Three Fates, post 4/36
Previous post: 3/36
Three Fates
Author: auburnnothenna & eretria
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Size: ~ 3263 words
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Rising, Before I Sleep, The Brotherhood, The Defiant One, Hot Zone, The Siege I, II & III, Trinity
Disclaimer: Not ours, not profiting, written for entertainment purposes alone.
Characters: Elizabeth Weir, Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Atlantis
Genre: AU, polyamorous
Pairings: McKay/Sheppard, McKay/Sheppard/Atlantis, McKay/Weir/Sheppard, Sheppard/Atlantis
Summary: "Worst case scenario?"
"We tear a hole in the fabric of the universe."
Trinity
There was no rational way to handle this.
The only key he needs in Atlantis is built into his genes. The door to his room slides open before he's even there. This is good, because John's hands are shaking. He's shaking. If he needed a key or a card, it would end up on the floor.
Rodney was falling apart in front of his eyes on Doranda and John panicked, panicked so badly the only way he could cover it was with anger. He lost it. He just lost it and assaulted his friend, who was already a mess, and then he'd almost repeated things with Elizabeth.
God, Rodney isn't the one losing his mind. John is.
Just the memory of the way Rodney's eyes had widened and darted around the installation, looking at things that weren't there, chills John. He still feels desperate, cracked open, because he reacted all wrong: anger instead of concern. Rodney wants John to punish him. Part of Rodney wants to die, he's figured that much out, wants that penance and escape, wants to finally give up. John's nerves twist just remembering that. Rodney never gives up, even when it's hopeless, and seeing him ready to quit broke something inside John. He'd been just an observer after that, lost, as his body moved against Rodney, going from threats to arousal so fast he couldn't understand it.
The lights come on as he steps inside, mimicking the late afternoon light far above them. He wills them to dimness, a low blue-tinged light that doesn't try and fail to look like sunlight. His room is striking in its bareness. There's nothing to show he sleeps in this room and not one of a dozen others along the same corridor. The Ancients left nothing personal behind and John had nothing when they arrived, nine thousand years from home.
The door slaps closed behind him and he's fumbling at his tac vest, tearing it and his jacket off. He's careful with his weapons, because it would require an effort to break the habit of taking care of them. The P90, the Beretta, the ammo he carried and what was stored in the jumper, along with Rodney's sidearm and the spare he gave Elizabeth, are all they have now.
The city hums around him, hums in the back of his head, an almost-voice that is Atenë, but he wants it out and gone for once. He wants to be alone in his head. Otherwise, he's going to keep doing insane things, things like he did in the weapons installation - his hand on Rodney's dick, for God's sake - in the damn jumper bay - Elizabeth just hugged him and his body switched on the way Atlantis does for him.
Rodney and Elizabeth ... Jesus. How fucked up is he? Suddenly, there aren't any reasons, no restraints, no up or down, no rules beyond what he imposes on himself. His universe, and everyone in it, except Rodney and Elizabeth, is gone. Nothing feels real any more. How the hell does he deal with that?
By reaching out and grabbing the first warm body he can find, apparently. John isn't sure why Elizabeth was going along with it, except she must be as screwed up as he and Rodney are, underneath the poise and the prim smiles. She didn't kiss primly, that was for damn sure and it's hard to reconcile the remembered feel of her body with the sexless commander he's always tried to keep her in his thoughts.
Elizabeth isn't really the problem, though, is she? He's not freaking out because he'd like to sleep with Elizabeth. She felt good pressed against him. He's still half-aroused, thinking of her. It's okay to be turned on by Elizabeth, she's a woman and one he cares about, likes, and even loves in a way. It isn't okay to be turned on, to want Rodney, even if he likes him, even if he loves him, because Rodney's a guy and John isn't into guys.
He isn't. But he likes Rodney. He loves ... Oh, God. It isn't okay to be turned on by Rodney, and he's not okay, because he is. He is.
John sinks down on the bed and lets his hands dangle between his knees, staring blankly at the floor.
Rodney.
It keeps coming back to Rodney.
