Stuck!
A/N: Thank you to everyone who has left me reviews - you are my light. Also a big hug to all who offered advice on my cow problem. I've tried the buttercups, but the butter kept running out of the cups - the goat bit me in the butt - the goose beaked me - sheep scare me so I didn't even try that one - I cleaned out her stall, gave her hay and grain and what did she do? She just pooped all over the place! - I gave her my nice fluffy blue blanket (that seemed to help a bit) - but, the mittens were a disaster! After I'd worked them onto the teats, they made it hard to get a good squeezin' and made the milk all hairy.
A/N: Tipper, please don't put any more ideas in her head! You don't know what happened the last time she tried to make me dance! Waltzing with your cow is NOT a good idea. I repeat - NOT a good idea. We both learned a little something about ourselves that day. Maybe I'll put on a Sinatra record. That might help.
A/N: WrathSleepTonight - do not take away my only joy! Julie, if you're reading this... don't listen to WST! You know of my love for turkey sandwiches! You are safe, my sweet. Now Lisa the Turkey... just keep mum about that, you know what I mean?
A/N: MA! What did I tell you! Stop leaving reviews! I mean it! Quit checking up on me!
Chapter Eleven: A Very Bad Boy
In the infirmary, Carson Beckett rubbed his eyes. His blinding headache had finally reduced to something manageable, but at this point—it was the least of his worries. With a sigh, he lifted his gaze from the monitors and watched as Ronon leaned near Teyla, talking quietly to her.
The former runner had been here—off and on—all day long. Halling had been around for a while, haunting the space, meandered restlessly as if he didn't know what he could do. He had the knack of constantly being in the way when a nurse approached. Then Sheppard had spoken to him, and he'd disappeared, undoubtedly to return again with the same discomforted expression.
Ronon, on the other hand, simply sat with Teyla, talking about anything. He'd spend a short time with Teyla at every visit, as if he was determined not to tire her—or annoy her. Carson smiled at Ronon's tender manners. That man had a mum once, Carson decided—or a gran.
Teyla looked up at Ronon, a beatific smile on her wasted face. Dex kept talking, his voice low and rumbling and she watched him warmly—seeming to offer him as much comfort as he bestowed on her.
Beckett watched, his face drawn. It tore him up to see Teyla like this. He'd always been impressed with her vitality, her incredible strength, her vigor. He knew how hard she struggled now to simply stay awake, to respond to Dex, to attempt a 'normal' conversation. She blinked, her head nodding. Dex leaned closer, one arm supporting her, and Carson felt his heart break a little. She was fading again, falling asleep.
She'd sleep, but never for long. Although she didn't speak of it, Carson knew that her aches and pains would wake her—aches and pains that only the elderly are supposed to have earned—the elderly and those that had fed upon by the Wraith.
Beckett couldn't begin to imagine what that meant to Teyla—how devastating this must be to the Athosian. He blew out a breath and returned his gaze to the screen again, wishing he could figure out how to help her. He knew that he had to help— that he needed to keep searching—keep trying to find a solution—find a way to restore Teyla to her former strength—to bring Rodney back to his former… height.
Sighing, Beckett realized that he really should go check on the lad. It was getting late. Well, certainly the plucky tyke had plenty of company, hadn't he? John or Elizabeth must have stopped by to see him. Kate and Radek were probably keeping him busy. Ronon probably made his way past the nursery on his rounds. Certainly he'd had plenty of guests.
Beckett rubbed his temples, knowing that someone must have been looking after the boy—because Beckett was too damn busy in the infirmary trying to keep Teyla from fading away. He had no time to saunter past the nursery and put up with the jibes of a pint-sized genius.
Someone was certainly checking on Rodney—someone who wasn't quite as guilty as others. Blowing out a breath, Carson realized that he really should take a moment to walk down to the room, but he couldn't quite face his friend. It was hard enough to face Teyla in this state.
Ronon stood, a hand lingering on the old woman's arm. Teyla slept. Beckett glanced up, catching his eye. "I will see if the others have discovered anything," the former runner stated.
"Aye," Beckett returned. He watched as Dex turned and left the room – heading toward the lab where Zelenka and his team were laboring over the debris left from the Ancient Device. "God help them," he muttered, wondering how they were doing.
As he watched Teyla sleep, he wondered how Rodney was doing, wishing he could be in two places at once—but the infirmary was no place for the active 'boy', and he couldn't leave Teyla.
[{O}]
The devastation wrought upon the stuffed toys of Atlantis was massive. Rodney McKay used the scissors until it became obvious that his pudgy hands couldn't manipulate the tool to his satisfaction. After that – he found other means to dismember.
