New Story! Time Cannot Benumb These Feelings (SGA, slash, R)
For atlantisbasics.
Recipient: sian1359
Title: Time Cannot Benumb These Feelings
Author: Pouncer
Rating: R, for potentially disturbing subject matter
Category: slash, adventure
Pairing: John Sheppard/Rodney McKay
Spoilers: vague through 2.15, The Tower
Summary: Rodney finished replacing the gag and looked the kid straight in those clear blue eyes. "You should tell us what we want to know. Your people took our friend. We want her back." ~7500 words.
Time Cannot Benumb These Feelings
By Pouncer
A flash of orange, and Teyla fell down like a broken toy. Sheppard shoved Rodney aside with a vicious "God damn it," and then the world went black.
* * *
Pain spiked through Rodney’s head first. The next thing he became aware of was noise: the sound of weapons being stripped and cleaned. He was resting on something hard, and his right knee ached in a low thrum slightly less annoying than his head. Rodney opened his eyes cautiously, not knowing what to expect.
What he saw reassured and frightened all at once. Sheppard and Ronon crouched behind what looked like the entire contents of their packs and tac vests. They were in some sort of cave - stone walls and a low ceiling, but no stalactites. It wasn't the cave where the stargate was located. Greenish-yellow sunlight flowed in from outside, casting dull shadows against the floor. Sheppard was examining a P90 with ruthless focus.
"I’ve heard of them," Ronon said in his low rumble, continuing a conversation. "They move from world to world and scavenge what they can find, then sell it places where nobody asks questions."
Sheppard glanced up. "Technology?" His tone indicated he wasn’t really interested in the answer, just looking for one more data point.
"Yeah," Ronon said. "Usually not people, but I don’t know."
Sheppard's palm slammed down on the stone floor, and he swung toward the back of the cave. The set of his shoulders was tense. Rodney tried to move, to go to him, and groaned when his head swam. Not another concussion. His brain cells couldn’t take this much damage, not after the drowned jumper ordeal.
"Rodney, you awake?" Sheppard knelt by his side, aiming a flashlight at Rodney’s eyes.
"Ow." Rodney held up a hand to block the sparks dazzling his retinas, but Sheppard caught it and peered intently at Rodney’s face.
"A stunner beam grazed you," Sheppard said. "And you knocked your head when you went down." The light disappeared. "Good. Your pupils are reacting right. We’ll need you." And then he was gone, back to study what Rodney assumed was the cave entrance.
Rodney sat up, gingerly. His mouth was dry and he reached for his canteen. A sip of the flat, warm water and his throat felt up to talking again. "What happened?" Rodney surveyed their accommodations, possibly the worst the Pegasus Galaxy had to offer.
Teyla wasn’t there. "Where’s Teyla?" Rodney could hear a note of hysteria in his voice, but he didn’t care. The way Sheppard was acting, the air of menace Ronon exuded - something very bad had happened.
* * *
They’d arrived on the world at local daybreak, walking through into a narrow cavern just wide enough to hold the stargate, just deep enough to contain an establishing wormhole and allow for safe dialing of the DHD. There was a tiny archway to the outside, barely large enough for two people to walk side by side. Ronon had to duck his head as he went under. A puddlejumper would have been useless.
The Ancient database had burped out a nugget of unconnected and sparse information: P3M-831 had once housed an Ancient facility. Who knew what they’d left behind? The planet was uninhabited according to the Ancients.
Teyla had said, in the pre-mission briefing, "I do not believe I have ever traveled to this world. Or heard of it before." She was cool and thoughtful as always.
Rodney had supposed it had to be better than the land of the inbred ATA-royalty and their buried Ancient city. He really should stop making predictions.
* * *
Sheppard explained the situation in distracted bursts, paying more attention to Ronon’s attempts to draw a map in the dirt of the cave floor than to Rodney’s need to know what the hell was going on.
"They ambushed us."
"Yes, yes, I remember that part." Rodney would have circled his hand to tell Sheppard to speed it up, but moving hurt too much.
"You remember we were on our way to the Ancient base? Apparently, these guys got there first." Sheppard stared intently at something Ronon was pointing to for a moment, then continued. "And they must do this a lot, because they’ve got people guarding the stargate."
Rodney blinked as he absorbed that. "Were they Genii?"
Sheppard shook his head. "No, they look like extras from The Road Warrior. And they know what they’re doing." Sheppard moved to reload his P90. "Ronon and I've been testing the radio range. All this rock interferes, and Elizabeth isn't expecting us to check in for hours. We’re on our own." Sheppard added, grimly, "And they have Teyla."
* * *
Sheppard and Ronon left Rodney in the cave while they went out to reconnoiter.
Before they departed, Sheppard handed over two Tylenol and made Rodney swallow them. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of his mother's awkward attempts at nursing when Rodney was a child.
"Take out your sidearm," Sheppard said, gazing steadily at Rodney's face.
"What?" Rodney asked, and he should be sharper than this, should know the reason why but his head felt like a balloon being filled and drained of helium, over and over.
Sheppard knelt down beside Rodney, and guided Rodney's hand to the Beretta strapped to his thigh. Rodney pulled the gun out and held it in his hand, stared at it and blinked.
"Give that here," Sheppard said, and Rodney was afraid he was impatient, disapproving, but the dim light showed no temper on Sheppard's face and his voice had been even. Sheppard pulled out the clip, checked that it was fully loaded, and reset it with an authoritative smack. He handed the gun back to Rodney, who tried to hold it with more competence.
"You'll be fine," Sheppard said, and gave Rodney’s shoulder a quick squeeze. "Keep alert and listen for intruders, okay?" Sheppard's fingers trailed up the edge of Rodney's jaw just before he stepped away. Rodney wished he'd been able to push into that comforting touch.
"We’ll signal you," Sheppard said. "We’ll hum the Ode to Joy, okay?" Ronon had taken to Beethoven with a surprising fervor, claiming that Ludwig's music resembled a Satedan composer his mother had loved.
After Rodney nodded, Sheppard and Ronon disappeared out of Rodney’s sight.
Chemical cold packs rested on Rodney’s knee, but they were nothing compared to the chill that he felt at the thought of being abandoned. What if Ronon and Sheppard didn’t come back? What if the bad guys got them too? Rodney would be helpless here, waiting.
He settled the gun into his palm; it fit more comfortably than it had a year and a half ago, when he’d first started going on missions off Atlantis.
Rodney tried to avoid thinking about Brendan Gall’s final moments. His final decision. There was no evidence the Wraith were interested in this planet.
Sunlight streamed inside the cave mouth, its travel across the floor ticking off minutes Rodney lost forever.
* * *
Rodney must have dozed for a while. When he woke, he was still alone and the cave was dim, like the sun was close to setting. Rodney was stiff and sore and he couldn’t sit any longer or he’d go mad. It took a little effort to get upright, and his head reeled like he’d downed six shots of vodka in quick succession, then he steadied.
He hoped that Sheppard and Ronon had checked for wild animals before they decided on this cave as refuge. And perhaps it connected to the stargate cavern?
Time to explore. Rodney was an intrepid explorer, after all, when he wasn't coming up with brilliant scientific advances.
The cave stretched back beyond Rodney's sight, a long dark tunnel to nowhere.
Rodney broke out his flashlight and started to limp his way there.
* * *
The tunnel led a short way back into the mountain; it split a few yards back from the entrance chamber, two branches delving further into the body of the mountain. Each of them ended in a small secondary room a few yards beyond the split. Rodney thought that if he could see the layout from above, it would look like a Y.
No wild animals. No bats. No water dripping down. No connection to other tunnels, although a fall of rocks and boulders in one of the chambers might have blocked a link to a larger cave system. Rodney didn't know what type of stone this was. He'd never been strong in geology; it was too solid to hold his interest compared to the ethereal beauty of physics, the study of forces and waves and particles. The cave hadn't been formed because of lava flow or seismic activity, though. Rodney could tell that much.
He sighed and went back to the entrance. The sun lowered off to the left, the sky in that quadrant lit with flames of scarlet and violet.
The temperature was dropping along with the sun. Rodney shivered and retreated further into the cave. Sheppard and Ronon had left the majority of their equipment strewn across the floor, wanting to travel swift and light. Rodney went over to the pile and rummaged through to see what was there. He was hungry. He found a power bar and began to gnaw on it.
He wished they could have gotten to the Ancient outpost first, discovered untold wonders and neatly indexed research and nifty gadgets. Why did their missions always have to go wrong?
* * *
A series of scuffling sounds from beyond the black void of the entrance broke Rodney's fugue. He'd been imagining what they might have found at the Ancient outpost, and from there spiraled into formulae and ways to resolve the maddening divide between relativity and quantum mechanics. Tests to prove or disprove M-Theory. The Ancients must have known, must have had a single brilliant law to govern the universe, given the way they'd broken every physical rule Rodney had ever been taught.
The noises grew louder, and Rodney recalled that he was supposed to hear Beethoven if it were Sheppard and Ronon returning. No humming or whistling or even growling came to his ears, only movement over rock. Sheppard had warned that any light could be used by their enemies to find their refuge, so Rodney sat in darkness, straining his eyes and ears. He drew his Beretta again, and held it steady against his left knee, aimed at where an intruder would appear.
A low curse hissed outside. That sounded like Sheppard, but he wouldn't have forgotten the signals. Sheppard didn't forget things like that. Then came a horribly off-key rendition of the Ode to Joy, hummed with the verve of a chainsaw biting into wood.
Rodney closed his eyes and let his head drop backwards for a bare moment. He'd never let Sheppard massacre a beloved piece of music again. "Yes, yes, I know it's you," Rodney called, careful to keep his voice down. "Enter into my parlor, said the spider to the fly," he muttered, and heaved himself up off the ground.
