Disorder by Helen W.
Title: Disorder
Author: Helen W.
Rating: G; gen-going-on-canon-het-probably-circling-back-to-gen
Word Count: ~1,000
Spoilers: Tag for 'First Strike,' so run away if you haven't seen it!
The last year he’d lived at home, Rodney’s parents had made something of a mission out of parameterizing the peculiarities of his psyche, so that he could go off into the world “understanding” himself. He loathed the process initially, but came to appreciate the education he got in all the ways people could be fundamentally messed up.
Rodney had been almost instantly diagnosed as having ‘Narcissistic Personality Disorder,’ which he protested because (a) it sounded girly, and (b) as far as he could tell, all the really smart, creative crazy people in history were manic depressives. His third, and least despised, psychiatrist had calmly explained that to be bipolar one had to BE depressed from time to time, not merely cause depression in others; but she had eventually conceded that maybe Rodney could be classified as hypomanic. That had pleased him for as long as it took him to look hypomania up; the criteria amounted to ‘not brain dead,’ so in the end he’d decided to go with being a narcissist.
And it had really made things so much simpler to have an official label, to not just be arrogant or rude but to have something in the DSM he could point to. True, most of the time his perhaps-larger-than-normal sense of self was justified, but every now and then he could, maybe, see that he’d reacted with more spite, or was feeling more jealousy, than a given situation warranted. And, even more rarely, he MAYBE exaggerated some achievement, or unfairly denigrated the work of others. But that was just the Way. He. Was. These were symptoms of his disability (well, disorder); he deserved a little understanding for having to live this way!
An interesting peculiarity of Rodney’s life was that an awfully high percentage of the people who crossed his path also suffered from at least one personality disorder. The whining borderlines were the worst, and he’d been plagued with them through college and graduate school and during the early part of his career, but, thankfully, few pathologically incompetent people had been included on the Atlantis expedition. Professionally incompetent, yes, but few on the expedition seemed to manufacture imaginary crises for the fun of it, perhaps because they were so busy initiating real ones.
They did start out with a few paranoids (Kavanaugh being a prime example, though Rodney thought he might also have three or four other disorders), but those under him, at least, had mostly left as soon they’d been able - usually citing intolerable working conditions, the wimps. The Atlantis schizoids did better (John Sheppard, anyone?) and, frankly, Rodney thought they could use a few more.
What was surprising about Atlantis, actually, was that so many people who should be wrecks didn’t seem to have anything wrong with them. Like, for instance, Ronon Dex, who was, at this instant, in the next room having a 3-inch-deep hole in his shoulder repaired; or Teyla, in there with him doing who-knew-what; or Elizabeth, now bare but for a thin blanket, who was about to be shoved into one of the stasis chambers Carson had had moved into the infirmary, so that, when they all died today or tomorrow or the next day (Wednesday?), she’d live on, floating through space forever.
Katie, inexplicably not evacuated - maybe they hadn’t been able to move her ferns - was washing the cuts on Elizabeth’s slack face, and, now, her arms, and Rodney knew he should help, should be doing something, shouldn’t even be here in medical.
Katie paused, moved past him to get a clean cloth, brushed against him and smiled sadly, and he wanted to scream, or weep. Sweet Katie, who maybe was meek enough to put up with him, maybe strong enough…
“Report!”
And here was John, who would want him to do something. Did he have any idea how hard it was to find one’s position in a point cloud?
“We’re prepping her for stasis,” said Katie. “Dr. Lee says the chamber is almost ready, and Dr. Keller said she would…”
And now here was their new chief medical officer in the flesh, trailed by Ronon, white-lipped and leaning - leaning - on Teyla. “Thanks, Katie, she looks ready,” said the physician, then, into her earpiece. “Ready, Kwan?”
Then John and Dr. Keller were wheeling Elizabeth away. It didn’t occur to Rodney that he could follow until Teyla’s, “Rodney, please…” and he found himself under Ronon’s other shoulder, trailing the stretcher into one of the infirmary’s side bays.
Someone who must be Dr. Lee moved to help John and Dr. Keller lift Elizabeth and transfer her into an open, faintly humming stasis chamber. The doctors stepped back, but John took Elizabeth’s hand and brought it to his lips, holding it there for a long moment, and Rodney wished he’d thought to do that.
The chamber’s lid was lowered and John turned as if he didn’t want to see what came next. Rodney didn’t particularly either. “You,” said John, poking Ronon on his non-injured side, “Lie down. Teyla - you and Dr. Brown, stick around here, see what the medical staff needs help with. And you” - and now he was talking to Rodney - “are you hurt or something?”
“I don’t know.” He’d come into the infirmary to see if the lacerations on his face needed attention, but now he could hardly feel them.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ Stellar cartography.”
“But it’s…”
“Zelenka’s mapping pulsars, says that he’s going to get a paper out of solving the lost-in-space problem. I can’t believe you’re going to concede this to him. And if you are, then maybe you could spare some attention to our hyperdrive?”
“But Elizabeth…”
“Yes. We feel like a friend feels about a friend.”
And now John had him by the arm and was pulling him out of the infirmary and, okay, they were still going to die, but now he felt that maybe the fight was worth fighting. Which, really, made John the highest-functioning schizoid EVER.
* * * THE END * * *
My third SGA story! Soon they’ll start having, yk, plots.
Thanks go to ozsaur for catching a few oopses.
More fic, mostly TS gen, at http://www.murphnet.org/fanfic.
