A/N: Those of you familiar with spoilers for the upcoming McKay and Mrs Miller episode will probably realise that the first part of this chapter is going to be slightly AU once that aired. I wrote it long before the first spoilers came out, though, and since it doesn't really matter for the story itself, I left it the way it is.

- Chapter 15 -

"There will be times, Mr McKay, when you won't be able to solve every equation life presents you with. At some point you will have to relinquish control to other people whether you like it or not."

With the entire wisdom of his thirteen year old life, Rodney had silently snorted at Mrs Hill's words, dismissing them arrogantly. Everything could be answered with enough brainpower; and neither his classmates nor any of the adults around him possessed that. So, as far as Rodney McKay was concerned, he was as clever as they came and growing up only made him taller.

His parents seemed to agree with that sentiment. They left him alone for the most part. His mother provided a clean house and fresh clothes, and food was ready at the appropriate times. Once his father came home from work, they would eat it in silence then go their separate ways again.

For the first couple of years after he started school, he tried telling his parents about all the different things he had learned that day, about all the books he read. They listened without saying a word. Sometimes his mother would give him a small pat on the head and then asked if he needed new socks, since she'd found one with a hole in it, the other day. His dad always smiled his indifferent smile; not knowing what to do with a son he didn't understand and had no common ground with.

So he stopped telling them about his day and everyone seemed happy about the silence at the dinner table.

Without understanding the reasons, Rodney knew his parents were scared of him. His mother was only coming to his room to collect dirty laundry and the only interaction with his father was when he needed money for new books, which was always given to him without questions or real interest.

Jeannie was probably the only normal person in the house, when she actually spent time there, what happened less and less with the years. She screamed at him for disassembling her roller-skates, and hugged him when his experiment with the rocket-driven skateboard ended with his nose against the lamppost down the road. He told her about Newton's third law and she would listen for two minutes, then tell him to go lose himself since she had a date and no time for weird-talk and, by the way, he needed a proper hobby.

The fact that she was actually yelling, hitting and sometimes hugging him - more often the former than the latter – had meant more to him than he'd ever told her. She was a big sister, the sort many of his classmates had; moody, only interested in boys and make-up, loved her annoying little brother, hated school and despised her parents. The loud arguments between her and his mother had been the only occasions where real emotions had bubbled up in the McKay residence.

He'd thought his sister was the coolest person in the entire world: independent and stubborn, never indifferent like their parents. The idea with the skateboard, the electronic mouse-trap that cost his father a toe-nail as well as the atomic bomb in sixth grade had all been projects somehow inspired by Jeannie. So when she left, he wasn't only short a sister, but also short someone who would actually talk to him, who gave him some sort of feedback.

He was mad at her for going away, for leaving him alone with brainless parents that didn't know how to handle their own relationship much less a kid-genius like him. From that day on, he refused to talk to his sister when she called, and left the house when he knew she came for a visit. And when he left for college, she had long since stopped trying to keep in contact. Rodney McKay no longer needed people in his life. The important ones left anyway. He was smart, he could do everything on his own.

Now, 25 years later, he was faced with the realisation, that even eighth grade teachers like Mrs Hill were right sometimes, and that there were things he couldn't do on his own.

oOo

Right now, Rodney wasn't so much relinquishing control as having already lost it. This time it had been he, who had left people behind and caused those most important to him, harm.

The major's reaction to what had happened and the treatment he'd given Rodney had shown that Sheppard thought the same. He'd messed up and had no idea how to make things right again.

When he had woken up in the infirmary, the first thing he had seen was Carson and the first thing he had felt was shame. But at the same time he also felt desperately tired, afraid and lonely and wanted the people around him to take care of him, to be there, just like he hadn't been for Carson. Rodney knew his wish wouldn't come true. It couldn't. Once he'd pushed people away, they didn't come back. His childhood had shown him as much.

Coming-to in the middle of the night to the almost deathly quiet of the infirmary was nearly as scary as the pictures of dying people that had haunted him in Peter's room. He could still feel their presence and the suffocating guilt that accompanied them.

