The violence of the nightmare catapulted him into consciousness with a start. He sprang bolt upright in the narrow bed, fighting the blankets as he struggled to remember where he was, sweat dampening his face and neck, plastering his hair to his head and running in small, thin lines down his chest. His gasps for air were a harsh, almost sobbing sound in the room. The light in the room came up gently around him, just enough to let him see, not enough to make him squint at its brightness.
Memory returned and Lt. Colonel John Sheppard forced himself to take slower breaths, holding each one until he thought he would pass out before allowing himself to take another. His heart pounded erratically in his chest, like a bird trapped in a room that kept smashing into the windows seeking a way out. After a moment, he kicked his legs free of the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, cradling his head in his hands. He felt the familiar slither of movement as his dog tags slid around to hang like a pendant from his neck, the black edged noise guards silencing any sound. He let out his breath with a shuddering sigh.
It had been two weeks. Two long fucking weeks and if anything, it was getting worse. He should be over this already, goddamn it. Oh really? The sarcastic voice inside his head made him pause. Well, okay, maybe it was a little premature to think he should be over being tortured and fed upon by a Wraith like that. But he survived it. The Wraith had reversed the feeding process (who the hell even knew they could dothat?) and here he was, back in Atlantis, with no permanent damage done. You sure about that?
In some ways that was the biggest nightmare of all. The feeling that everything was not okay, and that somehow, something inside him had changed. He felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop and he was afraid of what the fallout might be. He'd done his mandatory time with Heightmeyer, who commented that he seemed to have trust issues in general (no, really?) but he had learned how to play the game long ago and was adept at giving people the answers they wanted to hear. Though she'd offered to continue seeing him if he felt the need, she had cleared him for duty again. It wasn't her fault that she didn't know about the dreams.
Moving stiffly, like an old man, he forced himself out of bed and into the little cubicle that served as a bathroom in his quarters. The light here, though still soothingly dim, was of a harsher spectrum than in the main area and he flinched from his reflection in the greenish hue. The dark circles under his eyes were exaggerated, his nearly day old stubble made his face look hard and drawn. He turned on the cold water and used his hands to splash his face, running his wet fingers through his hair, taking down a small towel to dry himself and then deciding to wet it and mop around his neck and chest as well. He braced himself against the sink, the damp towel slung around his neck where it felt deliciously cool against his heated skin.
He looked up to meet his eye in the mirror again. For an instant, he could see himself as he must have looked at the hands of the Wraith, face haggard, sagging into wrinkles, hair graying and thinning. He could almost believe as he stared at himself that, despite Carson's medical opinion, the Wraith had not returned all the years it had stolen. He wondered if this was what the Wraith known as Michael had felt like after they had administered the retrovirus to him...a stranger in his own body. Even as he stared, he seemed to see another image overlying his own, a picture of himself with a greenish complexion and long white hair, mouth open in a snarl—himself as a Wraith.
He pushed away from the sink violently and staggered over to the toilet, dry heaving into the basin as he sank down on his knees and clutched at the bowl. The retching continued for a long time, despite the fact that he had nothing to bring up and he ended up wedged down between the toilet and the wall, shivering until the first light of the Lantean sun touched the room. He hauled himself up then, joints aching as though arthritic, to strip off his sour clothing and pull on a pair of clean sweats. Maybe a run would clear his head.
***
Most nights it didn't pay to go to bed at all. To lie down on his bed and close his eyes was to invite the memories to come flooding in, so real they seemed to be happening again. He found himself re-living what it felt like when the Wraith had plunged its hand into his chest; the hot, sharp bite of pain as the taloned fingers sank into his flesh and feeling again the pull of energy from the inside out. He could feel his muscles start to wither and dry, his joints thicken and his skin sag. Vision grew blurry and then dim while his heart protested against the strain, pounding sharply at first then slowly weakening, all while something inside him wanted to cry like a small child and beg for it to stop. At first, the 'dream' would end here, with him jolting up out of bed with a gasp, soaked in sweat once more. But one night, before he could jerk upright with a soundless cry, the sensation of reverse feeding occurred. As he lay in his bed, he felt the push of fingers into his chest once more, expecting the final exsanguination of his life, only to experience the opening of arteries, the hot, pulsing flow of new life into his muscles and organs, the exquisite rush of youth and vigor into his joints and ligaments, into his very cells. It left him shaken, empty and broken. It left him craving something, but what exactly he wasn't sure.
He tried everything he could think of to stop the 'dreams'. It wasn't too bad during the day - there was enough going on in the city on a day-to-day basis that he could live for the current crisis and forget about the dreams for a time. The nights were a different story altogether. He tried exercising himself into exhaustion. He put away half a bottle of Radek's vodka one night ('liberating' it from Zelenka's stores and promising himself he'd replace it at the earliest opportunity) but neither exhaustion nor inebriation stopped the dreams; it only made it harder to force himself awake in order to break the cycle. He even gave in and asked Carson for a dose of sleeping pills one night. Beckett had looked at him with a discerning eye and counted out two pills, suggesting he come back if he needed more. He sat there on the edge of his bed for the longest time, staring at the two white pills in his hand and fervently wishing there was a whole bottle at his disposal. He ended up flushing the pills down the toilet and went out on the first of many midnight patrols.
After that, he fell into a sort of pattern—routine patrol first, checking up on the people that were assigned to sentry duty at that time of the night and then wandering down to the labs to see what, if anything was going on. He met some expedition members for the first time, despite the fact that the expedition was well into its second year—people who were usually on the night shift and pathetically pleased that anyone was taking an interest in their work, but especially the military CO. On some level, he knew that it wasn't just his status as CO that made his attention so appealing, it was that he was John Sheppard, the dashing hero of Atlantis. The very thought made his guts writhe inside, but he swallowed his discomfort and smiled with lazy interest as he asked his questions.
Sometimes he sat and listened to the explanations of the particular experiment being run, sometimes he frowned and tried to concentrate on the various supposed applications of said project, usually until his eyes started to glaze over and the scientist du jour shyly suggested that he call it a night. Sometimes at that point he could fall asleep, staggering back to his rooms and managing to sneak in 3-4 hours of restless slumber before the next dream hit. When 'unconsciousness through scientific boredom' failed to work, he would wander the halls of the city, taking a random course and surprising hapless sentries (whom he knew were developing a deep loathing for him, he was sure).
This particular night, sleep was proving predictably elusive once more. He was having more difficulty than usual concentrating on the scientific explanations being offered to him when the speaker suddenly hesitated.
"Colonel? Mind if I ask a question?"
He blinked at the woman in front of him, graying hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, small perky 'secretary' type glasses perched on her nose. Halley? Harris? Harrington? He was usually better with names than that and he felt momentarily guilty that he could not remember hers.
"Shoot," he said smoothly with a reasonable attempt at his usual laid-back air.
"Is everything all right?"
His breath caught for an instant and he didn't know how to respond, but thankfully the woman continued her train of thought without waiting for an answer.
"Because, it's not that we don't appreciate your interest in our work, really we do, it's just that we've gotten accustomed to Dr. McKay coming down about this time of night to check on us and well, no one has seen much of him lately so we couldn't help wondering if perhaps there was something wrong." She trailed off helplessly to shrug her shoulders at him.
"McKay comes down to check on you guys?" He couldn't help repeating her words.
She gave a rueful grin. "Most of his decrees are sent by email. But yes, he usually checks in on us personally at the very least once or twice a week—usually about this time of night." She glanced briefly at her watch before shooting a worried expression at John. "But no one's seen him for a couple of weeks so we were just a little concerned..."
"Huh." John was thoughtful. "I'm sure he's just been busy, but I'll check up on it for you."
She smiled a little in relief. "Thank you. Not that we want Dr. McKay coming down here, mind you...." He laughed with her and rolled his eyes obligingly before moving off towards the upper levels again.
He thought about what the scientist had said. He himself had not seen much of Rodney lately (nor Teyla either his brain added pointedly) but that didn't mean anything was wrong. Aside from regular briefings and heading out on a specific mission, everyone had their own work to do. He pushed aside the notion that he had been avoiding his team and headed back for a circuit around the main part of the city. Though he had no appetite at all, (really, nothing seemed to taste right these days) he plotted a course through the city that included the mess on the off chance of running into someone who wouldn't mind a late night/early morning chat.
The mess was empty when he entered, save for a solitary figure seated at a table, face down beside a half empty plate. McKay. Of course. Who else would it be? John walked over until he was standing beside the snoozing astrophysicist, who was making little whistling noises as he breathed. God, there was no way that could be comfortable.
"McKay." John reached out and poked him with a finger on the shoulder.
"I'm on it!" Rodney bolted upright in his seat, eyes wild, turning his head from side to side. He made eye contact with John and said, "I can fix it." He started to rise out of his chair.
John laid a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back down. "I'm sure you can, buddy. But maybe not tonight?" He couldn't help the smile. Okay, so he wasn't the only one with personal demons.
"What are you talking about? Of course I can..." Rodney trailed off mid-snap to take in his surroundings. "Why are we in the dining hall? I need to get back to the lab."
John hitched a hip up on the table to sit facing Rodney. "What are you working on that's so important it can't wait until morning? I wasn't aware there was anything critical going on at the moment."
"I was working with Radek on ways to theoretically create alternative energy sources, but I couldn't concentrate and he wanted to call it a night anyway. So I decided to work on re-routing the halon fire suppressant system in such a way that it will still function as designed but not be able to be used as a threat against the population during a lockdown like it was earlier this year." He looked rumpled and grumpy as he glared at John.
John merely raised an eyebrow.
"It's number thirty-seven on my list of non-emergency priority technical corrections that need to be made. I'm sorry if it offends you that I have not gotten to it sooner." Though he bristled with indignant fury, the fuzzy halo of short brown hair sticking up in all directions from the impromptu table nap made it hard to take him seriously.
John held up a finger. "One," he said. "I wasn't questioning the fact that it had taken you so long to get around to fixing that little problem, only the need to do it in the middle of the night when you could be sleeping. It's not like it's an emergency or anything..."
"Oh, you say that now," Rodney snapped. "But the next time the expedition leaders, hello, that includes you, get possessed by alien entities and their knowledge of the city is used to try and kill us all, it'll be "Rodney! You mean you haven't fixed that yet?'"
"And two," John added a second finger to the first and continued as though Rodney had not interrupted, something he had perfected over the last few years, "isn't this a gross waste of your talents? Smartest man in two galaxies? Genius astrophysicist? C'mon Rodney, can't you assign someone else to this?"
"You forgot the foremost expert on Ancient technology in the Pegasus galaxy." Rodney passed a hand over his hair, serving only to muss it up further. "I couldn't sleep," he mumbled, the fire suddenly going out of his eyes. He rubbed his face tiredly. He flicked an eye over John and then looked away. "I've been distracted lately." A second later, he appeared in danger of nodding off again.
"And the tables here in the mess are soooo comfortable." John heard the smirk in his voice. "C'mon then." He grabbed hold of Rodney by the arm and hoisted him to his feet.
"Where are we going?" Rodney sounded querulous. He allowed himself to be dragged along by the arm, feet shuffling in an attempt to keep up with John's easy stride.
"It's time for all good scientists to be in bed." John could do this. He had been pulling or pushing Rodney in some form or other over the last couple of years now, each of them taking turns to support the other when they came limping through the Gate. Rodney's warm body against his side was a comfortable, familiar presence. Since his rescue, John had been avoiding human contact completely, but this was not seeking comfort in any way. This was just a friend helping another friend home after a rough day.
"Not so good." Rodney somehow managed to slur his words; something John had only heard when he was doped to the gills on morphine for one of his various injuries. "If I was good, I'd've fixed it."
"Only you Rodney," John chuckled, even as he found himself suddenly supporting more of Rodney's weight, "could get stoned from lack of sleep." The irony of the moment amused him and he continued to chuckle intermittently as they staggered down the hall towards Rodney's quarters. He sobered when he was reminded of how desperately tired they all were towards the end of that first year, when they knew the Wraith were on their way and they were still searching for a means to defend the city. That was the last time he had seen Rodney asleep on his feet like this and he wondered what had been keeping him awake in the first place. They passed a single sentry, who on seeing their weaving progress down the hall, obligingly moved ahead to the transporter and hit the control panel button, allowing John to maneuver Rodney in without stopping. The sentry saluted with a grin as the doors closed behind them.
"They know us too well, buddy," John huffed slightly as he adjusted Rodney's weight against him.
"They don't know us at all," Rodney's voice was matter-of-fact. "You least of all. Wow." He tilted his head and reached towards the wall behind them. "Does it always do that?"
"Now, now, Rodney," John pivoted him away from the lighted wall panel behind them and towards the opening doors. "Focus."
"That's Elizabeth's line," Rodney snorted and then fell silent, concentrating on his moving feet as they left the transporter.
