Under the Skin – Chapter 12

Carson closed his eyes for a second, forcing all his fears, all his doubts, all his concerns down deep. It was a trick he had learned in med school; when there was too much emotion involved, a doctor had to be able to rise above it and be the voice of reason. Be the protector, the one who offered comfort. It wasn't exactly healthy, but he hadn't yet met anyone who practiced medicine who didn't engage in some form of it.

Opening his eyes, he squeezed Rodney's arm once, then gestured at the bed. "Go ahead and get comfortable and I'll hook you up."

"You're kidding, right? Comfortable? Comfortable would be in my quarters in my bed."

"Well, there are degrees of comfortable. There's your quarters, then there's here, where you can at least make sure you get settled with nothing twisted wrong or falling asleep on you."

He rolled his eyes and wandered over to the table glaring down at it before turning back to Carson. "You know, we can keep looking."

Carson looked up, surprised at the sudden reversal. He saw the fear Rodney was trying to hide, and had to squelch his own again. "You said yourself this was our best option, and we don't know if these memories are doing any harm. Trust me, Rodney."

"I know, I know, I know. It's just that the more I think of it, the less I think I want to deal with any of this."

"And the faster we get this over with, the sooner you don't have to deal with it any more."

"I don't want you rushing through this just to get it over with quicker," Rodney said, scowling. "If we're doing this it has to be done right."

"Trust me. I wouldn't have agreed to do it if I didn't think I could."

"God," he said, clasping his hands together. "I wasn't this nervous when I defended my doctorate."

Moving back to where Rodney was standing, he lowered his voice so the soldiers couldn't hear him. "I know. I promise, I'll fix this."

"I know, I know. I am allowed to panic, you know. It's what I do. This is my brain we're talking about."

"I'd be worried about you if you weren't panicking." He put his hands on Rodney's shoulders, catching and holding the man's eyes. "But I will not make a mistake. You are going to be fine."

"Of course I'll be fine," he said, straightening away from Carson's hands and sitting down on the table. "Um…how do you want me on this thing?"

Nodding, Carson arranged him on the bed, hooking up the various wires as the diagram had illustrated. He double-checked that everything was correct before catching Rodney's eyes once again. "Are you ready?"

"No."

"Take a deep breath and count to ten, then release it. Keep doing that until you're ready."

"In that case, we'll be here for months. Just get on with it."

Carson nodded, and reached over, hitting the switch that would begin the process. He saw Rodney's eyes starting to close almost immediately, the traces of panic still there. "Trust me, Rodney. Just relax and trust me."

"Sure…" he said, his eyes closing completely.

Carson watched his friend fall asleep to drugs or something else he had no knowledge of. He swallowed hard, glad there was no one to see his hands shake. Then he remembered the silent soldiers behind him and forced himself to be steady. He took a moment to look over the notes Rodney had made. It took several minutes for the patient to be fully asleep and unaware, and he wasn't going to risk anything by jumping in too fast.

"Doc?"

He jumped. "Major?"

"You okay there?" Lorne asked quietly.

He stared at the notes, unwilling to look up. "Aye. I can do this."

"I know you can, but I do have a question."

"Okay. What?" He looked up, his mask back in place.

Lorne's face was deadly serious. "How can you read his handwriting?"

The question startled a laugh out of Carson. "I've seen worse. I don't think a single one of my professors practiced what I would call written communication. Compared to them, Rodney's is a piece of cake."

"Good," Lorne said with a smile. "You look better now. A little less constipated."

Carson shook his head. "You had better be watching yourself, Major. If you aren't careful, I might just start to like you."

He laughed lightly. "I'll keep that in mind, Doc," he said patting his arm. "Let's get McKay back to normal so he can terrorize the science staff. They've been feeling lonely."

Carson nodded, offering another small smile before turning back to the terminal. According the readings, Rodney was as deeply asleep as he was going to get. It was now or never.

He pushed a series of buttons the instructions had given him, and suddenly the rather featureless room was filled. With images. Thoughts. Words. This was Rodney's mind all around them.

He saw flashes of people he assumed were his parents and sister. Saw the science team and the rest of the Atlantis personnel. Saw places and people and things that were tainted with every emotion possible. Behind him, he heard both Sheppard and Lorne gasp.

"When we leave here, we don't tell anyone what we've seen. If Rodney chooses to share any of this with us, fine, but otherwise…"

"No kidding," Sheppard said, gazing around the room at everything. "This is all in there? All at once?"

"Aye, and I suspect that's why the extra memories didn't drive him mad. Rodney's mind—he always says he's a genius, but now I can see why. I can't believe how many things he can mentally juggle at once." Carson looked around, and after a moment, started to distinguish a pattern. The longer he looked, the easier it was to tell which memories belonged, and which ones were from someone else.

"Beckett?" Sheppard asked, his voice quiet and level.

"Aye?" He wanted to be sure of what he was doing before he started, so he was closely examining each memory, mentally tagging it as Rodney's or Durand's.

