A/N – I know Rodney is OOC (who wouldn't be after what Michael did?), so I've relabelled this fic as AU. My usual disclaimer applies too - I know nothing about medicine or CBT. Thank you to those still sticking with this one and leaving feedback. I'd already written the whole thing before posting, and was sorely tempted to keep it on my harddrive forever (for my own fun) due to the above points. But if I've written it, why not share, eh?
Anyway... more angst, more angst!
Chapter 4
A few days later, John caught up with Rodney as he headed down to the labs for another gruelling day shouting at his staff until they were on the verge of tears.
He grinned, but Rodney snarled back at him. "What the hell are you smiling about, Sheppard?" Rodney raised his eyebrows, "Oh, did Ronon do something to you in your last sparring session?"
John's smile broadened, "Well, yes, but not like that. Maybe I'm just happy to see you up and about and supporting that hide of yours on your own feet rather than on the wheels. Although it was quite fun pushing you around for a change."
"Oh, har har. But my sides are already well split and stitched, Sheppard, so what do you want?"
Sheppard's smile faded a little and he asked, "Just wanted to know how you got on with Heightmeyer. Has she figured out what makes you tick and how to get you wound up again yet?"
Rodney huffed and stopped in the corridor so that he could swivel around and face Sheppard. "I am now a flower," he deadpanned.
Sheppard lowered his voice and looked at him seriously, "She can do that?"
Rodney quirked an eyebrow dangerously and folded his arms. "Do I look like a wilting daffodil to you, Sheppard?"
John checked him over, "Hmm, not really." John suddenly stopped and pointed at Rodney's chest in horror, "Oh! No, it's too horrible… just… no…"
"What?" Rodney glanced down at himself in panic.
John started grinning again. "Sorry, thought I saw a petal falling off. It seems to all be there though."
Rodney narrowed his eyes, "All but the bits inside that Keller had to cut out."
Sheppard furrowed his brow and gently patted Rodney on the back. "Well, if you hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known. You look the same to me and everyone else, McKay."
Rodney opened his mouth to protest, but Sheppard was too quick for him. "Now get back to work before I send Ronon and Teyla after you for another physio and meditation session."
John watched him go, but couldn't help noticing the hunched shoulders and tension in his muscles. He called Teyla and Ronon and arranged for the three of them to keep a discrete eye on Rodney in case he needed anything or if things got out of hand.
Sheppard strode into Rodney's lab a few hours later. He didn't need to ask where his quarry was, as he watched a scientist fleeing the lab with bloody murder in her expression. A single raised voice flowed out like a homing beacon and Sheppard directed his feet towards the sweet sound of Rodney's ranting voice.
Another scientist was lost from the lab, and scurried past Sheppard. This one was less composed than the last, but Rodney kept on going. Shouting at his subordinates for their sloppy work, their lack of dedication, he even tried Zelenka, but at least Radek stood up for himself.
"You are still ill, Rodney. Go back to your quarters, go and speak with Kate. Go and talk to Sheppard if it makes you feel better. But do not take out your problems on your staff. We know you were badly hurt and still are, but we are not able to work in these hundred decibel conditions."
Radek huffed and turned back to his computer.
Rodney stood panting and red-faced before aiming at another scientist, Sheppard sauntered over. Many of the scientists still brave and loyal enough to stay there gave him pleading and somewhat relieved looks.
He set his expression and said to Rodney, "Carter wants to see you."
Rodney stopped mid-rant and redirected his braying without seeming to even pause to draw a breath, "Why would her royal highness want to see me?"
"I don't know." Sheppard lowered his voice so the others didn't hear, "She looked a bit pissed though."
A few minutes later, McKay was guided into Carter's office by Sheppard. Who nodded at both of them and then left, closing the door behind him.
McKay waggled his finger at her and the first words tumbling from his mouth were; "You'd better have a good reason for dragging me away from the labs! The moment I leave, things go wrong. While you're sitting here on your throne upon high, the science department are working flat out to keep the city running, but they can't seem to do it if I'm not there."
