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The Puppet Master

Chapter Five - Kate

During career fairs in her college years there had been a number of opportunities open to a recent psychology graduate. Schools, hospitals, further study, private practice. She'd picked the military, much to the shock of her peers, though less so of her parents. And she enjoyed the work, found it both stimulating and challenging. Under Doctor MacKenzie she had learnt of the SGC's existence, and she wasn't surprised when he'd put her name forward for the Atlantis mission.

Outside of her office Kate was rarely surprised.

It came as no great shock either when McKay failed to turn up to his scheduled appointment. It wasn't the first time and she knew it would not be the last, but it had been almost three weeks since she'd seen the scientist professionally, making it five since the nanovirus almost killed him.

She'd been busy that week.

Choosing wisely to not ask any of his colleagues, Kate instead called up the science department log of recent jobs and picked the one furthest from the city centre. The transporters on the outer piers had been disabled in an effort to save power, giving her a twenty minute 'stroll' before she reached his location. Found him alone, sat beside a console, its guts spread across the floor.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him sit, his back turned slightly towards her, idly rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb. He was silent, gaze fixed on the window. It seemed alien to see such quiet solitude from a man normally so full of energy, ideas spilling from a body that couldn't contain them. It set off alarms, already sensitive given recent events and his prolonged absence.

Kate coughed, deliberately. "Doctor McKay."

There was a slight pause before he turned, and she caught a glimpse of his face. A strange, haunted expression. Grey circles highlighted beneath dark eyes, mouth pinched tight and tired, cheeks sunken. Then he blinked and the shadows fled, though the haggard look remained.

For a moment, Kate wasn't sure whether the man before her was the Rodney McKay she knew.

"Dr. Heightmeyer."

"Kate," she admonished. "I'd like to think ours wasn't a merely professional relationship."

He considered her for a moment, seemingly indecisive, before his gaze dropped to the console. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged, casually. "Out for a stroll."

It wasn't supposed to be a successful lie. He snorted. "Let's try again. What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same thing. We had an appointment."

"Oh." His turn to shrug, and gesture at his work. "I must have forgotten. I was caught up in things."

"Seems to be a bad habit."

He looked confused. "The briefing this morning," she explained. "I heard Dr Weir calling for you over the comm. system. You were late."

"Only by a couple of minutes."

"Apparently not for the first time."

He glanced at her, a frown creasing his forehead. "Elizabeth been telling tales?"

"You don't have to be qualified to hear the frustration in her voice." She took several steps towards him. "And what about our meeting? This isn't the first time you've cancelled on me, Rodney."

His restraint seemed to snap. "Well in case you haven't noticed, my department's been a little short staffed recently. I've been busy."

"Fine," she said, keeping her voice cool. "Do you have time now?"

He gestured at the console again. "What do you think?"

Fine. Two could play at this game. "I think that we'd be wasting time going to my office when here seems secluded. And I would hate to note in your record that you've been deliberately avoiding me."

There was a long silence as McKay glared at her, chin lifted in resolute defiance before dropping under her gaze. "Fine," he growled. "Take a seat."

She dropped into a seated position several meters away, drawing her legs under her. "Is there a reason for your choice of location?"

He looked up at her, suspicious. "It needs fixing."

"You could have sent someone else."

"And have them screw up? Better to do it myself." Another glare. If looks could kill Kate imagined she would be little more than a stain on the floor. "Is there a time limit on this little chat?"

She ignored him. "How have you been sleeping?"

McKay rolled his eyes. "Fine. Peachy."

Knowingly: "Ah." And if she'd had a notebook she would have doodled on it.

A scowl. "I sleep. Not as much as I'd like."

"You used to say you had no problem getting to sleep."

"It's staying asleep that's the problem." He shook his head and rose in a quick, jerky movement. Started pacing, the thumb of his left hand running over the right repeatedly.

"You've been dreaming?" she asked, watching him pace.

"Full marks to the doctor." He was studying the floor, head bent down so his chin almost touched his chest.

"Of anything in particular?"

"You tell me. Is there something I should be dreaming about?"

"Oh," she kept her tone casual. "Earth. The Wraith. The Ancients. Past missions. Colleagues lost. Stop me if I'm getting warm."

He snorted. "I thought you were supposed to be good at this. Looking into people's heads, that's what you do, right? Bet you can't see into mine." Paused and glanced at her quickly. "You ever think you were supposed to be someone else?"

She paused before answering, taken aback by the question. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"No, of course you wouldn't." He resumed his pacing and study of the floor. His assault on his right hand grew in ferocity. "Thinking you weren't supposed to be here. It feels wrong. Alien."

It was a thought expressed by a substantial section of the Atlantis crew but not one she thought she'd hear from McKay. She had always found him to be enthusiastic about the mission, even back in Antarctica, and was one of the few who had no regrets over his leaving of Earth. Still, she offered: "It's a common emotion, Rodney. You're not alone in feeling it."

He shook his head. "Not like this. It's different for me. You wouldn't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

More pacing, increasing, and a developing stutter, fumbling over his words. "Like waking up as someone else, and knowing nothing. But people expect things. Demand things, and ask questions, and I don't know what to say. Don't have a clue. He calls me Answer Man. Hah!"

"Who?"

"Major Sheppard. He doesn't get it. I have all this knowledge in my head but it's trapped. Fix this, mend that, but I've never been good with my hands." His hands broke off their assault on each other for him to point at her. "Clumsy, my parents said. But they didn't get me either." Snorted. "Wanted to shut me up. Like they could."

She was growing increasingly alarmed by his behavior, by his frantic speech. By the thumb that was still digging into the flesh of his hand, nail first. "Slow down," she encouraged.

He shook his head violently. "Can't. There's too much going on. Sparking all the time. And you tell me to slow down!" He came to a sudden stop, turned to shout at her: "I can't control it, don't you get that?"

She drew a quick breath, realized she was actually pressing back against the floor, flinching. Had to force herself to relax, to look at him calmly. Saw a tremor wrack his body. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

He stared at her, and she saw his muscles tense, lines drawing in about his mouth and eyes. The mask pulling up. "I'm tired." And his voice was tight and controlled. "I'm sorry, doctor. You're right, I need some sleep." Grinned, and it looked macabre. "Carson says I can be as cranky as his grandmother." In several short, quick steps he had crossed the floor and swept all of his tools into their box, shutting the lid on the heap. "I'll send someone else to fix this."

She rose, and fought her reluctance to close the distance between them. "We should finish this discussion after you've had some rest."

He glanced at her, then back at the box, lifting it up with one hand. "Quite probably," he agreed, then headed for the door. Looked back briefly. "You know your way out?"

She nodded, and watched his departing back. Released a long, shaky breath.