Dangling challenge - Anchor by Barkeep
Title: Anchor
Author: Barkeep
Rating: PG
Summary: “You’re not going to throw up on me again, are you? Because I can assure you, it’s not as much fun as you might assume.”
Notes: Thanks to mgbutterfly for all the suggestions and letting me talk her to death with this one and, as always, the magnificent sweeneybird without whom there is no beta.
John lounged against the wall of the corridor while Rodney poked his head into all of the rooms in this curious little cul-de-sac. To tell the truth, John was glad for the break. Carson had cleared him for duty two days ago but the bout of bronchitis had left John weaker than he would admit and the hike out to explore these labs with Rodney had winded him.
And, apparently, caused him to see double.
John blinked, trying to clear the image of two Rodneys from his vision, and took a steadying breath. When he opened his eyes again the double vision was gone but without warning the world tilted violently to the right and John felt his hip impact with what his brain insisted was the ceiling.
Clearly this was not his best idea ever.
John heard Rodney call out to him, his voice strident and tinny, before a buzzing sound invaded his head and drowned everything else out. He was still trying to determine where the sound was coming from when the world folded up its wings and dove away. Attempting to keep himself from falling off the planet, John clung to the open metal grating of the floor (or was it the ceiling?) and tried desperately not to vomit.
The metal under his cheek vibrated with an increasing, pounding tempo just out of sync with the speed at which the world was spinning. Suddenly the drumbeat stopped and unexpected warmth blossomed on his forehead. At least he thought it was his forehead. At this moment he wouldn’t testify to having a physical body; he felt as if he were being emptied, spinning so fast that parts of him were simply flying off into space.
The warmth, however, stayed rooted in one place, which was both gratifying and slightly nauseating. Okay, make that immensely nauseating. Disinterestedly, he realized he could give up on the ‘trying not to vomit’ thing because, judging from the smell, it was a moot point.
Despite the uncomfortable reeling sensation it generated, John concentrated on the warm contact. It was the only real thing, the only corporeal thing, in his universe. After a time, John came to the realization that he wasn’t flying apart any longer. He was still spinning but now he was tethered, his potential directed by the strength of that warm touch. Now that the nausea had abated, John found the point of contact was comforting, stabilizing.
Without warning, his only constant was gone and he was ripped away from the world and thrown into a flat spin. Through the ringing in his ears he heard a whimpering cry, felt his own arms flail about seeking purchase, grasping for stability in a vacuum. Suddenly the warmth was back twofold on his forehead and his chest, possessing him. He spun sickeningly for a moment, twisting helplessly between the dual anchors before the world settled into a gentle looping orbit.
He simply existed for a moment, overwhelmed by his own rush of desperation and gratitude. He knew he shouldn’t need this. But he also knew that he could cope with this insane cosmic tilt-a-whirl if he could just hang onto that anchor. It turned the tilt-a-whirl into more of a souped-up ferris wheel, and he could handle ferris wheels.
John felt the warm pressure on his forehead giving him the center he lacked and attempted to pull his disoriented thoughts together. He concentrated on feeling the heaviness touching his forehead and chest, the point of contact. As he focused on finding his way, snatches of sound swirled around him, bits of broken curses and demands. He needed to know what was on the other end, needed to know the nature of the only constant in his dizzying universe.
When John finally opened his eyes the world settled into a drunken pitch and roll that made his nausea pick up right where it had left off. Undeterred, he started from the point of contact and sighted determinedly down the tether, which turned out to be an arm, and found that the fixed center of his universe, the anchor, was Rodney.
He stared, a little confused but mostly surprised. And grateful. The gratitude and a swell of resentment locked for a moment in a silent battle and John was relieved when gratitude won out.
Even though it seemed impossible, John needed to try and convey to Rodney the depth of what he was currently feeling. Rodney must have noticed the intensity on his face because he leaned forward expectantly just as John opened his mouth and was thoroughly and violently sick.
“Huh.” John managed before passing out completely.
***
John sighed and put his book down. Reading made him dizzy. Of course, so did standing up, lying down, walking, eating and drinking. So, you know, just pretty much everything. The only thing he could do that didn’t make him dizzy and nauseated was think. And he’d done way too much of that already.
He picked the book back up and briefly considered giving it a good heave across the room.
“You owe me a pair of shoes.”
