NOTES: Rodney has his say. Some might find it offensive, so consider yourselves warned. It's not a happy fic--beware, McWeir fans. PurpleYin, thank you for betaing this.
DISCLAIMER: Stargate: Atlantis and all things associated with it belong to other people.
SPOILERS: through The Siege, Part III
RATING: T
JUST FRIENDS
TRASH
The battle with the Wraith had left Dart wreckage and structural damage all over the city. Anything large and intact enough to be worthy of study had already been hauled into a spare room near the main laboratories, but there was plenty of junk yet to be dealt with. Despite that they only used a fraction of the city, for structural and security reasons a cleanup had begun. Elizabeth was opposed to merely tossing everything into the sea. She argued the Ancients must have had a means of dealing with this sort of thing, so Rodney had been told to come up with another solution.
The next day found him on his knees, waist-deep in the optic cable innards of a particular floor panel he hoped would give him the solution to his trash transport problem. Behind him was piled a collection of bits and pieces ranging from fist-sized rubble to mangled Dart nosecones. He'd instructed it all be brought to this platform near the West Pier because he believed that from this location he could access an industrial waste disposal system. According to schematics, there were three in the city. This one was the closest to several crash sites and seemed to be in the best repair, though the control device on the far side of the heap had proved uncooperative. If he could figure out how it worked, then he should be able to fix the others.
Dr. Peter Grodin had discovered the standard waste system they were currently using, but Peter was gone, destroyed along with the Ancient defensive space platform that had been detected by another deceased colleague. Even after the battle with the Wraith, there were still more civilian than military deaths among those who had come with the original expedition. Sure, the academics had outnumbered the Marines three to one, but no one had imagined just how hazardous working in Atlantis would be. Rodney had put himself in the path of danger often enough, however reluctantly, yet he was still alive. How had so many others who should have been safe have died, despite the risks he'd taken? Pausing in his work, Rodney took a drink from the water bottle he'd brought along and ran through an exercise Dr. Heightmeyer had taught him. Dwelling on the deaths that way just made him feel guilty, and guilt was unproductive.
Programming and practical issues had never been his forte; they'd been Peter's. Returning to his task, Rodney swore under his breath, feeling damned for having to deal with this himself, even though he had chosen to do it with the intent of escaping from Elizabeth's attempts to contact him in person. It wasn't the first time Rodney had cursed the fates for Peter's loss, and he suspected it wouldn't be the last. If Peter was alive, they'd have been done by now. Still, the work was out of doors, and the fresh air and fresh problem eventually began to work their magic on him. Rodney became so absorbed in his task, he didn't feel the pain that had been plaguing him for the past week, but he also didn't hear the footsteps approaching.
"Rodney?"
"Ah!" He jerked in surprise, nearly smacking his scull on the edge of the opening.
"Didn't mean to startle you." Elizabeth's tone held equal measures of amusement and apology.
He didn't want to talk to her. The sound of her voice was no longer enjoyable; all it did was cause his guts to churn and his heart to ache. Fortunately, all he'd had for breakfast was coffee and water, so chances were he wouldn't throw up, adding insult to injury. Being unprepared to be confronted face to face, alone, by the object of his misery, he felt panic rise along with his bile. Taking a deep breath, he ran through another of the exercises he'd learned from Dr. Heightmeyer, trying to figure out something to say. Apparently he took too long.
"Are you okay?" Was that concern, curiosity or both?
Regardless, he didn't want to answer. "What are you doing down here?" So what if it came out gruffly?
"I thought you could use some lunch." This was accompanied by the inviting sound of something being shaken in an MRE bag.
Poking his head out of his hole and glancing away from her, Rodney noted the shadows had all but disappeared; it was close to noon. Had he really been down there for four hours? No wonder she'd been able to find him.
"Since when have you been put in charge of food distribution? Don't you have something more important you should be doing?" Or someone more important you should be doing it with, he thought glumly.
