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01 June 2005 @ 11:28 pm
English > SGA > Beckett-Ficathlon > Rodney  
Title: Rodney
Rating: G
Notes: No beta... couldn't find one. *sorry*
Written for jolinarcarter

Pairing: Gen
Two requests: Carson whumping, and a kitten.
One restriction: No slash.


And here it is!





After four weeks he felt completely useless. Completely and utterly useless.
Four weeks on the mainland.
Four weeks to recover from his injuries.
Four weeks slowly driving him insane.
More than nine weeks after his accident during his damn brave – or stupid, mind you – action
He still hurt. Sometimes more, sometimes less. But it wasn’t really the (already fading) pain causing him problems.
It was the constant “What if?”, that seemed to be burned into his mind, which didn’t let him sleep or think straight.
What if? What if Daedalus hadn’t come in time? What if Sheppard had given up the search for Carson, when he didn’t answer to the radio?
Easy answer. Carson would be dead now.
He stupidly had jumped into the second Jumper, heading after Sheppard, ready to destroy the second Hiveship and sacrifice himself for the sake of Atlantis (and Earth).
But there had to be a problem, of course; something with the engines. So he had set the autopilot and tried to repair the engines according to Rodney’s shouted advice.
Then something, most probably a Dart, had hit the Jumper. Carson had been fiddling with some crystals and almost electrocuted himself by accidentally closing the wrong circuit (amazingly this hadn’t caused severe damage to the Jumper itself), had hit his head (and judging by the soreness some other parts of his body as well) and then some equipment had crashed down on him.
Sheppard and the Crew from Earth had come to his rescue. How, he did not know. He didn’t want to.
He had been unconscious for almost three weeks. After about another two weeks in the infirmary they had decided that he needed to get away for some time, that he needed a place for him to recover completely.
They had sent him to the mainland.
And after four weeks stuck there, with nothing but the woods, the Athosians and silence, the (not existing) ceiling was coming down on his head.
He needed someone to talk to. Someone other than Athosian children who wanted to hear stories. Stories of the Wraith, stories of the Atlanteans, stories of his own heroic actions and ghost stories.
It wasn’t like he didn’t know any stories.
He knew many ghost stories for example. Scots seemingly had invented the ghost story, since he had heard and memorized an almost never ending amount of them during his childhood, mind you.
But now he grew tired of telling them.
He felt he needed to tell his story. Not the story of bravely deciding to sacrifice himself for the good of mankind, being attacked by the Wraith while he was trying to repair his broken engines.
He needed to tell someone how scared he had been when he had realised what he had done, how he would have almost wet himself if he hadn’t been so busy, someone who would understand if he started to cry.

“Dr Beckett?” a soft voice asked.
Carson turned around. “Teyla. What can I do for ye?”
He looked at her. She looked like always. Same clothes, same hairstyle… and it bothered him.
It made him feel like he was missing out on a life he should take part in. A life that hadn’t changed. A life that was going on while he was sitting here and doing nothing.
And he felt he sat here because of nothing. Looking at Teyla and realizing that nothing seemed to have changed made him feel like he was there because of nothing. Because they said so. He felt excluded from a privileged number of people, playing scientists and explorers on Atlantis.
He felt like they had cast him out of their ranks. Certainly there must be SOME change, some sign that not everything had gone back to normal as if nothing ever had happened.
And then he realized that Teyla had said something and he hadn’t listened.
And it occurred him that that never had happened before. He always had listened.
So, perhaps he had changed. As the only one of… how many had remained after the fight?
Well, perhaps that’s why they had cast him out. Because he had let it change him. Because he was too soft to stay with them and face new dangers every day, seven days a week, 365 days a year.
“Dr Beckett?” Teyla asked again, her voice soft with concern.
“Aye, Teyla. I’m… I’ve just had me thoughts wanderin’ around for a moment.”
“I said that we all are concerned. You are known to more and more separate from the villagers. They told me I was most likely to find you here.”
“We do not have much in common. No offence, luv, yer people are wonderful, but there ain’t much we could talk about!”
The Athosian leader smiled gently. “You also separate from your own people. They all ask for you when they come here. But you never have been there when they came. People begin to say that you are deliberately avoiding anyone.”
“I like me solitude,” Carson offered as an explanation.
But Teyla was persistent. “You need to talk. I often have seen people breaking down under their burden.”
Carson snorted and kicked a small stone into the lake he was sitting at.
“I have no-one to talk to. No one who’d understand anyway!” he answered, bitterness in his voice.
The Athosian put a basket on the ground next to the rock Carson was sitting on. “I brought something that might catch your interest. I found it in the village and was assured that I could keep it. It also might prove to be useful for you.”
Then she left him alone at the lake with the basket that could contain whatsoever.

