[sga] M57-332 - pg - april 07
I'm in a mood.
***
sga - M57-332 - pg - in which there's nothing left.
***
Things are supposed to be right now, but they're more wrong than ever and Rodney doesn't know why. He's poorly versed in social mores at the best of times, but the past few weeks have been something else entirely. He feels like his skin doesn't fit right anymore, like everything that comes out of his mouth is on the verge of becoming gibberish. He knows he's not the only one; there's something wrong with all four of them, something that wants to drive them apart but pulls them together at the same time. Sitting for lunch with Ronon, Teyla, and John is torture, but his body won't settle into any chair other than the one at John's right elbow.
Michael is neutralized for the moment. The Wraith are retreating for the time being. The Replicators are gone as far as anyone can tell. There's been talk of expanding the scientific aspects of the mission, dialing back the military, maybe. Everyone is relaxing, smiling more, but Rodney's jaw aches from clenching his teeth together and he's never seen Sheppard's shoulders so stiff. They don't speak if they don't have to, and silent missions are something foreign and frightening and cold. They don't feel like home, like team, like they used to.
Before they leave for M57-332, Teyla says, succinctly and quietly in the pre-mission briefing, that the world has a large market known the galaxy over as a ripe trading ground. That it's loud and boisterous and just the thought, the description, makes Rodney's stomach hurt. Being around that sort of jubilation when he feels like he's going to jump out of his skin throws him completely off kilter.
He feel guilty for thinking that, though, as they step onto the world and are greeted with quiet, a total quiet, a quiet that seems unnatural and strained as they walk towards the village. They all know what they're walking into.
The marketplace is in shambles and dead quiet. The houses are destroyed and burned. There are stalls overturned, animals wandering sluggishly, but not a person in sight. Every last person has been culled, every man, woman and child. There aren't even any bodies left behind.
There's protocol and procedure for this, so they wordlessly split up into their teams of two and check the surroundings for survivors. It never gets better, going into people's homes, seeing the possessions they'll never touch again. If anything, it's worse now that John is silent next to him and they're both stiff and awkward. He doesn't know what he would say if he felt comfortable saying anything, but he misses the option, he misses the days before they were skating on this precipice. He misses the days when he knew everything could be solved by going back to Atlantis and watching some terrible movie in a lounge and falling asleep with his head on John's shoulder, Teyla's head on his hip, and his feet in Ronon's lap.
Whatever has been haunting him--them--these past few weeks is building in his chest when they meet up with Teyla and Ronon. The unease is on all their faces, in all of their postures, and the walk back to the gate is physically hard. He lingers in front of the DHD before dialing home because he feels like he needs to say something, anything, but the words are dead in his throat as he presses the familiar symbols on the DHD and watches the wormhole whoosh to life.
He thinks about M57-332 for the rest of the night, simulations running in front of him and mind a million miles away. He thinks about that empty feeling in his chest and the way that John and Teyla and Ronon make his throat close up. He thinks about how desperate he is to feel something, anything other than this desperation, this fine line between fear and insanity, and he leaves the labs before his sim is finished running.
By the time he gets to the team lounge with his Batman dvds, Teyla and Ronon are already there, each holding a movie of their own. He stares at them in shock, heart racing, even as he hears the door open and sees Sheppard join their semi-circle.
"So," Sheppard says after a moment, voice dry and hoarse as though it's been days since he last used it, "What do you guys want to watch first?"
That night, Rodney falls asleep with his arms around John and Teyla's head on his hip and his feet in Ronon's lap and the weight in his chest slowly fading away.
***
sga - M57-332 - pg - in which there's nothing left.
***
Things are supposed to be right now, but they're more wrong than ever and Rodney doesn't know why. He's poorly versed in social mores at the best of times, but the past few weeks have been something else entirely. He feels like his skin doesn't fit right anymore, like everything that comes out of his mouth is on the verge of becoming gibberish. He knows he's not the only one; there's something wrong with all four of them, something that wants to drive them apart but pulls them together at the same time. Sitting for lunch with Ronon, Teyla, and John is torture, but his body won't settle into any chair other than the one at John's right elbow.
Michael is neutralized for the moment. The Wraith are retreating for the time being. The Replicators are gone as far as anyone can tell. There's been talk of expanding the scientific aspects of the mission, dialing back the military, maybe. Everyone is relaxing, smiling more, but Rodney's jaw aches from clenching his teeth together and he's never seen Sheppard's shoulders so stiff. They don't speak if they don't have to, and silent missions are something foreign and frightening and cold. They don't feel like home, like team, like they used to.
Before they leave for M57-332, Teyla says, succinctly and quietly in the pre-mission briefing, that the world has a large market known the galaxy over as a ripe trading ground. That it's loud and boisterous and just the thought, the description, makes Rodney's stomach hurt. Being around that sort of jubilation when he feels like he's going to jump out of his skin throws him completely off kilter.
He feel guilty for thinking that, though, as they step onto the world and are greeted with quiet, a total quiet, a quiet that seems unnatural and strained as they walk towards the village. They all know what they're walking into.
The marketplace is in shambles and dead quiet. The houses are destroyed and burned. There are stalls overturned, animals wandering sluggishly, but not a person in sight. Every last person has been culled, every man, woman and child. There aren't even any bodies left behind.
There's protocol and procedure for this, so they wordlessly split up into their teams of two and check the surroundings for survivors. It never gets better, going into people's homes, seeing the possessions they'll never touch again. If anything, it's worse now that John is silent next to him and they're both stiff and awkward. He doesn't know what he would say if he felt comfortable saying anything, but he misses the option, he misses the days before they were skating on this precipice. He misses the days when he knew everything could be solved by going back to Atlantis and watching some terrible movie in a lounge and falling asleep with his head on John's shoulder, Teyla's head on his hip, and his feet in Ronon's lap.
Whatever has been haunting him--them--these past few weeks is building in his chest when they meet up with Teyla and Ronon. The unease is on all their faces, in all of their postures, and the walk back to the gate is physically hard. He lingers in front of the DHD before dialing home because he feels like he needs to say something, anything, but the words are dead in his throat as he presses the familiar symbols on the DHD and watches the wormhole whoosh to life.
He thinks about M57-332 for the rest of the night, simulations running in front of him and mind a million miles away. He thinks about that empty feeling in his chest and the way that John and Teyla and Ronon make his throat close up. He thinks about how desperate he is to feel something, anything other than this desperation, this fine line between fear and insanity, and he leaves the labs before his sim is finished running.
By the time he gets to the team lounge with his Batman dvds, Teyla and Ronon are already there, each holding a movie of their own. He stares at them in shock, heart racing, even as he hears the door open and sees Sheppard join their semi-circle.
"So," Sheppard says after a moment, voice dry and hoarse as though it's been days since he last used it, "What do you guys want to watch first?"
That night, Rodney falls asleep with his arms around John and Teyla's head on his hip and his feet in Ronon's lap and the weight in his chest slowly fading away.