SGA slash, written in 12/2007 for the "Amnesty 2007/City Exploration Challenge" on sga_flashfic.
Rated PG-13, McKay/Sheppard, first time, 4500 words.
In which there are epiphanies.
Nothing New
City exploration was one giant waste of time.
You wouldn't think so, but for Rodney specifically it was. He had more than enough actual work waiting for him in his lab with practical value for everyone in the city, so that they were, oh, not going to sink to the bottom of the ocean again, or blown to a billion pieces by Kusanagi who had a knack for sniffing out devices with exceptional explosive properties but unfortunately no common sense to complement it.
The initial exciting and fruitful city exploration phase with at least three impressively useful findings per certain death situation had lasted only a few months. By now only every 3.8th team came back with a piece of technology worth a second look, and only 62% of those proved at least remotely useful. Rodney had done the statistics as soon as there had been enough data for a more or less founded calculation.
When Rodney explained it to Sheppard, the bastard laughed.
"Just so you know, in grand total that's only-"
"Sixteen percent," Sheppard interrupted and grinned into the silence that followed. Rodney shouldn't still be amazed by Sheppard doing math faster than him but it usually caught him off-guard.
"You're with us tomorrow. Deal with it." Sheppard put the kidney-shaped ancient device he'd been trying to activate down on the desk between the other ones that were also not working.
"We're done," he decided.
"We're not." Rodney gestured to the loaded shelves on the far wall. "Not even close."
"We are." Sheppard pointedly thought the desk light out.
"Hey! I'm working here," Rodney snapped, thinking
on on on at the lamp, then fumbling with the manual switch without success.
"Not any longer. Tomorrow, oh-six hundred hours, we're starting our little trip."
"You make it sound like a vacation-- Hey, wait." Rodney pointed an accusing finger at him. "This is supposed to be some kind of vacation, isn't it! For the overworked, stressed out, currently unpleasant geek!"
Sheppard raised his eyebrows as if to ask
Currently?
"Even you have to relax sometime," he said, not even trying to go for denial.
"
This is relaxing for me!" Rodney yelled, all red face and flying spittle. Sheppard let a significant pause speak for him. Rodney sank back into his chair.
"I'm not going," he mumbled but there was no determination in it.
"Tomorrow, McKay," Sheppard reminded him. "Bring your own flashlight."
* * *
Sheppard had been joking, of course, but Rodney did bring his own flashlight. In that case he could be sure it was actually going to work for more than ten minutes. Beside the necessary technical equipment he had also packed four sets of replacement batteries, twenty power bars, two canteens of water, six clips of ammunition and an extra earpiece.
"You've got an awful lot of baggage for a supposedly uneventful trip in our own backyard," Sheppard commented.
"Can't hurt to be prepared."
Their military-grunt-trainee tag-alongs, Smith and Jones -- yes, statistics at work here -- were rolling their eyes at his back now, Rodney could tell that by the way Sheppard hid his smirk.
"Suit yourself," Sheppard said graciously. "As long as you don't expect me to carry any of your stuff."
"Believe me, I don't. Why would anyone want to relieve me from a menial burden such as this? It's not like I'm going to be needing my energy to save our asses later."
"Sure," Sheppard said brightly and pushed past him. "Smith, you take point, Jones, you have our six. Head out."
* * *
City exploration had become John's favorite way of spending his time.
The usual threat of sudden death was cut down to a minimum on their own doorstep, at least since everyone around had learned to distinguish between quarantine lab and recreational area, coma-inducing medical equipment and microscope, scanning device and hair-growth accelerator. (Not deadly but not a lot of fun either, if Lorne was to be believed. McKay had named the device
Chewbaccator as soon as he had stopped hiccuping and wiped the tears from his face. John had rolled his eyes, as expected, but secretly he had been totally on-board with that.)