"You've been staring at everything for close to an hour now. I didn't want to interrupt…but, don't you think you should do something?"

An hour? Carson turned to look at him, could feel his eyes widening a bit. "It has'na been that long. I just started. I want to make sure I know which ones I'm isolating and which ones I'm not before I do anything. I have no idea how reversible this is, so I don't want to make any mistakes."

"An hour, Doc. I've been keeping an eye on my watch. I sent Lorne in the hall to keep guard. I didn't want anyone walking in."

Carson hadn't even realized the other man had left. "I'm sorry, but it will take as long as it takes. I'd rather be overly cautious than rush into things. But I'm almost done. There are only a few memories left, then I'll start sorting them."

"Fine. If you need me I'll be over there," he said, gesturing to a chair that had been pushing into the corner, out of the way. "And I have to tell you, this is an…interesting experience."

Carson looked at the Colonel, then at the various memories Rodney had of him, all floating around. It was fairly obvious how loyal Rodney was, how much he trusted Sheppard—and himself for that matter, but he would deal with that when he had time to let go—and yet most of what they were seeing was carefully hidden. It was obvious the Rodney McKay they thought they knew was just the way he kept the world at arm's length.

"What are you going to do about it?" He went back to work, keeping part of his mind trained on the Colonel while the rest re-focused on Rodney.

"I'm not sure," he said thoughtfully. "It's weird that he considers us closer than his actual family."

"Rodney hasn't talked much about his past, but the few hints I got led me to believe his was not the happiest of childhoods. I knew he was searching for a place where he belonged, but I had no idea he felt this strongly about it, or about us." Finishing up with the last memory, Carson sat back down at the terminal carefully re-reading what he was supposed to do one more time.

"So, what's next?" Sheppard asked after a minute.

"Now comes the hard part. I have to separate the memories, and isolate the ones that originally belonged to Durand, without touching or jostling any of his own. Moving one slightly might not have any effect, but I don't know enough about this machine to be sure of that, and I don't want to take any chances." There were places where the memories were piled several deep, with Durand's nestled between them.

"Take it one at a time, Doc. You'll be fine," Sheppard said, his voice confident.

"Mmmm." Carson was already involved, his mind wholly focused now.

He didn't know long it took—he painstakingly went through every memory, sorting them, then went back over them a second time just to make sure, before he was finally ready to shut the machine down and see the results. It would take about a half-hour for Rodney to wake up, and probably another little bit after that to be coherent. Pushing the final few buttons, the memories disappeared and the lights came back up, leaving the place feeling very empty. Carson sat down, suddenly exhausted, not caring that it was the floor and not a chair he had found. He located Sheppard sitting in the same chair where he last remembered noticing him. "How long?"

"You really don't want to know," he said instead, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Yes I do. We have a little bit before Rodney wakes up. How long did it take?"

Sheppard shrugged. "About three hours, give or take."

Carson lay down, the floor was hard and cold under him. "It did'na seem that long."

"Do you need anything? Water? PowerBar? A bed? I sent Lorne for the first two."

"I'll be fine." He knew the reaction was just his muscles protesting to being released after hours of being tense with no relief. He would be sore tomorrow, but if Rodney was okay, it was worth it. "Go check on him. He won't be stirring yet, and don't pull anything off him, but make sure he's still breathing, still alive. I'll be there in a moment."

Sheppard shuffled off toward Rodney, leaning over him. "Breathing. Check. He's warm too, so I'm thinking the old ticker's still going."

Carson pushed himself back up off the floor, ignoring the protests his body sent out. He made his way to Rodney, automatically finding his wrist and counting his heartbeats. "At least we know I did'na kill him. That's reassuring."

"And we'll know about his genius brain when he wakes up."

Nodding, Carson let go of Rodney's wrist. "Aye, now we just get to wait. It shouldn't be too much longer. I don't know how coherent he'll be right at first, but according to the notes, most patients were fully aware in about ten minutes, some more, some less."

"So, what kind of patient do you think McKay will be?" Sheppard asked, his mouth twitching in a smile.

"Other than stubborn, demanding, and difficult? I'm going for the aware as fast as possible option. That brain of his can't stay still long."

Sheppard chuckled. "No kidding. I swear I have whiplash from what I saw. I can't imagine living it with every second of the day."

Carson shook his head, fighting back the emotions Rodney's memories had stirred in him. Not the time yet. Instead, he gave a small laugh. "Aye, now at least we know when he's talking so fast, it really is because his mouth can't keep up."

"I think I knew that already, but actually seeing it…" Sheppard's voice trailed off. "And I sent Lorne out because I didn't think he should be here. He's a good officer, but he doesn't know McKay like we do."

"He's a good man," Carson said after a pause. "I was a bit surprised to find that there are now two soldiers I would trust to work under. But I agree, I think Rodney would want as few people as possible digging through his head, getting under his masks."

