SGA Fic: By Any Other Name (McKay/Sheppard, R)
Title: By Any Other Name
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: R
Length: 5500 words
Summary: "It'd become the background accompaniment to John's life, revving John up and settling him down and bringing him home."
Beta thanks to audrarose and spikedluv! *hugs* Any remaining mistakes are my own.
By Any Other Name
by Sori
Between going to a new galaxy, life-sucking aliens and shooting his commanding officer, it'd just been one of those kinds of days. John had been sure that he'd managed to disappear for a few minutes of peace just outside the secured perimeter, but no sooner had he settled on the balcony than McKay stormed out the door, jacket flapping behind him, hands already gesturing and words already tumbling out. John was more than mildly surprised
"Major Sheppard, if you're done feeling sorry for yourself," McKay was saying, already in the middle of a conversation that John didn't want to have. "We've discovered -"
"Not now, McKay." John leaned against the railing on the balcony, staring at the water and imagining for a minute that maybe McKay would actually leave. Figured it was a long shot anyway when McKay took up a spot next to him, shoulder to shoulder, hands dangling over the edge.
"Huh." McKay said. "Figures you'd say that." He didn't say anything else, just stood there pointedly not looking at John, letting the silence wrap around them like the cool Atlantis breeze.
The silence was hovering dangerously close to uncomfortable. John wasn't in the mood for company and McKay didn't seem the type to be in the mood ever. But instead of huffing out an excuse and leaving, McKay stretched out his arms, letting his body lean stiffly over the railing, looking straight ahead into the darkness.
"About Colonel Sumner -" McKay's voice was loud against the sound of the waves.
"McKay. No." John felt the nausea creep into his stomach, felt his heart start to pound. "Just… No."
During the mission debriefing, he'd seen the looks on the senior staff's faces when he'd told the story of Sumner and a bullet; he'd seen their surprise when they realized that he wasn't just a pilot, but a pilot who could use a weapon to hit a target exactly, with no room for error. He'd seen their haunted eyes looking at him, all of them instinctively knowing that John was still seeing Sumner's eyes give that final order.
Afterward, people had squeezed his shoulder and saluted him in the halls; they'd said things like: it was the right thing to do and it was a good call and you did what needed to be done. Empty words because John could still hear the whoosh of the bullet, feel the recoil of the rifle in his shoulder, could close his eyes and clearly see the look in Sumner's eyes.
"Right," McKay said awkwardly, but not even close to apologetically. "Well…," His voice cracked a little, and John realized how uncomfortable McKay was with this entire situation. Uncomfortable, but stubbornly continuing, "That's what I would have wanted, I think."
McKay's words settled in his stomach: heavy, painful, honest, meaningful in ways everyone else's words had been meaningless. Because, yeah, that's what John would have wanted, too. And maybe that was what he really needed to hear.
John didn't have to turn his head to know that McKay was looking out over the water staring into the darkness. No hand gestures or shoulder shrugs, just a stillness that said more than the words. John hadn't known McKay long, weeks and counting, but he hadn't seemed like the guy you'd go to for help when life went to hell. John realized that, possibly, he still had a lot to learn.
He nodded his head, hoping McKay would get it, a silent acknowledgement, because John seriously wasn't up to saying more on the subject. Not yet, maybe not ever.
McKay shuffled beside him, levering his hands off the railing, pushing his body back and letting his shoulder brush against John's for a second as he straightened. "So, how'd it feel?"
"What?" John tilted his head from side to side, feeling the muscles stretch, the joints pop.
"The spaceship thing." McKay's hands gestured wildly, almost hitting John in the shoulder before settling easily back on the railing. Apparently, even spaceships were the stuff of science fiction to McKay and strangely, that made John feel a little less out of his depth. "How'd it feel to fly the shuttle?" McKay's head turned toward John, watching him carefully, eyebrows raised, crooked mouth turned down at the corner.
"A shuttle? Are we on the Starship Enterprise?" John asked, because, really, it was too good an opening to pass up.
"Don't be an ass, Major Sheppard."
John felt the start of smile easing onto his face. The memories of speed and control and spaceflight weren't totally lost in the other events. "It was…cool. Very cool."
"Yeah." John couldn't mistake the longing in McKay's voice for anything other than what it was; John had felt it often enough to know the sound.
There was a good six inches of space between his shoulder and McKay's but John could feel the heat rolling off McKay's body, could feel how his shoulders were blocking the brunt of the ocean breeze. Solid and dependable, sort of, like maybe the word team would get new meaning in a new galaxy.
Turning to face McKay, John said, "You know, it was almost like a jet, the control of an F-16 with the power of an F-111. But with a better response time. Good stuff."
Rodney was staring at him and John could actually see the snide remark start to form in his head, could see the blue of Rodney's eyes flash in the darkness; could see when Rodney understood the peace offering for what it was. John tried, but couldn't quite hide the smile when Rodney said, "Usually I'd tell you how completely wrong you are and that the mechanics of any space-going craft are entirely different from simple propulsion aircraft."
"But?" John twisted, leaning his elbows on the railing waving a hand at McKay, waiting until he moved next to John and they were both looking out over the ocean and watching the soft glow of the three Atlantean moons.
"Yes, well, it's the start of our second day in a new galaxy, Major Sheppard. I'll save it for tomorrow."
John lounged against the lab table across from Rodney's workstation. He'd spent the last 20 minutes walking around the room, picking up various objects from the tables, watching them glow under his hands, feeling them vibrate against his fingertips.
Rodney had stayed stubbornly focused on his work - pointedly ignoring him, John was sure - when John strolled over to one of the longest workbenches and settled in to watch. Rodney's hands moved between laptop, data device, and some sort of Ancient…thing. It looked like a scroll, a long cylinder with smoothly rounded ends and ornate engravings running the length. Innocuous looking, by all standards, which probably meant it was anything but.
Rodney leaned across the table, reaching for a circuit tester. He stretched, pulling the fabric of his shirt and pants tight against his body; arm muscles defined against the black of the shirt, stomach almost flat and easy to see where his pants dipped low on his waist.
Lately, Rodney's black tee shirt had been getting tighter around his biceps, not tight enough to cling but tight enough that John noticed the change. He'd heard rumors of Rodney in the gym at odd hours of the night, sweaty and red faced, dressed in ripped sweats and tee shirts with rude slogans. Apparently, Rodney's Talk nerdy to me tee shirt had made quite an impression on the botany department.
Rodney never mentioned his late night gym sessions, at least not to John, but he was huffing less on the long hikes from the Stargate to whatever bum-fuck village they were exploring. Less huffing and more bitching and somehow that seemed just about right. It was good.
Rodney slammed down the ancient device he was working on - not dangerous, John decided - and glared at John across the few feet separating them.
"Okay, what exactly are you doing here, Major?" Rodney asked, twisting the word 'Major', letting the tone say more than the word.
"Not much. Mostly waiting."