They weren't alone. Sheppard and Ronon weren't alone. Twin moons had risen above the treeline, reflecting violet, granting just enough light to make out a slim form in front of Sheppard. Teyla? Ronon looked hunchbacked until he got closer, when Rodney realized he was carrying somebody.
"What?" Rodney sought out the gleam of Sheppard's face, just as he shoved the person before him inside the cave. Not Teyla then. Ronon slipped through the entrance, amazingly quiet for such a big man, and shifted his burden to the floor.
"We have guests, Rodney," Sheppard said, his usual casual drawl hinting at strain, and moved farther inside.
"I can see that. What happened? What did you find?"
Sheppard ignored the questions.
* * *
Rodney waited, marshalling the last strands of his fraying patience, while Ronon and Sheppard dealt with their prisoners. The one capable of walking had his hands bound behind his back, and his mouth was gagged with a length of fabric. The other lay in a crumpled heap. Rodney couldn’t make out details, and his stomach roiled.
"The way they were positioned," Sheppard said, "we should be okay with some light?"
Ronon replied with a terse, "yeah," and Sheppard broke out the light sticks.
Peroxide and phenyl oxalate ester mixed - Rodney remembered working the chemical equations in high school, just after he'd seen little kids carrying glowing tubes on Halloween; beautiful reactions, marching forward in predictable order, hours and hours of florescent light. Their green glow made everyone look sickly.
Rodney stood slumped against a wall until Sheppard looked distracted, then stepped close and leaned into Sheppard's body. "I need to know what's going on, John," Rodney said into Sheppard's ear, taking care to exhale soft gusts of air onto the skin of his neck. A startled jerk and Sheppard met Rodney's eyes for the first time since he'd returned.
"Okay." A pause while Sheppard surveyed the cave, passing responsibility to Ronon with a meaningful glance, then he said, "Come with me," and headed outside.
The night air was cool, and a soft wind flirted with the surface of the mountain. Rodney breathed in deep and buried his urge to pull Sheppard to him, to kiss him back to awareness. John needed this detachment in the field, had to have it if they were all to return safely to Atlantis.
Sheppard was moving his head back and forth, scanning for pursuers or threats or something Rodney didn't know enough to fear. He stood silent for as long as he could.
"Well?" Rodney asked at last, and Sheppard exhaled, a long gust of air, and his shoulders fell into a stance more closely resembling relaxed.
"There aren't that many of them. Twelve, twenty, maybe - it was hard to get a count. But they've got the stargate cavern guarded - anybody comes through and it'll be," pause to consider the situation, or maybe just word choices, "bad. They also have possession of the outpost. We don't know where Teyla's being held. There wasn't any sign of her." John's voice dropped at the end, and he stared up into the unfamiliar sky, full of unnamed constellations and strange stars.
Rodney waited until he could wait no longer. "Where did you find the, uh -" A flailing gesture toward the mountainside meant he didn't have to come up with a label for their new company.
Sheppard brought his left hand up and scrubbed at his hair and eyes. His right hand rested on the P90 clipped to his tac vest. "Ronon and I were making our way back from the outpost. We'd already checked the gate - they're dug in and positioned for an ambush. Ronon spotted somebody moving in the underbrush."
Rodney muttered, "He would." Rodney still had a visceral recall of the trap catching his feet, pulling him up into the air faster than he could react.
Sheppard looked at Rodney sharply for a second, then continued. "We need more information and we can't stroll up and ask their guards."
"What are you going to do?" Rodney almost didn't want to know now.
Sheppard stared out into the darkness and said, "We're going to ask them," with a jerk of his thumb toward the cave.
* * *
The air smelled of pine but not pine, the scent of Christmases past evoking those few times the McKay family had been happy together. Presents piled under a decorated tree, wrapping paper ripped away in an orgy of consumerist joy. His parents had a bent for educational gifts: sheet music and chemistry sets and microscopes and biographies of Einstein and Mozart. His surviving grandparents gave clothing: itchy sweaters and toques and scarves that his grandmother had knitted throughout the summer. She'd had an unerring knack for picking colors that made Rodney and Jeannie look sallow, but they'd smiled their appreciation under firm parental instruction.
The temperature was cool, but nothing approaching late December in Ottawa. Rodney didn't want to go back inside, where the walls would start to close in on him, creeping forward in nearly indistinguishable increments, smaller and smaller and smaller until there was no air left to breathe. He shook his head and turned toward Sheppard.
"You should separate them," Rodney said.
Sheppard twitched a little but got himself back under control immediately. "Why?" Rodney thought he saw Sheppard's brows draw downwards, surprised out of his own plans.
"Prisoner's dilemma," Rodney said. "Offer them a good and a bad outcome and keep them apart and they should tell you what you want to know. It's basic game theory," he added dismissively.
"Huh. I'll think about it." Sheppard turned and went back into the cave.
Rodney stood and looked up at the alien stars one last time, took a few deep breaths, then followed.
* * *
Sheppard drew Ronon aside with Rodney and talked over their options in a low voice. Ronon looked toward the prisoners the entire time, muscles coiled and ready to spring to action.
"McKay wants to split them up, question them separately," Sheppard said.
Ronon cocked his head for a second, thinking. "It's a good idea. We could compare their stories."
Sheppard looked doubtful. "I have something else in mind. I think it might work better."
"Oh, come on," Rodney said. "What do we know about interrogation? Really?"
"We have to find out where they're holding Teyla. Their weaknesses. We can't wait for the Daedelus to get here next month," Sheppard was almost hissing now.
Ronon glanced between Sheppard and Rodney. "Separate them and see what happens," he said.
Sheppard looked upwards, considering. "Yeah. Okay. Let's do it."
* * *
Rodney tried to ignore the noises, stationed as he was where the subsidiary tunnels met. Or diverged. It was a glass half full kind of situation, really, and Rodney had to stop babbling, even in his own mind.
Sheppard and Ronon were questioning the man who'd walked in under his own power. He was hardly more than a boy, but the expression on his face when Ronon and Sheppard herded him toward the back of the cave had been defiant.
Rodney didn't want to know what they were doing back there. Choked off gasps mixed with echoes of Sheppard's drawl, Ronon's growl.
Voices. It was just voices. They were talking the situation over rationally. Sure they were. After all, these people attacked without warning and scavenged from the dead. Nothing uncivilized there. Not at all. Rodney had suggested this, after all. He wouldn't have come up with an idea that led to those sounds.
A faint green glow came from the chamber Sheppard and Ronon were in, like a candle flame when the electricity failed. No light from the other direction, where the groggy and formerly-knocked out one was being held.
Plastic restraints were around his wrists, behind his back. He was gagged too, and that wasn't good. Head injuries caused nausea. He could choke on his own vomit, victim of some surreal travesty of a rock and roll binge.
Gurgling and tones of desperation. Sheppard sounded angry.
Rodney should check on the tied prisoner. Would check on him, except he'd have to find a flashlight or a chem light and that meant moving.
A scream, high-pitched and cut off abruptly, echoed through the tunnels.
The rocky cave walls were rough under Rodney's fingertips. He could explore this section more thoroughly. Try to determine if there was any hint of seismic activity nearby. Maybe the Ancients had tapped into geothermal energy. Maybe they hadn't. Maybe the outpost was broken-down and decrepit and worthless, but it wasn't looking like Rodney would ever know. And Sheppard had told him to keep watch here, make sure the other prisoner didn't try to escape.
A wheezing hiccup. Ronon's voice dropped into a lower register, one meant for elephants or whales, not humans.
Geothermal energy. Hydropower. Why didn't Atlantis take advantage of ocean currents? Were the Ancients so certain they'd never run out of ZPMs that they'd ignored the potential to be found beneath their feet? Atlantis had caverns of its own, mysteries untold and still hidden. The temperature differential between the top layer of ocean and lower strata had potential (Sam Carter should appear now and provide her hard-earned wisdom of what to do when your team leader and a barely-civilized warrior were making a captive sound like that).
Warmer water at the surface, ultraviolet radiation from the sun stored and emitted at night. Colder water below (so cold. Rodney's fingers tingled sometimes. Went numb. Numbness is better than pain). The second law of thermodynamics. Maximum entropy moving toward the heat death of the universe, a phrase Rodney had read in a Star Trek novel when he was bed-ridden with the flu, forbidden to work on pain of hospitalization. A hospital sounded good right now. An infirmary. Carson and his damned medical voodoo.
Gasping sobs and then the sound of footsteps over stone. A green spark approached, resolving into Sheppard, Ronon following. Always following - the loyal soldier. They weren't breathing hard, weren't pleading, weren't anything but implacable.
Sheppard's face was frozen. Stiff. His knuckles were white from holding the light stick so hard and the muscles on his forearms stood out. No jacket. That wasn't right. John could get cold.
"Any movement?" Sheppard asked and it was all Rodney could do to shake his head.
"Keep watching," Sheppard said, and started for the other cell, Ronon at his heels like a good guard dog.
Rodney closed his eyes.
* * *
This one was feistier. Yelled. Shouted obscenities ("Wraith lover. Soul eater. Ancestor-doubting heretic."), must have struggled because dull thuds boomed over and over and over, a body hitting the floor.
Gravity was lighter than Earth normal on this planet. Springy. Bouncy. Rodney should calculate the gravitational constant. Get it right, not just the approximations his colleagues back on Earth had published. The Ancients must have known. Or maybe they didn't care because they evolved into beings of pure energy. No mass to attract (but Chaya had attracted John plenty).
Gravity: the tendency of objects with mass to accelerate toward each other. A weak force, yet one that warped the fabric of spacetime around huge masses in the stately march of the universe. Ignoring air resistance, an object falling freely near the Earth's surface increases in speed by 9.81 m/s for each second of its descent.
Rodney bounced up and down on his heels a few times, but stopped because of the ache in his knee and the pounding in his head. He could drop something, measure the fall and the mass and the duration and determine this planet's gravity. This nameless planet of mountains and caves and trees and pines that weren't pines; an approximation would do well enough. Call it 9.2 m/s². Elementary physics, a formula Rodney had learned in high school. It didn't even require calculus.
