By Its Cover
By Ann3
I must admit that writing McKay's 'first impression' hasn't been easy. After all, he's not one to admit when he's wrong ! But the friendship between him and Carson is so strong, so pivotal, that I couldn't help wondering – what if our favourite 'people person' Canadian didn't think such a friendship could ever exist…?
Set initially at the SGC, several years before Rising, the story then moves on to just after Poisoning The Well – so expect just a wee bit of whumpage and suffering for our favourite doctor… and no, I don't mean McKay… ;o)
I've added an extra scene to the ending, simply because I wasn't entirely happy with it, and thought it needed just a little more work. Please let me know what you think !
Chapter Three – Doctoring The Doctor
It was the sneery insult which never failed to infuriate him – never failed to get his Scottish up.
"Are you sure you're a doctor…? A real doctor, not some quack with a degree off the Internet…?"
Drawing on already well-worn patience, Carson Beckett, MD, PhD, dredged up a politely tight smile.
"Yes, Dr McKay, I am a real doctor… I'm as much a real doctor, with two real degrees, as you are…"
He'd been about as subtle with the sarcasm as a herd of highland cattle rampaging through Glencoe. Where this pain in the backside Canadian was concerned, though, he'd pitched it just about right. Interesting. Definitely worth noting for the future.
"Two…?" McKay's eyes widened, in curious interest, as he studied the SGC's latest arrival. "Elizabeth, she… I – I mean, Dr Weir, she… um… she didn't mention that…"
"Did she not…?" Carson blinked at him, all modest innocence, before shrugging his shoulders. "Aye, well… my way of thinking is one degree is quite enough to be proud about…"
A frowning, curiosity-consumed scowl suggested that Rodney McKay, PhD x 2, didn't agree. Yet Carson resisted the urge to grant him the argument he could sense the Canadian wanted. Besides, he now gleefully noted, keeping him in curious tenterhooks was just as much fun. And was he imagining it, or had Rodney McKay's blood pressure just risen another notch…?
Idly whistling as he continued Rodney's exam, Carson set his own mischievously silent, mission control countdown. He'd barely made it from T minus twenty to T minus eighteen before the clock ground to a halt.
"Well…? What is it…?"
"What's what, lad…?" Carson asked, putting those innocent, baby blue eyes to devilishly excellent use. BP up again… he noted in more or less genuine concern. Easy, lad, or ye'll be needin' knockout drops
At T minus seventeen, Rodney McKay's frustrated curiosity finally overtook all scientific dignity.
"Your other degree, of course…!" he spluttered, practically jumping off the couch he was sitting on – and almost flying clear into orbit when Carson merely smiled that shy, gentle, charismatic smile.
"Och, is that all, son…? Why didn't ye just say so…?" he asked at last, all bright eyed innocence – moving swiftly on to answer Rodney's question before the cuff on his arm went Frisbee-ing across the room. "Well, it's just a wee bit of… um… personal interest, let's say… I'm a xenogeneticist…"
The response he usually received at this point was a blank look and a politely prompting 'Huh…?' But from Rodney McKay, to his startled surprise, it earned him a far more meaningful accolade.
"Really…? You – You mean, all to do with Ancient genetics, all their technology, and – and stuff…?"
Masking the tragedy of why he'd taken such a rare medical specialty, Carson just nodded and smiled.
"Aye, lad…" he said at last, making another mental note as Rodney continued to stare back at him.
Until a few moments ago, he'd been the shyly nervous, painfully homesick new kid on the SGC block Now he'd met someone else who, he'd already sensed, felt as lonely, was as much an outsider on this base, as he was.
Blue eyes met blue, the friendly warmth in one pair gently thawing the frosty coolness in the other. And in that moment, Carson Beckett thought he'd found his first friend in this daunting new home.
Beyond his smile, though, the coolly appraising eyes of Rodney McKay saw something else entirely. This gullibly friendly doctor, he now gleefully noted, might just be the answer to all his scientific prayers.
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By uncanny, thoroughly appropriate coincidence, it was raining as Carson opened the access hatch – the clouds above him the same leaden, depressing grey as they'd been back home, all those years ago.