Arms and legs were pitched about the room, empty cloth bodies dotted the space, heads had been hefted toward the top shelves of the nursery. Most of the craniums missed their targets. The heads that failed to find a spot on the high shelves were cruelly impaled on sticks from the art cabinet. Unstuffed stuffing covered the space like snow. It had been a massacre of plushies.
It was horrible. But they had been too damn cute – and had it coming. Things that are so cute shouldn't be allowed to exist. The cool stuff, he'd left alone. Useful science stuff deserved to remain. He paused, gazing at the wreckage and felt a tightness in his chest, a shortness of breath, hearing a voice in his head that seemed to say, 'what the hell is the matter with you?'
He breathed deeply, panting from his exertion. 'Something is seriously wrong with you. Why did you do that?' He wouldn't have done this when he was a child. No... he was too...methodical and exacting with his things. Rodney scrunched up his brow, trying to understand it, trying to ignore the buzzing sensation that filled him, but his brain failed to jump to attention. He had to keep moving.
The destruction had done little to calm the scientist. Oh, this was hardly enough. He fidgeted, chubby hands lifting and dropping as he paced endlessly around the room. He wouldn't find what he needed here. He was bored. He was lonely. He needed to get out!
He regarded the doorway to the nursery—specially designed to keep 'little guys' inside. The half-door allowed 'adults' to look in while the short detainees were kept corralled. Well, this shouldn't stop the man who knew more about Ancient Technology than anyone in the City.
Still, whoever had designed the place, knew the stature of the incarcerated. All controls were gallingly out of reach—even if he jumped really high! Well, that was no big deal. McKay simply thought up a set of stairs. There was a pulse of heat at his chest and the structure appeared, leaning against the exit. Excellent!
Rodney gathered up several of the Ancient devices he'd uncovered, including the little puddle jumper, jamming them into the pockets on his vest. Next, he picked up the stick where he'd mounted the Wraith head, and carried it like a staff. Finally, jamming the toy cat under his arm, Rodney climbed the stairs, slowing as he reached the top, and stood there a moment—thinking.
What to do? Where to go?
It sucked to be alone. He wondered how Teyla felt? Sure, she was in the infirmary, with nurses and everything, but maybe she missed seeing friends? She was old and sick and maybe even a little scared, maybe even lonely. A person felt better when friends came to see them.
He'd go see Teyla, he decided. See how she was doing. Maybe give her one of his prizes. People brought presents to people in the hospital, right? Maybe he'd give her Kiki? He frowned as he considered the stuffed cat. Maybe she'd like a different toy, and he gazed at the ruined plush animals. Well, at least he'd show her the miniature puddle jumper, which was seriously cool!
His stomach rumbled again. He hadn't eaten all day, he remembered. Well, he'd go to the mess hall and get something to eat. Good idea. He'd go to the mess hall, then Teyla. Yes. No… wait… to the storage closet first. Find some new—less adorable—clothing.
He'd done what he could to 'fix' his current outfit. He'd added the toy Wraith's sash, tying it around his head as a headband. He attempted to make his pink shoes a little more menacing by drawing skulls on them. He'd used markers from the art kit and had achieved some detail to the images as he labored. The result – he hoped – was to make the pink moccasins much more horrible. It was only after he'd finished that he realized he could have painted the entire shoes black – but by then the carefully rendered skulls were complete and it would have been a pity to obliterate them.
He needed new shoes. Okay, storage closet, mess hall, infirmary. Time to go!
From the top step, he slowly poked the Wraith head out first, twisting it about as if it was looking. He waited for someone to respond. Not a sound. He followed the marotte with his melon-head, glancing one way and then the other. The hall was empty—which filled him with both satisfaction and discontent. He'd been here for hours and hours and yet, no one haunted the hall, waiting for him? Guarding him?
What if a Wraith came by while everyone was gone? Rodney McKay would become a bite-sized appetizer! And he glared at the Wraith head on the stick, giving it a bang on the doorframe. No one would have known if he'd been attacked. He stuck out his bottom lip at this thought. Well, he'd show them!
He concentrated on creating a stairway on the other side of the dutch door, and was annoyed when nothing appeared. He tried even harder, wrinkling his brow and squinting his eyes—focusing on the idea of stairs. Nothing.
"STAIRS!" he bawled, pointing to where he wanted the set to appear. Nothing but empty hallway. "Crap," he muttered, quickly surmising that the holographic device only worked within the nursery. Well, that sucked! But, it wouldn't stop him. One option—realign the existing stairs so that he could reach the extra-high control panel at one side of the doorway. He could figure out the circuitry. It would be a snap, but as he gazed toward the control panel, his resolve crumbled. It would take time and his hands were as clumpy as clubs. He needed to get out NOW.
