'Term of Service' by Resonant, commentary by viva_gloria, 1/3
Story: Term of Service
Author: resonant8
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Commentator: viva_gloria
Original story, without commentary, can be found here.
This is part 1 of 3: part 2, part 3
my comments throughout are in this font ...
Rodney stepped through the gate and stopped short Hooked! what can they see that's so surprising? , so that Teyla jostled behind him, making a questioning noise. He walked forward absently, unable to take his eyes off the view from across the water. Beside him, Sheppard stared.
Jesus, a skyline. And not a dead one like on Sateda, either. Lights were going on and off over there on the other island. There was a small aircraft taking off and two more landing. And since this island was barely big enough for the gate, and deserted except for the Atlantis contingent, that trainlike thing Alien territory: it's not quite a train; it's not quite right. that was on its way across the bridge was undoubtedly coming to meet the four of them.
"Doesn't look like they've been culled recently," Ronon said in an awestruck voice.
"Or, actually, ever," Rodney said. He looked stupidly up at the sky for a second, and then did what he should have done in the first place: got out his data pad and checked the energy readings. "The readings are consistent with the sort of shielding we have in the jumpers, but at a much greater distance." Shielding! No wonder Rodney's excited, his curiosity piqued.
"Teyla, were the Athosians in contact with these folks?" Sheppard said.
"Not for many years," Teyla said. "The Baj came to this planet from Atlantis many generations ago. They are said to be technologically advanced and quite friendly, and their society is generally very informal. But this island is the subject of many taboos. We must be careful." But nobody ever pays attention to Teyla's warnings. To their cost.
Rodney looked across the water at the skyline. There were other cities dimly visible on other islands. "For a chance at whatever's keeping the Wraith away from a population this size, I'll follow any superstition they hand me."
The gate sat on the edge of a huge circular plaza of white brick, dazzling in the afternoon sun, with a pattern of small indentations all along the rim. The train thing, which was rounded and shiny and a rather tasteless shade of green Rodney never really buys into the Baj aesthetic. , stopped at the opposite side of the plaza, letting out three people in pants and flowing tops. Only one of them was armed in any obvious way; Rodney took that as a good sign.
Teyla went straight to an older woman who had an elaborately knotted cord around her neck -- some sign of leadership, maybe, the local equivalent of a crown -- and started giving the standard speech. Rodney listened for a bit, but he'd heard it a million times. Peaceful intentions, trade and share information, blah blah blah. He wanted another look at the energy signature of the shield.
He pulled out the data pad, trying to be subtle about it for about fifteen seconds and then forgetting all about that, because he was beginning to formulate the very interesting hypothesis that the shield was outside the atmosphere, which would be amazing.
There were also some very interesting, and possibly not unrelated, energy readings coming from the other side of the gate.
"But before we discuss details, you have a claim on our hospitality." The woman with the rope -- whose title, creatively enough, seemed to be "knotwoman" -- took a thing that looked like a giant blue jelly bean More alien weirdness, and Rodney instinctively, unfussily working out the functionality. out of her pocket, slid the two halves aside, and revealed something that was obviously some kind of communication device. A few minutes later, another train car arrived, this one magenta and full of people carrying boxes. They started setting up tables and spread out food and drink, right there in the plaza. Tables, but no chairs; apparently it was cocktail-party time on Ara lo Bajo.
Rodney put the pad away willingly enough. He wanted to get a taste of the things that looked like sausage in pastry. Life was a matter of priorities. Oh, Rodney. Don't ever change. (And it's not as though he's ignoring the energy readings or the possibility of extra-atmospheric shielding. But a man must eat.
The sun was hot. The food was salty. All the drinks were heavily sweetened. Which, once we work out what they lack, is actually quite odd. Unless the natives have adjusted to the situation? Or are they trying to throw their visitors? He turned to the nearest native with a tray and said, "Excuse me, but could I just get a glass of water?"
There was the kind of sudden hush that you got in Westerns when the stranger walked into the saloon. Lovely image!
Rodney and Sheppard exchanged a glance. The knotwoman made an impatient gesture, and one of the tray-bearing people went away in a hurry.
He came back with a tray, bearing a saucer, bearing a very fancy vessel of water the size of an espresso cup.
"Uh-oh," Rodney said.
"Your planet short of water?" Ronon asked. Ronon doesn't get much of a part in this fic: I think this may be the only time he speaks. But as ever, he's succinct and straightforward and gets right to the point -- says what nobody else is saying.
The knotwoman gestured at the sea. "As you see, we are surrounded by it," she said. "But our supply of potable water is limited, yes." Right, so there's something the Lanteans can offer ...
The water in the cup was dreadful, sulfurous stuff, but Rodney finished every drop while the serving guy watched thirstily. 'thirstily' is ... perfect.
Teyla took the opportunity to shift attention away from Rodney's faux pas and restart the negotiations at the same time: "We have an ample supply of fresh water, as well as the technology to remove minerals from seawater. Perhaps we might offer that for trade."
The knotwoman was probably a very good poker player, because she acted as though Teyla had offered secondhand tires. Which analogy would bemuse Teyla more than anyone. But yes, this is all about trade. And the price of things. "Perhaps," she said. "And what are you seeking in return?"
From over here, Rodney could see that Ronon was half keeping an eye on Teyla and half focusing on a native woman with long red braids who was running her hand up his forearm; Rodney couldn't tell whether he was trying to encourage her or discourage her, but he certainly wasn't participating in the trade effort. Most of the natives weren't paying any attention to the negotiations, either, but just wandering around, chatting, eating, looking at the scenery. When one of them got out his own jellybean thing and started writing on the screen with a stylus, Rodney took that as permission to get his data pad out again.
"What are you doing?" Sheppard looked over his shoulder.
"Sh. Trying to get more information. There's a strange energy reading on the other side of the gate."
"Strange how?"
"Strange like a cloak."
Sheppard's eyes lit up. Anything worth cloaking was worth looking at. It's almost Pavlovian :) "Think Teyla'd mind if we checked it out a little?"
Possible cloak. But: Love Rodney's internal argument here: I can practically see him gesturing, weighing. heavy taboos. But: possible cloak. "I don't know," Rodney said. "Maybe we should ask her first."
They both looked over at Teyla, who was smiling a wide smile and waving her hands in the air. "Wouldn't want to interrupt her," Sheppard said. They do bring out the adolescent boy in one another, making excuses and getting up to no good. "We'll just walk a little bit over there and see what we can find out." When Rodney still hesitated, he said, "Come on, Rodney. It'll be fine," and Rodney, whose objections had never really been a match for his curiosity, gave in.
On the other side of the gate they found a deep pool, perfectly round and bigger than the gate itself, with concentric circles that looked like stairs descending into the greenish water. "Doesn't look too important," Rodney said. "Unless that's fresh water."
Sheppard dipped his fingers in the water and stuck them in his mouth. Rodney winced at the thought of the molds and other microorganisms that probably lived and excreted there. Perfect illustration of reckless Sheppard and cautious McKay. Rodney's horror of the insanitary will be revisited later. "Nope," Sheppard said.
The zeta waves were like nothing Rodney had ever seen before, and the source was inside the pool. "And I swear it looks like a cloak," he said to Sheppard. "I can't imagine the energy it's expending to keep up a cloak under the water --"
Between one word and the next, they were surrounded by grave-looking natives.
"Uh-oh," Sheppard said.
The knotwoman glared at both of them, and now four of the people flanking her had gotten weapons from someplace. "You said your team was aware of the sacredness of this place," she spat at Teyla.
"Wait, I never touched the stuff!" Rodney said. "Sheppard's the one who has no sense of hygiene." Rodney's always got a defence, even if it has nothing to do with the offence of which they're being accused. Also, see above re adolescent boys: "It wasn't me! It was him!"
"By setting foot in this area, you have violated our rules," the knotwoman said. "This trespass may not go unpunished."
"Uh, we didn't really mean to trespass," Sheppard said with the smarmy apparent dishonesty oh, that's very well-observed. He does have that easy-going smooth conman style when he's earnest. that he always got when he was most sincere. "Maybe you should put up a sign or something, a rope --"
"I fear that this offense makes trade between our peoples impossible," the knotwoman said. "I regret to relinquish the water-treatment technology, and I know you were eager to trade for the orbital shielding and the energy device, but such a severe violation of --"
"Orbital shielding?" Sheppard said, just as Rodney said, "Energy device?"
" -- must necessarily invalidate all our previous agreements --"
"I understand your anger," Teyla said, shooting Rodney and Sheppard a look that said that, yes, she understood it very well, If they're adolescent boys, Teyla is Mom. Or, no, she's the teacher who has the misfortune to have these two in her class. "but we are most eager to trade with you. Surely there is some way of making amends? What punishment is meted out when your own people commit such a trespass?"
"Our penalty for such an offense would be a term of service," the knotwoman said. "One hundred days as the personal servant of one of our people."
"We could do that," Sheppard said.
"What? Doing what? Breaking rocks? Working in the mines?"
There were chuckles among the Baj. "The service is of a more ... personal nature," the knotwoman said.
"What? Cleaning? Cooking? Oh, god, please tell me it's not childcare --"
"Oh," Sheppard said in a voice that sounded like he was smothering a laugh. "Personal."
Rodney glanced at Ronon, who was smirking, and at Teyla, who was doing that thing she did when she wanted to smirk but considered it impolite. Politeness is pretty much a closed book to Rodney, but at least he can recognise it in others. The penny dropped. "Wait, you don't mean -- oh, surely not. I mean, things like that happen on Star Trek with distressing frequency, but surely even in Pegasus that's too weird to --"
"Personal," Sheppard said. I really really want to see his expression here. But I can readily accept that his voice, and his face, are in fact blank and closed.
"We will need to bring our leader here to discuss this," Teyla said.
"We can't ask this of you," Elizabeth said for the fourth time.
For the fourth time, Sheppard answered, "Satellite-based planetwide shielding against the Wraith. Plus a ZPM with about a quarter of a charge on it. Plus a chance for Rodney to pick someone's brain about the obviously Ancient cloaking technology they're using at the bottom of that sacred pool."
"It's completely unreasonable," Elizabeth said. "Surely you could do light housework or factory work or --"
"You think that would be better?" Rodney said. Rodney's horror of manual labour is delightful. I wonder if he still feels the same by the end of the story?
