sgafic: crimes against humanity, 11
Crimes Against Humanity
by seperis
Part 10
Warnings: Please see this entry for series warnings.
Miko gives them the signal for the bay doors, shutting down weapons and shields, setting a worm loose in the database to wreck havoc. The Daedalus was too sophisticated to be damaged for long, but a distraction was all they needed. Sitting behind John in the jumper, Rodney stares at the huge ship hanging like an ornament in the sky, hands clenched in his lap. John had met him in the locker room, kneeling unselfconsciously to strap on the thigh holster, hands sliding up Rodney's thigh to smooth the material down with slow, deliberate strokes before he stood up again, leaving Rodney panting and so hard he wasn't sure he could walk. There's a knife at his hip and a P-90 slung around his chest, just in case, John said with a grin, hands lingering on his chest as he fit the shoulder strap.
"You're doing this on purpose," Rodney hissed, aware that Ramirez had discreetly turned his back.
Sheppard had just smiled.
Rodney had lived in his lab when he'd been at the SGC. He hadn't gone offworld, never stepped foot in alien ships or alien worlds. And there were reasons for that, and right now, staring at the vastness of space surrounding them, he thinks he remembers why.
Maybe this wasn't such a great idea.
"Anyone around?" John asks as they glide in; Rodney twists around to read the screens John pulls up effortlessly.
"Three corridors over," Rodney says, checking the lifesign detector. "Looks like the virus is causing problems with the doors--they've moved to manual. Concentrations in the brig, on the bridge, and in the mess hall." Rodney frowns. "We have time to strip their stores?"
"Hell yes," John answers. The rest of the men murmur agreement. "How does the engine room look?"
Rodney feeds the detector information into his laptop, pulling up a rough skeleton. "Ten. I need bridge access to set off the ship's internal defenses," he continues, feeling Ramirez watching over his shoulder. From the way Ramirez has been shadowing him, Rodney figures this is his assigned bodyguard for the duration. "Unfortunately, we can't use the transporters." Rodney almost sighs. He's never liked physical labor.
John nods agreeably as he lands. "Miko, close the bay doors."
Rodney watches the readout for the signal that the bay had recompressed. John, leaning back in his seat, closes his eyes briefly; Rodney watches something like peace spread over his face, breath slowing, almost like he's synching with the ship.
Maybe he is.
"Done," John says, opening his eyes. "Stackhouse, take eight men and secure the engine room. I want them alive. Markham, you have the brig." John pauses, mouth quirking. "We keep the scientists and the SGC teams."
"Yes, sir."
Rodney tries to remember the names he saw on the manifest; Novak's conspicuously absent, as is Hermiod.
"Dr. Weir," John says, standing up. "We're going in. Radio silence until I call."
"Understood." Rodney can almost hear the smile in Elizabeth's voice. "Good hunting."
John grins. "Always is. All right, the rest of you are with me . Ramirez, you have Rodney. Once the internal security protocols are tripped, the jumpers and the bridge are the only safe places. You have an hour." He doesn't issue a threat, but then, Ramirez is one of his. Cadman said they'd walk through fire if John said so; looking at him now, flushed and glowing with energy, Rodney thinks he would too.
"Move out."
*****
With the transporters down--and Rodney delays them a few minutes to burn out as many of the connecting circuits as possible to keep them that way--they head for the first emergency exit, and it's so much worse than Rodney had thought.
"Ladder," he says blankly, looking up into the pitch black darkness. "Seven levels."
"It'll do you good," John says placidly, swinging up onto the first, grinning down at them. "Anyone close?"
Rodney squints at his detector, aware that Ramirez couldn't get any closer if he crawled inside his jacket. "Range is three levels up. No one's showing so far."
"Good." John starts climbing. Rodney starts to move, but Ramirez's hand closes over his wrist. Three more men go up before Ramirez leads him forward.
"Go ahead."
Rodney frowns but grabs on, palms slick and sliding on the slick metal. Wiping them down his sides, he tries again, aware that the men ahead are outdistancing the rest of them fairly quickly. Gingerly climbing up a step, Rodney feels his boot slip from his uncertain balance.
A hand on his hip holds him still, long enough to force his foot into place. "Easy, Dr. McKay," Ramirez says, voice soothing. "There are seven of us back here. We'll catch you."
Rodney scowls down at them, trying to hide his relief.
Climbing is about as boring as Rodney had always assumed it would be. He can feel the strain in his arms before they've gone up one level, his thighs burning after the second. The P-90 seems to be *trying* to drag him down. One more, he thinks, then they stop for the life signs detector. Or he jumps.
He has no idea what it says about him that he almost hopes that something shows up.
Struggling up the last few rungs, Rodney sees a hand thrust in front of him. Rodney grabs on, letting John help him up the last two rungs, dropping to pant on the floor and hate the universe so much it physically hurts.
Or that's his knees, wondering what the hell he thinks he's doing.
"Okay?" John says, crouching beside him. Rodney wants to glare, but he's not sure he can lift his head that much.
"I hate you."
"You wanted to come along," John says, a smile in his voice. Patting his shoulder, John straightens. "Anyone on this level?"
Rodney pulls out the detector, giving it a cursory check. "Mess hall, infirmary--" he cuts off, turning to see John eyeing the door speculatively. "What?"
Several of the men share knowing grins, body language falling into a pattern so old that they almost seem to move as one. These are John's team, Rodney realizes, watching the silent communication that had been built over years--years at the SGC when Rodney hadn't known he even existed, years after when John cut himself free. They weren't just professional terrorists and assassins; they were the best the SGC could train, let loose on an unsuspecting galaxy, taking ships and supplies, people, terrifying races older than Atlantis.
Abruptly, the klaxons go off. Shit. Rodney struggles to his feet. "Okay, we need to--"
"Get out of here," John agrees, eyes on the door. Jerking his head at Ramirez, John goes ahead. "We keep the techs," he says over his shoulder. "Watch yourselves."
Rodney starts to wonder how John thinks they're going to keep that many people under control up here, but since no one else seems worried, he decides to leave it to them.
"There's no one in the corridor," Rodney says as John pauses at the door. "Closest are two rooms down."
"Crew quarters," he says, then shrugs. "All right. You four, messhall. Follow standard procedure." With that, John goes out, gun drawn, two men following just behind. "Meet on the bridge twenty minutes. If it takes longer than that, I'll be deeply disappointed."
There's some quiet laughter before they split. Rodney watches the detector, trusting Ramirez to nudge him if they want to turn. Shots are fired at close range, but they barely pause, and Rodney looks up long enough to avoid tripping over a sprawled body with an Daedalus patch.
John seems to have the layout down; either he memorized the schematics or he's just that lucky. Rodney guesses the former, just as John brings down the P-90 and enters the small infirmary.
The lights are on here; tertiary power, probably localized in case of sudden system-wide failure. Rodney approves. The screaming he doesn't, looking up long enough to see the huddle of people scattered over the floor in drifts of white coats and colorful scrubs.
"Stay down," John says softly. A nod sends two of the men to the medical suites; Rodney hears gunshots as they go through the wounded. "I'm looking for Dr. Keller," John says genially, one foot pushing closest man over. "She here?"
Keller?
