These two 'drabbles' (they're a little long) were originally posted to the mckay_sheppard Live Journal Community's Third Drabble Tree. The highlighted sentences were taken from previous drabbles in the tree.
"Please, John," Teyla was saying, and wow, but if Rodney needed a kick-in-the-gut reminder about how very, very serious this was, the fact that she was using the Colonel's first name was sure as hell doing it. "You must put the gun down, now. Let us help you."
"No, I'm good," John said, "but thanks." His grin was enormous, beautiful. He looked happier than Rodney had ever remembered seeing him. And if he hadn't currently had one hand fisted in the back of Rodney's bloodstained t-shirt and the other almost casually pointing his P90 at Teyla, Rodney would probably have been overjoyed to see it--it was hard to remember the last time John had been genuinely happy.
"Don't kill her, John," Rodney said frantically. He had his arms up, non-threatening, though he was still trying to decide if he should make a grab for the gun or not. "Please, please, please don't kill her."
"I'm not going to kill her, McKay," John said. His voice was light and happy and completely reasonable. "She's a robot. The bullets'll only incapacitate her a little. But I know she doesn't want that, so I'm hoping she'll back off and let us get to the Jumper bay."
"I assure you, John," Teyla said. "I am most real. And I cannot let you leave with Doctor McKay in this state."
"That's what all the robots say," John said, then laughed, like that was really funny. He made a tiny stabbing motion with the P90, and Rodney squeaked a little. John took a step forward, yanking Rodney along with him. "Seriously," he said, "back off or you'll be needing a new CPU."
"Oh, god!" Rodney said. "You need to listen to her. You really, really do. You're high as a kite and you're not thinking straight and it would be an extremely bad idea to fly a jumper in this condition, and we really, really need to get you to the infirmary because you apparently think that everyone in Atlantis is a Cylon, and that cut you made on my arm hurts a lot and--"
"I'm truly sorry about that, Rodney," John said, sweetly contrite. "But I had to make sure you were real." He took another step forward; his P90 was practically grazing one of Teyla's eye-sockets, but she didn't flinch. "I promise--once we get back to the real Atlantis everything will make sense. You just have to trust me." He glowered at Teyla. "Let us go, or I swear I'll plaster whatever passes for your brains across the wall."
"I do not wish to hurt you, John," Teyla said.
"That's great." John grinned again. "'Cause I really don't give a shit if I hurt you."
Rodney saw John's trigger hand move, and he threw himself into John, shoulder against John's chest, carrying them both into the wall. He heard John's head crack as it hit, but no sound of gunfire. Thank god.
Teyla rushed over, pulling the P90 out of John's lax fingers and sliding it far away from them down the corridor. Rodney tilted himself up to a sitting position against the wall, cradling his arm while he watched Teyla check John's pulse, then use her radio to call the infirmary.
"I do trust you," Rodney said wearily. He let go of his hurt arm to rest his hand on John's chest, then leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Under normal circumstances, anyway."
Wasn't there another word for this, for this controlled fall through the sky?
"I can't remember," Rodney says. He's staring up at John's face. "I don't know what it's called."
"It's okay, that's okay," John says, but his voice is tight and worried, and Rodney knows John didn't understand him. "We'll be home soon. You'll remember then--you'll be all right."
One of John's hands is wrapped around his own, and it feels sticky and hot. Rodney turns his head a little, and sees that there's blood on John's hand, a lot of it, and a plastic line trailing up. Attached to one of them? It's hard to tell which arm it might be attached to. That's a bad thing--the plastic and the blood, but he doesn't know why. "Were you hurt?"
"Damn it, keep him still!" Carson. Is that Carson? Rodney doesn't remember how he got there. He's sure Carson wasn't there before... before something...
The sound John makes is like a laugh, only it looks almost like it hurts him. "No, Rodney," he says, "I'm fine." He puts his hand on Rodney's chest, but Rodney can't really feel it. "You need to stay still, okay? Carson is helping you, but he needs you not to move."
"Okay," Rodney says. He blinks, realizing. "We're in a Jumper," he tells John. "Why aren't you flying?"
Flying. That's the word. The one he was looking for. "Flying," he says happily, so he can explain. "I remembered."
"That's great," John says, but he's smiling like he's not really pleased at all, and his hand around Rodney's tightens so much that it might hurt a little, except it's hard to feel anything at the moment--all surface things, nothing deeper, nothing inside. "Lemieux is flying." John's smile gets wider, but it looks strange, something wrong with it. "I have to do stuff back here."
"Oh," Rodney says. He thinks a moment. "I'm cold. I don't feel very well."
"I know," John says. His hand is still hot, which is nice, but Rodney should feel how tight the fingers are around his, but he can't. "But we'll be home soon. You'll feel better then, I promise."
John glances at Carson, then away.
"Okay," Rodney says. He turns his head again, so he's looking straight up, at the ceiling of the Jumper. He can't feel it moving, but there's a reason for that. You never feel the Jumpers moving, no matter how fast they are.
"We'll be home soon," he says, to the warm metal above him.
And he can feel it: drifting, flying up, away...
Summary: Old vignettes that had been posted on Live Journal, but hadn't yet been archived here.