TEAM ANGST: Aftermath, "On the Trail of Polaris"
Title: On the Trail of Polaris
Author: sethoz
Team: Angst
Prompt: Aftermath
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Warnings: Spoilers for Trinity
Summary: Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore
Once you've read the story, please take a moment to vote in the poll below. Ratings go from 1 (low) to 9 (high), so all you need to do is enter a single number in that range into each text entry box. You'll be able to see the Prompt and Team (Genre) information in the header above.
More details about the voting procedure can be found here.
**
On the Trail of Polaris
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--
[...]
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor....
- The Raven, by Edgar Allen Poe.
Rodney's been here for two days.
Two days of being alone, without a single crisis or loss of life to distract him. Nobody up here is going to die because he didn't think fast enough and nobody up here is a dark haired male American. Two days of doing nothing taxing with his brain and letting himself unwind until he is more relaxed than he can ever remember being.
Rodney thinks this is both heaven and hell. He's tired, so bone achingly tired and nothing he does can make that go away, the way his strength had just faded away. By now, he knows he should be feeling the good type of tired - half forgotten memories of hiking as a child. Even then he whined and moaned, not understanding the point of climbing up a hill or mountain, just to turn around and then come all the way back. It’s a pointless endeavour and one thing Rodney has never liked is pointless endeavours - pointless, stupid, suicidal endeavours. Even he had to admit however; even if not to other people; after the hike he was always so tired but once the pain had passed Rodney would feel better.
He gets up when the sunlight hits his face and goes for a wander though the Canadian forest by his door. It's the perfect place to hide - not that he's hiding - because he hates the outdoors so much, hates being away from all his home comforts. He hates camping and everything that goes with camping so there is no reason, no reason at all, for him to be staying in a cabin next to a wood. After his walk he sits on the steps or if it is too cold for that, he sits inside and stares blankly ahead, telling himself that he's not hiding.
Rodney's never had two days crawl past so slowly.
At night he likes to sit and stare up at the sky. His eyes are drawn to the North Star because it is the easiest to find. It always remains in place but that’s okay. It’s a constant, an unchanging fact and right now Rodney could do with a few more constant facts in his life. Things that will remain the same all the time and won’t demand things from him that he cannot give. Things that wouldn’t stare and step back as he breaks and can’t piece himself back together in time.
It's the nights as he lies sleeping that he has learned to hate, once the distractions and quiet white noise is gone. The dreams that come to him, and the dreams that haunt him. It’s during the night that he feels awake, as if he is spending all the time working, trying to fix the unfixable. By day he feels like he is sleeping, trapped in a dream.
It’s been three weeks now since he last spoke to anyone in Stargate Command. Two months since he last saw Atlantis and those left alive - there should have been so many more left alive. Rodney doesn’t think about how long it’s been since he last had a good night’s sleep, when he last was able to close his eyes and hear a second heartbeat along with his own.
He’s coping.
That’s what he tells himself anyway.
On the third day everything is pretty much the same as the previous two, with the single exception being the rain. It greets him as he wakes up and doesn't let up, even after a whole day. The landscape is changed completely by the rain, but he doesn't let the wetness disrupt his routine. He goes for his walk, letting the rain fall onto his head. Once back at the cabin, he changes into dry clothes and sits down silently, staring ahead and letting his brain slowly tick along.
It only changes after night has fallen.
The rain is still beating down on the roof of the cabin, droplets dancing on the window pane. Somehow, during the course of the day, he fell asleep and now both darkness and rain are there to greet him as he wakes. Rain means clouds and clouds mean no stargazing, not tonight. There is a second noise as well, softer, that of the gravel outside the cabin being crunched under foot. Rodney sits upright, staring silently at the door, frozen in place even as the sounds gets closer and closer. He knows who it is out there.
Knows and is afraid. Afraid of being right. Afraid of being wrong.