Mathematical progression. Gravity varied from world to world. So did the color of the sky, the number of moons, the pain in the voice of someone being hit repeatedly, smacks like a butcher pounding meat thin. Preparation to sauté, and when was fire going to appear?
Rodney was going to be sick.
* * *
His fingers didn't want to work right. They were clumsy as he sifted through their gear, looking for a source of light. He shouldn't have put his flashlight down, earlier. He should have stashed it in a pocket, so he could retrieve it whenever he wanted. There. Rodney clutched at the tube, cool metal cylinder with a twisty head, and blinked at the spot of yellow illuminating grey stone.
Rodney wanted to slip outside, get away from the noises that didn't stop, didn't ever stop, but he was worried about the young one. He should check, make sure he was okay (he will not be okay. Rodney may never be okay again. Not after starting them down this path of stumbles and pain).
The prisoner's head lifted as Rodney approached, searching for his visitor with eyes that couldn't see past the glare from the flashlight. His mouth was gagged, his hands secured behind his back, his ankles lashed together. Rodney played the flashlight over his body, looking for obvious damage. The kid was dressed in black leather, spiked with metal studs. His coat puddled around his forearms, an extra layer of bindings, leaving his shoulders and chest covered with a shirt made of thin tan fabric. He was shivering. Rodney didn't see any blood.
He knelt down next to the kid, cleared his throat and opened his mouth and didn't know what to say. The kid's eyes were blue, and dazed, and Rodney couldn't figure out the message the kid was trying to send.
Finally, Rodney asked, "Would you like some water?"
The kid jerked his head up in a signal Teyla had told Rodney meant "yes" on some worlds.
Rodney could do this. He knelt down, held the flashlight between his thighs, and reached toward the gag. The kid flinched away and Rodney froze.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Rodney said, careful to keep his voice even. "You can't drink with this," and here Rodney loosened the gag, which looked like it had been torn from the kid's shirt, "in your mouth. There."
The kid gasped a little.
"What's your name?" Rodney asked, curiosity ever his besetting sin.
"Nish," the kid said.
"Nish," Rodney repeated. "Have some water."
Shadow shapes moved on the walls, distorted and jagged, when Rodney lifted his canteen. A turn to loosen the lid, and he held it up to Nish's mouth. "Slowly now," Rodney said. Nish drank greedily, but Rodney was afraid too much water would make him sick.
"That's enough," Rodney said, and reached to put the gag back in place.
"Please," Nish whispered, his eyes desperate.
Rodney finished replacing the gag and looked the kid straight in those clear blue eyes. "You should tell us what we want to know. Your people took our friend. We want her back."
This would end when they got her back.
* * *
Sheppard and Ronon parleyed in the entrance cavern. Rodney crouched against a wall and watched his hands tremble. He needed more food. His thoughts were too random, jumping tracks like electrons skipping through valance shells.
"Have you learned anything?" Rodney asked. Obscene, if those sounds hadn't produced useable information. Even if he hadn't seen any blood - obscene.
"Maybe," Sheppard said.
Rodney tipped his head back against the cold stone and sighed. "Do you want to tell me what you've learned?" He didn't even sound particularly testy, just tired. He'd have to watch that, or he'd lose his reputation. "This," Rodney said, waving a hand around, "is not striking me as one of our best ideas."
Our, because he was the one who suggested separating them. He was culpable.
Ronon stepped towards the outside and said, "I'm going to look around," before disappearing into the pre-dawn greyness.
Rodney wondered, idly, if Sheppard had reacted in some way that made Ronon retreat. Sheppard stood his ground, then padded closer to Rodney, kneeling down. Sheppard looked distracted, that sharp brain he tried to camouflage occupied with plans and contingencies.
"Neither of them have said much," Sheppard admitted. "We don't know where Teyla's being held. We don't know why they took her."
Rodney looked closer at Sheppard's face, seeing the shadows under Sheppard's eyes, the hollows in his cheeks. A smudge of dirt or something less savory accented one temple.
"We should have tried your plan, Colonel," Rodney said. "I see that now. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help."
Sheppard shook his head. "Rodney, you're plenty of help. Always." He reached over and grabbed hold of Rodney's hand, curled fingers around palm. "I just. I have to," Sheppard broke off, bereft of words.
"I want her back too," Rodney said.
Sheppard wouldn't meet Rodney's eyes. The line of Sheppard's chin was covered in beard stubble. "I can't lose her. Not after -" He couldn't even say the name. Damn Ford and his enzyme addiction, and John's overdeveloped sense of guilt.
"Can we negotiate with them?" Rodney asked, trying for another approach.
Now Sheppard looked over, and his expression was incredulous.
"Yes, yes, I know we're not exactly aces at that, but how would you and Ronon manage to take out a dozen or more of these people anyway?" Rodney's contribution would be negligible in a fight.
Sheppard's face turned mulish. "We could do it," he said, but his heart wasn't in it.
Rodney snorted. "I'm sure you could." Big warrior men he added mentally. "I just feel like there should be a better way."
Sheppard released Rodney's hand and dug a power bar out of a pocket, opening it and taking a bite. "I have one more thing to try. I think we should know more, after."
He offered Rodney the power bar, and Rodney made certain to bite down right on top of where John's mouth had touched.
* * *
Rodney watched this time, standing just inside the secondary cavern as a pitiful guard against any effort to escape.
The young one - Nish - had been transferred here by Ronon, dragged on tiptoes. Ronon stood behind Nish, holding him in place before his comrade. Both of their gags had been removed, but they stayed silent after an initial exchange of greetings. The older one was apparently named Bela.
Sheppard's face was blank as he spoke. "You haven't been very cooperative so far, so I thought I'd give you an incentive." Rodney had heard this exact same tone in Sheppard's voice when he spoke to Steve the Wraith, Rodney lurking in the corridor outside the Ancient's jail cell, still shaky from his first real experience with combat.
Sheppard nodded at Ronon, who did something with his hands. Nish screamed, high and harsh.
Rodney shuddered, and his left hand rubbed at his right forearm, but he kept his eyes on Bela.
"You want this to stop?" Sheppard said. "Then tell me what I want to know." He took a step closer and commanded, "Where are they keeping her?"
It took a few more moments, a few more screams. Ronon drew his knife, a smile curling on his lips, and ran the blade along Nish's ribs. Bela talked before Ronon could cut through shirt and skin.
What he revealed gave them an advantage, however precarious.
Rodney stood by while Ronon and Sheppard hammered out a plan in the main tunnel, eyes staring blindly towards the secondary cavern, listening for more screams.
* * *
The plan was simple. Rodney just hoped that they didn't screw it up like so many other occasions.
Nish and Bela walked in front of Sheppard and Ronon and Rodney, whose guns were trained on the prisoners all the while. Their hands remained bound behind their backs, and their mouths were gagged once more.
The forest canopy blocked much of the available natural light, a green wash pierced here and there with grey storm clouds. Plants were everywhere on the ground, except this narrow path they followed up and down ground that looked as if it had been shaken, hard, and decided it was easier to remain crumpled than flatten out. Ronon had said, "Game trail," when they found the path, and Rodney most sincerely did not want to meet the game in question. The droppings were scary enough.
His feet skidded on the slick carpet of pine needles and broken branches, knee twinging, and Sheppard caught at Rodney's arm. "You okay?" Sheppard asked in a low voice.
Rodney's eyes darted around, looking for trouble that he wouldn't know how to handle anyway. "Oh, just peachy," he replied. His knee was steady enough, just a bit sore.
They walked a few more strides, Nish and Bela stumbling as they crossed a fallen tree trunk.
"Look," Rodney said, careful to be quiet. "What are we going to tell Elizabeth? When we get back?" She'd been willing to harm Kavanagh when Atlantis was on the verge of destruction, but how would she react to what they'd done here? For Teyla, instead of the entire city?
Sheppard wouldn't look Rodney in the face. "I'll deal with that once we're back. Once Teyla's safe."
"Of course," Rodney grumbled, and kept walking.
* * *
"I really hate this," he said, sometime later, to Sheppard, who was peering through binoculars at the entrance to the stargate cavern. Shiny metal glinted here and there, evidence of the scavengers' occupation. A broad bowl of smooth ground lay in front of the cavern, surrounded by trees and rocky abutments.
"Yeah," Sheppard said. "Me too. Here goes nothing."
Sheppard handed Rodney the binoculars, then shoved Nish forward into a clear spot of forest, P90 an inch from his skull. Bela was tied to a tree a few yards back, and Ronon floated around, trying to find the best vantage point in case their opponent got rambunctious.
They waited to be noticed. It didn't take long: motion erupted around the mountainside, people running and pointing. Rodney stood there amid the underbrush, binocular strap around his neck, his P90 trained on their opponents, and felt useless. He was so bad at this.
Finally, the scavengers coalesced around one black-coated figure, a woman with steel grey hair cropped short and an aura of competence.
"We want to trade," Sheppard yelled. "Your people for ours."
A rustle amid the small crowd as they absorbed the message. The woman stepped forward a few paces and stared toward them.
"Who you got there?" Her voice arrived as a wispy herald, but Rodney shuddered. She sounded like his grandmother and that was a thought he did not want to have.
"Says his name is Nish," Sheppard called back.
The woman was obviously taken aback at that, retreating into her people for consultation.
"Who are you?" she finally replied. The crowd wasn't moving anymore.
"Doesn't matter," Sheppard said, projecting resolve with every syllable. "All we want is Teyla and free passage through the stargate. We get that, we'll never bother you again. But I need to see her, now," and his determination shone through the yelling.
Another period of consultation, while Rodney's heart beat like a trapped bird and adrenaline rushed through his body. It was all he could do to keep his P90 vaguely aimed. Sheppard stood like a statue, arms not tiring, gun barrel steady on Nish's head.
