Chapter Text
"McKay? Hello? Rodney?"
Rodney glanced up at Zelenka, wide-eyed like an owl behind his round glasses. Rodney's eyes didn't stay there, drawn back to the communication from Stargate Command and back to the past where he'd made the most idiotic mistake he could have ever made. He was in the middle of one of his doctorates then, right? Why couldn't he do math right now?
"Oh, my god, you're shaking," Zelenka was saying from somewhere far away. "Are you – what's–?" He made to round the desk, to see what was on Rodney's screen.
In a flurry of panic on top of that already brewing in his chest, he slapped the power button for the monitor and looked up at him. "It's personal, hm?"
Rodney didn't know what he expected the response to be. Zelenka's eyes didn't break from his as he drew up a chair and sat down. "What happened? Are you okay?"
Do I look okay to you? Rather than answer with anything resembling the truth in words, Rodney drew his gaze back to the blank monitor and shrugged, he thought, nonchalantly. He was in so much trouble.
Doctor McKay: Your contributions on Atlantis cannot be understated.
Before he knew it, before he knew what he was doing, he was mumbling. "I haven't talked to my sister in years. Like, four."
Zelenka shrank. "What happened to her?"
"What?" Rodney looked at him, shock immediately overridden by the assurance that nothing could have happened to Jeannie without his finding out. At least not before Zelenka. "Nothing. What?"
"Well, you look like you've seen a ghost – I thought–"
"Jeannie's fine," he snapped, and fell quiet again.
"Okay."
Rodney took a deep breath and looked at his hand. Zelenka was right, he was shaking. And why not? He'd gone from mild anxiety about the future to full-on irrational terror. He couldn't even fathom what he was supposed to do now.
"Rodney, you have got to calm down. Is there someone I can call?" Zelenka said.
"No, there's nobody you can call – god." Rodney melted into the chair. "That's the problem, Radek. There's nobody, just me. Son of a bitch." If he could catch his breath, that would be great. He never would have figured he'd handle imminent death better than… well, whatever this was. He hid his face in his shaking hands. "Son of a bitch, Rodney, what the hell."
Zelenka looked shocked, and perhaps rightly so. "Alright, well…? Tell me, then. You look sick."
And Zelenka was the only one here, so… why not? "Her name was Stephanie."
"Stephanie."
"Yeah. Stephanie. Cute blond, I was twenty-five or so. All legs, stupid as all hell. It was–" Since he was thinking about it, he didn't know how it happened. He only remembered her appraisal after the fact had been the most comprehensively insulting description of anyone he'd ever heard. He never thought an obviously-one-night-stand was true love or anything, but any lingering disgust should be politely kept to oneself. A nicety to which Stephanie obviously did not ascribe. He only just now realized hers was one of the voices still haunting him with accusations of inadequacy. He still feared her in the face of every woman, even if he hadn't recognized her. "It was one time–"
Zelenka said something in Czech, and Rodney figured he deserved whatever indictment of idiocy he had to deliver this time.
"I haven't thought about her in ten years. Probably more."
Czech again. "Okay, so. Okay." He nodded, perhaps to encourage Rodney along, even though he'd obviously guessed the punchline.
"Apparently, I have a son. He's thirteen."
Again, with the Czech, but this time it was followed by a long silence. Rodney didn't want to tell any more of the story, since it didn't matter, and Zelenka seemed to be absorbing the information with no small amount of disgust, followed by concern, and directly thereafter by interest.
"What's his name?"
"Pippin Andersen."
Zelenka's face screwed into a grimace of confusion or aversion. "Pippin? Like… like Lord of the Rings?"
"I don't know, maybe it's a nickname or something."
Zelenka frowned, but nodded. "So you got a note from her."
"No." With a forceful exhale, he looked at his shaking hand again. He closed his fingers into a fist and shut his eyes. "No, I got a message from the SGC that I am the next surviving immediate family the kid has." He slammed his fist on the desk in an uncharacteristic expression of… something.
