Fic: Now and Then (Part 1 of 2) (McKay/Sheppard)
Title: Now and Then
Author: the_cephalopod
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Word count: 14,186
Disclaimer: Not mine; written for love not profit.
Spoilers: None for anything recent, but I am assuming knowledge of the SG-1 episodes ‘48 Hours’, ‘Redemption’, and ‘Lost City parts 1 & 2’ as well as the first half of season 1 of SGA.
Acknowledgements: First, many thanks to the lovely and ever-patient Zinnith and to the fab Shaddyr who both put up with me moaning about this to them as I was writing and who kept me on track to finish it with the lures of fleece!fic and kitty!fic respectively. They were both kind enough to read the completed story and it is *much* better as a result of their comments! All remaining mistakes are my own. Thanks also to the lovely people over at the military_beta and mckay_sheppard LJ communities for answering my question about Sheppard’s rank and black mark. I’m also grateful to the extremely useful information provided by Arduinna’s awesome Stargate Handbook and Wikipedia. Finally, a big thank you to both Alyse and Claire for running and coordinating this fic exchange!
Summary/Author’s Note: Written for leyenn in response to her request as part of the SGA Secret Santa fic exchange. She asked for “McKay/Sheppard as an established relationship prior to going to Atlantis. Bonus points for fitting it into canon as much as possible, cherry on top for someone/everyone/Atlantis finding out about their relationship. I love angst and an eventual happy ending.” Enjoy & Happy Christmas!
sinaida has made a beautiful wallpaper to go with the story that can be found here.
Now and Then
“Rodney, I think we have a problem.”
Rodney rolls his eyes at the words, but doesn’t look up from his work. “Yes, Major, somehow that does not surprise me,” he says with a sigh. “When does anyone ever not have a problem around here? But you and your problem will have to take a number and wait your turn. I am currently in the middle of solving a different problem, which got here first. This is an equal opportunities lab, we don’t play favourites.”
“Rodney,” Sheppard’s voice is sharper now, an edge to it that Rodney hasn’t heard for a long time.
“Okay, okay,” he grumbles. “I’m coming.” He turns off the soldering iron he’s been using to fix the circuitry on one of the shield generators and pulls off his safety goggles. Sitting back on his stool, he glares up at John. “Out with it then,” he snaps, making a ‘hurry-up’ gesture with his hands.
“Not here,” John says, glancing around the lab.
Rodney’s thrown for a minute; it’s early evening and most people have gone to dinner, so the lab isn’t even that busy. He’s about to argue the point, but stops when he sees the look on John’s face. “A problem?” he asks faintly.
“Yes, Rodney,” John replies grimly. “We have a problem.” With that, John spins on his heel and starts to head out of the room, pausing momentarily at the doorway to call over his shoulder. “You coming?”
Rodney feels his eyes widen in shock as a band of panic closes tightly around his chest. Without further ado, he hurriedly abandons his work and follows John out of the lab.
~*~
When Rodney McKay left Cheyenne Mountain for the first time, he was shrouded in humiliation and disgrace, desperately unhappy, and completely confused. He couldn’t help but feel that he had just been given his one chance to prove himself, and had only succeeded in failing abysmally. His reputation was now under scrutiny, his pride in tatters, and his confidence in himself and his ability at an all time low.
He had gone to the SGC with the full backing of the Pentagon as their foremost expert on the Stargate network. He’d thought that his extensive research of the Stargate, albeit conducted on a virtual model, and his discovery of the flaws in Samantha Carter’s dialling programme would be considered of sufficient value to earn him a place there. Not that he actually wanted to go off-world in particular - he was far to valuable for that after all - but to have the chance to work on Ancient and other alien technology from the moment it was retrieved would have been, well, just remarkable. But it was not to be. Instead, he was being exiled to the frozen wastelands of Russia. Well, to Moscow’s Institute for Theoretical and Experimental Physics as lead on their naquadah generator programme, but still it was a far cry from where he wanted to be; a far cry even from his research lab in Area 51.
Even as he carefully reviewed the data, he couldn’t understand what had happened. It was as if science itself had let him down - the ultimate betrayal. He knew he was right, in theory at any rate. The calculations he had done which gave the 48 hour deadline on the energy pattern capacitors of the gate were flawless. He had checked them countless times and they were correct; the theory on which they were based was proven and his manipulation of the complex equations solid.
But in practice he had been wrong; and that had nearly cost a man his life.
So perhaps they were right after all. Perhaps he was better off in a research lab, testing theories and running simulations, far from the front line itself. Although he may be technically perfect, perhaps he just didn’t have the instinctive edge or the pure artistry of the likes of Samantha Carter.
He just hoped he would be given another opportunity to prove himself.
~*~
John knows that he’s scaring Rodney, but he isn’t quite sure how else he could successfully extract Rodney from his lab. As he leads him down the corridors to an uninhabited part of the city, Rodney is pale and quiet at his side. His eyes are wide and scared, his hands fidget nervously, and he keeps shooting John worried blue glances. John wishes he could reach out a hand to comfort and reassure him, but given the situation with which they now need to deal, that would be the very worst of ideas.
When John feels that they are far enough away from the centre of Atlantis, he enters one of the larger abandoned rooms. A quick check of his life-signs detector reassures him that they are unlikely to be disturbed. He’s about to turn to Rodney, when Rodney reaches out and takes the detector from his hands.
“Here,” Rodney says. “Let me see if I can set up a sensor perimeter so we’ll have some advanced warning if anyone approaches.” He taps away for a few seconds, before spinning around and hooking the detector up to the room’s central control panel. “That should do it,” he says at last, stepping away from the panel and turning nervously towards John. “So…” he begins, his hands filling the air with a series of anxious gestures, “someone knows?”
Now that they are alone and behind closed doors, John no longer has to hold himself back. He crosses the space between them in a few short strides and pulls Rodney into his arms.
“Yes, Rodney,” John says, holding Rodney tightly to him already unreasonably afraid that someone might try to snatch him away. “Someone knows.”
~*~
Ever since the planes had crashed into the towers bringing the whole world to a standstill, John had known that his orders would come. He wasn’t too sure how he felt about the prospect of going to war. Still, orders were orders and he was trained to fight and to obey; so he would. He only hoped he was sufficiently prepared to do his duty and keep his men safe. He had always felt the weight of his father's career bearing down on him and hoped that he was able to prove himself worthy of his name.
One evening, the week before his unit were due to ship out, they were all given permission to go off base for the night. Most of the guys were up for a big night on the town; a last hurrah before heading off to war. John let himself be carried along with the crowd for most of the evening; dinner followed by a series of bars. Mitch and Dex were on fine form as usual, and John knew that the three of them made something of an impression - a bunch of good looking guys, getting in the drinks and chatting up the girls.
It was late when the group got up to leave the last bar and head for a local club. John needed to run to the use the restroom, so he shouted out to the others to go on ahead and that he'd catch up with them. As he washed his hands, his reflection in the mirror caught his eye. On the outside, he supposed he looked like any other guy on a night out - dressed in his trademark black, his hair tousled and his eyes bright. On the inside though, nothing could have been further from the truth - but that was way down, deep in a place that no one had touched in years, not even himself. He'd been playing the game for so long now that he hardly even noticed that he was playing any more. Looking away quickly, he shook himself briskly in an effort to chase away the sombre thoughts and headed back out to the bar, effortlessly slipping into his social persona, one perfected by years of practice.
As John started to hurry after the others, he accidentally knocked into the arm of a man seated in one of the booths at the back of the bar. “Sorry about that, buddy,” he apologised, grimacing when he noticed that he’d knocked the man’s beer all over the papers spread out on the table in front of him.
“Do you mind?” the man snapped angrily in reply, obviously unimpressed by John’s apology. “I’ll have you know that as a result of your oaf-like clumsiness you have ruined my work and consequently may well have significantly set back the advancement of the human race!”
John stopped in his efforts of mopping up the spillage to raise an eyebrow at the man. “Well, as much as I like to pride myself on my own importance, I hardly think I’m capable of all that,” he quipped. He noticed that the pages in front of him were covered in calculations; slightly soggy he’d admit, but certainly still readable. “Besides, your work's not ruined, just a bit damp.”
The man shot John a glare from very blue eyes and snorted. “As if you would know,” he muttered, starting to collect up the pages and place them into a file.
Looking back on the scene, it was odd - that would usually have been the point at which John would have left the man to it. But there was something about the challenge in those blue eyes which drew him in.
“I’m no expert,” John drawled. “But I can’t quite see how a few damp Feynman diagrams would spell the end for humanity as we know it.”
“Exactly,” the man retorted quickly with a snap of his fingers. “No expert,” he said, pointing at John. “Whereas I, on the other hand, am. Also, I suppose you’ve never heard of a little thing called nuclear decay rates. That’s just one example of how representations of physical processes can be manipulated into the creation of weapons which can very easily lead to the destruction of us all.”
