(no subject)
TITLE: What Men Dare Do (Part 1 of 2)
RATING: PG13 with implication and guttermouth.
FANDOM: Stargate: Atlantis (through season 2)
NOTES: siriaeve and trinityofone came to visit. They brought SGA with them. I owe them a righteous smiting, but also gratitude because my fic drought was broken after many discussions re. characters, pairings, cliches and 'aliens made them do it'. Not to mention siriaeve suffered the horrific task of being my beta.
And so, with an inexplicable love of Carson Beckett and Ronon Dex, this fic was born. ____________________
Out of breath, Doctor Carson Beckett knew his mother would have plenty to say if she saw how knackered he was after walking up a flight of steps. Admittedly, he had a huge rucksack on his back and was carrying to cases of immunisation supplements, but it wasn’t that big a flight of stairs and he was wheezing like his grandfather.
Behind him, he could barely hear his companion. Ronon Dex had offered to carry the other crates that Carson knew he would probably need, while Sheppard and Teyla and their team were securing the gate.
It was Carson’s second journey to PCM-3X1, the first one an assessment trip. While the inhabitants were willing to trade and supply Atlantis, an illness had apparently struck and Carson had been called in.
It appeared that one of newest arrivals on the Daedalus had been carrying a strain of measles. His visit to the planet with a scouting group three weeks earlier had been brief, but with no comparable diseases, the planet’s residents had been struck down with frightening rapidity.
Dozens of the population were dying and the Daedalus had returned to Earth as quickly as it could to collect inoculation packs, which were currently strapped across Carson’s back and carried by both men.
Squinting, Carson peered around the dark vestibule of what he had been assured was a temple. “Er... hello?”
From the darkness, a figure seemed to emerge from the empty shadows right in front of them. It was so sudden that Carson back-stepped and landed squarely on Ronon’s foot. Throwing a hasty apology to his companion, Carson cleared his throat.
“Are you the Priest we’re looking for, sir?”
If he wasn’t, why he was wearing an oversized purple dress with golden beads and silver threads and a bizarre, conical hat with a round ball on the point that would have reduced any bishop to a fit of hysterics was anyone’s guess.
“I am Father D’Ugal,” the man replied with a deep bow that brought his head level with Carson’s navel. The doctor gaped at him then hastily bowed back as much as the haversack on his back would allow. “You are the physician of whom the man of weapons spoke?”
“Aye, I’m Doctor Beckett,” Carson nodded quickly, then indicated to the man behind him, who was carrying several large boxes as if they weighed nothing. “This is Ronon Dex, one of our Operatives.”
“Father.”
The priest’s rheumy, watery eyes scrutinised them both. “The man of weapons said that you would need a place to treat our people,” he said, his voice thin, but strong. “We have rooms within the temple.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier for us to work from the village?”
Frowning, bushy brows dragging together with the effort of forming an expression of disapproval, the priest clasped his knobbly hands before him. “There are many sick in the village and it is unclean. If you were to go there, there would be uprising over who is treated first.”
Drawing a huffing breath, aware he was probably still red in the face and very glad of the respite, Beckett nodded. “Aye, fair enough.”
“Your companions will follow?”
Turning and glancing down, Beckett saw Rodney and Colonel Sheppard starting towards the temple from the village. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I think they’ll let me head down to the village once I’m set up and check conditions of the patients.”
“It is well, it is well...” the old man murmured, his expression crumpling as he seemed to recognise one of the two men who were crossing the field between temple and village from the Stargate. “Hm. The one with vanishing hair has returned.”
Snorting to cover a chuckle, Beckett shifted the weight of the sack on his back. “So, sir, you said there were rooms we could use as an infirmary?”
The man moved aside far too smoothly for someone of his age, indicating down a dark hallway. A staircase was visible at the end. “Go down the stairs and take the side of the blessed hand.”
“Eh?”
“Your holy one does not have a greater hand?”
“Er... aye... aye, right hand of God and all that... aye...”
Forcing his feet to move again, Carson proceeded towards the staircase, Ronon following behind him. Despite the pale colour of the walls, a strange, creamy-white shade, the halls still seemed dark and claustrophobic, only lit here and there by small, globe-like lamps sunk into the stone.
Turning right, a suddenly spill of light spread down the hallway. A doorway gaped at the end, the stone carved into a rectangular archway. It opened onto a room cut of the same stone as the rest of the pale building, about twenty feet square.
Although the floor was a little dusty, it otherwise appeared to be in good condition and along the back wall of the room, brightening as he stepped in, Carson could make out three of the glowing lamps.
To the right of the door, there was a stone table, bare of any implements. It seemed to have been carved out at the same time as the room, the feet bedded firmly into the bedrock of the room.
“Well, this is all right, isn’t it?” Carson observed, impressed by the space. he placed his two cases on the floor, then tipped a heavy satchel of medical equipment off his back and onto the stone table that stood against the wall.
“You think it’s big enough, Beckett
Rolling his shoulders, Carson nodded. “Aye, I think it’ll do. We’re just bringing them in for inoculations. It shouldn’t take too long and the halls are wide enough to have a few people waiting.”
Taking one of the chests from Ronon, he staggered under the weight, looking towards the doorway when he heard the sound of frantic footfalls.
“Beckett, you better not be in... oh... this isn’t good.”
Lowering the boxes, Ronon turned at McKay’s voice, as did Carson.
“What isn’t good?” Approaching the doorway, flexing his fingers, Carson cocked his head. “We were told that this was where we were meant to go.”
“Tell me,” standing on the opposite side of the doorway, McKay’s arms folded deliberately over his chest. “When you asked which room to use, did you even bother to listen to the answer or did you just hear the triumphant chorus in your own head celebrating the fact you have an actual infirmary instead of a tent?”
“What on earth are you babbling on about, Rodney?”
Stepping back from the doorway, Rodney’s mouth twisted wryly. “Come out here and I’ll explain.”
With a long-suffering sigh, the doctor acquiesced, approaching the door, only to rebound the moment he stepped through the frame. “What the...?” He tried again, staggering back a step. A halting hand was lifted, extended. “Oh, this isn’t good...”
“Direct quote,” Rodney noted.
“What is it?” Ronon’s silent tread brought him up behind Carson.
“Some kind of force-field,” Carson pressed against the thin air, his hand never getting further than the threshold. He looked suspiciously at Rodney’s familiar ‘I told you so’ expression. “What the hell’s going on?”
“You went into the wrong room and it has a booby trap,” McKay replied, exhaling a sharp huff of air. “Well done, Beckett. On the one planet where you might actually be useful, you get yourself trapped within ten minutes of arriving.”
“But the wee old man said...”
“The ‘wee old man’ doesn’t know his left from his right or his holy hand from his unholy one,” McKay corrected, arms folded. “If you had waited five minutes, then you would have been told that and now, you’re trapped. Again, I’m impelled to applaud your impatience.”
“Bollocks,” Carson mumbled.
“I would say that’s an understatement.”
Leaning against the door frame, Ronon arched a brow. “So, you gonna undo it and get us out, McKay?”
“We’ll have to find out what it is first, but yes.” It came as no surprise to Carson that McKay seemed to reduce his sarcasm quota when talking to the biggest and strongest man to presently serve on Atlantis. “Can’t leave you in here. Weir would never let me hear the end of it.”
“Generous of you,” Ronon pushed off from the door and out of sight.
