Part Two - Nonlinear System
Back to Part One.
Rodney’s trying to help, watching where the fire’s coming from and passing it to John whenever he can. The shots are coming faster, the crackle of the energy denser now they’re certain they’ve found a target. Rodney’s sure they’re getting closer because he can make out individual words from the shouted orders behind them.
They seem to run for much longer than it took to walk in, and Rodney is beginning to think that Sheppard’s gotten turned around in the trees, and that they’re lost. Then there are two clicks on the radio, and John is leading them into the clearing where the cloaked jumper lays waiting.
He tucks Rodney behind the inadequate cover of a tree trunk, pulling him down as he turns to face their attackers. He lays down a barrage of covering fire, then glances down at Rodney.
~~~
“… of course I’m not saying that. Obviously we want the best care for him, but I know how they work. Once he’s out of here, his future is out of our control.”
Rodney feels groggy and … hung-over? His head aches and his throat is sore, and if he just stays quiet, maybe Sheppard and whoever it is will take their issues elsewhere and let Rodney sleep.
“John, I appreciate your concern, but Carson has assured me that we’ve done as much as we can here.”
“That’s true, Colonel. This facility was not intended for the treatment of major head traumas. It’s basically a glorified field hospital. I don’t have the expertise or the equipment necessary to diagnose his injuries. I’ve stabilised him, and he’s off the critical list, but if he’s going to get better, he’s going to need a lot of help which I can’t give him.”
Sheppard and Elizabeth and Carson. Huh. Senior staff. Perhaps Rodney is supposed to be paying attention to this stuff. Please don’t say he’s fallen asleep in the conference room again.
“You have a medical centre built by Ancients, Carson…” Sheppard’s voice has taken on a sharpness that Rodney knows well. It’s the one he uses when he’s been backed into a corner. He rarely gets angry in the way Rodney would define angry (shouting, biting sarcasm, plotting messy and humiliating revenge and throwing stuff around), and this hard voice is normally as close as he gets. He wonders what has gotten Sheppard this pissed even as he wonders idly why he can’t move his arms.
“Aye, and we have no idea how half the bloody stuff even works yet,” Carson says, then sighs. “Colonel, I want him back to his usual unlovable self as much as you do, and it’s not beyond the realms of possibility. He still has a lot of swelling around the medial temporal lobe that only time is going to improve. When that happens we’ll have a better idea of whether there’s permanent damage, and what form that damage might take.”
“Look, I just… they have no idea how critical he is to this mission, and how much we need him here…”
“I agree, but he stands a better chance of recovery back on Earth. If he has any hope of regaining his former health and becoming our Head of Science again, it’s in the hands of specialists.” That’s Elizabeth. Rodney’s pretty sure that Elizabeth’s best ‘let’s all calm down and be reasonable’ voice doesn’t work on Sheppard.
“They have several options they’re willing to try…” And now Carson is doing his soothing, bedside manner thing. That doesn’t work either.
“Like what?” the colonel snaps off and Rodney doesn’t need to see the exaggerated slouch, crossed arms and tight lips that go with that tone of voice to know they’re all there. Sheppard’s pissed as hell - he totally called it.
“Well, there’s a specialist neurological trauma hospital in Chicago who have some experience of this type of injury. There’s a chance that one of the SG teams will encounter a Goa’uld sarcophagus which I think would be worth trying despite the documented risks, and Colonel Carter and Vala Mal Doran have the ability to use a Goa’uld healing device, although neither of them have had overwhelmingly positive results in the past. But each of those is an option we don’t have here, Colonel.”
Rodney wonders what poor bastard they’re discussing; he can’t think of anyone who’s been that badly injured recently.
Sheppard doesn’t say anything for long enough that Rodney wonders if they’ve walked away. Then a weight lands on his knee that’s warm enough for him to feel it through the blankets.
Blankets.
He’s in bed still?
“And what happens if they can’t fix him? What then?” Sheppard again, closer.
“Rodney’s sister is his next of kin, and it will be up to her…”
“Atlantis is Rodney’s life, Elizabeth. Nobody knows and loves this city better than him. If you take that away, then what does he have?”
Rodney’s first thought is that Sheppard, although broadly correct, is still selling him short, and that he’s not taking into account things like his cat. Or Radek, Teyla and Ronon. Or Carson. Or the thing he had with Katie. Or his love of video golf. Or chess. Or this strange, unexpected friendship that’s developed between himself and Sheppard. And, yes, okay, all of those things, other than Fluffy, have come out of being on Atlantis, but still, Rodney would like some credit for having a life outside his work, no matter how tangentially related they might be.
His second thought is, ‘oh, fuck’.
~~~
“Ready?”
“Wh… for what?” Rodney yelps over the noise of weapons discharging.
“I’ll cover you to the jumper.” Part of the tree above their heads gets blown apart in a spectacular shower of splinters, but John doesn’t even blink. “Teyla and Ronon are already in position, you establish a wormhole to Atlantis and tell them we’re coming in. Be ready to take off as soon as we’re all on board.”
“But what…”
“Go.” John stands up and lets fly with enough gunfire to make Rodney’s teeth rattle in his jaw. He curses inventively and runs, keeping low and deactivating the cloak as he gets close. There are energy volleys whistling past his ears, close enough that he can feel the heat.
~~~
Transcript of interview between Dr. Kirstin Kegel and Dr. Rodney McKay. January 23rd, 2009.
KK - Good Afternoon, Dr. McKay. I’m Dr. Kirstin Kegel. I’m attached to the Stargate programme as a consultant psychologist. They’ve asked me to assess your progress and adaptation to Atlantis.
RM - Yes, so I heard. Hello.
KK - Please take a seat. We’ve met on three occasions since your accident for similar evaluations.
RM - Really? I’m terrible with names.
KK - (laughs) Very good, Doctor. So, you’ve been told that I’m recording this interview and that a copy will be forwarded to you. Is that all right?
RM - Yes. Fine.
KK - Thank you. So, how are you today?
RM - Fine. I understand that my appointment with you was actually scheduled for yesterday, but that I had a… uh… bad day. I apologise for that.
KK - No apology necessary. Who told you about that?
RM - John. Colonel Sheppard. Of course, he didn’t put it that politely.
KK - (laughs) So even though your working relationship has changed, you still maintain a friendship with the colonel?
RM - Yes, of course.
KK - And how about with Teyla Emmagen and Ronon Dex? Do you still consider them friends?
RM - Yes. You’ll have to ask someone else how often I see them, but I still consider them to be my friends.
KK - Do you miss working with your team?
RM - Well, no. As far as I’m concerned, we travelled offworld together only three days ago. I understand that in reality it’s been almost two years since I was included on an away mission, but I don’t miss it except in an abstract manner. Knowing they’ve been places without me, that sort of thing.
KK - You’ve found that hard.
RM - Today? No, not hard, just… strange.
KK - So how did you feel this morning when you were told about your condition?
RM - Just peachy, thanks.
KK - So, angry? Frightened? Surprised? What?
RM - Well, of course angry. Every day I have to get back up to speed on the work I was doing the day before - it’s not like I can trust any of the cretins they’ve shipped here to do it. The pace at which I work has been seriously curtailed.
KK - But on a personal level, do you have feelings of resentment? Hostility? Despair?
RM - I don’t know about the last twenty-two months, but not today.
KK - And how did you find out about your injury this morning?
RM - John wasn’t offworld, so he came and sat with me.
KK - Does he often do that?
RM - How would I know?
KK - Do you think he finds that frustrating?
RM - You’re asking the wrong guy. He was outside a minute ago - do you want me to go and get him?
KK - No, thank you. I was simply asking you to imagine how you would feel if your places were reversed, for example.
RM - I don’t know.
KK - You’ve never considered the effect your injury has on your colleagues?
RM - I only have about eighteen hours a day to have my freak out, then get on with my work. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for insightful thoughts about what a burden I’ve become.
KK - So it would be fair to say that other than the effect that it’s had on your work, that you are reconciled to your condition?
RM - I suppose so.
KK - And you’re not unduly concerned about your future or opportunities that you will perhaps find it hard to…
RM - Look, Dr…whatever. The point is, there’s nothing we can do about it. I gather I was seen by Earth’s finest and that every piece of alien tech we’ve encountered was inflicted upon me, but nothing helped. Now I agree that a weaker mind might have caved under such a cruel twist of fate, but thankfully I was never the introspective type. It’s done. I still have my work, and my IQ is intact, and although I apparently have good days and bad days, the bottom line is that I am still a valuable, contributing member of this expedition.
KK - That was never in question, Dr, McKay. What I came here to assess was your emotional and social integration.
RM - Oh. Why?
KK - To assess your overall well-being. To ensure that you were emotionally stable. To make sure that this is the right place for you to be.
RM - How do you mean?
KK - To make sure you’re happy here, Dr. McKay.
RM - Well of course I am. This is my home.
KK - But you must understand that this is going to become more difficult the longer you’re here. Your friends will move on. New staff will take their places. Your injury has had no effect on your life expectancy, Dr. McKay; one day you will be an old man, surrounded by people you don’t recognise.
RM - Well that’s going to happen wherever I am.
KK - That is true, but a city isolated in another galaxy and also in a war zone is a difficult place to be alone. One day…
RM - One day is all I ever have, Doctor. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.
~~~
Rodney doesn’t look up when Sheppard slides his tray onto the table and slouches down into the chair opposite. It’s not until they’ve both sampled today’s offerings and found them unremarkable that Rodney finds some words to offer.
“It occurs to me that I don’t actually know you anymore. You know everything about me, and I…”
“You know me just fine, Rodney,” Sheppard says, cutting him off gently.
“No, seriously, anything could have happened to you and I’d have no idea at all,” Rodney persists, finally looking up at Sheppard.
John just rolls his eyes and toys with his silverware.
“So, have you been promoted?”
“No.”
“Defied massive odds and come back from certain death?” Rodney asks. “Again?”
“Couple times,” John shrugs. “Once thanks to you.”
“Huh, really?” Rodney says, surprised, but refuses to be sidetracked. He’ll revisit it later. If he remembers. “Okay. Written a novel? Been on Oprah?”
“Nope.”
“Beat me at chess?”
“More than 90% of the time.”
“Liar. Have you given up the Air Force and gone back to finish that thesis? Got your doctorate?”
“No.”
“Seeing anyone? Got married? Had kids? “ Rodney ignores the panic that’s building in his chest. He wants to stop. He doesn’t really want to know - to hear about how Sheppard and everyone else is having a life and moving on just like Kegel was suggesting. Just like he’ll never do.
“Rodney…”
“Have you? Are you?”
Sheppard meets his eyes, and Rodney can see some of his own despair reflected back at him. “No, Rodney, I haven’t.”
“But you could have done. And I would never know.”
“I’d tell you,” Sheppard insists immediately.
“You might not be here to tell me.” Rodney realises that the mess hall has gone quiet around them; polite, nervous conversations starting up everywhere he looks. He stares back down to his tray, but none of it looks appealing anymore.
John picks up his coffee and takes a sip, ignoring the too-bright conversations that suddenly fill the room. He leans forward and braces his elbows on the table. “What did she say to you this time?” he asks softly.
“Who?”
“Kegel.”
Rodney doesn’t reply. He drinks his cold coffee and shakes his head.
John sighs and wipes his face with his hand. “At least you’re talking this time. Last time you shut yourself in Lab Four and stayed awake for forty-nine hours straight. We had to wait until you finally fell asleep before we could get the doors to unlock. You kept changing the encryption.”