"Sheppard?" A second passes, before a hand goes up near one of the surgical beds, emerging from a huddle of several shaking bodies.
"Hey," John says. "How's life treating you?"
There's a pause, then a red-brown head comes up, eyes finding John immediately.
"Better when I thought I was getting some leave," she says. She keeps her voice light, but even Rodney can see she's terrified. "Didn't expect to see you."
"You were going down today?" John asks. He's not aiming at her, but that doesn't mean anything at all.
"Group six," she answers. Frowning, she looks them over; Rodney knows the second she recognizes him by the way her eyes widen. "So I take it there really isn't a prison that can hold you."
"Not really." John tilts his head slightly, studying her. "Question--why are you on the Daedalus? Last I heard, you were next up for SGC chief medical officer."
Keller blinks in surprise, mouth twisting unhappily. Must still be a sore point. "Change in policy at the SGC. There's been some--"
"High casualty rates." John lowers his gun and shoots the man at his feet. There's a series of muffled screams, but Rodney notices that Keller doesn’t flinch. "Who else was scheduled for leave?"
Keller goes still, staring at John. "Disposal," she says finally. "Son of a *bitch*."
John grins at her. "Come on, let's get out of here. We have one more stop."
"Bridge?" she says as she stands up, stepping out from among the other staff. Glancing down, she carefully avoids the splatter of the former Chief Medical Officer of the Daedalus. "Right. I know your MO."
"Gun," John says, holding out his hand; Ramirez slaps it into his palm. Handing it to her, he surveys the room. "Anyone else?"
Keller checks the gun, eyes flickering up grimly. "No one else had leave."
John pulls the safety on his gun. "Cool."
*****
"You know her? How do you know her? Where did you--"
John grins, hand on Rodney's chest as they come to an intersection. "No one," Rodney says impatiently. "She wasn't hired until after you left," He can hear Keller behind them, boots clicking faster than the others as she half jogs to keep up. "How can you know…"
"Read her file." John pauses briefly as they pass the messhall, looking inside; Rodney knows better. Keeping his eyes fixed on the detector, he waits until John ducks back out, motioning for them to follow, like they were in some danger of stopping for a snack.
"Her *file*?"
John gives him an amused look. "We had a little talk on Chulak a while back," John says, which Rodney's mind interprets as 'wild and crazy sex', though he fights off the images that present themselves. "Don't worry. I'm never wrong."
Rodney wants to dispute that, but there's a four level climb up a ladder ahead of him and he has to conserve his energy.
It's not any easier this time, though at least Rodney has the satisfaction of Keller panting three people behind him. He can barely feel his legs when they finally hit the top, leaning against John as John checks the detector, nodding in satisfaction. "Thirty bodies, all military. Cover Rodney while he works on the computers." John turns to him, hazel eyes vividly green and almost incandescent; Rodney swallows hard. "How many?"
"Thirty," he says. "What about the--they were going to meet us."
"They're here," John says with a grin of absolute faith. "You ready?"
Rodney nods, mouth dry. "Yeah."
*****
Rodney remembers the bridge in circuits and overrides, using Zelenka's codes to break through, pushed flat on the floor at irregular intervals by Ramirez. Bullets whistle overhead, one lodging itself an inch from his vulnerable hands as he pulls the environmental console apart down to it's component parts.
"McKay?" Ramirez asks once. Rodney looks up, startled to see the left side of his face is covered in blood. Keller, huddled on Rodney's other side and being particularly useless, mutters something and kneewalks around him, jerking Ramirez's head around. "Just a cut, ma'am. McKay, Sheppard wants to know--"
"When I know, I'll tell you," Rodney snarls as Keller pulls bandages out of her pocket, holding Ramirez still long enough to twist a bandage around his head and wipe his eye clear of clotting blood. "Five minutes," he says after a second. A bullet buries itself in the wall behind him; Rodney sucks in a breath, feeling for his gun. "Maybe less."
"Got it."
It's not that it's complex; the Daedalus was built with humans in mind, and the Asgard had dumbed down their technology enough for SGC techs to take care of basic repairs. Good to keep the humans from accidentally blowing themselves up. Bad when you hit your fifth security redundancy. Rodney wonders if the crew accidentally gassed themselves too many times to require this many failsafes.
Plugging in the PDA, Rodney types in Radek's codes, frowning at the results. His hand goes automatically to his radio before he remembers they're on radio silence. Shit.
Keller eventually settles beside him again, blood streaking her hands and one cheekbone, gun in both hands. Rodney wonders if she even knows how to shoot; the SGC gave them all a basic course, but Rodney had come away from it with the vague impression he would be best served never having to hold a weapon again.
And look where he is now. "Keller," he says sharply. "Be useful. Hold this." Shoving two of the ripped cables into her hands, he studies the connections. He can sit here and work through five billion levels of security, or he can do this the old fashioned way. "When I say to, connect those."
Keller frowns at the cables, hands carefully staying on the insulation. "Is this going to blow up and kill me?"
"It would kill me, too, so no." Rodney's never wished for a decent set of tools more. Wirecutters. Hell, he'd take an insulated butter knife. "Ramirez, I need your knife."
Almost before he finishes speaking, it materializes at his knee. "That's the power," Rodney tells Keller. "If you touch them now, I'll die a hideous death by electrocution and Ramirez will kill you."
Keller's eyes cut to where Ramirez is currently acting out something from Saving Private Ryan or Apocalypse Now; something with shooting anyway. Checking to make sure the cables are far apart, Rodney starts cutting.
"You sure you know what you're doing?" Keller asks dubiously.
"No, I'm just prolonging the fun of a fire fight," Rodney says, mentally tracing the schematics in his head. Four, five, six--here. Cutting it, Rodney reaches out a hand. "Give me the one in your right hand."
She's careful, he'll give her that, insulation slapping into his palm, wires safely distant from his skin. Rodney takes a deep breath, hoping to God he read them right. "Ramirez, tell Sheppard it's ready."
Ramirez acknowledges with a gesture and Rodney closes his eyes and touches the cables on their exposed metal edges.
For a second, nothing seems to happen. Somewhere out there, John's throwing himself into the path of bullets and reinforcements are doubtless on their way, and here he is, sitting on his ass unable to even get a simple fucking--
Daedalus lurches abruptly, emergency lights flickering, red lights across every board. Keller draws in a sharp breath and Rodney realizes abruptly that the noise is over.
Maybe for a while.
John, blood-splattered, what was an SGC jacket's sleeve wrapped around his thigh, comes up to lean against the console. Rodney licks his lips as John reaches lazily for his radio. "Report."
"All accounted for in the jumpers," Stackhouse says immediately. "How long do we wait?"
John looks a question.
"Ten minutes to dissipate."
"Give it ten, have the jumper double check before you come out. Do a floor by floor. Put the ones we want in the brig for now." John pauses, scratching absently at one blood-streaked ear, nose wrinkling slightly. "I'm going back to the city. Stackhouse, you're in charge of clean-up; report every thirty minutes, private channel."
"Yes, sir."
John smiles at the group of men that have drifted over. "At least you didn't get soft," he says with something like affection. "Clean up here and then report to Stackhouse. Rodney, can you get the transporters working to get us into the jumper?"
