Fic: Synergy (1/?), R (NC-17 overall)
Don't kill me. *ducks*
Title: Synergy (1/?)
Author: Abysmal Seraph
Rating: R, will eventually be NC-17
Pairing: None in this part. Will eventually be Sheppard/McKay/Ronon/Kavanagh. *ducks*
Disclaimer: I’m afraid nothing here really belongs to me. Not even Alex.
Spoilers: Definitely for Critical Mass but to be on the safe side, let’s say the entire series up to that point.
Warnings: Cursing. Violent behavior, thoughts, etc. John and Kavanagh obviously not getting along. Unbetaed.
Notes: This goes AU after Critical Mass. Alex is an actual member of the cast and his identity is likely to be blatantly obvious. Also, this is not a ‘redeem Kavanagh by making him more likable’ type of fic. He’s going to remain just as opinionated and easily hated and his relationship with John (at the very least) will never be deemed healthy. Expect this to get darker in later parts.
Summary: Kavanagh gets a new job, more grief, and a lot closer to Atlantis’ favorite team than he’d like.
He didn’t leave Atlantis.
The lack of reaction wasn’t very surprising. Most of the expedition passed it off as yet another example of the infamous Kavanagh bullheadedness while Weir took the opportunity to treat him like a leper-giving disgusted pity with one hand and with the other, snatching the accomplishment of a perceived good deed. People joked that he planned to make their fearless leader and her dream team suffer by sheer force of presence alone. The first time he heard that, it had been accompanied by the high-pitched giggle of the linguist that voiced it and Kavanagh wasn’t sure which he found more annoying: the idea or the woman. Alex had known better, his eyes narrowing in what the scientist had long ago labeled as his brother’s ‘someone’s gonna die’ expression then very calmly telling him to get his ass on the Daedalus and back stateside ASAP. Kavanagh wanted to because no one in their right mind wanted to play in the same sandbox as the well-armed people that wanted to hurt them and, fuck, if he wasn’t getting a little tired of not being able to hit people back. The problem was he couldn’t leave.
Physically, there was nothing to stop him. In fact, he had been given every opportunity available to return to Earth. Several times. With a great deal of encouragement. What held him back was fear, deep-rooted and paralyzing and threatening to consume him. He was terrified but he didn’t know why, only that his fears seemed to be soothed when he stopped considering the option.
Kavanagh quirked a self-depreciating smile then quickly wiped it away. People tended to get edgy when he smiled, eyeing him warily and focusing more attention on him that he liked. As long as he didn’t arouse too much suspicion, he remained mostly unnoticed until something was needed bad enough for him to be acknowledged. His gaze swept across the mess. No one had noticed-no one was even watching-and with a mental sigh, he returned to his blissful, antisocial haze.
“Don’t bother. Not even your overactive imagination can make that resemble food.”
Kavanagh glanced up warily. “McKay,” he acknowledged while telling his fight or flight instinct to shut the hell up. Just because the other man was acting friendlier towards him didn’t mean the world was ending. It was probably the Canadian’s way of dealing with his guilt. Kavanagh swallowed a groan as McKay settled himself and his tray down for a long stay. “Don’t you have someone else to bother or has Sheppard already used up his daily quota of threats?”
“No, not really. Yes, but that’s never actually stopped him. And as of yesterday morning, you’re officially part of the team. Sheppard’s expecting you at the firing range at fourteen-hundred so eat your mystery mush fast.”
Silence fell between them as Kavanagh’s shocked mind registered what he had just been told. He, the most hated person in all of Atlantis, was being forced to work closely with three of the people that had wanted him tortured. He shot McKay an incredulous look, certain the whole thing was a very bad joke. “Okay, what did you do to piss Weir off and why am I suffering for it?”
“Don’t worry. Judging from Colonel Sheppard’s colorful choice of words, the disbelief and horror are mutual.” He made a staccato wave of his fork towards Kavanagh and an imaginary Sheppard. “Just add homicidal urges and you’re practically married.”
Of course McKay would make it seem like nothing. It wasn’t as though he could come right out and say they planned to drag Kavanagh off world, gut him, and claim some temperamental sideshow freak with a machete took a liking to him without the younger man getting a tad suspicious. His eyes snapped towards the door. If he started running before McKay finished inhaling his meal, he might make it to the Daedalus in time. He laughed at that, making the Canadian hesitate before he moved on to Kavanagh’s long forgotten tray without waiting for permission. Leaving wasn’t an option. “Interesting but not what I asked.”
McKay looked at him for the first time since he had sat down, expression deadly serious. “Because sometimes we end up in situations that can only be solved with intelligence and sometimes,” McKay leaned in and dropped his voice as though telling a secret, “I’m not around to play hero. You were in the army. Don’t,” he snapped when he saw the younger man about to protest. His chair scraped across the floor as he leaned back. “I realize it was only to get you through college but that doesn’t change anything. You’re smart, hopelessly socially crippled, but smart and that’s what the team needs: another gun with enough brains attached to help me swim through the sea of testosterone the others secrete. Now be a good boy and accept the responsibility.”
Kavanagh smiled grimly. Only Rodney McKay could mix insult and praise so seamlessly you were left wondering if you should be flattered or reaching for a gun. It was a commendable attribute and confusing enough to leave you off balance for the time it took McKay to claim victory. Kavanagh shrugged broadly and put up his hands in defeat. He still wanted to argue, wanted to rant and rave and scream he didn’t belong with Atlantis’ most loved band of misfits, but he knew it was pointless.