His head lolled briefly against John's shoulder when they paused outside Rodney's door. The door opened obligingly at John's mental command and the two of them shuffled sideways into the room. John got Rodney as far as the bed, where he let the other man collapse down onto it before picking up his legs and heaving them up on the bed as well. The lights began to dim to near darkness as John quickly unlaced Rodney's shoes and pulled them off. Rodney lay as he had fallen in a half twist and John sighed as he hauled his shoulders around into a less ungainly position.
"You'll thank me for it in the morning." He spoke to the room, knowing Rodney was dead to the world. Belatedly he realized a blanket would have been a good idea and Rodney was now lying on all of the covers. He poked around a bit and found a neatly folded spare on a shelf in the closet, pulling it down and covering up the sleeping scientist. Rodney wriggled into it with a small sigh and John felt a spurt of envy at the ease with which he had sunk into sleep.
Turning to leave, he was startled by Rodney's quiet voice in the dark room.
"John?" Huh. Go figure. Of all the times for Rodney to finally call him by his first name, it wasn't during a 'we're about to die' crisis or a 'thank god we're still alive' moment. It was a moment of stillness. Somehow, that made it all the more significant.
"Yeah?" He took a tentative step back towards the bed. The lights were so dim he could only just make out Rodney's form under the blanket.
"Tell me what it is and I'll fix it. I promise. I'll...just tell me what it is."
John caught his breath for a moment and found his heart thudding in his chest as though he had just sprung up in his own bed from the grips of the dream. It took him a second to realize that Rodney was just sleep-rambling. "It can wait 'til the morning, buddy," he said softly. "We're good."
He waited a long moment, but there was no further response from Rodney, so he slid quietly out of the room, letting the lights extinguish behind him.
***
He walked very quickly back to his own quarters, breaking into a light jog and forcing himself to keep to a steady pace when he wanted to run hell for leather down the long corridors. The military CO out for one of his weird late night jogging sessions was something no one would question, but if one of the night sentries caught him running like he was being pursued by the devil someone would either sound a general alert or they would come fit him for one of those nice little white jackets with the sleeves that wrapped around in the front. His hands were shaking by the time he entered his quarters, the lights coming up to a soothing level as he entered. Part of him wanted to rage at the lighting system itself and its pathetic attempt to be 'kind' to him, which was just stupid. The Lantean system was just hardwired somehow to know he couldn't tolerate bright light right now.
He stalked into the bathroom, turning on the cold water and repeatedly splashing his face until the sense of nausea began to subside. Rodney had no idea what he was talking about. He hadn't picked up on anything because there wasn't anything to pick up on. John wiped his face blindly with the towel before catching his own eye in the mirror.
Something in his startled, exhausted expression enraged him and he suddenly slammed into the mirror with both forearms and fists, shattering the glass with a satisfying crack. There was a sharp bite of pain on one elbow as he withdrew from the frame, large pieces of glass sliding off the mirror to land with a crash and tinkle in the sink. He hissed as he pulled his forearm up for inspection, momentarily fascinated by the flap of skin hanging off his arm and the dark line of blood welling up out of the cut, running in a thick rivulet to drip off the point of his elbow. The cut throbbed with each pulse of his heartbeat and he watched with a sense of detachment as a droplet spattered to the floor, to be followed by another. And another.
He dragged his attention away from the pooling blood and snatched up a hand towel, pressing it to the cut and closing his eyes against the bright stab of pain. Blood seeped through the towel and between his fingers and a laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside him. Nothing like a little blood to remind you you're still alive. He pulled the towel back to inspect the wound and watched as the blood immediately began to run down his arm again. A little voice in his head said you need stitches but he felt somehow that would just ruin the beauty of what he was witnessing. He clamped down the towel again, hard, and reveled in how necessary it was to feel something, anything at this moment.
It took him a long time to stop the bleeding. It took lots of pressure and then several awkward attempts at bandaging before it was under control. He knew he should have gone to the infirmary but he was perversely pleased that he had dealt with it himself. He could wear the long-necked T for a few days and no one would notice. He realized with vicious satisfaction that there would be a scar and he was glad. It was unnerving seeing the artificial perfection of his skin since the Wraith had reverse-fed on him, as though his entire past had been erased. He barely noticed when he crawled into bed and fell into a deep sleep.
***
John sat on the balcony railing and closed his eyes, turning his face up towards the warmth of the sun. A breeze off the water ruffled the hair of his forelock and brought with it the tang of salt air. He could hear the cry of seabirds and he opened his eyes again to watch them wheel and dive over the white-capped ocean. He could almost imagine that he was back in California but for the strange alien beauty of the city below him. The city that he was charged with protecting.
He wondered, not for the first time, how an intergalactic fuck-up as himself ended up with such a supreme responsibility. He knew he owed a large part of his current position to the fact that Elizabeth placed an inordinate amount of confidence in him, and he wondered what would happen if Elizabeth were ever replaced as the expedition leader. Not that he would mind going back to being some anonymous cog in the machine. It had been easier then; he could just be some insubordinate flyboy, quick with a smile or to buy you a drink—fight hard, play hard and leave the tough decisions to someone else. In some ways they would all be better off without him. How could he have ever thought that he belonged here? That the Atlantis expedition had somehow completed him?
He sat perched on the rail, with his hands lightly gripping either side of his thighs, the thin beam of railing biting into the backs of his legs as his feet dangled over the water far below. The temptation to close his eyes and push forward off the railing, accepting the free-fall and the embrace of the cold water below was strong—whispering in his ear, willing him to let go. It would be so easy and solve all of his problems. No more guilt over the mess he had made in re-wakening the Wraith or in the mercy killing of his commanding officer. No more biting fear that the city would fall under his leadership or that the people he cared most about would die and he would be powerless to stop it. No more unresolved issues with members of his family that he would never see again...hell, they probably thought he was still in Antarctica. No more seeing the faces of the people (like Aiden his mind whispered) that had died under his command. No more nagging worry that he himself was somehow a threat to the expedition...A simple push, and then Elizabeth could get someone in here that knew what he or she was doing, someone who could keep them all safe.
Well, if you're going to off yourself, the least you could do is wait until it would count for something. The sarcastic portion of his mind supplied the memory of himself flying a puddlejumper straight for a hive ship with a nuclear warhead attached. Hey, if you've got to go, then at least go out with a bang. He snorted. At least he still had his sense of humor.
There was the sound of the glass doors to the balcony sliding open behind him and he was just turning his head to see who had come outside when heard the rush of footsteps and he felt strong arms pin his own close to his body in a tackle worthy of a linebacker as he was forcibly pulled backwards off the rail. His startled protest was lost as he and his 'rescuer' crashed down on the hard metal decking, the weight of his body forcing an 'ooof' of complaint from the person beneath him.
He rolled out of the arms that had fallen loosely aside and turned over on his hands and knees to look at the person behind him. "Rodney?"
"Ow." Rodney seemed more concerned about his head, which had contacted the floor with the fall. He rubbed the back of his skull, wincing, before trying to sit up and then he placed a hand on the small of his back, lying back down as he did so. "Ow."
"What the fuck's your problem, McKay?" John pushed himself upright on his knees, hands clenching into fists as he glared at Rodney.
That did it. Rodney's eyes snapped open from where he had continued to lie with them shut against the sun and he struggled to sit up. "What the fuck's my problem?" He snarled. "What the fuck's your problem, Sheppard?"
John rose to his feet, dusting off his pants, not looking at Rodney. "I don't have a problem. Or I didn't until just now."
"Like hell you don't." Rodney also got to his feet. He inspected briefly the torn sleeve at his elbow and the scraped skin underneath before turning his full attention to John again. "Apparently you've given up on flirting with space bimbos and anything that walks and have taken up flirting with death instead." He flapped a hand in the direction of the balcony.
"Oh for Christ's sake Rodney, I was just taking in a little sun."
Oh really?" Rodney's voiced dripped with sarcasm. "On the wrong side of the railing? Is that what you're calling it now? And how about the last three missions we've been on? How is it that no matter how simple a milk run the mission is supposed to be, you always end up in the infirmary?"
"Since when is anything ever simple in the Pegasus galaxy?" John shrugged off Rodney's uncomfortable observations and turned back towards the inner doors, tossing his next words over his shoulder as he made to leave. "You're making a big deal out of nothing, McKay."
"Am I?" Rodney's hand suddenly contained his arm in a vise-like grip. Jeez, who knew Rodney could be so strong? John looked down at where Rodney's blunt fingers were digging into his flesh and then back up at his face. Rodney was squinting in the bright sunlight, his narrowed eyes taking on the color of the sea. "Tell me I'm wrong here. Make me believe it."
Irritably, John shook off his grip on his arm. "There's nothing wrong, Rodney. So just drop it, okay?"
"Ah-ha! You see? You wouldn't tell me to drop something if there wasn't something there to be dropped in the first place." Rodney's look of triumph faded and he was back to concerned again and then pissed all in a flash. "Why are you taking all these crazy risks? I mean, more so than usual? Frankly, Teyla and I are getting tired of dragging your sorry ass back through the Gate for Carson to patch up again. "
Feeling cornered, John spoke stiffly. "If that's the way you feel, maybe you should just leave me behind."
Rodney jerked backwards as though he'd been slapped. He just stood there, mouth open and blinking rapidly.
Ah shit. "That's not what I meant, Rodney. Maybe what you need is a new team leader."
Rodney blinked again and then spoke rapidly. "What team? Do we even have a team any more? Ford's gone. You're gone. You've shut us out. Teyla's talking of returning to her people—permanently. And Elizabeth is making noises to the effect of my expertise is too valuable to the expedition in general than to risk it on further off world missions."
John felt all the color leave his face with a wash of nausea that made him want to buckle at the knees. Instead he said helplessly, "Rodney..."
"I'm sorry," Rodney said in that odd, clipped Canadian way he had. "I'm really sorry. We both are. Teyla and me. I know that you and I have had some trust issues ever since that thing on Doranda, but you have to know I would never, never intentionally let you down. Teyla and I are both sorry that we didn't cover your six or whatever the phrase is. We're sorry that Koyla's men captured you but we didn't even know you were no longer behind us until you were no longer behind us any more! We would've never deliberately left you behind." Rodney's voice cracked with the unaccustomed emotion contained within.
"I know that, Rodney. Christ, I don't blame you guys. Seriously, there was nothing you could have done. I trust you both completely." It's me I don't trust.
Rodney just continued to look at him uncertainly and for an awful moment, he thought he had spoken his thoughts out loud. Slowly he said, "Look, I'll talk to Elizabeth, okay? Unless of course, you'd rather stay in the city from now on."
Rodney folded his arms across his chest, a faintly mocking smile touching his lips. "I seem to be needed everywhere. I'm not sure you can do without my genius on these little jaunts of yours."
John shook his head slightly and made a small eye roll. "Right. I'll talk to Elizabeth." He turned once more to head inside the building.
Rodney reached out and touched his arm lightly. "And Teyla too?" His voice was serious.
"And Teyla too." John sighed. The phrasing of the sentence had him quickly quashing a mental image of Teyla in pigtails, with a Cairn terrier in a basket. Rodney fell into step with him as they both entered the building and John glanced over at him sharply. "What, have you suddenly become the resident 'Dear Rodney' of the expedition?"
Rodney bumped shoulders with him as they went through the glass doors. It seemed innocent, but John knew it was not. Rodney was inspecting his elbow through the torn sleeve again and humming under his breath. "I'm starting a blog for advice to the lovelorn next week."
"Ohmygod, we're all doomed." John said in his most awed tone.
Rodney snorted. He seemed pleased, wearing that expression he reserved for when some experiment had turned out according to expectations. If only it were that easy, Rodney.
***
A few weeks later, John was off-world with his team, gloomily taking shelter under a large coniferous tree while waiting for the rain to shift back from a hard shower to the light mist that had permeated the planet on their arrival. Teyla had explained that the entire planet was a rainforest, rich in native plants that were prized for their medicinal properties and today he had led a team of doctors and botanists for a little herb collection foray. McKay had horned in on the mission under the guise of finding of some odd low level energy readings, most likely of natural plant origin. It was enough of a milk run that John reluctantly agreed with Elizabeth's gentle but forceful urging that he seriously choose a replacement for Lt. Ford on his team, and he was giving the quiet Sgt. Phillips a try-out on this trip. The sandy-haired young man had this whole 'I'm just a farm-boy from Iowa' thing going on that was deceptively disarming, but John suspected it was all an act. For one thing, the kid was completely unflappable. And he was not intimidated by Rodney. He had potential.
John blinked and wiped his face with his hand, lashes heavy with rainwater as he hunched miserably down into the collar of his jacket. He pushed aside the sudden, sharp vision of Phillips lying face down in the mud, a sodden note pinned to the back of his jacket. Abruptly the mental image shifted to the actual memory of finding Aiden Ford lying facedown in a sunny field on Dagan and Koyla's note that said, "One down, fifty-nine to go."