Carter sat behind her desk in silence. Patiently waiting until McKay's rant ended. She then said, "Sit down before you fall down please, Dr McKay."
Rodney didn't really have much of a choice in the matter, his injuries aching from not only the movement but having to stand up for so long and the draining stress of the incompetence all around him all the time.
He collapsed down into the chair opposite her desk heavily, but he wasn't going to let her have the upper hand, so a fraction of a second after he hit the chair, he sat tense and folded his arms over his chest. The lack of any reaction from Carter was slightly unnerving and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. His minions usually scurried for cover or agreed with everything he said without question… why was Carter being so… blank?
He tapped his foot and quickly desisted when his calf told him to stop it by throbbing in time with the movement. So instead, he swallowed and asked, "What do you want? I don't have all day."
"Yes, you do. And so do I if necessary."
Rodney sighed angrily, "Is this about me? Am I not doing my job?"
"No."
Rodney narrowed his eyes, "Am I not being a competent departmental head?"
Carter's face remained impassive.
Rodney huffed and unfolded his arms so that he could place his hands in his lap and slowly eased out the sore muscles in his abused forearms.
Carter eyed him for a moment longer until Rodney had to look down to make sure he was wearing clothes. Any vestiges of attraction he may have once felt towards Carter were scorched away by the constant furious fire of anger burning like an ever-flaming furnace in his chest.
She typed on her computer and read out, "Twenty complaints of work related stress and bullying, five people having to go to Dr Keller for sedatives to help them sleep, two unconditional resignations…" she sighed and looked up at him. "And one problem."
Rodney glared right back. She wasn't going to break him. She could keep talking like that forever, nothing would change.
She furrowed her brow and lowered her voice. "Since you came back from the planet, you've been… different, Rodney."
"Well, unrelenting torture can have that effect on a person."
"Everyone is worried about you."
Rodney raised an eyebrow at her, "Everyone?" He scoffed, "Really? I find that hard to believe."
"Oh, but they are." She pursed her lips and tapped a key on her computer, making the screen go blank. She clasped her hands on the desk and leant forward slightly. "Me included."
Rodney felt a savage smile trying to curl his lips, but he ended up snarling at her. "Are you trying to be sympathetic, Carter?" He liked the feel of her name as he spat it out unpleasantly. Two nice hard vowels, so much more spittable than Colonel. "You of all people should realise that I don't respond to that very well."
"Doctors Keller and Heightmeyer have also expressed concerns about your wellbeing. And they would know."
Rodney baulked and said, "So you've been reading my medical file and talking about me behind my back as well!?"
Carter glared right back at him, "I didn't have to. The way you are acting now has only confirmed my suspicions."
Rodney opened his mouth to have a go, but she cut him off, "I know that you're angry after the terrible things that happened to you. But bullying your staff to the point of nervous breakdown, exhaustion and stress so great they can't concentrate to even do their jobs anymore won't be tolerated under my command or anyone else's."
Rodney frowned, but remained silent.
Carter waited a moment longer in case he had anything to say, but his silence was proof enough that he knew the problem already, but just hadn't had anyone brave enough to confront and lay it out for him.
"I'm really sorry, Rodney, but the fact of the matter is, if you can't find a way to play nicely…" She sat back as Rodney's face started to lose the furious red hue and the corners of his eyes loosened, she let him fill in the gaps with that big brain of his.
She leant forwards and said kindly, "You're the best man here for the job. You have to work this out or we'll lose you back to Earth. Please, Rodney, if you need any help with anything at all, it doesn't matter what. Ask someone. I want you to take the rest of the day off."
Rodney nodded once and stood up. His voice was still biting and filled with sarcasm, but it seemed to have lost its edge somewhat. "Well, nice as our little chat has been, I'm sure you'd like to catch up on my personal medical records in private. I'm sure they make interesting reading." His frown returned, but to Carter it seemed like the fury that had been in his eyes when he had entered the office, was somehow cooler.
The moment he was out of sight, Carter rubbed her forehead at the Rodney McKay sized headache forming there.