The deserted hallways of Atlantis were kind of soothing, in their boring ancienty-architectural way. It was almost a literal walk in the park. The city was a reassuring presence in the back of John's mind, everyone else was, thankfully, quite a distance away. Except for his little team of explorers, but they knew how to keep quiet, mostly. Mostly. And not even McKay could ruin this one for him.
At some point, John caught himself humming under his breath.
Because he was in such a good mood, it took three close encounters of McKay's elbow with John's ribcage and two squashed toes before John actually said anything. "Could you find it in you to concentrate on the task at hand?"
McKay shot him a dark look. "And that would be? Walking tall, yet broadcasting an air of
savoir-vivre? Forgive me if I skip that, I'm busy."
"Doing what?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
"I have two words for you. Eleven. Dimensions. Now shut up and let me think."
John was tempted to keep going just to get a rise out of McKay.
"Sir," Smith called out, "we're there."
They caught up with him in front of a bulk door. John activated his earpiece. "Sheppard to Zelenka. Switch the lights on, we're going in."
"Done," Zelenka's voice answered, and the door controls lit up. "Have fun."
"We're already greatly entertained, aren't we?" Sheppard said, raising a questioning eyebrow at McKay.
"When I think of the thousand and one useful things I could be doing right now--" McKay muttered.
"Oh, suck it up," John said sweetly and followed Smith into the corridor beyond the doorway.
* * *
A white board, a computer and an inferior scientist ready to be shouted at in frustration, that was what Rodney would need to get anywhere with the three problems he was currently rolling around in his head. Without any means to document his progress and no chance of transferring ideas of minor importance to a piece of paper and thus removing them from his brain, working on three projects all at once was impossible, even for him.
On top of that, Rodney had to snap back into reality every few minutes to take some readings and then even communicate the results to Sheppard who was in an annoyingly good mood. They were searching
quarters, what was there to be ecstatic about?
What was worst, they had known this beforehand. The entire section most likely consisted of former crew quarters. Dust, narrow beds, the occasional piece of plain furniture. Really, Rodney thought, what was he doing here?
The rest of the team had fallen into a routine. Smith, who carried the ATA gene, opened doors, Jones secured and checked the rooms, Sheppard observed and advised.
When Rodney heard Jones say, "Huh," it was unusual enough that he looked up. "What? More exciting dead plants?"
"Found something, sir," Jones said, deliberately turning to Sheppard.
"We can see that, but thank you for elaborating." Rodney pushed past him through the doorway and entered-- Well, it wasn't quarters. Sadly, it wasn't quite a lab either.
Sheppard followed him in. "This looks--" he started, paused, and finished with, "abandoned."
"Unlike the rest of Atlantis," Rodney said sarcastically, shooting him a pointed look.
Sheppard looked back, unimpressed.
As much as it pained Rodney to admit it, on second glance it seemed that Sheppard was right. There wasn't enough advanced equipment around for this to be a functional lab, but the distinctly sized empty spaces along the walls indicated there probably had been at some point.
"Look at this," Sheppard said and reached out to a cylindrical see-through object that was propped up on one of the work benches. Rodney didn't even have time to build up suitable annoyance -- because hadn't he clearly emphasized
No touching things several times? -- before Sheppard vanished into thin air, just like that, the moment his fingertips made the connection.
"Oh no. No no no no no." Rodney elbowed Jones out of the way and made his way to the cylinder in four quick steps.
"Dr McKay?" One of the grunts had the nerve to speak.
"Shut up, shut up." Rodney gave the console next to the cylinder a once-over, found the interface and plugged his computer in with shaking hands, all the while repeating
not a disintegrator, please not a disintegrator in his head. If it was, they would be breathing in tiny parts of vaporized Sheppard now. The thought made Rodney almost sick enough to puke, before he told himself to
focus, damn it! and started working furiously.
It wasn't a disintegrator.
"It's a transporter," he said, more to himself than for anybody's information. "Sheppard's been transported to--" Rodney's light-headed relief turned into pure horror, settling down cold in the pit of his stomach.