"Need to leave some of the mystery, eh?"

"He would never forgive us if word got out that he actually cares about his staff and takes pleasure in their successes. The only thing keeping them going most of the time is their terror of being belittled." Carson felt a grin curl his lips.

"No. We'd be toast," Sheppard agreed. "But why do I feel like I need to share that tidbit with Zelenka?"

Carson shook his head. "Rodney will tell him in good time, if Radek doesn't know already. He sees a lot more than Rodney realizes, and I think it's out respect that he doesn't spill the beans."

Sheppard fell into the silence, simply waiting beside Carson, the minutes passing. He shifted on his feet a few moments later. "I thought you said ten minutes."

"I said he would wake up in about thirty minutes. Then it will take another ten, give or take, to be fully aware. That's what the notes said at least. How long has it been?"

Sheppard checked his watch. "About fifteen."

Carson walked back over to the chair at the terminal, absently checking to make sure all the settings and readings were still okay. No problems being reported, that was a relief. He sat down, watching John hovering over Rodney. "When did you say the Major would be back? I'm suddenly ravenous. That sandwich was a long time ago."

"He's outside," he said, moving toward the door. "Be right back."

"Oh." Carson watched him, noting the tension in his body. "Colonel, how much sleep did you get last night? I thought I told you to go lay down."

"I slept," he said, pausing a few feet from the door.

"That's not what I asked."

He shrugged. "A few hours. About the same as you if what Lorne told me was true."

"You know you're my patient too, as much as Rodney is. What good does it do me to fix him only to have you collapse afterwards?"

"I'm fine," he said, his voice quiet. "Just worried. I'll sleep better knowing he's in his right mind."

Carson held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. "Okay. Just make sure you get a good long rest when this is over."

"Trust me. I'm looking forward to the time when my bed and I can get re-acquainted. You still want the Bar?"

Laughing, Carson nodded. "Please, and the water too, if I can. There's still a lot of work to do, once Rodney wakes up."

"More work?" Sheppard asked, raising an eyebrow. "Hold that thought. Let me grab the provisions."

Carson waited until Sheppard had returned, forcing himself not to inhale the PowerBar, but instead to chew slowly. "The hard part is done, yes. But no matter what he wakes up like, I'll want to keep him under medical supervision for the next twenty-four hours. He'll fight me on it, knowing him. I need the energy to carry my end of the argument." He held up the bar and grinned.

"You have the needles. Of course you'll win."

"Aye, but the trick is to get him to the infirmary where I can stick those needles in him. It doesn't do me much good to threaten when I can't do anything about it here. The man is a little too good at hiding from me sometimes."

"You just have to know where to look, Carson, then it's not so hard." Sheppard took a pull from his water bottle. "And besides, Zelenka is a good person to have on your side."

Chuckling Carson accepted a new bottle the Colonel held out to him. "The problem is that when he hides from you, he really isn't hiding per se. He really doesn't want to see me. I have the needles, remember. It is my lot in life to be the most hated man in Atlantis I'm afraid. No one else likes the needles either."

"Trust me, he knows how to hide from me when it comes to our training sessions. You'd be surprised how much time and energy he puts into avoiding them."

"You may just be right at that." Carson grinned, letting his thoughts drift for a moment. "Not to be random, but I have a question for you. Just how long will Rodney and I be enjoying yours and Major Lorne's company? Not that I don't like him or anything, I'm just curious at this point."

Sheppard shrugged. "Depends on how McKay is. Maybe just tonight. Getting sick of us? Admit it, we've been good to have along."

"I just know you both have better things to do. I've run that poor man ragged over the last few days I'd imagine. And quite frankly, I'd like to be able to sleep in my boxers again. It's a sight more comfortable than sleeping fully dressed."

"Shy, Doc? Didn't take you for a shy boy."

Carson gave him a wry grin. "I would never inflict my mostly-naked body on anyone Colonel, especially not an unsuspecting Marine. The poor boy would be scarred for life."

"We all know about you Scots and those kilts," Sheppard said, teasing.

Carson huffed, feeling his ears get hot. "That's different. I only wear a kilt when everyone else around me is going to bloody well be wearing one too."

Sheppard's eyes laughed at him, but he didn't comment, instead taking another sip from his water bottle, the silence stretching out between them as they waited.

Carson was content to sit in silence, until he heard stirring from the other side of the room. He was on his feet and by Rodney's side almost before he had registered it. He saw the slits of blue as Rodney's eyes opened, and he prayed silently to any Gods listening that everything would be back to normal.

"Carson?"

"Aye, I'm here. How are you feeling?" Now that he was waking up, Carson felt okay to start pulling the wires off, quickly stripping them away from his friend's body.

"Did it work?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"You tell me. It did what I think it was supposed to do, but I don't know how well it worked yet."

"Oh."

Carson absently rubbed Rodney's wrists, an old habit of trying to get circulation going, to wake the brain up. "What do you remember?"

