colours, they might have had to amputate it."
I try valiantly to look at my toe, panicking. Oh, God! I can't lose my big toe! That's the best part of the foot! I inform Carson of this.
"Calm down," he says, using the tone I'm sure he reserves for morons, small children, and apparently me when I'm reacting to certain situations. "I'm sure it's fine. I'll come down in a few minutes. You just, I don't know, hang in there."
He cuts off the line. I try to control my breathing. Carson is coming. He won't let me lose my big toe. Everything is going to be fine. I look at my foot and tug weakly at it. I'm going to be fine.
But what if he can't get me out? What if I'm stuck here forever and they have to bring me food and can never leave Atlantis and...
No, no, no.
Carson will get me out. He's smart and a good doctor and...freakishly accident prone.
I'm screwed.
IT TAKES FIVE minutes for Carson to get to my quarters. I know this because I counted. I counted because I needed to get my mind off all the rather horrifying situations I've created in my head.
At 300, the door to my bathroom slides open. Carson is there, with his hands on his hips in the classic comic book hero pose. He grins at me and announces in a very serious voice, "Have no fear, SuperCarson is here!" He puffs out his chest in a way I assume is supposed to be manly. If I weren't glad to see him, I'd be contemplating drowning and thinking of ways to mock him.
My emotions are obviously displayed on my face and he smiles even broader. It looks kind of psychotic, but then I shouldn't really be surprised. He is the man who cheerfully informed me that he was injecting non-FDA approved materials into my blood stream. Maybe I should have called someone else.
"Don't worry, Rodney," he tells me and I'm having a really hard time believing him on that one. My eyes widen at his next announcement and I'm left speechless.
"I brought reinforcements."
Horrified, I watch as Major Sheppard, Lieutenant Ford, and Teyla file into the room, one by one. I pull my towel closer to myself. There's an awkward silence as we all stare at each other. After a moment, Sheppard breaks the silence.
"Well, when the doc told me you were stuck in a bathtub, I was pretty sure he was pulling my leg."
The others just stand there. Carson's smiling his little sociopathic smile, Ford's grinning in a way that's probably a little less than sane, and Teyla has an expression on her face that clearly reads 'Stupid humans. How the hell did I manage to join up with these fools?'.
Carson comes up to the bath and examines my toe and the faucet very carefully. Then he grabs my ankle and pulls on it. He nods in an assured manner, looking slightly pleased with himself. He declares to the world in general, "That's definitely stuck in there."
"Thanks, Sherlock," I growl. I look at the others. "What are all of you doing here?" I snap.
"Curious," says Teyla. Ford nods so hard that I think his head might fly off, and then asks me, "Why did you take a bath in the first place?"
I blush. It's certainly un-manly.
"I had a hard day."
Ford raises an eyebrow and I give him my 'My-Brain's-Bigger-Than-Your-Brain' superior look and follow it up with a glare. He raises his other eyebrow.
"I thought I might need some help," Carson says. I give him a look that clearly states that I'll kill him for this when I get out of here. He just smiles. I sigh. Nobody takes me seriously around here, and I'm smarter than, like, everybody in this room! Carson looks at my foot again, before turning to the people behind him. "Could someone get me some butter?"
Ford starts for the door, and then pauses. He asks, "Do you want butter or margarine?"
Sheppard answers. "I think whatever we've got, Ford."
"Because they've both got—"
"We're going to free his foot, not bake cookies," Sheppard says with a raised eyebrow. Ford shrugs and leaves. Teyla, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, asks, "What about oil?"
Carson gets this look on his face that I'm not at all ashamed to admit would frighten me a little if I wasn't already so terrified of losing my toe and, you know, dying. He looks to Sheppard, who nods and leaves. Carson turns to smile approvingly at Teyla, who inclines her head. Carson looks back at me.
"We'll get you out of here in no time," he says.
"I think you may be putting too much faith in the magically powers of a stick of butter," I tell him, testily.
"For someone who is dependant for my help you are being quite snippy," he informs me.
"Fine, I'm sorry."
"And as for the butter," Carson says; "I once got my head stuck between the banisters of a staircase. My brother put some butter on my head and I slid right out of there."
I share a glance with Teyla. He was a little too comfortable with that admission. She sits down on the toilet seat; apparently, she's going to let me field this one, though I'm sure she wants to know the answer to my question as much as I do. I ask, "Why were you putting your head in between the stair banisters in the first place?"
"My brother dared me to."
I know I'm going to regret asking this but..."How old were you?"
