SGAfic: "Kept By Ourselves In Silence and Apart" by The Spike (Adult)
Title: Kept By Ourselves In Silence and Apart
Author: The Spike
Rating: D for dark. V for very.
Warnings: Torture, Angst, Sex, Other Stuff
Pairing: Dex/McKay
Spoilers: none
Word Count: approx. 7400 words
Beta by: corinna_5, lcsbanana and liviapenn all did their part in helping me to wrestle with this monster. All gave good advice. Mostly in the end I listened to them but a couple of things I got stubborn about. If there are parts that suck, blame me.
Notes: This is not the Ronon/Rodney bonding story I was looking for. More author's notes at the end.
Summary: Rodney McKay and Ronon Dex , in extremis
McKay had complained bitterly from the moment they were taken prisoner until the first time they took him away. When they brought him back he was beat up and quiet. Ronon had asked him if he was okay. McKay had said: "No." and when Ronon came over to look at him he said: "Don't."
There wasn't really anything Ronon could do for him anyway. Whoever had stripped them both had known something of Sateda, obviously. They'd hacked his hair off with a dull blade and searched him, teeth to tailbone.
McKay couldn’t stop looking at his shorn head until Ronon had eyed him for staring. Then he'd asked Ronon about his tattoos. He'd given the simple answers, pointing at them, telling McKay the names of places and battles that would mean less than nothing to him.
"You fought... a lot," McKay had said afterwards.
"Yeah," Ronon had answered. McKay had started to ask him something: "How--" he began, but then the door had opened and guards had come in. Ronon had whirled into action and they'd shot him. Something like a Wraith stunner but sharper, like a lot of tiny invisible needles. He'd dropped like a stone. Watched helplessly as they'd manhandled McKay out of the cell. He could hear the scientist's indignant voice all the way down the corridor.
The stunner took a long time to wear off. Ronon was stiff and cold afterwards. He felt like an old man, stretching and working combat patterns to ease the discomfort. There was no real way to tell how much time had passed, but Ronon's rumbling stomach was a pretty reliable indicator. A while. Then long enough. Then too long. A while after that, they brought McKay back. Shoved him hard at Ronon and clanged the cell door shut while he was busy catching him.
McKay stank of fear and blood. He sagged in Ronon's grip and when Ronon tried to move him toward the bunk, he turned his head and retched up bile. Ronon moved him anyway and got him on the thin mattress. McKay just curled up then, knees loose to his chest, back to the wall. His nose was bleeding and he snuffled wetly but didn't say anything. Ronon went back over to his own bunk. Some of the blood and other junk had got on him. He wiped it off and then wiped his hand on the side of the mattress.
He hated prisons and torturers. He hated not being able to act. He really hated that stunner -- that was going to be hard to overcome. His next chance would be the next time they came. Maybe they would take him this time. He wasn't afraid of that. The only problem was if they crippled him it would make it harder to escape.
He dozed some more. Then he heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor, the rattle and clank of something, voices. The little peephole slid open and a voice barked at them to get back against the far wall in line of sight if they wanted feeding. Ronon took his time getting up because he wanted to see what they would do. The pointed barrel of a stunner poked through the peephole in Ronon's direction so he moved. McKay struggled to uncurl and even when he managed it, he was still hunched over on himself and limping. Ronon glanced at him as they both reached the wall. Some of the bruises were pretty black. They'd used some low blows too. He really didn't like these people. When the guards figured they were safe, they opened the door. There were three stunners, two trained on Ronon, one on McKay. A guy who wasn't military and looked as beaten as any prisoner shuffled two bowls off a tray, then two cups and put them on the floor just past the arc of the door. Then he backed away and the guards slid the door shut with a clang.
"Go sit down," Ronon said to McKay.
"I'm not--" McKay started.
"Sit," Ronon said. He was already at the food, sniffing it. Gruel, thin. A little rank but not bad. Just enough to keep them alive and weak. He stuck a finger in and licked. He'd eaten worse. The water was pretty clear. He brought bowl and cup over to where McKay was gingerly trying to sit.
"Let me see," he said, putting the food on the floor.
"No," McKay said again. He sounded angry. Scared.
Ronon said, "If you can walk, you'll probably live."
McKay grimaced as he got himself down onto the bunk..
"Oh, thank you," McKay said, sarcastically. "So comforting." He sounded a little better. Some of the tightness eased in Ronon's belly. He picked up the water and handed to McKay.
"Drink it slow," he said. McKay had guzzled half of it before he'd even got the words out. He managed to grab the cup from McKay's hand before the scientist was leaning over the side puking the water right back up.
"You know what 'slow' means, right?" Ronon asked when the retching had eased off into ragged gasping. The look McKay turned on him was black and searing. Good. He handed the cup back.
"Slow," he said. McKay took a tiny sip. His hand was shaking but he didn't puke. He kept taking tiny sips for a while. Ronon went over and got his own food and water and brought it back to McKay's bunk.
"You ever been beat before?" Ronon said. McKay looked up at him sideways. One of his eyes had puffed nearly shut. The other one showed some crimson around the blue.
"Not by... professionals," McKay answered. "Maybe a few determined amateurs over the years."
"Yeah?"
Ronon's obvious interest seemed to surprise McKay. "Is this where we swap war stories and bond?" he said.
"You got war stories?"
"Not unless you count high school as a battlefield, which--" he coughed. Grimaced. "We need to get out of here."
"Working on it," Ronon said, swapping out McKay's water cup for the bowl of crappy porridge . "What did you see out there?"
"I don't know," McKay said, sniffing warily. He made a face.
"Eat it," said Ronon. "You need the fuel."
"I know that," McKay snapped. "I just don't need poisoned fuel."
"No poison," said Ronon. He picked up a double fingerful from his own bowl and ate.
"How do you know that?" McKay asked. Ronon shrugged.
"They want intel. You're already weak. They have that stunner to use on me." Ronon said. "They're feeding us enough to stay alive. Why waste poison?"
"Hunh," said McKay. "Good point." He fingered up some of the gruel and tasted it. Made a face, but kept eating. After a while he said. "They took me down a long hallway. There's probably ten other cells down here. We turned..." he thought. "Left. Walked about the same distance, or actually they walked, I mostly got dragged. At the end of that corridor was a transom for some kind of mechanical elevator. Lots of clanking gears. We went up maybe two levels then they brought me back to that room with the Commander guy and a... another guy. Then... you know. We had a nice chat."
"What'd he want to know?"
McKay just shrugged. He'd stopped eating, was looking down at the bowl.
"McKay..."
"Sorry," McKay said, coming back a little. "Just, you know, the usual. 'Who are we? Who are we spying for? Where are the rest of us...? Does this hurt?' The answer to which is always 'yes', by the way."
"What did you tell him?" McKay didn't say anything for a long time. Ronon figured that meant that he'd told them pretty much everything. He wasn't surprised. McKay was a civilian. That's why they took him first.
"I.." McKay said. "I kept telling them I would talk. Every time they... stopped, I told them I would talk. I really wanted to. I told them all kinds of things, just..." Ronon waited.
"I couldn't tell them where Sheppard was." Ronon nodded. "I wanted to, though. I... I probably will."
"Okay," said Ronon.
"Okay?" McKay asked, his voice cracking. "Okay that I'm going to spill everything? Okay that we're all going to die because I can't--"
"Yeah," said Ronon, looking him in the eyes. "Okay. Okay?" McKay just kept staring at him. He was looking bad again. Shaky. So Ronon changed the subject.
"Eat up," he said. "And get some rest. They'll be back soon and you need to be ready when I make my move."
"You have a plan?" McKay seemed more surprised by that than anything. Ronon shrugged lightly in a way that could mean 'of course I have a plan' or 'who needs a damn plan'.
"Well, wh-what do you need me to do?" Ronon just looked at him.
"Right," McKay said eventually, dropping his gaze like a dog. "Right."
"Eat," said Ronon again. "Rest. I'm going to do the same." He got up to go back to his own bunk. Then he turned back. "If they take you again," he said. "Talk. Talk a lot. Say any shit that comes into your head. Got it? Anything. You can do that, right?"
McKay seemed to think about it, then he gave a sort of laugh. "Baffle them with bullshit," he said, stirring the porridge with his fingers. "Yeah, I can do that."
*
Ronon was dozing when they came the second time but that hadn't been a problem in seven years. He grabbed the pointy muzzle of the stunner that got too close and pushed it toward McKay just as it went off. He grabbed and spun the surprised guard and got the choke on him, not bothering to disarm him but sliding his own hand over the man's trigger fingers and bringing the weapon up on the other guards. They were still quicker and there were two of them. He was squeezing the trigger when they both hit him with stunner bolts. He went down with the other guard on top of him. This time he blacked out.
*
When he came to, he was tied to a chair and McKay was talking. Then screaming. Then talking, talking. Babbling. He sounded pretty crazy. Ronon hoped it was just fear and pain. He didn't move yet, just felt, breathed, listened.
