Stuck!
Chapter Ten: Enter The Toymaker
A/N: To everyone who is leaving me reviews. I love them! I read your comments out loud to Julie the cow and we adore your every bit of feedback - even the odd ones. We laugh sometimes. Well, I'm the one who laughs, she mostly lows, but she does it with this humorous glint in her eye. Sometimes we cry with joy. Well, I cry - she chews her cud. Funny, but she's been ignoring me lately when I read the reviews. Why, Julie? Why are you so distant to me?
A/N: To everyone who is reading this story and not reviewing - that's like stealing - and you don't want to know what we do to thieves on the Genii homeworld.
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Ten minutes later, the room was littered with every manner of childish trip-trap and gew-gaw that had ever been on McKay's wish list when he was growing up. Not only did massive erector sets and tinker-toy canisters fill the room (much bigger and more comprehensive than anything ever sold in stores), but also all the things he'd secretly lusted for, but couldn't even dream of having – Stretch Armstrong (and his aptly named arch-nemesis 'Stretch Monster'), Rock'em Sock'em Robots, GI Joes (with fuzzy hair, Kung-Fu grip and every imaginable accessory); Lionel Trains that coursed back and forth and up and over everything on an incredibly complex layout of tracks and with happy little villages accompanying the routes.
Models of Tie-Fighters and X-Wings from Star Wars (the original) and Vipers from Battlestar Galactica (the original) hung in the air above his head. A working version of Twiki the robot from "Buck Rogers" (which was already annoying him) wandered about, running into things. And Doctor Who's Tardis sat in one corner (frustratingly like a police box inside). It took him nowhere, but it did make a comforting wheezing sound when it disappeared and reappeared on 'command'.
He'd been a little surprised by his own choices and had tried to call up things of a more grown-up nature, but every attempt at P-90s or a downsized laptop or data pad brought more toys with child-safe edges and flashy lights. Exasperating, but fun at the same time.
There was a thump, and he stopped what he was doing, looking expectantly toward the door. Someone was coming to check up on him. Sheppard no doubt! He'd show him the puddle jumper toy! The Colonel would love it! They could fly it around the room. Or maybe Carson was coming, with things to stick and prod him with. Ha! He could just imagine what Beckett would say upon seeing all this. Or it could be Ronon marching up the hallway. Ronon would tell him how Teyla was—and wouldn't lie about it. Ronon wouldn't lie, would he?
Rodney put on a cherubic look to distract them from the mess of toys—but seconds passed and no one came—and his smile dropped. It was just the damn robot, banging around behind the train. Of course—nobody would bother to come by to see him.
Still, he glanced at his watch, it had been a couple of hours since Heightmeyer left, and it was now nearing noon, someone would be by soon with lunch, right?
[{O}]
"Halling," Weir greeted as she moved through the mess hall with her tray.
The Athosian looked up from his simple lunch, smiling warmly. "Dr. Weir," he voiced softly as he pushed back his chair to stand. "It is good to see you."
"Always a pleasure," Weir returned civilly, trying not to feel intimidated by his incredible height. He gestured to the empty seat beside his, and Elizabeth accepted the invitation. It would be nice, she decided, to have a nice quiet lunch with the mild man. For once, she wouldn't have to hold a conference and discuss city business. She could simply sit and eat with a friend.
The Athosian smiled once they were both settled. "You have two of everything," he pointed out as he eyed her tray.
Smiling, Weir told him, "I was going to see Rodney. I thought he might be hungry."
Halling took on an uncomfortable look. "Oh, I did not mean to intrude. I will not keep you."
With a wave of her hand, Weir dismissed his comment. "Someone should be checking up on him soon. I just thought I'd stop by for a moment to talk. You know, he's always hungry. I'm sure he wouldn't mind another lunch." She sighed, and paused before she continued, leaning close to the man, "But honestly, I've been dreading the idea, just a bit."
"Oh?"
"He is…" she started, and hesitated, not knowing how to complete her thought.
"He is not himself," Halling completed. She nodded, and he spoke again. "I have met him, you recall." And he looked a little hurt as he commented, "I did not know it was him at the time, due to the deception, of course."
"Yes...and I'm sorry about that, Halling," Weir apologized genuinely, grimacing inwardly at being caught at this. "At that point, we didn't know what was happening with him—or with Teyla. We felt it best to keep things quiet until we knew more."
"Of course," Halling responded, not sounding convinced. "Teyla," he repeated. "Teyla is not well. She should have her people with her. There are certain rituals that must be observed to ensure that she leaves this life peacefully." He picked up his fork and held it halfheartedly for a moment. "She needs her people, and yet I am not wanted at her bedside."
"That's not the case," Weir said quickly. "Of course you are welcome to stay with her."
"But the rituals are not allowed," he said stiffly. "I have been forbidden. Colonel Sheppard is against our sacred teachings and has ordered her to fight instead of listen to the words made sacred by her elders."
