14valentines Day Six: Sexual Assault
Today's 14valentines theme is Sexual Assault. Please take a moment to read the essay and take a look at other people's contributions over here.
I'm going to be out this weekend, so I'm posting this story in two 3000 (ish) word sections because I will be busy and braindead tomorrow.
This is another one that I've had written for an age. I'm happy to finally be posting it, if only because it has literally been on my harddrive since the episode "Sunday" aired for the first time. you know, like, two years ago. Yikes.
Title: our days are slow and dear (1/2)
Fandom and characters: Stargate: Atlantis; McKay and Beckett centric with McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG-13 for language
Notes: Thanks to quackerscooper for reading this nine hundred times and the writers of Eureka for coming up with the exact deus ex machina that I was looking for when I started tossing this story around.
Like I said above, I started writing this when "Sunday" first aired, so there are no spoilers for anything past S3. It takes place right after "Sunday." I'm old school. Or lazy. One or the other
Summary: "No, no," Rodney says dismissively, "but why isn't he here?"
"Because the Colonel doesn't need this, Rodney," Carson says. "Not like you do."
"We've been out here for a while," Rodney says. He squints up at the sun for confirmation, but he's never really learned to tell the time by watching the sky and he can't seem to remember where the sun was when they first arrived. It must have been lower, closer to the horizon, because it's high overhead now, giving everything a muted, golden tone through the haze.
"Aye," Carson says. Rodney glances at him, at his smile and the relish with which he casts his line. He seems at ease, so Rodney's at ease, too. Carson is more on edge than anyone in Atlantis, including Rodney himself, and if Carson is calm on an alien world, then Rodney knows there's no reason to panic. It certainly doesn't look like there's any reason to panic--the bay they're standing on is calm, the landscape is warm and familiar looking, and the company is good. They've got a couple coolers between them along with some fishing gear and an empty tub filled with water. For all Carson's talk of space trout as long as his arm, it looks like they've yet to catch anything.
"Shouldn't we be getting back soon?" Rodney asks, but he's not badgering. In fact, it may be the most casual question he's ever asked in his life. He honestly doesn't care. Dimly, he knows that he should get back, that there are a million things that he should be doing, that he's not even supposed to like fishing, but this is...
It's nice. He's in no rush. He can't remember the last time he felt like this.
"Relax, Rodney!" Carson says. "It's our day of rest. If they need you, they'll come get you."
They will, won't they? And rest is nice. Awfully, perfectly nice.
***
Rodney squints up at the sun and then down at his wrist. His watch is missing. He wonders why he hadn't noticed that before, why he hadn't noticed his earpiece is missing, too.
"Carson, where's--" he starts to ask, hand still hovering over his ear, but Carson laughs.
"In the 'jumper, Rodney," he says. "If they need you, they'll come for you. I told you that."
Rodney nods. He looks around again, looks at the trees and the sky and the golden shimmer on the water. Everything looks fine. Everything is fine. Except--
"It just feels like we've been out here for awhile," Rodney says, shrugging. "I keep thinking we've been out here for awhile."
"You think too much, my friend," Carson says with a wry chuckle. "You need to learn to relax. It would do wonders for your blood pressure. You have to stop thinking. What's on your mind that's so distracting, hm?"
"Nothing," Rodney says, dismissively. And there really is nothing. He knows that there should be something, should be... but...
"Why do I find that hard to believe?" Carson asks. "How are things with the Colonel?"
Rodney whips his head around, slightly dizzy from the headrush. "Things are fine," he says quickly. "Things are.... should things not be fine? Is he all right? Is there something I should know?"
Carson laughs again and shakes his head, and that's a little disconcerting, he has to admit. "No, no, he's fine," Carson said. "I was referring to your wee little crush on him."