Finally, the woman gestured to somebody inside the cavern, and Teyla emerged between two hulking guards.
"Rodney," Sheppard hissed. "Check her."
Rodney's hands fumbled as he raised the binoculars to his eyes and focused on the right spot. Teyla's hair was mussed, her hands tied in front of her with rope, but her face was alert and poised. Her clothes looked scuffed, but not damaged.
"She looks fine," Rodney said.
Sheppard's back quivered. "Here's what we're going to do," he yelled, and Rodney watched it all unfold according to the plan.
* * *
Teyla and Rodney were taken to the infirmary immediately after they stepped through the wormhole, Sheppard and Ronon abandoned in the gate room to recount the ways the mission had gone wrong. Rodney didn't look back as he walked away, refusing the offer of a gurney.
In the infirmary, Carson tutted over their (minor) wounds. Rodney couldn't meet Carson's eyes as he was changed into scrubs. He stared at his hands and wondered what he had wrought.
Sitting on an infirmary bed, Teyla winced as a nurse cleaned an abraded elbow. Carson probed at Rodney's knee, manipulating it until Rodney said, pointedly, "Ow," and pulled away. Carson's expression was rueful, and he went off to do something medically useless.
Rodney drank his sports drink, hydration with a proper electrolyte balance, and tried to keep his hands from shaking. He'd have to watch that, or there would be questions he wouldn't want to answer.
He felt Teyla's eyes on him, resisted their lure for as long as he could, then inhaled and looked up. He couldn't read the expression on her face. A red blotch marred one cheekbone.
"How did you do? When they had you?" Rodney asked at last.
She glanced at her bandaged elbow, then back up. "I tried to remain calm. Tried to avoid anything that would have provoked them." Her fingers moved to feel white gauze. "They were very excitable, quick to anger, from what I saw."
"Huh," Rodney said, not knowing how to encourage her. "We were really worried," he offered.
"As was I," Teyla said. She smiled, carefully. "I knew you would try to rescue me, and I focused on that instead of contemplating less pleasant options." She looked away then.
Rodney couldn't contain a bark of laughter. "Less pleasant. Yes." His voice had gone too high on the last word. He looked around, making sure they were out of ear shot. "Did they say anything about their missing people?"
"They noticed, soon before you appeared. It was a matter of some concern to them, since the younger one - "
"Nish," Rodney said.
"Yes. Nish. He is being groomed to lead them, when their current leader no longer has the will to continue. She was not happy to see him in peril."
"We got lucky," Rodney mused. As if anybody could call what had happened lucky, but it had been their one break - a valuable hostage to trade.
Teyla sighed and leaned back against the infirmary bed pillows. "I have seen this before. Worlds so damaged by the Wraith that those remaining prey on humans to survive. There is a tale, a few generations back, that Athos almost traveled that road after a particularly bad culling." She shook her head, as if contemplating what might have become of her people.
Rodney didn't know what to say. He sipped at his drink.
Teyla mused, dreamily, "There are always choices to be made, after all, no matter how bad one's options may seem at the time. The Wraith have culled us for untold ages. We must do what we can to survive and resist them." Rodney nodded, because Wraith appeared in his nightmares. "The challenge," Teyla continued, "is to retain our humanity lest we turn into the monsters we battle."
Images of Hoff and Olesia and children reaching adulthood only to commit suicide tumbled in Rodney's memory. Carson returned then, and wrapped Rodney's knee to provide support, telling him to sleep with it elevated.
"You're good to go, lad," Carson said. "Dr. Weir's scheduled the post-mission briefing for tomorrow morning, so rest up."
Rodney hopped down. "I'll do that." He looked over to Teyla.
Carson took hold of her wrist, counting her pulse. "I want to keep Teyla here overnight. Just in case."
"Of course," Rodney said.
Teyla nodded to him. "I will see you at the briefing," she said.
* * *
His quarters welcomed Rodney, just as he'd left them the day before. He felt like they should have changed, become messier or destroyed - a reflection of what he'd endured. What he'd done.
He washed as well as he could, with Carson's bandage around his knee, changed into comfort clothes, then lay down on his bed, pillows raising his injured leg. Rodney's thoughts chased each other in endless circles, option after option he should have considered, suggestions he could have made to forestall those screams echoing through the mountainside.
Lights on, lights off. Music to distract him but it didn't, it just made him think of Beethoven and martial traditions, Napoleon's armies rampaging over Europe and a symphonic dedication revoked. Rodney was no artist; he'd learned that to his bitter disappointment over and over again. And what use was science on a long-abandoned world, when jackals appeared to pick over the bones of the dead?
No use at all.
They did what they had to do. And if a similar situation should arise in the future, Rodney would have experience, bitter as it was, to draw upon. He didn't have to repeat his mistakes.
* * *
The door mocked Rodney with its smooth surface. Who knew what it hid? He had to pause a moment, think if he really wanted to do this now, but he couldn't wait until tomorrow to see John's face.
The chime rang, muted, and Rodney almost wanted to flee, but then Sheppard stood before him.
"Rodney," he said, and his voice was scratchy. He wore sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he hadn't shaved.
"I woke you," Rodney said. "I'll go," and he turned but Sheppard grabbed his shoulder and pulled him inside.
"Don't be an idiot." Flat statement and Sheppard's body was braced as if he expected an attack. The door slid shut.
Rodney looked around Sheppard's collection of miscellany, brought aboard the Daedelus - the surfboard that had yet to touch Atlantean ocean, the guitar, the pictures.
"What did you tell her?" Rodney asked at last, his eyes on the rumpled sheets that indicated Sheppard hadn't been sleeping when Rodney arrived.
Sheppard sighed. "Not much, just a basic outline. We're going to go over it tomorrow - well, today - in more detail." Sheppard stepped closer, reached out and checked himself from actually touching.
Rodney wished he had the words to say what he felt, to describe the jumbled up mess his head was right now, but he didn't. And words had never plumbed the truths between them, not really, so why should this time be any different? He swayed toward John, wrapped an arm around his waist.
John shuddered, pulled Rodney tight against him, nuzzled his beard-heavy face into Rodney's cheek. "God," John said. "I didn't know if -"
Rodney stroked up and down the length of John's spine, breathed in the mingled scent of soap and skin. "Time. It just took some time for me to -"
Their mouths met and words didn't matter anymore.
* * *
At the briefing that morning, Sheppard gave a swift report. He sat sideways in his chair, arm slung over the back in his own unique posture, although his expression was more serious than usual. Rodney cupped his hands around his coffee mug, his fingers absorbing its warmth. Sunlight streamed in through the windows the Ancients' had loved so.
Teyla and Ronon sat opposite Sheppard and Rodney, both looking composed, although a bruise had risen on Teyla's cheek and she moved with nothing approaching her usual grace.
"Really," Sheppard said at last, "it was all a misunderstanding. They thought we wanted to poach on turf they'd claimed, they got a bit too enthusiastic in their defense, and then things got awkward. They grabbed Teyla, we grabbed a couple of their guys. Once we got them to open up a little, we started negotiating, and were able to exchange Teyla and say bye-bye."
Elizabeth looked around the table. "Anything else to add?" she asked.
"I did not observe much, as I was unconscious most of the time from their stun weapons," Teyla said ruefully. "And then they kept me isolated."
Ronon said, after Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in his direction, "They looked at you strange," nodding at Rodney and Sheppard. "Well they did," he responded to their bafflement.
Strange, Rodney thought. If only they knew.
Sheppard shrugged a dismissal. "We should avoid the place for now," he said, finality in every word, "although maybe the Daedelus could swing by when it gets back from Earth. Speaking of which, will Caldwell be in command?"
"I don't know," Elizabeth replied. "The SGC has not seen fit to inform me of the Colonel's status," and her voice had that wry twist Rodney loved. "I have asked."
Sheppard and Elizabeth locked gazes in the way they had, leaders conferring silently about shared responsibilities. At last, Sheppard spread his hands wide and cocked his head. "That's it," he said.
Rodney's eyes darted around: Ronon lounging, Teyla a bit stiff but game as ever, Sheppard cloaking his thoughts in casual body language, Elizabeth curious but willing to believe their report.
"You'll be off the mission rotation for a while," Elizabeth said, "until Carson approves Teyla and Rodney as fit." She stood up, dismissing them with a "thank you all," before returning to her office.
They sat in silence for a little while. Rodney sipped at his coffee.
"Want to have lunch later?" Sheppard asked the air.
"I promised some Marines I'd spar with them," Ronon said with relish, and Rodney pitied the Marines.
"I believe I should visit the mainland for a few days," Teyla ventured. "Halling mentioned some matters that may benefit from my attention."
Sheppard looked at Rodney.
"Lunch? Sure. That sounds good."
"I'll see you later, then." Sheppard smiled and disappeared to take care of military things.
Rodney pondered going to his lab, continuing projects that had seemed momentous two days ago. His hands still felt cold, though. Maybe he'd take advantage of his injured status to sit on a balcony and soak up the sun for the rest of the morning.
Maybe then his fingers wouldn't tremble.
-end-
Notes: Written for sian1359, who requested a) Prison Islands and Bondage, McShep slash, b) Torture. McShep slash, c) Team action/adventure h/c fic w/Ronon and maybe even Caldwell also involved. The outline of this story was talked out over two transatlantic phone calls with rivier. She suggested the basic setup, and I wouldn’t have thought of it on my own, so she gets my grateful thanks (all blame as to shortcomings belong to me). akira_yta and minnow1212 provided swift but exemplary beta services when I was panicking.
Title adapted from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage by Byron ("There are some feelings time cannot benumb,/ Nor torture shake.").
Beethoven initially dedicated his Third Symphony (the Eroica) to Napoleon, but later rescinded the honor after Napoleon crowned himself emperor.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of Stargate: Atlantis do not belong to me, and this story was written for love, not profit.