Rodney stands up, then realizes Keller's still holding one of the cables. "Put that down. And yeah, just--" Stumbling slightly, Rodney calls a diagnostic up on the main board, wiping away the blood. "Yeah. Now?"
"Let's get going. Keller--"
"I'll stay and treat the injuries," she says, wiping her hands on her thighs. "There's a few things in the lab you might want to take a look at, though, especially considering you're living in the city."
"Such as?"
"Carson's gene therapy." One side of her mouth quirks up in a smirk. "Mitchell started trials two months ago at the SGC. There's a fairly high failure rate, since we're still working off his original design, but it works."
"Failure rate?"
Keller arches a brow. "Not dead. But they might wish they were."
"I always liked you," John says with an answering grin. "Get it and take it to Carson when you're done."
"It's ready," Rodney says, breaking their moment; is there anyone not after John's ass? He doesn’t have time for this shit. "Keller, you know how to--"
"Yeah." With a parting smile for John, she takes Rodney's place at the console. "See you on the other side."
Rodney barely has time to brace himself before he's staring at the walls of their empty jumper. Turning, he sees John already in the pilot's seat, wiping the blood from his hands on his pants before he touches the console. "Stackhouse, you're in charge. Miko, open the bay doors."
"Already done?" Elizabeth's voice cuts through the connection. "That was fast."
Stumbling into the copilot's seat, Rodney sees John roll his eyes as the jumper begins to rise, bay doors yawning open before them. "It wasn't my first time. ETA fifteen minutes. Where's Caldwell?"
"Bates is interrogating him," Elizabeth answers tranquilly. "He's been a mine of useful information since he realized he was sent here to die."
Rodney imagines so.
"Ford?"
"Passed out in his cell." Elizabeth pauses. "Grodin's tested the gate address the Athosians provided and we sent a MALP through. There's a ship in orbit around the fourth planet. It's four times the size of the Daedalus, and lifesigns are--showing conflicting reports. The Athosians have explained the Wraith go into hibernation between feedings."
John takes a breath, staring at the display like he can make it change by will alone.
"We can't take a ship that size without the Daedalus in full working order," Elizabeth continues, sounding very sure and very, very careful. "I've sent a group to the mainland to pull every engineer and tech we can find to repair and crew the ship temporarily; Carson will implant them the minute they get to Atlantis."
John closes his eyes. "Right," he says finally. "We were able to minimize damage."
"Then it shouldn't take too long to get her ready. A day at most."
John doesn't answer, eyes blank. Rodney touches his radio. "We'll be there in fifteen minutes. McKay out."
*****
John's silent most of the trip back, his entire attention seemingly concentrated on the jumper. Rodney's not stupid enough to think that's true, but he also just walked out of a bridge of thirty dead Daedalus crew and watched John and three men slaughter an infirmary. And that was *before* Elizabeth told him he couldn't take his new toy for a spin before tomorrow.
On the other hand, silence has never been his forte. "That was interesting."
John shoots him a sidelong look as they descend, clouds whispering by like gauze in the clear blue of the sky. His voice drips irony. "Really."
Rodney bristles. "I was fine. I told you I was perfectly capable of being an asset--"
"I know. And you were." John's hands relax on the controls, fingers slowly straightening from the tight clench. A very good sign. "You want to keep doing it?"
Rodney frowns. "Doing--"
"Field work."
And that he hadn't expected. "Really?"
"Even if we get the mainland population producing, we'll need outside supplies. And more people. The Athosians had a very lively trade market--"
"You mean extortion."
John cracks a smile. "Persuasive bargaining." The smile fades almost immediately, gaze turning inward; even from his seat, Rodney can see the tension emanating from him like light. "We need the contacts."
Rodney nods, trying not to relax too much. "Right." Weir's made some noise about it already; Rodney could frankly care less as long as he's kept in food, technology, and bodies for the labs. And John, of course.
John, however, will need more than sex to keep him occupied, and setting him free in Pegasus with a few teams to benefit Atlantis sounds like a pretty good plan.
"I don't have the training," Rodney says finally, curious about John's reasoning. Because yes, he survived the Daedalus, but that pretty much was John and company around him.
"I can train you."
They don't have a lot of records from the SGC, and Rodney doubts that John's are the kind that are accessible anyway; what he knows he knows from John, from sideways comments by Lorne and Bates, rumors that filtered to Atlantis through three long years, the men that John brought from the mainland.
They're specialists in every sense of the word, recruited and trained by the SGC, retrained by John when he chose them. And some part of Rodney feels--odd--that John wants to count Rodney among them. He's almost sure it's good.
"Really?"
John gives him an amused look. "I have time." The jumper shivers slightly, and John's slight smile fades, hazel eyes glazing. "We're on approach, Atlantis," John says flatly.
"I'll be in my office," Weir says calmly.
John's eyes narrow. "Five minutes."
*****
John goes to Weir still bloodstained and faintly feral--back on Atlantis, adrenaline still high from the fight on the ship, he strides through the gate room, leaving footprints like some kind of reminder that he doesn't play well with others. Bates, running herd over the personnel on duty, watches him with concealed worry, eyes flickering briefly to Rodney and beyond them, obviously hoping for someone from one of the teams to fill him in.
It's beneath him, but--
"Weir says when the ship's repaired," Rodney says, trying to look absorbed in the view of the Daedalus on one of the screens. Bates stiffens slightly, giving him a brief look. Rodney grits his teeth before he can ask; he knows John. John, *this* John, knows him inside and out, and he doesn't need Bates to confirm the thin sheath of calm is hiding rage that's barely held in check. John's vicious, impulsive, but most importantly, possessive. As long as Lorne and the other men are being held, John's fragile leash on his instincts will stretch until he snaps.
Even a day might be too long.
Glancing around the room, Rodney pinpoints Zelenka, slumped in the chair by Miko. Presumably still alive, since he's still breathing. With a final look at Bates, Rodney makes his way over, glancing at Miko long enough to note she's taken possession of the finger, leaving it in Zelenka's sight. Rodney wonders what she's going to do with it.
There's a lot of things that Rodney wants to do to him, but a few days won't make a difference.
"I need the Daedalus fully operational."
Zelenka head moves sluggishly, tilting backward to look at Rodney from behind dull eyes. "What--" he slurs, then shakes himself. "Damaged?"
"Minimal." Rodney steps between Zelenka and Miko, forcing Zelenka to tilt his head farther back. Rodney's never been adverse to petty psychological warfare. "I'm going to kill you," Rodney says, copying John's horrifically bland tone when he describes torture. "I've had four years to plan it, and it will take four years for me to finish it. Do you understand?"
Blood loss may have sent him into shock. He just nods.
"Here's where you get an extra day of survival. I need the Daedalus operational by tomorrow. That means everything, from engines to defenses to weapons to the cloak. I mean everything. And I need it run by someone who knows what they're doing."
Zelenka blinks at him blearily, but he's tracking at least.
"I'm sending you to Carson for a little modification," Rodney says, and takes a second to enjoy the raw terror that flares in Zelenka's eyes. "When he's done, you'll be escorted to the Daedalus with five other people you sent here to die. Their only motivation is to please me, and right now, it pleases me to for you to live long enough to fix that ship. That could change at any second. Do you understand?"
