FIC: The Stargate Affair part 2 of 2

[lovelokest]

Part 1

John winced as the keys rattled when he took them out and started to work on the deadbolt, his gut churning and his palms sweaty with nerves. They were in the back of the building, but as John was all too aware, neither of them were properly attired for sneaking around in the dark. Tan overcoats practically glowed under the full moon, as bright and attention getting as the several feet of snow blowing harshly around them like stinging ice and piling into ever higher drifts.

He only hoped that no one would see their footprints until they had moved on to the next safehouse. He couldn't be sure if Elizabeth had received his message and had made preparations for their journey, he could only trust. As Zelenka's betrayal reminded him, trust was too often misplaced to offer any comfort.

The deadbolt popped open with a harsh crack that echoed loudly in the quiet night. John spared one glance at the cloudy, purple skies that promised a heavy snowfall. Such small mercies were greater than John had learned to expect, but still, he spared a wishful thought that it would snow heavily tonight.

Keys jingling as he put them back into his pocket, John eased inside the room and paused, listening for any sign that they might not be totally alone. Satisfied that all was as it should be, he took a lightstick from one of his many coat pockets and snapped it, breaking the phial inside. It bathed the doorway and room in a sickly green light. John held it up and scanned the dusty floor and drop cloth covered furniture with a satisfied nod.

He couldn't see all the way across the room, but he could see down the short flight of stairs and enough of the floor to know that the dust layer had been undisturbed for at least several months. Barring incorrect information, this was the only way into the basement other than the staircase leading down from the kitchen and the only people upstairs were the caretaker and his wife--not many people stayed in Salekhard during the winter if they could avoid it. A sentiment that John fully agreed with, frostbite was a bitch and the short days left him feeling depressed and irritable.

Being intimately involved with espionage didn't help either. James Bond had made it look easy.

"Follow my footsteps down and don't touch anything," John whispered over his shoulder and started to creep down the stairs, not daring to breathe as they creaked and settled under his weight.

Half-way down, John spared precious seconds to glance behind him and gauge Rodney's progress. Rodney was several steps above John, his face set with concentration and his hands shaking with either shock or a hypoglycemic reaction. John hoped to hell that it was simply a hypoglycemic reaction and not shock.

The syringe Rodney always had with him would take care of his blood sugar drop even if the promised pack wasn't there. With shock? There was every chance of Rodney dying, no matter John's skill and practice as a medic. John had made it this far without getting either one of them killed, and he was damn well going to make sure they both made it out of this alive.

At the bottom of the stares, John took a hard candy from his pocket and handed it to Rodney while telling him, "Stay here," before he crept into the darkened room, tension unknotting in his chest when he saw the solitary pack sitting next to the only other door in the room.

Taking it across the room to Rodney, he set it down and opened it, examining its meager contents before taking out an electric lantern and a small bag of food. There was barely enough to sustain one man for a week, let alone two, but it was what they had. And only one sleeping bag, just to make things fun.

He handed the bag of food to Rodney, who surveyed the meager contents mournfully, the shaking finally easing as his blood sugar rose. He looked back at John, "You do know that I'm hypoglycemic, right?"

"Rodney," John grated out, "I know. I've seen your files. We'll just need to be careful."

Rodney nodded, and started to walk around the room, his curiosity starting to outweigh his worry. It was one of the first things that John had noticed about him when he had started working in the lab with Rodney and it was still one of his most endearing traits. "Whose house is this?" Rodney asked as he tilted his head and leaned in close, running a finger along a row of books, his eyes squinting as he tried to read the titles.

"They didn't tell me who owned the house. Just that he was a friend of Dr Kuryakin's," John said as he took the lone sleeping bag out and rolled it out on the floor neatly.

Rodney whipped around, "The Dr. Illya Kuryakin?"

John nodded, "Yeah, you know him?"

Shaking his head, Rodney said "No, but I read his papers on physics in grad school. He's not as smart as me of course, but he did have some interesting ideas."

John snorted and bundled the clothes into something resembling a pillow, "Good thing you're keeping that ego of yours in check, Rodney."

"What about you? I know you're not really a scientist now, but you're not entirely stupid." Coming from anyone else it would have sounded like a backhanded complement. From Rodney it was a glowing message of praise.