“Wait, yesterday? Why am I just hearing about it?” he asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion as he shifted slightly away from the man heartily devouring all his food.
McKay managed a shrug between bites. “Took this long to wrestle the gun away from Sheppard. By the way: Eric? I was expecting something a little more damning. Like Melvin or Francis or something as equally gag-inducing that could explain the bitchiness.”
Kavanagh let the annoyed growl pass his lips unchecked. His superior did a fantastic job of ignoring him as usual, save for the triumphant smirk he wore. Rolling his eyes, Kavanagh smacked the Canadian’s hands away from his jello. “You realize you won’t be getting a nice farewell note the next time someone tries to blow up the city?” he asked and snatched up the jiggly mass before McKay made a grab for it again.
“Pretty much. That was surprisingly touching in a not-like-you sort of way. You really think I’m the best boss you’ve ever had?”
The younger man’s eyes shot skyward as he prayed for strength. “I wrote ‘one of’ and I thought you were going to die. It was more like making a megalomaniac’s last day than actual praise. Besides, good bosses don’t blow up five-sixths of a solar system.”
“Claiming you could have done better?” McKay demanded around his mouthful.
“Yeah, I could have blown up the entire system,” he snapped but his grin softened the blow. A look of absolute horror crossed his face. “Oh dear god, what was that?”
“That,” the Canadian stated as he polished off the last of the food and stood, “was bonding. Get used to it because you’ll be doing quite a bit of it from now on. Oh, and don’t worry about John. If he gets too abusive, just rub his stomach. He’ll be too busy thumping his leg against the wall to bite.”
Kavanagh watched as McKay left the mess, leaving the younger man alone with his thoughts and a vague sense of disquiet. If they didn’t turn a gun on him first, they would probably confuse him to death. How did a person go from wanting to torture someone to being so…friendly? Deciding that solving that particular mystery wasn’t worth the migraine, he sighed loudly and took his first bite of the entire meal.
~~~~
Bitching at Weir for half an hour had done nothing to improve Kavanagh’s general opinion of human intelligence. It did, however, nearly get him thrown back in a cell. He had been tempted to stay longer-he was, after all, rather adept at pushing his luck way past the point of breaking-but the suggestion of a marine escort to the firing range was hardly appealing.
When he arrived, Colonel Sheppard was obviously as pleased to see him as the younger man was to be there. That suited Kavanagh just fine because it was expected and he was hungry and more than a little pissed off. It was obviously the pilot’s turn to bitch since he went at it loudly and with much enthusiasm. The long lamentation about shitty luck and ending up with the city’s most hated asshole was accompanied by the darkest glare the scientist had received since lunch.
By the time the pair had reached the firing line, Sheppard’s tirade had dwindled into the occasional curse and an insistent need to explain firearm usage in the most condescending tone possible. Kavanagh had rolled his eyes at first but lost patience sometime during a nasty quip about shooting blanks. Snatching up the nearest pistol, he strangled the urge to turn it on Sheppard and instead shot off three bullets that sliced through the paper target’s head. The Colonel’s withering stare did nothing to erase his smirk.
“Okay, you can use a gun.” Sheppard straightened and pasted on a satisfied expression. “But can you use a P90?”
Kavanagh snorted. He had a marine for a brother, which translated to casually delivered instructions on how to kill a man and knowing how to use most of the weapons in the SGC’s arsenal years before he joined. Submachine guns had held a special place in his heart ever since college when Alex threatened to play Rambo with the lab techs and live ammunition. Accepting the P90 that was handed to him, Kavanagh adjusted his stance to better handle the recoil and pulled the trigger. By the time he let up, there were enough holes in the target to down a bear.
Turning to the other man, he choked back a laugh at the glazed look Sheppard focused on the gun. Kavanagh understood the awed pleasure of watching destructive forces-that weren’t trying to kill you-at work but making his teammates feel less like freaks wasn’t part of his new job description. “Maybe I should leave you two alone. Oh, and you might want to clean up after your done since Bates will probably turn homicidal if he found out you creamed all over one of his babies.”
“Probably”
Kavanagh’s body turned to stone. The small part of his brain that hadn’t gone stupid with fear told him he exuded the aura of a cornered animal. Armed perhaps but cornered nonetheless and all that would gain him were excited predators and more trouble than he needed. As if to prove him right, Ronon flashed Sheppard a toothy grin and stalked towards the pair. Kavanagh did nothing to hide his terror, instead clutching the P90 closer and making it painfully clear he wouldn’t think twice about using it. He would shoot the bastard if he saw necessary. Hell, he was ready to put Sheppard’s avenging barbarian down just for breathing in his general direction. Weir was insane to think this could work.
“Hey, I’ve been expecting you,” Sheppard admitted with a pleased smile and a little bounce. “Since Kavanagh here seems to be such an expert in the way of the gun, I figure he can move on to sparring with you.” He cocked an eyebrow at the younger man. “That a problem with you?”
Kavanagh cocked his head to the side and eyed the pilot carefully. He calculated the precise location to aim and the number of bullets he would need to kill his new teammates. He calculated the amount of time it would take to get to the Gateroom, cause a large enough distraction to draw attention away from the dialing system, and gate to a decent world where he could disappear completely. He was pretty sure he could make it. Instead, he managed a jaundiced smile and a sardonically cheery, “Why would I?”