Startled, John dropped the book. “Jesus, McKay, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
Rodney shrugged and stepped fully into John’s room, the door sliding closed behind him. “I knocked but I suppose you didn’t hear.” He flopped down on a chair and made himself at home. “Still got that ringing in your ears?”
“I can’t hear you, I’ve got this ringing in my ears,” John deadpanned.
Rodney chuckled and propped his socked feet on the edge of John’s bed. “Seriously. I don’t think the stains will ever come out. Not to mention the smell.”
“I told you that you should always wear your field boots.”
“I can’t, I think they’re giving me bunions.” Rodney peeled off one sock and examined his foot for a minute before shoving it towards John’s face. “Does that look like a bunion to you?”
“Jeez, Rodney!” John turned away in disgust, immediately regretting it when the sudden movement triggered another attack of vertigo. He closed his eyes, hands clutching unconsciously at the bedcovers as the world began to spin. From a distance he heard Rodney asking him if he was okay and he tried to nod but that just made the spinning sensation even worse.
And then it was there again, the tether, this time on his shoulder. His world settled into a slightly off kilter orbit and, instinctively, he reached up and tugged the point of contact closer to the center of his chest. Gradually, the spinning sensation lessened and he risked opening his eyes. Rodney was leaning over him looking worried.
“You’re not going to throw up on me again, are you? Because I can assure you, it’s not as much fun as you might assume.” When John didn’t answer Rodney frowned. “Should I get Carson?”
John fought the urge to shake his head. “No. I’m okay. Really. It’s getting better,” he added at Rodney’s look of disbelief.
“Did Carson say how much longer this would last?”
“Should clear up soon.” John said, closing his eyes and concentrating on staying in one place while the world looped around him.
“You know, I don’t get that. How could you have an ear infection and not know?”
“Beckett said it happens with bronchitis sometimes.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Besides shut up?” John snapped and regretted it instantly. He took a deep breath and tried again. “You’re doing it,” he said softly.
“What? Doing what? I’m not, oh-” Rodney’s voice sounded startled as John squeezed his wrist.
Maybe Rodney had forgotten that he was still touching John’s chest but John hadn’t. That contact centered his world and it gave him something he would never have asked of anyone - strength. Keeping his eyes closed, John concentrated on the grounding warmth of Rodney’s hand on his chest and wondered why he let Rodney do this, be his point of contact, his anchor.
And then he knew. He could allow Rodney to do this for him because Rodney didn’t ask for permission and so John couldn’t deny it.
He felt the spinning sensation dissipate and he opened his eyes again, relieved to find the room on a stable axis once again. He patted Rodney’s hand and gave him a weak grin. “See? All better.”
Rodney pulled his hand back and fiddled with the blanket, absently bunching and smoothing the material. “Right. Well, that one wasn’t as bad as before.” Rodney looked up and flashed him a crooked smile.
John nodded carefully. “No puking. Definite improvement.”
“Yes, well, that’s probably for the best. I have a limited supply of clothing for you to ruin, after all.” Rodney stood and nodded toward the door. “I should probably go.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you have things to do. Important things with people who don’t get dizzy from lying in bed.” John said with disgust.
“Getting a little cranky, are we?”
John shot him a murderous glare. “Reading makes me dizzy. Standing makes me dizzy. Watching movies on the computer makes me dizzy. It’s a little frustrating.”
Rodney stepped forward and pulled something from the pocket of his jacket. “Carson said you were going to be bored.” He handed the iPod to John with a shrug. “It’s not like I have time to listen to it anyway. It’s pretty heavy on the classical music but there’s other music on there, too. And a few audio books. I thought it might help you pass the time.”
John stared at him solemnly for a moment. “Rodney. I think you just saved my sanity.”
Rodney grinned. “Let’s not get carried away here, I’m a genius, not a miracle worker.” He picked up his sock that had fallen to the floor earlier and headed to the door, stopping when Sheppard called his name.
John held Rodney’s expectant gaze for a long moment. “Thanks.”
Rodney gave him an airy wave. “Just give it back when you’re done. And try to refrain from throwing up all over it.”
“Rodney. I meant-” John began but Rodney cut him off, waggling a finger at him.
“And don't forget the shoes. Size eleven.” Rodney said, smirking, as he sauntered out the door.
John let his head fall back against the wall. He had it all wrong. He could let Rodney be his anchor not because Rodney wouldn’t let John deny it but because he wouldn’t let John acknowledge it.
