Paper Doll Chains 10/15
Well, lookie, lookie what I have here... at last.
Title: Paper Doll Chains - Chapter Ten
Characters/Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: R
Genre: Angst/Drama
Notes: neth_dugan made the cover art which I'm including again. *g*
(Chapters One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven,, Eight, and Nine.)
Summary: If he could just make the perfect chain, then everything would be alright, everything would be like it was.
Paper Doll Chains
Chapter Ten
He could feel John’s gaze on him, questioning, searching, and trying to understand his cryptic comment. It felt almost as if Rodney was inside John’s head, following his predictable thought pattern, watching as John actually though of and then discarded ideas of things that were worse than an atomic bomb, worse than a nuclear weapon.
“You know the fallout of a nuclear bomb?” Rodney asked dreamily, closing his eyes. It was easier to talk through lowered lids, where all he had to focus on was the safe blackness. “The slow lingering deaths, the children born with terrible birth defects…”
“I know the fallout,” John replied after a moment and Rodney sighed, before picking up the tale again in a weary voice.
“The natives know how to build nuclear bombs. They probably have some enemy on this planet because of the DNA…”
“DNA? Rodney, you’re not making any sense.”
“The bomb is programmed to a certain type of DNA, a defect in it that must be special to the enemy… when it hits the ground it will explode a harmless looking gas that will spread further than any bomb we’ve built. And the gas will do things worse than any normal fallout, worse than the Wraith. And I’ll have done it… I’ll have sentenced a whole race of people to a slow lingering death and their children and their children’s children. It will cling onto the DNA and cause a defect that will be passed down no matter how many generations pass. My legacy.” Rodney intoned, sweeping one hand out in a grand gesture, almost hitting John in the process.
“It might be for the wraith,” John suggested hopefully, naively, Rodney thought. He was clever again, a genius, a genius who was friends with Dr. Carson Beckett. And while he hadn’t got very far in his research he had made a start and from what the Scottish doctor had told him, Rodney knew certain points of wraith DNA.
“It’s not wraith, wouldn’t say no to wraith, lets kill wraith,” Rodney muttered, feeling hot tears burn under his eyelids. He was a murderer, and there was nothing John could say to change that.
He let the tears slip free because something should be free.
:::
It would have come as no surprise to the people living in Atlantis to know that Rodney hated water. After the events that had taken place during the big storm, many would have imagined that he would have taken a step away from water, storms and high winds.
Rodney hated water before that. Ironic really, that he had signed up to go to Atlantis, a place mythically associated with water, the great city being washed away because of the arrogance and stupidity of those who lived there. He knows that some would use the mythical story as a warning about pride and look in his direction. He ignores such people.
Rodney can remember being twelve and being scared. Being angry at himself for being scared, and being worried about what others would think. He can remember the jeering comments from his sister, her using it as another example of how much of a freak he was - it was always easier to tease than to understand. The frustrated way his father had slapped down on the water, palm hitting the surface and sending droplets of water flying everywhere.
The way his mother had given a dramatic sigh and shaken her head, leaving the rest of the family to continue drinking herself into oblivion at the pool bar. The way that disappointment had been shown, the way she had seemed too used to her son messing up to even care… that more than anything had pushed him back into the water, small hands curled into determined fists. The sun beat down on the small family in the pool, and Rodney knew the reason they were all there, instead of at the real beach, where there was the promised fun was because of him.
He had failed in the end though, failed to learn to swim and instead had nearly died when the barman had taken pity on him floundering in the heat for hours and given him a cold glass of water. Flavoured with real lemon.
There were no more family holidays after that.
:::
The smiling native instructs others to move them to a nicer cell, complete with a large bed, comfortable sheets, a table, some strange contraptions that may or may not be their versions of games - but still, a cell.
It seemed a very luxurious illusion, another example of the smiling man’s promise; be nice and they would be nice back. Rodney found it rather unsettling however, his gaze flitting around, unable to stay focused on anything in particular, especially not John because John was the symbol of both everything he had given up and everything he had given up for.
“Come on Rodney, you should rest,” John told him, hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Such a simple touch and yet it left him feeling nervous, anxious. As if the touch has triggered ants under his skin and they were moving everywhere, testing him. He tried to keep himself still even so, punishing himself. John doesn’t seem to understand that his touch burnt and silently stood there, looking supportive.
:::
He works diligently, forcing his mind to stay focused on the task at hand, to think of nothing else but whatever piece of the doomsday device the natives had him working on at that moment in time.
