Fic: When the Time Comes, PG, Beckett/McKay by inkscribe
Title: When the Time Comes
Author: inkscribe
Pairings: Beckett/McKay
Rating: PG
Words: ~1,600
Warnings: ANGST ahoy!
Spoilers: S4-Kindred 1, 2
Locations: beckett_mckay, malesofatlantis, notmcshep, sgaauwtptbdfu, my LJ, other backup journals
Feedback: yes, please!
Author's Note: Unbeta-d. Plot bunny that bumped its head into me before bedtime, so here you go.
When the Time Comes
Rodney always knew he was a selfish bastard. He had every reason to be - he put himself on the line for everything from defending his dissertation to saving the city for the nth time - he was owed a little slack from time to time. He could be harsh. He was arrogant. Again, though - not arrogant without reason. He wasn’t wrong often. Not so much.
He’d suffered more than most from the Curse of Knowledge: he knew too much, could put together too many things too quickly. The Genii saw it in him, and they’d wanted him more than once for that very reason. Others, too - a village here, a pre-industrial revolution-style city there - they all wanted a piece of him, a piece of someone who could put two and two together and get answers in bases 2 through 10, respectively.
When the time came to storm one of Michael’s strongholds, the last thing Rodney ever expected to discover was Carson - a prisoner - alive and whole. He’d taken Carson’s body back, he’d taken the casket personally to deliver Scotland’s unknown hero back to his family. Everyone on the Atlantis expedition fucked up spectacularly at one point or another, but everyone who survived more than six months also accomplished things beyond their wildest dreams. As an ATA gene holder, Carson might not have appreciated the profound consequences of his discovery on how to activate it in people like Rodney, but Rodney knew damn well that Earth had been saved from certain death on more than one occasion because of his own - or his team’s - artificial ability to manipulate ATA-activated technology. That secret might remain forever classified, but Rodney knew how much Carson had done to save all of them - even Earth, even his beloved Scotland. Rodney had wept with Carson’s family, attended the service. Hoped against all logic and reason that Carson really was in a better place, just as the priest had said.
And then they’d found him, alive. Rodney was jittery and anxious as Doctor Keller went through the options, ruling out one possibility after another. Rodney observed Carson from above, watched as his friend was sampled and tested every which way possible. He even offered his own theories to John and Ronon as the minutes and hours ticked by.
In any other life than the one they had in the Pegasus Galaxy, Rodney’s head would have hurt from the conflicting possibilities. But he’d already met one of his alternate selves; he’d already survived the death of one of his other alternates. Carson - this Carson - could be any one of a dozen possibilities, and none of them any less the man Rodney loved and buried back home in the peat-laden earth of Scotland.
Frowning slightly in the half-light of the lab, Rodney made careful adjustments to the machine before him. He allowed no one down here to assist him, no one to keep watch. The most delicate adjustments had to be made at irregular intervals, and Rodney would not - could not - ask anyone else to do it for him.
Rodney was a selfish bastard. Everyone on Atlantis would agree with that assessment, but only the newly-arrived might actually believe it as the insult it seemed. Rodney was a selfish bastard because the Lantean expedition was selfish - while in truth no one person was ever truly irreplaceable, a handful of members would be damn difficult to replace with anyone else. McKay, Zelenka, Kusanagi - they each did amazing things. That each of these scientists accomplished the equivalence of what five specialists could - if they worked together - in their own right was the true miracle of the expedition. Sheppard, too - he was a surprise. Against all his superiors’ expectations, Atlantis had demanded more of him than anyone in the military, and unexpected talents rose to the surface to meet those demands. Then there were the others, people whom someone more poetic than Rodney might describe as ‘gifts’. Emmagan, Dex, even Radim. People they would never have met had they not come to this galaxy, people from whom they had learned so much, had shared so many terrors, had survived so many near-disasters.
Rodney didn’t kid himself about the value of any of them. He knew full well that without Emmagan’s willingness to help them, the expedition may well have died in those first few days. Rodney smiled to himself in the gloom. At least she understands, he thought, his face caught in a wry half-smile. It was a smile many had seen, but few really knew. Teyla Emmagan did, though. She knew that smile held more bitterness and regret than joy.