Rodney had already had his share of panic attacks and knew the feeling of losing control and the emptiness they always left behind in his body. This time it felt a little different, though. He was tired beyond anything he'd ever experienced, wrung out like an old rag. He was unbelievably cold, his limbs felt heavy and his skull was trying to squash his brain into a nutshell.

Seeing the major next to his bed talking to Carson had sent a quick glimmer of hope into his guts, but that was promptly quelled. Not wanting Sheppard to see the desperation, Rodney quickly closed his eyes again and pretended to sleep when he felt John turning around.

"Hello, Major." Rodney couldn't place a name to the quiet voice, but assumed it to belong to one of the male nurses working for Beckett.

"Hi, Mike." Sheppard had always been better with names. "How're they?"

A couple of seconds filled with silence preceded Mike's answer. Rodney assumed he was checking Carson's condition, but wasn't particularly surprised not to feel the man come any closer to his bed. The entire city had to know about what he'd done by now, and the infirmary staff was particularly loyal to Carson; he was surprised his IVs didn't contain citric acid, just for the irony. "Fine for the moment. They can both do with some rest."

"Yeah, guess so." Sheppard's voice was subdued somehow, it had lost the sting from earlier, but none of the usual cheerfulness was evident.

"Don't worry, they'll be up in no time. You'll see."

"Hope you're right." Strange, how sincere he sounded.

"I'm always right." Even Rodney couldn't ignore the man's cheerfulness. It was somehow refreshing. He hadn't heard too many happy voices lately. A small glimpse of irrational hope bubbled up again; maybe this man somehow knew more than he did?

Still keeping his eyes closed and breathing even, the physicist heard someone's footsteps retreating. But when the chair between his and Carson's bed squeaked slightly, he knew they hadn't been Sheppard's.

"Oh, and by the way", Mike's voice again, sounding farther away this time, "Dr McKay's awake."

Oh no.

Rodney reflexively tried to hide his reddening face in the pillow; he didn't know what was worse: that someone had caught him faking sleep, or that this someone had told John Sheppard, of all people.

For a couple of minutes no-one said a word. Rodney had always hated uncomfortable silence more than anything, and usually left, or covered his unease with babbling. Neither option was available to him right now.

The silence went on longer.

And longer.

And after a while it grew normal, and Rodney stopped feeling the need to cover it.

And when still nothing broke it, there wasn't even a reason to keep his eyes closed anymore, which, until now, had given him the illusion of being unwatched, un-judged, unnoticed.

"I was angry." Sheppard sat in the grey chair. His legs were apart, elbows resting on tense thighs, and he was facing the empty aisle between the beds, watching the floor or his unmoving hands, Rodney couldn't tell. In all the quietness, the words startled him, but, apart from his now open eyes, Rodney didn't move.

"I deserve it." Rodney believed Sheppard expected an answer, but as soon as those three words, which he meant with all his conviction, had left his mouth, the major turned around sharply to face him.

"No. That's not what I meant." The voice was as hard as the face that looked at him.

"I, uh." If he just knew what the major wanted to hear.

Afraid the silence would invade the air between them again, Rodney, with some difficulty, pushed himself further up the bed; and was shocked when he suddenly felt Sheppard's hands underneath his armpits hoisting him the rest of the way up. He looked wide-eyed at the other man, not having expected the casual, friendly gesture, but Sheppard wasn't looking at him; he just turned around, putting his back to him, then placed both hands on Rodney's bed and sat down with an exaggerated jump that had the entire half of the mattress vibrate for several seconds.

"I've lost people." John's gaze wandered to the other end of the infirmary. "I've killed people." He didn't appear to be seeing the wall. "I've lost friends in the fight. But never…" He didn't finish the sentence, jumped back up instead with so much force that Rodney reflexively clawed at the sheets to keep from falling off the other side.

Sheppard started pacing around the bed, hands pressed into tight fists. Rodney watched him, certain now, that no answer was expected from him. And this gave him the courage to actually speak up, "Never what?" he inquired.

