The Puppet Master

Chapter Thirty Three - Egg Shells

Two days in the infirmary, the first for convalescence, the second for observation. McKay, restless, had earned a brief reprieve through good behaviour, though the unusual quiet owed more to plain exhaustion than nobility. He slept for hours after first waking, falling into a deep and dreamless state described by Carson as real rest, not the strange languish in his own subconscious of the past week. A sluggishness persisted, his muscles aching and a pain behind his eyes. His throat was dry and scratched from where Kezan had screamed himself hoarse, and a glass of water sat on a table beside his wheelchair. On the balcony outside the infirmary, McKay dropped his chin to his chest and enjoyed the sensation of sun against his skin.

"Ah. Here you are hiding."

Inwardly he groaned, refusing to move in response to the Czech's greeting. "Slip through Carson's defences, did we?"

"He did his best," Zelenka admitted, stepping out into the sun. "I think he protects you. Not to be bothered by queries."

He cracked open one eye to glare at the newcomer. "And you didn't get the hint?"

"You think the worst of me." Radek shook his head and gave a disappointed sigh. "Sunshine, Rodney. That is why I am here. This has best view in entire city." And McKay saw the Czech had brought something with him, a flat packed, plastic deckchair which he neatly snapped open and placed on the floor.

"Where did you get that?"

"Ways and means." Radek winked theatrically. "I come to sunbathe," he announced, dropping into the deckchair and stretching out his legs. "The labs are stuffy, no air, no vitamin D."

"You couldn't find your own balcony," McKay growled.

Radek ignored him, craning back his head and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "This has maximum exposure."

"As long as you're quiet."

"Of course."

Silence settled, but it was uneasy and not to last. McKay counted under his breath, one, two, three –

"I hear about your argument with Dr Heightmeyer."

He would have stretched out a hand to swat the Czech had he the strength. "It wasn't an argument."

"No? You shouted at her." Radek fluttered his fingers.

"She should have expected it," he defended himself, weakly.

Observation, it seemed, required an actual observer, but the minute Kate had appeared around the curtain she'd faced a barrage of sarcastic snaps and his blazing fury.

"Come to check on your lab rat?"

"Carson had to rescue her before you snap her in two."

"Hardly." Though he could not deny a pang of shame.

Radek shrugged. "Same effect. You will not make yourself popular with the nurses."

Stating the obvious, McKay thought. They walked on eggshells around him – even Beckett was giving him an unusually wide berth. It suited him, made it easier to keep up the pretence at normality if there was no one around to prod him into the truth.

He spent the hours curled up in the bed, his face turned to the wall. Since the treatment his emotions were intense and disturbingly close to the surface, and afraid of any small thing tipping him over he stayed silent, lids closed over hot eyes and fighting an intense pressure in his throat.

He hated himself for feeling so weak, and felt even worse for the outbursts of anger at Heightmeyer and Beckett.

"Lieutenant Ford told me you don't remember anything."

He wasn't stupid enough to think that anyone bought his story of amnesia, but he wasn't about to admit the whole truth, either.

"I remember pieces."

"Anything clear?"

Every hour, every second, he replied silently. Even when Kezan was asleep, he was awake and aware of nothing. A void, and his own frustrated thoughts. And now he knew why prisoners held in solitary confinement might scrawl on the walls in their own filth. A scream, clawing at the cage around him, driven mad with desperation, ready to rip himself apart just for someone to see and –

"Not much," he replied tightly, and closed his eyes. He felt a quiver run down his arm and clenched his hand into a fist.

Zelenka pretended not to notice. "It is interesting. Kezan was aware of you, it seemed."

His mouth was dry. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I theorize that it might have worked both ways. He was in your head and also, you were in his. But," and Radek gave another loose limbed shrug, "you do not remember. It is shame."

His mouth ran unchecked before he could stop it. "It wasn't mutual giving, if that's what you mean."

Zelenka raised an eyebrow. "I do not understand."

"He –" Rodney stopped, hugging his arms across his chest. "If he wanted something," he said, his voice steeled, "he would take it."

Radek's eyes flicked towards him, then away. "The plan to return him to the device. That was not the only thing?"

"No," and he stopped, because his throat had closed up.

No, it wasn't the only thing.

Twelve years previously he'd been attending a conference in England when a sudden cancellation left him holed up in his hotel room with nothing to do but watch children's television. He'd seen a game show, a strange, fantastical role-play cooked up with some cheap special effects. He remembered little of the game, but one image had struck him as particularly chilling – far creepier than its timing might suggest. As the player progressed through the levels, facing new challenges and meeting new foes, his or her lifeline would be depicted in a small image in the top right of the screen. First, a rough cartoon of a human face to depict full life. Then piece by piece, the skin would melt away, leaving two eyes bulging from a yellow skull. Then the skull would fracture, and come apart – the jaw bone first, then a piece from the forehead, floating away into the dark until all that remained were two large eyes.

And then even they were gone, and the contestant was dead.

Game over.

I ripped the memory from him

Piece by piece. And god, he had tried to fight him, to keep what he had as his and his alone, to maintain a sense of identity even as his very self fractured and fell apart, but now he wondered whether he'd lost…

"There is still the question," Zelenka continued, his tone thoughtful, "of what we do with Kezan now he is back in his, ah, box."

The words pulled McKay back to the present, and he shot a dark look at the Czech. "What do you think?"

Radek sighed. "I think that he once was human, and he has the right to be treated as such, no matter what. But I am not the one who decides."

"No." He turned his head away, looking out across the ocean, and changed the subject. "Thank you."

"For?"

"You know what."

"Ah." McKay imagined Radek was grinning. "My trip to the unknown?"

