FIC: Postcard From Thunder Road by Spacebabe (G)
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis and its characters belong to Wright/Cooper and the SciFi Channel. I just borrow the guys and no profit has been made from this story.
Word count: ~3,900
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Phantoms, Sunday
Awesome person who deserves mentioning: Henrycat
I know I've seen a story with a similar title being posted somewhere not too long ago. My fic has been lying dormant on my hard drive with this title for over a year. I hope the Pegasus galaxy is big enough for both stories.
Post Card From Thunder Road
by Spacebabe
The beach stretched white for miles and the open jumper smelled like sunscreen and tropical tanning oil. Like coconut and Aloe Vera.
Like good memories in the making.
John slid his shades on and stepped into the bright sunlight. Music had played the entire one-hour flight from tinny speakers hooked up to someone's mp3 player. Pink, Elton John, the Beach Boys, Ozzy Osborne, and many more. There had been singing, too (my buddies and me are getting real well known, yeah, the bad guys know us and they leave us alone) - if singing was the right term for it. By the time 'Paradise City' rolled around, the creed had been volume over anything else, and halfway through, the women had changed the lyrics to 'where the sea is blue and the boys are pretty.'
John picked up a small, sun-bleached shell. Turned it over. Ran a finger over the smooth, pearly inside. He thought of wading for crabs in warm shallows, carrying a bucket in one hand, holding Grandpa's large, calloused hand in the other. He'd always come home with more seashells and pretty stones in his bucket than crabs. Grandma had laughed, drying her hands on the apron before petting his cheek. 'The soul of an artist,' she'd said fondly.
John didn't feel much like an artist any more. Hadn't for a long time. Sometimes he suspected his mother had taken that part of him with her into the ground.
Sometimes he doubted he'd ever had it.
He blew the sand off the shell and slipped it into his chest pocket. He took a quick headcount of the group of people who had arrived in his jumper. Surfer shorts mixed happily with rolled-up uniform pants, tank tops mingled with Quicksilver t-shirts. Sunglasses were everywhere. Even a few flip flops had escaped the deep, dark drawers they’d been hiding in.
The jumper that had gone out earlier lay dormant and dark on the rough patch of desiccated grass. A cardboard sign had been duct taped to the side of it. Welcome to Atlantis Beach it said. Atlantis had been crossed out and someone had written China above it with a fat permanent marker.
John spotted his two Marines slouching in the shade. Kellerman saw him right away, but Bachman was sipping from his canteen, attention locked firmly on something at the tree line. Kellerman kicked him discreetly and Bachman promptly choked on the water as he, too, spotted his commanding officer.
Lowering his shades to the tip of his nose, John took in the shorts and the gaudy Hawaiian shirt that peeked out under Bachman's tac vest. He exhaled slowly. Squinted up at the blue sky. At the three large birds that sailed idly on the thermals way up high.
"Know what," he finally said and pushed the shades back up. "I'm gonna pretend I didn't see that."
The tips of Bachman's ears burned bright red. "Yes, sir," he rasped, wiping the water from his chin. "Sorry, sir."
"Where's Lorne?"
"Checking the perimeter, sir. He should be back anytime."
Even as Bachman spoke, Lorne emerged from the shadows of the tree line.
John watched him approach and nodded in greeting. Lorne clipped the P90 to his vest. Unscrewing the cap of his water bottle, he gulped down a mouthful. His shirt was dark under his gear. "Didn't know you were planning on coming out, sir."
His eyes slid casually over John's shoulder - eying Bachman, no doubt - and John could tell he was bracing for a reprimand. But on a day like this, John was willing to turn a blind eye to certain things. At least Bachman was wearing what was important. Boots, vest, and weapons.
"Yeah, well, I wasn't planning on it," John said. "I'm on the list for tomorrow, but things were pretty slow, so when we came up a taxi driver short I thought, hey, why not." He looked around. "Anything out of the ordinary happen so far?"
Lorne made a face. "Let me put it this way: Mrs. Wulff, my 8th grade teacher, she always smelled like cheap whiskey when we were on field trips. I'm starting to understand why."
John grinned. Days like these were a chance for all of them to relax and unwind between the stretches of hardship and extreme stress that had become their daily life. God knew they needed it. All of them.
He and his men often took the brunt of hostile confrontations, that was their job, but despite being mostly shielded from direct combat, the non-military personnel had probably suffered more than most of his guys from having to adapt to life and death three million light years from home. In most cases, they simply had nothing to fall back on to cushion the impact, and countless were the hours John had spent under the bright lights of the firing range, quietly instructing and watching clip after clip being emptied into paper targets with increasing precision. The white knuckles, the blinked-back tears that came when illusions crumbled and the realization of just what you're ready to do to survive finally set in - John never acknowledged them.
They were a proud breed, the scientists of Atlantis.