"Pieces…" he started. "Not sure yet what's what. But my head really hurts."

"That doesn't surprise me. I was in poking around your memories for several hours. Once you feel up to it, I'll have John and Major Lorne help you back to the infirmary. We can run a few tests and get you something for the headache."

"Okay," he said, his eyes drifting shut. "Just keep the noise down. Even your breathing is loud."

"I'll do my best." He kept his tone low and soothing. "Colonel, I don't suppose you thought to have the Major bring a wheelchair with him when you sent him for supplies? That would make things much easier."

"No, sorry," Sheppard said quietly. "It'll take a while to get one down here too."

"Aye. Do you think between us we can get him up there? Personally, I'd rather do it now so I can use instruments and I know and trust to look him over, in case any problems crop up."

"Three of us verses one headache-ridden scientist. Sure," Sheppard said. "Lorne and I can carry him, no problem."

"All right. If that's the case, then once you get moving, I'll go ahead and get ready for him. The corner where I had him last night will be fine."

"Sounds good, Doc. We'll bring him."

He nodded, then turned back to his patient. "Rodney, Colonel Sheppard and Major Lorne are going to help you to the infirmary. Can you sit up for me?"

"Leave me alone," he grumbled, flinging am arm over his eyes.

"See, I told you, a bloody argument." Carson muttered to Sheppard under his breath. "We need to get you to the infirmary. I know it hurts, but the sooner you get there, the sooner I can give you something to help."

"Give me something now. Then we'll talk."

"I don't have anything here to give you. Come on, lad, look sharp." Carson got a hand under one shoulder and motioned for the Colonel to do the same on the other side. Ignoring the protests, they got him sitting.

"Oh, God," he said, clenching his eyes tight.

"I know, it hurts. But believe me this is the best way. Let's get you swung around and on your feet. We'll support you, so don't worry about that."

"Just…" he said, his hand digging into Carson's arm. "Give me a minute, will you? Are you sure my brains aren't leaking out of my ears?"

Carson used his free hand to pat Rodney on the arm. "I'm sure. You're still breathing, still have a pulse, and the fact that you are as bad a patient as usual brings a smile to my face, since that's a pretty good sign that you're still all there. You just have a headache, and most probably will be a bit weak for a while. I have a nice quiet, dark bed with good drugs waiting for you."

"Very reassuring," he groaned, squinting up at Carson. "If the infirmary is where is good drugs are, that's where I want to be. Let's get this show on the road."

Chuckling, Carson helped him get vertical, if unsteady. Major Lorne appeared as soon as they were near the door, taking his place by Rodney's side. "All right, I'm going to go make sure we're ready for you, Rodney. These two will get you safely up to the infirmary. As you move, I'd guess that you'll start to feel a bit stronger, but let them help you and don't overdo it, all right?"

"Fine," he hissed, eyes closed. "Good drugs. Promise me."

"As soon as I get some blood, I'm going to knock you out again. Sweet oblivion for one more night, and a chance to let your brain heal a bit. Keep telling yourself that."

"Good, good," he said. Opening an eye a minute later he regarded Carson carefully. "You're still here?"

Carson couldn't help the blinding smile he gave the man. "Just enjoying seeing you still in your right mind. I'm going now." He reached out to squeeze Rodney's arm one more time, gave the soldiers a nod, and then took off at a fast clip for the infirmary. He needed to make sure the lights were dimmed and the privacy curtains pulled, as well as getting everything he would need close at hand. Hurrying his steps, he let his mind follow the well-worn paths of planning patient care.

xxx

With his arms draped over Sheppard and Lorne, they slowly made their way back into the main part of the city. If it weren't for the support from the two soldiers McKay would have been a pile on the floor, curled up in some corner where he'd managed to drag himself.

"You're awfully quiet, McKay," Sheppard grunted, maneuvering them around a corner. "Usually the complaints have started by now. How are you feeling?"

"It's hard to describe the actual agony I'm experiencing, Colonel, but the sooner I can get my hands on the good drugs the better."

The hand supporting him tightened briefly. "I can't imagine. The quieter you get, the worse the pain is generally, so you have me a bit worried. We're almost to the transporter though, then a quick walk to the infirmary."

He snorted and groaned. "Quick? This is not exactly quick," he grumbled. Pausing, he opened his eyes a slit trying to judge where he was, but the visual images only increased the pain ten-fold, making his stomach lurch, and he closed them quickly. "How long did it take? An hour or so?"

"Yeah, about, but we didn't want to jostle you too much. Just focus on staying conscious and let Lorne and I do the walking. Feel free to rant at Lorne if yelling at someone would make you feel better."

"Ranting would hurt, Colonel. And I was talking about the procedure. How long? Should have been about an hour from the notes I remember."

"Right," John sighed. "Beckett spent about an hour cataloging all your memories, identifying which ones were yours and which were Durand's. Then it took about three hours to separate them."

