the supplication of sheppard by silverspar (villains challenge)
Length: 5,500 words
Rating: R
Pairing: John/Rodney, John/Teyla (un/requited?)
Summary: We did not ever believe that the Ancestors would want these terrible things, but, as I learn more of their nature . . . I am no longer certain that they are worthy of admiration.
Spoilers: The Tao of Rodney
It kind of bugged John Sheppard when completely random people decided they had some sort of deep, spiritual connection with him.
This had happened even on Earth, long before he'd known about the ATA gene and the Ancients. Sometimes they'd follow him home, or write him epic love letters filled with strangely homoerotic Biblical allusions. It could get pretty creepy, but luckily his family moved around a lot.
It kind of bugged John when completely random people decided they wanted him, too - because then he'd feel sort of obligated to be nice and put out. After which, almost inevitably, they'd decide they were in love with some fantasy idea of John . . . only to be seriously disappointed later, when it turned out that John was human after all. He had a chronic athlete's foot problem. He snored like a hurricane.
And he wasn't getting married again. Ever.
So John had always known he was different. He hadn’t wanted to be. He had tried very hard to be normal for most of his life. He liked beer, football, golf, and things that moved at high-velocity. He wasn’t lying about any of that. But he also could not deny that there was a reason he was always haunting the science labs; a reason he could frequently be found trailing after McKay and Zelenka like some sort of demented fanboy.
It was the same reason that let him complete assignments his classmates has struggled with for days in the time it took the teacher to take attendance. It was the reason he could beat McKay at chess. It was the reason he could handle all of his duties as military commander of Atlantis and still have time left over for his team’s missions, his work-outs, socializing, playing his guitar, and doing some light reading (War and Peace). He’d even sleep.
He didn’t like to think about the reason very much. If he didn’t keep his ego in check, his soldiers wouldn’t respect him - especially his international soldiers, who would resent his Americanism more than they already did should he get too high and mighty. Self-depreciation was an art form that had taken years to master. It made everything run smoother. It made Elizabeth smirk and Teyla do the eyebrow thing.
But sometimes . . .
Sometimes McKay would be extra-condescending and John would just want to grab him and shake him and say: “I’m like you, why can’t you see that? Why can’t you-”
“Sheppard?”
“What?” John huffed, coming to his senses and finding a pack of scientists staring at him with some strange mixture of fear and awe.
“Perhaps Ancient sofa is a hostile?” Zelenka said, hiding slightly behind McKay’s shoulder.
John looked down at his feet. Inexplicably and insanely, he had been kicking the shit out of a dilapidated couch. He felt his face go beet red as he stiffened and forced a shrug. “I didn’t like the style.”
“Mm, Yes. Far too Ikea. And now - unless the Colonel would like to beat up some more furniture?” said McKay graciously.
John glared and Rodney nodded dismissively in reply. “Back to the task at hand.”
They were searching the leaky, trashed-out bowels of Atlantis for some ZPM-draining technology the Alterans had apparently left running during their brief take-over of the city. There really was absolutely no justification for John having come along - only his natural curiosity moved him. Well, that’s what he told himself, anyway.
John Sheppard had a bad habit of sitting on or otherwise activating Ancient devices. The reckless habit was most inclined to manifesting when he was feeling unappreciated, or, in this case, when a certain Canadian astrophysicist was outright ignoring him in order to flirt with some other brilliant scientist bimbo.
When the tendril of light curled around John, it was a relief and a reprieve from himself. It was a still small voice declaring his worthiness. But as John looked down into Rodney’s surprised and worried eyes, the tendril unfurled in John’s mind and he understood.
“This is bad.”
**
“Perfect health?” Elizabeth frowned, as if it were awful news.
“Aye. Beyond that, even,” Carson seemed equally displeased about it. “The Colonel was already in fine form, but this is on a level we haven’t seen since - there’s no flaws, not even that persistent fungal-”
“Hey! Patient confidentiality?” John scolded.
Rodney’s face scrunched up. “Oh my God, you have some sort of fungus?”
“No!”
Carson smiled wearily. “Especially not now that he has the physiology of an Ancient.”
Rodney blanched and the smirk disintegrated. His chin did something strange, something pained, and John really didn’t like unhappy Rodney chins.
“Look, I’m fine. You said it yourself, I’m in perfect health. It’s probably some sort of Ancient spa treatment.”
Carson and Elizabeth still seemed resistant. Rodney just looked miserable.
“I’d like to grab a nap.”
Elizabeth sighed, putting on her best mommy face. “All right John. But if anything . . .”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What, that’s it?” Rodney raged. “He could be possessed by a computer virus! Or under an alien influence! Something! Not of good!”
“If you’re that concerned, why don’t you keep an eye on me?” John said, hoisting himself off the infirmary bed, certain that the boring prospect of watching him sleep would encourage Rodney to drop the subject.
Rodney blinked. “What? Oh, uh. Sure.”
**
John toed off his already unlaced boots and skimmed out of his t-shirt before collapsing on his far-too-small bed. He was beyond exhausted and well beyond caring who was in the room with him. Rodney, on the other hand, was full of beans - and thus chattering noisily to himself from where he paced near the door.
John groaned, rubbing his face into his pillow, smothering some of the sound. “There’s some magazines - and you’ve got your laptop. Pull up some floor and be quiet or take off. Either way’s cool with me.”
“Right, right.”
There was some rustling movement, but otherwise Rodney was gloriously muted, his presence strangely comforting.
But right as John was drifting off the precipice of consciousness and into a foggy haze he could swear he heard Rodney’s voice as if it was coming from far away, echoing down a long tunnel.
Why do I do this to myself? Just look at him. No, no, don’t look at him. With the words came a pang of unrequited yearning that twisted up in John’s stomach like a serpent waiting to damn them both. John stretched wearily and rolled onto his back, hearing the hitch in Rodney’s breath -- but he was far too far gone and confused to do anything about it.
**
Lorne’s team was pinned down when Sheppard’s team and an assortment of burly marines arrived on M72656. And John was unnaturally bored out of his mind. His heart wasn’t even pumping any faster than usual. What a drag.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if all these guys just dropped dead so we can go home?” he muttered.
**
“I still can’t believe they all had heart-attacks at the exact same time,” said Major Lorne, scratching at his neck.
“It was most unsettling,” Teyla admitted as they all unloaded from the puddlejumper.
John had ordered a quarantine at Rodney’s insistence, but John knew that Carson would find nothing. The men on the planet had died because John had wished it. He had squeezed their hearts to mush with his mind. John knew he ought to feel disturbed, but instead he was satisfied - soothed, even.
He did not realize that everyone had gone quiet around him until Rodney started poking him. He stared at Rodney’s puffy, forever childish face and suddenly imagined the skin and bone of it being flayed off, leaving only the precious, pulpy brain behind. Rodney’s eyes widened, but nothing else happened. John hadn’t really wanted it.