John had to laugh at this, the man was just so adorably geeky - all red-faced and bright-eyed, hands waving as he talked at speeds which must have reached at least 200 miles an hour. John had always had a soft spot for speed… and cute geeky guys. Even if that spot was usually so carefully buried.
“Are you always such an optimist?” John asked.
Before he could stop himself, John found that he was sitting down across from the man. He held out a hand before the spluttering man could reply, “John Sheppard,” he said. “Why don’t I buy you another drink and you can explain it all to me.”
~*~
Although he is well on his way to a full-blown panic attack, Rodney’s body has been well-conditioned to relax in John’s embrace. He slumps into John and brings his own arms up to wrap them about John’s shoulders. John is murmuring softly into his ear and Rodney draws in a deep calming breath and then pulls back to look at John.
“How?” he asks in bewilderment. “I mean, we are so careful. We’ve always been so careful - since the very beginning.” And they have been; keeping their interaction casual, never putting anything in writing that could possibly be used against them, instilling commonplace phrases and gestures with their own secret significance so to the outside world they appear as no more than just friends.
“I guess we just got careless, buddy,” John says with a shrug and a sad smile. “I mean, sure we’ve been together for a while, but we’ve never actually lived in such close proximity before. Even in Antarctica we weren’t in the same compound.”
Rodney looks away. “And I’m not exactly good at hiding my feelings,” he admits unhappily. “I do try, but… well… finding out you had the gene and could come with us, the therapy working on me and us testing the personal shield, and then almost losing you to that damn insect - God, I’m sure everything that I was feeling for you each time was pretty obvious.”
John shakes his head and pulls Rodney back to him, kissing him softly. “Only to me,” he assures him. “I’m pretty sure no one else here has learned to decipher you yet - they probably can’t get past the arrogant ass-hole image you project so well.”
“Hmm,” Rodney grunts in mock annoyance. “I think it’s more likely that they’re dazzled by my vastly superior intellect.”
As Rodney intends, John laughs at this. “There is always that possibility, I suppose.”
“So, who knows?” Rodney asks. “Scientist or military?” Perhaps this isn’t as bad as it could be, he’s pretty sure none of his scientists would care that they’re a couple. And even if one of them did, he’s reasonably certain that he can easily brow-beat them into keeping quiet.
But John cringes and Rodney has his answer.
“Okay, so military then…How did you find out?” Rodney starts to ask, and just like that the panic is back in full-force. “Oh my god, you were attacked weren’t you; by one of those knuckle-dragging, brainless, bigoted jar-heads! Are you alright? Why aren’t you in the infirmary?” He starts frantically patting down John's body, checking him over for signs of injury.
~*~
As the plane took off from the runway on its way to Moscow, Rodney gazed out of the window lost in thought. He had Major John Sheppard’s email and unit address in his pocket and a smile on his face. And wasn’t that something unexpected - that he would begin his journey to an unjust exile actually happy. Looking back on the past 24 hours, Rodney couldn't help but be rather confused by it all. He'd gone from wallowing in both his abject misery and righteous indignation one moment to bemused astonishment the next when he seemed to be being flirted at by a strange pointy-eared man with a penchant for black and a flair for mathematics. It was all beyond strange. Rodney had never been one to doubt his own appeal, it was just that he wasn't used to people actually agreeing with him about it. And what was it with him and tousled-haired Air Force officers anyway?
Not that Sheppard had actually been flirting with him, of course. Rodney had worked for the US military for long enough to be familiar with the various anachronisms of its code of conduct, but he and Sheppard had gotten along together surprisingly well. Rodney was also just about sufficiently self-aware to know that he didn't always make the best of first impressions on people, especially when said people had just spilled beer all over his potentially laureate-winning work. But Sheppard didn't seem to mind. In fact, he appeared to find Rodney's insults amusing and had also managed to display a not total lack of intellect.
They had spent the remainder of the evening just talking; discussing everything from tensor calculus to Time Lord incarnations. They didn't speak about work. John's mumbled 'I'm Air Force, shipping out to Afghanistan in a few days' and Rodney's own 'Astrophysicist, recently disgraced actually... although those military morons clearly wouldn't know true genius if it bit them on the... um, well, never mind... anyway, I'm off to Russia tomorrow' was awkward enough for both of them to move quickly on to safer ground with unspoken agreement.
When they'd eventually been kicked out of the bar, Rodney had been strangely loath to end the evening there. It seemed that Sheppard was also less than eager to either return to Peterson or catch up with his carousing friends. So they'd ended up in Rodney's airport hotel room, slouched on his bed watching Star Trek reruns on TV and eating popcorn from the nearby 24-hour grocery store. It was odd in that it wasn't odd at all. He and Sheppard had just clicked; something Rodney had never done with anyone else ever, at least not if you didn't count his cat.
When the first light of dawn had started to streak across the sky, Sheppard had reached up a hand to run it through his hair and said that it was about time he headed back to base. He looked as reluctant to go as Rodney felt. As they'd hovered together in the hotel room doorway, Rodney had reached out a hand to pat Sheppard awkwardly on the shoulder.
“Well, don't, you know, do anything stupid out there, like get yourself killed,” he'd said.
“I'll do my best to avoid that, Rodney,” Sheppard had replied with a grin. “Here,” and with that he'd pressed some paper into Rodney's hand. “My contact details - keep in touch... you know, if you want... if the Russian's start getting a bit too much.”
“I... uh...” Rodney had looked down at the paper with Sheppard's contact details in surprise. “I will... um...thanks,” he'd stuttered, looking back up at Sheppard, unsure of what exactly this meant.
Sheppard had reached forward then and squeezed Rodney's shoulder tightly. “So long, Rodney,” he'd said softly. And with that, Sheppard was gone.
~*~
“Relax, Rodney,” John says with a laugh as he tries to catch Rodney's wandering hands. Not that he usually has anything against Rodney's hands, quite the opposite in fact, but right now they need to talk. “Nothing like that happened, I'm fine.”
“Are you sure?” Rodney asks, looking less than convinced. “I mean, I don't see anything, but you could have internal injuries. After all, I'm sure those marines have all sorts of nefarious ways of inflicting damage that's superficially undetectable... Here, you should sit down... Perhaps I should call Carson and get him to come here and just check you over? I mean, I know that it's all voodoo really, but I would still feel better if...”
“Hey! Focus, Rodney,” John says, reaching out to smack Rodney lightly on the back of the head. “I wasn't attacked!”
“Ow,” Rodney squawks, but he does stop his fussing. “Well, excuse me for being concerned about the welfare of my...” he flaps his hands at John and scowls. “And did I mention, ow?”
John merely cocks an eyebrow at him.
“Fine, okay, focusing,” Rodney grumbles. “So, if you weren't attacked, how exactly do you know that someone, you know, knows?”
“I think it was because of what happened following the Genii invasion - just after the storm,” John says softly.
“Oh, okay,” Rodney replies just as quietly, visibly shuddering at the memory John's words evoke.
John finds himself reaching out to pull Rodney close, needing the comfort of Rodney in his arms to ward off the images of that day for both of them. There had been a moment that night when John had feared that he wasn't going to be able to make it in time. That, once again, good people would die because he was too slow. And worse than that, that Rodney would die because he was too slow.
When John had heard the shot that Koyla claimed had killed Weir, he'd gone a little crazy. Suddenly nothing had mattered other than getting to Rodney and keeping him safe; for the first time in a long while the Special Ops soldier in him had come to the fore, unchecked, and nothing was going to stand in his way. Looking back, he can only be grateful that he was able to keep his cool long enough to cleanly shoot the Genii who were trying to drag Rodney through the gate. He still feels a little stab of guilt at the relief he had felt when Rodney had run to safety and it turned out to be Weir who Koyla had held at gunpoint. If he's honest with himself, he knows that if it had been Rodney that Koyla was threatening, well, John isn't quiet sure what exactly he would have done, but it certainly wouldn't have been pleasant.
“So, you think someone saw us afterwards?” Rodney's question interrupts John’s thoughts momentarily.
“Hmm, yes, afterwards,” John hums distractedly, and his arms tighten around Rodney as he's pulled back into the memory.
There had been so much work to do once the storm had passed; Rodney had disappeared to start the process of pumping the water out of the flooded levels of the east pier and John had to supervise the clean up of the Genii incursion and go through things with Weir. Once Rodney had reappeared from the depths of the city, it was all John could do to stop himself from dragging Rodney off immediately to his quarters so he could reassure himself of his well-being. It had been hard, especially when Rodney had drawn attention to his injured arm, but John had somehow managed to restrain himself. At the time, he had thought he was getting better at pretending to be nothing more than Rodney's long-suffering friend.