“I didn’t know,” Carson began, but was greeted by Rodney’s upraised hand.
“I don’t want to hear, Carson,” he said flatly. “But I’m expecting a lot of gratitude and less of your girlfriend’s attitude once we get you out of here.”
Despite himself, Carson had to grin. Even with the time that had passed, Laura still relished every chance to wind Rodney up about the brief period she had spent as co-resident of his brain.
“I’ll do my best,” he said, struggling to keep a straight face. “As long as you get us out of here.”
Rodney gave him an irate look bordering on insulted. “Do you have any doubt?” He stepped back and studied the doorway. “Okay, there’s a control panel here and I’ve no doubt it’s connected to the main power cells in the basement...”
“Is that a good...”
“Shut up!” An emphatic hand waved Carson into silence. “Can’t you recognise that I’m talking to the most intelligent person present and not looking for interruption?” A frown crossed his brow. “Oh great. Looks like it’ll be a double-header for this.”
Turning on his heel, the scientist stamped off along the hallway, muttering grumpily to himself.
“Rodney?”
“Going to find Zelenka,” Rodney barked back over his shoulder. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Returning his attention to his companion in captivity, Carson smiled weakly, making his way back to the table and opening up one of the crates. “I suppose we should get comfortable for the time being,” he offered.
Glancing at the doorway, Ronon frowned minutely. “Guess so,” he replied.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
“How long will it remain in place?”
“According to the people in charge, indefinitely.” Flipping open a file, McKay pushed a sheet of paper across the table to Weir. “But you know those funny little quirks religious maniacs have? Take that and multiply it and you have our resident priest in this temple. He wasn’t too keen to talk to scientists.”
“Or Rodney,” Radek put in helpfully.
“Yes, well, some people are bound to be less than helpful when you kindly point out that I think that their belief system is outmoded and can be disproved by the most basic of physics equations.”
Radek looked offended. “I did not think he was listening outside the door!”
“Or you just didn’t think, which I’m starting to suspect you do a lot,” Rodney snapped.
“Rodney, Radek,” Weir raised her hand for silence. “Can the buck-passing stop until the meeting is over?”
The two scientists glared at each other for a moment, then returned their attention to the scans and files in front of them, both examining for a weakness, each determined to find it before the other.
“Since these two have alienated the religious leader without even trying,” Weir glanced across the table. “John, do you feel ready to do some persuading?”
The Lieutenant Colonel’s lips curved slightly. “Point the way.”
“What about Carson and Ronon?” Leaning back in her seat, Weir pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Have you told them all you know?”
“No, Elizabeth,” Rodney closed the folder rather more emphatically than he had opened it. “We just spent six hours trying to find a way to bring the barrier down without bothering to let them know why they might be stuck there for some time.”
“The system is unlike anything we have encountered before,” Zelenka added. “It is far simpler than Ancient technology.”
“But too simple by comparison to everything we’re used to, which makes it more difficult to adjust, because we...” Rodney sank back in his seat. “Well, let’s just say it might take us a little longer than it otherwise would.”
“It is also very old,” Zelenka said, grimacing. “I think it has been left for a long time without care. It is like trying to make something operate which is covered with rust and rot. It is not so easy.”
Weir nodded, exhaling. “But other than that, they’re both all right?”
“Aside from being trapped in a windowless box-room in the middle of a temple with only each other for company and a fantastically simple force-field keeping them there?” Rodney shrugged expressively. “I think they’re just fine.”
“What about food? Water?”
“The field is only effective against other life forms,” Zelenka replied. “Inanimate objects can pass through it.”
“Like I said,” Rodney added, “They’re fine. Probably safer than we are too, on that planet.” He scowled at the contents of his folder. “Trust Beckett to get himself sealed in a perfect bubble of hygiene when he’s meant to be treating the sick people.”
“Lucky Carson,” Sheppard said dryly from across the table. “And with you stuck out here, not even able to get trapped in the safe little prison with him to make sure he knows it.” Weir gave him a reprimanding look as Rodney made an indignant sound, which was matched with a lop-sided grin from John. “You know we were all thinking it.”
For a moment, it looked like she might agree, but instead, looked down at the page in front of her and then back at the two scientists. “Can you give me a ballpark figure of how long this might take you?” she asked.
Zelenka glanced sidelong at Rodney who was making notes on a piece of paper, which was promptly crumpled and hurled across the room. The Czech looked back at Weir. “I think that is a no,” he said.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Watching Ronon pace, Carson held up a sealed ration bar. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit down and eat something?” he said. The other man shook his head, soundless feet carrying him back and forth across the stone floor.
Opening his own bar, Beckett studied the dry block before nibbling on the corner. It wasn’t the worst thing he had eaten admittedly, but after an incident involving lump of fresh peat and an older cousin’s idea of a joke, anything would taste better.
Ronon’s shadow flickered across him again, the lamps glowing on the far wall of the room, opposite the door. Stretching pale fingers out across the flag-stoned floor, the rays bisected the dull v of evening twilight which spilled in through the doorway.
At first, Ronon had been as patient as he had, expecting Rodney and Radek to quite easily override the basic system of controls. After all, this planet wasn’t exactly very high on the scale of advanced scientific programming.
Only when both scientists had gone with John to collect some more equipment from Atlantis and inform Weir of the situation had Beckett noticed that Ronon wasn’t so much sitting quietly and calmly as watching the blocked doorway the same way as one would observe an adversary.
Even when he had started to pace slowly around the room, occasionally touching random points on the wall, his eyes darted to the doorway. An unseen enemy, even a scientifically changeable one, was clearly a source of frustration.
Sipping some water from the bottle, Beckett watched the shadow sweep over him three more times, slow, steady circuits of the room unsettling him with their steady methodical repetition.
“Walking around won’t help, you know.”
Ronon glanced over his shoulder between the heavy coils of his hair. “I know.” He reached out and pressed one hand against the wall. The muscles in his bare arms tensed and he exhaled slowly. “I don’t like to be closed in.”
“You’re claustrophobic?”
The other man turned, a puzzled look on his face.
“It’s a fear of enclosed spaces,” Carson explained without thinking, breaking off another bit of his ration bar and turning it over between his fingers. “It’s actually quite common, you know.”
“I’m not afraid of small spaces,” Ronon was suddenly squatting close to him. Carson fumbled with and dropped the piece of the bar. On the opposite side of the doorway, Ronon shifted his weight, his eyes on Carson’s face. “I just don’t like to be closed in.”
“O-of course,” Beckett stammered, wondering how he the man in front of him could still manage to terrify him, just by looking at him that way. He found himself leaning backwards, away, anywhere but closer to the man in front of him. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were.”
To his surprise, Ronon looked almost like he smiled, but - the doctor reasoned - it was honestly more likely to be wind.
Thinking about it logically, he had every reason to trust the man, yet all Beckett could remember when he looked at him was operating on him without anaesthetic or even analgesics. Hearing barely a sound, yet seeing bone and muscle bared under his scalpel, he had wondered if the warrior was mad. It had to take some kind of masochistic madness to tolerate that kind of pain.
“I’m not gonna bite, doc.” Ronon’s voice was deep, more like a growl than speech, really, but he looked amused.
“Force of habit,” Carson mumbled sheepishly, carefully folding the wrapper of the bar around it the remaining piece. “I suppose you could call it basic playground survival 101.”