A loud knock sounds on the wood, as if a fist had hit it. For a moment, Rodney considers hiding under the covers of his bed in the hope that he will go away. Rodney knows he won't though. He won't do anything until Rodney tells him again, to leave him alone. Until Rodney tells him that he really is fine, he isn’t running away from anything and everything. That he doesn’t miss him.
Rodney's getting better at lying; he can even do it to himself in some cases.
Slowly Rodney gets up and heads towards the door, his breath catching in his throat. He's not ready for this, he doesn't think he will ever be ready, which is probably why it is happening now. He just has to be strong, just has to open the door, look cold and angry and tell him to go away, to go back to whatever car is lurking further down the trail and then back to his fucking life where everything is clear cut and easily defined. Where there is right, there is wrong and there is no in-between.
Where people died screaming, crying, begging or sometimes they died without a word, with just a startled expression. Their blood stained him as surely as if he had been the killer through action instead of the killer through inaction, through omission. Rodney reaches out and touches the wood of the door, feeling it vibrate as another knock sounds before he yanks it open, schooling his face into an angry scowl.
John Sheppard stands there, rain dripping down his face. His normally springy black hair is plastered flat against his skull and for a moment Rodney has the most ridiculous thought that the hair is a symbol of his emotions and flat means anger.
They stand there, the intruder getting more and more wet, yet still no words are spoken. Rodney can feel the false anger falling away from him, deflating inside and leaving him with just the normal wariness he’s come to accept from life post Atlantis. So he turns aside and lets his old friend-lover enter. That somehow translates into a temporary reprise from the squad and before Rodney know it, he’s invited him to use the guest room.
He lies in his bed, acutely aware of the man in the other room. The ceiling above him is a pale blue colour and Rodney can’t believe that he’s never noticed it before. There is a series of small holes near the foot of his bed and he amuses himself by staring at them and trying to work out what caused them, if they need to be repaired.
He falls asleep wondering if any holes worth being fixed can be.
Rodney wakes up in the morning and somehow, it’s before Jo-Sheppard. Colonel. He’s awake before his unwanted house guest and Rodney breathes deeply through his nose, imaging what will happen when he wakes up. There might be awkward silence, attempts at demands or perhaps worse, wanting to know why Rodney cut and ran.
Rodney’s out the door and trekking into the forest before he really knows what he is doing. It’s too late to go back and so he trudges on, footprints leaving an obvious trail behind him. The scientist hunches deeper into his coat, hands stuffed in his pockets as he walks, the only sounds that of his footsteps and breathing. There is something almost beautiful in the silence and Rodney snorts softly at that - that he, Dr. Rodney McKay, would ever care about silence.
Canada looks how most people would imagine it - or at least this part of Canada does. It’s an empty wilderness and even Rodney half expects to see a flash of red in the corner of his eye, the closest he’ll come to seeing the police force of his nation. He doesn’t expect to see the Colonel appear next to him as if from smoke. There is a wild look in his eyes, as if he didn’t quite realise Rodney would vanish off into the snow.
For a few more meters, Rodney just walks on. He doesn’t want to look at the man next to him and see the disappointment hidden carefully in the eyes - but not hidden enough. The Colonel doesn’t seem to like the plan and he reaches out, catching at Rodney’s sleeve and tugging him back. The force takes him by surprise and he falls, soft snow blanking his landing.
There’s nowhere to run, not when he’s on the ground and the Colonel is leaning over him, apparently concerned. His mouth is moving but Rodney can’t seem to hear them. He’s too caught up in the other man’s eyes.
Eyes that should never say so much, not when it’s Col-John. John again in the back of his mind and it’s the first time since Doranda that he’s seen something in the other man’s eyes that isn’t anger. There is exasperation, fondness, worry and even a little fear. So many more, ones not even Rodney can categorise. John bends down the same time he leans up.
Absolution doesn’t come in the form of rough stubble and warm lips.