He was well tied. The bindings were solid, tight at ankles, knees, waist, chest, wrists and neck. The chair was solid on the floor. Bolted, maybe. He counted four other people in the room. Two still forms behind him -- probably guards. The guy asking the questions -- the Commander -- in front of him, also still, maybe sitting behind a desk. And the guy hurting McKay. He sounded big. Ronon's size maybe. Sure footed, no mistakes. Trained for this then. Specialist.
Had to be good. Not so much to hurt McKay but to keep him hurting for this long and still talking. Took some skill. McKay was saying:
"...and there isn't... there isn't enough time to fix the, the, the flux capacitors but that just makes it my job when the, no, no, no. Don't!" The last was followed by the sound of frantic, useless struggling and a whimper. Then McKay screamed again.
"How many others in your raiding party?" That was the Commander.
"F-four," McKay said.
"Four," the Commander repeated. "Making six in all."
"Yes," said McKay. He yelped. "Stop. Pleaseohplease."
"You said two last time," the Commander said.
"Yes," McKay whined.
"Which is it? Two or four."
"Two," said McKay. Another yelp. "Four. Six. Eight. Not prime. Totally not prime. Ask me something harder. I'm a geni-- stop stop oh god. Four there's four."
"Four," the Commander said.
"The Satedan's awake," said another voice. The specialist. Cover blown, Ronon lifted his head, opened his eyes. The room was as he'd imagined. The people placed more or less as he'd figured. He took into account the discrepancies: The Commander was standing. Rodney was also tied to a chair. There was a thin line of bright red blood running down his arm to drip into a small puddle beside the chair. The specialist was...Idrian. No wonder he knew enough to disarm Ronon so completely. The Satedans had fought the Idriani on and off for many years. Treacherous, dangerous, soulless animals. This one was whipcord lean, shaven-headed, skull-faced. He held a thin skewer deep in the joint of McKay's shoulder. The sound of McKay's hitched breathing filled the room.
"Good," the Commander said, approaching Ronon. "Perhaps you can clear this matter up."
"Doubt it," said Ronon.
"That's a shame," said the Commander. The Idrani torturer made a tiny movement. McKay screamed again, short and sharp. Ronon waited, slowed his breathing.
"I see," said the Commander.
"I can make him sing for you," the Idrani specialist said to the back of the commander's head. "I can make him scream."
Ronon looked the Commander in the eyes and made a disgusted little snort.
"This amuses you, Ronon Dex?" the Commander said. As if knowing his name was something special. Ronon shrugged as well as he could in his bondage.
"Any idiot with a pointy stick can make you scream," Ronon said. "Won't get you what you need though." McKay made a sound at that. Maybe a laugh, maybe not. Ronon didn't look at him this time, kept his eyes hard on the Commander.
"You have another suggestion," the Commander said.
"Yeah," said Ronon. "Let us go."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because," said Ronon. "If you don't, our friends are going to be mad."
"Is that so," said the Commander. "And how many friends are we talking about?"
"Twenty transports, give or take," said Ronon. " That's maybe 6000 troops, heavy armed on the first run." He looked around, shrugged. "Doubt they'll need a second."
"Impressive," said the Commander. He motioned with his head to the Idrian specialist. "Let's hear what the truth sounds like, shall we?" The Idrian smiled and stepped away from McKay, leaving the skewer in his shoulder. McKay's head hung forward and he looked like he might be passed out.
The Idrian pulled a wide, flat case from inside his shirt. He had a lot of thick burn scars down one side of his neck, Ronon noticed, and the eye on that side looked off. Maybe blind. The case opened to reveal syringes and phials. The Idrian motioned to one of the guards behind Ronon and his head was taken in a lock grip, turned to the side. The Idrian plunged his needle into Ronon's neck.
Warmth spread through Ronon, turning to heat as it swirled around inside his chest. His breathing quickened and wouldn't slow. The sound of it was harsh outside his head. He could suddenly feel the rough slide of his tongue against his teeth; the scrape of his eyelids over his dry eyes. Ronon knew this drug well -- sense enhancer. He couldn't help the small bitter smile that quirked a corner of his mouth.
"Oh, Satedan," the Idrian murmured into his ear. The man's breath was hot and liquid and he could feel each tiny hair on his neck prickle and rise. "Beautiful, young Satedan. Destroyer of my home." Ronon was not afraid. He held out long enough to see the Idrian take out his small, exquisite tools and begin with a classic half-moon cut under the knob of his right knee and then he went away.
*
He returned in slow, cautious measures. There was a lot of pain, and he had to master it in small doses. There was something else too but it wasn't a threat so he ignored it for a while. Eventually he registered what it was: a familiar voice, saying his name; human warmth cradling him, shoulders and back. McKay.
Everything snapped back at once and the drug was clearly still hot in his veins because he could suddenly feel it all: the rasp of air in his pipes as he breathed, McKay's heartbeat under his own. Every screaming agony from the damage in his knee.
Moving forced out a groan and McKay hushed him like it was something he'd been doing for a while. Cold hands gentled him. McKay's hoarse voice carried on a low monologue by his ear.
"... great plan. Great, great plan. We've got 'em running now. Oh yeah..." McKay's fingers trailed cool fire across his chest, his forehead, his arms.
"Feels good," he croaked. "Don't stop."
"Oh, hello," said McKay, like Ronon had just turned up in the messhall or something. "I didn't know if you were coming back." Ronon blinked gummy eyes and peered up at him. They were back in the cell, beside McKay's bunk on a mattress on the floor. McKay was sitting behind him, cradling Ronon against his chest.
"Yeah," Ronon said. "It was bad." McKay's fingers stilled and that made it worse. He almost asked but McKay started up again anyway. He relaxed into it, letting his body take over. Pleasure ran faster than pain. It was one of the great truths. Really, really great truths. He wondered if McKay knew. Fingers skimmed a nipple and Ronon groaned, felt his dick twitch and roll over. McKay stopped abruptly, whispered: "Sorry..."
"No," Ronon said. "More." McKay stilled further. Fuck.
"Are you..." McKay said. "Are you asking me to..."
"Yes," Ronon said and twisted himself up so he could get hold of McKay's head, bring his mouth down for a kiss. McKay resisted, but only for a second. Then he caught on. McKay's mouth tasted bitter and sour and then just hot, salty and human underneath. They kissed.
McKay's hand ghosted his nipple again and again. Ronon scrambled with his good leg to push up into a better position but it only blocked McKay's good hand from reaching him, so he let himself slide back. This was better. He could last a long time like this. McKay's cock nudged his back. McKay's breathing sounded like the dry, hard rush of surf where he sucked air through his nose.
Pain and pleasure sparred along Ronon's nerves but pleasure always won. He coasted for a long time, slowly rising up on the crest, filling back into his own skin, driving the Idrian out. McKay licked and sucked and bit at anything his mouth could reach. His hand mapped the terrain of Ronon's ribs and belly and chest over and over. He worked himself against Ronon's hip with small, hard thrusts and breathy 'oh's' that made Ronon want to fuck into him on a soft bed with nobody watching.
"Wait," McKay panted into Ronon's ear. "Wait, wait, oh oh ohh..." and then he clutched at Ronon, stilled. Liquid heat spread.over Ronon's hip and McKay's blunt fingernail caught at his nipple. Like a match trigger to a fuse, it lit him and Ronon went up. Came and came in perfect silent stillness.
They both sprawled there, panting like old men. After a while McKay snorted a laugh, said.
"This is what they teach you in 'Resisting Torture 101'?"
"Yep," said Ronon.
"I should have taken that course," McKay said. He sounded like himself for the first time in a long time. Ronon almost smiled.
"Just did," he said. McKay's good arm came up around his chest and squeezed, then he rubbed his cheek against the ratty fuzz of what was left of Ronon's hair and didn't say anything else.
*
They slept.
At some point, cold and stiff, they hobbled over to Ronon's bunk and Ronon pressed his back to the cold wall and opened his arms so McKay would lie beside him. After a little while McKay did, pressing his back to Ronon's chest to keep his good shoulder side up. Ronon slipped an arm around McKay's waist and snugged him in. The drug was burning itself off and McKay's skin felt like skin, not silk. McKay's hair was still feather-fine though and Ronon buried his face in it.
They slept.
Ronon woke up hard and aching. He shifted against McKay and McKay said, uncertainly:
"You wanna?"
Ronon said yes and then McKay went still.
"Don't... don't fuck me, okay?" he said. He was shaking.
"I won't," Ronon said, hating things again. "Not here. Not anywhere if you don't want to, but not here."
"Okay," McKay said and eased a little. Ronon waited. After a while McKay said, "You want to? Somewhere else, I mean?"
In answer Ronon bit the back of McKay's neck and worried it. He ran his tongue wide and flat over the taut flesh between his teeth. McKay moaned and pressed back against him.
"Cheater," McKay hissed but Ronon had two good hands and he slid one over McKay's chest and one down to his thickening cock. "So... fucked... up..." McKay said as Ronon worked him, slow and hard, sliding his own cock in the sweat-slick space between them. McKay made his tiny, breathy 'oh's' and came over Ronon's fist, jarring Ronon's knee. Ronon came later, knocking McKay's hot, swollen shoulder. Ronon curled carefully around McKay.