The silence stretched and grew bloated around him. It was as if they already knew but were afraid to say anything. John forced himself to meet their eyes, to dig down into himself and dredge up his fading affection for them all. This was his family. These were the people he would kill and die for. He was supposed to love and protect them. Love was blindness, love was burden, love was endless self-flagellation.
“So yeah, I think I did it,” he finally said. “I guess that room we found was some sort of ascension machine.”
“John,” said Teyla slowly - and how he hated the frayed feel of the veins in her heart, the unspeakable threads of hope for him (for them) that had withered away into sheer little spiderwebs over the years. He could clear those webs away completely; he could make Teyla hate him forever.
Instead, he forced himself to smile. “I didn’t realize that I had superpowers.”
“What else can you do?” said Ronon, slightly agitated.
John could fly.
It was late at night by the time John finally got sick to his stomach from soaring around like a crazed hell bat, dragging his fingers through the stinging ocean until they throbbed, contorting and spiraling around Atlantis’ silver towers, drenching his body in cloud mist and wind and moonlight.
Elizabeth was impatiently waiting for him on a balcony, concern and annoyance crowding her mind.
“I’m not going to die, Elizabeth,” John drawled as he set himself down beside her, legs wobbly and gut nauseated. “I think you already knew that. This process is accelerated for me.”
“Because of the gene?” Elizabeth’s lips twisted. She wanted to help him ascend. She hated that he was going to ascend. It was touching. She had no idea what she was dealing with.
Nevertheless, she somehow managed to maneuver him into her office without him knowing what to expect - what she had waiting there for him. On her desk, some candles were lit. On her desk, a paper scroll: the Torah.
John’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “How did you - nevermind, I know. I haven’t been - that was something my parents forced on me. It’s over.”
Elizabeth smiled kindly, but John couldn’t help but find it patronizing. “If it’s over, why are you still judging and condemning yourself by it?”
John found himself slouching down into a chair against his will, trapped once again by the idea that Elizabeth did know better than him, ultimately, on matters of spiritual stupidity.
“The truth is,” John paused and stared down at his knees. “I wish there was a God so someone would hold me accountable.”
Elizabeth sat down across from him, her stance schooled sympathy. “Accountable for what?”
John stared at the text that had only added to his childhood misery. “Actually, can we not do this?”
“Please, John.”
And she was so earnest, so sincere in her desire to fix what was wrong with him that John felt ashamed for the first time since the machine.
“I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve killed. You can justify it however you want and sometimes I’d like to believe you - but the truth is, it gets a lot easier to live with once you stop counting.”
“You, you kill to protect us, John. You’re-”
“Stop it. I do it because I want to. Because, on some level, I enjoy it.”
Elizabeth stared at him wordlessly, her body temporarily stunned into a statue not unlike the Buddhas she so revered.
John closed his eyes. “I must really enjoy it. There’s no reason for me to be out in the field, now.”
“You’re out there because you wouldn’t want your people to do anything you’re not willing to do yourself,” Elizabeth said resolutely.
John put on his shit-eating grin, not buying any of it, but Elizabeth continued. “Which makes you a better person than me.” Her voice wavered and John’s eyes flew open in surprise. She was stoically trying to blink back tears. “I’m so sorry for what I make you do.”
“I don’t blame you!” John was instantly on his feet, incensed with a sudden resurgence of justice. “You’re just trying to keep us alive-”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, and he understood the implication of it, the way she was trying to turn everything around on him. Aren’t we the same? her mind and eyebrow hissed. He scowled at the tear tracing a treacherous path down her cheek and felt the loathing and alienation swell back up in his chest, as if he was back in high school - as if she were another long-idealized teacher who inevitably ended up disappointing him.
“Well played, Elizabeth.”
“John!”
But John simply shook his head and picked up the Torah delicately, turning on his heels with exactitude and leaving her alone.
Elizabeth sat with his frustration swirling around her like a swarm of angry bees. She wished with most of her heart for John Sheppard to be free from suffering: she wished for the enlightenment of a good man who was so easily consumed by his own demons.
**
Twenty-four hours and John was like nothing anyone had ever seen. His skin glowed liked it was stretched tight over a source of great light - his flesh a flimsy shade to keep his brilliance from blinding everyone. His eyes were inhuman and bright: bird eyes, lizard eyes - gold, with black slivers splitting their centers.
“You don't look very 'Ancient-y' to me,” Rodney said, hesitantly sitting down across from him and tearing the foil lid off a fruit cup.
“Hmm,” John raised an eyebrow and smirked: gestures so painfully familiar that Rodney instantly relaxed and started digging into his breakfast in earnest.
“And what are you doing with Ronon's gun?” Rodney mumbled accusingly around a lump of pancake, wondering at the wisdom of fiddling with weaponry and food at the same time.
John spun the pistol in his hand, still failing at “cool” in comparison to Ronon's handling. “Upgrade.”
“And he's letting you do that?” asked Rodney, dubious.
“He doesn't exactly know about it . . .”
As if on cue, Ronon stormed into the room, emanating a silent fury. He stalked to their table and glared down at Sheppard. John quickly raised his hands in the intergalactic sign of surrender and floated the weapon back to its proper owner.
Ronon snatched it out of the air and studied it, face easing into an expression of confusion.
“Don't use the new setting until I'm-” John waved his hand. “Whatever. Gone. Okay?”
“What does it do?”
John slouched back into his chair. “It's sort of like a bug repellent for really big . . . ascended . . . bugs. Shouldn't have any effect on normal people, but it might kill me.”
Ronon's eyebrows went up and he shoved the gun deep into its holster.
John lowered his voice. “When I'm whatever I need you to use that on Atlantis. Just shoot it somewhere harmless, like the floor. You're the only one I can trust with this.”
Ronon nodded, easy. “Got it.”
“Thanks, Ronon.”
“But Sheppard?”
“Yeah?”
“Never touch my gun again.” And then Ronon smiled in that endearingly horrifying way that Rodney could never decipher the meaning of. Does he like you, or does he want to kill you? Both? Ronon left them without much fanfare, but Rodney felt suddenly ill, pushing his pancake remnants around in the syrup. Why didn't Sheppard trust him? He'd thought they were all right again, but maybe . . .
“Rodney. It's his gun,” John interrupted, as if his reasoning should be obvious.
I hate your psychic powers.
John flinched and eased away from the table. “Sorry.”
Rodney frowned but found that he nothing left to say or think, his hostility draining into a bitter-tasting apathy.
“I've got to meet up with Teyla, but I'll catch you later, all right? Buddy?”
“Fine, fine,” Rodney waved him off, eyes fixedly upon the crumbs left on the table.
**
Teyla was one of the few people John knew who looked good sweaty. Maybe it was an Athosian thing. But she never looked bad. It was weird. Teyla finished up her sparring with the marine by slamming him to the ground before rolling her shoulders and lifting the damp hair off the back of her neck, her face lit up with a pleased victory smile. The marine hobbled out of the gym with minimal bitching, sensing his commander's amusement.
