"This is what going mad feels like."
Finally finished this, it's been annoying to write as the boys were being akward. Anyway, some weird angst. Enjoy!
Title: Under a Sky So Blue
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst/Dark[ish]/ Au [sort of...]
Word Count: 1942
Written For: Prompt #042, Dependence for stargatefic100
Notes: Thanks to my twin, neth_dugan who was my beta. You rock! This story takes place over the course of these episodes; The Lost Boys/The Hive, Epiphany, Critical Mass and Grace under Pressure. So obviously, spoilers for those episodes.
Summary: "This is what going mad feels like."
Under a Sky So Blue
“This is what going mad feels like,” Rodney whispers as if sharing a great secret, hot breath against John's skin. He can smell John, breathe in his scent and it makes him feel giddy, powerful and scared. All at once.
Rodney wonders if John knows he still smells of Wraith, still smells of the hive, despite the showers he knows John would have taken. If he knows how much like torture it is for all three of them just to be in the same room as him.
But it isn't the whole team now, just John and Rodney, with Rodney leaning into John's neck, breathing him in. Breathing in more than Wraith, breathing something that is John's and John's alone. Only it is part of Rodney now, catalogued and hidden in his mind, the memory to be brought out and treasured during hard times. He is still - everything.
“No it's not. This is getting better, Rodney,” John answers and he doesn't understand. Rodney doesn't mind. It doesn't matter anyway.
:::
He can see everything for a while. The whispers on the wind are snatches of conversations that he shouldn't be able to hear. The feel of fabric as he touches his sleeve is more intense and sensuous than ever before. It's as if every single fibre is trying to be felt, all at once but still keeping their individual strand.
It's all so clear, and yet so muddled. Everything is muddled, all coming at once.
Rodney can smell John, can hear his breathing. John is coming all at once, every sense assaulted by the presence of the man. It's only when Rodney forces himself to stop and think, that he realises he can see John now in a way he can't see anyone else.
That doesn't fade with the rest of his hypersensitive abilities.
:::
The coffee in the cup is moving, making ripples. The whole cup is shaking. No, trembling. His hand is trembling. Logical linear thought process. From Point A to Point B and onwards to Points C, D and E. Rodney can understand the logic in this, in the simplicity of simply following one point to another without having to worry about alternative routes, alternative choices. A non-linear line of though, factoring in everything to come up with different choices. There hadn't been a choice back on that pla-
His hand is trembling.
His hand is trembling and nobody else seems to notice. Rodney watches his hand, with almost detached interest. The trembling intensives and still nobody comments on it. Everyone's attention is on the briefing, and Rodney knows that is where his attention should be. The trembling increases as Rodney ignores it, and then it is too much, his hand giving a spasm, the cup slipping from unresponsive fingers and falling to the floor, coffee spilling as it tilts.
His hand follows it without him even thinking, fingers gripping the hot cup, and it's too hot. He lets go again, the contact having taken less than two seconds. To anyone watching it just looks as he reached for the cup and missed.
It makes a dull noise as it hits the floor, coffee pooling around and Rodney can do nothing but stare at it as the room falls silent. His hand is no longer trembling. There is no uneven weight in it any more. Point A to Point B. Linear.
His fingers hurt slightly.
:::
John catches up with Rodney just before they leave for the mission, his hand resting on Rodney's shoulder. Rodney shudders slightly at the touch but he can feel himself turning slightly, leaning into it and drinking in the sensations of touch, smell and sound.
“You ok?” John asks and it's hard to contain the bubble of laughter that wants to escape at that question. Rodney nods and breathes deeply.
He can feel his heart rate slowing down, the calming influence of John and knows that in a second he will feel a rush - John is his own personal drug.
:::
She has a vaguely stupid look on her face as she falls; stunned as if she doesn't quite understand what is happening or why.
Blood is slowly pooling from the wound in her side, colouring the shirt she wears. More natives are coming, knives flashing in the sunlight. Teyla lies where she has fallen, the hilt of the knife sticking out of her body and this isn't right. She shouldn't be this... weak. This vulnerable, a target for metal. He can't let her be this vulnerable, because if she - the Amazon warrior can be weak - then what hope do the rest of them have? She has to be saved.
Somewhere, someone is screaming, but Rodney doesn't know who.
:::
They move as if they were afraid of him, skittering around the edges of his view. Blurs of colour and noise that takes too much effort to try and place as a certain person, a certain voice.
He looks down at the blood on his hands and knows there is at least three different people's blood there, even if he doesn't remember how the blood got there. No, not people. Things. Things that hurt Teyla. That would have hurt them all given the chance.
Rodney thinks they are right to be afraid of him.
