Word Count:
2,187
Rating:
PG.
Category:
Angst.
Story Status: Complete
Summary:
Season 3. Rodney has scars he doesn’t want to talk
about…
For the SGA_Flashfic Scars Challenge - sga_flashfic contains gen, ship and slash fics.
Beta:
Thank you to Jayne Perry for the beta-reading.
Scarred Memories
By Leesa Perrie
Only a handful of medical people had ever seen my scars before I came
to Atlantis, and even fewer knew the truth about them.
It was different on Atlantis.
Carson, of course, was the first to see them. The Expedition
physicals had been done on Earth by various medical staff, and it was
just my usual rotten luck that I’d gotten Carson and not one
of
the nameless people I’d probably never see again.
Not that
it would have made a difference in the end, the amount of times
I’ve ended up in the infirmary since coming here.
Of course, it didn’t help that Carson, as the Chief Medical
Officer of the Atlantis Expedition, had access to my full medical
files, not to mention all the reports from all the psychiatrists
I’d seen in my life; which was far more than I’d
like to
admit to. Though most of them were down to my parents who, when I was a
kid, wanted them to fix my so-called ‘attitude
problems’,
saving them the trouble of trying to fix me themselves. It
hadn’t worked; most of the professionals soon realised the
source
of my problems, but my parents wouldn’t listen to criticism
and
would just send me to another psychiatrist instead.
So I’d learned to hide myself inside a wall of arrogance and
sarcasm. A wall that only a very few had ever broached,
usually
before turning on me; using me and casting me aside when I was no
longer needed; never wanted. Just like… no, not
going
there.
Some scars weren’t physical, I knew that.
Some were.
Some were both.
Carson never said anything to me about the scars, though he must have
known how they’d happened. He never pried or
pushed, just
let me be.
Sheppard was the next one to see them. We were off world, and
the
mission had gone bad; no big surprise there. Trapped for two
days
in the wilderness, unable to get back to the gate until the angry
natives got tired of guarding it, or became careless, or Atlantis sent
rescue, we lived off our rations and the few plants and fruit that
Teyla recognised as safe to eat, as well as some small rodent-like
animals that we, well, the others, not me of course, caught and
prepared over a small fire. It wasn’t exactly fun.
We also stank.
On the second day, Sheppard insisted that we got cleaned up in a river,
and despite my best efforts to hide my back from the others’
view, Sheppard caught sight of it and the scars. But he said
nothing. At least, not then.
Rescue came that night, and it was a few days later that Sheppard
turned up, casually mentioning the scars, wondering how
they’d
happened.
I told him it was none of his business, and stormed out on him when he
didn’t seem to want to let it drop.
He got the message then; that this topic was off limits.
Then the storm to end all storms came and went, and I had another new
scar to add to my list. Well, scars. Two deep cuts,
that
was all that it took. That, and threatening worse for
Elizabeth. Not that I’d ever tell her that,
she’d
been shaken up by the events enough without that added knowledge as
well.
It was on another mission gone bad that Teyla saw my scars. A bullet
had clipped me, ripping a deep gouge across my back, left to
right. It stung, to say the least, and Teyla patched me up,
not
asking the questions I could see in her eyes, for which I was grateful.
Ford never did get to see them, and I doubt the others told him.
A few nurses must have seen them in my time here, but they
don’t
count. It didn’t matter to me what they thought
about the
scars, about me.
It was much later, after Ronon had joined us, and I had caused the
death of most of a solar system, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean,
that another person saw the scars. And it wasn’t him.
It was Elizabeth.
She had wandered into the infirmary at the wrong moment, well, the
wrong moment as far as I was concerned, and caught a glimpse of my back
before the nurse managed to slip me into a scrub top. I
wasn’t totally aware of things at the time, what with the
head
injury and the whole nearly freezing to death thing. Oh, and
the
nearly drowning thing too.
Of course, she asked me about them. I told her it was
something I
didn’t want to talk about, not snapping at her like with
others
in the past. It was never a good idea to snap at Elizabeth,
and
not just because she was my boss either.
Fortunately, she didn’t push me for an answer, but I suspect
she
asked Carson. Not that he would have told her, the
doctor/patient
confidentiality kicking in. He was only obliged to break it
in
specific situations, usually to do with the safety of the
Expedition. This wouldn’t come under
that.
Ronon found out whilst we were off world again, having to camp
overnight. My mistake, I was careless and he spotted the
scars
before I slipped into my sleeping bag. I should have kept my
shirt on, but it was warm. Not so warm I didn’t
want the
sleeping bag, but too hot for a shirt as well.
He never said anything, of course. He knew that I knew
he’d
seen them, and if I wanted to talk about them then I would, if not,
then not. It always seemed to be that simple for him, but
then he
didn’t talk much about his own scars, physical or mental.
In the end, it was a moment of casual conversation between team-mates
that brought it all to the surface again.
A stupid competition about who had the most scars, or some macho thing
like that. I say macho because Teyla didn’t seem
too
impressed with it, and it was really a competition between Sheppard and
Ronon.
Ronon was winning. Not so much with quantity, they were
pretty
evenly tied in that respect, but more for how he had gotten
them.
Fighting the Wraith mainly, which he seemed inordinately proud of,
though his tracker scars bothered him greatly. At least, I
think
they did. It certainly seemed that way to me, though I could
have
misread him. I’m still not exactly good at reading
my team.
