Wing and a Prayer pt. 2
Wing and a Prayer part 1 is here.
Wing and a Prayer
Part two
John was only dimly aware of the passage of time as he lay on the hard pallet on the stone floor of his cell. As holding areas went, it was pretty standard for Pegasus; cold, dark corridors leading down to the cells, walls dank with moisture, the odor of mold and decay filling his nostrils. A bucket with a lid served as a toilet in one corner. A basin fixed to the floor was filled with water that came in through a funnel from outside the barred door. A tray with food was shoved through a slot in the bars next to the floor-John had found a couple of stale rolls and a chunk of hard cheese under the cloth covering the tray, but he didn’t have the energy to eat. The pallet was lumpy and damp, the coldness of the floor leaching the heat out of his body where he lay on it-everywhere but where his flesh burned across his chest and abdomen, screaming in its abuse. He couldn’t feel his hands at first, until the blood slowly began pounding back into them, and he coiled up in a ball, holding them above the level of his heart, trying to avoid the pain as blood flooded back into his swollen fingers.
A small amount of light came from a feeble bulb in the ceiling, surrounded by a metal cage. There was a small, barred window as well, too high up to see out. The weak sunlight appeared to be fading; night was coming. He lay on his side, listening to the sound of his pulse in his ears, ticking over the seconds in absence of his watch. A dark, ugly band of bruising surrounded each wrist now. This is all your fault. He should have recognized sooner the dangerous intent of the men they had sought out, sized them up before he led Rodney down into a disreputable part of the market. It was his job to do risk assessment, yet here he and Rodney were prisoners of some pretty ruthless people with no obvious means of escape. For all he knew, Ronon and Teyla were dead, though his mind kept balking at that thought, if nothing else because both of them had survived far worse in their lives. But then how were these men successful in sneaking him and Rodney off-world to wherever they were now?
It wasn’t even just that he had failed to protect Rodney; he grimly tallied up all his failings here. If he hadn’t come down so hard on Rodney earlier, if he hadn’t still been acting like he was holding a grudge over Doranda, then he wouldn’t have had to bend over backwards to show Rodney he wasn’t doubting his judgment in checking out the energy readings. And that wasn’t the worst of it, he decided, adding in the greatest failing of all. The real problem was that his behavior over Doranda had less to do with not trusting Rodney as much as it did with not trusting himself.
Because he had wanted Arcturus to work. Badly. He wanted to be able to bring to Elizabeth the solution to all their problems, to redeem himself for his role in awakening the Wraith by producing the weapon that would save them all. To stop gating to worlds and finding burned out, abandoned villages and people scrabbling to eek out an existence hand to mouth while avoiding the attention of the Wraith. He could still remember vividly the sight of Teyla kneeling on the ground in one such village, trying to comfort a grimy little girl, face streaked with tears and dirt. Teyla had held out a battered, homemade doll which the child clutched to her chest as great, fat tears rolled silently down her face, her entire family taken in a culling. John knew that the little girl had been placed with an Athosian family that had lost their only child in a similar incident, but the memory cut him now as sharply as the lash of the whip.
Rodney had been sure he could succeed where the Ancients had failed and John had ignored the tiny voice of doubt in his own head because the mess that the Ancients in their enormous hubris had left behind was really starting to piss him off and Rodney had been right so many times before. And because John wanted him to be right. And instead they were both spectacularly wrong and John had suddenly realized that he wasn’t objective where Rodney was concerned any more and he couldn’t afford not to be objective as military CO of Atlantis.
And he’d been making Rodney pay for it ever since. He hated himself for that. He hated the way Rodney would look at him with those large, expressive eyes wide with hurt and disappointment whenever John was short with him. He hated seeing the joy of discovery suddenly snuffed out at something John said, or seeing Rodney withdraw further into sarcasm and bitterness when John stepped on his ego. John knew Rodney didn’t have many friends, that he’d valued the friendship he and John had shared. Which made the situation all the more ironic. John wasn’t angry with Rodney so much as himself. He didn’t hate Rodney. Not at all. He liked Rodney too much for his own good.
He wasn’t sure when his feelings for Rodney had crossed from amused annoyance to fond tolerance into disconcerting attraction, but they had. It wasn’t the first time John had been drawn to one of the people he worked closely with on a regular basis. Usually he was smart enough to keep his hands to himself, but Rodney was the oddest combination of outrageous arrogance and surprising vulnerability and it pulled at John in a way that he could not explain away as mere physical attraction or bonding over the constant life-threatening situations. Rodney was openly frightened and amazing courageous. He was sheer brilliance in the lab and stunningly inept with people. He was funny and sarcastic and he didn’t let John get away with much, seeing through the bullshit when most people bought the cover story. Rodney was also content to deal with John as he was, not needing to poke at him and try to peel away layers to get to the ‘real’ John. And he was going to die on this stupid backwater planet if John didn’t get the two of them out of this goddamned mess.
John turned stiffly over onto his back, staring at the ceiling, feeling flayed alive on every level. He had no plan. Absolutely nothing came to mind. They were so screwed.
He awoke to the sound of the steel door closing and realized that Rodney had been placed in the cell with him. It shouldn’t have given him the small measure of comfort that it did, but he couldn’t help that-he would have been relieved to have anyone with him at the moment, if nothing else to keep him out of his own thoughts. He turned his head carefully and squinted up at Rodney, who was looking around furtively before coming over to his side.
“Okay, this is what I’ve got,” Rodney began, crouching down beside John, knees popping with the effort. “Oh god,” his voice wobbled as he got closer. “Look at you.”
“Never mind that,” John said thickly, through swollen lips, “what have you learned?”
Rodney ignored him instead, getting up to rummage around the cell, bringing the tray of food over beside John and then dumping the cheese out of its bowl onto the tray. He took the bowl over to the basin of water and scooped some into it. He came back to kneel beside John. “Here. Can you sit up a bit? You should drink some water.”
John stifled a sigh. It was going to take more energy to argue with Rodney than to give in and make the attempt at movement. Besides, Rodney was right. He needed to drink water, to try and clear the rest of the drugs out of his system, to move around and keep his muscles from freezing up. If only the thought of trying to lift himself into a sitting position wasn’t so paralyzing. He held out his arm for Rodney to pull him up, hooking his wrist around Rodney’s forearm, unable to close his fingers in Rodney’s grip. He grunted with the effort of sitting up and then closed his eyes and panted softly for a moment after the movement stilled.
When he opened his eyes, Rodney’s startlingly blue ones were fixed on his face, anxiety and fear clearly etched in their expression. Rodney had reached behind him with an arm against his back to help him sit up; his hand now reluctantly dropped back to his side. “What’s wrong with your hands?” His voice was higher in pitch and John recognized Rodney was building towards a full-fledged panic attack.
“Lack of circulation,” John ground out. “Talk to me, McKay.”
Rodney ducked his head suddenly and swallowed hard, pouring a small amount of water from the bowl into one of the smooth metal cups provided. He held it up to John’s lips with shaking hands. John placed a steadying hand on Rodney’s arm but made no move to take the cup-he doubted he would have managed it better. The water was astonishingly cold and had a surprisingly nice, metallic taste. Deep underground spring, John thought, drinking more than he’d thought possible when he first sat up. He sputtered and choked when Rodney tipped the cup a little too far and Rodney murmured “sorry,” before lowering the cup and wiping the excess water from John’s mouth with his thumb.
There was a moment of several heartbeats when John felt his eyelids flutter down with each breath and then he struggled to focus on the matter at hand again. “The word, McKay,” he reminded Rodney.
Rodney blinked. “Oh, yes, right. Well.” Rodney, suddenly flustered, set down the water cup and picked up one of the hard rolls, tapping it experimentally on the tray and then looking up at John with an expression of utter dismay. John couldn’t help but feel a small smile tug at his mouth, but that’s all it managed to do.
“Try soaking it in the water,” he suggested before trying once more to get a situation report from Rodney. “You were saying…?”
“Yes, right, of course.” Rodney dunked the end of the bread into the water cup and continued to speak, breaking off a chunk of cheese and smelling it suspiciously before taking a cautious nibble. The expression on his face changed to thoughtful acceptance and he pushed a piece into his mouth, chewing as he spoke. “It’s like this, the ruler here has an Ancient fetish, I mean he’s like a serious collector here. He runs this planet as well as another and alternates his time between the two, making himself out to be some sort of demi-god. Doesn’t have the gene. Only one or two people here so far appear to have it, and it’s pretty dilute in them, let me tell you. They took me to a room with a lot of equipment, but I was given to understand there’s more, lots more, in other places in the city. I got a glimpse out of a window-you won’t believe it, but we’re perched on the top of a mountain, some sort of walled fortress, very Alcatraz.”
“And the Gate?” John watched as Rodney experimentally tested the bread, making a face at the taste. He knew the instant Rodney realized that John should be eating too, and struggled again not to smile when Rodney suddenly handed him a torn off piece of soggy bread and a bit of cheese. He fumbled with it awkwardly, but managed to bring the softer bread up to his mouth, chewing carefully. Sour. He wasn’t surprised.