Rodney scowls. "I don't have a crush on the Colonel, Carson. I'm not a twelve year old girl. He's my friend and he's... we...." He stops abruptly. "I mean, it's clear as day that he's attractive, but I'm hardly the only person on Atlantis who thinks so--in the Pegasus galaxy, even, because, Jesus Christ, you should see the women who throw themselves at him off-world, but--"
He stops, abruptly, and turns back to the bay.
"I don't want to talk about it, Carson," he says.
"Of course," Carson says, and they go back to their fishing.
***
Rodney wishes he'd brought sunglasses. The glare isn't hurting his eyes, but he feels like it should be, like it's effecting his vision and he doesn't even know it. Like if he had sunglasses, the fuzzy, soft edges would become sharp again. He doesn't have sunglasses. He brought a huge tub of his own SPF 100 sunscreen for his fair skin, but nothing for his light eyes.
Sheppard has sunglasses, big, ugly aviator shades that make him look like even more like a caricature than his unlaced boots and messy hair combined. But Sheppard isn't here, and for some reason that seems...
That seems odd.
"Carson, where's Sheppard?" Rodney asks. He looks over his shoulder, past the weedy, reedy underbrush, over the dunes. He squints past the dunes, trying to catch sight of the puddlejumper, but all he can see is sand.
"He's in Atlantis," Carson says, as though it's the most obvious answer in the world. It may seem like it--Sheppard loves the city like a sister, like a lover, like a child, like a mother, like all of those things combined into something new and ever-present and amazing, something that Rodney understands on his best days and is slave to on his worst. Still, Sheppard loves the water and the waves and the beach as well, and even more importantly, he's not one to leave Rodney on his own.
"Why isn't he here with us?" Rodney asks. He wants to panic, and although it's easier than before to work himself up over these little inconsistencies, something about Carson's unending calm is still... soothing it away.
"Would you be happier if he were here?" Carson asked. "I was led to believe you'd be more comfortable with me in this situation, but if you'd like the Colonel..."
"No, no," Rodney says dismissively, "but why isn't he here?"
"Because he doesn't need this, Rodney," Carson says. "Not like you do."
It hangs in the air almost ominously, although he says it with the same straight-forward, Scottish tinged voice that he always uses. Maybe it's because so much of the time that voice is giving him a grim diagnosis of Sheppard's injuries, of Teyla's, of Ronon's, but whatever it is makes him shiver and clutch the fishing rod tightly between suspiciously dry palms.
"Of course," Carson continues, oblivious to Rodney's hammering heart, "if having Sheppard here would be of help, I could do that. If it would make you more at ease."
Rodney thinks of Sheppard, of Sheppard killing things for him and protecting him, of Sheppard's hand sitting warningly on his shoulder and of Sheppard kicking him playfully under the conference room table. Sheppard always puts him at ease, but this was his afternoon with Carson and he thinks he owes Carson that much. Plus, it's nice to be away from Sheppard, to spend an afternoon without...
worrying.
"About what?" Rodney asks out loud. It's only Carson's curious look that alerts him to the fact that he's spoken out loud. "I've been worrying lately," he says quickly. "About Sheppard. And I can't remember... is he hurt?" And why can't he remember? Why is all of this so hazy, the world around him and the thoughts in his head, why is--
"The Colonel is fine, Rodney," Carson says. "But you have been avoiding him, especially since you've gotten back from Earth. Do you know why that is?"
"What are you, taking lessons from Heightmeyer?" he snaps.
"If you'd rather bring Kate Heightmeyer here, if you think she would be of help, I could do that. If it would make you more at ease." He doesn't say it the way that Rodney would expect, with a teasing lilt that makes silent reference to both his preference for blondes and his obsessive need to keep his counseling appointments even though all he does is complain about them. Instead it's frank, direct, as though Carson is prepared to get into the 'jumper and go back to Atlantis, to fetch Heightmeyer or Sheppard or whomever Rodney requests next.
"I... no," Rodney stutters. "I don't want to see Heightmeyer. Carson, what the hell is going on?"
