McKay
If 'you can never do anything right' was my father's favorite expression, 'you're stupid', was his mantra. It didn't matter how hard I tried or how many different ways I did something, it was never right. My life was some cruel game where the rules were forever changing and I never allowed to know what they were.
Then one morning out of the blue, when I was six years old, my mother shook me awake and told me to get dressed. She shoved a Poptart in my hand and dragged me outside into a crowd of other kids. "You're starting school today," was all she said before leaving me there. When the bus arrived, I got on with all the other kids and when it reached the school, I got off and followed them inside. From there, they all went in different directions into different rooms; soon the hall was empty of everyone except me.
You probably think I crawled off into some bathroom and had myself a good cry, but you're wrong. I stood perfectly calmly in the hallway - abandoned, ignored, and with no idea what the rules were - home sweet home.
I heard the clacking of heels and steeled myself as a teacher came around the corner. She paused, a little surprised, I think, to see me. "Is your name Rodney McKay?" she asked, kindly.
"Yes." I studied her with frank curiosity. She was wearing a pink dress with small white polka dots and her whispy blond hair was cut short, making her look like a picture of a pixie I'd once seen. What caught my attention though, were her eyes. She had the bluest eyes I'd ever seen - a light, clear, sky blue.
She half knelt on the floor to be at my level. "I'm Miss Mims, your first grade teacher," she said; and then she looked me in the eyes. It was the first time that anyone had ever looked at me like that - like I was real, like I mattered, like I was a person. I felt a tremor go through my body as my soul sang with this new experience.
"Damnit, Rodney, wake up."
I opened my eyes and found myself in the arms of John Sheppard; a thoroughly disconcerting experience until I realized that his hold was all that was keeping my head above water. I struggled to sit up but had to pause as a tremor shook me.
"Are you okay?"
You know the expression 'there's no such thing as a stupid question'? Well it's not true.
"That all depends on how you define 'okay', Major. If by 'okay' you mean that I'm currently in a race to see if I drown or freeze to death and that I've just been electrocuted; then yes, I'm okay, thanks." He ignored my corrosive wit. He was good at that. Better than anyone else, in fact. The man was practically acid-proof. I managed to gain my feet and give him a hand up.
I had already drowned once, according to the 'other' Weir. Putting aside the thought that fate may have decided on my mode of death and that there was nothing I could do about it, I returned to the door controls.
The water was fast approaching our waists and I was no closer to opening the door than I had been a few minutes ago. Panic was starting to creep in, making it difficult for me to concentrate. Another painful tremor went through my body and I lost my grip on the crystal I had been trying to manipulate. I felt Sheppard's hand on my shoulder as he gave it an encouraging squeeze. It calmed me, which was surprising. Most people wouldn't dare broach my carefully cultivated prickly exterior with physical contact. I was fully aware of it and I liked it that way. There had been no hugs in my house. No one kissed your boo-boos. Mostly you got jerked around by the arm or received an occasional smack or shove. If you were lucky, no one touched you at all.
"Come on, McKay. We haven't got all day." Sheppard gave the comments a sing-song quality.
"Quiet!" There, I had my fingers on it. It slid in with a smooth click and the door finally opened with a sigh and a gush of water. I gave him a smug smile.
"Your parents must be so proud," he quipped.
"Would that have been my alcoholic father or my religious zealot mother?" I asked.
Sheppard seemed taken aback. I'm not sure if he was more shocked by the comment or the fact that I let him see through a chink in my armor. I was a little surprised myself and chalked it up to all the freshly fried neurons floating around in my brain.
It took some more of what Sheppard insisted on calling 'fiddling' to get the door closed but it finally slid shut with a click and a splash.
I reached out my left arm in invitation, snapping my fingers at him when he didn't move fast enough to suit me.
"What's your hurry?" He asked, swinging his right arm around my shoulder for support.
"I'm cold, wet and hungry and … oh yeah, that door we just came though wasn't reinforced. I have no idea how long it will hold."
"Oh. Okay, then."
We limped down the hall. After about fifty feet, we came to a wall intercom. I tried it for several minutes without success, even going so far to dismantle the thing before giving it up as a lost cause. A bit later we found another, with the same result.
"We heard Weir earlier," Sheppard said, puzzled.
"Before half this section flooded," I reminded him. "Some of the communication system pathways must have been damaged." I leaned my forehead against the cool wall, discouraged.
"Now where?"
"I'm not sure." I gritted my teeth against the latest spasm. It left me feeling lightheaded and a little sick.
"McKay?"
"I'm fine."
"Really? 'Cause I could swear you're not."
"You know what they say," I determinedly swallowed down the nausea, "It's not the voltage that gets you, it's the amps."
"I thought ancient technology didn't use standard electrical current?"
"I was just being facetious, Major."
He let it go. What else could he do?
"What are the chances the transporters work on this level?"
Still leaning against the wall, I turned my head slightly so that I could make eye contact with him. "Oh, probably about as good as you beating Teyla in a fair fight." That earned me a wry grin and a look that promised dire consequences later. I gave him my shoulder again and we continued up the corridor.
"I'm sure I remember seeing an access ladder on the plans for this level." I looked doubtfully at his splinted leg. "Do you think you can climb?"
