The Paradox of Vision (Part 2)
Title: The Paradox of Vision, Part 2
Notes: This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Continues straight on from here.
~*~
As it turned out, Rodney was almost right. It wasn't as bad as he'd predicted, but the next day saw the beginning of a series of small, irritating mechanical failures throughout the city. They were rarely life-threatening, but research and development in the labs slowed to a crawl as nearly every scientist was dragooned into repair work of one kind or another. Rodney stayed in his lab, directing repair teams in the city and trying to keep two dozen simulations and experiments running, sometimes with Sheppard's help, sometimes without.
"Now what?"
"Now be still so I can get a good look," Rodney said. He tapped unconsciously at the edge of the table. "All right, pull the fourth crystal. STOP!" John's fingers stopped. "Put the damned gloves on," Rodney snapped. "Your hair's excitable enough, I don't think you want a few extra volts to add that certain something, and we can't count on the grounding in any of the consoles at the moment. You should've seen Zelenka's hair yesterday morning."
"You could see a difference?" John's hands disappeared for a moment; Rodney closed his eyes and reopened them in time to see Sheppard's gloved fingers gently pull the fourth crystal from its tray. "Okay," Sheppard said into his ear.
"Put it into the magnifier," Rodney said, and Sheppard slotted the smudged crystal into the handheld machine. The display lit up with a schematic and Rodney examined it. "Okay, hold on, I need to look something up," he said. He closed his eyes and began typing. "Okay, do you see a broken connection between the E14 and the E19 filaments?"
A pause, then John's voice. "Yeah, got it."
"Can you mend it? Use the number three welder." Rodney opened his eyes again, watching Sheppard wield the microwelder with commendable precision. "That's good, good - stop now, you don't want to weaken it any more than you have to."
Sheppard stopped, moving the tools back, leaving the magnifier screen clear. Rodney could see the lumpy place where the two filaments had been rejoined. "Okay?" Sheppard said.
"Yeah. Pop it back in and see what happens." Rodney shrugged his shoulders as Sheppard tapped the crystal back into place, trying to relieve a little of the tension. He'd been hunched here for... a while. Five hours? Something like that. And Sheppard's hands were steady enough while he repaired the filaments within the crystals, but as he drew them back, Rodney saw a minor tremor. Five hours this stretch, dinner before that, six and a half hours in the lab before that - it added up.
"It's in," Sheppard said, pushing the tray back into its console. "What do you show?"
"Give me a sec," Rodney snapped, already closing his eyes, tapping at the computer and waiting for Atlantis to tell him whether the water lines were working again. "Hey," he said a moment later, smiling. "That did it."
"For now," Sheppard said, and Rodney could hear all his own irritation and exhaustion in Sheppard's voice.
"Take a break," Rodney said, making a quick decision. "I'm going to get Zelenka and Simpson and maybe Kusanagi in here, see what they've been doing. We need to find the common thread, figure out what's going wrong."
"That would be good," Sheppard replied, exaggerated patience in his voice.
"Go," Rodney said, and he closed his eyes for a second as Sheppard rose. "You can take off the SED if you want. Also, have a shower, now that we've got the lines repaired."
"Okay," came the reply, and Rodney opened his eyes again, braced for the blackness.
It came, and he spent five second wishing Sheppard would wear the SED into the shower, then pushed back from his desk with a sigh and tapped the radio over to the science channel. "Radek, when you and Simpson are done in the infirmary, bring Miko and come to my lab. We need to find a cause."
"I have some thoughts," Zelenka said into his ear, sounding dark.
"Shocking," Rodney replied, then clicked off his radio and rummaged through his desk drawer for a snack.
*
It took four more days to trace the cause to a persistent software glitch - a naturally occurring computer virus, for all intents and purposes.
"The Replicators," Rodney told John as they hunched over a laptop together, John's eyes dry and burning as he watched line after line of code scroll by. "They installed their own software, and suffice it to say, ten thousand years of divergent computer evolution led to some conflicts."
John hit the space bar to pause the steady progression of numbers. "Sorry, just needed a second," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Why would they install buggy software if they intended to stay here?"
Rodney bumped him with his shoulder and tapped the space bar again the instant John's eyes were open again. "Suck it up, Sheppard," he said. "They didn't know the software was buggy," he explained in his you are exceptionally slow voice. "It just didn't jive with the Ancients' code. At first the problems were small ones, and Atlantis compensated, but little viruses become big viruses if they're not chased down, and now the problems are, one, systemic, and two, big."
"No kidding," John, who'd been stuck in a transporter with Miko for forty-five minutes that morning, said. "How long is this going to take?"
"I don't know," Rodney said. He paused the scrolling again, highlighted a chunk of numbers, pasted it into a document and shot it to the science staff at large. "We've got everyone on this, but it takes a certain kind of, of," his hand waved in the corner of John's vision, "call it sensitivity to patterns, to spot the fishy places in the code."
John reached for his coffee, carefully keeping his eyes on the screen as he sipped. "Why can't you just write a program to find the errors?" Seriously, Rodney's sheer persistence was terrifying. John had known it, but knowing it and being held captive by it, sitting beside him and staring at a computer screen for eleven hours at a time, were two different things.
Rodney sighed heavily. "We are," he said. "Radek, Simpson and I do the error-spotting; we send the buggy bits of code out to everyone, and anyone who's not actively ensuring that we don't drown in our own sewage, or sink, or go dead in the water, works on integrating our patterns into a detection program." He patted John's leg absently. "Don't worry, we should be done in a few more hours."
"And then what?" John asked, shifting on the bench.
"Then we - by which I mean Simpson, she's far and away the best programmer, although Ochoa has a certain flair as well - writes a fast and dirty integration hack, we feed it into Atlantis, Atlantis goes and finds the buggy software, and everything goes back to normal."
John slumped sideways, resting his head on his fist, head tipped sideways. "Great," he said.
"Sit up straight," Rodney snapped. "You're giving me vertigo." His elbow dug into John's ribs.
"I have to pee," John said quietly, straightening into a vertical slouch.
Rodney was busy highlighting another fifteen lines of code. "Hold it," he said, and John sighed.
*
"No ill effects," Carson said, and Rodney yawned, feeling his jaw crack with the effort of it. "Hasn't hurt your eyes, and the only thing wrong with either of you is sleep deprivation."
"So how about you let us go take care of that?" Sheppard said hopefully, and Rodney mumbled agreement.
"Aye, I will. A moment, though."
Rodney groaned. "That's a moment I could be using to sleep, Carson, so if you're going to launch into your lecture on caffeine-intake-as-substance-abuse, can you just save it? I promise to come in tomorrow and nod dutifully if you'll just skip it for now."
He'd gotten used to seeing himself through Sheppard's eyes, and he could mostly ignore his own face and figure to pay attention to everything else. Now he watched Carson's eyes… twinkle, and wow, he'd never known people really did that.
"I'm perfectly happy to let you sleep, John, Rodney, but I thought you both might like to know that Dr. Yee and I have come up with a possible treatment for your eyes, Rodney, working with data from both of your visual scans."
Sheppard's eyes flicked from Carson to Rodney and then back to Carson - still, Rodney couldn't help but see the naked hope on his own face, visible just for that moment. He stuttered for a moment, disoriented. "I - really? Can I take it now? How does it work?" He waved his hand, seeing it in the corner of his eye. "No, who cares, it's not like the explanation will make sense anyway. Can I try it now?"
Carson was smiling, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. "Listen - are you awake enough to listen?"
"I am now," Rodney said. "C'mon, c'mon." He snapped his fingers, blinking when John reached for his hand to still it, squeezing it and putting it back down on his leg.
"Let the man talk, Rodney," Sheppard said, thumb rubbing over Rodney's wrist bone for an instant as he pulled his hand away.
"It's basically a harmless viral carrier for several types of chemicals," Carson said. "We've tested it in all the lab devices and on the mice, and although of course none of the mice have your impairment," he hurried on as Rodney opened his mouth with a scorching comment, "the injection at least did their optic systems no harm, so even if the chemicals don't do as we hope they will, they won't increase the damage."
"How long will it take to work?" Rodney asked. His palms were sweating, and he rubbed them along his thighs anxiously.
"We believe the safest route to take is one of daily injections for a week, to introduce the changes gradually and let your body complete the repair work once the inhibiting factors from the toxin are out of the way," Carson replied. "We'd like to inject you before bed each night."
"Let's go," Rodney said, rolling up his sleeve.
He heard Sheppard's low, amused snort from his right.
"Listen, though," Carson said. "I'll give you the first injection tonight, that's fine. But starting tomorrow, you mustn't use the SED device anymore."
Rodney cocked his head at the same moment Sheppard did - luckily in the same direction.
"You think it'll interfere with Rodney's own vision," Sheppard said.
"That's ridiculous," Rodney said. "We think the SED was created so that experts could help workers in situations where the experts couldn't get there, or when it wasn't safe for them to be in certain areas - like when Sheppard repaired the water lines while I gave him instructions by watching the SED. You can't tell me every Ancient expert was blind." He heard his voice spiraling upward, saw his own face flushing red as Sheppard turned his head to look at him.
"No, of course not," Carson said. "But yours is a special case, Rodney, and your brain will be confused enough, dealing with relearning how to see with your own optical nerve."
"It's just for a week, anyway," Sheppard put in, and there was his hand again, warm and calm on Rodney's back. "If it doesn't work and we have to start over again, we can use the SED again, no problem." And there was Carson's nodding head. "Right, doc?"
"Absolutely," Carson said, "and you may begin to regain your sight in as few as four or five days, Rodney. It might not take the full seven."
Rodney shook his head, not in negation. "I'm being ridiculous," he said, exhaustion washing over him, over the initial rush of adrenalin, dulling his first gut-level reaction. "It's fine, we can - I can go without my seeing eye dog for seven days, if I get my eyes back in return."
"I'll still be your seeing eye dog," Sheppard said. "Don't worry about it."
Rodney snorted. "Yes, I'm sure you'll be oh-so-sad to get away from listening to me rant my way through the labs. Not to mention staring at computer screens for eighteen hours straight. Not to mention -"
"Don't worry about it," Sheppard repeated, more quietly, and Rodney subsided into weary silence, watching Carson bustle away to fetch his and Dr. Yee's miracle drug from the infirmary refrigerator.
Rodney hated injections, always had. Still, the chill of the fluid being pushed into his vein felt terrifyingly like hope, and he closed his eyes for an instant, waiting for the cold to thread its way through his body.
*
"So this is it," John said, stopping in front of Rodney's door with him. "You want me to come in and read while you fall asleep?"
Rodney rolled his eyes, listing slightly to the left before straightening himself. "You're as tired as I am, don't be an idiot," he said. His expression softened a little. "But thanks anyway." He hesitated, mouth half open, and John waited to see if he wanted to say anything else.
Apparently not. "Okay," John said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, then, good night." He started to turn away, not trying to decipher whatever it was that lay under his exhaustion - happiness for Rodney, resignation that they wouldn't get to spend their days so close, anticipation of being back out in the field with his team, having them whole again, with him.
Rodney stopped him, a hand on his arm. "Colonel," he said.
"Yeah," John answered, turning back around.
"Turn that - turn the SED off," Rodney said, waving one hand vaguely. "I can't - just. Please."
"Okay," John said, and unclipped the box from his pants. He slid it into his pocket. "Better?"
"Yes," Rodney said. "I just wanted to. Say." He reached for John's arm once more, unerring even though his eyes were unfocused again, blank and bright and tired, circles under them, his soft hair flat and lank against his head. "Thanks. I mean - for everything." He pulled at John's arm, moving awkwardly forward, and John stumbled into him, and what was he - did he? What - ?
Oh. He wanted to give John a hug.
John went with it: let Rodney tuck his chin over his shoulder and pat his back for a second. John patted back, uncertainly. "It's fine," he said into Rodney's hair, starting to pull back with one final, too-hearty thump. "You'd do the same for any of us."
Rodney didn't let go. "I think I'm nervous," he said, and abruptly jerked John closer, turning his head so his face was right against John's neck. "Um. Sorry." But he didn't let go - his hands were kind of fisted in the back of John's t-shirt - and John stopped trying to get away.
He stood there, letting Rodney clutch him. After a moment John settled his hovering hands onto Rodney's shirt again - not patting this time, just there, on Rodney's warm, broad back. "It's okay," John said. "We're both tired."
"Yes," Rodney said, breathing steadily into his neck.
A minute later he pulled back; his face was pink. "I'm really tired, and that's why I'm doing this," he said, voice unexpectedly firm. He tipped his face up to John's and kissed him, a soft brush of lips, whisper of stubble across John's and coffee-scented breath exhaled against his mouth. "Okay," Rodney said. "Good night."