Don't lie to yourself, John. That's his father's voice, the best advice the man ever gave him. Don't lie to yourself. Know what you are doing and why and if you still do it, then at least when it turns around and bites you, you'll see it coming. Well, he hadn't seen this coming, probably because he's been closing his eyes and lying to himself for a long time. Telling himself not to look or think about anyone who isn't acceptable, shutting himself down before anything even started.
He looks down at his hand, the hand he'd had in Rodney's pants, on Rodney's cock, very much a guy's hand, with calluses and dark hair on the backs, and blunt nails. It occurs to him that he wishes he'd looked and seen what his hand looked like, wrapped around Rodney's erection. Just the thought gets to him.
This isn't who he thought he was.
Jerking Rodney off doesn't make him gay.
No, wanting to do it again, wanting Rodney to do it for him, to learn what he feels like and tastes like, that's gay, another part of him points out. Thinking about him and getting hard, that's a pretty strong indicator, too.
Maybe it's the ATA gene. If the city and Ancient tech can detect and respond to it, maybe he does, too. Rodney's got an artificial version of it, but that's still more than Elizabeth has. It's not him at all, any more than it was with Chaya. He's not gay. If he was gay he wouldn't have been so stupid crazy about her ... except that theory meant that had been because of the gene, too, which proves nothing. He's back where he started. If it was just the gene, he'd have been attracted to Beckett, too.
"Jesus, Sheppard, get a grip," he says out loud and winces as he hears the words.
If he isn't going to lie to himself, then he needs to face this. He wants Rodney. Sex with Elizabeth would be good, but it wouldn't prove a damn thing. He'd still want - need - Rodney, too.
It's like being shot. He knows it but he doesn't feel it yet, then the shock hits, feeling, and it hurts. He wants, wants his hands on Rodney, Rodney's hands on him, just everything, everything, and he's fucked up and he's fucked everything up, shoving Rodney up against a wall because he was afraid, afraid for so long.
Oh, Jesus. He buries his face in his hands.
¦~¦~¦~¦~¦~¦~¦
Rodney doesn't even make it to the bed to sit down. He steps into his room, palms the close mechanism, and slides down to the floor.
It was an anomaly.
Maybe it was a hallucination.
His head is pounding and his stomach is a twisted knot inside. He wasn't kidding Elizabeth. He needs something to eat, to even out his blood sugar. Even so, his body is humming.
He staggers to his feet and into the washroom, peeling his collar away from his neck. The mirror shows him the red marks left by Sheppard's teeth. Real, very real.
His stomach growls again. Rodney rubs his thumb over the mark, wincing, and decides it's something he is not going to think about. It isn't something that is going to happen again. It's a valid data point, but a statistical outlier that needs to be downweighted in any analysis.
Sheppard obviously hadn't wanted to talk about it. They'd barely looked at each other and only exchanged absolutely necessary words in the jumper. But he hadn't seemed angry.
Rodney grimaces. He is not going to obsess about a mutual hand job. As a way of snapping him out of a panic attack, he preferred it to Sheppard slapping him, certainly. But it didn't mean anything.
There are more important things to consider, really. They are currently living in an underwater city, consuming power from a limited number of ZPMs. The city shields will fail eventually. Not in their lifetimes, but before they did in their own timeline. Something has to be done about that.
Something has to be done about the supply situation, too.
He splashes water on his face and blinks it out of his eyes. The water looks like tears, but he's done with feeling sorry for himself. He's been dragging Elizabeth and Sheppard down, contributing nothing, and that has to change.
The other thing, with Sheppard, just didn't happen. That's the only way to deal with it, unless Sheppard says something.
¦~¦~¦~¦~¦~¦~¦
Elizabeth hands Rodney a MRE bag that says it holds meatloaf.
"Thanks," he mutters, tearing into it. His eyes stay on his hands.
John is leaning his elbows on the table, forearms crossed, idly drumming his fingers against the surface. His eyes stray to Rodney and away. Elizabeth can't read any expression on his face, beyond weariness. He looks bruised.
She holds up two more MREs. "Any preferences?"
He glances at them and shrugs. "I'll take whatever you don't want."
Always the gentleman. Of course, she's relatively sure he doesn't care in this case. She slides one across the table to him, then opens hers.
"Enjoy it while you can," she declares. "We'll be out by the end of the week."
John is playing with the MRE, not opening it yet, and his head jerks up. He stares at her.