“Not sure, but I saw one largish dirt road leading out from the city through fields and into a pretty dense forest. There were some wagons traveling on it. I’m guessing the Gate’s not anywhere nearby.”
They ate in silence for a moment as John digested that information. Rodney’s eye kept involuntarily flicking over his chest and a few times John noted his fingers twitching as well, as though he wanted to be doing something as they sat on the pallet together. John finished his bit of food and then lifted his arm to Rodney again. “Help me up.”
Rodney obeyed with alacrity, rolling to his feet, brushing off his hands and then grabbing John’s forearm, hoisting him up with such enthusiasm that John ended up falling into him with a grunt of pain. “Sorry, sorry,” Rodney apologized nervously, still hanging on to John’s arm.
John pushed off the remnant of his tee-shirt, forcing Rodney to release his grip, only to have Rodney take his arm again when John attempted a staggering step forward. “Where are you going?” Rodney frowned at him.
“To take a leak,” John felt the pull of bruised skin as his eyebrow raised. “You planning on joining me?”
Rodney abruptly released him like a hot ember and then stepped back. “You um, think you can manage?” His hand indicated John’s fly and the look on his face was one of pure embarrassment.
John looked down at his hands. The pain was better, but they were still red and swollen and felt like they didn’t belong to him. “I…uh…” he began.
“Let me,” Rodney offered. “I’ll just…”
Rodney stepped forward and hesitantly unzipped John’s fly, moving back quickly as soon as he was done. John, both amused and embarrassed, went over to the bucket and relieved himself. His movements were awkward, but he was going to be damned if he was going to ask Rodney to tuck him back in. When he returned to the pallet, Rodney jumped up and indicated John’s fly with hands that said, “well?” John let Rodney zip him back up again.
As Rodney was starting to sit back down, John clumsily took his arm. Rodney flashed a startled look at him, glancing first down at the hand on his bicep and then up into John’s face.
“I need you to check for bugs.” John raised his eyebrow in what he hoped was a significant fashion. “You know how I feel about bugs, Rodney.”
Rodney frowned. He was thinking so hard, John could almost see the wheels turning in his head and then Rodney’s expression lightened and he suddenly said, “Oh! Bugs. I get it. Right. Bugs.”
John eased himself back down to the pallet, leaning with his back to the wall, shivering just a little in the damp air. No blankets, no straw, no shirt. It was going to be a cold night. Rodney began wandering around the room, eyes carefully searching the stonework as he moved. When he went over to the waste bucket, he shifted it slightly with his foot and then yelped, leaping back suddenly and then jumping up and down, slapping the sole of his boot repeatedly on the floor before grinding the heel down. There was an audible crunch.
“What?” John asked sharply as Rodney came back towards him with a shudder.
“Ugh,” Rodney grimaced, his shoulders giving a little shake of revulsion. “There was some cockroach-y thing, at least the size of my hand.” Rodney knelt back down on the pallet beside him.
“Was that the only bug you found?” John asked, locking eyes with Rodney.
“Yes,” Rodney said, but his eyes said ‘no’. He made the universal finger-to-the-lips for silence and then leaned in close to whisper in John’s ear, “One bug, audio only. We’ll have to watch what we say. How’d you know?”
The moist heat of his breath against the rim of John’s ear made him want to duck his head and roll into it, but John sat very still, trying to control the little shiver Rodney’s closeness triggered. He turned his head carefully into Rodney’s cheek and whispered, “Our friend Torquin has a thing for recording his subjects.”
Rodney’s head pulled back suddenly so he could look into John’s eyes. John watched in fascination as Rodney’s eyes narrowed sharply and his jaw tightened, a small tick developing in a cheek muscle, just like an action hero. John was tempted to humorously point this out but instead leaned back and said in a normal voice. “Good.”
Rodney blinked for a moment, already forgetting the thread of the previous conversation and John sighed. Dissemblance wasn’t Rodney’s strong suit. As though reading his mind, Rodney shot him an ‘I’m not stupid, you know’ look and John gave him a little smile in return.
“You should lie down,” Rodney said, voice suddenly gruff. John nodded and let Rodney help him back down to the pallet, releasing a sigh when his shoulders touched the mat. He lay with his hands propped up over his chest, flexing his fingers, eyes closed.
He opened them at the sound of water being wrung out of fabric. Rodney was twisting the cloth from the food tray over the bowl of water, shooting John a very determined look that waffled into indecision when he saw John was looking back. “I should…you should let me…I need to…” Rodney indicated the lash marks scoring his chest.
“Not necessary.” John could not bear the thought of anything touching him right now. “I’ll take care of it later.”
“What if it gets infected?” Rodney soldiered on. “You’ve already got dirt and bits of stuff sticking to you.” He reached forward with the cloth as he spoke. John raised an arm to block him and Rodney rested his own arm against John’s for a moment, until John finally relented and let his fall back to his side. He tried not to flinch at the first touch of the cool cloth against his burning skin, but he couldn’t help it.
Rodney continued to murmur “sorry” at various intervals while gently sponging away the worst of the dried blood from John’s chest and belly. The cloth grew progressively more rusty in color as Rodney periodically stopped to rinse it out in the bowl of water and came back again. John’s abdominal muscles contracted involuntarily when a droplet of cold water landed on him unexpectedly, but for the most part Rodney’s touch was soothing. It wasn’t until he tried for a deeper cleaning of the lash marks themselves that John had to stop him. The look of pain on Rodney’s face hurt something deep in John as well and he had to say something. “Thanks. I just…please. Stop.”
Rodney just nodded, wrung out the cloth a final time and then went over to the door to hang the cloth over the bars to dry. He dumped out the bowl of water and rinsed it several times before dumping it out and turning it upside down to dry as well. When he returned to the pallet, he appeared to take in his surroundings for the first time, noting the small pad, the absence of any bedding and the increasingly cold temperatures. He shivered and rubbed a hand over his arm, suddenly fixing an eye on John’s shirtless state.
Carefully, he lay down beside John, who shifted over slightly to make room. “Lie still,” he ordered sharply, when John would have rolled on his side to give Rodney more space. Rodney turned on his side and wriggled up against John, who realized after his initial consternation that Rodney intended to whisper something to him. Why was he not surprised? He gave a mental eye roll.
And another little shudder when Rodney’s breath tickled his neck. “Maybe I can convince them to let us have our packs back tomorrow.” His arm bumped up against John’s side as he leaned in to speak quietly and John gripped Rodney’s wrist firmly and squeezed.
“No,” he whispered fiercely.
“But why not?” Rodney countered immediately. “If nothing else, you could get another shirt and certainly some antibiotic ointment and a little Tylenol wouldn’t go amiss.”
John closed his fingers as hard as he could, turning his head to speak quietly but get his point across. “Rodney. This is going to get much worse before it gets better. Do you understand me? Ask for nothing. Don’t show them what your weaknesses are.”
“But,” Rodney began to protest.
John cut him off. “They already know they can get you to cooperate by threatening me. Do you get it?”
Rodney levered himself up on his elbow, eyes wide with shock as he looked down in John, mouth open in horrified dismay. He would have spoken, only John managed to reach up in time and clamp a hand over Rodney’s mouth. Rodney closed his eyes at the contact, opened them again and nodded as John removed his hand. He lay back down beside John, who could hear his increased respiration as Rodney processed what John had said.
After a moment, he leaned in to speak again. “I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
John squeezed Rodney’s forearm again, but this time to say, ‘it’s okay’ and ‘we’ll get out of this somehow’.
****
Rodney awoke the next morning from fragmented and disturbing dreams to find that he was shivering almost violently, his arms wrapped tightly around himself and his legs pulled up tight to his chest. The thin pallet on which he lay was cold and damp, the wetness of the stone floor beneath seeping through its thin padding easily. He rolled over onto his back with a groan and tried to open his eyes. He managed to get them open a crack, but his right eye swollen almost completely closed from where he'd been struck by the guards yesterday.
Yesterday.
All at once the memories came flooding back to him in a sudden, unwelcome and all-encompassing wave. The images which flashed in quick succession through his head - searching through the market with Teyla, encountering the band of strangers with Sheppard, the subsequent fire fight, waking up in the cell alone - made him jerk upright with a start. The final image, which refused to fade as if it was somehow burnt onto the inside of his eyelids, caused his heart to stutter painfully in his chest - John strung and hanging from a hook, unconscious, bound and bloody.
Rodney turned his head to the side; his eyes suddenly open wide and his thoughts frantic. Where was John? The relief that swept through him as he found John lying beside him on the pallet made him sag forward for a moment, bracing his hands on his outstretched legs and dropping his head between his arms. Once he’d gotten a handle on his wayward emotions, Rodney started to take stock of their position, reminding himself that they were both here, together, so surely everything would be okay in the end. God, and wasn't that just another indication of the impending apocalypse, Dr Rodney McKay relying on platitudes to make him feel better?