It’s not forgiveness he tastes as they meet, a clash of chin and mouths. Awkward like the first time they ever kissed and it’s so familiar, so stupid that when they pull back, Rodney has a small smile on his face. He doesn’t care that he’s still pressed in the cold and wet snow and neither does John as he leans down again, saying everything they didn’t say the night before with his kisses and uncertain hand movements. Even though it’s been months, Rodney still knows the language of John’s body, automatically responding to it as he twists and turns.
Later, they sit on the cold steps, the desolate scenery around them as the light slowly fades away and the night arises. It’s snowing again, covering the world with a fresh layer of white, the tiny flakes almost hiding the scars on the ground. Rodney had always looked beyond the scars and it comes as a shock to him to realise that John looks beyond the scars too. They still haven’t spoken about the important things but then they don’t communicate things that matter in words.
For all that Rodney likes to talk, there are far more important ways to express meaning.
The silence is comforting almost, as they look upwards at the Pole Star, John’s knee lightly bumping against his own. It’s a promise of so much more, of not returning to what they were like before but moving on to something new and different. It promises to be exciting if Rodney will let it, if he can look past the scars himself. If he can realise that the blood on his soul can be at least hidden in his future actions and the heavy gazes from the man next to him. If he returns to Atlantis there will be no more stargazing for his constant. No more Polaris in the night sky.
That doesn’t bother him so much anymore. It’s not better. Words can’t just make these things go away and what happened in another galaxy is still wearing on him. He supposes it’s good.
Rodney doesn’t know if he can go back. If he can face all those faces, those accusing looks. He is still acutely aware of John pressing up next to him, all long limbs and hot breath and he half turns, fabric brushing against fabric. Rodney lifts up a hand, clumsily pressing it against John’s face and he knows - he’ll go back.
It might not be perfect, but he can’t run away from John again. He can’t leave a piece of himself behind.
~fin~
**
THIS POLL IS NOW CLOSED. ANY FURTHER VOTES WILL NOT BE COUNTED.
Poll Vote for this story
Author: sethoz
Team: Angst
Prompt: Aftermath
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Warnings: Spoilers for Trinity
Summary: Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore
Once you've read the story, please take a moment to vote in the poll below. Ratings go from 1 (low) to 9 (high), so all you need to do is enter a single number in that range into each text entry box. You'll be able to see the Prompt and Team (Genre) information in the header above.
More details about the voting procedure can be found here.
**
On the Trail of Polaris
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--
[...]
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor....
- The Raven, by Edgar Allen Poe.
Rodney's been here for two days.
Two days of being alone, without a single crisis or loss of life to distract him. Nobody up here is going to die because he didn't think fast enough and nobody up here is a dark haired male American. Two days of doing nothing taxing with his brain and letting himself unwind until he is more relaxed than he can ever remember being.
Rodney thinks this is both heaven and hell. He's tired, so bone achingly tired and nothing he does can make that go away, the way his strength had just faded away. By now, he knows he should be feeling the good type of tired - half forgotten memories of hiking as a child. Even then he whined and moaned, not understanding the point of climbing up a hill or mountain, just to turn around and then come all the way back. It’s a pointless endeavour and one thing Rodney has never liked is pointless endeavours - pointless, stupid, suicidal endeavours. Even he had to admit however; even if not to other people; after the hike he was always so tired but once the pain had passed Rodney would feel better.
He gets up when the sunlight hits his face and goes for a wander though the Canadian forest by his door. It's the perfect place to hide - not that he's hiding - because he hates the outdoors so much, hates being away from all his home comforts. He hates camping and everything that goes with camping so there is no reason, no reason at all, for him to be staying in a cabin next to a wood. After his walk he sits on the steps or if it is too cold for that, he sits inside and stares blankly ahead, telling himself that he's not hiding.
Rodney's never had two days crawl past so slowly.
