Fanfiction Rec-List: McShep & Sheppard/Ronon Part One (Stargate Atlantis)
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Part Two
Stargate Atlantis - McShep
1. The Hard Prayer by Rheanna (AO3)
Excerpt:
John's awake when the gray dawn light forces its unwelcome way through the gap between the curtains of the motel chalet. He hasn't been sleeping much, lately. For the last couple of weeks, he hasn't been sleeping at all.
He gets up and goes to the bathroom, where he pisses in the red bucket and then scoops up cold water from the green bucket to splash on his face. He can't help catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror above the (now purely ornamental) sink as he turns to go. The man he sees there, shiftily trying to avoid meeting his eyes, has sallow skin and hollow cheeks which are only partially disguised by the fullness of a couple of months' worth of beard. He looks ill, which is kind of fucking funny if he thinks about it. He considers shaving, but without any real motivation to turn intent to action, even though the beard, unkempt and straggly, itches and makes him look like a bum.
It doesn't matter. No one's going to see him.
He lifts the red bucket and swirls it around, mixing piss and bleach into a noxious cocktail. Then he slips on shoes and carries the bucket along the path outside his room. The empty windows stare blankly at him as he passes.
Bill is in his usual spot, lying prone half in and half out of the shrubbery half way along the path, his Chicago Bulls baseball cap perched at a jaunty angle atop his skeletal face.
"Hey, Bill," John greets him with false joviality. "Isn't it a great morning? Look at that blue sky. You oughtta do something today, Bill. All this lying around isn't doing you any good."
Bill nods, and for a single insane second John half thinks he's actually responding. He isn't, of course; it's just that Bill's neck muscles have long since atrophied, leaving his head precariously balanced on his shoulders, so that every gust of wind turns him into the corpse version of those tacky nodding dogs people sometimes have in their cars. That people sometimes had in their cars, John corrects himself. Everything's past tense, now.
John pours the contents of the slops bucket into the storm drain at the end of the row of the chalets, then walks back to the room, calling out another cheery greeting to Bill-the-corpse on the way past.
2. Rebuilding Babel by fiercelydreamed
Excerpt:
Rodney lost the first day completely, and all he could recall later were a few smeared glimpses of the infirmary ceiling. All through the second day, his body spasmed and jerked like it belonged to someone in the late stages of Huntington's disease, as Carson fought the toxin for control of his nervous system. It was like being trapped on a ride he couldn't stop. Day three, he was exhausted, but by the afternoon he could hold a cup of water and keep most of it from dribbling out the corners of his mouth. The fourth day, the last of the strange, thick swimming feeling left his head. He watched the tremors seep out of his hands and kept his attention fixed on the conversations occurring all around him, thinking, any minute now. Any minute. Trying to stay calm, which had never really been his strong point, and waiting with piano wire tension for that last thing to come back.
On day five, it didn't come back.
Carson ushered everyone else out and sat down to talk to him for a long time. Rodney tried to focus on his voice, waiting for something he would recognize, then tuned that out to concentrate on reading his lips. It didn't work. Carson's expression got more concerned, and his words got even slower and more deliberate. Rodney hadn't tried talking since the second day, when his muscles had still been twisting and torquing at random, but the damn professional worry in Carson's manner drove him crazy enough that he finally opened his mouth to say you're not stupid and I'm anything but, so knock it the fuck off and try something else, because this obviously isn't working--
What came out was just wrong, nothing like the words in his head or the ones anyone else had been saying, nothing like anything at all. He'd never heard anything more terrifying in his life and he bit down way too hard on the inside of his lip, tasted blood as Carson dropped the clipboard. One hand tight on Rodney's arm, Carson whispered something low and horrified, two syllables clipped together in the middle. Only the way he went white when Rodney just sat there made Rodney realize it must have been his name.
The rest of that day and all of the next were tests, the instructions given by modeling and pantomime. Rodney echoed back sounds but couldn't make any sense of them, and when he tried to speak without mimicking someone else, everyone just stared. He copied the things they wrote on the whiteboard, silently identifying the letters as he went -- a, q, f, i, x -- but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't produce their names aloud. Every combination Carson showed him looked unfamiliar, arbitrary.
His hands shook throughout the tests, but it wasn't the toxin, it was the effort of keeping it together, because everything still felt normal. Every internal indicator he had was telling him that he was fine, all systems go. When he drew breath to speak or started to write something, there was this deceptive sense of rightness. He kept thinking maybe this would be the time it worked. But it didn't -- everything came out scrambled, corrupted, and when other people spoke, all he got was fluent babble, a flow of syllables he couldn't penetrate. He tried to treat what he heard like a foreign language -- find the patterns, track them, decode them -- but he couldn't get anything to stick in his head.
3. Care in the Holding by laceymcbain (AO3)
Excerpt:
“Just come with me. Please.” The casual way Sheppard adds the “please” makes something in Rodney’s chest catch. Yes. As if he’s going to say anything else to a request like that, especially at two in the morning, and damned if the Major doesn’t know it.
Rodney glances at his laptop, taps a few keys before hitting save, then closes the screen. He grabs the slightly rumpled yellow sticky note that says “TOUCH THIS AND DIE” in block letters and slaps it on top of the computer. He grabs a power bar from his drawer and shrugs his jacket on.
“Where are we going?” he asks, tearing into the wrapper and taking a bite of something that claims to be cranberry-flavoured. Rodney doesn’t actually want to know what the red chewy bits are made of.
“You’ll see,” Sheppard says cryptically, and saunters out the door. Rodney follows him without a second thought.
4. Solve for x by lamardeuse (AO3)
Excerpt:
Rodney got back two days early - without Keller. He showed up at John's door barely an hour later.
“I don't want to talk about it,” Rodney said, as soon as he was inside.
“No problem,” John said, handing him a beer. Rodney stared at it for a few seconds, then popped the top and downed half of it in a gulp.
“Hey, slow down, there, cowboy,” John murmured. As Rodney turned, John's hand rose and hovered near Rodney's shoulder, then fell away again. Rodney didn't see it.
“Her father hated me,” Rodney said, after the second beer.
“Thought we weren't talking about it,” John said into his beer - his first. He was keeping a clear head tonight.
5. 15 Days by Rheanna (AO3)
Excerpt:
1.
These are the things you will forget-
2.
You will forget words. No one will notice at first, not even you, because your genius intellect will find synonyms, different ways to say the same thing, your brilliant mind desperately attempting to compensate for the sudden proliferation of broken pathways and failed connections. Your intelligence is betraying you, masking your deterioration while it's still treatable. By the time your brain can no longer compensate-by the time you are stumbling and hesitating, unable to finish sentences-it will be too late.
They will tell you it is a parasite. You will have to ask what that means.
6. Look, Listen, Learn by unadrift (DW)
Excerpt:
The infirmary is mostly dark when Jeannie comes to find Doctor Keller, but it's not silent. She feels tears well up in her eyes again when she recognizes her brother's voice.