Zelenka shook his head. "She can't be any older than you, though. Stephanie, I mean."
"Nobody's too young for a car wreck." Rodney leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his face with his hands as he groaned. "Seems she was drunk. No siblings, dead mother, and her father said, no, he didn't want him." He paused, hearing the words and feeling them hit like a train. Not exactly a happy life, this kid was having. He carried on, though well aware his voice had lost its force. "Thank god someone at Stargate Command had the foresight to check with me before reaching out to my sister because that would've been a great reunion phone call. Hey, Rodney, how you been? By the way, I got some mail to day; it's your kid."
Zelenka's serious expression broke for a small smile.
Rodney shrugged. "I don't know how it works."
That was it, right? He'd said it all? All except for the stuff about him. Stuff about how Rodney had managed to become an unmitigated idiot in hindsight. How he should have been nicer to Jeannie about making that decision she made about love and a family, because maybe Rodney wouldn't have to come crawling back to her to beg her to please help him out here.
If he were Jeannie, he wouldn't give himself the time of day.
Rodney didn't know how long the silence stretched, only that it got more uncomfortable with every passing second. The kid was with Child Welfare; Rodney couldn't imagine being thirteen and turned out by a blood relative to at least sleep on the couch for a few days while the next-of-kin was contacted. Even if his mother was the type of woman who would drive drunk, Pippin was just a kid. He didn't deserve this.
He didn't deserve Rodney. No child did. That was why he didn't have any kids, at least not on purpose.
"You're going to see him, aren't you?" Zelenka asked.
Rodney looked at him. Should he laugh or scream? He did neither.
"You'll regret it if you don't, you know."
Zelenka sounded so quietly assured there was little room for argument. But he was Doctor Rodney McKay. He could argue with anything. "Oh, yeah?" he said. "And what makes you think that, exactly? Do you see some kind of paternal bearing here that everyone else missed?"
With a smile, Zelenka shook his head, leaned back in his chair. "I know because my Petr is the same age."
Rodney didn't know if he coughed and gasped at the same time or what happened, but he choked on oxygen a moment later. Zelenka–? Of–? "What?" he managed.
Zelenka chuckled. "Careful, Rodney, you don't want to make your boy an orphan before you meet him."
"You have a kid?"
"I have two. Anna and Petr. Sixteen and thirteen."
"Why didn't we know this?" Who the hell was we? Anyways, the question still stood.
"Ford knew," Zelenka said, grinning again at Rodney's look of irritated surprise. "I recorded messages for them a few years ago. I write letters, but those can get to them without anyone here knowing. Their mother hates me, so I don't get to see them much at all. The Czech court system isn't friendly to single fathers." Finally, he shrugged. "You never asked."
Yeah, because that was a conversation that came up frequently between the Wraith hive ships and arrows to the ass. Zelenka had enjoyed that more than he should have, and possibly that Rodney was still sore about it.
"Anyway, I didn't want kids, either," Zelenka said. "But I regret nothing more than not seeing them."
"There's only one thing I regret right now," Rodney mumbled. Not knowing Pippin even existed was, oddly, not one of them. He regretted Pippin's existence, for which he was directly responsible, and the guilt associated with that weighed like a whole ocean on his failing shields.
"I guess that's fair."
"Yeah. Well." Rodney frowned and considered. Zelenka didn't offer any additional wisdom, like how Zelenka wanting to see his kids had any bearing on Rodney with his. "I'll have to talk to Jeannie. I don't think this is something you send an email about."
"No."
Slowly, just in case he was more affected by this than he thought, Rodney stood. He needed a nap. He didn't know what to do first, except that he was going to do it in his quarters. Alone. Without Zelenka watching, people wondering why Rodney was shaking like he'd just stepped onto Atlantis from the Antarctic, breathing like he was wrapped up in one of those Wraith cocoons.
"Good luck?" Zelenka offered when Rodney reached the doorway.
