Placeholder (PG13)
title: Placeholder
author: neevebrody
rating: PG
words: ~2400
warnings: none
beta: my dear mischief5 - all remaining mistakes are my own
legal: so not mine
summary: Rodney looks up. "You think I haven't been paying attention all these years? You're gonna be okay," he adds, trying to smile and fumbling around in the pockets for a spare scanner.
Rodney feels it first. The slight shudder of solid ground beneath his feet - like ripples across a puddle - mere seconds before the mournful wail of twisting iron and the sharp clout of splintering wood.
He rights himself amid the rubble and clouds of smoke-thick dust. Coughing and wheezing, blinking into a gray-green haze. The portion of the shielded chamber not damaged still emits an alien glow of transitory light.
He checks the safety on his P90 and flicks on the light. The beam falls to a boot, then a leg, another leg and, thank god, an entire body. Only when Rodney gets to him, John's not moving.
"Sheppard." John's surprisingly free from the collapsed wall but not by much. Rodney drops to his knees beside him. "Sheppard!" Long forgotten months worth of dust and grit swirl and sting his eyes. He searches the still form for the rise of breath, a twitch, the thump of life in the exposed throat, anything. Every movement seems like slow motion as he tries to get his trembling fingers inside the collar to check for a pulse. Careful not to move him, Rodney slips his other arm protectively over John's chest, brushing away scraps of light debris. In the background, the last of the rubble drifts nonchalantly and settles in place, the finishing touches to the solid wall holding them apart from, well, from everything else. "Oh god, John, can you hear me? John!?"
At first, he thinks it's a trick of the light but he's almost sure that's a grin. Then John lifts one tentative eyelid. "I had you…"
"Son of a bitch…" Rodney lets him go and sits back on his heels. "We're not in enough trouble; you have to give me a heart attack, too."
"Big time."
"So not funny, Sheppard."
Out of the corner of Rodney's eye, John pulls himself up on his elbows. "What happened to John?"
"Huh?" The pace of his heart begins to slow; Rodney's brain is already on to the next task - looking for the lifesigns detector cum Geiger counter Jeannie once helped him modify. Turns out, it worked just as well and Rodney had appropriated it for his own personal use. Just before the earth moved, he'd detected a number of energy spikes, but in all the commotion, the device had been dislodged from his grip. A dwindling oxygen supply he could handle - not his preferred way to die, but infinitely more palatable than radiation poisoning - and when you factor in the possibility of an eventual rescue…
"You called me John before."
Rodney stops his search and stares in John's direction. Had he really? His view isn't clear through the filtered flashlight beams, each one like an overblown fuzzy halo. "That's your name isn't it? How about this, you're John when I think you're dying and Sheppard when you're pissing me off." He thinks John smiles at that.
"But then you…"
Rodney gives up his search. "I what? Did you hit your head or something? Spit it out. Actually, you know, maybe I can get a reading… or make contact…" He pulls the tablet from the back of his vest with a loud thwack of surrendering Velcro. "Otherwise, we're-"
"We'll be okay," John said. "Ow… maybe not.
"What ow? What is it?"
"Hey, help me up will you?" Once on his feet, John sort of topples over onto Rodney. "Shit!"
"One gag a day is your limit, isn't it? I am not even falling for…" But he's still holding the bulk of Sheppard's weight and it takes just a second for Rodney's brain to click: not good.
"No gag, it's my damn knee."
Rodney eases him back down. Looking around, he finds a suitable chunk of wooden beam and pulls it over to John. It's still not the right height, so Rodney removes his tac vest and drapes it over the beam. Then he carefully places John's leg on the vest to elevate it. John hisses when Rodney palms the knee. It's tight and warm. He adjusts the light so he can see. There's a tiny rip in the cloth and Rodney makes it a big one.
Fumbling in the side pocket of the vest, he comes away with a cold pack. After activating it, he lays it across John's swelling knee. "Keep that there."
"Where'd you learn that, and where…"
Rodney looks up. "You think I haven't been paying attention all these years? You're gonna be okay," he adds, trying to smile and fumbling around in the pockets for a spare scanner.