Sheppard’s eyes glittered with dark amusement as he shrugged and reached for the gun, carefully extracting it from Kavanagh’s grip before nudging the other man towards Ronon. The soldier watched as they moved toward the door, expression tight as he tried not to laugh at Kavanagh’s obvious discomfort. A sugary-sweet, “Have fun. And, Ronon, try not to break him,” floated down the hall after them. The Runner chuckled softly and glanced over his shoulder with a wicked smile. Kavanagh briefly wondered if the behemoth could kill a Wraith with just those teeth.
The journey to the gym was painfully uncomfortable, the smug curious looks passersby crawling under his skin. He knew what they were thinking, the quivering, guilty pleasure of their thoughts coating his tongue bitter. They thought, no, hoped Ronon had finally come to finish what he started, that the loud mouth jerk would finally get what he deserved. He was beginning to wish he had been the one to set the bomb.
A group of marines was waiting for them when they reached the gym. They crowded around the pair, forming a human cage as they snickered and crowed. Peeking inside the room, Kavanagh found more stared back at him with beady malicious eyes. A surge of anger sizzled through him at their amusement; his fingers clenched with the urge to strike the nearest smirking face until all that was left was a pulpy smear.
“Going to teach him good, huh, Ronon?”
“Bet he faints again.”
“Not before he pisses his pants.”
A wave of laughter crashed through the hall after that. Kavanagh flinched away from the sound, the movement so small and quick that the only one that caught it was Ronon. The behemoth seemed to consider what he had seen then his eyes narrowed as though he came to a decision. “Not today,” he rumbled at the soldiers. Obviously that was some sort of sign since after a few disappointed groans and a very loud complaint from a very petite woman, the crowd dispersed.
When Ronon turned back to face him, Kavanagh didn’t bother hiding his confusion. The scientist opened his mouth to question, hesitated when the other man shook his head and walked into the room, then followed in a haze of confusion and curiosity. They stopped at the edge of the mat, Kavanagh shifting nervously from foot to foot as he watched Ronon remove his shoes and shove them aside.
It didn’t take long for the silence to become too uncomfortable to bear. “I suppose I should be thanking you for that,” Kavanagh muttered as he nodded towards the closed door. Ronon looked up from the mat, his dark eyes following the movement before settling on the smaller man.
“It was necessary.”
Every thing about his stance said Ronon wasn’t talking about the marines. Kavanagh’s mouth thinned into an angry frown as he tried to follow the other man’s reasoning. “I know. It wasn’t right but I know and that’s not why I’m mad. I wasn’t the only suspect or at least I shouldn’t have been but Weir and the lot of you focused all your suspicions on me. On me because you hate me, not because you had any actual proof that I had done anything wrong.”
“True except I never hated you. Barely knew you existed before then.” Kavanagh had no doubt that was true since he had kept mostly to himself upon returning. But true or not, knowing Ronon was indifferent to him only made his actions seem worse and the Runner seemed to realize that without an ounce of remorse.
“And now?”
Broad shoulders shrugged. “You’re a lot like McKay. I like McKay so I assume I’ll eventually like you. Can you fight?”
Sweet sentiment but it didn’t do a damn thing to defuse Kavanagh’s paranoia of the man. It was, however, enough to make him forgo pointing out the obvious flaw in Ronon’s logic. “Not hand-to-hand. The army was more ‘shoot the gun, throw the grenade, and if you lose your weapon, you’re probably fucked’,” he answered then his expression shifted into frightened amusement. “Why? Will you go easier on me?”
“Not really.” Muscles rippled as Ronon stretched his arms high over his head then prowled to the center of the mat. “Ready?”
The large man seemed mildly offended by the snort that followed. “You’re huge, creepy, and probably about to kill me.” Kavanagh reluctantly toed off his sneakers. “No. No, I’m not ready and all the alcohol, money, or stupidity in the universe will ever make me be.”
“Too bad.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as Ronon paced a tight circle around him. Kavanagh wasn’t stupid; he knew he didn’t have a chance of winning but he refused to hand those marines more fodder. He shifted into what he hoped looked like a fighting stance and thought back to the day he punched Marty Reynolds in the nose for calling him princess. Then he prayed that he hadn’t already used up his quota of dumb luck.
The first punch was lightening fast and would have hurt like hell had Kavanagh not managed to stumble out of the way. The next caught him high on the chest, knocking him back and flaring pain across his skin. His lungs rebelled against the abuse, made the act of breathing near impossible around the fluttering pulse that his heart hammered into his throat as he struggled to regain his footing.
The back of his head was bouncing against the mat before he realized what happened. The hard fall turned his back into mass of protesting muscles and it only took a couple aborted tries to realize he wasn’t going to move by his own power. The smell of sweat and leather flared his nostrils, his overactive imagination adding sharp pain and musky fear to the mix when Ronon curled so close Kavanagh could practically hear the man’s heartbeat. Ronon was like a furnace above him, radiating comfortable waves of heat that were almost enough to lull him into a false calm, a false promise of safety. A large hand gripped the front of his shirt, dragging up for more abuse and completely destroying the illusion.
The moment his feet touched the ground, Kavanagh gulped and back peddled until he hit the wall. His lungs burned with too little air and his thoughts sluggishly swam through the soup his mind had become. Ronon seemed to hesitate for a moment, obviously taking Sheppard’s order not to break him somewhat seriously, then began to prowl back and forth like a caged animal. Kavanagh forced himself to calm. He was a scientist, solving problems was his job and panicking obviously wasn’t getting him anything but hurt and irrational. His mind cleared and calculations fluttered through his head as he realized he was going about it all wrong.