Feedback, positive or negative, keeps Rodney's hands from shaking. Don't you think they need to be steady?
Recipient: sian1359
Title: Time Cannot Benumb These Feelings
Author: Pouncer
Rating: R, for potentially disturbing subject matter
Category: slash, adventure
Pairing: John Sheppard/Rodney McKay
Spoilers: vague through 2.15, The Tower
Summary: Rodney finished replacing the gag and looked the kid straight in those clear blue eyes. "You should tell us what we want to know. Your people took our friend. We want her back." ~7500 words.
Time Cannot Benumb These Feelings
By Pouncer
A flash of orange, and Teyla fell down like a broken toy. Sheppard shoved Rodney aside with a vicious "God damn it," and then the world went black.
* * *
Pain spiked through Rodney’s head first. The next thing he became aware of was noise: the sound of weapons being stripped and cleaned. He was resting on something hard, and his right knee ached in a low thrum slightly less annoying than his head. Rodney opened his eyes cautiously, not knowing what to expect.
What he saw reassured and frightened all at once. Sheppard and Ronon crouched behind what looked like the entire contents of their packs and tac vests. They were in some sort of cave - stone walls and a low ceiling, but no stalactites. It wasn't the cave where the stargate was located. Greenish-yellow sunlight flowed in from outside, casting dull shadows against the floor. Sheppard was examining a P90 with ruthless focus.
"I’ve heard of them," Ronon said in his low rumble, continuing a conversation. "They move from world to world and scavenge what they can find, then sell it places where nobody asks questions."
Sheppard glanced up. "Technology?" His tone indicated he wasn’t really interested in the answer, just looking for one more data point.
"Yeah," Ronon said. "Usually not people, but I don’t know."
Sheppard's palm slammed down on the stone floor, and he swung toward the back of the cave. The set of his shoulders was tense. Rodney tried to move, to go to him, and groaned when his head swam. Not another concussion. His brain cells couldn’t take this much damage, not after the drowned jumper ordeal.
"Rodney, you awake?" Sheppard knelt by his side, aiming a flashlight at Rodney’s eyes.
"Ow." Rodney held up a hand to block the sparks dazzling his retinas, but Sheppard caught it and peered intently at Rodney’s face.
"A stunner beam grazed you," Sheppard said. "And you knocked your head when you went down." The light disappeared. "Good. Your pupils are reacting right. We’ll need you." And then he was gone, back to study what Rodney assumed was the cave entrance.
Rodney sat up, gingerly. His mouth was dry and he reached for his canteen. A sip of the flat, warm water and his throat felt up to talking again. "What happened?" Rodney surveyed their accommodations, possibly the worst the Pegasus Galaxy had to offer.
Teyla wasn’t there. "Where’s Teyla?" Rodney could hear a note of hysteria in his voice, but he didn’t care. The way Sheppard was acting, the air of menace Ronon exuded - something very bad had happened.
* * *
They’d arrived on the world at local daybreak, walking through into a narrow cavern just wide enough to hold the stargate, just deep enough to contain an establishing wormhole and allow for safe dialing of the DHD. There was a tiny archway to the outside, barely large enough for two people to walk side by side. Ronon had to duck his head as he went under. A puddlejumper would have been useless.
The Ancient database had burped out a nugget of unconnected and sparse information: P3M-831 had once housed an Ancient facility. Who knew what they’d left behind? The planet was uninhabited according to the Ancients.
Teyla had said, in the pre-mission briefing, "I do not believe I have ever traveled to this world. Or heard of it before." She was cool and thoughtful as always.
Rodney had supposed it had to be better than the land of the inbred ATA-royalty and their buried Ancient city. He really should stop making predictions.
* * *
Sheppard explained the situation in distracted bursts, paying more attention to Ronon’s attempts to draw a map in the dirt of the cave floor than to Rodney’s need to know what the hell was going on.
"They ambushed us."
"Yes, yes, I remember that part." Rodney would have circled his hand to tell Sheppard to speed it up, but moving hurt too much.
"You remember we were on our way to the Ancient base? Apparently, these guys got there first." Sheppard stared intently at something Ronon was pointing to for a moment, then continued. "And they must do this a lot, because they’ve got people guarding the stargate."
Rodney blinked as he absorbed that. "Were they Genii?"
Sheppard shook his head. "No, they look like extras from The Road Warrior. And they know what they’re doing." Sheppard moved to reload his P90. "Ronon and I've been testing the radio range. All this rock interferes, and Elizabeth isn't expecting us to check in for hours. We’re on our own." Sheppard added, grimly, "And they have Teyla."
* * *
Sheppard and Ronon left Rodney in the cave while they went out to reconnoiter.
Before they departed, Sheppard handed over two Tylenol and made Rodney swallow them. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of his mother's awkward attempts at nursing when Rodney was a child.
"Take out your sidearm," Sheppard said, gazing steadily at Rodney's face.
"What?" Rodney asked, and he should be sharper than this, should know the reason why but his head felt like a balloon being filled and drained of helium, over and over.
Sheppard knelt down beside Rodney, and guided Rodney's hand to the Beretta strapped to his thigh. Rodney pulled the gun out and held it in his hand, stared at it and blinked.
"Give that here," Sheppard said, and Rodney was afraid he was impatient, disapproving, but the dim light showed no temper on Sheppard's face and his voice had been even. Sheppard pulled out the clip, checked that it was fully loaded, and reset it with an authoritative smack. He handed the gun back to Rodney, who tried to hold it with more competence.
"You'll be fine," Sheppard said, and gave Rodney’s shoulder a quick squeeze. "Keep alert and listen for intruders, okay?" Sheppard's fingers trailed up the edge of Rodney's jaw just before he stepped away. Rodney wished he'd been able to push into that comforting touch.
"We’ll signal you," Sheppard said. "We’ll hum the Ode to Joy, okay?" Ronon had taken to Beethoven with a surprising fervor, claiming that Ludwig's music resembled a Satedan composer his mother had loved.
After Rodney nodded, Sheppard and Ronon disappeared out of Rodney’s sight.
Chemical cold packs rested on Rodney’s knee, but they were nothing compared to the chill that he felt at the thought of being abandoned. What if Ronon and Sheppard didn’t come back? What if the bad guys got them too? Rodney would be helpless here, waiting.
He settled the gun into his palm; it fit more comfortably than it had a year and a half ago, when he’d first started going on missions off Atlantis.
Rodney tried to avoid thinking about Brendan Gall’s final moments. His final decision. There was no evidence the Wraith were interested in this planet.
Sunlight streamed inside the cave mouth, its travel across the floor ticking off minutes Rodney lost forever.
* * *
Rodney must have dozed for a while. When he woke, he was still alone and the cave was dim, like the sun was close to setting. Rodney was stiff and sore and he couldn’t sit any longer or he’d go mad. It took a little effort to get upright, and his head reeled like he’d downed six shots of vodka in quick succession, then he steadied.
He hoped that Sheppard and Ronon had checked for wild animals before they decided on this cave as refuge. And perhaps it connected to the stargate cavern?
Time to explore. Rodney was an intrepid explorer, after all, when he wasn't coming up with brilliant scientific advances.
The cave stretched back beyond Rodney's sight, a long dark tunnel to nowhere.
Rodney broke out his flashlight and started to limp his way there.
* * *
The tunnel led a short way back into the mountain; it split a few yards back from the entrance chamber, two branches delving further into the body of the mountain. Each of them ended in a small secondary room a few yards beyond the split. Rodney thought that if he could see the layout from above, it would look like a Y.
No wild animals. No bats. No water dripping down. No connection to other tunnels, although a fall of rocks and boulders in one of the chambers might have blocked a link to a larger cave system. Rodney didn't know what type of stone this was. He'd never been strong in geology; it was too solid to hold his interest compared to the ethereal beauty of physics, the study of forces and waves and particles. The cave hadn't been formed because of lava flow or seismic activity, though. Rodney could tell that much.
He sighed and went back to the entrance. The sun lowered off to the left, the sky in that quadrant lit with flames of scarlet and violet.
The temperature was dropping along with the sun. Rodney shivered and retreated further into the cave. Sheppard and Ronon had left the majority of their equipment strewn across the floor, wanting to travel swift and light. Rodney went over to the pile and rummaged through to see what was there. He was hungry. He found a power bar and began to gnaw on it.
He wished they could have gotten to the Ancient outpost first, discovered untold wonders and neatly indexed research and nifty gadgets. Why did their missions always have to go wrong?
* * *
A series of scuffling sounds from beyond the black void of the entrance broke Rodney's fugue. He'd been imagining what they might have found at the Ancient outpost, and from there spiraled into formulae and ways to resolve the maddening divide between relativity and quantum mechanics. Tests to prove or disprove M-Theory. The Ancients must have known, must have had a single brilliant law to govern the universe, given the way they'd broken every physical rule Rodney had ever been taught.
The noises grew louder, and Rodney recalled that he was supposed to hear Beethoven if it were Sheppard and Ronon returning. No humming or whistling or even growling came to his ears, only movement over rock. Sheppard had warned that any light could be used by their enemies to find their refuge, so Rodney sat in darkness, straining his eyes and ears. He drew his Beretta again, and held it steady against his left knee, aimed at where an intruder would appear.
A low curse hissed outside. That sounded like Sheppard, but he wouldn't have forgotten the signals. Sheppard didn't forget things like that. Then came a horribly off-key rendition of the Ode to Joy, hummed with the verve of a chainsaw biting into wood.
Rodney closed his eyes and let his head drop backwards for a bare moment. He'd never let Sheppard massacre a beloved piece of music again. "Yes, yes, I know it's you," Rodney called, careful to keep his voice down. "Enter into my parlor, said the spider to the fly," he muttered, and heaved himself up off the ground.
They weren't alone. Sheppard and Ronon weren't alone. Twin moons had risen above the treeline, reflecting violet, granting just enough light to make out a slim form in front of Sheppard. Teyla? Ronon looked hunchbacked until he got closer, when Rodney realized he was carrying somebody.
