Expressing Gratitude by Zinnith (PG-13)
An unexpected, first-time, fervent 'thank you' smooch for sgamadison. ~1700 words, unbeta'd.
Rodney thought he was going to die. John might have thought so too.
Expressing Gratitude
The cell is two by three metres, the walls solid rock. The door is metal, about five inches thick. It has no handle on the inside, the hinges aren't visible, there's no way Rodney will be able to get it open without some kind of tools, which he doesn't have. The room is stark and bare and there's no furniture at all. There's nothing to work with.
Rodney's going to die. He's thought along those lines before, too many times to count, but this time there's no doubt. No one knows where he is. The first thing his captors did was to run some kind of primitive scanner over him until they found his subcutaneous transmittor, and then swiftly cut it out (without any kind of anaestethic, which hurt, and what is it with people sticking knives into his arms anyway, not to mention the cut is probably getting infected right this moment, not that he's going to have time to worry about that anyway because he'll be dead soon, he doesn't hold up well under torture, doesn't have any illusions about his ability to keep his mouth shut and the second he's told them everything he knows he'll be useless and they'll kill him and he'll be dead.)
He wishes he'd had time to do his laundry this week. It's not like he knew this morning that it would be his last day in life, but if he had known, it would've been nice to be able to prepare accordingly. By putting on clean, fresh underwear for example. Not that it would've mattered anyway, since he used his last pair of clean boxers without holes in strategic places two days ago. And he really shouldn't be thinking about underwear at a moment like this. He should probably be pondering his immortal soul or something instead. Or worrying about how much damage these people will be able to do to Atlantis.
John will be livid. And what's worse, John will blame himself for Rodney's death. He'll attend Rodney's funeral, looking ridiculously hot in his dress blues, and he'll blame himself because everything that goes wrong is always, always John Sheppard's fault and Rodney wishes that he could smack some sense into that shaggy head of his.
Will there even be a funeral? They'll probably never find his body, which is something of a relief actually because that way he won't have to worry about his underwear. An empty casket maybe, something symbolic. They'll let it desintegrate in the event horizon of the Stargate, just like it says in his will.
There are footsteps outside, the sound of heavy boots against the floor. Rodney wants to curl up in a corner, get as far away from the door as possible. Not that it'll make much difference. There's nowhere to hide, and he doesn't have a chance fighting his way out. But he's learned a thing or two from John and Teyla and Ronon and he's not going to spend his last moments in life cowering in fear. Instead he moves to stand in the middle of the tiny room, facing the door.
The lock clicks and the door swings open. Rodney closes his eyes for a moment and swallows. He's freezing and he's sweating like a pig, and he's dizzy enough that the room is spinning around him. He really ought to open his eyes and face his destiny, but he just can't bring himself to do it.
"McKay? You okay?"
Rodney's eyes fly open. He doesn't recall crossing the floor. The next moment, he's wrapped his arms around John and he's kissing him, and he might be clinging and babbling in an entirely undignified way and...
Rodney lets go of John like he burned himself. Oh, fuck. He didn't. He absolutely did not just do that. It was a hallucination brought on by terror and low blood sugar, he did not kiss John Sheppard.
John, who gets that wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look every time someone tries to give him a hug. John, who won't let people touch him unless he absolutely has to. Rodney did not just slobber all over him.
Except, he did. Shit.
"Sorry!" he stammers. "Sorry, I wasn't, I didn't, I thought I was going to die!"
John's eyes narrow and he reaches up to tap his radio. "I got him, he's okay. We'll rendevouz at the 'jumper." When he turns his attention back to Rodney, his face is a blank mask. "Come on," he says. "Let's go home."
The walk out of the compound is very quiet and very uncomfortable. Rodney can see the trail where John made his way in. There are unconscious, tied-up guards all over the place, and Rodney feels a grim sense of satisfaction at this. He would feel even better if John could just meet his eyes, or maybe say something.
Teyla and Ronon and Major Lorne and his team are waiting in a cloaked jumper outside the compound. At least they all seem relieved to see him. Teyla asks if he's hurt, Ronon clasps his shoulder hard enough that there are going to be bruises, and Lorne does that fidgety military thing that means he's probably been worried but is too tough to admit it. John heads straight for the cockpit and powers up the 'jumper without saying a word.
The check up in the infirmary doesn't even take an hour, and Rodney finds this very disappointing. Being held captive can be a very traumatising experience and Carson should really do more than put a simple band-aid on the cut on his arm and tell him to go get something to eat.
Teyla and Ronon take him to the mess for dinner. John disappeared somewhere between the 'jumper bay and the infirmary and Rodney hasn't seen him since. He should probably go and find him and try to explain that any kissing that might have taken place earlier was absolutely not because of the crush Rodney doesn't have on John. It was a... a way of expressing gratitude, that's all, and in hindsight it was not the best way, but still pretty understandable given that Rodney thought he was going to die.
But his feet lead him to the lab and then there are people to yell at and by the time he's done, it's dark outside. Rodney lingers for as long as he can but he can't hide in the lab forever. He's going to have to talk to John at some point and he should do it as soon as possible, before things get weird between them.