And he stepped back, waving his hand and entering his quarters while John stood where he was, mouth open, hands empty.
*
Sheppard didn't say anything about it the next day. Showed up at his door at about the usual time, walked to the mess with him same as always, guided him with a hand lightly on Rodney's back just as usual. Sheppard sat them both down with Teyla and Ronon at breakfast, ran interception when Rodney threatened to make sure the transporters reassembled Ronon in six different places in retaliation for Ronon stealing his muffin.
How tired had Rodney been last night?
Rodney still felt weary, from the day (days) before, from knowing the darkness behind his eyes wouldn't be relieved for days yet to come if at all. Put together, those facts made him cranky. It had nothing to do with his own stupidity last night, he told himself, or with the creeping, insidious hope and fear all wrapped up in the drug now working its magic (he assumed, wished) behind his eyes. It was easier to pretend those things with Sheppard acting as if nothing had happened, thank god.
The day settled into some weird semblance of normality. Sheppard didn't come with him to the lab after breakfast, but he was there at the later briefing, when Rodney reported that Simpson and Ochoa's programming seemed to be working, Atlantis' internal sensors speeding so quickly through her own systems to cleanse them of the conflicts that it was almost, Rodney said, as if she was affronted to find herself anything less than perfect. He heard Sheppard's soft puff of amusement beside him, and relaxed a little more.
His team - still his team, although now it was Zelenka who hefted the backpack-cum-datapad, who snapped a tac vest closed over his skinny frame - went on a mission that afternoon. Rodney spent the time, as had become his habit, working in the gate room, passing the hours with a survey of secondary systems, ensuring that they were as healthy as the primaries after the stresses of the past week.
People seemed to assume that blindness equated with deafness, he'd found, and he picked up some truly diabolical gossip, listening to Campbell murmuring with Sergeant Hanlon. Rodney filed the information away for later; Jensen had a stash of Cadbury's she'd been flaunting in the common lab, and she'd probably hand over at least three bars to keep him quiet. Four if he'd drop a word to Campbell or Hanlon and get them off the scent, Rodney thought.
The team came back whole and cheerful four hours later, voices loose and easy, Ronon rumbling in response to Teyla's alto statements, Zelenka chattering to Sheppard about medieval street patterns and the uselessness of such defenses against airborne enemies, Sheppard's laconic replies just as they should be - just as they always were. Rodney carefully didn't turn his head toward them, tipping his face down to the laptop instead, fingers flying across the keys as his radio droned away in his ear, flat and mechanical.
"Hey, Rodney," broke in, and Rodney jumped and jerked his chin up, reaching to tap at his earpiece.
"Yes, Colonel?" he asked with exaggerated patience. "Working, here."
"Yeah, I know." His voice was warm, slow, perfectly familiar in the radio, although the team was leaving the gate room - Rodney could hear them moving away, Zelenka talking to Teyla or Ronon now. "Teyla wants you to work out with her later."
"I'm sure Teyla is capable of interrupting me herself," Rodney snapped. "Did you need something?" He jumped and yelped as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
"Just wanted to say hi," Sheppard said, voice clear and echoing in stereo: the radio feeding him the sound in one ear, Sheppard's breath against the other.
"Jesus," Rodney said, turning in his chair and glaring at where Sheppard ought to be. "Do you think I need a stroke on top of my current medical issues?"
"Just keeping you on your toes," Sheppard drawled, straightening (Rodney assumed), hand dropping from Rodney's shoulder as his voice moved away. "See you at dinner."
"Asshole," Rodney muttered, and Sheppard's snicker only came from his radio, this time - he was already gone.
That night, Sheppard showed up at the infirmary just as Carson was hooking Rodney up to the monitors to check him, post-injection.
"How's it going?" Sheppard asked, hopping up to sit beside Rodney on the examination table. His hand bumped Rodney's where it gripped the edge of the padded surface, and Rodney opened his mouth to reply, side-tracked by the bare brush of Sheppard's pinky against his.
"I think it's going well, Colonel," Beckett said, and Rodney closed his mouth and made a face, turning his head toward the Scottish lilt, away from Sheppard's warmth beside him.
"You said there was no appreciable change," Rodney said. "Also, Dr. Yee sucks at giving shots." He rubbed his arm and glared at the empty darkness.
"Way to make me want to improve," Dr. Yee called from across the quiet room.
"I control your hot water," Rodney snapped.
"She kinda controls your chances, McKay," Sheppard said.
"Settle down," Beckett said, bundling the blood pressure cuff around Rodney's bicep. "We didn't expect to see a measurable change today, and also I'd like to get an accurate reading, if you don't mind."
Rodney subsided into sullen silence, too aware of Sheppard at his right, the heavy swing of his boots from the table, the unwavering contact against the side of his finger, along his hand.
"Ronon came to the weight room with Teyla and me," Rodney said as the cuff began loosening with a hiss.
Sheppard shifted next to him. "Yeah, he does that."
"I'm just glad I couldn't see him to be intimidated," Rodney said. "He can probably bench press me. With one hand." Sheppard snorted and started to reply.
"Pressure's good," Beckett broke in, ripping the velcro band off. "Everything looks fine, Rodney. Take him off to bed, Colonel, would you?"
Rodney felt the flush sweep over his face, so hot and fast sweat broke out on the back of his neck. "I can find my own way," he said, scowling in Beckett's direction. He stood abruptly, reaching into his pocket for the life-signs detector he'd been using all day. "I don't need the Colonel to take me anywhere."
He stomped through the (thankfully deserted) infirmary, keeping up the pace through the equally empty corridors, grateful for the late hour and sparse population.
"Rodney, wait up." Of fucking course.
"Yes?" Rodney channeled all his humiliation into irritation. "I really can find my quarters without any help, you know."
"Hey." Sheppard was beside him now; Rodney turned away again, continuing his march through the hallway. "I know that."
"What do you want?" Rodney asked. He stepped into the transporter, Sheppard close beside him. "Personal quarters," Rodney said, touching his hand to the sensor pad.
There was a brief tingle as they disappeared and then phased back in.
"That's pretty cool," Sheppard said. Rodney could feel him, right at his heels as he moved out of the transporter, listening with half an ear to the click of the life-signs detector.
"What's cool?" Rodney asked, scowling to himself. Sheppard was on his right again, keeping pace easily. Damn the man for having quarters three doors away from Rodney's, anyway.
"Just - being able to say it. Having the computer understand you. It's very… Star Trek."
"Oh." Four doors, three, two: Rodney stopped. "Yes, it's cool." He waved a hand at the left side of the door, listening for the metallic hiss. As fresh air washed over his face, he began to step forward, was stopped by a hand on his arm. "What?" Rodney said, unable to keep the desperation - desperation to get away - out of his voice.
"I'm just - uh." Sheppard's hand loosened on his arm, but didn't let go. "You know."
Rodney heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping. "No, Colonel, I don't know. I don't speak Sheppardese, or whatever non-language you happen to be not-communicating in today." He gestured toward his quarters with his free hand. "I just really, really want to get to bed." The flush was (surprisingly) just as painful the second time. "To sleep." He turned his head away from Sheppard, whose fingers tightened and then relaxed on his arm - but didn't release.
"Okay," Sheppard said. "I guess you must be pretty, uh, tired."
"Exactly," Rodney said gratefully, pulling away, "I'm just tired," and oh, crap, he'd said that last night, hadn't he? He jerked his arm away from Sheppard, but Sheppard still didn't let go. Instead his grip firmed, and Rodney stumbled back a little, trying to get away, but - oh - Sheppard's other hand was cupping his cheek and Rodney couldn't see him, maybe, but Sheppard had stepped right up close to him, nearly against him. Rodney could feel his body heat, sense his warm, solid presence far, far too close.
"I'm pretty tired, too," Sheppard said, low and slightly hoarse; his palm was a little sweaty against Rodney's burning cheek. Rodney couldn't help it; he turned his head with the pressure from Sheppard's hand, mouth already softening even though he knew he must be hallucinating, the injections were probably doing irreparable damage to his precious brain, because otherwise he would be forced to believe that, that -
- that Sheppard's lips were brushing over his own, soft and then firm and then gone.
Sheppard's hand dropped away, too, and it should have left a cool place behind, but Rodney's face was hotter there, instead.
"Good night," Sheppard said, and Rodney stood where he was (like an idiot, he thought furiously, but he was still somehow unable to make his feet move at all) until he heard Sheppard's door open and close, halfway down the hall.
Rodney advanced into his own quarters as if he was sleepwalking, waving a shaky hand at the inside panel to lock it behind himself and leaning back against the cool metal, licking his lips and wondering how Sheppard had looked when he'd kissed him.
*
John walked through his door and fell onto the bed, rolling to his side to land, pressing the heel of his hand against his erection, choking back a groan at the thought of Rodney's wide blue eyes, his soft, crooked mouth. He'd kissed John back, quick as the whole thing had been: parted his lips and kissed back. Terror and elation twisted in John's belly, and he stifled a laugh at his sweating palms and quick-beating pulse, no better or cooler than when he'd been fourteen and dared to kiss Jennifer Keagan behind the equipment shed at school.
He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, unbuttoning his pants with a sharp tug at the placket. He pulled himself out and began stroking fast and tight, the thin smear of his precome making it easier, hips stuttering into his hand. He hoped he'd left Rodney good and hard, too. John jerked off reckless and wanton, mouth open on shallow breaths, wondering if Rodney was doing the same thing a few doors away. The thought was enough to bring him to the edge, and four strokes later he came, gasping out his orgasm as his body curled tight and then melted slowly into bonelessness.
John opened his eyes and looked blindly at the pale wash of moonlight on the other side of his window. He wouldn't say anything to Rodney in the morning. But maybe tomorrow night he'd kiss him again.
*
Rodney avoided Sheppard in the morning by the expedient of getting up while he knew the colonel would be running with Ronon. He sat with Radek in the mess at breakfast and was just getting up to leave when he heard Teyla, Ronon and Sheppard enter, their voices clear over the low chatter of the other diners.
"Come on," Rodney said to Zelenka, snapping his fingers, "chop-chop. You've got some time to make up for missing yesterday afternoon, let's go."
Zelenka grumbled something with too many consonants and carried Rodney's tray for him. "Is not my fault I was away from the lab yesterday afternoon," he said.
Rodney was already making his way out of the mess hall. "Yes, you're a real team player, I feel for your terrible sacrifice in the face of my slightly annoying disability. Let's go."
"Hey, Rodney," Sheppard said, and goddamn him, did he have to sound so normal?
"Good morning," Rodney said. "Teyla, Ronon. Zelenka and I were just leaving. Have a good breakfast." He waved his right hand around until he felt Zelenka's arm; grabbed it and shoved him, holding tight. "Right, Radek?"
"They have labor laws, you know," Zelenka said, moving forward. "I don’t get paid enough for this."
"Yes, your life is very hard, we're all sympathetic, I weep for your pain."
"Hey, I'll see you in the morning meeting," Sheppard called after them, and Rodney waved the life-signs detector behind himself as Radek led him through the door.
Sheppard sat right beside him at the meeting and - further! worse! - kept pulling Rodney's laptop over to himself and typing notes to Rodney: notes which his radio repeated into his ear. Rodney was torn between wanting to murder Sheppard and wanting to kiss him (again, and oh god), since the most interesting topic raised in the meeting - once Rodney's report on systems repairs was done - was whether or not general funds could be found to hire four Athosians as housekeeping staff. And if they could, how much would it cost, and what currency would be used, and seriously. Sheppard's speculation on who would win a smack-down, Daleks or Replicators, was manna from heaven, even if it was irritating to have his laptop stolen every three minutes.
Rodney escaped after that, back to the labs to make sure everyone was back on their scheduled projects, and inform a few people of the egregious errors he'd found while they were off keeping the city afloat.
"I don't know, Edarov, maybe I'll just keep you in environmental," Rodney said thoughtfully, tapping his chin.
"Those are automated systems," Edarov protested, "I have three delicate experiments in progress at the moment, you can't reassign me!"
"You have one delicate experiment in progress, because numbers two and three are useless, useless, useless, and I thought maybe," Rodney jutted his chin forward, "you might be able to handle sitting in a small room and turning the thermostat up and down, given careful instruction, rather than creating a backflow problem in four systems, which you would have if I hadn't put your first two simulations on hold!" Five minutes and some back-and-forth yelling later, Edarov's projects had been relegated to unconnected systems in a deserted lab, Edarov himself had been relegated to the deserted lab, and Rodney was able to settle down with his fourth cup of coffee and a Powerbar for lunch.