The man himself stopped halfway to the science labs, pulled off his radio and dropped it on the floor as he diverted his route to the ascension machine lab. There was still a constant low ache in his middle, either from hunger or the wounds, he wasn't even sure anymore which one it was. It made him growl in anger and gave him the desire to smash something up. Preferably something important, noisy and big.
He went to one of the piers first and walked all the way to the edge. Marvelling at how far down the sheer drop to the ocean was.
No memories had come back to him yet about what Michael had done to inflict such grave wounds. He had flashes in nightmares, but didn't know which ones were real. Whispers he heard and the most frequent images he saw were of a room on a planet with a space gate, but no matter how much Heightmeyer and the rest of his friends on Atlantis pressed him to recall and talk about the repressed trauma, he couldn't.
The warm air blew in over the ocean from the south, bringing rain like tears, warm at first and then chilling him to the bone. The gloomy sky perfectly reflected his mood, but he found no solace there and soon returned to the city feeling the same as he did before.
Rodney hacked into the mission reports to find out. Not able to take his ignorance any longer. It had happened to him, he had a right to know!
But it was like reading a horror story, and nothing in there made sense to him. His mind was still unable to recall a firsthand account of all the events from the words he read. He had been drugged to vomit and pass out by some natives Teyla used to be friendly with. Michael had then transported him to a planet and proceeded to push hoops through his arms and legs between the bones to secure him to a table. Thin skewers had then been forced through him. Based on the bruising around the sites of each injury, Keller had theorised that he had been conscious while it took place. Michael had given him anti-biotics and fluids, but no painkillers. And that was how they'd found him after a tip off during one of their searches. From what they could tell, he'd been there like that for many hours.
They'd brought him back and patched up his physical injuries, but his mind had remained elsewhere for two weeks.
Two weeks of lost time! What had he been like? Silent, according to Sheppard's report, but Rodney couldn't find any of Heightmeyer's files. She probably kept all her files on a local drive, and Rodney was quite grateful that his enquiring mind had no idea what she thought of him.
He shut down the computer in a daze, unsure what to believe any more. He stumbled into the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind and starring into space blankly. He mentally activated the shower and the room was soon full of warm mist.
Rodney looked in the mirror and wiped away some of the water droplets gathered on the surface of the glass. He'd successfully avoided looking at his full reflection since he'd got back. He had barely even glanced at his body, knowing what the shiny, ugly scars looked like and how he couldn't do anything to clean them away and make his skin smooth again other than fixing the ascension machine. But time was going by and he had made no progress at all. Even he was beginning to think it was unfixable, just like his useless blocked memories.
Zelenka had entirely burned out every circuit and crystal in the room while resetting Rodney the last time. Even the logs were now impossible to reconstruct.
He cleared more fog away with a shaking hand, the exertion of keeping his arm lifted tiring, but necessary.
He refused to look up for a few more seconds, but couldn't help it as his eyes drifted. He soon found himself looking at the reflection and he saw the livid scars on his midsection. The marks were pink, purple, red and sensitive, and covered his back too. Kolya had been an amateur. But at least he'd wanted something that Rodney could give to make it stop. Michael had only wanted his pain, and he had extracted all of it.
"I'll fix it," he vowed to the man in the mirror, troubled by the haunted, dark-rimmed eyes looking back at him and pale complexion under the stubble.
He slammed his fist down on the mirror. It trembled, but remained intact as he said again, with a voice cracking in desperation, "I'll fix it!"
But he knew it was impossible, he was doomed to stay like this forever. Tears of rage flowed down his face, torn from him in his helpless anger and frustration. He'd felt the feeling ebbing and flowing all the time within him since he'd come back, but now it was like hurricane storm surges battering down his flimsy and breaking external barriers.
With no-one around, he had no problem letting it all flow over and out. He slammed his fist down on the mirror as hard as he could, smashing the glass into a cracked circle of fragments. The red within the starburst didn't faze him, but he needed something else to finish the job.
How could it be classed as a nervous breakdown if there was no-one there to see it?