Koyla had a lot to answer for.
He continued to watch the scientists from the shelter of the tree as they moved around in the heavy ground cover, excitedly uncovering a new plant that looked exactly like all the others they had just cataloged and packaged for safe keeping. In their bright yellow slickers, they resembled strange, busy beetles, boiling out over the ground from underneath an overturned log. At the edge of his vision, he could see Rodney and Teyla checking out some sort of phosphorescent fungus on the side of a tree, Phillips doing a good job of watching out carefully as Rodney took his readings.
He thought back to his conversation with Teyla post-confrontation with Rodney. He had hated like hell to have to talk to Teyla at all; it was only later he realized it was because she was too damn discerning and the temptation to spill his guts to her was strong. All she had to do was look at him with that one eyebrow raised when he assured her he was fine and he'd come damned close to confessing all his fears. The fact that he felt that way at all was just freaking him out and it had been easier just to avoid her. But he couldn't just let her leave the team, the city, him, like that.
She had looked at him with her solemn, knowing eyes and he could hear the internal sigh when she decided to accept his 'I'm fine' at face value rather than challenge it. At least she had stopped talking about leaving the city. But he was aware that she was watching him closely, both in the city and off-world as well. He couldn't decide if it made him feel better or just plain angry. On the whole, he decided he felt better for it. He just wished he didn't resent it so much.
A distant rumble and familiar 'whoosh' of noise made him lift his head. Someone had just activated the Gate. He glanced over at the team; Teyla turned her head inquiringly towards the sound and then caught his eye. He tapped his radio.
"I thought this world was uninhabited, a low traffic kind of place."
Though she was too far away to see her expression clearly in the rain, John could tell from her voice she was frowning. "Others have been known to seek the medicinal properties of the plants here, and certain varieties are blooming now. Still..." her voice trailed off and John recognized the same unease he felt.
"I know, amazing coincidence, that." His voice was the only dry thing about him. He tapped the radio again. "Listen up people. We've got company. Teyla and I are going to go check it out. The rest of you pack it up in case we need to leave in a hurry. And Rodney—see to it that everyone loses the raincoats. Too easy to spot. Phillips, keep an eye out 'til we get back."
"Yes sir." Phillips sounded as though he'd just been told to help with the evening milking. John hoped he was really a bit more on his toes than he sounded.
He heard an intake of breath and assumed it was Rodney about to make a protest, but instead heard his voice say tartly, "You heard the Colonel. Coats off. Inside out or pack them up, I don't care but anyone still wearing a coat in five seconds will essentially be wearing a big bull's eye on their back that says 'EAT ME'." The haste with which the scientists shed their rain slickers would have made John laugh in another lifetime.
In a way, the heavy rain was to John and Teyla's advantage, obscuring any extraneous noise they made with their rapid passage through the forest and cloaking them with the overall grey half-light. They were almost within sight of the Gate when the sound of the dialing sequence being activated again was audible, followed by the outpouring of the event horizon and its eventual stabilization. John motioned Teyla down and they crept on their bellies up a small rise to view the clearing where the Gate was located.
No one was at the DHD, which meant that whoever activated the Gate earlier wasn't just turning around and going home; the Pegasus equivalent of a wrong number. As they watched, a single Wraith in a long black coat came swinging through the Gate. Beside him, Teyla drew her breath in sharply in a small hiss at the sight. Something inside John leapt up and pulled at him, an insistent tug as though someone had slipped a collar and leash around his neck. The Wraith appeared oblivious to them both, pausing only long enough to consult a small hand-held device before tucking into a pocket and hoisting up a large hand weapon. Even at this distance, he seemed wary, moving quickly into the cover of the forest away from the Gate.
John and Teyla sank back down from their viewing position, turning on their sides in the wet loam until they faced each other. The rain had darkened Teyla's hair to the color of coffee, and beaded on her oiled leather coat
"What would the Wraith want here?" John could not help the accusatory note in his voice and hoped (in vain) Teyla would not notice it as well.
"I do not know." Teyla's chocolate brown eyes suddenly went wide with speculation. "Unless..." she broke off, shaking her head.
"Unless what?" John knew he was being sharper than he should be but he suddenly felt like he was on pins and needles; the compulsion to get up and move, to do something was almost overwhelming.
"The Wraith will on occasion tag a human with a tracking device and then release them to be hunted down as prey. No one knows just how they decide which humans to make 'runners' but they tend to chose those that provide a decent challenge; someone potentially dangerous to them as well. Perhaps this solitary Wraith has followed just such a person through the Gate to this planet. He certainly did not seem to be targeting our party."
He knew it was pointless to suggest to Teyla that she must be joking. Of course not. Teyla didn't make jokes about the Wraith. He turned back on his stomach, leaning up to look over the ridge again. Sliding one hand inside his sleeve, he was able to pinch the skin of his wrist sharply, nails digging in deep enough to draw blood, enough to allow him to focus again. No Wraith in sight, but somehow he seemed to know exactly the path the warrior had taken, almost as though it were marked with the phosphorescent fungus lighting the way. He shook his head abruptly, droplets of water flying as though he were a dog.
"Okay." He took a deep breath and turned back to Teyla. "You head back and round up the others. I'm going to try and figure out what this guy's up to. We don't know that he's here after a runner, for all we know the person that dialed the gate first was also a Wraith and we need to know what they want with this planet." He cut off her protest before she could start. "Teyla, this is Phillips' first trip out. Gathering up the geeks is going to be harder than herding cats. I need you to make sure the scientists get back here and through the Gate, okay?" He was getting to his feet and he reached down to give Teyla a hand up.
As she stood, she suddenly pulled him into the Athosian embrace, pressing her forehead to his briefly before murmuring, "Come back to us, John."
He gripped her elbows briefly, the coat under his fingers as soft as butter before pulling back, startled by her action. He looked into her unreadable expression for a moment too long before turning without another word and skirting the edge of the clearing to follow the Wraith.
The heavy rain had suddenly stopped. The air was thick with moisture, wetness trailing off the overhead canopy as though it were still raining hard. He moved quickly, quietly through the dense undergrowth, picking out a game trail and sticking as close to it as possible. His senses seemed abnormally heightened; he could smell the rich earthy mulch coming up off the ground as he moved, taste the water in the air as a rain-soaked branch brushed his face. His eye picked out the quick, furtive movement of some small ground squirrel of a creature, flashing into the brush with a tiny 'chip' of alarm and he halted, hair rising on the back of his neck as he listened with his entire body. His hands were wet and cold on the P-90, for once the steel shaft of the weapon failing to reassure him. His heart seemed to pound in the pulse point on his throat.
Behind him he heard and felt the flutter of moving cloth as the Wraith dropped down from the tree above to land on its feet in the clearing. It would not fire before he turned to face it; the Wraith were arrogant that way. Slowly he turned, hands still on the P-90 as he held it against his chest. He completed his rotation to see the Wraith sneering at him, stunner at arm's length, ready to fire. Not a drone, but one of the regular warriors, long hair tied back for a change, wearing goggles against the rain, the water running in slick sheets down the long black leather coat.
He didn't know what compelled him to do so, but he tipped his left hand slightly towards the Wraith, turning his wrist over in a tiny gesture of supplication. They held eye contact for a long moment and then the Wraith cocked his head to one side and smiled.
Something inside John's head began to scream at him to move while another part of him wanted to sink to his knees and vomit. He could do neither. His breath came in short bursts as though he'd been running as the Wraith continued to smile knowingly, moving towards him in slow, anticipatory deliberation. The Wraith stopped a scant foot away from John and closed his eyes to half-slits, lifting his head and smelling the air between them. He opened his eyes abruptly and smiled even wider. "You carry the blood of the Ancients," he said, his eyes flicking over John appreciatively. "Oh this is too good." He lowered the stunner slightly and reached for John with his other hand.
You can still shoot him. You can step back, swing your weapon around and blow this sonofabitch off the face of the planet. John's inner voice, usually laid back and sarcastic, was sharp with intent for once in his life and he was powerless to obey it. He watched in fascination as the hand of the Wraith came inexorably towards his chest. He looked up into the Wraith's face in time to see the slow, predatory smile form over his features. Right before the Wraith's head exploded.
John flinched as bits of Wraith spattered against his face and neck and then watched as the headless corpse sank to its knees and toppled over. He stepped back reflexively to avoid having the torso of the Wraith brush against him. He stood mouth open in shock for an instant before his brain kicked in gear again. Thankfully, this time his body listened. He glanced over in the direction from where the shot came, but saw nothing except the wet forest around him.
"I should kill you too." The disembodied voice seemed to come from out of the misty air itself.
John carefully raised his hands, letting the P-90 hang from his neck strap as he faced the direction of the voice. A tall man stepped out from behind a moss covered tree to lean heavily against it, pointing a handgun, the likes of which would make Clint Eastwood sob with envy, with unerring accuracy at John's chest. The man wore his hair in dreads, his bronzed skin and clothing in various shades of brown allowed him to blend almost seamlessly into the forest. Only the slight hitch in his step as he rounded the tree trunk and the way he sank into its support belied the casualness of his lean against it. John could see a makeshift tourniquet around the man's upper thigh; the leg of his pants dark with the wetness of blood and rain.
"You're one of them." The sneer in his voice was unmistakable and he raised his gun to fire at John.
"Wait!" John held out a placating hand. "Don't shoot me just yet. I gotta know." He paused, and made contact with the green eyes watching him. "What did they do to me?"
The gun never wavered. "You don't know?" The man's voice was harsh. "They fed on you right? But reversed it."
John merely nodded, not trusting his voice to respond.
"Well, they secrete some sort of enzyme when they feed like that. Makes you want it. Makes you need it." The man with the gun laughed shortly, a sound with no humor in it. "You got no choice. Sooner or later you'll seek them out. And you'll either end up as a worshipper or lunch, depending on who you approach."
No. John hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud until he saw the expression of the other man soften slightly.
"Sorry. I've never known anyone to beat it. Except maybe by killing themselves first."
John shook his head and stepped back until he bumped up against the wet trunk of a tree, sliding down its moss-covered side until he sat on his heels against its base. He propped his elbow on his knee, supporting his forehead with the heel of his hand as he took in the truth of what he had been told. It all made perfect sense now.
"Specialist Ronon Dex."
He looked up at the sound of the other man's voice.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"My name. Rank. Thought you should know." The implied 'before I kill you' was audible.
"Lt. Colonel John Sheppard," John said automatically. He frowned, looking inward, seeing another place and time. "I was captured. They used the Wraith on me but then the Wraith...well, we both used each other to escape. I didn't know they could do that whole reverse feed thing. I thought I was gonna die." Now I wish I had.
The man called Ronon Dex stood looking at him for an endless moment longer and then made a small face of frustration before allowing his hand to fall to his side. He winced, resting his gun hand on his injured leg only to lift it once more as John looked up again.
"I have an idea." John spoke rapidly, thinking briefly of Rodney and wishing for his skill at speed explanations. "Look, I've got responsibilities, people that I'm charged with protecting. You're a Runner, right? Well I've got a team of medical people right here, right now, that can remove that tracking device from you, help you out with that injury. I only want one thing from you."
"To let you live?" The Runner's voice was sardonic, despite his obvious pain.
"No," John said seriously, shaking his head. "I want you to promise to kill me if you see me endangering my people."
"You mean like this?" Ronon Dex indicated the headless corpse with a wave of his gun.
"Well not now, obviously," John tried not to sound peeved. "I meant in the future. We got a deal?"
Ronon laughed briefly. His amusement started and then sputtered out, like an engine that had not been turned over in some time. He wiped the back of his gun hand across his mouth, the remnants of a smile still lingering there as he watched John from across the clearing. "Deal."
***
Rodney and Teyla seemed a little dismayed at his decision to bring Dex back to Atlantis with them after Carson had removed the tracking device. Well, at least Rodney did. Teyla had searched him with her eyes on their return and he found himself avoiding her once again. At least no one could argue the fact that the former Runner deserved some time to rest and heal from his ordeal and John was enthusiastic in supporting his petition to Elizabeth that Ronon make up the forth on his team. Elizabeth just looked at him as though he had brought home a mountain lion after mistaking it for a stray puppy but she reluctantly gave in to his judgment.
Only Rodney continued to vocalize his concern. "We know nothing about this guy," he complained.
"He hates the Wraith and he's a good fighter, what else is there to know?" John asked.
Rodney's face took on a shuttered expression. Oh well, if Rodney wanted to believe that adding Ronon to the team was about making John feel safe when they went off-world, in a way it was.
Ronon's addition to the team had some other advantages as well. Once Ronon had sufficiently healed from his injuries he began, at John's request, leading the Marines in fighting techniques to kill Wraith in hand-to-hand combat. After observing a few of these training sessions, John asked Ronon to spar with him as well. That these sessions tended to occur late at night or well into the early hours of the morning didn't seem to bother Ronon at all.