Zelenka nods. Rodney snaps his fingers in the general direction security. "Get him to Carson and send him up with my people when the repairs start." Rodney holds Zelenka's wide, terrified eyes. "They won't kill you," Rodney says softly. "If you fuck up, they'll bring you to me. And you'll start paying me what you owe."
Over Zelenka's head, Rodney sees John emerge abruptly from Elizabeth's office and straightens. Radek looks scared enough to be malleable, at least for a little while. "Miko, get every engineer we have prepped for repairs."
"Yes, sir."
John pauses at the transporter, blinking like he's not entirely sure where he is: very bad. Bates focused attention only confirms it. "I'll radio when it's time."
Going up the stairs, Rodney shoots Bates a warning look before reaching for John; there's a second of tension that coils like electricity beneath Rodney's hand, but the hazel eyes finally focus again, recognizing him with an ease of tension. "Rodney."
"Rest," Rodney says firmly, leading John into the transporter. There's blood streaking his jaw, in his hair, soaking his uniform like he rolled around in it. Rodney wouldn't put it past him in this mood. Sliding his hand down, he gets bare skin, wrapping his fingers gently around John's wrist, feeling the sharp, staccato beat of his pulse.
"I'm sending my people up to do the repairs," Rodney says, entering their floor on the console. When the door opens again, John's unsurprisingly docile, letting Rodney lead him down the hall. None of the patrols so much as blink as they pass. "You should eat."
John shakes his head sharply as they turn the corner, their door opening almost before they reach it. Rodney goes in first, trying to remember if their store of snacks has been depleted yet, then he's up against the wall and John's hand is resting lightly on his collar, fingers pressed to his throat.
Taking a breath, Rodney forces himself to relax, looking into the blank hazel eyes that tell him John's slipping somewhere that Rodney can't follow, reminding him sharply of those early mornings he'd sat on the floor with John's head in his lap, pale and shocky, with new pink skin and newly healed bones. Then, he thought that one day he'd pay Sumner back for every injury he'd inflicted on John's body, every crack he'd made in John's mind, every regeneration sequence that pushed John that much closer to the edge of sanity, every second that Rodney worked to coax him back to him.
Now he thinks there's nothing he can do to Sumner that can ever match what he'd done to John.
Closing his eyes, he leans into John's hand, aware of John's body less than an inch away, smelling blood and sweat and gunpowder, the recycled air of the Daedalus that coats John like a second skin. Reaching out, he touches damp cloth, thick and stiff, pushing it up to get skin, resting one hand on John's flat belly to feel every stuttering breath.
Warmth trails down his neck, stiff hair rubbing his cheek; John licks a slow line from his neck to ear, nuzzling his shoulder through his shirt. Rodney tilts his head as John's free hand snaps the buttons on his shirt off one by one, teeth grazing his collarbone before there's no air and John's kissing him like he's starving.
Months trapped in that cell together had taught Rodney everything he needed to know about John; how to quiet him and comfort him, de-escalate the rage that always pulsed beneath his skin; coax him back from the place Sumner sent him. Rodney had months to condition John to respond to his voice, to his touch, make himself John's focus, the center of their tiny world, knowing, *knowing* that Sumner had learned to count on that, that Rodney could fix what he'd shattered, bring him back so Sumner could do it again.
Sumner might have thought he broke him; Lorne and Bates might think the same thing. Rodney knows better. Sumner had stripped away John's remaining scruples like cheap paint, burned away the flotsam that kept his instincts in check, refining the lessons John had learned in the SGC. John's a weapon because he wants to be, because he can be, because they taught him how to be one and Sumner showed him how to like it.
Sliding his arms around John's waist, he jerks him closer, licking into John's mouth, nipping his tongue as John pins him to the wall, hand unwrapping from around Rodney's throat and sliding down his chest, nails scratching red welts into his skin, ripping through the button on his pants with a tear of material that makes Rodney grin into the next rough kiss, still breathless. Reaching between them, Rodney cups his cock, hard and hot through the thin material of his BDUs, groaning softly as teeth sink into the side of his neck, breaking skin with a shock of pain that makes Rodney so hard he can barely see.
Maybe John's conditioned him, too.
"Come on," Rodney murmurs, working John's pants open one-handed, reaching inside to get skin. "Fuck me."
John growls agreement, another flash of heat that crawls through Rodney's nerves and goes straight to his cock. John's hand fastens on the front of his ruined pants, pulling him from the wall, walking him backward the short distance to the bed. Rodney get his shirt off on his own, hitting the mattress with his pants around his thighs, catching at the top of boots that there's no way either of them are coordinated enough to untie.
Two quick slashes of his knife and the boots are gone, John straddling his thighs and kissing him, dirty and possessive and almost cruel, fucking his mouth with sweeps of his tongue, Rodney's cock rubbing against material that feels like sandpaper. Curling his hands in John's hair, he lets John do as he likes, following John's hands until he's stretched out on the bed, John knees between his thighs and two slick fingers buried in his ass.
"Yeah," he gasps, shifting into each thrust, making himself open to John's fingers, the too-quick stretch that makes him want John's cock in him when he's this tight, this ready. One hand gropes the bed, finding the lube, slicking his fingers and reaching to stroke John's cock. "Now, do it, come *on*, *fuck* me--"
One hand slides under his ass, lifting Rodney's hips with almost negligible ease, and then John's sliding into him, huge and hot, forcing his thighs up, bright pain as John forces him to open up and take him in. Digging his fingers into John's hair, he pulls him in, burying his groan in John's mouth.
It's good, better than good, John blood-stained and electric like a coming storm, ruthless and desperate, gun holster hard against Rodney's thigh, rubbing with every thrust, riding the fine edge that separates John from a feral animal that kills without thought or remorse. Rodney sucks bruises into his throat, leaves the imprint of his teeth in John's shoulder, his chest, shuddering when John sucks his nipples with ruthless care, tonguing the hollow of his throat; he knows Rodney's body as well as Rodney knows his, squeezing Rodney's ass before wrapping around his cock, hand slick and tight, and Rodney's coming so hard he stops breathing.
John comes too, with a shout buried in Rodney's mouth, still thrusting like he can't make himself stop before collapsing on top of him, panting and sweaty and sated. Wrapping his arms around John's sweaty back, Rodney turns his head just enough to see John's face, the brittle tension drained away, softening as exhaustion finally pulls him in. "We'll get our people back," Rodney whispers, bracing his foot to roll John gently onto the bed, stroking slowly through his hair. John's eyes slit open in acknowledgement, warm and lazily content, the sharp edges blunted.
"Let's get rid of those clothes," Rodney whispers.
John's liquid, shifting as Rodney strips away his shirt and pants, his boots, curling into Rodney instinctively as Rodney pulls the blankets over them, breath warm against Rodney's neck as he falls asleep.
When John's asleep, Rodney reaches for the radio. John's his, but the men are John's, and John thinks Rodney can do anything. "Grodin," Rodney murmurs, pitching his voice low enough that John won't wake. "I want that ship functional in six hours."
"It will take at least ten--"
"Six hours, or I'll kill every person working on it." Rodney doesn’t bother to pause to let it sink in; Grodin doesn't need the emphasis. "Make sure they know that. Radio when they're done."
Grodin answer is immediate. "Yes, sir."