A distinctive blueish glow indicates to the doctor's whereabouts as well as the source of Mer's voice. It's another one of those videos, recorded on day six - Jeannie can read the information over Doctor Keller's shoulder. When she hears Mer's awkward, "I love you," it breaks Jeannie's heart in more ways than one.
For Jennifer, because she probably knows.
For her idiot of a brother. (And how much does it tell about their relationship that she can still be annoyed with him, even when he's dying on her, fast, wilting in a way that is the worst kind of hell for him.)
And for John Sheppard, who continually manages to surprise her with the carefully hidden depth of his care for her brother.
7. Lose It All by badwolf36
Excerpt:
“Look, McKay went to a lot of trouble to escape and not be found. I personally blame the fact that he now had a literal hole in his head. But he obviously needed the time alone and I, for one, intend to give it to him. Now, we’re all tired. It’s late. He’ll come back when he’s ready. Let’s call it a night.”
Keller looked worried, but Teyla and Ronon were both giving him entirely too knowing, shrewd looks. The night nurse just continued to look guilty.
“Are you sure?” Jennifer asked. “I don’t feel right letting a patient wander around, especially after major surgery.”
“I’m positive. Hit the hay Doc.”
Keller reluctantly moved to the door, instructing the night staff before she disappeared completely. John trailed his team to the door, shooting a ‘wait’ look at the nurse hovering behind them.
Teyla tugged him down until his forehead brushed hers. “I am sure you will bring him back John.”
John didn’t even bother to look surprised. This was his team and they all knew each other too well.
Except when they didn’t.
Ronon clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Tell him that if he’s well enough to be moving around, he’s well enough to spar.”
That brought a grin to John’s face and a genuine laugh, something he hadn’t felt the urge to do in…a very long time. “Will do,” he said, punching Ronon lightly in the shoulder.
8. Primacy by Chandri MacLeod (Wraithbait)
Excerpt:
It's most of a week before it starts to come back, but Rodney always remembers this: the terror at waking alone, blind panic driving him out into the corridors, only one goal on his mind, only one place where he'd be safe.
John.
This is the first thing he remembers, but it's a while before he can remember it without remembering the fear, bitterbloodcopper, sharp on his tongue.
***
He remembers what it was like before he remembers what happened. His memory tells him it wasn't like being unstuck in time, not like losing years of his life. The worst part was that everything was still there, just out of reach, like a song barely-heard many rooms away in an empty house. He knew people, and places, and things, but their complexities were gone, his long branching strings of opinion and criticism eroded gently away. His decline progressed as layers of molecule-thick transparency, walls between him and the world.
As though he needed another.
His illness, he tells himself, is not what matters. What frustrates him is the wasted time and the strange way his memory seems to have compensated for him now that he's whole again. His mind has become unpredictable, and that scares him more than anything else in the world. Insanity is his most familiar nightmare.
Mostly he remembers out of order, but Rodney remembers waking up in the infirmary and Jennifer's face, and thinks that came first. He pretends this isn't so because it makes him remember why he was trying so hard to keep her in his thoughts.
It's just so difficult, to say what he's meant to say, to allocate a portion of his processing power to the challenge of Jennifer, when usually his thoughts are given such free and unfettered rein.
At the time he thinks that he's just not used to it. And when she smiles at him, takes the fruit cup he offers her - it's a sacrifice, but all for a good cause - he congratulates himself.
There was a reason, he was sure, a reason he wasn't doing this. But it doesn't seem very important right now. Trying to remember just makes him anxious, depressed, and Jennifer smiling at him... doesn't.
This is nice, he remembers thinking. This is what everyone wants.
9. Neither Helpful Nor Comforting by 20thcenturyvole (Wraithbait)
Excerpt:
Sheppard, dripping and shivering and propped up on shaking arms, knelt on the rock and heaved until his gut hurt and his mouth tasted more like bile than salt. It was black rock, sort of ripply and swirly in places; volcanic. Basalt, maybe. Pretty. He coughed and spat a few more times, then shuddered and leaned his forehead against the slick, cold surface.
Somewhere behind him (not very far behind him; it was a pretty small ledge), Rodney said, "Mwphgh."
John smiled slightly, nose still touching the wet rock, and decided to wait a few seconds until the shaking was manageable. Apparently Rodney took his silence badly, though, because his first actual words were, "Colonel? You didn't, you know, hit a rock and gain horrible internal injuries, did you? Because if you need first aid or emergency surgery then there's not much I'm going to be able to do for you down here-"
"McKay," Sheppard croaked; he could picture Rodney's face right now, half irritation and half genuine, flustered worry. There was an audible clack as Rodney shut his mouth mid-babble. "I'm really fine, I just hit the water at a bad angle." He pushed himself back upright and twisted around as best he could, his thigh brushing Rodney's as he sat back against the cavern wall - and shit, his hands and knees hurt from kneeling on the rock. He would've placed bets that it would be five minutes before his ass was numb, too. They were both soaked through, had both lost their packs with the falling and the almost-drowning. When he stretched his legs out, his boots just kissed the water.
All in all, not in a good position here.
"Hm." The concern had mostly gone from Rodney's face, the irritation winning, which cheered John a little. "Belly-flopped, you mean."
Sheppard felt his mouth twist ruefully. It was true; there had been less than a second of warning (and by 'warning' he meant a small but alarming shift beneath his feet, enough time to grip his sidearm and say, "Uh...") before the ground had crumbled underneath them. Not knowing which way was up, he'd hit the water almost face-first; it had knocked the air right out of him. He'd swallowed an awful lot of salty water before he figured out where the surface was.
Evidently Teyla and Ronon had been far back enough to be saved; their shouts had followed them down. Couldn't hear them now, though.
"At least I had the sense to land feet-first," Rodney continued, starting to sound smug again, though if Sheppard tilted his head casually and squinted, he could see that Rodney's hands were still shaking slightly.
"Yeah. Screaming all the way."
Rodney glared. "I was surprised! I wasn't expecting the ground to open up!"
10. Music by Hand and Music by Heart by Green (AO3)
Excerpt:
Often, either in hushed voices or in between the laughter of reminiscence, Rodney hears the others in Atlantis talk about what they left behind on Earth. What they missed, what they were glad to be away from. Family, cheeseburgers, telemarketers, that one ex who didn't know what over really meant. Beloved pets, a favorite bistro. The lights and smells of a city or the silence and sweet-scent of the countryside.
Mosquitoes, hay-fever, Mom's ever increasing collection of Elvis commemorative plates. Church. Telephones. Google.
Rodney does his part and adds espresso, egg rolls, Sports Illustrated's swimsuit edition, and Cadbury. It seems the thing to do, if not for their sake, but for his own. Makes him feel as if he is one of them, even though he isn't and they know it, but this way is just easier. Pretending.