Rodney surprises himself with a snuff of laughter and Sheppard gives him a twist of his lips that passes for a wry smile.
“Look,” John says, “I left “Dark Knight” in your room last week.”
“Dark Knight? As in Batman…?”
“Yeah. S’cool.” John grins, gets up and waits for Rodney to follow, lifting both their trays easily and bussing them as they leave.
Rodney wonders how Sheppard has this ability to distract him, to make him want to participate in pointless pursuits when there are much weightier issues to be pondered. He wonders how his life would have been if John had been a childhood friend, dragging him away from his books and homework with offers of adventure. He wonders if happiness would have been a good trade for brilliance. But he allows himself to be corralled out into the hallway, propelled along by the guileless enthusiasm and subtle teasing that Sheppard employs when he wants something.
“It’s a great movie. You’re gonna love it. Again.”
Rodney punches John on the arm pretty hard, but John just grins once more and sets off toward the transporters.
~~~
Ronon joins Rodney as they throw themselves up the ramp. While Rodney slides into the pilot’s seat and powers up, Ronon starts picking off Genii targets one by one and making enough noise to cover Teyla and John’s retreat to the ship. Rodney can’t engage the shield until the rest of the team is onboard and he growls impatiently as discharge after discharge hit the jumper.
Rodney raises the shield and is already off the ground before the hatch has closed, passing the controls off to John once they’ve cleared the trees and are climbing.
~~~
Rodney steps back from the whiteboard and wipes his hand thoughtfully across his chin, only realising too late that his fingers are covered in green marker. He absently licks his other hand and rubs at his skin.
He’s been assigned his own lab to work in, away from the main labs. Now his work is purely theoretical in nature, he doesn’t need to access the resources or endure the interruptions that working with Zelenka and Simpson inevitably entails. It seems like a good move, because he was able to come in here this morning and get up to speed on his progress from yesterday within twenty minutes.
“Interesting.”
Rodney is used to Radek appearing at his shoulder at inopportune moments, so he doesn’t jump. The Czech elbows Rodney aside and gestures at the ungainly scrawl of an equation.
“Did you compensate for…?”
“No, because I have only learned about the first law of motion and how to balance an equation since I was brain damaged.” Rodney bitches as he points to where he’s factored in the inertia component. “And excuse me? Apparently I’m suicidal now, considering these are calculation for making the city fly?”
“Yes, yes - very good. Shut up now, please.”
“Don’t you have a science department to run?” Rodney asks exasperatedly, flourishing his pen and trying to wrest back his place of whiteboard supremacy.
Radek does a double take, forcing Rodney to conclude that he still has marker on his face. “How long have you been here?” Radek asks. “Why has the Colonel not been to collect you?”
“Collect me? What is this, physicist day-care?”
“Was wrong choice of word,” Radek says, his eyes straying back to the board as he pushes his glasses further up his nose. He pulls a choc-chip powerbar from his pocket and hands it to Rodney without looking at him.
Rodney wrestles with refusing to accept the treat by virtue of it totally proving his point about the day-care thing, but now he’s stopped writing, he does feel kind of swimmy, so he takes it.
He watches while Radek runs his fingers along the lines of calculations, knowing better than to touch them, muttering under his breath in Czech. He stops every now and again to point or tap his fingers against his lips.
Rodney finishes the bar in four large bites, chewing thoughtfully. “Why did you say Sheppard? Why not Teyla or Ronon?”
“Hmm?”
“Why Sheppard?”
“It is usually Colonel Sheppard who ensures that you don’t stay here and work too long.”
“Why him?”
“Don’t know. Lost a bet? Shortest straw?”
When Rodney doesn’t retaliate, Radek spares him another glance, then straightens up, watching him carefully.
Rodney wishes he was back inside his equations where everything balances and all problems have a logical solution. He feels exposed all the time, wondering what he’s missed, how people perceive him and what they base that perception on - who he was or who he is now?
“Does it surprise you? He is your friend, Rodney,” Radek offers after the silence has become awkward. “He fights for you constantly. I have never seen him so angry as when they sent you back to Earth.”
Rodney knows about this; it was in his journal. He knows that he was miserable and that he begged to be allowed to return to Atlantis in some capacity. He didn’t know that John had fought for his return though - the book had failed to mention that part.
“Do we spend a lot of time together, Sheppard and I?”
Radek looks back to the whiteboard, begins at the top line again. “Yes.”
“Do I spend as much time with anyone else?”
“No.”
“Does he seem...? Do you think he…? Is it because he feels guilty?”
“No, Rodney, I do not think so. But I am just Acting Head of Science. You should ask him.”
~~~
Rodney dials ahead, once they’re only two minutes out from the gate, and opens a channel to Atlantis, informing them that the planet has hostiles of the Genii variety, and that they’ll be coming home a little earlier than scheduled.
Elizabeth’s voice is concerned but calming, and as they sign off Rodney begins to relax enough to be pissed about the lack of the Naquadah ore and the state of his shins.
~~~
“How many times have I watched that?”
“Seven or eight. You know in some ways you’re pretty lucky, being in the unique position on Atlantis of never running out of new things to watch.” John smiles and tips his head back to the ceiling, stretching out muscles stiff from being scrunched up on Rodney’s bed for so long.
“A small price to pay,” Rodney murmurs, feeling relaxed and if not at peace, then as close as he’s going to get. John is solid and real and kind of calming, and Rodney thinks that if he has to live his life a single day at a time, then it could be a lot worse than today has been - his morning freak-out notwithstanding.
He looks down at his hands, resting on his thighs and tries to find a trace of the eighteen months that he’s lost, some physical representation of the experiences he’s had that he has no memories of - some scar or dirt under his nails or a tan line, but there’s nothing. Yet. He wonders how shocked he’ll be when he wakes up one morning and he’s ninety with age spots and wrinkles and ropey tendons all over the backs of his hands. Then he wonders how many times he’s wondered that.
He must have sighed, because Sheppard is giving him a searching look and leaning into his shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “You okay?”
“As I’ll ever be, I guess.” And that doesn’t come out like he meant it to, but before he has time to explain, Sheppard is shaking his head a little and his eyes have gone narrow.
“You might not believe this, but it could have been worse, buddy. You had me going for a while there. I thought I was… it didn’t look too good. Lorne says he still gets flashbacks of the things I threatened him with while he was on his way in to get us out of there. I think it took them four minutes. Seemed like days.”
“Head wounds. They always look worse than they are,” Rodney says, gesturing to forehead.
“Yeah,” John says, watching Rodney closely, as if he’s expecting him to say something profound, but Rodney has no idea what.
“Thanks,” he hedges, “For today. For all your… you know… everything. Thanks. I… I appreciate it.”
Rodney’s disappointed when John seems to take this as some kind of cue to leave, and rolls off the bed with sickening athleticism. He pulls on his boots, not bothering with the laces. “No problem, buddy. Anytime.”
“Tomorrow?” Rodney asks with a quirk of his lips when John looks up quickly.
“Yeah, of course. There’s no mission posted, so provided there’s no Wraith or Genii or nanites or replicators or…”
“You work too hard. You never have any time for me,” Rodney bitches in false, whiny, girly voice.
John straightens up with a closed-mouth smile that tells Rodney that his attempt at a joke was way off. He hesitates, then opens the door. “See you tomorrow,” he says with a nod and a quick wave.
“Fuck it,” Rodney says softly and clicks the laptop shut.
~~~
That’s when the port drive pod unexpectedly explodes.
~~~
Rodney opens his eyes to a room that’s brighter than he’d expect, and immediately looks for his laptop, because it should have woken him by now, and if he’s late into the gear up room, Sheppard will bitch and whine, and that will spoil the surprise he has for him with the new, improved life signs detectors. He can’t believe he’s overslept.
But his favourite laptop isn’t where he left it on the nightstand and Rodney is instantly 100% awake, rolling to sit up.
“Hey.”
John is sitting at Rodney’s desk with his own laptop open, giving him a strange smile.
Rodney blinks at him. “Christ, Sheppard! I know I’m late but coming to get me from my room - that’s really…”
“Mission’s scrubbed. Just relax.”
Rodney gathers the sheets around himself, and pulls them up to cover his nipples self-consciously. “What? Why? Because I’m ten minutes late?”
“No.”
“Huh. What happened?”
John pulls a thermos out from somewhere and pours Rodney a very large coffee. He waits until Rodney’s taken a sip before he says, “It’s a long story, buddy.”
~~~
John is turned toward Rodney, his face contorted, yelling at him to brace for impact, but Rodney has been fighting with the power distribution all the time John has been trying to slow their inevitable descent, and that means he’s been hooked into the overhead diagnostics port - not something he can do while sitting down.
~~~
“Eleven or twelve.”
“And on any of those occasions have I ever been disappointed?”
“Nope,” John replies with a grin.
“Good - at least I’m consistent.” Rodney leans back against his pillows and stretches his shoulders - he’s stiff from where he’s been hunched over the laptop screen. He glances across at John who has his arms folded and his head tipped back, eyes closed.
“You must be bored of this movie beyond belief,” Rodney offers ruefully.
John cracks open an eye and aims it at Rodney. “No, it’s a cool movie. I save it up for the rougher days ‘cause I know how much you like it.”
John seems to be able to say these things like they mean nothing. He’s dropped them into conversation a few times - things that make Rodney’s throat go tight and his breath catch. He had no idea that anyone cared about him enough to know what movie would make him happy or what words would calm him down or know that it was chocolate brownie day in the mess and get him there in time to get some (although John claims it’s because he benefits from the sympathy element, and scores more goodies himself when he accompanies Rodney to the mess.)
“Thanks, John. You’ve been… great. Kind. To me. I appreciate it.”
John smiles easily, stretches and rolls off the bed, disgustingly cat-like.
“No... I, uh… I didn’t mean for you to go. Unless you have stuff to do, then…”
The look John gives him is not what Rodney was expecting. He looks like he’s working something out, assessing something, and Rodney stills, wondering what that means.
“Sorry, I must… I guess I take up a lot of your spare time these days. Do you have a sort of rota for babysitting duty?”
John’s face softens and his eyes slide away from Rodney’s. “It’s not like that,” he says quietly.
“What is it like?”
John sits down on the end of Rodney’s bed and leans back on his elbows. “Some days you work. It’s as much as I can do to make you eat, let alone spend time outside the lab. Some days… bad days…”
“Worse than today?”
“Yeah, we’ve had worse, Rodney. Those days you just want to be alone or to talk to Keller - that’s the doctor who came after Carson…”
Rodney nods and swallows down the wave of despair that crests again. So many changes. So many people lost.
“Days like today? Well, we always used to hang out before, so it’s no big deal for me to spend some time with you, Rodney.”
“Do I spend time with Teyla? Or Ronon? Radek? Elizabeth?”
“Sure.”
“As often as I do with you?”
John’s evading Rodney’s eyes. “Does it matter? What are you saying, you’d rather have Ronon provide emotional support?”
Rodney smiles at the thought, but he knows a distraction when he hears one, and he wonders what it is that John is trying to distract him from.
“So it’s usually you.”
John rolls his eyes. “Yes, Rodney, it’s more often me.”
Rodney lifts his chin. “Why?”
“What?”
“Oh, don’t even,” Rodney growls; he’s always hated John’s dumb act. “Why you? Did they ask you to? Did I ask you to?”