"It's that bad?"
"Did you think I was joking?"
"No. I just didn't - " He pulls in a deep breath. "I lost track."
He looks at the MRE bag and winces. "I hate these things." Nonetheless, he opens it.
Rodney's head comes up from his single-minded attention to his meal. "What? Really? Because I've always liked them. I know, I know, they don't taste exactly like food, but they're reliable."
John's mouth twitches into an almost smile. "No nasty surprises, right?"
Rodney nods emphatically. "Right."
"So, speaking of surprises," John says, turning back to Elizabeth, "I guess Atlantis doesn't have any surprise stashes of supplies for us?"
She gives him a strained smile. "Not that I've been able to find."
"So it's back to trading?" Rodney mumbles around a mouthful of rehydrated mashed potatoes. "If we had anything to trade."
John slouches lower in his chair. "Not even any C4." His expression invites Elizabeth to laugh with him. She quirks a quick smile despite herself.
"I know you won't like this, John, but the Manarans are probably our best bet for trade. They regularly have surpluses and they were eager for medical data."
His eyebrow goes up, but he doesn't protest.
"We know the Wraith were culling from Teyla's people in the past. We know they left at least one sensor-tracer that was activated by your gene. We know at some point they introduced some of their DNA into a group of test subjects taken from Athos. Unless we have to, I don't think we should go to Athos."
Rodney nods. "Tell me you could stand back and not interfere."
"You might alter history so that Teyla was never born," Elizabeth explains.
John looks grim and doesn't argue her choice or what he would or wouldn't do.
She concentrates on her own meal, savoring the feel of filling her stomach, if not the taste. John picks at his until Rodney growls and makes a swipe at the packet of cookies that came with it. John's eyes widen and he snatches it just before Rodney's hand reaches it. "Hey! Mine." He pulls the rest of his meal out of Rodney's reach. The reactions are right, but they're a half second slow from normal. It's an act.
"Well, if you're not going to eat it, I don't see why it should go to waste," Rodney replies. He's just a little stilted, too. They're both trying too hard. He reaches for the cookies again, misses and brushes John's arm. He snatches his hand back in the next breath. "Sorry."
"No, it's okay, here," John blurts out. He pushes the cookies toward Rodney. "I don't want them anyway."
"No, really, I wouldn't want you to keel over from hunger in the middle of trade negotiations. We don't want the Manarans to know it's a sellers' market, do we?"
John toys with the cookie package, frowning. "No. No, we don't."
Elizabeth finishes her meal, watching the way they waver between the old, easy banter and sudden bouts of awkwardness. She can't read whether it's a result of Arcturus or something that happened between them on Doranda. John's not particularly awkward with her, even after the abortive kiss. Elizabeth takes the same tack, acting like nothing happened.
John brushes his fingers over his lip once, unconsciously, and Rodney's eyes flick to the cut Elizabeth left. He looks at Elizabeth, but she keeps her face a calm mask, revealing nothing. It felt good, nothing came of it, and that was it.
Finally, Rodney's forbearance snaps. "Cut yourself shaving, Sheppard?"
John's eyes narrow. He straightens in the chair. "Excuse me?"
Rodney points at his own lip.
A muscle in John's jaw twitches. He opens his mouth, then visibly bites back any words. He slouches back and offers a smirk. "Nope."
She can see the catty remark springing to Rodney's lips and forestalls him. "Don't."
John sends her an unreadable glance. Gratitude? Irritation? She can't tell. He opens the cookie package and eats one, concentrating on it and ignoring Rodney. It's just a tiny cut on his lip. She's surprised Rodney saw it. She looks away herself, when John darts his tongue out, licking away a crumb from the corner of his mouth.
Rodney stirs restlessly. Afraid he'll start in again, Elizabeth says what she's been considering. "We need to do more. What you did, going to Doranda and destroying the Arcturus facility? We can do more."
She waits for a reaction from both men, watches their faces blank for a moment. Rodney's brows furrow. John bites his lip.
"What do you mean?" John finally asks, slowly. She can see that he knows exactly what she's talking about, but he needs to hear it.
"We can dispose of the nanovirus in the labs, make sure no one releases that energy creature - "
Rodney interrupts her, eyes feverishly bright as he grasps the idea. "Repair the Lagrange point satellite so Peter doesn't ..."