:::
The official reason for the downtime is to allow Teyla to recover. Rodney suspects otherwise, but he can't summon enough energy to try and prove it. Prove that the sideways looks, the nervous stutters are from something more than just his normal arrogance and bully tactics in the lab.
He starts to spend more time in his room, alone, almost bouncing as he paces from one side to the other. Rodney can't let anyone see him like this, when the hunger becomes so great and he just wants to step outside and take.
Rodney wonders when the need changed and his attention shifted.
When what he wants to take became wrapped up in a single man.
:::
Six month is long enough to change a man.
John smells different, looks different. Rodney's internal voice screams imposter and fake. It wasn't six months for Rodney and he's still tuned in to the old John and this new one is just that - new.
But then John smiles at him, a true, tired smile. And the little voice is silenced.
:::
Rodney watches Telya and Ronon fight, the sleek movements and feels a surge of jealously. They are still whole, untouched. They have recovered.
Fighting. Always fighting.
He catches an odd look in Teyla's eyes as she swings her sticks, a look of frustration and annoyance. The swing is a perfect curve, but it is easily blocked by Ronon, and the force behind it isn't as strong as it once was. Ronon in turn looks angry as he attacks, and even though he is powerful, Rodney can remember a time when Ronon was even stronger. He suspects that Ronon can remember that too.
They see him at around about the same time, and he looks away. When he looks back they are fighting again, a more stilted fight. Gone is the fluid motions of before.
He isn't the only one to suffer.
:::
He would like to think he knew right away who the real Gou'ald was. It would be a lie though. All he knew was that it wasn't John and Rodney was glad because of that. He knows the Gou'ald have a habit of taking the pretty ones, the beautiful ones and Rodney knows that John is beautiful. It's not manly but it is true.
He can see John as a Gou'ald, wrapped in gold and shimmering light, a cold look in his eyes. A perfect picture, captured forever because he wouldn't age. He would die though. Over and over again and the thought it horrible. Even with the hope of him somehow being saved, of the parasite being removed and John being returned, even then, the image is horrible.
Rodney thinks about the image as the Gou'ald is removed. Thinks and wonders if he would have the strength to protect John if the time came. If he could destroy that beauty. He would like to think he could.
It is probably a lie though.
:::
His spare hand taps out Morse code on the seat beside him as he taps away at the computer. With his head wound, it's hard to think about the work that needs to be done and the need is still there, like an ache under the surface desperate to be dealt with.
Sam-that-isn't is a welcome distraction and Rodney embraces the idea that subconsciously he thinks of her, subconsciously he is the same person he was before. There is a knowing glint in her eyes though, when Rodney calls her a siren and she makes some comment about Lt. Colonels. Rodney has stopped listening by then, his hand returning back to the Morse code, the messages that say what he can't.
The Sam-that-isn't watches him, and he knows she understands the messages. She doesn't say anything though. It is the only time Sam-that-isn't backs down from a confrontation.
:::
Rodney doesn't feel cold. He has moved beyond cold. He is frozen, from the inside out. Frozen and unable to understand. Why did Griffin do that? Why did Sam-that-isn't stay down there alone? Why does nothing seem real any more? Why does he still feel muddled?
He used to be able to pride himself in answering questions, in knowing everything he possibly could. Now though, he has more questions than answers. John is the biggest question of all and Rodney knows he is hovering just out of sight, he can hear him breathing, can smell him. So when John steps into sight, Rodney simply stares, wondering what he wants.
Rodney doesn't know the answer to that either.
Except, after a few moments he does. Because John steps up to him, a curious expression in his eyes. His voice is rougher than normal when he tells Rodney never to do that again. It's not clear what exactly he means but Rodney just nods. The lack of augment seems to do something to John and he steps closer, hand brushing along Rodney's cheek an - oh.
Warm lips are on his and he closes his eyes because if he could see John, see on top of everything else then it would be too much. For a few long seconds while the kiss takes place, Rodney feels warm again. He can think again.
But he's only warm when John touches him and John can't touch him all the time.
:::
“Am I mad?” Rodney asks quietly, standing on a balcony, with John, a comforting presence by his side. The sky is blue, the sea is blue, even Atlantis herself is blue in a way, and he thinks he could fall into the eternity of it all. Just let himself sink into it all again.
“No,” John answers moving around to stand in front of him, kissing hard and fast, little kisses; on the cheek, the lips, the nose, the chin. John is the only thing that isn't blue in his life, the only dash of colour in his view. Trying to keep him on the ground - ironic that this comes from the one person who should understand the fall. John wraps his arms around Rodney, as if his body can hold him in place and stop the tumble. “No, you're not. You're Rodney.”
It should be enough.
It isn't.