They slept.
McKay slept like a dead-man, solid and snoring. Ronon woke up whimpering from dreams he couldn't leave.
Later he woke to McKay saying his name.
"What?" he asked. McKay was shaking again, maybe crying.
"I can't," he said, his voice thick with tears. "I can't. Not again."
"Yeah, you can," said Ronon. "Just like last time."
"You weren't there last time, you fucker," McKay hissed. "You got to go to, to, to Disneyland in your head."
"Fair enough," said Ronon. He wanted to say he could fix this. There was only one thing he could offer though. He said it low and soft into McKay's neck: "I won't let them kill you."
"You can't stop them."
"Yeah," Ronon said. "I can. No pain. Friendly face. Best I can offer." McKay went still. He stayed quiet so long Ronon thought he might have dropped into sleep. Ronon was dozing just under the surface when McKay said, almost breathless:
"When?"
"You can take one more for sure," Ronon said and when McKay shook his head he said: "Yeah. You can. After that, we'll see."
"You're just lying to make me... make me... I don't even know what you're trying to make me do but--"
"One more," Ronon said. "I keep my word." McKay didn't agree but he stopped crying after a while.
They slept.
Ronon woke up to the clang of steel and McKay dragged out of his arms screaming and begging. He leapt up after him, forgot his knee and came down like a chunk of falling rock on the stone floor. A guard clubbed him with butt of his stunner and then shoved him flat with the muzzle pressing a cold, metal circle over his heart. Ronon could guess what would happen if he pulled the trigger. McKay was fighting them so hard you wouldn't know he was weak now.
The two guards still dragged him into the hall. The third backed away fast and stunned Ronon just as he managed to sit up.
The third guard stayed for a while afterward, using his boots to address the insult of having been bested once. When he placed his foot gently on Ronon's knee and smiled, Ronon had to go away again.
He came back once but he was alone in the cell by then. The knee was bad and he kept thinking the Wraith were coming so he didn't stay.
He knew he moved into sleep because there were dreams again. Wraith, and he was helpless. Death and he could only watch. Atlantis fell and it was because he lay in a soft bed, in warm arms and never heard the danger come. Pain and there was an eratus bug inside his knee, eating its way up toward his heart.
The last one woke him with a jerk that made him bite his tongue. McKay was back by then. He was lying on his bunk, face turned to Ronon, one eye glittering and red and he could see that it was bad. Ronon tried to get up, but he couldn't. His knee was a constant acid scream of pain, bones grated in his chest like knives. His neck felt wrong.
All he could do was watch McKay watching him and curse his own pride. His own softness. He'd let Atlantis do this, let it break him with hope, with place, with purpose. He'd wanted it so badly it had hurt.
The soldier he'd been, the Runner -- they would have snapped McKay's neck without making him beg. They wouldn't have waited until it was too late. Ronon Dex from Atlantis was someone else. He'd known even as he made the vow that he would break it. It hurt to know that John Sheppard would approve.
"Sorry," Ronon said. It came out broken and voiceless. McKay didn't even blink. Tears were running from Ronon's eyes, blurring everything, making the cell flicker light and dark. Ronon closed his eyes. If he could have gone away again he would have, but he was too tired. And McKay...
The next time he woke the cell was dark and the cold had leached into his bones. McKay was straining to raise himself on one elbow, his gaze hard on the door.
"Ronon," he whispered, in his shattered voice. But Ronon had already heard it. Faint, like thunder. Very far away. McKay's arm gave out and he slumped back down to the mattress. It was too dark to see the expression on his face.
Ronon was glad his own face was shadowed. He knew what would be written all over it. He hated that weakness but there was nothing he could do about it but lay there, belly coiled with terrible hope and wait for what would come next.
*
Boots on stone, running. Doors clanging. Shouts. P-90 fire. Beretta. Stunner, stunner. Bodies falling. P-90. Shouts. P-90. P-90. P-90. Silence. Boots running. The door opened. A beam of white light striped McKay, the walls, blinding him. Whispered: "Jesus...Rodn--." Shouted: "Teyla! In here."
Then John Sheppard's hand was warm on Ronon's frozen cheek and they were saved.
*
For a long time there were only moments of waking; pain or cold or worried faces peering down. But the pain always eased, the faces were friendly. Ronon existed and wondered if McKay was still alive.
Eventually he was awake enough to learn that he was.
Next bed over. Healing, healing.
*
After a while, Ronon woke more than he slept. He could sit up, feed himself, piss into a little pan -- ache with boredom the rest of the time. Sometimes he watched McKay sleep, tubed and taped and still and sometimes he looked over to find McKay watching him from some place deep behind the drugs and pain. It was hard not to look away but he owed McKay. Could at least make payment on his debt with his attention.
Visitors came. Sheppard and Teyla. Elizabeth Weir. He told them what he knew while McKay watched them, eyes glittering, from the other bed and didn't leave anything out except the things that were just between him and McKay.
He listened a few days later while McKay told them the rest in his cracked, old-man voice. Ronon remembered getting out of the bed, but not the part where he broke the wall with his fist, or when security had come, and pricked him with a needle and caught him when he fell.
He woke that night in the warm not-dark of the infirmary to find McKay standing over him, trailing tubes and wires. McKay's good hand was a warm weight on Ronon's wrist and he was undoing the restraint Ronon hadn't even had a chance to try.
"You're an idiot," McKay said. "You think I'm mad you didn't grant my dying, crazy-person wish for death?"
"I gave my word."
"Oh," McKay said. "Your word. Well, that's different. Wouldn't want you to break your word and do things you didn't want to do just because of, hmm, torture. You want to take care of it now then?" McKay stuck out his neck a little. Ronon just looked at him, feeling like a boy at lessons, sullen and hot-faced. He reached out, touched his fingers to McKay's neck. McKay shuddered, but didn't pull away.
"It's different now," Ronon muttered.
"Yeah, well... it wouldn't be," McKay said and turned away just as the night nurse came in to scold him back to his bed. He called back over his shoulder, "No thanks required."
Ronon turned his face away and didn't have a word for what he felt except that it was a better kind of ache than what he'd felt before.
*
Another week and Ronon was trying out combat drills with his crutches while McKay limped around the infirmary room they shared, cursing and hitting things he couldn't manage with one arm taped to his chest. the staff no longer smiled at either of them when they came to change dressings or take readings with their squeaky machines.
Eventually, Dr. Carson had to let them out, at least during the day. He assigned Ronon something called 'rehab' for his reconstructed knee. He worked at it, sometimes with Teyla, more often with John. Sometimes with McKay who had 'rehab' of his own.
They grunted and groaned like two old men, sweating and shaking at the end of every session but it helped.
*
Inside, Ronon stayed almost as frozen as he'd been on the floor of that cell. Frozen, then angry by turns. He had bad dreams, sometimes waking dreams. He saw the Idrian in every shadow, heard his voice, smelled his stink. His senses felt honed to an edge too sharp to keep.
For a while he wondered if this was how he would be now, a knife unsheathed and unsheathable -- keen to be used but too dangerous to carry. The thought frightened him more than anything had in a long time. He thought about leaving. About Running -- being only that again.
Then Teyla asked him to come spar with her. He almost refused but had a twinkle in her eye that was so like an older sister's that he couldn't turn her down. He circled her cautiously; afraid his rage would overtake them both. Then Teyla took his legs out from under him with an easy feint and chop to his good knee at the count of three and as he lay there stunned and seething, she gave him such a look of false innocence that he burst out laughing instead.
After that he felt the thaw begin, in fits and starts. Teyla sparred with him, teased him, told him when he was being an ass. She showed him the Athosian meditations and although he never really understood what she wanted him to learn from them, the trappings -- candles, incense, twisting poses and mostly the soothing sound of her voice -- all gave him a kind of peace he couldn't manage on his own
He wondered who McKay talked to. The doctor, maybe. The healer they called Heightmeyer. Maybe Elizabeth Weir. Someone good with words, he thought. He wondered if it helped. McKay seemed to have come back to himself -- all restless motion, words and prickliness -- but there was something brittle underneath, like badly set bone. Ronon could feel it pinging against the rough edges of his own half-healed wounds. It wasn't right and it wasn't wrong but it wasn't anything Ronon knew what to do with, so he let it be.
*
McKay went back to work in the lab. Ronon divided his time between training marines and helping the Athosians harvest crops. His body healed faster now; strength and stamina returned. His hair grew out in the kinky brown-yellow ringlets he remembered from his childhood and he rubbed and rolled it with the sweet smelling wax the Athosians used to proof their leathers. His knee was almost right, but it ached all the time.
On his first night back in Atlantis after the second harvest, he found himself outside McKay's door. It was the middle of the night. He'd drunk his share of cider with the elders and danced with every eligible Athosian girl and every heart was open to him and bright. They invited him to stay but he'd taken the shuttle back anyway and wandered the nearly empty halls of Atlantis for a long time before realizing this was where he had been heading all along.
Maybe McKay knew it too, because he opened the door almost the instant Ronon knocked. He looked well, but tired -- the little beard he'd started before Ronon left had grown in and showed twinned silver streaks.