"Make sure our counterparts don't get Gall and Abrams killed," John says flatly. "Sumner, Smith, Markham, Hazelhurst, Simmons." He looks dazed at the thought. She knows he kept Sumner's dog tags up until they made it back to Earth. He looks away for a beat.
"We could," Rodney breathes.
"I believe we have an obligation," Elizabeth declares.
John and Rodney look at each other, holding a silent conversation. "What about the timeline?" John asks. "Could we mess things up?"
"We're already messing things up," Elizabeth says, redirecting their attention back to her. "Us being here is draining power from Atlantis' ZPMs. The rate of decay, even with my double's maintenance, resulted in shield failure when our expedition arrived and powered up even the most basic systems."
"However," Rodney chimes in, index finger raised, "if you're worried about Earth's timeline, nothing we do here should have any effect on history in the Milky Way."
"And won't until the Atlantis expedition gets here." John frowns. "Okay. We need to find ZPMs, along with food and generally cleaning up behind the Ancients."
"Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" Rodney looks glum.
John smirks. "Yeah."
"We'll at least know what we're doing," Elizabeth reminds them. "The benefits of hindsight may be genuinely useful in our circumstances."
"We'll head out for Manara in the morning," John says. "We won't be able to take the jumper."
"That's probably wise. It would be better not to identify ourselves as Atlanteans."
"Why?" Rodney asks.
John rolls his eyes. "Because we aren't?"
"Right, right."
John checks his watch. "Manara's rotation had the gate in daylight five hours ahead of Atlantis' time, right?"
Elizabeth glances at her notes to make sure she remembers correctly. "Yes."
"Then we'd better schedule ourselves a morning op. Oh six hundred and we'll arrive about mid-day. Rodney. Get some sleep."
"If I can," Rodney mutters.
John sighs. "Try."
"Oh, I'll certainly try, Sheppard. It's not like I enjoy sleep deprivation and its effects."
"John," Elizabeth says, "maybe you should get some sleep, too." Gently reminding him Rodney isn't the only one with problems and she knows it. "We'll be ready in the morning."
"Yeah, about that." He ruffles his hair in a nervous gesture and offers an embarrassedsmile, the one that always prefaces something he knows she won't want to hear. "I don't think you should go."
"You and Rodney don't have the best history when it comes to trading."
"Okay, true, but Rodney's used to going off-planet and someone needs to stay here."
"Why? There's very little I can accomplish since I don't have the gene."
"Neither did the first Elizabeth."
She shivers a little at the memory of her aged counterpart from a previous timeline. Ten thousand years dying, a long slow sacrifice, but she'd seemed to think it was worth it.
"That's something we need to do," Rodney says. "The city won't rise without that failsafe program the Ancient came up with for that Elizabeth. We have to do that this time. We meaning me, obviously, unless Sheppard's AI girlfriend can do it."
John shrugs. "I don't know. She probably can."
"She can't physically rotate the ZPMs, though," Rodney points out. "Elizabeth, the other Elizabeth, had to go into stasis to do that. One of us will have to do that, too."
John and Rodney both look at her.
She swallows hard.
"All of us would be the best choice, actually," Rodney continues, his voice softer. "The city would go back into hibernation, saving power."
"It's - it's something to consider," she says. She pushes her chair back. Rises and looks at them both, wishing she had a better argument against staying behind than I don't want to. She isn't going to demean herself by pleading, because she knows John has a point. He and Rodney are used to backing each other up on missions. If anything goes wrong, they can predict each other's reactions and work together. If she accompanied them, they would both spend too much effort looking out for her. She could be a deadly liability in a hostile situation. She's not a soldier, even less so than Rodney, and never aspired to the military virtues - if virtues they can be termed and not distortions of the real thing - so little as she likes it, she'll stay behind.
Her heart is still in her mouth when the two of them walk through the wormhole in the morning. John pauses, half turning back, lifting his hand in a small wave, a habit of his.
"Can we just do this?" Rodney gripes.
"Back before dark," John calls to her, smiling and slipping through the watery ripple of the event horizon in stride with Rodney.
He's wrong, though, because the dark is already all around them, pressing against the shield over the city.