He waited until Ronon finally moved to box him in then ducked back into the open before the large man could reach him. Kavanagh put little effort into blocking the blows that swiftly followed since he doubted it would do much good, and instead dodged back and sideways at the mere hint of attack. The change in tactics forced Ronon to overcompensate for the distance, shifting his center of balance dramatically. It took nearly fifteen minutes and a great many bruises later before Kavanagh saw his opening but he took at advantage the moment he saw it, letting a smack on the arm spin him back towards Ronon then immediately barreled into the other man. They tumbled to the floor with a muffled thump, a tangle of limbs, and a huff of surprised laughter from the scientist.
“It worked?” was his astonished mutter after he scrambled a good three feet away. Ronon shot him a blank look and let out something that could have been anything between a chuckle and a growl. “McKay will be mad if you kill me. You know how bad he babbles when he’s mad,” Kavanagh quickly added and scooted further back.
Ronon snorted and tossed his head back to uncover his eyes. “Wasn’t planning to and yes. Now, stand up and try punching back this time.”
~~~~
Two hour later, Kavanagh was still riding high on adrenaline. He was restless and jumpy and everything seemed more focused than normal, sounds a little too loud and sights a little to bright. His ears still buzzed with the coarse music of flesh striking clothed flesh and bodies smacking hard against springy foam. His muscles ached and beneath the frayed edges of pint up energy lurked fatigue but sleep would remain far off and unattainable for at least another hour.
He had taken to late night runs through the abandoned sections of the city about a month into the expedition. There was no one to disturb him and, geek or no, a tendency towards long pointless runs was one of the few military habits he had been unable to shake. It was his time to think, to feel his lungs expand and deflate and his muscles bunch with potential energy. He hadn’t done this since the Wraith was discovered in their midst, too busy jumping at every unidentified shadow just like everyone else. The abandoned areas still weren’t completely safe but Kavanagh was likely to start clawing at the walls if he tried to wait it out in his room.
He was startled out of his thoughts when the lights lining the hall suddenly dimmed to tiny points of illumination. Fear danced down his spine as he skid to a stop, eyes wide and flickering about as if to catch what had caused it still gleefully observing its work. Empty. It had probably just been the engineers tweaking with the city’s basic systems again. He thought he heard something in the distance but it wouldn’t have been the first time his imagination had got the better of him. Taking a deep breath, he rolled his neck then faltered mid step when a large clang snapped his attention back down the hall.
Footsteps echoed through the empty corridor, soft and far off but moving fast towards him. His body bunched in preparation to run then went ramrod straight when his name came bouncing off the walls to greet him. Kavanagh sneered as the fear drained from him but the tension remained and intensified.
“I don’t need a running partner, Colonel,” he called back but waited for the other man to jog up beside him. An eyebrow arched when he saw the life signs detector in Sheppard’s hand. “Is this about the brown out?”
“Actually, no. And getting yourself killed isn’t going to get you out of this. Weir would just make us drag your corpse along on missions. What are you…?” The pilot had the nerve to look sheepish after he followed Kavanagh’s gaze to the device. “Stole it while McKay was babbling about the soft drink companies’ conspiracy to murder him.”
Kavanagh nodded and turned to walk away. He made it all of one step before a hand snapped forward to stop him. “Look,” Sheppard hissed and gave the younger man’s arm a shake, “I don’t like it either but we’re going to have to rely on one another from now on. So I figure if you stop acting like a jerk, I’ll actually shoot if you’re being attacked.”
His answer came in a bark of disgusted laughter. “You expect me to play pet scientist to Weir’s pet soldier? I think not.”
“Hey!” The word seemed to ripple through the space between them. “I’m trying to be diplomatic here!”
Kavanagh knew that it was stupid, that-obnoxious or not-the other man was right but it was just so funny. Hilarious, really, that this idiot thought it would be that easy, that all Sheppard had to do was smile and people would stumble all over theirselves just to make him happy. And if charm failed, he could always fall back on intimidation.
“You tried. You failed. Horribly. Now, I have a proposition for you, Colonel,” he spat, his mouth curling into a sneer as the other man flinched. “I stop acting like an asshole and you get me back here alive. You stop acting like an asshole and I won’t ‘accidentally’ shoot you.”
“Wait a-”
Kavanagh wasn’t sure how it happened but he had the airman pinned against the wall before realizing he had moved. Hazel eyes matched his glare with a look of anger and barely concealed shock, lips curled back in a mocking smile, the body against his was perfectly still as they waited for the explosion both knew was coming. Hot breath wafted against his mouth, sparse and periodic enough to tell him that Sheppard was trying hard not to breathe. The scientist didn’t bother, instead taking far too much joy at the other man’s unease to notice he was becoming lightheaded from sucking down Sheppard’s carbon dioxide-laced air.
“Stop acting as though I was asking for it! I’m not the Genii or your angry backworld shit of the week. I’m one of the people whose knowledge you depend on everyday, that saves your sorry ass everyday. I have done my part for this city and the people here, more than my part considering the treatment I endure. Yes, I am a jerk and no, I don’t expect any of you to like me-I don’t want you to like me-but I have struggled to get where I am and all I want is the respect I deserve.”
No explosion, just the harsh, bitter whisper of a man being pushed beyond the lengths of his tolerance and expected to take more. He shoved away from Sheppard and backed up until he was out of arm’s reach. The other man frowned but kept silent, fingers twitching as though looking for the gun he had miraculously left behind. Kavanagh turned and sprinted down the hall, his last sight of Sheppard still burned in his mind, the tense lines of the airman’s body saying the conversation was far from over. Kavanagh had to agree. The problem was that finishing it would probably kill them both.