And so Carson choose to ignore it. At first.
After about fifteen minutes he became too curious. And a little peek inside couldn’t hurt, could it?
And then he wasn’t too sure about that last statement anymore, after he have had the peek.
He barely had opened the lid a bit and had lowered his head so he could look inside, when a wee paw with equally wee claws (which were sharp nonetheless) shot out and he was clawed right across the nose.
He had let the lid fall shut immediately and bolted upright with surprise and a mild shock. Carefully he had touched his nose and swore silently when he saw a bit of blood on his fingertips.
He stared at the basket for a long time until he decided to kick the lid open.
Carefully he immediately took a step backwards when the lid opened and revealed –
“A wee kitten!”
And indeed, it was a kitten. It was small, looked underfed and sat on a bed of old sheets.
And it looked really defiant.
“Hey you. But that’s no manners. To simply claw someone!”
And even though the wee thingy was hissing furiously, or trying to do so, Carson felt sympathetic. Teyla surely had counted on that. She almost had told him to keep the wee thingy. And surely it wouldn’t survive alone out here.
He tried to advance to the basket and touch the kitten, but he almost was clawed again.
“Aw… then be that way!” grumbled the Scot and began to walk away. But a terrible meowing let him stop dead in his tracks. “Aye! I’m going. You can’t expect that people are goin’ ta like you if ye keep attacking them, can ye?”
But the meowing continued. And so he turned around.
He saw the kitten sitting on the old sheets, unsteady on its feet, shaking.
And he made a step forwards. And another. And another.
And then he was standing there, about one and a half feet away from the basket and sat down.
“Ye know, people won’t like ye, if you are too difficult. People won’t like ye if you cast them away and whine when they get to far away. They won’t come after ye after a while. They’re gonna think that ye like being on yer own. Or that ye don’t deserve better!”
Carson kept talking to the kitten. He didn’t even realize that the sun began to sink and that the stars became clearer with every passing minute as the sky went dark.
But he did realize something.
This all was about him.
He was that little kitten.
He was driving everyone away, trying to keep them away from him. He pretended to never need anyone and attacked everyone who tried to help him. He did not much clawing but a great lot of snubbing.

And then the kitten began shivering and meowing miserably and finally it got out of the basket and crawled into Carson’s lap.
At first Carson was a bit afraid that the kitten might decide to just attack him for good measure but then it started rubbing itself against the doctor’s thighs and when he carefully started to pet it, it even started purring.
And so he decided that he needed to do something.
He felt like that little kitten in the darkness, lost, cold and without any prospect for the future if he’d not go and find some friends soon.
“So ye wanna stay?” he asked softly and the kitten purred even louder. “I gotta name ye, then. Can’t keep calling you thingy, could I?”
A very unlikely thought flashed through Carson’s mind and he grinned.
“How’d ye like to be a Rodney?” asked the doctor and scratched the kitten behind it’s ears.
Rodney didn’t answer back so ‘it’ officially became ‘he’ and ‘Rodney’.
“Rodney, I think we need to get things settled. I can’t stay here for another bloody hour. I need to get back to Atlantis and my work, ye know?”

As far as Rodney was concerned, it didn’t concern her as long as that two-legged guy kept scratching her behind her ears and below her chin.