"I shouldn't be doing this," Ronon said one night, twirling a bantos rod with the ease of long practice as John circled him, looking for an opening. They were sparring with one rod only, the other hand held behind their backs.
"Oh, really?" John had drawled. "And why is that?"
Ronon's feral smile flashed at him briefly. "It'll just make you that much harder to kill when the time comes."
"Aw, Ronon. Flattery will get you nowhere." John lunged and began the choreographed dance of movement, the sticks clacking against each other as each parry was met and blocked. The sting of the wood in his hand when his weapon hit Ronon's felt oddly pleasant; resonating up his arm like a tuning fork or a mild beer buzz. The best part of sparring with Ronon was that he didn't hold back. He parried back with fierce concentration, but as usual, Ronon's greater strength and reach quickly began to wear him down. Ronon struck a blow to his ribs that was followed by a numbing whack to his upper thigh. When it became obvious he was starting to slow down, he gave in to temptation and dropped his guard completely.
Ronon's stick skittered up the length of his rod, bounced off his knuckles and popped him in the face. He jerked back reflexively at the bright flash of pain, turning his head away from Ronon so that he could not see John's wince and eventual smile. His tongue flicked out over his split lip, savoring the taste of copper in his mouth. He transferred the rod to the other hand, shaking out the pain in his knuckles before taking the stick up in his right hand again. When he looked up to make some smart-ass comment, he found Ronon's eyes narrowed in anger looking back at him.
"What's that all about?" He waved the bantos rod at John's mouth. "You could have stopped that."
John closed his eyes briefly before speaking with a small, resigned shrug. "Pain helps."
Ronon had stared at him oddly for a moment and then grunted, "Again." He tapped John's bantos stick with his own to indicate the continuance of the match. He never referred to the incident again, but there were times when he caught Ronon watching him with serious green eyes.
It was because of Ronon too, that Teyla managed to get team night reinstituted. John had let the practice of team-building lapse with the death of Lt. Ford. In the weeks that followed Ford's death on Dagan they had all been overwhelmed with the impending Wraith attack and a little R and R was simply unthinkable. After tricking the Wraith into thinking the city had been destroyed, it seemed to John that any attempt to gather the remaining team members for some bonding over a movie and popcorn was to invite Aiden's ghost to attend as well. When Ronon however, questioned some cultural reference made by McKay, Teyla had been quick to suggest they show Ronon the movie in question. John was touched; he knew Teyla generally disliked watching a movie more than once on the principle that life was too short. She was right though. It would be good for all of them.
Shortly after watching The Princess Bride, Ronon began finishing each day with a grin and "Goodnight, Sheppard. I'll most likely kill you in the morning."
After the third such evening salutation in as many days, Rodney had turned on John as Ronon left the room. "Don't you find that the least bit creepy?" His eyes were bugging out.
"Actually," John snorted into his beer, "I think it's really funny."
***
The knife clattered to the floor at the sound of the door chime and he hastily snatched up the hand towel, folding it over his wrist as he got off the bed and hurried into the bathroom. He kicked at the knife in passing, saw with satisfaction that it landed under the bed and was running water in the sink when he mentally unlocked the door. He leaned out of the bathroom far enough to see Rodney at the entrance to his quarters. He frowned. "Be right out, McKay."
Shit, shit, shit. Inside the bathroom he placed hard pressure on his wrist, resentful that Rodney had interrupted the moment; that the effort was essentially wasted now. What the hell was McKay doing here anyway?
"Where's your laptop?" Rodney's voice carried in from the other room. "I want to show you something before the briefing. Have you checked your emails this morning? I want you on my side before I bring this up with Elizabeth. Never mind, it'll be easier to bring it up on mine. " From the other room came the sounds of Rodney unpacking his laptop and setting it up.
The narrow cut on his wrist was proving awkward to bandage, the plastic coating of the band-aid slick with his blood as he fumbled to cover the mark. Hands shaking, he was suddenly reminded of fooling around with his first girlfriend up in her room and the afternoon they almost got caught by her mom. The haste with which he placed the band-aid and then slid the black-wrist band over to hide it carried with it the same clandestine air and sense of giddy risk. When he caught sight of his eye in the mirror it was slightly wild; a faint blush reddened his cheekbones. He ran his hands under the water and came out of the bathroom wiping them on a towel.
He expected to find Rodney deep in thrall to his laptop, but instead the unit lay abandoned on the bed while Rodney stood beside it, a single sheet of paper in one hand; the knife in the other. Even from here, John could see the bright red ribbon of his blood marking the edge of the blade. Rodney lifted his eyes to meet John's as he entered the room, a shocked expression on his face.
War and Peace lay open on the bed beside the laptop. Embarrassment and fury surged up together in John and he stalked over to Rodney with the intent of removing the paper from his hands. Rodney snatched it back at the last second, holding it up high over one shoulder. He looked from John's face to the knife and to the paper again. John lunged for the paper.
"Give me that," he snarled. He snagged the paper out of Rodney's grasp.
Hearing John's voice seemed to galvanize Rodney into speech again. "I didn't mean...I was only killing time until you came out...I just wanted to see how far you'd gotten...the paper just fell out on the floor."
John folded the paper sharply and stepped over to the dresser, jerking open the top drawer and dropping the missive within. When he turned to face Rodney, he was staring down at the knife in his hand as though it were a horrible creepy-crawly creature. He tipped his palm and let the knife fall to the floor. His eye zeroed in on John's wrist and John glanced down, closing his hand protectively over the exposed band-aid before pulling the wrist band over it again.
"You...you..." Rodney began inarticulately. His hands moved to take in the knife on the floor, John's wrist at his side, the open copy of W&P.
"Drop it, Rodney." John growled.
"Drop it? Drop it?" It was as though he'd touched a match to dry kindling; Rodney went up in smoke. The sarcastic part of John's mind watched in awe. Rodney was incandescent.
"You leave a statement explaining that you've given Ronon permission to kill you if he sees fit and you expect me to drop it?"
"Guess I should have stuck it in that 'in the event of my death' envelope after all." John ran a rueful hand through his hair, switching gears abruptly and going for a lighter touch. No point in throwing gasoline at Rodney now.
"And you..." Rodney's hand stuttered as he pointed a finger rapidly at John's wrist. "You're cutting yourself?"
John closed his eyes, suddenly weary. He opened them at the sound of Rodney packing up his laptop. "Rodney..."
"No. I don't know what's wrong with you but I do know you need help." He stuffed the laptop into its bag and looked up at John. "You won't accept it from me. You won't accept it from Teyla. Fine. But help is what you need and you're going to get it whether you want it or not. I know you get the willies at the idea of talking to Heightmeyer..."
"Rodney, no." John stepped forward at caught him by the upper arm as he was turning to leave the room. Rodney looked down where John had hold of his bicep in a firm grip, then back up at John's face before heaving a big sigh and with his free hand gestured 'well, go on, explain'.
John let go of Rodney's arm and sat down heavily on the end of the bed, cradling his head in his hands. After a moment, he felt the end of the mattress depress beside him and he glanced up to see Rodney's worried expression as he sat down next to John. He turned away from the intensity in Rodney's eyes, staring down at his hands dangling between his knees, feeling the dull thud of pain in his wrist as his blood pounded against the small cut.
"They'll lock me up," he spoke at last. "They'll say it's for my own good, but they'll relieve me of duty and lock me up just the same. Most likely send me back to Earth." When he glanced over at Rodney again he could see the shock in his clear blue eyes.
Rodney looked away suddenly to squeeze his eyes shut tightly and pinch the bridge of his nose. "Start at the beginning, explain fully, leave nothing out." His voice was clipped, tight, angry.
Don't want much do you? John found himself getting angry as well. Damn it, why couldn't Rodney have just left his things alone? Face it, you wanted that letter found. As soon as the thought solidified, he knew that little voice in his head was right. Just tell him.
So he did. He told Rodney about the dreams and the feeling that something was wrong with him and the discovery that pain seemed to keep both at bay. He told him of the way he had felt on the planet in the presence of the Wraith and Ronon's revelation that the reverse feeding process was addictive. He even told him that nothing felt or tasted right since his capture, that everything was flat and colorless except the sensation of pain. That the only time he'd felt truly alive since this whole thing started was when he was standing in the clearing facing the Wraith. He watched Rodney's face as he spoke, seeing his changing emotions shift like fast-moving clouds across the sky as Rodney listened. He couldn't bear the look of horror and pity on Rodney's face as he came to the end of his recitation; he looked away, back at his hands resting between his knees.
"Well." Rodney's voice was a gentle sigh beside him when at last he finished. "That at least explains why you were able to eat last night's Tuna Surprise without complaint."
John tilted his head to look up at Rodney from under the fringe of his forelock, one eyebrow raised.
"Seriously. It was bugging me." Rodney's mouth twitched in a smile suppressed and he bumped his shoulder up against John's.
John sat up straighter. "Didn't you hear anything I just said?"
"Yes, yes, addicted to the Wraith, Ronon's both your body guard and your assassin. Whatever."
"Rod-ney..." John ground out even as something warmed inside him. Rodney was just so...Rodney. They were going to be all right, after all.
"I take it bringing this up with Carson is out."
"He'd lock me up, Rodney. He'd have to. And he'd be right. Only if they lock me up, I swear, I'll either find a way out or..."
"I knew a cutter once," Rodney said quietly. He looked over at the window as he spoke. "Friend of Jeannie's. Smart. Tough in a way I couldn't understand and I really admired her for that. I really liked her a lot." He made sudden eye contact with John again. "She killed herself the year I went away to school."
The silence between them stretched and grew and then suddenly relaxed somehow. "So, we don't tell anyone." Rodney was matter-of-fact. "How do we solve it then?"
Hope flared up in John like a spark from a dying fire, but it failed to catch light. "I don't know that it is fixable, McKay."
Rodney made a face, the one that said, 'hello, genius here'. "Look, it's an addiction, right? Well, deprive you of your fix long enough and you're bound to get over it. Clever of you to find some other means of mitigating the effects, by the way. Pain must work on the same receptors as the Wraith enzyme, though I must admit, your treatment plan is a little like treating antifreeze toxicity by inducing alcohol poisoning."
"Ronon said..." John began, but Rodney didn't let him finish.
"Okay, Ronon is not the sum total font of knowledge when it comes to the Wraith, you know that, right?" Rodney frowned at him, thought better of what he had just said and amended it. "Well, okay, so he knows an awful lot about them, but still, just because he's never seen someone get over it, doesn't mean it can't be done. You only got reverse fed on once. Maybe the people that he's heard about were fed on lots of times."
John closed his eyes at the internal shiver that the idea of multiple feedings triggered. They snapped open again to glare at Rodney after he got whacked on the back of the head.
"Stop that," Rodney was saying calmly, with a frown. "That's not helping. As I was saying, you've successfully managed to discover something that can out-compete the receptors for the Wraith enzyme. There's got to be a way to wean you off or maybe just hold you steady until the Wraith enzyme loses its hold." He jumped up off the bed and began to stalk around the room in a small circle. "We have to find a better replacement for the cutting though. There's no way that will not eventually come to Carson's attention, given your penchant for infirmary visits..." His head swung suddenly in John's direction and his eyes narrowed sharply. "Of course, all the off-world injuries...of all the idiotic, stupid...why didn't you come to me sooner?"
"I didn't come to you now, Rodney." He let the drawl fill his voice, layering sarcasm, embarrassment and amusement into his words.
"Yes, well, but..." Rodney looked suddenly flustered. "I think I can help."
John was suddenly reminded of the night he'd helped Rodney to bed, the quiet, intent voice speaking from within the dark room. He felt his mouth open and close helplessly. Tell me what it is and I'll fix it.
"I'll go over Carson's notes on everything he's generated on the Wraith, their enzymes and the retrovirus he's been working on. In the meantime, we'll come up with a means of consistently...well, inflicting pain on you...in a controlled manner of course, that won't raise any eyebrows, well, except maybe yours..."
"Rodney." He didn't know what to say. He found himself turning his hand over helplessly, palm open. Both men looked suddenly at his wrist, flesh-colored band-aid peeking coyly out from under the dark wrist band.
"John." Rodney locked eyes with him. He looked so earnest. John hated to disappoint him. "Please. Let me help."
What have you got to lose? Wordlessly, he nodded.
Rodney beamed at him suddenly, a flash of sunlight on a cloudy day and then abruptly glanced at his watch. "Oh shit! The briefing!" He snatched up the laptop and charged out of the room, calling "well, come on, then" over his shoulder.
***
It seemed like the day would never end. The briefing went on forever; John would have found it difficult to sit through it anyway, but he idly wondered what the general reaction would be if he started jabbing his pen into his hand. Don't mind me, I just feel the need to gouge out my eyeball with this fork here...