It was then that Teyla's smile faltered, and John felt something he never expected from her. Fear. Fear of him.
“Teyla.”
She tried to force a smile for his benefit, but it was not at all convincing. Her mind was in lockdown - she was trying to control and limit her thoughts, but he still got an idea of the chaos, the distrust . . .
John rubbed his hands over his face, amazed at how hurt he felt. How deeply betrayed.
“I would never do anything to hurt you or Atlantis.” God, you know this. You know me.
Cautiously, Teyla approached and pulled his arms down, meeting his eyes. “I trust you, John. But I do not trust what it happening to you.”
By sheer will, she opened her mind to him. He saw the flashes of a genetic history, her noble Athosian people trying to hang onto human dignity in a galaxy plagued by madness, by depravity . . . by human sacrifice. All around them, other civilizations and tribes offering up the blood of their own children or their women to the Ancestors - or to anything, any god or goddess or ideology that might grant them reprieve from the Wraith.
We did not ever believe that the Ancestors would want these terrible things, but, as I learn more of their nature . . . I am no longer certain that they are worthy of admiration.
“They're not,” John said aloud, pressing his forehead carefully against hers. “But I'm not becoming an Ancient.”
Sky, clear and blue and endless above them. A sun and a lesser sun warming them, the light sinking into their minds and comforting them. A world of lush green around them devoid of danger, devoid of deceit. Peace beyond what her meditation could reach. Purpose beyond what the Ancestors could teach. To exist and to not struggle: it could not be possible. It was completely contrary to everything she'd been taught. Life was a circle of suffering and rebirth. That was the divine design, to learn through pain - to dance amid the slings and arrows. It was, it had to be . . .
Or else, what had they all suffered for?
Teyla pulled away, shocked to find tears streaming down her face. She rubbed at her eyes furiously, strangely ashamed of herself and everything she'd ever done to survive.
“John,” and his eyes held no judgment. He was not ashamed of her. Everything about him was unconditional, and that was why they could never be . . .
His face went soft and he licked his lips, nervous. “If I could change the way I am for anyone, Teyla, you have you know it would be-”
She pressed her fingers over his mouth and halted the confession. She didn't need it. What they had was better than that.
And it always would be.
**
Rodney awoke to the light of the sun in his face and the strange, airy press of a kiss against his forehead. He was under someone.
“What-” Rodney struggled against the weight, finding his own hands digging into warm, rumpled, familiar t-shirt - his legs entwined with someone else's, the rub of fabric devastating against Rodney's bare thighs.
“Sorry. I don't have much time and I only just figured us out,” came a low, husky voice at Rodney's neck which was followed by a swipe of tongue. And then the tongue was moving down and Rodney's shirt was rucked up into his armpits. Lips clamped down around a nipple and Rodney arched, almost sobbing at the sensation, the prickle of air and wet after the mouth released him to mutter confessions into his chest. “If our roles were reversed I would have done the right thing, I swear. I wouldn't have let you know. I wouldn't-” John's rant hitched with his breath as his hands moved, scratching prehistoric languages into Rodney's ribs - and then lower, more carefully - the scraping of fingernails and the tug of elastic being pulled down. “I wouldn't have given you any more regrets.”
With great difficulty, Rodney propped himself up onto his elbows, his eyes blinded as soon as they opened by the unearthly brilliance of John - squinting, he finally managed to find John's eyes in the light: sad, furious, human eyes that wanted desperately and would not be dissuaded. Rodney reached out one trembling arm and pressed his fingers against the still fleshy, strangely damp face.
“Sheppard. Are you crying?”
Instead of answering, John buried his face in Rodney's belly, kissing tenderly at the softness there before traveling lower and swallowing Rodney down with more need than finesse.
“Ah . . . teeth, teeth,” Rodney gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, clutching at the sheets and squirming. John grunted in a way that sounded apologetic, adjusted and accommodated, but stubbornly stayed where he was . . . as if the taste was all that was keeping him from shattering apart into bits of stardust.
It didn't take much and it didn't take long, but when Rodney finally opened his eyes again, John was gone.
And not only from Rodney's room.
**
“Report?” Elizabeth frowned, her face haggard with exhaustion. Zelenka shook his head sadly. There was no sign of Colonel Sheppard anywhere on Atlantis. It was as if he'd never existed: even his room was cleared out, like no-one had ever lived there.
You could have at least said goodbye.
It's better this way.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened and she looked around the gateroom, sure she'd heard his voice, positive she'd felt his presence.
“John?”
But no, there was nothing.
**
“I'm going to do it,” Ronon stated simply between scarfed-down potatoes.
Rodney glared darkly at Ronon across the table without speaking, his anger transcending even his usually active mouth. Teyla felt the drop in temperature and could not bring herself to be diplomatic. In her heart, she felt Rodney was right about this. John needed more time: they could not, should not give up on him so soon.
“Ronon-” she began, brow furrowed.
“No,” Ronon said, finished with his food and standing. “He trusted me.” In less than a second, Ronon had his gun out of its holster and fired off a shot at the ground. Tiny lights spilled out across the floor like beads, rolling down stairs and out into the corridors as if they were on a mission.
A few moments passed in which the team stared at each other in silent anticipation - and then their headsets buzzed to life.
“This is Sheppard.” He sounded breathless, as if he'd been running. “I need security teams on Grounding Station 3 . . . and uh, some clothes would be good.”
**
John pressed his face up against the bars, unafraid of the jagged ridges and scales of his prisoner. His counterpart, his fellow-slave, his fallen-away shadow self - stared back at him with golden dragon eyes, equally unimpressed by what it saw in John. They both knew each other too well, and they loathed the other as much as they admired. They'd done damage to each other in the brief time they'd been alone on the Grounding Station - red, fiery scratch marks stood out against the pale of John's neck, a declaration to the universe of the inferior combat skills of Homo sapiens.
“I think McKay likes you better than me,” John said. The scaly humanoid snorted, rolling its eyes in obvious sarcasm before shuffling back into its preferred corner.
“I'd like you better if you explained what the hell is going on,” protested Rodney, petulant.
John sighed and rested his forehead against the bars, conflicted. He'd told Elizabeth in private - he'd had to. Her face had been so . . . it was as if he'd murdered her gods and spat on their corpses. He knew her too well: he knew she was brooding in her room, trying to regain control and focus . . . but sinking into a deep depression instead. There was nothing he could do to make this better, to make it an easier truth to swallow.
“Did you know that homo erectus thrived for almost 2 million years?” John said suddenly, walloping Rodney with a seeming non-sequitur.
“So?”
“That's ten-times longer than us.”
Rodney was making his classic 'Are you stupid, crazy, or both?' face. “So?”
“Haven't you ever wondered why we are the only species left alive?”
