Permutationality by sardonicsmiley (PG-13)
Show: SGA
Rec Category: Rodney McKay
Characters: Rodney McKay, Todd, other wraith, Team
Pairings: hinted one-sided Rodney/Todd, pre-Rodney/John
Categories: Gen, Angst
Warnings: violence, language, mind-fuckery
Author on LJ: Unknown
Author's Website: no more tears
Link: Permutationality
Why This Must Be Read: Author's summary reads: "Rodney gets a crash course in the inner workings of a Wraith Hive. John gets him back."
On the surface that sounds extremely straight-forward. What I love about this story is that it's really not. Just beneath the premise of Rodney spending months on board a wraith hive ship (thankfully he's captured by Todd's hive back when they still had a queen) as a prisoner, forced to help them with their part of the Wraith Civil War. It's an obvious parallel to when Todd was on Atlantis helping to defeat the replicators. sardonicsmiley takes that premise one step further, though, and shows us a side of the hive we didn't get to see on the show, the one that stems from the reality of the hive being an organism. And, of course, the longer Rodney spends in the hive, the more he begins to understand how it works and the more he begins to see the wraith themselves as more than just evil spacemonsters.
The term Stockholm Syndrome is never once out-right stated and I think what actually happens isn't quite as straightforward as that. While Rodney does start seeing his captors as individuals, he never truly does sympathize with them and his end goal never stops being rescuing the humans being kept on board as food. Even if he does accidentally save the Queen. Oops.
Word of warning: while the hinted one-sided Rodney/Todd is actually done in a way that isn't nearly as creepy as it sounds, if the idea of the pairing really does squick you then DO NOT go on to the follow-up snippet linked to at the bottom of the story. It does actually add a bit more context to the story itself, but not in a way that's necessary. And it's rated R with dub-con Rodney/Todd and Rodney/Hive (no orgies and no tentacles though, I promise).
Wraith interior decorating hasn't gotten any better since last time he enjoyed their hospitality. There's one narrow bench that looks about as far from comfortable as it's possible for furniture to look. The light is still faded blue, weak enough to remind him of twilight, to make him squint just a little in an effort to bring things into sharper focus. Everything smells organic and sour, like sulfur and rot with a side of blood and unwashed bodies.
Rodney looks down at his hand, nerves burning like fire as circulation creeps back in. He gripes, "Well. This is just great." The wall has a pulse when he presses his palm against it, quivers when he runs his thumb nail along its slick surface, looking for a seam. He says to the empty room, "They were serving chocolate cake tonight, you stupid bastards. You couldn't have waited until tomorrow for this?" and pokes his tongue out the corner of his mouth when he pushes all of his weight down onto his thumb. The thick epidermis of the wall gives under the pressure.
The wall is bleeding.
Walls shouldn't bleed, but then, the Wraith are responsible for a lot of things that shouldn't happen and do anyway. Spaceships that bleed really don't compare to half of the greater horrors they've unleashed on the galaxy at large, but right now it's Rodney's biggest reason to hate them.
His vest is gone, as are his belt and shoes. That's irritating on a whole different level. It's hard to get those boots broken in, and, besides, now his socks are soaked in the goo that covers pretty much all available surfaces in any given Wraith base. Rodney makes a face, bending and then hopping on one foot to pull one of his already ruined socks off.
Wraith-goo squishes between his toes and Rodney, scowling, continues, "I hate this galaxy so much," and works his fingers into the hole he made with his thumb. The wall tears slowly, like it doesn't want to part, flesh wet and soft under his fingers. Rodney grits his teeth, pulls hard, and then rams his sock into the hole he made, probing around for the damaged veins and applying pressure.
For a half second, he thinks about the fact that he's performing first-aid on an alien space ship. Its blood is every bit as warm as a human's, trickling over his knuckles, dripping down to the floor. Rodney shakes himself, pulls off his other sock and uses it to wipe the blood away from the tendons and wiring beneath, walking his fingers over the bundles of nerves and lymphatic systems, letting himself remember what does what.
It would be easier to think about the Wraith systems as mechanical, but it also wouldn't work. Silicon and fiber optics don't squirm away when you reach for them, don't writhe between your fingers. Rodney has no problem dealing with hard thoughts, and he accepts the fact that he's mutilating a living thing because he has no other choice.
The wall is bleeding, and as much as he likes to think that Atlantis is living, she isn't alive like this. His fingers slip on tendons, but he manages to get his thumb and forefinger around a thick nerve cluster. It jumps when he squeezes it, slippery against his skin, and Rodney braces his forehead against the flesh-warm wall, grits his teeth, and adjusts his grip.
He hisses, "Sorry, sorry," and rubs the pad of his thumb in a firm circle. The thing is, the stupid thing is, that he barely sees Wraith as alive anymore. They're the monster under the bed, faceless aliens with a hard-on for leather and questionable facial hair. He's shot them without thinking about it, without guilt. He's blown them up by the thousands, and not lost sleep over it. This shouldn't bother him.
Rodney squeezes harder, and his stomach twists, bile burning bitter in the back of his throat.
The door to his cell jerks, snaps half open before freezing, and Rodney bites his bottom lip and presses as hard as he can. The door opens all the way, a fresh wash of blood pouring down over his fingers, hot and sticky as Rodney jerks his hand free.