"I'm just trying to discern why you've been avoiding Colonel Sheppard since you returned from Earth," Carson says.
Rodney twitched. Fumbled his fishing rod. Glared up at the sun high overhead. Fidgeted in his spot. Something was...
"Wait," Rodney says, "I haven't been! I mean, it's been months and... and we went whale watching together and there was that thing with our game and when I almost--when I almost ascended he--"
And that's something that's still too raw, still... he can still feel Sheppard's fingers on his forehead, his hands wrapped gently around Rodney's wrist, rubbing his pulse point while they waited for the med team to arrive, Rodney clinging to consciousness and thinking, oh god, not yet, please not yet...
"Not since the return to Atlantis." Carson's voice breaks into his panic, into the fear that's still just under the surface. "Since the last time you returned from Earth."
"That is the last time we were on Earth!" Rodney snaps, frustrated with this whole exercise, with these questions and this probing into his personal life, into his relationship with Sheppard which is so no one's business but his own. "That was the last time we--"
But then he remembers, he thinks about it, he's bombarded with flashes of Sheppard in dress blues, of Major Lorne talking quietly with Landry, of Radek laying a hand casually on his elbow, steadying him as they stepped off an airplane in Scotland because--
Because--
He rounds on Carson, eyes wide, fishing rod dropping to the sand because--oh god, it all makes sense now. The stationary sun, the missing puddlejumper and radio, the golden haze on everything, the fact that they've been here for an indeterminite amount of time and haven't seen a single fucking fish...
"You're dead!" he says. "You're dead, you died and we brought you back to Earth, we carried the fucking coffin!"
He's terrified, shaking, not sure whether he should run or if running will even help him at all. He doesn't know where he is or what's going on, what kind of scheme this is. He could be dead already. He could be captured by the Wraith or--God, the Replicators. This reeks of a Replicator plot, he's probably having his mind probed right now and--
"What do you want?" he asks, snaps, really, as he stumbles backwards across the sand, nearly trips over the fishing rod he dropped before.
"I told you," Carson says, or Not!Carson, or whoever this is. "I want to know why you've been avoiding Colonel Sheppard."
***
"Radek," Elizabeth said, "What can you tell us?"
They were seated around the conference table, and that just seemed wrong without Rodney. They should have been in the infirmary, they should have been within sight of him in case something happened.
It was ridiculous. John knew, he knew that the nurses in the infirmary were top notch, that there was little chance that Rodney's condition was going to change. That was the whole reason they were there, after all, gathered around the triangular conference table, waiting for Radek to give his report on the object that had attached itself to Rodney's head.
All eyes were on Radek--Elizabeth, seated between Lorne and Drs. Keller and Heightmeyer, brow creased with a frown. John couldn't look away either, save to glance quickly at Teyla and Ronon on either side of him. Teyla seemed serious and confident, Ronon looked ready for action, but he could feel the tension vibrating through them. They were his team. He could read them instinctively and a little of his own tension released when he realized that he wasn't alone in his concern.
He turned back to Radek, who was connecting a tablet to the large view screen in the room. If anyone could save Rodney it was Radek Zelenka.
A schematic of the Ancient device suddenly appeared on the view screen, an innocuous looking thing, like a thin wire tiara, and Radek cleared his throat to begin.
"From what I was able to gather from the database, this device was a kind of simulated reality generator. It's clearly meant to be worn on the head as a crown, and it interfaces with the brain here and here." He tapped the screen, fingers brushing on two small circles that would fall approximately on the temple if it was being worn.
"So it's like some sort of VR tiara," Lorne said, and John was startled by that because it sounded so much like something he would say, like an analogy he would make to bait Rodney in order to relieve the tension in the room. Zelenka seemed to notice as well, eyebrows raising in Lorne's direction.