At night he likes to sit and stare up at the sky. His eyes are drawn to the North Star because it is the easiest to find. It always remains in place but that’s okay. It’s a constant, an unchanging fact and right now Rodney could do with a few more constant facts in his life. Things that will remain the same all the time and won’t demand things from him that he cannot give. Things that wouldn’t stare and step back as he breaks and can’t piece himself back together in time.
It's the nights as he lies sleeping that he has learned to hate, once the distractions and quiet white noise is gone. The dreams that come to him, and the dreams that haunt him. It’s during the night that he feels awake, as if he is spending all the time working, trying to fix the unfixable. By day he feels like he is sleeping, trapped in a dream.
It’s been three weeks now since he last spoke to anyone in Stargate Command. Two months since he last saw Atlantis and those left alive - there should have been so many more left alive. Rodney doesn’t think about how long it’s been since he last had a good night’s sleep, when he last was able to close his eyes and hear a second heartbeat along with his own.
He’s coping.
That’s what he tells himself anyway.
On the third day everything is pretty much the same as the previous two, with the single exception being the rain. It greets him as he wakes up and doesn't let up, even after a whole day. The landscape is changed completely by the rain, but he doesn't let the wetness disrupt his routine. He goes for his walk, letting the rain fall onto his head. Once back at the cabin, he changes into dry clothes and sits down silently, staring ahead and letting his brain slowly tick along.
It only changes after night has fallen.
The rain is still beating down on the roof of the cabin, droplets dancing on the window pane. Somehow, during the course of the day, he fell asleep and now both darkness and rain are there to greet him as he wakes. Rain means clouds and clouds mean no stargazing, not tonight. There is a second noise as well, softer, that of the gravel outside the cabin being crunched under foot. Rodney sits upright, staring silently at the door, frozen in place even as the sounds gets closer and closer. He knows who it is out there.
Knows and is afraid. Afraid of being right. Afraid of being wrong.
A loud knock sounds on the wood, as if a fist had hit it. For a moment, Rodney considers hiding under the covers of his bed in the hope that he will go away. Rodney knows he won't though. He won't do anything until Rodney tells him again, to leave him alone. Until Rodney tells him that he really is fine, he isn’t running away from anything and everything. That he doesn’t miss him.
Rodney's getting better at lying; he can even do it to himself in some cases.
Slowly Rodney gets up and heads towards the door, his breath catching in his throat. He's not ready for this, he doesn't think he will ever be ready, which is probably why it is happening now. He just has to be strong, just has to open the door, look cold and angry and tell him to go away, to go back to whatever car is lurking further down the trail and then back to his fucking life where everything is clear cut and easily defined. Where there is right, there is wrong and there is no in-between.
Where people died screaming, crying, begging or sometimes they died without a word, with just a startled expression. Their blood stained him as surely as if he had been the killer through action instead of the killer through inaction, through omission. Rodney reaches out and touches the wood of the door, feeling it vibrate as another knock sounds before he yanks it open, schooling his face into an angry scowl.
John Sheppard stands there, rain dripping down his face. His normally springy black hair is plastered flat against his skull and for a moment Rodney has the most ridiculous thought that the hair is a symbol of his emotions and flat means anger.
They stand there, the intruder getting more and more wet, yet still no words are spoken. Rodney can feel the false anger falling away from him, deflating inside and leaving him with just the normal wariness he’s come to accept from life post Atlantis. So he turns aside and lets his old friend-lover enter. That somehow translates into a temporary reprise from the squad and before Rodney know it, he’s invited him to use the guest room.
He lies in his bed, acutely aware of the man in the other room. The ceiling above him is a pale blue colour and Rodney can’t believe that he’s never noticed it before. There is a series of small holes near the foot of his bed and he amuses himself by staring at them and trying to work out what caused them, if they need to be repaired.
He falls asleep wondering if any holes worth being fixed can be.