Ronon caught his eye afterwards, took pity on him and pounded the snot out of him in the gym. When he returned to his office post shower, he found an email from Rodney.
Been thinking about the points you brought up this morning. Research on the first part going to take some time given the fact that voodoo is an inexact science but I've got the second covered, I think. Name a time good for you to have me stop by to discuss it.
As he read the email, he couldn't help but notice it was pure McKay. He was grateful too that it was couched in terms no one would question. The only thing Rodney could have done better was to add 'bring food' at the end.
He'd typed back "anytime after 2100". Rodney's response had been "Right. After nine then. Probably later. Closer to ten. Barring catastrophic calamities in the lab."
The day had continued to drag on after that. 2100 finally came and went, leaving him edgy and restless in his quarters. He could almost hear the knife whisper to him as he waited, seductive suggestions twisting his thoughts, telling him Rodney wasn't coming and not to wait, just pick up the blade. When he began to contemplate plausible excuses with which to supply Carson should the issue of his 'injuries' ever come up, he fished an old racketball out of his gym bag and began throwing it with force against the furthest wall, catching it with his bare hands and enjoying the sting as it slapped into his palm. Five minutes into the 'game', John began eyeing targets in the room with which to smash with the ball and reluctantly, he put it away. He just had to hang on a little bit longer. But if Rodney doesn't get here soon...
Now that he had agreed to Rodney's proposal, he was unaccountably nervous. It occurred to him that he hadn't even asked Rodney exactly what he had planned and that fact alone said a lot about his state of mind. He sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced his boots, pulling them off and then his socks as well, stuffing them down into the boots as he placed them beside the bed. Jesus. What had he been thinking? You were thinking you would do anything to keep on going. His brain supplied the answer that he knew to be correct. It was true; he would grasp at any straw right now if he thought it could keep him afloat a little while longer. Even if it was at Rodney's hands.
He hoped he wasn't going to regret this.
He took off his watch, and then the black wristband and the band-aid, turning his hand idly as he did so and inspecting the thin parallel marks on his wrist, remembering the delicious little slivers of pain that had occurred when he created them originally. He clenched and unclenched his fist, watching the tendons move underneath his skin, pulling at the fine scars alongside the fresh cut. He had no choice. He had to let Rodney try.
When the chimed sounded, he mentally signaled the door to open and waited, unconsciously holding his breath as he stood in the center of his quarters, allowing Rodney to enter.
Rodney bustled in with a duffle bag in hand, stopping short as he caught sight of John standing there. The door closed behind him. They stood in silence for a moment, eyeing each other. Rodney's eye flicked down to his bare feet and the back up to meet his eyes again.
"Yes, well," Rodney began. "I've brought a few things with me."
John took a step backwards, opening a path towards either the table or the bed, granting Rodney silent permission to begin whatever he had in mind. Rodney appeared to be assessing him, like a project that he had determined to undertake but was not sure where to begin. With a sudden, brisk nod, he moved with purpose towards the bed and placed the bag near its head, opening it to withdraw its contents.
Curiosity drove John to step forward and see what Rodney was doing. On the bed now lay items lined in a neat row: several feet of rope, a blindfold, a thick-handled whip with a short, braided lash, a piece of rubber tubing. John stood shoulder to shoulder with Rodney as they looked down on the items. He felt an eyebrow rise as he glanced over to Rodney, who was now watching him warily.
"Still want to do this?" Rodney looked nervous.
John found his throat surprisingly dry and he had to swallow before answering. "I'm okay if you're okay."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Fine. Safe word?"
"Rodney..." he began.
"No." Rodney's voice was suddenly firm. "We do it my way or not at all, John. Safe word?"
"Fine. Peek-a-boo." John almost smiled back at Rodney's expression.
"Babylon 5 fan, are we? Well, then, are you ready?"
"What's that?" John pointed to the whip, not consciously stalling for time, but curious.
Rodney frowned. "It is the Athosian equivalent of a 'quirt'. I looked it up on the internet. I was researching ways of inflicting pain without leaving permanent marks. This was the best I could do with short notice. Don't worry, I've got some other ideas as well."
Dear god. Only Rodney. "Um, won't that get you in trouble at some point? I mean, if someone checks out your computer?" He pushed aside the mental image that the word 'quirt' drew up—men in pith helmets and opened necked shirts under a burning Indian sun, discussing the relative merits of whip-thin, nervy thoroughbreds. He knew his brain was just trying to distract him and he didn't want to be distracted now.
"Hello, genius here." Rodney sounded irritated. "I used Radek's laptop."
They both snickered simultaneously.
"Athosian?" The word suddenly registered. "Rodney, you didn't tell..."
Rodney interrupted. "Don't be an idiot. Well, not more than you have to be already. You know what's the marvelous thing about Teyla? You can go to her and say, "Teyla, I need x' and she will find it and give it to you with no questions asked." Rodney reached down and picked up the first of the ropes, coiling it in his hand as he lifted it off the bed.
"Ropes, Rodney?" John had very mixed feelings about that. He'd spent way too much time in general as a prisoner to feel anything good about the idea of being tied up, even with his tacit permission.
Rodney moved behind him suddenly, standing close enough that his next words moved the hair at the base of John's neck. "Oh yes." His words were soft but commanding. "I'm thinking you need this. You need someone else to be in complete control for a change."
John opened his mouth but no sound came out. He closed his eyes and shivered a little at the warm, moist breath on the back of his neck. To his chagrin, he felt his cock take a stirring interest in the proceedings. Now? Six weeks of no interest in anything at all and now you stand up and salute? He almost lost the next words that Rodney said to him.
"Take off your shirt." The voice was pure Rodney, but Rodney on a mission; Rodney giving orders to his subordinates in the lab, Rodney with a ZPM in sight.
John was startled to find his hands trembling slightly as he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off slowly over his head. With only the briefest of hesitation, he peeled off the dog tags as well, dropping both shirt and tags to the floor.
"On your knees." Damn. Who knew Rodney would be so good at this? Although, in retrospect, he should have known. No one as arrogant as Rodney could possibly fail to be demanding...to be authoritative...in a situation like this. John dropped to his knees almost without thought.
"To the bed," Rodney ordered and John found himself crawling forward on his hands and knees until he was at the foot of the bed. There was a long silence, in which he was tempted to look up and see what the problem was, but then Rodney was speaking again.
"Lie across the bed. Just your chest. Keep kneeling on the floor." Rodney's voice sounded oddly breathless and John found himself breathing harder as well. Soon. If he was lucky, soon Rodney would give him what he so desperately craved. What he needed to keep the memories—the addiction—at bay.
John knelt at the foot of the bed and folded his upper body across the bed spread, turning his head so that he lay with one cheek against the surface of the bed. He heard Rodney move forward and felt him pick up his wrist, winding the unexpectedly soft rope around it and binding his arm down to the bed. He realized as Rodney came around to tie the other arm that he was using the front legs of the bed to tie him down. He experimentally tested the strength of the bonds as Rodney stepped back and straightened. They were good—keeping his arms taut without placing unbearable pressure on them, just enough play that he could pull back slightly if he desired.
"Good?" Rodney questioned.
If he turned his head over his shoulder, John could just look up at Rodney as he stood next to the bed, a worried expression on his face. He looked away and growled into the bedspread. "For Christ's sake, Rodney. I'm not made of glass."
Unexpectedly, Rodney moved out of his line of sight behind him. He felt Rodney's foot suddenly shift his knees further apart and then the press of Rodney's leg between his spread thighs. Rodney abruptly grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling his head back and up off the bed.
"No?" Rodney's tone was miraculously detached. "I think you are. I think you are about to shatter into a million pieces and all the king's horses and all the king's men will not be able to put you back together again."
But you will. He suddenly knew this with sudden clarity. He knew this. He trusted Rodney to make it so. His head was released suddenly and he let it fall back to the bedspread. His breath came in short bursts again, causing his chest to expand against the mattress. He watched as Rodney stepped to the front of the bed and picked the quirt before moving back behind him again. He half expected Rodney to make a tentative swipe at his back initially, but he was startled by the force behind the first blow.
The lash of the quirt stung as it made contact and he jumped, jerking upwards off the mattress and held down only by the bindings on his arms. An involuntary gasp left his lips but before he could process the delicious sting of pain, the quirt was landing again.
"Think you could take this on all by yourself, did you?" Rodney's voice was hard and cold. The lash fell again, sending a blaze of heat along the fiery trail that had already been ignited. "But then, that's just you, isn't it?" Another stinging blow, this time over his shoulders. "Always the martyr. Too proud to ask for help."
"Rodney." He gasped into the bedspread, not sure what he wanted to say. It's not like that. But it was.
This time the lash curled around his ribs and he could swear it left a trail of burning coals in its wake. "No sacrifice too great for you, eh John?" Rodney's voice was mocking now. "Do you hold yourself in such little esteem?"
John was tempted to come back with a smart-ass comment about not being able to compete with the self-esteem of some people, when, if anything, the force of the lash was even harder, taking away any breath he had for speaking. The lash fell again and again, and despite the weight of the blows, his body began to accept them, his muscles contracting as they landed but nothing more. Eyes screwed tightly shut against the pain, moisture leaked from them anyway. His lower lip felt fat and swollen from where he had bitten down on it.
"Well, we place value on you here in Atlantis, John." Rodney's voice sounded harsh, ragged now. "Even if you don't. I'm not going to let you destroy yourself." The lash kissed the side of his neck, taking a sharp bite out of his ear and he felt the sting of it all the way down in his cock. He arched up off the bed at the blow, falling as it did along new nerve endings, sagging back when the ropes tugged at his wrists. This was good, impossibly good, better than anything he could ever remember feeling before. His blood began to sing in his veins; hours of running could not produce the feeling he had now.
"New territory," Rodney said suddenly, clinically, like a lecturing professor and then his hands were at John's waist, undoing his belt and pulling John's BDU's down around his knees. His briefs followed with a sharp jerk downwards as well. He felt the muscles of his ass twitch in breathless anticipation of what could possibly be coming next.
What he did not expect was the flat, broad surface of Rodney's hand making contact with his buttocks. His head jerked up with the connection. Rodney settled into a steady rhythm, the sharp crack of his hand on John's ass creating a deep heat that burned with every blow. The force of each strike had John bucking into the edge of the bed and before he knew it, he was grinding himself against the corner of the bed, fisting the covers and groaning with each blow.
The steady smack of Rodney's hand suddenly stopped. John couldn't help himself; he whimpered slightly at the loss of contact and continued to push his pelvis helplessly into the bed.
He could feel Rodney leaning over him now. The heat radiating off his ass made the presence of Rodney behind him suddenly and vividly clear, like radar.
"Um, John?" Rodney sounded uncertain. "Are you getting off on this?"
The heat of embarrassment was no less warm for John then the heat coming off his backside. He stopped moving his pelvis abruptly, collapsing against the bed. "Oh god," he breathed into the bedspread. "I'm sorry. I didn't know I would react...I mean, I haven't been able to...well, not since..." He broke off to lift his head off the bed and drop it repeatedly onto the surface again. Somehow it lacked the satisfaction that thumping his forehead against a wall would have achieved just now.
"Seriously? You haven't? You couldn't? I mean, not at all? Not once in the last..." His incredulous voice broke off as John slumped over the end of the bed. He wished that Ronon would walk in just now and make his humiliation complete before shooting him and putting him out of his misery.
Rodney moved in slowly and knelt between his legs. The rub of his clothing against John's inflamed ass was exquisitely excruciating and John gasped and thrust back against him involuntarily as far as he could before the ropes stopped him, his shoulders tightening with the effort. A hand snaked around his abdomen and he felt himself being pulled up and back into Rodney's embrace. The ropes were pulled taut. Rodney's other hand came around down the front of his thigh and slid over to his groin, cupping his balls. With a cry, John thrust forward, trying to put himself in Rodney's hand.
"Do you want me to stop?" Rodney's voice was in his ear, causing him to shudder deeply.
"No, please god, don't stop." He got a sharp nip on the ear in response and he almost came then. "Rodney. Please. Please."
He did not know what he was asking for until he felt Rodney's hand on his cock, pulling the ecstasy out of him with sure strokes, feeling the hard length of Rodney's own erection pressing in on him from behind, searing in the coarseness of clothing against his skin. He folded back down over the bed again to brace himself on his elbows, feeling Rodney come forward with him, covering him, the movement of cloth scoring each and every lash mark on his body. A hand moved its way up underneath his body to his chest and pinched a nipple viciously and that was it. John came with a cry, pulsing into Rodney's hand. He collapsed down on the bed, conscious that Rodney was withdrawing but unable to do anything about it. Behind him he could hear the sounds of clothing being unzipped; felt Rodney turn and sit down beside him against the bed. He became aware of the sound of skin against skin, recognized the rhythm and knew that Rodney was desperately jerking off. He turned his head and flopped it down on the bed again but all he could see was the top of Rodney's head and his shoulders as he hunched down over himself, rapidly moving one hand. There was the sound of Rodney's breathing that increased in pitch, small muffled sounds of increasing tension and then Rodney threw his head back against the bed, groaning as he did so.