"I like it," he said, scruffing his own beard.
"Yeah?" McKay said. "I can't decide if the effect is distinguished Nobel Prize material or just sort of grayback ape. And it itches. You coming in?" He'd already made a space for Ronon in his doorway and so he'd entered.
McKay's room was stale and familiar and crowded with books and laptops and bits of machines that all looked alien to Ronon. There were clothes in piles on the floor and lengths of coiled wire in boxes along the walls. When he turned back around he found McKay still leaning against the door, watching him, one hand absently stroking at his beard.
"This is weird," he said.
"Yeah," said Ronon. The cider was burning out of his veins. If McKay asked him to leave, he'd go. But McKay didn't say anything. Instead he walked over to where Ronon was standing and stood very close. Ronon could feel McKay's heat, the faint tremor of his heartbeat; hear the dry sound when he swallowed. He was already half hard.
He looked down. McKay's hair smelled like the soap that came from the Daedalus. He remembered its damp silk against his cheek. McKay was looking up at him.
"This is..." McKay said and then he touched Ronon's shoulder and slid his palm down his arm. Ronon shivered and McKay said: "Hunh." Then he tilted his head and Ronon leaned down and they kissed.
"Hunh," McKay said again, right up against Ronon's mouth. Their beards rustled and rubbed. Ronon could feel McKay's hardness against his thigh. He slid his hands over McKay's hips and pulled him in close. McKay shook his head from side to side but wasn't saying 'no'. His arms came up around Ronon's back and they moved against each other, McKay making those small 'oh' sounds that Ronon remembered. Thought about sometimes. .
The heat rose between them. Ronon was close when his knee twinged and he stumbled back a step. For a minute McKay just stared at him, eyes wide and full of something that looked like fear. Ronon figured that was the end of it, but then McKay was on him, pulling Ronon down into a fierce kiss nearly undid him on his feet.
McKay's weight pushed him back. They went down on the bed, books and laptops thudding to the floor to McKay's "Fuck, fuck, fuck". But by then Ronon figured Atlantis could be in flames and they weren't going to stop. McKay kissed and bit and kissed and bit him while they rocked and they yanked at one another's clothes. Ronon groaned at the first heat of naked skin against his own and their hands roamed and worried and finally met around their close-pressed cocks. Ronon couldn't hold against the pleasure of that touch. He fell back with McKay over him, whimpering, working them both like he was going to kindle fire.
He did. Ronon came hard and long, pulsing into wet heat and McKay's fist, with both their cries in his ears.
He lay there buzzing -- light for the first time in so long he couldn't remember when -- with McKay panting beside him. McKay said:
"You made so much noise." He sounded so shocked that Ronon laughed and kept laughing when McKay said: "No, seriously. People on the mainland are hiding under their beds." and didn't stop even when McKay landed a feeble punch on his shoulder and started laughing too.
*
It wasn't always as easy as that. Some nights the memories crowded too close and it felt to Ronon like they were pulling the pain and terror of the cell back over themselves like a blanket. Sometimes it was things Ronon didn't even understand, things that might have been the ways of McKay's people or just McKay. Sometimes it was Ronon himself.
Sometimes it was better if they didn't see each other at all for a while and sometimes Ronon felt he couldn't stand to be away.
Mostly it felt like it was healing just like any other deep wound he'd ever had -- sometimes paining, sometimes eased but it would be a long time before it was something that he didn't think about every day.
*
The season turned from sun to rain. Another storm, not so great as the last and with no rain of Wraith. Sheppard came to Ronon one day and asked him how he was feeling, and how was the knee and Ronon said:
"Yeah, I'll go." Sheppard clapped him on the shoulder and half the shadows that clouded the Colonel's face just fell away.
Going through the Ring felt good. Fighting Wraith with Sheppard and Teyla at his side felt even better. They skirmished with Ford and his new band but Ronon didn't let anyone get taken this time. He slept a little better after that.
At one of the celebrations for some Earth holiday, McKay came and sat beside him and asked him what it was like to be back out there. He told McKay he should try it and find out for himself but McKay just looked down into his drink and laughed a little.
"How crazy is it that I want to?" he asked without looking up. McKay had shaved off his beard not long before and it left him looking young and strangely soft. Ronon shrugged.
"Not that crazy," he said. "Well, maybe a little. What difference does it make?"
"I-- hunh," McKay said. He got up. Leaned in and brushed a kiss over Ronon's temple and walked away.
*
One day not too much longer after that, Ronon and Teyla sat at lunch in the Mess when Sheppard came in looking worried. A tight knot curled in Ronon's belly before Sheppard even spoke.
"Hey," he said, not quite pretending a smile. "Either of you talked to Rodney in the last couple of days?"
"I have not," said Teyla. Ronon shook his head and got to his feet.
"It's probably nothing," said Sheppard. "There's a life sign in his room, but he's not answering his comm."
"I'll go," said Ronon.
"No, no," said Sheppard "I'll go by. See if he needs anything."
"I'll go," Ronon said again. "Alone." Sheppard looked at him, asking and not asking. It wasn't Ronon's answer to give. Not yet.
"Okay," said Sheppard, stepping down. "Call me if you need... anything."
Ronon went. He'd been feeling it himself all week and because he was on the Atlantean calendar now it had taken him a while to realize why. He stopped by his own quarters first; scooped up the small leather box he'd already gotten out for himself two days ago when he'd figured it out and brought it along. He knocked on McKay's door for a while, then bellowed out.
"It's me. Open up." A few minutes later the door slid open a little bit to reveal McKay in baggy pants and a rumpled shirt with writing on the front, squinting against the light. He looked pretty bad -- bags under his eyes, chin blue with stubble. Hair standing up like scrub grass.
"What do you want?" he said, irritably. "I'm sleeping."
"Got something for you," Ronon said. "Let me in."
"Can't you just give it to me later?"
"No," said Ronon. "Let me in." McKay sighed noisily but then he stepped back. Made an elaborate flourish with one hand to let Ronon know that he should, by all means, come on in.
"I'm not really in the mood," he said, sitting back on the bed. Ronon didn't say anything just sat on the end of the bed and opened up the kit, laying out its contents: bottles of ink. Carved wooden stamps. Tiny dishes for the inks. Thin wooden handle. Bundled stacks of thick, sharp needles.
"What's this about?" McKay asked, warily. In answer Ronon unlaced the leg of his pants to the knee. Amid the scars the new tattoo was scabbed but vivid bright.
"Well, that's unsanitary."
"You asked about these once," Ronon said. "I didn't tell you everything." McKay looked up at his face, motioned him to go on so Ronon told him all the things his grandfather had told him about Satedan war tattoos. When he was done, McKay frowned up at him, a little confused.
"And what," he said. "You want to give me a matching one?"
"It's been a year -- Satedan year," Ronon said, and shrugged. "You earned it." McKay shook his head at that and looked away. After a while he asked.
"Does it help?"
Ronon shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. It's something. Makes it real, maybe. Makes it... over." McKay made a single snort of laughter.
"Closure, yeah, I've heard of that." He picked up a small stack of needles, pressed it against the soft part of his arm experimentally. The points left a triangle of pale, red marks. He picked up the handle, turned both around until he found the way they fit together.
"And then you...?" Ronon took the tool from him, showed him how it would tap the ink into his skin.
"That's going to hurt," McKay said.
"Yeah."
"Okay," he said. "What the hell. But you're going to sterilize these first..." He puttered a little in his bathroom while Ronon poured the inks. Came out with a bottle of clear alcohol in a plastic drinking cup.
"Anywhere in particular?" McKay asked, pouring out the alcohol.
"Wherever it means the most."
McKay's hand went to his shoulder, slid over to his heart and then up to the side of his neck.
"Here," he said. "Where you have yours." That made Ronon smile
"It's going to hurt," McKay said again. "I don't like to hurt."
"I know," Ronon answered.
"Okay," McKay said. "Should I...?"
"Lie down," Ronon told him. He had McKay rest his head on his thigh.
"Wait," McKay said, suddenly. He got up, took a small shaving mirror off his desk and lay down again. "Okay," he said. "I'm ready."
Ronon was as gentle as he could be and McKay only flinched the first time he tapped the dark ink in. He did the same thing his grandfather did when he gave Ronon his first tattoo. He told him what each part was for and what the proper words were in the High Satedan tongue and what the shapes and colours meant.
Name and Location of Battle. Dates on the Satedan calendar. Enemies killed. Medals awarded. Victory or defeat.
Captured.
Tortured.
"And that...?" McKay asked, finding it on the mirror. He was nearly breathless now, eyes bright and red rimmed. "What does that one mean." Ronon looked down at him. Held him with his gaze because he wasn't going to let him go this time. Traced the new-made long line with a finger. The same long line that was on every one of his own tattoos so far, and the only thing that mattered in the end. He said:
"Alive."
*
Author's Notes:
"The holiest of all holidays are those
kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries of the heart."
--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I think I just finished saying publicly somewhere that as much as I loved dark, graphic torture fic I could never write it. Um, yeah. Note to self...