He grabbed the small chair from the shower cubicle, he had not got around to returning to the infirmary yet since he had started walking again. It was light and very solid.
He lifted it up, splattering red spots around the bathroom as he moved. He roared in anger as he swung it towards the mirror as hard as he could.
There was a pleasant crash and the already shattered pieces broke into a million shards and splinters, falling down and scattering all over the room. He suddenly saw them as fragments of his soul that Michael had so thoroughly destroyed with those skewer implements. How long it had taken to render him this way, he would never know. But it had worked and his mind was smashed just like the mirror. Sure it could be glued together, but there would always be cracks and weaknesses just waiting for the right pressure to split open again. He was broken, the ascension machine was broken. And now the mirror was broken.
Nothing could be repaired. Fragments would always remain just that.
He still didn't feel satisfied as he stumbled into the shower, leaving red footprints under his bare feet as he trod on the broken glass.
He stood in the shower and let the hot water thunder down onto his back, cascading over his sides in torrents until he was so pleasantly numb, he could no longer feel it and the rusty water ran clear.
He then towelled himself off, carefully avoiding looking at his body until the dressing gown was back on. He then remained in his unfeeling trance as he sat on the bent, but serviceable chair and used the tweezers from his cabinet to tug out the glass embedded in his feet. He had no qualms about whimpering into the empty room, as one by one he pulled out the shards of red glass, disinfected and then bound his hands and feet. He cleared up the mess, walked back into the room, ignoring the stinging pain from the soles of his feet and collapsed down onto the bed.
He tossed and turned until uneasy sleep claimed him, filled with hybrid monsters, blood and pain. Half human iratus bug people attacked him and he killed them all without any feeling, their frightening half-human faces looking at him accusingly as he watched them all die by his hand. They sometimes tore at his flesh with their claws and teeth, but he felt no pain. He felt nothing at all even as they writhed and screamed and one by one fell silent.
His heart was like a solid block of ice in his chest, freezing his lungs and burning across his diaphragm. It was nothing to him, what he did and what happened to him afterwards on the planet. And that scared him more than he had ever known.
His life before Atlantis had made him feel unwanted wherever he went. Sure people would ask him to fix this, fix that, check this over, run this team and make them work faster and better. But never had anyone cared about him as a human being. He was just a brain to be sent where it was needed, with never a question of; 'How are you today, Rodney? Good weekend? What's up? Want to join us when we go out to the local bar tonight?'
And after too many years of that, only on Atlantis had people begun to ask him these things, and at first it had made him defensive and suspicious. He'd been taught his whole life that he was unworthy of friends and if he made a mistake at work, he was punished. He only had to remember Siberia for that.
But now he was being threatened with getting sent back to Earth again where he would be alone. The worst punishment imaginable.
Rodney woke up in the dark. The pain from the glass cuts was a savage reminder and a physical distraction from the turmoil within that kept him awake until dawn broke.
Sunlight streamed through the window, but the light had no warmth and Rodney stared and stared at the ceiling waiting for something, anything to happen to pull him out of the emptiness he felt inside.
After a few more hours with sporadic hunger pangs, he started to feel tired, so he shut his eyes and drifted off to sleep once more. Knowing that he had now shouted at everyone who might check up on him, and made them hate him enough so that they wouldn't bother to notice if he didn't show his face for a few days.
And by then it would be too late.
"Ronon to Sheppard."
"Go ahead."
"It's McKay."
"What's he been doing?"
"Went to that ascension machine lab again. Back to the main labs, shouted a bit, got halfway back to his quarters, went back to the main lab and shouted some more."
"Okay, nothing unusual so far, so what's the problem?"
"He's in his quarters. Has been for fourteen hours."
"Have you checked on him? You know, knocked on the door to make sure he's alright?"
"Zelenka's watching his life sign. He walked around a bit, spent some time in the bathroom, but now he's just lying still. Has been for a long time. But his life sign's strong and stable."
"You do realise that McKay's a genius, right? It probably wouldn't take much effort for him to trick the reading, even if he's been a bit out of himself lately." Sheppard sighed, "Well, alright, I'll be right there."