They all pretend.
11. Nemesis & Fury by the_moonmoth
Excerpt:
'Good morning, Dr. McKay,' General Atter said, and pressed the button on the small remote control in his hand. The man's whole body tensed but he didn't scream, Atter noted with interest. After five seconds, he released the button, cutting off the low-amp electrical current passing through McKay's body. McKay slumped down in his chair (as much as was possible, given the restraints) and took a few deep, shuddering breaths.
'What the hell was that for?' he spat.
'It's important to make a good first impression, don't you think, Dr. McKay? You only ever get one opportunity.'
'Oh yes, not even giving me the chance to tell you what you want to know before beginning the torture makes me feel so much more inclined to help you afterwards.'
Atter smiled. 'That is the general idea, yes.' In the few, weak rays of sun lighting the room from slits high in the walls, Atter saw McKay's eyes widen briefly, luminous against a face dark with bruising. Then he seemed to gather himself, straightening up a little and lifting his chin.
'I won't tell you anything.'
Atter smiled again, and began slowly to circle the room, McKay straining his neck to follow him as he moved into the shadows. 'That's what they all say, Dr. McKay. That's what they all say.'
12. Crimes Against Humanity by seperis
Excerpt:
Atlantis was a neutral colony before it became a prison camp, split between the mainland facilities and the ocean bound city itself for the war criminals and those convicted of crimes against humanity. Alcatraz, he'd heard Sheppard drawl when he arrived in the gateroom, manacled and bruised from a scuffle in the Colorado gate room that ended with four injured Marines. Inescapable, or so they said, but Sheppard's single word reminded him that nothing's inescapable.
They just haven't figured out how to do it yet.
Rodney's restrictions keep him from the computers, unwired rooms, as low-tech as an Ancient facility light years beyond human evolution can possibly manage. Setting his hand against the wall, he feels the hum of energy just out of reach, the flashes of power that pulses into his palm like heat, watching the flicker of the force fields, memorizing the new modulation like he does every day, like there's a damn thing he can do about it.
God fucking dammit, he hates this place.
Looking out of his cell, he watches Sheppard being brought down the hall, accompanied by ten special ops, zats trained on his every movement. Tall and rail-thin, bloodstained prison uniform and messy dark hair, moving like naqada-reinforced manacles at wrists and ankles don't weigh any more than air. The dark head lifts briefly, eyes flicking to study the line of cells that were once living quarters, and for a second, Rodney feels that intense gaze on him.
Just a second, long enough for a pretty quirk of his mouth, and Rodney nods back, introductions done.
The cell across from Rodney is opened, and Rodney's view is blocked as one of the men presses the zat against John's throat, forcing his head higher, stripping away the manacles and pushing him inside. Rodney hears the sound of a body hitting the floor, straining his neck enough to see Sheppard on his feet, moving almost too fast for the eye to see, but they're ready, the forcefield going up instantly.
Rodney winces as John's thrown back with a shower of sparks, hitting the far wall, the sound like a rotten watermelon slamming into the ground.
Atlantean prison guards don't bother with banter with the prisoners--work done, they set the passwords and leave. Grabbing his one chair, Rodney pulls it to the doorway, sitting down to wait for Sheppard to recover consciousness.
It's been a while since he had a neighbor, after all.
13. Rules of Engagement by velocitygrass
Excerpt:
"Say again," John said, trying not to panic just yet.
"I'm almost finished with my paper on-" Rodney began with flourish.
"The other part," John clarified, because he didn't need to hear about The Paper That Would Win Rodney McKay His Nobel Prize. That he'd heard enough about ever since their return from the Pegasus galaxy, when Rodney had decided to finally pursue this dream.
"Oh, uhm. We need to get married."
"See, that's what I thought I heard and it still doesn't make any sense. Nobel Prize. Us getting married. I don't see the connection."
"Well, if you'd listened you would. I need some lab time to prove my findings."
"Don't you usually start in the lab?"
"Only if you don't know what the results will be!" Rodney snapped. Then he seemed to realize that shouting at the man you're asking to marry-and no, it still didn't make any sense at all-wasn't the best way to make him say yes. "Sorry. Look, I know that it's an... unusual request."
"Unusual? It may have escaped your notice, but I'm a man and so are you."
"No kidding. But that only makes a difference in your country." Of course Rodney would feel superior about that.
"And in my job, as you well know, mainly the difference between still having said job and not."
Rodney had enough decency to look at least a bit contrite. "Yes, I know, but can you honestly say that you still want that job? I mean, not the title, the one that they're allowing you to do now that you're no longer commanding officer of Atlantis."
John opened his mouth to say that of course he still wanted the job. Yes, it wasn't the same, but really, nothing could ever be the same as being on Atlantis. And he knew he wasn't the only one who held that opinion.
But he couldn't say it. Too often, he'd complained to Rodney about the incompetence of his team, how much he missed Teyla and Ronon-and possibly even Rodney-and that he felt useless.
"What exactly do you want me to do instead?"
"You don't have to do anything. I'll provide for you obviously. It's the least I can do."
"I don't need providing for," John said stiffly.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying I'll pay expenses. We can rent an apartment or a house for the time."
"Right, and that time would be?"
"Three months. Six tops."
"I can't exactly return to the Air Force after a couple of months, divorced from another man."
"I... I know. But do you really want to keep doing this? Compared to what we did in Atlantis, these are milk runs. And if you do find something they'll send in SG-1. The only thing you're likely to get out of this is some horrible injury and let's not even get started on potentially fatal accidents."
"Rodney, you know that's part of the job."
"It doesn't have to be. Look, if you do this for me, I'll help you find a job that you'll love. How about test piloting new jets?"
"You could do that?"
"Do you have any idea how many companies have asked me to work for them? I'm sure I could arrange a package deal."
"That.... Okay, let's say that I am-hypothetically-willing to do this-"
"Yes!"
Stargate Atlantis - Sheppard/Dex
1. The Fallen by Rustler (AO3)
Excerpt:
Ronon turned Tyre's sword over in his hands. Sheppard must have cleaned the blade, because the intricate metalwork had a beautiful soft gleam in the dim light of the isolation ward.
Back on Sateda, Kell would have kept it instead, as an example to the rest of the regiment. The sword of a man who'd lost his honor was not given to comrades, or kin. And Ronon would have believed that, then. Now he was pretty sure Kell would have kept it because it was a good sword.
The nurse came in. He looked at the sword for a long moment before busying himself filling out Ronon's chart. Ronon smiled. He could do that now. In front of nurses, Keller, Woolsey-the complete civilians-he could get by. He could say and do the expected things, and they'd take notes and tell him how happy they were to see him back and feeling better. Dealing with McKay was dicier: he'd fucked up plenty himself, and had spent a lot of time in the field by now. But Ronon couldn't pretend at all with Teyla, or Sheppard. They understood too much.