“Is that some kind of training?”
The doctor looked up. “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I… where I come from, children were… well, they were right wee buggers to each other.” A not-so-fond memory surfaced. “Especially to people who were smaller than them.”
Ronon slowly nodded. “Yeah, I remember,” he said, his expression unreadable.
“That’s not to say that I think you’re... er... I know you’re a very nice gentleman,” Carson cleared his throat, conscientiously dusting crumbs off his shirt. “You’re a wee bit intimidating, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry about it.” A firm hand clapped him on the shoulder.
Beckett blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Figured you didn’t mean it that way.”
Ronon unfolded back to his feet smoothly, looking around at the bare walls as intently as he had stared at the sealed door frame. He was silent for several minutes, then looked back at Beckett.
“It’s not the spaces that are the problem.”
“I see.” said Carson, who didn’t really.
Glancing back down at the seated doctor, Ronon said nothing.
He walked another circuit, pausing to examine the globe-like lamps and the walls they hung on. The silence seemed tense, oppressive, even the rustle of the wrapping on Carson’s bar sounding uncomfortably loud.
He broke the remainder of the bar into two, then those pieces into half, fastidiously arranging the wrapper so the crumbs didn’t spill. Nibbling on a piece at a time, he couldn’t help watching Ronon’s movements.
The wild-looking man was still touching points on the walls, around the lamps and down the seams between smoothly-carved stones, as if searching for a weakness that the naked eye might miss.
“Always had to have a way out,” he finally spoke, still studying the back wall of the room.
Of course! When you have spent seven years as an enforced fugitive, it was hardly likely that you would be comfortable locked in a room with no way out. Carson could have kicked himself.
“At least we’re not in any danger here,” he volunteered hopefully.
Dark eyes flicked up to the ceiling, then back to Carson. “Guess not,” Ronon agreed, folding his arms over his chest. He returned to his position by the door, squatting down again. “Think McKay knows what he’s doing?”
Swallowing a bit of ration bar, Carson nodded emphatically. “He may well be a pompous idiot with the Guinness world record for ego, but he’s not a bad person to have on your side when you’re trapped by a force field generated by an old machine in the middle of a temple.”
Ronon’s brow arched. “This happen often?”
“Er... no. Not so much.”
Chuckling, Ronon let himself slide to sit, resting his forearms on his upraised knees. “I figured,” he observed dryly.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
“How you guys holding up?”
The look Carson gave him could have come from the McKay School of Why-Do-You-Ask-Such-Stupid-Questions. “Could do with something more than your book if we’re stuck here much longer,” he said. He was sitting on his jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A barely-leafed copy of War and Peace was on the floor beside him.
“Don’t want to risk shorting another console,” John shrugged apologetically.
Two days earlier, they had tried to provide Carson with some of his data to keep him occupied, but the machine had exploded spectacularly as soon as it touched the barrier, leaving the doctor panicking over a possible loss of data.
“Checked every part of the room again,” Ronon added, leaning sideways to look around the door frame. “Looks like this place was cut out of the rock face and walled up for good measure.”
“Yeah,” John squatted down on the threshold of the door frame, leaning his arms on his knees as he looked from one face to the other. “That’s the problem. This room was designed so there was only one way in or out.”
“And even that doesn’t work,” Beckett observed gloomily. “Rodney was stamping around up here a little while ago without saying anything.” He glanced at John. “I don’t think it was a good sign.”
“Good call,” John agreed. “McKay and Zelenka can’t do anything this time. The system is too old and worn out. If they try and tweak it much more, they could lock down the field indefinitely.”
“Oh God...” Carson dropped his head back against the wall with a pitiful moan. “I’m going to die an old man in here, aren’t I? We’ll be stuck here and never get out.”
“You said they could lock down the field indefinitely if they continued to do what they were doing,” Ronon said, his voice quiet as he turned to face John. “Is there some way that we could disable it that they can’t?”
Reaching to rub the back of his neck, John grimaced. “I had a chat with the guy in charge here and... persuaded him to tell me a few things he wouldn’t tell a couple of cynics like McKay and Zelenka.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it? More information?” Carson said hopefully. Judging by the look on Sheppard’s face, it clearly wasn’t. “Colonel, I don’t mean to pressure you for answers, but I’m going daft in here. I’ll do anything to get out.”
“Anything is good,” Sheppard dropped forward onto his knees, sitting back on his heels. “You remember these people are incredibly religious.”
“To a crazy extent, aye,” Carson agreed.
“Arranged marriages were apparently normal in the past,” John pressed his hands to his thighs, looking from Carson to Ronon and back. “But the people involved weren’t usually happy about it. You’re in the room where they... uh... made them get to know each other.”
“So we have to get to know each other better?” Carson inquired. “That’s all?”
“No, Beckett,” Ronon was watching Sheppard curiously. “I don’t think the Colonel means it the way you’re thinking.”
Light dawned. Horror and dismay vied for place on Carson’s face. “You can’t mean... surely, you’re not saying that... oh God... what kind of warped minds do these bloody people have?”
“That’s why this room hasn’t been used for years,” Sheppard replied, not quite able to look at Carson, who started methodically banging the back of his head off the wall. “The priest believed... uh... the eyes of the Gods had looked away, but...”
“Oh, I bet those ‘Gods’ are watching all right! Didn’t I say these people were nasty bastards? Didn’t I? What kind of sicko came up with such a bloody twisted idea?” Carson clasped his hands over his face. “Oh, God... isn’t there another option?”
Sheppard shook his head sympathetically. “Not even death,” he replied. “If someone went into this room, there was only ever one way out.”
“Shite! Buggering, arsing, sodding shite!” Carson moaned behind his hands.
Ronon, ignoring Carson’s distress, seemed to be thinking. “Could it be one person?”
“Who does the doing?” Ronon nodded. “Unfortunately, no. I asked. There had to be a... mutual element.”
“How can they tell?” Carson’s voice was rising, shrill with hysteria. “Do they watch?”
“You’ve seen the kind of sensors that the Ancients produced on Atlantis,” Sheppard said quietly. “These are a similar kind, but much more specialised. They probably assess the physical responses...”
“Isn’t there anything else we can do?” Carson’s voice had trailed to a mumble.
“Unless you want to risk Zelenka and McKay crashing everything and trapping you there indefinitely, there’s nothing else,” Sheppard replied. “Carson, you know we’ve been looking for days.”
“Aye.” The words slipped from under the heels of his hands. “Doesn’t make it any more comforting.”
“Also...”
“There’s more?” Carson wailed. “Why not just write to my mother now and tell her I’m about to get buggered backwards because some daft old sod couldn’t just say left or right? I mean, what is a situation like this without being disowned?”
“We don’t even know if it would work.”
Banging his head against the wall again, Carson uttered several words which made John’s brows rise.
“Carson, we’re trying to find out all we can, but the room was designed for a man and woman.”
“So even if we do... do what you’re saying we have to do, then we might just stay stuck in here anyway? Because I’m not a lassie?” Carson’s hands dropped from his eyes and he stared at John. “How could the bloody room know?”
Sheppard shook his head. “We don’t know yet,” he said. “The priest has let some of our historians into the vault and they’re trying to find any information they can. He wants you out of here as much as you do.”
“Oh, I sincerely doubt that!”
“I think it’s safe to say he’ll never let any of our people in here ever again,” Sheppard said. “I know this isn’t the best news I could give you, but we’re doing all we can. If you want to wait...”
