TEAM WAR: Coup de Grâce, "The Dread and Fear of Kings"
Title: The Dread and Fear of Kings
Author: valderys
Team: War
Prompt: Coup de Grâce
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angsty, some violence.
Summary: They were used to odd happenings and sudden danger, even on Atlantis itself. A woman's voice calling John to come away? That wasn't even a blip on the scanner - until John began to listen to it.
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John was running when it happened. He nearly stumbled and went down, which would have done his dodgy knee no good at all, but it was Pegasus, and he was used to odd happenings and sudden danger, even here on Atlantis. He slowed briefly, and then carried on running along the gantry, the sweat on the back of his neck cool and prickling, and changed his direction to take him to the gate-room, to have a word with Chuck. If he was getting interference on his earpiece, he wanted it checked out.
He’d heard a call. A woman’s voice, definitely, but distorted and faint, and not entirely discernable. John might have thought it was someone on Atlantis, a scientist asking for a military opinion, or a marine for a status report, except that she was calling for him by name. Sam Carter called him John, very occasionally, but it wasn’t Carter’s voice. Elizabeth too had called him John, but Elizabeth was dead. There wasn’t anyone else.
But Chuck couldn’t find anything wrong with the electronics when John asked him to check, and he couldn’t detect any signals from sub-space, although he set a very broad-ranged scan going, just in case. John appreciated it, and the speed and unquestioning nature of Chuck’s obedience. Strange female voices? Nothing weird about that. Business as usual for Atlantis.
John didn’t like surprises, but he wasn’t sure what else he could do, apart from the obvious thing, which was to ask Rodney. But he liked the obvious - he wouldn’t keep drifting in to play with the board markers if he didn’t. And any excuse was a good excuse, now Rodney was playing with certain botanical board markers of his own.
John tried not to think about that, the same way he tried not to think about certain dubiously shaped cacti either. The land of denial, and radio-controlled toy car league scores, was more important than trying to explain years of repression, or facing the possibility of fucking up your friendship with a guy who was as obviously straight as Rodney. John had made his peace with it, almost.
He heard it again as he paused in the doorway to Rodney’s lab. Just a whisper of sound that called his name, a throaty female murmur that seemed to sink down into his very bones and make them thrum. John stiffened, in all senses, shocked at the unexpected physiological reaction, and Rodney looked up from his work at the same second, all confusion and wide-eyed panic.
“What? What is it? Is it Wraith? No, it can’t be, and you’re not Teyla. But you… You’re… You’ve…” Rodney waves his hands up and down in a indicative sort of way. If John wasn’t past blushing, he might have succumbed, but instead he raised both eyebrows and cocked his head.
“What?”
“You… tensed. You look like someone spooked you. Or maybe someone’s used your golf clubs, I don’t know! What’s wrong?”
“I was coming to ask you,” said John, “There’s something… Someone calling to me. I can hear them…” He smiled when Rodney looked more alarmed. “It’s probably nothing.”
It certainly wasn’t nothing, but when John was with Rodney his confidence increased. Rodney would fix this, would find out what it was, he always did. It made John relax. He smiled, and watched the lines in Rodney’s forehead smooth out.
Everything would be ok.
***
It was the alarm that woke Rodney. When he sacked out he tended to do it completely and wholeheartedly, not much could wake him, but John’s whisper in his ear on an alien planet, or the thin wail of the city’s alarm could do it every time. One minute Rodney was dreaming of awards and respect, buxom blonds and wiry brunettes, and the next he was wide awake, bolt upright, and reaching for his earpiece.
The fog cleared quickly. It had always been a godsend, from grad school, from even earlier, from high school, that he could snap into working mode so speedily. It was easy; even while listening to the chatter in his ear, Rodney was automatically looking for his pants with one hand, while reaching for the coffee machine with the other. Although the orders on the open channel weren’t from John, which made Rodney frown, and rub his eyes. Major Lorne was calling for a security update on the breach, and Sergeant Cole was reporting that there was no intruder, but there was a certain tone in the Sergeant’s voice…
“Where’s Sheppard?” he snapped, and closed his eyes when there was only the crackle and hiss of static for a crucial second before both men tried to reply at once.
“I’m on my way,” said Rodney, and zipped up his jacket - thank god for an easy uniform.
And he ignored the strange foreboding that tugged at his chest, because, frankly, he got that most days, whether they were under attack or not. But later, he’d remember it, and wonder if it had felt different at the time. If he could have guessed, or known, in advance.
By Atlantis time, it was late, or even early. The corridor lights were dimmed, and Rodney saw scarcely anyone as he hurried towards the jumper bay. It felt strange going this direction, rather than back towards his quarters from a late session in the lab, or from team night, or from messing about on the Game, as they had before they discovered that Hallona and Geldar were real. Rodney missed that Game. He didn’t particularly want to play Civilization with real civilizations, but he did miss spending whole nights with Sheppard, peering at his messy hair over the top of his monitor, walking back afterwards shoulder to shoulder, eyes bleary, a yawn pulling at the corner of his mouth. Nothing proved a friendship more than pulling an all-nighter, in Rodney’s opinion. Golf games were hardly the same.
As he barged into the jumper bay, Rodney scanned the place looking for John, which was automatic, even without the extra worry crowding his thoughts. He wasn’t surprised when he saw John sat looking dazed on a pile of probable tool boxes, although who really knew what Zelenka kept in them. Rodney did a quick once-over as he looked at John sitting there, but he seemed ok, he seemed a bit out of it, but all the appropriate limbs were still in place, and his hair was no more out of control than usual. There was no blood and no bodily fluid - no foaming at the mouth. Rodney went down his mental checklist in a flash. John seemed fine.
His heart, which was pounding rather hard, now Rodney noticed it, began to make itself known, and he paused in the shadows by the gantry to let the little lights behind his eyes go away, and for the world to stop feeling like it was going to spin out of control at any minute. Which also meant he got to eavesdrop, and while he knew he wasn’t the world’s greatest listener in normal circumstances, something made him pause. Made him prick up his ears and pay attention. Rodney tried not to think of it as spying.
Lorne was asking John why he’d wanted the jumper, and John didn’t seem to know. He was dressed in a t-shirt and loose draw-string pants. The sort of thing Rodney happened to know that John slept in. His feet were bare.
“I have to go,” said John, “I have to go home. It’s a private matter, ok. Personal. I was called.” Then his toes flexed on the bare metal decking, and Rodney could almost see the second when John came back to himself, because he grimaced, and ran a hand through his hair - giving himself a vital second, Rodney knew - before smiling sheepishly at Lorne and Cole.
“And I must have been dreaming about it - I didn’t expect to wake up here, though. Sorry about that. But ever since Todd did his thing, I’ve been prone to occasional sleep-walking. You know?”
Lorne was nodding ruefully. “Tell me about it. There’s a sleeping pill the infirmary can hand out, did you know? It works pretty well.”
“I didn’t want to worry anyone,” said John, with that smile, the perfect one, the false one, the one that got him into trouble as often as it got him out of it. “I leave my boots by the door and normally I trip over them and wake myself up. Must have stepped right over them tonight.”
Lorne took it at face value, but Rodney knew that John was lying. He didn’t even know how he knew, he just took it as read. He wondered why though. He assumed John wouldn’t lie to him, but he wasn’t going to ask, not now. He wasn’t going to question anything in front of John’s men, he’d learnt that much over the years.
Rodney waited until John left and then came out and blustered a bit for the benefit of Lorne and Cole. Lorne had a funny half-smile of his own, and Rodney reckoned he saw straight through him. But he got Rodney to check the jumper parameters anyway, since he was there.
***
It was like a dream, John thought. He could see all his actions clearly, he could see his hands holding the controls, he could hear his voice answering the hail, and apologising, saying he’d be back later, all the things he might have said in similar circumstances, but there wasn’t anything he could do. His voice even said that too, that it wasn’t his fault. That there wasn’t anything to worry about even, and he didn’t know what it said about him that he had stock phrases for things like stealing a jumper, stuff that even his unconscious mind could say in an emergency. At least John assumed that it was his unconscious mind, and not something more sinister. He wished he could tell his team that, could express that he was being kidnapped by his own body, and that it was a fucking emergency, people, but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t.
Even worse, John knew that if he did have control, he might not have stopped himself. The call was getting stronger, and now there was a tug that was impossible to ignore. The voice had morphed, from a slightly accented female voice, full of smoke and promises, to one that was more androgynous, lighter somehow, the sex impossible to discern. John knew he wanted it though - wanted the owner of the voice. He wanted to find that person, and then rub up and down on them like a cat. He wanted to bathe in them, with them, he wanted to protect them, and fight with them, he wanted… John tried not to listen. It didn’t help.
He tried not to listen, even as his hands and mind manipulated the jumper into going through several gates - enough so that following him would be utterly impossible, even for Rodney. Rodney, his mind pleaded, find me buddy, find me anyway. And then half eager, half reluctant, John watched as his hands tapped in the symbols for a half-familiar gate address, one that he’d thought about occasionally, with a wistful kind of longing, or maybe repugnance, it was hard to tell the difference. And he knew it was mixed up, John knew it, of course he did, but that didn’t stop him thinking about her sometimes, and about Rodney too. Because in John’s mind they were mixed up together, the one and then the other over-reacting. He was guiltily fond of those memories, but didn’t care to examine why.
So when John watched his hands dial the address for Proculus, he could feel the anticipation tensing his muscles, saliva flooding his mouth, he could feel a burn of arousal deep in his guts. He might not have control, but his body wanted him to lick his lips anyway, and he found he wasn’t fighting it any more, if he ever had. The voice, the pull, all came from here, he could sense it. He didn’t know how he could have mistaken Chaya’s voice for anyone else’s, except… The voice wasn’t hers any more. It had been at the beginning, he thought, but not now, now it was… He didn’t really know.