“No.”
“So why do you get the short straw?”
“I told you. We’re friends - it’s not exactly a hardship. And besides…” John pauses and his face goes blank. He hadn’t meant to say that.
“Besides what?” Rodney presses, scenting a piece of the puzzle he hasn’t had before.
“It’s nothing.”
Rodney gives John a glare that’s tired, a little pathetic and clearly says that he’ll have forgotten by tomorrow anyway, so John might as well spill.
“Fine. You’re calmer on the days I’m here, okay?” John sounds slightly pissy.
“I’m… really?”
“So they tell me.”
“Why?”
John flops back on the bed and covers his eyes with his crooked arm. “You’ve got me,” he mutters.
“But that’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to look after me every day just because the others can’t deal with my… because I’m difficult, and you’re the best at…”
“Rodney,” John groans from beneath his arm.
“No. No, John. That’s not right. You have a life - or you would have if you weren’t… I’ll talk to Car… Keller. They have nurses trained to cope with PTSD and psychotic episodes based here. This can’t be that different. I can… I can move my stuff down to one of the isolation…
“Rodney, do we have to do this again?”
“We’ve done this before?” Rodney’s voice has gone high in disbelief.
“A couple times,” John admits, obviously reluctant.
“So why are you still here? Why did I wake up in my room this morning?”
John lets his arm fall back to the bed and he rolls his head to look at him finally. “Because it’s a really bad idea, Rodney.”
“I’m not going to do this to your life. Mine is… this is my life now - it has to be like this. Yours doesn’t.”
“Jeez, you’re making me sound like Mother Theresa here. It’s not like that, I’m telling you.”
But Rodney’s already moving, pulling his duffel from under his bed. He can’t believe Sheppard’s let himself become this… this… whatever he is. Carer? Personal assistant? John is the military commander of Atlantis - he should be concentrating on keeping them all alive and beating the Wraith, not talking down some brain-damaged, washed-up physicist who already had personality disorders before his injury. He should be living. Having fun. Running. Making friends. Learning to play guitar. Finding someone to love. Settling down. He should be having a fucking life.
John’s hands are not gentle when he takes the duffel from Rodney’s trembling fingers and spins him around to face him, but his eyes are.
“It’s not fair, John. I don’t want your life wasted too.” Rodney takes slow, shuddering breaths and tries to blink away the prickling in his eyes.
“You’re an idiot,” John says unevenly.
Rodney shakes his head and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He can’t look at the pity that he knows he’ll see in John’s expression.
But John bats his hands away and grabs his face, a palm held against each of Rodney’s cheeks, forcing him to stillness.
“I won’t… I can’t…” Rodney whines, trying to muster some defiance.
“You’re an idiot, and this is why,” John says and kisses him, soft and slow and certain.
~~~
Rodney’s on his feet when they impact, and although the inertial dampeners take some of the force, Rodney’s been trying to reroute some of that power to the shield to preserve the hull integrity, and they fail long before the puddlejumper comes to a halt.
~~~
“How many times have we done this?”
“A few.”
“Why only a few?”
“Good Morning, Rodney,” John says in a deeply irritating singsong lilt. “You’ve had a massive trauma to your head and you have no memory of the last two years of your life. Now, do you want to top today, or bottom?”
“I hate you.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“ I really hate you.”
“And that.”
~~~
“How many times have we done this?”
“A few.”
“So it’s a new thing?”
“New-ish.”
“I bet if you just jumped me every morning, I’d get over my freak-out a lot quicker. That would give us more time to…”
John hits him with a pillow.
~~~
“So, is this… a thing? Or is this just a… thing?”
John sighs, then chuckles a little. He presses a quick kiss to Rodney’s temple. “I’d say that this was definitely a thing, Rodney.”
“Really?” He can’t help the note of delight that creeps into his voice.
~~~
When the door chimes, Rodney already knows who it’s going to be. He thinks the door open and doesn’t even look up as John enters.
“Hey, McKay. Are you alright?”
Rodney holds out the journal without a word and John takes it gently. He puts down the muffins he’s brought with him and looks quickly, searchingly at Rodney before he turns to the book.
Rodney watches while John reads, licking his top lip, and scraping the bottom one with his teeth. He sees as John realises where the entry is going and his shoulders stiffen. He sees as John reaches the paragraph he’s been staring at for the last twenty minutes while the morning sun has been streaming through the window.
“You wrote that down?” John asks softly.
“Apparently.”
John runs a hand through his hair and gets his game face on. “Okay, I know you have questions, but…”
Rodney interrupts him - he has too many questions to wait for John’s roundabout explanations. “Is that the first time it happened? I didn’t have time to read the whole thing - just the accident, and some of the medical notes, then I skipped to the end and found… Is it? The first time?”
“No.”
Rodney lifts his chin, and tries to force a little defiance into his eyes, expecting the truth to hurt. “Is it pity?”
“No, Rodney! Jeezus!” John says, drawing back into himself. He looks angry, his eyebrows drawing together and his lips tightening. “It’s not pity and it’s not opportunism, and it’s not any of the fucking worst case scenarios you’re cooking up in that head of yours.”
“So what is it?”
“I don’t know,” he says, sagging a little, and Rodney can hear the honesty in his words - he sounds as baffled as Rodney’s feeling.
“Do you…” This isn’t a sentence Rodney has ever had to construct before, as far as he knows, but this injury, this change in his life, it’s laid him bare. He has no time for deductions and clues and half-truths. He has no time for softly-softly or wait-and -see. “Do you even… care about me?”
John throws the book down roughly on the bed and takes a step closer, so Rodney’s forced to tip his head to see him. “Of course I do. I’m not some fucking pervert who preys on…”
“Well I’m sorry if having my fucking memory wiped every night has made me a little insensitive,” Rodney spits.
“Okay. Okay. Let’s back this up a little bit here,” John says, matching his actions to his words. He takes a deep breath. “Are you okay?” he asks again, concern etched into every line of his face, visible even underneath the irritation.
Rodney opens his mouth and is surprised to hear himself say, “No, not really.”
In a second, John is right there beside him on the bed, his arm curling protectively around Rodney’s shoulders, hauling him in. “Shit, shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I thought you were asleep when I left. You usually go out like a light afterward. I had no idea you’d write it in your journal.”
Rodney wipes his eyes quickly with the heel of his hand and laughs shakily. “This so fucking sucks. I finally, finally get what I want, and I can’t even fucking remember it.”
John’s arm tightens around his shoulders. “Tell me about it.”
~~~
“Wow!”
“Hmmmm.”
“That was amazing.”
John rolls his head and gives Rodney a sleepy, smug smile. “Yeah.”
“We should do that all the time.”
John grunts an affirmative noise and closes his eyes again.
“Do we do that all the time?” Rodney asks suddenly.
“No, Rodney.”
“Well, why not?”
John relents and cracks open an eye. “Morning, Rodney. You have anterograde amnesia that seems to be permanent. Oh, and stop by my quarters later - we’re carrying on a secret gay love affair that you don’t know about, and I’m feeling horny.”
“Oh! Yes, well, I can see that might not come up every day.”
“No.”
“But when we do, is it always that good?”
“Pretty much.” John can’t keep the pleased note out of his voice, and he smiles slowly.
“So what proportion of days are we talking here? Often? Rarely?”
“Rodney.”
“Express it as a percentage. What, 20%?”
John closes his eyes.
“25%? John? John? 30?”
~~~
“Don’t fall asleep.”
“’M not. I’m just thinking,” Rodney says, and he hopes John appreciates the effort it’s taking for him to form the words.
“Think with your eyes open,” John says, yawns massively and rubs his toes against Rodney’s calf under the blankets.
“Yeah… I will… I’ll…that.”
“You’re the sappy bastard who wants us to watch the sun rise together,” John reminds him softly and without recrimination.
“Hmm?”
John puts a hand on Rodney’s chest and gives him a half-hearted shake, then leaves his hand there where it becomes heavier and heavier, and Rodney’s last thought is that he should leave himself a note or something about remembering that John’s his boyfriend, so they can get to the kissing and the sex part earlier tomorrow.
~~~
Rodney wakes up and thinks ‘warm’, which is a nice change. He’s convinced that the Ancients had a physiology that was markedly different to their own if the city’s idea of what constitutes a perfect ambient temperature is anything to go by.
He takes a deep breath, cherishing the last few seconds of lingering contentment, which is all that remains of what must have been a pretty nice dream, and then opens his eyes.
‘John,’ he thinks when he blinks sleepily into Sheppard’s strange hazel gaze on the pillow next to him. John’s eyes are wide and shocked, and Rodney wonders what could have happened to make him…
Rodney sits bolt upright. “What the fuck?” he yelps, disappointed when it comes out as a high-pitched bleating noise.
John licks his lips and sits up slowly. “Now, Rodney, just calm down, I can explain everything,”
Rodney thinks that’s going to be unlikely, given that from what he can see (and he can see quite a lot), John is in his bed, completely naked, except for his tags.
“What happened? Did I…?” Rodney drags his eyes from Sheppard and makes a quick visual search of his room, cataloguing a number of small but significant anomalies - his chair, the frame of his diploma, his… sofa? Added to the fact that he seems to have acquired a boyfriend overnight, Rodney is thinking parallel dimensions or Replicator induced hallucination or visions courtesy of a sentient fog.
He scrambles out of bed and grabs John’s sidearm which is carelessly sticking out of a pile of discarded clothing. He spins around, aims it at John and, with one eye on him, scans the floor for his own underwear.
“Hey, watch where you’re pointing that thing!” John says, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand, and totally not giving due weight to the seriousness of Rodney having a gun trained on him.
Rodney finds his Marvin the Martian boxers and awkwardly steps into them while keeping the pistol raised. “Tell me what’s going on, Colonel, and make it fast.”
“I was trying to when you went all Die Hard on me,” John says, idly scratching at his chest and looking slightly hurt.
Rodney lifts his chin a little. John’s not acting unusually as far as Rodney can tell - other than the obvious. Rodney flicks the barrel of the pistol in a gesture that plainly means ‘carry on,’ which John just stares at blankly. Rodney rolls his eyes and says, “Explain.”
“Do you want to sit down first? This might take some time.”
“I’m good.”
“Okay.” John draws up his knees and hooks his arms around them. “Rodney, you’ve had an accident. We encountered a Genii ambush on a trading mission three years ago now. The ‘jumper was damaged and we crash-landed. Ronon and Teyla were unharmed, but I broke my ankle, and you received a head injury that means that you can’t process short-term memories into long-term ones.”
John’s head is tilted and his eyes are soft with sympathy, but he makes no move to touch him. “I’m sorry, Rodney, but the damage appears to be permanent.”
“That’s… what… I don’t…” The pistol feels slick in his hand, heavy and unwieldy.
“You think it’s February 8th 2007, Earth Standard. You think we’re scheduled on an offworld trading mission with the Darsey at 09.45 hours.”
Rodney blinks and lowers the gun a couple of centimetres.
“We’re not. And it’s March 12th 2010. Check the laptop,” John inclines his head at Rodney’s desk.
Rodney does, the fingers of one hand flying over the keys, looking for signs that it’s been tampered with.
“You were sick for a long time,” John continues, quietly. “They sent you back to Earth for a few months, but you hated it. You asked every single day to come back here apparently, and once you’d got Jeannie on your side, they had no choice but to listen.”
Rodney sits down slowly, and carefully puts the gun down on the desk where he can reach it.