Weir shifted her jaw, "Yes, Halling, we want her to fight. We do not want her to give up. Our people believe she can be returned to heath and are doing everything they can for her."
Halling furrowed his brow and bowed his head. His voice became strangely strangled as he spoke, "It is as if she has been fed upon by a Wraith." He looked up, staring out from under his long hair. "Do you understand what that means to our people?"
With a slight frown, Weir stated, "I believe we understand very well. We have lost several of our people to…"
With a tskking sound that didn't really fit him, Halling cut her off. "You have been here only a moment," he said quietly. "You have been with us, with our terrors, for only a heartbeat." He fiddled with the fork, poking at something that may have been naked linguini noodles. "We have lived for our entire lifetime, for generations, for age upon age. The Wraith cloud our every story, they edge our every dream. We have lived with the Wraith on our breath."
Trying to smile congenially, Weir reminded him, "But remember, she has not been fed upon by the Wraith. She has been badly affected by an Ancient device."
Halling's face pinched as if pained. "The Ancients are not at fault. It was the meddling of others."
Sighing, Weir went on. "We have our people working on the situation and they WILL discover the solution. Have faith, Halling. Have faith in us."
The man hunched over his dull looking pasta. "No one has ever recovered from a Wraith feeding."
Not trying to correct him again, Weir assured, "We will find the way."
"You believe that everything comes easy. You will learn differently. Her heath will continue to falter and it shall be on your head if she dies without the proper ceremonies." Unable to eat any more from his plate, Halling shoved back his tray, saying, "You are but children. You do not understand." And he stood, leaving the tray behind to clomp out of the room like a giant, angered.
With a sigh, Weir regarded her tray and found that she had lost her appetite, too. So far, they had found nothing to help either Teyla or Rodney. She knew that the moment she faced Rodney, he'd fill her with an endless stream of questions, demanding answers, and getting nothing worthwhile—and then he'd gaze up at her with those puppy-dog eyes and she knew she would be helpless against them. She just couldn't handle him like this.
No. She couldn't face him yet. She needed answers—she needed to come well armed and ready for him—she needed to have this solved—now.
She stood slowly and left the two lunch trays behind to return to her office and get back to work.
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He was bored already—bored with the toys he created, so he went in search of more interesting ancient devices. Certainly there were more 'remote controlled' ships in here! He'd found several already and wanted an entire armada!
He squinted as he went through the remaining cabinets, trying to ignore the headache that was returning, growing insistent. It had been there in the back of his mind when he woke up, but, then, it had been easy to ignore. Now, it was taking more effort. Probably a caffeine headache—for some reason, they wouldn't let him have coffee. Sadists. Forcing it back again, he continued to add to his previous piles—more Ancient toys of perplexing purpose, and far too many plush toys. He dug through the stack of them, discovering things that vaguely reminded him of things from earth—but mostly not. Odd shaped duckies and things-like-fluffy-sheep were piled on the floor. When he found something that look strangely like a yellow house cat with purple spots, he tucked it under his arm and toted it around with him as he continued his treasure hunt.
Rodney continued to root through the drawers, pulling out yet another stuffed toy by its foot, and froze as it came clear. "For the love of …" he uttered, turning it about to get a better look. It was humanoid in shape, all done in whites and blacks and grays, stringy hair, a grimace of a mouth and disconcerting eyes—a Wraith—no doubt about it. A stuffy-fluffy Wraith to cuddle? Maybe it was meant to teach kids how to defend themselves from it? Still, seriously weird. He found himself flinching away from it.
It was worse than the puffy clown he'd received for Christmas one year—a kindly gift from one of his father's friends. He'd been told to pretend he liked it and thank the pretty woman who gave it. God, how he'd hated the thing. It had sat on a chair in his room for months—staring at him—ridiculing him—seeing his every flaw. He'd wanted to get rid of it, but his father had insisted it remain so that the lovely lady would see it when she came by the house again. It had disappeared suddenly after his mother and father had had a rather intense argument.
Annoyed, he flung Lil'Wraithy from him, but the thing went no further than a few feet. It landed on its back, one knee jauntily up, grinning hideously at the ceiling. Rodney kicked it until it was face down. He clutched the cat to his chest and muttered, "It's just a stupid toy."
From somewhere in the mounds of stuff, the faux Twiki muttered an annoying "Beeda-Beeda, just a toy."
Stupid robot. It's obnoxious voice was the only one he'd heard since he'd been dumped here. No one was ever coming. He turned toward the robot and glared. No Sheppard—no Beckett—not even Ronon. The hologram had been his only company. Why hadn't anyone bothered to check up on him?
The robot clattered stupidly. Rodney hated it.
Rodney kicked the Wraith toy again, forcing it into the corner, and then gave it a stomp for good measure. He didn't need any of them. If nobody found the time to come by and see him—well, good for them. He was doing just fine here by himself.