The interpretation of those readings lead to the conclusion that this certain component was a lifesigns detector, Rodney repeated his internal reasoning frantically, and the detector showed--
"Call a medical team down here," he ordered, his voice sounding shrill.
--showed Sheppard as a blinking dot. It had to be him, over at the--
"But why-" Smith or Jones, or whoever, started to ask.
--the west pier, on one of the lower levels. Below the waterline, in fact, in an area--
"Right now," Rodney yelled, so loud his own ears started to ring.
--an area that had been
completely flooded since Atlantis had risen. There had to be a way to--
"How much time?" Rodney demanded.
--to get this device to lock on to Sheppard again, transport him back, unless--
"What?" Smith/Jones asked stupidly.
--unless this was a one-way thing. Which it couldn't be. These lines of code seemed to--
"Since Sheppard vanished, goddammit!"
--to control target acquisition, and if administered to the blinking dot, that would--
"Maybe two or three minutes," Smith/Jones said.
--would probably lead to Sheppard leaving body parts behind. Adjusting the--
"Maybe?!" Rodney snapped.
--the width of the target area should solve the problem, and this would result in--
Rodney stroked the final key and turned around.
From one moment to the next, a sphere appeared in the middle of the room, almost as high as the ceiling, perfect and clear like glass, with a body floating at the center. It hovered for only an instant, then the water came crashing down, in a flood that was released through the open door into the corridor.
Afterwards, Sheppard was lying on the ground, perfectly still.
Rodney knelt down next to him. Sheppard's lips were blue, his cheeks felt ice cold to the touch. There was a weak, somewhat erratic pulse, but--
"He's not breathing. Where the hell is Carson?"
Turning Sheppard on his back, tilting his head, pressing his mouth to Sheppard's, forcing air into his lungs, Rodney did all this entirely on autopilot. When Sheppard convulsed and retched and tried to cough, Rodney turned him on his side. Seawater and vomit, Sheppard coughed it all up violently, over Rodney's hands and thighs and chest.
Kneeling there in a puddle, his hands gently anchoring Sheppard, Rodney couldn't remember a time when he'd felt more relieved, more thankful, or more heavily shaken than he did at this very moment.
* * *
When John awoke from a twenty hour sleep in the infirmary, Beckett explained everything to him in detail.
He didn't remember much about his trip to the west pier. By all chance it was going to come back to him later, probably in the form of vivid nightmares, thank you very much.
Dark and cold, John had registered that. Wet, not so much. And then he'd been too busy
not breathing to notice anything else. It seemed he'd tried to breach a surface that hadn't been there, if the two bumps on his head were any indication.
Elizabeth visited him later. Her bedside manner had improved, John noticed uneasily. She'd been given far too much opportunity to practice. It showed in the tightness around her mouth, her rigid stance, and finally in the fierce reprimand he received for putting his life at risk so stupidly.
Ronon and Teyla were mostly quiet, sitting at his bedside for half an hour, reassuringly glad to have John back alive. In the end they had to ruin it -- Teyla by advising solemnly, "Do not act so foolish again," and Ronon by grunting his version of
What she said before they left.
Which left one more visit to look forward to.
When McKay entered the infirmary John had already braced himself for the inevitable tirade of
How often do I have to tell you and
No touching unknown ancient objects and his favorite
How stupid are you, really -- usually delivered with the sensitivity of a bulldozer. For a moment McKay looked like he was about to follow the routine. But he slowed down a few steps away from the bed.
"How are you feeling?" McKay asked finally. Sheppard stared.
"Hello?" McKay narrowed his eyes at him. "Did you hit your head or something?"
"Yeah," John said. "Twice, apparently. But I'm okay."
There was an awkward silence. They used to be naturals with comfortable silences.
"Thanks to you," John added, trying to work his way up to a really nice and honest thank you. "Now, aren't you glad you joined us? Because I know I am."