"For?" Rodney's voice was forced calm and John could see his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the desk.
"For you," John replied, hiding his grin as he hopped up on the workbench to sit. Swinging his legs, John reached over and started rifling through a stack of notebooks next to him.
"I'm busy doing actual work. Unlike you, I might add. So if you would please…," Rodney's voice was getting louder, his hands starting to gesture in short choppy motions, "Leave."
"Yeah, okay. But there's this rumor floating around that you found a flight simulator in one of the labs. An ancient flight simulator." John tossed the notebook aside, watched as Rodney's eyes widened, his nose flared and he started to sputter out random sounds.
"Oh my God, you're here for a video game!" Rodney accused, staring unbelievably at John. "I should have known."
"What? It's a flight simulator -- a training tool. I have pilots to train." Reaching into his pocket, John pulled out his neatly formatted training matrix. "Lt. Franklin, SGT Roberts, Gunney Bimmel -"
"Training tool? Are you insane?" Rodney's cheeks were red, his eyes flashing and, damn if John didn't see the start of a grin somewhere on the corners of Rodney's mouth. He paused, taking in Rodney's flushed cheeks and grinning eyes, and asked innocently:
"You've been playing with it, haven't you?"
"Of course I have! Do I look like an idiot?" Rodney rolled his eyes and started packing up his tools, carefully closing his laptop and clearing the workbench.
"And you didn't share? Way to play well with others, Rodney," John said, knowing he was close to whining and not really caring because -- ancient flight simulator.
"What? Don't be stupid, Major. Of course, I was going to share. Eventually." Locking up the ancient device in a box, he looked over at John and said, "As soon as the rest of Atlantis gets a hold of the simulator, we'll never see it again. Even you'll have to fight for time."
"Where'd you hide it, anyway?" John hopped off the table and caught up with Rodney as he was walking out the lab door.
"It's in my office right now. I've had to move it every few days since Zelenka's been looking for it all week. Crazy Czech."
A couple of hours later, John could completely relate to Zelenka's relentless search for the simulator. John was grinning maniacally, hands sweat-slick, arms trembling and feeling like the kid he used to be on the Santa Cruz boardwalk riding the rickety old wooden roller coaster. He was sitting in front of a small metal box with glowing crystals and the holographic image of a puddle jumper cockpit complete with view screen hovering in the air two feet in front of him.
Rodney stood behind him, close enough that John could feel the warmth of his chest and the soft fabric of his tee shirt when John leaned back for a simulated turn. John shook his head, trying to crane his neck around to get a view out the right side of the screen and thought down down right at the box. The image in front of him dipped smoothly, descending toward the illusion of the open Atlantean ocean, the choppy waves almost crashing against the bottom of the jumper as it turned easily right. Smooth and fast, so fast, and it was so damn close to being as good as a jumper.
"Wait. Just…hang on a second," Rodney said as he shuffled closer, leaning over John to push a button on the metal box, reseating a crystal in one control panel. The holograph screen flickered, lines racing across the image, blurring the view. When the image cleared, John was suddenly flying low over familiar ocean, dirty blue Pacific water with a distinctive California bay to his right, red bridge arches and support wires rising into the sky. John felt Rodney stand up, stepping away from John's chair and putting some space between them. John thought the jumper into an easy hover and stared in wonder.
"You programmed San Francisco?"
Rodney rolled his eyes, and said, "No. I programmed Earth. It just happens to be in the general vicinity of San Francisco."
"Right." John said, smiling, imagining for a minute that he was actually in a jumper, flying across the San Francisco Bay, buzzing Alcatraz, skimming the water underneath the Golden Gate Bridge. "So, I'm thinking that maybe we need a few more days to iron out the kinks in the simulator." Rodney raised his eyebrow, lips curled up, waiting as John continued, "Better keep it between the two of us. For a few more days."
"No way can I hide the thing from Zelenka much longer." Rodney said.
"We can store it in my quarters. He'll never think to look there," John said, setting the puddle jumper in motion again, watching the rolling hills of the San Francisco Bay speed by.
John thought it might have been the first time he'd actually heard Rodney laugh, free and easy, no trace of sarcasm in the sound. John smiled when Rodney said, "I think we understand each other perfectly, Major."
John hadn't realized how a two minute conversation, angry and awkward, standing in front of an Ancient elevator, could change things so dramatically; hadn't understood how words like trust and earning it back could somehow turn into four weeks of awkward moments, averted eyes and silent missions.
"Rodney, are you sure you've got it?" John asked for the third time, standing behind Rodney and peering over his shoulder. He watched as Rodney's fingers flew over the connections on the Ancient data port, stripping wires and moving crystals.
"Yes, yes. I'm sure. Just shut up already." Rodney muttered, pulling out his scanner and connecting it to his laptop.
"Look, Rodney. You need to be sure, we're on a schedule here." John looked down at his watch, mostly useless away from Earth but still comfortable and familiar.
"Damn it, Colonel Sheppard." Rodney spit out John's name, curling his lip up, grimacing like it left a sour taste on his tongue. "It's a simple data upload. A first year graduate student could do this. If you think I'm incapable," Rodney's hand jerked across his body, pointing at the laptop, glaring at the John, "then you need to consider replacing me with someone you find more competent."
Rodney dropped down on one knee, returning to his laptop and pushing a few buttons. Two crystals in the Atlantis device blinked - once, twice - before they glowed steadily and the laptop's screen started flashing, scrolling through page after page of information. Ronon and Teyla took a few steps away, looking away from John and Rodney, securing a perimeter they had already secured.
"Rodney -" John started, shocked.
"No. Not a word." The laptop beeped and Rodney disconnected the equipment and packed it into his rucksack. He swung the bag over his shoulder and said, "I'm done. Let's go."
The walk back to the jumper was longer than John remembered. Rodney walked alongside Ronon on point and John heard them grunt at each other occasionally, saying something that only the two of them could decipher. Ronon handed Rodney a power bar and Rodney took it with a silent nod. Teyla trailed behind John, watching their backs and leaving John to wonder what they had destroyed when that solar system blew.
***
Elizabeth had stopped asking Rodney if 'he was sure' after two days. Zelenka had never asked, not even once, instead John had periodically heard him muttering about Rodney and the cost of science and something in Czech that sounded a lot like John's name and the word dumbass. John's Czech was horrible and consisted mostly of the words he'd picked up on a two-month TDY near the Balkans - please, bathroom, sex, hotel - so he assumed that he got that last part mostly wrong.
John couldn't remember spending any non-mission time with Rodney in the last four weeks and he had to work to recall a conversation between them that didn't involve some form of are you sure or I can do this. It's not that John and Rodney had ever really hung out, watching movies or playing pool on the fabricated pool table in the Level 4 Lab, but he'd grown used to being around Rodney: in the labs or at the briefings; lingering in the mess hall after meals; walking easily, side by side on missions; happily debating something as they walked the long corridors of Atlantis.