He figured he could keep this up all day, wheedle Zelenka or Ochoa into bringing him lunch and dinner, come back to the lab and work late, and get his nightly injection and scan after Sheppard had gone to bed.
Which meant, of course, that Sheppard showed up just outside the infirmary as a click on the life-signs detector and a thorn in Rodney's side. "Hey, I was just coming to see how things are going with the treatment," the Colonel said, and Rodney carefully didn't slam his head into the nearest wall.
"I don't know," he said patiently as the infirmary doors hissed open, "I'm just going in to let Beckett stab me."
"It'll be me tonight," Dr. Yee said, and Rodney flinched from her cold hand as she led him to the scanners. "Let's run a check, see what's happening, and then I'll do the injection."
"Where's Beckett?" Rodney whined. He lay down on the table and curled his hands into fists. "You'd think being blind would make the claustrophobia better," he said to Sheppard as the machine hummed and closed over his head.
"Or drive you completely insane," Sheppard said cheerfully. "You know, what with the darkness, not being able to see, all that."
"Dr. Beckett's shift ended forty minutes ago," Dr. Yee said. "Okay, I'm all done - I'm opening the machine now. Stay here while I hook up the imaging screen - I was using it in the other room." Her voice was disappearing even as she spoke.
Rodney tried to sit up, was stopped by a hand on his chest. "Hold on, Rodney, it's not done retracting yet." There was a tug and he felt the brush of Sheppard's knuckles against his chest as Sheppard grabbed his shirt and helped him sit up on the table. "There you go." The hand disappeared; Rodney swallowed.
"She's really not good at giving shots," he said after a moment of silence. "I think I have a bruise from yesterday."
"Let me see," Sheppard said. "I'll tell you."
"No, that's okay," Rodney replied quickly. "It's fine. I'm sure it's fine."
Another silence, and Rodney was relieved to hear the click of Dr. Yee's shoes on the ceramic flooring. "All right, here we are," she said. "There's some progress being made - I can see changes in about 20 percent of the damaged area, with the affected neurons looking more like the surrounding cells."
"Let me see," Sheppard said, and there was murmuring, Dr. Yee pointing to various spots on the screen while Rodney twitched where he sat.
Hope and irritation and the absolute certainty that he would somehow jinx himself if he acted happy all combined to make him feel tired and edgy and just generally pissed off. "Hello," he said loudly, "do you mind? Feel free to come in tomorrow for a lecture on my condition, Colonel, but for now, could I please get my injection and get out of here?"
"He's just tired," Sheppard said, with absolutely no inflection beyond amused tolerance, and Rodney made an effort not to grab for the viewer and bludgeon him to death with it.
"Seriously," Rodney said. "Doctor, please?"
"I've got it ready, let me just get it from the fridge," she said, and Rodney rolled up his sleeve, waiting impatiently.
"No bruise," Sheppard commented.
"…Great," Rodney said, closing his eyes. "Thanks."
"No problem," Sheppard said, and then Dr. Yee was back, and there was the cold swipe with alcohol, then the cold push of the needle into his arm.
"Sit here for a couple of minutes; I'll do your blood pressure and check your temp, then you can go," she said.
Rodney spent two minutes not talking. He could hear Dr. Yee moving around the room, and Sheppard's occasional shift of posture from the doorway. Eventually Dr. Yee came back and checked his pressure, stuck a thermometer into his ear, and pronounced him fit and released.
"So those fruits we traded for yesterday," Sheppard said as they walked through the corridors toward their quarters. "Have you seen - I mean, have you held one?"
"No," Rodney replied shortly.
"They're, uh, blue, like a blueberry -"
"I recall the concept," Rodney said, feeling his way into the transporter.
Sheppard reached past him to push the sensor pad - Rodney felt the brush of his arm before Sheppard went to stand on the other side of the tiny closet. "Yeah, so they're blue, and round, about -" they phased out, phased back in, stepped out of the transporter - "the size of a clementine, you know, those little oranges."
"If you're about to tell me a fascinating tale of cultural anthropology in which someone makes a comment about a blue orange, I will murder you where you stand," Rodney said, counting down to his door.
"No," Sheppard said, still right beside him, "I was just going to say you have to peel them, and they taste just like bananas."
Rodney stopped outside his door. "That's it?"
Sheppard stopped, too - Rodney could hear him shift his weight from foot to foot. "Yep. That's it."
"Really it's amazing I let any of you live," Rodney said, but his heart wasn't in it. He waited a moment to see whether Sheppard would do anything, say anything, and finally sighed. "Well, good night, Colonel," he said, and turned toward his door, lifting his hand toward the lock.
"Hey, Rodney," Sheppard said.
"Jesus Christ, finally," Rodney said. He turned and grabbed Sheppard. It flashed through his head just how stupid he would look if he tried to kiss him and missed, but then Sheppard's guiding hand was on his cheek, just like it had been last night, and his mouth met Rodney's with only the briefest of hesitations.
His lips were damp and soft - Rodney thought of him licking them and made a noise somewhere in his throat - and there was nothing hesitant about this kiss. Sheppard's mouth opened easily against Rodney's, sure and eager; his thumb stroked along Rodney's jaw, leaving a bright trail of sensation that burned like a brand.
Rodney tightened his grip on Sheppard's arms. The life-signs detector dug into his palm, had to be digging into Sheppard's arm, but neither of them flinched away until Rodney had practically forgotten what oxygen tasted like, replaced it with the taste of Sheppard's tongue, the slick-smooth surfaces hidden within his mouth, arousal and need and Sheppard's fingers light on his face.
They broke apart to breathe - Sheppard's noisy inhale in Rodney's ear made him jump and let go. The life-signs detector dropped to the floor with a clatter and Rodney startled again, even as he gulped air, wished he could just drag Sheppard into his quarters.
"Jeez," Sheppard said, low and still close, though his hand had fallen away when Rodney started back.
Rodney waited for something else; when it didn't come he felt his shoulders drop; he raised his hand and ran it over his face. "Yeah," he said, hoping he didn't sound quite as wrecked as he felt. "Um. Listen."
"Yeah," Sheppard said, not quite a question.
"I don't want - we shouldn't -"
Sheppard moved away, sudden cool where his body heat had been an instant before. "It's okay, Rodney. Sorry. I'll just see you tomorrow, okay? Good night."
"I'm not finished." Rodney flailed out blindly, snagged Sheppard's wrist and held on. "Shut up for a second." They stood that way for a moment, silent, while Rodney thought furiously. "Why'd you kiss me yesterday?"
"You kissed me first." Even Sheppard seemed to realize how juvenile that was - he snorted as soon as he said it, and Rodney waited to see if he'd go on. He didn't.
Rodney rubbed his forehead. "Yes, well. I see we're going to do this with the same level of maturity we've brought to the rest of our relationship so far." He heard Sheppard's low, amused sound; felt an unwilling smile tugging at his own mouth. More than that, though, Sheppard moved close again, warmth and proximity all tangled up with the heat in Rodney's belly. "So listen. I suck at this kind of thing, but I want - this." He tightened his grip on Sheppard's wrist.
Sheppard mumbled something: "Me, too."
"You suck at it, or you want to kiss me some more?" Rodney demanded.
"Both," Sheppard said, and his smile was against Rodney's cheek again. His wrist twisted in Rodney's grasp, sliding around and then down until their palms were aligned.
"Okay," Rodney breathed into the short, bristly hair just behind Sheppard's ear. "Good. But listen." His breath caught as Sheppard nosed at his ear, nuzzled his hair. "Can it wait?"
"The kissing, or the sucking?" The word held a world of promise.
Rodney groaned with disgust at the pun and desire at the thought. "Good god, Colonel, that was wretched. And those kinds of lines get you laid?"
Sheppard snickered into his ear. "Sometimes. What do you want to wait for?"
"Until I can see you," Rodney said quietly, and he felt John still against him, the steady inhale-exhale of his breath. "I just - I want to see you. How you look when we, when I - I don't want to do this out of some kind of pathetic desperation, or think you're doing it out of pity."
"I'm not," Sheppard said.
Rodney put his other hand up, hesitantly, and curved it around the back of Sheppard's neck. "Okay, so prove it."
"Wait?" Sheppard asked, sounding resigned and amused.
"Wait." Rodney replied. He leaned against Sheppard for a moment, then straightened. "Also, let go of me. I need my beauty sleep."
"One for the road?" Sheppard asked, and then he was pushing Rodney back, back, back against the wall, kissing him hot and deep and wet and messy, body pressed against Rodney's from knee to chest, mashing him against the wall in way that was pretty much the polar opposite of unpleasant, Rodney thought, grabbing Sheppard's ass and squeezing.
"Yeah," Rodney panted, "I guess that couldn't hurt."
Sheppard rolled his hips forward - Rodney groaned - and then stepped back, his breathing loud. "Yeah," he said. "Glad you agree."
"Okay." Rodney bit his lip and tried not to go after Sheppard. "Well. Good night."
A whisper of movement and then Sheppard's hand grasped his, turning it over, pressing the small rectangle of the life-signs detector into his nerveless grasp.
"Good night," Sheppard said, leaning close, lips moving against Rodney's ear. Rodney could feel his smile, hear it. "See you tomorrow."
Rodney made it into his quarters without dropping the life-signs detector again, but it was a close thing.
*
The days settled, again, into a pattern.
John got up early for PT, showered, came by Rodney's quarters. They ate with Ronon, Teyla and Zelenka. Radek and Rodney sloped off to the labs, while John slouched away to face paperwork and Lorne. Teyla and Ronon did Teyla and Ronon things - their own mission paperwork, training with the marines and those scientists who needed it, meditation, whatever. (John had his suspicions about the PS2 that had vanished from the common room a month ago, but no one had complained - regular Daedalus runs meant most people who wanted game systems had them, now - so John wasn't saying anything.)
There were meetings, briefings, missions.
Zelenka was a good scientist and dependable in every situation they'd been thrown into so far, but he stubbornly refused to like the gate travel. He was funny, sharp, helpful - and adamant that his place on an offworld team was a temporary measure. John stopped trying to persuade him that SGA-5 could really use a new scientist, what with Tomkins' newly discovered allergy to, apparently, everything green, but Zelenka merely shook his head, kept his eye on his handheld, and muttered back at him in Czech.
During the days, Rodney seemed to be okay. He was snappish, short, irascible, rude: perfectly himself. But his face had, again, lost some of its animation, and his shoulders were hunched more often, arms held closer to his body so he wouldn't bump into people or things. He brushed off most attempts at help again, and refused outright to talk about the drug therapy. Whatever he did or didn't tell Heightmeyer remained in her office, locked tight as the narrow line of his lips.
Each night, John showed up at the infirmary for Rodney's injection.
By the fifth night, almost all the damaged tissue appeared to have been regenerated. Rodney sat up straighter at that, and Beckett patted his shoulder. "It's good news," he said, "it happened even faster than we'd anticipated." But John caught the slightly troubled glance he threw to Dr. Yee over Rodney's head. "Now we've just the waiting to do, as your brain re-establishes pathways to the optical nerves."
"Do we have to continue the shots?" Rodney asked, folding his arms protectively, scowl aimed in Dr. Yee's general direction.
Dr. Yee unfolded his arms and began rolling up his sleeve. "Yes, we do." She swiped the alcohol swab over his bicep. "And if your arms are both sore, I'm sure I can think of somewhere else to inject you." She pushed the needle in neatly; John winced and looked away.
"No no no no no," Rodney said, voice spiraling up as she depressed the plunger. "It's fine. I'm fine."
"Good." She finished the injection and turned away to dispose of the hypodermic.
Beckett was ready with the blood pressure cuff and thermometer; he strapped the cuff around Rodney's already-bare arm. "The injections contain all manner of things," he said conversationally, "not just the neural regenerators. There are also several chemical carriers that should help establish patterns for your nervous system." He pumped the old-fashioned cuff up, stethoscope against the crook of Rodney's arm as he spoke. "We'd thought the carriers would work alongside the regenerators, but there's no reason they have to - it certainly makes sense that all the neurons had to be repaired before connections could be re-created."
"In other words, you have no idea why it's working the way it's working, but I shouldn't be freaking out," Rodney said.
"They said seven days," John put in, and Beckett sent him a grateful glance.
"So we did, Colonel, so please try to be patient, Rodney." He ripped off the velcro cuff. "Pressure is fine - a bit elevated, but it has been since the, ah, the incident."
"Since I was blinded," Rodney said, but at least he sounded dry and bitter, rather than just bitter.
John pushed off the wall, waiting for Beckett to take the thermometer out of Rodney's ear. "C'mon, Dr. Tactful, I think it's time to get you back to your quarters."