“No. I already know. We are the most intelligent, strong, and adaptable -”
John pulled back from the cage and snuck in behind Rodney, resting his hands on the scientist's shoulders and gently guiding him to face the creature directly. “You're looking at the reason why we are all those things,” John said softly.
“What,” Rodney whispered - and though it hadn't come out as a question, John answered.
“The Ancients and the Ori have always been on the same side, Rodney. It's all been a big damn lie.”
Rodney's eyes went wide and John let him go, surreptitiously thrilled in watching the wheels of a genius mind spin. McKay had come so far on his own: the road from cold logic to instinctive understanding was a bumpy one, but Rodney had made that journey over and over again - often only because John had asked it of him.
“So dark the con of man, huh?”
Rodney groaned dramatically, pained by John's pathetic attempts at humor.
“So we're all . . . we all have some of this in us?”
John shrugged. “To a degree. The ATA gene binds conflicting genomes together. If you don't have the gene, then-”
“You're pure human?”
“More like watered-down alien. And easier for them to manipulate.” Like Elizabeth.
“It is not her fault!” the creature screamed in a language only John could understand, suddenly on its feet and a little too close to them for comfort. Rodney stumbled back hastily, but John remained near the cage and met the accusing eyes unflinchingly.
“Do not harm her anymore than you already have, traitor!” cried the beast.
“I'll remind you that I'm not the cold-blooded one.”
The creature snarled. “But you know nothing of loyalty.”
John inclined his head. “I remember compassion.”
The beast laughed and it was a forced, ugly noise - far too recognizable as John's own laugh. “Which is why I am the one in a cage.”
**
The puddlejumper sliced through the air on a rather rough trajectory. Rodney's piloting skills still needed serious work, but John could only offer advice from memory.
“Aren't you going to miss flying, John?” came Elizabeth's loaded question from the rear.
John's first thought was: not as much as I missed my humanity.
“I've always found the 302s cooler to pilot. It's that whole monkey-working-with-hands deal, I guess.”
“Hmm. I'll see if we can convince Colonel Caldwell that Atlantis needs a 302 or two.”
John spun around and found Elizabeth smiling gently at him, her eyes amused. Maybe she'd be okay. Maybe they'd all be okay.
Then Rodney attempted to land the puddlejumper and John was amazed that they were all still in one piece.
**
The wind lashed tangles of brown hair into Elizabeth's face as she watched the lizard-John growing smaller in the distance. The weather was harsh - an electrical storm was on the way - but both human and other seemed thrilled by the prospect. John, Rodney, Teyla, Ronon - they all virtually hummed with the energy of it. Rodney was, of course, complaining bitterly about the possibility of getting struck by lightning - but she knew down deep that he only did that when he was experiencing things with a fullness she couldn't quite grasp. The creature was almost out of sight, running through the grassy valley in delight and harmony with nature . . . and he did not look back. With freedom, he had forgotten her. Elizabeth felt tears on her face and she could not explain the cause, only that she'd felt as if she'd lost something precious: a favored servant, perhaps.
“He'll be happier out here. It's like his very own kingdom to rule,” said John at her shoulder, speaking as if all of his own quiet lust for power had gone with the creature. Perhaps it had. Elizabeth frowned and twisted around to look at his face. Surely, there had to be a good reason why the Ancients had altered humanity so drastically. Maybe they had all been hopeless, stupid animals who would never have obtained civilization or scientific advancement without interference . . . but as Elizabeth studied John's expression, she knew there was something horribly wrong with her long-admired Ancients. John looked as though he were at perfect peace: he seemed to be at a place Elizabeth could only brush against slightly after long hours of meditation.
“Elizabeth,” he said.
“Yes?”
“You don't have to become like them.”
**
Rodney found John at 3am in the chair room, the spitting image of Rodin's 'The Thinker' on the dark control chair that would never again light up for him.
“Do you miss it?” Rodney asked, strangely hushed by the gloom of the room and the confused expression on John's tired face.
“Do I miss being able to destroy things with my mind? Let me think about this . . . no.”
“Then why are you here?”
John straightened up, rolling his shoulders to unwind some tension. “Seemed like as good a place as any to think.”
Rodney folded his arms over his chest, feeling uncomfortable, like he knew something he wouldn't like was about to come out of John's mouth.
“I don't want to leave Atlantis, but I don't know what I can do here. I can't be this guy -” John gestured down at the chair “- anymore.”
“As much as I question your intelligence on a regular basis, I'm sure you have talents other than being able to make alien technology glow,” Rodney offered feebly.
“That's just it. I can't do this gene stuff anymore . . . but I don't know if I can do the soldier stuff, either. I don't know if I even want to try.”
Rodney found his ire rising, uncontrollable and burning. “So that's it, huh? You're just too moral for all of us, now? I mean - you're a perfect, untampered with human being - why would you ever want to stay with us? We must be really horrible.”
“Don't be stupid!”
“Oh, so I'm stupid now? I suppose so. The Ancients have probably limited my true intellectual capabilities with their orchestrations-”
“To be honest: yes, they have!” John fired back, rising to stand.
Rodney's expression went from furious to devastated in less than a second. “Oh.”
“Rodney.”
“No, I see. Maybe . . . I mean, maybe you should have my job. You'd probably be better at-”
“Come on, I don't know anything about astrophysics,” said John. But Rodney didn't look at all reassured. He had his arms hugged around himself in some type of self-comfort gesture and it made John's heart hurt.
“I'm sorry for, you know. That thing, when I was ascending. It was inexcusable.”
Rodney's eyes flashed. “Insult to injury, eh? Not smart enough and now, not sexy enough . . . what, does ascension suddenly make people gay?”
John studied his boots. “You know it's not like that. I just had to let you know how I felt and I couldn't say the words yet.”
“Can you say them now?”
“What?”
“The words.”
John lifted his eyes and met Rodney's resolutely, his face insane with courage and sincerity. “I'm in love with you, Rodney.”
“Fuck!” Rodney yelped, astonished.
“Yeah, that's all I used to be able to say about it, too.” John smiled, but it was sad and small, as if he were expecting rejection.
“You idiot. Come here,” Rodney grumbled, reaching out and tugging at John's arms insistently until their bodies were pressed together. Rodney wrapped his arms around John and breathed deeply into John's chest, his feelings trembling in his belly and throat. “I feel the same way.”
“Oh,” said John, muffled against Rodney's forehead. “Guess you're still smarter than me.”
Rodney let his hands wander, feeling like he had just been allowed into the best cookie jar ever. His fingers hesitated on a back pocket before dipping in, scrunching at paper folded inside. Easily distracted, he dug it out and peeked at the contents over John's shoulder.
“What is this?” Rodney demanded.
“I don't know. Evolution still hasn't given me eyes in the back of my head.”
“Smart ass. Here,” Rodney held up the crumpled paper in front of John's face. “Explain.”
John flushed, his eyes recognizing the scribbles of complicated equations. “It's just something I was fooling around with.”
“Shut up. You're hired.”
“What?”