The first time, she’d come to Rodney’s quarters, and stood silently with him, her forehead pressed against his. When she looked up into his tear-reddened eyes, she had spoken clearly and carefully. “You must find the joy again, Rodney,” she had said.
Rodney did. Even now he worked on those final adjustments, the last stages of his project now coming to fruition. He was a smart man, one who could and did learn whatever he needed to survive. He read Genii technical manuals fluently, and after working closely with Todd, could even manage some of the Wraiths’ novellas, the dry wit and ironic humour a constant surprise. Had he not suspected Todd would eat him for the insult, he might have compared the main Hive of one story to a group of Ferengi traders.
Rodney had to find the joy. He learned whatever he needed to do to survive. Almost a year after burying his best friend, he rediscovered the man alive, imprisoned. Discovering what Michael had done to him, that this Carson wasn’t the same Carson under the ground back on Earth, but a copy, complete with memories - it was painful, but at the same time, it was a gift. Rodney had Carson - he had him back.
When the time came to put Carson into stasis, it nearly broke Rodney’s heart. The night before, they had clung together, wrapped in sweat-soaked sheets, tasting and exploring everything and everywhere. He almost hadn’t been able to meet Carson’s eyes as he watched his best friend and lover step into the Ancient machine that might stave off death long enough for a cure to be found. For Carson, the time would pass unnoticed, no different than undergoing major surgery and reawakening a day later as though moments had passed. For Rodney, the time had passed agonisingly slow.
Releasing Carson from the stasis field filled Rodney with hope, only to tear him apart again - yes, they’d found a cure, more or less, but it was too late for Carson. The clone’s cells were too far gone, breaking down irrevocably no matter what interventions the Lanteans tried.
Rodney remembered with shame how he’d screamed at Keller to get away, to stay back, once Carson’s heart flatlined for the final time. He had bullied and berated everyone until they left him, alone and weeping over Carson’s still-warm corpse.
His memories fragmented after that. He only knew he had an irresistible pull to fix it, make it better. Carson had been back once, he could be back again. They had the cure now, they had the technology. What matter if Keller couldn’t - or even wouldn’t - make clones. Rodney was a smart man. If he had to learn voodoo to bring Carson back again, he could do it. He’d do whatever it took.
He’d taken Carson’s body back to stasis, holding it there where no one could touch him while he tore through files and notes Michael had abandoned at one facility or another. He bullied teams into gating offworld to reverse-engineer tanks, to decrypt the hybridised technology Michael had cobbled together. He set up his own Frankenstein’s laboratory. Yeah, I’ve heard all the jokes, he thought. He didn’t know whether to be ill or amused - the jokes weren’t far wrong.
He’d learned how to grow cell cultures, clone them into buds of potential life. He’d learned how to plant them in a tank, grow them from an amorphous blob into a human - into Carson.
Carson was ready now, sleeping the dreamtime of the tank, drifting in the greenish-blue of the viscous cloning fluid. In minutes, Rodney would act as scientist, doctor, and midwife, decanting Carson and bringing him back to life, bringing him back to Rodney.
When the time came, he’d press the syringe to Carson’s still-wet flesh, awakening him to adulthood and all his memories up to his last remaining thoughts, thoughts Rodney had managed to include from each successive copy, a significant improvement on Michael’s original research. Rodney would swallow thickly and try to ignore the look of bitter sadness that would flicker through Carson’s eyes before they were replaced with compassion. Rodney still didn’t know which was worse: seeing the look of loss or love.
He was a selfish bastard, and losing Carson was no longer an option for Rodney. When the time came, as it inevitably did, Rodney took care of disposing the body himself. He couldn’t bear Ronon’s pain, he couldn’t bear the sidewise looks from John. Only Teyla offered her gentle smiles of understanding, of unconditional love. All Lantea had long ago learned not to question Rodney on this one matter: when it came right down to it, they were selfish bastards, too.
When the time comes, whether it would be next to Carson Mark VII or Mark XXXI, Rodney knows he won’t die alone. It is all he has left to hold onto.
