Sleep
Part I here.
John always sleeps in the middle. His twin lies sprawled on his back, but John curls on his side, cuddling up to Shep, head pressed under his arm. His tail stretches out the other way, winding around Rodney, hugging him close, so Rodney doesn’t feel abandoned. He would like to sleep next to Shep occasionally; and they’d both enjoy a turn in the middle; but whenever they try it, John sleeps fitfully, squirming and thrashing his tail. At some point in the night he will clamber over one partner in his sleep and wedge himself between them, inevitably waking one; or both; though he will fall into instant, contented slumber himself. They tolerate it with fond amusement, because it is clear that John still needs their tactile reassurance for easy sleep, even though the nightmares are infrequent now, and much less harrowing.
There are times, for no apparent reason, or triggered by something he has seen or heard, that John will tremble in his sleep and whimper, like a child or a kitten, making strangled mewling noises in his throat. His tail will tighten until it wakes Rodney, if he hasn’t woken already, and if they don’t hold him and calm him, soothing and stroking away the dreams, he will begin to thrash and cry out, sounds of protest, abject and terrified: ‘No!’ and ‘Please…’ and names, many names, of people living and dead. He rarely wakes during these episodes, but on the days following, he is irritable, tense and withdrawn.
In the weeks after they lost Shep, John at first refused to come to bed at all. He caught snatches of sleep, cat napping throughout the day, frequently nestling on cushions in the control centre, Rodney’s domain. If Rodney was working at the central console, John would drag his cushions over and lean his head against the warm, slick metal, that hummed musically just below the threshold of his hearing. It reminded him of the City, of Atlantis, though the music wasn’t the same. He would wind his tail around Rodney’s leg, so that he couldn’t stray out of reach, and Rodney’s assistants grew used to having to jump to his commands, when he was on ‘John sitting’ duty and couldn’t tend to outlying machinery. Nobody complained, because if Rodney himself could put up with this obstacle to his all-important work, they knew it must be important; and besides, everyone had a soft spot for John. For Daniel, too, but Jack was possessive and it was easier to show their sympathy for John.
Rodney, it had to be admitted, took slight advantage of this philanthropic tendency of the castle’s inhabitants. He would ask for things; coffee, food; saying that John wasn’t eating properly and he was anxious. Everyone knew that the things were for Rodney, and that John wasn’t likely to starve because Rodney could never go for long between mealtimes himself, and would always ensure John ate with him. They brought them anyway though, and would be rewarded by a conspiratorial twinkle and grin from John for their trouble. Besides, Rodney was working, for all their sakes, so it seemed the least they could do to thank him.
The doctors among them became increasingly concerned with John’s state of health, however, and urged Rodney to get him to sleep on a more normal schedule. It suited both of them that Rodney would work late, by which time they were both pretty tired, and John could be dragged to bed with only minimal protest. They slept at the castle, because Rodney wasn’t giving John the slightest chance of sneaking away to the jets, and the castle gate was always under guard. Not that John showed any inclination to escape, but Rodney didn’t want to put him in the way of temptation.
At first, John would lie still and tense, staring at the ceiling, his inner turmoil betrayed by his tail which coiled and shuddered like a distressed snake. Rodney coaxed, pleaded, ordered, ignored; nothing seemed to work, and Rodney had to give up when his own exhaustion overcame him, wondering each morning just how much sleep John had had. One night, it occurred to Rodney that they hadn’t had sex since the third member of their partnership went missing; John hadn’t initiated, and Rodney hadn’t felt it would be fair to push. It was the last remaining solution though, and he was determined to break this destructive cycle before John pined his way into a relapse. To his surprise, John responded willingly, if rather demurely, to his advances; and when they had both come, John threw himself at Rodney and clung to him fiercely, while Rodney stroked and whispered awkward reassurances until John fell asleep.
When they woke in the morning, their skin was stuck together by the residue of their combined release, but John smiled at him and actually looked rested for once. Thereafter, Rodney made sure that sleep was always preceded by sex, no matter how tired he was, and John would drift off, secure in his arms; although there were frequent interruptions in the night, when he would call out in a lost voice for his twin, and Rodney could trace the wetness on his cheeks.
