Man or Monster 2/2 by kodiak bear [Gods and Monsters challenge]
~*~
Rodney hovers behind Ronon and Lorne; he holds in one hand the life-signs detector and his pistol in the other. John had been gone for days. Days. When Rodney had realized what the double-crossing bastards had done, he'd wanted to... well, he'd wanted to do a lot of things, and none of them were pretty. Thank God for trans-dermal tracking devices!
They creep slowly towards the shelter; Lorne signs for the men to take up their flanking positions. It is then that Rodney sees one of the life signs flicker. “Ronon, there's no more time!”
Ronon nods, deadly. He kicks the door in, barging through with the nose of his weapon leading. “Sheppard!” he shouts. “He's here! He's alive!”
“It's about time! What took you guys?”
It's John's voice and that means that the life sign that just winked out isn't him; it's not John. Rodney's gun falls to his side as he sighs in relief. Lorne's men call “Clear!” and Ronon calls “Doc! You better get in here. Sheppard's hurt.”
“Not me,” John says, “the girl. She's bleeding out.”
Rodney gets his first good look inside then, as Jennifer rushes in with her bags. Ronon is kneeling next to John, scrutinizing the damage, and it's bad. God, is it bad. He's black and blue and his face is so swollen it makes Rodney almost physically sick. But then the smell hits him. Blood. It's saturated the air and Rodney has to cover his nose and mouth to avoid gagging.
A woman lies within John's reach, and Rodney first thinks, no, you didn't...you didn't kill someone this viciously... when he hears the sudden wailing of a baby and realizes that the blood pooling in the sand is under her, coating her exposed thighs. She was beautiful, he realizes with a jolt. Lithe, muscled, young. But now she is leeched of any color and the aura of death clings.
Jennifer drops beside her, moving quickly, efficiently. She tosses Ronon bandages, “Help Colonel Sheppard; wrap, gently; don't wipe.” Then she turns her attention to the woman. She pulls back the flimsy cotton bodice, slapping on EKG adhesive tabs. The steady red line is no surprise to Rodney. He pushes through a trio of Marines, watching grimly, and drops next to John, taking his hand. He grips it so hard it probably hurts, but John doesn't complain. “You idiot,” he breathes warmly. “You stupid stupid idiot.”
John grimaces. “I couldn't kill her, Rodney.” Ronon moves John's head forward, carefully, so he can get the gauze around the back.
Rodney knows the anger will come, but right now, he's still so lost in the euphoria of knowing the disappearing life sign hadn't been John's. So instead of berating, an urge that is surprisingly already hard to fight down, he says, accusingly, “She almost killed you.”
In the background, Rodney hears the steady whine of the heart monitor. The charging of the defibrillator. The sudden electrical hiss of discharge. It goes on and on until finally the piercing sound is abruptly cut-off with the flip of a switch and Jennifer shakes her head.
Stiff-lipped, she says quietly, “She never had a chance, Colonel. Even in an ideal setting, postpartum hemorrhage still claims lives. And this was far less than ideal.”
“Lorne,” John rasps, “take her.”
The crying baby has quieted; exhausted finally. Rodney stares at the tiny face, still filthy from birth. Blood and vernix coat the child's face and arms, and probably all of her body. The baby is tiny and there's a fine layer of lanugo hair telling him that the child came early. The only reason Rodney knows any of this is because of Jeannie. They had been distant, then, and most of it was Rodney's fault, but when he'd learned she was pregnant, he'd read everything on the subject. And then proceeded to ignore her calls and letters.
The Major mouths “me” and looks around the room, searching for someone else who actually wants to hold a newborn. He straightens, coughs, “Uh, Yes, Sir.” When he leans down and gathers the baby, though, he stares in awe at the delicate features and moves with infinite care.
“Wait.” Jennifer pulls some string and surgical scissors. “Umbilical clamps aren't exactly standard field kit gear.” The ropy cord trails from the bottom of the wrap, around the baby's feet, to a discarded heap of rust-brown tissue; now Rodney really feels like gagging.
“There. Now, your turn, Colonel.” She strips off her bloody gloves and pulls on a new pair. She takes his pulse and clips a pulse-ox monitor to his finger. Carefully, but quickly, she moves her hands knowingly up and down his limbs, checking for breaks. “Can you give me a run down on your injuries?”
“Bruises mostly, Doc.” John squeezes Rodney's hand as she probes a tender spot on his belly.
Her eyebrow rises. “That hurt?”
He coughs and mutters, “A little.”
Rodney knows she is taking mental notes. Then she's probing the swollen, blistered flesh around his bandaged eyes. She frowns and lifts the gauze, peering at the damage. “What caused this?”
“Native animal. Spit something.” John shifts position, scooting up the wall slightly. “She rinsed my eyes out, said it's not always permanent.”