“You should be kissing your new boss and not talking.”
Okay.
Rating: R
Pairing: John/Rodney, John/Teyla (un/requited?)
Summary: We did not ever believe that the Ancestors would want these terrible things, but, as I learn more of their nature . . . I am no longer certain that they are worthy of admiration.
Spoilers: The Tao of Rodney
It kind of bugged John Sheppard when completely random people decided they had some sort of deep, spiritual connection with him.
This had happened even on Earth, long before he'd known about the ATA gene and the Ancients. Sometimes they'd follow him home, or write him epic love letters filled with strangely homoerotic Biblical allusions. It could get pretty creepy, but luckily his family moved around a lot.
It kind of bugged John when completely random people decided they wanted him, too - because then he'd feel sort of obligated to be nice and put out. After which, almost inevitably, they'd decide they were in love with some fantasy idea of John . . . only to be seriously disappointed later, when it turned out that John was human after all. He had a chronic athlete's foot problem. He snored like a hurricane.
And he wasn't getting married again. Ever.
So John had always known he was different. He hadn’t wanted to be. He had tried very hard to be normal for most of his life. He liked beer, football, golf, and things that moved at high-velocity. He wasn’t lying about any of that. But he also could not deny that there was a reason he was always haunting the science labs; a reason he could frequently be found trailing after McKay and Zelenka like some sort of demented fanboy.
It was the same reason that let him complete assignments his classmates has struggled with for days in the time it took the teacher to take attendance. It was the reason he could beat McKay at chess. It was the reason he could handle all of his duties as military commander of Atlantis and still have time left over for his team’s missions, his work-outs, socializing, playing his guitar, and doing some light reading (War and Peace). He’d even sleep.
He didn’t like to think about the reason very much. If he didn’t keep his ego in check, his soldiers wouldn’t respect him - especially his international soldiers, who would resent his Americanism more than they already did should he get too high and mighty. Self-depreciation was an art form that had taken years to master. It made everything run smoother. It made Elizabeth smirk and Teyla do the eyebrow thing.
But sometimes . . .
Sometimes McKay would be extra-condescending and John would just want to grab him and shake him and say: “I’m like you, why can’t you see that? Why can’t you-”
“Sheppard?”
“What?” John huffed, coming to his senses and finding a pack of scientists staring at him with some strange mixture of fear and awe.
“Perhaps Ancient sofa is a hostile?” Zelenka said, hiding slightly behind McKay’s shoulder.
John looked down at his feet. Inexplicably and insanely, he had been kicking the shit out of a dilapidated couch. He felt his face go beet red as he stiffened and forced a shrug. “I didn’t like the style.”
“Mm, Yes. Far too Ikea. And now - unless the Colonel would like to beat up some more furniture?” said McKay graciously.
John glared and Rodney nodded dismissively in reply. “Back to the task at hand.”
They were searching the leaky, trashed-out bowels of Atlantis for some ZPM-draining technology the Alterans had apparently left running during their brief take-over of the city. There really was absolutely no justification for John having come along - only his natural curiosity moved him. Well, that’s what he told himself, anyway.
John Sheppard had a bad habit of sitting on or otherwise activating Ancient devices. The reckless habit was most inclined to manifesting when he was feeling unappreciated, or, in this case, when a certain Canadian astrophysicist was outright ignoring him in order to flirt with some other brilliant scientist bimbo.
When the tendril of light curled around John, it was a relief and a reprieve from himself. It was a still small voice declaring his worthiness. But as John looked down into Rodney’s surprised and worried eyes, the tendril unfurled in John’s mind and he understood.
“This is bad.”
**
“Perfect health?” Elizabeth frowned, as if it were awful news.
“Aye. Beyond that, even,” Carson seemed equally displeased about it. “The Colonel was already in fine form, but this is on a level we haven’t seen since - there’s no flaws, not even that persistent fungal-”
“Hey! Patient confidentiality?” John scolded.
Rodney’s face scrunched up. “Oh my God, you have some sort of fungus?”
“No!”
Carson smiled wearily. “Especially not now that he has the physiology of an Ancient.”
Rodney blanched and the smirk disintegrated. His chin did something strange, something pained, and John really didn’t like unhappy Rodney chins.
“Look, I’m fine. You said it yourself, I’m in perfect health. It’s probably some sort of Ancient spa treatment.”
Carson and Elizabeth still seemed resistant. Rodney just looked miserable.
“I’d like to grab a nap.”
Elizabeth sighed, putting on her best mommy face. “All right John. But if anything . . .”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What, that’s it?” Rodney raged. “He could be possessed by a computer virus! Or under an alien influence! Something! Not of good!”
“If you’re that concerned, why don’t you keep an eye on me?” John said, hoisting himself off the infirmary bed, certain that the boring prospect of watching him sleep would encourage Rodney to drop the subject.
Rodney blinked. “What? Oh, uh. Sure.”
**
John toed off his already unlaced boots and skimmed out of his t-shirt before collapsing on his far-too-small bed. He was beyond exhausted and well beyond caring who was in the room with him. Rodney, on the other hand, was full of beans - and thus chattering noisily to himself from where he paced near the door.
John groaned, rubbing his face into his pillow, smothering some of the sound. “There’s some magazines - and you’ve got your laptop. Pull up some floor and be quiet or take off. Either way’s cool with me.”
“Right, right.”
There was some rustling movement, but otherwise Rodney was gloriously muted, his presence strangely comforting.
But right as John was drifting off the precipice of consciousness and into a foggy haze he could swear he heard Rodney’s voice as if it was coming from far away, echoing down a long tunnel.
Why do I do this to myself? Just look at him. No, no, don’t look at him. With the words came a pang of unrequited yearning that twisted up in John’s stomach like a serpent waiting to damn them both. John stretched wearily and rolled onto his back, hearing the hitch in Rodney’s breath -- but he was far too far gone and confused to do anything about it.
**
Lorne’s team was pinned down when Sheppard’s team and an assortment of burly marines arrived on M72656. And John was unnaturally bored out of his mind. His heart wasn’t even pumping any faster than usual. What a drag.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if all these guys just dropped dead so we can go home?” he muttered.
**
“I still can’t believe they all had heart-attacks at the exact same time,” said Major Lorne, scratching at his neck.
“It was most unsettling,” Teyla admitted as they all unloaded from the puddlejumper.
John had ordered a quarantine at Rodney’s insistence, but John knew that Carson would find nothing. The men on the planet had died because John had wished it. He had squeezed their hearts to mush with his mind. John knew he ought to feel disturbed, but instead he was satisfied - soothed, even.
He did not realize that everyone had gone quiet around him until Rodney started poking him. He stared at Rodney’s puffy, forever childish face and suddenly imagined the skin and bone of it being flayed off, leaving only the precious, pulpy brain behind. Rodney’s eyes widened, but nothing else happened. John hadn’t really wanted it.