There were other nights, not many, when John had had a bad day for some reason, and would take himself off somewhere to brood. Usually, eventually, Rodney would find him, and scold and coax gently until he got him to come to bed. One time, John was not to be found anywhere, and Rodney became really anxious, stirring up the rest of the castle inhabitants to help search for his missing lover. It was Jack who eventually got him to appear, telling him in no uncertain terms that he could suffer a spanking from him or from Rodney, but if he didn’t come out *now*, it would be Jack, and he wasn’t going to go easy on him. Rodney had been thoroughly frightened, imagining the worst, and that made him angry. For once, he didn’t coddle John’s mental state, ignoring the puppy-eyed apologies, and dragged him off for a sound thrashing. John wriggled away in the middle of his punishment and pounced on Rodney, kissing him enthusiastically, and Rodney’s fear and outrage were washed clean away by the best sex he’d had since Shep’s departure.
John didn’t hide himself again; not until the day Shep turned up at the castle gate, full of his lopsided smile and casual apologies and back slapping hugs for all. Rodney came barrelling down into the courtyard as though the Wraith were on his tail, sprinted over to Shep, smacked him hard across the face, and enveloped him in such a ferocious hug that Shep was practically wheezing by the time he managed to persuade Rodney that he hadn’t returned just to die of being throttled. Their reunion took some time, understandably, before people started to wonder why John wasn’t central to the tableau of the Prodigal Son returned.
John, on hearing the rumour that his twin was at the gate, had turned one shade short of deathly pallor and sprinted for the castle roof, climbing the scaffolding of the Ferris wheel like a monkey before his legs gave out and he collapsed in a heap in the topmost bucket. He stayed there until dusk was falling, huddled in a foetal ball with his tail around his head to muffle his eyes and ears, blanking out the world and his thoughts. He might have stayed up there all night, but they came looking for him, of course; Jack muttering imprecations (it was drawing near the full moon, and he was short of temper) until Shep put a hand on his arm and laughed, and said he could handle it, thank you, and would people take Rodney back inside and give him chocolate or something, and Shep would bring John to them shortly.
Shep considered, and made his way up to the roof. They had already swept that area once, since Rodney knew John liked to brood up there by the battlements, and even turned on the floodlights, but there had been no sign of him, and no answer to their calls. Shep stood at the bottom of the darkly looming Ferris wheel and looked up into the starry night.
“John?” he called softly. “I know you’re up there. It’s me, John. We think the same, remember? You going to come down now, or do I have to come up and get you?”
Of course, he could have just turned the wheel on and rotated the buckets until John was at the bottom, but that seemed somehow unfair. Getting no answer, Shep sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and took hold of the metal girder above his head. Rodney would have sixty fits watching him climb like this, he thought to himself, and grinned as he scaled the massive wheel. Sure enough, when he drew level with the topmost bucket and could peek over the rim, there was his twin, in the perfect hiding place; the one part of the castle Rodney’s sensors couldn’t pick up, higher even than the topmost turret.
Shep wrapped one arm around a strut to anchor him, heaved himself up on tiptoe, and reached down inside the bucket to tug at John’s tail.
“Twin,” he said firmly. “Stop it. Are you trying to give Rodney a heart attack?”
An eye peeked up at him over the barrier of tail.
“If you come down now, I promise I won’t let Jack get at you. Me and Rodney… not so sure.” Shep grinned, his eyes alight with mischief and affection, but guilt and sadness softened their customary twinkle.
Two eyes then, regarding him neutrally, cool and assessing. Suddenly, the tail shot out, circling Shep’s neck and nearly pulling him from his precarious perch.
“Hey..!” Shep cried out, clutching at the side of the bucket to steady himself, but John was standing, surging to his feet and making the whole contraption wobble dangerously. Then he was right there, arms and tail about his twin, holding him safe and pressing his face into Shep’s neck. They stayed like that for long minutes, then climbed down together and went to find Rodney, no words needing to be said. They were together again, and that was all that mattered.
John slept soundly from that night onward, providing he was sandwiched between his lovers. There was still the occasional bad dream, but he could be soothed quickly back into slumber, and falling asleep was no longer a problem. He would be out like a light the moment he laid his head on Shep's shoulder, smiling and stretched out like a contented cat.