Sheppard’s came from falling off his bike as a kid, a surfing
accident, from his time in Afghanistan and here. Sure, the
latter
two were bad, or good if you were looking at it from a certain
Runner’s point of view, but the former two rather spoilt the
image.
It was after a certain Kolya/Wraith incident. Apparently
returning life to Sheppard didn’t include removing old scars,
though the hand print from the feeding was gone. I was
absently
rubbing the two very faint scars on my right arm. A knowing
look
passed between my team-mates; even Ronon knew about these, having heard
about the storm incident at some point, as background on Kolya; he also
knew about Dagan.
I ignored the look, wrapping my arms around me to stop myself from
tracing the faint lines anymore, and wondered how they would react to
the story about my other, pre-Atlantis scars.
And I don’t know why; to this day I can’t fathom it
out; can’t work out why I told them.
I’m blaming it on allergies. Something in the air
that must have affected me.
Either that, or the recent almost-loss of two of my team-mates affected
me more deeply than I care to admit.
Of course, it could just have been time to share it with my friends.
“It happened when I was in Russia,” I started,
pointing towards my back.
“I don’t remember anything in the
reports.” That was Sheppard, who of course had read
my personnel file.
“No. It’s in my medical file, but I asked
for it not
be put in any other reports, and seeing as the Russians were partly to
blame, they were happy enough to do that.”
“What happened?” Ronon this time, to the point as
ever. I sighed, keeping my eyes down, unsure why I was doing
this
and nervous of their response.
“America’s not the only country with rogue
operatives. Russia has a few rogue agencies as
well. One of
them targeted me, tried to kidnap me. Fortunately they
failed,
and security was stepped up. I had to go everywhere with a
couple
of bodyguards, which was extremely annoying, but necessary.
“It was shortly after that that Lilya Kaminski came to work
on
the project. She was reasonably smart, very hot and,
amazingly
enough, interested in me. Of course, it was all too good to
be
true, and I should have suspected something from the start,
but…” I shrugged. Lilya had been so
free, so loving,
and I had been alone for a long, long time. It was a sad
state of
affairs when that kiss on the cheek from Carter had been the first sign
of affection anyone had shown me for too many years to
consider.
Certainly since working for the US Air Force. Possibly even
since
leaving college.
“I believe that there is a saying among your people; that
love is
blind. It is one of your truer sayings.”
And that was
Teyla, wonderful Teyla; always the diplomat Well, when she
wasn’t kicking ass of course.
“There’s blind and there’s
stupid,” I said,
with a self-depreciating smile. “I fell into the
latter on
this occasion. But she was so…wonderful.
Of course,
she worked for the group that had tried to kidnap me. So much
for
the Russian’s idea of screening their employees.”
“Still haven’t said how you got those
scars.” Ronon pointed out to me. I rolled
my eyes at him.
“Yes, well, I’m getting there,” I snapped
in
irritation, before rubbing my face with my hands, and sighing
again. “There were several projects at the research
centre
I was based at, and although I had originally been sent to oversee the
Russians’ naquadah project, I ended up involved with a few
other
projects as well. I walked in on Lilya whilst she was
downloading
data from my computer and of course I confronted her, and found out
what a total fool I’d been.
“She had a knife and decided to take me with her, holding the
knife so that it was hidden behind me. I managed to tip off
my
bodyguards though, with a pre-arranged hand signal. She
didn’t know about those, fortunately. They told her
to
halt, but of course she used me as a hostage to try and get out of
there. In the confusion, she knifed me before she was shot
and
killed.
“Thankfully, she didn’t hit any vital organs, but
even so,
I nearly bled to death before the medics arrived. It was a
race
to save me apparently.”
“But they did.”
“Do I look dead to you?” I said sharply to
Sheppard,
annoyed with the obviousness of his statement. He merely
smirked
back at me in that irritating way of his.
It was strange. I expected…ridicule
maybe…for being
such a fool, to fall for Lilya’s seduction. But all
I got
was understanding. Which actually didn’t surprise
me as
much as it should have.
I think, deep down, I knew they wouldn’t ridicule me.
It wasn’t just that I’d been such a fool; that
wasn’t
the only reason the scars bothered me. No, it was because,
despite everything, I still loved her. I fell for her in a
way
I’ve never fallen for anyone before, or since. I
had even
been thinking that I might marry her one day.
I admitted this to my team as well, and no one told me I was a fool for
still feeling that way. For still loving her, mourning her,
even
after everything that she did; betraying and nearly killing me.
What stings worse than anything else is that I know she never loved me,
that it was all an act, and yet that doesn’t stop me from
wishing
things were different, for wanting her back.
And just how crazy is that?
And now, months later, the scars are gone, along with Ronon’s
tracker scars. He seems to appreciate that gesture, seems
glad
that they are gone. I know it’s only physical, that
it
can’t heal the mental wounds, but he seems happy about it.
I know I’m happy about it. Even though I thought I
was
dying, I wanted all of my scars gone; especially those on my
back.
I survived, and they’re gone. And although
it’s only
physical, somehow it’s more. The part of me that
still
wants what I can’t have is fading now. Replaced by
something else. Friendship, belonging, family; love.
I believe Ronon would understand what I mean. I think we have
more in common than most people think we do.
No, I don’t think it.
I know.
The End