The fact that Teyla and Ronon were not with them, and their captors had not mentioned of any other prisoners, worried Rodney more than he wanted to admit. It wasn't that he doubted their ability to look after themselves, and of course they hadn't been with him and Sheppard when they had been attacked, but they would have been up at the Stargate. Something serious must have happened for them not to have prevented his and John's abduction. Still, there was nothing practical Rodney could do about it, so he concentrated instead on the immediate situation. At least that he had some hope of effecting.
Rodney stretched his body out carefully, trying to assess just how much damage the guards had done to him last night. All things considered, he was not really in too bad a shape. Of course, he was sore and cold, his ribs ached and, consequently, breathing was painful. In addition, his face was swollen, the skin tight and hot to the touch. Nevertheless, his head was finally clear and he didn’t seem to be manifesting any signs of ill-health from either the drug to which he’d been subjected or the food he’d eaten the night before. His hypoglycemia also seemed to be in abeyance for the time being.
Having determined that he wasn’t in any immediate physical risk, Rodney turned his attention back to John. As he looked over John’s face and body, he felt his fear return in force. If Rodney was cold, John had to be freezing, dressed in only his BDU trousers and boots. He was lying flat on his back, his injured hands still red and slightly swollen at his sides. Rodney's gaze shifted to John's chest and he winced; John's chest was a nasty mess of welts and cuts, caked clumps of drying blood and the dark red bruising of broken capillaries. Steeling himself, Rodney's eyes moved to John's face. John's eyes were closed and, despite his obviously dire physical state, he appeared to be deeply asleep. He was breathing shallowly through slightly parted lips, which were chapped and broken. Like his chest, his face was covered with bruises and a painful cut on his stubbled chin indicated where the tip of the whip had caught him in the face. Rodney hurt just looking at him, the ache of empathy in his chest surprising him with its intensity.
The longer Rodney looked at John's battered body, the stronger his feeling grew. He felt his hands curl into fists as the rage swept through him. He recalled the sight of that bastard Torquin flaying John with his whip whilst John was suspended, bound and helpless, and felt himself start to shake. God, how could this have happened? How could he have let this happen? It was all his fault - if he hadn't been so keen to chase those Ancient energy signals, too damn self-centered to let just one mission go without feeling the need to prove his worth… Rodney squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to take several deep breaths; somehow he had to remain calm and clear-headed if he and John were to make it through this.
'Rodney. This is going to get much worse before it gets better.' Rodney recalled John’s words of the night before. Although they’d been spoken in a low hiss of pain, they nevertheless held the underlying steel and determination that was exclusively John’s - the one that promised that things would get better, so long as they stayed strong and worked together.
Rodney found himself wringing his hands in distress, unsure as to what best to do. Right, he told himself firmly, together, strong - he could do that… he would do that. John had said that Rodney needed to show him that he could be trusted and Rodney was determined to prove himself worthy of John’s trust. John had also said that they were not to show their captors their weaknesses; that they would have to make do with what they had. Rodney couldn't bring himself to regret his offer to Torquin to help them restore their Ancient technology - that had saved John’s life - but he would be on his guard not to ask or offer anything more. Besides, if they expected Rodney to work on constructing Ancient shields and weapons so Torquin's promises to his leader could be fulfilled, Rodney would have to be given some amount of access to their systems. Once he had that kind of access, Rodney had no doubt that he would be able to figure out a way for them to escape or get a message to Atlantis.
That John was seriously injured was a given, but due to the limited options open to him without asking their captors for some supplies, Rodney was at a loss for how to improve John’s situation. A quick glance up to the narrow window near the ceiling of their cell indicated that it was around day break, the pale light of early morning barely illuminating their dark cell. The remnants of their meager meal were still on the tray by their pallet and Rodney removed the final roll from it, tearing it in half and stowing one piece in one of the pockets of his BDUs before reaching beside him to do the same for John. A precautionary measure because there was no way of knowing how long it would be before they were fed again.
John shifted slightly at Rodney’s touch. Rodney watched him closely, but he didn’t show any signs of waking fully. Judging from the thin film of sweat on his brow, Rodney thought John was probably suffering from a light fever; it was not surprising given the extent of his injuries and their less than sterile surroundings. Their captors had stripped them of all of their supplies, leaving them with nothing more than the clothes they were wearing. Cursing himself for not thinking of it before, and silently admonishing John for not asking, Rodney stripped off his uniform jacket and laid it gently over the top half of John’s body, careful to keep the coarse material from scraping over the healing welts on John’s chest. It wouldn’t keep John warm exactly, but it was better than nothing.
Turning so he was sitting on his knees facing John, Rodney reached out carefully to run his fingers lightly down the side of John’s face. Although his skin felt hot beneath Rodney’s fingertips, it didn’t feel like he was burning with fever, so Rodney decided to take that as a good sign. He was reluctant, for some reason, to break his contact with John. It was as if he could draw some measure of strength from just touching the man. Thinking back to the night before, when they'd lain side by side, exchanging information in whispered words, Rodney realized that he'd felt the same then. He supposed it wasn't surprising really, John was his team leader and, until very recently, his best friend. It was surely only natural to gain comfort from his proximity.
Giving in to temptation, Rodney let his hand linger for a moment on John's face, cupping John’s jaw gently as his thumb moved lightly across John’s slightly parted lips. John’s stubble prickled beneath his palm and Rodney wished there was a way that he could soothe John’s injuries and take away his pain. Rodney had always hated it when John was injured; it was something that happened far too often for Rodney’s peace of mind and he'd spent more nights than he cared to remember at John's bedside in the infirmary, keeping watch with Teyla and Ford. John moaned lightly in his sleep, turning his face further into Rodney’s hand which still caressed him. John’s breath ghosted warmly across Rodney’s skin, making him tingle with awareness. Rodney pulled his hand back almost immediately, inhaling sharply and not quite knowing what to make of his reaction to John’s touch.
“Rodney?” John murmured, his eyes flickering open and catching Rodney’s gaze. Rodney was relieved to see that the expression in his hazel eyes was clear and steady.
“Yeah,” he replied thickly, still caught up in an emotion he couldn't quite name. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked quickly, feeling somewhat embarrassed for having touched John while he slept.
John looked down over his body, still covered with Rodney’s jacket, and winced. “Not so hot,” he admitted reluctantly. Rodney knew John well enough to realize that the fact that John would confess that much meant that he really was suffering considerably.
“Hang on,” Rodney said, getting awkwardly to his feet and making his way over to the basin of water to scoop out a bowlful. “Here,” he said a he returned, sitting back down stiffly beside John, one hand clutching his bruised ribs as he did so. John made as if to sit up, but then gasped, a look of pain crossing his features as he tried to move.
“John, don’t,” Rodney cried out. “For goodness sake, you were beaten half to death yesterday. That means that you should try to have at least some small modicum of common sense and do not move!” He huffed in exasperation as he set the water to the side for a moment so he could help John. “Lie still,” he snapped. “If you insist upon sitting up, at least let me help you. Your ribs are probably broken and god only knows what kinds of infectious alien bacteria have already set up their homes in your broken skin.”
“I’m fine,” John groused, but Rodney noticed that he did lie still and let Rodney approach him without complaint. “Just a little sore, is all,” he quipped lightly, even though the skin around his eyes was lined with tension.
Rodney bent carefully over John’s prone body and slid one arm beneath John’s shoulders, wrapping the other one around John's chest. He ignored the pain in his ribs and back, concentrating instead on John. The skin of John’s back was smooth and warm, and the sensation of it felt so good against Rodney’s hands that he almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing. It took John turning towards him, his breath brushing over Rodney's face as he softly murmured “Rodney” for Rodney to recollect himself enough to realize that he was essentially holding John in a close embrace. He forced himself to move back and put a little more space between their bodies, carefully levering John upwards as he did so and shifting John so he could rest his back against the wall behind him.
Quickly averting his eyes, Rodney reached out for the water and placed it in John's hands. As he did so, he felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment for the second time that morning. When he was finally able to look up into John's face, instead of the censure he'd been expecting, he found John was looking at him with an expression on his face that Rodney couldn't interpret. They simply looked at each other for a few beats, some silent communication occurring between them that Rodney’s conscious mind shied away from trying to interpret. After a while John moved his arm so that he could carefully put the bowl back down on the floor, his eyes never leaving Rodney's face. Then, very deliberately, he started to reach his hand out towards Rodney.
Just then the door of the cell swung open with an almighty crash and Rodney very nearly jumped out of his skin. He began to turn towards the door, but stopped when he felt John's hand make contact with the bare skin of his forearm, John's fingers grasping his skin firmly and communicating his urgency. Rodney swung his head back round to meet John's gaze immediately. John looked at him with fierce concentration burning in his eyes and Rodney felt John’s strength and determination to survive flood through their physical connection, filling him with hope.
“Be careful, Rodney,” John said, as the sound of booted footsteps on the stone floor heralded the entrance of their guards. “Don’t do anything to provoke them, you hear me?”