John's eyes lock on him. "I know."
"Oh, and the pack… I carry that, you know…" He motions to his back.
John nods and cranes his neck, watching Rodney. "You wouldn't have a beer tucked away in there, would you?"
"I wish." Rodney stands and gives John his canteen. "Not that I haven't thought of that," he says, and makes an attempt to get a reading from his tablet. Failing that, he vainly tries the radio again.
"I got nothing." He walks over to examine the wall where the door used to be. And nothing is pretty much accurate. Outside of the whisper of sifting dirt as things settle, there's no sound, a quiet pressure on his eardrums. "I wonder how long it will take to use up all the oxygen in here, though I suppose there are some small air pockets, perhaps enough to keep us from dying."
"We are not going to die, Rodney."
He looks around; John looms a little clearer now as Rodney walks toward him. "Right. Probably best not to know about the radiation either. Of course, the spikes may mean it's no more than intermittent exposure, so there's your silver lining."
"Then again, maybe it isn't radiation at all. Or if it is, maybe the source is on the other side and we're safe."
"Thanks for the pep talk, Colonel Rose-colored Glasses. Only you would consider being trapped in a shielded chamber, with possible radiation leaks, cut off from all communication, safe."
"Rodney, why don't you just come and sit? The air's not so heavy down here."
He makes a few more futile attempts to locate a comm channel, then sits down like it's his own idea. The pack on John's knee starts to slip, so he moves closer to catch it. "You're going to need to stay…"
John's hand on his upper arm makes Rodney look up and focus on John. John's face. John's mouth. Rodney's good at focusing. But now, it sets in motion a series of mental snapshots of every time he's paid too much attention to those lips - cracked and parched or lush and damp - and of every time an errant touch had sent sparks skittering across his body.
Like now.
He can't say why but he's not freaking out. And he should be. Trapped, monumentally screwed, and John's kissing him. Kissing should equal major freaking out, but yet… no. Maybe it's because John isn't freaking out either.
Maybe it's the tease of his tongue or the warmth from his palm curved over the base of Rodney's skull. Or maybe it's the way his other arm slips protectively up the center of Rodney's back, pulling them as close as John's stupid tac vest will allow.
Or maybe it's the knowing that this is the answer to years of unspoken need. And even when John ends it, draws back to allow them a breath, his mouth still hovers, all anticipation and promise. Rodney feels safe in the space there between them, just suddenly empty and wanting.
"You…" is all he can say, staring at the shadow that plumps John's lower lip, the slick highlight cast by their saliva and the flashlights.
"Been saving that for a special occasion." The words don't come out easily Rodney notices, and the voice is as gritty as the air around them. When Rodney looks up, John's eyes aren't smirking; they're kind of wide and his face is all slack-jawed - the way it got the first time he had a jumper really respond to him.
Rodney has to clear his throat. "And waiting to die is more special than, oh, I don't know, any other time. A little clichéd, wouldn't you say? Even for you."
"We're not gonna die," John says again in that calm, we're-not-gonna-die voice. Swear to god, John's used it so often, Rodney actually has a name for it.
"That's what you always say." Now Rodney's words go soft; it's hard to ignore the way John's still holding him.
"Haven't been wrong yet, have I?"
"Well, don't look now, but I think your number may be up."
John shakes his head so their noses almost touch. "I got a signal off just before all hell broke loose - outside the shielding. Ronon's probably digging through right now."
Relief slips warm through his veins and Rodney's lips curl almost of their own accord. "Yeah, with his teeth."
"Whatever it takes."
He's glad now for the semi-darkness; the Halloween effect of the shafts of artificial light makes it difficult to see the fear wavering between the lines of their banter. Fear that has nothing to do with cave-ins and busted knees. Or the tremble of John's fingers as they skim along Rodney's jawline. His own fingers stutter finding their way to John's lips. Soft, and the sweet hush of his breath is warm and reassuring.
"Whoa… what did you… saving? You mean you've thought of kissing me before?" He draws himself up and leans back a little. "Then changed your mind?"