Heavy drops of rain were already washing away his tears as he settled himself onto the sodden grass. His fatigue suit offered him some protection, of course, but… well, if truth be told, he barely noticed.
Wrapping his arms around his knees, Carson bowed his head, breathing deeply, and closed his eyes.
He'd known it would be bad, this first anniversary of his father's death, so far away from home, but – well, he'd just never thought it would be so hard, so bloody hard, so painfully difficult for him, as this.
Until now, wherever possible, he'd always spent this saddest of days as close to home as he could get. Even when he'd gone to university, medical school, then on into his residency, he'd been in Scotland. At least there he'd still been… well, connected, for want of a better word, to his father's presence, his spirit.
Now, thousands of miles away, in surroundings still so alien to him, he'd never felt so bloody alone.
For the first time since he'd arrived at the SGC, Carson Beckett heartily wished he'd never come to Denver. He'd had no choice, though. As fresh fear and anger ripped at his heart, Carson knew he had no choice.
His life didn't just lie here now, he reflected bitterly, glaring up into still unforgivingly rainy skies. Its very continuance, the lives of so many others, depended on the SGC's truly incredible resources.
So he was stuck here, chronic homesickness and all, whether he liked it or not. Bloody marvellous.
He'd thought the traditional call home to his mother would help to ease its crushing weight upon him. What a stupid idea that had been. He'd barely managed to get through it without bursting into tears.
So he'd come up here afterwards, out into the open ground above the base, safely away from prying eyes. Up as high as he could get, out into the fresh air he'd always loved so much, to grieve and remember and reflect in privacy, and…
"Carson…? Cars-… hey, are you nuts…? What are you doing up here, sitting out in all this rain…?"
Mentally noting that his pulse had just hit the three figure mark, Carson spun around to face its cause – a spluttering yelp of protest swept relentlessly aside as Rodney McKay hauled him back to his feet.
"Rodney…? What – What the bloody hell are you doing here…?"
"I could ask you the same thing…" McKay retorted, peering curiously at the stricken face beside him. "I mean, I know you weird and wacky Scots love the rain, and all, and… hey, are you crying…?"
Thoroughly mortified, Carson jerked his arm out of Rodney's grip, trying desperately to stride away – his frantic attempts to do so only succeeding in those unyieldingly firm fingers grabbing his arm again.
"Hey, you are, aren't you…?" McKay continued, totally unmoved by a muffled, helpless sob of denial. A sneer that silently shattered Carson's dreams then furthered his torment as McKay snorted in disgust.
"Jeez, Carson, what are you… like, twelve…? I mean, jeez… here you are, a full-grown thirty year old, and you still blub 'cos you're homesick…?"
Staring back at him in pure, scandalized betrayal, Carson struggled, in painful vain, to find his voice. When he finally did so, it sounded suspiciously like that petulant child he'd just been accused of being
"Yes…! Yes, Rodney…!" he finally yelled, blue eyes flashing fire through a haze of freefalling tears. "Yes, I'm crying, because I'm lonely, and homesick, and – and it's my da's anniversary, and – and…"
Too distraught to go on, Carson then fell back onto the grass, crying as though his heart was breaking.
Taken genuinely aback by the fury of his outburst, McKay honestly didn't know what to say next.
From the moment he'd found out that this gloriously compliable doctor had it, the sacred gene of all genes – well, he'd tagged along at Carson Beckett's heels as if joined there by an invisible puppy-leash.
He'd protested, of course, tried so hard to resist being turned into McKay's own personal labrat, but – well, something Rodney hadn't been able to understand had always made Carson Beckett back down.
He was beginning to understand it now, though, as he watched a betrayed heart shatter in front of him. All this shy, lonely doctor had wanted was his friendship. He'd been willing to do whatever it took, however much he hated it, to keep it.
And he'd just had all his trust, all his unquestioning faith in human nature, thrown brutally back at him.
Damn.
Rodney McKay sadly realized something else too now, as needles of guilt continued to prick at his conscience. He'd have to start again, find another gullible, unassuming sap to act as his Ancient gene guinea pig – because in the dangerous, often deadly world of the Stargate program, Dr Carson Beckett wouldn't last five minutes.
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March 7th. A date that had been discreetly circled on Rodney McKay's calendar for the last five years.