For a long moment there was only the sound of breathing in the room. Slowly Rodney seemed to pull himself together; John could tell by his movements that he was tucking himself back in and zipping up his pants. When he bent back over John to untie his wrists, the smell of sex was strong on him. As soon as John's hands were free, he rolled and grabbed hold of Rodney's shirt, pulling him down on top of him.
"Whoa!" Rodney's hands landed on either side of John's head, bracing himself upright as he looked down in surprise. John placed a hand on Rodney's neck and pulled himself up or Rodney down, he wasn't sure which, but somehow they were meeting halfway. He kicked his legs free of his pants and wrapped one leg around Rodney's calf, pulling him in even closer. Part of him thought he should be freaking out just a little at the idea of kissing Rodney, but mostly he was just smugly satisfied at the realization that of course, Rodney would be good at this too. Oh yeah.
Because it only took Rodney a startled instant before he got with the program and then he collapsed over John, the weight of his body grounding John when he thought he would otherwise float away into a thousand shattered pieces. Rodney began to kiss him back with enthusiasm and the slide of his tongue into John's mouth was perfect, causing him to reach up and chase it with his own when Rodney pulled away. John let his head fall back as Rodney continued to brace himself by just his elbows, looking down on John with a myriad of expressions running over his features. Like heat lightening they appeared for an instant and were gone, arousal, startled pleasure, anxiety. The last one made him shift off John suddenly, despite the fact that he reached after Rodney with a hand as he moved away.
"Rodney?" John hated the neediness in his voice. It didn't even sound like him. It did however, stop Rodney in his tracks. He froze for an instant and then continued to rummage through the duffle bag which had gotten pushed off to the floor.
"Roll over." Rodney's voice was gruff. "I need to put some stuff on your back. So that it will heal faster. So that it'll be less likely to raise any questions, you know, in case you end up in the infirmary again."
John obligingly rolled over, crawling up the bed until he lay stretched out fully, resting his forehead in the crook of one arm. He felt Rodney kneel beside him on the bed, felt the mattress depress as he scooted closer. There was a small snick of a cap being opened and then he jerked when Rodney's fingers began working some sort of salve into his skin.
"Sorry. Sorry." Rodney's voice reminded John of his apology on the balcony and he smiled a hidden smile to himself. Soooo Canadian. The smile vanished when Rodney hit a particularly sensitive spot and he let out an involuntary hiss.
"That one is a bit deeper than the others. It's going to take me a few times to get the force and trajectory of the...well, you know, of the...well, anyway, I can't be expected to get it right every time and not leave some marks. The idea is welts that will quickly go away, so that..."
John pushed himself up on his elbows to half-turn towards the scientist. "Rodney," he said quietly. For an instant, he thought Rodney wasn't going to meet his eye but after a moment, Rodney turned an anxious expression towards him. "I...um, thanks. For, well, you know..." He made a helpless, flailing gesture with his hand, unable to articulate what he needed to say.
"Yes, well, what are friends for? I mean, we are still friends, right? We're good, right? I mean, it's not like I took advantage of you or something because seriously, I..."
John dropped his head to his forearm and thought briefly about hysterical laughter before rolling onto his back with a smile. He stretched one arm lazily over his head and draped the other across his abdomen, fingers splayed against his stomach. Rodney stopped speaking abruptly, mouth half open as he sat on the edge of the bed looking down at him.
"You didn't take advantage and we're good."
"Okay. Well then. Right." Rodney seemed to have to forcibly drag his eyes away and John reached out for him when he started to get up off the bed, grabbing his forearm.
"You could stay."
"Okay, just so you know, you're totally ridiculous when you're blissed out like this. Have you seen the size of these beds? You barely fit into it, let alone a second person. I know Atlantis is a military spaceship as well as a city, but seriously, how did they ever make little Ancients? Oh don't look at me like that..."
"Like what?"
"Like the cat that ate the canary. With a side dish of cream." Rodney's expression and tone seemed sour but for some reason, he did not pull away when John's hand began tracing small patterns on his arm. "Ridiculous. Smug. Delectable." He leaned in suddenly and kissed John on the shoulder, a small butterfly touch before withdrawing to scowl at him again.
"You're perfect the way you are," John said seriously. "Honestly, don't ever change."
Rodney looked startled for an instant and then smiled before ducking his head away. "Yes. Well. Right. So. Better now?" He looked back anxiously.
"Yes." John let his fingers continue to draw sleepy patterns on Rodney's arm. "For now."
"Good. That's good. No, very good." Rodney cleared his throat. "Okay then. I'll just be going." He didn't move. "Yes. Leaving now." He continued to stare down at John.
John raised a single eyebrow, allowing a lazy smile to form over his features.
"Or not," Rodney said breathlessly, bending his head to kiss John once more.
***
The air was sharp with cold and the skies a leaden gray, heavy with a silence that indicated impending snow. A light dusting of snow and ice already lay on the ground; the windows of the building they entered etched with feathery patterns of frost. They had met no one so far, despite the fact that Teyla's father had known this world to be inhabited with a moderate level of industrialization. The people of Keltan were known for their ability to mine raw crystals; Rodney had hopes of getting access to some material and being able to recreate the finished products used in nearly all Ancient technology—in a fraction of the time of the current manufacturing method. They had come through the gate in space and left the cloaked puddle jumper outside of town and walked into the main square.
No one seemed to be home.
There seemed to be no doubt that the Wraith had attacked, but whatever had happened on Keltan had happened some time ago. The corpses they had run across were brittle with age and rotten with damp, skeletons scored with the tiny teeth marks of rodents. The charred buildings no longer gave off any odor. The city had been devastated by the attack. If there had been survivors, they had left long ago. Nowhere in their explorations did they find a single space-worthy craft in the city. The eerie solemnity of the scene had the team moving in a hushed silence as they wound their way down the empty city streets skirting rubble and debris.
A few minutes debate had settled the issue as to whether or not to call the mission. Rodney had pointed out in his usual manner that the absence of people effectively eliminated the pesky problem of having to negotiate for any useful technology or materials they found. Teyla was able to lead them to the town hall; from there it was a matter of pulling out maps to determine the location of the crude crystalline ore. Blowing on his hands to warm them, John had indicated they move out, their slight crunching footsteps the only sound as they moved down the street to the warehouse.
It had been a good couple of months. John realized with surprise he was enjoying the brisk walk in the cold air, despite the grimness of their surroundings. For once the all out attack on a planet could not be blamed on his actions in awakening the Wraith—whatever had happened on Keltan predated that. The frigid air had a cleanness to it that filled his lungs and reminded him of the Sierras. Rodney had huffed a sigh of relief when they entered the building however, tipping back the hood on his parka and stuffing his gloves in his pockets so he could bring out his scanner. John's mind suddenly acknowledged that Rodney was the reason he was feeling so good.
It came as no surprise that Rodney had proved to be so extraordinarily inventive when it came to moderating John's addiction. What did surprise him was how much he'd come to look forward to these sessions with Rodney, and the anticipation of not knowing what was coming next only added to the thrill. Rodney had tied him up until his arms ached with the strain of being outstretched, had blindfolded him and teased his flesh with a myriad of sensations, had taunted him with heat, cold and even electricity (which was just plain bad and wrong and wow...). He had pinched with fingers, nipped with teeth, and inflicted needle sharp spikes of pain only to soothe it away with mind-blowing sex. To this he had added the element of risk as well, once or twice showing up and demanding that John blow him or jack him off in a place where they could easily be caught; a storeroom, John's office, the lab late at night. That risk served as a neat substitution for pain was a part of his psychological makeup he didn't want to investigate too deeply, but somehow Rodney had known it would work. Rodney had been perfect and wonderful and he found himself wondering how he ever managed without him, without this, before.
Just last night, as he lay on his back, chest heaving with the exertion of his recent orgasm, nerves sending little flickers of sensation over his body, he'd looked up to see an odd expression on Rodney's face. It was there and gone so quickly it might have been his imagination, save for the fact that Rodney had shifted his eyes away when he felt John's gaze rest on him. Questioning with a raised eyebrow, John had been unprepared for Rodney's rueful admission.
"I just wish things could be different."
He'd closed his eyes briefly then, knowing what Rodney meant and hearing what he could not say. He opened them again when Rodney rolled to face the ceiling as well.
"Me too," he'd said, sliding his hand down the inside of Rodney's wrist and lacing their fingers together. He'd lifted their joined hands briefly, squeezing Rodney's hand, before letting their hands fall back to the mattress.
Once inside the warehouse, they decided to split up. The facility was huge; the city maps had contained no specific details as to the processing of the raw ore.
"Now you kids check in every fifteen minutes, you hear?"
Teyla just rolled her eyes before she moved out. Ronon hesitated, pausing to glance back as he had half turned to follow her. "You guys going to be okay?" His question was unexpected.
John felt a small frown starting to form but before he could reply, Rodney thrust himself forward, placing himself between John and Ronon rather like a bull terrier facing down a cougar. "We'll be fine. You'd better catch up with Teyla."
Ronon's glance flicked, rapier-sharp, from Rodney's face to John's; lingering there just a shade too long before the corner of his mouth twitched in suppressed amusement. He moved off down the corridor to follow Teyla, his long leather coat swinging with the movement of his legs.
John arched an eyebrow at Rodney.
"I don't like the way he looks at you," Rodney huffed, re-adjusting the pack on his shoulder. "Like he's just looking for an excuse to kill you."
"I'm pretty sure if Ronon wanted to kill me, I'd be dead by now." John spoke mildly as they headed down the corridor in the opposite direction.
"If Teyla knew what you and Ronon had cooked up between you..."
John stopped him with a grip on his arm, knuckles white as he dug his fingers into Rodney's parka. "Teyla would kill me herself if she thought I were a threat to the expedition, Rodney. And she would have to live with that decision every day for the rest of her life. Which is why she must never know." He let go of Rodney abruptly, running his hand through his hair and forcing what he knew to be a weak smile across features. "Can we not talk about this anymore?"
He had to turn away from the startled, devastated look on Rodney's face. "C'mon," he said gruffly. "We've got a warehouse to explore."
They moved swiftly and efficiently through the rooms off the corridor, passing two of the mandatory check-ins before Rodney announced that they were wasting their time. From then on, a cursory glance in a room was sufficient to write it off as more office space before moving on to the next location. Finally they arrived at the top of a long staircase that descended ominously into darkness below.
John flicked on the light on his P-90 and swept the visible portion of the stairwell. Empty. He started to descend when Rodney touched his arm.
"I've got a bad feeling about this."
John paused on the step below Rodney, quirking an eyebrow as he looked up at him. "You always have a bad feeling about things, Rodney. You are the voice of imminent doom."
"No Colonel, I usually have a quite accurate grasp of the dangers of our situation and the probabilities of achieving a successful outcome verses going home in a box." Rodney's voice was tart. "I'm telling you this time, I have a bad feeling about this. As in a 'don't go back in the house you idiot' bad feeling."
John couldn't help grinning, however briefly. Rodney had flat out refused to watch Friday the 13th on the last team night gathering unless he was allowed to shout warnings to the 'imbeciles' in the movie and throw things at the screen when they failed to listen to him. Privately John thought this was just Rodney's personal way of defusing the horror of the film. He'd been disappointed to discover that life in the Pegasus galaxy had pretty much taken the thrill out of all his old favorite slasher films and Ronon had actually dozed off. Teyla had spent the entire movie calmly mending a leather vest.
Rodney was still standing at the head of the stairs, shoulders hunched, looking thoroughly miserable. "You don't think there are still any Wraith around do you?"
John felt a little frisson of unease trickle down his back, as though someone had trailed icy fingers down his spine. They'd been lucky, damned lucky so far that they had not run into any more Wraith since Ronon had joined the team. "No, of course not." He gave a mental shake as he spoke. "Keltan was cleaned out long ago, Rodney. Besides, if there were Wraith here, we'd know. Teyla would know." I would know.
"Yes, yes, I know you're right. It's just..." Rodney trailed off, one hand spinning helplessly. "It's just...well, I couldn't...you know, even if...John." His final word was broken, agonized.
"Yes you could. If you had to." John held Rodney's eye for a long moment before continuing. "Don't worry, it won't come to that." He spun on his heel to take the stairs at a more rapid clip than he otherwise would have done, his boots echoing hollowly on the metal frame.