Title: Synergy (1/?)
Author: Abysmal Seraph
Rating: R, will eventually be NC-17
Pairing: None in this part. Will eventually be Sheppard/McKay/Ronon/Kavanagh. *ducks*
Disclaimer: I’m afraid nothing here really belongs to me. Not even Alex.
Spoilers: Definitely for Critical Mass but to be on the safe side, let’s say the entire series up to that point.
Warnings: Cursing. Violent behavior, thoughts, etc. John and Kavanagh obviously not getting along. Unbetaed.
Notes: This goes AU after Critical Mass. Alex is an actual member of the cast and his identity is likely to be blatantly obvious. Also, this is not a ‘redeem Kavanagh by making him more likable’ type of fic. He’s going to remain just as opinionated and easily hated and his relationship with John (at the very least) will never be deemed healthy. Expect this to get darker in later parts.
Summary: Kavanagh gets a new job, more grief, and a lot closer to Atlantis’ favorite team than he’d like.
He didn’t leave Atlantis.
The lack of reaction wasn’t very surprising. Most of the expedition passed it off as yet another example of the infamous Kavanagh bullheadedness while Weir took the opportunity to treat him like a leper-giving disgusted pity with one hand and with the other, snatching the accomplishment of a perceived good deed. People joked that he planned to make their fearless leader and her dream team suffer by sheer force of presence alone. The first time he heard that, it had been accompanied by the high-pitched giggle of the linguist that voiced it and Kavanagh wasn’t sure which he found more annoying: the idea or the woman. Alex had known better, his eyes narrowing in what the scientist had long ago labeled as his brother’s ‘someone’s gonna die’ expression then very calmly telling him to get his ass on the Daedalus and back stateside ASAP. Kavanagh wanted to because no one in their right mind wanted to play in the same sandbox as the well-armed people that wanted to hurt them and, fuck, if he wasn’t getting a little tired of not being able to hit people back. The problem was he couldn’t leave.
Physically, there was nothing to stop him. In fact, he had been given every opportunity available to return to Earth. Several times. With a great deal of encouragement. What held him back was fear, deep-rooted and paralyzing and threatening to consume him. He was terrified but he didn’t know why, only that his fears seemed to be soothed when he stopped considering the option.
Kavanagh quirked a self-depreciating smile then quickly wiped it away. People tended to get edgy when he smiled, eyeing him warily and focusing more attention on him that he liked. As long as he didn’t arouse too much suspicion, he remained mostly unnoticed until something was needed bad enough for him to be acknowledged. His gaze swept across the mess. No one had noticed-no one was even watching-and with a mental sigh, he returned to his blissful, antisocial haze.
“Don’t bother. Not even your overactive imagination can make that resemble food.”
Kavanagh glanced up warily. “McKay,” he acknowledged while telling his fight or flight instinct to shut the hell up. Just because the other man was acting friendlier towards him didn’t mean the world was ending. It was probably the Canadian’s way of dealing with his guilt. Kavanagh swallowed a groan as McKay settled himself and his tray down for a long stay. “Don’t you have someone else to bother or has Sheppard already used up his daily quota of threats?”
“No, not really. Yes, but that’s never actually stopped him. And as of yesterday morning, you’re officially part of the team. Sheppard’s expecting you at the firing range at fourteen-hundred so eat your mystery mush fast.”
Silence fell between them as Kavanagh’s shocked mind registered what he had just been told. He, the most hated person in all of Atlantis, was being forced to work closely with three of the people that had wanted him tortured. He shot McKay an incredulous look, certain the whole thing was a very bad joke. “Okay, what did you do to piss Weir off and why am I suffering for it?”
“Don’t worry. Judging from Colonel Sheppard’s colorful choice of words, the disbelief and horror are mutual.” He made a staccato wave of his fork towards Kavanagh and an imaginary Sheppard. “Just add homicidal urges and you’re practically married.”
Of course McKay would make it seem like nothing. It wasn’t as though he could come right out and say they planned to drag Kavanagh off world, gut him, and claim some temperamental sideshow freak with a machete took a liking to him without the younger man getting a tad suspicious. His eyes snapped towards the door. If he started running before McKay finished inhaling his meal, he might make it to the Daedalus in time. He laughed at that, making the Canadian hesitate before he moved on to Kavanagh’s long forgotten tray without waiting for permission. Leaving wasn’t an option. “Interesting but not what I asked.”
McKay looked at him for the first time since he had sat down, expression deadly serious. “Because sometimes we end up in situations that can only be solved with intelligence and sometimes,” McKay leaned in and dropped his voice as though telling a secret, “I’m not around to play hero. You were in the army. Don’t,” he snapped when he saw the younger man about to protest. His chair scraped across the floor as he leaned back. “I realize it was only to get you through college but that doesn’t change anything. You’re smart, hopelessly socially crippled, but smart and that’s what the team needs: another gun with enough brains attached to help me swim through the sea of testosterone the others secrete. Now be a good boy and accept the responsibility.”
Kavanagh smiled grimly. Only Rodney McKay could mix insult and praise so seamlessly you were left wondering if you should be flattered or reaching for a gun. It was a commendable attribute and confusing enough to leave you off balance for the time it took McKay to claim victory. Kavanagh shrugged broadly and put up his hands in defeat. He still wanted to argue, wanted to rant and rave and scream he didn’t belong with Atlantis’ most loved band of misfits, but he knew it was pointless.