Author: Barkeep
Rating: PG
Summary: “You’re not going to throw up on me again, are you? Because I can assure you, it’s not as much fun as you might assume.”
Notes: Thanks to mgbutterfly for all the suggestions and letting me talk her to death with this one and, as always, the magnificent sweeneybird without whom there is no beta.
John lounged against the wall of the corridor while Rodney poked his head into all of the rooms in this curious little cul-de-sac. To tell the truth, John was glad for the break. Carson had cleared him for duty two days ago but the bout of bronchitis had left John weaker than he would admit and the hike out to explore these labs with Rodney had winded him.
And, apparently, caused him to see double.
John blinked, trying to clear the image of two Rodneys from his vision, and took a steadying breath. When he opened his eyes again the double vision was gone but without warning the world tilted violently to the right and John felt his hip impact with what his brain insisted was the ceiling.
Clearly this was not his best idea ever.
John heard Rodney call out to him, his voice strident and tinny, before a buzzing sound invaded his head and drowned everything else out. He was still trying to determine where the sound was coming from when the world folded up its wings and dove away. Attempting to keep himself from falling off the planet, John clung to the open metal grating of the floor (or was it the ceiling?) and tried desperately not to vomit.
The metal under his cheek vibrated with an increasing, pounding tempo just out of sync with the speed at which the world was spinning. Suddenly the drumbeat stopped and unexpected warmth blossomed on his forehead. At least he thought it was his forehead. At this moment he wouldn’t testify to having a physical body; he felt as if he were being emptied, spinning so fast that parts of him were simply flying off into space.
The warmth, however, stayed rooted in one place, which was both gratifying and slightly nauseating. Okay, make that immensely nauseating. Disinterestedly, he realized he could give up on the ‘trying not to vomit’ thing because, judging from the smell, it was a moot point.
Despite the uncomfortable reeling sensation it generated, John concentrated on the warm contact. It was the only real thing, the only corporeal thing, in his universe. After a time, John came to the realization that he wasn’t flying apart any longer. He was still spinning but now he was tethered, his potential directed by the strength of that warm touch. Now that the nausea had abated, John found the point of contact was comforting, stabilizing.
Without warning, his only constant was gone and he was ripped away from the world and thrown into a flat spin. Through the ringing in his ears he heard a whimpering cry, felt his own arms flail about seeking purchase, grasping for stability in a vacuum. Suddenly the warmth was back twofold on his forehead and his chest, possessing him. He spun sickeningly for a moment, twisting helplessly between the dual anchors before the world settled into a gentle looping orbit.
He simply existed for a moment, overwhelmed by his own rush of desperation and gratitude. He knew he shouldn’t need this. But he also knew that he could cope with this insane cosmic tilt-a-whirl if he could just hang onto that anchor. It turned the tilt-a-whirl into more of a souped-up ferris wheel, and he could handle ferris wheels.
John felt the warm pressure on his forehead giving him the center he lacked and attempted to pull his disoriented thoughts together. He concentrated on feeling the heaviness touching his forehead and chest, the point of contact. As he focused on finding his way, snatches of sound swirled around him, bits of broken curses and demands. He needed to know what was on the other end, needed to know the nature of the only constant in his dizzying universe.
When John finally opened his eyes the world settled into a drunken pitch and roll that made his nausea pick up right where it had left off. Undeterred, he started from the point of contact and sighted determinedly down the tether, which turned out to be an arm, and found that the fixed center of his universe, the anchor, was Rodney.
He stared, a little confused but mostly surprised. And grateful. The gratitude and a swell of resentment locked for a moment in a silent battle and John was relieved when gratitude won out.
Even though it seemed impossible, John needed to try and convey to Rodney the depth of what he was currently feeling. Rodney must have noticed the intensity on his face because he leaned forward expectantly just as John opened his mouth and was thoroughly and violently sick.
“Huh.” John managed before passing out completely.
***
John sighed and put his book down. Reading made him dizzy. Of course, so did standing up, lying down, walking, eating and drinking. So, you know, just pretty much everything. The only thing he could do that didn’t make him dizzy and nauseated was think. And he’d done way too much of that already.
He picked the book back up and briefly considered giving it a good heave across the room.
“You owe me a pair of shoes.”