“That’s your journal there, beside you. You’ve been writing in it for the last year or so, and it has all the reports from the mission and you medical records. And you have a…” John’s hand touches his hairline and describes a mark against the skin.
Rodney lifts his own fingers in imitation, and it only takes him a second to find the thickened traces of a scar, the skin around it numb.
He doesn’t remember John getting up and coming to him, but after a while he recognises the pressure of warm hands on the back of his neck and the low wash of reassuring words.
“…promise you, but really, it’s not so bad, Rodney, and it’s a
damn sight better than the alternatives. I’m sorry I scared you - I didn’t mean to fall asleep. That was a first.”
And there is so much going on in his head, so many variables and questions and gaps, but here is something he can cope with perhaps - a small piece of the un-illustrated puzzle his life has apparently become that he can fit somewhere.
“So, we’re… what? Lovers?”
John’s hands tighten on his shoulders but segue quickly into a gentle, kneading caress.
“Yeah, kind of.”
“How do you mean, kind of?”
“It’s… complicated.”
“Complicated how?” Rodney asks, turning the chair slightly so he can see John’s face. Somewhere along the way John’s found a t-shirt and boxers, so they don’t have to have this conversation naked. Rodney’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.
“Rodney,” John says, his voice slightly exasperated, “No matter what I say or do, you forget every night. Some days you won’t even talk to me. Some days you’re so distressed you ask to be sedated. Some days you’re convinced I’m an alien interrogator and you spend the day asking to speak to my leader.” John pauses and smiles a little. “Every day is different, and every day I have to wait for you to give me a sign that I’d be… welcome.”
“But, that’s not… I’ve wanted…” Rodney huffs a sigh and rolls his eyes. “You being welcome - that would not be, uh, new. That doesn’t change every night.”
John smirks, looking pleased at Rodney’s confession. “Maybe not, but what I’m saying is that quite often I’m not the most important thing on your mind,” He comes around and sits on the bed again.
“So every day you wait for me to fall in love with you again?” Rodney asks, blinking.
“Or not. I strike out more often than I score,” John says with a self-deprecating shrug.
“That’s...” Rodney searches for the right word.
“Complicated?”
“Yeah.”
~~~
The trees come suddenly and sharply into focus. Sheppard lifts a hand from the console toward Rodney, reaching for him as they hit. There’s a screaming metallic whine, the sharp scent of vegetation and ozone, a flash of heat, and the last thing Rodney sees are John’s eyes full of desperation and regret. Seeing. Knowing. Understanding and not turning away.
~~~
Rodney reaches out an uncoordinated hand, finds his laptop and drags it onto the bed. He opens it and presses a random key to stop the infernal bleating noise that Radek programmed for him as an alarm.
He cracks open an eye and blinks at the message that flashes cheerily on the screen.
“Watch this when you wake up.”
Curious, and still half asleep, he clicks on the icon and watches the file cue up. Some cheesy 80s anthem blares from the tiny, tinny speakers.
“Good Morning, Rodney!” Happy, bouncy letters skitter across the screen; it’s almost as if someone had designed this to squeeze the maximum amount of irritation out of Rodney.
“A few things have happened while you’ve been sleeping.”
Images begin to scroll across his laptop. News footage from the Stargate programme being declassified; a President of the United States (who Rodney doesn’t recognise) being sworn in; the Canadian hockey team receiving their Olympic gold medals; Jeannie cradling a baby while Madison and Caleb beam at the camera; a photograph of himself, badly swollen and bruised, unconscious in a hospital bed; an image of a twisted, broken jumper; a shot of his team, John on crutches, Rodney in a wheelchair with Teyla pushing him; a video clip of John being decorated by the new President with General O’Neill looking on; another shot of Jeannie with another baby; a still of Rodney sitting on a sofa in what appears to be the Oval Office, his head turned toward the President and John standing behind them watching Rodney with something close to pride on his face; an obvious Photoshop manipulation of Rodney receiving a Nobel prize from the King of Sweden - and then the words, ‘no, not really…yet’; a clip of him and John, both in tuxedos, with confetti in their hair, toasting each other while their friends applaud and laugh around them - and then the words, ‘yes, really.’
The random images cease and resolve into a piece of video, a wide shot of John leaning on one of the balcony railings with the city stretched out behind him. Dressed in sweatshirt and jeans, the hair at his temples obviously greying, his cowlicks are being tugged by the breeze. His eyes slide away from the camera, obviously uncomfortable, and then Rodney hears his own muffled but unmistakable voice saying something indistinct, and John smiles at the camera and crosses his arms.
“Okay, I know it’s a lot to take in, buddy, but when you’re ready, come next door and say hi. Coffee’s waiting for you.”
Rodney closes the laptop and gets out of the bed that’s much bigger than the one he went to sleep in, trying to control the trembling in his hands by concentrating on a single task at a time. He pulls on a t-shirt then sweats, and crosses his bedroom to a door that wasn’t there last night, where the smell of coffee and the sound of the sea are coming from.
Rodney feels completely hollow, so lost he can barely breathe. The knowledge that this is who he is now fills his throat. He’ll never mellow with age. He’ll never learn to be a patient, sympathetic man. He’s going to have years of experiences that he’ll never be able to put to good use. He’s going to have a million ideas and never get to implement them - a million theories he’ll never test.
What does that make him? Who has he become without even knowing how? For a moment he wants a mirror - he wants to see some proof that he hasn’t been lost somewhere in all those soundbites and events he’s just seen. That he’s still the same man with the same passions and flaws and ideals.
He steps into the doorway, and there is John, older, greyer, still slim and athletic, still strikingly handsome. He’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt, bare feet propped up on a table. He’s reading, the windows open to the balcony, letting in a warm breeze with the morning sunshine.
“J… John?”
And then John looks up, throws his papers on the table and he smiles - one of those rare, genuine ones, and says, softly, “Hey.”
And Rodney doesn’t have to worry anymore, because he can see who he is now reflected in John’s eyes.
~~~
A big, warm hand curls around his hip, slow and certain, while kisses land across his shoulders and the back of his neck, haphazard and soft. Rodney hums and pushes into the source of heat behind him.
“Shhh. Keep your eyes shut, okay?”
Rodney rolls toward the voice, only to be stilled by the solid bulk of another body and an arm across his chest, holding him tight.
“Rodney, shh! Trust me?”
And, John so, “Yeah. Yes.”
Good dream. Really, really fucking good dream because John’s hands drift over his skin with a knowledge he can’t possibly have, scraping through the hair on his chest, finding that spot on his side beneath his ribs that makes him arch his back and shiver. Fingers slide lower, mapping the sleep-sweaty contours of his belly and hip, and…
Best dream ever. John’s hand closes around his cock and it doesn’t take much to coax him fully hard. John runs the backs of his fingers up Rodney’s length, letting his nails scrape just a tiny bit, and cups his balls, tugging on them gently in a way that drives Rodney to incoherence.
“Good. Good. Oh, please,” he murmurs, “John, please.”
He lifts his hips, pushing unsubtly into John’s hand, hoping for more friction.
John’s fingers follow the curve of his ass, tracing a line along the sensitive skin of Rodney’s crease all the way to his spine, then slowly back, dragging a fingertip.
“Fuck,” Rodney whispers as John’s finger catches at his hole and dips inside a little. “I need to… I should shower. I haven’t done this in a long time.”
John chuckles, and Rodney wants to see that, wonders if it looks the way it feels, little puffs of breath against his belly. But if he opens his eyes he’s worried he’ll wake up, and he’s so close already, and John feels so good, circling his hole.
“You’re good,” John says reassuringly, placing biting little kisses on Rodney’s hip. “You’re fine.”
“Okay, but go slow,” Rodney gasps as John’s hairy thighs touch the insides of his own and force them wider.
Rodney hears the pop of a bottle cap, and tenses for the cold touch of John’s fingers, but it’s not fingers, because John’s hands are lifting his legs onto his shoulders and holding him spread open and it’s the smooth, hard bluntness of John’s cock that breaches him. And Rodney has a moment of panic because there’s no condom and he’s not nearly stretched enough to take him. But in that strange way that dreams have of ignoring minor details, John’s cock slides inside him in three gentle thrusts as if he’d spent long minutes preparing him. Rodney’s body is open to John, ready for him, and John doesn’t stop until he’s filled every inch of Rodney, and Rodney’s body is thrumming with the rightness of their fit.
“Oh fuck! Fuck me!” Rodney whimpers, because it’s his dream and if he wants to make a fool of himself and plead, he can. “Do it, John. Do it hard and fast. I need to come.”
“You’re a pushy bastard, McKay,” John says, but Rodney can hear he’s smiling. “You’re lucky I love you enough to overlook that.”
And Rodney thinks that’s an odd thing for a dream-John to say, and wants to protest, but John twitches his hips back and then pushes in again quickly, and Rodney can’t think at all anymore. John quickly finds a rhythm of short hard strokes that make Rodney grunt and moan. John knees closer and spreads Rodney even further, and something about his angle changes, because Rodney is suddenly sobbing his name on each thrust as the sweetest pressure builds swiftly to the point where he can’t hold back. So when John takes his dick and rubs a rough thumb just under the head in exactly the right spot, he comes long and hard, shuddering his release and striping their skin with his seed.
“So good, John. God! You’re so fucking good,” Rodney moans, knowing he sounds like bad porn, but just really, really not with the caring at the moment.
John begins to pant, deep, wrenching gasps, but his pace never slackens. And Rodney knows that if this were real, he’d be sore all the following day after the pounding that John’s giving him, but it still feels good in a fucked-out, endorphin-high kind of way, and Rodney encourages John with whispered words and clutching hands.
John doesn’t shout out when he comes, which Rodney thinks is a shame, as he’d like to hear his name come from those pretty, smirking lips. But John does slump down onto Rodney a second later, covering him with sweaty, hairy, sticky weight, which shouldn’t feel as nice as it does.
It takes a long moment for his heart rate to return to normal, and Rodney can’t believe he’s still asleep, because surely he’s had his dramatic high point and is due to wake up with cold, wet shorts in his little cot. But no, because John withdraws and wipes them both cursorily with something cotton-like and covers them with a thick, heavy comforter.
Rodney begins to notice little things as he lies there, like the scent of wood smoke and a savoury cooking smell, like the sound of trees moving in a light wind. He knows that the room is not entirely dark because there’s a reddish hue to the darkness behind his eyelids. And the sheets they’re sleeping on are fresh and of a fine cotton weave.
“Can I open my eyes?” he asks after a while, not sure if John is already asleep, and slightly worried that when he does open them it will be his ninety-year-old fourth grade teacher rather than a hot, sated John Sheppard beside him on the pillow, because dreams have a really shitty way of doing that to him.
“Nope,” John’s voice replies, and Rodney feels feathery kisses pressed to his eyelids.
“Okay then. Where are we?”
John takes a beat longer to reply than he should, but his tone is level. “Canada.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Place near Whistler.” John yawns hugely, warm breath gusting over Rodney’s shoulder.
Rodney thinks again how weird and lucid this is as John tugs the comforter tighter around them and fits himself closer to Rodney’s side. But it’s warm and quiet, and Rodney’s gently aching in all the right places, so he lets the rhythm of John’s breathing lull him.
“Skiing vacation?” he mumbles, feeling himself slipping back into a deeper sleep.
“Kind of. Honeymoon. Go to sleep now, Rodney. I’ll explain in the morning.”