Rodney only had time to nod once in reply before the two guards from the night before - the young kid and the cruel older man - were upon them. Rodney cringed internally even as he started to move instinctively in front of John, trying to protect him should the two imbeciles decide to start getting loose with the kicks again.
“What a touching sight,” came the coolly sarcastic sneer of Torquin from the doorway. “But ultimately useless, of course. Get him up,” he ordered his men.
The guards obeyed at once, each one taking a firm hold of Rodney's arms and hauling him to his feet. Rodney almost started to struggle against them, but then his eyes met John's and he subsided, allowing them to pull him to his feet without protest. Once standing, he shook off their restraining arms and, mindful of John's warning, turned to face Torquin.
“Well?” Rodney asked, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his chin in challenge. “Are you going to show me to the lab or not?”
Torquin raised an eyebrow at him, his mouth twisting in the parody of a smile. “So eager, Dr. McKay. Just the quality I like to see in my... guests.” His cool eyes then flickered to where John sat on the pallet and Rodney had to clench his hands into fists in order to resist the temptation to look back as well. Torquin must have caught Rodney's frustrated desire because he glanced back to Rodney and laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.
“Yes,” he said thoughtfully, tapping the recording device on his chest as he continued. “I see that we may well have found the best method of ensuring your cooperation.” He nodded once towards the guards, one of whom grabbed Rodney and turned him back around to face John while the other moved over to John and struck him once across the face with an open hand. The sound of the blow echoed through the cell, but John didn't make a sound. Rodney found himself biting down hard on his lip to remain silent as well, but couldn't help himself from jerking against the restraining hands of the guard as John’s head sunk down onto his chest and he appeared to lose consciousness again.
“He will remain here for the day, Dr. McKay, whilst you begin work on the Ancient technology in the lab,” Torquin said impassively as he came up alongside Rodney, looking down at John. “You need not fear for his safety, however, that is entirely in your hands - I trust we understand one another.”
Rodney nodded once but remained silent. John had been right, he thought as he followed the guards out of the cell and down to the lab leaving Torquin alone with John, this was a lot worse.
****
Rodney held his silence as the guards led him through the corridors of the holding facility, stoically ignoring their smirking faces as he reminded himself of John’s words. Although his memories of the previous day were decidedly patchy, it seemed like he was being led directly to the Ancient lab he’d been shown the night before. As per John’s instructions, he kept a sharp lookout for anything that might prove useful or informative. Unfortunately, the long grey corridors yielded no more information than they had before. Yet, as he studied them, Rodney became convinced that this part of the mountain-top settlement was not Ancient in origin; neither the material with which the corridors were constructed nor the bright light fixtures positioned at regular intervals were in any way reminiscent of the Ancient design with which he was familiar. He wondered what the rest of the compound was like - if whether other sections had the high stained glass windows and the soft green walls of Atlantis.
These observations raised the question of the Ancient lab - was it really an Ancient lab or merely a collection of Ancient artifacts obtained by Torquin and his equally unsavory associates? Indeed, the lack of ATA gene carriers he noticed yesterday would make in unlikely that the ordinary operations of the base were carried out using any type of Ancient equipment. Well, he would find out soon enough he supposed. The guards came to a halt outside the lab, flanking Rodney on either side as one of them moved forward to unlock the door using a decidedly un-Ancient key. He then pushed the door open while the other guard put his hand on Rodney's back and shoved him into the room.
“Hey,” Rodney started to complain as he stumbled into the room, turning to scowl at the guards, promptly forgetting his determination to remain silent. The older, heavyset man who had shoved him merely grinned evilly at him and reached for the ominous looking baton hanging form his uniform belt. Rodney felt his eyes widen with fear and snapped his mouth shut at once, holding his hands out in front of him to ward off the approaching guard.
“Causing trouble already are we, Dr McKay?” Torquin's smooth voice came from the doorway. “I hope you realize quite how unwise that is... and not merely for your own safety.”
“No... ah, no,” Rodney stuttered quickly, his stomach twisting at the thought of what more might happen to John as a result of his inability to keep his mouth shut.
“Good,” Torquin replied as he strolled casually into the room, indicating to the guards that they should stand down with a careless flick of his hand. “So, as to the order of the day,” he continued as he approached Rodney. “I believe you made some promises about your prowess with Ancient technology. As I explained yesterday, that is something in which I have a most particular interest.” Torquin stopped directly in front of Rodney, his cold grey eyes regarding him in a calculating manner, as if debating Rodney's relative worth.
Rodney shivered. “Yes,” he answered shortly, tilting his chin up so he could return Torquin's gaze and steeling himself not to show too much of his fear. “I am an expert in Ancient technology.”
Torquin remained silent for a few moments, before lifting an eyebrow. “We shall see,” he replied, a cruel little smile twisting his thin lips. He turned brusquely away from Rodney then and moved further into the lab. “I have collected a large number of Ancient devices over the years, wouldn't you say, Dr. McKay?” he said, spreading his arms out to encompass the entire room.
Rodney slowly turned in place, his eyes running over every detail of the room. The lab was a decent size, square with grey walls and bright lights to match the corridor. There were three small windows at the far end, each big enough to let in a small amount of light, but not large enough to get a proper view. They were set high in the wall and below them, embedded into the wall itself, was a large view screen. A series of computer terminals and consoles lined the walls to either side of Rodney and there were three large tables spaced evenly across the centre of the room. It didn't look like any of the Ancient labs on Atlantis, but neither did it look like a random collection of devices procured for numerous sources. Something about the lay-out of the room - the consoles, the single large view screen, the wide high benches - struck a familiar chord with Rodney, although he was at a temporary loss to say what exactly it was.
His eyes narrowed as his gaze finally returned to Torquin; this was a test. “No,” he answered at last. “You didn't collect these devices - this room was set out like this. It's a complete lab - the consoles, design, everything - matches.” He pursed his lips as he considered the room again, it certainly didn't look like the traditional Ancient layout he had encountered. Plus, it was nothing like Atlantis, but then again, Atlantis was but one Ancient city in an entire galaxy that the Ancients had once called their own. “It's a testing centre,” he said as realization struck and he recalled a year he'd spent as a doctoral student working at CERN, the particle accelerator in Geneva. “They were testing something here - something new and experimental, far away from any of their other settlements or, indeed, this planet’s stargate.”
“Very good, Doctor,” Torquin drawled, watching Rodney closely as he leant back against the middle bench. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. “And what would you say the purpose of this facility actually is, then? In your expert opinion?” he asked.
Never one to back down from a challenge to his expertise, Rodney walked over to what appeared to be the main data console on the right hand side of the room and proceeded to boot it up. It reacted to his gene, if somewhat sluggishly, and he was able to activate it and call up the overall system protocols without too much difficulty. He scanned through the readout quickly, picking up the odd reference he recognized, but much of it was new to him. He shook his head to himself and frowned before moving to the other side of the room and repeating the procedure on the main console in that block of terminals.
The more he read, the more fascinated he became. His initial conclusions appeared to be correct - the file storage systems contained literally thousands of entries, reams upon reams of raw data amassed during surely what must have been years of exceedingly thorough experimentation. As he probed further, a picture of what had gone on here started to coalesce in his mind. The entire compound appeared to have been built as a test ground for cutting-edge Ancient equipment - everything from weapons and shielding, to hyperdrives and space-craft. It made sense, Rodney supposed, given the remote location of the base, set high up in the mountains and a not inconsiderable distance from the stargate. What puzzled him slightly was when the base had been built - the architecture and design of the base itself seemed to indicate it pre-dated Atlantis, as the style was much more basic and austere. However, that could merely be a product of purpose - Atlantis was very much a city in which people lived, this base was much more likely to have been an outpost where only the most dedicated researchers worked.
“Well?” Torquin prompted sharply.
Rodney jumped back from the monitor with a start, having forgotten Torquin’s presence so engrossed had he become in the data readouts. He blinked and, as he turned to face Torquin, tried to work out exactly how much of his discoveries he should reveal - how much of it Torquin already knew. “Well, there's an awful lot here,” he hedged. “And you've hardly given me sufficient time to get a proper overview of everything. But,” he continued quickly, lest Torquin take his prevarication as a lack of understanding, “it appears that all of this is a facility the Ancients used for the early stage development of their technology.”
Torquin nodded in approval. “So, perhaps you weren't exaggerating about your expertise after all,” he said. “That is precisely what our scientists have been able to establish. “Weapons,” he snapped, “and shields - those are what our leader has ordered me to deliver to him upon his arrival to inspect this part of his empire. You will make these your priority - I expect to see results within the week, or both you and your friend will suffer the consequences of your failure. Do we understand each other?”
Rodney nodded.
“Excellent,” Torquin said with an evil smile. “Watch him closely,” he ordered the guards as he swept out of the room. “If he causes you any trouble, alert me immediately. I am very much looking forward to... testing the mettle of his companion yet further.”
Rodney shuddered at the threat and quickly turned back to the data console. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers over the keypads while he gathered his thoughts, an image of John flashing briefly across his mind - he would not fail him. Thus determined, Rodney got to work.
