AN: Thanks for the review, dahan. Gotta love feedback. Otherwise, enjoy this chapter everyone...oh, and yes, the rating does apply to the chapters later on. Eventually. I'll get there. (looks at watch) Soon enough.
Chapter Two: Doubt and Belief
Rodney did not like being trapped in a box.
Now, one would assume that being shoved into a cage with see-through bars wouldn't trigger his claustrophobia. Unfortunately, the human psyche was not so pathetically mundane. His subconscious knew there was an energy shield enclosing him into that tiny ten-by-ten space. He didn't have to see the walls to know they were there.
He wondered if Steve had been claustrophobic.
He certainly hadn't been dead.
Dead. Elizabeth had said it herself. How could he possibly be dead? He'd left Atlantis eight—no, seven hours ago. Sammuel had made contact with Atlantis before they went though. He didn't—refused to believe that he was the only one who made it through. Somehow they had separated from him, somehow— Damn it! She'd thrown him in the brig. Elizabeth would never do that to him, not the compassionate and wise Elizabeth. Maybe they had all been brainwashed while he was gone. Maybe this wasn't even Atlantis.
He should ask. Just to be sure. And maybe they'd bring him some food. They wouldn't actually let him starve, would they? They let Steve go hungry.
No, that had been a completely different set of circumstances. Steve ate people. All he wanted was a sandwich, and some coffee. Oh, God, he was tired.
The clang of the metal latch wrenched him from his thoughts. He stood up, swaying slightly with sudden drain of what little energy he had left. Three men entered the dark, solitary room. Two of them were armed soldiers. The third was Carson Beckett.
Beckett stood at the door a while longer, staring at the sole occupant of the cell. Rodney stared back, still grasping the bars in anxiety. The two escorts marched to the cage door and positioned themselves on either side. Slowly, Dr. Beckett moved towards them. He was clutching something against his chest—a syringe, McKay noted with a prickling of fear. An empty syringe.
"Carson. This is…this is…" Rodney said, swallowing viscidly. "I never thought anyone would—I mean, I just—just—I-I don't—"
"Take it easy, lad," Dr. Beckett deliberately. His face was pale and sweaty. "I'm not here tae drug ye, I'm just going tae take a wee blood sample."
McKay winced at the doctor's candid evasion of his name. He glanced nervously between Carson's face and the syringe in his hand. "But…but you believe me, right? Elizabeth thinks I'm dead. Why does Elizabeth think I'm dead?"
"That's because ye are dead, mae boy," the Scot said sadly. "I performed the autopsy maeself. There's no doubt in mae mind about that."
"Then…why…" Rodney was breathing heavily. Hypoglemica, claustrophobia and flat-out stress made his entire body feel like Jello.
"I'm going tae come in, if that's okay," said the doctor.
"You make it sound like I have a choice," McKay muttered, gracelessly stepping back from the bars. "Which I obviously don't."
Beckett stepped into the cell once one of the soldiers let down the barrier. They barricaded the door with their guns raised silently as Carson approached McKay.
"I'd prefer if ye didn't make a fuss," he said casually, but the undertone of some personal anguish was there. "They will shoot without question, should ye…well, I'd rather not—"
The rest of that sentence hung in the air like bad weather. It was obvious what Carson was trying to say, but the Scot was having a hard time admitting he'd rather not watch a close friend die—again. Even if there was some doubt whether or not McKay was the real McKay.
"And here I was planning on morphing into a grotesque Wraith hybrid and sucking the life out of your chest," McKay said dourly, rolling his eyes. He regretted saying that a moment later.
Beckett stared at him evenly. "Ye really shouldn't joke about that."
The scientist looked both nervous and stupid. "Right, that just occurred to me."
In response, the Scottish doctor produced a tourniquet from his lab coat pocket and stretched it between his hands. "Ye'r arm if ye don't mind."
"Oh, yes. I love needles," said McKay, rolling up his left sleeve. "You're so kind for asking."