As he went through the wormhole, John tried to gear himself up. Assuming the compulsion, whatever it was, would cease when he got wherever he was going, then he had to be ready, to fight if he had to, to talk his way out of it, to demand an explanation. What the hell was she thinking, dragging him to her in this way? What was wrong with a message through the Stargate? That was Pegasus all over - no-one willing to ask, when they could just take. And he didn’t absolve his own people of that particular crime either.
The jumper came in through the gate over the planet and John saw it hadn’t changed. He hadn’t expected it to. A blue green jewel, wreathed in cloud - planets were so beautiful from space, even the ones with poisonous atmospheres, or dinosaurs, or snakes that could chew your arm off. Proculus wasn’t like that, but John wasn’t so sure. It had one poisonous reptile anyway, assuming he was right and Chaya was to blame.
***
Amateurs. Did John really think that the great Rodney McKay was going to be stymied with a few random gate diversions? Rodney snorted softly before bending forward over the data once more. Honestly, he’d thought better of John - but then, he was suffering under some evil compulsion, so. Maybe he could let him off.
Rodney looked up to find Major Lorne staring at him again. It was disconcerting, Rodney had never even considered the man capable of puppy eyes before, but that was the closest analogy Rodney could come up with.
“It’ll boil faster if you’re not watching the pot,” he snapped, at last, and rolled his eyes when Lorne looked confused.
“But I need to know where to find Colonel Sheppard.”
“And naturally that will go so much faster with you looming over my shoulder, well done.”
They glared at each other, and Rodney felt better. The roiling uncertainty in his gut was back down to a manageable level, and the guilt that whispered to him that he should have done more to prevent John leaving, that he should have found the source of the mysterious voice, was silent. For now.
He just counted himself lucky that the little jumper tracking device he’d been working on had been completed in time. That he’d chosen the right jumper - John’s favourite jumper, which is ridiculous, because how can a man have a favourite machine, they’re all alike, he’s so impossible - and that he’d decided, with Lorne’s full compliance, to attach it as part of his jumper parameter checks.
Rodney didn’t like being suspicious of John, but his natural paranoia hadn’t let him just sit tight, and he was grateful for it now. As soon as John stopped moving they could go pick him up. The tracker device only detected when a jumper went through a new gate, so it wouldn’t help them once John stopped onto a planet, but Rodney had some kind of faith in Major Lorne. And they had life sign detectors, and marines, and Ronon - who Rodney had even more faith in, when he let himself believe, so really, it was going to be all right.
His fingers shook only a little as he calculated which gate John had last gone through, but his heart rate sped up when he recognised the address. He realised that John hadn’t moved on, not in gate terms anyway, for an hour. That was too long for turnaround - maybe he’d come to his final destination. It would be typical, Rodney thought, and it also made some kind of logical sense. Presumably an Ancient would be more than capable of calling John to her and, after all, she wasn’t allowed to leave the planet. If she wanted to talk to John - of course, she only wanted to talk, what else would she want, talk and maybe play some Parcheesi, yeah right - then maybe it made sense to do this, maybe it was just some weird Ancient version of a voicemail.
He looked up at Lorne again, and watched as he reacted to Rodney’s sudden confidence.
“I know where he is,” said Rodney, as he plucked uncomfortably at his suddenly too tight tac vest.
Lorne glanced over at his team, and at Ronon and Teyla waiting with differing levels of patience by the wall. Given all the distractions, it was amazing Rodney got anything done at all, really.
“Let’s go,” said Lorne, and they did.
***
She looked exactly as he remembered. Her long red hair flowed freely down her back. The white robe moved smoothly, clinging to her body. She looked like any boy’s dream.
“Chaya,” said John, and nodded at her in acknowledgement. She smiled.
He’d never - quite - been that sort of boy. He could feel the blood thrumming in his veins, but it didn’t seem to be for her precisely. Now that he was here on Proculus the longing, the want, had subsumed itself into some kind of background hum. He still felt too hot, and his mouth was as dry as his palms were sweaty, but he had no desire to throw Chaya to the floor and ravish her, or even to throw himself on the floor and worship her. It was almost refreshing after all those Wraith Queens. Almost.
“I am sorry that I had to bring you here like this, but it was necessary, I promise you, John.”
He looked at her. “You never call, you never write - you know where we are, just a wormhole away. Couldn’t you have contacted me through the Stargate?”
She swept her long lashes downwards in acknowledgement. “Perhaps. But then you would not have been alone. You would have had your fascinating team with you, and I do not think they would have appreciated the… problem. But John - you can help, I know you can.”
She moved away smoothly, and looked over her shoulder. John shrugged, and followed. It wasn’t as if he had much choice if he wanted to know what was going on, but he didn’t trust her as far as could spit on her. He knew Rodney didn’t appreciate his affect on women - understatement - but John wasn’t sure how to make him believe that it wasn’t John’s fault. He didn’t choose any of this. Being kidnapped by voices and desires he had no way of controlling? Just par for the course, as far as he was concerned. It sucked. But there was no way to make Rodney believe that either.
“So what do you want my help with?” he asked, conscious for once, of the drawl in his voice. Disguising anger under silent insolence, no childhood issues there. Right.
“Well,” Chaya seemed oddly reluctant, and if John didn’t have a bad feeling before, he did now. “I hope you will understand eventually but… I need your bloodline, John.”
They were walking down some steps John hadn’t seen before, the golden stone seemed to glow as the sun came out from behind a fluffy white cloud.
“If that means what I think it means, then no. Uh-uh. Not ever.”
They walked through an archway, vaulted and soaring - and stepped onto the sands of an arena. Beautiful girls in white shifts looked up eagerly, bronzed young men in white kilts tried to stare impassively, but John could sense their own interest, of a different sort, and he realised that if he’d had a weapon with him then his hand would have been on it.
“Unfortunately,” said Chaya, her eyes glimmering with a regret that John couldn’t even honestly say was false, “You do not have a choice in this. The Ancient bloodline has grown weak in my people, and so my… suggestions can be ignored if they so wish. I cannot let this state of affairs continue.”
She laid a hand on his arm before John could flinch away, and the voice, that strange, androgynous voice, that had somehow matched itself to John, that whispered in his blood and bone, suddenly roared into life, sending fire pouring down his nerves, burning as it came. It was a painless fire, but no less hot for that, and as John stared at his potential mates, at his rivals, he burned with anger, and with jealousy. How dare anyone challenge him? How dare they presume? They would pay for standing in his way and he would be victorious. He would claim what was his.
“You, on the other hand,” said Chaya, although John was no longer paying very much attention as he snarled at the uneasily shifting row of boys, “You have the strongest gene I have seen for an age. Which means I can control you, John.”
Her smile was sad, but not, in the end, reluctant.
***
“Proculus!” said Teyla, with surprise in her voice, “I do not understand. What would Chaya want with John? Perhaps there has been some sort of misunderstanding.”
“Oh yes, because she has such a great track record!” said Rodney, jittery, holding his foot from bouncing only by a very great effort. Next to him, in the pilot’s chair - where John should be - sat Lorne, and behind them in the body of the jumper were Lorne’s team. Other teams were poised to come support them, if it became necessary, but Sam had held them off for now.
On the one hand, Rodney had wanted to yell loud and long about needing all the help they could get, but on the other, he was well aware that a small force might stand a better chance of getting through unnoticed by an omnipotent Ancient. Although, given the definition of omnipotent, it might seem idiotic to even try, frankly Rodney was prepared to bet a certain amount against Ancient wisdom, seeing as he’d been clearing up their messes for the last three years. So he hadn’t yelled at Sam, or even complained, and he remembered that her eyes had widened at his restraint. And then she’d patted his arm in a kindly manner. That had nearly given Rodney a panic attack right there.
So now his foot was trying to bounce, and Ronon was leaning heavily on the back of his chair and saying, “We’ll get him back, McKay.” And really, none of it was helping. When they tumbled out of the jumper into the peaceful, prosperous village that Rodney remembered from over two years before, all he could do was thank his lucky stars that they hadn’t been shot down. Chaya hadn’t been violent towards them before, but there was no telling what else might have changed, if she really was the one responsible for kidnapping John in the first place.
There was absolute quiet, and the village seemed deserted, which Rodney thought anyone would consider sinister. His palms were sweating. He wanted to babble just to fill the silence, but if he closed his eyes, he knew he’d see imaginary John frowning at him and shaking his head.
“We’ll split up,” said Lorne, and raised an eyebrow at Teyla and Ronon, who nodded slowly.
Their little team took the left, and Lorne’s padded off towards the right. Rodney was about to remind Lorne about the life-sign detectors, when he realised that he hadn’t got his own out either, and then managed to fumble and nearly drop the damn thing getting it out of his tac vest.
He gasped as it came to life, and Ronon leaned over his shoulder before grunting and moving off.
“What is it, Rodney?” Teyla asked, and he held it up for her to see. The screen was almost blinding with the cluster of life it showed in one corner.
“What do you think? Village fête, maybe? Harvest festival? Flower throwing day, like on P7835?”
Teyla smiled reassuringly. “It could indeed be a gathering of that sort. Let us not speculate, let us instead go and observe.”
Rodney didn’t feel very reassured, but he moved in front of Teyla, and found himself acutely missing John hovering on their six. “More likely to be Eat the Scientist day,” he muttered, before getting shoved along for his pains.
Their team approached cautiously, which was only to be expected with Ronon on the case. Rodney wasn’t sure it would make that much difference though, there was cheering, and oohs and ahhs coming from ahead, so there could have been a herd of elephants trampling towards them and he doubted the villagers would have noticed. They came to a large decorative archway, obviously some kind of entrance to the gathering, and Ronon stopped. Rodney couldn’t understand why. He and Teyla caught up and Ronon said, “Can’t get through.”