Rodney looked back to see him just sitting there, looking concerned and apologetic like this was somehow his fault. Well, if Rodney could figure out a way to blame Zelenka for this, he would have. "Yeah, thanks," he said, instead, and turned out of the lab.
He tried to remember anything about that night, anything that might bring him some kind of satisfaction that at least something good had come of it.
But no, nothing good had come of it. Rodney remembered being kicked to the curb, almost literally, at a quarter past two in a part of Toronto he wasn't familiar with. Not only was he more charming drunk than he was sober, but he was definitely more attractive when the beholder was drunk, too. That's what she said, anyway. One of the things. No wonder he'd blocked that out.
Rodney could only imagine what kinds of stories that translated into for the kid.
He could just hear Jeannie laughing at him now for being this stupid. He could see the kid – Pippin. His face, because Rodney would, no doubt, be a massive disappointment if Rodney did end up meeting him. Rodney had to meet him; he'd already been rejected by a grandfather, and Rodney wasn't going to add his name to that list. Just imagine, imagine what it would be like to be that age, turned out for not being good enough or smart enough or…
Well, it didn't matter. Nothing good had happened because of that night for Rodney, and he had some confidence Pippin would agree after the turn to hell his life had taken in the past week. At thirteen.
What an age.
//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\
He'd sat on it a day, and it hadn't gotten better. If anything, it got bigger.
Elizabeth stood at her door, looking at him like he'd blown up something big. And, sure, he had, but it wasn't a physical thing like a solar system, and it wasn't really any of her business. It happened over ten years ago, and he didn't want to be yelled at. He had enough of that in his future no matter what he did, not to mention the personal lambasting he'd done the past few hours while he made arrangements to leave Atlantis's systems in Zelenka's incapable hands.
"Talk to me, Rodney," she said when he walked in. She followed him to the chair in front of her desk, then walked around the desk quickly and decisively. "What's this about you going to Earth?"
"There's no easy way to say this," Rodney said, looking down at the floor. He wished he'd practiced first, but… well, Rodney had a reputation to uphold and few, if any, he could talk to about something like this. Oddly enough, Zelenka was the closest if only because Rodney really didn't care what he thought. He wasn't sure what reputation it was; maybe one as put-together he could manage. One that didn't make mistakes. Especially not mistakes that could come back to haunt him like this. "So I'd appreciate it if you'd withhold all questions and comments until the end."
Elizabeth smiled faintly. "I'm intrigued. Go ahead."
Yes, intrigued. "It's just for a few weeks; I can catch a ride back on the Daedalus or Apollo or, you know, whatever. Something's come up… that something being that I have a thirteen-year-old son whose mother recently passed in a car wreck in Toronto. His grandmother's dead, and his grandfather's worse than me because he didn't even want to see the kid. I have to make some kind of arrangement, though; so I'm going to see my sister. Because this isn't a request you make over email." He paused. Was that it? No, that was nowhere close to it. "I hope she'll take him in, but frankly after talking to Child Welfare…" No, he didn't want to talk about that. It wasn't her business.
Eyebrows raised, Elizabeth just shook her head. She seemed to take all that remarkably well, except her lips were pinched together in the distinct expression of someone literally biting her tongue.
"Sorry." Rodney sighed. "Anyway," he said, and almost laughed. Because it was almost funny. "Any questions?"
Elizabeth opened her mouth, and then shut it again.
"I don't know if I'll be able to answer them because…" He stopped, looked around. Because he didn't have any answers about this. He'd rather a black hole opened up in the atmosphere. He could at least ponder a workable solution for that. "Because," he finished, feeling the panic return. He shoved it off into the corner where it screeched for attention every now and again for the last six hours and practically constantly last night. It was a miracle he'd slept.
Finally, Elizabeth found something to say. "So are you leaving Atlantis?"
"Oh. Oh, god, no." Rodney looked down at his tablet and pulled up the letter for Elizabeth. "I'm not going anywhere long-term. I don't know how long it will take, but–"
"What's his name?"