"What!" he said, making himself cringe at his own volume. "It shouldn't have taken that long."

"Beckett said he'd rather be overcautious and take the time to make sure he wasn't making any mistakes. I agree with him. If taking the extra time means you come out good as new, I count it a victory."

"And if the extended stay in the Ancient mess-with-your-mind device that shouldn't be run more than an hour at a time managed to do something else, what then?"

"Then Beckett will find a way to fix that too. Stop worrying."

"I'm allowed to worry," he grumbled. "It's my brain we're talking about here."

"I promise, we took good care of it while you were out. Speaking of which, once you're feeling better, you and I need to have a little chat about what's going on in that head of yours."

"What!" he replied, cringing again, this time though he tried to stop their forward motion, but only managed to make the three of them stumble.

"Don't try to stop, just focus on staying upright and conscious." Sheppard righted himself, and then they all started moving forward again. "I just think you and I need to have a chat. And maybe Beckett since he was there, too."

"What the hell went on in there?" he said, part of him beginning to panic a little, his eyes squinting through some of the pain to get his bearings.

"Breathe, McKay. And we can talk about this after you're feeling better." They were nearing the transporter, and he felt Sheppard shift a bit to reach for the control panel.

"I'm breathing. I just don't like the thought that my brain seems to have served as Grand Central Station for the lot of you. There's private stuff in there."

"It was only Beckett and I. Major Lorne graciously volunteered to stand guard at the door to make sure no one else came looking for us and wandered in."

Lorne let out a snort of muffled amusement.

"That's still two too many!"

"What did you expect? Beckett had to go through your mind to sort everything out, and I sure as hell wasn't leaving him there alone. We didn't have much choice in the matter."

Rodney hissed, slumping a little. "God, my head hurts. Why does it hurt this much?"

The pressure under his arms increased as both men compensated for the change of position. "I'm not a doctor, but if I had to guess, I'd say it's because you just had someone spend several hours messing with your mind. Some of Durand's were sandwiched pretty tightly in between yours, so Beckett had to be very careful not to catch stray pieces."

"That doesn't sound pleasant," he said, his voice quieter. He felt them move him forward into the transporter.

"He was careful, McKay. He did his best to not even jostle any of yours for fear that would harm you somehow." Sheppard pushed a button on the transporter, the doors opening up a moment later on the familiar hall of the infirmary corridor.

The bright lights, the movement, and the pain in his head was slowly becoming too much. "Stop, stop stop. I feel like I'm gonna be sick."

"Just a little farther. Come on, I know you can make it. Then you'll be in a nice quiet bed with the good drugs. You can do this."

He tried to pull his hands free from the soldier's grip, but they held on tight. "I'm not as stoic as you are, Sheppard. And I'm not kidding," he said, hissing, trying to curl up a little.

He was suddenly pulled to one of the plants lining the hallway and lowered to the floor. "It isn't being stoic, nor is it showing weakness, Rodney. I just want to get you to Beckett as quick as we can. Just let us know when you're ready to move again." Sheppard left one hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

After a minute or two of heaving—and after he swore his boots were going to appear—he spat for a final time. Groaning, he slumped sideways, Sheppard's hands on his shoulders the only thing keeping him from hitting the ground in an ungainly heap.

The Colonel rubbed his shoulders, his voice a low, soothing tone. "It's all right, McKay. This is almost over. Lorne went and grabbed a wheel chair from the infirmary while you were sick. As soon as you're ready, we'll get you in that and get you to the good drugs."

McKay nodded, keeping his eyes closed. Why did they have to keep everything so brightly lit?

"Think nice, dark, quiet room. Just keep thinking of that okay?" He felt the two men lift him gently and get him into the wheelchair.

Curled slightly in the chair, they pushed him into the infirmary, parking him a minute later and putting the brake on. He leaned forward, holding his head in his hands, as if he could rub the pain away. A few moments later he heard Carson's brogue—his voice quiet—as he spoke with Sheppard.

"What happened? He looks worse than when I left." Carson sounded worried.

"He said he was in pain, I think his head is killing him. He got pretty sick in your plant outside, and I don't think he's opened his eyes for more than a few seconds at a time." Sheppard's voice was tight with worry.

"So nauseous, headache, possibly light-sensitive? We'll do some blood work and let him rest. Tomorrow I'll run an MRI and compare it against his baseline. We'll have to see how he feels and go from there."

Carson was suddenly next to him, his hands resting lightly over Rodney's on his head. "Rodney, lad, Can you get up and into bed, or do you need some help? Once we get you up, I want to draw some blood and get another IV started—you haven't eaten all day. Once we get that done, I'll give you the sedative. Sound good?"

"Food is not on the agenda anytime soon," he said, groaning as hands helped him upright. "Just make the headache go away."