So Rodney does.
Fin
Rodney’s trying to help, watching where the fire’s coming from and passing it to John whenever he can. The shots are coming faster, the crackle of the energy denser now they’re certain they’ve found a target. Rodney’s sure they’re getting closer because he can make out individual words from the shouted orders behind them.
They seem to run for much longer than it took to walk in, and Rodney is beginning to think that Sheppard’s gotten turned around in the trees, and that they’re lost. Then there are two clicks on the radio, and John is leading them into the clearing where the cloaked jumper lays waiting.
He tucks Rodney behind the inadequate cover of a tree trunk, pulling him down as he turns to face their attackers. He lays down a barrage of covering fire, then glances down at Rodney.
~~~
“… of course I’m not saying that. Obviously we want the best care for him, but I know how they work. Once he’s out of here, his future is out of our control.”
Rodney feels groggy and … hung-over? His head aches and his throat is sore, and if he just stays quiet, maybe Sheppard and whoever it is will take their issues elsewhere and let Rodney sleep.
“John, I appreciate your concern, but Carson has assured me that we’ve done as much as we can here.”
“That’s true, Colonel. This facility was not intended for the treatment of major head traumas. It’s basically a glorified field hospital. I don’t have the expertise or the equipment necessary to diagnose his injuries. I’ve stabilised him, and he’s off the critical list, but if he’s going to get better, he’s going to need a lot of help which I can’t give him.”
Sheppard and Elizabeth and Carson. Huh. Senior staff. Perhaps Rodney is supposed to be paying attention to this stuff. Please don’t say he’s fallen asleep in the conference room again.
“You have a medical centre built by Ancients, Carson…” Sheppard’s voice has taken on a sharpness that Rodney knows well. It’s the one he uses when he’s been backed into a corner. He rarely gets angry in the way Rodney would define angry (shouting, biting sarcasm, plotting messy and humiliating revenge and throwing stuff around), and this hard voice is normally as close as he gets. He wonders what has gotten Sheppard this pissed even as he wonders idly why he can’t move his arms.
“Aye, and we have no idea how half the bloody stuff even works yet,” Carson says, then sighs. “Colonel, I want him back to his usual unlovable self as much as you do, and it’s not beyond the realms of possibility. He still has a lot of swelling around the medial temporal lobe that only time is going to improve. When that happens we’ll have a better idea of whether there’s permanent damage, and what form that damage might take.”
“Look, I just… they have no idea how critical he is to this mission, and how much we need him here…”
“I agree, but he stands a better chance of recovery back on Earth. If he has any hope of regaining his former health and becoming our Head of Science again, it’s in the hands of specialists.” That’s Elizabeth. Rodney’s pretty sure that Elizabeth’s best ‘let’s all calm down and be reasonable’ voice doesn’t work on Sheppard.
“They have several options they’re willing to try…” And now Carson is doing his soothing, bedside manner thing. That doesn’t work either.
“Like what?” the colonel snaps off and Rodney doesn’t need to see the exaggerated slouch, crossed arms and tight lips that go with that tone of voice to know they’re all there. Sheppard’s pissed as hell - he totally called it.
“Well, there’s a specialist neurological trauma hospital in Chicago who have some experience of this type of injury. There’s a chance that one of the SG teams will encounter a Goa’uld sarcophagus which I think would be worth trying despite the documented risks, and Colonel Carter and Vala Mal Doran have the ability to use a Goa’uld healing device, although neither of them have had overwhelmingly positive results in the past. But each of those is an option we don’t have here, Colonel.”
Rodney wonders what poor bastard they’re discussing; he can’t think of anyone who’s been that badly injured recently.
Sheppard doesn’t say anything for long enough that Rodney wonders if they’ve walked away. Then a weight lands on his knee that’s warm enough for him to feel it through the blankets.
Blankets.
He’s in bed still?
“And what happens if they can’t fix him? What then?” Sheppard again, closer.
“Rodney’s sister is his next of kin, and it will be up to her…”
“Atlantis is Rodney’s life, Elizabeth. Nobody knows and loves this city better than him. If you take that away, then what does he have?”
Rodney’s first thought is that Sheppard, although broadly correct, is still selling him short, and that he’s not taking into account things like his cat. Or Radek, Teyla and Ronon. Or Carson. Or the thing he had with Katie. Or his love of video golf. Or chess. Or this strange, unexpected friendship that’s developed between himself and Sheppard. And, yes, okay, all of those things, other than Fluffy, have come out of being on Atlantis, but still, Rodney would like some credit for having a life outside his work, no matter how tangentially related they might be.
His second thought is, ‘oh, fuck’.
~~~
“Ready?”
“Wh… for what?” Rodney yelps over the noise of weapons discharging.
“I’ll cover you to the jumper.” Part of the tree above their heads gets blown apart in a spectacular shower of splinters, but John doesn’t even blink. “Teyla and Ronon are already in position, you establish a wormhole to Atlantis and tell them we’re coming in. Be ready to take off as soon as we’re all on board.”
“But what…”
“Go.” John stands up and lets fly with enough gunfire to make Rodney’s teeth rattle in his jaw. He curses inventively and runs, keeping low and deactivating the cloak as he gets close. There are energy volleys whistling past his ears, close enough that he can feel the heat.
~~~
Transcript of interview between Dr. Kirstin Kegel and Dr. Rodney McKay. January 23rd, 2009.
KK - Good Afternoon, Dr. McKay. I’m Dr. Kirstin Kegel. I’m attached to the Stargate programme as a consultant psychologist. They’ve asked me to assess your progress and adaptation to Atlantis.
RM - Yes, so I heard. Hello.
KK - Please take a seat. We’ve met on three occasions since your accident for similar evaluations.
RM - Really? I’m terrible with names.
KK - (laughs) Very good, Doctor. So, you’ve been told that I’m recording this interview and that a copy will be forwarded to you. Is that all right?
RM - Yes. Fine.
KK - Thank you. So, how are you today?
RM - Fine. I understand that my appointment with you was actually scheduled for yesterday, but that I had a… uh… bad day. I apologise for that.
KK - No apology necessary. Who told you about that?
RM - John. Colonel Sheppard. Of course, he didn’t put it that politely.
KK - (laughs) So even though your working relationship has changed, you still maintain a friendship with the colonel?
RM - Yes, of course.
KK - And how about with Teyla Emmagen and Ronon Dex? Do you still consider them friends?
RM - Yes. You’ll have to ask someone else how often I see them, but I still consider them to be my friends.
KK - Do you miss working with your team?
RM - Well, no. As far as I’m concerned, we travelled offworld together only three days ago. I understand that in reality it’s been almost two years since I was included on an away mission, but I don’t miss it except in an abstract manner. Knowing they’ve been places without me, that sort of thing.
KK - You’ve found that hard.
RM - Today? No, not hard, just… strange.
KK - So how did you feel this morning when you were told about your condition?
RM - Just peachy, thanks.
KK - So, angry? Frightened? Surprised? What?
RM - Well, of course angry. Every day I have to get back up to speed on the work I was doing the day before - it’s not like I can trust any of the cretins they’ve shipped here to do it. The pace at which I work has been seriously curtailed.
KK - But on a personal level, do you have feelings of resentment? Hostility? Despair?
RM - I don’t know about the last twenty-two months, but not today.
KK - And how did you find out about your injury this morning?
RM - John wasn’t offworld, so he came and sat with me.
KK - Does he often do that?
RM - How would I know?
KK - Do you think he finds that frustrating?
RM - You’re asking the wrong guy. He was outside a minute ago - do you want me to go and get him?
KK - No, thank you. I was simply asking you to imagine how you would feel if your places were reversed, for example.
RM - I don’t know.
KK - You’ve never considered the effect your injury has on your colleagues?
RM - I only have about eighteen hours a day to have my freak out, then get on with my work. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for insightful thoughts about what a burden I’ve become.
KK - So it would be fair to say that other than the effect that it’s had on your work, that you are reconciled to your condition?
RM - I suppose so.
KK - And you’re not unduly concerned about your future or opportunities that you will perhaps find it hard to…
RM - Look, Dr…whatever. The point is, there’s nothing we can do about it. I gather I was seen by Earth’s finest and that every piece of alien tech we’ve encountered was inflicted upon me, but nothing helped. Now I agree that a weaker mind might have caved under such a cruel twist of fate, but thankfully I was never the introspective type. It’s done. I still have my work, and my IQ is intact, and although I apparently have good days and bad days, the bottom line is that I am still a valuable, contributing member of this expedition.
KK - That was never in question, Dr, McKay. What I came here to assess was your emotional and social integration.
RM - Oh. Why?
KK - To assess your overall well-being. To ensure that you were emotionally stable. To make sure that this is the right place for you to be.
RM - How do you mean?
KK - To make sure you’re happy here, Dr. McKay.
RM - Well of course I am. This is my home.
KK - But you must understand that this is going to become more difficult the longer you’re here. Your friends will move on. New staff will take their places. Your injury has had no effect on your life expectancy, Dr. McKay; one day you will be an old man, surrounded by people you don’t recognise.
RM - Well that’s going to happen wherever I am.
KK - That is true, but a city isolated in another galaxy and also in a war zone is a difficult place to be alone. One day…
RM - One day is all I ever have, Doctor. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.
~~~
Rodney doesn’t look up when Sheppard slides his tray onto the table and slouches down into the chair opposite. It’s not until they’ve both sampled today’s offerings and found them unremarkable that Rodney finds some words to offer.
“It occurs to me that I don’t actually know you anymore. You know everything about me, and I…”
“You know me just fine, Rodney,” Sheppard says, cutting him off gently.
“No, seriously, anything could have happened to you and I’d have no idea at all,” Rodney persists, finally looking up at Sheppard.
John just rolls his eyes and toys with his silverware.
“So, have you been promoted?”
“No.”
“Defied massive odds and come back from certain death?” Rodney asks. “Again?”
“Couple times,” John shrugs. “Once thanks to you.”
“Huh, really?” Rodney says, surprised, but refuses to be sidetracked. He’ll revisit it later. If he remembers. “Okay. Written a novel? Been on Oprah?”
“Nope.”
“Beat me at chess?”
“More than 90% of the time.”
“Liar. Have you given up the Air Force and gone back to finish that thesis? Got your doctorate?”
“No.”
“Seeing anyone? Got married? Had kids? “ Rodney ignores the panic that’s building in his chest. He wants to stop. He doesn’t really want to know - to hear about how Sheppard and everyone else is having a life and moving on just like Kegel was suggesting. Just like he’ll never do.
“Rodney…”
“Have you? Are you?”
Sheppard meets his eyes, and Rodney can see some of his own despair reflected back at him. “No, Rodney, I haven’t.”
“But you could have done. And I would never know.”
“I’d tell you,” Sheppard insists immediately.
“You might not be here to tell me.” Rodney realises that the mess hall has gone quiet around them; polite, nervous conversations starting up everywhere he looks. He stares back down to his tray, but none of it looks appealing anymore.
John picks up his coffee and takes a sip, ignoring the too-bright conversations that suddenly fill the room. He leans forward and braces his elbows on the table. “What did she say to you this time?” he asks softly.
“Who?”
“Kegel.”
Rodney doesn’t reply. He drinks his cold coffee and shakes his head.
John sighs and wipes his face with his hand. “At least you’re talking this time. Last time you shut yourself in Lab Four and stayed awake for forty-nine hours straight. We had to wait until you finally fell asleep before we could get the doors to unlock. You kept changing the encryption.”