He had figured that he could stay in-character long enough to follow Rodney down to the infirmary and had watched, with what he had thought was commendable restraint, as Rodney's cut was cleaned and bandaged. He'd then proceeded to follow Rodney through the halls of Atlantis and back to his quarters. Once there however, all pretence of friendship had been promptly dropped by them both.
“I'm so sorry, John,” Rodney had started to say, looking desperately unhappy and more than a little frantic. “I didn't mean to talk, I swear... but he had this knife and I… well, you know I'm no good with pain... and I just couldn’t help...”
“Rodney,” John had groaned, reaching out for him. “You have absolutely nothing to apologise for. For a moment there I thought I'd lost you. When I found out that those bastards had touched you, threatened you, cut you...I just... God, Rodney, you've got to promise me, if something like that ever happens again, you talk - do you understand me? You do whatever it is they want, whatever you have to do to keep yourself safe until I can come to get you... because if something were to happen to you, I don't think I... I just couldn't...” he trailed off. It was too much all of a sudden, he needed Rodney right that instant. All the emotion of the past hours, which he'd had to keep under such tight control, came spilling out. John carefully removed Rodney's shirt with shaking hands and then ran his fingers lightly over the bandage on Rodney's arm. He felt his body clench in anger at the sight.
“It's alright,” Rodney had whispered, and then he leaned forward slowly to brush his lips against John's. “I'm fine - you came for me, you saved me. We have a deal, remember? You save my life, and then I save yours.” Soft words of comfort whispered into John's mouth.
With a groan, John had caught Rodney's lips with his and, at last, was able to let go completely. It had always been this way, even since the very beginning, that something within him was able to totally relax in Rodney's presence. It was like Rodney was able to cut through the wall John had built around himself and set him free. With Rodney, he could truly be himself; just John - with nothing to hide and nothing to prove.
Things had turned a little frantic then; both of them far too full of adrenaline and fear for the other to take things slow. Before he'd even realised he'd moved, John had Rodney up against a wall and was kissing him whilst desperately thrusting his erection against Rodney’s hip. Rodney was moaning his approval into John's mouth and had grabbed his ass to pull him closer. Managing to get a hand down between their bodies, John had scrabbled at the zip of Rodney's pants and finally succeeded in undoing them and pushing them out of the way. He'd grunted in pleasure when he managed to wrap his hand around Rodney's cock. Rodney had arched back at the contact and John had been unable to resist the temptation to bend down and suck a nipple into his mouth, biting and laving at the sensitive nub whilst Rodney writhed against him and thrust his cock into John's tight fist. When John felt Rodney's hands burrow beneath his own pants and boxers to cup his ass and had run his fingers down his crack, he'd lost it completely. Rodney had thrust his leg between John's, and John had come hard; still completely dressed, riding Rodney's thigh and screaming Rodney's name. A few hasty thrusts later, Rodney had followed him over the edge. They'd stayed where they were for long minutes afterwards, content to just hold each other and kiss as the finally tensions of the day bled away. Eventually, however, John had forced himself to pull back, clean up as best he could, and leave; neither of them happy with the situation, but knowing that it was for the best.
That thought succeeds in pulling John immediately back to the present. “It was when I was leaving your quarters,” he says, moving back to look Rodney in the eyes. “I bumped into Sergeant Miller right outside. I wasn't exactly thinking clearly at the time, but I guess it looked rather suspicious - I mean it was the early hours of the morning and I was rather damp.”
“Okay,” Rodney says, pulling away from John and starting to pace around the room. “So, Miller suspects… something,” he waves a hand for emphasis. “What makes you think he'd do anything about it?”
“Because he's asked to meet me,” John replies with a sigh.
~*~
John's unit wasn't directly involved in the initial air campaigns of Operation Enduring Freedom. By the time they arrived in Afghanistan, the high altitude bombers had already decimated many of the al-Qaeda training camps and Taliban air defences. Instead, John found himself piloting one of the AH-64 Apache helicopter gunships which supported the infantry incursions in and around Kabul. They were focusing on command, control and communications targets; the city below them quickly being reduced to nothing more than piles of rubble.
By early November the fall of Kabul was imminent. John and Adams, his co-pilot and gunner, were moved south-west to Kandahar, the last remaining stronghold of the Taliban. This time it was CH-53E Super Stallion helicopters which John flew, ferrying marines in their hundreds to Camp Rhino in preparation for the assault on the city. A little over a month later, Kandahar fell as well, with most of the Taliban leaders fleeing north-west into the mountains of Uruzgan Province or disappearing into neighbouring Pakistan. With the surrender of Spin Boldak on the same day, the Taliban hold on Afghanistan was finally broken and the US forces set up base at the airport just outside Kandahar.
John's overriding impressions of war were ones of dust, and death and destruction; brought home to him all the more by the deaths of Dex and Mitch not long after their arrival. His friends had remained stationed just outside Kabul, pilot and co-pilot of a one of the Blackhawk helicopters which was supporting the troops there. They were just setting down to do a medevac when their chopper was hit by a rocket propelled grenade, fired by Taliban forces from extreme range. It was to be expected, of course, that they would lose people, but their loss still hit John hard. They were the first close friends that John had lost in conflict and something inside him died when he heard the news.
But there was no time for grief as the US forces continued to consolidate their position in the country. Before he knew it, John’s next set of orders came through and he found himself part of a huge push to counter an insurgent build-up in Paktia Province. The fighting there was hard, with the number of guerrilla forces initially being underestimated. John survived unscathed, but they lost more men as the result of a couple of horrific friendly fire incidents and many more were wounded in the offensive.
The one highlight through it all was Rodney’s letters. John had no idea how Rodney managed it, but the letters always seemed to get through to him, and in a timely manner, no matter where in the country he was stationed. It was as if Rodney had some contact in the US military who was pulling the strings for him. However, regardless of what tricks Rodney had up his sleeves, John was eternally grateful for the contact. There were times when it felt to John like his link with Rodney, albeit tenuous, was the only thing keeping him grounded. Rodney became his only contact to the world beyond the desert. It was odd that even though he’d only spent one evening with the man, it felt as if they had been friends for far longer. Perhaps it should have frightened him more than it did, but Rodney very quickly became John’s world.
Rodney’s prose style was remarkably similar to his speech pattern. As he read the typed pages, John could clearly hear Rodney’s voice in his head. At times, he could even see Rodney in his mind’s eye, eyes bright and gesticulating wildly to further emphasis a certain point. He described his situation in great and amusing detail, although John wasn’t so sure that he was meant to find it as funny as he did. Rodney's colleagues, at least according to him, were largely a group of pedantic bores whose only saving grace was a remarkable ability to plough stoically through reams of tedious mathematical computations. John decided to take his comments with a healthy pinch of salt.
‘And they ask such stupid questions!’ Rodney wrote. ‘I know that it’s usually said that there’s no such thing as a stupid question - but whoever said that is: one, just plain wrong, and two, has clearly never worked here.’
Apparently the food wasn’t a big improvement on the company. After spending a few months in Moscow, Rodney moved to Pushkinski Gory, apparently for the testing phase of his research. Rodney ranted to John at length about the region: ‘I’m beginning to suspect that all they have here to eat is beef and fried potatoes. Seriously, even the Muscovites are astonished. The only way one can tell the difference between meals is that lunch on every other day comes with soup.’
The letter went on: ‘Honestly, you couldn’t make this stuff up; apparently Pushkinski Gory literally translates to ‘the Pushkin Mountains.’ Naturally, there are no mountains in sight - it’s completely flat. It would seem that because Alexander Pushkin lived here (and for ‘lived here’ read ‘was exiled here’) the area required a moniker of equal standing to the great man. The fact that in reality Pushkin hated the place seems to be largely irrelevant.’
John kept each of Rodney’s letters; folding them carefully and storing them away. He would take them out and re-read them when he felt particularly low. His own replies to Rodney were considerably shorter and far more sporadic, due largely to his circumstances, but also in part to his own less than effusive nature. Fortunately Rodney didn't seem to need too much encouragement to keep writing, and for that John was thankful.
Months passed and John found himself becoming increasingly bored with life in Afghanistan. When he confessed this to Rodney, his weekly letters started coming with various things meant to, in Rodney's words, 'keep John's not entirely useless brain from rotting'. They consisted, for the most part, in various math puzzles - theorems to prove or equations to solve - which John dutifully solved when he could and returned for 'comment'. The most notable exception to this was a copy of Tolstoy's “War and Peace” with 'This should keep you busy - RM' scrawled on the inside cover.
~*~
“But a meeting's just a meeting right?” Rodney asks. “It doesn't mean that he actually knows something, does it?” He realises that things are serious when it's he who is trying to comfort John. He can tell John is teetering on the edge; he's started pacing the room, fists clenched and body tight.