"Simply put, yes, Major," he said. "But it was not intended as a game. As far as we can tell, it was a... a medical tool. It was used as an alternative to psychotherapy. One would put the device on, activate it, and work out their issues in an environment determined by both doctors and the patient themselves as ideal for recovery."
"So how do you turn it off?" Ronon asked.
Zelenka removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. That was never a good sign.
"I do not know," Zelenka said with a sigh. "It was not intended to be disabled from the outside, you see. The device had to be activated by the patient and the patient could end the session at any time."
"Rodney didn't activate anything," John said, hands clenching into fists. "He just picked it up and handed it to me and then I put it on his head. I didn't turn it on and he didn't turn it on. We didn't even know what it was, we thought it was a piece of junk."
"Colonel, it is ten thousand years old," Zelenka says gently. "Plus, the section we found it in had been flooded, invaded by Replicators, and damaged in the Wraith siege our first year. Things... break." He looked sheepish about it, as though it was his fault that a millenia old device wasn't working properly. John almost wished he could blame Zelenka, but he knew that Radek thought the twist of metal was as innocuous as the rest of them. He knew that if there was anyone to blame, it was himself.
Zelenka cleared his throat. "I consulted with Dr. Heightmeyer while working on this and she thinks she can shed some light on a possible solution." He sat down next to Lorne, shoulders slumped and looking as concerned as John had ever seen him. Kate Heightmeyer, however, seemed to be the most hopeful person in the room. John chewed his lip, hoping she'd be able to come through with the answer.
"As most of you know," Heightmeyer said, "Dr. McKay is a regular patient of mine. Now, I'm not at liberty to discuss specifics of his sessions, but I think it's been clear to everyone in the room that Dr. McKay is under constant stress almost every day. We've also recently lost Dr. Beckett, and while it was hard for many of us, Carson and Rodney had been friends for years. He took Carson's death very hard and with catastrophe after catastrophe in the city since his death, he hasn't had time to properly deal with it. I think that the device may have activated because it sensed Rodney's underlying mental unrest and I think it might deactivate on its own once he's able to work through some of the more persistent issues bothering him."
John had looked away halfway through Heightmeyer's speech because he knew that, dammit. Rodney had been distant and jumpy since Carson's death. He'd gone out of his way to avoid John, and while he noticed the snub, he couldn't bring himself to talk to Rodney about it. He was bad with emotions at the best of times, and this was about as far from the best of times as he could get.
It was Dr. Keller who spoke up this time saying, "Dr. McKay's brainwaves and neutral synapses are consistant with Dr. Zelenka and Dr. Heightmeyer's findings. As much as I can't stand to sit back and do nothing, it really does seem as though he'll come out of it on his own if he's going to come out of it."
The if weighed heavy in the air. Ronon made a sound that was not unlike a growl.
"I think," Elizabeth finally said, the crease in her forehead even deeper, "that we have no choice. We just have to hope that Rodney can make it through this on his own. But." She held up a finger. "Just in case, I'd like you keep looking into this Radek, Kate. See if you can't find another solution so we have a back-up plan." Zelenka and Heightmeyer nodded, and Zelenka got to his feet, clearly eager to get back to the lab and start researching again. "Everyone else, we'll keep you updated on Rodney's condition. Dr. Keller, I'd like to accompany you back to the infirmary."
"That's where I'm headed, too," John said. "Might as well keep an eye on him. Who knows what kind of crap he can get up to with an Ancient machine wired to his brain." It was a thinly veiled excuse to go back to the infirmary and hold Rodney's hand while heckling him back into consciousness. He had a feeling that everyone in the room could see right through it, but he wasn't concerned with that right now. Mostly he was concerned with berating himself for letting Rodney get so bad that he was held hostage by an Ancient therapist. It wasn't his best move as a team leader, and he doubted he'd be winning friend of the year, either.
"You should get some rest," Dr. Keller said as they left the conference room and descended the gateroom steps.