"McKay out." Closing the channel, Rodney settles in, letting John's warm weight soothe him into sleep.
by seperis
Part 10
Warnings: Please see this entry for series warnings.
Miko gives them the signal for the bay doors, shutting down weapons and shields, setting a worm loose in the database to wreck havoc. The Daedalus was too sophisticated to be damaged for long, but a distraction was all they needed. Sitting behind John in the jumper, Rodney stares at the huge ship hanging like an ornament in the sky, hands clenched in his lap. John had met him in the locker room, kneeling unselfconsciously to strap on the thigh holster, hands sliding up Rodney's thigh to smooth the material down with slow, deliberate strokes before he stood up again, leaving Rodney panting and so hard he wasn't sure he could walk. There's a knife at his hip and a P-90 slung around his chest, just in case, John said with a grin, hands lingering on his chest as he fit the shoulder strap.
"You're doing this on purpose," Rodney hissed, aware that Ramirez had discreetly turned his back.
Sheppard had just smiled.
Rodney had lived in his lab when he'd been at the SGC. He hadn't gone offworld, never stepped foot in alien ships or alien worlds. And there were reasons for that, and right now, staring at the vastness of space surrounding them, he thinks he remembers why.
Maybe this wasn't such a great idea.
"Anyone around?" John asks as they glide in; Rodney twists around to read the screens John pulls up effortlessly.
"Three corridors over," Rodney says, checking the lifesign detector. "Looks like the virus is causing problems with the doors--they've moved to manual. Concentrations in the brig, on the bridge, and in the mess hall." Rodney frowns. "We have time to strip their stores?"
"Hell yes," John answers. The rest of the men murmur agreement. "How does the engine room look?"
Rodney feeds the detector information into his laptop, pulling up a rough skeleton. "Ten. I need bridge access to set off the ship's internal defenses," he continues, feeling Ramirez watching over his shoulder. From the way Ramirez has been shadowing him, Rodney figures this is his assigned bodyguard for the duration. "Unfortunately, we can't use the transporters." Rodney almost sighs. He's never liked physical labor.
John nods agreeably as he lands. "Miko, close the bay doors."
Rodney watches the readout for the signal that the bay had recompressed. John, leaning back in his seat, closes his eyes briefly; Rodney watches something like peace spread over his face, breath slowing, almost like he's synching with the ship.
Maybe he is.
"Done," John says, opening his eyes. "Stackhouse, take eight men and secure the engine room. I want them alive. Markham, you have the brig." John pauses, mouth quirking. "We keep the scientists and the SGC teams."
"Yes, sir."
Rodney tries to remember the names he saw on the manifest; Novak's conspicuously absent, as is Hermiod.
"Dr. Weir," John says, standing up. "We're going in. Radio silence until I call."
"Understood." Rodney can almost hear the smile in Elizabeth's voice. "Good hunting."
John grins. "Always is. All right, the rest of you are with me . Ramirez, you have Rodney. Once the internal security protocols are tripped, the jumpers and the bridge are the only safe places. You have an hour." He doesn't issue a threat, but then, Ramirez is one of his. Cadman said they'd walk through fire if John said so; looking at him now, flushed and glowing with energy, Rodney thinks he would too.
"Move out."
*****
With the transporters down--and Rodney delays them a few minutes to burn out as many of the connecting circuits as possible to keep them that way--they head for the first emergency exit, and it's so much worse than Rodney had thought.
"Ladder," he says blankly, looking up into the pitch black darkness. "Seven levels."
"It'll do you good," John says placidly, swinging up onto the first, grinning down at them. "Anyone close?"
Rodney squints at his detector, aware that Ramirez couldn't get any closer if he crawled inside his jacket. "Range is three levels up. No one's showing so far."
"Good." John starts climbing. Rodney starts to move, but Ramirez's hand closes over his wrist. Three more men go up before Ramirez leads him forward.
"Go ahead."
Rodney frowns but grabs on, palms slick and sliding on the slick metal. Wiping them down his sides, he tries again, aware that the men ahead are outdistancing the rest of them fairly quickly. Gingerly climbing up a step, Rodney feels his boot slip from his uncertain balance.
A hand on his hip holds him still, long enough to force his foot into place. "Easy, Dr. McKay," Ramirez says, voice soothing. "There are seven of us back here. We'll catch you."
Rodney scowls down at them, trying to hide his relief.
Climbing is about as boring as Rodney had always assumed it would be. He can feel the strain in his arms before they've gone up one level, his thighs burning after the second. The P-90 seems to be *trying* to drag him down. One more, he thinks, then they stop for the life signs detector. Or he jumps.
He has no idea what it says about him that he almost hopes that something shows up.
Struggling up the last few rungs, Rodney sees a hand thrust in front of him. Rodney grabs on, letting John help him up the last two rungs, dropping to pant on the floor and hate the universe so much it physically hurts.
Or that's his knees, wondering what the hell he thinks he's doing.
"Okay?" John says, crouching beside him. Rodney wants to glare, but he's not sure he can lift his head that much.
"I hate you."
"You wanted to come along," John says, a smile in his voice. Patting his shoulder, John straightens. "Anyone on this level?"
Rodney pulls out the detector, giving it a cursory check. "Mess hall, infirmary--" he cuts off, turning to see John eyeing the door speculatively. "What?"
Several of the men share knowing grins, body language falling into a pattern so old that they almost seem to move as one. These are John's team, Rodney realizes, watching the silent communication that had been built over years--years at the SGC when Rodney hadn't known he even existed, years after when John cut himself free. They weren't just professional terrorists and assassins; they were the best the SGC could train, let loose on an unsuspecting galaxy, taking ships and supplies, people, terrifying races older than Atlantis.
Abruptly, the klaxons go off. Shit. Rodney struggles to his feet. "Okay, we need to--"
"Get out of here," John agrees, eyes on the door. Jerking his head at Ramirez, John goes ahead. "We keep the techs," he says over his shoulder. "Watch yourselves."
Rodney starts to wonder how John thinks they're going to keep that many people under control up here, but since no one else seems worried, he decides to leave it to them.
"There's no one in the corridor," Rodney says as John pauses at the door. "Closest are two rooms down."
"Crew quarters," he says, then shrugs. "All right. You four, messhall. Follow standard procedure." With that, John goes out, gun drawn, two men following just behind. "Meet on the bridge twenty minutes. If it takes longer than that, I'll be deeply disappointed."
There's some quiet laughter before they split. Rodney watches the detector, trusting Ramirez to nudge him if they want to turn. Shots are fired at close range, but they barely pause, and Rodney looks up long enough to avoid tripping over a sprawled body with an Daedalus patch.
John seems to have the layout down; either he memorized the schematics or he's just that lucky. Rodney guesses the former, just as John brings down the P-90 and enters the small infirmary.
The lights are on here; tertiary power, probably localized in case of sudden system-wide failure. Rodney approves. The screaming he doesn't, looking up long enough to see the huddle of people scattered over the floor in drifts of white coats and colorful scrubs.
"Stay down," John says softly. A nod sends two of the men to the medical suites; Rodney hears gunshots as they go through the wounded. "I'm looking for Dr. Keller," John says genially, one foot pushing closest man over. "She here?"
Keller?
"Sheppard?" A second passes, before a hand goes up near one of the surgical beds, emerging from a huddle of several shaking bodies.