Next post: 5/36
Three Fates
Author: auburnnothenna & eretria
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Size: ~ 3263 words
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Rising, Before I Sleep, The Brotherhood, The Defiant One, Hot Zone, The Siege I, II & III, Trinity
Disclaimer: Not ours, not profiting, written for entertainment purposes alone.
Characters: Elizabeth Weir, Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Atlantis
Genre: AU, polyamorous
Pairings: McKay/Sheppard, McKay/Sheppard/Atlantis, McKay/Weir/Sheppard, Sheppard/Atlantis
Summary: "Worst case scenario?"
"We tear a hole in the fabric of the universe."
Trinity
There was no rational way to handle this.
The only key he needs in Atlantis is built into his genes. The door to his room slides open before he's even there. This is good, because John's hands are shaking. He's shaking. If he needed a key or a card, it would end up on the floor.
Rodney was falling apart in front of his eyes on Doranda and John panicked, panicked so badly the only way he could cover it was with anger. He lost it. He just lost it and assaulted his friend, who was already a mess, and then he'd almost repeated things with Elizabeth.
God, Rodney isn't the one losing his mind. John is.
Just the memory of the way Rodney's eyes had widened and darted around the installation, looking at things that weren't there, chills John. He still feels desperate, cracked open, because he reacted all wrong: anger instead of concern. Rodney wants John to punish him. Part of Rodney wants to die, he's figured that much out, wants that penance and escape, wants to finally give up. John's nerves twist just remembering that. Rodney never gives up, even when it's hopeless, and seeing him ready to quit broke something inside John. He'd been just an observer after that, lost, as his body moved against Rodney, going from threats to arousal so fast he couldn't understand it.
The lights come on as he steps inside, mimicking the late afternoon light far above them. He wills them to dimness, a low blue-tinged light that doesn't try and fail to look like sunlight. His room is striking in its bareness. There's nothing to show he sleeps in this room and not one of a dozen others along the same corridor. The Ancients left nothing personal behind and John had nothing when they arrived, nine thousand years from home.
The door slaps closed behind him and he's fumbling at his tac vest, tearing it and his jacket off. He's careful with his weapons, because it would require an effort to break the habit of taking care of them. The P90, the Beretta, the ammo he carried and what was stored in the jumper, along with Rodney's sidearm and the spare he gave Elizabeth, are all they have now.
The city hums around him, hums in the back of his head, an almost-voice that is Atenë, but he wants it out and gone for once. He wants to be alone in his head. Otherwise, he's going to keep doing insane things, things like he did in the weapons installation - his hand on Rodney's dick, for God's sake - in the damn jumper bay - Elizabeth just hugged him and his body switched on the way Atlantis does for him.
Rodney and Elizabeth ... Jesus. How fucked up is he? Suddenly, there aren't any reasons, no restraints, no up or down, no rules beyond what he imposes on himself. His universe, and everyone in it, except Rodney and Elizabeth, is gone. Nothing feels real any more. How the hell does he deal with that?
By reaching out and grabbing the first warm body he can find, apparently. John isn't sure why Elizabeth was going along with it, except she must be as screwed up as he and Rodney are, underneath the poise and the prim smiles. She didn't kiss primly, that was for damn sure and it's hard to reconcile the remembered feel of her body with the sexless commander he's always tried to keep her in his thoughts.
Elizabeth isn't really the problem, though, is she? He's not freaking out because he'd like to sleep with Elizabeth. She felt good pressed against him. He's still half-aroused, thinking of her. It's okay to be turned on by Elizabeth, she's a woman and one he cares about, likes, and even loves in a way. It isn't okay to be turned on, to want Rodney, even if he likes him, even if he loves him, because Rodney's a guy and John isn't into guys.
He isn't. But he likes Rodney. He loves ... Oh, God. It isn't okay to be turned on by Rodney, and he's not okay, because he is. He is.
John sinks down on the bed and lets his hands dangle between his knees, staring blankly at the floor.
Rodney.
It keeps coming back to Rodney.
Don't lie to yourself, John. That's his father's voice, the best advice the man ever gave him. Don't lie to yourself. Know what you are doing and why and if you still do it, then at least when it turns around and bites you, you'll see it coming. Well, he hadn't seen this coming, probably because he's been closing his eyes and lying to himself for a long time. Telling himself not to look or think about anyone who isn't acceptable, shutting himself down before anything even started.