"Come on," Sheppard said. "How bad could it be? Three months as gigolos for a couple of homely Baj women? Sounds like a pretty easy sentence to me. They could have put us in jail."
Elizabeth looked at Rodney.
"It's a little weird, yes, but you heard their conditions. They can't hurt us; we can say no to any particular task we find repugnant. And the rewards are fantastic -- have you looked at these energy readings?"
Elizabeth smoothed her hair in a distracted way. "You're telling me that you would sell your bodies for curiosity, orbital shielding, and a quarter-charged ZPM?"
Rodney and Sheppard looked at each other.
"Well, yeah," Sheppard said. "Who wouldn't?" Adolescent boys! And adorably on the same wavelength. Neither of them can see any problem with this transaction.
Rodney's contract came up for auction first, and there was a brief and flattering 'flattering', oh, Rodney. He still thinks this is fun. two-way bidding war. When the crowd parted, he expected someone elderly and ill-tempered, like the knotwoman, so when he spotted his new employer -- fortyish, small and curvy, with a short cloud of pale curly hair and an ironic twinkle in her eye -- he said the first ill-considered thing that came into his head for a change , which was, "I wouldn't think you needed to pay for sex."
Instead of throwing him back on the second-highest bidder, she winked at him and said, "I pay to get my way and be left alone afterwards." Am entirely with Kellen on this. One of the things I like so much about this story is that the women are so credible, so recognisable. Though the story focusses on Sheppard and McKay, there's a comfortable sense of shared experience between writer and reader: we are that supporting cast. As We Shall See.
"Please tell me you're not a scientist," he said fervently.
"I'm a noble," she said. "We're not allowed to be anything. Kellen lo Saj," she added with the half-bow that they did instead of shaking hands. "Kellen to you unless you piss me off. Shh -- the bidding's starting for your friend."
Sheppard had a leather jacket on, and naturally the bidding went on forever, getting louder and louder, until Kellen got out one of those jellybean PDAs and got involved in some project that she wouldn't let Rodney look at. By the end, there were actual screams, and Sheppard was getting that mildly alarmed look that female attention always brought out. Rodney accepts this as normal and natural behaviour around John, and he definitely knows John well enough to recognise that expression -- though there is no way John didn't see this one coming.
Finally the bidding ended with a ring of a gong and a haughty laugh of triumph, and then the winner stepped forward and Rodney's jaw dropped, because she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in three dimensions. 'in three dimensions' is so telling. I bet Rodney finds porn easier and more convenient.
She was a tall, proud there's something about 'proud' that makes me think of romantic heroines. Compare and contrast with comfortable woman-next-door Kellen. girl with black hair and big blue eyes and the body of a Victoria's Secret model. She looked nineteen or twenty. She was nearly as tall as Sheppard, and when she stepped up beside him, there was a little murmur in the crowd at how well matched they were. Sheppard looked around, like he wasn't sure whether he was more attracted or nervous, I like that there's an element of attraction in there; this is not sekrit!gay!Sheppard (or indeed sekrit!gay!Rodney) but the girl took no notice. Maybe she was used to crowds saying "Ooh" everywhere she went.
"Lija lo Mallor," Kellen said. The venom in her tone surprised him; she'd seemed such an easygoing type. He glanced at her and found her eyes narrowed. "You'll want to keep an eye on your friend. That one's trouble."
But Lija had linked her arm through Sheppard's and was looking up at him with a liquid Bambi gaze. He looked down at her and patted her hand reassuringly.
Rodney was disappointed to find Kellen so subject to female jealousy, but he supposed nobody was perfect. Typical Rodney behaviour: he knows best, his explanation is the only valid one even if it reflects poorly on others.
Stupidly, the Baj apparently hadn't figured out a way to get both vertical and horizontal movement into a single transporter; it took two separate ones to get them to Kellen's apartment, which was large and messy. She waved him to the couch, poked around on her data jellybean, and then opened a little mini-transporter and took out two cups of something hot and tea-like. "OK, let's go over the terms of the contract before it all gets awkward."
It was odd to have everything spelled out in such detail, but repetition took the embarrassment out of it pretty quickly. Turned out he was on the hook for "body services" -- which might mean anything from sex to a foot massage -- up to four nights in a row, unless he was ill or otherwise incapacitated. No escorting Kellen to public events ("Unless you specially like that sort of thing?" "God, no." "Oh, good.") or entertaining her friends. Can't help wondering if there was a similar conversation between John and Lija. This story wouldn't work nearly as well, though, if we got to see into John's head (a dim and shadowy place at the best of times, I suspect) and Rodney does get to fill in the gaps with that keen observation / analysis thing he does. Any other services compensated according to a standard table, payable either in processor time or in trade goods.
"Wait a minute. Other services, what other services?"
"Well, what can you do?" Kellen said. "Can you cook? Type? Hang shelves? Sing? Read aloud? Proofread documents? Sew? Figure out how to extend the battery life on a data device? Wrap New Year gifts?"
"You have a weak battery? See Rodney pick up instantly, without a stutter, on the thing he can help with. Have you checked whether you're charging with clean power?"
"See? Everyone's got skills." And then she stood up, took his mostly-full teacup out of his hand, and led him back to the bedroom for his first performance as a sex slave.
It was -- nice, actually.
Kellen wasn't the dewy-eyed supermodel that Lija was, but she was very far from being hard on the eyes. And she clearly found Rodney reasonably attractive (which proved definitively that his problem really had been his mouth all along); more analysis! I don't think Rodney ever switches his brain off -- though, see later ... he didn't have to win her or impress her.
He'd always hated not knowing what to do, but he'd hated it almost as much being told what to do, because it was unpleasant to have a woman look you in the eye and say, in so many words, "You're really not doing it for me." But when Kellen said, "Easy -- back and forth now, just -- oh, yes, keep doing that for a while --" it was like saying to a barber, "A little shorter on the neck." There was no judgment implied. She was just getting what she'd paid for. I love the easy pragmatism of this, and the way that Rodney's so happy to accept it because of the nature of their arrangement.
He made her come four times. With his fingers, first, and then twice with his mouth, and then she pushed him upright at the head of the bed and sat down on him like an armchair, pulling both of his hands around to her breasts. When she was done, she leaned back, drowning him in the nutmeggy deliciously hooky, immediate sense-impression scent of her hair, and purred out, "You, too, if you like," and he actually laughed, and then she obligingly wiggled her beautiful ass and his long-deferred arousal finally caught up with him in an amazingly lengthy orgasm.
His satisfaction was about half sexual and the other half the clean tired end-of-day pleasure of a job well done. That makes complete sense for Rodney: he takes pride in his work, no matter what it is, and Kellen certainly seems to approve.
I want to add a note about these short interludes: they work so well as spacers between the longer scenes, and often they're where things really happen. Possibly where the changing relationship between John and Rodney happens, at least initially.
When Rodney went back to their shared quarters, the first thing Sheppard said was, "You OK?"
"Yes, having sex for the first time in untold years now, is Rodney being entirely truthful, or is there a bit of dramatic license here? didn't do me any damage," he said, but he was too relaxed to give the question the sarcasm it deserved. "How are you surviving the trauma?"
"Fine," Sheppard said shortly.
Just like Sheppard, Rodney thought drowsily. If he didn't want someone prying into his private business, he should have thought of that before he started playing twenty questions. Well, yeah: Sheppard isn't noted for personal conversation at the best of time, so this is pretty much business as usual at this stage.
Rodney had dire visions of what sort of wardrobe might be provided for a pleasure servant, but when he opened the closet in his room, it turned out that the only difference between these and the clothes he normally wore was that all of these were soft -- not soft like velvet but soft like a favorite sweatshirt two washes before it finally gives out and is reduced to threads. again, comfort. And again, a very precise and easily-appreciated analogy. It might be worth it to work a couple of extra months just for the secret of that technology. See, Rodney still thinks this sex-slave business is easy and fun. And he's still thinking about himself, not about the two of them. /P>
There was no kitchen in their shared quarters, but there were data screens in both bedrooms, and another screen sort of embedded in the arm of one of the chairs, and with a little poking around, Rodney discovered a directory labeled "Termsman/Termswoman Expenses" with a form marked "Order Necessities." Even when he got it narrowed down to edible necessities, he was somewhat hampered by not knowing what anything was called; he supposed that "panga" meant something to Baj the way "egg foo young" meant something to him, but it wasn't very useful for the uninitiated.
He clicked away at it with the stylus, and after about six clicks, the computer yielded to his perfectly reasonable desire for context and provided a sort of glossary.
Twenty minutes after he placed his order, a panel he hadn't noticed slid open -- his own personal transporter-slash-dumbwaiter. Inside was something he'd thought would be like oatmeal but which turned out to be closer to tabbouleh, several kinds of non-citrus fruit, something that looked tantalizingly like waffles but smelled strongly of onions, and some more of those pastries with sausage. It probably said something about his life that this wasn't the strangest breakfast he'd ever had.
That night Kellen taught Rodney an amazing trick with the knuckles of two fingers, which he sincerely hoped would improve his standing among the women of Atlantis when he got back. I don't tend to think of Rodney as a positive thinker, but he's perfectly happy to look on the bright side and regard the whole thing as a learning experience. And the women of Atlantis will, indeed, be very appreciative of his new-found talents. Then he showed her how to program her doors with different levels of security for different identity signatures, which improved his standing with her enough that she gave him an ID that he could use to unlock some technical data on the computer. Quid pro quo! Excellent! Sex for geekery! He went back to quarters at nine eager to share his triumph, but when he found the room empty, he started exploring his new data options and discovered a really fascinatingly wrongheaded approach to experimental energy generation, and spent a long happy Rodney can be happy here. He's doing what he loves -- scientific research -- and getting sex and interesting food and comfortable clothes. evening demolishing it.
When Sheppard ambled in, it was nearly dawn. He was wearing eyeliner, and there was glitter in his hair. As Res says in notes, 'dressing up John Sheppard like a paper doll'. is teh pretteh. Are there illustrations to this fic? Why not?
Next morning, Rodney began exploring the native-sea-life portion of the breakfast menu.