They hit paydirt on the lower levels. John radioed Ronon and Teyla to come join them; they'd found the labs and Rodney was busy trying to reboot the computer system to get the information he needed on processing the ore into its crystalline form. John poked around while Rodney grunted and muttered at the computer screen, flapping an annoyed hand in his direction when he tried to ask how things were going.
"Go away," Rodney growled without looking up. "Busy here. Make yourself useful and see if there is any raw ore as well as finished product lying around here anywhere."
"That can wait until Ronon and Teyla join us." John stood positioned by the door so he could listen for the rest of the team. "Alien planet, remember, Rodney?"
"Fine. Whatever. Stop talking." Rodney wheeled himself away from the counter and over to another console, the force of a single push sending his chair where he wanted it to go. His hands began to fly over the alien control panel, his intent blue eyes flashing from one viewscreen to another. John turned his head away with a smile and stepped out into the hallway to watch for Teyla and Ronon's approach.
A small 'snick' of sound caught his attention—a tiny, mechanical sound that was at odds with the electronic whirring Rodney was bringing to life. John took a step back to look into the room and froze. For one awful moment, his heart ceased to beat as he tried to process what he was seeing, and then suddenly it rebounded in his chest, his blood thudding painfully in his ears.
Behind Rodney there was an opened black space in the wall that had not been there before. Belatedly, John's brain supplied the knowledge that it was a concealed door. The information seemed superfluous however, next to the fact that there now stood a Wraith warrior behind Rodney, one hand reaching out towards his oblivious shoulder. Something in the atmosphere registered with Rodney however, and he raised his head to stare with a frown at John, his face slowly devolving into horror at John's expression.
"Get down!" John thundered as the Wraith looked up at him and hissed; Rodney yelped and dove under the desk. The P-90 erupted with spurts of flame as it spat out its ammunition into the Wraith, driving its jerking body a few steps backward before it tried to move forward to Rodney's location. John held his position and continued to spray the back of the room with bullets, the rounds biting chunks out of Wraith, walls and equipment alike, glass panels shattering and sending debris flying. John finally stopped shooting when the Wraith slumped to the ground, one hand outstretched as it continued to reach for Rodney. In the deafening silence that followed, bits of paneling fluttered down to the floor like snowflakes. John loaded a new clip into the P-90 and rolled over the console in one swift move, landing on his feet. With a sharp kick to the ribs, he flipped the Wraith over, ready to shoot again if it so much as blinked. Its torso was soaked with blood, the holes too numerous to have sealed over. If it had gotten hold of Rodney, the Wraith would have used him to regenerate his wounds...
Underneath the console, he could hear Rodney's breathing coming in harsh gasps. "You okay?" He called out over his shoulder without taking his eyes off the Wraith.
"Yes, yes," Rodney sounded strained. "My god, where did he come from?" He crawled forward on his hands and knees until he was out from under the console and then sat down heavily against one of its legs, his boots crunching as they scraped against shards of plastic and glass. He raised a shaky hand to wipe grit from his face. "No Wraith registered when I scanned this area originally. Goddamn it, if a NOAH weather radio is capable of sending an emergency storm warning, you'd think the Ancient scanners could be reconfigured to send a Wraith alert!"
Ronon and Teyla burst into the room, guns drawn. "Wraith." John said succinctly as they relaxed minutely at the realization the situation was under control and came further into the room. "Don't know where it came from. There may be more."
Ronon leaned over the console to note the corpse on the floor and then met John's eye with a sardonically raised brow.
"Rodney?" Teyla's voice was worried; a tiny frown marred her forehead.
"Here, here." Rodney's hand waved from below the countertop and he pulled himself up nervously, brushing debris and dust from his clothes.
"Teyla, stay with Rodney. Ronon you're with me." John jerked his head towards the open door and the two of them cautiously checked the passageway before slipping into its darkness. He deliberately did not look at Rodney as they left the lab.
The doorway opened out into what was probably an access corridor within the warehouse. A small amount of ambient light filtered in from narrow windows above; otherwise the area was in semi-darkness and thick with shadows, dust and cobwebs. Ronon silently pointed out the single trail of footprints leading to the lab. Like a well-trained brace of hunting dogs, the two of them made their way down the corridor, scanning the area for other Wraith as they went. The door at the end of the corridor opened out onto a lab similar to the one they'd left behind, with one difference. An empty Wraith hibernation cocoon was contained within, the sticky strands of webbing encompassing several of the lab desks as it occupied one corner of the room. John radioed Teyla and reported what they found and that they were headed back.
On their return to Rodney and Teyla, Ronon theorized that the Wraith had been injured and left behind during the attack, possibly not regaining consciousness until the world had been evacuated, effectively stranding it there.
"Probably fed on the remaining survivors until no one was left and then went into hibernation. Must have woken up when we entered the building. That's why we didn't detect it right away."
John was silent as they walked back along the dark corridor, the light from his P-90 leading a wavering path in front of them. The damned thing almost got Rodney. How could you have let it get so close?
Ahead, the open door into the lab beckoned; the welcome light from within spilling into an elongated rectangle on the floor in front of them.
"You killed the Wraith." Ronon's voice came out of the darkness like a flick of the lash.
"He was going to eat Rodney." John growled his reply, angry all over again.
"Sheppard."
John turned to face him. Ronon's teeth gleamed wickedly in the dark half-light. "I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts."
It took another three heartbeats before Ronon's meaning registered, but by then the former Runner was laughing and walking through the open door.
***
John flew the jumper home on a wave of fierce elation, conscious of having beaten the Wraith at their own game, no longer a victim or an unwilling hostage to their plans. His sense of relief must have been contagious for Teyla was uncharacteristically chatty on the return flight, laughing and joking with a noticeably relaxed Ronon and suggesting dinner plans for the team after their debriefing. Only Rodney seemed to barricade himself behind his laptop, studiously reviewing the data collected from the planet and merely grunting only when someone spoke directly to him.
In order to gate to Keltan during its daylight cycle, they had left Atlantis near dusk. As they returned through the Gate now, the city gleamed in the darkness like the brilliant necklace of a rich and beautiful woman, the city lights reflected back in the surrounding black water with a shimmering glitter. My city. My home. As they approached, there seemed to be a sudden power surge, for the lights of the city intensified, shining out into the night sky like beacons. John caught his breath as he guided the jumper on its landing approach, letting it out in a subvocal 'wow' as the jumper headed for the landing bay.
When the jumper docked safely in Atlantis, Rodney was on his feet and out the rear hatch before John could say a word, promising to meet them for the debriefing after he retrieved something from the lab. The brightness in the bay was intense, causing Ronon to frown briefly and squint. "What's up with the lights?"
"The city has a weird sense of humor," John said in response, only half-jokingly. He'd meant to grouse about it, but somehow sounded more like he was smirking.
"No doubt a result of corruption by association." Teyla's voice was dry.
John shared a wry exchange of glances with her, struck by how very much he loved this beautiful, alien woman until Ronon's friendly smack on the shoulder staggered him as the Satedan warrior brushed past him to exit the jumper. He was still rubbing his shoulder when he turned back to see Teyla beaming up at him.
"Ronon is very glad that he no longer has to worry about being forced to leave Atlantis for killing you."
John felt his mouth gape open and then he snapped it shut abruptly. "Teyla, what makes you think..." he trailed off as Teyla shot him a 'you idiot' look worthy of McKay at his best.
"Yeah, well," he found himself floundering under her mock serious glare, "I left a letter explaining everything."
"That was very thoughtful of you, John. I'm sure that would have made everyone feel better." Teyla's voice was deceptively mild.
"Damn it, Teyla..." John began before Teyla suddenly grinned at him. He dropped his eyes and shuffled his feet slightly at her open amusement.
"It would be best for you to go find Rodney now." Her quiet words made him look up sharply. She was still smiling with affection at him, but she tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow when he did not move. She sighed with a slight shake of her head. "Rodney believes you no longer need him."
"What? That's stupid, of course I still..." John broke off to gape at her again, this time unable to control his reaction. He felt himself flush, the very tips of his ears burning with embarrassment. "I don't, it's not like we...I mean...well...what do you mean, Teyla?"
Teyla gave him a pitying look as she stepped forward and looked up through her lashes into his eyes. "John, you should realize by now that I always know everything." She patted him benignly on the cheek as she exited with jumper with her usual feline grace.
When Elizabeth detained him after the briefing and Rodney peeled out of the room like his labcoat was on fire, John began to suspect Teyla was right. When Rodney failed to show up for dinner and pled lab-related work as an excuse when called on the radio, John knew she was right. Someday, he would have to get the nerve up to ask Teyla if she were clairvoyant or merely telepathic.
Deciding that using the radio to track him down would only give Rodney a heads up that he was being sought, John went down to the labs to see if he could find him.
The labs were relatively busy, but there was no sign of McKay.
"Bad mission?" Radek Zelenka said succinctly after John stuck his head in the door and enquired about Rodney's known whereabouts and had received a shrug in reply.
"We got surprised by a Wraith."
"Ah." Radek's response was all-knowing. "The Wraith have very much been on Rodney's mind these last few months."
"Uh-huh." John was non-committal, reluctant but also curious to see where Radek would go with this. He suddenly had a clear mental image of Rodney in his quarters, saying 'hello, genius here. I used Radek's laptop...'
"Yes." Radek took off his glasses briefly and polished the lenses before replacing them, a delaying tactic John realized, while he thought about what to say next. "Yes," Radek repeated himself. "Since the time of your capture. Rodney has been worried, very worried about the Wraith." Radek's eye pierced John with its implied knowledge, yet gentled him with its overall friendliness. "First he would not sleep, had to stay down in the labs, yet he could not concentrate on his work either. Then he seemed to get better, but talked much of the Wraith, tried to calculate the odds on when the next time you would encounter one."
He looked around vaguely, as though a graph of Rodney's calculations might be lying around somewhere. Radek's 'you' seemed open to interpretation as to whether he meant the collective or the individual 'you', as in the team or just John.
"Huh." Well, that explained a few things.
"You should go find him. Talk to him. He listens to you. Well, as much as he does anyone." Radek shrugged again and turned back to his worktable, pretending not to be aware when John took his leave to go. Radek was a good guy, John thought as he headed in the direction of Rodney's quarters. Some day he'd tell him that.
He didn't have a clue what he was going to say as he stood in front of Rodney's door, hitting the chime and waiting to see if Rodney would let him in. He was about to ring it for a third time, not certain if Rodney was inside, but refusing to answer when the door opened to Rodney's furious "What?"
He stood in the doorway to his room glowering at John. His hair was damp from a recent shower and he was dressed in a disintegrating dark green t-shirt whose lettering was no longer legible, along with some ratty grey sweat pants. His feet were bare and looked oddly vulnerable.
"May I come in?"
Loaded words. John had once denied Rodney entrance to his own quarters when asked that same question and though Doranda seemed a lifetime away now, the memories of that fiasco and its aftermath still clung to him. Rodney had every right to turn him away under the circumstances, but John knew he wouldn't. In some ways, the insensitive, clueless McKay was a better person than he himself was and he knew it.
Rodney's self-protective aggression seemed to fold inward and he deflated, stepping aside to abruptly wave John into his room. John moved into the exact center of the available space and waited while Rodney suddenly darted around him and moved a large pile of clothing from the only chair and dumped it on the floor of the bathroom, mumbling about laundry day as he did so. He swept back into the room with a trash can in his hand, sweeping power bar wrappers from the tabletop into the can with the side of his arm, studiously avoiding John's eye as he babbled about being busy and not having time to clean up as usual. John waited patiently until he was about to pass by again in the direction of the bathroom to return the trash can when he snagged Rodney by the arm. Rodney froze like a rabbit at the first feel of the snare tightening around his neck and glanced up nervously at John's face.
Gently, John removed the can from his hand and set it down without releasing his hold on Rodney's arm. "Mind telling me what's going on?"
Roughly, Rodney pulled away, straightening his t-shirt as though girding for battle. "Going on? Nothing is going on. What makes you think something is going on?" His arms crossed defensively over his broad chest.
John had to fight to keep from smiling. Smiling at Rodney's classic behavior patterns would be subject to misinterpretation just now. "Well, I dunno Rodney. You blasted thought the briefing at warp nine, instead of boring everyone to tears with your latest findings on Keltan and then you skipped dinner. That's not like you. There was blue jello and everything."
"Until I had sufficient time to analyze the data collected at Keltan there was nothing of significance to report, trust me, I will thoroughly 'bore you' at some future time." Rodney's snappy retort was complete with finger quotes. "The need to analyze that data also prompted my skipping of dinner. And please, I'm not so shallow that blue jello is the epitome of all things gastronomic in my world."
This was Rodney at his self-contained worst; all clipped sentences and forcibly restricted movements. John felt his face fall a little; he really didn't know how to break through to Rodney when he was like this, short of really pissing him off and that seemed counter-intuitive at the moment. Of course, watching Rodney now, he got the impression that he was already seething with anger. Doubt suddenly assailed John; maybe he was wrong about everything and Rodney really just wanted him to go away now.