“Wait, yesterday? Why am I just hearing about it?” he asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion as he shifted slightly away from the man heartily devouring all his food.
McKay managed a shrug between bites. “Took this long to wrestle the gun away from Sheppard. By the way: Eric? I was expecting something a little more damning. Like Melvin or Francis or something as equally gag-inducing that could explain the bitchiness.”
Kavanagh let the annoyed growl pass his lips unchecked. His superior did a fantastic job of ignoring him as usual, save for the triumphant smirk he wore. Rolling his eyes, Kavanagh smacked the Canadian’s hands away from his jello. “You realize you won’t be getting a nice farewell note the next time someone tries to blow up the city?” he asked and snatched up the jiggly mass before McKay made a grab for it again.
“Pretty much. That was surprisingly touching in a not-like-you sort of way. You really think I’m the best boss you’ve ever had?”
The younger man’s eyes shot skyward as he prayed for strength. “I wrote ‘one of’ and I thought you were going to die. It was more like making a megalomaniac’s last day than actual praise. Besides, good bosses don’t blow up five-sixths of a solar system.”
“Claiming you could have done better?” McKay demanded around his mouthful.
“Yeah, I could have blown up the entire system,” he snapped but his grin softened the blow. A look of absolute horror crossed his face. “Oh dear god, what was that?”
“That,” the Canadian stated as he polished off the last of the food and stood, “was bonding. Get used to it because you’ll be doing quite a bit of it from now on. Oh, and don’t worry about John. If he gets too abusive, just rub his stomach. He’ll be too busy thumping his leg against the wall to bite.”
Kavanagh watched as McKay left the mess, leaving the younger man alone with his thoughts and a vague sense of disquiet. If they didn’t turn a gun on him first, they would probably confuse him to death. How did a person go from wanting to torture someone to being so…friendly? Deciding that solving that particular mystery wasn’t worth the migraine, he sighed loudly and took his first bite of the entire meal.
~~~~
Bitching at Weir for half an hour had done nothing to improve Kavanagh’s general opinion of human intelligence. It did, however, nearly get him thrown back in a cell. He had been tempted to stay longer-he was, after all, rather adept at pushing his luck way past the point of breaking-but the suggestion of a marine escort to the firing range was hardly appealing.
When he arrived, Colonel Sheppard was obviously as pleased to see him as the younger man was to be there. That suited Kavanagh just fine because it was expected and he was hungry and more than a little pissed off. It was obviously the pilot’s turn to bitch since he went at it loudly and with much enthusiasm. The long lamentation about shitty luck and ending up with the city’s most hated asshole was accompanied by the darkest glare the scientist had received since lunch.
By the time the pair had reached the firing line, Sheppard’s tirade had dwindled into the occasional curse and an insistent need to explain firearm usage in the most condescending tone possible. Kavanagh had rolled his eyes at first but lost patience sometime during a nasty quip about shooting blanks. Snatching up the nearest pistol, he strangled the urge to turn it on Sheppard and instead shot off three bullets that sliced through the paper target’s head. The Colonel’s withering stare did nothing to erase his smirk.
“Okay, you can use a gun.” Sheppard straightened and pasted on a satisfied expression. “But can you use a P90?”
Kavanagh snorted. He had a marine for a brother, which translated to casually delivered instructions on how to kill a man and knowing how to use most of the weapons in the SGC’s arsenal years before he joined. Submachine guns had held a special place in his heart ever since college when Alex threatened to play Rambo with the lab techs and live ammunition. Accepting the P90 that was handed to him, Kavanagh adjusted his stance to better handle the recoil and pulled the trigger. By the time he let up, there were enough holes in the target to down a bear.
Turning to the other man, he choked back a laugh at the glazed look Sheppard focused on the gun. Kavanagh understood the awed pleasure of watching destructive forces-that weren’t trying to kill you-at work but making his teammates feel less like freaks wasn’t part of his new job description. “Maybe I should leave you two alone. Oh, and you might want to clean up after your done since Bates will probably turn homicidal if he found out you creamed all over one of his babies.”
“Probably”
Kavanagh’s body turned to stone. The small part of his brain that hadn’t gone stupid with fear told him he exuded the aura of a cornered animal. Armed perhaps but cornered nonetheless and all that would gain him were excited predators and more trouble than he needed. As if to prove him right, Ronon flashed Sheppard a toothy grin and stalked towards the pair. Kavanagh did nothing to hide his terror, instead clutching the P90 closer and making it painfully clear he wouldn’t think twice about using it. He would shoot the bastard if he saw necessary. Hell, he was ready to put Sheppard’s avenging barbarian down just for breathing in his general direction. Weir was insane to think this could work.
“Hey, I’ve been expecting you,” Sheppard admitted with a pleased smile and a little bounce. “Since Kavanagh here seems to be such an expert in the way of the gun, I figure he can move on to sparring with you.” He cocked an eyebrow at the younger man. “That a problem with you?”
Kavanagh cocked his head to the side and eyed the pilot carefully. He calculated the precise location to aim and the number of bullets he would need to kill his new teammates. He calculated the amount of time it would take to get to the Gateroom, cause a large enough distraction to draw attention away from the dialing system, and gate to a decent world where he could disappear completely. He was pretty sure he could make it. Instead, he managed a jaundiced smile and a sardonically cheery, “Why would I?”