There is an internal clock in his mind, counting down to D-Day, to the time when the device will be finished and his usefulness runs out and then… then something bad will happen to him and to John, of that he is sure. The smiling native promised that as a reward for doing his work, the two will be allowed to return through the Stargate, back to Atlantis if they want, and that it will all be over.
Rodney doesn’t believe the smiling native will honour his word, but he has to keep working anyway. Every now and then he makes a tiny mistake; just enough to set his clock back a little and to buy them more time.
:::
Rodney can remember each and every time he nearly died because of his lemon allergy. Every allergy is deadly if you take enough of the substance. So much in the world is deadly to Rodney and because the world seems to hate him, he hated the world back.
Water, lemons, women. All his enemy and he returned that feeling.
:::
The door to the cell opened, the native pulling on it roughly, an ugly expression on his face, apparently disgusted at having to do such a menial task. Rodney ignored the expression and the native, as he ignored so much in his day to day life now and walked past him and back into the cell, where John stood, tense and ready to strike should the opportunity present itself.
Rodney ignored John, ignored the loud ‘clang’ as the door was slammed shut, his mind and body weary. He trudged over to the bed, wanting nothing more than to lie down on it and forget, even if only for a little while.
John however, seemed to want to talk, following him and sitting heavily on the bed next to him, an uncomfortable look on his face. Neither man were any good at talking and for a while they simply remained in their respective places, Rodney half hoping he would fall asleep before the major worked up the courage to say anything. He can feel the expectance pressure building up in his chest, the anticipation and the fear. Combined with his internal clock and the knowledge that he had to keep them both safe and Rodney could feel something else building up inside him, something wrong and it was getting stronger by the moment.
“Rodney?” John said slowly, the prelude to an uncomfortable conversation and inside, the feeling that says something is wrong has begun to grow, taking over so much so that the sound of John’s voice became fainter, as if Rodney was standing in some kind of distant tunnel, the other man far, far away. He could feel the pressure building up in his chest, causing breathing trouble.
He panicked; struggling, trying to move, only to find he couldn’t, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, and couldn’t breathe and it scared him more than anything he had known. Dimly he could hear John, possibly shouting or speaking, but there was a second noise, louder than the voice, a rushing noise, of wind and it drowned out everything, leaving him trappe-
:::
And then there was nothing.
Rodney fell limply against John, letting him hold him up. His breathing evened out and he felt like nothing. Nothing there, nothing left. Quite simply… nothing.
He knew that the empty feeling should bother him more.
:::
Rodney huddled against John on the bed they had been given, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. He felt oddly relaxed, and detached from it all, as if nothing could hurt him. Everything had gone in that last explosion of self, Rodney realised and none of the current events could hurt him.
He was finally free. Free like his tears, like his regret. Washing away…
“Rodney? Rodney, don’t you dare do this to me,” John whispered softly, the low tone masking any concern he may or may not have felt towards him. Before, Rodney thought vaguely, he might have cared about this one way or the other. Probably would have felt a flush of anger at the way John was able to control himself so perfectly, hiding what he truly felt, leaving Rodney floundering about helplessly. Probably would have tried to mask the feelings with sarcastic comments or unleashed his rage. But instead he found he just didn’t care and with a little sigh, Rodney let his eyes slip close.
“I mean it McKay,” John whispers again. “You can’t give up now, you just have to hold on a little longer, just a little longer, I swear I’ll get us out of here, you just have to trust me and hold on.” Rodney didn’t know why John was so adamant about this, when all he wanted to do was close his eyes, drift and maybe sleep for a while.
“Rodney!” There was a sharp sting on his left cheek and Rodney felt his eyes spring open in disbelief, unable to fully believe that John had… slapped him, for want of a better word. Tapped him on the cheek to keep his eyes open, as if he was nothing more than a fainting damsel in some cheap dime romance novel. But even that indignity was impossible to hold onto with any real anger for more than a few seconds and he simply stared up at his friend, a dull pain in his neck due to the angle.
“You trust me don’t you?” John asked, his face pleading. Rodney wondered if he knew just how effective that puppy dog expression was because almost against his will, Rodney finds himself nodding a yes. John smiled, his whole body relaxing minutely and part of Rodney feels invigorated by that because for John, such a tiny movement means so much more than it seems. He has to try, because John wants him to try and maybe that is worth it.
But the urge to fall back into it all is still there and he doesn’t know how much longer John will continue to matter more than the desire for peace.