John ducks his head and shrugs. Hell, for John, that's as good an admission as Rodney's likely to get.
"So, before the cavalry arrives, you maybe want to talk about this?"
"Might be a good idea," John mumbles, leaning into Rodney's space, just before he finds Rodney's mouth again.
Rodney answers the pull with his own lips and sighs into it with resigned acceptance. This is the way John talks. He speaks in gestures; with looks that can swallow you whole and turn geniuses into babbling idiots, and with a mouth that says everything without saying anything.
Rodney fumbles for the zipper on the vest that's keeping him from warm, bare skin, and John's not stopping him. As he slips beneath the sweat-soaked tee shirt, John breaks the kiss. Rodney tries to read his look but, in the end, he doesn't really care, just as long as John never stops looking at him this way. "Is there anything else you've thought about doing? With me?"
John doesn't answer in words. Lucky for Rodney, he's well schooled in the nuances of a John Sheppard smile. Even in the dim light, he can tell this one means something good.
"Okay, we'll come back to that. Why now? If you're not going for the big 'oh, my god, we're doomed' moment, why now?"
"Just seemed like a good time," John says, still smiling.
Rodney's eyes widen to indicate their situation. "You know something I don't?"
"Apparently."
"What the hell does that mean? What don't I know?"
John stutters out a few syllables, eyelids fluttering as Rodney grazes a nipple before palming John's right pec. He squeezes just enough to make John catch his moan up short. It comes out more of a 'nnnngggh'.
"It's not for general knowledge yet, but it could be there'll be a change in a few regs pretty soon."
"Military regulations? What has that got to do with me? What's that got to do with… Oh."
John dips to the spot behind Rodney's ear. "Yeah," he whispers, leaving shivers to race down Rodney's spine.
Rodney closes his eyes against the rush of it. He can almost taste his heart beating, pulse crashing in his ears. God, that would be… "Wait a minute." He opens his eyes again and holds John at arm's length, like he's afraid John knows it isn't true. "I thought that was just something else doomed to get lost in the shuffle. Are you telling me… Congress is serious?"
"There's movement. Seems there's been some polling, elections coming up. A few sanctimonious asshats suddenly recognize making a change might be in their best interests."
"Never underestimate the power of a politician who can smell the end of their own line."
"Something like that. At any rate, we've been put on alert for possible changes."
"And this?" Rodney waves a hand between them.
"This is me saving my place."
Rodney narrows his eyes. The collapsed wall sighs, emitting a few pops and shifts that capture their attention for a moment.
"Just want to make sure I'm first in line."
"Line? What line? In case you haven't noticed, I haven't been…"
John arches an eyebrow at him and Rodney feels the warmth creep into his cheeks.
"Never mind." He twists in the direction of a high-pitched grinding noise that filters in from the other side of the wall.
"Like I said, McKay, just want to make sure I've got something to come back to."
"A placeholder," Rodney mutters. He swivels back into John's gaze and levels his own non-verbal response. The noise grows louder. "Incredible timing."
"What happened to using up all the air and suffocating?"
"We were conserving… and doing quite nicely I thought. How's the knee?"
John adjusts the no-longer-cold pack and Rodney follows his eyes. "Looks like I'll live. Probably have to stay off it a while."
Rodney snorts a dusty laugh. "Now, there's an impossible mission." He goes to stand but John stops him.
"Not if I have someone to sit with me."
Rodney studies what he can see of those amazing eyes. After a moment, he leans in to steal a kiss. It lasts longer than he expects. It's more urgent than he intends, like neither one of them wants to let go. When it breaks, the words that follow are hesitant and a little breathless. "Not sure sitting is all I'd want to do…"
"I'm kinda counting on that… but we've waited this long."
Rubble starts to fall away in large chunks and Rodney jumps up to get John out of the way. Their earpieces spark to life. "Colonel Sheppard, Doctor McKay, this is Sergeant Meyers, do you read?"