"I can rest just as well in the chair next to McKay's bed," he said, shrugging, and that was the end of it.
I'm going to be out this weekend, so I'm posting this story in two 3000 (ish) word sections because I will be busy and braindead tomorrow.
This is another one that I've had written for an age. I'm happy to finally be posting it, if only because it has literally been on my harddrive since the episode "Sunday" aired for the first time. you know, like, two years ago. Yikes.
Title: our days are slow and dear (1/2)
Fandom and characters: Stargate: Atlantis; McKay and Beckett centric with McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG-13 for language
Notes: Thanks to quackerscooper for reading this nine hundred times and the writers of Eureka for coming up with the exact deus ex machina that I was looking for when I started tossing this story around.
Like I said above, I started writing this when "Sunday" first aired, so there are no spoilers for anything past S3. It takes place right after "Sunday." I'm old school. Or lazy. One or the other
Summary: "No, no," Rodney says dismissively, "but why isn't he here?"
"Because the Colonel doesn't need this, Rodney," Carson says. "Not like you do."
"We've been out here for a while," Rodney says. He squints up at the sun for confirmation, but he's never really learned to tell the time by watching the sky and he can't seem to remember where the sun was when they first arrived. It must have been lower, closer to the horizon, because it's high overhead now, giving everything a muted, golden tone through the haze.
"Aye," Carson says. Rodney glances at him, at his smile and the relish with which he casts his line. He seems at ease, so Rodney's at ease, too. Carson is more on edge than anyone in Atlantis, including Rodney himself, and if Carson is calm on an alien world, then Rodney knows there's no reason to panic. It certainly doesn't look like there's any reason to panic--the bay they're standing on is calm, the landscape is warm and familiar looking, and the company is good. They've got a couple coolers between them along with some fishing gear and an empty tub filled with water. For all Carson's talk of space trout as long as his arm, it looks like they've yet to catch anything.
"Shouldn't we be getting back soon?" Rodney asks, but he's not badgering. In fact, it may be the most casual question he's ever asked in his life. He honestly doesn't care. Dimly, he knows that he should get back, that there are a million things that he should be doing, that he's not even supposed to like fishing, but this is...
It's nice. He's in no rush. He can't remember the last time he felt like this.
"Relax, Rodney!" Carson says. "It's our day of rest. If they need you, they'll come get you."
They will, won't they? And rest is nice. Awfully, perfectly nice.
***
Rodney squints up at the sun and then down at his wrist. His watch is missing. He wonders why he hadn't noticed that before, why he hadn't noticed his earpiece is missing, too.
"Carson, where's--" he starts to ask, hand still hovering over his ear, but Carson laughs.
"In the 'jumper, Rodney," he says. "If they need you, they'll come for you. I told you that."
Rodney nods. He looks around again, looks at the trees and the sky and the golden shimmer on the water. Everything looks fine. Everything is fine. Except--
"It just feels like we've been out here for awhile," Rodney says, shrugging. "I keep thinking we've been out here for awhile."
"You think too much, my friend," Carson says with a wry chuckle. "You need to learn to relax. It would do wonders for your blood pressure. You have to stop thinking. What's on your mind that's so distracting, hm?"
"Nothing," Rodney says, dismissively. And there really is nothing. He knows that there should be something, should be... but...
"Why do I find that hard to believe?" Carson asks. "How are things with the Colonel?"
Rodney whips his head around, slightly dizzy from the headrush. "Things are fine," he says quickly. "Things are.... should things not be fine? Is he all right? Is there something I should know?"
Carson laughs again and shakes his head, and that's a little disconcerting, he has to admit. "No, no, he's fine," Carson said. "I was referring to your wee little crush on him."
Rodney scowls. "I don't have a crush on the Colonel, Carson. I'm not a twelve year old girl. He's my friend and he's... we...." He stops abruptly. "I mean, it's clear as day that he's attractive, but I'm hardly the only person on Atlantis who thinks so--in the Pegasus galaxy, even, because, Jesus Christ, you should see the women who throw themselves at him off-world, but--"
He stops, abruptly, and turns back to the bay.