Lija's deal with Sheppard apparently included her picking out his food for him. The dishes she'd chosen were all the same shade of pale green oooh, those dodgy aesthetics again. Actually, this meal reminds me of Michael Moorcock's 'Dancers at the End of Time', where picnics and dinner parties are colour-themed, regardless of flavour. (Also, am beginning to think that Lija actually belongs in a Tanith Lee novel.) : bread, fruit, vegetables, cheese, and something like sorbet only spicy instead of sweet. The servings were small and delicately garnished, and the plates were beautiful and fragile.
When Sheppard had eaten it all, he looked longingly at Rodney's plate until Rodney gave him all the rest of the shrimpy-scallopy things. Which is actually very sweet of him: and Rodney doesn't give his food away lightly.
It wasn't that there was nothing in the databases about the pool on the gate island; there was plenty, but some of it was mythology, and some of it claimed to be history or science but was mythology just the same. Reading between the lines, Rodney gathered that sea level had risen over the years, so that what was now a pool had once been a cave. The cave had been sacred to a now-defunct goddess cult involving fertility, so Rodney suspected there was a spring inside.
Whatever it was, the Baj weren't using it now. "They take you to sit on the steps and dip your feet in the water if you have a long illness," Kellen said with the unconcern of the naturally robust. A hint of jealousy there, as Rodney implicitly puts himself on those steps with his feet in the water. I bet he wonders if it'd help with various ailments. "Otherwise everybody stays away from it. I've always thought it was creepy. You can't see the bottom."
"I'd think you'd be at least a little bit curious," Rodney said. "If it really is a spring down there, it could save you people a lot of trouble."
"If you want to know about it that badly, you could try persuading me to unlock another security level for you," Kellen said.
Rodney gave a small tug to the belt of the robe she always wore when she wanted sex rather than engineering from him. "Your wish is my command."
"Of course it is," she said, grinning. Now, Rodney thinks he just made a witty remark. But Kellen takes it at face value, because of course it's true.
When Sheppard's door was open and his bed was still empty when Rodney got up, Rodney shook his head, and ate breakfast, and sent the dishes back up. When Sheppard still hadn't appeared, Rodney lost himself in an overview of Baj cloaking technology, which he was using to try to sneak up on the mystery of the pool from a different direction.
About ten-thirty, Sheppard staggered in. He was streaked with sweat, his newly cropped hair spiky with it, and he smelled strongly of something that wasn't any smokeable drug Rodney was familiar with but was still definitely a smokeable drug of some sort. Alien-ness again! But nothing here is so alien that Rodney can't work it out. (And perhaps nothing in any human society ... ) Also, eeek! That Woman has cut John's hair!
"Dance contest," he said, and collapsed on the curving couch with his head on Rodney's lap. This is where the story really starts: this is where the wrongness begins. And it's so subtly thrown in (though expanded in the next section) that you might not notice it.
"You have got to be kidding me," Rodney said, but Sheppard had fallen asleep.
Sheppard was not a toucher, even within the very narrow limits accepted for military guys. The backslap, the shoulder squeeze, even the occasional hug to celebrate cheating death, were all acceptable by the code of movie Westerns that he'd apparently memorized, but he himself had a force field around him.
So at first Rodney assumed that Sheppard had used him as a pillow by accident, or hadn't noticed he was doing it.
But here he would sling an arm around Rodney's neck, or choose the terminal next to his so their knees touched.
Evidently being a slave had a certain relaxing influence. Rodney's vaunted analytic skills don't extend to people, of course. He's labelled John's behaviour 'relaxation' and thinks no more of it. For now.
Sheppard got more and more silent as the days went on. Lija had given him a wardrobe completely in black, which suited him pretty well, except that they were all cut like something out of Sigfried and Roy.
She also pierced both his ears, probably with a rusty needle, There's Rodney's very real concern for matters of hygiene, applied to somebody else for a change. though Sheppard wouldn't give any details. Anyway, the lobes stayed swollen and red for days, until Rodney asked Kellen for some ointment, which made her mouth go tight. "Lija," she said, and wouldn't say anything else.
"I don't have enough hands," Sheppard said later; he was holding a silver mirror in one hand, and with the other hand he appeared to be trying to put ointment on his earlobes without actually touching his earlobes.
"Don't, stop, stop, you're wasting it. It's all going to wind up in your hair." Rodney took the tube out of his hand -- Healio, it said, with a picture of a smiling animal with a big ragged scab where one eye should be Gross, but in a cheerful way: very Baj! -- and began dabbing the stuff on. "Why didn't you stop her?"
"Have you tried saying no to anything yet?"
"What do you mean, tried? They're not supposed to punish you; if they don't honor your request, you can issue a complaint."
"She doesn't refuse. She pouts." Sheppard's skin was hot, and taut with swelling, and didn't really feel like an ear at all, and Sheppard sighed, "Ahh," and closed his eyes as the cool stuff touched it.
"Jesus, does she want you to die of blood poisoning or something? Do we even know what's in these stupid earrings? Other side, come on, there's no time to lose before the infection goes straight to your heart."
When Rodney went to put the cap back on the tube, Sheppard put his hand on Rodney's wrist. "Rodney," he said, "thanks," with his eyes all crinkled, and Rodney said, "Oh, well, it's no trouble. I'm sure you'd do the same for me if you happened to notice before I died of gangrene," because it was only just occurring to him that you never saw Sheppard smile, here. This is a pivotal moment: Rodney's doing fine, perfectly content with his lot, so it's taken him a while to notice that not only is Lija doing Terrible Things like haircuts, ear-piercing etc, but that John is not enjoying himself.
After a while, Lija got bored with choosing fancy meals for Sheppard, and after that it was the same thing at every meal: some slices of roasted meat with a spicy chutney sort of sauce, cooked vegetables, a breadlike thing that resembled a soft pretzel coiled into a figure eight, and a fruit salad.
"Here, trade with me," Rodney said. "You must be getting bored."
"I'm military, McKay," Boredom, and stoicism, are par for the course. And here's Rodney sharing his food again ... Sheppard said, but he took Rodney's plate of white fish and spicy greens awfully fast.
The shared quarters were pretty sizeable -- a nice sitting room with their bedrooms opening off either side -- but at first Rodney had been worried that he'd have trouble getting any work done with Sheppard always hanging around. As it turned out, though, he had the whole place to himself a lot of the time; Lija liked to take Sheppard clubbing, and he'd stagger home at midmorning and sleep for most of the day.
And occasionally she would dismiss him, and he would arrive in quarters to find that she'd left a message demanding that he come back up to give her one more goodnight kiss.
"It's like having a really high-maintenance girlfriend," Rodney said.
"More like being a show poodle," Sheppard said, unhooking a chain of tiny bells from his left ear hoop.
Rodney wasn't homesick. He didn't really miss Atlantis here, any more than he'd missed Earth while he was on Atlantis. Occasionally he'd get a craving for some food or music that he couldn't get here, but between Kellen's assignments and his own research into the cloak in the pool, he had enough interesting problems to occupy his mind. He was a little ashamed of how rarely he thought about his other life. See? Only 'a little' ashamed. He likes his new cage! And it's new and different and intellectually stimulating enough to keep him occupied rather than bar-rattling.
Nothing here was urgent or dangerous, which made it kind of boring Irony, irony. or maybe Rodney's getting to like missions and danger and the active life. compared to life with the SGC. But regular sex made up for a lot. Well, Rodney, keep thinking about how you could barter something for regular sex back in Atlantis ...
One morning Sheppard arrived at the same time breakfast did, shouldering past Rodney so fast that he tilted the tray and sent half the little yellow berries flying. He didn't turn at Rodney's exclamation, just grabbed the juice pitcher and drained it.
"Among the civilized worlds, we have a device called a drinking glass," and then Rodney fell silent, because the petal-like sleeves of Sheppard's shirt had fallen back and Rodney had gotten a glimpse of his rope-burned wrists. Right, that's what it takes to shut Rodney up, at least for a moment: a real, physical problem, something he can't ignore or write off as his own misinterpretation. "What in God's name has she done to you?"
Sheppard didn't answer, too busy refilling the pitcher with the stale water that came from the tap and draining it again. The other wrist was even worse, and Rodney could see a suspicious streak of shadow under his adam's apple.
"Sheppard. What the hell did she do to you?" The shirt was made of a slick dark fabric that wouldn't have shown blood even if it had been dripping with it, and Rodney was reluctant to find out by touching him and seeing if he screamed.
"I'm fine," Sheppard said. He wiped his mouth and chin sloppily with his hand. He was panting a little from drinking so fast.
"Show me your back."
Sheppard's hand made a quick gesture toward the hem of his shirt and then went still again. "She didn't flog me, McKay. She just sort of forgot about me."
"How do you get your wrists rubbed raw just from being forgotten?"
"It was the way she -- look, just, it's not important."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "If it breaks the skin, it's important."
"She had me all, you know, tied up," and it was amazing that after all this time of being an honest-to-god sex slave, Sheppard still seemed to find this stuff embarrassing to talk about, oh, John. You are so not good at this talking thing. And note, implicitly, that Rodney would be just fine talking about what he does with Kellen, if only he had anyone to tell. "and then she got a call and went in the other room with it, and then she and whoever she was talking to started arguing about some band OMG I understand now: Sheppard has been bought by a fangirl ...(Look, I know lots of people who would treat him much better and buy Rodney too and play action-figure p0...) -- look, it was stupid, it doesn't matter."
"And you didn't scream bloody murder?" Rodney bent down and tugged on the loose leg of Sheppard's pants. There were bruises and scrapes around his hairy ankle, too.
"Oh, god, no," Sheppard said. "If I talk back, she gets all upset. Sometimes she cries." He shrugged. "Anyhow, she remembered me, eventually."
Rodney thought about those two pitchers, but he didn't say anything. Lija wasn't the only one who knew how to punish people for talking back. Sheppard has power over Rodney in that sense: and Rodney knows it. How long's that been the case? Just since they got to Ara lo Bajo? Or before? "This girl ought to buy stock in Healio," he said instead.
The tube had gotten shoved into a handy little compartment under the lid of one of the end tables, along with napkins and pencils and anything else small and frequently used; Rodney made a triumphant noise and straightened up, ready to hand it to Sheppard, but Sheppard was holding out both wrists.
The damage wasn't that awful, but it would be uncomfortable for a couple of days, and he really hoped Lija wouldn't be in the mood for any more bondage before it healed. "Serve her right if she breaks you," he said bitterly, turning Sheppard's hand over so he could spread ointment over the inside of his wrist. "Then she won't have anybody to play with."