The silence stretched and grew bloated around him. It was as if they already knew but were afraid to say anything. John forced himself to meet their eyes, to dig down into himself and dredge up his fading affection for them all. This was his family. These were the people he would kill and die for. He was supposed to love and protect them. Love was blindness, love was burden, love was endless self-flagellation.
“So yeah, I think I did it,” he finally said. “I guess that room we found was some sort of ascension machine.”
“John,” said Teyla slowly - and how he hated the frayed feel of the veins in her heart, the unspeakable threads of hope for him (for them) that had withered away into sheer little spiderwebs over the years. He could clear those webs away completely; he could make Teyla hate him forever.
Instead, he forced himself to smile. “I didn’t realize that I had superpowers.”
“What else can you do?” said Ronon, slightly agitated.
John could fly.
It was late at night by the time John finally got sick to his stomach from soaring around like a crazed hell bat, dragging his fingers through the stinging ocean until they throbbed, contorting and spiraling around Atlantis’ silver towers, drenching his body in cloud mist and wind and moonlight.
Elizabeth was impatiently waiting for him on a balcony, concern and annoyance crowding her mind.
“I’m not going to die, Elizabeth,” John drawled as he set himself down beside her, legs wobbly and gut nauseated. “I think you already knew that. This process is accelerated for me.”
“Because of the gene?” Elizabeth’s lips twisted. She wanted to help him ascend. She hated that he was going to ascend. It was touching. She had no idea what she was dealing with.
Nevertheless, she somehow managed to maneuver him into her office without him knowing what to expect - what she had waiting there for him. On her desk, some candles were lit. On her desk, a paper scroll: the Torah.
John’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “How did you - nevermind, I know. I haven’t been - that was something my parents forced on me. It’s over.”
Elizabeth smiled kindly, but John couldn’t help but find it patronizing. “If it’s over, why are you still judging and condemning yourself by it?”
John found himself slouching down into a chair against his will, trapped once again by the idea that Elizabeth did know better than him, ultimately, on matters of spiritual stupidity.
“The truth is,” John paused and stared down at his knees. “I wish there was a God so someone would hold me accountable.”
Elizabeth sat down across from him, her stance schooled sympathy. “Accountable for what?”
John stared at the text that had only added to his childhood misery. “Actually, can we not do this?”
“Please, John.”
And she was so earnest, so sincere in her desire to fix what was wrong with him that John felt ashamed for the first time since the machine.
“I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve killed. You can justify it however you want and sometimes I’d like to believe you - but the truth is, it gets a lot easier to live with once you stop counting.”
“You, you kill to protect us, John. You’re-”
“Stop it. I do it because I want to. Because, on some level, I enjoy it.”
Elizabeth stared at him wordlessly, her body temporarily stunned into a statue not unlike the Buddhas she so revered.
John closed his eyes. “I must really enjoy it. There’s no reason for me to be out in the field, now.”
“You’re out there because you wouldn’t want your people to do anything you’re not willing to do yourself,” Elizabeth said resolutely.
John put on his shit-eating grin, not buying any of it, but Elizabeth continued. “Which makes you a better person than me.” Her voice wavered and John’s eyes flew open in surprise. She was stoically trying to blink back tears. “I’m so sorry for what I make you do.”
“I don’t blame you!” John was instantly on his feet, incensed with a sudden resurgence of justice. “You’re just trying to keep us alive-”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, and he understood the implication of it, the way she was trying to turn everything around on him. Aren’t we the same? her mind and eyebrow hissed. He scowled at the tear tracing a treacherous path down her cheek and felt the loathing and alienation swell back up in his chest, as if he was back in high school - as if she were another long-idealized teacher who inevitably ended up disappointing him.
“Well played, Elizabeth.”
“John!”
But John simply shook his head and picked up the Torah delicately, turning on his heels with exactitude and leaving her alone.
Elizabeth sat with his frustration swirling around her like a swarm of angry bees. She wished with most of her heart for John Sheppard to be free from suffering: she wished for the enlightenment of a good man who was so easily consumed by his own demons.
**
Twenty-four hours and John was like nothing anyone had ever seen. His skin glowed liked it was stretched tight over a source of great light - his flesh a flimsy shade to keep his brilliance from blinding everyone. His eyes were inhuman and bright: bird eyes, lizard eyes - gold, with black slivers splitting their centers.
“You don't look very 'Ancient-y' to me,” Rodney said, hesitantly sitting down across from him and tearing the foil lid off a fruit cup.
“Hmm,” John raised an eyebrow and smirked: gestures so painfully familiar that Rodney instantly relaxed and started digging into his breakfast in earnest.
“And what are you doing with Ronon's gun?” Rodney mumbled accusingly around a lump of pancake, wondering at the wisdom of fiddling with weaponry and food at the same time.
John spun the pistol in his hand, still failing at “cool” in comparison to Ronon's handling. “Upgrade.”
“And he's letting you do that?” asked Rodney, dubious.
“He doesn't exactly know about it . . .”
As if on cue, Ronon stormed into the room, emanating a silent fury. He stalked to their table and glared down at Sheppard. John quickly raised his hands in the intergalactic sign of surrender and floated the weapon back to its proper owner.
Ronon snatched it out of the air and studied it, face easing into an expression of confusion.
“Don't use the new setting until I'm-” John waved his hand. “Whatever. Gone. Okay?”
“What does it do?”
John slouched back into his chair. “It's sort of like a bug repellent for really big . . . ascended . . . bugs. Shouldn't have any effect on normal people, but it might kill me.”
Ronon's eyebrows went up and he shoved the gun deep into its holster.
John lowered his voice. “When I'm whatever I need you to use that on Atlantis. Just shoot it somewhere harmless, like the floor. You're the only one I can trust with this.”
Ronon nodded, easy. “Got it.”
“Thanks, Ronon.”
“But Sheppard?”
“Yeah?”
“Never touch my gun again.” And then Ronon smiled in that endearingly horrifying way that Rodney could never decipher the meaning of. Does he like you, or does he want to kill you? Both? Ronon left them without much fanfare, but Rodney felt suddenly ill, pushing his pancake remnants around in the syrup. Why didn't Sheppard trust him? He'd thought they were all right again, but maybe . . .
“Rodney. It's his gun,” John interrupted, as if his reasoning should be obvious.
I hate your psychic powers.
John flinched and eased away from the table. “Sorry.”
Rodney frowned but found that he nothing left to say or think, his hostility draining into a bitter-tasting apathy.
“I've got to meet up with Teyla, but I'll catch you later, all right? Buddy?”
“Fine, fine,” Rodney waved him off, eyes fixedly upon the crumbs left on the table.
**
Teyla was one of the few people John knew who looked good sweaty. Maybe it was an Athosian thing. But she never looked bad. It was weird. Teyla finished up her sparring with the marine by slamming him to the ground before rolling her shoulders and lifting the damp hair off the back of her neck, her face lit up with a pleased victory smile. The marine hobbled out of the gym with minimal bitching, sensing his commander's amusement.