But things certainly hadn't been easy on John and his men either. Even the hardest bedrock was eventually hollowed out by dripping water.
He snorted at himself. Melodramatic, much, Sheppard? The things that Pegasus heaped on top of them definitely couldn't be compared to water drops, and he definitely wasn't made of bedrock, but despite the lopsided metaphor, fact remained - he sometimes felt distinctly hollow.
His musings were interrupted by a shout from somewhere within the group of new arrivals.
"What's the hold-up?" someone wanted to know.
John ran his hand over his hair and pulled his cap on. "The troops are getting restless, Major."
"Want the honors, sir?" Lorne looked hopeful.
"Nice try. They’re all yours."
"Oh, yay. Lucky me," Lorne muttered. He turned and whistled sharply at the group. "All right, guys and gals, gather round."
John moved to the back as people collected.
"Listen up," Lorne said, raising his voice. "You've all been informed about the rules, but for my peace of mind I will now repeat them." He paused until the chatter had died down. "One, no wandering about. Stay inside the established perimeters at all times. Make sure you know where they are. If in doubt, ask. We still don't know everything that lurks in the bushes. Got it?"
He got a series of nods and verbal confirmations.
"Two," he continued, and behind his back, Dr De Geer mutely started mimicing an airhostess. This is how you inflate your life vest. Emergency exits are located over the wings. Lorne glared over his shoulder as the snickers rose. De Geer smiled sweetly back at him.
"Two," he repeated sternly, but the corners of his eyes were crinkling. "We have set an underwater perimeter alarm. If it goes off, you are to get out of the water immediately." He was serious again. "Is that clear?"
Nods all around.
Lorne craned his neck. "Where's Renzie?"
"Here, sir," came the answer from John's right side.
"If that alarm goes off today, your ass better be on dry land in ten seconds flat, you hear?"
Renzie grinned. He hiked his thumbs in the pockets of his shorts, biceps bulging under the sleeveless Metallica shirt. "Loud and clear, sir."
They weren't about to take any chances. Electronic buoys were dark dots in the water, ready to warn if anything larger than a small turtle made it past the sensors, and on the ridge that followed the coastline, John could see the posted sentries.
"They will sound it so you all know what to listen for," Lorne said to the rest of the group. "Last but not least." He paused. "Absolutely no eating anything that hasn't been brought from Atlantis. Bottom line is: you get sick, you spend the night here, because I am not cleaning out the jumper one more time, people."
Several of them laughed. They could, now, but during the two weeks when the better part of a team had been out of commission because of a long-lasting reaction to a vegetable that was perfectly harmless to the natives, it had been anything but funny. It was a good reminder to everyone about the hazard of eating uncontrolled food out here.
"Okay, kids, that was the sermon. Time to carpe diem," Lorne smiled. The group needed no further encouragement. "Skids are up at 2100," he called after them. "Don't make me come look for you!"
John watched as they joined the early birds down on the beach and tried very hard not to think too much about the outcome last time they'd attempted a city-wide day of R&R.
Crouching down, he untied his boots and pulled them off. His socks were quickly disposed of, and after tying the boot laces together he hooked his fingers around them and threw the boots over his shoulder.
"Stay sharp," he called back to Lorne.
Lorne lifted his hand in reply.
Rough, wind-beaten vegetation gave way to hot sand as the ground sloped down towards the water. Despite the heat on dry land, John saw only a few lonely souls actually in the water. The way most people were standing in the shallows with their arms wrapped around them told him the water wasn't all that warm.
Cadman lifted her head and smiled sleepily at him as he passed. A book lay upside down on the blanket next to her. John tried not to pay too much attention to the brightly colored bikini. But seriously, hot pink? Who would have thought?
He spotted Rodney alone under one of the drab, army-green tarps that had been tied down over frame-works of lightweight metal bars. The temporary constructions were airy and cool, letting the salty breeze through while keeping the sun out.
John ducked in under the tarp and reached for the bottle next to Rodney's reclined chair. (And leave it to Rodney to find an honest to god reclining beach chair in the far corner of Pegasus).
"Don't even think about it," Rodney's voice came from under the boonie hat that covered his face.
John unscrewed the cap and chugged down half the contents. "I'm not."
Rodney sat up. He was wearing his usual pants, rolled up to his knees, and his feet were bare. MIT sucks! was printed in faded white on the gray t-shirt. He snatched the bottle from John's hand. "Get your own!"
John sat back on the striped bath towel that someone had spread out next to the beach chair. "Subject does not play well with other children," he mumbled and scribbled an invisible note on an invisible pad.
Rodney's annoyed expression turned closed and hard in an instant. He stared John down for a long moment, then he reached for his shades and John was left looking at the reflected sky. The chair creaked in protest as Rodney lay down.
John poked Rodney with his elbow.