"Pippin Andersen."
"Pippin… okay, so Pippin will go stay with your sister if she agrees. What if she doesn't? What's the plan?"
That, Rodney wasn't going to think about. "There are two options…" Rodney said, carefully, as he watched Elizabeth for her emotional response. Any changes in perception he didn't want. "The first is that I turn him over to Child Welfare and they'll find him a foster family." He didn't know what that would take. Would it be as easy as saying no, I don't want him?
"Okay." Elizabeth nodded, no changes. "And the other option?"
"Stargate Command already gave permission for me to have family on Atlantis if it comes to that."
Elizabeth blew out a breath, and this time she did change. Probably because that was something they ought to have told her. One the other hand, perhaps this was the old civilian versus military arms of the Stargate rearing its ugly head again. Unfair either side should use a thirteen-year-old kid as a blunt weapon to assert dominance.
"A thirteen-year-old child here on Atlantis?" she repeated, and it was too loud for Rodney's liking. Not that anybody other than they could hear it; Rodney just didn't want to hear it.
"You'll have at least three weeks' notice before that happens."
Elizabeth smirked. "Thanks for the warning." Elizabeth hesitated, her fingers drumming on the desk as she tried to figure out what she wanted to say. Rodney let her think. He didn't want to say anything else. "Can I ask you a question?"
Rodney shrugged. His pride had been a non-issue all day, so why not? "Go ahead."
"Your parents…?"
"Yeah, well…" Rodney had thought about that, too. His mother was alive, as far as he knew. Dad was the only one who didn't hate him, especially after they finally divorced. Rodney still remembered Dad reading him books before bed, and that... that was nice. Mom still blamed him. Saddling her with another child she didn't want didn't sound like a way to get into her good graces considering he'd never been there to begin with. "My dad died a few years ago, so that's not an option. My mom does talk to me," he said, and cringed at the wealth of information contained in those few words, in the words he didn't say. "But I wouldn't consider her fit for raising a child."
"Better than foster care, though, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I'm not doing that."
He didn't know he felt so strongly about it until he snapped.
"I mean, no, she would never take him, anyway." Rodney didn't know if that was true, but that was the story he was sticking with. He waited for a few minutes to see if Elizabeth had anything else to say. She didn't seem to, or else she was just processing. Rodney was still processing. "Will you do me a favor and not tell anybody else?"
She nodded, but her eyes were on him the whole time. "I think you should tell your team before you go."
He had absolutely zero plans to do that. At least, not in person. He could leave a note and hope he could answer all the questions when he got back, unchanged, except now he had to visit his sister once a year or something. Whatever would be an appropriate number of times to visit a child. That was incredibly doable.
"Rodney?" Elizabeth prodded. "Just in case."
"Just in case what?" Rodney asked.
Elizabeth shrugged and shook her head. "I don't want to take any outcome as a given at this point, and I don't think you should, either."
"I'm coming back to Atlantis."
She didn't believe him. Well, it was her own fault she was stupid. Rodney had two ways back, and he was fully in control of both instances. At least, he was fully in control of one. The second way, the way he had a thirteen-year-old to raise, that was an emotionally-weak Rodney that didn't want the kid to spend five years with families that didn't want him, kicked out at eighteen because no one did. It was different, but it was the same.
Maybe Rodney was the stupid one. He already was that Rodney.
He shoved that thought away and resolved to steel himself before it came to the point he'd have to decide. Because he would choose Atlantis. Atlantis didn't need a prepubescent kid running around causing problems. Neither did Rodney.
"Well, keep me in the loop," Elizabeth said, rising.
Rodney stood, too, unsure how the conversation was over but sure it was. "Sure," he said, and left the office without so much as a goodbye. He had a few clothes to pack and the 'gate would open for him tomorrow at eleven. He had a flight to Toronto that left at three.
He couldn't believe he was doing this. Going home was the worst.