"I don't want to talk about it, Carson," he says.
"Of course," Carson says, and they go back to their fishing.
***
Rodney wishes he'd brought sunglasses. The glare isn't hurting his eyes, but he feels like it should be, like it's effecting his vision and he doesn't even know it. Like if he had sunglasses, the fuzzy, soft edges would become sharp again. He doesn't have sunglasses. He brought a huge tub of his own SPF 100 sunscreen for his fair skin, but nothing for his light eyes.
Sheppard has sunglasses, big, ugly aviator shades that make him look like even more like a caricature than his unlaced boots and messy hair combined. But Sheppard isn't here, and for some reason that seems...
That seems odd.
"Carson, where's Sheppard?" Rodney asks. He looks over his shoulder, past the weedy, reedy underbrush, over the dunes. He squints past the dunes, trying to catch sight of the puddlejumper, but all he can see is sand.
"He's in Atlantis," Carson says, as though it's the most obvious answer in the world. It may seem like it--Sheppard loves the city like a sister, like a lover, like a child, like a mother, like all of those things combined into something new and ever-present and amazing, something that Rodney understands on his best days and is slave to on his worst. Still, Sheppard loves the water and the waves and the beach as well, and even more importantly, he's not one to leave Rodney on his own.
"Why isn't he here with us?" Rodney asks. He wants to panic, and although it's easier than before to work himself up over these little inconsistencies, something about Carson's unending calm is still... soothing it away.
"Would you be happier if he were here?" Carson asked. "I was led to believe you'd be more comfortable with me in this situation, but if you'd like the Colonel..."
"No, no," Rodney says dismissively, "but why isn't he here?"
"Because he doesn't need this, Rodney," Carson says. "Not like you do."
It hangs in the air almost ominously, although he says it with the same straight-forward, Scottish tinged voice that he always uses. Maybe it's because so much of the time that voice is giving him a grim diagnosis of Sheppard's injuries, of Teyla's, of Ronon's, but whatever it is makes him shiver and clutch the fishing rod tightly between suspiciously dry palms.
"Of course," Carson continues, oblivious to Rodney's hammering heart, "if having Sheppard here would be of help, I could do that. If it would make you more at ease."
Rodney thinks of Sheppard, of Sheppard killing things for him and protecting him, of Sheppard's hand sitting warningly on his shoulder and of Sheppard kicking him playfully under the conference room table. Sheppard always puts him at ease, but this was his afternoon with Carson and he thinks he owes Carson that much. Plus, it's nice to be away from Sheppard, to spend an afternoon without...
worrying.
"About what?" Rodney asks out loud. It's only Carson's curious look that alerts him to the fact that he's spoken out loud. "I've been worrying lately," he says quickly. "About Sheppard. And I can't remember... is he hurt?" And why can't he remember? Why is all of this so hazy, the world around him and the thoughts in his head, why is--
"The Colonel is fine, Rodney," Carson says. "But you have been avoiding him, especially since you've gotten back from Earth. Do you know why that is?"
"What are you, taking lessons from Heightmeyer?" he snaps.
"If you'd rather bring Kate Heightmeyer here, if you think she would be of help, I could do that. If it would make you more at ease." He doesn't say it the way that Rodney would expect, with a teasing lilt that makes silent reference to both his preference for blondes and his obsessive need to keep his counseling appointments even though all he does is complain about them. Instead it's frank, direct, as though Carson is prepared to get into the 'jumper and go back to Atlantis, to fetch Heightmeyer or Sheppard or whomever Rodney requests next.
"I... no," Rodney stutters. "I don't want to see Heightmeyer. Carson, what the hell is going on?"