He turned his back on the toy Wraith and looked about the room, smiling at the chaos, pleased with himself and the complexity of his imagination. Yes, he could somehow keep this all functioning at the same time. It tickled him pink. And he winced at that particular word, glaring at his pinkish moccasins. Oh, those had to go—those definitely had to be disposed of and quickly. He'd have to find a storage closet where their spare clothing was kept. Certainly there was something he could fit into. Some of the scientists were on the 'extra-small' size. There had to be acceptable shoes in there somewhere.
But first—he glanced to the turkey sandwich that waited on the table and felt his tummy rumble—he needed a little snicker-snack. He slid into the chair beside the table, finding that the sandwich was cut on the diagonal, exactly as he liked. It felt odd to sit down, because he wanted to run—to jump—to do SOMETHING!
But strangely, his limbs seemed grateful for the chance to rest. His headache was knocking at the back of his brain—getting stronger. His tummy felt funny. His joints ached—strange when coupled with his desire to be in movement. He was hot, but cold too, feeling buzzed, hopped up, over-caffeinated—but tired at the same time.
The tummy ache, Rodney decided, was probably because he was hungry. And he had the solution to that problem right in front of him! Delighted, he grabbed hold of the creation and took a bite. His teeth drove in, but the second he'd bitten off a piece, the hunk of Wonderbread, turkey breast and Miraclewhip disappeared.
Surprised, he drew back the sandwich—noted the missing 'bite' at one corner. Tentatively, he tried another sampling, only to be met with the same sensation. He could feel the bread in his mouth up to the moment he'd bitten off the piece, then that bit dissolved into nothing.
Frustrated, he glared at the sandwich. "Not fair!" he whined. Hologram. It was just a hologram! Of course he couldn't eat it! "Not fair," he whispered, because he was hungry. Really hungry! Irritated, he banged his feet on the floor and flung down the uneatable treat.
And nobody had thought to bring lunch! Why hadn't Elizabeth come by? They ate lunch together all the time. Carson should have at brought him something. Carson was a doctor and that's the sort of thing they do! He could forgive Sheppard because the colonel had more important things to do—like fighting Wraiths and stuff. "Not fair," he muttered one more time.
Behind him, Twiki started off with a "Beeda-Beeda – gee, that sucks, Rodney. Beeda-Beeda."
Okay! Enough was enough! "Shut up!" Mini-McKay shouted. "Shut up!" Spinning about to face the annoyance, Rodney narrowed his gaze.
The robot had found its way out of the corner. It cocked its head in a motion that was supposed to be 'endearing' but was instead just 'irritating'. It uttered, "Beeda-Beeda, maybe little Rodney needs a nappie-poo? Beeda-Beeda."
The grating robot exploded in a shower of metal, circuits, smoke and bits of midget. Somewhere, he heard Mel Blanc crying out in surprise. Rodney grinned. That was fun. The 'racing' feeling inside of him increased. He felt sweaty and his breath came quicker.
The cute holographic teddy bear was next. It smiled at him, its shiny button eyes bursting off as fluff flew! The models followed—Star Wars and Battlestar Galactica fighters crashed into each other, or plummeted to the ground, blowing up like fireworks. The Lionel train representations suddenly found themselves on the same tracks. Little high-pitched voices screamed from within the holographic cars. The engines exploded with fire and billowing smoke.
The GI Joes spontaneously combusted. The Tinker Toy canisters went up like cannons. The erector sets showered their metal pieces throughout the room. The Rock'em Sock'em robots beat each other to bits and pieces.
It's impossible to appropriately describe the horrors wrought upon Stretch Armstrong and Stretch Monster. They were stretched and stretched until they were drawn across the small room—their oozy gooey innards seeped (innards that children should never ever try to taste)—and then they popped most pleasingly. Gloop flew everywhere!
The TARDIS...he left alone.
But, disappointingly, almost immediately, the destruction disappeared. The holographic images cleaned themselves up, leaving the room tidy. It was exasperating! Oh, he needed something more! He needed 'something' to salve this need for excitement—this need to GO. He felt like climbing the walls, like running from one end of Atlantis to another. He needed excitement.
Rodney wanted to see GI Joe heads rolling, bits of passenger cars scattered, struts from the Erector set twisting, sticks from the Tinker Toys shattered! He wanted to see Twiki's roasted circuits tossed about the room!
Nothing. It was all too clean. Furrowing his brow, he turned to the Ancient stuffed animals. Now these were real. Ah yes, the little yak-mantis would leave a mess. Giving the kitty a little squeeze, Rodney smiled as he considered it. He wouldn't be able to 'think' them to pieces — these weren't mere holograms. But...His gaze fastened on a bucket of art supplies—and the scissors. That just might do the trick.
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A/N: Ha ha ha! This is an incredible story! Really! It is! Tell me that you love me! Love me! Please love me! I... I need your adoration. Julie has been so distant lately. It's as if she reviles me as I milk her. Why? Why, Julie? Why don't you love me anymore?
You! Reading this story! Tell me that you love me! Please?