“I don't know,” John replies stiffly. “I just want to be prepared for whatever it is he says. That's why I wanted to talk to you about it first.”
“So, when are you meeting him?” Rodney asks, moving to sit down at one of the couches in the room and motioning for John to come over and join him.
“In a couple of hours,” John answers, checking the time and continuing to pace uneasily.
“Oh, come here, will you,” Rodney snaps. “You're making me nervous with all your prowling. And what could he do anyway?” Rodney continues. “I mean, you're in command of the military here - Elizabeth's made that clear. And it's not like they can go over your head and report you to someone else in the military, at least not until we manage to re-establish contact with Earth.”
“I know,” John replies. He still looks unhappy, but Rodney is relieved when he does stop pacing and comes to sit down next to him. “But even if it's just suspicions and rumours, it still could be very detrimental. We're at war here; I need the marines to trust me and my orders. I can't have dissent in the ranks; if that happens we're as good as Wraith-fodder. I'm already on shaky ground as it is; they were all Sumner's men after all, the man I had to kill.”
“Please,” Rodney snorts. “You were doing the man a favour; I can't imagine anything worse than suffering a long lingering death at the hand of a space vampire. Furthermore, you're a damn fine officer. You've already saved our asses countless times!”
“But they could still make trouble.” John insists. “We don't know where Elizabeth stands on the issue of gays in the military, after all. And besides...”
“I really don't think we need to worry about Elizabeth,” Rodney interrupts to assure John.
“It doesn't matter what she thinks, Rodney,” John tries to explain patiently. “The law is the law.”
“Well, it's a stupid law,” Rodney grouches.
“Hey, preaching to the choir here, buddy,” John replies with a grin, however his expression quickly turns serious again. “But there are many people who don't agree. And there are plenty of other ways he could make trouble for us without making it official.”
~*~
Rodney settled into life in Russia with his usual lack of grace. He knew he wasn't exactly endearing himself to his co-workers, but he had long ago ceased to care about such things. The fact of the matter was that they needed him here; they needed his expertise and his genius in order to progress their naquadah research. Rodney wasted little time on the social graces and quickly threw himself into the research, enjoying the opportunity revisit nuclear physics, a field in which he hadn't worked for many years.
Progress was slow at first; they spent many weeks trying to understand the nuclear structure of naquadah. This involved a detailed study of how many protons and neutrons the nucleus contained, its different decay modes, and how much energy each decay released. Once done, they moved into the test phase; experimenting with small scale reactors and generators. Due to the highly reactive nature of the element, they moved from westwards from Moscow to the less populated region of Pushkinski Gory. It was dangerous work and Rodney ensured that his research team quadruple checked their every calculation. They make good progress though, and Rodney took great satisfaction in the fact that his prototype generator produced five times the power of the one Samantha Carter and her research team had designed.
Rodney put in long hours each day of every week. His one respite was writing to John, which he did every week without fail. He found himself often recalling their one evening together with great affection, and he had decided to take John at his word when he’d said he wanted Rodney to keep in touch. So, Rodney got into the habit of writing a couple of paragraphs to John each evening before he went to bed. He found it cathartic; a way of reviewing his day and relieving his own stress, rather like talking things through with a loved one. He accepted that John’s replies took far longer to get to him, but nevertheless relished their brief connection. He was still in regular communication with his contacts in USAF and at Area 51 and, through them, he was able to ensure his letters reached John as quickly as possible. His connection with the USAF paid off in other ways too, enabling him to keep a close eye on the reports coming out of Afghanistan, both from what was reported on the media, but also through this more direct route. He slowly became accustomed to the fact that his heart would cease to beat for long minutes whenever an American casualty was reported, only to stutter back into an uneasy rhythm once he had made sure John remained unharmed.
The powers that be were pleased with Rodney’s progress on the Russian naquadah research, and before long his new design for the generators was being implemented back at the SGC. He figured he must have been successful in once again justifying his worth when he was suddenly called back to Cheyenne Mountain. It appeared as though Anubis was somehow triggering a massive energy rise in the Stargate. If the rise continued unabated, the resulting explosion could destroy the entire planet. He was happy to answer the call and return to the US.
It was strange, being back at the SGC after all this time. The place seemed largely unchanged; the obvious exception being the absence of Daniel Jackson. Rodney was sad to hear of his death, not that he had any direct dealings with the man. Still, he had admired his work and obvious expertise in his chosen fields, even if he had been a soft scientist.
Rodney had been looking forward to the opportunity to work with Samantha Carter again, even if under rather dire circumstances, and was hoping that they could do so with less animosity than they had the first time around. He had always had great respect for her work and, once he’d met her in the flesh, had been annoyed that he found himself babbling away to her like some lovesick adolescent. He’d been relieved when they’d been able to get down to work and his brain had an actual problem with which to engage, rather than being reduced to spouting incoherent splutterings. However, he’d quickly been disappointed in the reality of Samantha Carter; while she was undoubtedly a brilliant physicist and a beautiful woman, Rodney was too much of a pure scientist to approve of her slap-dash methods. Looking back on their first encounter, he recognised that their clash in methodology resulted from their differing backgrounds - she was used to working in the pressures of the field where there simply wasn’t the time to do complete calculations; he, on the other hand, was used to the time afforded by the laboratory setting, where he could really get to grips with the intricacies of the underlying physics of each new system. Of course, it still smarted that she had be right and he wrong, but then she had been afforded the opportunity to develop her ‘artistry’ and had learned to trust her gut instinct - something Rodney had never been able to do.
Rodney had been at the SGC for less than an hour when he was horrified once again by their complete lack of respect for proper scientific rigour. Hammond and Carter were determined to press ahead with launch of the X-302, despite his and Jonas Quinn’s protestations that the vessel would fail to make it into hyperspace as it relied solely on naquadriah, the highly unstable isotope of naquadah. He was later gratified that Hammond allowed him to test his idea of using an EM pulse to try and short out whatever Anubis was using to cause the power build up in the gate. The fact that Sam was unable to come up with an alternative plan might have had just a little something to do with it. Of course, he felt awful when she was injured by the energy surge created by the feedback loop within the mechanism.
It was Jonas Quinn who ultimately had the flash of inspiration which saved the day. Both Rodney and Sam were too wrapped up in trying to solve the problem, the idea of simply removing the gate had just not occurred to either of them. With the fate of the planet once more secure, Rodney was relieved to find that he was actually able to hold a sensible conversation with Sam and to tell her of the respect he had for her abilities.
Best of all, he found himself reinstated in his prior position as head of Ancient Tech Research at Area 51. Writing his weekly letter to John, he shared with him his immense relief at this turn of events.
~*~
“So, what do we do now?” Rodney asks, sounding completely distressed. He looks over at John and then narrows his eyes. “You’ve got a plan, haven’t you? Just how stupid is it? Well, come on - out with it.”
“Well,” John begins slowly, still trying to weigh up the options; Rodney makes ‘hurry up’ motions with his hands. “I think we should talk to Elizabeth. Lay all our cards on the table and see what she thinks. That way, regardless of what happens, we know exactly where we lie.”
“Okay,” Rodney replies, but he sounds unsure. “You've had far worse, I suppose.” He pauses for a moment and then gets up and walks a few paces away from John. Turning abruptly, Rodney crosses his arms over his chest and raises his chin. “Although, there is one other option... I mean I know how much all this means to you... you know, the Air Force, and flying, and Atlantis and... Well, all of it,” his arms unfold, as if of their own volition, and Rodney hands move to encompass their surroundings. His mouth slants to the side unhappily, “And I don't want to be the reason you lose all of that.”
“Rodney,” John growls, standing up and starting to approach him.
Rodney wards him off with an outstretched hand. “No,” he says. “It's something we should consider. This needn't be a problem... we could just, you know, stop. And then there wouldn't be anything for you to, you know, tell. Even were someone to ask.”
John ignores Rodney’s words and gestures in favour of continuing his approach. He backs Rodney into a wall and captures his mouth in a hard kiss. For a few moments, Rodney remains still and unresponsive under him. But then, with a groan, Rodney yields; his mouth opening under the demand of John's and his arms come up to hold John close. Feeling Rodney's capitulation, John slowly deepens the kiss; bringing his hands up to frame Rodney's face and licking his way into Rodney's mouth. When he pulls back, they're both breathing heavily and Rodney is blinking up at him out of hazy blue eyes.
“Listen to me very carefully, Rodney,” John says, looking deep into Rodney's eyes and willing him to understand the gravity of his words. “We are not a problem; you know that. We've already been through all this, before we even got here. We're a done deal; I am not giving you up - no matter what the cost, because you're worth it, okay?”
Rodney's face softens at John's words and he leans forward to kiss John gently. Rodney’s mouth warm and familiar on his own; his kiss surprisingly tender and so full of love that John knows without a shadow of a doubt that there is no way could survive without this, without Rodney.