"What?" Rodney sought out the gleam of Sheppard's face, just as he shoved the person before him inside the cave. Not Teyla then. Ronon slipped through the entrance, amazingly quiet for such a big man, and shifted his burden to the floor.
"We have guests, Rodney," Sheppard said, his usual casual drawl hinting at strain, and moved farther inside.
"I can see that. What happened? What did you find?"
Sheppard ignored the questions.
* * *
Rodney waited, marshalling the last strands of his fraying patience, while Ronon and Sheppard dealt with their prisoners. The one capable of walking had his hands bound behind his back, and his mouth was gagged with a length of fabric. The other lay in a crumpled heap. Rodney couldn’t make out details, and his stomach roiled.
"The way they were positioned," Sheppard said, "we should be okay with some light?"
Ronon replied with a terse, "yeah," and Sheppard broke out the light sticks.
Peroxide and phenyl oxalate ester mixed - Rodney remembered working the chemical equations in high school, just after he'd seen little kids carrying glowing tubes on Halloween; beautiful reactions, marching forward in predictable order, hours and hours of florescent light. Their green glow made everyone look sickly.
Rodney stood slumped against a wall until Sheppard looked distracted, then stepped close and leaned into Sheppard's body. "I need to know what's going on, John," Rodney said into Sheppard's ear, taking care to exhale soft gusts of air onto the skin of his neck. A startled jerk and Sheppard met Rodney's eyes for the first time since he'd returned.
"Okay." A pause while Sheppard surveyed the cave, passing responsibility to Ronon with a meaningful glance, then he said, "Come with me," and headed outside.
The night air was cool, and a soft wind flirted with the surface of the mountain. Rodney breathed in deep and buried his urge to pull Sheppard to him, to kiss him back to awareness. John needed this detachment in the field, had to have it if they were all to return safely to Atlantis.
Sheppard was moving his head back and forth, scanning for pursuers or threats or something Rodney didn't know enough to fear. He stood silent for as long as he could.
"Well?" Rodney asked at last, and Sheppard exhaled, a long gust of air, and his shoulders fell into a stance more closely resembling relaxed.
"There aren't that many of them. Twelve, twenty, maybe - it was hard to get a count. But they've got the stargate cavern guarded - anybody comes through and it'll be," pause to consider the situation, or maybe just word choices, "bad. They also have possession of the outpost. We don't know where Teyla's being held. There wasn't any sign of her." John's voice dropped at the end, and he stared up into the unfamiliar sky, full of unnamed constellations and strange stars.
Rodney waited until he could wait no longer. "Where did you find the, uh -" A flailing gesture toward the mountainside meant he didn't have to come up with a label for their new company.
Sheppard brought his left hand up and scrubbed at his hair and eyes. His right hand rested on the P90 clipped to his tac vest. "Ronon and I were making our way back from the outpost. We'd already checked the gate - they're dug in and positioned for an ambush. Ronon spotted somebody moving in the underbrush."
Rodney muttered, "He would." Rodney still had a visceral recall of the trap catching his feet, pulling him up into the air faster than he could react.
Sheppard looked at Rodney sharply for a second, then continued. "We need more information and we can't stroll up and ask their guards."
"What are you going to do?" Rodney almost didn't want to know now.
Sheppard stared out into the darkness and said, "We're going to ask them," with a jerk of his thumb toward the cave.
* * *
The air smelled of pine but not pine, the scent of Christmases past evoking those few times the McKay family had been happy together. Presents piled under a decorated tree, wrapping paper ripped away in an orgy of consumerist joy. His parents had a bent for educational gifts: sheet music and chemistry sets and microscopes and biographies of Einstein and Mozart. His surviving grandparents gave clothing: itchy sweaters and toques and scarves that his grandmother had knitted throughout the summer. She'd had an unerring knack for picking colors that made Rodney and Jeannie look sallow, but they'd smiled their appreciation under firm parental instruction.
The temperature was cool, but nothing approaching late December in Ottawa. Rodney didn't want to go back inside, where the walls would start to close in on him, creeping forward in nearly indistinguishable increments, smaller and smaller and smaller until there was no air left to breathe. He shook his head and turned toward Sheppard.
"You should separate them," Rodney said.
Sheppard twitched a little but got himself back under control immediately. "Why?" Rodney thought he saw Sheppard's brows draw downwards, surprised out of his own plans.
"Prisoner's dilemma," Rodney said. "Offer them a good and a bad outcome and keep them apart and they should tell you what you want to know. It's basic game theory," he added dismissively.
"Huh. I'll think about it." Sheppard turned and went back into the cave.
Rodney stood and looked up at the alien stars one last time, took a few deep breaths, then followed.
* * *
Sheppard drew Ronon aside with Rodney and talked over their options in a low voice. Ronon looked toward the prisoners the entire time, muscles coiled and ready to spring to action.
"McKay wants to split them up, question them separately," Sheppard said.
Ronon cocked his head for a second, thinking. "It's a good idea. We could compare their stories."
Sheppard looked doubtful. "I have something else in mind. I think it might work better."
"Oh, come on," Rodney said. "What do we know about interrogation? Really?"
"We have to find out where they're holding Teyla. Their weaknesses. We can't wait for the Daedelus to get here next month," Sheppard was almost hissing now.
Ronon glanced between Sheppard and Rodney. "Separate them and see what happens," he said.
Sheppard looked upwards, considering. "Yeah. Okay. Let's do it."
* * *
Rodney tried to ignore the noises, stationed as he was where the subsidiary tunnels met. Or diverged. It was a glass half full kind of situation, really, and Rodney had to stop babbling, even in his own mind.
Sheppard and Ronon were questioning the man who'd walked in under his own power. He was hardly more than a boy, but the expression on his face when Ronon and Sheppard herded him toward the back of the cave had been defiant.
Rodney didn't want to know what they were doing back there. Choked off gasps mixed with echoes of Sheppard's drawl, Ronon's growl.
Voices. It was just voices. They were talking the situation over rationally. Sure they were. After all, these people attacked without warning and scavenged from the dead. Nothing uncivilized there. Not at all. Rodney had suggested this, after all. He wouldn't have come up with an idea that led to those sounds.
A faint green glow came from the chamber Sheppard and Ronon were in, like a candle flame when the electricity failed. No light from the other direction, where the groggy and formerly-knocked out one was being held.
Plastic restraints were around his wrists, behind his back. He was gagged too, and that wasn't good. Head injuries caused nausea. He could choke on his own vomit, victim of some surreal travesty of a rock and roll binge.
Gurgling and tones of desperation. Sheppard sounded angry.
Rodney should check on the tied prisoner. Would check on him, except he'd have to find a flashlight or a chem light and that meant moving.
A scream, high-pitched and cut off abruptly, echoed through the tunnels.
The rocky cave walls were rough under Rodney's fingertips. He could explore this section more thoroughly. Try to determine if there was any hint of seismic activity nearby. Maybe the Ancients had tapped into geothermal energy. Maybe they hadn't. Maybe the outpost was broken-down and decrepit and worthless, but it wasn't looking like Rodney would ever know. And Sheppard had told him to keep watch here, make sure the other prisoner didn't try to escape.
A wheezing hiccup. Ronon's voice dropped into a lower register, one meant for elephants or whales, not humans.
Geothermal energy. Hydropower. Why didn't Atlantis take advantage of ocean currents? Were the Ancients so certain they'd never run out of ZPMs that they'd ignored the potential to be found beneath their feet? Atlantis had caverns of its own, mysteries untold and still hidden. The temperature differential between the top layer of ocean and lower strata had potential (Sam Carter should appear now and provide her hard-earned wisdom of what to do when your team leader and a barely-civilized warrior were making a captive sound like that).
Warmer water at the surface, ultraviolet radiation from the sun stored and emitted at night. Colder water below (so cold. Rodney's fingers tingled sometimes. Went numb. Numbness is better than pain). The second law of thermodynamics. Maximum entropy moving toward the heat death of the universe, a phrase Rodney had read in a Star Trek novel when he was bed-ridden with the flu, forbidden to work on pain of hospitalization. A hospital sounded good right now. An infirmary. Carson and his damned medical voodoo.
Gasping sobs and then the sound of footsteps over stone. A green spark approached, resolving into Sheppard, Ronon following. Always following - the loyal soldier. They weren't breathing hard, weren't pleading, weren't anything but implacable.
Sheppard's face was frozen. Stiff. His knuckles were white from holding the light stick so hard and the muscles on his forearms stood out. No jacket. That wasn't right. John could get cold.
"Any movement?" Sheppard asked and it was all Rodney could do to shake his head.
"Keep watching," Sheppard said, and started for the other cell, Ronon at his heels like a good guard dog.
Rodney closed his eyes.
* * *
This one was feistier. Yelled. Shouted obscenities ("Wraith lover. Soul eater. Ancestor-doubting heretic."), must have struggled because dull thuds boomed over and over and over, a body hitting the floor.
Gravity was lighter than Earth normal on this planet. Springy. Bouncy. Rodney should calculate the gravitational constant. Get it right, not just the approximations his colleagues back on Earth had published. The Ancients must have known. Or maybe they didn't care because they evolved into beings of pure energy. No mass to attract (but Chaya had attracted John plenty).
Gravity: the tendency of objects with mass to accelerate toward each other. A weak force, yet one that warped the fabric of spacetime around huge masses in the stately march of the universe. Ignoring air resistance, an object falling freely near the Earth's surface increases in speed by 9.81 m/s for each second of its descent.
Rodney bounced up and down on his heels a few times, but stopped because of the ache in his knee and the pounding in his head. He could drop something, measure the fall and the mass and the duration and determine this planet's gravity. This nameless planet of mountains and caves and trees and pines that weren't pines; an approximation would do well enough. Call it 9.2 m/s². Elementary physics, a formula Rodney had learned in high school. It didn't even require calculus.