****
Read Wing and a Prayer part 3
Wing and a Prayer
Part two
John was only dimly aware of the passage of time as he lay on the hard pallet on the stone floor of his cell. As holding areas went, it was pretty standard for Pegasus; cold, dark corridors leading down to the cells, walls dank with moisture, the odor of mold and decay filling his nostrils. A bucket with a lid served as a toilet in one corner. A basin fixed to the floor was filled with water that came in through a funnel from outside the barred door. A tray with food was shoved through a slot in the bars next to the floor-John had found a couple of stale rolls and a chunk of hard cheese under the cloth covering the tray, but he didn’t have the energy to eat. The pallet was lumpy and damp, the coldness of the floor leaching the heat out of his body where he lay on it-everywhere but where his flesh burned across his chest and abdomen, screaming in its abuse. He couldn’t feel his hands at first, until the blood slowly began pounding back into them, and he coiled up in a ball, holding them above the level of his heart, trying to avoid the pain as blood flooded back into his swollen fingers.
A small amount of light came from a feeble bulb in the ceiling, surrounded by a metal cage. There was a small, barred window as well, too high up to see out. The weak sunlight appeared to be fading; night was coming. He lay on his side, listening to the sound of his pulse in his ears, ticking over the seconds in absence of his watch. A dark, ugly band of bruising surrounded each wrist now. This is all your fault. He should have recognized sooner the dangerous intent of the men they had sought out, sized them up before he led Rodney down into a disreputable part of the market. It was his job to do risk assessment, yet here he and Rodney were prisoners of some pretty ruthless people with no obvious means of escape. For all he knew, Ronon and Teyla were dead, though his mind kept balking at that thought, if nothing else because both of them had survived far worse in their lives. But then how were these men successful in sneaking him and Rodney off-world to wherever they were now?
It wasn’t even just that he had failed to protect Rodney; he grimly tallied up all his failings here. If he hadn’t come down so hard on Rodney earlier, if he hadn’t still been acting like he was holding a grudge over Doranda, then he wouldn’t have had to bend over backwards to show Rodney he wasn’t doubting his judgment in checking out the energy readings. And that wasn’t the worst of it, he decided, adding in the greatest failing of all. The real problem was that his behavior over Doranda had less to do with not trusting Rodney as much as it did with not trusting himself.
Because he had wanted Arcturus to work. Badly. He wanted to be able to bring to Elizabeth the solution to all their problems, to redeem himself for his role in awakening the Wraith by producing the weapon that would save them all. To stop gating to worlds and finding burned out, abandoned villages and people scrabbling to eek out an existence hand to mouth while avoiding the attention of the Wraith. He could still remember vividly the sight of Teyla kneeling on the ground in one such village, trying to comfort a grimy little girl, face streaked with tears and dirt. Teyla had held out a battered, homemade doll which the child clutched to her chest as great, fat tears rolled silently down her face, her entire family taken in a culling. John knew that the little girl had been placed with an Athosian family that had lost their only child in a similar incident, but the memory cut him now as sharply as the lash of the whip.
Rodney had been sure he could succeed where the Ancients had failed and John had ignored the tiny voice of doubt in his own head because the mess that the Ancients in their enormous hubris had left behind was really starting to piss him off and Rodney had been right so many times before. And because John wanted him to be right. And instead they were both spectacularly wrong and John had suddenly realized that he wasn’t objective where Rodney was concerned any more and he couldn’t afford not to be objective as military CO of Atlantis.
And he’d been making Rodney pay for it ever since. He hated himself for that. He hated the way Rodney would look at him with those large, expressive eyes wide with hurt and disappointment whenever John was short with him. He hated seeing the joy of discovery suddenly snuffed out at something John said, or seeing Rodney withdraw further into sarcasm and bitterness when John stepped on his ego. John knew Rodney didn’t have many friends, that he’d valued the friendship he and John had shared. Which made the situation all the more ironic. John wasn’t angry with Rodney so much as himself. He didn’t hate Rodney. Not at all. He liked Rodney too much for his own good.
He wasn’t sure when his feelings for Rodney had crossed from amused annoyance to fond tolerance into disconcerting attraction, but they had. It wasn’t the first time John had been drawn to one of the people he worked closely with on a regular basis. Usually he was smart enough to keep his hands to himself, but Rodney was the oddest combination of outrageous arrogance and surprising vulnerability and it pulled at John in a way that he could not explain away as mere physical attraction or bonding over the constant life-threatening situations. Rodney was openly frightened and amazing courageous. He was sheer brilliance in the lab and stunningly inept with people. He was funny and sarcastic and he didn’t let John get away with much, seeing through the bullshit when most people bought the cover story. Rodney was also content to deal with John as he was, not needing to poke at him and try to peel away layers to get to the ‘real’ John. And he was going to die on this stupid backwater planet if John didn’t get the two of them out of this goddamned mess.
John turned stiffly over onto his back, staring at the ceiling, feeling flayed alive on every level. He had no plan. Absolutely nothing came to mind. They were so screwed.
He awoke to the sound of the steel door closing and realized that Rodney had been placed in the cell with him. It shouldn’t have given him the small measure of comfort that it did, but he couldn’t help that-he would have been relieved to have anyone with him at the moment, if nothing else to keep him out of his own thoughts. He turned his head carefully and squinted up at Rodney, who was looking around furtively before coming over to his side.
“Okay, this is what I’ve got,” Rodney began, crouching down beside John, knees popping with the effort. “Oh god,” his voice wobbled as he got closer. “Look at you.”
“Never mind that,” John said thickly, through swollen lips, “what have you learned?”
Rodney ignored him instead, getting up to rummage around the cell, bringing the tray of food over beside John and then dumping the cheese out of its bowl onto the tray. He took the bowl over to the basin of water and scooped some into it. He came back to kneel beside John. “Here. Can you sit up a bit? You should drink some water.”
John stifled a sigh. It was going to take more energy to argue with Rodney than to give in and make the attempt at movement. Besides, Rodney was right. He needed to drink water, to try and clear the rest of the drugs out of his system, to move around and keep his muscles from freezing up. If only the thought of trying to lift himself into a sitting position wasn’t so paralyzing. He held out his arm for Rodney to pull him up, hooking his wrist around Rodney’s forearm, unable to close his fingers in Rodney’s grip. He grunted with the effort of sitting up and then closed his eyes and panted softly for a moment after the movement stilled.
When he opened his eyes, Rodney’s startlingly blue ones were fixed on his face, anxiety and fear clearly etched in their expression. Rodney had reached behind him with an arm against his back to help him sit up; his hand now reluctantly dropped back to his side. “What’s wrong with your hands?” His voice was higher in pitch and John recognized Rodney was building towards a full-fledged panic attack.
“Lack of circulation,” John ground out. “Talk to me, McKay.”
Rodney ducked his head suddenly and swallowed hard, pouring a small amount of water from the bowl into one of the smooth metal cups provided. He held it up to John’s lips with shaking hands. John placed a steadying hand on Rodney’s arm but made no move to take the cup-he doubted he would have managed it better. The water was astonishingly cold and had a surprisingly nice, metallic taste. Deep underground spring, John thought, drinking more than he’d thought possible when he first sat up. He sputtered and choked when Rodney tipped the cup a little too far and Rodney murmured “sorry,” before lowering the cup and wiping the excess water from John’s mouth with his thumb.
There was a moment of several heartbeats when John felt his eyelids flutter down with each breath and then he struggled to focus on the matter at hand again. “The word, McKay,” he reminded Rodney.
Rodney blinked. “Oh, yes, right. Well.” Rodney, suddenly flustered, set down the water cup and picked up one of the hard rolls, tapping it experimentally on the tray and then looking up at John with an expression of utter dismay. John couldn’t help but feel a small smile tug at his mouth, but that’s all it managed to do.
“Try soaking it in the water,” he suggested before trying once more to get a situation report from Rodney. “You were saying…?”
“Yes, right, of course.” Rodney dunked the end of the bread into the water cup and continued to speak, breaking off a chunk of cheese and smelling it suspiciously before taking a cautious nibble. The expression on his face changed to thoughtful acceptance and he pushed a piece into his mouth, chewing as he spoke. “It’s like this, the ruler here has an Ancient fetish, I mean he’s like a serious collector here. He runs this planet as well as another and alternates his time between the two, making himself out to be some sort of demi-god. Doesn’t have the gene. Only one or two people here so far appear to have it, and it’s pretty dilute in them, let me tell you. They took me to a room with a lot of equipment, but I was given to understand there’s more, lots more, in other places in the city. I got a glimpse out of a window-you won’t believe it, but we’re perched on the top of a mountain, some sort of walled fortress, very Alcatraz.”
“And the Gate?” John watched as Rodney experimentally tested the bread, making a face at the taste. He knew the instant Rodney realized that John should be eating too, and struggled again not to smile when Rodney suddenly handed him a torn off piece of soggy bread and a bit of cheese. He fumbled with it awkwardly, but managed to bring the softer bread up to his mouth, chewing carefully. Sour. He wasn’t surprised.