“You get us something else to do, I think we can wait,” Ronon murmured. “Beckett, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”
Relief washed over Carson like a wave and he seemed to sag against the wall. “You don’t mind being stuck in here a bit longer too?”
Ronon’s shoulder lifted in a shrug, his expression revealing nothing. “They’re still looking. Why not give ‘em some time?”
“Aye... aye,” Carson turned to Sheppard. “Can you tell them to get a move on?”
“You got it.” Straightening up, Sheppard looked into the room. Camp provisions had been sent from Atlantis, rough sleeping bags and basic ration bars, but it did little to make the room any more appealing. He looked back at the two men seated by the doorway. “You guys want anything?”
“Apart from out?” Carson said dryly.
Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, John smiled faintly. “I’ll just be... going, then.”
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Curled in a tight ball in his sleeping bag, Carson glared at his breath which was rebelliously misting in front of his eyes. It seemed that every night he had spent in the room seemed to get colder and colder by degrees.
The small heater that had been gingerly pushed through the invisible barrier had stopped working within minutes of being switched on, the circuit apparently shorting for no reason.
He could tell it was night, because those sodding globes on the walls dulled to a faint glow, instead of lighting up the whole room and he had seen it happen ten times already and was beginning to dread the eleventh.
Several feet from him, Ronon was sitting upright against the wall, wrapped in a coat and with his legs covered by the sleeping back, his features profiled against the light spilling in through the doorway.
“It’s colder than it was last night,” he observed when he decided to acknowledge Carson’s attention.
Already wearing two layers, plus an extra coat and the sleeping bag, Carson felt compelled to agree, but was too cold to think of even voicing a response, his arms wrapped over his chest.
“You think it’ll just keep getting colder the longer we’re here?”
Through chattering teeth, Carson gritted out, “I think that might be the way of it.”
Abruptly, Ronon unfolded from his position by the wall and crossed the floor, squatting down beside Carson. The doctor could hear the man’s joints popping from the cold, but Ronon didn’t even acknowledge the sound.
Squinting at him, the dull light blocked by Ronon’s body, he frowned when the other man draped the second winter sleeping bag over him. “Hey now! Don’t be silly!” he protested, starting to sit up and push the thick cover back towards Ronon.
“You’re cold,” Ronon replied simply. “I’m okay.”
Making an exasperated sound, the physician in Carson immediately reached out and grasped one of Ronon’s hands. It was ice-cold even compared to his own. He gave the younger man a severe, reprimanding look. “You’ll make yourself ill.”
“I’ve had worse than a little cold.”
“Don’t be daft,” Carson snapped, reaching down and fumbling with the sleeping bag. “There’s only one way the both of us are going to be able to stay even a wee bit warm in this bloody freezer.”
With some creative manipulating and several unfortunate scrapes on numb fingers, Carson managed to rearrange the sleeping bags into one large one, something he recollected from a Scout camp when he was thirteen.
Wriggling back into it, he looked up at Ronon. “All right, in you get.”
Ronon eyed him. “You sure you don’t mind? I’m good out here?”
“Don’t make me tell you again, lad,” Carson said firmly, gesturing with one hand. “I might seem nice, but you better do what you’re told, because I’m not going to let you get sick while I’m around.”
His expression implying he found Carson’s high-handedness amusing, the larger man complied.
Despite this new position being his own suggestion, Carson still felt himself blush more than he would have liked at the sudden heat and the press of Ronon’s body against his in the confines of the double-sleeping-bag.
Facing away from Ronon, Carson felt the other man shift. He would have had to have been completely insensible to the broad chest against his back or the level, warm breaths against his ear.
Oh God, it must be madness, but he had missed having someone pressed against him like that. He had grown so used to Laura draping herself around him in sleep, feeling the tickle of her hair against his cheek and lying awake, listening to her quiet snores.
He sighed, faintly, wistfully, then jolted as if shocked when a hand came to rest on his hip.
“You okay, Beckett?”
“Eh?” Heat rose in his cheeks again and he hastily coughed, clearing his throat. “Oh, er... aye. Aye, warmer now.”
“Thinking of home, right?”
Carson stared into the darkness. “How did you know?”
“Done the same myself,” The words were a murmur against his ear. “Still do, even if home isn’t there anymore.”
“I-I’m sorry,” What had been embarrassment gave way to shame. He was being so bloody selfish when the poor man behind him didn’t even have a family to think about.
“I got used to it,” Ronon replied quietly. “I’d been gone seven years. Doesn’t stop you hoping. Maybe thinking they might be hoping as well.”
Carson squeezed his eyes closed and for the briefest of moments, he tried to squash down the thought of what Laura might be thinking, of what she might be doing, trying not to think of how she might be feeling.
Almost a week, he had been trapped here and she had been at the back of his mind, while he fretted and worried about his situation, but now, she had come marched to the forefront and he knew she wasn’t going back.
Not that he even wanted her to.
The thought of her standing in front of him, hands imperiously on her hips, looking in at him with a combination of impatience and a suggestion of loneliness made his heart ache. He wanted to take her hand and just hold onto her for as long as she could let him, before she hit him over the head with a pillow.
“Did you have people waiting for you?” he asked.
He felt Ronon hesitate, then nod. “Everyone has a family,” he said briefly, sadly.
It felt hollow and meaningless to say it, but Carson hesitantly reached down and patted the hand on his hip. “You have us now, if that’s any comfort.” he said.
A small puff of quiet amusement warmed his cheek. “Thanks.”
Laying his head down, Carson gazed sightlessly ahead of him.
His mind was on Atlantis, on his compatriots, on the infirmary that was probably getting filled on a daily basis, on the city which he counted as home, on the woman he was missing more than he imagined was possible.
They were silent for some time, then he tilted his head. “We’re being useless, stuck in here, aren’t we?” he said. “I mean, we can’t do anything to help any of the teams and they’re stuck here until we get out.”
“It’s not our fault,” Ronon replied.
Carson slowly nodded. “But we know there’s a chance we could get ourselves out and I haven’t even thought about trying,” he said, as though reading a passage from a textbook, every word carefully placed, without inflection.
He felt Ronon shift, leaning up to look down at him. “You know you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.”
“Nor do you,” he said, meeting Ronon’s eyes. “But we can’t stay here, can we? What if you’re needed by the Colonel? What if there’s a medical emergency and I’m not there?” He laughed, but it was higher and tenser than usual. “I can’t just sit here and wait for Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dumber to find some other way to get us out.”
“You sure?”
Carson nodded vehemently. “I can’t make you stay in here any longer,” he said. “And I’ll go mad if I have to spend another night in here. My mother would kill me if she knew, but this...” Uncertainty caught his voice. “These aren’t your normal set of circumstances.”
Ronon gazed at him, then nodded slowly. “In the morning,” he said with quiet finality. “When it gets warmer. Colonel Sheppard left everything we might need.”
“God only knows where he got it!” Carson heard himself explain, wondering when his voice had suddenly become so shrill and slightly hysterical. “He’s a bit of a dark horse, that one.”
He felt Ronon’s hand contract against his side, felt the other man laugh softly. “Get some rest,” he said. “You’ll be back in your own room tomorrow.”
And somehow, hearing Ronon say it made it seem like it would be real and to his shock, he felt himself finally giving in to the sleep that had been evading him for days and nights on end.