John scrubbed his face with a hand and sighed deeply, "I promise you Rodney, when we're out of the city and closer to Moscow I will tell you. Just not now, it isn't safe."

"You keep telling me that we're in danger. But what from?" Rodney persisted, pacing over to John and back to the bookshelf again.

"I can't tell you, Rodney. Goddamnit, I wasn't even sure until this morning that you hadn't turned over to the Russians," John finished in a near shout. The room was suddenly silent, John's last sentence hanging loudly between them.

"You thought -- you thought I had turned to work for the Russians?" Rodney asked, confusion, betrayal and anger flickering fast back and forth on his face.

"Welcome to international co-operation in 1989." John said sarcastically and tried to stuff the urge to tell Rodney everything and beg his forgiveness down into the recesses of his heart. He moved away from the sleeping bag and towards the door, "You can have the sleeping bag. I'll keep watch."

Rodney sat on the sleeping bag and started to take his shoes off, "So much for the General Hammond's promise that in this new, enlightened age of Russian-American diplomacy, I would be safe."

John unholstered his gun again and settled on the floor, his back resting against the outside door. "Everyone has their own agenda and no one is safe," he looked down at his lap and then up at Rodney again. "No one is safe now, especially if you have a piece of paper that ensures you safe conduct," he rested his head against the rough wood of the door.

Fully clothed and with his coat still on, Rodney shimmied into the sleeping bag, sighing happily as the warmth encased him. John nearly didn't hear his question, it was spoken so quietly, "Am I safe with you?"

"Yes," he answered just as quietly, "I won't hurt you."

"Ok," Rodney replied and turned over on his side to face John and shut his eyes, his breathing slowing and evening out as sleep overtook him.

John swallowed around the hard lump in his throat at Rodney's trust in him, hating that he couldn't guarantee Rodney's safety from others.

***

John woke with his gun jammed against the underside of Rodney's chin, the adrenaline still rushing through him. Rodney was frozen, his eyes wide and scared, one hand still on John's shoulder, the other laying stiff against his side. John hadn't meant to fall asleep without waking Rodney for his turn at watch, and now -- now the thought of how close he'd come to painting the ceiling above with the insides of Rodney's head filled him with cold fear. He shoved that thought away and instead concentrated on how close they were-- close enough that John could easily see the dark circles under his eyes and the beginnings of crows feet in the corners of his eyes. Close enough to kiss.

Swallowing, he pushed that thought aside and dropped his gun from Rodney's chin down into his lap, instinctively checking to make sure the safety was still on and breathing out a sigh of relief when it was. He shrugged Rodney's hand off his shoulder and rolled his head, neck stiff and sore from a night spent sleeping upright against a door.

Rodney's frantic voice filtered through John's thoughts, "I'm sorry, sorry. It's, uh, morning, I thought you would want to know. Are your reflexes always that quick?"

John nodded, "Sorry, I've been on edge recently."

"I can see," Rodney glared at the gun.

Rolling his eyes, John said "I'll be more careful. Time to go."

"Good," Rodney said and started to fold up his sleeping bag and make-shift pillow.

Fifteen minutes and a small breakfast later, John opened the door and they were off. If all went as planned, in a week they would be in Moscow. If it all went to shit, they'd either be dead or wishing they were dead.

***

Neatly tucking the rest of the food away deep inside his borrowed pack with cold fingers, John watched as Rodney finished his bread and cheese, the trembling in his shoulders visibly easing with each bite.

"God," he moaned as he swallowed the last bite, "I never thought bread and cheese could taste so good. When we get back, I'm going to buy the biggest steak on the menu." Rodney trailed off, his eyes distant and glazed at the thought of all that meat.

John had to bite his lip quickly to stop the smirk from spreading over his face, and also hopefully to stop the hardening in his groin that started when Rodney had moaned. "It's amazing how the simple things taste after you haven't had them in a while," he said carefully, keeping his face blank and not looking at Rodney.