When a plastic tray suddenly and very forcefully connected with the metal bar at the tail end of his bed, Rodney jumped and Carson was startled awake with a gasp.

"FAMILY, DAMNIT! I never lost a GODDAMN. MEMBER. OF. MY. FAMILY!" Sheppard accented every yelled word by slamming the tray down repeatedly. Soon it lost its perfect rectangular shape, breaks crisscrossing the white surface. The noise alerted the nurse from before who came running, with Biro hard on his heels. John hadn't seen them, yet, and also missed the small dismissing gesture Carson waved to his staff. To Rodney's surprise they actually backed off hesitantly and were gone before Sheppard had a chance to notice them.

"So many dead." The voice was more bitter than angry now; not quite as loud. But, when Rodney was suddenly fixed by those eyes, black with weariness, anger and… was it fear?... his breath caught a little in his throat, even though he was pretty sure John would not physically hurt him. "So many dead. And what did you do? You get yourself killed, because you decide to become sloppy with your gun - during a battle! How incredibly, unbelievably, mind-blowingly stupid is that, huh? By all rights you should be dead, McKay. DEAD. As in D-E-A-D. FLOATING BELLY-UP. GONE BYE-BYE! And then, through some miracle, we DO survive for another day and you decide to do your second most stupid thing and we almost lose Carson. After. AFTER the FUCKING battle is OVER. You could both be dead. You SHOULD BE!" His voice had a high-pitched quality to it now.

"But we're not?" Rodney didn't feel entirely safe to speak up, but thought he was starting to understand what Sheppard was getting at, and if he was right, there was hope that things could be okay again.

"NO. " Another bump was noisily added to the mangled tray, which finally relented and broke. "No, you're not." With that John deflated like a balloon and slumped onto Rodney's bed.

Rodney rubbed his still ringing left ear, then waited a moment before asking. "Feeling better now?"

With a sigh, the remaining piece of plastic clattered to the floor a few feet away. "Yeah. Actually I am." John rubbed his eyes.

"Hope so. Was getting … worried … about my … inventory."

John seemed surprised to see Carson awake and his look quickly turned into an apologetic frown. "Sorry, Carson." But Beckett's eyes were already closing again.

"Rodney listen." Rodney didn't miss the use of his first name and the quiet tone that was now only audible to him. And he was listening. Even with his head still threatening to fall off and the fatigue so palpable, he thought he'd pass out from it any minute now, he was still listening.

"What you did was stupid. Immensely, bone-crushingly stupid. But I didn't mean what I said to you. You know… what I said here, in the morning. It was an accident. I overreacted, because I've … we've lost so many people already and I don't want there to be more. Especially not like this. I'm sorry. Really. The last couple of days have been hard on us all. I just … I guess I just wanted you to know that I hope we're … okay and if you need to talk … I'll listen."

During his entire monologue, John had kept his eyes locked on Rodney, his normally unreadable face full of memory. With the last sentence he simply got up to leave and only Rodney's hesitant question stopped him half-way to the door. "What'd you mean with the, uh, you know, uhm, the, uh, family-part? Who'd you lose of your family?"

"No-one. But it was damn close."

oOo

With this cryptic statement John had left. In a way Rodney was grateful. Had he stayed he would have had to say something, and whatever that would have been, it would have been sappy. And Rodney didn't do sappy. Or rather, didn't know how to do it properly.

Still, a big part of the weight on his chest had suddenly been removed. He felt almost embarrassed by the relief he felt that there still were things he could fix. Maybe not entirely. He'd have to live with the guilt over what happened for the rest of his life. But maybe he wasn't quite so alone in all this as he had feared.

With that, the need to sleep finally overtook his brain's desire to think, and after a nurse had suddenly appeared with a little cup containing a couple of small white pills, Rodney soon drifted off into the pain-free, dreamless sleep of the drugged and recuperating.

I realise I've said it a million times already, but it probably won't hurt once more: THANK YOU so much for all the feedback :-)