Part 2
Author: the_cephalopod
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Word count: 14,186
Disclaimer: Not mine; written for love not profit.
Spoilers: None for anything recent, but I am assuming knowledge of the SG-1 episodes ‘48 Hours’, ‘Redemption’, and ‘Lost City parts 1 & 2’ as well as the first half of season 1 of SGA.
Acknowledgements: First, many thanks to the lovely and ever-patient Zinnith and to the fab Shaddyr who both put up with me moaning about this to them as I was writing and who kept me on track to finish it with the lures of fleece!fic and kitty!fic respectively. They were both kind enough to read the completed story and it is *much* better as a result of their comments! All remaining mistakes are my own. Thanks also to the lovely people over at the military_beta and mckay_sheppard LJ communities for answering my question about Sheppard’s rank and black mark. I’m also grateful to the extremely useful information provided by Arduinna’s awesome Stargate Handbook and Wikipedia. Finally, a big thank you to both Alyse and Claire for running and coordinating this fic exchange!
Summary/Author’s Note: Written for leyenn in response to her request as part of the SGA Secret Santa fic exchange. She asked for “McKay/Sheppard as an established relationship prior to going to Atlantis. Bonus points for fitting it into canon as much as possible, cherry on top for someone/everyone/Atlantis finding out about their relationship. I love angst and an eventual happy ending.” Enjoy & Happy Christmas!
sinaida has made a beautiful wallpaper to go with the story that can be found here.
Now and Then
“Rodney, I think we have a problem.”
Rodney rolls his eyes at the words, but doesn’t look up from his work. “Yes, Major, somehow that does not surprise me,” he says with a sigh. “When does anyone ever not have a problem around here? But you and your problem will have to take a number and wait your turn. I am currently in the middle of solving a different problem, which got here first. This is an equal opportunities lab, we don’t play favourites.”
“Rodney,” Sheppard’s voice is sharper now, an edge to it that Rodney hasn’t heard for a long time.
“Okay, okay,” he grumbles. “I’m coming.” He turns off the soldering iron he’s been using to fix the circuitry on one of the shield generators and pulls off his safety goggles. Sitting back on his stool, he glares up at John. “Out with it then,” he snaps, making a ‘hurry-up’ gesture with his hands.
“Not here,” John says, glancing around the lab.
Rodney’s thrown for a minute; it’s early evening and most people have gone to dinner, so the lab isn’t even that busy. He’s about to argue the point, but stops when he sees the look on John’s face. “A problem?” he asks faintly.
“Yes, Rodney,” John replies grimly. “We have a problem.” With that, John spins on his heel and starts to head out of the room, pausing momentarily at the doorway to call over his shoulder. “You coming?”
Rodney feels his eyes widen in shock as a band of panic closes tightly around his chest. Without further ado, he hurriedly abandons his work and follows John out of the lab.
~*~
When Rodney McKay left Cheyenne Mountain for the first time, he was shrouded in humiliation and disgrace, desperately unhappy, and completely confused. He couldn’t help but feel that he had just been given his one chance to prove himself, and had only succeeded in failing abysmally. His reputation was now under scrutiny, his pride in tatters, and his confidence in himself and his ability at an all time low.
He had gone to the SGC with the full backing of the Pentagon as their foremost expert on the Stargate network. He’d thought that his extensive research of the Stargate, albeit conducted on a virtual model, and his discovery of the flaws in Samantha Carter’s dialling programme would be considered of sufficient value to earn him a place there. Not that he actually wanted to go off-world in particular - he was far to valuable for that after all - but to have the chance to work on Ancient and other alien technology from the moment it was retrieved would have been, well, just remarkable. But it was not to be. Instead, he was being exiled to the frozen wastelands of Russia. Well, to Moscow’s Institute for Theoretical and Experimental Physics as lead on their naquadah generator programme, but still it was a far cry from where he wanted to be; a far cry even from his research lab in Area 51.
Even as he carefully reviewed the data, he couldn’t understand what had happened. It was as if science itself had let him down - the ultimate betrayal. He knew he was right, in theory at any rate. The calculations he had done which gave the 48 hour deadline on the energy pattern capacitors of the gate were flawless. He had checked them countless times and they were correct; the theory on which they were based was proven and his manipulation of the complex equations solid.
But in practice he had been wrong; and that had nearly cost a man his life.
So perhaps they were right after all. Perhaps he was better off in a research lab, testing theories and running simulations, far from the front line itself. Although he may be technically perfect, perhaps he just didn’t have the instinctive edge or the pure artistry of the likes of Samantha Carter.
He just hoped he would be given another opportunity to prove himself.
~*~
John knows that he’s scaring Rodney, but he isn’t quite sure how else he could successfully extract Rodney from his lab. As he leads him down the corridors to an uninhabited part of the city, Rodney is pale and quiet at his side. His eyes are wide and scared, his hands fidget nervously, and he keeps shooting John worried blue glances. John wishes he could reach out a hand to comfort and reassure him, but given the situation with which they now need to deal, that would be the very worst of ideas.
When John feels that they are far enough away from the centre of Atlantis, he enters one of the larger abandoned rooms. A quick check of his life-signs detector reassures him that they are unlikely to be disturbed. He’s about to turn to Rodney, when Rodney reaches out and takes the detector from his hands.
“Here,” Rodney says. “Let me see if I can set up a sensor perimeter so we’ll have some advanced warning if anyone approaches.” He taps away for a few seconds, before spinning around and hooking the detector up to the room’s central control panel. “That should do it,” he says at last, stepping away from the panel and turning nervously towards John. “So…” he begins, his hands filling the air with a series of anxious gestures, “someone knows?”
Now that they are alone and behind closed doors, John no longer has to hold himself back. He crosses the space between them in a few short strides and pulls Rodney into his arms.
“Yes, Rodney,” John says, holding Rodney tightly to him already unreasonably afraid that someone might try to snatch him away. “Someone knows.”
~*~
Ever since the planes had crashed into the towers bringing the whole world to a standstill, John had known that his orders would come. He wasn’t too sure how he felt about the prospect of going to war. Still, orders were orders and he was trained to fight and to obey; so he would. He only hoped he was sufficiently prepared to do his duty and keep his men safe. He had always felt the weight of his father's career bearing down on him and hoped that he was able to prove himself worthy of his name.
One evening, the week before his unit were due to ship out, they were all given permission to go off base for the night. Most of the guys were up for a big night on the town; a last hurrah before heading off to war. John let himself be carried along with the crowd for most of the evening; dinner followed by a series of bars. Mitch and Dex were on fine form as usual, and John knew that the three of them made something of an impression - a bunch of good looking guys, getting in the drinks and chatting up the girls.
It was late when the group got up to leave the last bar and head for a local club. John needed to run to the use the restroom, so he shouted out to the others to go on ahead and that he'd catch up with them. As he washed his hands, his reflection in the mirror caught his eye. On the outside, he supposed he looked like any other guy on a night out - dressed in his trademark black, his hair tousled and his eyes bright. On the inside though, nothing could have been further from the truth - but that was way down, deep in a place that no one had touched in years, not even himself. He'd been playing the game for so long now that he hardly even noticed that he was playing any more. Looking away quickly, he shook himself briskly in an effort to chase away the sombre thoughts and headed back out to the bar, effortlessly slipping into his social persona, one perfected by years of practice.
As John started to hurry after the others, he accidentally knocked into the arm of a man seated in one of the booths at the back of the bar. “Sorry about that, buddy,” he apologised, grimacing when he noticed that he’d knocked the man’s beer all over the papers spread out on the table in front of him.
“Do you mind?” the man snapped angrily in reply, obviously unimpressed by John’s apology. “I’ll have you know that as a result of your oaf-like clumsiness you have ruined my work and consequently may well have significantly set back the advancement of the human race!”
John stopped in his efforts of mopping up the spillage to raise an eyebrow at the man. “Well, as much as I like to pride myself on my own importance, I hardly think I’m capable of all that,” he quipped. He noticed that the pages in front of him were covered in calculations; slightly soggy he’d admit, but certainly still readable. “Besides, your work's not ruined, just a bit damp.”
The man shot John a glare from very blue eyes and snorted. “As if you would know,” he muttered, starting to collect up the pages and place them into a file.
Looking back on the scene, it was odd - that would usually have been the point at which John would have left the man to it. But there was something about the challenge in those blue eyes which drew him in.
“I’m no expert,” John drawled. “But I can’t quite see how a few damp Feynman diagrams would spell the end for humanity as we know it.”
“Exactly,” the man retorted quickly with a snap of his fingers. “No expert,” he said, pointing at John. “Whereas I, on the other hand, am. Also, I suppose you’ve never heard of a little thing called nuclear decay rates. That’s just one example of how representations of physical processes can be manipulated into the creation of weapons which can very easily lead to the destruction of us all.”