Rodney watches John's hand move to his radio but doesn't really hear his reply. Whatever's shining in John's eyes is more than a placeholder, and even if he can't name it, or won't, Rodney knows - the way he knows Pi to the first twenty digits - that it's something worth waiting for.
author: neevebrody
rating: PG
words: ~2400
warnings: none
beta: my dear mischief5 - all remaining mistakes are my own
legal: so not mine
summary: Rodney looks up. "You think I haven't been paying attention all these years? You're gonna be okay," he adds, trying to smile and fumbling around in the pockets for a spare scanner.
Rodney feels it first. The slight shudder of solid ground beneath his feet - like ripples across a puddle - mere seconds before the mournful wail of twisting iron and the sharp clout of splintering wood.
He rights himself amid the rubble and clouds of smoke-thick dust. Coughing and wheezing, blinking into a gray-green haze. The portion of the shielded chamber not damaged still emits an alien glow of transitory light.
He checks the safety on his P90 and flicks on the light. The beam falls to a boot, then a leg, another leg and, thank god, an entire body. Only when Rodney gets to him, John's not moving.
"Sheppard." John's surprisingly free from the collapsed wall but not by much. Rodney drops to his knees beside him. "Sheppard!" Long forgotten months worth of dust and grit swirl and sting his eyes. He searches the still form for the rise of breath, a twitch, the thump of life in the exposed throat, anything. Every movement seems like slow motion as he tries to get his trembling fingers inside the collar to check for a pulse. Careful not to move him, Rodney slips his other arm protectively over John's chest, brushing away scraps of light debris. In the background, the last of the rubble drifts nonchalantly and settles in place, the finishing touches to the solid wall holding them apart from, well, from everything else. "Oh god, John, can you hear me? John!?"
At first, he thinks it's a trick of the light but he's almost sure that's a grin. Then John lifts one tentative eyelid. "I had you…"
"Son of a bitch…" Rodney lets him go and sits back on his heels. "We're not in enough trouble; you have to give me a heart attack, too."
"Big time."
"So not funny, Sheppard."
Out of the corner of Rodney's eye, John pulls himself up on his elbows. "What happened to John?"
"Huh?" The pace of his heart begins to slow; Rodney's brain is already on to the next task - looking for the lifesigns detector cum Geiger counter Jeannie once helped him modify. Turns out, it worked just as well and Rodney had appropriated it for his own personal use. Just before the earth moved, he'd detected a number of energy spikes, but in all the commotion, the device had been dislodged from his grip. A dwindling oxygen supply he could handle - not his preferred way to die, but infinitely more palatable than radiation poisoning - and when you factor in the possibility of an eventual rescue…
"You called me John before."
Rodney stops his search and stares in John's direction. Had he really? His view isn't clear through the filtered flashlight beams, each one like an overblown fuzzy halo. "That's your name isn't it? How about this, you're John when I think you're dying and Sheppard when you're pissing me off." He thinks John smiles at that.
"But then you…"
Rodney gives up his search. "I what? Did you hit your head or something? Spit it out. Actually, you know, maybe I can get a reading… or make contact…" He pulls the tablet from the back of his vest with a loud thwack of surrendering Velcro. "Otherwise, we're-"
"We'll be okay," John said. "Ow… maybe not.
"What ow? What is it?"
"Hey, help me up will you?" Once on his feet, John sort of topples over onto Rodney. "Shit!"
"One gag a day is your limit, isn't it? I am not even falling for…" But he's still holding the bulk of Sheppard's weight and it takes just a second for Rodney's brain to click: not good.
"No gag, it's my damn knee."
Rodney eases him back down. Looking around, he finds a suitable chunk of wooden beam and pulls it over to John. It's still not the right height, so Rodney removes his tac vest and drapes it over the beam. Then he carefully places John's leg on the vest to elevate it. John hisses when Rodney palms the knee. It's tight and warm. He adjusts the light so he can see. There's a tiny rip in the cloth and Rodney makes it a big one.
Fumbling in the side pocket of the vest, he comes away with a cold pack. After activating it, he lays it across John's swelling knee. "Keep that there."
"Where'd you learn that, and where…"
Rodney looks up. "You think I haven't been paying attention all these years? You're gonna be okay," he adds, trying to smile and fumbling around in the pockets for a spare scanner.