The tattoo technique and materials Ronon uses are adapted from the Japanese tebori technique described here
Author: The Spike
Rating: D for dark. V for very.
Warnings: Torture, Angst, Sex, Other Stuff
Pairing: Dex/McKay
Spoilers: none
Word Count: approx. 7400 words
Beta by: corinna_5, lcsbanana and liviapenn all did their part in helping me to wrestle with this monster. All gave good advice. Mostly in the end I listened to them but a couple of things I got stubborn about. If there are parts that suck, blame me.
Notes: This is not the Ronon/Rodney bonding story I was looking for. More author's notes at the end.
Summary: Rodney McKay and Ronon Dex , in extremis
McKay had complained bitterly from the moment they were taken prisoner until the first time they took him away. When they brought him back he was beat up and quiet. Ronon had asked him if he was okay. McKay had said: "No." and when Ronon came over to look at him he said: "Don't."
There wasn't really anything Ronon could do for him anyway. Whoever had stripped them both had known something of Sateda, obviously. They'd hacked his hair off with a dull blade and searched him, teeth to tailbone.
McKay couldn’t stop looking at his shorn head until Ronon had eyed him for staring. Then he'd asked Ronon about his tattoos. He'd given the simple answers, pointing at them, telling McKay the names of places and battles that would mean less than nothing to him.
"You fought... a lot," McKay had said afterwards.
"Yeah," Ronon had answered. McKay had started to ask him something: "How--" he began, but then the door had opened and guards had come in. Ronon had whirled into action and they'd shot him. Something like a Wraith stunner but sharper, like a lot of tiny invisible needles. He'd dropped like a stone. Watched helplessly as they'd manhandled McKay out of the cell. He could hear the scientist's indignant voice all the way down the corridor.
The stunner took a long time to wear off. Ronon was stiff and cold afterwards. He felt like an old man, stretching and working combat patterns to ease the discomfort. There was no real way to tell how much time had passed, but Ronon's rumbling stomach was a pretty reliable indicator. A while. Then long enough. Then too long. A while after that, they brought McKay back. Shoved him hard at Ronon and clanged the cell door shut while he was busy catching him.
McKay stank of fear and blood. He sagged in Ronon's grip and when Ronon tried to move him toward the bunk, he turned his head and retched up bile. Ronon moved him anyway and got him on the thin mattress. McKay just curled up then, knees loose to his chest, back to the wall. His nose was bleeding and he snuffled wetly but didn't say anything. Ronon went back over to his own bunk. Some of the blood and other junk had got on him. He wiped it off and then wiped his hand on the side of the mattress.
He hated prisons and torturers. He hated not being able to act. He really hated that stunner -- that was going to be hard to overcome. His next chance would be the next time they came. Maybe they would take him this time. He wasn't afraid of that. The only problem was if they crippled him it would make it harder to escape.
He dozed some more. Then he heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor, the rattle and clank of something, voices. The little peephole slid open and a voice barked at them to get back against the far wall in line of sight if they wanted feeding. Ronon took his time getting up because he wanted to see what they would do. The pointed barrel of a stunner poked through the peephole in Ronon's direction so he moved. McKay struggled to uncurl and even when he managed it, he was still hunched over on himself and limping. Ronon glanced at him as they both reached the wall. Some of the bruises were pretty black. They'd used some low blows too. He really didn't like these people. When the guards figured they were safe, they opened the door. There were three stunners, two trained on Ronon, one on McKay. A guy who wasn't military and looked as beaten as any prisoner shuffled two bowls off a tray, then two cups and put them on the floor just past the arc of the door. Then he backed away and the guards slid the door shut with a clang.
"Go sit down," Ronon said to McKay.
"I'm not--" McKay started.
"Sit," Ronon said. He was already at the food, sniffing it. Gruel, thin. A little rank but not bad. Just enough to keep them alive and weak. He stuck a finger in and licked. He'd eaten worse. The water was pretty clear. He brought bowl and cup over to where McKay was gingerly trying to sit.
"Let me see," he said, putting the food on the floor.
"No," McKay said again. He sounded angry. Scared.
Ronon said, "If you can walk, you'll probably live."
McKay grimaced as he got himself down onto the bunk..
"Oh, thank you," McKay said, sarcastically. "So comforting." He sounded a little better. Some of the tightness eased in Ronon's belly. He picked up the water and handed to McKay.
"Drink it slow," he said. McKay had guzzled half of it before he'd even got the words out. He managed to grab the cup from McKay's hand before the scientist was leaning over the side puking the water right back up.
"You know what 'slow' means, right?" Ronon asked when the retching had eased off into ragged gasping. The look McKay turned on him was black and searing. Good. He handed the cup back.
"Slow," he said. McKay took a tiny sip. His hand was shaking but he didn't puke. He kept taking tiny sips for a while. Ronon went over and got his own food and water and brought it back to McKay's bunk.
"You ever been beat before?" Ronon said. McKay looked up at him sideways. One of his eyes had puffed nearly shut. The other one showed some crimson around the blue.
"Not by... professionals," McKay answered. "Maybe a few determined amateurs over the years."
"Yeah?"
Ronon's obvious interest seemed to surprise McKay. "Is this where we swap war stories and bond?" he said.
"You got war stories?"
"Not unless you count high school as a battlefield, which--" he coughed. Grimaced. "We need to get out of here."
"Working on it," Ronon said, swapping out McKay's water cup for the bowl of crappy porridge . "What did you see out there?"
"I don't know," McKay said, sniffing warily. He made a face.
"Eat it," said Ronon. "You need the fuel."
"I know that," McKay snapped. "I just don't need poisoned fuel."
"No poison," said Ronon. He picked up a double fingerful from his own bowl and ate.
"How do you know that?" McKay asked. Ronon shrugged.
"They want intel. You're already weak. They have that stunner to use on me." Ronon said. "They're feeding us enough to stay alive. Why waste poison?"
"Hunh," said McKay. "Good point." He fingered up some of the gruel and tasted it. Made a face, but kept eating. After a while he said. "They took me down a long hallway. There's probably ten other cells down here. We turned..." he thought. "Left. Walked about the same distance, or actually they walked, I mostly got dragged. At the end of that corridor was a transom for some kind of mechanical elevator. Lots of clanking gears. We went up maybe two levels then they brought me back to that room with the Commander guy and a... another guy. Then... you know. We had a nice chat."
"What'd he want to know?"
McKay just shrugged. He'd stopped eating, was looking down at the bowl.
"McKay..."
"Sorry," McKay said, coming back a little. "Just, you know, the usual. 'Who are we? Who are we spying for? Where are the rest of us...? Does this hurt?' The answer to which is always 'yes', by the way."
"What did you tell him?" McKay didn't say anything for a long time. Ronon figured that meant that he'd told them pretty much everything. He wasn't surprised. McKay was a civilian. That's why they took him first.
"I.." McKay said. "I kept telling them I would talk. Every time they... stopped, I told them I would talk. I really wanted to. I told them all kinds of things, just..." Ronon waited.
"I couldn't tell them where Sheppard was." Ronon nodded. "I wanted to, though. I... I probably will."
"Okay," said Ronon.
"Okay?" McKay asked, his voice cracking. "Okay that I'm going to spill everything? Okay that we're all going to die because I can't--"
"Yeah," said Ronon, looking him in the eyes. "Okay. Okay?" McKay just kept staring at him. He was looking bad again. Shaky. So Ronon changed the subject.
"Eat up," he said. "And get some rest. They'll be back soon and you need to be ready when I make my move."
"You have a plan?" McKay seemed more surprised by that than anything. Ronon shrugged lightly in a way that could mean 'of course I have a plan' or 'who needs a damn plan'.
"Well, wh-what do you need me to do?" Ronon just looked at him.
"Right," McKay said eventually, dropping his gaze like a dog. "Right."
"Eat," said Ronon again. "Rest. I'm going to do the same." He got up to go back to his own bunk. Then he turned back. "If they take you again," he said. "Talk. Talk a lot. Say any shit that comes into your head. Got it? Anything. You can do that, right?"
McKay seemed to think about it, then he gave a sort of laugh. "Baffle them with bullshit," he said, stirring the porridge with his fingers. "Yeah, I can do that."
*
Ronon was dozing when they came the second time but that hadn't been a problem in seven years. He grabbed the pointy muzzle of the stunner that got too close and pushed it toward McKay just as it went off. He grabbed and spun the surprised guard and got the choke on him, not bothering to disarm him but sliding his own hand over the man's trigger fingers and bringing the weapon up on the other guards. They were still quicker and there were two of them. He was squeezing the trigger when they both hit him with stunner bolts. He went down with the other guard on top of him. This time he blacked out.
*
When he came to, he was tied to a chair and McKay was talking. Then screaming. Then talking, talking. Babbling. He sounded pretty crazy. Ronon hoped it was just fear and pain. He didn't move yet, just felt, breathed, listened.