Sheppard’s eyes glittered with dark amusement as he shrugged and reached for the gun, carefully extracting it from Kavanagh’s grip before nudging the other man towards Ronon. The soldier watched as they moved toward the door, expression tight as he tried not to laugh at Kavanagh’s obvious discomfort. A sugary-sweet, “Have fun. And, Ronon, try not to break him,” floated down the hall after them. The Runner chuckled softly and glanced over his shoulder with a wicked smile. Kavanagh briefly wondered if the behemoth could kill a Wraith with just those teeth.
The journey to the gym was painfully uncomfortable, the smug curious looks passersby crawling under his skin. He knew what they were thinking, the quivering, guilty pleasure of their thoughts coating his tongue bitter. They thought, no, hoped Ronon had finally come to finish what he started, that the loud mouth jerk would finally get what he deserved. He was beginning to wish he had been the one to set the bomb.
A group of marines was waiting for them when they reached the gym. They crowded around the pair, forming a human cage as they snickered and crowed. Peeking inside the room, Kavanagh found more stared back at him with beady malicious eyes. A surge of anger sizzled through him at their amusement; his fingers clenched with the urge to strike the nearest smirking face until all that was left was a pulpy smear.
“Going to teach him good, huh, Ronon?”
“Bet he faints again.”
“Not before he pisses his pants.”
A wave of laughter crashed through the hall after that. Kavanagh flinched away from the sound, the movement so small and quick that the only one that caught it was Ronon. The behemoth seemed to consider what he had seen then his eyes narrowed as though he came to a decision. “Not today,” he rumbled at the soldiers. Obviously that was some sort of sign since after a few disappointed groans and a very loud complaint from a very petite woman, the crowd dispersed.
When Ronon turned back to face him, Kavanagh didn’t bother hiding his confusion. The scientist opened his mouth to question, hesitated when the other man shook his head and walked into the room, then followed in a haze of confusion and curiosity. They stopped at the edge of the mat, Kavanagh shifting nervously from foot to foot as he watched Ronon remove his shoes and shove them aside.
It didn’t take long for the silence to become too uncomfortable to bear. “I suppose I should be thanking you for that,” Kavanagh muttered as he nodded towards the closed door. Ronon looked up from the mat, his dark eyes following the movement before settling on the smaller man.
“It was necessary.”
Every thing about his stance said Ronon wasn’t talking about the marines. Kavanagh’s mouth thinned into an angry frown as he tried to follow the other man’s reasoning. “I know. It wasn’t right but I know and that’s not why I’m mad. I wasn’t the only suspect or at least I shouldn’t have been but Weir and the lot of you focused all your suspicions on me. On me because you hate me, not because you had any actual proof that I had done anything wrong.”
“True except I never hated you. Barely knew you existed before then.” Kavanagh had no doubt that was true since he had kept mostly to himself upon returning. But true or not, knowing Ronon was indifferent to him only made his actions seem worse and the Runner seemed to realize that without an ounce of remorse.
“And now?”
Broad shoulders shrugged. “You’re a lot like McKay. I like McKay so I assume I’ll eventually like you. Can you fight?”
Sweet sentiment but it didn’t do a damn thing to defuse Kavanagh’s paranoia of the man. It was, however, enough to make him forgo pointing out the obvious flaw in Ronon’s logic. “Not hand-to-hand. The army was more ‘shoot the gun, throw the grenade, and if you lose your weapon, you’re probably fucked’,” he answered then his expression shifted into frightened amusement. “Why? Will you go easier on me?”
“Not really.” Muscles rippled as Ronon stretched his arms high over his head then prowled to the center of the mat. “Ready?”
The large man seemed mildly offended by the snort that followed. “You’re huge, creepy, and probably about to kill me.” Kavanagh reluctantly toed off his sneakers. “No. No, I’m not ready and all the alcohol, money, or stupidity in the universe will ever make me be.”
“Too bad.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as Ronon paced a tight circle around him. Kavanagh wasn’t stupid; he knew he didn’t have a chance of winning but he refused to hand those marines more fodder. He shifted into what he hoped looked like a fighting stance and thought back to the day he punched Marty Reynolds in the nose for calling him princess. Then he prayed that he hadn’t already used up his quota of dumb luck.
The first punch was lightening fast and would have hurt like hell had Kavanagh not managed to stumble out of the way. The next caught him high on the chest, knocking him back and flaring pain across his skin. His lungs rebelled against the abuse, made the act of breathing near impossible around the fluttering pulse that his heart hammered into his throat as he struggled to regain his footing.
The back of his head was bouncing against the mat before he realized what happened. The hard fall turned his back into mass of protesting muscles and it only took a couple aborted tries to realize he wasn’t going to move by his own power. The smell of sweat and leather flared his nostrils, his overactive imagination adding sharp pain and musky fear to the mix when Ronon curled so close Kavanagh could practically hear the man’s heartbeat. Ronon was like a furnace above him, radiating comfortable waves of heat that were almost enough to lull him into a false calm, a false promise of safety. A large hand gripped the front of his shirt, dragging up for more abuse and completely destroying the illusion.
The moment his feet touched the ground, Kavanagh gulped and back peddled until he hit the wall. His lungs burned with too little air and his thoughts sluggishly swam through the soup his mind had become. Ronon seemed to hesitate for a moment, obviously taking Sheppard’s order not to break him somewhat seriously, then began to prowl back and forth like a caged animal. Kavanagh forced himself to calm. He was a scientist, solving problems was his job and panicking obviously wasn’t getting him anything but hurt and irrational. His mind cleared and calculations fluttered through his head as he realized he was going about it all wrong.