John's eyes lock on him. "I know."
"Oh, and the pack… I carry that, you know…" He motions to his back.
John nods and cranes his neck, watching Rodney. "You wouldn't have a beer tucked away in there, would you?"
"I wish." Rodney stands and gives John his canteen. "Not that I haven't thought of that," he says, and makes an attempt to get a reading from his tablet. Failing that, he vainly tries the radio again.
"I got nothing." He walks over to examine the wall where the door used to be. And nothing is pretty much accurate. Outside of the whisper of sifting dirt as things settle, there's no sound, a quiet pressure on his eardrums. "I wonder how long it will take to use up all the oxygen in here, though I suppose there are some small air pockets, perhaps enough to keep us from dying."
"We are not going to die, Rodney."
He looks around; John looms a little clearer now as Rodney walks toward him. "Right. Probably best not to know about the radiation either. Of course, the spikes may mean it's no more than intermittent exposure, so there's your silver lining."
"Then again, maybe it isn't radiation at all. Or if it is, maybe the source is on the other side and we're safe."
"Thanks for the pep talk, Colonel Rose-colored Glasses. Only you would consider being trapped in a shielded chamber, with possible radiation leaks, cut off from all communication, safe."
"Rodney, why don't you just come and sit? The air's not so heavy down here."
He makes a few more futile attempts to locate a comm channel, then sits down like it's his own idea. The pack on John's knee starts to slip, so he moves closer to catch it. "You're going to need to stay…"
John's hand on his upper arm makes Rodney look up and focus on John. John's face. John's mouth. Rodney's good at focusing. But now, it sets in motion a series of mental snapshots of every time he's paid too much attention to those lips - cracked and parched or lush and damp - and of every time an errant touch had sent sparks skittering across his body.
Like now.
He can't say why but he's not freaking out. And he should be. Trapped, monumentally screwed, and John's kissing him. Kissing should equal major freaking out, but yet… no. Maybe it's because John isn't freaking out either.
Maybe it's the tease of his tongue or the warmth from his palm curved over the base of Rodney's skull. Or maybe it's the way his other arm slips protectively up the center of Rodney's back, pulling them as close as John's stupid tac vest will allow.
Or maybe it's the knowing that this is the answer to years of unspoken need. And even when John ends it, draws back to allow them a breath, his mouth still hovers, all anticipation and promise. Rodney feels safe in the space there between them, just suddenly empty and wanting.
"You…" is all he can say, staring at the shadow that plumps John's lower lip, the slick highlight cast by their saliva and the flashlights.
"Been saving that for a special occasion." The words don't come out easily Rodney notices, and the voice is as gritty as the air around them. When Rodney looks up, John's eyes aren't smirking; they're kind of wide and his face is all slack-jawed - the way it got the first time he had a jumper really respond to him.
Rodney has to clear his throat. "And waiting to die is more special than, oh, I don't know, any other time. A little clichéd, wouldn't you say? Even for you."
"We're not gonna die," John says again in that calm, we're-not-gonna-die voice. Swear to god, John's used it so often, Rodney actually has a name for it.
"That's what you always say." Now Rodney's words go soft; it's hard to ignore the way John's still holding him.
"Haven't been wrong yet, have I?"
"Well, don't look now, but I think your number may be up."
John shakes his head so their noses almost touch. "I got a signal off just before all hell broke loose - outside the shielding. Ronon's probably digging through right now."
Relief slips warm through his veins and Rodney's lips curl almost of their own accord. "Yeah, with his teeth."
"Whatever it takes."
He's glad now for the semi-darkness; the Halloween effect of the shafts of artificial light makes it difficult to see the fear wavering between the lines of their banter. Fear that has nothing to do with cave-ins and busted knees. Or the tremble of John's fingers as they skim along Rodney's jawline. His own fingers stutter finding their way to John's lips. Soft, and the sweet hush of his breath is warm and reassuring.
"Whoa… what did you… saving? You mean you've thought of kissing me before?" He draws himself up and leans back a little. "Then changed your mind?"
John ducks his head and shrugs. Hell, for John, that's as good an admission as Rodney's likely to get.