"Hey," John says. "How's life treating you?"
There's a pause, then a red-brown head comes up, eyes finding John immediately.
"Better when I thought I was getting some leave," she says. She keeps her voice light, but even Rodney can see she's terrified. "Didn't expect to see you."
"You were going down today?" John asks. He's not aiming at her, but that doesn't mean anything at all.
"Group six," she answers. Frowning, she looks them over; Rodney knows the second she recognizes him by the way her eyes widen. "So I take it there really isn't a prison that can hold you."
"Not really." John tilts his head slightly, studying her. "Question--why are you on the Daedalus? Last I heard, you were next up for SGC chief medical officer."
Keller blinks in surprise, mouth twisting unhappily. Must still be a sore point. "Change in policy at the SGC. There's been some--"
"High casualty rates." John lowers his gun and shoots the man at his feet. There's a series of muffled screams, but Rodney notices that Keller doesn’t flinch. "Who else was scheduled for leave?"
Keller goes still, staring at John. "Disposal," she says finally. "Son of a *bitch*."
John grins at her. "Come on, let's get out of here. We have one more stop."
"Bridge?" she says as she stands up, stepping out from among the other staff. Glancing down, she carefully avoids the splatter of the former Chief Medical Officer of the Daedalus. "Right. I know your MO."
"Gun," John says, holding out his hand; Ramirez slaps it into his palm. Handing it to her, he surveys the room. "Anyone else?"
Keller checks the gun, eyes flickering up grimly. "No one else had leave."
John pulls the safety on his gun. "Cool."
*****
"You know her? How do you know her? Where did you--"
John grins, hand on Rodney's chest as they come to an intersection. "No one," Rodney says impatiently. "She wasn't hired until after you left," He can hear Keller behind them, boots clicking faster than the others as she half jogs to keep up. "How can you know…"
"Read her file." John pauses briefly as they pass the messhall, looking inside; Rodney knows better. Keeping his eyes fixed on the detector, he waits until John ducks back out, motioning for them to follow, like they were in some danger of stopping for a snack.
"Her *file*?"
John gives him an amused look. "We had a little talk on Chulak a while back," John says, which Rodney's mind interprets as 'wild and crazy sex', though he fights off the images that present themselves. "Don't worry. I'm never wrong."
Rodney wants to dispute that, but there's a four level climb up a ladder ahead of him and he has to conserve his energy.
It's not any easier this time, though at least Rodney has the satisfaction of Keller panting three people behind him. He can barely feel his legs when they finally hit the top, leaning against John as John checks the detector, nodding in satisfaction. "Thirty bodies, all military. Cover Rodney while he works on the computers." John turns to him, hazel eyes vividly green and almost incandescent; Rodney swallows hard. "How many?"
"Thirty," he says. "What about the--they were going to meet us."
"They're here," John says with a grin of absolute faith. "You ready?"
Rodney nods, mouth dry. "Yeah."
*****
Rodney remembers the bridge in circuits and overrides, using Zelenka's codes to break through, pushed flat on the floor at irregular intervals by Ramirez. Bullets whistle overhead, one lodging itself an inch from his vulnerable hands as he pulls the environmental console apart down to it's component parts.
"McKay?" Ramirez asks once. Rodney looks up, startled to see the left side of his face is covered in blood. Keller, huddled on Rodney's other side and being particularly useless, mutters something and kneewalks around him, jerking Ramirez's head around. "Just a cut, ma'am. McKay, Sheppard wants to know--"
"When I know, I'll tell you," Rodney snarls as Keller pulls bandages out of her pocket, holding Ramirez still long enough to twist a bandage around his head and wipe his eye clear of clotting blood. "Five minutes," he says after a second. A bullet buries itself in the wall behind him; Rodney sucks in a breath, feeling for his gun. "Maybe less."
"Got it."
It's not that it's complex; the Daedalus was built with humans in mind, and the Asgard had dumbed down their technology enough for SGC techs to take care of basic repairs. Good to keep the humans from accidentally blowing themselves up. Bad when you hit your fifth security redundancy. Rodney wonders if the crew accidentally gassed themselves too many times to require this many failsafes.
Plugging in the PDA, Rodney types in Radek's codes, frowning at the results. His hand goes automatically to his radio before he remembers they're on radio silence. Shit.
Keller eventually settles beside him again, blood streaking her hands and one cheekbone, gun in both hands. Rodney wonders if she even knows how to shoot; the SGC gave them all a basic course, but Rodney had come away from it with the vague impression he would be best served never having to hold a weapon again.
And look where he is now. "Keller," he says sharply. "Be useful. Hold this." Shoving two of the ripped cables into her hands, he studies the connections. He can sit here and work through five billion levels of security, or he can do this the old fashioned way. "When I say to, connect those."
Keller frowns at the cables, hands carefully staying on the insulation. "Is this going to blow up and kill me?"
"It would kill me, too, so no." Rodney's never wished for a decent set of tools more. Wirecutters. Hell, he'd take an insulated butter knife. "Ramirez, I need your knife."
Almost before he finishes speaking, it materializes at his knee. "That's the power," Rodney tells Keller. "If you touch them now, I'll die a hideous death by electrocution and Ramirez will kill you."
Keller's eyes cut to where Ramirez is currently acting out something from Saving Private Ryan or Apocalypse Now; something with shooting anyway. Checking to make sure the cables are far apart, Rodney starts cutting.
"You sure you know what you're doing?" Keller asks dubiously.
"No, I'm just prolonging the fun of a fire fight," Rodney says, mentally tracing the schematics in his head. Four, five, six--here. Cutting it, Rodney reaches out a hand. "Give me the one in your right hand."
She's careful, he'll give her that, insulation slapping into his palm, wires safely distant from his skin. Rodney takes a deep breath, hoping to God he read them right. "Ramirez, tell Sheppard it's ready."
Ramirez acknowledges with a gesture and Rodney closes his eyes and touches the cables on their exposed metal edges.
For a second, nothing seems to happen. Somewhere out there, John's throwing himself into the path of bullets and reinforcements are doubtless on their way, and here he is, sitting on his ass unable to even get a simple fucking--
Daedalus lurches abruptly, emergency lights flickering, red lights across every board. Keller draws in a sharp breath and Rodney realizes abruptly that the noise is over.
Maybe for a while.
John, blood-splattered, what was an SGC jacket's sleeve wrapped around his thigh, comes up to lean against the console. Rodney licks his lips as John reaches lazily for his radio. "Report."
"All accounted for in the jumpers," Stackhouse says immediately. "How long do we wait?"
John looks a question.
"Ten minutes to dissipate."
"Give it ten, have the jumper double check before you come out. Do a floor by floor. Put the ones we want in the brig for now." John pauses, scratching absently at one blood-streaked ear, nose wrinkling slightly. "I'm going back to the city. Stackhouse, you're in charge of clean-up; report every thirty minutes, private channel."
"Yes, sir."
John smiles at the group of men that have drifted over. "At least you didn't get soft," he says with something like affection. "Clean up here and then report to Stackhouse. Rodney, can you get the transporters working to get us into the jumper?"
Rodney stands up, then realizes Keller's still holding one of the cables. "Put that down. And yeah, just--" Stumbling slightly, Rodney calls a diagnostic up on the main board, wiping away the blood. "Yeah. Now?"