“Okay.” She starts unclipping the monitor and opens an oxygen mask, hooking up the tank and adjusting the setting. The hiss fills the oddly quiet room. Rodney realizes that Lorne and the others have left them alone. Ronon still leans nearby, though.
“What's that for? He's okay, isn't he?” Rodney doesn't want to give up the relief he felt at seeing John conscious, talking, moving, even if it was only a little. He isn't the dead body behind them. “He's going to be okay?”
“Just a little oxygen, Rodney. The venom probably has a respiratory effect. It's fairly mild but we don't want to take chances.” She's pushing the non-consumables back in her bag. “You're going to go for a little ride, Colonel. Just lie back and enjoy, all right?”
John lifts his free hand in a whatever gesture.
Jennifer stands and steps over to the entrance, avoiding the splintered remains of the door. “I need the litter in here, please.”
There's just that moment then, where no one else is near except Ronon, and Ronon will always look out for them, that Rodney can lean over and press shaky lips against John's forehead. He inhales sweat and sand and blood and swears if there's germs, John will pay, but he has to make contact, even if it is more with John's hair than his skin. “God, I thought you were dead,” he moans.
John's hand fumbles to Rodney's knee and he squeezes reassuringly. “I know, Rodney. I know.”
“Next time,” Rodney growls, “you shoot. You shoot first and ask questions later.”
His voice is raw, painful. “I can't promise that. We're not like them, Rodney. We're not. I have to believe that.”
Rodney wants to demand why not; he's found his anger. But two Marines crunch across the floor and the moment is gone.
~*~
It is three days before John can see again. The first face he sees is Rodney, blurry and anxious. “Can you see me?”
John grins, even though it hurts like the devil. His nose still feels too big for his face and every move seems to piss of one bruise or another. But he can see!
“John,” Rodney breathes, “look at me.”
“I am,” he says simply.
Jennifer slides in, checking his pupils. The light is kept dim while his eyes adjust. She nods, satisfied. “Well, I think you're ready to get out of my hair, Colonel.” She has a sheet of instructions. Rodney has his clothes. Discreetly, she gathers a bag of medicines and hands them to Rodney, without acknowledging anything. He throws John's clothes onto his bed and John, getting a nod from Doc, slides from the bed. Jennifer draws the curtain around the bed, giving him privacy. To Rodney, she says, “Don't let him forget to apply the salve to the healing blisters around his eyes. It'll sting, but he has to do it. And don't let him forget to stay up on his medication. He'll want to skip doses, but don't let him get away with it. It's an anti-inflammatory combined with a pain reducer.”
“He's right here,” John grouses, sliding on his sweatpants behind the curtain.
Jennifer smiles at Rodney and calls sweetly through the cotton barrier, “I know. And I wanted to make sure we all know, understood?”
John rolls his eyes and immediately regrets it. His skin is healing, but it's tight and still too tender. He hears her leave, and pulling his shirt over his head, peers around the curtain. “Clear?”
“Do you see her?” Rodney says, exasperated.
They haven't been alone since the rescue. The nurses on night duty wouldn't even give John a break. He makes a move, but Rodney dodges. It's not that he doesn't want to grab John and do lewd things, but he doesn't feel like starting something he can't finish. “Wait,” he snaps, impatient himself. “Five minutes. That's all it'll take to get you to your room.”
Sighing, John lets Rodney grab his elbow. To anyone clueless, it looks like a friend helping a friend. To those that know, they can't fail to see the lack of distance between their two bodies, the way John leans just a little too much into Rodney as they walk. Finally they reach John's door and he's shaking, more exhausted than he wants to be. Rodney helps him to his bed and John collapses, weak-kneed. He's even sweating a little.
“Guess full body action is temporarily off the table.”
Rodney's pout is the only thing that keeps John from getting pissed at his condition. He grins mischievously. “But partial is always an option.” A blow job is way preferable to a pill. Endorphins are miraculous things.
“Fine,” Rodney says, “but you will owe me.” He swallows thickly as John begins to inch off his pants, revealing his naked state. Commando-style. Rodney groans, an erection already pressing against his fly.
He drops to his knees and pushes John's legs open; John shivers, anticipating the cool touch of fingers and the sudden rush of warmth as Rodney takes him, erotically deep, nothing tentative or slow, and tongues the sensitive ridges. He wants Rodney; sex makes him forget all his hurts and his regrets, and he's tugging angrily at Rodney's shirt.
“I want more,” John gasps.
Rodney knows he has to be the one in control. John's not physically ready and if he allows John to push too far, they'll both regret it. But he is willing to take John as far as he can handle. Rodney lets John pull his shirt off. He stops long enough to shuck his pants and boxers away. The floor is freezing underneath his bare feet and Rodney orders the temperature a few degrees higher and pushes John over on the bed. “Make room, Christ, it's ice down there.”
“It's gonna be ice up here if you don't get back to it.”