Startled, John dropped the book. “Jesus, McKay, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
Rodney shrugged and stepped fully into John’s room, the door sliding closed behind him. “I knocked but I suppose you didn’t hear.” He flopped down on a chair and made himself at home. “Still got that ringing in your ears?”
“I can’t hear you, I’ve got this ringing in my ears,” John deadpanned.
Rodney chuckled and propped his socked feet on the edge of John’s bed. “Seriously. I don’t think the stains will ever come out. Not to mention the smell.”
“I told you that you should always wear your field boots.”
“I can’t, I think they’re giving me bunions.” Rodney peeled off one sock and examined his foot for a minute before shoving it towards John’s face. “Does that look like a bunion to you?”
“Jeez, Rodney!” John turned away in disgust, immediately regretting it when the sudden movement triggered another attack of vertigo. He closed his eyes, hands clutching unconsciously at the bedcovers as the world began to spin. From a distance he heard Rodney asking him if he was okay and he tried to nod but that just made the spinning sensation even worse.
And then it was there again, the tether, this time on his shoulder. His world settled into a slightly off kilter orbit and, instinctively, he reached up and tugged the point of contact closer to the center of his chest. Gradually, the spinning sensation lessened and he risked opening his eyes. Rodney was leaning over him looking worried.
“You’re not going to throw up on me again, are you? Because I can assure you, it’s not as much fun as you might assume.” When John didn’t answer Rodney frowned. “Should I get Carson?”
John fought the urge to shake his head. “No. I’m okay. Really. It’s getting better,” he added at Rodney’s look of disbelief.
“Did Carson say how much longer this would last?”
“Should clear up soon.” John said, closing his eyes and concentrating on staying in one place while the world looped around him.
“You know, I don’t get that. How could you have an ear infection and not know?”
“Beckett said it happens with bronchitis sometimes.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Besides shut up?” John snapped and regretted it instantly. He took a deep breath and tried again. “You’re doing it,” he said softly.
“What? Doing what? I’m not, oh-” Rodney’s voice sounded startled as John squeezed his wrist.
Maybe Rodney had forgotten that he was still touching John’s chest but John hadn’t. That contact centered his world and it gave him something he would never have asked of anyone - strength. Keeping his eyes closed, John concentrated on the grounding warmth of Rodney’s hand on his chest and wondered why he let Rodney do this, be his point of contact, his anchor.
And then he knew. He could allow Rodney to do this for him because Rodney didn’t ask for permission and so John couldn’t deny it.
He felt the spinning sensation dissipate and he opened his eyes again, relieved to find the room on a stable axis once again. He patted Rodney’s hand and gave him a weak grin. “See? All better.”
Rodney pulled his hand back and fiddled with the blanket, absently bunching and smoothing the material. “Right. Well, that one wasn’t as bad as before.” Rodney looked up and flashed him a crooked smile.
John nodded carefully. “No puking. Definite improvement.”
“Yes, well, that’s probably for the best. I have a limited supply of clothing for you to ruin, after all.” Rodney stood and nodded toward the door. “I should probably go.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you have things to do. Important things with people who don’t get dizzy from lying in bed.” John said with disgust.
“Getting a little cranky, are we?”
John shot him a murderous glare. “Reading makes me dizzy. Standing makes me dizzy. Watching movies on the computer makes me dizzy. It’s a little frustrating.”
Rodney stepped forward and pulled something from the pocket of his jacket. “Carson said you were going to be bored.” He handed the iPod to John with a shrug. “It’s not like I have time to listen to it anyway. It’s pretty heavy on the classical music but there’s other music on there, too. And a few audio books. I thought it might help you pass the time.”
John stared at him solemnly for a moment. “Rodney. I think you just saved my sanity.”
Rodney grinned. “Let’s not get carried away here, I’m a genius, not a miracle worker.” He picked up his sock that had fallen to the floor earlier and headed to the door, stopping when Sheppard called his name.
John held Rodney’s expectant gaze for a long moment. “Thanks.”
Rodney gave him an airy wave. “Just give it back when you’re done. And try to refrain from throwing up all over it.”
“Rodney. I meant-” John began but Rodney cut him off, waggling a finger at him.
“And don't forget the shoes. Size eleven.” Rodney said, smirking, as he sauntered out the door.
John let his head fall back against the wall. He had it all wrong. He could let Rodney be his anchor not because Rodney wouldn’t let John deny it but because he wouldn’t let John acknowledge it.