"Let's get going. Keller--"
"I'll stay and treat the injuries," she says, wiping her hands on her thighs. "There's a few things in the lab you might want to take a look at, though, especially considering you're living in the city."
"Such as?"
"Carson's gene therapy." One side of her mouth quirks up in a smirk. "Mitchell started trials two months ago at the SGC. There's a fairly high failure rate, since we're still working off his original design, but it works."
"Failure rate?"
Keller arches a brow. "Not dead. But they might wish they were."
"I always liked you," John says with an answering grin. "Get it and take it to Carson when you're done."
"It's ready," Rodney says, breaking their moment; is there anyone not after John's ass? He doesn’t have time for this shit. "Keller, you know how to--"
"Yeah." With a parting smile for John, she takes Rodney's place at the console. "See you on the other side."
Rodney barely has time to brace himself before he's staring at the walls of their empty jumper. Turning, he sees John already in the pilot's seat, wiping the blood from his hands on his pants before he touches the console. "Stackhouse, you're in charge. Miko, open the bay doors."
"Already done?" Elizabeth's voice cuts through the connection. "That was fast."
Stumbling into the copilot's seat, Rodney sees John roll his eyes as the jumper begins to rise, bay doors yawning open before them. "It wasn't my first time. ETA fifteen minutes. Where's Caldwell?"
"Bates is interrogating him," Elizabeth answers tranquilly. "He's been a mine of useful information since he realized he was sent here to die."
Rodney imagines so.
"Ford?"
"Passed out in his cell." Elizabeth pauses. "Grodin's tested the gate address the Athosians provided and we sent a MALP through. There's a ship in orbit around the fourth planet. It's four times the size of the Daedalus, and lifesigns are--showing conflicting reports. The Athosians have explained the Wraith go into hibernation between feedings."
John takes a breath, staring at the display like he can make it change by will alone.
"We can't take a ship that size without the Daedalus in full working order," Elizabeth continues, sounding very sure and very, very careful. "I've sent a group to the mainland to pull every engineer and tech we can find to repair and crew the ship temporarily; Carson will implant them the minute they get to Atlantis."
John closes his eyes. "Right," he says finally. "We were able to minimize damage."
"Then it shouldn't take too long to get her ready. A day at most."
John doesn't answer, eyes blank. Rodney touches his radio. "We'll be there in fifteen minutes. McKay out."
*****
John's silent most of the trip back, his entire attention seemingly concentrated on the jumper. Rodney's not stupid enough to think that's true, but he also just walked out of a bridge of thirty dead Daedalus crew and watched John and three men slaughter an infirmary. And that was *before* Elizabeth told him he couldn't take his new toy for a spin before tomorrow.
On the other hand, silence has never been his forte. "That was interesting."
John shoots him a sidelong look as they descend, clouds whispering by like gauze in the clear blue of the sky. His voice drips irony. "Really."
Rodney bristles. "I was fine. I told you I was perfectly capable of being an asset--"
"I know. And you were." John's hands relax on the controls, fingers slowly straightening from the tight clench. A very good sign. "You want to keep doing it?"
Rodney frowns. "Doing--"
"Field work."
And that he hadn't expected. "Really?"
"Even if we get the mainland population producing, we'll need outside supplies. And more people. The Athosians had a very lively trade market--"
"You mean extortion."
John cracks a smile. "Persuasive bargaining." The smile fades almost immediately, gaze turning inward; even from his seat, Rodney can see the tension emanating from him like light. "We need the contacts."
Rodney nods, trying not to relax too much. "Right." Weir's made some noise about it already; Rodney could frankly care less as long as he's kept in food, technology, and bodies for the labs. And John, of course.
John, however, will need more than sex to keep him occupied, and setting him free in Pegasus with a few teams to benefit Atlantis sounds like a pretty good plan.
"I don't have the training," Rodney says finally, curious about John's reasoning. Because yes, he survived the Daedalus, but that pretty much was John and company around him.
"I can train you."
They don't have a lot of records from the SGC, and Rodney doubts that John's are the kind that are accessible anyway; what he knows he knows from John, from sideways comments by Lorne and Bates, rumors that filtered to Atlantis through three long years, the men that John brought from the mainland.
They're specialists in every sense of the word, recruited and trained by the SGC, retrained by John when he chose them. And some part of Rodney feels--odd--that John wants to count Rodney among them. He's almost sure it's good.
"Really?"
John gives him an amused look. "I have time." The jumper shivers slightly, and John's slight smile fades, hazel eyes glazing. "We're on approach, Atlantis," John says flatly.
"I'll be in my office," Weir says calmly.
John's eyes narrow. "Five minutes."
*****
John goes to Weir still bloodstained and faintly feral--back on Atlantis, adrenaline still high from the fight on the ship, he strides through the gate room, leaving footprints like some kind of reminder that he doesn't play well with others. Bates, running herd over the personnel on duty, watches him with concealed worry, eyes flickering briefly to Rodney and beyond them, obviously hoping for someone from one of the teams to fill him in.
It's beneath him, but--
"Weir says when the ship's repaired," Rodney says, trying to look absorbed in the view of the Daedalus on one of the screens. Bates stiffens slightly, giving him a brief look. Rodney grits his teeth before he can ask; he knows John. John, *this* John, knows him inside and out, and he doesn't need Bates to confirm the thin sheath of calm is hiding rage that's barely held in check. John's vicious, impulsive, but most importantly, possessive. As long as Lorne and the other men are being held, John's fragile leash on his instincts will stretch until he snaps.
Even a day might be too long.
Glancing around the room, Rodney pinpoints Zelenka, slumped in the chair by Miko. Presumably still alive, since he's still breathing. With a final look at Bates, Rodney makes his way over, glancing at Miko long enough to note she's taken possession of the finger, leaving it in Zelenka's sight. Rodney wonders what she's going to do with it.
There's a lot of things that Rodney wants to do to him, but a few days won't make a difference.
"I need the Daedalus fully operational."
Zelenka head moves sluggishly, tilting backward to look at Rodney from behind dull eyes. "What--" he slurs, then shakes himself. "Damaged?"
"Minimal." Rodney steps between Zelenka and Miko, forcing Zelenka to tilt his head farther back. Rodney's never been adverse to petty psychological warfare. "I'm going to kill you," Rodney says, copying John's horrifically bland tone when he describes torture. "I've had four years to plan it, and it will take four years for me to finish it. Do you understand?"
Blood loss may have sent him into shock. He just nods.
"Here's where you get an extra day of survival. I need the Daedalus operational by tomorrow. That means everything, from engines to defenses to weapons to the cloak. I mean everything. And I need it run by someone who knows what they're doing."
Zelenka blinks at him blearily, but he's tracking at least.
"I'm sending you to Carson for a little modification," Rodney says, and takes a second to enjoy the raw terror that flares in Zelenka's eyes. "When he's done, you'll be escorted to the Daedalus with five other people you sent here to die. Their only motivation is to please me, and right now, it pleases me to for you to live long enough to fix that ship. That could change at any second. Do you understand?"