Rodney reached for the boonie hat, dusted it off and placed it over his face again.
John sighed. "It was a joke, McKay."
"Whatever."
"Come on. I didn't know you were that sensitive about it. I mean, you've been to Heightmeier before. I've been to Heightmeier. She-"
"Why aren't you out there?" Rodney asked.
John frowned and shrugged out of his vest. "Out where?" He looked around and finally hung it off the backrest of Rodney's chair.
"With all the talk about waves and surfing, I would've expected you to be the first one in the water. Or was that all there was to it? Talk?"
John leaned back on his hands. "Aren't you the pleasant one today. Did someone exchange your Kona for decaf this morning?"
"No, but someone ordered me from my own damn lab!" Rodney pushed the hat off and sat up again. "Can you believe that she came down there and ordered me out, like I'm some damn kid who doesn't know what's best for me!"
John raised an eyebrow. "And that surprised you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You chose to ignore four e-mails and I don't know how many radio calls from her this morning. What did you expect? That she'd let it slide?"
Rodney threw his hands up in the air. "Of course I ignored them! I knew she was up to something." He pushed the shades up to his forehead and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. "I can't believe she made me go out here."
"Some nerve," John agreed, nodding. He dug his fingers into the warm, fine sand. "I mean, who in their right mind would want to relax a few hours on a beautiful beach?"
The sarcasm went straight over Rodney's head.
"I know! Apparently I need time! She even threatened to put guards by the doors to keep me out from the labs."
John brushed the sand off his hands. "She has a point, you know."
Rodney's shoulders tensed. "I'm perfectly capable of doing my job."
"No one thinks otherwise."
"That's not true and you know it." Rodney seemed to deflate a little. He picked up a pebble from the sand by his feet. He threw it, frustrated, and it hit the water with a flat 'plop'.
John carefully picked out a pebble of his own. Flat. Dark gray with lighter streaks. Just the right weight in his hand. He got to his knees and let it fly. It bounced across the water. One, two, three, four, five.
"Show-off," Rodney mumbled.
John sat back down. "News flash, McKay. You don't have a monopoly on having issues."
"I'm sorry," Rodney snapped. "I must have missed it when your issues," he made quotation marks in the air, "made you flip out because you thought replicators were coming through the walls."
"Rodney-"
"I assaulted one of your men, stole his sidearm, and put four bullets through the secondary sensor console, Sheppard!"
John nodded. "I'm still torn between being proud of you for actually succeeding in knocking him out, and being pissed with him that you were able to."
"Don't change the subject. I'm trying to make a point here."
John sighed. It had been worth a try. "Well, then. Let's see. I raise your four bullets through the sensor console with pulling my gun and doing my very best to kill you."
He'd come to terms with the fact that he'd probably never remember the actual events from that day, only the scenario that his confused mind had conjured up, but he knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn't have missed Rodney at that distance unless something - someone - had disturbed his aim.
He would never stop being grateful that Teyla had been there.
Rodney made an annoyed face at him. "What is it with you and needing to best me? You always do that. I'm starting to think your self-esteem needs some serious work. Besides, that was nothing like it. You were under the influence of that damn device. I, on the other hand, I just--"
John watched Rodney's expressive hands flutter in mid-air before they stilled and fell dejectedly into his lap.
Four weeks ago, John had stood by Rodney's bedside in the infirmary, staring at the padded restraints that held those same hands. He'd had to keep his own fingers tightly clasped behind his back to keep from trying to smooth out the lines from Rodney's forehead that not even the heavy sedation had eased.
Looking back, the signs had been there. Of course they had. And John wasn't responsible for the crap they'd encountered out here, but Rodney always worked best under pressure, and John had never shied away from applying it. And with Rodney's habit of always delivering - of pulling impossible solutions from thin air - it had been easy to ignore the fact that everyone had a breaking point.
(But it somehow seemed appropriate that Rodney's would be louder and more spectacular than most. In hindsight, John was just thankful Rodney hadn't decided to build and detonate a nuke.)
Rodney would no doubt have been ordered to return if SGC had found out. Psych evaluations and risk assessments and god knows what. Despite his expertise and value to Atlantis, John was certain he wouldn't have been allowed through a gate ever again. Terrible thing, the new chief medical officer had said once she caught on, these chemical compounds the Ancients left behind. Inducing hallucinations and what not. Of course all of it had been sent for destruction right away. Elizabeth had nodded grimly and that had been that.
"You know what I do with defective material in the labs?" Rodney's voice was bitter. "I get rid of it. Don't want to risk my or anyone else's life by keeping it around."
The listless cry of a lone seabird carried over the constant roar of the surf. Distant voices and laughter floated with the wind.