-tbc-
Title: Paper Doll Chains - Chapter Ten
Characters/Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: R
Genre: Angst/Drama
Notes: neth_dugan made the cover art which I'm including again. *g*
(Chapters One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven,, Eight, and Nine.)
Summary: If he could just make the perfect chain, then everything would be alright, everything would be like it was.
Paper Doll Chains
Chapter Ten
He could feel John’s gaze on him, questioning, searching, and trying to understand his cryptic comment. It felt almost as if Rodney was inside John’s head, following his predictable thought pattern, watching as John actually though of and then discarded ideas of things that were worse than an atomic bomb, worse than a nuclear weapon.
“You know the fallout of a nuclear bomb?” Rodney asked dreamily, closing his eyes. It was easier to talk through lowered lids, where all he had to focus on was the safe blackness. “The slow lingering deaths, the children born with terrible birth defects…”
“I know the fallout,” John replied after a moment and Rodney sighed, before picking up the tale again in a weary voice.
“The natives know how to build nuclear bombs. They probably have some enemy on this planet because of the DNA…”
“DNA? Rodney, you’re not making any sense.”
“The bomb is programmed to a certain type of DNA, a defect in it that must be special to the enemy… when it hits the ground it will explode a harmless looking gas that will spread further than any bomb we’ve built. And the gas will do things worse than any normal fallout, worse than the Wraith. And I’ll have done it… I’ll have sentenced a whole race of people to a slow lingering death and their children and their children’s children. It will cling onto the DNA and cause a defect that will be passed down no matter how many generations pass. My legacy.” Rodney intoned, sweeping one hand out in a grand gesture, almost hitting John in the process.
“It might be for the wraith,” John suggested hopefully, naively, Rodney thought. He was clever again, a genius, a genius who was friends with Dr. Carson Beckett. And while he hadn’t got very far in his research he had made a start and from what the Scottish doctor had told him, Rodney knew certain points of wraith DNA.
“It’s not wraith, wouldn’t say no to wraith, lets kill wraith,” Rodney muttered, feeling hot tears burn under his eyelids. He was a murderer, and there was nothing John could say to change that.
He let the tears slip free because something should be free.
:::
It would have come as no surprise to the people living in Atlantis to know that Rodney hated water. After the events that had taken place during the big storm, many would have imagined that he would have taken a step away from water, storms and high winds.
Rodney hated water before that. Ironic really, that he had signed up to go to Atlantis, a place mythically associated with water, the great city being washed away because of the arrogance and stupidity of those who lived there. He knows that some would use the mythical story as a warning about pride and look in his direction. He ignores such people.
Rodney can remember being twelve and being scared. Being angry at himself for being scared, and being worried about what others would think. He can remember the jeering comments from his sister, her using it as another example of how much of a freak he was - it was always easier to tease than to understand. The frustrated way his father had slapped down on the water, palm hitting the surface and sending droplets of water flying everywhere.
The way his mother had given a dramatic sigh and shaken her head, leaving the rest of the family to continue drinking herself into oblivion at the pool bar. The way that disappointment had been shown, the way she had seemed too used to her son messing up to even care… that more than anything had pushed him back into the water, small hands curled into determined fists. The sun beat down on the small family in the pool, and Rodney knew the reason they were all there, instead of at the real beach, where there was the promised fun was because of him.
He had failed in the end though, failed to learn to swim and instead had nearly died when the barman had taken pity on him floundering in the heat for hours and given him a cold glass of water. Flavoured with real lemon.
There were no more family holidays after that.
:::
The smiling native instructs others to move them to a nicer cell, complete with a large bed, comfortable sheets, a table, some strange contraptions that may or may not be their versions of games - but still, a cell.
It seemed a very luxurious illusion, another example of the smiling man’s promise; be nice and they would be nice back. Rodney found it rather unsettling however, his gaze flitting around, unable to stay focused on anything in particular, especially not John because John was the symbol of both everything he had given up and everything he had given up for.
“Come on Rodney, you should rest,” John told him, hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Such a simple touch and yet it left him feeling nervous, anxious. As if the touch has triggered ants under his skin and they were moving everywhere, testing him. He tried to keep himself still even so, punishing himself. John doesn’t seem to understand that his touch burnt and silently stood there, looking supportive.
:::
He works diligently, forcing his mind to stay focused on the task at hand, to think of nothing else but whatever piece of the doomsday device the natives had him working on at that moment in time.
