Remnant
Prompt: (70) Dr. MacKenzie - he knows he's misunderstood, but he's ok with that. He's not here to be friends.
Spoilers: Legacy
Rating: G
Word Count: 1029
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, wish I did, you know who does, yadda, yadda, yadda
Author: Wonderland
Remnants
It’s a good thing I learned to put on a blank face because the last, the very last, person I expected to see in my office this morning was Dr. Daniel Jackson.
“Dr. Jackson, please come in, have a seat.” I wave to the chair across from my desk as I stop at the small refrigerator. “Would you like some water?” I hand him a bottle when he nods, taking one for myself. “I’d really prefer a cup of coffee but Dr. Fraiser took one look at my blood pressure and went through the roof.” Since I’m not one for beating around the bush, I just dive in. “I have to admit that I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I...I just wanted to thank you,” he speaks quietly, his eyes firmly planted on the bottle he is currently rolling between his hands.
“I’m not sure I understand. You’re not thanking me for misdiagnosing the schizophrenia?”
“No, I’m still mad about that.” There is an almost smile in that quirk of his lips.
I nod. “You have every right to be. I hope it will help to know that Dr. Frasier and I are completely overhauling the procedure for the diagnosis and treatment of non-physical ailments within Stargate Command. An apology seems inadequate, given what happened to you but I hope you can draw comfort from the fact that it won’t happen again?”
“It does help…some.”
“So I’m curious about why you wanted to thank me.”
He finally looks me in the eye. “I wanted to thank you for not telling them.”
“Not telling who what?” I fence.
“About my grandfather, that he’s in a mental institution. I know that you know that. I just…I’m glad you didn’t tell them, the team. And General Hammond.”
“Your medical history is private, Dr. Jackson. I would never discuss that with anyone else.” In fact, we shouldn’t have been discussing his mental status with his team at all, except in the most general of terms. And I now realize why he’s here. “You’re worried that the schizophrenia is hereditary?”
“It is. Studies have proven that.”
This is the problem with trying to counsel, psychologically, super-intelligent people. They are generally a couple of steps ahead of average people. “Yes, I’m not going to lie to you. Links have been found between schizophrenia and genetics. However, the percentage of grandchildren also suffering from schizophrenia is relatively low, somewhere in the five percentile range.”
“Genetics plays a role, as does childhood stressors, especially those that occur before the age of fourteen.” Obviously, I’m not the only one who researched the subject. “You can’t tell me I didn’t have several of the stress factors.” He counts them off on his fingers. “Social stress, adversity, isolation, emotional neglect.”
“Not every child with those factors develops the condition. There is no reason to think you are any more predisposed to mental illness than anyone else.”
“But isn’t that exactly what you thought?”
“Yes, it is, but your grandfather’s history had no bearing on the diagnosis. In fact, I didn’t know about it until after you became ill; it was only then that I started researching your background.” I give him a moment to think about it. “Of course, you only have my word for that.”
“But you knew I’d witnessed my parents’ death?” He is inexorable.
“Of course, that’s in your medical file. Yes, that would definitely be counted as a stress factor. And, yes, what you are doing right now, going through the gate, is a stress factor that I, or none of us, can even begin to comprehend. Dr. Jackson, it was a grave error for us to have leapt instantly to the diagnosis of schizophrenia, given what we now know about alien capabilities; all I can do is, once again, offer you my apologies for the extreme conditions under which that mistake placed you. But,” I hold up my hand as he opens his mouth to interrupt me, “you should not construe that to mean that you are more prone than anyone else to a mental breakdown. There are people in this command whose emotional stress factors are far greater than your own.”
“Like Jack?”
“You know I can’t talk about other people’s history.”
“I know that Charlie died from Jack’s personal gun, I know that he was on the verge of suicide when he took on the Abydos mission, I know that he suffered as a prisoner of war.”
“Yet, I don’t see Colonel O’Neill sitting here asking me for the odds of him having a mental breakdown.” I tell him gently.
He grins suddenly and I am reminded of just how young he really is. “Touché, Dr. MacKenzie.”
“Let me be the first to tell you, Dr. Jackson, that this incident will in no way affect your status within this command.”
“You can’t guarantee that. There are already people here who think I’m a little ‘flaky’.”
“Dr. Jackson, anyone who has willingly agreed to go through a stone ring and fight off aliens on a daily basis could realistically be described as ‘flaky.’”
“So that’s an accepted medical term?” Another smile gets away from him.
“Absolutely. And I hope you know my door is open to you anytime you need me. Even if it’s just to get something off your chest.” I don’t want to appear dismissive of his fears but I have another appointment scheduled. He sets the unopened water on my desk and gives me a soft thanks before he slips out the door.
I sit contemplating that door long after he’s departed and wonder just what it is I’ve signed up for. Until a knock on the door heralds the arrival of my next patient.
“Hello, I’m Dr. MacKenzie,” I offer my hand as the man stands awkwardly in front of my desk. “Please, have a seat. I understand you’d like to talk about a recent mission…”