He waited until Ronon finally moved to box him in then ducked back into the open before the large man could reach him. Kavanagh put little effort into blocking the blows that swiftly followed since he doubted it would do much good, and instead dodged back and sideways at the mere hint of attack. The change in tactics forced Ronon to overcompensate for the distance, shifting his center of balance dramatically. It took nearly fifteen minutes and a great many bruises later before Kavanagh saw his opening but he took at advantage the moment he saw it, letting a smack on the arm spin him back towards Ronon then immediately barreled into the other man. They tumbled to the floor with a muffled thump, a tangle of limbs, and a huff of surprised laughter from the scientist.
“It worked?” was his astonished mutter after he scrambled a good three feet away. Ronon shot him a blank look and let out something that could have been anything between a chuckle and a growl. “McKay will be mad if you kill me. You know how bad he babbles when he’s mad,” Kavanagh quickly added and scooted further back.
Ronon snorted and tossed his head back to uncover his eyes. “Wasn’t planning to and yes. Now, stand up and try punching back this time.”
~~~~
Two hour later, Kavanagh was still riding high on adrenaline. He was restless and jumpy and everything seemed more focused than normal, sounds a little too loud and sights a little to bright. His ears still buzzed with the coarse music of flesh striking clothed flesh and bodies smacking hard against springy foam. His muscles ached and beneath the frayed edges of pint up energy lurked fatigue but sleep would remain far off and unattainable for at least another hour.
He had taken to late night runs through the abandoned sections of the city about a month into the expedition. There was no one to disturb him and, geek or no, a tendency towards long pointless runs was one of the few military habits he had been unable to shake. It was his time to think, to feel his lungs expand and deflate and his muscles bunch with potential energy. He hadn’t done this since the Wraith was discovered in their midst, too busy jumping at every unidentified shadow just like everyone else. The abandoned areas still weren’t completely safe but Kavanagh was likely to start clawing at the walls if he tried to wait it out in his room.
He was startled out of his thoughts when the lights lining the hall suddenly dimmed to tiny points of illumination. Fear danced down his spine as he skid to a stop, eyes wide and flickering about as if to catch what had caused it still gleefully observing its work. Empty. It had probably just been the engineers tweaking with the city’s basic systems again. He thought he heard something in the distance but it wouldn’t have been the first time his imagination had got the better of him. Taking a deep breath, he rolled his neck then faltered mid step when a large clang snapped his attention back down the hall.
Footsteps echoed through the empty corridor, soft and far off but moving fast towards him. His body bunched in preparation to run then went ramrod straight when his name came bouncing off the walls to greet him. Kavanagh sneered as the fear drained from him but the tension remained and intensified.
“I don’t need a running partner, Colonel,” he called back but waited for the other man to jog up beside him. An eyebrow arched when he saw the life signs detector in Sheppard’s hand. “Is this about the brown out?”
“Actually, no. And getting yourself killed isn’t going to get you out of this. Weir would just make us drag your corpse along on missions. What are you…?” The pilot had the nerve to look sheepish after he followed Kavanagh’s gaze to the device. “Stole it while McKay was babbling about the soft drink companies’ conspiracy to murder him.”
Kavanagh nodded and turned to walk away. He made it all of one step before a hand snapped forward to stop him. “Look,” Sheppard hissed and gave the younger man’s arm a shake, “I don’t like it either but we’re going to have to rely on one another from now on. So I figure if you stop acting like a jerk, I’ll actually shoot if you’re being attacked.”
His answer came in a bark of disgusted laughter. “You expect me to play pet scientist to Weir’s pet soldier? I think not.”
“Hey!” The word seemed to ripple through the space between them. “I’m trying to be diplomatic here!”
Kavanagh knew that it was stupid, that-obnoxious or not-the other man was right but it was just so funny. Hilarious, really, that this idiot thought it would be that easy, that all Sheppard had to do was smile and people would stumble all over theirselves just to make him happy. And if charm failed, he could always fall back on intimidation.
“You tried. You failed. Horribly. Now, I have a proposition for you, Colonel,” he spat, his mouth curling into a sneer as the other man flinched. “I stop acting like an asshole and you get me back here alive. You stop acting like an asshole and I won’t ‘accidentally’ shoot you.”
“Wait a-”
Kavanagh wasn’t sure how it happened but he had the airman pinned against the wall before realizing he had moved. Hazel eyes matched his glare with a look of anger and barely concealed shock, lips curled back in a mocking smile, the body against his was perfectly still as they waited for the explosion both knew was coming. Hot breath wafted against his mouth, sparse and periodic enough to tell him that Sheppard was trying hard not to breathe. The scientist didn’t bother, instead taking far too much joy at the other man’s unease to notice he was becoming lightheaded from sucking down Sheppard’s carbon dioxide-laced air.
“Stop acting as though I was asking for it! I’m not the Genii or your angry backworld shit of the week. I’m one of the people whose knowledge you depend on everyday, that saves your sorry ass everyday. I have done my part for this city and the people here, more than my part considering the treatment I endure. Yes, I am a jerk and no, I don’t expect any of you to like me-I don’t want you to like me-but I have struggled to get where I am and all I want is the respect I deserve.”
No explosion, just the harsh, bitter whisper of a man being pushed beyond the lengths of his tolerance and expected to take more. He shoved away from Sheppard and backed up until he was out of arm’s reach. The other man frowned but kept silent, fingers twitching as though looking for the gun he had miraculously left behind. Kavanagh turned and sprinted down the hall, his last sight of Sheppard still burned in his mind, the tense lines of the airman’s body saying the conversation was far from over. Kavanagh had to agree. The problem was that finishing it would probably kill them both.