"Aye, I know, that's why I'm going to give you another IV. I wouldn't try to make you eat anything right now. Migraines tend to have nausea as one of the side effects, and you're showing all the symptoms of suffering from one now. I promise, just a little longer, and then you don't have to think for a while." Carson and someone else were helping him out of the chair, moving him over to the bed.

"I've had plenty of migraines. This is worse than any of them," he said, letting them lead him, stumbling slightly. "What the hell did you do?" he hissed.

Carson caught him before he could fall far, and got him up into the bed. "There are degrees of migraines, lad. Yours tend to be on the milder side of the equation, but when you're prone to them, a stronger version is always a possibility. My guess is that's what happened. Moving your memories and using that device triggered a bad one. A long sleep, combined with some anti-migraine medication I'll give you through the IV, and you should wake up feeling much better." Carson had one sleeve rolled up and was drawing blood quickly, not giving Rodney time to object.

"Just make it go away. I don't care if you cut it out, cut it off, just make it go away," he said as hands pressed him back against the half-raised bed.

"I don't think we'll need to get that extreme." Carson's voice had the same low, soothing tone John had used. Rodney felt someone else, probably a nurse, on his other side, inserting an IV. "All right, I'm going to give you the sedative now. I'll be here when you wake up, we can talk then."

"As long as my cognitive functions are working I'll keep you to it. I have to find out what the hell you ended up doing to my brain. Nothing should hurt like this."

"I already have an MRI scheduled for tomorrow morning. That will give us a starting point. Hopefully the pain will be gone by then, so we can just run a few tests to be certain all of Durand's memories are gone." There was a prick in his elbow. "Now go to sleep. Stop thinking."

"As if," he snorted, rolling his head to the side, opening his eyes slightly. "Sorry 'bout this."

Carson gave him a small smile. "There's nothing to be sorry about. You didn't ask for any of this, and you're actually handling it better than anyone should be expected to. Don't worry."

"I always worry. When don't I worry?"

"I know, but right now, go to sleep and let me do the worrying for a while."

"You worry too much as it is," he said, already starting to drift off a little, his eyelids getting heavier.

"That's my job. I do the worrying so you can do the work. Stop fighting the drugs, Rodney. Let them do their job, too."

"And this is not your fault," he said, forcing his eyes open even though they started watering from the light.

"We can argue later when you're feeling better." Carson pressed two fingers to each side of Rodney's head, rubbing gently. "Go to sleep."

"I'm not five," he mumbled, his eyes drooping.

"Could have fooled me," Carson laughed quietly.

"Hey!" he said, half-heartedly, his eyes widening for a moment in protest. "Sheppard's the kid in this equation."

"Sheppard isn't the one fighting the medication he spent the last hour begging for, now is he? We can wax eloquent on his many faults when you wake up and feel better."

"He has many, too." He paused, feeling his body sink a little further into the pillows and mattress. "Some good qualities, too. Not….sure we should…tell him."

Carson laughed again. "I won't tell him if you won't."

"Might….be….too late," he said, humming slightly.

Still chuckling, Carson continued to rub Rodney's temples. "You might be right."

He wanted to reply, but the darkness was crashing down on him again, cradling him in its warm embrace. And he slept.

xxx

Carson smiled as he released Rodney, sleep finally claiming him. He looked up to catch the very worried John Sheppard's eye. "Migraine aside, that was very encouraging. He knows who we are, his brain was working as fast as could be expected with a headache, and he was even his old snarky self."

"He didn't sound good and he did throw up in the plant in the hallway."

"True, but the nausea, light sensitivity, even motion sensitivity are all migraine symptoms. He's prone to them, and had I thought about it, I would have brought medication down with me. Messing around in someone's head would be a fair bet as a trigger."

Sheppard chuckled humorlessly, tightly. "He got a little…touchy on the way here."

"Normal for Rodney touchy, or out of character touchy?"

He shrugged. "Little of both."

"Then let's just wait and see how he is tomorrow. Some of what you classify as out of character might just be the results of the migraine." Carson put one hand on Sheppard's arm. "Go get some sleep, and tomorrow we'll figure the rest out."

"Sleep?" He huffed, shaking off the hand. "You must be kidding. This is sure to give me nightmares."

Carson sighed. "Colonel, don't make me force you to sleep. If you think you need it, I can give you a light sedative, but you're on the verge of crashing. Rodney will sleep for another ten hours, and there isn't anything you can do in the duration. Use the time to catch up a bit."

"It's not nearly time for bed," he protested, rubbing a hand over his face. "And I have to report in to Elizabeth. As it is, she's been…impatient. It's not like she's going to take much more of my stalling."

He had forgotten about that. "All right, we'll both go brief her. I'm sure she'll have questions for me too. Then I'm taking a shower and going to bed, and I strongly recommending you do the same."

"Sounds like a plan. Come on. Mom's waiting."

Carson fell into step beside the Colonel, making their way down the hall. "I have'na talked to Elizabeth since that, ah, chat you overheard. How has she been?"