The loss was obvious now, after discovering how close they were to personally imploding, and John found himself longing for their teasing banter or easy familiarity. The loss tightened the knot in his stomach, made the acids churn, made his head pound painfully near the base of his skull.
That night, John knocked on Rodney's door.
"Colonel Sheppard," Rodney said, and John found himself craving the sound of Rodney's voice saying his name with something other than this bitterness.
"Hey, Rodney. You busy?" John asked, trying to smile and knowing that he was probably failing miserably. Rodney had learned to read John's expressions, fake or otherwise, after three months on Atlantis.
"Probably. What do you want?" Rodney's body stood in the doorway, stiff and formal, uncomfortable with his hands clenched and eyes looking tired and red-rimmed. John couldn't quite see into Rodney's room, but he vividly remembered the stacks of books and piles of crumpled paper that Rodney always had scattered on the floor and bed.
"I've got the Hail Mary tape, a bottle of the Athosian ale and a laptop with a widescreen. I'm thinking football." John held up his hands, juggling the goods and smiling winningly, he hoped.
"Right. Football." Rodney's hand was slowly unclenching and John could see his shoulders relax, settling easier into his uniform shirt. "I don't like football."
"Well, yeah, but Peterson has the copy of the Stanley Cup and I couldn't negotiate a trade." John pushed his shoulder into Rodney, elbowing his way into Rodney's room, settling the laptop on the desk. "Pull up a chair. I brought dessert."
Rodney's eyes lit up at the mention of dessert and he stumbled away from the door, moving toward John with an expression that was not-quite-scowl-like. "Dessert?"
"Two Snicker bars," John said, digging in his pocket and pulling out the candy bars. "Stale but still edible."
"So, this is… What? An apology?" Rodney asked, hand outstretched, not quite touching the candy bar dangling from John's fingers. John could see the slight tremble in Rodney's hands, the flash of blue in his eyes that looked a lot like hope.
"Not so much, no." John pulled two chairs up to the desk, setting them in front of the computer screen, so close together they almost touched. He sprawled out in one chair and waved his hand at Rodney. "Do you feel like apologizing again?"
"I've already done that," Rodney said, dropping into the chair with a heavy thunk. "Lot of good it did me."
"Yeah, about that…" John flailed, not quite sure what to say. Rodney had screwed up big, and it wasn't something that either of them could forget. But Rodney had spent a lot of months proving himself before that screw up and had spent quite a bit of time proving himself again after that screw up. And when John stopped remembering the white hot flash of exploding star systems, when he stopped remembering that feeling right before they almost died and he almost lost Rodney, he knew that Rodney wasn't the only one on that planet. He wasn't the only one responsible.
"I probably owe you an apology," John said, turning his head toward Rodney, letting Rodney find the truth in his face. "I really am sorry. You've earned my trust back. It's just…," not always that easy to let it go, John wanted to say. But, those were just words and words weren't going to fix all the things that were broken.
"Apology accepted," Rodney said, watching John carefully. "And I get it. I really do, but…." Rodney tipped his head back, letting his neck brush the back of the stiff chair. He moved and his arm settled tightly against John's, the fabric of their shirts shuffling together. They were draped in their chairs with their legs spread out against each other, ankles crossed, staring at a closed laptop, mistakes and empty words forcing them still and uncomfortable.
"Can we fix this?" John asked. "Because I think we can." His chest clenched painfully as he watched Rodney turn and look at him. Rodney's eyes were still bloodshot, still tired and edged in red, but looking more open than John remembered seeing in the last very long month.
"Yeah. Yeah we can." Rodney didn't smile, but he rolled his eyes and knocked John in the stomach with the back of his hand.
John nodded, and Rodney said, "Trust me, Colonel Sheppard."
They'd spent two days on the recently culled planet, exploring the ruins of the civilization. The buildings were mostly rubble but the metal in the structures was strong, fairly new, and interesting enough to warrant a second look, Rodney thought. Now, walking back to the jumper, packs on their backs, faces dusty, bodies tired, Rodney was the only one still talking. Everyone else was grunting in annoyance.
In this case, worth a second look had turned out to mean mostly useless.
"It might be an interesting metal source for piping on the mainland," Rodney was saying around a mouthful of crackers from his MRE. "We can't spare the materials used on Atlantis, but with this metal and some basic industrial-era technology - if we can get the Athosians educated enough to run the machinery, which, okay, might not be so likely in the near future, but maybe - it's possible they could have running water in years. Or months," Rodney added hastily when Teyla blinked meaningfully at him.
Ronon and Teyla lengthened their stride and pushed ahead of their small group. Rodney looked over at John, shook his head and said, "Huh. Think it was something I said?"
Stuffing the wrapper in his pocket, Rodney fell into easy step next to John, close enough that their shoulders brushed; close enough that John could smell the crackers on Rodney's breath, the sweat from two days in the sun, the smell of military issue sunscreen. John shook his head, and shrugged his shoulder against Rodney. "Yeah, can't imagine why they'd want to get away from you."
"Yeah, can't imagine. I've been told I'm an enlightening conversationalist, Colonel." Rodney almost managed to keep a straight face and John might have even missed the tell tale twitch of his smile if he hadn't been intently watching Rodney's mouth move.
Two years and John still found the sharpened Canadian vowels to be somehow both familiar and fascinating; he could hear Rodney's voice in his head more often than not: of course, Colonel, don't be a moron, Colonel, do you have any idea, Colonel…. It'd become the background accompaniment to John's life, revving John up and settling him down and bringing him home, in some sort of way at least. Although John really didn't like to belabor that last point.
After a while, John had realized that 'Colonel' was starting to sound like alot of things besides just 'Colonel'. Rodney's mouth would round out a little on the word, and the thin line of his upper lip would relax; the syllables would roll off his tongue with a familiar and comfortable Canadian twang that somehow shortened the whole word to something specific, direct, all encompassing. It was like a code that he doubted Rodney even recognized, not consciously at least. But it was…good. It was team and communication, and something that felt eerily more complicated than their friendship.
John shifted his vest and picked up the pace. His right hand rested easily on the stock of his P90, pushing his weapon slightly away from his body, letting his left hand swing loosely at his side. He could feel Rodney's fingers occasionally brush against the back of his hand, a swipe of slick skin, the soft scratch of hair against his wrist.
He was completely unprepared for the ground under his feet to give way, to feel himself falling until he collided hard at the bottom of a pit on his right shoulder and side. The pain exploded in his body, moving up his legs, across his chest, down into his arms. He could feel the world tilt, dizziness setting in and his vision starting to gray out. Trying to reach for the flashlight in his vest, he gasped at the stabbing pain near his ribs. "Fuck."
"Colonel? Colonel!"
"Rodney," he tried to say loud enough for Rodney to hear, but couldn't force the word out. Gritting his teeth, he rolled a little, holding onto his side and hoping to reach his radio. Unable to move his arm all the way to the talk button, he finally gave up, settling carefully back against the wet ground to wait.