Rodney's ears turned pink. "Yes, yes." He hopped off the examining table. "I need my sleep. Wouldn't want to miss out on eight whole hours of unrelieved darkness. Oh, wait."
John rolled his eyes and cupped Rodney's elbow. "You're not even trying anymore," he said. He winked at Beckett and Yee, guiding Rodney past a cart of med supplies. "That wasn't nearly as acidic and hateful as you could've managed just a few weeks ago."
"It's your fault I've lost my edge," Rodney said loudly, allowing himself to be led. "Damn bunch of meddling do-gooders."
"We're terribly sorry," Beckett called after them. "We'll try to be less caring and helpful in future."
"Saving the last injection for your glutes," Yee said, and it was John who nearly ran into the doorway on that one, not Rodney.
"She has designs on my ass," Rodney said as they paced down the corridor.
"Yes, well," John said, and he left the don't we all unspoken, but smiled to see Rodney's ears go red again.
*
"Any change?" Carson's voice was businesslike.
Rodney glared in his direction. "Yes, absolutely. Didn't I mention that I can see again?"
"You neglected to mention that, yes," Carson replied dryly.
"Believe me, I'll let you know." Rodney swung his feet, listening to the hollow thung as his heels bumped the side of the exam table. "So, ah." He turned his face down, tapping his fingers on his thighs. "When, exactly, will I be letting you know something?"
He could hear the sudden stillness around him; even with only Sheppard and Carson there, there was a certain lack of breathing and movement. Rodney lifted his head, alerted.
"It's not an exact thing, Rodney," Carson said.
"And it hasn't even been seven days," Sheppard added from the doorway.
Rodney turned his face toward Sheppard. "What aren't they telling me?"
Carson spoke in reply. "Listen, Rodney. I would have expected there to be some change in your vision by now. Dr. Yee and I were discussing it, though, and there's no reason to believe the treatment won't work." He tapped Rodney's legs, and Rodney obediently swung them up onto the table, lying back. Carson kept talking over the hum of the scanner closing over him. "We've said again and again that there's no way to time the recovery process exactly."
"I know, I know," Rodney said, "and the brain is a strange and mysterious organ, etcetera, etcetera." His voice sounded weird, trapped by the metal curving over his body, and he closed his eyes - it didn't change anything, but somehow felt better - and muttered "clear blue skies, clear blue skies," until the scanner hummed again and he felt cooler air wash over his face.
"I think your brain's a little more strange and mysterious than everyone else's," Sheppard said, and it was his hand on Rodney's elbow, helping him upright again. He stepped away again, fingers brushing down Rodney's arm before the touch disappeared.
Rodney swallowed, glad Carson had gone to fetch the meds. "My brain is also much more advanced than everyone else's," he said. "Ergo, it should take even less time to heal. Right?" He couldn't help the plaintive note on that last word.
"Hope so," Sheppard said, and Rodney knew Carson must still be in the adjoining room, must have his back turned, because Sheppard's hand was back: fingers curved over Rodney's shoulder, thumb drawn swiftly down his neck.
"Stop that," Rodney muttered, but he didn't mean it, and he just knew Sheppard was smirking, that bastard. His hand lifted and Carson was back.
"Which arm is it tonight?" Carson asked, and Rodney wordlessly produced his left.
~*~
No change on day seven.
They discontinued the shots on day eight; administered neural regenerators alone on days nine and ten and eleven. Beckett and Yee asked Rodney not to use the SED device; they seemed convinced that some magic breakthrough waited just around the corner, after the next injection, with the next tweak Yee or Carson made to the cocktail.
By day twelve, John was alarmed - but not really surprised - to hear Rodney yelling when he came trotting to the infirmary, a little later than he usually made it.
"Then just start over," Rodney shouted; Dr. Yee's voice replied, exasperated, and then Rodney again: "No! No more goddamned shots! They're not doing any good! You need to think of something else. Let me know when you do." A thump, crash (John winced - sounded like Rodney had banged into a gurney, and those things were vicious), cursing, and the stomping sound of footsteps just as John got to the door.
"Do you mind?" Rodney snarled; John reared back, startled, and stood aside as Rodney stamped out of the infirmary.
John watched him go for a second, then peered through the doorway at Beckett and Yee, who were looking at one another - Yee looked pissed, and Beckett looked rueful.
"Uh," John said.
Beckett looked at him. "Hullo, Colonel. I'm afraid you've missed all the excitement."
"All the stupidity," Dr. Yee muttered, and turned away, small dark hands precise with anger as she gathered up her abandoned hypodermic and the tiny bottles of medicine.
"I… should I go after him? Drag him back?" John scratched his head.
"Good luck with that," Yee said, and left for the back room.
Carson shook his head and pushed the crooked gurney back into its place against the wall. "Nay, I wouldn't. One night without an injection isn't likely to make a difference at this point, and we'll work on some new options beginning tomorrow."
"Can we - can he use the Seeing Eye Dog?" John offered. "Might cheer him up."
Carson looked over his shoulder to where Dr. Yee had disappeared. "…I don't see why not," he said slowly. "We haven't talked about it, but I've been thinking that we should re-introduce it soon, anyway, just so his visual centers don't lose what they regained of translating images - you remember how it was for him when he first put the device on." John nodded, and Beckett's replying nod was firm. "Yes, why don't you and he do that again tomorrow, at least for what time you can spare. It won't help with his own vision, but it can't hurt."
"It's quiet at the moment, and I'm due some downtime," John said, and touched wood. "I can spend most of the day with Rodney, letting him work or whatever." He grinned a little at Carson's sympathetic eyeroll, and headed out of the infirmary with a spring in his step.
*
"McKay, put on your radio."
Rodney sighed heavily and groped around on the floor beside his bed. His hand encountered the plastic wire, and he lifted it to his mouth, fingers unerring when he tapped the transmission button.
"I don't want to talk right now," he said.
"Yeah, I figured," Sheppard said. His voice sounded distant and small, coming from the earpiece dangling under Rodney's chin. "Just for a minute, if you want."
Rodney sighed again - this time into the mic - and hooked the radio over his ear. "There. What?" He rolled onto his back again.
"You all done with your temper tantrum?"
"Hey, how about you try being blind for eight weeks instead of me?" Rodney suggested angrily. "Then maybe we can talk about temper tantrums and whether I get to throw them or not. Good night, Colonel."
"Hey, hey," Sheppard sounded repentent. "I didn't mean it in a bad way. Just wanted to know if you wanted to be distracted."
Rodney plucked at the blanket under his hand. "I don't know. I'm mostly done being pissed off, I guess. I'm just -" He stopped, swallowed. "Tired. You know?"
"Yeah." Sheppard breathed steadily into his ear. "Wanna come to my room and molest me?"
"Is this an encrypted channel?" Rodney asked, touching the tiny knob nervously. "Also, I'm not in the mood." That wasn't entirely true - hearing Sheppard say molest me was enough to distract Rodney from his sulk, but he wasn't about to admit it.
"No, I thought talking dirty to you on an open channel was the way to destroy my career," Sheppard said.
"Since disobeying direct orders and refusing to cut your hair to regulation wasn't working out," Rodney snapped back; then: "You're going to talk dirty to me?"
"I can do better than that," Sheppard said. "Put on the SED."
"The - what? Really?" Rodney was already rolling over, fingers sliding along the front of his nightstand until he found the drawer pull. He'd left the little strip of leather right here -
As his fingers closed on it, he got a flicker of sight and made a sound. It was - god, it was something, to see something again after twelve days of blackness.
"You got it?" Sheppard asked quietly.
Rodney flopped onto his back, clutching the sensor strap. "Yeah. What am I looking at?"
"My ceiling," Sheppard said.
"Listen, if you're planning to talk dirty to me, you could at least get some porn on your laptop for me to look at," Rodney said, trying not to sound breathless, which he was, because even Sheppard's ceiling, plain grey and silver, looked good. Gut-wrenching relief was rolling over Rodney so hard he almost felt sick with it.
"Is it clear? How's it working?" Sheppard asked, ignoring Rodney's remark.
"Yeah, it's clear. It was a little fuzzy for a second, but I guess it hasn't been so long that I've forgotten how to see, this time," Rodney said. "Thank god for small favors."
"You were pretty quick, even last time," Sheppard said. "You wanna look at something else?"
"Not that your ceiling isn't just fascinating," Rodney said. He blinked as his view swung down, a little dizzying, since Rodney was motionless on his back, head on his pillow, working at getting the SED buckled around his wrist.
"Yeah," Sheppard said. "This better?"
Everything went black as Rodney fumbled the strap. "Holy fuck - hold on," Rodney bit out. An instant later he had his sight back, or Sheppard's anyway, which was way better, since Sheppard was looking down his bare (hairy, flat) chest and belly to his own hand, curled loosely around his cock. "Wow," Rodney said. "Yeah, that's - wow."
Sheppard gave a nearly inaudible huff of laughter. "This is okay?"
"I'm blind, not stupid," Rodney said.
"You don't want to wait?"
Rodney could hear his smirk. "I can see just fine, and I've never heard of a pity jerk-off, so this is good."
Sheppard snickered into his ear. "Good."
"Don't - don't do anything yet, okay?" Rodney stared as Sheppard chuckled again - his belly moved, and his dick twitched. Rodney whined a little, fastening the SED with shaking, clumsy fingers, arching back to shove his pants down. "Okay, I'm good - ohh," Rodney said, lifting his very, very interested cock out of his pants, watching as Sheppard stroked himself once, slowly: narrow fingers tighter on the flushed skin of his cock, the head smooth and rounded, clear fluid welling up at the slit. "Oh my god," Rodney said. "You did give me porn."
"I'm, uh -" Sheppard's voice was hoarse, laughter beneath - "I'm probably not going to last all that long, once I get started."
"Just don't close your eyes when you come," Rodney said, stroking himself quickly, listening to John's choked laugh in his ear. He watched John's thumb slide over the head, the shine of pre-come smeared lower. "Jesus Christ," Rodney said, closing his eyes for a second, hips jerking up into his fist. He opened his eyes again, desperate not to miss anything. "I thought you were going to talk dirty to me," he said after a long minute of listening to Sheppard's breathing, the slick slide of his hand on his cock.
Sheppard sucked in a hasty breath. "I, uh, I don't do that, so much," he managed.
Rodney licked his palm hastily, went back to what he was doing, imagining John's tight grip on his dick, working the foreskin over the head and back down, feeling heat pool in his belly, the big muscles tighten in his thighs. "Tell me what you're thinking about," Rodney said in a rush, blushing, biting his lip in embarrassment and desire.
"I'm -" Sheppard's hips were moving, now, small pushes upward. "Oh, god, I can't, this is too -"
"I'm thinking about you jerking me off," Rodney said, breathless.
"I wish I could see you," Sheppard gasped, and then he groaned and closed his eyes.
"I want to see, let me see," Rodney snapped, desperate, and he watched through Sheppard's blurry, heavy lidded eyes: the first thick spurt of white, a messy splash onto his sternum. Then thinner splatters onto his belly as his hand slowed, fist squeezing long, tight strokes from root to tip, and finally the last thick surges of come, spilling over his knuckles, down into the thatch of dark hair around his cock; everything slippery and wet, Sheppard's heaving breaths in Rodney's ear.
Rodney pressed his head back into the pillow and came, broken-voiced, practically whimpering with it as every muscle in his body clenched, waves of release pouring over him, one hand knotted in the sheets, the other jerking the last little bits of pleasure from his dick: tiny, jittery movements over sensitized skin.
"Good?" Sheppard asked, a minute later; Rodney was drifting, eyes half open, watching Sheppard pull his sticky hand away from his softening cock.
"Wish I could lick that off your hand," Rodney murmured, and Sheppard coughed, abrupt and too-loud in his ear.
"I always knew you'd kill me," Sheppard said. "I just didn't think it'd be through choking on my own spit."
Rodney closed his eyes. "Never underestimate the many ways in which I might or might not kill you."
"Hmm." Sheppard's eyes were closed, too, Rodney figured, blinking a little and seeing faint darkness, and he wondered if the SED would give him Sheppard's dreams, if they left it on. Probably dreams didn't work that way, Rodney thought, hazy. And also, he wouldn't want Sheppard's dreams, probably - his own were enough to deal with.
"Hey, I'm falling asleep," Rodney said.
"Yeah." Sheppard was gone already, Rodney figured, breathing steady and low in his ear. "S'okay. Me, too."
"Thanks," Rodney said, and slipped away, the strap still buckled around his wrist, his eyelids closed over a softer darkness than he'd known in days.
~*~
PART THREE
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The next day saw the beginning of a series of small, irritating mechanical failures throughout the city. It was rarely life-threatening, but research and development in the labs slowed to a crawl as nearly every scientist was dragooned into repair work of one kind or another.