"I could well ask you the same thing. The shields on the Daedalus need an overhaul yet you're working on a giant garbage disposal?"
"You asked to have it done."
Still he did not face her, so she tried moving into his line of view. He just reached for a tool and used the action as an excuse to turn away and duck his head back into the opening.
"I didn't ask for you to do it personally."
"I wanted to do it."
"Why?"
Half tempted to tell her, he restrained himself. "Look, thanks for coming down and everything. Why don't you just leave the MRE there? I'll get to it when I'm ready."
He could hear her step to the edge of opening, kneeling down to be at his level. Her proximity tore him in two--half of him savoring her closeness, the other cringing from the anguish of having her beside him but knowing she had fallen for someone else.
"Rodney," she said quietly, "when was the last time we had lunch together?"
Unwillingly, he remembered. It had been the day before the second mission to Dagan. They'd had onion soup, fresh baked bread and chopped salad with rice pudding for dessert. The thought of it made his heart sink and his stomach growl.
Elizabeth chuckled. "Sounds like it's time for lunch to me. Besides, when was your last break?"
In spite of his hunger, having her near made him nauseous, but since she seemed to have come expressly to talk with him, he knew his chances of getting her to leave were slim. So he switched tactics. "Fine. I'll eat. Then can I get back to work?" There was a whole ocean ten meters away; if need be, he could relieve himself of his lunch there after she'd left.
"It's a deal." He heard the smile in her voice. How could she smile when he was so miserable? "Why don't you come out of there?" She sat on the edge, dangling her legs into the hole. He'd always liked those legs.
With a sigh, he hauled himself out, sitting so he was at an angle instead of opposite her; that way, it would be easier to avoid looking her in the eye. Carefully setting his diagnostic computer and bottle of water on his right side, like a little barrier between them, he accepted the offered MRE with an unenthusiastic, "Thanks." It was a turkey sandwich with apple sauce and peanut butter crackers; all bland enough he might be able to keep it down. He started with the crackers.
"So how is it coming?" Elizabeth's question was accompanied by the pop of a bottle followed by a few swallows.
"What?" The idea of having a conversation with her was disconcerting enough, but he found he was almost too distracted by the reactions of his innards to pay attention.
"All this." Although he didn't look, he could tell she gestured to the mound of trash behind him. "You going to have this taken care of soon?"
Unable to decide which was more uncomfortable--talking or listening--he chose brevity. "Soon."
"Well, that's precise." It seemed she didn't approve of his answer.
This irked his professional pride. Irked was better than miserable, so he went with it. "I don't know, and I'm disinclined to guess. What do you want from me?"
"You know, the longer it takes to repair the Daedalus, the longer it'll be before we can gate back to Earth." He couldn't help but notice she hadn't answered his question.
"If you want me to stop this to work on the Daedalus, just say so." He bit into his sandwich with needless ferocity.
"I'm not saying you should stop-"
"Then what are you getting at?" Slamming his fist down, he accidentally activated his computer. As a result, he heard a quiet whoosh and felt himself falling backward into darkness. The falling ended quickly with a jarring thud, and Rodney discovered he was half covered in rubble on the floor of a large, dimly lit room--presumably the disposal's final destination. "Great. Just great." Hoping he wasn't about to be incinerated, he scrambled free of the debris. Some small part of himself was proud he hadn't been knocked out from the drop. "Elizabeth?"
"Over here," she coughed.
Unable to see her through the dust and piles of junk, he made his way in the direction from which her voice seemed to be coming. "You okay?"
"I think so." There was grunt followed by a clang of metal and the sound of sliding rubble. "OW!"
"What?"
"My ankle."
Rounding the shell of a Dart engine, Rodney spotted Elizabeth covered in dust, perched on an I-beam and pulling up her left pant leg. Her ankle was already swelling.