Rodney shook his head slightly and regarded John thoughtfully, the furrow of his brow creasing slightly in the way it had in the lab before he started asking questions. If John had someone to bet against, he would have bet that Rodney's first question would be who the hell John was and would be followed staccato quick by why was he checked up on. John didn't blame him, if what had happened to Rodney had happened to him, he would ask the same questions and probably would not have waited so long. And emphasized his point with his gun.

John was many things, but subtle was not one of them.

Brushing the crumbs from his hands, Rodney folded the handkerchief the bread and cheese had been wrapped in and studied it, "Is your name really John Sheppard?" He asked, his voice tight as if he didn't want to ask but had to.

"Yes." John watched Rodney's fingers as they twirled the folded handkerchief nervously.

Rodney let out a shaky laugh, "You're a real doctor but not part of the SGC, right?"

"Yes," he answered honestly, that part of his cover was true.

Rodney shifted so that he was looking straight at John, his eyes burning with questions and curiosity, "Who are you? And don't give me any of that 'It's too dangerous' crap."

"Major John Sheppard, United States Air Force. I'd show you my pips, but I left them in my other bag," he joked weakly, bile and acid sitting heavy in his knotted stomach.

"Huh, well, that makes sense," something eased behind Rodney's eyes, calming John's stomach slightly.

"How did you know?" John asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Your hands. They're calloused and rough. Plus, you never questioned an order that I gave you. Even Miko challenges my judgment now and again." Rodney paused and tilted his head, "It also explains the way I'd sometimes catch you reaching for a gun that wasn't there."

John stared at Rodney, if Rodney had noticed his hands and weapons before, maybe...maybe it would be worth the risk to test the waters. See if Rodney had more than a passing interest in him. "You're observant," he commented and waited for Rodney to react.

Rodney didn't disappoint. "Of course I am," Rodney said scathingly, "I'm a scientist. You know, I'm beginning to think that you got your degree out of a Cracker Jack box." John watched as it all clicked into place in Rodney's mind, "Unless..."

"Unless what?" John parroted the question back, all the moisture in his mouth going to his palms.

"Unless you're asking me if I have noticed you watching me for reasons other than scientific ones or espionage ones," Rodney rushed out, looking into the bushes behind John's shoulders.

"And if I were?" John asked quietly, concentrating on the small fire in front of them, unable to look at Rodney when he answered.

When Rodney finally answered, John had been staring at the fire long enough that yellow flames danced behind his eyes if he closed them. It was said so quietly that John almost missed it. "I noticed," Rodney said and John finally looked up from the fire and over at his companion.

Rodney's was one line of vibrating tension with his shoulders hunched and his hands clenching in and out of fists. Almost as if he expected to have to defend himself against a blow from John for daring to say that John might be queer.

"Okay," John replied equally quiet and tried not to look threatening. It hurt that Rodney had thought him capable of such a thing and it dampened the warmth that had started to spread through him at Rodney's admission.

"That's all you're going to say?" Rodney asked, surprised.

John nodded and stood, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the knots of tension there and failing. "We need to get an early start tomorrow," he said and picked up their one sleeping bag, unfurling it carefully across where he had sat and towards Rodney.

Rodney didn't stand and the bottom of it landed across his lap, "Who is taking watch tonight?"

John looked outside and up at the clear sky, it was going to be cold enough to kill tonight. The abandoned barn they'd stumbled upon would keep the wind at bay, but not much else. "No one," he said and bent over to unlace his boots.

"There's only one sleeping bag," Rodney said dumbly.

"I know," John unzipped the bag and sat down on the inside of it, he removed his boots and placed them at the top of the bag before taking the gun from his coat pocket and placing it in one of his books. He eased into the sleeping bag and let his sleeping bag covered feet rest on Rodney's lap. "Well?" he asked and turned on his side, looking between Rodney and the open sleeping bag meaningfully.

Rodney stared at John for a long moment silently, biting his lower lip and his brows furrowing in concentration.

John sighed, "Rodney, I'm not going to jump you. Now get in the damn bag!"

That seemed to jump start Rodney and he unlaced his shoes before standing up. Sitting on the narrow sliver of sleeping bag next to John, he took his shoes off and set them next to John's before crawling gingerly in beside him, turning on his side as well and zipping the bag up.