John had to laugh at this, the man was just so adorably geeky - all red-faced and bright-eyed, hands waving as he talked at speeds which must have reached at least 200 miles an hour. John had always had a soft spot for speed… and cute geeky guys. Even if that spot was usually so carefully buried.
“Are you always such an optimist?” John asked.
Before he could stop himself, John found that he was sitting down across from the man. He held out a hand before the spluttering man could reply, “John Sheppard,” he said. “Why don’t I buy you another drink and you can explain it all to me.”
~*~
Although he is well on his way to a full-blown panic attack, Rodney’s body has been well-conditioned to relax in John’s embrace. He slumps into John and brings his own arms up to wrap them about John’s shoulders. John is murmuring softly into his ear and Rodney draws in a deep calming breath and then pulls back to look at John.
“How?” he asks in bewilderment. “I mean, we are so careful. We’ve always been so careful - since the very beginning.” And they have been; keeping their interaction casual, never putting anything in writing that could possibly be used against them, instilling commonplace phrases and gestures with their own secret significance so to the outside world they appear as no more than just friends.
“I guess we just got careless, buddy,” John says with a shrug and a sad smile. “I mean, sure we’ve been together for a while, but we’ve never actually lived in such close proximity before. Even in Antarctica we weren’t in the same compound.”
Rodney looks away. “And I’m not exactly good at hiding my feelings,” he admits unhappily. “I do try, but… well… finding out you had the gene and could come with us, the therapy working on me and us testing the personal shield, and then almost losing you to that damn insect - God, I’m sure everything that I was feeling for you each time was pretty obvious.”
John shakes his head and pulls Rodney back to him, kissing him softly. “Only to me,” he assures him. “I’m pretty sure no one else here has learned to decipher you yet - they probably can’t get past the arrogant ass-hole image you project so well.”
“Hmm,” Rodney grunts in mock annoyance. “I think it’s more likely that they’re dazzled by my vastly superior intellect.”
As Rodney intends, John laughs at this. “There is always that possibility, I suppose.”
“So, who knows?” Rodney asks. “Scientist or military?” Perhaps this isn’t as bad as it could be, he’s pretty sure none of his scientists would care that they’re a couple. And even if one of them did, he’s reasonably certain that he can easily brow-beat them into keeping quiet.
But John cringes and Rodney has his answer.
“Okay, so military then…How did you find out?” Rodney starts to ask, and just like that the panic is back in full-force. “Oh my god, you were attacked weren’t you; by one of those knuckle-dragging, brainless, bigoted jar-heads! Are you alright? Why aren’t you in the infirmary?” He starts frantically patting down John's body, checking him over for signs of injury.
~*~
As the plane took off from the runway on its way to Moscow, Rodney gazed out of the window lost in thought. He had Major John Sheppard’s email and unit address in his pocket and a smile on his face. And wasn’t that something unexpected - that he would begin his journey to an unjust exile actually happy. Looking back on the past 24 hours, Rodney couldn't help but be rather confused by it all. He'd gone from wallowing in both his abject misery and righteous indignation one moment to bemused astonishment the next when he seemed to be being flirted at by a strange pointy-eared man with a penchant for black and a flair for mathematics. It was all beyond strange. Rodney had never been one to doubt his own appeal, it was just that he wasn't used to people actually agreeing with him about it. And what was it with him and tousled-haired Air Force officers anyway?
Not that Sheppard had actually been flirting with him, of course. Rodney had worked for the US military for long enough to be familiar with the various anachronisms of its code of conduct, but he and Sheppard had gotten along together surprisingly well. Rodney was also just about sufficiently self-aware to know that he didn't always make the best of first impressions on people, especially when said people had just spilled beer all over his potentially laureate-winning work. But Sheppard didn't seem to mind. In fact, he appeared to find Rodney's insults amusing and had also managed to display a not total lack of intellect.
They had spent the remainder of the evening just talking; discussing everything from tensor calculus to Time Lord incarnations. They didn't speak about work. John's mumbled 'I'm Air Force, shipping out to Afghanistan in a few days' and Rodney's own 'Astrophysicist, recently disgraced actually... although those military morons clearly wouldn't know true genius if it bit them on the... um, well, never mind... anyway, I'm off to Russia tomorrow' was awkward enough for both of them to move quickly on to safer ground with unspoken agreement.
When they'd eventually been kicked out of the bar, Rodney had been strangely loath to end the evening there. It seemed that Sheppard was also less than eager to either return to Peterson or catch up with his carousing friends. So they'd ended up in Rodney's airport hotel room, slouched on his bed watching Star Trek reruns on TV and eating popcorn from the nearby 24-hour grocery store. It was odd in that it wasn't odd at all. He and Sheppard had just clicked; something Rodney had never done with anyone else ever, at least not if you didn't count his cat.
When the first light of dawn had started to streak across the sky, Sheppard had reached up a hand to run it through his hair and said that it was about time he headed back to base. He looked as reluctant to go as Rodney felt. As they'd hovered together in the hotel room doorway, Rodney had reached out a hand to pat Sheppard awkwardly on the shoulder.
“Well, don't, you know, do anything stupid out there, like get yourself killed,” he'd said.
“I'll do my best to avoid that, Rodney,” Sheppard had replied with a grin. “Here,” and with that he'd pressed some paper into Rodney's hand. “My contact details - keep in touch... you know, if you want... if the Russian's start getting a bit too much.”
“I... uh...” Rodney had looked down at the paper with Sheppard's contact details in surprise. “I will... um...thanks,” he'd stuttered, looking back up at Sheppard, unsure of what exactly this meant.
Sheppard had reached forward then and squeezed Rodney's shoulder tightly. “So long, Rodney,” he'd said softly. And with that, Sheppard was gone.
~*~
“Relax, Rodney,” John says with a laugh as he tries to catch Rodney's wandering hands. Not that he usually has anything against Rodney's hands, quite the opposite in fact, but right now they need to talk. “Nothing like that happened, I'm fine.”
“Are you sure?” Rodney asks, looking less than convinced. “I mean, I don't see anything, but you could have internal injuries. After all, I'm sure those marines have all sorts of nefarious ways of inflicting damage that's superficially undetectable... Here, you should sit down... Perhaps I should call Carson and get him to come here and just check you over? I mean, I know that it's all voodoo really, but I would still feel better if...”
“Hey! Focus, Rodney,” John says, reaching out to smack Rodney lightly on the back of the head. “I wasn't attacked!”
“Ow,” Rodney squawks, but he does stop his fussing. “Well, excuse me for being concerned about the welfare of my...” he flaps his hands at John and scowls. “And did I mention, ow?”
John merely cocks an eyebrow at him.
“Fine, okay, focusing,” Rodney grumbles. “So, if you weren't attacked, how exactly do you know that someone, you know, knows?”
“I think it was because of what happened following the Genii invasion - just after the storm,” John says softly.
“Oh, okay,” Rodney replies just as quietly, visibly shuddering at the memory John's words evoke.
John finds himself reaching out to pull Rodney close, needing the comfort of Rodney in his arms to ward off the images of that day for both of them. There had been a moment that night when John had feared that he wasn't going to be able to make it in time. That, once again, good people would die because he was too slow. And worse than that, that Rodney would die because he was too slow.
When John had heard the shot that Koyla claimed had killed Weir, he'd gone a little crazy. Suddenly nothing had mattered other than getting to Rodney and keeping him safe; for the first time in a long while the Special Ops soldier in him had come to the fore, unchecked, and nothing was going to stand in his way. Looking back, he can only be grateful that he was able to keep his cool long enough to cleanly shoot the Genii who were trying to drag Rodney through the gate. He still feels a little stab of guilt at the relief he had felt when Rodney had run to safety and it turned out to be Weir who Koyla had held at gunpoint. If he's honest with himself, he knows that if it had been Rodney that Koyla was threatening, well, John isn't quiet sure what exactly he would have done, but it certainly wouldn't have been pleasant.
“So, you think someone saw us afterwards?” Rodney's question interrupts John’s thoughts momentarily.
“Hmm, yes, afterwards,” John hums distractedly, and his arms tighten around Rodney as he's pulled back into the memory.
There had been so much work to do once the storm had passed; Rodney had disappeared to start the process of pumping the water out of the flooded levels of the east pier and John had to supervise the clean up of the Genii incursion and go through things with Weir. Once Rodney had reappeared from the depths of the city, it was all John could do to stop himself from dragging Rodney off immediately to his quarters so he could reassure himself of his well-being. It had been hard, especially when Rodney had drawn attention to his injured arm, but John had somehow managed to restrain himself. At the time, he had thought he was getting better at pretending to be nothing more than Rodney's long-suffering friend.