Author: inkscribe
Pairings: Beckett/McKay
Rating: PG
Words: ~1,600
Warnings: ANGST ahoy!
Spoilers: S4-Kindred 1, 2
Locations: beckett_mckay, malesofatlantis, notmcshep, sgaauwtptbdfu, my LJ, other backup journals
Feedback: yes, please!
Author's Note: Unbeta-d. Plot bunny that bumped its head into me before bedtime, so here you go.
When the Time Comes
Rodney always knew he was a selfish bastard. He had every reason to be - he put himself on the line for everything from defending his dissertation to saving the city for the nth time - he was owed a little slack from time to time. He could be harsh. He was arrogant. Again, though - not arrogant without reason. He wasn’t wrong often. Not so much.
He’d suffered more than most from the Curse of Knowledge: he knew too much, could put together too many things too quickly. The Genii saw it in him, and they’d wanted him more than once for that very reason. Others, too - a village here, a pre-industrial revolution-style city there - they all wanted a piece of him, a piece of someone who could put two and two together and get answers in bases 2 through 10, respectively.
When the time came to storm one of Michael’s strongholds, the last thing Rodney ever expected to discover was Carson - a prisoner - alive and whole. He’d taken Carson’s body back, he’d taken the casket personally to deliver Scotland’s unknown hero back to his family. Everyone on the Atlantis expedition fucked up spectacularly at one point or another, but everyone who survived more than six months also accomplished things beyond their wildest dreams. As an ATA gene holder, Carson might not have appreciated the profound consequences of his discovery on how to activate it in people like Rodney, but Rodney knew damn well that Earth had been saved from certain death on more than one occasion because of his own - or his team’s - artificial ability to manipulate ATA-activated technology. That secret might remain forever classified, but Rodney knew how much Carson had done to save all of them - even Earth, even his beloved Scotland. Rodney had wept with Carson’s family, attended the service. Hoped against all logic and reason that Carson really was in a better place, just as the priest had said.
And then they’d found him, alive. Rodney was jittery and anxious as Doctor Keller went through the options, ruling out one possibility after another. Rodney observed Carson from above, watched as his friend was sampled and tested every which way possible. He even offered his own theories to John and Ronon as the minutes and hours ticked by.
In any other life than the one they had in the Pegasus Galaxy, Rodney’s head would have hurt from the conflicting possibilities. But he’d already met one of his alternate selves; he’d already survived the death of one of his other alternates. Carson - this Carson - could be any one of a dozen possibilities, and none of them any less the man Rodney loved and buried back home in the peat-laden earth of Scotland.
Frowning slightly in the half-light of the lab, Rodney made careful adjustments to the machine before him. He allowed no one down here to assist him, no one to keep watch. The most delicate adjustments had to be made at irregular intervals, and Rodney would not - could not - ask anyone else to do it for him.
Rodney was a selfish bastard. Everyone on Atlantis would agree with that assessment, but only the newly-arrived might actually believe it as the insult it seemed. Rodney was a selfish bastard because the Lantean expedition was selfish - while in truth no one person was ever truly irreplaceable, a handful of members would be damn difficult to replace with anyone else. McKay, Zelenka, Kusanagi - they each did amazing things. That each of these scientists accomplished the equivalence of what five specialists could - if they worked together - in their own right was the true miracle of the expedition. Sheppard, too - he was a surprise. Against all his superiors’ expectations, Atlantis had demanded more of him than anyone in the military, and unexpected talents rose to the surface to meet those demands. Then there were the others, people whom someone more poetic than Rodney might describe as ‘gifts’. Emmagan, Dex, even Radim. People they would never have met had they not come to this galaxy, people from whom they had learned so much, had shared so many terrors, had survived so many near-disasters.
Rodney didn’t kid himself about the value of any of them. He knew full well that without Emmagan’s willingness to help them, the expedition may well have died in those first few days. Rodney smiled to himself in the gloom. At least she understands, he thought, his face caught in a wry half-smile. It was a smile many had seen, but few really knew. Teyla Emmagan did, though. She knew that smile held more bitterness and regret than joy.