"What's so important about that damn book?" John asked--the silence and Rodney's stiff form next to him getting to him.

"A project Zelenka," Rodney spit out his name in disgust, "and I worked on."

"And?" John prodded.

"And nothing," Rodney said ruthlessly, "I know you're not trying to kill me right now, but I can't trust you."

It stung, but at the heart of it, Rodney was right. If John were in Rodney's place, he would be saying the same thing.

Rodney started to slowly relax his breath evening out into sleep, but John lay awake. It was going to be a long time before he fell asleep.

***

The moon was still high when a branch cracking in the bush outside the barn jolted John out of his light sleep. Sometime during the night they had curled together and his arm was wrapped protectively around Rodney's belly. Easing his arm from there and taking out his gun, he held still and listened intently.

The only sounds he could hear were his and Rodney's breathing and the far off hooting of an owl. Must have been an animal, he told himself as he gently shook Rodney awake.

"Time to go?" Rodney asked blearily and fumbled for the sleeping bag zipper.

"Yeah, we have a long way to travel today." John sat up, tucking the gun into his coat pocket again before reaching for his boots and putting them on.

Ten minutes later and they were crawling through the underbrush, every step taking them closer to Moscow.

***

Their footsteps thudded in time with John's racing heart. They were almost there, almost to safety and a warm meal and a hot shower to wash away the grime and sweat from the last week. John spared a glance behind him and then grabbed Rodney's wrist and pulled him around the corner and into an alleyway, just in time to save him from the bullet that was currently embedded in the soft red brick of the building opposite them.

Finally, they were in Moscow.

John ran down the alleyway, listening intently for the steady slap of Rodney's footprints, the only way he could tell that Rodney was still behind him and hadn't tripped on any of the obstacles in the alleyway. The signs of a failing government were plain to see -- the fanatic Soviet neatness fading in to graffiti adorning the walls and the piles of garbage blocking the way.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a promising window and slowed, reassured as he heard Rodney's steps slow and then stop, so close that he could feel the warmth of Rodney's breath against the back of his neck. John suppressed the shiver of want that bolted through his system. On the other hand, he thought when he peeked throuyh the broken glass and saw a very clearly abandoned basement pub, if the Soviets were at their full strength, there was every chance that that pane would have been fixed, leaving John and Rodney to be perfect targets for the Russians to riddle their bodies with bullets.

On the whole, John preferred not becoming a pincushion and as he squatted down, his shoulder and hip reminded him of this too. Gripping the jagged glass with his gloved hands John pulled the glass sharply towards him, wincing slightly at the high-pitched grating sound it made before popping loose. He gave the dark room beyond a cursory look and, satisfied that there wasn't anyone immediately lurking there for them, eeled through the small opening and landed on his feet softly. Peering into the darkness, John gave the room a once over and -- satisfied that there was nothing out of the ordinary -- he motioned for Rodney to drop down and stepped out of the way.

Sending a silent word of thanks to the world for something finally going right, John watched Rodney shimmy through the broken window with far more ease than he'd expected. Rodney's only reaction to the impact of landing was a short oomph and an even briefer grimace that ghosted over his face quickly in the dim light of the room.

Holding Rodney's shoulder, John pulled Rodney in close and murmured into his ear. "Are you okay?" He asked, squeezing Rodney's shoulder gently in what he hoped was a reassuringly manner.

Rodney nodded and covered John's hand with his own, squeezing back before letting go, his hand dropping down to his side.

"I, uh, I have to check the room," John said inanely, his voice still barely above a whisper.

Rodney started to snort and then stopped himself, amusement shining bright in his eyes. "Go," he mouthed silently and gestured widely to the room.

John swallowed hard and stepped away from Rodney shakily. They were almost there, almost to the American Embassy and the protection it afforded. They were a hell of a lot safer here in this basement than they had been in any place since they had run from Siberia, but the scant miles to the Embassy seemed to stretch longer than the road from Salekhard to Moscow.

Just like the distance currently between Rodney and himself.