His best friend's anniversary. No, he irritably corrected himself, his best friend's father's anniversary. The day he'd cynically decided that Dr Carson Beckett couldn't survive, didn't belong, in the SGC.
How wrong he'd been. How consistently, so gently unjudgmentally, he'd been proven wrong. How sickeningly ironic that, exactly five years later, he was on the verge of being finally proved right.
Devastated by his experiences on Hoff, Carson Beckett had fallen emotionally, and physically, apart. The tearful bombshell he'd dropped three days ago, at the end of a grimly subdued staff meeting, was still unthinkable enough to make McKay wince.
'I – I may as well tell ye all now, while – while you're all here… I'm – I'm resigning as CMO… I - I just canna be a doctor any more...'
A mood that was already strained and subdued had changed, in a heartbeat, into complete disbelief. Everyone who'd heard that bombshell had tried, calmly at first, then frantically, to talk him out of it.
Elizabeth and John Sheppard had led the first wave, his own shellshocked senior staff the second. Teyla had tried too, in her own gently spiritual way, to make her kindred soul-mate see sense.
Consumed by grief, overwhelmed by his shattered conscience, Carson Beckett had refused to listen.
So now it all rested with him, Mr Sensitivity, to somehow succeed where everyone else had failed.
Except Rodney McKay, that same Mr Sensitivity, had one distinct advantage that no-one else had. He knew Carson Beckett more closely, more intimately, more privately, than anyone else on Atlantis.
And, more to the point, as the rest of the city searched for their missing, deeply troubled CMO, he knew where Carson would be.
An eerie sense of déjà vu crept over him as Rodney climbed out onto the central spire's balcony. Leaden skies. The sound of crying. And a lone figure huddled against the freezing rain. Wonderful.
Gratefully noting that his friend wasn't wearing his own, Rodney then thumbed his headset.
"Elizabeth…? Major…? I've found him… yes, he's – he's okay, where I thought he'd be... no, I don't need any help, just some... um... privacy... I'm gonna try and talk him inside…"
Swallowing down his fear of the spire's dizzying height, he padded carefully across to its railing – his eyes never leaving, not daring to leave, the rain-sodden figure who sat curled in a ball against it
He knew Carson would never be reckless enough to something so stupid, so unthinkable, however depressed he was, but – well, it was still there, nagging away at the back of Rodney's mind, as he sadly studied his friend. If he did jump, leaving the agony of living behind him… well, there'd be very few pieces to pick up.
And startling him, McKay wryly reflected, as he'd done back in Denver, would not be a good idea. Instead, pitching his voice to just above a whisper, he crouched down at his shivering friend's side.
"Carson…?" Not surprised in the slightest at the lack of response, he tried again, risking a tentative pat on his arm. "Carson…? Carson…?"
Seconds that felt more like hours passed. Then, at last, the dark, rain-swept head finally lifted, turned – the blue eyes that stared so blankly back at him chilling McKay every bit as much as the freezing rain.
Their friendly warmth, the lively mischief that was so much a part of him, just wasn't there any more. Instead pure exhaustion clouded them, casting a worrying veil over the broken, devastated soul beyond
Even when they blinked, in dazed recognition, they still weren't the eyes that Rodney knew so well – the faint, confused whisper that finally answered him not the voice of his brilliant, one-of-a-kind friend
"R – R'dney…?"
Blinking once more, Carson then stared down at his sodden, shivering body in heartbreaking alarm. "R'dney, wha'…? Wha' am I doin' out here…?"
Great. A depressed friend sitting on Atlantis' highest balcony – and he didn't know how he'd got there
Praying to every god he knew that he looked less scared than he felt, McKay pasted on a cheery smile.
"Guess you just wanted some fresh air…" he said at last, taking a cautious grip on Carson's sleeve – silently thanking those same gods when his arm was allowed to travel, unresisted, around alarmingly quaking shoulders. "But I kinda think you've had enough fresh air for today… what say we go inside now… okay…?"
Too frightened and confused to argue, Carson just nodded, allowing himself to be gently steered inside.
Beside him, Rodney McKay breathed a sigh of pure relief, his free hand sliding into his pants pocket. Yes, it was still there. A tiny vial of liquid salvation. Rodney just hoped it would be enough.