Carson gave McKay an odd look. It was baffled, yet hesitant. He reached out and took Rodney's right arm, rolling the scientist's sleeve back on his own. The tourniquet he fastened securely around the scientist's bicep, preparing the needle to be inserted into a vein.
Having done this on many occasions, Rodney didn't flinch when the small instrument began to fill with red liquid. To be honest, he found the process to be a bit vulgar—blood was specifically meant to say inside your body. Watching it being drawn out via a small plastic tube was, well…voodoo-like.
"There we go," Carson announced with the edge of cheerfulness. He pressed a soft, white cloth against the tiny puncture wound. He gave McKay a gentle pat on the arm. "Now if ye'll excuse me, I've got a fair lot of explaining to do." For a moment, he looked as though he were about to leave. Then, gravely, he added, "Are ye going to be okay like this?"
"Like what? Trapped in an infinitesimal little cell by my own friends, who also happen to think I'm a monster? Hungry, tired, confused and nursing a killer headache?" McKay grumbled. "Best day of my life, come to think of it."
"We don't think ye'r a monster, Rodney," said Carson, shaking his head. "Ye have to remember—we've all suffered a great loss, Elizabeth especially. I know, I can assure you—her feelings for you haven't changed a wee bit. It may…take some time."
McKay's thoughts flickered as the doctor turned and left. Carson clearly was not comfortable referring to him as 'Rodney' to begin with, but there he'd just done it, without any trace of suspicion.
But as he retreated to the far wall of the cell and sat down, his mind was buzzing with the impossible words of Carson Beckett regarding the expedition's leader.
He stared into space, trying to make sense of it.
"Elizabeth's feelings?" he whispered to no one at all.
-----
Elizabeth gazed across the conference table at the scientist, as though she dared him to reveal something terrible to her that she didn't already know.
"Is that everything you can tell me about it?" she said at last, unaware that her knuckles were turning white. Colonel Sheppard, also present and struggling to remain quiet, glanced at her.
Dr. Zelenka, with a small twitch, nodded his head. "That is everything so far, I am sure. Because it is made from the same material as Stargate, it could be the reason the shield shut itself off. But it does not explain why Rod—"
"You said it could potentially be a dialing device," she said abruptly. "A universal remote for Stargates."
"Yes," his voice seemed buffered, as though trying to avoid the subject. "It might be. Or, it could be Ancient's version of a toaster. We are trying to find out, but it will take much, much more time."
"Well, that's a luxury we might not have," Sheppard said. "There's a man down in that brig who looks, sounds, and acts like Rodney McKay. I'm placing my bet on the good chance that he's exactly who he claims to be."
"That's all well and good for you, Colonel," Elizabeth shot dangerously. "But I'm not willing to rule out the possibility that he might pose a threat to Atlantis."
John's eyes narrowed defensively. "Dr. Weir, this is McKay we're talking about—"
"Rodney died, John," she said shortly. "Dr. Beckett verified that his DNA matched that of the body, and unless you're suggesting that he rose from the dead, I dare you to prove otherwise."
That set a discomforting silence inside the conference room. Sheppard fixed his jaw firmly and sat back in his chair, but said nothing.
A voice came over the comms a moment later. "Dr. Weir, Dr. Beckett has just arrived."
"Send him in," she said quietly.
The doors to the conference room fanned open, and the Scot strolled briefly through, stopping at the edge of the table, opposite of Elizabeth. His face was contorted with raw excitement and disbelief. "Doctor…Elizabeth, it's a dead match."
Both Zelenka and Sheppard jerked to life. Elizabeth could only stare, open-mouthed. "Are...you sure?"
"Aye," the doctor said, smiling uncontrollably. "One hundred percent. He's Rodney, all right. Right down tae the ATA gene therapy."
She was unaware of anything else at the moment. The thought of him was like a steel hand closed around her heart, slowly relaxing its grip. Even though she had just been told, flat-out, the truth, she couldn't start believing it.