Rodney closes his eyes and lets himself fall into it all.
:::fin:::
Title: Under a Sky So Blue
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst/Dark[ish]/ Au [sort of...]
Word Count: 1942
Written For: Prompt #042, Dependence for stargatefic100
Notes: Thanks to my twin, neth_dugan who was my beta. You rock! This story takes place over the course of these episodes; The Lost Boys/The Hive, Epiphany, Critical Mass and Grace under Pressure. So obviously, spoilers for those episodes.
Summary: "This is what going mad feels like."
Under a Sky So Blue
“This is what going mad feels like,” Rodney whispers as if sharing a great secret, hot breath against John's skin. He can smell John, breathe in his scent and it makes him feel giddy, powerful and scared. All at once.
Rodney wonders if John knows he still smells of Wraith, still smells of the hive, despite the showers he knows John would have taken. If he knows how much like torture it is for all three of them just to be in the same room as him.
But it isn't the whole team now, just John and Rodney, with Rodney leaning into John's neck, breathing him in. Breathing in more than Wraith, breathing something that is John's and John's alone. Only it is part of Rodney now, catalogued and hidden in his mind, the memory to be brought out and treasured during hard times. He is still - everything.
“No it's not. This is getting better, Rodney,” John answers and he doesn't understand. Rodney doesn't mind. It doesn't matter anyway.
:::
He can see everything for a while. The whispers on the wind are snatches of conversations that he shouldn't be able to hear. The feel of fabric as he touches his sleeve is more intense and sensuous than ever before. It's as if every single fibre is trying to be felt, all at once but still keeping their individual strand.
It's all so clear, and yet so muddled. Everything is muddled, all coming at once.
Rodney can smell John, can hear his breathing. John is coming all at once, every sense assaulted by the presence of the man. It's only when Rodney forces himself to stop and think, that he realises he can see John now in a way he can't see anyone else.
That doesn't fade with the rest of his hypersensitive abilities.
:::
The coffee in the cup is moving, making ripples. The whole cup is shaking. No, trembling. His hand is trembling. Logical linear thought process. From Point A to Point B and onwards to Points C, D and E. Rodney can understand the logic in this, in the simplicity of simply following one point to another without having to worry about alternative routes, alternative choices. A non-linear line of though, factoring in everything to come up with different choices. There hadn't been a choice back on that pla-
His hand is trembling.
His hand is trembling and nobody else seems to notice. Rodney watches his hand, with almost detached interest. The trembling intensives and still nobody comments on it. Everyone's attention is on the briefing, and Rodney knows that is where his attention should be. The trembling increases as Rodney ignores it, and then it is too much, his hand giving a spasm, the cup slipping from unresponsive fingers and falling to the floor, coffee spilling as it tilts.
His hand follows it without him even thinking, fingers gripping the hot cup, and it's too hot. He lets go again, the contact having taken less than two seconds. To anyone watching it just looks as he reached for the cup and missed.
It makes a dull noise as it hits the floor, coffee pooling around and Rodney can do nothing but stare at it as the room falls silent. His hand is no longer trembling. There is no uneven weight in it any more. Point A to Point B. Linear.
His fingers hurt slightly.
:::
John catches up with Rodney just before they leave for the mission, his hand resting on Rodney's shoulder. Rodney shudders slightly at the touch but he can feel himself turning slightly, leaning into it and drinking in the sensations of touch, smell and sound.
“You ok?” John asks and it's hard to contain the bubble of laughter that wants to escape at that question. Rodney nods and breathes deeply.
He can feel his heart rate slowing down, the calming influence of John and knows that in a second he will feel a rush - John is his own personal drug.
:::
She has a vaguely stupid look on her face as she falls; stunned as if she doesn't quite understand what is happening or why.
Blood is slowly pooling from the wound in her side, colouring the shirt she wears. More natives are coming, knives flashing in the sunlight. Teyla lies where she has fallen, the hilt of the knife sticking out of her body and this isn't right. She shouldn't be this... weak. This vulnerable, a target for metal. He can't let her be this vulnerable, because if she - the Amazon warrior can be weak - then what hope do the rest of them have? She has to be saved.
Somewhere, someone is screaming, but Rodney doesn't know who.
:::
They move as if they were afraid of him, skittering around the edges of his view. Blurs of colour and noise that takes too much effort to try and place as a certain person, a certain voice.
He looks down at the blood on his hands and knows there is at least three different people's blood there, even if he doesn't remember how the blood got there. No, not people. Things. Things that hurt Teyla. That would have hurt them all given the chance.
Rodney thinks they are right to be afraid of him.