“Ha, ha,” Rodney murmurs, teasing John with a slow lick. “Abstinence is not your thing.”
“And it's yours?” John gasps. He's impatient. There is nothing like a brush with death to fuel one's sex drive. When Rodney pulls away, still lying half between John's spread legs, he almost whimpers. John's eyes are sore and aching and he's keeping them lidded and mostly closed. He hears Rodney rooting around in his nightstand drawer. So it's not a complete surprise when he feels Rodney's fingers pressing against his ass, pushing inside, slick with lube, and filling him. John groans, losing himself, immersing himself in the pleasure of Rodney's fingers and his mouth as it closes down around John's cock.
If John had been healthy, Rodney would have teased; he would've pulled away and demanded his own attention. But John's trembles weren't all pleasure-induced and Rodney finger fucks John, sucks him off, without drawing it out any longer than he has to. And when John comes, it's hard and fast, and he lies panting and sweaty, utterly spent.
It takes Rodney only a few more minutes to come himself, pressing against John, stroking himself. When he collapses into a naked heap, half on top of John, wishing for a larger bed, he's almost as equally done-in.
They didn't touch so much as own. They didn't sleep.
Rodney is the first to pull away. “I need to do your eyes.”
“I don't think it goes there, Rodney,” John drawls lazily.
“Idiot.” Rodney reluctantly shoves off. John hears him rustle through the bag. He doesn't want this; sting is an understatement. The skin is still burned-sensitive. It feels like rubbing salt in an open wound.
He glares at Rodney through slitted eyes. “The sex was bribery, wasn't it?”
“I never said I was above such under-handed tactics.” Rodney grins like he's achieved something big. “I gave you earth-shattering sex; the least you can do is keep still.”
John rolls his head. “I don't know about earth-shattering-”
“Think before you say another word,” Rodney threatens, “because your only source of sex needs a lot of ego-stroking.”
“- it was universe-shattering,” John finishes smoothly, “mind-boggling, the best sex I've ever had.”
Rodney makes an affirmative sound. He gestures at John's head. “Lift up.” Rodney fluffs the pillows and gets them arranged so John's head is tilted at a forty-five degree angle. They both know this will not be fast and it will not be easy, for either of them. Comfortably nude, Rodney edges over John with a gentle push of his hip, skin-to-skin heat warming them.
He takes it slow, feather-light touches with fingertips coated in salve. John gasps when the first wave of pain bites into him.
“I can't believe you let a pregnant woman capture you.”
“I can't believe you're bringing this up now.”
“Yes, well, causing you pain reminds me all over again what a moron you are.” Rodney's words are cutting, but underneath, John hears the hurt. He understands, really. In Rodney's shoes, he'd be pissed too. But he'd be pissed at the girl, not Rodney. Trouble is, Rodney sees John as always capable of anything. If Rodney thinks it should be done, then John can do it. Maybe it's because John has always done whatever it has taken. Except once. And look how well that ended? He'd killed Kolya anyway, but not before he captured John, tortured him. Rodney thought John had learned his lesson, and he sees things too often as black and white, right and wrong.
John had maybe thought he'd learned, too, until the moment had been on him. Until she'd slipped into the room where he'd been told to wait, and came at him with her staff. He'd seen her protruding belly and hesitated and in that moment of hesitation, she had known she had him. One well-placed hit and he'd fallen into darkness knowing he'd screwed up.
“They hate us, Rodney.” John whispers, pushing those memories away. “I thought I could reason with her. Stop something bad from happening, but you can't reason with hatred that strong, that powerful.”
Rodney pulls away. He's silent as he reseals the ointment. John stares at his profile; Rodney hasn't shaved in days and he looks strung out on powerbars and coffee. John realizes, belatedly, that there never will be any reasoning with the wraith worshipers. He knows all too well the lengths a person will go when the lives of those they love are threatened.
Once, Elizabeth had been willing to let John die for her morals. Her ethical line. She had cared for him, not loved. But John isn't so sure he'd be that strong if it were Rodney that was taken. He isn't sure at all. And that terrifies him.
“There's one less out there now,” Rodney says quietly. He fishes through the pile of discarded clothes and pulls on his boxers. “And the Athosians have a new baby.”
“She was desperate, Rodney.”
Rodney brings John's sweats to him, stares at him bleakly. “Don't ask me to forgive her,” he says. “I won't. She almost killed you. If you'd been permanently blinded-”
“I'm not.” John sighs, scrubs his hand through his hair, ruffling it thoroughly. “It's just... they're not monsters, Rodney. They're just people pushed too far. If anything, you should be able to understand that.”
“Maybe someday.” Rodney sits and, beside him, John pulls his sweats over his hips. It takes what little is left of his energy. “But not now. Not when I get to spend the next week hurting you, over and over again.” His eyes glitter angrily. “And not for a while after that. You know I don't forget, John. I don't ever forget.”
The End