"I'm pretty sure she could afford to replace me," Sheppard said. 'My name is John Sheppard and I am a commodity.'
As a noble, Kellen's official role was to set an example of honorable life for the masses. "If the programmers in the capital and the seaweed farmers in the provinces find any inspiration in my example, then they must be very easily inspired," she said.
Unofficially she had long since gotten bored with leading a lovely life and now focused instead on trying to systematize the records of the noble quarter -- including what had until recently been the most extensive library in the city and the records of many nobles who practiced various kinds of amateur science. This put her in the ideal position to aid in Rodney's research, and also to commiserate with his complaints as to the miserable state of the recordkeeping; there was a certain bond, Rodney found, that formed when two people spent a lot of time beating their heads against the same brick wall.
"Look -- 45,924 results found, how nice. Have you people never heard of Boolean searches?" Well, I bet they've never heard of George Boole! But again, Rodney is happy to trade -- no, here, he's sharing knowledge for its own sake (though does get rewarded later). He'd been speaking sarcastically, as usual, but the look on Kellen's face told him that she actually hadn't.
He coached her until well after midnight and left her heavy-eyed and wired, sighing, "I never expected you to make me this happy with my clothes on." The 'heavy-eyed' and 'sighing' indicate to me that Rodney and Kellen would make a delightful couple: Rodney needs his intellectual stimulation, and Kellen can at least provoke it. He's getting as much out of this as she is, and he's getting something he needs. And it's not something that John can offer, at least within the scope of this fic.
One morning no alert appeared when Sheppard touched his terminal. "Damn," he said.
Rodney tried to look over his shoulder. "What?"
"Nothing." He blocked Rodney's view with his body, then sighed and gave up. Resistance is futile, John. Though maybe he's starting to realise that Rodney is his only ally. "It's just, she didn't order my food."
"So call her and remind her --"
"No, on purpose," and now he sounded irritated with Rodney. I can hear the indignation, which Rodney resents like mad of course. Except, not as much as you'd think.
"Man," Rodney said. "What did you do, eat all her snacks?"
"Just didn't measure up, I guess." Is John harbouring some deep dark inadequacy here? I wonder what he really did to upset Lija. Probably nothing; possibly just Typical Bloke Behaviour; but maybe not.
Rodney couldn't get any more out of him. "Here," he said, "pick something off my card; I don't think Kellen has any limits on me, or I would have heard about them on the day of the seven cheeses. I am really identifying with Rodney in this fic. CHEEEESE. And I love the way that's thrown in as an aside, and it's perfectly clear what happened but since the detail isn't relevant it doesn't get expanded. Or is Lija going to beat you or something if you don't show up with a lean and hungry look?"
"Can't beat us; it's against the rules," Sheppard said. "Anyhow, I doubt she'll care."
There was no alert for lunch, and none for dinner, and none the next morning, and after a while it became obvious that either Lija was intentionally starving Sheppard to death or she just didn't care.
If they were both in quarters when a meal came, Rodney would just let Sheppard order from his menu, but there were days when they hardly saw each other awake. It gnawed at Rodney, the idea that Sheppard might be back there hungry while Rodney was absorbing an alien approach to the problems of relativity or rubbing scented lotion into Kellen's freckled back.
After a day or so in which the worry reduced his concentration to barely above average, it occurred to him that he could order things that didn't sound perishable and leave them for Sheppard to eat later. He spent a really stupid amount of attention noticing what Sheppard ate and what he ignored. What this reminds me of is the 'growing interest' that is so different from Philippa Somerville's notions of Romantic Lurve. Of course (as Rodney would argue) it's pure pragmatism: can't let team leader starve to death on alien planet; must make sure he does not accidentally starve because he doesn't like what he's given. But this is where Rodney's annoyance at himself (a stupid amount of attention) comes back, and perhaps that's because he's aware that his interest is disproportionate to the problem.
Kellen noticed eventually, of course. "Rodney, not even you can eat this much. Are you hoarding? Because I promise you can trust us."
"I don't even know what to take offense at first, the accusation of hoarding or the 'not even you.' " He should have known she'd be monitoring what he ordered. It was worse than working for the military and having to sign a requisition form every time you wanted a ballpoint pen. "Anyway, half of it's for Sheppard."
She frowned. "His meals are supposed to come out of Lija's account."
"Yeah, well, he broke his crayons or something and she stopped feeding him. And I don't know about the Baj," he went on, talking faster as her frown deepened, "but we have to eat to live." Eerie echo of Wraith there.
"How long ago?"
It dawned on him that she was angry, but not at him. He counted back. "Six -- no, seven days ago. He wouldn't tell me what he did wrong."
"It doesn't matter." She was loudly hitting the buttons on the keyboard. "Twenty-two meals missed, and before that the same meal for a fiveday, and before that doll food. I wouldn't trust that child with a fish in a tank," she said, still tapping keys. "There, he's got free choice now, like a normal person. He can be on my account for the rest of his term. I'm requesting a Council investigation, too, but don't hold your breath; those things drag on forever."
"Oh, hey, Kellen got you mess privileges again," Rodney told Sheppard when he saw him next morning.
Sheppard stiffened. "Tell her thanks," he said without expression.
"What?"
"When Lija hears about it --"
"Sheppard, is she some kind of evil abuser?"
"No."
"Sheppard." Rodney's much happier about pushing Sheppard to talk now than he was earlier, when he backed off because Sheppard could punish him by going quiet.
"She'll say it's proof that I don't trust her."
"I'd say not trusting her is the reasonable default position at this point, considering that she -- Tell me she's not going to beat you."
"She's not going to beat me. She's going to sulk. And then I have to knock myself out proving that, yes, I really do trust her --" This was the point at which I started to wonder how much of the problem is Lija, and how much is Sheppard's attitude towards her. If this story had been written post-'Outcast', I wonder if there'd have been an explicit comparison made (either by John or by Rodney; probably the latter) between Lija and John's ex-wife Nancy. He was slowing down as he took in Rodney's expression. "It's not like that with Kellen?"
"I'm pretty sure Kellen understands that she hasn't bought my trust."
"Lija thinks she's bought my soul."
Having had this conversation seemed to loosen Sheppard's lips on the subject of Lija. Over the next few days, Rodney learned:
That the Baj had a dance called the Rose and the Briar, which required eye contact and wreaked havoc on the lower back because of all the lifting;
That Lija liked pet names and elaborate compliments, and had pouted about Sheppard's not bringing her gifts until he'd pointed out that he had no income, and had then set him up with a little salary and taken away his pillow as punishment for talking back;
That Sheppard's refractory period was a source of frequent conflict between them, especially on the occasions when she brought a friend. This shouldn't amuse me, but it does. I mean, he's well past his prime in sex-slave terms. It must be quite ... exhausting.
"Jesus," Rodney said. "Your life is always either a porn film or a horror movie, isn't it? Rodney, Rodney. There is nothing that can't be said as long as you dispense with tedious notions of tact and propriety. Has she offered to pierce anything else of yours?" He eyed Sheppard's filmy black shirt, but neither nipples nor navel seemed to have any unexpected bulges.
Sheppard shuddered. "No, but I'm glad I wasn't born in Europe."
The Boolean search episode had resulted in Rodney getting the equivalent of top-secret security clearance. This had unlocked a fascinating array of documents at which he was fairly certain no Baj ever really looked closely, including a set of satellite images of all the islands, some photographic and some infrared and some that looked like MRIs. He spent hours zooming in close and looking inside the gate island, which was riddled with caves. So when Sheppard slouched home in the late morning hours, at first Rodney didn't notice anything was different.
After a while the silence got to him, and he looked over and found Sheppard ignoring his breakfast and staring blankly at the wall.
"Have a good night?" Rodney said -- small talk got really weird when your day job was being a sex slave.
"Oh, raped a girl," Sheppard said. "How about you?" His voice and face were no different than if he'd been saying he'd gone dancing, but they hardened at Rodney's silence. "You're not even surprised, are you? Just about what you expected." Oh, John. You really don't know Rodney that well: or, no, you're really about to fall to pieces.
"No, Sheppard, people say things like that to me every day. I know exactly how to react," Rodney snapped. This is so perfectly Rodney: defensive, pragmatic, inwardly flailing because he doesn't know what to say. Though this is more extreme than most such situations, and probably not covered in any socialisation guide.
Sheppard pulled up his knees and laid his face down on them. "Sorry." Sheppard never apologises. He's very close to breaking point here.
There was a long silence, and then Rodney said, "What on earth are you talking about?" in a much gentler voice than he usually used with those words. He's learning to be gentle with John (though he will forget it later).
"Lija brought a friend, and the friend brought her own -- what do they call them? Termswoman?" There was a lot of venom in the word. "Lija and Taya decided they wanted us to put on a show for them, and when Taya's girl didn't show the proper enthusiasm, they trussed her up. Lija's bed is good for tying people to." He turned his head to one side. "She was crying. I said no. There's something so succinct and .. selfless, I suppose, about that summary. I don't mean unselfishness, but John doesn't make anything of it, though you can just bet he was pretty riled. It's an objective summary, like a mission report, shorn of emotion. Taya called in her other termsman, who's bigger than Ronon and missing some teeth, and Lija said me or him."
"Christ," Rodney said. "That has got to be against the law. How is that not against the law?"
"It's in her contract," John said dully.
Rodney went to put his hand on Sheppard's shoulder and then stopped, because there ought to be one room where he could be sure no one would touch him against his will, and then started again because the last thing he wanted was for Sheppard to think Rodney considered him too filthy to touch, and while Rodney hesitated, Sheppard made a harsh noise and fell against Rodney's chest. The furiously rapid thought process there is so poignant.
When Rodney's hands came down on the back of his clammy shirt, Sheppard's trembling became more pronounced, but he was clinging hard, one hand clutching Rodney's arm and the other with a fistful of his shirt.
He hung on for a long time. By the time his breathing evened out, Rodney's spine was beginning to protest being curled over, but when he began to straighten up, he realized Sheppard was asleep. Thinking regretfully of the research he'd left half done, Rodney tipped them both over to lie on the couch, arranging them as well as he could manage, Sheppard's hot forehead pressed against his neck, his hand stroking the back of Sheppard's hair.
part 2 of 3
Author: resonant8
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Commentator: viva_gloria
Original story, without commentary, can be found here.