"Eleven, I think. Bobby was fourteen."
At this point, Ford and Sheppard return. Ford is holding the butter and Sheppard's got the oil. He's also carrying a bag of chips. They hand off the supplies, barring the chips, to Carson, who looks at the chips curiously. Sheppard opens them and starts to eat. He shrugs at Carson's glance.
"I was hungry."
The pair sits on the floor and watch as Carson smears butter on my foot. I have to admit, that this is one of the weirdest situations I've ever been in. I look up at Carson while he puts the butter on my foot, catching his eyes.
"We never speak of this again," I mutter. He winks at me and I have no doubt that the entire base will have heard about this by tomorrow. I'm doomed.
He finishes with the butter. "Try to pull now."
I comply. After a few minutes of vain attempts at pulling, I sigh. "Still stuck."
Carson unscrews the bottle of oil and pours it all over my foot. I try pulling again. With no avail, of course. I sigh, lean back, and bang my head on the edge of the tub. They listen to me bang my head a few times and then Carson slides his hand under my forehead.
"You're going to give yourself a concussion," he says gently. I sigh; I know they're trying but this situation is slowly becoming impossible.
Sheppard suddenly sits up and announces, "I've got an idea."
With that, he bounds out of the bathroom.
Teyla stays sitting on the toilet. I watch her for a few minutes. She doesn't blink. I think she might be sleeping with her eyes open. If she is, that's a really neat trick and she should try doing it at parties. I move my head and realize it's still resting on Carson's palm. I lift it, slightly embarrassed, and look over at Ford.
"Bring me the chips," I demand. He tosses the bag to me. They fall into the tub. I swear profusely and creatively. At this, Teyla finally blinks and Ford looks apologetic. Carson just laughs. He, apparently, is not content to sit still while we wait for Sheppard to return and starts to go through my cabinets. He soon emerges with a sponge and a thing of soap scum cleaner, which I'm not sure why it's here. I narrow my eyes as he comes over.
He leans over me and sprays some of it on the tile above my head. Then he wipes it away. Carson's about to continue when I ask, "What are you doing?"
"Cleaning your bathtub."
"With me in it?"
He smiles, looking apologetic. "Sorry. I have this thing about soap scum. I see it and just need to clean it."
"That's nice," I say, "but could you possible wait until I'm free to clean?"
"Sure," he says, looking a little disappointed. I worry about him, I really do. We sit there for a moment and then Sheppard returns, with an object that causes our mouths to drop in sheer horror.
He has a chainsaw.
Oh my God.
A chainsaw.
John Sheppard is carrying a chainsaw.
"What are you doing with that?" If I wasn't so worried about the fact that Sheppard is carrying a chainsaw, I'd be embarrassed that my voice just cracked like I was fourteen.
He gives one of Carson's psychotic grins and declares, "I'm going to cut the faucet a few inches away from your toe, there by freeing you. We can get the rest off later."
"No. You are not going anywhere near him while holding that," Carson says firmly as puts himself in between me and the chainsaw wielding maniac. He's such a good friend. Willing to put himself between me and a crazy man with power tools. I make a mental note to find him something nice to play with next time we're off world. Maybe a Wraith foot...
Teyla is looking at Sheppard warily and apparently sees fit to remind us of Sheppard's last escapade with a pointy object.
"You were forbidden of using sharp and/or pointy objects when you nearly blinded Lieutenant Ford with the letter opener, Major Sheppard."
Ford rubs his eye.
"He was fine," declares Sheppard confidently.
"I had blurred vision for twenty minutes."
"You got better."
"You're still not going near Rodney with that," Carson says. "I've seen what you can do with non-blunt objects."
"Oh, come on," Sheppard says; "that letter opener didn't have any grip. This has a safety no-slip grip."
"Yes, well, Rodney should be perfectly safe, then," Carson mutters.
"Uh, guys?" I say. They ignore me and Teyla asks Sheppard, "Where did you get that?"
"Some of the engineers loaned it to me."
He takes a step towards the tub and Carson pushes him back.
"No," he states firmly, getting that pissy look he wears when someone won't follow his medical advice. Sheppard apparently recognizes it as well and backs down. He sighs and mutters, "Well, when we can't get him out, don't come to me to free him." He stalks out of the room, chainsaw in tow. We're silent for a while and then Sheppard comes back in, sans chainsaw.
"Could we get back to the situation at hand?" I ask. "There's a guy with his big toe up a faucet that would like to get out. His foot's covered in butter and vegetable oil and his in a tub with rapidly cooling water and soggy chips."