“What? Are mere doors defeating you now?” Rodney pulled out his scanner and waved it at the arch. Grudgingly, he acknowledged there was a distinct pattern of energy, it was true. “An obvious doorway you can’t get through - why? Is it a trap? It makes no sense for Chaya to have something like this.” He waved at Ronon, who, with a scowl, reached up and pushed a little. The sparkle of a forcefield shimmered against his palm.
There was a burst of cheering, and Rodney looked through the arch. He could see golden sand, and the glimmer of people in white clothing. “Then how did all those villagers get through? Unless it’s a barrier that Chaya only puts up afterwards, I suppose. Great.” Rodney had a bad feeling about this. John…
Then the white-garbed crowd parted a little, to let a prone form be carried away, and Rodney gasped. Involuntarily, he tried to take a step forward, and… succeeded.
“Rodney! No! It is too dangerous!” Teyla’s eyes were wide and her hand was pressed against the barrier that Rodney had just stepped through. Trust Teyla to know Rodney’s actions before he knew them himself.
He looked down to his scanner, and then up again to his team. “I saw John. He looked in trouble, he could be hurt. He could… I can’t leave him.” He swallowed. The barrier must recognise ATA gene carriers, even fake ones like himself. “Get Lorne - he should be able to pass through too. Send him as cavalry.”
“I do not understand,” said Teyla, but Rodney was already turning away. He couldn’t let himself think too hard about what he was doing, or he wouldn’t be able to do it at all.
With shaking fingers, Rodney reached for his P90, hoping against hope he didn’t have to use it. He walked towards the arena.
***
The sweat was stinging John’s eyes, but it didn’t matter. He wiped them quickly with his already sodden sleeve, and growled at his remaining opponents as he assessed who was left. His breath was coming harshly, but he still felt strong, and sure - certainly strong enough to take out any of the remaining pups that dared to challenge his rights. The mates he had already fought for and won were clustered in a giggling, fluttering group. John ignored them, they were the prize, but otherwise they weren’t very interesting. The voice in his head was still urging him on, his blood was still burning. He couldn’t just stop, he had to win and keep winning.
He stripped off his jacket and stood there in his black BDUs and t-shirt, feeling the gentle breeze curl round his hot body like soothing fingers. He let the jacket fall to ground, heedless of the random equipment in the pockets, he heard a crunch but it didn’t mean anything, nothing really meant anything but the next opponent, and the satisfied thrumming in his veins. John snarled wordlessly and prepared to stalk forward once more.
Then there was an eddy in the crowd. John didn’t pay them much attention, there was a tiered seating area around the arena where a brightly dressed flock of people chattered like birds, but since they weren’t part of the challenge - they weren’t mates and they weren’t rivals - John had ignored them. But now… Now there was movement, excitement, they were reacting to something, or someone, behind John. He whirled round and saw a strange man… another challenger! He was dressed identically to John in black BDUs and he held a different weapon to John’s other opponents. A P90, supplied the small part of his mind that still noted such things. John found he was leaning forward, and his fingers were flexing with eagerness, somehow he knew that this was going to be a true meeting, a satisfying match. He was trembling with anticipation and excitement.
The crowd roared as he surged forward. Almost accidentally, the man held up his P90 in front of him and John’s charge was deflected slightly, unless he was willing to impale himself on the stubby metal of the barrel. But as he passed by he twisted slightly and was able to rip the gun from the weakened hands of his opponent. In contempt, John threw it aside. There was real weaponry here they could use if they chose to do so, weapons they could cut and thrust with, staring into each other’s straining faces. John grabbed a halberd-like staff, and swiftly turned. He smiled and licked his lips, staring into the other’s wide blue eyes as he brandished it, but he didn’t charge, not quite yet. The voice in his head whispered that he should take control, he should finish this man before he gained a weapon of his own, but John fought against it, he held himself still, as he watched the man stumble forward to a weapon rack of his own and take another halberd. Somehow it wouldn’t be right to attack him off-guard like this, a part of John was even reluctant to fight him at all.
But that part was very small. As soon as the man had turned to face him then John leapt forward again. The man held his halberd as though he’d never used such a thing in his life. It was easy for John to slip in under his guard and swipe at him, there was the tink of metal as his tac vest was sliced across the chest, and buckles fell to the sand. The man jumped back, his vest flapping, panting harshly already, and John grinned. This was exhilarating, more so than it had been fighting any other opponent, for all the man’s clumsiness. It made no sense, but John didn’t care.
The voice in his head was shouting now, almost deafeningly, and John had to shake his head. It was putting him off, enough so that the man was able to get in a clumsy blow of his own. He didn’t use the cutting edge of the blade however, but instead seemed to be trying to knock John down. He would never win like that. John laughed. He would never win at all.
This time, John threw aside the halberd at the last minute, and ducked inside the man’s reach. He made a squeaking noise, as John grappled with him, and John laughed, a rippling sound of satisfaction that felt dredged up from deep within. This close John could feel the play of muscles under the man’s jacket, and as he spun him, and pinned him in a tackle that had John tangling his arms in his own ripped and dangling tac vest, John could feel his mouth stretched wide with animal pleasure. He could smell the guy this close, a heady mixture of sweat and sunscreen, a hint of bitterness. Coffee, his mind gave up with great difficulty. John didn’t care, the man smelled delicious, he wanted to bury his nose in his neck and then roll all over him, and John was strong, and invincible, and he could do what he pleased, and so he did just that.
The man squeaked again, and John loved it. Until somehow he got a hand free from the entangling vest, and landed a flailing blow that just managed to catch John across the nose. The white hot flash of pain sent the voice in his head roaring, and John roared with it. He pounded with his fists, and then with a rock that appeared under his hand, until the pain subsided, and the flashing lights in his vision had faded. John blinked, suddenly icy cold.
The delicious smell that had so excited him was gone, buried beneath the copper tang of fresh blood. His knuckles stung, but that was nothing compared to the shame and horror that filled his other senses. He wiped his mouth and drew away more blood. His nose throbbed. He blinked away moisture caused by dust.
The man’s head was a red ruin. The bright blue eyes were shut, mercifully shut, John thought, and then hung his head. There was no more thought of mates, or rivals, or fighting. He knelt on the bloody sand, and realised he had come to what passed for his senses at last. The voice in his head was fading, was less than a whisper, and now John could finally hear it properly, even as it faded. It was Rodney’s voice. Somehow. The urge that had brought him halfway across the galaxy, that had caused him to steal a jumper, and fight for these women he didn’t want, all of it had been amplified once the voice spoke with Rodney’s inflection. If he hadn’t been under its compulsion he would probably have recognised that. Surely he would have recognised that?
And now… John swallowed, trying not to be sick. What had he done? The man lying before him had a skull caved in like an egg, he had blood masking his face and what looked like broken bones in his cheek, his jaw. John could see the sunken hollow where an eye should have been, the pale glisten of vitreous staining the shattered socket. Rodney, oh Rodney. John reached for his hand. He hadn’t the right, he was a murderer, he’d murdered his best friend, his… something more, if he’d ever allowed himself to dwell, but Rodney would never know. Not now. His fingers were still warm, were soft and smooth under John’s touch, despite the calluses John had tried to get him to acquire. John was glad of it though, they still felt like Rodney, and since he couldn’t bear to look at his ruined face any longer, he concentrated on Rodney’s hands. John traced the fingers, and the palm, he stroked over the wrist, and, still holding Rodney’s hand in his own, he slowly reached down into his boot for the small wickedly sharp knife he kept in an ankle sheath there.
John did not articulate what he was going to do. He’d been wordless when he’d lost Mitch and Dex. When he’d realised Holland had died in his arms. He’d been silent at his own disciplinary hearing, that was only a breath away from a court martial. He’d been soundless on the ice, letting the wind howling across the frozen glaciers do his talking for him. So he didn’t know what he was going to do with the knife. He had ideas, it was true, but he didn’t know.
Instead, he felt, rather than heard, the whisper of Chaya’s draperies as she walked up to stand beside him. John felt his hand tighten around the handle of the blade, his knuckles were surely white, it would be easy.
“Thank you, John,” she said, and he wanted to laugh.
“For what?” he asked, his voice grating like rusty metal, the sound of his humanity bringing more moisture to his eyes, before he blinked it away.
“For adding to our knowledge. For aiding our great purpose. Your reactions are always fascinating, always so unique.”
There was a small pause. For John, the moment had gone, he held the knife more loosely in his fist. He was too tired to ask what Chaya meant, even though he knew he should. Eventually, she nudged Rodney’s arm with her slipper and said, “Do you want him put out of his misery?”
“No!” John didn’t know if Rodney could be fixed, even with the medical facilities on Atlantis, but that didn’t stop the horror and the bile that rose in his throat at the thought of… His own self-disgust was secondary to protecting Rodney, even now. Even if it was an idea that he himself had fleetingly considered, a bitter kind of mercy. Instead, John deliberately found himself wondering if Rodney had an earpiece. He couldn’t have come alone, he’d been trained better than that. John desperately needed Ronon or Teyla, or anyone at all.
He looked up at Chaya, his hand still holding tightly to Rodney’s. She looked brightly interested, and not even remotely human.
“Good. It always takes so much longer to repair you if function ceases altogether.”
There was a whimper from Rodney that distracted John from puzzling out what Chaya meant. The sound made everything else fly out of his head as he leant over him and whispered, “I’m here, buddy.”