He was well tied. The bindings were solid, tight at ankles, knees, waist, chest, wrists and neck. The chair was solid on the floor. Bolted, maybe. He counted four other people in the room. Two still forms behind him -- probably guards. The guy asking the questions -- the Commander -- in front of him, also still, maybe sitting behind a desk. And the guy hurting McKay. He sounded big. Ronon's size maybe. Sure footed, no mistakes. Trained for this then. Specialist.
Had to be good. Not so much to hurt McKay but to keep him hurting for this long and still talking. Took some skill. McKay was saying:
"...and there isn't... there isn't enough time to fix the, the, the flux capacitors but that just makes it my job when the, no, no, no. Don't!" The last was followed by the sound of frantic, useless struggling and a whimper. Then McKay screamed again.
"How many others in your raiding party?" That was the Commander.
"F-four," McKay said.
"Four," the Commander repeated. "Making six in all."
"Yes," said McKay. He yelped. "Stop. Pleaseohplease."
"You said two last time," the Commander said.
"Yes," McKay whined.
"Which is it? Two or four."
"Two," said McKay. Another yelp. "Four. Six. Eight. Not prime. Totally not prime. Ask me something harder. I'm a geni-- stop stop oh god. Four there's four."
"Four," the Commander said.
"The Satedan's awake," said another voice. The specialist. Cover blown, Ronon lifted his head, opened his eyes. The room was as he'd imagined. The people placed more or less as he'd figured. He took into account the discrepancies: The Commander was standing. Rodney was also tied to a chair. There was a thin line of bright red blood running down his arm to drip into a small puddle beside the chair. The specialist was...Idrian. No wonder he knew enough to disarm Ronon so completely. The Satedans had fought the Idriani on and off for many years. Treacherous, dangerous, soulless animals. This one was whipcord lean, shaven-headed, skull-faced. He held a thin skewer deep in the joint of McKay's shoulder. The sound of McKay's hitched breathing filled the room.
"Good," the Commander said, approaching Ronon. "Perhaps you can clear this matter up."
"Doubt it," said Ronon.
"That's a shame," said the Commander. The Idrani torturer made a tiny movement. McKay screamed again, short and sharp. Ronon waited, slowed his breathing.
"I see," said the Commander.
"I can make him sing for you," the Idrani specialist said to the back of the commander's head. "I can make him scream."
Ronon looked the Commander in the eyes and made a disgusted little snort.
"This amuses you, Ronon Dex?" the Commander said. As if knowing his name was something special. Ronon shrugged as well as he could in his bondage.
"Any idiot with a pointy stick can make you scream," Ronon said. "Won't get you what you need though." McKay made a sound at that. Maybe a laugh, maybe not. Ronon didn't look at him this time, kept his eyes hard on the Commander.
"You have another suggestion," the Commander said.
"Yeah," said Ronon. "Let us go."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because," said Ronon. "If you don't, our friends are going to be mad."
"Is that so," said the Commander. "And how many friends are we talking about?"
"Twenty transports, give or take," said Ronon. " That's maybe 6000 troops, heavy armed on the first run." He looked around, shrugged. "Doubt they'll need a second."
"Impressive," said the Commander. He motioned with his head to the Idrian specialist. "Let's hear what the truth sounds like, shall we?" The Idrian smiled and stepped away from McKay, leaving the skewer in his shoulder. McKay's head hung forward and he looked like he might be passed out.
The Idrian pulled a wide, flat case from inside his shirt. He had a lot of thick burn scars down one side of his neck, Ronon noticed, and the eye on that side looked off. Maybe blind. The case opened to reveal syringes and phials. The Idrian motioned to one of the guards behind Ronon and his head was taken in a lock grip, turned to the side. The Idrian plunged his needle into Ronon's neck.
Warmth spread through Ronon, turning to heat as it swirled around inside his chest. His breathing quickened and wouldn't slow. The sound of it was harsh outside his head. He could suddenly feel the rough slide of his tongue against his teeth; the scrape of his eyelids over his dry eyes. Ronon knew this drug well -- sense enhancer. He couldn't help the small bitter smile that quirked a corner of his mouth.
"Oh, Satedan," the Idrian murmured into his ear. The man's breath was hot and liquid and he could feel each tiny hair on his neck prickle and rise. "Beautiful, young Satedan. Destroyer of my home." Ronon was not afraid. He held out long enough to see the Idrian take out his small, exquisite tools and begin with a classic half-moon cut under the knob of his right knee and then he went away.
*
He returned in slow, cautious measures. There was a lot of pain, and he had to master it in small doses. There was something else too but it wasn't a threat so he ignored it for a while. Eventually he registered what it was: a familiar voice, saying his name; human warmth cradling him, shoulders and back. McKay.
Everything snapped back at once and the drug was clearly still hot in his veins because he could suddenly feel it all: the rasp of air in his pipes as he breathed, McKay's heartbeat under his own. Every screaming agony from the damage in his knee.
Moving forced out a groan and McKay hushed him like it was something he'd been doing for a while. Cold hands gentled him. McKay's hoarse voice carried on a low monologue by his ear.
"... great plan. Great, great plan. We've got 'em running now. Oh yeah..." McKay's fingers trailed cool fire across his chest, his forehead, his arms.
"Feels good," he croaked. "Don't stop."
"Oh, hello," said McKay, like Ronon had just turned up in the messhall or something. "I didn't know if you were coming back." Ronon blinked gummy eyes and peered up at him. They were back in the cell, beside McKay's bunk on a mattress on the floor. McKay was sitting behind him, cradling Ronon against his chest.
"Yeah," Ronon said. "It was bad." McKay's fingers stilled and that made it worse. He almost asked but McKay started up again anyway. He relaxed into it, letting his body take over. Pleasure ran faster than pain. It was one of the great truths. Really, really great truths. He wondered if McKay knew. Fingers skimmed a nipple and Ronon groaned, felt his dick twitch and roll over. McKay stopped abruptly, whispered: "Sorry..."
"No," Ronon said. "More." McKay stilled further. Fuck.
"Are you..." McKay said. "Are you asking me to..."
"Yes," Ronon said and twisted himself up so he could get hold of McKay's head, bring his mouth down for a kiss. McKay resisted, but only for a second. Then he caught on. McKay's mouth tasted bitter and sour and then just hot, salty and human underneath. They kissed.
McKay's hand ghosted his nipple again and again. Ronon scrambled with his good leg to push up into a better position but it only blocked McKay's good hand from reaching him, so he let himself slide back. This was better. He could last a long time like this. McKay's cock nudged his back. McKay's breathing sounded like the dry, hard rush of surf where he sucked air through his nose.
Pain and pleasure sparred along Ronon's nerves but pleasure always won. He coasted for a long time, slowly rising up on the crest, filling back into his own skin, driving the Idrian out. McKay licked and sucked and bit at anything his mouth could reach. His hand mapped the terrain of Ronon's ribs and belly and chest over and over. He worked himself against Ronon's hip with small, hard thrusts and breathy 'oh's' that made Ronon want to fuck into him on a soft bed with nobody watching.
"Wait," McKay panted into Ronon's ear. "Wait, wait, oh oh ohh..." and then he clutched at Ronon, stilled. Liquid heat spread.over Ronon's hip and McKay's blunt fingernail caught at his nipple. Like a match trigger to a fuse, it lit him and Ronon went up. Came and came in perfect silent stillness.
They both sprawled there, panting like old men. After a while McKay snorted a laugh, said.
"This is what they teach you in 'Resisting Torture 101'?"
"Yep," said Ronon.
"I should have taken that course," McKay said. He sounded like himself for the first time in a long time. Ronon almost smiled.
"Just did," he said. McKay's good arm came up around his chest and squeezed, then he rubbed his cheek against the ratty fuzz of what was left of Ronon's hair and didn't say anything else.
*
They slept.
At some point, cold and stiff, they hobbled over to Ronon's bunk and Ronon pressed his back to the cold wall and opened his arms so McKay would lie beside him. After a little while McKay did, pressing his back to Ronon's chest to keep his good shoulder side up. Ronon slipped an arm around McKay's waist and snugged him in. The drug was burning itself off and McKay's skin felt like skin, not silk. McKay's hair was still feather-fine though and Ronon buried his face in it.
They slept.
Ronon woke up hard and aching. He shifted against McKay and McKay said, uncertainly:
"You wanna?"
Ronon said yes and then McKay went still.
"Don't... don't fuck me, okay?" he said. He was shaking.
"I won't," Ronon said, hating things again. "Not here. Not anywhere if you don't want to, but not here."
"Okay," McKay said and eased a little. Ronon waited. After a while McKay said, "You want to? Somewhere else, I mean?"
In answer Ronon bit the back of McKay's neck and worried it. He ran his tongue wide and flat over the taut flesh between his teeth. McKay moaned and pressed back against him.
"Cheater," McKay hissed but Ronon had two good hands and he slid one over McKay's chest and one down to his thickening cock. "So... fucked... up..." McKay said as Ronon worked him, slow and hard, sliding his own cock in the sweat-slick space between them. McKay made his tiny, breathy 'oh's' and came over Ronon's fist, jarring Ronon's knee. Ronon came later, knocking McKay's hot, swollen shoulder. Ronon curled carefully around McKay.
They slept.