This is part 1 of 3: part 2, part 3
my comments throughout are in this font ...
Rodney stepped through the gate and stopped short Hooked! what can they see that's so surprising? , so that Teyla jostled behind him, making a questioning noise. He walked forward absently, unable to take his eyes off the view from across the water. Beside him, Sheppard stared.
Jesus, a skyline. And not a dead one like on Sateda, either. Lights were going on and off over there on the other island. There was a small aircraft taking off and two more landing. And since this island was barely big enough for the gate, and deserted except for the Atlantis contingent, that trainlike thing Alien territory: it's not quite a train; it's not quite right. that was on its way across the bridge was undoubtedly coming to meet the four of them.
"Doesn't look like they've been culled recently," Ronon said in an awestruck voice.
"Or, actually, ever," Rodney said. He looked stupidly up at the sky for a second, and then did what he should have done in the first place: got out his data pad and checked the energy readings. "The readings are consistent with the sort of shielding we have in the jumpers, but at a much greater distance." Shielding! No wonder Rodney's excited, his curiosity piqued.
"Teyla, were the Athosians in contact with these folks?" Sheppard said.
"Not for many years," Teyla said. "The Baj came to this planet from Atlantis many generations ago. They are said to be technologically advanced and quite friendly, and their society is generally very informal. But this island is the subject of many taboos. We must be careful." But nobody ever pays attention to Teyla's warnings. To their cost.
Rodney looked across the water at the skyline. There were other cities dimly visible on other islands. "For a chance at whatever's keeping the Wraith away from a population this size, I'll follow any superstition they hand me."
The gate sat on the edge of a huge circular plaza of white brick, dazzling in the afternoon sun, with a pattern of small indentations all along the rim. The train thing, which was rounded and shiny and a rather tasteless shade of green Rodney never really buys into the Baj aesthetic. , stopped at the opposite side of the plaza, letting out three people in pants and flowing tops. Only one of them was armed in any obvious way; Rodney took that as a good sign.
Teyla went straight to an older woman who had an elaborately knotted cord around her neck -- some sign of leadership, maybe, the local equivalent of a crown -- and started giving the standard speech. Rodney listened for a bit, but he'd heard it a million times. Peaceful intentions, trade and share information, blah blah blah. He wanted another look at the energy signature of the shield.
He pulled out the data pad, trying to be subtle about it for about fifteen seconds and then forgetting all about that, because he was beginning to formulate the very interesting hypothesis that the shield was outside the atmosphere, which would be amazing.
There were also some very interesting, and possibly not unrelated, energy readings coming from the other side of the gate.
"But before we discuss details, you have a claim on our hospitality." The woman with the rope -- whose title, creatively enough, seemed to be "knotwoman" -- took a thing that looked like a giant blue jelly bean More alien weirdness, and Rodney instinctively, unfussily working out the functionality. out of her pocket, slid the two halves aside, and revealed something that was obviously some kind of communication device. A few minutes later, another train car arrived, this one magenta and full of people carrying boxes. They started setting up tables and spread out food and drink, right there in the plaza. Tables, but no chairs; apparently it was cocktail-party time on Ara lo Bajo.
Rodney put the pad away willingly enough. He wanted to get a taste of the things that looked like sausage in pastry. Life was a matter of priorities. Oh, Rodney. Don't ever change. (And it's not as though he's ignoring the energy readings or the possibility of extra-atmospheric shielding. But a man must eat.
The sun was hot. The food was salty. All the drinks were heavily sweetened. Which, once we work out what they lack, is actually quite odd. Unless the natives have adjusted to the situation? Or are they trying to throw their visitors? He turned to the nearest native with a tray and said, "Excuse me, but could I just get a glass of water?"
There was the kind of sudden hush that you got in Westerns when the stranger walked into the saloon. Lovely image!
Rodney and Sheppard exchanged a glance. The knotwoman made an impatient gesture, and one of the tray-bearing people went away in a hurry.
He came back with a tray, bearing a saucer, bearing a very fancy vessel of water the size of an espresso cup.
"Uh-oh," Rodney said.
"Your planet short of water?" Ronon asked. Ronon doesn't get much of a part in this fic: I think this may be the only time he speaks. But as ever, he's succinct and straightforward and gets right to the point -- says what nobody else is saying.
The knotwoman gestured at the sea. "As you see, we are surrounded by it," she said. "But our supply of potable water is limited, yes." Right, so there's something the Lanteans can offer ...
The water in the cup was dreadful, sulfurous stuff, but Rodney finished every drop while the serving guy watched thirstily. 'thirstily' is ... perfect.
Teyla took the opportunity to shift attention away from Rodney's faux pas and restart the negotiations at the same time: "We have an ample supply of fresh water, as well as the technology to remove minerals from seawater. Perhaps we might offer that for trade."
The knotwoman was probably a very good poker player, because she acted as though Teyla had offered secondhand tires. Which analogy would bemuse Teyla more than anyone. But yes, this is all about trade. And the price of things. "Perhaps," she said. "And what are you seeking in return?"
From over here, Rodney could see that Ronon was half keeping an eye on Teyla and half focusing on a native woman with long red braids who was running her hand up his forearm; Rodney couldn't tell whether he was trying to encourage her or discourage her, but he certainly wasn't participating in the trade effort. Most of the natives weren't paying any attention to the negotiations, either, but just wandering around, chatting, eating, looking at the scenery. When one of them got out his own jellybean thing and started writing on the screen with a stylus, Rodney took that as permission to get his data pad out again.
"What are you doing?" Sheppard looked over his shoulder.
"Sh. Trying to get more information. There's a strange energy reading on the other side of the gate."
"Strange how?"
"Strange like a cloak."
Sheppard's eyes lit up. Anything worth cloaking was worth looking at. It's almost Pavlovian :) "Think Teyla'd mind if we checked it out a little?"
Possible cloak. But: Love Rodney's internal argument here: I can practically see him gesturing, weighing. heavy taboos. But: possible cloak. "I don't know," Rodney said. "Maybe we should ask her first."
They both looked over at Teyla, who was smiling a wide smile and waving her hands in the air. "Wouldn't want to interrupt her," Sheppard said. They do bring out the adolescent boy in one another, making excuses and getting up to no good. "We'll just walk a little bit over there and see what we can find out." When Rodney still hesitated, he said, "Come on, Rodney. It'll be fine," and Rodney, whose objections had never really been a match for his curiosity, gave in.
On the other side of the gate they found a deep pool, perfectly round and bigger than the gate itself, with concentric circles that looked like stairs descending into the greenish water. "Doesn't look too important," Rodney said. "Unless that's fresh water."
Sheppard dipped his fingers in the water and stuck them in his mouth. Rodney winced at the thought of the molds and other microorganisms that probably lived and excreted there. Perfect illustration of reckless Sheppard and cautious McKay. Rodney's horror of the insanitary will be revisited later. "Nope," Sheppard said.
The zeta waves were like nothing Rodney had ever seen before, and the source was inside the pool. "And I swear it looks like a cloak," he said to Sheppard. "I can't imagine the energy it's expending to keep up a cloak under the water --"
Between one word and the next, they were surrounded by grave-looking natives.
"Uh-oh," Sheppard said.
The knotwoman glared at both of them, and now four of the people flanking her had gotten weapons from someplace. "You said your team was aware of the sacredness of this place," she spat at Teyla.
"Wait, I never touched the stuff!" Rodney said. "Sheppard's the one who has no sense of hygiene." Rodney's always got a defence, even if it has nothing to do with the offence of which they're being accused. Also, see above re adolescent boys: "It wasn't me! It was him!"
"By setting foot in this area, you have violated our rules," the knotwoman said. "This trespass may not go unpunished."
"Uh, we didn't really mean to trespass," Sheppard said with the smarmy apparent dishonesty oh, that's very well-observed. He does have that easy-going smooth conman style when he's earnest. that he always got when he was most sincere. "Maybe you should put up a sign or something, a rope --"
"I fear that this offense makes trade between our peoples impossible," the knotwoman said. "I regret to relinquish the water-treatment technology, and I know you were eager to trade for the orbital shielding and the energy device, but such a severe violation of --"
"Orbital shielding?" Sheppard said, just as Rodney said, "Energy device?"
" -- must necessarily invalidate all our previous agreements --"
"I understand your anger," Teyla said, shooting Rodney and Sheppard a look that said that, yes, she understood it very well, If they're adolescent boys, Teyla is Mom. Or, no, she's the teacher who has the misfortune to have these two in her class. "but we are most eager to trade with you. Surely there is some way of making amends? What punishment is meted out when your own people commit such a trespass?"
"Our penalty for such an offense would be a term of service," the knotwoman said. "One hundred days as the personal servant of one of our people."
"We could do that," Sheppard said.
"What? Doing what? Breaking rocks? Working in the mines?"
There were chuckles among the Baj. "The service is of a more ... personal nature," the knotwoman said.
"What? Cleaning? Cooking? Oh, god, please tell me it's not childcare --"
"Oh," Sheppard said in a voice that sounded like he was smothering a laugh. "Personal."
Rodney glanced at Ronon, who was smirking, and at Teyla, who was doing that thing she did when she wanted to smirk but considered it impolite. Politeness is pretty much a closed book to Rodney, but at least he can recognise it in others. The penny dropped. "Wait, you don't mean -- oh, surely not. I mean, things like that happen on Star Trek with distressing frequency, but surely even in Pegasus that's too weird to --"
"Personal," Sheppard said. I really really want to see his expression here. But I can readily accept that his voice, and his face, are in fact blank and closed.
"We will need to bring our leader here to discuss this," Teyla said.
"We can't ask this of you," Elizabeth said for the fourth time.
For the fourth time, Sheppard answered, "Satellite-based planetwide shielding against the Wraith. Plus a ZPM with about a quarter of a charge on it. Plus a chance for Rodney to pick someone's brain about the obviously Ancient cloaking technology they're using at the bottom of that sacred pool."
"It's completely unreasonable," Elizabeth said. "Surely you could do light housework or factory work or --"
"You think that would be better?" Rodney said. Rodney's horror of manual labour is delightful. I wonder if he still feels the same by the end of the story?