"Great. Just Great." He reached up to tap his earpiece only to remember he'd taken it off to avoid having to talk to anyone as he worked. While it was a reasonable practice in his lab, in hindsight, it might not have been the best idea for this project. Unable to recall where he'd last left it, he patted down his pockets to no avail. "I need your radio."
Raising her hand to her ear, she asked, "What happened to yours?"
"I don't know." It was at least half true.
Her eyes widened briefly. "Mine must have fallen out."
They searched around her as best they could only to unearth the broken-off receiver. Of course it couldn't be that easy. Raking his fingers through his hair in frustration, Rodney paced while going through one of the mental exercises that had become like a mantra for him. It didn't really help much, but it did keep some of the more panicked parts of his brain occupied.
"Okay, you take off your shoes and elevate that foot while I find the way out."
"Then we're...?"
"Inside the disposal? Yes." He could get through this if he just kept his mind on the problem.
"So why hasn't it...?"
"Zapped us into oblivion? I'm thinking it's sensing our life signatures, or mine at least. Ah!"
"What?"
"I found my computer and water bottle." Stuffing the little diagnostic computer into a pocket, he finished off the water and clipped the empty bottle to his belt. The computer would hopefully have recorded what he'd done to activate the trash transport system and make his hours of effort worthwhile, but he was more relieved to have recovered his bottle. Irrationally, he'd become rather fond of it. He found its deep aqua transparency soothing, and its constant presence reassured him. It had become a talisman of his quest for mental and physical health; to have lost it because he was talking with Elizabeth would have been a blow.
There was a door on the far side of the room. It took little effort to open, but he didn't hurry back, contemplating his options. There was no way of knowing if the room would activate once he left. So leaving Elizabeth while he went to bring back help was not an option, but the prospect of having to carry Elizabeth was causing his head to spin and his stomach to rebel. Still, it was the best course of action. Thank goodness he hadn't eaten much.
Taking off his jacket, he rolled it up and wrapped it around his waist. It wasn't as though he'd need it now that he was inside, and it would make the whole process a bit easier. After attaching her shoes to his belt, all that was left was getting Elizabeth on his back. He debated with himself between carrying one leg in each arm or clasping his hands beneath her rear, which would be easier. She had the audacity to chuckle in amusement at his awkwardness. Then again, she seemed oblivious to his feelings, so there was no reason for her to suspect the true impetus behind his discomfort. She was heavier than he'd imagined. The feel of her against him, of her arms around his neck brought tears to his eyes. It didn't matter; she couldn't see him. Maybe she never really had.
Once he'd worked his way around the piles of garbage and into the hall beyond, he paused to catch his breath and activate the door control with an elbow. The heavy bulkhead obediently slid shut with a quiet thud that was followed by a deep hum. The floor vibrated briefly, then all was still. Tapping the control again, the door opened to an empty room.
"Wow," she murmured in his ear.
It caused a thin, sharp pain to slice through his chest, and he shuddered in its wake.
"Are you okay?"
He didn't believe she wanted the real answer, so he made an affirmative-sounding grunt and started off in what he believed was the direction of the nearest transporter. By calculating pi in his head, he could almost ignore the stimulating sensation of her breath against his cheek.
They hadn't been on the move five minutes before she broke the silence. "Rodney?"
"Yes?"
"I've been meaning to talk to you." Her voice was cautious, unsure.
"And you think now, while I'm carrying you through the bowels of Atlantis, is the right time for this?" he huffed.
"It's about your attitude as of late."
"What of it?" He was pleased he'd managed to say it so offhandedly.
"You seem to be out of sorts, and it's making you difficult to work with."
"Because I'm usually such an easy going guy."
"I know it's been hard, what with losing Peter and Ford and-"
Oh, God. Was she trying to console him! "I've lost no more or less than anyone else." He sounded so sure that he could almost believe it himself.
"Yet you're the only one who has become a hermit." There was censure in her tone.