John's not in the mess and not in the gym and not at the firing range. Rodney doesn't really expect to find him in his office, but he checks anyway, just in case. There is, however, no John anywhere in the city, which only leaves his quarters.
With a deep sigh, Rodney steels himself and heads for John's room. There are so many ways this conversation could go wrong, and Rodney would rather not have it at all. Maybe if he doesn't say anything, John will forget about it and write it off as just another crazy thing McKay did.
Only, John doesn't forget things, and Rodney might have done and said a lot of crazy things under pressure, but he's never before forced kisses on poor unsuspecting Lieutenant Colonels.
He stands outside John's door for a long time before he knocks. The seconds draw out and form minutes and hours, but then there's a soft chime and the door opens.
John stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest, almost mirroring Rodney's position earlier in the cell. He looks tired. The lines around his eyes are deeper than usual and Rodney wonders when he last slept.
Rodney clears his throat and waves feebly. "Hi. Can I... um... can I come in?"
"Sure." John nods, short and sharp. Rodney swallows hard and steps inside. The door slides shut behind him and he rubs his sweaty palms on his pants.
"Listen, about earlier. I wanted to apologise, I didn't mean to, well not like that, it's not how I planned it at all. It was just a spur of the moment thing, I thought I was going to die and I didn't even have my good underwear on and then you showed up and you saved my life, and... can we just please be men about this and pretend it never happened?"
He can hear himself babbling and feels the tip of his ears go red and warm. Why did he have to mention the underwear thing?
John listens, still with that blank emotionless expression on his face and Rodney gets the feeling that he's talking to a wall, or a cardboard cut-out or something.
"How were you planning it?" John finally asks when Rodney stops for breath.
Rodney freezes. "I, um, what?" is the eloquent response he comes up with.
But John doesn't answer. Instead, he crosses the floor in three big steps. His eyes are burning with intensity and Rodney has to stop himself from taking a step back.
"You were gone, Rodney. If it hadn't been for Teyla's contacts, we never would've found you."
John's voice is a throaty growl. His hands come up to cup Rodney's face, and he's suddenly very close. Rodney's breath catches in his throat, and for a split moment it's like the world stills and freezes, and then John's lips meet Rodney's in a hard, almost bruising kiss.
It's so unexpected that Rodney doesn't know how to react. The thoughts going through his head are: John is kissing me, and wow, and damnit, I still have ugly underwear.
When John lets go of him, they're both panting, and Rodney's is pretty sure that he looks like he's just been struck by lightning.
"Don't scare me like that again," John breathes.
Rodney doesn't answer. He just grabs John again and proceeds to express his gratitude.
- fin -
Rodney thought he was going to die. John might have thought so too.
Expressing Gratitude
The cell is two by three metres, the walls solid rock. The door is metal, about five inches thick. It has no handle on the inside, the hinges aren't visible, there's no way Rodney will be able to get it open without some kind of tools, which he doesn't have. The room is stark and bare and there's no furniture at all. There's nothing to work with.
Rodney's going to die. He's thought along those lines before, too many times to count, but this time there's no doubt. No one knows where he is. The first thing his captors did was to run some kind of primitive scanner over him until they found his subcutaneous transmittor, and then swiftly cut it out (without any kind of anaestethic, which hurt, and what is it with people sticking knives into his arms anyway, not to mention the cut is probably getting infected right this moment, not that he's going to have time to worry about that anyway because he'll be dead soon, he doesn't hold up well under torture, doesn't have any illusions about his ability to keep his mouth shut and the second he's told them everything he knows he'll be useless and they'll kill him and he'll be dead.)
He wishes he'd had time to do his laundry this week. It's not like he knew this morning that it would be his last day in life, but if he had known, it would've been nice to be able to prepare accordingly. By putting on clean, fresh underwear for example. Not that it would've mattered anyway, since he used his last pair of clean boxers without holes in strategic places two days ago. And he really shouldn't be thinking about underwear at a moment like this. He should probably be pondering his immortal soul or something instead. Or worrying about how much damage these people will be able to do to Atlantis.
John will be livid. And what's worse, John will blame himself for Rodney's death. He'll attend Rodney's funeral, looking ridiculously hot in his dress blues, and he'll blame himself because everything that goes wrong is always, always John Sheppard's fault and Rodney wishes that he could smack some sense into that shaggy head of his.
Will there even be a funeral? They'll probably never find his body, which is something of a relief actually because that way he won't have to worry about his underwear. An empty casket maybe, something symbolic. They'll let it desintegrate in the event horizon of the Stargate, just like it says in his will.
There are footsteps outside, the sound of heavy boots against the floor. Rodney wants to curl up in a corner, get as far away from the door as possible. Not that it'll make much difference. There's nowhere to hide, and he doesn't have a chance fighting his way out. But he's learned a thing or two from John and Teyla and Ronon and he's not going to spend his last moments in life cowering in fear. Instead he moves to stand in the middle of the tiny room, facing the door.
The lock clicks and the door swings open. Rodney closes his eyes for a moment and swallows. He's freezing and he's sweating like a pig, and he's dizzy enough that the room is spinning around him. He really ought to open his eyes and face his destiny, but he just can't bring himself to do it.