McKay slept like a dead-man, solid and snoring. Ronon woke up whimpering from dreams he couldn't leave.
Later he woke to McKay saying his name.
"What?" he asked. McKay was shaking again, maybe crying.
"I can't," he said, his voice thick with tears. "I can't. Not again."
"Yeah, you can," said Ronon. "Just like last time."
"You weren't there last time, you fucker," McKay hissed. "You got to go to, to, to Disneyland in your head."
"Fair enough," said Ronon. He wanted to say he could fix this. There was only one thing he could offer though. He said it low and soft into McKay's neck: "I won't let them kill you."
"You can't stop them."
"Yeah," Ronon said. "I can. No pain. Friendly face. Best I can offer." McKay went still. He stayed quiet so long Ronon thought he might have dropped into sleep. Ronon was dozing just under the surface when McKay said, almost breathless:
"When?"
"You can take one more for sure," Ronon said and when McKay shook his head he said: "Yeah. You can. After that, we'll see."
"You're just lying to make me... make me... I don't even know what you're trying to make me do but--"
"One more," Ronon said. "I keep my word." McKay didn't agree but he stopped crying after a while.
They slept.
Ronon woke up to the clang of steel and McKay dragged out of his arms screaming and begging. He leapt up after him, forgot his knee and came down like a chunk of falling rock on the stone floor. A guard clubbed him with butt of his stunner and then shoved him flat with the muzzle pressing a cold, metal circle over his heart. Ronon could guess what would happen if he pulled the trigger. McKay was fighting them so hard you wouldn't know he was weak now.
The two guards still dragged him into the hall. The third backed away fast and stunned Ronon just as he managed to sit up.
The third guard stayed for a while afterward, using his boots to address the insult of having been bested once. When he placed his foot gently on Ronon's knee and smiled, Ronon had to go away again.
He came back once but he was alone in the cell by then. The knee was bad and he kept thinking the Wraith were coming so he didn't stay.
He knew he moved into sleep because there were dreams again. Wraith, and he was helpless. Death and he could only watch. Atlantis fell and it was because he lay in a soft bed, in warm arms and never heard the danger come. Pain and there was an eratus bug inside his knee, eating its way up toward his heart.
The last one woke him with a jerk that made him bite his tongue. McKay was back by then. He was lying on his bunk, face turned to Ronon, one eye glittering and red and he could see that it was bad. Ronon tried to get up, but he couldn't. His knee was a constant acid scream of pain, bones grated in his chest like knives. His neck felt wrong.
All he could do was watch McKay watching him and curse his own pride. His own softness. He'd let Atlantis do this, let it break him with hope, with place, with purpose. He'd wanted it so badly it had hurt.
The soldier he'd been, the Runner -- they would have snapped McKay's neck without making him beg. They wouldn't have waited until it was too late. Ronon Dex from Atlantis was someone else. He'd known even as he made the vow that he would break it. It hurt to know that John Sheppard would approve.
"Sorry," Ronon said. It came out broken and voiceless. McKay didn't even blink. Tears were running from Ronon's eyes, blurring everything, making the cell flicker light and dark. Ronon closed his eyes. If he could have gone away again he would have, but he was too tired. And McKay...
The next time he woke the cell was dark and the cold had leached into his bones. McKay was straining to raise himself on one elbow, his gaze hard on the door.
"Ronon," he whispered, in his shattered voice. But Ronon had already heard it. Faint, like thunder. Very far away. McKay's arm gave out and he slumped back down to the mattress. It was too dark to see the expression on his face.
Ronon was glad his own face was shadowed. He knew what would be written all over it. He hated that weakness but there was nothing he could do about it but lay there, belly coiled with terrible hope and wait for what would come next.
*
Boots on stone, running. Doors clanging. Shouts. P-90 fire. Beretta. Stunner, stunner. Bodies falling. P-90. Shouts. P-90. P-90. P-90. Silence. Boots running. The door opened. A beam of white light striped McKay, the walls, blinding him. Whispered: "Jesus...Rodn--." Shouted: "Teyla! In here."
Then John Sheppard's hand was warm on Ronon's frozen cheek and they were saved.
*
For a long time there were only moments of waking; pain or cold or worried faces peering down. But the pain always eased, the faces were friendly. Ronon existed and wondered if McKay was still alive.
Eventually he was awake enough to learn that he was.
Next bed over. Healing, healing.
*
After a while, Ronon woke more than he slept. He could sit up, feed himself, piss into a little pan -- ache with boredom the rest of the time. Sometimes he watched McKay sleep, tubed and taped and still and sometimes he looked over to find McKay watching him from some place deep behind the drugs and pain. It was hard not to look away but he owed McKay. Could at least make payment on his debt with his attention.
Visitors came. Sheppard and Teyla. Elizabeth Weir. He told them what he knew while McKay watched them, eyes glittering, from the other bed and didn't leave anything out except the things that were just between him and McKay.
He listened a few days later while McKay told them the rest in his cracked, old-man voice. Ronon remembered getting out of the bed, but not the part where he broke the wall with his fist, or when security had come, and pricked him with a needle and caught him when he fell.
He woke that night in the warm not-dark of the infirmary to find McKay standing over him, trailing tubes and wires. McKay's good hand was a warm weight on Ronon's wrist and he was undoing the restraint Ronon hadn't even had a chance to try.
"You're an idiot," McKay said. "You think I'm mad you didn't grant my dying, crazy-person wish for death?"
"I gave my word."
"Oh," McKay said. "Your word. Well, that's different. Wouldn't want you to break your word and do things you didn't want to do just because of, hmm, torture. You want to take care of it now then?" McKay stuck out his neck a little. Ronon just looked at him, feeling like a boy at lessons, sullen and hot-faced. He reached out, touched his fingers to McKay's neck. McKay shuddered, but didn't pull away.
"It's different now," Ronon muttered.
"Yeah, well... it wouldn't be," McKay said and turned away just as the night nurse came in to scold him back to his bed. He called back over his shoulder, "No thanks required."
Ronon turned his face away and didn't have a word for what he felt except that it was a better kind of ache than what he'd felt before.
*
Another week and Ronon was trying out combat drills with his crutches while McKay limped around the infirmary room they shared, cursing and hitting things he couldn't manage with one arm taped to his chest. the staff no longer smiled at either of them when they came to change dressings or take readings with their squeaky machines.
Eventually, Dr. Carson had to let them out, at least during the day. He assigned Ronon something called 'rehab' for his reconstructed knee. He worked at it, sometimes with Teyla, more often with John. Sometimes with McKay who had 'rehab' of his own.
They grunted and groaned like two old men, sweating and shaking at the end of every session but it helped.
*
Inside, Ronon stayed almost as frozen as he'd been on the floor of that cell. Frozen, then angry by turns. He had bad dreams, sometimes waking dreams. He saw the Idrian in every shadow, heard his voice, smelled his stink. His senses felt honed to an edge too sharp to keep.
For a while he wondered if this was how he would be now, a knife unsheathed and unsheathable -- keen to be used but too dangerous to carry. The thought frightened him more than anything had in a long time. He thought about leaving. About Running -- being only that again.
Then Teyla asked him to come spar with her. He almost refused but had a twinkle in her eye that was so like an older sister's that he couldn't turn her down. He circled her cautiously; afraid his rage would overtake them both. Then Teyla took his legs out from under him with an easy feint and chop to his good knee at the count of three and as he lay there stunned and seething, she gave him such a look of false innocence that he burst out laughing instead.
After that he felt the thaw begin, in fits and starts. Teyla sparred with him, teased him, told him when he was being an ass. She showed him the Athosian meditations and although he never really understood what she wanted him to learn from them, the trappings -- candles, incense, twisting poses and mostly the soothing sound of her voice -- all gave him a kind of peace he couldn't manage on his own
He wondered who McKay talked to. The doctor, maybe. The healer they called Heightmeyer. Maybe Elizabeth Weir. Someone good with words, he thought. He wondered if it helped. McKay seemed to have come back to himself -- all restless motion, words and prickliness -- but there was something brittle underneath, like badly set bone. Ronon could feel it pinging against the rough edges of his own half-healed wounds. It wasn't right and it wasn't wrong but it wasn't anything Ronon knew what to do with, so he let it be.
*
McKay went back to work in the lab. Ronon divided his time between training marines and helping the Athosians harvest crops. His body healed faster now; strength and stamina returned. His hair grew out in the kinky brown-yellow ringlets he remembered from his childhood and he rubbed and rolled it with the sweet smelling wax the Athosians used to proof their leathers. His knee was almost right, but it ached all the time.
On his first night back in Atlantis after the second harvest, he found himself outside McKay's door. It was the middle of the night. He'd drunk his share of cider with the elders and danced with every eligible Athosian girl and every heart was open to him and bright. They invited him to stay but he'd taken the shuttle back anyway and wandered the nearly empty halls of Atlantis for a long time before realizing this was where he had been heading all along.
Maybe McKay knew it too, because he opened the door almost the instant Ronon knocked. He looked well, but tired -- the little beard he'd started before Ronon left had grown in and showed twinned silver streaks.
"I like it," he said, scruffing his own beard.
