When X equals Y doesn't make Zed
Doctor Radek Zelenka stared open mouthed as Rodney McKay, not only thanked Doctor Keller, but complimented her on her stitching technique, as he jumped off the bed putting is jacket back on, covering up the bandage on his forearm.
"Radek? You okay?" McKay asked. Zelenka could feel his hand on his shoulder and the worried frown on his face, but for the life of him, he couldn't stop starring.
He had known something was wrong for sometime, it had started not long after the enforced lockdown. McKay had seemed drained of energy, never getting to the labs until nearly mid-morning. McKay had looked positively ill and had winced every time he moved. Zelenka had urged him to go to the infirmary, something that usually didn't take a second prompting. But McKay had shrugged of the concern and Zelenka had relaxed when by the third week when McKay seemed back to his normal self, if slightly thinner.
However, Zelenka had been wrong; McKay wasn't back to normal, far from it. It had taken him another week to realize that McKay hadn't raised his voice once in temper, hadn't demeaned a colleague, nor made any sarcastic remarks to anyone. McKay had been polite, helpful and supportive.
It was nice, the atmosphere in the labs was relaxed and happy and it was all wrong, wrong, wrong.
It had taken McKay to act so out of the ordinary for Zelenka to understand how much he had depended on McKay.
McKay, the real one, was crass, rude, arrogant, demanding and demeaning, but he was also truthful, yes at times it would be nice if McKay could have made the truth less hurtful. But he didn't, he had no filter for lying. What McKay thought came right out of his mouth, and having to work with all this on a daily basis had made Zelenka a better scientist and had gained him a very good friend.
McKay really was a unique genius. He could be arguing with you over the dynamics of quantum variations, but another part of his brain would be working on an idea the argument had sparked. Then just as soon as it had started, the argument had finished as McKay had formulated the idea, run through several possible outcomes, snapped his fingers at you several times and smiled as he zoomed across the lab to show you his hypothesis. You were left hanging, the disagreement already forgotten by McKay as he excitedly showed off his new idea, which would cause another argument.
Zelenka had struggled to keep up with McKay when they had first arrived in Atlantis. McKay zigging and zagging from one idea to another, discounting theories others hadn't even started to formulate. Coping with the irritation of always being assumed you were wrong and never, ever winning an argument, not because McKay had won it, he had just moved on to something else.
Zelenka had been use to working at his own pace in a nice secure lab. McKay had taught him how to think faster, put ideas out in the open, feasible or not. To take chances, to think two steps ahead and Zelenka had learnt, he had become proud of the fact that McKay searched him out when he needed a sounding board and that McKay had demanded him as his second in command. McKay had done it without a hint of kindness or a generous word. But then actions speak louder than words.
And now this. They had been running diagnostics on one of the jumpers, when one of the marines, who was helping to unload a jumper recently returned from an off-world trading agreement, had suddenly snapped. Backing away from the jumpers, yelling and screaming that the Wraith had invaded, his fellow marines had tried to calm him down, moving toward him, slow and cautious.
Zelenka had walked out of the jumper at the sound of the commotion to see what was going on, McKay had lagged behind as he maneuvered his way through laptops and cables on the jumper floor.
The marine was backing away from the others; he had almost passed their jumper when he looked across at Zelenka. The marines eyes widen, screaming Wraith at the top of his voice, he pulled the biggest knife Zelenka had ever seen and charged at him. Zelenka was suddenly pulled backwards, landing hard on the jumper floor, his head colliding with one of the laptops, the marine was tackled to the floor by …….McKay, in the ensuing struggle McKay had received a cut to his forearm, blood pouring down his arm.
McKay had gotten control of the knife just as the other marines reached him. A marine had passed a field dressing to McKay, who calmly and efficiently wrapped his arm.
The whole thing had taken seconds.
Zelenka was helped to his feet by McKay who said something that sound like infirmary, indicating his arm and had turned and walked away. Zelenka had blindly followed.
Dr Keller had looked at the wound, deep but nothing too serious and had started to cleanse and stitch it. McKay asking after the marine and then telling Keller what had happened, straightforward, no boasting, just the unblemished truth.
Zelenka had just stared. Stared at the wound, stared at McKay. His brain couldn't comprehend the information it was receiving.
It wasn't that McKay had saved the day; he had a habit of doing that. Or that he had put himself in danger to save another, he had a habit of doing that as well. It was the attitude, the laughing, the joking, the making conversation as your arm was stitched up without a word of complaint. Zelenka's mind raced, doppelganger? Alien infestation? Robot? The man that stood in front of him was a copy, it had no depth. It was pale in comparison to the original. It existed, it did not live.
Zelenka blinked, focusing on McKay.
"I miss you Rodney," he whispered.
"Radek, I'm right in front of you," McKay smiled, before frowning again as Radek felt his legs give out and McKay grabbing him, easing him to the floor, calling back the doctor.
"Concussion" he heard Keller say.
He grabbed a fist full of McKay's jacket. "You're not the real McKay," he said, before blacking out.
He missed the look of utter wretchedness on McKay's face.