“Not sure, but I saw one largish dirt road leading out from the city through fields and into a pretty dense forest. There were some wagons traveling on it. I’m guessing the Gate’s not anywhere nearby.”
They ate in silence for a moment as John digested that information. Rodney’s eye kept involuntarily flicking over his chest and a few times John noted his fingers twitching as well, as though he wanted to be doing something as they sat on the pallet together. John finished his bit of food and then lifted his arm to Rodney again. “Help me up.”
Rodney obeyed with alacrity, rolling to his feet, brushing off his hands and then grabbing John’s forearm, hoisting him up with such enthusiasm that John ended up falling into him with a grunt of pain. “Sorry, sorry,” Rodney apologized nervously, still hanging on to John’s arm.
John pushed off the remnant of his tee-shirt, forcing Rodney to release his grip, only to have Rodney take his arm again when John attempted a staggering step forward. “Where are you going?” Rodney frowned at him.
“To take a leak,” John felt the pull of bruised skin as his eyebrow raised. “You planning on joining me?”
Rodney abruptly released him like a hot ember and then stepped back. “You um, think you can manage?” His hand indicated John’s fly and the look on his face was one of pure embarrassment.
John looked down at his hands. The pain was better, but they were still red and swollen and felt like they didn’t belong to him. “I…uh…” he began.
“Let me,” Rodney offered. “I’ll just…”
Rodney stepped forward and hesitantly unzipped John’s fly, moving back quickly as soon as he was done. John, both amused and embarrassed, went over to the bucket and relieved himself. His movements were awkward, but he was going to be damned if he was going to ask Rodney to tuck him back in. When he returned to the pallet, Rodney jumped up and indicated John’s fly with hands that said, “well?” John let Rodney zip him back up again.
As Rodney was starting to sit back down, John clumsily took his arm. Rodney flashed a startled look at him, glancing first down at the hand on his bicep and then up into John’s face.
“I need you to check for bugs.” John raised his eyebrow in what he hoped was a significant fashion. “You know how I feel about bugs, Rodney.”
Rodney frowned. He was thinking so hard, John could almost see the wheels turning in his head and then Rodney’s expression lightened and he suddenly said, “Oh! Bugs. I get it. Right. Bugs.”
John eased himself back down to the pallet, leaning with his back to the wall, shivering just a little in the damp air. No blankets, no straw, no shirt. It was going to be a cold night. Rodney began wandering around the room, eyes carefully searching the stonework as he moved. When he went over to the waste bucket, he shifted it slightly with his foot and then yelped, leaping back suddenly and then jumping up and down, slapping the sole of his boot repeatedly on the floor before grinding the heel down. There was an audible crunch.
“What?” John asked sharply as Rodney came back towards him with a shudder.
“Ugh,” Rodney grimaced, his shoulders giving a little shake of revulsion. “There was some cockroach-y thing, at least the size of my hand.” Rodney knelt back down on the pallet beside him.
“Was that the only bug you found?” John asked, locking eyes with Rodney.
“Yes,” Rodney said, but his eyes said ‘no’. He made the universal finger-to-the-lips for silence and then leaned in close to whisper in John’s ear, “One bug, audio only. We’ll have to watch what we say. How’d you know?”
The moist heat of his breath against the rim of John’s ear made him want to duck his head and roll into it, but John sat very still, trying to control the little shiver Rodney’s closeness triggered. He turned his head carefully into Rodney’s cheek and whispered, “Our friend Torquin has a thing for recording his subjects.”
Rodney’s head pulled back suddenly so he could look into John’s eyes. John watched in fascination as Rodney’s eyes narrowed sharply and his jaw tightened, a small tick developing in a cheek muscle, just like an action hero. John was tempted to humorously point this out but instead leaned back and said in a normal voice. “Good.”
Rodney blinked for a moment, already forgetting the thread of the previous conversation and John sighed. Dissemblance wasn’t Rodney’s strong suit. As though reading his mind, Rodney shot him an ‘I’m not stupid, you know’ look and John gave him a little smile in return.
“You should lie down,” Rodney said, voice suddenly gruff. John nodded and let Rodney help him back down to the pallet, releasing a sigh when his shoulders touched the mat. He lay with his hands propped up over his chest, flexing his fingers, eyes closed.
He opened them at the sound of water being wrung out of fabric. Rodney was twisting the cloth from the food tray over the bowl of water, shooting John a very determined look that waffled into indecision when he saw John was looking back. “I should…you should let me…I need to…” Rodney indicated the lash marks scoring his chest.
“Not necessary.” John could not bear the thought of anything touching him right now. “I’ll take care of it later.”
“What if it gets infected?” Rodney soldiered on. “You’ve already got dirt and bits of stuff sticking to you.” He reached forward with the cloth as he spoke. John raised an arm to block him and Rodney rested his own arm against John’s for a moment, until John finally relented and let his fall back to his side. He tried not to flinch at the first touch of the cool cloth against his burning skin, but he couldn’t help it.
Rodney continued to murmur “sorry” at various intervals while gently sponging away the worst of the dried blood from John’s chest and belly. The cloth grew progressively more rusty in color as Rodney periodically stopped to rinse it out in the bowl of water and came back again. John’s abdominal muscles contracted involuntarily when a droplet of cold water landed on him unexpectedly, but for the most part Rodney’s touch was soothing. It wasn’t until he tried for a deeper cleaning of the lash marks themselves that John had to stop him. The look of pain on Rodney’s face hurt something deep in John as well and he had to say something. “Thanks. I just…please. Stop.”
Rodney just nodded, wrung out the cloth a final time and then went over to the door to hang the cloth over the bars to dry. He dumped out the bowl of water and rinsed it several times before dumping it out and turning it upside down to dry as well. When he returned to the pallet, he appeared to take in his surroundings for the first time, noting the small pad, the absence of any bedding and the increasingly cold temperatures. He shivered and rubbed a hand over his arm, suddenly fixing an eye on John’s shirtless state.
Carefully, he lay down beside John, who shifted over slightly to make room. “Lie still,” he ordered sharply, when John would have rolled on his side to give Rodney more space. Rodney turned on his side and wriggled up against John, who realized after his initial consternation that Rodney intended to whisper something to him. Why was he not surprised? He gave a mental eye roll.
And another little shudder when Rodney’s breath tickled his neck. “Maybe I can convince them to let us have our packs back tomorrow.” His arm bumped up against John’s side as he leaned in to speak quietly and John gripped Rodney’s wrist firmly and squeezed.
“No,” he whispered fiercely.
“But why not?” Rodney countered immediately. “If nothing else, you could get another shirt and certainly some antibiotic ointment and a little Tylenol wouldn’t go amiss.”
John closed his fingers as hard as he could, turning his head to speak quietly but get his point across. “Rodney. This is going to get much worse before it gets better. Do you understand me? Ask for nothing. Don’t show them what your weaknesses are.”
“But,” Rodney began to protest.
John cut him off. “They already know they can get you to cooperate by threatening me. Do you get it?”
Rodney levered himself up on his elbow, eyes wide with shock as he looked down in John, mouth open in horrified dismay. He would have spoken, only John managed to reach up in time and clamp a hand over Rodney’s mouth. Rodney closed his eyes at the contact, opened them again and nodded as John removed his hand. He lay back down beside John, who could hear his increased respiration as Rodney processed what John had said.
After a moment, he leaned in to speak again. “I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
John squeezed Rodney’s forearm again, but this time to say, ‘it’s okay’ and ‘we’ll get out of this somehow’.
****
Rodney awoke the next morning from fragmented and disturbing dreams to find that he was shivering almost violently, his arms wrapped tightly around himself and his legs pulled up tight to his chest. The thin pallet on which he lay was cold and damp, the wetness of the stone floor beneath seeping through its thin padding easily. He rolled over onto his back with a groan and tried to open his eyes. He managed to get them open a crack, but his right eye swollen almost completely closed from where he'd been struck by the guards yesterday.
Yesterday.
All at once the memories came flooding back to him in a sudden, unwelcome and all-encompassing wave. The images which flashed in quick succession through his head - searching through the market with Teyla, encountering the band of strangers with Sheppard, the subsequent fire fight, waking up in the cell alone - made him jerk upright with a start. The final image, which refused to fade as if it was somehow burnt onto the inside of his eyelids, caused his heart to stutter painfully in his chest - John strung and hanging from a hook, unconscious, bound and bloody.
Rodney turned his head to the side; his eyes suddenly open wide and his thoughts frantic. Where was John? The relief that swept through him as he found John lying beside him on the pallet made him sag forward for a moment, bracing his hands on his outstretched legs and dropping his head between his arms. Once he’d gotten a handle on his wayward emotions, Rodney started to take stock of their position, reminding himself that they were both here, together, so surely everything would be okay in the end. God, and wasn't that just another indication of the impending apocalypse, Dr Rodney McKay relying on platitudes to make him feel better?