Notes: This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Continues straight on from here.
~*~
As it turned out, Rodney was almost right. It wasn't as bad as he'd predicted, but the next day saw the beginning of a series of small, irritating mechanical failures throughout the city. They were rarely life-threatening, but research and development in the labs slowed to a crawl as nearly every scientist was dragooned into repair work of one kind or another. Rodney stayed in his lab, directing repair teams in the city and trying to keep two dozen simulations and experiments running, sometimes with Sheppard's help, sometimes without.
"Now what?"
"Now be still so I can get a good look," Rodney said. He tapped unconsciously at the edge of the table. "All right, pull the fourth crystal. STOP!" John's fingers stopped. "Put the damned gloves on," Rodney snapped. "Your hair's excitable enough, I don't think you want a few extra volts to add that certain something, and we can't count on the grounding in any of the consoles at the moment. You should've seen Zelenka's hair yesterday morning."
"You could see a difference?" John's hands disappeared for a moment; Rodney closed his eyes and reopened them in time to see Sheppard's gloved fingers gently pull the fourth crystal from its tray. "Okay," Sheppard said into his ear.
"Put it into the magnifier," Rodney said, and Sheppard slotted the smudged crystal into the handheld machine. The display lit up with a schematic and Rodney examined it. "Okay, hold on, I need to look something up," he said. He closed his eyes and began typing. "Okay, do you see a broken connection between the E14 and the E19 filaments?"
A pause, then John's voice. "Yeah, got it."
"Can you mend it? Use the number three welder." Rodney opened his eyes again, watching Sheppard wield the microwelder with commendable precision. "That's good, good - stop now, you don't want to weaken it any more than you have to."
Sheppard stopped, moving the tools back, leaving the magnifier screen clear. Rodney could see the lumpy place where the two filaments had been rejoined. "Okay?" Sheppard said.
"Yeah. Pop it back in and see what happens." Rodney shrugged his shoulders as Sheppard tapped the crystal back into place, trying to relieve a little of the tension. He'd been hunched here for... a while. Five hours? Something like that. And Sheppard's hands were steady enough while he repaired the filaments within the crystals, but as he drew them back, Rodney saw a minor tremor. Five hours this stretch, dinner before that, six and a half hours in the lab before that - it added up.
"It's in," Sheppard said, pushing the tray back into its console. "What do you show?"
"Give me a sec," Rodney snapped, already closing his eyes, tapping at the computer and waiting for Atlantis to tell him whether the water lines were working again. "Hey," he said a moment later, smiling. "That did it."
"For now," Sheppard said, and Rodney could hear all his own irritation and exhaustion in Sheppard's voice.
"Take a break," Rodney said, making a quick decision. "I'm going to get Zelenka and Simpson and maybe Kusanagi in here, see what they've been doing. We need to find the common thread, figure out what's going wrong."
"That would be good," Sheppard replied, exaggerated patience in his voice.
"Go," Rodney said, and he closed his eyes for a second as Sheppard rose. "You can take off the SED if you want. Also, have a shower, now that we've got the lines repaired."
"Okay," came the reply, and Rodney opened his eyes again, braced for the blackness.
It came, and he spent five second wishing Sheppard would wear the SED into the shower, then pushed back from his desk with a sigh and tapped the radio over to the science channel. "Radek, when you and Simpson are done in the infirmary, bring Miko and come to my lab. We need to find a cause."
"I have some thoughts," Zelenka said into his ear, sounding dark.
"Shocking," Rodney replied, then clicked off his radio and rummaged through his desk drawer for a snack.
*
It took four more days to trace the cause to a persistent software glitch - a naturally occurring computer virus, for all intents and purposes.
"The Replicators," Rodney told John as they hunched over a laptop together, John's eyes dry and burning as he watched line after line of code scroll by. "They installed their own software, and suffice it to say, ten thousand years of divergent computer evolution led to some conflicts."
John hit the space bar to pause the steady progression of numbers. "Sorry, just needed a second," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Why would they install buggy software if they intended to stay here?"
Rodney bumped him with his shoulder and tapped the space bar again the instant John's eyes were open again. "Suck it up, Sheppard," he said. "They didn't know the software was buggy," he explained in his you are exceptionally slow voice. "It just didn't jive with the Ancients' code. At first the problems were small ones, and Atlantis compensated, but little viruses become big viruses if they're not chased down, and now the problems are, one, systemic, and two, big."
"No kidding," John, who'd been stuck in a transporter with Miko for forty-five minutes that morning, said. "How long is this going to take?"
"I don't know," Rodney said. He paused the scrolling again, highlighted a chunk of numbers, pasted it into a document and shot it to the science staff at large. "We've got everyone on this, but it takes a certain kind of, of," his hand waved in the corner of John's vision, "call it sensitivity to patterns, to spot the fishy places in the code."
John reached for his coffee, carefully keeping his eyes on the screen as he sipped. "Why can't you just write a program to find the errors?" Seriously, Rodney's sheer persistence was terrifying. John had known it, but knowing it and being held captive by it, sitting beside him and staring at a computer screen for eleven hours at a time, were two different things.
Rodney sighed heavily. "We are," he said. "Radek, Simpson and I do the error-spotting; we send the buggy bits of code out to everyone, and anyone who's not actively ensuring that we don't drown in our own sewage, or sink, or go dead in the water, works on integrating our patterns into a detection program." He patted John's leg absently. "Don't worry, we should be done in a few more hours."
"And then what?" John asked, shifting on the bench.
"Then we - by which I mean Simpson, she's far and away the best programmer, although Ochoa has a certain flair as well - writes a fast and dirty integration hack, we feed it into Atlantis, Atlantis goes and finds the buggy software, and everything goes back to normal."
John slumped sideways, resting his head on his fist, head tipped sideways. "Great," he said.
"Sit up straight," Rodney snapped. "You're giving me vertigo." His elbow dug into John's ribs.
"I have to pee," John said quietly, straightening into a vertical slouch.
Rodney was busy highlighting another fifteen lines of code. "Hold it," he said, and John sighed.
*
"No ill effects," Carson said, and Rodney yawned, feeling his jaw crack with the effort of it. "Hasn't hurt your eyes, and the only thing wrong with either of you is sleep deprivation."
"So how about you let us go take care of that?" Sheppard said hopefully, and Rodney mumbled agreement.
"Aye, I will. A moment, though."
Rodney groaned. "That's a moment I could be using to sleep, Carson, so if you're going to launch into your lecture on caffeine-intake-as-substance-abuse, can you just save it? I promise to come in tomorrow and nod dutifully if you'll just skip it for now."
He'd gotten used to seeing himself through Sheppard's eyes, and he could mostly ignore his own face and figure to pay attention to everything else. Now he watched Carson's eyes… twinkle, and wow, he'd never known people really did that.
"I'm perfectly happy to let you sleep, John, Rodney, but I thought you both might like to know that Dr. Yee and I have come up with a possible treatment for your eyes, Rodney, working with data from both of your visual scans."
Sheppard's eyes flicked from Carson to Rodney and then back to Carson - still, Rodney couldn't help but see the naked hope on his own face, visible just for that moment. He stuttered for a moment, disoriented. "I - really? Can I take it now? How does it work?" He waved his hand, seeing it in the corner of his eye. "No, who cares, it's not like the explanation will make sense anyway. Can I try it now?"
Carson was smiling, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. "Listen - are you awake enough to listen?"
"I am now," Rodney said. "C'mon, c'mon." He snapped his fingers, blinking when John reached for his hand to still it, squeezing it and putting it back down on his leg.
"Let the man talk, Rodney," Sheppard said, thumb rubbing over Rodney's wrist bone for an instant as he pulled his hand away.
"It's basically a harmless viral carrier for several types of chemicals," Carson said. "We've tested it in all the lab devices and on the mice, and although of course none of the mice have your impairment," he hurried on as Rodney opened his mouth with a scorching comment, "the injection at least did their optic systems no harm, so even if the chemicals don't do as we hope they will, they won't increase the damage."
"How long will it take to work?" Rodney asked. His palms were sweating, and he rubbed them along his thighs anxiously.
"We believe the safest route to take is one of daily injections for a week, to introduce the changes gradually and let your body complete the repair work once the inhibiting factors from the toxin are out of the way," Carson replied. "We'd like to inject you before bed each night."
"Let's go," Rodney said, rolling up his sleeve.
He heard Sheppard's low, amused snort from his right.
"Listen, though," Carson said. "I'll give you the first injection tonight, that's fine. But starting tomorrow, you mustn't use the SED device anymore."
Rodney cocked his head at the same moment Sheppard did - luckily in the same direction.
"You think it'll interfere with Rodney's own vision," Sheppard said.
"That's ridiculous," Rodney said. "We think the SED was created so that experts could help workers in situations where the experts couldn't get there, or when it wasn't safe for them to be in certain areas - like when Sheppard repaired the water lines while I gave him instructions by watching the SED. You can't tell me every Ancient expert was blind." He heard his voice spiraling upward, saw his own face flushing red as Sheppard turned his head to look at him.
"No, of course not," Carson said. "But yours is a special case, Rodney, and your brain will be confused enough, dealing with relearning how to see with your own optical nerve."
"It's just for a week, anyway," Sheppard put in, and there was his hand again, warm and calm on Rodney's back. "If it doesn't work and we have to start over again, we can use the SED again, no problem." And there was Carson's nodding head. "Right, doc?"
"Absolutely," Carson said, "and you may begin to regain your sight in as few as four or five days, Rodney. It might not take the full seven."
Rodney shook his head, not in negation. "I'm being ridiculous," he said, exhaustion washing over him, over the initial rush of adrenalin, dulling his first gut-level reaction. "It's fine, we can - I can go without my seeing eye dog for seven days, if I get my eyes back in return."
"I'll still be your seeing eye dog," Sheppard said. "Don't worry about it."
Rodney snorted. "Yes, I'm sure you'll be oh-so-sad to get away from listening to me rant my way through the labs. Not to mention staring at computer screens for eighteen hours straight. Not to mention -"
"Don't worry about it," Sheppard repeated, more quietly, and Rodney subsided into weary silence, watching Carson bustle away to fetch his and Dr. Yee's miracle drug from the infirmary refrigerator.
Rodney hated injections, always had. Still, the chill of the fluid being pushed into his vein felt terrifyingly like hope, and he closed his eyes for an instant, waiting for the cold to thread its way through his body.
*
"So this is it," John said, stopping in front of Rodney's door with him. "You want me to come in and read while you fall asleep?"
Rodney rolled his eyes, listing slightly to the left before straightening himself. "You're as tired as I am, don't be an idiot," he said. His expression softened a little. "But thanks anyway." He hesitated, mouth half open, and John waited to see if he wanted to say anything else.
Apparently not. "Okay," John said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, then, good night." He started to turn away, not trying to decipher whatever it was that lay under his exhaustion - happiness for Rodney, resignation that they wouldn't get to spend their days so close, anticipation of being back out in the field with his team, having them whole again, with him.
Rodney stopped him, a hand on his arm. "Colonel," he said.
"Yeah," John answered, turning back around.
"Turn that - turn the SED off," Rodney said, waving one hand vaguely. "I can't - just. Please."
"Okay," John said, and unclipped the box from his pants. He slid it into his pocket. "Better?"
"Yes," Rodney said. "I just wanted to. Say." He reached for John's arm once more, unerring even though his eyes were unfocused again, blank and bright and tired, circles under them, his soft hair flat and lank against his head. "Thanks. I mean - for everything." He pulled at John's arm, moving awkwardly forward, and John stumbled into him, and what was he - did he? What - ?
Oh. He wanted to give John a hug.
John went with it: let Rodney tuck his chin over his shoulder and pat his back for a second. John patted back, uncertainly. "It's fine," he said into Rodney's hair, starting to pull back with one final, too-hearty thump. "You'd do the same for any of us."
Rodney didn't let go. "I think I'm nervous," he said, and abruptly jerked John closer, turning his head so his face was right against John's neck. "Um. Sorry." But he didn't let go - his hands were kind of fisted in the back of John's t-shirt - and John stopped trying to get away.
He stood there, letting Rodney clutch him. After a moment John settled his hovering hands onto Rodney's shirt again - not patting this time, just there, on Rodney's warm, broad back. "It's okay," John said. "We're both tired."
"Yes," Rodney said, breathing steadily into his neck.
A minute later he pulled back; his face was pink. "I'm really tired, and that's why I'm doing this," he said, voice unexpectedly firm. He tipped his face up to John's and kissed him, a soft brush of lips, whisper of stubble across John's and coffee-scented breath exhaled against his mouth. "Okay," Rodney said. "Good night."