He shrugged. "Worried. She wants answers and isn't exactly happy that things aren't going smoothly. I think she just wants things to get back to normal."

"I can't say that I blame her. Normal, at least for the Pegasus galaxy, would be a nice change of pace for a few days." He was the first in the transporter, and hid a tired grin as both Sheppard and Lorne followed him in. Apparently he was still under guard.

"She did want a report from all of us," he commented, reaching over to hit the transporter location closest to the control tower.

"Aye, lets get this over with. My bed is calling my name, Colonel, and its voice is getting sweeter by the minute." Carson headed down the hall as soon as the doors opened again, straightening up out of the slouch he had fallen into. Time to do the other half of his job.

xxx

Rodney was getting used to waking up groggy, but that didn't mean he liked it. The headache was still there, hovering around his temples and stretching back across his skull, but at least he didn't want to tear his head off.

He rolled his head to the side, keeping his eyes closed as he slowly adjusted to the thought of waking up fully. He vaguely remembered Carson mentioning something about tests and talking and more tests. Maybe that had just been a strange disjointed memory.

As he'd neared consciousness, he'd found himself dreaming of his parents and his sister, of his college days, even some when he was younger—something he hadn't done in years and still had no desire to think about, let alone dream of past uncomfortable situations.

He sighed, snaking a hand up to rub his face as he rolled onto his side, the limb dropping to lie in front of him, hand on the pillow.

"Welcome back to the land of the living. How are you feeling?" Sheppard's voice came from somewhere off to his right.

"Mmm?" he said, rolling back onto his back, an eyelid slowly rising.

The Colonel was lounging in a chair next to the bed. "I said 'how are you feeling.' You looked like hell yesterday."

"Great bedside manner there, Sheppard," he whispered, frowning at the man. He tried to clear his throat.

Sheppard got up, grapping a cup of water as he did. He brought it over and angled the straw so Rodney could reach it. "Yeah, that's one of the reasons I never went into medicine. Count yourself lucky."

"Thanks," he finally said when he took a few mouthfuls, continuing, his voice still weaker than normal. "And I'm grateful for small favors. Knowing you with your shoot-first, ask questions later mentality, I'm sure you'd just amputate everything to get rid of the problem."

Sheppard grinned at him. "Nah, it's hard to shoot something if you don't have a hand. I'd be the supervisor, yelling at the underlings to fix the patient or else."

"Like that would make things peaceful and quiet," he huffed, closing his eyes for a minute. "Where's Beckett?"

"In his office doing some paperwork. He said he'd be by to check on you soon, but I can call him now if you need him."

"Headache's still hanging around," he said, peering at Sheppard, noting his tense face.

Sheppard nodded, tapping his radio. "Beckett, Rodney's awake and needs you. Right. I'll ask him. Sheppard out." He focused back on Rodney. "He's coming, and bringing something for the headache. He said to see if you remember what he was doing last night, rubbing your temples. That might help with the pain I guess."

He frowned. "Of course I remember and I'm not a five-year-old who needs to have his head rubbed."

The Colonel shrugged. "I'm only repeating what he said."

"And I told him that last night…yesterday….whenever it was. And how long was I out?"

"About ten hours again. I'll give him that, Beckett's pretty accurate with his timing on the drugs." Sheppard looked up to see the doctor coming through the curtain.

"Talking about me again eh? Somehow that doesn't surprise me." Carson turned to Rodney, picking up his wrist, a thumb on his pressure point. "And how are you feeling today?"

"Headache. Little blurry, otherwise okay, I think," he answered, watching Beckett.

"All right, that is'na too bad." His wrist was dropped back to the bed as Carson reached in a pocket and pulled out a white bottle. "This is ibuprofen, albeit a bit higher dose than what you would find in over-the-counter medications. Take two now, and then another one every four hours until there's no pain or for two days, whichever comes first."

"I know the routine," he grumbled, his hands fumbling with the bottle Carson had given him.

"Aye, but it never hurts to remind you. Now, how much do you remember of what happened?"

"About what, specifically? I need a timeframe, a point of reference." He snapped, fighting with the bottle top.

Carson rolled his eyes, taking the bottle out of his hands, deftly twisting the cap off, and handing it back. "Let's start with yesterday. How much do you remember from the time you woke up until last night when you came back here?"

He rolled his eyes, dumping two pills into his hand. "I woke up. We talked. We looked at the database on the laptops. We went down to the labs. You messed with my head and I got back here after upchucking in the plant outside. That cover it?"

"How about a bit more detail. That covers the generalities, yes, but I'm trying to determine whether or not we got all of Durand's memories and left yours intact. Work with me here."

"What do you want from me?" Rodney asked, letting the exasperation he was feeling show in his voice. "I've been up for all of ten minutes and the two of you are harassing me."

Carson sat down in a nearby chair, his gaze never leaving Rodney. "All right, fine, we can just chat then. How are you feeling other than the headache? Hungry?"

He shrugged. "I guess. Stomach's still a little tender."