Mathematical progression. Gravity varied from world to world. So did the color of the sky, the number of moons, the pain in the voice of someone being hit repeatedly, smacks like a butcher pounding meat thin. Preparation to sauté, and when was fire going to appear?
Rodney was going to be sick.
* * *
His fingers didn't want to work right. They were clumsy as he sifted through their gear, looking for a source of light. He shouldn't have put his flashlight down, earlier. He should have stashed it in a pocket, so he could retrieve it whenever he wanted. There. Rodney clutched at the tube, cool metal cylinder with a twisty head, and blinked at the spot of yellow illuminating grey stone.
Rodney wanted to slip outside, get away from the noises that didn't stop, didn't ever stop, but he was worried about the young one. He should check, make sure he was okay (he will not be okay. Rodney may never be okay again. Not after starting them down this path of stumbles and pain).
The prisoner's head lifted as Rodney approached, searching for his visitor with eyes that couldn't see past the glare from the flashlight. His mouth was gagged, his hands secured behind his back, his ankles lashed together. Rodney played the flashlight over his body, looking for obvious damage. The kid was dressed in black leather, spiked with metal studs. His coat puddled around his forearms, an extra layer of bindings, leaving his shoulders and chest covered with a shirt made of thin tan fabric. He was shivering. Rodney didn't see any blood.
He knelt down next to the kid, cleared his throat and opened his mouth and didn't know what to say. The kid's eyes were blue, and dazed, and Rodney couldn't figure out the message the kid was trying to send.
Finally, Rodney asked, "Would you like some water?"
The kid jerked his head up in a signal Teyla had told Rodney meant "yes" on some worlds.
Rodney could do this. He knelt down, held the flashlight between his thighs, and reached toward the gag. The kid flinched away and Rodney froze.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Rodney said, careful to keep his voice even. "You can't drink with this," and here Rodney loosened the gag, which looked like it had been torn from the kid's shirt, "in your mouth. There."
The kid gasped a little.
"What's your name?" Rodney asked, curiosity ever his besetting sin.
"Nish," the kid said.
"Nish," Rodney repeated. "Have some water."
Shadow shapes moved on the walls, distorted and jagged, when Rodney lifted his canteen. A turn to loosen the lid, and he held it up to Nish's mouth. "Slowly now," Rodney said. Nish drank greedily, but Rodney was afraid too much water would make him sick.
"That's enough," Rodney said, and reached to put the gag back in place.
"Please," Nish whispered, his eyes desperate.
Rodney finished replacing the gag and looked the kid straight in those clear blue eyes. "You should tell us what we want to know. Your people took our friend. We want her back."
This would end when they got her back.
* * *
Sheppard and Ronon parleyed in the entrance cavern. Rodney crouched against a wall and watched his hands tremble. He needed more food. His thoughts were too random, jumping tracks like electrons skipping through valance shells.
"Have you learned anything?" Rodney asked. Obscene, if those sounds hadn't produced useable information. Even if he hadn't seen any blood - obscene.
"Maybe," Sheppard said.
Rodney tipped his head back against the cold stone and sighed. "Do you want to tell me what you've learned?" He didn't even sound particularly testy, just tired. He'd have to watch that, or he'd lose his reputation. "This," Rodney said, waving a hand around, "is not striking me as one of our best ideas."
Our, because he was the one who suggested separating them. He was culpable.
Ronon stepped towards the outside and said, "I'm going to look around," before disappearing into the pre-dawn greyness.
Rodney wondered, idly, if Sheppard had reacted in some way that made Ronon retreat. Sheppard stood his ground, then padded closer to Rodney, kneeling down. Sheppard looked distracted, that sharp brain he tried to camouflage occupied with plans and contingencies.
"Neither of them have said much," Sheppard admitted. "We don't know where Teyla's being held. We don't know why they took her."
Rodney looked closer at Sheppard's face, seeing the shadows under Sheppard's eyes, the hollows in his cheeks. A smudge of dirt or something less savory accented one temple.
"We should have tried your plan, Colonel," Rodney said. "I see that now. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help."
Sheppard shook his head. "Rodney, you're plenty of help. Always." He reached over and grabbed hold of Rodney's hand, curled fingers around palm. "I just. I have to," Sheppard broke off, bereft of words.
"I want her back too," Rodney said.
Sheppard wouldn't meet Rodney's eyes. The line of Sheppard's chin was covered in beard stubble. "I can't lose her. Not after -" He couldn't even say the name. Damn Ford and his enzyme addiction, and John's overdeveloped sense of guilt.
"Can we negotiate with them?" Rodney asked, trying for another approach.
Now Sheppard looked over, and his expression was incredulous.
"Yes, yes, I know we're not exactly aces at that, but how would you and Ronon manage to take out a dozen or more of these people anyway?" Rodney's contribution would be negligible in a fight.
Sheppard's face turned mulish. "We could do it," he said, but his heart wasn't in it.
Rodney snorted. "I'm sure you could." Big warrior men he added mentally. "I just feel like there should be a better way."
Sheppard released Rodney's hand and dug a power bar out of a pocket, opening it and taking a bite. "I have one more thing to try. I think we should know more, after."
He offered Rodney the power bar, and Rodney made certain to bite down right on top of where John's mouth had touched.
* * *
Rodney watched this time, standing just inside the secondary cavern as a pitiful guard against any effort to escape.
The young one - Nish - had been transferred here by Ronon, dragged on tiptoes. Ronon stood behind Nish, holding him in place before his comrade. Both of their gags had been removed, but they stayed silent after an initial exchange of greetings. The older one was apparently named Bela.
Sheppard's face was blank as he spoke. "You haven't been very cooperative so far, so I thought I'd give you an incentive." Rodney had heard this exact same tone in Sheppard's voice when he spoke to Steve the Wraith, Rodney lurking in the corridor outside the Ancient's jail cell, still shaky from his first real experience with combat.
Sheppard nodded at Ronon, who did something with his hands. Nish screamed, high and harsh.
Rodney shuddered, and his left hand rubbed at his right forearm, but he kept his eyes on Bela.
"You want this to stop?" Sheppard said. "Then tell me what I want to know." He took a step closer and commanded, "Where are they keeping her?"
It took a few more moments, a few more screams. Ronon drew his knife, a smile curling on his lips, and ran the blade along Nish's ribs. Bela talked before Ronon could cut through shirt and skin.
What he revealed gave them an advantage, however precarious.
Rodney stood by while Ronon and Sheppard hammered out a plan in the main tunnel, eyes staring blindly towards the secondary cavern, listening for more screams.
* * *
The plan was simple. Rodney just hoped that they didn't screw it up like so many other occasions.
Nish and Bela walked in front of Sheppard and Ronon and Rodney, whose guns were trained on the prisoners all the while. Their hands remained bound behind their backs, and their mouths were gagged once more.
The forest canopy blocked much of the available natural light, a green wash pierced here and there with grey storm clouds. Plants were everywhere on the ground, except this narrow path they followed up and down ground that looked as if it had been shaken, hard, and decided it was easier to remain crumpled than flatten out. Ronon had said, "Game trail," when they found the path, and Rodney most sincerely did not want to meet the game in question. The droppings were scary enough.
His feet skidded on the slick carpet of pine needles and broken branches, knee twinging, and Sheppard caught at Rodney's arm. "You okay?" Sheppard asked in a low voice.
Rodney's eyes darted around, looking for trouble that he wouldn't know how to handle anyway. "Oh, just peachy," he replied. His knee was steady enough, just a bit sore.
They walked a few more strides, Nish and Bela stumbling as they crossed a fallen tree trunk.
"Look," Rodney said, careful to be quiet. "What are we going to tell Elizabeth? When we get back?" She'd been willing to harm Kavanagh when Atlantis was on the verge of destruction, but how would she react to what they'd done here? For Teyla, instead of the entire city?
Sheppard wouldn't look Rodney in the face. "I'll deal with that once we're back. Once Teyla's safe."
"Of course," Rodney grumbled, and kept walking.
* * *
"I really hate this," he said, sometime later, to Sheppard, who was peering through binoculars at the entrance to the stargate cavern. Shiny metal glinted here and there, evidence of the scavengers' occupation. A broad bowl of smooth ground lay in front of the cavern, surrounded by trees and rocky abutments.
"Yeah," Sheppard said. "Me too. Here goes nothing."
Sheppard handed Rodney the binoculars, then shoved Nish forward into a clear spot of forest, P90 an inch from his skull. Bela was tied to a tree a few yards back, and Ronon floated around, trying to find the best vantage point in case their opponent got rambunctious.
They waited to be noticed. It didn't take long: motion erupted around the mountainside, people running and pointing. Rodney stood there amid the underbrush, binocular strap around his neck, his P90 trained on their opponents, and felt useless. He was so bad at this.
Finally, the scavengers coalesced around one black-coated figure, a woman with steel grey hair cropped short and an aura of competence.
"We want to trade," Sheppard yelled. "Your people for ours."
A rustle amid the small crowd as they absorbed the message. The woman stepped forward a few paces and stared toward them.
"Who you got there?" Her voice arrived as a wispy herald, but Rodney shuddered. She sounded like his grandmother and that was a thought he did not want to have.
"Says his name is Nish," Sheppard called back.
The woman was obviously taken aback at that, retreating into her people for consultation.
"Who are you?" she finally replied. The crowd wasn't moving anymore.
"Doesn't matter," Sheppard said, projecting resolve with every syllable. "All we want is Teyla and free passage through the stargate. We get that, we'll never bother you again. But I need to see her, now," and his determination shone through the yelling.
Another period of consultation, while Rodney's heart beat like a trapped bird and adrenaline rushed through his body. It was all he could do to keep his P90 vaguely aimed. Sheppard stood like a statue, arms not tiring, gun barrel steady on Nish's head.