"McKay? You okay?"
Rodney's eyes fly open. He doesn't recall crossing the floor. The next moment, he's wrapped his arms around John and he's kissing him, and he might be clinging and babbling in an entirely undignified way and...
Rodney lets go of John like he burned himself. Oh, fuck. He didn't. He absolutely did not just do that. It was a hallucination brought on by terror and low blood sugar, he did not kiss John Sheppard.
John, who gets that wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look every time someone tries to give him a hug. John, who won't let people touch him unless he absolutely has to. Rodney did not just slobber all over him.
Except, he did. Shit.
"Sorry!" he stammers. "Sorry, I wasn't, I didn't, I thought I was going to die!"
John's eyes narrow and he reaches up to tap his radio. "I got him, he's okay. We'll rendevouz at the 'jumper." When he turns his attention back to Rodney, his face is a blank mask. "Come on," he says. "Let's go home."
The walk out of the compound is very quiet and very uncomfortable. Rodney can see the trail where John made his way in. There are unconscious, tied-up guards all over the place, and Rodney feels a grim sense of satisfaction at this. He would feel even better if John could just meet his eyes, or maybe say something.
Teyla and Ronon and Major Lorne and his team are waiting in a cloaked jumper outside the compound. At least they all seem relieved to see him. Teyla asks if he's hurt, Ronon clasps his shoulder hard enough that there are going to be bruises, and Lorne does that fidgety military thing that means he's probably been worried but is too tough to admit it. John heads straight for the cockpit and powers up the 'jumper without saying a word.
The check up in the infirmary doesn't even take an hour, and Rodney finds this very disappointing. Being held captive can be a very traumatising experience and Carson should really do more than put a simple band-aid on the cut on his arm and tell him to go get something to eat.
Teyla and Ronon take him to the mess for dinner. John disappeared somewhere between the 'jumper bay and the infirmary and Rodney hasn't seen him since. He should probably go and find him and try to explain that any kissing that might have taken place earlier was absolutely not because of the crush Rodney doesn't have on John. It was a... a way of expressing gratitude, that's all, and in hindsight it was not the best way, but still pretty understandable given that Rodney thought he was going to die.
But his feet lead him to the lab and then there are people to yell at and by the time he's done, it's dark outside. Rodney lingers for as long as he can but he can't hide in the lab forever. He's going to have to talk to John at some point and he should do it as soon as possible, before things get weird between them.
John's not in the mess and not in the gym and not at the firing range. Rodney doesn't really expect to find him in his office, but he checks anyway, just in case. There is, however, no John anywhere in the city, which only leaves his quarters.
With a deep sigh, Rodney steels himself and heads for John's room. There are so many ways this conversation could go wrong, and Rodney would rather not have it at all. Maybe if he doesn't say anything, John will forget about it and write it off as just another crazy thing McKay did.
Only, John doesn't forget things, and Rodney might have done and said a lot of crazy things under pressure, but he's never before forced kisses on poor unsuspecting Lieutenant Colonels.
He stands outside John's door for a long time before he knocks. The seconds draw out and form minutes and hours, but then there's a soft chime and the door opens.
John stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest, almost mirroring Rodney's position earlier in the cell. He looks tired. The lines around his eyes are deeper than usual and Rodney wonders when he last slept.
Rodney clears his throat and waves feebly. "Hi. Can I... um... can I come in?"
"Sure." John nods, short and sharp. Rodney swallows hard and steps inside. The door slides shut behind him and he rubs his sweaty palms on his pants.
"Listen, about earlier. I wanted to apologise, I didn't mean to, well not like that, it's not how I planned it at all. It was just a spur of the moment thing, I thought I was going to die and I didn't even have my good underwear on and then you showed up and you saved my life, and... can we just please be men about this and pretend it never happened?"
He can hear himself babbling and feels the tip of his ears go red and warm. Why did he have to mention the underwear thing?
John listens, still with that blank emotionless expression on his face and Rodney gets the feeling that he's talking to a wall, or a cardboard cut-out or something.
"How were you planning it?" John finally asks when Rodney stops for breath.
Rodney freezes. "I, um, what?" is the eloquent response he comes up with.
But John doesn't answer. Instead, he crosses the floor in three big steps. His eyes are burning with intensity and Rodney has to stop himself from taking a step back.
"You were gone, Rodney. If it hadn't been for Teyla's contacts, we never would've found you."
John's voice is a throaty growl. His hands come up to cup Rodney's face, and he's suddenly very close. Rodney's breath catches in his throat, and for a split moment it's like the world stills and freezes, and then John's lips meet Rodney's in a hard, almost bruising kiss.
It's so unexpected that Rodney doesn't know how to react. The thoughts going through his head are: John is kissing me, and wow, and damnit, I still have ugly underwear.
When John lets go of him, they're both panting, and Rodney's is pretty sure that he looks like he's just been struck by lightning.
"Don't scare me like that again," John breathes.
Rodney doesn't answer. He just grabs John again and proceeds to express his gratitude.
- fin -