Rodney surprises himself with a snuff of laughter and Sheppard gives him a twist of his lips that passes for a wry smile.
“Look,” John says, “I left “Dark Knight” in your room last week.”
“Dark Knight? As in Batman…?”
“Yeah. S’cool.” John grins, gets up and waits for Rodney to follow, lifting both their trays easily and bussing them as they leave.
Rodney wonders how Sheppard has this ability to distract him, to make him want to participate in pointless pursuits when there are much weightier issues to be pondered. He wonders how his life would have been if John had been a childhood friend, dragging him away from his books and homework with offers of adventure. He wonders if happiness would have been a good trade for brilliance. But he allows himself to be corralled out into the hallway, propelled along by the guileless enthusiasm and subtle teasing that Sheppard employs when he wants something.
“It’s a great movie. You’re gonna love it. Again.”
Rodney punches John on the arm pretty hard, but John just grins once more and sets off toward the transporters.
~~~
Ronon joins Rodney as they throw themselves up the ramp. While Rodney slides into the pilot’s seat and powers up, Ronon starts picking off Genii targets one by one and making enough noise to cover Teyla and John’s retreat to the ship. Rodney can’t engage the shield until the rest of the team is onboard and he growls impatiently as discharge after discharge hit the jumper.
Rodney raises the shield and is already off the ground before the hatch has closed, passing the controls off to John once they’ve cleared the trees and are climbing.
~~~
Rodney steps back from the whiteboard and wipes his hand thoughtfully across his chin, only realising too late that his fingers are covered in green marker. He absently licks his other hand and rubs at his skin.
He’s been assigned his own lab to work in, away from the main labs. Now his work is purely theoretical in nature, he doesn’t need to access the resources or endure the interruptions that working with Zelenka and Simpson inevitably entails. It seems like a good move, because he was able to come in here this morning and get up to speed on his progress from yesterday within twenty minutes.
“Interesting.”
Rodney is used to Radek appearing at his shoulder at inopportune moments, so he doesn’t jump. The Czech elbows Rodney aside and gestures at the ungainly scrawl of an equation.
“Did you compensate for…?”
“No, because I have only learned about the first law of motion and how to balance an equation since I was brain damaged.” Rodney bitches as he points to where he’s factored in the inertia component. “And excuse me? Apparently I’m suicidal now, considering these are calculation for making the city fly?”
“Yes, yes - very good. Shut up now, please.”
“Don’t you have a science department to run?” Rodney asks exasperatedly, flourishing his pen and trying to wrest back his place of whiteboard supremacy.
Radek does a double take, forcing Rodney to conclude that he still has marker on his face. “How long have you been here?” Radek asks. “Why has the Colonel not been to collect you?”
“Collect me? What is this, physicist day-care?”
“Was wrong choice of word,” Radek says, his eyes straying back to the board as he pushes his glasses further up his nose. He pulls a choc-chip powerbar from his pocket and hands it to Rodney without looking at him.
Rodney wrestles with refusing to accept the treat by virtue of it totally proving his point about the day-care thing, but now he’s stopped writing, he does feel kind of swimmy, so he takes it.
He watches while Radek runs his fingers along the lines of calculations, knowing better than to touch them, muttering under his breath in Czech. He stops every now and again to point or tap his fingers against his lips.
Rodney finishes the bar in four large bites, chewing thoughtfully. “Why did you say Sheppard? Why not Teyla or Ronon?”
“Hmm?”
“Why Sheppard?”
“It is usually Colonel Sheppard who ensures that you don’t stay here and work too long.”
“Why him?”
“Don’t know. Lost a bet? Shortest straw?”
When Rodney doesn’t retaliate, Radek spares him another glance, then straightens up, watching him carefully.
Rodney wishes he was back inside his equations where everything balances and all problems have a logical solution. He feels exposed all the time, wondering what he’s missed, how people perceive him and what they base that perception on - who he was or who he is now?
“Does it surprise you? He is your friend, Rodney,” Radek offers after the silence has become awkward. “He fights for you constantly. I have never seen him so angry as when they sent you back to Earth.”
Rodney knows about this; it was in his journal. He knows that he was miserable and that he begged to be allowed to return to Atlantis in some capacity. He didn’t know that John had fought for his return though - the book had failed to mention that part.
“Do we spend a lot of time together, Sheppard and I?”
Radek looks back to the whiteboard, begins at the top line again. “Yes.”
“Do I spend as much time with anyone else?”
“No.”
“Does he seem...? Do you think he…? Is it because he feels guilty?”
“No, Rodney, I do not think so. But I am just Acting Head of Science. You should ask him.”
~~~
Rodney dials ahead, once they’re only two minutes out from the gate, and opens a channel to Atlantis, informing them that the planet has hostiles of the Genii variety, and that they’ll be coming home a little earlier than scheduled.
Elizabeth’s voice is concerned but calming, and as they sign off Rodney begins to relax enough to be pissed about the lack of the Naquadah ore and the state of his shins.
~~~
“How many times have I watched that?”
“Seven or eight. You know in some ways you’re pretty lucky, being in the unique position on Atlantis of never running out of new things to watch.” John smiles and tips his head back to the ceiling, stretching out muscles stiff from being scrunched up on Rodney’s bed for so long.
“A small price to pay,” Rodney murmurs, feeling relaxed and if not at peace, then as close as he’s going to get. John is solid and real and kind of calming, and Rodney thinks that if he has to live his life a single day at a time, then it could be a lot worse than today has been - his morning freak-out notwithstanding.
He looks down at his hands, resting on his thighs and tries to find a trace of the eighteen months that he’s lost, some physical representation of the experiences he’s had that he has no memories of - some scar or dirt under his nails or a tan line, but there’s nothing. Yet. He wonders how shocked he’ll be when he wakes up one morning and he’s ninety with age spots and wrinkles and ropey tendons all over the backs of his hands. Then he wonders how many times he’s wondered that.
He must have sighed, because Sheppard is giving him a searching look and leaning into his shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “You okay?”
“As I’ll ever be, I guess.” And that doesn’t come out like he meant it to, but before he has time to explain, Sheppard is shaking his head a little and his eyes have gone narrow.
“You might not believe this, but it could have been worse, buddy. You had me going for a while there. I thought I was… it didn’t look too good. Lorne says he still gets flashbacks of the things I threatened him with while he was on his way in to get us out of there. I think it took them four minutes. Seemed like days.”
“Head wounds. They always look worse than they are,” Rodney says, gesturing to forehead.
“Yeah,” John says, watching Rodney closely, as if he’s expecting him to say something profound, but Rodney has no idea what.
“Thanks,” he hedges, “For today. For all your… you know… everything. Thanks. I… I appreciate it.”
Rodney’s disappointed when John seems to take this as some kind of cue to leave, and rolls off the bed with sickening athleticism. He pulls on his boots, not bothering with the laces. “No problem, buddy. Anytime.”
“Tomorrow?” Rodney asks with a quirk of his lips when John looks up quickly.
“Yeah, of course. There’s no mission posted, so provided there’s no Wraith or Genii or nanites or replicators or…”
“You work too hard. You never have any time for me,” Rodney bitches in false, whiny, girly voice.
John straightens up with a closed-mouth smile that tells Rodney that his attempt at a joke was way off. He hesitates, then opens the door. “See you tomorrow,” he says with a nod and a quick wave.
“Fuck it,” Rodney says softly and clicks the laptop shut.
~~~
That’s when the port drive pod unexpectedly explodes.
~~~
Rodney opens his eyes to a room that’s brighter than he’d expect, and immediately looks for his laptop, because it should have woken him by now, and if he’s late into the gear up room, Sheppard will bitch and whine, and that will spoil the surprise he has for him with the new, improved life signs detectors. He can’t believe he’s overslept.
But his favourite laptop isn’t where he left it on the nightstand and Rodney is instantly 100% awake, rolling to sit up.
“Hey.”
John is sitting at Rodney’s desk with his own laptop open, giving him a strange smile.
Rodney blinks at him. “Christ, Sheppard! I know I’m late but coming to get me from my room - that’s really…”
“Mission’s scrubbed. Just relax.”
Rodney gathers the sheets around himself, and pulls them up to cover his nipples self-consciously. “What? Why? Because I’m ten minutes late?”
“No.”
“Huh. What happened?”
John pulls a thermos out from somewhere and pours Rodney a very large coffee. He waits until Rodney’s taken a sip before he says, “It’s a long story, buddy.”
~~~
John is turned toward Rodney, his face contorted, yelling at him to brace for impact, but Rodney has been fighting with the power distribution all the time John has been trying to slow their inevitable descent, and that means he’s been hooked into the overhead diagnostics port - not something he can do while sitting down.
~~~
“Eleven or twelve.”
“And on any of those occasions have I ever been disappointed?”
“Nope,” John replies with a grin.
“Good - at least I’m consistent.” Rodney leans back against his pillows and stretches his shoulders - he’s stiff from where he’s been hunched over the laptop screen. He glances across at John who has his arms folded and his head tipped back, eyes closed.
“You must be bored of this movie beyond belief,” Rodney offers ruefully.
John cracks open an eye and aims it at Rodney. “No, it’s a cool movie. I save it up for the rougher days ‘cause I know how much you like it.”
John seems to be able to say these things like they mean nothing. He’s dropped them into conversation a few times - things that make Rodney’s throat go tight and his breath catch. He had no idea that anyone cared about him enough to know what movie would make him happy or what words would calm him down or know that it was chocolate brownie day in the mess and get him there in time to get some (although John claims it’s because he benefits from the sympathy element, and scores more goodies himself when he accompanies Rodney to the mess.)
“Thanks, John. You’ve been… great. Kind. To me. I appreciate it.”
John smiles easily, stretches and rolls off the bed, disgustingly cat-like.
“No... I, uh… I didn’t mean for you to go. Unless you have stuff to do, then…”
The look John gives him is not what Rodney was expecting. He looks like he’s working something out, assessing something, and Rodney stills, wondering what that means.
“Sorry, I must… I guess I take up a lot of your spare time these days. Do you have a sort of rota for babysitting duty?”
John’s face softens and his eyes slide away from Rodney’s. “It’s not like that,” he says quietly.
“What is it like?”
John sits down on the end of Rodney’s bed and leans back on his elbows. “Some days you work. It’s as much as I can do to make you eat, let alone spend time outside the lab. Some days… bad days…”
“Worse than today?”
“Yeah, we’ve had worse, Rodney. Those days you just want to be alone or to talk to Keller - that’s the doctor who came after Carson…”
Rodney nods and swallows down the wave of despair that crests again. So many changes. So many people lost.
“Days like today? Well, we always used to hang out before, so it’s no big deal for me to spend some time with you, Rodney.”
“Do I spend time with Teyla? Or Ronon? Radek? Elizabeth?”
“Sure.”
“As often as I do with you?”
John’s evading Rodney’s eyes. “Does it matter? What are you saying, you’d rather have Ronon provide emotional support?”
Rodney smiles at the thought, but he knows a distraction when he hears one, and he wonders what it is that John is trying to distract him from.
“So it’s usually you.”
John rolls his eyes. “Yes, Rodney, it’s more often me.”
Rodney lifts his chin. “Why?”
“What?”
“Oh, don’t even,” Rodney growls; he’s always hated John’s dumb act. “Why you? Did they ask you to? Did I ask you to?”
“No.”