Rodney wakes up in the morning and somehow, it’s before Jo-Sheppard. Colonel. He’s awake before his unwanted house guest and Rodney breathes deeply through his nose, imaging what will happen when he wakes up. There might be awkward silence, attempts at demands or perhaps worse, wanting to know why Rodney cut and ran.
Rodney’s out the door and trekking into the forest before he really knows what he is doing. It’s too late to go back and so he trudges on, footprints leaving an obvious trail behind him. The scientist hunches deeper into his coat, hands stuffed in his pockets as he walks, the only sounds that of his footsteps and breathing. There is something almost beautiful in the silence and Rodney snorts softly at that - that he, Dr. Rodney McKay, would ever care about silence.
Canada looks how most people would imagine it - or at least this part of Canada does. It’s an empty wilderness and even Rodney half expects to see a flash of red in the corner of his eye, the closest he’ll come to seeing the police force of his nation. He doesn’t expect to see the Colonel appear next to him as if from smoke. There is a wild look in his eyes, as if he didn’t quite realise Rodney would vanish off into the snow.
For a few more meters, Rodney just walks on. He doesn’t want to look at the man next to him and see the disappointment hidden carefully in the eyes - but not hidden enough. The Colonel doesn’t seem to like the plan and he reaches out, catching at Rodney’s sleeve and tugging him back. The force takes him by surprise and he falls, soft snow blanking his landing.
There’s nowhere to run, not when he’s on the ground and the Colonel is leaning over him, apparently concerned. His mouth is moving but Rodney can’t seem to hear them. He’s too caught up in the other man’s eyes.
Eyes that should never say so much, not when it’s Col-John. John again in the back of his mind and it’s the first time since Doranda that he’s seen something in the other man’s eyes that isn’t anger. There is exasperation, fondness, worry and even a little fear. So many more, ones not even Rodney can categorise. John bends down the same time he leans up.
Absolution doesn’t come in the form of rough stubble and warm lips.
It’s not forgiveness he tastes as they meet, a clash of chin and mouths. Awkward like the first time they ever kissed and it’s so familiar, so stupid that when they pull back, Rodney has a small smile on his face. He doesn’t care that he’s still pressed in the cold and wet snow and neither does John as he leans down again, saying everything they didn’t say the night before with his kisses and uncertain hand movements. Even though it’s been months, Rodney still knows the language of John’s body, automatically responding to it as he twists and turns.
Later, they sit on the cold steps, the desolate scenery around them as the light slowly fades away and the night arises. It’s snowing again, covering the world with a fresh layer of white, the tiny flakes almost hiding the scars on the ground. Rodney had always looked beyond the scars and it comes as a shock to him to realise that John looks beyond the scars too. They still haven’t spoken about the important things but then they don’t communicate things that matter in words.
For all that Rodney likes to talk, there are far more important ways to express meaning.
The silence is comforting almost, as they look upwards at the Pole Star, John’s knee lightly bumping against his own. It’s a promise of so much more, of not returning to what they were like before but moving on to something new and different. It promises to be exciting if Rodney will let it, if he can look past the scars himself. If he can realise that the blood on his soul can be at least hidden in his future actions and the heavy gazes from the man next to him. If he returns to Atlantis there will be no more stargazing for his constant. No more Polaris in the night sky.
That doesn’t bother him so much anymore. It’s not better. Words can’t just make these things go away and what happened in another galaxy is still wearing on him. He supposes it’s good.
Rodney doesn’t know if he can go back. If he can face all those faces, those accusing looks. He is still acutely aware of John pressing up next to him, all long limbs and hot breath and he half turns, fabric brushing against fabric. Rodney lifts up a hand, clumsily pressing it against John’s face and he knows - he’ll go back.
It might not be perfect, but he can’t run away from John again. He can’t leave a piece of himself behind.
~fin~
**
THIS POLL IS NOW CLOSED. ANY FURTHER VOTES WILL NOT BE COUNTED.
Poll Vote for this story