"Hardly that."

"But I risked life and limb, yes? The cliff almost came down."

"So I heard."

"Unsettling. But I am hero."

He smiled, and surprised himself. "Don't let it go to your head."

"No. There is only room for one ego in the department."

He didn't rise to it.

"When do you return to work?"

"A week." He might have protested, had he any desire to, but moving any great distance was an effort, and his head felt muddled, unable to concentrate on any one thing for long. McKay decided for once, Beckett was probably right.

Not that he was about to admit it.

He still appreciated Zelenka asking, however. It was a small, welcome step back to reality, and in work he hoped to bury all memory of the past week.

"I heard there was almost a coup."

Zelenka scoffed, shaking his head. "Kavanagh."

He grimaced. "I can imagine the rumours." McKay, finally cracked, gone potty, padded cell and straitjacket, always knew it, hadn't he said?

"He takes any opportunity to seize power," Radek explained, "but he cannot lead if no one will follow. You are more appreciated, Rodney, than you might think."

He shivered, and tried not to think of the past, pressing his hands hard against his chest.

"Still out here?"

Beckett had come through the doorway and now stood behind the two men, looking down at Zelenka in surprise. "Radek."

Zelenka yawned, and stretched his arms above his head, looking up into the sky. "The sun has gone," he said, with great disappointment. "It may rain."

"It's always raining," McKay pointed out.

"It only seems that way. It is a great optical illusion to keep us working all hours." He pushed himself up from the chair and then folded it neatly away. "I will find somewhere else," he told McKay, nodding a greeting at Carson.

"Good. You can leave me in peace."

"See?" the Czech said, with a note of wicked delight. "That is why you are favourite among the department chiefs, Rodney. So welcoming."

"Hah hah. Go back to work before Kavanagh really does stage a revolution."

He saw Zelenka grin, and heard him whistling a familiar theme as he departed.

Leaving McKay alone with Beckett.

"Les Miserables?" Beckett guessed.

"'Do you hear the people sing.' It's an in-joke."

"Oh," said Carson, clearly confused. "It's cold out here," he added, pointedly. "I want you inside, Rodney."

"In a minute," he retorted irritably, intense pain bursting across the back of his eyes.

He listened to Carson shift nervously. "Alright. A little while longer."

And he hated it. He hated the way that Beckett agreed to his wishes to the point where it was in danger of interfering with his recovery, with Carson taking the most thinly veiled of lies as the truth. He hated the way that both Carson and the entire medical staff were tiptoeing around him as though afraid the slightest wrong word could tip him over the edge and he'd shatter.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall…

"Rodney –"

McKay sighed, irritably. "Look, Carson, how many times do I have to say it? You did what you thought was best."

"But –"

"And you had no way of knowing otherwise." He rolled his eyes, and said in words what he could not yet grasp in their whole. "I'm not telling you this because I'm getting horrendously sentimental. It's simple fact."

"God forbid," Beckett muttered, with a tinge of relief in his voice.

"Yes, well…" McKay drifted, looking away. All the kings horses…"Anything else is my problem, and I'm dealing with it, okay?"

Carson gave him a weak smile. "Can't do any better than that, I guess."

He nodded, his throat burning. Stretching out, his hand trembled, the glass he touched rattling against the table, and he set it down quickly, sloshing water across its surface. He drew his hand across his forehead shakily and closed his eyes.

"Rodney."

He felt Carson's touch on his shoulder, and pulled his arm back without thinking, bumping against the table. Opening his eyes, McKay saw guilt flash across his friend's face, an uncomfortable look masked quickly by professional concern.

But not quickly enough.

"Sorry," McKay rushed. He tugged at his fingers, tapping a nervous rhythm against his palm.

Couldn't put Humpty…

"Rodney…." Carson stopped, lost for words.

"I'm sorry. I'm…" He bit his lip, repeated softly, "sorry. You did what you thought was best, Carson."

"I was wrong," his friend replied sadly. He took a step towards the edge of the balcony. "You've got every right not to trust me, Rodney."

He shook his head too quickly, spots dancing before his eyes. "I'm just, ah, not feeling quite myself. It's the treatment. Like you said, it'll wear off." He rubbed at a spot on the back of his palm, digging his fingers under the bandages, then stopped with a slight sense of horror when he realised Beckett was staring.

"Rodney –"

He snapped. "You don't have to keep watching me anymore. I can cope."

Beckett raised his hands defensively. "I know you can." He hesitated again, while McKay studiously avoided his gaze, his fingers rubbing impulsively against the cloth on his hand.

Then Carson took a breath and resumed his doctor persona as though nothing had happened. "Just make sure you don't get too cold, and I'll have someone bring you in for your dinner. I still think you should see –"

"No," McKay said, sharply. "I'm not seeing her. I don't need to."

"If not her, then who?"

"I don't need to talk to anybody. I don't even remember anything."

And there it was, the lie that everyone seemed so eager to step around.

He heard Carson sigh heavily. "Alright." Then there were footsteps as the doctor returned to the door.

McKay continued to sit, leaning forward to push his head into his hands. He called out, his voice muffled: "Carson."

He heard the footsteps stop.

"I'm getting there." It was the best he could manage, weak and feeble, but at least, he reasoned, it was better than nothing.

He heard Carson give another sigh, this one soft and sad. "Stay wrapped up."

The door closed on him, leaving McKay under the clouds, still hunched over in his chair. He whispered to the ocean: "Sleep. Not overly likely, Carson."

To close his eyes and be so terrified of never waking up again…

He stared at the glass of water and extended one finger towards it slowly, giving it a small push. Then watched with abstract fascination as it tumbled from the table and smashed onto the floor.