John rested his cheek against his crossed arms. He wanted to touch Rodney, wanted to reach out and put his hand on him to try to convey that things hadn't changed. But out here, he couldn't risk it. And besides, that wasn't how they did things. They thrived on the friction that had been between them from day one, on the heat it generated, and John felt desperately out of his depth with this side of Rodney, he didn't really know what to do with it. He could handle snappish and petty and excited and single-minded, and all the things that were intrinsically Rodney, but he wasn't good with fragile things.
Once, when he was little, he'd found a robin in the backyard, lying so still in the tall grass. He'd picked it up. He'd wanted to make it feel better, wanted to make it fly again, so he'd held it high over his head and prodded it to spread its wings.
It hadn't wanted to fly.
The next morning when he returned to where he'd bedded it down in one of his dad's old winter gloves, it didn't open its eyes. He'd held it in his hands and petted it, trying to be ever so gentle with the delicate bones beneath the feathers. He remembered thinking that sometimes when he didn't want to wake up, his mother would sit on the bedside and sing to him, so he'd put his mouth real close to the bird and sung. Quietly at first. Then louder. It hadn't helped.
"I got my hands on a couple of new movies," he said to Rodney. "Wanna come over and watch them when we get back?"
Rodney grabbed a handful of sand, sifting it slowly between his fingers. "Why not," he finally said. "It's not like I have anything better to do now that I'm barred from the labs."
John propped his cheek on his palm. "If you ask real nice, I'm sure I can come up with something that will make you forget that inconvenience," he mumbled.
Rodney snorted, but the corners of his mouth lifted a fraction. "You really do think highly of yourself."
John just grinned.
Rodney sat silent for a moment, then glanced around with the look of someone trying very hard not to be observed. John rolled his eyes. Rodney really didn't do inconspicuous well.
"Anything special in mind?" Rodney asked.
John rolled over on his back and stretched with a groan. Damn, he was stiff from climbing what seemed to be a cousin of K2 yesterday. He really had to start screening his missions a little closer.
"That's for me to know and you to find out," he said.
Rodney sat back sullenly. "Bastard."
There was one thing Rodney did worse than inconspicuous, and that was patience.
A bright orange ball suddenly landed with a dull thud next to them, spraying them both with sand, and Rodney made a sound between a squawk and a growl.
"Oh, Dr. McKay, I'm sorry!"
Miko sounded horrified. A new shower of sand rained down over John as she passed on her way to Rodney. John pushed up on his elbow and wiped the sand from his mouth. Miko froze and her hand flew to her lips. Her red cheeks grew redder under her thick glasses.
"I'm so very, very sorry," she squealed and stood very still.
John waved reassuringly at her as he ran his fingers through his hair vigorously. "No worries. I was heading down into the water, anyway."
"Well, I wasn't," Rodney snapped.
"Dr. McKay, I apologize. Please let me make it up to you. Wait. Please." Miko scurried away across the sand (very carefully not kicking up any sand) and returned a few moments later. She handed Rodney and John each a wrapped-up sandwich. "I made them myself," she said, her voice a little breathless.
Rodney tore the wrapper off. His face lit up. "Roast beef."
John lifted a corner of the wrapper and checked his own. Tuna.
Miko gave him an apologetic glance. "There was only one roast beef left."
John suppressed the grin. "Tuna's fine. Thank you."
Rodney mumbled something inaudible, his mouth already full.
"That means 'Thank you very much, Miko'," John translated. Rodney nodded distractedly.
They ate in silence. The sun moved slowly across the sky and eventually another group arrived from Atlantis. John tore his attention from the lone swimmer who still braved the blue-green water when Rodney suddenly spoke up again.
"People are talking," he said. His eyes were locked on the horizon where afternoon clouds were starting to rise.
John emptied what was left in the bottle before pulling the radio from his ear and putting it next to him on the blanket. If something were to happen, he had six Marines and an air force major, each with a P90, to alert him to the fact. "Let them talk," he said.
He undid the buckles that secured the holster, and out of the corner of his eye he saw something in Rodney go very still. He placed the holster next to the radio and stretched out on his stomach, resting his head on his crossed arms. Shifting a little to make the sandy surface beneath him more comfortable, he watched Rodney through lowered lashes.
Rodney stared at John's Colt with a strange expression on his face. Then, with a slow exhalation he closed his eyes. Closed them real tight. When he opened them, the lingering defensiveness had given way to something less hard, something far more brittle.
Rodney sat back in the chair.
"Not that I care," he mumbled. "If they talk, I mean. They're all envious little bastards who want to get their hands on my job."
John smiled into his arms and let the sound of breaking waves and Rodney's slow breathing next to him lull him to sleep.
~ The End ~
A/N: For those of you unfamiliar with China Beach, it is located 10 kilometers from Da Nang, Vietnam. It was one of the locations to which US troops were airlifted for R&R during the Vietnam conflict. The title is also a Vietnam reference. Hwy. 13 ran from Saigon west to Quan Loi. US troops and convoys were often ambushed along this road, and therefore it became known as Thunder Road.