He refused to get defensive. "Has it affected the results of my work?"
"No, but-"
"Then I don't see the need to discuss it."
"Well, I do," she insisted. "You've got Zelenka doing most of your meetings."
"He needs practice for when I'm away." How reasonable that sounded.
"That doesn't explain why you're almost constantly off the radio these days."
"I've been tired." Yes! That was the perfect excuse. "There's still so much to be done, and I'm finding it easier to concentrate without constant interruptions. Anything that really needs my attention gets to me whether I'm on the comm or not."
"You came alone to a remote part of Atlantis to work on a potentially dangerous system and didn't even bring a headset." She spoke with more than a hint of exasperation.
"Like I said, I've been tired."
"If it's just that Zelenka needs practice and you've been tired, then why have you been avoiding me?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." His response sounded lame even to his own ears.
"You've barely looked me in the eye since the end of the attack."
Some wild part of his heart wanted to laugh at how personally she was taking it. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Are you mad at me for sending John on a suicide mission?"
Rodney swore under his breath. He had been mad about that at the time. How nice to be reminded of another issue he'd yet to overcome. "I was, but it all turned out fine in the end."
"Then what is it?"
"I thought you loved him." He nearly came to a halt in surprise at his confession.
"John?"
"No, but thank you for confirming my suspicions," he grumbled. Where the hell was that transporter? "I was referring to the man who gave you that necklace you always used to wear--emphasis on the 'used to.'"
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh, surely you haven't forgotten about it already! The heart shaped one with the diamonds? All this time, I thought you were the kind of woman who'd never dump one guy for another. Even after leaving him back on Earth, your pendant proclaimed your devotion to him for anyone with eyes to see it. I could respect that. It made things simple; it made you safe. No normal woman could put up with me, yet here was this beautiful, brilliant woman who not only didn't treat me like a scourge to womankind but seemed to honestly care about me. And I could revel in being close to her, knowing I'd never risk rejection because she was already seriously involved with someone else."
"You never said anything because of my necklace?" She made it seem so ridiculous, not that he disagreed.
"Yes. What kind of idiot does that make me? Imagine my surprise when I discovered--oh,my!--you have let go of that distant significant other to...how does the song go? Oh, yes, 'love the one you're with'...and that one wasn't me."
"What! John and I haven't even-"
"I don't want to know!" snapped Rodney. "You've made your preferences clear. My apologies for not wanting to hear the details as I, once again, lose out to a man in uniform."
"Again?"
"Colonel Carter loves General O'Neill. At least, with her, I had the excuse that she'd known him for years before meeting me."
"Colonel Carter and...?" she wondered thoughtfully. "Well, they have been through a lot together."
"We've been through a lot together, and it hasn't meant a damn thing." She had never been his, and she never would be.
"Of course it means something!"
"Don't coddle me, Elizabeth." Having slipped, he paused to heft her higher onto his back. "Why do all the smart women go for the rugged, military types? Maybe you secretly like to dominate them? Not that I should talk. I'm like your lapdog. Kavanaugh has more balls than I do."
"Rodney!" Even with her admonishing tone, some untenable part of him relished the sound of her shouting his name into his ear. A spike of desire shot through him, and he hated himself for it.
"What? You disagree? I came here to control new technologies. You came here for the challenge or the adventure, or whatever it is that drove you. We both needed each other to get here and did what we had to to achieve our goals. Of course, you needed him, too. But personal ambition was never his motivation, and he challenged your authority while I stupidly supported you out of some fanciful sense of loyalty. A pacifist and a soldier, a diplomat and a rebel, a faithful woman and a playboy...almost poetic if it weren't so nauseatingly cliché. I'd never have guessed you were the opposites attract type. Maybe that's what makes him so appealing to you..."