And he stepped back, waving his hand and entering his quarters while John stood where he was, mouth open, hands empty.
*
Sheppard didn't say anything about it the next day. Showed up at his door at about the usual time, walked to the mess with him same as always, guided him with a hand lightly on Rodney's back just as usual. Sheppard sat them both down with Teyla and Ronon at breakfast, ran interception when Rodney threatened to make sure the transporters reassembled Ronon in six different places in retaliation for Ronon stealing his muffin.
How tired had Rodney been last night?
Rodney still felt weary, from the day (days) before, from knowing the darkness behind his eyes wouldn't be relieved for days yet to come if at all. Put together, those facts made him cranky. It had nothing to do with his own stupidity last night, he told himself, or with the creeping, insidious hope and fear all wrapped up in the drug now working its magic (he assumed, wished) behind his eyes. It was easier to pretend those things with Sheppard acting as if nothing had happened, thank god.
The day settled into some weird semblance of normality. Sheppard didn't come with him to the lab after breakfast, but he was there at the later briefing, when Rodney reported that Simpson and Ochoa's programming seemed to be working, Atlantis' internal sensors speeding so quickly through her own systems to cleanse them of the conflicts that it was almost, Rodney said, as if she was affronted to find herself anything less than perfect. He heard Sheppard's soft puff of amusement beside him, and relaxed a little more.
His team - still his team, although now it was Zelenka who hefted the backpack-cum-datapad, who snapped a tac vest closed over his skinny frame - went on a mission that afternoon. Rodney spent the time, as had become his habit, working in the gate room, passing the hours with a survey of secondary systems, ensuring that they were as healthy as the primaries after the stresses of the past week.
People seemed to assume that blindness equated with deafness, he'd found, and he picked up some truly diabolical gossip, listening to Campbell murmuring with Sergeant Hanlon. Rodney filed the information away for later; Jensen had a stash of Cadbury's she'd been flaunting in the common lab, and she'd probably hand over at least three bars to keep him quiet. Four if he'd drop a word to Campbell or Hanlon and get them off the scent, Rodney thought.
The team came back whole and cheerful four hours later, voices loose and easy, Ronon rumbling in response to Teyla's alto statements, Zelenka chattering to Sheppard about medieval street patterns and the uselessness of such defenses against airborne enemies, Sheppard's laconic replies just as they should be - just as they always were. Rodney carefully didn't turn his head toward them, tipping his face down to the laptop instead, fingers flying across the keys as his radio droned away in his ear, flat and mechanical.
"Hey, Rodney," broke in, and Rodney jumped and jerked his chin up, reaching to tap at his earpiece.
"Yes, Colonel?" he asked with exaggerated patience. "Working, here."
"Yeah, I know." His voice was warm, slow, perfectly familiar in the radio, although the team was leaving the gate room - Rodney could hear them moving away, Zelenka talking to Teyla or Ronon now. "Teyla wants you to work out with her later."
"I'm sure Teyla is capable of interrupting me herself," Rodney snapped. "Did you need something?" He jumped and yelped as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
"Just wanted to say hi," Sheppard said, voice clear and echoing in stereo: the radio feeding him the sound in one ear, Sheppard's breath against the other.
"Jesus," Rodney said, turning in his chair and glaring at where Sheppard ought to be. "Do you think I need a stroke on top of my current medical issues?"
"Just keeping you on your toes," Sheppard drawled, straightening (Rodney assumed), hand dropping from Rodney's shoulder as his voice moved away. "See you at dinner."
"Asshole," Rodney muttered, and Sheppard's snicker only came from his radio, this time - he was already gone.
That night, Sheppard showed up at the infirmary just as Carson was hooking Rodney up to the monitors to check him, post-injection.
"How's it going?" Sheppard asked, hopping up to sit beside Rodney on the examination table. His hand bumped Rodney's where it gripped the edge of the padded surface, and Rodney opened his mouth to reply, side-tracked by the bare brush of Sheppard's pinky against his.
"I think it's going well, Colonel," Beckett said, and Rodney closed his mouth and made a face, turning his head toward the Scottish lilt, away from Sheppard's warmth beside him.
"You said there was no appreciable change," Rodney said. "Also, Dr. Yee sucks at giving shots." He rubbed his arm and glared at the empty darkness.
"Way to make me want to improve," Dr. Yee called from across the quiet room.
"I control your hot water," Rodney snapped.
"She kinda controls your chances, McKay," Sheppard said.
"Settle down," Beckett said, bundling the blood pressure cuff around Rodney's bicep. "We didn't expect to see a measurable change today, and also I'd like to get an accurate reading, if you don't mind."
Rodney subsided into sullen silence, too aware of Sheppard at his right, the heavy swing of his boots from the table, the unwavering contact against the side of his finger, along his hand.
"Ronon came to the weight room with Teyla and me," Rodney said as the cuff began loosening with a hiss.
Sheppard shifted next to him. "Yeah, he does that."
"I'm just glad I couldn't see him to be intimidated," Rodney said. "He can probably bench press me. With one hand." Sheppard snorted and started to reply.
"Pressure's good," Beckett broke in, ripping the velcro band off. "Everything looks fine, Rodney. Take him off to bed, Colonel, would you?"
Rodney felt the flush sweep over his face, so hot and fast sweat broke out on the back of his neck. "I can find my own way," he said, scowling in Beckett's direction. He stood abruptly, reaching into his pocket for the life-signs detector he'd been using all day. "I don't need the Colonel to take me anywhere."
He stomped through the (thankfully deserted) infirmary, keeping up the pace through the equally empty corridors, grateful for the late hour and sparse population.
"Rodney, wait up." Of fucking course.
"Yes?" Rodney channeled all his humiliation into irritation. "I really can find my quarters without any help, you know."
"Hey." Sheppard was beside him now; Rodney turned away again, continuing his march through the hallway. "I know that."
"What do you want?" Rodney asked. He stepped into the transporter, Sheppard close beside him. "Personal quarters," Rodney said, touching his hand to the sensor pad.
There was a brief tingle as they disappeared and then phased back in.
"That's pretty cool," Sheppard said. Rodney could feel him, right at his heels as he moved out of the transporter, listening with half an ear to the click of the life-signs detector.
"What's cool?" Rodney asked, scowling to himself. Sheppard was on his right again, keeping pace easily. Damn the man for having quarters three doors away from Rodney's, anyway.
"Just - being able to say it. Having the computer understand you. It's very… Star Trek."
"Oh." Four doors, three, two: Rodney stopped. "Yes, it's cool." He waved a hand at the left side of the door, listening for the metallic hiss. As fresh air washed over his face, he began to step forward, was stopped by a hand on his arm. "What?" Rodney said, unable to keep the desperation - desperation to get away - out of his voice.
"I'm just - uh." Sheppard's hand loosened on his arm, but didn't let go. "You know."
Rodney heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping. "No, Colonel, I don't know. I don't speak Sheppardese, or whatever non-language you happen to be not-communicating in today." He gestured toward his quarters with his free hand. "I just really, really want to get to bed." The flush was (surprisingly) just as painful the second time. "To sleep." He turned his head away from Sheppard, whose fingers tightened and then relaxed on his arm - but didn't release.
"Okay," Sheppard said. "I guess you must be pretty, uh, tired."
"Exactly," Rodney said gratefully, pulling away, "I'm just tired," and oh, crap, he'd said that last night, hadn't he? He jerked his arm away from Sheppard, but Sheppard still didn't let go. Instead his grip firmed, and Rodney stumbled back a little, trying to get away, but - oh - Sheppard's other hand was cupping his cheek and Rodney couldn't see him, maybe, but Sheppard had stepped right up close to him, nearly against him. Rodney could feel his body heat, sense his warm, solid presence far, far too close.
"I'm pretty tired, too," Sheppard said, low and slightly hoarse; his palm was a little sweaty against Rodney's burning cheek. Rodney couldn't help it; he turned his head with the pressure from Sheppard's hand, mouth already softening even though he knew he must be hallucinating, the injections were probably doing irreparable damage to his precious brain, because otherwise he would be forced to believe that, that -
- that Sheppard's lips were brushing over his own, soft and then firm and then gone.
Sheppard's hand dropped away, too, and it should have left a cool place behind, but Rodney's face was hotter there, instead.
"Good night," Sheppard said, and Rodney stood where he was (like an idiot, he thought furiously, but he was still somehow unable to make his feet move at all) until he heard Sheppard's door open and close, halfway down the hall.
Rodney advanced into his own quarters as if he was sleepwalking, waving a shaky hand at the inside panel to lock it behind himself and leaning back against the cool metal, licking his lips and wondering how Sheppard had looked when he'd kissed him.
*
John walked through his door and fell onto the bed, rolling to his side to land, pressing the heel of his hand against his erection, choking back a groan at the thought of Rodney's wide blue eyes, his soft, crooked mouth. He'd kissed John back, quick as the whole thing had been: parted his lips and kissed back. Terror and elation twisted in John's belly, and he stifled a laugh at his sweating palms and quick-beating pulse, no better or cooler than when he'd been fourteen and dared to kiss Jennifer Keagan behind the equipment shed at school.
He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, unbuttoning his pants with a sharp tug at the placket. He pulled himself out and began stroking fast and tight, the thin smear of his precome making it easier, hips stuttering into his hand. He hoped he'd left Rodney good and hard, too. John jerked off reckless and wanton, mouth open on shallow breaths, wondering if Rodney was doing the same thing a few doors away. The thought was enough to bring him to the edge, and four strokes later he came, gasping out his orgasm as his body curled tight and then melted slowly into bonelessness.
John opened his eyes and looked blindly at the pale wash of moonlight on the other side of his window. He wouldn't say anything to Rodney in the morning. But maybe tomorrow night he'd kiss him again.
*
Rodney avoided Sheppard in the morning by the expedient of getting up while he knew the colonel would be running with Ronon. He sat with Radek in the mess at breakfast and was just getting up to leave when he heard Teyla, Ronon and Sheppard enter, their voices clear over the low chatter of the other diners.
"Come on," Rodney said to Zelenka, snapping his fingers, "chop-chop. You've got some time to make up for missing yesterday afternoon, let's go."
Zelenka grumbled something with too many consonants and carried Rodney's tray for him. "Is not my fault I was away from the lab yesterday afternoon," he said.
Rodney was already making his way out of the mess hall. "Yes, you're a real team player, I feel for your terrible sacrifice in the face of my slightly annoying disability. Let's go."
"Hey, Rodney," Sheppard said, and goddamn him, did he have to sound so normal?
"Good morning," Rodney said. "Teyla, Ronon. Zelenka and I were just leaving. Have a good breakfast." He waved his right hand around until he felt Zelenka's arm; grabbed it and shoved him, holding tight. "Right, Radek?"
"They have labor laws, you know," Zelenka said, moving forward. "I don’t get paid enough for this."
"Yes, your life is very hard, we're all sympathetic, I weep for your pain."
"Hey, I'll see you in the morning meeting," Sheppard called after them, and Rodney waved the life-signs detector behind himself as Radek led him through the door.
Sheppard sat right beside him at the meeting and - further! worse! - kept pulling Rodney's laptop over to himself and typing notes to Rodney: notes which his radio repeated into his ear. Rodney was torn between wanting to murder Sheppard and wanting to kiss him (again, and oh god), since the most interesting topic raised in the meeting - once Rodney's report on systems repairs was done - was whether or not general funds could be found to hire four Athosians as housekeeping staff. And if they could, how much would it cost, and what currency would be used, and seriously. Sheppard's speculation on who would win a smack-down, Daleks or Replicators, was manna from heaven, even if it was irritating to have his laptop stolen every three minutes.
Rodney escaped after that, back to the labs to make sure everyone was back on their scheduled projects, and inform a few people of the egregious errors he'd found while they were off keeping the city afloat.
"I don't know, Edarov, maybe I'll just keep you in environmental," Rodney said thoughtfully, tapping his chin.
"Those are automated systems," Edarov protested, "I have three delicate experiments in progress at the moment, you can't reassign me!"
"You have one delicate experiment in progress, because numbers two and three are useless, useless, useless, and I thought maybe," Rodney jutted his chin forward, "you might be able to handle sitting in a small room and turning the thermostat up and down, given careful instruction, rather than creating a backflow problem in four systems, which you would have if I hadn't put your first two simulations on hold!" Five minutes and some back-and-forth yelling later, Edarov's projects had been relegated to unconnected systems in a deserted lab, Edarov himself had been relegated to the deserted lab, and Rodney was able to settle down with his fourth cup of coffee and a Powerbar for lunch.
He figured he could keep this up all day, wheedle Zelenka or Ochoa into bringing him lunch and dinner, come back to the lab and work late, and get his nightly injection and scan after Sheppard had gone to bed.