Well, all of it was gone now, anyway. Everything he'd lived for, the values and beliefs that had sustained him through seven long years on the run. Gone.
He was beginning to wonder how much of it had ever really existed at all.
2. Sensual Deprivation by Mira (AO3)
Excerpt:
Elizabeth sometimes trails a soft flowery smell. Ronon likes it. He relied on scent in his running years to hunt for food, and learned to smell when other humans were nearby. He hadn't been taught that, but had had to learn on his own, out in the wild.
But smelling Elizabeth didn't produce food, or even guarantee safety. Smelling her brought pleasure, but also discomfort; he wasn't sure he was supposed to notice. Maybe these people from a different galaxy exuded scent for private reasons. Some days the scent was stronger than others, and it was always stronger in the mornings than the evenings. In the evenings, especially after a difficult day, when her hair fell into her eyes, she smelled very different: sweatier and more real. Certain times of the month there was another smell that conflicted with the morning flower smell; those times made him nervous. He avoided her in the mess on those days.
But this morning, standing with his team, listening to her last minute cautions and concerns, he sniffs deeply and appreciatively. When she's finished talking, looking wide-eyed at them, he pauses to let the others leave first, then leans over her.
"You smell good," he murmurs, watching her carefully. Her eyes widen even more, and her face turns a soft pink, as pink as the flowers she smells like.
"Thank you," she finally says. He nods, and follows his teammates down the stairs. Sheppard gives him a look, but he ignores it. Sheppard has his own interesting smell.
3. Instinct by janne_d (AO3)
Excerpt:
Beckett and Sheppard were at his bed. The doctor was clean and sharp, with a hint of the brown drink he called tea so it must be morning, though Sheppard was tired and messy like the end of a long day. Beckett was checking the monitors and looking concerned but not too much, so Ronon thought that whatever happened to land him here was not that serious.
Sheppard made him less certain of that. He was leaning casually and looking as relaxed as Beckett but Ronon was starting to know him well and he could see the carefully blank eyes and read that Sheppard was just as tense as he was.
"What happened?" he asked. He meant it for them both, but it was Beckett that spoke.
"What do you remember?" and he watched Sheppard's eyes look from the bed to Beckett to the monitors, anywhere but at Ronon, and wished that he could fill in the blanks he'd just discovered because he didn't understand.
"Nothing after the cave and radioing McKay," he admitted and would be amused at the switch from fake to real relaxation if he wasn't so worried, because Sheppard was probably the only person on Atlantis who had never been wary of him and he liked that trust.
"Well, it seems that you managed to get a face full of alien spores in the back of that nice wee cave, but it looks like they've finally worked out of your system."
"What did they do to me?" because he really needed to know and Sheppard still wasn't meeting his eyes.
"Apparently not much," Beckett replied cheerfully, "As far as I can tell, they just knocked you out."
"That's all?"
"You fell asleep and I couldn't wake you up," Sheppard said. He was finally facing Ronon and it wasn't a lie, he could tell when Sheppard was lying now. Beckett talked about some more tests just to be cautious before he'd let Ronon out and Sheppard nodded, gave Ronon a shrug and a smile and left. He looked and sounded like normal, but.
There was something still not right, Ronon could feel it.
Sheppard hadn't been lying but he hadn't told the truth either.
He needed his memories back.
4. Acclimation (Eight Days) by Bone
Excerpt:
By the end of the first day, Ronon has learned to stop ducking through doorways. The ceiling really can accommodate his height, but it still feels too close, too hard. It's like night all the time here, and despite the vast sea he knows is out there somewhere, he thinks he'd rather live in a cave than deal with all the blue-white lights and the incessant beeping of machines he can't name.
He's been assigned two guards. He could take them without breaking a sweat, but he lets it ride for now. He tries to think of Atlantis as just another new environment, something to adapt to. Being around so many people all the time makes him feel like his skin is stretched too tight. The smells overwhelm him sometimes; he can even smell himself.
His back aches where Beckett pulled the plug; it won't let him forget what he owes these people.
He goes places he shouldn't, makes the guards work for their money. He's so accustomed to living in the dark that he forgets to turn on lights. He's cold all the time, feels goosebumps on his skin that aren't the harbinger of menace he's used to; at least, he doesn't think so. He sits in the commissary with his back to the many eyes staring at him, fills his pockets with hunks of bread and fruit so delicate the skin breaks and stains his coat with blood-red juice. He urinates on a potted plant and makes some small dark woman in a labcoat cry.
He's forgotten how to live indoors.
5. Still by Pru
Excerpt:
On PX-3456 Ronon gave Sheppard a clump of dirt.
Sheppard said, "Er."
Rodney said, "What the hell is that?"
Teyla widened her eyes, but didn't say anything otherwise.
Ronon watched carefully as John put the dirt clod into a plastic sample bag and shoved it awkwardly into his ALICE pack, saying, "Thanks. I think."
"It's clay," Ronon said, and John raised his eyebrows. "Mix it with water. Shape it with your hands."
And when Sheppard grinned, Ronon knew he'd done good. "Haven't played with clay since I was a kid," John said.
"You mean you're not anymore?" Rodney asked, feigning astonishment.
Then Teyla knelt down to study the deposit of good, white clay and mentioned something about it being valuable for trading, so they all got distracted doing that, but Ronon kept thinking about John's hands slick on the clay, shaping out an answer for Ronon.
6. Edges by ifreet (AO3)
Excerpt:
So, he wasn't looking for Sheppard, exactly. But his feet had taken him from the infirmary to the Gateroom to the cafeteria, then on to the gym to Sheppard's 'driving range' balcony to the science labs. And there Sheppard was, leaning over McKay's shoulder looking at a computer, while Zelenka typed and muttered nearby. Something eased inside Ronon to see him, even though Sheppard looked a bit rough around the edges. His lean was part slump, and there was a droop to his eyes that said he'd not slept well. Sheppard had flicked a glance at the door as it slid open, and when he saw it was Ronon, he straightened, tension snapping his shoulders straight like a superior officer had walked into the room.
His eyes went to Ronon's arm. "You good?"
Ronon held up his hand, displaying the bandage. "Yeah. Said it wasn't serious."
Sheppard nodded, eyes drifting to the side. "Good. That's... good. Look, I gotta--" he finished the sentence with a vague gesture and fled, skirting past him and into the hall.
Ronon frowned after him. "What's his problem?"
McKay snorted. "Don't ask, don't--"
Zelenka bounced a wad of paper off his head.
"What?" he squawked indignantly, before turning slightly abashed. " Oh. Oh. Come on, it's not like he even know what that--"
"He is not incurious, Rodney."
"-- means, and even if he did--"
"'He' is standing right here," Ronon interjected mildly.
"--obviously, I was joking."
"Ah, good, joking. So when he asks someone to explain your little joke, that won't start any rumors."