The main corridors which led from the main spire to their living quarters were thankfully quiet. For that, Rodney McKay was truly grateful as he guided a silent, soaking, shuffling figure along them. The last thing that a confused, disoriented Carson Beckett needed right now was a curious audience.
His plan of action was in place long before they reached the blessed sanctuary of Carson's quarters. Even beneath two jackets and a thick bath-towel, the shoulders beneath his hand were still shaking.
First port of call would be his friend's shower room, layer upon layer of warm dry clothes - followed by a very carefully prepared mug of tea. Judging by the dazed, increasingly worrying ramblings beside him, that last part of the plan couldn't come soon enough.
"C – C'ld… 'm – 'm cold, R'dney… so – so c'ld… wh – why 'm I so cold…?"
It was the exhaustion talking. Rodney knew that. The toll of too little sleep, too much humanity, and way too much guilt. But that didn't help him feel better. Didn't stop the dismayed sympathy from choking his own voice.
"Because you got caught in the rain, Carson…" he soothed, gently nudging his friend onto the couch. "But it's okay, you're home and dry now…" he continued, tugging off two thoroughly sodden boots. "Long hot shower, some warm dry clothes, and you'll be feeling better again in no time… okay…?"
More than anything else, he wanted to see those eyes twinkle at him with their familiar amusement. Hear that soft Scottish brogue peevishly demand why, exactly, Rodney was stripping off his clothes.
But no. The normally bright blue eyes remained glassy and blank, the hoarse voice barely coherent.
"Sh'wer… w'rm… w'nt to – to be w'rm 'gain… 'kay…"
The reviving benefits of a long, steamingly hot shower proved, inevitably, to have its drawbacks too. Yes, it finally brought some precious, healthier warmth back to a dangerously chilled, soaking body. Layer upon layer of all the insulating clothes Rodney could find had ensured that warmth stayed put.
But it brought memories back too. Memories that Carson Beckett just wasn't strong enough to handle. And their impact now hit him with all the brutal, devastating impact of a Wraith stunner on full blast. If not for the fact that he was now sitting on the edge of his bed, he'd have probably passed out from sheer emotional shock.
"Oh – Oh God… Perna…Per-... oh, Christ, what - what have I done...?" he whispered, what little strength he'd regained now cruelly deserting him.
A muffled sob escaped him, then another. Another. Then Carson Beckett fell completely apart.
He'd expected it, of course. But the sight of his best friend breaking down in floods of tears still tore at McKay's heart
"Yes, Carson, I know… I know…" he said at last, comforting that distraught friend as best he could – holding him close, trying to calm him while glancing back at the two mugs on the table alongside them.
Undetectable oblivion laced one of them. And by God, was Carson Beckett ever going to need it.
Not yet, though. However badly he needed it, Carson was in no fit state to safely drink it down yet.
Even when the torrent of tears finally stopped, the exhaustion it left behind still prolonged his torment. The violent tremors which had afflicted him before now returned, ten times worse, to his hands – making the most vital part of Rodney's plan all the more difficult as he pressed that precious mug into them. If not for an extra hand rapidly intervening to hold it steady for him, he'd have spilled the entire lot.
"Come on, Carson, you need to drink this down now… that's it, attaboy… all the way down now…"
He fidgeted and fretted, feebly fighting him at times, but at last Carson's mug sat preciously empty in his hands – its contents already working their magic as a gently drugged, mercifully doctored doctor began to sleepily keel onto his side.
And to Rodney's astonishment, a Mickey Finned mug of tea now coaxed out just the trace of a smile.
"'nniv'rsary… fi – f've years…" Carson mumbled, squinting up at him out of now barely open eyes. "Hey, R'dney…? I – I bet ye n'ver thou'ht tha' I'd st'll be… h're th's long…"
"Never doubted you for a second…" Rodney sniffed, praying his friend was too sleepy to doubt him – a mumbled rebuke from within a snug huddle of bedclothes defying him in the gentlest, most poignant of cruelties.
"L – Liar…"
Swallowing hard as he watched his friend drift into blissful oblivion, Rodney then bowed his head – idly wondering if some stray shower water still lurking in his hair had started to trickle down his face. Why else would there be this sudden, inexplicable dampness moistening his cheek…?