"I'm just trying to discern why you've been avoiding Colonel Sheppard since you returned from Earth," Carson says.
Rodney twitched. Fumbled his fishing rod. Glared up at the sun high overhead. Fidgeted in his spot. Something was...
"Wait," Rodney says, "I haven't been! I mean, it's been months and... and we went whale watching together and there was that thing with our game and when I almost--when I almost ascended he--"
And that's something that's still too raw, still... he can still feel Sheppard's fingers on his forehead, his hands wrapped gently around Rodney's wrist, rubbing his pulse point while they waited for the med team to arrive, Rodney clinging to consciousness and thinking, oh god, not yet, please not yet...
"Not since the return to Atlantis." Carson's voice breaks into his panic, into the fear that's still just under the surface. "Since the last time you returned from Earth."
"That is the last time we were on Earth!" Rodney snaps, frustrated with this whole exercise, with these questions and this probing into his personal life, into his relationship with Sheppard which is so no one's business but his own. "That was the last time we--"
But then he remembers, he thinks about it, he's bombarded with flashes of Sheppard in dress blues, of Major Lorne talking quietly with Landry, of Radek laying a hand casually on his elbow, steadying him as they stepped off an airplane in Scotland because--
Because--
He rounds on Carson, eyes wide, fishing rod dropping to the sand because--oh god, it all makes sense now. The stationary sun, the missing puddlejumper and radio, the golden haze on everything, the fact that they've been here for an indeterminite amount of time and haven't seen a single fucking fish...
"You're dead!" he says. "You're dead, you died and we brought you back to Earth, we carried the fucking coffin!"
He's terrified, shaking, not sure whether he should run or if running will even help him at all. He doesn't know where he is or what's going on, what kind of scheme this is. He could be dead already. He could be captured by the Wraith or--God, the Replicators. This reeks of a Replicator plot, he's probably having his mind probed right now and--
"What do you want?" he asks, snaps, really, as he stumbles backwards across the sand, nearly trips over the fishing rod he dropped before.
"I told you," Carson says, or Not!Carson, or whoever this is. "I want to know why you've been avoiding Colonel Sheppard."
***
"Radek," Elizabeth said, "What can you tell us?"
They were seated around the conference table, and that just seemed wrong without Rodney. They should have been in the infirmary, they should have been within sight of him in case something happened.
It was ridiculous. John knew, he knew that the nurses in the infirmary were top notch, that there was little chance that Rodney's condition was going to change. That was the whole reason they were there, after all, gathered around the triangular conference table, waiting for Radek to give his report on the object that had attached itself to Rodney's head.
All eyes were on Radek--Elizabeth, seated between Lorne and Drs. Keller and Heightmeyer, brow creased with a frown. John couldn't look away either, save to glance quickly at Teyla and Ronon on either side of him. Teyla seemed serious and confident, Ronon looked ready for action, but he could feel the tension vibrating through them. They were his team. He could read them instinctively and a little of his own tension released when he realized that he wasn't alone in his concern.
He turned back to Radek, who was connecting a tablet to the large view screen in the room. If anyone could save Rodney it was Radek Zelenka.
A schematic of the Ancient device suddenly appeared on the view screen, an innocuous looking thing, like a thin wire tiara, and Radek cleared his throat to begin.
"From what I was able to gather from the database, this device was a kind of simulated reality generator. It's clearly meant to be worn on the head as a crown, and it interfaces with the brain here and here." He tapped the screen, fingers brushing on two small circles that would fall approximately on the temple if it was being worn.
"So it's like some sort of VR tiara," Lorne said, and John was startled by that because it sounded so much like something he would say, like an analogy he would make to bait Rodney in order to relieve the tension in the room. Zelenka seemed to notice as well, eyebrows raising in Lorne's direction.
"Simply put, yes, Major," he said. "But it was not intended as a game. As far as we can tell, it was a... a medical tool. It was used as an alternative to psychotherapy. One would put the device on, activate it, and work out their issues in an environment determined by both doctors and the patient themselves as ideal for recovery."