Zelenka nods. Rodney snaps his fingers in the general direction security. "Get him to Carson and send him up with my people when the repairs start." Rodney holds Zelenka's wide, terrified eyes. "They won't kill you," Rodney says softly. "If you fuck up, they'll bring you to me. And you'll start paying me what you owe."
Over Zelenka's head, Rodney sees John emerge abruptly from Elizabeth's office and straightens. Radek looks scared enough to be malleable, at least for a little while. "Miko, get every engineer we have prepped for repairs."
"Yes, sir."
John pauses at the transporter, blinking like he's not entirely sure where he is: very bad. Bates focused attention only confirms it. "I'll radio when it's time."
Going up the stairs, Rodney shoots Bates a warning look before reaching for John; there's a second of tension that coils like electricity beneath Rodney's hand, but the hazel eyes finally focus again, recognizing him with an ease of tension. "Rodney."
"Rest," Rodney says firmly, leading John into the transporter. There's blood streaking his jaw, in his hair, soaking his uniform like he rolled around in it. Rodney wouldn't put it past him in this mood. Sliding his hand down, he gets bare skin, wrapping his fingers gently around John's wrist, feeling the sharp, staccato beat of his pulse.
"I'm sending my people up to do the repairs," Rodney says, entering their floor on the console. When the door opens again, John's unsurprisingly docile, letting Rodney lead him down the hall. None of the patrols so much as blink as they pass. "You should eat."
John shakes his head sharply as they turn the corner, their door opening almost before they reach it. Rodney goes in first, trying to remember if their store of snacks has been depleted yet, then he's up against the wall and John's hand is resting lightly on his collar, fingers pressed to his throat.
Taking a breath, Rodney forces himself to relax, looking into the blank hazel eyes that tell him John's slipping somewhere that Rodney can't follow, reminding him sharply of those early mornings he'd sat on the floor with John's head in his lap, pale and shocky, with new pink skin and newly healed bones. Then, he thought that one day he'd pay Sumner back for every injury he'd inflicted on John's body, every crack he'd made in John's mind, every regeneration sequence that pushed John that much closer to the edge of sanity, every second that Rodney worked to coax him back to him.
Now he thinks there's nothing he can do to Sumner that can ever match what he'd done to John.
Closing his eyes, he leans into John's hand, aware of John's body less than an inch away, smelling blood and sweat and gunpowder, the recycled air of the Daedalus that coats John like a second skin. Reaching out, he touches damp cloth, thick and stiff, pushing it up to get skin, resting one hand on John's flat belly to feel every stuttering breath.
Warmth trails down his neck, stiff hair rubbing his cheek; John licks a slow line from his neck to ear, nuzzling his shoulder through his shirt. Rodney tilts his head as John's free hand snaps the buttons on his shirt off one by one, teeth grazing his collarbone before there's no air and John's kissing him like he's starving.
Months trapped in that cell together had taught Rodney everything he needed to know about John; how to quiet him and comfort him, de-escalate the rage that always pulsed beneath his skin; coax him back from the place Sumner sent him. Rodney had months to condition John to respond to his voice, to his touch, make himself John's focus, the center of their tiny world, knowing, *knowing* that Sumner had learned to count on that, that Rodney could fix what he'd shattered, bring him back so Sumner could do it again.
Sumner might have thought he broke him; Lorne and Bates might think the same thing. Rodney knows better. Sumner had stripped away John's remaining scruples like cheap paint, burned away the flotsam that kept his instincts in check, refining the lessons John had learned in the SGC. John's a weapon because he wants to be, because he can be, because they taught him how to be one and Sumner showed him how to like it.
Sliding his arms around John's waist, he jerks him closer, licking into John's mouth, nipping his tongue as John pins him to the wall, hand unwrapping from around Rodney's throat and sliding down his chest, nails scratching red welts into his skin, ripping through the button on his pants with a tear of material that makes Rodney grin into the next rough kiss, still breathless. Reaching between them, Rodney cups his cock, hard and hot through the thin material of his BDUs, groaning softly as teeth sink into the side of his neck, breaking skin with a shock of pain that makes Rodney so hard he can barely see.
Maybe John's conditioned him, too.
"Come on," Rodney murmurs, working John's pants open one-handed, reaching inside to get skin. "Fuck me."
John growls agreement, another flash of heat that crawls through Rodney's nerves and goes straight to his cock. John's hand fastens on the front of his ruined pants, pulling him from the wall, walking him backward the short distance to the bed. Rodney get his shirt off on his own, hitting the mattress with his pants around his thighs, catching at the top of boots that there's no way either of them are coordinated enough to untie.
Two quick slashes of his knife and the boots are gone, John straddling his thighs and kissing him, dirty and possessive and almost cruel, fucking his mouth with sweeps of his tongue, Rodney's cock rubbing against material that feels like sandpaper. Curling his hands in John's hair, he lets John do as he likes, following John's hands until he's stretched out on the bed, John knees between his thighs and two slick fingers buried in his ass.
"Yeah," he gasps, shifting into each thrust, making himself open to John's fingers, the too-quick stretch that makes him want John's cock in him when he's this tight, this ready. One hand gropes the bed, finding the lube, slicking his fingers and reaching to stroke John's cock. "Now, do it, come *on*, *fuck* me--"
One hand slides under his ass, lifting Rodney's hips with almost negligible ease, and then John's sliding into him, huge and hot, forcing his thighs up, bright pain as John forces him to open up and take him in. Digging his fingers into John's hair, he pulls him in, burying his groan in John's mouth.
It's good, better than good, John blood-stained and electric like a coming storm, ruthless and desperate, gun holster hard against Rodney's thigh, rubbing with every thrust, riding the fine edge that separates John from a feral animal that kills without thought or remorse. Rodney sucks bruises into his throat, leaves the imprint of his teeth in John's shoulder, his chest, shuddering when John sucks his nipples with ruthless care, tonguing the hollow of his throat; he knows Rodney's body as well as Rodney knows his, squeezing Rodney's ass before wrapping around his cock, hand slick and tight, and Rodney's coming so hard he stops breathing.
John comes too, with a shout buried in Rodney's mouth, still thrusting like he can't make himself stop before collapsing on top of him, panting and sweaty and sated. Wrapping his arms around John's sweaty back, Rodney turns his head just enough to see John's face, the brittle tension drained away, softening as exhaustion finally pulls him in. "We'll get our people back," Rodney whispers, bracing his foot to roll John gently onto the bed, stroking slowly through his hair. John's eyes slit open in acknowledgement, warm and lazily content, the sharp edges blunted.
"Let's get rid of those clothes," Rodney whispers.
John's liquid, shifting as Rodney strips away his shirt and pants, his boots, curling into Rodney instinctively as Rodney pulls the blankets over them, breath warm against Rodney's neck as he falls asleep.
When John's asleep, Rodney reaches for the radio. John's his, but the men are John's, and John thinks Rodney can do anything. "Grodin," Rodney murmurs, pitching his voice low enough that John won't wake. "I want that ship functional in six hours."
"It will take at least ten--"
"Six hours, or I'll kill every person working on it." Rodney doesn’t bother to pause to let it sink in; Grodin doesn't need the emphasis. "Make sure they know that. Radio when they're done."
Grodin answer is immediate. "Yes, sir."
"McKay out." Closing the channel, Rodney settles in, letting John's warm weight soothe him into sleep.