Disclaimer: SGA isn't mine.
Spoilers: for 'Trinity'.
Set: Towards the end of 'Trinity', after Rodney received heated words from Elizabeth, but before his apology to John (or anyone else - I'm in two minds as to whether the telling off went hand in hand with the apology Rodney referred to giving Elizabeth, but I'm going to go along with the idea that he went back to her later and they shared a calmer conversation).
Author's Note: I found watching 'Trinity' rather unsettling, as trust between two of my favourite characters was broken. This fic was part of my way of getting the reasons and repercussions all sorted in my head and (lol!) dealing with it myself!
The Fall of Arcturus
By
Starzangel
Trust me...
Five-sixths of a solar system destroyed...
It was an arrogant figure that strode quickly down the residential corridors of Atlantis. His shoulders were held back and his chin was lifted, defiance easily mistaken for pride. Cold blue eyes paid no heed to anyone who passed. A smug smile danced on his lips to a tune from his own ego.
He entered his quarters with aplomb and the door slid smoothly shut behind him. He locked it.
Then things changed.
The inappropriate grin was the first to go, faltering and then vanishing completely. Weary, haunted shadows became noticeable under his nervous eyes, and he dimmed the room's lights, unwelcoming their spotlight glare.
Quietly, Rodney McKay sat down on the edge of his bed, slumping forward and resting his forearms on his knees. Glistening, reddening eyes flickering longingly around the room, as if looking for something or...someone. It wasn't long before his gaze came to a stop and fell to the floor at his feet, dejected and almost ashamed. Biting his lip, he closed his eyes and swallowed thickly.
How he missed his cat...
Rodney buried his face in his hands. Alone.
He felt a prickling in his eyes and the pressure welled, a strangled sob rising unwanted from his throat, and then tears, hot and salty, were running onto his cheeks and dripping onto his palms.
He had never cried since school...not properly…well, not that much. Once he'd finished building up the walls, impenetrable titanium barriers to his emotions. And they had never been dented before...
No.
Rodney sat up and angrily scrubbed the tears away. He wouldn't believe it. No one mattered to him enough to get through, it was a goddamn metal fortress. Impenetrable. Invincible.
Sniffing, he wiped the back of his hand across his running nose.
He would fix this. Dr Rodney McKay could fix anything. He was a genius. He would fix this.
He had to fix this.
Only he wasn't sure he knew how... He was an astrophysicist, not an anthropologist. People, annoyingly, didn't follow the laws of physics or any other nice, neat, calculable patterns. They were unpredictable, except in the manner of their memories: they were always keen to recall the things he wished they wouldn't, and were all too quick to forget the things he wanted them to remember.
He would have to go back and apologise to Elizabeth, that was clear. Radek definitely deserved an apology, too.
And so did...
If the Daedalus hadn't been there...! More than five-sixths of a solar system would be...he would've...and…and…John…
He'd better thank Caldwell. Even if the colonel had been spying... A nice little email should do it...no need for a face-to-face chat...yes, an email would be best.
Radek already knew he was sorry. He would still need to say it, but his fellow scientist already understood what it was like...the ambition, the pressure, the pride...the need, the guilt... Or, at least, he understood enough. And they had a shared passion for science, common ground, something that made their acquaintanceship...friendship...relatively easily. Less of the fluffy words required. Working together, safe in a lab, both interested in the same thing and doing their own calculations, companionable, but independent. It worked well.
As for Elizabeth, she had already doubted him. He tried not to take it personally – it was her job to doubt everyone. Spending all that time with politicians would make even the most trusting person suspicious.
Trust me.
Damn it, why did he have to go say that? Of all the stupidest stupid things to do!
The tears were still falling. Silent.
It hadn't mattered that much... It hadn't been worth the risk...
The ironic benefit of hindsight.
He had been wrong, very wrong. And in payment for his failure...
Rodney had lost John Sheppard's trust.
Perhaps for good...
Was it even feasible to hope that someone could ever be trusted in again after royally screwing up and destroying practically an entire solar system?
Five-sixths...three-quarters...why had he corrected Elizabeth? Why did he always have to be right? Why did he have to be the kid who always stuck up his hand with the right answer, until the entire class hated his guts? And always have to correct the teensiest of the teachers' errors, until the entire teaching department couldn't stand him either?
Why did he always have to be the best?
The Ancients couldn't even make Project Arcturus work. Why did he feel the need to outshine everyone, to be the brightest star in the sky?
Rodney wiped half-heartedly at his tear-soaked cheeks, licking the salty water off his lips. He was so tired, so frustrated and…very afraid.
He wanted these people to like him. Because, damn it, he liked them.
Slowly, he pressed his palms against his duvet and pushed himself, stiff and weary, to his feet. Rodney took a shaky breath.
He couldn't afford to doubt himself, there was plenty of people to do that for him. Always people doubting him. Always. A different galaxy, and still they doubted. Why couldn't they just see he was the best? He was. He knew he was. He had to better than them, he had to be. Or else...that meant...
Rodney wandered into his en suite.
The only way they would like him was if he was right. No one ever liked him when he was wrong. So he had to be right, all of the time.
Bloodshot, teary eyes stared helplessly back at him from the mirror above the sink.
He had to have enough confidence in himself for everyone. It didn't matter what they said or thought or did. He was better than them. They were envious. They were the ones at fault, not him.
Pushing the crystal to turn on the tap, Rodney splashed cold water onto his blotchy face.
He didn't know how to make them like him, didn't know how to deserve it...
Rodney shut the water off and blindly grabbed a towel, pressing it against his hot, puffy eyes for a moment. When he had wiped his face dry and replaced the towel on its rail, the face that stared back at him was sickly pale, but at least it was a little less tomato-like.
It was time to begin his apologies. If he faced his fears, all would be all right. No one was perfect...no one needed to be perfect...not even him.
He swallowed, fighting the lump in his throat.
After all, the colonel had made mistakes of his own. He would understand. He would forgive him.
This was something Rodney McKay could fix.
It had to be.