Part 2.
RATING: PG13 with implication and guttermouth.
FANDOM: Stargate: Atlantis (through season 2)
NOTES: siriaeve and trinityofone came to visit. They brought SGA with them. I owe them a righteous smiting, but also gratitude because my fic drought was broken after many discussions re. characters, pairings, cliches and 'aliens made them do it'. Not to mention siriaeve suffered the horrific task of being my beta.
And so, with an inexplicable love of Carson Beckett and Ronon Dex, this fic was born. ____________________
Out of breath, Doctor Carson Beckett knew his mother would have plenty to say if she saw how knackered he was after walking up a flight of steps. Admittedly, he had a huge rucksack on his back and was carrying to cases of immunisation supplements, but it wasn’t that big a flight of stairs and he was wheezing like his grandfather.
Behind him, he could barely hear his companion. Ronon Dex had offered to carry the other crates that Carson knew he would probably need, while Sheppard and Teyla and their team were securing the gate.
It was Carson’s second journey to PCM-3X1, the first one an assessment trip. While the inhabitants were willing to trade and supply Atlantis, an illness had apparently struck and Carson had been called in.
It appeared that one of newest arrivals on the Daedalus had been carrying a strain of measles. His visit to the planet with a scouting group three weeks earlier had been brief, but with no comparable diseases, the planet’s residents had been struck down with frightening rapidity.
Dozens of the population were dying and the Daedalus had returned to Earth as quickly as it could to collect inoculation packs, which were currently strapped across Carson’s back and carried by both men.
Squinting, Carson peered around the dark vestibule of what he had been assured was a temple. “Er... hello?”
From the darkness, a figure seemed to emerge from the empty shadows right in front of them. It was so sudden that Carson back-stepped and landed squarely on Ronon’s foot. Throwing a hasty apology to his companion, Carson cleared his throat.
“Are you the Priest we’re looking for, sir?”
If he wasn’t, why he was wearing an oversized purple dress with golden beads and silver threads and a bizarre, conical hat with a round ball on the point that would have reduced any bishop to a fit of hysterics was anyone’s guess.
“I am Father D’Ugal,” the man replied with a deep bow that brought his head level with Carson’s navel. The doctor gaped at him then hastily bowed back as much as the haversack on his back would allow. “You are the physician of whom the man of weapons spoke?”
“Aye, I’m Doctor Beckett,” Carson nodded quickly, then indicated to the man behind him, who was carrying several large boxes as if they weighed nothing. “This is Ronon Dex, one of our Operatives.”
“Father.”
The priest’s rheumy, watery eyes scrutinised them both. “The man of weapons said that you would need a place to treat our people,” he said, his voice thin, but strong. “We have rooms within the temple.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier for us to work from the village?”
Frowning, bushy brows dragging together with the effort of forming an expression of disapproval, the priest clasped his knobbly hands before him. “There are many sick in the village and it is unclean. If you were to go there, there would be uprising over who is treated first.”
Drawing a huffing breath, aware he was probably still red in the face and very glad of the respite, Beckett nodded. “Aye, fair enough.”
“Your companions will follow?”
Turning and glancing down, Beckett saw Rodney and Colonel Sheppard starting towards the temple from the village. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I think they’ll let me head down to the village once I’m set up and check conditions of the patients.”
“It is well, it is well...” the old man murmured, his expression crumpling as he seemed to recognise one of the two men who were crossing the field between temple and village from the Stargate. “Hm. The one with vanishing hair has returned.”
Snorting to cover a chuckle, Beckett shifted the weight of the sack on his back. “So, sir, you said there were rooms we could use as an infirmary?”
The man moved aside far too smoothly for someone of his age, indicating down a dark hallway. A staircase was visible at the end. “Go down the stairs and take the side of the blessed hand.”
“Eh?”
“Your holy one does not have a greater hand?”
“Er... aye... aye, right hand of God and all that... aye...”
Forcing his feet to move again, Carson proceeded towards the staircase, Ronon following behind him. Despite the pale colour of the walls, a strange, creamy-white shade, the halls still seemed dark and claustrophobic, only lit here and there by small, globe-like lamps sunk into the stone.
Turning right, a suddenly spill of light spread down the hallway. A doorway gaped at the end, the stone carved into a rectangular archway. It opened onto a room cut of the same stone as the rest of the pale building, about twenty feet square.
Although the floor was a little dusty, it otherwise appeared to be in good condition and along the back wall of the room, brightening as he stepped in, Carson could make out three of the glowing lamps.
To the right of the door, there was a stone table, bare of any implements. It seemed to have been carved out at the same time as the room, the feet bedded firmly into the bedrock of the room.
“Well, this is all right, isn’t it?” Carson observed, impressed by the space. he placed his two cases on the floor, then tipped a heavy satchel of medical equipment off his back and onto the stone table that stood against the wall.
“You think it’s big enough, Beckett
Rolling his shoulders, Carson nodded. “Aye, I think it’ll do. We’re just bringing them in for inoculations. It shouldn’t take too long and the halls are wide enough to have a few people waiting.”
Taking one of the chests from Ronon, he staggered under the weight, looking towards the doorway when he heard the sound of frantic footfalls.
“Beckett, you better not be in... oh... this isn’t good.”
Lowering the boxes, Ronon turned at McKay’s voice, as did Carson.
“What isn’t good?” Approaching the doorway, flexing his fingers, Carson cocked his head. “We were told that this was where we were meant to go.”
“Tell me,” standing on the opposite side of the doorway, McKay’s arms folded deliberately over his chest. “When you asked which room to use, did you even bother to listen to the answer or did you just hear the triumphant chorus in your own head celebrating the fact you have an actual infirmary instead of a tent?”
“What on earth are you babbling on about, Rodney?”
Stepping back from the doorway, Rodney’s mouth twisted wryly. “Come out here and I’ll explain.”
With a long-suffering sigh, the doctor acquiesced, approaching the door, only to rebound the moment he stepped through the frame. “What the...?” He tried again, staggering back a step. A halting hand was lifted, extended. “Oh, this isn’t good...”
“Direct quote,” Rodney noted.
“What is it?” Ronon’s silent tread brought him up behind Carson.
“Some kind of force-field,” Carson pressed against the thin air, his hand never getting further than the threshold. He looked suspiciously at Rodney’s familiar ‘I told you so’ expression. “What the hell’s going on?”
“You went into the wrong room and it has a booby trap,” McKay replied, exhaling a sharp huff of air. “Well done, Beckett. On the one planet where you might actually be useful, you get yourself trapped within ten minutes of arriving.”
“But the wee old man said...”
“The ‘wee old man’ doesn’t know his left from his right or his holy hand from his unholy one,” McKay corrected, arms folded. “If you had waited five minutes, then you would have been told that and now, you’re trapped. Again, I’m impelled to applaud your impatience.”
“Bollocks,” Carson mumbled.
“I would say that’s an understatement.”
Leaning against the door frame, Ronon arched a brow. “So, you gonna undo it and get us out, McKay?”
“We’ll have to find out what it is first, but yes.” It came as no surprise to Carson that McKay seemed to reduce his sarcasm quota when talking to the biggest and strongest man to presently serve on Atlantis. “Can’t leave you in here. Weir would never let me hear the end of it.”
“Generous of you,” Ronon pushed off from the door and out of sight.