"So how do you turn it off?" Ronon asked.
Zelenka removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. That was never a good sign.
"I do not know," Zelenka said with a sigh. "It was not intended to be disabled from the outside, you see. The device had to be activated by the patient and the patient could end the session at any time."
"Rodney didn't activate anything," John said, hands clenching into fists. "He just picked it up and handed it to me and then I put it on his head. I didn't turn it on and he didn't turn it on. We didn't even know what it was, we thought it was a piece of junk."
"Colonel, it is ten thousand years old," Zelenka says gently. "Plus, the section we found it in had been flooded, invaded by Replicators, and damaged in the Wraith siege our first year. Things... break." He looked sheepish about it, as though it was his fault that a millenia old device wasn't working properly. John almost wished he could blame Zelenka, but he knew that Radek thought the twist of metal was as innocuous as the rest of them. He knew that if there was anyone to blame, it was himself.
Zelenka cleared his throat. "I consulted with Dr. Heightmeyer while working on this and she thinks she can shed some light on a possible solution." He sat down next to Lorne, shoulders slumped and looking as concerned as John had ever seen him. Kate Heightmeyer, however, seemed to be the most hopeful person in the room. John chewed his lip, hoping she'd be able to come through with the answer.
"As most of you know," Heightmeyer said, "Dr. McKay is a regular patient of mine. Now, I'm not at liberty to discuss specifics of his sessions, but I think it's been clear to everyone in the room that Dr. McKay is under constant stress almost every day. We've also recently lost Dr. Beckett, and while it was hard for many of us, Carson and Rodney had been friends for years. He took Carson's death very hard and with catastrophe after catastrophe in the city since his death, he hasn't had time to properly deal with it. I think that the device may have activated because it sensed Rodney's underlying mental unrest and I think it might deactivate on its own once he's able to work through some of the more persistent issues bothering him."
John had looked away halfway through Heightmeyer's speech because he knew that, dammit. Rodney had been distant and jumpy since Carson's death. He'd gone out of his way to avoid John, and while he noticed the snub, he couldn't bring himself to talk to Rodney about it. He was bad with emotions at the best of times, and this was about as far from the best of times as he could get.
It was Dr. Keller who spoke up this time saying, "Dr. McKay's brainwaves and neutral synapses are consistant with Dr. Zelenka and Dr. Heightmeyer's findings. As much as I can't stand to sit back and do nothing, it really does seem as though he'll come out of it on his own if he's going to come out of it."
The if weighed heavy in the air. Ronon made a sound that was not unlike a growl.
"I think," Elizabeth finally said, the crease in her forehead even deeper, "that we have no choice. We just have to hope that Rodney can make it through this on his own. But." She held up a finger. "Just in case, I'd like you keep looking into this Radek, Kate. See if you can't find another solution so we have a back-up plan." Zelenka and Heightmeyer nodded, and Zelenka got to his feet, clearly eager to get back to the lab and start researching again. "Everyone else, we'll keep you updated on Rodney's condition. Dr. Keller, I'd like to accompany you back to the infirmary."
"That's where I'm headed, too," John said. "Might as well keep an eye on him. Who knows what kind of crap he can get up to with an Ancient machine wired to his brain." It was a thinly veiled excuse to go back to the infirmary and hold Rodney's hand while heckling him back into consciousness. He had a feeling that everyone in the room could see right through it, but he wasn't concerned with that right now. Mostly he was concerned with berating himself for letting Rodney get so bad that he was held hostage by an Ancient therapist. It wasn't his best move as a team leader, and he doubted he'd be winning friend of the year, either.
"You should get some rest," Dr. Keller said as they left the conference room and descended the gateroom steps.
"I can rest just as well in the chair next to McKay's bed," he said, shrugging, and that was the end of it.