Word count: ~3,900
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Phantoms, Sunday
Awesome person who deserves mentioning: Henrycat
I know I've seen a story with a similar title being posted somewhere not too long ago. My fic has been lying dormant on my hard drive with this title for over a year. I hope the Pegasus galaxy is big enough for both stories.
Post Card From Thunder Road
by Spacebabe
The beach stretched white for miles and the open jumper smelled like sunscreen and tropical tanning oil. Like coconut and Aloe Vera.
Like good memories in the making.
John slid his shades on and stepped into the bright sunlight. Music had played the entire one-hour flight from tinny speakers hooked up to someone's mp3 player. Pink, Elton John, the Beach Boys, Ozzy Osborne, and many more. There had been singing, too (my buddies and me are getting real well known, yeah, the bad guys know us and they leave us alone) - if singing was the right term for it. By the time 'Paradise City' rolled around, the creed had been volume over anything else, and halfway through, the women had changed the lyrics to 'where the sea is blue and the boys are pretty.'
John picked up a small, sun-bleached shell. Turned it over. Ran a finger over the smooth, pearly inside. He thought of wading for crabs in warm shallows, carrying a bucket in one hand, holding Grandpa's large, calloused hand in the other. He'd always come home with more seashells and pretty stones in his bucket than crabs. Grandma had laughed, drying her hands on the apron before petting his cheek. 'The soul of an artist,' she'd said fondly.
John didn't feel much like an artist any more. Hadn't for a long time. Sometimes he suspected his mother had taken that part of him with her into the ground.
Sometimes he doubted he'd ever had it.
He blew the sand off the shell and slipped it into his chest pocket. He took a quick headcount of the group of people who had arrived in his jumper. Surfer shorts mixed happily with rolled-up uniform pants, tank tops mingled with Quicksilver t-shirts. Sunglasses were everywhere. Even a few flip flops had escaped the deep, dark drawers they’d been hiding in.
The jumper that had gone out earlier lay dormant and dark on the rough patch of desiccated grass. A cardboard sign had been duct taped to the side of it. Welcome to Atlantis Beach it said. Atlantis had been crossed out and someone had written China above it with a fat permanent marker.
John spotted his two Marines slouching in the shade. Kellerman saw him right away, but Bachman was sipping from his canteen, attention locked firmly on something at the tree line. Kellerman kicked him discreetly and Bachman promptly choked on the water as he, too, spotted his commanding officer.
Lowering his shades to the tip of his nose, John took in the shorts and the gaudy Hawaiian shirt that peeked out under Bachman's tac vest. He exhaled slowly. Squinted up at the blue sky. At the three large birds that sailed idly on the thermals way up high.
"Know what," he finally said and pushed the shades back up. "I'm gonna pretend I didn't see that."
The tips of Bachman's ears burned bright red. "Yes, sir," he rasped, wiping the water from his chin. "Sorry, sir."
"Where's Lorne?"
"Checking the perimeter, sir. He should be back anytime."
Even as Bachman spoke, Lorne emerged from the shadows of the tree line.
John watched him approach and nodded in greeting. Lorne clipped the P90 to his vest. Unscrewing the cap of his water bottle, he gulped down a mouthful. His shirt was dark under his gear. "Didn't know you were planning on coming out, sir."
His eyes slid casually over John's shoulder - eying Bachman, no doubt - and John could tell he was bracing for a reprimand. But on a day like this, John was willing to turn a blind eye to certain things. At least Bachman was wearing what was important. Boots, vest, and weapons.
"Yeah, well, I wasn't planning on it," John said. "I'm on the list for tomorrow, but things were pretty slow, so when we came up a taxi driver short I thought, hey, why not." He looked around. "Anything out of the ordinary happen so far?"
Lorne made a face. "Let me put it this way: Mrs. Wulff, my 8th grade teacher, she always smelled like cheap whiskey when we were on field trips. I'm starting to understand why."
John grinned. Days like these were a chance for all of them to relax and unwind between the stretches of hardship and extreme stress that had become their daily life. God knew they needed it. All of them.
He and his men often took the brunt of hostile confrontations, that was their job, but despite being mostly shielded from direct combat, the non-military personnel had probably suffered more than most of his guys from having to adapt to life and death three million light years from home. In most cases, they simply had nothing to fall back on to cushion the impact, and countless were the hours John had spent under the bright lights of the firing range, quietly instructing and watching clip after clip being emptied into paper targets with increasing precision. The white knuckles, the blinked-back tears that came when illusions crumbled and the realization of just what you're ready to do to survive finally set in - John never acknowledged them.
They were a proud breed, the scientists of Atlantis.
But things certainly hadn't been easy on John and his men either. Even the hardest bedrock was eventually hollowed out by dripping water.
