Touched By An Ancient
By Ann3
Writer's Note: I hope I've given you fair warning, but you may need some tissues for this chapter ! I have to admit I did at times. Counting this one, there are three more to come, with some lighter moments too, so I hope you'll stay with me to enjoy them.
Just a quick reference here to one of my favourite scenes from Letters From Pegasus. Thanks as always for the latest reviews, and... well, let's catch up with the boys...
Chapter Thirty Five
They'd made good progress, in several senses of the word, during that morning's steady hike into the glens. Surrounded by such breathtaking scenery, bad backs and weak ankles had been thankfully forgotten. And the expression on Rodney's face as his pedometer confirmed they'd hiked six effortless miles…? Well, those sneakily snapped photos would keep Carson in blackmail credit for months to come.
Not surprisingly, Rodney had done most of the talking, and he'd done most of the listening. So far, they'd covered the joys of Scottish weather, the abundance of sheep, clans, a wee bit of Scottish history, Rodney's own Scottish ancestry and the existence of Nessie.
That last debate alone had taken up the best part of an hour – and set Carson a silent, private challenge. Before they returned to Glasgow tomorrow, Rodney McKay would believe in the Loch Ness Monster.
With much rueful head-shaking, they'd also resolved that 'wee misunderstanding' back on Atlantis. And for Carson, there'd been an eerie sense of déjà vu as they'd taken turns to listen, explain, apologise – and heal. On that point, at least, they'd agreed on something. Each had been as densely idiotic as the other.
More seriously, though, and tellingly too, Rodney had yet to open up on what was troubling him most. Now, as they settled into an idyllic lunch beside Loch Leven, Carson sensed that was about to change.
As he'd quietly, and shrewdly noted, Rodney wasn't just eating his lunch, he was devouring it. Of course, six hours of gentle hiking had naturally stoked both of their already hearty appetites, but – well, to the trained eyes of a mother-henning friend, this nervous hungriness meant something else too. It meant Rodney McKay was gearing himself up to face something he'd fought for years to conceal.
The many ups and downs of their friendship had quickly taught Carson the reward of patient silence. Hesitant glances towards him were met with a gentle smile here, a raised eyebrow there, the occasional head-tilt - and nothing more demanding than that.
When that first, nervously tentative comment finally arrived, it… well, it was certainly different.
"You – You know something, Carson…? I – I envy you, I – I really do…"
As Carson stared back at him, puzzled surprise was already giving way to inklings of understanding. But, as Elizabeth had so subtly taught him, playing dumb had a surprising way of paying dividends. And, as Rodney had so kindly pointed out to him, there'd been times when he'd been really, really dumb.
"You envy me…?" he said at last, injecting just the right amount of puzzled flattery into his voice – watching in genuine curiosity as Rodney sighed and nodded while staring out across the loch.
When he spoke again, Carson couldn't remember a time that he'd sounded so stricken with pain.
"We were the same age when our fathers died, Carson… both of us, we – we were just kids… but… well, at least you – you can remember yours with love, and… I – I just wish I could say the same…"
Pausing to re-compose himself, Rodney then cast his quizzically anxious friend a sadly envious smile.
"You – You really loved him, didn't you, Carson…? I – I mean, I… well, I – I felt that, when we… well… when I – I sat in the Chair, that – that first time, and I – I felt what was happening to you… you and your dad, you – you had something special, didn't you…? You… really loved each other… you knew how to love each other..."
Not sure how to reply to such an odd comment, not sure if he even dared to try, Carson just nodded – his eyes widening in surprise, then appalled dismay, as Rodney softly, and shakily, went on to explain.
"With mine, I – I only ever knew one thing… that – that nothing I ever did was good enough for him. I – I was five years old, Carson... the age where 'normal' kids are just coming out of kindergarten… but not me… no, with an IQ already in triple figures, I was destined for much greater things…"
He was used to such sarcasm, of course, but Carson had never heard it spoken with such bitterness – memories of his own yearning to be 'normal' causing him to wince, too, for what he knew was coming. When those next stricken words finally came, it was all he could do to keep his own emotions in check
"I'd have given anything, Carson… anything, just – just to be normal, like those other kids, but no… no, instead I was trying to earn something that you and - and those kids had been told by their dads, without even trying... I did everything I could to please him, to – to make him proud of me, but – but it was never enough… I – I tried so hard, Carson… just tried, so hard, to – to make him proud of me, but… I – I just…"
A voice that had been shakily faltering throughout his words now gave out on Rodney completely – whatever he'd been struggling to say next becoming lost in a muffled, warningly tremulous sob.