The fact that Teyla and Ronon were not with them, and their captors had not mentioned of any other prisoners, worried Rodney more than he wanted to admit. It wasn't that he doubted their ability to look after themselves, and of course they hadn't been with him and Sheppard when they had been attacked, but they would have been up at the Stargate. Something serious must have happened for them not to have prevented his and John's abduction. Still, there was nothing practical Rodney could do about it, so he concentrated instead on the immediate situation. At least that he had some hope of effecting.
Rodney stretched his body out carefully, trying to assess just how much damage the guards had done to him last night. All things considered, he was not really in too bad a shape. Of course, he was sore and cold, his ribs ached and, consequently, breathing was painful. In addition, his face was swollen, the skin tight and hot to the touch. Nevertheless, his head was finally clear and he didn’t seem to be manifesting any signs of ill-health from either the drug to which he’d been subjected or the food he’d eaten the night before. His hypoglycemia also seemed to be in abeyance for the time being.
Having determined that he wasn’t in any immediate physical risk, Rodney turned his attention back to John. As he looked over John’s face and body, he felt his fear return in force. If Rodney was cold, John had to be freezing, dressed in only his BDU trousers and boots. He was lying flat on his back, his injured hands still red and slightly swollen at his sides. Rodney's gaze shifted to John's chest and he winced; John's chest was a nasty mess of welts and cuts, caked clumps of drying blood and the dark red bruising of broken capillaries. Steeling himself, Rodney's eyes moved to John's face. John's eyes were closed and, despite his obviously dire physical state, he appeared to be deeply asleep. He was breathing shallowly through slightly parted lips, which were chapped and broken. Like his chest, his face was covered with bruises and a painful cut on his stubbled chin indicated where the tip of the whip had caught him in the face. Rodney hurt just looking at him, the ache of empathy in his chest surprising him with its intensity.
The longer Rodney looked at John's battered body, the stronger his feeling grew. He felt his hands curl into fists as the rage swept through him. He recalled the sight of that bastard Torquin flaying John with his whip whilst John was suspended, bound and helpless, and felt himself start to shake. God, how could this have happened? How could he have let this happen? It was all his fault - if he hadn't been so keen to chase those Ancient energy signals, too damn self-centered to let just one mission go without feeling the need to prove his worth… Rodney squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to take several deep breaths; somehow he had to remain calm and clear-headed if he and John were to make it through this.
'Rodney. This is going to get much worse before it gets better.' Rodney recalled John’s words of the night before. Although they’d been spoken in a low hiss of pain, they nevertheless held the underlying steel and determination that was exclusively John’s - the one that promised that things would get better, so long as they stayed strong and worked together.
Rodney found himself wringing his hands in distress, unsure as to what best to do. Right, he told himself firmly, together, strong - he could do that… he would do that. John had said that Rodney needed to show him that he could be trusted and Rodney was determined to prove himself worthy of John’s trust. John had also said that they were not to show their captors their weaknesses; that they would have to make do with what they had. Rodney couldn't bring himself to regret his offer to Torquin to help them restore their Ancient technology - that had saved John’s life - but he would be on his guard not to ask or offer anything more. Besides, if they expected Rodney to work on constructing Ancient shields and weapons so Torquin's promises to his leader could be fulfilled, Rodney would have to be given some amount of access to their systems. Once he had that kind of access, Rodney had no doubt that he would be able to figure out a way for them to escape or get a message to Atlantis.
That John was seriously injured was a given, but due to the limited options open to him without asking their captors for some supplies, Rodney was at a loss for how to improve John’s situation. A quick glance up to the narrow window near the ceiling of their cell indicated that it was around day break, the pale light of early morning barely illuminating their dark cell. The remnants of their meager meal were still on the tray by their pallet and Rodney removed the final roll from it, tearing it in half and stowing one piece in one of the pockets of his BDUs before reaching beside him to do the same for John. A precautionary measure because there was no way of knowing how long it would be before they were fed again.
John shifted slightly at Rodney’s touch. Rodney watched him closely, but he didn’t show any signs of waking fully. Judging from the thin film of sweat on his brow, Rodney thought John was probably suffering from a light fever; it was not surprising given the extent of his injuries and their less than sterile surroundings. Their captors had stripped them of all of their supplies, leaving them with nothing more than the clothes they were wearing. Cursing himself for not thinking of it before, and silently admonishing John for not asking, Rodney stripped off his uniform jacket and laid it gently over the top half of John’s body, careful to keep the coarse material from scraping over the healing welts on John’s chest. It wouldn’t keep John warm exactly, but it was better than nothing.
Turning so he was sitting on his knees facing John, Rodney reached out carefully to run his fingers lightly down the side of John’s face. Although his skin felt hot beneath Rodney’s fingertips, it didn’t feel like he was burning with fever, so Rodney decided to take that as a good sign. He was reluctant, for some reason, to break his contact with John. It was as if he could draw some measure of strength from just touching the man. Thinking back to the night before, when they'd lain side by side, exchanging information in whispered words, Rodney realized that he'd felt the same then. He supposed it wasn't surprising really, John was his team leader and, until very recently, his best friend. It was surely only natural to gain comfort from his proximity.
Giving in to temptation, Rodney let his hand linger for a moment on John's face, cupping John’s jaw gently as his thumb moved lightly across John’s slightly parted lips. John’s stubble prickled beneath his palm and Rodney wished there was a way that he could soothe John’s injuries and take away his pain. Rodney had always hated it when John was injured; it was something that happened far too often for Rodney’s peace of mind and he'd spent more nights than he cared to remember at John's bedside in the infirmary, keeping watch with Teyla and Ford. John moaned lightly in his sleep, turning his face further into Rodney’s hand which still caressed him. John’s breath ghosted warmly across Rodney’s skin, making him tingle with awareness. Rodney pulled his hand back almost immediately, inhaling sharply and not quite knowing what to make of his reaction to John’s touch.
“Rodney?” John murmured, his eyes flickering open and catching Rodney’s gaze. Rodney was relieved to see that the expression in his hazel eyes was clear and steady.
“Yeah,” he replied thickly, still caught up in an emotion he couldn't quite name. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked quickly, feeling somewhat embarrassed for having touched John while he slept.
John looked down over his body, still covered with Rodney’s jacket, and winced. “Not so hot,” he admitted reluctantly. Rodney knew John well enough to realize that the fact that John would confess that much meant that he really was suffering considerably.
“Hang on,” Rodney said, getting awkwardly to his feet and making his way over to the basin of water to scoop out a bowlful. “Here,” he said a he returned, sitting back down stiffly beside John, one hand clutching his bruised ribs as he did so. John made as if to sit up, but then gasped, a look of pain crossing his features as he tried to move.
“John, don’t,” Rodney cried out. “For goodness sake, you were beaten half to death yesterday. That means that you should try to have at least some small modicum of common sense and do not move!” He huffed in exasperation as he set the water to the side for a moment so he could help John. “Lie still,” he snapped. “If you insist upon sitting up, at least let me help you. Your ribs are probably broken and god only knows what kinds of infectious alien bacteria have already set up their homes in your broken skin.”
“I’m fine,” John groused, but Rodney noticed that he did lie still and let Rodney approach him without complaint. “Just a little sore, is all,” he quipped lightly, even though the skin around his eyes was lined with tension.
Rodney bent carefully over John’s prone body and slid one arm beneath John’s shoulders, wrapping the other one around John's chest. He ignored the pain in his ribs and back, concentrating instead on John. The skin of John’s back was smooth and warm, and the sensation of it felt so good against Rodney’s hands that he almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing. It took John turning towards him, his breath brushing over Rodney's face as he softly murmured “Rodney” for Rodney to recollect himself enough to realize that he was essentially holding John in a close embrace. He forced himself to move back and put a little more space between their bodies, carefully levering John upwards as he did so and shifting John so he could rest his back against the wall behind him.
Quickly averting his eyes, Rodney reached out for the water and placed it in John's hands. As he did so, he felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment for the second time that morning. When he was finally able to look up into John's face, instead of the censure he'd been expecting, he found John was looking at him with an expression on his face that Rodney couldn't interpret. They simply looked at each other for a few beats, some silent communication occurring between them that Rodney’s conscious mind shied away from trying to interpret. After a while John moved his arm so that he could carefully put the bowl back down on the floor, his eyes never leaving Rodney's face. Then, very deliberately, he started to reach his hand out towards Rodney.
Just then the door of the cell swung open with an almighty crash and Rodney very nearly jumped out of his skin. He began to turn towards the door, but stopped when he felt John's hand make contact with the bare skin of his forearm, John's fingers grasping his skin firmly and communicating his urgency. Rodney swung his head back round to meet John's gaze immediately. John looked at him with fierce concentration burning in his eyes and Rodney felt John’s strength and determination to survive flood through their physical connection, filling him with hope.
“Be careful, Rodney,” John said, as the sound of booted footsteps on the stone floor heralded the entrance of their guards. “Don’t do anything to provoke them, you hear me?”