"Just hang on," Rodney shouted down at him.
John could hear voices floating above, Teyla and Ronon's muffled sounds and Rodney screaming something in response. A light shining down into the pit startled him and he could just make out the shadows of Rodney's face looking through the hole above him, worried and frowning probably, because he could hear it in Rodney's voice.
"Colonel…," Rodney said. "Just…okay, I - wait a second."
Frantic voices from above, saying something about hunting traps, big game, going into shock until John heard Rodney loudly shout, "Of course, I'm going down. Just figure out a way to get him up."
Seconds later, a shower of dirt rained down on his face as Rodney slid down the side of the pit, landing heavily next to John's legs. He groaned as Rodney's hand reached out and touched his leg, feeling his way carefully up John's body.
Every breath was a fight now and he felt his vision start to narrow and go black at the edges. Struggling, he gasped out, "Rodney," and blindly reached out, reaching, reaching, until warm fingers clasped around his hand, holding tight and pulling him in close.
Right before the world went black, he heard Rodney yell, panicked, "Colonel!"
Rodney's voice was loud and abrasive as he said, "The idiot Colonel that...," followed by, "Fool of unknown proportions…," and John sort of tuned the rest of the rant out as he floated fairly comfortably on painkillers and a warm bed.
"Perhaps, Dr. McKay, if you spoke in a more agreeable manner, Colonel Sheppard could be assured of the rest his body requires," Teyla said, interrupting and staring at Rodney with a small frown.
"What?" Outraged, Rodney stood at the foot of John's bed, unshaven, clothes wrinkled, uniform pants still slightly dingy from the planet's dirt and glared at both John and Teyla. "He's not dying, you know. He fell in an animal trap and then Carson fixed him. The way you are all treating him, you'd think he'd been heroically wounded." Shaking his head, he flopped down into a nearby chair. "Tell them, Colonel."
John turned his head and looked over at Rodney. "Yeah, okay. Tell them what?" John almost laughed at Rodney's expression, then felt the burning pain in his side at the movement and, okay, ouch. Apparently, Beckett was withholding the good drugs.
"That you're not dying, Colonel." Rodney rolled his eyes, stood up and started pacing back and forth at the foot of John's bed. "Jesus. Surrounded by idiots."
"Right. I'm not dying." His broken ribs hurt like a son-of-bitch and Rodney's pacing was making him dizzy. Mostly, he really wanted to close his eyes and not wonder if the three of them were going to stand there and watch him sleep, because Rodney was right, he wasn't dying. "Could you all leave now?"
Teyla smiled slightly and gently squeezed his arm; Ronon nodded his head and said, "Sheppard," before they both turned and walked out the door. Rodney stopped pacing and stared at John for a minute before walking to the side of the bed and carefully sitting on the edge.
"Rodney." John cringed, hoping to God that Rodney wasn't suddenly developing some sort of bedside manner because he could so do without the touching 'glad you're okay' speech.
"You are such an asshole," Rodney said, while reaching out and picking up John's hand to trace a finger softly around the taped IV line. "Just so you know, I had to carry all of your gear back to the puddle jumper. My knees were already bad and now, they're probably destroyed. It's entirely your fault." His fingers trailed softly across John's skin, tracing the swirls of hair on John's hand, smiling a little when John's hand twitched at the contact.
"Sorry?" John asked, not sure what the response was supposed to be but absolutely sure that Rodney's hands felt amazing. The easy touch was somehow bleeding away the pain, replacing it with a slow rolling tingle that had John's toes curling into the cool sheet.
"Yeah, I'll just bet you are. Impervious to the Wraith and nuclear weapons but almost taken out by hole in the ground." Rodney snorted. John thought that maybe Beckett had actually given him the good drugs because the sound was oddly endearing.
Rodney set John's hand carefully down on the bed, smoothing his fingers across John's palm before letting go. He stood and watched John for a second before saying, "So. I'm glad you're not dead."
"Yeah. I'm pretty happy about that, too," John said on a yawn. His hand felt cold, skin tingling, missing the warmth of Rodney's hand. He stared as Rodney reached toward him, slowly, fingers outstretched and John just knew Rodney was going to run his fingertips down John's cheek; he could almost imagine the soft scratch of Rodney's nails against his stubble. His eyes closed, his mouth open slightly, waiting for the touch, wanting it so much, but fearing it, because his life was complicated enough already.
Instead, Rodney carefully touched his shoulder, squeezing hard before stepping slowly back. Opening his eyes, he blinked and saw Rodney watching him, blue eyes almost black in the light.
"Rodney." John's voice was hoarse, hardly recognizable, and John wasn't quite sure what he was going to say, just knowing that he had to say something.
"Later, Colonel. Don't let Carson torture you too much." Rodney said, voice quiet - and maybe a little hesitant, John thought - before he turned on his heel and strolled slowly out the door, hands in his pockets.
John settled back against the pillow, closing his eyes and trying not to remember the feel of Rodney's fingers against his skin. Hell of a time to figure out that Rodney's voice wasn’t the only thing that revved him up.
***
Two weeks later, John headed back to his room after his first full day back on limited duty. He wearily walked through the door and found himself surprised by quick arms wrapping around him and pressing him against the wall next to the dresser. A second to recognize the arms, a second more to register how good they felt and John figured it might not have been the smartest move to spend the last two weeks avoiding Rodney.
"Rodney," John gasped out before Rodney's lips brushed softly against his, his tongue darting out to smoothly trace the line of John's lips.
"Rodney…wait," John said, scrambling his arms around, trying to get a grip on Rodney's shoulders. Too complicated, everything was already too complicated, and the last thing he needed was this.
"No. No, no, no. Just…shut up," Rodney said as he pulled John closer, pushing and wiggling, until their bodies pressed tightly together, the space between them gone in the moment.
He could hear Rodney's voice, softly panting between kisses, quiet sounds on every breath. John couldn't understand what he was saying, he could only catch the frantic rhythm of the words.
Rodney licked into John's mouth, smooth strokes of tongue, quick and almost-painful bites to his lips and the corner of his mouth, and God, down his neck. He moaned around Rodney's tongue, yesyesyes, because it was so good -- the taste of Rodney, the feel of Rodney's hands and body, the heat of that warm dick pressing insistently against John's hip.
Rodney's voice was pulling John in closer and closer, and Rodney wound his hand through John's hair, wrapping himself around and into John. Still chanting, the sounds muffled and lost into the breath of John's mouth, until, on a gasp, Rodney's words slowed and became just one clear, easy word.
Between one kiss and the next, John smiled, grabbed Rodney's hips and pulled him in closer, grinding their bodies together, forcing sweetly hot to give way to overwhelmingly complicated. Because -- yes; because if Rodney saying Colonel was like coming home then this -- this was even better, like home and Atlantis and jumpers in San Francisco.
Rodney laughed and John could feel the soft brush of lips against his cheek as Rodney leaned close and whispered:
"John."