Part Two
Part Two
Stargate Atlantis - McShep
1. The Hard Prayer by Rheanna (AO3)
Excerpt:
John's awake when the gray dawn light forces its unwelcome way through the gap between the curtains of the motel chalet. He hasn't been sleeping much, lately. For the last couple of weeks, he hasn't been sleeping at all.
He gets up and goes to the bathroom, where he pisses in the red bucket and then scoops up cold water from the green bucket to splash on his face. He can't help catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror above the (now purely ornamental) sink as he turns to go. The man he sees there, shiftily trying to avoid meeting his eyes, has sallow skin and hollow cheeks which are only partially disguised by the fullness of a couple of months' worth of beard. He looks ill, which is kind of fucking funny if he thinks about it. He considers shaving, but without any real motivation to turn intent to action, even though the beard, unkempt and straggly, itches and makes him look like a bum.
It doesn't matter. No one's going to see him.
He lifts the red bucket and swirls it around, mixing piss and bleach into a noxious cocktail. Then he slips on shoes and carries the bucket along the path outside his room. The empty windows stare blankly at him as he passes.
Bill is in his usual spot, lying prone half in and half out of the shrubbery half way along the path, his Chicago Bulls baseball cap perched at a jaunty angle atop his skeletal face.
"Hey, Bill," John greets him with false joviality. "Isn't it a great morning? Look at that blue sky. You oughtta do something today, Bill. All this lying around isn't doing you any good."
Bill nods, and for a single insane second John half thinks he's actually responding. He isn't, of course; it's just that Bill's neck muscles have long since atrophied, leaving his head precariously balanced on his shoulders, so that every gust of wind turns him into the corpse version of those tacky nodding dogs people sometimes have in their cars. That people sometimes had in their cars, John corrects himself. Everything's past tense, now.
John pours the contents of the slops bucket into the storm drain at the end of the row of the chalets, then walks back to the room, calling out another cheery greeting to Bill-the-corpse on the way past.
2. Rebuilding Babel by fiercelydreamed
Excerpt:
Rodney lost the first day completely, and all he could recall later were a few smeared glimpses of the infirmary ceiling. All through the second day, his body spasmed and jerked like it belonged to someone in the late stages of Huntington's disease, as Carson fought the toxin for control of his nervous system. It was like being trapped on a ride he couldn't stop. Day three, he was exhausted, but by the afternoon he could hold a cup of water and keep most of it from dribbling out the corners of his mouth. The fourth day, the last of the strange, thick swimming feeling left his head. He watched the tremors seep out of his hands and kept his attention fixed on the conversations occurring all around him, thinking, any minute now. Any minute. Trying to stay calm, which had never really been his strong point, and waiting with piano wire tension for that last thing to come back.
On day five, it didn't come back.
Carson ushered everyone else out and sat down to talk to him for a long time. Rodney tried to focus on his voice, waiting for something he would recognize, then tuned that out to concentrate on reading his lips. It didn't work. Carson's expression got more concerned, and his words got even slower and more deliberate. Rodney hadn't tried talking since the second day, when his muscles had still been twisting and torquing at random, but the damn professional worry in Carson's manner drove him crazy enough that he finally opened his mouth to say you're not stupid and I'm anything but, so knock it the fuck off and try something else, because this obviously isn't working--
What came out was just wrong, nothing like the words in his head or the ones anyone else had been saying, nothing like anything at all. He'd never heard anything more terrifying in his life and he bit down way too hard on the inside of his lip, tasted blood as Carson dropped the clipboard. One hand tight on Rodney's arm, Carson whispered something low and horrified, two syllables clipped together in the middle. Only the way he went white when Rodney just sat there made Rodney realize it must have been his name.
The rest of that day and all of the next were tests, the instructions given by modeling and pantomime. Rodney echoed back sounds but couldn't make any sense of them, and when he tried to speak without mimicking someone else, everyone just stared. He copied the things they wrote on the whiteboard, silently identifying the letters as he went -- a, q, f, i, x -- but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't produce their names aloud. Every combination Carson showed him looked unfamiliar, arbitrary.
His hands shook throughout the tests, but it wasn't the toxin, it was the effort of keeping it together, because everything still felt normal. Every internal indicator he had was telling him that he was fine, all systems go. When he drew breath to speak or started to write something, there was this deceptive sense of rightness. He kept thinking maybe this would be the time it worked. But it didn't -- everything came out scrambled, corrupted, and when other people spoke, all he got was fluent babble, a flow of syllables he couldn't penetrate. He tried to treat what he heard like a foreign language -- find the patterns, track them, decode them -- but he couldn't get anything to stick in his head.
3. Care in the Holding by laceymcbain (AO3)
Excerpt:
“Just come with me. Please.” The casual way Sheppard adds the “please” makes something in Rodney’s chest catch. Yes. As if he’s going to say anything else to a request like that, especially at two in the morning, and damned if the Major doesn’t know it.
Rodney glances at his laptop, taps a few keys before hitting save, then closes the screen. He grabs the slightly rumpled yellow sticky note that says “TOUCH THIS AND DIE” in block letters and slaps it on top of the computer. He grabs a power bar from his drawer and shrugs his jacket on.
“Where are we going?” he asks, tearing into the wrapper and taking a bite of something that claims to be cranberry-flavoured. Rodney doesn’t actually want to know what the red chewy bits are made of.
“You’ll see,” Sheppard says cryptically, and saunters out the door. Rodney follows him without a second thought.
4. Solve for x by lamardeuse (AO3)
Excerpt:
Rodney got back two days early - without Keller. He showed up at John's door barely an hour later.
“I don't want to talk about it,” Rodney said, as soon as he was inside.
“No problem,” John said, handing him a beer. Rodney stared at it for a few seconds, then popped the top and downed half of it in a gulp.
“Hey, slow down, there, cowboy,” John murmured. As Rodney turned, John's hand rose and hovered near Rodney's shoulder, then fell away again. Rodney didn't see it.
“Her father hated me,” Rodney said, after the second beer.
“Thought we weren't talking about it,” John said into his beer - his first. He was keeping a clear head tonight.
5. 15 Days by Rheanna (AO3)
Excerpt:
1.
These are the things you will forget-
2.
You will forget words. No one will notice at first, not even you, because your genius intellect will find synonyms, different ways to say the same thing, your brilliant mind desperately attempting to compensate for the sudden proliferation of broken pathways and failed connections. Your intelligence is betraying you, masking your deterioration while it's still treatable. By the time your brain can no longer compensate-by the time you are stumbling and hesitating, unable to finish sentences-it will be too late.
They will tell you it is a parasite. You will have to ask what that means.
6. Look, Listen, Learn by unadrift (DW)
Excerpt:
The infirmary is mostly dark when Jeannie comes to find Doctor Keller, but it's not silent. She feels tears well up in her eyes again when she recognizes her brother's voice.