It was then that Teyla's smile faltered, and John felt something he never expected from her. Fear. Fear of him.
“Teyla.”
She tried to force a smile for his benefit, but it was not at all convincing. Her mind was in lockdown - she was trying to control and limit her thoughts, but he still got an idea of the chaos, the distrust . . .
John rubbed his hands over his face, amazed at how hurt he felt. How deeply betrayed.
“I would never do anything to hurt you or Atlantis.” God, you know this. You know me.
Cautiously, Teyla approached and pulled his arms down, meeting his eyes. “I trust you, John. But I do not trust what it happening to you.”
By sheer will, she opened her mind to him. He saw the flashes of a genetic history, her noble Athosian people trying to hang onto human dignity in a galaxy plagued by madness, by depravity . . . by human sacrifice. All around them, other civilizations and tribes offering up the blood of their own children or their women to the Ancestors - or to anything, any god or goddess or ideology that might grant them reprieve from the Wraith.
We did not ever believe that the Ancestors would want these terrible things, but, as I learn more of their nature . . . I am no longer certain that they are worthy of admiration.
“They're not,” John said aloud, pressing his forehead carefully against hers. “But I'm not becoming an Ancient.”
Sky, clear and blue and endless above them. A sun and a lesser sun warming them, the light sinking into their minds and comforting them. A world of lush green around them devoid of danger, devoid of deceit. Peace beyond what her meditation could reach. Purpose beyond what the Ancestors could teach. To exist and to not struggle: it could not be possible. It was completely contrary to everything she'd been taught. Life was a circle of suffering and rebirth. That was the divine design, to learn through pain - to dance amid the slings and arrows. It was, it had to be . . .
Or else, what had they all suffered for?
Teyla pulled away, shocked to find tears streaming down her face. She rubbed at her eyes furiously, strangely ashamed of herself and everything she'd ever done to survive.
“John,” and his eyes held no judgment. He was not ashamed of her. Everything about him was unconditional, and that was why they could never be . . .
His face went soft and he licked his lips, nervous. “If I could change the way I am for anyone, Teyla, you have you know it would be-”
She pressed her fingers over his mouth and halted the confession. She didn't need it. What they had was better than that.
And it always would be.
**
Rodney awoke to the light of the sun in his face and the strange, airy press of a kiss against his forehead. He was under someone.
“What-” Rodney struggled against the weight, finding his own hands digging into warm, rumpled, familiar t-shirt - his legs entwined with someone else's, the rub of fabric devastating against Rodney's bare thighs.
“Sorry. I don't have much time and I only just figured us out,” came a low, husky voice at Rodney's neck which was followed by a swipe of tongue. And then the tongue was moving down and Rodney's shirt was rucked up into his armpits. Lips clamped down around a nipple and Rodney arched, almost sobbing at the sensation, the prickle of air and wet after the mouth released him to mutter confessions into his chest. “If our roles were reversed I would have done the right thing, I swear. I wouldn't have let you know. I wouldn't-” John's rant hitched with his breath as his hands moved, scratching prehistoric languages into Rodney's ribs - and then lower, more carefully - the scraping of fingernails and the tug of elastic being pulled down. “I wouldn't have given you any more regrets.”
With great difficulty, Rodney propped himself up onto his elbows, his eyes blinded as soon as they opened by the unearthly brilliance of John - squinting, he finally managed to find John's eyes in the light: sad, furious, human eyes that wanted desperately and would not be dissuaded. Rodney reached out one trembling arm and pressed his fingers against the still fleshy, strangely damp face.
“Sheppard. Are you crying?”
Instead of answering, John buried his face in Rodney's belly, kissing tenderly at the softness there before traveling lower and swallowing Rodney down with more need than finesse.
“Ah . . . teeth, teeth,” Rodney gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, clutching at the sheets and squirming. John grunted in a way that sounded apologetic, adjusted and accommodated, but stubbornly stayed where he was . . . as if the taste was all that was keeping him from shattering apart into bits of stardust.
It didn't take much and it didn't take long, but when Rodney finally opened his eyes again, John was gone.
And not only from Rodney's room.
**
“Report?” Elizabeth frowned, her face haggard with exhaustion. Zelenka shook his head sadly. There was no sign of Colonel Sheppard anywhere on Atlantis. It was as if he'd never existed: even his room was cleared out, like no-one had ever lived there.
You could have at least said goodbye.
It's better this way.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened and she looked around the gateroom, sure she'd heard his voice, positive she'd felt his presence.
“John?”
But no, there was nothing.
**
“I'm going to do it,” Ronon stated simply between scarfed-down potatoes.
Rodney glared darkly at Ronon across the table without speaking, his anger transcending even his usually active mouth. Teyla felt the drop in temperature and could not bring herself to be diplomatic. In her heart, she felt Rodney was right about this. John needed more time: they could not, should not give up on him so soon.
“Ronon-” she began, brow furrowed.
“No,” Ronon said, finished with his food and standing. “He trusted me.” In less than a second, Ronon had his gun out of its holster and fired off a shot at the ground. Tiny lights spilled out across the floor like beads, rolling down stairs and out into the corridors as if they were on a mission.
A few moments passed in which the team stared at each other in silent anticipation - and then their headsets buzzed to life.
“This is Sheppard.” He sounded breathless, as if he'd been running. “I need security teams on Grounding Station 3 . . . and uh, some clothes would be good.”
**
John pressed his face up against the bars, unafraid of the jagged ridges and scales of his prisoner. His counterpart, his fellow-slave, his fallen-away shadow self - stared back at him with golden dragon eyes, equally unimpressed by what it saw in John. They both knew each other too well, and they loathed the other as much as they admired. They'd done damage to each other in the brief time they'd been alone on the Grounding Station - red, fiery scratch marks stood out against the pale of John's neck, a declaration to the universe of the inferior combat skills of Homo sapiens.
“I think McKay likes you better than me,” John said. The scaly humanoid snorted, rolling its eyes in obvious sarcasm before shuffling back into its preferred corner.
“I'd like you better if you explained what the hell is going on,” protested Rodney, petulant.
John sighed and rested his forehead against the bars, conflicted. He'd told Elizabeth in private - he'd had to. Her face had been so . . . it was as if he'd murdered her gods and spat on their corpses. He knew her too well: he knew she was brooding in her room, trying to regain control and focus . . . but sinking into a deep depression instead. There was nothing he could do to make this better, to make it an easier truth to swallow.
“Did you know that homo erectus thrived for almost 2 million years?” John said suddenly, walloping Rodney with a seeming non-sequitur.
“So?”
“That's ten-times longer than us.”
Rodney was making his classic 'Are you stupid, crazy, or both?' face. “So?”
“Haven't you ever wondered why we are the only species left alive?”
“No. I already know. We are the most intelligent, strong, and adaptable -”
John pulled back from the cage and snuck in behind Rodney, resting his hands on the scientist's shoulders and gently guiding him to face the creature directly. “You're looking at the reason why we are all those things,” John said softly.