"Come on," Sheppard said. "How bad could it be? Three months as gigolos for a couple of homely Baj women? Sounds like a pretty easy sentence to me. They could have put us in jail."
Elizabeth looked at Rodney.
"It's a little weird, yes, but you heard their conditions. They can't hurt us; we can say no to any particular task we find repugnant. And the rewards are fantastic -- have you looked at these energy readings?"
Elizabeth smoothed her hair in a distracted way. "You're telling me that you would sell your bodies for curiosity, orbital shielding, and a quarter-charged ZPM?"
Rodney and Sheppard looked at each other.
"Well, yeah," Sheppard said. "Who wouldn't?" Adolescent boys! And adorably on the same wavelength. Neither of them can see any problem with this transaction.
Rodney's contract came up for auction first, and there was a brief and flattering 'flattering', oh, Rodney. He still thinks this is fun. two-way bidding war. When the crowd parted, he expected someone elderly and ill-tempered, like the knotwoman, so when he spotted his new employer -- fortyish, small and curvy, with a short cloud of pale curly hair and an ironic twinkle in her eye -- he said the first ill-considered thing that came into his head for a change , which was, "I wouldn't think you needed to pay for sex."
Instead of throwing him back on the second-highest bidder, she winked at him and said, "I pay to get my way and be left alone afterwards." Am entirely with Kellen on this. One of the things I like so much about this story is that the women are so credible, so recognisable. Though the story focusses on Sheppard and McKay, there's a comfortable sense of shared experience between writer and reader: we are that supporting cast. As We Shall See.
"Please tell me you're not a scientist," he said fervently.
"I'm a noble," she said. "We're not allowed to be anything. Kellen lo Saj," she added with the half-bow that they did instead of shaking hands. "Kellen to you unless you piss me off. Shh -- the bidding's starting for your friend."
Sheppard had a leather jacket on, and naturally the bidding went on forever, getting louder and louder, until Kellen got out one of those jellybean PDAs and got involved in some project that she wouldn't let Rodney look at. By the end, there were actual screams, and Sheppard was getting that mildly alarmed look that female attention always brought out. Rodney accepts this as normal and natural behaviour around John, and he definitely knows John well enough to recognise that expression -- though there is no way John didn't see this one coming.
Finally the bidding ended with a ring of a gong and a haughty laugh of triumph, and then the winner stepped forward and Rodney's jaw dropped, because she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in three dimensions. 'in three dimensions' is so telling. I bet Rodney finds porn easier and more convenient.
She was a tall, proud there's something about 'proud' that makes me think of romantic heroines. Compare and contrast with comfortable woman-next-door Kellen. girl with black hair and big blue eyes and the body of a Victoria's Secret model. She looked nineteen or twenty. She was nearly as tall as Sheppard, and when she stepped up beside him, there was a little murmur in the crowd at how well matched they were. Sheppard looked around, like he wasn't sure whether he was more attracted or nervous, I like that there's an element of attraction in there; this is not sekrit!gay!Sheppard (or indeed sekrit!gay!Rodney) but the girl took no notice. Maybe she was used to crowds saying "Ooh" everywhere she went.
"Lija lo Mallor," Kellen said. The venom in her tone surprised him; she'd seemed such an easygoing type. He glanced at her and found her eyes narrowed. "You'll want to keep an eye on your friend. That one's trouble."
But Lija had linked her arm through Sheppard's and was looking up at him with a liquid Bambi gaze. He looked down at her and patted her hand reassuringly.
Rodney was disappointed to find Kellen so subject to female jealousy, but he supposed nobody was perfect. Typical Rodney behaviour: he knows best, his explanation is the only valid one even if it reflects poorly on others.
Stupidly, the Baj apparently hadn't figured out a way to get both vertical and horizontal movement into a single transporter; it took two separate ones to get them to Kellen's apartment, which was large and messy. She waved him to the couch, poked around on her data jellybean, and then opened a little mini-transporter and took out two cups of something hot and tea-like. "OK, let's go over the terms of the contract before it all gets awkward."
It was odd to have everything spelled out in such detail, but repetition took the embarrassment out of it pretty quickly. Turned out he was on the hook for "body services" -- which might mean anything from sex to a foot massage -- up to four nights in a row, unless he was ill or otherwise incapacitated. No escorting Kellen to public events ("Unless you specially like that sort of thing?" "God, no." "Oh, good.") or entertaining her friends. Can't help wondering if there was a similar conversation between John and Lija. This story wouldn't work nearly as well, though, if we got to see into John's head (a dim and shadowy place at the best of times, I suspect) and Rodney does get to fill in the gaps with that keen observation / analysis thing he does. Any other services compensated according to a standard table, payable either in processor time or in trade goods.
"Wait a minute. Other services, what other services?"
"Well, what can you do?" Kellen said. "Can you cook? Type? Hang shelves? Sing? Read aloud? Proofread documents? Sew? Figure out how to extend the battery life on a data device? Wrap New Year gifts?"
"You have a weak battery? See Rodney pick up instantly, without a stutter, on the thing he can help with. Have you checked whether you're charging with clean power?"
"See? Everyone's got skills." And then she stood up, took his mostly-full teacup out of his hand, and led him back to the bedroom for his first performance as a sex slave.
It was -- nice, actually.
Kellen wasn't the dewy-eyed supermodel that Lija was, but she was very far from being hard on the eyes. And she clearly found Rodney reasonably attractive (which proved definitively that his problem really had been his mouth all along); more analysis! I don't think Rodney ever switches his brain off -- though, see later ... he didn't have to win her or impress her.
He'd always hated not knowing what to do, but he'd hated it almost as much being told what to do, because it was unpleasant to have a woman look you in the eye and say, in so many words, "You're really not doing it for me." But when Kellen said, "Easy -- back and forth now, just -- oh, yes, keep doing that for a while --" it was like saying to a barber, "A little shorter on the neck." There was no judgment implied. She was just getting what she'd paid for. I love the easy pragmatism of this, and the way that Rodney's so happy to accept it because of the nature of their arrangement.
He made her come four times. With his fingers, first, and then twice with his mouth, and then she pushed him upright at the head of the bed and sat down on him like an armchair, pulling both of his hands around to her breasts. When she was done, she leaned back, drowning him in the nutmeggy deliciously hooky, immediate sense-impression scent of her hair, and purred out, "You, too, if you like," and he actually laughed, and then she obligingly wiggled her beautiful ass and his long-deferred arousal finally caught up with him in an amazingly lengthy orgasm.
His satisfaction was about half sexual and the other half the clean tired end-of-day pleasure of a job well done. That makes complete sense for Rodney: he takes pride in his work, no matter what it is, and Kellen certainly seems to approve.
I want to add a note about these short interludes: they work so well as spacers between the longer scenes, and often they're where things really happen. Possibly where the changing relationship between John and Rodney happens, at least initially.
When Rodney went back to their shared quarters, the first thing Sheppard said was, "You OK?"
"Yes, having sex for the first time in untold years now, is Rodney being entirely truthful, or is there a bit of dramatic license here? didn't do me any damage," he said, but he was too relaxed to give the question the sarcasm it deserved. "How are you surviving the trauma?"
"Fine," Sheppard said shortly.
Just like Sheppard, Rodney thought drowsily. If he didn't want someone prying into his private business, he should have thought of that before he started playing twenty questions. Well, yeah: Sheppard isn't noted for personal conversation at the best of time, so this is pretty much business as usual at this stage.
Rodney had dire visions of what sort of wardrobe might be provided for a pleasure servant, but when he opened the closet in his room, it turned out that the only difference between these and the clothes he normally wore was that all of these were soft -- not soft like velvet but soft like a favorite sweatshirt two washes before it finally gives out and is reduced to threads. again, comfort. And again, a very precise and easily-appreciated analogy. It might be worth it to work a couple of extra months just for the secret of that technology. See, Rodney still thinks this sex-slave business is easy and fun. And he's still thinking about himself, not about the two of them. /P>
There was no kitchen in their shared quarters, but there were data screens in both bedrooms, and another screen sort of embedded in the arm of one of the chairs, and with a little poking around, Rodney discovered a directory labeled "Termsman/Termswoman Expenses" with a form marked "Order Necessities." Even when he got it narrowed down to edible necessities, he was somewhat hampered by not knowing what anything was called; he supposed that "panga" meant something to Baj the way "egg foo young" meant something to him, but it wasn't very useful for the uninitiated.
He clicked away at it with the stylus, and after about six clicks, the computer yielded to his perfectly reasonable desire for context and provided a sort of glossary.
Twenty minutes after he placed his order, a panel he hadn't noticed slid open -- his own personal transporter-slash-dumbwaiter. Inside was something he'd thought would be like oatmeal but which turned out to be closer to tabbouleh, several kinds of non-citrus fruit, something that looked tantalizingly like waffles but smelled strongly of onions, and some more of those pastries with sausage. It probably said something about his life that this wasn't the strangest breakfast he'd ever had.
That night Kellen taught Rodney an amazing trick with the knuckles of two fingers, which he sincerely hoped would improve his standing among the women of Atlantis when he got back. I don't tend to think of Rodney as a positive thinker, but he's perfectly happy to look on the bright side and regard the whole thing as a learning experience. And the women of Atlantis will, indeed, be very appreciative of his new-found talents. Then he showed her how to program her doors with different levels of security for different identity signatures, which improved his standing with her enough that she gave him an ID that he could use to unlock some technical data on the computer. Quid pro quo! Excellent! Sex for geekery! He went back to quarters at nine eager to share his triumph, but when he found the room empty, he started exploring his new data options and discovered a really fascinatingly wrongheaded approach to experimental energy generation, and spent a long happy Rodney can be happy here. He's doing what he loves -- scientific research -- and getting sex and interesting food and comfortable clothes. evening demolishing it.
When Sheppard ambled in, it was nearly dawn. He was wearing eyeliner, and there was glitter in his hair. As Res says in notes, 'dressing up John Sheppard like a paper doll'. is teh pretteh. Are there illustrations to this fic? Why not?
Next morning, Rodney began exploring the native-sea-life portion of the breakfast menu.