:::
The official reason for the downtime is to allow Teyla to recover. Rodney suspects otherwise, but he can't summon enough energy to try and prove it. Prove that the sideways looks, the nervous stutters are from something more than just his normal arrogance and bully tactics in the lab.
He starts to spend more time in his room, alone, almost bouncing as he paces from one side to the other. Rodney can't let anyone see him like this, when the hunger becomes so great and he just wants to step outside and take.
Rodney wonders when the need changed and his attention shifted.
When what he wants to take became wrapped up in a single man.
:::
Six month is long enough to change a man.
John smells different, looks different. Rodney's internal voice screams imposter and fake. It wasn't six months for Rodney and he's still tuned in to the old John and this new one is just that - new.
But then John smiles at him, a true, tired smile. And the little voice is silenced.
:::
Rodney watches Telya and Ronon fight, the sleek movements and feels a surge of jealously. They are still whole, untouched. They have recovered.
Fighting. Always fighting.
He catches an odd look in Teyla's eyes as she swings her sticks, a look of frustration and annoyance. The swing is a perfect curve, but it is easily blocked by Ronon, and the force behind it isn't as strong as it once was. Ronon in turn looks angry as he attacks, and even though he is powerful, Rodney can remember a time when Ronon was even stronger. He suspects that Ronon can remember that too.
They see him at around about the same time, and he looks away. When he looks back they are fighting again, a more stilted fight. Gone is the fluid motions of before.
He isn't the only one to suffer.
:::
He would like to think he knew right away who the real Gou'ald was. It would be a lie though. All he knew was that it wasn't John and Rodney was glad because of that. He knows the Gou'ald have a habit of taking the pretty ones, the beautiful ones and Rodney knows that John is beautiful. It's not manly but it is true.
He can see John as a Gou'ald, wrapped in gold and shimmering light, a cold look in his eyes. A perfect picture, captured forever because he wouldn't age. He would die though. Over and over again and the thought it horrible. Even with the hope of him somehow being saved, of the parasite being removed and John being returned, even then, the image is horrible.
Rodney thinks about the image as the Gou'ald is removed. Thinks and wonders if he would have the strength to protect John if the time came. If he could destroy that beauty. He would like to think he could.
It is probably a lie though.
:::
His spare hand taps out Morse code on the seat beside him as he taps away at the computer. With his head wound, it's hard to think about the work that needs to be done and the need is still there, like an ache under the surface desperate to be dealt with.
Sam-that-isn't is a welcome distraction and Rodney embraces the idea that subconsciously he thinks of her, subconsciously he is the same person he was before. There is a knowing glint in her eyes though, when Rodney calls her a siren and she makes some comment about Lt. Colonels. Rodney has stopped listening by then, his hand returning back to the Morse code, the messages that say what he can't.
The Sam-that-isn't watches him, and he knows she understands the messages. She doesn't say anything though. It is the only time Sam-that-isn't backs down from a confrontation.
:::
Rodney doesn't feel cold. He has moved beyond cold. He is frozen, from the inside out. Frozen and unable to understand. Why did Griffin do that? Why did Sam-that-isn't stay down there alone? Why does nothing seem real any more? Why does he still feel muddled?
He used to be able to pride himself in answering questions, in knowing everything he possibly could. Now though, he has more questions than answers. John is the biggest question of all and Rodney knows he is hovering just out of sight, he can hear him breathing, can smell him. So when John steps into sight, Rodney simply stares, wondering what he wants.
Rodney doesn't know the answer to that either.
Except, after a few moments he does. Because John steps up to him, a curious expression in his eyes. His voice is rougher than normal when he tells Rodney never to do that again. It's not clear what exactly he means but Rodney just nods. The lack of augment seems to do something to John and he steps closer, hand brushing along Rodney's cheek an - oh.
Warm lips are on his and he closes his eyes because if he could see John, see on top of everything else then it would be too much. For a few long seconds while the kiss takes place, Rodney feels warm again. He can think again.
But he's only warm when John touches him and John can't touch him all the time.
:::
“Am I mad?” Rodney asks quietly, standing on a balcony, with John, a comforting presence by his side. The sky is blue, the sea is blue, even Atlantis herself is blue in a way, and he thinks he could fall into the eternity of it all. Just let himself sink into it all again.
“No,” John answers moving around to stand in front of him, kissing hard and fast, little kisses; on the cheek, the lips, the nose, the chin. John is the only thing that isn't blue in his life, the only dash of colour in his view. Trying to keep him on the ground - ironic that this comes from the one person who should understand the fall. John wraps his arms around Rodney, as if his body can hold him in place and stop the tumble. “No, you're not. You're Rodney.”
It should be enough.
It isn't.
Rodney closes his eyes and lets himself fall into it all.
:::fin:::