“So why do you get the short straw?”
“I told you. We’re friends - it’s not exactly a hardship. And besides…” John pauses and his face goes blank. He hadn’t meant to say that.
“Besides what?” Rodney presses, scenting a piece of the puzzle he hasn’t had before.
“It’s nothing.”
Rodney gives John a glare that’s tired, a little pathetic and clearly says that he’ll have forgotten by tomorrow anyway, so John might as well spill.
“Fine. You’re calmer on the days I’m here, okay?” John sounds slightly pissy.
“I’m… really?”
“So they tell me.”
“Why?”
John flops back on the bed and covers his eyes with his crooked arm. “You’ve got me,” he mutters.
“But that’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to look after me every day just because the others can’t deal with my… because I’m difficult, and you’re the best at…”
“Rodney,” John groans from beneath his arm.
“No. No, John. That’s not right. You have a life - or you would have if you weren’t… I’ll talk to Car… Keller. They have nurses trained to cope with PTSD and psychotic episodes based here. This can’t be that different. I can… I can move my stuff down to one of the isolation…
“Rodney, do we have to do this again?”
“We’ve done this before?” Rodney’s voice has gone high in disbelief.
“A couple times,” John admits, obviously reluctant.
“So why are you still here? Why did I wake up in my room this morning?”
John lets his arm fall back to the bed and he rolls his head to look at him finally. “Because it’s a really bad idea, Rodney.”
“I’m not going to do this to your life. Mine is… this is my life now - it has to be like this. Yours doesn’t.”
“Jeez, you’re making me sound like Mother Theresa here. It’s not like that, I’m telling you.”
But Rodney’s already moving, pulling his duffel from under his bed. He can’t believe Sheppard’s let himself become this… this… whatever he is. Carer? Personal assistant? John is the military commander of Atlantis - he should be concentrating on keeping them all alive and beating the Wraith, not talking down some brain-damaged, washed-up physicist who already had personality disorders before his injury. He should be living. Having fun. Running. Making friends. Learning to play guitar. Finding someone to love. Settling down. He should be having a fucking life.
John’s hands are not gentle when he takes the duffel from Rodney’s trembling fingers and spins him around to face him, but his eyes are.
“It’s not fair, John. I don’t want your life wasted too.” Rodney takes slow, shuddering breaths and tries to blink away the prickling in his eyes.
“You’re an idiot,” John says unevenly.
Rodney shakes his head and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He can’t look at the pity that he knows he’ll see in John’s expression.
But John bats his hands away and grabs his face, a palm held against each of Rodney’s cheeks, forcing him to stillness.
“I won’t… I can’t…” Rodney whines, trying to muster some defiance.
“You’re an idiot, and this is why,” John says and kisses him, soft and slow and certain.
~~~
Rodney’s on his feet when they impact, and although the inertial dampeners take some of the force, Rodney’s been trying to reroute some of that power to the shield to preserve the hull integrity, and they fail long before the puddlejumper comes to a halt.
~~~
“How many times have we done this?”
“A few.”
“Why only a few?”
“Good Morning, Rodney,” John says in a deeply irritating singsong lilt. “You’ve had a massive trauma to your head and you have no memory of the last two years of your life. Now, do you want to top today, or bottom?”
“I hate you.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“ I really hate you.”
“And that.”
~~~
“How many times have we done this?”
“A few.”
“So it’s a new thing?”
“New-ish.”
“I bet if you just jumped me every morning, I’d get over my freak-out a lot quicker. That would give us more time to…”
John hits him with a pillow.
~~~
“So, is this… a thing? Or is this just a… thing?”
John sighs, then chuckles a little. He presses a quick kiss to Rodney’s temple. “I’d say that this was definitely a thing, Rodney.”
“Really?” He can’t help the note of delight that creeps into his voice.
~~~
When the door chimes, Rodney already knows who it’s going to be. He thinks the door open and doesn’t even look up as John enters.
“Hey, McKay. Are you alright?”
Rodney holds out the journal without a word and John takes it gently. He puts down the muffins he’s brought with him and looks quickly, searchingly at Rodney before he turns to the book.
Rodney watches while John reads, licking his top lip, and scraping the bottom one with his teeth. He sees as John realises where the entry is going and his shoulders stiffen. He sees as John reaches the paragraph he’s been staring at for the last twenty minutes while the morning sun has been streaming through the window.
“You wrote that down?” John asks softly.
“Apparently.”
John runs a hand through his hair and gets his game face on. “Okay, I know you have questions, but…”
Rodney interrupts him - he has too many questions to wait for John’s roundabout explanations. “Is that the first time it happened? I didn’t have time to read the whole thing - just the accident, and some of the medical notes, then I skipped to the end and found… Is it? The first time?”
“No.”
Rodney lifts his chin, and tries to force a little defiance into his eyes, expecting the truth to hurt. “Is it pity?”
“No, Rodney! Jeezus!” John says, drawing back into himself. He looks angry, his eyebrows drawing together and his lips tightening. “It’s not pity and it’s not opportunism, and it’s not any of the fucking worst case scenarios you’re cooking up in that head of yours.”
“So what is it?”
“I don’t know,” he says, sagging a little, and Rodney can hear the honesty in his words - he sounds as baffled as Rodney’s feeling.
“Do you…” This isn’t a sentence Rodney has ever had to construct before, as far as he knows, but this injury, this change in his life, it’s laid him bare. He has no time for deductions and clues and half-truths. He has no time for softly-softly or wait-and -see. “Do you even… care about me?”
John throws the book down roughly on the bed and takes a step closer, so Rodney’s forced to tip his head to see him. “Of course I do. I’m not some fucking pervert who preys on…”
“Well I’m sorry if having my fucking memory wiped every night has made me a little insensitive,” Rodney spits.
“Okay. Okay. Let’s back this up a little bit here,” John says, matching his actions to his words. He takes a deep breath. “Are you okay?” he asks again, concern etched into every line of his face, visible even underneath the irritation.
Rodney opens his mouth and is surprised to hear himself say, “No, not really.”
In a second, John is right there beside him on the bed, his arm curling protectively around Rodney’s shoulders, hauling him in. “Shit, shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I thought you were asleep when I left. You usually go out like a light afterward. I had no idea you’d write it in your journal.”
Rodney wipes his eyes quickly with the heel of his hand and laughs shakily. “This so fucking sucks. I finally, finally get what I want, and I can’t even fucking remember it.”
John’s arm tightens around his shoulders. “Tell me about it.”
~~~
“Wow!”
“Hmmmm.”
“That was amazing.”
John rolls his head and gives Rodney a sleepy, smug smile. “Yeah.”
“We should do that all the time.”
John grunts an affirmative noise and closes his eyes again.
“Do we do that all the time?” Rodney asks suddenly.
“No, Rodney.”
“Well, why not?”
John relents and cracks open an eye. “Morning, Rodney. You have anterograde amnesia that seems to be permanent. Oh, and stop by my quarters later - we’re carrying on a secret gay love affair that you don’t know about, and I’m feeling horny.”
“Oh! Yes, well, I can see that might not come up every day.”
“No.”
“But when we do, is it always that good?”
“Pretty much.” John can’t keep the pleased note out of his voice, and he smiles slowly.
“So what proportion of days are we talking here? Often? Rarely?”
“Rodney.”
“Express it as a percentage. What, 20%?”
John closes his eyes.
“25%? John? John? 30?”
~~~
“Don’t fall asleep.”
“’M not. I’m just thinking,” Rodney says, and he hopes John appreciates the effort it’s taking for him to form the words.
“Think with your eyes open,” John says, yawns massively and rubs his toes against Rodney’s calf under the blankets.
“Yeah… I will… I’ll…that.”
“You’re the sappy bastard who wants us to watch the sun rise together,” John reminds him softly and without recrimination.
“Hmm?”
John puts a hand on Rodney’s chest and gives him a half-hearted shake, then leaves his hand there where it becomes heavier and heavier, and Rodney’s last thought is that he should leave himself a note or something about remembering that John’s his boyfriend, so they can get to the kissing and the sex part earlier tomorrow.
~~~
Rodney wakes up and thinks ‘warm’, which is a nice change. He’s convinced that the Ancients had a physiology that was markedly different to their own if the city’s idea of what constitutes a perfect ambient temperature is anything to go by.
He takes a deep breath, cherishing the last few seconds of lingering contentment, which is all that remains of what must have been a pretty nice dream, and then opens his eyes.
‘John,’ he thinks when he blinks sleepily into Sheppard’s strange hazel gaze on the pillow next to him. John’s eyes are wide and shocked, and Rodney wonders what could have happened to make him…
Rodney sits bolt upright. “What the fuck?” he yelps, disappointed when it comes out as a high-pitched bleating noise.
John licks his lips and sits up slowly. “Now, Rodney, just calm down, I can explain everything,”
Rodney thinks that’s going to be unlikely, given that from what he can see (and he can see quite a lot), John is in his bed, completely naked, except for his tags.
“What happened? Did I…?” Rodney drags his eyes from Sheppard and makes a quick visual search of his room, cataloguing a number of small but significant anomalies - his chair, the frame of his diploma, his… sofa? Added to the fact that he seems to have acquired a boyfriend overnight, Rodney is thinking parallel dimensions or Replicator induced hallucination or visions courtesy of a sentient fog.
He scrambles out of bed and grabs John’s sidearm which is carelessly sticking out of a pile of discarded clothing. He spins around, aims it at John and, with one eye on him, scans the floor for his own underwear.
“Hey, watch where you’re pointing that thing!” John says, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand, and totally not giving due weight to the seriousness of Rodney having a gun trained on him.
Rodney finds his Marvin the Martian boxers and awkwardly steps into them while keeping the pistol raised. “Tell me what’s going on, Colonel, and make it fast.”
“I was trying to when you went all Die Hard on me,” John says, idly scratching at his chest and looking slightly hurt.
Rodney lifts his chin a little. John’s not acting unusually as far as Rodney can tell - other than the obvious. Rodney flicks the barrel of the pistol in a gesture that plainly means ‘carry on,’ which John just stares at blankly. Rodney rolls his eyes and says, “Explain.”
“Do you want to sit down first? This might take some time.”
“I’m good.”
“Okay.” John draws up his knees and hooks his arms around them. “Rodney, you’ve had an accident. We encountered a Genii ambush on a trading mission three years ago now. The ‘jumper was damaged and we crash-landed. Ronon and Teyla were unharmed, but I broke my ankle, and you received a head injury that means that you can’t process short-term memories into long-term ones.”
John’s head is tilted and his eyes are soft with sympathy, but he makes no move to touch him. “I’m sorry, Rodney, but the damage appears to be permanent.”
“That’s… what… I don’t…” The pistol feels slick in his hand, heavy and unwieldy.
“You think it’s February 8th 2007, Earth Standard. You think we’re scheduled on an offworld trading mission with the Darsey at 09.45 hours.”
Rodney blinks and lowers the gun a couple of centimetres.
“We’re not. And it’s March 12th 2010. Check the laptop,” John inclines his head at Rodney’s desk.
Rodney does, the fingers of one hand flying over the keys, looking for signs that it’s been tampered with.
“You were sick for a long time,” John continues, quietly. “They sent you back to Earth for a few months, but you hated it. You asked every single day to come back here apparently, and once you’d got Jeannie on your side, they had no choice but to listen.”
Rodney sits down slowly, and carefully puts the gun down on the desk where he can reach it.