Lija's deal with Sheppard apparently included her picking out his food for him. The dishes she'd chosen were all the same shade of pale green oooh, those dodgy aesthetics again. Actually, this meal reminds me of Michael Moorcock's 'Dancers at the End of Time', where picnics and dinner parties are colour-themed, regardless of flavour. (Also, am beginning to think that Lija actually belongs in a Tanith Lee novel.) : bread, fruit, vegetables, cheese, and something like sorbet only spicy instead of sweet. The servings were small and delicately garnished, and the plates were beautiful and fragile.
When Sheppard had eaten it all, he looked longingly at Rodney's plate until Rodney gave him all the rest of the shrimpy-scallopy things. Which is actually very sweet of him: and Rodney doesn't give his food away lightly.
It wasn't that there was nothing in the databases about the pool on the gate island; there was plenty, but some of it was mythology, and some of it claimed to be history or science but was mythology just the same. Reading between the lines, Rodney gathered that sea level had risen over the years, so that what was now a pool had once been a cave. The cave had been sacred to a now-defunct goddess cult involving fertility, so Rodney suspected there was a spring inside.
Whatever it was, the Baj weren't using it now. "They take you to sit on the steps and dip your feet in the water if you have a long illness," Kellen said with the unconcern of the naturally robust. A hint of jealousy there, as Rodney implicitly puts himself on those steps with his feet in the water. I bet he wonders if it'd help with various ailments. "Otherwise everybody stays away from it. I've always thought it was creepy. You can't see the bottom."
"I'd think you'd be at least a little bit curious," Rodney said. "If it really is a spring down there, it could save you people a lot of trouble."
"If you want to know about it that badly, you could try persuading me to unlock another security level for you," Kellen said.
Rodney gave a small tug to the belt of the robe she always wore when she wanted sex rather than engineering from him. "Your wish is my command."
"Of course it is," she said, grinning. Now, Rodney thinks he just made a witty remark. But Kellen takes it at face value, because of course it's true.
When Sheppard's door was open and his bed was still empty when Rodney got up, Rodney shook his head, and ate breakfast, and sent the dishes back up. When Sheppard still hadn't appeared, Rodney lost himself in an overview of Baj cloaking technology, which he was using to try to sneak up on the mystery of the pool from a different direction.
About ten-thirty, Sheppard staggered in. He was streaked with sweat, his newly cropped hair spiky with it, and he smelled strongly of something that wasn't any smokeable drug Rodney was familiar with but was still definitely a smokeable drug of some sort. Alien-ness again! But nothing here is so alien that Rodney can't work it out. (And perhaps nothing in any human society ... ) Also, eeek! That Woman has cut John's hair!
"Dance contest," he said, and collapsed on the curving couch with his head on Rodney's lap. This is where the story really starts: this is where the wrongness begins. And it's so subtly thrown in (though expanded in the next section) that you might not notice it.
"You have got to be kidding me," Rodney said, but Sheppard had fallen asleep.
Sheppard was not a toucher, even within the very narrow limits accepted for military guys. The backslap, the shoulder squeeze, even the occasional hug to celebrate cheating death, were all acceptable by the code of movie Westerns that he'd apparently memorized, but he himself had a force field around him.
So at first Rodney assumed that Sheppard had used him as a pillow by accident, or hadn't noticed he was doing it.
But here he would sling an arm around Rodney's neck, or choose the terminal next to his so their knees touched.
Evidently being a slave had a certain relaxing influence. Rodney's vaunted analytic skills don't extend to people, of course. He's labelled John's behaviour 'relaxation' and thinks no more of it. For now.
Sheppard got more and more silent as the days went on. Lija had given him a wardrobe completely in black, which suited him pretty well, except that they were all cut like something out of Sigfried and Roy.
She also pierced both his ears, probably with a rusty needle, There's Rodney's very real concern for matters of hygiene, applied to somebody else for a change. though Sheppard wouldn't give any details. Anyway, the lobes stayed swollen and red for days, until Rodney asked Kellen for some ointment, which made her mouth go tight. "Lija," she said, and wouldn't say anything else.
"I don't have enough hands," Sheppard said later; he was holding a silver mirror in one hand, and with the other hand he appeared to be trying to put ointment on his earlobes without actually touching his earlobes.
"Don't, stop, stop, you're wasting it. It's all going to wind up in your hair." Rodney took the tube out of his hand -- Healio, it said, with a picture of a smiling animal with a big ragged scab where one eye should be Gross, but in a cheerful way: very Baj! -- and began dabbing the stuff on. "Why didn't you stop her?"
"Have you tried saying no to anything yet?"
"What do you mean, tried? They're not supposed to punish you; if they don't honor your request, you can issue a complaint."
"She doesn't refuse. She pouts." Sheppard's skin was hot, and taut with swelling, and didn't really feel like an ear at all, and Sheppard sighed, "Ahh," and closed his eyes as the cool stuff touched it.
"Jesus, does she want you to die of blood poisoning or something? Do we even know what's in these stupid earrings? Other side, come on, there's no time to lose before the infection goes straight to your heart."
When Rodney went to put the cap back on the tube, Sheppard put his hand on Rodney's wrist. "Rodney," he said, "thanks," with his eyes all crinkled, and Rodney said, "Oh, well, it's no trouble. I'm sure you'd do the same for me if you happened to notice before I died of gangrene," because it was only just occurring to him that you never saw Sheppard smile, here. This is a pivotal moment: Rodney's doing fine, perfectly content with his lot, so it's taken him a while to notice that not only is Lija doing Terrible Things like haircuts, ear-piercing etc, but that John is not enjoying himself.
After a while, Lija got bored with choosing fancy meals for Sheppard, and after that it was the same thing at every meal: some slices of roasted meat with a spicy chutney sort of sauce, cooked vegetables, a breadlike thing that resembled a soft pretzel coiled into a figure eight, and a fruit salad.
"Here, trade with me," Rodney said. "You must be getting bored."
"I'm military, McKay," Boredom, and stoicism, are par for the course. And here's Rodney sharing his food again ... Sheppard said, but he took Rodney's plate of white fish and spicy greens awfully fast.
The shared quarters were pretty sizeable -- a nice sitting room with their bedrooms opening off either side -- but at first Rodney had been worried that he'd have trouble getting any work done with Sheppard always hanging around. As it turned out, though, he had the whole place to himself a lot of the time; Lija liked to take Sheppard clubbing, and he'd stagger home at midmorning and sleep for most of the day.
And occasionally she would dismiss him, and he would arrive in quarters to find that she'd left a message demanding that he come back up to give her one more goodnight kiss.
"It's like having a really high-maintenance girlfriend," Rodney said.
"More like being a show poodle," Sheppard said, unhooking a chain of tiny bells from his left ear hoop.
Rodney wasn't homesick. He didn't really miss Atlantis here, any more than he'd missed Earth while he was on Atlantis. Occasionally he'd get a craving for some food or music that he couldn't get here, but between Kellen's assignments and his own research into the cloak in the pool, he had enough interesting problems to occupy his mind. He was a little ashamed of how rarely he thought about his other life. See? Only 'a little' ashamed. He likes his new cage! And it's new and different and intellectually stimulating enough to keep him occupied rather than bar-rattling.
Nothing here was urgent or dangerous, which made it kind of boring Irony, irony. or maybe Rodney's getting to like missions and danger and the active life. compared to life with the SGC. But regular sex made up for a lot. Well, Rodney, keep thinking about how you could barter something for regular sex back in Atlantis ...
One morning Sheppard arrived at the same time breakfast did, shouldering past Rodney so fast that he tilted the tray and sent half the little yellow berries flying. He didn't turn at Rodney's exclamation, just grabbed the juice pitcher and drained it.
"Among the civilized worlds, we have a device called a drinking glass," and then Rodney fell silent, because the petal-like sleeves of Sheppard's shirt had fallen back and Rodney had gotten a glimpse of his rope-burned wrists. Right, that's what it takes to shut Rodney up, at least for a moment: a real, physical problem, something he can't ignore or write off as his own misinterpretation. "What in God's name has she done to you?"
Sheppard didn't answer, too busy refilling the pitcher with the stale water that came from the tap and draining it again. The other wrist was even worse, and Rodney could see a suspicious streak of shadow under his adam's apple.
"Sheppard. What the hell did she do to you?" The shirt was made of a slick dark fabric that wouldn't have shown blood even if it had been dripping with it, and Rodney was reluctant to find out by touching him and seeing if he screamed.
"I'm fine," Sheppard said. He wiped his mouth and chin sloppily with his hand. He was panting a little from drinking so fast.
"Show me your back."
Sheppard's hand made a quick gesture toward the hem of his shirt and then went still again. "She didn't flog me, McKay. She just sort of forgot about me."
"How do you get your wrists rubbed raw just from being forgotten?"
"It was the way she -- look, just, it's not important."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "If it breaks the skin, it's important."
"She had me all, you know, tied up," and it was amazing that after all this time of being an honest-to-god sex slave, Sheppard still seemed to find this stuff embarrassing to talk about, oh, John. You are so not good at this talking thing. And note, implicitly, that Rodney would be just fine talking about what he does with Kellen, if only he had anyone to tell. "and then she got a call and went in the other room with it, and then she and whoever she was talking to started arguing about some band OMG I understand now: Sheppard has been bought by a fangirl ...(Look, I know lots of people who would treat him much better and buy Rodney too and play action-figure p0...) -- look, it was stupid, it doesn't matter."
"And you didn't scream bloody murder?" Rodney bent down and tugged on the loose leg of Sheppard's pants. There were bruises and scrapes around his hairy ankle, too.
"Oh, god, no," Sheppard said. "If I talk back, she gets all upset. Sometimes she cries." He shrugged. "Anyhow, she remembered me, eventually."
Rodney thought about those two pitchers, but he didn't say anything. Lija wasn't the only one who knew how to punish people for talking back. Sheppard has power over Rodney in that sense: and Rodney knows it. How long's that been the case? Just since they got to Ara lo Bajo? Or before? "This girl ought to buy stock in Healio," he said instead.
The tube had gotten shoved into a handy little compartment under the lid of one of the end tables, along with napkins and pencils and anything else small and frequently used; Rodney made a triumphant noise and straightened up, ready to hand it to Sheppard, but Sheppard was holding out both wrists.
The damage wasn't that awful, but it would be uncomfortable for a couple of days, and he really hoped Lija wouldn't be in the mood for any more bondage before it healed. "Serve her right if she breaks you," he said bitterly, turning Sheppard's hand over so he could spread ointment over the inside of his wrist. "Then she won't have anybody to play with."