“I didn’t know,” Carson began, but was greeted by Rodney’s upraised hand.
“I don’t want to hear, Carson,” he said flatly. “But I’m expecting a lot of gratitude and less of your girlfriend’s attitude once we get you out of here.”
Despite himself, Carson had to grin. Even with the time that had passed, Laura still relished every chance to wind Rodney up about the brief period she had spent as co-resident of his brain.
“I’ll do my best,” he said, struggling to keep a straight face. “As long as you get us out of here.”
Rodney gave him an irate look bordering on insulted. “Do you have any doubt?” He stepped back and studied the doorway. “Okay, there’s a control panel here and I’ve no doubt it’s connected to the main power cells in the basement...”
“Is that a good...”
“Shut up!” An emphatic hand waved Carson into silence. “Can’t you recognise that I’m talking to the most intelligent person present and not looking for interruption?” A frown crossed his brow. “Oh great. Looks like it’ll be a double-header for this.”
Turning on his heel, the scientist stamped off along the hallway, muttering grumpily to himself.
“Rodney?”
“Going to find Zelenka,” Rodney barked back over his shoulder. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Returning his attention to his companion in captivity, Carson smiled weakly, making his way back to the table and opening up one of the crates. “I suppose we should get comfortable for the time being,” he offered.
Glancing at the doorway, Ronon frowned minutely. “Guess so,” he replied.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
“How long will it remain in place?”
“According to the people in charge, indefinitely.” Flipping open a file, McKay pushed a sheet of paper across the table to Weir. “But you know those funny little quirks religious maniacs have? Take that and multiply it and you have our resident priest in this temple. He wasn’t too keen to talk to scientists.”
“Or Rodney,” Radek put in helpfully.
“Yes, well, some people are bound to be less than helpful when you kindly point out that I think that their belief system is outmoded and can be disproved by the most basic of physics equations.”
Radek looked offended. “I did not think he was listening outside the door!”
“Or you just didn’t think, which I’m starting to suspect you do a lot,” Rodney snapped.
“Rodney, Radek,” Weir raised her hand for silence. “Can the buck-passing stop until the meeting is over?”
The two scientists glared at each other for a moment, then returned their attention to the scans and files in front of them, both examining for a weakness, each determined to find it before the other.
“Since these two have alienated the religious leader without even trying,” Weir glanced across the table. “John, do you feel ready to do some persuading?”
The Lieutenant Colonel’s lips curved slightly. “Point the way.”
“What about Carson and Ronon?” Leaning back in her seat, Weir pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Have you told them all you know?”
“No, Elizabeth,” Rodney closed the folder rather more emphatically than he had opened it. “We just spent six hours trying to find a way to bring the barrier down without bothering to let them know why they might be stuck there for some time.”
“The system is unlike anything we have encountered before,” Zelenka added. “It is far simpler than Ancient technology.”
“But too simple by comparison to everything we’re used to, which makes it more difficult to adjust, because we...” Rodney sank back in his seat. “Well, let’s just say it might take us a little longer than it otherwise would.”
“It is also very old,” Zelenka said, grimacing. “I think it has been left for a long time without care. It is like trying to make something operate which is covered with rust and rot. It is not so easy.”
Weir nodded, exhaling. “But other than that, they’re both all right?”
“Aside from being trapped in a windowless box-room in the middle of a temple with only each other for company and a fantastically simple force-field keeping them there?” Rodney shrugged expressively. “I think they’re just fine.”
“What about food? Water?”
“The field is only effective against other life forms,” Zelenka replied. “Inanimate objects can pass through it.”
“Like I said,” Rodney added, “They’re fine. Probably safer than we are too, on that planet.” He scowled at the contents of his folder. “Trust Beckett to get himself sealed in a perfect bubble of hygiene when he’s meant to be treating the sick people.”
“Lucky Carson,” Sheppard said dryly from across the table. “And with you stuck out here, not even able to get trapped in the safe little prison with him to make sure he knows it.” Weir gave him a reprimanding look as Rodney made an indignant sound, which was matched with a lop-sided grin from John. “You know we were all thinking it.”
For a moment, it looked like she might agree, but instead, looked down at the page in front of her and then back at the two scientists. “Can you give me a ballpark figure of how long this might take you?” she asked.
Zelenka glanced sidelong at Rodney who was making notes on a piece of paper, which was promptly crumpled and hurled across the room. The Czech looked back at Weir. “I think that is a no,” he said.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Watching Ronon pace, Carson held up a sealed ration bar. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit down and eat something?” he said. The other man shook his head, soundless feet carrying him back and forth across the stone floor.
Opening his own bar, Beckett studied the dry block before nibbling on the corner. It wasn’t the worst thing he had eaten admittedly, but after an incident involving lump of fresh peat and an older cousin’s idea of a joke, anything would taste better.
Ronon’s shadow flickered across him again, the lamps glowing on the far wall of the room, opposite the door. Stretching pale fingers out across the flag-stoned floor, the rays bisected the dull v of evening twilight which spilled in through the doorway.
At first, Ronon had been as patient as he had, expecting Rodney and Radek to quite easily override the basic system of controls. After all, this planet wasn’t exactly very high on the scale of advanced scientific programming.
Only when both scientists had gone with John to collect some more equipment from Atlantis and inform Weir of the situation had Beckett noticed that Ronon wasn’t so much sitting quietly and calmly as watching the blocked doorway the same way as one would observe an adversary.
Even when he had started to pace slowly around the room, occasionally touching random points on the wall, his eyes darted to the doorway. An unseen enemy, even a scientifically changeable one, was clearly a source of frustration.
Sipping some water from the bottle, Beckett watched the shadow sweep over him three more times, slow, steady circuits of the room unsettling him with their steady methodical repetition.
“Walking around won’t help, you know.”
Ronon glanced over his shoulder between the heavy coils of his hair. “I know.” He reached out and pressed one hand against the wall. The muscles in his bare arms tensed and he exhaled slowly. “I don’t like to be closed in.”
“You’re claustrophobic?”
The other man turned, a puzzled look on his face.
“It’s a fear of enclosed spaces,” Carson explained without thinking, breaking off another bit of his ration bar and turning it over between his fingers. “It’s actually quite common, you know.”
“I’m not afraid of small spaces,” Ronon was suddenly squatting close to him. Carson fumbled with and dropped the piece of the bar. On the opposite side of the doorway, Ronon shifted his weight, his eyes on Carson’s face. “I just don’t like to be closed in.”
“O-of course,” Beckett stammered, wondering how he the man in front of him could still manage to terrify him, just by looking at him that way. He found himself leaning backwards, away, anywhere but closer to the man in front of him. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were.”
To his surprise, Ronon looked almost like he smiled, but - the doctor reasoned - it was honestly more likely to be wind.
Thinking about it logically, he had every reason to trust the man, yet all Beckett could remember when he looked at him was operating on him without anaesthetic or even analgesics. Hearing barely a sound, yet seeing bone and muscle bared under his scalpel, he had wondered if the warrior was mad. It had to take some kind of masochistic madness to tolerate that kind of pain.
“I’m not gonna bite, doc.” Ronon’s voice was deep, more like a growl than speech, really, but he looked amused.
“Force of habit,” Carson mumbled sheepishly, carefully folding the wrapper of the bar around it the remaining piece. “I suppose you could call it basic playground survival 101.”
“Is that some kind of training?”