Tamping down on the urge to go to Rodney and take his head in his hands and kiss him senseless, John finished checking the farthest recesses of the room. Giving the door a thorough examination with his hands and a cursory examination with his eyes due to the dim lighting, he concluded that it could be a hell of a lot worse. The door didn't feel all that sturdy, but John hazarded it probably would hold up to a few bullets and also a fair amount of shoving. And, judging by the lack of other doors in the room, the stairwell leading upstairs was probably behind it.

If they were found down here, it wouldn't last long, but it would last long enough for John to empty the last two clips of his carefully hoarded ammunition. After that it would be hand-to-hand combat and John was far rustier in that than he cared to think about. He didn't think that Rodney had ever hit anything more than an eraser against a chalkboard though, judging from his build, if he learned how to hit he would be a damn good fighter.

Doing a second quick room check spurred on by his paranoia and his admitted earlier distraction, Not because you were thinking about kissing Rodney, his treacherous mind thought, not at all

Enough! He answered himself savagely and finished his second search, stopping inches away from Rodney, his hands itching to touch.

When their eyes met, John swore that electricity sparked between them and it was the easiest thing in the world to just lean forward, close that short distance between them and fulfill the urges he had been nursing and denying since the first time he saw Rodney's eyes light up as he talked about the Stargate.

The crunch of a boot into snow and glass made them freeze for long moments, lips a hairsbreadth apart, not daring to breathe until the crunch sounded again, this time farther away. John unfroze enough to gradually ease himself between Rodney and the open window, pushing them away from the thin line of light that splashed across the floor, not stopping until Rodney's back hit the wall, his breath exiting him with a soft sigh. They stood there together, John's hands wrapped tightly around the bulk of Rodney's shoulders, silence stretching infinite between them.

It happened so fast that John couldn't immediately parse what had happened. One minute they were standing still, John pinning Rodney to the wall, breath held in nervous anticipation as two sets of feet ran by their hiding place accompanied by agitated Russian voices.

And then they were kissing.

John wasn't sure who had kissed who first and he really didn't care. They were kissing, finally kissing, and John couldn't quite bite back the moan low in his throat as Rodney skated his tongue across the seam of John's lips.

Rodney's sharp indrawn breath as the kiss ended, was loud in his ear and the stiffening of Rodney's body brought John back to himself, a sharp reminder of where exactly they were.

Fuck.

"Oh," Rodney said simply with realization quietly dawning, "you..."

John buried his face in Rodney's shoulder, unable to bear facing Rodney with his answer afraid of what Rodney might say, "Yes." He answered, bracing himself for Rodney's reaction. He'd seemed to be as into the kiss as John had been, but he'd been wrong about this kind of thing too many times in the past.

Only to have Rodney smack the back of his head and pull his head up by his ears. John twisted his head out of Rodney's hands, finally meeting Rodney's face and swallowed at what he saw there.

"Me too, you idiot," Rodney whispered and leaned back in to kiss John again. "Me too."

John stopped him by saying "Not here," and shaking his head regretfully before stepping away from Rodney and trying to straighten his clothes.

Catching John's hand, Rodney squeezed it, "Later?"

"If you're still interested."

"I'd have to be dead to not be interested."

"Time to go," John said, changing the subject.

It didn't faze Rodney, "How much ammunition do you have left?" he asked, straightening his own clothing.

"If we're caught, we're dead," John replied.

"We'd better not get caught, then," Rodney replied and gathered up his pack, slinging one strap over his shoulder and going back to the window.

***

"You're a good officer, Major Sheppard," General Landry said, pulling out a thin manila folder from his desk.

"Thank you, sir," John replied.

Landry smiled, "Do you know why you're here today?"

John shook his head.

"We received some troubling photos that I would like you to take a look at," he said and opened the folder. Taking the top photo, he passed it over to John, "Do you recognize this man?"

Mouth dry, John nodded, "Yes."

Silently, Landry handed John another photo, his face expressionless as he watched John. "Do you remember that night?" he asked.

John nodded again, "Yes, I do."

Landry placed a third photo on the desk between them and leaned back in his chair, waiting for John's reaction.

His stomach dropped at the third photo, alone, it was innocent enough. Together with the other photos, it was damning.

"Yes," John said simply and waited for Landry's next move.

"Do you want to fly planes, John?"

"Yes," he said, the forbidden sense memory of the taste of latex and alley-way grit hard on his knees threatening to overwhelm him.