There is an internal clock in his mind, counting down to D-Day, to the time when the device will be finished and his usefulness runs out and then… then something bad will happen to him and to John, of that he is sure. The smiling native promised that as a reward for doing his work, the two will be allowed to return through the Stargate, back to Atlantis if they want, and that it will all be over.
Rodney doesn’t believe the smiling native will honour his word, but he has to keep working anyway. Every now and then he makes a tiny mistake; just enough to set his clock back a little and to buy them more time.
:::
Rodney can remember each and every time he nearly died because of his lemon allergy. Every allergy is deadly if you take enough of the substance. So much in the world is deadly to Rodney and because the world seems to hate him, he hated the world back.
Water, lemons, women. All his enemy and he returned that feeling.
:::
The door to the cell opened, the native pulling on it roughly, an ugly expression on his face, apparently disgusted at having to do such a menial task. Rodney ignored the expression and the native, as he ignored so much in his day to day life now and walked past him and back into the cell, where John stood, tense and ready to strike should the opportunity present itself.
Rodney ignored John, ignored the loud ‘clang’ as the door was slammed shut, his mind and body weary. He trudged over to the bed, wanting nothing more than to lie down on it and forget, even if only for a little while.
John however, seemed to want to talk, following him and sitting heavily on the bed next to him, an uncomfortable look on his face. Neither man were any good at talking and for a while they simply remained in their respective places, Rodney half hoping he would fall asleep before the major worked up the courage to say anything. He can feel the expectance pressure building up in his chest, the anticipation and the fear. Combined with his internal clock and the knowledge that he had to keep them both safe and Rodney could feel something else building up inside him, something wrong and it was getting stronger by the moment.
“Rodney?” John said slowly, the prelude to an uncomfortable conversation and inside, the feeling that says something is wrong has begun to grow, taking over so much so that the sound of John’s voice became fainter, as if Rodney was standing in some kind of distant tunnel, the other man far, far away. He could feel the pressure building up in his chest, causing breathing trouble.
He panicked; struggling, trying to move, only to find he couldn’t, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, and couldn’t breathe and it scared him more than anything he had known. Dimly he could hear John, possibly shouting or speaking, but there was a second noise, louder than the voice, a rushing noise, of wind and it drowned out everything, leaving him trappe-
:::
And then there was nothing.
Rodney fell limply against John, letting him hold him up. His breathing evened out and he felt like nothing. Nothing there, nothing left. Quite simply… nothing.
He knew that the empty feeling should bother him more.
:::
Rodney huddled against John on the bed they had been given, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. He felt oddly relaxed, and detached from it all, as if nothing could hurt him. Everything had gone in that last explosion of self, Rodney realised and none of the current events could hurt him.
He was finally free. Free like his tears, like his regret. Washing away…
“Rodney? Rodney, don’t you dare do this to me,” John whispered softly, the low tone masking any concern he may or may not have felt towards him. Before, Rodney thought vaguely, he might have cared about this one way or the other. Probably would have felt a flush of anger at the way John was able to control himself so perfectly, hiding what he truly felt, leaving Rodney floundering about helplessly. Probably would have tried to mask the feelings with sarcastic comments or unleashed his rage. But instead he found he just didn’t care and with a little sigh, Rodney let his eyes slip close.
“I mean it McKay,” John whispers again. “You can’t give up now, you just have to hold on a little longer, just a little longer, I swear I’ll get us out of here, you just have to trust me and hold on.” Rodney didn’t know why John was so adamant about this, when all he wanted to do was close his eyes, drift and maybe sleep for a while.
“Rodney!” There was a sharp sting on his left cheek and Rodney felt his eyes spring open in disbelief, unable to fully believe that John had… slapped him, for want of a better word. Tapped him on the cheek to keep his eyes open, as if he was nothing more than a fainting damsel in some cheap dime romance novel. But even that indignity was impossible to hold onto with any real anger for more than a few seconds and he simply stared up at his friend, a dull pain in his neck due to the angle.
“You trust me don’t you?” John asked, his face pleading. Rodney wondered if he knew just how effective that puppy dog expression was because almost against his will, Rodney finds himself nodding a yes. John smiled, his whole body relaxing minutely and part of Rodney feels invigorated by that because for John, such a tiny movement means so much more than it seems. He has to try, because John wants him to try and maybe that is worth it.
But the urge to fall back into it all is still there and he doesn’t know how much longer John will continue to matter more than the desire for peace.
-tbc-