Fic: Aleatoric Life 14/25: Precipitato
Title: Aleatoric Life 14: Precipitato
Author: SGAtlantisLight
Characters: McKay, Sheppard, Beckett, Zelenka, Dex, Heightmeyer
Relationships: Beckett/McKay/Sheppard, Dex/Zelenka pre-slash
Rating: PG-13, though the series as a whole is NC-17
Warnings: Mention of non-con, major character whumpage, violence, language.
Spoilers: None this part
Summary: They had rescued him, but they had yet to truly bring him safely home. Part of the Aleatoric Life series.
Disclaimer: Undoubtedly I own them, and a whole lot of other things, in some universe, but not this one.
"You are sure it is dead?" Zelenka asked, staring at the thing that had been a wraith.
Ronon went and kicked the thing full force. Zelenka stepped back nervously. "Yeah. It's dead."
"O-okay." Zelenka circled around it.
"I'll move it."
"Oh, you don't have to...!"
Ronon grunted and hauled the thing up by its collar and dragged it away from the dart, dumping it unceremoniously several feet away. Zelenka waited until he returned to approach the dart.
Ronon stood in silence and watched as Zelenka's agile fingers opened up an access panel and began connecting his laptop to the dart's controls. His eyes travelled from those fingers up Zelenka's arms to slender but sturdy shoulders where he was distracted by the softness of the hair curling against the nape of Zelenka's neck. Ronon had a strange impulse to reach out and touch it to see if it was as soft as it looked.
Zelenka muttered under his breath as he worked. Ronon listened to the string of exotic and unknown words.
Suddenly, there was movement in the cockpit and a dark shaped sprang out directly at Zelenka. The smaller man apparently caught the blur of motion out of the corner of his eye, because he squawked and leapt back just as Ronon stepped forward, shoving the scientist behind him and leveling his gun at...
Two bright blue eyes stared up at him, blinking. The kitten sat up and sniffed the barrel of his gun, then took a single disinterested swat at it before settling back on its haunches and beginning to clean a paw, unmindful of how close it had come to death.
Zelenka peeked around Ronon. The cat paused in its ministrations to consider him for a moment before returning to run a paw over its face and head, cleaning, cleaning.
Zelenka bent down and peered at it. "Ahoj, kotě."
The cat blinked at him, then continued with the other paw.
"We saw this cat earlier," Ronon said. "Sheppard was carrying it when Teyla called about the dart."
"Perhaps it is looking for him," Zelenka theorised, extending a hand.
The cat sniffed it and blinked, as if to say, "Pet me if you must."
"Huh. It liked Sheppard better."
"Everyone likes Sheppard better," Zelenka murmured, running a finger over the cat's ear to scratch at the juncture of ear, head, and neck.
Ronon snorted. McKay had obviously been telling tales. "Nothing wrong with that."
Zelenka looked at him over the rim of his glasses, grey-blue eyes smiling. "Enviable, yes. Wrong, no. Unless you have suspicious lover."
Ronon shrugged. "I guess so."
Zelenka smiled. "Well, kotě, let's see if any of your people are still inside here, hm?"
Ronon watched as Zelenka turned and settled back down with his laptop, typing one-handed while the other continued to stroke the cat beside him. Ronon found himself fascinated by the fingers playing over soft fur, gentle and indulgent, and thought about how long it had been since he had just been touched.
***
Rodney awoke slowly. His throat ached. The air was heavy and thick as he tried to draw in breath. He felt sluggish and sore, battered, tired, wrung out.
He could feel a weight on his legs and a hand was slowly stroking through his hair. There was a distant murmur of voices and the steady beep of a heart monitor. He could feel a sharp ache in the back of one hand that too much experience identified as an IV.
He opened his eyes to meet the brilliant blue of Carson's. He looked down to see the top of John's head, hair in its usual artful disarray.
"Hey," Rodney rasped out.
"Hullo, love," Carson said, tears glimmering in his eyes as he caressed Rodney's cheek.
John snuffled and sat up, blinking. Seeing Rodney awake, he smiled in apparent relief. "Hey, babe," he whispered. His eyes seemed to skate over Rodney's, as if unable to meet them.
"What happened?" Rodney asked in confusion, his memories a tumble of disconnected images, sounds, and sensations. Something around his throat. John screaming his name.
"You were attacked by a wraith. Do you remember?" John asked.
Rodney frowned, trying to recall. Cold, glittering, alien eyes. Couldn't move. Panic and pain shooting through him. A cold child swept down his spine. "God! Am I...?" His voice died. It hurt too much to talk and he was afraid to ask the question.
"Ye're all right, love," Carson quickly reassured him. "You may have lost a couple of years, but John stopped it pretty quickly."
Rodney glanced at John, noting for the first time the splints and dressings on his hands. "Let go of him! He's mine!" His lips formed an "Oh" and he nodded, looking between his two... Two what, exactly?