-End-
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: R
Length: 5500 words
Summary: "It'd become the background accompaniment to John's life, revving John up and settling him down and bringing him home."
Beta thanks to audrarose and spikedluv! *hugs* Any remaining mistakes are my own.
By Any Other Name
by Sori
Between going to a new galaxy, life-sucking aliens and shooting his commanding officer, it'd just been one of those kinds of days. John had been sure that he'd managed to disappear for a few minutes of peace just outside the secured perimeter, but no sooner had he settled on the balcony than McKay stormed out the door, jacket flapping behind him, hands already gesturing and words already tumbling out. John was more than mildly surprised
"Major Sheppard, if you're done feeling sorry for yourself," McKay was saying, already in the middle of a conversation that John didn't want to have. "We've discovered -"
"Not now, McKay." John leaned against the railing on the balcony, staring at the water and imagining for a minute that maybe McKay would actually leave. Figured it was a long shot anyway when McKay took up a spot next to him, shoulder to shoulder, hands dangling over the edge.
"Huh." McKay said. "Figures you'd say that." He didn't say anything else, just stood there pointedly not looking at John, letting the silence wrap around them like the cool Atlantis breeze.
The silence was hovering dangerously close to uncomfortable. John wasn't in the mood for company and McKay didn't seem the type to be in the mood ever. But instead of huffing out an excuse and leaving, McKay stretched out his arms, letting his body lean stiffly over the railing, looking straight ahead into the darkness.
"About Colonel Sumner -" McKay's voice was loud against the sound of the waves.
"McKay. No." John felt the nausea creep into his stomach, felt his heart start to pound. "Just… No."
During the mission debriefing, he'd seen the looks on the senior staff's faces when he'd told the story of Sumner and a bullet; he'd seen their surprise when they realized that he wasn't just a pilot, but a pilot who could use a weapon to hit a target exactly, with no room for error. He'd seen their haunted eyes looking at him, all of them instinctively knowing that John was still seeing Sumner's eyes give that final order.
Afterward, people had squeezed his shoulder and saluted him in the halls; they'd said things like: it was the right thing to do and it was a good call and you did what needed to be done. Empty words because John could still hear the whoosh of the bullet, feel the recoil of the rifle in his shoulder, could close his eyes and clearly see the look in Sumner's eyes.
"Right," McKay said awkwardly, but not even close to apologetically. "Well…," His voice cracked a little, and John realized how uncomfortable McKay was with this entire situation. Uncomfortable, but stubbornly continuing, "That's what I would have wanted, I think."
McKay's words settled in his stomach: heavy, painful, honest, meaningful in ways everyone else's words had been meaningless. Because, yeah, that's what John would have wanted, too. And maybe that was what he really needed to hear.
John didn't have to turn his head to know that McKay was looking out over the water staring into the darkness. No hand gestures or shoulder shrugs, just a stillness that said more than the words. John hadn't known McKay long, weeks and counting, but he hadn't seemed like the guy you'd go to for help when life went to hell. John realized that, possibly, he still had a lot to learn.
He nodded his head, hoping McKay would get it, a silent acknowledgement, because John seriously wasn't up to saying more on the subject. Not yet, maybe not ever.
McKay shuffled beside him, levering his hands off the railing, pushing his body back and letting his shoulder brush against John's for a second as he straightened. "So, how'd it feel?"
"What?" John tilted his head from side to side, feeling the muscles stretch, the joints pop.
"The spaceship thing." McKay's hands gestured wildly, almost hitting John in the shoulder before settling easily back on the railing. Apparently, even spaceships were the stuff of science fiction to McKay and strangely, that made John feel a little less out of his depth. "How'd it feel to fly the shuttle?" McKay's head turned toward John, watching him carefully, eyebrows raised, crooked mouth turned down at the corner.
"A shuttle? Are we on the Starship Enterprise?" John asked, because, really, it was too good an opening to pass up.
"Don't be an ass, Major Sheppard."
John felt the start of smile easing onto his face. The memories of speed and control and spaceflight weren't totally lost in the other events. "It was…cool. Very cool."
"Yeah." John couldn't mistake the longing in McKay's voice for anything other than what it was; John had felt it often enough to know the sound.
There was a good six inches of space between his shoulder and McKay's but John could feel the heat rolling off McKay's body, could feel how his shoulders were blocking the brunt of the ocean breeze. Solid and dependable, sort of, like maybe the word team would get new meaning in a new galaxy.
Turning to face McKay, John said, "You know, it was almost like a jet, the control of an F-16 with the power of an F-111. But with a better response time. Good stuff."
Rodney was staring at him and John could actually see the snide remark start to form in his head, could see the blue of Rodney's eyes flash in the darkness; could see when Rodney understood the peace offering for what it was. John tried, but couldn't quite hide the smile when Rodney said, "Usually I'd tell you how completely wrong you are and that the mechanics of any space-going craft are entirely different from simple propulsion aircraft."
"But?" John twisted, leaning his elbows on the railing waving a hand at McKay, waiting until he moved next to John and they were both looking out over the ocean and watching the soft glow of the three Atlantean moons.
"Yes, well, it's the start of our second day in a new galaxy, Major Sheppard. I'll save it for tomorrow."
John lounged against the lab table across from Rodney's workstation. He'd spent the last 20 minutes walking around the room, picking up various objects from the tables, watching them glow under his hands, feeling them vibrate against his fingertips.
Rodney had stayed stubbornly focused on his work - pointedly ignoring him, John was sure - when John strolled over to one of the longest workbenches and settled in to watch. Rodney's hands moved between laptop, data device, and some sort of Ancient…thing. It looked like a scroll, a long cylinder with smoothly rounded ends and ornate engravings running the length. Innocuous looking, by all standards, which probably meant it was anything but.
Rodney leaned across the table, reaching for a circuit tester. He stretched, pulling the fabric of his shirt and pants tight against his body; arm muscles defined against the black of the shirt, stomach almost flat and easy to see where his pants dipped low on his waist.
Lately, Rodney's black tee shirt had been getting tighter around his biceps, not tight enough to cling but tight enough that John noticed the change. He'd heard rumors of Rodney in the gym at odd hours of the night, sweaty and red faced, dressed in ripped sweats and tee shirts with rude slogans. Apparently, Rodney's Talk nerdy to me tee shirt had made quite an impression on the botany department.
Rodney never mentioned his late night gym sessions, at least not to John, but he was huffing less on the long hikes from the Stargate to whatever bum-fuck village they were exploring. Less huffing and more bitching and somehow that seemed just about right. It was good.
Rodney slammed down the ancient device he was working on - not dangerous, John decided - and glared at John across the few feet separating them.
"Okay, what exactly are you doing here, Major?" Rodney asked, twisting the word 'Major', letting the tone say more than the word.
"Not much. Mostly waiting."
"For?" Rodney's voice was forced calm and John could see his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the desk.