The doctor looked up. “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I… where I come from, children were… well, they were right wee buggers to each other.” A not-so-fond memory surfaced. “Especially to people who were smaller than them.”
Ronon slowly nodded. “Yeah, I remember,” he said, his expression unreadable.
“That’s not to say that I think you’re... er... I know you’re a very nice gentleman,” Carson cleared his throat, conscientiously dusting crumbs off his shirt. “You’re a wee bit intimidating, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry about it.” A firm hand clapped him on the shoulder.
Beckett blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Figured you didn’t mean it that way.”
Ronon unfolded back to his feet smoothly, looking around at the bare walls as intently as he had stared at the sealed door frame. He was silent for several minutes, then looked back at Beckett.
“It’s not the spaces that are the problem.”
“I see.” said Carson, who didn’t really.
Glancing back down at the seated doctor, Ronon said nothing.
He walked another circuit, pausing to examine the globe-like lamps and the walls they hung on. The silence seemed tense, oppressive, even the rustle of the wrapping on Carson’s bar sounding uncomfortably loud.
He broke the remainder of the bar into two, then those pieces into half, fastidiously arranging the wrapper so the crumbs didn’t spill. Nibbling on a piece at a time, he couldn’t help watching Ronon’s movements.
The wild-looking man was still touching points on the walls, around the lamps and down the seams between smoothly-carved stones, as if searching for a weakness that the naked eye might miss.
“Always had to have a way out,” he finally spoke, still studying the back wall of the room.
Of course! When you have spent seven years as an enforced fugitive, it was hardly likely that you would be comfortable locked in a room with no way out. Carson could have kicked himself.
“At least we’re not in any danger here,” he volunteered hopefully.
Dark eyes flicked up to the ceiling, then back to Carson. “Guess not,” Ronon agreed, folding his arms over his chest. He returned to his position by the door, squatting down again. “Think McKay knows what he’s doing?”
Swallowing a bit of ration bar, Carson nodded emphatically. “He may well be a pompous idiot with the Guinness world record for ego, but he’s not a bad person to have on your side when you’re trapped by a force field generated by an old machine in the middle of a temple.”
Ronon’s brow arched. “This happen often?”
“Er... no. Not so much.”
Chuckling, Ronon let himself slide to sit, resting his forearms on his upraised knees. “I figured,” he observed dryly.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
“How you guys holding up?”
The look Carson gave him could have come from the McKay School of Why-Do-You-Ask-Such-Stupid-Questions. “Could do with something more than your book if we’re stuck here much longer,” he said. He was sitting on his jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A barely-leafed copy of War and Peace was on the floor beside him.
“Don’t want to risk shorting another console,” John shrugged apologetically.
Two days earlier, they had tried to provide Carson with some of his data to keep him occupied, but the machine had exploded spectacularly as soon as it touched the barrier, leaving the doctor panicking over a possible loss of data.
“Checked every part of the room again,” Ronon added, leaning sideways to look around the door frame. “Looks like this place was cut out of the rock face and walled up for good measure.”
“Yeah,” John squatted down on the threshold of the door frame, leaning his arms on his knees as he looked from one face to the other. “That’s the problem. This room was designed so there was only one way in or out.”
“And even that doesn’t work,” Beckett observed gloomily. “Rodney was stamping around up here a little while ago without saying anything.” He glanced at John. “I don’t think it was a good sign.”
“Good call,” John agreed. “McKay and Zelenka can’t do anything this time. The system is too old and worn out. If they try and tweak it much more, they could lock down the field indefinitely.”
“Oh God...” Carson dropped his head back against the wall with a pitiful moan. “I’m going to die an old man in here, aren’t I? We’ll be stuck here and never get out.”
“You said they could lock down the field indefinitely if they continued to do what they were doing,” Ronon said, his voice quiet as he turned to face John. “Is there some way that we could disable it that they can’t?”
Reaching to rub the back of his neck, John grimaced. “I had a chat with the guy in charge here and... persuaded him to tell me a few things he wouldn’t tell a couple of cynics like McKay and Zelenka.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it? More information?” Carson said hopefully. Judging by the look on Sheppard’s face, it clearly wasn’t. “Colonel, I don’t mean to pressure you for answers, but I’m going daft in here. I’ll do anything to get out.”
“Anything is good,” Sheppard dropped forward onto his knees, sitting back on his heels. “You remember these people are incredibly religious.”
“To a crazy extent, aye,” Carson agreed.
“Arranged marriages were apparently normal in the past,” John pressed his hands to his thighs, looking from Carson to Ronon and back. “But the people involved weren’t usually happy about it. You’re in the room where they... uh... made them get to know each other.”
“So we have to get to know each other better?” Carson inquired. “That’s all?”
“No, Beckett,” Ronon was watching Sheppard curiously. “I don’t think the Colonel means it the way you’re thinking.”
Light dawned. Horror and dismay vied for place on Carson’s face. “You can’t mean... surely, you’re not saying that... oh God... what kind of warped minds do these bloody people have?”
“That’s why this room hasn’t been used for years,” Sheppard replied, not quite able to look at Carson, who started methodically banging the back of his head off the wall. “The priest believed... uh... the eyes of the Gods had looked away, but...”
“Oh, I bet those ‘Gods’ are watching all right! Didn’t I say these people were nasty bastards? Didn’t I? What kind of sicko came up with such a bloody twisted idea?” Carson clasped his hands over his face. “Oh, God... isn’t there another option?”
Sheppard shook his head sympathetically. “Not even death,” he replied. “If someone went into this room, there was only ever one way out.”
“Shite! Buggering, arsing, sodding shite!” Carson moaned behind his hands.
Ronon, ignoring Carson’s distress, seemed to be thinking. “Could it be one person?”
“Who does the doing?” Ronon nodded. “Unfortunately, no. I asked. There had to be a... mutual element.”
“How can they tell?” Carson’s voice was rising, shrill with hysteria. “Do they watch?”
“You’ve seen the kind of sensors that the Ancients produced on Atlantis,” Sheppard said quietly. “These are a similar kind, but much more specialised. They probably assess the physical responses...”
“Isn’t there anything else we can do?” Carson’s voice had trailed to a mumble.
“Unless you want to risk Zelenka and McKay crashing everything and trapping you there indefinitely, there’s nothing else,” Sheppard replied. “Carson, you know we’ve been looking for days.”
“Aye.” The words slipped from under the heels of his hands. “Doesn’t make it any more comforting.”
“Also...”
“There’s more?” Carson wailed. “Why not just write to my mother now and tell her I’m about to get buggered backwards because some daft old sod couldn’t just say left or right? I mean, what is a situation like this without being disowned?”
“We don’t even know if it would work.”
Banging his head against the wall again, Carson uttered several words which made John’s brows rise.
“Carson, we’re trying to find out all we can, but the room was designed for a man and woman.”
“So even if we do... do what you’re saying we have to do, then we might just stay stuck in here anyway? Because I’m not a lassie?” Carson’s hands dropped from his eyes and he stared at John. “How could the bloody room know?”
Sheppard shook his head. “We don’t know yet,” he said. “The priest has let some of our historians into the vault and they’re trying to find any information they can. He wants you out of here as much as you do.”
“Oh, I sincerely doubt that!”
“I think it’s safe to say he’ll never let any of our people in here ever again,” Sheppard said. “I know this isn’t the best news I could give you, but we’re doing all we can. If you want to wait...”