He dropped his Wraith stick on the other side, patted his pockets to make sure everything was secure, then carefully dropped Kiki. Next, he eased himself down, feet first, until he was out.
[{O}]
Distracted, Sheppard worked out in the gym on the speed bag. It was getting late. Night had fallen—and with the closeness of the night, Sheppard needed to keep himself active. There was something comforting about the sport—an activity he'd enjoyed way back when he was a simple Earthling who'd never heard of stargates or Wraiths or the Pegasus galaxy. Back before friends could be turned into children or old ladies in the blink of an eye.
The rhythm of his gloved hands against the punching bag soothed him, even as he beat the living daylights out of whatever pulled such dirty tricks on his team. Bopita-bopita-bopita-bopita—he slammed the snot out of the Ancients that left their malfunctioning devices where over-excited scientists could poke at them. Damn it! Beckett and McKay had been climbing all over the thing before they knew what it could do. Children—they were little better than children.
John frowned at that metaphor and continued to clobber the punching bag.
In the gym, there was nothing outside of the bopita-bopita of the bag and his panting breath. He was otherwise alone—completely alone. There was a time when he would have preferred the solitude, but he'd grown used to sessions with Teyla and missed her companionship. Even when she was kicking his ass, she always had an encouraging word for him.
God, she was incredible—watching her work out was almost like watching a dance. How could someone that lithe and free be turned into a withered husk? He slammed at the bag, mad as hell.
And it wasn't as if he could just leave the gym to stop by McKay's lab to shoot the bull. Funny how much he'd come to count on those moments—those hours spent arguing with the scientist, talking about just about anything, bouncing ideas of each other, sharing stupid jokes and slinging crap. One upping him—getting one upped. He missed it.
Somehow he doubted that McKay could keep up with him mentally anymore and that scared the crap out of him. McKay, the smart ass, had been replaced with a child—a freakin' child! How goddamn wrong was that?
Sheppard had spent the whole day avoiding them. He'd been by once to check on Teyla—but only to keep Halling from haunting her bedside, as he knew the man would be. But besides that, he'd kept up with his usual schedule, doing everything he could to NOT think about what was happening to his friends—let the specialists worry about fixing it.
Yet he worried—it had gnawed at him all day.
He missed them—he missed both of them. He felt lonely as hell. And he'd been avoiding them all day.
His hands faltered and he lost his rhythm. He let his arms drop to his side as the bag wobbled on its platform, coming to stop.
What was he doing?
With a sigh, he stripped the gloves from his hands, dropping them in the corner, realizing that he probably wasn't the only one who was lonely.
[{O}]
Rodney McKay leaned forward, gazing over the edge of the catwalk, watching the movement of people below him. Rather quickly, he decided against using the hallways—he wanted to avoid being spotted. His best bet was to use the catwalks. So he climbed to that level at his first opportunity. He'd felt remarkably tired once he'd finished, and had sat down, resting his head against a support. His arms and legs were sore, and his ears had started ringing. He felt stretched and compressed at the same time – as if his body was just catching up to the fact that it had been horribly misused. His head hurt and felt too hot.
And conversely, along with this weariness, the buzzing need to be in movement remained. It was a terrible mix. His hands trembled, and Rodney gripped the bracings around him in an attempt to still them. He closed his eyes and tried to get a handle on the sensation, trying to get himself to calm down, trying to think.
It left him a bit nauseous. The sash that he'd tied around his head felt too tight, and he removed it, leaving it to lie on the walkway.
Why was it so hard to think? He pressed one trembling, plump hand to his face, wishing his head didn't hurt, wishing he could think straight! What would happen to him if he couldn't think? His mind was the only worthwhile thing he possessed.
He blinked at his surroundings, realizing how ridiculous this seemed. What was he doing? He was creeping around on the catwalks with an armload of toys? He shoved the Wraith-head-on-a-stick until he was on the other side of the walkway.
Stupid—childish—ridiculous, he silently reprimanded himself. Why did I bring that thing along? Why did I bother to put it together. Idiot! Moron!
He realized that he'd just torn apart a dozen toys. How utterly juvenile! How contemptuous! Softly, he whispered, "What's happening to me? What was I thinking?"
That's just it—he wasn't thinking. The realization made him feel even sicker.