"You have many appealing qualities-"
"You're coddling, again, Elizabeth. You don't normally coddle like that, you know. Keep it up, and you might make me think you feel sorry for me. I don't need your pity. I'm a scientist. Science is the one constant in my life, the one thing I can rely on, the reason I live. I should remain faithful to it and not waste my time being distracted by petty emotions, because in the end, none of it matters." None of his deepest feelings had ever been reciprocated by anyone. How could he have though that might change simply because he was in another galaxy?
"How can you say that?"
"Because it's true. I don't matter. You don't matter. He doesn't matter. All that matters is Atlantis. That's the way it should be--nice and simple, nothing personal, nothing that can hurt you but the Wraith."
"Rodney..."
"Oh, thank God! A transporter." The familiar double doors at the end of the hall felt like a little salvation. He picked up his pace, eager to escape his hellish predicament.
"Wait!" insisted Elizabeth.
"What on Earth for!" He didn't wait.
"We need to talk about this." How could she sound so put out? He was the victim, not her.
"What is there to talk about?"
"You can't just dump all this on me then pop back to the central tower."
"Watch me." He tapped the door control with an elbow.
"No!" She leaned back, making it more difficult to carry her and choking him at the same time. He nearly fell over.
"What do you want from me?" he coughed.
"I want Rodney back, the one I can talk to without having to make it an order."
"It's too late for that," he muttered, tapping the spot on the map that would take them to the transporter nearest the infirmary. "You've made your choice. You'll have to make do with Dr. McKay."
"Rodney! Dr. Weir! Where have you been?" Dr. Carson Beckett was surprised to see Rodney carrying a barefoot Dr. Weir piggyback into his infirmary, both covered by dust. They'd been out of radio contact for over an hour and had caused a bit of a stir among those in the control room.
"Out for a romantic stroll," Rodney replied drily. Despite his tone, he carefully deposited Elizabeth on the first open bed. "Dr. Weir hurt her ankle."
Carson closed the privacy curtain and began gingerly flexing her foot. "Why didn't you radio for help?"
"The radios were out," they answered in unison. Keeping himself turned away, Rodney ran a restless hand through his hair and sighed, dropping Dr. Weir's shoes beside the bed.
"How did that happen?"
"You can read a report about it later." The Canadian had been increasingly terse ever since he'd come in complaining about chest pains.
The tension between Rodney and Dr. Weir was so intense, Carson had little doubt as to the cause of his friend's aliments. The telltale tear tracks among the streaks of sweat on Rodney's grimy face settled the issue. Regardless, he wasn't about to let it distract him from his job. "All right, then... How are you feeling, Dr. Weir?"
"Well enough, all things considered." Usually she was very careful to look at the person she was addressing, but her uncertain gaze was over his shoulder.
The hiss of the privacy curtain being drawn back caused Carson to turn only to see Rodney receding back. "Where are you going?"
"For a meal and a shower." With that, he was gone.
Carson stared after Rodney for a moment before closing the curtain again. After attempting to wipe the worry from his face, he turned back to Dr. Weir, but her keen sense of perception was one of the reasons she was in charge of the expedition.
"What's wrong?"
He tried indignation as a cover for his concern. "You two come into my infirmary in a terrible state with no explanation, then one of you walks out before I can examine you both." He smiled and wagged a finger at her like she was a naughty child. "Since you can't get away from me before I have a good look, I think I'll let the other one go for now."
She returned his smile. "You prefer a captive audience?"
Considering what she had so recently gone through to gain a pair of Genii atomic bombs, it was a rather odd turn of phrase. "Not the words I would use," he cringed while examining her ankle, "though it is nice when my patients actually listen to the wisdom of their physician." His thoughts returned to the last time Teyla and Lieutenant Ford had been in his care. Worrying about the Wraith was bad enough; he'd had quite enough of people attacking him in his own infirmary.
"What happened to Ford isn't your fault." Her reassuring words were appreciated, but it did nothing quell his inner doubts.