He had figured that he could stay in-character long enough to follow Rodney down to the infirmary and had watched, with what he had thought was commendable restraint, as Rodney's cut was cleaned and bandaged. He'd then proceeded to follow Rodney through the halls of Atlantis and back to his quarters. Once there however, all pretence of friendship had been promptly dropped by them both.
“I'm so sorry, John,” Rodney had started to say, looking desperately unhappy and more than a little frantic. “I didn't mean to talk, I swear... but he had this knife and I… well, you know I'm no good with pain... and I just couldn’t help...”
“Rodney,” John had groaned, reaching out for him. “You have absolutely nothing to apologise for. For a moment there I thought I'd lost you. When I found out that those bastards had touched you, threatened you, cut you...I just... God, Rodney, you've got to promise me, if something like that ever happens again, you talk - do you understand me? You do whatever it is they want, whatever you have to do to keep yourself safe until I can come to get you... because if something were to happen to you, I don't think I... I just couldn't...” he trailed off. It was too much all of a sudden, he needed Rodney right that instant. All the emotion of the past hours, which he'd had to keep under such tight control, came spilling out. John carefully removed Rodney's shirt with shaking hands and then ran his fingers lightly over the bandage on Rodney's arm. He felt his body clench in anger at the sight.
“It's alright,” Rodney had whispered, and then he leaned forward slowly to brush his lips against John's. “I'm fine - you came for me, you saved me. We have a deal, remember? You save my life, and then I save yours.” Soft words of comfort whispered into John's mouth.
With a groan, John had caught Rodney's lips with his and, at last, was able to let go completely. It had always been this way, even since the very beginning, that something within him was able to totally relax in Rodney's presence. It was like Rodney was able to cut through the wall John had built around himself and set him free. With Rodney, he could truly be himself; just John - with nothing to hide and nothing to prove.
Things had turned a little frantic then; both of them far too full of adrenaline and fear for the other to take things slow. Before he'd even realised he'd moved, John had Rodney up against a wall and was kissing him whilst desperately thrusting his erection against Rodney’s hip. Rodney was moaning his approval into John's mouth and had grabbed his ass to pull him closer. Managing to get a hand down between their bodies, John had scrabbled at the zip of Rodney's pants and finally succeeded in undoing them and pushing them out of the way. He'd grunted in pleasure when he managed to wrap his hand around Rodney's cock. Rodney had arched back at the contact and John had been unable to resist the temptation to bend down and suck a nipple into his mouth, biting and laving at the sensitive nub whilst Rodney writhed against him and thrust his cock into John's tight fist. When John felt Rodney's hands burrow beneath his own pants and boxers to cup his ass and had run his fingers down his crack, he'd lost it completely. Rodney had thrust his leg between John's, and John had come hard; still completely dressed, riding Rodney's thigh and screaming Rodney's name. A few hasty thrusts later, Rodney had followed him over the edge. They'd stayed where they were for long minutes afterwards, content to just hold each other and kiss as the finally tensions of the day bled away. Eventually, however, John had forced himself to pull back, clean up as best he could, and leave; neither of them happy with the situation, but knowing that it was for the best.
That thought succeeds in pulling John immediately back to the present. “It was when I was leaving your quarters,” he says, moving back to look Rodney in the eyes. “I bumped into Sergeant Miller right outside. I wasn't exactly thinking clearly at the time, but I guess it looked rather suspicious - I mean it was the early hours of the morning and I was rather damp.”
“Okay,” Rodney says, pulling away from John and starting to pace around the room. “So, Miller suspects… something,” he waves a hand for emphasis. “What makes you think he'd do anything about it?”
“Because he's asked to meet me,” John replies with a sigh.
~*~
John's unit wasn't directly involved in the initial air campaigns of Operation Enduring Freedom. By the time they arrived in Afghanistan, the high altitude bombers had already decimated many of the al-Qaeda training camps and Taliban air defences. Instead, John found himself piloting one of the AH-64 Apache helicopter gunships which supported the infantry incursions in and around Kabul. They were focusing on command, control and communications targets; the city below them quickly being reduced to nothing more than piles of rubble.
By early November the fall of Kabul was imminent. John and Adams, his co-pilot and gunner, were moved south-west to Kandahar, the last remaining stronghold of the Taliban. This time it was CH-53E Super Stallion helicopters which John flew, ferrying marines in their hundreds to Camp Rhino in preparation for the assault on the city. A little over a month later, Kandahar fell as well, with most of the Taliban leaders fleeing north-west into the mountains of Uruzgan Province or disappearing into neighbouring Pakistan. With the surrender of Spin Boldak on the same day, the Taliban hold on Afghanistan was finally broken and the US forces set up base at the airport just outside Kandahar.
John's overriding impressions of war were ones of dust, and death and destruction; brought home to him all the more by the deaths of Dex and Mitch not long after their arrival. His friends had remained stationed just outside Kabul, pilot and co-pilot of a one of the Blackhawk helicopters which was supporting the troops there. They were just setting down to do a medevac when their chopper was hit by a rocket propelled grenade, fired by Taliban forces from extreme range. It was to be expected, of course, that they would lose people, but their loss still hit John hard. They were the first close friends that John had lost in conflict and something inside him died when he heard the news.
But there was no time for grief as the US forces continued to consolidate their position in the country. Before he knew it, John’s next set of orders came through and he found himself part of a huge push to counter an insurgent build-up in Paktia Province. The fighting there was hard, with the number of guerrilla forces initially being underestimated. John survived unscathed, but they lost more men as the result of a couple of horrific friendly fire incidents and many more were wounded in the offensive.
The one highlight through it all was Rodney’s letters. John had no idea how Rodney managed it, but the letters always seemed to get through to him, and in a timely manner, no matter where in the country he was stationed. It was as if Rodney had some contact in the US military who was pulling the strings for him. However, regardless of what tricks Rodney had up his sleeves, John was eternally grateful for the contact. There were times when it felt to John like his link with Rodney, albeit tenuous, was the only thing keeping him grounded. Rodney became his only contact to the world beyond the desert. It was odd that even though he’d only spent one evening with the man, it felt as if they had been friends for far longer. Perhaps it should have frightened him more than it did, but Rodney very quickly became John’s world.
Rodney’s prose style was remarkably similar to his speech pattern. As he read the typed pages, John could clearly hear Rodney’s voice in his head. At times, he could even see Rodney in his mind’s eye, eyes bright and gesticulating wildly to further emphasis a certain point. He described his situation in great and amusing detail, although John wasn’t so sure that he was meant to find it as funny as he did. Rodney's colleagues, at least according to him, were largely a group of pedantic bores whose only saving grace was a remarkable ability to plough stoically through reams of tedious mathematical computations. John decided to take his comments with a healthy pinch of salt.
‘And they ask such stupid questions!’ Rodney wrote. ‘I know that it’s usually said that there’s no such thing as a stupid question - but whoever said that is: one, just plain wrong, and two, has clearly never worked here.’
Apparently the food wasn’t a big improvement on the company. After spending a few months in Moscow, Rodney moved to Pushkinski Gory, apparently for the testing phase of his research. Rodney ranted to John at length about the region: ‘I’m beginning to suspect that all they have here to eat is beef and fried potatoes. Seriously, even the Muscovites are astonished. The only way one can tell the difference between meals is that lunch on every other day comes with soup.’
The letter went on: ‘Honestly, you couldn’t make this stuff up; apparently Pushkinski Gory literally translates to ‘the Pushkin Mountains.’ Naturally, there are no mountains in sight - it’s completely flat. It would seem that because Alexander Pushkin lived here (and for ‘lived here’ read ‘was exiled here’) the area required a moniker of equal standing to the great man. The fact that in reality Pushkin hated the place seems to be largely irrelevant.’
John kept each of Rodney’s letters; folding them carefully and storing them away. He would take them out and re-read them when he felt particularly low. His own replies to Rodney were considerably shorter and far more sporadic, due largely to his circumstances, but also in part to his own less than effusive nature. Fortunately Rodney didn't seem to need too much encouragement to keep writing, and for that John was thankful.
Months passed and John found himself becoming increasingly bored with life in Afghanistan. When he confessed this to Rodney, his weekly letters started coming with various things meant to, in Rodney's words, 'keep John's not entirely useless brain from rotting'. They consisted, for the most part, in various math puzzles - theorems to prove or equations to solve - which John dutifully solved when he could and returned for 'comment'. The most notable exception to this was a copy of Tolstoy's “War and Peace” with 'This should keep you busy - RM' scrawled on the inside cover.
~*~
“But a meeting's just a meeting right?” Rodney asks. “It doesn't mean that he actually knows something, does it?” He realises that things are serious when it's he who is trying to comfort John. He can tell John is teetering on the edge; he's started pacing the room, fists clenched and body tight.
“I don't know,” John replies stiffly. “I just want to be prepared for whatever it is he says. That's why I wanted to talk to you about it first.”