He hoped Rodney wouldn’t hate him, even knowing that he should. John hoped he’d somehow understand, he hoped… somewhere deep inside, he hoped for some forgiveness, where he’d never forgive himself. His hand tightened on Rodney’s and then John froze in shock. He watched, horrified and fascinated, as Rodney’s skin writhed, as his cheekbone popped back into place, as his empty eye socket began to fill. Rodney’s fingers twitched in his own.
“What the hell?” John nearly let go, as his mind raced to possible scenarios. Was Chaya using Ancient healing techniques, like Hedda had when John spent all that time in the time-bubble Sanctuary? He supposed it was possible, as an actual Ancient Chaya was presumably more powerful than a child like Hedda. He didn’t know that she was allowed to heal a mere human so obviously though.
John looked up again, ready to thank her with some variety of grace, even if it was her fault they were in this position in the first place, but the words died in his mouth as he stared into her pleasantly smiling face. There was something fundamentally screwy here, and if he hadn’t been kept off-balance and drugged, he was sure he would have seen it long before now.
If anything her smile grew broader. “Ah, I see you are beginning to understand. We have discovered that we have to provide an interactive scenario almost instantly, or you ask too many of the wrong kind of questions and we learn nothing.”
There was the soft shuffle of boots on the sand, and John shaded his eyes. Lorne walked up, also smiling pleasantly. John was about to ask for help but something stopped his tongue. He had a bad feeling about this. For all the good it did, his hand tightened on the knife.
“What’s going on?” he asked, with no real expectation of being answered, but Chaya seemed happy to explain. It made John’s head hurt.
“Did you know we get the very best results when it involves yourself, John, and Dr McKay here? We do appreciate the data. We find it fascinating that the permutations of your relationship are always so varied, and so rich. And yet your real selves hide it all so very deeply.”
“We have a gift for you.”
John tensed, preparatory to throwing himself to one side and away. But the thought of having to leave Rodney, who was still unconscious, slowed him down enough that when Lorne grabbed him by the shoulder he was moving too slowly. And he couldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but Chaya’s casual description of their ‘real selves’ caused him even more uncertainty.
When Lorne reached out and stuck his hand in John’s head, he couldn’t say he was altogether surprised.
As his senses slipped away, he could hear Chaya’s lilting voice still maddeningly calm and pleasant. “We always like to enhance the subconscious bond before we wipe your memory, John. Enjoy.”
***
“I’m here, buddy.”
He might be nearby but John’s voice sounded like it was coming from very far away indeed. Rodney wanted to open his eyes to complain about that but they were just too heavy, which seemed a shame. He wondered whether he ought to at least have words about beating him into the middle of next week, which Rodney had always known John could do, but knowing and feeling the effects first hand was completely different. If they got out of this, Rodney reckoned he would dine out on this particular little story for weeks.
He wondered in a mildly panicked way, why he wasn’t panicking more. That didn’t seem very like him. And just as he was conscious of his eyeball having inflated enough that he was pretty sure he could see again, and therefore immediately blinked it open - which was gross, thank you very much - he was gazing into a cloudless blue sky that slowly turned grey as the ceiling began to drip nannites like melting ice-cream.
He was opening his mouth to comment on this when Chaya stuck her hand in his head. He supposed his mild reaction could certainly be explained by…
Playing with radio controlled cars, John’s hand pumping the air with victory, and Rodney explaining how it was all a matter of drag coefficient and that John’s winning had been a fluke, that was all, he’d been lucky, Rodney would get him next time. The sparkle of John’s eyes had been too much, the curl of his smile, and Rodney had held on to his arms too tightly, he’d reeled him in, and John’s smile had dropped, faltering, until Rodney was too close to stop, too close, and his heart was pounding, and then he’d kissed him. John’s eyes had closed and he’d whimpered, he’d wrapped his arms around Rodney held on and held on, until…
Chitinous blue arms were scratchy against Rodney’s sides, but he’d never cared, he didn’t even think about it any more. Instead, he’d rolled over, rough weave harsh against his skin, the furs soft, sleepily searching for that scratchy sensation, until he’d looked up from their nest-like bed in the back of their jumper, and realised John wasn’t there. His heart had pounded, but he’d forced himself not to panic, John liked to go off sometimes, to be alone and Rodney understood that, he did. His heart was in his mouth, but he’d gotten up, he’d looked through their supplies for tea, and a handful of tava beans for stewing later. He’d pottered, and his hands had resolutely not shaken, until John had swung in through the doors, smelling of wild garlic and damp moss, and Rodney hadn’t clung to him, not for a second, not even to taste the tiny blue scales by John’s mouth that were cool and smooth under his tongue…
Gunfire was close over Rodney’s head, and John was shouting something, but all Rodney knew was that they were lost, that the Wraith were pouring in, that the last of the marines weren’t enough, that they were barricaded in one of the secure labs. It was ironic that it was built to keep things in, and they would be the last thing that it ever kept secure. Rodney exchanged a frightened glance with Radek, caught Simpson’s eye, but then looked away quickly because what could he say? John was still shouting into his earpiece, but Rodney could tell there was no-one answering, and his eyes were wild. Rodney swallowed. Then Simpson was tugging on Radek’s lab coat, turning him, and pulling him, until she could drag him into a desperate kiss, and Rodney let out a small gasp. John looked across, his gaze flickering across the scene, until their eyes locked. Rodney found he couldn’t breathe, his hands aching to touch, and he watched as John took one step across the room…
Mathematics was beautiful, and Rodney wanted to explain, had wanted to describe the intricate equations he’d seen and somehow put them down in words, not so much for posterity, but because he’d known that John would appreciate them. He’d waved his hand and the patterns that he saw, their eternal variations, and the enigmas therein were transcribed onto a simple white board, onto the deepest reaches of infinity, onto the smallest particle in the cosmos; truth and beauty, strangeness and charm, but each of them were as nothing compared to John in his endless variety. Rodney saw so much now he was on the way to Ascension, willingly or not, and he wanted to tell him, he would tell him before the end, of all the universes he saw reflected in his eyes…
Lying in John’s slightly too small bed, listening to the slap of the ocean against the south west pier, Rodney thought he might actually be happy. As a reaction to extreme fear, he thought it was a healthy one, or at least… John was curled around him, sleepy and satiated, and Rodney was at peace, or at least as close to it as he was likely to get. He’d mapped every inch of John’s skin, his tongue following his fingers, until John had been writhing, one step from begging, and Rodney had kept going, teasing, and holding him there, before swallowing him down again, for as long as he possibly could. He didn’t tell John that the one grey hair two inches below his left nipple was gone. That the long scar on his thigh had vanished. That the rough patch of skin where the iratus scales had sloughed off last was smooth and new. It was enough for Rodney to know and be disturbed by it. To be thankful that the Wraith had given John back to him - more or less intact…
***
…As the overwhelming flood of images and sensations came to a trickling halt John tried to fight, even if he was fighting what he didn’t want to lose. He felt as though if only he were stronger he could break himself away, he could…
…The space he was in coalesced into a flat grey plain, a monochrome sky indistinguishable from the ground, and he was alone…
…He wished he was alone. Chaya was there, between one blink and the next, and John wanted desperately to defend himself, to wrench himself free, but she looked at him instead, as he found he couldn’t move, couldn’t move, and then she smiled…
…John wanted to know what they were doing to Rodney, to the being he thought of as Rodney, his hands still warm from the phantom heat of his body, still with the taste of him on his tongue, and none of it fucking real…
…Didn’t stop him feeling it though, however much he tried not to, he’d found Rodney and he’d lost him over and over again. And Chaya always smiled, and John wanted to kill her, but he was a construct and once here, he had no choice…
…He was going to kill her, whoever she was, a replicator of some sort, Asuran presumably. It didn’t matter, he was John Sheppard, and he’d figure out a way, sometime, he would…
…With his thoughts going round like a wheel, and missing Rodney and knowing that he wanted him, but could never have him…
…He would have him over and over again, but neither of them would ever know, and was that worse? No-one would ever rescue them, they would have to do it for themselves, no change there, and Chaya smiling at him as though she could hear his thoughts…
…Which she probably could, but it didn’t matter, because someday she’d make a mistake, and when she did, John would be waiting. He’d take Rodney, and the team, and he’d run, back to Atlantis, back to…
Epilogue
It was a mercy really. The Replicator known as Chaya observed all the thoughts of her subjects, running around the same old tracks, as they always did, and knew that when there had been an appropriate amount of unconscious imprinting, and before the distress levels became unacceptably high, she would terminate the experiment. She carefully measured the levels of chemicals in his brain, and the electrical state of the neurons, as she always did, and then she compared the results to the baseline.
Of course, all of these tests were planned as part of their work towards Ascension, and although it was a slow process, she was confident that they would eventually succeed. Even now, for example, their observation of the changes in human brain chemistry was significant, to the extent that Chaya was sure they could replicate ‘love’ almost exactly. But it was such a state of high stress that she wasn’t at all sure it was the correct path - surely such a deleterious mode of being couldn’t be part of the road to Ascension? Not for the first time Chaya broadcast her doubts to their small collective, asking for permission to try a new approach.
The group considered the results, and Chaya waited. She proffered her conclusions, offered another scenario, which involved a more problem-solving approach, and expressed her desire to trace the original Rodney’s experiences with the Ascension machine. It would be good, for once, to run simulations that had less to do with messy endocrine secretions. Her relief when her petition was accepted by the collective was brief. The stress that her John-construct was undergoing was extreme and she was glad that they were both finally able to move on.
So as she let the memories that John was experiencing fade, and then blanked them - blanked him, completely, wiping his mind - she felt only contentment. She would deal with the Rodney construct next. Really, it was best.
It was pleasing to know that she would no longer need to subject her constructs to such trauma for the Asuran’s own selfish benefit. And she was grateful to the subjects in question, because before she worked with them she would not have understood.