He snorted at himself. Melodramatic, much, Sheppard? The things that Pegasus heaped on top of them definitely couldn't be compared to water drops, and he definitely wasn't made of bedrock, but despite the lopsided metaphor, fact remained - he sometimes felt distinctly hollow.
His musings were interrupted by a shout from somewhere within the group of new arrivals.
"What's the hold-up?" someone wanted to know.
John ran his hand over his hair and pulled his cap on. "The troops are getting restless, Major."
"Want the honors, sir?" Lorne looked hopeful.
"Nice try. They’re all yours."
"Oh, yay. Lucky me," Lorne muttered. He turned and whistled sharply at the group. "All right, guys and gals, gather round."
John moved to the back as people collected.
"Listen up," Lorne said, raising his voice. "You've all been informed about the rules, but for my peace of mind I will now repeat them." He paused until the chatter had died down. "One, no wandering about. Stay inside the established perimeters at all times. Make sure you know where they are. If in doubt, ask. We still don't know everything that lurks in the bushes. Got it?"
He got a series of nods and verbal confirmations.
"Two," he continued, and behind his back, Dr De Geer mutely started mimicing an airhostess. This is how you inflate your life vest. Emergency exits are located over the wings. Lorne glared over his shoulder as the snickers rose. De Geer smiled sweetly back at him.
"Two," he repeated sternly, but the corners of his eyes were crinkling. "We have set an underwater perimeter alarm. If it goes off, you are to get out of the water immediately." He was serious again. "Is that clear?"
Nods all around.
Lorne craned his neck. "Where's Renzie?"
"Here, sir," came the answer from John's right side.
"If that alarm goes off today, your ass better be on dry land in ten seconds flat, you hear?"
Renzie grinned. He hiked his thumbs in the pockets of his shorts, biceps bulging under the sleeveless Metallica shirt. "Loud and clear, sir."
They weren't about to take any chances. Electronic buoys were dark dots in the water, ready to warn if anything larger than a small turtle made it past the sensors, and on the ridge that followed the coastline, John could see the posted sentries.
"They will sound it so you all know what to listen for," Lorne said to the rest of the group. "Last but not least." He paused. "Absolutely no eating anything that hasn't been brought from Atlantis. Bottom line is: you get sick, you spend the night here, because I am not cleaning out the jumper one more time, people."
Several of them laughed. They could, now, but during the two weeks when the better part of a team had been out of commission because of a long-lasting reaction to a vegetable that was perfectly harmless to the natives, it had been anything but funny. It was a good reminder to everyone about the hazard of eating uncontrolled food out here.
"Okay, kids, that was the sermon. Time to carpe diem," Lorne smiled. The group needed no further encouragement. "Skids are up at 2100," he called after them. "Don't make me come look for you!"
John watched as they joined the early birds down on the beach and tried very hard not to think too much about the outcome last time they'd attempted a city-wide day of R&R.
Crouching down, he untied his boots and pulled them off. His socks were quickly disposed of, and after tying the boot laces together he hooked his fingers around them and threw the boots over his shoulder.
"Stay sharp," he called back to Lorne.
Lorne lifted his hand in reply.
Rough, wind-beaten vegetation gave way to hot sand as the ground sloped down towards the water. Despite the heat on dry land, John saw only a few lonely souls actually in the water. The way most people were standing in the shallows with their arms wrapped around them told him the water wasn't all that warm.
Cadman lifted her head and smiled sleepily at him as he passed. A book lay upside down on the blanket next to her. John tried not to pay too much attention to the brightly colored bikini. But seriously, hot pink? Who would have thought?
He spotted Rodney alone under one of the drab, army-green tarps that had been tied down over frame-works of lightweight metal bars. The temporary constructions were airy and cool, letting the salty breeze through while keeping the sun out.
John ducked in under the tarp and reached for the bottle next to Rodney's reclined chair. (And leave it to Rodney to find an honest to god reclining beach chair in the far corner of Pegasus).
"Don't even think about it," Rodney's voice came from under the boonie hat that covered his face.
John unscrewed the cap and chugged down half the contents. "I'm not."
Rodney sat up. He was wearing his usual pants, rolled up to his knees, and his feet were bare. MIT sucks! was printed in faded white on the gray t-shirt. He snatched the bottle from John's hand. "Get your own!"
John sat back on the striped bath towel that someone had spread out next to the beach chair. "Subject does not play well with other children," he mumbled and scribbled an invisible note on an invisible pad.
Rodney's annoyed expression turned closed and hard in an instant. He stared John down for a long moment, then he reached for his shades and John was left looking at the reflected sky. The chair creaked in protest as Rodney lay down.
John poked Rodney with his elbow.
Rodney reached for the boonie hat, dusted it off and placed it over his face again.
John sighed. "It was a joke, McKay."