“That’s your journal there, beside you. You’ve been writing in it for the last year or so, and it has all the reports from the mission and you medical records. And you have a…” John’s hand touches his hairline and describes a mark against the skin.
Rodney lifts his own fingers in imitation, and it only takes him a second to find the thickened traces of a scar, the skin around it numb.
He doesn’t remember John getting up and coming to him, but after a while he recognises the pressure of warm hands on the back of his neck and the low wash of reassuring words.
“…promise you, but really, it’s not so bad, Rodney, and it’s a
damn sight better than the alternatives. I’m sorry I scared you - I didn’t mean to fall asleep. That was a first.”
And there is so much going on in his head, so many variables and questions and gaps, but here is something he can cope with perhaps - a small piece of the un-illustrated puzzle his life has apparently become that he can fit somewhere.
“So, we’re… what? Lovers?”
John’s hands tighten on his shoulders but segue quickly into a gentle, kneading caress.
“Yeah, kind of.”
“How do you mean, kind of?”
“It’s… complicated.”
“Complicated how?” Rodney asks, turning the chair slightly so he can see John’s face. Somewhere along the way John’s found a t-shirt and boxers, so they don’t have to have this conversation naked. Rodney’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.
“Rodney,” John says, his voice slightly exasperated, “No matter what I say or do, you forget every night. Some days you won’t even talk to me. Some days you’re so distressed you ask to be sedated. Some days you’re convinced I’m an alien interrogator and you spend the day asking to speak to my leader.” John pauses and smiles a little. “Every day is different, and every day I have to wait for you to give me a sign that I’d be… welcome.”
“But, that’s not… I’ve wanted…” Rodney huffs a sigh and rolls his eyes. “You being welcome - that would not be, uh, new. That doesn’t change every night.”
John smirks, looking pleased at Rodney’s confession. “Maybe not, but what I’m saying is that quite often I’m not the most important thing on your mind,” He comes around and sits on the bed again.
“So every day you wait for me to fall in love with you again?” Rodney asks, blinking.
“Or not. I strike out more often than I score,” John says with a self-deprecating shrug.
“That’s...” Rodney searches for the right word.
“Complicated?”
“Yeah.”
~~~
The trees come suddenly and sharply into focus. Sheppard lifts a hand from the console toward Rodney, reaching for him as they hit. There’s a screaming metallic whine, the sharp scent of vegetation and ozone, a flash of heat, and the last thing Rodney sees are John’s eyes full of desperation and regret. Seeing. Knowing. Understanding and not turning away.
~~~
Rodney reaches out an uncoordinated hand, finds his laptop and drags it onto the bed. He opens it and presses a random key to stop the infernal bleating noise that Radek programmed for him as an alarm.
He cracks open an eye and blinks at the message that flashes cheerily on the screen.
“Watch this when you wake up.”
Curious, and still half asleep, he clicks on the icon and watches the file cue up. Some cheesy 80s anthem blares from the tiny, tinny speakers.
“Good Morning, Rodney!” Happy, bouncy letters skitter across the screen; it’s almost as if someone had designed this to squeeze the maximum amount of irritation out of Rodney.
“A few things have happened while you’ve been sleeping.”
Images begin to scroll across his laptop. News footage from the Stargate programme being declassified; a President of the United States (who Rodney doesn’t recognise) being sworn in; the Canadian hockey team receiving their Olympic gold medals; Jeannie cradling a baby while Madison and Caleb beam at the camera; a photograph of himself, badly swollen and bruised, unconscious in a hospital bed; an image of a twisted, broken jumper; a shot of his team, John on crutches, Rodney in a wheelchair with Teyla pushing him; a video clip of John being decorated by the new President with General O’Neill looking on; another shot of Jeannie with another baby; a still of Rodney sitting on a sofa in what appears to be the Oval Office, his head turned toward the President and John standing behind them watching Rodney with something close to pride on his face; an obvious Photoshop manipulation of Rodney receiving a Nobel prize from the King of Sweden - and then the words, ‘no, not really…yet’; a clip of him and John, both in tuxedos, with confetti in their hair, toasting each other while their friends applaud and laugh around them - and then the words, ‘yes, really.’
The random images cease and resolve into a piece of video, a wide shot of John leaning on one of the balcony railings with the city stretched out behind him. Dressed in sweatshirt and jeans, the hair at his temples obviously greying, his cowlicks are being tugged by the breeze. His eyes slide away from the camera, obviously uncomfortable, and then Rodney hears his own muffled but unmistakable voice saying something indistinct, and John smiles at the camera and crosses his arms.
“Okay, I know it’s a lot to take in, buddy, but when you’re ready, come next door and say hi. Coffee’s waiting for you.”
Rodney closes the laptop and gets out of the bed that’s much bigger than the one he went to sleep in, trying to control the trembling in his hands by concentrating on a single task at a time. He pulls on a t-shirt then sweats, and crosses his bedroom to a door that wasn’t there last night, where the smell of coffee and the sound of the sea are coming from.
Rodney feels completely hollow, so lost he can barely breathe. The knowledge that this is who he is now fills his throat. He’ll never mellow with age. He’ll never learn to be a patient, sympathetic man. He’s going to have years of experiences that he’ll never be able to put to good use. He’s going to have a million ideas and never get to implement them - a million theories he’ll never test.
What does that make him? Who has he become without even knowing how? For a moment he wants a mirror - he wants to see some proof that he hasn’t been lost somewhere in all those soundbites and events he’s just seen. That he’s still the same man with the same passions and flaws and ideals.
He steps into the doorway, and there is John, older, greyer, still slim and athletic, still strikingly handsome. He’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt, bare feet propped up on a table. He’s reading, the windows open to the balcony, letting in a warm breeze with the morning sunshine.
“J… John?”
And then John looks up, throws his papers on the table and he smiles - one of those rare, genuine ones, and says, softly, “Hey.”
And Rodney doesn’t have to worry anymore, because he can see who he is now reflected in John’s eyes.
~~~
A big, warm hand curls around his hip, slow and certain, while kisses land across his shoulders and the back of his neck, haphazard and soft. Rodney hums and pushes into the source of heat behind him.
“Shhh. Keep your eyes shut, okay?”
Rodney rolls toward the voice, only to be stilled by the solid bulk of another body and an arm across his chest, holding him tight.
“Rodney, shh! Trust me?”
And, John so, “Yeah. Yes.”
Good dream. Really, really fucking good dream because John’s hands drift over his skin with a knowledge he can’t possibly have, scraping through the hair on his chest, finding that spot on his side beneath his ribs that makes him arch his back and shiver. Fingers slide lower, mapping the sleep-sweaty contours of his belly and hip, and…
Best dream ever. John’s hand closes around his cock and it doesn’t take much to coax him fully hard. John runs the backs of his fingers up Rodney’s length, letting his nails scrape just a tiny bit, and cups his balls, tugging on them gently in a way that drives Rodney to incoherence.
“Good. Good. Oh, please,” he murmurs, “John, please.”
He lifts his hips, pushing unsubtly into John’s hand, hoping for more friction.
John’s fingers follow the curve of his ass, tracing a line along the sensitive skin of Rodney’s crease all the way to his spine, then slowly back, dragging a fingertip.
“Fuck,” Rodney whispers as John’s finger catches at his hole and dips inside a little. “I need to… I should shower. I haven’t done this in a long time.”
John chuckles, and Rodney wants to see that, wonders if it looks the way it feels, little puffs of breath against his belly. But if he opens his eyes he’s worried he’ll wake up, and he’s so close already, and John feels so good, circling his hole.
“You’re good,” John says reassuringly, placing biting little kisses on Rodney’s hip. “You’re fine.”
“Okay, but go slow,” Rodney gasps as John’s hairy thighs touch the insides of his own and force them wider.
Rodney hears the pop of a bottle cap, and tenses for the cold touch of John’s fingers, but it’s not fingers, because John’s hands are lifting his legs onto his shoulders and holding him spread open and it’s the smooth, hard bluntness of John’s cock that breaches him. And Rodney has a moment of panic because there’s no condom and he’s not nearly stretched enough to take him. But in that strange way that dreams have of ignoring minor details, John’s cock slides inside him in three gentle thrusts as if he’d spent long minutes preparing him. Rodney’s body is open to John, ready for him, and John doesn’t stop until he’s filled every inch of Rodney, and Rodney’s body is thrumming with the rightness of their fit.
“Oh fuck! Fuck me!” Rodney whimpers, because it’s his dream and if he wants to make a fool of himself and plead, he can. “Do it, John. Do it hard and fast. I need to come.”
“You’re a pushy bastard, McKay,” John says, but Rodney can hear he’s smiling. “You’re lucky I love you enough to overlook that.”
And Rodney thinks that’s an odd thing for a dream-John to say, and wants to protest, but John twitches his hips back and then pushes in again quickly, and Rodney can’t think at all anymore. John quickly finds a rhythm of short hard strokes that make Rodney grunt and moan. John knees closer and spreads Rodney even further, and something about his angle changes, because Rodney is suddenly sobbing his name on each thrust as the sweetest pressure builds swiftly to the point where he can’t hold back. So when John takes his dick and rubs a rough thumb just under the head in exactly the right spot, he comes long and hard, shuddering his release and striping their skin with his seed.
“So good, John. God! You’re so fucking good,” Rodney moans, knowing he sounds like bad porn, but just really, really not with the caring at the moment.
John begins to pant, deep, wrenching gasps, but his pace never slackens. And Rodney knows that if this were real, he’d be sore all the following day after the pounding that John’s giving him, but it still feels good in a fucked-out, endorphin-high kind of way, and Rodney encourages John with whispered words and clutching hands.
John doesn’t shout out when he comes, which Rodney thinks is a shame, as he’d like to hear his name come from those pretty, smirking lips. But John does slump down onto Rodney a second later, covering him with sweaty, hairy, sticky weight, which shouldn’t feel as nice as it does.
It takes a long moment for his heart rate to return to normal, and Rodney can’t believe he’s still asleep, because surely he’s had his dramatic high point and is due to wake up with cold, wet shorts in his little cot. But no, because John withdraws and wipes them both cursorily with something cotton-like and covers them with a thick, heavy comforter.
Rodney begins to notice little things as he lies there, like the scent of wood smoke and a savoury cooking smell, like the sound of trees moving in a light wind. He knows that the room is not entirely dark because there’s a reddish hue to the darkness behind his eyelids. And the sheets they’re sleeping on are fresh and of a fine cotton weave.
“Can I open my eyes?” he asks after a while, not sure if John is already asleep, and slightly worried that when he does open them it will be his ninety-year-old fourth grade teacher rather than a hot, sated John Sheppard beside him on the pillow, because dreams have a really shitty way of doing that to him.
“Nope,” John’s voice replies, and Rodney feels feathery kisses pressed to his eyelids.
“Okay then. Where are we?”
John takes a beat longer to reply than he should, but his tone is level. “Canada.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Place near Whistler.” John yawns hugely, warm breath gusting over Rodney’s shoulder.
Rodney thinks again how weird and lucid this is as John tugs the comforter tighter around them and fits himself closer to Rodney’s side. But it’s warm and quiet, and Rodney’s gently aching in all the right places, so he lets the rhythm of John’s breathing lull him.
“Skiing vacation?” he mumbles, feeling himself slipping back into a deeper sleep.
“Kind of. Honeymoon. Go to sleep now, Rodney. I’ll explain in the morning.”
So Rodney does.
Fin