It was surprisingly satisfying to finally understand the emotion of mercy.
Poll
Author: valderys
Team: War
Prompt: Coup de Grâce
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angsty, some violence.
Summary: They were used to odd happenings and sudden danger, even on Atlantis itself. A woman's voice calling John to come away? That wasn't even a blip on the scanner - until John began to listen to it.
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John was running when it happened. He nearly stumbled and went down, which would have done his dodgy knee no good at all, but it was Pegasus, and he was used to odd happenings and sudden danger, even here on Atlantis. He slowed briefly, and then carried on running along the gantry, the sweat on the back of his neck cool and prickling, and changed his direction to take him to the gate-room, to have a word with Chuck. If he was getting interference on his earpiece, he wanted it checked out.
He’d heard a call. A woman’s voice, definitely, but distorted and faint, and not entirely discernable. John might have thought it was someone on Atlantis, a scientist asking for a military opinion, or a marine for a status report, except that she was calling for him by name. Sam Carter called him John, very occasionally, but it wasn’t Carter’s voice. Elizabeth too had called him John, but Elizabeth was dead. There wasn’t anyone else.
But Chuck couldn’t find anything wrong with the electronics when John asked him to check, and he couldn’t detect any signals from sub-space, although he set a very broad-ranged scan going, just in case. John appreciated it, and the speed and unquestioning nature of Chuck’s obedience. Strange female voices? Nothing weird about that. Business as usual for Atlantis.
John didn’t like surprises, but he wasn’t sure what else he could do, apart from the obvious thing, which was to ask Rodney. But he liked the obvious - he wouldn’t keep drifting in to play with the board markers if he didn’t. And any excuse was a good excuse, now Rodney was playing with certain botanical board markers of his own.
John tried not to think about that, the same way he tried not to think about certain dubiously shaped cacti either. The land of denial, and radio-controlled toy car league scores, was more important than trying to explain years of repression, or facing the possibility of fucking up your friendship with a guy who was as obviously straight as Rodney. John had made his peace with it, almost.
He heard it again as he paused in the doorway to Rodney’s lab. Just a whisper of sound that called his name, a throaty female murmur that seemed to sink down into his very bones and make them thrum. John stiffened, in all senses, shocked at the unexpected physiological reaction, and Rodney looked up from his work at the same second, all confusion and wide-eyed panic.
“What? What is it? Is it Wraith? No, it can’t be, and you’re not Teyla. But you… You’re… You’ve…” Rodney waves his hands up and down in a indicative sort of way. If John wasn’t past blushing, he might have succumbed, but instead he raised both eyebrows and cocked his head.
“What?”
“You… tensed. You look like someone spooked you. Or maybe someone’s used your golf clubs, I don’t know! What’s wrong?”
“I was coming to ask you,” said John, “There’s something… Someone calling to me. I can hear them…” He smiled when Rodney looked more alarmed. “It’s probably nothing.”
It certainly wasn’t nothing, but when John was with Rodney his confidence increased. Rodney would fix this, would find out what it was, he always did. It made John relax. He smiled, and watched the lines in Rodney’s forehead smooth out.
Everything would be ok.
***
It was the alarm that woke Rodney. When he sacked out he tended to do it completely and wholeheartedly, not much could wake him, but John’s whisper in his ear on an alien planet, or the thin wail of the city’s alarm could do it every time. One minute Rodney was dreaming of awards and respect, buxom blonds and wiry brunettes, and the next he was wide awake, bolt upright, and reaching for his earpiece.
The fog cleared quickly. It had always been a godsend, from grad school, from even earlier, from high school, that he could snap into working mode so speedily. It was easy; even while listening to the chatter in his ear, Rodney was automatically looking for his pants with one hand, while reaching for the coffee machine with the other. Although the orders on the open channel weren’t from John, which made Rodney frown, and rub his eyes. Major Lorne was calling for a security update on the breach, and Sergeant Cole was reporting that there was no intruder, but there was a certain tone in the Sergeant’s voice…
“Where’s Sheppard?” he snapped, and closed his eyes when there was only the crackle and hiss of static for a crucial second before both men tried to reply at once.
“I’m on my way,” said Rodney, and zipped up his jacket - thank god for an easy uniform.
And he ignored the strange foreboding that tugged at his chest, because, frankly, he got that most days, whether they were under attack or not. But later, he’d remember it, and wonder if it had felt different at the time. If he could have guessed, or known, in advance.
By Atlantis time, it was late, or even early. The corridor lights were dimmed, and Rodney saw scarcely anyone as he hurried towards the jumper bay. It felt strange going this direction, rather than back towards his quarters from a late session in the lab, or from team night, or from messing about on the Game, as they had before they discovered that Hallona and Geldar were real. Rodney missed that Game. He didn’t particularly want to play Civilization with real civilizations, but he did miss spending whole nights with Sheppard, peering at his messy hair over the top of his monitor, walking back afterwards shoulder to shoulder, eyes bleary, a yawn pulling at the corner of his mouth. Nothing proved a friendship more than pulling an all-nighter, in Rodney’s opinion. Golf games were hardly the same.
As he barged into the jumper bay, Rodney scanned the place looking for John, which was automatic, even without the extra worry crowding his thoughts. He wasn’t surprised when he saw John sat looking dazed on a pile of probable tool boxes, although who really knew what Zelenka kept in them. Rodney did a quick once-over as he looked at John sitting there, but he seemed ok, he seemed a bit out of it, but all the appropriate limbs were still in place, and his hair was no more out of control than usual. There was no blood and no bodily fluid - no foaming at the mouth. Rodney went down his mental checklist in a flash. John seemed fine.
His heart, which was pounding rather hard, now Rodney noticed it, began to make itself known, and he paused in the shadows by the gantry to let the little lights behind his eyes go away, and for the world to stop feeling like it was going to spin out of control at any minute. Which also meant he got to eavesdrop, and while he knew he wasn’t the world’s greatest listener in normal circumstances, something made him pause. Made him prick up his ears and pay attention. Rodney tried not to think of it as spying.
Lorne was asking John why he’d wanted the jumper, and John didn’t seem to know. He was dressed in a t-shirt and loose draw-string pants. The sort of thing Rodney happened to know that John slept in. His feet were bare.
“I have to go,” said John, “I have to go home. It’s a private matter, ok. Personal. I was called.” Then his toes flexed on the bare metal decking, and Rodney could almost see the second when John came back to himself, because he grimaced, and ran a hand through his hair - giving himself a vital second, Rodney knew - before smiling sheepishly at Lorne and Cole.
“And I must have been dreaming about it - I didn’t expect to wake up here, though. Sorry about that. But ever since Todd did his thing, I’ve been prone to occasional sleep-walking. You know?”
Lorne was nodding ruefully. “Tell me about it. There’s a sleeping pill the infirmary can hand out, did you know? It works pretty well.”
“I didn’t want to worry anyone,” said John, with that smile, the perfect one, the false one, the one that got him into trouble as often as it got him out of it. “I leave my boots by the door and normally I trip over them and wake myself up. Must have stepped right over them tonight.”
Lorne took it at face value, but Rodney knew that John was lying. He didn’t even know how he knew, he just took it as read. He wondered why though. He assumed John wouldn’t lie to him, but he wasn’t going to ask, not now. He wasn’t going to question anything in front of John’s men, he’d learnt that much over the years.
Rodney waited until John left and then came out and blustered a bit for the benefit of Lorne and Cole. Lorne had a funny half-smile of his own, and Rodney reckoned he saw straight through him. But he got Rodney to check the jumper parameters anyway, since he was there.
***
It was like a dream, John thought. He could see all his actions clearly, he could see his hands holding the controls, he could hear his voice answering the hail, and apologising, saying he’d be back later, all the things he might have said in similar circumstances, but there wasn’t anything he could do. His voice even said that too, that it wasn’t his fault. That there wasn’t anything to worry about even, and he didn’t know what it said about him that he had stock phrases for things like stealing a jumper, stuff that even his unconscious mind could say in an emergency. At least John assumed that it was his unconscious mind, and not something more sinister. He wished he could tell his team that, could express that he was being kidnapped by his own body, and that it was a fucking emergency, people, but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t.
Even worse, John knew that if he did have control, he might not have stopped himself. The call was getting stronger, and now there was a tug that was impossible to ignore. The voice had morphed, from a slightly accented female voice, full of smoke and promises, to one that was more androgynous, lighter somehow, the sex impossible to discern. John knew he wanted it though - wanted the owner of the voice. He wanted to find that person, and then rub up and down on them like a cat. He wanted to bathe in them, with them, he wanted to protect them, and fight with them, he wanted… John tried not to listen. It didn’t help.
He tried not to listen, even as his hands and mind manipulated the jumper into going through several gates - enough so that following him would be utterly impossible, even for Rodney. Rodney, his mind pleaded, find me buddy, find me anyway. And then half eager, half reluctant, John watched as his hands tapped in the symbols for a half-familiar gate address, one that he’d thought about occasionally, with a wistful kind of longing, or maybe repugnance, it was hard to tell the difference. And he knew it was mixed up, John knew it, of course he did, but that didn’t stop him thinking about her sometimes, and about Rodney too. Because in John’s mind they were mixed up together, the one and then the other over-reacting. He was guiltily fond of those memories, but didn’t care to examine why.
So when John watched his hands dial the address for Proculus, he could feel the anticipation tensing his muscles, saliva flooding his mouth, he could feel a burn of arousal deep in his guts. He might not have control, but his body wanted him to lick his lips anyway, and he found he wasn’t fighting it any more, if he ever had. The voice, the pull, all came from here, he could sense it. He didn’t know how he could have mistaken Chaya’s voice for anyone else’s, except… The voice wasn’t hers any more. It had been at the beginning, he thought, but not now, now it was… He didn’t really know.