"Whatever."
"Come on. I didn't know you were that sensitive about it. I mean, you've been to Heightmeier before. I've been to Heightmeier. She-"
"Why aren't you out there?" Rodney asked.
John frowned and shrugged out of his vest. "Out where?" He looked around and finally hung it off the backrest of Rodney's chair.
"With all the talk about waves and surfing, I would've expected you to be the first one in the water. Or was that all there was to it? Talk?"
John leaned back on his hands. "Aren't you the pleasant one today. Did someone exchange your Kona for decaf this morning?"
"No, but someone ordered me from my own damn lab!" Rodney pushed the hat off and sat up again. "Can you believe that she came down there and ordered me out, like I'm some damn kid who doesn't know what's best for me!"
John raised an eyebrow. "And that surprised you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You chose to ignore four e-mails and I don't know how many radio calls from her this morning. What did you expect? That she'd let it slide?"
Rodney threw his hands up in the air. "Of course I ignored them! I knew she was up to something." He pushed the shades up to his forehead and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. "I can't believe she made me go out here."
"Some nerve," John agreed, nodding. He dug his fingers into the warm, fine sand. "I mean, who in their right mind would want to relax a few hours on a beautiful beach?"
The sarcasm went straight over Rodney's head.
"I know! Apparently I need time! She even threatened to put guards by the doors to keep me out from the labs."
John brushed the sand off his hands. "She has a point, you know."
Rodney's shoulders tensed. "I'm perfectly capable of doing my job."
"No one thinks otherwise."
"That's not true and you know it." Rodney seemed to deflate a little. He picked up a pebble from the sand by his feet. He threw it, frustrated, and it hit the water with a flat 'plop'.
John carefully picked out a pebble of his own. Flat. Dark gray with lighter streaks. Just the right weight in his hand. He got to his knees and let it fly. It bounced across the water. One, two, three, four, five.
"Show-off," Rodney mumbled.
John sat back down. "News flash, McKay. You don't have a monopoly on having issues."
"I'm sorry," Rodney snapped. "I must have missed it when your issues," he made quotation marks in the air, "made you flip out because you thought replicators were coming through the walls."
"Rodney-"
"I assaulted one of your men, stole his sidearm, and put four bullets through the secondary sensor console, Sheppard!"
John nodded. "I'm still torn between being proud of you for actually succeeding in knocking him out, and being pissed with him that you were able to."
"Don't change the subject. I'm trying to make a point here."
John sighed. It had been worth a try. "Well, then. Let's see. I raise your four bullets through the sensor console with pulling my gun and doing my very best to kill you."
He'd come to terms with the fact that he'd probably never remember the actual events from that day, only the scenario that his confused mind had conjured up, but he knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn't have missed Rodney at that distance unless something - someone - had disturbed his aim.
He would never stop being grateful that Teyla had been there.
Rodney made an annoyed face at him. "What is it with you and needing to best me? You always do that. I'm starting to think your self-esteem needs some serious work. Besides, that was nothing like it. You were under the influence of that damn device. I, on the other hand, I just--"
John watched Rodney's expressive hands flutter in mid-air before they stilled and fell dejectedly into his lap.
Four weeks ago, John had stood by Rodney's bedside in the infirmary, staring at the padded restraints that held those same hands. He'd had to keep his own fingers tightly clasped behind his back to keep from trying to smooth out the lines from Rodney's forehead that not even the heavy sedation had eased.
Looking back, the signs had been there. Of course they had. And John wasn't responsible for the crap they'd encountered out here, but Rodney always worked best under pressure, and John had never shied away from applying it. And with Rodney's habit of always delivering - of pulling impossible solutions from thin air - it had been easy to ignore the fact that everyone had a breaking point.
(But it somehow seemed appropriate that Rodney's would be louder and more spectacular than most. In hindsight, John was just thankful Rodney hadn't decided to build and detonate a nuke.)
Rodney would no doubt have been ordered to return if SGC had found out. Psych evaluations and risk assessments and god knows what. Despite his expertise and value to Atlantis, John was certain he wouldn't have been allowed through a gate ever again. Terrible thing, the new chief medical officer had said once she caught on, these chemical compounds the Ancients left behind. Inducing hallucinations and what not. Of course all of it had been sent for destruction right away. Elizabeth had nodded grimly and that had been that.
"You know what I do with defective material in the labs?" Rodney's voice was bitter. "I get rid of it. Don't want to risk my or anyone else's life by keeping it around."
The listless cry of a lone seabird carried over the constant roar of the surf. Distant voices and laughter floated with the wind.
John rested his cheek against his crossed arms. He wanted to touch Rodney, wanted to reach out and put his hand on him to try to convey that things hadn't changed. But out here, he couldn't risk it. And besides, that wasn't how they did things. They thrived on the friction that had been between them from day one, on the heat it generated, and John felt desperately out of his depth with this side of Rodney, he didn't really know what to do with it. He could handle snappish and petty and excited and single-minded, and all the things that were intrinsically Rodney, but he wasn't good with fragile things.