"I'm pretty sure she could afford to replace me," Sheppard said. 'My name is John Sheppard and I am a commodity.'
As a noble, Kellen's official role was to set an example of honorable life for the masses. "If the programmers in the capital and the seaweed farmers in the provinces find any inspiration in my example, then they must be very easily inspired," she said.
Unofficially she had long since gotten bored with leading a lovely life and now focused instead on trying to systematize the records of the noble quarter -- including what had until recently been the most extensive library in the city and the records of many nobles who practiced various kinds of amateur science. This put her in the ideal position to aid in Rodney's research, and also to commiserate with his complaints as to the miserable state of the recordkeeping; there was a certain bond, Rodney found, that formed when two people spent a lot of time beating their heads against the same brick wall.
"Look -- 45,924 results found, how nice. Have you people never heard of Boolean searches?" Well, I bet they've never heard of George Boole! But again, Rodney is happy to trade -- no, here, he's sharing knowledge for its own sake (though does get rewarded later). He'd been speaking sarcastically, as usual, but the look on Kellen's face told him that she actually hadn't.
He coached her until well after midnight and left her heavy-eyed and wired, sighing, "I never expected you to make me this happy with my clothes on." The 'heavy-eyed' and 'sighing' indicate to me that Rodney and Kellen would make a delightful couple: Rodney needs his intellectual stimulation, and Kellen can at least provoke it. He's getting as much out of this as she is, and he's getting something he needs. And it's not something that John can offer, at least within the scope of this fic.
One morning no alert appeared when Sheppard touched his terminal. "Damn," he said.
Rodney tried to look over his shoulder. "What?"
"Nothing." He blocked Rodney's view with his body, then sighed and gave up. Resistance is futile, John. Though maybe he's starting to realise that Rodney is his only ally. "It's just, she didn't order my food."
"So call her and remind her --"
"No, on purpose," and now he sounded irritated with Rodney. I can hear the indignation, which Rodney resents like mad of course. Except, not as much as you'd think.
"Man," Rodney said. "What did you do, eat all her snacks?"
"Just didn't measure up, I guess." Is John harbouring some deep dark inadequacy here? I wonder what he really did to upset Lija. Probably nothing; possibly just Typical Bloke Behaviour; but maybe not.
Rodney couldn't get any more out of him. "Here," he said, "pick something off my card; I don't think Kellen has any limits on me, or I would have heard about them on the day of the seven cheeses. I am really identifying with Rodney in this fic. CHEEEESE. And I love the way that's thrown in as an aside, and it's perfectly clear what happened but since the detail isn't relevant it doesn't get expanded. Or is Lija going to beat you or something if you don't show up with a lean and hungry look?"
"Can't beat us; it's against the rules," Sheppard said. "Anyhow, I doubt she'll care."
There was no alert for lunch, and none for dinner, and none the next morning, and after a while it became obvious that either Lija was intentionally starving Sheppard to death or she just didn't care.
If they were both in quarters when a meal came, Rodney would just let Sheppard order from his menu, but there were days when they hardly saw each other awake. It gnawed at Rodney, the idea that Sheppard might be back there hungry while Rodney was absorbing an alien approach to the problems of relativity or rubbing scented lotion into Kellen's freckled back.
After a day or so in which the worry reduced his concentration to barely above average, it occurred to him that he could order things that didn't sound perishable and leave them for Sheppard to eat later. He spent a really stupid amount of attention noticing what Sheppard ate and what he ignored. What this reminds me of is the 'growing interest' that is so different from Philippa Somerville's notions of Romantic Lurve. Of course (as Rodney would argue) it's pure pragmatism: can't let team leader starve to death on alien planet; must make sure he does not accidentally starve because he doesn't like what he's given. But this is where Rodney's annoyance at himself (a stupid amount of attention) comes back, and perhaps that's because he's aware that his interest is disproportionate to the problem.
Kellen noticed eventually, of course. "Rodney, not even you can eat this much. Are you hoarding? Because I promise you can trust us."
"I don't even know what to take offense at first, the accusation of hoarding or the 'not even you.' " He should have known she'd be monitoring what he ordered. It was worse than working for the military and having to sign a requisition form every time you wanted a ballpoint pen. "Anyway, half of it's for Sheppard."
She frowned. "His meals are supposed to come out of Lija's account."
"Yeah, well, he broke his crayons or something and she stopped feeding him. And I don't know about the Baj," he went on, talking faster as her frown deepened, "but we have to eat to live." Eerie echo of Wraith there.
"How long ago?"
It dawned on him that she was angry, but not at him. He counted back. "Six -- no, seven days ago. He wouldn't tell me what he did wrong."
"It doesn't matter." She was loudly hitting the buttons on the keyboard. "Twenty-two meals missed, and before that the same meal for a fiveday, and before that doll food. I wouldn't trust that child with a fish in a tank," she said, still tapping keys. "There, he's got free choice now, like a normal person. He can be on my account for the rest of his term. I'm requesting a Council investigation, too, but don't hold your breath; those things drag on forever."
"Oh, hey, Kellen got you mess privileges again," Rodney told Sheppard when he saw him next morning.
Sheppard stiffened. "Tell her thanks," he said without expression.
"What?"
"When Lija hears about it --"
"Sheppard, is she some kind of evil abuser?"
"No."
"Sheppard." Rodney's much happier about pushing Sheppard to talk now than he was earlier, when he backed off because Sheppard could punish him by going quiet.
"She'll say it's proof that I don't trust her."
"I'd say not trusting her is the reasonable default position at this point, considering that she -- Tell me she's not going to beat you."
"She's not going to beat me. She's going to sulk. And then I have to knock myself out proving that, yes, I really do trust her --" This was the point at which I started to wonder how much of the problem is Lija, and how much is Sheppard's attitude towards her. If this story had been written post-'Outcast', I wonder if there'd have been an explicit comparison made (either by John or by Rodney; probably the latter) between Lija and John's ex-wife Nancy. He was slowing down as he took in Rodney's expression. "It's not like that with Kellen?"
"I'm pretty sure Kellen understands that she hasn't bought my trust."
"Lija thinks she's bought my soul."
Having had this conversation seemed to loosen Sheppard's lips on the subject of Lija. Over the next few days, Rodney learned:
That the Baj had a dance called the Rose and the Briar, which required eye contact and wreaked havoc on the lower back because of all the lifting;
That Lija liked pet names and elaborate compliments, and had pouted about Sheppard's not bringing her gifts until he'd pointed out that he had no income, and had then set him up with a little salary and taken away his pillow as punishment for talking back;
That Sheppard's refractory period was a source of frequent conflict between them, especially on the occasions when she brought a friend. This shouldn't amuse me, but it does. I mean, he's well past his prime in sex-slave terms. It must be quite ... exhausting.
"Jesus," Rodney said. "Your life is always either a porn film or a horror movie, isn't it? Rodney, Rodney. There is nothing that can't be said as long as you dispense with tedious notions of tact and propriety. Has she offered to pierce anything else of yours?" He eyed Sheppard's filmy black shirt, but neither nipples nor navel seemed to have any unexpected bulges.
Sheppard shuddered. "No, but I'm glad I wasn't born in Europe."
The Boolean search episode had resulted in Rodney getting the equivalent of top-secret security clearance. This had unlocked a fascinating array of documents at which he was fairly certain no Baj ever really looked closely, including a set of satellite images of all the islands, some photographic and some infrared and some that looked like MRIs. He spent hours zooming in close and looking inside the gate island, which was riddled with caves. So when Sheppard slouched home in the late morning hours, at first Rodney didn't notice anything was different.
After a while the silence got to him, and he looked over and found Sheppard ignoring his breakfast and staring blankly at the wall.
"Have a good night?" Rodney said -- small talk got really weird when your day job was being a sex slave.
"Oh, raped a girl," Sheppard said. "How about you?" His voice and face were no different than if he'd been saying he'd gone dancing, but they hardened at Rodney's silence. "You're not even surprised, are you? Just about what you expected." Oh, John. You really don't know Rodney that well: or, no, you're really about to fall to pieces.
"No, Sheppard, people say things like that to me every day. I know exactly how to react," Rodney snapped. This is so perfectly Rodney: defensive, pragmatic, inwardly flailing because he doesn't know what to say. Though this is more extreme than most such situations, and probably not covered in any socialisation guide.
Sheppard pulled up his knees and laid his face down on them. "Sorry." Sheppard never apologises. He's very close to breaking point here.
There was a long silence, and then Rodney said, "What on earth are you talking about?" in a much gentler voice than he usually used with those words. He's learning to be gentle with John (though he will forget it later).
"Lija brought a friend, and the friend brought her own -- what do they call them? Termswoman?" There was a lot of venom in the word. "Lija and Taya decided they wanted us to put on a show for them, and when Taya's girl didn't show the proper enthusiasm, they trussed her up. Lija's bed is good for tying people to." He turned his head to one side. "She was crying. I said no. There's something so succinct and .. selfless, I suppose, about that summary. I don't mean unselfishness, but John doesn't make anything of it, though you can just bet he was pretty riled. It's an objective summary, like a mission report, shorn of emotion. Taya called in her other termsman, who's bigger than Ronon and missing some teeth, and Lija said me or him."
"Christ," Rodney said. "That has got to be against the law. How is that not against the law?"
"It's in her contract," John said dully.
Rodney went to put his hand on Sheppard's shoulder and then stopped, because there ought to be one room where he could be sure no one would touch him against his will, and then started again because the last thing he wanted was for Sheppard to think Rodney considered him too filthy to touch, and while Rodney hesitated, Sheppard made a harsh noise and fell against Rodney's chest. The furiously rapid thought process there is so poignant.
When Rodney's hands came down on the back of his clammy shirt, Sheppard's trembling became more pronounced, but he was clinging hard, one hand clutching Rodney's arm and the other with a fistful of his shirt.
He hung on for a long time. By the time his breathing evened out, Rodney's spine was beginning to protest being curled over, but when he began to straighten up, he realized Sheppard was asleep. Thinking regretfully of the research he'd left half done, Rodney tipped them both over to lie on the couch, arranging them as well as he could manage, Sheppard's hot forehead pressed against his neck, his hand stroking the back of Sheppard's hair.
part 2 of 3