A distinctive blueish glow indicates to the doctor's whereabouts as well as the source of Mer's voice. It's another one of those videos, recorded on day six - Jeannie can read the information over Doctor Keller's shoulder. When she hears Mer's awkward, "I love you," it breaks Jeannie's heart in more ways than one.
For Jennifer, because she probably knows.
For her idiot of a brother. (And how much does it tell about their relationship that she can still be annoyed with him, even when he's dying on her, fast, wilting in a way that is the worst kind of hell for him.)
And for John Sheppard, who continually manages to surprise her with the carefully hidden depth of his care for her brother.
7. Lose It All by badwolf36
Excerpt:
“Look, McKay went to a lot of trouble to escape and not be found. I personally blame the fact that he now had a literal hole in his head. But he obviously needed the time alone and I, for one, intend to give it to him. Now, we’re all tired. It’s late. He’ll come back when he’s ready. Let’s call it a night.”
Keller looked worried, but Teyla and Ronon were both giving him entirely too knowing, shrewd looks. The night nurse just continued to look guilty.
“Are you sure?” Jennifer asked. “I don’t feel right letting a patient wander around, especially after major surgery.”
“I’m positive. Hit the hay Doc.”
Keller reluctantly moved to the door, instructing the night staff before she disappeared completely. John trailed his team to the door, shooting a ‘wait’ look at the nurse hovering behind them.
Teyla tugged him down until his forehead brushed hers. “I am sure you will bring him back John.”
John didn’t even bother to look surprised. This was his team and they all knew each other too well.
Except when they didn’t.
Ronon clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Tell him that if he’s well enough to be moving around, he’s well enough to spar.”
That brought a grin to John’s face and a genuine laugh, something he hadn’t felt the urge to do in…a very long time. “Will do,” he said, punching Ronon lightly in the shoulder.
8. Primacy by Chandri MacLeod (Wraithbait)
Excerpt:
It's most of a week before it starts to come back, but Rodney always remembers this: the terror at waking alone, blind panic driving him out into the corridors, only one goal on his mind, only one place where he'd be safe.
John.
This is the first thing he remembers, but it's a while before he can remember it without remembering the fear, bitterbloodcopper, sharp on his tongue.
***
He remembers what it was like before he remembers what happened. His memory tells him it wasn't like being unstuck in time, not like losing years of his life. The worst part was that everything was still there, just out of reach, like a song barely-heard many rooms away in an empty house. He knew people, and places, and things, but their complexities were gone, his long branching strings of opinion and criticism eroded gently away. His decline progressed as layers of molecule-thick transparency, walls between him and the world.
As though he needed another.
His illness, he tells himself, is not what matters. What frustrates him is the wasted time and the strange way his memory seems to have compensated for him now that he's whole again. His mind has become unpredictable, and that scares him more than anything else in the world. Insanity is his most familiar nightmare.
Mostly he remembers out of order, but Rodney remembers waking up in the infirmary and Jennifer's face, and thinks that came first. He pretends this isn't so because it makes him remember why he was trying so hard to keep her in his thoughts.
It's just so difficult, to say what he's meant to say, to allocate a portion of his processing power to the challenge of Jennifer, when usually his thoughts are given such free and unfettered rein.
At the time he thinks that he's just not used to it. And when she smiles at him, takes the fruit cup he offers her - it's a sacrifice, but all for a good cause - he congratulates himself.
There was a reason, he was sure, a reason he wasn't doing this. But it doesn't seem very important right now. Trying to remember just makes him anxious, depressed, and Jennifer smiling at him... doesn't.
This is nice, he remembers thinking. This is what everyone wants.
9. Neither Helpful Nor Comforting by 20thcenturyvole (Wraithbait)
Excerpt:
Sheppard, dripping and shivering and propped up on shaking arms, knelt on the rock and heaved until his gut hurt and his mouth tasted more like bile than salt. It was black rock, sort of ripply and swirly in places; volcanic. Basalt, maybe. Pretty. He coughed and spat a few more times, then shuddered and leaned his forehead against the slick, cold surface.
Somewhere behind him (not very far behind him; it was a pretty small ledge), Rodney said, "Mwphgh."
John smiled slightly, nose still touching the wet rock, and decided to wait a few seconds until the shaking was manageable. Apparently Rodney took his silence badly, though, because his first actual words were, "Colonel? You didn't, you know, hit a rock and gain horrible internal injuries, did you? Because if you need first aid or emergency surgery then there's not much I'm going to be able to do for you down here-"
"McKay," Sheppard croaked; he could picture Rodney's face right now, half irritation and half genuine, flustered worry. There was an audible clack as Rodney shut his mouth mid-babble. "I'm really fine, I just hit the water at a bad angle." He pushed himself back upright and twisted around as best he could, his thigh brushing Rodney's as he sat back against the cavern wall - and shit, his hands and knees hurt from kneeling on the rock. He would've placed bets that it would be five minutes before his ass was numb, too. They were both soaked through, had both lost their packs with the falling and the almost-drowning. When he stretched his legs out, his boots just kissed the water.
All in all, not in a good position here.
"Hm." The concern had mostly gone from Rodney's face, the irritation winning, which cheered John a little. "Belly-flopped, you mean."
Sheppard felt his mouth twist ruefully. It was true; there had been less than a second of warning (and by 'warning' he meant a small but alarming shift beneath his feet, enough time to grip his sidearm and say, "Uh...") before the ground had crumbled underneath them. Not knowing which way was up, he'd hit the water almost face-first; it had knocked the air right out of him. He'd swallowed an awful lot of salty water before he figured out where the surface was.
Evidently Teyla and Ronon had been far back enough to be saved; their shouts had followed them down. Couldn't hear them now, though.
"At least I had the sense to land feet-first," Rodney continued, starting to sound smug again, though if Sheppard tilted his head casually and squinted, he could see that Rodney's hands were still shaking slightly.
"Yeah. Screaming all the way."
Rodney glared. "I was surprised! I wasn't expecting the ground to open up!"
10. Music by Hand and Music by Heart by Green (AO3)
Excerpt:
Often, either in hushed voices or in between the laughter of reminiscence, Rodney hears the others in Atlantis talk about what they left behind on Earth. What they missed, what they were glad to be away from. Family, cheeseburgers, telemarketers, that one ex who didn't know what over really meant. Beloved pets, a favorite bistro. The lights and smells of a city or the silence and sweet-scent of the countryside.
Mosquitoes, hay-fever, Mom's ever increasing collection of Elvis commemorative plates. Church. Telephones. Google.
Rodney does his part and adds espresso, egg rolls, Sports Illustrated's swimsuit edition, and Cadbury. It seems the thing to do, if not for their sake, but for his own. Makes him feel as if he is one of them, even though he isn't and they know it, but this way is just easier. Pretending.