Landry smiled again and John's gut churned. "Then I think we can come to an arrangement."

"What do I need to do?" He asked.

Sitting forward, Landry leafed to the back of the manila folder and took out a sheet of printed paper, "Sign this and you'll fly."

John signed.

***

John let Rodney go first through the gate that marked the start of American soil, sweeping the building tops opposite for evidence of snipers. After spending the last week keeping to the shadows every snapping twig sending his heart rate skyrocketing, the collective breath of the KGB hot on their backs, the absence of immediate danger was almost anticlimactic.

Not that John minded. Right now he would rather face an enemy fighter jet and be out of ammunition than deal with the KGB or any spy organization ever again.

They climbed the steps together, flanked by US Marines as they stepped through the imposing wooden doors.

A young man in a sharply tailored suit met them in the entrenceway. "Come in," he said, stepping aside, "Dr Weir has been expecting you."

They stepped in past him into the large entry hall and John couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as the door clanged shut behind them. Barring the KGB breaking in, they were safe. And, God help him, he was going to get Rodney to tell him what was so damn important about that book.

Elizabeth appeared first, walking quickly down the hall, her face breaking into a smile as she saw him standing there, "John," she said and hugged him tight.

He was stiff in her arms for a moment and then patted her back gingerly, "Elizabeth."

Releasing him, she turned to Rodney and held out her hand, "It's good to see you made it out okay."

Rodney shook her hand and for once appeared to be at a loss for words.

"There's someone else who has been waiting to see you," she said as she released his hand.

The door to their left opened and Zelenka stepped out..

John's hand went to his thigh, instinctively reaching for the gun the guards had taken from him at the gate.

"What is he doing here?" Rodney's voice dripped with contempt. "Dr. Weir, I don't know what he told you, but this man betrayed us to the KGB."

"I am sorry, Rodney. John," Zelenka's tone matched his words. "I wish I could have told you the truth at the time, but my plans required my betrayal to seem most convincing."

"Radek spent the last week carefully feeding the KGB teams false information about your likely route." Elizabeth interrupted. "They brought him to Moscow with them to aid in their search. That's how we got him out."

In all the time he'd worked in Rodney's lab, John had never seen him rendered speechless, until now.

"Do you have the item, Rodney?" Zelenka interrupted.

Rodney nodded, coming back to himself.

"Good, I know it has been a long trip, but we need to talk now," Elizabeth said as she looked them over. "You can leave your pack here, John."

John dropped the pack gratefully, rolling his shoulders and neck, still wondering what was so important about the book Rodney had so faithfully carried across Siberia.

***

They sat in Weir's office, Rodney devouring a sandwich so quickly that John was actually frightened he might choke himself. Crumpling the wax paper and depositing it on the desk, Rodney pulled out the book. "Here it is," he said triumphantly.

Weir gave him a brilliant smile and pulled an identical book from her desk, her smile going to more of a smirk at Rodney's bemused look, "This is the key."

Rodney opened his mouth to start to say something, but John interrupted him, "Will someone please tell me what is going on?"

"These two books," Rodney said with glee, "Contain everything the Soviets know about the Gate and," he rubbed his hands, "the probable whereabouts of a second Ancient base on Earth."

John had to admit, that was pretty damn important.

***

"So, you really were telling the truth," Rodney said, his eyes piercing blue as they held John's gaze.

John nodded and took Rodney's hand in his, squeezing it tight. "Yeah, I really was. You still interested?"

Rodney visibly swallowed and nodded, clenching John's hand equally tight before letting go. "How long until we're out of here?"

John felt something warm start to glow inside again--everything was going to be all right.

***

Epilog:

John shivered in his flight jacket, the base might be heated, but it there was only so much man could do to counteract the miles of ice around them. He sat in the chair hesitantly, the last time he'd done this, he'd accidentally set off something Rodney had enthusiastically called a drone before drilling John on what he could access from the Ancient mainframe.

Rodney grunted impatiently and John sat all the way down, the chair lighting up and reclining the same as it had before. "Well?" He asked Rodney.

Rodney studied him, "Think of where we are in the solar system."

John tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

finis