"For you," John replied, hiding his grin as he hopped up on the workbench to sit. Swinging his legs, John reached over and started rifling through a stack of notebooks next to him.
"I'm busy doing actual work. Unlike you, I might add. So if you would please…," Rodney's voice was getting louder, his hands starting to gesture in short choppy motions, "Leave."
"Yeah, okay. But there's this rumor floating around that you found a flight simulator in one of the labs. An ancient flight simulator." John tossed the notebook aside, watched as Rodney's eyes widened, his nose flared and he started to sputter out random sounds.
"Oh my God, you're here for a video game!" Rodney accused, staring unbelievably at John. "I should have known."
"What? It's a flight simulator -- a training tool. I have pilots to train." Reaching into his pocket, John pulled out his neatly formatted training matrix. "Lt. Franklin, SGT Roberts, Gunney Bimmel -"
"Training tool? Are you insane?" Rodney's cheeks were red, his eyes flashing and, damn if John didn't see the start of a grin somewhere on the corners of Rodney's mouth. He paused, taking in Rodney's flushed cheeks and grinning eyes, and asked innocently:
"You've been playing with it, haven't you?"
"Of course I have! Do I look like an idiot?" Rodney rolled his eyes and started packing up his tools, carefully closing his laptop and clearing the workbench.
"And you didn't share? Way to play well with others, Rodney," John said, knowing he was close to whining and not really caring because -- ancient flight simulator.
"What? Don't be stupid, Major. Of course, I was going to share. Eventually." Locking up the ancient device in a box, he looked over at John and said, "As soon as the rest of Atlantis gets a hold of the simulator, we'll never see it again. Even you'll have to fight for time."
"Where'd you hide it, anyway?" John hopped off the table and caught up with Rodney as he was walking out the lab door.
"It's in my office right now. I've had to move it every few days since Zelenka's been looking for it all week. Crazy Czech."
A couple of hours later, John could completely relate to Zelenka's relentless search for the simulator. John was grinning maniacally, hands sweat-slick, arms trembling and feeling like the kid he used to be on the Santa Cruz boardwalk riding the rickety old wooden roller coaster. He was sitting in front of a small metal box with glowing crystals and the holographic image of a puddle jumper cockpit complete with view screen hovering in the air two feet in front of him.
Rodney stood behind him, close enough that John could feel the warmth of his chest and the soft fabric of his tee shirt when John leaned back for a simulated turn. John shook his head, trying to crane his neck around to get a view out the right side of the screen and thought down down right at the box. The image in front of him dipped smoothly, descending toward the illusion of the open Atlantean ocean, the choppy waves almost crashing against the bottom of the jumper as it turned easily right. Smooth and fast, so fast, and it was so damn close to being as good as a jumper.
"Wait. Just…hang on a second," Rodney said as he shuffled closer, leaning over John to push a button on the metal box, reseating a crystal in one control panel. The holograph screen flickered, lines racing across the image, blurring the view. When the image cleared, John was suddenly flying low over familiar ocean, dirty blue Pacific water with a distinctive California bay to his right, red bridge arches and support wires rising into the sky. John felt Rodney stand up, stepping away from John's chair and putting some space between them. John thought the jumper into an easy hover and stared in wonder.
"You programmed San Francisco?"
Rodney rolled his eyes, and said, "No. I programmed Earth. It just happens to be in the general vicinity of San Francisco."
"Right." John said, smiling, imagining for a minute that he was actually in a jumper, flying across the San Francisco Bay, buzzing Alcatraz, skimming the water underneath the Golden Gate Bridge. "So, I'm thinking that maybe we need a few more days to iron out the kinks in the simulator." Rodney raised his eyebrow, lips curled up, waiting as John continued, "Better keep it between the two of us. For a few more days."
"No way can I hide the thing from Zelenka much longer." Rodney said.
"We can store it in my quarters. He'll never think to look there," John said, setting the puddle jumper in motion again, watching the rolling hills of the San Francisco Bay speed by.
John thought it might have been the first time he'd actually heard Rodney laugh, free and easy, no trace of sarcasm in the sound. John smiled when Rodney said, "I think we understand each other perfectly, Major."
John hadn't realized how a two minute conversation, angry and awkward, standing in front of an Ancient elevator, could change things so dramatically; hadn't understood how words like trust and earning it back could somehow turn into four weeks of awkward moments, averted eyes and silent missions.
"Rodney, are you sure you've got it?" John asked for the third time, standing behind Rodney and peering over his shoulder. He watched as Rodney's fingers flew over the connections on the Ancient data port, stripping wires and moving crystals.
"Yes, yes. I'm sure. Just shut up already." Rodney muttered, pulling out his scanner and connecting it to his laptop.
"Look, Rodney. You need to be sure, we're on a schedule here." John looked down at his watch, mostly useless away from Earth but still comfortable and familiar.
"Damn it, Colonel Sheppard." Rodney spit out John's name, curling his lip up, grimacing like it left a sour taste on his tongue. "It's a simple data upload. A first year graduate student could do this. If you think I'm incapable," Rodney's hand jerked across his body, pointing at the laptop, glaring at the John, "then you need to consider replacing me with someone you find more competent."
Rodney dropped down on one knee, returning to his laptop and pushing a few buttons. Two crystals in the Atlantis device blinked - once, twice - before they glowed steadily and the laptop's screen started flashing, scrolling through page after page of information. Ronon and Teyla took a few steps away, looking away from John and Rodney, securing a perimeter they had already secured.
"Rodney -" John started, shocked.
"No. Not a word." The laptop beeped and Rodney disconnected the equipment and packed it into his rucksack. He swung the bag over his shoulder and said, "I'm done. Let's go."
The walk back to the jumper was longer than John remembered. Rodney walked alongside Ronon on point and John heard them grunt at each other occasionally, saying something that only the two of them could decipher. Ronon handed Rodney a power bar and Rodney took it with a silent nod. Teyla trailed behind John, watching their backs and leaving John to wonder what they had destroyed when that solar system blew.
***
Elizabeth had stopped asking Rodney if 'he was sure' after two days. Zelenka had never asked, not even once, instead John had periodically heard him muttering about Rodney and the cost of science and something in Czech that sounded a lot like John's name and the word dumbass. John's Czech was horrible and consisted mostly of the words he'd picked up on a two-month TDY near the Balkans - please, bathroom, sex, hotel - so he assumed that he got that last part mostly wrong.
John couldn't remember spending any non-mission time with Rodney in the last four weeks and he had to work to recall a conversation between them that didn't involve some form of are you sure or I can do this. It's not that John and Rodney had ever really hung out, watching movies or playing pool on the fabricated pool table in the Level 4 Lab, but he'd grown used to being around Rodney: in the labs or at the briefings; lingering in the mess hall after meals; walking easily, side by side on missions; happily debating something as they walked the long corridors of Atlantis.