They all pretend.
11. Nemesis & Fury by the_moonmoth
Excerpt:
'Good morning, Dr. McKay,' General Atter said, and pressed the button on the small remote control in his hand. The man's whole body tensed but he didn't scream, Atter noted with interest. After five seconds, he released the button, cutting off the low-amp electrical current passing through McKay's body. McKay slumped down in his chair (as much as was possible, given the restraints) and took a few deep, shuddering breaths.
'What the hell was that for?' he spat.
'It's important to make a good first impression, don't you think, Dr. McKay? You only ever get one opportunity.'
'Oh yes, not even giving me the chance to tell you what you want to know before beginning the torture makes me feel so much more inclined to help you afterwards.'
Atter smiled. 'That is the general idea, yes.' In the few, weak rays of sun lighting the room from slits high in the walls, Atter saw McKay's eyes widen briefly, luminous against a face dark with bruising. Then he seemed to gather himself, straightening up a little and lifting his chin.
'I won't tell you anything.'
Atter smiled again, and began slowly to circle the room, McKay straining his neck to follow him as he moved into the shadows. 'That's what they all say, Dr. McKay. That's what they all say.'
12. Crimes Against Humanity by seperis
Excerpt:
Atlantis was a neutral colony before it became a prison camp, split between the mainland facilities and the ocean bound city itself for the war criminals and those convicted of crimes against humanity. Alcatraz, he'd heard Sheppard drawl when he arrived in the gateroom, manacled and bruised from a scuffle in the Colorado gate room that ended with four injured Marines. Inescapable, or so they said, but Sheppard's single word reminded him that nothing's inescapable.
They just haven't figured out how to do it yet.
Rodney's restrictions keep him from the computers, unwired rooms, as low-tech as an Ancient facility light years beyond human evolution can possibly manage. Setting his hand against the wall, he feels the hum of energy just out of reach, the flashes of power that pulses into his palm like heat, watching the flicker of the force fields, memorizing the new modulation like he does every day, like there's a damn thing he can do about it.
God fucking dammit, he hates this place.
Looking out of his cell, he watches Sheppard being brought down the hall, accompanied by ten special ops, zats trained on his every movement. Tall and rail-thin, bloodstained prison uniform and messy dark hair, moving like naqada-reinforced manacles at wrists and ankles don't weigh any more than air. The dark head lifts briefly, eyes flicking to study the line of cells that were once living quarters, and for a second, Rodney feels that intense gaze on him.
Just a second, long enough for a pretty quirk of his mouth, and Rodney nods back, introductions done.
The cell across from Rodney is opened, and Rodney's view is blocked as one of the men presses the zat against John's throat, forcing his head higher, stripping away the manacles and pushing him inside. Rodney hears the sound of a body hitting the floor, straining his neck enough to see Sheppard on his feet, moving almost too fast for the eye to see, but they're ready, the forcefield going up instantly.
Rodney winces as John's thrown back with a shower of sparks, hitting the far wall, the sound like a rotten watermelon slamming into the ground.
Atlantean prison guards don't bother with banter with the prisoners--work done, they set the passwords and leave. Grabbing his one chair, Rodney pulls it to the doorway, sitting down to wait for Sheppard to recover consciousness.
It's been a while since he had a neighbor, after all.
13. Rules of Engagement by velocitygrass
Excerpt:
"Say again," John said, trying not to panic just yet.
"I'm almost finished with my paper on-" Rodney began with flourish.
"The other part," John clarified, because he didn't need to hear about The Paper That Would Win Rodney McKay His Nobel Prize. That he'd heard enough about ever since their return from the Pegasus galaxy, when Rodney had decided to finally pursue this dream.
"Oh, uhm. We need to get married."
"See, that's what I thought I heard and it still doesn't make any sense. Nobel Prize. Us getting married. I don't see the connection."
"Well, if you'd listened you would. I need some lab time to prove my findings."
"Don't you usually start in the lab?"
"Only if you don't know what the results will be!" Rodney snapped. Then he seemed to realize that shouting at the man you're asking to marry-and no, it still didn't make any sense at all-wasn't the best way to make him say yes. "Sorry. Look, I know that it's an... unusual request."
"Unusual? It may have escaped your notice, but I'm a man and so are you."
"No kidding. But that only makes a difference in your country." Of course Rodney would feel superior about that.
"And in my job, as you well know, mainly the difference between still having said job and not."
Rodney had enough decency to look at least a bit contrite. "Yes, I know, but can you honestly say that you still want that job? I mean, not the title, the one that they're allowing you to do now that you're no longer commanding officer of Atlantis."
John opened his mouth to say that of course he still wanted the job. Yes, it wasn't the same, but really, nothing could ever be the same as being on Atlantis. And he knew he wasn't the only one who held that opinion.
But he couldn't say it. Too often, he'd complained to Rodney about the incompetence of his team, how much he missed Teyla and Ronon-and possibly even Rodney-and that he felt useless.
"What exactly do you want me to do instead?"
"You don't have to do anything. I'll provide for you obviously. It's the least I can do."
"I don't need providing for," John said stiffly.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying I'll pay expenses. We can rent an apartment or a house for the time."
"Right, and that time would be?"
"Three months. Six tops."
"I can't exactly return to the Air Force after a couple of months, divorced from another man."
"I... I know. But do you really want to keep doing this? Compared to what we did in Atlantis, these are milk runs. And if you do find something they'll send in SG-1. The only thing you're likely to get out of this is some horrible injury and let's not even get started on potentially fatal accidents."
"Rodney, you know that's part of the job."
"It doesn't have to be. Look, if you do this for me, I'll help you find a job that you'll love. How about test piloting new jets?"
"You could do that?"
"Do you have any idea how many companies have asked me to work for them? I'm sure I could arrange a package deal."
"That.... Okay, let's say that I am-hypothetically-willing to do this-"
"Yes!"
Stargate Atlantis - Sheppard/Dex
1. The Fallen by Rustler (AO3)
Excerpt:
Ronon turned Tyre's sword over in his hands. Sheppard must have cleaned the blade, because the intricate metalwork had a beautiful soft gleam in the dim light of the isolation ward.
Back on Sateda, Kell would have kept it instead, as an example to the rest of the regiment. The sword of a man who'd lost his honor was not given to comrades, or kin. And Ronon would have believed that, then. Now he was pretty sure Kell would have kept it because it was a good sword.
The nurse came in. He looked at the sword for a long moment before busying himself filling out Ronon's chart. Ronon smiled. He could do that now. In front of nurses, Keller, Woolsey-the complete civilians-he could get by. He could say and do the expected things, and they'd take notes and tell him how happy they were to see him back and feeling better. Dealing with McKay was dicier: he'd fucked up plenty himself, and had spent a lot of time in the field by now. But Ronon couldn't pretend at all with Teyla, or Sheppard. They understood too much.