“So, when are you meeting him?” Rodney asks, moving to sit down at one of the couches in the room and motioning for John to come over and join him.
“In a couple of hours,” John answers, checking the time and continuing to pace uneasily.
“Oh, come here, will you,” Rodney snaps. “You're making me nervous with all your prowling. And what could he do anyway?” Rodney continues. “I mean, you're in command of the military here - Elizabeth's made that clear. And it's not like they can go over your head and report you to someone else in the military, at least not until we manage to re-establish contact with Earth.”
“I know,” John replies. He still looks unhappy, but Rodney is relieved when he does stop pacing and comes to sit down next to him. “But even if it's just suspicions and rumours, it still could be very detrimental. We're at war here; I need the marines to trust me and my orders. I can't have dissent in the ranks; if that happens we're as good as Wraith-fodder. I'm already on shaky ground as it is; they were all Sumner's men after all, the man I had to kill.”
“Please,” Rodney snorts. “You were doing the man a favour; I can't imagine anything worse than suffering a long lingering death at the hand of a space vampire. Furthermore, you're a damn fine officer. You've already saved our asses countless times!”
“But they could still make trouble.” John insists. “We don't know where Elizabeth stands on the issue of gays in the military, after all. And besides...”
“I really don't think we need to worry about Elizabeth,” Rodney interrupts to assure John.
“It doesn't matter what she thinks, Rodney,” John tries to explain patiently. “The law is the law.”
“Well, it's a stupid law,” Rodney grouches.
“Hey, preaching to the choir here, buddy,” John replies with a grin, however his expression quickly turns serious again. “But there are many people who don't agree. And there are plenty of other ways he could make trouble for us without making it official.”
~*~
Rodney settled into life in Russia with his usual lack of grace. He knew he wasn't exactly endearing himself to his co-workers, but he had long ago ceased to care about such things. The fact of the matter was that they needed him here; they needed his expertise and his genius in order to progress their naquadah research. Rodney wasted little time on the social graces and quickly threw himself into the research, enjoying the opportunity revisit nuclear physics, a field in which he hadn't worked for many years.
Progress was slow at first; they spent many weeks trying to understand the nuclear structure of naquadah. This involved a detailed study of how many protons and neutrons the nucleus contained, its different decay modes, and how much energy each decay released. Once done, they moved into the test phase; experimenting with small scale reactors and generators. Due to the highly reactive nature of the element, they moved from westwards from Moscow to the less populated region of Pushkinski Gory. It was dangerous work and Rodney ensured that his research team quadruple checked their every calculation. They make good progress though, and Rodney took great satisfaction in the fact that his prototype generator produced five times the power of the one Samantha Carter and her research team had designed.
Rodney put in long hours each day of every week. His one respite was writing to John, which he did every week without fail. He found himself often recalling their one evening together with great affection, and he had decided to take John at his word when he’d said he wanted Rodney to keep in touch. So, Rodney got into the habit of writing a couple of paragraphs to John each evening before he went to bed. He found it cathartic; a way of reviewing his day and relieving his own stress, rather like talking things through with a loved one. He accepted that John’s replies took far longer to get to him, but nevertheless relished their brief connection. He was still in regular communication with his contacts in USAF and at Area 51 and, through them, he was able to ensure his letters reached John as quickly as possible. His connection with the USAF paid off in other ways too, enabling him to keep a close eye on the reports coming out of Afghanistan, both from what was reported on the media, but also through this more direct route. He slowly became accustomed to the fact that his heart would cease to beat for long minutes whenever an American casualty was reported, only to stutter back into an uneasy rhythm once he had made sure John remained unharmed.
The powers that be were pleased with Rodney’s progress on the Russian naquadah research, and before long his new design for the generators was being implemented back at the SGC. He figured he must have been successful in once again justifying his worth when he was suddenly called back to Cheyenne Mountain. It appeared as though Anubis was somehow triggering a massive energy rise in the Stargate. If the rise continued unabated, the resulting explosion could destroy the entire planet. He was happy to answer the call and return to the US.
It was strange, being back at the SGC after all this time. The place seemed largely unchanged; the obvious exception being the absence of Daniel Jackson. Rodney was sad to hear of his death, not that he had any direct dealings with the man. Still, he had admired his work and obvious expertise in his chosen fields, even if he had been a soft scientist.
Rodney had been looking forward to the opportunity to work with Samantha Carter again, even if under rather dire circumstances, and was hoping that they could do so with less animosity than they had the first time around. He had always had great respect for her work and, once he’d met her in the flesh, had been annoyed that he found himself babbling away to her like some lovesick adolescent. He’d been relieved when they’d been able to get down to work and his brain had an actual problem with which to engage, rather than being reduced to spouting incoherent splutterings. However, he’d quickly been disappointed in the reality of Samantha Carter; while she was undoubtedly a brilliant physicist and a beautiful woman, Rodney was too much of a pure scientist to approve of her slap-dash methods. Looking back on their first encounter, he recognised that their clash in methodology resulted from their differing backgrounds - she was used to working in the pressures of the field where there simply wasn’t the time to do complete calculations; he, on the other hand, was used to the time afforded by the laboratory setting, where he could really get to grips with the intricacies of the underlying physics of each new system. Of course, it still smarted that she had be right and he wrong, but then she had been afforded the opportunity to develop her ‘artistry’ and had learned to trust her gut instinct - something Rodney had never been able to do.
Rodney had been at the SGC for less than an hour when he was horrified once again by their complete lack of respect for proper scientific rigour. Hammond and Carter were determined to press ahead with launch of the X-302, despite his and Jonas Quinn’s protestations that the vessel would fail to make it into hyperspace as it relied solely on naquadriah, the highly unstable isotope of naquadah. He was later gratified that Hammond allowed him to test his idea of using an EM pulse to try and short out whatever Anubis was using to cause the power build up in the gate. The fact that Sam was unable to come up with an alternative plan might have had just a little something to do with it. Of course, he felt awful when she was injured by the energy surge created by the feedback loop within the mechanism.
It was Jonas Quinn who ultimately had the flash of inspiration which saved the day. Both Rodney and Sam were too wrapped up in trying to solve the problem, the idea of simply removing the gate had just not occurred to either of them. With the fate of the planet once more secure, Rodney was relieved to find that he was actually able to hold a sensible conversation with Sam and to tell her of the respect he had for her abilities.
Best of all, he found himself reinstated in his prior position as head of Ancient Tech Research at Area 51. Writing his weekly letter to John, he shared with him his immense relief at this turn of events.
~*~
“So, what do we do now?” Rodney asks, sounding completely distressed. He looks over at John and then narrows his eyes. “You’ve got a plan, haven’t you? Just how stupid is it? Well, come on - out with it.”
“Well,” John begins slowly, still trying to weigh up the options; Rodney makes ‘hurry up’ motions with his hands. “I think we should talk to Elizabeth. Lay all our cards on the table and see what she thinks. That way, regardless of what happens, we know exactly where we lie.”
“Okay,” Rodney replies, but he sounds unsure. “You've had far worse, I suppose.” He pauses for a moment and then gets up and walks a few paces away from John. Turning abruptly, Rodney crosses his arms over his chest and raises his chin. “Although, there is one other option... I mean I know how much all this means to you... you know, the Air Force, and flying, and Atlantis and... Well, all of it,” his arms unfold, as if of their own volition, and Rodney hands move to encompass their surroundings. His mouth slants to the side unhappily, “And I don't want to be the reason you lose all of that.”
“Rodney,” John growls, standing up and starting to approach him.
Rodney wards him off with an outstretched hand. “No,” he says. “It's something we should consider. This needn't be a problem... we could just, you know, stop. And then there wouldn't be anything for you to, you know, tell. Even were someone to ask.”
John ignores Rodney’s words and gestures in favour of continuing his approach. He backs Rodney into a wall and captures his mouth in a hard kiss. For a few moments, Rodney remains still and unresponsive under him. But then, with a groan, Rodney yields; his mouth opening under the demand of John's and his arms come up to hold John close. Feeling Rodney's capitulation, John slowly deepens the kiss; bringing his hands up to frame Rodney's face and licking his way into Rodney's mouth. When he pulls back, they're both breathing heavily and Rodney is blinking up at him out of hazy blue eyes.
“Listen to me very carefully, Rodney,” John says, looking deep into Rodney's eyes and willing him to understand the gravity of his words. “We are not a problem; you know that. We've already been through all this, before we even got here. We're a done deal; I am not giving you up - no matter what the cost, because you're worth it, okay?”
Rodney's face softens at John's words and he leans forward to kiss John gently. Rodney’s mouth warm and familiar on his own; his kiss surprisingly tender and so full of love that John knows without a shadow of a doubt that there is no way could survive without this, without Rodney.
Part 2