The first time, she’d come to Rodney’s quarters, and stood silently with him, her forehead pressed against his. When she looked up into his tear-reddened eyes, she had spoken clearly and carefully. “You must find the joy again, Rodney,” she had said.
Rodney did. Even now he worked on those final adjustments, the last stages of his project now coming to fruition. He was a smart man, one who could and did learn whatever he needed to survive. He read Genii technical manuals fluently, and after working closely with Todd, could even manage some of the Wraiths’ novellas, the dry wit and ironic humour a constant surprise. Had he not suspected Todd would eat him for the insult, he might have compared the main Hive of one story to a group of Ferengi traders.
Rodney had to find the joy. He learned whatever he needed to do to survive. Almost a year after burying his best friend, he rediscovered the man alive, imprisoned. Discovering what Michael had done to him, that this Carson wasn’t the same Carson under the ground back on Earth, but a copy, complete with memories - it was painful, but at the same time, it was a gift. Rodney had Carson - he had him back.
When the time came to put Carson into stasis, it nearly broke Rodney’s heart. The night before, they had clung together, wrapped in sweat-soaked sheets, tasting and exploring everything and everywhere. He almost hadn’t been able to meet Carson’s eyes as he watched his best friend and lover step into the Ancient machine that might stave off death long enough for a cure to be found. For Carson, the time would pass unnoticed, no different than undergoing major surgery and reawakening a day later as though moments had passed. For Rodney, the time had passed agonisingly slow.
Releasing Carson from the stasis field filled Rodney with hope, only to tear him apart again - yes, they’d found a cure, more or less, but it was too late for Carson. The clone’s cells were too far gone, breaking down irrevocably no matter what interventions the Lanteans tried.
Rodney remembered with shame how he’d screamed at Keller to get away, to stay back, once Carson’s heart flatlined for the final time. He had bullied and berated everyone until they left him, alone and weeping over Carson’s still-warm corpse.
His memories fragmented after that. He only knew he had an irresistible pull to fix it, make it better. Carson had been back once, he could be back again. They had the cure now, they had the technology. What matter if Keller couldn’t - or even wouldn’t - make clones. Rodney was a smart man. If he had to learn voodoo to bring Carson back again, he could do it. He’d do whatever it took.
He’d taken Carson’s body back to stasis, holding it there where no one could touch him while he tore through files and notes Michael had abandoned at one facility or another. He bullied teams into gating offworld to reverse-engineer tanks, to decrypt the hybridised technology Michael had cobbled together. He set up his own Frankenstein’s laboratory. Yeah, I’ve heard all the jokes, he thought. He didn’t know whether to be ill or amused - the jokes weren’t far wrong.
He’d learned how to grow cell cultures, clone them into buds of potential life. He’d learned how to plant them in a tank, grow them from an amorphous blob into a human - into Carson.
Carson was ready now, sleeping the dreamtime of the tank, drifting in the greenish-blue of the viscous cloning fluid. In minutes, Rodney would act as scientist, doctor, and midwife, decanting Carson and bringing him back to life, bringing him back to Rodney.
When the time came, he’d press the syringe to Carson’s still-wet flesh, awakening him to adulthood and all his memories up to his last remaining thoughts, thoughts Rodney had managed to include from each successive copy, a significant improvement on Michael’s original research. Rodney would swallow thickly and try to ignore the look of bitter sadness that would flicker through Carson’s eyes before they were replaced with compassion. Rodney still didn’t know which was worse: seeing the look of loss or love.
He was a selfish bastard, and losing Carson was no longer an option for Rodney. When the time came, as it inevitably did, Rodney took care of disposing the body himself. He couldn’t bear Ronon’s pain, he couldn’t bear the sidewise looks from John. Only Teyla offered her gentle smiles of understanding, of unconditional love. All Lantea had long ago learned not to question Rodney on this one matter: when it came right down to it, they were selfish bastards, too.
When the time comes, whether it would be next to Carson Mark VII or Mark XXXI, Rodney knows he won’t die alone. It is all he has left to hold onto.