The sheer scale of his friend's anguish had already shaken Carson to the depths of his soul. But what worried him more were the telltale catches in Rodney's increasingly erratic breathing – more professional instincts now kicking in, trying to bring it back to a healthier, steadier level.
"Easy, Rodney…" he said at last, circling his hand in slow, soothing circuits around Rodney's back. "It's alright, lad, just settle your breathing down for me… that's it, slow and steady for me now…"
Even when it had finally returned to normal, Carson kept his hand resting on Rodney's shoulder – keeping him calm, offering him all the support he could, for the further pain he knew was coming.
What he'd heard so far had left him stunned. What now shakily followed left him totally floored.
"I'm – I'm sorry, Carson…" Rodney whispered, wiping his hand, almost angrily, across his eyes. "Damn it, what – what the hell must you be thinking, seeing me like this…?"
"Seeing you like this…?" Carson stared at him, totally thrown, before his eyes widened in realisation. "You mean for getting upset just now…? For letting me see how much all this is affecting you…?"
Every ounce of common sense and sensitivity he had was silently screaming at him to keep his head. Yet for some perverse reason, the sight of a stricken nod caused that common sense to desert him.
"Bloody hell, Rodney…! I'd be more worried about you if you didn't break down on me…!"
Realising he'd spoken more sharply than intended, Carson started to fumble an awkward apology – staring once more, in further, silently furious dismay, at the raw helplessness of Rodney's response.
"That's - That's just it, Carson, I – I can't…" he finally whispered, shaking his head in near frantic denial. "My – My father didn't believe in it, he – he saw shows of emotions as signs of weakness, and… and you – you don't know how lucky you are, Carson, to – to be able to cry as easily as you do…"
For all his compassion, all his training as a doctor, Carson Beckett now sat completely lost for words – left stunned that a sensitivity he'd always hated as a sign of weakness should be so poignantly envied.
For as many years as Carson could remember, he'd hated, utterly loathed, the ease with which he cried. Just the thought of that time he'd sat in his Infirmary, fidgeting and fretting in front of Ford's camera – God, even now, the thought of how pathetic he must have looked made him silently cringe.
Damn it, he could already feel that telltale prickle of dampness start to well up in his eyes.
"Rodney…you… you… I – I mean… oh, crap…"
Oh, this was great. His closest friend was sitting there, in desperate need of his strength and support – and all he'd been able to say, at one of the most pivotal points in their friendship, was 'oh, crap…?' Surely he could find something more constructive to say, something more bloody useful, than that…?
In the end, the simple honesty that ruled his heart and his soul brought his voice softly back to him.
"Rodney, your father, he – he isn't here now…" he said at last, gently shaking Rodney's shoulder – doing so until he'd forced Rodney to meet his eyes again, so he could draw on the strength inside them. "But I'm here, Rodney… I'm here…"
He was, too. His best friend, the closest thing he had to a brother, was sitting right there beside him – the tears of pure, open compassion in his eyes finally breaching the remains of Rodney's defences.
Another muffled, strangled sob escaped him, followed by another. Then, more freely, another. Another. Then the dam broke, shattered completely – and Rodney McKay found himself swept up in its release.
Somewhere inside that torrent, he could feel solid, comforting arms slip themselves around him – gently anchoring him as, for the first time in many, many years, Rodney McKay fell completely apart.
Comforting his friend, as best he could, Carson could feel his own emotions tumble into free-fall. Yet even as he felt those tears course freely down his face, he could feel relief consoling him too – knowing from his own experience how precious, how vital, this release of emotion would be.
"That's it, Rodney… aye, son, that's it… just let it all come out of you…" he finally whispered – recognition of another, equally vital breakthrough causing a shaky smile to find a little more strength.
His stricken friend was still in no state to realise it, of course, and wouldn't be for some time yet, but… yes, Rodney would be okay now. In fact, they both would. They'd both be okay.