Rec Category: Rodney McKay
Characters: Rodney McKay, Todd, other wraith, Team
Pairings: hinted one-sided Rodney/Todd, pre-Rodney/John
Categories: Gen, Angst
Warnings: violence, language, mind-fuckery
Author on LJ: Unknown
Author's Website: no more tears
Link: Permutationality
Why This Must Be Read: Author's summary reads: "Rodney gets a crash course in the inner workings of a Wraith Hive. John gets him back."
On the surface that sounds extremely straight-forward. What I love about this story is that it's really not. Just beneath the premise of Rodney spending months on board a wraith hive ship (thankfully he's captured by Todd's hive back when they still had a queen) as a prisoner, forced to help them with their part of the Wraith Civil War. It's an obvious parallel to when Todd was on Atlantis helping to defeat the replicators. sardonicsmiley takes that premise one step further, though, and shows us a side of the hive we didn't get to see on the show, the one that stems from the reality of the hive being an organism. And, of course, the longer Rodney spends in the hive, the more he begins to understand how it works and the more he begins to see the wraith themselves as more than just evil spacemonsters.
The term Stockholm Syndrome is never once out-right stated and I think what actually happens isn't quite as straightforward as that. While Rodney does start seeing his captors as individuals, he never truly does sympathize with them and his end goal never stops being rescuing the humans being kept on board as food. Even if he does accidentally save the Queen. Oops.
Word of warning: while the hinted one-sided Rodney/Todd is actually done in a way that isn't nearly as creepy as it sounds, if the idea of the pairing really does squick you then DO NOT go on to the follow-up snippet linked to at the bottom of the story. It does actually add a bit more context to the story itself, but not in a way that's necessary. And it's rated R with dub-con Rodney/Todd and Rodney/Hive (no orgies and no tentacles though, I promise).
Wraith interior decorating hasn't gotten any better since last time he enjoyed their hospitality. There's one narrow bench that looks about as far from comfortable as it's possible for furniture to look. The light is still faded blue, weak enough to remind him of twilight, to make him squint just a little in an effort to bring things into sharper focus. Everything smells organic and sour, like sulfur and rot with a side of blood and unwashed bodies.
Rodney looks down at his hand, nerves burning like fire as circulation creeps back in. He gripes, "Well. This is just great." The wall has a pulse when he presses his palm against it, quivers when he runs his thumb nail along its slick surface, looking for a seam. He says to the empty room, "They were serving chocolate cake tonight, you stupid bastards. You couldn't have waited until tomorrow for this?" and pokes his tongue out the corner of his mouth when he pushes all of his weight down onto his thumb. The thick epidermis of the wall gives under the pressure.
The wall is bleeding.
Walls shouldn't bleed, but then, the Wraith are responsible for a lot of things that shouldn't happen and do anyway. Spaceships that bleed really don't compare to half of the greater horrors they've unleashed on the galaxy at large, but right now it's Rodney's biggest reason to hate them.
His vest is gone, as are his belt and shoes. That's irritating on a whole different level. It's hard to get those boots broken in, and, besides, now his socks are soaked in the goo that covers pretty much all available surfaces in any given Wraith base. Rodney makes a face, bending and then hopping on one foot to pull one of his already ruined socks off.
Wraith-goo squishes between his toes and Rodney, scowling, continues, "I hate this galaxy so much," and works his fingers into the hole he made with his thumb. The wall tears slowly, like it doesn't want to part, flesh wet and soft under his fingers. Rodney grits his teeth, pulls hard, and then rams his sock into the hole he made, probing around for the damaged veins and applying pressure.
For a half second, he thinks about the fact that he's performing first-aid on an alien space ship. Its blood is every bit as warm as a human's, trickling over his knuckles, dripping down to the floor. Rodney shakes himself, pulls off his other sock and uses it to wipe the blood away from the tendons and wiring beneath, walking his fingers over the bundles of nerves and lymphatic systems, letting himself remember what does what.
It would be easier to think about the Wraith systems as mechanical, but it also wouldn't work. Silicon and fiber optics don't squirm away when you reach for them, don't writhe between your fingers. Rodney has no problem dealing with hard thoughts, and he accepts the fact that he's mutilating a living thing because he has no other choice.
The wall is bleeding, and as much as he likes to think that Atlantis is living, she isn't alive like this. His fingers slip on tendons, but he manages to get his thumb and forefinger around a thick nerve cluster. It jumps when he squeezes it, slippery against his skin, and Rodney braces his forehead against the flesh-warm wall, grits his teeth, and adjusts his grip.
He hisses, "Sorry, sorry," and rubs the pad of his thumb in a firm circle. The thing is, the stupid thing is, that he barely sees Wraith as alive anymore. They're the monster under the bed, faceless aliens with a hard-on for leather and questionable facial hair. He's shot them without thinking about it, without guilt. He's blown them up by the thousands, and not lost sleep over it. This shouldn't bother him.
Rodney squeezes harder, and his stomach twists, bile burning bitter in the back of his throat.
The door to his cell jerks, snaps half open before freezing, and Rodney bites his bottom lip and presses as hard as he can. The door opens all the way, a fresh wash of blood pouring down over his fingers, hot and sticky as Rodney jerks his hand free.