“You get us something else to do, I think we can wait,” Ronon murmured. “Beckett, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”
Relief washed over Carson like a wave and he seemed to sag against the wall. “You don’t mind being stuck in here a bit longer too?”
Ronon’s shoulder lifted in a shrug, his expression revealing nothing. “They’re still looking. Why not give ‘em some time?”
“Aye... aye,” Carson turned to Sheppard. “Can you tell them to get a move on?”
“You got it.” Straightening up, Sheppard looked into the room. Camp provisions had been sent from Atlantis, rough sleeping bags and basic ration bars, but it did little to make the room any more appealing. He looked back at the two men seated by the doorway. “You guys want anything?”
“Apart from out?” Carson said dryly.
Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, John smiled faintly. “I’ll just be... going, then.”
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Curled in a tight ball in his sleeping bag, Carson glared at his breath which was rebelliously misting in front of his eyes. It seemed that every night he had spent in the room seemed to get colder and colder by degrees.
The small heater that had been gingerly pushed through the invisible barrier had stopped working within minutes of being switched on, the circuit apparently shorting for no reason.
He could tell it was night, because those sodding globes on the walls dulled to a faint glow, instead of lighting up the whole room and he had seen it happen ten times already and was beginning to dread the eleventh.
Several feet from him, Ronon was sitting upright against the wall, wrapped in a coat and with his legs covered by the sleeping back, his features profiled against the light spilling in through the doorway.
“It’s colder than it was last night,” he observed when he decided to acknowledge Carson’s attention.
Already wearing two layers, plus an extra coat and the sleeping bag, Carson felt compelled to agree, but was too cold to think of even voicing a response, his arms wrapped over his chest.
“You think it’ll just keep getting colder the longer we’re here?”
Through chattering teeth, Carson gritted out, “I think that might be the way of it.”
Abruptly, Ronon unfolded from his position by the wall and crossed the floor, squatting down beside Carson. The doctor could hear the man’s joints popping from the cold, but Ronon didn’t even acknowledge the sound.
Squinting at him, the dull light blocked by Ronon’s body, he frowned when the other man draped the second winter sleeping bag over him. “Hey now! Don’t be silly!” he protested, starting to sit up and push the thick cover back towards Ronon.
“You’re cold,” Ronon replied simply. “I’m okay.”
Making an exasperated sound, the physician in Carson immediately reached out and grasped one of Ronon’s hands. It was ice-cold even compared to his own. He gave the younger man a severe, reprimanding look. “You’ll make yourself ill.”
“I’ve had worse than a little cold.”
“Don’t be daft,” Carson snapped, reaching down and fumbling with the sleeping bag. “There’s only one way the both of us are going to be able to stay even a wee bit warm in this bloody freezer.”
With some creative manipulating and several unfortunate scrapes on numb fingers, Carson managed to rearrange the sleeping bags into one large one, something he recollected from a Scout camp when he was thirteen.
Wriggling back into it, he looked up at Ronon. “All right, in you get.”
Ronon eyed him. “You sure you don’t mind? I’m good out here?”
“Don’t make me tell you again, lad,” Carson said firmly, gesturing with one hand. “I might seem nice, but you better do what you’re told, because I’m not going to let you get sick while I’m around.”
His expression implying he found Carson’s high-handedness amusing, the larger man complied.
Despite this new position being his own suggestion, Carson still felt himself blush more than he would have liked at the sudden heat and the press of Ronon’s body against his in the confines of the double-sleeping-bag.
Facing away from Ronon, Carson felt the other man shift. He would have had to have been completely insensible to the broad chest against his back or the level, warm breaths against his ear.
Oh God, it must be madness, but he had missed having someone pressed against him like that. He had grown so used to Laura draping herself around him in sleep, feeling the tickle of her hair against his cheek and lying awake, listening to her quiet snores.
He sighed, faintly, wistfully, then jolted as if shocked when a hand came to rest on his hip.
“You okay, Beckett?”
“Eh?” Heat rose in his cheeks again and he hastily coughed, clearing his throat. “Oh, er... aye. Aye, warmer now.”
“Thinking of home, right?”
Carson stared into the darkness. “How did you know?”
“Done the same myself,” The words were a murmur against his ear. “Still do, even if home isn’t there anymore.”
“I-I’m sorry,” What had been embarrassment gave way to shame. He was being so bloody selfish when the poor man behind him didn’t even have a family to think about.
“I got used to it,” Ronon replied quietly. “I’d been gone seven years. Doesn’t stop you hoping. Maybe thinking they might be hoping as well.”
Carson squeezed his eyes closed and for the briefest of moments, he tried to squash down the thought of what Laura might be thinking, of what she might be doing, trying not to think of how she might be feeling.
Almost a week, he had been trapped here and she had been at the back of his mind, while he fretted and worried about his situation, but now, she had come marched to the forefront and he knew she wasn’t going back.
Not that he even wanted her to.
The thought of her standing in front of him, hands imperiously on her hips, looking in at him with a combination of impatience and a suggestion of loneliness made his heart ache. He wanted to take her hand and just hold onto her for as long as she could let him, before she hit him over the head with a pillow.
“Did you have people waiting for you?” he asked.
He felt Ronon hesitate, then nod. “Everyone has a family,” he said briefly, sadly.
It felt hollow and meaningless to say it, but Carson hesitantly reached down and patted the hand on his hip. “You have us now, if that’s any comfort.” he said.
A small puff of quiet amusement warmed his cheek. “Thanks.”
Laying his head down, Carson gazed sightlessly ahead of him.
His mind was on Atlantis, on his compatriots, on the infirmary that was probably getting filled on a daily basis, on the city which he counted as home, on the woman he was missing more than he imagined was possible.
They were silent for some time, then he tilted his head. “We’re being useless, stuck in here, aren’t we?” he said. “I mean, we can’t do anything to help any of the teams and they’re stuck here until we get out.”
“It’s not our fault,” Ronon replied.
Carson slowly nodded. “But we know there’s a chance we could get ourselves out and I haven’t even thought about trying,” he said, as though reading a passage from a textbook, every word carefully placed, without inflection.
He felt Ronon shift, leaning up to look down at him. “You know you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.”
“Nor do you,” he said, meeting Ronon’s eyes. “But we can’t stay here, can we? What if you’re needed by the Colonel? What if there’s a medical emergency and I’m not there?” He laughed, but it was higher and tenser than usual. “I can’t just sit here and wait for Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dumber to find some other way to get us out.”
“You sure?”
Carson nodded vehemently. “I can’t make you stay in here any longer,” he said. “And I’ll go mad if I have to spend another night in here. My mother would kill me if she knew, but this...” Uncertainty caught his voice. “These aren’t your normal set of circumstances.”
Ronon gazed at him, then nodded slowly. “In the morning,” he said with quiet finality. “When it gets warmer. Colonel Sheppard left everything we might need.”
“God only knows where he got it!” Carson heard himself explain, wondering when his voice had suddenly become so shrill and slightly hysterical. “He’s a bit of a dark horse, that one.”
He felt Ronon’s hand contract against his side, felt the other man laugh softly. “Get some rest,” he said. “You’ll be back in your own room tomorrow.”
And somehow, hearing Ronon say it made it seem like it would be real and to his shock, he felt himself finally giving in to the sleep that had been evading him for days and nights on end.
Part 2.