“What,” Rodney whispered - and though it hadn't come out as a question, John answered.
“The Ancients and the Ori have always been on the same side, Rodney. It's all been a big damn lie.”
Rodney's eyes went wide and John let him go, surreptitiously thrilled in watching the wheels of a genius mind spin. McKay had come so far on his own: the road from cold logic to instinctive understanding was a bumpy one, but Rodney had made that journey over and over again - often only because John had asked it of him.
“So dark the con of man, huh?”
Rodney groaned dramatically, pained by John's pathetic attempts at humor.
“So we're all . . . we all have some of this in us?”
John shrugged. “To a degree. The ATA gene binds conflicting genomes together. If you don't have the gene, then-”
“You're pure human?”
“More like watered-down alien. And easier for them to manipulate.” Like Elizabeth.
“It is not her fault!” the creature screamed in a language only John could understand, suddenly on its feet and a little too close to them for comfort. Rodney stumbled back hastily, but John remained near the cage and met the accusing eyes unflinchingly.
“Do not harm her anymore than you already have, traitor!” cried the beast.
“I'll remind you that I'm not the cold-blooded one.”
The creature snarled. “But you know nothing of loyalty.”
John inclined his head. “I remember compassion.”
The beast laughed and it was a forced, ugly noise - far too recognizable as John's own laugh. “Which is why I am the one in a cage.”
**
The puddlejumper sliced through the air on a rather rough trajectory. Rodney's piloting skills still needed serious work, but John could only offer advice from memory.
“Aren't you going to miss flying, John?” came Elizabeth's loaded question from the rear.
John's first thought was: not as much as I missed my humanity.
“I've always found the 302s cooler to pilot. It's that whole monkey-working-with-hands deal, I guess.”
“Hmm. I'll see if we can convince Colonel Caldwell that Atlantis needs a 302 or two.”
John spun around and found Elizabeth smiling gently at him, her eyes amused. Maybe she'd be okay. Maybe they'd all be okay.
Then Rodney attempted to land the puddlejumper and John was amazed that they were all still in one piece.
**
The wind lashed tangles of brown hair into Elizabeth's face as she watched the lizard-John growing smaller in the distance. The weather was harsh - an electrical storm was on the way - but both human and other seemed thrilled by the prospect. John, Rodney, Teyla, Ronon - they all virtually hummed with the energy of it. Rodney was, of course, complaining bitterly about the possibility of getting struck by lightning - but she knew down deep that he only did that when he was experiencing things with a fullness she couldn't quite grasp. The creature was almost out of sight, running through the grassy valley in delight and harmony with nature . . . and he did not look back. With freedom, he had forgotten her. Elizabeth felt tears on her face and she could not explain the cause, only that she'd felt as if she'd lost something precious: a favored servant, perhaps.
“He'll be happier out here. It's like his very own kingdom to rule,” said John at her shoulder, speaking as if all of his own quiet lust for power had gone with the creature. Perhaps it had. Elizabeth frowned and twisted around to look at his face. Surely, there had to be a good reason why the Ancients had altered humanity so drastically. Maybe they had all been hopeless, stupid animals who would never have obtained civilization or scientific advancement without interference . . . but as Elizabeth studied John's expression, she knew there was something horribly wrong with her long-admired Ancients. John looked as though he were at perfect peace: he seemed to be at a place Elizabeth could only brush against slightly after long hours of meditation.
“Elizabeth,” he said.
“Yes?”
“You don't have to become like them.”
**
Rodney found John at 3am in the chair room, the spitting image of Rodin's 'The Thinker' on the dark control chair that would never again light up for him.
“Do you miss it?” Rodney asked, strangely hushed by the gloom of the room and the confused expression on John's tired face.
“Do I miss being able to destroy things with my mind? Let me think about this . . . no.”
“Then why are you here?”
John straightened up, rolling his shoulders to unwind some tension. “Seemed like as good a place as any to think.”
Rodney folded his arms over his chest, feeling uncomfortable, like he knew something he wouldn't like was about to come out of John's mouth.
“I don't want to leave Atlantis, but I don't know what I can do here. I can't be this guy -” John gestured down at the chair “- anymore.”
“As much as I question your intelligence on a regular basis, I'm sure you have talents other than being able to make alien technology glow,” Rodney offered feebly.
“That's just it. I can't do this gene stuff anymore . . . but I don't know if I can do the soldier stuff, either. I don't know if I even want to try.”
Rodney found his ire rising, uncontrollable and burning. “So that's it, huh? You're just too moral for all of us, now? I mean - you're a perfect, untampered with human being - why would you ever want to stay with us? We must be really horrible.”
“Don't be stupid!”
“Oh, so I'm stupid now? I suppose so. The Ancients have probably limited my true intellectual capabilities with their orchestrations-”
“To be honest: yes, they have!” John fired back, rising to stand.
Rodney's expression went from furious to devastated in less than a second. “Oh.”
“Rodney.”
“No, I see. Maybe . . . I mean, maybe you should have my job. You'd probably be better at-”
“Come on, I don't know anything about astrophysics,” said John. But Rodney didn't look at all reassured. He had his arms hugged around himself in some type of self-comfort gesture and it made John's heart hurt.
“I'm sorry for, you know. That thing, when I was ascending. It was inexcusable.”
Rodney's eyes flashed. “Insult to injury, eh? Not smart enough and now, not sexy enough . . . what, does ascension suddenly make people gay?”
John studied his boots. “You know it's not like that. I just had to let you know how I felt and I couldn't say the words yet.”
“Can you say them now?”
“What?”
“The words.”
John lifted his eyes and met Rodney's resolutely, his face insane with courage and sincerity. “I'm in love with you, Rodney.”
“Fuck!” Rodney yelped, astonished.
“Yeah, that's all I used to be able to say about it, too.” John smiled, but it was sad and small, as if he were expecting rejection.
“You idiot. Come here,” Rodney grumbled, reaching out and tugging at John's arms insistently until their bodies were pressed together. Rodney wrapped his arms around John and breathed deeply into John's chest, his feelings trembling in his belly and throat. “I feel the same way.”
“Oh,” said John, muffled against Rodney's forehead. “Guess you're still smarter than me.”
Rodney let his hands wander, feeling like he had just been allowed into the best cookie jar ever. His fingers hesitated on a back pocket before dipping in, scrunching at paper folded inside. Easily distracted, he dug it out and peeked at the contents over John's shoulder.
“What is this?” Rodney demanded.
“I don't know. Evolution still hasn't given me eyes in the back of my head.”
“Smart ass. Here,” Rodney held up the crumpled paper in front of John's face. “Explain.”
John flushed, his eyes recognizing the scribbles of complicated equations. “It's just something I was fooling around with.”
“Shut up. You're hired.”
“What?”
“You should be kissing your new boss and not talking.”
Okay.