Carson lifted the kitten up and for a moment he didn’t know what to do with his new friend. Then he simply put it into his shirt. It was wide and formed sort of a bag where he had stuffed it into his waistband. Rodney could stay there, would be kept warm and couldn’t escape too easily.

He had found his will to fight and live again and began his way back to the village. He wasn’t going to stay there, doing nothing and indulge himself in selfpity. Nothing would change if he didn’t start changing it.
It was funny how he now finally could see the whole picture and how he had needed a smaller, more simple example to show him his faults.

The first thing Carson saw when he reached the edge of the village, was the Jumper.
Actually he had even hoped to see it.
He rounded it and found a young man sitting on the opened hatch and he seemed a bit bored.
“When are ye going back to Atlantis?” Carson asked, a smug grin on his face.
“About half an hour,” answered the young man. “You’d like a lift?”
Carson gave a sharp nod. “Just let me get me things!” He walked over to the tent he had lived in for the past weeks and grabbed the few things he had brought with him back in his bag.

***

Carson exited the Jumper with firm steps, one hand holding the strap of his bag in place.
The other hand on the warm soft bulge just over his waistband where Rodney securely lay in the bag created by Carson’s loosely fitting shirt stuck into his suede slacks.
And then he saw them.
AR-1 and Weir. And Zelenka and Bates and at least half a dozen other people. Doctors and nurses and scientists.
He looked at them.
People only gave you what you asked them for and so he decided he’d ask for their friendship.

He smiled and walked over to them.
Elizabeth smiled as well. “We missed you!”
Beckett was thinking about what to response when he felt the bulge shift and struggle.
“Rodney!” shouted Carson angrily and ran after the kitten, leaving a very startled McKay, and the grinning rest of the people who’d come to welcome him home, behind.

“Why would he name his cat after me?” Rodney finally asked and everyone in the room burst into laughter.

Crìoch

 
 
artistic
artistic
Madonna - Frozen
 
 
( Have you seen my meds? )
Tilliejolinarcarter on June 1st, 2005 09:40 pm (UTC)
Awww... Adorable little Rodney-kitty.
Whumped!Carson.
*snuggles them both*
Thank you!
the oncoming whirlwindscap3goat on June 1st, 2005 09:42 pm (UTC)
Not a problem! I rather often write whumped!Carson... O_o
Perhaps I should stop it and leave the poor doc alone... ^^
ann_rach on June 3rd, 2005 02:13 am (UTC)
no no no! whumped!Carson is a favorite. Please don't stop!
the oncoming whirlwindscap3goat on June 3rd, 2005 05:06 am (UTC)
I know... I can't stop. It's just too temptimg... =_=
But sometimes I think it's not fair, altough they are only fictional characters.
James: SGA: squee! (lyssie)elven_wolf on June 1st, 2005 10:34 pm (UTC)
Heheeh, I love that he named the kitten Rodney. Though 'Thingy' is also a good name. *lol*
the oncoming whirlwindscap3goat on June 3rd, 2005 05:08 am (UTC)
*grins*
It was 'wee thingy'. Originally I wanted to elaborate on the 'why Rodney?' a bit more but I left it like this.
Thanks.
I'm Jack Sparrow's jar of dirt. [Don't touch me!]ninnui on June 2nd, 2005 09:04 am (UTC)
awww... reminded me of my cat I had as a kid.. was a real minx at the beginning.. and in the middle.. and at the end.. :) loved her just as much as I love that story!!
the oncoming whirlwindscap3goat on June 3rd, 2005 05:10 am (UTC)
Thank you! *huggles*
We have had three cats and all have been pretty friendly, although they also had their unfriendly moments (one used to chew on my big toes. Now I know that was even more friendly. *laughes*).
Murron: Rodneymurron on June 3rd, 2005 09:34 am (UTC)
Cute! I always thought cats are good for comfort. And Rodney-as-kitten - reminded me of this:

Image hosted by Photobucket.com
dr_dredddr_dredd on June 3rd, 2005 01:10 pm (UTC)
photo
That's adorable! Makes me wonder what the human Rodney would look like when asleep and vulnerable.