The loss was obvious now, after discovering how close they were to personally imploding, and John found himself longing for their teasing banter or easy familiarity. The loss tightened the knot in his stomach, made the acids churn, made his head pound painfully near the base of his skull.
That night, John knocked on Rodney's door.
"Colonel Sheppard," Rodney said, and John found himself craving the sound of Rodney's voice saying his name with something other than this bitterness.
"Hey, Rodney. You busy?" John asked, trying to smile and knowing that he was probably failing miserably. Rodney had learned to read John's expressions, fake or otherwise, after three months on Atlantis.
"Probably. What do you want?" Rodney's body stood in the doorway, stiff and formal, uncomfortable with his hands clenched and eyes looking tired and red-rimmed. John couldn't quite see into Rodney's room, but he vividly remembered the stacks of books and piles of crumpled paper that Rodney always had scattered on the floor and bed.
"I've got the Hail Mary tape, a bottle of the Athosian ale and a laptop with a widescreen. I'm thinking football." John held up his hands, juggling the goods and smiling winningly, he hoped.
"Right. Football." Rodney's hand was slowly unclenching and John could see his shoulders relax, settling easier into his uniform shirt. "I don't like football."
"Well, yeah, but Peterson has the copy of the Stanley Cup and I couldn't negotiate a trade." John pushed his shoulder into Rodney, elbowing his way into Rodney's room, settling the laptop on the desk. "Pull up a chair. I brought dessert."
Rodney's eyes lit up at the mention of dessert and he stumbled away from the door, moving toward John with an expression that was not-quite-scowl-like. "Dessert?"
"Two Snicker bars," John said, digging in his pocket and pulling out the candy bars. "Stale but still edible."
"So, this is… What? An apology?" Rodney asked, hand outstretched, not quite touching the candy bar dangling from John's fingers. John could see the slight tremble in Rodney's hands, the flash of blue in his eyes that looked a lot like hope.
"Not so much, no." John pulled two chairs up to the desk, setting them in front of the computer screen, so close together they almost touched. He sprawled out in one chair and waved his hand at Rodney. "Do you feel like apologizing again?"
"I've already done that," Rodney said, dropping into the chair with a heavy thunk. "Lot of good it did me."
"Yeah, about that…" John flailed, not quite sure what to say. Rodney had screwed up big, and it wasn't something that either of them could forget. But Rodney had spent a lot of months proving himself before that screw up and had spent quite a bit of time proving himself again after that screw up. And when John stopped remembering the white hot flash of exploding star systems, when he stopped remembering that feeling right before they almost died and he almost lost Rodney, he knew that Rodney wasn't the only one on that planet. He wasn't the only one responsible.
"I probably owe you an apology," John said, turning his head toward Rodney, letting Rodney find the truth in his face. "I really am sorry. You've earned my trust back. It's just…," not always that easy to let it go, John wanted to say. But, those were just words and words weren't going to fix all the things that were broken.
"Apology accepted," Rodney said, watching John carefully. "And I get it. I really do, but…." Rodney tipped his head back, letting his neck brush the back of the stiff chair. He moved and his arm settled tightly against John's, the fabric of their shirts shuffling together. They were draped in their chairs with their legs spread out against each other, ankles crossed, staring at a closed laptop, mistakes and empty words forcing them still and uncomfortable.
"Can we fix this?" John asked. "Because I think we can." His chest clenched painfully as he watched Rodney turn and look at him. Rodney's eyes were still bloodshot, still tired and edged in red, but looking more open than John remembered seeing in the last very long month.
"Yeah. Yeah we can." Rodney didn't smile, but he rolled his eyes and knocked John in the stomach with the back of his hand.
John nodded, and Rodney said, "Trust me, Colonel Sheppard."
They'd spent two days on the recently culled planet, exploring the ruins of the civilization. The buildings were mostly rubble but the metal in the structures was strong, fairly new, and interesting enough to warrant a second look, Rodney thought. Now, walking back to the jumper, packs on their backs, faces dusty, bodies tired, Rodney was the only one still talking. Everyone else was grunting in annoyance.
In this case, worth a second look had turned out to mean mostly useless.
"It might be an interesting metal source for piping on the mainland," Rodney was saying around a mouthful of crackers from his MRE. "We can't spare the materials used on Atlantis, but with this metal and some basic industrial-era technology - if we can get the Athosians educated enough to run the machinery, which, okay, might not be so likely in the near future, but maybe - it's possible they could have running water in years. Or months," Rodney added hastily when Teyla blinked meaningfully at him.
Ronon and Teyla lengthened their stride and pushed ahead of their small group. Rodney looked over at John, shook his head and said, "Huh. Think it was something I said?"
Stuffing the wrapper in his pocket, Rodney fell into easy step next to John, close enough that their shoulders brushed; close enough that John could smell the crackers on Rodney's breath, the sweat from two days in the sun, the smell of military issue sunscreen. John shook his head, and shrugged his shoulder against Rodney. "Yeah, can't imagine why they'd want to get away from you."
"Yeah, can't imagine. I've been told I'm an enlightening conversationalist, Colonel." Rodney almost managed to keep a straight face and John might have even missed the tell tale twitch of his smile if he hadn't been intently watching Rodney's mouth move.
Two years and John still found the sharpened Canadian vowels to be somehow both familiar and fascinating; he could hear Rodney's voice in his head more often than not: of course, Colonel, don't be a moron, Colonel, do you have any idea, Colonel…. It'd become the background accompaniment to John's life, revving John up and settling him down and bringing him home, in some sort of way at least. Although John really didn't like to belabor that last point.
After a while, John had realized that 'Colonel' was starting to sound like alot of things besides just 'Colonel'. Rodney's mouth would round out a little on the word, and the thin line of his upper lip would relax; the syllables would roll off his tongue with a familiar and comfortable Canadian twang that somehow shortened the whole word to something specific, direct, all encompassing. It was like a code that he doubted Rodney even recognized, not consciously at least. But it was…good. It was team and communication, and something that felt eerily more complicated than their friendship.
John shifted his vest and picked up the pace. His right hand rested easily on the stock of his P90, pushing his weapon slightly away from his body, letting his left hand swing loosely at his side. He could feel Rodney's fingers occasionally brush against the back of his hand, a swipe of slick skin, the soft scratch of hair against his wrist.
He was completely unprepared for the ground under his feet to give way, to feel himself falling until he collided hard at the bottom of a pit on his right shoulder and side. The pain exploded in his body, moving up his legs, across his chest, down into his arms. He could feel the world tilt, dizziness setting in and his vision starting to gray out. Trying to reach for the flashlight in his vest, he gasped at the stabbing pain near his ribs. "Fuck."
"Colonel? Colonel!"
"Rodney," he tried to say loud enough for Rodney to hear, but couldn't force the word out. Gritting his teeth, he rolled a little, holding onto his side and hoping to reach his radio. Unable to move his arm all the way to the talk button, he finally gave up, settling carefully back against the wet ground to wait.