As he went through the wormhole, John tried to gear himself up. Assuming the compulsion, whatever it was, would cease when he got wherever he was going, then he had to be ready, to fight if he had to, to talk his way out of it, to demand an explanation. What the hell was she thinking, dragging him to her in this way? What was wrong with a message through the Stargate? That was Pegasus all over - no-one willing to ask, when they could just take. And he didn’t absolve his own people of that particular crime either.
The jumper came in through the gate over the planet and John saw it hadn’t changed. He hadn’t expected it to. A blue green jewel, wreathed in cloud - planets were so beautiful from space, even the ones with poisonous atmospheres, or dinosaurs, or snakes that could chew your arm off. Proculus wasn’t like that, but John wasn’t so sure. It had one poisonous reptile anyway, assuming he was right and Chaya was to blame.
***
Amateurs. Did John really think that the great Rodney McKay was going to be stymied with a few random gate diversions? Rodney snorted softly before bending forward over the data once more. Honestly, he’d thought better of John - but then, he was suffering under some evil compulsion, so. Maybe he could let him off.
Rodney looked up to find Major Lorne staring at him again. It was disconcerting, Rodney had never even considered the man capable of puppy eyes before, but that was the closest analogy Rodney could come up with.
“It’ll boil faster if you’re not watching the pot,” he snapped, at last, and rolled his eyes when Lorne looked confused.
“But I need to know where to find Colonel Sheppard.”
“And naturally that will go so much faster with you looming over my shoulder, well done.”
They glared at each other, and Rodney felt better. The roiling uncertainty in his gut was back down to a manageable level, and the guilt that whispered to him that he should have done more to prevent John leaving, that he should have found the source of the mysterious voice, was silent. For now.
He just counted himself lucky that the little jumper tracking device he’d been working on had been completed in time. That he’d chosen the right jumper - John’s favourite jumper, which is ridiculous, because how can a man have a favourite machine, they’re all alike, he’s so impossible - and that he’d decided, with Lorne’s full compliance, to attach it as part of his jumper parameter checks.
Rodney didn’t like being suspicious of John, but his natural paranoia hadn’t let him just sit tight, and he was grateful for it now. As soon as John stopped moving they could go pick him up. The tracker device only detected when a jumper went through a new gate, so it wouldn’t help them once John stopped onto a planet, but Rodney had some kind of faith in Major Lorne. And they had life sign detectors, and marines, and Ronon - who Rodney had even more faith in, when he let himself believe, so really, it was going to be all right.
His fingers shook only a little as he calculated which gate John had last gone through, but his heart rate sped up when he recognised the address. He realised that John hadn’t moved on, not in gate terms anyway, for an hour. That was too long for turnaround - maybe he’d come to his final destination. It would be typical, Rodney thought, and it also made some kind of logical sense. Presumably an Ancient would be more than capable of calling John to her and, after all, she wasn’t allowed to leave the planet. If she wanted to talk to John - of course, she only wanted to talk, what else would she want, talk and maybe play some Parcheesi, yeah right - then maybe it made sense to do this, maybe it was just some weird Ancient version of a voicemail.
He looked up at Lorne again, and watched as he reacted to Rodney’s sudden confidence.
“I know where he is,” said Rodney, as he plucked uncomfortably at his suddenly too tight tac vest.
Lorne glanced over at his team, and at Ronon and Teyla waiting with differing levels of patience by the wall. Given all the distractions, it was amazing Rodney got anything done at all, really.
“Let’s go,” said Lorne, and they did.
***
She looked exactly as he remembered. Her long red hair flowed freely down her back. The white robe moved smoothly, clinging to her body. She looked like any boy’s dream.
“Chaya,” said John, and nodded at her in acknowledgement. She smiled.
He’d never - quite - been that sort of boy. He could feel the blood thrumming in his veins, but it didn’t seem to be for her precisely. Now that he was here on Proculus the longing, the want, had subsumed itself into some kind of background hum. He still felt too hot, and his mouth was as dry as his palms were sweaty, but he had no desire to throw Chaya to the floor and ravish her, or even to throw himself on the floor and worship her. It was almost refreshing after all those Wraith Queens. Almost.
“I am sorry that I had to bring you here like this, but it was necessary, I promise you, John.”
He looked at her. “You never call, you never write - you know where we are, just a wormhole away. Couldn’t you have contacted me through the Stargate?”
She swept her long lashes downwards in acknowledgement. “Perhaps. But then you would not have been alone. You would have had your fascinating team with you, and I do not think they would have appreciated the… problem. But John - you can help, I know you can.”
She moved away smoothly, and looked over her shoulder. John shrugged, and followed. It wasn’t as if he had much choice if he wanted to know what was going on, but he didn’t trust her as far as could spit on her. He knew Rodney didn’t appreciate his affect on women - understatement - but John wasn’t sure how to make him believe that it wasn’t John’s fault. He didn’t choose any of this. Being kidnapped by voices and desires he had no way of controlling? Just par for the course, as far as he was concerned. It sucked. But there was no way to make Rodney believe that either.
“So what do you want my help with?” he asked, conscious for once, of the drawl in his voice. Disguising anger under silent insolence, no childhood issues there. Right.
“Well,” Chaya seemed oddly reluctant, and if John didn’t have a bad feeling before, he did now. “I hope you will understand eventually but… I need your bloodline, John.”
They were walking down some steps John hadn’t seen before, the golden stone seemed to glow as the sun came out from behind a fluffy white cloud.
“If that means what I think it means, then no. Uh-uh. Not ever.”
They walked through an archway, vaulted and soaring - and stepped onto the sands of an arena. Beautiful girls in white shifts looked up eagerly, bronzed young men in white kilts tried to stare impassively, but John could sense their own interest, of a different sort, and he realised that if he’d had a weapon with him then his hand would have been on it.
“Unfortunately,” said Chaya, her eyes glimmering with a regret that John couldn’t even honestly say was false, “You do not have a choice in this. The Ancient bloodline has grown weak in my people, and so my… suggestions can be ignored if they so wish. I cannot let this state of affairs continue.”
She laid a hand on his arm before John could flinch away, and the voice, that strange, androgynous voice, that had somehow matched itself to John, that whispered in his blood and bone, suddenly roared into life, sending fire pouring down his nerves, burning as it came. It was a painless fire, but no less hot for that, and as John stared at his potential mates, at his rivals, he burned with anger, and with jealousy. How dare anyone challenge him? How dare they presume? They would pay for standing in his way and he would be victorious. He would claim what was his.
“You, on the other hand,” said Chaya, although John was no longer paying very much attention as he snarled at the uneasily shifting row of boys, “You have the strongest gene I have seen for an age. Which means I can control you, John.”
Her smile was sad, but not, in the end, reluctant.
***
“Proculus!” said Teyla, with surprise in her voice, “I do not understand. What would Chaya want with John? Perhaps there has been some sort of misunderstanding.”
“Oh yes, because she has such a great track record!” said Rodney, jittery, holding his foot from bouncing only by a very great effort. Next to him, in the pilot’s chair - where John should be - sat Lorne, and behind them in the body of the jumper were Lorne’s team. Other teams were poised to come support them, if it became necessary, but Sam had held them off for now.
On the one hand, Rodney had wanted to yell loud and long about needing all the help they could get, but on the other, he was well aware that a small force might stand a better chance of getting through unnoticed by an omnipotent Ancient. Although, given the definition of omnipotent, it might seem idiotic to even try, frankly Rodney was prepared to bet a certain amount against Ancient wisdom, seeing as he’d been clearing up their messes for the last three years. So he hadn’t yelled at Sam, or even complained, and he remembered that her eyes had widened at his restraint. And then she’d patted his arm in a kindly manner. That had nearly given Rodney a panic attack right there.
So now his foot was trying to bounce, and Ronon was leaning heavily on the back of his chair and saying, “We’ll get him back, McKay.” And really, none of it was helping. When they tumbled out of the jumper into the peaceful, prosperous village that Rodney remembered from over two years before, all he could do was thank his lucky stars that they hadn’t been shot down. Chaya hadn’t been violent towards them before, but there was no telling what else might have changed, if she really was the one responsible for kidnapping John in the first place.
There was absolute quiet, and the village seemed deserted, which Rodney thought anyone would consider sinister. His palms were sweating. He wanted to babble just to fill the silence, but if he closed his eyes, he knew he’d see imaginary John frowning at him and shaking his head.
“We’ll split up,” said Lorne, and raised an eyebrow at Teyla and Ronon, who nodded slowly.
Their little team took the left, and Lorne’s padded off towards the right. Rodney was about to remind Lorne about the life-sign detectors, when he realised that he hadn’t got his own out either, and then managed to fumble and nearly drop the damn thing getting it out of his tac vest.
He gasped as it came to life, and Ronon leaned over his shoulder before grunting and moving off.
“What is it, Rodney?” Teyla asked, and he held it up for her to see. The screen was almost blinding with the cluster of life it showed in one corner.
“What do you think? Village fête, maybe? Harvest festival? Flower throwing day, like on P7835?”
Teyla smiled reassuringly. “It could indeed be a gathering of that sort. Let us not speculate, let us instead go and observe.”
Rodney didn’t feel very reassured, but he moved in front of Teyla, and found himself acutely missing John hovering on their six. “More likely to be Eat the Scientist day,” he muttered, before getting shoved along for his pains.
Their team approached cautiously, which was only to be expected with Ronon on the case. Rodney wasn’t sure it would make that much difference though, there was cheering, and oohs and ahhs coming from ahead, so there could have been a herd of elephants trampling towards them and he doubted the villagers would have noticed. They came to a large decorative archway, obviously some kind of entrance to the gathering, and Ronon stopped. Rodney couldn’t understand why. He and Teyla caught up and Ronon said, “Can’t get through.”