He looks down at his hand, the hand he'd had in Rodney's pants, on Rodney's cock, very much a guy's hand, with calluses and dark hair on the backs, and blunt nails. It occurs to him that he wishes he'd looked and seen what his hand looked like, wrapped around Rodney's erection. Just the thought gets to him.
This isn't who he thought he was.
Jerking Rodney off doesn't make him gay.
No, wanting to do it again, wanting Rodney to do it for him, to learn what he feels like and tastes like, that's gay, another part of him points out. Thinking about him and getting hard, that's a pretty strong indicator, too.
Maybe it's the ATA gene. If the city and Ancient tech can detect and respond to it, maybe he does, too. Rodney's got an artificial version of it, but that's still more than Elizabeth has. It's not him at all, any more than it was with Chaya. He's not gay. If he was gay he wouldn't have been so stupid crazy about her ... except that theory meant that had been because of the gene, too, which proves nothing. He's back where he started. If it was just the gene, he'd have been attracted to Beckett, too.
"Jesus, Sheppard, get a grip," he says out loud and winces as he hears the words.
If he isn't going to lie to himself, then he needs to face this. He wants Rodney. Sex with Elizabeth would be good, but it wouldn't prove a damn thing. He'd still want - need - Rodney, too.
It's like being shot. He knows it but he doesn't feel it yet, then the shock hits, feeling, and it hurts. He wants, wants his hands on Rodney, Rodney's hands on him, just everything, everything, and he's fucked up and he's fucked everything up, shoving Rodney up against a wall because he was afraid, afraid for so long.
Oh, Jesus. He buries his face in his hands.
¦~¦~¦~¦~¦~¦~¦
Rodney doesn't even make it to the bed to sit down. He steps into his room, palms the close mechanism, and slides down to the floor.
It was an anomaly.
Maybe it was a hallucination.
His head is pounding and his stomach is a twisted knot inside. He wasn't kidding Elizabeth. He needs something to eat, to even out his blood sugar. Even so, his body is humming.
He staggers to his feet and into the washroom, peeling his collar away from his neck. The mirror shows him the red marks left by Sheppard's teeth. Real, very real.
His stomach growls again. Rodney rubs his thumb over the mark, wincing, and decides it's something he is not going to think about. It isn't something that is going to happen again. It's a valid data point, but a statistical outlier that needs to be downweighted in any analysis.
Sheppard obviously hadn't wanted to talk about it. They'd barely looked at each other and only exchanged absolutely necessary words in the jumper. But he hadn't seemed angry.
Rodney grimaces. He is not going to obsess about a mutual hand job. As a way of snapping him out of a panic attack, he preferred it to Sheppard slapping him, certainly. But it didn't mean anything.
There are more important things to consider, really. They are currently living in an underwater city, consuming power from a limited number of ZPMs. The city shields will fail eventually. Not in their lifetimes, but before they did in their own timeline. Something has to be done about that.
Something has to be done about the supply situation, too.
He splashes water on his face and blinks it out of his eyes. The water looks like tears, but he's done with feeling sorry for himself. He's been dragging Elizabeth and Sheppard down, contributing nothing, and that has to change.
The other thing, with Sheppard, just didn't happen. That's the only way to deal with it, unless Sheppard says something.
¦~¦~¦~¦~¦~¦~¦
Elizabeth hands Rodney a MRE bag that says it holds meatloaf.
"Thanks," he mutters, tearing into it. His eyes stay on his hands.
John is leaning his elbows on the table, forearms crossed, idly drumming his fingers against the surface. His eyes stray to Rodney and away. Elizabeth can't read any expression on his face, beyond weariness. He looks bruised.
She holds up two more MREs. "Any preferences?"
He glances at them and shrugs. "I'll take whatever you don't want."
Always the gentleman. Of course, she's relatively sure he doesn't care in this case. She slides one across the table to him, then opens hers.
"Enjoy it while you can," she declares. "We'll be out by the end of the week."
John is playing with the MRE, not opening it yet, and his head jerks up. He stares at her.
"It's that bad?"