Which meant, of course, that Sheppard showed up just outside the infirmary as a click on the life-signs detector and a thorn in Rodney's side. "Hey, I was just coming to see how things are going with the treatment," the Colonel said, and Rodney carefully didn't slam his head into the nearest wall.
"I don't know," he said patiently as the infirmary doors hissed open, "I'm just going in to let Beckett stab me."
"It'll be me tonight," Dr. Yee said, and Rodney flinched from her cold hand as she led him to the scanners. "Let's run a check, see what's happening, and then I'll do the injection."
"Where's Beckett?" Rodney whined. He lay down on the table and curled his hands into fists. "You'd think being blind would make the claustrophobia better," he said to Sheppard as the machine hummed and closed over his head.
"Or drive you completely insane," Sheppard said cheerfully. "You know, what with the darkness, not being able to see, all that."
"Dr. Beckett's shift ended forty minutes ago," Dr. Yee said. "Okay, I'm all done - I'm opening the machine now. Stay here while I hook up the imaging screen - I was using it in the other room." Her voice was disappearing even as she spoke.
Rodney tried to sit up, was stopped by a hand on his chest. "Hold on, Rodney, it's not done retracting yet." There was a tug and he felt the brush of Sheppard's knuckles against his chest as Sheppard grabbed his shirt and helped him sit up on the table. "There you go." The hand disappeared; Rodney swallowed.
"She's really not good at giving shots," he said after a moment of silence. "I think I have a bruise from yesterday."
"Let me see," Sheppard said. "I'll tell you."
"No, that's okay," Rodney replied quickly. "It's fine. I'm sure it's fine."
Another silence, and Rodney was relieved to hear the click of Dr. Yee's shoes on the ceramic flooring. "All right, here we are," she said. "There's some progress being made - I can see changes in about 20 percent of the damaged area, with the affected neurons looking more like the surrounding cells."
"Let me see," Sheppard said, and there was murmuring, Dr. Yee pointing to various spots on the screen while Rodney twitched where he sat.
Hope and irritation and the absolute certainty that he would somehow jinx himself if he acted happy all combined to make him feel tired and edgy and just generally pissed off. "Hello," he said loudly, "do you mind? Feel free to come in tomorrow for a lecture on my condition, Colonel, but for now, could I please get my injection and get out of here?"
"He's just tired," Sheppard said, with absolutely no inflection beyond amused tolerance, and Rodney made an effort not to grab for the viewer and bludgeon him to death with it.
"Seriously," Rodney said. "Doctor, please?"
"I've got it ready, let me just get it from the fridge," she said, and Rodney rolled up his sleeve, waiting impatiently.
"No bruise," Sheppard commented.
"…Great," Rodney said, closing his eyes. "Thanks."
"No problem," Sheppard said, and then Dr. Yee was back, and there was the cold swipe with alcohol, then the cold push of the needle into his arm.
"Sit here for a couple of minutes; I'll do your blood pressure and check your temp, then you can go," she said.
Rodney spent two minutes not talking. He could hear Dr. Yee moving around the room, and Sheppard's occasional shift of posture from the doorway. Eventually Dr. Yee came back and checked his pressure, stuck a thermometer into his ear, and pronounced him fit and released.
"So those fruits we traded for yesterday," Sheppard said as they walked through the corridors toward their quarters. "Have you seen - I mean, have you held one?"
"No," Rodney replied shortly.
"They're, uh, blue, like a blueberry -"
"I recall the concept," Rodney said, feeling his way into the transporter.
Sheppard reached past him to push the sensor pad - Rodney felt the brush of his arm before Sheppard went to stand on the other side of the tiny closet. "Yeah, so they're blue, and round, about -" they phased out, phased back in, stepped out of the transporter - "the size of a clementine, you know, those little oranges."
"If you're about to tell me a fascinating tale of cultural anthropology in which someone makes a comment about a blue orange, I will murder you where you stand," Rodney said, counting down to his door.
"No," Sheppard said, still right beside him, "I was just going to say you have to peel them, and they taste just like bananas."
Rodney stopped outside his door. "That's it?"
Sheppard stopped, too - Rodney could hear him shift his weight from foot to foot. "Yep. That's it."
"Really it's amazing I let any of you live," Rodney said, but his heart wasn't in it. He waited a moment to see whether Sheppard would do anything, say anything, and finally sighed. "Well, good night, Colonel," he said, and turned toward his door, lifting his hand toward the lock.
"Hey, Rodney," Sheppard said.
"Jesus Christ, finally," Rodney said. He turned and grabbed Sheppard. It flashed through his head just how stupid he would look if he tried to kiss him and missed, but then Sheppard's guiding hand was on his cheek, just like it had been last night, and his mouth met Rodney's with only the briefest of hesitations.
His lips were damp and soft - Rodney thought of him licking them and made a noise somewhere in his throat - and there was nothing hesitant about this kiss. Sheppard's mouth opened easily against Rodney's, sure and eager; his thumb stroked along Rodney's jaw, leaving a bright trail of sensation that burned like a brand.
Rodney tightened his grip on Sheppard's arms. The life-signs detector dug into his palm, had to be digging into Sheppard's arm, but neither of them flinched away until Rodney had practically forgotten what oxygen tasted like, replaced it with the taste of Sheppard's tongue, the slick-smooth surfaces hidden within his mouth, arousal and need and Sheppard's fingers light on his face.
They broke apart to breathe - Sheppard's noisy inhale in Rodney's ear made him jump and let go. The life-signs detector dropped to the floor with a clatter and Rodney startled again, even as he gulped air, wished he could just drag Sheppard into his quarters.
"Jeez," Sheppard said, low and still close, though his hand had fallen away when Rodney started back.
Rodney waited for something else; when it didn't come he felt his shoulders drop; he raised his hand and ran it over his face. "Yeah," he said, hoping he didn't sound quite as wrecked as he felt. "Um. Listen."
"Yeah," Sheppard said, not quite a question.
"I don't want - we shouldn't -"
Sheppard moved away, sudden cool where his body heat had been an instant before. "It's okay, Rodney. Sorry. I'll just see you tomorrow, okay? Good night."
"I'm not finished." Rodney flailed out blindly, snagged Sheppard's wrist and held on. "Shut up for a second." They stood that way for a moment, silent, while Rodney thought furiously. "Why'd you kiss me yesterday?"
"You kissed me first." Even Sheppard seemed to realize how juvenile that was - he snorted as soon as he said it, and Rodney waited to see if he'd go on. He didn't.
Rodney rubbed his forehead. "Yes, well. I see we're going to do this with the same level of maturity we've brought to the rest of our relationship so far." He heard Sheppard's low, amused sound; felt an unwilling smile tugging at his own mouth. More than that, though, Sheppard moved close again, warmth and proximity all tangled up with the heat in Rodney's belly. "So listen. I suck at this kind of thing, but I want - this." He tightened his grip on Sheppard's wrist.
Sheppard mumbled something: "Me, too."
"You suck at it, or you want to kiss me some more?" Rodney demanded.
"Both," Sheppard said, and his smile was against Rodney's cheek again. His wrist twisted in Rodney's grasp, sliding around and then down until their palms were aligned.
"Okay," Rodney breathed into the short, bristly hair just behind Sheppard's ear. "Good. But listen." His breath caught as Sheppard nosed at his ear, nuzzled his hair. "Can it wait?"
"The kissing, or the sucking?" The word held a world of promise.
Rodney groaned with disgust at the pun and desire at the thought. "Good god, Colonel, that was wretched. And those kinds of lines get you laid?"
Sheppard snickered into his ear. "Sometimes. What do you want to wait for?"
"Until I can see you," Rodney said quietly, and he felt John still against him, the steady inhale-exhale of his breath. "I just - I want to see you. How you look when we, when I - I don't want to do this out of some kind of pathetic desperation, or think you're doing it out of pity."
"I'm not," Sheppard said.
Rodney put his other hand up, hesitantly, and curved it around the back of Sheppard's neck. "Okay, so prove it."
"Wait?" Sheppard asked, sounding resigned and amused.
"Wait." Rodney replied. He leaned against Sheppard for a moment, then straightened. "Also, let go of me. I need my beauty sleep."
"One for the road?" Sheppard asked, and then he was pushing Rodney back, back, back against the wall, kissing him hot and deep and wet and messy, body pressed against Rodney's from knee to chest, mashing him against the wall in way that was pretty much the polar opposite of unpleasant, Rodney thought, grabbing Sheppard's ass and squeezing.
"Yeah," Rodney panted, "I guess that couldn't hurt."
Sheppard rolled his hips forward - Rodney groaned - and then stepped back, his breathing loud. "Yeah," he said. "Glad you agree."
"Okay." Rodney bit his lip and tried not to go after Sheppard. "Well. Good night."
A whisper of movement and then Sheppard's hand grasped his, turning it over, pressing the small rectangle of the life-signs detector into his nerveless grasp.
"Good night," Sheppard said, leaning close, lips moving against Rodney's ear. Rodney could feel his smile, hear it. "See you tomorrow."
Rodney made it into his quarters without dropping the life-signs detector again, but it was a close thing.
*
The days settled, again, into a pattern.
John got up early for PT, showered, came by Rodney's quarters. They ate with Ronon, Teyla and Zelenka. Radek and Rodney sloped off to the labs, while John slouched away to face paperwork and Lorne. Teyla and Ronon did Teyla and Ronon things - their own mission paperwork, training with the marines and those scientists who needed it, meditation, whatever. (John had his suspicions about the PS2 that had vanished from the common room a month ago, but no one had complained - regular Daedalus runs meant most people who wanted game systems had them, now - so John wasn't saying anything.)
There were meetings, briefings, missions.
Zelenka was a good scientist and dependable in every situation they'd been thrown into so far, but he stubbornly refused to like the gate travel. He was funny, sharp, helpful - and adamant that his place on an offworld team was a temporary measure. John stopped trying to persuade him that SGA-5 could really use a new scientist, what with Tomkins' newly discovered allergy to, apparently, everything green, but Zelenka merely shook his head, kept his eye on his handheld, and muttered back at him in Czech.
During the days, Rodney seemed to be okay. He was snappish, short, irascible, rude: perfectly himself. But his face had, again, lost some of its animation, and his shoulders were hunched more often, arms held closer to his body so he wouldn't bump into people or things. He brushed off most attempts at help again, and refused outright to talk about the drug therapy. Whatever he did or didn't tell Heightmeyer remained in her office, locked tight as the narrow line of his lips.
Each night, John showed up at the infirmary for Rodney's injection.
By the fifth night, almost all the damaged tissue appeared to have been regenerated. Rodney sat up straighter at that, and Beckett patted his shoulder. "It's good news," he said, "it happened even faster than we'd anticipated." But John caught the slightly troubled glance he threw to Dr. Yee over Rodney's head. "Now we've just the waiting to do, as your brain re-establishes pathways to the optical nerves."
"Do we have to continue the shots?" Rodney asked, folding his arms protectively, scowl aimed in Dr. Yee's general direction.
Dr. Yee unfolded his arms and began rolling up his sleeve. "Yes, we do." She swiped the alcohol swab over his bicep. "And if your arms are both sore, I'm sure I can think of somewhere else to inject you." She pushed the needle in neatly; John winced and looked away.
"No no no no no," Rodney said, voice spiraling up as she depressed the plunger. "It's fine. I'm fine."
"Good." She finished the injection and turned away to dispose of the hypodermic.
Beckett was ready with the blood pressure cuff and thermometer; he strapped the cuff around Rodney's already-bare arm. "The injections contain all manner of things," he said conversationally, "not just the neural regenerators. There are also several chemical carriers that should help establish patterns for your nervous system." He pumped the old-fashioned cuff up, stethoscope against the crook of Rodney's arm as he spoke. "We'd thought the carriers would work alongside the regenerators, but there's no reason they have to - it certainly makes sense that all the neurons had to be repaired before connections could be re-created."
"In other words, you have no idea why it's working the way it's working, but I shouldn't be freaking out," Rodney said.
"They said seven days," John put in, and Beckett sent him a grateful glance.
"So we did, Colonel, so please try to be patient, Rodney." He ripped off the velcro cuff. "Pressure is fine - a bit elevated, but it has been since the, ah, the incident."
"Since I was blinded," Rodney said, but at least he sounded dry and bitter, rather than just bitter.
John pushed off the wall, waiting for Beckett to take the thermometer out of Rodney's ear. "C'mon, Dr. Tactful, I think it's time to get you back to your quarters."
Rodney's ears turned pink. "Yes, yes." He hopped off the examining table. "I need my sleep. Wouldn't want to miss out on eight whole hours of unrelieved darkness. Oh, wait."