Once, when he was little, he'd found a robin in the backyard, lying so still in the tall grass. He'd picked it up. He'd wanted to make it feel better, wanted to make it fly again, so he'd held it high over his head and prodded it to spread its wings.
It hadn't wanted to fly.
The next morning when he returned to where he'd bedded it down in one of his dad's old winter gloves, it didn't open its eyes. He'd held it in his hands and petted it, trying to be ever so gentle with the delicate bones beneath the feathers. He remembered thinking that sometimes when he didn't want to wake up, his mother would sit on the bedside and sing to him, so he'd put his mouth real close to the bird and sung. Quietly at first. Then louder. It hadn't helped.
"I got my hands on a couple of new movies," he said to Rodney. "Wanna come over and watch them when we get back?"
Rodney grabbed a handful of sand, sifting it slowly between his fingers. "Why not," he finally said. "It's not like I have anything better to do now that I'm barred from the labs."
John propped his cheek on his palm. "If you ask real nice, I'm sure I can come up with something that will make you forget that inconvenience," he mumbled.
Rodney snorted, but the corners of his mouth lifted a fraction. "You really do think highly of yourself."
John just grinned.
Rodney sat silent for a moment, then glanced around with the look of someone trying very hard not to be observed. John rolled his eyes. Rodney really didn't do inconspicuous well.
"Anything special in mind?" Rodney asked.
John rolled over on his back and stretched with a groan. Damn, he was stiff from climbing what seemed to be a cousin of K2 yesterday. He really had to start screening his missions a little closer.
"That's for me to know and you to find out," he said.
Rodney sat back sullenly. "Bastard."
There was one thing Rodney did worse than inconspicuous, and that was patience.
A bright orange ball suddenly landed with a dull thud next to them, spraying them both with sand, and Rodney made a sound between a squawk and a growl.
"Oh, Dr. McKay, I'm sorry!"
Miko sounded horrified. A new shower of sand rained down over John as she passed on her way to Rodney. John pushed up on his elbow and wiped the sand from his mouth. Miko froze and her hand flew to her lips. Her red cheeks grew redder under her thick glasses.
"I'm so very, very sorry," she squealed and stood very still.
John waved reassuringly at her as he ran his fingers through his hair vigorously. "No worries. I was heading down into the water, anyway."
"Well, I wasn't," Rodney snapped.
"Dr. McKay, I apologize. Please let me make it up to you. Wait. Please." Miko scurried away across the sand (very carefully not kicking up any sand) and returned a few moments later. She handed Rodney and John each a wrapped-up sandwich. "I made them myself," she said, her voice a little breathless.
Rodney tore the wrapper off. His face lit up. "Roast beef."
John lifted a corner of the wrapper and checked his own. Tuna.
Miko gave him an apologetic glance. "There was only one roast beef left."
John suppressed the grin. "Tuna's fine. Thank you."
Rodney mumbled something inaudible, his mouth already full.
"That means 'Thank you very much, Miko'," John translated. Rodney nodded distractedly.
They ate in silence. The sun moved slowly across the sky and eventually another group arrived from Atlantis. John tore his attention from the lone swimmer who still braved the blue-green water when Rodney suddenly spoke up again.
"People are talking," he said. His eyes were locked on the horizon where afternoon clouds were starting to rise.
John emptied what was left in the bottle before pulling the radio from his ear and putting it next to him on the blanket. If something were to happen, he had six Marines and an air force major, each with a P90, to alert him to the fact. "Let them talk," he said.
He undid the buckles that secured the holster, and out of the corner of his eye he saw something in Rodney go very still. He placed the holster next to the radio and stretched out on his stomach, resting his head on his crossed arms. Shifting a little to make the sandy surface beneath him more comfortable, he watched Rodney through lowered lashes.
Rodney stared at John's Colt with a strange expression on his face. Then, with a slow exhalation he closed his eyes. Closed them real tight. When he opened them, the lingering defensiveness had given way to something less hard, something far more brittle.
Rodney sat back in the chair.
"Not that I care," he mumbled. "If they talk, I mean. They're all envious little bastards who want to get their hands on my job."
John smiled into his arms and let the sound of breaking waves and Rodney's slow breathing next to him lull him to sleep.
~ The End ~
A/N: For those of you unfamiliar with China Beach, it is located 10 kilometers from Da Nang, Vietnam. It was one of the locations to which US troops were airlifted for R&R during the Vietnam conflict. The title is also a Vietnam reference. Hwy. 13 ran from Saigon west to Quan Loi. US troops and convoys were often ambushed along this road, and therefore it became known as Thunder Road.