Finally, the woman gestured to somebody inside the cavern, and Teyla emerged between two hulking guards.
"Rodney," Sheppard hissed. "Check her."
Rodney's hands fumbled as he raised the binoculars to his eyes and focused on the right spot. Teyla's hair was mussed, her hands tied in front of her with rope, but her face was alert and poised. Her clothes looked scuffed, but not damaged.
"She looks fine," Rodney said.
Sheppard's back quivered. "Here's what we're going to do," he yelled, and Rodney watched it all unfold according to the plan.
* * *
Teyla and Rodney were taken to the infirmary immediately after they stepped through the wormhole, Sheppard and Ronon abandoned in the gate room to recount the ways the mission had gone wrong. Rodney didn't look back as he walked away, refusing the offer of a gurney.
In the infirmary, Carson tutted over their (minor) wounds. Rodney couldn't meet Carson's eyes as he was changed into scrubs. He stared at his hands and wondered what he had wrought.
Sitting on an infirmary bed, Teyla winced as a nurse cleaned an abraded elbow. Carson probed at Rodney's knee, manipulating it until Rodney said, pointedly, "Ow," and pulled away. Carson's expression was rueful, and he went off to do something medically useless.
Rodney drank his sports drink, hydration with a proper electrolyte balance, and tried to keep his hands from shaking. He'd have to watch that, or there would be questions he wouldn't want to answer.
He felt Teyla's eyes on him, resisted their lure for as long as he could, then inhaled and looked up. He couldn't read the expression on her face. A red blotch marred one cheekbone.
"How did you do? When they had you?" Rodney asked at last.
She glanced at her bandaged elbow, then back up. "I tried to remain calm. Tried to avoid anything that would have provoked them." Her fingers moved to feel white gauze. "They were very excitable, quick to anger, from what I saw."
"Huh," Rodney said, not knowing how to encourage her. "We were really worried," he offered.
"As was I," Teyla said. She smiled, carefully. "I knew you would try to rescue me, and I focused on that instead of contemplating less pleasant options." She looked away then.
Rodney couldn't contain a bark of laughter. "Less pleasant. Yes." His voice had gone too high on the last word. He looked around, making sure they were out of ear shot. "Did they say anything about their missing people?"
"They noticed, soon before you appeared. It was a matter of some concern to them, since the younger one - "
"Nish," Rodney said.
"Yes. Nish. He is being groomed to lead them, when their current leader no longer has the will to continue. She was not happy to see him in peril."
"We got lucky," Rodney mused. As if anybody could call what had happened lucky, but it had been their one break - a valuable hostage to trade.
Teyla sighed and leaned back against the infirmary bed pillows. "I have seen this before. Worlds so damaged by the Wraith that those remaining prey on humans to survive. There is a tale, a few generations back, that Athos almost traveled that road after a particularly bad culling." She shook her head, as if contemplating what might have become of her people.
Rodney didn't know what to say. He sipped at his drink.
Teyla mused, dreamily, "There are always choices to be made, after all, no matter how bad one's options may seem at the time. The Wraith have culled us for untold ages. We must do what we can to survive and resist them." Rodney nodded, because Wraith appeared in his nightmares. "The challenge," Teyla continued, "is to retain our humanity lest we turn into the monsters we battle."
Images of Hoff and Olesia and children reaching adulthood only to commit suicide tumbled in Rodney's memory. Carson returned then, and wrapped Rodney's knee to provide support, telling him to sleep with it elevated.
"You're good to go, lad," Carson said. "Dr. Weir's scheduled the post-mission briefing for tomorrow morning, so rest up."
Rodney hopped down. "I'll do that." He looked over to Teyla.
Carson took hold of her wrist, counting her pulse. "I want to keep Teyla here overnight. Just in case."
"Of course," Rodney said.
Teyla nodded to him. "I will see you at the briefing," she said.
* * *
His quarters welcomed Rodney, just as he'd left them the day before. He felt like they should have changed, become messier or destroyed - a reflection of what he'd endured. What he'd done.
He washed as well as he could, with Carson's bandage around his knee, changed into comfort clothes, then lay down on his bed, pillows raising his injured leg. Rodney's thoughts chased each other in endless circles, option after option he should have considered, suggestions he could have made to forestall those screams echoing through the mountainside.
Lights on, lights off. Music to distract him but it didn't, it just made him think of Beethoven and martial traditions, Napoleon's armies rampaging over Europe and a symphonic dedication revoked. Rodney was no artist; he'd learned that to his bitter disappointment over and over again. And what use was science on a long-abandoned world, when jackals appeared to pick over the bones of the dead?
No use at all.
They did what they had to do. And if a similar situation should arise in the future, Rodney would have experience, bitter as it was, to draw upon. He didn't have to repeat his mistakes.
* * *
The door mocked Rodney with its smooth surface. Who knew what it hid? He had to pause a moment, think if he really wanted to do this now, but he couldn't wait until tomorrow to see John's face.
The chime rang, muted, and Rodney almost wanted to flee, but then Sheppard stood before him.
"Rodney," he said, and his voice was scratchy. He wore sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he hadn't shaved.
"I woke you," Rodney said. "I'll go," and he turned but Sheppard grabbed his shoulder and pulled him inside.
"Don't be an idiot." Flat statement and Sheppard's body was braced as if he expected an attack. The door slid shut.
Rodney looked around Sheppard's collection of miscellany, brought aboard the Daedelus - the surfboard that had yet to touch Atlantean ocean, the guitar, the pictures.
"What did you tell her?" Rodney asked at last, his eyes on the rumpled sheets that indicated Sheppard hadn't been sleeping when Rodney arrived.
Sheppard sighed. "Not much, just a basic outline. We're going to go over it tomorrow - well, today - in more detail." Sheppard stepped closer, reached out and checked himself from actually touching.
Rodney wished he had the words to say what he felt, to describe the jumbled up mess his head was right now, but he didn't. And words had never plumbed the truths between them, not really, so why should this time be any different? He swayed toward John, wrapped an arm around his waist.
John shuddered, pulled Rodney tight against him, nuzzled his beard-heavy face into Rodney's cheek. "God," John said. "I didn't know if -"
Rodney stroked up and down the length of John's spine, breathed in the mingled scent of soap and skin. "Time. It just took some time for me to -"
Their mouths met and words didn't matter anymore.
* * *
At the briefing that morning, Sheppard gave a swift report. He sat sideways in his chair, arm slung over the back in his own unique posture, although his expression was more serious than usual. Rodney cupped his hands around his coffee mug, his fingers absorbing its warmth. Sunlight streamed in through the windows the Ancients' had loved so.
Teyla and Ronon sat opposite Sheppard and Rodney, both looking composed, although a bruise had risen on Teyla's cheek and she moved with nothing approaching her usual grace.
"Really," Sheppard said at last, "it was all a misunderstanding. They thought we wanted to poach on turf they'd claimed, they got a bit too enthusiastic in their defense, and then things got awkward. They grabbed Teyla, we grabbed a couple of their guys. Once we got them to open up a little, we started negotiating, and were able to exchange Teyla and say bye-bye."
Elizabeth looked around the table. "Anything else to add?" she asked.
"I did not observe much, as I was unconscious most of the time from their stun weapons," Teyla said ruefully. "And then they kept me isolated."
Ronon said, after Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in his direction, "They looked at you strange," nodding at Rodney and Sheppard. "Well they did," he responded to their bafflement.
Strange, Rodney thought. If only they knew.
Sheppard shrugged a dismissal. "We should avoid the place for now," he said, finality in every word, "although maybe the Daedelus could swing by when it gets back from Earth. Speaking of which, will Caldwell be in command?"
"I don't know," Elizabeth replied. "The SGC has not seen fit to inform me of the Colonel's status," and her voice had that wry twist Rodney loved. "I have asked."
Sheppard and Elizabeth locked gazes in the way they had, leaders conferring silently about shared responsibilities. At last, Sheppard spread his hands wide and cocked his head. "That's it," he said.
Rodney's eyes darted around: Ronon lounging, Teyla a bit stiff but game as ever, Sheppard cloaking his thoughts in casual body language, Elizabeth curious but willing to believe their report.
"You'll be off the mission rotation for a while," Elizabeth said, "until Carson approves Teyla and Rodney as fit." She stood up, dismissing them with a "thank you all," before returning to her office.
They sat in silence for a little while. Rodney sipped at his coffee.
"Want to have lunch later?" Sheppard asked the air.
"I promised some Marines I'd spar with them," Ronon said with relish, and Rodney pitied the Marines.
"I believe I should visit the mainland for a few days," Teyla ventured. "Halling mentioned some matters that may benefit from my attention."
Sheppard looked at Rodney.
"Lunch? Sure. That sounds good."
"I'll see you later, then." Sheppard smiled and disappeared to take care of military things.
Rodney pondered going to his lab, continuing projects that had seemed momentous two days ago. His hands still felt cold, though. Maybe he'd take advantage of his injured status to sit on a balcony and soak up the sun for the rest of the morning.
Maybe then his fingers wouldn't tremble.
-end-
Notes: Written for sian1359, who requested a) Prison Islands and Bondage, McShep slash, b) Torture. McShep slash, c) Team action/adventure h/c fic w/Ronon and maybe even Caldwell also involved. The outline of this story was talked out over two transatlantic phone calls with rivier. She suggested the basic setup, and I wouldn’t have thought of it on my own, so she gets my grateful thanks (all blame as to shortcomings belong to me). akira_yta and minnow1212 provided swift but exemplary beta services when I was panicking.
Title adapted from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage by Byron ("There are some feelings time cannot benumb,/ Nor torture shake.").
Beethoven initially dedicated his Third Symphony (the Eroica) to Napoleon, but later rescinded the honor after Napoleon crowned himself emperor.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of Stargate: Atlantis do not belong to me, and this story was written for love, not profit.
Feedback, positive or negative, keeps Rodney's hands from shaking. Don't you think they need to be steady?