"Did you think I was joking?"
"No. I just didn't - " He pulls in a deep breath. "I lost track."
He looks at the MRE bag and winces. "I hate these things." Nonetheless, he opens it.
Rodney's head comes up from his single-minded attention to his meal. "What? Really? Because I've always liked them. I know, I know, they don't taste exactly like food, but they're reliable."
John's mouth twitches into an almost smile. "No nasty surprises, right?"
Rodney nods emphatically. "Right."
"So, speaking of surprises," John says, turning back to Elizabeth, "I guess Atlantis doesn't have any surprise stashes of supplies for us?"
She gives him a strained smile. "Not that I've been able to find."
"So it's back to trading?" Rodney mumbles around a mouthful of rehydrated mashed potatoes. "If we had anything to trade."
John slouches lower in his chair. "Not even any C4." His expression invites Elizabeth to laugh with him. She quirks a quick smile despite herself.
"I know you won't like this, John, but the Manarans are probably our best bet for trade. They regularly have surpluses and they were eager for medical data."
His eyebrow goes up, but he doesn't protest.
"We know the Wraith were culling from Teyla's people in the past. We know they left at least one sensor-tracer that was activated by your gene. We know at some point they introduced some of their DNA into a group of test subjects taken from Athos. Unless we have to, I don't think we should go to Athos."
Rodney nods. "Tell me you could stand back and not interfere."
"You might alter history so that Teyla was never born," Elizabeth explains.
John looks grim and doesn't argue her choice or what he would or wouldn't do.
She concentrates on her own meal, savoring the feel of filling her stomach, if not the taste. John picks at his until Rodney growls and makes a swipe at the packet of cookies that came with it. John's eyes widen and he snatches it just before Rodney's hand reaches it. "Hey! Mine." He pulls the rest of his meal out of Rodney's reach. The reactions are right, but they're a half second slow from normal. It's an act.
"Well, if you're not going to eat it, I don't see why it should go to waste," Rodney replies. He's just a little stilted, too. They're both trying too hard. He reaches for the cookies again, misses and brushes John's arm. He snatches his hand back in the next breath. "Sorry."
"No, it's okay, here," John blurts out. He pushes the cookies toward Rodney. "I don't want them anyway."
"No, really, I wouldn't want you to keel over from hunger in the middle of trade negotiations. We don't want the Manarans to know it's a sellers' market, do we?"
John toys with the cookie package, frowning. "No. No, we don't."
Elizabeth finishes her meal, watching the way they waver between the old, easy banter and sudden bouts of awkwardness. She can't read whether it's a result of Arcturus or something that happened between them on Doranda. John's not particularly awkward with her, even after the abortive kiss. Elizabeth takes the same tack, acting like nothing happened.
John brushes his fingers over his lip once, unconsciously, and Rodney's eyes flick to the cut Elizabeth left. He looks at Elizabeth, but she keeps her face a calm mask, revealing nothing. It felt good, nothing came of it, and that was it.
Finally, Rodney's forbearance snaps. "Cut yourself shaving, Sheppard?"
John's eyes narrow. He straightens in the chair. "Excuse me?"
Rodney points at his own lip.
A muscle in John's jaw twitches. He opens his mouth, then visibly bites back any words. He slouches back and offers a smirk. "Nope."
She can see the catty remark springing to Rodney's lips and forestalls him. "Don't."
John sends her an unreadable glance. Gratitude? Irritation? She can't tell. He opens the cookie package and eats one, concentrating on it and ignoring Rodney. It's just a tiny cut on his lip. She's surprised Rodney saw it. She looks away herself, when John darts his tongue out, licking away a crumb from the corner of his mouth.
Rodney stirs restlessly. Afraid he'll start in again, Elizabeth says what she's been considering. "We need to do more. What you did, going to Doranda and destroying the Arcturus facility? We can do more."
She waits for a reaction from both men, watches their faces blank for a moment. Rodney's brows furrow. John bites his lip.
"What do you mean?" John finally asks, slowly. She can see that he knows exactly what she's talking about, but he needs to hear it.
"We can dispose of the nanovirus in the labs, make sure no one releases that energy creature - "
Rodney interrupts her, eyes feverishly bright as he grasps the idea. "Repair the Lagrange point satellite so Peter doesn't ..."