With a sigh, he knew that he really should go see Carson. Beckett would have a baby aspirin or something for him. Or a shot. He flinched at that thought and he felt his bottom lip quiver at the mere thought of a syringe. Doctors always had needles. He hated needles.
But maybe it would make him feel better? Rodney rubbed one arm empathetically as he gripped the catwalk's support with the other. Time to go—time to get moving. He needed to pull himself up with his hands—since his legs seemed determined to stay put. He watched his uncoordinated hand clench the metal, and he felt a terrible sorrow.
Useless—the chubby lumpkins on the ends of his arms were nearly useless. He'd lost all his normal dexterity. His hands were one of the things he was proud of—his mind first, followed by his hands. His fingers had been so nimble, so flexible, quick and articulate—and he'd even lost them— replaced with doughy pudgy lumps.
His mind – was he losing that, too?
He really wasn't feeling well. Why hadn't Carson come by to check up on him in the nursery? Seriously, Carson should have been by! He frowned at that thought. 'I am a 'patient' after all! Shouldn't the doctor be checking up on his lab rat?'
Well, if Carson wouldn't be bothered with seeing him—Rodney would have to seek out the doctor himself. 'Right! I'll take care of it myself.' He'd always been the one responsible for looking after himself. Well, he was planning to go to the infirmary anyway to see Teyla.
He concentrated, trying to work out the plan. Okay, okay, he'd go to see Carson, but only after he'd made his way to the storage closet for new clothing, then the mess hall for lunch, and after he'd stopped by to see Teyla to show her the puddle jumper and let her pet Kiki. Carson would be his next stop—if the doctor had any time for him.
There, it was resolved! McKay knew exactly what he was going to do. It was always good to have a plan.
But instead of getting up and continuing on his way, he pressed his head against the cool metal of Atlantis and watched people move beneath him in a blur.
"Hard to believe, isn't it?" someone said just below him—Dr. Hoffman—a botanist.
Another laughed, Dr. Thibodaux—a microbiologist. "I can't believe it myself. I hear they have him stashed way somewhere. Wish he was stomping around his lab like usual. Imagine what that'd be like. Ha! I'd love to get a look the little guy. I'd laugh my ass off."
Dr. Li, another botanist, shook her head. "He is cute," she responded. "And when they brought him back from the planet, he looked so sweet asleep." She turned her head, and even though his view was from above, Rodney was certain she smiled benignly. "I miss having children around. I'm afraid I'd have to hug him if I saw him again." And she made a gooey noise at that idea.
Hoffman sounded disgusted. "You KNOW who you're talking about, don't you—the Demon Lord of the Labs."
'What?' Rodney thought, scowling at the folks below him. 'You are SO busted!'
Thibodaux laughed. "Don't let him hear you say that. He'll make your life miserable."
'You got that right,' Rodney agreed.
"He hasn't made your life hell already?" Hoffman returned.
'Oh,' Rodney thought, 'have I EVER said anything to Hoffman that he didn't deserve? The man is a puffed up moron that needs someone to ride his ass before he gets anything done.'
Thibodaux laughed again, a deep guffaw. "I try to stay out of his way. When he's in a foul mood —watch out! Nothing will shut him up."
Thibodaux was little better, McKay knew. The man was lazy and always tried to get out of work. Plus he was a microbiologist—reason enough to be annoyed with him.
"He's cute now," Li added.
Rodney's frown increased. He hated 'cute', and he clutched his kitty closer so that Kiki could share in his hatred.
"Why should I care what he thinks?" Hoffman continued. "What can he do now? They've got him locked up in Romper Room. Looks like they finally figured out that children should be seen and not heard." Hoffman sucked his teeth a moment and added, "His body finally matches his attitude. I always figured he was a big baby."
Li laughed prettily, and quietly.
Thibodaux chuckled. "Be careful. I've seen him kneecap a guy using his words alone."
"What do I have to worry about?" Hoffman returned bluntly. "He's four years old! The worst he could do is kick me in the shin."
Rodney leaned forward, scowling at those beneath him, wanting to bellow insults and reprimands at them, but he knew it would be useless. Li would giggle. Hoffman would smirk. Thibodaux? Well, who knew about Cajun microbiologists? Before he could even come up with something to say – the puddle jumper slipped from his pocket.
Rodney felt it come loose. Madly, he reached out, trying to grab it before it careened into the midst of the little group, but his hands fumbled and the toy fell.
[{O}]
A/N: Now, I must go to soothe my dear Julie. Maybe I'll put on the Neil Diamond record. Do you know what would really make Julie happy? MORE REVIEWS! I can read them to her and she will love me again. HELP ME REGAIN THE LOVE OF MY COWWWWW!.