They arrived within minutes of his hailing call, setting a new record for travelling across the city – mirrored anxiety on their faces melting into pure relief as Rodney ushered them, very quietly, inside.
"It's okay, that… um… sedative Dr Buchanan gave me worked like a charm…" he reported softly – turning from his doorman duties to nod to the bed behind him, to the sleeping figure curled up within. "Yes, it… um… it worked real fast, he… um… crashed out almost straight away…"
Nodding in grateful understanding, Elizabeth then squeezed his arm, her smile warm with admiration.
"Good job, Rodney, I… well, I knew if anyone could find Carson and bring him back, you could…"
"Yeah, how did you know where he was…?" John Sheppard asked, his voice just as reverently soft – guessing from Rodney's still subdued, strained expression that his reply would not be a happy one.
Haunted blue eyes flinched for a moment, then cleared with the anticipation of releasing their burden.
"It's… um… Carson's anniversary today… or – or rather, it's his dad's…" Rodney finally explained, leading the way back to Carson's bedside, re-taking the place he'd already claimed at his shoulder.
Pausing for a moment, collecting his thoughts as he absently adjusted the bedclothes, he then very softly, still tellingly softly, continued.
"I – I found out five years ago, when – when Carson first started to work with me at the SGC, and… well, when – when he's got a lot on his mind, he likes to get out in the open, as high up as he can go, he… well, he – he just believes he's just that little closer to his dad that way…"
"Yes, that sounds like our Carson…" Elizabeth agreed quietly, settling herself on a spare edge of bed – studying her sleeping CMO with a smile of bittersweet pride as she gently straightened still shower-damp hair.
Reminded of the tragedy hidden beneath his peaceful expression, she then sighed, shaking her head.
"Damn it, he – he didn't deserve what happened on that planet… shouldn't be going through this…"
"Yeah, Elizabeth, I know… I know..." John replied softly, his voice softened by his own stricken conscience – common sense and practicality, the hopeful prospect of moving forward, helping, just a little, to ease its load. "But we can't change what happened to him back there… all we can do is bring him through it…"
"And we will… we will bring him though this…" Elizabeth agreed with the same soft determination – leaning forward to make that same promise to a troubled friend who now lay so far away from her. "I - I know you can't hear me, Carson, but you will be alright… we will bring you through this…"
He was lost to her, she knew. Thankfully shielded from the horrors of reality in a sanctuary of peaceful dreams. And maybe it was a trick of the light, distorting her vision through tears of sympathy and relief, but – well, wasn't the smile on that pale, peaceful face just a little bit easier, just a little bit happier, now…?
Rodney McKay's expression, on the hand, was still far too strained for John Sheppard's liking. Knowing better than to question its cause directly, though, he gently skirted around it instead.
"You did a great job out there, Rodney… like Elizabeth said, if anyone was going to find him…"
"…it was going to be me, his best friend…" Rodney finished for him, still watching Carson sleep – the self mocking bitterness in his next words causing John and Elizabeth to exchange startled glances. "I wasn't much of a friend to him five years ago, when I derided him for crying over his father… God knows, I've not been much of a friend to him since..."
Realising this was why he still looked so subdued, John rested a gentle, brotherly hand on his shoulder
"Well, no, I guess you weren't then…" he said at last, giving that shoulder a firmly rallying squeeze – keeping up the pressure until Rodney looked at him, so that he could see the support in his eyes. "But you're one hell of a friend to him now, Rodney… you're the best and closest friend he has here…"
Waiting until an appreciative smile rewarded him, John then grinned, nodding back towards the bed.
"He came though it then, Rodney… he survived it five years ago… he'll come through it now… we'll make sure of that..."
The smile came easier this time as Rodney nodded once more, proudly watching his sleeping friend.
He'd survived all right. He'd defied all the odds, blithely defied even the most arrogant of cynics. Carson Beckett had survived those five minutes at the SGC, and the equivalent years that had followed. With his close knit circle of friends around him, his surrogate family, he'd breeze through the next five
In fact, Rodney now dryly noted, with that famous pig-headedness, that indomitable courage...? Oh, yes, he'd easily survive the next fifty.