"Yeah?" McKay said. "I can't decide if the effect is distinguished Nobel Prize material or just sort of grayback ape. And it itches. You coming in?" He'd already made a space for Ronon in his doorway and so he'd entered.
McKay's room was stale and familiar and crowded with books and laptops and bits of machines that all looked alien to Ronon. There were clothes in piles on the floor and lengths of coiled wire in boxes along the walls. When he turned back around he found McKay still leaning against the door, watching him, one hand absently stroking at his beard.
"This is weird," he said.
"Yeah," said Ronon. The cider was burning out of his veins. If McKay asked him to leave, he'd go. But McKay didn't say anything. Instead he walked over to where Ronon was standing and stood very close. Ronon could feel McKay's heat, the faint tremor of his heartbeat; hear the dry sound when he swallowed. He was already half hard.
He looked down. McKay's hair smelled like the soap that came from the Daedalus. He remembered its damp silk against his cheek. McKay was looking up at him.
"This is..." McKay said and then he touched Ronon's shoulder and slid his palm down his arm. Ronon shivered and McKay said: "Hunh." Then he tilted his head and Ronon leaned down and they kissed.
"Hunh," McKay said again, right up against Ronon's mouth. Their beards rustled and rubbed. Ronon could feel McKay's hardness against his thigh. He slid his hands over McKay's hips and pulled him in close. McKay shook his head from side to side but wasn't saying 'no'. His arms came up around Ronon's back and they moved against each other, McKay making those small 'oh' sounds that Ronon remembered. Thought about sometimes. .
The heat rose between them. Ronon was close when his knee twinged and he stumbled back a step. For a minute McKay just stared at him, eyes wide and full of something that looked like fear. Ronon figured that was the end of it, but then McKay was on him, pulling Ronon down into a fierce kiss nearly undid him on his feet.
McKay's weight pushed him back. They went down on the bed, books and laptops thudding to the floor to McKay's "Fuck, fuck, fuck". But by then Ronon figured Atlantis could be in flames and they weren't going to stop. McKay kissed and bit and kissed and bit him while they rocked and they yanked at one another's clothes. Ronon groaned at the first heat of naked skin against his own and their hands roamed and worried and finally met around their close-pressed cocks. Ronon couldn't hold against the pleasure of that touch. He fell back with McKay over him, whimpering, working them both like he was going to kindle fire.
He did. Ronon came hard and long, pulsing into wet heat and McKay's fist, with both their cries in his ears.
He lay there buzzing -- light for the first time in so long he couldn't remember when -- with McKay panting beside him. McKay said:
"You made so much noise." He sounded so shocked that Ronon laughed and kept laughing when McKay said: "No, seriously. People on the mainland are hiding under their beds." and didn't stop even when McKay landed a feeble punch on his shoulder and started laughing too.
*
It wasn't always as easy as that. Some nights the memories crowded too close and it felt to Ronon like they were pulling the pain and terror of the cell back over themselves like a blanket. Sometimes it was things Ronon didn't even understand, things that might have been the ways of McKay's people or just McKay. Sometimes it was Ronon himself.
Sometimes it was better if they didn't see each other at all for a while and sometimes Ronon felt he couldn't stand to be away.
Mostly it felt like it was healing just like any other deep wound he'd ever had -- sometimes paining, sometimes eased but it would be a long time before it was something that he didn't think about every day.
*
The season turned from sun to rain. Another storm, not so great as the last and with no rain of Wraith. Sheppard came to Ronon one day and asked him how he was feeling, and how was the knee and Ronon said:
"Yeah, I'll go." Sheppard clapped him on the shoulder and half the shadows that clouded the Colonel's face just fell away.
Going through the Ring felt good. Fighting Wraith with Sheppard and Teyla at his side felt even better. They skirmished with Ford and his new band but Ronon didn't let anyone get taken this time. He slept a little better after that.
At one of the celebrations for some Earth holiday, McKay came and sat beside him and asked him what it was like to be back out there. He told McKay he should try it and find out for himself but McKay just looked down into his drink and laughed a little.
"How crazy is it that I want to?" he asked without looking up. McKay had shaved off his beard not long before and it left him looking young and strangely soft. Ronon shrugged.
"Not that crazy," he said. "Well, maybe a little. What difference does it make?"
"I-- hunh," McKay said. He got up. Leaned in and brushed a kiss over Ronon's temple and walked away.
*
One day not too much longer after that, Ronon and Teyla sat at lunch in the Mess when Sheppard came in looking worried. A tight knot curled in Ronon's belly before Sheppard even spoke.
"Hey," he said, not quite pretending a smile. "Either of you talked to Rodney in the last couple of days?"
"I have not," said Teyla. Ronon shook his head and got to his feet.
"It's probably nothing," said Sheppard. "There's a life sign in his room, but he's not answering his comm."
"I'll go," said Ronon.
"No, no," said Sheppard "I'll go by. See if he needs anything."
"I'll go," Ronon said again. "Alone." Sheppard looked at him, asking and not asking. It wasn't Ronon's answer to give. Not yet.
"Okay," said Sheppard, stepping down. "Call me if you need... anything."
Ronon went. He'd been feeling it himself all week and because he was on the Atlantean calendar now it had taken him a while to realize why. He stopped by his own quarters first; scooped up the small leather box he'd already gotten out for himself two days ago when he'd figured it out and brought it along. He knocked on McKay's door for a while, then bellowed out.
"It's me. Open up." A few minutes later the door slid open a little bit to reveal McKay in baggy pants and a rumpled shirt with writing on the front, squinting against the light. He looked pretty bad -- bags under his eyes, chin blue with stubble. Hair standing up like scrub grass.
"What do you want?" he said, irritably. "I'm sleeping."
"Got something for you," Ronon said. "Let me in."
"Can't you just give it to me later?"
"No," said Ronon. "Let me in." McKay sighed noisily but then he stepped back. Made an elaborate flourish with one hand to let Ronon know that he should, by all means, come on in.
"I'm not really in the mood," he said, sitting back on the bed. Ronon didn't say anything just sat on the end of the bed and opened up the kit, laying out its contents: bottles of ink. Carved wooden stamps. Tiny dishes for the inks. Thin wooden handle. Bundled stacks of thick, sharp needles.
"What's this about?" McKay asked, warily. In answer Ronon unlaced the leg of his pants to the knee. Amid the scars the new tattoo was scabbed but vivid bright.
"Well, that's unsanitary."
"You asked about these once," Ronon said. "I didn't tell you everything." McKay looked up at his face, motioned him to go on so Ronon told him all the things his grandfather had told him about Satedan war tattoos. When he was done, McKay frowned up at him, a little confused.
"And what," he said. "You want to give me a matching one?"
"It's been a year -- Satedan year," Ronon said, and shrugged. "You earned it." McKay shook his head at that and looked away. After a while he asked.
"Does it help?"
Ronon shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. It's something. Makes it real, maybe. Makes it... over." McKay made a single snort of laughter.
"Closure, yeah, I've heard of that." He picked up a small stack of needles, pressed it against the soft part of his arm experimentally. The points left a triangle of pale, red marks. He picked up the handle, turned both around until he found the way they fit together.
"And then you...?" Ronon took the tool from him, showed him how it would tap the ink into his skin.
"That's going to hurt," McKay said.
"Yeah."
"Okay," he said. "What the hell. But you're going to sterilize these first..." He puttered a little in his bathroom while Ronon poured the inks. Came out with a bottle of clear alcohol in a plastic drinking cup.
"Anywhere in particular?" McKay asked, pouring out the alcohol.
"Wherever it means the most."
McKay's hand went to his shoulder, slid over to his heart and then up to the side of his neck.
"Here," he said. "Where you have yours." That made Ronon smile
"It's going to hurt," McKay said again. "I don't like to hurt."
"I know," Ronon answered.
"Okay," McKay said. "Should I...?"
"Lie down," Ronon told him. He had McKay rest his head on his thigh.
"Wait," McKay said, suddenly. He got up, took a small shaving mirror off his desk and lay down again. "Okay," he said. "I'm ready."
Ronon was as gentle as he could be and McKay only flinched the first time he tapped the dark ink in. He did the same thing his grandfather did when he gave Ronon his first tattoo. He told him what each part was for and what the proper words were in the High Satedan tongue and what the shapes and colours meant.
Name and Location of Battle. Dates on the Satedan calendar. Enemies killed. Medals awarded. Victory or defeat.
Captured.
Tortured.
"And that...?" McKay asked, finding it on the mirror. He was nearly breathless now, eyes bright and red rimmed. "What does that one mean." Ronon looked down at him. Held him with his gaze because he wasn't going to let him go this time. Traced the new-made long line with a finger. The same long line that was on every one of his own tattoos so far, and the only thing that mattered in the end. He said:
"Alive."
*
Author's Notes:
"The holiest of all holidays are those
kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries of the heart."
--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I think I just finished saying publicly somewhere that as much as I loved dark, graphic torture fic I could never write it. Um, yeah. Note to self...
The tattoo technique and materials Ronon uses are adapted from the Japanese tebori technique described here