"You find the ladder and I'll climb it," he promised, as we headed off in what I hoped was the right direction.
As we continued down what seemed like endless passageways, I found my mind wandering back to Ms. Mims. Funny, I hadn't thought about her in years - one good zap and suddenly I'm remembering it like it was yesterday. At least it was one of the few good memories from my childhood. It was probably the happiest year of my life, actually. Larks sang in parks with sharks that made sparks. And math, I reveled in math! It had clear rules that never changed, and if you followed them you were always right. There was even a field trip to the public library. Everyone choose a book, mine was on the solar system. When I got home that day I was so excited, I couldn't stop talking about it. I should have known better. My father grabbed the book out of my hand and threw it across the room. "Shut up, stupid."
I gathered up my battered prize and returned it to my teacher the next day at recess. She pulled some glue out of her desk drawer. "You can help me fix it." When she asked me what happened, I told her. She put her hand on my face and gave me another one of those soul-searching gazes. "Rodney, you are smart and anyone who says differently is wrong. Don't you dare believe them, ever!"
That summer I did little odd jobs for the neighbors just to earn bus fare so I could go to the library and lose myself in books for hours at a time. I did it almost every day. It was my escape.
"Behold our escape."
"What?" I asked, jerking my thoughts back to the present.
"I said 'behold our escape'," repeated Sheppard. He was pointing towards the ladder as if he had built the thing himself.
"Are you sure you can climb that?"
"Absolutely!"
I looked at him, unconvinced.
"Rodney, I'll climb the damn thing with my teeth if I have to if means we can get out of here."
I waved him ahead. If he slipped, I wanted to be in a position to do something and that meant I needed to be below him. He looked like he might argue the point, but to my relief he grabbed a rail and began to pull himself up. I followed a few rungs behind as we began our steady, if somewhat slow, climb to the top.
The second grade didn't start out nearly as well. I was always getting in trouble for not paying attention in class. I became something of a regular in our principal's office. She had developed this funny little sigh whenever she saw me, "You again, Rodney."
"Yes, Mrs. Ross."
"What are we going to do with you?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Ross."
"Sit here," she said, pointing me to the couch in her office and handing me a sheet of paper, "and take this make-up test."
I did as I was told. It took me about five minutes. I walked up to her desk and handed it to her.
"Rodney," again with the sigh, "Go sit down and finish."
"But I am finished, Mrs. Ross." She looked at the paper and did a double-take, just like I'd seen in cartoons. "Why don't you go play outside, Rodney?"
That was new. Not once had the principal told me to go play after being sent to her office. In fact, it was usually the opposite, having to sit in the secretary's office quietly during recess. I stayed outside half the day. No one ever came to tell me to go back to class. Finally the busses arrived and I went home.
The next day, Mrs. Ross was waiting for me outside my classroom. "Come with me, Rodney." I thought I was in trouble for the previous day's extended recess; but instead, she took me to a small room with six empty desks. "Sit here," she told me, indicating the first desk. I did as I was told. She put a small booklet on the desk in front of me and handed me a pencil. "I want you to take this test and it's okay if you don't know all of the answers." I looked at her curiously but that was apparently all the information I was going to get. I opened the book and worked my way though. I didn't know all the answers, but I knew a lot of them. When I was done, she took the booklet and told me I could go play again; and again, no one came to get me.
The next day started out pretty much the same way with Mrs. Ross waiting at my classroom door and shuffling me off to the tiny classroom. Today's test was more fun though, shapes and numbers and patterns and all manner of strange things. I gloried in it. When I was done, I dutifully handed it to her and went out to the playground to wait for the bus.
That evening, my parents got a call from the school. Later, at dinner, my father beat the crap out of me for dropping a folk. Within a few days, Ms. Ross took me aside and explained that I would be in a new class with older students.
"McKay?"
I realized I had stopped climbing. "Yes, Major?" Funny, looking up the ladder was even more dizzying than looking down. I tried to focus on the rung in front of me.
"Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine. I just need a minute to catch my breath."
"Almost there," he said encouragingly.
At the top was a hatch, which thankfully opened easily. We sealed it behind us, just in case; though it was pretty obvious we had to be above sea level by now. A short search led us to another intercom.
"Third time's a charm?" Sheppard asked hopefully, sagging against the wall as I released him. His face was etched with pain. All this activity hadn't done his leg any good.
I leaned against the wall tiredly and hit the intercom control, "Hello? Can anyone hear me?"
A long moment of silence followed and I felt my heart sink. I closed my eyes feeling dejected and exhausted. They snapped open when we received a sudden static-ridden reply, "Rodney?"
"Oh, thank God! Elizabeth?"
"Rodney, are you okay? Is Major Sheppard with you?"
"Present and accounted for," he replied wearily into the intercom but he was grinning at me. It was infectious and I found myself grinning back like an idiot.
There was no mistaking the relief in her voice. "Where are you? The biosensors are down in that whole section of the city..."
When my father died, I was in my freshman year of college. I never shed a tear and it didn't even occur to me to attend the funeral. The other lab techs seemed to think I was cold and callus; I'm pretty sure my sister agreed with them. Imagine what they would have thought of me the following summer if they had known I wept for days after receiving a newspaper clipping from my old principal, Mrs. Ross: Helena Mims, 36, killed by a drunk driver…