"So, before the cavalry arrives, you maybe want to talk about this?"
"Might be a good idea," John mumbles, leaning into Rodney's space, just before he finds Rodney's mouth again.
Rodney answers the pull with his own lips and sighs into it with resigned acceptance. This is the way John talks. He speaks in gestures; with looks that can swallow you whole and turn geniuses into babbling idiots, and with a mouth that says everything without saying anything.
Rodney fumbles for the zipper on the vest that's keeping him from warm, bare skin, and John's not stopping him. As he slips beneath the sweat-soaked tee shirt, John breaks the kiss. Rodney tries to read his look but, in the end, he doesn't really care, just as long as John never stops looking at him this way. "Is there anything else you've thought about doing? With me?"
John doesn't answer in words. Lucky for Rodney, he's well schooled in the nuances of a John Sheppard smile. Even in the dim light, he can tell this one means something good.
"Okay, we'll come back to that. Why now? If you're not going for the big 'oh, my god, we're doomed' moment, why now?"
"Just seemed like a good time," John says, still smiling.
Rodney's eyes widen to indicate their situation. "You know something I don't?"
"Apparently."
"What the hell does that mean? What don't I know?"
John stutters out a few syllables, eyelids fluttering as Rodney grazes a nipple before palming John's right pec. He squeezes just enough to make John catch his moan up short. It comes out more of a 'nnnngggh'.
"It's not for general knowledge yet, but it could be there'll be a change in a few regs pretty soon."
"Military regulations? What has that got to do with me? What's that got to do with… Oh."
John dips to the spot behind Rodney's ear. "Yeah," he whispers, leaving shivers to race down Rodney's spine.
Rodney closes his eyes against the rush of it. He can almost taste his heart beating, pulse crashing in his ears. God, that would be… "Wait a minute." He opens his eyes again and holds John at arm's length, like he's afraid John knows it isn't true. "I thought that was just something else doomed to get lost in the shuffle. Are you telling me… Congress is serious?"
"There's movement. Seems there's been some polling, elections coming up. A few sanctimonious asshats suddenly recognize making a change might be in their best interests."
"Never underestimate the power of a politician who can smell the end of their own line."
"Something like that. At any rate, we've been put on alert for possible changes."
"And this?" Rodney waves a hand between them.
"This is me saving my place."
Rodney narrows his eyes. The collapsed wall sighs, emitting a few pops and shifts that capture their attention for a moment.
"Just want to make sure I'm first in line."
"Line? What line? In case you haven't noticed, I haven't been…"
John arches an eyebrow at him and Rodney feels the warmth creep into his cheeks.
"Never mind." He twists in the direction of a high-pitched grinding noise that filters in from the other side of the wall.
"Like I said, McKay, just want to make sure I've got something to come back to."
"A placeholder," Rodney mutters. He swivels back into John's gaze and levels his own non-verbal response. The noise grows louder. "Incredible timing."
"What happened to using up all the air and suffocating?"
"We were conserving… and doing quite nicely I thought. How's the knee?"
John adjusts the no-longer-cold pack and Rodney follows his eyes. "Looks like I'll live. Probably have to stay off it a while."
Rodney snorts a dusty laugh. "Now, there's an impossible mission." He goes to stand but John stops him.
"Not if I have someone to sit with me."
Rodney studies what he can see of those amazing eyes. After a moment, he leans in to steal a kiss. It lasts longer than he expects. It's more urgent than he intends, like neither one of them wants to let go. When it breaks, the words that follow are hesitant and a little breathless. "Not sure sitting is all I'd want to do…"
"I'm kinda counting on that… but we've waited this long."
Rubble starts to fall away in large chunks and Rodney jumps up to get John out of the way. Their earpieces spark to life. "Colonel Sheppard, Doctor McKay, this is Sergeant Meyers, do you read?"
Rodney watches John's hand move to his radio but doesn't really hear his reply. Whatever's shining in John's eyes is more than a placeholder, and even if he can't name it, or won't, Rodney knows - the way he knows Pi to the first twenty digits - that it's something worth waiting for.