Rodney only had time to nod once in reply before the two guards from the night before - the young kid and the cruel older man - were upon them. Rodney cringed internally even as he started to move instinctively in front of John, trying to protect him should the two imbeciles decide to start getting loose with the kicks again.
“What a touching sight,” came the coolly sarcastic sneer of Torquin from the doorway. “But ultimately useless, of course. Get him up,” he ordered his men.
The guards obeyed at once, each one taking a firm hold of Rodney's arms and hauling him to his feet. Rodney almost started to struggle against them, but then his eyes met John's and he subsided, allowing them to pull him to his feet without protest. Once standing, he shook off their restraining arms and, mindful of John's warning, turned to face Torquin.
“Well?” Rodney asked, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his chin in challenge. “Are you going to show me to the lab or not?”
Torquin raised an eyebrow at him, his mouth twisting in the parody of a smile. “So eager, Dr. McKay. Just the quality I like to see in my... guests.” His cool eyes then flickered to where John sat on the pallet and Rodney had to clench his hands into fists in order to resist the temptation to look back as well. Torquin must have caught Rodney's frustrated desire because he glanced back to Rodney and laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.
“Yes,” he said thoughtfully, tapping the recording device on his chest as he continued. “I see that we may well have found the best method of ensuring your cooperation.” He nodded once towards the guards, one of whom grabbed Rodney and turned him back around to face John while the other moved over to John and struck him once across the face with an open hand. The sound of the blow echoed through the cell, but John didn't make a sound. Rodney found himself biting down hard on his lip to remain silent as well, but couldn't help himself from jerking against the restraining hands of the guard as John’s head sunk down onto his chest and he appeared to lose consciousness again.
“He will remain here for the day, Dr. McKay, whilst you begin work on the Ancient technology in the lab,” Torquin said impassively as he came up alongside Rodney, looking down at John. “You need not fear for his safety, however, that is entirely in your hands - I trust we understand one another.”
Rodney nodded once but remained silent. John had been right, he thought as he followed the guards out of the cell and down to the lab leaving Torquin alone with John, this was a lot worse.
****
Rodney held his silence as the guards led him through the corridors of the holding facility, stoically ignoring their smirking faces as he reminded himself of John’s words. Although his memories of the previous day were decidedly patchy, it seemed like he was being led directly to the Ancient lab he’d been shown the night before. As per John’s instructions, he kept a sharp lookout for anything that might prove useful or informative. Unfortunately, the long grey corridors yielded no more information than they had before. Yet, as he studied them, Rodney became convinced that this part of the mountain-top settlement was not Ancient in origin; neither the material with which the corridors were constructed nor the bright light fixtures positioned at regular intervals were in any way reminiscent of the Ancient design with which he was familiar. He wondered what the rest of the compound was like - if whether other sections had the high stained glass windows and the soft green walls of Atlantis.
These observations raised the question of the Ancient lab - was it really an Ancient lab or merely a collection of Ancient artifacts obtained by Torquin and his equally unsavory associates? Indeed, the lack of ATA gene carriers he noticed yesterday would make in unlikely that the ordinary operations of the base were carried out using any type of Ancient equipment. Well, he would find out soon enough he supposed. The guards came to a halt outside the lab, flanking Rodney on either side as one of them moved forward to unlock the door using a decidedly un-Ancient key. He then pushed the door open while the other guard put his hand on Rodney's back and shoved him into the room.
“Hey,” Rodney started to complain as he stumbled into the room, turning to scowl at the guards, promptly forgetting his determination to remain silent. The older, heavyset man who had shoved him merely grinned evilly at him and reached for the ominous looking baton hanging form his uniform belt. Rodney felt his eyes widen with fear and snapped his mouth shut at once, holding his hands out in front of him to ward off the approaching guard.
“Causing trouble already are we, Dr McKay?” Torquin's smooth voice came from the doorway. “I hope you realize quite how unwise that is... and not merely for your own safety.”
“No... ah, no,” Rodney stuttered quickly, his stomach twisting at the thought of what more might happen to John as a result of his inability to keep his mouth shut.
“Good,” Torquin replied as he strolled casually into the room, indicating to the guards that they should stand down with a careless flick of his hand. “So, as to the order of the day,” he continued as he approached Rodney. “I believe you made some promises about your prowess with Ancient technology. As I explained yesterday, that is something in which I have a most particular interest.” Torquin stopped directly in front of Rodney, his cold grey eyes regarding him in a calculating manner, as if debating Rodney's relative worth.
Rodney shivered. “Yes,” he answered shortly, tilting his chin up so he could return Torquin's gaze and steeling himself not to show too much of his fear. “I am an expert in Ancient technology.”
Torquin remained silent for a few moments, before lifting an eyebrow. “We shall see,” he replied, a cruel little smile twisting his thin lips. He turned brusquely away from Rodney then and moved further into the lab. “I have collected a large number of Ancient devices over the years, wouldn't you say, Dr. McKay?” he said, spreading his arms out to encompass the entire room.
Rodney slowly turned in place, his eyes running over every detail of the room. The lab was a decent size, square with grey walls and bright lights to match the corridor. There were three small windows at the far end, each big enough to let in a small amount of light, but not large enough to get a proper view. They were set high in the wall and below them, embedded into the wall itself, was a large view screen. A series of computer terminals and consoles lined the walls to either side of Rodney and there were three large tables spaced evenly across the centre of the room. It didn't look like any of the Ancient labs on Atlantis, but neither did it look like a random collection of devices procured for numerous sources. Something about the lay-out of the room - the consoles, the single large view screen, the wide high benches - struck a familiar chord with Rodney, although he was at a temporary loss to say what exactly it was.
His eyes narrowed as his gaze finally returned to Torquin; this was a test. “No,” he answered at last. “You didn't collect these devices - this room was set out like this. It's a complete lab - the consoles, design, everything - matches.” He pursed his lips as he considered the room again, it certainly didn't look like the traditional Ancient layout he had encountered. Plus, it was nothing like Atlantis, but then again, Atlantis was but one Ancient city in an entire galaxy that the Ancients had once called their own. “It's a testing centre,” he said as realization struck and he recalled a year he'd spent as a doctoral student working at CERN, the particle accelerator in Geneva. “They were testing something here - something new and experimental, far away from any of their other settlements or, indeed, this planet’s stargate.”
“Very good, Doctor,” Torquin drawled, watching Rodney closely as he leant back against the middle bench. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. “And what would you say the purpose of this facility actually is, then? In your expert opinion?” he asked.
Never one to back down from a challenge to his expertise, Rodney walked over to what appeared to be the main data console on the right hand side of the room and proceeded to boot it up. It reacted to his gene, if somewhat sluggishly, and he was able to activate it and call up the overall system protocols without too much difficulty. He scanned through the readout quickly, picking up the odd reference he recognized, but much of it was new to him. He shook his head to himself and frowned before moving to the other side of the room and repeating the procedure on the main console in that block of terminals.
The more he read, the more fascinated he became. His initial conclusions appeared to be correct - the file storage systems contained literally thousands of entries, reams upon reams of raw data amassed during surely what must have been years of exceedingly thorough experimentation. As he probed further, a picture of what had gone on here started to coalesce in his mind. The entire compound appeared to have been built as a test ground for cutting-edge Ancient equipment - everything from weapons and shielding, to hyperdrives and space-craft. It made sense, Rodney supposed, given the remote location of the base, set high up in the mountains and a not inconsiderable distance from the stargate. What puzzled him slightly was when the base had been built - the architecture and design of the base itself seemed to indicate it pre-dated Atlantis, as the style was much more basic and austere. However, that could merely be a product of purpose - Atlantis was very much a city in which people lived, this base was much more likely to have been an outpost where only the most dedicated researchers worked.
“Well?” Torquin prompted sharply.
Rodney jumped back from the monitor with a start, having forgotten Torquin’s presence so engrossed had he become in the data readouts. He blinked and, as he turned to face Torquin, tried to work out exactly how much of his discoveries he should reveal - how much of it Torquin already knew. “Well, there's an awful lot here,” he hedged. “And you've hardly given me sufficient time to get a proper overview of everything. But,” he continued quickly, lest Torquin take his prevarication as a lack of understanding, “it appears that all of this is a facility the Ancients used for the early stage development of their technology.”
Torquin nodded in approval. “So, perhaps you weren't exaggerating about your expertise after all,” he said. “That is precisely what our scientists have been able to establish. “Weapons,” he snapped, “and shields - those are what our leader has ordered me to deliver to him upon his arrival to inspect this part of his empire. You will make these your priority - I expect to see results within the week, or both you and your friend will suffer the consequences of your failure. Do we understand each other?”
Rodney nodded.
“Excellent,” Torquin said with an evil smile. “Watch him closely,” he ordered the guards as he swept out of the room. “If he causes you any trouble, alert me immediately. I am very much looking forward to... testing the mettle of his companion yet further.”
Rodney shuddered at the threat and quickly turned back to the data console. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers over the keypads while he gathered his thoughts, an image of John flashing briefly across his mind - he would not fail him. Thus determined, Rodney got to work.
****
Read Wing and a Prayer part 3