John rolled his eyes and cupped Rodney's elbow. "You're not even trying anymore," he said. He winked at Beckett and Yee, guiding Rodney past a cart of med supplies. "That wasn't nearly as acidic and hateful as you could've managed just a few weeks ago."
"It's your fault I've lost my edge," Rodney said loudly, allowing himself to be led. "Damn bunch of meddling do-gooders."
"We're terribly sorry," Beckett called after them. "We'll try to be less caring and helpful in future."
"Saving the last injection for your glutes," Yee said, and it was John who nearly ran into the doorway on that one, not Rodney.
"She has designs on my ass," Rodney said as they paced down the corridor.
"Yes, well," John said, and he left the don't we all unspoken, but smiled to see Rodney's ears go red again.
*
"Any change?" Carson's voice was businesslike.
Rodney glared in his direction. "Yes, absolutely. Didn't I mention that I can see again?"
"You neglected to mention that, yes," Carson replied dryly.
"Believe me, I'll let you know." Rodney swung his feet, listening to the hollow thung as his heels bumped the side of the exam table. "So, ah." He turned his face down, tapping his fingers on his thighs. "When, exactly, will I be letting you know something?"
He could hear the sudden stillness around him; even with only Sheppard and Carson there, there was a certain lack of breathing and movement. Rodney lifted his head, alerted.
"It's not an exact thing, Rodney," Carson said.
"And it hasn't even been seven days," Sheppard added from the doorway.
Rodney turned his face toward Sheppard. "What aren't they telling me?"
Carson spoke in reply. "Listen, Rodney. I would have expected there to be some change in your vision by now. Dr. Yee and I were discussing it, though, and there's no reason to believe the treatment won't work." He tapped Rodney's legs, and Rodney obediently swung them up onto the table, lying back. Carson kept talking over the hum of the scanner closing over him. "We've said again and again that there's no way to time the recovery process exactly."
"I know, I know," Rodney said, "and the brain is a strange and mysterious organ, etcetera, etcetera." His voice sounded weird, trapped by the metal curving over his body, and he closed his eyes - it didn't change anything, but somehow felt better - and muttered "clear blue skies, clear blue skies," until the scanner hummed again and he felt cooler air wash over his face.
"I think your brain's a little more strange and mysterious than everyone else's," Sheppard said, and it was his hand on Rodney's elbow, helping him upright again. He stepped away again, fingers brushing down Rodney's arm before the touch disappeared.
Rodney swallowed, glad Carson had gone to fetch the meds. "My brain is also much more advanced than everyone else's," he said. "Ergo, it should take even less time to heal. Right?" He couldn't help the plaintive note on that last word.
"Hope so," Sheppard said, and Rodney knew Carson must still be in the adjoining room, must have his back turned, because Sheppard's hand was back: fingers curved over Rodney's shoulder, thumb drawn swiftly down his neck.
"Stop that," Rodney muttered, but he didn't mean it, and he just knew Sheppard was smirking, that bastard. His hand lifted and Carson was back.
"Which arm is it tonight?" Carson asked, and Rodney wordlessly produced his left.
~*~
No change on day seven.
They discontinued the shots on day eight; administered neural regenerators alone on days nine and ten and eleven. Beckett and Yee asked Rodney not to use the SED device; they seemed convinced that some magic breakthrough waited just around the corner, after the next injection, with the next tweak Yee or Carson made to the cocktail.
By day twelve, John was alarmed - but not really surprised - to hear Rodney yelling when he came trotting to the infirmary, a little later than he usually made it.
"Then just start over," Rodney shouted; Dr. Yee's voice replied, exasperated, and then Rodney again: "No! No more goddamned shots! They're not doing any good! You need to think of something else. Let me know when you do." A thump, crash (John winced - sounded like Rodney had banged into a gurney, and those things were vicious), cursing, and the stomping sound of footsteps just as John got to the door.
"Do you mind?" Rodney snarled; John reared back, startled, and stood aside as Rodney stamped out of the infirmary.
John watched him go for a second, then peered through the doorway at Beckett and Yee, who were looking at one another - Yee looked pissed, and Beckett looked rueful.
"Uh," John said.
Beckett looked at him. "Hullo, Colonel. I'm afraid you've missed all the excitement."
"All the stupidity," Dr. Yee muttered, and turned away, small dark hands precise with anger as she gathered up her abandoned hypodermic and the tiny bottles of medicine.
"I… should I go after him? Drag him back?" John scratched his head.
"Good luck with that," Yee said, and left for the back room.
Carson shook his head and pushed the crooked gurney back into its place against the wall. "Nay, I wouldn't. One night without an injection isn't likely to make a difference at this point, and we'll work on some new options beginning tomorrow."
"Can we - can he use the Seeing Eye Dog?" John offered. "Might cheer him up."
Carson looked over his shoulder to where Dr. Yee had disappeared. "…I don't see why not," he said slowly. "We haven't talked about it, but I've been thinking that we should re-introduce it soon, anyway, just so his visual centers don't lose what they regained of translating images - you remember how it was for him when he first put the device on." John nodded, and Beckett's replying nod was firm. "Yes, why don't you and he do that again tomorrow, at least for what time you can spare. It won't help with his own vision, but it can't hurt."
"It's quiet at the moment, and I'm due some downtime," John said, and touched wood. "I can spend most of the day with Rodney, letting him work or whatever." He grinned a little at Carson's sympathetic eyeroll, and headed out of the infirmary with a spring in his step.
*
"McKay, put on your radio."
Rodney sighed heavily and groped around on the floor beside his bed. His hand encountered the plastic wire, and he lifted it to his mouth, fingers unerring when he tapped the transmission button.
"I don't want to talk right now," he said.
"Yeah, I figured," Sheppard said. His voice sounded distant and small, coming from the earpiece dangling under Rodney's chin. "Just for a minute, if you want."
Rodney sighed again - this time into the mic - and hooked the radio over his ear. "There. What?" He rolled onto his back again.
"You all done with your temper tantrum?"
"Hey, how about you try being blind for eight weeks instead of me?" Rodney suggested angrily. "Then maybe we can talk about temper tantrums and whether I get to throw them or not. Good night, Colonel."
"Hey, hey," Sheppard sounded repentent. "I didn't mean it in a bad way. Just wanted to know if you wanted to be distracted."
Rodney plucked at the blanket under his hand. "I don't know. I'm mostly done being pissed off, I guess. I'm just -" He stopped, swallowed. "Tired. You know?"
"Yeah." Sheppard breathed steadily into his ear. "Wanna come to my room and molest me?"
"Is this an encrypted channel?" Rodney asked, touching the tiny knob nervously. "Also, I'm not in the mood." That wasn't entirely true - hearing Sheppard say molest me was enough to distract Rodney from his sulk, but he wasn't about to admit it.
"No, I thought talking dirty to you on an open channel was the way to destroy my career," Sheppard said.
"Since disobeying direct orders and refusing to cut your hair to regulation wasn't working out," Rodney snapped back; then: "You're going to talk dirty to me?"
"I can do better than that," Sheppard said. "Put on the SED."
"The - what? Really?" Rodney was already rolling over, fingers sliding along the front of his nightstand until he found the drawer pull. He'd left the little strip of leather right here -
As his fingers closed on it, he got a flicker of sight and made a sound. It was - god, it was something, to see something again after twelve days of blackness.
"You got it?" Sheppard asked quietly.
Rodney flopped onto his back, clutching the sensor strap. "Yeah. What am I looking at?"
"My ceiling," Sheppard said.
"Listen, if you're planning to talk dirty to me, you could at least get some porn on your laptop for me to look at," Rodney said, trying not to sound breathless, which he was, because even Sheppard's ceiling, plain grey and silver, looked good. Gut-wrenching relief was rolling over Rodney so hard he almost felt sick with it.
"Is it clear? How's it working?" Sheppard asked, ignoring Rodney's remark.
"Yeah, it's clear. It was a little fuzzy for a second, but I guess it hasn't been so long that I've forgotten how to see, this time," Rodney said. "Thank god for small favors."
"You were pretty quick, even last time," Sheppard said. "You wanna look at something else?"
"Not that your ceiling isn't just fascinating," Rodney said. He blinked as his view swung down, a little dizzying, since Rodney was motionless on his back, head on his pillow, working at getting the SED buckled around his wrist.
"Yeah," Sheppard said. "This better?"
Everything went black as Rodney fumbled the strap. "Holy fuck - hold on," Rodney bit out. An instant later he had his sight back, or Sheppard's anyway, which was way better, since Sheppard was looking down his bare (hairy, flat) chest and belly to his own hand, curled loosely around his cock. "Wow," Rodney said. "Yeah, that's - wow."
Sheppard gave a nearly inaudible huff of laughter. "This is okay?"
"I'm blind, not stupid," Rodney said.
"You don't want to wait?"
Rodney could hear his smirk. "I can see just fine, and I've never heard of a pity jerk-off, so this is good."
Sheppard snickered into his ear. "Good."
"Don't - don't do anything yet, okay?" Rodney stared as Sheppard chuckled again - his belly moved, and his dick twitched. Rodney whined a little, fastening the SED with shaking, clumsy fingers, arching back to shove his pants down. "Okay, I'm good - ohh," Rodney said, lifting his very, very interested cock out of his pants, watching as Sheppard stroked himself once, slowly: narrow fingers tighter on the flushed skin of his cock, the head smooth and rounded, clear fluid welling up at the slit. "Oh my god," Rodney said. "You did give me porn."
"I'm, uh -" Sheppard's voice was hoarse, laughter beneath - "I'm probably not going to last all that long, once I get started."
"Just don't close your eyes when you come," Rodney said, stroking himself quickly, listening to John's choked laugh in his ear. He watched John's thumb slide over the head, the shine of pre-come smeared lower. "Jesus Christ," Rodney said, closing his eyes for a second, hips jerking up into his fist. He opened his eyes again, desperate not to miss anything. "I thought you were going to talk dirty to me," he said after a long minute of listening to Sheppard's breathing, the slick slide of his hand on his cock.
Sheppard sucked in a hasty breath. "I, uh, I don't do that, so much," he managed.
Rodney licked his palm hastily, went back to what he was doing, imagining John's tight grip on his dick, working the foreskin over the head and back down, feeling heat pool in his belly, the big muscles tighten in his thighs. "Tell me what you're thinking about," Rodney said in a rush, blushing, biting his lip in embarrassment and desire.
"I'm -" Sheppard's hips were moving, now, small pushes upward. "Oh, god, I can't, this is too -"
"I'm thinking about you jerking me off," Rodney said, breathless.
"I wish I could see you," Sheppard gasped, and then he groaned and closed his eyes.
"I want to see, let me see," Rodney snapped, desperate, and he watched through Sheppard's blurry, heavy lidded eyes: the first thick spurt of white, a messy splash onto his sternum. Then thinner splatters onto his belly as his hand slowed, fist squeezing long, tight strokes from root to tip, and finally the last thick surges of come, spilling over his knuckles, down into the thatch of dark hair around his cock; everything slippery and wet, Sheppard's heaving breaths in Rodney's ear.
Rodney pressed his head back into the pillow and came, broken-voiced, practically whimpering with it as every muscle in his body clenched, waves of release pouring over him, one hand knotted in the sheets, the other jerking the last little bits of pleasure from his dick: tiny, jittery movements over sensitized skin.
"Good?" Sheppard asked, a minute later; Rodney was drifting, eyes half open, watching Sheppard pull his sticky hand away from his softening cock.
"Wish I could lick that off your hand," Rodney murmured, and Sheppard coughed, abrupt and too-loud in his ear.
"I always knew you'd kill me," Sheppard said. "I just didn't think it'd be through choking on my own spit."
Rodney closed his eyes. "Never underestimate the many ways in which I might or might not kill you."
"Hmm." Sheppard's eyes were closed, too, Rodney figured, blinking a little and seeing faint darkness, and he wondered if the SED would give him Sheppard's dreams, if they left it on. Probably dreams didn't work that way, Rodney thought, hazy. And also, he wouldn't want Sheppard's dreams, probably - his own were enough to deal with.
"Hey, I'm falling asleep," Rodney said.
"Yeah." Sheppard was gone already, Rodney figured, breathing steady and low in his ear. "S'okay. Me, too."
"Thanks," Rodney said, and slipped away, the strap still buckled around his wrist, his eyelids closed over a softer darkness than he'd known in days.
~*~
PART THREE
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The next day saw the beginning of a series of small, irritating mechanical failures throughout the city. It was rarely life-threatening, but research and development in the labs slowed to a crawl as nearly every scientist was dragooned into repair work of one kind or another.