Rodney continued bitingly, "It's not like you really need me for anything in particular, is it, Colonel? Oh, and congratulations by the way, on your cure. You seem to have that Wraith addiction thing beat."
"Well, I dunno Rodney," John began slowly. "I think 'cure' is putting it rather strongly, don't you? The best that we can say is that I appear to be in remission." He waited a beat before continuing. "I mean, who knows? I could always be in danger of a relapse."
Rodney's eyes snapped up onto his face and locked onto him with such a mixture of defensive anger and hopeful longing that John found the courage to go on. "That is, always provided that you still want to help..."
Rodney took an involuntary step forward before he stopped himself and wrapped his arms tightly around his chest again. "Well," he said at last, "I of course would not be adverse to helping, provided you thought you still needed help."
John gave a little shrug and took a step closer as well. "I have it on good authority that voodoo is an inexact science. I think maybe, just to be on the safe side..."
Rodney suddenly stalked forward and grabbed his arm, pushing up the sleeve of his jacket and rotating his forearm to expose the wrist.
"Rodney," John frowned but did not pull away. Surely he didn't think... "You know I'm not cutting anymore."
"Shut up," Rodney spoke without looking up, making a big show of scanning first one then the other forearm. "I'm not looking for cut marks. I'm looking for Teyla crib notes."
Rodney's meaning sank in and he suddenly chuckled, curling his fingers into the waist band of Rodney' sweats and pulling him closer. Rodney came forward with the tugging of John's hands, stiffly at first, then melting into the contact to slide his hands up John's back. "Well, someone has to be helping you. You're normally not this articulate." Rodney muttered into the side of his neck.
Articulate this, John thought as he cupped Rodney's face with one hand and tilted his head for a kiss, his other hand wrapping itself around Rodney's waist. As always, the responsiveness and openness of Rodney's mouth surprised and delighted him. He'd kissed too many lovers before that seemed incapable of letting him in, and he himself had held back with someone with whom he'd had no personal connection. Rodney's mouth opened wide, hungry and inviting all at once. Once he let John in however, he seemed to fight for dominance over the kiss. John was having none of it, giving back as good as he got, gently pulling at those wide, mobile lips with his teeth before plundering Rodney's mouth with his tongue once more.
Rodney made an inarticulate noise that John was sure he'd deny under pain of torture was any sort of mewling sound and slid both hands down the small of John's back to cup his ass, pulling him in closer to Rodney's body as he began to rock against John's pelvis. The kiss continued, messy and uncontrolled, until they finally came up for air.
"Hold that thought," The corner of Rodney's mouth lifted in a crooked grin and he eased out of John's arms, reaching towards the ubiquitous duffle bag sitting near the dresser. "Go ahead and get undressed. I'll just grab a few things..."
"No."
"No?" Rodney halted mid-gesture and frowned at him, puzzled. John had the sudden feeling that people didn't say no to Rodney very often and he hurried to get his words out before any potential explosion.
"What do you want, Rodney? Tell me what you want. I'll do whatever you want." John's voice sounded dark with need to his own ears and he watched Rodney's eyes dilate until they contained only the thinnest of blue surrounding blown pupils.
"Fuck me. I want you to fuck me, John." Rodney's voice was husky and deep and his words made John's cock surge upwards in his clothing. "I want you to pound me into the mattress. I want you to push me right up into the headboard."
"Really?" He stepped in closer to look into Rodney's face, trying to keep the delight and incredulity out of his voice. There had been mutual hand jobs and blow jobs but, up until now, John had always bottomed for Rodney.
"Oh Christ, John." Rodney's expression was pained. "If you look at me like that, you won't even need to touch me. Hell, I'll be surprised if someone doesn't accuse me of statutory rape. You look like you're all of sixteen..."
"At sixteen I didn't know what I wanted, Rodney." As if to emphasize his point, John pulled Rodney's t-shirt up and off over his head, pushing Rodney backwards towards the bed. Rodney allowed himself to be pushed down onto the mattress, propping himself up by the elbows to watch John remove the remainder of his clothes, lifting his hips helpfully as John pulled off the sweats. John smiled to see that he wasn't wearing anything under them.
Rodney raised an eyebrow at his expression and then, still watching John, turned over on his hands and knees, dropping his head between his shoulders and presenting himself to John. Dropping even further, he supported his upper body with his head pressed into the bed and reached around with both hands to grab his ass and spread his cheeks open wide.
John took in a deep, shuddering breath. Dear god, if he thought Rodney had somehow looked vulnerable before...unable to tear his eyes away, he rapidly toed off his boots while simultaneously grabbing the collar of his t-shirt and pulling it over his head, flinging it aside as he undid his belt and dropped his BDU's to the floor. He stepped out of his remaining clothes while Rodney remained patiently and silently in place. The contrast between his current stillness and the activity and noise that John had come to associate with Rodney caused his hand to shake slightly as he opened the drawer in the night table beside the bed. Snagging the lube and a condom, he knelt on the bed behind Rodney, sliding in between his knees.
At the first touch of John's hands on his skin, Rodney sighed a little and trembled, pulling one arm back to rest his forehead on it when he could not take the strain any longer. His other arm went to join the first and he levered himself up on his hands, beginning to rock slightly at John's touch. John reached up as far forward as he could; bracing himself with one hand while using the other to smooth along the broad expanse of Rodney's shoulders, his own cock brushing Rodney's cleft as he leaned forward and kissed each vertebrae of Rodney's spine. His dog tags swung against Rodney's back as he leaned forward, causing an involuntary shudder as the metal touched skin. He sank back on his heels; grabbing the lube and clicking open the cap, working some of the gel into his fingers to warm it slightly before sliding his fingers between Rodney's cheeks and into that velvety, puckered heat. Rodney felt amazing, all smooth and tight and yet with each thrust of his finger, becoming increasingly loose and welcoming.
It was important to John to make this good for Rodney, better than good, the very best. He got lost in the action of finger-fucking Rodney, adding a second and then a third finger, pumping his hand into that warm smoothness, feeling how easily Rodney took him in, opened up for him. He angled slightly, searching for and then hitting the prostate, inordinately pleased when Rodney cried out incoherently at the touch. One of Rodney's hands flailed about briefly before fisting the bedsheets.
"Oh god, John. Now. Now."
What? Oh. Right. John pulled out his fingers and quickly rolled on a condom over his hard and leaking cock, which was apparently very pleased with sticking to the original plan. Slicking himself up, he guided himself into Rodney, the two of them simultaneously holding their breath as the head of John's cock breached the outer ring of muscle. So very tight, so very perfect. John continued unconsciously to hold his breath and bite his lower lip until he felt Rodney start to relax and move underneath him, releasing a shuddering sigh and pushing back against him so that John continued to slide inside. Kissing the back of Rodney's damp neck, John braced one arm down alongside Rodney's own and folded his body along Rodney's spine, pushing back.
"You tried to make this painful between us," he said breathlessly as he moved in cautious little thrusts against Rodney.
"Wha--?" Rodney's response was understandably a little incoherent.
He grabbed hold of Rodney's shoulder and thrust harder for emphasis. "This, this. This between us, you inside of me." He bit off the sentences between each push of his hips. "You tried to be rough, tried to make it hurt, but you couldn't, could you?"
Rodney responded by arching his spine and tipping his head back, then dropping to his elbows and letting his head sag once more as John pushed right up against his balls. "Um, sorry?" He gasped out.
John dropped his head to laugh into the warmth of Rodney's neck as the two rocked together. "Idiot." His voice was soft.
"John." Rodney's voice was harsh. "Touch me. Oh god, touch me, touch me, please."
John's free hand found the smooth, silky length of Rodney's cock, hard and straining forward as he gripped it, sliding firmly up and down its length. He picked up the pace of his stroking; trying to keep time with his own movements when Rodney gave a stuttering sort of cry and then John felt both the warm pulse of Rodney coming over his hand and the clenching of muscle around his cock. It was all he needed to come as well; he seemed to be emptying himself endlessly into Rodney until the two of them collapsed down onto the bed.
He knew he should move, but he didn't want to. He felt languidly anchored to this world, to Rodney and he didn't want to break the connection. It suddenly seemed important that he convey that to Rodney somehow, before he was forced to alter his position. Pressing his mouth to Rodney's ear, he gently pulled at the lobe with his teeth.
"Hey."
He took the responding murmur as an acknowledgement to continue.
"I don't ever want you thinking you're not necessary. You got that?" He hesitated, closing his eyes and dropping his voice as he continued to breathe into Rodney's skin. "I need you."
Rodney reached up and cupped the side of his face, fingers tracing little whorls into his hair. "Of course you do," he said, as though it had never been in question.
With a smile, John rolled off of him, already feeling the slight chill of drying sweat on his skin and missing the warmth that radiated off Rodney's sturdy form. He tossed the condom and thought drowsily about getting up to get a towel to clean them up, or maybe find a blanket, but he was mostly comfortable. Propping his head on his fist, John rolled onto his side with a yawn, one leg causally draped across the back of Rodney's thigh. John reached across and smoothed a hand along Rodney's shoulders, enjoying the cat-like stretch of muscle playing beneath his fingers. Rodney made a soft little cat-like noise as well, before turning his head to face John, opening one sleepy eye.
"You know, I think I'm mad at you."
Alarm flashed across Rodney's features and John could almost see the red alert sirens going off behind his eyes, even as his breathing hitched and he seemed to freeze in place. Really, John thought evilly to himself, Rodney would not be nearly so much fun to ramp up if his face were less expressive.
Carefully, as though John were a land mine about to go off, Rodney turned so that he was facing John. He could visibly watch Rodney withdrawing until there was no physical contact between them, despite the fact that on the narrow bed, a good deep breath would have put them chest to chest again.
"I didn't really think you would, okay, well maybe for a nanosecond, but jeez, if you could have seen your face, I mean, I've never seen such a murderous expression on anyone, let alone aimed at me..."
"Rodney..." John started, caught off-guard by the direction the babble was taking.
"Yes, I know, not aimed at me, but in my general direction and I was actually relieved to discover there was a Wraith behind me because that explained everything except then oh, god, Wraith behind me..."
John couldn't stand it any longer. He grabbed Rodney by the back of the neck and pulled him in for a bruising kiss that soon had arms and legs entangled again, all thoughts of cold banished.
"And then you shot the Wraith," Rodney continued when they came up for air, as though he had never been interrupted, fingers trailing lazily along John's lower back. John was pleased to note that his breathing was slightly ragged however. "You shot the Wraith and it was like 'yay, big celebration' only..." he hesitated and dropped his eyes under ridiculously long lashes. "Only, I didn't know where that left me."
"Rodney," John growled softly. "You really thought I was going to kill you?"
"Only for a split second! If that even!" Rodney's eyes flew upwards again, round as saucers.
John felt his mouth twitch. "Well, that wasn't what I had in mind when I said I was mad at you."
"It wasn't?" Eyes narrowed in suspicion. God, this game of Rodney-baiting was never going to get old, was it?
"No." John felt the grin take over as he pushed on Rodney's shoulder. "Seriously, McKay, 'Teyla crib notes'?"
Rodney relaxed underneath him, even as his crooked smile appeared and strong arms snuck up behind John's shoulders, pulling him in closer until John was settled comfortably against his chest. "Look me in the eye and tell me that Teyla didn't have something to do with you coming here tonight."
"Uh, well..."
"You see! You see! I was right!" Rodney pushed him back and swatted at him.
John caught his hand. "There's a big difference between someone putting a word in your ear and...and..." John struggled for the right words even as he tried to keep Rodney's hand contained.
"Giving you a swift kick in the ass?" Rodney supplied gleefully.
"I was going to say 'and being coached on what to say'." John tried for stern and knew he was failing miserably when Rodney continued to smirk at him. He dropped his head into Rodney's shoulder and smothered a laugh into his skin. "We owe Teyla big time, huh?" He managed at last. "We'll have to do something really nice for her."
"Don't worry," Rodney patted him on the shoulder kindly. "I'll think of something."
~fin~
Summary: What if the reverse feeding process by the Wraith was *addictive*? Another episode tag for 'Common Ground'.
Categories: Slash Pairings > McKay/Sheppard
Characters: Carson Beckett, Elizabeth Weir, John Sheppard, Radek Zelenka, Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, AU - Alternate Universe, Character Study, Episode Related, First Time
Warnings: Adult themes, May squick
Chapters: 1 [Table of Contents]
Series: None
Word count: 23084; Completed: Yes
Characters: Carson Beckett, Elizabeth Weir, John Sheppard, Radek Zelenka, Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, AU - Alternate Universe, Character Study, Episode Related, First Time
Warnings: Adult themes, May squick
Chapters: 1 [Table of Contents]
Series: None
Word count: 23084; Completed: Yes