"Not at first, but perhaps if I had been more rigorous in my treatment..." The Scotsman sighed. He was a surgeon; he'd learned to handle life and death situations. There was little point to "what if"s. "I should have learned my lesson the first time he got away from me."
"You did what you thought best," she insisted quietly.
What she'd thought best had nearly cost everyone their lives and put the city on the brink of destruction; he could only imagine what such responsibility was like. "Our best is all we can ever do." Time to change the subject. "And the best thing for that ankle right now is ice. I'll be right back."
By the time he returned with what he needed, Dr. Weir had removed her stained jacket, dusted off her pants, tidied her hair and snitched some wipes from a nearby medical try to clean her face and hands. Aside from her grooming, her expression had changed from sympathetic to serious.
Setting the crutches aside, he tried to lighten the mood. "I'm thinking it's nothing major. A few days on these and you'll be fine."
Her expression remained subdued. "Carson, I'd like to talk to you about Rodney."
"On an official capacity or a personal one?" He tried to keep the dubiousness out of his voice.
She gave him a calculating look and answered mildly but firmly, "A little of both."
Placing the ice pack on her ankle, he responded, equally serious. "So long as you don't ask me to break doctor-patient confidentiality."
This gained him a raised eyebrow. No doubt she was wondering what medical knowledge of Rodney he was keeping from her. "I'll try not to."
"Take these." Carson passed her a pair of Tylenol and a cup then pulled up a stool. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Don't you think he's been acting..." She gestured vaguely with her hands; it made him think of Rodney, "differently lately?"
"I think everyone's been acting differently lately, and with good reason," he replied neutrally.
"He hasn't seemed withdrawn to you?"
He shifted uneasily on his stool. "Are you sure it's me you should be talking to and not Dr. Heightmeyer?"
Dr. Weir gave a mirthless laugh. "Kate would have thrown me out of her office by now."
"But since you're my patient at the moment, I'm a captive audience," he conceded. What to do? "He made no secret of how little he slept those weeks. You don't overcome that kind of sleep deprivation in a fortnight, least of all at our age."
"Granted," she nodded, "but that doesn't explain his suddenly becoming a recluse."
"Perhaps he's catching up on sleep."
Her look implied she didn't think he believed it anymore than she did. "Dr. Zelenka is covering at least half of his meetings. No one seems to be able to get a hold of him. It's beginning to become an issue."
She wanted answers to Rodney's behavioral problems because it was a bureaucratic inconvenience? Carson tried to dissuade himself from the unflattering notion but couldn't.
"If you think he needs medical leave..."
Her brow furrowed in frustration. "That's not what I mean. I want to know if you know why he has become this way."
"He does not speak of such things," Carson replied flatly, his own brow furrowing, "and it's not my place to speculate."
"Damn it, Carson, don't stonewall me." She almost never swore. "Is it some male solidarity thing or-"
"It isn't." His tone left no room for debate and gained him another raised eyebrow.
Switching tracks again, she asked, "Haven't you noticed he has lost weight?"
"Yes."
"Well, if something is bothering him enough to affect his weight, shouldn't we do something about it?"
As though any physician had ever found a cure for Rodney's current malady.
"If you think it's a personal issue that's bothering Rodney, why don't you just ask him yourself?"
"Because he won't sit still long enough to exchange three sentences with him!" Drawing in a slow breath, she let it out in a huff. Then she chewed on her thumbnail, another habit she unconsciously shared with Rodney. "What if I told you that while he was carrying me here he accused me of being unfaithful to someone back home."
"Have you been?" He asked it simply, without accusation.
She waved the notion away. "That's not the point."
"Seems it's a point to him."
"The point is," she sighed, "he acted jealous, as though he..."
"Loves you?"
At those words, her face became a well-schooled mask. "Did you know?" Was that a hint of hurt in her voice?
"A man with as many walls as that, how can even he be sure?"
But that didn't answer her question, and she wasn't about to let him off the hook. "Did you suspect?"