John looked down at his hands. "Sorry. I should have checked the area first."
Rodney braced himself. "Mirror?" he whispered.
"What, love?"
"Mirror?" he whispered a little louder, flinching at the pain.
"I'll get one." Carson stood and headed for the door.
John sat back, withdrawing from Rodney, and gave him an apologetic look.
"Louise," Carson called, "could you bring me a mirror and tell Doctor Castillon that Doctor McKay is awake?"
Carson returned to Rodney's bedside, giving his arm a reassuring pat. The three remained silent for a moment until Castillon and Heightmeyer walked in. Seeing the psychiatrist, Rodney felt the panic threaten to overwhelm him. Her usual smile did nothing to reassure him. Carson gave the heart monitor a concerned look, then squeezed Rodney's arm.
Heightmeyer sat in Carson's vacated chair and held out a mirror. Rodney took it and held it for a moment before lifting it to study his face. There were wrinkles that hadn't been there that morning, the lines that he'd had were more pronounced. He angled it to show his hair, noting the glimmers of white among the brown strands. "How much?" he rasped.
"Two to five years," Castillon answered. "There is no way to be more precise."
Rodney shuddered and closed his eyes. Two to five years gone, taken from him, in the blink of an eye. He looked at the four of them surrounding his bed, waiting for a reaction, for anger or grief or despair or God knows what. "Could you leave me alone now?" he whispered.
Castillon looked about to argue.
"Please."
The doctor's eyes swept over the monitors. He nodded reluctantly.
John and Carson lingered for a moment. "Rodney..." Carson started.
Rodney shook his head.
John's shoulders slumped and he turned and walked out. Carson stroked Rodney's cheek, drawing his eyes. "We love you," he whispered. "Don't forget that."
Rodney watched them walk out, then covered his eyes with his hand. His thoughts and emotions were in turmoil. This morning, he had gone on the mission convinced that he was losing John and Carson.
John lunging at the wraith holding Rodney captive, screaming. "Let him go! He's mine!"
Had he been wrong? Or was it guilt talking?
Two to five years...
He stared at the face in the mirror, thinking he should be feeling angry or horrified or depressed or something. But nothing came-- nothing but a desire to call Carson and John back and rest in the safety of their arms. Fear held him back-- fear that they weren't truly his anymore... or wouldn't be once they got over their initial concern and took a good, long look at his face.
So Rodney sat in silence and stared at the man he'd suddenly become.
AN: Precipitato is a musical term meaning "precipitately"
Next part
Author: SGAtlantisLight
Characters: McKay, Sheppard, Beckett, Zelenka, Dex, Heightmeyer
Relationships: Beckett/McKay/Sheppard, Dex/Zelenka pre-slash
Rating: PG-13, though the series as a whole is NC-17
Warnings: Mention of non-con, major character whumpage, violence, language.
Spoilers: None this part
Summary: They had rescued him, but they had yet to truly bring him safely home. Part of the Aleatoric Life series.
Disclaimer: Undoubtedly I own them, and a whole lot of other things, in some universe, but not this one.
"You are sure it is dead?" Zelenka asked, staring at the thing that had been a wraith.
Ronon went and kicked the thing full force. Zelenka stepped back nervously. "Yeah. It's dead."
"O-okay." Zelenka circled around it.
"I'll move it."
"Oh, you don't have to...!"
Ronon grunted and hauled the thing up by its collar and dragged it away from the dart, dumping it unceremoniously several feet away. Zelenka waited until he returned to approach the dart.
Ronon stood in silence and watched as Zelenka's agile fingers opened up an access panel and began connecting his laptop to the dart's controls. His eyes travelled from those fingers up Zelenka's arms to slender but sturdy shoulders where he was distracted by the softness of the hair curling against the nape of Zelenka's neck. Ronon had a strange impulse to reach out and touch it to see if it was as soft as it looked.
Zelenka muttered under his breath as he worked. Ronon listened to the string of exotic and unknown words.
Suddenly, there was movement in the cockpit and a dark shaped sprang out directly at Zelenka. The smaller man apparently caught the blur of motion out of the corner of his eye, because he squawked and leapt back just as Ronon stepped forward, shoving the scientist behind him and leveling his gun at...
Two bright blue eyes stared up at him, blinking. The kitten sat up and sniffed the barrel of his gun, then took a single disinterested swat at it before settling back on its haunches and beginning to clean a paw, unmindful of how close it had come to death.
Zelenka peeked around Ronon. The cat paused in its ministrations to consider him for a moment before returning to run a paw over its face and head, cleaning, cleaning.
Zelenka bent down and peered at it. "Ahoj, kotě."
The cat blinked at him, then continued with the other paw.
"We saw this cat earlier," Ronon said. "Sheppard was carrying it when Teyla called about the dart."
"Perhaps it is looking for him," Zelenka theorised, extending a hand.
