The Strange Encounters of Rodney McKay
by Soledad
Author's Note:
We don't really know how Dr. Zelenka got into the Atlantis expedition. But I assumed that Dr. Weir chose from people already known for certain members of the Stargate program, and thought it would be easier to get Radek in via the Russians. Plus, this would give him a chance to meet Rodney pre-Atlantis.
Spoilers: None really.
Chapter 03 – Zelenka
Dr. Rodney McKay had been in Siberia for almost two months when he first met the man who'd become his right hand one day. At their first encounter, which was fairly unspectacular, to tell the truth, he couldn't have possibly imagined how essential this person would turn out for him in the not too far future.
Or that it would happen in a far-away, different galaxy.
The naquadah generator project was making slow headway. Too slow for the taste of the Russian government, in fact, and as much as he hated to admit, Rodney knew he was part of the problem. Yes, he was a genius, but he was used to work with theories and computer models mainly, and being confronted with the real item threw him off-kilt, just as it had happened with the Stargate. To actually build something was not his thing. He was a designer, not a boulder, and while not exactly clumsy, he still was a bit uncomfortable with the practical side of creativity.
The Russian engineers were good enough with the practical stuff, but they couldn't follow the irregular leaps of Rodney's thinking. Partially because none of them – not even Oktharev – spoke a good enough English to understand when Rodney explained his theories, partially because he was used to speak out loudly only every second or third thought, as his former colleagues at Area 51 were usually able to fill in the blanks.
After the unfortunate day when the first small-scale reactor model blew up into the face of two unlucky technicians, just because they had managed to completely misinterpret Rodney's half-phrased instructions, Markova decided that enough was enough.
"She's called in a few other people to help," Oksana Selikhova, a geophysicist of some importance, who was here to study the unusual qualities of naquadah, explained.
"Moscow promised reinforcements in two or three days," Oktharev added, "depending on the weather. We're not supposed to restart work until then."
"And what are we supposed to do until the cavalry arrives?" Rodney asked, deeply insulted by the mere idea that he'd need help from anyone.
"Find mistake," Oktharev shrugged. "Figure out why model blew up."
"I know why the damned model blew up," Rodney fumed. "It blew up because your hopelessly incompetent technicians are unable to follow the simplest instructions, that's why!"
Oktharev and Selikhova exchanged long-suffering looks. So far, the Russians had endured Rodney's temper tantrums with the same fatalistic attitude as they endured the harsh climate or the Spartan accommodations. Vodka had played an important rule in this process. But it seemed that even Russian patience had its limits when it came to irate foreign scientists.
"I believe it would be better for you to rest, Dr. McKay," Selikhova said. "You look like you need it."
They left Rodney alone and sputtering in indignation – something that seemed to become a pattern with him and his Russian colleagues. Whenever they grew fed up with him, thy simply left. And since – unlike at Area 51 – he wasn't one of the department heads here, there wasn't a thing he could have done about it.
It was humiliating, and he hated it. He was used to subordinates and lab assistants cringle in fear when he had one of his moods but keep working nevertheless. The Russians calmly left and any work they might be doing was postponed. It was inefficient, but when he tried to push, they made mistakes. Not out of fear – they didn't fear him – but because they couldn't understand him when his thinking became erratic.
Unfortunately, the erratic periods were the ones in which he made the most progress. If his co-workers could follow him, that is. Which the Russians, due to the language barrier mostly, obviously couldn't. With the possible exception of Markova, but she was the boss here and had her own research to do. She wasn't here to give Rodney a helping hand.
So the work on the naquadah reactor was topped for several days, adding exactly those days to Rodney's Siberian exile. He spent these days working on a few personal projects on his laptop. But since he couldn't be sure that nobody would be able to break into his files, he could only work on insignificant things that didn't really challenge his intellect. This fact made him increasingly annoyed and difficult to deal with.
In silent agreement, the Russians chose to completely ignore him. Which was fine with him, as he didn't feel the overwhelming urge to socialize with them, either. He only left his quarters (a small, dark room with a low ceiling(1) that he nicknamed his prison cell) to eat.
Finally, on the fourth day of forced inactivity, he was called back to the lab. Apparently, the cavalry had arrived, despite the inconvenient weather of this season. Entering the lab, Rodney's eyes fell upon a short, stocky young man first, who had flaxen hair, cornflower-blue eyes and a full, shockingly reddish beard as it is sometimes the case with fair-skinned, blond men from Northern Europe(2).
The young man seemed to recognize him at once (which wasn't a mutual act) as an ear-to-ear grin practically split his ruddy face.