"Aye. You didn't?"
She shook her head. Unconvinced by her denial, he turned away but not quickly enough.
"You don't believe me?" He had never heard her sound defensive before.
With a sigh, he turned back and put a hand on her shoulder. "Lass, in this, what I do or don't believe does not matter in the least."
He wasn't proud of it, but Carson had little sympathy for Dr. Weir in this circumstance. The evidence supported the rumors he'd heard about her and Major Sheppard. Although he would never think to deny her her feelings, he found himself disappointed in her. She was normally such a conscientious and evenhanded leader; it wasn't right for her to focus so much attention on one person. Oh, she had made the rounds, patting shoulders, offering brief words of encouragement and praise, but no one had gotten the same kind of consideration as the Major. There was no disputing the Major had been willing to give his life to protect the city, but ultimately, his sacrifice would have been in vain were it not for Rodney and Dr. Zelenka. If Major Sheppard deserved special treatment, what about them? Their efforts had not only saved the city but landed both of them in the infirmary for it. Worse, her Chief of Science, responsible for the work of dozens of others, was plainly hurting, and it had taken a week before she'd noticed, guessed why or tried to act on it. To not reciprocate Rodney's feelings was one thing, but for her to be completely unaware of them was difficult to believe and more difficult to sympathize with. Carson was already torn between wanting to console Rodney, wanting to try and snap him out of it and wanting to keep the hell out of the whole mess. Despite his healer's instincts, he didn't want to become more involved; this wasn't something he was qualified to cure.
Ironically, it was Major Sheppard who rescued Carson from his unfortunate quandary.
"Elizabeth?"
"Over here," answered Carson, pulling back the privacy curtain and plastering a smile on his face. There wasn't much point to the smile, though; the Major barely glanced at him before his gaze moved to Dr. Weir.
"I heard McKay was spotted carrying you to the infirmary." His hand reached out to her, but he stopped halfway though as though self conscious of a public display of concern. "What happened?"
"Rodney got the disposal working." Dr. Weir's tone was so light you'd never guess how serious she'd been just moments earlier. In response to the Major's raised eyebrows, she added. "We fell in."
"Are you okay?"
"Other than twisting my ankle..." She gestured to the offending appendage.
"It's nothing serious," Carson clarified, "just a few days on crutches."
"What about McKay?" He looked around as though expecting the astrophysicist to be nearby.
When Dr. Weir didn't answer, Carson explained, "Rodney seems fine, Major. He left to freshen up."
"Nothing like being dumped in a pile of garbage to make you appreciate a hot shower."
It was such an unlikely thing for her to say, and her tone was so uncharacteristically acerbic, both men were at a loss for words.
"So what's the verdict, doctor?" she asked.
He blinked. Back to business. Putting his hands behind his back, Carson instinctively struck his air of authority pose. "Keep off that ankle; keep me informed as to how you're doing; come back tomorrow to have it wrapped. Otherwise, you're free to go."
"Thank you. " She nodded and bent down to grab her right shoe and put it on. "I'll see you in the morning." Snatching the crutches, she adjusted them and limped out of the infirmary.
Major Sheppard gave him a puzzled look, and Carson just shrugged. If Rodney hadn't discussed it and the Major hadn't figured it out, he certainly wasn't about to say anything. Oddly, he didn't feel the same dissatisfaction toward the lanky American that he did toward Dr. Weir. The Major had never been as close to Rodney as she had, nor was he as seasoned an observer of human behavior as the leader of their expedition. Besides, it was her decision in the end. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps male solidarity did have something to do with it. Either way, Carson wanted nothing better than to forget it all and relax with a pint of Athosian mead--a far tastier drink than the cat piss from the Daedalus they were passing off as beer--but he still had another three hours until his shift was over. With a sigh, he retreated to his office and sent out a silent prayer for his heartbroken friend. If anyone needed divine guidance, it was Rodney McKay.