McKay drew in a breath, opened his mouth, no doubt to deliver some sarcastic retort, but then no sound came out. He stood there, a strangely blank expression on his face, staring down at John, then he turned on his heel and all but ran out of sight.
* * *
Stupid, so stupid.
Rodney hadn't even realized just how close this call had been. And how it would have been
his fault.
Had Zelenka been with the team that morning, or Kusanagi, or Simpson, or anyone else, Sheppard really would have drowned. If Elizabeth had given in to Rodney when he'd tried to talk her into sending someone else out on city exploration, Sheppard would be dead.
But Elizabeth had sidestepped all of Rodney's arguments neatly and basically told him to stop being such a wimp. Rodney decided he really needed to thank her later.
After all, she'd saved him from killing Sheppard.
He was vaguely aware there was a flaw in his logic somewhere, but this was how it
felt.
* * *
Beckett kept John in the infirmary for another twenty-four hours of close observation. McKay didn't show his face again. As soon as he was free to go, John headed for the lab. McKay was there, hunched over a computer.
"What was that all about?" John demanded, as if McKay had just stormed out of the infirmary ten minutes ago.
Startled eyes looked up at him. "Oh. Carson released you."
"He did. Care to tell me what prompted your speedy retreat from the infirmary?"
McKay averted his eyes, waved his hands, and started talking incredibly fast. He didn't answer the question, though. After another couple of unsuccessful attempts to talk to McKay about it, John let it rest and chalked it up to after-certain-death jitters.
* * *
A few days passed with business as usual, and then McKay started stalking John.
Their shifts were suddenly synchronized. McKay's breakfast, lunch, and dinner time was chosen as randomly as John's, except not really that randomly, because always
at the same time as John's.
Behind every corner in Atlantis, McKay lurked. Whenever John looked around, McKay was to be found somewhere in John's close vicinity. He didn't even manage to board a jumper on his own. McKay was always there to accompany him for his free time just-for-fun flights.
It seemed that, for John, the city was suddenly full of McKays.
Off-world, McKay started following John close on his heel. So close, in fact, that during a hike on PM9-566, when John came to a sudden stop, Rodney walked into him and almost sent him tumbling into a mine shaft. After Rodney had pulled John back off the edge he'd even said sorry and looked it, too. That should have set several alarm bells off in John's head, right from the beginning.
On Trenara Rodney's insistent refusal to let John go and share the ceremonial wine
alone with the chieftain almost cost them a very lucrative trade deal. John didn't put it in his report because Rodney had always taken healthy suspicion to new and unheard-of levels, which in their line of work wasn't a bad thing per se.
But when Rodney flatly refused to be teamed up with Ronon or Teyla on P6X-871 John's patience ran out.
Rodney's behavior had merely been annoying at first, now it was seriously interfering with their performance as a team.
Not to mention that it was starting to get downright creepy.
Which was why John went to McKay's quarters that evening, after P6X-871, blurted out, "What the hell is wrong with you?" without ceremony, and squeezed past McKay into his quarters.
"Good evening to you, too. Please, do come in," McKay said sarcastically.
"Seriously, you lecturing me about manners?" John answered crossly.
McKay considered this for a moment. "Point taken."
"You haven't answered my question."
"It
is a bit vague."
John clenched his hands into fists in frustration. "McKay! I'm trying to help you."
"With what?" McKay asked levelly. John wanted to punch him.
"Just so you know, you're
this close to being kicked from the team."
Finally, that seemed to get to McKay. "What?"
"If our reports had been entirely truthful, Elizabeth would have removed you already. You're supposed to be smart. Do the math!"
"No. No! I have to stay on the team. I have to-- How should I-- You don't understand. I
have to--"
"Have to what?"
McKay shrank back from John, wide-eyed. "I can't leave. I have to--"
"What, dammit?" John yelled.
"Protect you," McKay said softly, and John took two steps back as if he'd been slapped.