"Want to try oatmeal? Most of your nutrients have been via IV for the last few days. If you think you can hold something solid down, I'd be happy to get you a bowl."

"Sure," he said shrugging. Fingers playing with the pill bottle, the two he'd poured out, still in his hand.

"Stop playing with those and take them. Why do you insist on being in pain when you don't have to?" Carson stood up and went to the curtain, talking in low tones to someone, then came back. "Anne will see to the oatmeal."

"Um, question here," Sheppard cut in to the conversation. "Why are we dancing around this? Rodney, you were full of questions yesterday about what the machine did and how it worked, and now you're acting like you don't even care."

Rodney glanced up, trying to meet the Colonel's eyes, but not able. "Maybe because I don't remember a whole lot about the entire experience."

"Well, yeah, you were out for most of it, but I thought you of all people would be grilling Beckett on what happened, especially since it was your brain he was messing with."

He shrugged, tossing the two pills in how mouth and grabbing the water off the bedside table. A few swallows later and he settled it back in place. "So instead of me asking the fifteen thousand questions you know I have, why don't you just tell me what you did?"

Sheppard waved at hand a Carson, who sighed and settled back down into the chair. "When we activated the system, it filled the room with your memories and thoughts. It was almost as if we could touch them. I went through them and identified which ones were yours and which weren't, using the controls to block your ability to access any of Durand's. Most of his were closely intertwined with yours, which is why you were slipping so easily in and out of them, it was almost as if you had experienced what he had. It was quite skillful the way they were inserted into your mind actually."

"Filled the room?" Rodney knew his eyes were wide as he stared at his friend, a feeling of dread slowly overtaking him as he focused on what Carson had told him. Nonononono. That wasn't possible. That couldn't happen. How would the Ancients create something so…revealing? His stomach did a little flip, as his eyes whipped back and forth between the two men, feeling strangely naked when though he was fully-clothed—in scrubs he had no memory of obtaining. His voice was strangled. "You were both there?"

"Aye. The Colonel had Major Lorne leave, and stand guard to make sure no one else came in accidentally. We knew you wouldn't want that much of yourself revealed to anyone who passed by. Rodney, you know neither of us would ever reveal anything we saw there, right?"

"But filled the room!"

"Quite frankly, I was a bit astonished myself. I had no idea how much you carry around with you. More than a normal person at any rate. It was easy to see why you're as intelligent as you are. Your mind works differently than most of ours, probably closer to how the Ancients thought actually. And that, more than anything, is more than likely why these extra memories didn't drive you insane. You're already used to handling and filtering out a massive amount of information at once."

Rodney felt his chest tightening a little, as he considered just how much they might have seen, might know now—things he never wanted anyone to see, to know, to even imagine. Did the Ancients have any thoughts about privacy, about not wanting to share everything?

Carson was there again, his hand resting on Rodney's arm. "I never would have wanted to invade your privacy like that, and I'm sorry I had to. If it helps at all, the Colonel and I were both—overwhelmed—by your regard for us, and we both feel the same way about you."

"You weren't supposed to know," he whispered, closing his eyes trying to block out the emotions rising to the surface. He was supposed to keep those closed off. If people didn't know, it wouldn't hurt when they betrayed him, hated him.

Another hand came to rest on his other arm. "Rodney, we aren't going to hurt you, you know. We just spent the better part of a week fighting to save you, to keep you. Believe it or not —and thanks to the Ancients I already know it's 'not', but listen anyway—you are respected and admired here. We're a family of sorts now, especially those of us still here from the initial expedition team. A real family, not the fucked up kind both of us came from." Sheppard's voice wavered a bit as he stopped talking.

"Family is never synonymous with the McKay name—never," he whispered, taking a breath. Everything was too raw, too close to the surface. "I need…give me some time. This is a little much right now."

"It isn't really synonymous with the Sheppard name either. But they say friends are the family you choose, right? Well, I choose Atlantis and everyone here, including you." Sheppard squeezed his arm. His hand disappeared, and his footsteps disappeared around a corner somewhere.

"Rodney… I'm sorry. I wish I could just forget it all, but…" Carson hadn't let go of his arm yet.

"Carson," he turned to him, eyes wide and pleading. "I can't do this now. Do your tests, just let me…sort through the mess that's up here right now," he said pointing to his head. "Things I'd long forgotten about are back and I'm finding it hard to remember what I had for dinner last week."

Carson swallowed, then let go. "I'll give you a few minutes to collect yourself, then I'll be back to take you to the MRI. The water's there if you need it." He pulled back the curtain to leave.

Rodney nodded, not trusting his voice, his hands still clutching the bottle of pills and the edge of the blanket as if it were the only lifeline to this time and space he had. Long erected walls were gone, he realized, bulldozed in an attempt to get to the cancer spreading through his mind.

It had to be done. He knew that. But it didn't make it any easier right now as he dealt with the fall-out.

xxx