There's silence until Sheppard breaks it with, "We need a new plan."
Carson and I share a look. Carson turns to Ford and Teyla, "Pizza?"
"Sounds good to me," says Ford. Teyla nods her head and says, "I enjoy pepperoni."
I take a moment to wonder when Teyla had pepperoni pizza. Then I realize that Sheppard's already shown her football so I'm not too surprised that she'd like pepperoni pizza.
Sheppard sighs and says, "That's not the kind of plan I had in mind."
"Well, we can get pizza and think while we eat so we don't die from manly hunger," Ford says. He, apparently now designated as errand boy, gets up and goes to get the requisite booty.
This is going to be a really long night.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Ford arrives with two pizzas. We all sit (well, those of us not attached to pieces of Atlantis's plumbing sit; I stay in the tub, because it's not like I'm going anywhere else right now), and eat. Teyla is still on the toilet and Ford and Sheppard are leaning against the cabinets. Carson is sitting to the edge of the tub with one hand free. I think he's there to stop me from trying to drown myself.
We finish the pizzas and it's silent as we try to think of ways to free me. I've got to say that this is one of the more awkward moments of my life, sitting here.
Suddenly, the door to my bathroom slides open and Dr. Weir walks in, obviously angry.
"So, I've been hearing tale of Lieutenant Ford getting pizzas and Major Sheppard carrying a chainsaw through the halls. What the hell is going on?" I fight the urge to whistle. She's getting almost as good as Carson when it comes to the pissy look.
Sweeping a look over us, her gaze stops on me. I wave my fingers.
Carson, being the good guy that he is, explains what has happened. She doesn't look too surprised which compels me to tell inform her of what Carson did as a child. She just keeps looking at me with the unsurprised face, now widening her glance to encompass Carson as well. I can tell this isn't going to be a good day for our self-images.
"Have you tried Vaseline?" she asks after a moment of silence. We all look at each other and then shake our heads. "It works," she declares. Then she leaves. I'm guessing she's going to go find herself a nice, stiff drink. I know that's what I'll be doing after this is over.
"There's some in the infirmary," Carson says after she's gone. Ford gets up to go find it.
Sheppard breaks the silence that has descended upon us as we wait.
"Wonder how she knows."
"Probably from experience," Carson says thoughtfully.
We sit in silence for the next ten minutes, waiting for Ford. I look at everyone. These are some pretty good people, I think. They've just given up a better part of their evening to sit here, watching a man in a bathtub. I think that statement over and amend my earlier thoughts.
They may be good people, but they're a little crazy.
Ford comes back in, holding the tub of Vaseline out in front of him like a precious relic. Sheppard snickers. Carson takes it from him and proceeds to pull off the lid. He carefully puts it on my toe and in between the faucet. He gently starts to turn my foot back and forth, working at pulling my foot out. He's got this really concentrated look on his face, like this is the most important thing in the world.
It's kind of attractive.
Before I can think of where that came from, my toe comes free. Ford cheers, Teyla looks pleased, and Sheppard declares, "Thank God that's over!" and shakes Carson's hand. Ford, done cheering, locks around the room and says, "I think we need some cigars." Teyla looks curious.
"What is a cigar and why would we need some?"
"It's an Earth custom. Usually, after a woman gives birth, the men go and smoke cigars with the father in congratulations."
"Ah."
I ignore them as I wiggle my toe about, glad to be free.
"Thanks," I tell Carson.
"Anytime," he says. "Just, do me a favor. Don't come to the infirmary anytime soon alright?"
I grin. He hands me a towel and I look at the rest of my team. "Could you all please leave?"
Everyone nods, gets up, and heads to the door. Sheppard comments as they leave, "After four long hours, the hostage situation ended. The victims said they thought that it would never end and one sarcastic man commented that he 'considered drowning himself in his bathwater just so he wouldn't have to be here one more minute'."
We all laugh and they leave the bathroom.
I yell after them, "Thanks!"
I look at Carson, who still stood there. "I meant you too, Bones."
He smiles. "Better than 'Scotty', anyway. And, anyway, I thought that this might've, you know, brought our friendship to a new level or something."
"Get out. Now."
"Yep," he says, leaving.
"And Carson?" I call after him.
"Yeah?" He turns around to look at me.
"Seriously. I'd kind of like this not to be spread around."
He smiles and leaves, but not before muttering, "Fat chance of that happening."
I think I'll still get him a Wraith foot.