"That's not all, Elizabeth," Carson went on, sitting down in an empty chair. "When I spoke tae him, I could tell. They're just little things, but I noticed, he's not even aware that it's happening. He's very much the same person he was before he left for that God-forsaken planet."
Stone-faced, Elizabeth turned her eyes from the doctor's face, to Sheppard's grinning one. That grin turned into a self-confident smirk.
"What are you waiting for? You heard the man," he said.
And just like that, she was up like a shot. She rushed out of the room and down the steps in the control room, with one set destination in her mind. Her heart, absolutely grip-free, felt as though it would burst before she reached him.
The three men left behind glanced at each other. Zelenka's grin, while undoubtedly goofy, was the first true one he'd displayed since the M7H-855 incident. After a minute, Carson cleared his throat.
"How long d'ye suppose they'll take?" he said.
Sheppard leaned back again, folding his arms. "Ah, give them a few hours."
-----
When he heard the metal clank of the door, Rodney fully expected the return of a guard—or an executioner—or even possibly Carson returning for another blood sample. He'd been down here for hours since he'd had any human contact. And truthfully, the mind of a brilliant scientist was a dangerous thing when left on its own.
He didn't look up, waiting for whoever it was to state their business. Hey, this was technically his space they were intruding on. Not exactly Martha Stewart grade, but then, he never was much into interior décor.
It wasn't long before his curiosity got the better of him. He raised his head, and his eyes, ready to assault the newcomer with a tirade of verbal insults.
Until he saw Elizabeth standing there, just outside of the closed cell door. She was staring at him as though she'd never once seen another human being. A few moments of lexical stalemate occurred.
Rodney pushed himself to his feet. "Elizabeth," he said in sullen greeting. "You're looking well."
In response to this, she placed one hand on the door and unlocked it with the other. She never took her eyes off his face as she pulled the door open and stepped inside.
"Sure, come in. Have a seat on the, uh, invisible furniture you were so helpful to provide," he said, though he didn't mean his words to be as harsh as they sounded. "Can I get you something to drink? Magazine?"
Elizabeth moved very slowly towards him, and it was only then he realized how oblivious she was to his sarcasm. In fact, the way she seemed so entranced with him made him feel uneasy. He swallowed. "E-Elizabeth?"
She stopped not two feet away, connecting their eyes with stunned disbelief. Finally, she said, "Rodney?"
"Yes?"
That triggered an all-new experience for him. Without so much as a warning, she reached out, embraced his head with the palms of her hands and locked her mouth on his. Passionately.
There had plenty of times in his life where he'd forgotten to breathe. For just an instant, this was one of them. It took all of three seconds for him to realize what was happening, and Beckett's words happened to float aimlessly in the back of his mind. Elizabeth's feelings.
Oh.
As it happened, his body suddenly switched gears—manual to automatic. His lips responded to hers in ways he had only dreamed of before. Well, not dreamed, maybe, but certainly thought about. It was definitely on his mind now, their breaths mixing, tongues exploring the depths of each other's mouths. Half of him was shocked and bewildered—the other half wishing frantically that it wouldn't stop.
Like all good things, it did end. It ended slowly, mercifully easing the effort it took to draw apart. Her eyes were closed in some distant concentration. His hands had slipped under her outstretched arms, embracing her back tightly.
"I missed you," she breathed. Then she placed her head against his chest and started to shake.
It didn't take his genius to recognize her absoluate. Her arms slid down his shoulders and she clung to him as though afraid he'd disappear at any moment. He was convinced he would disappear if he let go of her—even if he wanted to.
He held her, unable to find a word to say—he was, for once in his life, struck entirely speechless. Yes, he—Rodney McKay, with absolutely no comment ready to leap off his sharp tongue. This was Elizabeth. This was his strong leader collapsed against him, deserted of every façade, every mirage he'd come to know her by. This was Elizabeth.
Now, as he held her, Elizabeth's feelings suddenly made a whole lot of sense.
And his did not.