"Just hang on," Rodney shouted down at him.
John could hear voices floating above, Teyla and Ronon's muffled sounds and Rodney screaming something in response. A light shining down into the pit startled him and he could just make out the shadows of Rodney's face looking through the hole above him, worried and frowning probably, because he could hear it in Rodney's voice.
"Colonel…," Rodney said. "Just…okay, I - wait a second."
Frantic voices from above, saying something about hunting traps, big game, going into shock until John heard Rodney loudly shout, "Of course, I'm going down. Just figure out a way to get him up."
Seconds later, a shower of dirt rained down on his face as Rodney slid down the side of the pit, landing heavily next to John's legs. He groaned as Rodney's hand reached out and touched his leg, feeling his way carefully up John's body.
Every breath was a fight now and he felt his vision start to narrow and go black at the edges. Struggling, he gasped out, "Rodney," and blindly reached out, reaching, reaching, until warm fingers clasped around his hand, holding tight and pulling him in close.
Right before the world went black, he heard Rodney yell, panicked, "Colonel!"
Rodney's voice was loud and abrasive as he said, "The idiot Colonel that...," followed by, "Fool of unknown proportions…," and John sort of tuned the rest of the rant out as he floated fairly comfortably on painkillers and a warm bed.
"Perhaps, Dr. McKay, if you spoke in a more agreeable manner, Colonel Sheppard could be assured of the rest his body requires," Teyla said, interrupting and staring at Rodney with a small frown.
"What?" Outraged, Rodney stood at the foot of John's bed, unshaven, clothes wrinkled, uniform pants still slightly dingy from the planet's dirt and glared at both John and Teyla. "He's not dying, you know. He fell in an animal trap and then Carson fixed him. The way you are all treating him, you'd think he'd been heroically wounded." Shaking his head, he flopped down into a nearby chair. "Tell them, Colonel."
John turned his head and looked over at Rodney. "Yeah, okay. Tell them what?" John almost laughed at Rodney's expression, then felt the burning pain in his side at the movement and, okay, ouch. Apparently, Beckett was withholding the good drugs.
"That you're not dying, Colonel." Rodney rolled his eyes, stood up and started pacing back and forth at the foot of John's bed. "Jesus. Surrounded by idiots."
"Right. I'm not dying." His broken ribs hurt like a son-of-bitch and Rodney's pacing was making him dizzy. Mostly, he really wanted to close his eyes and not wonder if the three of them were going to stand there and watch him sleep, because Rodney was right, he wasn't dying. "Could you all leave now?"
Teyla smiled slightly and gently squeezed his arm; Ronon nodded his head and said, "Sheppard," before they both turned and walked out the door. Rodney stopped pacing and stared at John for a minute before walking to the side of the bed and carefully sitting on the edge.
"Rodney." John cringed, hoping to God that Rodney wasn't suddenly developing some sort of bedside manner because he could so do without the touching 'glad you're okay' speech.
"You are such an asshole," Rodney said, while reaching out and picking up John's hand to trace a finger softly around the taped IV line. "Just so you know, I had to carry all of your gear back to the puddle jumper. My knees were already bad and now, they're probably destroyed. It's entirely your fault." His fingers trailed softly across John's skin, tracing the swirls of hair on John's hand, smiling a little when John's hand twitched at the contact.
"Sorry?" John asked, not sure what the response was supposed to be but absolutely sure that Rodney's hands felt amazing. The easy touch was somehow bleeding away the pain, replacing it with a slow rolling tingle that had John's toes curling into the cool sheet.
"Yeah, I'll just bet you are. Impervious to the Wraith and nuclear weapons but almost taken out by hole in the ground." Rodney snorted. John thought that maybe Beckett had actually given him the good drugs because the sound was oddly endearing.
Rodney set John's hand carefully down on the bed, smoothing his fingers across John's palm before letting go. He stood and watched John for a second before saying, "So. I'm glad you're not dead."
"Yeah. I'm pretty happy about that, too," John said on a yawn. His hand felt cold, skin tingling, missing the warmth of Rodney's hand. He stared as Rodney reached toward him, slowly, fingers outstretched and John just knew Rodney was going to run his fingertips down John's cheek; he could almost imagine the soft scratch of Rodney's nails against his stubble. His eyes closed, his mouth open slightly, waiting for the touch, wanting it so much, but fearing it, because his life was complicated enough already.
Instead, Rodney carefully touched his shoulder, squeezing hard before stepping slowly back. Opening his eyes, he blinked and saw Rodney watching him, blue eyes almost black in the light.
"Rodney." John's voice was hoarse, hardly recognizable, and John wasn't quite sure what he was going to say, just knowing that he had to say something.
"Later, Colonel. Don't let Carson torture you too much." Rodney said, voice quiet - and maybe a little hesitant, John thought - before he turned on his heel and strolled slowly out the door, hands in his pockets.
John settled back against the pillow, closing his eyes and trying not to remember the feel of Rodney's fingers against his skin. Hell of a time to figure out that Rodney's voice wasn’t the only thing that revved him up.
***
Two weeks later, John headed back to his room after his first full day back on limited duty. He wearily walked through the door and found himself surprised by quick arms wrapping around him and pressing him against the wall next to the dresser. A second to recognize the arms, a second more to register how good they felt and John figured it might not have been the smartest move to spend the last two weeks avoiding Rodney.
"Rodney," John gasped out before Rodney's lips brushed softly against his, his tongue darting out to smoothly trace the line of John's lips.
"Rodney…wait," John said, scrambling his arms around, trying to get a grip on Rodney's shoulders. Too complicated, everything was already too complicated, and the last thing he needed was this.
"No. No, no, no. Just…shut up," Rodney said as he pulled John closer, pushing and wiggling, until their bodies pressed tightly together, the space between them gone in the moment.
He could hear Rodney's voice, softly panting between kisses, quiet sounds on every breath. John couldn't understand what he was saying, he could only catch the frantic rhythm of the words.
Rodney licked into John's mouth, smooth strokes of tongue, quick and almost-painful bites to his lips and the corner of his mouth, and God, down his neck. He moaned around Rodney's tongue, yesyesyes, because it was so good -- the taste of Rodney, the feel of Rodney's hands and body, the heat of that warm dick pressing insistently against John's hip.
Rodney's voice was pulling John in closer and closer, and Rodney wound his hand through John's hair, wrapping himself around and into John. Still chanting, the sounds muffled and lost into the breath of John's mouth, until, on a gasp, Rodney's words slowed and became just one clear, easy word.
Between one kiss and the next, John smiled, grabbed Rodney's hips and pulled him in closer, grinding their bodies together, forcing sweetly hot to give way to overwhelmingly complicated. Because -- yes; because if Rodney saying Colonel was like coming home then this -- this was even better, like home and Atlantis and jumpers in San Francisco.
Rodney laughed and John could feel the soft brush of lips against his cheek as Rodney leaned close and whispered:
"John."
-End-