Well, all of it was gone now, anyway. Everything he'd lived for, the values and beliefs that had sustained him through seven long years on the run. Gone.
He was beginning to wonder how much of it had ever really existed at all.
2. Sensual Deprivation by Mira (AO3)
Excerpt:
Elizabeth sometimes trails a soft flowery smell. Ronon likes it. He relied on scent in his running years to hunt for food, and learned to smell when other humans were nearby. He hadn't been taught that, but had had to learn on his own, out in the wild.
But smelling Elizabeth didn't produce food, or even guarantee safety. Smelling her brought pleasure, but also discomfort; he wasn't sure he was supposed to notice. Maybe these people from a different galaxy exuded scent for private reasons. Some days the scent was stronger than others, and it was always stronger in the mornings than the evenings. In the evenings, especially after a difficult day, when her hair fell into her eyes, she smelled very different: sweatier and more real. Certain times of the month there was another smell that conflicted with the morning flower smell; those times made him nervous. He avoided her in the mess on those days.
But this morning, standing with his team, listening to her last minute cautions and concerns, he sniffs deeply and appreciatively. When she's finished talking, looking wide-eyed at them, he pauses to let the others leave first, then leans over her.
"You smell good," he murmurs, watching her carefully. Her eyes widen even more, and her face turns a soft pink, as pink as the flowers she smells like.
"Thank you," she finally says. He nods, and follows his teammates down the stairs. Sheppard gives him a look, but he ignores it. Sheppard has his own interesting smell.
3. Instinct by janne_d (AO3)
Excerpt:
Beckett and Sheppard were at his bed. The doctor was clean and sharp, with a hint of the brown drink he called tea so it must be morning, though Sheppard was tired and messy like the end of a long day. Beckett was checking the monitors and looking concerned but not too much, so Ronon thought that whatever happened to land him here was not that serious.
Sheppard made him less certain of that. He was leaning casually and looking as relaxed as Beckett but Ronon was starting to know him well and he could see the carefully blank eyes and read that Sheppard was just as tense as he was.
"What happened?" he asked. He meant it for them both, but it was Beckett that spoke.
"What do you remember?" and he watched Sheppard's eyes look from the bed to Beckett to the monitors, anywhere but at Ronon, and wished that he could fill in the blanks he'd just discovered because he didn't understand.
"Nothing after the cave and radioing McKay," he admitted and would be amused at the switch from fake to real relaxation if he wasn't so worried, because Sheppard was probably the only person on Atlantis who had never been wary of him and he liked that trust.
"Well, it seems that you managed to get a face full of alien spores in the back of that nice wee cave, but it looks like they've finally worked out of your system."
"What did they do to me?" because he really needed to know and Sheppard still wasn't meeting his eyes.
"Apparently not much," Beckett replied cheerfully, "As far as I can tell, they just knocked you out."
"That's all?"
"You fell asleep and I couldn't wake you up," Sheppard said. He was finally facing Ronon and it wasn't a lie, he could tell when Sheppard was lying now. Beckett talked about some more tests just to be cautious before he'd let Ronon out and Sheppard nodded, gave Ronon a shrug and a smile and left. He looked and sounded like normal, but.
There was something still not right, Ronon could feel it.
Sheppard hadn't been lying but he hadn't told the truth either.
He needed his memories back.
4. Acclimation (Eight Days) by Bone
Excerpt:
By the end of the first day, Ronon has learned to stop ducking through doorways. The ceiling really can accommodate his height, but it still feels too close, too hard. It's like night all the time here, and despite the vast sea he knows is out there somewhere, he thinks he'd rather live in a cave than deal with all the blue-white lights and the incessant beeping of machines he can't name.
He's been assigned two guards. He could take them without breaking a sweat, but he lets it ride for now. He tries to think of Atlantis as just another new environment, something to adapt to. Being around so many people all the time makes him feel like his skin is stretched too tight. The smells overwhelm him sometimes; he can even smell himself.
His back aches where Beckett pulled the plug; it won't let him forget what he owes these people.
He goes places he shouldn't, makes the guards work for their money. He's so accustomed to living in the dark that he forgets to turn on lights. He's cold all the time, feels goosebumps on his skin that aren't the harbinger of menace he's used to; at least, he doesn't think so. He sits in the commissary with his back to the many eyes staring at him, fills his pockets with hunks of bread and fruit so delicate the skin breaks and stains his coat with blood-red juice. He urinates on a potted plant and makes some small dark woman in a labcoat cry.
He's forgotten how to live indoors.
5. Still by Pru
Excerpt:
On PX-3456 Ronon gave Sheppard a clump of dirt.
Sheppard said, "Er."
Rodney said, "What the hell is that?"
Teyla widened her eyes, but didn't say anything otherwise.
Ronon watched carefully as John put the dirt clod into a plastic sample bag and shoved it awkwardly into his ALICE pack, saying, "Thanks. I think."
"It's clay," Ronon said, and John raised his eyebrows. "Mix it with water. Shape it with your hands."
And when Sheppard grinned, Ronon knew he'd done good. "Haven't played with clay since I was a kid," John said.
"You mean you're not anymore?" Rodney asked, feigning astonishment.
Then Teyla knelt down to study the deposit of good, white clay and mentioned something about it being valuable for trading, so they all got distracted doing that, but Ronon kept thinking about John's hands slick on the clay, shaping out an answer for Ronon.
6. Edges by ifreet (AO3)
Excerpt:
So, he wasn't looking for Sheppard, exactly. But his feet had taken him from the infirmary to the Gateroom to the cafeteria, then on to the gym to Sheppard's 'driving range' balcony to the science labs. And there Sheppard was, leaning over McKay's shoulder looking at a computer, while Zelenka typed and muttered nearby. Something eased inside Ronon to see him, even though Sheppard looked a bit rough around the edges. His lean was part slump, and there was a droop to his eyes that said he'd not slept well. Sheppard had flicked a glance at the door as it slid open, and when he saw it was Ronon, he straightened, tension snapping his shoulders straight like a superior officer had walked into the room.
His eyes went to Ronon's arm. "You good?"
Ronon held up his hand, displaying the bandage. "Yeah. Said it wasn't serious."
Sheppard nodded, eyes drifting to the side. "Good. That's... good. Look, I gotta--" he finished the sentence with a vague gesture and fled, skirting past him and into the hall.
Ronon frowned after him. "What's his problem?"
McKay snorted. "Don't ask, don't--"
Zelenka bounced a wad of paper off his head.
"What?" he squawked indignantly, before turning slightly abashed. " Oh. Oh. Come on, it's not like he even know what that--"
"He is not incurious, Rodney."
"-- means, and even if he did--"
"'He' is standing right here," Ronon interjected mildly.
"--obviously, I was joking."
"Ah, good, joking. So when he asks someone to explain your little joke, that won't start any rumors."
Part Two