“What? Are mere doors defeating you now?” Rodney pulled out his scanner and waved it at the arch. Grudgingly, he acknowledged there was a distinct pattern of energy, it was true. “An obvious doorway you can’t get through - why? Is it a trap? It makes no sense for Chaya to have something like this.” He waved at Ronon, who, with a scowl, reached up and pushed a little. The sparkle of a forcefield shimmered against his palm.
There was a burst of cheering, and Rodney looked through the arch. He could see golden sand, and the glimmer of people in white clothing. “Then how did all those villagers get through? Unless it’s a barrier that Chaya only puts up afterwards, I suppose. Great.” Rodney had a bad feeling about this. John…
Then the white-garbed crowd parted a little, to let a prone form be carried away, and Rodney gasped. Involuntarily, he tried to take a step forward, and… succeeded.
“Rodney! No! It is too dangerous!” Teyla’s eyes were wide and her hand was pressed against the barrier that Rodney had just stepped through. Trust Teyla to know Rodney’s actions before he knew them himself.
He looked down to his scanner, and then up again to his team. “I saw John. He looked in trouble, he could be hurt. He could… I can’t leave him.” He swallowed. The barrier must recognise ATA gene carriers, even fake ones like himself. “Get Lorne - he should be able to pass through too. Send him as cavalry.”
“I do not understand,” said Teyla, but Rodney was already turning away. He couldn’t let himself think too hard about what he was doing, or he wouldn’t be able to do it at all.
With shaking fingers, Rodney reached for his P90, hoping against hope he didn’t have to use it. He walked towards the arena.
***
The sweat was stinging John’s eyes, but it didn’t matter. He wiped them quickly with his already sodden sleeve, and growled at his remaining opponents as he assessed who was left. His breath was coming harshly, but he still felt strong, and sure - certainly strong enough to take out any of the remaining pups that dared to challenge his rights. The mates he had already fought for and won were clustered in a giggling, fluttering group. John ignored them, they were the prize, but otherwise they weren’t very interesting. The voice in his head was still urging him on, his blood was still burning. He couldn’t just stop, he had to win and keep winning.
He stripped off his jacket and stood there in his black BDUs and t-shirt, feeling the gentle breeze curl round his hot body like soothing fingers. He let the jacket fall to ground, heedless of the random equipment in the pockets, he heard a crunch but it didn’t mean anything, nothing really meant anything but the next opponent, and the satisfied thrumming in his veins. John snarled wordlessly and prepared to stalk forward once more.
Then there was an eddy in the crowd. John didn’t pay them much attention, there was a tiered seating area around the arena where a brightly dressed flock of people chattered like birds, but since they weren’t part of the challenge - they weren’t mates and they weren’t rivals - John had ignored them. But now… Now there was movement, excitement, they were reacting to something, or someone, behind John. He whirled round and saw a strange man… another challenger! He was dressed identically to John in black BDUs and he held a different weapon to John’s other opponents. A P90, supplied the small part of his mind that still noted such things. John found he was leaning forward, and his fingers were flexing with eagerness, somehow he knew that this was going to be a true meeting, a satisfying match. He was trembling with anticipation and excitement.
The crowd roared as he surged forward. Almost accidentally, the man held up his P90 in front of him and John’s charge was deflected slightly, unless he was willing to impale himself on the stubby metal of the barrel. But as he passed by he twisted slightly and was able to rip the gun from the weakened hands of his opponent. In contempt, John threw it aside. There was real weaponry here they could use if they chose to do so, weapons they could cut and thrust with, staring into each other’s straining faces. John grabbed a halberd-like staff, and swiftly turned. He smiled and licked his lips, staring into the other’s wide blue eyes as he brandished it, but he didn’t charge, not quite yet. The voice in his head whispered that he should take control, he should finish this man before he gained a weapon of his own, but John fought against it, he held himself still, as he watched the man stumble forward to a weapon rack of his own and take another halberd. Somehow it wouldn’t be right to attack him off-guard like this, a part of John was even reluctant to fight him at all.
But that part was very small. As soon as the man had turned to face him then John leapt forward again. The man held his halberd as though he’d never used such a thing in his life. It was easy for John to slip in under his guard and swipe at him, there was the tink of metal as his tac vest was sliced across the chest, and buckles fell to the sand. The man jumped back, his vest flapping, panting harshly already, and John grinned. This was exhilarating, more so than it had been fighting any other opponent, for all the man’s clumsiness. It made no sense, but John didn’t care.
The voice in his head was shouting now, almost deafeningly, and John had to shake his head. It was putting him off, enough so that the man was able to get in a clumsy blow of his own. He didn’t use the cutting edge of the blade however, but instead seemed to be trying to knock John down. He would never win like that. John laughed. He would never win at all.
This time, John threw aside the halberd at the last minute, and ducked inside the man’s reach. He made a squeaking noise, as John grappled with him, and John laughed, a rippling sound of satisfaction that felt dredged up from deep within. This close John could feel the play of muscles under the man’s jacket, and as he spun him, and pinned him in a tackle that had John tangling his arms in his own ripped and dangling tac vest, John could feel his mouth stretched wide with animal pleasure. He could smell the guy this close, a heady mixture of sweat and sunscreen, a hint of bitterness. Coffee, his mind gave up with great difficulty. John didn’t care, the man smelled delicious, he wanted to bury his nose in his neck and then roll all over him, and John was strong, and invincible, and he could do what he pleased, and so he did just that.
The man squeaked again, and John loved it. Until somehow he got a hand free from the entangling vest, and landed a flailing blow that just managed to catch John across the nose. The white hot flash of pain sent the voice in his head roaring, and John roared with it. He pounded with his fists, and then with a rock that appeared under his hand, until the pain subsided, and the flashing lights in his vision had faded. John blinked, suddenly icy cold.
The delicious smell that had so excited him was gone, buried beneath the copper tang of fresh blood. His knuckles stung, but that was nothing compared to the shame and horror that filled his other senses. He wiped his mouth and drew away more blood. His nose throbbed. He blinked away moisture caused by dust.
The man’s head was a red ruin. The bright blue eyes were shut, mercifully shut, John thought, and then hung his head. There was no more thought of mates, or rivals, or fighting. He knelt on the bloody sand, and realised he had come to what passed for his senses at last. The voice in his head was fading, was less than a whisper, and now John could finally hear it properly, even as it faded. It was Rodney’s voice. Somehow. The urge that had brought him halfway across the galaxy, that had caused him to steal a jumper, and fight for these women he didn’t want, all of it had been amplified once the voice spoke with Rodney’s inflection. If he hadn’t been under its compulsion he would probably have recognised that. Surely he would have recognised that?
And now… John swallowed, trying not to be sick. What had he done? The man lying before him had a skull caved in like an egg, he had blood masking his face and what looked like broken bones in his cheek, his jaw. John could see the sunken hollow where an eye should have been, the pale glisten of vitreous staining the shattered socket. Rodney, oh Rodney. John reached for his hand. He hadn’t the right, he was a murderer, he’d murdered his best friend, his… something more, if he’d ever allowed himself to dwell, but Rodney would never know. Not now. His fingers were still warm, were soft and smooth under John’s touch, despite the calluses John had tried to get him to acquire. John was glad of it though, they still felt like Rodney, and since he couldn’t bear to look at his ruined face any longer, he concentrated on Rodney’s hands. John traced the fingers, and the palm, he stroked over the wrist, and, still holding Rodney’s hand in his own, he slowly reached down into his boot for the small wickedly sharp knife he kept in an ankle sheath there.
John did not articulate what he was going to do. He’d been wordless when he’d lost Mitch and Dex. When he’d realised Holland had died in his arms. He’d been silent at his own disciplinary hearing, that was only a breath away from a court martial. He’d been soundless on the ice, letting the wind howling across the frozen glaciers do his talking for him. So he didn’t know what he was going to do with the knife. He had ideas, it was true, but he didn’t know.
Instead, he felt, rather than heard, the whisper of Chaya’s draperies as she walked up to stand beside him. John felt his hand tighten around the handle of the blade, his knuckles were surely white, it would be easy.
“Thank you, John,” she said, and he wanted to laugh.
“For what?” he asked, his voice grating like rusty metal, the sound of his humanity bringing more moisture to his eyes, before he blinked it away.
“For adding to our knowledge. For aiding our great purpose. Your reactions are always fascinating, always so unique.”
There was a small pause. For John, the moment had gone, he held the knife more loosely in his fist. He was too tired to ask what Chaya meant, even though he knew he should. Eventually, she nudged Rodney’s arm with her slipper and said, “Do you want him put out of his misery?”
“No!” John didn’t know if Rodney could be fixed, even with the medical facilities on Atlantis, but that didn’t stop the horror and the bile that rose in his throat at the thought of… His own self-disgust was secondary to protecting Rodney, even now. Even if it was an idea that he himself had fleetingly considered, a bitter kind of mercy. Instead, John deliberately found himself wondering if Rodney had an earpiece. He couldn’t have come alone, he’d been trained better than that. John desperately needed Ronon or Teyla, or anyone at all.
He looked up at Chaya, his hand still holding tightly to Rodney’s. She looked brightly interested, and not even remotely human.
“Good. It always takes so much longer to repair you if function ceases altogether.”
There was a whimper from Rodney that distracted John from puzzling out what Chaya meant. The sound made everything else fly out of his head as he leant over him and whispered, “I’m here, buddy.”
He hoped Rodney wouldn’t hate him, even knowing that he should. John hoped he’d somehow understand, he hoped… somewhere deep inside, he hoped for some forgiveness, where he’d never forgive himself. His hand tightened on Rodney’s and then John froze in shock. He watched, horrified and fascinated, as Rodney’s skin writhed, as his cheekbone popped back into place, as his empty eye socket began to fill. Rodney’s fingers twitched in his own.