"Make sure our counterparts don't get Gall and Abrams killed," John says flatly. "Sumner, Smith, Markham, Hazelhurst, Simmons." He looks dazed at the thought. She knows he kept Sumner's dog tags up until they made it back to Earth. He looks away for a beat.
"We could," Rodney breathes.
"I believe we have an obligation," Elizabeth declares.
John and Rodney look at each other, holding a silent conversation. "What about the timeline?" John asks. "Could we mess things up?"
"We're already messing things up," Elizabeth says, redirecting their attention back to her. "Us being here is draining power from Atlantis' ZPMs. The rate of decay, even with my double's maintenance, resulted in shield failure when our expedition arrived and powered up even the most basic systems."
"However," Rodney chimes in, index finger raised, "if you're worried about Earth's timeline, nothing we do here should have any effect on history in the Milky Way."
"And won't until the Atlantis expedition gets here." John frowns. "Okay. We need to find ZPMs, along with food and generally cleaning up behind the Ancients."
"Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" Rodney looks glum.
John smirks. "Yeah."
"We'll at least know what we're doing," Elizabeth reminds them. "The benefits of hindsight may be genuinely useful in our circumstances."
"We'll head out for Manara in the morning," John says. "We won't be able to take the jumper."
"That's probably wise. It would be better not to identify ourselves as Atlanteans."
"Why?" Rodney asks.
John rolls his eyes. "Because we aren't?"
"Right, right."
John checks his watch. "Manara's rotation had the gate in daylight five hours ahead of Atlantis' time, right?"
Elizabeth glances at her notes to make sure she remembers correctly. "Yes."
"Then we'd better schedule ourselves a morning op. Oh six hundred and we'll arrive about mid-day. Rodney. Get some sleep."
"If I can," Rodney mutters.
John sighs. "Try."
"Oh, I'll certainly try, Sheppard. It's not like I enjoy sleep deprivation and its effects."
"John," Elizabeth says, "maybe you should get some sleep, too." Gently reminding him Rodney isn't the only one with problems and she knows it. "We'll be ready in the morning."
"Yeah, about that." He ruffles his hair in a nervous gesture and offers an embarrassedsmile, the one that always prefaces something he knows she won't want to hear. "I don't think you should go."
"You and Rodney don't have the best history when it comes to trading."
"Okay, true, but Rodney's used to going off-planet and someone needs to stay here."
"Why? There's very little I can accomplish since I don't have the gene."
"Neither did the first Elizabeth."
She shivers a little at the memory of her aged counterpart from a previous timeline. Ten thousand years dying, a long slow sacrifice, but she'd seemed to think it was worth it.
"That's something we need to do," Rodney says. "The city won't rise without that failsafe program the Ancient came up with for that Elizabeth. We have to do that this time. We meaning me, obviously, unless Sheppard's AI girlfriend can do it."
John shrugs. "I don't know. She probably can."
"She can't physically rotate the ZPMs, though," Rodney points out. "Elizabeth, the other Elizabeth, had to go into stasis to do that. One of us will have to do that, too."
John and Rodney both look at her.
She swallows hard.
"All of us would be the best choice, actually," Rodney continues, his voice softer. "The city would go back into hibernation, saving power."
"It's - it's something to consider," she says. She pushes her chair back. Rises and looks at them both, wishing she had a better argument against staying behind than I don't want to. She isn't going to demean herself by pleading, because she knows John has a point. He and Rodney are used to backing each other up on missions. If anything goes wrong, they can predict each other's reactions and work together. If she accompanied them, they would both spend too much effort looking out for her. She could be a deadly liability in a hostile situation. She's not a soldier, even less so than Rodney, and never aspired to the military virtues - if virtues they can be termed and not distortions of the real thing - so little as she likes it, she'll stay behind.
Her heart is still in her mouth when the two of them walk through the wormhole in the morning. John pauses, half turning back, lifting his hand in a small wave, a habit of his.
"Can we just do this?" Rodney gripes.
"Back before dark," John calls to her, smiling and slipping through the watery ripple of the event horizon in stride with Rodney.
He's wrong, though, because the dark is already all around them, pressing against the shield over the city.
Next post: 5/36