"Rodney McKay!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "Who'd have thought that we'd work together one day?"
The voice at last gave him away, in spite of that hideous, carrot-coloured beard. It was Mikka Toivannen, the brightest mind of Finland's young scientist generation; an electrical engineer with whom Rodney had made a pleasant – not to mention extremely drunk – nightly tour through Helsinki's bars and pubs after the conference was over.
"Hi Mikka," Rodney was grateful to see him, not only because his was the first friendly face in ages, but also because Toivannen was a truly excellent scientist who could make computers and other electronic equipment do things for him they wouldn't have done for anyone else. He was a passable mechanical engineer, too. And he didn't take offence if people were unable to pronounce his name.
"How come they brought you in?" Rodney asked, trying to hide his relief. There was no need to give Mikka exaggerated ideas about his own importance.
"We were working on the new rocket propulsion system for the ESA when the Russians called in for help," Toivannen explained. "And since it's within our field, plus we both speak English and Russian well enough, they specifically asked for us."
"Who's us?" Rodney frowned in suspicion. Too many people were already involved, and bringing in other nations – who weren't even supposed to know about naquadah generator technology – didn't make keeping confidential information, well, confidential, any easier.
Toivannen pointed with his bearded chin towards the middle of the room where a small, wild-haired man was talking with half a dozen Russians at the same time, underlining his words with animated gestures.
"Me and him. He's the best ESA could offer."
Rodney gave the slight man a critical look – and scowled. The guy looked like a clown, with that unkempt, wispy hair, the long nose and the wire-rimmed glasses that tended to slide down said nose and needed to be pushed back every thirty seconds or so. No, not like a clown – like a caricature of all those crazed scientists from really bad sci-fi B-movies from the 1950s.
Toivannen saw Rodney's reaction… and grinned.
"People tend to react to him like you did, at first," he said. "But he's a great guy, you'll see. Very competent and innovative. And patient. I heard that's a requirement when one has to work with you. Come, I'll introduce you to each other."
He grabbed Rodney's arm, ignoring his indignant protests, and dragged him to the newcomer. Who, by the way, was now surrounded by half the female staff, who gave him adoring looks. Not the sort of looks they'd give a perfect, muscle-bound male specimen, though. The sort of looks one would give an extremely cute puppy.
Yes, that was the right word. In his dishevelled way, the man was cute. Or what overly sentimental women would find cute. And that was supposed to be a scientist? Rodney rolled his eyes, preparing to give Toivannen a piece of his mind, as soon as they were alone.
Before Toivannen could do the introductions, however, the masses parted for Markova. She was a woman who could do this by her mere presence. Rodney had no doubt he could have made even the Red Sea part, had she put her mind to it.
"Radomir Aleksandrovich(3)," she said with a warmth in her voice that Rodney hadn't heard before, "how good of you to accept our invitation."
The newcomer rolled grey-blue eyes behind those ridiculous glasses in mild exasperation.
"They just can't leave formalities, can they?" he said to Toivannen, with an accent that was less strong than that of the Russians' and slightly different. "Pleasure is all mine, Dr. Markova," he then replied to the personification of scientific – and possibly political – authority present.
Markova gave him a motherly smile, despite the fact that she couldn't be significantly older than him. It was a Russian thing. Women of a certain age acquired a weird kind of maternal authority.
"We're glad to have you here," she said. "And this is Dr. McKay with whom you'll work on this project."
The slight man grinned up into Rodney's less than enthusiastic face in an undeniably charming manner, his eyes twinkling.
"Hello," he said, extending a small but surprisingly strong hand. "I'm Radek Zelenka. Is pleasure to meet you. Your thesis about wormhole physics is… inspiring, to say the least."
And in that moment Rodney forgot the ridiculous hair and the unbalanced glasses. As he looked into those friendly, intelligent eyes, he knew that he'd not just found a fellow scientist who was (almost) equally gifted. He found someone who could one day become something he'd never had before.
A friend.
TBC
End notes:
(1) Siberian buildings tend to be small, with low ceilings and very small windows (if any). This is to preserve warmth, as it's easier to heat small rooms and has nothing to do with the level of technology.
(2) I've seen several Finnish men with the looks like that. It was… interesting.
(3) According to Icie, Radek is an official name of its own, although it might also be the short form of Radomir. I assumed that the Russians chose the form to be more polite and respectful, even though Radek wasn't particularly fond of it. His father-name is my invention. As for the other scientists' names, I saw them mentioned in fanfiction, so they are probably fanon. But I liked the names nevertheless, so I kept them.