“What the hell?” John nearly let go, as his mind raced to possible scenarios. Was Chaya using Ancient healing techniques, like Hedda had when John spent all that time in the time-bubble Sanctuary? He supposed it was possible, as an actual Ancient Chaya was presumably more powerful than a child like Hedda. He didn’t know that she was allowed to heal a mere human so obviously though.
John looked up again, ready to thank her with some variety of grace, even if it was her fault they were in this position in the first place, but the words died in his mouth as he stared into her pleasantly smiling face. There was something fundamentally screwy here, and if he hadn’t been kept off-balance and drugged, he was sure he would have seen it long before now.
If anything her smile grew broader. “Ah, I see you are beginning to understand. We have discovered that we have to provide an interactive scenario almost instantly, or you ask too many of the wrong kind of questions and we learn nothing.”
There was the soft shuffle of boots on the sand, and John shaded his eyes. Lorne walked up, also smiling pleasantly. John was about to ask for help but something stopped his tongue. He had a bad feeling about this. For all the good it did, his hand tightened on the knife.
“What’s going on?” he asked, with no real expectation of being answered, but Chaya seemed happy to explain. It made John’s head hurt.
“Did you know we get the very best results when it involves yourself, John, and Dr McKay here? We do appreciate the data. We find it fascinating that the permutations of your relationship are always so varied, and so rich. And yet your real selves hide it all so very deeply.”
“We have a gift for you.”
John tensed, preparatory to throwing himself to one side and away. But the thought of having to leave Rodney, who was still unconscious, slowed him down enough that when Lorne grabbed him by the shoulder he was moving too slowly. And he couldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but Chaya’s casual description of their ‘real selves’ caused him even more uncertainty.
When Lorne reached out and stuck his hand in John’s head, he couldn’t say he was altogether surprised.
As his senses slipped away, he could hear Chaya’s lilting voice still maddeningly calm and pleasant. “We always like to enhance the subconscious bond before we wipe your memory, John. Enjoy.”
***
“I’m here, buddy.”
He might be nearby but John’s voice sounded like it was coming from very far away indeed. Rodney wanted to open his eyes to complain about that but they were just too heavy, which seemed a shame. He wondered whether he ought to at least have words about beating him into the middle of next week, which Rodney had always known John could do, but knowing and feeling the effects first hand was completely different. If they got out of this, Rodney reckoned he would dine out on this particular little story for weeks.
He wondered in a mildly panicked way, why he wasn’t panicking more. That didn’t seem very like him. And just as he was conscious of his eyeball having inflated enough that he was pretty sure he could see again, and therefore immediately blinked it open - which was gross, thank you very much - he was gazing into a cloudless blue sky that slowly turned grey as the ceiling began to drip nannites like melting ice-cream.
He was opening his mouth to comment on this when Chaya stuck her hand in his head. He supposed his mild reaction could certainly be explained by…
Playing with radio controlled cars, John’s hand pumping the air with victory, and Rodney explaining how it was all a matter of drag coefficient and that John’s winning had been a fluke, that was all, he’d been lucky, Rodney would get him next time. The sparkle of John’s eyes had been too much, the curl of his smile, and Rodney had held on to his arms too tightly, he’d reeled him in, and John’s smile had dropped, faltering, until Rodney was too close to stop, too close, and his heart was pounding, and then he’d kissed him. John’s eyes had closed and he’d whimpered, he’d wrapped his arms around Rodney held on and held on, until…
Chitinous blue arms were scratchy against Rodney’s sides, but he’d never cared, he didn’t even think about it any more. Instead, he’d rolled over, rough weave harsh against his skin, the furs soft, sleepily searching for that scratchy sensation, until he’d looked up from their nest-like bed in the back of their jumper, and realised John wasn’t there. His heart had pounded, but he’d forced himself not to panic, John liked to go off sometimes, to be alone and Rodney understood that, he did. His heart was in his mouth, but he’d gotten up, he’d looked through their supplies for tea, and a handful of tava beans for stewing later. He’d pottered, and his hands had resolutely not shaken, until John had swung in through the doors, smelling of wild garlic and damp moss, and Rodney hadn’t clung to him, not for a second, not even to taste the tiny blue scales by John’s mouth that were cool and smooth under his tongue…
Gunfire was close over Rodney’s head, and John was shouting something, but all Rodney knew was that they were lost, that the Wraith were pouring in, that the last of the marines weren’t enough, that they were barricaded in one of the secure labs. It was ironic that it was built to keep things in, and they would be the last thing that it ever kept secure. Rodney exchanged a frightened glance with Radek, caught Simpson’s eye, but then looked away quickly because what could he say? John was still shouting into his earpiece, but Rodney could tell there was no-one answering, and his eyes were wild. Rodney swallowed. Then Simpson was tugging on Radek’s lab coat, turning him, and pulling him, until she could drag him into a desperate kiss, and Rodney let out a small gasp. John looked across, his gaze flickering across the scene, until their eyes locked. Rodney found he couldn’t breathe, his hands aching to touch, and he watched as John took one step across the room…
Mathematics was beautiful, and Rodney wanted to explain, had wanted to describe the intricate equations he’d seen and somehow put them down in words, not so much for posterity, but because he’d known that John would appreciate them. He’d waved his hand and the patterns that he saw, their eternal variations, and the enigmas therein were transcribed onto a simple white board, onto the deepest reaches of infinity, onto the smallest particle in the cosmos; truth and beauty, strangeness and charm, but each of them were as nothing compared to John in his endless variety. Rodney saw so much now he was on the way to Ascension, willingly or not, and he wanted to tell him, he would tell him before the end, of all the universes he saw reflected in his eyes…
Lying in John’s slightly too small bed, listening to the slap of the ocean against the south west pier, Rodney thought he might actually be happy. As a reaction to extreme fear, he thought it was a healthy one, or at least… John was curled around him, sleepy and satiated, and Rodney was at peace, or at least as close to it as he was likely to get. He’d mapped every inch of John’s skin, his tongue following his fingers, until John had been writhing, one step from begging, and Rodney had kept going, teasing, and holding him there, before swallowing him down again, for as long as he possibly could. He didn’t tell John that the one grey hair two inches below his left nipple was gone. That the long scar on his thigh had vanished. That the rough patch of skin where the iratus scales had sloughed off last was smooth and new. It was enough for Rodney to know and be disturbed by it. To be thankful that the Wraith had given John back to him - more or less intact…
***
…As the overwhelming flood of images and sensations came to a trickling halt John tried to fight, even if he was fighting what he didn’t want to lose. He felt as though if only he were stronger he could break himself away, he could…
…The space he was in coalesced into a flat grey plain, a monochrome sky indistinguishable from the ground, and he was alone…
…He wished he was alone. Chaya was there, between one blink and the next, and John wanted desperately to defend himself, to wrench himself free, but she looked at him instead, as he found he couldn’t move, couldn’t move, and then she smiled…
…John wanted to know what they were doing to Rodney, to the being he thought of as Rodney, his hands still warm from the phantom heat of his body, still with the taste of him on his tongue, and none of it fucking real…
…Didn’t stop him feeling it though, however much he tried not to, he’d found Rodney and he’d lost him over and over again. And Chaya always smiled, and John wanted to kill her, but he was a construct and once here, he had no choice…
…He was going to kill her, whoever she was, a replicator of some sort, Asuran presumably. It didn’t matter, he was John Sheppard, and he’d figure out a way, sometime, he would…
…With his thoughts going round like a wheel, and missing Rodney and knowing that he wanted him, but could never have him…
…He would have him over and over again, but neither of them would ever know, and was that worse? No-one would ever rescue them, they would have to do it for themselves, no change there, and Chaya smiling at him as though she could hear his thoughts…
…Which she probably could, but it didn’t matter, because someday she’d make a mistake, and when she did, John would be waiting. He’d take Rodney, and the team, and he’d run, back to Atlantis, back to…
Epilogue
It was a mercy really. The Replicator known as Chaya observed all the thoughts of her subjects, running around the same old tracks, as they always did, and knew that when there had been an appropriate amount of unconscious imprinting, and before the distress levels became unacceptably high, she would terminate the experiment. She carefully measured the levels of chemicals in his brain, and the electrical state of the neurons, as she always did, and then she compared the results to the baseline.
Of course, all of these tests were planned as part of their work towards Ascension, and although it was a slow process, she was confident that they would eventually succeed. Even now, for example, their observation of the changes in human brain chemistry was significant, to the extent that Chaya was sure they could replicate ‘love’ almost exactly. But it was such a state of high stress that she wasn’t at all sure it was the correct path - surely such a deleterious mode of being couldn’t be part of the road to Ascension? Not for the first time Chaya broadcast her doubts to their small collective, asking for permission to try a new approach.
The group considered the results, and Chaya waited. She proffered her conclusions, offered another scenario, which involved a more problem-solving approach, and expressed her desire to trace the original Rodney’s experiences with the Ascension machine. It would be good, for once, to run simulations that had less to do with messy endocrine secretions. Her relief when her petition was accepted by the collective was brief. The stress that her John-construct was undergoing was extreme and she was glad that they were both finally able to move on.
So as she let the memories that John was experiencing fade, and then blanked them - blanked him, completely, wiping his mind - she felt only contentment. She would deal with the Rodney construct next. Really, it was best.
It was pleasing to know that she would no longer need to subject her constructs to such trauma for the Asuran’s own selfish benefit. And she was grateful to the subjects in question, because before she worked with them she would not have understood.
It was surprisingly satisfying to finally understand the emotion of mercy.
Poll