McKay switched back to nervous speed talking. "I realize this puts us into, sort of, ironically reversed positions. But, in certain situations, it makes sense. You: shooting, blowing things up, beating bad guys into a pulp. Me: saving your life with ingenious science. It should merely be a matter of deciding who gets to protect whom, depending on the requirements for a resolution of any given situation."
With sudden clarity, John knew what had brought this on. "Is this about the transporter incident?"
"Yes! Yes, good example," McKay said, pointing a finger at him. "I was able to save you, but only because I was around to do so. A matter of decision and of being around. Simple, really."
John was too stunned for words for a few moments. "Rodney," he said carefully, "we've been doing this all along. Taking turns in saving each other's lives. This isn't new."
"This isn't new?" Rodney repeated, frowning.
"No. Your current behavior, however, is and it begs an explanation." John crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"Oh no," Rodney breathed.
"What?"
"You're right. I'm stupid. Well, not stupid, of course. Preoccupied, maybe. Really, this isn't new. The situation is the same." He paused, then added slowly, "It must be my perception of you that's changed."
This was getting entirely too surreal for John. "What?"
"Shut up, I'm having an epiphany here," Rodney ordered with a jerky gesture.
John had no idea what to say to that anyway.
"If you'd died I would have been, I don't know, broken? Unable and unwilling to continue." Rodney met John's eyes, horrified. "I didn't know I could do that. Care for someone that much. A man, no less. I had no idea."
Utterly at a loss for words, John could only stare. Rodney's eyes suddenly widened in panic. "Tell me I didn't just come out to you."
"Um," John said stupidly.
"And on top of that I declared my--" Rodney cut himself off. He sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands. "You should go."
And John did.
To be fair, if Rodney had told him to hop on one leg and sing 'row, row, row your boat', he'd have done that, too.
* * *
Nothing was going to change. Rodney promised that to himself during a sleepless night of
what ifs and
maybes and several rounds of circular reasoning.
The next morning in the mess, when John slowed in the middle of his approach to Rodney's table, Rodney dared him to walk by with a fierce stare.
John sat down stiffly.
"We're friends, we're cool, we won't speak of it again," Rodney said, as easily as he could manage.
John's relief was blindingly obvious. Rodney excused himself as soon as his dignity allowed, strode to the next transporter, and randomnly stabbed a finger to the touchscreen.
The corridors were deserted, the lights were dialed down. Rodney had no idea where exactly he was, but patterns repeated themselves all over Atlantis. He found the nearest balcony without problem.
The sea breeze hit Rodney like a full body blow. It tasted of salt, the way John's lips had when he'd been good as dead.
The wind was stinging in Rodney's eyes. That had to be the reason for his rapid blinking.
* * *
All in all, Rodney was dealing with the situation remarkably well, John thought. You wouldn't guess he'd outed himself to his best friend and declared his-- His what? John didn't even want to
think the word love.
Life pretty much went back to normal, or what passed for normal in the Pegasus galaxy. They went on missions, they attended briefings, they played chess, they hung out. Rodney dialed the stalking down to the required minimum.
Whenever a glimpse of Rodney's inner distress shone through, John felt uneasy and desperately wanted to run in the other direction. At the same time he itched to walk over and touch Rodney reassuringly, with a pat on the shoulder, a hand on his arm.
But John was pretty sure Rodney wouldn't want his pity.
* * *
Pity, sure.
One messed-up mission and a trip to the infirmary later, John could only laugh at his own stupidity. Sitting rigidly in a chair next to Rodney's bed, and fucking
holding his hand because John couldn't not, he marveled at his own stupidity.
On P77-463 the roof of an ancient temple had come down on Rodney's head. Standing outside, staring at the dust rising from the rubble, John had been paralyzed by an epiphany of his own. Ronon had shouted at John, pulled at him, but in John's mind Rodney had already been dead, dead and gone, without ever knowing--
Then there had been a faint noise, something like a groan, and Teyla had yelled--
John jerked awake and almost slipped from the chair.