Author: Helen W.
Rating: G; gen-going-on-canon-het-probably-circling-back-to-gen
Word Count: ~1,000
Spoilers: Tag for 'First Strike,' so run away if you haven't seen it!
The last year he’d lived at home, Rodney’s parents had made something of a mission out of parameterizing the peculiarities of his psyche, so that he could go off into the world “understanding” himself. He loathed the process initially, but came to appreciate the education he got in all the ways people could be fundamentally messed up.
Rodney had been almost instantly diagnosed as having ‘Narcissistic Personality Disorder,’ which he protested because (a) it sounded girly, and (b) as far as he could tell, all the really smart, creative crazy people in history were manic depressives. His third, and least despised, psychiatrist had calmly explained that to be bipolar one had to BE depressed from time to time, not merely cause depression in others; but she had eventually conceded that maybe Rodney could be classified as hypomanic. That had pleased him for as long as it took him to look hypomania up; the criteria amounted to ‘not brain dead,’ so in the end he’d decided to go with being a narcissist.
And it had really made things so much simpler to have an official label, to not just be arrogant or rude but to have something in the DSM he could point to. True, most of the time his perhaps-larger-than-normal sense of self was justified, but every now and then he could, maybe, see that he’d reacted with more spite, or was feeling more jealousy, than a given situation warranted. And, even more rarely, he MAYBE exaggerated some achievement, or unfairly denigrated the work of others. But that was just the Way. He. Was. These were symptoms of his disability (well, disorder); he deserved a little understanding for having to live this way!
An interesting peculiarity of Rodney’s life was that an awfully high percentage of the people who crossed his path also suffered from at least one personality disorder. The whining borderlines were the worst, and he’d been plagued with them through college and graduate school and during the early part of his career, but, thankfully, few pathologically incompetent people had been included on the Atlantis expedition. Professionally incompetent, yes, but few on the expedition seemed to manufacture imaginary crises for the fun of it, perhaps because they were so busy initiating real ones.
They did start out with a few paranoids (Kavanaugh being a prime example, though Rodney thought he might also have three or four other disorders), but those under him, at least, had mostly left as soon they’d been able - usually citing intolerable working conditions, the wimps. The Atlantis schizoids did better (John Sheppard, anyone?) and, frankly, Rodney thought they could use a few more.
What was surprising about Atlantis, actually, was that so many people who should be wrecks didn’t seem to have anything wrong with them. Like, for instance, Ronon Dex, who was, at this instant, in the next room having a 3-inch-deep hole in his shoulder repaired; or Teyla, in there with him doing who-knew-what; or Elizabeth, now bare but for a thin blanket, who was about to be shoved into one of the stasis chambers Carson had had moved into the infirmary, so that, when they all died today or tomorrow or the next day (Wednesday?), she’d live on, floating through space forever.
Katie, inexplicably not evacuated - maybe they hadn’t been able to move her ferns - was washing the cuts on Elizabeth’s slack face, and, now, her arms, and Rodney knew he should help, should be doing something, shouldn’t even be here in medical.
Katie paused, moved past him to get a clean cloth, brushed against him and smiled sadly, and he wanted to scream, or weep. Sweet Katie, who maybe was meek enough to put up with him, maybe strong enough…
“Report!”
And here was John, who would want him to do something. Did he have any idea how hard it was to find one’s position in a point cloud?
“We’re prepping her for stasis,” said Katie. “Dr. Lee says the chamber is almost ready, and Dr. Keller said she would…”
And now here was their new chief medical officer in the flesh, trailed by Ronon, white-lipped and leaning - leaning - on Teyla. “Thanks, Katie, she looks ready,” said the physician, then, into her earpiece. “Ready, Kwan?”
Then John and Dr. Keller were wheeling Elizabeth away. It didn’t occur to Rodney that he could follow until Teyla’s, “Rodney, please…” and he found himself under Ronon’s other shoulder, trailing the stretcher into one of the infirmary’s side bays.
Someone who must be Dr. Lee moved to help John and Dr. Keller lift Elizabeth and transfer her into an open, faintly humming stasis chamber. The doctors stepped back, but John took Elizabeth’s hand and brought it to his lips, holding it there for a long moment, and Rodney wished he’d thought to do that.
The chamber’s lid was lowered and John turned as if he didn’t want to see what came next. Rodney didn’t particularly either. “You,” said John, poking Ronon on his non-injured side, “Lie down. Teyla - you and Dr. Brown, stick around here, see what the medical staff needs help with. And you” - and now he was talking to Rodney - “are you hurt or something?”
“I don’t know.” He’d come into the infirmary to see if the lacerations on his face needed attention, but now he could hardly feel them.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ Stellar cartography.”
“But it’s…”
“Zelenka’s mapping pulsars, says that he’s going to get a paper out of solving the lost-in-space problem. I can’t believe you’re going to concede this to him. And if you are, then maybe you could spare some attention to our hyperdrive?”
“But Elizabeth…”
“Yes. We feel like a friend feels about a friend.”
And now John had him by the arm and was pulling him out of the infirmary and, okay, they were still going to die, but now he felt that maybe the fight was worth fighting. Which, really, made John the highest-functioning schizoid EVER.
* * * THE END * * *
My third SGA story! Soon they’ll start having, yk, plots.
Thanks go to ozsaur for catching a few oopses.
More fic, mostly TS gen, at http://www.murphnet.org/fanfic.