The cat sniffed it and blinked, as if to say, "Pet me if you must."
"Huh. It liked Sheppard better."
"Everyone likes Sheppard better," Zelenka murmured, running a finger over the cat's ear to scratch at the juncture of ear, head, and neck.
Ronon snorted. McKay had obviously been telling tales. "Nothing wrong with that."
Zelenka looked at him over the rim of his glasses, grey-blue eyes smiling. "Enviable, yes. Wrong, no. Unless you have suspicious lover."
Ronon shrugged. "I guess so."
Zelenka smiled. "Well, kotě, let's see if any of your people are still inside here, hm?"
Ronon watched as Zelenka turned and settled back down with his laptop, typing one-handed while the other continued to stroke the cat beside him. Ronon found himself fascinated by the fingers playing over soft fur, gentle and indulgent, and thought about how long it had been since he had just been touched.
***
Rodney awoke slowly. His throat ached. The air was heavy and thick as he tried to draw in breath. He felt sluggish and sore, battered, tired, wrung out.
He could feel a weight on his legs and a hand was slowly stroking through his hair. There was a distant murmur of voices and the steady beep of a heart monitor. He could feel a sharp ache in the back of one hand that too much experience identified as an IV.
He opened his eyes to meet the brilliant blue of Carson's. He looked down to see the top of John's head, hair in its usual artful disarray.
"Hey," Rodney rasped out.
"Hullo, love," Carson said, tears glimmering in his eyes as he caressed Rodney's cheek.
John snuffled and sat up, blinking. Seeing Rodney awake, he smiled in apparent relief. "Hey, babe," he whispered. His eyes seemed to skate over Rodney's, as if unable to meet them.
"What happened?" Rodney asked in confusion, his memories a tumble of disconnected images, sounds, and sensations. Something around his throat. John screaming his name.
"You were attacked by a wraith. Do you remember?" John asked.
Rodney frowned, trying to recall. Cold, glittering, alien eyes. Couldn't move. Panic and pain shooting through him. A cold child swept down his spine. "God! Am I...?" His voice died. It hurt too much to talk and he was afraid to ask the question.
"Ye're all right, love," Carson quickly reassured him. "You may have lost a couple of years, but John stopped it pretty quickly."
Rodney glanced at John, noting for the first time the splints and dressings on his hands. "Let go of him! He's mine!" His lips formed an "Oh" and he nodded, looking between his two... Two what, exactly?
John looked down at his hands. "Sorry. I should have checked the area first."
Rodney braced himself. "Mirror?" he whispered.
"What, love?"
"Mirror?" he whispered a little louder, flinching at the pain.
"I'll get one." Carson stood and headed for the door.
John sat back, withdrawing from Rodney, and gave him an apologetic look.
"Louise," Carson called, "could you bring me a mirror and tell Doctor Castillon that Doctor McKay is awake?"
Carson returned to Rodney's bedside, giving his arm a reassuring pat. The three remained silent for a moment until Castillon and Heightmeyer walked in. Seeing the psychiatrist, Rodney felt the panic threaten to overwhelm him. Her usual smile did nothing to reassure him. Carson gave the heart monitor a concerned look, then squeezed Rodney's arm.
Heightmeyer sat in Carson's vacated chair and held out a mirror. Rodney took it and held it for a moment before lifting it to study his face. There were wrinkles that hadn't been there that morning, the lines that he'd had were more pronounced. He angled it to show his hair, noting the glimmers of white among the brown strands. "How much?" he rasped.
"Two to five years," Castillon answered. "There is no way to be more precise."
Rodney shuddered and closed his eyes. Two to five years gone, taken from him, in the blink of an eye. He looked at the four of them surrounding his bed, waiting for a reaction, for anger or grief or despair or God knows what. "Could you leave me alone now?" he whispered.
Castillon looked about to argue.
"Please."
The doctor's eyes swept over the monitors. He nodded reluctantly.
John and Carson lingered for a moment. "Rodney..." Carson started.
Rodney shook his head.
John's shoulders slumped and he turned and walked out. Carson stroked Rodney's cheek, drawing his eyes. "We love you," he whispered. "Don't forget that."
Rodney watched them walk out, then covered his eyes with his hand. His thoughts and emotions were in turmoil. This morning, he had gone on the mission convinced that he was losing John and Carson.
John lunging at the wraith holding Rodney captive, screaming. "Let him go! He's mine!"
Had he been wrong? Or was it guilt talking?
Two to five years...
He stared at the face in the mirror, thinking he should be feeling angry or horrified or depressed or something. But nothing came-- nothing but a desire to call Carson and John back and rest in the safety of their arms. Fear held him back-- fear that they weren't truly his anymore... or wouldn't be once they got over their initial concern and took a good, long look at his face.
So Rodney sat in silence and stared at the man he'd suddenly become.
AN: Precipitato is a musical term meaning "precipitately"
Next part