Rodney was still unconscious. Beckett moved over to threaten John with a couple of marines and a large syringe if he didn't go to his quarters to get some sleep. Surprisingly, Beckett didn't comment on their clasped hands.
* * *
Rodney awoke at noon the next day and immediately felt very hungry. After a quick examination that had Carson reassured ("No lasting aftereffects from the concussion, a sprained wrist, no broken bones, no internal bleeding. You are one lucky bastard.") Rodney was provided with a tray from the mess, with mystery meatloaf and double dessert, too.
"You gave us quite a scare, lad," Carson said, smiling, and then Rodney was left to it.
Elizabeth visited during the afternoon, then Teyla and Radek. Ronon even brought him a midnight snack. It was almost morning again when John finally showed up in the deserted infirmary.
"Hey," he said, sitting down at Rodney's bedside.
"Hey?" Rodney mimicked. "That's all I get? You should think that after having been buried under several tons of rock people would--"
"Don't," John interrupted with a pained expression.
"What?"
"Joke about it. You almost--" he looked away.
John was tense, his back unusually straight, hands clenched into fists in his lap, his adam's apple moving when he swallowed nervously.
"Oh my god," Rodney said, stricken. "You, too?"
Somehow that prospect was a lot scarier than a future of unrequited pining.
John shrugged. "Epiphanies seem to be pretty common these days."
For a long time, Rodney stared at the ceiling, pondering the possibilities. "Have you ever--?"
"No."
"I can already see how this is going to be all awkward kinds of fun," Rodney sighed.
"We're not that bad at dealing with the unknown," John reminded him. "We just tackle it, and it usually turns out okay."
Rodney could tell John wasn't joking. "You big sappy romantic."
"I am, actually," John said seriously, which was plainly ridiculous.
"What about physical attraction?" Rodney asked, because it was a valid point. "I mean, I know I've been fantasizing about you and me and-- you know." And hadn't that been far too much fun.
John frowned, flushing slightly. It made him look that much more attractive. "I don't know. I've been wanting to-- touch you a lot lately." At Rodney's raised eyebrow he admitted, "In a non-sexual way. For example, this is nice." He gripped Rodney's hand and entwined their fingers. The way John didn't hesitate before touching him led Rodney to suspect they'd been there before, probably with him being unconcious, which was just his luck. John's palm was warm and smooth against his, his fingers squeezed lightly. It was nice, as promised.
"Huh," Rodney said, meeting John's eyes. "This works for me, too. Really, really works. But it's still very--"
"Platonic?" John supplied.
"Yes." Rodney tried to gesture with the hand that was clasped in John's. He looked down at their entwined fingers and found he liked the view. "How do we even know this will work? Maybe this
is just friendship on your part, friendship of the deep and meaningful kind."
"You know what, Rodney? Screw this," John muttered. For one panicky moment Rodney thought John had referred to
them, this whole
whatever they seemed to be on the verge of getting into.
Rodney caught on when John moved in to touch their lips together lightly. He breathed a low, "Oh," and apparently that was all the invitation John needed for a second try, with a bit more pressure, a bit more shared breath and a lot more touching. John's hands came up to cup Rodney's face, Rodney's went to John's jaw and under his shirt to stroke the bare skin on his side.
And no, Rodney wasn't going to complain about his sprained wrist, not
now. Not when he felt John shiver beneath his hands, when he got to taste him, his lips, his tongue. There was no salt water on John's skin now, John was alive and breathing and making the most incredible sounds.
When they finally parted, Rodney sighed regretfully. Even if John decided he couldn't do this after all, the kiss would have totally been worth it.
"So," Rodney said, making the word a cautious question.
"Works for me," John said with a tentative smile and leaned forward to bury his face in Rodney's neck.
Rodney slipped his arms around him and held on.
* * *
"Tonight, nineteen hundred hours?"
"Yes, yes. I'll bring my own flashlight."
"And I'll bring the wine."
It turned out John really was the big sappy romantic he had claimed to be.
- end -